He was an idiot.

  In his mad charge towards adventure, he had left a vambrace and a pauldron on the bridge. His greaves loosely held on to his legs by a single, loose leather strap that he had forgotten to tighten. Yet he insisted that he should cross the bridge first. As a paladin, it was his duty to protect the feeble cleric. At least, so he boisterously proclaimed as he ran after her.

  But when they crossed the bridge, they did not find the simple level 1 boars they had been told to kill. Waiting for them was a boar, but one mutated and covered with scars. It charged, and they did not run.

  In the end, a bloodied, half-armored paladin lay on the ground beside an out-of-breath cleric. The two of them finally pushed themselves off the dirt.

  “I think you’d benefit from a cleric’s guidance,” Casttee said, eyeing the paladin warily.

  He looked down at the numerous wounds that she had healed. The paladin nodded.

  “I’m Casttee.”

  “Zariel.”

  He offered an armored gauntlet. The only one he had left.

  The two shook hands.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me, Casttee. I must be off to find a cleric to join me.”

  He walked past her, his eyes filled with optimism and curiosity as he scanned the fields and distant hills.

  She stood motionless with her mouth wide open. Zariel continued walking with a carefree bounce as continued down the path.

  “I AM A CLERIC!” she roared.

  With the sun overhead, the two began their adventure.

  Name: Zariel

  LVL: 60

  Gear Score: 599

  Class: Paladin

  Role: Tank

  Location: Zantori Citadel – Chamber of Zantor

  ***

  ZANTOR [█??????????????????] 4%

  The great demon loomed over the defeated raid party.

  Seven corpses lay on the ground.

  A lone paladin, shimmering in a golden light, stood defiant as two burning fists approached. The raid team had taken too long, and so they had met their sixty-eighth death at the hands of the Citadel’s master. Chains scraped the floor as the hulking titan loomed over Zariel, but he did not take a single step back.

  “MY FISTS WILL SEND YOU TO HELL!”

  The glow around the paladin faded. He looked up at the burning green fists raised over the demon’s horned head. They fell, descending like two meteors as they ripped the air apart with a crackling screech.

  “We’ll be back.”

  It was the pantheon’s light that remade them—the same pantheon that had elevated the continent.

  Zariel emerged from the iridescent chrysalis and gasped for air instinctively. The pain was manageable, but the sickening crunch of his own bones lingered in his ears.

  “Are we still in the race?” the ranger asked.

  A fairy appeared in the dark pits of the Citadel. The tiny creature whispered in the warlock’s ear before vanishing in a burst of light as quickly as she arrived.

  “No one has cleared yet,” replied the warlock.

  “How many other teams?”

  “Seven are stuck at Zantor according to my praran. We have a chance.”

  His team continued to discuss their odds. To be the first to conquer a raid was to be made a legend, one that all other guilds and raid teams would have to acknowledge. Yet Zariel’s gaze had remained firmly on the demon at the center of the pit.

  Slowly, he raised his gauntlets to the level of his eye. They were wrapped tightly around his arms—every leather strap on his armor was taut and snug. He had all his armor. The best armor.

  And yet, it had not been enough.

  “Zariel?”

  The paladin turned.

  “A-are you ready?” Casttee asked. “If you need a moment—”

  He rushed to meet her question with his own.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “What can I do to make this battle easier for you?”

  She smiled softly and shook her head. “Nothing—nothing at all. Keep being our tank and I’ll keep healing you until we win.”

  The paladin raised his shield and gripped his sword. They were the only things keeping him from the highest gear score possible.

  “If only I was stronger…”

  Casttee’s wand began to glow and a familiar spell enveloped him.

  “You’re already strong enough,” she said. “It is us who need to do better.”

  The raid team stood assembled behind Casttee. They were waiting for his order.

  “Let’s go,” Zariel said to them. “We can still be first. We be first.”

  She smiled. “On you.”

  It was the same smile that had accompanied him since Level 1.

  “Lead us to victory, Zariel.”

  They believed in him. But this boss could not be defeated by faith alone. Zariel could only do so much before those fists of Zantor’s burned once again.

  He sighed. Not because he was tired, but because he did not know what else he could try. Regardless of any reservations, he stepped forward.

  “YOU DARE CHALLENGE ME?”

  Zantor approached. A giant, chained demon with two black horns curling from his head prepared for his sixty-ninth battle with the raid team. Though he did not remember them.

  The paladin charged forth, raising his shield and taking the boss’s gaze.

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

  A fist crashed into the metal shield, but the paladin stood strong. He knew the attacks well. Somewhere between their twenty-ninth and thirty-fifth attempt, Casttee had joked that it looked like Zariel was “dancing” with the demon. Perhaps it was, for Zariel’s steps were perfectly placed and timed with every attack the demon mustered.

