I vomit into the toilet. I vomit again and wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. Gross. I am not a—a—. No. I refuse. I cannot. I will not. Not for that. Not for him. Not for magic. Not for freedom. I still have my mind. I still have… me. I will not give in.
The door to my cave opens. I turn to face it. Several people enter. One has a white coat and an older female with a hawkish face and a detached expression. Several of her friends wear scrubs.
A tray is pushed forward. On it are several items. A pad of wet wipes. Some stationary and a dry-erase marker. A plastic spoon.
A hole is opened under the platform and a drawer is removed. The items are placed in the drawer and it is shoved back under the platform. Now that I look, the floor of the cell has a plastic section in one corner. The doctor clears her throat. I raise my eyes.
“These items will be allowed so you may keep yourself clean,” she says. Her tone is authoritative and lacks warmth. “If any of them are not returned when requested, you will go hungry until they are.
“The stationary is for your will. If you have any messages for your loved ones, now is the time. After today, you may not receive or send any messages from this room. The spoon is to be used for eating. If we find it is being used for anything else, it will be removed. Nod if you understand.”
“I understand,” I say. The woman’s eyes flash.
“Refuses simple directions. One minor infraction is punishable by the removal of food for twenty-four hours. Further infractions will result in stricter disciplinary measures.”
After the drawer is inserted, one of the orderlies from outside pulls a handle. The plastic sheet retracts. I grab the items inside. The attendant, watching, pushes the sheet back into place.
“You have one hour to write out a will. After which we will return for it. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Two days without food.” The doctor motions. The orderlies file out, followed by her. She closes the door and locks it. I take the stationary to the desk and scribble out a message. It isn’t much. But it works. I finish the day by casting darts at the wall, imagining each one going through the space she was standing.
“[Dream].”
-
[Consumer] class renounced. Rank 1 Skill Chain removed. Rank 1 Link removed. You have qualified for the [Scholar] class. Would you like to take it?
I select ‘yes.’ The sun is… not warm. I can’t feel warmth in a dream. Even projecting my consciousness to this world, which is pretty much what I’m doing, I don’t feel the warmth.
You have gained the following Abilities: Academic Discourse, Analysis. You have qualified for a new Field of Study. You have qualified for new Skills. You have unlocked a Scholar Secret. Would you like to select them now?
Yes, I would.
You have qualified for—
I select the Arcana subclass and Quick Study.
You have selected the Arcane Field of Study. You have gained the following Abilities: Read Magic, Scribe Spell. You have unlocked new Skills. You may choose to forgo selecting an Arcane Skill in favor of a Secret. The Arcane Skills you have qualified for are—
“Skip.”
You may now choose three Tier 0 spells to learn. The spell list is…
I skim the list. If I had made this choice a few days ago, I’d be over the moon with excitement. But that horror class put me in a bad mood. That, and the doctor’s ‘infractions.’ Screw those guys.
If I’m going to escape that place, I’ll need a certain set of abilities or superpowers. Cutting steel. [Acid Splash] won’t work on plastic. But it could carve a hole in stone or people. [Shape Earth] would also work, but the guards would shoot me. However, it would allow me to tunnel out through the floor. The acid may do the same but it’s not as reliable.
And I’ll need a way to survive. [Create Basic Food and Water], useful. But it requires my energy. I must assume that any energy I’d gain from eating it is the same or less than the energy I’d get from casting the spell. Light spells, illusions, various elemental destruction…. All are useful in their way. But which are the best?
The ever-popular [Summon Familiar] is not on this list. A familiar is not useful; I need something with defined uses. Regardless of what I choose, I must assume I’m going to lose the class as soon as they feed me again. The spells may remain, but the class will be gone. Therefore, I must choose spells that are versatile and applicable to a wide variety of situations.
I will also need gold. Food and water, housing, those will come. The Spiral Knights I can find the and spend a night in their lobby or something. Then I can go do those Clay-Rank contracts and get paid. I can use the money to acquire clothing and armor, and a hot meal.
The [Mage] class and its variations come with restrictions. Mages may not wear Armor. They may not use weapons besides their spell foci. Your Prowess with short swords, longswords, crossbows, handguns, rifles, and other such weapons has been removed.
Drat. No armor. Well, that complicates things. I suppose it’s for balancing reasons. It’s a little unfair for reality warpers to be as protected as knights. But when was life ever fair? Nada. I had to fight tooth and nail for every inch in school, college, and throughout life. I’m still fighting… in a different way. I make my selections.
You have learned a Destruction spell. You have learned [Spray of Flames]. You have learned a Protection spell. You have learned [Resistance]. You have learned a Transmutation spell. You have learned [Lesser Telekinesis].
Your Destruction and Protection Prowess is now Novice.
Well, that does it for character sheet selections. I give my stats another once-over for review. Disappointing, but better than they were as an archaeologist. Arcanist is a better fit for me. But for how I got it, I’d be happy. Oh well. Time to get to work. I set off down the hill toward the trees.
“Where are you going?”
“Gah,” I scream. I jump almost a foot in the air. I whirl—a man in a dark suit floats in the air. I clutch my chest, panting hard. My racing heart calms. “Carmine. What are you doing here?”
“I have come to pay my debt to you. You have considered taking my class. Now I must teach you the agreed-upon spell. Do you remember this deal?”
“Yeah, I remember.” I suck in several deep breaths. “How are you here?”
“I can manifest in this world with ease.” The strange man, not much older than a boy, stares down at me. “I cannot stay long. Are you ready?”
I hesitate. Deals… bargains… strange beings offering the things one wants most. Ol’ Mister Scratch making deals down at the crossroads. I gulp, but I delivered my end. I considered.
“I’m ready.”
“Prepare yourself.” Carmine leans forward in the air. He extends one hand. I bow my head as his palm descends.
