"She hit me..." Kary whispered, sitting on the damp grass and inspecting a broken nail. "She just up and hit me. For nothing! No reason at all! I didn’t even get the chance to tell her that her mascara was running... probably."
She glared at the interface hanging before her face.
[Log Out]
The button remained grey. Now that the adrenaline had ebbed and the humiliation had rolled in like a tide, that fact was genuinely terrifying. It wasn't an "oh, I forgot my keys" kind of fear; it was more "stuck in a lift with a killer clown."
"Dronny," she said softly. "Cut the music. Stream's over. I can’t... I can’t be bubbly when I’m being battered by ninja-chavs. And when I can't even get home to wash this filth off and eat a gallon of ice cream."
The drone obediently flickered its red recording light and doused the spotlight. The broadcast cut out. Five thousand viewers were left staring at a black screen, wondering what had happened to their favourite girl. Kary was left alone in the dark forest. Pulling her knees to her chest, she hugged them tight. Her 'Combat Milkmaid' skirt was hopelessly ruined with grass and dirt stains. Her stockings were torn.
"What am I supposed to do?" she asked the darkness. "Mum’s probably going spare by now. Or is she? Maybe she thinks I’m at Grandad’s, eating pies and getting fat? And Grandad..."
The thought of her grandad brought an unexpected spark of an idea.
"That's it!" She snapped her fingers. "Subscribers! I’ve got an army of fans! I can ask them..."
She imagined it: "Guys, get to the 'Sunrise' Allotments, Plot 42, right now. The cellar’s flooded and my grandad’s got a boot on his head. Save my PC!" She winced immediately.
"No. I can't. Firstly, that’s stalking. Some nutter will turn up and nick my knickers off the washing line. Secondly, if they see Grandad... with his ladle... my reputation will be in the bin. They’ll say, 'Kary’s got bad genetics; she’ll be wearing shoes on her head soon too.' No, I can't risk the brand."
She needed a different plan. Plan B. Or C. Or at least a plan called 'Someone Save Me, I’m Pretty.' Who in this world actually knew what was going on?
Option One: Gareth. That 'Knight of Vengeance' bloke. Kary shivered. "He’s a total loony. Skulls on his armour, talking like he’s got a throat full of gravel: 'I shall cleanse this world...' Brrr. He’d sooner burn me at the stake for wearing a mini-skirt than help me."
Option Two: The Assassin. Her crush. Her heart gave a treacherous little leap. "Fit, obviously. And an arse like a peach. But he’s blanking me! And that... girlfriend of his... she’s a brawler! Besides, I haven't got a clue where to find them. Vanished like a paycheck on a sale day."
"Right then, Option Three." Kary decided, hauling herself up and dusting off what was left of her skirt. "Follow my nose. It always works in fairy tales. The main thing is to walk with confidence and look like you know the way."
She hoisted the Dragon Slayer, which seemed to weigh a ton now, and trudged away from the Lord’s manor, away from the scene of her shame. The forest was thick, dark, and unwelcoming. Branches snagged her clothes; roots tried to trip her.
"Ow!" she shrieked as a thorny bush scratched her thigh. "For god's sake! Why are there no pavements here? Is it really that hard to lay down a bit of cobble? Savages."
She walked for an hour. Maybe two. Her feet, cramped in her heels, ached as if she’d pulled a double shift at a factory (though Kary had a very vague idea of what a factory was, she was certain everyone there worked in stilettos). Her thoughts were jumbled. One moment she thought she heard someone breathing behind a bush; the next, she imagined a tree was waving a branch at her.
"I’m going barmy," she noted. "Like Alice in Wonderland. Only instead of the White Rabbit, I’ve got a drone, and instead of a tea party, I’ve got mud and depression."
"Hello, my lovelies!" Kary gave a radiant smile to the lens, even though her insides were twisting with fear. "Sorry for the technical hiccups, we've got a bit of... er... turbulence here. Magnetic storms!"
[Chat_Bot]: Stream restored. Viewers: 4,800.
[Ghost_Hunter]: Kary, where are you?! Is this a proper haunted castle?
[ScaredyCat]: Get out of there! Someone’s standing behind you!
