text: Dhane summoned his phone and since he was the acting party leader—yay—tapped the Party app. Everyone in the arena appeared within a list, sorted by proximity with Devron and Aaliyah at the top.
  
  He tapped their names and the Invite command that appeared in a submenu. They were quick to accept, which sounded a pleasant bell notification and probably lit up in the Party app, though he had quickly moved from there to the Character app, and the skills subsection.
  
  The first thing to flash on his screen—with him standing right smack-dab in the middle of everyone—were two symbols: the Mother of Shadows as a spider, glimmering in silver and red, and the Sisters of Death, made of green and purple lines.
  
  He frantically skipped the screen and glanced around. No one seemed to be paying him much attention and were instead, busily working on their own phones.
  
  Was there a setting to black out his screen to others? Out of all the ways he could get caught, that seemed the highest likelihood. He was half tempted to go explore the Settings app to see what options there were, however, the gate was lifting and he didn't have much time.
  
  All new transcendents, upon receiving their class, were given a single skill point to start. With each additional level, they would earn another skill point, which could be used to learn a new skill or level an existing one.
  
  Since Dhane hadn't chosen a skill yet, instead of exhibiting his lack of abilities, the screen shifted to display a list of potential skills to choose from. Each class had three skills available at level 1, and the hidden knowledge in his mind confirmed that as he leveled, new skill options would unlock.
  
  He scrolled to hide the arachnomancer skills, and expanded the assassin ones:
  
  ─ Shadow Shift [Dex] Lvl. 1
  
  ─ Mana: 15
  
  ─ Distance: 24 Feet
  
  ─ Delay: 1 Seconds
  
  ─ Smoke Trail: 10 Seconds
  
  ─ After a 1 second delay [1 / Skill Level], teleport between shadows that are no farther than 24 feet apart [(2 + Skill Level) * Dexterity], leaving behind a trail of smoke that can be seen and followed for 10 seconds [10 / Skill Level].
  
  ─ Venom Bite [Dex] Lvl. 1
  
  ─ Mana: 8
  
  ─ Damage: 3 & 1 Venom Counter DoT
  
  ─ Imbue your next attack with venom, dealing an additional 3 damage [Skill Level * 1/3 Dexterity] and adding a venom counter to the target.
  
  ─ Each venom counter deals 1 damage every 3 seconds for a total of 9 seconds. If the target is hit with another venom counter before the effect is removed, the timer is reset.
  
  ─ Maximum of 5 active venom counters from Venom Bite.
  
  ─ Snake Bind [Str] Lvl. 1
  
  ─ Mana: 18
  
  ─ Weight: 18 Pounds
  
  ─ Duration: 3 Seconds
  
  ─ The target becomes bound by an intangible snake, adding 18 pounds [(3 * Skill Level) * Strength] to their form for 3 seconds [Skill Level * 1/2 Strength]. Can be guarded against by a debuff shield or effects.
  
  ─ This is a touch effect.
  
  The gate had already lifted three feet, revealing scrap metal contraptions on the other side, mostly just legs shifting about, talon-like feet, clawing at the sand. He had barely enough time to read his options, let alone decide!
  
  Out of these three, only one did damage. Utility skills and support skills had their uses, but come on! 18 pounds for Snake Bind? His Strength stat must really suck. At least it made the decision easy. Future choices would require more character design in relation to his party and play style.
  
  For now, he selected Venom Bite and confirmed the selection, immediately feeling the skill, as if it had merged into him, and with it, the knowledge of how to trigger it.
  
  Dhane withdrew his Cobalin sword and dismissed the phone.
  
  Gorlan moved to the side, and the nine parties started pressing in, battle-hungry for whatever was on the other side of the gate. "Find the most gears," he said, "and earn 5 extra silver today!"
  
  This only encouraged more people to push forward, as if being first in line was the only real determiner for who would win. Dhane, on the other hand, took a step back.
  
  The shifting metal legs, squeaking gears, and ticking noises all formed a picture of sorts, a puzzle of sounds. The ticking sound was projecting from each of those . . . things—whatever they were—all the way back into a tunnel by the sound of it, echoey and distant.
  
