A Week

I spend the night scrolling through social media. Pictures of Monica, William and I entering the gate plaster the local news sites and pictures of Shawn and my brother in random neighborhoods are shown in equal measure. I take a long hard look at the picture of myself. Was that really me? I've lost a lot of weight, and my hair seems to be fuller.

"They looked frazzled coming out." One commenter who must have been at the corner stated.

No shit.

"Doesn't that nerdy-looking guy have a camera? Where's the footage?"

"Army's probably looking it over."

"Fuck. I want to see what went down. Look at how messed up they are. It must have been epic."

"Was he missing his eye before he went in? Holy shit."

"Kinda hot ngl."

There are videos of other fights as well circulating in the trending section. Normally low-level doors; though a few of the high rankers had also taken videos. Their clears were impressive. Mirror; the current world number 1, had taken a video of one of her clears. She used some sort of light magic and moved at blinding speeds as she took down strange creatures that looked like a mixture between a scorpion and a tiger by the dozen. It all seemed professionally edited as well. At the end, she showed her haul; a vial of some liquid, and a bundle full of Japanese Yen.

Other than that there were a bunch of questions about movement orders: where were all the houses going to be coming from for the people ordered to move to the surrounding area, and how were they going to be secure in the knowledge that they weren't going to be killed by these horrible monsters. Some of the comments raised legitimate concerns; logistics, food scarcity, power security, and the like. Most of the comments were from young kids asking how they could get in the fight, however, while the second most common comment was excited discussion about the oncoming invasion and what fun it would be.

Other than that there are posts about missing animals that pop up every now and then; and a few about missing persons; mostly elderly people, and young children. Pictures of Dylan among them. It worries me a little; the world was changing, and with that change, it was inevitable that anxieties would get the better of some people and wear thin the mental barriers into the darker recesses of the human mind. A place that I had flirted with over the years. I told Jenna that I would keep an eye out, and I definitely will.

"Hey, Shadow."

The cat jumps over to me, and curls on my stomach.

What?

"Do you see this girl?"

I motion to the picture of Dylan that Jenna had put up.

Yeah? What about her? She was hanging about that place you were staying.

"o you know where she is?"

How could I know?

"Can you keep an eye out whenever you do...whatever you do?"

That's rude, you know. I am a very busy feline.

"Are you now? What do you do?"

I hunt rats. And birds. Without me, why the whole city would be practically overrun.

"Very important work."

Indeed it is. You don't even know.

"Well when you're out doing that, can you keep an eye out for her?"

I can. Easy enough.

"Thank you."

I can help too. Clio says as she peeks her head out from under the blanket.

That's just not true, and I know it. She's been an inside dog all of her life and has run away from a particularly aggressive cricket before.

"You've done enough. I hear you healed me while I was out."

I did! I did!

Her small stubbed tail wags.

"Good girl."

I scratch behind her ears until she falls asleep, and I begin to do the same. Despite the anxiety coursing through me; some rest could do me some good...

"Private Lawrence Able! You are to report to Meeting Hall A! Privates Monica and William Lamont you are both to report to Meeting Hall A! I repeat..."

Or not. I sigh and push myself up off the bed and get dressed in something more appropriate than the too-baggy sweats and the too-big tank top. Nothing I have, however, seems to fit. Everything was too big. I settle on a pair of old sneakers, jeans with a belt pulled to its maximum, and a polo shirt. I'll have to buy some other stuff later. There's a store on-site, right? Or I could use the Internet. I have a bank account now, after all. I take the chance to glance at the time. 4 in the morning? What the hell? Had I actually fallen asleep?

"Private Lawrence! Hurry up!"

Came a call over the loudspeakers.

Yeah, yeah.

I hurry out of the tent and follow the path that William and I had taken several hours prior. At the front of the compound, I come across an exhausted Mark and an exuberant-looking Shawn. They're being talked to by a couple of military personnel.

"Do we have to?" I hear Mark complain.

"You do." Came the reply.

Mark set his bow and quiver down in his car, parked by the side of the road, and stormed into the large building at the front; casting me an anger-filled gaze as he passes. Shawn waves as he passes, and I fight the urge to slug him in the face for nearly killing me. He passes by, and I control my rage and avoid being kicked from the organization. I follow after them, assuming they had both been called in as well.

We move past the receptionist's hall, past the people waiting within — press, and businessmen looking for an opportunity to make money out of the coming tragedy, mainly. Don't they know in a few years' time money will mean absolutely nothing? We enter the meeting room. A long table is laid out in the middle of the room over a red carpet. Monica, William, Janet, and Ortega are already here. Janet and Ortega are seated next to one another with the camera laid out in front of them hooked up to a projector. Several uniformed men and women sit on that end of the table as well, next to an open laptop.

"Sit, sit. We have someone on call."

From across the room, I could make out the tired visage of a red-haired young woman yawning into her camera.

