Head down, the hood to the cloak Rahmys had lent him pulled tight, Chuck tried to blend in next to Graff as they entered the tavern. His feet slid on the wooden floor, the sawdust losing the fight with spilled beer, making each step treacherous. The laughter, shouting, and squeals bounced off the walls and assaulted Chuck's ears. He hunched over a little more, doing his best not to draw attention. He saw Rahmys raise her hand and wave at the barkeeper, who nodded back.

"Good news, the back room is ours for the taking." She called out over her shoulder.

Graff grunted his approval. "Not much longer, Lumpy, and we can relax a little."

"Good," Chuck sighed, "I feel like everyone is staring at me—and one of them will attack at any moment."

"Let em try," Graff snarled and laughed at the same time. "Ain't had a good fight in a few days. Be good to make sure I've not lost any of my skills."

"I have no doubt your skills are in top form and always are."

"True, true, Lumpy, if'n they ain't, I'd be dead by now." Graff slapped Chuck on the back and snarl-laughed again.

A glance around the bar matched the chaos assaulting Chuck's ears. Tables with people crammed around them, no room for chairs. Glasses rose in the air, along with the voices belonging to the various hands. Blue-taloned fingers, brown furry paws, more types of hands than Chuck could keep track of. The booths along the walls were shadowy caverns with glints of light reflecting off mugs and weapons. Graff and Rahmys had undersold the rough clientele and dangerous atmosphere of The Prancing Plynort, a local establishment for Bythy haters of all sorts and sizes.

Rahmys opened a heavy door, glanced back at everyone, then ducked inside. Chuck felt Graff's hand press against the small of his back. The next thing concerning him was keeping his balance while being pushed through the door.

"I can walk, you know." He called back over his shoulder.

"But not fast enough, it seems, Lumpy."

Chuck concentrated on Graff's paw against his back. The warmth of the touch spread over Chuck's back. He sent a trickle of energy up Graff's arm. The sense of control surprised him. Moving and concentrating taxed his capability, but his confidence in his ability grew in a matter of moments. The flow of power now went both ways. Chuck felt a change in his body—a sense of strength and vitality accompanied the new muscles. Pain stabbed through his back when Graff pulled his paw away. Gritting his teeth, Chuck strived to hold on to the connection. His eyes shot wide when he realized the attempt was successful. New muscles were forming and growing. How do muscles work without bones? Do I have bones now? Graff, shuffling away, drew Chuck's attention. His vision blurred for a moment when the connection snapped.

<< ADVANCEMENT: Manipulate advances to level 4. Absorb advances to level 4. Component can now maintain connection without physical contact up to a distance of twelve inches. Connection must be established with physical contact before separation occurs. Non-physical connection will last up to thirty seconds.>>

"What are you grinning about over there?" Marl's voice brought Chuck's focus from the notification.

"I just...oh crap...it happened so naturally, I used my manipulation and absorb magic and advanced."

A blue furry paw pointed over the table. "Everyone on that side move away from the table." Graff lifted the table's edge. It tipped along with the floor underneath it, revealing a modest-sized storage space.

"Chuck, hide down there until one of us lets you out." Rahmys pointed while looking back at the door they'd shut behind them. "I didn't sense any casting, so I don't think you triggered anything. This group walking around with a strange, robed figure could attract attention—best be prepared than surprised."

Jumping down into the pit, Chuck almost knocked over a stack of small crates. The dust clouded up, tickling at his nose. A clattering at his feet drew his attention to a short, glowing wooden rod. A black bag lay next to it.

"If you hear the lid moving, put the light in the bag," Graff instructed. "Ready for me to close this?"

"I guess so?"

"Ya don't sound too sure of yourself," Graff replied.

"I'm not but it doesn't seem like there is another option."

"Don't seem to be..." The sound of the floor falling back into place cut off whatever else Graff said.

"Good thing I'm not claustrophobic," Chuck said to the barrels and crates around him. "Though I'm not all that fond of the dark, this glow-stick isn't nearly powerful enough to provide much comfort."

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Sitting on one of the crates, Chuck strained to make sense of the muffled voices coming from above. He caught enough to know he played a central role in the conversations, which didn't catch him by surprise. Some type of underground storage or cave kept coming up. He couldn't tell if they needed to go there or if someone was coming from there. About twenty or thirty minutes later, a banging sounded, followed by scuffling feet and someone walking across the floor.

Mumblings soon turned to shouts. Shuffling feet became percussive strikes reverberating through the floor. If someone opens the door to this, having the light stick in a bag isn't hiding me any...is there anything I can duplicate? Can I cast without drawing attention? A body hitting the floor helped Chuck decide casting wouldn't be an issue. He began searching for anything he could duplicate.

