John stood before a blue portal, its surface rippling like disturbed water, suspended in the air over the entrance to a smaller warehouse south of the Royal Suite.

  Behind him, Vincent's voice carried in theatrical whispers to the others. "Truly, Master John's contemplative stance before battle is a lesson in itself. The way he assesses the challenge with such calm makes my heart roar with manly pride!"

  "He's just staring at it," Aisha muttered. "We're all going to die in there anyway. The portal will consume us. Nothing matters."

  "Oh boy, I just can't wait to get started!" Simon's forced cheer grated even at a whisper. "Standing around is so much fun, but you know what's even more fun? Fighting for our lives!"

  "Now is the perfect moment to be impatient," Antoine said with a chiding tone.

  Tomoyo just scoffed quietly.

  Pete remained stoic and apart from the group, arms crossed, mohawk flopping slightly to one side. He didn't complain. Just waited.

  On either side of John, Lily and Chester stood close, also staring at the portal.

  Lily leaned in to whisper: "Why are you hesitating? It's just a blue portal. You've handled these comfortably enough at this point."

  John thought for a moment before he found the words. He kept his voice low, for her and Chester alone. "There was a thing back in a portal earlier. This dragonfly boss in a night club."

  Chester's brow furrowed. "What about it?"

  "After I destroyed the core, it prevented the portal world from collapsing." John's eyes remained fixed on the rippling blue surface before him. "It went on this strange rant. About me not understanding what I was part of, what I was feeding. The headmaster did something similar. It had a different attitude about the whole thing, overall, but… It came to the same conclusion, I think. That keeping on going was a worse fate than death."

  There was a long moment of silence before Lily broke it. "What are you thinking, John?"

  John frowned. "The portal cores themselves... they grant thousands of souls when destroyed. I think those white streams that flow up to them are souls. And..."

  He trailed off, unsure whether it was a good idea to voice the thought.

  "What, John?" Lily pressed.

  "I don’t know about you guys," he said grimly, "but I also got soul for killing people. Not just monsters. And it was the same with Curtis. I’m assuming it’s the same for everyone."

  Another beat of silence passed by. "And we also get souls for killing monsters, in the right circumstances," Lily whispered.

  "They're using human souls to create the monsters." Chester's voice had gone flat.

  Lily's intake of breath was sharp. "Where did the souls come from for the initial wave? The ones that appeared when the apocalypse first started?"

  Behind them, the others had gone quiet, perhaps sensing the serious nature of the conversation even if they couldn't hear the words.

  John exhaled slowly. "The last place this happened."

  "What?" Lily turned to look at him fully.

  "This whole thing is too systematic. Too practiced. It has the feeling of experience, of something that's been done before." John's hands clenched at his sides. "With the sentience the red-souled monsters have displayed... I think they might be survivors from alien races. Other species who went through their own apocalypses, out there in the universe somewhere."

  Chester's voice was barely audible. "That's sickening. All those monsters we've been killing... they're fashioned from torn-apart souls of innocent humans and aliens?"

  "We don't know that for sure," Lily said, but her voice wavered. "It's just a theory, right John?"

  "Just a theory," John confirmed, though the words tasted like ash in his mouth. "Could be completely wrong."

  "But what if we're right?" Chester insisted. "What if every single monster we've killed was once a person?"

  "We can't think that way." Lily's voice hardened with forced conviction. "Whatever the monsters are made from, even if some part of them was once human, that's not the case anymore. They're not human now. We can't hesitate."

  John nodded. "You wouldn't hesitate to kill a zombie that was coming for you just because it used to be a person. Same logic applies here."

  The words were meant to be reassuring, practical. But internally, John felt the weight of the theory settle into his bones. It left a bad taste in his mouth, the idea that every soul he'd harvested might have once belonged to someone's mother, father, child. Someone who'd suffered through their own apocalypse only to be recycled as fuel for the next one.

  It's just speculation, he reminded himself. Might be entirely wrong.

  He turned to Vincent's group, grateful for the excuse to change mental tracks. "What do you know about portals? How many have you run?"

  Vincent's expression turned theatrically shameful, one hand pressed to his forehead in an exaggerated gesture of remorse. "I must confess our shame, Master! Our group has not yet managed to destroy a portal world. The boss monsters have always forced us to retreat before we could claim victory!"

  "We tried though," Tomoyo added. "We learned much, even in defeat."

