Corrin plunged his face into the cool running water, sighing internally as the sweat was washed away from his face. He was careful not to drink any, as he still had some water reserves left and didn’t want to waste them.

He surfaced, rolling over onto the floor of the tunnel as the stream bubbled past him. The streams in these tunnels were never more than a few yards deep, though they moved enough it was difficult to see the bottom. The surface reflected the glow of the lightstones in the cave walls, glimmering a cool blue in the dim light.

Corrin had come across another one of the claw beasts, and he was beginning to think the first victory had been a fluke. Between its thick fur, and deadly natural weapons, the beast had still proved a challenge. Though, he supposed his new claw sword allowed him to claim a much safer victory this time.

Tossing his hair out of his eyes, Corrin set to work bandaging his leg, which had taken a deep gash during the fight, and was gushing blood. Even with his ability to heal, he may not be able to replace lost blood, so bandaging his more serious wounds was a priority. The cut stung as he wrapped some of his remaining gauze around it several times, the white cloth staining a deep crimson.

The tunnel seemed relatively safe for the time being, so Corrin took the time to rest by the water. It had been almost a week by his estimate, and he was no closer to finding a way out of this place. If anything, he got the impression he was only heading further into the labyrinth. Deeper in, the shadows themselves seemed to twist and move as if they were alive, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.

“Damn cave.” He winged a stone at a chunk of crystal on the ceiling hard enough to crack it, and watched as a chunk broke off from the rest of the glowing mass and fell into the water below with a small splash.

Corrin found himself wondering idly about how he’d yet to run into any monsters in the water. Well… besides the one he didn’t want to think about, but he’d never seen water in the dungeon before, so he’d initially assumed there would be fish waiting to kill him the moment he got too close. It seemed though, that wasn’t the case. Oh well, better not to expect logic from a place like the dungeon.

His stomach rumbled loudly, interrupting his train of thought.

Oh no…

Corrin glanced over towards his pack, and unsteadily rose to his feet. Using his claw sword like a cane, he made it over to his pack and checked inside, his worst fears realized.

He was out of food.

His eyes drifted across the tunnel to the corpse of the claw beast he’d recently slain, but he forced his head away.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.

His stomach rumbled again.

“Damn it.” He sighed and began to build a campfire.

***

Claw beast meat was just as bad as he’d feared. Maybe it was his lack of cooking talent, but the meat was slimy and chewy, with a gamey taste he just couldn’t get rid of. Still, food was food. He took another piece off the makeshift fire and tried not to look as he bit into it. As he chewed, all he could think was that he would give his left leg for just a little pinch of salt. If he ever made it back out of here, he’d never leave home without some again.

As he ate, Corrin watched the smoke curl lazily upwards. The tunnel was large enough, and the air still enough that it didn’t blow in his face, so that was a plus at least. He’d thought of trying to follow the smoke to find an exit, but upon seeing it drifting back the way he came, he dismissed the idea. It would just reach the giant chasm and go up from there, leaving him unable to follow. No easy outs it would seem.

Shoving down the rest of the vile meal, Corrin got to his feet, his leg having healed up enough for him to somewhat put weight on it again. He shoved the spare meat into his pack, which he’d mostly emptied out for this excursion, then kicked out the fire, leaving only the embers glowing faintly in the ashes. He snapped the edge off some of the half-burnt sticks and put them back in his pack as well. He’d need to save all that he could to make more fires.

Checking the darkness ahead, he started walking again, eyes darting through the shadows as he tried to make sure nothing caught him off guard. If there were any camouflaged creatures like the stalkers on floor two, they may prove more dangerous than any giant monsters. Thankfully, he didn’t run into any monsters for a while, they seemed sparser down in this deep floor, though he didn’t know why.

He was only on tunnel two, which bothered him greatly. There were eight that he counted branching out from the pool, so the odds that this one would lead up were slim, but he’d at least hoped that they’d be short enough that he could get through them quickly, or that some would loop around to each other, which hadn’t ended up being the case. If he had to painstakingly traverse each one, then—

A sheep bleated.

