In the cramped tunnels of the massive cavern complex, the darkness is dispelled by a single lantern. A single figure is illuminated by the orange light of the oil lantern as he makes his way through the low tunnel. Jagged limestone edges emerged from every crevice as bits of rock and gravel were crushed under his boot. The man hardly moved faster than a snail; the ceiling was lower than his chest when standing upright. The tunnel had difficulty deciding whether to enlarge to accommodate the man or tighten to restrict his passage.

Seemingly making up its mind, the tunnel abruptly ended in a large, cavernous room. So high was the ceiling that even the light from the lantern did not illuminate it. Miniature, perfectly shaped limestone cubes littered the floor, all exactly the same shape and size. The only noise in the cavern was the ragged breathing of the spelunker; though if one listened, they could hear the quiet drippings of rainwater finding its way through the cracks of stone from the thunderstorm above-ground. The man did not know whether the sounds he heard were real, or if they were simply his mind’s imagination playing tricks. Nevertheless, he proceeded onwards.

Limestone stalagmites rose up towards the concealed ceiling, but not a single stalactite dropped far enough down to be revealed by the light of the lantern. The shadows of the stalagmites flickered with the flame of the lantern, the man’s mind already treacherously throwing outlines of goblins and cave trolls behind every shadow. He strained his eyes to see through the black void, to no avail. The void withheld its secrets.

As the path began to slope downward into a canyon, the man stumbled upon the remains of a camp. The dirty cloth tent was permanently stained a dark brown, where at one point it was once a royal white; torn and frayed, it was obvious that the previous owner was long gone. The makings of a campfire were blackened and charred, long since aflame. A single short sword lay next to the fire, obviously old and dull, as spots of rust had already begun to appear on the blade, whereas the intricate lacework of the handle was all but eaten away.

The man knelt, searching for an item that was missing. The was no stench of rotting food, something that should’ve been present. Something must’ve been here. The man knew that the beasts he was hunting were nearby, at least some time ago. He was on the right path.

He wandered down further into the cavern, all the while sloping downwards at a steep angle. His lantern began to flicker on its own, the light dimming to a dull orange, as the darkness crept ever closer. The man found it hard to breathe properly as he checked the lantern’s oil reserves. They were full.

He began to cough, a clearing of the throat. His breath became labored; he was struggling for oxygen now. Making his way back upslope, away from the CO2 pool, his clearing of the throat became a hacking cough as his body began to panic, searching for more oxygen. Having escaped the treacherous gas pool, the man held onto his knees as he spat on the floor, coughing up a great deal of phlegm in the process.

Wiping his mouth, he shook himself in preparation. Producing a glass bottle from his pack, he uncorked it with a ‘pop’. Sipping the bitter liquid, he gagged as it made its way down his throat with a burning sensation, a blazing trail of fire down his esophagus. Corking the bottle again, he watched as the purple fluid began to slowly take a sickly green hue. He would have to use the rest before it was fully contaminated.

Stowing the bottle back in his bag, he began the trek back down the steep canyon. With the potion’s full effect taking hold, he made his way through the toxic gas pool unaffected. Sure enough, he found a human corpse, a victim of the gas. It seemed he had died not too long ago. In the dim orange light, he spotted the patch embroidered on the corpse’s sleeve.

>“Yanng Adventurer’s Guild”
>“White Rank: Nozuma Kanneborch”

Kneeling in respect, he muttered a quiet prayer for the corpse before tearing the patch off. All of Nozuma’s loot was fair game, but the man instead laid two silver pieces on Nozuma’s eyes. Without another word, he swiftly continued forward.

The lantern dimmed more and more, before finally extinguishing itself, leaving the man in complete darkness. Forced to use his fingertips to guide him, he made his way upslope through the pitch-black darkness. It was at this time that he heard the sounds of a goblin nest echoing from ahead, complete with the bickering and screeching commonly associated with them. Momentarily tensing up, the man quickly withdrew his weapon: a rather uncommon short dagger with intricate details engraved on the blade, though it was impossible to read in the darkness of the cave.

The goblins, having far superior eyesight in the dark cave, would be able to spot him long before he could even sense their presence. Knowing this, he produced another item from his pack, careful not to make any sound. In a well-practiced motion, he deftly attached it to his helmet, quietly snapping in place. Not quiet enough, it seemed, as the noise from the goblins stopped as they listened.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, the bickering of the goblins rose up again, this time even louder than before. Step by step, he made his way closer to the goblin nest, dagger in hand. The stench was terrible, even though the effects of the potion. In complete darkness, the path ahead was illuminated by the fire inside the goblin nest. Even from this distance, he could see the goblin dung smeared on the walls.

Having silently made his way through the tunnel, he peeked the corner. Dancing around a tiny campfire were at least a dozen goblins. Four more sat at a table, devouring some unknown meat, disgustingly green and brown with age. Yet another sat atop a wooden crate, wearing gold rings and silver chains.

Seventeen in total. Twelve paces to the fire.

Holding the dagger by the blade, he stepped out in full view of the goblin scum as he threw the dagger. It sailed through the air gracefully, the now-transparent ice-blue blade cutting through the air. The goblins gave an ear-splitting screech, reverberating throughout the cramped cavern. In slow-motion, the goblins rushed the masked man who had foolishly dared to attack their nest. The knife continued to sail through the air, not even coming close to any of the goblins. An unarmed man against a horde of goblins stood no chance.

As the tip of the dagger embedded itself into the flames of the fire, the magical enchantment reacted instantly. The heat of the flame dissipated instantaneously as the ice crystals grabbed hold of the firewood, shrouding the cavern in darkness. Even goblins could not see in complete darkness; their anguished cries filled the air as they became blinded, stumbling into columns in their momentary stupor.

Then came the slaughter.

1000 lumens of light flashing at 30Hz blinded the goblins; the strobe effect engulfed their world, destroying their night-vision. Their sensitive eyes were their downfall, permanently scorched by the bright white electric light. Though blinded, the goblin vermin still posed a threat as they slashed at the source of the light with their sharp claws.

The goblin horde charged at the source of their pain, the helmet-mounted flashlight. The first goblin to attempt a slash was kicked aside as another took its place. The steel-toed boot swung heel-first, crashing downwards atop a goblin skull. Caught between a rock and a steel boot, the braincase of the green monster exploded like a squashed grape. Undeterred by the horrific show of force, the goblins charged the man again. Claws met cloth as they attempted to tear through the man’s armor. A pair of hands grabbed the goblin’s neck in a vice-like grip. With a loud snap that echoed in the cavern, the goblin went limp as his spinal cord was broken. Even still, more goblins leapt onto the intruder. Reaching behind his back, the man grabbed the bony arm of the offending goblin. The goblin screamed in agony as it was impaled on a stalagmite, its guts wrapped around the tip of the icicle-shaped rock as viscous crimson blood began to trickle downwards.

A pair of the vermin found enough courage to attack the intruder who had slain their siblings; they charged together, side by side. With both of his hands, the man grabbed hold of their skulls; his thumbs gouged out their eyes with a wet pop as his fingers gripped onto their greasy hair. With enough force to shatter a brick, he slammed their skulls together, fracturing them. As they fell to the floor, they convulsed in uncontrollable spasms; their last moments of life spent in excruciating agony.

The goblins had become fearful, their pack-mates executed ruthlessly by the human intruder. An aura of fear surrounded the cave as their attacks became more and more feeble. Like assaulting an impenetrable fortress, their attacks were futile against the seasoned veteran. Their casualties rose higher and higher, each blood splatter illuminated frame-by-frame by the strobe light.

The leader of the goblins was the last to be exterminated, like the vermin they were. As he tried to make for an exit, a hefty stone shattered its knee. As it screamed in terror and pain, the man nonchalantly placed his boot in the small of the goblin’s back as it tried to crawl away, pinning him to the floor. Writhing in pain, the goblin lashed out with its claws, scratching and flailing uselessly. The silver chain around the monster’s neck tightened. The iron grip of the executioner gave no mercy as the goblin’s windpipe closed shut. As it squirmed and gasped for air, the scratching of the goblin’s claws became weaker and weaker until it ceased altogether. Just to be sure, a bone-crunching kick was sent to the monster’s neck.

~~~

The goblins wore practically nothing, just a thin loincloth to cover their genitals. The man didn’t dare touch anywhere near that cloth. Retrieving his dagger from the frozen fire pit, he began the process of tagging his kills. Lopping both ears off of each goblin was a difficult task, especially the ones whose heads were nothing but a pulp. Each ear had either a gold or silver earring - they denoted the ranks of the goblins by seniority. They’d be worth a pretty penny. The leader of the goblins, who wore multiple gold and silver chains, was quickly stripped of his valuables, which made their way into the man’s pack. Finally, he approached the wooden crate. Careful not to touch the goblin dung, he cracked it open using the leverage of the dagger. Awaiting him inside was…

A sack of potatoes.

Cursing under his breath, he angrily snatched the potato sack and stuffed it into the seemingly infinite space of his pack. Another wasted raid, not even worth the gold it took to transport him to the other side of the cave complex. He’d trekked a dangerous passage and used an expensive potion for a sack of potatoes. He was understandably upset; however, this did not mean he was not cautious. As he made his way up to the surface, he was wary of the goblin traps. The entrance to the cave lay ahead, dozens of traps easily disarmed as they were backlit by the outdoor light. Had he chosen to enter the shorter passageway to the goblin nest, he surely would’ve triggered a trap on his quest to eradicate the goblins, making this raid much more difficult.

At the very least, he could scavenge some parts from the traps to sell off. The thought did little to cool his fury.