His hand touches my head. Symbols appear in my mind. The lines move like snakes, separating, reforming, rearranging, and changing. I see three rows of words. The topmost row is English. The middle row is… Aramaic. Yes, it’s Aramaic. The symbols have no vowels, punctuation, or spaces. They read right to left, which is how right-handed people wrote thousands of years ago. Translating them into English is a difficult, tedious task. But one in which I’m well-versed.
The language beneath—
“The language of magic,” Carmine whispers. “All casters require it. Sorcerers do not comprehend. Contractors scribe it. Wizards seek to master it. I give you two words to use as you see fit. Use them alone or together. Combine them with others. Do as you please. This is what was promised. A verb and a noun. [Bind]. And [Soul].”
The third language. The language of magic. I see all three languages in my head with perfect comprehension. I can read the latter two as easy as English. I see. I understand.
“[Bind Soul],” I whisper, gesturing at the air in front of me.
Carmine’s finger disappears from my head.
“You will not bind me, mortal.” He chuckles. “I am Carmine.”
I stare at my hand. My thoughts are racing.
“So… this works like ‘summon familiar,’ right? Except instead of summoning a small creature, I’m chaining one to my will.”
“Correct.” Carmine smiles. He settles back in an imaginary chair, still floating above eye level. High enough that he can look down on people. “There are restrictions, of course. But in general, anything with a soul may be bound. Willing souls are easier. There are benefits to the bound as well as the binder. I will update your System to reflect this,” he adds, gesturing.
I open the window. You have been granted access to the Theurgy field of magic. You have been granted access to the Soul field of magic. You have been granted a new spell: [Bind Soul].
“It’s colored red,” I murmur. “Like the—the other class.”
“Soul-binding is a dark art,” Carmine explains. “Powerful, but dangerous. Bound souls take and give. It is the principle of theurgy. Be cautious.”
“Got it,” I say, shuddering. “This power is a risk-reward mechanic. Anything else?”
“As a Dreamer, you are not bound to this world in the way you were before. Your species,” he seems to hesitate, “differs from mortal men. You have powers and weaknesses. You will earn no Class Experience in this world. Anything you gain must be left behind. If you take lethal damage, you wake.”
I take a moment to digest this.
“What happens in the dream stays in the dream,” I pause. I look up at him with raised eyebrows. “I’m a [Tourist].”
Carmine laughs, “Tourist or not, my offer remains open. Take my class. I will teach you magic. I will give you the power to escape your prison. Free me from mine, and you may have anything you wish.”
I look at the ground. I cannot feel the grass under my bare feet.
“But I’d have to take the [Cannibal] class.”
“Everything has a price,” is all he says. “When you need me, seek my chapel in the Docklands. Until then, farewell.”
The young man floating in the air fades. I blink.
“Wait,” I throw up a hand. “Wait, please.”
“Why?” Carmine doesn’t wait. His form becomes less tangible by the second. “Our business is concluded.”
“Which way is the Docklands? How do I get back there? Where is Zephyr?”
The man with black, shining eyes smiles. It’s a smile that is at once creepy and toothy. It doesn’t fit his face and for one horrible moment, I get a glimpse of the thing wearing his face.
“That wasn’t part of the deal. This world is many times larger than your own. I hope you enjoy yourself, [Scholar].” He’s a head now. A circle in the air with two orbs of coal and a wide, grinning mouth. The Cheshire Cat’s grin, but with bad eyes and far too many sharp teeth.
“Where is the chapel?”
“I am Carmine,” he says. His eyes vanish, leaving nothing besides that horrible smile. “Seek my color, mortal. Seek red. And beware the others.”
“What others?” I ask. But he’s gone. Mr. Creepy has disappeared. I take a deep breath to settle my nerves. “All right System-avatar-lady. The dude said I got weird powers from being a dreamer. Whassup?”
A female form appears on the grass. She does not look pleased to see me.
“As a Human, you have one additional point of Vigor. This has already been factored into your character sheet.”
“If it was already factored in, why wasn’t I informed?” I frown.
“Because it was not relevant. Humans possess a Hidden Ability called Adaptable. It is the System’s way of recognizing the ability of humans to adapt to any situation. It provides no benefits except this: humans have no inherent weaknesses or strengths. Humans are common and uninteresting.”
“Ouch,” I say. I take a half-step back. “Are we finished here? Cause I’d like to start my grand adventure.”
Avatar-lady rolls her eyes.
“The Docklands is not in that direction.” Avatar-lady points over my shoulder. “Danger.”
I look. A hunched shape crouches in the shadows. I would have missed it, except my [Analysis] lights it up like a flare. Wendigo. A young one, but still a monster.
“As a Dreamer, you have all the same powers and proficiencies as you do in the waking world.” Avatar-lady raises her voice. I don’t look at her. My eyes are glued to the hulking monstrosity now creeping out of the tree line. “Your first ability is Dreamstride. It lets you walk wherever you want.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, listening with half an ear. I raise both hands. I lack a spell focus. But that hasn’t stopped me before.
“Your other ability is called Lucidity. It functions as small-scale reality warping, but it is temporary. Like a spell, but without a defined effect.”
“Dream-walking and lucid dreaming. Got it.” I try to decide which spell is appropriate for a level nine monster. I need a party to fight this thing. I am a squishy wizard at level one, weaponless and defenseless. And this is supposed to be the spawning zone for people. “Anything else?”
“Your [Bind Soul] spell costs health. It is not a product red text. It is because it’s a spell used by theurgists.” She pauses. I’m backing away. The Wendigo sniffs the air. It swings its head one way, then the other. At last, it settles on me. Drawing in a huge breath, it rises on two legs and shrieks.
“And one more thing,” she calls. “Run.”
I run. The Wendigo chases after me on all fours. It lopes across the ground, far faster than I can hope to match. I give up running and face it. Raising both hands, I prepare to cast. I will have one chance.
“[Chocolate Dart],” I yell. A brown lump hits the creature in the face. It doesn’t stop. It is too close. “[Spray of Flames].” Orbs of fire the size of marbles shoot out of my palm, evaporating after five feet. The Wendigo skids to a halt on seeing the fire. I release the spell before draining too much energy. The monster looks at the scorched grass, then at me. It flicks its ears.
