Level Up Hero!

Facing Despair, Part 1

As Sam slammed his hammer down on the final phantom’s face — one whose flickering form showed off the muscles of a male bodybuilder — a new notification appeared before him.

[You have leveled up!]

It was the second one he’d seen since his battle began with the eight phantoms he’d systematically destroyed. One by one they went down while Sam tested the limits of his newfound athleticism.

He’d dodged attacks from ghostly hands that meant him harm by jumping around the room like a certain spider-themed hero from his favorite MCU movie. All the while, his hammer had swung without abandon, breaking through bone and earning him kill after kill.

More than once he’d been tagged by a phantom’s touch, but Regeneration quickly tamped down on this power’s more lethal effects, allowing Sam to be more reckless than his old self would have been. 

Now, as he stood over the pile of Phantom Dust that last bodybuilder phantom left behind — the inside of his hoodie slicked with sweat — Sam couldn’t remember just how long it had been since he’d entered Goodwill Asylum. But he imagined it must have been at least an hour or two since sunlight warmed his skin.

[You look like you’re about to drop dead, kid.]

“I’m… all… good,” Sam managed to say between gasps of air.

[I think it’s time for lesson number six, kid. Pace yourself! Going past your limits isn’t always the solution, especially not if you’re doing things solo. Know when to fight and when to pull back and recover… that’s lesson number six, but it’s also the first rule in staying alive inside a haunted zone.]

“I… heal fast, remember?” Sam reminded Chiron.

[Regeneration only heals your fatigue when you take a break, lame-brain!]

Sam’s hand was shivering as he picked up the golden drachma glinting on the linoleum floor below him.

“Oh… right… Sure, I’ll take a break...”

He sat on the ground and gave his fatigue, which was at a whopping [85%], time to drop to [10%] before he collected the rest of the loot scattered around him.

Sam earned twenty drachmas in that last fight against those eight phantoms. That final phantom earned him a whopping seven drachmas, which Chiron guessed was because some of the gods thoroughly enjoyed Sam’s mad scramble for victory.

[Entertaining the gods is a double-edged sword, kid. The higher the risk the higher the reward, but don’t forget that you’ve just started out on this new path… so pace yourself.]

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Yeah… I know.”

Honestly, he hadn’t planned to entertain the gods. He was just trying to survive that last fight. Once more his thoughts drifted toward blasphemy as he wondered what kind of gods thought a life or death struggle was entertainment.

Sam sighed. “We’re not done yet, are we?”

[What do you think, kid?]

Sam’s gaze drifted to the far end of the hall where the path split into two short corridors. “I think you want me to get in even more trouble than I’m already in…”

The right path led to the elevators and stairs that would take one up to the floors above. He definitely didn’t want to go that way. Meanwhile, the left path led into a short corridor that ended at two heavily damaged wooden doors that must have once led into what Sam guessed was an administrator’s office. Interestingly enough, the wave of energy emanating from beyond those wooden doors was making the hairs on the back of his arms stand on end.

“Master… do you know what type of horror is hiding in there?”

Sure, the energy he was sensing now was pretty weak, more like a pulse rather than the roaring river that was the alpha-level Terror’s strength. But Sam had this feeling he couldn’t shake off telling him that whatever was on the other side of those wooden doors wasn’t something he would have an easy time against.

[Don’t know, kid… Like you said, an asylum is a buffet of emotions just waiting to give birth to every kind of horror imaginable… Isn’t this exciting?]

“You and I clearly have different views on what that word means,” Sam replied.

He hadn’t quite found his resolve to wade into another dangerous situation yet. Luckily for Sam, there was one more thing for him to kill time doing.

Sam pulled out the pouch he’d filled with Phantom Dust earlier and scooped up as much of the dust on the floor that he could stuff into it.

“I get it now,” Sam said as he realized he’d already earned drachmas equivalent to two hundred forty dollars in this one mission. “Why most heroes risk so much of their lives for this…”

As his gaze turned to the pouch in his hands, Sam recalled his past struggling to earn a living as a newbie hero. The fact he was a healer should have helped since healers were in such high demand. Only Sam’s low power rating meant his share of profits was always the lowest whenever he worked as a freelancer.

