Morale had been a problem since winter, but it shattered as summer progressed. Efforts were made—the Commander even produced four barrels of beer somehow—but nothing worked, not truly. A few days were better than others, like when Doc and the cook team managed to add tiny sweets to their food rotation. The day that the dwarf had finally iterated a steel arrow—no added fletching required—that the archers considered to be workable was better than most; one insurmountable problem had been surmounted.

  But nothing they tried truly stemmed the tides of despair. They had better days, but even those were rare enough—and not a single one could truly be called good. Iron and steel aside, the quality of equipment and supplies diminished.

  Things got even worse when the intense heat of the summer forced them to ration water, lest their well ran dry.

  Ranthia’s own mental state was… odd. She honestly wasn’t sure how she felt. She had wanted to get to the war, to face the shimagu, to… Gods and goddesses, what was she even trying to do? The only godsdamned twin she had even seen… she fled from and just watched while he walked away after cowing her and everyone else in their base.

  She was frustrated. She had failed. She failed every single day. They were deep inside shimagu territory, and they were being played with. Men and women died as the days slipped by. More than a few had at least some degree of intent behind it as the burden of hopelessness overcame them. No rescue was coming and many resented her for the hope her mere damned existence had once inspired. Yet there was nothing she could do.

  She tried. Her chaos couldn’t stem the tide of the horrific order that ground their spirits into dust. She killed. She never wanted to know the exact number of lives she had culled through her struggles against the inevitability that the shimagu had become. It was not a small number. It wasn’t a sane number. Death was a pale form of chaos, it was the ultimate manifestation of order—yet it was the only tool she had.

  The Commander knew she was pious. One hot summer’s day, the Commander quietly asked Ranthia to pray for a miracle.

  Ranthia didn’t have the heart to tell the woman that she had—for quite a while by that point—prayed to Xaoc and offered every drop of mana she had left before she passed out for her too-brief periods of sleep. No divine intervention had come. He seldom even accepted much of the mana she desperately offered Him. Her old rule against selfish wishes for miracles had gone out the window not long after hope had. She wanted—needed—to believe that Xaoc was trusting her to handle the situation and that His inaction meant that He believed in her ability to bring about greater chaos.

  But it was hard to interpret the wordless comfort He sent her as anything except pity.

  She had wanted to join the war to make a difference.

  She plainly had joined it to die, just as impotent as the legionaries that surrounded her.

  Not that she was going to give up. If Black Crow became an inevitability… well, the accursed metaphorical bird would find her covered in the blood of her enemies and fighting on. Death was a familiar opponent.

  By the time summer came to an end, the little base was emptier than ever. When Ranthia had first arrived at the base, there had been—roughly, it wasn’t like she had done a headcount—360 combatants and another 48 non-combatants. It was a small base. But their numbers had dropped.

  There were fewer than three hundred of them left.

  Most casualties had been combatants. Despair brought a special breed of carelessness, even to those that hadn’t consciously decided to embrace Black Crow. A [Warrior] with solid reaction speeds who was a bit too slow to take cover from an enemy barrage. A [Mage] that leaned too far forward and went over the wall mid-barrage. A wound held too loosely, which allowed the recipient to expire before one of their enervated [Healers] could tend to them.

  The change was so gradual that Ranthia hadn’t even noticed it until one of the [Analysts] spoke up during a late winter meeting:

  “At least it’s been a while since our last casualty.”

  His words spurred a flurry of excitement—he was right! The reason was probably terrible—the Commander had put it best with “The personnel that lost their will to live have been culled, now we’re left with the survivors.”—but it inspired an almost perverse form of hope.

  There were less than two hundred people left in their little nameless base. But everyone that was left was tenacious. They were ill-supplied and underequipped. Metal for laminar repairs had run out and they were using conjured patches. It was a bad solution, but it was a solution. They had food. They had water. They had conjured steel and iron. And, at last, they had a unified will to survive.

  The survivors proved to be strong. Teamwork bloomed in ways that were far more familiar to Ranthia. They were no longer soldiers in a Legion—they were a true team of close-knit allies that stood in the face of death. Countering the low level shimagu had become smooth and easy. The Commander ceased to micromanage things and trusted their judgments, while she handled the overall strategies. Ranthia was afforded more time to rest and recover as more and more others stepped up to pick up the slack.

  At last, no one wore themselves down.

  Ranthia wasn’t the first to reach level 400—nor was she the last.

  Their little forgotten base became strong.

  Another year of life under siege was endured. Winter was harsh, but they were used to life without fires to warm them. Spring was fine, they had abundant water, and the temperatures were inconsistently pleasant. Summer was brutal, with horrific heat and the inevitable rationing of their sole water supply—no [Mage] in the base was confident in their ability to deepen the well, unfortunately. Autumn was Ranthia’s favorite season though, the mushrooms that Doc grew among his crops were a bit tastier in the autumn for some reason. The shimagu never truly relented, but their dregs were easy to counter.