  Given the size of one, the width of the gate, and the length of the tunnel behind it, which was pure speculation, there had to be more than thirty of the things, a whole herd of metal contraptions eager to escape into the open arena.
  
  Dhane grabbed Devron's shoulder and pointed to the opposite wall of the arena. "Run to the other side!"
  
  Devron reacted immediately, not a flicker of a question across his face, probably because it was him, after all, that made Dhane the party leader. The man grabbed Aaliyah who was pushing forward against the others. She gave an elaborate sigh, mixed with a pained expression, as if someone had run off with her favorite sharp thing, but nodded nonetheless.
  
  They weren't the only ones who were moving away. McBlondie douche-face spotted them sprinting across the sand. He said something to his party and they immediately started running as well.
  
  Some scrawny guy, nearly seven feet tall and as white as they came—a guy who probably never ventured out into the sunlight, outside of his dark den full of video games—cackled a high pitched laugh, a tone that had a distinct characteristic of a thirteen-year-old who said rude things about your mother.
  
  "Oh, mommy," the guy said, "look at the scared little children running away from—" The guy face-planted to the sand as dozens of the heavy metal contraptions, looking like malformed ostriches, poured out of the gate, trampling anyone unlucky enough to be in their way.
  
  A storm of negative red numbers drifted skyward before fading. A few people had turned the color of shimmering silver-white before dispersing to nothing, dead and gone practically before the challenge started.
  
  Even with the extra distance they made by leaving early, the birds caught up in a matter of seconds. The only difference, out here in the arena, there was a lot of open space and the birds didn't appear interested in running into obstacles.
  
  Dhane pointed to the left and the three of them sprinted after two birds that were now slowing to a trot, happy to no longer be contained behind the gate. "Focus on one at a time," he said.
  
  Devron extended a hand back behind himself as if reaching into an invisible bag and grabbed something. Light pooled into his hand like water, waves splashing against the confines of a sphere. He shoved the ball forward and it launched as a missile of light that slammed into the closest bird.
  
  The blast knocked the bird back a step, producing a -12 in red damage, dropping its health to 48/60. It shook its head, loose bits of metal clinking from within, then charged Devron.
  
  Aaliyah, however, shoved the butt end of her spear into the ground and used it to launch herself forward, both legs out. She collided with the junk bird, knocking it to its side and landing on her back.
  
  The bird thrashed, kicking up sand, flapping sheets of metal wings far too small, and heavy, to fly with.
  
  Dhane crossed to its backside and triggered Venom Bite with a thought. The Cobalin sword exuded purple streams of color, as if a red wine dripped down the blade.
  
  He stabbed the bird, fully expecting a clash of metal on metal, though instead, the blade slipped through the hard surface of nuts and bolts, cutting at the thing's essence and leaving a white slit.
  
  Before rolling away to dodge the bird's random, powerful kicks, he stabbed twice more, triggering his skill each time. His mana dropped to 66/90. It was something that he just knew without having to look at anything. Now, every third second, he regained a mana point just as the bird took 3 additional damage from venom counters.
  
  Devron launched another missile and Aaliyah, now on her feet, spear in hand, jabbed the tip of her spear into the bird twice.
  
  The bird stopped moving, then glowed white for a moment before it burst into pinpricks of light and released four gears to float in the air. Tiny, shimmering disks, casting flecks of purple light across the sand, divided into three trails that slid into each of them.
  
  "Hells . . . yeah. . . ." Devron said, staggering toward invisible loot.
  
  Dhane could feel the experience, like warmth at the back of his mind. He received +36xp toward his next level, a total of 58/200, which must include his battle with the Durum boar, yesterday.
  
  A group to their right just killed one of the junk birds, just as another group cried out. A girl in that group crashed to the sand and the bird landed on her back, tearing red damage numbers out of her until she shifted to a shimmering white.
  
