After the door that was embedded into the wall of my neighbor’s house was cleared, I moved to a door in the middle of the complex. My footstep’s echoes were masked by the now pouring rains, and my approach was masked by the cold permeating the world as winter swept in like a phantom. It was December 23rd, 2022, and cold rain weighed down the gray cloth of my hoodie. I pushed through the white and windowed, free-standing door. Level 5, according to the Shard.

As I step through the blackness, I find myself at the edge of a large crossroads with a hastily built camp occupying the center. Surrounded on all sides by pillars of wood, sharpened to a point, and old tattered, canvas peaks poking out over them. A flag flies over the top; battered by the wind, and pocked full of holes. It was primarily white, with a red dagger piercing through the skull of a cat. Through the fogwall that encircled the occupied crossroads, were large houses; apartments, or something similar, more than likely. I glanced back from where I had stepped out of: a carriage, crashed into the side of a house. Down the road, hundreds more of these buildings line the cobblestone streets. How many of those cat things lived here?

“What’s the goal?” I asked the Shard.

Kill The Enemy 0/1.

Destroy the Altar 0/1

Only one enemy again? Easy.

I step confidently toward the camp; sure that nothing would be able to harm me now that I had a shield. Sure; I was a level lower than the dive, but what did that matter? I read it somewhere online years back: shields were like the great equalizer during combat. Before getting too far, I lean my spear against my shoulder pull my wand from my pocket, and press it to my body.

“You that bind the all, protect me from all that might do me harm.”

Repel glimmered to life around me, and I slipped my wand back into my pocket, I continued my approach to the camp, and I could smell something cooking. Thin lines of black smoke curls to join the ever-present fog covering the skies. I hurry up my steps.

“Lorak mol loy bi.” A hoarse, almost growl speaks just before an invisible force slams against my left arm and knocks me off my feet. I rolled to a stop, right against the fogwall.

Rising out of the camp was what I can only describe as a werewolf, almost. Though it didn’t look much like a wolf. Instead, it looks like a black Pharaoh Hound. Gold rings on its large, pointed ears catch the bold gray light of the never-setting sky. It wore a tunic bearing the same symbol as the flag that flew over its camp, and carried a pair of khopeshes as it walked in the air toward me.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

It points one of its curved blades toward me, and a spiraling funnel forms around its blade and shoots out. I raise my shield, and the wind slams against the wooden planks. Before I even have a chance to glance out again a shadow fell over me as the airwalking dogman fell upon me. One point of the khopesh it held in its left slides across my throat and skitters off my Repel as it places its knee on my groin. It growled and stabbed down with the blade in its right at my face. I manage to raise my shield to avoid it going even deeper than the small divot the blade managed to make in my cheek and shove hard enough to pin its arm against its chest.

I push my spear up through its gut, but it catches on something hard and metallic. It grins against me, as it stabs me in the side. Once I feel the bite of the blade sliding into my stomach, I let go of the spear and grab hold of the blade. It slides and bites my hand and I let go, and instead slam my fist into the side of its neck and push against the creature’s shoulder to stop it from sliding that biting blade further into my side. What can I do? What can I do? I fill my life blood pouring from my side, as its brass blade inched further and further in. What could I do? Its head looked down at me with a wicked grin on its jackal-like face. Its broad throat throbbing as saliva dripped down its pointed teeth.

Teeth…

I raise my head up and clamp down on the creature’s throat. Its short, oily fur nearly makes me gag as I bite down as hard as I can. It yelps and removes the blade from my side, and tries to navigate over the rim of the shield over my neck to cut open my own throat. I pull back, hard. Hot red blood pours down over my face as the dogman rolls off of me, and clutches at its neck. I stand up and spit the chunk of flesh in my mouth at the creature as it rolls around on the ground; its blood staining the bright stone. I pull the wand out of my pocket and press it to my side.

“Hail Mary, full of Grace, I beseech thee to seal my wounds, by the power of Christ thine Heavenly Son.”

I nearly vomit as my wound begins to seal. I nearly stumble forward as I step toward the camp to find the altar. About halfway to the camp, the dogman finally dies, and I cast Lesser Heal again, and when I hiss again, a bit of the blood staining my face drips down into my mouth.

A small fire smolders in the middle of the camp, and on it something that looks remarkably like a small rabbit sizzles on a slat of metal. I poked around the tents for a bit. They were mostly occupied by beds and trunks that were locked. I had no way of opening them at the moment. Perhaps I should buy a crowbar…

I pick up the trunks that I could carry and set them around the door I had stepped into Efra from. If I had thrown them in, there was a chance of them being taken by someone else. I do the same for the khopeshes that the dogman had. I could probably sell those.

The tent was set apart from the rest and did not share a wall with any other I found three such trunks; one with a golden lock, one rather large one that felt as if something heavy and metal was inside of it, and the other what was obviously a clothing trunk, as well as a handful of papers and maps. I set those by the carriage as well. There was a scarce shortage of weapons: perhaps those who had left this camp with them never returned. In what I presumed to be the commander’s tent, I find the altar.

It’s made of a well-varnished wood, of the same dark wood that about nearly everything made of wood seemed to be made of here. Three candles sit around the skull of a catman, and a wavy dagger is stuck in its head. Draped over it was the same flag flying over the camp. I pull the dagger out of the skull, and the ancient bone turns to dust. I turn it over in my hand and examine it. It’s a beautiful piece: a curved, golden handle that sat well in my hand. The handle had ten glimmering purple gemstones embedded, that looked as if they cast their own light. The metal itself was a shining silvery metal that caught light as if it were water. I look around for a moment until I find its sheathe buried in the blankets of the nearby bed. I slide it in and put it in my pocket.

“Now...how to destroy this.”

After a moment of thinking, I grab hold of the blankets and bundle them together on top of the altar, and stick my wand into the middle of the bundle.

“I allow the blood of the salamanders to flow through me.”

The triangle on the pale wooden wand glows a bright red, as ash pours out, and the cloth catches fire. I hurry out of the camp and begin tossing things out of the door. When I get the notification that the altar has been destroyed, and I finish tossing the things out. I step into the carriage as well, and back to Earth.