"It really isn't that big a deal." Coach Russell assured me. His tone sounding as relaxed as always.

I stared at him, but didn't say anything further.

My body remaining still as stone as my eyes tracked the two-headed raven flying above us.

It felt weak. Barely above a normal animal in terms of physical might. Yet it had still been smart enough to lead a pack of wolves straight to us. Its two sets of eyes assessing us with a cold, calculated stare as it waited for the growling predators to act.

"Normal ravens do this sometimes." He continued. "It's normal for them to lead wolves to prey so they can get a few scraps after the fact. Some ravens will even form bonds with young pups by playing with them while they're still, well, young. You know, people really do underestimate how smart animals are in general, but corvids really are on another level. They've even been known to use tools and they have a deep understanding of societal norms and the principles of reciprocity. If you befriend a group of them by feeding them every so often, they will learn to dislike the people you dislike, especially if they act aggressively towards you. Something like this isn't anything out of the ordinary."

"It has two heads." I repeated.

"So? Lots of animals have two heads." He answered condescendingly.

Knowing damn well it would irritate me further.

"No. Lots of monsters have two heads. In the Dungeon."

He sighed in an overly dramatic manner. The sound carrying even over the still-present growling all around us.

"Cecil, this whole patch of forest surrounds the Dungeon. It's been drinking in torrents of ambient magic for several decades now. Even as the amount of magic increases year after year. Of course weird things are going to pop out now and again."

"And you don't think this is weird?" I asked pointedly.

He only shrugged his massive shoulders once more.

"Not in the slightest. In fact, it would be weirder if there weren't any changes. Especially now that a monster apocalypse is but three years away. Breaking Day will be bad, but it won't be a big, sudden change out of the blue. Little things will start to happen around the world here and there before the dam finally snaps and magic floods the outside like a tsunami."

He pointed to the bird with a bored expression.

"Mutations are going to happen whether we like it or not. So sit back and relax already. This much is nothing compared to the odd Ripper that escapes from the first floor now and then. Even a mundane bloke with a gun would be able to get out of this unscathed."

I stared him down. My eyes so focused on his stupid, self-assured grin that I feared I might punch him by reflex.

'It would feel good.' I told myself. 'It would feel oh so very good to finally let him know how I really feel. He's had it coming for a while now and it isn't like he'll feel it either way. Yeah. You know what? I'll go for it. Maybe it'll help me relax.'

Chances were he probably wouldn't feel it anyway.

I felt my skin tingle then. My senses effortlessly tracking the wolves as they circled closer and closer. Their soft paws brushing against roots and fungal matter on the forest floor. All of which I could feel as extensions of myself.

It was similar to when I had grown the plants within the first floor, but with a distinct sense of discontinuation.

I was now more connected to them, but we had not become one unending whole, as I had done with the beans back then.

Indeed, when I allowed my magic to flow a bit more freely, I could see them from within their own perspectives as well as my own. Their heartbeats resonating with mine even as they plotted to bring me and coach Russell down.

Also, while I could more or less get a feel for their hunger, there was an emotion that was curiously missing. I couldn't sense the sheer, insurmountable terror any living being should be feeling when faced with a freak of nature like my coach.

'They can't sense us.' I realized with some curiosity. 'Not our magic anyway. They see two men in the woods. Alone. While trusting the raven to bring them towards easy marks.'

That was... unfortunate.

For them, anyway.

"Hey, Cecil." Coach Russell said suddenly. "You're focusing on the wolves, right?"

I blinked.

"Yes?"

"I want you to stop then. Try to focus on the raven and only the raven." He said. "Try to see if you can connect with it. Or if it can tell that you have magic."

I shrugged and did as he asked.

The bird was a much smaller outline than the wolves, but it was slightly stronger at the same time. I could feel faint trickles of magic gathered around its feathers, its wings, its eyes. Coating its body as if the magic were some sticky remnant of an oil spill.

"Huh." I said aloud. My eyes and other senses now focused solely on it.

"It isn't like a monster at all. It can't really use magic. It's only affected by it. It changed, but not to the point where magic is part of it."

Then I stopped, considering the implications based on my current knowledge.

"Is this what people who don't get cores are li...?"

I was just about to take a step towards him, when I felt a half itchy, half tickling sensation around my neck. The odd feeling yanking me out of the hyper-focused state I'd been in.

It didn't hurt. Not quite.

Instead, it felt as though there was a mosquito landing on me.

I reached out to scratch myself on instinct and stopped when my fingers felt something furry instead of my own skin.

I noted the change in coach Russell's expression then. Going from mild worry, to barely suppressed laughter.

I looked down and then moved my head to the side. Following the fangs to the face they were attached to.

Then, in the back of my mind, I thought about how many novels could have been written on the wolf's expression alone.

He or she, I really didn't know, had what I could best describe as the expression of someone who had just realized they'd killed one of Mike Tyson's pet pigeons.

That is, prime form Mike Tyson.

In front of him.

