《Final Girl》


 Prologue

    Prologue


    The being currently referring to itself as Tryn daintily wiped off its mouth with a lacy purple handkerchief, which it then tossed over its shoulder dismissively, the gore-stained bit of cloth disappearing in a small puff of smoke shortly after leaving its still gore covered hands.


    ¡°I think that about sums up any questions you could reasonably have.¡±


    Around the world, a babble of disagreement broke out in response to that statement. Tryn adopted a confused and considering expression.


    ¡°Not at all, true enough. Allow me to rephrase in a more honest fashion.¡± It crossed its arms behind its back, the thin limbs hidden beneath puffy purple and black sleeves bending at unsettling and unnatural angles. With its head tilted to the side, purple flames shifted and danced in empty sockets, somehow giving the impression of an intense stare.


    ¡°Iknowthat sums up any questions you could reasonably have that I care enough or am obligated to answer.¡± It grinned, it¡¯s face stretching and widening a bit to allow it¡¯s grin to stretch even wider. ¡°So, we shall move on to the next, and far more interesting phase.¡± Its arms snapped back in front of it, like bungee cords that had come unhooked. Raising one arm, it pointed directly at every person in the world at once, the hand pointing down to the scattered remains of those who had drawn its ire and not survived to this point in the conversation that the entirety of humanity suddenly found themselves having.


    ¡°The assigning of powers and abilities! A torrent of potential, martial, magical and otherwise shall now be bestowed on you! The ability to thrive and overcome the terrible tribulations that await!¡± Tryn bowed its head slightly, breaking eye contact as its grin widened again. ¡°Or at least to writhe about more attractively, the most select of worms impaled on our shiniest hooks.¡±


    Straightening back up, the skeletal looking creature spread its arms wide as it continued, ignoring the fear and anger generated by its last comment in equal measure. ¡°To that end¡­¡±, it cast its arms wide open dramatically, throwing back its head to stare up at the sky, the bells at the tip of its hat bouncing about soundlessly. ¡°Bring forth your heroes!¡±


    A wave of silence greeted this pronouncement, as both the hostage audience of the entire world and the jester seemed to wait for something expectantly. After a moment, Tryn lowered its head, looking around in feigned confusion and dismay.


    ¡°Oh dear¡­ oh dear YOU, that is, well, that¡¯s simply terrible. Not one? Not a single hero to shepherd this lost and assuredly doomed planet of sheep?¡± The jester brought both hands to its mouth, widespread bony fingers doing nothing to hide the cruel smirk it adopted even as it lamented the poor pitiable human race.


    ¡°It¡¯s true, I¡¯m afraid. Not one hero walks among your people, we checked.¡± Tryn tiled its head to the side. ¡°And to those of you that stepped forward to volunteer just now, I applaud your arrogance and stupidity equally and enthusiastically. But no. No, no, no, not at all, not even a bit. No paragon of teaching underprivileged spiders to read or champion of making sure no child grows up without tasting a Big Mac is the type of Hero we¡¯re looking for and you all so desperately need in the days ahead. I¡¯m talking about a slayer of monsters, a warrior who stands against entire armies, a champion of power that shakes the very heavens and rouses your non-existent gods from their napping.¡±


    The jester snapped its fingers, and a pair of tiny reading glasses and weathered scroll appeared in its hands. Placing the former upon its nose, it examined the latter intently, the flickering purple flames within its empty eye sockets flashing against the thick lenses.


    ¡°Let¡¯s see here, surely your planet full of glorified chattel animals has had at least a hero or two at some point in your embarrassingly short history of existence.¡± Tryn leaned over the scroll, scanning it quickly. ¡°Achilles? Immortal with bad heels, breaker of sieges and slayer of armies? Very eager to massacre anything that got on his bad side in a four miles radius?¡± The jester glanced back up, then leaned its head to the side like it was listening. ¡°Not real? Irrelevant! Dead?¡± It paused, considering that. ¡°For how long?¡± It once again listened, seemingly to nothing, at least to those of humanity not currently providing an answer. ¡°Three thousand years?¡± It snapped its fingers. ¡°Just missed him. Alright, how about¡­¡±. It returned to scanning the scroll intently. ¡°This one¡­ no, dead. Maybe her¡­ no, most of you don¡¯t even remember her. And she¡¯salsodead. Maybe, no. No. Noooope.¡± The jester shook its head, clapping the scroll between its hands, which obligingly vanished in a small puff of foul-smelling smoke. The glasses it plucked off its nose, and tossed them into its mouth, crunching the broken glass while regarding humanity reproachfully.


    ¡°You know, a species as generally unimpressive and unremarkable as yours should really make more of an effort. Being of actual value beyond entertainment is likely forever outside of your species reach, but you could at least put in a token effort to not be total disappointments on a cosmological scale.¡± Swallowing the mouthful of broken glass and twisted wire rims, Tryn rubbed its chin with one hand while considering humanity and their collective shortcomings thoughtfully. After a moment, he shrugged.


    ¡°Well, there¡¯s nothing for it then. Without Heroes for you to rally around, and to guide you in the days ahead, you all will end up wiped out in less time than it took us to get here. Not to mention the time it would take to get back, and the whole thing will just end up a huge waste of everyone¡¯s time.¡± The jester paused to pick a long shard of broken glass out from its gums, the blood the coated it black and thick like tar, with a faint smell of cinnamon. ¡°Not to mention your species will cease to exist, but honestly, that¡¯s far less important to us than the possibility of wasting my and my master¡¯s time.¡± It sighed, the perfect picture of a weary and put-upon employee. ¡°I suppose there¡¯s nothing for it. If only to make this mildly worth our while, we¡¯ll have to help you all out a bit.¡± The jester leaned forward suddenly, eyeless sockets and skeletal face pressed close to every face on earth.


    ¡°So¡­ who isyourhero, who will fight the monsters?¡±


    * * *


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    The ensuing responses to the question posed by the self proclaimed ¡®Herald of the Depths¡¯ were varied, to say the least, though they all fell into one of two broad categories.


    The first were people who answered by naming real people who they, in spite of the jester¡¯s mockery, felt qualified as heroes. This ranged from professional athletes, to Internet personalities, to first responders, to almost the entirety of the World Wrestling Division company. Those people, whose responsibilities up until now had included things like pitching a shutout game or playing scary video games in front of an audience, suddenly found themselves labeled as heroes, with power and ability to match. That had unsurprisingly mixed results.


    The second group was people whose answered by naming fictional characters. Everything from video games, to comic books, to movies was drawn upon. The entire cast of several popular comic books, plus a variety of other superheroes set up shop in New York City. That didn¡¯t go as well as the people who¡¯d wished for it had hoped or expected. It turns out that more than fifty years of mismatched, often traumatic and sometimes outright contradictory history, when shoved into the head of an actual person who had just been willed into existence, resulted in often unstable and generally unreliable heroes, and some of them caused more problems than they solved.


    The other problem was how commonly certain responses were given. If a hundred people in Mineral Point, Wisconsin called out for a specific cape wearing champion to be their hero, andtenthousandpeople in New York City called out for the same individual to be their hero, Tryn, or more accurately the system he served, did humanity the dubious favor of letting the majority rule, which left the good people of Mineral Point, in this example, thoroughly out of luck.


    All across the world, there were a few points that stood out as anomalies during this process. Places where local legends or celebrities were the more popular response than the bigger names whispered across the world. In one of these places, a truly unusual majority of people gave the same answer. Not a superhero, or a dragon-riding knight, or the undisputed heavyweight champ. Instead, when asked who would fight the monsters, the people of this town answered with the relatively unknown name of Virginia Christianson.


    * * *


    Blood Drinkers from Below was a low budget, critically panned slasher horror film from 1988. There is, at first glance, nothing notable about this film. It had terrible writing, two dimensional stereotypes for characters, laughable if enthusiastic special effects, and a cast made up of a mix of lifelong unluckies and no name hopefuls. The former expected very little from the film beyond a meager paycheck and weren¡¯t disappointed. The latter found it a harsh learning experience about the realities of making it big in Hollywood. None of them went on to have any sort of future in acting, with the exception of Gary Janson, who played the part of the popular and handsome male lead, Johnny Burke. Gary went on to do a series of very popular TV spots for a moderately sized chain of hardware stores in the Midwest, portraying the chain¡¯s mascot Mister Fixer.


    ¡°If you need something fixed, the best place to come is Carter and Son¡¯s Hardware. And I would know, since I¡¯m... MIS-TUR FIXER!¡±


    It brought a tear to the eye to see.


    The film¡¯s female lead, Virginia Christianson, was played by similarly bright eyed hopeful Rebecca Helens. Rebecca was... not a good actress. She was however, the most endearing sort of bad actress. What she lacked in talent or proficiency for theater, she made up in enthusiasm and bubbly cheerfulness. Sure, her lines were terrible, but she said them loudly and with undeniable energy. Those who are fans of bad films would describe her as ¡®chewing on the scenery¡¯. Honestly, of all of them, Rebecca honestly could have had the most success in the acting profession, the way terrible but earnest actors and actresses sometime do. Especially in the horror genre, where films that are terrible but fun are almost their own subgenre. However, it was not meant to be. Rebecca did not go on to star in a series of successful commercials or a series of terrible but fan-loved movies, and by the time a few years had passed, had gotten out of the acting game entirely. She refocused her attention elsewhere and got a license as a commercial real estate agent, where her bubbly cheerfulness and enthusiasm helped her thrive.


    The film itself, Blood Drinkers from Below, unlike it¡¯s female lead, was just terrible, not so good it was terrible, despite Rebecca¡¯s earnest performance. It ran in theaters for only two weeks initially, then quickly made the jump to VHS. The only DVD release the film ever saw years later, was as part of a special ¡°Classics of Horror¡±, crammed into there with a dozen other similarly forgotten films. The kind you see in Walmart, offering five films for five dollars, or tucked into a wire bin in a gas station under a faded sign reading, ¡°Forgotten Gems, $6¡±.


    In all honesty, Blood Drinkers from below would have likely ended up forgotten by the world entirely, it¡¯s name only occasionally appearing on Special Edition Collection sets (featuring more than 100 spine tingling films!), and YouTube channels devoted to preserving the very particular niche of history that is classic horror films from the mid-1980s. And for the most part, that¡¯s exactly what happened.


    Except in Hope Falls.


    Hope Falls, Indiana, a town whose name presumably described the mood and mindset of the founders, was a small community of less than three hundred souls located hours from the nearest city or population center. The majority of the town were employed by a large manufacturing plant that made parts for televisions. Not entire televisions, just their component parts, which would be loaded up monthly onto a series of trucks that were in town for that purpose, and then delivered to a different factory where they would then be assembled. There were two schools in Hope Falls, one catering to children from kindergarten through eighth grade, that was referred to by residents simply as ¡®the school¡¯, and Hope Falls High School, or Hope High, or as the students occasionally referred to it sullenly, Hope You¡¯re High. The majority of the graduates of Hope High, whose gifted program was something that was run around the holidays where students volunteered to wrap gifts for anyone who dropped one off in their choice of green or red wrapping paper, would go on to work in the manufacturing plant like their parents, or similarly around the small town. As far as how the people of Hope Falls passed their time, the options were limited. There were two bars, a single bowling alley (with four lanes), a lake, and a movie theater with two screens. While the bowling alley was a popular spot, especially on Friday nights when the employees at the snack bar made a point of not asking to see ID before selling beers, when the weather was cold outside and folks were just all bowled out, they went to the theater.


    The Unlimited Horizons Multiplex was open every afternoon and evening, with showings at five o¡¯clock and eight o¡¯clock. The theater itself was proof that the term ¡°new releases¡± was relative, with the few movies that did arrive, arrived months after the rest of the world, and lingered for weeks. To combat this delay, the owner of the Unlimited Horizons had a series of old standbys. These were shown on a regular rotation with loose themes, things like Need a Laugh Wednesdays, and Action-Packed Saturdays. Fridays were Fearfest Fridays, where the Unlimited Horizons would play their old horror standby, Blood Drinkers from Below.


    You have to understand, when options for entertainment are that limited, it¡¯s not a question of preferences anymore. Your preferred genre or flavor of film is no longer a consideration. So, after more than thirty years of Fearfest Fridays, it was not an exaggeration to say that literally every man, woman, and child in Hope Falls was well acquainted with that unfortunate film, Blood Drinkers from Below. It was a bizzare and somehow profound phenomenon, to have that many people, in one place, all knowing one story so well.


    As such, when everyone in the world was asked who would fight their monsters, everyone in Hope Falls, Indiana, had the same knee jerk reaction.

 Chapter 1

    Chapter One


    Virginia stumbled back against the lopsided hull of a small pontoon boat, recently beached on the grassy shores of Lake Not Too Far, so creatively named as a result of locals who responded to out of towners and tourists who asked how far to the lake with the unhelpful, if technically accurate response of, ¡°Not too far¡±. Virginia, herself one of those out of towners, though working as a counselor at the local summer camp, rather than a tourist, trembled as she slid down the side of the overturned boat, ignoring the fire that improbably burned away at the far end of the boat¡¯s waterlogged frame. Shaking, she dropped the silver-bladed knife, the blade covered in both the ancient runes of the indigenous tribe that had once lived in this area, and the foul green blood of the Blood Drinker Queen, who was slowly sinking below the surface of the lake, her hideous and bulbous body writhing desperately against the mysterious forces that inexorably pulled her down.


    Virginia glared at the creature out of one eye, blood from a deep cut at her hairline covering and gumming shut the other one. ¡°Go back where you belong. To¡­ Below!¡±


    The creature gave a final furious and agonized screech, it¡¯s one remaining eye meeting Virginia¡¯s with a surprisingly clear expression of hate on such an alien creature. It¡¯s other slit pupiled eye was a mess of bright green gore, matching the traces on the silver ritual knife laying in the mud next to Virginia. It maintained it¡¯s hateful gaze, never looking away until the dark and murky waters of the lake closed over it, the creature leaving behind only a brief series of ripples and bubbles as it disappeared.


    Letting herself relax, Virginia slumped back against the hull of the boat, the back of her skull coming to rest against it with a surprisingly loud thunking noise. It was finally over. She had survived. As the horror of the last couple days played back behind her closed eyes, Virginia felt a sensation of vertigo and lightheadedness wash over her. She could see herself in her mind¡¯s eyes, covered in blood, both green and red, and black mud from the bottom of the lake. A short and slight woman, wearing a similarly bloodied tank top with the almost unrecognizable logo for Camp Muddy Paws, a brightly grinning anthropomorphic dog giving an enthusiastic thumbs up. Her dark hair, normally kept tied back in a short ponytail, was fanned out and matted against her neck and shoulders, various bits of foulness gathering it in clumps. The feeling of vertigo intensified, and she felt herself growing strangely distant from the image of herself in her mind, her viewpoint steadily pulling back and panning out, the darkness of the night outside of the meager light provided by the still burning boat she leaned on pressing in on the edges of her vision making her feel like she was going to pass out.


    But she didn¡¯t.


    Instead, she lay there, motionless aside from deep and regular breathes for several minutes, before a strange thought entered her mind.


    This boat is really uncomfortable.


    The oddly mundane nature of the thought jarred her back from her sense of vertigo, and the blackness at the edge of her vision receded. She opened her eyes and frowned. The thought felt strange for some reason. Not just because of the seemingly inconsequential nature of a bit of mild discomfort in the face of the sheer horror she¡¯d been through in the past few days, not to mention the last few minutes. No, the thought felt strangely distinct. Different somehow than her thoughts in the preceding moments, the alternating waves of terror and determination that had continuously flooded her mind since her life had turned into a constant parade of nightmarish monsters and horrific violence.


    Maybe I¡¯m going into shock?


    That would make sense. Honestly, it was more surprising that her brain hadn¡¯t shut down in the face of the mental and physical abuses she¡¯d undergone in the last couple days. She didn¡¯t feel like she was going into shock though, not that she¡¯d ever gone into shock before to say for sure. Instead, her thoughts felt oddly clear, like she was able to consider things that she¡¯d been too busy focusing on surviving to think about before.


    Now what?


    She considered the question with a certain incredulity. Now what indeed? Surely the police, or someone, would be by shortly. She touched her forehead gingerly and winced. Maybe an ambulance. How much blood have I lost? The answer seemed to be quite a bit, based on the state of her face and clothes.


    Shouldn¡¯t the police be here already?


    Deputy Baker would surely have reported what was happening to someone at some point in the last couple days. Virginia swallowed heavily as she recalled the earnest old deputy¡¯s final moments, as one of the creatures shattered the window he was peering out of, ignoring the shallow injuries inflicted as he mechanically fired his service weapon into the writhing mass of tentacles even as they dragged him out into the night. His surprisingly high-pitched scream had cut off with a wet sounding crunch, and a spray of blood against the shattered window frame that she and Johnny had stared out from, shocked and horrified.


    Why did he do that?


    Virginia frowned again as she considered the deputy¡¯s final moments, leaning forward as she did to spare her spine the rough wood she¡¯d been slumped against. Deputy Baker had seemed to have a better grip on himself than almost anyone as their circumstances grew increasingly nightmarish. He¡¯d fought off one of the creatures just in time to save her and Johnny after it had cornered them in one of the abandoned cabins. He¡¯d stunned it with a few swift blows from a nearby discarded canoe paddle, then finished it off a single shot from the same service revolver that had been utterly ineffective against a nearly identical creature less than an hour later. Virginia¡¯s frown deepened, and she drew her knees up to her chest as she considered that.


    ¡­Did I really just say ¡®Go back where you belong¡­ to Below!¡¯?


    Not the below, just Below. Thinking, she could clearly hear the capitalization in her voice. Thinking about it now, she didn¡¯t know why she had said that, much less with such a sense of dramatic finality. The utterance, like all of her thoughts and actions prior to the strange thoughts that now plagued her, felt strangely indistinct and distant.


    Now that sounds like going into shock.


    She stared out over the surface of the lake silently, strange thoughts and questions continuing to flood her mind, faster and faster. She felt good. She considered that and then shook her head. No, she didn¡¯t. She was tired, her skin was sticky and filthy with dried blood, these ridiculously short shorts that were part of the counselor¡¯s uniform had begun to chafe horribly, and her ribs and head ached dully. She didn¡¯t feel good¡­ but she should have felt a lot worse. She pressed her hand to her side, and then hesitantly lifted up her tank top to inspect the skin underneath. A wicked looking bruise covered most of her side, the faint pattern of the tentacle that had wrapped around her and attempted to squeeze her to death recognizable.


    Like¡­ yeah that hurts. Feels like the day after you go too wild at the gym and all your muscles are screaming at you.


    But Virginia had seen that jerk Rodney literally explode from being squeezed by those same tentacles, his blood and insides spraying out from his stump of a neck like a horrific and pressurized tube of toothpaste. She remembered coughing up a mouthful of blood as she was being squeezed to death, but nothing felt broken now.


    These thoughts were strange, and many of them seemed unimportant. But a lot of what happened in the last couple of days had seemed unimportant, or ridiculous at the time, and turned out to be anything but. The lesson to keep an open mind felt as fuzzy and distant as the rest of what had happened over the last couple days, but Virginia had a feeling it was true, nonetheless.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Virginia didn¡¯t realize she¡¯d spoken her question aloud until her words carried over the stillness of the lake, loud enough to make her startle in the silence around her. Even then, she wasn¡¯t expecting any kind of answer.


    So, when a blue box appeared in front of her, widening from a thin line of light like a cut in the air, she leaped back, slamming against the hull of the still smoldering boat roughly.


    * * *


    Welcome, Hero!


    You have been called forth by the belief that you can stand against the monsters of the Depths! (You should find a way to thank the kind souls who volunteered you for this later!)


    As a Hero, your power will be greater, and you will be granted a template to follow and guide you on a path to gaining even further power!


    As a Hero of Story, your newly created form shall now be assigned appropriate STATS and a TEMPLATE based on your story or legend (Or terrible B movie, in your case!)


    Now calculating your starting stats, powers, and assigning an appropriate template¡­If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Name: Virginia Christianson


    Race: Human (Story)


    Age: 18 (0)(34)


    Template: Final Girl


    Path: Not Yet Selected


    Health: 280/280


    Mana: 80/80


    STRENGTH: 6


    REFLEXES: 9


    SPEED: 11


    VITALITY: 10


    ATUNEMENT: 8


    IMAGINATION: 10


    WILLPOWER: 12


    FAITH: 4


    CHARISMA: 10


    AWARENESS: 12


    LUCK: 12


    Conditions: Bruised, Filthy, Grace Period


    Abilities:


    Passive:


    Worse Than It Looks (Lvl 1)


    Horror Survivor (Lvl 1)


    Final Girl (Lvl 1)


    Survivor¡¯s Will (Lvl 1)


    Active:


    Lucky Strike (Lvl 1)


    Flee (Lvl 1)


    Skills:


    First Aid (Lvl 1)


    Improvised Weapons (Lvl 1)


    Running (Lvl 1)


    Short Blades (Lvl 1)


    Swimming (Lvl 1)


    Virginia stared at the blue screen in front of her with a blank expression, idly rubbing at the back of her head where she could feel a knot forming where her skull had slammed into the hull of the boat. For a minute, she just continued to stare blankly at the screen. This was too much.


    She shook her head slowly. No, that wasn¡¯t quite right. She glanced over at the still surface of the lake. That thing, and everything it had done to her and those around her over the last two days, that had been too much. Too much was a line that had been crossed when the sticky red mess that humans usually do such a good job of hiding inside themselves had sprayed out over her face¡­ the first, but not last time it had happened. This was something new, different, and even more unsettling and confusing for it. It was like if a zombie apocalypse had broken out, and just as you¡¯d gotten accustomed to the new and horrifying insanity your life had become, a leprechaun had jumped out from around a corner and said they were there to take you to the moon. Two different kinds of craziness, that didn¡¯t go together in any meaningful way.


    Maybe I am going into shock. My mind is certainly bouncing all over the place. Virginia shook her head again. Leaning forward and ignoring the ache in her ribs, she stared at the blue screen in front of her, then hesitantly reached up and poked at it with one finger. It passed right through the screen, the words blurring around the obstruction until she pulled it back.


    Apparently, craziness is more than the sum of it¡¯s parts. I¡¯ve finally gone over the edge.


    That was comforting, in a way. Insanity seemed like a normal, predictable response to her situation. Far more so than the odd calm and seemingly irrelevant intrusive thoughts from earlier.


    A Hero? To stand against the monsters of the Depths?


    She discarded the bit about being a Hero almost immediately. She didn¡¯t feel like a hero, of story or any other kind. She felt like a filthy, aching child, who was too tired to even cry after witnessing the death of her boyfriend and several other friends over the course of the last day. The part about monsters made her glance out at the surface of the lake that the creature had disappeared below.


    A bit late on that bit. She thought sarcastically.


    Her eyes lingered on the capitalization of ¡°The Depths¡±. She wondered if that had to do with the ¡°Below¡±, that she cursed the creature to in it¡¯s death throes. Scanning the screen in front of her again, she frowned as she considered the section with a variety of characteristics apparently assumed a numerical value.


    This part seems weirdly familiar. Like that game Wallace was always getting the kids to play.


    She felt that same oddly muted pain in her chest as she considered the short and lanky fellow counselor. He¡¯d always spent more of his free time with the kids at the camp than with the other counselors. She got the impression he was used to being picked on as a nerd, and just gotten used to avoiding interacting with his peers as much as possible.


    Crypts and Creatures. That was what it was called.


    Virginia remembered Wallace leaning over a stained old card table in one of the cabins, gesturing wildly as he described a damp and moldy cave full of giant rats to a group of twelve-year-olds who stared at him with wide eyes. That same faint pain came again. Wallace had been the one who had found the dagger used to kill the creature, babbling about some kind of ancient ruins beneath the lake and gesturing wildly with the dagger, right before the barbed tip of one of the creature¡¯s tentacles had exploded out of his chest. Johnny had grabbed the dagger from where it fell from Wallace¡¯s limp hand, even as the two of them had fled, scrambling and screaming out of the building.


    I¡¯ve hit the point where I need to stop and take a quick mental tally before I know how many people I¡¯ve seen violently killed in front of me. Probably not a good sign.


    She shoved yet another odd and intrusive thought from her mind, and forced herself to focus on what she could remember of the game Wallace had been playing. She recalled that each of the kids had a sheet of paper in front of them, with various things that bore a striking similarity to the blue screen in front of her. A name, a class (which was apparently like your job according to Wallace), your hit points (which were your life force, you were dead if you lost all of them), your skills (kind of self-explanatory), your alignment (whether you were a good guy or a bad guy, sort of), and your abilities. Some of the sheets had other things on them, like spells and weapons and various other details that Wallace had been too engaged with the game to explain. She considered the blue screen.


    Well, there¡¯s my name. And then my race is human¡­ story?


    Race had been another thing on the sheets she remembered from Crypts and Creatures. There had been things like ¡°elf¡±, ¡°dwarf¡±, ¡°half-gnome-half-orc¡±, and a few just ¡°human¡±. Certainly, none of them had ¡°story¡± listed as their race, even in parentheses. Considering that made that light-headed sense of vertigo start to build up inside her again, so she quickly continued down her ¡°sheet¡±.


    It is mine, isn¡¯t it? My name is listed right at the top.


    Her age was similarly strange. First her actual age, eighteen as of three months ago. Then thirty-four, which was closer to her mother¡¯s age than hers. And then zero? Her face scrunched up for a minute, and then she let out a short burst of air between her teeth that might have been a laugh at some point, but had gotten lost on it¡¯s way up from her lungs.


    I certainly have a lot of expectations of logic and reasonability from what is likely a trauma induced hallucination.


    Her ¡°template¡± was listed as Final Girl. Was that like her class? It certainly seemed less straightforward than ¡°Fighting Man¡±, or ¡°Thief¡±, or ¡°Wizard¡±. She frowned at ¡°Path¡±, below Template, currently listed as ¡°Not Yet Selected¡±. Or was that her ¡°class¡±? If it was, how did she go about selecting it? Reaching up, she poked at the screen again, then blinked as this time, it reacted. As her finger pressed through the word Path, she screen shifted, stretching out and growing as new words appeared to replace what had been there before.


    You appear to have questions about your: Path! This is perfectly normal and understandable, which is pretty pathetic on the low bar for ¡°normal¡± on our planet.


    Your Path is an extension of your Template. While your Template defines what you are, and is something you have no control over, your Path defines who you are. And nothing defines who you are like your choices! For your Template of: Final Girl, you may choose between the following Paths:


    Chosen One:


    You survived because you were meant to survive. The ultimate fixation of the evil that hunted you, a reincarnation of another hero, or the subject of a prophecy, the story that is the world you live in revolves around you to some degree. You¡¯ll survive, because you are important to the ¡°story¡±, and it needs you in it¡­ but what role you¡¯ll end up playing may end up out of your hands.


    Monster Within:


    You survived by becoming just as monstrous as what you fight. Alien DNA, a vampire¡¯s bite, or an ancient and indiscriminate, you survived by surrendering your humanity in the name of survival and strength. You more than any other Survivor, are likely to become even more powerful than any monster you face, but what will you be at the end?


    Survivor:


    You simply survived. Maybe you were lucky, maybe you had another hero who was willing to lay down their life for yours, but for whatever reason, be it virtue or good fortune, you survive when all others perish. You may not ever be the strongest, the smartest, or even the most important¡­ but you will always be the last one standing.


    After her initial surprise at the sudden change in the screen, Virginia leaned forward again, reading the words that appeared with a growing sense of incredulity and annoyance. Ignoring the choices of Paths presented to her, she paused and considered the mocking tone of the first part of the explanation. Thinking about this thing as a magical version of the sheets of paper from Wallace¡¯s game suddenly felt less accurate.


    Someone is writing this.


    There was a person, or monster, or thing, on the other side of this screen. And it¡¯s reaction to everything that had happened, and it seemed like everything that was going to happen, was a condescending and mean sense of amusement. That probably didn¡¯t mean anything good for what lay in store for her moving forward.


    She felt the irrational urge to shout at the screen, to demand answers. Like she had with the intrusive thoughts, she firmly pushed that urge down, instead returning to the explanation of Paths and reading over the options presented there. She grimaced when she was done.


    Why are all my choices focused around being a survivor?


    She thought for a second, and then hesitantly reached out again to poke next to ¡°Template¡± on her sheet.


    Template: Your Template is what you are. Not your job, which is what you do, not your name, which is who you are, and not your Path, which is what you choose. One cannot choose their own Template any more than they can choose the circumstances of their birth. A Template may be complex, or surprisingly simple. Many people may have the same, or similar template, but be very different people as a result of a multitude of factors, from choosing different paths, to having different histories and life experiences.


    Note: As a fictional character from a story, your Template is more straightforward and easily understood than most. All creatures are characters in a story, you just happen to be more honest (and now more aware!) of that fact.


    Final Girl: You are the Final Girl. An example of the literary and cinematic trope of the same name, you are the sole survivor of horrific events beyond understanding. A monster, or monsters, be they human or otherwise, came into your life, and one by one, everyone around you died. Friends, loved ones, rivals, all struck down, probably in a horrific and bloody manner.  ¡°You are a character from a horror movie, after all.¡±


    Virginia startled, the growing sense of horror and disbelief shattered as the last line was read aloud, whispered directly into her ear. She twisted about and away, scrambling back through the muddy lake shore as she stared with wide eyes at the source of the voice.

 Chapter 2

    Chapter Two


    A head jutted out of the side of the hull she¡¯d been leaning on, twisting to follow her frantic retreat. It was human in the vaguest sense of the word, to the point where her mind rebelled at labeling it as such. A gaunt to the point of emaciated face regarded her from beneath a brightly colored hat, the top split off into various hanging portions, each tipped with a small silver bell. Virginia noticed that even as the bells shook and bounced as the head turned to follow her, no sound came from them. Something about that struck her as more unsettling and alarming than this thing¡¯s sudden appearance or it¡¯s more prominently horrifying features.


    The sunken eye sockets were hollow, the dark pits where eyes should be instead filled with purple flame, which seemed to burn a bit brighter when her eyes focused on it. An unnaturally wide smile split the thing¡¯s face as it regarded her, like someone had hooked their fingers in the corners of its mouth and pulled back until the skin was about to tear.


