Zahn woke to darkness, immediately heaving a breath to scream his frustrations. All that effort, all those hours spent grinding his limited spells and attacks just to get ousted from the Tournament before he could even reach his target. And now, after all that trying, he’d fallen back down to level nine.

He rolled off the slab, landing on dirty wooden boards and kicking up a small dust cloud. “You give me a fucking dagger! I’m forced to face a whole fucking team of assholes, when the only fucker even in my level range is the fucking boss! Who the hell has the minions stronger than the boss?! Fuck! This fucking hellhole! Now I can’t even do the quest!”

Raging and storming around the small hot room, Zahn ran into the dense altar and tripped over half a tarp before he had the presence of mind to check his still-active quest list for any update.

Kill the Ringmaster before sunset: 0/1.

It’s still here? Panting after his tantrum, the Custom paused in his tirade to try and parse what it meant. I can still win. I just need to kill him, I can die as many times as I need to. Finding his heart rate steadying, Zahn tasted the stale air and remembered the other side of his enormous problem. I’ll die recurrently forever if I use up all the air.

The train of thought ended naturally, with the dark sealed room denying his optimism. “Gotta get out.” The dark room was slowly gaining definition, with the barest amount of light giving some contrast as he powered up his Mana sight and witnessed magic in the world again. The altar’s formerly complex pattern stacked dozens of times deep now sat dull and listless, the intricate spellform bringing him back to life hovering just inches below the surface and slowly being filled with tiny blue beads of color.

“They really did drain this thing,” he murmured as his palm slid over the smooth surface. “Last thing I need is to be trapped inside it forever, waiting for power. Or in this room when it keeps bringing me back.”

The sounds of Zahn’s muttering were still lingering when the obvious slammed into his face. I just need to stop this thing from working, and I can leave right now! I don’t want anything here, who the fuck says I need to do that stupid quest?!

Grinning and flexing his fingers, the Player rolled his shoulders and tried not to breathe too deeply. The stale air already felt humid and sticking, reminding him once again that the exit was sealed airtight. Settling gingerly onto his knees beside the altar, he was struck with the irony of his newly religious-esque state.

With shallow breaths and a trembling finger, Zahn traced a line from the far side of the altar to himself and powered the simple spell. “Sever,” he whispered and watched as the line grew brighter as it fed from his mana reserves.

The blue shine was turning teal on its journey to being a functional spell when the altar’s greedy pull sucked the mana in and held it fast.

Slamming his free hand down in a fist, Zahn grunted and grumbled under his breath as he tried to stay calm. Of course not, it’s already thirsty. Just need to try this the long way, like division. Heh, division trying to break open a rock.

He sat back on his haunches and summoned his Grimoire, its internal light easily illuminating the room. Skipping pages until the familiar green glow appeared, Zahn found the complex series of circles he’d first recorded to unlock Sever.

Drawing the circles with a finger using mana as paint seemed to work - until he moved to the third loop and found the first already being drawn into the respawn spellform for power.

“Fuck!” Slamming his fists against stone again, he kicked sand in his thrashing and gave himself a new plan. Fine, I’ll really fuckin’ draw it. Dick.

Scattering fistfuls of loose sand and gravel on top of the slab, the Custom gathered the debris into roughly even piles and readied his spell. “Shape.”

The sand obediently gathered into the circles and runes, forming a raised copy of the first carving he’d been so fascinated with.

Pushing power into the shapes with each touch, Zahn felt a smile crossing his face as he activated the last one. “Now break open you stupid shit,” he whispered into the stale air.

The sand scattered, pulling apart and drifting into the air as an unwanted dust cloud. Zahn stared at the once again clean altar, unable to express his frustration without physically harming himself.

The God of Death is amused by your efforts.

The God of Death suggests you not try to break his Altar in this manner.

The God of Death is watching the Player Zahn.

“The God of Death can go fuck himself,” Zahn answered the popup sarcastically. “You could at least have told me it wouldn’t work ahead of time.” Closing the window reminded him of the others waiting to be read, and he dismissed them after a brief review. He’d unlocked a new Psychic Technique, dubbed fear, and had gained a new Fire Magic update.

Through repeated use, your Spell has changed form!

You have unlocked: Fire Stream!

Fire Stream

Spell

Level: One

Tier: Common

Effect 1: Liquid flames erupt from the casting surface, launching along the assigned vertex until impacting the target. Target and anything in the stream’s path are damaged according to the duration of soak and degree of heat index. [288° - 749° range]

Effect 2: 25% chance to inflict status Burn.

