text: A fidgety Kuby led Dhane through the unground labyrinth of the arena. It was a network of massive hallways, filled with people in fancy armor, walking, talking in alcoves, laughing, and universally, shouting at Cobalins for one misdeed or another.
  
  Water ran down cascades of stone in the walls, pooling in basins, surrounded by benches. The constant trickling sound seemed to give the various conversations more privacy.
  
  Cobalins were everywhere, most cleaning in some manner, polishing placards, statues, trophies, and the like, things that were already as clean as clean could be. Others were draped in bags, struggling to walk while also carrying their heavy blocks of stone.
  
  No one paid Dhane any attention. He was a stranger in their world of guilds fighting each other for rank, for fame, and of course, for riches, and all the things that riches bought.
  
  It appeared that the challengers and their staff lived here. Massive doorways led into the domains of different guilds, people coming and going, some eating food, others in the company of a few women or men, hanging on their arms.
  
  Kuby crossed to a door that led to a stairwell. After two flights of stairs, the exhausted Cobalin opened a door to the outside.
  
  Dhane didn't know what to say to the little guy, this miserable slave who was missing out on tabletop role-playing games, Taco Tuesdays, and who knew what else. Dhane could snatch the Cobalin right here and now, and run for the hills.
  
  But no. He had so little power. Trying to help would likely only cause Kuby more trouble, more pain. And what of the other two hundred slaves?
  
  Dhane said the only thing he could, and truly mean it, "I'm sorry."
  
  Kuby jerked at the words and looked around. When it appeared no one was there to witness their exchange, the Cobalin smiled and said, "You give hope, strong Shadow," and closed the door.
  
  Strong? All the Cobalins kept saying he was a strong Shadow, but what was he compared to the challengers in their fancy armor? What was he compared to those who fought and trained every day?
  
  Dhane sighed, standing beneath a darkening orange and purple sky. Distant bells rang, sounding a warning before the gates would be closed for the night.
  
  Just as Challenger Terry had said, the consequences of death sucked. The entire day had swept by in a few minutes. Did Devron and Aaliyah survive, or did they experience the sheer fun of having their insides scraped out by a crazy metal bird?
  
  Dhane walked down a series of stone steps to the main street where people were out, dressed for a good time. It'd do well to just . . . explore. That was what he loved to do and this city was full of unexplored wonder.
  
  He followed a stream of people and took in the sights of odd-shaped buildings, statues, fountains, and musicians on every corner, their music twisting into the commotion of a city come to life.
  
  "And I'm telling you," said a broad-shouldered man to a merchant, "it's worth more than that!" The man looked like he was about to draw his sword and start making singular things plural.
  
  "Well I don't know," said the merchant in a squeaky voice, "I'm not sure I can resell it."
  
  "It's a sword! A magnificent sword from the honor guard of Vheula."
  
  "Vheula! Vheula fell a hundred years ago. What did you do, pull this off a skeleton?"
  
  "So what if I did?"
  
  "Just vendor it to the System."
  
  "I'd only get 27 copper from the system!"
  
  "Fine, I'll give you 28 copper."
  
  "Really? Haha! Score! Now for my next item...."
  
  Dhane shook his head. The lengths people went to for just one extra copper was both maddening and inspiring. Then again, his own bartering efforts had gone fairly well. It just showed that anything could be sold for a bit more if he could stomach the patience for it.
  
  He crossed a street to the aroma of cooked meat, bread, onions, and garlic. People waited outside of restaurants, standing between hedges that formed lines. Staff members dressed in nice suits at the front, standing at podiums, asked for party size, then tapped phones together, promising a message soon.
  
  The knowledge at the back of his head said a decent sit-down restaurant would cost anywhere between a few silver and a few gold. Of course, there were other restaurants for more expensive clientele that offered all manner of services, along with the best foods people could buy.
  
  "And for my latest trick," said a man in a black and violet suit to his crowd of onlookers, "living fire!" He had a good stage voice, and accented it with magic fingers, wiggling them as if to lure more eyeballs.
  
  The crowd took a step back as a dozen balls of fire, no larger than ping pong balls, flared to life. They circled each other, forming patterns in the air, drawing forth a series of oohs and aahs.
  
  One particular woman in a fancy dress—her hair done up like a palace tower, even so far as to have little holes for windows and a golden dome at the top—laughed and pointed. When she turned to the man next to her, one that seemed her equal in frivolous fanciness, the lights of her tower flickered on.
  
