Chapter 14 Red Thongs

The battlefield was chaos—dust and sparks flying beneath a darkening sky, jagged cliffs looming like sentinels over a narrow plateau. A 21-man raid squad had spread into formation across the rock-strewn terrain. At the center of it, glowing like polished obsidian and twice as sharp, loomed the Level 14 Steel Spider.

Its body was plated in jagged steel. Each leg a blade, each movement a blur of violence.

Fireblade stood on the perimeter, cloak whipping in the chilling evening wind, eyes narrowed. She didn’t speak. She didn’t blink. She just watched as Gronk, their raid leader, dove into the fray with a roar, shield raised.

CLANG!

The spider struck—once, twice, a flurry of silver death. Gronk blocked the first strike, caught the second with his shield edge, but the third—

KRANG!

His shield went flying, skidding across the rock. The spider surged forward, another leg aiming to impale him clean through the chest.

But Gronk rolled—hard—and with a grunt, scooped up his shield mid-motion. He slammed it into place just in time to deflect the incoming strike.

“Push it back!” he roared.

Fireblade answered first, sprinting into the fray, sword slashing upward with force that split the air. Her blade met one of the spider’s legs with a screech of steel, sparks bursting from the impact. She drove it back—step by step—slashing with wide, powerful arcs that made room for the front line to recover.

“Mages, now!” she yelled.

Bolts of fire, arcane missiles, and sharp ice shards whistled through the air. Rangers loosed volleys of arrows that arced like deadly comets toward the spider’s eyes.

But the Steel Spider wasn’t just a brute—it was smart.

With inhuman speed, it reared back on its hind legs and spun, using all eight blades like a cyclone of death.

Clink! Clang! WHIRR!

Steel rang against steel. Arrows shattered mid-air. A fireball burst prematurely, its caster flung back, screaming.

Blood sprayed in an arc. One warrior’s leg was cleaved clean off.

Still, they pressed on.

High above, perched on a ledge, Happy Riddler narrowed his eyes and muttered a chant under his breath.

Thwack! Thwack!

Two mana-infused arrows screamed downward, so fast they cut the air. The spider dodged one, parried the second.

But the third?

THWIP.

Hidden behind the others. A poisoned sniper shot.

Schlunk.

It sank into one of the spider’s gleaming red eyes with a sickening squelch. The beast screamed—a high-pitched, metallic screech that cracked the air and echoed down the cliffs.

Right then, cloaked in the chaos, the four assassins of the Robin Arrows flickered into view. Stealth dropped. Blades drawn. They hit from all sides—daggers aimed for the remaining cluster of eyes.

Clink! Clink!

The poison from Happy Riddler’s arrow was beginning to show its effect, dulling the spider’s speed. But with its regenerative ability, the poison alone wouldn’t be enough to kill it.

The spider caught one, two, even three strikes—its legs blurring as it deflected—but a fourth assassin, Poison Fang, rolled beneath its guard, plunged a dagger into a joint behind the mandibles.

Blood—not red, but silver-black—spurted across the ground, doubling the poison debuff already weakening the beast. It roared in fury, attacks growing fiercer.

But the team didn’t buckle. More arrows rained. More spells howled.

A twin-axe warrior vaulted from a ledge, planting both blades into the spider’s thorax and holding on as it shrieked, trying to buck him free.

But then—

A scream.

One of the assassins went down, a leg severed, his body dragged by a wild limb. Another tank was impaled, shield raised in vain.

They weren’t going to last.

Fireblade charged again, eyes burning. Flanked by Rising Tide, the young berserker wielded her blade with brute strength—each slash and plunge carrying weight—whereas Fireblade danced around the spider’s legs, twin blades deftly blocking as she moved in closer, her movements just enough to keep her alive against the spider’s relentless assault.

With a wild yell, she ducked beneath a swipe, spun, executing a slash with one blade and a plunge with the other. Mid-attack, her frost sword’s best passive skill activated:

Ice Blade Domain.

Her aura flared white-blue as twenty frozen shards spiraled out from her swords. The ground beneath her crackled with frost, her domain slowing the spider as her twin blades danced, slashing deep into its abdomen, cutting through weakened plating.

The monster buckled.

