[Welcome to the Isle of Lost Hope, level 1 Instance.]

  It was like stepping into another world. I spun around, taking in my surroundings. While I stood on the small island, a vast expanse stretched to the horizon on all sides, steel-blue and restless. I heard the waves pounding against the cliffs below me.

  I could make out the windows of the fortress—narrow slits, iron-barred and rust-streaked. The main gate stood half-collapsed, chains dangling, promising no escape once I crossed the threshold. It didn’t matter if this was ocean or lake; there was no land in sight, only endless water hemming the fortress on every side.

  It reeked of dampness, mildew, and despair. I was glad for the portal behind me; this was not the tropical getaway I’d dreamt of spending the rest of my days in.

  [New objectives: Stop the riot in Cell Block A. Sabotage the docked ship. Find and release both Freelancers. Stop the execution. Discover the hidden treasure chest.]

  “What’s all this crap?” Obviously, it was a list of shit to do in this place, but I wanted to know if there was anything not so obvious about it.

  “Each objective you complete adds to the Instance progress bar. You don’t have to do them all, but some only become available after completing others. For example, one freelancer is likely involved with the Stop the Execution.”

  “And what happens when I fill the progress bar?”

  “You’ll beat the Instance and earn your first completion bonus. It’s usually a tidy sum of gold and a bunch of treasure chests. Definitely worth doing at least once for each Instance we find.”

  I raised an eyebrow, glancing around the very detailed and relatively large isle around me. This place alone could take days to fully explore.

  “Each?” I asked. “How many are there?”

  “A lot. There’s a level one Instance—just like this one—for every player town. Between the towns we’ll find even more Instances, ranging from levels two all the way to nine. It’ll take a week before the level ten Instance opens.”

  “There’s only a single level ten Instance?” I held back my barrage of logistical follow-up questions, like how we were all supposed to find the same instance if it could be hundreds of miles away? But since that was a problem for Future Frank, I thought it best to focus on what I needed to know right now.

  “Yep. Each expansion only has one pinnacle Instance.”

  I frowned, thinking about my limited inventory space.

  “Can I leave and come back?”

  “You can always leave via gravekey or hearthrune if you’re out of combat. But you won’t be able to return until after the weekly reset. You can pick up on your Instance progress from where you left off if you haven’t beaten the Instance yet.”

  I was starting to regret not taking Prison Pocket.

  I saw the masts of the docked ship poking out from behind the prison. One objective mentioned a cell block. That, along with the quest to kill prisoners, confirmed this was a penitentiary.

  “I’m going to sink that ship first,” I said.

  It just made sense to tackle the furthest objective and then enter the prison. I imagined getting into the prison would be a lot easier than getting out.

  “Okie-dokie,” Dickhead said. “Let me know if there’s anything I can help with; just remember I lose all visuals of you when you’re in combat.”

  “Do hidden chests have a glint or give off a sound when I’m close?”

  “Nope, they’re usually behind a side-boss or sometimes a puzzle.”

  That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. “Kill everything. Got it.”

  I cracked my knuckles and took off for the shoreline. It looked like the best way to skirt the prison without getting too close. I wasn’t avoiding trouble, as I had several kill quests to complete, but I didn’t want to pull the entire prison’s worth of guards just yet.

  * * *

  I heard the patrol first and ducked behind a large rock before they could see me. They were going on about one prisoner they had locked up: a woman. Each of them tried to one-up each other, bragging about the terrible things they’d done to her.

  Likely, it was just gross guy talk. Some asshats got real stupid around other dudes, saying the wildest shit. Another reason I didn’t like people.

  I didn’t know how many of them there were, nor did it matter. I’d rip every one of their franking heads off for the debased things they’d allegedly done.

  Jesus, DungeonCore made some franked-up NPCs.

  I waited for them to pass and then jumped the first guy. There seemed to be a surprise round when I started combat from stealth.

  [Your Stealth skill has increased to level 1.]

