Chapter Eleven

  Jeremy’s eyes rolled back in his head, and Miranda dashed forward to catch him before he could crack his skull on the stone floor.

  For a terrifying moment, she thought the shock of waking up in a new world might have been enough to give him a heart attack. That would have been just her luck, wouldn’t it? Finally bringing the man she loved back into the real world, only for him to keel over and die.

  JEREMY FAULKNER

  LEVEL 3 UNCLASSED

  Her eyes lingered on the blue box hovering above his head for a few seconds. Apparently, just being in the same room as someone when they killed a god was enough to boost you all the way up to level three. That wasn’t surprising—in fact, she was more surprised that he had only gone up three levels.

  What was even more surprising was that the System had given him any XP at all. Normally, you had to actually have contributed to the fight in some way to reap any of the benefits. Jeremy had thrown a few punches at Visantii, yes, but Miranda doubted those had done even a single point of damage to the enormous, immortal snake.

  She pushed all of that from her mind and reached through the hole that had been burned into his shirt to press her hand against his chest. For a moment, she held her breath, and then sighed in relief when she felt the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat.

  “He’ll be okay,” she said softly, laying him down on the floor. “He just needs a few minutes to come back around.”

  “No.”

  Miranda’s head whipped around to stare at Derrick, who returned her look with the coldest glare she had ever received.

  “What?” she demanded.

  Instead of answering, the Mandrake turned and stiffly walked over to Visantii’s corpse, his fists clenched. Alerts began to spring up in the corner of Miranda’s vision as he looted the dead goddess for whatever items the dungeon had seen fit to reward them with, all without saying a word to her.

  As he did that, Aaron walked over to the far wall of the chamber. Pressing his ear against the stone, he began rapping his knuckles against it. When he didn’t find what he was looking for, he took a couple steps to the right and knocked on the wall again.

  Giving Jeremy a guilty look, Miranda stood up and went after Derrick. “What do you mean no?”

  The cleric’s arm tensed, and Miranda took a step back, her hand reflexively moving to summon Eagle Feather.

  She froze.

  In the past thirteen years, violence had become as much a part of her everyday life as eating and sleeping. That no longer bothered her, but it had forced her to develop a new set of instincts very quickly, and then engrave them deep in her subconscious. She could now read the people around her like a book. The tensing of a muscle, the twitch of a finger, the shifting of an eye. They were the things that let her predict their movements almost before they knew what they were going to do, themselves.

  And right then, Derrick was fighting the urge to backhand her.

  He won’t really attack me, she thought, a chill running down her spine. Right? I know he’s upset, but…

  But what? Father Lancaster had entrusted them with Elise’s safety. That was the kind of responsibility Derrick took very, very seriously. And he had failed. Worse, he had failed because of a direct result of her actions.

  Sensing the sudden rise in tension, Aaron paused his tapping to look worriedly in their direction.

  Elise had been so young, so innocent. Miranda couldn’t even begin to imagine what Derrick must have been feeling, but the two of them had been friends for almost a decade. It hadn’t always been an easy friendship, but they had both saved each other’s lives more times than either of them could count. That wasn’t the kind of bond that could be easily severed, even by something like this.

  The tension in the air didn’t lie, though. Miranda had gotten the party into trouble dozens of times over the years, but her skills—skills that few people in Nyr could match—had always meant that those screwups were worth overlooking.

  That had changed today.

  A party member had just died because of her. A million thoughts were probably flying through Derrick’s mind right now, a tornado of conflicting emotions. He likely didn’t know what he was going to do next any more than Miranda did, and that was enough to frighten her a thousand times more than Visantii ever could.

  Finally, though, his shoulders slumped. He didn’t turn to look at her, but neither did he unclench his fist.

  “He stays here,” he said, his voice hollow. Behind her, Aaron went back to knocking on the wall.

  “We can’t do that!” Miranda exclaimed. “He’ll—”

  “He’ll run out of XP and revert back to an NPC,” Derrick cut her off. “He’ll go back to his normal life, and by this time tomorrow he won’t even remember that any of this happened.”

  “But we will!” Miranda protested. “What he had before hardly qualifies as being alive, and now that he finally has something better, you want to send him back to that…that nothingness?”

  “What I want,” he growled, turning around and advancing on her, “is to go back to Faen's Hand with my entire party alive and well! But I can’t. So yes, I feel like that’s a reasonable punishment!”

