“The devil ain’t no novice and the devil ain’t no liar.

  I’ve been tryin’ hard to get up, but He made it to my heart.

  So I cannot make it back from the dark, dark, dark.”

  - E. Elbogen, Devils

  Mammon didn’t need to call up the game’s prompt to know they were out of time.

  A disappointing finish, but hardly the end of the world. For all they knew, Bask would still be here, seated in his throne room, after the game updated. This whole thing had been a vanity project from the start; a last hoorah for bragging rights.

  He ducked a belch of flame and considered logging out.

  “IS THIS YOUR LAND’S FIERCEST WARRIORS? YOU BRING SHAME TO YOUR FAMILIES.”

  Family.

  He pictured his mother on the couch, soiling the threadbare cushions while she called his name. He imagined the noise waking his dad from a drunken stupor.

  Maybe playing these last dwindling minutes wouldn’t be so bad.

  “Gallup, how much gas do you have left in the tank?”

  “Enough,” the barbarian answered, hammering Bask’s solar plexus with a closed fist. The demon rewarded him for the effort by slapping him into a wall.

  Gallup regained his feet, but the movement was slow and unsteady. Another hit like that would probably knock him from the game.

  Spinning his blade like a fan, Char hacked at Bask’s armor. “Any questions for me?”

  The attack drew blood, or at least the black ichor that passed for demonic blood, and the warrior brought up his shield in time for the counter-strike.

  “Sure,” Mammon said, circling the Leyline Guardian in the hopes of a flank attack. “What’s that sword compensating for?”

  “Fuck you.” The response was clipped and out of breath. Char was also feeling the grind of battle.

  As for himself, Mammon had avoided most of Bask’s attacks and the mild discomfort between his temples suggested he’d been relatively judicious with conserving Spirit.

  No reason to keep being conservative, though. The final buzzer was about to sound. Time for a big finish.

  “One minute twenty seconds!” Gallup shouted and leapt into the air, ignoring gravity the way a mean school girl might ignore the unpopular nerd in the back of class. Aerial barbarians were an odd specialization, trading dense muscle for hollow bones and spring-like tendons in their legs.

  At the height of his arc, he added “Hard Knocks!” and by the time Gallup landed on Bask, he was solid granite human-shaped cannonball at terminal velocity.

  The impact sent a shockwave across the throne room and would have decimated almost any foe in the game—it had also almost certainly consumed the rest of Gallup’s Spirit—but it only stunned the demon, who veered to one side, off-balance but very much alive.

  The others took advantage of the situation, though, tossing their heaviest hitting strikes into the mix.

  “Plasthmatic.” Quartz, who had been frustratingly silent most of this fight, held up one hand in a claw-like gesture. She moved with the wary confidence of a fox tracking prey, secure in the knowledge it was a capable hunter, but keenly aware it wasn’t the top of the food chain.

  This was a mindset shared by most mages; really, any character with high Spirit and low Health. Those classes understood they were lethal while they had the upper hand, but when they didn’t…well, the starfallen warlock had been a good demonstration of what could happen.

  A thick river of ichor seeped from Bask’s nose and ran in tributaries across his cheek. It congealed like a constricting veil over his face, and the demon dropped his axe to pull at the barrier that now cut off his air flow.

  “Snakepit.” Apostle said on the heels of her new best friend. At least, Mammon assumed they were friends. They’d certainly been spending most of the day by each other’s side.

  There was movement over his boots and he glanced down, knowing exactly what he was going to see. Despite spending most of his time talking to corpses, he found this particular spell unnerving.

  The floor was snakes.

  Thousands of them, writhing and twisting as they climbed Bask’s legs. Soon, the Guardian was enveloped in serpents while his head remained covered in a bag of his own blood.

  Then the biting began. Bask bellowed in pain.

  It was weird. It was chaos. It was awesome.

  Fuck, he loved this game.

  “Damascus Tempest!” Even Char couldn’t ruin the vibe with his spotlight-hogging scream, and for a brief moment, Mammon allowed himself to appreciate the player’s skill.

  A beam of white light centered on Bask as if the demon was about to deliver a dramatic monologue. But this was no stage production, and the demon tore a hole in his mask just in time to see a hundred sharp blades dangling over his head like a deadly chandelier.

  And then it began to rain swords.

  They smashed against his armor, finding exposed flesh between the plates, until he was a pincushion of pointed steel. No doubt Char had finished off more than one Leyline Guardian with that attack. But Bask was still standing.

  Mammon’s turn.

  “Katabasis End,” he said and his head throbbed in response. Instead of fighting the sensation, he leaned into it; encouraged the spell to take a few extra bites out of his Spirit.

  A single black tendril lined with teeth erupted through the ornate carpet, shattering the onyx tiling beneath. It drove into Bask’s chest with the single-minded purpose of finding all the delicious soft bits inside.