“Crap.”
The creature draws its lips back. It rises on two legs. With its arms and claws extended, it looks somewhat like a werewolf.
“I’ll be back,” I promise. “[Insect Swarm].”
A cloud of stinging hornets erupts from my hand. They make a beeline for the unprotected skin around the creature’s eyes and fleshy, gaping mouth. It takes two seconds for the pain to register.
The Wendigo howls. It bats at the bugs flying around its head, but the hornets are too agile. They also don’t die after one sting. Unlike bees, hornets are capable of stinging multiple times. Also unlike bees, they are not gentle. Hornets are aggressive, territorial, angry little things that deserve to be smashed and killed. With poison.
“[Insect Swarm],” I say, this time casting with both hands. Honeycombs appear on the skin over my hands and wrists. Hornets crawl out of them. As one, they take flight in a massive buzzing swarm that makes the rest of my skin crawl.
The Wendigo possesses a health bar. A thick rectangle of red appears over its head. Bit by bit, it decreases. But the bar is huge and mine is small. The hornets are distracting and damaging over time, but it’s not much. The beast tolerates this for a few seconds, then it seems to realize its thick fur renders it immune to the tiny stingers.
Dropping, it charges me. I try to dodge, but the creature doesn’t fall for it like they do in movies. It slams into me, sending me flying.
The world spins around as I sail through the air, screaming. I hit the ground. My health drops by a chunk. I hear a roar and cover my head. This is it. Something whistles overhead. The creature bellows in pain. Something else whistles.
I peek up. Thick, steel-tipped bolts bury themselves in the creature’s body. I turn my head toward the source of the bolts. Six attackers charge down the hill. An adventuring party. The Wendigo howls a challenge and charges.
They meet in a clash of fur and steel. Three warriors jab with spears and swords. Above them, a mage and an archer pepper it. The last member, an overweight man in a chef’s hat, flanks the beast. He swings the biggest cleaver I’ve ever seen, making deep cuts into the monster.
The beast refuses to retreat. At half health, it shrieks like a banshee. It launches itself at the nearest adventurer, tackling them. They hold up their spear like a shield, jamming it between the monster’s jaws. Unperturbed, the monster strikes with its claws.
The adventurers gang up on it from all sides. The monster bites the spear in two. I find myself running. I don’t know how. I don’t know why. I know I must help them. The creature opens its jaws to bite. The guy on the ground shields his face with his arms, though it won’t save him. His health is too low. The Wendigo is too strong. The teeth descend.
“[Insect Swarm],” I shout. A swarm erupts from my arms and launches at the beast. They home in on the creature’s vulnerable parts: its eyes, nose, and mouth. The Wendigo rolls off the guy. It bats at its face, more distracted than damaged. But the opening it provides is enough.
A fireball lands on the creature’s back. My bugs are scorched, as is the monster’s fur. It howls in agony. A crossbow bolt buries itself in the creature’s throat. The Wendigo charges—and impales itself on a spear. Multiple spears skewer it. A sword cuts. More fire burns. At last, the monster dies.
I collapse to my knees at the same time the Wendigo begins dissolving. It leaves behind a shaggy hide with the claws still embedded—a trophy or mark of the kill. The injured guy is still alive. He drinks a health potion. The adventurers all whoop or clap each other on the back. Job well done, good fight guys. Relief washes over me. It’s over.
They turn to me as if noticing my presence for the first time. The smiles change. They’re still smiling, but the jubilation gives way to something else. They jog in my direction. I stand to meet them and wave.
“Slave,” one of them shouts. “We’ve got a slave.” Others take up the chant.
“Slave. Slave. Slave.”
Five guys and one girl surround me with weapons drawn.
“On your knees, slave,” the injured spearman says.
“But I saved you,” I protest.
“Hah,” he laughs. “As if. My party saved me. Now turn over your stuff or die.”
I gape at him. At all of them. “But I saved you. I don’t have anything. I’m new.”
“Liar,” another spearman says. “Noobs always start with gear. Open your pack. There should be a few essentials.”
“He doesn’t have one,” the mage says. He points. “Look.”
This causes some discussion. Analysis. [Bandits]. Notable for choosing the actual class instead of leveling their regular adventuring classes. Being a [Bandit] must come with some nice skills. Whatever the case, I’m gonna die.
“What class are you, kid?” the spearman says.
“I’m a [Scholar],” I say. “With the [Arcanist] field of study.”
“You a mage?” spear-guy pokes me with the sharp end, taking a few points of health.
“Ow.” I flinch.
“Answer the question,” he jabs me again.
“After a fashion, yes,” I say, glaring at him. If I’m gonna die, then at least I’m gonna die fighting. I prepare to cast.
“Hold out your hands,” spear-guy orders.
I obey, holding my hands toward his face. Honeycomb replaces the skin on my hands and wrists. I pour energy into the spell, willing the insects to rise in a swarm greater and larger than any before. The honeycomb spreads down my forearms. Each is a tiny hole in my flesh that houses a gestating hornet.
“That’s disgusting,” someone says. A pair of thick metal cuffs are produced. “Is that supposed to be a spell?”
“[Insect Swarm],” I intone. A terrible, skin-crawling buzzing fills the air as each egg hatches. Hornets fight for space on my arms. The earliest ones take flight, making room for the next. Holes open all along my arms as the insects fly. There is no direction or target. I specified an enemy by aiming at the dude in front, but it is clear the insects consider his friends as enemies.
Everyone who isn’t me becomes a target for the stinging swarm. The guy in front of me screams as a horde of… well… bugs attack his face. He buries his spear in my gut. My health drains. But I continue casting.
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I don’t re-cast the spell. I continue pouring energy into it. And the bugs continue hatching. More weapons bury themselves in my body. The bandits slash, stab, and thrust. I force the last of my energy into the spell and will the swarm to attack everyone. And they do.