    ¡°So sorry for startling you!¡± The thing said in a tone that made clear it was not at all sorry for startling her. ¡°You¡¯re one of the more interesting things going on right now, and it seemed like you were going to have more questions about all of¡­¡±. It gestured absently at the blue screen, that Virginia now noticed had shifted and moved with her, still floating directly in front of where she now crouched in the mud. ¡°¡­this. And, as one of this planet¡¯s newly created Heroes, you¡¯re entitled to a bit more of an explanation than the other schmucks.¡±


    The thing stepped forward out of the boat, an equally thin body supporting its sickly looking head emerging, the metal of the hull seemingly none the worse for wear after its passage through it. It was clad in a sort of one-piece costume made of alternating squares of black and purple silk, that stretched from its neck, to its wrists, disappearing down into a pair of black boots with slight heels and pointed toes. It slid one of these forward through the mud around the boat, and executed an elaborate bow.


    ¡°My name is Tryn, and welcome¡­ to The Depths.¡±


    Virginia stared up at it, uncertainty and confusion joining the sudden burst of terror that had propelled her away from the boat.


    ¡°Is that like the Below?¡± She asked, her words coming out with a brief pause in the middle as her raspy and rough sounding voice caught her off guard. A snort followed by distinctly unkind giggling came from the bowed head, the bells of its hat bouncing merrily and silently along.


    ¡°The Below¡­ oh human, you are in so much trouble if you¡¯re still focusing on that.¡± It lifted its head, the purple flames flaring brighter for a second as it gazed at her. ¡°Well, sort of human. Human¡­ shaped. Within the acceptable range of colors for humans, which is¡­¡± It dropped its voice into a stage whisper, ¡°¡­apparently super important for your species.¡± It punctuated that comment with what appeared to be its version of a wink, one flame flickering out briefly while the other one flared more brightly, watching Virginia intently as it did. ¡°I¡¯m sure that¡¯s going to work out great for all of you in the days ahead.¡±


    Virginia frowned back at it. Her thoughts from just before Tryn had arrived, that sense of unease at the occasional cruel and mocking tone of the words on the screen, reoccurred to her now. Tryn¡¯s presence and thinly concealed glee at what seemed like a terrible situation for her and apparently the rest of humanity, seemed to confirm all of that.


    It¡¯s smiling, it¡¯s laughing, but¡­ I think it¡¯s just hiding the fact that it¡¯s excited to see people get thrown to ¡°monsters¡±.


    ¡± Half credit.¡± The seeming non-sequitur from Tryn made her blink and shake her head slightly.


    ¡°The smile is genuine. It¡¯s entirely because based on everything I¡¯ve seen since arriving here, your people¡¯s descent into a level of death, terror, and unending suffering is going to be as brief as it is delightful to watch, but it¡¯s genuine.¡± Tryn straightened up from the bow it had been holding, stretching until its back made an unsettlingly loud popping noise. ¡°And yes, people are getting thrown to monsters. Honestly, you¡¯ve already been thrown. It¡¯s just taking your planet a while to hit the bottom.¡±


    Virginia stared back at him, catching her lower lip between her teeth and worrying at it.


    Did it¡­ he, just read my mind?


    She wasn¡¯t sure what made her begin to start referring to Tryn as a ¡®he¡¯ rather than an ¡®it¡¯. The creature clearly wasn¡¯t human to begin with, who knew if that kind of assignment even applied? Still there was something, maybe it was in its voice or it¡¯s mannerisms, that led her brain to switch from ¡°it¡± to ¡°he¡±.


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t call it mind reading, exactly. More like¡­ what would you call the thing below reading, that you do when flipping through a coloring book?¡± That mean, amused tone was back in Tryn¡¯s voice as it once again responded to her thoughts, smile stretching across his face briefly before he continued. ¡°It¡¯s your own perceptions. My true form is far less, let¡¯s just say ¡®perceivable¡¯, to your people. At least as they currently are. What you¡¯re seeing is a vague telepathic concept, that your own mind is filling in.¡±


    Virginia considered this, her mind struggling to wrap itself around what he was describing.


    ¡°So, you¡¯re not, what, real?¡±


    Tryn snorted at that. ¡°Rude. Also, hardly an accusation for someone who only existed on eighty-three minutes of film reels until a few minutes ago to make lightly.¡±


    Virginia opened her mouth to respond to that, but Tryn waved a hand at her. ¡°Shut up, not important, still talking about me.¡± He gestured down at himself with both hands. ¡°I¡¯m quite real. To interact with the limited, limited, limited, limited, limited¡­¡± He continued on like that for a moment, eye flames watching her and flaring up a bit brighter when a look of annoyance crossed her face. ¡°¡­limited, limited, limited minds and perceptions of humans, I¡¯m sending out a telepathic signal of what I look like. Just a little hint to help those squishy human brains along.¡± He spread his arms out wide. ¡°A gaunt figure in a black and purple jester¡¯s costume. Now, little details beyond that vague description get filled in by the individual minds I interact with. The pitch of my voice, whether I¡¯m tall or short, whether my skin is smooth or wrinkled, the size of my nose. Usually, details stolen from memories of someone that made the person seeing me uneasy, or anxious in the past.¡± He presented his face in profile. ¡°Do I look like a cruel uncle of yours? I often do.¡±


    Virginia once again opened her mouth to answer, and he once again waved his hand in her direction.


    ¡°Oh, you wouldn¡¯t know. Your parents weren¡¯t even in the movie, which means you¡¯ve never actually met or interacted with them.¡± He sighed heavily, as he turned to face her once more.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    ¡°Stop saying that.¡±


    Tryn¡¯s eye flames flared up a bit brighter in response to her words.


    ¡°Oh?¡±


    ¡°Stop saying things like that! That I¡¯m a story, or a movie, or that I¡¯ve never met my parents!¡±


    ¡°Describe one interaction you¡¯ve had with your parents.¡±


    Virginia glared at Tryn openly as she responded. ¡°The last time I spoke to my dad was right before I left for camp for the summer. He warned me to watch out for any boys who tried to get fresh.¡±


    She frowned even as she said it. She wasn¡¯t lying, she remembered her father saying that to her, remembered jokingly telling Johnny about it when he asked her if she wanted to get dinner together. But it felt off, the same way everything before the last few minutes felt off. Hollow, or¡­


    Flat. Remembering that feels flat, like a cutout propped up by nothing.


    Tryn frowned, and rolled his non-existent eyes, purples flames spinning in their sockets for a second.


    ¡°Urgh, you¡¯re annoyingly dense, even for a human. The others are all getting this much more quickly.¡± His alarmingly wide smile flashed across his face briefly before he continued. ¡°You¡¯re close though, I see it on your face. Describe him. Describe dear old dad. Or mom. Or anyone you knew before coming to this camp.¡±


    Virginia stared back at him, opened her mouth to retort, then nearly retched instead as another wave of vertigo struck her, the black edges of her vision pressing in further. She would have fallen if she hadn¡¯t still been seated from where she fell when Tryn had first appeared beside her. He stared down at her, the flames in his eye sockets growing brighter, and that smile returning to stay this time.


    ¡°There it is! There¡¯s that moment, that realization, then confusion, then panic, then the question¡­¡±. He trailed off, staring at her expectantly. Virginia shook her head slowly, taking a deep breath.


    ¡°I can¡¯t remember.¡±


    His smile tipped down at the edges, annoyed at receiving a statement rather than a question.


    ¡°Smart ass. That¡¯s right!¡± His smile returned. ¡°Or rather, wrong! It¡¯s not that you¡¯ve forgotten, it¡¯s just that you never met them in the first place.¡± The flames in his eyes burned even brighter, enough now that the flickering light from them was slowly consuming the boat in a deep purple glow. ¡°You¡¯ve never met anyone aside from the people who were part of this story, all of whom are now dead. You never did anything, aside from briefly work at this camp, and then watch your world get turned into a low budget bucket of blood and gore.¡±


    The darkness around the edges of her vision had stretched to force her focus down to a narrow point directly in front of her, a narrow point now filled by an unnaturally, terrifyingly large grin, and two dancing purple flames.


    ¡°Before ten minutes ago, you weren¡¯t real.¡±


    * * *


    The being known as Tryn loved what was going to happen next. Loved it as much as he hated everything else about his chosen role in this whole affair. Being around humans, around mortals, whose consciousness sprouted out of ambulatory chunks of flesh like mold on rotting meat, was excruciating, for the most part. Taking on the appearance of one, even if it was only in their primitive lizard brains, was demeaning to the point of being the kind of torture that would have driven a being like him hopelessly, violently mad.


    Though that ship had long since sailed.


    He grimaced at the human parlance and idioms that infected even his own thoughts. He didn¡¯t even understand most of their idiotic phrases, but used them fluently, because such knowledge and behavior were part of the role he had been tasked with.


    Truly a disgusting job. But not one without it¡¯s perks.


    He continued to stare at the young story in front of him, relishing the confusion and fear that he could see in her eyes, the way her breathing grew unsteady, and her hands started to tremble. This was how it always went and was in fact currently going at several points around the world simultaneously. Summoning forth heroes and legends from comic books, movies, books, anime, for the love of the Depths so much anime, sounded good on paper. Or at least it did if you were a human drooling on the paper while distracted by thoughts of mating. One thing humanity had a great deal of was stories, even some stories where heroes fought off threats very similar to the ones that had just arrived on their world. Beings of overwhelming power and dauntless heroism, who would be humanity¡¯s saviors, delivering them a fairytale happy ending from the nightmare.


    In practice, this usually ended very, very poorly.


    It turned out, that ¡°heroes¡± that found themselves suddenly in a new world and found out that every moment of their lives up until now was only real between the pages of a comic book, they reacted poorly. Finding out that their old world, every struggle, every tragedy, every love, was penned at the hand of a writer who was usually trying to make some kind of social commentary, and enjoyed by an entire universe of voyeurs who watched them suffer and succeed with equal fascination and glee¡­


    Well, most of them broke down right then and there. If it wasn¡¯t that, it was finding out that any loved ones they had were similarly not real, and usually hadn¡¯t been, and wouldn¡¯t be incarnated into the world. Or one of a number of other ego shattering, breakdown inducing truths.


    Tryn giggled as he recalled the young story who had vomited himself into unconsciousness upon discovering that not only was one of his biggest claims to fame in this world a series of exceedingly explicit and detailed accounts of an incestuous relationship with his brother. Not only that, but such works were an established enough part of his following on this world that once he incarnated, his mind was filled with memories of those acts.


    That was the other problem. Many of this world¡¯s fictional characters were so old and established, and had been told with so many variations, that they effectively had several different backstories and histories. The Depths made no attempt to distinguish or establish a ¡°true¡± origin for a story when it was incarnated to act as a hero, and instead just shoved all of them together.


    That also broke quite a few of them.


    Madness, despair, a single-minded focus on escaping the world and returning to their story. Some of them even lashed out, turning on the humans who had summoned them to be their saviors. That was always fun.


    Tryn turned his attention back to the young story in front of him. She was getting wound up for her particular brand of breakdown in the face of the existential crisis he¡¯d sprung on her, and he was eager to see just how she decided to fall apart.


    But she wasn¡¯t falling apart. While he¡¯d been distracted enjoying the suffering of other stories, this one seemed to have steadied herself. Her breathing had slowed, and the shaking in her arms had stopped.


    Tryn frowned. Some stories did push through, although the effort was plain to see. They didn¡¯t simply calm down in the face of finding out their entire existence was a lie. That was exactly what this one seemed to be doing, however. Her breathing steadied further, returning to almost normal. She still didn¡¯t look up at him. In fact, her eyes were unfocused, and she gave the impression of not paying attention to him at all. He glared at her, his wide and expectant grin now gone.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    * * *


    Virginia was reading.


    She¡¯d been hyperventilating, the light-headedness from the lack of air compounding the black edges of her vision, making her arms and legs shake. Desperately trying to recall some memory, any memory that would disprove what Tryn had gleefully revealed to her.


    Nothing.


    Her family was a blank spot. She didn¡¯t know if she had any siblings, if she had a mother, or what she might look like. Aside from that one, flat and isolated memory of him telling her to ¡°not let any boys get fresh¡±, her father was equally faceless and absent. Even that statement lacked any context, no lead-in conversation or history of being a stereotypical over-protective father.


    As the gaping void that was her memory, her life up until this point, spread out before her, her odd and intrusive thoughts played through her mind again. The odd behavior of her friends, the strange things they¡¯d all said, the odd lapses in the rules for how the world seemed to work.


    Like a bad movie.


    Virginia had sucked in air to laugh at the absurdity of it, but it had rushed right back out in a shuddering gasp instead.


    I¡¯m not real? None of the people I know are real?


    Her vision was almost entirely dark now, the eerie purple glow from the flames in Tryn¡¯s empty eye sockets the only thing that pierced through.


    Just a story. And from what it seems¡­ not even a good story.


    She could feel herself starting to pass out, the darkness and dizziness all pressing down on her. She probably would have, if she hadn¡¯t been startled by a sudden flicker of blue light, piercing through both the darkness and the glow coming from Tryn. She narrowed her eyes, and a small blue screen came into focus.

 Chapter 3

    Chapter Three


    Survivor¡¯s Will has leveled up! Now level 2!


    Horror Survivor has leveled up! Now level 2!


    Survivor¡¯s Will has leveled up! Now level 3!


    Virginia felt the panic that had been crushing her chest and darkening her vision lessen slightly. The reappearance of the more bizarre aspects of her new life successfully distracting her from the horrible truth about her old one.


    Survivor¡¯s Will? That sounds familiar. I think that was on my¡­ ¡°character sheet¡±?


    Virginia was sure that was the case. That was confirmed as the larger blue square containing her character sheet appeared in front of her again as she thought about it.


    Name: Virginia Christianson


    Race: Human (Story)


    Age: 18 (0)(34)


    Template: Final Girl


    Path: Not Yet Selected


    Health: 280/280


    Mana: 80/80


    STRENGTH: 6


    REFLEXES: 9


    SPEED: 11


    VITALITY: 10


    ATUNEMENT: 8


    IMAGINATION: 10


    WILLPOWER: 12


    FAITH: 4


    CHARISMA: 10


    AWARENESS: 12


    LUCK: 12


    Conditions: Lightheaded, Panicked, Grip of Despair, Bruised, Filthy, Grace Period


    Abilities:


    Passive:


    Worse Than It Looks (Lvl 1)


    Horror Survivor (Lvl 2)


    Final Girl (Lvl 1)


    Survivor¡¯s Will (Lvl 3)


    Active:


    Lucky Strike (Lvl 1)


    Flee (Lvl 1)


    Skills:


    First Aid (Lvl 1)


    Improvised Weapons (Lvl 1)


    Running (Lvl 1)


    Short Blades (Lvl 1)


    Swimming (Lvl 1)


    Virginia¡¯s breathing steadied further as she read over her character sheet again.


    That¡¯s right, those two were both ¡°passive abilities¡±. And now they¡¯ve ¡°leveled up¡±? Am I using them without meaning to? What are they doing?


    Survivor¡¯s Will has leveled up! Now level 4!


    Virginia glared at the notification.


    Yes, but why?


    As the small blue screen vanished, she found herself once again staring at her character sheet, and she focused on Survivor¡¯s Will on her passive ability list. Once again, seeming to respond to her thoughts and focus, the blue box shifted, additional words appearing below Survivor¡¯s Will.


    Survivor¡¯s Will: Your story involved you being pitted against an opponent that was more powerful in you in every way, including ones you couldn¡¯t fully understand. Surviving such an ordeal has tempered you against similarly horrific circumstances you find yourself in in the future. For every level of this ability, you receive a bonus against fear and despair that are caused by impossibly horrific situations. At higher levels, your strong survivor¡¯s will shields you against effects that directly target your mind.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    Tryn¡¯s voice, annoyance apparent in his tone, interrupted her in the middle of reading her ability¡¯s description. Virginia ignored him until she was done.


    So it kept her from being scared by ¡®impossibly horrific situations¡¯, and apparently, finding out you were a character out of a story who had now been pulled into a nightmare world full of evil clowns, qualified. Tryn snapped his fingers, his eye flames flickering into a series of strange shapes quickly before settling.


    ¡°What¡¯s this? Survivor¡¯s Will? Story involved, blah blah¡­¡±. He trailed off from reading her ability¡¯s description, before letting out a snort.


    ¡°How revoltingly fortunate for you.¡± Tryn crossed his arms, staring down at her with a decidedly unamused expression. ¡°It looks like your Template is going to ensure you survive long enough to really drag out your suffering. Congratulations!¡±


    Virginia looked away from her character sheet and frowned up at him. She was finding it easier to keep her gaze on the dancing flames that served as Tryn¡¯s eyes. Was it because of her Survivor¡¯s Will ability getting stronger?


    Does that mean Tryn himself counts as ¡®an impossibly horrific situation¡¯?


    A brief flicker of amusement returned to his gaunt face, and Virginia reminded herself that he could apparently read her mind.


    ¡°Fine, fine, fine. If you¡¯re not going to have a breakdown, back to why I¡¯m here. Answering questions that you undoubtedly have.¡±


    Virginia continued to frown at him.


    Liar. Seeing me have a breakdown, that is why you actually came here, whatever you¡¯re pretending now.


    Tryn didn¡¯t react to that thought. Either he wasn¡¯t currently reading her mind, or he thought that it was obvious enough that it didn¡¯t merit a response.


    ¡°Questions?¡±


    Tryn performed his unsettling equivalent of rolling his eyes, where his flames flickered violently.


    ¡°Yes, questions. You¡¯ve existed outside of a bad movie for less than an hour, and that limited set of experiences doesn¡¯t give you even the flawed framework for all of this¡­¡±. He waved his hand in the direction of her still open character sheet, ¡°¡­that the rest of humanity is working off of. So, ask your questions. This isn¡¯t fun anymore, so I won¡¯t be sticking around long.¡±


    Virginia sincerely hoped that was true. ¡°Can I trust what you tell me?¡±


    Tryn immediately shook his head, the bells at the end of his hat dancing silently.


    ¡°Not at all. Not even a little. Not even now, the part where I¡¯m telling you that you can¡¯t trust me. But!¡± He held up one bony finger. ¡°I will only lie to you when the truth wouldn¡¯t hurt you more.¡± That wide grin reappeared on his face briefly. ¡°I assure you, that will keep me honest more than you¡¯ll like.¡±If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Virginia stared at him silently, then shook her head. ¡°No thanks.¡±


    Tryn stretched his arms up over his head, then cracked his back nonchalantly, eye flames remaining fixed on her.


    ¡°Are you sure about that? Going into something¡¯s mouth with your eyes closed only makes you feel better until it bites down.¡±


    Virginia hesitated for a moment. She wanted nothing more than for Tryn to be as far away from her as possible, but he clearly knew a great deal about what was going on. She wasn¡¯t sure when she would next have a chance to question someone with as much knowledge about the blue boxes, character sheets, and all the rest. She stared into his flames, feeling a pit forming in her stomach the longer she did.


    Survivor¡¯s Will has leveled up! Now level 5!


    She shook her head again.


    No. He came out here hoping to watch me have a breakdown. Whatever he knows, he¡¯ll only tell me things that will ensure I get hurt somehow.


    ¡°I¡¯ll figure it out on my own.¡±


    Tryn unclasped his hands and extended one out towards her.


    ¡°I very much doubt that. Nice knowing you, little story.¡±


    Without waiting for a response, he flipped the outstretched hand around and pressed his fingers together. He stared at her for a second longer, a trace of that cruel amusement appearing once more, before he snapped his fingers.


    A thick cloud of purple smoke exploded out from where he stood, and Virginia scrambled backwards, gagging as a bit of errant breeze wafted some of the smoke into her face. It smelled foul and seemed to coat her tongue and skin. She wiped at her face frantically with a blood and mud-covered hand, coughing as she tried not to choke.


    When she recovered and glanced back to where Tryn had been, he had vanished, even the foul-smelling smoke that had heralded his departure fading away in the flickering fire light of the lake shore.


    She was alone once more.


    * * *


    Virginia was back to leaning against the overturned hull of the camp boat, the end furthest from the cartoonish hole that Tryn¡¯s arrival had left in it. When she first leaned against it, it had slid slightly and the fire that was still burning at the other end had flared up a bit, but after no further signs that it was going to collapse, she had relaxed and turned her attention back to her character sheet.


    Or she tried to, at least. She spent the first few minutes staring out over the surface of the lake, the feeble light from the fire not reaching the opposite shore. Now that it had been pointed out to her, the bizarre and limited nature of her existence was obvious. Not only did she not have any memories of her life (or lack of one) before coming to the camp, but even the strangely flat memories of her time there were full of holes. She remembered talking to Johnny by the campfire, but she had no memory of arriving at the campfire. Or leaving it. Her memory went right from Wallace finishing up a scary story about the ¡°lake monster¡±, and all of them laughing at how much he¡¯d over-acted the telling of it, to Heather asking her if she would go get some more bug spray from the supply cabin. The jarring transition should have been unsettling or headache-inducing, she was pretty sure. But the same way the memories felt flat, they also felt distant. She couldn¡¯t muster up a strong emotional response to any of them, not even existential horror apparently.


    Tryn said I was a character in a movie. So these flat memories are what, scenes from it?


    Believing anything that the sadistic clown had said seemed foolish to Virginia. But at the same time¡­


    I¡¯ll only lie to you when the truth wouldn¡¯t hurt you more.


    That, she believed. The one thing that she felt like she could trust from the exchange was the clown¡¯s interest in seeing her in pain. She¡¯d been distracted by the unexpected messages about her Survivor¡¯s Will ability, but not too distracted to miss how raptly he¡¯d been watching her when she was nearly overwhelmed by finding out about the truth of her existence. How his flames had narrowed down to two pinpricks of purple light, darkening until they were almost black. Tryn had been sure that revealing her limited nature to her so bluntly and casually would break her, and he¡¯d made no effort to hide his disappointment when it hadn¡¯t.


    So, it was likely the truth. She was a character from a movie. And, as she reviewed her memories, it was not a particularly good movie at that. Virginia thought back to her dramatic final words to the Blood Drinker Queen and shook her head.


    Like her flat memories, after the initial shock, her nature as a fictional character come to life was less disturbing than she thought it should be. Whether that was because of her Survivor¡¯s Will, or some other ability working, or because as someone who had only existed as a person for twenty minutes now, she simply wasn¡¯t attached enough to her fictional life to mourn the loss of it.


    Speaking of my abilities¡­


    Virginia turned her attention back to her character sheet.


    Name: Virginia Christianson


    Race: Human (Story)


    Age: 18 (0)(34)


    Template: Final Girl


    Path: Not Yet Selected


    Health: 280/280


    Mana: 80/80


    STRENGTH: 6


    REFLEXES: 9


    SPEED: 11


    VITALITY: 10


    ATUNEMENT: 8


    IMAGINATION: 10


    WILLPOWER: 12


    FAITH: 4


    CHARISMA: 10


    AWARENESS: 12


    LUCK: 12


    Conditions: Bruised, Filthy, Grace Period


    Abilities:


    Passive:


    Worse Than It Looks (Lvl 1)


    Horror Survivor (Lvl 1)


    Final Girl (Lvl 1)


    Survivor¡¯s Will (Lvl 5)


    Active:


    Lucky Strike (Lvl 1)


    Flee (Lvl 1)


    Skills:


    First Aid (Lvl 1)


    Improvised Weapons (Lvl 1)


    Running (Lvl 1)


    Short Blades (Lvl 1)


    Swimming (Lvl 1)


    She noticed immediately that her conditions had updated, with Lightheaded, Panicked, and Grip of Despair had all disappeared. She was still ¡®Filthy¡¯ and ¡®Bruised¡¯, and glancing down at herself, her ribs still throbbing dully and most of her still caked in mud and blood, she couldn¡¯t argue with that assessment.


    There was also her third condition, ¡®Grace Period¡¯, which she turned her attention to, focusing on it and hoping for more information similar to what she¡¯d been shown about ¡®Survivor¡¯s Will¡¯ earlier. The sheet fluctuated, blue light flickering, and then complied.


    Grace Period: You stand at the precipice. The Depths yawn open before you, but you have not yet fallen into them. Monsters will not spawn in your presence while in this state. Ravagers may not initiate hostile actions against you while you are in this state.


    Virginia wasn¡¯t sure what to make of the second part of that description. She wasn¡¯t sure what a ¡®Ravager¡¯ was, or why one would be initiating ¡®hostile action¡¯ against her. Based on how Tryn had described the world ahead of her, and her own recent experiences with the monstrous creatures that had invaded the camp, she assumed ¡®hostile action¡¯ was a polite way of saying ¡®murder and maiming¡¯.


    Although that still didn¡¯t offer any clue about what a Ravager was.


    As to the part about monsters not ¡®spawning¡¯ in her presence, the implication was that once this condition disappeared monsters would spawn in her presence.


    Yeah, that seems like a sensible way of reading that.


    She supposed that was a good thing, but there was no indication of when or why the Grace Period condition would disappear. For all she knew, that could happen any second, and she would be promptly swarmed by whatever her character sheet, and Tryn, considered ¡®monsters¡¯.


    She glanced around warily, holding her breath for a second, then letting it out a whoosh when that didn¡¯t immediately happen. Regardless, she resolved to try to read through the rest of her sheet as quickly as possible. A resolve that immediately faltered as an errant thought struck her.


    Does it matter? I¡¯ve apparently only existed for a bit less than two hours. None of the people I knew exist at all. What am I supposed to do now?


    Virginia frowned at that. The thought annoyed her, even as she considered how to respond to it. The very idea of not surviving, of not doing everything she could to survive the situation she found herself in, made her angry to even consider. Regardless of how real it had been, she had survived. She had lived through violence and horror and the deaths of, apparently, literally everyone she knew.


    It matters. It matters because I want to survive. Regardless of whether it¡¯s because I was ¡®written¡¯ this way, it¡¯s what I want. It¡¯s who I am.


    Virginia looked out over the water, the twisted carcass of the Blood Drinker Queen hidden somewhere beneath its placid surface.


    I¡¯m a survivor. I¡¯ll survive.


    A flicker of blue light caught her attention, as her character sheet flashed and shifted, responding to her thoughts.


    Template Finalized! You may now select your Path!


    Virginia blinked. She hadn¡¯t consciously chosen to finalize anything. She wasn¡¯t aware that was something she could, or should be doing.


    Template? Oh yeah, that was one of the first things on my character sheet. It was listed as¡­ she shifted the blue screens around and checked. ¡­Final Girl? She focused on that, ignoring the second screen prompting her to select her Path, whatever that was.


    Final Girl:


    Your story template is that of the Final Girl. You are the survivor of horrid nightmares and impossible horror. Your story serves as both a beacon of hope for the ultimate triumph of humanity over darkness¡­ and a stern reminder that not all will survive to see that triumph. The strong, the lucky, the fated, or the resolved will remain when claws have dragged others to die in the darkness.


    The dichotomy of your story is that of survival, yours, and death, of all those around you. The abilities you receive will reflect that dichotomy. The Paths you receive will reflect how you have chosen to survive.


    Paths available: Path of the Survivor, Path of the Chosen, Path of the Monster


    Virginia was frowning again by the time she finished reading the description of her Template. There were¡­ a lot of things that bothered her about that. A Template seemed like the Classes from Crypts and Creatures, but at the same time, different. What she¡¯d seen of the game she kept referencing was more cut and dry, and the classes were very straightforward, like ¡°Fighterman¡±. What she was looking at now was much vaguer.


    I think it¡¯s saying that I¡¯m good at surviving, which is great. But everyone around me is going to die? Is it just because this will make me better at surviving than them, or is me being there somehow making them die? Killing them?


    Virginia bit her lip, reading over the description for Final Girl again.


    I guess it doesn¡¯t matter right now, with no one around but me anyway. I should probably figure that out before I run into anyone though.


    Not that she had any idea how to go about doing that.


    She focused on the last part, about the Paths available to her, and the prompt about choosing a path jumped in front of her eyes, shifting and expanding.


    You may now choose a Path! Your Template is a true reflection of what you are, and like so many parts of your identity, is determined for you, and not something you can choose. Your Path is where your choices lie. Your Template is what you are, but now you must choose how you will be.


    The following Paths are available to your Template (Final Girl):


    Survivor:


    You simply survived. Maybe you were lucky, maybe you had another hero who was willing to lay down their life for yours, but for whatever reason, be it virtue or good fortune, you survive when all others perish. You may not ever be the strongest, the smartest, or even the most important¡­ but you will always be the last one standing.


    Monster Within:


    You survived by becoming just as monstrous as what you fight. Alien DNA, a vampire¡¯s bite, or an ancient and indiscriminate curse, you survived by surrendering your humanity in the name of survival and strength. You, more than any other Survivor, are likely to become even more powerful than any monster you face, but what will you be at the end?


    Chosen One:


    You survived because you were meant to survive. The ultimate fixation of the evil that hunted you, a reincarnation of another hero, or the subject of a prophecy, the story that is the world you live in revolves around you to some degree. You¡¯ll survive, because you¡¯re important to the ¡°story¡±, and it needs you in it¡­ but what role you¡¯ll end up playing may end up out of your hands.


    Virginia studied the blue screen intently, then let out a heavy breath through clenched teeth.


    ¡°Okay¡­¡± She muttered, crossing her arms over her chest and wincing a bit at the sensation of wet, rapidly drying mud rubbing against her already filthy t-shirt. ¡°This seems important.¡±


    Virginia paused, then snorted. ¡°Arguably, one of the most important choices in my life. Not that that¡¯s saying much.¡± She shook her head and read over the choices for her Path again.


    I¡¯m going to survive. Now let¡¯s see how.

 Chapter 4

    Chapter 4


    The first Path that Virginia eliminated was Chosen One. It seemed like the safest path but¡­


    But I don¡¯t like the idea of not being in control of what role I¡¯ll play. The closest thing to a higher power I¡¯ve seen so far is an evil clown, and I can¡¯t imagine anything good will come of Tryn or anything like him being in charge of my life.


    Virginia shook her head, then shuddered. Or even worse, I might end up being written or being influenced by the same people who wrote¡­ my movie. Her cheesy final words to the Blood Drinker Queen ran through her head, and she cringed.


