Corrin's new home wasn't really that bad. The large crack in the wall was quite spacious from a certain point of view. The heating left a little to be desired: it was always entirely too hot or too cold, and the sleeping arrangements were rough, but the view—a tiny sliver of light looking out into a dark and dreary cave—more than made up for it.
Most importantly, its top-notch security feature: being too narrow, kept the less-than-amicable neighbor unable to reach Corrin as he laughed at it from deep within it. It seemed any time Corrin made too much commotion, after a few minutes it would show up to come try and hunt him down again, and he had still yet to get a good look at the damn thing, since every time it showed up he would sprint for the crack without looking back. The closest he’d come was when he caught sight of its large, muscular tail, tipped with twin crescent blades and rippling fins as it slunk back into the water. It had come up on its own twice as well, but he’d been near or in the crevice both times.
It had been at least two days—time was hard in the constant dim light of the dungeon though—and to Corrin’s knowledge, Wyn hadn’t returned. It was worrying to say the least. Nothing on the first or second floor should realistically be able to kill them, but accidents, freak disasters, and unexpected challenges were all too common in the dungeon. That was the whole reason two guards were used rather than just one; in emergencies, like someone getting trapped, or monsters swarming a location, two guards minimized those risks.
Though, as far as Corrin knew, no one in the history of Straetum had ventured to the second floor, let alone the third. And he would be willing to bet all his savings that he was the first person to fall hundreds of feet to a completely different floor. Cases of both guards vanishing in the founder’s tomb were exceedingly rare, so most causes of death were recorded.
The best he could do was pray that Wyn had been held up, or the path they’d taken had somehow gotten blocked, rather than killed attempting to make it back.
Corrin couldn’t spare much concern though; he was about two steps from death himself. Since the fall, he’d tried looking for a way back up, but each time he ventured too far from the water, he’d run into monsters each as strong or stronger than the claw beast. He’d had to face down a giant snake thicker than his own body, a horror he could only describe as a deer with fleshy eyestalks for antlers, and even a vaguely humanoid creature with the lower body of a centipede. That last one in particular had then later shown up in his dreams to torment him again.
He was pretty sure that his initial theory was correct though. This lake was the Leviathan’s territory. While he had been followed back to it by monsters and had to fight them by its shores, none had dared wander in on their own.
If it hadn’t been for whatever strange power kept fueling him during battle, he would’ve already died three times over. Not only was he stronger and faster than he’d ever been before, but it also seemed like it helped him heal somehow. Most of his original injuries from the fall were no more than scars at this point, save for the worst of them. And though he had accumulated more over the course of more and more battles, he was finally starting to get used to his life down here, and the battles were growing easier, even if each one was still a close thing.
One thing he couldn’t help but notice was the fact that he was almost constantly hungry. He theorized that whatever was fueling his advanced healing, at least partially used his body’s energy stores to do so, burning through them at an accelerated rate.
That made it a double-edged sword, while he was getting healed over time, his food supplies were starting to dwindle as he ate more and more to keep his energy up.
On top of that, every few hours, he would feel that intense chest pain again, and it seemed to be getting worse each time, even waking him up in his sleep. The last time had been bad enough to make him vomit, which not only felt terrible, but it was also a dangerous waste of his already low food supplies.
On the bright side, he’d acquired a new weapon. As it turned out, the monster in the lake—which he’d decided to call the Leviathan—didn’t seem to eat other monsters in the dungeon. So, Corrin was able to harvest the bodies of the monsters he killed at his leisure.
Monster corpses would stick around in the dungeon, acting as normal bodies until their cores—small magic stones in the body of every monster—were removed. Once the cores were removed, usually either by Corrin and Wyn harvesting them, or being eaten by other monsters, the body would slowly turn to ash, save for any parts which had been stripped off or taken before the core was removed.
Thanks to this, Corrin had been able to forge his new ultimate weapon. He’d gotten the idea after his fight with the giant claw beast. He’d spent the time since killing it slowly whittling at one of the claws he’d cut from its body. And now it had been perfected!
Stepping out of his fissure, he held up his new bone-claw sword. With this, his reach problems were solved! The pearlescent white blade gleamed as if struck by moonlight. It was definitely sharp enough to get the job done, but it had been a huge pain to carve out a hilt towards the bottom enough that he didn’t cut himself just grabbing it.
He swung it around experimentally. It wasn’t very balanced, and was no replacement for a real sword, but it was far better than the dagger he’d been using thus far, and he was astonished at how light it was as he whipped it back and forth through the air. It would work more than well enough for his purposes, a fine weapon indeed.
But more so than any sword he could craft or purchase, Corrin was sure that the key to surviving this hell would be to master whatever this new power of his was. With the extra speed and power it granted him, he was able to—just barely—stand up to the fearsome creatures that had wandered into his camp so far.
He wasn’t sure how he was doing it, or how it worked. And so far, he hadn’t been able to feel it except in the heat of battle. That was something he needed to change. Just like any other weapon, it would require practice to master. Since killing the first monster, all his time had been focused on survival, either killing the monsters he encountered, or hiding from the leviathan in the pool. But he’d finally recovered enough to attempt something dangerous.
