Nika stood by the burning fire in the obsidian pillar section and watched the ruined side tunnel with the boss’s head imprinted at the top. She took off her carnival mask and said:

“I’m going to suffocate.”

The rest of the group repeated after her.

“I can’t believe our luck...”

“The plan is good because it’s reckless.”

Nika glanced around at the others. The one with the nickname Manathsh waved his head toward the tunnel where the battle had taken place and said:

“Let me search them. These guys are sure to have something to loot.”

“We can’t waste time here. We’re already behind.”

“It’ll take us longer to argue.”

“The hell with you. Hant, Onstoff, and Cato, we’re going after the boss. We need to find out where the road behind him leads. Manathsh and BSwan don’t stay here too long.”

“We’ll be in touch.”

Nika waved her hand and ran into the tunnel. The three members of the group followed her. The remaining two exhaled and looked at the fire.

“The first minute of rest in so long,” BSwan said.

Both went back into the tunnel. The first thing Manathsh did was to look at Rdrag’s clothes. A white cloth, pleasant to the touch, the kind that would cost about 9,000 CP on the black market. A book with a good binding, though half-filled with some philosophical thoughts. He turned page after page and suddenly froze.

“Dear Lord...” he said. “There’s a detailed manual on how to use light magic spells.”

Manathsh continued leafing through the book with his mouth open. BSwan raised his Simonov rifle.

“It’s well preserved. I could tell he didn’t use it much.”

“Too bad corpses disappear after death. I’d shove the rifle up that idiot’s ass and tell him it was that way.”

“My ears are still ringing.”

“It occurred to him to shoot without a silencer in confined spaces.”

In half an hour, they examined all the things. During this time, Manathsh evaluated even the laces on the healer’s boots and wrote everything down, and told Vvy in a private message:

Call your boys and have them sort out Mercyaa’s and Rdrag’s things.

What’s about Hebanyac?

It was as if an electric current ran through Manathsh’s body.

“Where’s the third body?” he asked BSwan.

“I haven’t seen it. He must have run away.”

“Guys like him don’t run away. Let’s go. Come on, let’s go!”

Manathsh and Swan walked into the section with the obsidian pillars, as the surrounding space changed in one second. The bonfire disappeared, so did the traps. At three and nine o’clock, two small trees appeared. Torches on the walls lit up that had never been there before. BSwan heard a gruff voice saying, “You’re right there,” then a gasping cry from his partner. A few seconds later, someone hit him on the back with a hammer. His body went limp, and he fell, panting, then he saw red eyes.

Darkness fell. The sound of a metronome was heard. Someone began whistling the opening theme of Mozart’s Little Night Serenade. When the concert ended, a bright light came on. In the center stood a man wearing a helmet and an officer’s uniform. There were two curved knives hanging from his belt, a Scar-L with a silencer behind his back.

Manathsh and BSwan could not move. They found each other suspended by one leg from the trees.

“What the hell is this?” shouted Manathsh.

They tried to contact Nika and ask for help, but it did not work. Then they turned on the recording, and took screenshots, but everywhere black blank screens and the distant sound of a fire. Hebanyac stood motionless for a few more minutes, and then he said, continuing to whistle a tune:

“It’s time to behold the true power.”

First Hebanyac went over to Manathsh and threw some wood under his head and set it on fire, then he went over to BSwan, took out a knife and cut open his belly, and returned to the center of the room so that he could see them both and watched.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Huh?” Manathsh shouted and opened the HUD and pressed the self-destruct button. It did not work.

The lights went out, and only the dim light of the lantern illuminated the two prisoners in that deathly agonizing darkness. BSwan tried to hold on to his own intestines, which were falling out of his belly. Blood dripped down his chest and dripped onto his face. He smelled a nasty and disgusting odor from himself. Then he looked at Manathsh. The fire was rising higher and higher beneath him, and he screamed: “He’s frying my head!”

“Just kill us!”

“Please! The game shouldn’t be this cruel!”

“You’re a bastard. We’ll tell everyone all about what you’re doing in the forum. We’ll write in support! This is your last day in this game!”

“Whoever is the first to tell who came up with the domino idea will end their torment.”

“Fuck you!”