"Let's get this over with, I'm tired."

"Well, let me explain to you and the others." Ortega pushes himself away from the table and yawns loudly. "We're here to watch the recording of the dive that William, Monica, and Lawrence did yesterday."

"Why are we watching this?" Complained one of the older men seated in full military camo as he tapped his finger against the table. His hair is mostly white, and, at the moment, a mess. He looks like someone more at home on a golf course than on a battlefield. "I don't care what the grunts get up to; besides, why should we care? Once these sword-wielding barbarians come through these, 'doors,' we'll just tear them to shreds. Honestly, I don't see why we're making such a big deal out of this."

This man wears a string of two stars on his collar. A General? Here?

"Sir, if you'd allow; that's partially why I invited you in particular, so you can see what the danger really is, and...well, I just have a bad feeling about this all. Can't shake it."

"Son...fine." He gives the Colonel a defeated look. "We'll watch this video; I am a bit curious about it as well." The general said as he fell back into his chair.

The other two men seemed to go along with whatever the general said. I recognize one of them as the representative of this area to the US Congress. He glances nervously between the General, the Colonel, and us, seated on the opposite side of the table. Though Janet is seated among them.

"What am I here for?" The woman on the camera says.

"Ah, the camera caught a conversation between what we believe is the leader of this group and one of his subordinates. We'd like you to translate, you can do that, right?"

Ah, is she the one who translated the kris for me? Helpful.

"I can do that." She yawns.

"Thank you, Ms. Atherton. It won't be long." Janet says, "It starts out when the fighting starts. We believe it's best for context. Can you see it on your screen?"

"Yes. Got the file you sent."

"Good. Okay, we're hitting play...now."

At that, the recording starts. I watch as dozens of dogmen die at the hands of William's traps. He sits up proudly in his seat. When my turn comes, I'm impressed by how...well, for lack of a better word, cool it looks. The spells look fantastical; columns of earth jutting out of the ground. Bright orange arrows flew free, and visible gusts of wind rushed around me.

"At this time Private Monica Lamot is in the air, fighting something you'll see later in the recording."

"What I don't get is why don't we just send in an Apache. Tear those dogs to shreds."

"We can't."

Even in the dim light of the room, I can see the general roll his eyes.

The fighting continues, and we watch as I decimate the climbing heavy infantry. I yawn, and Shawn reaches over to me and slaps my shoulder. Just keep pushing it, pal...next comes the Windwalkers. More than I had initially thought was thrown off by my dervish. When they crest the hill, the fight turns into a melee. When I tear the throat from one of the dogmen with my teeth, all of the eyes in the room turn to me with horrified looks on their faces. Shawn slaps my shoulder once more.

As the White Wolf's army approaches, and his regiment of 100 or so breaks off and stops in front of the reserves of the first force Ortega pauses the video.

"Okay, this is the part where you need to pay attention to, okay?"

"Huh? Okay."

The woman on the webcam pushes herself up. It looks like during the 15 or so minutes she had fallen asleep. Ortega presses play once more. The White Wolf approaches the commander of the larger force and begins speaking in gruff tones.

"Here he's asking what the hold up is. The white dog thing." The red-haired woman yawns, "The other one responds by saying that the two at the top of the hill were a bigger hold-up than expected." The White Wolf makes a wide motion toward the hill. "He's telling the other one that he should just attack with all of his forces at once. Overwhelm them."

The woman yawns again.

"The other one defends himself by pointing out they tried that but the defenses got in the way."

The White Wolf snarls on the large screen.

"He says that they're behind on their plan. To kill the three, and storm through...the...the door. No that can't be right."

"That would mean..." William mutters, "That...that thing knew we were coming? Someone told him..."

The General reaches over and turns off the camera.

"Or he has spies out here already," Ortega interjects quickly. "Somehow, your deaths would have allowed that army to come through, right? How many Chosen have died?"

I pose this question to my shard.

"So far just over 6,000." Was the response.

6000. What were the chances that one of those was around here? Not very likely. I drum my fingers against the tabletop, but as likely as anywhere else. At least, until one of us dies, the doors will remain closed. I trust nearly everyone in this room to not die. Well, almost anyone. I glance over to Mark with his head pressed against the cool surface of the table.

"Again, I don't know what the big deal is. They're using swords and spears. A hundred marines can take out an army like that. No time." The General scoffs and lays back in his chair.

Just as the General finished his derisive statement, the camera shook as the giant bird; the size of a medium-sized plane crashed into the ground.

"How about an army with hundreds of those things? Thousands? This was a lower-level door. We've confirmed cases of doors with much higher levels. 100's. 1000's. And they're everywhere. Over a trillion still remain by our estimates."

The General looked at Monica sitting across the table. Monica beamed proudly at her taking down of the giant bird.

"I have a lot to think about." He pushed himself away from the chair and motioned for the two next to him.