  Too surprised to react, he stood there while I grabbed him from behind, reaching around his face. I held tight and ripped his head to the side with a sharp crack. He went limp as the notification flashed.

  [You’ve earned: 50 XP.]

  [You’ve gained: 1 FrankUp coin.]

  Dammit, I’d have to wait until after the Instance to use the damn coin.

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  The second guard drew a billy club and said, “Looks like we’ve got ourselves an escape—”

  I cut him off by lunging and tearing out his throat. I spat out his larynx as he fell, gurgled, and died.

  [You’ve earned: 50 XP.]

  I barely felt their blunt strikes and feeble attacks as the other three surrounded me. They were used to beating up terrified, helpless human prisoners. But I was neither.

  Intercepting a billy club to my face, I snatched it out of his hand and turned it on him. I held him in place by the scruff of his shirt and showed him how it’s done.

  It only took me five whacks to his face to earn my next notifications.

  [You’ve earned: 50 XP.]

  [Your One-handed Mace skill has increased to level 1.]

  I dropped him and turned to grab the next asshole. His friend whittled at my Vitality with his little club as I took my time with him.

  He struggled, but I had him in a bear hug that just kept getting tighter. I felt my Strength overtake my Toughness as the Self-damage piled on. I didn’t care; his body would give out well before mine.

  I squeezed, feeling his bones shift, grind, and snap between my arms and chest. It looked like his damn eyeballs were about to pop out of socket. Even his tongue stuck out, growing too fat for his mouth. Good. I hoped he choked on it.

  [You’ve earned: 50 XP.]

  The lifeless body hadn’t even hit the ground before I spun around and caught the last jailer by the wrist. I crushed it, and he screamed. But it didn’t matter who heard.

  I lifted my knee to my chest and held him just long enough to get the accuracy bonus, then I Sparta kicked his ass into the rock behind him with everything I had.

  He landed with a crunch and crumpled to the ground with a whimper. I tilted my head at the lack of a notification.

  I got it after stomping his head in with my foot.

  [You’ve earned: 50 XP.]

  “Goddammit,” I muttered, not thinking that last one through. I stared at the splattered brains in the sand.

  “Gods, Frank,” Dickhead said about five minutes later when he could see again. “I think this is the most franked-up World Dungeon I’ve seen yet. Killing NPCs with swords, fireballs, and bullets is one thing. Tearing them apart with your teeth and crushing them to death is another.”

  I shrugged. Not like I had many options.

  “Do they all monologue?” I asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The NPCs—do they always take a second to say something obvious or stupid?”

  “I never really paid attention, but probably. Why?”

  “There’s nothing better than an asshole who likes to run their mouth. That’s when I like to land the first hit. Also, I think there’s another second delay at the start of combat just before they aggro. Is that another mechanic?”

  “More of a limitation. They have to check in with You Know Who to see if they should switch from patrolling to combat.”

  I rifled through their pockets, one at a time.

  [You’ve gained: 15 gold. Total gold: 505.]

  [You’ve gained: 15 gold. Total gold: 520.]

  [You’ve gained: 15 gold. Total gold: 535.]

  [You’ve gained: 15 gold. Total gold: 550.]

  [You’ve gained: 15 gold. Total gold: 565.]

  Dickhead spoke up. “You know there’s an area loot option, right?”

  “I’m not spending a single Credit—”

  He cut me off. “It’s not a QoL! Just a checkbox in your Inventory submenu.”

  I pulled up my menu and saw the tiny checkbox he was talking about. I enabled that shit.

  “If they give us the ability for free, why isn’t it enabled by default?”

  “In case you’re trying to share loot with your party members.”

  I scoffed. “That won’t be a problem for me.”

  Skullcracker made quick work of cracking their skulls. It still took me a couple of minutes to scarf down each helping of gray matter, even when I didn’t stop to breathe. The first sailor topped me off, while the other three each earned me a notification.

  My final attribute notification read.

  [Your Intellect has increased to level 12.]

