The sky was white above him, white and cold enough that even Rich could feel it. Cold enough that frost crackled as it grew on his scales, layers forming in seconds.

He didn't have to look up to know that yellow numbers were leaping up from him. He could feel his stamina ebbing every moment he hesitated.

And yet, he took a few seconds more, taking his time, marking the place he wanted to strike.

If he'd hesitated this long, this high up three weeks ago, he would have died. His stamina back then had been a pathetic thing. It took a lot for cold to affect his molten blood, but anything powerful enough to do it would have wiped him out in five.

Now? Now he was up to about seven. And that was three more than he needed, as his one-eyed gaze finally found the target he wanted.

PER+1.

All his instincts told him to dive, get out of the cold and kill.

But he was stronger than his urges, had been working for years to become so.

What he needed out of this experience were skills, and skill ups. Otherwise the exercise would be wasted.

“Unhinged Mind Ten,” Rich muttered, and felt his focus scatter slightly. Then he followed it up with his Clerical buffs. “Holy Smite, Shield of Divinity.”

Your Holy Smite skill is now level 8!

WIS+1

Your Shield of Divinity skill is now level 9!

As the words flashed past his gaze, glowing energy crackled around him. He was looking through a translucent white outline of his own head, at least two times its size. That was holy smite, a simple damage buff. From prior practice, he knew the aura was also pooling around his tail and claws.

The rest of the stuff covering everything else was the shield of divinity, a simple but effective armor buff. Not that he needed it, not that it did much at its level, but the fact was that skills only improved if you used them.

And the more dangerous the situation, the more the gain. Which was why that sudden, surprising wisdom boost told him he was on the right track, here.

Now all he had to do was survive the next few steps.

Without a further thought he hurled himself downward, towards the slope of the mountain.

Down toward his prey.

His prey, which was already moving. “Curse your agility fifty!” he roared.

Your Curses skill is now level 9!

THAT slowed the guy down. Fifty was a good point, Rich had found. It was enough to make an impact without being so much that he screwed up his own luck mid-action.

Arrows came whistling up at him from further up the slope. A few struck home, but he thought them minor. As a player he couldn't feel pain, thankfully, but he had learned to gauge the severity of the wound by the discomfort caused. These were nothing much.

Then a bolt of blue energy slammed into him, and that definitely did some damage.

Fucking Alan, focusing on one damn skill all the time.

But it didn't matter now, because there was Alan on the slopes below, comically pointy wizard's hat bobbling as he scrambled back. Greg charged in from the flank, trying to get between Rich and his target.

Rich slowed a bit, and let him.

Then he opened his mouth wide, pulled up, and roared as he strafed them.

“SANDBLAST!”

Your Sandblast skill is now level 5!

Black, gritty sand sprayed out from his mouth, sluicing out like a vacuum cleaner in reverse.

It wasn't very accurate, and the wind scattered it all over.

But his target was cursed with clumsiness, so it didn't have to be accurate.

He might have caught Greg as well, he didn't have time to check. No matter.

He'd gone with this attack instead of fire for a few reasons. One was that they would have probably buffed themselves against fire. They knew what they were up against.

And the other reason was that it created a cloud that made him a harder target. The sand wouldn't last long in the mountain winds, but it didn't have to. Just long enough for him to flip around, veer right, and head toward his real target.

Two red numbers drifted up in his wake but he didn't have the time or inclination to try to focus on them. No, his eye was locked on to Pat.

Pat, who was already casting a spell. Probably healing.

Always gank the healer first.

“CHOMP!” Rich roared, as his teeth bit down on the desperately scrambling cleric.

Your Chomp skill is now level 17!

“You dick! You colossal dick!” Pat howled, as Rich beat his wings and went skyward again, fast. That chomp had taken far too much stamina, and he was running low on energy.

Fortunately, he had just the solution.