  Roughly around the time the next winter began, they suffered their first casualty in almost a full year. An olorotitan managed to reach the mud walls and the collision knocked one of their [Archers] into the shimagu’s midst. The man killed the dinosaur and numerous other shimagu, but he had succumbed to his wounds by the time Ranthia had managed to circumnavigate the walls—she had been fighting on the opposite side of the base—to reach him.

  Guilt chewed at her for a while after that. Had she gone back to the wall and cut across the base, would she have made it in time? Others denied it—it had all happened too quickly—but it was hard to accept. Sextus had been a good man; he was quick with a joke and used sleight of hand to entertain them during off time.

  Ranthia carried additional hate for the shimagu in her heart after that. They had taken another light from Pallos, and she would never forgive them for it. But no matter how many parasites she culled, no matter how many hosts she freed from torment, none of it would return any of the lives the shimagu had stolen. All she could do was to pray to Xaoc on the behalf of Sextus and everyone else that had fallen, whether they were killed by shimagu aggression or died as prisoners in their own bodies.

  He always heard her, even if He had no miracles for her.

  Early spring heralded another welcome change of pace, albeit one that was far stranger.

  For several days the shimagu forces had camped within plain view of their base—but there had been no attack. It was a curious change. Their numbers weren’t growing, which in and of itself was strange—they hadn’t gone so long without new shimagu arriving for ages. No one was sure if the shimagu were waiting for something, or if they had simply gotten sick of the carnage.

  A few legionaries were—mostly jokingly—suggesting that they expected a parley in the near future. Clearly the shimagu had given up on conquering them and were ready to surrender! Similar sentiments drifted along the wall as the legionaries watched the camp—and the rest of their surroundings, just in case.

  Ranthia glanced at her status, bemused by the notion.

  The war would manage to ease off right when she was within spitting distance of unlocking her third class. The irony of that was strong enough that she could almost believe that a peace was about to be had.

  But only almost. Mostly, she was certain that they were up to something dangerous. The shimagu’s strategy had always baffled them—it was hard to imagine a justification for the shimagu throwing their civilian population at the alliance—but there plainly was some intent behind the madness. So, there was certainly some malicious intent behind the latest change too.

  “I’m a little disappointed my vitality still isn’t high enough to overhear their camp.” Ranthia quipped.

  The Subcommander rolled his eyes from his usual position next to her.

  Ever since the dark summer had concluded, Ranthia had started to hang around a group of legionaries that were trying to catalogue every shimagu word or phrase they heard and work on translating it. She wasn’t particularly hopeful, but her presence helped legitimize the group and a few other legionaries started to help out.

  She really wasn’t expecting one of the [Analyst]’s enthusiasm for the project—Paulla’s, namely—to be so infectious. Ranthia was one of the better people at the base with the shimagu language by that point, after nearly two years of effort. She wasn’t fluent—what they overheard during skirmishes tended to be fairly narrow in scope, after all—and her throat disliked making some of the sounds they used—seriously, it was like the language was designed to abuse their hosts—but Ranthia was learning.

  “Think the Commander would give me the go-ahead for a scouting mission tonight, see if I can learn what they’re up to?” Ranthia asked.

  “Hm, I’ll ask her. Best if I do it—I think she’s still mad at you for dragging that therizinosaurus carcass over the wall.” The Subcommander answered.

  “Hey, everyone was grateful for that. And I know I smelt dinosaur on her breath the next morning too.” Ranthia retorted with a grin. Both of them knew damn well that Ranthia had—at best—barely been involved in that. But she made for a decent scapegoat since her authority arguably outstripped the Commander’s.

  Everyone ate well for days and Ranthia got to see the Commander get frustrated enough to storm off while they argued. Win-win.

  “For the love of the gods, please don’t argue with her again. Just let me talk to her, you wait here. Keep an eye on their camp and make sure nothing changes.” The Subcommander ordered before he descended and made his way to the big command tent.

  Ranthia was more than happy to leave him to it.

  Nothing changed throughout the day—the shimagu even ignored them when one of the [Warriors] ‘accidentally’ dropped his bow over the side and one of their retrieval teams was dispatched beyond the wall to fetch it—and so that night Ranthia received permission to venture out. The shimagu camp was too far away from their base for her to use a mirror image body—more frustratingly it was too far away for her to leave her true body safe in the base—which meant that Ranthia needed to cross the distance on foot, as her true self.

  It was the first time she had missed the [Stealth] Skill in many years, but it wasn’t worth dropping any of her current skills for it, despite the ever-present temptation to get rid of [Sexy]. She loved [Sexy], but it really wasn’t doing much for her in a warzone—it hadn’t even leveled. Still, she never was quite able to bring herself to drop it and she sure wasn’t about to drop a decent level Skill and deal with the nausea outside of the base! The moons were thin slits in the sky and her—frankly monstrous by her old standards—stats and her natural grace were (hopefully) good enough, especially since [Rhythmic Grace] still silenced her footfalls.

