The rest of the afternoon was awkward and Melia wondered how they managed to survive the handful of hours they needed to wait for the feast to start. Food needed time to cook, something even top level [Chefs] couldn’t skip entirely.

  Not that Abbyton was home to a high level [Chef].

  Eventually Melia found herself standing in the main cathedral of the abbey.

  Cathedral? Chapel? Sanctuary?

  Melia didn’t know the difference.

  Most churches in Ebonvale were built in the catholic style, with variations on the more prominent buildings mirroring and tweaking famous architecture in Europe. In particular, the Bastion of Light in Horizon was based heavily off of the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, with its many steep spires. Many of the temples in the arid deserts of the south had a more middle eastern flair, with gilded domes reminiscent of synagogues and mosques.

  The chapel in Abbyton followed the Eutevor Kingdom’s (the human lands) practice of focusing on Celestara, who was the goddess in game responsible for resurrecting players when they inevitably died, and in reality was more formally known as the worship of “Celestara’s Radiant Light,” or simply shortened to “the Light”.

  Melia stood in the grand sanctuary, a huge open room with a roof 30 feet tall and countless stained glass windows lining the upper walls close to the ceiling. The pews which normally filled the chamber, suitable for seating over a thousand, had been removed, leaving a grand, spacious ballroom with plenty of open space in the middle for people to dance, as well as eight full tables lining the east and west walls, laden so heavily with food, goodies, and treats that they nearly groaned under the weight.

  But before Melia could attack the buffet, she felt compelled to pay respects to the patron deity of kindness, compassion, and, fittingly, rebirth. The north face of the great hall could not be cleared away, as several steps led to a raised dais with a pulpit or lectern, a massive marble altar covered in a crimson running cloth laced with gold, holding two candelabras with 7 candles each.

  Behind all of that was a gigantic statue of the goddess herself, easily standing 20 feet tall, with her feet on the base of a plinth already 6 feet tall and the tip of her crowning halo brushing the ceiling.

  Melia had…mixed emotions upon seeing the statue. It was clearly designed to inspire awe, instilling a subtle suggestion of one’s own insignificance in comparison to the gods. Melia herself, as a gnome at least, could not see anything below the statues’s flowing dress-covered waist when standing at the base, the angle of her head already tilted to the extreme just to see over the base it stood on. To say that it was grand was an understatement.

  When Melia woke up in this world, she simply came to, much like waking up after a deep sleep or a long nap. She wasn’t visited by any higher power or given a clear set of instructions she was bound to contingent on her resurrection. Nothing like “become the next saint” or “defeat the demon lord” or even a “sup, howzit hangin’?”

  Even if she did, Melia didn’t know if she would have followed it. This was not her belief, that lay elsewhere, even now after “death” she found it holding strong, so she guessed it was just a part of her now, and what would come, will come, when she finally does die with finality.

  But she had not died, not the permanent death that one expected after a mortal life on earth, and she owed this second chance to somebody.

  If it was anybody in this world, Melia guessed it would have been the figure behind the giant stone statue before her, Celestara. She bowed her head reverently in thanks. Humility cost her nothing, and she truly was grateful.

  “Magnificent, isn’t she?”

  Melia turned to find Alastair standing with her paying respects to the goddess. As a [Paladin] of Light, this was his goddess.

  Melia was wary of saying anything, in agreement or otherwise, remembering Jessica’s words that Alastair, and indeed most [Paladins], would get very chatty about their faith if given half a chance. But Alastair, as always, surprised her.

  “Tell me,” he asked softly, his voice carrying a genuine tone of curiosity, “Have you ever met Celestara?”

  Melia blinked at the question. He wasn’t leading toward a more in depth lecture on his faith and a chance to try and convert her. He genuinely wanted to know.

  “If you were around during the Age of Upheaveal…,” he added leadingly.

  “Ah,” Melia understood. The timeline during the game did have a more active involvement of the gods, and her backstory included being part of that, if she understood things rightly. She still wasn’t entirely sure, since it wasn’t like she met anybody yet from back then that would recognize her. Melia shook her head.

