All hail the Hero of Sonadin! All hail scout Benjamin! Our beacon of hope!

Ben opened his eyes, gasping. He could still hear the cheers, echoing in his mind. Sunlight filtered through the broken shutters of his bedroom window and he blinked, putting his hands in front of his eyes to shield against the annoying light, which seemed to be so out of place.

The cheers faded. His breathing slowly calmed down.

As before, Ben found it difficult to come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t still in the game. Somehow, it made more sense to him to stand bleeding and victorious under a magical dome while dozens of screeching bats fly amidst falling glowing stalactites, than to lie sweating in his real bed in his real room in his “real” life.

The Scout of Sonadin closed his eyes again, wishing to enjoy a few more moments of delusion before he had to get up and face whatever was waiting for him outside. Scout of Sonadin. He smiled with his eyes still closed, marvelling at the fact the words he had chosen to describe himself to the undead wizard had become an inseparable part of his VD persona. He was this hero now; not just as a boast, or as part of a scam to help him through a difficult situation. No, this was real now. After he had claimed that power crystal he became a man out of a legend, a true hero. He remembered himself standing on that sacrificial stage, triumphant, his companions looking up to him (well, sort of), the blood of his enemies by his feet, the bodies of his vanquished foes testimonies of his daring leadership and true power. He had managed to overcome an encounter which first seemed impossible. He -

A thought occurred to him and Ben opened his eyes again, his smile gone. Bodies around him. A dwarven body. Yitro Stone Crusher, with a dagger through his throat.

He had killed Mike!

Ben sat up in his bed, breathing hard again. The blood sacrifice. It was the only way, wasn’t it? He had managed to both free his friend from the clutches of the evil necromancer and to complete the ancient ritual. But he could still see Mike’s dwarven eyes looking at him in disbelief after he plunged his blade through his friend’s neck. Somehow, despite his logic telling him he had done the right thing, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the murder he had committed - virtual as it had been - was very, very wrong.

“Mike?” Ben called out, fervently hoping that his friend would enter his room, grinning. They would give each other a brotherly hug and talk about the amazing things that happened in VD. Then Ben would look his roommate sternly in the eye and demand some explanations - why Mike had never told him about meeting with Mistress R and what were the deals he made with the notorious woman. Mike would explain and things would be back to normal. Maybe they would even build together a new VD character for Mike, to replace the one that had been killed.

There was no answer to his call. The apartment was quiet, the only sounds being Ben’s own rapid breathing and the sound of traffic from outside the window.

Ben cursed. With a motion that was almost violent - almost; he was still clear-headed enough to know he shouldn’t damage his most valuable possession - he ripped the electro-pads from his shaved head, letting the console’s tentacles fall to his pillow. His eyes lingered on the glistening machinery for a moment, his thoughts awhirl with conflicting emotions. A machine that hijacked his brain, indeed. But what was it truly doing to his mind? Raxlon’s words - that Ben had assumed the identity of a long-forgotten hero - were etched into his memory, together with the alarmed look in the DM’s eyes. Was Ben really in control once he was hooked into the system? Or was he at the mercy of the AI? A software so complicated and smart that even the man who had designed it was left astounded by the recent developments.

The young man cursed again, refusing to go down that road. All would become clearer when he spoke with the DM. He grabbed his phone, checked it, frowned when he saw that this time there was no message from Mike, nor from Raxlon. There was one from Abi, though, who wished to know if everything was fine with him and if he was up for a little family reunion. Ben replied that he was great, but had no time to meet. He would get back to her later about it. Then he called Mike.

After the 10th ring, he hung up. Where are you, asshole? He quickly wrote a message: “I have to see you. Call me back ASAP”. Then he sighed and got up from the bed.

Ben put both of his feet on the floor, straightened up - and froze. This time there was no doubt about it: he felt changed. He was changed.

His room. It looked different. No, it looked the same, but his perspective of it was different. It was as if the room seemed smaller, somehow. His senses worked overtime; he could see everything - every little detail, be it the dust on the window panel or the column of small ants on the shadowy wall behind his closet. When he looked through the cracks of the broken shutters, he could see farther than should be possible, right into the living room of the third-floor apartment of the adjacent building. And the smell! His own sweat smelled awfully strong and it mixed badly with the smells of mold and dirty laundry that were always present in his room.

