Hero’s Haven perfectly represented the term border outpost. Surrounded by a thick, sturdy wall, and populated by top-tier players who used it as a base camp for forays into the Darkened Lands, it was well-armed for its size. The defenses were more than adequate for the roaming monsters that would occasionally attack the town. It wasn’t a common target for any creature looking to turn a profit, as it didn’t have much treasure beyond what the players carried.

This was a relatively peaceful place confident in its strength. A confidence gained over years of gameplay.

Confidence that would prove misplaced on this night.

Families were tucked away and players rested for their raids the following day. The sun dipped below the horizon, and the street lighter walked from pole to pole, giving hope to the gloom.

The hour between sunshine and darkness has gone by many names: the gloaming, the fairy hour, twilight. The boundaries between worlds, between life and death, were believed to be thinner during this time. No matter the name, many cultures recognized those moments between day and night, and have long prompted tales of the supernatural.

No sound gave away the coming danger. A small black dot appeared behind the home of the local alchemist, hidden between the structure and the city wall. Slowly at first, but quickly gaining momentum, the drop of shade began to spin.

It pulsated, black as a starless sky, growing in size from the head of a pin to a coin to a dish. Ragged tendrils extended from the void, further dragging open the edges of the rip in space, forcing back the light. The dark chasm grew until it stood taller than a person.

Hovering in the air, the tendrils reached toward the surrounding light.

A faint, barely audible shuffle floated from the void, and a skeleton armed with sword and shield stepped out of the portal. More skeletons marched out and assembled into ranks behind the alchemist’s house.

Two hundred and fifty skeletons in total awaited the orders of their mistress.

The last to come through was Cobalt, white runes glowing with menace in the twilight. He carried a colossal greatsword as long as he was tall.

Then she emerged, silent as death.

Shadows covered Hemlock’s face, creating a featureless void within the space under the hood of her flowing robes. Tendrils of darkness trailed her form, pieces of shadow and fabric that moved of their own mind.

These silken fingers of night caressed the ground and slid along skeletons, and buildings alike, seeking the warm pulse of the living.

Cobalt waited from his position, expressionless. She gave the slightest nod, and her army moved in.

The silence that followed put her nerves on edge. It stretched, interminable between the order being given and the eventual result. The task set in motion, the purpose begun, the—

There it was. The first scream.

Sound rushed back into the world. Adrenaline pumped the deep ringing bass of her heartbeat into her ears. Quickly silenced screams in the night’s gloom sounded in all directions.

The faint clangor of clashing metal and muted cries of pain came to her on the wind. The last breaths of dying players.

An alarm sounded, ripping her from her reverie, as horns blew throughout the town, awakening their resistance.

She cursed. Her troops were meant to kill the sentinels before the alarm.

Turning to the alchemist’s shop, she raised a hand. “No need to be quiet then.”

Fire erupted from her palm, consuming the small shack in an inferno. Strange smells of herbs and tonics rose in the air as unusual ingredients burned. She smiled when sparks churned within the building, and she started to step aside, but the shop exploded.

The explosion nearly deafened her, issuing a shock wave that knocked her back fifteen feet and left a smoking hole in the town wall. Any doubt about what was happening instantly dissolved.

Catching her breath, she turned to the streets, grimly marching into the battle.

A man stood over one of her skeletons, his sword dusty from shattering its bones. She came upon him just as his boot came down in a final stomp on the skull of the minion, stilling it forever. Catching sight of her, he charged, sword held high.

A shadow leapt from the ground, whipping itself around his throat. The snag was so sudden he didn’t have a chance to slow, and was yanked backward off his feet. Crashing to the ground, he pulled at the tendril, but his hands passed harmlessly through the shadow.

She caught a glimpse of his eyes. Fear and uncertainty mixing with surprise. More vines of shadow wrapped around his chest, legs, and wrists.

She left him thrashing there as the shadows constricted tighter and tighter around his throat.

He was a player. This is what he deserved. She assured herself she didn’t need to look in the man’s eyes again to know that.

Around the next corner her remaining forces were engaged in a pitched battle.

A tall woman in leather armor like leaves and branches spun through the street, nimble and quick, striking left and right with a six-foot length of dark wood that hummed with power. Wherever she struck, plants grew. Vines sprang from the earth, entangling Hemlock’s skeletons, and pulling them to the ground, their bodies falling into decomposition.

She didn’t miss the symmetry. This would not do.

The tall woman moved a touch too slow to dodge under an arrow and was struck in the shoulder. She grunted and staggered from the hit, before planting the end of her staff into the earth, using the pole to vault herself into the air.

She spun horizontally at incredible speed, tiny seeds flying out from her in all directions. These seeds, like her staff, sprouted new growth wherever they struck, turning into vines, flowers, and mushrooms. It really would be quite beautiful if it didn’t warn of danger.

