I strolled through the mass wreckage of what resembled a Spirit Halloween store hit by a tornado. Fragmented bones crunched beneath my boots and a fine white dust clung to every surface.

  Besides gaining thousands of XP, I also had received a significant bump in karma. And Karma's Gaze third mastery level scaled the ability's boosted damage with my current rating. Whether my 6000+ karma rating increased the passive by 1% or 1000% was impossible to know, but was still nice to have.

  As I scanned the horizon, Karma's Gaze revealed Jag'thar's fourth and final surveillance bat gliding over 150 feet in the air, blended in with the darkness.

  How long has it been watching?

  I flicked my finger and the very darkness the bat had been using as cover folded inward, snuffing out its existence. I'd prefer the lich hadn't seen how his army perished. But at this point, I wondered if the extra caution was even warranted.

  Can he stop me?

  The majority of his army had crumbled in minutes, and the only enemy type that posed a threat was the level 11 enforcer. As long as I avoided another direct hit and dispatched the last one with haste, short of a nuclear missile Jag'thar would soon join the countless others whose existences had been minimized to drops in the XP bucket.

  A structure crumbled in the distance, followed by echoed shouting. I chased after it. Five ancient blocks away, what was left of Westcott's group was on the run. The man himself, Hendrix, and a level five healer who was on the verge of collapse turned out of an alley and onto an open plaza that cut through the center of the dungeon.

  Behind them, an Abyssal Enforcer burst through a load bearing wall, causing another building to collapse in its wake. Hendrix spun on his feet, leveled his staff, and unleashed a ball of fire from its tip. The hurtling fireball nailed the enforcer square in its armored chest. Flames engulfed the giant skeleton knight, but the monster ignored the damage, solely focused on catching up.

  I trailed after them, running along a ledge two stories above on a parallel structure. Their chosen path transitioned into an imposing staircase that led up a massive pyramid with a flat top. Their momentum faltered, and Westcott must've realized the giant armored skeleton would catch them before they made it up the first flight because he turned on his heels and held his two-handed sword proud.

  I leapt off the edge and fell on top of the giant, striking the back of its head with the full force of my elbow. Its heavy plate helmet snapped inward and blew out the back of its skull through the front of its face. I kicked off the smoldering hot creature before it collapsed, nearly taking out Westcott.

  All three of them looked like they'd been through hell. Westcott was missing his helmet, face covered in cuts and scrapes and his expensive designer armor was dented and covered in blood. Hendrix, and Eliko, the level five healer, were no better off.

  I stepped out from the smoke and Westcott lowered his sword. He looked at me. Then the slain enforcer. Then back at me once more, staggered beyond words.

  Hendrix bowed his head and said, "Thank you."

  +650 XP

  +150 Karma

  Kill them all.

  Like an alarm clock, I hit snooze on my inner blood lust. Unless Westcott dared strike what was the point of killing him? Some XP? A shallow sense of satisfaction? I hadn't forgotten about Pearl Banner's immoral practices or transgressions. But this was not the time nor setting.

  Besides, I'd much rather instill a deep, foreboding sense of dread that I could draw out over an extended period of time. A swift execution was far too benevolent.

  Westcott gulped, averting eye contact. "Are the others alive?"

  "Valor and Glory, Ale Tornado, and his two friends, plus your flag carrier are all still breathing."

  "That's great news," he said with a glint of hope in his eyes. "Where are they? Regrouping is our first priority. As you can see, we've sustained heavy losses."

  "They're on the north eastern side of the dungeon. I can lead you there," I said, gesturing for them to follow.

  I turned my back, and they fell in line with caution filled footsteps past the eliminated gargantuan. The fire and smoke faded and they saw the monster's inverted plate helmet and shattered skull.

  "A mana imbued strike? Wait—I figured it out. You channel a spell weakening your opponent's physical defenses before attacking." Hendrix pursed his lips and squeezed his wooden staff in frustration. "Though, your mana signature..."