~~~

Chapter Two

Emerging from the cave entrance underneath the forest canopy, the man stood in full view as the rain drizzled downwards. A patch on his left shoulder signified his occupation as a freelance adventurer; a white hexagon encircled by three white dots. The crisp black-and-white patch stood in stark contrast to the adventurer’s outfit, a dark green base color speckled with brown coloration as black stripes crisscrossed over. The rain dampened his clothes as the rolling sound of a thunderclap echoed overhead.

Not a word was spoken as he began jogging back to the town. His boots sank into the muddy earth, a loud squelch accompanying each step. As the rain began to slow to a drizzle, the quiet chirps of the birds began to grow louder, as if they were chatting about the storm overhead. They had not a care in the world.

Slowing to a walk, he observed the surrounding forest. Like little drops of dew, the passing shower had left droplets of clear water on every leaf. After the rain, all manner of creatures had begun to crawl out of their shelter; the birds began to dart from tree to tree as if to check if their neighbours were well, squirrels and chipmunks scrambled down trunks to nibble on fallen nuts and worms that had risen to the surface, along with the robins and bluejays who had already swooped down to feast on the earthworms.

In this serene setting, the adventurer slowed to a halt. His eyes tracked a particularly large chipmunk as it stuffed its cheeks full of nuts. The adventurer’s hand subconsciously reached for the dagger in its sheath. When was the last time he had tasted fresh meat? He couldn’t remember, it had been so long. His fingers gripped the handle tightly, ready to lash out at any moment. The chipmunk, ever wary, climbed atop a fallen log and stared at the masked man, seemingly taunting him. A tense standoff ensued, neither willing to make the first move.

To the adventurer’s surprise, the tiny creature bolted upon hearing an unexpected growl. The adventurer slowly released his iron grip on the dagger’s handle. Dejectedly, he looked down at his stomach, the source of the growl.

>[Well, there goes my meal.] He thought.

~

The old, beaten dirt road was full of shin-deep mud as the freelance adventurer waded through the wet, silty sludge. Already pockmarked with the footprints of adventuring parties, the road to the local guild bordered the treeline of the forest and the vast fields of the town’s farmland. Further down along the road was another adventuring party; their complaints of mud getting in their boots carried quite a distance. Adventurers were notorious for overpacking, often succumbing to quicksand pits because they were unwilling to discard their precious loot. It seemed this was the case with the party ahead as well; they struggled to move in the fine mud of the road, swearing and cursing all the while.

Too late to escape into the safety of the treeline, the adventuring party spotted our freelance adventurer and called out to him.

>“Hey! Could you help us out!?!” One of the adventurers cried aloud, frantically waving her hands above her head.

With a sigh, the freelancer made his way over to assist the party. Their mule-drawn wagon had become stuck in the mud, unable to move. Lending his strength to the party, the freelance adventurer dug his heels into the muddy road, ready to move the cart with all his might.

>“One! Two! Three! Push!” shouted the party leader.

The cart stubbornly refused to move.

>“Grab those branches! We’ve got to dig it out!” he ordered.

With that, the party leader dropped to his knees and began scooping the mud away from the tires with his bare hands. Wordlessly, the freelancer mirrored him on the opposite side. A quarter of an hour later, they had cleared most of the mud away from the wheels.

>“Lay the sticks in front! Everyone else, get ready to push!” came the command from the party leader.

Once more, the freelancer dug his heels into the mud. Slowly, the wooden wheels began to move forward out of the ditch, rolling atop the sticks placed beneath it. With one final effort, the wagon cleared the ditch.

>“Thanks, stranger,” the party leader said, washing his hands off with a canteen. “We probably couldn’t have done it without you. Usually, our priestess would just use magic to deal with it, but she’s saving her mana for the Minotaur kill quest.”

The freelancer simply nodded.

>“Not much of a talker, huh?” the leader said, offering the canteen to the freelancer.

The leader of the party procured a wrapped item from a bag hanging off the wagon and extended it to the freelancer in a gesture of appreciation.

>“Here, it’s the least I can offer.” He said with a disarming smile.

Returning the canteen of water, the freelancer gingerly accepted the package. Unwrapping it revealed a still-steaming meat-and-cheese sandwich; the aroma of roast buffalo and melted cheese filled his nostrils, and his stomach signalled it’s desire to consume it immediately.

>“Hungry much? I have a few extra if you want them…”

Shaking his head, the freelancer waved off the attempts of hospitality. In an broken, gravelly voice, the freelancer replied,

>“I’ll be fine.”

He lied as his parched throat demanded more water.

>“Alright then. You sure?”

A single nod was his response. Taking the initiative, the freelancer turned and returned on his path to the city guild hall, leaving the party of adventures behind without another word.

>[Wonder what was up with that guy?] thought the party leader.

~

The guild hall was bustling with activity as adventurers wandered about, looking for work. Even more were crowded around the guild bar, purchasing overpriced, watered down mead to celebrate a victorious raid. The multitude of mounted animal heads that overlooked the bar seemed to stare in disdain of the rowdy adventuring party. All the way on the other side of the hall, in the entrance, standing under the large white banner that read “Yanng Adventurer’s Guild” was the freelancer, muddied from the waist down.

He quickly made his way over to the quartermaster’s aisle. A well-endowed clerk greeted the freelancer as he approached the counter.

>“Good afternoon, sir. May I see your identification?” She elegantly said.

Reaching into his breast pocket, the freelancer handed her the enchanted parchment.

>“Thank you… Mister Anon. What is the bounty today?” She asked.

Retrieving the sack of previously collected goblin ears from his sack, he placed it on the magical scale to the left of the female clerk. Taking a quick glance, she jotted down the number of goblin kills onto the parchment.

>“Seventeen goblin kills. Well done, Mr. Anon. Your reward awaits you at the rewards aisle. Thank you for your business.” the clerk said, sliding the enchanted parchment back across the counter.

Instead of taking his identification parchment back immediately, Anon solemnly placed the patch of a white chevron onto the counter.

>“What’s this? Oh. I see. Thank you, Mr. Anon. We shall notify their family immediately.” She said, jotting another note onto Anon’s parchment.

Finished with his quest, Anon made his way over to the rewards aisle, fighting through the crowd of adventurers gathered at the quest board. Reaching the counter, the merchant behind the desk politely asked for his identification. Handing it over once more, Anon spoke.

>“I’d like to exchange these necklaces for gold pieces.”

To which the merchant replied,

>“Alright, let me see them.”

…

>“I can give you forty-five gold pieces for the lot. That’s rolling high, and it includes the 10% house fee.”

>[What a damn scam.] thought Anon.

>“I’ll take it.” Anon said.

>“Your total comes out to five hundred and forty-five gold pieces. A hundred pieces for the goblin quest, another hundred for the goblin confirmed kills, three hundred for the discovery of the deceased adventurer, and forty-five for the necklaces. Anything I’m missing?” said the merchant.

>“I’ve got some trap components I’d like to sell as well.” Anon said, showing the merchant the multitude of assorted scrap he had collected.

>“Eh, 20 gold for that. Tell you what, if you take it in silver pieces, I’ll throw in an extra 100 pieces.” said the merchant.

>[ They’re probably running low on gold this month. Ah well, more money can’t hurt. ] thought Anon.

>“Fine.” Anon said.

>“Your new total comes out to five hundred forty-five gold pieces and six hundred silver pieces. Here you go.” The merchant said, sliding two leather pouches over to Anon.

>“Pleasure doing business with you.” the merchant said as Anon left.

~

Sitting alone at a beautifully finished oak table, Anon sat munching on the gifted sandwich. With each bite, his stomach rejoiced, happy to once again be filled. Much to his disdain, Anon did not enjoy the sandwich as much as he would’ve liked; there was nothing but salt and cheese to flavor the exquisite meat. With no spices to savor, the sandwich tasted dull and boring; nothing but a plain meat sandwich, truly a waste that could’ve been remedied easily.

