Roman took a deep breath and charged forward.

Darkness rippled in the doorway as the titan forced its way through. A thick slab of bone followed behind the arm, lined with sharp protrusions of varying lengths. Some sort of monstrous version of a kite shield? A baleful red eye blinked out from the center of the mass, and Roman realized he was looking at the abomination’s skull.

It failed to react as Roman closed in, throwing all his weight and momentum behind a brutal haymaker. Bronze energy encased his hand with [ Chaos Touch ]. The impact rattled the teeth in Roman’s head, but the abomination got the worse end of the deal. Bone crunched around his fist and the skull retreated back into the portal. Glistening muscles stood out in stark relief as the abomination flexed its arm, keeping itself anchored to the wall.

Roman drew back himself, frowning. As far as he could tell, his [ Chaos Touch ] had not activated in any meaningful way. It felt like the bronze energy had slipped across the skull like oil over water.

A second arm reached out through the darkness and secured a grip on the opposite wall.

“A little room, if you will, Mister Miller,” said Mixie.

A light, snowy mist gathered in the twenty feet of space between Mixie and the monster. Roman retreated as the ghoul pointed his sword.

A beam of ice erupted from the tip of the blade. It absorbed the surrounding mist, rapidly expanding into a jagged icicle; by the time it reached the abomination, it had grown into a glacier the size of a car.

Most of the projectile plummeted through the dark portal. The abomination tore chunks out of the wall as its grip failed and it was forced back into the dungeon.

Without any notification to confirm its defeat, Roman was not willing to drop his guard. He had hoped they would have effortlessly vanquished the dungeonspawn with their initial assault, but that dream had died. Turned out the other Party may not have been as incompetent as he thought if they managed to defeat the previous threat. While the dungeonspawn lacked the gashadokuro’s indestructible skeleton, it more than made up for it with its resistance to magic.

Sure enough, both arms burst back out of the portal with a speed and determination that far outstripped the abomination’s previous display. It hauled its massive skull through, the wicked eye blazing within its recess; a spiderweb of cracks marred the slab of ivory where Roman had struck it.

Roman charged once more, ignoring the tickling cold of the magical mist around him. Instead of attempting to force the abomination back, he grasped a pair of the horn-like protrusions on its skull and pulled. Roman’s added strength tore its broad shoulders through the doorway, and the rest of the abomination slipped through without resistance.

Its baleful eye blinked.

Roman, hauling with all of his might, arched his back into a bridge and suplexed the oversized skull into the floor behind him. Tiles shattered. Cans rolled off a nearby shelf.

The shock of the impact tore Roman’s breath away. Gasping, he rolled to his feet and settled into a defensive pose.

The titanic dungeonspawn twitched. Its grotesque, skinless body was at least three times his size. He wondered what its attributes were.

In a blur of movement, it surged to its feet and leapt towards him. Roman managed to cross both of his arms in front of him in time to catch its fist. The domineering strength behind the blow sent him sliding back, the soles of his boots squealing against the cracked tiles.

Shaking his head, Roman assumed his standard fighting stance. His forearms ached, no doubt heavily bruised, but it was more of an annoyance than anything.

The abomination held back for a moment, judging him with its deep-set, cyclopean eye. Stupid thing. It had forgotten about its other opponent.

The mist grew colder, and an icicle the size of a stalactite pierced through the abomination’s side. It stumbled and caught its balance on a nearby shelf. Roman followed close behind, stomping onto the side of its knee. Cartilage crunched as the massive limb bent sideways.

The abomination collapsed, taking the entire shelf of dog food bags and animal cages with it. Its skull desperately turned towards Roman in time to catch another devastating punch in the same spot as before.

Roman didn’t bother activating [ Chaos Touch ] again. Blow after blow rained down on the fractured indentation in the abomination’s skull. While it probably would have been easier to destroy its flesh body, he intended to make a statement. A deep fissure opened, extending nearly the entire vertical length of its skull and splitting down the middle of the eye socket. After that, the abomination stopped attempting to grab him or shove him away.

Each successive strike widened the gap and broke the surrounding bone into smaller fragments. Vitreous fluid geysered out from its cyclopean eye, which had been either punctured or burst open from the pressure.

Once the fissure was wide enough, Roman plunged both of its hands into it like blades. His fingertips broke the tenuous membrane beneath and sank into the mushy contents of its cranium. The abomination spasmed.

[ Flesh Guardian defeated. 2000 experience rewarded. ]

Roman withdrew his arms from the depths of the skull. He flicked the purplish-blue matter off his hands and stared down at them in disgust. The reward wasn’t too shabby, at least, though it was less than half of the experience from the gashadokuro. No Title either.

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He wondered how the System determined how to distribute its little gifts. Was the Guardian that much less of a threat? Did his own level change things? Was it all mediated by some complex formula, or just whatever struck the fancy of the cruel deity running the show?

“Satisfactory performance, Mister Miller,” said Mixie.

To his surprise, the first person to approach them was Alexander. The pudgy man had replaced his weapon with a wicked-looking greataxe with a pair of crescent-moon blades. He displayed it proudly, propped up against his shoulder. One of his purchases from the Emporium, no doubt.

With his free hand he tossed Roman a beer. Roman snagged it out of the air, then it slipped out of his brain-slick grasp and shattered at his feet. Mixie grunted laughter.

