Phanya tumbled through an endless void of dark agony, trapped in a nightmare. She couldn't feel her face, or her body, or anything beyond a vague haze of pain; nothing floated in the void to give her a sense of direction or time. How long had she been here for? The last thing she remembered was that horrible monster crashing into the windshield, followed by a flash of red light that pulled Phanya out of her own body. Somehow. At some point the red light winked off and left her here, trapped in limbo.

  The only reason Phanya didn't think she had died is because everything hurt so damn much.

  Any attempt to move, take action, or even think too deeply gave a spike of pain that sent Phanya into a fresh panic until she calmed down. If only she could access her Adrenaline Rush ability in his hellscape, but thankfully Phanya had enough practice from ignoring various scrapes and sprains over the years that she didn't need the system. The biggest challenge was figuring out how to center herself without having a center to speak of, but eventually Phanya felt the familiar sense of sinking and she slowly pushed the pain out of her perception.

  Only more darkness existed beneath the pain, but at least Phanya could think a little more clearly. If she wanted to progress further then she needed something to anchor herself to, and after some metaphorical searching Phanya noticed a faint glow highlighting the darkness. She couldn't find a source anywhere, in fact the light dimmed to nothing wherever Phanya focused. As if the source was actively avoiding her, until frustration broke her concentration and Phanya buoyed back up to the pain.

  She repeated this cycle several more times, bobbing back and forth between nerve-wracking pain and mind-numbing oblivion. Eventually Phanya gave up the hunt and sank as deeply within her mind as she could manage, starting a new struggle to hold her place. Dealing with pain was one thing for Phanya; staying still and doing nothing for so long was nearly just as torturous. The lights returned, and she ignored them. The lights grew brighter, and she focused to not focus on them.

  Phanya never figured out what exactly caused the shift. Maybe time, though she had no idea whether she waited in the depths for minutes or days. Maybe the light saw her as a threat at first, or she stayed still long enough to blend in with the void like camouflage. Whatever the cause, one moment Phanya felt like she was on the verge of falling asleep and the next she was surrounded on all sides by curling rays of bright, solid light. Turquoise light.

  Of course the only thing to follow her into limbo were her numan markings. But Phanya was so happy to see something, anything down here that she didn't question why. They seemed to emanate from her chest --- if she had a chest, and if she could look down to see her chest --- and radiated outwards like veins, or the branches of a growing tree. But unlike normal biology the lights swirled and looped on themselves, dancing around Phanya as ribbons of light that gave a sense of movement to the stagnant void. Their very presence put her at ease, until she noticed the damage.

  It was subtle, and at first Phanya thought that some of the ribbons were just slightly out of focus. But once she noticed one frayed edge more snapped to focus, countless small bits of damage dotting the ribbons in all directions with no discernible pattern. Phanya felt an ethereal chill at the realization, despite the minor appearance of any damage. She suspected any damage that could penetrate this deeply into her being signified just how dire her situation was, even moreso than being trapped in a comatose limbo. But she was still alive, and with nothing else to do beyond studying the ribbons Phanya felt confident that the damage wasn't getting any worse.

  She just hoped that the boys didn't do anything too stupid before she woke up.

  The monk yawned and stretched their backbone, uncurling it as far as their torso could accommodate. They loved that the great Phase had saw fit to shape them with a gloriously long spine, truly, but part of them wished that the rest of their body had grown to match. For now, any time they tried to stand at full height the monk could feel their organs shifting, and they feared that any discomfort would show as displeasure for the gift. They just needed to practice whenever they could.

  The brother standing next to them disagreed. "Cut that out already. We're here to guard, not practice rejoicing," he whistled. The second monk's shaping had stretched their mouth long and narrow, so he always whistled.

  "But I'm so bored," the sibling monk groaned, slumping back into their hump-backed resting height. Their organs all shifted back into place and they tried to hide the grimace.

  "Not my problem. Pastor Callum says we all need to look tough after those outsiders trashed the place, and if you blow your back out again while on guard duty then we'll both get in trouble."

  "I'd look tougher if I could stand at my full glorious height, but it just isn't sticking…"

  "You think I reached enlightenment overnight?" the brother monk said and thrust a taloned thumb at his own head, obscured by his hood save for the pointed bird's beak jutting from the shade. "I used to get horrible headaches every time I tried to use my gift, it took years of practice."

