Never had Eric wanted anything more than to throttle the junky happily beating his shrieking sister to within an inch of her life, all her martial arts training coming to nothing in the hot fury of actual mortal combat against a bastard who clearly enjoyed hitting her enough that he had put down his club and was using his bare knuckles alone.

But it was a struggle for Eric to just stay conscious, to keep afloat when the tides of oblivion were eager to swallow him completely. All he could do was glare his bitter hate for the slimy bastard who would happily turn Eric and his sister’s lives to hell, just out of spite.

Because even now he could hear at least a couple furious squeals from the giant-sized upright monster pigs, and he knew they were running out of time.

Then, by some odd stroke of fortune or mischance, the bastard’s eyes widened in surprised disbelief, in the middle of throttling her, switching his grip to clenching her tightly braided hair. “Wait, I know who you are. I recognize you!” He chortled at the girl covered in bruises whose nose, spurting blood, had been shattered by his savagery, now gazing up at him in fear, pain, and fury.

“You’re Elonia Silver! Aurelia Silver’s daughter, right?”

Elonia’s gaze met Eric’s own for only a moment, and he was chilled by how much could be conveyed with a single glance as his woozy body, too dizzy to get up, shivered on the slimy ice-cold alley pavement.

But at least Eric was now fully awake and in nominal control of his arms once more. He struggled to find the strength to do what he needed to do before anything else, as Elonia subtly altered her posture with the minutest of shifts from terrified victim to regal splendor, no matter her battered flesh, her voice utterly different from the victim shrieking for her life, just a second ago.

Like switching roles at the drop of a hat.

“I am,” she said with the husky young voice that he had heard all his life, that he recognized as distinctly her own. A voice that, according to their mother, had her target demographic hot and bothered since her first movie. “If you would like to earn my friendship, and put this misunderstanding behind us, you’ll help me back down this alley, and I promise I’ll make it more than worth your while.”

She forced a smile it pained Eric to witness. Pure sweet forgiveness and gratitude. As if the assault of moments before hadn’t happened. As if the lowlife before her had rebooted his quicksave game and proceeded to be the hero of the town he had so gleefully slaughtered just moments ago. As if life’s mistakes could actually be so easily reset, and forgiveness earned with a single courteous gesture.

The air erupted with mocking laughter. “Hell no, bitch! But damn if I won’t tag your sweet little ass before the orcs make you pod...”

The man’s train of thought abruptly broke off when Elonia dropped to the ground, dead weight that slipped out of his too-casual grip.

“What the fuck are you trying to do, bitch? Think I won’t kick you? Think again!” A look of confused disbelief then came over the low-life’s scarred features when he fell to his knees, his reclaimed club immediately dropping from panicked hands. “Why the fuck is blood shooting out of me?”

But no one bothered answering the loser now crying out in panic, frantically trying to cover the hole spurting blood from his chest as Elonia, acting no longer, desperately tried to help a still-dizzy Eric back to his feet. “Come on, bro. Let’s go, we got to move!”

“But the crossbows...”

“No time! You can barely move, that fucker hit you so hard, and I gotta hold on to you. Come on, we got to go!”

It was amazing what blind terror did for concussions, Eric thought as he stumbled by his sister’s side with the bellicose roars of distant orcs and the dying pleas of the man behind them they made their frantic way back down the winding path they had taken, desperate to reach their only hope of escape, the pair of them exchanging anxious looks, knowing they were as good as dead if any other low-life tried to intercept them in these alleyways.

But there was no one.

And by some desperate miracle, they made it through the narrow backstreets unmolested, Elonia sobbing with genuine relief matching Eric’s heartfelt grin, when the massive mound of garbage that had so disgusted Eric came into view, just across the street.

And never had the stench of rotting produce looked so welcoming or smelled so good, Eric thought, the pair of them darting across the road for all they were worth.

