Unified Perception Check automatically FAILS!

You have failed to save versus: Excruciating Pain!

It was all Eric could do to choke back a fresh bout of agonized shrieks from a throat raw with abuse, even with his vitality just a hairsbreadth away from 280, leagues beyond almost everyone else, and utterly overwhelmed by a Bronze tier torture device that made every second sheer, unadulterated torment.

The experience of being roasted alive, endless and eternal.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t speak. All he could do was suffer as Sylvis cackled with unholy glee. “You thought you could murder my champions and get away with it, you obnoxious little shit stain of a mongrel elf? Ha! No arrogant sneer on your face now, you pathetic little worm!”

Eric’s could only groan when the gnoll snarled and spat in his eyes before pounding his vulnerable face with gleeful abandon. He was stunned by the bright explosion of fresh pain, his eyes watering as blood spurt from a nose far less mangled than it should have been with a 60 Strength Contender pounding his face in, but it was enough.

Enough for him to make out Sylvis’s furious, twisted countenance, an odd mixture of orc, ogre, and jackal, now glaring at him like a wolf eager to rip his face right off, rancid breath washing over him. An awful stench mixing with the reek of Eric’s own blood and fear sweat, as well as the sulfur-like stink of gunpowder mixing with the musk of goblins that solidified the final sane thoughts Eric had had before his agony had become a torment without end.

Yet by some odd miracle, Sylvis’s furious sucker punch to Eric’s nose had jolted him free of that pain.

Long enough to clearly make out his enemies’ features, and the low-pitched voices of the pair of goblins that were of course armed with firearms of some sort, and Eric had time only for the tiniest of bitter smiles. Because the oaths absolutely prohibiting the Blaster rifles he had surrendered from ever being used against elves or the Sylvan Alliance again mentioned nothing about gunpowder. And assuming the hit squad joining them had the right perks… Eric might be having a very bad day indeed. Or, looked at another way, a blessed end to the agony suddenly smashing through him full force like a tidal wave of white hot magma searing every fiber of his being. Yet instead of the merciful death any hapless mortal would have experienced in just a split second, he was forced to endure torment without end.

“You think we’re going to let you off easy? Hell no, you little shit!” Sylvis screamed, this time socking Eric’s teeth as hard as he could, a fresh jolt of pain once again snapping Eric into focus even as the gnoll paled and groaned, cradling his own hand as the goblins behind him cackled, clearly having hurt himself worse than he had his target, and it was all Eric could do not to cry out as he was jolted free of hellish flames for a shocking jolt so much less painful that it was almost a pleasure.

All at once, flashes of countless self tube videos on acupuncture and pain management that he had only been watching in passing yet somehow his improved Scholarship recalled with such exquisite, desperate clarity, flashed through his mind.

How dentists would sometimes pinch the flesh between thumb and forefinger, or acupuncturists would vibrate a needle very fast at a certain pressure point while individuals were undergoing surgery in a handful of countries. Because pain was exquisite and extreme, but nerves, ultimately, were easy to fool. You could overwhelm them with competing stimuli. And as absurd as it was to think he had any chance of disrupting pain signals being triggered by a Bronze tier torture device… desperation demanded he at least TRY! Because the only thing worse than the agony he was forced to endure was having no way to fight against it.

Which meant that this time when he found himself sinking into the vat of superheated iron once more, every nerve ending being endlessly fried for an eternity, he was madly squeezing the flesh between thumb and forefinger, which did absolutely nothing to mitigate the shrieking torment he felt.

So he squeezed harder and harder. As he sunk into the leather seat he was slumped over, the velimobile vibrating as it raced across unseen terrain. Desperate fingers switching from the skin to grinding the bones of his right hand in pulsing throbs that wasnothing compared to the lives of sixty thousand children who had been moments away from experiencing the very agony he was now forced to endure before their souls would have been bound to tainted steel for all time.

Yet he didn’t feel anything but the collar’s hideous torments, no matter how desperate his attempts to distract himself with stimuli surges.

Not until he squeezed so hard that his joints were suffering hairline fractures did he feel anything at all.

And only when he timed those squeezes to the arcane pulses he could now pick up with such exquisite clarity from his collar, was he actually able to crest the pain and think once more.

It was still a torment.

As if he had lifted his searing, scalded body covered with hideous burns upon a surfboard of thorns, riding it atop of a wave of liquid iron for all he was worth, knowing that there was absolutely no reason for his twisted grimace, that he had never suffered such hideous pain in all his life… but at least HE was now in control of the tiniest portion of that pain.

Enough to channel his Unified Restoration to begin repairing his increasingly damaged organs once more, no longer coughing pink frothy blood with every wheezing exhale.

Enough to finally begin probing the source of his excruciating agony, desperate to understand the source of his pain, even as he finally registered the voices washing over him.

