“Level 40,” Carey whispered, awestruck.

The entire leveling process had taken five seconds. Sam could only stare at Carey in disbelief.

“How the hell are you doing that?”

Carey shrugged. There had been other “Feral Shell” notifications. He’d somehow learned six new animal forms: the Dreadbat, Viperhowl, Roqi, Sandsquint, and something called an Uyghulfang—all of them Tier I, the most powerful and difficult to master. Not to mention all his new masteries and Halvas.

“You’re doing this,” Carey said.

“Ha! Not me, Walsh. But you know what? Doesn’t even matter. You don’t stand a chance.”

“We’ll see about th—”

Before he could finish, Carey was seized and rattled by an incredible array of armor, weapons, and enchanted jewelry that popped out of nowhere to slam against his body and equip automatically. He still couldn’t read his stats, the game rigged by Sam so he couldn’t even open his menus, but he could feel the power inside his body, the blood of giants coursing through his veins, the fiery light of ancients burning in his mind. He could feel the stats rather than read them, which seemed way more effective in the heat of battle.

“You’re a dead man,” he told Sam as he clicked his finger knives against each other.

His finger—what?

Carey raised his hands and saw that he was wearing the most wicked-looking gauntlets imaginable, complete with inch-long metal knives that served as claws.

“Tiberian Gauntlets of Suffering,” he whispered, aware of the name without having to access a menu. Then he looked down at his full suit of armor, which almost didn’t seem to be there—none of his body seemed to be there at all.

Camouflage.

The armor—known as “King Shade Cebron Scale Armor”—had turned the color of the sand, which stretched around them for thousands of miles. Patterns of light rippled across its surface as he moved, so he wasn’t completely invisible, but it was like seeing heat waves rising off hot pavement in the distance.

“Done admiring yourself, you narcissistic shit bag?” Sam gave his most vicious grin yet, his entire face wrinkling in the process—being a Low Mage seemed to have aged him forty years, turning him into one ugly bastard. “Now, we’re both Level 40, so you have no reason to run like a coward. I know you want to, DrollWimp.”

“So, I was right,” Carey said, lifting a gauntleted hand and pointing one of his finger knives at Sam. Orange sparks flew from the tip. Okay—so the knives sparked when you zipped them across the air and also sent electrical pulses into their victims. “You really did do this. But why?”

Sam shook his head. “Wasn’t me, though it all makes sense now. It was my father.”

“Roger? But—why would he interfere?”

“I have no option to log out. I got into the pod for this because it’s more realistic. You feel everything, like a drug. But I can’t log off. It means he locked me inside, the old bastard.” Sam’s face grew redder as he spoke, and Carey could almost feel the heat boiling beneath the Low Mage’s skin. “He always told me if I didn’t learn to control my emotions, he’d lock me in this fucking hellhole and let me fend for myself.” Sam bared his teeth in a hateful smile. “I guess the old man finally came through. He’s not the sentimental coward I thought he was.” He tipped his head back and screamed up at the sky. “Proud of you, Dad! LOL! Laugh out loud, you shitbag!”

Carey was so stunned he could only stare at Sam with his mouth hanging open.

“What… What the hell’s wrong with you? Seriously.”

“You’re what’s wrong with me.” Sam pointed his staff at Carey. The Blood Ether crystal at the tip brightened and crackled with toxic energy. “My dad’s always been obsessed with your brain, but what about mine? Why was it he never cared when I got straight A’s at school, when I won science awards by the handful—when I nailed the hot cheerleader, even! Nothing impressed him—unless it was coming from your brain. You! The coward internet troll who wasn’t even man enough to say those things to people’s faces. Bullies like you were the ones he cared about. It was the whole point of his goddamn experiment!”

He tipped his head back again and faced the sky. It was as if he could see some enormous projection of his father’s face stretched over the wisps of cloud.

“Why, Dad? Why wasn’t I enough for you? I was the evil one. I was the one who got off on tasing and kidnapping those assholes. I ate that up! I was your best kidnapper! Why were you so blind to what was happening in my brain? Your own son! But all you cared about were weak, dumbass playground bullies and cowardly internet trolls for your pathetic little experiment. You never once told me you cared about me. You’re just a loser like all of them. A big—fucking—loser!”