The flames spilled over into Manathsh’s hair, setting his clothes on fire and burning him alive. The lights came on. Hebanyac walked up to the terrified BSwan and asked: “Well, don’t you want to stop your torment?” He hesitated and squeezed out the name “Hant.” The military commander cut the rope and shot him in the face. Space returned to its usual form. Hebanyac looked at the two bodies, which disappeared a few seconds later.

“Damn,” he said, “next time I should make the fire smaller.”

***

The boss monster fell behind Nika, Hant, Onstoff, and Cato. They stopped in a safe place and texted the group’s chat room: “Where are you?” No one responded. A minute later, everyone saw the message: Manathsh and BSwan had died under unknown circumstances.

“Hebanyac” Nika said. “He’s coming after our souls.”

***

“Never seen death, priest?” Airemilme asked.

Illyseh did not answer, continuing to pierce her with his gaze. He looked at Ronnie once more. The body didn’t burn after death. There's something wrong here.

“Power is measured by the ferocity of the actions and the steel of character. You will not understand this, for you are not the keeper. You are responsible for the fallen, we are responsible for everything else.”

Airemilme stepped back to the gate. The bell sounded. The pool of scarlet blood boiled over. A lump came to Illyseh’s throat as he saw the hunched figure with the sniper rifle rising there. Moreover, thirty seconds later Ronnie, whole and unharmed, adjusted the collar of his field uniform and sighed.

“You're alive!”

The wyverns on the gate's merlons raised their heads and breathed flames into the sky and froze again. Matafaire sat down on the boulders.

“Did you bring him back to life?”

Airemilme was silent. Ronnie glanced at his shredded body beside him, at his terrified face, rolling eyes, guts and blood, then looked around and asked in a new language, looking Illyseh in the eyes:

“No om gzdimantoro mo de trsmat?”

What the fuck happened here?

The healer’s face grew a scowl.

“Don’t you remember?”

“Trzo mgo uba uba chod hfbim.”

I only remember her touching my face.

“You don’t speak your own language.”

Illyseh never took his eyes off Ronnie. It seemed to him as if his comrade was in a trance. His eyes were blurred, his movements distracted, his forehead wrinkled.

“The language of dragons,” the sniper muttered in a thoughtful voice.

“Dragons?”

“Yes,” he said louder. “I feel it’s their language, but I can’t explain why.”

Illyseh heard the sound of metal and turned and saw Airemilme raising her blades in preparation for the attack. He tried to bring Ronnie up to speed and he finally realized what was happening.

“It’s time to fight, time to prove that you did not gain power by luck, keeper,” she said, and threw the first sword forward. Its blade sliced through the air and traveled a hundred meters in a second.

Ronnie activated the ‘Furious Rhythm’ skill and dodged the attack and got into a standing shooting stance and took aim.

“Behind!” shouted Illyseh.

The moment he pulled the trigger, Ronnie felt the sword go through his chest. He fell, choking on blood. The fired bullet hit Airemilme in the neck before the sound of the shot reached her. Purple blood gushed upward. The Matafaire swooped down on the still-warm flesh and pecked at her eyes.

The bells rang out. Both revived again. Illyseh looked at Ronnie and saw an even more lost look than before.

“Choitoro em mo’os ifzk?” he asked, and drove the scavengers away.

Why are my two mutilated bodies lying here?

“What’s all this for?” The healer shouted and was surprised at the ease with which he spoke the language he had learned in a few seconds.

“It is my duty,” she replied, “as a keeper, to strengthen my successor, more powerful, and more ruthless, and to pass on his love and compassion to his devotee of light. Pass the test, creatures of the human race, and receive my three gifts.”

“Mo-oro es fas?” Ronnie asked Illyseh, but he continued talking to Airemilme.

What is she talking about?

“What happens if we fail?”

“In that case, I’ll keep the amulet and you’ll forget everything that happened here, including language.”

“Ta boro boro de mut?”

Does she know about the amulet?

“You don’t have to talk to me in dragon language. It is better that she does not understand us.” Illyseh sighed and gathered his thoughts and continued. “Airemilme knows far more than you can imagine.”

Then the healer briefly recounted what had happened in the past five minutes.

“Why is the last thing I remember is her touch?”

“Most likely, she not only endowed us with the knowledge of a new language, but she also established the point of no return, where you appear after death, with no memory of future events.”

“Shit. How is it possible for the game to control our memories and knowledge in our heads? Doesn’t that scare you?”

