I whistled, feelin’ just ‘bout as happy as a clam. After all, everythin’ was right with the world. I was wanderin’ a new land with friends I liked quite a bit, off to stick it to some awful people. That right there could be my anthem. There was nothin’ I liked more, ‘cept for maybe spendin’ time with family. Or gettin’ my hands dirty on an interestin’ project.

Ok, I had a number of things I enjoyed doin’, sue me. It just meant that I was doin’ a few of ‘em at the same time, headin’ off to deal with these kidnapper people. And it turned out that Tiny was good people to be travelin’ with.

I had to admit that I’d been a mite bit worried ‘bout him at first. He just seemed so innocent and a bit naive. I’m happy to say that I couldn’t have been more wrong. A bit of talkin’ got his full story out of him, and the poor imp had lived a tough life. A fair bit tougher than mine, in fact. He was walkin’ silent with his head on a swivel, always close to a shadow in case he needed to make like a log and split. And he did all that so natural-like that he could hold a conversation without losin’ that focus. It was a level of discipline and survival skills that I could only admire.

Also, it seemed that killin’ me had done Tiny a fair bit of good. Miss Sasha wasn’t kiddin’ around when she said that causin’ sufferin’ would help a Native improve. Apparently, as a runt, Tiny had somethin’ of a sufferin’ deficiency. Like a kid who’d never had a fruit their whole life. Me and Miss Sasha started noticin’ the improvements the moment we came back out of the toilet tunnel, but he only wrapped up after we’d gone back home and sorted out what we needed to for a long trip.

Now, walkin’ alongside me, he was lookin’ much better. The oddness in his limbs was gone, and his horns had grown a fair few inches. He was still right short, even for an imp. In fact, he hadn’t picked up a single centimeter of height. But he walked smoother, and every motion was made with an ease that hadn’t been there before.

It was still mighty strange, thinkin’ both that I’d died, and that I’d done so much good for him. I’d had the thought to let him do it a few more times, but Miss Sasha poopooed that idea right quick. Apparently, absorbin’ too much sufferin’ in a short time frame tended to drive natives batty. If it got bad enough, they could even lose their reason, even the animal-like Demons. They’d turn into ragin’ monsters, attackin’ anythin’ and everythin’.

Needless to say, I didn’t have Tiny kill me a couple more times.

Rather, Miss Sasha recommended that we just stay the course. If Tiny just kept passively takin’ in the normal amounts of sufferin’ every person experienced in a given day, he’d grow just fine. Even better, he’d keep his wits about him.

As I was given’ the imp some side eye, thinkin’ ‘bout all this, his head snapped to the side. Turns out, Tiny’s hearin’ was a lot closer to a dog’s than a human’s. He’d caught on to a number of things far ahead of when I would’ve, already saved us from gettin’ a sight too close to a big, bad Demon that would have ate us for breakfast.

“Voices,” He whispered. Again, good instincts. We were travellin’ the valleys of the First Floor. Mountains of many different things were all around, and you could never tell how sound would travel. “I checkses themes. Be back, real quick Pops.”

Then he was gone, vanished into a shadow. Miss Sasha had been right impressed with Tiny’s Shadow Shifting, the racial ability imps had that let them travel between shadows. It seemed that Tiny was more skilled than any other imp she’d ever seen. Which was even more impressive, considerin’ how young he was. The older an imp got without Descending into a new race of Devil, the better they were at Shadow Shifting. Tiny just had that much raw talent, that he outshown imps thousands of years his elder.

Seems I’d found quite the imp to travel with.

He was back, quick as you please. And the news was certainly interestin’. Sinners, a few of ‘em somewhat up the slope of a nearby mountain. Far as Tiny could tell, they were lookin’ for someone, someone they didn’t seem keen on findin’, From what Tiny repeat back to me, their talk made it sound like they thought the fella was dead, and they didn’t want to run into whatever got him.

“They might be part of the group we’re looking for.” Miss Sasha said after considerin’ things.

“What makes ya think that?” I was curious.