As they were leaving, I hear the General speak to the congressmen.

"So let's talk about funding..." before the sounds of their conversation fade out.

"Alright..." Ortega sighs and turns to us, "You're all dismissed. Keep that in mind, and do what you can to not die during your dives. Take a partner with you if you have to. You three; you're going out again today to continue clearing the main streets around town." He points at Monica, William, and Me, "Mark and Oak; when you've had time to rest continue with Mark's training. What level are you?"

"Got to 15," Mark says with a yawn. "I'm going home."

"Alright. Dismissed. You three be ready in an hour."

Once again Ortega motions to the three of us, and we leave the room. I decide to head to the on-campus store to buy a new set of clothes; as it would be incredibly difficult to fight in these.

When I push out of the receptionist hall, Monica stops me.

"So...do you want to do lunch today?"

"Lunch? Sure. Where?"

"Oh, there's a nice place near where we'll be! I'll pay!"

The thought of warm food is tantalizing.

"Then sure. I'd love to."

She beams.

"Then I'll see you! Around noon? Oh wait, I don't have your number."

I pull out my phone, and she does the same and enters my number. I receive a single :) as a text, and I save her number on my phone.

"See you!"

"Bye..."

Did I just get a woman's number? Me? My heart races as I double-check my phone and send a :) back. Was that too much?

I end up buying two pairs of XL sweatpants, and three T-shirts, along with two hoodies, and a pair of tennis shoes. All in all, it costs me over 200 dollars. I look around the explosives; tempted to buy one, but I feel like that would...ruin the dives for me. As if it weren't my skills that were being There were still about 40 minutes left until we were set to leave, so I had time to eat breakfast — a 3-dollar pack of pop-tarts, I eat them as I walk back through the compound. Thoughts of lunch with Monica play out in my mind. What should I do? How would I speak to her?

Once I'm back in the tent, I change into an olive-colored pair of sweats, a black shirt, and a gray hoodie; all of which I had just bought. The sweats are still a bit too big, but I tighten them by pulling the drawstring and tying on my hiking boots. There were still thirty minutes left, so I grab hold of the strange cloth that William had given me, say goodbye to Clio, and walk out. Shadow follows me out, and I open the little flap to allow Clio to come in and out as she pleases, and head back to the front building.

"Can I help you sir?" The young man sitting at the desk says as he sets a pile of papers to the side. I feel the eyes of the other people in the room looking at me as I approach the desk.

"Just need directions," I say.

The look of contempt on the faces of the other people fades, and a few of the people wearing large, laminated, 'PRESS,' badges turn toward me.

"Where to?"

"Ah, I was told there was a crafter on the compound," I say. "Is that true?"

"Yes. He came in last week. You're Able Lawrence, right? The one who was in the coma, right?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I was told you'd be coming, and to give this to you."

He reaches into a drawer and pulls out an id card. It has the same picture as my state ID that I had taken years prior. I look awful. The card itself is navy blue with a golden outline of a man pushing a globe up a slope. After I had looked it over I stuffed it in my pocket.

"Wilhelm is all the way down the hall," He points to the door behind him, "Then turn left. Can't miss it."

"Okay, thank you."

I excuse myself as I hear some of the reporters approach and pepper the receptionist with questions. Apparently, they've been trying to get interviews with some of the locals chosen, with no luck so far. Other than one with Janet. I had read that particular interview, and no matter what questions were asked, she had somehow always found a way to turn the question about how amazing she was.

"What was Efra like?"

"Nothing like Earth, last year I hiked through Zion — 40 miles in a day and a half, and nothing in that world compares to the beauty I saw there."

"Have you ever feared for your life?"

"Never. I'm one of the top 100 in the world with a really powerful god backing me. In fact, I once killed a thousand enemies at once."

On and on these questions went. I'm sure the press was looking for someone a little less self-centered. At least that's what I thought. There were only about a dozen and a half questions asked during the interview, and it couldn't have gone on longer than ten minutes.

The rooms were still at the moment, and as I passed by the conference room that I had just been in, the door swung open, and Janet comes out of the room, adjusting the collar of her shirt, followed by Ortega, pulling on his belt.

"What are you doing here, Private Able?" Ortega says as I move to the side to give them room to pass by.

"I've come to ask the crafter here if he could make me something with this." I motion with the bit of cloth in my arms.

"Black Serpent Skin? Where did you get something like that?" Janet asks as she buttons the last button on her blouse.

"Does it matter?"

"I suppose not really..." She says as she looks away. "Say, don't mention what you saw here today and I won't gig you for your insubordination there, okay?"

"What do you mean?"

She grins.

"Exactly. What do I mean?" She turns on her heel and hurries down the hall, and Ortega avoids my gaze as he follows after; pulling his shoe on with a crooked finger.

What was all of that about? I push it out of my mind and continue down the hall to find the crafter, Wilhelm.

