The clearing within the fungal forest offered sanctuary. Havoc had spent the night familiarising himself with his anchor undisturbed. He had even lost consciousness after his battle with the dungeon spawn, yet had remained unmolested. He was being tested by the Chamber, or perhaps the Dungeon, but the stream dividing the two halves of the forest seemed to be both testing grounds and a safe haven. He could stay there indefinitely, intuitively, he knew that. He also knew, to ever leave the forest he needed to press forward. He waited until nightfall to cross the stream and re-enter the dense mushroom growth.

The forest was transformed at night. The radiance of the monolithic fungi dulled, and their diverse spectrum narrowed so that the land beneath was cast in a deep indigo. There were still birds. The many eyed owl seemed to have waited for Havoc, but otherwise the inhabitants of the forest were not to be seen. There were not even tracks to hint at their presence.

He had quenched his thirst by the stream, but hunger was a growing concern. Had he known the forest creatures would be so scares ahead, he would have hunted the strange beasts he had encountered earlier, before continuing forward. It was too late for regrets. After walking what felt like hours down twisting paths, he doubted he could navigate back to where life teemed.

The mushrooms were not an option. He had never seen their kind, but no one needed to be taught to avoid glowing foods.

Well, I’ve met my share of idiots, and I wouldn’t put it past them, he mused, softly chucking.

It’s not so bad, he thought, taking in the peculiar sights. The forest was alien, but not without its charm. He would have liked to relax, put up his feet and enjoy the novelty of his surroundings. But such thoughts had to be restrained. There was the pressing need to seek out shelter and food. The nimble birds circling above could sustain him, but catching them amidst the towering mushrooms was a task too tall to consider. For the time being, he could only transverse deeper into the growth.

He walked for a while further before a cave entered his line of sight. Approaching slowly, carefully and as silently as he was able, he hid behind a mushroom tree and examined the opening from a distance. Surrounding the cave were fungal towers such as those sprouting across the forest. However, they were tightly packed. From where Havoc crept, he could see no path through besides the cave. But…

The cave was not left unguarded.

At the mouth of the cave, three dungeon spawn stood hunched. Their skin was grey; their arms, long; their legs were disproportionate to the size and musculature of the rest of their bodies. They were identical to the monster Havoc had barely managed to kill, but now there were three of them…

They did not seem to notice his lurking presence, but he was under no illusion that would remain true for long.

Retreat was an option, but not one long entertained. He needed to move forward—that objective was unchanging. His instincts were telling him the cave was the only route. His stubbornness told him that there was no turning back, and then something else entirely whispered to retreat was to fail and to fail was to die.

The thought was intrusive. By all appearances, it was counter-intuitive, but he knew it was true. Like falling in love, like finding his anchor, he did not know how he knew, he simply did. Whether it was the will of Chamber or Dungeon, he was not sure, but it wanted him to fight. As to the outcome, it seemed ambivalent; it only desired the confrontation.

A direct approach?

Shaking his head, he rejected the idea. Even if he were inclined toward suicide, surely there were less brutal methods. Stealth was likely to fail. The creature he killed had no eyes but was never blind to his location.

The creatures were fast, yet their movements were lumbering. In open grounds, their speed would be an insurmountable advantage, but within the dense confines of the forest...

It’s possible, he considered.

He was not fond of the plan, but try as he could, nothing better sprung to mind. With The Midnight Urn, it was possible. He could not outpace the predatory beasts, but they could be out manoeuvred.

With some luck, maybe even by me…

The time for thought had passed. The time for hesitation would not come again. He summoned the Thirsty Edge and walked into the open. Detected immediately, not a moment later, he was pursued. The fiends galloped towards him, and he ran. He ran for his life.

Dashing between the looming mushrooms, he sprinted as fast as his legs would take him. He convoluted his tracks as ravenous growls trailed. Bursting into a dense cluster of mushroom trees, he pressed ahead. The beasts followed suit. He glanced back to see two of the creatures collide with the obstructions. The third carried forward and leaped. Without a second to spare, he slid beneath the beast and, in a fluid motion, turned. He harnessed his reserves of magic, summoned pale-light from his anchor, and launched himself towards his falling prey. With his blood-thirsty sword pointed downwards, he met the beast, piercing its skull with the momentum of their collision. Wasting no time retrieving his blade, he dismissed the sword to his spirit chain, stood, and ran.

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The remaining monsters had resumed their chase. Their determined roars cried out from behind.

Close… Too close, he thought, his heart churning in his chest. Sprinting out of the cluster, he ran towards a thick fungal tower. He made no attempt to dodge or divert, rather, he threw himself at the monolithic growth. With his crimson blade returned to his grip, he stabbed into the mushroom tree and with a burst of strength, propelled himself further up from the hilt of his blade.

The colossal mushroom trembled when one of the beasts crashed into its base. As Havoc rose from higher, he slammed a fist into the flesh of the mushroom to form a grip. He held the crevices as he continued to rise, and rotated in the air until he was parallel with the dazed creature. The Thirsty Edge retrieved itself into his free hand, and Havoc threw himself down. He dove into the beast, plunging mystic steel into the creature’s neck.

