Chapter 14: Kitsune’s Resolve
Althea’s mind reeled as the reality settled around her—they were going to die. That was her first, unyielding thought as she knelt beside Noah. Her trembling fingers searched for his pulse, pressing against his neck. She found nothing. Her heart lurched, skipping a beat. ‘Maybe I’m mistaken,’ she thought desperately, forcing herself to remain steady. She leaned closer, pressing her ear lightly to his mouth. There it was—faint, but unmistakable, the whisper of his breath.
A surge of hope sparked, but it was faint and fragile. Her hands scrambled through her pack, fingers clutching around two remaining bottles of potion. A bitter realization followed; she’d already drained too many while fending off the skeleton swordsman. Pain shot through her side where her own wounds burned, forcing her to draw in a shaky breath. She fought against the tears that threatened to spill, pressing them down as best she could.
Her big sister’s voice echoed in her mind, playful but true: “You’re such a crybaby.” How she missed her sister now.
Althea had expected to find Noah in this state—cornered, at the edge of his strength. His struggle with the skeleton archer had left him vulnerable. She’d hurried, knowing what he faced. She was mobile, free to maneuver around her opponent, but he had been stationary in an attempt to kill the skeleton archer.
As a result, the shield-bearing skeleton caught up.
There wasn’t time to linger on regret or resentment. Only two potions left. Her jaw tightened as she pushed the fear aside. She needed to save him, even if it meant there might be nothing left for her.
“This sucks…” Althea muttered, half to herself, half to the cold, unyielding dungeon walls. She recalled her frantic arrival, just in time to see Noah’s final act of strength—launching the skeleton with brutal and unrestrained power. Her heart had surged with relief then, but now, staring at his unconscious form, she felt something different. She recognized how incredible he was as a fighter, the raw resilience and skill he’d shown, even on the verge of collapse.
A sense of inadequacy crept in, nagging and sharp. She remembered her own struggles, the countless times she’d fumbled in training and had been scolded for it. Her heart clenched as she recalled how, at Level 3, she’d lagged behind while her peers surged ahead to Level 5. She’d always felt that gap—always wondered if she’d ever bridge it.
“What am I supposed to do now?” Her whisper was shaky, the question directed more at herself than at anyone else.
The potions she held in her hand suddenly felt like a weight instead of a solution. How was she even supposed to administer it? Noah was out cold, his breathing shallow and unsteady.
Would his swallowing reflex work while he was this deep in unconsciousness? She bit her lip, anxiety knotting in her stomach. It was a healing potion, after all—maybe it would work. But still… she wished she had an answer, a certainty.
A sudden flash of frustration crossed her mind. Why hadn’t anyone taught her how to administer a potion to an unconscious person? For all the meticulous training, all the drilling on skill categorization and tactics, no one had thought to cover this.
Althea’s fingers trembled as she held the potion bottle. She was tempted, just for a moment, to sip a bit for herself—her side was throbbing from the wound she’d sustained earlier. But she shook her head, refusing herself even a drop. This potion was for Noah.
Pulling out a canteen filled with diluted potion, she took a deep breath and knelt beside him. She carefully tore his shirt, using a small flame to gently cut through the cloth. As the shirt peeled away, she found herself staring at Noah’s body—more toned and defined than she’d expected for someone their age. Probably an effect of the System, she thought. But her focus shifted quickly as she noted the purple bruises spreading across his chest and abdomen, evidence of how much he’d endured.
Althea unscrewed the canteen and began pouring the diluted potion over his torso. The liquid spread over his skin, seeping into the bruises and slowly softening the angry purples and blues of his injuries. She worked carefully, watching his face for any sign of pain. Then, without hesitation, she began removing his jeans, wincing at the sight of his bruised legs. Modesty didn’t matter when a life was at stake.