I reach the end of the hall and take a left. The receptionist's description of the room was right. I couldn't miss it. Sitting at the very end of this hall was a large sign that said WILHELM'S WORKSHOP. COMMISSIONS START AT 5K A PIECE.

5k? That was pretty pricey. My fingers press against the card in my pocket. I have enough money, obviously. But starts at...no, if I want to continue living to fight, then I need to get some better gear than hoodies and sweatpants. I push through the double doors on the other side.

"Welcome, welcome." A gruff old man's voice greets me. "What do you want? Ah, you're a Chosen aren't you?"

The old man's gray eyes are piercing; as if they were two shafts of light bleeding through pure darkness. He cups his chin as his eyes scan me. His hair is white and wispy and sticks out in odd angles, and he's about half a foot taller than I. His expression is stern and stoic. I imagine him to be a gruff man, with a short temper.

"Your figure suggests... Ah, a front-line fighter, eh? Come to commission a breastplate? Maybe a shield?" His eyes move to the bit of cloth I'm carrying and then to my eye. "A cape...no."

He fixates me all the harder, and I feel the familiar tingle of mana as he does so.

"A mage? Really? I could see you as a warrior, not some back-line magic caster. Tsk. So what do you want? Just so you know, that bit of cloth is too little to make a full outfit, but if you want I can order some. Will take a bit longer and a bit more..." He rubs his thumb and his pointer finger together.

A full outfit? That would be nice.

"Sure, how much would a full one cost?"

"40 thousand."

40...

"Never mind about that," I say as I set the cloth on the table in front of him. "Can you make something out of this?"

"What do you want?"

"You're the craftsman. I'll trust your judgment." I say.

"Oh-ho? Trust my judgment, eh?" He slaps the cloth. "I'll make sure you won't regret it. 10 thousand dollars. And I'll even throw in something for that," he taps his left brow, "for free! What do you say."

"Do you take cards?"

"Of course, of course! What kind of modern businessman would I be if I didn't?"

He holds out a card scanner, and I push my new one into it. 10,000 dollars. Gone. Just like that. My heart aches a little.

Once the payment goes through, he pushes me out of the door with assurances that the thing will be done by the end of the week. By then there were only ten minutes left before we had to leave. I hurry through the building to the front. Two trucks idle by the sidewalk on the other side of the gate, and I see Monica and William already seated in the back of one. I join them.

"Hi," Monica says; the faintest hint of a smile shining like a diamond in her eyes.

I feel my heart skip a beat, and I quickly scold myself internally. No, Lawerence, just because someone's being kind to you, doesn't mean that they like you. You know this.

"Hi," I respond.

Did that sound dumb? I climb into the truck bed and seat myself across from the both of them.

"Did you get your camera back?" Monica asks William.

"Yeah. In fact, I've emailed the file to an editor already !" William says. "It'll go viral!"

I tap my foot against the metal bed of the truck and stuff my hands in my hoodie pockets to keep the chill of the wintry day out as the two of them talked. When was the last time that Mark and I were like that? It must have been nearly a decade. I hope we get to talk like that once again. I should call him at some point. Or try to talk to him when I see him.

We wait around for fifteen more minutes until Janet shows up, and we set off. We follow through the familiar streets, and I try to keep my head down so the whipping, chilly wind didn't bite as hard. As we pass by the gas station, I glance up. My father's old truck is gone. Good. He got himself home last night. All of the streets are covered by large puddles, and the sky — still in the middle of night's throes, didn't show the brilliance of night. The stars and the moon hide behind heavy black clouds that threaten to pour down at any moment. I pull my hoodie up over my ears and keep my head down for the rest of the drive.

We pass by the Sunset soon afterward; along the way posters line the lamp posts. I catch glimpses of posters speaking of missing children and missing animals. Missing everything. All are illuminated by the white glow of phosphorescent spheres in the lamps above. I wonder if it's, in part, due to the influx of people causing problems or was there something deeper behind it? I push it out of my mind as we slow to a stop at the intersection where the gate had been the day prior. Both trucks slow to a stop and park in the same parking lot as before. This time, however, there are no gathered crowds. It's probably too early for that.

We hop out of the bed of the truck, and Janet climbs out of the front seat.

"William, Monica, you both head down that way," Janet points west, "And Lawrence, you'll head that way." She points west down the street, "Both teams will have a supporter — bring as many things as you can out through the doors. Don't fail to bring anything like y'all did yesterday, understand?"

"Did you not watch the video?" I say.

"Is that insubordination?"

I roll my eyes. No winning with her.

"Why can't we all go together?"

"The message from the White Wolf has both Colonel Ortega and General Anders concerned. We figured we'd speed up the process of closing the doors by splitting you up and calling for reinforcements faster."

"Will you be okay alone, Lawrence?" Monica asks.

I feel my heart flutter once again. And once again, I quell the surge of emotions.

