Beginner's Luck: Critical Mass 2
LitRPG/Fantasy
When Migoene and Myene reached the beach they found the final boss waiting for them. They were both out of breath but to their surprise their enemy did not strike them in their momentary state of weakness. They focused all attention on this loan warrior now standing before them. He stood with his arms behind his back at attention, the sea breeze blowing caught the cape for a moment, lifting it occasionally. The crimson skies broke their dominance, and now the normal blue skies reigned supreme. Migoene looked for anything out of the ordinary, seeing only a small non sentient human fiddling with a fishing net not far away. Migoene whispered to Myene, "Leave the non sentient until the final boss is dead. If we get distracted for a moment I fear it will be the opening he needs. These humans have been dishonorable and brutal: that child is bait."
Myene nodded, and pulled the short bow from around her shoulders and notched an arrow in preparation. Migoene stepped forward taking the position tank. The final boss spoke just loud enough to be heard from the short distance away.
"Do you understand me, Outsiders?" The translation from the masks came through a moment after he spoke. Both warriors froze, muscles tensing in apprehension.
"Yes, demon. Speak your last words." Migoene growled the words.
"Did you kill the non sentients? or just my brothers?" The final boss removed his cape and dropped it in the sand behind him.
"Every human has been slaughtered. ALL others will perish today." Myene shouted it from behind Migoene. She drew back the arrow half way as she spoke.
The final boss nodded slowly. "You have Kwernoss's bow and advancement on your mask. You will die today for his sake."
Myene lowered her stance and aimed her bow and arrow. Migoene tensed muscles and prepared to attack.
"Today, you will learn why I am the Librarian." Holding out his right hand, the final boss's book emblem burned bright red, and an old leather-bound book appeared floating beside his right hand and he read one word: "Trueno." A harpoon appeared in his right hand and the book disappeared. At that moment, Myene loosed her arrow and rapidly reached for a second, Migoene launched himself forward with all the speed needed to run on water. The hourglass emblem burned red, and the motion of the Librarian became a blur, he was now to the left of where he had stood, and the harpoon seemed to instantly be buried into Myene's chest. The loosed arrow missed it's target and Migoene was forced to change his trajectory mid dash.
Migoene glanced back for a moment mid sprint, seeing his companion mortally wounded but still on her feet. Turning his attention back to the final boss he closed the distance and began wildly throwing punches, with all the power, precision, and timing he had learned with years of training. Four long and more powerful arms against the two human arms should be enough to overwhelm the enemy. The shield emblem on the final boss's mask glowed red, and Migoene watched in horror as none of his blows could reach anything vital. Then, in another instant, the final boss was gone, leaving his moment with nothing to counter it. He staggered and stepped on the cape of the final boss, which caused his feet to slip.
Migoene whirled looking for his foe. In shock he watched as the final boss had somehow teleported in front of Myene, who was now on one knee, unable to use the bow with the harpoon in her chest. The final boss grabbed her hand holding the bow, and savagely broke her arm with a single strike. Migoene turned and dashed again, hoping to land a blow on the enemy with his back turned. In this moment of eternity he watched in horror as the final boss drove the harpoon through his companion into the beach, impaling and immobilizing her there. The final boss turned his head back to Migoene, the hourglass emblem once again burning red.
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Fluke tried not to draw attention to himself or make it known that he was watching the fight unfold. Non sentients always seemed to be oblivious to things unfolding before them. But in shock and awe, Fluke felt his attention drift up and watch the battle unfold. The Librarian wasn't winning, but he was also landing powerful blows in the midst of receiving them. Fluke stood and grabbed the net and drug it behind him, keeping himself within running distance from the two combatants. Just then the Outsider landed a heavy blow on the head of the Librarian, but it seemed to slide off rather than transfer all of the power it held. In that moment Fluke noted the blazing four leaf clover on his mentor's mask. The Librarian countered with a powerful strike on the invaders torso, it seemed to throw the enemy's timing off. But the moment didn't last, as the creature whirled and kicked the Librarian in the chest sending him tumbling. Fluke ran to close the distance in horror as he feared his mentor would die in this very moment before his eyes.
"STOP!" He felt the word leave his lips before he knew what he was doing. The Outsider stood over the Librarian ready to land a killing blow, but the single word stopped the violence.
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Migoene was exhausted, he felt his stamina draining faster than normal. He was trying to finish this fight to have a chance at saving Myene. Grabbing the struggling final boss, he raised a fist to end the fight. That's when he heard a noise and his translator rang in his ears. Turning slowly he looked around and saw only the non sentient boy with a fishing net standing before him, realization dawning on him.
"Another sentient?" Migoene then saw for the brief moment a flash of a human woman in a dress smirking at him, and standing behind the boy. And in an instant she was gone.
"Impossible." Migoene suddenly realized he needed to flee. He needed to grab Myene and run. As he dropped the final boss, he turned to dash back the way he came, but felt his leg be snagged by the final boss. As he crashed to the ground he knew all was lost.
About the Creator
Everett Scaife
I have always enjoyed writing and I have always dreamed of publishing my own series of science fiction books
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Beginner's Luck: Critical Mass
The Librarian sat cross legged on the beach being bathed in the blood red light of the rift world. He worked hard to clear his mind of the emotional turmoil he now felt. The death of his two lieutenants had shook him to his core, for they were the closest thing he had to children, or brothers. They had chosen their paths, and their masks had been earned with him standing by to guide them. He had been filled with pride the day both of them had achieved their second advancements on their masks. Flooded now with memories of them, he fought to keep a level head with a fight now marching towards him. Several times he felt the cold slime of grief well up inside his throat, threatening to break his composure. Silent tears were streaming down his cheeks, but he forced his breathing calm.
