Instead of focusing on the monsters his character killed on his virtual laptop screen, Silas watched through the eyes of the nameless Ensign as he shot down giant beetle after giant beetle. Ahead, his own body danced and moved, killing oversized ants which charged at him through the forest of giant blades of grass.

What was this, 'Honey, I Shrunk the Dungeoneers?'

That could be him out there—was him, in a far too real way. Yet, all he could feel was a guilty sort of relief, knowing Eve could and would handle the dangers of this scary world far better than he ever could.

He couldn't—shouldn't fully retreat into Eve's virtual reality, he knew that, yet who was he to fight monsters, or even deal with the terrifying locals, each with their own, terrifying powers? Even their street sweepers turned into monsters, just to perform everyday tasks.

Why him? Killing stuff on a screen wasn't the same as going out and killing. Just like how first person shooters didn't turn normal kids into mass murderers, loving aRPGs didn't mean he'd love having his life turn into an endless slaughterfest.

Killing monsters on his computer was safe. His character might get injured, even die, but he, as the player, never faced true danger.

Suddenly the world as seen through the Ensign's eyes spun. Sky, grass, ground, grass, sky.

He didn't understand what happened.

The spinning stopped, the Ensign staring up at the cloud-covered sky far overhead. A headless torso in a red starship uniform fell into view, the insignia of the Empire of the Infinite Night hovering upside down over his face until his view faded, leaving Silas looking at his laptop screen.

He stared at the 'YOU HAVE DIED!' in blood spattered lettering, telling him what he already knew.

"Hey," Eve said softly, making him jump up, knocking his fake laptop off the fake desk in this fake world.

He wasn't even here. He was out there, probably still killing ants and other bugs. Not him, but a better version of himself in all honesty.

"Hey!" Eve called out, again drawing his attention. "I need you to summon Ai," she snapped. Nicer, she said, "Can you do that, Silas?"

Right. Battle outside. Existential panic could come later.

He summoned Ai, but didn't try to watch through his summoned character's eyes this time.

"What's your Skill say about the Ensign?" Eve prompted.

Right. The Ensign dying had been the plan all along. Eve's plan. Because it was better to know how the Skill would react. Hard to argue with such logic. Hard to argue with Eve. She always knew best.

He pulled up his Roster.

Character Roster*

1. Woof

2. Vox

3. Taylor

4. Ensign (Unavailable for 29h 58m)

5. Lieutenant Ai

6. Lucky

* One Character removal remaining

"His death triggered a thirty hour cooldown on summoning him, it seems," he said, adding, "I didn't even ask his name."

"Let's call him Hugh, then," she said, not missing a beat.

"That's random. Sure. Whatever." Why Hugh? Why not.

After a brief mental apology to Ensign Hugh, thanking him for his sacrifice, he continued, "The Skill tiered up. One Character removal remaining. Is Ensign Hugh the right one to get rid of, though? He did pretty good out there, until he didn't."

Eve shook her head. "Anything Hugh can do, Ai can do better."

Silas had to laugh. It wasn't that funny, yet he couldn't help himself. Eve set him up for that joke perfectly. He laughed far longer than was necessary, eventually wiping a fake tear from his fake eyes.

He mentally poked at his prompt, telling it to delete the Ensign.

Caution!

Remove Character "Ensign" from Roster? This action can not be undone. (Yes/No)

He hesitated, despite this being what he wanted. Walker the Necromancer would be much more useful than the Ensign, he felt certain. Now he could summon Walker out to join Ai, as soon as he got rid of Hugh, the nameless red shirt Ensign, who wasn't even real, may he rest in peace.

Saying 'Yes' to the prompt, he said, "Summoning Walker," to Eve, then did so.

Unable to help himself, he focused on Ai, willing himself to watch through her eyes. He wanted to see, needed to know what was happening out in the real world.

Captain Sandre "Sky" Laune rubbed his temples, trying to make sense of this sergeant's ramblings. He'd come back to the command post to read a few reports and drink another wakefulness potion. They lasted less and less each time, but he should be good for another ten hours or so now.

He heard of the city's rat problem, of course. A minor concern, as such things went. Rats were easy enough to kill. Just dangle a piece of cheese over a barrel half filled with water and let the stupid things drown themselves.

How were rats even a concern right now, with the city besieged by the ravenous swarmers?

He focused on the only part of the report which made sense. "The swarmers are coming from underground?"

"Aye, Cap'n Sky. But them rats got 'em covered. Look, you jus' need to step into this here alley yonder, and not kill the whale of a rat. He's their leader, see. They're on our side."

"Why is our 'ally' in the alley, then?"

"Captain," the sergeant said, slowly enunciating his words. "It's a tripping. Giant. Rat. Big as any mukupi I seen in my life. Don't need you killing their leader and stirring up unnecessary trouble, not with them grabbers coming at us every which way."

Now that got his attention. To Sandre, a 'giant rat' meant it was, perhaps, as big as his boot. When speaking of dungeon rats, normally one spoke of the vermin who bred near a dungeon, slowly absorbing mana from the manasphere to increase in power and, yes, size.

For the creature to be this size, however, suggested perhaps rumors of a dungeon escape had not been baseless after all. To be so large the creature would have to be rather ancient, yet the latest rat problem was quite recent.

He hefted his trusty hammer, sliding it free of the harness on his back. Seems he had a rat to kill. "Show me."

"Ain't no need for that, Cap'n," the sergeant warned.

"Now, Sergeant," barked Sandre.

With a sharp salute, the career sergeant spun and exited the command post, past a few trainee privates on guard detail who perked up as he approached, attempting to look more alert. The sergeant led him around the building to a side alley, where another trainee private waited, this one looking a bit pale, sweat dripping from her brow.