He ignored Pat as the player twisted, tried to catch his eye with his mace, went up, up, up, hissing through his teeth and Pat as another blue bolt caught the tip of his tail. At least the arrows were mostly missing him, now.

Once he was out of range he curved around, used the mountain as a shield, and landed.

WHACK!

Okay, he noticed THAT critical. Not in the eye, but something in his muzzle crunched a bit.

Fortunately, he had a solution. He peeled his lips back and opened his jaws slightly. “Burninate,” he roared.

Your Burninate skill is now level 18!

You have killed player: Father Nosebest.

Rich took a second, shook the charred corpse until his items fell off, then ate what remained. The taste of burned cloth did not appeal, but the meat was actually pretty tasty. Which was disturbing in more ways than one, but Rich tried to ignore it and went on eating. And with every bite, he felt that little burst of vigor that told him his stamina was returning.

A quick status after a minute, and he found himself near full again. Then it was time to heal, chanting “Lesser Healing,” over and over again. He couldn't get himself up to full, but he could take the edge off a bit. He left off when his sanity was down to about half, then took to the sky again, leaving the remnants of Pat's charred corpse on the ledge. In an hour or so it would fade, leaving behind his gear. Well, the stuff that Rich hadn't eaten, anyway.

He was going to be belching wool for a week. Rotgoriel would give him an earful next time he felt like mirroring to talk.

Silence, as he flew up once more. Up, past the clouds. Up to where the air was cold enough to hurt even him.

Quiet, calm, and deadly. This was the land, here.

His gaze lingered for a second on the valley, but there was nothing to see, not at this time of day. The unreal city only appeared to occult sight by moonlight.

There was a story there, but he had no time to wonder about it. With reluctance he turned his gaze to the mountain and resumed searching.

With the next plunge he took out Alan. Greg made a heroic effort to intercede, dropping his shield and leaping, grabbing on to one of his wings and trying to end him like a boss fight in Titanstomp. But Rich had played that game too, and knew how to counter it. There was that one boss who electrified himself, and though Rich couldn't do that, he still had options for enemies who were stuck touching him.

“Transfer Wounds!” He muttered around a mouthful of Alan.

Your Transfer Wounds skill is now level 18!

Greg paused midhack as the cut he was working on sealed, scales regrowing, and a bigger cut opened on his own chest. “Ow! You sunovabitch!”

Rich bit down, and Alan died.

You have killed player: [email protected]

He spat out Alan's wizardly remains, then flew faster, forcing Greg to stop attacking and hang on for dear life. And on the way he chanted “Transfer Wounds, Transfer Wounds, Transfer Wounds,” and he healed and gained skill as blood exploded from Greg.

That and a quick tail slap finished the Knight off, sending Greg's crumpled corpse plummeting into the snow below. Rich landed, scooped it up, and weighed eating him as well.

You have killed player: Sir Gideon.

No, he decided, finally. Greg had armor on, and Rich couldn't afford the time to peel it off. And he didn't want to undress Greg's avatar anyway. The guy had almost been executed over an accusation of homosexuality when he was a child. He was still sensitive about stuff that could be misconstrued like that.

Besides, Rich didn't need more stamina. The main tank, healer, and primary damage dealer had been dealt with. Only four were left, and he wouldn't need the dragon drop tactics to deal with them.

The Rogue went down without too much fuss. He was good at hiding, but not good enough to escape Rich's obscene perception. The two archers kept firing until the end, and even managed some damage with a few crits, but they fell the second he got in close.

Cole, now.

“Curse your agility, eighty!” was what Rich heard the second he angled for an approach on the guy.

You have been cursed by Benedict Cucumberpatch! Your agility is reduced by 57!

He went from a controlled drop to a freefall, wings failing to respond...

“Bless my agility, fifty!” Rich roared, and regained some semblance of control.

AGL+1

Your Fly skill is now level 21!

Through sheer luck he managed to avoid plowing into the mountainside. But now he was tired, so very tired, and he turned his head to see Cole rushing in, teeth wide in a grin, swinging a heavy club...