  What happened next wasn’t visible, but Mammon could see it just the same, a perfect image in his mind’s eye. The tendril split inside its new host into countless smaller threads, each winding along arteries, wrapping around organs, filling every inch of body cavity with dark purpose and agony.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Allegedly, this was the most painful spell in Silverdawn. Mammon couldn’t vouch for that personally, as he’d never been on the receiving end. But judging by its victims’ screams, he believed it.

  Bask didn’t scream, exactly, but his howl was the raspy, choked cry of a wounded animal, and his overlay briefly flashed red. They were close. Really close. Maybe they had a chance after all.

  Mammon called up the game prompt.

  >> AWAITING INSTRUCTION [MAMMON]

  “Time until reboot.”

  >> FORTY-THREE SECONDS

  Another few hits like that and—

  Bask roared and stretched his fists over his head, tossing snakes aside like a petulant child hurling unwanted spaghetti. He grabbed Mammon’s creation with both hands and uprooted it from the floor, twisting it until the tendril went from black to a withered grey.

  “SUCH A MENAGERIE OF DELUSIONS. YOU TRULY BELIEVED VICTORY WAS POSSIBLE.”

  He laughed, a rumbling subwoofer of vibrations, and brushed away the swords protruding from his body as if they were bread crumbs.

  Undeterred, Gallup leapt at the demon, but this time Bask was ready. He caught his attacker in mid-air, one massive hand around Gallup’s legs, the other clamped onto his chest.

  “I can’t—” Whatever the barbarian was trying to say, it was cut short by a violent squeeze from Bask.

  Then, with a single pull and a wet popping noise, he pulled the man in two. Bask held Gallup’s torso overhead and squeezed the dead man’s blood into his mouth like a grapefruit. His forked tongue flapped eagerly against his chin.

  Too bad. Mammon was just beginning to like that guy and now he was erased from the game forever.

  They had put forth a valiant effort, but it was time to get the hell out of dodge. If Bask was still around after the update, maybe he’d try with different gear.

  “We’ll get him next time, everyone. See you whenever.” Mammon tried to sound upbeat while he created as much distance between himself and the reinvigorated demon as possible.

  Quartz had an odd expression for someone who was on the losing team; somewhere between nervous and eager.

  “Something’s wrong.” Apostle said. She was just beside him, eyes closed, frowning.

  He closed his eyes, too.

  >> AWAITING INSTRUCTION [MAMMON]

  “Logout.”

  A second passed. Then another.

  >> ERROR INSTRUCTION NOT RECOGNIZED

  “Logout.” He said, more urgently this time, but it made no difference.

  >> ERROR INSTRUCTION NOT RECOGNIZED

  He opened his eyes to see confused looks on the faces around him. The whole group had gathered on the opposite side of the room as Bask advanced. The Leyline Guardian had picked up his axe and drug it behind him as he approached, grin widening.

  “NOT RUNNING AWAY? GOOD. BRAVERY TASTES BETTER.”

  “It’s probably the update,” Mammon reassured the others. “Just play defense for a few more minutes and we should all get kicked out."

  “Four seconds!” Quartz shouted, then added “Cruor Jump!” before dropping into her bloody teleport circle and reemerging behind the demon.

  Bask swung his axe at Mammon, and it might have lopped off his leg, but Char’s shield deflected it, re-directing the blade just enough for a clean miss.

  The storm guard lifted his visor to reveal a smug grin. Frankly, Mammon would rather have lost a limb.

  Three seconds.

  Licking his lips, Bask drew a deep breath. That usually meant a flame burst.

  “InTomb!” Mammon shouted and a bone coffin encased his body. He pressed against the back of its velvet interior as the air began to warm. The fucker was cooking him.

  With a wave of his hand he banished the protection and rolled to one side, just a touch too slowly. His arm blistered from the heat.

  Two seconds.

  Bask’s attention turned to Apostle, who flipped over the garnet table and threw the last of her daggers as she landed, staggering backward after the landing. Her black leather straps were soaked with sweat.

  Honestly, she was doing great for her level. Mammon made a mental note to keep track of her progress once this was all over.

  One second.

  “You’re lucky we can’t stay, you overrated fuck,” Char jeered, raising his shield in mock salute to the demon. “I’ve been hit by volleyballs harder than you.”

  An odd thing to say for a final retort, but if his goal had been to pull the demon’s attention onto himself, it did the trick. Bask squared himself directly toward the storm guard.

  Everyone tensed. The reboot was imminent.

  Bask marched forward. But so did time.

  Zero seconds.

  It was done. Mammon held his breath.

  And then…

  Nothing happened.

  “What’s going on?” Apostle looked at the others for answers they didn’t have. “Why didn’t we get booted”

  “Dunno.” Char shrugged. “Maybe the update was delayed?”