  Dhane quickly grabbed his loot and pointed to the next bird. If they wanted to win, they didn't have time for a break between kills. This seemed to suit Aaliyah just fine, though Devron looked tired. His health, mana, and stamina appeared in bars of red, blue, and yellow . . . and his blue bar was entirely empty at 0/20.
  
  "Oooh," Devron said, taking a wobbly step. "I feel like I'm on my fifth beer, guys. Dhane, is that you? You look funny, man...."
  
  "How do you not have any mana?"
  
  "Mannn," he said and slumped to the sand, hands bracing the sides of his head. "Please, don't talk so loud. It's like every sound is a dagger in my brain."
  
  "He's mana drunk," Aaliyah said, and just as she said it, that bit of knowledge, hidden deep within his subconscious, unlocked. "He used all of his mana."
  
  The Mana Drunk debuff wasn't just about having no mana. No, it penalized the person for five minutes, halting their mana regeneration while leaving them impaired.
  
  "Just . . . leave me," Devron said.
  
  Dhane scanned the arena of scattered birds and mismatched groups fighting. He grabbed Devron's arm. "Stand up. You don't have to fight, but you have to stay with us. Can you do that?"
  
  "I..."
  
  "Yes? That's what he said, right?"
  
  Aaliyah nodded vigorously and grabbed Devron's other arm. They pulled him to his feet and caught him as he lost balance, trying to swan dive into the sand.
  
  "This is training," Dhane said. "Just imagine we're out there dying by some trolls or something. Would you be here whimpering? Or would you be trying to help?"
  
  Devron took in a deep breath and tried to nod. "Hells man, you can count on me."
  
  "Good. Aaliyah, aggro that bird there."
  
  "Yes, sir!"
  
  "Ohhhh," Devron said, wincing and holding the side of his head. "This is terrible. . . . Worse than dying. It's like I'm drunk and hungover at the same time."
  
  Aaliyah sprinted across the sand, jumped, and thrust her spear into the side of a bird. The force wasn't enough to knock it over, though it took a solid 14 damage.
  
  The bird spun, tearing the spear from her hands, nearly knocking her off balance. The spear remained stuck in its side, whipping around as the bird shook, trying to dislodge it.
  
  Aaliyah yelped and jumped back, barely missing getting clobbered by her own weapon. She then dashed to the side and rolled, dodging the charge of the bird, which was now heading directly toward Dhane and Devron.
  
  "Devron, block," Dhane said and let go of the man. He sprinted forward, jumped, and grabbed the spear, flipping up under it with far more ease than he had expected.
  
  While he had originally wanted to pull the spear free, the motion sent him gliding through the air, in complete control. With barely any effort, he landed on the bird's back, straddling it, and brought his dagger down against the back of its head, over and over.
  
  Each hit did critical strike damage, peeling away 16 health per hit, not counting the ticking damage from Venom Bite.
  
  Devron, like a football linebacker, rammed his shoulder into the bird, stopping its charge completely. Dhane, on the other hand, didn't have the luxury of a seat belt. Before he could stab the contraption a fourth time, he was launched off the back of the bird.
  
  Just like that first day on the mountain when he tripped, he summoned all the dexterity and knowledge and skill of a lifetime, knowing full well it wouldn't be enough, knowing he'd end up like those cartoon characters who land headfirst into a sandbank, bodies like arrow shafts. If only physics worked like that. . ..
  
  Instead, in the world of reality, his muscles flexed and twisted. Everything spun and before he knew it, he was right side up. Feet hit the sand and he was already leaning in the opposite direction, now sliding five feet to a stop.
  
  "Nice!" he yelled, arms in the air like some gymnast landing a perfect dismount. Then something heavy smashed into him from behind. He had the wherewithal to turn and slide on his back, just as another bird shrieked and landed on his chest, giving him a terrible flashback of a particular bunk bed collapsing on him just that very morning, driving the air from his lungs.
  
  The damn bird pecked with its metal beak, cutting nicks in his arms while its talons tore sharpened blades of metal through his chest.
  
