For some reason, Maldrioneth the mage lay sprawled on the carpet with his chest torn open. I stood over him, my fingers slick with glistening crimson.

  What happened?

  I literally caught myself red-handed, unable to recall anything after the disembodied voice disconnected. Had I missed seconds or minutes?

  Gumble, the level three manning the service desk jolted awake, legs shaking, lips quivering, as I approached the desk.

  "Have any napkins?"

  As Gumble slowly processed the request, Darvin, the level two in charge of the breakfast nook bolted away. Stumbling in retreat, he passed by the pillars, heading for the main entrance until Celina stepped out and clotheslined him, then bent over and struck him once, knocking him out.

  With anxiety laden breaths, Gumble handed me a black diamond shaped cloth. I vigorously rubbed the dry cloth against my stained palms.

  "Can you tell me what happened?"

  Gumble blinked slowly, his pupils lost, adrift in a sea of foreboding trepidation.

  "Did he say something? Tell me exactly what you heard and saw."'

  The level three averted his gaze to my feet. "Um, nothing. I heard and saw nothing. Please don't kill me."

  He dropped to the ground, and curled up into a ball.

  "Oh, for fuck's sake." I lunged over the counter and gently flipped him over onto his back. "Answer the question."

  "He didn't say anything… Then you put your fist through his chest."

  Squeezing the napkin over my bloodied right hand, I glanced up and saw the Moonsewn Bandits walking past the counter and through an empty dining lounge.

  "This way," Celina said.

  I dropped the cloth, displeased my hand was still sticky and disturbed I had blacked out and killed Maldrioneth. Even if I only lost control for a second, that couldn't happen again. I wouldn't allow it.

  +270 XP

  +85 Karma

  The Moonsewn Bandits advanced toward a set of worn mahogany doors. Suddenly, they stopped, then changed course as both doors flew open and a squad of level threes led by a level four named Zyphandrel entered.

  A wiry mustache curled up over his nose, and his gums swallowed most of his teeth as he stormed into the lounge, shouting, "Halt!"

  The bandits ignored his command, retreating toward me as I jumped up onto the granite service counter.

  "I'd rather not kill you. Put your weapons down and proceed to the exit," I said, pointing toward the west side of the grand hall.

  "Seize them," Zyphandrel commanded.

  I drew one of the daggers I had borrowed and sprinted right at them. Two arrows glided by and I sliced the third in half. By the time the archers readied a second volley, I was on top of their commander, driving a blade through his neck.

  Two mercenaries retaliated in lock-step, swinging their swords down only to end up with eviscerated armpits. Before their bodies hit the floor I claimed four swordsmen, and three archers in a bloody whirlwind.

  +90 XP

  +20 Karma

  With the low level squad eliminated, Celina and the others reluctantly regrouped. They stepped over the bodies and through the doorway without a word.

  I slid the dagger into its sheath and followed them into a colossal elevator shaft, its design laid out like a figure-eight. A walkway lined with railings curved around one vacant platform before spiraling toward another. The second platform was occupied by a circular lift resembling the one I had taken in the Cellar.

  The shaft stretched upward reaching unbelievable heights. Towering stone walls were lined with doors representing unseen floors, each unreachable without access from the lift. Faint amber lights flickered at its peak like fireflies glowing in the night.

  Anderhorn Spire's layout may have been as vast as it was confusing, but it was an impressive spectacle of human achievement. Although, knowing Aclana, it was likely built off of the blood, sweat, and tears of slaves.

  We made haste and cleared the walkway, rushing toward the lift. And unlike the lift in the Cellar, this one featured a stained oak floor and stone benches that could seat dozens of people.

  I took a seat as Celina hit the lever and the lift kicked into action, pulled up by heavy chains feeding into a rotating gear mechanism. Gustall, breathing deeply, sat on a bench two rows deep across from me. He leaned back and undid a clasp, dropping his cloak and sliding off his leather armor chest piece, revealing a puncture wound in his abdomen.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  I stared at him, wondering what set him apart from his cohorts. While Brythan had -175 karma and Celina -330, Gustall maintained+365 karma.

  I wasn't certain, but I could've sworn their ratings had changed since I first scanned them, although their data remained unchanged. Something with the karma system felt off.

  "Don't touch it," Celina said. "Here."

  She retrieved a square bandage from her pocket. One side of the patch was glossy and smelled of rubbing alcohol mixed with mint toothpaste.

  "It looks worse than it feels." Gustall forced a smile. "I don't need a patch."

  "Yes, you do, it's still bleeding. Stop squirming." Celina slapped the glossy side against the puncture wound, applying intense pressure.

  His body jerked, teeth clenched, eyes watering. Then he placed his hand over hers against his chest only for her to slip through his grasp. "Lina, I—"

  "Keep pressure on it for five minutes, and don't move," she said, leaving him for a seat on a bench directly across from me.

  She pulled down her cowl, drew back her hood, and wiped the matted clumps of chestnut hair from her face before she took a swig from a tiny canteen she kept stashed in her cloak.

  "What was that?" I asked.

  "You've never seen a hemapatch?"

  Shit, I shouldn't have asked.

  "No, I usually travel with a healer."

  "You two must be close, going through all of this to get them back," Celina said.

  "No, not really. We met a week and a half ago." I cleared my throat, ready to force a change in subject. "Where are we going?