“You know the plan, Sylvis.”

The voice was cool, professional. The farthest thing from the typical goblin. A voice that would have been chilling, in any other time or place.

“Fuck the plan. After what this abomination did to my champions? Fuck him! This little bitch dared to threaten my people. He dared to threaten me!”

“He did. And you now have that collar on max. It’s a Bronze Tier torture device, Sylvis. The only difference between you having your fun right now and dipping that fool of a boy in liquid metal is that he’s forced to live a hell of a lot longer this way.”

“The fucker deserves it!”

“No one’s saying he doesn’t, Sylvis. Torture the little fucker as much as you like. Just so long as you know we’re not taking him to New York city.”

Eric could sense the Gnoll champion’s glare, the bitter hate radiating off of him. The silence dragged on for long moments as Eric frantically tore at the skin around his collar. Tore until blood began to flow as his enemies laughed in bitter amusement.

“Look at that fool. Gouging his own neck like a wild animal, frantic to tear it off!” Snorted the other goblin present.

Even Sylvis chuckled coldly, before furious clawed fingers tore out Eric’s left eye, eliciting shrieks of agony from pain that was now just as bad as the collar.

“There’s no escape for you, little shit! We’re going to make you suffer, and then were going to get rid of you for good!”

And even with one eye squeezed tightly shut, his infravision was still supernaturally exquisite. Heat perception for him had involved to incorporate both his eyes and his skin. Which meant that he couldn’t help but see the gnoll devouring his eye with such obvious twisted relish.

He curled up in a shrieking ball, animal instincts momentarily getting the best of him as he tried to flee like any wounded animal… but there was nowhere to go.

Only blinding white pain stunning him with his intensity, or so he feigned, as he collapsed in a piteous heap as Sylvis twisted yet more controls with savage delight while Eric desperately rubbed and jerked his collar against his open wounds.

Coating it in blood.

Blood that soon covered the collar in its entirety.

Blood that then began to probe and explore the collar, as if a sentient thing, before seeping through the razor-thin mithril slits from which death on steel springs would soon spring forth, to cleave Eric’s neck in twain. With the single press of a button.

Or, as Eric soon found out, no button at all.

“Feel better?” Asked the goblin who was clearly running the show.

Sylvis snorted. “Yeah, you know what? I think I do. And that little brat looks a lot better with that gaping socket! Too bad he’ll never have a chance to heal it up.”

“So, we’re agreed on the next step of our plan?”

Sylvis chuckled coldly. “Yeah. We’re the epitome of kind-hearted souls. Once he’s paid his dues in pain… he’s free to go.”

“And if he fled like a fool before you could even take off the collar properly, that’s on him,” snickered the second goblin.

“Especially if that fool actually gets it in his head to jump into a Delve like the idiot he is with the collar still around his neck!” Sylvis finished, all three of them erupting in cold laughter as Eric swallowed a desperate shriek, so startled by the words as he did his best to feel out the mithril collar’s insides that he had momentarily slowed the grinding pulse with which he squeezed and tormented his fingers, only to pay a fresh price in agony that made Sylvis tearing out his eye a love tap in comparison.

He spent long panicked moments swallowing his whimpers as he sought to control the roaring tidal wave of agony… soothing it to waves he could once more crest as he desperately sought to understand the riddle of the collar, now painfully aware that he was rapidly running out of time.

Unified Perception Check: Success! Blood Mastery & Essence Infused blood successfully counters Agony’s distraction.

You have successfully mapped out: Bronze Tier Pain Collar!

In an almost dizzying flash, he understood the blueprint of his demise. The torture instrument that could so easily spell his end. Feeling out the exquisitely sharp and impossibly thin, near monofilament double beveled mithril blades that could sheer so easily through flesh or steel like butter. All four five-inch-long razor thin blades were kept under constant pressure, thanks to a high tensile steel spring that was the only reason that the mithril collar was as thick as it was. Almost as much tension as a hand crossbow, Eric was chilled to sense, complete with an all too easy to set off trigger.

Yet he found that he couldn’t make out the details of the highly complex arcane circuit boards also within the mithril case. Not until he had saturated every circuit and board with his blood. Though he dare not try to claim the contents directly, lest it overwhelm him and steel a year or so of his life as he sought to Soul Bind it much like he had a certain plasma blaster, his essence-infused blood was still able to roughly piece together what they did.

One was a Bronze-tier mana suppression chip. For so long as Eric was bound by that collar, he was helpless to cast any spell, or use any of his runic arts, dependent upon both Magic and Spiritual energy as they were.

The second, of course, was the pain chip, which Eric sensed to his horror was a true Bronze-tier masterwork of torment, and truly had no place on this world, so he was not surprised at all to find it in the possession of his most malevolent foes.