"I'll be fine. Are we still doing lunch?"

"Of course!"

I smile and wave as we part ways. Past the intersection, the closest door for them would be one that was just inside the shadow of the overpass. I'm handed a canteen and am followed by a truck that had been parked at the corner as I walk to the nearest door. It's melded into a lamppost. I push through it, steady myself as I enter the swirling darkness, and step down on the solid ground.

It's dark and damp.

"Companion of mine, let me see as you do."

I tap my temple with the cane, and the world shifts into a dark green. To my surprise, the vision on my left side had been restored. A result of the spell? Will it last once I cancel it? I decided to test it out and cancel the effects of the spell. Ah, right. It was already pitch black.

"Companion of mine, let me see as you do."

I re-up the spell and look around. The room is round, and the ground is hard-packed earth, and the walls are large boulders that held up a wooden ceiling above me. Shelves line the walls to my left, and barrels of stuff line the walls to my right. I walk up to one of the barrels and pull open the lid. Inside are small berries. I pick one up and turn it over in my hand. Would the organization be interested in this? I don't know. Oh well, they're here. I'll send a barrel through. Just to mess with Janet.

On the far edge of the cellar I had found myself in was a set of stairs that lead up.

"What's the goal for this door?"

"Dive."

"Really?"

"Really. It's a better term."

I roll my eyes.

"What's the goal for this dive?"

"Better. The goal is to kill the priest."

Easy enough, easy enough. I walk to the staircase and push up on the large trapdoor that sat at the top of it. It doesn't budge. I sigh. Locked, really? I should have gotten a spell to unlock doors. Sense Presence? How useless. I wonder how strong the lock is...at 30 Strength, my physical strength should be higher than that of an Olympic weight lifter. I pull the canteen out of my pocket and set it by my cane at the bottom of the staircase, and then climb to position myself so that I'm squatting underneath the large hatch. I lift my hands and press my palms flat against it and push up.

Crack. Crack.

Little by little, the wood begins to bow and break as I force myself to stand. Little by little the metallic lock that holds it in place begins to bend as well. Every so often, I have to stop to catch my breath, take a drink of water, and let the blood pumping through my legs circulate. Lesser Heal also has the added benefit of removing muscle fatigue, so every time I stop I make sure to cast that on me as well. At some point in the pushing, I become aware of something standing just on the other side of the door. No shadows were cast by it. Nothing. Just the strong sense that something was on the other side of the door, waiting for me. So, when I got ready for what would likely be my last push until the hatch buckled; I cast Repel on myself, and push.

Ping.

The lock snaps after about ten minutes of pushing, and the hatch flies open. Immediately, I'm assailed by something in the dark striking at me.

Deng.

The weapon it used is knocked aside from the shield that surrounds me. I grab hold of its weapon — a metal club and yank it out of the hands of the ratman that held it. I hold the ratman still by gripping it by its temples and flip the mace over with my other hand. I slam the head of the mace down on the head of the ratman. Its head collapses at the blow, and it twitches slightly in my grasp. I let go of it, and it falls to the floor. Dead. I toss the creature to the bottom of the stairwell and go back to fetch my things before looking around.

This room, like the cellar, is round. A large, arching doorway hugs the rightmost part of the circumference, and a spiraling staircase leads up to other floors above it. An arrow-slit window lay embedded in the wall to my left. Darkness still pervades here, as the day has yet to crest in either of our worlds. The slightest glimmer of sunlight began to pierce through the heavy veil of fog, however. The dawning of a new day.

I push open the arching door that leads in and out of the large tower I find myself in. About a foot from the door, and all around the circumference of the tower, the fogwall rises. Beyond the fog, I could make out the faint outlines of countless trees that surround the tower. So, if the priest wasn't out here, he must be...my eyes trail up to the top of the stone tower. Dozens of floors must have been between me and the top of the tower, where the priest likely was. At ground level, and with the light levels as they are, I can't even make out the faintest hint of how tall the tower is. It would take me quite a bit of time to climb it, and then climb down...or...

I get back into the tower. What would it take to collapse it? Rafters line the ceiling. Punching a hole right through the middle wouldn't do much to the structural integrity of the tower. I would have to collapse it by taking out one side like I would a tree, but would that take longer than climbing up and down the floors? Probably not. I position myself by the entrance to the cellar. Once this thing begins to go down, I'll have to escape into the cellar. Though I have confidence in my durability, I doubt even Oak would live if thousands of pounds of stone and timber came falling down on him. What spell, should I use, though?

Earth spike? No. The spike would become a support for the falling tower. Fire Bolt? No. The smoke would kill me before it got anywhere near collapsing the tower. I suppose there's only one spell I could really use.

"Bombard my enem —" I stop.

A vision flashes through my mind of the entire tower collapsing faster than I could retreat into the cellar, and a brief burst of phantom pain spreads through my body. Clairvoyance, maybe? I stop casting. No. I'm not going to risk it. I only have one life.

