I tasted, more than felt, the approach.
Burrowing rats crowded by the Calaratan entrance, picking through a new haul of plain quartz they'd pried from a vein I'd grown in the wall for the express purpose of creating quartz-light, but I wouldn't begrudge their actions, irritating as they were. I wanted them to get a taste of magic.
Still frustrating.
But watching them gave me a front row seat as they all froze, their forked-tip tails twitching like a tree caught in a hurricane, black eyes wide. As one, they scattered, darting through rolling hills of algae and disappearing into dens like they'd never existed. The Fungal Gardens echoed hollowly in their absence.
That same paranoia that'd kept me from moving the lunar cave bears settled heavily over my core.
Ah. It was time.
I flung more points of awareness around the first floor, digging sharpened mana into the surrounding limestone like I was prepared to bring the walls down—I wasn't, I want to be very clear, my last little temper tantrum had shown me how very bad an idea that was—and I snaked my influence through the rest of my floors, waking my creatures from their slumber. Not into the raid-frenzy yet, still a lingering sense of calm, but they were alert. In preparation.
The last attack had been two simpletons and one invisible threat I hadn't gotten to test before they'd disappeared. I couldn't allow myself to fall into the complacency of assuming that this would be a similarly-sized attack.
So I gathered my strength and glared at the cove-side entrance. It wouldn't be long now, I knew; my burrowing rats were paranoid little bastards, but even their senses only extended so far away. For them to sense something, it would be close.
And close it was. Hardly five minutes passed before my points of awareness were able to peer past the dark shrouding the entrance and see something.
A human appeared.
My mana sharpened to a knife's edge.
She was a tall, willowy thing, presence heavy with the power of a Bronze, her eyes squinted and hair pulled tight to the back of her skull. No visible weapon but mist cooled around her fingers, vapor dripping from her nails. Behind her, another human appeared, shorter with something like bandages wrapped around his arms, teeth bared despite the nerves in his eyes.
They stayed close to each other, watching their partner's back. Probably a team.
Probably a full team, judging by the three more invaders creeping in after them.
I shifted a touch uncomfortably above; while none of them were stronger than Bronze and I'd well proven myself capable of handling their power, this was still a coordinated attack. I couldn't afford to be complacent. The last invasion had shown an invisibility-shaped hole in my defenses, even if I'd managed to chase them off, and I couldn't be positive that these wretched little beings didn't have any tricks up their sleeves.
No time for second guessing, though. I couldn't reach out to my creatures without risking the invaders noticing my interference but I didn't have to; they were already alert and stirring, luminous constrictors uncoiling from their rest to peer with black eyes down at those who dared disturb their slumber. The Fungal Gardens was my quietest floor, the ambient mana weakest, but it would still be plenty for five pitiful invaders. Not even a Silver among them. Did Calarata truly consider me so weak?
I'd wait until they'd fully entered the space before sending the creeping vine over the entrance, but after that, there wasn't a chance they'd escape. Cave spiders clicked their mandibles overhead, stone-backed toads torn between their coward's intuition and the promise of potential mana, silverheads darting around each other in the pond. The five humans crept forward, eyes shifting between every aspect of the floor, ready for anything.
Well. I could guarantee they weren't ready for me.
The group slunk forward, wary as all hells but already I could see the brilliance of the Fungal Gardens unfold around them. Nuvja's boon hid the shine of the luminous constrictors' scales as they crept forward, kept the cave bears hidden in their dens, hid all sense of danger and retreated from all the glorious little shinies I'd tucked around the room. Already greed lit up in their faces.
Beautiful. I loved greed. No easier thing to twist to my advantage.
"What's there?" Someone shouted, but it wasn't from the group; it came from outside my entrance. My mana shifted uncomfortably. Another member of the group?
The willowy woman stiffened, glancing around once more before shooing at her group members, jabbing fingers at the little pockets of rubies and sapphires I'd put just outside of their reach. "Nothing much," she called back, even as her group all but sprinted to the jewels, Nuvja so delicately hiding any threats from their awareness. "Let us continue to scope it out, though!"
Hm. Trying to steal while not letting anyone else get the chance. Something I could respect, but just not when it was done to me.
And unfortunately for them, not what the rats who had worked so hard to collect said jewels would accept against them.
The man with the bandages reached out to a den, shadows pulled away so the topaz was clearly visible, and only had a second to inhale before a burrowing rat flung itself through the air and latched onto his nose.
