Gloomspire Hollow was our escape plan.

  The tunnels twisted and folded in on themselves like a maze, reconnecting and doubling back in ways that made pursuit nearly impossible, unless our enemies split up. That was our only advantage.

  At the entrance, five different paths yawned open before us, smelling of damp earth and ancient rot.

  “Five routes.” Darwyn’s eyes flicked from shadow to shadow as he adjusted his grip on his bow. “They won’t be able to cover them all.”

  “That’s the point.” I traced the faint scratches on the stone. Elena’s mark looked authentic, subtle enough to be a clue, but messy enough to look like a desperate mistake. “Let’s hope they’re as smart as they think they are.”

  They already knew we’d killed the Gravelurker because Elena’s Silkshade Phantom had made sure of that. Which meant they’d expect us to flee toward its lair.

  “I still don’t get it,” Elena’s voice was a low anchor in the dark. “Why go back there?”

  “Because the other tunnels reconnect,” I replied. “If they find Darwyn’s mark, there’s a fifty-fifty chance they follow us. That’s too high. We need them to hesitate.”

  Orin wiped sweat from her brow, her hand trembling. “So we’re forcing them to second-guess.”

  “Tilting the odds,” I corrected. “Two marks mean they have to split up. Divide their strength.”

  Darwyn gave a sharp nod. “Let’s hope they overthink it.”

  “And if they don’t?” Elena asked.

  I tightened my grip on my scepter, the wood cold against my palm. “Then we pray they split evenly.”

  “And if they don't do that either?”

  “Then,” I said, stepping into the gloom, “we remind them why chasing us was a mistake.”

  We slipped into the chosen tunnel and let the dark swallow us. We hadn’t gone far when the silence shattered.

  “Well, well. I knew you brainless NPCs would take one of the marked routes. You're practically hard-coded to be predictable.”

  The voice was high, grating like metal on stone. It didn't just echo, it came from everywhere at once. Darwyn’s fingers whitened against his bowstring. Beside me, Orin’s breath hitched, a tiny, involuntary sound, like a death knell in the cramped tunnel.

  A sharp, rhythmic clicking followed: the sound of steel spurs or a dagger hilt tapping against a ring. He wasn't just finding us. He was playing with us.

  The sound carried clearly through the tunnel, but his figure was nowhere to be seen.

  My heart lurched.

  “He’s alone,” Elena whispered.

  I glanced at Orin. She looked frozen, fear locking her in place.

  “Orin,” I grabbed her shoulder, grounding her. “Remember the plan.”

  She swallowed hard, then nodded. “Be careful,” she breathed, her eyes shining with a terror she couldn't quite mask.

  Elena moved first. Her Silkshade Phantom shimmered into existence, a perfect copy of her that bolted into the darkness. Behind me, Darwyn finished the last preparation.

  “Hopefully,” he grunted, “this helps.”

  Then he turned and ran with Orin, the unconscious Muradin slung between them.

  That was the plan. They’d get Muradin out. Elena and I would buy the time in blood.

  We took our positions.

  Seconds stretched. Then the enemy emerged.

  “You think I’d fall for the same decoy script twice?”

  The man lunged from the shadows, ignoring the phantom entirely. His blade was a streak of silver light. One step. Three. Five. Then, his stride faltered.

  Webbing clung to his legs, tightening with every movement. The harder he pushed, the more it resisted. His sneer twisted into a snarl. “You little rat!”

  He turned too late, expecting the slow to be weak. Elena stood behind him, bow already lowered. The real threat.

  He struck for her with blinding speed.

  WHOOSH.

  The blade skidded aside, deflected by a shimmering barrier.

  “What?”

  “Whoops,” Elena flashed a cold, sharp smirk. “You really are as stupid as you look.”

  She ran.

  “YOU DAMN NPC!” he roared, hurling a dagger after her.

  The slow began to fade. His speed returned.

  Then his instincts screamed.

  He skidded to a halt.

  Bombs.

  Strapped to the real phantom’s waist.

  [Galestride cast]

  Wind whirled beneath the clone’s feet, launching it straight at him.

  “Shit!”

  BOOM.

  The explosion tore through the tunnel. Stone shattered. Smoke swallowed everything.

