The tension was palpable as the Dungeon Core slowly rolled toward the three men. Hank clutched his sword tighter, tensing up, trying to divide his attention between Amit, Sean, the Core, and Randel.

“This changes nothing,” Amit spoke. “We kill the Mad Painter first, then decide who gets the Dungeon. Alright?”

He was obviously lying. Hank didn’t say anything.

“Then attack him, Amit,” Sean said. “Didn’t you say that you got this?”

“You’re a bastard, Sean. You’ll try to grab the Core while I’m distracted.”

“You think? Well, my offer still stands. First to kill the Mad Painter—”

Hank burst into motion while the other two argued, activating Motion Blur to speed toward the Core. The small cockroach had to hang on tight onto his belt, the abrupt direction changes threatening to throw it off. Hank’s hand was inches from the Core when the space around it warped and his fingers found thin air. He then had to jump back to evade Sean’s arrow.

“That was a mistake,” Amit said. “Hank, you just betrayed the Serpents.”

As the leader of the Quick Foxes, Hank was likely to betray them anyway. The only reason he hadn’t taken the Serpents’ territory yet was that they had two Players and Hank didn’t like taking unnecessary risks. Facing both of them wasn’t going to be easy. Amit didn’t have many Abilities, but what he had was powerful; lightning, ground manipulation, space bending. Slow but devastating. Sean, on the other hand—well, he didn’t have too many Abilities either. But he was cunning and had a fearsome reputation, which was enough to give Hank a pause.

“Yeah, you better back off,” Amit quipped as Hank retreated. The leader of the Serpents advanced. “Now I’ll—”

Amit tried to dodge, and though he couldn’t quite evade the arrow, the space around him distorted and the projectile missed anyway. Sean kept his hand aimed at Amit.

“Traitor!” Amit hissed, spinning around, lightning gathering around his arms. Hank saw this as an opening to dash for the Core, but once more he was thwarted as a whip of iron scales lashed at him; Sean had finally used the device on his other wrist too. The whip retreated into the device just as quickly as it came.

“Nobody moves,” Sean said, keeping one hand pointed at Hank and another at Amit. Hank took an anxious glance back at Randel, who was now positioned almost completely behind him. He was still kneeling, his eyes hidden behind his shades, smiling smugly with seemingly no intention to intervene. That was definitely worrying, but at the moment Hank had bigger things to worry about.

“Amit,” Hank spoke for the first time. “You can have the Core if you help me kill Sean.”

It was a solid plan. Once Sean was dead, it would be easy to deal with Amit. The leader of the Serpents wanted to kill Sean for his betrayal anyway, so teaming up was an easy choice.

“Deal,” Amit said, then slammed his palms against the ground and sent lightning at Sean—but also at Hank. Hank activated Motion Blur to get out of the way, dashing toward Amit. Only after he came out of his dash did he see that his target wasn’t there anymore; Amit had run for the Core. Hank changed directions, but his Motion Blur was on cooldown. He wouldn’t make it in time. Sean was convulsing on the ground, barely conscious. There was no one to stop Amit.

“Yes!” the leader of the Serpents roared as his hands closed around the Dungeon Core. His collar projected a notification in the air. Hank swore under his breath. Amit stood up, raising the Core victoriously. A Dungeon Master couldn’t directly use the Core to kill others – except for the self-defense mechanism that Randel had already used – but there were plenty of ways to mess with other people. Amit could now surround Hank with traps or open a pit directly underneath him.

“And now you’ll regret betraying me,” Amit gloated as he faced down Hank. He pointed a finger at him, and silence fell. The cavern remained silent as Amit kept pointing. Nothing seemed to happen. Amit’s grin faded, his face scrunching up in concentration. He even opened his collar’s menu to look at it. Hank seemed to be unsure whether to attack or flee.

“Why is it not working?!”

There was a gurgling noise coming from where Sean had fallen, and Hank looked over to see Randel kneeling next to him, his black dagger buried in Sean’s throat.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” the Mad Painter said as Sean choked on his own blood. “Just cleaning up a bit.”

“Y-You bastard!” Amit said, gathering lightning once again. “You tricked me! You’re still the Dungeon Master!”