"No one’s standing there," Kary giggled nervously, spinning around.
Behind her stood only a statue of a headless knight. Well, almost headless—the head was lying at its feet, staring at Kary with silent reproach.
"See? Just props!" She tapped her fingernail against the stone pauldron. "Cheap papier-maché. Though it feels cold to the touch... Brrr."
She moved deeper into the fortress, trying to step on the slabs that looked the most solid. But nothing in this place looked solid. The Bastion’s interior was a picture of decay. The Great Hall, which had presumably once hosted grand feasts, now resembled a storage unit for a giant’s forgotten belongings. Rotting long tables were covered in moss like a tablecloth. Overturned chairs looked like dinosaur skeletons. And the chandeliers—gigantic wrought-iron things hanging from rusted chains right against the ceiling, ready to plummet onto the head of anyone who dared to sneeze.
Suddenly, the air turned icy.
"Oooooooh..." a long-drawn-out wail echoed from somewhere above.
Kary froze.
"That’s the wind," she declared confidently. "Just a draft. There’s no glass in the windows! They skimped on the double glazing, the numpties."
But the "wind" wouldn't let up. At the far end of the hall, directly out of the wall, drifted a semi-transparent figure. A white, formless smudge vaguely resembling a woman in rags. She floated through the air, wringing her hands.
"WHERE IS MY COMB?!" the ghost wailed in a sepulchral voice. "I HAVEN'T BEEN ABLE TO UNTANGLE THESE KNOTS FOR THREE HUNDRED YEARS!"
"Aaaaah!" Kary shrieked. "A ghost! A real one! And with a terrible hairdo!"
She bolted to the side, forgetting all about grace and camera angles. Her heels clattered against the stone like a machine-gun volley.
"Dronny, film it! This is an exclusive! Interview with a dead person!"
Instead of an interview, she opted for the ostrich tactic. Kary dove under the nearest table. It was dark, dusty, and cramped. But at least there was protection from above in the form of thick oak planks. She huddled into a ball, pulling her knees to her chest. Her red skirt hiked up indecorously, revealing her torn stockings and white knickers, which were now covered in grey dust. Dronny, ever faithful to his craft, flew in right after her and switched to night-vision mode, broadcasting a trembling Kary and her assets to the entire internet.
[Chat_Bot]: [Scooby_Doo] Kary, get out! The ghost wants a comb, give her yours!
[Horror_Fan]: God, she looks so cute when she’s shaking. I want to comfort her.
[Tactician]: That’s a Banshee! Don’t listen to her scream, it applies a 'Migraine' debuff!
"I'm not giving her my comb!" Kary whispered, peeking out from under the mossy tablecloth. "I’ve got a Tangle Teezer, it was expensive! And besides, hygiene! Ghosts probably have lice! Ghost lice!"
She crawled on all fours toward the exit of the hall, trying not to make a sound. Crawling in a mini-skirt and a corset was quite the chore. Her knees were raw, and her chest threatened to pop out of her neckline with every movement.
"I feel like Lara Croft," she panted. "Except Lara had pistols, and I’ve only got charisma and a pervy drone."
Suddenly, right under her nose, a hand thrust out of the floor. A transparent, bluish hand in a plate gauntlet grabbed the table leg.
"WHO'S THERE?!" a voice boomed from underground. "WHO'S TRAMPLING AROUND LIKE AN ELEPHANT?! I'M TRYING TO SLEEP!"
Kary shrieked so loudly that the chandelier against the ceiling swayed. She jumped up, banging her head against the tabletop.
"Ow! That hurts! Mummy!"
The tabletop, rotten from time and damp, couldn't withstand the impact (or the weight of the panicked streamer). It cracked. And right after it, the floor beneath the table cracked too.
CRRR-A-A-ACK!
"Uh oh..." was all Kary had time to say before she felt the ground vanish from beneath her feet.
She plummeted down. Along with the table scraps, centuries of dust, and her own shriek which had reached an ultrasonic pitch. Dronny, letting out a bleep, dove after her, filming the fall in slow-motion: hair billowing, eyes wide with fright, and a flying skirt that offered a view worthy of a Playboy: Dungeon Edition cover.