Effect 3: 50% chance to pierce through target armor value below 100.

Nodding at his new weapon and dismissing the window, Zahn thought back to how the spell changed mid-fight. The Fire Breath impact was what he’d expected, but casting Stream nearly knocked him on his ass. Rolling over the event in his mind allowed him to be distracted, mentally stepping away from his repetitive imprisonment.

Standing and nodding again, the Player tried to prioritize. Air. Break through any wall for air. Then, plan.

Bending and gathering a double fistful of sand and rocks, Zahn shaped the mass into the rough pattern he wanted before casting Shape to form it exactly. As a pleasant surprise, when he cast the spell he saw the endless motes of dust from his altar-top experiment gather and congeal into the desired design. The mana he’d invested into the scattered sand remained clinging to his failure enough to respond to his distracted casting.

With the immediate area now dust-free, the Player carefully picked up his earth chain of circles and took a moment to enjoy success. Casting his Earth Seal in an effort to solidify his creation, Zahn hefted the two-foot long series of loops and looked through them at the far wall.

Stepping carefully around the slab, he approached the wall his compass declared to be Northern and placed the spellform against it. Tapping each circle in correct order and infusing mana with each touch had already become familiar by now, but the process wasn’t getting any faster. As he finished the ritual, a new window popped up.

>Insufficient ambient volume available to displace material.

>Spell failed!

Without even the preamble of his magical ability being complimented, the little popup read like a terminal report rather than his normal announcements. Frowning and dismissing the error, Zahn lifted his little stone stamp and moved to the next wall.

Each of the cardinal directions reported the same problem, along with the floor and the curving hallway leading to a now-filled doorway. He found a message written on the wall behind the altar, declaring “You will die here” in a dry dark paint. The cheerful reminder didn’t bother him nearly as much as the popup continuously reminding him that he couldn’t escape each time he tried.

Throwing his construct against the metal wall, Zahn punched the unforgiving iron and bemoaned the instant destruction of his magical stencil. Drawing a line down the stone and wooden wall close to the sealed portal, he channeled Sever for as long as the spell would hold.

Blasting outwards like a ripple turned vertical, the green wave sliced cleanly through the stone wall and slid the carved out section several inches towards him before the formerly packed rocks crumbled and fell apart into scattered gravel and wooden debris.

Attempting the same on the other side gained the same result, with minor structural damage and heaps of new dust clogging the already stifling air.

Drawing and carving yet another set of lines within the damage he’d caused contributed even more to his growing pile of rocky rubble, but as his examinations outside had shown the square of metal was much wider than the limited doorway.

Pushing his mana outwards like exhaling a cloud, Zahn eyed the floating dust and twirled his wrist in a circle. Shift pulled the earth-based particles down and into a neat pile, holding the gravel and sand like a little mountain. I can’t cut my way out. I can’t cut a hole to breathe. I’m running out of air. The heat was already making his head spin, and he’d only been able to avoid needing fire to see by virtue of his Grimoire constantly giving off a soft glow.

I can’t get out on my own. I don’t want to die here. Admitting the simple truth to himself felt like losing, but he couldn’t deny the one option he’d been avoiding.

“Shape,” Zahn cast, easily holding the image of the Chaos spell in his mind. The runes emerged as a chain plastered against the unforgiving metal wall, connected to one another in an endlessly tangled weave as the line gradually wove its way out from the tiny mountain and slowly took its shape. This thing looks like a very confused snake, the dizzy Player noted as he watched the magic form. Pretty sure I didn’t tell it to take its’ sweet fuckin’ time either.

Watching the spell slowly wind up and round in an arch just to cross over itself again, Zahn had to blink hard to stay focused in the rapidly dwindling air. Finally the figure eight finished writing itself, the lower loop several times larger than the upper and big enough he could almost crouch and walk through it.

Looking into the upper loop, the Custom was forcibly reminded of the last time he touched one and witnessed massive fangs snatch up and eat a bird’s body. Looking back down at himself illuminated by a magical floating book, he saw an unarmed mostly naked man trying to punch through solid metal. He bent and gripped a fragment of wood from the broken door frame, holding the thinnest part in his right hand and ripping it down with his left.

Slapping his bleeding palm against the upper circle, Zahn eyed the clock in his HUD as he pressed his left hand into the lower. The readout displayed 8:39 before his vision went dark completely.