He shrieked, backpedaling; the bandages whipped to life with a spiral of mana and tried to lash at his opponent, but the rat had done a lovely job of attaching itself to his face and he couldn't attack it without beating himself. Wonderful plan. The rest of his group reacted in a similar level of panic, just as burrowing rats of their own leapt for the invaders who dared try to steal their jewels, the poor Bronzes flailing against the unexpected attack.
Ah. Perfection. Maybe they wouldn't even need to face the cave bears.
I had enough time to fantasize about all I could do with their mana when another invader appeared at the entrance.
She was tall and thin, almost painfully so, with curtains of pale hair and some sort of bone mask over her face; she strode forward and my mana immediately stiffened, feeling the weight that echoed with her movement. A Silver, and a powerful one at that.
Maybe the leader of the group? And she'd sent them in before her to scope out the place, either trusting their strength or not caring about their deaths? Either way, I couldn't help but squint at her; I had been certain the voice had been masculine. Maybe that was her power?
Another invader appeared.
My mana did its best attempt at hyperventilating.
Okay. Fantastic. Great.
Both new invaders ignored the group and charged directly for the rats, engaging them in far more coordinated combat; in seconds, whole colonies collapsed to the ground, some with limbs twisting out of alignment and others done in with blunt force trauma. They cut their way through the rats, eyes fixed on the tunnel at the back of the room, fierce and willing and capable.
Another invader appeared in the entrance.
Okay. I'd misjudged this.
Not another group, not another solo adventitious fool looking for a hidden prize; this was an attack. Full of the numbers they thought was necessary to take me down, and I wouldn't know how many I was facing until they were all in my halls.
The paranoia shivered in the back of my core.
I gathered all my mana, looming overhead as points of awareness bloomed around every invader, watching them, tracking them, keeping painful focus on their actions. Mana snaked through my lower floors, out of their mana-sight, waking my creatures with much more determination than before; we had to be ready.
I was being invaded.
-
Sounds of combat ahead, which was always a terribly good sign.
Alami exhaled, warm air puffing against the pressing chill of the mountain. He didn't particularly want to be here, now that his head had cooled from the screamed announcement, but he couldn't deny the flicker of excitement in his chest. He'd been Bronze for far too long, even as a priest, and he could practically taste the potential within the dark stone. Though he'd since abandoned the outside world for this distasteful mountain, he could feel night settling, Akohr's power brimming stronger within him.
He clenched ink-black fingers.
Through her, he would rend this dungeon, grow fat and gluttoned off its power. He'd claim the core if it presented itself, but Alami didn't count himself a fool; surrounded in darkness he could see through easier than daylight, he could see Silvers and Bronzes in equal numbers, each as battle-ready as him. Nearly fifty in total, and that was without the Gold First Mate directing the charge.
No, Alami wouldn't be fighting for the core. He'd come for a lesser prize.
Akohr was not the type of god that desired souls or blood from her chosen priests; as the Goddess of Night, she was worshiped far and wide already, from thankful prayers for the quiet she provided to childish requests to keep the monsters at bay. No, her priests served as her eyes on the ground, investigating anything that caught her attention. And something certainly had.
Fight as you wish, she'd murmured as he followed Lluc with violence in his heart. But confirm.
Confirm her suspicions, whatever those were. That same bright little spark of pride set Alami grinning against the pressing walls of the cavern, ignoring all the other adventurers. Though he knew there were other followers of Akohr in Calarata, she had chosen him to investigate.
And being chosen tended to come with fantastic new granted powers.
So he marched behind the others, tucked somewhere in the middle of the pack; while there was room enough even for those with obvious ancestries, the walls narrowed them down to walk nearly in a single line. Lluc's presence kept them from devolving into active combat but Calarata did not trusters make; everyone walked on a knife's edge, hair raised and fingers tight around weapons.
Alami's hands did not leave his daggers, ink crawling up his fingertips in preparation. But he blended in here, just a hapless Bronze enhancer looking for a quick buck. Nothing to look twice at, certainly not anyone to threaten. He shrouded himself in the glorious sensation of anonymity.
Further they moved into the mountains, growing closer and closer until Alami could feel mana buzzing against his skin, the vague burn in the back of his throat that spoke to pure mana, so rare and so blessedly powerful. The others could sense it too, sharpening grins and fingering weapons as their time came. As much as Lluc had told them about the dungeon, it was another thing entirely to feel it for yourself. The sounds of combat increased.
