The thing before me, formed of flesh most foul, was shredded, impaled, had been blown up, and despite all of it, had the gall to just stand back up, just like that.

Like he was me.

I was totally taken aback by the thing talking through its secondary maws, tiny pustules bubbling up on its skin, swelling before growing over, skin transmuting into a set of eyes that opened to stare at me in a blink of my own. The Monster's torso flexes in front of my eyes, and my shovel, still stuck inside but no longer protected by my skill, begins shrieking as the metal is deformed from the rapid regeneration the creature is undergoing.

It looked at me with its awful beady little fresh eyes, its gaping maws not fit for speech but doing it anyways while the main mouth made sucking noises while it tried to fix itself.

At least the cloud of dark magic was gone, dark magic was no longer stirred around it up by my bane skill and released into an explosion.

My ears were popping over and over again as they fixed, each partial fix returning a little more of my hearing with the tiny clicks of bone I didn’t know I had. Anatomy aside, the situation was middle of the road. The explosion had hurt both of us, but I had been thrown out and was healing from my much more minor wounds, all that had happened to me was being chucked away. The mana had started expanding from me, so I got hit first, but I was out of the room when it ripped through it and crunched the Monster in front of me.

The doorway was even a little messed up, like someone had hit it with a big hammer. Cracks around the frame left it practically free-floating, hanging there, held only by friction and the janky shape of the fracture around the door. The Monster, though? The Monster was worse off than me and healing quickly, something I doubted I could capitalize on.

In addition, I was currently unarmed, but I knew where some more tools were. It was armed right now, there was a blade on its hip, similar in construction to the jagged knives of the cultists, but long enough to be a short sword for someone of my height, engraved like the sticks and orbs of the cultist, with harsh, jagged lines of runes, which was a net negative.

Much of the darkness had been pushed back, including some of the stuff where the blast had caused damage, but there was still some in its body, alongside the blade at its hip, as I watched, some of the darkness got sucked up into the mending parts of its body. Assuming it could cast spells was a worthwhile task, and comparing the amount of power left in its body as a fraction was something like 1/6 of what it had been before. That was good to know.

Less good was my reserve.

My reserve had about the same amount it had when I pushed mana into [Tenebral Bane], and most of it was darker in colour. The blast hadn’t released the energy inside my reserve, which was good and bad. It was good because I really did not want to find out what would happen if my reserve exploded, and bad because it was lowering by the moment, currently resting at something like 1/8 of my total, or around 300 mana. If my wellspring consumed something like 100 mana a minute, that gave me three minutes of use before I was flat-out dry. Not account for mana use in other skills if I decided to use them, like with [Displace Dirt], which I needed to use to release the dam and get away.

If I could use [Tenebral Bane] I might get more bang for the mana I used, but I still needed some mana to use that. I dropped my [Wellspring of Renewal] immediately, stopping the flow and disengaging the skill to save on mana, I no longer needed it to try and cut through the wall of Tenebral mana, the life mana around and inside of me was low, and the Death mana was low, but I didn’t need all that much, I split the dark mana between my body and reserve, the new Death mana that I would generate from healing wounds would be focused into my reserve as well to try and squeeze as much from it as possible.

This was a losing fight, if I had to guess. That would be bad if the fight was something I needed to take.

Luckily for me, the little Sprite queen, who was a bit bigger than Selly and had a kind of dress shape, was my target. I had tried to kill this thing already and failed, whatever this thing could do, dying was apparently not in its vocabulary, so that was off the list. The other prisoners were freed already, so that was done.

All I wanted to get out of this was the rest of the souls, the ones stuck in lanterns around the main room and trying to ruin this thing plan as best as I could.

I started stepping back, not needing to hide the look of grotesque horror on my face.

It continued through its other maws, parts of its main body gurgling while it cawed its noise at me, its head bobbing to complete the facsimile of a bird.

It wasn’t a bird, seeing it now, fully in front of me, I could see the noises were from some spasms. It wasn’t doing them on purpose; instead, it was a tick, something it did automatically. Its neck flexed and jerked, straining with some audible popping of the bones in its body.

It wasn’t a bird, but it also wasn’t a Gremlin. It was to a Gremlin what a child was to its parent, it was far too big and misshapen, but also far too similar to be anything but a Gremlin. It looked far too similar in its general shape, the necks almost non-existent, the long, pointy ears like a dagger. Patchy fur over some of its body, although the patches were more prevalent.

All of it was there, enough to know that this thing was once one of them or something like them and had since grown to its size and shape through some dark power. It certainly had the swollen look down. what little clothing barely holding in the meat of its body.

It was almost like the big skeleton, just fleshy and lacking ballistae arms.

“Eeysss. Bigger. You are bigger; will make a good gift. Soul bigger? Stronger? Eee’ah, Maybe… Many small and one bigger… Or maybe more? Mistress will be pleased, PlEEassed.”

I backed up, the lights starting to flicker with their supply of magical fuel started to run out, although they did not snuff out yet.