    Definitely not.


    As horrifying as both of those options were, what really pushed Virginia away from the Chosen One path was how flat and hollow her memories were, and how disconnected from them she felt. There was no indication that Chosen One would be like that¡­ but it would be. It would be her being written and directed by someone else again.


    That left Monster Within and Survivor as options. This was a tougher choice for her. The idea of ¡®surrendering her humanity¡¯ via the Monster Within path didn¡¯t really bother her. She wasn¡¯t sure whether that was because of her Survivor¡¯s Will keeping her calm, or just the fact that she was never a real human to begin with. Even her character sheet described her as ¡°Human (Story)¡±. On top of that, that path flat out said it was one that would let her become more powerful than any monster she met, and that had to count for something, right? Probably a lot, right?


    Survivor, on the other hand, seemed weirdly plain compared to the other two paths she was offered. It admitted that she wouldn¡¯t be as strong as presumably the other two paths would make her, but¡­ she read the first line of the Path¡¯s description again.


    You simply survived.


    I¡¯m a survivor. I¡¯ll survive. The similarity between her own thoughts when her Template had been finalized, and the description for the Survivor path felt important. Like it meant something, even if she wasn¡¯t sure what. She glanced at Monster Within again and frowned. Even if she wasn¡¯t technically a human, did that mean she wanted to be a monster? An image of the Blood Drinker Queen, her slimy and bulging body covered in wriggling tentacles, passed through her mind, and she made a face.


    Definitely not. Besides¡­ Virginia pulled up her character sheet and looked at the ability that had saved her mind, and likely her life, earlier.


    Survivor¡¯s Will (lvl 5)


    She didn¡¯t know what this whole business about being a Hero was, but she knew what she was.


    You have chosen your Path! You are now at least partially responsible for everything that happens to you from this point forward! How exciting!


    Path Selected: Survivor


    Virginia braced herself for a moment, expecting to feel something when her path was selected. Some sort of inner power surging up inside her, or suddenly growing to Amazonian height and proportions. When neither of those things happened, Virginia shrugged and turned her attention to the several new blue screens that were quickly popping up in front of her.


    For selecting your Path, you receive the following benefits:


    Your Primary Stat is now: Luck!


    You will receive +3 to your Primary Stat on all subsequent level ups.


    Luck +5!


    Your Secondary Stats are now: Special!


    Instead of the usual moderate bonus to two Secondary stats, your Survivor path will receive a small bonus to all non-Primary stats.


    All non-Primary stats +1!


    You will receive 2 unallocated stat points per level up!


    For selecting your Path, you receive the following abilities:


    Lucky Charm for the Damned (Passive)!


    Unkillable (Passive!)


    Run it Off (Active)!


    Virginia studied the announcements, then shook her head helplessly. None of these numbers meant anything to her. Was her new score of 17 in Luck average? Good? The description of the Survivor path specifically mentioned her being lucky, and it was apparently her Primary stat, so she assumed it was good, but without knowing what was normal, she really had no way of knowing. She blew out an exasperated breath, and then focused on her new abilities one by one, smaller blue screens with more in-depth descriptions popping up as she did.


    Lucky Charm of the Damned: (Passive) At the end of it all, you¡¯re gonna be standing alone on a mountain of corpses. But until that point, people around you will find themselves lasting longer than they honestly have any right to. All non-hostile individuals near you receive a +1 bonus to their Luck stat for every five points of Luck you currently have.


    Unkillable: (Passive) You will not die even when your health is completely spent. This ability surely has no downsides to it.


    Run it Off: (Active, Costs 40 mana to activate) By activating this ability, you will regenerate a portion of your health over the next minute. The amount restored scales with your Willpower stat.


    More numbers I have no way of knowing if they¡¯re useful or not. Ignoring the ability¡¯s comment about her standing on a mountain of corpses, she frowned. Virginia was starting to regret not asking Tryn more questions when it had been there earlier. She took a deep breath and reminded herself that it would have gone out of his way to make sure anything he shared ended up getting her hurt, and focused. Still, it¡¯s not like people wouldn¡¯t appreciate being even a little bit luckier when I¡¯m around, right?


    Her other two abilities were a bit more straightforward. Run it Off seemed like it was a way for her to heal herself from injuries, although it said it would restore her health over the course of a minute, so she wasn¡¯t sure what would happen if she were to be killed before it could heal her enough to save her. Well, she was pretty sure she knew, and it was nothing good for her continuing to be a Survivor.


    She glanced at her final ability. Or maybe I don¡¯t have to worry about that? Unkillable was¡­ strange. It was certainly in line with her class, or Path, as a Survivor. But it couldn¡¯t be as simple as just her being unable to die, could it? There was also the final line on its description, which she could almost hear in Tryn¡¯s cruel voice in her head. The only reason to point out that there were no downsides in such a tongue-in-cheek manner like that was if there were, in fact, downsides to the ability. And the only reason that an ability would specifically draw attention to its downside, is if it was a really, really bad downside. Yeah, maybe try not to use that one. Not that I have a choice it seems, so I guess¡­ try not to die? Or get hurt to the point where I would normally die?


    She shook her head, leaning on the now smoldering wreckage of the boat as she climbed to her feet. That was her whole plan anyway, so hopefully she¡¯d never have to see just what the deal with that ability was.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    Looking around, Virginia frowned. The fire from the boat had burned down to a low smolder, and with the power still off from the Blood Drinker attack earlier, the lights were out at the small boathouse and pier nearby, meaning she was now in almost total darkness. Turning in a slow circle, she eventually oriented herself on a overgrown dirt path leading out of the woods near the boathouse. That should lead back to the main commons at the camp. She took a step forward, then paused, frowning again.


    The camp was never real. It was just part of some dumb movie. Like me. She glanced over at the darkened boathouse. Except¡­ the boathouse also wasn¡¯t real. But it¡¯s right there. I¡¯M right here.


    She took a moment to consider the path into the woods, and wondered where it would actually lead, before turning and facing the boathouse. Just in case¡­ let¡¯s see if there¡¯s anything useful in the boathouse first.


    ***


    Virginia made it halfway to the boathouse before she remembered the knife. The silver ritual knife had been kept in a display case in Camp Muddy Paws little museum room in the main office building. The little information plaque on the case had speculated that the knife was used by the local Native American tribes in strange rituals. Wallace had been the one who¡¯d excitedly told Johnny about how the strange symbols they¡¯d been finding painted in blood near the victims around the camp looked similar to the ones carved on the knife¡¯s fancy handle of carved bone. It had ended up being the key to killing the Blood Drinker Queen and sending her back to the Below.


    Wherever that was.


    Actually, is the Below even anywhere? It was part of the movie, so does it actually exist? Virginia sighed as she searched through the mud of the lake shore, nearly blind in the low light. If this Depths had somehow pulled her into existence with it¡¯s weird and seemingly all powerful magic, just how much had been brought with her? She thought again about what she would actually find when she followed the dirt trail into the woods, and then shook her head. Even more reason to take anything that might be useful here.


    The Blood Drinker Queen was dead. Virginia glanced at the placid surface of the lake, almost waiting for something to come erupting out of the water in response to her thoughts. No, definitely dead. And if not, I¡¯m not swimming out there to check.


    However, even with the Blood Drinker Queen dead, the knife was still a knife, which seemed like a handy thing to keep on her. After another couple minutes of blindly digging through the mud, her fingers bumped against a familiar hard surface. She quickly pulled the knife, now coated in muck and mud, up with a gross sounding ¡®schlorp¡¯ sound, and she moved over to the edge of the lake to wash it off. As she did, the expected silver gleam of the knife¡¯s blade in the dull light was accompanied by the unexpected blue glow of a Depths screen, as she¡¯d started to think of them, appearing in front of her.


    You have discovered an Artifact of your Story!


    Artifacts are important or powerful items from the story you were created from and now embody. These Artifacts can only be used by those associated with the Story they originate from.


    Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane: This silver bladed, bone handled knife is covered in strange and arcane runes from ancient people now lost to time. Actually, they¡¯re just doodles that the director for Blood Drinkers from Below, which the knife is a prop for, did on a napkin during a preproduction lunch meeting. In the film, the Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane was a powerful magical Artifact that was the only weapon that could kill the dreaded Blood Drinker Queen. In reality, it was a three dollar knife the props departments bought at a five and dime, and then modified with some clay, and blunted the edge of to prevent accidental harm. In the Depths, this Artifact is neither of those things, but still carries a legacy of both.


    The Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane has the following innate abilities:


    Artifact of Story: As an Artifact of a Story, this item is immune to any form of degradation or being broken in any way, that is not thematic to its Story of origin.


    Bane: This item was a weapon that was used in its Story to kill something that couldn¡¯t be harmed by any mundane weapon. This property is retained in its current form, and this weapon will do damage as if it was the Bane of any supernatural or subnatural creature.


    Safety First: This item was a prop for a movie, and as such it was modified to be safe to handle, to avoid injuring anyone. When using this item, the user may decide what this blade will and won¡¯t cut.


    Definitely glad I came back for that. She wasn¡¯t sure what the item being a ¡°Bane¡± meant, but she assumed it meant it would kill anything like the Blood Drinker Queen. Virginia smiled as she went to slip the knife into her pocket, then grunted in annoyance as she was reminded how tiny and useless the pockets on the short shorts the counselors were required to wear were. Hopefully the boathouse has a pair of pants in it. She thought, without much hope, as she turned back to the boathouse still holding the knife awkwardly in one hand.


    ***


    The boathouse did not have a pair of pants in it. It did, however, have a couple useful items. Tucked away in one corner, buried underneath a pile of faded orange life jackets, was a tackle box, along with a pole, fishing hat covered in lures, and vest covered in pockets of assorted sizes. Leaving the hat and tackle box, Virginia slipped on the vest over her bloody tank top and managed to fit Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane mostly in one of the larger pockets, the handle still poking out a bit. That looked like that was going to be about it for anything useful, and Virginia turned to leave. However, as she did, something against one of the walls caught her eye.


    Reaching out, she tugged the rough canvas sheet down from where it was hanging on the wall. Underneath, prominently displayed was a harpoon. The shaft was some kind of plastic or fiberglass, with a small loop attached to the butt where a rope or chain could be attached. The head was shaped like an oversized arrowhead, barbed edges coming to a razor-sharp point. Virginia stared at it silently for a moment.


    Why the heck is this here? There was no reason for something like this to be here. The lake honestly barely merited a boathouse, and the biggest things that lived in it were snapping turtles. Hesitantly, Virginia reached out and lifted the harpoon off the hooks on the wall. It was surprisingly light in her hands, with the steel head pulling most of the weight to the front. She waited for a moment for another barrage of Depths screens, offering an explanation and description of the item, and when nothing appeared, she frowned at it, then shook her head.


    Harpoon clumsily gripped in two hands, knife poking out of the pocket of a bright blue fishing vest, all over her bloody and filthy green counselor tank top and shorts, Virginia stepped out of the boathouse and oriented herself on the dirt path leading off into the dark woods. Squaring her shoulders, she strode forward more confidently then she felt.


    Alright, well, let¡¯s just see what happens next.


    ***


    At first, nothing happened next. The overgrown dirt path wasn¡¯t lit at all, and she was quickly stumbling over shadowed roots and rocks in the path. It seemed like the biggest danger in the woods, despite her apprehension, was turning an ankle on an unseen tree root.


    That would be bad, actually. The idea of not being able to run from anything she encountered in the woods filled her stomach with a squirming ball of nervousness, and she slowed her pace further, squinting down at the path beneath her feet.


    This was already wrong. Camp Muddy Paws was definitely run down, but they kept all the paths and common areas, including the one to the boathouse, well lit, for the safety of the kids. The power had been knocked out by the Blood Drinkers earlier, but the darkened light poles that should have dotted the sides of the path were now entirely absent.


    If the Camp wasn¡¯t real, aside from the lake where she¡¯d just been, then the question remained, where did this path lead now? Virginia nearly tripped on another darn tree root and banged the butt of the harpoon against the ground as she stumbled, nearly dropping it. Grimacing, she readjusted her grip, trying to focus on the path in front of her instead of wondering where it led.


    Despite that, it was only a couple minutes later after slowly making her way down the path while squinting at the ground that her foot caught on another tree root, this one almost seeming to yank her down, sending her sprawling forward with a cry of surprise. As she reflexively dropped the harpoon, stretching her hands out to catch herself before she landed face first, lines of burning pain tore up her back.


    Virginia screamed, as a large shape landed scuffling on the path in front of her. She frantically scrambled back, skinning her knees on the rough dirt as the shape in front of her shifted and turned, a pair of sickly-looking yellow eyes fixating on her. There was a wet sounding panting, as the thing moved towards her.


    Hissing in pain, Virginia crawled backwards, shoving herself back onto her butt, and awkwardly scrambling and crab walking backwards until she banged her head on the rough bark of a tree at the side of the path, the slight pain lost in the ongoing throbbing agony from her back, where she could feel and smell blood dripping down and soaking into the top of her shorts.


    I can¡¯t see, I can¡¯t see it, oh god it cut me open. Virginia felt herself start to panic, her heart rate spiking and her breath coming in fast unsteady gasps, before a cold calm descended, her own internal screaming quickly and abruptly silenced.


    Survivor¡¯s Will has leveled up! Now level 6!


    Virginia took in a steadying breath, Survivor¡¯s Will once again saving her by dampening down her fear and panic. She continued to stare at the shape slowly stalking towards her, its form seeming vaguely like some kind of wolf or large dog, but¡­ wrong. Too many of what might have been legs, mismatched sizes making the thing move toward her in an odd lopsided way. With Survivor¡¯s Will steadying her, she studied the thing, even as her hand went to the Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane in her pocket, the harpoon still lying on the ground where she¡¯d dropped it, now behind the thing. Whether it was due to her skill¡¯s calming influence or just how long she¡¯d been staring at it, Virginia was awarded with the blue glow of a Depths screen.


    Innate Skill activated! Acquired the ability Analyze!


    And immediately following that:


    Analyze: You focus on an item or creature that is corrupted by the Depths System, and receive information related to that corruption. Higher levels of this ability will allow you to gain additional information on use and may allow access to information on currently restricted items or creatures. This ability is an Innate Skill for all Depths Constructs.


    Virginia shook her head wildly, quickly banishing the Depths screen as the thing took advantage of her description to lurch even closer to her. Staring at it intently, Virginia licked her lips nervously. ¡°A-Analyze?¡± There was a strange feeling of pressure behind her eyes, and then another Depths Screen popped up.


    Stitch Beast: This creature was created by stitching together parts of various other creatures together and then animated with mana. It was then sent out to collect more parts to bring back to its creator. If you¡¯re lucky, it will kill you before you get dragged back to its master to be broken down for parts.


    The Depths screen seemed to shudder, blurring and flickering briefly from blue to an angry looking red, before stabilizing back to normal, with an additional line added to the Stich Beast¡¯s description.


    This creature is a minion of a Ravager.


    Virginia wasn¡¯t sure if the Stitch Beast had noticed, or understood, her using Analyze on it, but it let out a wet sounding growl, and then lurched forward, its mismatched limbs sending it flying at her at an angle as it lunged for her.

 Chapter 5

    Chapter 5


    Virginia desperately rolled to the side, bringing up Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane as she did.  Her desperate maneuver was half successful, the Stich Beast slamming into the tree with a sickening crack as wood and bone both snapped.  Her clumsy swipe with the knife only grazing one of the things many legs, which now that it was closer, Virginia could see looked like it had been pulled off some kind of deer, then stitched onto the thing¡¯s torso with thick and crude looking black thread.  It turned toward her unsteadily, revealing a mouth stretched wide over a mismatched set of teeth, some of which looked too big to come from anything but a dinosaur, or some monstrous creature she¡¯d never even heard of.  Bulging yellow eyes regarded her over that dental nightmare, and the Stitch Beast lurched towards her again.  Despite the snapping of bone she¡¯d heard, it moved with the same ungainly and lurching speed as before and showed no sign of feeling any pain.


    That changed when it shifted its weight onto the leg she¡¯d managed to scratch with Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane, and it hesitated.  Twisting its head around, it regarded the small cut along it¡¯s leg, bulging eyes tracking a thin trickle of surprisingly normal looking crimson blood running over it¡¯s bulging skin.  The Stich Beast turned back to her, it¡¯s blank expression almost seeming accusatory.  Virginia took a deep breath, bringing Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane up and pointing it at the monster.


    I guess that¡¯s what being a ¡®Bane¡¯ does.  It definitely didn¡¯t seem to like getting cut with that.  That thought was supported by the Stitch Beast¡¯s letting out a piercing and disturbingly human sounding scream, shrill and piercing.  It crouched, and then launched itself through the air at her, jagged teeth stretching towards her face.  Caught off guard, Virginia swiped at it again, Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane slamming into one massive tooth with a crack, before sliding up along the fang and digging into the gums lined with black stitchwork.


    The Stitch Beast screamed again, making her ears ring, as the weight of it forced her to the ground, her back slamming into the rocky dirt and knocking the air out of her lungs.  She gasped, sucking in air desperately, as she grabbed the bone handle of Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane with both hands, desperately trying to push the crooked fangs away from her face and neck.  As she did, blood began to pour out of it¡¯s mouth as she mangled it¡¯s gums, silver blade digging into the mess of flesh and black stitching.


    The Stitch Beast screamed again, and Virginia screamed back at it, it¡¯s blood dripping down onto her face.  She tossed her head to keep it out of her eyes, and shoved harder, hearing something crack inside its jaw as her knife was forced even deeper into its gums.


    The Stich Beast¡¯s twisted and threw its head, trying to get around her knife.  When that failed, it leaned its full weight onto her, forcing its fangs closer to her face even as it drove the knife deeper into its mouth.  Virginia¡¯s elbows were forced to the ground, and she felt a deep twinge of pain in her forearms, her bones straining under the Stitch Beast¡¯s full weight.  It strained, until she felt like her arms were going to break, before the pressure eased.  She took in a shuddering breath as the Stitch Beast leaned back, staring up at it warily.


    The muscles in the Stitch Beast¡¯s neck bulged, working like it was swallowing something.  Its head shuddered, and then its mouth split open, it¡¯s vaguely canine skull cracking, splitting and unfolding like a grotesque flower, chunks of gore and a thick black fluid pouring out.  As it did, Blood Drinker¡¯s bane was shoved to the side with the chunk of the Stitch Beast¡¯s face that it was still embedded in, wrenching her arms, Virginia barely managing to keep from losing her grip on her only weapon, barely managing to keep one hand on it.  From what had been the beast¡¯s neck, a wide crooked split in the flesh appeared, and Virginia only had a second to take in the sight of thin jagged points of teeth pushing out of the flesh around the new crude mouth, before the Stitch Beast slammed its new mouth down on her.  She felt the sensation of her shoulder being shoved into its mouth, and then she felt it¡¯s fangs start tearing into her, and she screamed again, defiance overshadowed by pain.


    Virginia desperately stabbed at its head and shoulder; her arm that was not currently being eaten luckily the one that had kept hold of Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane.  She felt the knife burying itself in the beasts bulging flesh, smelled the coppery scent of blood mixing with the disgusting sickly-sweet smell of its black ichor.


    Still the Beast didn¡¯t relent, and she felt its teeth scraping against the bone of her shoulder as it tore her arm apart.  She was hurting it, but it wasn¡¯t enough.  She¡¯d have to get incredibly lucky to hit anything vital enough in its twisted mess of a body to kill it.  The thought sparked something in her mind, and she sucked in as breath, her voice reedy and unsteady with pain.


    ¡°L-Lucky Strike!¡±  She gasped and half screamed, slamming Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane home in the Stitch Beast¡¯s side again.  There was that same feeling of pressure as when she used Analyze earlier, pulling at the muscle in her arm, redirecting her stab, and she felt Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane embed itself in flesh all the way to the hilt, she felt the tip slam into something hard.  On top of her, the Stitch Beast shuddered and froze, Virginia letting out another gasp of pain as she felt its fangs twitch while still dug into the muscle of her shoulder.  She stared up at it panting, as it shuddered again.  With a quiet series of pops, the stitches all along the beast¡¯s body burst, parts of it dropping to the ground as the Stitch Beast literally fell apart, a tide of that same black ichor pouring out and drenching Virginia, who let out a groan of disgust, trying to wriggle out from the pile of dismembered Stitch Beast pieces and not gag.


    She succeeded at the first, even as her mangled arm lit up with pain, and failed at the second, only managing to crawl a few feet away before she twisted onto her side, violently throwing up.  In between heaves she took in shuddering breaths, wincing as her shoulder screamed in agony with even the slightest movement.  As she lay there on her side, Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane still clenched in a death grip in one hand, a series of blue screens flickered into existence in front of her.


    Worse Than It Looks has leveled up!  Now level 2!


    Short Blades has leveled up!  Now level 2!


    Worse Than It Looks has leveled up!  Now level 3!


    Short Blades has leveled up!  Now level 3!


    Lucky Strike has leveled up!  Now level 2!


    The familiar parade of skill increase notifications were followed by a larger screen, the blue glow brighter than the others.


    You have leveled up!  You are now level 2!  Luck increased by 3!  You receive 2 unallocated stat points!


    Virginia took in another shuddering breath.  The relatively minor pain of her flayed back resting against the rough dirt path was drowned out by the agony from her shoulder.  Twisting her head, she tried to inspect it, and it looked¡­ not good.  It was hard to tell under the mess of blood and ichor covering her, but she was pretty sure she saw glimpses of off-white bone amid the gore.  She felt her stomach twisting again, and she closed her eyes and grit her teeth, refusing to allow herself to throw up again.  Once the wave of nausea passed, replaced by an alarming lightheaded feeling, she opened her eyes again, and called up her character sheet.  She thought there had been something important there for her current situation.


    Name: Virginia Christianson


    Race: Human (Story)


    Age: 18 (0)(34)


    Template: Final Girl


    Path: Survivor


    Level: 2


    Health: 63/220


    Mana: 155/170


    UNALLOCATED: 4


    STRENGTH: 7


    REFLEXES: 10


    SPEED: 12


    VITALITY: 11


    ATUNEMENT: 9


    IMAGINATION: 11


    WILLPOWER: 13


    FAITH: 5


    CHARISMA: 11


    AWARENESS: 13


    LUCK: 20Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Conditions: Bruised, Filthy, Bleeding, Blood Drenched, Lightheaded, Limb Disabled (Left arm), Grace Period


    Abilities:


    Passive:


    Worse Than It Looks (Lvl 3)


    Horror Survivor (Lvl 2)


    Final Girl (Lvl MAX)


    Survivor¡¯s Will (Lvl 6)


    Lucky Charm for the Damned (Lvl 1)


    Unkillable (Lvl 1)


    Active:


    Lucky Strike (Lvl 2)


    Flee (Lvl 1)


    Run it Off (Lvl 1)


    Analyze: (Lvl 1)


    Skills:


    First Aid (Lvl 1)


    Improvised Weapons (Lvl 1)


    Running (Lvl 1)


    Short Blades (Lvl 3)


    Swimming (Lvl 1)


    There were a couple new additions to her sheet, and her health was unsurprisingly alarmingly low, but Virginia ignored all of that for the moment.  Scanning over her character sheet, she considered her First Aid skill, before focusing on the ability she¡¯d gained for choosing Survivor as her path.   Time for my path to live up to it¡¯s name because I think¡­ I¡¯m going to bleed out otherwise.  She called up the description of her new ability.


    Run it Off: (Costs 40 Mana). By activating this ability, you will regenerate a portion of your health over the next minute. The amount restored scales with your WILLPOWER.


    Licking her dry lips, then regretting it immediately as she got a mouthful of blood and black ichor, Virginia activated the ability and hoped for the best.  ¡°Run it Off!¡±  She wasn¡¯t sure how much this ability would heal her, but hopefully it would be enough to keep her from bleeding out in the next couple of minutes.  Unfortunately, nothing happened when she tried to activate the ability, no weird sense of pressure like she¡¯d gotten when using her other abilities, and no effect on her wounds.


    A thread of fear ran through her, even through the ongoing effect of Survivor¡¯s Will.  She¡¯d assumed all her abilities were just activated by her wanting them to activate.  If there was something else she needed to do to activate Run it Off, she didn¡¯t have a lot of time to figure out what that was.  As she stared at the brief and unhelpful description of the ability, something occurred to her, and the trickle of fear was overtaken by annoyance.


    You have got to be kidding me.


    Virginia stared at the name of the ability.  Run it Off.  Slowly, she staggered to her feet, breathing out in hisses of pain as her mangled shoulder flared up.  Carefully orienting herself along the path, and praying she didn¡¯t run into another tree root, Virginia forced herself to break into something that was more of a lurching powerwalk then a run, but¡­


    ¡°Run it Off.¡±  She hissed out between clenched teeth.  This time, she was rewarded by that familiar feeling of pressure, starting in her legs, then spreading up her body, the agony in her shoulder easing slightly as the pressure of her ability being used built under it.  Virginia scowled as she continued jogging along the darkened trail, stumbling occasionally over rocks and tree roots in the dark.


    ¡°I think I hate this.¡±


    ***


    Run it Off has leveled up!  Now level 2!


    Virginia ran for a full three minutes, recasting Run it Off each time it ran out, until she didn¡¯t have enough mana to cast it again.  The pain in her shoulder had lessened to a dull throb, and according to her character sheet, her health was maxed out again.  It was hard to notice a difference at a glance, the gore from both her and the Stitch Beast still covering her shoulder, but she was pretty sure she didn¡¯t see any bone poking through anymore.  More importantly, she could use her arm again, feeling only a slight twinge of pain when she rotated her shoulder experimentally, the Limb Disabled condition fading off her character sheet after the third cast of Run It Off.  The Lightheaded and Bleeding conditions had disappeared right when the first cast ran out.  Now longer worried about dying from blood loss, Virginia turned her mind to other problems.


    Specifically, trying to find her harpoon.  She¡¯d dropped it on the road when the Stitch Beast ambushed her, and after running in a panic for a few minutes to trigger her ability, she¡¯d lost track of where she¡¯d nearly gotten eaten.  She clutched Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane in one hand, peering into the shadows of trees suspiciously, wary about more Stitch Beasts, or something worse, leaping out at her.


    Honestly, she wasn¡¯t sure if the harpoon would have even worked on the Stitch Beast.  She was pretty sure it was Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane¡¯s special ability that had let it kill the Stitch Beast.  Still, she doubted the beast was the only monster she¡¯d run into, and having a weapon that could keep something at more of a distance than a few inches from her face¡­ the image of the Stitch Beasts mismatched teeth stretching towards her face ran through her mind.


    Yeah, let¡¯s try and avoid that happening ever again.


    She literally stumbled over the harpoon a few minutes later, the toe of her worn sneaker sending it sliding across the rough dirt of the path.  With a sigh, she bent down and retrieved the harpoon, and then she studied it with a frown.  Curious, she tried using her Analyze ability on the harpoon, and a Depths screen obligingly popped up in front of her.


    Out of Place Harpoon: A large harpoon with a composite steel head and reinforced fiberglass body.  Aside from being found in an unlikely location, there is seemingly nothing notable about this weapon.


    Note:  This weapon was created as part of a Story.  Being formed by the Depths System directly, its level of Corruption is already maxed out.


    Virginia rolled her eyes.  While it was good to know that her Analyze ability could be used on items, she was growing increasingly frustrated with the information presented to her by the Depths Screens.  Her Analyze ability also mentioned things about levels of corruption by the Depths System, but she still had no idea what that meant.  Corruption sounded like a bad thing, and she eyed the harpoon warily.


    Is this the kind of thing that Tryn was offering to answer questions about right before he left?  She carefully leaned the harpoon against a large tree next to her, before sitting down at the base and leaning back against it.  But it said the Depths System had just arrived, so how would anyone even know what to ask?  I didn¡¯t even know about this ¡®corruption¡¯ was a thing until after he¡¯d vanished. It¡¯s like the System wants to appear to be helpful but doesn¡¯t actually want to be helpful.   Virginia scowled out into the darkness.  It¡¯s like¡­ no, that¡¯s definitely what it is.  She leaned her head back to stare at the sky.  Or if not the System, then at least the one speaking for it.  Shaking her head again, Virginia tried to shift her focus.  Honestly, there was just too much about this she didn¡¯t know.  Trying to figure out why the System worked the way it did was probably a lost cause, when she honestly still wasn¡¯t sure what exactly it was.


    Of course, it could just be to mess with us because it¡¯s run by jerks like Tryn.  She snorted and called up her character sheet.  There had been a few things that seemed important earlier, just not as important as keeping herself from bleeding out.  With that accomplished, she focused on the additions to her sheet.


    So Worse Than It Looks, Short Blades, Lucky Strike, and Run it Off all leveled up.  Leveling up seemed to just happen naturally as she used a skill or ability, and she assumed that it they were improving somehow, even if none of the descriptions on them had changed when she checked.


    Short Blades must be from using Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane.  Lucky Strike was what killed the Stitch Beast at the end.  Run it Off was from my impromptu jogging session earlier.  She frowned and called up the description for Worse Than It Looks.


    Worse Than It Looks: Your story involved you being subjected to a degree of violence and physical punishment that should have been fatal. Your ability to absorb punishment and keep struggling on with what would be life threatening injuries for most people is greatly enhanced as a result. For every level of this ability, you receive a small amount of bonus resistance to effects that reduce your health, although the physical manifestation of these effects will be unchanged.


    Virginia made a face.  So, I won¡¯t be actually dying, I¡¯ll just look like it. She glanced down and looked at the caked-on mess of gore that was her now healed shoulder.  How much worse would that have been if I didn¡¯t have that ability?  A thin trickle of anxiety ran through her stomach.  Would it have just torn my arm off?  Or killed me?  Taking another deep breath, she forcibly shoved the anxiety down before it triggered Survivor¡¯s Will.


    I do have it though.  I¡¯m going to survive, and these abilities are what will let me do it.  With that in mind, Virginia took a moment to take a more in-depth look at a couple of her other abilities.


