A couple of days later, a team of four was supposed to search for more cores: Rowan, Cora, Isla, and Hubert, the Paladin. At eight in the morning, they received an SMS from Hubert: Problems. Meet me in Market Square.

  Isla and Cora exited the house first and Rowan last after exchanging a handshake with Dmitri, a hug with Lizzie, and a kiss with Grace. The latter whispered in his ear: “You owe me for playing your ‘make Isla feel good’ game.”

  “But she’s your friend!” he objected.

  “And thanks to you, a smug one. I expect you to learn at least a duo so we can perform together.”

  “If I must…” he squirmed, uncomfortable with the idea of a public performance.

  “You promised. I give you a week.”

  Wailing inside his soul, Rowan shut the door behind him and entered his car. Profiting from his late arrival, Isla was already at the wheel and cut short his attempt of asking to drive by staring daggers at him. Literally. He blinked, blinded for a split second, and could have sworn her pupils had flashed.

  “Err…” he tried to ask, but she spoke first.

  “Yeah, I can throw light bolts now. It’s not really from the eyes, but it looks cooler this way. Easier to aim. Damage is not great, though,” Isla puckered her lower lip.

  What happened to her? She does those cute faces every other minute, Rowan wondered. “Should be a good CC, nevertheless.”

  Five minutes later, they arrived at Market Square, where the Town’s Mall was situated, a plaza projected to host fairs and conventions. Less monumental than the Main Square, it had a lot more traffic. Seeing the car, Hubert ran toward them, waving his hands.

  “Help. He can’t be reasoned with.” He was the Goblidog. Chained to a lamppost, the small monster had a large sign hung above him: I have rights! Circling the Goblinoid were Thomas, Isla’s adopted son, and her parents, carrying similar banners.

  “What are you doing?” Isla exited the car, frowning, her hands on her hips. “Why aren’t you in school, Thomas?”

  “Dad allowed me to skip school and come to the manifestation with Grandma and Grandpa,” Thomas said sheepishly. “It’s developing my civic sense.”

  “This is it!” Isla hissed. “You’re moving back with me. Holliday's over, your father ruins your education… What are you manifesting for?”

  “He doesn’t want to fight,” Isla’s mother gestured toward the Goblidog. “He’s a pacifist. A civil rights fighter.”

  “Yes!” The Goblidog screamed. “My civil rights. Make love, not war. I want to stay home and have a beer with my friends. Because I love beer.”

  “I can’t go on missions like this. We can’t move more than a hundred yards apart one from each other,” Hubert complained. "He sits in bars all day and drinks at my expense."

  “Not my problem,” the Goblidog yelled. “I saved your life when you masturbated over a harpy, and I earned the right to a quiet life.”

  Hubert squealed, waving his hands in protest. “I wasn’t ma—”

  “The Dungeon saved a recording on our logs. Do you want me to make it public?” the Goblidog threatened in a low voice.

  Isla jumped in front of Hubert, who was about to strangle the little creature. “Stop! If you kill him, it’s sentientcide, and you’ll be charged with murder.”

  “Let’s take another healer,” Rowan proposed through the lowered window.

  "There's no one available," Cora sighed, checking her phone. "Everybody's Bounty hunting or chasing cores outside the County. "

  "Please, give him a Rezz spot," Hubert pleaded, kneading his hands. "I want my life back."

  "But you can Rezz him yourself if… oh, I see," Cora grimaced because it was clear from Hubert's gaze that if the Goblidog died, Hubert wouldn't lift a finger to help.

  "Look, buddy, I know we're friends and all, but I won’t throw away a Rezz spot to make the little jerk feel safe,” Rowan said, raising his palms up in a no-can-do gesture.

  "You're friends now?" Isla gasped. "But you hated him."