I put my wand down, and let the mana that was already beginning to accumulate through the familiar channels fall back down to the ground. Going to the top it is. I walk across the room and begin the climb up the stairs. It isn't long until I get to the next floor. A ratman waits for me there and tries to get jump on me in the dark as I approach. I wonder if they could see in the dark.

As I near the end of the climb to the next floor, I point my cane forward.

"You that binds them all, move for me."

A ball of compressed ether flies forth in my direction and slams into the stomach of the ratman just as it raises its weapon over its head. The force sends the ratman sprawling to the ground, and I grab hold of the top of its head as it twitches on the ground, and throw it down the stairs. It crashes loudly as it rolls every step of the way; bouncing against wooden steps and stone walls as it comes to a stop at the bottom. I pick up its weapon: a two-handed sword and throw it down after it. The heavy metal smacks against the soft body, and I continue up. Hopefully, the noise would have alerted the others in the tower. It would be much quicker if they came down to meet me.

Luckily, that is the case. Three ratmen rush down the stairs now.

"An awl, O' thou servants of Gob the Highest, to strike my enemies."

The mana flows in from the stone stairs, and out into the same. I send it forward, and a stone spike juts out and pierces the middle of the first, and impedes the progress of the other two. They have to maneuver around the thrashing body of their dying comrade in order to continue their charge at me. They, however, chose instead to retreat.

Damn it. As I pass by the thrashing, dying rat, and climb to a space higher on the staircase I decide to put the ratman out of its misery with a cast of Bolt. It shimmies for a moment before finally falling still. I push the spike out of the ground, and allow it to roll down so on my descent isn't impeded by its pierced body.

From that part of the climb, I came across no more enemies. The rooms I pass have nothing but beds and chests near their bed. I look through a few of them. They mostly contain clothes, but a few of them looks as if they'd fit me, so I carry about three of them downstairs so that when we get them back on Earth, I'll have time enough to look through them. I do the same with the odd weapon found next to the bed on a tabletop or something of the like. One of them is a spear, and since I neglected to bring much of anything with me; including my bag, my spear, and the kris, I take this with me just in case I have to fight without the use of magic.

Ten floors up. No enemies. Fifteen floors up, no enemies. The sun begins to pour through the arrow slits. Twenty floors up. No enemies. For an hour I've been climbing and descending; carrying chests and abandoned weapons. As I near the top; around 23 floors up, I stop. Suddenly, I feel a great many beings above me. Dozens, at least. This is why I hate Ratmen Dives.

By my estimations, I'm nearing the top of the climb, so I stop where I am. I hug the wall and take a quick glance up. Ratmen clutter the stairwell on the way up to the top of the tower. Behind the front line of melee-wielding infantry pressed together shoulder to shoulder, there's a line of archers with their bows pointed down toward the stairwell; ready to let loose on me as soon as I turned the corner.

Was there something I could do to make sure that this didn't turn out to be a slugfest? The floorboards above me sag as if a great many bodies were standing on top. How many did they have up there? I would have to assume it was at least double the twenty or so that I saw cluttering the stairwell. And probably some waiting at the very top in reserve. Could I collapse just the top? No. There's not enough stone that I could remove to disrupt the integrity of the building.

A fire? No, the floors are too damp for that...unless I don't start the fire on the floor above me. Thinking back to the time that I had been smoked out of the room in the dive that I fought the golem in, I could do the same here, and force them to descend. No. There was a better way. I grin as I step into the room right under the sagging floorboards, and begin my plan. First I start by casting several consecutive Earthen Spikes on the staircase. Some pointing upwards, and some pointing in the direction of the ratman horde above me, and yet still some pointing horizontally out of the wall to act as braces for the pure stone spikes so that it formed a kind of palisade to completely block their descent. It took me all of twenty minutes to form it, and during that time, not a single ratman came to check it out. Probably on orders from the priest at the very top.

Next, I drag the bed into the middle of the room and throw the chest in the room on top of it as well, pull it open, and scatter the clothes inside of it out over the bed. After that, I point my cane inside the chest.

"I allow the blood of the salamanders to flow through me."

I allow a little bit of burning ash to flow into the empty chest, and stuff clothes on top of it. The residual heat of the still-burning ash breathes to life as it's given the fuel of the clothing. A fire quickly starts to rage inside the chest. I cast Embers around it as well on the bed. With a few of the clothes, I set smaller fires in the room around the bed as well. Soon, black billowing clouds of smoke begin to rise and squeeze through the spaces in between the floorboards.

With that, I climb down to two floors down; with the thought that if the floor itself in that room were to catch, then the floor beneath that wouldn't be safe, and I wait. It doesn't take long for the panicked screeching of the ratmen horde to reach my ears. I wait on the stairs and watch. Dust falls from the stone wall that I had set up as the combined weight of the horde presses in against it.