  “No,” she said softly, her poofy black ponytails swaying exaggeratedly. “Not when I died way back when, not even during the long sleep that led me to this point. Every time, it was like…hidden behind a veil, I guess. You always had a choice, you know, whether you want to revive or not. Just a system message, on an ink black screen bordered in gold. When you hit yes, you simply returned to the nearest graveyard. I don’t think I know anybody who said no.”

  Not that anything happened in game if a player clicked no. It simply logged them out, and the next time they logged in they’d be in the graveyard. Melia guessed things would have been much different if she was playing on a hardcore server, but those weren’t introduced until much, much later, only being around for about 2 years before Melia passed.

  “Makes sense,” Alastair chuckled. He then turned pensive. “What’s it like, dying?”

  “Painful,” Melia admitted. “Or not. It depends on the manner of death.”

  She gave her friend a wry smile. If she was not in the game, it would have been excruciatingly painful indeed. But since she was, she felt nothing, only a brief bout of drowsiness. And back when the world was a game, the VR systems were not nearly advanced enough to offer such things as tactile sensations or body-link. She didn’t think she would ever have had the courage to try the game in the first place if she needed to experience the pain of getting stabbed with a sword whenever she took a hit.

  “Interesting,” was all Alastair said, trailing off. Melia looked up at him expectantly, wondering if he had any experiences to share. She was unsure exactly where the line was drawn in this world for resurrection spells. She remembered Jessica bantering about dying in dungeons and took it to mean that there was some sort of respawn mechanic inside of them…which just left how dungeons worked in this reality as the next question.

  She’d get no more answers there though. Melia left Alastair staring up contemplatively at the statue and headed toward the real business of this gathering: the feast.

  Yes, she had to wait until the guildmaster, who was not as big of a bloated windbag as Melia initially pegged him as, gave a small speech and thanked each and every participant.

  Not by name, of course, even he wouldn’t dare keep a hungry crowd away from food when it was staring them in the face, but in general waves of his hands as he scanned the crowd meaningfully with his eyes. They landed very briefly on Melia and she swore his eyebrows twitched.

  To his credit, he gave due where it was deserved, briefly (and very anticlimactically) attributing the kill of the dragon itself to the small, overpowered gnome, but that was it. Everybody who was present for the event didn’t need any extra reminders and the clergy were just as amused as they were confused with the whole ordeal.

  To them, a small army of adventurers had shown up out of the blue to fight a dragon they knew nothing of, heard the thing cry out, and then apparently it was slain. Then some very important people were pressing their hands with coin and food, hinting in some not so subtle ways that everybody needed a distraction.

  For the majority of the brothers from the abbey, they were more happy to celebrate their brand new magical fields, which would let them grow substantially more crops than they had before.

  Melia, magnanimous as she was, even waited (not so) patiently for everybody else to get a plate before attacking the tables herself.

  And once she started, she could not be stopped.

  It was awkward at first, even reaching the tables, since she stood below the surface and couldn’t even see the feast, but somebody gracefully set a chair next to the the closest table that she could climb onto and point out what she wanted.

  It took considerable willpower not to say “all of it.”

  She had her helper load a single plate higher and higher, watching his face turn from amusement to confusion, but she didn’t elaborate, merely thanking him and sitting down on her small throne and devouring her prize.

  The difference between eating monsters raw and having a cooked meal was like night and day, and she savored every delicious bite.

  Strangely, she found herself missing the raw taste of a fresh kill, which made her shudder, but supposed she could just order any steaks rare now.

  It was a pleasant atmosphere, fitting how she imagined a medieval banquet would be. In the center floor, guests mingled while a few people danced, a small section of the raised platform taken over by a makeshift band of string and wind instruments. There were more female adventurers than she thought there would be…but then again, in a world where the system did not distinguish between genders, she had to assume that most of her assumptions would be off. Stats played a very real role in dictating who could do what, not the equipment between a person’s legs.

  It was going far too peacefully, Melia should have noticed sooner. Disaster always seemed to strike in places like this in stories and quests, and she was left blindsided. She spent most of the evening sitting in her chair, harassing passersby to refill her plate, and she hadn’t seen hide nor hair (or tail, even) of her party members. She knew she needed to reconnect with them before the night was over, so she could apologize for her outburst earlier, but right then and there she thought nothing of it.