  His waltz with Zantor’s fists continued—until the misstep.

  Zariel’s eyes were drawn to something in the shadows. Something new. From the corner of his eye, he saw something in the shrouded corners of the Citadel’s deepest chamber. It was fast, nothing more than a blur of motion.

  He had lost focus.

  ZANTOR [███████████████████?] 95%

  “I WILL PULVERIZE YOU WHERE YOU STAND!”

  Two fists rose into the air. Zariel knew what to do, but he was late.

  He tumbled backwards, barely managing to keep himself upright as the demon approached for the second blow.

  “Zariel!” Casttee shouted, sending a burst of healing that renewed the paladin’s confidence.

  “I’m fine. Sorry to scare you.”

  Zantor’s enormous hand came rushing to meet him.

  The second, stronger attack that would have sent anyone else flying across the room did nothing to Zariel. His shield’s light absorbed the impact before dissipating into the air.

  He was healthy, but so was the boss.

  “More,” the paladin commanded. “We need more damage early in the fight.”

  “But we need to save our strongest spells for later!” the warlock shouted back, sending forth bolts of lightning from the palm of his hand.

  “He’ll kill you before you even get a chance to use them. Use them now, you’ll get the opportunity to use them again before the fight is over.”

  He spoke with confidence and authority. Deep down, however, he wasn’t sure if it would unfold as he had described. After all, the last seventeen attempts had ended with Zantor at 4% health. But this strategy was something different. And after sixty-eight attempts, he was desperate to try something new. They needed something to push them ahead of the other seven teams.

  Suddenly, a pulsing orange light caught the paladin’s attention. Just below the marble ceiling of the ancient chamber, a portal appeared. Zantor, his rage focused on the paladin, did not see the widening circle above his horns.

  A grin crept across Zariel’s face. His team was listening.

  A screaming comet emerged from the portal, coating the ceiling in ash and heating the air before it came crashing down onto the demon.

  Zantor stumbled backwards.

  “Fire at will!”

  The ranger stood at the center of a line of identical archers—a hunter’s tricks, powerful on the hunt and on the field of battle. Dozens of arrows flew through the comet’s lingering trail and dug deep into Zantor’s flesh.

  ZANTOR [█████████████████???] 85%

  They were on a faster pace than usual. It was more than enough to make Zariel attack with renewed effort.

  But that optimism faded when he saw the demon’s horns. A deep crimson red had begun to spread from the sharp tips. Eventually, they would turn completely red, and those pummeling fists that continued to smash into the paladin’s shield would be coated in the flames of hell.

  That was not the problem.

  Zariel knew that he could tank it. He was one of, if not the best paladin in all of Atrea. Swarms of undead had encircled him before. His light had purged them from this world.

  Ravenous beasts had emerged from the depths of the jungle and leapt at him with their rows of sharp teeth, yet he had carved a path through the venomous vines and fangs all the same.

  ZANTOR [███████████?????????] 50%

  This great demon at the heart of the citadel was no different. Zariel could endure the trial before him. The problem was that he would never be given the chance. A soothing warmth washed over him, bolstering his strength and reminding him that he was not alone.

  “Great job, Zariel. Keep it up,” Casttee said.

  Her calm voice, even in the heat of battle, reassured him as it always had. It bore the same confident, determined tone, regardless of whether she stood before a boar or an archdemon.

  She would be the first to die because she was the weakest. That was Zantor’s cruelty. When his horns finally turned red, his fists would ignite, increasing his power to unfathomable levels. That was when Zariel would lose the demon’s gaze and his raid team would begin to die until there was no one left.

  No one, except Zariel. The strongest and the last one standing. No matter what he had tried, he could not stop it.

  He had tried to stand in Zantor’s way, but the beast ignored him. He had stood side-by-side, holding his shield high above Casttee and him. Zariel survived the blow, but the flames consumed the cleric. No amount of taunting, shouting, or jeers would recapture Zantor’s attention. And so, Zariel decided that the only way to win was to kill the demon before they all fell to his burning fists.

  The chains that once bound Zantor scraped the stone floor as he continued to pound against Zariel’s shield. Every pummel was accompanied by a whiplike crack that sent aching pains across the raid team. All eight of them suffered. Zariel was the closest, and so he took the brunt of it.

  “He’s almost dead! We would’ve killed him long ago if you guys could keep up with me!”

  “You think you’re the only one doing damage?” the warlock snapped, pointing his staff at the archer before sending another bolt of lightning at the boss.

  “Looks like it,” the ranger replied, gesturing towards Zantor.

  Sure enough, the ranger’s numerous arrows were embedded in the great demon’s flesh. Each barbed arrow was coated with a poison that was slowly whittling down the boss.