A quick attempt proved that he couldn't duplicate a crate, so he began looking around and behind everything in the storage space. Within a few minutes, he discovered a worm-like thing crawling on the wall behind a stack of crates. He picked it up and allowed a trickle of energy to flow between him and the garter snake-sized worm. The noises above him kept jarring his concentration. The physical contact seemed to allow for those lapses. He felt his body retract on itself, condensing to a point where pain seared through him. I'm going to drop this thing when my hand disappears. As quick as the thought occurred, he lay the worm on the floor and lay next to it, maintaining contact. All the muscle mass he'd duplicated from Graff vanished, his body shrunk, consuming itself as he became more worm-like. The pain ebbed and flowed, excruciating to almost non-existent. Sound diminished, thoughts scrambled, pain attacked and retreated, and still he shrunk. Where is everything going? When do I explode?

After something just short of an eternity had passed, the pressure and pain stabilized. Both still existed, but they were consistent. Chuck shuddered, laying still on the floor, allowing his body to acclimate, then he wiggled toward a gap between a couple of crates. I’m about three times as long as the real worm. Excess mass had to go somewhere? Moving sent another wave of sensations through his system—each contraction, each slither sent a dagger of icy pain through him, followed by an eruption of flaming agony. His body threatened to explode out of the confines he'd pushed it into. Every movement amplified the need for his body to burst open. How badly have I damaged myself?

<>

I'm draining my magic holding this, or just to get here? A metallic crash followed by another heavy thud put Chuck's question on hold. Wiggling as fast as possible, he slithered between crates just as blinding light filled the pit. Status check on magic pool?

<>

He groaned inwardly, the pain dropping back down to stabbed with knitting needles intensity, by his reckoning. Looking up, he could make out a shadowy figure looking down, scanning over the containers.

"Boss, don't see nuttin' but boxes and barrels. No mage. No monster."

A second figure appeared next to the speaker, looked into the storage space, then looked toward someone Chuck couldn't see. "What's this stuff down here?"

Graff's voice sounded over some muttering. "Supplies, ones that go disappearing, so they keep em hid down there. At least that's what I've been told."

A fresh wave of agony running through Chuck canceled out all sound for several seconds. A portion of his lower half bulged, stretching his skin to near the rupture point. He willed it to shrink, sending an intense hurt throbbing from tip to tip of his form.

"...if you do, I may overlook the fact you knocked out one of my guards, and your girlfriend sent pots and pans raining down on another." Chuck decided the owner of the second voice led the intruder group.

Two feet landed, with a thud, in front of Chuck.

"How many do you want me to open?" Graff called up to the shadowy figures.

Boss shadow pointed, "Those three to start with."

Graff walked away. Chuck heard a scraping noise. "Full of ale," Graff called out.

The walk, scrape, and declaration of contents repeated five times before boss shadow determined no more barrels needed to be opened.

"Crates are too small for it to hide in, so you can stop opening things." The boss stepped back. "Nulzah, time to finish up here."

The other shadow grunted as his arm thrust forward. Chuck decided it was Rahmys' scream he heard, right before Graff bounced off the floor in front of him—a silver spike protruding from Graff's eye.

Chuck's mind froze. A red haze dropped over his vision. His form expanded, rocking the crates he hid between. Chaos sounded above him, Whyth shouting, Rahmys screaming, other voices fighting to drown out any other. A pair of feet landed next to the fallen Graff.

Marl's whispered voice drilled into Chuck. "Do not do anything and waste what Graff has done. For you, for us."

Control yourself. Marl's right. Torturous seconds passed while Chuck fought his body, finally keeping it from expanding any further.

"Cast lock on the door." He heard Rahmys call out.

"Already done," Whyth answered.

"Chuck, where are you?" Marl asked. "It's safe to come out now."

Crates bounced off Chuck's body as he allowed himself to grow back to his previous form. He pushed backward, falling against the wall. Graff's lifeless body in front of him. The rage he'd clamped down on clawed through him, coming out as a ragged growl.

"Who were they, and how do we kill them?" Chuck stood up on shaky legs as he spat out the words.

"Rhalyxa spawned town guard," Rahmys snarled. "All of them work for the Bythy. We don't kill them, not yet, whole town would be full of the charpa bugs if we did."

Chuck didn't know all the words Rahmys used, but the tone she used led him to agree with her sentiment.

"Where did you go?" Marl asked Chuck.

"I duplicated some worm-snake thing and slid between the crates. Damaged myself getting that small—nearly lost control of my form a couple of times." He answered.

Whyth joined Rahmys at the edge of the pit. "Can you climb out? Or do you need help?"

Using a crate as a ladder, Chuck pulled himself up. Whyth and Rahmys helped him out of the hole. Marl jumped up afterward.

Rahmys brushed the hair out of her face. "We need to get moving before they decide to come back here and cause more problems. Marl, close the door."

Marl nodded and tipped the table back.

"But what about Graff." Chuck sputtered as the door thumped closed.

A section of bottom shelves against the back wall slid sideways, and a blue-furred snout poked out of the tunnel behind it. "The body will vanish in around an hour. Stop stalling and get moving, Lumpy."