Corrin turned slowly, the sound of clopping hooves reaching his ears from a tunnel a little ahead and to his left. He set his bag down and held his sword in front of him, taking in a breath of power and circulating it to his legs. Two black beady eyes stuck out from the tunnel as, almost unexpectedly, a sheep came into view. A normal sheep. It had a dark gray coat of fur, with sharp, spiraling horns and a thick wool coat, and it looked at him tranquilly as he tightened his grip.

“Oh man fuck this,” he didn’t trust the dungeon one bit, he could feel bad later if it was actually normal. Corrin launched himself at the creature, sword flashing. He barely had time to see the sheep’s eyes turn blood red before his blade clashed into its horns, stopping him in his tracks with surprising force. It opened its mouth revealing rows of pointed teeth, with two large fangs towards the front.

Corrin shuffled back as it gnashed at him, “Demon sheep!” he exclaimed as he took a parting swing. This time the blade connected, but it was halted by the thick wool clinging to its body.

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The sheep bleated angrily, charging with its horns lowered. Something was odd though, the sheep was much slower than other monster’s he’d encountered on this floor, he dodged away, taking in more breaths. As his adrenaline rose, so too did the power he was taking in, and he funneled most of it into his arms, waiting for the next charge.

After the sheep regained its bearings, it charged again. He stepped to the side, and the power in his arms drove his blade down harder than he could’ve ever swung it before, slicing clean through the monster.

As its bisected body slid across the ground, still moving from the speed of its charge, Corrin let out a sigh of relief.

Well, it does make sense that the sheep monster would be weak, I guess.

He chuckled quietly to himself, bending down to pick up his pack when he heard something else, coming from back in that same tunnel. The familiar clopping of hooves, and from the sound of them, it was more than one. A moment later, four heads poked around the corner as more sheep came into view. They paused briefly, no doubt staring at the body of their slain comrade on the ground.

Corrin had been in the cave for too long, he held his hands up defensively, not thinking about the fact that one of them held the bloodstained murder weapon: “Listen, it’s not what it looks like.”

Eight eyes flashed with red as a war cry sounded out through the cavern. Then, all at once, the sheep charged.

There was no time to concentrate the power which had spread out over his body, he tried dodging to the side again, but with four of them they blocked almost the whole path The rightmost one’s horn pierced his side as it went past, pulling him along with it for a second before it ripped free. He cried out in pain and stumbled back, falling into the water flowing past.

For a moment, he panicked and tried to suck in more power, the power came, but with it came water, flooding his throat and choking him. He thrashed towards the surface, but just as he did, the pain returned. His body shook uncontrollably as he sunk deeper into the water.

Spirits please, not now!

He screamed into the water, sending out a flurry of bubbles as the pain spread from his chest to his limbs, his entire body seizing up under the water. He hit the bottom of the stream, but hardly even noticed as the sensation was overwhelmed by the unbearable pain lighting up his mind.

The pain ended just before his lungs gave out, and he pushed off the bottom, breaking the surface and coughing out water as the stream began to run with his blood, dying it red. Corrin kicked to the opposite shore and collapsed as he vomited a seemingly endless amount of water before rolling over onto his back.

The claw sword—which he’d only managed to hold onto because the pain caused him to clench his fist even tighter—clattered out of his hands. He desperately sucked in air; and with the air, came power. Undirected, the power began to concentrate at his side, slightly dulling the pain as it began to heal the fresh wound. The healing process was slow, but it was enough that he wouldn’t lose too much blood if he put some pressure on it.

Across the water, the sheep stared at him. Their glowing red eyes weren’t filled with rage, or any emotion for that matter, which somehow scared him even more, it was as if there weren’t real creatures behind those eyes, just soulless killing machines. Still, they seemed content to wait on the other side of the water for some reason, watching him.