>[You’d think all the meat in fantasy worlds would taste good without seasoning. Guess I should buy some for the road.] Anon thought to himself.

As he sat contemplating which seasoning to buy at the farmer’s market, Anon’s odd outfit and freelancer patch caught many stares and whispers; all of which Anon was oblivious to.

>[What outfit is he wearing? Freelancers are so weird. Can’t he even afford a decent helmet that provides protection?] thought one adventurer.

>[“Did you see his patch? What’s a freelancer doing out here?] one whispered out of earshot.

>[“No, his other patch. The two black trapezoids. Is he a cultist?”] the other replied.

>[Poor guy. His party probably abandoned him for one of the Reborns.] thought another adventurer.

…

A party of three adventurers approached the table where Anon sat. Looking up from his half-finished meal, Anon stared at the trio expectantly. A Paladin stepped forward, obviously the leader of the party.

>[As a Paladin, I swore to become the shield of all that may require it.] He thought admirably to himself.

>“Can I help you?” Anon said bluntly, taking a final bite out of his sandwich, staring at the armored paladin with disdain.

>“Are you solo?” asked the Paladin in a poorly acted low voice that betrayed his true age. “If so, we could use an experienced guy like you.”

Stopping to ponder the invitation, Anon swallowed before speaking again.

>“I’ll pass. And you should really consider Alto instead of Baritone.” He said, crumpling the paper wrap of the sandwich.

Standing, Anon turned and left the dumbstruck paladin at the table.

>[I don’t need this shit again.] thought Anon.

~

Chapter Three

The wind howled relentlessly as Anon lagged behind the party of adventurers, most of whom were already up the stone slab steps. Impatiently, they tapped their feet as they waited for the out-of-breath Anon to catch up; the thin high-altitude air made it difficult for Anon to breathe.

The gruff voice of the party leader, a Knight of the Aryx Legion, barked orders as Anon reached the top of the steps.

>“Ranger! You are falling behind! At this rate, your probation will be over soon! Lead the vanguard, double-time!”

Panting heavily, Anon began the jog to the front of the party, his legs aflame with lactic acid buildup. Carefully, he made his way across the cobblestone bridge, admiring the breathtaking view to either side; the abandoned castle in the foreground stood regally atop the steep cliffs, as the sounds of falling water quietly carried through the crisp air. Vines snaked their way up the off-white rocks of the castle walls; as if nature itself was reclaiming it.

The reinforced oak doors towered over the party as they forced them open; with a groan, the old doors parted to reveal an unkempt, overgrown garden, lush with greenery and wildflowers. The sweet aroma of the flowers filtered outward through the now-open entrance, carried by the swirling wind that rushed over the walls. Before him, an image flashed through his mind’s eye; Anon’s imagination carried away by the sweet scent.

[A woman in a white sundress strolls through the garden, immaculately trimmed to perfection.]

The Knight unsheathed his sword in a firm two-handed grip as he cautiously entered the courtyard; the other members of the party following suit, preparing their weapons as well. Anon fumbled for his pistol in his hip holster; he racked a round into the chamber as he entered the courtyard. Stepping over the overgrown undergrowth, Anon took up the rear of the 4-man adventurer party.

With no sign of hostile life in the courtyard, the party pressed on, deeper into the abandoned castle. Birds circled overhead, watching the line of adventurers deftly penetrate into the castle courtyards. Finally, they came to a wrought-iron gate; the entrance to the castle visible from behind the metal bars.

>“Mage, incinerate this obstacle.” came the order from the Knight.

>“Bring forth the flames of eternity; burn all those who stand in my way!” chanted the mage, red-hot flames spewing from his staff-mounted crystal.

As the roar of the fire calmed and died, the mirage heat took the place of the flame around the now-cherry hot iron bars.

>“Let my blade split all that dare stand in my way!” the knight said, his blade acquiring a turquoise sheen as he slashed.

The iron bars fell to the floor in pieces; the red-hot cuts igniting small fires as they touched vegetation. The knight’s sword lost it’s captivating shimmer as the mana flow was restricted; he made his way through the breach in the gate, careful to avoid touching the ends of the iron, lest he be burned. One by one, we made our way through the gate to the entrance of the castle.

Our knight stopped us with a closed fist, raised above his head. A long strand of disgusting goo dribbled down from the ceiling. Following the strand to the source, we gazed upon an egg-like sac hanging from the ceiling, releasing some sort of excess fluid.

>“Dryad eggs. Watch where you step, don’t pop a single one. We’re trespassing on their territory.” He said seriously, shooting a glance at me. “Ranger, don’t fuck it up.”

Anon nodded solemnly, determined to prove his worth to his new party.

~

The rays of sunlight filtered in through the shattered glass of the library window, casting a depressing blue glow over the room. The old books sat battered and ruined, untouched for the last two decades at the mercy of the elements. The smell of mildew and mold was thick in the air as the party passed through, absentmindedly rummaging through the aisles of books for something that caught their fancy. Above them, a ceiling leak dripped water onto the stained rug below, the only ambient sound in the room.

Of the many books on the shelves, only a select few remained legible enough to read.

>[Markster’s Spellcasting for Beginners]
>[Enchantments for Novice Learners, Volume II]
>[The History of the Laventine Kingdom]
>[Bleake’s Fairy Tales]

A hand reached out to grab a book; flipping through the pages, Anon skimmed through the entire book.

>[Founded in the Eightieth year of the…]
>[...the discovery of the new material lead to…]
>[...After the sixth year of the war, peace was…]
>[...raids were conducted against the Dark-elves.]
>[On the brink of extinction, the…]
>[...A final curse to spite the…]

>[The rest of the book is blank.]

The book was casually tossed aside, clattering onto the floor. Anon reached for another book to skim through, picking another one at random. Before he could grab it, however, a cloth-wrapped hand reached out to grab his wrist. The cleric’s deceitfully dainty hand hid an iron grip as she crushed Anon’s wrist.

>“They’re here!” she said frantically, yanking him along.

>“Who?!”

~

The dryad ducked as the steel blade sliced horizontally over his head; the ensuing gust of wind rustling her leafy hair. She lashed out with jagged claws of stone, swiping for the knight’s neck. The razor-sharp claws could slice through leather like butter; the knight’s unarmored neck was a prime target.

The knight parried the dryad’s attack with his blade; his iron gauntlet firmly gripped 3/4th up the longsword. He retaliated with a powerful shove, sending the creature back a few feet, allowing him some breathing room.

>“Need some support here!” He shouted, returning to a more relaxed two-handed stance as he faced the creature.

The dryad spoke with a hauntingly plant-like voice, like wind through a willow tree’s knots.

>“All shall die, death awaits. Return to the earth.”

With that, she began her flurry of attacks at lightning speed, slashing at the knight in front of her from all directions. The screech of stone scraping against steel echoed in the massive banquet hall; sparks were thrown as sword clashed against claw, the knight’s defense unwavering in the face of the onslaught of attacks.

Proving highly effective against her simple attacks, the knight’s defensive skill caused her to rethink her strategy. Not a single scratch had landed on him, to the Dryad’s dismay. She decided to switch tactics; she would impale the knight at range with her bow. A stream of arrows streaked through the air, each one tipped with a naturally derived poison. If a single one broke the skin, the victim would instantly be paralyzed; certain death awaited him shortly after. However, not a single one made it past the swift sword skills of the knight. The arrow shafts shattered before the blade of the knight’s sword, though he was growing weary; his breath becoming more and more ragged under the constant assault of the Dryad’s projectiles. Even a veteran knight’s vast stores of stamina ran dry in extended fights.

Sensing this, the Dryad renewed the strength of her attacks, entirely focused on the kill.

She would never get her chance as a stream of frost froze her legs in place. Her tunnel vision was her downfall; she never heard the mage’s pretentious chant. Pain shot up from the Dryad’s legs as the frostbite set in, especially effective against plant-type monsters such as herself. She hissed at the cloaked mage as he began another chant, the staff’s crystal transitioning from an icy-blue to a lava-red color. The female cleric with Anon in tow burst through the door moments later, the mage’s staff discharging a tennis-ball sized fireball at the Dryad. Unable to move, she simply accepted her fate as the fireball struck her, engulfing her in flames. Her fibrous skin shrunk like leather as the heat sucked the moisture out of it; fueled by the bark on her limbs, the magical fire burned green as it consumed the flesh of the Dryad.

Her monstrous screams filled the hall as she burned alive, unable to even extinguish herself.

