Torchlight illuminated the interior of the grimy stone structure I was supposed to die in.

  Eliko held the torch high, providing the dim lighting for my murder. It was a wonderful and courteous gesture after I had stepped in and saved them from the Abyssal Enforcer.

  Not only was my motor function scrambled, but every muscle fired with a serious delay. It felt like I was neck deep in mud. The only saving grace was my raw agility. Back pressed to cool stone, I flailed my arms out like loose noodles, forcing myself into a half-squat.

  "Quick, kill him before your trick wears off," Westcott commanded.

  "Either assist us or swallow your tongue," Nassir hissed as he wrapped a bandage around the missing chunk of flesh from his right hand.

  Through trial and error within my body, I realized the inversion curse constantly rotated my motor function. If I tried moving my legs, my arms would react. Exactly ten seconds later, trying to move my legs would have me tilting my head from side to side. Even when I connected the twisted dots, I still couldn't control my movements with any precision.

  The inversion debuff shifted again. I dropped my flailing arms and kicked a hole in the wall behind me, throwing myself off balance. Griffin capitalized on the opening. He launched a high kick into my face, sending me crashing through the wall and out into another alley.

  Blood obscured my vision as I waged a war within, trying to fire the right combination of neurons to bring myself to my feet. I never thought about how many muscles and joints went into such a simple maneuver until now.

  "Wow. His face almost broke my foot." Griffin grinned as he limped back, making room for Nassir who had reclaimed his greatsword.

  Up. Down. Left. Right.

  I twisted around in the rubble until I figured out trying to turn my head made my legs move. So I ran away with a lopsided stride, torso cranked back like I was setting the bar for a limbo contest.

  "Get back here."

  Nassir ducked through the opening and came rushing after me. Seconds later my motor control function switched and I collapsed on the ground. By sheer luck, I blocked his blade with my upper arm. Iron scrapped against bone, tearing flesh.

  "Impossible." Nassir pressed his foot into my chest, dislodging the edge of his greatsword.

  I lay on my back in the rubble, realizing I'd die if I didn't change strategies. By the time I figured out how to move, the curse would reconfigure my hand-eye coordination.

  "Are you finally dead or just giving up?" Nassir asked.

  Griffin poked his head out from the crumbled wall. "He's alive."

  He hopped out, into the alley, keeping the weight off his right foot.

  "Get the torch out here. I can barely see," Nassir barked.

  "Is it safe?" Westcott said, voice echoing from inside the structure.

  I stared up into the darkness with my head laid back on broken stone.

  Shadow Weave.

  The electric sense of tapping into the darkness was still missing. I attempted the silent incantation again and noticed a blocked energy tense up within my veins.

  Not good.

  If I had more time to fiddle with this puzzle of a curse, I could crack it. But I was losing too much blood, my head was throbbing, and Nassir had his sword wound-up over his head.

  I squeezed my glutes instead of turning away. The greatsword tore across my body, shredding the rest of my cheap armor as it carved a second diagonal line across my chest.

  +1 Resilience

  Rather than smile, my toes flexed.

  "That should've split you in half," Nassir shouted. "Just die!"

  He swung the weapon down again. This time I accidentally sat up meeting the blade with the top of my forehead. The greatsword snapped and I flopped forward like a fish out of water.

  My chin dropped on Nassir's steel-plated greave, flattening his left foot like an empty soda can. As he screamed, Griffin flew in with his left palm open. I heard bones shatter throughout his hand as the blow connected with the side of my head.

  "Is this bastard related to the Immortal?" Nassir winced, jaw clenched in pain.

  I flopped toward Griffin and he jumped back out of range. His left hand dangled from his arm, jagged bone poking out from his wrist.

  "Healer," he said.

  Westcott shoved Eliko out into the alley while he remained behind the cover of the broken wall.

  "Why haven't you finished him?" Westcott asked.

  "Something changed. Striking him was already a pain. Now it's like hitting bedrock with a stick."

  "A defense spell?" Hendrix asked, peeking over the half-wall. "I've seen him teleport without an incantation."

  "No. Inversion Touch muddles the victim's brain for its duration." Griffin wiped the sweat from his brow and took a deep breath. "No one's ever survived this long under its effects. I've assassinated generals and world renowned fighters with my bare hands using this technique."

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  "Ever see a man break a greatsword with their face? I had it sharpened in preparation of this raid. Westcott, what have you gotten us into?" Nassir asked.

  "I tried calling you both off! He destroyed one of those giant undeads with a single strike. Several days ago, I drove this very dagger through his hand. If Grimspark hadn't arrived, I would've killed him myself. Now–I swear I don’t know what happened."

  Meanwhile, I attempted to activate Shadow Weave again and again. With each failed attempt, I concentrated on the missing puzzle piece preventing it from firing. I had grown used to the ability's seamless nature, using it without a second thought. Now, I drilled down into the mechanic and what made it tick.

  I recalled the first time I used Shadow Weave with zero mastery. The vast stamina cost. How manipulating the darkness felt as unwieldy as catching a softball with a pair of chopsticks. Most importantly, I remembered the odd sensation of the darkness flowing through me like a subtle current.

  Now it swirled in circles. Directionless.

  Shadow Weave.

  I shifted the current and an immeasurable pain seized me. It was like thousands of white hot needles were piercing my skin.

  Guess that's the wrong way.

  While I troubleshooted Shadow Weave, my foes kept their distance, nursing their own wounds. Eliko wrapped Griffin's broken wrist and cast a healing spell, putting the healer on the verge of collapse.

  "Heal me next, fast," Nassir groaned, leaning against the alley wall.

  Eliko shook his head. "My mana's depleted."

