Garren crossed the corridor in three strides. Raised his sword high and brought it down on the lock with everything he had.

  The sound was deafening. Metal shrieked. The lock shattered. Fragments scattered across the stone floor.

  But Garren didn't stop. He hit it again. And again. The gate itself now, the hinges. Each blow ringing out like a bell, echoing through the corridor. His breathing was harsh. Ragged. The kind of fury that couldn't be contained.

  The fourth blow tore the top hinge clean off the wall.

  Garren grabbed the bars with both hands and pulled. His arms shook. His face went red with effort. The metal groaned. Then gave. The entire gate came free with a screech of tortured iron. Garren hurled it aside. It hit the far wall and clattered to the floor.

  The children had shrunk back, terrified.

  Garren stopped. Stood there breathing hard, his hands still clenched into fists. John could see him fighting for control. See the effort it took to unclench his jaw, to straighten, to soften his expression.

  When Garren spoke, his voice was rough but gentle. "You're safe now. Free."

  One of the children started crying. Not from fear this time, but relief.

  "Help is coming," Garren continued. He knelt down slowly, making himself smaller, less threatening. "The Valebrants are coming. You can trust them." He swallowed hard. "I did. No one will hurt you again."

  The girl who'd been crying pressed forward slightly. "You mean it?"

  "I mean it."

  Garren stayed kneeling, one hand resting on his sword hilt.

  While Garren spoke to the children, John pulled out a health potion. His hands shook as he uncorked it. The liquid burned going down, but warmth spread immediately through his chest. His face stopped throbbing. The blisters from the fire began to heal.

  He followed it with a stamina potion, feeling the exhaustion get pushed back as energy flooded his body. His arms stopped shaking and his legs felt solid again.

  Then John checked his notifications.

  [Level Up!] x4

  More attribute points.

  He split them evenly. Half into Strength, half into Agility. He could feel the difference immediately.

  He dismissed the notifications and looked toward the door at the end of the corridor.

  Not done yet.

  John caught Garren's eye. The man was still kneeling with the children, but he looked up at the movement.

  "I'm going ahead," John said quietly.

  Garren nodded once, his expression still hard with barely contained fury. But he stayed where he was.

  John turned and walked toward the final door, Moonfang held ready.

  Behind him, he heard one of the children ask, "Is he going to stop them?"

  "Yes," Garren said. His voice was steady. "He is."

  John pushed open the door and stepped through into a larger chamber. Stone pillars supported a vaulted ceiling, and torches burned in wall sconces, casting dancing shadows across the floor.

  John stepped inside slowly with Moonfang held ready, his eyes sweeping the room as he took it all in.

  Strange implements lined the walls. Metal frames with straps. Tables with channels carved into them for blood to run. Braziers with tools heating in the coals. And chains. Everywhere. Hanging from hooks, bolted to the floor, attached to the pillars. Most had dark stains on the metal.

  This wasn't a hideout. This was where they worked.

  John took another step into the chamber, every sense alert. In the corner of his eye, he caught the tiniest flicker of movement.

  He threw himself sideways on pure instinct.

  An arrow whistled through the space where his head had been, so close he felt the fletching brush his cheek. It struck the stone floor behind him with a sharp clatter.

  His head snapped toward the source. At the far end of the chamber stood an archer, where moments ago was empty space. The man was already nocking another arrow, a smirk on his face despite having missed his first shot.

  John brought Moonfang up. The arrow hit the blade and deflected away, spinning off into the darkness.

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  Another arrow came immediately after. John parried again, feeling the impact jar his wrist.

  Then footsteps. Running. Heavy. Getting closer fast.

  A swordsman charged from between two pillars. A big man with a scarred face, blade already swinging.

  Another arrow. John parried again, and kept his focus on the swordsman.

  It exploded.

  The concussion hit John like a fist. His ears rang. His vision blurred, and he stumbled backward off-balance.

  The swordsman lunged. His blade drove toward John in a perfect thrust, aimed right at his heart. The man's eyes were bright. He knew this would happen, had been counting on it.

  John dropped, twisting as he fell. Moonfang came around low and fast.

  The blade punched down through the top of the swordsman's foot just as the man's sword passed over John's head. Moonfang drove through boot, flesh, and bone. Deep into the stone floor beneath, pinning the man in place.