The glow in Sam’s staff had been intensifying throughout his rant, and Carey suddenly understood why, as Sam stabbed the crystal toward the sky and darkened one of the thin wisps of cloud like a paintbrush slashing a dark mark against a canvas of blue.

With an ear-splitting crack, a bolt of lightning split the belly of the cloud and struck the spot where Carey had been standing only a fraction of a second earlier. His Feral instincts had taken over, and he narrowly sprang out of the way before the lightning could reduce him to a pile of ash. Using his tail, he lobbed something called a “Tails of Woe” grenade that could not be thrown using hands or kicked with feet. Only Ferals could use it, thanks to their tails.

Sam made a reddish forcefield buzz and sizzle around him. The explosion was a mini mushroom cloud that rattled him but didn’t seem to do much damage.

“Nice try, DrollPrick,” Sam shouted.

“You have a death wish, Low Mage?” Carey roared back at him.

But Sam wasn’t listening. He spun in a circle, staff aimed at the ground. The crystal drew a ring in the sand about eight feet in diameter. Sam sidestepped to get away from the sizzling, scarlet energy, which sent a thin blood mist rising into the air—a mist inside of which arcane symbols swam upward, spinning.

While he did this, Carey threw a series of knives at Sam known as “Bullet Blades.” About twenty shot toward the Low Mage in a few blinks of an eye. Maybe three got through the shield. Sam put up his arm to absorb the damage. Carey could see him gritting his teeth.

Sam’s forcefield grew a sizzling, semi-transparent limb that lashed out at Carey. He managed to dodge, but the attack caught his tail and did a significant bit of damage. It felt like having his tail ripped off by a fire golem’s flaming fist.

Chugging a Health potion with one hand, Carey switched to his bow with the other. Known as “Aliara’s Heavenly Harp,” he took a quick second to admire its luminescent surface. Perfectly white, as if composed of pure starlight, the bow was twice the length of his arm and elegantly curved. It could be stuck anywhere, even in midair, so he didn’t even have to hold it, and the bowstring could be plucked to shoot arrows made of pure, brilliant light, no quiver necessary—an infinite stock of light arrows at his fingertips.

Also at his disposal was an advanced mastery known as “Saint’s Overdraw,” which slowed time by 60 percent while firing and allowed him to chain successful strikes in a way that increased critical damage exponentially. This helped tremendously as he shot at Sam, twelve arrows immediately flashing toward the Low Mage in a brilliant flurry.

At least half hit their target. The damage was significant, sending Sam toppling to the sand with a grunt of pain. He got back up, cast some sort of shield spell that hung in the air in front of him like a semi-transparent red coin, and bared his teeth in a vicious grin as Carey cast more light arrows at him, most of which bounced harmlessly off the energy shield.

The misting ring of energy had been drawn for a purpose, and Carey now saw why.

Risen Ones.

With an eruption of nightmarish moans, almost a dozen rotted zombie warriors rose from the sand inside the circle, easily slipping into view as if they had risen from a body of water. There were ten of them, Carey counted, and they lifted all manner of weapons—axes, swords, arrows—and began to attack him.

But Carey had a better idea. He phased into the biggest, freakiest bat imaginable, as big around as a minivan, complete with gray flesh covered in fur, its sharp fangs as long and thick around the base as a man’s leg.

With a thrust of his powerful, leathery wings, he sent his Dreadbat form sailing toward one of the Risen Ones. He sank his fangs into the creature’s shoulders and grinned with pleasure as it slid through zombie flesh like a hot knife through butter and came out through its putrid belly. The zombie roared as Carey lifted it toward the sky.

He didn’t get far.

One, two, then three sharp points slammed into his bat belly and clung there. His jaws unclenched. The Risen One slid down the length of his fang and dropped moaning toward the sand. Looking down to see what had happened, Carey became aware of thick black lines descending from his belly down to the hands of the Risen Ones, rotting fingers wrapped around devices he didn’t recognize at first.

Then it made sense.

Grappling hooks.

Three of the Risen Ones suddenly began to climb, as agile as chimpanzees. Carey’s Dreadbat frame, as massive as it was, could barely handle the extra weight. He struggled to flap his wings, veering to the right, and narrowly avoided a sizzling fireball the size of an armchair.

Sam howled with maniacal laughter. He whipped back his right arm—the left one still sizzling from the recently freed fireball—and swung with all his might, releasing a charcoal-gray tornado that had grown around his forearm. The tornado shot forward with a blast of wind and ballooned in size until it was as big as an oak tree.

