Notes spilled out of Jack’s time field, rippling outward like water disturbed by a pebble. Inside the bubble, the melody sounded normal—steady and controlled. Outside, it probably came through like a lullaby on fast-forward. Or so Jack guessed.

  Marie’s accelerated damage output and Jack’s incoming debuff caught the Slayer’s attention. Even while locked in a stun, his eyes flicked toward them, nostrils flaring like a bull who’d seen a red cloth.

  If he could hear it… maybe the effect will land. Jack forced the thought down, staying focused as his fingers worked the notes.

  As Rob and Amari continued the onslaught, the Slayer’s health dipped into the yellow.

  A tension ran through him, subtle but sharp, as if some internal threshold had been crossed. His frame swelled slightly, and a flash of yellow pulsed behind his eyes.

  The CC broke early, catching Amari and Rob off guard. The Slayer grabbed them by the heads and slammed them to the stone like sacks of grain. Before they could recover, his fists were already pounding down—fast, relentless, like jackhammers driven by fury.

  Their long, meal-buffed health bars started draining fast.

  Horace arrived, his new hammer already mid-swing. It came in wide and horizontal, a brutal sweep aimed at the Slayer’s head.

  Fwhiiit!

  But the Slayer ducked just in time—like he had eyes in the back of his skull. The hammer tore past, screaming through the air.

  Horace didn’t miss a beat. He stepped in and swung again—this time bringing it down in a clean arc.

  The Slayer sidestepped and responded with a vicious hook.

  But it missed. Something pulled it wide.

  The Slayer blinked and staggered, visibly thrown off. Jack watched him scan the battlefield, head jerking as he searched for a caster, a skill effect, anything that could explain it.

  There was nothing. Amari and Rob were still recovering a few steps away.

  The Slayer’s confusion didn’t last long. The hammer came at him again, forcing him back step by step.

  The berserker grunted, twisted, and finally landed a counterblow. It connected with a meaty crack, flinging Horace backward, boots scraping hard against the stone. He skidded to a stop but stayed upright.

  The Slayer pivoted, eyes snapping toward Jack’s time bubble.

  Rob and Amari burst from stealth to intercept, but he had already anticipated them. He slipped between their blades like smoke and kept moving—straight toward Jack and Marie. His focus was clear: the song had to end.

  Just as he began to peel away—

  Taunting Shout!

  A metallic boom rang out as Horace slammed his hammer against his shield. “COME ON, SLAYER!”

  The effect was immediate. Mid-stride, the Slayer jerked as though yanked backward by a chain. He didn’t resist the taunt and went with it. Snarling, he pivoted and charged, fists already lighting up.

  Raging Rampage!

  Red arcs erupted from his arms. The more he struck, the brighter they burned—until his fists blazed like twin engines, every impact sending shockwaves through the air.

  Copper Skin! Cobalt Sheen!

  A metallic shimmer spread across Horace’s armor. He began coated in a dark brown, streaked with bright blue. Sparks burst with every strike. But part was absorbed or reflected back in rippling waves of force.

  Even with the ninety percent reduction, Jack could see Horace felt it. Each hit landed like a battering ram. His health ticked downward, slow but steady, but he held—blocking when he could, striking back in measured arcs of the hammer.

  The Slayer didn’t relent. He pressed harder, fists a blur.

  But then his rhythm broke.

  One punch came up short. Another overextended. His movements turned erratic—always a fraction off, always wrong. He flicked his gaze over one shoulder, then the other, searching for some unseen interference.

  There was nothing. No caster. No effect. Just Horace, grounded and unshakable.

  And through it all, Jack’s fingers worked the ocarina.

  Marie’s bombs flew like clockwork—puffs of smoke and bursts of color threading the edges of the fight while Rob and Amari sliced in and out from the flanks, striking quick before fading back again.

  Then the taunt ended, and the Slayer stepped back, body ready to disengage—only for Horace’s hammer to swing again.

  Fweeet!