  Until a phantom sensation stabbed through her painfully, like a rusty fire poker shoved right through her eye, though it passed as soon as it came, leaving no trace of physical harm on her body.

  The same could not be said for emotional or mental pain.

  Somebody, something attacked her treasure. Something dared. Her vision went red, quite literally as she subconsciously activated several skills, her body instinctively preparing to crush the insignificant insect that dared defile her treasure!

  The current, uncounted plate of food fell to the floor with a clatter as the seat she was sitting on suddenly shattered under an unexpected weight. Melia’s body, still clad in her [Sultana’s Favor], morphed to call forth her horns and tail, flames already licking around her mouth. Her size instantly doubled as she activated [Avatar], while a tangible red mist started leaking from her like power manifested as she succumbed to [Beserker’s Rage].

  She stood, mind consumed, not able to see, or care, as the world around her came to a screeching halt, not because time stopped, but people scrambled to get out of her line of sight. Her gaze, now incredibly draconic, swept the crowd, searching for the perpetrator, demanding that this slight be rectified.

  “WHO DARES?!”

  The sun was setting when Ellesea woke back up. She was having the strangest dream, where a gnome masquerading as a dragon danced her way into the academy and sat on all her professors, telling them that they were wrong with everything that they knew and they needed to listen to her because she was an Archmage.

  And then the events of the last hour or so caught up with her and she groaned. Half of that dream was real and honestly she couldn’t tell which part it was anymore. All of it sounded plausible, if equally ridiculous.

  “You finally awake?” Y’cennia asked. They were sitting in their tent…where Ellesea most certainly had not been when she passed out. The catkin was hard at work, like she always was, making potions for the team. Ellesea was really fortunate to have who she did as teammates, and she resolved once again not to take them for granted. So many horror stories started (and ended) with disastrous teammates with ill fitting chemistry between them.

  [Paladins] were often holier than thou.

  [Hunters] were notorious for hogging every single drop, even more than usual, because their diverse stat array benefitted from everything, making everything a “[Hunter] weapon.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  [Mages], like herself, were often full of themselves and arrogant, most often justifiably so, since levels and advancements only came to those who put in the effort.

  [Alchemists], like any profession class, were notoriously picky with who they worked with and how they worked, not to mention they needed so many materials just to make a living, not even considering the amount needed to level.

  And speaking of levels…

  “Congratulations on reaching level 200!” Ellesea gasped, going a little light headed as she sat up too quickly.

  “Thanks,” Y’cennia said with a wry smile. Her normally bubbly and buoyant personality was noticeably reserved.

  “Are you not happy? You’ve reached rank 2! That’s an achievement all on its own!”

  Adventurers like themselves were outliers as far as leveling went. Normally, people as young as them would linger in the 100s, reaching the 2 and 3 hundreds as they came into their own for their profession. It wasn’t a hard rule, but most people expected to gain a hundred levels in a decade, which obviously slowed down the older they got and the higher their level reached. So for the beastkin to reach rank 2 at only 22 years of age put her well above her non-adventuring contemporaries. If she had taken an apprenticeship in a shop, she would have languished into her later years and barely made rank 3 or 4.

  “It’s hard to be excited with that monster running around,” Y’cennia eventually mumbled, her ears flat against her head.

  “Melia?” Ellesea guessed. It wasn’t hard.

  “Yes,” Y’cennia huffed. “Did you know she’s also an [Alchemist]? And supposedly a [Hunter] and [Paladin] too?”

  The revelation was shocking to Ellesea, but she recovered quickly.

  “Did she have titles for those too?” she asked quietly.

  “No,” Y’cennia shook her head. “But you should have seen the potion she showed me, Ella. It was orange,” the cat whined. “Legendary. I don’t think you’d be able to find something like that anywhere in Horizon, not even if you scoured the entire Alchemy Guild.”

  Ellesea gulped, but she had a different outlook than most.

  “Isn’t that a good thing?” she eventually asked. The catkin tilted her head, her tail flicking as it mimicked her curiosity.

  “Just ask her how to make one.”

