Greg’s HUD flared.
COMPANION THREATENED – [Elowen]
Protect Ally?
Override Available!
Trigger [PRIMAL RAGE]?
Proceed? [Y/N]
A Rattling leapt into his path. He kicked it away without looking, sending it crashing into Marla’s spear line. The farmers finished it, but the delay cost him two precious heartbeats.
He saw the mayor’s mouth moving. Even if he’d been close enough, he could hear nothing over the rush of blood pounding in his ears. Maybe it was apologies. Maybe it was just panicked explanations. The knife pressed harder. What had been a thin, red trickle red became a stream of ruby beads along Elowen’s skin.
Greg’s mental thumb twitched over [Y].
He stopped.
Rage wanted it so badly it felt like his bones were buzzing. One choice. One click. He could be there in a blink, all teeth and fury, and the mayor’s head would come off his shoulders like a cork.
He saw Herman instead. Tired, blue eyes. A father’s eyes, wide with terror. One hand on his weapon. The other reaching for Elowen. Elowen…
Greg covered his gaping eye-wound with one hand and reluctantly hit [N].
PRIMAL RAGE – Suppressed
Self-Control Check: Passed
(barely)
Great, you did the right thing. Now she’s going to die.
“Greg!” roared Violet. “Swap! Now!”
Two vials flew.
The first shattered in mid-air over Greg’s head, releasing a flash of blue-white light that drenched him to the skin. The second hit Elowen’s shoulder and burst without breaking the skin, coating her in the same glow.
Violet used
Transpositional Catastrophe (x2)
Cost: All Remaining Essence!
Effect: Swap Positions
[Greg] ? [Elowen]
Warning: Side Effects May Include Existential Crisis, Ego Death
The world twisted.
Greg’s stomach dropped and didn’t stop. The square lurched sideways, then snapped back. For a heartbeat he was everywhere: on the cobbles, in the alley, under the window, by the fountain. Back in his mother’s womb. Between universes. Then he was whole again.
He was where Elowen had been.
Stone at his back. The mayor directly in front of him, knife arm extended, suddenly pressing a blade into the muscle of Greg’s chest instead of soft, tender elf flesh.
Elowen reappeared where Greg had stood, out in the square, blinking, half-turned. A Rattling lunged for her immediately.
Doran was already moving. He crashed into it shoulder-first, sending it sprawling, then planted himself between her and everything else.
Doran used Bellowing Charge
Redirected Aggro
[Elowen] → [Doran]
The mayor’s eyes went huge.
“What—?” he gasped.
Greg searched the mayor’s eyes for a reason. Panic? Terror? Greed? It didn’t matter.
“You picked a good day,” Greg said, voice low, “for pissing me off.”
The knife bit into his skin, shallow. He ignored it. He didn’t give in to the hot frenzy of bloodlust. His Rage was as cold as ice. He didn’t need to kill this pathetic twerp. He needed not to kill this pathetic twerp.
He could still make sure it fucking hurt, though.
Greg shifted his grip on the Giant Fucking Sword and snapped the hilt forward, smashing it into the mayor’s temple.
Greg used Pommel Bash
(non-lethal strike)
Target: [Mayor]
Damage: (???’)
Statuses Applied:
[Unconscious]
[Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy]
Character no longer reads or math good
The mayor collapsed bonelessly.
For a moment, Greg stared down at him, chest heaving, Rage still pounding its fists against his ribs demanding blood. He took one long breath, then another, willing it to stay caged.
XP: 96%
A Rattling shrieked and rounded the alley corner, drawn by the motion.
Greg sighed. He had to stay cool. Ignoring the Rage was like trying to act sober during a job interview while tripping balls on acid. The thought of the creature’s blood staining his blade started to seem better than food, or even sex. He was losing it.
“Fuck,” he said. “Time to change it up.”
He grabbed the mayor by the ankle, whipped him up in one smooth motion, and swung.
Improvised Weapon: [Mayor]
Damage Modifier:
+ Mad Style x2
+ Mad Disrespect x2
Experience Modifier: x4
Everything is a weapon if you’re brave enough!