The landing was hard, but not fatal. Kary fell onto a pile of something soft and dusty.
"A-choo!" she sneezed, kicking up a cloud of grey sediment. "Ugh, where am I? Inside a vacuum cleaner?"
She opened her eyes and looked around. This wasn't just a pit. It was an Arena. A massive circular hall lit by a ghostly bluish light emanating from torches that burned without fire. The walls were decorated with rusted chains and skulls (real ones, not plastic!). And in the centre, on a throne of bones (which looked very uncomfortable), sat HIM.
The Boss. The King of Ghosts.
Name: Arthur the Grumpy Type: Epic Spirit Level: 20 Special Ability: Toxic Grandad. Deals damage to self-esteem.
He looked... well, not particularly epic. A chubby, semi-transparent ghost in a crown that sat askew. His mantle looked more like a dressing gown, and he wore slippers with curled-up toes. In his hand was a goblet (empty), and his gaze was fixed on Kary with an expression of the deepest contempt.
"And what's this that’s dropped in?" the King croaked, not rising from his throne. "Another 'heroine'?" He looked Kary over with a skeptical eye. "Mmm. Adventurers aren't what they used to be. Used to get knights in here. In proper armour. Made a lovely clatter. And you? Rags. That skirt is a disgrace. Could you not afford trousers, you pauper? Skint, are we?"
[System Message: Boss has used the skill 'Toxic Comment'.]
[Damage Received: Emotional (50 units).]
Kary, who was just trying to stand up and brush off her knees (while demonstrating her lace knickers to the entire hall and the boss), froze. Her eyes narrowed.
"Pardon?!" she snapped. "Pauper?! Do you have any idea how much this corset cost?! This is genuine dragon leather... well, nearly! And it’s handmade!"
She stood up straight, hands on her hips.
"And who do you think you are? Casper on steroids? Sitting there in a dressing gown like a bloke at a bus station, and you dare to critique my look? Your belly’s transparent!" she added, jabbing a finger toward the King's ghostly stomach. "You should spend some time in the gym instead of sitting on a throne!"
The King choked on the air (or the ectoplasm).
"How dare you?!" he roared, rising.
He grew larger, puffing up like a balloon. His eyes glowed red.
"I am the Terror of the Night! I am the Devourer of Hope! I shall make you weep with the realisation of your own insignificance!"
[Boss Skill: Wave of Depression]
A grey wave washed through the hall, making one want to wrap up in a blanket, put on some sad music, and cry over one's life. Kary felt a flicker of sadness. She remembered how a boy had pulled her pigtails in Year 3. But then she remembered she currently had five thousand viewers, a new manicure (despite the one broken nail), and that she was a star. The wave shattered against her ego like a ship against a rock.
[Resistance Successful! The 'Narcissism' (Passive) skill blocked the mental attack.]
"Oh, don't make me laugh," Kary snorted, pulling a mirror out of her inventory and checking her makeup. "'Devourer of Hope.' You're a devourer of doughnuts, at best. Your crown’s crooked," she noted, not looking away from her reflection. "And your teeth are yellow. Even for a ghost! How can you let yourself go like that? Ugh. No self-respect."
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
The King froze. He tried to become even scarier, sprouting claws and fangs.
"YOU... YOU ARE A STUPID, VACANT DOLL!" he bellowed. "Your head is full of nothing but rags! You’ll never achieve anything! No one truly loves you! Your subscribers are bots!"
That was a low blow. Kary slowly lowered the mirror. She looked at the Boss. Her blue eyes turned as cold as the ice in a cocktail.
"What did you say about my subscribers?" she asked quietly.
She stepped toward the throne.
"You can insult me. You can call me fat (which is a lie!). Но don't you dare touch my audience! They are darlings! And you—you're a grumpy, smelly, insecure old ghost sitting in a cellar because nobody loves him! You haven't even got any friends! Just skeletons! And even they stay quiet because you’ve bored them to death with your moaning!"
Kary advanced, waving her arms.
Suddenly, the forest opened up. The trees, which had been standing like a wall, seemed to respectfully step aside, revealing something grand. And frightening.