  Y’cennia’s mouth slowly fell open.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Why not? Obviously not right now, because you wouldn’t be able to make one even if she said yes. But she probably will. I didn’t expect her to agree to teach me her version of [Arcane Blast], but she said yes. I don’t know why, and I can’t figure it out for the life of me, but she’s part of the party now. I get the feeling that we are stuck with her, more than her joining us. We might as well make use of it.”

  “How…how can you just use somebody so powerful?” Y’cennia hissed. “She’s rank 10, Ella! Probably higher! Maybe 11 or 12, like the White Witch! And she’s most likely a noble to boot!”

  She saw a flicker of emotion cross Ellesea’s face and waved her hand.

  “Not that that matters much to you.”

  “Still,” Ellesea shrugged. “We are stuck with her, we might as well get to know her.”

  “Right,” Y’cennia sighed. “I just wish I had your confidence.”

  Y’cennia spared a single glance at the massive scale taking up the entire back wall of their tent. None of the original members of her party had been able to fit it into their inventory, though to be fair she was the only one who emptied hers completely to try. It was just too big, too magical. Maybe if she had some specially crafted bags to extend her inventory, but those were beyond her, both to create or buy.

  The group had done what they could to hide and protect the scale, covering it, lacing it with a paralytic potion, and Ellesea had warded the tent with something of a misdirection spell. That would have to be enough.

  The party did wonders to improve everybody’s mood. Entering into the great hall was impressive with all the pews removed, and they got the added honor of being thanked personally by the guildmaster after he’d given his speech. He came up to them, as soon as Melia made herself scarce, and commended them for being able to secure such a powerful ally. The man was gruff, temperamental, and hard around the edges, but he was honest and spoke what was on his mind. He sounded genuinely happy for them, so they took it as the compliment it was.

  Alistair was a lost cause for socializing, having cornered several brothers that he knew and was deep into some philosophical debate or another. From the slightly rosy tint of the group’s faces, they’d been enjoying the wine the abbey was famous for, and were probably arguing semantics, going in roundabout circles as their rhetoric asserted itself. Y’cennia shook her head. [Paladins], [Clerics], [Priests], and [Monks]. All cut from different corners of the same cloth.

  She slid up next to Jessica, who looked flushed from having taken a turn on the dance floor, participating in a local number that Y’cennia wasn’t familiar with. It was fast paced and involved heavy, if not complicated, movements, and she wasn’t sure she had the Agility to keep up.

  “Speaking of alcohol,” Ellesea nudged Jessica and pointed. Y’cennia turned to see Sister Grace goading Melia into drinking from a goblet. Y’cennia had better hearing than her human friends, so she relayed what was being said.

  “Ack!” Melia spluttered after sniffing the cup suspiciously, as if it contained poison. Technically, it did, since alcohol was a form of poison, and to somebody with such a tiny body, it would probably run through her, no matter what her physical stats. Booze was funny like that, uncaring for stats and only really being countered by body mass and volume.

  Grace laughed as she bent forward to pat the coughing gnome on the back, steadying her so she didn’t fall from her chair.

  “What is this?”

  “It’s our famous vintage,” Grace smiled proudly. Y’cennia had been shocked to learn they brought out several casks and bottles of the century old wine. It didn't often get circulated anymore, and was something of a local legend, the “wine laid down by adventurers”. Sister Miley had been cleverer than most, roping any passing adventure into harvesting her grapes in exchange for a meal or one of the spare beds.

  There was a possibility, though she couldn’t guess the odds, that the gnome picked the grapes that went into that specific bottle.

  “It tastes nothing like grape juice,” Melia mumbled sadly, handing the cup back to Grace, looking at it like it had betrayed her. The sister merely laughed in amusement.

  “Did you honestly think it would?”

  “Well no,” Melia said obstinately, before taking on a childish pout, “But also yes.”

  The gnome must not have been a heavy drinker. According to Ellesea, who was more familiar with gnomes thanks to their penchant to visit the academy on occasion, the whole species were lightweights. They couldn’t hold their liquor to save their lives, but they loved the sweeter, fruitier mixes that other races (especially dwarves) looked down on for being “weak” or “feminine”. Yet those same people would not hesitate to bribe a gnome with their favorite sweet and sugary liquor in order to loosen their lips or make them a little extra generous with their wallets.