    Lucky Strike: (Costs 15 Mana) You would never have described yourself as a fighter, but you have a knack for managing to pull off a debilitating or lethal blow just when you need it. Activating this ability allows you to add a damage bonus to your next attack based on your LUCK stat.


    Flee: (Costs 10 Mana) You know that against some monsters, all you can do is run for your life. By activating this ability, you can move much more quickly as long as you maintain this ability. Maintaining this ability costs additional mana per second.


    Horror Survivor: Your story involved you surviving a nightmarish scenario specifically designed to cause fear. You have a bonus to resist fear effects that increases with every level of this ability.


    Final Girl: Your story involved you alone surviving when everyone around you perished. The ultimate unlikely survivor in the face of near certain death or worse. You receive experience whenever you survive a situation that was likely to result in your death. The amount received depends on your odds of survival. A bonus is applied for every other individual in the same situation near you who you outlive.


    Taking a moment to digest that, Virginia shrugged.  Horror Survivor seemed like it did the same thing as Survivor¡¯s Will, but it hadn¡¯t leveled up when the Stitch Beast attacked, so maybe they were more different than they looked.  Lucky Strike did pretty much what she expected and had used it for earlier, although knowing it apparently got stronger the higher her Luck was good to know, since it meant that it should keep getting better as her Luck kept going up.  Flee seemed like something she could have used to escape the Stitch Beast instead of fighting it, so she¡¯d have to try and keep that in mind from now on.


    From listening to Wallace play Crypts and Creatures with the kids, she remembered experience was something players received for killing monsters that let them level up.  Apparently, she only needed to survive to gain experience, which seemed like a plus for her.  That¡¯s probably why I leveled up after the Stitch Beast.


    On that note, she turned her attention to the unallocated stat points she¡¯d received for leveling up.  And apparently for choosing her Template, since she had four of them now.  She guessed that ¡°unallocated¡± meant that she could put those points into any of her stats.  Virginia briefly thought about assigning all four of them to Luck, since that seemed to be important to her Template, and was one of the few stats that she had an ability that directly drew on it.


    However, the memory of the Stitch Beast pinning her to the ground, and forcing her arms back to tear into her, was still fresh in her mind, and she allocated three of the stat points into Strength instead.  It was one of her lowest stats apparently, and she was worried about that coming back to haunt her.  Her last point she dropped into Willpower, since it was what made Run it Off stronger, apparently.  She wasn¡¯t sure how much stronger, but if that point could make the difference between closing a future wound versus leaving her bleeding out, it was definitely worth it.


    With that done, Virginia pushed herself to her feet, retrieving the harpoon from next to her.  Her shoulder was still sore, but there was no telling when another Sitch Beast or other monster would come around.  Returning to the dirt path, she resumed following it, hoping that wherever the path led, she¡¯d get there soon.


    And that they have a shower.  If not, I might need to head back to the lake and take my chances with whatever the Blood Drinker Queen¡¯s body is doing to the water there.

 Chapter 6

    Chapter Six


    The Stitch Beast¡¯s body wasn¡¯t there.


    Virginia was sure that this is where its body had been, the massive puddle of ichor from when it had split apart still wet and sticky on the forest floor. As soon as she realized, Virginia brought the harpoon up in front of her, looking around wildly. If the Stitch Beast had somehow pulled itself back together after she¡¯d thought she¡¯d killed it last time and come back for more, she swore she¡¯d chop it into bits this time. When she wasn¡¯t jumped by anything after a few seconds, she relaxed marginally.


    Walking over to the puddle of gore slowly, Virginia squinted at it in the darkness. She wasn¡¯t a hunter or a wilderness expert, but as near as she could tell, it didn¡¯t look like the body had been dragged off either. If nothing else, she figured that would have left a trail of black ichor behind. The Stitch Beast was simply gone.


    Even so, Virginia didn¡¯t completely relax, which was why she was able to jump back out of the way as a thin green line split the air right next to where she was standing. As she scrambled back, bringing the harpoon up, the glowing green line split the air to the ground, and then widened, revealing a black and featureless void.


    ¡°Analyze!¡± Virginia barked out, her voice hoarse and tense, as she stared at the glowing split in the air in front of her.


    Depths Door: This is a portal used by those who are fully incorporated into the Depths System. Open portals may be freely used by any individual who has incorporated the minimum amount of Depths corruption. Closed portals may only be used by designated individuals, or those fully incorporated into the Depths System.


    This portal is: Closed.


    Virginia swallowed heavily. Looks pretty open to me. Virginia pointed the harpoon at the Depths Door, then scrambled back even further as a hand stretched out of the portal, then just kept stretching, heavy grey fingers spreading and reaching out for her face as the arm reached several feet across the clearing. Before she could bring up the harpoon to bat the hand back and away, it stopped a few inches short of her face. The fingers strained as if trying to push those last few inches, then relaxed, the hand pulling back slightly.


    ¡°No. Not hostile. Interrogative.¡± A deep and raspy voice echoed out of the portal, it¡¯s inflection and tone oddly flat. Out of the portal a massive figure appeared, craning its head to step through the seven foot tall portal. Covered in the same dull grey skin as its hand, the figure that appeared only appeared human for the briefest of glances. Even setting aside their stature and unnatural skin tone, a second pair of long and spindly arms worked busily under a long and tattered coat, hands with too many fingers dipping in and out of pockets, moving small objects that Virginia couldn¡¯t make out between them, in a constant state of small and delicate motions. The upper pair of arms were bigger, covered in dense muscle and in a surprisingly off-putting detail that Virginia only now noticed, reversed, the palms facing outwards away from each other. The one that was stretched out for her slowly shrank back to a more normal length, crossing over the creature¡¯s chest. Its chest was bare, revealing more of the of its pale grey skin, a long incision stitched together with familiar black thread running directly down the center, from the base of its neck all the way down to hem of the strange skirt the creature wore that hung down to just above its bare feet.


    The creature¡¯s face was surprisingly normal. The same grey skin tone as the rest of its body, but a bizarrely normal human pair of blue eyes regarding her, over a mouth with lips that were pursed in what looked like annoyance.


    ¡°The System misreads. Hostilities currently¡­¡± The figure paused mid-sentence to take in an unnaturally deep breath of air, it¡¯s chest visibly bulging out, skin distending over a massive pair of lungs. ¡°¡­impossible. The rules do not allow.¡± The figure continued to stare at Virginia, as the smaller hands produced and combined several components in rapid succession, quickly assembling a small but complex looking device.


    Virginia nervously took another step back, the figure continuing to watch her impassively as it adjusted something on the device it had cobbled together. ¡°Analyze.¡± She said quietly, making sure to keep the point of the harpoon between her and the creature, no matter what it said.


    Analyze failed. You do not have sufficient corruption.


    Instead of the usual blue Depths screen, this message was delivered in that same ominous shade of red that had briefly popped up when she analyzed the Stitch Beast. At the same time, the slight pressure behind her eyes blossomed into a spike of pain that dug back into her skull, making her double over briefly, before unsteadily and quickly forcing herself and the harpoon back up. The grey-skinned creature looked at her impassively as she did.


    ¡°Commendable. Pain is inconsequential in the pursuit of knowledge. Whether it is¡­¡± The creature paused to suck in another deep breath. ¡°¡­yours, or anyone else¡¯s.¡±


    Virginia stared back at it, ignoring the warm trickle of blood from her nose that had started when she tried to Analyze him.


    ¡°Are you a Ravager?¡± She¡¯d seen that word twice now, once on the same red Depths screen that had briefly appeared when she Analyzed the Stitch Beast, and once on one of the effects she¡¯d had on her sheet since she¡¯d first seen her sheet.


    Grace Period: You stand at the precipice. The Depths yawns open before you, but you have not yet fallen into them. Monsters will not spawn in your presence while in this state. Ravagers may not initiate hostile actions against you while you are in this state.


    ¡°You are, aren¡¯t you?¡± What the creature had said, about the ¡®rules¡¯ making hostility to be impossible had to be referring to the Grace Period¡¯s effect.


    ¡°Yes.¡± The creature¡¯s response was quick, and delivered in the same off-putting monotone that every word it had spoken had been delivered in. Virginia swallowed. She had no idea how the Grace Period effect worked, or when it would disappear, but until then she left herself relax slightly. Very slightly.


    ¡°That means you can¡¯t hurt me, then. Right? That¡¯s what it says what it means when you say you may not initiate hostile actions against me?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Once again, the response was immediate and emotionless, although after a moment, the creature, the Ravager, continued. ¡°Among other things.¡±


    Virginia frowned, her gaze flicking back and forth between its impassive face and the device it continued to fiddle with. ¡°What does that mean? What other things?¡± The fingers paused in their fiddling for a moment.


    ¡°Some of the others. What they will do to you will not hurt.¡± It resumed fiddling, twisting a dial on the side of the device, and then tapping it experimentally. ¡°In Spiral, there is no pain. Malice will make being hurt¡­¡± The Ravager inhaled heavily, ¡°¡­not hurt, to the point that you will crave it. Tryn does not need to hurt you to do you great harm.¡± It paused again, and for the first time, Virginia thought she saw the barest hint of an expression on its face, a slight tightening at the corner of its eyes and lips. ¡°But he will do so anyway.¡±


    ¡°Are those other Ravagers? Is that what Tryn is?¡± Virginia asked. The creature held up its device and inspected it critically before nodding once.


    ¡°Yes. Tryn is the Herald.¡± The creature took another deep breath, one of its many-fingered hands producing a small piece of metal from one of its pockets and slotting it into the device it held.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that means.¡± Virginia shook her head. ¡°What does that mean? What is the Herald? What is a Ravager for that matter?¡±


    The creature had resumed watching her, its hands still adjusting the device it held. ¡°The Herald is the one that comes first. The one who welcomes all into the Depths. The Herald is a Ravager.¡± The creature sucked in more air before concluding. ¡°But only one Ravager is the Herald.¡±


    Twisting another dial, the device in the creature¡¯s hands let out a soft whir, and a green light on the end lit up. Nodding, the creature raised it up and pointed it at Virginia. ¡°Ravagers are those who have incorporated a significant level of corruption from the Depths system and are now part of it.¡± Caught off guard by the nonchalant way it did so, Virginia didn¡¯t immediately react when the device was pointed at her, and it let out a shrill whine, the light at the end flickering blue briefly, then back to green. She quickly stepped to the side, bringing the harpoon back up from where she¡¯d relaxed it to point it at the creature.


    ¡°What was that!? What did you just do?¡± The creature ignored her, bringing the device up close to its face and studying it, tapping the side intermittently with one thin finger.


    ¡°Ah¡­ a Story. An acknowledged potential outcome, although odds against were favorable in this location based on data available.¡± The creature nodded, sucking in more air while stashing the device back in one of its pockets. ¡°Your story featured interesting specimens.¡± The Ravager turned, stepping toward the still open portal it had come from.


    ¡°Wait!¡± Virginia cried out after it, stepping closer. She wasn¡¯t sure she really wanted this thing to stick around, but it seemed indifferent to answering at least some of her questions.


    ¡°No.¡± The creature started to step through the portal, and then paused, twisting back towards her, its torso rotating on its hips to an unnatural degree, so it was facing her even as its lower body still faced the portal.


    ¡°How did you kill the collection unit?¡± It asked her. From its pocket, it produced what looked like a small pot or vase absolutely dripping with black ichor, a jagged crack running down one side.


    ¡°The what?¡± Virginia frowned, then looked down at the puddle of gore on the ground next to them. ¡°Do you mean the Stitch Beast? Was that thing yours?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± The Ravager stared at her with the same impassive expression. Virginia hesitated, then shrugged. Telling this thing about her abilities or Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane seemed like a bad idea. While it didn¡¯t give off the same feeling of barely hidden sadism as Tryn, its first action had been to try and attack her, no matter what it claimed, and it had only stopped because Grace Period currently prevented it from doing so.


    ¡°I guess I just got lucky.¡± She answered semi-truthfully. The creature stared at her in response, then twisted its body back around and strode through the portal, the green outline snapping shut a moment later and the green light disappearing, plunging the woods back into darkness.


    ***


    Virginia was lost in thought as she once again made her way along the dirt path in the woods, to the point where she didn¡¯t realize the woods had abruptly ended until she took another few steps. She stumbled to a stop as her mind caught up to her surroundings. Directly in front of her, the dirt gave way to thicker grass, dipping down into a wide ditch, and on the other side, an abandoned stretch of road, black asphalt running off into the distance to both her left and her right. On the other side of the road, the woods resumed just as abruptly. Virginia planted the butt of the harpoon on the ground and leaned on it, considering.


    Okay. This is better, right? Better than the dark woods full of Stitch Beasts, Ravagers, and ankle grabbing tree roots? Probably. Running on asphalt sounded more appealing than running over uneven ground while dodging trees. That just left which ways to follow the road. She glanced in both directions again, squinting into the distance to try and catch sight of a sign or a hint of light in either direction, but saw nothing. With no indication of which way was more likely to lead to good things like showers, real pants, and no more monsters, Virginia decided that her best bet was to play to her strengths.


    Jumping over the ditch and walking up to the edge of the road, she pulled Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane out of the pocket on her vest she¡¯d stashed it back in and crouched down. Setting the knife down on the asphalt, she spun it by the hilt, watching it twirl unsteadily.


    So, whichever way the Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane points, I¡¯ll go that way. She watched it slow to a stop silently, mentally adding that if it pointed into the woods behind her or on the other side, she was going to spin it again. However, it eventually stopped, pointing in a direction that was, at least mostly, to the right. With a shrug, Virginia retrieved the knife and started jogging down the road in the direction indicated.


    Her plan seemed to be a success a couple minutes later as she caught sight of a sign on the side of the road as she rounded a curve. As she approached the sign close enough to make out what it said, she reconsidered.


    Welcome to Hope Falls! Population: 289.


    Virginia paused in front of the sign, debating turning round and trying in the other direction. It was just a name, and she knew it didn¡¯t mean anything, but she couldn¡¯t help but feel like trying to find refuge from monsters in a town called ¡°Hope Falls¡±, was just asking to be disappointed. And then eaten.


    Virginia squinted up at the sign. There was nothing special about it, just block white letters on a green background. She was also sure that the town wasn¡¯t from her movie, since as flat and distant as those memories were, they were all perfectly clear in her mind. Still, there was something about the name that pulled at her. A strange sort of pressure in her chest, like when she activated her abilities.


    After considering for another few moments, Virginia resumed jogging, passing the sign with a sidelong glance. If nothing else, hopefully even a town as small as this seemed to be would have pants, and a shower.


    And maybe I¡¯ll see a car on the way. I wouldn¡¯t mind getting a ride from someone the rest of the way there. At this rate, I¡¯m going to level up my running skill before I get there.


    ***


    Running has leveled up! Now level 2!


    Virginia did see a car, eventually. It was almost half an hour later, just a couple minutes after her Running skill had reached level 2, like she¡¯d predicted. Unfortunately the car in question, a small sedan of a make and model she didn¡¯t recognize, was flipped upside down, half slid at an angle into the ditch at the side of the road. Virginia jogged to a stop, then approached the overturned car slowly, switching her harpoon to a two-handed grip.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Virginia cleared her throat, which had gotten dry enough to be noticeable over the course of her jog here. ¡°Hey! Is anyone there? Are you okay?¡± She glanced around as she got close to the car. There were no lights on in the car, or on the car, and no one responded to her calling out. As she got closer, she crouched down, letting out a sigh of relief when she saw the driver¡¯s side was empty. The driver had probably managed to get out of the flipped car and gone for help. Scanning the inside of the dark car as well as she could, Virginia noticed a mess of what looked like blankets and boxes in the back. She bit her lip, hesitating briefly before moving around to try the upside-down rear door. Hopefully, the car¡¯s owner would understand her looking for anything useful under the circumstances.


    Reaching down, she tugged on the door handle. It didn¡¯t open, but it felt more like it was stuck rather than being locked. Leaning the harpoon into the crook of her elbow, Virginia managed to get an awkward grip on the handle with both hands, and planted her feet, getting ready to see if the points she¡¯d allocated into Strength earlier would be enough to wrench the door open. Before she could start pulling, she was startled by a loud smacking noise. Looking down, she saw a pale face pressed against the car window below her, a hand pressed next to it.


    ¡°Ahh!¡± Virginia released the handle and stumbled backwards with a gasping yelp. ¡°What the heck!?¡± Virginia slid the harpoon back into her hands, holding it up defensively, staring at the face in the window. ¡°What the heck!? Analyze!¡±


    Name: Mark Miller


    Race: Human


    Age: 14


    It¡¯s a kid. A boy with dark hair and scared looking grey eyes, staring at her warily. Taking in a steady breath, Virginia lowered the harpoon, holding up her empty hand placatingly. ¡°Hey, it¡¯s okay.¡± Crouching down, she leaned closer to the window. ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡± She glanced down at her bloodied and filthy appearance, hilt of a knife sticking out of a pocket on a tattered vest, harpoon clutched in one hand. ¡°Um, yeah. I know, this is just¡­¡± She trailed off, not sure what to tell the kid just what this was. ¡°Are you okay? Where¡¯s the driver for the car?¡± The kid mouthed something in response, and Virginia leaned closer, practically pressing her ear to the glass of the window trying to hear him.


    ¡°Shut up.¡± The kid said in a whispered hiss. ¡°It¡¯s going to hear you!¡± Virginia tensed, turning back to stare at him, mouth opening to ask what he meant, and caught sight of his face. The fear in his eyes had blossomed into full-on terror, and he was staring over her shoulder behind her. Virginia¡¯s eyes widened, and she threw herself to the side without even looking over her shoulder, skinning her elbow and knee raw on the asphalt as she landed in a heap.


    With a crash, a Stitch Beast slammed face first into the car door where she¡¯d been crouched, metal screeching and glass shattering as it shoved the car further off the road and into the ditch. This one looked different than the one Virginia had killed in the woods, but only in the details. The familiar jumble of mismatched limbs below a vaguely canine shaped head filled with what seemed to be a random assortment of teeth. From inside the car, the boy, Mark, screamed in terror, and Virginia heard another higher pitched scream join in from somewhere behind him in the car.


    Oh god, there are more kids in there. Virginia twisted on the ground, looking through the Stitch Beasts twisted assortment of legs into the car, seeing Mark desperately scrambling back from the now shattered window, a barely distinguishable smaller shape being shoved back behind him. The Stitch Beast shoved its head into the window, the metal frame groaning as its shoulders strained against it, trying to force its way deeper into the car.


    Shoving herself to her feet, Virginia stepped closer to the beast, yelling as she brandished the harpoon. ¡°Hey! Leave them alone, you freak!¡±

 Chapter 7

    Chapter 7


    ¡°Lucky Strike!¡±  Virginia brought the harpoon down on the back of the Stitch Beast¡¯s neck.  She remembered Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane hitting something hard buried inside the last Stitch Beast just below its head, which is what had finally killed it.  She was hoping the harpoon would work just as well if she aimed it right, activating her Lucky Strike ability to help.  She felt the pressure in her muscles from ability activating, and the harpoon dug deep into the back of the Stitch Beast¡¯s neck, black Ichor pouring out and splashing onto the asphalt.  The beast went still for a moment, and then frantically shoved itself backwards, the kids in the car forgotten in favor of dealing with this new threat.


    Virginia glared at it, berating herself.  She¡¯d missed, and she remembered why as the Stitch Beast shuddered as it turned on her, its throat bulging and constricting before the bones of its skull split apart, black ichor pooling under it as its second mouth revealed itself.  From inside the car, the screaming from the kids resumed after the brief pause when the beast had pulled back.


    Right, I forgot it did that.  The spot was a bit back from that head, mouth whatever, not the other one.  Virginia glanced down at the harpoon in her hands, briefly considering discarding it for Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane, before bringing it up defensively once more.  Okay, third time¡¯s the charm for the harpoon, and if I don¡¯t get it this time, I¡¯m just going to chuck this stupid thing in the lake.


    The Stitch Beast launched itself at her and Virginia caught its new split mouth on the shaft of the harpoon, afraid for a second that the fiberglass would snap under the beast¡¯s strength, but it held, the twisted ring of mismatched teeth grinding against it ineffectively.  Virginia stumbled back a couple of steps, but managed to keep her feet this time, expecting the movement after seeing the previous Stitch Beast do something like this multiple times.


    Getting her feet planted again, she leaned back against the beast.  With her new points in Strength, she found it if not easy, at least very possible to hold the Stitch Beast back.  Taking a chance, Virginia took one hand off the harpoon, grabbing Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane from her vest.  The Stitch Beast took advantage of her weakened grip to shove forward, pushing the shaft of the harpoon back against her chest roughly.  Virginia let out a hiss of pain, which turned into a muffled scream at the Stitch Beast did something she¡¯d never seen the previous one do.  One of the ichor dripping flaps of its former head clenched and then twisted inward, raking her arm with the teeth and fragment of its jaw still attached there.


    Gritting her teeth, Virginia reached around the beast, stabbing it with Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane in what she really hoped was the same spot as last time.  ¡°Lucky Strike!¡±  Like before, she felt her muscles clenching under the pressure of her ability, shifting her stab, the tip of Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane digging deep into the Stitch Beast¡¯s side before smashing something hard.  The beast stumbled backwards no longer pushing back against Virginia, before going still, and then beginning to fall apart, the black threads holding it together quickly splitting one after another.


    You have gained the skill: Polearms!  Polearms is now Level 1!


    Letting herself relax, Virginia winced as she inspected her arm.  Fresh blood dripped out of the gash on her arm, mixing with blood, mud, and ichor already caked on.  It hurt but she could still use the arm, and no new effects had been added to her sheet when she glanced at it.


    Health: 172/220


    Mana: 5/170


    Conditions: Bruised, Filthy, Blood Drenched, Grace Period


    Making her way over to the car, she dropped down onto her knees next to the shattered window, trying not to make a face as a fresh coating of Stitch Beast ichor was applied to her legs.


    ¡°Hey, are you alright?  Did it hurt anyone?¡±  Virginia resisted the urge to grab one of the blankets out of the back seat to try and wipe some of the caked-on filth on her off, focusing on the kids huddling against the opposite side of the upside-down backseat.  Mark stared at her, his breath still coming in quick and terrified gasps.  A small female face peeked out from under one of his arms, staring at Virginia with wide eyes.  Virginia thought about using Analyze on the little girl, but held off for now, staring at Mark as he managed to calm his breathing down enough to force out a response.


    ¡°Is it dead?¡±  He asked, craning his neck to try and look behind Virginia to where the Stitch Beast was lying in a pile of dismembered parts.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah it is.¡±  Virginia nodded, trying to give as comforting a smile as a girl covered in various shades of blood was capable of.  ¡°I killed the monster.¡±  Virginia felt that strange sense of familiarity again, the underlying feeling of resonance she¡¯d felt when she chose her Template and again when she¡¯d seen the sign for Hope Falls.  The words from the first Depths Screen that had appeared in front of her back at the lake, ran through her mind.


    You can stand against the monsters of the Depths.


    ***


    The little girl¡¯s name was Norah, Virginia learned, after she¡¯d helped the kids out of the back seat, grabbing a worn blanket as she did, with Mark¡¯s nervous permission.  The worn comforter didn¡¯t do a great job of cleaning off the filth that was caked on her but based on how nasty the blanket looked when she was done, it had clearly done something.


    ¡°So, town is only a mile away?¡±  She asked Mark as she wiped off her arms, having already gotten her face as well as she could.  The boy had told her that he, his sister, and his dad were from the nearby town of Hope Falls and had been on their way back to town after spending the last couple days camping.  Norah had been asleep in the back seat, and Mark almost asleep in the passenger seat, when their dad had startled them all awake by shouting when a blue screen appeared in front of him while he was driving.


    The ensuing panicked trip to the side of the road had been mostly without incident, although an unseen rock on the road¡¯s shoulder had blown out a tire on the family¡¯s car.  Mark said his dad had dismissed the blue screen quickly and told Mark to ignore it and stay with his sister, while the Miller father had gone into town to get a tow truck from one of the only garages in town.  Mark had, as expected of a fourteen year old boy, not ignored the blue screen, and immediately started poking at it as soon as his dad disappeared down the road.  It was at this point in the story that Virginia learned a couple interesting things.


    ¡°But, yeah, so I found my character sheet, but I didn¡¯t pick a Path yet or anything, so it doesn¡¯t DO much, right?  Just shows me my name and that I¡¯m a human, and how old I am, super basic stuff for a magic glowing blue alien screen, right?¡±   Mark spoke quickly and quietly, his eyes darting around, watching the woods surrounding the road nervously.  Virginia frowned, debating grabbing another blanket from the back of the car.  ¡°What about your template?¡±  She remembered having her Template listed on her sheet as soon as she¡¯d seen it.  Granted, she remembered her character sheet showing drastically more than what Mark was describing.  Not only had she seen all her stats, her health and her mana, but she¡¯d also started with several abilities on her sheet even before she¡¯d chosen her Path later.  She thought back to Survivor¡¯s Will automatically kicking in and saving her from the breakdown she¡¯d been about to have, while Mark frowned at her, shaking his head quickly. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°My what?¡±  Mark stared at her suspiciously, before his eyes took a strangely distant look, like he was staring at something only he could see.


    Which, as it turned out, was exactly what he was doing.  Apparently, other people couldn¡¯t see your character sheet, even while you had it pulled up to look at.  Virginia assumed the same was true for any Depths screen.  ¡°There¡¯s nothing for a Template.  Just my name, race, age, and a section for Path that¡¯s glowing.  Like I said, I haven¡¯t picked one yet.¡±  His eyes came back into focus on Virginia as he presumably closed his character sheet.  ¡°But you have, haven¡¯t you!?  That¡¯s how you killed that monster, right?¡±  The boy took a step closer to her, the fear on his face getting covered up by excitement.  ¡°What¡¯s your name?  What are you doing out here?¡±  Some of the excitement faded, as he seemed to remember her appearing in the woods, covered in gore, and his expression flickered back to nervousness.


    Virginia opened her mouth to give an automatic response, then hesitated.  For the first time, she thought about how her story would come across to a normal human.  That she was a character from a movie, brought to life by an evil clown and his buddies, to fight monsters that were also brought to life by an evil clown and his buddies, sounded¡­ a little crazy.


    Okay, more like a lot crazy.  But if he and everyone else already saw the Depths screens, and¡­ She trailed off, shaking her head.  As crazy as the truth might come across, she couldn¡¯t think up a lie to tell him that would explain where she¡¯d come from.  Before she could respond however, a quiet voice cut her off.


    ¡°Ginny.¡±  Norah, the little girl who was apparently Mark¡¯s baby sister, a description she¡¯d made a face at, but otherwise remained quiet since crawling out of the car, spoke up.  Her expression was oddly calm compared to her brother¡¯s constant twitchy glances, and she looked up at Virginia with wide brown eyes in a steady gaze that made Virginia feel slightly unsettled.


    ¡°She¡¯s Ginny.¡±


    Mark rolled his eyes and shook his head.  ¡°She¡¯s not ¡®Ginny¡¯, dumbie, ¡®Ginny¡¯ isn¡¯t real.¡±  Virginia reached out and cuffed the back of the boy¡¯s head absently.  ¡°Don¡¯t call people names.¡±  Virginia froze as she realized Mark was staring at her in bewilderment.  She pulled her hand back and shook her head.  ¡°Ah, sorry.  I¡¯ve been working with a bunch of kids every day for the past couple weeks, and that was just kind of a habit.¡±  Awkwardly tucking her hand behind her back, she quickly tried to change the subject.  ¡°Who¡¯s Ginny?¡±


    Mark continued to stare at her, answering slowly.  ¡°She¡¯s just a character from a dumb movie that Norah saw.¡±  Virginia felt that same sense of resonance in her chest, and she had a pretty good guess just what ¡®dumb movie¡¯ Mark meant.


    ¡°And the character¡¯s name is Virginia, no one even calls her Ginny in the movie.  Not that it matters, because this isn¡¯t either of them.  This is¡­¡±  The boy said again, looking at Virginia expectantly.  Virginia considered for a moment, and then shrugged.


    ¡°Ginny, actually.¡±  Folding the filthy blanket, she draped it on the side of the overturned car, winking at the little girl, who smiled back excitedly.  Turning back to Mark, Ginny put her hands on her hips and smiled at him.  ¡°Although you¡¯re right about the movie being dumb.¡±


    ***


    Ginny was pretty sure that Mark had decided she was crazy.  The boy hadn¡¯t stopped staring at her like he wasn¡¯t sure if he wanted to ask her more questions or grab his sister and flee into the woods.  Opting not to give him time to do either, Ginny tried to refocus him back on his story.


    ¡°Okay, so how did you go from looking at your character sheet in your car, to hiding from a Stitch Beast in the back seat of your now upside-down car?¡±  Mark hesitated before responding, clearly still considering grabbing his sister and just booking it.  After a few seconds, he continued.


    ¡°Well, that was the monster.  The, uh, Stitch Beast, I guess?¡±  The boy glanced over at the ichor coated pile that was the Stitch Beast¡¯s remains and swallowed heavily.  ¡°But that was later, after that clown showed up.¡±   Ginny¡¯s eyes widened.  ¡°That clown?  Do you mean Tryn?¡±  She stopped and looked around, half expecting the skeletal-looking clown to appear at the sound of his name.


    Mark shrugged uncertainly.  ¡°Um¡­ I don¡¯t know.  He didn¡¯t like, give his name.  He just appeared in the driver¡¯s seat and told me I was going to die.¡±  Ginny frowned and let out a heavy sigh.  ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s him.  His name is Tryn, apparently.¡±


    The look Mark was giving her reinforced the idea that he thought she was crazy, but he continued anyway.  ¡°Right, well, he just¡­ appeared in the driver¡¯s seat a little bit after dad left.¡±


    ¡°He was in the back with me.¡±  The little girl, Norah, chimed in at this point, and Mark frowned at her again.  ¡°No, he wasn¡¯t, Norah.  He didn¡¯t even talk to you.¡±  The little girl glared back at her brother, squeezing the stuffed bear she¡¯d been holding onto the entire time.  ¡°Yes, he did!  He was mean, and he said I was a bite size snack for the monsters that were coming.¡±  Her lip quivered a bit, and Ginny crouched down next to her and tried to smile comfortingly at the little girl.