The final monster did not lament its fallen comrades, but it seemed determined to avenge them. It swiped at Havoc as he tucked in, pressing his feet against his recent kill. Havoc launched himself backwards from the slain and falling devil, narrowly escaping the claws slicing through the second fiend.

He stood to his feet. Resummoning his scarlet sword, he faced the remaining savage. He had used the forest environment, his inherited physique, and bursts of power from his anchor to deliver fatal blows to the felled demons where opportunity allowed. However, these were not acts of skill or technique. He knew in a direct confrontation against the three, he would have been hopelessly outmatched. Untrained in combat, all he had was his daring. From the start, he was only one false step from death the whole time. But things had changed. There was only one left.

Fleeing was not an option, the beast was too close to outrun, and there were no clusters mushrooms in range to escape into. There were no more tricks, no more traps, he could only fight.

It was odd. In a way he did not fully understand, he was calm. His heart was pumping blood at a heroic pace, and his breaths were jagged, but his thoughts were sharp. Once more, it was kill or be killed. The clarity was liberating. Havoc met his eyes with the sightless gaze of the nightmare with an exhilarated smile

‘Let’s have at it,’ he whispered to himself, signalling an end to words. He charged at the beast and the creature lunged at him. Fuelled by arcane forces and the dwindling pale-light within his anchor, Havoc lashed out with The Thirsty Edge. The sightless monstrosity repelled his attack with the steeled claws of one hand before striking back with the other. Havoc dived and rolled to his feet, resuming his attack in a rising diagonal slash.

With limited magics and little pale-light, Havoc paced himself. He used the mist of The Midnight Urn to strengthen his strikes while conserving its abilities in times of retreat. Wound repaid for wound, their battle continued. Diving, rolling, dodging, and leaping, he did what he could to direct the flow of combat. He guided the battle, leading the creature toward towering mushrooms, and used the obstructions to save himself more than once. But the beast was persistent in its ferocity. It did not seem to care what stood in its path, it would not slow its attacks, and it was always moments away from tearing Havoc apart.

Havoc was more measured, but no less ferocious than the fiend. Where the beast showed vulnerability, he showed the cutting edge of his blade. Where the beast stumbled, he struck. It was powerful but mindless, whereas Havoc’s thoughts raced. He could not explain it. While their battle raged, and his strength dulled, his mind sharpened. It was as if he had deciphered the violence of the creature. It was muscle and fury; dangerous, but not difficult to read. In the heat of combat, Havoc began to anticipate its attacks. No longer was he reacting. He was predicting, and from prediction, he arrived at pre-emption. The beast would swipe to the left, but Havoc would be at its right, spilling its foul, grey blood with a horizontal slash. The devil would try to catch him with both talons, but Havoc would leap and roll behind, opening a new wound across its back.

His body craved peace; his mind was dedicated to war. Fresh wounds bloomed scarlet across his chest, back, arms, and legs as he studied his adversary. But every exchange unravelled more of the dungeon spawn’s weaknesses. Havoc was swift to exploit each opening to weaken it further. At first, he had traded marking the monstrosity for being marked himself. As the battle persisted, he seized the upper-hand until his was the only sharp edge to inflict injury.

Relentlessly, he continued, stacking cut atop cut with a single-minded determination. A fevered roar arose from his chest as he preceded to circle his quarry, flash his blade across its flesh, and retreat only to be upon his foe once more.

‘Again!’ He screamed, adrift in a sea of battle mania as he ducked below an eviscerating slash to inflict a further laceration. ‘More!’ He yelled as he rolled between the parted legs of the creature before thrusting his blade into its muscled side. ‘I’m not finished!’ He screamed as he unleashed a flurry of steel before leaping behind a mushroom titan only to pounce with blade in hand to spill more blood across the foliage. In the end, he never scored a decisive blow. Instead, he cut, struck, sliced and hacked with increasing frequency until, finally, with a pitiful whimper, the creature fell.

He stood over the dungeon spawn. Its vile blood dripped rhythmically onto the bed of fungi. For a moment, he could only hear the pit and pat, but his thoughts soon seeped through. In the end, it was anti-climatic. There was no final charge, the monster simply fell.

Channelling the fumes of his magics into his blade, he stared at the corpse. Havoc’s many lacerations began to close while the flesh of the beast sparked and flared off the fiend at a rapid pace. Laughter broke from his lips. It started as a chuckle before contorting into something more primal. He fell to his knees. Baptised in the blood of his kill, he lifted his face towards the heavens and continued to laugh.

‘I did it,’ he wheezed between fits of maniacal mirth. Over and over, he repeated the words until his mind began to accept it.

He was alive.

He had done the impossible.

Sanity slowly returned, displacing his mania as the last sparks of flesh evaporated from his prey. He inspected the bones on the ground. They were glowing. More so, he could feel a power radiate from the remains. It called to him, not in words, but with an enticing harmony he could hear within his soul. He answered the call; the power flooded into him. A comforting warmth prickled his skin and penetrated his bones. He basked in the warmth until the light from the corpse expired and the bones disintegrated into nothing.