"You are?" he asked the teenager.

She saluted, crossing her arms and briefly dipping her head. "Trainee Private Ed, Captain Sky sir."

He hated that nickname, though the gods knew he earned it thrice over.

"You don't look like a rat."

The girl swallowed. "My Bond lets me speak with animals, sir."

"Anyone can—"

"That is," she interrupted, "I can understand them and be understood in return, sir. Two way communication. Sir."

So, the girl had the audacity to cut him off. Good for her. No one respected a doormat. "And therefore, you took it upon yourself to establish a line of communication with these rats, Trainee Private Ed?"

"More like, they were swarming the city, coming up from underground, clearing out the grabbers. They responded to something I said, and their 'Boss,' that's what they call him, requested I aid him in communicating with our leader. Obviously I couldn't just abandon my post, so I took him to Corporal Sito, who directed me to the sergeant. The lieutenants are all either busy on the wall or resting, so we came straight to you. ...Sir."

The girl was clearly nervous. She'd probably never reported directly to any of her commanding officers before.

"I see you, but no rats," he observed.

"Pardon, sir, but you're holding an awfully big hammer, and it is no secret you can whip it around like it's as light as a feather. These rats, the Boss at least, he isn't stupid. Doesn't want a mistake to be made. They all seem quite eager to help the city. He's nearby, just positioned to run if he sees fin, sir."

"They want to help us in our time of need so we don't kill them all, I suppose?"

"Something like that sir. They also want cheese sir."

His brain needed to pause and reset. Rats were still rats, in the end. "Of course they do," he said, shaking his head.

"Ah. They don't want to trade their help for cheese. …They want to pay for it sir?" She sounded uncertain. "Apparently they're buying cheese from one of the Heroes? That's what the Boss said, anyhow, sir. And with the heroes busy with this siege, they want to keep things from getting worse so they can go back to their old arrangement sooner sir."

Sandre shook his head. "No Heroes here, Trainee Private. One stole the second prince's airship—the fool left his keystone in it. The second got snatched up by that wiley old headmaster. Neither has been seen since. Probably ran off to the Empire, we know they've made some overtures to Ainsley."

A deep bass rumble made him look around. Depths below, what now?

"Uh," the girl looked nervous. "Are you sure they both left, sir?"

"Sure? The woman's in the wind." He shrugged. "Can't say much about the boy. He'd be the conjuring Hero, going by the reports. Might be the old wizard has a plan requiring the Hero's assistance. To be sure, that man can afford to wait until the very last moment to flee, though I have no doubt he will be gone the moment the city falls. He's not one to fight to the bitter end."

Another bass rumble came from the shadows of the alley. What was that?

"No, the Academy is warded against vermin, ah, no offense," the girl said, as something of a nonsequitur. Offense to whom?

…He was a bit slow today. Wakefulness potions and food tablets only kept one running at full capacity for so long. He would take a nap, only the crash promised to be a hard one. He couldn't afford to sleep for days on end quite yet, not if he ever wanted to wake.

"So, what is it they demand, for their suspiciously well-timed help?" he asked, peering into the darkness.

She shook her head. "Just the chance to buy cheese when this is over. And not be killed out of hand, but held to the same laws as the rest of us, sir."

He blinked, turning back to the trainee. "They want citizenship?"

She nodded, once, seeming nervous. She knew it was an absurd request. Well, he shouldn't blame the messenger.

He relaxed his grip on his hammer. He should just kill the hiding rat and be done with it, only… "You said rats are swarming the city, killing the, ugh, the swarmers?" He frowned. With two groups swarming, the tentacled horrors needed a new name.

"Indeed sir. People saw the grabbers coming up from underground, sir, before the rats showed up. Sir."

That was a stupid name, almost as bad as 'swarmers.' They didn't just grab onto things. They weren't leeches. They clung and devoured. Clingers? Hungers? Horrors? Devourers? Mouthed tentacles? Tentacular hungers? Tentgers? Tungers? Devouracles? Tentavores?

Realizing he was drifting, he focused back on the worried girl. "I can't grant citizenship, not even if they were some hidden, underground tribe, stepping out into the daylight to save our ships. I can send out orders to not attack rats on sight, for the duration of this attack. The other captains answer to me while the generals are up at the castle, advising the King—though I'm not sure what advice they can give except for us to hold the walls."

He looked past the girl, into the shadows, "Don't attack when our guards drop, and maybe an agreement can be reached once this is over. That's the best I can do."

The bass rumbling moved closer, and he almost, almost stepped back as the shadow grew into a hulking outline. If that wasn't a rat escaped from inside the dungeon, it must have found…

He almost cursed aloud, but internalized his frustration.

That tripping Hero and his conjured cheese. What was that kid thinking? Just how much cheese made from pure mana did he give these rats?

…Then the captain thought a bit further, and felt chills run up his spine. If the Hero hadn't fattened up these rats, the city might just have fallen to the grabbers tunneling up from below.

Once this was all said and done, the King might just have to give that idiot boy some kind of commendation, if not marriage to the royal heir of his choice and half the city, as was the standard price for a Hero saving a kingdom back in the day, at least according to all the old stories.

"He finds this acceptable, but asks I stay available as his point of contact, sir."

Sandre just nodded as the rat rumbled something else the girl didn't bother to translate. "Very good, Trainee Private Ed. Grab a cot in the command tent. I'll tell the guards to wake you if a rat walks up and starts squeaking."

"Very good, sir." She saluted again, looking a bit triumphant.

Sandre smiled just a bit as he saluted back, thinking how ten years ago he had been so young and eager, too.