A rumbling chuckle shook the air, vibrating against the Player’s puny body as some massive thing laughed nearby.

Hey, that means the air’s back. Thank fuck.

The laughing stopped, with some shapes emerging from the absolute darkness. As if outlined by the dimmest of grays, a shape that could have been humanoid neared and changed as much as it approached.

The shout racked through his mind, feeling like lightning had grown teeth and latched on to shake for as long as the thing spoke. The second silence returned, the pain eased enough for Zahn to remember how to reply.

Pressure squeezed around the Player’s consciousness like a ring, or perhaps a large inner tube being shrunk around his mind. As the presence gained density, a strange pushing sensation began from behind his ‘head’ feeling like someone was using a large pillow to squish him. The pressure tensed a few times before it released, giving Zahn enough mental wiggle room to project his mind outwards.

Funny enough, I almost had this conversation already upstairs a few weeks ago. But the other guy was a bit meaner than you, so I’m not inclined to go through it all again. Fuck knows I’d probably muck it up again in the first place. I know who you are, the big powerful Demon Lord that rules this hour of Chaos. Iengoris the greater form or some such fuckery. You’re the big boss of this part of Hell, and you make deals.

Hearing his own directed thoughts as if he’d spoken them, Zahn was confident in his bargaining power. All he needed in return was the impossible, and the devil was probably the only one who could provide. Staring in the direction of the partially outlined figure, he realized he couldn’t actually look away and had no feeling in any of his extremities.

The ongoing shakeweight treatment via electric eels wasn’t helping the Custom hold his train of thought, but he already knew what he was going to say before he came down here.

Actually, yes. Even if you don’t have that little imp’s memories, I’m not a complete fucking idiot. You want something, or else you wouldn’t have tried just fucking with my head last time. You’re plenty strong to outright murder me, and I have no idea if I’d even respawn right now. So, yeah. You want something. I want to talk terms.

The silence following almost echoed, in a space where Zahn was sure he’d be hearing his own heartbeat if he had any lead on his physical body. Once again the ring of pressure swung down and tried to envelop him, seeming like an occasional consequence of sending his mind down to Chaos. As an intangible weight attempted to make him bow, the Custom shifted his mental shoulders and tried to straighten up. He couldn’t feel the release in his back, but the tensing pressure lifted immediately.

The booming thunder shrank down to reasonable conversation tones, apparently willing to hear him out. The squeezing sensation returned, somewhat less intently than the times before. Pushing came from above and behind once again, feeling like he’d sat in the path of a warm flowing river.

It’s not exactly in the best position right now, the Player directed back at the shape. And besides, this isn’t some offering; we’re talking about deals. What do I get back?

The reality-distorting chuckle returned, rumbling through Zahn’s shapeless form for another moment.

Awfully kind, Zahn reflected. Most genies don’t warn you about word choice. Turning his thoughts outwards to project them, he spouted off without wasting any time. Get me the fuck outta here. I never signed up for a prison sentence, and I sure as Hell was never brought before a committee. First ask: Freedom.

the thing made a noise in response.

Without hesitating, Zahn knew how to word this one perfectly. Kill the Ringmaster. The one currently lording over the Collisae, in case you thought I meant a different one.

chaos writhed as it spoke.

Fine, I have lives to spare. Zahn tried to think of a concrete third bargain point but each little thing he thought of came back to a single point. Alright. Give me power. Free me, kill him, give me power and you can borrow my body.

the voice thundered once again, shaking the Player’s consciousness around.

Around where Zahn’s hand should have been, orange and red light bloomed to display the view of his hand from just inside the skin. Turning his hand mimic over to see the palm, he was being shown the random splatter patterns from his brief attempt to eat a Fire Pepper.

The powerful thunder dribbled down to a sinister whisper, sliding around Zahn’s form as magic began to caress his hand.

Pain erupted in the void, centered on his right hand as the random whorls bent and twisted over themselves to draw a shape he’d never seen before. It most resembled a menacing face carved into a jack-o’lantern, without any completed shape or lines in order to hold the pattern in place. Staring into the crimson sigils, Zahn was able to read a few of the runes but the bulk of the complex and painful Mark evaded his understanding.

Using the pain as an anchor, Zahn focused on what parts of himself he could make out. From the display and showmanship he hadn’t lost his body, merely lost feeling in most of it.