The flowers and mushrooms shook themselves, sending gouts of pollen into the air, creating a hazy mist that the player breathed in deeply. The wound in the tall woman’s arm closed and the city forces around her all seemed reinvigorated by a second wind.

“Won’t do at all,” Hemlock muttered.

Focusing, she sent shadows beneath the soil. They snaked their way across the square, erupting directly under the woman. She tried to dodge, but even with her speed she was too late. These shadows snapped around her legs, holding her in a steel grip.

Bark erupted on the woman’s skin in an attempt to protect herself, eliciting a cruel smile from Hemlock.

“Bark makes the best kindling.”

She pushed with all her Will, sending fire through the center of her shadows like water through pipes. The blaze erupted directly into the bound player, the plume rising eight feet into the night sky. Fire shot through her for a full ten seconds, charring the flowers and burning away the bark.

In the end, only ash remained.

The nearby guards fled, terrified at the sight. Hemlock casually signaled her troops to pursue.

To her left, Cobalt battled another player, swords moving so quick that even she was having trouble following the movements. The sadistic bastard was repeatedly cutting his opponent, intentionally striking one piece at a time. The player didn’t even realize he’d already lost.

A flicker out of the corner of her eye drew her attention, and she lashed out, slapping the movement with a shadow.

Hemlock froze. She held a young child by the throat, his feet dangling in the air. A moment passed as she recognized the airplane boy from earlier.

His mother collapsed to the ground behind him, tears streaming from her eyes as she shouted incoherently. It took a moment for Hemlock to hear the woman’s blathering as pleads to spare her son.

Why would this woman think she’d hurt the boy? This boy was an innocent.

Carefully, Hemlock set the boy down, moving her hand in a sweeping gesture for the child to rejoin his mother.

Surprise and relief covered the woman’s face, hugging her boy tightly to her, and she sobbed. “Thank you. Thank you,” she uttered over and over, backing away.

Hemlock’s twinge of worry from earlier returned in full force. Growling, she turned from the pair. They were safe now.

The city was not. The street was littered with bodies, fires burning on rooftops and smoke thickening the air to choke even the hardy. The remaining townsfolk had created a shield wall near the center of town and were barely holding their own against her soldiers.

Approaching, she noticed a bare-chested man rallying their forces, giving them hope against the hopelessness of their situation.

With a small gesture from Hemlock, all her forces ceased their assault, stepping back and standing at a ready attention.

The players and people of the city stared, weapons ready, as they waited for whatever was coming.

“Do you lead these players?” Hemlock’s voice, barely above a whisper, carried across the town.

“We don’t need a leader,” the man said. “We each take care of ourselves. But for the moment, yeah, it seems I’ve been calling the shots.”

The terrified people around him, mud and blood marring their sleep-deprived faces, held their weapons in shaking hands.

The guilty pain returned in her chest, and she looked away from the man’s pitiful followers. Perhaps she had made her point here. She started to respond, but Cobalt’s unmoving stare silenced her tongue. The skeleton watched her, his unblinking eyes judging her actions and motives.

“I have a bargain for you who treat this world as a game,” she said instead, hardening her resolve.

The man arched an eyebrow. “And why would I take a bargain from you, beast?”

“It could save the lives of your people. Does death mean so little to you?”

The man seemed to consider that for a moment before replying, “Speak.”

“A classic challenge. Single combat. If you win, I will order my forces to leave.” This caused quite a stir from the group around him, and she smiled from within her hood. “If I win, we kill everyone here, and the town is ours.”

Silence.

The man thought for several moments, weighing her with his eyes. “I can’t see your Level, monster. Inspection doesn’t seem to work on you, but I’m a top-tier melee fighter for this region. You bit off more than you can chew.”

Stepping forward, he balanced his sword across his shoulders. Taking the blade in his other hand, he pressed it toward the sky, stretching his chest. His muscles bulged from pecks to biceps. The leather pants he wore hung loosely below a plain, cinched rope.

A pity to destroy such an artful form, Hemlock thought, watching the man take a few practice swings before lowering himself into a ready stance.

“Whenever you are done preening,” she said.

He didn’t bother to respond. Instead, he swung his blade overhead in a massive two-handed strike.

Had it connected, it would have split her in half from skull to groin. But it didn’t land, not even close. She stepped to the side, easily dodging the strike. Lashing out with her foot, she kicked the side of the blade. It pushed off to his left and forced him to take a step to recover control of its weight.

She smirked. This would be easier than she thought.

She blurred forward and struck open-handed, sharpened nails tearing a gouge out of the man’s side, leaving bloody slashes behind. He cried in pain. She slid under the massive fist he responded with and sank a talon into the soft skin of his armpit.

