“It’s hardly my fault that all these streets look the same,” Virgil complained.

  “I don’t think you can call them streets,” Cassian pointed out with a pedantic lilt. “They’re roads at best.”

  “You don’t know what those words mean,” Virgil griped. “You’re just saying that to be an ass.”

  Cassian grinned, because that was true. The roads — or streets, or dirt paths, or whatever you wanted to call them — did, in fact, all look the same. Some didn’t even look like anything at all. The two young men had thought themselves sufficiently informed when the carriage driver dropped them off in the middle of town and directed them to take the fifth right. It hadn’t occurred to them that some of those rights might be angled, or easy to miss, and it wasn’t long before they completely lost count.

  “I’m pretty sure this is it, though,” Virgil said. “We’re a little late, but Ren will understand.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know why he didn’t meet us in town,” said Cassian. “That would have saved us the whole headache.”

  Virgil shrugged. It was a good point, and if they’d known what they were walking into, they might have made that point earlier, when it would have mattered. But Ren probably felt the same way — to him, who thought of this town as his home, it probably hadn’t occurred to him that an outsider might get lost.

  “In any case,” Cassian added cheerfully, “it’s a beautiful day. And some of us could use the exercise.” He landed a soft tap against Virgil’s belly, then danced away to avoid the resulting outrage.

  “Hey! You’re twice as big as I am! Come back here, fatty!”

  Cassian laughed. “This?” He patted his belly, letting it jiggle. “This is all muscle.”

  Virgil snorted. “Softest muscle I’ve ever seen.”

  The two scholars continued to tease each other as they walked to Ren’s house, playful jabs turning into uproarious laughter. Neither was accustomed to long journeys, and the carriage ride alone had made them a little silly. In the company of anyone else, that silliness might have soured into irritation, but with each other, it turned into jokes that weren’t as funny as they could have been, and laughter that was far too generous.

  Eventually, the house came into view, and the young men whooped with delight.

  “We made it! Race you there.”

  The young men turned into boys and dashed down the last of the road, quickly closing the distance.

  Cassian doubled over, heaving his next breaths. “I almost — huff — had you — huff.”

  “Sure.” Virgil leaned against the wall with his hands in his pockets, forcing himself to take slow, measured breaths despite the pounding in his chest and the stitch in his side. “Beat you by a mile, though.”

  Cassian waved a dismissive hand.

  Virgil wheezed a chuckle, then knocked on the door. There was no answer, so he knocked again, waited long enough for even Cassian to catch his breath, then knocked a third time.

  No answer.

  “Maybe he’s out back,” Cassian suggested. “He said he likes the view out there.”

  Virgil shrugged. “Yeah, we can check. Thought that was more of a morning thing, though.”

  The two scholars followed the path of the wraparound porch out to the back of the house. When they came around the corner, the first thing they noticed was the view, which was every bit as spectacular as Ren had claimed.

  The second thing they noticed was their friend, limp as a doll, held up only by the sword which pierced his chest.

  “No!” Cassian sprinted forward, terror granting him a second wind.

  Virgil pointed at the monster and shouted the only offensive spell he knew. “Mana Bolt!” A beam of blue-white light shot from his fingertip directly into the creature’s chest, where it was absorbed by its pitch-black armor.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Your party has entered combat!

  Virgil’s mouth went completely dry. He’d read about the combat aspect of the System, but he’d never involved himself in it. The design of it seemed to encourage a fight to the death, which he had no interest in. Not his own death, or anyone else’s. Combat was the biggest flaw in the System, and he’d engaged in many debates on the topic.

  So many debates, without every imagining he might be forced to experience it himself.

  The enemy creature’s sword pulled out of Ren’s body, and its turn ended. Ren fell to the ground, into Cassian’s waiting arms, and Virgil could see from his health bar that though he was badly wounded, he was not yet dead.

  Cassian lowered Ren gently to the ground, careful not to jostle that last health point. He murmured a spell, and the two of them were engulfed in golden light. In a quick burst, and then gradually after that, Ren’s health began to rise.

  Virgil wanted to cry. He wanted to huddle in the corner of a room and curl up into a tiny little ball and weep. Monsters were supposed to be stories. They were supposed to hide in closets, not jump out in plain sight and kill his friends.