    ¡°Hey, you¡¯re okay.  He was just being mean because he¡¯s a clown who can¡¯t make anyone laugh cause he¡¯s not funny, so he¡¯s mad all the time.¡±  There was a slight prickling of unease along the back of Ginny¡¯s neck, and a certain sense of nervousness that her Survivor¡¯s Will seemed to ignore.  She got the feeling that continuing to make fun of the Ravager clown might have consequences, not just for her, but for anyone near her, and she quickly tried to change the subject.


    ¡°Okay, so, after the clown left, what happened?¡±  Mark shrugged again, shoving his hands in his pockets.  ¡°He said some stuff about humanity needing heroes, and fighting monsters, and then just vanished again.  I kept looking at my character sheet and waiting for dad to come back.¡±  He gulped and glanced around nervously.  ¡°Then something slammed into our car.¡±  Ginny nodded, glancing over at the pile of dismembered limbs and black ichor.  ¡°The Stitch Beast.¡±  Mark shifted uncomfortably, notably not looking at the pile of dismembered limbs and black ichor.  ¡°Yeah, if you say so.¡±


    The boy hesitated before continuing, and when he did, his words came out in a rush, the memory clearly making him nervous.  ¡°I couldn¡¯t really see it, it was just this¡­ shape, and it hit the car hard enough to send it sliding on the shoulder.  Norah started screaming, and I still couldn¡¯t see it, and¡­¡±  Mark started hyperventilating as his words came faster and faster, and Ginny held up her hands placatingly.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay.  Deep breaths.  See, it¡¯s dead?  Totally dead.¡±  Ginny pointed over at the pile of gore, and Mark looked over.  His breathing slowed slightly, but his face took on an unhealthy green tinge.  Ginny thought she was going to have to dive out of the way of the kid losing his lunch all over her sneakers, but after a moment, he swallowed heavily and seemed to get a grip on himself.


    ¡°A-anyway.  It, um, hit the car again after that even harder, and the whole thing flipped over when it slid into the ditch.  After that it kind of pushed at it some and pressed against the windows, but I guess it couldn¡¯t figure out how to get inside.  I wasn¡¯t sure if it was even still there, or if it wandered off, but I was too scared to get out of the car.¡±  Mark took in another deep breath and glanced over at what was left of the Stitch Beast.  ¡°I guess it was just waiting though.  Then you showed up.¡±


    Ginny nodded at him.  There were a couple questions his story raised, but rather than get into them, she felt like it would be better to get the kids away from the area.  The appearance of a second Stitch Beast at the car had dashed any remaining faint hope that the one she¡¯d first run into was unique.  If there were more of them, it was only a matter of time before another one wandered by.


    ¡°Okay, you did a good job.  You were both very brave.¡±  Ginny glanced between the two children, giving them the smile she¡¯d used as a counselor at Camp Muddy Paws for the kids there.  ¡°Now, it¡¯s still not safe yet, so what we need to do, is we need to go into town.¡±  Norah frowned at her uncertainly.  ¡°To find my dad?¡±


    Ginny hesitated.  If there were Stitch Beasts in the area, then the odds of Mr. Miller making it to town safely were¡­ not great.  But I don¡¯t know anything for sure.  Their dad might be a policeman, or a soldier, or some kind of crazy outdoorsman hunter type.  You know, the kind of person who could fight off a Stitch Beast that ambushed him in the dark without warning.  Biting her lip, Ginny nodded at Norah.  ¡°Yes, to find your dad, and to get to someplace safer.¡±


    The little girl still looked uncertain.  ¡°But what if he comes back and we¡¯re not here?¡±  Ginny smiled her camp counselor smile again.  ¡°Well, we¡¯ll walk along the road, so if he¡¯s coming back with help, we¡¯ll see him.¡±  Norah nodded reluctantly, and held out a hand to Ginny, the other still squeezing onto her stuffed animal.  Ginny shifted the harpoon into her other hand, and took the little girl¡¯s hand as she rose up from the crouching position she¡¯d been in to talk to the kids at eye level.  As she did, she felt the muscles in her back shift uncomfortably, and she let out a slight hiss of pain.  While she hadn¡¯t been injured nearly as badly by the second Stitch Beast, she also didn¡¯t have enough Mana to cast Run it Off! again, so she was still feeling incredibly sore.


    She glanced at Mark to see if he was ready to go and saw him staring back at her silently.  He hadn¡¯t said anything when Norah had brought up their dad, but the look on his face made clear that the same thought that had occurred to Ginny earlier had also occurred to him.  Ginny reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.


    ¡°Hey.  We¡¯ll find your dad.¡±  He stared back at her doubtfully, and she nodded.  ¡°I mean it.  I¡¯ve already killed two of those things, they¡¯re not that bad.  They¡¯re just scary.¡±  Seeing him look unconvinced, she added, ¡°Besides, you said town is less than a couple miles away, so he probably didn¡¯t even run into anything.¡±  Mark nodded slowly and fell into step beside her as they started walking down the road, still not looking convinced.


    Ginny didn¡¯t blame him.  She wasn¡¯t convinced either.

 Chapter 8

    Chapter 8


    ¡°So, what¡¯s your Path?¡± Ginny looked up from where she¡¯d been watching Norah. The little girl¡¯s legs were setting a slow pace as they walked down the road, and Ginny was worried that she wouldn¡¯t be able to keep up even that slow pace indefinitely. Mark was looking at her expectantly, his anxiety seeming to have tapered off as they put some distance between them and the car that he¡¯d nearly been dismembered and eaten inside.


    ¡°Hmm?¡± Ginny asked, and he rolled his eyes. ¡°Your PATH. You obviously picked one, that¡¯s how you killed the Stitch Beast. So, what did you pick?¡±


    She considered how to respond. When she¡¯d introduced herself as Ginny earlier, he¡¯d seemed like he wasn¡¯t sure if she was just humoring his sister, or if she was crazy. Regardless, it seemed like her literally being a character from a movie hadn¡¯t occurred to him.


    Ginny supposed she couldn¡¯t blame him for that.


    After a few seconds of consideration, she mentally shrugged. The same reason she hadn¡¯t lied about who she was earlier still applied, namely, that she couldn¡¯t think up a plausible lie that would explain herself. Besides, I have a bad feeling that everyone¡¯s going to have bigger and weirder things to worry about than me.


    ¡°My sheet sounds different than yours.¡± He frowned at that, and she quickly continued before he could interrupt her. ¡°You said your sheet just had your name, race, age, and a place where you could select your Path right?¡± He nodded, and she shook her head. ¡°My sheet has a lot more on it that.¡± She mentally called up her character sheet, scanning it over as she briefly described everything that was on it.


    Name: Ginny Christianson


    Race: Human (Story)


    Age: 18 (0)(34)


    Template: Final Girl


    Path: Survivor


    Level: 2


    Health: 172/220


    Mana: 5/170


    UNALLOCATED: 0


    STRENGTH: 10


    REFLEXES: 10


    SPEED: 12


    VITALITY: 11


    ATUNEMENT: 9


    IMAGINATION: 11


    WILLPOWER: 14


    FAITH: 5


    CHARISMA: 11


    AWARENESS: 13


    LUCK: 20


    Conditions: Bruised, Filthy, Blood Drenched, Grace Period


    Abilities:


    Passive:


    Worse Than It Looks (Lvl 3)


    Horror Survivor (Lvl 2)


    Final Girl (Lvl MAX)


    Survivor¡¯s Will (Lvl 6)


    Lucky Charm for the Damned (Lvl 1)


    Unkillable (Lvl 1)


    Active:


    Lucky Strike (Lvl 2)


    Flee (Lvl 1)


    Run it Off (Lvl 1)


    Analyze: (Lvl 1)


    Skills:


    First Aid (Lvl 1)


    Improvised Weapons (Lvl 1)


    Polearms (Lvl 1)


    Running (Lvl 2)


    Short Blades (Lvl 3)


    Swimming (Lvl 1)


    Ginny sighed at the Filthy and Blood Drenched conditions still on her sheet after her efforts with the blanket from the car earlier, though she couldn¡¯t really argue against it. Mark frowned, slowing down enough that even holding Norah¡¯s hand, Ginny started to pull ahead of him.


    ¡°Template¡­ so you have like, two classes? And what¡¯s up with Survivor? That¡¯s not a Path I can choose.¡± Ginny shook her head in response. ¡°I don¡¯t know. All of the Paths I could pick felt like they were chosen for me specifically. Yours are probably the same. Maybe?¡± She shrugged, and he frowned.


    ¡°So, once you pick your path¡­¡±. He paused and narrowed his eyes at Ginny, ¡°Or whatever, you have stats, and abilities, and skills?¡± His eyes took on the glazed and distant expression of someone reading a Depths screen and then flickered back to Ginny. ¡°I-I¡¯m gonna pick my Path!¡± Ginny winced at Mark¡¯s voice echoing into the woods on either side of the road, waving at him to keep quiet. She didn¡¯t want another Stitch Beast attacking while they were out in the open like this.


    ¡±Okay!? Can you do it quietly?!¡± She hissed at him, and he took a step back, the defiant expression on his face shifting into embarrassment and confusion. ¡°I, uh¡­ sorry.¡± He stammered out, looking around into the woods nervously. ¡°I just¡­¡±. He trailed off uncertainly. ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to tell me not to?¡± Ginny rolled her eyes. ¡°Mark. I don¡¯t know how many more Stitch Beasts, or Ravagers, or who knows what else are in these woods. If you can poke the magic blue screen and get something that might help keep you and your sister safe, why would I tell you not to?¡± He shuffled awkwardly, and gave her a little half-shrug. ¡°I dunno, I just¡­¡±. He trailed off, and then frowned at her again. ¡°What¡¯s a Ravager?¡±


    Ginny sighed and shrugged back at him. ¡°Something bad. That clown, Tryn, is one apparently.¡± Mark shook his head. ¡°How do you know all this?¡± He asked her suspiciously. Ginny opened her mouth, closed it, considered, then responded. ¡°I met someone who explained some things. And I have an ability that gives me information on some of what¡¯s happening.¡± Mark opened his mouth, probably to ask what else she knew about all this, when Norah cut him off.


    ¡°Does it tell you what that is?¡±


    Ginny blinked and looked ahead at where the little girl was pointing. ¡°Oh. Actually, yes. Kind of.¡± Ginny stepped in front of the little girl, pushing her hand down gently. Putting herself in front of the kids, she stared at the familiar green outline sending a pale glow onto the asphalt below them.


    There was a Depths Door in the middle of the road.


    ***


    Ginny approached the Depths Door cautiously, having passed Norah to Mark and told them both to stay further back. The two of them were watching from thirty feet back in the direction they¡¯d come from, Mark looking into the dark woods nervously while Norah stared at Ginny with an odd sort of intensity. Tensed and ready to dive to the ground if a giant hand or anything else came flying out of the portal, Ginny focused on the green glow and whispered, ¡°Analyze.¡±


    Depths Door: This is a portal used by those who are fully incorporated into the Depths System. Open portals may be freely used by any individual who has incorporated the minimum amount of Depths corruption. Closed portals may only be used by designated individuals, or those fully incorporated into the Depths System.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    This portal is: Open.


    The description for the portal was the same as the one that the Ravager who made the Stitch Beasts had appeared out of, with the exception that this portal was described as ¡°open¡±. It looked identical, with no visual indication of it being open.


    Maybe everyone gets the Analyze ability or something like it, and the Depths just expects you to check every glowing magic portal you find. Ginny frowned, relaxing the harpoon slightly as she studied the portal, before glancing back over her shoulder at the kids watching her nervously.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to look inside. If I don¡¯t come back out, just¡­¡± Or if this thing just disintegrates me when I touch it. She trailed off, not sure what to tell them to just do if she disappeared on them. ¡°Just, uh, go back to the car, cover yourselves up, and wait for your dad to come back.¡± Eventually settling on what might have been the least horrible of horrible options, Ginny waited for them to nod, then turned back and stepped up to the portal.


    Okay, so just¡­ in we go. She thought about just sticking her head in, but the idea of her head being in an entirely different place from the rest of her body, through a portal that might close at any time with her halfway through it, convinced her to take a deep breath, and step through the portal.


    Her foot came down on a floor made of rough looking wooden boards. There was an almost comically loud creak as she shifted her weight forward, and Ginny rapidly looked around, gripping the harpoon tightly as she waited to see if a Stitch Beast or something similar was going to jump out and tear her face off. The room she¡¯d ended up in was confusingly non-descript and plain looking for somewhere she¡¯d entered via walking through a glowing magical portal.


    The walls and floor were both made of roughly cut and crudely nailed together boards, more like what you¡¯d see in a shed or a barn. The room she¡¯d walked into was small, probably only ten feet to a side, with an open archway that led further in wherever she was. A couple of boards nailed to the wall formed simple looking and crooked shelves, and one wall had a line of rusty coat hooks set at various heights. Aside from that, the room was completely bare, and the only light spilled in from the archway leading further in.


    Ginny glanced behind her, and let out a breath of relief when the familiar glow of the Depths Door hadn¡¯t vanished when she went through it. She thought about bringing the kids in now, since nothing had immediately tried to dismember her when she stepped in, but after a second¡¯s consideration, she decided to poke her head into the next room first. After her first step in that direction was greeted by another loud squeak from the floorboards, she froze again. Once again, no monster jumped out, but a low murmur of voices came from around the corner of the archway.


    ¡°You said monsters couldn¡¯t come in here!?¡± A young male voice hissed out in the unfortunate kind of whisper that carried to an entire room.


    ¡°My dear patron, I said nothing of the sort. I assured you that no monsters would come in here. The beasts of the Depths, frightening and vicious though they may be, possess a sort of low instinctual understanding of certain rules. One of those rules is they would be ill advised to try to force their way into a Shop that is currently being staffed, such as our current locale.¡± The voice that answered spoke at a normal volume, but with a strange, wet sound to their voice, like they had their mouth full. Their voice was also male, but older, with a sort of clipped and formal tone to their words.


    ¡°Regardless, there is no cause for alarm, in this case. Rather than a monster, we find ourselves in the company of a fair maiden, in need of the security, sustenance, and superlative shopping experience that can be provided here!¡±


    The other voice responded after a moment, still in the loudest possible whispers. ¡°A maiden? A fair maiden? Are you saying a cute girl just walked in!?¡± At that point, Ginny poked her head around the corner, opening her mouth to announce herself to what didn¡¯t sound like a monster, at least, and instead ended up just stopping and staring.


    The room beyond the archway was the same unfinished wooden boards but was much larger than the previous room. Most of it was just as empty as the previous room, with more bare shelves and empty rusty hooks. On the left side of the room, a long board extended out from the wall to form a sort of countertop bar. The light that filled the room came from what looked like an oil lantern, flame flickering and casting shadows into the corners. Next to the lantern, two figures stared back at her. Standing on the customer side of the counter, a tall and skinny man, who looked like he was a few years older than Ginny took a quick step book when she stepped around the corner.


    ¡°Oh shit, she¡¯s gone full Carey, and she has a freaking HARPOON!¡± Ginny ignored him, her attention focused on the second figure, who was seated behind the counter.


    A full-on tuxedo suit, with a collar wide enough to accommodate a thick and round head, without even a hint of a neck. Said head stood out not just for its size and shape, but also for being bright green, with a waxy sheen to it. Perched on the crown of the round head, a fancy looking top hat stood perfectly straight, a green silk ribbon wrapped around the brim. Below said brim, a pair of beady eyes, one of them distorted by a gold rimmed monocle covering it, regarded her calmly. A lipless mouth opened in the rind of the creature¡¯s face, and Ginny caught a brief glimpse of a red and pulpy mass, with no movement to indicate a tongue forming the words coming out.


    ¡°Welcome, my dear lady! No need for your weapon here, I assure you. This is a proper and civilized establishment.¡± The talking watermelon in a tuxedo and top hat stared at her.


    Ginny stared back at the talking watermelon in a tuxedo and top hat.


    ¡°Are either of you going to eat a couple of kids if I bring them in here?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± The man in front of the counter responded, still eying her blood-soaked appearance nervously. The watermelon merely smiled and shook its head, which involved its entire body shaking back and forth.


    ¡°Okay, cool. Be right back.¡± Ginny retreated back around the corner, and back out the Depths Door.


    Poking her head out, she caught sight of the two kids waiting for her back on the road. They¡¯d crept closer to the Depths Door in the short amount of time she¡¯d been gone, and when her head appeared out of it, Mark stumbled backwards with a shout of alarm. Norah just stared at her with wide eyes.


    ¡°Okay, it¡¯s okay. There¡¯s no monsters in here.¡± Ginny gestured them forward, and while Mark hesitated, still eyeballing the Depths Door distrustfully, Norah immediately started marching forward, the small girl dragging her reluctant brother behind her. Her pace didn¡¯t even slow slightly as she approached the portal, and disappeared through it, and Ginny raised an eyebrow at Mark as he continued to be dragged in after her. Seeing the expression on her face, his cheeks flushed with either embarrassment or annoyance, and he practically jumped through the portal, nearly bumping into Norah on the other side.


    Once they were in, Ginny quickly ushered them into the occupied room, where both children stopped and stared at the melon behind the counter, Mark with mouth hanging open, and Norah with the same wide-eyed intensity that Ginny was starting to think she regarded everything with. The melon tipped its top hat to them.


    ¡°Ah, the fair lady returns, with additional customers in tow. Splendid, a much-appreciated gesture of customer loyalty, and one I shall cherish as much as I cherish all my interactions with my beloved customers.¡± The melon cleared a throat that Ginny didn¡¯t even think it actually had, then continued in a slightly more restrained tone. ¡°Ah, but as I mentioned earlier, there is no need to have weapons drawn here. You are, if not completely safe, then at the very least significantly safer here, than you would be at virtually any other location on your planet.¡±


    The tall young man next to the counter nodded. ¡°Yah, it¡¯s like a sanctuary zone, pretty standard stuff, magically reinforced pacify shit, you know?¡± The melon frowned at the man. ¡°It is nothing of the sort. Any monsters that have made their way into the area will instinctually avoid Depths Doors. The ones that manage to wander in regardless will be swiftly dealt with, and the ones that are strong enough to willingly ignore that instinct will not appear this early on.¡± The melon continued to frown at the young man. ¡°Honestly, my interactions with you, as much as I cherish them dear customer, have left me gravely concerned for your people¡¯s immediate future in the coming days.¡±


    Ginny cleared her throat at this point, drawing the two¡¯s attention back to her. ¡°Right, hi. Could you explain just what¡¯s going on here? The last Door like that I saw had an extremely terrifying man with four arms and a habit of sending monsters out to try and eat me, so just a little reassurance that nothing like that is going to happen here would be great.¡± She glanced down at the harpoon in her hand, then spread her arms wide. ¡°As to the harpoon, I don¡¯t exactly have anywhere to put it away, if you haven¡¯t noticed.¡±


    The melon man¡¯s eyes widened, and his lipless mouth turned up in a smile. ¡°Ah, you mean to say dimensional or conceptual storage are not commonly available here! Most excellent!¡± He paused, his smile dimming slightly. ¡°Well, actually less so for you and your people, the indication of a lack of magical and scientific dimensional manipulation further reinforces the likely grim prospects awaiting your species.¡± He shrugged, the sleeves of the tuxedo he wore flapping like they were empty even as he moved them somehow. ¡°But an excellent prospect for my own humble self, and all other shopkeepers, planets without native dimensional storage capabilities are always big spenders to acquire the convenience.¡±


    ¡°What, like bags of holding? Or an inventory system? That would be pretty awesome, melon man.¡± The tall man leaned onto the counter excitedly, and the melon turned back to him. While they discussed things that Ginny didn¡¯t even remotely understand, she took advantage of the distraction to try doing something new, and activate one of her abilities without saying anything. Analyze, she thought, focusing intently on the melon behind the counter.


    Name: Dapper Dan the Melon Man (Rinixas)


    Race: DiploMelon (Tickat: Repressed)


    Age: 31(0)(832)


    Path: Shopkeeper (Fusileer: Repressed)


    Analyze has leveled up! Now level 2!


    Ginny frowned, still staring intently at the melon. His sheet was... weird. It read more like a person than a monster, like hers, or what little she¡¯d been able to see of Mark¡¯s. The way certain things like Race and Age had a second thing listed for them was the same as parts of her own sheet.


    Name: Ginny Christianson


    Race: Human (Story)


    Age: 18 (0)(34)


    Template: Final Girl


    Path: Survivor


    Shaking his head again at the other man, the melon turned back to her and smiled again. ¡°My apologies, my dear customer. I consider it a point of a professional pride that I attempt to ensure all my customers are properly informed before making any purchases, and your people seem to have some very¡­ odd misconceptions about the Depths. But!¡± He held up a sleeve, and Ginny noticed a curled and leafy vine poking out of the cuff as he continued. ¡°That is no reason to be remiss in my manners. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dapper Dan the Melon Man, merchant extraordinaire, here to provide any supplies and equipment that you will doubtlessly find yourself in need of in these trying times.¡±


    Dapper Dan executed a surprisingly graceful looking bow, one vine curling over his chest as his whole torso and head that leaned forward. ¡°Simply put, I am a shopkeeper, and this is my shop.¡± Ginny glanced around at the bare shelves, then back at the melon.


    ¡°You don¡¯t seem to have much for sale, Dapper Dan.¡± She narrowed her eyes slightly. ¡°Or¡­ Rinixas?¡± She sounded out the strange and harsh sounding name without any way of knowing if she was pronouncing it correctly.


    The melon froze, still bent over in a bow. Ginny shifted her grip on her harpoon subtly, watching the strange being warily. After a moment, the melon shuddered, and then flopped back onto the stool he was sitting on.


    ¡°Well shit. Ain¡¯t that a pleasant surprise.¡± The melon¡¯s tone and manner of speaking had changed entirely, the formality and prose-like manner replaced with a rougher sounding and deeper voice. The man leaning on the counter stared at the melon confused, as he grabbed the top hat off of his head, snorted at it, and tossed it on the floor behind the counter.


    ¡°Uh¡­ Dapper Dan? Are you alight, man?¡± The melon snorted in response, glowering at the tall man. ¡°Shuddup, kid. Name¡¯s Rinaxis, not ¡®Dapper Dan¡¯. Stupid casting by committee.¡± Rinaixs attempted to crane his neck to look down at himself, a task made impossible by his lack of a neck. He eventually settled for staring at one of the vines poking out of his sleeve. ¡°Still a melon though. Damn it.¡± He let out a wet sounding sigh, vines reaching under the counter and fumbling for something.


    ¡°Right, here¡¯s what I¡¯m gonna do. First, we¡¯re gonna see if I can ferment the inside of my literal gourd,¡± Rinaxis produced a glass bottle filled with a deep green liquid that bubbled slightly, one vine wrapping around a top and unscrewing it.


    ¡°Then, we¡¯re gonna sit down and I¡¯m gonna explain some things to you that you¡¯re not gonna like.¡± Rinaxis saluted them with the bottle, before tipping it back and pouring liberally into his mouth in what looked like a very practiced motion.


    ¡°Cause unfortunately, I wasn¡¯t wrong when I said it before.¡± The disgruntled melon slammed the bottle down on the counter with a loud clank that echoed through the mostly empty room.


    ¡°You all are completely screwed.¡±

 Chapter 9

    Chapter 9


    It turned out that talking watermelons can¡¯t really get drunk.  That didn¡¯t stop Rinaxis from trying, though he glared at the quickly emptying bottle more and more, like it was somehow betraying him.


    ¡°Okay, well how about starting with what just happened to you?  You went from sounding like an English etiquette professor to¡­¡±  Ginny gestured at the melon, who had loosened the collar of his tuxedo and tossed his bowtie on the floor to join the top hat.  ¡°This.¡±


    The young man, who a second quick and silent Analyze had revealed to be one ¡®Brendon Fouth¡¯ nodded in agreement with her, seeming to have gotten over his nervousness at her blood-soaked appearance at some point.  Rinaxis grunted in response, switching his dour expression from the bottle he still held to Ginny.


    ¡°Mmph.¡±  He stared at her thoughtfully, before giving one of his little full-body nods.  ¡°Yer a Story, huh?  Damn, didn¡¯t even notice.¡±  He shrugged, taking another pull off the bottle as he ignored her question.  ¡°Can¡¯t really blame me though, if these are the kind of stories your world had already, you¡¯re even more screwed than I thought.¡±  Ginny felt a stab of annoyance at his rude and dismissive attitude.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t write it.¡±  She replied in a clipped tone, glaring at the offending melon.  Brendon raised an eyebrow and stared at her more intently, while Rinaxis shrugged and took another long pull off the bottle, some of it dripping down along his rind onto his tuxedo.  ¡°Well, yer writing it now.  Not that it¡¯s gonna matter.  If you¡¯re here and not a gibbering mess, it means the Ravagers didn¡¯t think your story was even threatening enough to mess you up early.  Unless¡­¡±  He trailed off thoughtfully in mid-raise of the bottle, ¡°Who¡¯s the Herald for your planet?¡±


    Trying to keep ahold of her rising annoyance, Ginny opened her mouth to answer but was surprisingly beat to it by Brendan.  ¡°He said his name was Tryn.  Well, technically he said we¡¯d call him Tryn, since we weren¡¯t worth the air it would take to speak his true name.¡±  Ginny glanced over at him, both surprised that someone else knew that Tryn was the Herald, since she¡¯d only found that out from a chance encounter with another Ravager.  It also sounded like Brendon had a slightly different conversation with Tryn, than the one she¡¯d had, or the one the kids had had.


    Rinaxis finished another drink slamming the bottle back down on the counter with a dull thud.  ¡°Names don¡¯t mean anything to more than half of the current batch a Ravagers.  What did he look like?¡±


    ¡°He was wearing a black and purple jester outfit.¡±  Rinaxis stared back blankly.  ¡°He was thin, skeletal.¡±  Rinaxis shrugged, and Ginny shared a look with Brendon, who shrugged as well.  ¡°Uh, he didn¡¯t have any eyes?  Just these weird purple flames in empty sockets.¡±  That finally got a reaction, and Rinaxis groaned, shaking his head and taking a particularly long pull off the bottle.


    ¡°Oh, that one?  Wow.  You know, I said it before, but that little detail makes it worth repeating.  Your world is completely screwed.¡±  Rinaxis raised the bottle in a mocking salute before pulling it back for another drink.  Before he could get the bottle all the way to his already open mouth, Ginny leaned across the bar and grabbed the bottle, pulling it back down to clank against the counter, the green liquid inside sloshing and fizzing wildly.  She glared at the annoying melon.  ¡°Look, you wannabe pickling project.  None of us knows what¡¯s going on, there are literal monsters roaming the woods outside your door hunting people, and I didn¡¯t even exist four hours ago.  So how about you ease up on the bottle and help us out here?¡±


    Rinaxis stared back at her, his beady melon eyes steady, and for just a second, Ginny felt the distant feeling of a shiver down her spine being repressed by Survivor¡¯s Will.


    You have leveled up!  You are now level 3!  Luck increased by 3!  You receive 2 unallocated stat points!


    Ginny blinked.  What the heck?  Why did I level up off of that?  Unless¡­ Her glare intensified.  ¡°Did you just almost kill me?¡±  Ginny was thinking about one of her abilities that she hadn¡¯t seen much use out of, even though it stood out both for sharing its name with her Template, and for starting out at ¡°Level: MAX¡±, unlike her other abilities.


    Final Girl: Your story involved you alone surviving when everyone around you perished. The ultimate unlikely survivor in the face of near certain death or worse. You receive experience whenever you survive a situation that was likely to result in your death. The amount received depends on your odds of survival. A bonus is applied for every other individual in the same situation near you who you outlive.


    Rinaxis shook his head, which involved wiggling his entire torso back and forth.  ¡°Nah.  Not really.  I mean¡­ not really.¡±  Ginny stared back at him suspiciously, and he crossed his thin vine arms in front of himself.  ¡°Lemme guess¡­ you¡¯ve got some kind of Danger Sense ability that just went off?¡±  Ginny shrugged in response.  ¡°Something like that.  It¡¯s an ability that gives me experience whenever I survive a ¡®situation that was likely to result in my death¡¯.¡±  She said, reading off the last part from the skill¡¯s description.  She kept the last part to herself; about the experience she received increasing with every person nearby who didn¡¯t survive whatever she did.  Rinaxis nodded in appreciation.  ¡°Nice.  That¡¯s got its pros and cons with a more traditional danger sense ability, but more¡­ experience, is never a bad thing.¡±  His mouth twisted strangely around the world experience.  He gave the bottle that Ginny was still holding onto another half-hearted tug, then leaned back on his stool with a sigh.  ¡°Okay, okay.  Only so much help a poor Tickat turned melon can offer, but I¡¯ll do what I can.  Could be interesting.¡±  There was a flicker of excitement in the melon¡¯s eyes when he said the last part, but he plowed forward quickly before Ginny could comment on it.