A fortress loomed before Kary. Not like that posh manor belonging to the Lord with its little towers and weather vanes. No. This was an ancient, grim structure built from gargantuan grey boulders. The walls soared up at least twenty metres, but their edges were blurred, softened by time and nature. Green vines as thick as an arm coiled around the masonry, snaking into the cracks between the stones like the veins of a giant monster. Moss covered the battlements in a velvet carpet. Huge trees grew directly out of the walls, their roots hanging down and intertwining with the ivy.
The fortress looked as if it had been asleep for a thousand years, and the forest was slowly but surely devouring it, digesting the stone.
"Whoa..." Kary exhaled, craning her neck. "Talk about a ruin. You could film a music video for some gothic rock band here. 'Love, Blood, and Mould.'"
The gates, once reinforced with iron, had long since rotted and collapsed, leaving the dark maw of a passage into the inner courtyard. A draft of damp and cold wafted from within, a chill that pierced through even her magical protection (and her total lack of proper clothing).
[New Location: Forgotten Bastion]
[Danger Level: ???] [Recommendation: Fly, you fools!]
Kary read the message and snorted. " 'Fly, you fools.' Pfft. Someone’s watched too much Lord of the Rings. I’m no fool; I’m a Destroyer!"
She puffed out her chest proudly, adjusting her corset. "Besides, I've got nowhere else to fly to. Out there in the forest, it's just mosquitoes and ex-boyfriends. In here... maybe there's a roof? And a dry floor?"
She took a step forward, entering beneath the arches of the ancient gate. "Oi!" she shouted, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "Is anyone alive? Or dead? I’m not picky; I just need a place to crash!"
Silence. Only the rustle of leaves in the wind and the creak of an old tree somewhere above. Kary walked into the inner courtyard. It looked like a botanical garden that hadn't been tended to for a couple of centuries. Stone slabs were cracked by roots; the fountain in the centre had turned into a flowerbed for ferns. But most importantly—the walls blocked the wind.
"Well then," she said to herself, lowering her sword to the ground. "Five-star hotel, 'The Fallen Knight.' Checking in."
She found a relatively clean spot under a lean-to where part of the roof remained and sat down, stretching out her aching legs. At that moment, the moon emerged from behind the clouds, illuminating the courtyard in a deathly pale light.
And Kary saw that she was not alone.
No, they weren't monsters. All across the courtyard, half-hidden by grass and bushes, stood statues. Stone warriors in armour, frozen in poses of agony and despair. Some reached their hands to the sky, some covered their faces, some gripped the hilts of broken swords. There were many of them. Dozens. And they were all staring at a single point: the main tower of the keep, a black silhouette in the centre.
"Bit creepy, isn't it, boys?" Kary whispered, shivering. "I hope you don't start blinking like in that telly show."
She leaned her back against the cold wall and closed her eyes, wishing she’d wake up at home, in her own bed, to the creak of the springs and her grandad's shouting as he fought with the kettle. But instead, she fell into a fitful sleep where the stone statues came to life and asked her to do their makeup because "we look so terrible after a thousand years of being cursed."
"Dronny, lights!" Karina hissed, brushing a cobweb off her skirt (it was strangely sticky and smelt like blue cheese). "We're going back live. The haters won't get the satisfaction of seeing Kary tilt!"
The drone bleeped, flickered, and the spotlight once again sliced through the ancient darkness of the Forgotten Bastion.
"You think you’re scary? You’re pathetic! Look at you! A stained dressing gown! Battered slippers! You’re not a King; you’re a walking identity crisis!"
The King recoiled. He seemed to shrink in size with every word. The red fire in his eyes flickered out, replaced by a terrified blue shimmer.
"B-but... I... I'm an ancient evil..." he stammered.
"You’re an ancient bore!" Kary snapped. "Give it up already! Hand over the loot and go... I don't know... take a life-coaching course! Or book a therapist!"
She stepped right up and jabbed a finger into his chest. Her finger passed through his spectral flesh, but the King winced as if he’d been tasered. He flopped back onto his throne, buried his face in his hands, and... started to cry.