  I could’ve gotten to thirteen, but I figured the mess on the sand wasn’t worth it.

  Topped off and armed with a billy club of my own, I continued on to the ship and inched my way up the gangplank. I lucked out with a few large crates just past the railing to hide behind. There was a small gap to peek through.

  “Shit,” I whispered after watching the fifth patrol of sailors loop up the deck and then back down below. They were in groups of three or four. I waited another ten minutes to be sure there wasn’t a pack I hadn’t accounted for.

  “I counted seventeen,” Dickhead said.

  “Same,” I whispered.

  It sucked that I had to speak out loud to communicate. Every time I wanted to tell Dickhead something, I had to risk breaking stealth. I never thought I’d miss being able to type shit out. We’d have to work out some basic nonverbal communication before I ran another Instance.

  “Remember,” Dickhead said. “The objective is to sabotage the docked ship. You don’t have to kill everyone.”

  I didn’t see any suspicious red crates on the deck, none of the sailors had been armed, and I was jonesing for another dose of dopamine that only an Intellect level up could provide. So, killing everyone and eating their brains it was.

  I was pretty sure they couldn’t set sail without a crew, and I knew of a really cathartic way to find out.

  The first patrol had just passed the crates I’d been using for cover when I said, “Hey, over here, assholes!”

  I didn’t want to pull the ship, so I hadn’t shouted. After grabbing their attention, I slipped around the left of the crates to come up behind them like a damn cartoon episode.

  The first sailor dropped when I clubbed him hard on the back of the neck. The lack of notifications told me he was down, not out.

  “What the…” the second sailor muttered.

  I had just enough time to grab him by the crotch and neck, hoist him up over my head, and dump him overboard. He landed as I’d dumped him, headfirst.

  [You’ve earned: 50 XP.]

  Looting his ass was going to be annoying, but I had one-and-a-half sailors to deal with first.

  The third sailor pummeled me weakly with his fists for killing his friend.

  “You bastard, you killed—”

  I grabbed him and bit into his neck, figuring it was a skill I’d probably want to keep leveling anyway. I hoped to God his friend’s name was Kenny.

  [You’ve earned: 50 XP.]

  I took my frustration out on the unconscious sailor, snapping his neck.

  [You’ve earned: 50 XP.]

  Then I dragged both bodies behind the crates.

  “Three down, fourteen more to go,” I said with a bloody grin.

  Everything went smoothly until the fourth pack. I’d taken too much time to kill the last sailor in the last patrol. They’d caught me red-handed, dragging his dead-ass back to my growing corpse pile.

  “Oh, shit,” I muttered, dropping the body. His head thunked onto the deck. I hopped over him and charged the first of the three sailors in this group.

  I knew the last group would arrive shortly.

  But this sailor was squirrely and kept the damn main mast between us. I should have just grabbed one of his friends who were punching me in the back.

  By the time I finally got my hands on the punk, the last patrol showed up. It was an unfair seven to one fight.

  They should have brought way more sailors.

  I had MrSquirrely’s head in my hand as they ganged up on me, kicking and punching me. The long, metal pins jutting out from the mast gave me an idea. Probably designed for tying off rope or whatever, but they’d also suit my needs just fine.

  I applied the sailor’s head directly to the metal spike.

  [You’ve earned: 50 XP.]

  That worked better than expected. I ripped MrSquirrely off and grabbed another sailor by the head.

  “Please don’t!” he cried out just before I spiked him.

  [You’ve earned: 50 XP.]

  I didn’t have time to try it a third time. The remaining five sailors had put their collective brain cell together and used my maneuver against me. They all bum-rushed me at once, lifting me off the damn ground and slamming me back onto the metal spike.

  I glanced down at the spike protruding out of my chest and shook my head. Then I grabbed it and pushed it back into my chest, sliding off.

  My boots hit the deck as I asked, “That all you got?”

  The look of horror on all their faces was worth the gaping hole in my chest.