They came at me like they’d been rehearsing the kill for weeks.

  The Cendral was the first to break formation, bounding forward with a serpent’s lunge, twin blades flashing in the green-filtered light. I slammed my palms together in a thunderous clap as I cast Frostfang Spire, a jagged wall of ice surging up between us. He danced away with a hiss, claws scraping ruts in the grass and dirt before the javelins of ice could impale him.

  The rest fanned out, smart enough to try a flanking maneuver.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  Even as powerful as a Sunnysider’s Health Regen was, if they managed to hem me in, they’d cut me down before I could whittle my way through their ranks. Right now, my most powerful trump card was controlling the battlefield. I thrust my hands out and another round of Frostfang Spire bloomed to my left, and one to my right, funneling them into a narrow, more easily defensible channel in front of me.

  “Remember,” I snarled, “you assclowns asked for this.”

  I triggered Hydro Fracking Blast, splitting the beam into three powerful strands using Hydrokinesis as I mowed down the fighters encroaching from the sides. Pushing them back, where my ranged spells would be more effective and I could mitigate physical, up-close-and-personal combat.

  I had no idea how well my illusion would hold up under scrutiny and wanted them at range for as long as possible.

  Two Aspirants tried to bullrush their way through the beams of water, which was about as smart as charging a machine gun nest head-on. One of my beams neatly punched a hole through the first one’s throat, dropping him like a bag of bricks while blood gurgled out from a terrible gash, while the second caught a blast in the chest that sent him spinning gracelessly into a nearby tree trunk—bits of armor cartwheeling off his body as he flew, though the blast didn’t kill him.

  Still, one down for good. Only seven more to go.

  Automatic weapons opened up from the back line.

  The latex-suited pervert hosed the clearing with an ol’ timey, drum-fed SMG, bullets whining and slicing through the air. I threw up a floating ice shield. The impacts shattered it into a storm of glittering shards, but the deflection bought me precious seconds. I didn’t have access to my tools—not without giving away my ruse—but thanks to Hydro Fracking Blast, there was plenty of ambient moisture in the clearing to draw on.

  With a thought, I shaped the liquid into frozen spears and axes, then sent the lot of them surging forward on strings of telekinetic power. The conjured weapons jabbed, slashed, and hacked at the Aspirants, not doing much damage, but keeping them away and buying me a little more breathing room.

  An arrow thunked into the dirt inches from my foot. Another grazed my shoulder. I snatched the third from the air with Psychic Sovereignty and whipped it back at the bowman—a woman in crude leathers—catching her clean in the thigh.

  Still, despite my best efforts, I couldn’t stop everything.

  Another volley of arrows and gunfire rattled through the clearing. I deflected what I could, and soaked up what I couldn’t, bullets riddling my Sunnysider body and threatening to dispel the tenuous illusion I had in place. It was even worse when the Celestari woman started unleashing a volley of spellfire. With a flick of her wrist, she sent a legion of spectral blades the size of meat cleavers flying toward me, spinning end over end.

  I ducked behind an ice wall.

  The blades hit, stuck halfway through, and hummed like angry wasps trying to burrow through. But one caught me in the arm, punching through the biceps and out through the tricep with a flash of excruciating, eye-watering pain. I was thankful this wasn’t my real body, even if I felt every cut and scratch.

  Or, in this case, puncture wound.

  They weren’t meat cleavers, I realized as the blade stuck in my arm started frantically opening and closing, chewing through meat. They were enormous, industrial-strength kitchen shears. The vast array of powers the Backrooms offered was a benefit, but it also made it exceptionally difficult to anticipate what any given enemy was truly capable of.

  I wrapped one meaty mitt around the handles and pulled the scissoring blades free, my Sunnysider Regen already kicking into overdrive as the wound knitted itself closed. The conjured scissors melted away into nothingness as I tossed ’em away before responding in kind. I sent a pair of frozen javelins shooting toward her, but before they landed a shimmering orb appeared around her.

  It reminded me of the soap bubble Glinda the Good Witch of the North used to fly through the sky. This one wasn’t soap, though. Instead, it was oddly reflective glass.

  When the spears of ice slammed into the barrier it shattered, dissolving my twin constructs into puddles of tepid water, then erupting into a cloud of twinkling glass shards, as fine as dust. She gave one little puff with her lips and the cloud rolled forward like a sandstorm. It washed over me, impervious to my ice barriers, and clung to my skin and clothes, opening a legion of tiny—almost microscopic—wounds across my face, chest, and arms.

  It hurt worse than diving into a pool of fiberglass insulation—something I’d actually done once on a dare.

  The glass particles slipped into my mouth and nose, shredding my throat and windpipe before it eventually reached my lungs, making it almost impossible to breathe. The microparticles also sliced into my eyeballs and my vision went to static fuzz almost immediately. The world blurred around the edges, and it was like trying to look through frosted cellophane.

