Nimrod stacked his plate with beef broccoli, chicken fried rice, Mongolian beef, and orange chicken. He waited for no one, shoveling the assortment of steaming hot food into his mouth.

  "Sounds to me like Galdir packed up all his important shit and left you and Justice holding the bag. Do you know your name's meaning?"

  Nimrod dropped his fork, offended. "Of course. Do you take me for a fool?"

  "Yes, exactly."

  The assassins kept their heads lowered, shoulders tensing every time I spoke.

  "Galdir himself told me it means idiot. Now, who looks foolish? But like all of his words, you must seek their deeper meaning. An idiot is but an entity needing to seek knowledge. Thus, the name's true meaning is revealed: Nimrod, the Knowledge Seeker."

  I relented, accepting defeat and reached for a takeout box, spooning a pile of chicken fried rice atop my plate.

  "My apologies, I meant no disrespect."

  I absolutely did.

  "And thank you for this feast." I shifted gears, smothering my frustrations before I pissed off whatever Nimrod was.

  I filled my plate with egg rolls and crab Rangoon from greasy parchment bags, then drizzled them with red sauce. "New China's still open, huh?"

  "Indeed, they are," Nimrod said, pointing his fork toward the trio of assassins. "Your party is well-behaved, waiting for their leader to take the first bite. They must carry great respect for you."

  I said nothing, murderous gaze leveled upon my enemies, who still refused to raise their heads, hands locked in a prayer they dared not break.

  Nimrod reached for a plastic container of Kung Pao chicken. Sauce dripped across the table from the bottom of the container. "It leaked everywhere! Oh, curses, it seeped through the bottom of the bag too. The napkins are ruined. What a travesty."

  "It's American Chinese, it's supposed to do that," I said, dispelling his outrage.

  "Oh... Yes, I knew that," he muttered.

  I took a bite, savoring the greasy dish. I reached across the table, opened the second brown paper bag and retrieved a cola, cracked it open and took a sip.

  "Nimrod, can you lend me your wisdom and clear something up? How does the karma system work? From personal experience, it seems flawed."

  I took my shot, hanging on an abated breath awaiting his response. His jaw hung open, half-chewed food packed against his cheeks. Then he grabbed my soda, took a long sip and handed it back with spittle and backwashed crumbs on the can's lip.

  "It is not flawed. Nothing Galdir touches is flawed. The system is merely unfinished."

  My heart sank into the pit of my stomach. "Unfinished?"

  "Yes. Assigning numbers to an infinite web of moral quandaries generated a nigh unsolvable equation." Nimrod suddenly choked, and grabbed my soda once more, draining it. "Sorry—Galdir can and will solve it when he gets back. It's the most complex system he's constructed to date. Once finished, I have no doubt an update will be applied to all of the realms."

  I sat in silence, staring down at the crab Rangoon on my plate, mind racing, appetite evaporating. Justice and I had both lied to each other. Forget eradicating corruption, how many innocents had the system shafted that I ended up killing?

  This changes nothing.

  "Eat! What's with the tension? You should all be proud of your success. Gadika's never won an event before, and two of you leveled up. What's there not to be ecstatic about?"

  Finally, the assassins raised their heads and cautiously spooned food onto their plates.

  "Lord Nimrod, may I ask what you mean by levels?" Nyx asked, finally breaking her silence.

  Nimrod laughed. "Oh, yes I almost forgot, Gadika is still in the dark ages compared to the other realms. Take your worries, gently put them down in bed, and smother them to death with the thickest of pillows. The catalyst of evolution is already in motion. Once the feast is concluded you'll each be teleported to the location you most desire."

  An overbearing anxiety shook me to my very core. The trio knew far too much thanks to Nimrod's talkative nature. Allowing them to leave alive and report back to Soul Viper would be catastrophic.

  They must die.

  But with my stats and powers on ice, and my legs immobilized I failed to see a way to make it happen. Nimrod also didn't come across as the type to appreciate an assassination attempt during supper.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  "Chewing hurts, but this cuisine is delicious," Whitcomb announced. "This is from another realm?"

  Nimrod nodded. "Earth, where your leader is from. Cyprus, you haven't told them?"

  It all clicked as I stared down at the container of Kung Pao chicken. I smiled and after spooning some onto my plate, I passed the dish to Nyx.

  "Why, no Nimrod, I haven't told them much of anything."

  "Oh, um... Strange party dynamic. Though, I never understood humans."

  The greasy deliciousness of New China's menu resonated with the assassins, melting away their previously reserved demeanor. I joined them, chowing down like everything was OK, waiting until it finally happened.

  Hives bloomed across Nyx's neck, her skin flushed blotch red. A sudden uneasiness flickered behind her eyes, breath shrinking to whistles. Her chest heaved in shallow spasms as she reached out for help, hands trembling uselessly, the inside of her throat swollen shut.

  Nimrod's chair legs screeched as he leapt out of his seat, just as puzzled as Whitcomb and Khaled, who was reaching out for her.

  "Peanuts, you fucking idiots."

  "Lord Nimrod, please save her," Khaled cried as he leaned toward her, body still stuck to his chair.

  "She needs a tracheotomy unless any of you have an EpiPen. Nimrod, release these invisible shackles before she dies," I said.