The three Risen Ones had reached the top of the ropes and were sinking their long fingernails into Carey’s Dreadbat belly. Yipping cries tore from his throat, and it was all he could do to keep his wings flapping, taking him higher and higher toward the sky, hopefully far away from that tornado.

But within seconds, Sam’s tornado had grown to the size of a building. Feeling himself being sucked toward it, his belly on fire from the wounds being opened by the Risen Ones, Carey performed the only action he could think of.

He phased back into human form and felt himself plunging toward the ground. At least the grappling hooks had detached. His Stamina was down to half a bar. He could feel the exhaustion in a way that seemed too life-like to be a game. There was a cure for that. He brought out an Aliaric Elixir of Truth and downed it in midair, and instantly his Stamina was restored, along with several other attributes—namely Endurance—which were subsequently fortified, not to mention the sparkling white wings that temporarily sprouted from his shoulders. Normally, they would have allowed him to flutter down to safety, but instead, they made the effect of the tornado worse.

“Whoaaaaa… !”

Carey tumbled through the air, wings flapping, trying to resist the current, but the tornado succeeded in pulling him in and swallowing him up. Carey found himself using one hand to grip the knuckles of the other—and the ring that glittered there.

It was called “Order of Valkyn’s Ring of Warding” and could be activated by squeezing. The tiny luminether crystal embedded in the band began to glow, and Carey intuitively felt his Luck attribute double. Plus, the light beaming from the crystal was like a laser he could use to cut through magic spells. It was meant for breaking free of magical binds and facilitating heroic escapes from magical prisons.

The damage from the tornado was significant. Carey felt it like wasps stinging and biting through his skin. He screamed as his body was flung around by the tornado’s swirling force. The Aliaric wings disappeared, which made it slightly easier to gain control. He finally got ahold of his limbs and managed a slicing movement, the beam from his Valkyn’s Ring cutting the tornado in half.

Falling through the air, he let out a loud bird-like screech and phased into a Viperhowl.

What the hell is this thing?

The Viperhowl came with a defensive, magic-resistant shield wrapped around its winged body. By then, the tornado had fizzled out, but Sam wasted no time in raining hellfire upon Carey—literal hellfire that shot up from cracks in the ground like the fiery rage of Satan and rained back down in burning streaks that stung his eyes.

Without the magical shield, which absorbed much of the damage, Carey’s Viperhowl would have been a flaming corpse. Instead, he spread his massive birdlike wings—way better than the angelic wings from before—and went flying toward the Low Mage, shrieking as his shadow cut across the sand.

Sam’s eyes opened wide at what could only be described as a cross between a hundred-pound hawk and a bright-orange panther—with a tail that was really a giant snake.

Sam was too stunned, caught in the middle of casting a spell that was subsequently interrupted, to fling his body out of Carey’s path. The Viperhowl released a blood-chilling roar the moment before it tore into Sam’s throat. Its snake tail whipped around to plant its snake fangs into Sam’s hand, stopping another spell he’d been trying to cast—and poisoning him as a bonus.

As Sam’s face turned a literal shade of green, Carey wrapped his Viperhowl wings around the Low Mage and shook him, jaws clenched around his neck, blood spurting everywhere.

Finally, his Stamina gone, Carey phased back into human form.

Sam stared at him, eyes wide and red-veined, clutching his bloodied green neck.

“Tag,” Carey said, “you’re it.”

Sam grinned, and there was blood coating his teeth. “There’s someone I want you to meet.” He looked up and past Carey’s shoulder, as if watching an airship descend from the clouds.

A shadow fell over them. It seemed to fall over the entire desert. Carey’s stomach sank as he spun around. He instantly leaped out of the way as a giant mallet fell from the sky and smashed the spot where he’d been standing a moment ago.

The Risen One released the strangest cry, which was more a strangled cross between a moan, a roar, and a shriek. Carey’s eardrums nearly burst. The zombie titan was the size of a three-story building and came complete with an enormous, cracked wooden mallet as large as a school bus in one hand.

“Holy crap!” Carey ran as fast as he could, but the zombie titan stomped after him, shedding flakes of rotted, gray flesh and slinging drool from its cracked lips. The monster wore only a loincloth that could have draped a gas station. Its pounding footsteps shook the earth and that wretched shriek-roar sent chills down Carey’s back.