Sounds returned, filling the void around them with context and flashes of insight. The crackling of fires, the hiss of air moving quickly. Smells trickled in, with heavy smoke stinging Zahn’s nose. I didn’t know I even had a nose right now. Feeling remained dull and distant, but his head’s senses seemed to still be working to some degree.

The smoke smell shifted, becoming harsher and more acidic. The popping of flames and thudding of impacts twisted and shrieked, becoming screams and deeper shouts. Heat seemed to gather, clinging to Zahn’s undetectable body like a shroud of smoke wrapping around its master. The warmth seemed to emanate from his newly Marked right hand, rising and falling with the breaths he could feel pushing through his chest.

Unable to see or feel the world around him, Zahn tried to navigate by feeling and feedback in his breath. The hot blanket around him intensified, with his body panting as it heaved for more air before the warmth turned to cold and seemed to land somewhere off to the left.

The strange shifting of temperatures continued, with heat blooming around where his hands should be and twisting cord-like feedback randomly sliding over his skin. Without being able to see or feel his body on purpose, Zahn started to feel like he was being tested or someone was trying to drive him mad.

Trying to straighten up again, the Custom found himself blocked as if he’d tried pressing against the ceiling. He couldn’t move his hands to try and measure the obstruction but each time he tried to repeat his ‘posture’ change he found the rubbery unyielding barrier stopping him.

As the Player tried to find another angle, he instead found what sounded like a voice very far away. Different from the whistling of air and screams echoing without pattern around him, this voice was both calming and thrilling as it called out to him. Tuning into the ideas of words, Zahn found himself drawn towards it with the rattling of chains and before he could sort the feedback he encountered a flash of purple filling his view.

* * * * *

Tall golden ceilings hung far overhead, with muted footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. The sparkling clean walls were adorned with masterful artwork showing the triumphs and victories of The Church, paintings and tapestries hung between massive windows a dozen feet tall letting beaming sunlight in. Striding towards her demanded meeting, the Cleric held her back straight as she tried not to run through too many possibilities behind the summons. The head of this Temple calling for her just as she was getting ready to leave couldn’t be a coincidence, but she’d been careful to act accordingly to expectations the last few weeks and should have remained below the radar.

Turning a corner on a fast heel, she nearly wobbled at seeing the Priestess meandering her way closer in the bright sunlight hallway. The windows bringing in the day’s glorious sunbeams struck and glistened in the other woman’s hair, drawing eyes to something that nearly caused an unladylike snort.

“Good morrow to you, dear Sasha,” the holy woman’s voice rang with its usual false cheer. The white satin robes draped over her shapely figure shone silver just below her knees and bore golden embroidery at the hems of her sleeves. “Is it not a joyous day in our Lord’s beautiful light?”

“Go away, Gracial.” The Cleric remained simple and straightforward, striding past the wretch in well-fitting ass kicking boots.

The false smile slid to the side to block her path, its owner simpering as she giggled. “A good Cleric tends to the needs of all her flock. Have you not been tending to the needs of your parishioners? Is that why His Holiness has summoned you?”

Tossing the fake bitch an eyeful, Sasha huffed as she tried to keep her composure. Just walk away. She’s not worth it, you’re already leaving. Just go. Failing to take her own advice, the battle maiden leaned on one hip to confront the other blonde. “You should cushion your robes if you’re going to insist on spending all your time kneeling. Too bad your version of collecting tithes is so physical, or maybe you’d be able to do it in public without so much shame.”

Gracial’s smile slipped, briefly letting utter disdain show on her otherwise cherubic face. “I am favored by his Papal Majesty, and have been sent here to sustain the faith of His Flock in the far Northern reaches. One cannot know the will of his Holiness, and I can only obey Him.”

“If only his ‘favor’ stopped at your looks.” Sasha let her lip form a mocking pout, “Then maybe he wouldn’t be pimping you out to the high-ranking Priests.”

Humming a strained giggle, the Priestess smirked widely once more. “It’s so sad to see one of our Order lose her faith, dear sister.”

“You’re not even going to deny your role as a holy dumpster?” Folding her arms as she faced down her daily annoyance, the Cleric felt a stab of pity.

“Your bitterness colors your soul, Heretic.” And the pity died. “His Holiness emanates nothing but light and goodness, not that you could ever know being so foul and corrupted by that evil Player’s touch!”