Then there were the clothes he wore. His shirt was soaked with sweat and tight against his chest - tighter than it should have been. Ben clearly remembered putting the shirt on that morning before logging in, and it had hung loosely on his thin frame. Now, however, his body seemed to fill it nicely - too nicely. Ben, amazed, took off the shirt and looked down at his upper torso - and nearly sat down again on the bed from shock. He had toned chest muscles! His biceps slightly bulged and when he examined his belly there was even a hint of a six-pack. His entire body seemed to be inflated as if he’d spent long months of rigorous training in the gym. There was no trace of his former gauntness, and he felt it, too - he felt strong, healthy, energized. In fact, he felt exactly like his VD character had felt after the recent level-ups...

His heart hammering against his chest, Ben swallowed hard. What the fuck was going on? This was not just him imagining things, was it? He ran out of his room and straight to the bathroom to take a better look at himself. The face that looked back at him from the broken mirror was almost the face of a stranger - a beautiful yet dangerous face. The face of a hero. The face of someone whose Charisma score had risen by six points since the last time he had looked in the mirror. Ben’s reflection gaped back at him. How could it be? He licked lips that suddenly went dry and then his olive eyes widened when he noticed something else - something that totally shocked him and erased any lingering doubt. He wasn’t imagining.

There was a scar above his left eyebrow. A new scar that wasn’t there that morning before he logged into the game. Yet a scar that looked old, as if it had been there forever. It was a scar of a different man - a man from a virtual story. A Beacon of -

With a shout of fear and alarm, Ben slammed his fist against the mirror, easily breaking the glass the rest of the way. The broken glass cut his knuckles. Blood dripped onto the floor and pain shot through his injured fingers but he almost didn’t feel it as he slowly backed away from the shattered mirror. A wild theory jumped into his mind. He was still in VD. This was a vision, the same as he’d gotten while playing only this time he was imagining his real life and not the life of a forgotten hero. In effect, he was still lying in his bed, hooked into the set.

Ben leaned against the wall of the bathroom, his eyes wide, blood dripping from his hand, his chest heaving. He tried to force his mind to break free of the vision, to return to normality. Nothing happened. He swallowed, bit his lower lip, hard. If this wasn’t a vision… did it mean that his body - his physical, real-life body - was actually affected from the alternations that his virtual body had gone through in the game? That the machine that was hooked to his brain cells had somehow changed other cells in his body? If that was true...

Ben violently shook his head. The implications of that theory were truly astounding. So astounding, in fact, that he was pretty sure he was still playing. Or dreaming. Or hallucinating. He licked dry lips and raised his head, suddenly realizing what he had to do. He needed to tell somebody. He couldn’t face it alone.

Ben straightened, determined. He had to tell somebody. That was a good, solid plan. But who? Mike was the obvious choice, but the man had disappeared without a trace. His sister? He shook that thought away as soon as it came. Abi would either freak out or think he was trying to prank her. He suddenly thought of Shiraz. The red-haired woman - if indeed she was a redhead in real-life - had told him that she wanted to meet with him after they logged out. If there was anyone he could trust now, it was her. And she could probably explain what was going on with his body. Maybe it was just a side-effect of using the system. Shiraz would be able to tell him. But how would he find her? The rules of Raxlon’s game were to keep the real-life details anonymous - Shiraz’s player could be anyone and anywhere, and to find her was a hopeless quest.

Raxlon, then? Same problem. Sure, he could email him or try some other form of digital communication, but that would probably be futile; his VD DM had told him before the battle that he’d contact him in RL, so Ben didn’t think it was a smart move to try and find the game master on his own.

That left him with only one option. Ben suddenly smiled. Yes. He should have thought about it first thing. There was one person in his life who wouldn’t be freaked out by Ben’s story. Someone who could look him in the eye and tell him if he truly was imagining things. His own private real-life DM. He needed to see Noah.

Ben ran back to his room and quickly changed his clothes, dumping the sweaty ones on the big pile on the floor. He gave his VD set no more than a glance before he placed it under his bed, then grabbed his wallet and phone, put on his coat and was out of his apartment in less than a minute. He leapt down the stairs four at a time, almost parkouring his way down the three-story building. Then he stepped into the sunlit street and paused, looking around him as if seeing the world for the first time.

