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not random. This was planned, this was organized, and this was dangerous. The figures surged forward and converged toward the center of the courtyard. The partygoers sprinted away from the black-robed figures, screaming in terror. Stan reached into his inventory and slung his bow across his back, put his quiver of arrows at his side, and held his diamond axe in his hands. He saw that two of the figures were rushing toward him, and he prepared to engage their black blades in combat.
    However, Stan was totally caught off guard when the two figures jammed their black swords into their sheathes and whipped out more potions, both green and dark purple ones. Stan realized in horror that these were Potions of Poison and Harming. In a matter of seconds, four potions flew through the air toward Stan, and he was forced to hop and skip backward to avoid being caught in the blast radius of the shattering bottles.
    Stan was uneasy, never having fought against players who used potions as weapons before. Taking what he found to be the logical approach, Stan drew his bow. The string of his bow twanged twice, and an arrow flew into each of the dark figures’ tunics. Unfazed, the two players drew bright red potions from their inventory and in one swig downed the entire bottle. The effect was instantaneous. The arrowspopped from the chestplates, leaving only a small hole in the tunic in their places.
    Stan was shocked. What was this? Who were these players, where did they get all these potions, and how did they learn to fight with them so well? Stan, desperate as more Potions of Poison and Harming flew his way, looked around for help. He realized with a jolt that all the high-ranking officials of Element City, all his friends, were now engaged in combat with these players. He was equally alarmed to see that all the mysterious players fought using potions, keeping even master sword fighters like DZ from getting in close enough to use their skills.
    As Stan drew his axe to engage his attackers at close range, he reminded himself that he had to be careful. He had no idea where these players came from or who they were, but they were clearly in the order of assassins. That meant that besides escaping the attack and staying alive, Stan had an obligation to take these players prisoner. If he killed the players or let them escape, they would never be interrogated and Stan would never find out why they had attacked him.
    Stan ducked another Potion of Harming, and he slammed the butt end of his axe into the thrower’s head. The player, whose eyes were barely visible under a ninja mask and black leather cap, looked stunned. He fell to the ground at Stan’s feet, just as Stan felt a sting on his unarmored back. As hecringed, Stan realized that he had been hit with a Potion of Harming from another assassin. Stan spun around just as the attacker was about to throw another potion. Stan ducked the bottle, and he swung his axe blade under the attacker’s legs, knocking him to the ground. Stan surged forward and stepped on the player’s chest, pinning his throwing hand to the ground with his axe.
    â€œOkay,” said Stan, breathing heavily. The potion stain on his unprotected back was burning, intensifying his rage. “Who are you people, and why are you attacking us?”
    There was no hesitation. The attacker, with his free hand, drew a purple potion from his inventory at light speed and poured the entire contents down his throat. There was a quick shudder, and the attacker’s hand went limp, the empty bottle rolling to the side. His items burst about him in a ring, a sure indicator that the attacker had died.
    Stan looked around and saw that like himself, all of his friends had bested the attackers. The black-robed forms now all lay on the ground. In the hands of each of them were the glints of empty glass bottles.
    Stan was stunned. What motivation could these players possibly have had that they would rather die than be