My legs give out. I crash into the dirt. The bandits are screaming and running. They flail their weapons around, trying in vain to swat at the dodging creatures. A twisted sense of glee overtakes me.
“[Ice spike],” the mage yells. A shard of ice embeds itself in my gut. I focus the last of my energy—no, more than the last. My energy is spent. My health is almost out. I push every spare bit I have into one more cast, and then I keep pushing.
“[Insect Swarm],” I whisper. A single great mass of hornets flies out of my arms. It rises in the air and does something new. It divides in two. Half the swarm goes one way, and half goes another. My energy runs out at the same time as my health, and I die.
-
“This is getting to be repetitive,” I say. I stare up at the box’s transparent ceiling. “Live. Die. Live again. Die again. Rinse and repeat, ad nauseum.”
I roll sideways. There is no clock on the wall. There are no windows. I have nothing to measure time. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Not that it matters.
I acknowledge the blinking exclamation point.
Your Conjuration Prowess has increased. Your Conjuration Prowess is now Narrow. You have learned the Tier One spell Swarm of Hornets. When cast, a larger swarm will be created. This may then split into two smaller swarms to seek out and attack enemies. Instead of creating bees, you now create stinging hornets.
Skill unlocked: Focus-less Casting. Casting spells without a focus no longer incurs a chance for spell failure. To acquire, Skill must be selected upon level-up.
Condition acquired: Lesser Body Horror. As a result of casting spells without a focus, your flesh becomes warped by the spell you are trying to cast.
I raise my hand where I can see it. Smooth, soft skin. Pallid from living inside libraries. But otherwise, normal. I ‘prepare’ to cast. At once, honeycomb holes appear and cover my hand. A few hornets emerge and crawl over the ‘skin,’ even before the spell is cast. They don’t seem agitated. But I can feel them moving around on me. The honeycomb has feeling, like the nerves in my hand.
This is beyond gross. This is sick. Almost as sick as eating red rice every day. But I can console myself that the food is required. I’m eating it because I don’t have a choice. Not because it doesn’t taste that bad.
I get up. There is no food in the bowl. I put the stationary with my written will in the drawer. On a whim, a malicious, dark thought enters my head. I smirk. Oh yes, this will be fun. Devious, and inventive. I cast my new spell before collapsing on my bed and going back to sleep.
-
I spawn in a flat glade with no hill. The sun is in a different position. The trees are red-gold shading to copper and rust. Autumn colors. Quite beautiful, too. When the system doesn’t present any new changes, I start walking.
I enter the trees. I don’t see or sense any monsters, but I had the same experience last time. I keep walking. While I walk, I review my spells and character sheet. Same information, but the details are different.
Red text. Undesired classes. Weird skills. What does it all mean?
“System,” I raise my voice. “Tell me about the red text. Why is the [Consumer] class a different color? What are the significances of the colors?”
“Access denied,” the avatar’s voice chirps.
I look up. What? ‘Access denied?’ Why—hmm… more questions. Well, my class is all about uncovering secrets. Looks like I’ve found my next big thing.
“System, which way to the Docklands?”
“Navigation system off-line. Consult a map, or use the [Mental Map] skill.” The voice is cheerful like an artificial intelligence, but also vague. I adopt a politer tone. “System, why are you not helping me?”
“The System recognizes you are experienced. Because you have displayed mastery of the basic tutorials, the System will be much less helpful to you from now on. Furthermore, you have taken a class the System—and the galactic community—considers abhorrent. Renouncing this class bodes well for your reputation. But continuing to take it will have adverse effects.”
I don’t know what to say. There’s a lot to unpack. My brain tries to process this for several minutes. As I walk, the shadows lengthen. The sun sinks. I look over my shoulder but don’t see or sense any creature stalking.
A distinct smell of garbage and soot permeates the air. The sun vanishes below the horizon, but the moon overhead illuminates.
The coniferous forest gives way to dead trees. There is no clear-cut transition from woods to industrial wasteland. Trash litters the ground. Here and there is a barbed wire fence with more rusting holes than Swiss cheese. I see shapes moving in the shadows. [Analysis] tells me their classes: pickpockets, thieves, bandits, murderers. Generic low-lives etching out survival on the edge of the city.
An open sewer vomits raw sewage into a creek. Crows fill the trees, cawing. More than one eyes me as if deciding whether I’m worth the trouble to attack. Something light touches the small of my back. I whirl.
It’s a man, older than me. His fingers are outstretched toward my back pocket but empty. [Pickpocket], level 1.
“Piss off,” I snap at him.
He shoves me. As he does, his fingers pat my sides. Dissatisfied, he snorts and moves away.
“[Spray of Flames],” I say leveling my fingers at his back. My skin turns black and red, cracking from the heat though there is no pain. Flames smolder along my hand. As I cast the spell, minute orbs of fire spray out, covering the guy’s back like balls of paint. Howling, he takes off running.
Faces look up at the sudden commotion. I visualize hornets. I then have the unpleasant but not quite painful sensation of my skin changing and warping. Burned, blackened flesh gives way to caramel honeycomb. Brown bodies with yellow stripes crawl over the back of my hand.
I see several people with knives in their hands. All of them are staring with open hostility. I look for the nearest, widest thoroughfare and make a beeline.
-
The sign illuminating the Spiral Order is a purple square with a white cog inside of it. I walk through the door. Inside is the maze of cables and computers, except the arrangement is different. The previous version must have been a tutorial zone because the current layout is more open. The floor is clear. A group of adorable, children-sized knights cluster in front of a huge digital board hanging from the ceiling.
I move past them to a receptionist’s desk.
“Hello,” I say. “My name is Doctor Lawrence. I am a Clay-Rank adventurer and Apprentice in the Spiral Order. I would… like to do a dungeon crawl,” I add after a moment.
“ID?” the receptionist holds out an oversized hand attached to a skinny arm.
“I’m afraid I lost it,” I say looking down. I don’t know where it ended up. It doesn’t matter now, but…
The receptionist sighs. She taps on her keyboard and looks at a monitor.