  Miranda refused to budge, craning her neck back to keep eye contact with the Mandrake as he towered over her.

  “A punishment for what?” she demanded. “This wasn’t his fault!”

  “It’s not his punishment,” Derrick answered, his voice low. “It’s yours.”

  Miranda went pale. Those words were like a slap in the face. A well-deserved slap in the face, but it still stung. Derrick held her gaze for another few seconds, daring her to claim she was innocent.

  She could tell just by looking into his eyes that that would be what pushed him over the edge.

  And he wanted her to do it, she realized with a lurch. He wanted her to give him an excuse to let out all the anger and betrayal that was burning him up from the inside, even if it was on one of his oldest and dearest friends. She wouldn’t, though. This was her fault. As much as that knowledge was like an ice-cold dagger in her heart, she knew it was the truth, and denying it wouldn’t help anybody.

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  When she didn’t rise to his bait, Derrick closed his eyes for a few seconds, then turned and walked back over to the pile of clothes.

  Kneeling down, he picked up the manacle from Makolo’s chain, then deposited it in his inventory. It wasn’t feasible for them to carry Elise’s remains all the way back to Faen's Hand, especially not in the…condition…they were in. Still, he could at least bring back a memento of their fallen comrade to give a proper burial when they got home.

  “Aaron?” he called.

  “I think I found it,” the Neanderite said, then drove his massive fist into the stone wall hard enough to shatter it, exposing a hidden room on the other side.

  It was small, barely bigger than a broom closet, and thin veins of green light crisscrossed the entire room in complex, sharply angled patterns, before converging on an onyx pedestal that rose from the floor in the center of the room. On top of the pedestal sat a glowing green orb.

  The orb shone the same color as veins of light, which in turn shone with the same color as the portal that Visantii’s power had come through. The light was fading and brightening every few seconds in a slow, deliberate pattern, though, almost as if it were mimicking a heartbeat. A character box appeared over it, but it was different from the ones attached to monsters and other Heroes.

  DUNGEON CORE

  LOST TEMPLE OF VISANTII, MATRIARCH OF SERPENTS

  LEVEL 25

  Dungeon cores were like a twisted combination of a power generator and an AI, acting as both the central intelligence that ran the dungeon and created all of the monsters and traps. Each dungeon had one, though finding it usually took some work. They didn’t have levels or stats like normal mobs, but they were still alive, and would spawn hordes of monsters to defend itself and its lair. Once the dungeon was finished, though, it would enter a sort of hibernative state, presenting the perfect chance to destroy it.

  Most people considered that to be a waste of one of the most valuable resources on Nyr. You didn’t get XP from destroying a dungeon core, but it would prevent the dungeon from ever becoming active again. Knowing exactly where a dungeon was and what was waiting for you inside it was a powerful advantage, and a lot of adventurers would leave the cores alone so that they could come back and farm it for XP.

  Occasionally, monsters would spill out onto the surface world if a dungeon went too long without being cleared. Most were too far away from civilization to be a serious threat, though. It was one of the reasons guilds like the Shield Wardens were so territorial when it came to their dungeons.

  Miranda already knew what Derrick was going to say.

  “We can’t leave any trace that we were here. Do it.”

  Aaron nodded. The core was the size of a baseball, which meant to him it was roughly as big as a golf ball. Stepping up to the pedestal, he wrapped his gargantuan hand around it until only needle-thin rays of its light were poking out between his fingers.

  There was a soft crunch, and everything went pitch black.

  “Brighteyes!” Miranda muttered, and the cave blinked back into view again—but now, a cave was all it was.

  Gone were the ancient but expertly carved walls of the temple, the sacrificial altar, and even the corpses of the mobs they had just killed. Instead, she was greeted by a dark, empty cavern that didn’t look like it had been touched in centuries, if ever. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, and water could be heard dripping somewhere in the distance.

  A moment later, a flame appeared as Aaron pulled a torch out of their inventory.

  “Let’s go,” Derrick said, making for the exit.

  “So that’s it, then?” Miranda asked. “You’re really going to make Jeremy pay for something he didn’t do?”

  “Yes.”

  “He doesn’t deserve this!” Miranda called after him. “If you’re going to punish someone, punish the one who’s responsible!”

  A giant hand came down on her shoulder.