  "The portals will kill us all eventually," Aisha intoned. "Every retreat merely delayed the inevitable. Temporary reprieves from the eternal darkness that awaits."

  "But we had SO much fun trying!" Simon's grin looked painful. "Getting our butts kicked repeatedly was just the BEST time ever!"

  "I definitely didn't learn anything useful about portal combat," Antoine said.

  Pete just shrugged. "I stayed out of them once I was on my own. Seemed like a good way to die."

  John nodded slowly, processing this. "Based on the warehouse outside, this portal is likely to be a parody of a cargo facility. Monsters themed around airport staff, luggage, that sort of thing. Everyone clear?"

  "Crystal clear, Master!" Vincent pumped his fist. "We shall overcome any challenge through the power of teamwork and determination!"

  John suppressed a wince. "Let's get this done."

  Vincent entered first, wreathed in flames, declaring something about the fire of his soul lighting the way. Tomoyo followed, ice already forming along her katana's edge. Aisha drifted in like a shadow, her massive scythe materialising in her hands. Simon bounced through, each step making cartoon sound effects. Antoine flickered and was simply inside. Pete walked in with casual confidence, fists already glowing with energy.

  Chester remained for a moment, staring at the portal. His hands were clenched tight around his spiked mace. John could see the fear in his eyes, the same fear that had been there since the beginning. But there was something else now too. Determination. Anger, even.

  With a snarl that might have been directed at himself as much as the monsters within, Chester charged into the portal.

  John and Lily stood alone, blinking at the large man's back.

  "He's really pushing himself," Lily said softly, a note of pride in her voice mixed with something sadder. "I'm happy he's so determined to get past his fear. But..."

  "You wish the circumstances were different," John finished.

  "Yeah." Lily's smile was wry, tinged with bitterness. "The System is forcing growth in the most horrible way possible. Chester shouldn't have to fight for his life just to overcome his anxiety. None of us should have to do any of this."

  John found himself wondering if that was the whole point. Some kind of fucked-up therapy for the entire human race and every other earthling species, forcing evolution through trial by fire. Grow or die. Adapt or perish. The System had been pushing all of them past their limits from day one.

  They exchanged a grim smile, a moment of silent understanding. Neither of them had asked for this. Neither of them wanted the growth they'd been forced into. The person John had been a week ago was so far removed from who he was now that it felt like a different lifetime.

  Lily's hand found his and gave it a squeeze. "You've been doing really well, you know. With all of this. I know it's not easy for you."

  The words caught him off guard. John didn't know what to say to that, how to respond to genuine praise when he felt like he was barely holding himself together. So he just gave a stoic nod and stepped forward into the portal.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  It wasn't until the blue light swallowed him and spat him out into the twisted warehouse that he realised he was still holding Lily's hand. It was only through sheer force of will that he didn’t snatch it away like her touch was burning him.

  Instead, he managed to force himself to give her hand a little squeeze, before gently drawing away. The smile she gave him was radiant. He had to swiftly turn away, half worried it would blind him if he looked at him for too long. Luckily, the portal world itself served as a good distraction.

  It was a nightmare parody of a cargo warehouse, stretched and warped by whatever malevolent intelligence designed these pocket dimensions.

  Shelves rose on either side of them, towering structures that stretched upward and upward until they disappeared into perfect darkness overhead. They were impossibly tall, defying any reasonable architectural logic, packed so densely with luggage that bags and suitcases jutted out like broken teeth, each shelf sagging. The weight should have toppled them. The height should have made them unstable. But they stood firm, monuments to wrongness.

  And the luggage was everywhere. Thousands upon thousands of bags, cases, duffels, and trunks, crammed onto the shelves in chaotic profusion. But they weren't static. Some of them flew through the air overhead, flapping like grotesque birds, their handles serving as wings. They swooped and dove through the darkness above, their movements organic and unsettling.

  The only illumination came from fluorescent paint slathered on the concrete floor in garish, neon colours—electric blue, toxic green, hot pink, sickly yellow. The paint formed no pattern, just random splashes and streaks that provided just enough light to see by while making everything look diseased and unnatural. The colours reflected off the metal shelving units, creating an eldritch kaleidoscope.

  Vincent's team had spread out near the entrance, looking around with varying degrees of trepidation. Vincent himself stood in a dramatic pose, flames flickering around his clenched fists. "A labyrinth of lost baggage! How thematically appropriate for an airport! We shall navigate this maze and emerge victorious!"