But what filled Eric with despair almost the equal of the bitter cold now permeating the interior of the velimobile, to the point that even the assassins and Sylvis were cursing about the sudden frigid bite to the air, was the nature of the trigger, when he dared quest deeper than he should have with Unified Perception and the gifts of his blood.

Perception check made! You sense just one of the integrated traps and sensors within this trigger mechanism. Attempting to interfere with this mechanism will instantly cut off the signal and release the blade!

Finesse check made! You manage NOT to jolt the trap into early release!

A cold sweat the equal of his pain suddenly washed over Eric.

Because the catalyst for all four of the triggers wasn’t the pulsation of any signal. Rather, it was abruptly cutting off the signal between slave and master nodes.

In other words, there would be absolutely no escape for Eric. If he dared step out of range of his new master’s control module, or otherwise interfered with its signal, the blades would automatically be released.

And Eric knew damn well that as things stood, he didn’t have a chance in hell of neutralizing any of those triggers.

The fact that the lock itself was of mithril, carefully warded, and was utterly beyond Eric’s ability even to saturate with his blood was just icing on the cake.

He choked back a cry as he desperately sought to control his torment, and the tears leaking from his eyes.

Because not even the distraction of burning alive could detract from the horror of knowing that he was well and truly fucked, no matter what he did.

“Hupsu, why the hell is it so cold?”

The lead Goblin snorted. “How the fuck should I know, Silvis? We’re approaching your territory, aren’t we?”

“Hardly my territory as far as the System is concerned. We’re still in the wilds. If it weren’t for this path that we trailblazed months ago well outside the deepwoods on the very edge of Orange Tier territory, there’d be no way we could even make this passage!”

The second goblin hissed. “Boss, I’m seeing frost everywhere. And Leik’s turning to a fucking popsicle, manning the gun out there. Something’s seriously off.”

Eric could sense the sudden tension between the trio but forced himself to tune them out once more, all his focus on the deadly puzzle before him, and the sudden sense that things were even worse than they had been, just minutes ago.

It wasn’t just the collar from hell, or the sudden sick certainty that when this velimobile finally stopped, it would be at Eric’s ultimate destination, as far as they were concerned. It was the sudden sick certainty that the forest going white with frost that Infravision made clear was now turning the entire area to a frozen popsicle.

The frigid taste to the air was like the taste of a howling winter storm. Even if the only breeze was the veli racing along the plains. Still, the cold chill seeping into even his tormented bones was somehow far more real and visceral than even the coldest winter’s night, shivering in soaking wet clothes and at dire risk of exposure that he had suffered a time or two in his often foolish life. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced before. And it was the farthest thing from the pristine white snow favored by the woman who had stroked his ego with the desperate need of his sister and an entire faction counting on his noble, idiotic sacrifices, just hours ago.

No.

There was no trace of a mother’s love in the horrific bite to this cold.

It was something older.

Darker.

Now, more than ever before, Eric felt like he was running out of time.

He choked back his frustration, made so much worse with the agony still jolting his senses.

In a feat of panicked desperation, he visualized turning the pain into a brilliant white ball of light, throbbing in time with his tormented nerves, throbbing at a matching pace to the desperate pulsing bone cracking squeezes he gave his own mutilated hands.

Then he did his best to visualize putting it all into a box of bitter mithril and frozen tears.

At first, the furious blinding ball of light wouldn’t budge. Not until he squeezed tight to the essence of Dominion and DEMANDED that it obey.

His eyes widened in awed disbelief when he actually sensed that brilliant ball of agony turned to light now stubbornly making its way to his visualized lock box. The moment he coaxed it inside, he visualized slamming it shut TIGHT before sealing it with a series of blood runes, including one he had never seen before this day, yet he now understood every bold stroke and bitter sweep of the crimson etching with such hideous intimacy as he whispered the words in his mind that the collar could do nothing to stop. And then, as sudden as it had hit… the pain was muted to the tiniest fraction of what it had been before.

Still enough to have rendered the Eric of a year ago crippled with agonized cramps.

Now just the tiniest fraction of what it had been.

Of course, there were limits. The pain was mitigated, and it would hold only for so long as he could focus. But sure as hell he had never focused on anything more than holding a clenched mental fists around the words that were sparing him from absolute trment.

“Debilito dicio cruciatus unus attentio!”

Willpower check: Success! You have successfully battled and overcome Bronze Tier torments to exercise your gifts in ways few ever had, using methods that fewer still would ever dare!

You have successfully learned the Lesser rune: TORMENT!

You have managed to learn the essence of a word that not even Bronze Contenders are comfortable etching into their souls. While formulating a runic chant under the most extreme environments!

For pushing yourself beyond mortal limits, you’ve forged your skills in the ultimate crucible of pain! Runic Lore is now Rank 27.

Congratulations! Willpower is now 77 as you thrive in environments where most would crumble! It’s a miracle you’re still going. Anyone else would have long since absorbed the essence of DESPAIR as well!