  "Err…" Rowan started hesitantly, "I came to understand the errors of my ways… I was traumatized because you got hurt during the challenge, and I needed a shoulder to cry on, and he's a priest, so—"

  "He lied just to be invited for a drink,” the Goblidog rated. “Hubert is a wine aficionado; he has some fifty-year-old stuff. Unique bottles, Chateau du Pope shit. Force me to fight, and I'll sell all your dirty secrets to the Paparazzi," the creature menaced, waving his tiny green fists. "And because I’m a familiar, guess what? It's perfectly legal."

  “Enough!” Rowan roared. “Hubert, get your smurf and tour the County, healing people. That doesn’t involve combat. The leprechaun, go with him, or else.”

  “Capitalist abuse! I won't go anywhere. I have rights,” the Goblidog blurted.

  “He's technically your pet, right, Hubert?" Rowan asked, his tone suddenly calm and cold. "I think it's within your rights to castrate him. Maybe less hormones will improve his mood."

  “OK, OK, I'll go, I'll go,” the monster surrendered, raising his hands. His chains fell on the cobblestones, indicating he wasn't really tied up. Then, Hubert grabbed Wurf by the back of his neck like a cat and walked away.

  “All's well that ends well," Isla said. "Mom, Dad, you better get Thomas back in school, or I'll fine you for bringing a child to a dangerous manifestation. Right, honey?"

  Rowan nodded. “By my powers as Count, I declare this a dangerous manifestation. Get Thomas back in school ASAP.”

  "What's the danger in this?" Isla's mother protested.

  "Seriously?" Rowan facepalmed. "We need cores to save Earth from destruction, and a garden gnome just took our Healer slash Tank out of the picture."

  "I can tank," Thomas proposed. "You know I'm good at it."

  "Out of the question," Isla cut him short. "You're going back to school, and that's it."

  "You cost us time and sanity, and we must take higher risks. I'll tell you only once: don't do this again, or I'll put a restriction order on you," Rowan concluded.

  “This wouldn’t have happened in a socialist country!” Isla's father yelled.

  “Capitalism gifted Bourbon to the world; what did socialism produce? Vodka? Tasteless, odorless…"

  “Don't argue with them,” Isla sighed, reentering the car and driving west. “They can’t be reasoned with. Let's go, we’re already late. I have yet to test my new powers in a real combat situation, and I need fourteen more APs for my dream build. Threshold three in Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution, Max in Intelligence, and two in Will and Charisma.”

  [Rowan to Cora]: She seems quite sure about what she wants. Did you advise her?”

  [Cora to Rowan]: She didn’t even ask. And let me tell you, the perks she chose are the worst. Everyone knows that Mana Weapons are weak, and one has to invest in minions. Artists are meant to be team players, distracting the enemy with their constructs, buffing friends, and stuff.

  “Where are we going?” Rowan asked. “And why aren’t we teleporting?”

  "A scouting team detected a Mini-Dungeon somewhere in Ohio, Shawnee State Park. We’ll clear it.” Isla said without turning her head, concentrating on the road. “About the teleport, ask her why."

  Cora rolled her eyes. “I’ve told both of you countless times. Teleporting is difficult. The Core is recalibrating because the County changed its size. The portals hub is off for the week, but we can use the Border's Multitasking Forcefield instead. For the record, going into a dungeon without a tank or a healer is a bad idea.”

  Isla didn't seem discouraged in the least, shrugging. “It's just a mini-Dungeon; what’s the big deal? Do I have to remind you how you two went into Bree's stuff without a second thought? OK, the Butler tells me we're close enough to the Border to jump.”

  “Butler, please open a portal as close as possible to Shawnee State Park,” Rowan said. "The Ohio one," he added just as a precaution.

  [The Butler]: I know which one, your Lordship, I'm following all Quests and notifications in real-time. My loyal assistant, formerly known as the Shore Dungeon’s FAQ, provides a lot of help. It says to say hi.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Nice. You two keep up the good work.”

