The Plunge

POV: Clyde

I roll over to my side, groaning from the pain of taking a point-blank magical blast to the chest. My eyes land on the pistol, halfway buried in a mound of black crystalline Storm Essence, the black sand of the floor is still humming with energy from the two dragons. It's a few meters away, too far to crawl to without getting my face melted off by another blast from one of these spell-slingin' pieces of shit. But thankfully, the System isn't just here to ruin my day. Sometimes, it throws you a bone. Especially, after I've been practicing my weapon recall…

I grit my teeth, focus hard, and focus on the word 'Inventory.'

The pistol vanishes in a shimmer of pixelated light.

I blink and reach my hand out to my side. Withdraw.

And just like that, it's in my hand again.

I don't waste time. I scramble to my feet and I run.

My legs scream like they've been through a blender. My chest is one giant throbbing bruise where the spell hit me, but I move anyway, lungs rasping like sandpaper. Veronica's behind me, maybe shouting again. I can't tell what she's saying—hard to tell with the way the blood's pounding in my ears.

First caster's up on the ridge. Cloak snapping in the wind. I raise the pistol and squeeze the trigger.

Bang!... Bang, bang!

A blossom of white-hot muzzle flash. A round zips toward the bastard, but he ducks behind a slab of glass just in time. I spot pointed ears. Fucking elves. I should expect unnatural reflexes. Still, I've got him moving, thinking. There's a chance to shift the momentum.

Second caster is farther off, a little to my left. I fire again, spraying as much fire between the two, all while sprinting sideways to avoid being turned into extra crispy Clyde.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

One round slams into the ground near the second caster's feet. The other smacks his shoulder. Not enough to kill, but enough to sting. Do natives in this Realm have access to System-empowered regeneration?

Only one way to find out.

Out of the corner of my eye I spot movement to my right. Shit.

I catch a flicker of motion—a bruiser type, big and mean with knotted muscle and dull but violent eyes. Like a rabid dog's. He's barreling down the slope like an avalanche, a gigantic slab of iron in the shape of a sword in his hands.

"Of course," I mutter. "Because why wouldn't they have a frontliner too…"

I dive into a cluster of Storm Essence, the jagged black crystals biting into my cuirass and arms. Pain flares, but pain means I'm alive. Think, Clyde. Think! It doesn't seem like the System categorizes the elves as 'monsters.' So, my Crowd Control Ability won't help me stack damage multipliers for shots I land on them. I'll need to figure something else out. With a shallow bag of tricks!

I pop out the side, pivoting mid-slide to put a slab of glowing black glass between me and the goon. More gunfire. More missed shots. I'm not expecting kills, just chaos. Just space. A little room to breathe. To think. I'm outnumbered at least three-to-one. I can't out-damage them—not with these odds. Not without my party. My Class isn't built for solo work. I'm a support build, a fucking team player. All buffs and debuffs, some ranged attacks. I rely on strategy and support.

Alone?

"Damn it, Joseph," I growl under my breath. "Now would be the perfect time to show up with your kung-fu ghost hands."

My HUD flashes warnings. Health is low. Stamina dropping like a stone. Not that I need the System to tell me that. My lungs are burning as I continue to push myself. I need to keep moving. Another beam of energy just misses me, slamming into the Storm Essence a couple of feet behind me.

I duck behind another outcrop, heart hammering, brain sprinting faster than my legs. They're flanking. The bruiser's almost on top of me. The casters are adjusting their positions.

Fire and force spells erupt against the black dunes of Storm Essence, sending splinters and clouds of shadow-glass raining through the air. Every impact sounds like the mountain itself is screaming. Shards ricochet around me, slicing the wind into ribbons.

Good. Let them make a mess.

I duck lower, mouth dry, heart hammering. This is the opening I've been praying for. I decide to use all of the Storm Essence in the air to my advantage. Their visibility's shot, and unless one of these assholes have magically-enhanced vision, I've got a moment.

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I pop my [Scan] Skill.

Ping. Ping. Ping.

Three red outlines light up in my interface. The two casters and their frontliner. I minimize the System messages provided by the Skill. I don't even need to see them now. They're just targets.

I raise my pistol and squeeze.

Bang-bang-bang-bang!

Shots bark out, sharp and fast. One clips a caster's shoulder, spinning him. Another nails the second in the thigh. A third goes wide.

Then the bruiser silhouette lurches toward me, all muscle and murder in slow motion. Fuck this guy, I think, gritting my teeth.

I cast Burden. The Spell lowers the target's speed and causes them to burn through their Stamina more quickly. I cast it as soon as the short—very short—cool-off ends. And then again. And again.

The air around the bruiser thickens like syrup with each casting. He staggers, clearly moving slower. His breathing appears more labored. Good.

I keep moving. Boots crunch on black glass. I break out of the smoke like a desperate action hero and—ping—something new catches my eye.

Three small round steel shields, spinning in orbit around my face like tiny confused satellites.

Veronica.

"Veronica, you beautiful, beautiful woman!" I shout. I can't see her with all of the Storm Essence dust.

A beam of fire streaks toward my temple.

CLANG!