Everything around him seemed to come so much easier into focus. It was mid-afternoon and the skies were cloudless - a sharp contrast to the storm that raged almost nonstop for the last couple of days. The sun was almost painful to his eyes - eyes that were accustomed to the perpetual darkness of the dungeon. The cold December air stung his face and he put his hood up as he examined his surroundings. A group of homeless people stared at him from their usual position on the other side of the street, where they leaned against a brick wall. One of them pointed at Ben and said something and the others answered. Ben could easily understand their words - they were commenting about his bald head - despite the fact that a bus was passing close by, and a dog was barking enthusiastically nearby. The puddles of water on the sidewalk glistened brightly and pleasant smells of baked bread reached his nostrils. A raven croaked from its position on the top of a streetlamp and was answered by several other birds. The world around him was abuzz with life and activity - just as it had always been, only now Ben was so very aware of everything.

He shook his head again. Focus. His quest was to find Noah, and for that, he had to cross a few blocks and reach the city center, where Noah was working as a salesman in a tech product shop. Ben checked his V-watch. 16:27. Noah would be there for at least half an hour more. Ben quickly made the calculations, easily picturing the city’s layout in his mind. He usually took the main road to reach the store, but this time he wanted to take the fastest route available - and that meant straight through the alleys of the neighborhoods.

Ben started running, crossing the street and entering the alley adjacent to the homeless, who were still looking at him. His legs carried him easily, almost effortlessly when compared to his running skill of just two days before. He ran the length of the narrow alley and leapt over a low wall, crossing to another alley.

A sound. Something cutting the air. A movement. Something about to strike him.

Ben ducked his head and hit the ground rolling, narrowly avoiding being hit by a club that was swung his way. The man who swung the club was hidden in the shadows of the alley and when he missed his mark he lost his balance, stumbling forward. Behind him, another man stepped forward from the shadows and into the light, holding a short dagger. From the alley Ben had come from another man appeared, jumping over the low wall. It was one of the homeless that had looked at Ben and he too was holding a crude dagger.

Ben jumped to his feet, his heart pumping like mad. Attacks like this weren’t uncommon in this part of town, but they usually happened after dark; attacking during broad daylight was considered bad form by most of the gangs. These crooks were probably pretty desperate if they made such a move against a target like him. In fact, judging by the poor condition of their clothes and weapons and the wild look in their eyes, they were desperate.

Ben raised his hands, palms down, trying to diffuse the situation. “Listen, guys, I don’t have anything worth ta - “

He didn’t get to finish, though - the trio lunged at him, almost as one.

Without thinking about it, Ben Paused The Game.

Time stopped. The three men froze with their weapons raised and their faces twisted in cruel, ugly, murderous intention. Drops of water froze in mid-air where the homeless thug’s boots stepped into a deep puddle of rainwater.

Instinctively, Ben searched for the 5 seconds timer that should appear in the corner of his peripheral vision, but there was none. There was no interface, no list of powers or skills, no initiative rolls or number of HP. When he looked at the three thugs and tried to identify them, no prompts appeared over their heads.

Yet Ben PAUSED time. He couldn’t move his body, but just like his VD Tactics Power, he could think and look around. Ben forced himself to do just that. He had no weapons and almost no knowledge of hand to hand combat, but he was fast, he was smarter than these fools, and… Ben’s eyes widened when the next thought struck him. And, if he could use his Tactics Power here, maybe he could use other powers as well.

By the time time resumed its course, Ben had a firm plan in his head. The first thug rushed forward with his club raised, but Ben was prepared and jumped sideways, dodging the blow. At the same time, the VD Death Mage novice activated his Death Aura spell, praying that he was right in his previous assumption. He focused his attention on the second thug, who was brandishing his short dagger toward Ben’s face.

Two things happened. The first - a surprised and painful look crossed the thug’s face. The second - Ben’s entire body was suddenly enveloped in a dark aura.

