Claire idly munched away at her meal, taking slow, tiny bites as she sunbathed atop a boulder. She was sitting roughly a hundred steps away from the floor’s entrance, contemplating her options as she swapped back and forth between a rock-hard loaf and a handful of local grasses. Both were disgusting. The native vegetables were the more palatable choice, but the halfbreed didn’t dare eat them on their own—they would only upset her stomach without accompaniment.

The question of her diet nagged at the back of her mind as she looked across the meadow, but it was hardly her primary concern.

Her destination was a place called Borrok Peak, but she hadn’t the slightest clue as to where it was or how she was meant to find it. She assumed from its name that it was probably a mountain or some other rocky landmark, but while the dungeon seemed to go on forever in every which way, she could make out no such location; there was nothing but greenery and mud for as far as the eye could see. Her ears proved just as unhelpful. Not knowing what to listen for, she could filter little from the cacophony that flooded her surroundings. The rustling of grass was often overlaid with the buzzing of insects and the squawking of birds; the smaller critters’ chirps and barks were muted by all the marine life splashing about. Fish were leaping in and out of the water as they desperately strived to escape avians, crocodilians, and avian crocodilians alike. Even the aggressive croaks made by the feathered frogs were often covered up by the louder, more frantic squeaks made by their prey.

Shaking her head and lowering her ears, she took another bite of grass. The authority skill had been upgraded at some point during her ascent; her food list had expanded to include fried frog wings, but while she certainly preferred meat to simple greens, the specific choice of protein had heavily dissuaded her. Her mother had always claimed that frogs were a delicious source of nutrition, but Claire did not share the sentiment. Frog meat was too elastic; she hated how chewy and springy it was. Even with her teeth sharp and pointed, she found it a chore to tear through their flesh and break down their rubbery muscles. Their fishy flavour only further worked against their texture—the combined memory of which nearly left her retching. Fighting back the urge, she took a break from eating and tossed a piece of bread into the nearest patch of water. She set her vegetables down as well, placing them in the basket summoned alongside her meal.

The local fish soon gathered, their mouths opening and closing as they nibbled away at the processed grain. The food was going to waste, but she didn’t mind. The authority skill had provided her with enough to feed a family.

Claire threw another loaf, but none of it went to the fish. A group of birds swooped in and stole it for themselves. The black-feathered crows were larger than the individuals that frequented the castle’s garden, the fault of which could easily be attributed to their cybernetic enhancements. Some had glowing eyes, while others had mechanical wings or feet. One was more artificial than organic, its talons the only parts still made of flesh.

The metallic modules reminded her of a smith’s or artificer’s work, but she soon dismissed the conjecture on account of its feasibility. Not even celestial craftsmen—literal demigods—could turn existing creatures into automata. The crows could only have been dungeon spawn, just like the frogs and the rats.

Most of the birds left when she exhausted the rest of the bread, flying off as they croaked and gurgled. The only individual to remain was the one with the most mechanical parts. It hopped over to Claire with confidence, ruffled its metal feathers, and even squawked for effect.

“What do you want?” Claire eyed the bird with suspicion, keeping a hand on a dagger as it slowly hopped closer.

She was unable to decipher its croaking, but following its eyes confirmed that it was looking at her collection of edible grasses.

“This is mine. You can’t have any.”

It squawked again, prompting her to tighten her grip on her boney blade.

“Come any closer, and I’ll hit you.”

Though she glared and snarled, the corvid showed no signs of stopping. It closed in on the bread basket with its eyes glinting and a line of drool leaking from its mouth. Claire tried to shoo it away, but it leapt over her arm and stole a beakful of herbs.

Her brow twitching, the halfbreed drew her blade and slashed at the bird, but it dodged with a halfhearted flap of the wings and returned a smug caw. She swung at it again, but it ignited the thruster hidden beneath its tail and took to the air, flying circles around her head.

Adding insult to injury, it deposited a large unsanitary splotch of black and white inside her basket. After confirming that its bomb had landed on target, it gave one last victorious squawk and flew off into the forest above.