  Though, gods and goddesses, it just felt so good to get out of the base and move on her own at long last. Every movement that she made felt like a little dance as she moved through the gloom. Flourish and grace were her constant companions. It was hard to appreciate when she was trapped in the base or trapped in a press of bodies, but something had truly clicked for her in recent years. Dancing through the night made her very soul sing with joy and she would have loved to hum a tune if she were in a situation where it would have been even slightly non-idiotic to do so.

  It was a bit of a shame that she couldn’t double down on dancing. For months now, she spent much of her downtime daydreaming and pondering possible options for her third class, and the idea of taking a second dance-focused [Warrior] class, one with a different element—one that might give her offensive options that didn’t destroy her weaponry—was sorely tempting. …Unfortunately, with the reality of the situation, she had mostly convinced herself that she needed to take whatever did the most to improve her odds of survival immediately—she supposed that she could always reset the class in the future to get something that spoke to her more. The Ranthia of the future might regret the decision, but she had a war to survive.

  And the best way to survive, logically, was with a defense-focused third class. No matter how dull such practicality sounded.

  But for the moment, she was nearing the shimagu camp. She needed answers, both as to what the shimagu were doing and what the state of the war even was anymore. No one from the alliance had ever come for them, after all—they had no idea what had happened. Nothing anyone had recorded overhearing had ever clarified anything—at least among the subset of the coarse language they actually understood. That was part of why she requested the mission: she hoped shimagu at leisure would be different and say more.

  The shimagu had, naturally, elected to stick their camp in an area with limited cover. Lacking a better option, Ranthia curled up next to a few rocks of varying sizes and wrapped her rock-colored cloak—really just her very filthy traveller’s cloak covered in the ever-present dust—around herself. Once she was confident that she looked reasonably rock-like, she sent a mirror image out, as close as she dared to the enemy camp, and shifted to it.

  A few years wasn’t much time for a classer of her level, but already there were visible differences between the true her and her mirror images. She still hadn’t updated the base of the image since her ill-advised encounter with the ornithocheirus flock—she had gotten comfortable in her own skin again, but she hadn’t been able to spare hours of effort in a warzone. …Also, she had no idea where her cute mirror had disappeared to after she loaned it to one of the [Warriors] to use to watch for opportunities to counter-attack when they were pinned down atop the wall by hostile archers. The differences were relatively minor, but they were enough that [Distorted Likeness] sometimes gained a rare level. The real her was a bit harder than her images were. Not that there was any discernable performance difference between her bodies.

  At her level, the vast majority of her capabilities came from the System, and it wasn’t like she had been out of shape at any point in her life (at least that she actually had an image recorded for).

  Ranthia shook off the momentary strange sensation that always accompanied her shifts of late—paranoia was a bitch—and crept a little closer. Unfortunately, the best place she’d found to hide was next to the shimagu’s garbage heap (gods forbid they buried their refuse like civilized beings). The scent was awful, but… well, it wasn’t like her base had a pleasant aroma either, especially while they rationed water every summer. She was used to bad smells, so it didn’t bother her. And if she repeated the thought often enough, she might someday actually believe it.

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

  Fortunately, her ears were her important sense, not her nose.

  The two ogres keeping watch nearest to her position were engrossed in an argument that was probably about food. …Or maybe rashes. Look, it was hard to learn a language from overhearing the shouts of enemies in a fight.

  The trio near the fire—a human and two ogres—were complaining about the weather. What about the weather irked them, Ranthia wasn’t sure, but she was confident that it was the weather.

  She probably should have brought some charcoal and a scroll. She tended to carry little these days; ever since she lost her Ranger-issued belt and had to switch back to her old Adventurer’s belt she had gotten paranoid about losing irreplaceable items.

  Another group was angrily trying to decide who got stuck with… some duty or another. They were getting obnoxiously loud.

  A large group of ogres were gathered around a drying rack of meat—she really didn’t want to think about what it had probably come from—holding what seemed to be a serious conversation. But they were keeping their tones low. She needed to move closer, which was more than a bit risky, but she needed answers. She refused to skulk back empty handed!

  In the gloom, Ranthia stepped into the shimagu camp proper and pretended that she belonged. Just another human thrall on watch. …Not that a single human seemed to be on that duty.

  One of the ogres was complaining about having to wait for… something. The word had a similar root as the word that the shimagu used for their base’s walls, but that didn’t help much.

  Another replied that she should be happy(?) that she wasn’t… well, the language team was mostly sure that word had something to do with difficult physical work.

  Ranthia had no idea what the bulk of the next ogre’s words meant, but two phrases were all too clear: “the twin will kill them” and “two days.”

  Ranthia expected her blood to run cold. The words should have sent her into a panic. The last twin she had seen had forced her to watch him walk away, unable to act against him.