“Nope, you are,” Randel said. “You saw the notification. It’s just a shame that the Core doesn’t come with instructions, isn’t it?”

So many betrayals on one day was apparently too much for Amit, because he just screamed incoherently as he slapped his palms to the ground to send bolts of lightning at Randel. Hank tensed, getting ready to strike. This was his chance to get close to Amit, kill him, and take the Core. He stepped forward—

—and then he was kneeling beside Sean’s corpse. The lightning struck him a moment later, running through his limbs, overwhelming his armor’s defenses, making his body convulse. He caught himself on his elbows as he fell, his vision swaying, barely having the strength to look up. Randel was standing behind Amit, grabbing his hair and pulling his head back as he sliced his throat open.

“Ghuh,” Hank grunted, struggling to get to his feet. Surprisingly, he was able to push himself up. His limbs were shaking, yet he raised his sword at the—where was the Mad Painter?

“That blindness trick is annoying,” Randel said directly from behind, pressing his dagger against Hank’s neck. “We would rather not suffer from it again.”

Hank spun, almost losing his balance, slashing horizontally with his sword. Randel skipped backward, evading the feeble strike. He wasn’t holding any weapon, so he couldn’t strike back. Confused, Hank stepped back just as he felt something tighten around his neck. He grabbed at it, but it flowed around his fingers, up to his face. His expression became more and more alarmed as the black metal of Randel’s weapon snaked around his head, creeping into his mouth and nose. Preventing him from breathing.

Having already expended his Domain, it didn’t take long for Hank to suffocate. He fell onto Sean’s dead body, landing at Randel’s feet. The spectral cockroach on his belt disappeared soon after.

The Sylven woman called Devi dodged Hruk’s hammer again. The tunnel shook as he struck the wall, loose stones falling on top of him. By the time Hruk stepped free of the debris, Devi was out of sight again. Tonight certainly wasn’t Hruk’s night; his opponents ran from him when all he wanted was to fight. It stroked his ego, at the very least. He prided himself as one of the strongest and toughest Players out there, and tonight was proving him right. Everyone fled like scared little rats.

Speaking of little rats, Tohne the Ratkin sprinted past Hruk’s massive legs. Hruk tolerated her mainly because of her tracking abilities—and tonight it was also very useful that she could identify Devi’s decoys at a glance. Tohne led Hruk down a series of corridors that forced the big Noruk to hunch his back, his arms scraping the side walls. The spectral cockroach climbed deeper under his shoulder plate so that it wasn’t accidentally crushed. Soon enough the tunnel widened and they arrived at another chamber, this one having a wide pit and several floating platforms above it. Devi and her decoys were already standing on those platforms, spread out hastily.

“We fight here,” all of the decoys spoke at once. “If you fall off, the poison-shrooms eat you.”

Hruk glanced down in the pit, snorting as he noted that the bottom was filled with mushrooms. Tohne pointed at a Devi at the far left. The original one. The Ratkin jumped up to one of the platforms then, fast and nimble. Hruk chose a larger platform to step onto, annoyed. This room certainly didn’t favor him—though in the worst-case scenario he might just destroy all the platforms and tank the poison. That would mean Tohne’s death however, and Hruk still had a use for her.

Devi opened fire with a thin ray of light from her finger, which Tohne evaded by jumping over to another platform. With a backflip. The ray hit one of Devi’s decoys but left it unharmed, and after a small delay the decoy fired another ray in Tohne’s direction. Other decoys began firing too, their aim oftentimes off, occasionally hitting each other. Tohne dodged the rays with some flourish. This was child’s play for her.

Hruk ignored the rays and kept his eyes on Devi instead, steadily advancing on her. He was content to wait for the platforms to align before stepping from one to another. Devi was already in Seismic Jump range, but there was no need to start demolishing platforms just yet. Well, not the important ones. With a flick of his hammer Hruk obliterated a platform above his head, then his Stone Bullets Ability stopped the small shards of stone from falling and aligned them in the air to point at Devi.