I reached up to the lamp next to the door and extended my nails. They slid into the lantern before my fingers exerted my grip on the cage. I broke it, it shattered the fragile bone construct, the bone so fragile I barely had to exert force. I grasped the soul, letting the gremlin within pass on, the fear and distrust of the gremlin understandable when its leader was a creature of palpable, tangible malice that would torture its own people, even after death.

It started to move, a slow shamble, its voice rumbling as it took a rasping breath. It sounded like a saw cutting through wet wood.

“Come back gift, you- you can not escape this place. Yield, or face- the blade. Do not need you alive; can take your body as a gift instead.” It spoke, cutting itself off with demented bird-like shrieks. It wasn’t part of my plan to let it kill me, but it was good to know it thought it could kill me. Honestly, having a chance to trick them was reassuring. I had no idea what it thought I was, but it hadn’t used the S word yet, so lucky me.

I kept pace with it, stalking backwards, using my skills to orient myself in the flickering light. There were 20 more lamps. Twenty felt like a big number. That was two-thirds of the number of days a month had; twenty loaves of bread was more than a week’s worth of food if you only ate bread. It was the kind of number that was just too big to count on your fingers but not truly large, like 100.

Its rumbling-sucking breath sped up as it tried to keep pace with me, and I made my way towards the storage. Acting like I reaching for something and closing in on the wall, I fumbled my hand and landed on the second lantern, snaping with a satisfying sound.

The shovel started to protrude from its hole, the metal shifting inside, loudly warping as the body forced it to move in a way contrary to the shovel's shape.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

It was a grisly sight, so I focused on everything but the shovel. Namely the closet room with a pickaxe and my preferred weapon of choice, a shovel.

Thank the gods, I was flexible. I passed by the door and leaned in, slamming my hand through another lantern, freeing another soul in the process and grabbing the shovel.

“Cease this, damaging the working on the accident was E- Enough on its own. Breaking lamps is just rude.”

“Lamps, can you even call them that?”

“I suppose not, no, but mistress says they are lamps, so they are lamps. You will understand, fleshy one, when you see the mistress’s greatness first hand, cease this farce, and E’yyield.”

“I don’t think so. Whomever your mistress, I doubt she has taste, let alone could be called great, especially if she has servants as gross as you.”

The thing froze at my words, its teeth pressing to form a line of gritting teeth.

I had struck a nerve.

“All though, if she is any good, I suppose that’s why you out here in the valley. Your mistress must despise you enough to send you out to do mundane tasks. You’re an overgrown, ugly mutt weak enough to get killed by a random girl with a shovel.”

Come on, you giant festering sore, let loose, don’t draw that sword, just run at me like the beast you are.

It was on the edge, I could see the twitch of its muscles, the willingness to do violence.

“Do not speak ill of mistress,” it hissed, “I will not let you speak ill of her, she is your better! Living thing! Your Better! Understand?”

“I have no better, no master, and no mistress. And what's with that? Calling some dusty old hag a mistress? What is she, your magic teacher? Because this is the ugliest magic I’ve ever seen. All though maybe it's both of you. A stupid mutt learning from a shut-in [Necromancer]. I thought Monsters were supposed to be intimidating, but you must both be failures.”

I could see its rage, the violence in its beady extra eyes as it literally frothed at the mouth, or I supposed mouths plural. It screeched something incomprehensible in the Gremlin tongue, its voice not fitting the skittering sounds. But it did not reach for the blade, choosing to spit vitriol as it threw itself into a rage. I made sure to get myself clear of the doorway and walked close to the wall backwards around the circular room.

I wanted it to charge at me and into the wall, an easy fight so I could get some extra time to grab the rest of the lamps.

I came up to another one and decided to taunt it again. I passed the next lamp, stopped and looked at it before reaching out and destroying it intentionally.

“Wow, these really are shoddy things, aren’t they? You know you can use torches or oil lamps if your master can't build a magical nightlight, right?”

I could tell the moment it snapped and went from fury to bestial rage. It was something in its eyes, maybe, or the movement of its body. It got far too silent…

“Was wrong… Not gift. Mistress will forgive me for not taking you,” it told me, reaching up to its head and pulling what was left of the mangled shovel out, tearing through its own flesh that rapidly began to stitch itself together. Its eyes, the ones on the main head, slipped open, and I could feel the hatred in its gaze like a strike of a whip. I twitched a little from the hatred like I had been struck.

“I will skin you, apostate, I can't wait to hear your screams.” And with that, it moved, rapidly bending over slightly before charging me. It threw itself so harshly into it the floor cracked below its feet as it pushed itself forward. I pushed myself, too, ready for it. I knew it hadn’t drawn the sword, it had decided to try and rip me to pieces with its bare hands instead. With all my strength pushing me forward, my speed, and my fun new skill, I could scrape out from its charge, its body slamming fully into the wall, head first, accompanied by the sound of shattered stone and broken bones.

Its broken upper torso splatted as it hit, but the two maw-like heads were fine. It pulled back, shards of stone tinkling to the ground as it did so. It turned to face me, but it did it late.

[Rapid action] gave me two swings every time I swung, and I directed two of them straight down into its wrist. I carved halfway through by the second strike, its wrists were surprisingly well muscles, its bones stronger in its arms than in its head and chest.