  This changed the chorus of oohs and aahs to something more strained and high pitched. No fewer than three heroic gentlemen dashed to the woman's aid, assisting her in the most well-known way when dealing with fire: drop and roll.
  
  By the time the men were pulled off the poor woman, her artsy tower of hair had been burnt, squashed, and beaten to death. This became more evident when she started to glow, face locked in shock, and in a poof, was gone.
  
  The three heroic gentlemen stood awkwardly. One offered his condolences to Mr. Fancy, another said nothing and merely stared at the spot the woman was last, and the third, a young man, quickly tapped something invisible in the air and left.
  
  This all seemed to trigger the same idea in everyone else, in so far that most weren't paying attention to the performer's last trick of getting the hell out of Dodge before the city guard could investigate.
  
  Dhane left the scene—places to go, people to meet, and all that. He passed a guild recruitment booth, a young Indian woman calling out to adventurers. "Player Killers guild, looking for more members! Become a Player Killer!"
  
  "What's this?" Dhane asked with no small amount of incredulity.
  
  "Namaste!" the young woman said, brightening. She had golden-brown eyes and a happy face. "So . . . you interested in becoming a Player Killer? We recruit across all levels of experience."
  
  "You're recruiting player killers? How is this a guild?"
  
  "Oh, I see. I mean, you'ah new transcendent? The PK guild helps people who want to die without pain or long reset time. Adventurers, like, stuck far away, lose too many members and need help. That is what we do."
  
  "That's . . ." Dhane started and paused. "I didn't know such a thing existed."
  
  "Mention not. It like, can be confusing for newbs. So! Want a brochure?"
  
  Dhane shrugged and accepted a rather well-designed pamphlet.
  
  "And . . . if you join," she said, "I'm Aditi. Mention me and get free ice cream, yeah?"
  
  "I . . . will," he said, and she gave him the warmest, most heartfelt smile anyone had ever given him before. Others approached the booth and she moved on to answer their questions and hand out more brochures.
  
  Dhane continued down the street, reading over the information of what, in all video gaming history, had been considered the bad players, the villains, the ones that waited for players to get in a bind and then kill them for easy experience and gear.
  
  The PK Guild, however, was entirely different. Guild members simply got paid for staying out in a designated area, just in case someone wanted to die without being shredded by some monster or losing the entire day to respawn.
  
  The brochure didn't provide any details on how it worked, though no one seemed bothered by the guild. If anything, people had nodded their respect and waved. Being a PK in this world was like having a side job.
  
  A tall man in a white robe and white hair, called out, "The Army of Light is recruiting! Fight back the Shadows!"
  
  Dhane reflexively turned and walked to the other side of the street. An Army of Light? Maybe they'd be more sensitive to sensing the Shadow in his soul.
  
  "Hello . . . sexy man," a woman purred, gliding up next to him and fingering the tears in his shirt. She was practically naked: short shorts, red high heels, and a top that was more bra than a shirt.
  
  She took his arm and whispered into his ear, "I could be your toy tonight. Mmm," she moaned. "No kink-shaming. One gold and I'll show you my—"
  
  "Ah-h, thanks," Dhane said and pulled away. "Maybe another time?"
  
  She bit the bottom of her lip and pouted, then perked back up, apparently finding someone else to repeat her sales pitch on.
  
  "Not now, Cherry," Nick said and Dhane turned back. "Dhane! I just saw you and you have got to see this. Ouch! What have you done to my shirt? I mean, it's your shirt, obviously, but come on!"
  
  "Death by some metal contraption."
  
  "Those damn bird dummies?" Nick asked, shaking his head. "Well it's no matter, I have a bunch of people who want to get to know you, if you know what I mean. Nudge, nudge, wink, wink."
  
  When Dhane arched an eyebrow and looked at Candy, who was now scouting the crowd, Nick said, "No, not that! Though if you need some introductions . . . just say the word. But what I was meaning was, merchants are all a part of a community. I know some merchants who could use a good review in exchange for goods, maybe even a new shirt."
  
  "Wouldn't that fall under bribing?"
  
  "Oh no, nothing like that. These merchants would simply give you items in good faith that you'll leave an honest review. And if you can't say anything good, maybe just return the items and leave it at that."
  
  "I see." It wasn't anything out of the normal. In fact, it was exactly how game journalists worked. A company would send him a game and he'd get to explore its depths in exchange for an in-depth review. The only difference was how this could encompass a wider range of items.
  
  "But that can wait," Nick said. "It's about to start!"
  