Five minutes passed before Alami had shuffled his way through the twisting caverns and arrived at the entrance. It was a narrow little thing, a hallway branching off in twin identical tunnels, made of silver-flecked limestone bright with power. The darkness hid nothing from his ink-black eyes and he could see the subtle lines of spiderweb overhead, the pulse of moss rippling in an invisible water stream, dust kicked up by skittering feet.
He brushed his hands over his armour, the iron-studded leather he'd won off the corpse of the man who'd told him that Akohr had an interest in his following. Nothing like the plate of the man in front of him, nor the barkskin protection of the woman charging into the dungeon. Still Bronze, though mana thrashed hungrily in his chest; he couldn't afford to be hasty sprinting in like he had the physical body of a Gold. Chosen of Akohr or not, he was still human.
So, ever the rogue he'd fashioned himself into, Alami ducked into the nearest shadow and waited for whoever was behind him to enter. The first was a wiry man with a bow and silver-streaked hair; not exactly an iron wall of defense. A woman with some serpentine ancestry, more scales than skin with a patterned hood flared high in place of hair; promising, but he didn't like his chances sneaking behind with the four other members of her party snapping at her heels. Another human, nerves drawing his shoulders high to his ears and his grip on his double-headed spear shaking; a fantastic choice if he wanted to die.
The next person's eyes locked directly on him.
Alami took a moment to really realize what'd happened; he was crouching in the shadows, his black-stained armour paired with the ink dripping from his fingers, cloaking him in one of his latent abilities serving Akohr had given him. While it was certainly possible to see him, the surrounding darkness combined with the focus on the dungeon should have meant he'd fade neatly to the background.
Though, judging by the man's rather blatant ancestry and the glow behind his golden eyes, Alami rather doubted his disguise was doing much.
They appraised each other.
Then, as if he wasn't giving up his entrance, the man stepped to the side, letting a woman with smoke curling through her hair walk past. He stood next to Alami, dark skin and darker hair blending into the surrounding limestone, one eyebrow raised.
"I'd hope this wasn't an attempted ambush." His voice was calm and collected, only slightly betrayed by the inhuman rumble that curled around his words, but his eyes were sharp.
Fantastic. Alami loved having people pay attention to him. Really one of his favourite things.
He straightened from his crouch, letting Akohr's night fall off his shoulders. The ink fell from where it'd been spreading up to his wrist, settling back on his fingertips. "You're welcome to think I'd need an ambush to take you."
Bronze though he was to the man's Silver, Alami was a chosen priest of Akohr. He wouldn't eat crow for any bastard who thought to challenge him.
The man blinked, some of that trader's calm falling from his face—he laughed, a deep, rumbling sound, and crossed his arms, still hunched over in a rather awkward manner. He was annoyingly tall. "The little spider bites back," he said, lips tugging back in a terrible artist's rendering of a smile.
Alami bared his own teeth. "I'm no spider."
"In spirit," the man said, infuriatingly. He'd lost the suspicion and was now looking him over appraisingly, something like interest behind the coin-gold of his eyes. "What brings you to the dungeon?"
"I could ask you the same."
The man blinked once, canines still on full display. "I'm going to guess you don't know who I am," he rumbled, though he sounded even more amused. "I am Gonçal."
Alami let the name wash over him. Calaratan streetrat though he'd been, he'd kept an ear to the ground of anyone who'd clawed their way up much like he'd dreamed of, and Gonçal was an unfortunately recognizable name.
He didn't let himself stiffen. Priests of Akohr feared no man.
"You're with the Silent Market." And the youngest nightmarketer who'd ever joined that particular gang, though he kept that little tidbit to himself. Gonçal was somewhere in his late twenties, maybe thirties, but the Silent Market was the kind of picky that meant most of their chosen were greying at the temples. You had to be special to get in with them.
And Gonçal had.
Very little else was known about him, because that was how Calarata worked; information begeted information, and Gonçal was rather particular about keeping his own life under wraps. Something about his ancestry, something about a mysterious tutor who had taught him assessment; half truths and whispers.
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Alami also had the habit of not giving a shit, because nightmarketers made themselves. They weren't chosen by gods.
So he kept his eyebrows raised, tapping over his daggers' hilts. "And I am Alami."