  Yet she felt calm. She shifted back to her true body and dismissed the image that she had abandoned—it was noticed, but it also provided a distraction. Ranthia crept away into the gloom, even as the shimagu converged on where the disappearing being had been.

  Once she was clear, she abandoned stealth. She danced across the distance between her base and the shimagu’s camp with impunity, confident that she could outrun anything that came after her. At speed the paltry distance between friends and enemies took little time to cross, and soon enough Ranthia vaulted from the ground and landed directly atop the wall—with a running start she was capable of a lot—right next to the Subcommander.

  Without explanation, Ranthia seized the man before he could say a word, and carried him like a sack of grains as she took the shortest (and inarguably, rudest) route possible to the command tent. On arrival, she shoved the protesting man inside the tent and followed him in.

  The Commander looked exceedingly unimpressed at Ranthia’s antics, but she waited for an explanation.

  “There’s a twin coming to wipe us out. Two days out, according to the shimagu.” Ranthia whispered below her breath.

  She knew the Subcommander and Commander both had the levels required to hear her.

  And she knew that the base would need them to have a plan before anyone else could hear the news.

  There had been a discussion. The [Analysts] had offered suggestions ranging from a full retreat to an all-out offensive.

  In the end, after every man and woman had said their piece, the Commander ultimately asked Ranthia a single question: “Can you kill a twin?”

  Ranthia had answered with a simple yes.

  And the plan was centered around that one word. The next morning, the Commander broke the news over breakfast of the fact that a twin approached. The woman somehow spun it into a great victory for them. They would “break one of the shimagu elites, the same as they had broken every army sent against them!” Ranthia’s feats and personal combat power were hyped up. Ranthia wasn’t just a Ranger; she was a War Ranger—one of Remus’ greatest assets.

  By the time the Commander was done the legionaries were excited. A plan was in place (for a very generous definition of ‘plan’). They had their counter to the shimagu. True progress in the war would be made for the first time since the shimagu had foolishly ignored their existence.

  It sounded great, but Ranthia wished that she could feel confident that she hadn’t lied. She knew she was powerful, but she had no real foundation for knowing just how powerful their twins could be. The only one that she had ever seen—not counting the assassin in Remus—had been one of the worst possible match ups for her, so she hadn’t been able to test the theories.

  Back when she was around level 260, she killed a kraken that was roughly three times her level—almost six years ago. But at level 500 it was no trivial matter to punch up dramatically above her level. A level 1000 threat was almost unthinkable. A level 1500 threat would likely erase her unscathed. Her intel about the twins was years out of date, but even back then they had believed that the shimagu had multiple twins that were well above level 600. After so many years of warfare, the shimagu’s elites were sure to be monsters.

  Six classes, one body. And almost certainly at a higher level than she was.

  Ranthia had to accept in her heart that she might not live to see her 28th birthday in a couple more months.

  Pompous.

  Ranthia had no other word for it. There was a full-fledged godsforsaken tower of stone gradually approaching their base, pulled by a horde of dinosaurs and ogres that struggled with colossal chains. The mobile eyesore was dramatically taller than their walls—even with the reinforcing that the mud [Mages] had done in anticipation of the twin’s arrival. The damned thing was so wildly unnecessary and arrogant.

  The tower was a statement.

  Or perhaps a call of attention, so all would know the approach of a twin.

  At least the stupid thing made their plan simple. All they needed to do was to wait for the tower to get close. Ranthia planned to approach it directly—no matter what the Commander thought of that—and find out if the twin would meet her directly or try to sic its forces on her. If the twin relied on its forces, two 8x8 clusters of legionaries would march out of the base and come around to try to draw the hostile shimagu fodder away. From there, Ranthia’s mission was to eliminate any elites she deemed necessary before she attacked the twin directly.

  If the twin made a duel of it, Ranthia would have to do her best to kill it. Easy.

  At the Commander’s signal, Ranthia (inhabiting a mirror image) vaulted off the wall, under the light of the early morning sun—the tower was almost hilariously slow, as it turned out. As soon as her feet touched stone, Ranthia danced directly toward the hostile forces. As best as they could tell the shimagu slaves that were pulling the tower were trying to bring it to a halt, so they decided to take the initiative before their enemy could do whatever they had planned. After all, they had no idea what to expect from this twin.

  Technically her current charge was a feint—the tower was far enough away that her true body couldn’t be sustained behind the wall if she travelled that far. But they needed to probe for a response.

  The shimagu reacted. Four therizinosaurs charged at her, each over level 600. Ogres followed. In rapid succession four mirror images joined Ranthia’s dance, each under [Submind]’s control. If the shimagu wanted a fight, she was ready to tear through them on her way to her true opponent!

  She just needed to hold out until the Legion forces could join in on the fun. Every combat-capable legionary in their base had achieved at least level 400, and several were close to Ranthia’s level. The legionaries of their base could hold their own against most threats the shimagu could leverage against them. But Ranthia still intended to clear those nightmarishly clawed dinosaurs before they arrived.

