The stench of unwashed fur and stale despair clung to the air in the Qal-Azhari Proving Grounds' underbelly, a potent cocktail that usually spurred Vondris to newfound heights of tactical brilliance. Tonight was no exception. Her boots, reinforced with silent-stride enchantments, kissed the grimy flagstones without a whisper, each step calibrated with silent precision. The labyrinthine dungeons, designed to disorient even the most seasoned infiltrators, might as well have been a child’s maze to her. She moved with the predatory grace of a night-hunting velkyn, her focus absolute. “Honestly, the architectural design of these magi-tech fortresses is so remarkably predictable,” Vondris murmured to herself, her voice a low, confident thrum against the metallic echo of the ventilation shaft she was currently navigating. “Linear energy conduits, redundant structural supports, a clear preference for ostentatious displays over genuine defensive integrity. It's almost insulting.” Her mission was simple: acquire the cure for the Blood-Rot parasite. Not for altruism, of course. Altruism didn't buy a luxury dimension on the outskirts of the Ninth Quadrant. She needed System points, and the quickest way to earn them was to swoop in, snatch the hero’s glory, and leave the local Chosen One—a pompous windbag named Tavlos—to flounder in his own incompetent wake. She’d heard he’d been hoarding the cure for a dramatic, last-minute rescue. How utterly cliché. A faint, insistent hum began to vibrate in her temporal lobe. Not an alarm, but the distinctive preamble of the Interdimensional Logistics console. She braced herself. It always delivered its missives with all the subtlety of a runaway cargo skiff. [WARNING: INSUFFICIENT ENGAGEMENT WITH NETWORK TERMS & CONDITIONS. CERTAIN PARAGRAPHS PERTAINING TO CO-DEPENDENCY CLAUSES AND MANDATORY COMPANION RETENTION HAVE BEEN AUTOMATICALLY ACCEPTED ON YOUR BEHALF. FAILURE TO REVIEW FULL DISCLOSURES MAY RESULT IN UNEXPECTED RECIPIENT STATUS.] A shimmering, emerald vial, pulsing with an inner light, materialized directly above her head. Vondris, already mid-step, let out a sharp, exasperated sigh as it plummeted. It bounced off her skull with a soft *clink*, thankfully cushioned by her enchanted hood, before tumbling to the floor. She stared at it, then up at the empty air where it had appeared. “Unbelievable. Must you always be so… *literal*?” The vial glowed invitingly. *The cure*, she thought. *Convenient. Okhmar must be feeling particularly mischievous today.* The senile pharmacist rarely just *gave* you things. There was always a catch, always a stress test. She picked it up, noting the crude, handwritten label: 'Azhari Blood-Purge. Dosage: One (1) vial, oral. Side Effects May Include: Mild gastrointestinal distress, temporary epidermal luminescence, and/or an inexplicable urge to reorganise one’s sock drawer. Consult your local dimensional medic for persistent symptoms. Do not operate heavy machinery or interdimensional gateways under influence.' Vondris snorted. “Inexplicable urge to reorganize one’s sock drawer? Seriously?” She shook her head, pressing onward. Tavlos had been broadcasting his intent to ‘personally deliver the cure to the most valiant of the afflicted gladiators’ all week. Vondris just needed to get there first. She rounded a corner, and the air grew thick with a metallic tang. The beastman holding cells. A collective moan, raspy and weak, drifted from one of the cells. She peered through the reinforced plas-steel bars. There he was. Rhozal. His magnificent scaled-leopard hide, usually gleaming with fierce vitality, was dull and patchy, pockmarked with weeping sores. His massive frame, built for arena combat, lay slumped against the far wall, shivers wracking his body. Blood-Rot. The parasite was ravaging him, turning his powerful muscles to jelly, his razor claws to brittle nubs. He was barely breathing. Vondris felt a flicker of something she rarely indulged: annoyance. Rhozal had been her rival during a particularly brutal