Chase Mendleton had seen some gorgeous Dungeons. Walls of sparkling crystal, mana-infused jewels too large to hold in one hand, sandy oases and shimmering vistas the likes of which would have travel agents drooling down their faded business shirts.

Unfortunately, he never found the monsters within said Dungeons to be quite so pleasant. In fact, if it weren’t for the paycheck that came with it, he’d never clean up another monster carcass for as long as he lived.

Wishful thinking is one thing, he thought. But reality is another.

He sighed as his shovel slid into another steaming pile of some monster’s excrement. It smelled like a bad night on the booze topped off with a generous helping of rotten cabbage.

A Hunter from the security team called out to him. The brawny fighter leaned against the cool rock walls of the Dungeon, watching Chase while his mana reserves recuperated. “Chasey-boy! Guild cafeteria’s always open, my man! No need to be eating that Echin shit!”

Several of the Hunter’s cronies chortled along obediently. They’d laugh at anything Reynold said, even if he was reading a recipe for pumpkin soup. It wasn’t out of respect for the man himself — no-no, don’t be fooled — it was because some divine power had randomly allocated an A-Rank to the dullard back when he was sixteen.

To Chase, it had allocated nothing.

He stayed silent, knowing from past experience that it was the right choice. Talking back, hell, even laughing was enough to spur Reynold’s anger.

Best left alone.

He abandoned the wheelbarrow and punched a few buttons on his Monster-Retriever. The Retriever’s arm shuddered. It came to life, reaching down and picking up a bumpy, chitinous leg which it cracked in half, emptied of juices, then plonked into its storage cage.

Eighteen down, sixty or so to go. It wasn’t a bad metaphor for his existence. Ever since his sixteenth birthday when he’d found out he was Talentless, Chase’s life had become one boring-ass slideshow of waking up, pulling on clean overalls, heading to a Dungeon site, then wading through piles of monster muck before going home and cooking dinner for Gramps. He might snag a free meal at the Majesty Cafeteria, but he couldn’t take a second helping home for his grandfather. That privilege was reserved for the important people. The Hunters, like Reynold.

Chase felt a slight pressure in his temple. He pulled up his System Interface, trying not to look at the big bold words that governed his life. Sitting on the home-screen, they were hard to miss.

Talent: (None)

There was a notification from his Raid Manager, marked as [Urgent]. He willed it open and read the contents, not at all surprised to see his name spelled incorrectly.

Good afternoon Chayse,

Hope you are well!

I have been notified of a Dungeon Break in the lower-west quadrant of Nine Town. Our guild records suggest that you maintain a residence in this area, therefore I have given you exemption from this afternoon’s Raid in order to attend to any such related matters.

If you are going to leave the Raid, please notify my assistant, Jenny, outside the Dungeon Gate. She will record your time of departure and we will amend your payslip to account for your early leaving.

Due to the conditions of your employment contract, we are unable to provide Hunter-assistance at this time.

We wish you the best of luck.

Regards,

Brad — Raid Manager for Majesty Guild

He read the important parts again. This was bad. Gramps couldn’t escape on his own — the goddamn stairlift took forever to carry him down, and that was assuming it felt like working. Even if he did make it down, the old man couldn’t hobble to the train station at any great speed. He’d be at the mercy of the emergency services, which were always slow to respond during a Dungeon Break.

Chase had to go.

He flicked off all the switches on the Retriever and threw his shovel into the wheelbarrow. Reynold and his cronies jeered at him, asking if he’d finally quit. Chase just brought up his map of the Dungeon and started sprinting in the direction of the Gate, taking off his orange safety hat and tossing it at one of his underlings.

“You’re Supervisor for the rest of the day!” he yelled as he bolted past.

It was a short run to the entrance. Chase stepped through the swirling blue Gate, crinkling his eyebrows and fighting to keep his lunch down. There was a moment of intense centrifugal force, then he was back in the land of the living. To his right was a long line of carts and cages being offloaded into huge shipping containers and trucks. The street where the Dungeon Gate had appeared was sealed off from traffic, though some pedestrians wandered past.