    ¡°Alright, we¡¯ll start with that ability of yours, that I assume gave you some experience just now?¡±  He continued after waiting a beat for Ginny to nod in confirmation.  ¡°Okay, based on what you said it does, what probably happened, is you did something that would normally get you killed.  In this case, you grabbed my bottle here.¡±  He wiggled the bottle in question, that Ginny still had a grip on.  ¡°To understand why that was a very bad idea, aside from just being rude, you need to know a bit about my role in all this.¡±  Rinaixs released the bottle and gestured around him.  ¡°I¡¯m part of the Depths, and the part I¡¯m playing in this version of it, is that of a humble Shopkeeper.¡±  He glanced around at the bare wooden walls and crooked floorboards and made a disgusted face.  ¡°An extremely humble Shopkeeper.  Now, Shopkeepers are here to help you guys, the poor bastards in the process of being exterminated by the Depths.  We offer a variety of services, although the two most used, and the most useful to you all for now, are first, that this room is a safe space.¡±  Brendon opened his mouth to say something, and Rinaxis quickly cut him off with a roll of his eyes. ¡°As safe as you¡¯re gonna find.  Once monsters start spawning, they won¡¯t come in here.  The Depths makes them with a kind of¡­ instinct to avoid going through Depths Doors, especially the ones that lead into shops.¡±  The melon tapped the counter with a vine for emphasis.  ¡°That¡¯s important, really important.  The kind of important that could save your lives, since if you¡¯re about to get torn apart by something, and you can get to a Depths Door, they usually won¡¯t follow you through it.¡±  He paused in consideration, then shrugged.  ¡°Usually.  Course, you all won¡¯t be allowed to go through all the Depths Doors you find, and even if you can¡¯t go through, if the door doesn¡¯t lead to a shop, there¡¯s no guarantee you won¡¯t end up somewhere worse.  Now, the other reason shops are safe zones, and the one relevant to your ability going off earlier, kid.¡±  Rinaxis nodded at Ginny, ¡°Is that Shopkeepers aren¡¯t allowed to attack you all.  And when I say not allowed, I mean it¡¯s literally impossible.  The Depths won¡¯t allow it, and any abilities we have won¡¯t work.  Unless!¡±  He held up a vine for emphasis, ¡°The Shopkeeper in question is defending a direct threat to either their shop or their person.  Then all our old abilities get turned back on, and we¡¯re allowed to go wild.  And just what constitutes a ¡®direct threat¡¯ to our shops or persons, is surprisingly broad.  For example¡­¡±  Rinaxis gestured at the bottle that Ginny was still holding.  ¡°As soon as you grabbed the bottle while I was still holding it, that constituted a direct threat in the eyes of the Depths.¡±  The melon grinned widely at her.  ¡°At which point, I was free to utterly mess you up.  When I decided not to, since I¡¯m such a nice guy, that met the requirements of your ability for you surviving a situation that could have easily resulted in your death.¡±  The melon nodded, absently retrieving the tophat from the floor, the vine of his arm extending out from his sleeve to grab it.  ¡°Really easily.  You all are new enough that any shopkeeper you meet, no matter how humble, and no matter how much they may look like a ridiculous melon in a tuxedo, has more than enough experience to kill you without too much trouble.¡±


    Once again, Rinaxis¡¯ mouth twisted strangely around the word ¡®experience¡¯, and Ginny opened her mouth to ask about it, when she was cut off again, this time by Brendon.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Holy shit.  Holiest of most holy shits.¡±  Ginny winced slightly, regarding him with annoyance as he stared at her in open mouthed shock, excitement rapidly covering his face.  ¡°Dapper Dan said you¡¯re a Story, and that shirt, and the blood¡­¡±  He trailed off, staring at her in awe.  ¡°You¡¯re Virginia Christianson, aren¡¯t you?  You¡¯re really her.¡±  Ginny leaned back, a little unsettled by the excitement and awe on Brendon¡¯s face in a way that Survivor¡¯s Will did nothing to repress.


    ¡°I¡¯m, uh¡­ going by Ginny, but¡­ yeah, pretty much.¡±


    Ginny leaned back further when Brendon let out a loud and surprisingly shrill noise of excitement.  ¡°Holy shiiiiiiit!¡±  Brendon bounced in place, grinning, and then adopted a serious pose, holding up one hand in front of him and gripping an imaginary knife.  ¡°Go back¡­ to BELOW!¡±  He intoned dramatically, before his serious expression gave way to a wide grin again.


    Ginny stared back at him incredulously, and behind the counter, Rinaxis snickered to himself, taking advantage of her distraction to tug his bottle from her grasp.


    ¡°So, so screwed.¡±  He said quietly, shaking his head as he took another drink.


    ***


    Brendon was, apparently, a fan.  After asking Ginny to say a couple of lines from her movie (which she¡¯d refused to do) and to look at the Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane (which she¡¯d even more firmly refused), he¡¯d settled into a strange sort of barely contained bouncy excitement, his head bobbing slightly as he watched her interrogate Rinaxis with a grin.


    ¡°So¡­ she¡¯s not real?¡±  Ginny was stopped before she could ask Rinaxis more questions by the shaky voice from the corner.  Mark, who¡¯d been watching this exchange from over in the corner with that familiar sense of barely holding it together, had been looking at Rinaxis when he asked the question, but he kept glancing sidelong at Ginny as he did it.  She felt the sensation of Survivor¡¯s Will repressing a sick current of anxiety that appeared in her stomach at Mark¡¯s word, and she wasn¡¯t sure if she wanted to cut off Rinaxis before he could answer.  Before she could decide, the melon snorted, which came out muffled and wet sounding, before waving off Mark¡¯s question.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be that guy, kid.  I don¡¯t see any blood on you, and enough to fill a couple buckets on her.  Since you arrived together, I¡¯m guessing that means she saved you and your friend there from something out there.  Being a jerk to her now is not a look you¡¯re gonna do well wearing.¡±  Mark¡¯s face flushed in response, and he shot a guilty look at Ginny.  ¡°I-I wasn¡¯t, but you said¡­¡±  Rinaxis waved him off again.  ¡°I said she¡¯s a Story.  That don¡¯t mean she¡¯s not real.¡±  The melon paused long enough to take another quick pull off the now mostly empty bottle, Ginny having been too distracted to reclaim it from him.  ¡°In fact, in the eyes of the Depths, she¡¯s probably more real than anyone in this room right now.¡±  He paused again and his rind split into a wide grin.  ¡°Well, aside from yours truly.  Always need extras.¡±  He laughed again, but the sound had a harsh edge to it.


    Mark scowled but remained silent, as Brendon took over, his excitement over meeting Ginny fading somewhat, replaced by uncertainty.  ¡°Uh, why?  Like, I¡¯m not a punk, Virginia-¡°


    ¡°Ginny.¡±  Ginny interjected firmly, and Brendon quickly nodded.


    ¡°Right, Ginny, seems just as real as the rest of us, and just as much of a badass as she was on the screen, but why is she ¡®more¡¯ real?  What does that even mean?¡±


    Rinaxis blew out a long and wet sounding breath, considered the mostly empty bottle, then placed it back on the counter.  ¡°Alright.  You are all lucky, normally this isn¡¯t the kind of thing a shopkeeper can explain to you all, especially not this early in the story.  But¡­¡±  He tipped the top hat, that he¡¯d absently put back on at some point, to Ginny.  ¡°Since the Story over there already knocked me out of character, my lips are a bit more unsealed.¡±  Rinaxis paused, reaching up to run one vine over his split melon mouth, confirming that he didn¡¯t actually have lips.  ¡°Side note, you need to be careful doing that in the future.  You got lucky with me, but a lot of people will not react well to getting forced out of character like that.  And some of the ones that are happy about it are not the kind of people you want being their true authentic selves around you, if you get what I mean.¡±  Ginny stared at him intently as he continued rubbing his lipless mouth absently.


    ¡°I really don¡¯t.  Get what you mean, I mean.¡±  She responded.


    ¡°Right, okay.¡±  Rinaxis dropped his vine to his side and focused back on the conversation.  ¡°Let¡¯s see if I remember how to give the company pitch, it¡¯s been a while.¡±  He fell silent, seeming to get lost in thought for a moment, before shrugging.  ¡°Okay, Stories.¡±  He pointed one vine at Ginny.  ¡°The girl here is a Story.  She is literally a physical embodiment of a story, a legend, or whatever form your world¡¯s stories take.¡±  Brendon opened his mouth, presumably to explain movies to the melon, and Ginny frowned at him slightly, and he closed it again, before giving her a thumbs up.  ¡°Now, usually, a Story takes the form of the hero of their legend or story.  I assume that you were the hero of your story?  The focus of whatever was happening?¡±  Ginny considered that for a moment, then shrugged uncertainly.  ¡°I was the only one alive at the end?¡±  Rinaxis nodded, somehow managing to flick the end of a vine enough to make a sound remarkably like snapping fingers.  ¡°Right, or that.  Explains that ability you mentioned earlier.  Anyway.¡±  He turned back to address the room on the whole, as opposed to focusing on Ginny specifically.  ¡°It¡¯s pretty standard for the Depths to create a few of a world¡¯s existing stories, to give a world a bit of help in the beginning, when things are just getting started.¡±  Rinaxis wrapped his vines around his torso as he continued.  ¡°So, the Depths System, or just the Depths as most people call it.  You¡¯re probably wondering what it is.¡±  Rinaxis shrugged.  ¡°No idea.  And honestly, I don¡¯t think you¡¯ll find anyone who does.  The Depths is those blue screens you¡¯ve been seeing, the energy that created her physical form,¡± He nodded at Ginny, ¡°that is going to give you all the abilities you¡¯re hopefully going to develop in the coming days, the doors you use to enter shops or other locations.  But!¡±  Un unwrapped one vine enough to hold it up in front of them.  ¡°The Depths is NOT just a mindless system.  Thinking of it that way is easy, but don¡¯t make that mistake.  The Depths is alive.  It listens, it watches, and it wants.¡±  Rinaxis stared at them intently, his tone harsh and serious.  ¡°And what it wants are Stories.  Everything it¡¯s going to do and let its sycophants do to your planet in the coming days, is to get the Stories it wants.¡±


    Mark licked his lips and then asked, ¡°Like her?  But didn¡¯t the Depths make her?  Why does it need to do all this stuff if it can just do that?¡±  Rinaxis let out another wet sounding sigh and shook his head.  ¡°That¡¯s the thing, the Depths didn¡¯t make her.  Sure, it whipped up a physical body, and some energy to give her what it felt were appropriate abilities, but the Story that she is was made by your people.¡±  He made a sweeping gesture at Ginny, indicating the entirety of her, from bloodstained sneaker tip to the top of her bloodstained head.  ¡°Someone came up with the idea for her.  Gave her a name.  Every detail, from the color of her eyes, her hair, her height, all born from someone, or multiple someone¡¯s minds.  The events and circumstances of her life.  Everything about her was already here when the Depths arrived.  All it¡¯s done is give that form, so that the Story can continue.¡±


    Ginny considered the melon¡¯s words, ignoring the discomfort from having her origins laid out so starkly as the others processed what they¡¯d been told.  After a couple of minutes, Mark cleared his throat.  ¡°Okay, so why does the Depths want stories?  And why all the monsters and stuff?  And what does that have to do with normal people like us?¡±  Rinaxis rolled his beady eyes in response.  ¡°In order, how the hell would I know, because good Stories need conflict and adversity, and as to what it has to do with you¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s because it wants us to become Stories.¡±  Brendon cut the melon off, who glared at him in response, before grudgingly nodding.  ¡°That¡¯s it, isn¡¯t it?  That¡¯s why it¡¯s giving us these Paths and stats and abilities, isn¡¯t it?  So, we can live out, or tell the kind of Story it wants?  Be like her?¡±  Brendon pointed at Ginny, his words coming faster and faster.  ¡°That¡¯s why you said she¡¯s the most real, right?  Because she¡¯s already a Story.¡±


    Rinaxis flailed two vines together in his approximation of clapping, although barely any sound was produced.  ¡°You got it, kid.  A bit oversimplified, and way more optimistic than you have any right to be, but you¡¯ve got the gist of it.¡±  He leaned back on his stool, taking the mostly empty bottle off the counter and transforming it into a full empty bottle in one long pull.  ¡°Too bad it doesn¡¯t matter.  You¡¯re still screwed.¡±  Brendon and Ginny both frowned, and she leaned closer, speaking before the excited young man got a chance to.  ¡°Why?  If they know what to do, and if all you need to do to become a Story is something on the level of the writing in my movie, I doubt it¡¯s going to be hard, that¡¯s a very low bar.¡±  Brendon looked strangely offended by that, giving her a betrayed look.  ¡°It¡¯s a classic.¡±


    Ginny looked over at him, meeting his eyes.  ¡°It¡¯s my movie, and it¡¯s incredibly stupid.¡±


    Rinaxis cleared his throat before the two of them could devolve into an argument.  ¡°It might very well be.  The Depths doesn¡¯t know anything about a world¡¯s stories, which is why it asks to inhabitants of a world it arrives at for recommendations, essentially.¡±  Ginny turned back to him with a blank look, but Brendon pointed at him excitedly.  ¡°The hero thing, that Tryn asked us about, about heroes and fighting monsters.  That was the Depths finding good stories?¡±  Rinaxis nodded in confirmation.  ¡°Sounds about right.  It¡¯s a little different for each world, but it¡¯s usually something like that.  But just because a story comes recommended, doesn¡¯t mean it will succeed in capturing the Depths interest.  Some Stories end early, and violently.  Some Stories never do anything interesting enough to progress, and up forgotten, or sacrificed to some other, more interesting Story.  And if your story isn¡¯t interesting enough to the Depths when it moves on to another world, well¡­¡±  Rinaxis trailed off and then drew a vine across his torso where his neck would be if he had one.  Everyone on the other side of the table stared back at him silently, before Brendon swallowed heavily and opened his mouth.


    ¡°Is that why you said we¡¯re all screwed?  You don¡¯t think we¡¯re going to be able to do anything the Depths would find interesting with our Stories?¡±  Rinaxis shook his torso in response.


    ¡°Nah.  Couldn¡¯t tell you just what exactly the Depths will find interesting, much less if your Stories are going to be able to fit the bill.  No, you all¡¯s problem is that the Depths already has a collection of Stories, its personal favorites that it has accumulated over the years and dragged them along with it to who knows how many worlds.¡±  Rinaxis looked at them, and instead of looking grumpy or amused, he just looked weary.  ¡°And those Stories know that any new Stories that get picked up and catch the Depth¡¯s interest, means maybe when it¡¯s done with this world, that their stories aren¡¯t interesting enough anymore.¡±


    The melon shook himself sadly, drooping forward enough that his top hat slid off his head and onto the floor once more.


    ¡°And that¡¯s why the Ravagers are going to make sure none of your Stories get very far.¡±

 Chapter 10

    Chapter 10


    As Ginny approached what she was reasonably sure was the edge of Hope Fall¡¯s proper, she thought back on the conversation with Rinaxis with gritted teeth.  After his reveal that the Ravagers were the current favorite Stories of the Depths System, and his subsequent prediction that they would ensure they stayed that way by wiping out any potential new stories from Earth, he¡¯d encouraged them to not loiter overly long in the store.


    ¡°Your world seems to have¡­ interpreted the Depths System in a unique way to your people.  Not unusual, that familiarity can help your people when otherwise they¡¯d be paralyzed by confusion and disbelief.  But keep in mind that it is an interpretation.  The Depths will work a certain way for you because that¡¯s what you expect from it, but Ravagers and other Stories not from your world will have an entirely different way of interacting with the Depths.  For example, Brendon, you were talking about ¡®leveling¡¯ and Ginny, when you were describing your ability, you said it gave you ¡®experience¡¯?¡±  The word had come out sounding forced and stilted.  ¡°Things like that are your world¡¯s interpretation of the Depths System, an approximation of what they really mean.¡±  He¡¯d considered for a moment.  It seemed like trying to work around the version of the Depths being presented was difficult for him.  ¡°Just remember, it¡¯s all about the Story you¡¯re becoming.  A more accurate way of describing this ¡®experience¡¯ you¡¯re talking about would be how interesting your Story is to the Depths.  The more interesting your story is, the more of the Depth¡¯s focus is on you, and the more power you have in order to do more interesting things in the future.¡±  He pointed at Ginny with a vine.  ¡°Your ability may reward survival more because it¡¯s in line with the type of story you are, but surviving a near death situation is the kind of thing that the Depths will find interesting for most Stories, so it¡¯s likely that everyone receives the ¡®experience¡¯ for that.  But your approximation doesn¡¯t mention that explicitly, so it¡¯s likely that it won¡¯t be common knowledge, at least not at first.  Your people will probably figure it out eventually, but it¡¯ll put them behind during the early days, which is when it¡¯s most dangerous to be behind.¡±


    Ginny crossed her arms and considered that, while Brendon frowned at Rinaxis.  ¡°So¡­ the reason the Depths System looks like such a stereotypical LitRPG style system, with blue screens and levels and hit points, is because that¡¯s what we as a people expect an apocalyptic style worldwide System to look like?¡±  Rinaxis shrugged in response.


    ¡°Your people must have made a lot of stories like that, right?  They probably had entire libraries and forums dedicated to stories like that?¡±  Brendon nodded thoughtfully in response.  ¡°Yeah, there was a lot.¡±


    Ginny had chimed in at that point, her tone quiet and less amused than Brendon.  ¡°So, we see a version of the Depths that works for us¡­ but leaves important things out.  The guy who was supposed to introduce all this to us is a sadistic favorite of the Depths that¡¯s more interested in making us all fail and die than actually explaining anything.¡±  She frowned.  ¡°It feels like¡­ the whole thing is designed to make us fail.  Like, it seems like it¡¯s supposed to help us, but it¡¯s all a kind of trap.¡±  Rinaxis spread his vines wide in an apologetic gesture.


    ¡°Welcome to the Depths.  And on that note, you should get back out there.¡±  Ginny stared at him suspiciously.


    ¡°Back out there with the monsters?  As opposed to in a shop with a grumpy but otherwise harmless melon man, that¡¯s apparently a relatively safe place?¡±


    Rinaxis shook his head.  ¡°Can¡¯t stop you from staying, as long as you don¡¯t break any rules at least.  But in the coming days, everything is going to come down to how interesting what you¡¯re doing is to the Depths, and Stories that aren¡¯t going anywhere or proving interesting, tend to end early.  Usually violently.¡±  Rinaxis leaned forward, his beady little eyes fixed on hers.  ¡°So, how interesting do you think the Depths is going to find you all just sitting around my store for the next few days?¡±


    Ginny let out an aggravated breath, and Rinaxis nodded as he leaned back.  ¡°Exactly.  Besides, all the Shop Doors in this area will lead back here, since this is my region, but the door in here is always gonna take you right back where you entered from.  And if that door happens to be out in the middle of nowhere, it¡¯s probably not gonna be a door you want to exit from once monsters start appearing.  Better to find somewhere you can hole up now while you can.¡±


    Ginny snorted.  ¡°There are already monsters outside.¡±


    She briefly described the Stitch Beasts to him, and he shook his head again.  ¡°Nah, that¡¯s something different.  Sounds like Venn¡¯dar trying to get a jump on things.  Those are things he¡¯s specifically sending here, not naturally spawning monsters.  As such, they can appear during the grace period before normal monsters.  And since he himself isn¡¯t going after you all, or directing his pets to specifically hunt you down, it also doesn¡¯t count as a Ravager initiating hostile action against you.¡±


    Brendon shook his head.  ¡°That seems like¡­ I dunno, an exploit?  Like this guy, uh, Ven¡¯dor, is cheating.¡±  Rinaxis shrugged in response.


    ¡°Venn¡¯dar.¡±  He thought for a moment before continuing.  ¡°It¡¯s a title in the language of the world he¡¯s from, now long gone.  In your people¡¯s language it would be something like¡­ Animal Collector.  Or¡­ Menagerie Keeper.  As to him cheating¡­ Venn¡¯dar is one of the older Ravagers, a Story who was collected so many worlds back in the Depth¡¯s journey that to most, he¡¯s just been around forever.  In that time, he¡¯s gotten very good at knowing what he can, and can¡¯t get away with.¡±


    Ginny shook her head, thinking back to the way the unsettling grey skinned man had directly addressed the Depths during their meeting, explaining his actions and justifying how he had not violated any rules.  ¡°Okay, well, we were just outside of a town, that¡¯s probably a better place than out in the middle of the spooky woods.  We can head there for now.¡±  Brendon shrugged and nodded in agreement, and she looked back at Rinaxis who was watching the two of them closely.  ¡°Can the kids stay in here?¡±  Rinaxis looked over at the kids, then back at her and shrugged.  ¡°Like I said, I can¡¯t make any of you leave unless you break the rules, so I can¡¯t stop them.  Whether or not it¡¯s a good idea is another matter.  Remember what I said about making sure your Story stays interesting.  That goes for them too.¡±  Ginny stared back at him, her frown morphing into a full-on glare.  ¡°They¡¯re kids.¡±  Rinaxis stared back at her, beady eyes meeting her narrow ones steadily.  ¡°And?¡±  Ginny clenched her fists as Brendon rubbed the back of his head, looking uncomfortable.  ¡°I mean¡­ I just figured¡­ the Depths wouldn¡¯t be interested in kids.  Maybe they¡¯d be exempt from¡­ all of this.¡±  Rinaxis sighed, looking over at the young man.  ¡°This is another one of those things your people¡¯s stories and expectations are gonna get wrong.  And if a lot of people think your kids are somehow an exception to this, or safe from everything that¡¯s coming, or that they won¡¯t be granted power based on the Depth¡¯s interest just like adults, then it¡¯s going to end really, really badly.¡±  Ginny glared at the melon, then whirled around, grabbing the harpoon from where she¡¯d leaned it against the wall with one hand, and grabbing Norah¡¯s hand with the other, Mark falling in next to her with his usual silent anxiety.  Ginny stomped over to the open archway into the room, Brendon quickly following her.  ¡°This Depths System of yours?¡±  She looked back over her shoulder at Rinaxis, who continued to watch them all with a mild detached interest.  ¡°It really sucks.¡±


    The melon let out another wet-sounding sigh as he bent over and retrieved another glass bottle from under the counter.


    ¡°It don¡¯t belong to me, kid.  But we all sure belong to it.¡±


    ***


    As they slowly approached the scattered buildings that marked the edge of Hope¡¯s Fall proper, Ginny looked over Norah once more.  The little girl had been noticeably struggling as they walked, but Ginny had been reluctant to carry her in case another Stitch Beast lunged out at them.  Hopefully, there¡¯d be somewhere with walls at least ahead, that they could get inside of and take a break.  She sighed tiredly.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    She knew that expecting some strange and ancient magical system that travelled around the universe dumping monsters on planets just to force the people living on those planets to do something that it would find entertaining, to make allowances for kids was unreasonable.  Ridiculous, even.  Still, she couldn¡¯t shake the feeling of restrained anger and annoyance she¡¯d felt ever since they left Rinaxis¡¯ shop earlier.  It was just wrong.  It was all wrong, but this felt different somehow.


    ¡°You, uh¡­ are you alright?¡±  She glanced over at Brendon, who was walking alongside her, with Mark and Norah between them in the middle of the road.  Ginny raised an eyebrow, turning back to the buildings they were approaching.  ¡°Not really, no.  My day was bad before an evil clown popped out of a boat to tell me my whole life was a terrible movie.  Somehow, everything happening since then keeps finding new ways to get worse, though.¡±


    ¡°Uh, I mean, yeah, that¡¯s rough.  You just¡­ kind of seem¡­¡±  Ginny cut him off before he could fumble for just what she kind of seemed.  ¡°It¡¯s the thing with the kids.  That¡¯s just¡­ what kind of Stories does it want kids to show it?  It¡¯s just another stupid, messed up thing that¡¯s set up to make us get ourselves killed in this and I CAN¡¯T¡­¡±  She took a deep breath, loosening her grip on her harpoon, where her knuckles had gone white.  ¡°It just sucks.¡±  She ended lamely.


    Brendon was silent for a moment, before opening his mouth to say something, hesitating and closing it, then opening it again.  ¡°Is it because that¡¯s part of your Story?  Which, is, like¡­ you?¡±  She glanced over at him, still irritated.  ¡°What?¡±  He rubbed the back of his head, something she¡¯d noticed him doing when he seemed unsure or nervous.


    ¡°Well like¡­ in your movie.  Your character, or I guess you, your whole thing was getting all the kids at the camp somewhere safe right?  You weren¡¯t even in the scenes where Johnny, Wallace and Deputy Baker went into the woods to find the Blood Drinker Queen for the first time, since you were getting all the kids evacuated to Old Lady Mabel¡¯s bomb shelter.¡±  He explained, some of his nervousness disappearing as he talked about the movie that was her life.  Ginny sighed again.  ¡°It¡¯s really weird hearing you talk about all that even though I just met you.¡±  Brendon coughed.  ¡°S-sorry.  But the point is, that was what you did, it was a huge part of your Story.  Which is you.  So, now you see kids being put in danger, and being told you can¡¯t just tuck them away somewhere safe, and it feels wrong to you.¡±


    Ginny kicked the asphalt in annoyance.  ¡°It IS wrong.¡±  Brendon waved a hand in the air.  ¡°I¡¯m not saying it¡¯s not.  It¡¯s just¡­ that¡¯s probably why you¡¯re thinking about it so much.¡±


    Shaking her head, Ginny gave Norah¡¯s hand a squeeze and then focused on the edge of town.  It wasn¡¯t that she disagreed with Brendon, not exactly.  She grimaced.  I turned down the Chosen One path because I didn¡¯t want someone or something else directing me where to go, or what to do.  That melon said that we¡¯re all writing our own stories.  With all that in mind, the idea that some part of her was being compelled to act a certain way, even in a way she disagreed with was¡­ frustrating.  To put it mildly.


    ¡°Welcome to Hope Falls, the most aptly named town in the continental USA.¡±  Brendon shook her from her brooding.  Ginny had noticed that, at least when not actively terrified for his life, the young man was the kind of person who never shut up.  He¡¯d almost stayed behind back in the shop, clearly eager to ask Rinaxis more questions, and had only reluctantly followed Ginny and the kids out after Rinaxis had assured him that he¡¯d still be there to be interrogated after they found a safer entrance to his shop than out in the middle of the spooky woods.


    Spooky woods that, despite all his chattering, Brendon had not explained why he was out in, in the middle of the night.  Before Ginny could decide if she wanted to pursue that, he continued.  ¡°Not that most of the people here have much hope for it to fall.  Hooray life in a small town, right?¡±  Giving her a sardonic grin, Brendon nodded at the buildings they were approaching. On the right side of the road was a small two pump gas station with a worn wooden sign hanging slightly crooked over the closed door that read ¡®GUS¡¯.  Opposite it was a rickety looking wooden shack with no sign on it at all, which looked like it could have Rinaxis¡¯ shop inside it.


    ¡°No idea what¡¯s with the sign.  No one does, as far as I know.¡±  Ginny glanced over at him and raised an eyebrow.  ¡°It¡¯s not the owner?¡±  Brendon shook his head in response.  ¡°Nope.  Woman named Belle owns and runs it.  She doesn¡¯t know either, it was apparently there when she bought the place.  From a man who was also not named Gus.¡±


    ¡°Okay?¡±  Ginny wasn¡¯t sure how to respond, and Brendon shrugged, rubbing the back of his head awkwardly.  ¡°Like I said, hooray life in a small town.  Behold our exotic and fascinating mysteries.¡±  Brendon dropped his hand to his side and squinted down the road.  ¡°This place is barely alive during the day, and in the middle of the night like this, it¡¯s gonna be hard to find anyone awake.¡±  Ginny glanced down at Norah and Mark, the latter of whom was shifting from foot to foot nervously, while the former was struggling to keep her eyes open.  ¡°We should go to the police.  They might be able to help us find their dad.¡±  Brendon pointed deeper into town.  ¡°The sheriff¡¯s office is down this road a few blocks, near the center of town.  Although, they¡¯re all probably asleep too.¡±


    Brendon had barely finished talking when the piercing wail of a siren shattered the quiet, making Mark and Norah scream out in terror.  Ginny stumbled to the side, yanking Norah close to her while bringing up the harpoon defensively.  Mark stumbled back a few steps, while Brendon stared blankly as red and blue lights flashed on and shot towards them, the police cruiser coming around the corner of the gas station and skidding to a stop in front of them.


    ¡°Or, you know, they¡¯re wide awake and right there.¡±  Ginny rolled her eyes, lowering the harpoon once she recognized the source of the siren, though she kept a firm grip on Norah, who was staring at the cruiser with wide eyes.


    ¡°That¡¯s fine though, we can get some help, maybe a ride, and¡­¡±  Brendon trailed off as he glanced over at Ginny.  ¡°¡­Oh.¡±  She looked back at him, confused.  ¡°Oh?¡±  She glanced down at herself and took a second to consider what she currently looked like, liberally coated in blood and gore, a knife sticking out of her pocket, a harpoon clenched in one hand and a small, scared-looking child in the other.  ¡°¡­Oh.¡±


    The the door to the cruiser flew open and the shadowed figure of a police officer leapt out, immediately pulling a gun from the holster on his hip and pointing it at Ginny.  ¡°Drop it drop it drop it!  Drop the weapon!¡±


    Ginny started to raise her hands, then quickly let go of both the harpoon and Norah¡¯s hand, wincing as her weapon clattered against the asphalt.  ¡°Hands in the air!  Hands!  In!  The!  AIR!¡±  Ginny stretched her arms above her head, and took a small step to the side, at the risk of setting off what was clearly an extremely on edge man with a gun, but trying to keep Norah from being in the direction the gun was pointing.  The little girl in question immediately made that pointless by following her to the side, wrapping tiny arms around Ginny¡¯s leg.


    ¡°Back away from the kid!  Back up, now!¡±  Ginny made a half-hearted effort to step away, ending up half-dragging Norah with her as the little girl continued to cling onto her.  Arms still in the air, she shrugged apologetically to the police officer.  Before he could shout anything else at her, Brendon stepped forward, his hands also raised.


    ¡°Hey, okay, let¡¯s be cool.  It¡¯s uh¡­ not as bad as it looks?¡±  Brendon frowned slightly as the police officer turned to him, gun lowered slightly but still pointed in his general direction.  ¡°I mean, with the scope of things, I guess it¡¯s probably worse than it looks.  But not in the way you¡¯re thinking!¡±  Brendon quickly reassured the police officer, who was squinting at him suspiciously.  ¡°You know, worse in the ¡®end of the world¡¯ kind of way, not the ¡®crazy lady chops up kids in the woods¡¯ kind of way.


    ¡°You¡¯re not helping.¡±  Ginny glared at Brendon, as the cop lowered his gun further.


    ¡°Fouth?  Is that you?¡±  The police officer stared at Brendon.  ¡°It is you.  Is this some kind of drug thing?¡±  Ginny blinked and looked over at Brendon again.


    ¡°A drug thing?  Brendon, why would the police officer assume this was a drug thing?¡±  Brendon winced but didn¡¯t look at her, focused on the officer.  ¡°Hi Doug.  No, this isn¡¯t a drug thing.  It¡¯s an end of the world thing.  You know, the blue screens?  Monsters?  An evil clown?¡±


    The police officer, Doug, apparently, shook his head.  ¡°Haven¡¯t seen any monsters.  Sheriff thinks those blue screens and clown are a drug thing, and you being out here makes me think he was right.¡±  Brendon groaned in response, and Ginny stared at him incredulously.