Its victim was left frozen with her eyes narrowed and her brow twitching. She slowly looked up at the woodlands, down at her plate, and up again before clenching her fists and gritting her teeth. Shooting to her feet, she kicked her basket into the marsh and silently chased the miscreant that had ruined her meal.

Her Tracking skill activated as she focused on the bird’s trail. It wasn’t precise, but as far as the angry half-reptilian was concerned, the direction was enough. She slowed only to avoid conflict with any monsters she crossed, darting into the marsh and shrubbery while her eyes remained fixed on her goal. The rocket-bird’s speed only served to fuel her rage. Every meter it gained was one she spent seething, but there was little she could do to keep up. The bog weighed her down. Her clothes were soaked and dirtied by the muddy brine, and her skin hardly fared any better, itching throughout the thirty minutes she spent in pursuit.

Her target stopped moving roughly halfway through the chase. She didn’t know the reason, but whatever the case, it presented the perfect opportunity to strike it unawares.

The halfbreed crouched low as she reached her destination, a necessary precaution to mask her scent. She needed the element of surprise. The bird would simply evade again if it was alerted to her presence.

Directing her gaze at a group of trees, Claire found her target sitting on a particularly thick piece of wood, just a few branches away from a rusted, cast-iron nest. While the bird and its home were both right side up, the tree itself was upside down.

That was when she saw it. Just past the corvid and its oaken home was a stone building hidden behind a set of willows. Their grand canopies stood so tall that they were mere centimetres from touching the marsh. The home wasn’t built into a clearing, looking instead as if it were abandoned or perhaps reclaimed by nature’s might. Vines ran along its sides, with their roots pushing through the sand-coloured bricks.

It had two points of contact with the ground, one in the marshy meadow and the other in the forest above. Its top half was difficult to see, with all the shrubbery obscuring the details, but the bottom part was clearly designed for its particular environment. The entryway was too high for the bog to reach. It stood on a raised platform featuring a multi-layered doormat stitched together from dirty rags. Sitting right above it, atop the old wooden doors, were two knobs. One was easily at chest level, while the other was higher up on the frame.

Though the structure was fascinating, Claire tore her eyes away and focused on her target, approaching it with her breath held and her daggers drawn. The branches shook as she stepped across them, but the vibrations were subtle enough to go unnoticed. Two blades assailed her victim as soon as the distance was closed, one from overhead and another from the side. The crow’s metal frame collapsed with surprising ease, crumbling immediately under the weight of the attack.

Log Entry 514

You have slain a level 7 altered raven.

You have been awarded the following first-kill bonus:

- 1 point of agility

- A new spawnable drink

“Oh. It was a raven.”

Log Entry 515

Your Sneaking skill has evolved into the rogue-specific Assassinate skill.

Assassinate

The cold-blooded murder of a single mother has proven your ability to deal in death without remorse. Your thoughtless act of revenge has left her children without a caretaker. The only fates that remain for them now are predation or starvation.

This skill greatly improves your ability to hide and strike at the unsuspecting. Individuals out of combat are more susceptible to your status conditions and attacks.

“Thanks, Box. I clearly wasn’t feeling bad enough already.” Muttering under her breath, she turned to the rusted nest and confirmed that the bird had been a mother of four. The chicks were asleep at first, but they perked up as she drew closer, opening their mouths and cheeping as they begged to be fed.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Just put them out of their misery,” said the serpent on her shoulder.

“No one asked you.”

“Maybe not, but it’s free experience. No reason to pass that up.”

“They’re probably level one.”

“All the more reason to harvest them before they learn to resist.”

“That would make me no better than Father.” Twisting her lips into a slight frown, the halfbreed spent a few moments observing the chicks before grabbing the nearest food source. Ripping off a few pieces of the flesh, she dropped it into their mouths and watched the funeral in motion.

Log Entry 516

You have earned an achievement: Nemesis of Altered Ravens.

Your dysfunctional mind has failed to remind you that most people don’t eat their mothers. You have wronged a group of chicks by driving them to break a racial taboo. Altered ravens will now identify you as an enemy of their species on sight.

“Oops.”