~

The incandescent green embers of the roasted dryad shone beneath the blackened bark of her armor, the smoky smell of a wildfire emanating from her still-standing corpse. Often, adventurers would dissect and harvest dryads for their rare organs containing healing properties, but the cursed flame that the mage had cast destroyed any value that the organs once had.

The cleric rushed over to the exhausted knight, a soft blue light projecting from both of her hands. She rubbed her hands up and down the knight’s back, speaking her memorized chant in a sweet, quiet voice. The knight visibly relaxed as her recovery magic sent mana throughout his body, mending the miniature tears in the muscle fibres, and super-enriching the oxygen in his red-blood cells; the accelerated rate of healing rejuvenated the knight in mere minutes, whereas conventional methods would take hours.

With his armored gauntlet, the knight lovingly stroked the cleric’s cheek in thanks. Tipping her head upwards with his thumb and forefinger, he lifted his faceplate, revealing his brilliant blue eyes and fair skin. The pair were out of earshot for Anon, but his mind filled in the words for him anyways.

>[I love you.]

>[I’m sorry I was late. I couldn’t bear to see you injured.]

>[Don’t fret. I will always be your sword.]

Anon’s dub was quickly cut short as the knight stomped over to him; his electric blue eyes seemingly burning in fury. He began shouting as soon as he was within earshot of Anon; his patience worn thin. It seemed that recovery magic did not affect the mental status of the angry knight before Anon. All kinds of curses were spat at him; for good purpose, it seemed.

>“Ranger! You useless sack of goblin shit! Why weren’t you here with the rest of us?! You could’ve at least contributed something to the battle, but instead, you were off horsing around somewhere else! Even worse, you had to be brought here by *MY* cleric; what kind of useless Ranger are you?! You claim to have a weapon of unimaginable power, yet none of us has even seen this ‘weapon’! The only thing you are useful for is carrying loot, and yet you even fail at that! What good is a pack mule if he cannot keep up with the pack!? I should leave you here to fend for yourself, you piece of dragon dung!”

The cleric bounded to the knight’s side, placing her delicate hand on his breastplate. In a voice that Anon could barely hear, she pleaded with the knight to go easy on him.

>“It wasn’t his fault; it was mine,” she said in an innocent tone, “I should’ve kept the group tighter together. Don’t punish the Ranger for what was out of his control, I beg of you.”

Unable to resist her plea, the knight’s face hard stare softened as he gazed at her.

>“I… Fine. For your sake, I will allow the Ranger another chance to prove himself.” said the knight, still staring into the irresistible puppy-like eyes of the cleric.

Tearing his eyes away from the hypnotic emerald gaze of the cleric, he ordered the party to continue deeper into the castle.

>“To the treasury!”

~

With the knight and mage taking point down the spiralling staircase, Anon and the Cleric took the rear, walking side-by-side down the steps. She was certainly pretty; Anon did not deny that. He hadn’t taken the time before to study the details of the party members before, but now that he walked within arm’s length of such a beautiful specimen of a woman, his heart began to pound deep inside his chest. With each step down, her brunette hair jumped slightly, not to mention the way the cloth dangled from her breastplate; all rather exciting from Anon’s point of view.

She noticed his gaze; rather, his nervousness. Mistaking his nervousness as anxiety from earlier, she attempted to cheer him up with small talk; conversation to lighten the mood.

>“Hey. It’s Anon, right?” she spoke, “Don’t worry about Sean. He’s always like that; he doesn’t really mean it. He just wants the best outcome for the party, that’s all. Sean’s really a sweet guy once you get to know him. He really cares about his party; he’d rather die than to lose one of us. Just… take it a bit slower; let him warm up to you, okay?”

She flashed a bone-white smile at Anon, who began to blush.

>“S-sure.” was his reply.

>“We’d better catch up to Sean and Matthew. Don’t want them to yell at us again. C’mon!” said the cleric, pulling Anon by the hand once again.

Anon felt his heart race faster than the stairs he was flying down; he felt as if the world was in the palm of his while holding the cleric’s gloved hand.

~

A pair of twin oak doors, bound by iron bands, sat firmly closed under a cobblestone arch. They were in the lowest parts of the castle now; the treasury room which housed all of the kingdom’s gold. Two torches flanked either side of the inward-opening doors; oddly, they were lit as the party of adventurers had arrived.

>“Wasn’t this supposed to be an abandoned castle?” said the mage, “If so, why in Skye’s name are these torches lit?”

>“Perhaps the mana-stores are still intact?” offered the cleric.

>“Not possible.” grunted the knight.

>[Someone must’ve been here recently.] thought Anon.

>“Sean, the lock’s still on here. I think we’re still good to go.” the mage informed; bringing his staff over his head to smash it.

>“Do it.” commanded the knight.

The rusted lock provided little in the way defense as it broke away in a single hit from the mage’s Axlite staff. Both the knight and mage pushed the heavy oak doors open simultaneously, both of them grunting with effort as the oak doors moaned in protest.

>“Ranger! You’re on vanguard!” ordered the knight, holding the door open.

Anon nodded, eager to pull his weight. He made his way into the empty hall, again lit by multiple torches. Something was off. The hairs on the end of his neck stood upright; his stomach became upset. It felt like an ambush was near, as if some unseen foe was tracking his footsteps through the walls of the castle.

His fear was replaced with courage as he saw the beautiful cleric behind him, her face not showing a trace of cowardice or terror, but instead filled with excitement. Like a giddy schoolgirl, she practically skipped forward as the knight and mage took the rear, alert for any monsters that would show up. 
The final door to the treasury room lay ahead; this time guarded by a reinforced iron door. It’d take hours for a battering ram to break through it, even in its advanced age.

>“Same trick, boss?” asked the mage.

>“Su-”

The knight stopped mid-sentence as he watched the Ranger scale the 12-foot door. Anon pulled the rusted iron rod free from its place inside the hinge, letting it drop to the floor with a loud clang. Subsequently, he repeated the task on the lower hinge. The heavy iron door still refused to budge aside from a tiny crack, enough to reveal the culprit; a hefty plank of wood on the other side held the two doors together.

It was rotting with age, but it maintained enough structural integrity to prevent any intruders from entering the treasure room. Still fulfilling its purpose after 2 and a half decades of wear, the plank met its end by the knight’s blade, which cleaved straight through the thick slab of wood, a perfect slight through 2 feet of oak.

To their surprise, the treasury room was empty. Tens of thousands of gold pieces should’ve been stacked to the ceiling here. Instead, nothing but a few spare copper coins lay sprinkled about atop a birch desk, surrounding a brown piece of parchment. Upon closer inspection, the parchment was brown with age in addition to being illegible. Not a single item was worth taking back to the guild hall. 

While the rest of the party began to curse their failed expedition, Anon found something of interest; a large hole in the wall, about three feet square. Bits of some sort of translucent material littered the tunnel; the texture rough and crinkly. Anon had no idea what it was; nor where it came from, aside from the fact that it must’ve come from the tunnel before him.

~

The cleric watched Anon disappear into the dark tunnel while her two childhood friends bickered over how they would split the copper coins (that were worth next to nothing). She quietly stalked behind the reserved Ranger, watching him pull an item she’d never seen before out of his pack. A brilliant light appeared in his hand, though it was focused forward with the focus and brilliance of a lighthouse. 

>[Could this Ranger actually be a Sorcerer? What sort of strange magical items does he possess?] She thought.

She watched from behind the corner as he illuminated something on the floor before crushing it with his boot. She called out to him, worried for his safety.

>“Ranger! Do not stray too far!”

She was temporarily blinded by the immense amount of light that flooded her vision as Anon turned towards the sound that called him. She couldn’t see the gesture, but Anon nodded in response. What she did see was the red and pink tail that whipped through the air, coiling around her leg.

~

The cleric’s scream brought the two armored members of the party sprinting down the hall, swords drawn. Their heavy, clanking footsteps were drowned out as thunderous booms echoed from inside a dark tunnel, bright yellow flashes illuminating the passage for a split-second. The pair ran down to the ranger who was yelling bloody murder whilst swinging at anything in range; he was surrounded by an invisible foe that had begun to constrict him.

With the assistance of the mage’s light, the knight quickly sliced the sapient vines, killing them instantly. Shouting, he ordered the Ranger to speak.

>“What happened to her!? Where is she?!” he shouted

>“It took her! Down the tunnel, to the left!” Anon shouted back, “I’ll lead the way, follow me!”

The trio took off running after the abducted cleric.