The more it cracks, the more Earthen Spikes and Ensnares I cast to support it. Stone spikes and stone hands hold the barricade up. I see quick darting shadows outside and glance out. Ratmen fall from the top of the tower in a desperate attempt to avoid suffocating to death or burning to death. For forty minutes I hold until the scrambling against the stone barricade stops.

"Is the priest dead?"

"Not yet."

I click my tongue. Once the headache fades, I use Splash to put out the fires in the room below the barricaded stairwell, then use Rock Throw to break apart the stone spikes and hands, and then a Dervish to clear the smoke that began to flow down like dammed water, and walk up; stepping over the pointed spikes. On the ends of these spikes are the bodies of ratmen, impaled on them.

Scores upon scores of bodies litter the stairwell; hints of blue underneath the soot-stained fur. There's hardly an inch or two left to walk on the ground on the climb up in between these bodies. A few of these ratmen still twitch, and I still see the light of life in a few of their eyes. These seemed to be concentrated near the arrow slits. My heart twinges. So much death has already come in the wake of the war, why should I add more to it? Their deaths will give me the strength needed to face stronger and stronger foes, I tell myself as I finish them off with the stolen spear. Their blood mixes with the soot stuck to the floor and runs as black as inky between the floorboards. I climb to the final floor. There's a roof here; a large, arching roof that is filled with black smoke. The same black smoke billows out from a single, open window.

A ratman trembles; surrounded by the bodies of its dead kin with a white cloth around its nose as it stands next to the open window. It wears a white robe, with the red symbol of Roki in the middle.

It snarls as I approach, and collapses into a coughing mess. I run it through the chest with my spear and end its life.

Ten minutes? Really? Fuck.

I hurry down the stairs, hop over the stone wall, and descend as quickly as possible. I take eight minutes getting to the floor level, and a minute and a half tossing stray weapons, the few chests, and the barrel through the door before I hop through as well. On the other side, I roll to a stop on the concrete, in front of the marine who was escorting me.

"Took your time, eh?"

"There were a lot of them," I answer.

The door vanishes, and in its place, I'm left with 44 100-dollar bills. I pass it to the Marine, who counts it and places it in a lockbox after leaving a note.

"What was it? A level 40? That's a lot of money."

"No. It was a level 20."

"20, then the money should be in the 2000s, right?"

"100 per level of the door, and 10 dollars per level of a kill."

He does some quick mental math and his eyes widen.

"Holy hell, man. Is that true?"

I nod, as I push myself up and help him load the stuff into the back of his truck.

He opens one of the chests.

"Clothes?"

"Some of the stuff looks like it would fit me," I answer with a shrug. "I'll check when we're done here."

"Okay, are you going to go to the next one already?"

"Just a quick break," I say as I pull off the top of the canteen and drink as deeply as I could until the container is empty. He passes me another, and I shove it into the front pocket of my hoodie.

Its early morning, and people were beginning to gather around the parking lot. Some take pictures of me, and some of the haul I took out of the door. One person — whom I had recognized from the reception hall, approaches me, and I turn on my heel and hurry on to the next door. A level ten right next to the 99-cent store that sat at the very corner of the parking lot, pressed right against the sidewalk next to the street. It's a level 15, and before I even begin, I linger at the entrance to the dive for a moment just so I don't finish it too quickly and have to face the questioning of the press.

The goal of this dive was to destroy an amulet. It was around the neck of one of the black-winged serpents. There were four all together curled up in the remains of what had once been a store. To preserve as much of the skin and feathers as possible I cast Slow on them, and then finish them off with a stab of my spear through each of their heads, carry their bodies over to the door, and then smash the amulet with a stone until it shatters. I toss the bodies through the door and come out after them. By the time I'm on steady ground, the soldier is already hoisting the bodies of two of the serpents into the bed of the truck; one on each shoulder. The press seems extremely interested in the bodies of these foreign creatures. I use this distraction to sneak off to the next.

I clear this side of the parking lot, and where the final door in the parking lot was closed; a level 10 inside what had been an arcade when I was much younger, was a stack of 100 dollar bills. I count it out. 10,070 dollars altogether.

"What's this for?"

I ask Reynard through the Shard.

"It's an area clear reward." Was the reply.

Ah! I had forgotten all about that.

"Does that mean I can claim this area for a temple or shrine for you?"

"No. The person who did the most work would be given that opportunity."

"And who is that? I closed like 9 doors here."

"That woman called Monica."

"Ah."

I'm okay with that. If she gets stronger from it; there's a higher chance she'll survive her battles. I'm actually glad it's not Janet or Oak.

"Who are you talking to?"

The marine asks after counting out the money and putting it in the lockbox.

"My patron."

"Oh, is that thing on your wrist how you speak to them? Swashbuckle's looks a lot like a phone."

