“Tell me again about the outside, father?”

The plain-looking boy with unkempt hair was barefoot, wearing a simple white shirt and brown breeches. He sat beside a crude firepit, pieced together from broken shards of stone, from which sprang hungry blue flames of magefire that thirstily licked the air and threw dancing shadows across the granite walls. He stared blankly at a sizzling wedge of charred monster meat, slowly turning the long metal spear that was its makeshift spit.

Beyond the border of thrown shadow, the cavern grew tall, dotted here and there with bioluminescent fungi and strange hanging mosses that clung to the stalactites on the distant ceiling. The mosses were unmoving, for no wind blew in this place. Nevertheless, the air was still full, packed to the brim with sound, as a veritable mountain of monsters clicked, called and whirred across the dim chamber.

The ever-present reek of feces and pungent creature pheromones didn’t bother the boy in the least, for this is where he had been born and it was all he had ever known. If not for the wild mana that saturated the air, one might assume this was an ancient cave anywhere in the four realms. The reality, however, was far more dire. The teenage boy and his sickly father were deep in the bowels of a monster dungeon designed solely as their personal prison.

There was no escape.

“Again, Thomas? After fourteen years, aren’t you tired of the same old stories?”

“Not when they’re about the outside. Besides, today is Tenth Day. Mother always used to tell me stories on Tenth Day. It’s not the same here without her.” Thomas turned his face away from his father, not wanting him to see the old tears welling fresh.

Robert, the former King of Adaria, couldn’t help but notice his son’s actions. He twisted his wedding ring on his finger as thoughts of his wife flew unbidden to his mind.

His grief was still so raw. Wasn’t time supposed to heal all wounds? Yet time traveled so strangely in this place. Every memory still brought pain, sharp as a knife.

Oh, Sofia. What I wouldn't give to have you back.

Robert eyed the back of his son who was wiping his eyes. He must be strong for Thomas right now. He didn’t have much time left. It’s what Sofia would have wanted.

“All right son, what is it you want to hear about?”

Thomas spun around and responded without hesitation. “Tell me about the sky again, father … about how the colors change depending on the time of day. It still makes no sense to me!”

He was being honest, as always. The lessons on magic imparted by his late mother made perfect sense to him. His father's teachings on the complexities of kingdom economics came naturally. He grasped Tyrek's wisdom on the tactics employed by skilled assassins the fastest of all. But it boggled Thomas’s mind when it came to a concept as simple, and frankly, as ordinary as the sky. His brain rejected all explanations of it.

A vast span of blue, sometimes white, sometimes pink, that contained fluffy lumps called “clouds”? It was filled with light during the day but dark at night, except for the stars, which were lights and were everywhere. Yet it was still dark.

Complete nonsense.

The first time he heard someone talk about it, he thought they were playing a prank on him.

His father groaned. “Again?” Robert then launched into an explanation Thomas had heard a dozen times before. Eventually, his father confirmed his worst fears by saying: you’ll just have to see it for yourself and that is that.

His duty done, the king eased back into his stretcher of animal hide and bone, coughing raggedly. His eyes drew to the stone cairn beside him, marking the burial site of a member of their original group.

“I fear this mana sickness is starting to addle my brain. Do you remember who this was?”

“That one was in the early years I think, before I was born,” said Thomas, popping a piece of charred monster meat into his mouth.

Thomas had no qualms speaking of the dead. After all, some days it was all they had to talk about and practically every other floor had one of the stone piles devoted to someone they had lost.

“That one was Grant Checkerson and his wife,” said Tyrek as he walked up to their fire. The former Captain of the Royal Guard and High Assassin continued, “He was a noble of the Upper Quarter. One of your staunchest supporters, sire. Both their levels were only in the twenties if I remember right. They were caught by the void monster.”

The former king nodded grimly, as if expecting as much, then gently patted one of the stones. “May you find peace in the Afters, my friends.”

Thomas’s ears perked up. No one had died to the void monster in several years because of the steady pace they had adopted. As long as they cleared an entire floor of the dungeon every day and descended to the next, they could keep ahead of it.

“What’s it like? The void monster?” said Thomas. “Mother would never tell me. I think she thought it would give me nightmares or something.”

Silence.

Then Tyrek shuddered. He never did that.

“I suppose you’re old enough now,” said Robert. “It’s not like you’ve never seen horrible monsters before.”

Thomas snorted at that. “You know I’ve been solo-clearing every floor for at least two years now. You and Tyrek don’t even lift a finger anymore!”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

“Well, I have advanced mana sickness,” said the king with a small grin. “So naturally, I would prefer to spend the rest of my short time left enjoying these beautiful views,” he said, gesturing at the dank cavern that surrounded them on all sides.

“And I’ve my pride,” said Tyrek, smirking. “Besides, runt, you still need the practice. Young men are rash and foolish and nothing you say can convince me otherwise. It takes years of close combat in oppressive conditions to beat the stupidity out of a teenage boy.” He winked at Thomas. “Don’t worry. Another five years and you’ll have your head on straight.”

Thomas huffed. “I’ve smashed everything this prison has thrown at us.”

“The void creature is different,” said Robert quietly, brooking no argument. Tyrek and Thomas went silent, sensing the king’s mood turning. “I still remember the first time it attacked.” Robert’s sunken eyes and gaunt cheekbones took on a dark look in the flickering firelight. For a moment, it was as if the shadows were seeping into him, slowly claiming his body as their own.

