'This is even worse than I thought.'
Walking up to Summer was one of the scariest things Damien had ever done. The sidewalk stretched endlessly before him, each step toward her feeling like a march to execution. Summer stood at the bottom of the front steps, arms folded, gaze like sharpened blades aimed straight at him. Every inch closer amplified the tension wrapping around his chest.
He could feel it—her scowl was practically burning through his skin.
"I hope she slaps the hell out of both of you!" the voice chirped with unfiltered glee.
Damien clenched his jaw. The voice only spoke up for one of three reasons: to mess with him, because he'd somehow offended the god-thing, or on infrequent occasions to help. The last had only happened once—back in his soul.
He tilted his head toward the sky, whispering through gritted teeth, "Not the time. We're in serious danger here."
The voice didn't reply in words—just a low, entertained chuckle.
And as if things weren't already bad enough, Luka had crept behind Damien like a scared puppy, using him as a human shield.
Glancing over his shoulder, Damien hissed, "You could at least stand next to me, you idiot!"
Luka gave a weak laugh. "Hell no. You got us into this; the least you can do is take the hit."
'Fair,' Damien admitted bitterly. It was his fault. But what was he supposed to do—leave his soul without gaining an ability?
He turned his head back and froze.
Two feet in front of him stood Summer. Her hand was raised, her eyes sharp with fury, and she was walking forward.
His heart dropped into his stomach.
'No way is she actually going to—'
WHACK.
His cheek stung. His skin burned. He stood there, slack-jawed, hand cupping the side of his face.
She'd really slapped him. Hard. The kind of slap that echoed through your skull and stuck with you in more ways than one.
And then came the laughter.
"She really hit you-oh my god I wish I could see your face… Goblin down!"
'Would you shut up, you old frog?'
He tried to ignore the shrieking amusement in his head and turned his eyes back to Summer. But to his surprise, she wasn't looking at him anymore. She was looking past him.
At Luka.
Her hand raised again, her gaze zeroed in on her next target.
Damien barely had time to react before she moved him aside and stormed toward Luka with all the fury of a woman possessed.
"Get over here, you idiot!" she yelled, swinging.
Luka ducked, barely missing the swipe.
Then he made a break for it.
Taking advantage of her momentary stumble, Luka scrambled past her, bounding up the stairs like a squirrel chased by a hawk.
"Wow, really nice house here, Summer!" he shouted as he flung the door open. "I'm gonna find a room with a lock on it, if you don't mind!"
…
After some negotiation, Summer convinced Luka to come out of the bathroom with a promise not to slap him—they shared a meal she prepared.
'"Shared" is generous. "Endured" is more accurate. It tasted like a toilet seat and garbage had a baby.'
"How do you know what those things taste like?" the voice asked with obvious amusement.
Damien stared up at the night sky, arms resting on the soft grass of Summer's enormous backyard. "You say you share my memories—you tell me."
The voice grumbled something about how boring Damien's life was, and how sifting through his memories was a painful chore. Damien gladly tuned him out and focused on Luka, who was now standing a few feet in front of them.
"It's better if I give a demonstration," Luka said. "My ability—I call it Equip—lets me manifest different gear: helmets, chest armor, pants, leg guards, weapons, shields, amulets, and rings."
He paused for dramatic effect. Damien tilted his head, intrigued despite everything.
"But," Luka continued, "these aren't just regular pieces of gear. Each one carries an ability from one of the eight classes."
He raised his right hand, and sparks burst to life in his palm. A sword began to take shape from the flickering lights—clean, sleek, pulsing with energy.
"I call this one Nova. It fires energy projectiles."
He swung the blade away from them, and a green arc of light burst from the sword, flying like a whip through the air. It struck a tree with a sizzling crack, splitting it in half.
Summer's eyes narrowed. "I liked that tree."
She hadn't, but she was still mad. That was written all over her face.
Luka gave her a sheepish grin. "My bad."
He turned back to them. "So like I said—attack from the weapon, transformation from the helmet, utility from the chest armor, healing from the pants, mobility from the leg guards, defense from the shield, magic from the amulet, and control from the rings. I can't use all eight at once, though. Two is my limit for now, and I only have this sword, a shield, and leg guards."
Damien blinked. His mouth hung open slightly. Summer was in the same state.
'He's… insane. This almost rivals my ability. Actually, no—right now, he's stronger than me.'
That thought triggered an immediate tantrum.
"That fool's ability doesn't even come close to rivaling mine, you stupid goblin!"
Damien rolled his eyes. 'Yeah, yeah, you're so awesome. Forget I said anything.'
Satisfied, the voice quieted, letting Damien think.
"How do you get your equipment?" Damien asked aloud.
Luka's expression shifted—something sinister curling his lips.
"I kill people. Then I forge their ability into an item in my soul."
Damien shivered.
He'd imagined Luka had some clean, magical method—maybe carving runes like he did. But this? No. This was something else entirely. The look on Luka's face didn't help either.
It made the back of his neck itch.
'He's smiling like that's normal.'
He turned to Summer. She was still frozen. Mouth open, no sound coming out. Her brows twitched slightly.
'She's just as shocked. And can you blame her? Someone using multiple classes, even two at once, is legendary. If I weren't one too, I'd be on the floor.'
Luka finally sat down, his wicked smile softening into something more playful. "Okay, your turn, Summer."
She finally closed her mouth and cleared her throat. "While my ability isn't as impressive as Luka's, it still has uses."
She laughed a little, almost nervously. "In short… It's uh, bubbles."
'Bubbles?' Damien frowned. He tried to hide the confusion on his face, but failed miserably.
Reading him like a book, Summer continued. "My bubbles mostly fall under defense, with a bit of healing and utility. It'll be easier to show you. Damien, stand up."
Damien got to his feet, cautious. He waited for more instructions.
Then, a bubble appeared, floating lazily between them.
Summer smirked. "Hit it, please."
Damien hesitated. She was still mad. He didn't want to trigger another slap—or worse.
Still, refusing might be worse.
He walked up to the bubble and threw a full-force punch.
It was a mistake.
The second his fist hit, the bubble repelled him like a cannon. He was sent flying back over ten meters, landing with a hard thud against the ground.
'Damn it.'
Pain exploded across his body. His limbs ached, his head throbbed, and the worst part—of course—was the laughter.
"I'm glad you know how it feels!" the voice cackled. "Truly, this is poetic justice!"
Before Damien could bite back a retort, something strange happened.
He floated.
A clear, jelly-like bubble had formed around him, gently lifting him off the ground. The inside was sticky and weirdly warm—it made him shiver. But then… he felt it. The pain was vanishing. The ache in his bones dulled, his bruises faded. It was healing him.
Summer rushed over, eyes wide with guilt. She knelt beside the floating bubble.
"You dummy, you weren't supposed to hit it that hard!"
Damien gave her a weak smile. "Don't worry. It's not serious."
She tilted her head, then said with a shrug, "Good, because I couldn't have healed it if it was."
Then she stood, her worried expression gone, replaced by the usual cold steel.
"Also, never be late again, or I'll make you float away."
Damien saluted nervously, "Yes, ma'am."
The bubble popped, setting him gently back on the grass. He felt… incredible. Better than he had before the whole fiasco.
But his peace didn't last.
"Damn little goblin. She just made you the little spoon."
"Oh, shut up."