mercenary contract on the arid plains of Xypheris, an infuriatingly competent, honor-bound beastman who’d nearly outmaneuvered her twice. To see him reduced to this pathetic state? It was an insult to their shared history of mutual, grudging respect. And, more importantly, it was an easy target for System points. “Typical,” she muttered, already picking the lock with a hum of focused mana. “Always the dramatic entry, Tavlos. Always the grandstanding. Well, not this time.” The cell door hissed open. Rhozal didn’t stir, his breath shallow, ragged gasps. His golden eyes, usually alight with a predator’s cunning, were filmed over with pain. Vondris knelt, holding the glowing vial. “Wake up, you overgrown housecat,” she whispered, prying open his jaw with surprising gentleness. “You’re not dying on my watch. Not when your dramatic recovery can net me a decent retirement fund.” She tipped the vial, letting the shimmering emerald liquid trickle down his throat. Rhozal convulsed violently, his body arching, claws scraping against the stone. Then, just as suddenly, he went limp. The weeping sores on his hide began to recede, the dullness in his fur vanished, replaced by a vibrant sheen. His breathing deepened, steadying. The light in his eyes flared, golden and piercing, as if a switch had been flicked. He blinked, then stared at Vondris. A low growl rumbled in his chest, not of pain, but of something akin to a purr. The iron chains binding his wrists, thick enough to hold a siege golem, began to strain. With a deafening *CRACK*, they shattered, shrapnel scattering across the floor. Rhozal pushed himself up, his eyes never leaving Vondris, the purr growing louder, vibrating through the cell. He was faster than any being she had ever encountered, even at his peak. One moment he was slumped against the wall; the next, he was on one knee before her, his massive, scaled head bowed, a terrifying intensity in his gaze. His powerful tail, now fully recovered, twitched with an unnerving rhythm. “Master,” he rumbled, his voice deep and gravelly, laced with an absolute, unwavering devotion that made Vondris's teeth grind together. “My life, my loyalty, my very being… are yours.” Vondris froze, her mind racing. *Master? What in the Loom of Fate’s name…* [COMPANION ACQUISITION CONFIRMED. RHOZAL: SCALED-LEOPARD BEASTMAN (FORMER RIVAL). LOYALTY PROTOCOLS ENGAGED. CURRENT STATUS: SOUL-BOUND DEPENDENT. CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR NEW ADDITION!] [NOTE: AS PER PARAGRAPH 7.B, SUBSECTION IV, OF THE LOGISTICS APPARATUS TERMS & CONDITIONS (UNREAD BY USER), ANY HEALING ELIXIR ADMINISTERED TO A SENTIENT BEING WITHOUT PRIOR EXPRESS CONSENT OF SAID BEING (OR USER’S WAIVER OF SAID CONSENT VIA SYSTEM DECLARATION), AUTOMATICALLY ESTABLISHES A SOUL-BINDING CONTRACT, IMPLYING RELIANCE AND LIFELONG SERVICE. FOR FURTHER DETAILS, REFER TO THE FULL 10,000-PAGE DOCUMENTATION ON THE TERMINAL DASHBOARD.] Vondris stared at the System message, then at Rhozal, who was now gazing up at her with unnerving adoration, his purr echoing off the cell walls. “You have *got* to be kidding me,” she breathed, her tactical genius failing her for perhaps the first time in centuries. “A soul-bound lackey? Because I skimmed the *Terms of Service*?!” “Your will is my command, Master,” Rhozal purred, leaning closer, a possessive glint in his golden eyes. “Where you go, I follow.” Vondris felt a primal urge to scream. This was not part of the plan. This was not profitable. This was… a catastrophic administrative error on her part. She had to escape. Now. With a flick of her wrist, a shimmering portal, wreathed in violet energy, tore open behind her. Her escape route. Elegant, efficient, utterly Vondris. But as she stepped through, the air behind her ripped open again, a furious crimson vortex manifesting directly at her coordinates, a snarl of raw, unbridled energy tracking her every move. The purr, no longer contained by the cell, resonated through the very fabric of the dimensions.

The Side Effects of Skimming