With glazed eyes, he stared into the magefire as he continued. “I was on the guard rotation while everyone slept. It took the shape of a thick violet fog and simply rolled into our camp. We raised the alarm, thinking it was some kind of poisonous cloud that the dungeon had created. The next thing we knew, eight people were dead, sliced open with wicked gashes from hip to shoulder.”

“I remember that,” said Tyrek, shaking his head. “That moment has haunted my sleep for years. The clawed hands that came out of the mist and raked across the sleeping bodies. Human flesh didn’t stand a chance. It was like swords cutting through paper.”

Thomas had to consciously close his mouth from hanging open. “Where did it come from?” he said quietly.

“Rankel,” said Tyrek, and he spat on the ground.

“But … I don’t understand. How does a violet fog use the portal on the hundredth floor?”

“We’re never going to hang around to find out,” said Tyrek, flatly.

“Maybe it doesn’t use the portal to teleport back to the first floor at all,” said Thomas. “All the other monsters respawn on each floor when we teleport back to the start. Maybe the void creature does the same and just respawns?”

Robert shook his head. “No, it’s always behind us. Always following. It must be using the portal. And that fact alone leads me to believe it’s intelligent. It also makes me think it’s not borne of this dungeon, but somewhere else.”

“The infinite void,” said Tyrek, nodding.

Thomas stared into the distance for a moment, his eyes darting about as his brain furiously tried to solve the puzzle. “This Rankel is bad news.”

“You have no idea,” said Tyrek, snickering. “Four hells, boy, have we taught you nothing?”

“Perhaps he needs a good sparring session, to remind him of some things he may have forgotten?” said Robert. He was trying to change the subject away from the void creature.

After fifteen years trapped in this hellhole watching his closest friends perish, Robert understood now more than ever that you shouldn’t dwell on what you can’t control. The void creature fell firmly into that category. He had wasted literally years of his life worrying about the thing, only to witness more death regardless.

As a magic wielder, the strategy that had been drilled into him growing up was “get stronger and defeat it.” Hells, every adventurer in the kingdom lived by that creed.

But he now understood the fallacy of that wisdom. A gnat would fare better against a bull than they would against the void creature. You had to know when to run. And he had done his best to instill that same sense of self-preservation in Thomas also. Surviving in the dungeon demanded no less.

Tyrek eyed the king, instantly catching on to Robert’s attempt at a diversion.

“Come on, runt. Show me what new tricks you’ve been learnin’.”

“What?” said Thomas, breaking his trance. “A spar? I’m always game for that. Although I’m not sure I can hold back enough to keep from hurting you, old man.” He was only half-joking.

“I wouldn’t start yappin’ your mouth until you’ve seen the handicaps I have in mind.”

Robert tossed him their old weatherbeaten spatial satchel and the grizzled ex-assassin plunged his arm into it, withdrawing a repurposed potion bottle that contained one of his poison mixtures.

The small interdimensional storage bag and the few health potions it had once contained were the only items Killian had given to their group to survive in the dungeon, so long ago. It was their most valuable possession by far, able to store a full cubic yard of water from the pools on every tenth floor.

Robert had often pondered why Killian had given them any such help at all. He couldn’t answer, except to say that perhaps Killian wanted them to suffer rather than die quickly.

What in the four realms happened to my brother?

“This is a little something special I’ve been preparing for just such an occasion,” said Tyrek, holding the bottle aloft. Thomas rolled his eyes in response. “Today, we’ll be sparring with mana spears. Thomas, if you would be so kind?”

Thomas held his arms in front of him with his two fists side by side, then drew them apart slowly to conjure a glowing spear made from solid mana. The weapon would persist indefinitely as long as Thomas was in contact with it and feeding it a tiny thread of magic. Without him, the weapon had a lifespan of about an hour before it evaporated into mist and became intermingled with the wild mana of the dungeon once more.

After conjuring two spears, he tossed one to Tyrek, who dutifully coated its tip with poison.

“How’s your healing magic, runt? Progressed at all?” said Tyrek, glancing at the scar on his own arm.

Thomas was about to respond with a snarky comment but stopped himself. “Actually, I don’t know. I don’t use it much. I guess it’s about the same? My poison immunity is still solid though. I doubt that special concoction of yours is going to do much.”

Tyrek grunted, then tossed him a piece of ripped fabric. “Blindfold.”

“What?”

“You heard me. And no offensive magic either.”

“Four hells, Tyrek, what is this?” he said, tying the fabric about his head and pulling the knot tight with a snap.

Thomas slowed his breathing and opened up his awareness to the mana around him. Even blindfolded, his mana sight could detect every mote and fleck of mana-imbued dust in the area if he wanted to. It was what gave the boy his keen battle sense, allowing him to perceive any living thing within a radius of about fifty feet. There was no creeping up on Thomas, even if you were invisible.

Many in their dwindling group had struggled with the pervasive wild mana in the dungeon. Some—if they lived long enough—developed mana sickness like his father. But Thomas reveled in it, sucking it greedily into the core of his body where it would slowly condense and eventually flood his magic channels with its liquid form of pure mana essence.

As Thomas concentrated, the figure of Tyrek lit up like a burning ember to his mana sight. His weapon, made of pure mana, flared like a blazing torch. Thomas would have to be careful. When he was fully engaged with his sight like this, the old guard liked to trick him by throwing a metal dagger or two at him. Without the weapon being covered in mana, Thomas could only detect it by the swirling reaction it caused from dust motes in the air.

Tyrek narrowed his eyes. “Playtime’s over, runt. FIGHT!”