Gonçal waited a second, perhaps for Alami to drop to his knees and beg forgiveness. Alami hoped he choked. It wasn't like his name had the same weight as Varcís Bilaro or Lluc Cardena Ferré, or even other members of the Silent Market. Gonçal was more of a commodity.
Alami certainly wasn't the type to bend. He did let his eyes slide over the man's exposed claws and canines, the gleam of scales around his neck and the cat's glint of his eyes. Indulging in a curiosity had the added benefit of keeping up his impunity. "Those natural?"
Gonçal's grin spread, though stayed polite. "Natural as yours."
Alami spread his black-tipped fingers and gave an answering grin.
"I like you," Gonçal finally said, which would have probably been nice if it hadn't come between sharpened fangs and an oddly shaped tongue.
Alami narrowed his eyes. "And I don't."
Gonçal laughed, a meaty, resonating sound, spooking a fair few of the adventurers entering the dungeon. Something bright surfaced past the placid calm. "I believe it," he said, the scales over his cheekbones glinting as mana swirled to life through his eyes, turning back to the tunnel. His towering bulk meant he was able to slot himself back in the line with only a few muffled curses from those behind—Alami wasted a half a second before darting in behind him, Akohr's darkness crawling up his fingers once more.
He'd wanted a distraction for his entrance. The man would have to serve.
"Try not to die," Gonçal said, rolling his shoulders, something finally breaking past the trader's blankness he kept on his face. A wild grin, that gaunted streetrat love of violence, even as he searched for an opening to charge through.
Alami recognized that look. He'd seen it on his own face for every miserable moment of his life from the before, when he'd been nothing more than a Calaratan bastard searching for any adrenaline to soothe the weariness of hunger and exhaustion. He was older now, freed from that life, blessed by a god and chosen to wield her strength.
But he could see a kindred spirit in the man.
"Likewise," he said, and darted into the dungeon.
-
When he was feeling particularly indulgent, he considered himself a scholar.
Lord Ealdhere Darlington—or, Baron Ealdhere Darlington, since the Leóro Kingdom had so many finicky little rules about who could technically be called a lord, which was utterly fascinating considering that the rule had only come into standing after the death of the last High King. That had been less than a hundred years ago, not near enough time for a rule to spread so quickly across such a large territory, but still the law banning any foreigners from calling themselves lords was ironclad. Did it matter here, he wondered? Calarata was a rather lawless place, not so much unconcerned with Leóro but actively dismantling their rules, but he'd still seen no others refer to themselves as lords or ladies.
Fascinating, really. This was why he had decided to travel, to leave behind the gentle shores of his island home and find the mysteries of the wider world. The language here, Viejabran, had been tricky to get a proper handle on, but Ealdhere rather thought he'd done well. Done well enough to hire a band of adventurers to protect him, in fact.
He'd never put a thought to training. He was fine being unranked; let the other dreamers chase being Mythril. His heart belonged to more tangible prizes.
Such as this utterly fascinating dungeon he found himself in.
His band had been initially hesitant, having been hired specifically for protection as he ventured into the unnamed jungle around Calarata in search of fascinating flora and fauna rather than anything related to dungeons, but he'd merely had to slide over a touch more gold than before and they had been more than prepared to go. And it wasn't like dungeon delving didn't carry its own share of rewards; Ealdhere had done his best to make it absolutely clear that they were free to take any gold or treasures they came across. He merely wanted the more living things.
They'd accepted that, but warily. A shrewd sort of paranoia seemed to live alongside their every decision.
It sounded like an exhausting way to live. He was well aware he stuck out here, both with his red hair and pale skin and his general optimism in life; he'd fitted his bowler cap with the feathers of a greennecked dove in an attempt to fit in, a child's attempt at looking… pirate-y, but he couldn't help but enjoy it. One of life's many indulgences.
Ealdhere smiled at his band. They didn't so much as look at him.
They were in the first room of the dungeon, which was almost disappointingly full of common creatures he'd already investigated around Calarata; green algae, verdaj algoj, growing in odd, flowing patterns like the banks of a river. Perhaps a little too well-watered, judging by their leggy growth as they searched for more light to balance their hydration, but still healthy. Whitecap mushrooms, blankkapaj fungoj, blooming between them all in a delicate little balance, tucked in the crevices of stalagmites to hide from the quartz-light, looking like they didn't have long to grow before something ate them. Maybe the burrowing rats darting hither and thither? Or something larger, not yet engaged by the near dozen people already filling the first room?
