There were some things that were impossible to forget: events and moments that fundamentally altered a person. For Zach, one of those moments was the day that Ziragoth the Awoken had spawned: the minute and forty-two seconds that had changed his life forever. He'd been hurt so badly. He'd lost an arm and an eye. He'd felt pain on a whole new level. And it had scarred and put a fear in him that had taken him a long time to recover from. Too long, really.

And why?

Because he'd let it. He'd let that fear settle in.

But he knew better now.

For this reason, despite the fact that only twenty minutes had passed since he'd come rolling down the stone steps bleeding, Zach, now fully healed, marched his way right back up, sword in hand, anger in every step. He wasn't just angry: he was pissed. And he was glad for it, too, because it sure beat being afraid.

I have to go right back at it, he thought to himself. Or I might never try again.

That was really the key with this sort of thing, wasn't it? You needed to jump right back in, or the memory of the pain would weigh on you until you were too afraid to ever try again. Zach had only barely broken out of that kind of cycle the last time he'd found himself trapped in it, and the last thing he wanted was to be stuck in another one.

And so, as he entered the tower, he gritted his teeth and channeled his anger into something productive: a force that compelled him to go forward instead of back. He needed to attack, not retreat. If he ran away, he wouldn't be able to live with the shame of it. No, he was weak now, but he would make himself strong again. And if not, he would end up dying. That was just how it had to be. It was how he'd become strong in the first place, and it was how he'd reawaken that part of himself that 8 months of guild work behind a desk had dulled in him.

It's still in me, he told himself. I know I've still got it!

As Zach approached the partition in the central atrium that divided the two sections of the ground floor, he called upon his Kralzek's Beast; its short, twenty-minute cooldown having lapsed, the saber-toothed beast appeared out of thin air beside Zach. But Zach did not intend to use it—at least not just yet. No, his mount was simply here so that, if things went wrong again, it could buy him the time needed to exit the dungeon—hopefully.

And if not, so be it.

Up ahead, he saw the mob. There it was, the vicious, tall, and stationary Orc that had surprised and overwhelmed Zach with its strength and speed. But at least now Zach had a much better idea of just how tough this thing was. And he wouldn't let himself be taken by surprise a second time.

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pLegion Portal Guardian**/p

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Scowling at the elite Orcish mob, Zach moved quickly beyond the partition, squeezing through the middle where it was open, his Kralzek's Beast following along. Shortly after, he put his mount on passive and had it stay in place, though he kept it just close enough so that, if needed, the beast would be able to charge right into battle while Zach slipped away. And with that, there was now nothing left to do but aggro the elite and try again.

Okay, Zach thought, preparing himself. Here we go. Time for round two.

Zach continued to move towards the mob until he entered within aggro range. For the second time, the seven-foot-tall Orc, which had been standing perfectly still while a seemingly infinite amount of blood dripped from its dual axes, lifted its head, turned it Zach's way, and began barking out a series of shouts in its ancient Orcish language.

"Krest zencht harganar!" it shouted as it sprang off its feet and practically sailed through the air in Zach's direction.

But this time, Zach was ready for it. He knew the mob was going to do that. So rather than be shocked by its incredible speed, he simply accepted it and leaped off to the side to dodge, letting the mob blow right past him. But like before, the mob was able to plant its feet and come to an immediate halt. It stopped, spun around, and then erupted into a wild frenzy of attacks, its two axes swinging every which way.

Don't let it intimidate you! Zach shouted in his head. Remember all the shit you went through! You're still the same person!

Zach twisted his body backwards, bending away from the right-handed axe, which made a hiss as it swiped the air where his forehead had been. Yet before he could even straighten his body, he had to bend back a second time, and then a third, and all while he took several steps away from the advancing Orcish elite.

Stressed, a bit nervous, and feeling pressed in a way that made him very uncomfortable, Zach was forced to dodge a fourth then fifth time as the Orc whirled its arms around fast enough to feel unrelenting and unpredictable, even for someone like Zach, who used to be adept at reading body language.