  Ranthia and her mirror images met and wove between the therizinosaurs. Ranthia’s first knife was sacrificed to destroy the claws of the highest leveled member of the pack. And at her level, even her mirror images could make these Skill-less beasts bleed. In a close grouped match like this, [Combat Awareness] allowed her mirror images evade and dance well enough that she—in theory—should rarely need to replace them. The images’ role was harassment and confusion, meant to keep a bit of attention off her inhabited body. She was ready to shift if she needed to—should her dance prove insufficiently chaotic against her opponents—but she was confident.

  The first therizinosaurus was wounded and she was a heartbeat away from ending the beast when danger screamed in her senses. Ranthia didn’t stop and question it, she just immediately shifted back to her true body.

  Moments after she was back where she truly belonged, the wind shattered with a grand crack—it was like every thunderclap she had ever heard had merged into a single, terrible shockwave that rattled Pallos itself.

  Her mirror images were just gone. She hurriedly sent a new mirror image onto the wall and shifted to it. She dreaded to learn what in Xaoc’s glorious name had happened, but she had to know.

  The Subcommander looked pale. The Commander was tense and had retreated into her calculating face that promised disaster.

  The cause of the crack—and the consternation of the base’s leadership—was easy to see.

  The site of her battle against the therizinosaurs had become a steaming crater. Even as Ranthia watched, something that was long and thin rose out of the heart of the impact, before it flew to the top of the tower. Even with her vitality, she could barely make out that there were beings up there.

  “The twin…” Ranthia whispered.

  An attack with ultra long range, with great power and speed. The twin was a base killer, and it was just showing off. It had slain its own beasts just to try to murder a single enemy combatant.

  “Do we need to change the plan? The troops were already heading out.” The Commander was always decisive. She was adapting to the situation, but she needed to make sure Ranthia was on board with continuing.

  “…Minor tweak. I’ll send five mirror images with the legionaries, make the bastard think I’m with them. Have them spread out. I’ll try and sneak across myself, further away. Climb the tower and see if I can stick a knife through the twin without it ever knowing what happened.” Ranthia decided.

  The Commander nodded her approval.

  Ranthia shifted back to her true body and pulled from the arcanite in her armor to replace what she had spent (the downtime had helped a lot; her armor was close to full). With that done, she replaced the knives she had used, then hurriedly visited Doc to pick up something he had been working on: a cloak that was made of living brambles from plant life in the area. The idea was to let Ranthia make herself look like a tumbleweed since the area had far too little cover for conventional stealth.

  Ranthia chose to stay in her true body. The distance was already problematic, but she frankly didn’t trust the base to remain safe. She was far more willing to trust her own judgment in battle than just let luck roll the dice to decide whether she lived or died.

  Ranthia sent five mirror images controlled by [Submind] with the two units of legionaries. The legionaries had been ordered to spread out, to ensure a single shot from whatever that Skill (or weapon?) was couldn’t erase their entire unit at once.

  With the base between her and the enemy forces, Ranthia moved to the south-east as fast as she could. Only when she was at the outer limits of her ability to make out sufficient detail to enable [Submind] to manage the images under its control did she begin to move west, toward the tower.

  The distance was key—she needed to reach the tower unnoticed. She planned to make a large arc and come around from behind the tower. If she was lucky, she could even potentially climb the side of the tower at an angle that would let her watch the fight and keep her mirror images in play. If not, she was willing to let them break—the legionaries were probably enough by themselves to keep the twin’s focus.

  It was a weird mental aside to indulge in, but Ranthia was kind of enjoying her attempt to dance like a tumbleweed on the wind. Though she was forced to hope that the wind wouldn’t change direction on her as she skipped and spun with the cloak held tight around her body. Tumbleweeds seldom rolled, they skipped and bounced as they travelled the wastes. She had studied them, but matching their movements was novel.

  Even if she had to do it with her body contorted. The posture was ridiculous, but between her dexterity and the optimizations [True Grace] had worked, she was flexible enough to pull it off. She had never seen a tumbleweed that was her height, so the squatted curl was necessary—she was just thankful that she could still dance like that.

  Twice she had to move unnaturally to avoid obstacles—one of which was a stray arrow that someone had severely misfired. Fortunately, the shimagu didn’t seem to take notice. Her own forces were unable to restrain their fire in her direction—not that she told them what direction she was taking—since there was a high certainty that the shimagu would realize something was up if they did. The shimagu themselves fought far too erratically to be able to establish unidirectional combat.

  Ranthia proceeded smoothly, but near the tower one shimagu puppet finally took notice. A massive ogre, bigger than most, swung his club—which was nearly as large around as a tree trunk—at her. It was easy enough to dodge to the side.

  The ogre seemed more than a bit confused when the tumbleweed suddenly lunged at him and buried a knife in his throat.