  “Oh.” Quartz said quietly. “Oh shit.”

  Despite everything, Mammon shut his eyes, trying to ignore the pain running down his right arm.

  >> AWAITING INSTRUCTION [MAMMON]

  “Time until reboot.”

  >> ZERO SECONDS

  “Logout.”

  >> ERROR INSTRUCTION NOT RECOGNIZED

  Oddly, the four heroes didn’t seem to be the only ones confused. Bask stood still, his head tilted sideways like a dog hearing a high-pitched whistle.

  “THOUGHT I’D SEEN EVERY MAGIC TRICK YOU IDIOTS COULD THROW AT ME, BUT THIS IS A NEW ONE.”

  When no one responded, he shrugged then charged at Char. The storm guard raised his shield in time, but the blow brought him to one knee.

  “Fuck!” Char spat, twisting his grimace into a grin. “Well, good news, asshole, looks like we’ve got a little extra time to finish you off.”

  The delivery carried his trademark arrogance, but there was an undercurrent of exhaustion that Mammon had never heard from him before.

  Char pivoted and slashed at Bask’s hip, digging SoulSinger's edge deep into the demon’s flesh. The air filled with the blade’s music, but it was less inspirational now, almost melancholic. Bask, apparently enjoying a second wind, grabbed the weapon and twisted it free of Char’s grasp.

  The music stopped.

  “GUARD RAILS ARE OFF, KIDDIES,” he said, raising one enormous foot.

  “You took my sword.” Char said in a flat voice, as if reading a math problem from the board in the front of class, not understanding the equation. He raised his shield with both hands like an umbrella. “That’s not poss—”

  Bask brought his heel down and flattened his opponent. Char’s armor crumpled. His screams filled the throne room.

  The foot came down again. And again.

  The screaming became a gurgle then died out in a whisper. Soon all that remained was a mash of twisted metal and a smear beneath it. His new helmet spun like a top, finally coming to rest at Quartz’s feet.

  Her eyes were wide in shock. “Jesus fuck. This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  Nobody else said a thing. They’d all just watched the character with the best armor and most Health in the room—maybe in all of Silverdawn—get splattered as if he were a roach.

  “Logout,” Mammon said again. He could hear the others repeating the same word, like a desperate mantra. He opened his eyes in frustration. He couldn’t lose his top spot. Not like this.

  “Shit. Shitshitshit.” Quartz paced along the tapestries, wringing her hands. “This isn’t right.”

  “MAYBE NOT BEFORE. BUT IT SURE IS NOW. ” Bask hurled his axe.

  It spun across the room before Quartz could teleport. Or maybe she was out of Spirit. Either way, her head plopped to the floor and rolled gently under one of the chairs. It came to a rest facing Char’s helmet, mouth wide in a frozen scream.

  There was motion to his left, and he turned to see Apostle sprinting along the far wall, favoring one ankle, looking for an exit.

  “I PROMISED TO KILL YOU FAST, LITTLE ONE. BUT I LIED.” Bask followed her with a smile. “IT’S A DEMON THING.”

  He spat and sizzling droplets rained down in a torrential pour. To Apostle’s credit, she avoided them for far longer than Mammon expected, but eventually a few found their target.

  She cried out, moving slower now from the combination of pain and exhaustion. But moving slower allowed a few more to land, eating away at her flesh, one hole at a time.

  And that, of course, brought more screams, slower movement, and more droplets landing.

  By the time she’d stopped writhing on the stone floor, more goo than human, it was a mercy.

  “AND THEN THERE WAS ONE.” Bask chuckled. “YOU ARE THE GREATEST OF THE ELEVEN REALMS, YES? KING OF THE HILL?”

  “Archduke of Cthon, but close enough,” Mammon responded. “BoneSpur.”

  The calcium in his bones grew and tore through his skin, transforming his arm into a lethal spear.

  “SHALL WE HAVE A LITTLE FUN?”

  “Why settle for a little?” Mammon willed his weapon to grow twice the length of his body, exhausting the remainder of his Spirit. His head was an echo chamber of searing pain. “Go big or go home.”

  The demon laughed and picked up his axe. “I’LL REMEMBER YOU SAID THAT.”

  It was a short fight, despite the bluster, and Mammon’s last thought as Bask’s blade eviscerated his skull was: At least Char died before me.

  And then it was over.

  CODA

  Orion, known to his friends as Saito Kimura, woke up in his real body.

  A few minutes later, Gallup—named Lydia at birth, but who answered to the nickname “Icky” thanks to a party trick she’d mastered in college—opened her eyes to the real world, as well.

  They died that same day, each having spent nearly all of their time awake in exactly the same way:

  Screaming.

  >> ERROR USER NOT RECOGNIZED