Whilst blowing raspberries in his general direction.

Time seemed to slow down all around us, and in those few precious moments; I swore I could pinpoint the exact second in which the would-be attacker realized it was time to start running. Their wolfish eyes dilating into the perfect picture of supernatural terror.

For my part, I was so surprised that I swung my arm in one potent, fluid motion.

The wolf lost their grip on my neck at once.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Then they went flying like a football. Until the animal's body found the bark of a nearby tree.

There was loud crack that cut through the air like knife through hot butter. And then the poor creature slumped down.

Their spine twisted in odd directions at several places. Their chest caved-in as though an elephant had stepped on it.

I turned to the rest of the pack. Staring at them.

They stared right back. Alongside their raven accomplice who had both set of eyes locked on me and my fist as both of their mouths hung open in apparent disbelief.

Then it turned. Quick as lightning, and flew away. Its wings beating the air like a pair of drums as it frantically tried to get away as fast as it possibly could.

The wolves wasted no time either. Turning tail and making for the deeper parts of the forest with a flurry of motion.

Me and coach Russell stood still throughout the whole ordeal. Not making a sound until all the animals had left.

Then, I went over to the wolf. Pumping magic into it to bring it back to health.

"Cecil, she's dead." Coach Russell said. In a voice that was very matter-of-fact.

"I read somewhere that brain-death doesn't occur for a few seconds." I told him. Not taking my eyes or hands of the wolf.

There was a mote of indignation bubbling within me at the same time. My chest pounding as I realized this wouldn't have happened if he hadn't told me to focus on the raven instead.

'I could have dodged the bite. I would have dodge the bite. Very easily too. Was he trying to teach me something with the raven? Or was this all some elaborate prank? If so, why? Did he want to prove that wolves like these really weren't anything? Or was his point that I'm already strong enough as is and that I don't need to be so focused on training?'

If so, he'd failed miserably.

Hurting the animal hadn't done anything but upset me. Yet even that sparked another round of inquiries.

'Why do I feel so angry right now? It's not like it's a dog or anything. It's a wolf. A predator. Something that was trying to eat me just now. It is no less bloodthirsty than the freaking Rippers are. So, why do I feel this way?'

To that, I had no answer.

I simply knew that it was alive and I had killed it.

And that fact slithered around the pit of my stomach like a tangle of angry, very bitey serpents. Despite me having killed thousands of monsters by now without feeling an ounce of regret.

'Whatever. There will be time for questions later. Focus on the healing.'

The body drunk my magic eagerly. Spine twisting and re-shaping itself into a shape that was more or less that of a canine.

Yet, it still looked odd somehow. As if I were sketching a wolf whilst half-asleep.

'Or drunk.' I thought bitterly.

The limbs were too long. The snout too squished in. The torso too broad and muscular.

So that it resembled an emaciated gorilla more than anything else.

And still, the flesh continued to change. Twisting and spiraling around the thickening bones like vines around a tree.

Growing, growing, growing...

Until the poor creature began to dwarf the usual Rippers in terms of bulk.

Then, I noticed another curious thing. The small plants and bits of fungus that made up the undergrowth had started to set into the body as well. Making the muscles swell even more as they intermingled.

I cursed my lack of control. Reasoning that the little magic I allowed to leak had been more than enough to alter these other lifeforms.

I expected the animal to truly die then. Her flesh devoured by scavengers eager for an easy meal.

But that did not happen.

Instead, the plants began assembling themselves along the lines of the already existing muscle. Same with the fungal matter that expanded along the bones. They wove themselves inside organs. Both the ones that were intact and the ones I had ruptured.

And still the creature grew.

Enlarging itself with my magic as a battery.

It got to the point where the previously simple and, in all honesty, emaciated looking wolf now looked like something that would be hunting Rippers on the regular. Appearing as a semi-bipedal monster with only a vague semblance of canine features.

However, its claws were made of wood and mushrooms grew around its eyes and along its back. Spores covering the spaces between its thick fur like padding beneath armor.

Then, I felt it. Heard it, even.

The loud, consistent thudding.

Of a beating heart.

----------------------------------------

Cecil was sighing. Looking almost happy, as he stared up at the Frankenstein's monster he'd just created. The stitched-together abomination rising on two heavy-set legs as its dog-like snout sniffed at the air.

"Thank goodness." He said. "I was worried it was going to die."

That statement left me a bit conflicted.

Now, on one hand, Cecil was fourteen; and contrary to what him and many, many other claimed, I was not, in fact, a psycho.

A bastard, sure. I was man enough to admit that.

But not a psycho.

I understood emotions just fine. Besides that, I'd been tested for it too. Multiple times.

So, I could appreciate that a kid like him might be bummed out after killing an animal. After all, I'd grown up on a farm and killing pigs still messed me up.

I still did it because they tasted delicious, but it did affect me.

On the other hand, this was not an appropriate time for a fourteen year old boy to feel relief. I knew that because I was much, much older than Cecil was, and I was just about to shit my pants.