“Burninate!”

Cole, unlike most of the other agent trainees, hadn't gone with a human character. He was playing a halven, a tiny, chubby little guy who looked like he should have been trying to steal rings out of Rich's hoard instead of trying to club him in the face.

Halven were sneaky and small, which was why Rich had saved him for last.

But the one thing they weren't, was sturdy. The flame engulfed Cole, and his charred corpse fell to the ground, club tumbling and taking burnt remnants of fingers with it.

You have killed player: Benedict Cucumberpatch

Then, because Cole was sneaky, Rich stomped on his remnants to make sure.

Only after that did he relax, slumping into the snow. The training exercise had been a success. And now, hopefully...

You are now a level 5 Cleric!

CON+3

LUCK+3

WIS+3

You have learned the Curative skill!

You have learned the Party Heal skill!

Your Party Heal skill is now level 1!

You have learned the Pray to Konol skill!

You are now a level 10 Cultist!

CHA+3

INT+3

LUCK+3

You have learned the Fevered Zeal skill!

Your Fevered Zeal skill is now level 1!

You have learned the First Pact skill!

Your First Pact skill is now level 1!

There was that feeling, that almost-orgasmic feeling as he grew more powerful and his pools recharged... all save for his wounds, still open from the fight. But even that was a minor inconvenience, when you were a cleric. A dozen Lesser Healings got his skill up to twenty-three, and his HP close enough to full that he didn't get that uncomfortable feeling anymore.

He looked back toward Fimble, and sighed. The new construction was about done, but he'd probably have to help with that, too. Being a 'prophet' of Anjuuta meant he could get away with doing the minimum physical labor, but he'd still have to oversee the million little problems and issues and squabbles that the dozen or so NPC's living in Fimble kicked up to him on a daily basis.

I'm not going to have time to read once I get there. Might as well do it now. Eagerly, he opened his status screen, pulled up the help function, and started looking over his new skills.

Curative was letdown. He'd been hoping for something that would restore his eye, but what he got was the equavalent of magical aspirin. Okay, so it treated more than that, but it was clearly for the minor stuff, like upset stomachs and hangovers. True, it could wipe out diseases and poisons, but with his constitution those weren't much of a deal anyway.

Party Heal was decent, but he had a feeling it was like Lesser Healing, small HP heals at best. And how often was he in a party? Not much, really.

Pray to Konol... that one had possibilities. He knew it would make Rotgoriel happy. The NPC mind that shared his avatar had been wanting answers for weeks, now, and Rich didn't have them. Though given how his last few conversations with 'gods' had gone a few years ago, Rich didn't expect miracles, here.

Ironic, that.

Shrugging, rippling his wings, Rich moved on to the Cultist skills. Fevered Zeal didn't look useful to him. It boosted your strength, but damaged you every time you exerted that strength. Useful to somebody who wasn't wearing a dragon body, maybe, but he had strength covered.

First Pact, though... First Pact was intriguing. And full of dangerous language. By the look of it, it let you pull a dark minion into this world, and use it as a servant. What kind of minor djinn could he call up? He'd have to ask Aunarox, and then double check to see what problems came along with it. And then triple check with Geebo to see if he was missing anything obvious.

Your Curse of agility has been lifted!

Rich blinked his eye. That was unusual. The only way that Cole could remove his curse was if he'd come back from the dead. And the only way to do that early was to spend a token.

Tokens were expensive. They'd been a little pricey years ago, when he first played, but the cash shop prices had gone way up since then. Cole shouldn't have needed to do that.

Rich mulled it over as he took to the skies, and flapped back to Fimble. Normally death knocked you out of the game for twenty-four hours, sent you to a big chat room where you could talk to every other dead player in that moment in time. Once the time was up, you could respawn at any significant location of your choice. Tokens let you leave the chatroom early.