  "Enough. None of that matters. Cyprus, where do you think you're taking us? The bulk of their forces were marching in this very direction."

  Rather than waste my breath, I led them around the corner and through the mass grave of Jag'thar's army. Scattered skulls and mounds of bones littered the aged stone pathway.

  "You all managed to hold your ground against hundreds?" Westcott asked, stunned.

  "I managed to fend them off while the others escaped."

  "Fend off? They're decimated," Hendrix said. “It can’t be… We've been on this floor for less time than it takes to make a cup of tea!”

  I stopped dead in my tracks at a crossroads boxed in by hulking slabs of carved stone and said, "To tell you the truth, I'm disappointed.”

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  "Excuse me?" Westcott asked, voice shaken. "Speak plainly."

  I shrugged. "It's a bit dull. The skeletons. The statues. The assassins you hired. Nothing has come close to posing a challenge. I had such high hopes after the zombie debacle on the first floor."

  I looked past their speechless mugs, eyeing the boss tower looming in the north. "Maybe the lich will put up a proper fight."

  "How did you know about the assassins?" Westcott asked, his voice stripped of command.

  "It was only a deduction, but thanks for confirming it," I lied, rubbing salt in the wound. "Man, I hope Griffin and Nassir are still alive or I might die from boredom before I climb that tedious staircase. Can't tell from here, but I'd guess it’s sixty flights give or take?"

  Even when given a generous opportunity to add to the discussion, they all remained silent. I took one step toward them, and they took two steps back.

  "The lich running this dungeon must've designed it with the theme of attrition in mind. Personally, I feel fine. But you all look exhausted. Will you be able to climb so many steps?"

  Their healer, Eliko, was horrified by the exchange. Hendrix held his staff tight, waiting for his leader's orders. Orders that never came. Westcott kept his hands free and clear from the gem encrusted sword hilt at his side.

  Pathetic.

  "What do you want?" Westcott asked, palms up, hands out.

  "I want you to swing your own sword at me instead of outsourcing it."

  "It would be foolish to turn our blades on one another. A horrific mana is radiating from that tower. Together we—"

  "Oh, together? Says the jerk-off who's tried to have me killed on several occasions. Just shut the fuck up before your organs end up outside of your body."

  Chopping up the raid leader and the rest of his subordinates wouldn't aid my reputation. It'd likely worsen the Gilded Boar's already rocky relations with Pearl Banner. If I endured one more guild bitch session, I'd snap.

  No more messes.

  I needed plausible deniability. Wasn't it Gandhi who said, "Maintain patience, and you can assassinate your enemies under the guise of anonymity at a later date?"

  Broken ribs clattered as I kicked them out of my path. Westcott paused, then followed.

  "I never wanted to have you killed within this dungeon. I pleaded against such recklessness. But I swore an oath to Pearl Banner. Which requires—"

  "You always abide by your senior's orders."

  Westcott nodded. "You understand!"

  "Not at all. Though, you make a strong argument for blindly obeying authority. You wear some of the most expensive armor I've ever seen. Eat luxurious meals. Ride a fancy horse with a gold trimmed saddle. They've even given you an inkling of your own authority that you're free to wield down here in the dregs of this pit, tasked with killing someone who could kill you if they sneezed in your direction. Is there a referral system? How do I sign up?"

  "Doesn't the Gilded Boar own you now? Joining the likes of their prized possession, Grimspark."

  I laughed. "Sure. The same way a drunk can claim ownership of both moons."

  Halfway across the plaza, Nassir skidded around the corner, a mob of skeletal infantry nipping at his heels. He turned and swung his greatsword, dispatching one skeleton, but a second blocked it from going any further while a third planted a dagger in his shoulder. Nassir pivoted once more, dashing toward us with the rest of them in tow.

  Westcott joined my side, sword raised with dread leaking from every pore.