"It's so fast," he growled, the Legion Portal Guardian's hands practically a blur as it ripped its dual axes through the air in his direction, which had the result of pressing him farther and farther back while leaving him no chance to counter. At one point, it widened its arms and then brought them both together at the same time, delivering a dual chopping attack from both its axes. Zach had no idea how he managed to get out of the way of it—and the same was true for its next few strikes.

Fuck, I don't know if I can handle this guy!

Each slice of the axe came closer and closer to hitting Zach, whose footwork wasn't quite what it used to be. Still, he managed to evade six or seven slashes of the axe before one came so close to hitting him that he was amazed he didn't end up decapitated. It was only due to their difference in height that he was able to duck down just in time to avoid an instant but brutal death. He could even feel some displaced air on top of his head as the axe missed by mere inches.

"Morgar bark kur!" the Orc shouted with a low-pitched, growling voice as it swung time and time again. Zach was now leaning over to both sides, bending backward, ducking, and in a few cases, jumping to avoid the onslaught. But with each attack, he continued to move back and back until, now, inevitably, he stumbled into the stone wall behind him—he could retreat no farther.

"Bok reshel naza frilk!"

Zach gripped his sword tightly and raised it. There would be no more retreating: there was nowhere left to go. It looked like this might be his "make-it-or-break-it" moment. With his adrenaline spiking, his heart pounding in his chest, and his mind swirling with doubt, Zach did his utmost to filter out his worries and concentrate on the Orc's movements.

Right now, here in this tower, he was going to have to prove he still had some fight left inside of him. Because if he didn't, he was definitely going to die. He needed to focus and get over his fear. He needed to remember how he used to fight so that he could put aside his surprise. He couldn't have just "lost" all that he'd gained. It was still in there somewhere. It had to be, Gods dammit! The only reason he couldn't predict this thing's attacks was because he'd become too unaccustomed to the life-and-death nature of battle, and it was making him nervous: a problem he'd ironed out a long time ago and refused to let hinder him now.

Just look! Open your eyes and look!

And Zach did. He really did. With his back against the stone wall, and with nowhere else left for him to go, he forced himself to calm down, and he hyper-focused on the enemy in front of him. And now, to his satisfaction, he reassured himself that he really did still have "it." Because from the way the mob's back foot bent ever so slightly, and from the way it was maneuvering its left arm, Zach realized to his relief that he actually could see what the Orc intended to do next. All he'd needed to do was get over his nerves.

Left axe, he thought. It'll start high but swing down—towards my chest. I can see it!

He was ready for it, too. No longer able to dodge, Zach stood his ground, gripping his weapon so tightly that his knuckles began to turn white. As the Orc's left-handed axe made another hissing sound as it journeyed towards his chest, Zach stepped forward, twisted his hips, and shouted out a cry of exertion as he swung his Sword of Light Amidst Darkness with every last ounce of strength in his body, sparing nothing in the way of effort. Up against something so vastly stronger than himself, he couldn't reserve even the smallest bit of power—he needed to use all his strength, and that was what he did.

And it still wasn't enough.

His sword and the axe collided, a loud clang filled the central atrium of the tower, and then Zach suddenly realized he'd been flung backwards, his back slamming into the wall behind him with enough force that he damaged it a bit and caused a few pieces of stone along with some dust to fall to the floor. At the same time, an unbearable pain from the shock of impact traveled through his wrists, up his arms, into his elbows, and even made its way to his cheekbones. He hissed with the agony of it.

It hits so fucking hard that it threw me back into the wall!

Zach was aching. Badly. And he needed a chance to recover—even just a second or two would be enough. But the Legion Portal Guardian wasn't willing to give him that time, as it followed up immediately. From its posture, Zach guessed it was about to throw a left-right combination, its right-handed axe leading.

You've been through so much worse than this, he told himself, beginning to sweat and pant both from the exhaustion of fighting this thing but also from unwanted fear. Come on, Zach. Don't lose to a fucking entrance mob! What would Jimmy think?