The Sylven stopped firing her harmless rays and opened a portal between herself and Hruk just as the stone bullets were about to hit her. Some of the bullets missed, cracking other platforms or slamming into the wall of the cavern. Those that didn’t miss passed through the portal, exiting where a decoy stood on the other side of the chamber. The stone shards shot right toward Tohne, but the small Ratkin twisted out of the projectiles’ way without even looking.

Hruk moved on, unhurried, stepping to the next platform. He grunted in approval when he saw Devi closing her portal and stepping closer as well—finally, she decided to face him. They were only one platform apart now, moving closer to each other.

Devi could open a portal and use it like a tower shield in a moment’s notice. A troublesome defense, but it couldn’t protect her from every direction. Easily circumvented. The energy blade in Devi’s other hand was more concerning though, humming with power, casting a silvery light on their surroundings. Even if Hruk’s armor could hold against the energy weapon, he was quite attached to his giant hammer and wouldn’t want it to be cut apart.

While their platforms slowly glided toward each other, Tohne circled around them, skipping from platform to platform, using a pair of knives to burst the decoys apart. She was quick and nimble and the decoys stood no chance. Devi watched her distractedly, shifting her energy blade in her hand. Once her decoys were gone, she would be out of tricks. Tohne jumped to the platform where the last two decoys stood. She sliced through one and flipped in the air to arrive in front of the other. Then a portal sprang into life between Tohne and the decoy, and Devi’s energy blade impaled Tohne in her chest.

Hruk jerked in surprise. Devi swept the sword sideways, freeing her blade. Tohne fell. Just like that, the Ratkin Player was dead. She had died without a single sound. Hruk bellowed a cry that shook the walls of the cavern and he lunged at the Sylven woman. She brought her portal-shield up in a hurry, catching Hruk’s hammer on the upper edge of it and drawing her energy blade back to strike. She didn’t have the chance to retaliate. Hruk struck again while activating Seismic Jump at point-blank range, and the resulting shockwave shattered all the nearby platforms along with the one they were standing on. He fell, taking Devi with him to the—no, where was she?

Hruk landed in the mushroom pit, the glowing fungi cushioning his fall. He held his breath. If there were any poisonous spores down here, they weren’t visible. An ornery dagger landed not far from him; it was Devi’s energy blade, disappearing among the mushrooms. Hruk looked up and let out another cry.

“Come down, you coward!”

Devi was standing on the bottom of her portal, her hands clutching its edges for stability while the whole thing just hovered in the air, fixed in place. She crouched down, searching for a way to escape. Her refusal to fall fueled Hruk’s rage further, which he vocalized with some gravelly words in his native language. He paced under her, waiting for the cooldown period on his Seismic Jump to end. There was no escape for the Sylven woman. Three, two, one, ready. Hruk crouched down, lifted his hammer, launched himself up—

—and he was promptly blasted out of the air by a jet of green flames. He landed on his back but rolled to his feet quickly, spinning his hammer around to face his new opponent. A Sylven man. No, not just one; Sylven regulars streamed into the chamber, decked in armor, carrying shields. At the same time a small squad of goleton beasts bursts in, led by even more Sylven. The man who had fired at Hruk was a Player too, and he was not the only one. Two other Sylven Players emerged from behind the regulars, one of them Lord Tengi’quinn himself. He glanced at Devi while saying something in their language. The Sylven troops moved forward.

Hruk’s anger evaporated all of a sudden, and now he was the one frantically looking for a way out. There was none. He couldn’t even make a single step before he was forced to his knees by an unseen force, and then the green flames returned along with sprays of acid and something sharp that cut through his armor as if it wasn’t even there. The spectral cockroach under Hruk’s armor evaporated before it could have witnessed his death.

Mikolaj slammed the tavern’s door open, ready to swing his flail. A few torches were lit along the walls, making it easy to see. The place was empty.

“Alright boys, grab what you can,” he said as he stepped inside. The bar was stocked with bottles of alcohol, so he headed for those first. This place had clearly been occupied not so long ago, but everyone had left once the news of the raid reached them. Same as the previous tavern that Mikolaj and his men had visited, though here it seemed that the people had been in less of a hurry. Unfortunately for Mikolaj. Still, the place had a few things left behind; Mikolaj eyed the chandelier that hung from the ceiling, looking oddly expensive for a piss-hole like this. Taverns had higher ceilings to accommodate the taller species such as Shrissten and Noruk, and so the chandelier was quite high up.