The thing in front of me was nothing less than a crime against nature. Like my first mother in-law, but somehow even uglier and more bloated.

Its mouth was half open as it started to breathe again. Its mutated chest heaving as the muscles ripping out of the skin had to bear the strain of its own weight, plus all the plants and mushrooms that had crawled inside it and died.

It had a tongue that was far too long and far too green. Coupled with a breath that smelled like my second mother in-law. Though, on a second sampling of tainted air, it was perhaps not quite as putrid as she had been.

That tongue now tasted the air like a snake.

Slobbering pink, frothy drool all over the place as bits of blood and coughed-up chunks of lung were mixed in with its saliva.

More mushrooms became visible then. Sprouting around the eyes and ears. Twitching every few seconds or so as if they too could taste the air around us.

That was when I recalled something Carlyle had said about Cecil.

Not this young, good kid, but the Cecil he had known in the original timeline.

"I have known many monsters, Russell. But even the worst of them paled in comparison to some of the people I ran into."

Carlyle had seemed distant, when he said that. Melancholic, even.

"The Necromancer of Nepal was bad, of course. But at least he openly advertised. You only had yourself to blame if you blundered into his territory and he was even known to let refugees through on occasion. Then there was the Cancun Cannibal and the Chicago Minotaur. The Glasgow Gouger and the Detroit Despoiler. The Detroit Firestarter. The Detroit Gravedigger. The Detroit Butcher. The Detroit Cannibal. The other Detroit Cannibal. The other, other Detroit Cannibal. That one was really bad. The other two would at least kill you before they started. Again, terrible, but they stayed in one place. You knew what you were getting into going in."

He had gone so far as to chuckle at his own dry humor.

"No, the really horrible ones were the roaming killers. Good old Atomic Tony was a well meaning imbecile, but an imbecile he remained. I'm honestly convinced he must have had some severe developmental delay or something. Because it somehow never occurred to him that magic radiation was just as bad, or even worse than regular radiation. So you'd have entire swathes of the US where Super Cancer was the leading cause of death. Even with more and more monsters popping out the ground. Then, we get to Skin-flaying Sanchez in Colombia and Molten Mario in the Italian wastes. Luca the Leper and Asteroid Arthur. People who just indulged in whatever they wanted. Though, oddly enough, them turning into warlords saved a lot more people than Tony with his theatrics."

He had sighed as he eyed the forms on the table. The job offer and the invitation.

"And then there are those that I can't really call people. The Mummy was one, of course. But we never could figure out who he or she was. For all I know, he or she is still out there. Waiting to emerge on Breaking Day like some primordial evil slithering away from a tomb."

He had shivered at the thought.

"Then we have Cecil. Good old Rancher's Bane. Lazily drifting through northern Canada and striking out at random without a care in the world."

Carlyle looked at the forms again.

"We didn't think he was a person at first. Merely the presumed super-predator that had climbed to the top of the food-chain on the North American Continent. That changed when I got close enough to read his mind."

Carlyle looked very sad again.

"Fifty people died for me to get that chance. Fifty of the top fighters humanity had to offer. In the span of a few seconds. Tony foremost among them. Cecil didn't even flinch. Tore his torso from his hip with a swipe of one of his bladed tails. Just like that. Here one second, gone the next. And that was with [Chimera] being a fourth-stage core. Though of course, we didn't know that at the time. Thinking back, I don't think he even looked at him."

He chuckled again.

"I don't think he cared."

Carlyle signed the forms and rose from his desk to scan and email them through the printer.

"I didn't manage to kill him, in case you were wondering. I could tell the mind was somewhat human, but it was so warped that I could only gleam a few details before my magic was rebuffed. Then it evolved on the spot to counter my magic and I knew it was time to go."

A hint of shame had shown up on Carlyle's face then.

"You know, Russell, some people have theories on what affects the cores we get. There is the entire aspect of training, of course, but we both know that not all of our students are made equal. Just like how not all advanced cores are made equal."

He had been scanning the forms with shaking hands. As if remembering the fight.

"Some people, myself included, think that genes play a role too. Not just in inheritance, but in what core we get in the first place. After all, there was no time to train the first time. No one had any advanced warning and the few Dungeons that were discovered were monopolized by the governments of the world. Though it didn't do them much good for all that. I was working for them the first time around and I managed to get a seventh-stage core right off the bat. While my peers considered themselves lucky to get second-stage cores. Then, you had guys like Cecil, who never trained a day in his life aside form the struggles with starvation, somehow turning into living nightmares."

"So you chose to invite him." I'd cut in.

"Of course I did!" He'd replied cheerfully.

"I made sure to leave him enough time to fully develop into a somewhat sane individual, since I figured an early inception might be counter-productive to mental health. But make no mistake. That monster is still there. Waiting to spread its wings like a butterfly springing out of its cocoon."

He'd finished sending the papers then. An impish, cat-like smile on his face.

"But hey. If he must come out, better that he grow into a nice tight leash this time around."