  [*ding!* You have slain an ogre [Varmint Stomper] (Earth, level 301), [Treeshaker] (Wood, level 91)//shimagu [A Fine Friend] (Ooze, level 318), [Mucker] (Poison, level 303)!]

  The stupid tower was smoother than expected, which was concerning, but thankfully it wasn’t conjured material—it had just been worn smooth, somehow. Even better, the mortar in it was old and crumbly, so it was easy to feel for the texture differences of the mortar, rather than stone, and dig her fingers into it. Smooth or not, it promised to be an easy climb.

  Just a tumbleweed slowly moving up a tower, nothing strange there. She really should have brought her traveller’s cloak too, but it wasn’t like she was going to turn back at that point. It was time to hope for the best!

  Ranthia climbed the tower as quickly as she could. In that short period of time that her view was blocked, she had been reduced to just two mirror images left intact, one near each of the legion units. Worse, the view she had made it clear that she needed to hurry—her people were surrounded. They were holding their own, but they were terribly outnumbered.

  Another shockwave rang out without warning. Right before her eyes, a portion of the wall of their base just vanished. The mud [Mages] would struggle to replace that much material, but the biggest issue was that there was a breach in the wall. [Warriors] and [Mages] were already unloading on the incoming hostiles. Her comrades in the melee hadn’t been surrounded—the enemy was trying to bypass them entirely.

  It looked like a third unit of legionaries was being formed inside the base to meet the enemies, but just as they began to advance on the breach, they were all but scattered by yet another godsdamned shockwave. Another section of the wall had been erased from existence, and there was no way the mud [Mages] could deal with that.

  Ranthia swallowed the curses that wanted to spill out of her mouth and pushed herself. She had to be faster. The twin’s downtime was practically nonexistent for the scale of damage!

  At the top of the tower were eight ogres. [Divine-Touched Identify] fed her their levels and elements in an instant.

  Two of them could have been the twin.

  An ogress with [Warrior – Magic Metal] level 637, [Warrior – Gale] level 602, [Warrior – Gravity] level 530.

  A tall ogre with [Warrior – Earth] level 596, [Warrior – Metal] level 596, [Warrior – Fire] level 510.

  She only had a single moment to decide which to kill. One of the ogre guards was turning toward the sound and was about to see her.

  The slightly lower leveled ogre held a massive, ornate warhammer. The other held what seemed to be a simple, metal spear. But somehow, she knew—she recognized a metal she had never even seen before. She’d never even heard of it before. The spear was adamantium. A legendary, virtually indestructible metal.

  For the first time in ages, her chaos-granted knowledge potentially saved lives.

  Ranthia moved. The ogre guard moved to open his mouth. He was too late.

  The ogress with the adamantium spear noticed Ranthia’s lunge at the last instant. A green ooze started to flow over her neck.

  Too little, too late!

  Ranthia’s reckless lunge reached the ogress and Ranthia cleaved into the twin’s neck with both knives, one on each side.

  [Void Edge] ensured each cleave erased a large percentage of her neck, even as Ranthia’s knives were consumed. [Echoes of Devastation] sent an echo of each strike that erased a little more. …Then the next set of echoes erased the last bit of neck and freed the ogress’ head from her body.

  She had unlocked the second echo behind her attacks several levels back.

  [*ding!* You have slain an ogre [The Spear That Pierces The Heavens] (Magic Metal, level 637), [Unstoppable Force] (Gale, level 602), [Push The Limits] (Gravity, level 530)//shimagu [The Husband of Your Dreams] (Ooze, level 640), [Erasure of All] (Erosion, level 612), [Spearfetcher Extraordinaire] (Gravity, level 570)!]

  It was perfect.

  Except for one tiny detail: the other high-level ogre had reacted, and she was too close to him—and too airborne—to react.

  Thank Xaoc, the idiot threw a punch instead of swinging his warhammer. The blow struck her side—right in her ribs—and the force smashed her back. Ranthia was grateful that one of the more mundane ogre guards softened the impact. Didn’t stop her from slamming a [Void Edge] empowered knife into his throat, of course.

  She had been holding back. [Submind]’s limit wasn’t five mirror images—she had long saved its true current capabilities to catch a twin or an especially wily opponent by surprise. In short order, eight of her mirror images engaged the six remaining ogres. The two that she left below had been destroyed at some point since she broke her line of sight on the larger melee, which freed her up to unleash her full potential where she needed it most. Her images bought her precious moments to find her feet and recover the breath that had been knocked out of her.

  Each breath brought pain—her ribs were at least cracked, or more likely, broken. But she could still breathe. Which meant that she could still kill.

  The level 596 ogre was a threat; he had already destroyed one of her mirror images. Normally she would have shifted to an image and eliminated him, but the risk involved in leaving her true body among enemies was untenable. She wasn’t about to let her true self be destroyed; she wasn’t even willing to trust [Submind]’s ability to protect it.