You have earned a Bonus Perk: Perilous Focus! You now have a bonus to all skill checks while suffering even the most hideous of torments.

Good luck getting a good night’s sleep anytime soon, assuming you even live long enough to do so!

Eric wanted to shout for joy, tears coming to his eyes as he sobbed aloud, though for the first time in the endless hour of his torments it wasn’t in agony but relief.

And he counted it the greatest of mercies that his enemies were so preoccupied by their own concerns that they paid him no mind beyond Sylvis’s vindictive kick, before shouting at the driver once more.

“This frost is unnatural!” Sylvis screamed.

“Of course it is,” Hupsu snapped. “It tastes of ancient magics and curses. None of us are fools. We all know what we must do. The sooner, the better!”

Eric could suddenly sense three pairs of eyes glaring down at him as he groaned and thrashed, allowing himself to sob uncontrollably, for all that he was venting as much his emotional stress and dread as the far more muted physical pain.

Only to get a fresh kick in the crotch for his trouble.

He didn’t have to feign curdling up in a ball with a fresh groan.

“Feel better?” Hupsu sad acidly.

“Damn right I do,” Sylvis said with a cold snort. “Alright. So we’re going to dump this dipshit off and let him ‘adventure’ with a clean slate. Turns out I know just the spot to do this.”

“No need to get cute, Sylvis. Even your pathetic White territory delves will do.”

Silvis snorted. “Sure. But why settle for eliminating one pawn when we can get rid of another half dozen?”

The cabin grew quiet, save for Eric’s whimpers as he desperately strove for the key to unlocking the puzzle of the collar that his life depended upon him solving.

“Explain.”

“Well, it just so happens that New York abuts an orange tier territory full of absolutely perfect prey for target practice! They’re massive, slow moving, turtle like abominations with impossibly thick shells that nothing short of artillery fire can get through. Which isn’t doing jack shit for our wizards and champions, but as you can no doubt guess, it’s absolutely perfect for giving our city’s gunners a chance to level up! Even with only getting 15% of baseline experience, since it’s their class, it stil beats the hell out of nothing, and since the turtle abominations are slow as fuck, and tend to be piss poor at dealing with trenches, moats and earthworks, they’re absolutely perfect for leveling up our defenses!”

This actually earned an approving snort from Hupsu. “Not a bad move. Hell, it’s the smartest thing I’ve heard from you since you got goaded into sacrificing five of your best to the Roundear fool writhing and sobbing at your feet.”

Words that of course earned a groaning Eric a fresh series of frustrated kicks and a cracked rib as Eric desperately searched for any escape from the doom he knew was fast approaching.

“Damn little shit, there’s no way he should have had access to those revenant abominations!” Sylvis then chuckled coldly. “Though we’ll be taking care of that, soon enough. Along with a band of upstart little shits who actually think we’ll permit them to rank up in an orange tier dungeon without swearing oaths to serve us!”

“Really? You’ve actually managed to foster a band of humans capable of daring an Orange tier rift, and were too stupid to get them to sign anything at all?”

“It’s not that simple!” Sylvis hissed. “Arrangements were made pre-system with a handful of Terrans that had been worth cultivating alliances with. Thanks to them, the conquest of New York was almost bloodless, assuring us tens of thousands of useful slaves, and we made a fortune in coins selling so many of them to other factions, including your own.”

“Fair enough,” Hupsu allowed. “So what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that those humans, at least a few of whom were gamers before waking up to what really mattered in their lives, politics and power, that they actually had the savvy to bargain for their children’s futures just as much as securing their own place in the new world order. That included making sure their children had access to a clean Tier 1 pods and no less than three Advance tier paths to power, in addition to helping them set up Guilds. Which means we actually have fair number of Advanced classers in New York. And no, Hupsu, none of us are fools! Everyone delving in our territory is a part of our mutual defense pact. If anyone attacks, they’re honor bound to help defend for so long as they’re domiciled in new York!”

“I know Greed was worried about claiming New York when the incursion started,” said the second goblin thoughtfully. “Out of all the cities that might put up a successful revolt against the new world order, New York was rated a grave threat. So perhaps you allowing access to a Tier 1 pod to ruling class progeny was an acceptable concession. Of course, if they actually get strong enough to start clearing Orange-tier territories or delves before the true elites can arrive with the second wave, then that will be most displeasing to our masters, Sylvis.”

Silvis gave a frustrated sigh. “I know! And those damned kids refuse to even speak to our agents, no matter how enticing are the offers we make. All the slaves, women, drugs and privileges they could want for the tiniest of oaths that they refuse to give! The problem is that we’re also oathbound not to strike at them. Though most are smart enough to know their place, there are a few guilds that are getting uppity, just because they’ve found a way to crack an orange tier delve that should be spelling their death as much as it would us!”