  Thirty minutes later, they arrived at the place marked on the map by the scouting team, a forest road ending a few miles after leaving a junction, continuing with several foot trails. Near a 4x4 car parked a few feet before the barrier, the scout team was waiting, waving at them. It was not a proper party, but two mountain guides, an elderly woman and a youngster, both of uncommon tier, level twenty. Rowan tried to contain his disappointment.

  This is all? Pfff… I stretched my forces too thin… I forgot how huge the US is.

  “The barrier is a half a mile that way,” the woman showed them a small track.

  “Weren’t you supposed to move on and cover more terrain?” Isla asked, starting to equip her fighting gear.

  “We could use some XP,” the younger guide hinted they wanted to come. His eyes were waving to the left and right, looking hyperactive and eager for a challenge.

  “It’s up to you, but these things can get dangerous,” Rowan said.

  “It's their choice,” Cora said, and Rowan shrugged. It was true. After all, babysitting adults wasn't his priority. After a sustained march, the group arrived at the mini-dungeon’s edge five minutes later. “This has a loud signal,” the Nekojin said after using her scanning gadget. “I wonder how it wasn’t detected before.”

  “Our sensor is not as good as yours,” the woman said. “It did not show until we were very close.”

  “She made them,” Rowan pointed at Cora in an obvious lapse of judgment.

  “Hey!" The Nekojin blurted, frowning at him. "Let's see you reverse engineer a state-of-the-art sensor with the equivalent of a fork and a toothpick as tools.”

  “Sorry, bad wording. I meant it worked fine enough. They did find the dungeon, right?” Rowan fondled her ears, knowing well it would calm her. Half-sulking, Cora summoned her armor and led the way through the barrier.

  You have entered The Eldritch Mini-Dungeon, level 40. You cannot exit until the Dungeon is clear. Clear the dungeon to reclaim its core, XP, 1 Level, and 1 AP.

  After joining everyone in a Team, Cora inspected her scanner anew, moving it around, her tail wagging nervously. “One mile and a half in diameter… That’s big for a forty. We shouldn't be less careful just because it's low level. All monsters are dangerous."

  “Let me go check things first,” Rowan said.

  "I can fly and map the area. It’s faster," Cora proposed.

  "Or—” A sudden loud noise cut Rowan’s answer. A voice shouting through a bullhorn.

  “Rowan Allinder, we know you’re here. We have your Louisville friends hostage. Give us the Sensor, or we’ll kill them. You have two minutes.”

  “What the fuck! A trap?” Isla gasped.

  “A bespoke trap,” Rowan clenched his teeth. “How did they know?”

  “Where are the Scouts?” Cora looked around in a panic. “They were here a moment ago…” The elderly woman and the youngster were nowhere to be seen, and a notification worsened the finding:

  Anonymous Mountain Guide 1 and Anonymous Mountain Guide 2 have left the party and escaped the dungeon through unknown means.

  “Fuck… We have traitors now?" Rowan activated his armor. "OK, no time searching for them, let’s move on. Worst case scenario, we’re three against nine, right?"

  “Yeah, if everyone else is a boogie. Only up to twelve people can enter a combat-oriented dungeon,” Cora said.

  “Then it's easy. I have plenty of rebars and Joint Trip stacks. And if those two were low levels, maybe they all are,” Rowan said.

  “They still can shoot a gun, and this is about your friends not being killed, not us,” Isla said. “Which reminds me… Let’s even the odds.”

  She extracted a stun grenade from her inventory, pulled the pin, and stood still, holding it for ten seconds before releasing it on the ground. The lever was still pressed, and the grenade had become invisible, hidden in a mesh of colors that reflected the environment. “This construct has ten HP; I can send it up to a hundred yards away. Constructs are weak, but I thought, what the heck, why not put them to carry bombs. That’s more efficient.”

  "That's not the proper way to use constructs," Cora scolded Isla. "Why don't you ever listen to anything I say?"

  “One minute,” the voice bellowed.

  “Send the grenade ahead, but take care they don’t see it. I'll scout,” Rowan blurted and proceeded onward, shaping a shield in his left hand but no weapon in his right, waiting to see what was best for the occasion.

