Nightmare Realm Summoner

Alex sat with his legs crossed beneath him and the pressure of the Cultivation Array bearing down on him incessantly. Droplets of sweat rolled down the sides of his neck and his teeth clenched tight enough to bite into a bar of steel.

Some part of him had been convinced that he’d eventually get used to the Cultivation Array. That was how it tended to work in just about every other aspect of life. There wouldn’t be much point training if that wasn’t the case. If someone practiced running, then they got faster.

The same did not seem to be the true with the array. He hadn’t gotten any better at withstanding the intense pressure that it used to — what was feeling like quite literally — grind the impurities and weaknesses out of the magic stored in his body. Alex couldn’t withstand it for any longer than he’d been able to a little over a week ago either.

But he’d be damned if it wasn’t working. He’d finally started to see a little progress in purging all the shit out of himself. There were noticeably less screwed up knots of energy and spots of damage in his muscles.

It was just an incredibly tedious and time-consuming process. One that he suspected would only grow more and more annoying as time went on. The stronger somebody got, the more magic filled them… and the more likely that that magic would settle in the wrong way.

No matter. I suppose nothing really good comes without effort. It would be pretty lame if everyone just became superman too easily. It’s like all those sigma grindset youtubers back before the apocalypse. I wonder if any of them are running around yelling about waking up at 3 AM and drinking fancy water while they fight monsters.

Nah. They probably all got killed in the first wave trying to grift the monsters into signing up for a course.

Alex’s eyes opened. His thoughts were drifting. Poking around in his body was a poor idea when he wasn’t fully paying attention. He rolled off the mat with a groan, pushing himself to his feet and shaking his arms off before heading out of the Cultivation Array.

Mite and Claire were speaking next to one of the cabins a short way away from him. They both turned toward Alex as he approached them. Confusion creased Mite’s features and his head tilted to the side.

“Wait,” Mite said. “Alex? Why are you here?”

“Now that’s just rude,” Alex said. He wiped some sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve. That was one of the benefits of magically created clothes. You couldn’t exactly make them dirty. “This is my town. Why am I not allowed to be here?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Mite said. “It’s been two days! And it’s the morning!”

“Yes?” Alex asked, tilting his head to the side. “You might have to be a little clearer.”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Mite said, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I spoke with Orchid. I know I didn’t have time to go to your debrief thing about the message Crimson sent, but she still filled me in.”

“And?” Claire arched an eyebrow.

“Don’t you start,” Mite said. “One sarcastic ass is more than enough. And it’s me. That’s my role. You don’t get to infringe on it. That’s an obstruction of my First Amendment rights… or something.”

“Dude. America is gone,” Alex said. “Though, now that I think about it, some prick from the government has totally probably managed to set up a government-controlled city so they can cling to power, right?”

“Probably,” Mite said. “Now answer the question. Did we back out? I was looking forward to getting some good items.”

“You don’t get every single thing we bring back from a dungeon,” Alex said with a snort. He jerked his head in the direction of the pile of materials that was meant to be the Mythic Forsaken Grounds building. “And you still haven’t finished that.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Which is why I want more,” Mite said. “It’s an investment. So why are you still here?”

“Who said I had to go?” Alex asked. “Being the leader of a town doesn’t mean you’ve got to do everything yourself.”

Mite’s eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms in front of his chest and cocked his eyebrow in such a striking mimicry of Claire that she nearly choked on her own saliva.

“You’re expecting me to believe that you passed up on the chance to go screw some shit up?” Mite asked. “Bullshit. There’s no shot. And I haven’t seen Wess all day. He’s not training, since Orchid called today off. So what’s going on?”

“Well, I sent Wess,” Alex said. He fought back laughter at Mite’s unchanged expression. “He’s a mercenary, after all.”

“You sent Wess alone?” Mite asked, aghast. “Are you mad? How is he going to deal with Crimson and a boss entirely on his own? I like that guy!”

Alex’s brow furrowed. His head tilted to the side.

“When did I ever say I sent him alone?”

***

Wess whistled to himself as he strolled down the faint path in the tall grass.

It was painfully easy to track Crimson. Hazel’s message had been right about that. After Alex had connected Mirrorwane to Thumblegrass — a town that clearly must have been named by a dwarf caught in a midlife crisis — his work had practically been done for him.

The Outworlder family had clearly brought a sizable group of people for this dungeon. Judging by how badly they’d trampled the grass, there must have been something around fifteen of them.

That or Crimson had decided to bring exclusively their widest members on this particular trip. But as amusing as that thought was, Wess had roughly memorized the general appearance of everyone he’d seen in Crimson’s party during his brief stint with them. It never hurt to know a bit about your employer for the eventual situation in which you betrayed them.

Case and point, he was more than aware that Crimson didn’t have anyone wide enough to cause a disturbance in the grass like this. Not in the group they’d brought to the Ancestry. They would have brough their best people for that.

So, unless they’d brought a bunch of weaker people for this dungeon, he had a pretty good idea of who and what he was up against.

He’d been on the road for just a little over an hour before he finally spotted what he was looking for. A shimmer of eager anticipation danced behind his eyes as his gaze landed upon a glistening blue portal suspended in the center of the grasslands.

Wess never would have said he’d been truly excited for the apocalypse. If he was honest, he’d quite enjoyed how things had been back on Earth before it had become 274-50. His life hadn’t been a conventional one. But it had been good.

He still missed a few things from the old world. A vague semblance of law and order. Bidets. Those overpriced arcades full of the unwinnable crane games where the rewards were worth a tenth of what it cost to even try to win them.

But the apocalypse was fun enough. It gave him an opportunity to do a few things he’d never gotten a chance to back before. Sure, the whole collapse of society had taken a bit of the satisfaction out of it.

Breaking the law wasn’t nearly as fun when there wasn’t a law to break anymore.

Then again, he’d never been able to summon a gun out of thin air or pull half of the other bullshit he’d gotten a chance to do after the world had ended. He certainly liked that part.

Wess had gotten to meet a few pretty interesting folks as well. Maybe he’d get to meet a few more. That would be fun. A big part of him had thought that particular chapter of his life had long since ended.

It wasn’t easy to make new friends in hell. The company tended to be less than stellar.

Wess adjusted his hat as he drew up to the waiting portal, squinting out from beneath the scarred leather brim as he came to a stop before the portal. There was always a chance this was a trap.

Wouldn’t that be jokes? Make me trek all the way out here just to ambush me the moment I stride in there. Bang. Bullet to the head. There ends the legend of Wess. Not that any of these idiots have guns. Everyone’s got their fancy magic and swords.

Why would anyone choose to fling a fireball around when you can just plant a nice, satisfying bullet between someone’s eyes? The bang is to die for. Bah. Maybe I’m just getting old and crotchety.

It’s probably not a trap.

But, just in case it was, he’d brought a failsafe.

Wess stepped to the side. He turned to look back in the direction he’d come for the first time.

Standing behind him was a horrifyingly beautiful amalgamation of mirrors and flesh, bound to the corpse of a withered angel with a lone wing of gossamer silver.

A crooked grin stretched across Wess’ features.

“You’re up, Glint,” the mercenary said, raising his hat with a single finger. “Why don’t you pop on in there and say hello?”