  "Yeah, but now you can peck straight through metal! Your shaping is awesome!"

  The second monk tittered slightly, his version of a small smile. He didn't enjoy standing guard on useless garbage either, but the compliment softened his mood. "Because you're rushing it. Too much standing up, not enough standing still. Try just stretching yourself halfway, before it starts to hurt, and hold it there for a while."

  The first monk slowly stretched upwards about half a meter and stayed there, but after a few minutes their muscles started to cramp. "Gah, this is so much easier when I can lay down. Why can't we just push the whole wreck into the corn?"

  "Because not even the Phase could save us if one single maggot survives the corn," he scoffed. "Think about it, it could just eat and eat until a whole damn swarm flies out."

  "So we just have to guard this skrat until someone come gets it, I know," the second monk finished. They weren't ignorant, but complaining let them blow off steam and the brother monk knew it.

  Screaming rubber interrupted the two monks. They spun around just in time to see the massive six-wheeled armored car slide into view, turning sideways in a controlled skid around the pile of crushed bugs, hovercraft, and dune buggy.

  A robot leapt out of the moving vehicle and landed full-force among the dead bugs before emerging, covered head to toe in dripping ichor. It attached one end of a glowing rope to the flattened buggy and pointed its two back-mounted laser turrets at the monks, shouting something made up from words that almost made sense. The monks knew that "forth" and "with" were both real words, but the robot must be glitching with the way it combined them.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  A young man in an armored hauler suit also yelled something that got swallowed by screeching tires, but the gun-shaped thing in his hands said plenty. The way he leaned out of the side door to point the strange gun at the monks said everything else. From the front of the vehicle bright green high-tech goggles glowed, resting on top of an equally green snarl. Despite his struggling, the reptilian driver kept the large car under control as it completed a full arc around the monks and reversed course.

  The outsiders appeared from nowhere, stole a pile of dangerous garbage, and disappeared back into the setting sun in under five seconds.

  One monk reached for his radio, but quickly stopped. What good would it do? The outsiders had wrecked the church's only car, so it isn't like they could give chase. And Pastor Callum was already struggling to hold himself together with the Privateer's approach. He had told them to guard the wreck because he didn't want the bugs to cause any new problems, and now the problem was gone. Who cares what strange and perverse things a group of outsiders wanted to do with dead bugs and wrecked tech?

  The brother instead pocketed his radio and started walking back towards the mess hall, and after several more seconds of stunned silence his sibling eventually caught up. "Should we, uh… what should we tell Pastor Callum?"

  "Not a damn thing."

  Phanya felt a thread tugging at the back of her mind, and to her own surprise she resisted at first. Enough time had passed for Phanya to almost grow comfortable in the depths, free of pain and surrounded by her own light, and she followed the thread upwards at a slow pace to avoid any shocks. First the light faded for the numb void, followed by the nightmare realm of pain and darkness, followed by more pain and darkness. A deep but mundane pain and a very wet darkness that reeked of bug guts, and Phanya stifled a groan. She wanted to take the time to get her bearings, especially now that she could access the system and its many helpful messages dominating her inner eye.

  [Willpower save vs Abyssal Glare: Critical Failure]

  [Wounds: ????]

  [Injury: Acid Burn ? (Treated)

  -1 Strength and -1 Dexterity to the affected limb.]

  [Injury: Scorched Eyes ? (Treated)

  Blurry vision from damaged retinas means all sight-based checks are taken at disadvantage.]

  [Injury: Essence Drain ??

  Your soul inches ever closer to oblivion, a flickering candle in the wind. Essence damage lowers your effective overall level by 1 per wound and cannot be healed by standard medicine. Natural healing requires a full recuperation period instead of a single rest period.]

  [Status effect gained: Potion Toxicity (Mild)

  Consuming or applying a number of potions greater than your Constitution (4) within one rest period overloads your body, resulting in mild nausea and reduced benefits from potions.]

  All things considered, Phanya didn't feel quite as near death as the messages implied. Mostly just an exhausting ache over her entire body, like catching a bad cold without the fever. Until she tried to sit up and a wave of nausea from the potion toxicity hit her, forcing Phanya to lay still until her stomach calmed down.