  The purple faced man waved his hand and I regained the use of my legs. Less than a second later, I lunged over the table with a butter knife in hand and stabbed the blade’s rounded tip into Khaled's eye, then jammed it into his neck. Before I could twist the butter knife through his artery, Nimrod clapped, freezing everything below my neck in place.

  I cranked my blood splattered gaze toward Whitcomb, feeling a warm trickle running down the butter knife's handle, staining my hand as the object was still lodged in Khaled's throat.

  "Run as far as you can for as long as you like. But know the moment you stop, my shadows will find you and drag you into the abyss," I hissed as a twisted grin carved its way across my face.

  "C-Cyprus, w-w-what the fuck!?" Nimrod stuttered, covered his mouth, and staggered back from the table. "This is Galdir's sacred domain. Violence here is strictly forbidden! The divine laws must not be broken."

  "Everyone else seems to be breaking them. Free me so I can finish this."

  Tears welled in Nimrod's beady eyes. "I'll do no such thing. How could you do this to your own companions?"

  "I'm amazed by how bad your read is. Justice would've recognized my contempt for them in an instant. Guess you can’t read my thoughts like she can." I flexed against the invisible force keeping me pinned down.

  "Oh, no. No-no, this is a mess." Nimrod paced back and forth, fingertips pressed into his scaly forehead.

  "Dear gods, help them!" Whitcomb shouted, face twisted, body frozen.

  With a snap of Nimrod's fingers, Whitcomb's shouting disappeared. "Shh, please, I'm thinking."

  Khaled's pupils dilated in pain and fear, helplessly bleeding, suspended in time with me leaning over him.

  "Tell them where they're going,” I said.

  "What?"

  "The Abyss. They should know what awaits them."

  Curling his violet lips in disgust, Nimrod said, "I won't let you disgrace this ceremony any further with such a nasty notion. Are you really Cyprus? Justice's noble hero?"

  "Forgive me, I've just been working overtime since I got here."

  "What would Galdir do?" Nimrod asked himself as he squinted up at the candlelit chandelier until an idea hit him. "As always, the answer is in the evergreen examples his majesty himself set. Yes... Past actions can become guidelines for the present."

  The stressed lines across his plum colored brow faded, replaced by a measured calmness. "Nothing happened here. We had a successful feast, and nobody got hurt. Congratulations on your victory. May Galdir bless you. Goodbye."

  ***

  One second I was leaning over Khaled with a butter knife in his throat, and the next I was upside down, falling out of the sky from over a hundred feet in the air, blood still warm on my hands.

  I flipped over just in time for my face to meet the roof. I crashed through shingles and wooden boards. I bounced off a support beam, sending me spiraling downward. Someone unfortunate broke my fall, and judging by how their torso practically liquefied, exploding like a water balloon, I figured they had been a low level with negative karma.

  Back throbbing, lungs gasping for air, I sat up, blurred text vibrating in the corner of my eye.

  Time Remaining: 09:55:35

  Despite being disoriented and sore, Karma's Gaze pulsed, displaying over a dozen statuses I was too motion sick to read. I adjusted the filter, shutting it off as I slowly recognized where I was. Waystone’s tavern.

  Stools scraped across the floorboards as several men rose from their seats at the bar. A man wearing a leather eye patch with deep scars covering his face looked up at the hole in the ceiling, then down at me.

  "Where'd ya come from, bastard? You killed Jerum. We all loved Jerum."

  I sighed, wiping the blood from my eyes, wondering how much of it was my own versus the poor fool who had served as my landing pad. I shifted my weight off Jerum's broken body, rubbing my funny bone that wasn't laughing about the impact it had just absorbed.

  Where is it? My money. The dungeon key...

  "Hey, I'm talking to you. You dirtied my shirt with my good mate's blood. Unless you have a way to fix this, you're about to have a bad time."

  Gold coins rained down from above, along with the dungeon key and the contract between Black Diamond and Pearl Banner. I glanced up and saw my satchel caught on a wooden beam overhead.

  With my belongings scattered across the ground, and my brain still scrambled, I began the arduous task of picking up the gold coins one by one. Being physically dissolved and re-manifested multiple times in such close succession coupled with the weird time dilation, made everything feel artificial, like I was in a waking dream. According to the timer, I'd only been away from Gadika for ten whole minutes.

  "Is anyone else seeing this?" Eye Patch said.

  An obese man with crumbs from different meals resting in his beard, drained the rest of his beer and slammed the mug down, shattering it. "Aye, he's disrespecting you Gunderson."

  "12, 13, 14..." I continued until Eye Patch stepped in front of me, putting two coins under his boot.

  "Fine, have it your way."

  I stood up to meet Eye Patch face to face, yet the devastating scene beyond the window behind him stole my attention. Buildings that used to stand across from the tavern were now smoldering remnants. Eliza's shop, along with the others had been razed to their foundations.

  I brushed past Eye Patch, and leaned over a table occupied by two of his men, staring out the window. Dead villagers and guardsmen lay in the street as smoke rolled through like morning fog.

  "Where's the shop keeper?"

  "Dumb bitch wouldn't stand down after I warned her. Blame Cyprus, Waystone's savior never showed up," Eye Patch said.

  "Another drink, pronto!" a goon shouted, throwing his glass at the bloodied and bruised bartender.

  Vision clearing up, I spotted Jordain, the level one old man I had first met upon my arrival. He lay underneath one of the tables, dried blood on his forehead, eyes blinking slowly.

  "Cyprus, you came..."

  "Sorry, I'm late."