[Respawning.. ]

  FUCK! Bob could feel his body pressing against the cold stone of the antechamber. The pain of his wounds: gone, yet the memories of what just transpired was fresh on the membrane. That.. was horrible. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then opened his eyes calmly, gaze meeting the colossal Boss Door dead on. It just stood there, silently observing his fall from grace. Okay, I’m back in this place. Not an off-rail dream.. check. This is.. Real.

  [System] Loan Quest Failed. Rolling Tier 5 (Legendary) curse.. Hardcore: You have but one life.

  Failed? But I plucked the flower! And hardcore. One life. That’s not a curse. That’s a whole other game mode.. He read the message again. And again. As if expecting the words to shift, to twist, to betray some hidden clause that would offer a way out. They didn’t. Someone yell ‘prank’ already! This time there were no exploits. No last-minute forum-deep-dives digging up obscure loopholes. His fingers curled and uncurled at his sides, an unconscious habit built from thousands of hours spent gripping controllers, dodging death by pixels. Alright, alright, alright..

  Instinctively he reached for his packsack. It materialized in his hands. The marrowbloom, he would just have to hand it over, right? He had risked everything for it, climbed a freaking tower of death. That had to count for something. A creeping tightness curled around his ribs as he loosened the straps, peeling it open with methodical intent. His fingers dug into the seams, running along the fabric’s edge. Nothing. No soft glow of eerie petals. No brittle stem wrapped in his grip. Bob switched to turning the sack upside down, shaking and padding it like there was some forgotten pocket his mind had glitched out and failed to register. But the flower was gone from the sack and from his inventory screen. His jaw locked as he stared at the empty space where it should have been, his mind tapping it relentlessly.

  [System]

  …

  Inventory Slot Empty.

  Inventory Slot Empty.

  Inventory Slot Empty.

  …

  The system had no need for explanations. No pop-up detailing why his quest reward had vanished. Just the cruel, efficient hand of game logic stripping him of his only safety net. He had played these modes before. No saves, no checkpoints, no room for error. He respected difficulty. Yet, this felt like a message delivered with intent. It wasn’t just about losing the quest. It was about control. The system had taken, and it had done so absolutely. No appeals. No arguments. No recovery. Yeah right, ‘random-rolling’ my ass.

  His fingers twitched, restless energy coiling like a spring wound up too tight. The need for movement, for action, for something tangible burned beneath his skin. Not out of rage, that would require hope, the belief that things could be different. This was something colder, sharper. He wanted to hit something. Not to destroy, not to vent, but simply to feel. To force reality to acknowledge him. To remind himself he was still real in this place of fever dreams. That despite everything, he still mattered. And then..

  .. you.

  In the back of his mind, the ghost of a voice lingering at the edges of thought. That quiet, infuriating patience that had always been at odds with his urgency. Yeah, I know. Fucking up doesn’t have to be a problem.. Choose to learn from it. His fingers flexed, curled, released. He had always hated that advice. Not because it was wrong, but because it was damned hard to do in the real world, yet proved to hold true again and again. His gaze wandered. Boss Door loomed in the dim light, waiting, watching, judging. Bob formed a fist, clenching hard. The system thought it had broken him. That he’d kneel to it. That he’d hesitate. It had no idea who had taught him how to stand. Time to adapt.

  A faint, wet squelch sounded behind him. Bob didn’t turn around immediately. He didn’t have to. He knew that noise by now. A bouncing weight, the slight jiggle of movement.

  [Echuu] Oh wow, back so soon? And with a shiny new curse! Love the commitment.

  Bob exhaled through his nose. “The flower’s gone.” he said, eyes still fixed at Boss Door. “I had it.”

  [Echuu] You sure did! Right up until you died.

  Bob scrubbed a hand down his face, and turned to face the slime. “Let me guess. I can only bring stuff back if I win.” It was less of a question, more of a statement made in realisation.

  [Echuu] Ding, ding, ding! Bob gets it! See, you don’t actually own something until you leave victorious. You die? Well, that’s just the universe calling a mulligan on your loot.

  Bob’s teeth ground together. “And the curse?”

  [Echuu] What about it? You lost the quest, Bob. You gambled. You lost.

  Bob’s fingers twitched. “Yeah, I got that much. But how do I break it?” Echuu wobbled in the air, its tiny tendrils wriggling in thought before another text box popped up.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  [Echuu] That’s the fun part! I don’t know. First time seeing someone get hit with that particular little nightmare. It’s kinda exciting! You’re a trailblazer, Bob! A pioneer of pain and suffering!

  Bob’s knuckles cracked. “Fantastic. Glad to make an impact here.”

  [Echuu] Look, curses are just like any other problem. You either break them, outplay them, or learn to live with them. But hey, silver lining! You don’t have to worry about the next time you drop your loot. .. Cause you’ll be gone too. Get it?

  Bob said nothing and silence stretched. Echuu wobbled a little slower. One life. One shot. Now.. this is PEAK GAMING!

  He took inventory of himself. The weight was wrong. The balance was off. His buckler’s strap felt loose, his dagger looked duller, crowbar slightly bent. Even his boots had developed a tear along the sole. Echuu, ever punctual in Bob’s moments of suffering, wobbled into view.

  [Echuu] Oh look! You’re learning about the economy of consequences.

  Bob gave the slime a flat look. “My knife’s about as sharp as a sponge.”