    ¡°That¡­ that doesn¡¯t make sense.  That¡¯s¡­ why would that¡­ how¡­¡±  Ginny threw a panicked glance at Brendon.  ¡°People actually act like this?¡±  Ginny looked back at the police officer aghast, as he holstered his gun, producing a pair of handcuffs from his belt.  ¡°I thought that was just my movie because, you know, it was terrible.¡±  Brendon sighed in response, lowering his hands and bringing his wrists together in what Ginny couldn¡¯t help but notice felt like a very practiced motion.


    ¡°It¡¯s a classic.¡±


    Ginny sighed as well, presenting her wrists to be cuffed.  Well, this is going well.  If this WAS like my movie, this would be the part where I¡¯d say something about things not being able to get worse, only for something terrible to happen with a ham-handed sense of dramatic irony.


    A blue screen popped up in front of her, and she noticed everyone else flinching in a way that indicated it had popped up for them too.


    Warning!  Grace Period ends in one hour!

 Chapter 11

    Chapter 11


    On the ride to the sheriff¡¯s office, Ginny found herself once again wishing for a shower and a clean change of clothes.  Not for herself, or at least not just for herself, since she¡¯d gotten depressingly used to being caked in gore at this point.  But the back of the cruiser was cramped, with Ginny, Brendon, Norah, and Mark all packed into the backseat, and anyone who got squeezed against or even brushed by Ginny, ended up with a fair amount of blood and general gore coating them as well.  It made an already uncomfortable ride even worse.


    Brendon had tried to make small talk with the deputy who¡¯d handcuffed them all but only received a series of increasingly terse and distracted responses, and he¡¯d quickly given up.  Currently, he was staring at the back of the deputy¡¯s head, a confused look on his face.  Ginny focused on the kids wedged between them in the backseat, with Norah pressed tightly against her side while Mark had shoved himself as far from her as possible, smashing Brendon against the door on the opposite side.


    Shooting them both as comforting a smile as someone as coated in gore as she was could, Ginny turned to look out the window, the dark and silent town rolling by them quickly.  She considered the notification they¡¯d all received as she and Brendon were being handcuffed.


    Warning!  Grace Period ends in one hour!


    She focused on the Grace Period condition, one of the few she¡¯d had since the Depths activated and revealed her character sheet.  And, honestly, the only one she hadn¡¯t been looking forward to getting rid of.  She read over the full description that appeared before her.


    Grace Period: You stand at the precipice. The Depths yawns open before you, but you have not yet fallen into them. Monsters will not spawn in your presence while in this state. Ravagers may not initiate hostile actions against you while you are in this state.


    Not that that has stopped the Ravagers I¡¯ve run into.  Venn¡¯Dar was still allowed to send Stitch Beasts hunting through the area.  Tryn still did¡­ something when he first showed up.  I remember some kind of debuff¡­ Grip of Despair?  Honestly, with what Rinaxis said about how the Ravagers have been around long enough to know how to get around the Depths¡¯ rules, maybe we won¡¯t even notice the Grace Period ending.


    Ginny sighed as she stared out the window.  A curtain twitched in the darkened window of a small house they drove past.  A sleepy local, woken up by the cruiser¡¯s siren earlier, investigating what was happening.  Maybe.  Or a Stitch Beast that¡¯s currently dismembering whoever used to live there.  Even with a new appreciation for how cliched and uninspired the real world¡¯s writing could be, Ginny still couldn¡¯t convince herself that things weren¡¯t gonna get worse after the Grace Period ended.


    She frowned; an idle thought tacked onto her brooding about Grace Period ending echoed in her mind.  How did Tryn do something when we first met?  Rinaxis said that Venn¡¯Dar is getting away with the Stitch Beasts because he¡¯s not directly involved or directly controlling them.  But if Tryn did something to make that condition, Grip of Despair, appear, how is that not breaking the rules?  Does him being the Herald mean they don¡¯t apply to him the way they do the other Ravagers?  She shuddered at the thought.  No, if he could have gotten away with doing whatever he wanted¡­ he would have done more.  He WANTED to do more.  Then how¡­


    ¡°Something¡¯s wrong with Doug.¡±


    Ginny was jerked out of her pondering by the whispered words from Brendon.  ¡°Huh?¡±  She looked over at Brendon, who was leaning over an aggravated-looking Mark to whisper to her.


    ¡°Doug, the deputy.¡±  Ginny glanced forward at the deputy, who was pulled forward and hunched over the wheel.  She glanced in the rear-view mirror but only caught a corner of his pale and sweat-drenched forehead.  She looked back at Brendon.  ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    Brendon licked his lips nervously, glancing up into the front seat, then leaning in even closer, Mark grunting in protest.  ¡°Look, I know Doug.  Good old Deputy Doug, and he¡¯s harmless.  Bit of an ass, huge stickler for rules, but I doubt he¡¯s even drawn that gun in the years he¡¯s been a cop, much less pointed it at someone.¡±  Ginny considered, eyes flicking between Brendon and the back of the deputy¡¯s head.


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s because he¡¯s never come across a girl covered in blood with a harpoon and a couple scared looking kids in the middle of the night.¡±  The harpoon in question, along with Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane, had been thrown in the trunk of the cruiser earlier.  Brendon shook his head.  ¡°Even then.  I¡¯m telling you, even if he was terrified, the Doug I knew was more likely to radio for backup before approaching someone with a weapon covered in blood.¡±  Ginny frowned.  ¡°Okay, so Deputy Doug¡¯s acting weird.  What do-¡°


    Ginny was cut off by the loud and distinctive sound of flesh slamming into metal, as the Deputy in question slapped the metal screen separating the front and back of the cruiser with enough force that she was surprised he didn¡¯t put his hand right through it.


    ¡°Shut up!  No talking!  Stop talking!  Shut up!¡±  The deputy¡¯s words came out faster and faster, and louder and louder, the last ¡®Shut up!¡¯ coming out as one indistinct bellow.  The four of them froze in the back seat, and Ginny could see Mark trying to press himself further back and behind Brendon where he was leaning in front of him.  The deputy took in a deep and shuddering breath.  ¡°Here we are.  We¡¯re here.  We¡¯re there.  Gonna get you both secured.  Locked up.  Securely locked up.¡±  The deputy nodded to himself, still speaking quickly as they pulled into a parking lot behind a small brick building, a second police cruiser already parked there.  As they pulled in next to it, Ginny exchanged a worried glance with Brendon, who nodded back, and then gestured at the front seat with his still handcuffed hands, as if to say, ¡®See what I mean?¡¯.  Ginny shook her head in response as the deputy parked the cruiser next to the other one and turned off the car.


    The deputy twisted around, eyes flicking between the four of them suspiciously.  ¡°Gonna take you all in now.  Don¡¯t try anything funny.  Don¡¯t be funny.  Don¡¯t laugh.  Don¡¯t breathe.  Don¡¯t try anything.  Don¡¯t.¡±  He stared at them silently for a few seconds after that threatening babble, then nodded, seeming to take their silence as agreement not to try anything.  As he got out of the cruiser and came around to her door, Ginny took a deep breath, and considered briefly whether she should try something, funny or otherwise.  She decided against it by the time he was yanking open her door.  The time for that probably would have been before my weapons got locked in the trunk of his cruiser.  She glanced at the trunk as she was pulled roughly out of the back of the cruiser.  Brendon said this is weird, and it definitely SEEMS weird.    Ginny watched the deputy, who carefully shuffled back rather than turning his back on her, then reached into the car to pull Norah out with one hand, the other resting on the holster with his gun in it.


    Not yet.  Let¡¯s wait and see if we can figure out what¡¯s going on first.  As Norah was pulled out of the cruiser just as roughly, Ginny¡¯s lips pressed together into a thin line.  If it looks like he¡¯s gonna hurt the kids though¡­  Ginny took a deep breath.  Well, I haven¡¯t done much with that ¡°Improvised weapons¡± skill I apparently have.


    ***


    The police station was practically abandoned.  Deputy Doug had briefly struggled with how to drag four of them at once and had settled on drawing his gun and standing a few steps behind the four of them, continuously urging them to, ¡°Move, go, march, go march, march move, gomovemarch, inside.¡±  His verbal babble was getting worse at an alarming and noticeable rate.  Ginny was increasingly rethinking her choice not to try and jump him, or wrestle his gun away, when they¡¯d been dragged out of the cruiser earlier.  They were led past a couple of worn looking wooden desks with darkened computers on them, toward a rear wall divided into three cells.  The right-hand cell was occupied, a rumpled and indistinct figure who reeked of alcohol enough to be smelt as soon as they walked in the front door lying on the bed facing the wall.  Ginny glanced back at the deputy long enough to trigger a quick Analyze, turning back around quickly before he decided if looking at him was the kind of funny he¡¯d warned her about earlier.


    Name: Douglas Dearns


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Race: Human


    Age: 39


    Ginny was disappointed by the bare-bones information Analyze offered her, though confirming that whatever was going on with the deputy he was still human, was good to know.  However, another blue Depths screen popped up almost immediately.


    Analyze has leveled up!  Now level 3!


    Ginny smiled.  She¡¯d been trying to use Analyze at random things as they¡¯d hiked into town.  Most of the time, it failed due to ¡°Insufficient Corruption Levels¡±, but she¡¯d been hoping that even the attempt would be enough to level up the skill.  Apparently, that had paid off.  The small blue screen for Deputy Doug reappeared, with an additional line tacked onto the end.


    Name: Douglas Dearns


    Race: Human


    Age: 39


    Conditions: Tired, Jittery, Scared, Spiraling


    Ginny¡¯s frown went unseen by the deputy, who had directed them over to the wall, while he opened the middle and left-hand cells along the rear wall.  Okay, I get Tired, it¡¯s the middle of the night.  Scared too, I guess, even if he doesn¡¯t seem to really understand what¡¯s going on.  What are Jittery and Spiraling?  Ginny focused on the last two conditions listed.


    Jittery: A mild overdose of stimulants has left you shaky and generally unsteady.  You will struggle with tasks involving fine motor control and are increasingly vulnerable to conditions related to fear and anxiety.


    A glance over at the coffeepot quietly running on a table against the opposite wall gave Ginny a decent guess as to where that condition had come from.  Okay, so he was tired, he drank way too much coffee to compensate, which made him more likely to be scared or anxious, which probably led to him getting the Scared condition.  That just leaves¡­


    Unfortunately, when she tried to focus on the Spiraling condition, a different notification flashed up.


    Analyze failed.  You do not have sufficient corruption.


    Ginny sucked in a harsh breath, making the deputy¡¯s head snap over to stare at her suspiciously.  She¡¯d only run into that message once before, and it had been delivered on that same alternative deep red Depths screen as this one, accompanied by the same spike of pain behind her eyes that seemed to accompany her Analyze ability failing.


    A Ravager was affecting the deputy.


    ¡°Get in.¡±  Ginny blinked, so focused on her Analyze screens that the deputy¡¯s words caught her off guard.  He shifted nervously, taking a step back from them and waving the gun towards the open door of the middle cell.  ¡°Get in.  Get in.  Get in.  NO!¡±  His quick and shaky orders were cut off by a high-pitched yell at Brendon, who had started to step towards the cell.  Brendon froze as the deputy pointed his gun directly at him, the barrel shaking in the air as the deputy breathed heavily.  ¡°Not you.  Little ones.  Kids.  Little kids.  Kid ones.  Go in.  Go in.¡±


    Ginny started to step forward, and the deputy quickly wheeled around, his gun swinging wildly to point at her face.  She glared at him, and then nodded at the kids, who were staring at her uncertainly.  Mark quickly hurried into the cell, pressing himself into the corner as far from the deputy and his gun as possible.  Norah followed him quietly, sitting down on the single cot-like bed and watching Ginny intently.  The deputy quickly locked the door, then moved to the left-hand cell, unlocking it with another key off the same ring of keys, and then pulling it open and gesturing toward Brendon and Ginny.


    Ginny followed Brendon and then hesitated at the door of the cell.  The idea of jumping the deputy, wrestling the gun away, trying to knock him out, ran through her head again, and this time she gave it more thought.  If it were just the deputy with the gun, she decided she¡¯d have taken her chances on Run it Off being able to patch up a gunshot wound.  But that Spiraling condition, and the potential presence of a Ravager, made her once again decide to wait.  Besides¡­


    She walked into the cell, just as the deputy was opening his mouth to scream at her, his eyes bulging.  He quickly locked the cell door behind them and stepped back.  Despite all of them now being locked in cells, his gaze continued to flick between them nervously, as if he expected them to lunge at him through the bars.


    ¡°Good.  Prisoners secured.  Secured good.  Secured prisoners.  Good prisoners.  NO!¡±  This time his scream of denial seemed to be directed entirely at himself, as he shook his head violently.  Taking in a deep and shuddering breath, he scanned over the four of them, then nodded at Brendon.  ¡°The sheriff will know what to do.  The sheriff knows.  Is knowing.  Will know.¡±  Brendon stared back at him, shaking his head.  ¡°Doug, listen to me.  Something¡¯s wrong with you.  You¡¯re not acting like yourself.¡±


    The deputy immediately charged at the bars of the cell, slamming into it hard enough to split the skin of his forehead where he slammed his face into the bars, staring at Brendon.  ¡°Wrong!?  Wrong with me!?  You did something!?  Something to me!?  You did something wrong to me!?¡±


    Brendon stumbled backwards in shock, and the deputy pressed against the bars more firmly, blood pouring down his face from his split forehead, and he shoved the gun through the bars of the cell, pointing it at Brendon.


    ¡°What did you do, Fouth!?  What wrong thing did you do to me!?  What have you done wrong, Fouth!?  How have you wronged me, Fouth!?  WHAT DID YOU DO!?¡±  Brendon opened his mouth then closed it again, raising his hands slowly into the air.  Before he could respond, Ginny stepped closer to the bars, drawing the deputy¡¯s attention.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t know!¡±  The deputy shifted his gaze to her, grinding the cut on his forehead against the bars as he shifted to her, the gun pointing at her chest.  I wonder how much damage a gunshot does.  She thought of her HP, and what Rinaxis had claimed those numbers meant.  I wonder how interested the Depths is in me, and whether me surviving a gunshot or bleeding out on the floor of this jail is a more interesting story.


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t know?  He knows!  He doesn¡¯t know?  He doesn¡¯t no?  No he doesn¡¯t.  Doesn¡¯t know!?¡±  The deputy¡¯s eyes flicked back to Brendon, and Ginny quickly continued, setting aside her wandering thoughts.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t know.¡±  Swallowing, Ginny forced herself to take a step closer, the barrel of the gun almost pressed against her chest as she kept her eyes locked onto the deputy¡¯s.  ¡°The sheriff knows.¡±  The deputy froze, staring back at her, and she nodded slowly, maintaining eye contact.  ¡°The sheriff knows.  The sheriff will know.  The sheriff is knowing.¡±  Ginny spoke quickly and deliberately, parroting the deputy¡¯s babble about the sheriff back at him.  He stared at her, the gun still pointed at her chest.  Ginny tried to keep all her focus on maintaining eye contact and not think about how big a hole the bullet would make in her chest, or the two branches her story could take from this moment, one of them ending with her choking to death on her own blood on a dirty floor.


    You have leveled up!  You are now level 4!  Luck increased by 3!  You receive 2 unallocated stat points!


    ¡°The sheriff knows.¡±  Ginny managed to keep from visibly relaxing as the blue level-up notification appeared in front of her.  If her Final Girl ability had awarded her experience to level up, that means it considered her as having survived a dangerous situation.  She felt a small pit of nervousness being suppressed by Survivor¡¯s Will.  And if it awarded her enough to level up again, after just levelling up in Rinaxis¡¯s shop only an hour ago, that meant it thought her odds of surviving just now had been low enough to merit a lot of experience.


    Shoving that thought to the back of her mind, Ginny watched the deputy nod slowly, and pull back from the bars of the cell, lowering the gun to point at the floor at his side.  ¡°The sheriff knows.¡±  He repeated, nodding along with the words.  ¡°The sheriff is knowing.  The sheriff is knowing.  The sheriff will know.¡±


    Ginny let out a sigh of relief as the deputy turned away, ignoring the blood still running down his forehead, now soaking into the collar of his uniform.  He absently wiped his eyes clear, flicking the blood onto the floor as he walked jerkily over to the coffee machine, and began to rummage through the pile of paper cups next to it.  ¡°Gotta wait for the sheriff.  I know.  The sheriff is knowing, but I know.  I know I¡¯ve got to wait for the sheriff.  The sheriff knows I know.  The sheriff knows I¡¯m waiting.  The sheriff knows I know I¡¯m waiting.  The sheriff knows I know that he knows I know he knows I¡¯m waiting.  I¡¯m waiting.  Waiting for the sheriff.¡±  The deputy descended into muttering even less coherently, as he fiddled with the coffee machine.


    Taking a deep breath, Ginny jumped as a hand landed heavily on her shoulder.  Next to her, Brendon pulled his hand back quickly, raising it apologetically.  ¡°Sorry.  Are you okay?¡±  He looked at her in concern.  Ginny shrugged and gave him a thumbs up.  ¡°Yep, I¡¯m good.  Doing great.¡±  She looked at the hand he¡¯d laid on her shoulder, his palm coated in blood, and then down at herself.  ¡°Still really need a shower.¡±  Brendon snorted out a laugh, and she raised an eyebrow at him.


    ¡°Sorry, you¡¯re right.  It¡¯s just that I know a guy who¡¯s really obsessed with your movie, and he has this whole thing he can go on about, how the fact that you¡¯re the only female counselor not in the shower scene where we see all the other female counselors naked, is a foreshadowing device to set you apart.¡±


    Ginny narrowed her eyes at him.  ¡°The shower scene?¡±  Brendon swallowed, glancing over at the kids in the next cell over.  ¡°I mean, it was just¡­ it was a scene in your movie where the other female counselors were talking about the legend of the Blood Drinkers and laughing about how stupid it was.¡±   She continued to stare at him with narrowed eyes.


    ¡°In the shower.¡±


    He shrugged, a slight flush on his cheeks as he reached up to rub at the back of his head nervously.  ¡°Yeah.¡±  He looked back at her sheepishly.  ¡°You weren¡¯t in it!¡±  Ginny stared back at him, her expression unreadable, and he quickly cleared his throat and tried to change the subject.


    ¡°So, uh, what¡¯s the plan?  Cause I feel like even after you talked him down, the deputy is one hat drop away from murdering all of us.¡±  He lowered his voice and glanced over at the cell the kids were in.  Mark continued to sit in the corner opposite them, his knees pulled up to his chest, giving no sign he¡¯d heard them.  Norah on the other hand was staring directly at them but merely looked curious.  Ginny frowned slightly and focused on the little girl.  Analyze.


    Name: Norah Miller


    Race: Human


    Age: 10


    Conditions: Tired


    Breathing a sigh of relief at the girl¡¯s thankfully normal looking status and lack of strange conditions, Ginny turned back to Brendon.  Giving a quick glance over at the deputy to make sure he was still focused on mumbling to himself at the coffee machine, she leaned in a bit closer and spoke quietly.


    ¡°Now we see if the Depths is interested in stories about breaking out of prison.¡±

 Chapter 12

    Chapter 12


    Ginny filled Brendon in about the condition she¡¯d discovered on the deputy¡¯s sheet when she analyzed him, and what she thought that meant while she inspected the bars of their cell.  Her musings about whether she¡¯d survive a gunshot wound earlier had gotten her thinking, and her thinking had dragged a couple of recent memories forward.  That in turn had given her what sounded like a ridiculous and stupid idea when it first occurred to her, but she figured it wouldn¡¯t hurt to check.


    She thought back to when she¡¯d rescued the kids from a Stitch Beast at their car.  They¡¯d said it had fully flipped their car when it first attacked before giving up when it couldn¡¯t figure out how to get inside.  And then, when it had slammed into it when it showed up for the second time, it had sent the upside-down car sliding through the gravel.


    So, Stitch Beasts are strong.  Appropriately, monstrously strong.  And yet¡­ Her thoughts trailed off, as the image of the Stitch Beast straining against the harpoon while she planted her feet and held it back ran through her head.  Ginny had been wondering about her stats for a while.  She hadn¡¯t been able to see anyone else¡¯s, so she honestly had no idea how she compared to normal.  She was pretty sure her Luck was significantly higher, but what about her other stats?  How strong am I?  The image of the Stitch Beast straining against her flickered in her mind.  Strong enough to hold off a Stitch Beast.  She considered the iron bars of the cell they were in and wrapped her fingers around one experimentally.  Strong enough to bend some iron bars?


    Feeling a little ridiculous, she strained against the bar that her hand was wrapped around.  There was no response, or any sense of give to the bar, and she frowned.  She glanced over at the deputy, who had moved from the coffee machine to one of the desks and was writing something on several pieces of paper intently.  Shifting, Ginny planted her feet while trying to make it look like she was leaning against the bars for support and shoving forward with her shoulders down.  As the bars still showed no sign of moving, she was ready to give up and try to figure something else out, she felt a light tickling sensation on the hand on the bar.  She blinked at a light coating of white dust on her hand, and as she stared at it in confusion, another trickle of dust fell onto her hand from above.  Glancing up at the ceiling, she sucked in a breath.  The bars of the cell were sunk directly into the floor and the ceiling, and the mortar surrounding the top of the bar she was leaning against had a thin spiderweb of cracks running through it.


    Ginny jumped, startled, as a coarse sounding bark of laughter sounded.  She looked through the cell the kids were in to the other side, where the obvious drunk had been, and was still, lying on the cot facing the wall.  He let out another somehow slurred sounding laugh, then shifted in place, before starting to snore.  Ginny looked from him to the deputy, who had looked up from whatever paperwork he was furiously doing.


    ¡°Something funny?  Doing something funny?  Are you DOING something!?  Something funny!?¡±  The deputy pushed himself up, sending the papers he¡¯d been focused on flying everywhere as he did.  Ginny quickly stepped away from the bar, surreptitiously wiping the dust off on her shorts.  She quickly raised her hands, Brendon following suit, as the deputy stormed back over to the cells, his gun coming out of his holster.


    ¡°Who¡¯s being funny!?  Who¡¯s laughing!?  Who¡¯s laughing funny!?¡±  The deputy pointed his gun at Brendon, then Ginny, and before he could point it at either of the kids in the cell next to them, Ginny quickly stepped forward.  ¡°No one¡¯s being funny.  It was a cough.  Nothing funny about it.¡±


    The deputy stared back at her wildly, gun shaking.  ¡°A cough?  You¡¯re coughing?¡±  He stepped closer to the cell, gun still trained on her, bobbing his head up and down as he stared at her.  ¡°No.  Is that a joke?  Are you joking?  Are you joking with me!?¡±  Ginny winced, shaking her head.  ¡°I¡¯m not joking.  No one is joking, and no one is being funny!¡±  The deputy took a half-step back as she raised her voice into a shout, and then his eyes narrowed.  ¡°Are you SHOUTING?  Are you SHOTUING at me!?  Are YOU-¡°  The deputy¡¯s new rant was cut off by the slam of the front door to the station being booted open.  Like a scene right out of her movie, some dramatic event occurred just in the nick of time to save her from finding out exactly how much damage getting shot actually did.  Of course, even this new reality she found herself in wasn¡¯t that contrived, and the story unfolding wasn¡¯t just hers.


    Which was why when the slamming of the door startled the deputy, even as he spun around toward the source of the noise, he pulled the trigger he¡¯d been squeezing anxiously, the bang of the gun going off echoing through the station as he shot Ginny in the stomach.


    ***


    <ol start="34">


    <li>That was apparently how much damage getting shot in the stomach by a handgun did. The force of it sent her stumbling back to collapse in a heap against the wall, and she felt fresh blood joining the mess of gore on the front of her t-shirt, pumping between the fingers she¡¯d clapped over the wound reflexively. But, despite all that, only 34 damage.</li>


    </ol>


    It still hurt like heck though.


    ¡°Virginia!¡±


    ¡°Ginny!¡±


    Norah and Brendon both screamed or shouted her name, the latter quickly crouching down next to her, while the former pressed against the bars separating their cells, watching her fearfully in a stark contrast to the little girl¡¯s usual blank demeanor.


    ¡°I¡¯m okay.¡±  Ginny quickly gasped out, letting out a hiss of pain as she pushed herself up into a sitting position, her back pressed against the wall.  ¡°Dang it that stings!¡±  Trying to bend around and get a look at the side of her stomach, she quickly gave up on trying to tell apart the new gore from the old gore on her side and settled for gently probing the area with her fingers.  As near as she could tell, the bullet had just grazed her, leaving a then gash on her side, as opposed to a hole in her stomach.


    That was lucky, I guess.  Ginny glanced around the cell, giving Brendon a nod to indicate she really was okay, before glancing forward to the front of the station.  It would have been luckier if there was enough room to run around in here and use Run it Off.


    ¡°What the hell are you doing, Doug?  Who are these people?¡±  A large man with dark skin and a bald head, currently slick with sweat under the fluorescent lights of the police station, was gesturing wildly at the cells in the back while looming over the deputy, who was holding the gun he¡¯d just shot Ginny with loosely in one hand.  He looked embarrassed and confused, but there was noticeably less twitching and jerky movement.  Ginny activated Analyze on him again curiously.


    Name: Douglas Dearns


    Race: Human


    Age: 39


    Conditions: Tired, Jittery, Scared, Resolve of the Blue


    Ginny raised an eyebrow.  The Spiraling condition from the unknown Ravager was gone, replaced with something called Resolve of the Blue, which she focused on for more details, a second blue screen obligingly appearing in front of her.


    Resolve of the Blue: The unwavering authority of a figure representing law and order has bolstered your resolve. You are receiving a bonus to resist fear and anxiety-based effects, and a large bonus to resist mental compulsion and domination effects.


    She glanced at the large man, who was in the process of ordering Doug to open the cells, a task the deputy turned to with nervous and mechanical motions.  Between that and him being the likely source of the condition the deputy had received, Ginny assumed this was the sheriff.  She cast another quick Analyze.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Name: Gregory Turms


    Race: Human


    Age: 44


    She looked up at the large man as he strode into the cell as soon as the deputy opened the door.  I can¡¯t see his conditions.  Before she could consider what that meant, he was crouching next to her, opposite Brendon.  He examined her side, then nodded, looking up at her.  ¡°Looks like it just grazed you.  Doug, grab the first-aid kit.  Are you alright, young lady?¡±  Ginny gave him a thumbs up in response.  ¡°I¡¯m okay.  Although I¡¯d be better if I could get out of this cell.¡±


    He nodded quickly, standing and then reaching down to pull her to her feet.  The sheriff nodded at her, gesturing at the open door to the cell, and then glancing at Brendon.


    ¡°Brendon.  It¡¯s good to see you, boy.  With everything going on, I was worried tonight would be the last of your ¡®nature walks¡¯,¡± The sheriff stressed the words, and a hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.  ¡°What with everything going on tonight.  I was going to try and get Doug or someone out to look for you in the morning, but with so much happening¡­¡±  The sheriff trailed off then shrugged apologetically.  ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re alright.¡±


    Brendon shifted uncomfortably as Ginny stepped out of the cell, immediately being wrapped in a hug by Norah, the little girl ignoring the blood that coated her face and hair as she pressed against Ginny¡¯s side.  Thankfully, it was the unwounded one.  Ginny patted her on the head comfortingly as Brendon gathered himself and responded to the sheriff.


    ¡°How¡¯d you know I¡¯d be out in the woods tonight?  And what do you mean by ¡®with everything going on tonight?¡¯¡±  Brendon pointed at deputy Doug, who was struggling out from a closet on the side of the room with a suitcase-sized white case with a red cross on the front.  ¡°Doug said you told him this was all some kind of drug thing.¡±


    The sheriff shook his head slowly.  ¡°You¡¯re always out in the woods on the first weekend after you buy a fresh bag of reefer, son.  And Jimmy is always over at the Stumbling Log spending all the money you just gave him trying to get himself pickled.  Saw Jimmy there yesterday doing just that, so¡­¡±  The sheriff shrugged.  ¡°As to this being a drug thing, I did tell Doug that.  Needed to tell him something, man was hyperventilating about all these blue screens appearing.  I think that jester said something to him.¡±  He lowered his voice at the end, glancing at the deputy, who had managed to extricate the first-aid kit and was lugging it towards them.  ¡°Truth was I didn¡¯t really believe it myself even when I said it.  And now¡­¡±  The sheriff reached down to his belt, snapping open a large pouch on one side, and pulling out something, holding it up to Brendon.  Ginny took a step closer to get a better look, and her eyes widened slightly.


    Still covered in traces of a familiar black ichor, the sheriff had a small pot made of some kind of grey ceramic, one side of it completely shattered.  Venn¡¯dar had shown her something similar when he had asked her about the Stitch Beast she¡¯d killed.  Based on that, she could guess what the sheriff had seen.


    He gently sat it down on a desk next to him, giving it another glance before turning to take the first-aid kit from the deputy.  ¡°¡­Well, now I think things are a fair bit worse than all that.¡±


    The sheriff paused in the middle of pulling a roll of gauze out of the kit.  Brendon¡¯s face was a mask of confusion as he looked back and forth between the sheriff and the cracked pot.  Something on Ginny¡¯s face must have looked like recognition, since his expression tightened some as he started cleaning the wound on her side, her shirt hiked up to her ribs.  The shirt had taken the worst of her repeated gore spattering today, but it still wasn¡¯t exactly the kind of clean you wanted an open wound around.


    ¡°You¡¯ve seen them, haven¡¯t you.¡±  It wasn¡¯t a question, but Ginny nodded in response anyway.


    ¡°Yeah.  Out in the woods, and on the road.¡±  Ginny glanced at the two kids hovering around watching her get patched up. ¡°They¡¯re called Stitch Beasts.¡±  To her surprise, the sheriff nodded in response.  ¡°Noticed that.  Bit on the nose.¡±  Ginny shrugged, and the sheriff finished cleaning up her side as best as he could and started winding a bandage around her torso.  The deputy responsible stood off to the side, shifting nervously from foot to foot and avoiding looking at Ginny as much as possible.  She thought about telling him it wasn¡¯t his fault, probably.  She thought about telling him that an ancient supernatural story ascended into some kind of evil authority figure for an even more ancient mysterious system that was in the process of destroying their world for fresh reading material had possibly controlled him with magic.