In all likelihood, it would have been easier to decapitate the thing. It had been easier to aim for the head, impale it all the way to the lung and kill it than break its wrist, but it worked well enough to ruin it anyway.

Is screeched, the noise not one that could come from a humanoid mouth nor one of a beast. A scream from a creature that was the enemy of life as I knew it.

I was still moving, still turning, its arm cocking back to hit me. I could move, or I could do something I hadn’t thought of before.

I let go of the shovel with my left hand, reaching forward and grabbing the sword.

I didn’t get the chance to pull it free, but I turned out to not need to.

It punched me straight on, the force of it so great it was actually strong enough to lift me from the ground and send me flying across the room ten feet.

I landed on my behind and rolled across the room for the second time in the same number of minutes, tumbling around myself for another five feet until I ended on my side, quickly getting to my feet with a bit of a roll and a push of my legs.

My sandals, my ancient sandals, finally gave up the fight, the cords snapping so badly that when I took a step, my bare feet touched the ground instead.

I had no time to mourn their loss nor pay attention to my now cold feet.

Because I now had a cursed-looking sword in one hand and a shovel in the other.

I turned and started making my way across the room. The Beast screeched behind me as the lights flickered on and off with their phantom light.

“Give back, GIVE THAT BACK!” the thing bellowed.

Yeah, right, I’ll hand it back over my cold dead body, you fucking monster. Whatever this blade does, I can't be anything good. It’s obviously magical somehow, and I’m not going to give you a magical sword back.

I moved, and as I did, I tucked the blade into my belt line, freeing my hand so I could hold my new shovel properly. It was a shoddy thing. The blade was in poor condition, the haft dry with age, coated with a crumbly top layer of wood and dust. It had a square head, made for moving dirt instead of cutting into dirt to make a hole. It lacked the point of Anna's shovel, now a jagged mess of metal on the floor, coated in so much gore I didn’t think I could grab it.

It was a blunt thing, but it was better than nothing, even if it could use sharpening to get the edges back up to par with what I was used to.

I smashed another lamp.

I supposed I don’t need a blade, though, if I can run this thing in circles. Five down, sixteen to go.

It screeched behind me, and I started to run laps around the room. The lights flickered more frequently, and the monster foamed and bubbled as it regenerated, its flesh swelling, knitting back together with some dark magic I couldn’t comprehend.

It was far slower than my own if I was reading it correctly, fueled not by a divinely granted skill but some magical ability.

I turned back from it to hit my tenth lantern when I felt the creature start casting a spell.

Magical power began to shift, all the hairs on my head and my mane standing on end, making my head tingle and look larger.

The power built as the thing cast, dark magic being drawn into the room from the walls and floors, from the air and the lights and what little power they had left.

The shadows lengthened as it sucked up the power, a shape forming in the air, channelled not by hand but in the same way Anna had, imposing her will upon the mana or for the monster, Tenebra, around it. Willing the power around us to form the right shape, feeding it with magic drawn from a space I could not see inside of itself.

It ramped up, and I got one more before returning to it.

It was still moving, chasing after me, not halting as the spell built up.

Fuck, what is that… I don’t think I can get hit by that, but I don’t know if I can get away from it, either. Come on, Saphine, plan. What can I do here? Does magic go through walls? I don’t think it goes through walls, so I need to get behind a wall… How do I?

My internal monologue trailed off, knowing what I needed to do. I spun around the room, hitting two more as I moved, bringing my total to thirteen. I put the shovel into my beltline along with the sword, reached into the same room I had grabbed the shovel from, and grabbed the pickaxe before spinning around.

It was closing, but I needed that.

I reached out with [Tenebral Bane] to weaken its grip on the spell, causing it to falter momentarily, plumes of the spell’s fuel leaking out into the air, weakening the channelled spell and sapping it of its power.

15 feet.

I planted myself, ready to get bowled over if I fucked it up. I had a tiny amount of mana to do it with if I fucked it up, I didn’t know if I was strong enough to do what I needed to do.

10 feet.

All I had to do was hit it right, so I lined it up, made sure that I would hit it, and began to swing.

5 feet.

I was going to hit, and I was going to get hit, so I prepared four skills, pushing mana into one and holding onto the other in prep for what was going to happen.

My pickaxe connected while I pushed mana into [Tool Handling], [Timeless Construct] and [Durable Tools].

It connected with its knees, shattering the bone, first through one leg, then into the second leg, missing the knee and hitting its thigh. My proficiency guided my hand and enhanced my strike, the durability of the tool not letting anything wear against the pick and the [Timeless Construct]. That was to hopefully keep it down for long enough to get the hell away from its spell without it following me.

I slammed into the wall when it slammed into me, its mass pinning me to the wall with enough force to break my ribs.

I had expected to die, to get pancaked into the wall, get released, and come back with my [True Immortality] Instead, my lungs screamed in agony while my bones cut into me as I rolled out from under it, avoiding its swiping claws, rolling and rolling and rolling, leaving the pickaxe in its legs, pinning it down.

The spell never faltered, not for a moment.

My best guess, I had twenty seconds to get the hell out of here.