“Well, fuck, homeboy,” Monty said as I finished my story. “That’s some shit, ain’t it?”

“I’ll say,” I breathed. I’d given the brief version, which took about an hour to walk through. But I’d covered the major bits—arriving in Regaia, the curly-haired woman, the Crypt, Rexen, the fight with Crowmoon, the pylons—all the way up to now.

Monty regarded me soberly now, clearly considering something.

“What?” I demanded. “Just spit it out, Monty; you’re gonna give me an ulcer if you keep staring like that.”

Monty scratched his head, a grave expression on his face that was quite a departure from his usual roguish charm. “Alright, alright,” he grumbled, pacing back and forth. “I’m just tryna figure out how to tell ya some shit that might ruin your whole goddamn day.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Ruin my day? Motherfucker, I’ve been tossed around by a reanimated corpse, beaten to shit by a macho fuckin’ ex-con, and fought off a horde of fire spiders. I think I can handle it.”

Monty chuckled, the sound lacking its usual carefree lightness.

“Well, ain’t you the tough little cuss? Alright, then.”

He took a deep breath, his face hardening into a grim mask.

“About these pylons . . . “

The sudden change in his demeanor unsettled me.

“Yeah, what about them?” I asked.

“I know where the one in Machus City is.”

I blinked at him, surprised.

“You do? Well, shit, Monty, that’s great news.”

He nodded.

“Naw. That’s the thing. It’s not gonna be as simple as walking up to it and smashing it like goddamn . . . Ape Escape. It’s buried deep beneath the lighthouse on the shore. And it ain’t just any old relic. This lighthouse, it’s an ancestral artifact. Been there since way before any of us were a twinkle in our daddies’ eyes.”

I frowned.

“And that means . . .”

“That means,” Monty continued, “that some dumbasses thousands of years ago thought it was a good idea to put the thing down there to protect the city. And they ain’t about to let some outsider waltz in and wreck their sacred relic. Getting to it . . . well, it’s going to be a hell of a time.”

Before I could respond, Virgil stepped forward.

“I can help,” he offered. “I know the city; I know the lighthouse. I can scout ahead, find an easier path.”

I regarded him with a mix of surprise and gratitude.

“You’d do that?”

“Beats sitting around here, waitin’ for Jes and Frida to show their mugs.”

“Uh, alright, that would be . . . dope titties, Virgil; thank you.”

With that settled, he turned and disappeared into the front of the shop, leaving me alone with Monty once more.

“Now,” Monty said, his voice dropping a notch, “there’s something else you gotta know. Destroying that pylon . . . It ain’t gonna come without consequences.”

“Big shocker there,” I said. “My whole fucking life in Regaia has been consequences. Like what?”

He shrugged.

“Hard to say. Could be the System itself decides to interfere. Or maybe it sends someone else to stop you. Point is, the closer you get to that pylon, the more they’re gonna try to fuck you over.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair.

“Well, that’s just great. Any other good news you want to share?”

Monty let out a raspy laugh, like the sound of gravel scraping together.

“Well, there’s this one little tidbit, now that ya mention it. If that Drifter’s after your ass . . .” He sucked in a breath, whistling low through his teeth. “Well, then you may as well start packing up now, because that motherfucker don’t play.”

“Fuck the Drifter,” I said. “So, what am I supposed to do? Just fucking leave?”

Monty shrugged, his dark eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and sympathy.

“Fuck, I dunno. Probably should’ve listened to your god friends and not gotten tangled up in this nonsense. But seeing as how you’re already balls-deep in it . . .”

He ran a finger across his chin, looking thoughtful.

“Best thing you can do is try to stay away from him. Stay under the radar.”

I scoffed.

“What kinda fucking bullshit is that? The goddamn System is after me now. I think I’m a little past flying under the radar at this point.”

Monty chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

“Well, when you put it that way, I guess you’re fucked.”

I shot him a glare, to which he responded with a toothy grin.

“But seriously,” he said, his tone turning serious again, “you need to be careful. If what you’re saying is true, if they’re after this pylon or kedge or whatever the hell you want to call it, there’s going to be someone waiting for you. And they ain’t gonna be handing out cookies and milk.”

I sighed, my shoulders slumping as the gravity of the situation fully hit me.

“So, what’s the game plan here, Monty?”

“You need to get stronger. However you can. And you’ve got minutes to do it. Every little bit that you can scrounge together, you’re gonna need that shit. Fucking weapons, armor—hell, if you’ve got a fuckin’ Monster Energy Drink under your skirt, you need to pop that shit and let ’er rip. It’s the only way you’ll survive. You need to prepare yourself for whatever they throw at you. And believe me, they’re going to throw everything.”