“Class?”
“Um, [Arcanist], ma’am. It’s a [Scholar] specialization. I’m a… uh, Dreamer. I was here once as a Human, but right I’m in my world. I’m Dreaming right now.”
“I have your information.” The receptionist takes a long look at me. “You were part of the Sewer Crawl. Saved one of our recruits and three Human girls.”
“Qozu,” I say, remembering. It feels like a lifetime ago. “Starter gear, big blue eyes. Preferred a sword.”
“I know him.” The receptionist nods. “He’s on an expedition right now. Full team. We uncovered a new dungeon under the sewers. Access is prohibited to anyone under Squire or Iron Rank.”
“Okay. What do I need to do to get promoted?” I look up, hopeful. I try for a smile—people like smiles, right?—and raise my eyebrows. But it feels awkward.
“Go on missions. Clear out monster nests,” the receptionist says as if it’s obvious. “I suggest sticking to the easier floors until you level up. You need a full set of one-star gear to get promoted to Squire.”
“Thanks.” I let my face fall into a less unnatural smile. “And uh, where can I start?”
“The Arcade at the back.” She points to a row of elevators descending into the earth. Teams are four fill them. “You can apply to join an open party. Good luck finding one that accepts Dreamers, though.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” I smile and nod. And make my way there. And true to her words, all I get are polite refusals.
“No.” “Sorry.” “Our team’s full,” says a group of three. “Next time.” “Not today, noob.” “Come back in person.” “We’re not supporting a leech.”
There is one elevator yet empty, down at the end. The display monitor’s gate symbol shows three yellow, jagged, diagonal lines. It sort of looks like a claw scratch. I step onto the square-shaped floor and look around. The totem behind the console is illuminated, which means this elevator is working.
The totem’s icons reveal what floors are below. The topmost one is the Sewer Dungeon, a toxin-themed floor with icons I don’t recognize. I don’t recognize any of the icons, to be honest. I read the manuals and watched the tutorials. Or rather, I ‘Skimmed It.’ I recognize there are monsters below. Beasts and slimes with a poison theme. I half-turn to the arcade and stare.
Knights are streaming into the room. They form queues at all the elevators. A few approach the one I’m on, three males and a female. The female knight looks more or less the same as the males. The differences are a slimmer torso and metal pigtails attached to her helmet.
“Is this ‘vator taken?” the lead Spiral Knight asks. He and his friends wear one-star gear.
“Well, I’m on it. But you can join me,” I add, hopeful. I smile, and this time it doesn’t feel forced.
“Where are your weapons and armor, noob?” he says looking me up and down. I look down at myself, at once embarrassed. I’m in gray prison scrubs and a ratty t-shirt, with white cotton shoes.
“I’m afraid I lost it.”
“Well, you’re in no shape to head into the dungeon. Get lost noob. This is our ‘vator.” He crosses his arms. His friends pile onto the elevator. The five of us stand there.
“Excuse me?” I ask. My smile becomes a mask. He looks so much like a belligerent kid, it’s hard to take him seriously. “I’m a mage. I’ll be fine.” I hold up my hand for emphasis, letting him see the hornets crawling.
“Yeah, I’m not impressed, mage-Human. This is a wolver-den. Beasts. They’ll rip you apart.”
“I’m a Dreamer,” I protest. I put my hands on my hips. “I’ll survive.”
“So… you’re admitting that you’re a useless tourist with no levels? Get out,” he gestures, raising his voice. Heads turn. I’m not good at reading Spiral Knight facial expressions, but the mood in the Arcade is hostile.
There is no avatar whispering in my ear. I don’t have a familiar advising caution or friends to back me up. It’s me, my scrubs, and my stiff neck. I shake my head.
“I was here first. I’m going down this elevator.” I widen my stance. “You can either come with me or find a different one.”
The four knights stare at me for a long moment. They share a few looks. Something unsaid passes between them.
“—off, noob,” the leader says. “Go back to your guild, you—” He and his gang back away, cursing.
An unpleasant sensation settles in my gut. Furious, I turn back to the console and punch the button. A waist-high gate rises around the platform. The platform itself jerks, lowering into the dark. A few spinning yellow lights provide illumination, but there is no cage. This is not a freight elevator or safety-cage-thing like on a construction site. This is a platform on rails, descending.
The elevator stops. The area in the immediate vicinity houses a large metal chest. I stop off the elevator and onto the platform in front of the chest. A monitor appears in the air. The shadowy figure on it is me, but lacking a character sheet. Instead, it has the gear slots that the Spiral Knights use.
It’s an Arsenal Station. A place where Knights can swap their gear. I look at the dim, green hallway ahead decorated with moss and sludge. Beasts and some slimes or lichens. Jade-theme, which means poison. But the same level houses flame vents in the floor, which can ignite oiler lichens. And finally, there are sometimes constructs or low-tier fiends. Poison, fire, piercing, and shadow damage. Although, all monsters deal normal damage according to their theme or kind. Gah, this is confusing.
“[Resistance],” I say. My stamina bar descends another chunk. Still, a light haze covers my body. My health bar appears overlaid with a pale mist. Bonus health? Not bad, but not true damage resistance. “[Create Vine].”
Emerald roots tunnel under my skin, perpendicular to my blood vessels. A hole opens in my palm. The sensation is… slimy…ish. A slender, emerald stem descends from my palm. Leaves sprout from it at different points. Improvised whip, indeed. It could be much improved, but it is serviceable.
Whips deal… slashing damage, right? Or bludgeoning, depending on the strike. The tutorials said beasts were weak to piercing but resistant to elemental. Therefore, no fire spray or chocolate dart. Insect swarm it is. A hexagonal honeycomb covers my right, non-dominant hand. Brown bugs with yellow strips emerge from the holes in my ‘skin’ to explore.
