Whatever paralytic had been used in the needle that was sticking out of my throat proved quite effective. Foam fizzled out of my mouth as I tried pulling myself up from the ground only to land flat on my face. Numbness extended down through my chest, slowing my breathing as it branched off through each appendage, freezing the nerves.

  "He's still moving," a raspy voice said.

  A cruel monotone voice said, "Stick him again."

  Footsteps sounded by my ear as a black leather boot appeared inches from my face. "Another needle will kill him."

  I felt a numb pressure as a pair of hands latched around my ankle and began dragging me down hill. My face rubbed against rocks and roots. Completely paralyzed, I couldn't even close my eyelids as they dragged me through a particularly thorny patch of grass. Yet, whenever the thorns met my cornea they broke or were pushed aside. After dragging me over a dozen yards they stopped.

  "Why's this bastard so heavy?" the raspy man asked as he bent down and flipped me over.

  At last, I saw my two assailants. Karma's Gaze probably would've scanned them before they had a chance to install a needle in Xodoven's neck, but I had been keeping it deactivated with some ridiculous filter settings. It had kept Xodoven from accusing me of Soul Scrying again, but clearly left a massive gap in our security.

  Filter off.

  Target: Whitcomb

  Level: 8

  Karma: -1780

  Additional Data: Male. Age 32. Veteran member of Soul Viper. Hobbies include animal-husbandry, cooking, and torture. Allergic to gluten.

  Bonus Data: Currently pays 10% over the recommended amount into the Soul Viper Pension Fund in regular installments. Maintains a 95% contract completion rate.

  Whitcomb was paper thin and dressed in a sleek all black getup reminiscent of a ninja's gi. He patted me down, removing my supply pack which he tossed to his comrade before taking my Gloomgem Tonfa from its holster.

  "So that's what was weighing us down," Whitcomb said as I scanned his partner.

  Target: Khaled

  Level: 9

  Karma: -2190

  Additional Data: Veteran member of Soul Viper. Quickly moved up the ranks after joining 4 years ago. Currently, a 5 year anniversary surprise party is being planned at Soul Viper's Ingcaster Branch Headquarters.

  And where would that be? This bonus data better be good.

  Bonus Data: Specializes in paralytic and mana negation poisons.

  Khaled turned my supply pack inside out, dumping my belongings onto the ground. He wore the same black outfit as his colleague. A pair of cold grey eyes filled with focused concern peered out from behind his balaclava. "Look at this. There's rotten flesh smeared into the fibers of his bag."

  Whitcomb was more interested in the amulet he pulled off my neck. "And I found Rook's amulet. Thieving little bastard."

  He kicked me hard in the stomach, but I barely flinched. Whitcomb rolled me over and stepped up onto my chest, posing with his hands on his hips. "Rook and Dante had trouble with this wimp?"

  "Keep your voice down and get off him," Khaled whispered as he quickly pocketed my belongings into a dark silk sack of his own. "There's no telling how long Grimspark will be incapacitated for and there could've been a third person in the shack."

  "You didn't smell someone else? And are you certain that was Grimspark? It should've required more than a little poison to take down a legend like him."

  Khaled shook his head. "This entire hillside reeks of feces, I can't make out anyone's scent. But there's no mistaking that man is Grimspark, which means this bastard here is our target. We're lucky the legend himself was sleeping. Without doubt, our divine luck will soon sour."

  Whitcomb glanced down, clearly smirking underneath his face cover. Our eyes met and lingered.

  I can't wait to show you your entrails.

  The cocky ninja quickly hopped down off my chest, abandoning the idea of using my body as a pedestal.

  "Aye, something's wrong with your poison. He's looking at me with killing intent," Whitcomb said. "Stick him with another needle."

  "If I do that he will die. Just because his eyes are open doesn't mean he's awake. Stop being an idiot, killing intent is a myth perpetuated by egotistical fools. Remember what we learned in training? Shut up and carry him."

  Whitcomb averted his gaze as he lowered the hood of my cloak over my eyes. He lifted me onto his back and draped my arms over his bulky shoulders while I considered activating Shadow Weave and taking my best shot at disemboweling them. However, my line of sight was limited and I doubted my ability to manipulate the shadows without the use of my fingertips. Besides the logistical issues, the mere act of breathing was becoming a struggle as the poison coursed through my bloodstream.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  With little effort, they swiftly maneuvered down the hillside, silently slipping through the night. Every few seconds I tried moving my fingers to no avail. Sure, not being able to move a muscle was alarming, but I was far from panicked. A few minutes passed before Khaled raised his arm and we came to a halt in the middle of a clearing halfway down the hill.

  "It's your turn to carry this bastard," Whitcomb said.

  Khaled put a finger to his lips and harshly shushed his partner. "Listen closely."

  The subtle echo of distant chatter crept through the night. Moments later tiny blips of torchlight appeared like fireflies shining through the undergrowth at the valley's entrance. Khaled squatted down in front and motioned for Whitcomb to do the same.

  My abductors waited in silence as the blips multiplied and dispersed, slowly heading up the hillside. I counted nearly twenty statuses with levels ranging from three to six before Whitcomb hit the ground, bringing me with him while Khaled scaled a tree and surveyed the area.

  I tried activating Shadow Weave, but it felt like trying to light a match in a hurricane while overdosing on Xanax. It was usual for me to be disappointed in myself and others. Yet, for some reason Xodoven's negligence stung extra hard. To have such a garbage personality and completely fail his singular duty was unfathomably infuriating.

  Then there was the matter of how Soul Viper and these unknown trespassers knew I was here in the first place. I wondered if Xodoven sold us out or if somebody had simply tailed us considering how I had been limiting Karma's Gaze with Filter.