  The pain seared through him. Hot and terrible. Talons tearing long gashes through skin, tickling his intestines, scraping across vertebrae, spilling his eternal light, his soul, out of him with red damage numbers to float skyward.
  
  All the agony, the hot sand, his body warmth, it all drained away and filled in with a deep cold. The bird pushed off and sprinted away toward some other prey it could find. The sky turned gray—the sun seemed to dim.
  
  Dhane blinked a few times, now standing in the void on that soft, textureless ground he found so troubling.
  
  "Dead already?" the Mother of Shadows asked, silver legs and ruby red body spinning on a web five feet away.
  
  Dhane grabbed his chest, feeling whole again, the pain . . . a lingering, torturous memory. His chest raised and fell as if he had jerked awake from some nightmare, covered in sweat, the hauntings of something fading away.
  
  He calmed his quick gasps, slowed them to deep breaths. His heart followed a moment later until all there was left, through every part of him, a calm, an understanding, and a recognition for just how cruel this game was.
  
  The Mother of Shadows didn't hurry him. She remained on her silver thread, working it down toward the top of her small pedestal.
  
  "Do I always come here?" Dhane asked. "That is, when I die. Will I always return here?"
  
  "No. Most transcendents are merely revived at their closest cemetery of alignment. Though if their divinity wants to see them, they can direct the soul to their realm."
  
  "You wanted to see me?"
  
  "Of course, Dhane. I recognize that a lot has happened for you. And I see the Light in you. Well done gaining the trust of the Sisters of Death. Out of all the divinities, they are perhaps the closest allies we have."
  
  "It made the most sense," Dhane said. "If I want to protect the balance, I can't be of one affinity."
  
  "I agree and support your decision. But I will suggest caution. The divinities of Light are up to something. The Sisters of Death are stuck between great powers and may hold knowledge from you, or misdirect you from uncovering their secrets."
  
  Dhane had already gotten that feeling when he asked about eternal life. They did appear to know something, something they wanted to tell him but couldn't, alluding to the idea that this heaven might not be as eternal as the transcendents believed.
  
  "I'll keep that in mind," he said.
  
  "That's all I ask. And before I forget, I sent a little something to help you out as an arachnomancer."
  
  "A little something?"
  
  "Mhmm. It'll be a surprise," she said with humor in her voice. "Now about sending you back...."
  
  "Wait a moment!"
  
  "Yes?"
  
  "First, I know you don't have to touch me to send me back. The Sisters of Death were quite capable in that regard."
  
  "Dratz! You know, it's not always fun being a divinity. Are you sure you don't want a little tickle behind the ears?"
  
  "Quite. Certain."
  
  She laughed. "Fine. . . . Anything else?"
  
  "Before I died, I could move in ways I've never moved before. You could say I've always been somewhat of a klutz, though now...."
  
  "That's totally expected," she said.
  
  "It is?"
  
  "You are an assassin now, as a follower of the Sisters of Death. Classes come with a set of passive bonuses. Assassins are agile, quiet, and blend into their surroundings far easier than others."
  
  "What about arachnomancers?"
  
  "Yes, you have passives there as well. That little surprise is one of them. I imagine you'll discover the others in due time."
  
  "Well, that's less than helpful."
  
  "But far more fun, right?"
  
  Dhane sighed. "Alright, send me back."
  
  "As you wish. And for some obvious advice? Try not to die, it really takes a chunk out of your day."
  
  "That's—"
  
  Everything shifted, filling the void with sweeping, elongated colors. It all merged together until all he could see was a ceiling covered in murals: armies of men fighting the armies of monsters.
  
  "—obvious," he said. He sat up on a stone slab, his shirt completely shredded. Oh, shit brownies. He just got this shirt and it was actually pretty nice.
  
  There were a dozen or so other slabs in the room, lit by torches that flickered orange. Something small shifted in the corner where the shadows seemed to gather: A Cobalin with a metal cuff chained to his ankle, attached to a block of stone that he carried.
  
  The Cobalin straightened, then shuffled toward the door, no doubt to alert someone of a newly revived person.
  