From the thug’s point of view, it seemed as if his victim was suddenly less visible than before, as if he merged with the shadows of the alley - a strange thing, since the young man didn’t move at all. The man was also experiencing the strangest of sensation - he was hurting from the inside, though he knew for a fact that nothing had hit him. He hesitated briefly but decided to plunge his dagger forward nonetheless.

For Ben, the situation instantly became easier to control. He had no time to dodge the knife but he didn’t need to; he raised his arm to protect his face, and the blow pierced both the fabric of his coat and his skin and even drew blood - but just slightly so. The blade barely managed to penetrate the additional defence of his magical aura. Ben, utilizing the confused state of his attacker, growled and kicked hard, catching the thug squarely in his crotch. The man gasped in pain and his grip on the dagger’s hilt loosened. Ben didn’t waste time and twisted the small blade out of the man’s grip. He felt movement behind him and ducked - and the club that was aimed at his head struck him in the shoulder instead. Again, the blow - while painful - hardly caused any real damage. Ben, furious, turned on his heels and used another one of his skills which had recently levelled up: he threw the dagger he had just acquired at the club-bearer.

The blade sank deep into the thug’s belly and the man screamed in pain, dropping the club and grabbing his wounded torso with both hands. As he stumbled backwards with his back to the alley’s wall, his two companions stopped dead in their tracks. The one whom Ben kicked and disarmed was holding his crotch, looking wide-eyed at his bleeding friend. The third thug - the homeless - was standing still, dagger in hand. He was looking uncertain from Ben - who still had the strange dark aura around him - to his two wounded companions.

Ben straightened and looked at the thug coldly. “I told you,” he said quietly. “I have nothing worth taking. Why did you - “

He stopped, seeing something in the man’s eyes that made him pause. He realized he knew this man: he had seen him before, slouched next to the brick wall across the street from his building. Or was it from someplace else? Ben wasn’t sure. He had never given the man a second glance and found it unlikely that the homeless-turned-thug would choose him of all people as his target. Yet as he looked into the man’s eyes, Ben found there more than desperation. There was purpose, and there was something else… familiarity.

A sinking suspicion surfaced to the front of his thoughts. This is not just a simple hit and run robbery. “You were sent to kill me,” he said aloud, narrowing his eyes. “Weren't you? Who sent you? Why?” He even took a step closer to the man but stopped when the homeless raised his dagger and shook his head. The man seemed as if he was about to say something, but instead he turned on his heels - and ran away, jumping over the wall and disappearing into the other alley.

Ben almost ran after him but thought better of it. Turning around, he saw the other thug crouching next to the one Ben had hit with the dagger. The man was sitting on the floor of the alley, moaning in pain, blood soaking the entire front of his shirt.

Suddenly Ben felt sick. Despite the unnatural things that he had just managed to do, this was not VD. There was no health potion around, and this man would die in a few minutes unless he was treated. And Ben would be the one who had killed him.

A faraway police siren snapped him into action. “Call an ambulance,” he told the man who was crouching next to his friend. The man just looked at him with wide eyes, but Ben didn’t linger any longer. He had nothing to gain by staying here - and everything to lose.

Ben started running again. Through the alleys and back into the open streets. Running, away from the terrible thing he had just done. Away from the image of the man bleeding on the floor with a dagger buried in his stomach. Away from the frightened look in the thug’s eyes. The street blurred by him as Ben ran. His thoughts were ajumble. Did he really just use magic in real-life? Did he really stop time and siphoned the life from that man so he could protect himself with a magical aura? His common sense screamed at him that no, this was not possible, it was just a trick of the mind, his brain couldn’t differentiate between the real and imaginary world. Yet some part of him already accepted the fact that these things were indeed happening to him. That somehow, the boundaries between the worlds were falling apart for him.

And as Ben ran, this part in him grew bolder - and more excited. Possibilities sprang into his mind. If he could use his VD powers and skills in real-life, then the more powerful he became in Raxlon’s Quest, the more superhero-like he would become here. What if he had knowledge of fire magic? Healing magic? What if he could vanish from sight or teleport across distances? The possibilities were endless. Ben didn’t realize it, but as the minutes passed, a grin was slowly spreading across his face. And as the grin grew, thoughts of the man who was bleeding to death in the alley slowly but surely faded from his memory.