Sylvis glared out at the scenery, showcasing snow covered trees long before the first frost should have hit. “Thanks to the slow moving turtles occupying the territory that lack the violent homicidal temperament so common to most wildlife, New York’s elites can explore Orange-tier terrain as freely as they like, gathering far too many resources that the savviest alchemists and smiths among them are already learning how to use with no help from us, with far too little to worry about! Which means that their elites are now able to equip themselves with armor and potion actually suitable to Orange tier delves! Even if it costs them a fortune to produce, a few of them have unlocked secrets they have no business knowing, and the guilds keep their smiths and alchemists locked safe and tight! Refusing to let our own faction entice them into exclusive contracts… or put them out of business altogether.”

Hupsu snorted. “Sounds like you managed to play the fool yet again, Sylvis.”

“Hardly, There’s a Goblin faction right here in New York, complete with Seers! They didn’t bat an eye with the deals we made securing New York, or predict that the boldest among them would be able to successfully explore the terrain and find resources they’d never be allowed to so much as look at, anywhere else! And how do you not know all this yourself?”

Hupsu chuckled. “You act like we’re all one big brotherhood. As united as we might be in defending our operations from outsiders, do you really think the Snicklit tribe gives a fuck about what those idiots in New York are doing? As long as Greed’s happy with his cut as the head of the Bloodtear syndicate, that’s all that matters. We got better things to do than worry about the details. As long as they keep bringing in the gold, they get to play whatever games they want in New York. The minute they stop paying us our cut of the action, Greed will happily have them all… ‘replaced.’”

The pair of goblins chortled coldly at that, Sylvis yipping right along with them.

“Yeah, just like we’d like to ‘replace’ a handful of uppity humans that are getting far too close to level fifty for our seer friend’s comfort. Those assholes might actually be a threat before too long!”

The veli cabin grew oddly silent.

“You have delvers near level fifty, and they haven’t sworn themselves to our cause?”

“Yes!” Sylvis hissed. “Those bastards are smirking at us behind our backs, I know it, no matter how polite and respectful they pretend to be! Thinking they’ve found the secret to safely delving. Thinking we’re too stupid to understand the significance of the delve type they dare. The rewards are actually decent, there’s no goblin taint at all beyond the White tiers... and there are no swarms at all. At the rate they’re going, they’ll continue to exploit it’s one weakness indefinitely!”

Hupsu’s voice went cold. “That makes no sense. It’s at least a level 60 Delve, and it’s a maze. They should be lost the second they enter unless they have a Navigator class or actually take out the Boss! The only reason why the monster density is so low in mazes is because the System registers it all as one giant room!”

Silvis chortled. “It’s a puzzle that’s been a thorn in our side, only now we know the answer, the only answer there could be!”

“And that is?”

“They’re entering the dungeon as a broken party!”

Hupsu chuckled. “That’s actually pretty damned clever. All they need is one or two still outside, and it locks the maze in its present configuration. If they swap out party members which is what they must be doing, they could conceivably clear it at whatever pace they like, if they bother clearing it out at all.”

“They found a clever solution,” Sylvis conceded with a snarl. “A solution my elites will be happy to take over, once those bastards suffer a tragic accident!”

It was then that he condescended to clap a still groaning Eric’s shuddering form. “And I think we have the solution right here. For it won’t be us who enters the dungeon, but this foolish boy, knowing that if he doesn’t get out our sight within twenty seconds of us stopping the veli, we press the button!”

“Which means they all get lost in the maze together, right before this asshole loses his head. Two targets down with a single bullet that no one can pin on you.” Hupsu chuckled coldly. “I like it.”

Sylvis chortled. “Me too.”

A groaning Eric found himself forcefully yanked to his feet, gazing bleary eyed into the spite-filled features of the gnoll before them, his maw opened wide in a killer’s smile. “Have you enjoyed the last two hours of your life, you pustulent little sore? Savored our time together, no?”

He chortled happily as Eric groaned, displaying agony that was no act, only now registering with Silvis’s switch back to English that his tormentors had been speaking in a galactic dialect that Eric somehow doubted his enemies would be teaching Terrans any time soon.

Silvis’s voice heightened in forced levity. “Well it just so happens that I’m feeling… generous, today, human. Generous enough that I will perhaps forgive your numerous unforgivable transgressions against me and mine.” His lips stretched in a feral smile. “There is, of course, a catch. A price that must be paid, beyond even the delicious torment I spent far too few hours inflicting upon you. You do know that, don’t you, halfblood?”

Eric didn’t bother responding save to sob with very real pain, allowing himself to feel just a fraction of the agony he had suppressed, even as his mind frantically searched for a solution to his imminent peril, realizing they were rapidly coming to the end.