"Waaaaah!" he sobbed. "You’re righ-t-t! I’m a nobody! Nobody lo-v-v-ves me! Even my wife ran off with a poltergeist! I’m fat! And the crown is too tight!"
[Battle Completed! Victory!]
[Victory Type: Psychological Domination]
Kary’s mood shifted from rage to pity. She walked over and patted the ghost on the head (it felt like stroking cold fog).
"There, there," she said gently. "Don't cry. You aren't fat. You're just... big-boned. Spectral bones. Tell you what, I'll do your makeup. Contouring works wonders. We’ll hide those jowls, highlight the cheekbones... you’ll be a proper heartthrob."
The King sniffled. "R-really?"
"Of course!" Kary smiled. "But first..." She looked pointedly at the chest standing behind the throne. "The reward. I’ve put the work in, haven't I? Psychotherapy doesn't come cheap."
The ghost waved a hand. The chest clicked and swung open.
"Take it..." he whimpered. "Take it all. I don't need anything anymore. I'm going to... have a long think about my life choices."
He began to fade, dissolving into the air.
"Thank you..." he whispered one last time. "You’re a cruel woman. But an honest one."
Kary shrugged. "I just tell it like it is. It’s my brand."
She dashed over to the chest.
"Dronny, unboxing! Get a close-up!"
Inside the chest was no gold (though she did nick a pouch of coins anyway). There lay a dress. Black velvet, floor-length. Long sleeves embroidered with silver thread and a high, stiff collar. But the best part was the neckline. It wasn't just plunging; it was an architectural feat. Narrow, but reaching almost to her navel, laced across with delicate chains.
Rarity: Epic
Properties:
Intelligence +10 (You’ll finally seem clever)
Charisma +20 (All the ghosts will fancy you)
Fear Immunity (You’ve seen worse)
Effect "Push-Up 3000": Magical support for the bust without a bra. Guarantees a perfect shape in any position, even upside down.
Beside it lay a set of lingerie. It was transparent, looking as if it were woven from mist and cobwebs.
[Lingerie: "Ghost’s Touch". Invisible under clothing but feels like silk. +5 Stealth.]
"Mine! All mine!" she declared.
An instant costume change (praise the auto-equip function) and she was standing in the middle of the arena in her new look. The black velvet hugged her figure like a second skin. The neckline highlighted everything it needed to, and then some. The chains glinted in the drone’s light. Kary twirled, and the skirt flared out like a heavy, luxurious bell.
"I am the Queen of Darkness!" she proclaimed. "Tremble, mortals! And don't forget to hit subscribe!"
[System Message: Congratulations! You have reached a new level!]
[Level 9 -> 10]
[New Skill Slot Unlocked!]
"Two levels at once?!" Kary clapped her hands. "Level ten! Double digits!"
She looked into the camera, beaming like a gothic Christmas tree.
"Well then, Assassin?" she whispered with a predatory smile. "I’m not just a milkmaid anymore. I’m the Necromancer’s Widow. And I’m coming for you. Watch out. Widows are... very persistent."
Dronny did a final fly-by, capturing the new Kary against the backdrop of the empty throne. The stream continued, and it was no longer a survival show. It was a conquest.
Having secured her new outfit (and level), Kary decided life was looking up. True, the [Log Out] button was still doing its best impression of a brick, but in the "Necromancer’s Widow" dress, that fact was much less daunting.
"If I'm stuck here, I might as well look fabulous," she reasoned, adjusting the chains on her cleavage.
The Forgotten Bastion, which half an hour ago felt like a branch of hell, now felt like a set for an atmospheric photoshoot. The ghosts peeking out from the walls were no longer wailing. They huddled modestly in the corners, gawping in awe (or terror?) at the new mistress of the fortress.
"Oi, you!" Kary called out to a passing knight carrying his head under his arm. "Where’s the exit? I need a spa. Or at least a blacksmith to clean this sword. It’s covered in blood and... something sticky."
The knight stopped, dropped his head (which rolled across the floor with a dull thump-thump-thump), and pointed a gauntleted finger toward a spiral staircase winding upwards.