“Someone get me a ladder!” Mikolaj called out over his shoulder. He swept a gloved hand across the counter and grabbed a half-empty bottle of whisky, which he promptly pushed into the inside of his cloak. The fabric swallowed the bottle immediately, storing it in an extra-dimensional space. Perks of being a Player! With his cloak, Mikolaj didn’t have to be picky about what to grab; he could take anything and everything with him if he was able to wrap his cloak around them.

With well-practiced ease, his cronies started to bring him all the valuables they could find. There wasn’t much, but that was alright for Mikolaj. He and his men would still end this night considerably richer, so it was a win in his book. Better than what the others were doing. Trying to off the Mad Painter? Taking the Dungeon Core? Vying for power? Those weren’t Mikolaj’s things. Mikolaj was a survivor. He knew how to fly under the radar, and he knew how to get what he wanted. Simple as that. He could—was he hearing music from outside?

“But my rhymes were unrehearsed,
And really just the worst,
So I went to the inn first,
To quench my thirst!”

Stanley the bard stepped into the entrance of the tavern, stringing a merry tune on a simple lute that attracted the eyes of everyone around. He gasped in shock when he noticed them, but his dramatic reaction was undermined by the fact that he kept playing his lute without a hitch.

“Who goes there?” Mikolaj asked. Stanley’s performer garb covered the collar around his neck, so Mikolaj wasn’t sure whether the man was a Player or he was simply just unhinged. Mikolaj’s cloak hid his own collar too, so in case there was a fight he had a good chance to surprise his opponent.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Stanley said. “Tonight was long and tiring, and I was hoping to get a nightcap here. Do you mind?”

“We sure do,” one of Mikolaj’s cronies said. He was their bruiser, an experienced Golemancy caster who wore a metal frame covering his body. As the man confronted Stanley, Mikolaj cast his Skin Sucker Ability—an aura that made people feel as if their exposed skin was being pulled at. Intimidation tactics. Skin Sucker didn’t have much use in combat, but it was excellent at scaring the crap out of people. Although Mikolaj’s Ability affected everyone around him, his cronies were already used to the unnerving sensation. Stanley’s hands slipped on the lute, however. His feet left the ground and he hovered in the air as the tune of his song changed.

“That’s really rude, mate. I just wanted a—”

“Get him!” Mikolaj yelled abruptly, trying to catch the bard off-guard. His men rushed in, but Stanley floated higher up and a shape behind him sped through the doorway. It slammed into the closest man, bringing him off his feet. Metal glinted, the shape growled, and the fallen man screamed in pain.

“Watch out, it’s a goleton beast!”

One of the men swung his bat at the goleton mauling its victim, but the feline beast saw it coming and evaded the blow. Unusual reaction time and intellect, for a goleton.

“Seeing intruders in his territory,
Nosy turned this story very gory!
Fast like a storm in his metal form,
He fought mercilessly, uh—”

“—what else rhymes with form?” Stanley asked, landing with one foot on the bruiser’s head. The man twisted around and tried to grab him, but the bard skipped over to the next man, jumping from one head to the next, impossibly nimble. Mikolaj watched him from the back. He seemed to realize that Stanley had some kind of Ability or perk that made him unnaturally elusive.

Meanwhile, the men engaged the goleton—well, it wasn’t really a goleton. It was a young elemental panther in its metal attunement, which was far more dangerous. Goletons were slow and dumb. Tough to crack, but easily outplayed. This panther, however? It evaded the bats, maces, daggers, and whatever makeshift weapons the cronies swung at it. Even if the creature occasionally suffered a blow, its metallic scales protected it from the worst of the impact.

They spun and danced,
But Nosy advanced,
A storm of steel with lightning claws,
Shocking paws and deadly jaws.