In the half-second before the mob split him into four different pieces, Zach forced his body to move. Urgently, he dropped all the way down into a squat, narrowly ducking beneath his foe's next two attacks. Following this, two thunks came from behind him as the Orc slammed its axes into the wall, one right after the next, tearing apart more of it and causing more stone bricks and dust to leak out.

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Now, it took a step backwards, then turned its head downwards, bending forward slightly as it did so. Then it raised its right hand as if to chop straight down on top of Zach—and as usual, it was fast. Very fast. But through either luck or a miracle, Zach somehow managed to react soon enough to escape certain death.

As fast as he could, Zach threw himself forward and at the floor, where he came into a forward roll, which brought him past the mob and out of immediate harm's way. Behind him, a third thunk resounded in the central atrium as the mob struck the floor where Zach had only just been crouching. And with that, Zach shot back up to his feet, now positioned behind the Orc's back.

"Morgar bark kur!" it shouted as it quickly spun around to face him. But even that small bit of time it took to turn his way—that alone was enough for Zach to finally, at long last, see an opening.

"Eat shit," he growled at it as he again swung his blade with all his might, striking the Orc perfectly in the face, his blade tearing across its left cheek, mouth, and then its opposite cheek. Yet, even before the damage number popped into the air above its head, Zach knew he wasn't going to be pleased with the result, as he could visually see that all he'd inflicted was a tiny, barely noticeable scratch that was actually difficult to see under the gradually dimming evening light coming through the glass dome above.

82

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That was all? Eighty-two points of damage? As disappointing as that was, it at least confirmed one thing to Zach. It made it so that Zach now understood that fighting this thing with his current stats was not only a waste of time, but that the longer he tempted his fate, the more likely it was to also become a waste of his life, too.

I need to use Unleashed Phase, he thought to himself. But…no point doing it now.

Over the last few minutes, it had become noticeably darker in here. One of the interesting things about this place was that there was no natural source of lighting, which was another reason why Zach couldn't be sure if this was actually a dungeon. As the winter sun set for the day, darkness was closing in. Pretty soon, it would be pitch black. Now was just not a great time to fight.

"I'll be back for you tomorrow," Zach said.

Deciding to withdraw for the night, he ordered his Kralzek's Beast to attack. Yet even as his mount dashed at full speed towards the Legion Portal Guardian, Zach knew he would need to endure the pain of blocking one last strike before his mount pulled aggro, as the fast-moving Orc was dashing at him with its left hand raised for another downwards slash.

This is going to hurt, Zach thought, Groaning.

He bent his knees, lifted his arms a bit higher, and assumed a defensive posture as he braced himself. And then, wincing even in advance of the pain, he swung his blade once more with all his strength in an attempt to parry the Orc's left-handed axe. Thus, for the second time, their two weapons collided, another clang filled the atrium, Zach felt agony in his wrists, and…

…and then there was a loud, unexpected…pop? A snap? Some kind of very disturbing sound that he couldn't quite place. But he knew that something strange had just happened. Something that confused him. What was it?

He looked down, feeling as though something was missing. And then he shrieked in horror. A world of pain rushed into his chest, only this time it was emotional. His sword…his greatest treasure…the gift of the Elves to him, a weapon of extreme sentimental value.

It was in two pieces.

In the corner of his vision, he saw the top half hurtling off towards the left wall while the base of the weapon, along with a misshapen, jagged piece of it, was still gripped in his hands. He stared at it a moment in horror. He refused to believe what he was seeing. Was this real? Did this really just happen?

"No!" he cried out in despair even as it began to vanish. Kal would not forgive him for losing her family's relic. Queen Vayra wouldn't forgive him. Hell, even he wouldn't forgive him. "No, please."

But it was too late. The weapon had suffered a full break, and it was fading out of existence even as he tried to hold on to it more tightly. Yet like sand slipping through his fingers, his sense of the blade lessened as the hilt became lighter and less substantial until it was simply just…gone.