"Cheers," Kary nodded. "By the way, you should polish that helmet. You look like a bean tin after a picnic."
She headed for the stairs, her heels clicking. Dronny, her faithful paparazzi, flew behind, trying to catch a worm's-eye view. The new dress was long, but a high slit on the thigh gave plenty of room for imagination and donations. With every step, the black fabric fell away, revealing a slim leg and the edge of that "Ghost’s Touch" lingerie, which turned out to be practically invisible.
[Simp_King]: GOOD LORD! I CAN SEE... I CAN ALMOST SEE!
[Ghost_Lover]: That lingerie is +5 Stealth? I’d say +100 arousal.
[Tactician]: Kary, the sword! You forgot the sword!
"Oh, right," Kary remembered, going back for the Dragon Slayer.
She tried to lift it with one hand (she was level 10 now, after all!), but the world’s physics remained merciless. The sword weighed as much as half her wardrobe.
"Ugh..." she groaned, dragging the iron slab across the floor. The screech was so loud it probably gave the ghosts phantom toothaches. "Why do heroes always have such heavy bits? Why can't we save the world with a nail file? Or a credit card?"
She reached the stairs. Climbing spiral steps with an eighty-kilogram rail in your hands while wearing an evening gown is a task for Olympic champions. Or idiots. Kary put herself in the "pretty and persistent" category. On the third landing, she stopped to catch her breath. And that’s when she saw him.
Sitting in a wall niche, theatrically pressing his forehead against the cold stone, was a youth. He looked about eighteen. Tall, with delicate, aristocratic features and long hair tied back in a messy ponytail. He wore an old, slightly worn but elegant doublet with lace cuffs, which he was currently using for the wrong purpose—wiping away spectral tears.
He looked like the hero of a mass-market romance novel: tragic, handsome, and a bit pathetic.
Name: Timmy Race: Ghost Class: Page (Romantic Loser) Level: 5
"Oh..." Kary adjusted her hair and instinctively puffed out her chest (though the dress was already doing a stellar job of that). "What an interesting specimen. Oi, handsome! Why the long face? Girlfriend dump you? Or has the Grumpy King missed a payday?"
The youth startled and looked up at her with massive, watery eyes the colour of spring leaves. "N-no, my lady..." His voice was pleasant and velvety, though trembling with sobs. "I... I have committed an unforgivable error. I was supposed to hand Sir Lancelot his scented handkerchief before the tournament, but... I was distracted by a passing butterfly and dropped the handkerchief in the mud! Sir Lancelot was so cross... He said I was useless! And now I’m afraid to return. They’ll un-manifest me! Send me to the Limbo for Hopeless Romantics!"
Kary stepped closer. Dronny immediately changed angles, capturing both the mistress's plunging neckline and the youth’s tragic face. "How awful," she cooed, touching his shoulder. The shoulder was cold, but broad. "Lancelot is just an abuser. Forget him. You need someone who appreciates your sensitive soul. And your looks."
[Lady_Killer]: Oho, new crush?
[Otome_Fan]: He’s so cute! Kary, take him!
[Simp_King]: Oi! I’m jealous! Why him and not me?!
"Want to come with me?" Kary leaned in, letting the dress's neckline do the heavy lifting. The youth turned a spectral shade of crimson and swallowed hard. "I actually need... er... a personal assistant. To carry coffee, hold the lighting reflector for photos, fend off annoying fans. And I’ll let you stay within my aura. Free of charge."
Timmy looked at her as if she were a goddess descended from the heavens (or ascended from a very stylish hell).
“An assistant? This... this is an honour, milady! I shall serve you! I shall compose sonnets in your name! And polish your slippers with my very breath!”
[System Message: You have invited the NPC Timmy to join your party.]
[Timmy has accepted the invitation with enthusiasm.]
“Sonnets later,” Kary noted pragmatically. “Business first. See this iron slab?” She nodded toward the Dragon Slayer lying on the steps. “Nip down, grab the scabbard if it’s there, and lug it back up. Consider this your induction test.”
Timmy leapt up. Despite the tears, he was actually quite tall and well-built. “For you, milady, I would lift a mountain!” he cried theatrically, and with a flourish of his doublet, he drifted back down.
