"Moooore. Just one step more and we are almost there."

Simon shrieked. His throat felt dry and his back ached from bad posture. That's what he got from falling asleep on a chair in the visitor room of Summer Community Hospital's Intensive Care Unit.

He didn't even feel the possession happen. When he first visited the basement, a tiny part of the demon's life energy invaded him. But the seed blossomed. He developed this irrational need, this curiosity, this cockiness to go back. He could have resisted had he been stronger-willed. Once he reached the school's vicinity, he heard this inner voice. It only became stronger. And he'd remember it forever. Slinging his horseshoe necklace around his neck was one of his last memories before he started sleepwalking. What would have happened without this rather embarrassing rescue? Would the monster just have given up?

It was such a cruel world. Dungeon crawling was what one did to escape reality. Now, he had to escape fantasy. He listened to Busta Rhymes over his headphones and distracted himself by following Vs-Debates on his favorite forum. His "Thunder Chariot vs Monkey Man" thread had unread replies, although it was arguable how much sense a thread between two featless urban legend superheroes even made.

The lift opened as Simon's friend Jason Turner entered the waiting room. He was a mousy white boy with messy, jet-black hair and a pair of beaver-like buck teeth that looked like more of a job for the dentist than his dad. His face disappeared under the shadow of his cap. He came to visit his mother in the hospital.

Visiting loved ones stuck in the ICU was always a daunting and overwhelming experience, but Jason refused to show how he felt. He neither smiled nor cried. He did not even look Simon in the eye. Here merely gave him a hi-five and took a seat like everyone else.

Simon put his headphones off.

"Are you alright man?" Jason asked. "Heard you got sick and couldn't come to school today."

"No worries, I'm fit as a fiddle."

"And what exactly happened?"

"Well, my breakfast left my mouth."

Simon leaned forward and mimicked the motions he made while vomiting

Jason nodded. He did not ask the obvious question. If there was a link between Simon's illness and that of Jason's mother.

Mrs. Turner was one of the many hobby sleuths who showed up in recent years who loved looking into cases that the police considered too ... abnormal. When she tried to find information on the Erlking, the killer gave her a cold. A bad cold.

Her curiosity was her downfall. Simon had looked at the Erlking's modus operandi. He had a preference for women – although he thankfully spared children – which fit with how the myths characterized him as a darkly seductive creature. He especially hated investigators. His hideout, his face, his motives – unknown. The Erlking went to any lengths to preserve his anonymity. Mrs. Turner fit his victim profile to a T.

Jason refused to show how he felt about that. He disguised his face behind his iOS phone and skimmed through meaningless notifications.

When Simon looked at the phone, Jason showed him funny pictures of Dennis, the helpless nerd kid who made even Simon feel like a real macho. He then scrolled through the Instagram feeds of popular girls at their school. They engaged in time-killing small talk. Jason asked him if he wanted to ask any of them out, but Simon still couldn't get over the time Lucy rejected him.

This "waiting period" became tedious and Simon stood up. Just what was his father doing for so long? The patient privacy hours were over. Jason had his appointment and he was waiting.

The glass panel door did not give Simon a good view of anyone in the room. His Dad was alone there, along with Turner, and they were both around the corner. But he could see white mist. It was that glamour-thingie Darcy sometimes used and that Simon could see through due to that Geas-thingie. He heard murmurs. Was his father talking to someone? About supernatural stuff?

"She has everything," he heard his father's unmistakable deep voice.

Someone else responded. Simon couldn't hear it. Was he having a phone conversation? No, a phone sounded different.

"No, I mean everything!" his father shot back. "Bubonic plague, strep throat, typhoid fever, measles, COVID, and even diseases only observed in animals. Mrs. Turner received everything at once with no incubation period and lapsed into a spontaneous high-fever coma. Nodular lesions formed in her lungs while her upper respiratory tract is full of ulcerations. She has more germs in her body than blood cells."