  "What is?" Dhane asked and in answer, was dragged back toward Nick's booth. He now had a group of people, maybe eight, standing within three lines, each line a head taller than the other. A choir?
  
  They all held glowing crystals, alternating between red and yellow, covering and uncovering them to pull the attention of passersby. Then, they all started to hum.
  
  The busy street slowed as people pushed up closer to the display.
  
  Nick was grinning so wide, he just might split a lip. "Here it comes!"
  
  All in singsong chant, the choir started. "Find yourself a tenderloin, sell it here for lots of coin, make your wallet bounce and boing. Meat, meat, meat! Delicious food for everyone, buy from me and you have won, eat as much until you're done. Meat, meat, meat! Buying everything but fay, find me here throughout the day, trading all the goods away. Meat, meat, meat!"
  
  With the last verse, the choir waved their crystals in the air, then separated to reveal a new sign: Nick's Meat. And a tagline: So good, you'll choke.
  
  "It's short," Nick said—Dhane had a sudden urge to say, That's what she said, though reframed—"but damn that was beautiful. You agree?"
  
  "You've certainly come a long way in a day."
  
  "And that's what I'm telling you! The only people who write reviews are disgruntled customers or trolls. Do enough business and someone will get it in their noggin to hit you where it hurts."
  
  "I'm not against it," Dhane said. "It's practically what I did before I died."
  
  "Good! Then just think of me as your agent."
  
  "Agent? For a reviewer?"
  
  "Sure thing. I'll be the middleman to give you distance between the product and merchant. I get to charge a little fee to them and you get free stuff, it's a match made in heaven . . . like, literally."
  
  It really didn't take much effort to write a review. He could pump out a thousand words an hour for in-depth game articles, so a few hundred words here and there to review a product could simply be a good side business. "Okay," he said, and why not? "Let's do it."
  
  Nick fist-pumped the air. He said he'd have products ready tomorrow after Dhane was done with training for the day, then had to excuse himself to meet with an onslaught of new customers.
  
  Dhane laughed to himself. In just two days, he had a side business, two divinities, a mission to save the world, a challenger guild interested in recruiting him, the PK guild that could definitely earn him money for doing nothing, and training that not only taught him, but paid him to be taught.
  
  Oh, and he had 5 silver coins. 5 silver coins that should be plenty to get a nice room, something other than a painted rock for food, and leftover money to replace his shirt.
  
  And he had just the place in mind.
  
  Out of all the places Dhane could now afford, he found himself outside Cali Bali, the inn that . . . eh . . . just so happened to employ Penny. Was it strange to want to see her again? To return to the inn that nearly killed him and fed him an inedible roll? Perhaps it was simply nice to start defining places of familiarity.
  
  He stepped into the diner and just like yesterday, people filled the tables, their chatter loud, their laughs boisterous, and the smells worth salivating over.
  
  Penny poured four glasses at once, then slid them down the bartop with uncanny, perfect precision. He wondered, then, what divinity she followed, and partially why she, a past gamer enough to come to this heaven, worked as a barkeep instead of adventuring.
  
  Then, chiding himself for being stupid, knew that he could simply look. In fact, it was expected. He mentally called out to her divinity, and she looked up, catching his gaze with her gorgeous, crystal blue eyes. From within, a dim, flickering light formed the shape of a dolphin.
  
  Perhaps it was her gaze that caught him off guard, or her smile that made him forget to breathe, or the fact that her affinity seemed . . . broken, but when she returned the request for his divinity, he didn't project anything.
  
  He approached and she raised an eyebrow.
  
  "How'd you do that?" she asked. "Make it so I can't see your divinity."
  
  "It's a . . . passive bonus," he said, recalling what the Mother of Shadows had told him. "I'm an assassin, follower of the Sisters of Death. I can hide my affinity so others don't know." Well damn, it was a convincing lie. +1 to Deceit.
  
  "If that's the case, wouldn't they know you're an assassin because they can't see your divinity?"
  
  And there she went, poking holes in a perfectly good explanation. He didn't quite know what to say, so he asked instead, "What's wrong with your affinity?" Then, that inkling of knowledge at the back of his mind told him how such a question was considered impolite. He immediately blurted, "Oh sorry, I shouldn't have asked."
  
  "No, it's . . . okay. It's—"
  
  "Penny," the innkeeper called, pointing at a couple that was trying to get her attention.
  
  She flashed a perfectly executed, annoyed smile, pulled out a menu for Dhane, and said she'd be back.
  