  I heard her murmur something in that lilting, too-perfect Celestari voice, and then the air screamed. A tornado of literal razor blades enveloped me, circling and churning, every gust peeling away skin and fabric. I could feel my concentration lapsing and knew the illusion wouldn’t hold for much longer—assuming the Sunnysider survived the spell, which was uncertain at best.

  Already, the Horror’s HP was down below thirty percent, and it was dropping faster by the second.

  Where in the hell was my backup?

  I pushed through the pain, enduring the brunt of the whirlwind, and split my mind.

  For a moment, the world tilted sideways, and I thought I might black out entirely—but then I was seeing double.

  With one eye, I saw through the Sunnysider battling out front, while the other stared at the backs of the Dopplebangers and the inside of the quaint little treehouse. The mental strain of functionally being in two places at once hit like a migraine with a crowbar, and blood leaked from my nose in slow, red rivulets. Still, it had to be done. While the Sunnysider soaked up punishment on the front line, I reached out and summoned a handful of my Necromarshals—Drumbo, Synthia, Uncle Sam, and Rudolpho.

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  The tree house wouldn’t hold any more than that.

  Not with me and the wall of Dopplebangers taking up the rear of the house. With great effort and trembling hands, I also slipped free several Health and Mana Regen cards. I pulled the door open with the power of my mind and sent the cards spinning toward the Horror fighting for his life as the rest of my Necromarshals ducked beneath the stooped doorway and launched themselves into the fray.

  With that done, my attention snapped back into focus, this time once more inside the body of the Horror wearing my face. The whirlwind of blades had died away a moment before the spell cards landed, activating on command and bringing the Sunnysider back from the brink of death. Grievous gashes and a legion of lacerations mended in an instant, my HP shooting back up above seventy percent as my Necromarshals went to work.

  Drumbo barreled forward, hurdling over the Frostfang barrier then slamming into the bullheaded Aspirant like a Mack truck, knocking him off his feet with a shoulder check that sounded like a tree snapping in half. But the Horror didn’t stop—he was a juggernaut on a rampage and hammered into the next target with those slab-thick fists, driving them down into the dirt with a crunch of bone and cartilage.

  Synthia vaulted into the air, nimble and lethal, her chain saw revving as she vomited a Feral Hairball into the face of the freak in the latex gimp suit. The hairball—a writhing mass of feline fur, golden eyes, and hissing mouths—began tearing away his skin in a frenzy. Machine gun fire ripped through the air, but he wasn’t aiming at anything in particular and the bullets tore harmlessly through the canopy above, sending a smattering of leaves floating down.

  Before the gimp could properly get his bearings, Synthia sank the chain saw into his collarbone in a spray of blood. He screamed, high-pitched and wet, as she twisted the blade and carved through his neck. He fumbled the SMG and it landed in a tangle of underbrush as he went down with Synthia on top of him, hacking away at the man’s torso with the reinforced claws of her other hand.

  Rudolpho—true to his nature—immediately took to the skies, dashing above the clearing on hardened platforms of air as his nose blazed red with sickly radiation. Boils erupted on the Aspirants as he passed overhead.

  Uncle Sam made a beeline for the Celestari caster, closing the distance in a blur of unnaturally long legs, the tails of his coat fluttering out behind him like battle standards. In his hands was the burning cat-o’-nine-tails that had once belonged to Krampus. No one on the team had any use for it, but it was way too good to just leave lying around, collecting metaphorical dust in Storage. And there was no way I was putting something that powerful up for sale.

  But the Heartfire Lash sang in Uncle Sam’s hands.

  He cast a gout of roiling flame that pushed the caster back then struck with the whip, carving a deep gash across her thigh before she could conjure another spell. The woman shrieked—not in pain, but in outrage at being denied her target—and retaliated with more spectral kitchen shears, one of which embedded itself in Uncle Sam’s bony shoulder. The Horror didn’t even flinch. Instead, he grinned and pressed the attack, driving her back to the edge of the clearing.

  My icy barricades broke under the weight of the battle. But that was fine. They’d done their job.

  With my health steadily climbing, I triggered Hydro Fracking Blast again, skewering Aspirants left and right as my Horrors took command of the battlefield with overwhelming, unchecked aggression.

  Between me and my Horrors, we’d managed to cut the opposition in half.

  But the battle was far from over and it didn’t take long before resistance found me.

  Skylar materialized in a flash of violet light, using some sort of Blink Step technique to teleport directly behind me, his huge sword already in motion.

  I twisted just in time to intercept with a raised arm covered in a thick layer of protective ice. Though the frost shell saved me from losing the arm completely, I felt the bone beneath fracture and sag under the force of the blow. I ignored the sharp lance of pain and drove a knee up into his gut, then followed with a punch that turned his nose into pulp and sent several teeth flying.

  Skylar didn’t even seem to notice. Instead, he grinned and promptly slammed his ruined face into mine.