Twisting her hand, she placed a foot on his chest and kicked off, flipping backward to land a safe distance away while he crashed to the ground.

Angrily slapping himself in the face, he stood, ignoring the bloody injuries on his side and arm. Determined rage sparked in his eyes, and he rushed at her again.

He swung his sword in a horizontal arc this time, imbuing the weapon with Sunfire. A line of white flew from the weapon, tearing into Hemlock just as she was able to wrap herself in shadows.

Pain screamed from her exposed flesh, and the faint scent of her hair burning stung her nostrils.

Her form blurred, moving to repeat the strike that had been so successful, on the player’s other side. Confidence of her speed ending this blinded her.

Stepping sideways, he managed to catch her neck in the bend of his elbow. The second the pressure connected, he snapped his arm closed, trapping her head against his unwounded side in a headlock.

She went ballistic, tearing at his sides, arms, back, and legs, her hands now covered in the man’s blood. Desperation filled her. Hemlock focused her attacks on his groin and throat, but he moved nimbly, keeping his grip on her but dodging the strikes. Sudden concern that he out-skilled her when it came to grappling fueled her wild strikes.

All the while, he chuckled. From this position, he could easily snap her neck. He’d won, and they both knew it.

He began to tighten his grip.

Pressure rose in her face, her breathing reduced to coughing and gags.

She tried kicking his legs, aiming to snap his knee sideways. He blocked her kick with his shin, and she lost feeling in her leg as she struck a nerve.

“Alright,” she gasped. “I concede.”

Silence fell on the street at the finality of that statement.

The man spit, holding her a second longer before tossing her to the side of the road.

“Fuck yeah, you do. Now get your cronies out of my town.”

Hemlock didn’t move at first, ashamed of her careless mistake.

Slowly, she rose. “Very well.”

Turning, she started gesturing for her forces to remove themselves and leave the town. They obeyed without question.

And that was when she saw the body.

Near the group of survivors, a young boy lay in the street, unmoving.

She moved before fully comprehending the scene surrounding the small body. A telltale burn ran across the boy’s chest, the mark evidence of what shortened his life. Hemlock all too clearly relived that moment of terror. The fear he must have felt in running for the shelter of the group.

“You slew an innocent as we fought,” she said.

“What?” the bare-chested player asked. “Oh, yeah, I saw him. Hoped he would make it to the group in time, but I guess not.”

She turned disbelieving eyes on him.

“You slew an innocent, intentionally, while we battled? A child, running for shelter?”

The man shrugged. “Hey, you attacked my town. I did what was necessary. It’s unfortunate, but the kid’ll respawn.”

Cold washed over her body and ice ran through her veins.

“Have you so little regard for the life of others, player?” She practically spat the words, stepping closer to the man. “You kill and slay the innocent for no reason but your own amusement. Yes, my troops came here tonight, slaughtered these corrupt visages of humanity. And even in my moment, when I could fulfill my mission and wash your corruption from the boundaries of our peaceful land… I showed you mercy. I let you fight for your lives. Gave you the opportunity to earnyour freedom.”

She looked once more to the boy, sadness bubbling in her chest. “And you show the same disregard for life that brought me here. You flaunt your lack of empathy like a trait to be admired.”

The night dimmed as the very fires alight on the buildings surrounding them seemed to die down.

The man was no fool, noticing the change immediately.

“Hey, we had a deal, monster!” he shouted. “I won our fight, now you have to leave!”

“You did win, player. You did,” she whispered, shifting closer, the ice of her mood a physical weight on those around her. “And I showed you mercy for that act.”

She was right in front of him now, and as he looked down into her cowl, she let him see her. Black pits of fury the color of a grave stared back at him, and he felt fear. She inwardly reveled in the twisted horror on his face.

He lashed out, but his fist didn’t make it far.

Tendrils of shadow erupted from the ground, whipping around his arm, chest, legs, and neck. The shadows tightened on the man through every attempt to get free, sweeping him off his feet and pulling him from different directions, holding him until he was suspended off the ground.

“Mercy,” she said without emotion. “That simply won’t do.”

And with that, the tendrils yanked in all their many directions, tearing the man apart.

Blood exploded from the body, covering the square in a crimson rain. Horrified screams erupted from the remaining survivors witnessing their hero torn limb from limb.

Their screams quickly died when Hemlock turned to them, and they huddled close, unable to turn away. The darkness within her hood bore into each person present, searing the memory of death given form into their hearts.

Several long moments went by with nothing but the wind blowing by and the sobs of the villagers.

“Won’t do at all.”

Hemlock returned to the hole she’d blasted in the wall of what had once been called Hero’s Haven, not slowing as she passed Cobalt’s smiling skull.

“Kill them all.”