    She thought about saying that.


    Instead, as soon as the bandage was tied off, and the sheriff was leaning back, she pushed herself to her feet.  ¡°We need to get out of here.  The Grace Period is going to run out soon, and we need to find a safe place before then.  Preferably one with a Depths Door that leads to a shop.¡±


    The sheriff didn¡¯t respond immediately, his eyes having taken on that distant look of someone viewing a Depths screen.  Brendon cleared his throat.  ¡°I¡¯m all for another visit to the melon man, but I don¡¯t know if we¡¯re gonna find anywhere more secure than the frigging sheriff¡¯s office.¡±  Ginny hesitated, scanning the room around them.  It wasn¡¯t exactly a fortress, with the wide windows and glass double doors leading into the front.  More importantly, she still wasn¡¯t sure where that Spiraling condition had come from, but it had definitely gotten worse while they were in the police station.  With that in mind, she didn¡¯t want to be anywhere near here.  Luckily, the sheriff shook his head, his eyes coming back into focus.  ¡°Hmm, a level-up for First Aid.  Makes sense, that¡¯s the first time I¡¯ve patched someone up than the annual training the whole office did last winter.¡±  He focused on Ginny.  ¡°Lotta folks got woken up by that initial message and ended up in a right panic after that jester got done terrifying everyone.¡±  He rose up to his default state of towering over everyone.  ¡°Lots of calls in, ended up getting those that didn¡¯t go right back to sleep gathered in one place.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    The sheriff gestured for the deputy to follow, and the smaller man quickly and gratefully fell in behind him.  ¡°The only place still open at this hour.¡±


    Brendon groaned.  ¡°The bowling alley?¡±


    Ginny looked back and forth between them.  ¡°Seriously?¡±  Brendon rolled his eyes, and the sheriff shrugged.  ¡°It¡¯s big enough, somewhere everyone in town knows, they were already open, and people can get something to eat.  Or drink, in many of their cases.¡±


    ¡°Norah and Mark¡¯s dad headed for town after their car broke down.  Is he there?¡±  The sheriff shook his head in response.  ¡°I don¡¯t know.  One of my other deputies was coordinating things there, I was on patrol around the town, checking in on people we hadn¡¯t heard from.¡±  His expression tightened but he quickly pressed onwards.  ¡°We can check when we get there.  It¡¯s where you all should be anyway.¡±  He frowned sternly at the deputy next to him, who stuttered in response.


    ¡°They were¡­ she¡¯s covered in blood, sir!  And she was armed!¡±  The sheriff looked back at Ginny, eyebrow raised in question.  She shrugged in response.  ¡°Most of it is mine.  And what isn¡¯t didn¡¯t come from¡­¡±  The image of Rodney being squeezed by the Blood Drinker Queen until he exploded, showering her face in a hot spray of blood, flashed through her mind ¡°¡­people.¡±  She inclined her head toward the Stitch Beast pot on the desk meaningfully.  ¡°I need to get my weapons back; they¡¯re in the trunk of the cruiser outside.¡±


    The sheriff hesitated for a second, then nodded, ignoring the look of consternation on his deputy¡¯s face.  ¡°Going to have some questions for you, young lady, and you Brendon, but it can wait until we get to the bowling alley.  I¡¯ll radio ahead and check if anyone¡¯s seen Mr. Miller tonight.¡±  Turning to the doors at the front, he started to stride forward.


    ¡°What about him?¡±  Ginny gestured back to the only still occupied cell.  The sheriff turned and looked, then did a double take.  ¡°Damn it Doug, how many people you got locked up tonight?¡±


    The deputy raised his hands defensively. ¡°Just a drunk sleeping it off, sir.  Was relieving himself on a stop sign a few blocks over, with an empty bottle in one hand and a half-empty bottle in the other.  He passed out right after I brought him in, hasn¡¯t moved since then.  Wouldn¡¯t know he¡¯s still alive if it were for the snoring.¡±


    The sheriff considered for a moment, then held out a hand to the deputy.  ¡°Keys.¡±  The deputy sighed and deflated but quickly unclipped the ring of keys from his belt and handed them to the sheriff.  After pulling one large silver one off, the sheriff tossed the keys across the room, where they landed in the occupied cell with a loud jingle.  The deputy stared at him in horror.


    ¡°Sir!¡±


    The sheriff shook his head.  ¡°I know, deputy.  But this is shaping up to be a crazy night, and I¡¯ll not run the risk of the poor man waking up sobered up with no one here to let him out.  And I¡¯ll certainly not run the risk of leaving him unconscious with the door standing open.  We¡¯ll collect your keys later.  Or get you a new set.¡±


    The deputy nodded, although he continued to sulk as they all filed out of the police station, stopping briefly to retrieve Ginny¡¯s harpoon and Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane from the trunk of the cruiser they¡¯d been brought to the sheriff¡¯s office in.  The sheriff hesitated even longer when he saw just what Ginny had been armed with, his gazing lingering on Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane.  He shook his head as she retrieved her weapons, slamming the trunk closed.  ¡°Crazy night¡±, he repeated.


    Rather than have all of them cram into the backseat, they divided themselves between the two cruisers, with Ginny and Norah riding with the sheriff, and Brendon and Mark with the deputy.  At the little girl¡¯s insistence, Ginny let her ride in her lap up front, which the sheriff allowed after making sure the seatbelt could get around the two of them.  The harpoon took up most of the back seat, while Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane was back in her vest pocket.


    The familiar weight of the knife, which Ginny felt more than physically, eased the growing sense of anxiety some, but not entirely, and she stared steadily out of the front of the cruiser, worrying her lip between her teeth.


    We¡¯re almost out of time.


    The appropriateness of that thought got driven home less than a minute later, Ginny feeling Norah stiffen slightly in her lap, and the sheriff quickly stopping the cruiser in the middle of the street, as large blue screens appeared in front of all of them.


    Warning!  Grace Period ends in five minutes!


    They almost made it.

 Character Sheets at the end of Part One

    Name: Ginny Christianson


    Race: Human (Story)


    Age: 18 (0)(34)


    Template: Final Girl


    Path: Survivor


    Level: 4


    Health: 147/220


    Mana: 97/230


    UNALLOCATED: 4


    STRENGTH: 10


    REFLEXES: 10


    SPEED: 12


    VITALITY: 11


    ATUNEMENT: 9


    IMAGINATION: 11


    WILLPOWER: 14


    FAITH: 5


    CHARISMA: 11


    AWARENESS: 13


    LUCK: 26


    Conditions: Bruised, Filthy, Bandaged, Blood Drenched, Grace Period


    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Abilities:


    Passive:


    Worse Than It Looks (Lvl 3)


    Horror Survivor (Lvl 2)


    Final Girl (Lvl MAX)


    Survivor¡¯s Will (Lvl 6)


    Lucky Charm for the Damned (Lvl 1)


    Unkillable (Lvl 1)


    Active:


    Lucky Strike (Lvl 2)


    Flee (Lvl 1)


    Run it Off (Lvl 1)


    Analyze : (Lvl 3)


    Skills:


    First Aid (Lvl 1)


    Improvised Weapons (Lvl 1)


    Polearms (Lvl 1)


    Running (Lvl 2)


    Short Blades (Lvl 3)


    Swimming (Lvl 1)


    Name: Brendon Fouth


    Race: Human


    Age: 23


    Path: Blackfire Bruiser


    Level: 1


    Health: 100/100


    Mana: 50/50


    UNALLOCATED: 0


    STRENGTH: 5


    REFLEXES: 8


    SPEED: 6


    VITALITY: 5


    ATUNEMENT: 3


    IMAGINATION: 6


    WILLPOWER: 5


    FAITH: 3


    CHARISMA: 3


    AWARENESS: 6


    LUCK: 4


    Conditions: Stoned (Mild), Grace Period


    Abilities:


    Passive:


    Born Brawler (Lvl 1)


    Tough Hide (Lvl 1)


    Active:


    Blackfire Burn (Lvl 1)


    Skills:


    Alchemy (Lvl 1)


    Brawling (Lvl 3)


    First Aid (Lvl 1)


    Improvised Weapons (Lvl 2)


    Running (Lvl 1)


    Name: Gregory Turms


    Race: Human


    Age: 46


    Path: Lawman


    Level: 2


    Health: 162/200


    Mana: 20/50


    UNALLOCATED: 0


    STRENGTH: 6


    REFLEXES: 12


    SPEED: 4


    VITALITY: 10


    ATUNEMENT: 4


    IMAGINATION: 4


    WILLPOWER: 5


    FAITH: 9


    CHARISMA: 4


    AWARENESS: 6


    LUCK: 4


    Conditions: Tired, Jittery


    Abilities:


    Passive:


    Voice of Authority (Lvl 2)


    Resolve of the Blue (Lvl 1)


    Active:


    Forensic (Lvl 2)


    Judge Crimes (Lvl 1)


    Trick Shot (Lvl 3)


    Skills:


    Brawling (Lvl 1)


    Driving (Lvl 1)


    Firearms (Lvl 4)


    First Aid (Lvl 4)


    Investigate (Lvl 2)


    Running (Lvl 1)


    Name: Norah Miller


    Race: Human (???)


    Age: 10


    Template: ???


    Path: ???


    Level: 2


    Health: 60/60


    Mana: 70/70


    UNALLOCATED: 2


    STRENGTH: 2


    REFLEXES: 3


    SPEED: 4


    VITALITY: 3


    ATUNEMENT: 5


    IMAGINATION: 6


    WILLPOWER: 6


    FAITH: 4


    CHARISMA: 9


    AWARENESS: 4


    LUCK: 7


    Conditions: Shock, Tired, Grace Period


    Abilities:


    Passive:


    ??? (Lvl MAX)


    ??? (Lvl 1)


    ??? (Lvl 1)


    Active:


    ??? (Lvl 1)


    ??? (Lvl 1)


    Skills:


    First Aid (Lvl 1)


    High Society (Lvl 1)


    Swimming (Lvl 1)

 Interlude

    Intermission


    As the sound of two police cruisers faded into the night, a slurred, snorted laugh echoed through the mostly empty sheriff¡¯s office.  From in the cell on the right-hand side against the back wall, the slurred laughter continued, turning into a full-on choking, gagging fit of hilarity.


    After almost a full minute of this, the figure in stained and ripped clothing pushed himself up from the cot he¡¯d been laying on pretending to be asleep for the past couple hours.  He opened one eye and giggled again as he looked around the empty station, the room spinning around him.  From within the filthy and tattered sweatshirt he wore, he produced a bottle of a brown liquid, one long and sharp fingernail digging into the metal of the cap on the bottle and peeling it back.  He flicked the twisted apart cap over his shoulder, the little piece of metal carving a thin line in the cinderblock wall.  Taking a long pull from the bottle, he glanced at the crudely drawn label as he bent down and retrieved the keys from the floor where the sheriff had thrown them earlier.


    Shuffling over to the door of his cell, his body bending to the spinning world around him with practiced ease, he stared down at it as he took another pull from a bottle of what was apparently ¡°Uncle Rod¡¯s Reserve¡±.  Another fit of choked laughter spilled out of him, along with thick streams of the liquor he was drinking, squirting out from between yellowed and missing teeth in streams.  That only made him laugh harder, and he gagged on the liquor he continued to pour down his throat throughout.


    After he settled somewhat, he regarded the ring of keys, bouncing it up and down in his palm a couple times.  Instead of reaching through the bars and unlocking the door to his cell, he brought the keys up to his mouth and gave them a slow lick.  He shuddered at the taste of the deputy¡¯s fear and panic on them and quickly followed it with another swig of cheap liquor, alternating between licking the keys and chugging from the bottle faster and faster, until he was pouring the liquor directly onto the keys that he¡¯d shoved fully into his mouth.  He finished the bottle like that, an equal amount of the cheap liquor splashing over his upturned face and neck as made its way down his throat.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    He sighed as he tossed the empty bottle behind him, the crash of it shattering sending broken glass all across the floor of the cell.  Pulling the keys out of his mouth, he unlocked the door to his cell and stepped out.  He quickly locked the cell door again, and then tossed the keys back onto the floor, now surrounded by broken glass.


    Giggling at the thought of the deputy bloodying himself crawling over broken glass to retrieve his keys, he turned back to the front of the station.  Now that no one was here, he was quickly losing interest in being here, and he produced another bottle from his stained sweatshirt, this one bearing a fancy label of the vinery in Tuscany where the bottle had been aging when he¡¯d grabbed it.


    Carving out the cork at the top with the same jagged, dirty fingernail, he drank the expensive wine just as carelessly as the bottle of rotgut, red liquid spilling down his cheeks and joining the myriad stains on his sweatshirt.


    Stepping out of the sheriff¡¯s office, he looked in the direction that the deputy and the little burgeoning stories with him had gone.  The Lawman, the Brawler, the Girl and her little tagalong.  He started giggling again as he thought about them, making their way to the bowling alley and the other people hoping to find safety and sanctuary there.  He laughed himself into another doubled over choking fit, eventually spitting a disgusting mix of brownish-red phlegm and wine next to the front doors of the sheriff¡¯s office.


    Straightening back up with a final slurred chuckle, he stared in the direction of the bowling alley, and all the fear and desperation building there.


    ¡°Tooooo late.¡±


    He grinned with a mouthful of yellow and missing teeth, the world spinning around him almost as fast as the way this whole world was already spinning out of control.  His eyes, jet black throughout, save for a small silver spiral in the center of each of them, crinkled in amusement.


    ¡°Too late. Too too late, and late too, late TO.  Late to too, Too late too, too late!  Too late.¡±  Spiral mumbled to himself happily.

 Chapter 13

    Chapter 13


    For the short few minutes of the drive to the bowling alley, Ginny let herself hope she¡¯d been wrong.  Reality teased her by supporting that idea, with nothing immediately happening when Grace Period ended.  No fire rained from the sky, no monsters appeared around or inside the car they were in to maul them, Venn¡¯Dar didn¡¯t step out of a Depths Door, an army of Stitch Beasts at his back.


    Even the Depths screen that announced the Grace Period had ended was surprisingly brief and to the point.


    Grace Period has ended.  Welcome to the Depths.


    After a brief and futile effort to radio ahead to the deputy he¡¯d left at the bowling alley, the sheriff had settled into a tense and tight-lipped silence as he drove, and Norah was still desperately fighting not to nod off.  So, as they drove in silence toward the bowling alley where a good portion of the town of Hope Falls had apparently gathered, Ginny let herself hope.  She clearly wasn¡¯t the only one worried though.  Sheriff Greg had been white-knuckling the steering wheel steadily harder as they drove, and Ginny was going to try to remember to see if he¡¯d permanently bent it out of shape by the time they stopped.


    It felt like this is the point in the story when the hero(ine) should say something comforting and inspiring, to assure their companion that things were gonna be okay, and everyone was gonna get through it.  But Ginny only hoped that that was true, she didn¡¯t really believe it, so she wasn¡¯t sure exactly how to go about convincing him.  After thirty seconds of indecision, she opened her mouth, still not entirely sure what she was going to say, when she was suddenly cut off before she could even begin.


    Something slammed into the side of the cruiser with a crash of metal bending and glass shattering.  The sheriff shouted in surprise, and Norah screamed, as Ginny tried to shove the little girl to the side away from the now destroyed window and drag herself closer to it at the same time.  She managed to twist into position next to the shattered window and look out just as they got hit again, a massive four-legged shape slamming into the side of the cruiser with one red, furry shoulder.  The squeal of metal twisting came again, and the sheriff cursed, desperately struggling with the wheel to try and keep them from being forced off the road and onto the sidewalk.


    Tangled in the seatbelt with Norah and literally shaken up, Ginny couldn¡¯t get a clear look at the creature that looked like some kind of red bear, and she quickly cast Analyze as she clumsily pulled Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane out of her vest pocket.


    Scary Hairy Bear: It¡¯s a bear!  It¡¯s hairy!  It¡¯s scary!  It¡¯s absolutely going to eviscerate and eat you while you¡¯re reading this, but unfortunately for you, not in that order!


    This creature is a naturally occurring monster with minimum Depths corruption.


    Ginny blinked at the bizarre tone of the Depths Screen that had popped up.  What the heck?  That was just as unhelpful as usual, but¡­ what the heck?  Ginny was roughly forced out of her distraction when the¡­ bear¡­ hit the side of the cruiser again, finally forcing them up onto the curb and the sidewalk, Greg swearing wildly and jamming both foot onto the brakes, just barely managing to stop the cruiser from wrapping around a thick wooden power pole.  He quickly threw the cruiser into reverse, but the bear was on them before they could get moving, and the cruiser slid sideways into a metal bench.  The wheels of the cruiser spun and squealed ineffectively, as they found themselves pinned between the bear and various destroyed objects on the sidewalk.


    Ginny twisted to the side desperately, the seatbelt digging into her bandaged side and Norah letting out a grunt as she got smashed between Ginny¡¯s back and the center console.  She barely managed to get her hands up, Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane clutched in one of them, as the bear shoved its massive head through the broken window, jaws stretched wide as it tried to tear her apart with its teeth.  Ginny grabbed the top of its massive muzzle with her open hand, holding it back while she stabbed the silver dagger into the side of its head, slicing a thick chunk of an ear and part of a cheek off, the blood that sprayed forward surprising her with its normal red color.  The bear yelped in pain and backpedaled, ripping its head free of Ginny¡¯s grip and back out the cruiser window.  A hiss of pain was forced out between her clenched teeth as it did, and when she pulled back the hand she¡¯d been gripping its fur with, her palm and fingers were mangled like she¡¯d grabbed a handful of barbed wire.  She winced at the sight and cradled her hand to her chest while bringing up Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane defensively.  A few feet away from the car, the bear shook its massive head, sending a spray of hot droplets of blood everywhere, before lowering its head back to the cruiser and letting out an angry growl.  Getting her first good look at it, Ginny felt a thrill of fear being repressed by Survivor¡¯s Will.  The bear was covered in shockingly bright red fur, and was massive, towering over the cruiser at the shoulder.  Its head was big enough that Ginny was pretty sure it had bent the frame of the shattered window to fit inside.  Ginny gulped, then shouted over her shoulder without taking her eyes off the creature as it squared up with them again.


    ¡°Go, go, GO!¡±


    Sheriff Greg was way ahead of her, and the cruiser slammed into reverse, the whole car shaking and bouncing as they shot back down off the sidewalk onto the street, the bear stalking after them and breaking into a full-on charge at them.  For a creature as massive and bulky looking as the bear was, it was shockingly fast, slamming into the side of the cruiser again and sending them spinning into the street.


    Somehow, the sheriff managed to turn the cruiser into the spin just enough to bring them out of it pointing down the road, in the opposite direction than the one they had originally been going in.  The bear continued to charge at them, and just when it looked like they were going to be able to outrun it in the cruiser, the creature leapt at them, stretching out one massive paw to hook its stubby claws through the broken window and into the door, the entire cruiser listing wildly to the side as the monster clung onto them.  Ginny reversed her grip on Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane, and slammed it into the paw, driving the blade in deep enough that she was pretty sure the tip was scratching against the door.  The bear roared in pain and anger but refused to release the cruiser.  Ginny ripped the knife out of its paw, and pulled it back to stab down again, when she felt something yank her backwards, crushing poor Norah against the center console again.  The bear¡¯s massive head burst through the window again, snapping at the spot she¡¯d just been.  She glanced up at the sheriff, one hand still clutching the wheel of the cruiser while the other one was wrapped around the collar of her vest where he¡¯d grabbed her to pull her out of the way.  Pressed as flat against the seat and console as possible with Norah squirming under her, Ginny stabbed Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane blindly at the side of the bear¡¯s head.


    Lucky Strike!


    She cast the ability desperately, and felt the blade sink in, burying itself in the bear¡¯s skull deep enough that her fingers brushed against the bear¡¯s strangely sharp, red fur, fresh cuts and gashes opening all across her fingers.  She flinched as the bear roared out in pain, and she felt the hilt of Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane, slick with the blood pouring out of the wound she¡¯d opened, slip out of her hand.


    No!  She snatched desperately at the rune-covered hilt; her fingers brushed against the tip as the bear at last released its grip on the cruiser.  Time seemed to slow down as she watched her weapon disappear out the window, still embedded in the bear¡¯s thoroughly ruined eye socket.


    Something shifted under her, and suddenly, Norah had managed to squirm out from between Ginny and the center console, and leapt across her, the entire upper half of the little girl¡¯s body disappearing out the window.  Ginny felt a spike of panic run through her that seemed to cut right through Survivor¡¯s Will.


    ¡°Norah!¡±  Ginny lunged after the little girl, hear the seatbelt lock snap with a pop as she surged against it, wrapping her arms around the little girl¡¯s legs, which were starting to slide out the window after the rest of her.  She pulled back as hard as she could, and both she and the little girl rocketed back into the car, her spine slamming into the center console hard enough to make her grunt involuntarily in pain.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°What were you thinking!?¡±  Ginny practically screamed, twisting the little girl around in her lap to face her.  Norah blinked, and then smiled widely, her tiny cheeks dimpling.


    ¡°Here you go, Ginny.¡±  The little girl proudly presented Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane to Ginny, the dagger completely covered in blood and the remains of the bear¡¯s eye.  Running down the blade and onto the hilt, gore dripped heavily onto the little girl¡¯s hands and arms, the sight an unsettling contrast to the proud and innocent smile on her face.  As Ginny stared at her, she felt that strange feeling of pressure in her chest again, that feeling she¡¯d got when she had first seen the sign for Hope Falls.  The feeling of weight, like something massive and heavy was settling onto her chest.


    Silently, she reached out and took the dagger from Norah¡¯s hand, and the little girl giggled slightly.


    ***


    They quickly left the bear behind.  It seemed much less interested in chasing them after the loss of an eye and was slinking around the side of a building when they turned the corner away from it.  Having forcibly shoved the whirlwind of thoughts around Norah and her unnerving behavior to the back of her mind, Ginny resumed scanning around the outside of the cruiser, the little girl returning to quietly riding in her lap.


    ¡°How far away is the bowling alley?¡±  She asked the sheriff tensely.  Her grip tightened on the carved handle of Blood Drinker¡¯s Bane, as she warily stared out the cruiser window into a dark alleyway.  Four pairs of eyes, glowing a sickly yellow, stared back at her from the shadows, and just before they disappeared from sight as the cruiser drove past, Ginny caught a barest glimpse of something massive shifting in the alley, and all four pairs of eyes swung to the side in a way that made the knot of fear that Survivor¡¯s Will was currently repressing in her stomach tighten up.  Four pairs of eyes, one¡­ something with four pairs of eyes.  Regardless of what it was, it didn¡¯t venture out of the alleyway to follow them, and Ginny turned back to the sheriff as he grunted in response to her question.


    ¡°Woulda been there by now on the main road.  Don¡¯t want to risk leading that thing to the people there.¡±


    Ginny frowned in response, glancing back out the window, trying to part the darkness with narrowed eyes and see just what was out there.  ¡°I think there¡¯s a lot of things out there.  Kind of everywhere.¡±  Including probably at the bowling alley.  Ginny didn¡¯t say the last part out loud, but from the way the sheriff¡¯s already white-knuckled grip on the cruiser¡¯s steering wheel tightened even further, it was clear that he heard it anyway.  He pressed down harder on the gas, and the cruiser lurched forward.


    ¡°Just gotta take a right up by Hank¡¯s here, and we¡¯ll be coming up right behind it.¡±  Ginny nodded, examining the wide windowed building that she assumed was Hank¡¯s, as they came up on it.  It looked like as stereotypical a diner as one would expect to find in a small town like Hope¡¯s Fall.  The interior was only dimly lit, and Ginny couldn¡¯t see any sign of movement from within.  She hoped that it was just because it was closed and empty, but a long smear of blood that ran across the entirety of the building wide windows from one side to the other, made her think that wasn¡¯t very likely.


    The sheriff clearly saw the blood as well, and the cruiser slowed as he stared at the bloodied window, his face clearly showing the inner struggle between getting to the people holed up at the bowling alley and investigating the diner further.  After a brief pause, and a glance over at Ginny and Norah in the passenger seat, the sheriff shook his head and sped back up, pointedly avoiding looking into the rear-view mirror as he went.  As they turned the corner, the sheriff released the cruiser¡¯s wheel from one hand¡¯s death grip and pointed at a large building a few blocks ahead of them on the left side of the road.  Ginny looked at it, then glanced back at the sheriff.


    ¡°That¡¯s it?¡±


    He nodded quickly in response.  ¡°Ah-yup.¡±  He visibly relaxed slightly.  It seemed like the fact that the bowling alley was even still standing was a bit of a relief to him.  As far as Ginny knew, that was an entirely valid thing to be relieved about with everything going on.  He relaxed even further when they turned into the parking lot, and another figure in the dark brown sheriff¡¯s office uniform stepped away from another cruiser they¡¯d been leaning against.


    The sheriff rolled down his window and stuck his head out as she approached.  ¡°Sarah.  How are things here?¡±  While his expression was clearly happy and relieved to see her, his tone and words were all business.  The answering smile on the face of the deputy, a petite woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties, with dirty blonde hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, indicated that this was her boss¡¯s usual way.


    ¡°Sir.  It¡¯s been quiet for the most part.  A couple more people trickled in over the last hour.¡±  She hesitated and leaned down to look past the sheriff at Ginny and Norah in the passenger seat.  Norah waved at her cheerfully and Ginny gave her current best attempt in her ongoing effort to deliver comforting and confident smiles, while silently triggering her Analyzer ability.


    Name: Sarah Williams


    Race: Human


    Age: 26


    Conditions: Alert, Anxious, Resolve of the Blue


    The deputy in turn took in the blood staining both of them, then looked back at the sheriff, clearly hesitating.  He gave her a nod, gesturing for her to speak with one hand.  ¡°It¡¯s all right.  These two have seen enough tonight to hear whatever it is.¡±


    Sarah shrugged.  ¡°If you say so, sir.  It¡¯s been quiet here, like I said, but¡­ there are things moving around out there.¡±  She glanced around at the surrounding buildings, her eyes lingering on corners and alleyways.  ¡°Nothing I can get a good look at, but there¡¯s definitely something out there.  Something that¡¯s not responding to me calling out to it, and going out of its way to not let me shine a light on it.¡±


    The sheriff and Ginny both nodded, unsurprised, and after a moment and a glance up at Ginny, Norah followed suit, nodding along with Ginny.  The sheriff jerked a thumb over to the passenger side of the cruiser.  ¡°You¡¯re not wrong about that.  Ran into something big on the way over.  More like it ran into us, but the point is, you¡¯re right.  There are things out there.  Real bad, real mean things.¡±


    The deputy jogged around to the other side of the cruiser and sucked in a hiss of air through her teeth as she caught sight of the ruined door and window on the passenger side, the long gouges left behind by the bear creature¡¯s fur and claws running deep through the metal.


    ¡°Holy shit.  Sir.¡±  She amended the last hastily, and Ginny frowned at her.


    ¡°Nothing¡¯s tried to get inside?¡±


    The deputy shook her head, still studying the gouges in the metal.  ¡°No ma¡¯am.  Couple of the boys inside have been talking about it.  Seem to think there¡¯s some rules to how all this craziness works.  Said a lot of stuff about safe zones.  I just figure whatever¡¯s out there, it¡¯s not eager to try and force its way into an area with that many people in it.¡±


    Ginny¡¯s frown deepened, turning that over in her mind, while the sheriff talked to the deputy.  Rinaxis had explicitly said that there wouldn¡¯t be things like ¡®safe zones¡¯, not as Brendon had suggested there would be at least.  Had he been wrong?  Or was this something different?  Ginny let out a heavy sigh, as she tried to not dwell on the idea that the best source of information about all of this was a talking watermelon in a top hat that had been actively trying to drink itself to death while explaining things to them.


    ¡°Doug?  Yeah, he¡¯s here.  That idiot showed up a couple minutes ago.  Parked around the side and snuck around the wall instead of just driving up to me.  Damn near shot him when he jumped out.¡±


    The sheriff shot her a reproachful glance, and Sarah bowed her head apologetically.  ¡°Sorry, sir.  He had Brendon with him, and Amos Miller¡¯s boy.¡±  The deputy¡¯s already annoyed expression got even more sharply annoyed when she mentioned Brendon, and Ginny resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  Her companion was apparently three for three on being well known to law enforcement in the town.  ¡°They headed inside.  Their dad is here too, showed up trying to get someone to come back and pick up his kids.  Belle was getting ready to head out with him when the son walked in.¡±  She nodded at Norah, who was listening to all of this quietly, her reaction to her dad being found surprisingly subdued.  ¡°Went right from hugging the boy and saying how glad he was to see him, to damn near boxing his ears for leaving his little sister behind.  Probably would have too if he hadn¡¯t said that she was with you, sir.¡±


    The sheriff nodded and smiled, stepping out of the cruiser, closing the door surprisingly gently, as if he was worried a slam would be the last straw for the poor abused vehicle, and the whole thing would fall apart down to the axels.  ¡°Let¡¯s get her in there then.¡±  Ginny followed suit, having to shove the door that had been torn up by the bear open with some force.  She stepped out, smoothly transitioning Norah from her lap to being held against one side, resting on her hip.  Ginny absently noted how light the little girl felt, as she briefly tried to close the mangled passenger side door, before settling on just shoving it at close to being shut as she could and snagging the harpoon from the back seat through the broken window.  The deputy didn¡¯t bat an eye at the harpoon, and the three of them quickly made their way to the front doors of the bowling alley, bright light from inside spilling onto the sidewalk out front.


    It felt warm and inviting, and Ginny could faintly hear voices and occasional laughter from inside the building.  Stepping into a warm, well lit, area, filled with other people, with police on hand taking charge of the situation, should have been a relief, a sign that she was out of the metaphorical, as well as literal, dark and spooky woods.


    In the pit of her stomach, the knot of anxiety being held back by Survivor¡¯s Will grew bigger.