  And somewhere in the chaos, the real Elena was already gone.

  ***

  The tunnel groaned as debris rained down, the shockwave slamming into my chest and stealing my breath. For a heartbeat, the world went white, the roar of the blast replaced by a high-pitched, lonely ringing in my ears. Smoke swallowed everything, thick and tasting of sulfur and pulverized rock.

  I reached out, my fingers brushing against the rough wall to stay upright. “Elena?” I tried to shout, but it came out as a ragged cough.

  A shape moved in the smoke.

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  Footsteps. Unsteady. Too light to be the enemy.

  Then, she stumbled out of the haze.

  For a split second, relief punched the air from my lungs. She was upright. Breathing. Her bow hung loose in her hand, her silhouette still whole against the drifting ash.

  She took one more step, then her knees buckled.

  She fell into me, her weight slamming into my chest and nearly knocking me back into the settling dust. That was when the warmth spread across my tunic.

  Blood spilled from her mouth, dark and viscous in the dim light.

  My gaze dropped.

  The dagger was buried deep in her shoulder.

  Crimson runes pulsed along the hilt, not glowing so much as throbbing, each beat slow and deliberate, like a hungry heart embedded in her flesh.

  Crimson Riposte. Reflected damage. Healed the user.

  My stomach dropped. I looked back at the wall of smoke, expecting a corpse. Instead, I saw another silhouette.

  He didn't walk out of the smoke. He cut through it.

  The man moved with a fluid, terrifying grace that shouldn't have been possible after a point-blank blast. He wasn’t limping. In fact, he looked faster.

  Bloodlust. The passive realization hit me like cold water. Every drop we spilled made him faster. He was an apex predator, and we had just turned the tunnel into a buffet.

  Steel flashed.

  Elena screamed as she collapsed under a storm of slashes. Arteries targeted, pain and bleeding amplified.

  Another cursed skill: Hemorrhage.

  He laughed, licking a stray drop of blood from his blade. “God, I love the haptic feedback. You scream just like the real thing.”

  I snapped.

  Inner Beast surged through me as I swung my scepter with everything I had.

  THWACK.

  He staggered.

  “Elena, move!” I grabbed her, hauling her back as another Hemorrhage grazed my side. Fire tore through me as blood poured freely.

  “GAAH!”

  He dragged the blade to his lips, swallowing the blood with a sharp inhale.

  Then something changed.

  A crimson glow spread across his skin, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Veins bulged. His breathing deepened, heavy and feral.

  The name formed in my mind unbidden, Exsanguinate. He became Blood Berserker.

  He came at me like a beast unchained.

  I barely raised Tempest Shield in time. Sparks screamed as his blows hammered into it, driving me back step by step. I counted seconds, hurling blades of compressed wind whenever I found space to breathe.

  Then the shield shattered.

  Pain exploded everywhere.

  Deep gashes lined my thighs. My left arm hung useless, torn muscle screaming with every movement. Blood ran into my eye from a jagged cut across my cheek.

  I staggered.

  SLASH.

  His sword bit into my leg. My body gave out.

  I hit the ground, helpless, as he raised his blade for the finishing strike.

  I can't dodge this.

  Lightning cracked.

  An arrow struck him mid-swing.

  “Get away from them!” Darwyn roared, loosing another shot.

  The enemy twisted, dodging with inhuman speed.

  He inhaled sharply, blood still wet on his lips, then the distance between them ceased to exist.

  Darwyn barely avoided a fatal hit. Blood sprayed as he grinned through the pain.

  “Burn in hell.”

  [Detonate cast]

  The explosion rocked the cavern.

  The blast sent both of them flying in opposite directions. Darwyn hit the ground hard, skidding out of sight.

  For a few agonizing seconds, nothing stirred.

  Then, shambling footsteps.

  The Blood Berserker rose, body trembling, eyes blazing as he dragged himself toward Darwyn.

  Then stopped.

  His body convulsed violently. He doubled over, vomiting blood as the crimson glow flickered… and died.

  Exsanguinate had worn off.

  I roared, Inner Beast flaring like a fever in my blood as I lunged. I swung the Fangbone Scepter with every ounce of weight I had left.