  Secretly, the group was glad the gnome didn’t seem to be fond of alcohol, because they didn’t want to imagine a rank 10 powerhouse melt down into a disaster waiting to happen if her inhibitions fled her.

  The group once again split up, Ellesea heading toward the scholarly brothers that had been observing the new [Planters] outside, most likely interested in their opinions on spacial magics.

  Jessica looked like she was about one bad joke away from picking a fight with some of the other adventurers close to her level, and Y’cennia resolved to create some more healing potions, on top of some tinctures for headaches, small bruises, and the likely hangover they would all have in the morning.

  …which was strange, because Y’cennia had yet to touch the wine, drinking only a half a mug of mead, which was far under her limit to become tipsy, let alone hammered.

  So why was the room spinning and the plate of appetizers she was eyeing blurring into doubles?

  She lurched forward, placing one hand on her stomach as the other clutched the table to keep herself from tumbling down.

  “Ell-she?” she slurred. She wasn’t drunk. Why was her body acting like it was? She became aware of how much she wasn’t aware of. Screwing her eyes shut in concentration, she realized she couldn’t track the last five minutes she had simply been standing there. Not the people, not the conversations, not faces or sounds or anything. Certainly not any stray bumps or touches that harmlessly brushed by her in the crowded room.

  All of her senses were muted, as if her body was purposefully ignoring and oblivious to her surroundings.

  Like she was drugged.

  Ellesea, to her shock, stumbled over, looking just as dazed and disoriented. It took all of Y’cennia’s willpower to pull up her status, as if something was deliberately trying to keep her from noticing.

  You have been poisoned.

  She stared numbly at the debuff. It wasn’t the standard one people got when drunk. That was [Tipsy], [Drunk], [Hammered], or [Smashed], if they let themselves go that far.

  Her debuff was [Befuddled].

  Somebody attacked her, and judging how Jessica was falling over, crashing into the arms of a very surprised looking [Archer], so had the rest of her team.

  And that’s when the impossible happened, as the voice of an angry god crashed through the party like a lightning bolt of pure wrath.

  “WHO DARES?!”

  Most people froze in place, as the music came to a screeching halt, instruments missing their notes as fingers no longer found correct positions. Chairs clattered and several people let out mild screams, which sounded small and laughable by comparison. Y’cennia barely had the presence of mind to register the fear in the sound, but strangely she felt none of it herself.

  Perhaps that was an after effect of the poison? Had it dulled her senses so greatly she could no longer feel death coming for her?

  But when she sluggishly turned around, she saw the most bizarre sight, both great and terrifying.

  Melia, their normally tiny and adorable gnome, was looking not so tiny.

  Possibly just as adorable, but Y’cennia understood her choice of aesthetics was questionable at best, without any influence of a drug releasing her inhibitions and removing her filters.

  Melia’s horns and tail were back, a fine red haze radiated out of her, her eyes glowed with a very real, if very dim, light. The ground shook and trembled every time she took a step, as if a monumental colossus that carried the weight of a mountain had been shrunk to fit a person sized form. Every time she opened her mouth, small flames licked at her lips and curled around her tongue, ready to release an all consuming inferno.

  And she was 5 feet tall.

  The silly, unhinged part of Y’cennia’s brain was telling her that seeing a gnome double their normal size was amusing more than anything, because that simply brought them up to normal size. As she stood right now, Melia was probably only a hair taller than Ellesea, which was a pathetic bar to reach for.

  But Y’cennia, even in her addled state, could see how terrifying Melia might appear to somebody else. She was clearly under some sort of effect that doubled her size, which while uncommon were not rare, and several martial classes had them. While the size bonus was often impressive, it was the buff to her stats that was properly enhanced, which was not nearly as easy to notice as a gnome that should only come up to her thighs now reaching her chin.

  Now she was simply the size of a large dwarf. Nobody should ever underestimate a dwarf, especially one with fire leaking out of its mouth. And nobody ever called a dwarf cute and adorable either, which even now Y’cennia was having trouble divesting from the image of the gnome.

