Marcus Barksdale swings his [mercury rod] as a cudgel. He swings it twice. The redburr crab bursts open, but not before twisting its tail around and pricking Marcus’s arm.

  He curses, letting out a long string of expletives.

  “Shut up, Marcus,” Freddy snaps.

  “Sucker got me,” Marcus states. He pivots his arm as far as it will turn so that he can see the wound. He can’t quite get to it.

  “Focus!” Marketing Mike shouts. The older man clubs with a macuahuitl, its glass edges savage deeply into the body of a crab.

  This isn’t the first time that Marcus has been stung. Each time, he’s been paralyzed and incapacitated. Being affected feels like dying, with the shortness of breath and irregular heartbeat. It takes hours to recover.

  Marcus cusses again.

  Another bug crawls at his legs and he squats down and crushes it. The numbness is starting to spread.

  Three other guys are already at the crystal, recovering from venom.

  Five men are standing and fighting. They’re split up: there are two tunnels that the monsters are coming from, one on either side. Only two turrets protect the crystal, and they’ve been improperly placed. They’re too far out, and don’t provide coverage to both sides.

  Marketing Mike howls in tired frustration. He has barely slept, and his patience with the younger men he’s grouped with has grown thin.

  Marcus wants to blame Mike for everything that’s gone wrong. But the 30 year old geezer is working harder than any of the rest of them. Though, maybe if Marcus had Mike’s weapon, he could be strong too.

  Gathering up his cosmic energy, Marcus forms a glowing sphere in his hand. Hurled at a crab, the ball lets out a loud pop as it blows three legs off of the beast. Marcus makes a fist. It wasn’t a good throw. Now he regrets choosing basketball over baseball as a kid.

  The toxin spreads through Marcus’s shoulder. He throws another skill. It isn’t his dominant hand: it’s so uncomfortable. He misses his mark and his [exploding orb] bursts against the stone.

  Squaring his feet again, Marcus waits for his cooldown and tries again. The sphere flies. Freddy yelps in surprise as the explosion goes off close to him. The young man falls on the ground, slapping his body, making sure he hasn’t been injured. After a heartbeat, the redburr crab in front of him barrels over him with its stabbing legs.

  “Freddy!” calls out Hernán. The boy leaps to Freddy’s aid, swinging like a golf club to remove the bug from on top of him.

  Marcus cusses with an intake of air and holds his fist to his teeth.

  Now, one of the crabs that Hernán had been occupying breaks off. It scuttles directly towards Marcus.

  Backpedaling, Marcus swaps hands for his [mercury rod]. Before the stiffness sets in, he swings down. The bug pulls back and the blow glances off a lip in its shell, cracking off a superficial ridge.

  “Come here,” Marcus croons. “You scum muncher.”

  His pectorals start to seize up. His back starts to lock. He bends at the hip to get another blow in.

  “Ah, Goddammit!” he wails. He spins in a spike of fury as he backs up. The stinger got him in the shoulder this time.

  Raging, he bashes the crab. It nearly tags him again as it dies.

  He stumbles backwards. His neck starts to tense and freeze.

  Off in the distance, a build points orb appears. No one is in any shape to go get it. Freddy is cut up bad in the legs. Hernán is at his side guarding him. Marketing Mike and Calvin are stuck clearing their own side.

  Marcus staggers back towards the crystal and slumps down next to the other paralyzed cultivators. The others make noises of annoyance. Devon wiggles apart and is recovered enough to complain out loud.

  “Marcus, you absolute shit. You moron. You dumb fuck.”

  “Shut up!” Marcus hisses. He kicks Devon’s leg before he loses feeling completely.

  Freddy is out on the floor bleeding from his legs and abdomen. Hernán defends him from the last bug and then pulls out a healing pill from his pocket. The young man on the floor gulps it down eagerly.

  “How is he?” Devon shouts. He tries to prop himself up on one arm.

  “?Puta mierda!” Hernán unleashes. His hands are drenched crimson from putting pressure on Freddy’s wounds. He throws his hands in the air and then drags Freddy from under the armpits over to the crystal.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “Help him,” Hernán tells Devon in heavily accented English. Then he rushes back to the turret to intercept the next wave.

  “I can’t do anything!” Devon protests. Dragging himself by his arms alone, Devon moves to Freddy’s side and tries to staunch his injuries. It’s too much. Devon tries to produce another healing pill, but Freddy chokes on it. Devon slaps his back until he swallows, but the energy isn’t enough to repair a severed artery.

  Devon curses. He slaps Freddy’s face. He begs the young man to hold on.

  Marcus weakly asks how he’s doing.