  A hundred yards and a minute later, the forest opened into a clearing. In its middle were three intergalactic mercenaries in full armor, holding heavy blasters. Rowan’s friends—a man and a woman— were handcuffed together, wearing something that looked like an explosive necklace with a blinking light on it. A fourth person, a man in a black suit, stood behind everyone, holding the bullhorn in his left hand and a remote control in his right. The last character in the clearing was a monster, probably the Boss of the Dungeon, a Wraith-like creature kept in a metal cage with a faint light pulsing over the bars.

  “Hands up and no sudden gestures!” the suit yelled.

  [Rowan to all]: Where’s the grenade?

  [Isla to all]: Behind the main group. They didn’t notice it.

  [Rowan to all]: Let it go as soon I enter The Space. Then take cover until I take them out.

  “Don't shoot, I'm here to talk,” Rowan shouted, dismissing his shield and advancing slowly with his hands up.

  “You have the Detector?” the man in black yelled, letting the bullhorn go and introducing his hand inside his vest, most likely to grab a gun.

  “I do,” Rowan said. Cora had it, but he needed to advance just a few more steps.

  “Stop just there. Throw it!” the suit yelled in the bullhorn, albeit it was unnecessary, they were only ten yards apart now.

  Intergalactic Mercenaries should have known better, Rowan pondered. Ten yards wasn’t enough a distance to protect them from a charge or a spell.

  In Rowan’s inventory was a forgotten casino chip from his night with Cora in Vegas. He leaned forward, took one more step, and threw it up in an arched trajectory. The hostages appeared in his targeting app, highlighted as available targets for his Friends on a Trip, and he activated it.

  As soon they were in Space, the explosive necklaces fell through the man and woman’s bodies and exploded on the ground below, outside The Space, harmless. That was a relief; his Perk had somehow gotten rid of the devices.

  “Chill, you’re safe!” he yelled to calm his friends because they yelled a lot. Sounds were muted inside the in-between but still hearable. From outside, bright light flashes told the story of an intense battle. With a couple of rebar pieces in hand, Rowan turned his attention to the fight.

  It was all but over. The suit had emptied his gun with no result, and was screaming in panic, stubbornly pressing a trigger that didn't shoot any more bullets, and the mercs were dead. Two had been cut in half, and Isla was just skewering the third, from one side to another, with a light beam emerging from her hand.

  What the fuck, Isla's a Jedi now? Nah… Considering her character, definitely a Sith.

  Your team member Isla Culloden has slain Neek Tank (Lvl. 70) x3. You receive no XP. For saving your friends while under fire, you receive 1 AP. For Clearing Eldritch mini-Dungeon, you receive +1 Level and 1 AP.

  Extending his weapons in six filaments, he reappeared in the real world, impaling the suit with his threads in the legs and arms, pinning them into the ground but keeping the man up in the process. He was screaming, of course, but Rowan ignored the noise.

  “You’re supposed to be support and CC, not DPS!” Cora was yelling at Isla in an accusing tone, shaking her fists like she wanted to hit the blonde.

  “I am CC,” Isla shouted back. “Do they move or something? You're just upset I found a smart build on my own.” She finished by pulling her tongue on Cora in a childish display that made the Nekojin hiss.

  "Ladies, please!" Rowan said. "Argue later. You better talk, mister!" Turning toward the skewered suit, he added a Svartálfar’s Stare for good measure. Still, instead of being intimidated, the man screamed even harder. His eyeballs froze solid and popped out of their sockets, falling on the ground with a sick sound, then his cranium expanded and cracked, the brain freezing as well, and finally, the man's body became limp; he was dead.

  Goodness… This was a normie… I have to train to tone it down…

  Retreating his threads and letting the suit fall on the fallen leaves, Rowan examined the battle scene with a critical eye. It was time to take care of the hostages. They were still shouting stuff and wailing. “Isla, meet Jim, my former boss, and Gwen, his wife. Cora already knows them. Guys, for fucks sake, could you tone it down? I saved you, didn’t I?”