And then… silence.

A final screech. Then its massive body collapsed, limbs twitching.

Dead.

Gasps filled the air. The smell of blood—metallic and thick—mingled with sweat and ozone. Bodies lay scattered. With no healers, those still standing were quick to act—rushing in with glowing vials, healing scrolls, and food buffs that regenerated HP.

Fireblade took in her young team. Those who had taken blades to the gut moaned, pale, their hands trembling from adrenaline. This had been their first fight involving real death.

Out of the original 21, five had died. But thankfully, revival scrolls had ensured they lost only XP, not gear, and didn’t respawn in town. Another seven had taken life-threatening injuries—now healed—but she could see it in their eyes. The shock. The reality of this game and its immersion.

And above their pale faces, she could see something else.

Growth.

Fireblade stood in the middle of it all, chest heaving. Her eyes found Happy Riddler, who leaned on his bow, grinning.

The bastard had done it again.

Since watching Blue triple-cast that day, he’d trained like a man possessed. Now, he could shoot two arrows and activate a sniper shot as a third—nearly invisible. A trick he’d used to hit the ogre commander, too.

His poison-tipped arrows? They did the kind of damage that made even tanks take a step back.

Fireblade sheathed her sword, the image of Blue flickering in her mind.

This… this was what she’d meant.

If they always had her magic to rely on, would they ever grow?

Today proved they could.

And they had survived.

Alone.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

But gods, just barely.

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Raven-black hair dripped wetly against her face as she buttoned her blouse frantically, eyes drifting to the motel room’s clock hung on garish-looking walls.

She sighed and ran out, locking the door and hopping into her Saab.

Keys twisting—

Grrrk—k-KLUNK.

“Fuck.” She tried again.

Chug-chug… chk-chk—silence—

Jen swore, fists slamming uselessly against the steering wheel.

“Fuck,” she muttered, already knowing it wasn’t going to start.

The Saab didn’t even sputter on the third try; it was completely dead, dashboard lights flickering out like a dying breath.

Of course this would happen today of all days.

She slumped back in her seat, dragging a tired hand over her face, then through her already-wet, mussed hair. She caught sight of herself in the rearview mirror and sighed.

Dark circles. Flyaways. A coffee stain blotched like a badge of defeat across her wrinkled blouse from this morning’s too-rushed cup.

“I can’t do this today,” she whispered.

But she had to.

She grabbed her phone, thumbing in Peter’s number out of reflex.

Nothing. Straight to voicemail.

“Just my luck,” she muttered, trying to keep the edge out of her voice. But the knot in her chest was tightening. Tighter still.

She let out a dry laugh—humorless, brittle.

Two names flashed through her mind: Ben and Lea.

Ben was sweet. Always eager. Always there. But maybe a little too eager—too transparent in his feelings. Jen wasn’t blind to his crush, and calling him now would feel wrong, like accepting something he’d give without hesitation. He probably didn’t expect anything in return—at least not intentionally—but when someone liked you, there were always some expectations, even the quiet kind.

And she wasn’t about to risk leading him on. Not even a little.

Lea, though…

Lea was different.

Still a bit of a mystery. Sharp-edged, sardonic. Hard to read, but weirdly reliable. A woman Jen couldn’t quite wrap her head around but had come to trust in some quiet, unspoken way.

There was a strength in her that Jen envied. Hell—maybe even admired.

It was terrifying, how much she’d come to enjoy the company of the Robin Arrows. Most of them were at least a decade younger. Technically kids. But they made her laugh. They let her breathe.

And in Lea’s case… she made Jen feel less alone.

She gave herself a small, shaky nod, then hit the call button.

Three rings.

Then that voice. Clipped. Dry. A little impatient.

“Hey.”

Jen hesitated. Felt suddenly… shy.

“I—uh, are you busy?”

“Depends on your ask,” came the instant reply. “I’m always busy.”

That made Jen laugh. Actual, real laughter, despite everything.

“My car died. Like, actual engine failure. I need a ride. I’ve got a final walk-through with the new owners of the old house, and—”

She didn’t get to finish.

A sigh came from the other end.

Then:

“I’m on my way.”