“Oh thank god, Eric. We made it! Come on, bro. Just a few more feet and we’ll have mom and Vincent fix us up good as—”

Eric didn’t catch whatever his sister was going to say, just wondering just how many ribs had been broken, after being knocked to the ground by what felt like a freight train. Then his stunned daze turned to horrified disbelief and outrage as his diaphragm finally relaxed enough for him to suck in a great big lungful of air.

“Leave my sister alone!”

Eric screamed the words, though he knew it was futile, a sobbing Elonia torn free of his grip by the hideous eight-foot-tall abomination covered in thick bristly fur that truly did look like a cross between a pig, a bear, and the ugliest man he had ever seen, even more hideous up close than when viewed from a good block away.

Massive four-fingered hands effortlessly manhandled his wild-eyed sister like a piece of luggage, the farthest thing from the composed little starlet she had acted when they came to the city for the upcoming premiere, just a few weeks ago. Right before the world had changed in ways that had gamers and doomsayers howling in glee before they all too often howled in death, this world far more brutal than in any tailor-made game where they were the star.

And never had Elonia looked so terrified and in desperate need of a hero as she did at that very moment.

Only this wasn't some carefully staged scene in a movie that had been scheduled for release, just days from now.

It was their new reality, and Eric found himself effortlessly hoisted by a second massive orc, holding him as casually as he would a sack of groceries.

It was everything he could do not to scream and struggle in panic, already knowing what would happen if they did. “Don’t fight them!” Eric cried out. “You know what will happen if we do! They’ll smash us up to pulp and just throw us in the pit!”

Elonia’s only response was a piteous wail that filled Eric with such fury to hear that it was all he could do to take his own advice and not kick and struggle against the massive arms thick as a normal man’s thighs, knowing that without any knife, crossbow, or, if this were just a few weeks ago, high powered rifle to put this abomination in its place.

Instead, he did his best to keep his cool, finding a tiny smidgen of relief that his sister had at least stopped struggling, though her eyes were wide with animal terror. As were his own.

The pair of them, now no longer lurking in narrow alleys, got an all too clear look at the remains of the city as the orcs made their leisurely way back to the park that sent Eric’s guts roiling with anxiety and dread.

Intellectually, Eric knew that Gilton had fallen. But it was another thing entirely to see it firsthand in all its bitter glory as he was offhandedly dragged along to what was effectively his own execution. A hellish cityscape consisting of buildings like broken teeth, separated by massive heaps of rubble lit by the infrequent trashcan fires that flickered and smoked like only a putrid mixture of coal, scraps, and the foulest waste possibly could, giving the lit-up buildings a menacing aura wherever the crimson lights pierced the gloom.

Yet as awful as the city looked, he had never wanted anything so much as to be able escape into its bowels once more when they finally arrived at what Eric feared would be his terminal destination. Then he was sent hurtling through the air with an offhand toss before he could formulate any sort of plan to do anything, the orc turning to leave without a second thought as Eric crashed into the nearest group of captives, by some miracle earning nothing worse than mildly scraped palms thanks to the leather shooter’s gloves he had been wearing, and bitter curses from the malnourished man he had crashed on top of.

Yet before Eric’s wildly racing thoughts could come up with anything that might save his sorry ass, his foes threw a wildcard he had no hope of countering.

Or more specifically, didn’t throw one.

“Eric!”

His heart hammered in panicked fury, hearing the desperate terror in his sister's voice.

-Why the hell hadn’t they thrown her along with him? They were both at the prime of their lives, perfect candidates for the pods!- A pointless thought as Eric gazed in helpless fury Elonia’s way.

But the crowd of terrified slaves he had been tossed into made it impossible to dart forward with any haste. Many had been secured by rope or chains, the rest were too intimidated even to move under the hostile red eyes of the eight-foot tall porcine overseer glaring down at them as he cracked a massive whip, jabbing with a sausage-like finger towards the pulsating mass of vegetative life, just a handful of yards away.

"Line up before the pods, slaves! The worthy will ascend. Those who fail will be feast for the roots! Ha!"

