“Let the world around us just fall apart.

  Baby, we can make it if we’re heart to heart.”

  - G. Slick, Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now

  Apostle was furious.

  She’d watched Quartz hide behind the garnet table and, at first, assumed the mage was preparing some hugely powerful spell. But, as far as Apostle could tell, Quartz had spent the entire battle doing a whole lot of absolutely fucking nothing.

  This is how a level 99 sanguine sculptor planned to use all that “borrowed" Health? Taking cover?

  The two hadn’t exchanged many pleasantries after rejoining the marching line in the Void Burrow, and that was fine. Staying silent meant Apostle didn’t have to answer any questions about the Dream Creeper. It had been stupid to say its name out loud. She certainly didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t even want to think about it.

  Because she knew what Quartz would have said. The same thing everyone else said, so often that Apostle was starting to believe it.

  That she was going crazy.

  During their quiet slog through ankle-high bones, Apostle had begun to forgive the mage’s demand for a Blood Bond. After all, she would have been killed by marrow crabs if not for Quartz’s intervention. But watching Quartz cower like a frightened child made Apostle just want to slap the bitch and take her Health back.

  She shook her head to clear out the negativity and tried to enjoy her incredible surroundings. It was hard to believe she was actually here, in one of the most legendary locations in all of video gaming. And it was, in a word, awesome.

  “BURN FOR ME,” Bask proclaimed, his voice a deep, almost sultry, baritone, harmonized faintly by the sound of crying kittens.

  Rolling to avoid a gout of flame from the demon’s mouth, she slid under the table, tossing a couple fang daggers in his direction and a “what the fuck are you doing?” look at Quartz for good measure.

  Her Beguiling Hiss wouldn’t work on a Leyline Guardian (she’d learned that the hard way against Spidrax, the first Guardian she’d ever fought), but she had other tricks up her sleeve.

  Well, her leather-strapped BDSM suit didn’t have sleeves, but the point remained.

  “Introspection Lance.” Cold steel materialized in her hand. She hurled the rod and images danced along its smooth surface, like home movies cast from an invisible projector. In a sense, that’s exactly what was happening; the spell was ripping memories from Bask’s mind and storing them inside the lance’s metal casing.

  Apostle couldn’t really analyze much of what she saw in the brief time between the weapon leaving her hand and its collision with Bask’s forehead; screaming faces, bloody limbs, and piles of corpses flashed by in rapid succession. But the Guardian got a front row seat as those images injected themselves all at once into his consciousness.

  While his senses were overloaded, Char connected with a thunderous swing of his sword. “Thunderous” was really the only word that adequately described the storm guard’s attacks; each blow was accompanied by a deafening clap and sparks of light. He was a blowhard, but she’d probably be one, too, if she had his raw power.

  Gashes opened across Bask’s chest and black goop geysered out, as if his organs were an oil field.

  Backing away from his handiwork, Char nodded in her direction. “Nicely done.”

  Holy shit! Char acknowledged her! In combat! One hero recognizing another!

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Apostle looked back at Quartz to gauge her reaction, but the mage didn’t even have her eyes open. Instead, her head was tilted down as she muttered a string of inaudible phrases.

  Was she praying? Good luck with that—all the gods of Silverdawn had been slain a long time ago in what the older players called the “Olympus Purge.”

  Too late, she realized her fixation on Quartz had distracted her from the bigger picture. And the bigger picture happened to be looking right at her.

  “TO RE-WITNESS MY CONQUESTS WAS A BLESSING, SNAKE CHILD. IN RETURN, I SHALL KILL YOU QUICKLY.”

  Bask spat. She rolled to one side as the discharge sizzled into the carpet. Blinding pain erupted along her leg and she screamed, clawing at her ankle.

  Her dodge hadn’t been fast enough. A single drop was eating into her flesh, leaving behind a thumb-sized hole and turning the skin a putrid mix of brown and grey. Apostle drew a long breath and tried to steady herself. This was all an elaborate virtual illusion, but her brain certainly couldn’t tell the difference.