  "Wait," Dhane said and the Cobalin stopped.
  
  It turned, forehead creased in confusion. "You speak language?"
  
  Apparently, he did. Perhaps it was one of the arachnomancer class passives, or merely being of a shared affinity. Dhane nodded and waved the Cobalin over, which seemed to distress the little guy to no end.
  
  Finally, the Cobalin licked his lips and shuffled closer, looking about the room as if some sick trap was about to appear and cause him pain. When nothing happened, he looked more curious than cautious.
  
  "Why are you here?" Dhane asked.
  
  "Alert master of Returned."
  
  "No . . . why are you here. Why aren't you in Dedu Tedu?"
  
  "You know Dedu . . . Tedu. . .?" His eyes brightened as if seeing a long-forgotten memory, a different life.
  
  Dhane nodded.
  
  The Cobalin hooked a thumb at his chest. "I'm Kuby, fodder. Evil men no kill but take Kuby. Now here."
  
  "Couldn't you"—how did one put this gently without sounding a bit terrible?—"die and return?"
  
  Kuby shook his head. "Return closest Shadow cemetery. No escape, not in death, not ever. Slave. Kuby slave."
  
  "How many are there of you?"
  
  The little green guy cocked his head. "There . . . one Kuby."
  
  "How many Cobalins!"
  
  "Ah, numbers?" Kuby gently lowered his stone, then with his hands free, held out all ten fingers.
  
  "Ten of you?"
  
  He shook his head and looked at his fingers again. "There be ten Cobalins and all their fingers and all toes."
  
  "Two hundred?" Then again, did Cobalins have ten toes? His locked away knowledge didn't seem to know. Either way, far more than Dhane had originally guessed.
  
  Before Kuby could answer, a blond man with a thick blond beard, clad in nice leather and chain armor, stepped into the room. He immediately noticed the Cobalin. "Is this Cobalin bothering you?"
  
  Kuby grabbed his stone and grunted with the effort to pick it up.
  
  "Oh no," Dhane said, "I just . . . asked for some water."
  
  The man walked up to Kuby and backhanded him, knocking the stone from his hands, which promptly fell on his foot. He cried out in pain, hopping on one foot, which the man in leather seemed to find amusing.
  
  "You're Dhane?"
  
  Dhane nodded, lest his voice betray the rage that burned through his chest. What the hell was wrong with people and how they treated Cobalins?
  
  "I'm Challenger Terry," he said, awakening a bit of that unknown knowledge shoved into the back of Dhane's head. Challengers were heroes of the city, ranked by accomplishment in the arena. Anyone could fight in the arena, though only the top hundred were ranked and given the Challenger title.
  
  Terry continued, "You're here to train, not be pampered by Cobalin slaves. If you need water, get up and get it yourself. The Cobalins have their own jobs and don't need you interrupting them. Is that clear?"
  
  The way he said it seemed to demand a formal reply. "Yes, sir."
  
  Terry paused, then his features softened. This was a man who liked respect and paid it in kind. "Training is over for the day."
  
  "Already?"
  
  "You've been gone for a good nine hours. Returning is a slow process, especially if your divinity wants a word with you. Did the Sisters of Death have any helpful advice?"
  
  Dhane frowned. "Yeah . . . don't die again."
  
  Terry laughed, a good and deep, jolly of a thing. "Yes, all-around good advice. Death is a significant thing here. Die on an adventure or defending the walls and you abandon your comrades. As such, you have received a mark. Receive another and you won't be paid for the day."
  
  Dhane nodded his understanding, then accepted a coin bag with a label indicating it contained 5 silver coins.
  
  Terry considered something, then said, "We don't get many assassins. Perform well and you could make for a good Challenger. My guild is always on the lookout for new talent."
  
  Terry turned to Kuby, and the small Cobalin shrunk, head low, squinting eyes as if anticipating another blow. "Take Dhane to the surface," he said, then turned to Dhane. "Be sure you are here tomorrow at seven sharp. Those who are late receive a mark. Understand?"
  
  "Yes, sir."