  "Drink this." Nassir shoved a vial filled with a clear liquid into the healer's hand.

  "I can't. I've already drunk three mana restoration elixirs. I'm beyond my limit."

  "Worthless trash." Nassir limped over and yanked the healer's short-sword from his side. "Drink it or I'll cut your throat."

  "Calm down." Griffin sighed, turning to Westcott with his hand outstretched. "Give me your sword. I'll end this."

  Westcott handed over his fancy sword leaving himself armed with a dagger and a reluctant glare. They stood shoulder to shoulder in the alley with Griffin in the front of the pack. He clasped his hands around the sword and bowed his head, mumbling something.

  A sharp white glow crept from his fingers, swirling into the blade, giving the weapon's edge a flickering hue.

  Every time I got close to unclogging Shadow Weave's blocked current, my brain rewired itself, resetting my progress. I tried clenching my fists out of frustration. Instead my toes curled and the mystery behind Griffin's terrifying spell vanished.

  I recognize this configuration.

  It seemed Griffin's spell was limited to 12 different brain altering combinations. On the spell's 13th rotation, it circled back to the first. In nine seconds, turning my torso would move my hands and tilting my head would control my legs.

  "He's moving!" Westcott shouted as I pushed myself off the ground.

  I steadied myself, still finding the controls awkward. Suddenly, Griffin closed the gap, the tip of his glowing blade aimed for my heart. I turned my torso and awkwardly flung my leg up. Both of our attacks connected, but Westcott's expensive sword may as well have been a dollar store pocket knife. It pierced through skin and muscles but the blade chipped off my breastbone.

  Not that Griffin noticed the weapon's failure. My boot had carved up through his crotch and was currently lodged inside of his ribcage, heart beating against the tip of my boot. He blinked and opened his mouth, coughing blood in my face, intestines rudely dumping out on my other foot.

  We fell together, and the others looked on in horror. They recognized the terrible implication of Griffin's evisceration.

  I lay in a pile of gore, not bothering with rushing their deaths while the effect of Griffin's spell was still active. Assuming the spell needed to be refreshed every 120 seconds, they had a little over 90 seconds to reminisce of the good old days before they got sliced and diced. Maybe I'd just rip their limbs off. I hadn't decided.

  "I told him not to do it. I called it off Cyprus. Remember that," Westcott said with the energy of a gambler who had just lost it all on roulette and was now begging the casino for a full refund–fearful panic trumping reality.

  Nassir shoved him aside. "Our only chance is to kill him before the spell wears off."

  Shadow Weave.

  Bingo.

  I adapted my connection with the sea of darkness around me. Despite my impaired motor function, I cast my arm forward, whipping darkness at their group. My shadows went wide and blew up the alley walls beside them.

  "What was that? I didn't see anything," Westcott stumbled back.

  "He moved the darkness," Hendrix said, voice shaking.

  Westcott ran away without looking back. Eliko followed suit. Hendrix backpedaled, too afraid to take his eyes off me.

  Rather than drain anymore stamina chucking pop shots, I decided to bide my time until Inversion Touch wore off. Only Nassir remained. The level eight brute stood still, rooted to the aged stone.

  "This can't be anything more than a nightmare. The two of us cut through stone behemoths and countless skeletons. Yet, our blades falter when brought against your flesh?" Nassir took two steps forward, fingers wound tightly around the hilt of his borrowed short sword. "I refuse to accept such nonsense. Severance Strike!"

  When his blade broke against the side of my neck, it snapped him out of his trance.

  "Sorry," he said, then turned and limped away, leaving bloody footprints in his wake.

  I wasn't sure if his apology was geared towards me or his comrade.

  Shameless bastards.

  At last, I regained control of my battered body. Despite the beatdown it didn't feel like anything was broken. The lacerations across my chest and arms had staunched themselves. It was becoming abundantly clear my level's number belied my true capabilities.

  Even with Griffin's level advantage and special attack, he couldn't kill me. And after witnessing how these supposed veteran adventurers struggled against a bunch of Halloween decorations, I was starting to understand how wide the gap had become between myself and other humans.

  Unfortunately, for those other humans, I caught up to them with a brisk jog. They had turned down the same alley I had dropped my travelers pack in, right beside our lift. Nassir was the furthest behind, dragging his decimated foot behind him, while Hendrix, Eliko, and Westcott ran further ahead.

  "Do something Hendrix!" Westcott screamed as he grabbed the mage's shoulder and shoved him back, taking the lead.

  Dagger Step.

  "Where do you think you're going?" I asked as I appeared right in front of them.

  "Cyprus, please forgive me. I was peer pressured by that brute," Westcott pointed toward Nassir, who pivoted away from us.

  "The only reason you're still breathing is because I haven't decided how I want to kill you yet."

  A black, triangular beam shot out of the stone wall beside us. It nailed me in the torso and an overwhelming chill washed over me as I fell to my knees and keeled over, clutching my chest.

  "Got’cha bitch," Jag'thar bellowed as he burst through a cardboard panel that had been painted to mimic the stone walls. "I knew you'd come back for your rucksack. Predictable humans.”

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

  The crudely painted cardboard fell at my side. Up close, it was laughable how we fell for such a sloppy illusion in the first place. Rushed brushwork, uneven shading, and a crease down the middle where it had been folded was a dead giveaway. As an immobilizing cold gripped me, I wondered if I was also smelling fresh paint.

  "A lich—the lich?" Westcott muttered, eyes wide with terror.

  His armor squealed as he bumped up against the alley wall, backing away from Jag'thar's imposing form. Hendrix mirrored his retreat, while Eliko refused to move a muscle.

  Jag'thar paid them no mind. He stared down at me and asked, "Why aren't you dead?"