The mayor’s limp body connected with the Rattling with a satisfyingly meaty thwack. It pinwheeled through the alley mouth and vanished into the nearest barricade, leaving a smear of shadow and monstrous, oozing guts.
Rattling F takes 46 bludgeoning damage.
Rattling F: Deleted.
LEVEL UP! – Greg (Barbarian)
Level: 2 → 3
New Feature: Subclass Selection Available!
He dropped the mayor without ceremony and jogged back to the square, to Elowen.
The last of the current wave was breaking. The spear lines had held. Tavers’ traps had done their work. Violet was slumped in the window, propped on her elbows, face chalk white. Nars’ quiver looked noticeably lighter and his face considerably heavier.
Elowen stood with one hand on Doran’s shoulder, the other pressed over the cut at her throat. It was shallow, more cosmetic than mortal, but the sight of her life spilling out of her still made Greg’s stomach twist.
He waited for the system to gate him again.
- “Are you alright?”
- “I should have seen it coming.”
- “You saved them. I just hit things.”
No [LOCKED] this time.
He picked none of them. Everything around him still had a violet blur at its edge, the threat of violence looming in every movement, every micro expression. His, or theirs? He wanted to focus. He needed to focus. Speak words, goddamnit.
“Man, did you see that fucking chicken?” His voice was rough, but he could feel himself coming back into his own body, his own senses.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The system blinked and the edges smoothed again.
Freeform Dialogue: Enabled (Limited)
Approval [Elowen]: Warming → Listening…
She studied him for a long breath.
“I am alive,” she said. “Thanks to you. And Violet.” Her gaze flicked up toward the window. “And whatever… that was.”
“Transpositional Catastrophe,” Violet croaked. “Another patent pending. After a shit ton more testing. And some biopsies.”
Elowen’s eyes came back to Greg. “You didn’t Rage,” she said. Not a question.
“We’re really not going to address that?”, he croaked. “Violet, what the fuck?”
Elowen almost cracked a smile, enough to smooth out the annoyance on her face as she shook her head. “Greg, Violet’s dissection fetish should be the least of your concerns right now.”
“I guess… I guess I’m figuring out some shit, Elowen. Shit I probably should have figured out a long time ago. I started this. In more ways than one, I think. I fucked up, definitely. On multiple levels. But I understand why I fucked up, and in that understanding, I believe, lies the power to un-fuck it up.”
Something shifted in her expression. Not forgiveness. Something quieter, built on longer consideration than whatever the fuck that just had been.
“What about your eye?”
He felt the Level Up notification pulsing in the corner of his vision like an impatient finger tapping.
“Hang on,” he muttered, opening his Character Sheet.
CLASS FEATURE UPDATE – LEVEL 3 REACHED
Subclass Options Unlocked:
- [BERSERKER] – Pure Offense, Pure Chaos
(Create tragic backstories everywhere you go! Longer, more furious rages.) - [STORM BREAKER] – Magical Auras, Long Range/AOE Attacks
(Recommended for players who meant to pick Wizard.) - [RAGE WARDEN] – Controlled Fury, Protective Auras
(Recommended for longtime losers trying to do something for once in their fucking lives.)
Greg stared at the three glowing options. Hard not to take that one personal. Wizard would have been the smart pick.
The old him, the one who lived on piss and spite and cheap malt liquor, would have smashed [BERSERKER] without thinking, then complained when everything went sideways.
DPS be damned, he selected [RAGE WARDEN].
SUBCLASS CHOSEN: RAGE WARDEN
New Feature: Furious Ward
– When Raging, allies within close range gain increased Damage Resistance and Minor Fear Aura vs. enemies.
– Your Rage now prioritizes threats to your allies and stabilizes environmental effects (where possible).
– Friendly Fire: Greatly Reduced (still technically possible if you’re a dumbass).
He could feel the Rage in chest become still and stabilize. No longer erratic. A steady beat. It didn’t feel like a bomb anymore. More like a shield someone had driven into the ground, daring the world to break it.