My pack... he realized, looking at the leather bag which lay on the ground near them. The next moment, he hurriedly patted at his side, and felt the silk pouch which held his one remaining firestone still secured in his cloak pocket. He felt relief; he couldn’t afford to lose his final weapon just yet, but it only lasted a moment as he looked back at the pack. Other than the firestone and his claw sword, the pack contained the rest of his supplies, few as they were by now.

He wasn’t sure how, but he stood up, breathing in deeply to absorb as much energy as he could. It flooded his body, eager to rush in towards the wound. But he wouldn’t let it. Instead, he forced it down into his legs, filling them with more energy than he’d ever tried before. They filled slowly, and he could feel a sense of ‘pressure’ increasing until they began to tingle painfully.

Corrin looked at the distance to his pack, judging it carefully against the power in his legs. Then, he stepped forward, and crossed the water.

The sheep jumped as he disappeared from one side and appeared on the other, crashing into the wall. He reached for the pack as his vision swam, and before they could attack, he jumped back across, his foot catching the edge of the water and causing him to tumble across the ground at a speed he couldn’t begin to control. The stone scraped at his skin through his cloak, and he hit the wall again, his vision going black for a second before fading back in.

I would’ve been better off just fighting them, but I really thought that would work better...

He didn’t want to get up, every part of his body ached with a deep sort of pain that even a good night’s sleep wouldn’t fix. He couldn’t pass out in the dungeon though, he had to keep moving. Keep moving or die.

Corrin crawled to his sword, grabbing the handle with weak hands. He used it to push himself up, staggering to his feet. He tried to lift the pack, but his strength was gone. He sucked in more energy, channeling it to his arm and lifting the pack before pulling most of the power to his legs.

Then, he began to walk, taking one step forward each time… he had to move. If he didn’t keep his blood flowing, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to move again. His hand pressed against his side, putting pressure on his wound as it slowly healed. Thankfully, it didn't seem to have pierced anything too vital, and it wasn't bleeding as much as he'd expected either.

The sheep followed, walking along the other side of the stream as if they were stalking him. As they traveled deeper into the tunnels, more appeared, eyes turning red before joining the pack. Corrin breathed in more and more power—he needed to heal as quickly as possible, he could feel a disaster creeping up on him, preparing to strike. After a while, he felt good enough that he didn’t have to use his sword as a cane anymore, and he stopped to take a drink from his waterskin.

As soon as he did, the sheep jumped into the water, swimming towards him.

Were they waiting for this?

Corrin summoned power to his arms. If they were in the water, he could kill them easily. Before they made it to shore, he had chopped two of their heads off. The other two climbed onto land and immediately charged, but two sheep were much easier than four. Corrin stepped between them, slashing through one as it passed. The other turned and… ran? Corrin’s eyes widened as the beast ran away from him, darting off into one of the tunnels behind him.

Why? Monsters in the dungeon didn’t run. Even the ones from the lower floor hadn’t ever run from him, though maybe it was because he won most of his fights down here by the skin of his teeth.

Corrin stumbled to his pack, taking a swig of the water as he collapsed against the cave wall.

Just… just a quick break. He told himself, resting would be good.

Some of it dribbled down his chin as he greedily drank, only half-quenching his thirst. After he was finished, he shook the waterskin experimentally: only a few sips left. He sat there for a while, completely drained. Dark thoughts tried to bubble their way up to the surface of his mind while he rested, but he shoved each one back down mercilessly. He didn’t have time for any despair, he needed to focus on resting.

Some time later, he stood, drawing more power into himself. It was almost habitual at this point, and without the energy, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep getting back up. But he had to keep moving, he had to keep going.

I’m going to make it back. I’m going to become a spirit knight. He repeated it over and over in his head, like a mantra. He felt that if he stopped believing it, he would be as good as dead.

A sheep bleated.

“You cannot be—”

And then another. And another. Behind Corrin, glowing red eyes emerged from the darkness.

Corrin transferred his sword between his hands, wiping the sweat from his palms. This really would be the dumbest way to die.