Shaking her head, Sasha hip-checked the girl out of her way and walked to the closed double doors at the end of the hall. “Bitch all you like, you should still shower. You have some of his holiness’ ‘emanations’ in your hair.”

Behind the Player’s back, the white-robed healer pulled a small hand mirror from her pocket and huffed as she waved the sticky substance away into glittering sparkles.

Reaching the doors, Sasha San Licht the Cleric of the Light pulled on the double handles and heaved the heavy construct open.

The residence of the High Priest was luxurious, making even the normally opulent guest chambers look shabby by comparison. Where Sasha had been lounging in silk sheets and padded couches and sleeping on a four-poster bed with curtains, the High Priest slept on a massive circular bed that seemed more cushion than mattress with thick velvet drapes hanging from the ceiling. His sitting furniture sprawled with lounges and intricately carved low tables, with each wall between windows covered in complex mural paintings showing even more scenes of The Light’s glory.

A strange Elf stood at one of the tall windows, his back to the room as he gazed out into the morning in a long white robe. She didn’t recognize him, but something about the man seemed to radiate danger to her finely tuned combat senses.

The subject of her summons lay on the closest third of his bed, still draped in his various sleeping silks as he slowly wrapped a semblance of a robe around himself. “Ah, you’re here,” the High Priest’s voice slid like his so many silks over her skin, making goosebumps rise as if he’d touched her. “How has your recovery been going, my little Cleric?”

Looking just over the man’s face, Sasha tried not to think of the time they had met - nearly forty years before when he’d been just another ambitious Priest in the Temple. “I’ve been healing well, thank you my lord. I came to your shelter in my darkest hour, and you provided me with the solution I needed. Thank you again.” Ending her short speech with a shallow bow, she didn’t miss the snort let out by the Elf in the corner.

“Oh, but of course,” his holiness waved a lazy wrist at her reply, not even listening after the first thanks. “What else could we do? One of our own needed our help, and that’s what we’re here for. Isn’t that right, San Licht?”

Sasha paused, well aware he was about to make some absurd demand. This is why I didn’t want to come here, she berated herself. You’d think living in a fucking game world would have taught me to obey that instinct. “Of course my lord. Is there anything you need?”

“No.” For half a moment, she dared to hope this meeting was already over. “I shall be helping you further, yet again, because you matter to us. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your ongoing support all these years, my dear San Licht.”

Oh, how I wish I could take back those conversations. If she’d known what her advice would have accomplished in the grotesque’s life, she would never have introduced herself as a burgeoning Cleric. “And what do I need help with, your holiness?”

The slowly spreading smile made her guts crawl. “We hear all, dear one. You’ve been having some trouble recruiting for your little trek to the Life Dungeon. We’ve been meaning to send a few of our number to train there, and now your Party is filled.”

I already have a fucking Party, douchebag. You probably sent Priests to them the same time you summoned me. She’d been packing her stuff at the tree when the messenger had found her, but there’d been no sign of the other Adventurers when she’d crossed through the lobby. “You are too kind, your excellency.” Biting back her anger, Sasha dipped in another shallow bow as she tried to salvage the situation. “I’ll head out and lead them-”

“Not so fast,” the thin Elf interrupted abruptly.

“Ah, yes. You can repay us, dear Cleric. Before you go,” The sinking feeling returned as the rotund holy man stood and let his drapes hang where they may. “Have a seat, San Licht. This is a dear friend of ours, and he’s been waiting very patiently to speak with you.”

The Elf turned and crossed the room, perching on the edge of a lounge and staring at her with clear unblinking eyes. He was so tall, even sitting he nearly looked her in the eye. “Sit, Cleric.”

Settling carefully onto the couch opposite, the pair heard the High Priest's voice continue from behind his changing curtain. “I have been keeping you safe as you’ve healed dear one, but now that you’re ready to venture out into the wide map it’s time for a certain conversation. You owe us for that protection too, darling. She’s all yours, Archwizard.”

The very powerful mage leaned close, his sharp face looking like it could cut the air with his intensity. Speaking for the third time, his voice finally sank to a normal speaking volume. The words he chose didn’t cause any particular emotional reaction, but the force with which he half-whispered them sent chills down Sasha’s spine. “You will tell me. I know you know. You’re the last one, you have to know. You’re the one with the mind fucked. You will tell me.”

Archwizard Elundred Morask’s hands lashed out, gripping his knobby knees tightly as he nearly bent in half and glared at her with gritted teeth. “You will tell me everything you know about the Player Zahn!”