LEVEL UP!
Greg the Barbarian
Race: Human
Class: Barbarian
Subclass: Rage Warden
Level: 3
Vitality: 150 (150)
Essence: 30 (30)
Might: 30 [+3]
Agility: 20
Fortitude: 25 [+3]
Intellect: 10
Cunning: 10
Willpower: 18 [+3]
Charisma: 10
Manipulation: 10
Appearance: 15
Abilities
Acrobatics + 2, Animal Handling +1, Charm +3, Intimidate +10, Investigate +0, Knowledge +0, Nature +1, Stealing +0, Stealth +1, Wisdom +5
Skills
Primal Rage became Furious Ward!
Dense Muscle enhanced!
Great Cleave enhanced!
Some kind of hero! We’ll see…
Leveling up had restored his Vitality, but his eye was still gone. Oh, well. He’d secretly always wanted a cool facial scar and an eye-patch. Now, if he could get his hands on a cybernetic arm, he’d really be cooking.
Elowen set about cleaning the wound, clearing away the blood and snot-like remains of his ruined eyeball. It wouldn’t get any worse, but that wasn’t saying much. Violet had a suitable eye-patch suspiciously ready, perfectly shaped to slot into his broken glasses.
“I made two of these, back when I first made your glasses. It’s magic, of course. You’ll be able to see fine with it on. My money was on you poking your own eye out with a pencil trying to sign your own name. I never thought… that fucking chicken!”
The square was quieting. For the moment. The shadows outside the Veil were regrouping, writhing, listening for whatever signal would send them in again.
People were breathing. Not all of them, but most of them. Enough that Blucliffe could recover and rebuild after this evil was put to rest. Greg knew that was on him, but the system made sure he knew anyway.
QUEST UPDATED: THE QUEST OF LEGEND
Current Objective: Put this evil to rest, Greg.
Elowen tipped her head back, eyes closed, sun-kissed fingertips pressed to her neck, sealing the tiny wound with a brief flash. When she looked at Greg again, her expression was… open. Fragile and raw and present in a way it hadn’t been since the Heart broke.
He moved before he thought better of it.
He stepped closer, reached out, and cupped the side of her face. Her skin was warm under his hand. She blinked at him, startled. He held her gaze across a moment that stretched into agonizing eternity. He wanted to tell her he loved her. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was. How perfect. He wanted to tell her everything.
“I… fuck,” he said.
Then he kissed her. Small, but passionate. He felt every muscle in his body relax. So close, the scent of her was intoxicating, overwhelming. And the taste…
For a second, the world went very small. Just the faint taste of ash and healing herbs, the feel of her breath catching, the way her hand came up like she might push him away, but she didn’t. Not immediately.
There was a moment there, thin as the line of blood left on her throat, where she leaned in.
Then she pulled back and slapped him.
It wasn’t a dramatic, soap opera swing. It was a precise, controlled strike from someone who knew exactly how hard she wanted to hit. His head rocked sideways. His cheek burned.
[Elowen] Approval:
Listening… → Notifications Muted
(Not Blocked Yet)
He looked back at her, jaw throbbing, hands slowly lowering.
Elowen’s eyes were bright with anger and something that might have been grief.
“What,” she said, voice low and steady, “the actual fuck, Greg?”
Greg opened his mouth, closed it again, and nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “Fair. I thought… I guess, I thought… y’know…”
“What? You thought what, Greg? That you’re the hero of this story and I’m the damsel you’re rescuing? That you saved me from danger and earned your prize?”
“Fuck! No, Elowen… I’m sorry. I…”, Greg’s voice cracked like a teenager and trailed off. She was right. Gods, he was so stupid. Every moment of clear thinking, with the Rage not beating in his skull like double-bass death-metal war drums, he realized another layer to his mistakes.