  Instead, Ranthia tapped [Sustained Chaos] and threw fully empowered knives at the high-level ogre as she closed in. The muscular brute shielded himself with his free arm, even as sections of it were erased by her knives.

  Gods and goddesses, if he was a second twin she wasn’t sure what she was going to do. She couldn’t keep him pinned down indefinitely. She had a very finite supply of knives and was tearing through them far too quickly.

  Absent a better plan, Ranthia danced into range while the ogre tried to ‘kill’ another one of her images. She let him crush the image with his warhammer and, before he could pull the heavy weapon free of the rubble that he was making out of the tower they were perched atop (it was still stable, she was fine), she slashed the wrist of his hand that wielded the warhammer. [Void Edge] and [Echoes of Devastation] did their job. The weapon’s handle crashed into the stone at the ogre feet. While the oaf looked down at his weapon—or perhaps his severed hand—in surprise, Ranthia took the opportunity to lean around behind him and slash her other knife across the back of his neck.

  [*ding!* You have slain a shimagu [Imprison Him In His Own Body] (Ooze, level 620), [Cruel Mockery] (Void, level 595), [Glorified Bodyguard] (Sand, level 483)!]

  The ogre fell to his knees and looked Ranthia in the eye. He smiled and croaked out a short phrase in rough Creation before he perished.

  “Thank you, my savior.”

  [*ding!* You have slain an ogre [Destroyer of the Shimagu] (Earth, level 596), [Rebel Champion] (Metal, level 596), [Unstoppable Hammer] (Fire, level 510)!]

  There was no time to marvel—one of her other images was shattered in the moments that it was out of her sight. Not that it took much time to mop up the rest of the guards. Their combat prowess was more in line with what she was used to from the shimagu—practically nil.

  “Xaoc, I won! I dedicate this victory to you!” Ranthia shouted to the heavens, before she winced. Right, ribs. Ribs were unhappy.

  But she still felt downright bubbly. She had killed the twin that was supposed to crush them! The damned shimagu probably planned to use their base to level their twin, but they failed. And she had liberated someone that had presumably been a true hero from their clutches.

  It was a good day, but she needed to show the shimagu just what had come of their hopes.

  Ranthia struggled to lift the warhammer that the former hero had wielded, even with her strength the thing was ridiculously heavy. Her ribs screamed in protest, but she gamely carried it to the edge of the tower and—very carefully—held it out until she was confident that it was directly over one of the gigantic wooden wheels that the tower relied on.

  She dropped the warhammer, hammerhead first, then gracefully snatched the adamantium spear before she leapt off the tower on the opposite side, only to grab the edge before she fell. With the hammer’s weight and a wooden target…

  The loud crack was put to shame by the shockwaves the ogress twin had been capable of, but it was still impossible to miss. Just as she had hoped, the tower began to lean in the direction she dropped the hammer from, which allowed Ranthia to release her grip and slide down the not-as-smooth-as-it-had-looked tower. She was moving too quickly and she could feel her armor—and her ass—grinding against the stone, so she shoved the spear through her bandolier to free up her hands, then grabbed at the sides of the tower to slow herself down and give her leverage needed to brace her feet.

  Her vitality wasn’t quite high enough. Pain whispered that she was tearing the skin of her hands up, but she slowed enough that she was able to gracefully land on her feet.

  The tower didn’t tip over like she had wanted, but it definitely wasn’t going anywhere and the shimagu had surely noticed that it was leaning over.

  Not that she could rest. Her mission was done, but the shimagu hadn’t had the sense to withdraw. Ranthia drew fresh knives with her bloodied fingers and rejoined the battle. Eight mirror images flanked her as she tore into the twin’s forces from behind.

  Night had fallen before Ranthia made her way back to base. She’d been determined to fight until the battle was done, but one of the humans that was infected by the shimagu had shattered a clay bottle near her. A lungful of poison was the last straw. The shortness of breath and nausea it caused, combined with her numerous other wounds, finally forced her to seek medical attention.

  While she shuffled towards base—far too slowly in her exhaustion—she checked her notifications.

  [*ding!* Congratulations! [Diffuse Reflectance] has leveled up from 492 to level 509! Per level: +5 Free Stats, +3 Dexterity, +3 Vitality, +120 Mana, +120 Mana Regeneration, +120 Magic Power, +120 Magic Control from your class, +1 free stat for being human, +1 Mana Regeneration and +1 Magic Power from your element.]

  [*ding!* [Mirror Spirit], [Scattered Reflections], [Pure Reflections], [Persistent Imagery], [Ideal Reflectance] have leveled from 492 to level 509!]

  [*ding!* [Distorted Likeness] has reached level 104!]

  [*ding!* Congratulations! [She who Dances with Chaos] has leveled up from 500 to level 520! Per level: +100 Strength, +100 Dexterity, +100 Vitality, +100 Speed, +8 Mana, +8 Mana Regeneration, +5 Magic Power, +5 Magic Control from your class, +1 free stat for being human, +2 Mana from your element.]