"Old man," Jorge snapped, tightening his grip on his flail. "Keep up. We can only protect you if you stay with us."
Ah. Always a fair reminder. Ealdhere tended to fall into his own head.
"My apologies!" He said, adjusting the spectacles on the brim of his nose. He and the three members of his group—Jorge, a broad, gruff man with a flail and the scars over his legs to show he'd practiced with it; Steshe, a narrow, wiry man with a specialization in a mutated mana-sight, eyes lighting up like bonfires to direct attacks or blind his enemies; and Neus, a towering woman with dryadic ancestry, hair like moss and bark crawling over her skin when she wanted it. All fine folks. Ealdhere trotted forward to walk between them, stepping into the dungeon alongside the near fifty other adventurers who'd come for a bite at the proverbial apple; already, combat raged ahead, several burrowing rats—truantaj ratoj—leaping forward with uncharacteristic aggression to whoever dared near their territory.
Well. That was the fun of a dungeon! There was truly no way to know what to expect. Ealdhere had only ever strolled through the tamed dungeons of his homeland, with cores already bound and guides hired off the basis of his last name alone; this was a far more fiery encounter. Mysteries and dangers lurked around every corner.
Ever so exciting.
"They seem to have things handled," he said cheerily, gesturing vaguely at a pair of adventurers tangoing with the largest horde of rats. Beyond them, some thousand feet away, a pond lurked before the entrance in faux complacency. Ealdhere would bet some of his not insubstantial fortune that there were threats in the water; perhaps silverheads—arĝentkapuloj—judging by what he knew of Calarata's more common creatures. It was always a delight trying to predict what he would encounter. "Shall we head to the next floor?"
Jorge spun on his heel, flail arching over his head and slamming into the wall hard enough the stone trembled—a luminous constrictor, helaj konstriktantoj, exploded into a gory wave of scarlet. Sniped right before it had been able to use its ability to blind them—he knew he'd hired the correct choice of a band.
Ealdhere held down his desire to clap, but just barely. "Excellent work, my good fellow!"
Jorge shook his flail, scales and bone splattering off the iron points. "This room is going to get packed," he muttered, glancing back to see even more adventurers pour in after them, eyes hungry for treasure and power. "If you want a chance to collect creatures, we need to move quickly."
If we want a chance to collect treasure, we need to go now went unsaid, but everyone heard it.
"Ah," he said, drumming his fingers over the monogrammed rapier at his side. A touch disappointing, considering there were mysteries on this first floor he already knew he hadn't uncovered, but there would always be time on the return journey. "Onward, fair friends! Adventure waits for no man!"
Steshe and Neus exchanged a look.
-
Things were not going particularly well.
Jimí swallowed a terrified yelp, scrambling back against the limestone as a rat—it was a rat, why was it so large, why did it look so hungry—scampered at his feet, forked-tip tail lashing at the ground. He kicked off the back wall and leapt over its head, sprinting back to Val's side, and promptly had to duck a chain as she swung at the approaching figure before recognizing it as the only other member of her party.
Jimí's nerves were so frayed he couldn't muster the energy to react to his near decapitation with more than a grunt.
Gods. Why had he thought it was a good idea to attack the dungeon? It'd felt so right when he'd been in the crowd, swinging his fists against whatever dared threaten Calarata, but that had been before he'd actually gone and done the damn thing. He was no martyr, no hero; hells, why wasn't the Dread Pirate fighting it? Wasn't that what the taxes were for?
But he had no time to think about that, because he was in the fucking dungeon.
He darted forward and slapped a hand over her ribcage, the little gap between the amalgamated collection of armour that didn't have a matching piece across her whole body. Typical of pit fighters, no real money to get the good shit, though her weapon—a handle with a blade on one end and a weighted chain on the other—was quality enough to hurt where it needed to.
Mana surged at his fingertips and Val straightened, losing the strength enhancement he'd given her previously and gaining speed instead; her eyes brightened to twin embers as she spun, chain unfurling like wings, and whipped a constrictor off the wall from where it had flared its pale underbelly.
Jimí kind of wished he'd just collapsed instead.
She cleaved through three more rats, backing up to the center of the room; the snakes mainly struck from the stone, the rats emerging from hidden dens, and only by being completely exposed could they see their enemies approaching. He really wasn't a fan of that.