With that in mind, he sat down just outside his crevice, and sat into a meditative position he’d picked up from watching Wyn—crossed legged, with a straight back and his hands on his knees. He hoped that if he was able to focus completely on it, he might be able to feel something.
He closed his eyes, breathing slowly in and out. He tried to pay attention, carefully feeling for any differences.
But he felt nothing. This was just breathing with extra steps!
Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything else to do, and he wasn’t about to go seek out a monster just yet. So, he kept going. Breathe in. Breathe out. In his previous battle with the claw beast, as well as the others, he’d noticed that the power seemed to rise and fall with his breathing, making him think it was something in the air.
Clearing his mind of distractions was harder than he’d thought. Corrin had never been able to sit still for long in class, and with the situation he was in, it was almost impossible to relax. But then again, if he couldn’t get the hang of this, he would die. He kept breathing.
He tried to focus on each body part, one at a time, trying to feel everything that they felt. His feet were sore from how they’d been used in each of his fights, the convergence point for the power as he pushed off the ground. His legs throbbed quietly for a similar reason. His stomach felt light, which made sense, he hadn’t been eating much, but he wasn’t yet hungry. His chest rose and fell with each breath, filling with oxygen before releasing it. His arms were tense, prepared to reach for his sword if he heard a single movement. His hands were sore and callused, he’d worked them to the bone whittling his new sword. And his face was exposed to the cool, damp air of the cave, feeling the flow of air as it gently brushed against him.
Stolen novel; please report.
One by one, he released the tension from each body part, relaxing it, and uniting them into a single feeling of self within his mind. The condition of each of his muscles, his heart rate, the way oxygen spread out from the chest, he felt it all.
Seconds turned into minutes, which turned into hours, which turned into… well he wasn’t sure. Eventually, he stopped hearing the falling water, he stopped feeling the chill of the cave. Everything fell away until it was just him, breathing.
And then, there was something more.
As he breathed in, he felt the delicate balance of his body interrupted by an outside force. A single drop of water sending out ripples that he could feel. He breathed out, and felt the balance shift once again, and he became aware of the energy. Excitement almost knocked him out of the state he was in, but he held it down, focusing on the power as he opened his eyes, slowly letting more information into his brain.
It was like feeling the beating of a heart he hadn’t known he had. Part of the problem was that all he really had was a vague, hazy sense of power based on how it made his body feel, rather than feeling it directly, the parts where the power was felt… stronger, or healthier perhaps? Really, they just felt different than normal. He had no control over it happening, but he was now aware of its presence. If it wasn’t for the fights, he would’ve assumed it was like blood flowing to a limb: if blood stopped flowing to his arm, there would be symptoms he could feel, even if he couldn’t feel the blood directly, but it wasn’t like he could will his blood to do what he wanted. Through the fights though, he’d learned something important: this power could be controlled.
The spirit knight Corrin had seen when he was younger had moved faster than the eye could see, and seemed to possess an almost otherworldly power, so maybe it was something like that. The heroes in the stories could carry boulders and divert rivers, and he knew that mages were capable of doing some unbelievable things, even if he had no idea how.
This must be something like that. Maybe I’m finally awakening to my true power!
Right, control. He pulled on the power as he had before, willing it to move to his arm. It sluggishly responded, moving through his body like thick honey, resistant to being moved. This was the most serious issue he’d noticed: the seconds it took to move and concentrate it were a lifetime in battle, the difference between life and death. It was great for planned attacks and movements, or enhancement of certain body parts like his legs, but he couldn’t run at top speed and then immediately attack at max power, there was a significant delay.
The power condensed in his hand, until it felt like all the energy he’d inhaled was gathered there. But it kept condensing, as more and more power was drawn to it.
Where is it coming from?
As the process continued, he found his answer. As his hand began to tingle with power, the rest of his body began to feel dull and lethargic. Dull pain in his ankle and shoulder began to become sharper, and his breathing became heavier.
I’m not feeling the energy I breathed in, he realized, I’m feeling the difference in my body between it and energy that was already there.
It was obvious when he thought about it. Since the enhanced healing never stopped, it followed that he must have something fueling it constantly. He must’ve been taking in that energy subconsciously since he fell. If adrenaline and battle caused him to take in more, it would explain why he could feel it: the amount would increase so rapidly the effect was noticeable.
With this came another thought, if he wasn’t really feeling the energy, but rather the difference in how those body parts felt, then how much must there be in what he thought was a small amount? The difference between being able to lift eighty pounds and being able to lift ninety, would he have noticed that just on how his body felt alone? Probably not. Which meant that he wouldn’t notice the power increase until the difference grew large enough, so how much was already inside him?
He released the power held in his fist and it began to spread out within his body. As it spread, becoming thinner, it became harder and harder to sense, until eventually he could feel it no more. He’d lost the deep state of concentration that had allowed him to sense it in the first place, but he remembered the feeling. Carefully, he attempted to take in more with his breath. It took countless failed attempts, but eventually he seized on the feeling once more, repeating the process again, and again, and again.