The achievement immediately changed the chicks’ behaviour. They began backing away from her, nearly squishing each other as they huddled in the nest’s furthest corner. Their chirping turned more aggressive, louder and deeper, and the largest pecked at her hand, its razor-sharp beak drawing a hint of blood.

“Fine. Starve then. See if I care.” Narrowing her gaze, she withdrew her hands and leapt from the inverted tree.

Landing on a slightly muddier patch of grass, she headed straight for the decrepit building. The doormat in front of the entrance was dusty as a desert, but it aided greatly in getting the mud off her feet. She reached for the lower doorknob once she was cleaned to her satisfaction but found it stuck in place. The upper knob, which she could barely reach by standing on the tips of her toes, exhibited the same behaviour. Both rattled when she turned them, but they refused to budge. They were clearly locked, but there was no keyhole or magical conductor to allow access to its interior.

“Must be broken,” she said as she carefully inspected it again. She suspected she could have climbed up to the forest and tried the other entrance, but she grabbed her boney mace and smashed the wooden barricade instead. The old, brittle plank splintered on contact; a few solid strikes were all it took to break it down.

With the wood out of the way, she found herself gazing upon a dusty workshop. The floor was covered in wrenches, nails, hammers, and saws, all haphazardly strewn around. Clothes and mechanical parts were given the same treatment, the latter evidence that it had once been an artificer’s abode. Though certainly caked in grime and other miscellaneous, unsanitary materials, the building’s interior was in a surprisingly good condition. There was a lot of dust, but no cobwebs or other signs of infestation.

The halfbreed cocked a brow as she observed the furniture. Half was on the floor, which was to say that the other half was suspended from the ceiling. Some pieces were bolted to their surfaces, but others remained where they were, even without bits of metal to hold them in place. Though certainly confused, Claire dismissed the curiosity and headed for the pantry. There were no preserved foodstuffs, but neither did she come up empty-handed. She found a series of knives still sharp and unrusted. They were not originally intended as weapons, but their appearances at least suggested that they would be more useful than the flimsy bones strapped to her thighs. She took all of them with her, knife block and all for ease of transport.

Continuing to explore the building, she found a room repurposed as a massive walk-in closet. There was nothing in her size, for her species, or even for her sex, but Claire stole from the wardrobe regardless. Grabbing the large leather pouch in the corner of the room, she nabbed as many cloaks as she could. The larger, single pieces of fabric were much easier to repurpose than the already cut pants and shirts; the sewing kit she found would allow her to easily adjust them as she saw fit.

The thief spotted a peculiar-looking bust sitting in the back of the room just before she filled her bag. There was a leather cloak resting on top of the dog-faced structure, less dusty than any of the others but much more ragged. She didn’t quite understand why the dark brown mantle had been given special treatment, but she stored it with all the others before returning to the first floor and bagging a series of metal tools. There were some arrows as well, but she left them. There weren’t any bows to put them to use.

With all the useful items collected, she paused momentarily to consider claiming the house itself. It made for a decent home base; there were plenty of resources to leverage, and it would likely be safe if she fixed the door. Feeling pretty good about the idea, she started moving things around and putting them where she wanted, stopping only as the building was suddenly rocked by an ear-shattering explosion. There was a thunk and a boom, a violent blast that left a visible dent in the stone barrier. Eyes wide, she ran out the front door and found a whole murder of ravens waiting outside.

There were at least ten of them in all, silently sitting on a wooden fence. They began croaking and cawing as soon as they saw her, raising the alarm as they fluttered their wings. Without warning, they shifted from screaming to igniting their thrusters. All of them were launched at once, moving like a wall of arrows descending from the heavens. She sprinted back into the building and rounded the corner as three of them whizzed by.

Not bothering to stop themselves, they nailed their beaks into the workshop’s wooden pillars—a behaviour thoughtlessly mimicked by their peers. There were a series of loud thunks as they plastered themselves against the stone, one after another. The three in the house were the first to recover. They broke free from the wood by violently beating their wings against the air. Their beaks were bent and deformed, but they turned towards her and launched themselves regardless. Claire barely managed to avoid them again, with two detonating themselves against the wall and the last lodging its face in the floor.

