Owls were hooting above tombstones under a hazy full moon.

Ivan bellowed an incoherent curse in Russian, his voice echoing back at him from all sides, from wrought iron fences and swamps beyond. His death timer had lapsed some time ago, while he had been frozen asleep in his flat, but the game, for some reason, had decided to move his respawn point to a graveyard in the middle of nowhere.

Actually nowhere.

Somewhere in the wilderness north-east of Draconia, judging from these pine trees and snowy mountain tops in the far distance. Clouds blew quickly and revealed a squarish constellation of stars. Definitely northern Draconia.

A light beam then hit his eyes, no damage dealt. A gruff male voice called, “Who’s there?!”

Reaching for his daggers, Ivan grabbed fists full of mist and found himself dressed in only linen shorts and a shirt. He was damned naked—in terms of gear.

“A Human,” the man said. “A normal Human.” He was a bald man of average height wearing chainmail and show-off shoulder pads. He carried a mana lantern in one hand, a muddy shovel in the other, and a general air of frustration around his gleaming crimson eyes.

A Dark Human. The newest playable race on the block.

Ivan remembered he could force the game to spew up a description window. One appeared at the thought.

Derek Goodwill (Dark Human): Level 103

Faction: None

Health: 1990

Mana: 1550

Stamina: 1200

No player tag. Only level 103.

Ivan could take him even without daggers. His fingers itched to do so, tingling with dark mana at the tips. But he wasn’t a savage. No, he was a civilized darkie. He only killed and stole with reasonable motive unlike some. He said politely, “Yes, I’m a Human, Mister Goodwill. Where am I?”

“Not Insane. You are at a settlement thirty leagues north of Lady LeMort’s spire.”

“Why?”

“We are here for an enchanted granite deposit, but it will be some time before—”

“I mean why am I here, dumbass.”

Fatty tendons in Derek’s neck stiffened. “Apologies. I assume you have respawned here because the spawnstone in Lady LeMort’s spire was moved to this location, buried under your feet.”

Lady. Such a pompous title for that whore. Ivan spat onto the grass. “Horse manure. That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve heard all day. Why am I really here?”

Derek was quiet for exactly nine hoots of the nearest owl, his expression masked. “I only speak of the truth, Mister Insane—”

“Not.”

His non-existent eyebrow arched. “Excuse me?”

“Either call me Not Insane or Not.” His knuckles cracked as his dark mana flared outward. “Do you understand?”

“I understand, Not,” Derek said in a voice short of a growl. “I insist I am speaking the truth. We have but a single Runecrafter in our ranks, Lady LeMort, and she currently not with us. We had no choice but to move the spawnstone on mount-back as they do not react well with portals, as I assume you know.”

“What? All for a… granite mine?”

“The only enchanted deposit at a defensible location.” He gestured behind with the shovel. “Would you like to take this discussion inside?”

Ivan gave a jerky nod toward the dirt path. “You first.”

Derek slowly turned on his heels, leading with a strolling gait, and when he walked past a slate obelisk, he said, “Here lies my wife, Carol Goodwill.” Next to the obelisk was a smaller copy. “And my brother, Douglas. My niece, Cait. My good friend, Jeremy—”

“Save me the eulogy.”

“And my childhood acquaintance, Anne. They could have been saved and reborn, given second chances, but they had been set ablaze and rendered to ash.”

A sigh wafted from Ivan’s cracked lips. “You shouldn’t count on the gods aren’t converting any more of you. You’ll have to reproduce the old fashion way.”

Again quiet for exactly nine hoots, Derek glanced at him with veiled irritation. “You do not know, do you?”

“Know what?”

“The power which you speak of belongs to none other than Lord LeMort, granted by his divine amulet, the Jewel of Blasphemies, now held by Ayla Frost in his absence.”

“You have to be kidding me!”

“I give you my word. Run me through if you find that I’ve deceived you.”

This couldn’t be true. This was a goddamn joke. Ayla Frost, one of the past head honchos at Dorian’s guild Enchanters, was now the head honcho of the darkies, a Death Knight at that. Gabby and Rowan had just given everything to her free of charge. Power, fame, everything. Why? Because she played the part of the molested victim? What a joke!

“Fuck!” Ivan bellowed, kicking a stone with his bare foot. “Why?!”

Derek said solemnly, “The scions of light I had once served burned all their bodies to ash… because they believe we are now abominations of nature itself. We are to be slain on sight.”

“I wasn’t talking about that. Why did they give it all to her?”

“Ayla Frost?”

“Yes, Ayla.” Ivan’s patience for this nincompoop was thinning.

“In all honesty, I do not know. Apologies if this disappoints you.”

Ivan glowered at the the trodden ground to refrain from summoning one of his ravens. Dark mana tossed around in his body, a murderous storm that needed release this instant. And that hooting owl was not helping. Those hollow circles for eyes were taunting.

His arm whipped at the branch.

A Death Bolt pierced the owl through the chest. Feathers disintegrated. The corrupting magic was a fast-growing cancer as it ate the bird whole, fine black dust dispersing into the wind.