  As if on cue, one of the suitcases near Vincent suddenly moved.

  "Vincent, left!" John called out, his Soul Specs lighting up his vision with the blue glow of the creature's soul.

  Vincent spun, flames already surging. The suitcase had opened, its zipper serving as a grotesque jaw lined with broken metal teeth. Inside, John caught a glimpse of body parts and gore. The creature lunged at Vincent with surprising speed.

  But the warning had given Vincent enough time. He dodged left and brought both flaming hands down on the creature in a crushing blow. The luggage mimic screeched—an awful sound like grinding metal and human screaming mixed together—before combusting entirely. It dissolved into ash and motes of light that scattered into nothing.

  Vincent straightened, grinning. "Excellent awareness, Master! Your perceptiveness is truly unmatched!"

  +1000 Aura

  John's eyes swept across the warehouse, Soul Specs active. Hundreds of the luggage items scattered throughout the warehouse glowed with blue souls. Not all of them. Maybe one in ten. But in a space this densely packed with bags, one in ten meant hundreds of monsters lying in ambush. Without his Soul Specs, this place might have been seriously bothersome, even at only a blue level.

  "There are hundreds of mimics hiding in here," John announced. "Blue souls as appropriate for the portal, so not too dangerous, but still keep your guard up. They're camouflaged perfectly. I'll point them out as we go. Stick to the left wall," John directed, pointing. "Standard maze navigation. I'll call out threats."

  They began moving. His Soul Specs made the invisible visible, turning what should have been a nightmare of constant ambushes into something manageable.

  "Three mimics on the shelf to your right, Vincent. Middle shelf, second and fourth positions from the left. One on the floor ahead, disguised as that blue duffel bag."

  At first, it was easy. The mimics relied on stealth, on blending in until prey walked past. With John calling out their positions, Vincent's group could engage them one or two at a time. Fire from Vincent, ice from Tomoyo, shadow scythe reaps from Aisha, bouncing attacks from Simon, and Pete's devastating energy-charged strikes. Antoine's phasing ability let him approach mimics undetected, his touch causing them to seize up and die for reasons John still didn't fully understand.

  Chester waded in with his mace, his glowing aura drawing attacks to him while his corruption aura slowly ate away at the monsters foolish enough to get close. The fear was still there in his eyes, but his strikes were solid, committed.

  Lily stayed at range, mostly sticking to John’s side, each crossbow bolt finding whatever passed for vital points in an animated piece of luggage.

  John held back, watching. Analysing. Only pointing out threats, letting the others handle the actual combat. It was harder than he'd expected, fighting the instinct to jump in and end threats quickly. But this was good for them. They needed the experience. Needed to know they could handle themselves.

  And honestly? Killing blue souls gave him basically nothing at this point. Better to save his strength for the red-souled boss that would inevitably be waiting.

  The warehouse twisted and turned. They stuck to John's left-wall strategy, marking their path with Lily's ice arrows embedded in the floor at regular intervals.

  Then the mimics realised their stealth was useless.

  It started with a suitcase dropping from above, attempting to ambush them from the darkness overhead. John called it out, Pete caught it with an energy-charged punch that sent it flying into a shelf unit. Then another. And another.

  Within moments, dozens of luggage mimics were attacking at once, abandoning any pretence of camouflage. They flew through the air like missiles, rolled across the floor with alarming speed, dropped from above, even launched themselves from the conveyor belts. Some were as small as carry-ons, others were massive steamer trunks that could swallow a person whole.

  The group formed a defensive circle, backs together.

  Vincent's flames roared out in sweeping arcs, incinerating multiple mimics at once. Tomoyo's ice spread in crystalline patterns, freezing bags mid-flight and shattering them. Aisha's shadow scythe carved through swathes of enemies, her doom-laden commentary never stopping. "This is hopeless. We're surrounded. Death comes for us all. The luggage hungers."

  "This is AMAZING!" Simon bounced faster, each landing creating shockwaves that knocked back approaching mimics. His fists became blurs, pulverizing anything that got close.

  Antoine flickered in and out of phase, appearing behind clusters of mimics to touch them and watch them die. His hazy form made him nearly impossible to target.

  Pete went vertical, using his enhanced strength to leap onto a shelf unit and then another, ascending like a parkour athlete. From above, he rained down energy-charged strikes, his fists crashing through mimics like wrecking balls.

  Chester stood in the centre, a pillar of stability. His corruption aura ate away at any mimic that got too close, while his radiant light drew more and more of them toward him, taking pressure off the others.

