Havoc had returned to the mouth of the cave. With no monsters to guard the entrance, he had taken his time to inspect his surroundings. There truly was no other path forward. The fungal monoliths laying between the cave were so densely packed as to be impenetrable. He had considered scaling the towering mushrooms; it was an impossible task. Not so because the height was such that he would never reach the top, rather, unlike the mushroom trees dotting the rest of the forest, these titans had flesh that was harder than steel.

If there was a way of progressing without entering the cave, he would have preferred it. Three monstrosities guarded its entrance, that did not bode well for what lurked within. When he had first returned to the cave, his magics were depleted. He had no choice but to venture inside... He would not do so defenceless.

He settled in a patch where the night-sun’s rays broke through to the ground. Over the course of what felt like hours, his arcane energies had replenished. However, his rambunctiously growling stomach served as constant reminder that his spirit and anchor were not the only thing which required replenishment.

It was not as though he had gone entirely without sustenance. After absorbing the bones of the slain dungeon spawn, Havoc’s enhanced physique had enhanced further still. The corpse of his freshest kill provided the most profound difference; his skin thickened, his bones grew more solid, and his muscles swelled with power. The other kills also amplified his gains, but they paled in comparison to the latest. Whether it was due to the freshness of the remains or some other reason, he was not certain, but anything that made him harder to kill was a welcomed boon.

The day-sun had risen, restoring to the forest its full spectrum. It had been a sight to behold. The warmth of day permeated the air, the rich indigos of the fungal towers receded, and the full incandesce of their bioluminescence bust forth, painting the ground in vivid and diverse tones.

Arising from the sunlit ground, Havoc walked beneath the resplendent shade and approached the cave’s opening to peer inside. Shadows spread the cavern, but luminous moss navigating the narrow walls provided light enough to see. Though there were no present threats, the dried blood strewn across the stone ground inspired Havoc’s blade to his hand.

He entered the cave. With light steps, he inched his way deeper into the narrow passage. It twisted and turned, broadening in places before shrinking down in others. Minutes passed, and he arrived at a chamber. Halting his steps, Havoc scrutinised what lay before. The chamber was not large. It could host, perhaps, a dozen grown men stood side by side and slightly less than twice the number stood one before the other. The same glowing moss lined the walls, but the shadows were deeper than within the passage. To the left of the space, Havoc could see his path forward. He crept forward before catching his step. There was movement in the shadows.

Being no taller than a human adolescent, a creature stood in place. Though the beings features were cloaked in darkness, Havoc could see the movement of its arms and head. It lifted something to its mouth, and from its mouth, he could hear sharp crunches and inhuman gnawing. Facing away from Havoc’s prowling place, the creature was eating.

Something fell from its hands, tapping the cavern floor in its decent, and the figure inside crouched down to pat the ground, drawing his sight down. His blood froze. Though little light reached the ground, shapes could be discerned, and the structure the creature gripped and lifted, was the unmistakable form of a foot… A human foot.

Bile rose to his throat as the chewing recommenced. He lifted the back of his hand to his mouth and suppressed his convulsions.

“Be good, oh child, be watchful. Be restless while ye rest. The spawn love naughty children. They love to eat their flesh.”

He did not have much of a childhood. Outsiders to Stone Garden, he and his sister had no family dwellings within the city. Before they had aged into employment, many nights had been spent on the streets. Nevertheless, they did not spend each night beneath the domed Dungeon sky. When there was space in the slum’s child homes, they had shared the company of other children. It was from their peers that they came to learn of the dungeon spawn.

At the time, it was a game. The boys would creep into the girl’s dormitories at night, and delight in their shrieks when they would awaken to teeth at their heel.

The truth of it was no game. There was no laughter, no playful giggling, only reawakened dread, and disgust at the horror of the scene. Havoc’s grip on The Thirsty Edge tightened.

Two thoughts crashed through his unease. The first was the confirmation that there was no safety in the cave. The second, he was not the only human within the fungal forest…

There are others, he thought.

Or at least there had been, he concluded. Since entering The Chamber of Inheritance to his arrival in the forest, he had been alone. He did not hate the solitude, but there was safety in numbers. He longed for the feeling. Ultimately, whether he was alone or surrounded changed nothing. The only way to return to civilisation was to pass through the cave. Nothing, which barred his path, be it dungeon spawn or otherwise, would survive his resolve.

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He began to move cautiously, avoiding where the light glowed brightest. crouching behind the feasting monster, he positioned the tip of his scarlet falchion to the back of its neck and thrust. The fiend let out a tortured gargle, but Havoc’s twisting blade silenced its noise. As he dismissed his sword to his spirit chain, the creature fell into Havoc’s waiting arms and was laid noiselessly on the ground.