  Mana Bolt was the only offensive spell he had. Aside from a minor health regeneration spell, he was as unequipped for battle as Cassian and Ren. They were scholars, for gods’ sake, not warriors! There was never any need to be a warrior!

  Except, of course, right now.

  Your turn!

  Virgil cast the only spell he could. “Mana Bolt,” he cried. “Mana Bolt, Mana Bolt, Mana Bolt!” He spoke so rapidly that each spell bled into the next, so it was like a single laser beam that shot from him to the creature.

  It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. Virgil’s INT was high enough that the spell was not entirely useless, but the damage against the monster was minimal. It would take far too long to make a real impact, and his friends didn’t have that long.

  Enemy turn!

  The demon waved a lazy hand. Its swords rose at its side, pointed at the two scholars and then jerked forward, stabbing into the hearts of both young men.

  By all rights, they should have been dead. Before the existence of the System, they would have been; there would have been no recovering from such a wound.

  But this was combat, and the rules applied. Neither scholar had completely run out of health — though Ren was returned to the verge of death— so on the next turn their wounds closed and the pain vanished. The only evidence that the attack had even happened was in their lowered health bars and their blood-stained clothes.

  What a macabre twist. In all their scholarly debates about the merits of the System, Virgil had never considered the psychological impact of a death wound that didn’t kill. From a library, safe and sound, the theory of combat seemed kind. Pain was felt normally, then erased. Death was a matter of health points, not of well-placed blades.

  But in practice…

  Cassian cast his healing spell again, engulfing the two once again in a golden— Wait. Wasn’t it Ren’s turn?

  Virgil squinted. Ren cast a healing spell, engulfing the two once again in a golden glow. Both health bars shot upward.

  Virgil’s mind raced. Ren didn’t have any spells. Ren famously did not spend his skill points, and that healing spell was strong enough to have cost several.

  Of course! They could purchase skills during combat!

  Virgil pulled up his skill list and scanned his quickly. There weren’t many combat skills available to him; the only affinity he’d unlocked was water, and he still wasn’t quite sure how. Nevertheless, anything would be better than Mana Bolt.

  He was scrolling so quickly through the list that he almost missed the new addition. He would have, too, except new skills glowed brightly until they were noticed.

  Hellflame Bolt

  True fire burns not just the flesh, but the memory of resistance.

  That was certainly no water spell.

  Virgil glanced quickly at his character sheet, all too aware of how little time he had.

  Infernal Affinity: 1

  His blood ran cold. In all their studies, there was no mention of Infernal spells. Water, fire, earth — those were the elements from which all spells were made.

  Virgil had never heard of an infernal affinity, but it wasn’t difficult to piece together what it meant. He knew what the word meant: relating or characteristic of hell or the underworld.

  It was repeated again in the name of the spell. Hellflame Bolt.

  This creature was no ordinary monster; it was a demon, summoned from hell. How, Virgil didn’t know, but he was certain that no ordinary spell would dislodge it.

  It made all the sense in the world for Virgil to learn the skill, yet he hesitated. He had learned enough of them to understand how a skill bound to his soul. They were often treated as mere stepping stones to greater abilities, but Virgil knew himself. When he learned a skill, it wrapped around his soul and guided him into a new shape. The nature of skills was such that this new shape was one he was already heading for, not dissimilar from the way a trellis could shape a vine.

  That wasn’t so bad when the skills were things like Quiet Study, Dissertation, and Cite Source… but what would an infernal skill do to him? He was sure that he wasn’t naturally inclined toward hellfire but that the demon’s presence had somehow granted him the affinity and opened this path.

  Your turn!

  Virgil was out of time. He glanced at the health bars of his friends and winced to see that Cassian must not have enough mana to cast his larger healing spell again. They might be able to survive one more attack, but Virgil’s Mana Bolts were not doing nearly enough damage to kill the demon that quickly.

  He swallowed hard. He needed a more powerful skill, and there happened to be one available to him.

  He was only accepting this skill out of necessity. Were the lives of his friends not at stake, he would have resisted temptation for the rest of his days.

  He ignored the thrill of excitement as he purchased the spell.

  “Hellflame Bolt!”