  The pull hit him mid-stride, yanking him off balance. The Slayer staggered and looked at Horace in surprise, then narrowed his eyes and dropped his gaze to the weapon. Realization flickered across his face as he muttered, “The hammer… it’s your hammer.”

  Horace didn’t answer. He just kept swinging, relentlessly.

  Jack played the final note, and the melody faded. The Slayer’s steps faltered, his eyelids fluttered once, and then he crumpled to the ground, asleep.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Jack exhaled, fingers trembling as he shifted straight into another debuff. There was no time to rest.

  “Let’s go!” Amari shouted.

  The three melee fighters converged on the Slayer with Marie’s bombs backing them up. Blades, explosions, and bursts of force landed in rhythm, each strike practiced and precise, and the Slayer’s health bar dropped rapidly into the red.

  But everything changed when a surge of power erupted from him. What had been a simmering aura turned into a full-body pulse that shook the air. His eyes snapped open, and all crowd control vanished in an instant.

  Their strikes, which had been landing solidly moments before, now barely scratched him. Blades skidded off his skin, Marie’s explosions fizzled on contact, and even the few hits that connected left only scratches. Amari’s blade swept through empty air, and Rob’s follow-up whiffed where the Slayer had just been.

  Jack caught only the blur he left behind. The Slayer was moving fast—so fast that even the edges of the time field seemed to stutter as he tore through it.

  Heroic Charge!

  The Slayer closed the distance in an instant. One moment, he was far away, and the next, his fist, coated in red light, was already mid-swing and aimed straight at Jack’s face. He was fast—too fast.

  But Marie was faster.

  Tyranic Trample!

  A thunderclap of force detonated at their feet.

  BOOM.

  Smoke and concussive air blasted outward, hurling all three—Marie, Jack, and the Slayer—in opposite directions.

  Jack hit the ground hard. Pain flared through his ribs. His vision swam. When he blinked the blur away, he spotted Marie nearby, groaning as she pushed herself upright.

  The skill dropped by the mastodon, Jack realized. She used it to separate us. To buy time.

  Despite their sorry landing, the Slayer had landed gracefully like a cat and was already on the move.

  He spun, eyes locking not on Jack or Marie, but on Horace.

  Horace still hadn’t recovered from the earlier blow. His health bar hovered low. He looked wounded—vulnerable.

  Wolf’s Sprint!

  The Slayer blitzed forward, fists cocked to strike.

  Horace planted his feet, lowered his hammer to the ground, and rested one hand on his waist.

  Power Pose!

  A golden aura surged to life around him, and in the next instant, he became utterly still. He didn’t brace. He didn’t block. He simply stood there, unmoving, like a statue planted in the earth.

  The Slayer hit him with everything. Blows rained down in a blur, fists cracking against armor with the sound of detonations. But none of them broke through. Each strike that should have shattered him instead rebounded, glancing harmlessly away.

  Jack’s eyes darted to Horace’s HUD—and he blinked. His health bar wasn’t dropping. It was climbing, small increments rising with every impact.

  He wasn’t just surviving. He was healing.

  The Slayer noticed too. His rhythm faltered, hesitation flickering through his movements.

  Then the glow dimmed. The skill had ended.

  The Slayer grinned and pulled back for another strike—

  —but Horace had already raised his hammer.

  Cycling Core!

  A mechanical clack echoed as the hammer’s head started rotating like the barrel of a revolver. The sound deepened, like an airplane engine roaring to life, low at first and then rising into a steady, powerful hum.

  The world itself seemed to breathe in. Stone grit scraped across the floor, sliding toward the weapon. Dust coiled and stretched as if caught in invisible currents, and even Jack felt the pull, tugging faintly at his clothes and hair.

  The Slayer’s feet left the ground. His charge was cut short, his body dragged upward, limbs flailing as if the hammer had become a black hole.

  He thrashed against it, muscles straining with berserker strength, but the pull only tightened, dragging him in inch by inch.

  And that’s when Amari struck.

  Pommel Strike!

  He burst from stealth so suddenly Jack almost missed him—appearing like a shadow sliding out of the air—and drove a precise blow into the side of the Slayer’s skull.