When the canteen’s water ran out, Althea didn’t pause. She opened the undiluted potion bottle and poured it directly onto the worst of the bruises, rubbing it in with gentle but firm hands. Each touch was a careful press of care and precision. She used her pyrokinesis to warm her hands slightly, adding a faint warmth to help the potion work through his battered muscles. She moved down his back, his legs, his arms, his neck, even his ears—each area bruised or scuffed. She went through an entire bottle this way and then reached for another, steeling herself against how wasteful it seemed. But this was Noah’s life—if anything was worth the effort, it was this.
By the time she’d worked her way through the second bottle, she felt her cheeks flush red. She’d touched every part of him, her fingers tracing bruises and scrapes with a care and closeness she hadn’t expected to feel. But Noah was stable, and that was all that mattered.
With a deep, calming breath, Althea buttoned his jeans and replaced his torn shirt with the gentleness of a nurse. She felt his pulse, stronger than before, and his breathing was steadier now. He still hadn’t woken up, but his body finally seemed at peace.
“Please… heal,” she murmured, letting her hand linger on his arm a moment longer before settling beside him, relief flooding through her.
Althea winced as a sharp throb pulsed through her side. Her bruising and injuries, inflamed and caked in dried blood, made her dizzy, and the effort she’d poured into helping Noah had taken its toll. She glanced at the half-empty potion bottle, her resolve wavering. She’d wanted to save every last drop for him, but if she collapsed, she’d be of no use to anyone.
With a sigh of resignation, Althea raised the bottle to her lips and drank what remained. The potion worked almost instantly, spreading warmth through her body and easing the ache in her bruised side. Her dizziness faded, and her thoughts became clearer as her body began to recover. She let out a small, relieved breath, grateful that she’d chosen to take it.
Memories of her own encounter with the skeleton swordsman came flooding back—the relentless pursuit, the near-miss that had nearly ended her. She’d used so much potion just to keep moving, darting through the dungeon’s narrow halls as the swordsman chased her. Althea had thought she could kite the creature, keep a safe distance and wear it down, but that had nearly cost her life. The swordsman had a movement skill, and she’d been forced to use every trick in her book to stay ahead.
The thought of her original plan—to kite the enemies and keep them at a distance—now seemed painfully naive. If she and Noah had tried that strategy as it was, they’d both be dead by now. This dungeon was unfair and punishingly difficult for their level. It felt almost like it was designed to keep them from leaving alive.
But there had been a silver lining to her struggle. She’d felt a rush of energy after her fight with the skeleton swordsman—she’d leveled up.
Name: Althea Morrow
Class: Kitsune
Level 5
Stats (0)—
Body: 6
Mind: 18
Soul: 30
Skills: Pyrokinesis, Fire Bolt, Purge, Fireball
Althea looked down at her hands, feeling the faint crackle of power that came with her new skill. She could finally use it. Fireball. Her other fire skills, Pyrokinesis, Fire Bolt, and Purge, had been useful, but Fireball… it was on a different level. And they’d need that power. She recalled another skeleton ahead, judging by the torn robes and faint aura it gave off—likely a magic caster. She knew enough about dungeons and monster classifications to recognize the signs.
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Her gaze shifted back to Noah, still unconscious but breathing steadily. She set her jaw, determination hardening her features. They’d come too far to turn back, and now, with her new skill, she felt ready. The dungeon might have been unfair, but she’d become stronger too.
“Let’s get out of here,” she whispered, more to herself than to Noah, but her resolve was fierce. “So heal fast and wake up, Noah…”
Hours passed, and Noah was still asleep, his face flushed, his breaths shallow and labored. Althea’s worry twisted in her chest, each passing moment tightening the knot of anxiety that had taken root there. She pressed her hand gently to his forehead and flinched at the searing heat. His fever was getting worse—no ordinary bruises or wounds could explain this. It was clear now: Noah was suffering from something internal, some damage beyond what surface healing could touch. Potions couldn’t heal everything, and she’d used the last of them on his bruises.
Althea bit her lip, feeling a wave of regret that stung her eyes. She hadn’t even thought of internal injuries when she’d drained the potion for his visible wounds. Now, as she knelt beside him, her heart hammered with helplessness. The dungeon had taken so much already, and she could feel it trying to take Noah too.
