Liam paced the chamber again, his boots echoing softly on the rocky floor, each step a reminder of how small he felt in this vast, hostile place. He continue to search the ceiling for anything that might help him scale its curved, concave surface. But the stone stretched above him, smooth and unforgiving.

“Great,” Liam muttered, scanning the chamber for anything that might help. His boots scraped against the stone floor as he moved with increasing desperation. “Ropes, pitons, nails, jetpacks -anything would be nice right about now.” Perhaps something that could make the climb less of a death sentence. Every glance at the challenge raised his hackles, increasing his anxiety.

The ceiling sloped inward like the bow of a ship, its shape becoming more pronounced as he looked higher, like some giant, celestial baseball cage waiting to trap him.

There was nothing. No easy way out. No quick fix.

Liam’s heartbeat quickened as frustration rose in his chest. How the hell was he supposed to climb this? He had no idea. He could see no visible path, no method, and that old, familiar knot of fear tightened in his gut. But then, out of the corner of his eye, something caught his attention.

He noticed a weapon he hadn’t seen before. A War-Fork -basically a shorter stockier version of a pitchfork. With three tines and a handle like a shovel. For some reason, it drew his attention and he picked it up, hefting it for weight and balance.

It was a joy to hold. He spun it around a few times, making swipes and stabs in the air against shadow opponents. He gripped it by the end of the handle, and flipped it end to end, catching it with finesse and then sweeping it up and into a two handed lunging attack, bracing the strike with his front hand and using his rear hand for leverage and pressure. It reminded him of a handheld battering ram of a weapon, in vicious farmer style.

“Cool,” he said wistfully. The idea of the climb had disappeared from his mind, the worries temporarily gone.

He strapped it to his back and secured it tightly, not wanting to lose it in the coming climb. Which brought him back to the dangerous path he had chosen. And that’s when he saw a peculiar set of tools, half-hidden among the wreckage of a nearby pile of treasure and debris. Weapons? Tools? He wasn’t sure, but they seemed to fit the bill.

He made his way over to the pile, each step heavy with the weight of his uncertainty. His fingers brushed over strange cleats that looked like they belonged to a climber’s boot, but sharper - razor-sharp claws sticking out from the front. He crouched, testing the grip on the stone floor. When he pushed down, the cleats gouged the surface, slicing into the rock with an unsettling screech. “Well, that’s something,” he muttered. He slipped them onto his booted feet. They fit better than expected, though the spikes felt unnervingly alive, as if the cleats themselves had a thirst for the stone.

He found a matching set of claw grips, designed to slip into his palms, each with three curved, razor-like talons protruding. He held them up, feeling the weight of them. The metal felt alive in his hands, its cold surface sending a shiver through his body. With his new gear in place, he crouched at the edge of the wall, practicing his grip, trying to gain some confidence before making the climb. He felt his pulse hammering in his throat as he tested the claws against the stone.

It was a balancing act. Too deep a grip, and he’d gouge out chunks of the rock, too shallow, and the claws wouldn’t hold. Precision was the name of the game. His fingers ached as he carefully tested the grip on the wall, digging just enough to hold steady, but not so much that the stone cracked. The balance of strength, precision, and dexterity felt like a dance, and Liam had never been a dancer.

After what felt like hours of trial and error, Liam finally took a deep breath. “Alright,” he said quietly, his voice low but laced with determination. “Let’s do this.”

The first few feet of the climb went relatively well, his claws digging into the stone with a satisfying grip. He moved slowly, methodically, one hand and one foot at a time. His muscles screamed, but he ignored it, focusing instead on the next hold, the next step, the rhythm of the climb. He could feel his breath becoming more ragged, but there was no turning back now. He was too far in.

His mini-map remained unhelpful. It showed a two-dimensional layout of the chamber, but without depth or dimension, it couldn’t help him gauge how high or how far he had to climb. The map simply didn’t give him the full picture. He mentally adjusted the map’s orientation, shifting his view so that the wall was now the "floor" of his journey. Immediately, the map expanded, revealing more of the cavern’s secrets as the fog of war lifted ahead of him. He felt a brief rush of triumph. The map was helping, but the momentary excitement faded, replaced by an overwhelming sense of how high up he really was.

His breathing became shallow as he reached a point where the climb was no longer vertical. Now he was moving horizontally, his body nearly parallel to the stone. The wind from above tugged at his clothes, and the sweat on his brow made his grip slippery. The height - he had stopped looking down long ago - seemed to stretch on forever.

“Alright,” he whispered to himself, his voice rough but determined. “You’ve already died once. What’s the worst that could happen?”

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The words tasted bitter in his mouth, like a twisted joke. He chuckled softly, though the sound didn’t quite match the tightness in his chest. He flexed his shoulders, the weight of the armor settling around him like an old friend. It was a comfort, but only a small one.

He pushed onward, the tips of his claws scraping against the stone as he carefully repositioned himself. It wasn’t until he was practically hanging upside down, his legs tucked against his chest like some kind of lizard, that the air around him shifted.

A presence.