  “Shut the hell up, Marcus,” Devon rebukes.

  “What’s going on back there?” Marketing Mike calls out.

  A new cluster of redburr crabs spreads out from the tunnels. They move in from either direction.

  “Hernán is alone,” Devon responds, his voice hollow. “I can’t really walk yet.”

  “Well, shit on that,” Marketing Mike execrates. “Calvin, go help Hernán, I’ll hold this side!”

  Moving Calvin reinforces the back, but leaves the front direction open. Mike simply can’t block all of the crabs coming his way. He lunges, trying to catch a scuttling bug. It outpaces him. Others attack him from behind and demand his attention.

  Devon grabs his [mercury rod] and activates his skill. A layer of stone grows over the head of his weapon, along with sharp spikes. Devon swings his legs around forcefully and puts himself in the way of the crab, using his arms to move. Hauling himself into an awkward seated position, he smashes the bug and then throws his body to the side to avoid a retaliating sting. From the floor, he swings at its legs, snapping a few and causing the whole creature to flop upside down.

  There are more coming. Mike screams out expletives as he fails to stem the advance. Calvin and Hernán let one through on the other side as well.

  Rigid, Marcus watches a beast coming straight for him. His life begins flashing before his eyes. His mom. His grandparents. Skipping school. Bicycling through the neighborhood with his friends. Getting involved in band. His first girlfriend. And so, so much NBA videogaming.

  A ripple of force bursts through the air as a turret blasts the crab headed his way. Ichor splatters on the floor. Marcus shakes with relief.

  That’s when the crystal behind him cracks. Marcus tries to turn his body to look behind him, but he can’t. He’s helpless and blind to the opposite side.

  Marketing Mike’s voice is desperate. He swears in rapid staccato and rising volume.

  Sherman suddenly gurgles. There’s a rending noise and a tearing of meat. The hub crystal tinkles again.

  Panic overcomes Marcus. He sets his full willpower to moving his body. Anything at all. His ankle rolls. His left knee bends slightly.

  There is one more crack, and then a shattering noise. Broken pieces of crystal fall to the ground and plink against stone.

  Devon roars a cuss and there’s a wet cracking noise.

  “Sherman? Sherman?” Devon checks. He curses again.

  Marcus can’t shut his eyes. His lids droops. His mouth sags.

  “What happened to the crystal?!” Calvin shouts.

  “It’s broke!” Devon hollers back.

  Calvin calls out in indignation. “Did we fail the quest?”

  “Screw the quest, they got Sherman!” Devon spits back.

  “What the fuck?” Calvin exclaims. “What the flying fuck?”

  “I’m sorry,” Marketing Mike gasps. “I’m so sorry. I thought I could hold them.”

  “It’s too much,” Hernán says.

  “How are we going to do this with just the three of us?” Calvin bemoans.

  “I’m almost on my feet,” Devon says. “Just hold them off of me a little longer and it’ll be four of us.”

  “We can’t cover all of you,” Marketing Mike grieves.

  “We can if it’s the three of us under one turret,” Calvin disagrees.

  Marcus fumes as he’s unceremoniously dragged under a turret. He’s propped up against it along with Reggie, Sherman, Freddy, and Devon.

  Sherman and Freddy draw their last breaths propped up against Marcus’s shoulder. The corpses next to him draw still. He can’t turn his head. Necrophobia fills his nervous system with a hideous chill that his body can’t turn into a shudder.

  Multiple waves pass by. Each one is fraught. The defenders are surrounded and outnumbered. They have to block off a wide circle.

  Marcus sweats. A loose crab stabs into the dead leg of Freddy. An errant bug scissors into Sherman’s lifeless face with a claw.

  Each of the three upright fighters tries to block off on of their living compatriots. Something happens on the other side of the turret. Reggie screams. Tears streaming down his face, Marcus prays to see another day.

  And the three cultivators do it. They hold. Exhausted, battered, they survive. Devon gets back on his feet and takes up arms. A long break in the waves arrives and Marcus has time to recover. Reggie has lost some toes and a lot of blood, but he’s kept his foot.

  His nerves shot, Marcus takes meticulous care not to get stung again as he stands in a circle with his team. Several times, he endangers the ones at his sides because he’s to eager to yield. But they manage.

  Hours pass and shaking, he pulls up the quest menu and sees that there isn’t another wave coming. He breaks down in relief. Slumping to the ground he stares blankly, not listening to the others.

  He doesn’t pay attention as they loot the possessions of the fallen, or as they debate whether or not to bring back the bodies for some kind of burial. Devon shouts at him, curses him. He ignores it.

  He just sits and waits for the teleport, an empty cup.