Defying all sense or reason, the elemental panther’s teeth and claws began to crackle with electricity as it continued its onslaught. It was almost embarrassing to see how quickly the men broke—but Mikolaj kept his cool, readying a throwing dagger in his palm with his eyes on Stanley. The panther was a distraction; he was the real threat. If only he had stopped flying around for a second, stopped dancing out of reach all the time…

Busy in the midst of the brawl,
The big guy missed and struck the wall,
Shaking the stone, swaying lights,
Making the lamp drop from the heights!

Mikolaj reacted too late; by the time he realized that he was standing right under the chandelier, it was already falling. He looked up at the speeding object just as it hit him on his head. Mikolaj fell, and the spectral cockroach under his cloak scrambled out in a hurry.

“Oops,” Stanley said as he landed right on top of the cockroach and crushed it beneath his heel. “Bad luck.”

The spectral cockroach on the smithy’s wall observed the Players stealthily. They had finished gathering the dead in a pile and dragged Royce next to it. The sub-leader of the Ravagers was apparently still alive—the Bolob had just knocked him unconscious. Said Bolob had also left without a word, leaving the gangster in Imaya’s and Jessie’s care.

“We should kill him,” Jessie said. “This shithead may wake up at any moment.”

“I don’t know … can’t we just drag him somewhere far away?”

“He’s a criminal. If you let him live, you allow his crimes to continue.”

“So we take him to the City Watch.”

Jessie chewed on her lower lip, turning from Royce to Imaya. They shared a look, Imaya’s face nervous, Jessie’s gaze softening. The necromancer let go of her staff – which defied gravity by remaining upright – and stepped closer to Imaya to hug her. The shorter woman let out a quiet squeak, freezing in place. Jessie patted her back as they hugged.

“I’ll be honest with you, girl. I—”

“D-Don’t girl me,” Imaya said. “We’re the same age. My name is Imaya.”

“Sure. I’ll be honest with you, Imaya. I—”

“And why are you hugging me? I don’t even know you.”

“You seemed like you needed a hug.”

“Oh … okay,” Imaya said. She hugged Jessie back. “We are hugging next to a p-pile of corpses.”

“Well, I am a necromancer. This is just an average day for me.”

Imaya mumbled something to that, burying her face in Jessie’s shoulder. They stood there for a while.

“So, what is it you wanted to say?” Imaya eventually asked. She still wasn’t letting Jessie go.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Jessie deflected the question. “We can take this shithead to the City Watch, let them lock him up.”

They ended their hug, and Imaya gave Jessie a tiny nod. They then stood awkwardly next to each other, the silence stretching—up until they heard footsteps approaching. Clang, clang, clang. Something mechanical too. Imaya and Jessie turned at the same time, both of them paling slightly at the sight of Randel.

The Mad Painter was alone, walking calmly but purposefully. The blood on his dark armor glistened in the gloomy light of the Dungeon, and the black dagger in his hand was dripping too. His armor was deformed, its earlier flair lost, now having a large hole through the middle of the chest piece. The man himself looked unharmed except for the eerie orange veins that glowed under his skin. They ran up his neck and over his face, where a pair of cracked sunglasses shielded his eyes.

“Hello Imaya,” Randel said in a flat tone. “Report, please.”

“H-Hi Randel. You look, um—”

“Is Barumm alive?”

“Barumm? Y-Yes, Barumm is alive. He took a beating, but Arikokira came and saved him. She saved us all.”

“Not that we needed it,” Jessie said. “I was going to handle it anyway.”

“Oh,” Imaya said, looking at her. “Randel, this is Jessie. She is—”

“We’ve already met,” Randel said, turning to Jessie. “You on our side?”

He asked it casually, but looking at him right then, it was difficult not to interpret it as a threat. Jessie didn’t quite seem as calm and confident as she had been while comforting Imaya.

“I am on your side. If you don’t believe me, just ask Imaya.”

Randel nodded, then gestured at the pile bodies. “What’s with these corpses?”

“Gangsters from the Ravagers,” Jessie said. “Not all of them are dead. The Player is just unconscious.”

“Ah,” Randel said, crouching down next to Royce. “But we take no prisoners.”

He then stabbed his black dagger into Royce’s neck. Imaya cried out, scrunching her eyes shut and turning away, while Jessie stepped forward as if to stop Randel—but it was already too late.