The sound came first - a woosh of displaced air, followed by a roar, low and guttural, so fierce that it made the stone tremble beneath him. He froze, his body rigid with terror as the air vibrated with the force of something impossibly large. Through the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of it - a massive, reptilian form hurtling through the hole in the ceiling, its wings beating with powerful strokes, each one causing the air to warp and twist.

The beast landed with a deafening crash, sending tremors through the ground that rattled Liam’s bones. He clung to the wall for dear life, barely breathing, his heart pounding so loudly he thought it might give him away. If he had moved a single inch, he would have been dislodged. He would have fallen to his death.

Time slowed. His mind raced with a hundred thoughts, none of them helpful. The dragon, or whatever it was, circled beneath him, its massive form casting long, menacing shadows on the ground below. Liam caught only a brief glimpse of it - just enough to make out the six muscular legs, the four wings, and the two sharp horns that curled back from its scaled head. It was like a Western dragon, but it was so much larger, more terrifying than any legend he had ever heard.

The beast’s eyes flashed in the dim light as it moved, searching, sniffing the air with a deep, rumbling growl. And then, as though it had found what it was looking for, it darted toward its treasure hoard, its movements swift and predatory. The force of its landing sent another shockwave through the cavern, rattling the walls and displacing more dust into the air. It turned toward the pile of gold and gems, its claws scraping against the stone, and Liam was sure it could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

The dragon circled the treasure hoard, then, with a sudden implosion of air, its massive form vanished, replaced by a humanoid figure. Liam blinked, his mind struggling to process the transformation. The figure strode toward the treasure, her presence radiating fury, authority, and suspicion.

She took some time to survey the scene, obviously recognizing the signs of battle. And Liam silently cursed himself when he realized his mistake. I didn’t take care of the body, he thought frustration. But what could I do? The thing was massive. I didn’t have time. Yet still he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d messed up. Of course the dragon would notice that it’s hoard was disturbed by a massive burrower queen…

And then, a voice -high, feminine, and pissed off. The woman - humanoid, though too far to make out clearly - stood before the treasure, her posture regal and yet filled with a primal fury. She raged in anger, and the sound pierced through the cavern, vibrating in his bones. “Where are you thieves?” she demanded, her voice trembling with unrestrained passion.

Liam didn’t dare move a muscle. He couldn’t afford to make a sound. If he was discovered now - he shuddered at the thought. His mind raced with possibilities, and none of them were good. What if the creature had some way of tracking its treasure? Like some enchanted marking spell? His heart thudded as panic clawed at his thoughts.

His thoughts were interrupted by a shriek that cut through the silence like a blade. Her gaze snapped upward, locking onto him with a searing intensity. “You!” the creature bellowed. “I’ll chew on your bones!” He met that gaze and knew true fear.

Liam’s heart stopped in his chest, and he cursed under his breath. “Shit.” His blood running cold as he realized he’d jinxed himself. The next few moments were a blur of panic as he scrambled to climb higher, his muscles aching with the effort. Umbra’s mental nudge interrupted his thoughts, and he felt her subtle push toward a different path - an outcropping, a foothold he hadn’t seen before. The mini-map blinked, showing a hidden platform just ahead. Without a second thought, he made for it, desperate to get higher.

The dragon’s wings beat again, the heavy sound of its movement making the ground shake. Liam’s blood ran cold as the creature lunged upward, toward him spurring him on faster than he’d ever moved in his life, Liam’s hands and feet tore into the uneven stone. His breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, but he didn’t dare slow down. The terror coursing through him was visceral, primal - something he hadn’t felt since childhood.

Once, when he was nine, he’d been chased by a dog. Not just any dog - a massive mastiff that might as well have been a monster in his young eyes. The whole fiasco started when his ball had bounced over into the neighbor’s yard. Against his parents’ strict warnings, Liam had hopped the fence. He knew the risks; his parents had been clear. “Don’t go hopping fences, Liam. Especially not into Mr. Hollin’s yard.” But kids didn’t think that way. They liked to test boundaries, to flirt with danger. Back then, he thought he was invincible.

Getting the ball back had been easy. He’d tossed it back over the fence ahead of his coming climb, pleased with his success. But as he turned to make his escape, the ominous sound of steel links brushing against metal froze him in place. A chain scraped against the frame of the huge dog door, the clinking sound sharp and dreadful in the otherwise silent yard.

He barely had time to react before the mastiff appeared, its bulk filling the small opening as it stalked toward him. Its growl was deep, guttural, and chilling. The chain around its thick neck dragged against the ground as the beast fixed him with a predator’s gaze. It moved with terrifying purpose, every step deliberate.

Liam turned and bolted. His instincts screamed at him to run, and his legs obeyed, carrying him back to the fence faster than he thought possible. The dog gave chase, its heavy paws pounding the earth, closing the distance in seconds. The sound of its furious barking echoed in his ears as adrenaline surged through him. He reached the fence and leapt like Superman, clearing the top just as the mastiff snapped its jaws inches from his heels.

The terror he felt that day had stayed with him for years, a lingering memory that surfaced whenever he faced something truly life-threatening.

This was like that, times a billion. Now, hanging precariously off the side of a wall while a dragon snapped at him, the fear from that day seemed quaint in comparison.