  ZANTOR [███?????????????????] 15%

  Streams of tainted blood poured from the wounds, coating the floor and falling on Zariel’s greaves. His heart began to race.

  To be the first to conquer Zantori Citadel. Perhaps he’d even be rewarded with a new sword and shield.

  Yet once again, something slithered in the dark, snatching him away from this daydream.

  “THE FIRES OF HELL CONSUME YOU!”

  Zantor’s horns now bore a vermillion hue. Once more, Zantor’s fists were enveloped by a tainted flame. The air itself seemed to scream as the fire grew, filling the chamber with its twisted smoke.

  ZANTOR [██??????????????????] 10%

  Desperate, the paladin lowered his shield and dug his blade into the demon’s leg.

  The demon fought back.

  “Zariel!”

  The blow sent Zariel reeling backwards, but he did not fall. He coughed. Blood splattered across the ground—human blood. The paladin’s knees buckled, and a darkness encroached on the edges of his vision.

  Instantly, blue motes of light fell around him. Each one that touched his armor only served to reinvigorate him. No doubt it was because of the healing magic they possessed, but also because of the one who had conjured them.

  “Thanks,” Zariel said.

  Casttee’s power could not be used again.

  “What got into you?” Casttee asked. “Shield. Not sword!”

  “We need more damage,” he said, charging forward to meet the powerful fists once more. “Use everything we—ARGH!”

  It was not the impact that caused him agony, but the overwhelming heat that threatened to sear his flesh. The demonic flames seemed to flicker and crackle with glee, eagerly trying to reach through to the other side of Zariel’s shield. He waited for the attack to pass and lowered his shield.

  “Zariel, no—”

  The paladin slammed his shield into the demon’s leg before slashing madly across the beast’s grotesque muscles.

  ZANTOR [█???????????????????] 5%

  The fire roared, now at full intensity.

  Zantor’s eyes snapped onto the cleric.

  “No…”

  Zariel could only watch as the demon stepped over him as if he were an insignificant ant.

  “Run. Quickly.” Zariel urged.

  She pointed her wand towards Zariel, healing him one final time before the fists came.

  Casttee’s arm fell to her side as she gazed up at her death. Her eyes found Zariel just as the light of the demon’s flame filled her eyes.

  “Good luck. I believe in—”

  There would be no more heals.

  The flames devoured her, crackling with a sadistic joy as the fire grew. Zantor then turned to the ranger.

  “Everything—use everything!”

  Zariel lowered his shield and charged towards the demon as if he were some reckless warrior and not the noble paladin he was.

  The ranger vanished into a puff of smoke, desperately trying to evade the demon through stealth in a final attempt to fire off a few more arrows.

  A smoldering corpse lay on the ground with a charred bow beside it.

  ZANTOR [▍???????????????????] 3%

  “MY FISTS WILL SEND YOU TO HELL!”

  The warlock desperately searched the pages of his tome. In just a few moments, all that was left was a single page, burning at the edges.

  Zariel threw his shield at Zantor and swung his sword wildly. But the demon ignored him and continued the massacre.

  ZANTOR [▎???????????????????] 2%

  Zariel watched them all die. His entire raid team was little more than ashes and smoldering remnants.

  The demon’s eyes snapped onto him. The last member still standing.

  ZANTOR [▏???????????????????] 1%

  His light-infused sword allowed him to strike from a distance. It bought a few moments as the demon approached with heavy, lumbering footsteps.

  “Please…die.”

  His body ached. Burns covered his face. The armor he wore was dented and battered.

  In the corner of his eye, he could see what remained of his friends. They had been so close.

  Two burning fists rose high into the air. Zariel put his entire weight behind one last desperate thrust. It would be over in an instant. Either he would die, or Zantor. His blade pierced through the demonic flesh with a crunch as it went deeper and deeper into the demon’s leg.

  But death did not come.

  Not for him.

  ZANTOR [???????????????????] .1%

  Not for Zantor.

  He looked up and found the flames flickering. Zantor was frozen mid-swing. This had never happened before. Not in Zantori Citadel.

  Not in any raid or dungeon.

  Not anywhere.

  Suddenly, a cold gust swept through the chamber.

  It was wrong. In the depths of the citadel, there should be no wind.

  Zariel spun on his heel, searching the shadows that blanketed the edges of the pit. They had stolen his attention several times through the fight. He had disregarded them in those moments as illusions, tricks of light, or just fatigue.

  The shadows moved.

  Dark tendrils came surging from the walls with unnatural speed. Zariel rushed to pick up his discarded shield. He had just grabbed it when a chilling voice spoke. It came from far away, and yet its words burrowed into his mind.

  “I summon you. You will die where you began.”

  The shadows wrapped around the paladin and pulled him away.

  [Zariel has left the raid]