~

The flame of the mage’s torch cast orange light that danced with shadows as the adventuring trio sprinted down the rock tunnel; the heavy clank of their armor contrasting with the faint screams of the captured cleric ahead. They caught up to the fleeing monster; a massive male lamia with the cleric wrapped in his coils. He narrowed his eyes as he hissed at the trio who dared to interrupt his meal, drawing his rapier in the process. With lightning speed that only a snake possessed, the monster thrust at the nearest adventurer; unfortunately for him, the snake had chosen to attack the knight.

Faster than the human eye, the knight deflected the blow upwards with his own sword; a bright flash and sparks flying as steel ground against steel in the dark tunnel. He retaliated, swinging his sword at the oversized snake, but his signature long-sweeping horizontal cut was caught in the cramped quarters of the tunnel. 

>“Shit!” He shouted in surprise as he watched the lamia’s rapier thrust forward directly into his chest.

The thin, armor-piercing tip of the rapier penetrated through the knight’s breastplate, gouging out a neat hole in his sternum. The knight shouted in pain as the blade twisted inside of him, ripping a gaping hole in his left lung. The mage forced the lamia back, pelting it with stones; it hissed angrily as it retreated under the onslaught of projectiles. Taking advantage of the opening created by the mage, Anon rushed to the knight’s side, bandage in hand. He began to shout orders at the mage while he removed the knight’s penetrated breastplate.

>“Frost! Cast Frost! Now!” Anon shouted.

Without hesitation, the mage began to chant the spell.

>“From the heights of Hagothor, I summon the biting frost of Kaligrpha! Face the unending frigid winds!”

The lamia screeched in terror as the frost crept towards it, robbing the cold-blooded creature of its precious heat. It fled the chilly tunnel with the still-struggling cleric in tow, the three adventurers giving chase. The knight was beginning to slow with a punctured lung, but despite his wounds, he still lead the vanguard, sword in hand.

The tunnel’s steep incline abruptly ended as the trio found themselves standing in an overgrown marble courtyard; the entrance to the tunnel cleverly hidden by large amounts of vegetation. The monster seemed lost, agitated, as if he was not even aware of the adventurers’ presence. His tail wrapped tighter around the cleric, who began to turn blue as she was constricted. Every move she made allowed the anxious snake to squeeze her tighter.

>“Release her, serpent! Or face your death!” the knight wheezed with all his might.

The lamia quickly unraveled, turning to face the knight, leaving the now-unconscious cleric on the floor. It began to brandish its rapier to keep the knight at bay. The snake reared up as tall as it could to intimidate the lone knight, letting loose an earsplitting screech as it reached its full height.

>“SCREEEE-”

Loud, percussive bangs went off behind the knight; the smell of gunpowder filled his nostrils as Anon emptied his sidearm into the snake’s exposed, unarmored mouth, shattering one of its two large fangs. The serpent cried out in pain as liquid venom dribbled from its broken fang, staining his forked tongue as black as tar. Anon unloaded the remaining rounds of 147-grain 9mm into the lamia, the creature screaming in pain as the 9mm slugs embedded themselves into its keratin scales. It fled the courtyard at an astounding speed, dragging the poor unconscious cleric behind it, leaving behind a thin trail of neon-blue blood and bits of copper jacket. 

The trio gave chase up the stairs; the knight now lagging far behind other two. Cornered, the lamia stood his ground atop the castle roof. A standoff ensued with three adventurers slowly surrounding him. Bleeding from multiple wounds, the overgrown snake attempted to negotiate with the cleric as a hostage held in his coils; the birds began to circle overhead, merely observing the situation or perhaps awaiting their next meal.

>“Ssssspare me, and I sssshall let your comrade live.” he hissed through his pulverized teeth.

>“I’d rather you die.” said the knight between wheezes.

>“Then I sssshall kill your comrade.”

~

>“Deal. We’ll let you live,” Anon says quickly, trying to salvage the situation, “Just slither away from her.”

The snake narrowed his eyes, searching Anon’s face for any sign of deceit. Finding none, he scoffed before slowly slithering backwards, saber still drawn. The knight grabbed my shoulder and whispered his protest into my ear.

>“What are you doing?! I can’t let this happen!” he said between wet, ragged breaths, “I swore an oath to eradicate any evil!”

>“Is your oath more important than her? You’re in no shape to fight, and if our mage casts any magic, it’s going to affect her too. This is our only option.” Anon angrily whispered back.

Grumbling, the knight accepted the reality of the situation. Without any warning, a shadow streaks from the sky, snatching the lamia from the roof before flying away. The mage shouts as both Anon and the knight rush over to the cleric.

>“Griffin! It’s taken the damn serpent!” the mage shouts.

Neither Anon nor the knight cared enough to listen to the mage; they were both huddled over the unconscious form of the cleric. Anon unceremoniously removed her armor, stopped midway by the knight’s iron gauntlet.

>“Just what do you think you’re doing?!?!” He exclaimed.

Not even bothering to reply, Anon shook off the gauntlet, stripping the cleric down to her underwear.

The knight became furious, attempting to strangle Anon with his gloved hands. However, the knight was unable to muster sufficient energy due to his injuries; Anon simple ignored his weak attack. Feeling up and down the cleric’s ribcage, Anon used his limited medical knowledge to assess the cleric’s condition. Blue and purple bruises lined her sternum; bits of her ribcage cracked and popped when touched. Her left arm sunk into her shoulder, a sure sign of dislocation. Her face was cut and bloodied from being dragged up the steps; likely a concussion. It was a miracle she was still alive.

>[That is, up until the moment her heart gave out.]

~

>“You!” Anon pointed at the mage, “Don’t you have any healing magic?!?”

>“I’m a fucking combat mage! I don’t know how to heal people, I kill them!” the mage shouted back.

>“I… Fine! C’mere and help me carry her then! Now!” Anon ordered.

The mage rushed over, and together, the two picked the injured cleric up in an awkward two-person bridal carry. Down the steps and into the courtyard, the duo laid her onto the grass as the knight followed closely.

>“Knight! Give me your sword!” Anon ordered.

>“What? For what purpose?!” the knight exclaimed as he rested against a marble pillar for support.

Anon wordlessly stomped over to the knight and stole a dagger from its sheath on the knight’s leg; too tired to protest, the knight focused on his laboured breathing, his left lung now halfway filled with his own blood.

The knight watched as the strange ranger stabbed his blade into the ground, and rolled the nearly-nude cleric atop of the exposed hilt.

>“Mage, hit her with lightning!” Anon said.

>“WHAT?!” the knight and mage said in unison.

>“It’s the only way to restart her heart; do it now!”

The mage nodded and began to chant as the knight simply watched in horror. Static filled the air as electricity sparked from the mage’s staff; a bolt of lightning leapt from the staff’s crystal into the cleric’s corpse.

>“Stop! Stop! That’s enough!” shouted Anon, jogging over to the cleric’s body.

>“Well? Is Heather alive?!” the mage asked, fearful that he’d fried her.

Anon rolled her over gently, revealing a charred burn mark on her lower abdomen where she rested on the iron hilt of the sword; he put his ear to her chest, listening for any signs of a heartbeat. 

>“She’s alive!” Anon shouted, performing CPR.

The cleric opened her eyes to see Anon mouth-to-mouth with her; he broke away to push down on her chest, not even noticing she was now conscious. As she choked on her own spit, Anon rolled her over as she vomited on the grass. Her brown hair was frayed and split from the electric current and she was covered in cuts and burns. Even so, she began to quietly chant through the pain, sucking in air through her teeth to dull the pain; a warm, light blue glow emanating from her midriff which began to spread over her body.

Like a time-lapse, her cuts and wounds began to close and heal rapidly in front of Anon. It was like time had sped up around her, healing her abrasions without pain or stitches. Having finished her spell, she rolled over once more to stare at anon with those emerald-green eyes.

>“Thank you.” She mouthed, no sound coming from her lips.

The knight knelt over her; blood seeping from his ribcage. He held her head in the crook of his arm as a single tear dripped from his faceplate. The cleric closed her eyes to focus on her magic; the blue glow of her mana flowed across the knight’s armor, healing him. The blood that had pooled inside his lungs vanished into thin air, replaced by the cleric’s healing mana. The knight breathed a sigh of relief.

Still resting in the knight’s embrace, the exhausted, half-clothed Cleric felt a hand clasp hers.

>“Anon?” She asked with a questioning gaze, wondering what the masked ranger was doing.

>“Heather… I…” Anon trailed off, averting his gaze, “It’s all my fault. I should’ve…”

>“Anon. Stop, please. If anything, it was mine.” She said, grasping his gloved hand tightly. “Please don’t shoulder the burden of blame alone.”

Anon looked into her glimmering eyes, shining like gems in the sunlight.