  [*ding!* [Void Affinity], [Rhythmic Grace], [Void Edge], [Flowing Momentum], [Vision of the Void], [Echoes of Devastation], [Divine-Touched Identify], [Ranger’s Lore], [Submind], [Combat Awareness] have leveled from 500 to level 520!]

  [*ding!* [Sustained Chaos] has leveled from 479 to level 502!]

  [*ding!* [True Grace] has leveled from 231 to 236!]

  [*ding!* Congratulations! For achieving level 512 you have unlocked your third class!]

  [*ding!* You’ve earned your third class – [Beloved of the Water – Water]!]

  [Beloved of the Water]. A starter class for one who embodies and adores the flow of water and is adored and reflected in turn.

  [*ding!* Congratulations! [Beloved of the Water] has leveled up from 1 to level 8! Per level: +3 Dexterity from your class, +1 free stat for being human, +1 Dexterity from your element.]

  [*ding!* Congratulations! For achieving level 8 in [Beloved of the Water] you may now upgrade your third class.]

  [*ding!* [Ranthia’s Covenant with Xaoc] has leveled from 101 to level 104!]

  That put the slightest pep in her weary step as she hauled herself back to base.

  Ranthia was soon in the command tent with the Commander and one of their two remaining [Healers]. Technically the former lead healer was still around, but he had become somewhat… touched in recent years and no one really trusted him to mess with their body.

  “You’re sure you got the twin?” The Commander asked.

  “Yeah, she’s dead. Got notifications for her and the parasite both, took her head clean off.” Ranthia managed to reply between coughing fits.

  She felt exhausted, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to rest.

  “Can you do anything for fatigue?” Ranthia wheezed at the [Healer].

  “Oh! Um, I have a skill that gives you the energy of a full night’s rest and reduces lactic acid buildup. But it takes a bit of time. You can’t move while I do it either.” The woman replied.

  “How,” cough cough, “long?” Ranthia managed.

  “Um, about the time it takes to eat a meal, maybe a little less? Counting the healing I need to do too! Your lungs are plainly in bad shape!” The woman replied.

  Ranthia paused to drink some water, which helped.

  “Can I class up while you do it?” Ranthia asked after, pleased to get through a few words without coughing.

  “Yeah, that should be fine!”

  “Going to grab a third class to help. Will hurry.” Ranthia reported.

  With the Commander’s nod, she settled down and slipped into her inner self.

  Ranthia found her guide smiling broadly at her when she arrived within the world inside of her.

  “I’m so glad to see you alive!” Her guide greeted her with atypical warmth.

  Ranthia smiled at the greeting.

  “Sorry, but I need to hurry. Can you just grab me whatever you think will help me survive in the short term? …Maybe Water-aspected? A defensive class, we can always reset later to grab something else.” Ranthia offered an apologetic look to the woman, along with her words.

  There was no time to catch up or indulge in their usual banter. There was no time to see what was out there.

  Her guide nodded and saluted, Remus-style—which did not suit the woman—before she started to move among the short swords. They were wrapped in a sea’s worth of shades of greens and blues, with a rare barely purple and a handful of yellows. The ‘lesser’ classes, those that Ranthia had only barely qualified for, were deeper in the back, out of sight and out of mind. Even if she had time to spare, Ranthia would have probably never glanced at any of them.

  Moments into her guide’s search, the attention of both aspects of Ranthia were drawn by a sound from deeper within the armory.

  A short sword flew from the depths, blade pointed straight at her guide!

  The woman, a near twin to Ranthia’s modern self, managed to draw the blade she had been touching—one with a barely purple wrapping—just in time to use it to deflect the flying sword. It spun to the side, then veered unnaturally and drove straight at Ranthia herself, pommel-first.

  It was wrapped in blue, but she didn’t recognize the gemstone set in the pommel.

  Ranthia had her instincts in her inner world, but not her stats or Skills. She tried to grab the blade by the hilt, but she missed. Instead, the pommel slammed into her gut and drove her back to the threshold of the exit from the world within. The momentum and force vanished instantly.

  Gods and goddesses, Xaoc had to have sent that. But even a god couldn’t force a class upon someone. But the message was clear.

  “Go!” Her guide called.

  Ranthia had already kicked off the ground and was falling through the doorway before her guide’s plea even reached her.

  She had to get back to reality, immediately. She had no idea why, but she wasn’t stupid enough to stand there wondering. Xaoc had never so blatantly put His thumb on the scale on her behalf—He had helped her, sure, but never like that.

  There was no time to absorb the blade’s story, but the knowledge of its name settled into her as she returned to herself.

  [Blessed With Chaos].

  fan content license provided by !

  https://patreon.com/CrimCat

  https://discord.gg/3BQB5YJpHs

  https://patreon.com/CrimCat

  https://ko-fi.com/crimcat

  Nozomi Matsuoka.

  Sarah "Neila" Elkins.