  At the same moment, the hammer’s effect faded. Jack’s stomach turned. With the Slayer’s health deep in the red and his berserker buffs active, the stun would barely last. But Amari wasn’t done.

  Nerve Freeze!

  Two gleaming needles appeared in his hands. In a blur, one jabbed into the Slayer’s neck, the other into his lower back.

  Above the Slayer’s head, a new debuff icon appeared—one Jack didn’t recognize.

  “NOW, ROB!” Amari shouted, holding the needles in place.

  Rob also broke out of stealth, both gloved palms positioned against the Slayer’s chest.

  Kinetic Release!

  The crystals in Rob’s gloves flared pure white.

  Then—BOOM!

  A thunderclap of energy tore through the space. The shockwave was massive—so strong it launched Amari backward.

  Smoke flooded the square.

  When it cleared, the Slayer was gone.

  In his place lay a single item: a wolf pelt.

  They’d done it. They’d beaten the Slayer.

  Sure, they’d had meal buffs, and the Slayer had none. He had no gear, no weapons, and it had still taken five of them—each in legendary equipment—to bring him down. But a win was a win.

  Amari wasn’t celebrating. “Mount up! We move now.”

  No one hesitated. Jack ran for the Slayer's dropped pelt, pocketed it, and then grabbed a pot hive.

  Summon!

  Jack called out Snowy, his eremotherium, and the others followed suit. Horace grabbed the other pot hive and, within moments, five mounts stood ready, stamping, fluttering, and braying with restless energy.

  They stuck to the plan. One by one, they scattered in different directions, breaking away to regroup at the rendezvous point.

  As Jack rode, the city blurred around him. He allowed himself a glance back over his shoulder.

  With the Slayer finally down, the world seemed to snap back into motion. Only now did Jack realize how many people had gathered. The square was packed, alive with voices raised in excitement, players gesturing wildly as they rehashed the fight in bursts of chaotic energy.

  A patrol of NPC guards arrived soon after, pushing through the crowd—but far too late to change anything. Too late to help. Too late to stop the Slayer.

  What punishment he might face for attacking them inside city limits, Jack couldn’t say. But one thing was certain: they’d made it out. For now.

  *

  José sat on the sofa beside his crying wife. She was breaking, even though he was the one who was sick, the one who had just lost his chance at treatment.

  He tried to comfort her—his duty as a husband, to care for her no matter what—but all strength had drained from him. All he managed was a mechanical pat on her back. No words came. He had truly believed the bank would approve the loan. But even after offering his house, his savings—everything he owned—they had refused.

  Half a million credits. That was the cost of the treatment. Even if he borrowed from friends, from family, it was impossible. Half a million might as well have been the stars.

  His eyes drifted to the shattered phone on the floor, its glass spiderwebbed from when he had smashed it after reading the email. The act had felt powerful in the moment, but now it seemed hollow. Useless. And it had only left him hundreds of credits shorter of what he needed.

  “What are we going to do, José?” Maria’s voice cracked.

  “I… I’ll go back to the bank. Ask for a meeting with the manager. Maybe I can get them to reconsider.” The words sounded weak, even to his own ears.

  Maria lowered her head. “And what will we tell Jack?”

  A catch rose in José’s throat. His beloved son. Jack was doing so well, and the timing couldn’t have been worse. But soon he would be the only man in the house. He had to know. And yet—how could he drop a bomb like this on him? How could he soften the blow?

  “Mom? Dad?”

  They both snapped upright. Jack stood halfway down the stairs, staring at them with wide eyes. Neither of them had heard him come down.

  Maria quickly wiped her face and tried to smile. “It’s nothing, Jack. Don’t worry about it.”

  “How can it be nothing? You were sobbing!” Jack rushed the rest of the way down the stairs and dropped to his knees beside her. “What’s going on?”

  Maria looked at José, her eyes pleading.

  José squeezed her hand, then met his son’s gaze. His voice shook.

  “Jack… son… I’m dying.”