  CRACK!

  The impact vibrated up my arms, a jarring shock that splintered the wood into a jagged ruin. The Berserker’s head snapped back, but he didn't go down. Not yet. He looked at me, his eyes clouded with fading crimson, his mouth a ruin of gore.

  My hands shook, the jagged remains of the scepter slick with his blood and my sweat. Doubt screamed in my head, but my body moved on instinct. I didn't swing again. I thrust.

  I felt the gruesome resistance of bone giving way. A sickening, wet crunch that felt louder than the explosion. The vibration traveled through the wood and directly into my marrow. His body spasmed, a frantic, animal jerk against my hands, and then the tension simply... evaporated.

  He became heavy. Dead weight.

  I let go of the splintered wood as if it had turned into white-hot iron. My breath came in ragged, burning gulps, the only sound left in the cavern.

  My thoughts were scattered and numb.

  I had killed a person. A real one.

  The realization hit me like a physical blow, and before I could steady myself, my body revolted.

  I stared at my hands. They were stained a deep, tacky maroon that refused to wipe off on my tunics. In the games I played before this reality, bodies flickered and vanished into pixels. There was no sharp, metallic tang in the air, nor any lingering heat radiating from a cooling corpse.

  Here, the silence of the cave felt heavy, pressurized by the sudden absence of his breathing. My mind tried to retreat, to categorize this as just another quest objective cleared, but my senses wouldn't allow the lie. The smell of blood in the air and the way his fingers still twitched in the dirt were anchors to a brutal reality. I had crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed.

  After retching up the entire contents of my stomach, I staggered to Darwyn and Elena, barely managing the Rejuvenation.

  Soft green light enveloped them one by one, a mocking contrast to the crimson ruin I had just made of the man nearby. It knitted their flesh and sealed their wounds, but it did nothing for the hollow ache in my chest.

  Only then did I turn back.

  Something twisted violently in my chest as I looked at the corpse.

  But we had fought too hard to waste this.

  I reached for his blade, my fingers slick and fumbling. My stomach turned again, but I forced my eyes to stay on the task.

  I pried the storage ring from his finger. It came off with a wet slide. As soon as my Mana touched the stone, a cold shimmer of red sigils unfolded above the ring, their meanings pressing directly into my senses

  Stillblade Needle. Medium Healing Potions. Howling Vellum.

  My heart hammered. The potions. I didn't care about the sword or the others. I grabbed the vials, the glass clinking together with a sound that felt like a lifeline.

  I crawled back to Elena first. My knees scraped against the jagged stone, but I couldn't feel the pain over the roar of my own pulse. She was so still.

  "Elena, drink," I rasped, my voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel.

  I popped the cork with my teeth and tilted her head back. I had to use my thumb to pry her jaw open. As the potion slid down her throat, the effect was almost violent.

  The deep gashes on her shoulder began to knit, the flesh bubbling and stitching together with a wet, crackling sound. She gasped, her body arching as she felt the pain. A choked breath escaped her as the magic forced the flesh to fuse.

  "Don't... don't die on me," I whispered.

  I turned to Darwyn. He was conscious, barely, propped up against a stalagmite. He looked at the vial in my hand, then at the body behind me. He saw the ring on my finger, the one I hadn't taken off yet.

  "You got him," he wheezed, his eyes tracking the blood on my hands.

  "I got him."

  I handed him the potion. He took it with a trembling hand, but he didn't drink it immediately. He just stared at the corpse, then at the shattered remains of my scepter.

  "I’m sorry for the Fangbone Scepter," Darwyn said softly.

  I didn't answer. I couldn't. Instead, I reached back into the sub-space storage and pulled out another item: the Howling Vellum. The paper felt oily, like it was made of human skin rather than parchment, and it was sealed with a wax stamp of a screaming face.

  My blood ran cold.

  If my hunch was right, we’d stepped into something far more dangerous than a simple hunt. This wasn’t going to end in Gloomspire Hollow.

  If word gets out, we might not have an MC for this story anymore.

  Fangbone Scepter.

  Gone too soon. I’m really going to miss the Tornado Slash combo.

  How many Tornado Slash variant combos have we seen so far?