“We’re going to let you free! You’re a clever little monkey, aren’t you?” Sylvis chuckled coldly. “Clever enough to survive an orange tier dungeon all by yourself! So here’s the deal, human. We’re going to drop you off very, very soon. You’ll find the entrance to a delve just feet away! It’s up to you whether or not you wish to enter. But what I will say is that I’ll be pushing the button that will have your collar going snip snip on the count of ten, the moment we stop.” His feral grin hardened into a snarl. “Do you understand, worm? You have to the count of ten to live and do whatever the hell you want. If you think you can survive unarmed and naked in a delve? We invite you to do so. Or you can just stand there like a terrified fool and let us put you out of your misery, but then no one can say that it was murder. Because we warned you! And you will have CHOSEN to stay!”

He shared a cruel look with the coldly chuckling hit squad. “I’d say that pretty much amounts to suicide, don’t you?”

The goblins gleefully nodded. “Indeed. If he refuses to jump to a pocket realm away from your signal… if he chooses to stay, knowing what awaits… it is indeed suicide, and no blame can be put at our feet,” Leik, the smaller of the pair of goblins said with a pleased squeal, patting the bullpup assault rifle radiating arcane energy and malice he held so casually in his hands.

“But first, we strip him bear of all those cute Sylvan toys,” Sylvis chortled.

Hupsu furrowed his brow, shaking his head. “Better off if we don’t. It’s more believable if he thought he could flee with his armor and sword still on him. Far less likely that even he would be stupid enough to dare an Orange-tier delve with absolutely nothing,” he said in their stilted galactic dialect once more.

To which Sylvis snarled, backhanded a groaning Eric who crumpled while his hands darted with inhuman speed, and forcefully tore off Eric’s silvered mail hauberk and sword, far easier to remove since the belt securing those prizes was gone as if it had never been.

Silver smirked down at a writhing Eric who pulled his focus away from his enemies as he desperately perused the mithril collar one more time. Realizing how fruitless it was to attempt to claim collar or unaligned mithril blades, or dare interfere with four separate arcane triggers, one attached to each mithril blade.

Even one fuckup meant he was as good as dead.

And that was when his eyes opened wide as he finally understood the significance of the device’s construction, sensing at last the one weakness in the design.

The entire reason it was as large as it was.

Four stainless steel springs putting a hell of a lot of tension on those mithril razor blades.

And without any magical components or wards at all. Because Eric could cast no arcane magics within, the mithril shell protected it completely, and only a fool would compromise tensile strength and spring trying to get cute, carving sigils on winding steel.

Winding steel loops that were now utterly surrounded by Eric’s blood.

Blood he could make any temperature he wanted.

Heart racing with desperate hope, Eric took a steadying breath and began making use of an Essence Skill he had neglected for far too long.

You are attempting to use Heat Surge on your own blood!

You enjoy positive modifiers for arcane link & perfect proximity (bound by blood!)

Critical Success!

You have successfully increased the temperature of your blood!

Eric reigned in his desperation, alarm bells ringing in his head even as the gnoll engaged in another shouting match with the goblins as they slowed to a stop, Eric having no idea why, just desperate to make use of the time he had.

But more than anything else… hedesperate not to play the fool. Alarm bells were going off his head when he nearly scorched the hyper-sensitive trigger chips.

Chips that were already covered in his blood, so it was nothing to designate that coating as being no more than 90 degrees Fahrenheit. All the chips as being 90 degrees, just in case. In fact, everything save the springs he kept at that temperature.

The springs, however, he was determined to heat up just as much as he could.

As the veli continued to slow down, Eric heated the springs up with ever greater abandon.

4 Steel springs have been heated to 1000 degrees F!

He kept it slow and steady, desperate to do nothing to trigger his collar, or cause his captors even the smallest tingle of alarm. Because no matter his vaunted stats, a single swipe of a certain button, and Eric was as good as dead.

4 Steel springs have been successfully heated to 1500 degrees F!

At that moment the veli hovered to a stop, and a shivering Eric found the world spinning, his one intact eye squinting in bright light as the crisp scents of a blisteringly cold winter’s day washed over him. He gasped with an agonized curse when he was casually tossed in a jumbled heap into a pile of stratchy grass. So cold that the grass blades shattered like glass that would have pierced him to gruesome effect, had he been a classless mortal, so cold the ground had become.

Eric groaned, acting as disoriented as he could, desperate to buy even a second’s pity even as he frantically used his interface to ping exactly where he was according to his tactical interface map… surprised to find himself in a territory adjoining the ones holding New York City, and just a short distance away from an actual delve.

“I give you your freedom, human!” Sylvis said with a too wide smile as the chilly wind blew the fur on his skin. He held up the crystal device that made Eric’s skin crawl with visceral horror.

“And I’m giving you till the count of ten before I press this button!”