Oh, Gods, no.

Zach shook his head. There would be time to mourn his blade later. For now, he needed to get the fuck out of there. Yet even as he began spinning around so that he faced in the opposite direction, he caught a glimpse of something that caused a terrifying, dropping sensation to form in his belly.

His Kralzek's Beast—it just got two-shot. The Gods-be-damned fucking elite had already killed the level-85 war mount, and Zach hadn't even gained any distance from it.

And that was not a good thing at all.

"Shit!" he cried out as he scrambled to get the hell out of there. Pumping his arms as he ran, he raced his way through the narrow gap in the partition, and then he panted with the exertion of his wild, uncontrollable sprint through the atrium. "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!"

Running for all he was worth, Zach glanced over his shoulder to see how much the elite had gained on him and how long he had before taking another ruthless cut to his back like he had done earlier. Yet, to his utter surprise and confusion, he realized that the mob wasn't even pursuing him beyond a certain point.

Wait, what the hell is it doing?

The Legion Portal Guardian had indeed pursued him at first, but it seemed to have come to an unexpected halt just beyond the partition, and now Zach was gaining more and more distance from it. This should have brought him some degree of relief—but it didn't. Because the elite Orc was waving its two axes around in a weird, circular pattern, while chanting more barely audible words in an archaic form of Orcish that Zach doubted was still spoken or known on Galterra even among the Orcs themselves.

"Blok…narlek…gur nun!"

Zach's eyes widened in alarm as a bright orange light filled the rapidly darkening tower. He had just enough time to realize what was about to happen—but not enough time to escape it.

Zach let out a howl-like scream as a gigantic, bright-orange fireball the size of an entire DEHV came speeding down the hall far faster than he was able to run—and far too large to dodge. In fact, if he tried to throw himself at the floor, he'd be struck midair. This was bad. This was really, really bad.

With no other option but to keep going, Zach frantically darted his way through the tower. He was so close to the exit, too. So, so close. And he even managed to fully run through it, feeling the late-evening air surrounding his skin as he exited the tower. The moment he did so, he launched himself up, forward, and into the air, a last-ditch diving attempt in the desperate hope that he could avoid being struck.

But he was still too late.

The fireball slammed into him just as the world lit up with a bright, intense orange color. Zach felt himself being thrown through the air. But he couldn't see where he was going. He didn't know where he was ending up. And he didn't really care, either. Because a pain so great it dwarfed anything he'd ever before felt came upon him so quickly that in less than a fraction of a second, he actually wanted to die.

His entire body went up in flames. And not normal flames of the sort that could no longer harm him. These were different. These burned. The agony. The pain. It was indescribable. He felt himself being cooked alive. He screamed and screamed and screamed as he ran around, jumped, spun in circles, clawed at himself, wishing to make the pain stop. It hurt. It hurt so bad.

Kalana.

Kalana.

Stay focused!

FOCUS!

The pond.

Screaming and howling with the suffering of being cooked in his own skin, Zach let out one continuous, agonizing cry as he dove into a small body of water. And just like that, the orange light disappeared.

But the pain remained.

He crawled out of the pond mere moments after jumping in. It hurt so bad. Everything was pain. This was worse than Ziragoth. This was worse than his battle in Shadowfall Coast. The burning. The fucking burning!

He needed to heal. Stones. Stones now. But where were they?

To his desperation and misery, he realized he was now in his underwear. This meant all his armor had broken. All of it. Every last thing he'd brought with him aside from his fucking underwear had suffered a full break. But worse. His body had suffered one, too, which he realized as he caught his reflection in the pond.

That can't be me! he shouted in his mind, as it was no longer possible for him to form words.

His skin was charred from head to toe, bubbling in some places. He looked like a monster. How could he even be alive? How could anyone who looked like that still be living?

I won't be, he realized as he suddenly became unbearably exhausted despite the agony.

Now, having died once before, he suddenly remembered it: what it felt like a moment before death. This was it. The threshold. He was about to die. The only reason he still breathed at all was because of his willpower. He really should have been dead already. He had no business still being alive.