  Lily's crossbow twanged in a constant rhythm, each bolt perfect, each shot claiming a kill.

  The swarm intensified. Fifty mimics became a hundred. The air filled with the sound of zippers gnashing, handles flapping, wheels rattling across concrete.

  John forced himself to stand back, to watch. His hands hitched to summon Aurora Blade, to cast Supernova and end this in one brilliant flash. But that would defeat the purpose.

  A massive steamer trunk, easily the size of a small car, crashed down toward Chester. The big man looked up, saw death falling toward him, and froze.

  John's hand twitched toward his Spell menu.

  Then Vincent was there, flames erupting in a pillar that engulfed the trunk mid-fall. It burned away to ash before it could crush Chester.

  "Stay focused, my friend!" Vincent called out, not dropping his fighting stance. "This trial shall forge us stronger!"

  More kept coming. The numbers were staggering. John's Soul Specs showed him the warehouse's population of mimics, and easily two hundred of them were converging on their position. The group was good, better than he'd expected, but they were getting overwhelmed by pure numbers.

  A breach opened in their defensive formation. Three duffel bags slipped through, their zippers opening wide to reveal gore-lined interiors, lunging for Aisha's back.

  John took a half-step forward, Spell already forming in his mind.

  Light erupted like a newborn star.

  A beam lanced out in a cone of pure, obliterating radiance. Everything it touched simply ceased to exist, molecules torn apart by contained stellar fury.

  The three duffel bags vanished. So did about fifty more mimics behind them. And the ones behind those. The beam cut through the warehouse like a blade of light, travelling two hundred meters before finally dissipating.

  When John's vision cleared from the dazzling afterimage, a clear path extended from Chester's position to the far wall. The concrete floor glowed red-hot where the beam had passed, metal shelving units sagging and melting. The smell of superheated metal and ozone filled the air.

  Chester stood there, looking shocked at what he'd done. The Stellar Beacon blazed in Chester's hand, the enchanted flashlight that John had created with Level 9 Supernova.

  John gave him a thumbs up.

  The remaining mimics, significantly reduced in number, seemed to lose their coordinated assault. The group made short work of them over the next few minutes.

  "Well," Lily said as the last mimic dissolved into motes of light, "that was intense."

  "That weapon is incredible!" Vincent's eyes shone with admiration. "Master John's enchantments are truly without equal!"

  +2000 Aura

  Chester was still staring at the Stellar Beacon. "Yeah. Awesome."

  "You did good," John said simply. "Everyone did. That was solid teamwork."

  They pressed on, following the left wall deeper into the warehouse. The mimics continued to attack, but in smaller numbers now. Chester's Stellar Beacon had culled the population significantly, and the survivors seemed warier, less willing to commit to suicidal charges.

  The warehouse opened up into a second section, this one dominated by massive conveyor belts that ferried river-like mounds of luggage in endless loops. The belts rose and fell in waves, creating a landscape of perpetual motion. More mimics hid among the moving bags, but between Chester's beacon and Lily's Crescent Scope—which John watched freeze entire sections of conveyor belt in one sweep—they made steady progress.

  It took another hour of careful navigation before they reached the boss arena.

  The chaotic warehouse suddenly opened up into a vast circular chamber. The shelving units formed walls around them, rising up into darkness. In the centre, a massive pile of luggage rose like a small mountain, bags and cases and trunks piled in a chaotic heap that resembled a garbage dump more than any kind of organised storage.

  Floating above it all, the portal core hung in the air. A perfect sphere of sickly blue light, its surface covered in the characteristic hourglass iris that all portal cores possessed. White motes of light drifted lazily toward the core, being absorbed into its surface in a steady stream.

  And standing atop the tallest mound of luggage, backlit by the core's azure glow, was the boss.

  It was a mech. A giant, humanoid figure easily twenty feet tall, constructed entirely from luggage. Its body was a massive steamer trunk, arms made from several hard-shell suitcases linked together like segments, legs built from what looked like golf bags and ski carriers. The head was a carry-on case with a zipper-mouth and wheels for eyes.

  Its soul burned red through John's Soul Specs.

  The mech raised one arm—or what passed for an arm—and pointed directly at them. The gesture was almost comically melodramatic.

  Vincent started forward, fire already gathering in his hands.

  "Leave this one to me," John said, stepping past him.

  He'd held back long enough. Time to do what he came here for.