  “Miranda,” Aaron whispered, “don’t.”

  She pushed his hand away. “I didn’t mean for this to happen, but now that it has, are you really going to turn your back on someone who needs your help? That’s not the Derrick I know!”

  Derrick stopped just before the opening to the chamber.

  “You’re angry, I understand that,” Miranda went on, taking a step toward him. “And I don’t blame you. But don’t take that anger out on Jeremy. You’re better than that!”

  “What am I supposed to do, Miranda?” he asked quietly. “Tell Father Lancaster I let Elise die, and then ask him to make the man who got her killed a part of the guild?”

  “No,” Miranda said just as quietly. “I will.”

  Derrick turned to look at her in surprise.

  “This is all my fault,” she went on, clenching her fists in front of her chest. “You shouldn’t have to take responsibility for my screwups. Let me bring Jeremy back to Faen's Hand with us, and I’ll tell Father Lancaster what happened. Everything that happened.”

  Derrick didn’t answer. For over a minute, he just stood there looking at her. Miranda had never seen him look so tired. Like a tree that had died even though it was still standing, and was ready to topple over at the first strong gust of wind.

  “Please, Derrick!” she begged him.

  He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Do whatever you want, Miranda. You always do.”

  She let out a long breath. “Thank you! I promise, I’ll—”

  “But if you do, you won’t be going back to Faen's Hand with us. Let’s go, Aaron.”

  With that, he turned and disappeared into the dark passageway beyond.

  Aaron passed to her left, pausing to look sadly down at her. Miranda’s lip quivered as she fought not to break down into tears.

  “Aaron?” she whispered.

  He lowered his head guiltily and walked away, leaving her alone with a dead teammate and an unconscious boyfriend for company.

  Miranda felt numb. She stood rooted in place, watching the cave mouth as if Derrick and Aaron would suddenly jump back through it, yell “Just kidding!”, and everyone would all go on their merry way as if nothing had happened.

  Instead, she received a System message.

  NEW PRIMARY QUEST:

  ESCORT JEREMY FAULKNER SAFELY TO FAEN’S HAND.

  “Ashes and…” she began, then stopped herself. Once again, Nyr had taken everything from her. She refused to vent her frustration on its terms. Not this time.

  YOU HAVE BEEN REMOVED FROM THE PARTY “GRAVE MISTAKES.”

  “Ashes and flame!” she screamed.

  Numbness began to spread through her body, a mixture of shock, sadness, and the worst survivor’s guilt she had ever felt. Still, she forced her legs to move. As much as she wanted to just sit here until the roof caved in on her, she had other commitments to keep now.

  Jeremy was still lying where she had left him, as dead to the world as—she cut that thought off as guilt ripped through her like a bolt of lightning.

  She paused, standing over him for a moment. She could still remember the day the world had been Remade as if it had only been yesterday. Jeremy, like everyone else, had continued to grow and mature over the past thirteen years. The man lying on the floor before her was not the same boy she had grown up with.

  And yet, at the same time, he was. He was still scrawny, had thin black hair that hung limply from his head, and no matter how much time he spent out in the sun, his skin remained an almost sickly pale.

  The corner of her mouth quirked upwards for a moment when she remembered how she had teasingly called him Snow White as a kid, but the fleeting moment of joy withered and died almost immediately.

  This is the only thing I’ve wanted for the past thirteen years, she thought, absently wiping a tear from her cheek. So now that I have it, how can it be so sad?

  Finally, she knelt down and slid her hands underneath him. He was a good six inches taller than her, even with her horns, but she was still able to cradle him in her arms and carry him across the cave as if he were just a child. That was one good thing about his lack of muscle mass, she supposed.

  Reaching the lopsided opening that led to the entrance, she paused.

  It’s like the bride is carrying the groom over the threshold, she thought. But instead of bringing him to our happily ever after, I’m carrying him into…

  Hell.

  Heaven.

  Miranda cursed herself. Even now, when she had lost everything, she couldn’t bring herself to hate this world. And so, for that—and for a hundred other reasons—she hated herself all the more.

  “I’m sorry, Elise,” she said, turning back to look over the chamber one last time. “You deserved a better life than this.”

  You deserved a better friend than me.

  And with that, she turned and left, abandoning Elise’s remains to an eternity of darkness and cold in the bowels of Nyr.