That is so disgusting. I can feel the bugs moving. I rub my thumb and index finger together. I can feel the texture of the brown wood pulp. A morbid part of me wonders what a high-tier version of the spell would look like. A nightmare-inducing image appears in my brain, making me shudder and retch.
I make a mental note to acquire a wand at the earliest opportunity. Anyway, onward.
Ahead of me are two metal poles with a shimmering barrier between them. I walk through. All the hairs on my body stiffen as if in response to a current, then relax on the other side. I am here. Behind me, the elevator’s gears moan. The machine shifts into motion. Grinding gears drag the platform back up the shaft. I press a hand against the barrier, but from this side the shimmering light is unyielding.
Forward, then.
The first room contains… bushes. Lots of bushes. And grass. Short, stubby grass with the texture of a carpet. I can feel sensations of a sort, though it’s less what I’m feeling than what I perceive I’m feeling. Or, how I imagine it to feel.
I walk through the room. A triangular face appears out of a bush. The eyes on it are closed like an anime weasel. The fur is pale yellow.
“Arf!”
It has the cutest, high-pitched bark. It moves out of the bush, approaching without fear. The yellow fur continues down the length of its body, shading to a pale, bushy, squirrel-like tail. It barks twice more. Four additional furry faces poke out of the bushes.
I try to remind myself these are bloodthirsty monsters. More like hyenas than adorable puppies. But they are so cute. The first one approaches strafing sideways. I turn to follow it. The creature barks.
Pain flares in my calf. I look down and see a set of teeth tearing into my leg.
“OW,” I shout. I jump and kick. The little wolver releases and darts backward. The first wolver barks, dashing forward. I kick it in the face. The creature yelps in pain, retreating.
I hear a snarl from behind and reposition. I spin, twirling my whip once. I snap it over the pack’s head. The loud noise startles and scatters them. I glance up. I’m down twenty-five percent. One bite, from a creature the size of a chihuahua, and I’m down a quarter of my health. Wow. I hear more barking.
The faces reappear. I count five. They approach without fear, running forward, stopping, sniffing. Then a quick jump sideways and approaching.
Not chihuahuas. Hyenas. Deadly, adorable, lethal hyenas. With big teeth. I—I need more room. They’re too close to attack. I snap my whip, but the noise doesn’t appear to startle them a second time. One of them gets on its hind legs to bark at the ceiling.
“[Insect Swarm],” I say. I move sideways along the wall. A swarm of hornets covers the wolvers, but they don’t seem bothered. They come at me in a group. I hit the furthest with my whip. Its health drops a chunk, sending it retreating. It squeals in pain, but it’s up in a second and returning.
I move again, winding up for a strike. The wolvers scatter. I pick one out and strike. Pain flares on my ankle. I kick, sending the creature flying.
“Crap.” I hit the same wolver twice. It yelps, goes limp and vanishes in a puff of smoke. I cheer. “Haha. Suck it—OW.”
I whirl and kick, hard. The little animal goes flying. Part of me feels bad about that. I’m reminded of cliché villains doing some puppy-kicking for cheap evil. But the rest of me is thinking of the solitary health bar that decides whether I live or die.
I bare my teeth and focus. I spin my whip around, hearing the thin vine swish through the air. I hit a wolver, killing it in one hit. I am stronger, but they are faster. And there are so many. The last remaining wolver dives into the dirt.
“Can’t take the heat?” I ask the space where it vanished. I hear a long howl from behind. I turn around. The creature somehow tunneled or teleported under me. And that howl. I raise my arm and strike, but it’s too late. The damage is done. Even as the creature dies, more furry faces appear out of the darkness.
They yip and arf. And they look so cute. But one quick bite obliterated my resistance spell and took out a quarter of my health. I took three hits. Their fur is immune to bees. They use pack tactics. The approaching pack spreads out. I don’t wait. I step forward and attack.
And they can teleport. True, it’s a reposition-thing instead of an assassinate-thing. But it’s still powerful. And there are so many of them. I make do.
Charging, I kick at the nearest, taking it by surprise. Then turning, I smash another with my whip. At this range, the strike is weak. Therefore, I grab the end in my hand like a belt. I halve the reach but increase the power. My next hit strikes true.
The resounding crack reverberates down the hall. I follow up with a barrage of attacks. I press forward. I see the tunnel extend beyond the shrubs and force my way through them. The wolvers follow.
Dungeon-crawling. Within the Spiral Knight Sewers, it is less about traps and obstacles faced by parties and more about sheer monster-killing. There are simple puzzles, yes. Pick up that pot, throw it at that switch—I skip the pot and use my whip. But it is more about killing.
Lots of killing. The wolvers are cute but deadly. And by the second room, I meet two more enemy types. The first is the lichens.
Lichens are a type of slime. These lichens, the poison kind, are the color of jade behind glass. Each specimen has a crown of purple, chitinous spikes along the top, and a purple nucleus in the middle of the body. I strike and kick the first lichen, but the body resists my attacks.
Lichens… slimes… shadow damage. I dunno why they’re weak to ‘shadows’ instead of salt or cutting. Cutting them helps. It shaves off chunks of their body, reducing overall mass. But they behave like the liquid metal Terminator. The liquified bits covering the ground coalesce into larger chunks, which combine to form the original lichen. Destroying them is tedious.
They shoot those spikes as projectiles and reform them without delay. The wolvers are still coming. Being underground, the sounds of fighting travel far. In the distance, I hear sharp pops, battle cries, and beasts dying. But I fight in silence.
I waste no energy on words. Maintaining the vine spell is a constant drain, but without it I’m defenseless. A spike enters my leg, dropping my health. I give up fighting and run.
I bolt down the passageway, sprinting past surprised lichens and wolvers.
“Hey,” I scream. “HELP.”
I hear my voice echo down the hall. Ahead of me, the sounds of fighting intensify. I see a rectangular doorway ahead where the passage ends. I pass through and enter a cavernous room with many lichens. They spin toward me and start moving.