How much mana did one even need for a you-get-every-disease-ever spell? Could the Erlking cause a pandemic if he really wanted to? Or not, because of that Veil? All of this was so weird and creepy.

"I cannot heal her," his father continued, answering a question Simon couldn't hear. "The Erlking put her under a curse I cannot break. It is unclear if sympathetic or ritual magic is the source."

Simon wished he understood more. Why couldn't they tell him more? Did they even see him as part of their family?

His father hung up and Simon returned to his seat.

Jason eyed him with a curious glance.

Mrs. Turner would die. That much was sure. Just, how could Simon explain this to Jason? Was there even a right way? Should he sugarcoat it? Be as direct as possible? This sucked so much. This world didn't have any hidden fantasy, only hidden horror.

Dr. Josiah Leaf finally opened the door. Simon's Dad was a tall and thin man covered in more protective gear than ebola doctors. He had the same close-cropped hair and thin eyebrows as his son, but today, they were covered by a translucent visor, a medical mask, and a surgical hood. He wore impermeable coveralls instead of his usual kit and boots extending to the mid-calf.

"Sir," Jason asked. "H-how bad is her disease?"

"I can assure you of one thing. It is most likely not infectious."

Jason looked at his extensive protective gear.

"It is, unfortunately, very severe, however. Her survival chances appear dim. The data on the virulence and pathogenicity of the strain is also unclear."

"I understand, sir. I suppose it would not be wise to speak to her?"

"It is impossible, unfortunately."

"I understand. Have a nice weekend."

"Have a nice weekend."

Jason stood up and walked away.

Which left Simon alone with his father. Oh, noes. The lecture about recklessness couldn't wait for home.

Josiah took his mask and his visor off and showed his son the way to a silent corner. "What were you thinking?" he started. "You could have ended up just like Mrs. Turner!"

"You sound like you suddenly care for me," Simon answered.

"Why would I be angry if I didn't care for your life?"

"You could've just told me that Domains and dragons are real if you didn't want me to sate my curiosity on my own."

"We already told you about our family's legacy, but you refused to believe it! We informed you as much as was necessary, yet you kept thinking we were a family of religious fanatics. This is the greatest insult imaginable!"

"As much as necessary! You always told Darcy more and you even gave her cool powers!"

Josiah raised his voice. "We did not give her 'cool powers'! We gave her responsibility! And responsibility does not mean running into demon nests!"

Simon grunted. His father didn't understand him. He understood nothing. Darcy always got the most attention. She always got the best presents, the most praise for her schoolwork, and now, she was also Daddy's chosen magical heir. How did magical inheritance even work? One of the many questions they kept him in the dark about.

Why was it so bad that Simon wanted to shine just once, too? He was just being curious. He borrowed a book from his Dad, read up on monsters, and thought he could have a fun adventure in Whateley's basement. Although, in all fairness, that didn't go as planned. Maybe his father did have a point.

"I-I think I understand," Simon said.

"Good. Then go back home and think about our conversation!"

Simon nodded. He left the visitor's room and headed for the lift.

He had to face the facts. He wasn't Superman. He wasn't even a main character. He was an NPC. Useless, dependent deadweight. And was going to spend his life surrounded by people better than that.

As he walked out of the building, he received a message on his phone. Marissa.

"Hey. hope ur feeling better. does your dad know anything about you-know-who?"

It took him a while to understand what she meant. The Erlking. She refused to speak his name because she did not believe in the data security of WhatsApp. Simon smiled.

"hey. yeah, I'm feeling better. thanks a metric ton for today. sure, we can talk about he-who-must-not-be-named on Monday."

Maybe there was a way for him to be useful. Not as a hero, but as part of the supporting cast. This time, he wouldn't do anything reckless. Okay, maybe he would, but he'd do it for a good cause and with knowledge from his failed run.

Marissa sent him a new message. "you know any safe place to meet?"

"let's just talk during lunch. also, maybe download signal. easier for that kind of convo."

Darcy surely wouldn't mind if he borrowed a glamour pixie.