“We’ll work on it,” Alexander promised. “That was brutal as fuck, man.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Noah strolled up next and tossed Roman a roll of paper towels. “Impressive display.”

“Yeah,” said Roman. He scrubbed at his hands. “What does your partner in crime think?”

Abigail remained seated next to the cashier in her dingy little lawnchair, her expression unreadable behind her half-mask. She made no move to approach them. At her side, Jessie offered an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Noah kept his voice low. “I’m not her therapist, and we just met. But if I had to wager, I’d guess she’s not a big fan of violence. Even if she puts up an aggressive front sometimes.”

Roman finished cleaning himself up as best he could. “She doesn’t need to be a fan. Just an active participant.”

“I’ll talk with her.”

“Do that.”

Noah wandered off to talk to his companion. The others, even Scott, gathered around Roman and Mixie. Over the next five minutes, Roman discovered he didn’t mind the other Party, especially when he was the center of attention and most of their comments were positive discussions about his performance.

They left Mixie out of most of their discussion, perhaps feeling too awkward to engage with the casually malevolent ghoul covered in weapons. He lingered on the outskirts. For a moment, Roman almost felt sorry for him. Mixie looked like one of the unpopular kids invited to a house party where he didn’t know anyone else.

The feeling soon passed. Roman, still riding the high from all his attention, commented on the Party’s new equipment, prompting them to discuss their new gear with pride. Behind the mask of his smile, he took mental notes of their explanations and short demonstrations, readjusting his assessments of their individual capabilities.

He had to admit, the delivery had turned them from a group of stragglers into a reasonable little militia. Not the people he would have chosen to have his back in an unknown dungeon, but given the circumstances, he couldn’t complain much.

Alexander had the obvious upgrade with his greataxe. The man hefted it proudly, explaining it was enchanted so the user could adjust its weight at will.

Mary had a matching hairpin and ruby pendant set, which in combination was supposed to grant her increased affinity to fire and protection from heat. That made Roman wonder if they still functioned separately, and about how inconvenient it must be to be a fire magician without an innate resistance to their own element.

Jessie had purchased a ring that projected a defensive force barrier and a veil accessory that protected the wearer from mental assaults. Despite her flippant attitude, it seemed she valued her own survival more than anything. He liked the idea, and he especially liked that [ Impose Will ] filled that need for him without relying on equipment. It was a nice reminder to work on the potency of his domain skill, and reaching a point where he left it up at all times.

Leo and Scott remained silent for most of the discussion and kept their purchases out of his sight. They barely acknowledged Roman’s existence, but he considered it a good thing that they offered the occasional comment to the others.

Once the demonstrations ended, Noah and Abigail approached Roman.

“We decided,” Abigail said, her voice firm.

Roman crossed his arms. “Yeah?”

“We’ll hire you on, fifty-fifty. But you’re our Mercs. We’re not your meat shields. I don’t like it, but the ghoul’s right. We’re too weak for now. We have to take some risks so that we don’t get left behind. Even if we survive all the monsters, eventually we’ll come across someone who’s meaner and luckier and sees our Party as a walking treasure horde. So let’s get it done.”

“Perfect,” said Roman.

“I am in agreement,” Mixie declared. “I will begin drafting up the requisite Contract. I do, however, recommend that we enter the dungeon within the next hour or two, however. That Guardian posed a minimal threat to us, but the inhabitants are only growing stronger. It is also possible that they are the lowest level being that we will encounter. The dungeon may well contain hundreds of them.”

“Great,” Scott said. “Lovely.”

“I suggest we all make our preparations promptly,” said Mixie. “Mister Miller, will you join me for a brief conversation?”

Roman nodded. “Let’s grab a beer.”

Once they were out of eyesight from the others, Mixie retrieved a dainty jade flute from his spatial satchel. He blew into it, fingers dancing in a series of notes, but no sound emerged. After several seconds, he returned it to his inventory.

“That artifact is an inverse instrument,” Mixie explained. “Very expensive. One of its less impressive functions is creating a zone of silence in a ten-foot radius around. For the next five minutes, not even the slick mortal can hear our conversation.”

Roman chose to ignore the ghoul’s description of Noah and especially how much more favorable it sounded compared to his own nicknames. “And you’ve erected this zone of silence why?”

“Even if we officially enter a Contract with these mortals, there is always a risk of betrayal. I believe it is in our best interest to ensure we have all the advantages we can.”

Roman strolled over to the beer section and selected a case at random. “Yeah, sure. Nothing too obvious though. We’re going to be allies, which means no pointless antagonizing What are you thinking?”

Mixie cleared his throat. “Well, I have taken steps necessary to secure this store. Meaning, I have registered it as one of my Properties, granting me full ownership. Now, I cannot cleanly evict them without investing in the appropriate security measures, but this offers us the advantage in territory. Unfortunately, the barrier seems to be an independent force from the building, so I have no control over it.”

Roman tore open the end of the case and extracted a beer. “You went and snatched their base out from underneath them? Somehow, I find it hard to believe this is you being proactive in case of betrayal. Maybe more like a bit of imperialism?”

“It is in our best interests, Mister Miller.” Mixie scoffed. “They chose not to make an official claim to this territory. As long as we remain friendly, there will be no need for them to even discover my new ownership.”

“They’re definitely going to notice,” said Roman.

Mixie grinned. “Come, Mister Miller. We have some preparations to make for our first dungeon.”