“Oh no,” I gasp. I skid to a halt. I’m about to turn around when the high-pitched yips echo down the corridor. I look over my shoulder. The dungeon has little in the way of illumination. Despite having no flashlight or torch, I can see.
Wolvers. Dozens of them. And larger, jade, spike-covered lichens.
Something squelches. I look ahead and see the lichens. Two of the smallest specimens press together. The outer membrane protecting them must disintegrate because in a flash I’m staring at one lichen. Slime, spikes, and nuclei merge. The larger lichen seems to regard me for a second. Then it swivels on the spot and rolls away. Toward another, smaller lichen.
“Oh no.”
I move sideways around the perimeter of the room. The lichen absorbs the smaller specimen and another. Then a third. In the end are two lichens each the size and relative shape of a beanbag chair. They look at me, then look at each other. Squelch.
“Oh no.”
There is one remaining, minor lichen the size of a basketball. The creature before me ignores it. Its cytoplasm is scarlet shading to purple near the nucleus. Purple spikes cover its body like armor. The spikes form a pattern with two big ones in the back, higher up. They aren’t eyes or antennae. More like—the lichen glows.
It spins. Something big flies past my head and shatters against the wall. I look at the pieces of chitin littering the ground. I look at the lichen. It glows again with golden light, rising and then squashing itself flat. Chitinous spikes erupt from the floor in a circle around it. The creature returns to a normal resting height, its sides jiggling.
I sprint for the room’s exit. My feet pound the stone. The lichen rolls over the ground, trying to block my path. I swing my whip like a lasso and hit it across the top. A red bar appears over its head. It was a good, solid hit. But the bar is huge. It decreases by a minuscule amount.
Of course: Normal damage, improvised weapon. I swing again, moving around it. The lichen takes the hit without flinching.
It glows. I duck in time as a line of spikes erupts from its body. The dodge throws me off balance. The lichen repositions, moving to follow. A loose collection of excited barking enters the chamber behind us. I dive into the tunnel. The lichen races after me.
-
Light sparks in the distance. Scarlet and amber mix with quick flashes and loud pops. As I come closer, I realize the sounds are gunfire.
“Hey,” I bellow. “Over here.”
I chance a look over my shoulder. I can’t see the lichen or hear the wolvers, but I don’t stop. I ran through three chambers of lichens and a dozen corridors of wolvers. Mixed, in many cases. Ahead of me, I see flashlights.
A bullet buzzes over my head like a hornet. I throw up my hands.
“Star!” someone roars. “STAR.”
“Don’t shoot,” I scream. “I’m unarmed. No weapons.” I release my spells. The honeycomb and hornets on my left hand vanish while the leafy vine disappears from my right. My skin returns to its soft, pallid normal. I skid to a halt in front of dozens of flashlights, most pointing at me. Behind them lie the dying.
A mass of people stands in the room. I activate Analysis as—
“Who are you?” someone roars. The guy talking sticks a rifle in my face.
“Lawrence,” I shout. “Clay-Rank adventurer. Dreamer.”
“Clay-Rank? What are you doing down here?” he asks lowering his weapon.
“I was exploring the Spiral Knights’ tunnels. Do you want to see my ID?” I keep my hands high.
“No, that’s all right.” He points his weapon at the floor. The people around him relax. One by one, the flashlights are lowered. He motions for me to step forward. “If you hear someone yell ‘star,’ say ‘Texas.’ That’s the counter-sign.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say. I try to keep my tone respectful, which isn’t hard when half a dozen guns are pointing in my general vicinity. “Uh, do I get to live?”
The guy frowns. He holds out an arm wrapped in thick leather. A bird with fiery plumage lands on it. Its wicked beak curves down like a hook. There is an intelligence in its yellow eyes, a kind of appraising look as if it’s deciding whether I’ll make a good meal.
“We’re hunting monsters not people,” says a voice to my left.
“Oh good,” I say, relieved. “For a minute you had me worried there. Um, there’s a bunch of lichens and an army of wolvers behind me.”
“Put your hands down,” the guy with the bird says. “You look ridiculous.”
I put my hands down.
“Are you—no, you said you’re not.” He looks over my shoulder, as if suspicious. “Where’s your team?”
“I don’t have one.”
Multiple faces stare at me. Behind this group, heads from another group swivel.
“You’re exploring the SK’s tunnels… alone?”
“And unarmed?” another, much deeper voice says. Their face is hidden behind a black helmet. “What level are you?”
“Level one.”
Both parties stare at me.
“Well, I’ve got some magic,” I say, a little embarrassed. “Some Tier One spells. Create Vine and Insect Swarm. I’ve got some whip Prowess and Improvised Whip. I was doing fine until they started swarming.”
“SK monsters are like that,” bird-man says.
“Hey,” a cheerful, female voice interrupts. “What’s your name?”
“Doctor Lawrence,” I say. “Level 1 [Scholar], subclass [Arcanist]. Mage specialization.”
“Doctor Lawrence?” Dark Helmet comes into the dim light. He stands nine feet tall. His armor is the color of used motor oil. Belphegor, male Half-Lord, Level 5 [Black Knight]. At his side is a diminutive woman in military fatigues. Unusually, instead of a rifle, she carries a tan Sig Sauer M18. I frown.
I can’t read her. Everyone else in the room I can read. Human fighters, a few mages, one [Ninja], and a dwarf [Detective], but not the woman. Army fatigues, an army-issued handgun, rank patch is a vertical bar. Lieutenant? She steps around the fire-bird leader. Tolvern, male Human, Level 5 [Phoenix Tamer].
“I’m Cassandra Archstar,” she says. She looks me up and down, taking in every detail of my appearance. Her expression mirrors the cops who arrested—no wait, it doesn’t. Not disgust or hate. There’s something else, but it’s gone in a flash. “Nice to meet you. Lawrence, is it?” she says, smiling.
“Yes ma’am.” I take a deep bow.
“Oh. Well, thank you,” she says. “What are you doing down here?”