But they'd been here for a long while, and already the other adventurers were filtering down, letting the two Bronzes distract the horde as they made their escape to further floors. Jimí couldn't bring himself to feel slighted; his heart was still crowing joyously that he was alive.
Val was saying something, he realized; he twisted his head to pick it up, considering he had to work around a missing ear.
"We can go deeper," she snarled, eyes impossibly bright even in the dark of the dungeon, chain slithering around her ankles.
The scar that'd torn off his left ear and very nearly tore off his head flared up, still so freshly healed; he'd barely survived his last party's wipe, so recently he'd only had time to team with Val before the next adventure called. No, Jimí was decidedly uninterested in pushing his luck too far. He'd heard and felt those songs before.
"Not now," he tried, shuffling back as her fingers twitched over her weapon. "Look–" he cast around, jabbing a finger at the tunnel extending further down. "It's already full of people and we're not strong enough. Let's just raid this floor while everyone else is distracted and get out!"
He'd insinuated that she wasn't strong. That, as it turned out, was the wrong move.
Val's eyes narrowed to slits. "Are you saying we're not enough to keep going?" Her blade glittered coldly as she raised its hooked tip. "Even though you said you'd be able to boost my abilities until I was on par with a Silver?"
Jimí swallowed. Ah. He had said that, hadn't he?
It was terribly difficult to join parties when you had the reputation of being the last surviving member, let alone twice. He might have. Um. Emphasized his Bronze-level abilities a touch more than he really should have.
"Look," he tried again, because Calarata hadn't raised no quitter. "You're plenty strong, it's me I'm worried about. I'm just support-focused—it'd be like you were alone down there!"
Val grinned in a way that felt more like baring her teeth. "And?"
A growl split the room.
Dimly, Jimí realized that the other adventurers had left, leaving only a handful on the first floor; less than ten, most already working on crossing the rocky pond. Earlier, there had been nearly the full fifty in the room, much too many for any creature to attack without a stable plan.
But now that number was much reduced, and he was not the only one to notice.
From a pocket of pitch black off to the left side, something stirred; Val noticed the blood draining from his face and whirled, weapon raised and falling into a two-point stance. The other adventurers either cut their losses and sprinted down the tunnel or froze, wavering on the edge of the pond, debating going for it and risking being caught distracted.
Jimí rather thought he would have just thrown himself into the pond rather than face the monster that emerged.
It was taller than he was on all fours, massive and bristling, paws larger than his head with claws with knives and eyes black as coal. It rumbled, shaggy fur quivering at the motion, so powerful Jimí could feel the sound in the marrow of his bones. He quietly considered pissing his trousers.
The cave bear—because of course it was a fucking cave bear—took a second to build up speed, but it rammed into the closest adventurer with all the force of an avalanche. She went down in a horrible, piping scream, holding intestines that steamed against the air. The bear snarled, swiping at her partner, who threw a frantic shield of water over his chest; its claws met the defense with an earth-shaking boom. Blood spurted from the man—no, the boy's—nose as he held onto his mana with trembling fingers, unable to move backward while maintaining the shield but his animal brain not willing to drop it.
It doomed him. The bear hit the shield again and the hardened water couldn't hold up, splattering to the ground alongside most of the boy's left arm. He screamed and fell.
Jimí must have made a sound, some pathetic little whimper, because the bear snapped to his direction. It growled, low and crashing. Scarlet splattered over its fur.
When it charged at him, Jimí had never sprinted to the side faster in his life.
But the room was relatively thin and straight and there wouldn't be a dodge, not when the bear lumbered for him like a collapsing mountain—he was the moving target and Val went ignored, able to duck to the side as the bear moved, paws ripping up stone and algae alike, maw gaping.
Val popped up from her roll, arms raised. His speed enhancement paired with her own gift of telekinetic aim as she hurled the chained side of her weapon, a second away from lashing around its back leg but she was too far and the bear was too close and he was going to die–
Movement.
A man swirled before him, face hidden behind a mask shaped like a bird's outstretched wings; Jimí heard something faintly in the back of his mind, the lumbering press of gravity settling heavy on his shoulders, and the bear ground to a halt. Something was pinning it in place, fur mussed as dozens of invisible presences shoved against its shoulders. Its muscles bunched and it heaved, eyes furious, and tore itself free—just a second too late. The man impaled through its back with a narrow, flashing blade.
Jimí stared at what he'd been pretty sure would have been his certain death.