  As I resigned myself to temporary powerlessness, Khaled silently dropped down from the tree and joined us in the grass.

  "There's over fifty of 'em," Khaled spat. "Mercenaries."

  "Who sends a platoon after two people?" Whitcomb asked, pressing his forehead against ground. "I'm going to kill the handler."

  Khaled shot his partner a death glare. "This doesn't change our mission in the slightest. We proceed as planned. The brush is thick. Start crawling."

  I lay strewn over Whitcomb's back, surprised his twig-like stature could continue bearing my weight. Unlike his collected colleague, cracks were already forming in Whitcomb's demeanor. I could hear his heart pounding as he moved in single file behind Khaled, snaking down into an overgrown thicket of bushes.

  If anyone deserved the right to panic, it was me. Since I wasn't already dead, I likely faced torture, interrogation, and more non-consensual acupuncture. Yet most of my concerns lay with the mercenaries invading my property. I worried about what would happen if they reached the top. Any one of them could discover my Gloomgem Tonfa on the ground and steal it with zero consequence.

  Devastated by the prospect of losing such a rare and expensive item, my face twitched, and the inconsequential movement of my facial muscles inspired some much needed optimism.

  Foliage slapped my cheeks as Whitcomb crawled into a naturally formed trench, following his colleague's lead. As they advanced downhill, torchlight swept in like the ocean's tide. Two mercenaries strolled out from the trees nearly 30 yards in front of us.

  They were levels five and six, but I couldn't care less. I was too busy trying to flex the muscles in my face, only reproducing the twitch once more.

  Khaled raised his hand and made a fist. An instant later my kidnappers laid flat underneath a shrub covering the hollow divot. Leaves rustled and twigs snapped as footfalls resonated a stone's throw ahead.

  "I told boss I ain't fighting Grimspark. Who gives a shit about a front line bonus if you can't live to spend it?" a mercenary's voice echoed from the treeline. "He turned Alistar Fortress and everyone inside it to ashes."

  A weary voice replied, "The front line has five officers assigned to subduing him. You should worry about the main target."

  "The lucky bastard who found the chaos shard?"

  "His name's Cyprus and he's as dangerous as he is slippery. I saw him dispatch several skilled warriors after he slayed the guardian right under our noses," the weary voice grew louder along with their footsteps.

  They walked by on either side of the trench. Their weight shifted loose specs of dirt onto our backs as they passed over us and stopped.

  Khaled glanced over his shoulder, drawing a needle out from a leather pouch at his side. While Whitcomb's heart accelerated, I continued wrestling with my body, trying to force it into action. Although my muscles were still locked down, I noticed each breath I drew was becoming easier than last. It seemed my Recovery stat was finally fighting back.

  More mercenaries marched out from the treeline in an unorganized line. They swept through the area, never coming within sight of us, but the two mercenaries a few feet behind us remained still, standing over our hiding spot.

  "Hurry up before we get in trouble for breaking formation," one mercenary said.

  "Bite your tongue. I stopped here for a valid reason," the other responded.

  Whitcomb's eyes expanded with worry as the mercenary shuffled closer. Khaled lay on his stomach, gripping a poisoned needle between his fingers, ready to flip over and engage at a moment's notice.

  Gradually, the muscles in my neck loosened. My lips formed a thin smile as I felt the air blow against my brow once more. While everything from the neck down was still completely numb, I was regaining control of my head and the overbearing brain fog was dissipating.

  Despite my vulnerable state, I hoped the mercenaries noticed the kidnappers laying at their feet. Instead one of the mercenaries stripped out of his armor, pulled down his pants and stood over the ditch.

  A stream of piss trickled down the trench's edge, wetting the underside of Whitcomb's jet black outfit. Everyone held their breath until the mercenary finished relieving himself.

  Hello? Look down at us you oblivious piece of trash!

  We had decent coverage beneath the brush, but not near enough to make us invisible. Instead, the mercenary put his armor back on, turned his back and laughed. "Told you it was a valid reason."

  The two of them jogged off, leaving Whitcomb in a nasty puddle and me internally screaming for their attention. Two minutes passed before Khaled continued crawling.

  "I swear to Galdir—" Whitcomb started.

  Khaled whispered, "Make another noise before we reach the extract and I'll make sure the handler becomes aware of your incompetence."

  "Cry to the handler then, kiss-ass. You're not the one soaked in urine carrying a 200 pound weight on his back," Whitcomb said as he tugged on my arms, shifting my body.

  The ditch ended, leveling out with the forest floor, but my kidnappers remained still, waiting as the parade of torch bearers steadily disappeared into the woods, heading up the hill behind us. I appreciated every extra second they took, completely unaware of the poison's waning effects.

  I gently tilted my neck and carefully opened my jaw. The rest of my body was still immobile, but I had regained full mobility from the neck up. Khaled rose into a crouched stance, ducking behind a row of thorny shrubs.

  Whitcomb mirrored his partner's movement with a grunt. As he waded toward the brush, I leaned my head forward, and clamped my jaw shut, seizing the cloth balaclava along with a clump of his cheek between my teeth.

  I bit down hard, tearing flesh until enamel scraped against enamel like nails on a chalkboard, ripping his cheek asunder. The taste of iron wet my palette and Whitcomb let out a blood curdling howl.

  "Fuck!" he shouted and tossed me off his back to the ground.

  Whitcomb bent over, gripping the gaping hole on the left side of his face, his body shaking with pain.

  I rotated my head to the side and watched as the sea of torchlight swayed back in our direction from the top of the hill.