  "I don't have much mana left," Hendrix said.

  "I'm tapped, too," Eliko said softly.

  "We can defeat them. I only count eight.”

  Ten more turned the corner, moments away from joining the fray. Westcott's demeanor took a killing blow. Face long, hope diminished.

  "Incoming," Nassir shouted.

  I shot past Nassir and met the horde head on with a precise series of punches, weaving from one pack to another. Collecting XP like it was owed to me.

  +450 XP

  +125 Karma

  "Where's Griffin?" Westcott asked.

  Nassir wiped the blood from a gash on his forehead, then dabbed a finger to his tongue, tasting it while he gazed in my direction.

  "We got separated," the towering weirdo said.

  "Sir, your shoulder," Eliko said, reaching toward the embedded dagger.

  "Leave it."

  Westcott's brow narrowed. "I'm calling it off. Keep the money. Our only priority is survival, we've lost too many men."

  Nassir drained a health potion and threw the vial over his shoulder. "Tell that to Griffin. He's been itching for a go at this freak."

  "You said you could control him! Goddamnit, we paid you handsomely." Westcott cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. "Griffin, stand down! That's an order."

  Westcott stomped his emerald encrusted booties and poked his finger into Nassir's armored chest. "Stop him before he gets us all killed!"

  "Westcott, it's gone," Hendrix interrupted. "That massive signature in the tower disappeared and I can no longer pinpoint it.

  "It was just there."

  I blinked twice, clearing the bone dust from my eyes when a palm cracked against the side of my head. Griffin had dropped silently from a gap in the stone above, striking me mid-air. A cheap sneak attack. He flipped backward and landed several feet away.

  "Stand down!" Westcott shouted. "The boss's mana signature has shifted locations."

  Something felt off. I tried leaping forward and driving my fist through the cocky assassin's face. Instead, I stumbled backward and my left elbow smashed a hole in the stone wall behind it.

  "You don't stand a chance against him," Westcott said.

  "The fight's already over," Nassir said. "He's hit him with Inversion Touch."

  The seven foot brute lunged at me with his sword drawn.

  Shadow Weave.

  The connection I usually felt when manipulating the darkness was nowhere to be found. Nassir's greatsword split through my cheap leather armor and bit deep into flesh, lodging itself in muscles across my chest and shoulder.

  Ignoring the pain, I tried swiping my hand out for his throat only to kick my left leg backwards, widening the opening in the stone structure at my back. I stumbled back, taking the greatsword lodged in my body with me, crashing through the wall and into a dark empty room that would've made for another excellent parking garage.

  Now my hands are controlling my feet?

  "Tough son of a bitch," Nassir spat.

  "I bruised my hand on his face. Fascinating." Griffin stared down at his ungloved hand.

  Meanwhile, Nassir stomped through the rubble, aiming to reclaim his sword. I concentrated on leaning backward and kicking with my left foot. Which resulted in me leaning forward and loosely flinging my right hand up. My fingertips caught the side of his hand.

  Flesh parted soft as rotted fruit and blood pulsed from the gash, beating against the stone as Nassir reeled back and Griffin rushed forward in his place. He launched into the air, and twisted mid-flight transitioning into a flying kick.

  I repeated the exact same firing of neurons, trying to lean backward and kick with my left foot. This time, I bowed forward and threw my hand down at my side. Griffin's boot slammed into my chest, and I tumbled across the room. The greatsword’s iron edge scraped against bone, then finally fell out.

  It took five combinations of different movements until my body stood up. A follow-up kick knocked the air from my lungs and reset my progress. When I tried pushing myself off the ground, I rolled over onto my back.

  "I think I broke my toe,” Griffin said matter of factly.

  "Shit of piece," I growled, disturbed to find my words scrambled, too.

  Westcott waited until I was cornered and kicked around before waltzing into the ancient room, keeping a safe distance. I noticed he had retired his pleas for them to stop.

  "Finish him," he said.