To his left, at her usual brown desk, sat Jenny. Ever smiling, ever merry Jenny.

“Wo-hey, Chase! Brad told me you might be coming through. Let’s see what we’ve got here — 3:05 p.m., and assuming it took you ten minutes to get out here, your new knock off time is…2:55 p.m.! Sound good?”

Chase didn’t have time to complain. “Sounds great, Jenny. I’ve gotta go, but can you just let Brad know that I’ve left Marla in charge? Thanks. Bye!”

He sprinted off. The train station was nearby, but it was still a long journey from Three City to Nine Town. Without many Credits to spare, ride-share services and the Guild helicopter were off the table.

Stolen story; please report.

The ticket gates buzzed as he passed through, notifying him of his low Credit balance. The destination boards spread out above him, pages upon pages of locations and departure times flashing past faster than he could comprehend. He could get to basically any suburb in the Four Cities within fifteen minutes, but when it came to the Towns…

Nine Town. Leaving in one minute. Platform Five. Only train for the next hour.

He looked across the platforms. Most passengers had already boarded the train. The only people still trickling in were the ones racing down escalators and pushing through crowds to get there before the doors closed.

Chase was still at the main terminal.

Seeing no other option, he hopped down onto the tracks and bounded to the next platform, heaving himself up and scampering across to the next section of tracks even though the security guards were screaming at him. He clambered onto Platform Five and bulldozed through the crowd, his shoulders bashing into the train doors as they slid shut.

Made it. I’m coming, Gramps.

The other commuters calmed down once the sweaty young man with Echin gunk all over him took a seat. He inhaled a deep breath and tried to put things in order. The train was still running, which was a good sign. It meant the danger was relatively contained, or at least the transport authorities hadn’t thought to shut down the Nine Town trainline yet. Slightly more problematic was how he’d get from the Nine Town station to home. It was usually a half hour walk, so maybe a ten-minute run if he was lucky, but with emergency response forces and whatever else going on...

The train chugged along for an eternity, eventually spitting him out at Nine Town. He raced out of the terminal and headed south-west toward his quadrant, the signs of a Dungeon Break becoming more evident with each block. The street in front of him had smashed streetlamps lying on their sides. Every car in the vicinity had its hazard lights flashing and alarms blaring. A three-storey apartment building leaned against its neighbour like a tired child attached to their mother’s leg.

Chase pretended that the six-legged, dripping creature that scuttered along the roof of the local grocer wasn’t something that could kill him in a single bite.

Whether it was foolish or brave, he pushed on, the rest of the journey taking just over ten minutes. Gramps’ place stood strong, at least from the outside. There was a smattering of Hunters running through the foyer sending beams, darts and bushels of flames into oncoming monsters. A human body lay on the ground. It was Maisy, from next door, her dog’s lead in her bloodied hand. The eighty-five-year-old must’ve been arriving back from a walk, or just going.

Chase had never seen a dead body before. Gravely injured Hunters, yes, but never dead ones.

He tore his eyes from the pale form of his next-door neighbour then ran up the fire escape stairs to the second floor. Gramps’ apartment started here and stretched up to the third floor, something of an irregularity among these apartment buildings.

He cracked open the door, preparing for the worst. The living room looked normal, all the cushions right where they belonged. The second CPAP machine sat next to the couch, prepared for Gramps’ afternoon nap. The console table just inside the door held a picture of Chase and his parents. In the false-bottom of the top drawer was an antique Luger.

Chase dove in and grabbed the gun. As useless as lead bullets would be against Dungeon monsters, it made him feel more secure. It’d still make one hell of a bang. He checked the chamber and then pulled the magazine release. Three in the mag, none loaded.

“Chase? That you?” called Gramps. There was a shuffling and whirring as the stairlift failed to start up. Then shouting. “This stupid piece of fucken crap! Chase! Get the hell out!”

“Not without you, Gramps! Hold on a sec!”

He loaded the Luger and shoved it in the pocket of his overalls, having terrible thoughts of what might happen if the dusty old thing went off. A resounding crash billowed through the windows like a truckful of cymbals in a head-on. Chase rushed up the stairs and grabbed his grandfather.