  The menu had all the prices for their different rooms and dishes and drinks, but oddly, no desserts. The cheapest was the bunk bed with a bread roll option for a silver. For two silvers, however, he could have a small room, a bowl of soup, and roll.
  
  Of course, all he could think about was that Petra Roll and having gone to bed hungry. For just one more silver, he'd get an actual meal of common meat, cooked to his preference, steamed and buttered vegetables, and a drink.
  
  Penny returned, poured two glasses with a mixture of different liquids that spiraled in tiny whirlpools, moving on their own. She flicked the air and a fish made of a deep red liquid, swam through one of the drinks, flicking its tail every so often.
  
  Then, without even looking, she tossed the glasses down the bartop. They glided as if without friction and stopped directly in front of her two new customers. The woman pointed at the fish in her glass and laughed, then tried to spear it with a toothpick.
  
  "It has been a long day," she said. "I swear, as soon as my shift is over, I'm just going to drop into bed and pass out." She grabbed the side of her neck and rolled her head, producing little pops.
  
  "That bad?" Dhane asked.
  
  "Just long. I get a break in the middle of the day, but it's never enough. Hey, what happened to your shirt?"
  
  "First day of training...."
  
  "You're new? Oh no! I thought you had just managed enough money to get off the streets for a night."
  
  "You thought I was a bum? Wow . . . thanks."
  
  She smiled, summoned her phone, and held it out. "Here. New transcendents get a free bath," she said, then leaned forward and whispered, "You need it." She laughed at his expression. It was a nice laugh, full of bottled-up happiness.
  
  He summoned his own phone and accepted the free bath by tapping her phone. He hadn't even considered a bath, though given everything he had been through—crawling through tunnels of dirt and fighting dummy birds in the arena—he definitely could use a scrub.
  
  With a few taps, a silver coin materialized and he tossed it to her.
  
  "What's this for?"
  
  "Call it a tip." At her questioning look, he added, "For yesterday."
  
  "Oh, wow. Going the whole tenfold route? I'm going to need to find new ways to indebt you to me if this is how you are."
  
  "I suppose that wouldn't be such a bad thing."
  
  A moment passed where she didn't have a reply and instead really focused on him. This time, sensing what she was looking for, he projected his Light affinity, following the Sisters of Death.
  
  It was an odd sensation, now that he knew what to look for. A tingling sort that buzzed around his chest. Just like with Aaliyah, she became immediately more familiar, closer, like they'd had these conversations at the bar for weeks.
  
  She looked away for a heartbeat, then back, and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "So?" she said, eyeing the menu. "Anything you want?"
  
  "Your number?"
  
  "Oh, ha-ha, like I haven't heard that one before." Then she paused and tilted her head. "You're serious?"
  
  Now it was time for Dhane to laugh. "Why wouldn't I be?"
  
  "Because of my affinity...."
  
  "I don't know why that matters. And I don't want to pry, since this mystical knowledge in my head says it's rude. Though if you don't mind explaining?"
  
  Penny looked down, suddenly losing that playful charm of hers. "People say it's ugly, tainted with Shadow."
  
  "And what do you say?"
  
  "It's a punishment." She said the word like it was poison, needing to be spat out for the vile thing it was, no hiding her true feelings. Then she seemed to remember herself, the inn, her job. She forced a smile that did little to hide the pain she clearly felt.
  
  Perhaps it was a mistake, but Dhane couldn't stand seeing that torturous look, a look that said more than all of her words had. "I was once told," he said, "that there was nothing different between Shadow and Light, just souls from other planes, wanting to exist in this game. So no, I don't think it's ugly."
  
  Penny's eyes widened.
  
  Oh, shit brownies, were such words considered treason here, to admit those of Light were the same as those of Shadow, their eternal enemy? And he did so in a crowded dining room. He suddenly had the urge to look about, to see if anyone was overhearing their conversation.
  
  Penny tapped his phone with hers and smiled a genuine smile. Then, as if the discussion had never happened, she asked, "What can I get for you, sir?"
  
  The medium-rare sumilian steak was beyond delicious, even if it was slightly charred on one side and had a strange mix of spices. Dhane didn't even know what a sumilian was, beyond that of a common mob in these parts.
  
  Penny had returned to work, giving him the cold shoulder, but also her contact information. This only confirmed that he had spoken out of line, said something that could likely get both of them in trouble. If the Mother of Shadows knew how incompetent he was at keeping secrets, she would have chosen someone else. . ..
  