By Everett Scaifeabout 6 hours ago in Fiction
What We Chose Not to See
The morning the cracks appeared, no one said a word. It started with the sound. A thin, splitting noise like glass bending under pressure. I heard it while brushing my teeth. The mirror above the sink trembled slightly, but when I looked at it, my reflection stood steady. Calm. Ordinary. Behind me, however, a thin black line ran from the ceiling to the floor. I blinked. It was gone. At breakfast, my mother spread butter across toast as if the world had never once disappointed her. “Did you hear that?” I asked. “Hear what?” she replied, not looking up. “That sound. Like something breaking.” She smiled faintly. “Old houses make noises.” Our house wasn’t old. I wanted to argue, but my father folded his newspaper with precise movements and stood up for work. The headline read: CITY REPORTS RECORD STABILITY Outside, the sky was pale gray. Not cloudy — just colorless, like someone had erased the blue. The air felt thick in my lungs. On the way to school, I noticed something else. The streetlight at the corner leaned slightly to the left, its metal pole twisted unnaturally. Cars drove past it without slowing. A woman pushing a stroller walked directly beneath it without glancing up. Didn’t they see? Or were they choosing not to? At school, the cracks were everywhere. A long fracture ran across the classroom wall, jagged and dark. The clock above the board ticked backward for three full seconds before correcting itself. No one reacted. Mr. Halpern continued explaining supply and demand as if time reversing was part of the curriculum. I raised my hand. “Sir, the clock—” He didn’t look at it. “Focus on your notes.” “But it just—” “Everything is functioning normally,” he said firmly. The class nodded. I stopped talking. By afternoon, the air outside carried a faint smell of smoke. Not strong enough to cause panic. Just noticeable enough to make breathing uncomfortable. People walked with their usual rhythm. They checked their phones. They laughed. They ordered coffee. The café windows reflected the street, but something was wrong with the reflections. Buildings looked taller in the glass. Skewed. Like they were stretching upward beyond the sky. I stepped closer to look. In the reflection, I wasn’t alone. Behind me stood a crowd of faceless figures. Perfectly still. Watching. I turned. The street was empty. When I looked back at the glass, the reflection was normal again. A barista tapped on the window from inside. “We’re closing early.” “Why?” I asked. She hesitated. Just for a second. “Maintenance.” Smoke drifted faintly above the rooftops. No alarms sounded. That night, the cracks returned. This time they didn’t disappear. They spread across the ceiling like lightning frozen in place. My bedroom light flickered. The air hummed. From downstairs, I heard my parents talking in soft, measured voices. “…it’s spreading faster.” “…don’t scare him.” “…if we act normal, it stabilizes.” I froze. If we act normal. Stabilizes what? The humming grew louder. A picture frame fell from the wall, its glass shattering against the floor. I ran downstairs. The living room ceiling had split open. Not wide — just enough to reveal darkness beyond it. Not night sky darkness. Not empty space. Movement. Slow. Shifting. Breathing. My mother stood beneath it with her arms crossed. “Mom,” I whispered. “You see that, right?” She didn’t look up. “See what?” “The ceiling!” “It looks fine.” My father placed a hand on my shoulder. His grip was firm. Too firm. “Listen to me,” he said quietly. “Nothing is happening.” “But it is.” He leaned closer. “The more you acknowledge it, the worse it becomes.” The crack above us pulsed. Dust fell like ash. I felt something inside me twist. “So we just pretend?” “Yes,” my mother said gently. “That’s how we’ve always survived.” Survived what? The house groaned. The next morning, half the sky was gone. Where blue should have been, there was only blankness. Not clouds. Not storm. Just absence. News channels played cooking shows. Social media was full of selfies under a disappearing sky. #Blessed #AnotherBeautifulDay The city continued moving. I stood in the center of the street and stared upward. The blank space spread slowly, swallowing color inch by inch. Birds flew into it and never came out. A man beside me checked his watch. “Traffic’s bad today.” “Look up,” I said. He frowned. “At what?” The blankness crept closer to the sun. Shadows sharpened. Windows began cracking outward. Still, no one screamed. My chest tightened. Maybe they were right. Maybe acknowledging it made it worse. Maybe silence was safety. A loud snap split the air as the leaning streetlight finally broke in half, crashing onto a parked car. People stepped around it casually. I looked at the sky again. It was nearly all gone now. Only a thin strip of blue remained, trembling like fragile glass. My reflection appeared in a nearby shop window. Behind me stood the faceless crowd again. But this time, they weren’t watching. They were fading. And in the reflection, I saw something else. Cracks spreading across my own skin. Thin. Dark lines tracing my arms. I touched my face. Smooth. Untouched. But in the glass, I was breaking. The last piece of blue sky shattered without sound. Everything turned white. Blinding. Endless. I waited for panic. For screams. For collapse. Instead— Voices. Calm. Measured. “Beautiful morning.” “Everything’s fine.” “Nothing unusual.” The white brightness softened. Buildings reappeared. The sky returned — perfect blue. No cracks. No smoke. No blankness. The streetlight stood upright again. The car was undamaged. People walked past me with mild annoyance. I rushed home. The ceiling was whole. The walls smooth. My parents sat at the table drinking coffee. “Rough night?” my mother asked lightly. “You remember it,” I said. “You have to.” My father folded his newspaper. The headline read: CITY REPORTS RECORD STABILITY He met my eyes. “For things to remain,” he said carefully, “some things must go unseen.” My reflection in the window smiled before I did. And that was when I understood. The cracks hadn’t been in the world. They had been in me. And everyone else had learned the secret long ago: Ignore the fracture. Ignore the smoke. Ignore the missing sky. Because if even one person refuses to pretend— The illusion breaks. And maybe the world with it. So I sat down. Picked up my cup. Looked at the perfect ceiling. And said nothing.
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