Her thoughts drifted back to a memory from her Class Consultation with the Superhero Association. The consultant had told her that her Kitsune class had unique potential—if she reached high enough, she might even learn a healing or support skill. She’d been so hopeful then, picturing herself able to protect and heal her friends. But even after reaching Level 5, she hadn’t unlocked any healing abilities. Classes were mysterious, following different rules for when and how new skills would emerge. Some learned new abilities every ten levels, others only after reaching twenty.
But right now, none of that mattered to her. All that mattered was Noah, lying unconscious before her, battling something beyond her reach.
Althea steeled herself, determination filling the hollow left by fear. If there was even a chance that gaining a level could unlock a healing skill, then she’d seize it with everything she had. Noah needed her, and if she did nothing now, she’d never forgive herself—not in this life, and not even after.
With one last glance at Noah, Althea took a deep breath and rose to her feet. The memory of the skeletal magic caster she’d seen earlier flickered in her mind. She knew where it was waiting, somewhere deeper in the dungeon. Squaring her shoulders, she gripped her weapon tighter, her heart pounding as she forced herself forward. Every step carried a silent prayer, a wish that whatever awaited her would be enough to tip the balance and save Noah.
“I’ll come back, Noah,” she whispered, half to herself and half as a promise to him. “And when I do, I’ll have what we need.”
Althea’s footsteps echoed softly as she moved through the dim passage of the dungeon.
The pale blue glow of the crystals lining the walls was her only guide, casting ghostly reflections across the uneven stone. Every inch of this place exuded an oppressive silence, thick and stifling, broken only by her shallow breaths and the distant drips of water from the cavern’s ceiling.
It wasn’t long before she spotted the figure she’d been searching for.
The undead mage stood in the center of a circular chamber, its bony frame draped in tattered, faded robes that once might have been a rich, dark green. Now, those robes hung in shredded tatters, covered in grime and what appeared to be old, dried blood. Thin strands of translucent mist swirled around its skeletal form, whispering of the dark magic it wielded. From its eye sockets, two faint glows of green light flickered, unnatural and malevolent, as if imbued with a terrible awareness.
In one hand, it clutched a staff twisted and warped as though crafted from bones bound together by some dark force. Crystals embedded along its length shimmered with an eerie, pulsing light, casting long shadows that stretched and bent in unnatural patterns across the walls. Althea could feel the chilling aura emanating from the creature, a sensation that made her skin prickle and her blood run cold.
Althea took a steadying breath,. She could feel her heartbeat quicken, her pulse pounding in her ears. Her mind raced, calculating her approach. She had to end this quickly, level up, and hope that a healing skill would emerge. She thought of Noah lying defenseless, his life hanging by a thread. There was no room for hesitation.
With a final, calming breath, she crouched low, edging toward the more spacious part of the cavern where the skeleton waited, preparing herself for the battle ahead.
Althea steadied her breathing, gathering her resolve, then raised her hand toward the undead mage. She summoned her power, igniting the flicker of flames in her palm into a fully charged fireball. Her focus sharpened, the warmth in her hand intensifying until the magic felt like it was singing through her veins. She poured everything she had into it, willing the flames to burn brighter, hotter, until the ball of fire pulsed and crackled with a ferocity that set her fingers tingling.
The skeleton was blind to her magic as expected… like how it didn’t register her Fire Bolt when she with Noah attempted to attack them.
Without hesitation, she flung the fireball toward the skeleton mage. It streaked across the room, lighting the air with a searing glow, and connected with the mage’s bony frame in a violent burst of heat and flame. The impact was immediate and brutal. Flames erupted, engulfing the skeleton, the shockwave hurling it backward with a resounding crack as it slammed into the wall, skeletal limbs thrown in every direction.