  What the hell did that monster do to her? Phanya didn't want to think about the implications of it draining her "essence," and she tried to sit up again while moving as slowly as possible. As she focused on righting herself the wet bandages fell off, and Phanya hissed at the sudden light before she could catch herself. She saw movement in the blurry lines and braced for the bombardment of concern, but instead her friends actually kept their voices down for once.

  "Hey, how're you feeling?" Ricky asked. Quietly, far too quietly for Phanya's comfort.

  She instantly perked up slightly and said, "Mostly worried that me waking up with my head covered in bug guts is going to become a pattern." Phanya tried to chuckle at her own joke, but just groaned instead when a fresh knot of nausea hit. "I feel like I've been hit by a truck, with another smaller truck doing wheelies in my gut. Turns out that taking too many potions in one day makes you sick." She heard a hiss of static as Tapper gasped and Phanya quickly waved away the concern. "It's fine, I'm fine, just kinda nauseous. No more potions until I have a… rest period, I guess."

  "Then allow me to make you a soothing hot toddy and we'll put you right to rest!"

  "Seriously, Taps, I already feel like I've been out for days. Wait, how long have I been out for?"

  "Only approximately four hours," Tapper instantly answered, and Salazar suddenly snored in the background. "It is currently 11:27 pm."

  "Good, sleep is the last thing I want right now. Even if everything is blurry except all these system messages."

  "Oh, new system messages?" Ricky asked, and Phanya felt the edge of a hardcover book poking her arm. She turned to face him and, although she didn't know what her face looked like, she was sure it didn't look good.

  "I still can't see skrat, Ry." The book drooped slightly, and Phanya sighed. "Tapper, mind if I just dictate to you? Tell me what you two already got from that jackass meatball." To her surprise, they already had roughly the same checks and status effects, and after Phanya gave the Potion Toxicity message Tapper flipped back through the last few pages.

  "So much accounting Ricky, I'm impressed by your fastidious note-taking! Especially when compared to your inscrutable handwriting." Ricky just started to catch on when Tapper continued, "Although the message you received for the Bubbling Cauldron is quite different from mine."

  [Equipment: Bubbling Cauldron

  Years of imprisoning a spirit within dark iron has left a permanent imprint of its Pressure. Any liquid placed in the cauldron can be heated or cooled to any temperature between boiling and freezing within 1 minute, no fuel needed, and held there until all liquid empties. Applying additional mana can speed up this process, surpass temperature limits, or directly use the imprinted essence.]

  Tapper worried that the system's inconsistencies would upset or annoy Ricky, but the young man actually pumped his fist in celebration. "I knew it! I knew the cauldron would help your potions, but the way it can do so much more for you sells it! The tools matter!"

  Tapper unconsciously sighed a low hiss of static. "Oh that's a relief. But it's so much more than a mere tool that synchronizes with brewing potions by sheer serendipity. I am certain that this is a tool specifically for Witchcraft, and that it fits by both the function and form. Using it to brew Phanya's potions felt correct."

  Phanya could feel the excitement building, and she was genuinely happy that their moods bounced back, but a question had been gnawing at the back of her mind and she loudly cleared her throat. "So why do you already have those other injury messages? Why are you two not all messed up too?"

  "Oh my eyes indeed shorted out, but I merely had to reset them," Tapper answered. "Same as Salazar. And I believe that my robotic eyes also filtered out the worst of the abyssal glare. Or maybe my firewall mitigated it. I am still of two minds on the subject."

  Phanya had already stopped paying attention to Tapper. She still couldn't see clearly, but she could practically feel Ricky squirming. "Ricky?"

  "I, uh, got a little blinded, yeah. And some drainage, too. It all just healed when I, uh, leveled up." Phanya didn't say anything back, and Ricky grew more nervous. "Yeah, turns out when you level up it heals your wounds. Pretty cool, huh?"

  "...Seriously? Again?"

  "Please don't ding me. And hey, we're all level 4 now! Technically."

  Tapper helpfully added, "One of the few downsides of being a robot is that leveling up does not heal me."

  Phanya just huffed and laid back down on the bed. "On second thought, I'm going to try and get some sleep after all."

  "You don't even want to see what I got?"

  "Yeah I do, and I need to let my eyes heal so I can see what weird shit the system did to you. Then I'll ding you."