The rogue stomped on the grounded foe, breaking its back with a chain of downward kicks. Her log was updated with the kill, as well as some new skill or other, but she was too preoccupied to affirm its function.

Sticking her head outside and finishing the two birds still alive, she quickly checked the sky for fliers before bolting into the brush. There were more of them on the horizon. It was tough to gauge their headcount from their wings and cries alone, but in any case, it was an uninspiring number.

She stayed low, keeping most of her body inside the bog as she hid amongst the reeds. As far as her ears could tell, the ravens were still hounding the building, smashing their faces against it and detonating their inbuilt explosives. She continued slinking away as they killed themselves, slowing to a crawl only as she determined that no birds were in pursuit.

Heaving a tired sigh, she stretched her shoulders and popped open her log, but she didn’t get to read through her newest skill’s description. Raising her eyes to the text had led her gaze to something much more attention-grabbing than a pale blue box.

The sun was starting to set. In and of itself, nightfall was hardly a concern. She assumed from a quick glance that she would have enough time to return to the spiralling corridor before the darkness took hold—an assumption that corrected itself in the blink of an eye. The daylight faded rapidly. It turned from yellow to orange in less than a minute and orange to black in the same amount of time.

A bell began to toll as the last vestige of colour vanished from the firmament. Its deep, reverberant chimes were simple but jarring. It wasn’t loud, but it almost seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The trees, the grass, the swamp, and even the inside of her head. Everything was ringing, ringing as if to assault her mind. Every single obnoxious clang dug at her brain, scorching it black with a wealth of unwanted information. Each subsequent magical echo grew louder, distorted her senses further, and sent her deeper into an abyss of confusion. By the fifth, she found even her proprioception affected; she couldn’t tell where her feet were, only what they were touching. She folded her ears down against her head and even used her hands to push them closer, but to no avail. No matter how hard she smooshed the fuzzy triangular appendages into her skull, she was unable to cut off the distinct ringing of brass. Closing her eyes only made it even worse. Surrendering her vision led her to lose her balance and fall. But not into the swamp.

Her cloak was scraped by a deluge of branches as she tumbled through the canopy of a large oak. After making it through a pit of sticks and leaves, she found herself with her face slammed against the tree’s rock-hard roots. The unexpected pain elicited a small cry of pain, an eep that went unheard, drowned out by the rhythmic ringing. She didn’t know how many times the bell had tolled, but each sound had been long and painful enough to feel like an eternity.

Only when it went silent did she reorient herself. She took several deep breaths, opened her eyes, and found her body on the forest floor. Though her mind was still screaming in agony, she quickly deduced that the world had somehow been flipped on its head.

Log Entry 524

You have heeded the whisper of Mirewood Meadow. The Lord of the Holt awaits your challenge.

Her log popped open on its own, forcing words into her head and further worsening her migraine.

“Really, Box? A whisper?” she groaned as she pressed a palm to her temple. “That was not a whisper.”

Log Entry 525

You have acquired the Detect Vector Magic skill.

Detect Vector Magic

Vector magic is an ancient school of magic often employed by celestials and their betters. Your surprising but still pitiful affinity for this strain of the mystic arts has allowed you to develop the subconscious ability to detect and resist it. Perhaps there is hope for you yet. I look forward to the day you stop struggling with simple tasks.

“Thanks, Box. I hate you too.” She activated Llystletein Authority as she spoke and rinsed herself off with a stream of lukewarm water. She noticed a new entry in the list as she did, a supposed drink described as Raven Rocket Fuel. The name was unfamiliar, but she couldn’t be bothered to inspect its flavour, at least not with her brain still pulsing.

She got to her feet when the headache died down and checked the swamp in hopes of finding her tracks, but to no avail. It was already impossible for her to see into its murky depths during the day, and nightfall had only raised the bar. The water reflected most of the light that touched it, but none of the scenery.

Though the change in perspective threw her off, Claire remained confident. The starlight made it surprisingly easy for her to see through the forest. After confirming that she hadn’t lost anything in the fall, she picked a random direction and put her feet to work.