"It can change shape; and Swashbuckle?"

"Private Lamot's code name."

"Ah."

For a moment the two of us are left in awkward silence until I excuse myself with a nod, and enter another door. This time on the sidewalk. All in all, until noon, I close 12 doors. The last one was tricky. I had to kill a rabbit priest, and it burrowed underground. I drowned it out with amble use of Splash fired into its burrow. It4 jumped out, kicked me in the face, and tried to escape through wreckage wrought Efran highway. I set the wreckage on fire. Finally, with nowhere left to run, it simply ran for its life until I could finally hit it with a Slow. After that, it was short work. That took me two and a half hours.

"I'm taking a lunch break," I tell the marine when I exit this door.

I pull my phone from my pocket. It's 11:48. There's a text from Monica on it.

"Lunch? :)"

"Yes," I reply.

"I'll be back in a bit," I tell him as I pass him the 1030 dollars.

"Huh? Okay."

The press tries to stop me, but I'm able to casually walk quicker than they could run after me. I really am turning into a superhuman in a way. I wonder how bizarre that looks from an outside perspective. I make the half-mile-long journey in 5 minutes.

It's a small, hole-in-the-wall type joint. Monica waits for me. She wears the same thing she did that morning; a light green hoodie, with a black turtleneck underneath. The collar of her turtleneck had layers of scale in the same pattern that I'd noticed on some of the flying serpents that I had killed earlier. Her long black hair is tied up in a ponytail so that when she fought, it didn't sway and get in her face.

"There you are. You got here pretty quick! How many dives have you done?"

There's that phrase again.

"Twelve."

"Really? That's pretty impressive! William and I together have done about twenty."

She leads me in. It's a burger grill. A simple place, with small booths set up along the wall. In my old life, I wasn't able to fit inside booths like that, but as we sit down after ordering, I find my gut no longer pushes painfully against the table as I slide into the seat.

"You like food like this?"

"What kind of food did you think I liked?" She laughs.

"I don't know; something fancier."

Oh god, shut up Lawrence.

"Do I strike you as some sort of aristocrat, Lawerence?" She says with a laugh.

"Kind of..."

Oh god, shut up. Shut up.

"What did you do before all of this?" She asks as she crosses her arms on the table in front of her.

"Ah. I was trying to be a writer." I say, avoiding eye contact with her.

How brilliantly jade they were. It was painful to look into them and lie as I did.

"Oh right. I remember you telling me that! Sorry. It was a busy day yesterday so a lot of stuff slipped from my memory."

"That's okay, okay," I say. "How about you, what did you do before this?"

"I was a student at MIT." She says. "Theoretical Physics."

"Really? That's impressive."

I see a bit of color blossom across her freckled cheeks.

"Aw, it wasn't too bad. I got in on a scholarship." Before I could ask her about that any further she changes the topic. "Anyway, your wish was for a new set of indestructible teeth, right? Any reason why?"

"Ah, I had lost one of my front teeth," I admit. "It's a bit embarrassing but..." I shrug. I could not think of any excuse.

"Really? How did that happen?"

"Hadn't been to a dentist since I was....what, twelve? Thirteen?"

"Your parents never took you?"

I shake my head.

"Couldn't afford it."

"Ah, sorry."

"No need to be sorry. What was your wish for?"

"It's also a bit embarrassing."

"Come on, I've told you mine."

She chuckles.

"A body that will always be perfectly healthy." She says as she stares at the table in front of us.

"Ah, did you get sick a lot?"

"Kind of yeah."

Her voice is low and muted. It must be a topic that's hard to breach for her, so I change the subject.

For the next hour, we talk and laugh with one another. I ask her about her favorite music. Jazz. She asks me about mine. Folk. We make small conversations about small things. Unimportant to most people, but the answers she gives, I hold onto as if they were the most precious things in the world. After the hour is over, we say extended goodbyes, and go our separate ways.

For the next week, that's our shared schedule; wake up before the sun and set off to clear more doors around Arville, then have lunch together. Every day she glows a little brighter. Every day her voice sounds just a little more beautiful.

By the end of the week, I'd closed a little under 80 doors, with a combined level count of 460. All of these were in the places that Janet would have us taken to that day; mostly on busy streets, in the middle of the town; leaving most of the residential areas untouched. They were lower level doors, and therefore not really worth our time, and wouldn't be as troublesome once the anchoring period of five years was over, is what she tells us.

I'm at rank 210 in the global rankings; the highest I've ever been, and I've leveled to 32 by the end of the week. Most of my points went into Magic and Perceptiveness both of which increased the strength of my Sense Presence, Clairvoyance, and Clairaudience. By the end of the week, my Magic is at 95, and my perceptiveness is at 17. I've also purchased the skills Spirit Sense, Advanced Herbal Knowledge, and Basic Alchemy, and made no progress in hatching the strange egg that Monica and William had given me.