"Clever distraction, young boy!" The man called, ripping out his falchion and spinning on his heel in one motion. The bear roared, a broken, pained sound, and lashed out blindly; the man—the Silver—danced around its frenzied claws like it was a coordinated dance. Behind his mask, his eyes gleamed.
At his side, a woman stepped forward; one of the southern dryads, skin green and hair like a curtain of moss, though flecked in odd splotches of pale red. Her face was placid as a forest pool as she raised twin daggers, ducking under a wild claw, and sunk both blades through the bear's skull.
It trembled, mouth opening and closing, and collapsed.
"Oho!" The man said, pleased. He sounded like he'd correctly guessed an ingredient in his dinner, not like he'd just helped kill one of the most terrifying things Jimí had ever seen in his entire life. "Tougher than I thought it would be—perhaps this dungeon will be an adventure after all!"
The dryad just blinked at him, tugging her knives free. She ignored the dripping scarlet and held them loosely at her side, the barest hint of a smile on her face as she looked at the eccentrically dressed man. His bird-shaped mask was matched with a flowing cloak, the edges lined in feathers, tall boots reaching nearly his knees and a leather armour set dyed pale blue underneath. His soul burned with the power of a Silver.
"And you, young boy!" He didn't seem capable of speaking any quieter than a shout. "You need to work on your reactions. Why, if I hadn't been there, you'd certainly be dead!" He laughed, a light little sound. "If you survive, count your life debt to Valentulus of the Wandering Empire!"
Jimí stared at him. Valentulus seemed to realize that he wouldn't be falling to his knees and swearing his lifelong allegiance, a furrow drawing his brows lower before he shrugged, flicking the worst of the blood off his falchion before striding towards the back of the room. The dryad followed him.
His gaze flicked down to the cave bear's corpse.
I think it's time to retire.
Val padded over, knuckles white around her weapon. For as strong as she was, she was still Bronze, and this was a harsh reminder that yes, there were powers above them, and then powers above them.
Valentulus and the dryad all but merrily skipped through the rock pond, ignoring whatever lived in the water, and went on their cheery way further into the dungeon. They barely spared a glance for the two cooling corpses at the water's edge. In an instant, it was only Val and Jimí left on the first floor.
Until, once more, something shifted right on the edges of his vision. It was moving, though he couldn't focus right on it, eyes unable to lock on the proper form. Maybe mana, or maybe the raw shock that was flooding through his awareness like a monsoon.
Then the figure paused over the corpse of the cave bear and let out a low, keening wail, the darkness bleeding away from its form to reveal… an unfortunately familiar form.
Oh, he thought faintly. It's got a mate.
The bear snarled, shadows wreathing its form like a miasma of pure midnight, hazing around the edges until he couldn't tell where the monster ended and the cavern began, black eyes pained and furious. Smaller than the previous one but with shadows peeling all over its body, hiding anything specific until it was just a pair of eyes ringed with streaks of black.
Val either hid her shock better or didn't feel it, stepping forward with her weapon raised and teeth bared. Maybe she was attacking it in an attempt to kill it, or maybe a distraction so she could run away, trusting on the speed enhancement still lurking under her skin; Jimí could barely focus on the whole situation.
His body knew what to do.
Well. He'd survived his last two party wipes by doing something similar; it'd worked, so clearly the gods were telling him it was the right decision.
Val charged towards the bear and Jimí promptly fled in the opposite direction.
The rats had been culled by the other adventurers, corpses scattered and their courage broken, and even then Jimí still dodged frantic charges and blinding flashes of light from serpents lurking on the walls; a thousand feet was a long way to run and he focused only on his steps, ignoring any and all sounds from behind, when Val's roars faded to screams to whimpers to silence. He just had to get out.
He reached the other end of the floor and found–
Nothing.
There wasn't an exit, no opening in the stone where he'd come through originally, just swirling shadows and grey limestone. A luminous constrictor raised its head and he flinched away, staring desperately at the wall, waiting for it to pass like a bad joke and reveal the way out–
A growl, from behind.
Jimí turned very slowly.
The bear, newly crowned in a chain-shaped gash and with scarlet fangs, padded towards him. Slowly. Casually. No need for a rush.
Jimí thought, inexplicably, back to how he'd dreamed of being a bard. A lovely quiet life, traveling the world and earning his keep with songs and stories. Only a poor man's instrument to his name but nothing more needed.
The bear snarled, blood dripping from its fangs.
There was no exit.