“Take the collar off his neck,” Randel said as he stood back up. “Oh, and look out for spying cockroaches. They are everywhere.”

The spectral cockroach on the wall of the smithy didn’t bother to skitter away as Randel flicked his dagger at it. It evaporated as soon as the black blade struck its body.

Roach opened his eyes slowly, fighting off the disorientation. He was sitting by the wall in a richly furnished room. In spite of the late hour, Yorg was eating at the long dining table in the middle of the room. Only Amalinda was present aside from them, standing still by the door as she watched her master eat. Roach licked his dry lips and took a longing glance at the wine on the table. His throat was parched, but he knew better than to ask for a drink.

“It is finished,” he rasped. Yorg didn’t acknowledge him. He kept his eyes closed as he savored the food.

“…sir,” Roach added belatedly. Yorg took a sip of wine before deigning to reply.

“Are they all dead?”

“Not all, sir. There are ruffians of no consequence who still roam the Dungeon. But the Mad Painter and his crew have cleared the important people off the board. The Ravagers, the Quick Foxes, the Middle Fingers, and the Serpents have all lost their leaders.”

“Excellent,” Yorg said. “Linda, how’s the other mission going?”

Amalinda stepped forward to stand next to Yorg, her hands smoothing down the skirt of her uniform. She had a relic in her left ear that resembled a wireless earbud from Earth, flashing periodically as Amalinda received updates from the deployed troops.

“We have secured the headquarters of the Quick Foxes too, so now only the Ravagers remain. The men they left behind are putting up a fight against us, but they are outnumbered. Their territory should be ours by the time the sun rises.”

“Be it that way, dear Linda, be it that way,” Yorg said. He took another sip, glancing back at Roach. “Any losses?”

“Gina is dead,” Roach said. “She deviated from the plan and the Mad Painter killed her.”

“Pity,” Yorg said, then shook his head. “Well, maybe not so much. She was too much of a wildcard anyway. I doubt I could have kept her on the leash for much longer.”

“As you say, sir,” Roach said. He hesitated for a second. “If I may ask, what are we going to do with the Dungeon? The Mad Painter and his crew are tired and bleeding. If we invade them now, we would have a good chance to succeed.”

Yorg eyed him for a long moment, his hawkish face still like stone. It unnerved Roach quite a bit, making him feel as if the man saw right through him. Technically Roach wasn’t lying, but the Mad Painter wasn’t as helpless as he made it sound. Yorg watched him a while longer, then took another sip of wine.

“Are you that desperate to take revenge, Roach?”

“W-What? Sir.”

“The Mad Painter defeated you the last time, which makes me wonder. Is it for revenge that you want to face him? Or is it perhaps that you want to prove yourself to me?”

Roach’s mind spun; Yorg was completely off with his guesses. Finally! Finally, a wrench in his works. A miscalculation. Hands itching, Roach reached into her long coat’s pocket to grab his cigar box.

“No smoking in my presence,” Yorg said. “How many times do I need to warn you?”

“Sorry, sir. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Make sure you do, next time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“To answer your question,” Yorg said, “we’re definitely not attacking the Dungeon tonight. We will let the Mad Painter have his victory. He had given us a marvelous gift by eliminating all those Players, after all. Tonight, we have taken a great step toward unifying the underworld of Fortram. Just a few more cycles and the entire city will be in my hands.”

He raised the near-empty wine glass and toasted to his own victory. Typical. Roach was dismissed soon after, tasked with writing down everything that had transpired in the Dungeon. Once he jotted down all the little details, he would be allowed to spend an entire day with his son. By Yorg’s measures, that was a generous reward. The leader of the Black Moon was indeed in a fine mood. There weren’t many people left who could threaten his influence over the city; the rival gangs were as good as gone, the Factory was in his debt, the Governor was blackmailed and bought, and the Rangers of Fortram were bribed to look the other way.

Only a few individuals remained who could still become a problem—one of which Roach was about to write a report on. Yorg wanted to assess the Mad Painter’s abilities and find his weaknesses. But the thing was, many of what happened tonight transpired with Roach being the only witness. So, who would blame him if he misremembered certain events? After all, he was only human—and his report didn’t need to be perfect for him to see his son.