Silence reigned in that log cabin.

  He’d failed. Olric had died, and it was all his fault.

  “Kid.”

  It was barely louder than a breath, but in the silence, it was a dragon’s roar. Jack’s head snapped up. He was by Olric’s side in an instant. Their reckoning could come later. But he had to be alive in order for that to happen.

  “I’m here, Olric. Now, tell me, how do I heal you? What do you need?” Jack asked quickly.

  Olric’s eyes were narrow slits, his breathing shallow. “I… No… Don’t waste your time on… Me. They… Must be stopped. Use… My notes. Do what I could not. Find… A cure.”

  Jack’s anger spiked, and some of it slipped out when he spoke. “Oh, I know of your notes, old man. I’m not going to be experimenting on people. I won’t burn them, but I won’t continue what you–”

  Olric’s hand shot out and grabbed Jack by the wrist. His grip was iron, and his eyes blazed with a determination that unnerved Jack.

  “Never people. Always… voidlings. Never… Never people. For people. Cure… people.”

  With each halting word, Jack felt the dark storm in his heart lift.

  Of course. There had been claw marks!

  No human, no matter how desperate, could make claw marks like that. Sure, there had to be some accounting for skills that could emulate that, but monsters made way more sense.

  Something else clicked.

  “That’s why you farm on the edge of the shroud. It’s not because you like the danger. It’s so that you have easy access to the shroud to gain more monsters. You’re not even a farmer, are you?” Jack said with just the barest edge of a smile.

  “No… shit,” Olric muttered.

  “Olric, I’m going to save you,” Jack said resolutely, extricating his wrist from the man’s grip.

  “No! Stop them. Stop… too late.” Olric’s strength was notably flagging, and the wounds latticing his body continued to bleed. “I’m…”

  “Shut up and let me help you,” Jack said, interrupting the man. “It’s the least I can do after accusing you of being an evil scientist.”

  Olric chuckled, but it quickly devolved into a wet cough.

  Jack’s mind raced, taking into account all that he knew. Only one option made sense now, and it was likely going to get him killed. But if he dawdled, Olric would surely die. If he had more time, or even Olric in a more stable condition, he might be able to whip up a salve or something else useful, but he was no alchemist.

  But he would fix this. Damn the consequences.

  “Okay, I’ll be back as soon as I can. Don’t, you know… Die,” Jack said, gently squeezing the man’s shoulder before racing out of the house.

  As he sprinted once more that evening, his feet chasing the starlight across the dirt path back toward Thistlebrush, Jack quickly checked his notifications.

  [Congratulations! Through effort, your skill, Law of Inversion, has leveled up!]

  [Law of Inversion: Level 1?4. Rank: Novice]

  “Not bad,” Jack panted, taking a right from the path and onward to the town.

  Across the ramparts, lanterns bobbed as more than the usual number of guards were out tonight. He was probably to blame for that, and he cursed his luck. Cursing, he veered southward and toward the shroud wall. Mud threatened to steal his boots, but he pressed onward, occasionally overclocking his Dexterity to leap or sweep past the worst of the mire that clogged this area.

  Now that he was getting fairly comfortable tapping into his various attribute pools, he was gathering a fairly good idea of how it all worked. And putting it to words was a welcome distraction from the mortal danger he was both leaving behind and about to enter again.

  As Olric mentioned, base stats increase my power in increments of ten. Those are passive and remain true regardless of effort. If I had fifty strength, I’d passively have the strength of fifty elite athletes from back on Earth. But if I overclock that same attribute, I can exceed my normal limit at the expense of temporarily draining it. I’m just using all that available power in a short burst, and thus briefly multiplying it

  Jack realized that was how the skills must work. They pulled on his inherent power to exceed his mortal limits and use magic. And the more powerful the magic, the more his body would have to be able to endure channeling it.

  His analysis was cut short at the sounds of battle ahead. He cocked his neck up, trying to see what was causing the cacophony. Red Knights were rushing about this normally disregarded section of the rampart, which just so happened to be directly above his secret tunnel. But they weren’t watching what was beyond the wall.

  No, they were currently pushing people away from the ramparts.

  They’re fighting people from the slums! Jack realized. Or, at the very least, preventing them access onto the rampart. Is that how the Red Knights get to and from the slums? By bottlenecking at either side of the wall? Or maybe there’s a secret entrance nearby, letting them slip in and out of this area without the worry and fuss of a formal gate.

  Regardless of why they were in this particular spot tonight, it didn’t matter. They were here, and they were in the way.