“No! Chase, don’t fucken touch me!” he cried, wriggling out of his grip. “Get outta this goddamn shithole! I’m ninety-fucking-four! I’ll pull a bluddy heartie!”

“Don’t be an idiot!” Chase replied. “I don’t give a shit if you’re ninety-fucking-thousand. Grab on!”

“Piss off!”

Before Gramps could complain any further, a whole section of the bottom floor wall blew in like a hurricane. A storm of white dust and debris flew up the staircase, filling their mouths and noses.

When the dust settled, a ruby-skinned Demon stood in the living room. Two black horns stretched from its eyebrows to behind its head like thick strands of slicked-back hair. Three purple eyes searched the wreckage before locking onto them with vicious glee.

“In the room, Gramps,” Chase yelled. “BACK IN THE ROOM HOLY SHIT!”

He yanked the Luger from his overalls and fired off a shot. It flew harmlessly through the back wall, metres from the Demon, but it didn’t matter. The noise was loud enough to give it a shock. Unfortunately, it did more damage to Chase. His right ear immediately rang and there was a throbbing deep in his left. He bolted into Gramps’ room with a palm to his ear.

They barricaded themselves in the room. Gramps sat on the bed and took wheezing breaths while Chase stood near the door, shaking. He levelled the gun at head-height and prepared for whatever might come next. There was a scuttling downstairs and the shredding sounds of the Demon’s claws gouging into their furniture and floorboards.

Then it came up the stairs. The door burst open at the same time the third-floor window shattered. Chase fired one cacophonous shot before a body crashed into him and took him to the ground. The Demon flashed past, slashing at the space where he’d stood a moment earlier.

Chase was winded. A flapping yellow cape slapped into his face before untangling itself and revealing the form of a Hunter. Chase knew him instantly. It was Acidettol, a B-Rank Hunter who’d been on TV recently after his arrest for public nudity. He’d been sentenced to three months of community service, most of that involving rubbish-removal in Nine Town and saving cats from trees.

But he was still a Hunter, and if there was ever a good deed that might get him back on the right side of the law, this was it. The Demon turned to face this new threat, snarling and snapping. Acidettol fired a glob of his trademark Monster Solvent from the canister on his right arm, then charged towards Gramps.

The attack landed on the Demon’s foot, sizzling its skin. It elicited a gross yowl, then launched at Acidettol and Gramps. There was nothing Chase could do to help. He could only watch as the Hunter covered Gramps with his own body, taking a hit from the Demon’s glowing white claws. All three of them tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs, Gramps bellowing. Acidettol’s Solvent canister flew from his arm and smashed against the doorframe just near Chase’s head. A spray of blue goo covered the wall, hissing and sputtering as it ate into the plaster.

Chase clambered to his feet, nursing his left shoulder. The Demon extricated itself from the two motionless bodies, then turned to him. One foot was just a charred stump gushing a river of black sludge, but it was far from death. Its claws glowed white, emitting an ethereal, shifting light. It fixed all three eyes on Chase, heaving with exertion and blistering pain.

This was one pissed off Demon.

A final, desperate plan crossed Chase’s mind. He had one bullet left, one chance to save Gramps and the mad B-Rank who’d managed to get into their third-floor window. He released the magazine and yanked out the last bullet, fumbling in panic as the Demon hopped toward him. He swiped the bullet through the biggest clump of Monster Solvent, still working its way through Gramps’ bedroom wall.

The bullet fizzed. He was worried the primer might just blow up in his hand, but he had to take the risk. It was either that or die a miserable death at the hands of the Demon. He shoved the acid-covered bullet into the magazine and rammed it back into the Luger.

Too late. The Demon was upon him.

It lunged, smashing both of them into the wall. A claw dug into his collarbone, plunging deep into his flesh and sending jolts of agony through his arm and chest.

I’m gonna die, I’m gonna fucking die.

He raised the pistol to the Demon’s face, screaming as his muscles tried to work around the claw lodged in his body. By now the Demon didn’t fear the noise of the gun. A second claw pierced his left arm, pinning it to the floor.

Chase shut his eyes and pulled the trigger.