“Scares the shit out of me, but we’ll discuss that after we’ve dealt with her.”

“It looks like the phase of the game where you spend all day alone with one boss, dying a hundred times, has begun.”

“Yeah. And you don’t let your more experienced friend fight your battles for you.”

“Are you sure about, who’s more experienced?”

Ronnie rested the butt of his rifle on his shoulder and took aim and saw Airemilme throw the sword in her left hand like a boomerang, then crouch down for a low start. He used ‘Furious Rhythm’, dodged, and heard Illyseh’s words about the sword flying back into his back. Airemilme was in Ronnie’s face a second later and delivered a stabbing blow. The Barrett’s barrel redirected the blade sideways, and its butt struck her helmet. He pushed her off with his foot, bent down, letting the boomerang sword pass over him, lowered the rifle and drew the Stechkin pistol from its holster and fired three bullets at once. Airemilme staggered but did not die. Magical black rods erupted from her back and rained down on Ronnie. He ran in an arc, but after making a full circle, he realized the attacks had no end.

“Stuse zu bon!” she shouted.

All the blood on the bridge boiled and rose and transformed into tens of thousands of needles that showered the sniper and riddled him. Airemilme walked up to him and fell to her knees beside his body and ripped out his heart and lifted it over her mouth and squeezed with all her might. The blood flowed in a waterfall into her mouth, her wounds healing. She wiped herself off and looked at Illyseh with a frantic look and waddled back to the gate.

Ronnie rose from the dead anew after a while and grabbed his head and saw his dead bodies.

“Sbov! Neotoro mo’os im fon?”

Shit! What's happening to me?

Illyseh wasted no time on this turn and began to explain to him what had happened earlier and what skills Airemilme had.

“She attacks about two minutes after you revive. She knows you’ll want to shoot and kill her from a distance, so she’ll start with a long-range attack, get close and give you hell. Keep your distance. Your job is to kill her three times in a row without being killed!”

Ronnie unhooked a grenade from his belt, pulled out the pin, and threw it forward. Airemilme watched silently, and three seconds later there was a pop, smoke, and cast-iron shrapnel pounding into her body. As soon as she rose again from the pool of her own blood, Ronnie took aim and was ready to shoot, but Illyseh shouted, “Stop!”

“Why?”

“Because in that case, she won’t give you any time to prepare. Wait for it.”

A minute later, a new battle ensued. Airemilme was getting better and better at adapting to Ronnie’s attacks with every new round, and Illyseh had no time to tell all he knew. Both opponents were dying more and more. On the twentieth death, Ronnie could not move for several minutes, the thoughts in his head never coming to order.

“It feels,” he said, “like I’ve been straining my brain for days without food or water.”

The sniper’s mouth was drooling, and his nose was bleeding. His eyes bulged. The muscles in his legs and arms contracted involuntarily. Two minutes later, Airemilme was beside him and saw a grenade in his hands. They were both dead again. For the twenty-first time, Ronnie vomited and screamed in foul language. There was so much anger and rage in that soul-shattering scream that all the censors of the world would have bled from their ears if they had heard.

Ronnie was getting worse and worse, and Airemilme was causing more and more trouble in battle. Illyseh felt uncomfortable just looking at his comrade’s misery. Yet try as he might, trying to use at least one spell to help him was going down the drain, writing to Yleen or anyone else was not working either. Something had to be done or Ronnie would simply break.

“Airemilme!” shouted Illyseh. “You said you wanted a better successor than you, didn’t you?”

She nodded, looking at him sideways.

“Then why the hell do you keep knowledge of past fights while Ronnie not only doesn’t remember shit, but suffers more with each new rebirth, hmm? This isn’t a battle of equals!”

Ronnie stared in horror at his mutilated bodies and the remains of his insides scattered like trash on the road. Matafaires were dragging his eyes, his intestines, and some were flying up to his shredded bodies and trying to pull out his hearts. The swords and rifles of the dead bodies lay there as well.

“How many times have I died?”

“I don’t know. I lost count after thirty-eight.”

Illyseh recalled the basic tasks. Ronnie nodded and placed his rifle on the ground, closer to his friend and heard him shout:

“Change the rules!”

“No,” Airemilme replied, and cast the spell, “Notrofde siiv.”