Dopamine unfurled in Ivan’s head. It had been too long since he had played. Over twelve hours since his duel with Rowan—a distant memory fading by the minute. The kid had gotten lucky, both with his mana type and the randomly-generated arena that included a giant skeleton of all things. The gods had pulled a fast one there. Sheer stupidity all around.

Without a shred of doubt, Luck was the only way the kid could’ve won. He had been like sixty level lower, not even one-eighty, an order of magnitude of difference in the game’s exponential scaling.

But he’s a world boss, a voice of reason echoed in haughty Russian.

Ah, that’s true, he thought sourly. He’s going to be like a god at the higher tiers. This really is a fucking joke. Player world bosses.

If he and his whore can be a world bosses, the voice went on, then so can you.

How?

I don’t know. That’s up to you to find out.

It always is. Thanks for nothing.

The voice didn’t talk back again, smartly. Ivan didn’t need help brainstorming while following Derek among single story wooden buildings.

Ivan was an ideas-man; he wasn’t boasting to say so. He was famous for his sly tactics and slippery ways in both sword and pen. He wasn’t one of five, now six, famous darkies for nothing. He started the search with his character sheet, as basic as that was. He needed a refresher anyway. He hadn’t checked in weeks since last leveling up; that had been a glorious raid crash at the pirates.

Not Insane

Titles: (Minimized. Focus to expand)

Race: Human

Gender: Male

Level: 216

Class: Raven Lord

Fame: 23,360 (Top 200)

Faction: None

Health: 100

Mana: 340 (Mana Type: Dark)

Stamina: 1180

Strength: 64 + 150

Dexterity: 118 + 200

Vitality: 10 + 150

Magical Power: 32 + 50

Magical Capacity: 32 + 50

Control: 10 + 118 (128 minion slots)

Defense attributes hidden (focus to expand)

Active Equipment Slots

Head: Empty

Torso: Leather Jerkin

Legs: Leather Pants

Feet: Boots

Hands: Empty

Cloak: Empty

Belt: Empty

Necklace: Empty

Right-hand Ring: Empty

Left-hand Ring: Empty

Main-hand Weapon: Blacksteel Dagger

Off-hand Weapon: Mithril Dagger

No clues there, unsurprisingly. The window looked the same: plain in design, a back-lit Arial font on top of a semi-opaque background. It used to be fantasy-styled with a rusty iron frame and animated dangling chains, but jackass players had complained it was too extravagant. Utter nonsense. This minimalistic user interface was the opposite of captivating, lamer than the worst MMOs Ivan had played during his teen years.

Most importantly, the six attributes used to have defining icons next to their labels: a fist for Strength, a running stick man for Dex, a heart for Vit, a flame for Magical Power, a star for Magical capacity, a chain link for Control. Now? They were nothing more than numbers on a spreadsheet with no personality at all. Boring. All boring.

And why did he bitch so much about these minor details? Simple: he was invested in the game, financially and as a gamer. A big meaty hunk of his heart and soul lived in this world.

He looked over the character details twice over, finding nothing world boss related, then swiped right to his inventory. But without a pouch, the adventurer inventory system was locked. He swallowed a spike of fury, skipped over to his friend list.

Gabby was offline along with the other three famous darkies, Rowan not on the list. Neither was Ayla.

Onto the skill lists, then.

Raven Lord Skills

Dark Blink: Tier 8, level 204

Unholy Blades: Tier 8, level 185

Featherlight Aura: Tier 8, level 183

Raven Call: Tier 6, level 171

Corrupting Needle: Tier 7, level 165

Feral Chains: Tier 6, level 112

Smoke Bomb: Tier 4, level 85

Raven’s Duel (Ultimate): Tier 6, level 152

Encroaching Darkness (Ultimate): Tier 3, level 48

Favorite Classless Skills

Night Vision Passive: Tier 9, level 189

Dagger Mastery: Tier 8, level 184

Stealth: Tier 7, level 145

Death Bolt: Tier 6, level 141

Land Mount Mastery: Tier 4, level 82

[Others hidden. Focus to expand]

Unfortunately, that was it. Nine class skills and the typical slew of classless skills, most of which were useless crap like Water Bolt and Ball Light. He had been most unlucky with skills scrolls—unlike Gabby, whom he had served on countless occasions like a good little lapdog bitch.

No more.

No more of her time-wasting. From this moment onward, he was in this for himself and only himself. Making credits was priority one. Catching up to Rowan was priority two. Girls? Priority ten thousand. Starting now. Starting with that granite mine, for they usually spawned with valuable gems and rare metals.

Across the table, Derek was frowning. His chalky pale face was tinted blue through the skill lists “Not, are you listening?”

A mental yank, Ivan closed the spreadsheets. “What is it?”

Derek massaged his neck, bones clicking. “I was saying: this humble settlement has been put under my watch. I am its mayor, and while our masters are occupied elsewhere, my word is law above all—”

“Your word?” Ivan’s knee bumped into a table leg. “I’m with Gab and Rowan. I outrank you.”