“Simply, they have to have a Bind Point. If they’re looking for someone, that means they could lose him, which means communication across a distance, which means Talkstones. And if they think he’s dead and they fear the source, that would mean Oblivion. No one on the First Floor is truly afraid of a single death. Not if they’ve survived any amount of time. At that point, they must have already had dozens of Revives. With that in mind, they’d need a way to confirm that he didn’t Revive. If they lost him and he just Revived at the nearest Dungeon, that wouldn’t account for their certainty. Which means they are sure he didn’t Revive. Therefore, Bind Point.”

“Fair ‘nough.” I wasn’t ‘bout to argue with all that.

“And that means that these are almost certainly a part of the group our departed assaulter was working with. I honestly didn’t think there were any large, organized groups on the First Floor. I find it nearly impossible to believe that there’s two, and in such close proximity that we’d run into people from both less than a few day’s travel from each other.” She sighed. “Which means we should probably learn as much as we can from them.”

That settled our next move. There were only three of ‘em. That had me confident that, if it came to a fight, I could at least give ‘em the slip. If I was bein’ honest, I was pretty sure I could take ‘em with Tiny’s help and the element of surprise. But learnin’ more about the group as a whole was the goal, not gettin’ into a fight. So, Tiny led the way as we snuck up on ‘em.

The mountain they were on was a normal one, made from rock and such. They were, by far, the most common type of mountain. Right up there with the water mountains that somehow didn’t spill everywhere. These mountains were fairly dangerous. Just like every other mountain, more of whatever they were made of fell out of portals in the air. With the normal mountains, that meant boulders rainin’ down. Some made it all the way to the base. It was a constant low rumble that sounded out across the whole mountain. After bein’ in Hell for months now, it was practically background noise.

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It also made for excellent cover. Anyone with half a brain kept half an eye up the slope, and the sound covered boots scrapin’ on stone. Match that with Tiny peekin’ through shadows and well-timed dashes between boulders, we moved up on the trio without them bein’ any the wiser.

I’d found just ‘bout the best spyin’ spot anyone could ask for. Just downhill from the three there was a pair of boulders that had snagged up against each other. They were decently tall, around waist height. They were also almost flush, but not completely. There was a gap between them, which meant I could look through without bein’ spotted myself. The angles and distance meant they weren’t likely to see anythin’, and I was close enough to hear them decently well, even with the rumble of rocks fallin’.

It didn’t take but a moment to see that they weren’ takin’ their job seriously. All of ‘em were crowded ‘round a small cave, more of a divot in the mountain, and snickerin’ at each other. I couldn’t properly see what they were doin’ with the way they were standin’, but it was mighty funny to ‘em, since they didn’t seem to be payin’ much attention to the surroundin’s.

When I did catch a glimpse, all I could do was sigh. It had turned an idea, a plan, into a certainty. “Miss Sasha, my butt-kickin’ shovel.”

I don’t know if she’d seen what I did, or she just caught the tone in my voice, but she didn’t even question me, bless her heart. She was too kind for me. Either way, I had a shovel in hand not a moment later.

This one I’d made up special just in case I ever needed to do some real fightin’. The edges were reinforced and sharpened as best I could get them, and I’d added metal stripes and leather gripes along the haft and around the handle. I could swing this sucker as hard as I wanted and it wouldn’t give out too quick. Why didn’t I make a sword or sommethin’ like that? Easy, I was actually more familiar fightin’ with a shovel than anythin’ else. In modern times, swords aren’t exactly lyin’ all over the place. Now shovels, those were just about everywhere. Heck, most militaries had fancy multitool shovels that would work for a brawl. This wasn’t that far off.

“Tiny, I’m takin’ the one on the left. Once I get ‘em and the other two focus on me, get the one on the right from behind. Clear?” I wasn’t too keen on sendin’ the little guy in, but he’d more than proven that he knew how to handle himself. More importantly, he knew when he was in over his head, and he knew how to get the heck out of dodge. I could trust him to stay in one piece.

He gave me a sharp nod, and that was all I was waitin’ for. I came in, low and fast. I kept my steps light, and checked my angles as I was comin;’ up behind the trio. I wasn’’t runnin’, but takin’ long strides without lettin’’ my feet fall too hard.