  "To the Skywalk at the top." She paused and her gaze narrowed. "Were you really in the Cellar?"

  "Yes."

  "Then how did you get out of the glyph lock? You said you weren't a mage."

  "I'm not."

  Celina leaned back and stared up at the coiling chains dragging the lift higher. "Ah, yes, a martial artist was it? A foreigner that nobody in Aclana has ever heard of, who owns a chaos shard."

  "I liked you better when you didn't ask questions."

  The lift moved quicker than the one in the Cellar, but not quick enough to evade conversation.

  "The newsletters claimed you were a novice." Her lips formed a thin smile that transitioned into a wide grin until she burst into a hearty laughter. "Seems it could've been worse."

  Is she losing it?

  "No, tonight has been a nightmare from the start," Brythan moaned.

  And like he was right on cue, the chains belonging to the second lift began churning. Nearly 15 floors above us, the second platform plunged downward at twice the rate ours was climbing. In less than a minute, the two lifts would cross paths, putting us directly in their line of sight, if none of them saw us by peering over the side before then.

  "Brace yourselves for combat," I said, focusing on the descending lift. "I'll kill who I can, but there's no guaranteeing your safety."

  "Why don't we stop and hide on the next floor?" Brythan pointed at the wrought-iron door our lift was seconds away from being level with.

  "Get off if you want, but I'm staying to greet our neighbors," I said.

  Brythan jumped from the bench and slid over to the lift's lever, wrenching it back as the platform leveled out with the wrought-iron door. Wasting no time, he scurried over to the door and pushed it open, revealing a hallway of mercenaries marching down a tight corridor toward the lift.

  "It's a nightmare," Brythan slammed the door shut and hustled back over to the lever, activating the lift once more. "Cyprus, if I don't make it out, can you please—"

  "Absolutely not." I wrinkled my nose at the absurd notion.

  I barely knew them. Fulfilling a death request for any one of them was totally inappropriate. It'd be like putting the pizza delivery guy in charge of your living will because he didn't forget the garlic sauce.

  Celina tightened her cowl, readjusted her hood and readied her one-handed sword with a curved tip. Gustall and Brythan mirrored her actions and formed a loose triangular holding pattern.

  However, I remained seated with my neck craned back, eyes locked upward on the swiftly descending platform, eagerly waiting as the line of sight shifted. Finally, the back of someone's neck came into view and Karma's Gaze activated.

  Target: Abracio

  Level: 7

  Additional Data: Known as the ugly twin, a term coined by his brother Abraci. Separated at birth, he went to live...

  I don't care.

  I ignored the useless backstory, and focused on the next target who appeared by his side.

  Target: Abraci

  Level: 7

  Additional Data: Incorrectly recognized as Abracio more than 95% of the time, he struggles to maintain his own identity...

  Running out of time, I skipped the data and activated Invisibility, disappearing before the lift stacked with prey noticed us.

  Brythan's eyelids fluttered in a flurry. "Where's Cyprus?"

  The Abracio twins turned around and gazed down, spotting the Moonsewn Bandits as the line of sight between the lifts sharpened. They carried matching lean, honed physiques, and wore matching black and grey pajama bottoms. Together they showcased the horrors of haircuts gone wrong, rocking uneven bowl-cuts that ended with a braided rat-tail in the back. Out of the dozens of mercenaries dressed for battle, they weren't even wearing shirts.

  At first it didn't register with the twins who they were seeing on the lift in the neighboring shaft. As the distance between the lifts shrank, Karma's Gaze went nuts, forcing me to filter out anyone below level five, all of whom belonged to the Elite Demon Unit, leaving two targets: Skarvo and Tor-Thor-Gor.

  Skarvo, a balding level eight with anvil-shaped arms so thick his iron chest piece looked like it was cutting into his armpits, standing with his chest out and his hands on his hips. According to his data, he specialized in brutal grip strength techniques.

  Tor-Thor-Gor towered over the lift full of mercs, likely weighing in at over 400 pounds of bulky muscle. He was level 8 known as the Immortal, although nowhere in his data or bonus information suggested he truly couldn't die. Either way, I'd test his title’s validity.

  It took the Abracio twins longer than I expected to realize the Moonsewn Bandits weren't supposed to be there.

  "Is that a woman?" Abracio asked, shoving his brother's shoulder.

  "Wait, who are those people?" Abraci said. "Someone stop us."

  Their platform came screeching to a halt a story and half overhead, all eyes on the Moonsewn Bandits.

  Shadow Weave.

  While onlookers lined the edge of their lift, I reached into the darkness atop of their elevator's shaft, pinching control over a thin strip of shadows, feeling cold contact in my fingertips as I blindly skimmed stone, gently guiding the darkness like a paintbrush.

  "Look, is that them?" Abracio asked, pointing with his jaw slacked open.

  Skarvo waddled up alongside the twins, popped a squat and licked his lips. "Veigan didn't mention a female."

  "Yes, he did," Tor-Thor-Gor bellowed. "One unknown female, two unknown males, and Cyprus, who is allegedly responsible for killing Kashlee, and evading Grave Digger's unit."

  "I only count three. Hello, miss," Skarvo shouted from one floor above.

  I finished tying the shadows around the chains responsible for lowering our neighbors and ripped my arm back. The metal chains howled, then ruptured as I aggressively dragged the shadows through them, several stories above.

  Suddenly, their lift was in free fall.