He stood, and repeated until he could stand while taking it in. Next, he walked, then ran, then jumped, only taking breaks when the chest pain flared up. It was getting worse, this time it had hurt more and lasted longer. But he persisted, he didn’t have a choice. When he grew tired, he crawled back into the crevice, and passed out.
When he woke up, he started jumping again. Once he had that, it was punching, then swinging his sword, over and over and over. By the time he ate dinner on the second day of practice, he could get it every two tries; it was enough to start experimenting further.
From what Corrin had gathered, his entire body was somehow enhanced, even when he couldn’t sense any of the energy within him, from his muscles down to his lungs, which he’d tested with the running and jumping. The mental imagery of it as a blood-like liquid within in helped him to concentrate this energy in whatever part of his body he wanted. But doing so would take the power from the rest of his body, both leaving him weaker in certain areas, and making the pain more acute. It was a small price to pay.
He gathered the energy into his fist, the feeling of power moving lethargically through his body as he focused. Once he’d gathered up enough that his hand tingled with power, he slammed it into the wall next to him.
Pain shot through his arm as, rather than cracking the stone as he’d hoped, his knuckles split open against the rough surface of the cave wall.
Corrin stifled a girlish yelp, cradling his poor hand. He should’ve figured as much, the walls of the dungeon were almost impossibly strong, much more so than any naturally occurring stone. The only exceptions were certain parts that could be chipped off, like the lightstones and stalagmites. Nonetheless, he’d hoped.
Sucking in more power, he funneled the energy to his hand and watched as his knuckles began to heal slowly. In this, he noticed two things. The first was that the excess power in his hand had diminished greatly after the blow, leading him to believe it was expended somehow. The second was that of the energy he’d sucked in, some had already begun to drift towards his hand without his input, as if to prioritize his injuries. Which was helpful and confirmed his suspicions about the healing.
Another day passed in the dark, and Corrin slept in the crevice again, trying not to wonder if the next day would be the day his luck ran out.
***
He woke prematurely, his chest on fire. Stuck in the confines of the crevice, he thrashed against the walls as his body convulsed. Even after days of enduring the pain, it hadn’t gotten any easier. Tears from his eyes mixed with the sweat that dripped off his face as he let out a pitiful groan. But just as always, the pain eventually subsided, leaving him weak and gasping for air.
As he lay there, recovering from the sudden onslaught, his body shaking slightly, Corrin came to a decision: he could no longer wait for Wyn to come save him.
If Wyn hadn’t made it by now, then it was likely there had been some sort of problem that had come up, which meant Corrin couldn’t rely on backup. His food supply had begun to run low, and if it got much worse, he’d have to start eating the monsters he killed.
Monsters weren’t inedible as a rule, though several were apparently poisonous or otherwise unhealthy for humans. Everything he’d heard on the subject agreed that monster flesh tasted rotten or burnt, even if cooked perfectly. There were a rare few species that were considered delicacies from what he’d read, but he highly doubted those spawned in this dungeon, and he wouldn’t know what to look for to begin with. Spirit beasts on the other hand tended to have very beneficial properties when consumed. Corrin had been lucky enough to eat the eggs of a firebird once before, and though they were the spiciest thing he’d ever eaten, the flavor was incredible. What he wouldn’t give for some more of those eggs now.
Even more than his lack of food though, Corrin was growing increasingly worried by the fits of phantom pain, as he had no idea what was causing them. That made them more dangerous in his eyes. Dwindling food supplies was a problem he knew how to fix in a worst-case scenario, but the pains were a complete unknown, and if they were getting worse, he didn’t want to know where that would lead. Accordingly, he needed to get back to Straetum and find somebody who could help him as soon as possible.
He struggled up, pushing himself out of the crevice. His cloak lay on top of the pack just outside, and he threw it on. He slung the pack over his shoulder, and since he hadn’t fully recovered yet, he used his claw sword like a cane, supporting his trembling body as he began breathing in energy to strengthen him.
Spurred forwards by his palate, as well as more serious concerns, Corrin walked past the bodies of the monsters he’d defeated so far, holding his breath so the putrid air didn’t invade his nose, he was immune to his own stench at this point, but not theirs. Harvesting them would be a waste of energy right now, and they didn’t seem to be attracting others to his location.
He faced the darkness of the tunnel ahead of him, the stream branching from the Leviathan’s pool wandered lazily through it, stretching out of sight. One of these tunnels had to lead back up, so even if he had to check every single one, he’d find a way out. Surely new horrors awaited him within this labyrinth, the thought of them filling him with a creeping fear. But the pain scared him even more. It whispered to him, like a voice in his head telling him that if he didn't move forward, he'd die in that crevice, pathetic and alone.
Breathing in and out one last time, he tightened his grip on the claw. "Time to get out of here."
Then, Corrin took a step forward, into the unknown.