It didn’t matter that his power risked his own life in order to heal others. What mattered was how much actual healing he could do. Thus, the Wardens rating system appraised Sam as an ineffectual healer, and the rest of the world saw him that way too as a consequence of this rating.

“I earned a thousand drachmas in the Battle of the Bronx, but that horror’s corpse probably cost ten times more,” he guessed.

[No one believes a zeta could have done what you achieved, kid… It’s just the way it is in these days of heroic commercialism and ratings.]

Yeah, Sam thought. It was a system biased for those with greater power. It wasn’t fair, and in the corner of his mind, Sam recalled the Trickster and how he had called this current hero society corrupt.

“Thunder and Dr. Hearthstone would have gotten most of that battle’s profits,” Sam deduced. “She’s probably the reason I even earned a thousand drachmas…”

[Yeah, she asked me to give you that money.]

Sam was surprised that Chiron so easily admitted this to him. Not that he was angry about it. Thunder deserved all the credit. It was her power that destroyed the horror. Not Sam’s.  

[But it wasn’t just you, kid… Thunder donated most of what she earned from that battle to the families of the heroes who’d died fighting the Terror. She’s a classy gal, that one.]

The thought of Thunder made Sam smile. “Yeah… she really is.”

[If you’re done looking like a lovesick puppy, lame-brain, I recommend you get to finishing the mission already. We’re burning daylight here.]

That comment wiped away the dopey smile plastered on Sam’s face.

“I’m not lovesick,” he protested. “I’m just impressed with her generosity…”

[Yeah, sure, you’re very believable right now.]

It was only just the message box, but Sam could swear he could hear the sarcasm in Chiron’s tone.

He sighed. “Fine, fine… I’m going to go fight the creepy monster hiding in the shadows now, are you happy?”

[I’d be happier with a more competent student… Sadly, all I have is you.]

“You said even Superion would have been impressed with my moves,” Sam reminded him.

[I don’t remember ever saying that… Now quit fooling around and go to work already.]

Sam was fuming as he stomped his way toward the left corridor. He didn’t even realize that his annoyance with his master had helped him shed off the nervousness he’d been feeling earlier. But, as he was standing before those damaged wooden doors, Sam wondered if Chiron had intentionally riled him up to get his head back in the game.

Cold, the kind of brutal cold only a horror could unleash wafted out of the many holes peppering those wooden doors.

“I really need to figure out my battle cry,” he said in an attempt at levity.

Sam pushed open the doors, but they crumbled to the ground at his touch.

Dust got kicked up into the air, helping to momentarily block his view of what lay beyond. He didn’t need to see to know what he would find, however, for Sam heard the high-pitched shriek that made his skin crawl. He’d heard this same sound in his nightmares, the one that never failed to wake him up in a cold sweat.

“Talk about bad luck…” Sam sighed. “Of all the horrors I could face… I get the one born from despair.”  

At the far end of the room, Sam saw a ghostly face with blood-red eyes and an open mouth that was fixed in a silent scream.

“Holy Zeus…” he whispered.

Just like the Terror he’d fought before, this horror of despair had a tall, thin frame and four spindly limbs that ended in sharp-nailed hands and feet. Wild, wiry hair flew out from behind a face so pale it was like staring into death.

The horror’s lips parted, widening into the shape of an O that made its jaw become unhinged.

“Aw, Styx,” Sam breathed.

He ducked behind the sliver of wall that had once supported the wooden doors as the horror unleashed a high-pitched shriek whose sound waves shattered the office floor.

Sam covered his ears. “I’m not ready for this!”

[I’m skipping to lesson number twenty-one, kid — identify your enemy! There are thirteen types of horrors, and each one has several kinds of manifestations. Quickly identifying what you’re up against will ensure you stay alive longer!]

“I already know what it is!” Sam answered although he couldn’t hear his own voice over the shrieking. “It’s a freaking Banshee!”

[Good! You got it on the first try!]

Of course he did, because this particular kind of horror, a creature born from the despair of losing a loved one, starred in Sam’s worst nightmares.

"Why oh why," Sam shut his eyes out of frustration, "did it have to be a godsdamn Banshee...?"