Epitaph kept himself small, shoulders hunched, slipping through a camp where every monster could have crushed him with a casual strike. The slimes around him were vile things, venomous and glistening, each one unnervingly alert.
He had arrived in the same place where Ryan was fighting, though he kept his distance, staking out the area and watching.
After his humiliating defeat—leading a party that had been effortlessly counter-killed by Featherlight—Epitaph had been dejected, intent on leveling slowly, licking his wounds. But when he logged in that morning, he caught sight of a new Glorious Achievement announcement. And it hadn't been earned by the usual figure who monopolized them. That alone made Epitaph exhale with relief.
At least Featherlight wasn't invincible. Or so he told himself. The forums insisted the victor had just been lucky. Epitaph clung to those words like a drowning man to driftwood, even while knowing they rang hollow.