“Ah, yes, about that. I was informed about the stunt you pulled. How shall we say? A one-man coup against Lord Black?”

“That was a duel!” Ivan whacked the table’s rounded edge. “Like any two adventurers! Just fighting! We respawn. It wasn’t of any consequence.”

A hint of a smile played about Derek’s gray lips. “That may be true from your perspective, but that is not how they saw it.”

“How did they see it?”

“To be concise: a coup.”

Eye twitching, Ivan rose to his full height. “How about I actually show you a coup? You’re a stubby little man not even level a hundred—”

“I advise you to most carefully consider your next actions,” Derek said without fear. “You should know, I am one of the few Dark Humans with the Administration profession. I am valuable. Such a loss would be regrettable to our masters.”

“So what?! Admin tomes aren’t that rare.”

“You are mistaken.” Derek sipped from his tea up, his small finger straightened. “When was the last time you held or even saw such a tome?”

“I… Ah—” As he realized he had never seen one let alone touched one, a fiery growl tore up his throat into his sinuses. He looked away for a moment, at the window out into the darkness. He massaged pressure points on his forehead, then glared at those blood gems for eyes. “This is stupid. Just say where that mine is so I can go off on my own. Don’t try to stop me. I’m warning you.”

Derek put down the cup. Porcelain clinked. “You are free to go. But without armor? without weapons? Or access to your adventurer inventory? Do you have a portal skill? I assume not, since you would have used it by now.”

Three deep breaths were enough to keep him cool. “You will give me what I need. A portstone if nothing else.”

“Why should I do that, assuming I even hold a portstone?”

Ivan palmed the table. “You will give me what I need or I will starting killing.”

Derek’s expression was most unimpressed. “That would be very unwise, because after such an event, you would be captured and executed, after being tortured, and subsequently expelled from this faction—”

“What faction?” Ivan sneered, licking his lips. “Take a look at your own character sheet. You’re confused, man. I want to talk to your so-call masters. Where is Ayla? Is she even on?”

Derek was not phased: “Expelled from our future faction, and I say our faction because you still have a place in it even after your coup. If you cooperate here, then not only will you make amends for your crimes, but you may find doing so to be in your best interest.”

“My best interest?” Ivan bluffed. “You don’t know me. You’re nothing compared to me. Tell me where Ayla is. I want to talk to her.”

“She is occupied elsewhere.”

“Doing what?”

“I do not know.” He topped up his tea cup, sipped again. “I am merely, as you say, a low-level nothing compared to my masters.”

Ivan sat and snatched the spare tea cup. He poured a healthy serving for himself, and drank. An intense vanilla green tea swished in his mouth. Not bad. “Who else is there other than Ayla? SoSo and Edward? Ambiguous? They now all outrank me? Farce! I was Gabby’s first follower! She betrayed me!” His voice reverberated in this tiny room made of sanded pinewood, lacking any wallpaper or decor.

“Then you understand.” Derek was smiling. “They do not deem you valuable. Not your current power level, at least, but with my help, you may be one day.”

“Shut up. I can defeat any of her lackeys one-on-one. And how can you possibly help me? With your Admin powers?”

Derek nodded, then held out his glowing index finger. He muttered a word in the ancient language, and a box appeared in front of his face.

New Administrative Quest: Resource Demand

Yesterday, you were a wanted villain worldwide. Today, you are an errand boy.

Difficulty: C

Length: Short-medium

Success conditions: Return 100 High-Quality Granite to Derek Goodwill

Reward: Experience Lamp, ?

Slapping away the prompt and its shitty description, Ivan gulped down tea. “What’s the unknown reward?”

Derek made a blithesome face. “It could be anything from gold coins to a legendary unique weapon to a skill scroll for your class. Magic works in wonderful ways, after all.”

“You’re bullshitting. I’ve never come across this before.”

“I am surprised that someone of your status does not know, but Administrators are very rare folk. There are only several dozen in the Human kingdom… from which you are barred.”

Ivan refilled his cup. His stomach was sloshing warmth to the far-reaches of his body. This place was almost as cold as Siberia. “I assume you’re not hiding a crate full of experience lamps somewhere.”

“My magic conjures the reward—”

“I know. I was just testing you. I find it hard to believe the reward is conjured from nothing. Not even a loot gem.”

“The magic is very similar to that of loot gems.” Derek yawned. “Alas, the night is young, and I do need sleep. But for you, there are shrinking crates in the storeroom, weapons and armor in the cellar, but the quality may be lacking. I believe there are a few pouches as well.” Another yawn. “And, as I said, you are always free to leave. It is your decision. Are we done for the night?”

Sip by sip, the tea cup emptied while Ivan crossed out options in his head. Very few options. He had already pissed off all three major light-side factions, and as much as he wanted to go solo, this was an MMO and not a single-player RPG. He needed allies.

The Russian voice returned, except with a more amiable tone, urging, Go along with them for now. That question mark might be something good.

Ivan agreed. “Yup, we’re done. See you in the morning.”

“Thank you for your cooperation,” Derek said with kind warmth, standing.

“Thank you for the vanilla tea.”