>“I…”

>“I love you, Heather.”

~~~

>“Oh…” was her reply. “Anon… um…”
>“You’re a good person, but I already have somebody.”

The pained look in her green eyes said it all. She didn’t want to tell him. She didn’t want to hurt him more.

Behind the black balaclava, Anon’s face contorted in pain. His eyes began to water as he choked back his tears.

>“I-Is that so? I… I see. How embarrassing.” Anon said shakily, his heart sinking deep inside him.

His hand went slack as his heartstrings snapped, his glass heart shattering as it fell into the dark abyss.

>“I’m sorry, Anon.”

>“N-no. It’s okay. I should’ve known better.” Anon said. He had already emotionally shut down.

~

Even the cleric’s advanced healing magic could not instantly fix the serious injuries of the party; they’d need a specialized healer for those. Needless to say, the journey back to the guild was awkwardly quiet. As the party limped on the road back, Anon hung back a good twenty paces behind the trio. He kept his head high; no matter how much it hurt inside. Some part of him daydreamed about a life with the cleric as he trodded along the road.

Darker thoughts lead him to his sidearm on his hip. The party was only twenty paces away. He had another 15+1 of 9x19mm.

>[No. I mustn’t.] He thought, berating himself for even thinking of that.

He tried to move onto happier thoughts. In his mind’s eye he saw short, vivid images of himself and the cleric flash past:

>[Cleric and Anon inside a log cabin, warm and comfy underneath a blanket as the snow falls outside.]

>[The two of them hiking along a trail, coming to a freshwater-spring. They laugh and splash each other with the cool, clear water.]

>[Anon returns home from an adventuring raid to a fresh meal cooked by the cleric, who is holding their infant child.]

But the darkness that lurked in his mind returned, poisoning his thoughts.

>[Cleric and the knight cuddle inside a log cabin, warm and comfy underneath a blanket as the snow falls atop Anon, who is freezing out outside.]

>[The two of them hiking along a trail, coming to a freshwater-spring. They laugh and splash each other with the cool, clear water. Downstream in the background, Anon hunts salmon as they leap upstream to their spawning grounds, conveniently, right underneath the cleric and knight duo.]

>[The knight returns home from an adventuring raid to a fresh meal cooked by the cleric, who is holding their infant child. It flashes to Anon in a tavern, drinking away, alone.]

Anon shook his head to clear away his thoughts.

Before long, they had reached the guild hall, and Anon departed the party without another word. The cleric was the only one who noticed him missing. She tracked his figure through the crowd until he eventually vanished amongst the bustling adventurers.

>[He didn’t even say goodbye…] she thought with a frown.

~~~

Chapter Four

Anon shook himself awake from his flashback. He laid in his hammock, gently swinging back and forth from the gentle breeze. In his hands is a half-empty wineskin; he had drunk it to forget. Ironically, it seemed that it had brought back his experiences in even more vivid detail.

Scoffing, he downed the remaining wine in a single gulp, tossing the empty skin aside into the tall brush around him. Anon rolled out of the hammock under the late morning sun; he’d overslept and was now far behind schedule. Packing his hammock back into his bag, he reheated his left-over dinner for breakfast: Kerel rabbit with wild green onion, fried over an open flame.

It wasn’t much, but the lean meat of the rabbit was a welcome treat in Anon’s diet.

He tossed the wooden skewers into the flames, watching them burn and shrivel up before turning into charred husks.

>[Just like how you turned out…] said a voice in the back of his head.

>“Fucking edgelord inner voice…” Anon grumbled to himself.

~

Twenty minutes later, Anon was back on the road. His pack bounced lightly as he jogged up the hill; it would be the highest elevation for the next few miles. A single oak tree stood sentry atop the hill as if it were a guardian overlooking the vast fields of wild grass. Anon had made it to the Hgrothian Plains.

He rested his FN FAL against the tree trunk as he clambered up the branches, unhindered by his pack. Reaching the top of the tree’s canopy, he gazed out over the plains that stretched as far as the eye could see. Buffalo of all sizes roamed and grazed without care, while herds of stallions and horses galloped together, kicking up a small dust trail behind them.

Anon began to reach into his bag, but he hesitated. After a moment of internal debate, he reached inside; a brilliant golden glow radiating from inside the bag. As soon as it came, the light from the bag vanished.

Anon looked down at the bag. On the back panel, arranged in a ring, were eighteen white lines of thread, in addition to 6 lines of crimson thread, for a total of twenty-four lines of thread. Anon watched as two more of the white threads developed a crimson color, like blood seeping from the ends of the thread, towards the center of the ring.

With a frown, Anon drew his prize from the bag; a 27-60x85 spotting scope. A smile crept onto his face as he gazed over the field, scouting for any potential threats.

>[Centaur herds. Fantastic.] Anon thought.

~

The midday autumn weather was pleasantly cool; the breeze was was just enough to offset the heat of the sun, but not cold enough to chill. Marching with the FAL was practically a walk in the park; the carry handle of the FAL certainly made it more comfortable.

As he watched the herd of horses trot around and gaze, Anon pictured himself capturing one, and taming it.

>[It would be nice to move around faster… I’d be able to carry more stuff too.] Anon thought to himself.

He shook his head. Even if he did manage to capture one without injuring [read:shooting] it, he had no idea how to tame it.

>[I’ll just save up for a horse.] He thought, continuing on his way.

Lost in thought, Anon didn’t notice the conspicuous, jelly-like liquid on the blades of grass.

~

The slime bathed in the warm sun, happily digesting the submerged bison calf. The unfortunate animal fell prey to the sentient jelly when it had wandered from its mother. The slime’s digestive enzymes had already broken down the thick hide of the bison; the gelatinous creature already beginning the process to harvest the calf’s mana. Abruptly, the mana siphoning stopped; something had activated one of the slime’s many triggers. The mindless creature began to drag itself towards its next victim.

~

The snot-colored adhesive stuck firmly to the bottom of Anon’s boot like gum on a hot summer day. No matter what he tried, Anon couldn’t remove it from his boot, short of leaving it behind in the goo. 

>[Fuck it.] Anon thought after a minute’s struggle.

As he bent over to unlace his boot, he spotted the massive slime inching towards him from between his legs. He spun around, accidentally placing both boots in the sticky goo, simultaneously raising his FAL. The 50-round drum of M80 Ball was unloaded into the slime at full cyclic to no effect. Acting like ballistic gelatin, the slime’s body had absorbed every round of real fucking NATO; what remained of the copper jackets already beginning to dissolve in the slime’s acidic body. His rifle empty, Anon fumbled for another magazine from his chest rig. Flicking the empty drum magazine away, he slapped in the fresh magazine and racked the charging handle, firing off the entire magazine. Another twenty rounds expended with minimal damage; the slime didn’t even pause, refusing to acknowledge the hydrostatic shock of the .30 caliber rounds, instead continuing to roll forward at a steady pace. His attacks proving ineffective, Anon tossed the FAL to the wayside, frantically unlacing his boots. The slime was far too close for comfort; it was within an arm’s reach now. 

With both boots off, Anon leapt from the slime’s trap with inches to spare. Unfortunately for him, he leapt backwards, sending him butt-first into the slime’s secondary trap; a weblike secretion of the same green adhesive, weaved between the thick stalks of the tall grass. Anon hastily groped for his blade; his right arm was caught by the viscous gunk. Unsheathing his knife to cut the strands of adhesive, the blade refused to cut through. Ironically, it had stuck to the substance instead. Coming to the realization that he’d lost to a slime, Anon ceased struggling; it was futile at this point. As slime crawled closer to its next meal, Anon simply awaited his demise. The sounds of an approaching horse were nothing but an insult to injury at this point; the last thing he needed was a centaur to spear him as he was pinned to a slime’s web.

>[What a way to go.] Anon thought sarcastically.

~

Much to his surprise, he heard a British accent shouting an enchantment. He couldn’t turn his head to see his rescuer, but he heard the combat between him and the slime. The vibrant hum of a high-frequency blade slicing through slime was music to his ears; the jets of flame paralleled a flamethrower’s roar. The battle was over quickly, and it wasn’t long until Anon heard footfalls approaching him.

>“You alright over there?” said the disembodied British accent.

>“Peachy. Could I get a hand?” Anon replied, attempting to move the three fingers that weren’t glued to the grass.

>“Okay, just stay VERY still.”

A warm heat engulfed Anon, like being wrapped in a blanket fresh out of the dryer. In seconds, the adhesive goo turned to water; Anon picked himself up to thank his rescuer.

Much to his surprise, before him stood a teenager no older than 16; with blonde hair and brown eyes, he was the stereotypical British youth. Dressed in English plate armor and chainmail that brandished the crest of his family, he wielded an Arming sword and a Kite shield; the spitting image of a fantasized Prince Charming.