  Silverdawn had been chastised for what critics called a “pathological devotion to mimicking human suffering” but it could just as easily be said that its commitment to realistic hyper-violence is what had made it an overnight sensation. If you ever wanted to know what it felt like to get stabbed with a halberd, but without all the resulting medical bills, this was the place.

  With a series of quick exhales, she picked herself up and tried to put weight on her foot. Tentative, but it would hold.

  “You good?” Orion asked, running low to the ground. “Celestial Static.”

  With a flick of his wrist, a curtain of glittering dust rained around them, offering much-needed cover from Bask’s fire breath and acid spit.

  “Yeah. Beats a date with a doomsday cultist, anyway. Although they fuck like there’s no—” She was talking too much, as usual. Change the subject. Say anything normal. “I’m just lower on Health than usual thanks to Quartz. And what the hell is she even doing?”

  He looked over the mage. “A ritual spell? Those take longer to cast.”

  Quartz’s words echoed in Apostle’s mind. Never say a single word about what you see me do in that throne room for as long as you live.

  It had been a request, but the sanguine sculptor’s eyes suggested it was also a warning.

  “Never mind. I’m not supposed to say any—”

  She was almost grateful when Bask’s piggish face emerged through the shimmering barrier like a swimmer breaking the pool’s surface, giving her an excuse to shut up. A second later, the tip of his axe followed and gratitude turned to dread.

  The two players were dwarfed beneath his massive frame. Maybe it was finally time to log out. Nobody would judge her now; quitting the game during a Leyline Guardian fight was common. Only an idiot would stick around to the bitter end and risk getting their character erased.

  More importantly, if Apostle was erased and she had to start over with a brand new character…well, best not to think about that.

  Thinking about anything wasn’t an option, anyhow. There was no time. Bask was shockingly fast for his size. Down came the axe, and all she could do was watch.

  Fuck. She’d tried so hard to level up and now…

  The blade struck the floor with a shuddering impact to her right. She looked over to see Orion jerking rigidly, as if someone was feeding a high voltage current directly into his nervous system.

  And then he split apart.

  Bask had spliced the starfallen warlock straight down the middle, as cleanly as a sheet of paper. One half landed at Apostle’s feet; a bisection of guts, brains, and what appeared to be his lungs, now deflating like a grotesque bagpipe.

  “BACK TO HEAVEN YOU GO, STAR BOY,” the Guardian sneered.

  She’d barely processed the attack before he rotated his blade and swung again. Cursing, she tried to leap out of the way, but instead crumpled to the floor, fresh pain blossoming along her leg. Her buckled ankle wasn’t up to the challenge after all.

  The fall saved her life, though, as the blade swooshed overhead, grazing her silver hair. Undeterred, Bask heaved the handle high; an enormous executioner, gleeful in his task.

  Apostle closed her eyes and frantically called up the prompt.

  >> AWAITING INSTRUCTION [APOSTLE]

  “Logou—”

  “BloodBag.” Quartz’s voice. The mage had decided to join the fray after all.

  Too little, too late. In fact, the interruption had only made things worse, because now Apostle had lost her window of escape. She could already feel the weight of the blade…

  …inside her? Wait, something was wrong.

  She opened her eyes to see the axe exiting her body through an enormous gash carved into her waist. Except it wasn’t her waist. Not exactly.

  For one thing, she was red. And not just her skin. Everything was the same shade of dark crimson: Her blades, her clothes, her fingernails, it was all—

  Blood. She was made of blood.

  And then, just as quickly as she’d been transformed, her body returned.

  “Cruor Jump.” Quartz again, right behind her, and they both sank.

  They emerged on the opposite side of the room, far from Bask. The demon’s attention was now fully engaged by Char and Gallup, who leaped and ducked around his legs.

  “Brace yourself,” Quartz said, seemingly as much to herself as to Apostle. “Things are about to get interesting.”