“I was looking for… well, I don’t know.” I shrug. “I guess I was looking to do a dungeon crawl. But the Knights weren’t interested in letting me join.”
“Yes, this section isn’t suitable for beginners. You said you’re down here alone? You know that isn’t safe. You could die.”
“I’m a Dreamer,” I reply. “I’ll wake up. Honestly, the worst thing is trekking back from the spawn point every time.”
“Oh?” She sounds as if she’s feigning interest. She looks at Belphegor, the [Black Knight]. “We could use another mage.”
“We’re not babysitters,” the giant rumbles. “Applications to join go through the main guild. We’re a squad.”
“What’s this about another mage?” another voice steps into the light. Randall Stonecaller, male Human, Level 5 [Earth Mage]. Shirtless, washboard abs, low-riding pants. “You already have me.”
“Oh, hush, Randall,” the dwarf waves her hand at him. Sherry Magpie, female halfling, Level 5 [Private Investigator]. “You know she didn’t mean nothing by it.”
“Enough of this,” Tolvern snaps. Male Human, Level 5 [Phoenix Tamer], Level 3 [Fire Mage]. He waves his staff, sending sparks through the air. All his teammates lean away. “My [Dangersense] is going off. We’re Phoenix Fire and this the Brotherhood of Bacon. Stay out of the way.”
“Kid,” Greg gestures with his rifle.
“Come on mister Lawrence,” Cassandra says. “You can stand by us.”
I follow her between the scarlet-clad party members. Fighters and riflemen, a third of whom are women. I stare up at the big knight. And he glances down at me for all of two seconds.
“Something big is coming,” Belphegor says. He looks at the hallway behind me. “Human, what is following you?”
“Um. Several max-size lichens. And an army of wolvers.”
“Are you serious?” someone exclaims.
“Yeah,” I ready my spells. Then I check my stamina and don’t. Instead, I subtly position myself sideways behind some of the beefier men. “Turns out, both species are pretty tenacious.”
The fire mage raises one hand. A basketball of fire appears, balanced on his palm. The other members of his party retreat. The fire mage throws the ball down the hallway. Its light illuminates a dozen jam-colored lichens and a horde of sourdough wolvers.
“Engage,” Tolvern shouts. I jam my fingers in my ears in time as everyone with a gun fires. Flashlights and tracer rounds fill the tunnel. Mages throw spells. The warriors wait or keep watch.
“Holy cow,” I whisper, but my voice is lost in the cacophony. The wolvers scream as they die. The lichens burst and liquefy, spilling their spikes and cytoplasm. The lichens behind absorb both as they advance, healing even as they take damage. The first lichen reaches the chamber and flash-steps.
In the space of a second, it dashes twenty feet to the left.
“Rangers, back away,” Belphegor bellows. “Warriors, advance.”
The riflemen and mages cease firing. Raising shields and weapons, the melee users form a line. Belphegor deflects a flying spike with his shield and charges the tunnel. He swings his sword in great, sweeping arcs. The remaining wolvers try to bite him, but their teeth can’t scratch his armor. He ignores them. Behind him comes Cassandra Archstar, the… soldier?
She drops the wolvers with one bullet each, seeming unconcerned with the vehicle-sized lichen next to her. The beast rolls toward her.
“Oh no you don’t,” one of the scarlet-clad fighters roars. He puts himself between them. the lichen bashes him with its spikes. He cries out, and all his friends dogpile the creature.
“Cool,” I say. I keep my fingers jammed in my ears. Down the tunnel, Belphegor thrusts forward with his shield, bashing a lichen. Fired spikes shatter on his armor. He swings, catching the lichen’s nucleus. He steps into the disintegrating mess before the other lichens can absorb it and keeps going.
“Hey, do something.”
I look to the side. The dwarf girl looks at me. Not sure if she’s a girl or a lady, but she holds a .38 Special. Couldn’t she be more original? Oh, whatever. I was an archaeologist using whips. I can’t complain.
“Excuse me?” I query.
“You’re a mage, right? Use your spells.” She nods at the monsters. The lichen is hemmed in by fighters with levels three through four. The fire mage lobs orbs over Belphegor’s head.
“Why?” I gesture with an elbow. “I can’t hit anything.”
“Cassandra’s going to ask you to stick with us. Didn’t you see that look? Bel will refuse, but he’s honorable. If you try, that’s better than doing nothing.” She keeps her weapon pointed at the floor, in both hands, with her finger off the trigger.
“Easy for you to say,” the earth mage comments, coming up on her other side. “All you do is pick locks. [Dividing Rock].” He pitches a spherical rock in a parabolic arc. One rock becomes five, crushing the lichens packed into the tunnel.
“I do more than pick locks,” the dwarf protests. She glares at him. “I’m a [Private Investigator]. I talk to people.”
“You can talk to my locks.” The earth-mage grins. “Or is that all you use them lockpicks for?”
The dwarf flips him off. He laughs.
I look from one to the other. Sexual harassment in the workplace? But she doesn’t seem that bothered by it. And what was that about joining them?
“Hey, noob,” the earth mage, Randall says. “Do something.”
“Uh, right. Um.” I squint at the tunnel. The warriors file into the space after Belphegor and Cassandra, keeping well clear of the former’s wide swings. Cassandra squashes or shoots the small enemies that get past him. I ready… what? What spell do I use?
A whip won’t work in this environment. The quarters are too tight, too many people. My spells are basic. I have spray of flames, but I can’t control it. Insect Swarm will target everyone. The best spell is Chocolate Dart, but I can’t get a clear shot.
“Two lichens down,” the black knight roars. “Brotherhood of Bacon, on me.”
The earth mage and the detective disobey. They stay where they are rather than join the melee. The earth mage fires shards of rock. The detective readies her firearm but keeps it pointed at the ground. I don’t see where the ninja went, but I guess that’s the point.
I tremble with vertigo. For a moment, the world is moving. I fight through it to stay focused. I point my finger in the general direction of the baddies. But there are too many people to get a clear shot. The world shifts again. I—