  Perhaps he could claim ignorance, he was a new transcendent after all. Either way, he now had Penny's contact information. They could message and talk, just like living in the modern world, except this world didn't require batteries.
  
  Strange, how having such a tiny device made this fantasy world feel . . . familiar. It dulled the edge of reality, made things easier. No other technology seemed to exist, just the thin rectangles of magic that could be summoned at will.
  
  The baths were located at the back end of the building, a place covered in muddy-orange cement with rounded corners and wooden benches. Fresh cotton towels hung at the entrance with a side room for undressing.
  
  Dhane sat on a bench, wrapped in his own towel, drawing a thumb across his chest where he used to have a scar. Instead, his skin had the perfect sheen of sweat and a decent amount of unearned definition. Just another reminder that he had died. In fact, he had now died twice, and neither were fun experiences.
  
  If he had to die, perhaps hiring the PK guild to give him a painless transition would be the ideal way to go. It did seem quite odd that there wasn't an easier way to solve such problems, like a Scroll of Town Portal. Or were there such things, but they were too expensive for the common adventurer?
  
  Steam plumed out from the tops and bottoms of doors to the various, occupied baths, carrying a mixture of scents from eucalyptus to lavender.
  
  Water splashed and dribbled and dripped a relaxing cadence of sounds . . . disturbed only by the giggling of two women on the next bench over, looking at something on their phones. They arrived after he did and sent furtive glances his way, as if trying to catch his attention without being direct.
  
  This all prompted a question he hadn't given much thought to: How was sex in heaven? As Gameus had said, there were no forms of sickness, and thus, no STDs. The mere idea of pregnancy seemed ridiculous; this was heaven, a land beyond death, after all. Was everyone looking for a hookup, for their night of fun with no strings attached and no risks?
  
  He didn't know what to think of that. Different world, different culture, all with its own variety of morality. Still, all he could think of was Penny and her smile. What was she doing right now? He could text her, but was it too soon to text?
  
  The door to his bath opened, and a large man stepped out. Dhane stood and crossed at the same time the two young women did, their towels barely running to mid-thigh.
  
  "Hey there," the first young woman said. She had light brown skin with black hair, damp from the steam, running together in thick strands down her neck.
  
  The second woman, a bit shorter, had red hair, green eyes, and more freckles than she knew what to do with. They ran down her neck and into the towel that hugged her breasts.
  
  "Hi," Dhane said. Weren't the benches set up to act as a line for each bath? It didn't matter since he wasn't remotely tired, and if he had to wait for the next bath, so be it. And so he said, "Sorry, I thought this was my bath. Go ahead. I'll grab the next."
  
  He turned, but the first girl took his arm. "Oh, you don't have to wait. We can share, can't we?" She said this as the two walked into the room with a pool of water against the far wall, directing him to follow.
  
  Ms. Freckles slid her towel free, giving him an unabashed show of what sharing a bath really entailed. And . . . during those stunned seconds, the raven-haired beauty, slid her fingers into the top of his towel, and pulled it free.
  
  Dhane jerked at the realization of being completely and involuntarily nude in front of two rather gorgeous strangers. Their eyes, in those fleeting moments, roamed over him hungrily, and he did the only reasonable thing he could: He jumped back with the dexterity of an assassin, took hold of the door as he moved, and brought it to a swift close.
  
  This prompted more giggles from the other side and a taunt that they had his towel.
  
  "Dhane?"
  
  He spun, grasping the little guy between his legs. "Penny. . . ." Oh, shit brownies! Of course, it would be Penny, walking in at the most inopportune time. He wanted to sputter, It's not what it looks like, though that was usually uttered by someone guilty of something, and in this very moment, he was quite guiltless, thank you very much.
  
  "You know you're supposed to grab a towel, right?" She was wearing her own towel, much like the other two, leaving her slender arms and legs bare, her blonde hair let out to hang like strands of shimmering gold.
  
  "I . . . had a towel," he managed to say, a fiery warmth running up his neck, spreading into his cheeks and ears. The plumes of steam weren't helping. Damn, they made this place hot.
  
  Penny laughed, grabbed a towel, and threw it at him. As he whipped the towel around himself, she pushed open a door to a Staff Only bath, then turned to regard him, a slight blush of her own, rosy in her cheeks. "Since they took your bath," she said, looked away, then back with those crystal blue eyes, "want to join me?"
  
  That—that—was a request he could not turn down.