A couple of minutes later, he returned. He couldn't lift a mountain, evidently, but he was hauling the sword with a heroic effort, grunting and—as it seemed to Kary—showing off his spectral biceps just a touch. “There!” he exhaled, laying the weapon at her feet. “Your blade, my queen!”
“Good boy,” Kary patted his cheek. “Now—to the exit! To the sun! To the engagement metrics!”
They climbed onto the fortress ramparts. The sun was just rising, drenching the forest in golden light. The view was staggering. Kary walked to the battlements, spread her arms, and inhaled the fresh air. “Freedom!” she shouted. “And new content!”
And then something bizarre happened. Timmy, following her out into the sunlight, suddenly began to... change. His translucent body filled with colour and density. His pale skin took on a healthy, peach-like glow. The doublet gained the texture of expensive velvet, hugging his broad shoulders and lithe frame tightly. His features sharpened, becoming even more attractive. Within seconds, it wasn't a ghost standing before her, but a breathtakingly handsome young man.
[Warning! The 'Forgotten Bastion' area effect has dispelled.]
[Party member Timmy has materialised.]
“Oh!” Timmy gasped, staring at his hands in wonder. “Milady! I... I feel warmth! I can feel my heart beating!” He looked up at Kary, sparks dancing in his green eyes. “And you... you are even more beautiful in the light of day!”
“Blimey...” Kary whistled, walking around him and giving him a proper, shameless look-over. “You’re a bit of a looker, aren't you? Dronny, get a close-up! Chat, rate the upgrade! We’ve gone from a moping ghost to a cover-model crush. Alive? Warm?” She jabbed a finger into his chest. Firm. “Brilliant. This opens up so many possibilities. It means now you can do more than just carry things. You could... say, pose for couple photos? Or give me a foot rub?”
Timmy turned red to the roots of his hair, but immediately tried to pick up the sword he’d dropped during the transformation. “OW!” he shrieked as the heavy hilt crushed his finger. “It’s so heavy! It was easier in ghost form! Milady! I’m a page! A poet! My hands were made for the lute and the quill! I’ll do myself a mischief! I’m of a... delicate build!”
“Timmy,” Kary said sternly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Look at me. I’m a fragile girl in an evening gown. You’re a strapping eighteen-year-old lad. Do you want to go back to the cellar, back to the damp and depression? Or do you want to travel with a star? The choice is yours. But keep in mind: I’ve got sandwiches in my pack. And I might just let you carry my makeup bag.”
The argument about sandwiches (and, undoubtedly, the prospect of being near such beauty) worked like a charm. Timmy gave a resigned sigh, adjusted his lace cuffs, hoisted the sword onto his shoulder, and wobbled. “For you, milady...” he rasped, buckling under the weight. “I shall endure any torment!”
“And take my backpack as well,” Kary added, ruthlessly hanging her bag of loot around his neck. “That’s the boss loot in there. It’s heavy. Don’t drop it. As for me... I’ll go light. I need to mind my posture.”
With a light-footed gait worthy of a Milan catwalk, she headed toward the ruined gates. The wind played with her new dress, revealing her legs, while the drone obediently captured every step. Behind her, huffing like a steam engine and cursing his romantic nature, trudged her new companion—handsome, alive, and already deep, deep in the friendzone.
“Dronny, music!” Kary commanded. “Something epic! We’re off to conquer the world! And break some hearts!”
[Simp_King]: I hate him. But he's carrying her bags. Fine, he lives for now.
[Fan_Girl_99]: He’s so fit! Kary, don’t be mean to him!
[Mom_Admin]: Karina! Who is this boy? Is he 18? Ask for ID!
“Mum, he’s an NPC!” Kary waved it off, stepping from the shadow of the fortress onto the sun-drenched road. “He hasn't got a passport. He’s got an inventory and stamina. Hopefully.”
She smiled at the new day. Life was definitely looking up. She had the levels, she had the dress, and she had a personal porter who looked like an idol. What more could a girl want in another world? Except, perhaps, to find that Assassin and show him exactly what he’d lost out on. And she was certainly going to do that.