  I could still try to sneak in, Jack considered from where he hid in the tall grass, watching the wall. No, what if someone casts a skill and I get buried alive in the collateral?

  He couldn’t linger. Olric was counting on him, even if he didn’t admit it.

  I have to get over that wall and into town. Then, I’ll either fight a red knight for what I need, or I’ll go straight to the source. Hadn’t that healer Barnaby mentioned someone named Gerome?

  But Jack was stuck on how to scale a thirty-foot wall from downhill. He couldn’t get a running start, not with the mud and hundreds of rocks and debris scattered across this place. There simply wasn’t a straight line, even if he overclocked both his strength and dexterity.

  How do I get up there?

  He pulled up his skill sheet to see if any of them inspired him, but none stood out as immediately useful. He hadn’t known it until now, but he could now cast Furnace Heart and Flameborn’s Edict from his class skills. But neither would help him right now. They were both very powerful and, according to their descriptions, very flashy.

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  He didn’t need that. He needed speed and stealth.

  Maybe I could kill the wall, he thought darkly.

  But while the idea had merit, he had no idea what lay on the other side, nor did he think their level 1 or novice ranks would do that much damage from the get-go. And his Cinder Step—the one class skill designed for mobility—was still just out of reach. Level 12 would let him cast it, but it felt like forever away.

  Jack grunted in annoyance at this stalemate.

  “If I could just fly over the wall, that would be amazing,” Jack said morosely.

  Like bowling balls dropped on his head, an idea came to him.

  He began to laugh. It was a low, wild thing.

  “Oh, this is either going to be amazing, or I’m going to break my neck.”

  Hoping for the former, and praying against the latter, Jack stood up and picked his target.

  “Skill activate: Law of Inversion!”

  [Item selected. Choose an effect:]

  [Color inversion: 1 Perception/second]

  [Gravity inversion: 7 Strength/second for up | 2 Strength/second for down]

  [Density inversion: 4 Resilience/second for lightness | 3 Resilience/second for heaviness]

  Jack began to run, leaping from rock to rock. Then, he jumped. His thighs burned from the constant exertion, but he pushed every iota of finesse into his arc, praying that this would work. Right after he leapt, he confirmed his choice.

  And as he flew the air feet first, he felt his Strength drain right as a medium-sized rock shifted below him. There was a squelching noise as the stone exited the clinging embrace of the mud, and it rose to intercept Jack.

  He landed atop it.

  His left boot scuffed off the edge, and he nearly lost his balance as it continued to rise into the air. His arms windmilled, but then he caught himself and crouched low on the ascending rock. He was level with the wall in seconds. To his disappointment, but not his surprise, the cost to his Strength increased noticeably when he added his own weight to the skill’s function. But that was fine. His goal had been accomplished.

  Jack leapt from the rock and cancelled the skill. Below, Red Knights were actively pushing a mob of dreamers away from the stairs leading up to the ramparts.

  “You took them!” A woman with a burgundy shawl screamed into the night, slitting the neck of a wiry dreamer, who smiled as her life was taken. “They’re all gone! Where did you take them, you bastards?!”

  Who’s missing? He wondered.

  Jack watched in horror as more dreamers sang, laughed, and fought with bloody abandon. All the while, the spiders demanded answers.

  “Where are they?!” the spiders screamed.

  And ensuring this violent feud didn’t spill over into Thistlebrush where the bleeders themselves. They pushed against those trying to flee, killing anyone who resisted too much.

  Below, the spider and dreamer gangs were in an all-out brawl. The knights seemed content to let those in the slums fight it out.

  Out of sight, out of mind, Jack thought bitterly, glancing over to the ‘quiet’ city beyond.

  Shouts, screams, and skills flew from both sides. Jack landed with a dull thud atop the smooth stones of the rampart. So engaged were the bleeders with the fight that he landed entirely unnoticed.

  Their mistake.

  He stood to his full height, anger burning in every fiber of his being. These knights were meant to represent the sword and shield aimed against the shroud. Against the monsters it birthed. Against the darkness. But how were they using those swords? Those shields? Keeping their fellow humans in the mud, content to watch them kill each other instead of establishing peace.

  Jack recalled his promises. Oh, he would make it back to Earth, all right. But first, he needed to set some things straight over here.

  An unnatural fog was descending over the battle, turned crimson by the amount of blood flying through the air. But through it all, Jack saw something from his vantage. Something that turned his anger into a wholly different fuel.

  Off in the distance, just beyond the worst of the fighting, Rigs in his fedora stood watching everything.

  Bastard. Won’t even fight his people’s fight with them.