Lefty didn’t even notice me until I had the edge of the shovel buried three inches into his throat. He went down then and there. Severed esophagus and carotids would do that to you. I managed to stop the shovel edge from gettin’’ caught in his vertebrae, and pulled it free before the other two fully caught up. That was more luck than anythin’. Vertebrae are tricky business, and they tended to catch an edge like nothin’ else. Mighty frustratin’, ‘specially in the middle of a fight.

As it was, I actually took a clear step back, even though the other two were off balance. See, fightin’ is all about spacin’ and position. I had the reach on both of ‘em with my shovel, so gettin’ close was a loser’s game. Instead, I got a solid two-hand grip and squared up the shovel tip. I had a fair guess where Middle’s head would end up once he was done turnin’ to me, and that’s where I aimed.

He came ‘round just about on target, so I took a half-lunge. Both him and Righty flinched. Seems they weren’t exactly experienced fighters. That was good. Fightin’ several people at once was tough no matter how good you were, since humans just can't split their attention enough to keep track. Three was my limit, even if I was fightin’ the worst losers you could imagine, if I wanted to be pretty sure I could avoid most hits.

Two was comfortably in my range, ‘specially with the element of surprise, their inexperience, and my range advantage. I pulled back from my feint, and took a step to the side, placid’ Middle between me and Righty. At the same time, both Middle and Righty took a swing. Middle had a crappy-lookin’ axe that looked like the weight was completely wrong from the awkward way he swung. Righty had somethin’ close to bowie knife, about as long as his forearm with a wide blade that ended in a point. It was a fair bit longer than an actual bowie knife, but the shape was right.

Since they both flinched and I’d moved, they were wildly off. Both noticed it too late, already committed. Middle tried to pull back, maybe realizin’ that he was next in line for a shovelin’. Righty, in a real brain-dead move, tried to correct his sad-lookin’ slash. He corrected it right into Middle’s shoulder, seein’ as he was between me and Righty.

While Middle was distracted by that bit of stupid, I didn’t let my openin’ go to waste. I came in with a thrust, a real one this time. Since I was set and ready to go, the shovel tip came forward at blisterin’ speed with my full weight behind it. It slammed home, right under Middle’s chin. This time, I wasn’t as lucky. I could feel the tip hit the vertebrae right beneath the base of the skull and catch. There was certain vibration that came through a handle when it caught like that, and I felt Middle’s weight start pullin’ at the shovel.

Now, if I was on my lonesome, this would be a good time to leg it. Maybe to just completely disengage, maybe to get out another weapon. But I wasn’t alone, and I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if Tiny didn’t have just the best timin’. I’d been wonderin’ where he was in my spare moments of thought that weren’t on the fight, seein’ as he’d had more than enough time to come after Righty. Seems he was waitin’ for a clean shot.

I could see it in his eyes that Righty had noticed my shovel was caught, and there was a spark in ‘em that let me know he was comin’ for me. He made it exactly one step when a ball of slashin’ claws and bitin’ teeth caught him right on the arm. Tiny was a scrappy little guy, grabbin’ and tearin’ at any fleshy bits he could find. Since none of the trio had armor of any kind, there was a lot to go for.

“Shovel.” I’d have to apologize for my tone later, but a fight wasn’t a place to be polite. Miss Sasha was on it, droppin’ another shovel into my hand fast as a blink. This one didn’t have the reinforcements that my butt-kickin’ shovel did, but that wasn’t needed. It just required a different approach.

While Righty’s attention was still on Tiny, I choked up and the shovel, both hands on the haft above the handle. Then, I swung like I was goin’ for a home run. There was a dull gong sound as I rung Righty’s bell. Hard. He stood for a moment before slumpin’’ over, a dent in his temple. He wasn’t dead, but I doubt he was lovin’ life. I fixed that right quick, pullin’ my butt-kickin’ shovel from Middle and stickin’ it in Righty.

Quicklike, I did a surroundin’ check. No one else nearby, no movement of any kind aside from Tiny. I let out a slow breath, coolin’ down. Problem solved, time to move on. And I better be quick about it, because there was another problem waitin’ for me in that divot. Lookin’ down, the unkind part of me wasn’t too happy that I’d taken care of the trio as quickly as I had.

As much as I didn’t like that voice most days, for the moment, I agreed.