Eric swallowed, desperate to buy more time. “But your faction swore not to kill me, or you risk my mother’s wrath!”

Silvis chuckled while Eric desperately poured on the heat to the steel springs that could so easily kill him.

“Oh but I’m not killing you. I’m letting you know exactly what will happen if you don’t MOVE boy! So you sticking around is tantamount to suicide, and I refuse to take any responsibility for a suicide’s demise,” he said with a grin, clawed fingers jabbing for the button that sent Eric crying out despite himself, earning fresh peels of laughter from Silves, who’s mockery turned to a snarl.

“Ten!”

Eric swallowed, seeing nothing but murderous fury in three… no four pairs of eyes. The outside gunner, shivering in the icy wind, was also glaring with hate Eric’s way, and not hesitating to point the mounted gun at him.

“Nine!”

Eric knew there was no point in playing at any game. He knew where the delve was, and if they thought it was odd that he instantly sensed it, well, his life was on the line.

“Eight!” He ran for all he was worth, before his eyes widened with dismay at the sudden fierce intensity of the cold gust suddenly overwhelming him… the very land seeming to stretch out like in a nightmare, his feet growing clumsy in the sudden bitter cold.

“Seven!”

The sound of distant horns could be heard braying in the distance.

Eric cursed desperately under his breath, coming out in vast white plumes, so cold it had suddenly become, the ice shattering against his sylvan boots which his greedy, petty enemy hadn’t seen fit to remove, as he raced for all he was worth.

“Six!” The air somehow grew colder… impossibly cold, and how horrifying it was to make absolutely no progress at all as he raced across the ground, feeling his skin turn blue, now forced to fight so hard against the bitter sharp cold so deep that he suddenly found it an impossible challenge heating up the metal springs any more than he already had.

“Five!”

“It’s too cold, we need to go!” Hupsu shouted.

“The veli won’t start!” Leik’s measured voice filled with sudden unexpected panic. “Master, there’s no way it should be this cold. This isn’t natural!”

Their words grew tinny and faint as the icy breeze became a howling gale, bitter ice and freezing rain slamming against Eric’s dizzy frame as he raced for the rift with desperate speed while simultaneously holding tight to his chant to control his own torment even as he desperately fought to raise the temperature of the springs. It had become near impossible feat, it seemed, with the temperature getting so damned close to supernatural cold that not even 27 Elemental Resistance, 47 Physical resistance, or 25 health regen a second could keep up with the horrific freezing cold now searing his lungs.

And if Silvis’s horrid scream behind him, so very far behind him, wasn’t enough of a clue that he was running out of time… the cold laughter Eric could hear in the howling wind, along with the mournful cry of trumpets singing the dirge of their prey, certainly was.

The hideous sense of betrayal Eric now felt utterly sickened him, so many things suddenly clicking into place at once.

He had hoped, prayed, his momentary private counsel with Morlekai and Alice had been nothing but prudence. An unnecessary contingency, even a show of mercy to his prudish elven kin, as he deliberately claimed and kept every prize he had soul-bound with flesh and blood.

As well as learning the trick to severe all links to himself and the prizes he somehow just knew he would have to surrender, such as the blaster the smirking Greed had gotten in the end. Because of course he had.

Whereas Eric…

A single bone bow and a tiny handful of arrows, armor of flesh and scales soaked in his blood and a leather sling Eric knew was far more than simple leather. All of it forged of flesh, sinew, and blood. And all of it, according to Grim himself, able to slide under perceptions that not even a Sage would find easy to pierce.

His true prizes of mithril he had left behind, choosing to store away several months worth of water, rations, and basic survival supplies instead.

Because while Mithril was priceless and would be an unrecoverable loss, should his enemies claim it, it would cost very little should his enemies discover the survival goods he had in storage… and it could save his life if he was fleeing into unknown territory for his life. much as he was at that very moment.

In the end, he had had absolutely no idea what to expect, choosing to leave his most priceless treasures in the hands of a trio of girls that he had thought genuinely liked him.

Maybe even dared to hope would surrender it all back, of their own volition, should he actually make it back from the negotiations in one piece.

What a fool he had been.

Thinking with his small head, and daring to forget in the throws infatuation who all of those adoring girls ultimately served. And ironically enough, the faction heads and opposing contenders who had wanted him dead had seemed completely unaware of any possibility of an personal Extra Dimensional Storage Space. Shockingly, no one had bothered to check his person at all, save for a certain necromantic ring Morlekai had already switched out. Hell, he could have had a dozen Storage Rings on his toes, or been hiding storage treasures casually in the pockets of his bluejeans, which his enemies hadn’t even bothered claiming!

Sword, bow, and silvered mail? The steel helm that had been on his head? Absolutely. But he could have kept so many treasures on him, if only he had known.

All this flashed through his mind as he castigated himself even while running through nightmare, knowing the end was neigh.