  “The handcuffs hurt,” Jim shouted. “Get us the keys. They’re in that guy’s pants.”

  “Err… you get them,” Rowan denied the request because the man in the black suit had soiled himself.

  Cora came to the rescue and unlocked the cuffs with a multitool. "Do you want me to take flight and try to catch the spies? We need information."

  “I know everything. I heard them talking,” Joe said. “The suit was a Fed from Philly, the rest Neeks. It was the Neeks' plan, but the Feds helped; they have a file on you. The Neeks looted the armor from some Mercenaries they killed.”

  “How did such bad fighters manage to kill the Mercs?” Isla asked.

  “The Mercs died in Goblin Town and were teleported to Rezz in a Neek base. The Neeks betrayed them and sabotaged the Rezz pods to get the armor.”

  "Then I'm glad I killed them. That's a shitty thing to do," Isla said.

  Meanwhile, Cora was busy looting the armor suits, now empty, as the Neeks' bodies had dissolved into the usual specks of Mana. “It's good gear, I think I can reverse engineer it."

  “Sweet, baby, but let’s concentrate on business," Rowan said. “Who has the claim to the core? Someone killed the Boss, and it ain't me.”

  “I did. My construct exploded the grenade under the cage. See how smart my build is?” Isla rubbed her hands, gloating again at Cora.

  “A Boss died from a stun grenade?”

  “Wraiths are weak to light,” Cora explained to Rowan.

  Thirty yards away, a white, pale globe appeared on the meadow, floating slowly toward the blonde, who put it into her inventory. A few seconds later, the cold air from outside flowed in, making them shiver. Cora extracted a couple of heavier coats from her inventory and offered them to the couple.

  “What’s the lowest level core we have in store, Cora?” Rowan asked.

  “A level thirty, why?”

  “OK. Here’s how we play. We take my friends to Elkins, pick that core, go to Philly, and activate it."

  “We’re supposed to consume the cores, not expand them. Why?" Cora furrowed her brows and waved her tail in the characteristic motion she used to convey annoyance.

  “We still have some wiggle room, and I want to convey a message: if you come after us, we will destroy your power base. Most people would give a hand to be in an Awakened town. I’m pretty sure we'll win the vote. Then, we teleport the feds and hostiles out, and if some die in the process, win-win, the world is a better place.”

  “It's… not a bad idea," Cora conceded.

  "Just leave us in the closest town. We'll rent a car," Gwen said. "I want to go home as fast as possible… I thought we were going to die," she began crying, and Jim took her in his arms.

  “Then I'll take you to Louisville. You were kidnapped because of me; it's the least I can do. It's OK with you, right, girls?" Rowan asked.

  "Sure," Isla nodded. "We don't abandon our friends."

  "And I'll scan for more cores on the way," Cora said, her mind more utilitarian.

  When they arrived at the car, Cora inspected it for traps or tracking devices, but all was in order. The Mountain Guides' 4x4 was gone, though. They drove on in silence, with Rowan at the wheel, to be able to execute the Joint Trip: Warp trip if they met roadblocks or ambushes.

  An hour later, entering uncharted territory, Cora activated her scanner. “Guys!” she peeped with a scared voice a second later.

  “I'll slow down if you think I'm going too fast,” Rowan patted her hand.

  “It’s not that… I tried to activate the Scanner to see if there were more cores around… Look,” Cora pushed the item under his face.

  Slowing down to a reasonable speed so she could peek at Cora’s bracelet, Rowan gasped. Instead of the sparkplug-shaped crystal, a real sparkplug was inserted in it. “Fuck!" he yelled, swerving on the road. "Someone stole the sensors."

  "The Mountain Guides did it…” Isla said, with a Sherlock Holmes tone. Silence descended in the car, and their mood suddenly became somber.