Brushing the dirt off his BDU, Anon thanked the stranger who had saved his life.

>“Nah, it’s nothing. Don’t worry ‘bout it mate. A slime ain’t no problem.” said the knight, extending his gauntlet. “By the way, I’m Callum.”

Shaking his outstretched hand, Anon exchanged pleasantries. 

>“You’re one of us, aren’t you?” said Callum.

>“I’m not sure what you mean by that.” Anon replies defensively, adopting a standoffish stance.

>“You know… You came here too. From Earth.”

~

>“So, where are ya headed?” Callum asked, mounting his ivory steed.

>“The Kyzahk Mines.” Anon replied, gesturing towards the mountain range in the distance.

Callum brought his hand to his face, shielding his eyes from the sun. After a moment’s pause, he spoke.

>“Looks like at least a day’s ride on horseback, maybe three days on foot; you sure you wanna go there, mate? What’s so interesting there?”

>“Got a quest there, that’s all.” replied Anon.

>“Aw, c’mon. Gimme at least some of the details, mate! Can’t leave a guy hanging like that.” Callum cried, “Tells you what, you give me some of them details, and I’ll give you a ride! How’s about that then?”

>“Hmmm… Fine. I have a delivery quest for the mining town. Apparently, this case is a first-class item.” Anon lied, pulling a sealed can of 7.62x54R from his pack.

>“What’s in it? D’ya know?” asked Callum.

>“All they told me was that it was urgent and not to open it.” Anon lied again.

>“Oh. Alright then; a deal’s a deal. Hop on.” Callum said dejectedly, gesturing for Anon to mount his horse.

In Anon’s defense, he had never mounted a horse before. Callum could barely hold his laughter as Anon struggled to get up onto the horse, offering a hand once he’d collected himself. With strength beyond his years, Callum hoisted the mortified Anon into the saddle.

>“It’s always like that the first time ‘round. Don’t worry about it.” Callum said with a smirk.

Grabbing the reins, Callum shouted ‘Hyah!’ and the duo set off at a brisk trot off into the foothills of the Kazji Mountains. 

~

>“So why do you carry the gun?”

The question came straight out of left field, catching Anon by surprise. Before now, he had never really thought about why; he took a moment to ponder his response, before deciding to simply speak his mind. His response was his truth about his childhood hobby.

>“I think they’re pretty cool. They kill things just as good as anything else. Why do you ask?”

Subconsciously, Anon gripped the sling of the dust-covered FAL tighter as he bounced atop the saddle; something of a quirk he had developed in his previous life.

>“Oh. Nothing really. I just thought it was odd because I haven’t really seen anyone with a gun. Most of ‘us’ use swords and bows, you know.” Callum gently tugs on the reins, slowing the horse to a trot. “I’m sure you’re highly sought after with the amount of firepower you have!”

>“If only you knew…” Anon mumbled.

>“It’s actually the opposite, you know.” Anon reached for his FAL subconsciously again. “Most parties drop me after their first raid.”

>“Huh?” Callum said as his steed came to a stop, turning to face Anon.

>“Guns aren’t that great for anything other than fodder.” Anon said distantly as he reminisced about memories of the past. “They all cheered when I showed them what I possessed; what I was capable of.”

In his mind’s eye, Anon replayed the memories of the past in a blur, like an old film reel. Smoke rose from the barrel of the M249 as it glowed red-hot as he sat behind a log surrounded by expended casings, disintegrated links, and dismembered body parts. The party of adventurers cheered him on as he effortlessly massacred an entire colony of Demon Boars with another belt of 77 grain 5.56mm, the blood and brain matter staining the green flora of the forest a crimson red.

>“I was an asset to the party.”

Images of an overgrown, armored tortoise flashed into his head; red tracers skipping off of it’s thick, armored shell. The beast turned, locking eyes with Anon. It gave an earth-shattering bellow as if it were shaking the earth itself. Deep in its throat was the fiery-red glow of liquid rock.

>“I did everything I could.”

A great flame burst forth from Anon. The 82mm HEAT warhead flew true and solidly connected with the tortoise's shell; Anon’s aim with the recoilless rifle was impeccable.

>“But my best was never good enough.”

A direct hit! The monster screeched in pain, shrouded by smoke; a neat, almost neon-orange hole bored into the monster’s carapace, who let loose a cry of anger and anguish. Molten metal began to leak from the wound, igniting whatever it touched. The tortoise opened its mouth, spraying a fan of molten rock at Anon and party.

>“I was always discarded in the end.”

A shove sent Anon sprawling to the ground. Indistinct words fell upon deaf ears as Anon looked up at the man standing above him; he was hurling insult after insult at Anon, calling him ‘useless, good-for-nothing garbage’. Before long, the scene had morphed into another- this time in an open field, with a different man, shouting the same words. Another transformation appeared before his mind’s eye, instead of a man shouting insults, it was a cloaked woman standing at the edge of a snowy cliff, with tears streaming down her cheeks.

>[‘It’s all your fault.’] she said, deliberately falling backwards off the cliff edge.

>“It’s nobody’s fault by my own; it’s why I travel alone.” Anon says.

>“Well, I don’t see a problem with taking out fodder. We should party together; we’ll make a great team! If you can take out the minions, I can handle the big ones! Whadda say?” Callum yanks on the reins, his horse moving along once more.

>“I… I’ll have to think about it.” Anon replied, his head lost in the cloud-filled sky above.

>[Me and Mr Prince Charming working together? It’d be a nice change of pace, but perhaps another time… Another life, maybe.]

~

The lush green-and-gold grasslands of the plains give way to brown, earthy foothills full of shrubbery and wild grasses. Here, the muted colors of the low bushes began to blend with the dull, monotonous red soil; in contrast, the ice-blue stone of the snow-capped mountains towered above like frosted guardians.


>“Hey! Anon!” Callum said aloud, nudging his awestruck passenger with an elbow, “Ain’t that your town?”

Following the tip of Callum’s outstretched finger, Anon spotted the tiny mining village of Kossuth. No larger than a city block, the village housed perhaps no more than twenty families. Despite its punitive size, Kossuth was an essential mountain outpost; it was the last stop before venturing into the treacherous Kazji Mountain Pass. Here, numerous merchants and adventures pass through on a weekly basis - the locals are used to seeing new faces and forgetting them quickly.

>“I’m surprised how many people are here.” Callum said, dismounting his horse to hitch it to a post. “I thought this was a tiny mining town.”

>“I’m going to deliver my package.” Anon swings his leg over, dismounting the bone-white stallion with ease.

>“Right then. I’m going to head to the market; I’ll meet you back here.” Callum calls to Anon, who had begun walking to the nearest bar.

Anon made his way to the tavern, undoubtedly the most popular tourist destination in town, which meant it was already crowded with the locals and travelling adventurers. The sounds of music filled the air inside with a merry tune, adding to the ruckus of the half-drunk adventurers shouting stories and laughing heartily. Muscle-bound adventurers whistled and hollered at the scantily-clad waitresses who did little to conceal their cleavage as they danced between customers, offering pint-sized mugs of brewed mead on heavy wooden trays. The open-flame candles on the wrought-iron chandelier were nearly extinguished as it swung back and forth from being knocked by a rowdy adventurer, spilling his cup of mead at Anon’s feet.

Anon made his way to the back of the tavern with much difficulty. Squeezing between an entire party of armor-clad adventurers was a difficult challenge, especially with his FAL slung over his shoulder. Glancing over his shoulder, he ensured nobody noticed him slip into the backroom. Gently shutting the wooden door behind him, Anon peeked into the empty hallway. Locking the bolt on the door, he briskly walked down the hall. Light filtered in through the frosted glass windows, casting blurred god-rays in heavy dust. It seemed like nobody had been through here in many moons. At the end of the hall, Anon found the door that lead outside. Made of sturdy wood and iron, it was made to withstand the harsh Kazji winters. The deadbolt was smoother than a Mauser action; it came undone in a split-second, the heavy door opening outwards with a loud groan.

Looking over his shoulder once more, Anon stepped outside and took off at a light jog, heading towards the peaks of the frigid Kazji Mountains.

>[Sorry, Callum. I can’t have you screwing me over with this quest.] He thought.

~

Anon shivered in the cold, damp cave; he watched his breath billow outwards as he rubbed his hands together in an attempt to regain feeling in them. His E-Tool lay discarded next to him; he had just finished burying his newest stash: an SVD with two spam can’s worth of 7.62x54R API underneath a (((nose-shaped))) rock, high in the Kazji Mountains.

>[Finished with the stash. Now to find that damned mine so I won’t have to deal with the fucking cold.] Anon thought, rubbing his hands together.

A smile appeared on his face as he looked at his gloved hands.