He started this whole mess because of her. And why? Could he really stand here and try convincing her that he was in love with her? He couldn’t love her. He barely even knew her. And even if he did, how was that her problem? She certainly didn’t know him. He was thinking of her like an NPC with a romance subplot and not a living, breathing human. Elf. Woman. Person.
“You’re right. Please, I’m… I need to figure my shit out.”
Behind them, Violet groaned. “If you two are done having character development,” she said, “we still have a town to save. And I am very nearly out of miracles.”
The shadows pressed closer to the edge of the Veil.
Violet’s words hadn’t finished echoing when the cobbles shuddered.
It started as a low vibration under Greg’s boots, like a cart rumbling past on the street. Then the whole square gave a short, ugly heave. Tankards rattled on tables inside the Gorge. The cracked statue in the fountain: heroic mayor, arm raised forever mid-speech, tilted a little farther.
SYSTEM ALERT – LOCAL STABILITY
[BLUCLIFFE TOWN SQUARE]
Status: Compromised
Vault Resonance/Corruption Backflow
“Does anyone else hear that?” Nars asked. “Sounds like the devil’s diarrhea.”
The fountain and the whole center of Blucliffe’s town square split, suddenly. A hairline crack ran down the carved stone bowl, glowing from within with cold silver, hot gold, and a third color Greg had no name for, except “don’t touch that.” The statue lurched again. This time, it didn’t stop. It slid sideways as the stone beneath it broke like thin ice.
The square was torn open.
Stones folded inward, pulled by something below rather than falling into empty air. The fountain, the puddled shadow around it, and a good chunk of decorative paving went with them, warping and shrinking until they became part of a swirling knot of light and dark suspended a few feet above an impossibly deep shaft.
A portal hung where the town’s centerpiece had been.
DUNGEON NODE UNLOCKED:
[BLUCLIFFE ROOT]
Depth: Unknown
The thing looked wrong in every direction: edges that didn’t align, angles that didn’t add up and were never the same when you looked again. Gold and silver rings spun within it, broken fragments of the Vault’s Heart repurposed into a door. Between them, black corruption boiled and bled off in slow, reaching streamers.
Greg’s stomach did a small, miserable flip. He knew that pattern. He’d seen it from the inside, when everything went to hell.
“Of course,” Violet whispered. She scrubbed a hand over her face. “If I find out which ancient Arch-moron signed off on this design, I’m going to dig them up and shit on their bones.”
The portal pulsed.
Sunburned, moonsick light flared from its center and painted their faces in alternating washes of glare and shadow. In the middle of it, something moved.
Someone.
He stepped forward as if from behind a curtain: not onto the square, but to the inside edge of the breach, standing on nothing at all. Corruption clung to him like a cloak, shot through with familiar silver sigils. The perfect lines of his armor had warped, plates bending outward into hooked points. One eye gleamed with its usual cold intelligence; the other burned with a vertical, inhuman slit of light.
Petar’l Velyar – [ASCENDANT AVATAR]
Level: ???
Role: Boss Encounter
Mood: Smug, Ready to Monologue
“Hello again, Stranger,” Petar’l said, voice echoing up from too far away and much too close. “You are resilient. I’ll give you that.”
His gaze flicked over the town square: the battered barricades, the wounded villagers, the dead monsters, the still-flickering Veil. Then it settled on Greg and stayed there, like a knife point resting on a throat.
“You broke the Heart,” he went on. “You tore open the old paths. The chains are failing, the sky is loosening…” He smiled, thin and delighted. “Come. Look what you’ve made possible.”
The portal yawned wider, the pull of it tugging at loose pebbles, at the hairs on his arms.
“Greg,” Doran said quietly. “That’s our way down.”
“Yeah,” Greg said, throat dry. “I figured.”
QUEST UPDATED: THE QUEST OF LEGEND
Descend through [BLUCLIFFE ROOT].
New Objective: Stop Petar’l Velyun (whatever he is now).
Bonus Objective: Un-fuck the world.
Petar’l extended one hand, inviting, mock-courteous.
“Endings matter, Stranger. I’ve been looking forward to yours,” he called. “Let’s write this one together.”