Close enough to inspect, he examined the fiend as its flesh sparked from its bones. It was not like the spawn he had killed before, but it could not be mistaken for human. Its rapidly burning skin was emerald; its face was tusked, and it had predatory, amber eyes. Unlike the other monsters he had encountered, its limbs were proportional, well-toned, but thin. If he dared to hazard a guess, he’d believe it was of a lesser kind. Of course, he did not know enough of world of Inheritance to rest certainty on that conclusion.

The last embers of tissue burned from the fiend leaving only its softly radiant bones. Havoc allowed the power from the corpse rush into him, and the bones disintegrated into nothing. Returning his blade to his hand, he walked into the next passage.

With a measured pace, he navigated the tunnel to a point where it branched in divergent directions. The unmistakable stench of iron wafted from the right. To the left, there was a musky odour. He continued to the left.

The channel seemed endless, and it was not undefended. Along his way, fiends roamed. With darkness and surprise as his ally, he quietly dispatched the scattered denizens. Most were of the kind he had encountered in the chamber. Some were of a different but similar variety, with their only distinguishing features being the length of their tusks and colour of skin. None had the chance to so much as wail before being silenced from behind.

Muted step by muted step, he journeyed deeper. His ears, his guide, he listened for the echo of movement and the distant growls of beasts. Always alert, consistently on edge, he adopted a stalkers instinct. His eyes had long accustomed to the dark, and he had come to depend on its protection as he slaughtered his prey to the frantic rhythm of his heart.

It was strange how quickly he acclimatised to the task. After a while, he no longer stopped to consider the matter. His environment did not matter. The scatterings of human and animal remains were irrelevant. The blood dried on the walls faded to the back of his mind. His only thought was to advance through the cave. His goal was singular. It was such that when soft the laments of sobbing pricked at his ears, he had dismissed it. It was not the sounds a monster makes. It was only after his blade pass through the neck of his latest kill that he registered the cries.

He did not hasten his step, but he followed the sounds, leading to an opening in the cave. The cavern was larger than the first, and the moss lining the walls was more dense, shining uneasy light across the space. Surveying the chamber from the safety of the shadows, he assessed the danger. A faceless beast roamed the walls. Its muscular arms pounded the stones before it growled and moved on to another segment of the wall. Havoc’s gaze traced the beast as it moved from segment to segment. Only when it released a bone-chilling roar and left through a further passage did his eyes wander to the objects of the monster’s fixation.

Heads, human heads were fixed in stone. The bloodied faces of men, women and children stared vacantly. It was a scene from only the most fevered of his nightmares. Havoc had not enter the cave without the expectations of violence; the blood at the entrance forewarned of the threat. But, before him was something was more brutal, more wicked, and far crueller than for which he could have ever prepared. Within the forest, he had encountered dungeon spawn. They were vicious, but mindless. Nothing he had seen had alerted him to what every instinct was telling was no imaginings.

It was a human stockyard…

The cavern was too bright for stealth, but with the room abandoned by all but the miserable souls embedded in the walls, there was no need to hide his presence. Still, he did not lower his sword as he entered the grim space.

Thick, green veins bulged from the faces and necks of each head protruding from the stone. As Havoc walked, the eyes of the people traced his movements. They were still alive…

Almost alive.

There was no hint of intelligence in their gaze, frozen in a mask of terror. Their mouth’s were agape, as if screaming aloud, but only muted whines escaped their lips.

‘What could have done this…’ His voice was barely a whisper, but it was heard, and he received a reply.

‘Ab-omin-able spirit.’ Adrenaline surged through Havoc’s veins at the words. He turned swiftly, sword high, ready to strike. ‘

I-it was a-an abominable s-pirit.’ The voice said again. The source was of the mounted heads. A woman no older twenty. Her hair, where it was not caked in blood, was golden, her eyes may have once been blue. It was difficult to tell, much of the vibrance seemed drained from her irises leaving them dull, retaining only faint hints of colour. She could have been beautiful once, but with the thick green lines criss-crossing her face, her beauty was lost to Havoc’s imaginings.

There was a chilling poignancy in her voice. It was feeble, yet carried the weight of her torment.

‘Come… closer.’ Havoc did not. He pitied the woman, but he did not trust her. ‘Please, I… won’t last long… And… neither will you… H-avoc.’

Chills engulfed him and his heart beat like a percussionist possessed. She knew his name... “How could she know my name?”

‘Plea-se… There’s not mu-ch… time.’

‘I don't know you...’

‘Plea-se…’ The woman repeated. ‘Plea-se…’

Havoc paused. Every fibre of his being told him to retreat. To leave the cave and never return. Something else whispered to move closer. It was the same compulsion which told him to fight the dungeon spawn guarding the terrible place. The same instincts which had guided his steps since he had chained himself to The Dungeon. Graceless had said to inherit was to be bound to the will of their world. Havoc had come to believe his words, and so he moved closer.