>[Oy vey.]

A moment of quiet laughter echoed inside the cave.

~

Wading through waist-deep snow had drained Anon’s stamina reserves; with no snowshoes, he may as well have just swam through the snow. All around him was white snow and pale winds, untouched by human movement. The enormous evergreen trees were laden with snowfall, branches bending from the weight. Here, some eight thousand feet above sea level, the only life visible were the massive trees. What little animal tracks were left were quickly covered by the blizzard overhead.

Anon’s earpro had practically frozen to his ears, his eyelashes were caked with snowflakes. His teeth chattered with the cold as the howling wind bit into his face; his lips began to turn blue from the frigid cold. Even with a heavy, protective snow jacket made with modern materials, the freezing temperatures bit through to his skin. Nothing seemed to be able to protect him from the frosty wind, almost as if it were a cursed blizzard, capable of freezing any unfortunate enough to be caught out in the cold.

Without warning, the tree beside Anon exploded in a shower of splinters, a loud crack resonating in the snow-filled mountains. Anon dived for what little concealment he had, into a nearby snowdrift, covering his frost-covered helmet. All around him, more trees disintegrated into splinters as they exploded. Deafening cracks, like the sound of a bullet whipping by, followed in the wake of destruction. 

In a stroke of fate, one misstep sent him falling down into the snowdrift as the snow beneath his feet gave away. He fell from a from a height into some kind of cavern; pain shot up from his foot as he landed. He rolled onto his back as waves of pain assaulted his brain, signalling their dismay. Sucking air through clenched teeth, he massaged his rolled ankle.

>[Fuck, that hurts!] He thought, trying his best not to swear aloud.

After a moment’s pause, he opened his eyes to glance at the hole he’d fallen from. It was maybe 10, 12 feet up. From the sole ray of light filtering in from above, he immediately recognized what he’d fallen into: a tunnel, no, mineshaft made from snowbrick, covering a minecart track. He’d somehow stumbled directly into what he was searching for. Just for a split-second, he forgot about the pain in his ankle, too elated to care about anything else. Just as fleeting, the sense of elation disappeared as soon as it had come, a mild throbbing pain replacing it. 

Anon picked himself up off the ground, leaning heavily on his one good leg. Having dropped his FAL aboveground, Anon drew his sidearm and activated his weapon light. He reached into his pack, searching for another weapon to retrieve. To his dismay, he only felt the bottom of pack. He trained his light onto the mana meter of the pack: a ring of 24 red threads stared back at him. 

With a disapproving snort, he reached back into the pack; feeling for a potion bottle. His fingertips brushed bottles of all shapes and sizes, from the classic spherical/bottlenecked bottle to cone-like beakers. Anon felt left and right, searching for a corked vial.

>[I should really spend some time to organize this.] Anon thought to himself, wincing in pain. [Here it is.]

Pinching it with two fingers, Anon withdrew the finger-sized vial. Even in the faint light, the potion within was a brilliant red, much more vibrant than it had any right to be. Stirring it slightly made it shine like a glowstick in the half-light of the dark tunnel. The cork popped off with a slight hiss; the glowing liquid within spouting a luminescent vapor as it reacted with the frigid oxygen.

The potion carried a bitter taste as it ran down Anon’s tongue, like a spicy herb from a tropical garden. His tongue felt swollen wherever the potion touched; he could not speak for several seconds until the reaction subsided. A fruity aftertaste then fell upon his taste buds, an instant hit of sweet watermelon coating his pallet, as hints of ripe strawberry floated by. The pain in his ankle subsided, a warm heat replacing it.

Anon stood, careful to not put too much weight on his rolled ankle. The healing potion would heal abrasions and suppress pain, but would not completely heal his wound. It was still a possibility he could create a larger injury if he was not careful. Using the wall for support, he began his trek down the dark, abandoned tunnels of the mineshaft, sidearm at the ready.

The minecart rail was in surprisingly good condition for its age. It shows no signs of degradation, despite the fact that it was a little over a century old. Even the wood was well preserved. In fact, Anon’s breath was probably the freshest air inside. Huge carts, laden with gold and gems of all kind were frozen in place; they bore the inscription their respective owners.

>Property of Kazahk Mining Co.
>Kingdom of Euphetia

Though Anon had the opportunity and space to snag more than a few priceless gems and gold ore, he did not dare to touch any of the valuables inside the carts. Though only a rumor, Anon was here for the reason the mines had shut down, not for the riches it had mined.

~

Like the massive bellows of the mine, long since dormant, the snoring breath of the lord of beasts blew blasts of hot air into every crevice, driving away the cold. Ice covered the floor into the inner mine, constantly freezing and refreezing as the warm drafts of air defrosted the cobblestone ground. The clear, icy sludge was fed by the hanging icicles above; they, in turn, were supplied by the run-off of the snowmelt from the outer tunnels. The high-arcing reinforced pine doors were frozen open, allowing the warm air to seep outwards, enveloping Anon’s half-frozen body. Burned-out torches lined the wall, only their iron frames remaining. What Anon should’ve felt was bliss; a soothingly warm heat to defrost his cold bones. Instead, the heat gave the opposite effect. The pleasant heat that warmed his skin sent a chill down his spine.

Anon wandered into the center of the cavernous hall. The light from the mine’s entrance cast a single unbroken god-ray into the hanging chandelier, which scattered throughout the hall. It was massive, made entirely from exotic gemstones. The candles had burnt out long ago, dried wax casting discolored shadows throughout the hall. Two rows of stone columns flanked either side of the lone adventurer, framing the mine vault, dead ahead.

Careful not to make a sound, Anon crept toward the vault as massive gusts of hot air vented out of the open doorways. As he painstakingly made his way closer, Anon couldn’t help but notice the massive amounts of scorch marks adorning the walls; the fire shadows of men in armor were imprinted onto the walls, presumably where they had made their last stand. Not even their bones remained after the scorching heat that must’ve incinerated them. Anon shuddered as he thought of what would happen to him, should he fail.

The difference between the temperatures in the hall and the vault was staggering; it was like stepping into an oven set to broil you alive. It was considerably warmer inside; most likely due to the slumbering dragon before Anon. Each individual scale, the color of freshly struck iron, was as large as a man’s chest. The raven-black claws of the dragon, each as long as a sword, were stained with the rustic color of dried blood; it had been preserved for over a century. Its nostrils spouted a constant mirage of heat that expanded with each breath; no doubt that the gold it was resting upon was more than enough to burn a thieving hand.

Quietly shuffling to a nearby bench, Anon reached into his bag for his ‘gift’. Now all he had to do was await the dragon’s rise from slumber.

>[This better work.] He thought.

~

>“Interesting…” The dragon purred, not even bothering to raise its head. “A mortal with a sense of integrity.”

The dragon’s massive outer eyelid slowly opened. A tall, vertical pupil, surrounded by a golden iris rivalling the riches below, peered intensely at Anon. A gaze that could pierce the heavens bore into him; Anon could not decide if the dragon was looking at his mortal flesh or his soul. With a squelch, a clear membrane emerged from the monster’s tear duct, wiping away the crust that accumulated on the surface.

>“I come bearing a gift, great dragon.” Anon says with a hint of nervousness, “I have with me an exotic item from a faraway land.”

The massive dragon snorted, sending a blast of heat into Anon’s face. It rose, sending thousands of gold pieces falling from it’s chest; cascading downwards, the gold pieces clinked and clattered, echoing throughout the vault as it rose into a crescendo, more and more coins displacing. As the deafening crescendo came to an end, the dragon stood tall, towering over Anon as he stood before it.

>“How intriguing. Fear grips you as you stand before me, and yet you still stand firm.” said the dragon.

Silence followed the statement, Anon not daring to speak as the dragon above him stared down.

>“With you is an object of great power; something I’ve not felt in many eons… the sheer amount of mana required… Yet you possess no magic? How can this be?” the dragon thought aloud. “ A mortal, nonetheless. Ever intriguing you are.”

Anon knelt, raising the paper-wrapped gift high above his head, attempting to shield his bag from the all-seeing eye of the dragon.

>“Why even bother attempting to hide what you hope to conceal?” The dragon kneels, coming face to face with Anon. “Those who retain the omniscient eye see all.”

The heat became unbearable as the dragon approached; sweat began to pour down Anon’s brow as he stared at the smooth stone floor.

>“What is this… device you bring me?” Two coal-black claws reached down, plucking the brown package from Anon’s hands, one of the talons passing inches from his face. “Curious.”

With dexterity betraying its size, the dragon unwrapped the gift gracefully.

>“What is this?” The dragon turned to gaze at Anon, a puff of steam blowing from his nostrils as he snorted. “Some mortal trickery?”