The only reason they'd all decided to participate in a lethal exercise was because it was the weekend. They could log off, catch up on homework while their death day passed in the game time.

It was still a pain in the ass, but the little group was reaching the point where their skills and levels were slowing down. They needed harder challenges and bigger risks to advance. And sparring without the risk of death just wasn't cutting it.

Cole was there, waiting by the inn when Rich showed up. His fat little halven was wearing a full set of spare furs, since his old clothing was charred scraps up on the mountain. “We've got problems,” he said while Rich braked and settled to the ground.

“Problems big enough to warrant a token?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Shit.”

“Dragon-sized blobs of it. I got to the deathchat, and who do you think is there?”

“I don't have the time or patience to play guessing games. Tell me.”

“Anselm.”

“Anselm... what happened, did some ice creature get him?”

“Yes and no. He found Max and Steve, but they were on the run from some horrible stuff. You know what a wendigo is?”

“No clue.”

“Well there's a bunch of them. And they took out Max and Steve's starting village.”

“Shit.”

That was bad news. Max and Steve had chosen character names that didn't quite work for the region, and been thrown way off geographically. They were late, trying to get to Fimble, but the way was hard and full of monsters. Like wendigos, whatever those were.

Worse, Max and Steve had just lost their spawn point. And the last time he talked to them, he remembered them griping about how they hadn't found any other significant landmarks. Which meant that if they died, they'd probably respawn randomly. And with a world the size of Generica Online, that meant they might never make it to Fimble, not without months or years of work.

Mayhew's timetable dealt in weeks. Months was out of the question.

“All right,” Rich said, after mulling over the implications. “Tell me some good news.”

“Good news is that they're not far, but we can get there if we go now. But Rich? There's a lot of wendigos...”

RUTGER'S CHARACTER SHEET

Spoiler: Spoiler

Name: Rutger Royal

Age: 3

Jobs:

Cleric (Konol) 5, Cultist (Anjuuta) 10, Young Dragon (Stone) 10

Attributes Pools Defenses

Strength: 340 Constitution: 349 Hit Points: 689 Armor: 190

Intelligence: 76 Wisdom: 90 Sanity: 166 Mental Fortitude: 190

Dexterity: 21 Agility: 57 Stamina: 78 Endurance: 25

Charisma: 69 Willpower: 338 Moxie: 407 Cool: 165

Perception: 304 Luck: 77 Fortune: 381 Fate: 25

General Skills

Brawling – Level 17

Climb – Level 4

Dodge – Level 13

Fly – Level 21

Ride – Level 1

Stealth – Level 5

Swim – Level 2

Stone Dragon Skills

Burninate – Level 19

Chomp – Level 17

Draconic Tongue – Level N/A

Dragonseye – Level 20

Earth Resistance – Level N/A

Flameborn – Level N/A

Hoarder – Level 2

Limited Equipment – Level N/A

No Thumbs – Level N/A

Sandblast – Level 5

Scaly Wings – Level N/A

Slow to Age – Level N/A

Tail Slap – Level 5

Cleric Skills

Blessing – Level N/A

Curative – Level N/A

Faith – Level N/A

Godspell:

Holy Smite – Level 8

Lesser Healing – Level 23

Party Heal – Level 1

Pray to Konol – Level 1

Shield of Divinity – Level 9

Cultist Skills

Conceal Status – Level 10

Curses – Level 10

Dark Chant – Level 18

Darkspell: Fool's Gold – Level 35

Enhance Pain – Level 10

Fevered Zeal – Level 1

First Pact – Level 1

Occult Eye – Level N/A

Servant of Darkness – Level N/A

Transfer Wounds – Level 21

Unhinged Mind – Level N/A

Unlocked Jobs

Conjuror, Fire Elementalist, Grifter, Knight

Gear:

Mirror of Planar Contact, Assorted low-level reagents and crystals, and a dozen bits of golden furnishings and random objects