Jen closed her eyes and let the relief wash over her. Despite her nerves and how she detested asking for help, she found Lea’s reliability comforting.

For the first time that day… something was going right.

By the time she spotted Lea’s beat-up pickup truck pulling around the corner, Jen was already halfway down the sidewalk, waving her arms like a stranded castaway.

She slid into the passenger seat with a sigh, then immediately wrinkled her nose at the familiar, pungent scent of burning herb curling in the cab. A lit blunt sat comfortably between Lea’s lips.

Jen didn’t comment. Yet.

“So,” she said, leaning into the comfortable seat, “I texted the address—do I need to guide you, or...?”

Lea didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned in close, reached across Jen’s lap, and fastened the seatbelt for her with one smooth motion.

“Safety first,” she mumbled, eyes already back on the road.

Jen rolled her eyes, fighting the grin that tugged at her mouth.

Pulling words from Lea was like digging through concrete—slow, a little painful, and sometimes you hit something weird. But it was weirdly fun. She liked teasing her. Loved it, actually. The way Lea’s expressions flickered, subtle but sharp? Pure gold.

At the next red light, Jen leaned over, plucked the blunt straight from Lea’s lips, and tossed it casually out the window.

Lea didn’t even flinch—just slowly turned to her, an eyebrow arched so high it nearly hit the ceiling.

“I’m being nice. Doing you a favor. Why must I suffer?” she asked dryly.

Jen smirked. “Look at it this way,” she said as her old neighborhood came into view. “I’m doing you a favor. Saving those precious lungs.”

The flat, unimpressed look Lea gave her was borderline art.

They pulled up to the curb. The house—Jen’s old house—sat quiet, a fresh realty sign in the lawn standing out with bold, red letters: SOLD. Her eyes lingered on it. Beautiful and painful memories warred in her mind, but she knew this was the right move.

Willow would be wherever she, Josh, and Peter were—watching and waiting for their eventual reunion. Her spirit wasn’t tied to a house. No, she lived on in their hearts, their minds, their souls.

That’s what Jen told herself, over and over, whenever it all felt like too much.

A strange vehicle’s movement pulled her out of the spiral.

She caught sight of a sleek black car gliding slowly down the street, windows tinted—just shy of suspicious. It passed the house. Then reversed and parked a few houses down.

Inside were two people: a man in a windbreaker, sunglasses, haircut like he got it at an army surplus store; and a woman in a tan coat, face pinched, fiddling with something that definitely looked like a camera.

Jen tensed.

“What the fuck…” she muttered.

Lea leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Those creeps are peeping at your house. You know them?”

Jen shook her head. “Nope.”

She checked her phone. Walk-through was in five.

“I gotta go in,” she said, voice low. “But I’ve got this nagging feeling… they’re spying on me.”

Lea nodded like she’d already decided. She shrugged off her hoodie, leaning into Jen’s space and adjusting the large garment over the woman’s blouse as if inspecting her work. She pulled the hood up and cracked her knuckles.

“Go through the back. I’ll distract them. When you’re done, cut through the alley and I’ll pick you up.”

Jen blinked. “Is that... necessary?”

The sweater was warm, well-worn, dark, and covered in paint splashes. Despite its rugged look, it smelled really nice, Jen noted, bringing the woman out of her thoughts.

Lea nodded again, deadpan. “They look like the fucking CIA.”

“Fine,” Jen muttered, pulling the strings tight as she got out of the truck. “I can’t believe I’m about to trespass on my own neighbors.”

She darted into the maze of backyards behind her old house, climbing fences like a burglar in a pencil skirt. She swore as one old plank creaked too loud beneath her foot. She wasn’t exactly graceful—but hey, at thirty-five, scaling two fences in under a minute deserved a goddamn medal. The universe truly could suck it, in her opinion...

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Meanwhile, Lea pulled out a ski mask from the glove compartment. Other than robbing people, ski masks were cool as shit—and they worked wonders when jumping a fool that messed with her Arrows.

Across the street, she strolled up to the black car with a new blunt she’d miraculously pulled from her pants pocket. Mask on.

She knocked twice on the passenger window, loud enough to startle both occupants.

“Yo,” she said, voice gravelly. “Got a light?”