Carey raised his bow and used a mental command to switch arrows. He was now equipped with Minotaur’s Mazelike Arrows, which sacrificed damage and accuracy for another power that made them very special. Carey tested a few, shooting them into the space in front of him. They flew in all different directions, weaving erratically through the air, and finally hit the sand.

Damn it, I need to lock on first.

Glancing back over his shoulder as he ran toward the statue head buried in the sand, Carey mentally pressed the right button to lock on to the zombie titan. A little orange circle appeared on its chest. Carey moved it up to the face and fired a dozen arrows wildly into the air as he sprinted. They redirected, and the zombie titan roared as the arrows did their damage to his eyes and face, which seemed minimal, but at least they served to slow him down.

The mallet fell several times, always narrowly missing Carey. Thankfully, the arrows hitting the titan in the eyes partially blinded him. But still—it was close. When Carey finally arrived at the statue head, he leaped a dozen feet through the air, escaping the mallet as it swept under him, shattering the statue’s nose, and phased midair into a Sandsquint.

It was the perfect call. The Sandsquint was an enormous, sand-colored mole with powerful claws. The creature was also completely blind, but that wouldn’t matter where he was going. Carey stretched his Sandsquint body to make it straight as an arrow, and then he dove into the sand, using his claws to burrow into it.

Cool darkness engulfed him. His other senses opened up. Since he could no longer see, he used his sensitive ears to map the terrain. An earth-shaking boom sounded as the zombie titan hit the sand with his mallet, probably hoping to stun Carey with the vibrations.

There was another sound, this one a high-pitched whooshing noise that seemed to zip over the sand. Sam had cast another tornado spell. Maybe he wanted to cast sand aside and suck Carey’s Sandsquint right out of the earth.

Carey listened. He located Sam by his light footsteps, which he could only hear intermittently as the zombie titan overrode all other sounds with each thundering footstep and crash of his mallet.

Hoping his location was accurate, Carey burrowed upward, faster than he ever imagined a creature could move through sand, and emerged behind Sam. He phased into his human form before the Low Mage could turn around, then fell into a crouch, initiating sneak mode, and lunged at Sam, finger knives extended.

The sneak attack was perfect. A critical strike shook the Low Mage, bands of electricity wriggling up and down his body, forcing a howl from his throat. Carey’s finger knives had dug into his shoulder blades, tearing holes in his robe.

At that moment, whatever power was fueling the zombie titan dissipated, the titan vanishing in a cloud of orange mist.

Thank God for spell timers!

“I’m gonna kill you, DrollDouche!” Sam yelled.

He spun around, one of his hands bright yellow, embedded inside an orb resembling a tiny sun. A line of Blood Ether energy ran from his staff’s crystal directly into the orb, powering it. Carey slashed at that line with one of his gauntlets, zapping it. The line of energy was cut—but it was too late.

Sam grabbed Carey’s chest armor and pulled him close.

“Evade this,” he hissed savagely.

The Low Mage thrust his fist above his head, releasing the orb. It rocketed upward like a tiny, baby sun returning to its much larger mother in the sky. But instead of merging with the sun, it split apart in an array of sparks, and each spark became a flaming meteorite which fell back to earth, right where Carey was standing.

Black-and-red mist rose where Sam had been just seconds ago. Another teleportation spell.

What a coward.

A shower of meteorites fell hissing and whistling toward him. He didn’t have the time or Stamina to phase into his Sandsquint form and bury himself in the sand. He couldn’t cast a shield spell that would protect him.

Carey did the only thing he could think of, as a trio of meteorites spun through the air and sailed toward him. He grabbed the most exotic shield potion he intuitively sensed inside his inventory and drank it.

Valcyona’s Tears.

The sky lit up and a gorgeous, giant, slender brunette with white wings as large as a ship’s sails floated down from the purest patch of light. She must have been Aliara, the goddess of harmony.

She swept aside the meteorites with one hand, like a mother waving flies away from her infant’s face. As she gazed down at Carey, she began to cry for him.

My goddess…

Carey reached up, tears welling in his eyes. She was the most stunning woman he’d ever seen. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and comfort her, and give her a long, sympathetic kiss—the kiss of a man sworn to protect the woman he loves.

One of her massive tears fell on Carey, soaking his entire body, making him glitter and sparkle, filling him with a goddess’s sadness and light.

And then she was gone.