It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!

The only part of his body that hadn't been completely burned was his upper face and his eyes. His mouth had partially melted, his skin was destroyed. But he could see. And there was just enough light left above for him to realize that his suit had suffered its break right before he'd made it to the pond, spilling out an escape rope and all of his stones onto the grass nearby.

If he could whimper, he would. But he couldn't. So all he could do was desperately reach out and clutch a red, a yellow, and a purple, and he slammed all three onto his chest, which caused even more pain just from the touch.

Hurry! he pleaded to the Gods. Hurry up and make it heal me! I can't take this! I can't take another second of this!

After about twenty long seconds that felt like twenty individual eternities, Zach sensed himself pulling away from that threshold: from that final moment that separated life and death. He was no longer on its doorstep. But that didn't make him feel better. No, not at all. In fact, if anything, it made his pain even worse. The stones, rather than heal him, seemed to restore his body to a state where he could more fully feel the pain of what had been done to him. His skin was no better than it had been.

So now, he was in utter, pure hell, but he wasn't quite dying anymore. And he was confused—and once again able to form words. Yet all he did was whimper. It hurt so bad. It just hurt so, so bad. He'd been charred alive. And he wasn't healing. Why? Why!

I must need more! he realized, scooping up another three stones.

This time, the yellow and the red were accepted, but not the purple. Zach let it drop to the grass as the other two were absorbed into his body.

Finally, the burning at long last lessened, though nowhere near as fast as he would've liked, and not without substituting the burn for an extreme feeling of itchiness and prickliness all over his body from his head to his thighs to his toes. But he didn't dare scratch. All he could do was wait this out. This torment.

With desperation, he bent down and grabbed another red stone and another yellow: this time, neither were accepted. And this actually caused him to swell with anger, because it meant that there was now nothing for him to do but slowly wait for his body to heal.

And so, over the course of the next five minutes, he cried out in pain both from the burning sensation but then later from the itchiness as his skin regrew. But then, of all things in this crazy fucking world, that misery turned to cries of glee filled with such delight that it bordered on arousal.

In the final minute, the dead, burned skin began peeling off, and it left Zach with a sensation like that of a thousand mosquito bites being scratched all at once. "Ohh, fuck, that's amazing!" he shouted, actually trembling from it. Everywhere—as in literally every last inch of skin—he felt as though an itch was being scratched as the dead skin was ripped off like a bandage, falling into a growing pile on the grass.

His back, his cheeks, his thighs—it was like receiving some kind of insane massage. He didn't want it to end. Not after how much he'd just suffered. "Ahh, right there," he said as a big, itchy patch of dead skin in the middle of his back was ripped off like a piece of tape, falling on its own between his feet.

When it was all said and done, Zach, exhausted, limped over to his two suitcase-sized packs, unzipped the one on the left, and took out his sleeping bag. He decided he wasn't even going to think about what just happened to him. It was all done and over with so quickly, though it'd felt a billon times longer in the moment. Now that it was beyond him, however, he strangely didn't even care so much that it'd happened. All he cared about was losing his sword—and the fact that he was so, so tired: enough so that he hoped that, by the time he woke up, it would feel less real than it had been. Somehow, he doubted it would scar him mentally.

I've changed, he realized, possibly for the first time. Last year, if something like that happened to me, I'd need months and several therapy sessions to get over it. But now? I don't even care. I just want to get back in there and fucking murder that elite for breaking my sword.

Vowing vengeance, Zach decided to rest for now and figure out in the morning how he was going to proceed. He was now almost naked, he had no weapon, and he'd been burned alive. Did this mean he'd failed and would have to go home?

No!

As ridiculous as it sounded in his own mind, he refused to give up. First thing tomorrow morning, he was going to eat breakfast, and then he was going right at it again. Fuck that thing. He refused to be afraid of it. It should fear him.

Round three, tomorrow morning, he thought as he drifted off to sleep. I'm not going anywhere.