Horror warred with startlement, for it was the first time Eric had heard the orcs speak in anything but their own grunting, squealing dialect.

Yet even with the threat of indescribable pain as the monster cracked his whip, and the awful sickly sweet smell of charred human flesh from the nearby fire pits where dying victims could be heard shrieking their last, the desperate crowd still tried to shy away from the sinuously moving tendrils of that massive green pod, after the grizzly deaths of just minutes ago.

At least they did until the whip-wielding orc yanked the cord of rope connecting a good seven terrified men gazing on with desperate shell-shocked eyes. Several still wore the once well-tailored business suits that spoke of lives of influence and success savored in the world they had all left behind, just weeks ago.

And how far they had fallen, now looking like desperate, broken men living their worst nightmare.

Just like everyone else.

Their horrified stupor only broke when the strongest-looking of the seven shrieked like a madman and kicked and clawed at the tusked orc now effortlessly backhanding the broken former executive to stunned submission before twisting free the ropes binding him and literally throwing the youngest of the suits right at the pulsating pod they had all been slowly shuffling toward, seemingly spawned from the most horrific of vegetative nightmares.

A pod that opened up of its own accord, as if happily claiming the wildly flailing man chucked into it, the massive slaver and a handful of other porcine-faced horrors laughing their hairy asses off as the man’s desperate struggles turned to jerking spasms before the vegetable slurped him up entirely.

The tusked beasts grinned in cruel satisfaction, casually leaning against their muskets, weapons Eric already knew could fire lead shot that would rip a man to shreds as effectively as any 10-gauge shotgun, for all that they were seven foot long black-powder firearms with serrated bayonets. This meant that the porcine horrors could use them in melee combat to devastating effect even after they had shot their load, as the vicious bastards had enjoyed demonstrating to horrified survivors any number of times when first claiming this city as their own, according to multiple breathless radio jockey reports, before eating their disemboweled victims alive.

Because in this nightmare world where all complex technology and man’s favorite weapons of war had simultaneously detonated, all save nuclear weaponry, of course that was when they had been invaded by alien races like some twisted tolkeinesque nightmare. Or like in the MMORPGs he and Elonia had so loved playing, blending in effortlessly with their online friends, not a single one realizing that the goofy pair of gamers were the offspring of Aurelia Silver, who had once been one of the most renowned and critically acclaimed actresses in the world.

Unfortunately, this was nothing like the games Eric has so used to love playing. Because in addition to axe-wielding berserkers and orcs capable of throwing javelins that could pierce through brick walls up to a hundred yards, they had access to black powder weapons that actually worked.

And one of those fuckers had just claimed his sister for the fire pits. After Eric and Elonia had effectively bet their lives that the monsters that had dragged them off would choose them both for the pods. Which meant that his desperate fantasy of escaping when the orcs were distracted with yet another cluster of captives wasn’t going to happen.

His sister’s death, and probably his own, if he was being honest with himself, was now all but assured.

“Stay the fuck down, kid. That thing will kill you if you mouth off like Johnny, there!” said one exhausted but concerned voice, gently putting a hand on Eric’s panicked shoulder, jabbing a finger at the still body of a boy who couldn’t have been any older than Eric, maybe not even out of high school, gazing out at whatever lay beyond the mortal coil with wide, sightless eyes. Blood and drool were still leaking from a mouth forever frozen in a rictus of pain, both hands still on the iron shank of the seven-foot-long pilum that had been thrown with such force through the boy's body that it had plunged a foot into the ground.

The weapon pinning the boy had clearly been hurtled with deliberate malice, so as to rupture the bowels, not pierce the heart.

It was all Eric could do not to flinch at the spools of slimy grey bloody intestines bursting from the wound.

Then Eric froze with horrified disbelief. -The boy was still alive!- Eric froze, raising a desperate hand -but what about his sister? He needed to save her!- Still, he was shaken to his core, seeing intestines suddenly spurt between the trembling hands of the boy Eric now saw to his horror was still very much alive, but so weakened he could no longer hold death back, the boy’s awful trance of survival broken by pain and exhaustion.