I chewed on his words for a moment, mulling them over in my mind. The prospect of going up against something far more dangerous, far more sinister than anything I’d faced so far was a daunting one. But Monty was right; I needed to be stronger.

“So, will you help me?”

“I’m not a fighter,” he said. “Never have been much of one, if I’m being honest. I’m just happy to enjoy life doing what I love—denying service to fucking hippies like Romulus and living the easy life. But I can spare some of my fine baubles and particulars if you’re not afraid to use them.”

After a long silence, I spoke.

“Monty, I’m going to need you to do something for me.”

---

A blast of late afternoon sun hit my face as I stepped out of Monty’s shop. A warm wind played with the my hair, and I squinted against the light, my senses heightened. The Level-up process had been a brutal, jarring rush, but the result was a potency I’d never felt before. It felt like lightning was coursing through my veins, raw power pulsing with every beat of my heart.

I had finished Leveling Up after drinking the potion that got me to Level Twenty-Five. I wasn’t sure, at first, if it would be a temporary thing or a permanent one, but I felt as though enough time had passed for the advancement to have been yanked out from beneath me if it was going to.

So . . . just like that, ten whole levels higher, a vast leap forward from my previous state. In the grand scheme of things, perhaps it wasn’t that significant. But for me, for now, it was a game-changer. Thirty points had been at my disposal, ready to be assigned across my Attributes. I had added four to everything except Constitution. That one, I had loaded up with the rest. The power boost was immediate, tangible.

Two new Abilities joined my arsenal, further expanding my toolkit. I could feel them there, coiled inside me, ready to be unleashed when the need arose. What they were exactly, I wasn’t yet sure. I was still getting a feel for them, still figuring out their nuances. But I knew they were powerful, capable of turning the tide in battle.

And then there were the items.

My gaze dropped to the simple-looking ring on my finger. It seemed unassuming enough, just a band of metal with an intricate pattern etched into its surface. But I knew better. This ring was a boost to my Strength, a full ten points added. An unbelievable gift.

In my ear, a twin to the earring that had been monitoring the System for me, sat a new piece of jewelry. This one would cut the Stamina I spent on anything I did in half. And it came with ten charges. Ten chances to push myself beyond the limits of my endurance without fear of tiring out.

Equipped and empowered like this, I was feeling good about my odds. I could take on the whole fucking world, it felt like. I squared my shoulders and started down the street, ready to face whatever lay ahead. I checked my Attributes one more time.

Yeah, things were looking and feelin’ swell.

But then I noticed something.

The streets were busy, full of people going about their day. Regular folk just goin’ about their day, children playing games, men and women engaged in conversation or barter. A typical scene in any city. But something was off.

The natural sounds of a city were still there—the clatter of wheels on cobblestone, the murmur of conversation, the occasional shout or laugh. But there was an undercurrent, a quietness that was out of place. I could feel it, a strange stillness that hung over the crowd like a thick fog. People were moving, talking, living. But they were doing it quietly, subtly. As if afraid to draw attention.

I frowned, my sense of unease growing. What was going on? What had changed?

I walked on, my eyes scanning the crowd, my mind racing. It was subtle, but it was there. The tension in the air was palpable, the silence louder than any roar. Something was wrong.

Something was coming.

Then—because fuck me, right?—the thrumming life of the marketplace fell to a chilling silence. Every artisan haggling, every kid being annoying, every goddamn beggar panhandling, all activities stopped mid-whatever the fuck they were doing. An ice-cold tremor carved its way through me, heralding a really nasty fucking sense of foreboding.

There was no distinction between the grizzled tradesman or the naive youth; all were caught in this startling stillness. It was super goddamn creepy.

What really stirred the bile in my throat, however, was not the spontaneous flash-mob mannequin challenge but the vacant stares etched on every face around me. Eyes, once vibrant, had transformed into misty mirrors of nothingness. Their gazes were affixed to some unseen horizon, entranced and distant. There was a shit-awful synchronicity to their hollow stares, as though each of these yahoos had been alerted to some shared but unseen terror. Almost as if they’d all suddenly received a notification at the same time . . .

Oh. Oh, fuck . . . no, no, no, no!

Then, out of the blue, the veil over their eyes evaporated, like it’d never been there at all. In a blink, the whole marketplace—every dang one of ’em—swiveled to stare at me. Suddenly, I was the star of the show, like I’d just been singled out on the menu as the chef’s special. I had a feeling I wasn’t far off.

“Shit . . .” I breathed.

That was when my own message sprang up in my vision.

TIME TO DIE, MOTHERFUCKER!

Then, as one, everyone in the marketplace charged.