  [Echuu] Which is slightly sharper than your survival instincts, judging by recent events.

  “Explain, Echuu.” he said and the slime swiggled in something Bob by now recognized as smug delight.

  [Echuu] Your gear doesn’t like dying. In fact, it hates it so much that every time you take an unscheduled dirt nap, it throws a tantrum and breaks a little. Given enough breaks.. pun intended.. it stops being gear and starts being landfill. You do keep half the coin in your sack though! You should really bank that, you know.

  Bob ran a hand down his face, while tracking his inventory. The little pricker was right. He was down to 30c. “Great. So, death taxes are a thing here. And durability.” Then the slime wobbled once before delivering the killing blow.

  [Echuu] Oh, Bob, it’s worse than taxes. You can’t file for an extension.

  Bob ignored the comment, striding towards Iron Jaw’s stall. The gear merchant was already watching. His single good eye tracked Bob’s approach with measured weight. He had seen plenty of men crawl back from failure, but this case was special.

  “Back already.” Iron Jaw rasped, voice like gravel grinding against steel. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon.”

  Bob placed the battered knife and buckler on the counter. “Yeah, well. Turns out, skeletons don’t appreciate being stabbed with a spoon.”

  Iron Jaw glanced at the worn-out gear and sighed. “That knife’s a joke. Buckler barely holding. Damaged goods, at best.”

  Bob tapped a finger on the counter. “What’s it worth now? In coin.”

  Iron Jaw’s scarred lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. More like the ghost of amusement before it died in the open air. He picked up the knife, turned it over once, then dropped it with a clatter. The buckler got the same treatment, ending with a decisive grunt. “Half price. Rounded down.”

  Bob glanced at his inventory. The knife had been 30c. The buckler, another 30c. The rounding down was irrelevant here. But the half price part.. that stung.

  “Okay, deal.” Bob stacked all his coins in a pile, 90c total, and leaned over the counter. “Alright. I need something better suited for skeletons. And, if I have to fight in that mess again, I want countermeasures.”

  Iron Jaw just grunted and started pulling items from beneath the stall. Bob scanned his options. No weapons worth the price. A common two-handed hammer for 80c.. Too steep. No worthwhile armor he could afford either. But then.. A flicker of recognition from his old pen-and-paper days. Round glass-flasks filled with swirling orange liquid that glowed faintly even in the dimness of the antechamber, 15c each. Alchemist’s Fire! A bottle of pure, violent potential. Not just a weapon, an equalizer. Then, another addition: Skins of lantern oil. Far less aggressive, but highly flammable, 5c each. If the bone pit was as much of a dust-bin as last time.. Oh, this will be good, yall!

  He tapped the counter. “Three vials of Alchemist’s Fire. Six skins of lantern oil. One torch.”

  Iron Jaw’s gaze flicked up, lingering for a second longer than usual. “Planning something, lad?”

  Bob shrugged. “Just trying not to waste this last shot..”

  The merchant gave a slow nod, then gathered the items. He laid them out with methodical precision, the weight of experience in his movements. No unnecessary flourishes, no wasted gestures. Bob counted out the coin, total shrinking with every purchase until it sat at a depressingly low 10c. He paused for a second, then handed them to the merchant. “Here, a tip.”

  [System] Reputation gain (Minor): Gear merchant. Current Tier: Somewhat Indifferent.

  Iron Jaw looked at the coin resting in his grotesquely large palm. His fingers curled around the metal, calloused ridges of his hand making the sum seem even smaller than it was. “Hope this plan works out.” His voice was quiet, something heavy beneath it. “The Slime’s taken a liking to you.”

  “It will.” Without another word, Bob turned away. Echuu bounced along beside him, quiet for once. That alone was enough to put him on edge.

  Boss Door loomed ahead, dark and massive, a slab of inevitability wedged into reality itself. Every step toward it felt like approaching the start of a speedrun where the difficulty slider only went up. No retries, no quicksaves. Just the next fight. Then, a flicker.

  [Echuu] Hey.. Bob..

  Bob slowed, surprised. “That’s ominous.”

  [Echuu] Pfft, please. You love ominous.

  Bob raised a brow, waiting. Echuu wasn’t cracking a joke this time. Not really. He could sense it coming. Hesitant but on the horizon.

  [Echuu] There were others, y’know. Before you. During their endeavors some of my kind got lost in the arena. Other slimes. Family even. Stuck in horrors behind Boss Door. You've seen some of it yourself now.

  Bob did not say anything yet. He was torn with questions. Why weren’t ‘you’ in the arena with me, then? What will I get for my trouble if I find them? Others before me? Still, this felt meaningful to the little guide-thingy.

  [Echuu] I’m not saying you should go out of your way or anything. .. Actually, scratch that. That’s exactly what I’m saying. You’re Bob! If anyone’s going to find them, it’s you.

  Bob stepped up the pace towards Boss Door. This was already going to be brutal. Adding a side objective? Probably the worst idea he could have. And yet. “Don't worry. I’ll find them.”

  Echuu pulsed softly. No quips. No sarcasm. Just eerie, knowing silence. Admiration, maybe. Then Bob let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders as he stepped toward the looming Boss Door. Last time he had rushed in blind, hoping player-skill alone would carry him through. This time, the approach was different. This time, the battlefield would burn.

  ‘Tier 5, please’