The man yelled in fright and blinked behind his sunglasses. The woman tensed.

They fumbled around, clearly flustered. He passed her a cheap plastic lighter with a hand that shook slightly.

Lea took a puff, leaned in, and blew a lazy cloud of smoke into the open crack of the window. Her tone dipped lower.

“Why you creepin’ around my hood?” she asked, tapping the car door with the back of her knuckles.

The man stammered. “We—we’re just waiting on a friend, ma’am. No harm meant.”

Lea’s eyes narrowed. She tilted her head, slow and deliberate. “Aight. But if I come back and you’re still here? We’re gonna have a problem.”

She let that hang. Then turned and strolled off like she hadn’t just threatened two grown adults into reconsidering their life choices—wearing a ski mask.

The man let out a low laugh. “This neighborhood, for a suburb, is quite interesting.”

The woman didn’t reply. She just rolled her eyes, adjusted her tablet, eyes flicking back to the house.

“She’s here,” she whispered. “We missed her arriving. But we can still tail her. Going by the real estate sign, she and the kid don’t live here anymore. She’ll leave eventually.”

The man nodded grimly. “We wait.”

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Inside the house, Jen wrapped up the walkthrough.

The couple buying the place were sweet, if a little awkward—clearly surprised by her slightly disheveled appearance and hoodie-over-business-casual outfit.

The realtor was trying too hard to be chipper, laughing too loud, explaining details no one needed. Jen barely heard a word.

They were heading toward the front door when she stopped them.

“Wait,” she said, too loud. “There’s one more thing I forgot to show you.”

She ushered them out back, pointing vaguely toward the shed.

“That’s the… uh, tool shed,” she said. “Very shed-y. Holds tools. Self-explanatory.”

They blinked at her. The couple exchanged a look. The realtor tilted her head like a confused golden retriever.

Jen smiled awkwardly, then tugged her hood back up.

“Well, that’s it for me. Enjoy the house!”

Before they could say another word, she hiked up her skirt, climbed the fence like a middle-aged raccoon, and disappeared into the alley—ignoring the stunned silence behind her.

“...Was that normal?” the wife finally asked.

“No,” the husband replied. “But I kind of liked it.”

The realtor just blinked, still processing.

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As they pulled up at the motel, both women spotted a car that stood out—eerily similar to the one tailing Jen’s old house.

They were quiet, both lost in thought, the air thick with unspoken dread.

Then Lea broke the silence.

“Give me your room card.”

“Why?” Jen asked, still baffled by what she was seeing, mind reeling with questions. Each answer that came to mind was scarier than the last.

Lea turned her head toward her, calm but firm. “Hey. I said give me your room card. You’re staying at my place for now. Look at it as that sleepover you felt robbed of.”

At this, Jen let out a small laugh—half nervous, half thankful.

She swallowed her fear and chose, in that moment, to lean into the help Lea was offering.

She stayed put, seated in the locked truck, watching as Lea walked past the suspicious car parked near the motel. The taller woman was casual, almost lazy in her stride, like she wasn’t sizing up the license plate or noting the slight shift of movement inside.

But she was.

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Inside Jen’s motel room, Lea moved quickly, making short work of packing up the woman’s meager belongings.

She truly felt like a loser for the way her brain short-circuited when she’d found the lingerie drawer—specifically, a soft red thong that damn near broke her mind.

She worked faster, stuffing things into a duffel, avoiding that particular drawer like it had fangs.

She kept her focus on the task—kind of.

But still, her traitorous brain wouldn’t stop flashing images at her: of Jen wearing that. Of Jen laughing like she had earlier, flushed from adrenaline and nerves. Of Jen looking at her with that wide, hesitant trust.

And Lea hated herself for it.

She didn’t understand why she kept pulling closer when the right answer, all along, had been to keep Jen at a distance. A professional one.

And yet—

There she was.

Standing in the middle of a dingy motel room, shoving someone else’s underwear into a bag, silently begging her brain not to remember the damn thong’s color. Or how small it was. Or how much worse it would be to imagine it on its actual owner.

She let out a quiet curse under her breath.

“Focus,” she muttered to herself, zipping the bag shut like she was slamming a door on her own thoughts.