“Mommy!” the boy gasped, just before his eyes rolled back and he began to kick and spasm, hands slipping away from the fountain of viscera pouring forth from the wound, body now spasming so violently even the pilum was jerked free of the semi-frozen dirt that had pinned him to the ground.

And Eric would never forgive himself for his moment of stunned shock, too dazed and stupefied by all that had occurred to do anything but stand there like an idiot while witnessing the poor boy’s death throws, when he saw to his horror that things were moving at a pace even he had been unprepared for.

He had bet everything on a few hours to carefully plan an escape with his sister, maybe both of them doing their part to free at least a few prisoners as a distraction, with the survival knife secured to his belt he had been such a fool to not use earlier, even if that shit blade had no hope of piercing anything vital in those eight foot plus tall monsters. Sure as hell, it could at least cut some of the cheap ass rope tying up half the survivors around him!

But he didn’t have hours. Or minutes.

He had no time at all.

At that very moment, the hideous orc that had claimed Elonia, who was now fighting for all she was worth, was preparing to throw her into the roasting pit.

“The pods opening up. It’s opening back up!”

“Do you think that poor sucker actually survived?"

“Hell no, it was too soon.”

“Shit, it’s worse than the others!”

Only then did the orc effortlessly carrying Eric's shrieking sister pause and turn with the other orcs to watch with beady-eyed amusement as the nightmare pod slowly spat out its membrane-covered package.

For long breathless moments, the cocoon was still.

Before it began to spasm, twisting and jerking and writhing wildly about.

Even frozen in horror, Eric knew what it meant, knew all too well what was about to rip free of that membrane.

But it didn’t keep him from acting, from embracing this terrible, pristine moment as the captives around him reflexively backed up and separated, no longer jamming him tightly in their midst.

Of course he knew that his efforts would prove utterly futile. That he was just one struggling teenager in a world that had already fallen, overrun by monsters and inhuman tribes of orcs, goblins, ogres, and every twisted abomination ever to flood his favorite bookstores or the cities of humanity. But hell if he wouldn’t finally fight back!

Just like the kid who had finally stopped spasming against the spear shaft that had so easily pinned him to the ground while assuring an exquisitely slow and agonizing death. A boy's desperate last stand, and nothing to show for it but his own dying body in a pile of entrails and blood.

Mocking Eric with glassy eyes.

As if promising that Eric would end up sharing the same fate.

So be it.

He’d be damned if would just stand there and watch his sister be burned alive.

Almost like a dream, he fought against the strange inertia freezing him as everyone else stared in rapt fascination as the tendril whipping horror that had once been a young corporate executive on the rise slowly twisting free of his cocoon. The orcs were raptly looking on with all too human expressions of fascination and pleasure, the actual humans gazing at the spectacle with mindless terror at what would soon be their fate, and all Eric could see was the spear-sized pilum, now torn free of the frozen turf it had been embedded in, still lodged in the dying boy’s entrails.

And Eric realized to his horror that he recognized the kid whose face was only now easing from hideous torment to the glassy-eyed stillness of death as his pain ended at last. A classmate at a posh private school Eric had struggled to keep his head above waters and not flunk out of, perfectly happy with the 2.8 average he worked for, and he had actually started making a few gamer friends who didn't give a shit how much he looked like a member of a certain tabloid family. Just before his mother had pulled him right back out, off for yet another movie set, and Eric back to private tutors once more.

Jimmy. That was his name. Brother of one of Eric's gaming buddies. An online friendship that had lasted even after Eric had been pulled from that school. Running weekend raids with his corpmates, joking about the sister he had almost dated, until the day the world had ended for them all.

“No, kid, what are you doing? Now’s your chance! You got two good legs to stand on, so run! Run while you can!” Urged an anxious motherly voice behind him that Eric would have hugged for even giving a damn in any other place or time save this one, while everyone else's eyes turned to the horrific scene unfolding with the pod.