Because even here, at the frigid end of his life, he was desperate to avoid the thoughts that wanted to scream inside his head.

How much it chilled him, recalling his mother’s granite stare as he had been collard, chained, and taken away.

The sad, sad look in his lost sister’s eyes before he jumped back through the trapped portal, having turned a pretext for slaughter into a negotiation that had netted him the books so necessary for his future cultivation academy, having played his would be killers like a harp, enticed with future promises in return for priceless boons in the here and now.

Boons now in the hands of women he had thought might make wonderful headmasters one day, without fully considering the significance of the strings that so tightly bound them to causes that had nothing to do with him.

He choked back a bitter chuckle, still not quite sure how he had gone from a true Contender with a fortune in wealth, power, and an entire army at his beck and call, perhaps the most powerful army in this corner of the world, to a boy collared and corralled with a Bronze tier pain collar around his neck.

Like a pig presented for slaughter.

Or a goat for sacrifice.

Eric wanted to cry against the horror of it all, refusing even now to believe that his mother who he loved, had always loved with every fiber of his being, the woman who had raised him, nurtured him, and pushed him, yes, certainly, but it had only made him stronger. Deadlier. Able to survive whatever horrors the world threw his way...

Except for winters’ most bitter storms making the world a sheet of icy cold. A cold so utter and complete that his Unified Perception skill made it clear that the massive stegosaurusian thoropods and the giant ferns they fed upon had all been frozen into icicles.

Icicles!

Level 60 icicles, so bitter cold it had become. And he suspected it was only because Fire was his essence and spiritual energy filled his veins, Wood-stoked-Fire and Wind like bellows even now forcing heat into his meridians and through his lower Dantian, warming his entire body like central heating as he wheezed for breath, spat blood that instantly froze and strove with every furious iota of his being to HEATING THAT DAMNED STEEL UP!

Because he knew without a shadow of a doubt even as gnoll contender and goblin assassins let out piteous wales, even as he passed a pair of youths before the crackling obsidian portal he knew was both his doom and his salvation… youths who had been hidden so well before they were frozen to crystalline ice, gazing at the world with glassy eyes wide with the wonder of death…

Seeing all that as he stumbled to a stop before the gate entrance…

He finally accepted the bitter truth of it all.

This was indeed a High Hunt…

And the hunter had come for him.

“I Smell You, Lastblood.”

The words sent shivers of horripilation racing down Eric’s spine.

He knew better than to turn around, even as he felt death’s presence upon his back.

Knew that the moment he met the gaze of whatever stalked him, it was all over.

Because he could feel it.

Even now, as he desperately ripped the cut on his neck and covered the entire collar with his blood, so panicked that he no longer cared about restriction, setting is ALL as hot as he could…. Sensing sensor beginning to flare wildly, restraints coming undone and only now, at this very moment, did the white hot metal soften.

Soften so much that when a dying Sylvis pressed the button, Eric screamed as mithril slid into his flesh…

But only half an inch deep. His own thick blood saturating the collar had gripped the grooves in the metal, slowing it down, for all that pink frothy blood still spurted from the wound.

And the other three mithril blades didn’t even jolt out of their sheets.

“I Hear You, Lastblood!”

Eric’s eyes jolted wide in panic. Somehow knowing, like doom itself, that the arcane connection had just grown stronger.

Stronger between hunter and sacrifice,

Predator and Prey.

Desperately, he looked at the gate. Knowing just how perilous Orange tier delves were. And here he was, with a collar of vorpal death loose against his throat, and if he even jostled… if those blades jiggled out and cut any deeper…

Blood Mastery Lesser Healing in effect. You have stabilized incision sight!

Because that’s what it was. A gaping half inch deep, four inch wide gash. And only thanks to impossible vitality, Blood Mastery, and Unified Restoration was he even able to function, his essences and necromantic arts all that was keeping his blood from spurting everywhere in a bright red frothy mess.

He counted it a small loss when the finger he jabbed between mithril edge and gouged neck was effortlessly sliced through as the blade was jostled just enough to slide back into its sheath… Eric then desperately using blood mastery to grip the impossibly smooth surfaces of the blades and HOLD them in place. Hold them against inertia and jostling just long enough to touch the gate and DEMAND it let him through, no matter a broken party link momentarily blocking him from entrance.

It was no match to stop a Contender Infused with the essence of Dominion from forcing his way through.

Even as he heard a snap and a distant scream, sensing a Maze too long constrained spinning itself into the most unorthodox configuration, and Eric desperately stepped through, heart pounding in absolute panic, sensing so clearly the horror of Old Man Frost’s endlessly long claws reaching out to touch his back and claim his soul for all time...

Winter’s sacrifice, so that the seasons would renew once more.

A final terrible truth he could taste, along with death’s promise...

And then he was through.