  But regardless of the fire, the menacing and oppressive red aura, or the way Melia’s purple eyes glowed like gems cast into a furnace, what drew her attention, what demanded all eyes focus on them, were her swords.

  The same ones she used to slaughter the dragon earlier that day were out again, menacing and terrifying, and whatever effect Melia herself was under affected her weapons too.

  Before, what were still within the realm of reason for a giant berserker to use as weapons, were now something else entirely. Each sword was easily 8 feet long and thicker than Y’cennia was wide. Being enlarged as they were allowed Y’cennia to see their enchantments. Or at least the visible representation of them, and as they moved, even the barest shuffle in position, tiny little shards of crystalline dust, like pulverized starlight or diamonds crushed to powder, glinted in the light, twinkling as it fell and vanished before hitting the floor.

  She had no idea what the effect was and didn’t envy the person to find out. Not with how her eyes seemed incapable of holding any emotion except for rage.

  “WHO DARES?! WHO? INSOLENT WHELP! DON’T PLAY GAMES WITH ME, INSIGNIFICANT INSECT! I KNOW WHAT YOU’VE DONE!”

  Y’cennia’s bones rattled and it felt like her head was going to split in two. She did not know people could be that loud. Melia’s presence only seemed to grow the longer she raged around the room, stomping great splintering cracks into the stone floor.

  Quavering partygoers fled before her wrath, though it seemed like she couldn’t see them at all. Her eyes scanned the sea of people, searching for something, someone, oblivious to everybody else.

  Sadly, in the chaos of Melia’s rampage, it was impossible to keep tabs on anybody acting suspiciously.

  Not that Y’cennia was in any condition to do so. An errant thought told her she should go calm the giant gnome down, but her knees wobbled and she stumbled into a nearby table.

  Somehow, across the entire room, Melia noticed. Her head whipped to the side, and where she focused her gaze, people scrambled to get out of the way. Suddenly Y’cennia found herself hugging Ellesea to remain standing upright, all while a tunnel formed between them and Melia. Y’cennia blinked and suddenly the gnome was standing directly in front of her face, inches away from her nose, peering directly into her eyes, which were now much closer than they’d ever been.

  With Melia violating everything she felt about personal space, Y’cennia noticed how alien her eyes were. Her pupils were vertical slits and a secondary membrane kept flicking over them as they seemed to be able to see so much more than simple reality.

  “Y’cennia! Hold on!”

  Melia was still incredibly loud, making the catkin wince, but it no longer felt like her eardrums wanted to burst. She felt something strange wash over her, like some sort of spell or skill, but she had no clue what it could be.

  “[Cleric!]” Melia called. She turned her head and the crowd flinched back. Her eyes widened but her voice softened. “We need a [Cleric], please! They’ve been poisoned!”

  This time she pleaded, and several members of the abbey stepped forward. Y’cennia recognized some of them from the crowd around the growing plots.

  But what she was just realizing, and she had no idea how it worked, but Melia somehow knew they were poisoned, and she knew it seemingly the instant it happened. Before she herself even knew.

  How?

  Why?

  A [Cleric] and a [Priest] both hurried over, and between the two of them they managed to dispel the poison.

  Y’cennia nearly threw up. A whole storm of emotions assaulted her, on top of a body that was suddenly responding to how unwell it was feeling. She doubled over, gagging, as the brothers fought to keep her standing. They were doing the same for Ellesea next to her, and Jessica had a [Paladin] rubbing her back.

  Speaking of [Paladins], Melia disappeared into the crowd, emerging a moment later with Alastair slung over her shoulder like a common sack of grain. He was completely unconscious.

  Thankfully, Melia seemed to be much calmer with her whole party surrounding her, despite their obvious distress. She grabbed Jessica and tossed her over her other shoulder, completely ignorant to the weight of two full grown adults, decent adventurers the both of them.

  Now that she was not in a panic induced rage, Melia looked incredibly ashamed and sheepish. Her voice, back to its normal volume and cadence, was full of sorrow and embarrassment as she addressed the crowd.

  “I’m really sorry,” she apologized. “I’ve ruined your party. I…think I’ll take my team and go. Thank you all for the wonderful food and the nice evening. Thank you all.”

  It was all too much for Y’cennia, and she too passed out.