But Eric was filled with nothing but mad fury, terror transforming outrage into frantic desperation as he darted forward and tore free the pilum with arms that had grown used to gripping one of those godforsaken javelins that he had thought such a blessing when one had fallen through one of the sewer grates above the tunnel he and his sister would explore and hunt in.

Of course, his hunting weapon of choice were the recurve crossbows that Elonia could still effortlessly shoot twice as well as he could, even after countless hours of practice. Absolutely beautiful weapons that they had been forced to leave behind, at the foot of the low-life bastard who had taken such glee in destroying their lives. But a pilum that was perfectly balanced for throwing was still an ideal weapon for hunting, even if his early attempts to hurtle it at the rats had earned snickers from his cheery-eyed sister, telling him to dream on if he ever thought he’d be a better hunter than her.

But at least he could throw it decently after a week's solid practice. And more than once he had actually managed to hit his foot-long target, dead-on. And he'd played far too many fantasy games and had spent far too many hours rehearsing for an action roll that never saw the big screen not to do his best to at least understand the weapon of death now in his hands.

Even Vincent, their trainer shacking up with their mother in their little survival bunker under the city, had approved of his practice, and had given Eric numerous tips on how to hold it, besides. Like bayonet fighting, only more so, as the man had put it.

Best of all, the backside of an orc was a fuck ton easier target to hit than a foot-long rat sniffing the air, thirty feet away.

Because even though Eric had heard no smarmy announcer's voice in his head, their world had been integrated into something right out of his favorite novels, eerily like the movie Eric's mother had invested a good chunk of her fortune into producing.

Only in this version, Eric and Elonia weren’t the lost scions of a galactic empire, but two more broken survivors now just moments away from death in a world where massive waves of incursions had flooded every nation, humanity's governments collapsing within days.

But there was hope. A way to rise from the ashes of absolute defeat. A way to be far more than one ever was before.

A way to empower oneself, just like in Eric’s favorite online games and stories.

By some fucking miracle, this new reality actually seemed to include the potency of the soul itself in its conservation of all energy, matter, and information, no longer lost to the dead zone that had sheltered Earth for centuries, if his favorite radio jockey’s desperate musings had any merit to them at all.

This new reality actually allowed even the lowest of humans to quantize the infinite potential of not just everything they had personally seen or experienced, but of every opponent they ever bested, a portion of their foe's potency forever becoming their own.

In short, this world actually allowed you to level up, if you survived the pods.

But there was a catch, Eric thought as he readied his weapon.

You have to be willing to kill.

And Eric had studied enough psychology with his homeschooling to know that most people, when push came to shove, didn’t have it in them to take another human life, no matter how gritty and violent TV specials had tried to paint various cities, populations, or demographics.

Most people were decent folk just trying to live their lives in peace, and take care of their families.

People like Eric, who had proved his willingness to pull the trigger twice over now, as the low-life kicking his last in a nearby alley could attest, were the violent, worrisome exceptions to the rule.

Which meant that when he charged for the back of the eight-foot tall piece of porcine filth offhandedly holding his sister while gazing raptly at the emergence of yet another tentacled abomination, Eric didn’t shy away from a lethal blow. His armor-piercing pilum slipped effortlessly past wide chain mail links as he rammed it home with all his might, filled with a white-hot wrath that had him striking his target with a killing fury he never would have dreamed possible, just a few short weeks ago.

But that didn’t change physics.

Or the fact that the massive pig was just spiteful enough to toss Eric’s screaming sister right into the giant roasting pit where they were frying up all the alien plant pod rejects.

“Eric!”

A shriek of terror echoed through the air and Eric’s soul. For just a heartbeat, his sister’s desperate eyes locked with his own as she fell right into that pit of red hot coals, and there was nothing he could do to save her.

Not unless he was willing to be forged in fire.