I raised my borrowed scimitar over my head in a two-handed grip and screamed, “Enhanced Ancestral Smite!”

I willed five Magic Points into the strike to get the full 35% damage bonus because when you’re doing something this crazy, why not.

The goblin whirled around when he heard my scream. His yellow eyes widened, and his lips curled in a snarl. He tried bringing his scimitar up to block me, but it was too late. Powered by my Ancestral Smite and my falling momentum, the curved blade of my scimitar trailed ethereal blue light and sliced through the goblin’s head. The blade continued through the goblin’s body until it hit the ground between his legs. I landed in front of the goblin on the debris and somehow kept my balance. When I looked up, I saw a thin, blackened line running perfectly down the center of his skull and through his torso. His eyes rolled into his head, and both sides collapsed to the left and right.

I couldn’t believe what I’d just done. I wanted to scream a victory cry to let all the goblins within earshot know that I was coming for them. I wanted Trox to know that I would do the same thing to him for daring to bring my son into this and daring to take the sword that the spirits of Mace’s ancestors had bequeathed him.

That type of kill—a critical roll with max damage, in RPG mechanical terms—would have had my friends at the table cheering.

My friends!

I scanned the ruined building. Thatch roofing debris filled the whole hut, and there was no sign of them.

“Guys?” I shouted. “You here?”

“Mace?”

It was Sonja, coming from my left and sounding weak.

“Sonja!” I climbed toward where I’d heard her. “Hang on!”

I started pulling thatch debris from where I’d heard her voice. Fortunately, thatch roofing isn’t as heavy as the shingles of a modern Earthly house, but there was a lot of it.

“Careful,” she said weakly. “Stephen and Constantine are around here somewhere.”

I stopped throwing debris, searched the area, and noticed movement behind me. Some of the debris flipped over, and Stephen crawled out from underneath. Blood streamed down his face from a cut somewhere in his greasy black hair. He didn’t move his right arm, and I could see why: his shoulder slumped down weirdly, and I figured it was out of its socket.

“Stephen, where’s Constantine?”

Stephen winced as he dug himself out and stood. “Where you’re standing, pretty boy.”

I cursed and yelled, “Constantine?”

No response.

From under the thatching, Sonja said, “I see his foot. To your left.”

“Can you dig yourself out, Sonja?” I asked. “He might not be conscious.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry about me.”

I started digging where I stood, and Stephen made his way over and helped me with his one good arm. We eventually cleared enough debris to find Constantine’s mace. After clearing away more, we found his hand and then his upper body. He was lying on his stomach, and his eyes were closed. I knew he was breathing, for his thick white mustache moved from the air going in and out of his nose.

“Constantine?” I asked. Stephen and I continued pulling the wreckage off him, but he gave us no response.

Once we got his body cleared, we turned him over onto his back. I didn’t see any grievous injuries, but he did have fresh blood dripping from the back of his head.

I looked at my forearm—which for the first time, I noticed how massive it was with my new “Expert” Rank—and saw that I had 16 Magic Points left after using Enhanced Ancestral Smite on the goblin. More than enough to at least keep my friends from dying.

I placed my hands on Constantine’s chest, closed my eyes, and whispered, “Enhanced Healing Touch.”

The familiar warmth rose from my chest, traveled down my arms, and exited into Constantine’s chest. He gasped, and his eyes flung open.

“Sergar’s balls,” he cried and then started coughing. Stephen and I helped prop him up against some fallen stones. When he stopped coughing, he asked, “What happened?”

“The goblin came through the roof,” Stephen said disgustedly. “Wasn’t expecting that.”

Constantine tried to stand and then nearly toppled over. I grabbed him to stop him from face-planting in the debris. “Thanks, brother,” he said in that dwarven Scottish brogue. “My Magic Points are zero. Making me woozy.”

“Zero?” I asked.

“Aye. One of them timbers punctured my lung. Kept casting on myself while you dug me out. I’ll need an hour to regenerate.”

I pointed to Stephen’s dislocated shoulder. “You want some help with that?”

At first, he gave me a sour look as I figured the Krait wizard in him was just as repulsed by my Ancestral magic as I was by his Krait magic. But he accidentally bumped his shoulder against a jagged piece of timber, hissed, and then nodded.

I put my hands on his shoulder and let the divine energy of my Enhanced Healing Touch flow into him. The blood streaming down Stephen’s face dried before my eyes, and his shoulder slowly moved back into its socket.

Mace took a savage glee at Stephen’s discomfort from my healing. Cut it out, I thought. He’s our friend, and we help him because it’s right.

Mace grumbled but let it go.

Stephen moved his shoulder a bit. “Still hurts.”

“You’re welcome. Let’s help Sonja.”

She hadn’t dug herself out yet, so I figured she was stuck under more debris than she reckoned. I stepped gingerly over to her, trying to avoid pushing anything on her with my weight.

“Sonja? You still okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, her voice sounding far away. “Just resting.”

“We’re coming, hang on.”

I started pulling thatch away, as did Stephen next to me. He used both arms this time, so we got the wreckage off Sonja quicker than we had with Constantine.

I pulled a wide piece of thatch away and found Sonja’s upper body on the floor with her lidded eyes looking up at us. Her skin was far paler than it should’ve been. Her breathing seemed shallow and halting. Her eyes met mine.

“About time,” she whispered. And then her eyes took on a distant stare that froze my heart.

“Sonja!” I cried. I flung more debris off her so I could reach her lower body. Stephen worked as fast as me. All Constantine could do was stand with his hands on his knees and stare at Sonja.

Stephen paused, looking down at her legs. “Shit,” he said quietly.

Sonja’s right thigh had a huge gash down the center. Bright scarlet blood seeped out of the gash, but it looked like gallons of it had spread beneath her.

I finally yanked away enough debris to kneel next to her and put my hands on her chest.

It wasn’t moving.