  But he wasn’t alone. Three figures stood by his side, clearly discussing something. It was hard to tell through the billowing fog, but their robes, unnatural height, and blindfolds made it easy to guess who they were.

  Truthbinders.

  From all that Jack had gathered, they were the equivalent to the Gestapo in Germany, but with some heavy emphasis on their crafting and dissemination of propaganda.

  But what are they doing here, talking to Rigs? Jack felt his uneasiness swell with each cry of pain that arose from the slaughter below. Why would three Truthbinders show up here? Now?

  As if noticing his attention, the four of them turned and disappeared behind a corner.

  It was all so wrong.

  Jack wanted to scream, to wave his hands and remind all these idiotic people that the real enemy was right at their doorstep! To his right, the shroud seemed to shimmer and dance as it observed the wanton bloodshed. The fog beneath the ramparts had turned red, transforming those who fought for their lives into crimson silhouettes.

  “We got a flanker!” a bleeder shouted, pointing a shortsword in Jack’s direction.

  Three knights turned from the shield wall and jogged toward him, weapons raised.

  “He’s mine!” one of the three declared in a gruff voice. He pointed a curved scimitar at Jack, shoving the other two back. “I’m going to make you bleed, lad.”

  Jack’s fists clenched. He twisted out a few cracks in his neck and smiled. Every nerve in his body was alive. Wind coursed over his hot skin.

  “You a fool, slum rat?” the knight laughed. “You should be cowering at my feet. Go ahead. Beg. Cry. Scream Ardent’s bloody name. None of it will help you now. I’m going to take my time with you, boy. I’m going to–”

  “Give me your healing potions, and I’ll let you live,” Jack interrupted.

  He smiled, and the line his teeth made was iron and death.

  “Oho! Hear that, lads? The rat here is going to let us live!” the man in front said. He cocked his head at Jack. “And you ain’t gettin’ shit from us, rat.”

  “‘Sides, it’s not like we carry those gems on us, now do we, lads?” Another knight said drunkenly. “You’d have better luck praying than gettin’ a dry drop from one of our healers. But if you beg, maybe we’ll kill the bitch mother you’re probably tryin’ to help, now won’t we, lads?”

  They all laughed, and he could smell liquor wafting from each of them.

  These aren’t men, Jack concluded.

  “Fine,” he said aloud. “You were warned.”

  “I’m going to–” the scimitar-wielding started, brandishing his sword.

  He never got to finish. Jack’s mind shifted into a laser point, and he moved. Stone split beneath his boot as he blurred forward, and he was in front of the man in an instant. Surprise, shock, and fear cascaded across the man’s patchy face.

  His title, The One Who Stands Against, flooded him with power. And because it confirmed that he was facing at least one opponent five or more levels above his own, its strength was incredible. It felt like he was overclocking every single one of his stats, but he knew that they weren’t. It was simply that big of a difference.

  I could get used to this, Jack thought, his smile remaining.

  The scimitar quivered in the man’s grip, but Jack didn’t give him a breath to collect himself and use it. Jack’s right fist shot forward, and, for the first time since arriving in Aethros, he used a skill without uttering a single word. His mind gave the command, and his magic responded.

  [Skill activated: Smoldering Fists.]

  Fire ignited across his arms, and he punched once. Twice. Three times. He wasn’t even winded or hindered this time. Every strike was aimed at the notch in his armor directly above his solar plexus, and every punch struck true. He hammered the steel plate hard enough to dent it, pushing the man back with each hit.

  But he didn’t let the man get out of reach.

  By the time his fourth strike was rushing through the red fog and toward the knight’s chest, the fire that encased his fists and forearms was difficult to look at. It was a comet, and he guided it home. His knuckles cracked against the steel, and, for the first time, Jack witnessed the true power of Smoldering Fists.

  The fire-gauntlet exploded forward like a directional mine, and his right arm was briefly exposed as all of its power rushed over and into his opponent’s chest. Like water, the flames found every crack and crevice in his plated defenses. He screamed. Jack could smell charred flesh.

  Scrambling to pat down the fire inside his own armor, the man dropped his scimitar. Jack didn’t hesitate. He hooked a foot around the bleeder’s waist and used his leverage to kick the man off the edge of the rampart. Flames billowed out of the sides of the armor, resembling ignited muzzle flashes.

  The screaming man abruptly cut off.

  [Level 16 Red Knight slain - 1100 EXP gained]

  His flames dissipated, casting their section of the ramparts back into shadow. Jack took a step forward, fists clenched tight enough to bend steel.

  “Who’s next?”