  An arrow whistled past John's lowered head, passing so close it sliced through strands of his hair.

  The swordsman tried to jerk backward, but his foot was pinned solid. He looked down in horror at the blade through his boot, then at John crouched at his feet, and his face went white with the realization of what was about to happen.

  John ripped Moonfang up and out.

  The blade tore free of the stone, sliced up through the man's leg and kept going. Carved a line up the through his groin, up his stomach. The enchanted edge opened him like a zipper.

  Blood poured out. The man's hands went to his belly, trying desperately to hold himself together, trying to keep his insides from spilling out onto the floor.

  John grabbed the man's shoulder and spun him around as he rose to his feet.

  Two arrows hit the dying swordsman in the chest in quick succession. The man's body jerked with each impact and he tried to speak, but only blood came gurgling out.

  John held him upright and used him as a shield as he advanced toward the archer.

  More arrows came. Thudded into the body John was holding. One hit the corpse's neck with a wet thunk.

  John saw a glow.

  He kicked the body forward with everything he had.

  The explosion was massive. Heat and force washed over John as he hit the stone floor and rolled. Debris rained down around him. Something wet splattered across the floor. Pieces of the swordsman, scattered by the blast.

  John came up running.

  The archer was already reaching for another arrow. His hands were shaking. The cocky confidence from his first shot completely gone.

  He loosed.

  John twisted. The arrow passed harmlessly through where he'd been.

  Another came immediately. John batted it aside with Moonfang without breaking stride, closing the distance rapidly.

  The archer's form suddenly shimmered. Then vanished.

  John didn't stop. Didn't slow.

  A slight haze to the left. The archer was circling around, trying to get a better angle.

  John tracked it and predicted the path. Where the archer would be.

  He reversed his grip on Moonfang and threw.

  A scream erupted from empty air. The archer appeared suddenly, Moonfang buried deep in his back, the point emerging from his chest. He staggered forward, hands reaching desperately behind him, trying to grasp the blade he couldn't reach.

  His bow clattered to the floor.

  John walked over as the man fell to his knees. Blood poured from the wound, pooling on the stone.

  The archer looked up at John and tried to speak. Only a wet gurgle came out.

  John pulled Moonfang free. The archer collapsed face-first onto the stone and didn't move again.

  Silence fell over the chamber. Just John's breathing and the crackling of torches.

  [Level Up] x2

  John looked around as he put his new points into Agility. The room was a mess. Scorch marks from the explosion. Blood everywhere. Body parts scattered across the floor. The smell was overwhelming.

  At the far end of the chamber, John could see where they'd broken through into an old brick tunnel. The smell of sewage wafted up, and John could see two small boats tied to an iron ring, flat-bottomed and narrow.

  In the game, reaching this far triggered a boat full of men to arrive. But here, nothing.

  He turned and walked toward the other passage. A proper doorway with an arched stone entrance.

  John stopped at the door and took a breath. If he was right, this was the last thing between him and finishing this.

  He pushed it open.

  The chamber beyond was smaller than the last. Circular and wrong. The walls were carved with symbols that writhed at the edges of John's vision, making his eyes water and his head throb. A ritual space. Active magic, old and dark, still clinging to the stone.

  The air tasted like ash.

  And in the center, a man knelt on the ground, his back to the door. He was carving something into the stone floor with a knife. Slow, deliberate strokes. The scraping sound echoed in the chamber.

  John stepped inside.

  The scraping stopped.

  The man stood slowly, brushing stone dust from his hands. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Light armor that looked well-used and well-maintained. Two swords hung at his belt, and John could see the wear on the hilts where hands had gripped them thousands of times.

  He turned.

  Eric The Red.

  His eyes were wild and bright. When he saw John standing in the doorway, covered in blood and soot, he smiled.

  John took one hand off Moonfang and reached into his pocket. He pulled out the haste charms and crushed them in his fist.

  Glass shattered. Liquid fire poured into his palm, soaking through his skin and straight into his veins.

  Pain exploded through John's body. His heart slammed against his ribs, racing so fast it felt like it would tear itself apart. His muscles spasmed and his vision went white before snapping back into focus with unnatural clarity.

  He felt wetness on his face and reached up to touch it. His fingers came away red.

  His eyes were weeping blood.

  The man's smile turned into a wide grin. "Oh, I like you already."