A splashing sound—slap!
Kevin Goldsmith hit the ground hard. He staggered upright, blinking as he took in his surroundings. All around him stood dense, shadowy trees, their branches weaving together overhead like a tangled canopy. Beside him loomed a twisted ancient tree, its contorted limbs eerily reminiscent of The Scream.
He himself had become an eleven- or twelve-year-old child, dressed in a robe rather like a Jedi Knight's, cinched at the waist with a broad belt overflowing with spellcasting materials—bags of flour, rations, seasonings, and even a live rat.
Strangely, these items rested securely on a belt smaller than he was, and he felt almost none of their weight. When he focused, odd scraps of knowledge and incantations flooded into his mind, along with the faint outline of a character portrait.
It was the character panel of the mage he had created a month ago while playing Dungeons & Dragons. But he had no time to study it—for the ancient tree beside him suddenly creaked to life, lashing out in a frenzy.
Countless twig-like branches, each thick as a knuckle, whipped through the air, battering him until his face throbbed and swelled. Kevin scrambled backward, shielding his head. A thicker branch shot upward like a battering ram, striking his chin and flipping him three and a half times through the air. At least the blow hurled him out of reach of that deranged tree.
Weakly he stood, and at once sensed a pang of hunger coming from the rat at his waist. Knowing the rules of the game, he realized the creature was his familiar. He focused his thoughts, urging it to scout ahead. The rat twitched its whiskers and crept forward obediently.
Limping after it, Kevin could not help reflecting—bitterly—on why he had put his constitution points into charm.
Moments later, the rat whirled around and bolted into the forest, vanishing with astonishing speed. Kevin froze, dread rising in his chest. A rapid clicking echoed beside him. Turning, he saw what had frightened the rat: two spiders the size of carriage horses, eight eyes gleaming, eight hairy legs twitching like nightmarish limbs.
For the sake of his life, Kevin ran. He regretted not choosing agility as his specialty, but regretting did nothing to lengthen his twelve-year-old legs. His robe snagged constantly on branches and thorned vines.
The spiders drew closer. Running was useless. He had one chance.
He snatched for the prepared incantation in his mind, thrust out a trembling hand, and shouted,
"Greasy Spell!"
Oil slicked the ground, but the spider's eight legs granted it superb balance. Kevin slipped, crashing into the muck, while the spider regained its footing and lunged.
But Kevin, veteran of countless weekend campaigns, reacted swiftly. He flung out both hands and released Burning Hand. Flames shot forth, igniting the oil coating the spider's body. The creature writhed and thrashed, its legs clawing at the air, but the fire clung stubbornly.
Seizing the moment, Kevin scrambled away. The spider's struggles weakened… then stilled. His character panel flickered—his experience had increased by two hundred.
At that moment the rat came sprinting back—faster than it had run away.
"You know to return when it's safe, you little opportunist," Kevin muttered, bending to catch it.
But the rat didn't stop. It shot past him.
A terrible premonition crawled up his spine. He looked ahead—and saw dozens of enormous spiders pouring across the forest floor, pincers clacking eagerly.
His magic still worked. He had one option left.
"Summon Mount."
He gripped several white hairs from his dimensional belt, concentrated, and whispered the command. A grey pony materialized beside him—small, wide-eyed, and blissfully innocent, but solid enough to ride.
Kevin hauled himself into the saddle. Even a sack of potatoes would have looked more graceful. (Feat points for riding were scarce, after all.)
Trees blurred past. Unfortunately, spiders moved far faster in the forest. They swung down from branches, darted alongside him, and snapped at the pony's legs. After several bites, the pony burst into smoke.
Kevin crashed to the ground. Agony shot through his left leg, followed by a spreading weakness. A long, hairy claw wrapped around his waist, lifting him face-down into the air. He tried to summon a spell—but his concentration dissolved.
More spiders gathered, eager to feast.
Then thunderous hooves shook the ground.
A centaur burst through the trees like a storm wind.
She lowered her lance, sending flashes of steel slicing through the spiders. Raising her shield, she battered aside those clustered around Kevin, their legs flailing as they toppled.
The centaur tossed away her shield, seized Kevin, and heaved him onto her back.
"Hold tight," she snapped—her voice gentler than her methods.
Overjoyed, Kevin wrapped his arms around her. Her powerful chest muscles rose and fell beneath his hands with each stride.
"Lower your hands or I'll throw you off," she hissed, kicking a spider backward with her hind legs.
"My apologies." Kevin slid his hands to her waist. The venom must have had a petrifying effect—his limbs were weak, yet one part of him was becoming uncomfortably rigid.
The trees thinned. They broke out of the forest.
The centaur hauled Kevin from her back with little ceremony. "Did you have to wear your wand on your belt? It jabbed me the entire way."
All system messages, adverts, and club notices have been removed.
"Thank you for saving my life. May I ask your name?" Kevin said. He certainly couldn't tell her he didn't have a wand at all.
"No need. I just don't want to see foals killed," the centaur replied coolly. "Why do foolish students wander into the Forest every year?"
She added, "Your big man will arrive soon. Tell him Aragog's descendants are growing. He ought to deal with it." With that, she trotted away.
Kevin watched her go, the ponytail at her head and the one at her hips swaying in perfect rhythm. Twin-ponytailed girl, he thought.
Then he turned—and saw a towering figure approaching. The man's face was almost entirely hidden by shaggy hair and a wild beard, but two black, beetle-bright eyes gleamed beneath the tangle.
A giant? Kevin nearly groaned. Giants far exceeded his challenge level. Even this smaller one would be too much—especially with his spells depleted.
At around 3:30 in the morning, Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts, stared in astonishment as a filthy, blood-streaked, nearly dead (five-sixths dead, technically, since level-three mages only had six life points) boy staggered out of the Forbidden Forest—and immediately looked ready to collapse upon seeing him.
Hagrid assumed he must be a particularly unlucky Gryffindor who had got himself into trouble again. And so Kevin Goldsmith was promptly taken to Madam Pomfrey for treatment… and, naturally, detention.