The flames clung to it, licking up the tattered robes and sinking into the bones, burning with the particular ferocity that only fire magic seemed to have against the undead. Althea knew that fire was particularly effective on creatures like this. While most heroes she knew tended to view their skills as just that—abilities, powers, tools—she had no problem thinking of hers as magic, a force to be molded, channeled, and controlled. And against this abomination, her magic was proving powerful.
The skeleton twitched, its bones rattling as it attempted to rise again, despite the fire still smoldering on its form. Its glowing eyes locked onto her, filled with a wrathful intent.
Ka-clack-clack-ka~
The skeleton’s silent scream echoed through the chamber, a ghastly, high-pitched wail that sent a shiver down Althea’s spine. With a clattering snap of its fingers, it conjured a row of ice spears that materialized in the air, sharp and deadly, their cold gleam catching the crystal light.
“KYAAAAAAGH~!” it screeched, and in the next instant, the spears shot forward.
Althea’s instincts kicked in, and she dove to the ground, rolling over the dirt to avoid the icy projectiles that streaked above her, chilling the air as they passed. She pushed herself back to her feet, panting but focused, heart pounding as she took in the mage’s eerie stance and pale blue aura. Ice magic. A smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. Fire had the advantage here.
But the skeleton wasn’t through—it raised both hands and began summoning a massive shard of ice, larger and sharper than any before, hovering menacingly in the air. Althea’s eyes widened as she realized it was preparing to launch something akin to her own Fireball. Without hesitation, she retaliated with her own, gathering the heat into a concentrated orb in her hands and launching it forward. Her fireball met the giant ice shard in mid-air, and the collision exploded into a chaotic burst of steam and fragments, obscuring the skeleton in a thick cloud.
Through the haze, Althea didn’t stop. She stepped forward with determined strides, flames igniting in her hands with each step. With a sharp, focused exhale, she began hurling Fire Bolts in rapid succession, each one bright and fierce, streaking through the mist toward her opponent. The skeleton staggered under the onslaught, its bones rattling as each bolt connected, sparks and embers dancing across its brittle, charred frame.
Steam curled through the air, but Althea continued forward, unrelenting. She had the advantage, and she wasn’t going to let it slip. The skeleton screeched in rage, but she could feel its energy faltering. This was her moment.
As Althea closed the gap, flames blazing at her fingertips, the skeleton mage let out another shriek, its hollow eye sockets flaring with an unnatural blue light. With a jagged crack, it raised its staff high and then slammed it into the ground with a reverberating thud. Instantly, the temperature plummeted, a shockwave of frost spreading out in every direction from the staff’s impact. The very air turned frigid, and Althea felt an intense chill seep into her bones as frost climbed up her boots and spread over the stone floor. Flames enveloped her body as she used her pyrokinesis to combat the cold.
She clenched her teeth, refusing to falter. “Purge!” she shouted, gathering her energy, and with a focused burst, a blazing pulse of fire and magic shot from her hands, dispersing the frost creeping up her legs. Without giving the skeleton a chance to react, she unleashed another Purge—a searing wave of holy fire that crackled with purifying heat and blazed a fiery path through the icy mist.
The skeleton recoiled, its brittle bones shuddering as the Purge skill connected. Althea could see cracks forming on its skeletal structure, and embers of fire clung to its ribcage, flickering and smoldering. She was close enough now to see the damage: its charred bones, its cracked staff, and the blue aura that flickered unsteadily around it.
With every pulse of Purge, Althea could feel the room warming, the icy haze dissipating in the face of her relentless flames. Her hands tingled, and her breaths were ragged, but she pushed through, summoning every ounce of her strength into each cast. “Purge!” she cried once more, sending another burst directly into the skeleton’s torso, the blast so intense it lit the chamber with a blinding glow.
The skeleton’s form wavered, and the magical frost covering the floor began to melt in rivulets, leaving wet stone in its place. Althea’s flames danced and crackled around her, bathing her in a fierce, amber glow as the skeleton staggered back, its final defenses crumbling under her relentless assault.
“PURGE!”