One of the shields intercepts it midair. The heat still scorches across my cheek, but my head's still attached, so I'll call that a win.

I pick one of the elves—robe darkening with blood from my earlier hit—and charge. I cast Soften. His outline flickers in my vision as the debuff sticks. I cast Soften one more time, using the last of my Mana.

He panics, starts to run. I grin. Bad move.

I've got the higher Dexterity. I'm faster, and I'm meaner. I want this more. I close the gap with ease. Pistol raised. Shots bark out.

Bang! Bang!

He stumbles, blood spraying. Collapses to the black sand. But he's not dead. Not yet.

On the ground, he lifts a trembling hand. Energy crackles in his palm, forming a sigil. Spell charge time—maybe five more seconds. I've been counting. Too slow, asshole.

I step in close, press the pistol against his face.

"Nice try," I growl.

That's when everything goes wrong.

Pain explodes through my chest. I look down. There's a dagger in me. A thin, elegant blade, buried to the hilt right in my sternum. And just below me, rising like mist off the ground, a man emerges. It's like he's melting in reverse from the black particles of Storm Essence.

He's an elf too, with fox-like features and adorned in dark leathers.

"Hi," he says cheerfully. "Human."

He yanks the dagger free, twisting as he does. I stagger back.

I watch my Health bottom out. Hitting zero.

No. No no no—

You have been stunned!

You have been paralyzed!

You are under the effect of [Doom]!

The System notifications continue to flood my interface.

The world tilts sideways. The red outline surrounding the caster in my HUD flicker out. My knees give up. The last thing I see is the fox-faced elf licking his thumb and brushing something off his lapel like this is just another Tuesday.

Then, darkness takes me.

POV: Joseph

The mountain blurs around me.

I'm moving—fast. Faster than I ever have. Every muscle in my body is singing, lungs pumping like bellows, heart pounding like I'm sprinting straight into hell. And, for all I know, maybe I am.

Wind tears at my clothes. My boots pound over root and rock. Every movement flows like second nature now. No more hesitation. Just motion. I haven't used my body like this since the day we arrived in this Realm. And holy crap do those additional levels and boosts in Dexterity make a difference. It's like I'm part man, part jackrabbit on steroids.

Jelly Boy's dot glows in my HUD. He's close.

I skid down a ridge, leap over a large tree root that's jutting out of the downward slope, and slide to a stop right where the ping on my minimap says he should be.

Except he's not.

There's no cheerful blue blob. No excited wiggles. No gurgling squish noises. Just... dirt, rocks, a couple of thickets of treets, and this quiet, echoing absence that makes my stomach churn like I drank expired protein shakes.

Shit. Shit.

I spin in a slow circle, scanning. Eyes darting. Nothing. Something is off here. I glance at my minimap again. A blinking white dot labeled 'Jelly Boy' stares back at me. I'm definitely in the right place. Could the System be wrong, or broken?

Okay… What do I do now?

I shuffle through my potential options. Then, it hits me. I pause. Breathe. Focus on my [Perception] Skill. It's subtle. I barely feel it, but it's like a soft echo in my core. Then, it's as though everything comes into an almost imperceptibly increased sharpness.

I scan my surroundings one more time.

A twitch behind my left eye. A prickle down my neck.

There!

I jog over to some brush that looks as though it's been disturbed. I crouch, pushing my way through. Behind the foliage, I find a half-covered grate, mostly buried in rock and black moss. Practically invisible. But not to me. The portal is old, the metal grate is rusted. It's also slick with residue. Blue slime is smeared across the metal bars. The faint strings of jelly glisten, and I swear I know that shade of blue.

Jelly Boy.

"Oh, buddy," I mutter.

My fingers curl around the bars, and I begin to pull. The metal groans. It resists my effort. I pull harder, muscles bunching. My core tightens and I groan with effort. With a scream of protest, the grate rips free and sails over my shoulder, hitting the ground with a loud clang before tumbling down the mountainside.

The tunnel beneath yawns open. It's pitch black. I can't see a thing that lies beyond.

Of course. I silently swear, spitting on the ground. Good thing I've got just the solution.

I remain crouched, but hit a half-assed approximation of my front lat spread, casting my Light Spell. The power running through my veins feels weaker compared to the last time I cast the Spell. I realize that's probably because I didn't focus on my form. Still, it's enough to get the job done. I channel the spell into a miniature ball of light. The orb that forms is small, but strong—like a flashlight, floating lazily above my hand.

The light trickles down the hole. And what it shows is... More hole. Leading at a downward slope into more darkness. The tunnel has curved walls, and a thick trail of slime runs along the ground.

Everything about this screams 'Get the fuck out of here!'

I swallow. "Okay. Sketchy as hell. But fuck it..." I say.

Because Jelly Boy's in there. And I won't leave my squishy blue gobblin-killer behind. I think of the strange little ooze. I met him during one of the lowest points in my life. When the world seemed like it was literally ending. He found me like a stray dog, and stuck by me ever since. Perhaps it was for the access to multiple streaming accounts, but I like to think he would plunge down a dark chute in the ground for me without hesitation.

I hold the orb tight, take a breath, and throw myself feet-first into the tunnel. "Here I come buddy."

And down I go.

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