  I staggered, blinking blood from my eyes, just in time to catch the edge of his sword across my shoulder. If this had been my real body, the strike would’ve ripped apart flesh and shattered bone, but the Sunnysider had a set of heavy steel pauldrons welded to his shoulders—all neatly concealed by the illusion of Mutable Persona. The armor turned the blade without leaving so much as a scratch.

  That earned a frown from the armored warrior, but he still hadn’t connected the dots yet. I was sincerely hoping he never would.

  With a roar, I dropped low and cast Lawn Mower Wind Blade—an ugly, churning buzz saw of air exploded outward from my belly. Skylar caught it full in the chest, the edges of hardened air grinding against his armor, shooting up white sparks and leaving shallow cuts across the exposed flesh.

  He stumbled back a step, coughing, but still had more than a little fight left.

  We traded blows—hammer and fist, steel and flesh. He was stronger. Faster. Better equipped. But I had one thing he didn’t: any shits to give. This wasn’t really my body, and though losing a Horror would be a minor inconvenience, it certainly wouldn’t be the end of the world. I fought like a demon and didn’t hold anything back. I used everything the Sunnysider’s body could give me—speed, weight, brute force, and desperation.

  I ducked under a swing and drove a shoulder into his gut, then followed it up with a hammer blow right to the groin. No one could shrug off a good ol’ dick punch.

  He grunted in pain and backpedaled, before driving his sword downward in a brutal overhead strike. My eyes widened in shock, and I knew the Horror would never survive…

  Except, the blow never landed.

  Instead, another blade flashed into view—this one dark steel striped with veins of red and white—stopping the strike mid-swing.

  Skylar grunted in surprise as the Dark Solstice Cleaver slid his weapon wide, nearly taking his arm with it. The follow-up blow was worse—Temp’s great sword arced in low, neatly penetrating his armor and splitting open his gut like a bag of wet leaves.

  He hit the ground screaming, entrails dragging behind him, trying to stuff them back in as blood soaked the dirt. Temperance drove her sword through his face, killing him where he lay.

  [Level Up! x 1]

  I sucked in a ragged breath as Temperance stepped up beside me, a wild gleam in her eye.

  “Glad to see we’re off to a good start,” she said, stilling grinning like a lunatic. “Are you alright?” she asked, glancing sideways at me.

  “Not really,” I rasped. “But better now that you’re here.”

  “Good,” she growled, lifting her sword and turning to face the remaining Aspirants. “Now let’s spit roast these fuckers.”

  I grimaced at her word choice. “Uh, that might not mean what you think it means, Temp.”

  “Oh, I know exactly what it means,” she said, voice hard and cold. “A devil’s threeway. You fuck them from the front, I’ll fuck them from behind.”

  “Right,” I muttered, rolling my shoulders. “Just… maybe don’t say that out loud again.”

  “I don’t like to make promises I can’t keep,” she replied before charging forward.

  I said a silent prayer of thanks that Temp was the first one through, and not Jakob, Harper, or Croc. Jakob was powerful, but he detested killing other Delvers, and what I really needed was some no-holds-barred bloodlust.

  With Temp’s sudden appearance, the tide began to noticeably shift in our favor.

  The Sunnysider was on his last legs, so I let my consciousness slip back into my own body.

  The wall of Dopplebangers had vanished, dealing no damage since none had actively been dealt to the real me, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. I quickly swapped Relics, exchanging Collective Consciousness, Sleepwalker, and Mutable Persona for StainSlayer Maelstrom, Neural Slipstream, and Echoed Aura, then slipped out through the front door. The second I was clear, I took to the air, hovering eight feet up from the forest floor as I began to cast.

  First, I summoned more Horrors, black vertical slashes rippling through the clearing as Kevins, Kathys, Timmys, and Yetis poured out like water from a broken faucet. My army immediately went on the offensive, slaughtering with total disregard for their own safety or lives. The Aspirants quickly found themselves badly outnumbered, our roles reversed, as they formed tight defensive pockets to stave off the unnatural creatures.

  That only benefited me. With them all in one place, my AoE spells would be that much more effective.

  I cast Echoed Aura, pairing it in Group Love Mode with Neural Slipstream.

  Neural Slipstream (Group Love Aura): Gain +50% to movement speed and 25% intangibility, reducing all incoming physical and elemental damage. Allies are 25% more susceptible to Psychic and Mental-based attacks.

  In an eyeblink all of my allies became cloudy and partially intangible. Arrows and spells phased through them as they fought, doing only a fraction of their normal damage.

  I cast StainSlayer Maelstrom next, raining fat drops of bleach down onto the assembled Aspirants while Temp went on the warpath, carving a bloody trail through anyone standing in her way. The skinless dickheads began to fall, their formations caving under the concerted pressure from my Horrors, while I hurled a barrage of spells in their direction.