Thrash had never felt more like a prisoner. He supposed that was the intended result of his banishment, but it still sucked. Sitting upright on the floor with his legs crossed, he stared blankly at the clock on the wall. Beneath it, he'd started scratching the days into the rock, counting each one as it passed. Eleven marks now. Eleven days without a single entertaining thing happening. It had been dark, cold, and downright boring. There was barely anything he could do without gold or experience.

He fell back onto his bed, playing absentmindedly with the Tinfoil Necklace. He flicked it into the air and caught it each time, the material crumpling a little more with each toss. He stared at the damp ceiling, watching condensation form into a long blanket of water. A drop fell onto his forehead. He cursed at it and wiped it away. ‘Stupid water.’

This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted a life like this. His feet were itching for adventure, and his heart ached from disuse, as though it were dissolving, shrinking until nothing would be left. He rolled onto his stomach and dropped onto the uncomfortable floor. He began doing pushups. One, two, three…

He reached fifty, his weakened arms collapsing. He was positive that he used to crank out hundreds without breaking a sweat, but now his body felt like a hollow shell. Every time Mush compared him to Brigwell, it stung. It was frustrating without anything to distract him. Brigwell might have been strong, but Thrash had been stronger. And sexier, damn it. He’d been good-looking.

He sighed again and pulled up his interface. He’d been religiously checking the leaderboards, eyeing them for a sign that his old companions were alive and well. He hadn’t seen any familiar names, but the bitterness still swelled inside him. He retained the knowledge that he could have been shooting his way up the ranks if all had gone well.

Thrash shook away those frustrations; or, the pacifier did. He turned to his private messages, which were frustrating for an entirely different reason. He checked his only contact and scrolled through the nine messages he’d sent. He had managed to last two days before messaging Una, but desperation quickly kicked in after that. The only other ‘helpful’ entity around wasn’t being particularly helpful, constantly chatting to Sigrid.

9 days ago: Thrash: Hello Una. Are you there?

8 days ago: Thrash: Hey Una. Do you have any advice on keeping busy? Mush told me to f*** off.

7 days ago: Thrash: Hey Una. Didn’t realise the interface censored messages. That’s f***ing stupid. Please message back.

6 days ago: Thrash: Una, what else can I do? Please reply.

5 days ago: Thrash: You know, for a representative, you’re pretty s**t at representing.

4 days ago: Thrash: Mush decided to start singing today. Just the two lines of lyrics, though. It’s wildly relaxing, I’m sure you can imagine… I don’t know the song, but the words were, ‘You taunt, you tease me, mama, but I never, never, never can keep away’. She seems to have a thing about mothers. Please send earplugs.

3 days ago: Thrash: Mush stopped singing. She didn’t stop until midnight, but she stopped. She’s telling the sword stories now. Most are about Brigwell and breastfeeding (unrelated, I hope). Brigwell always seemed to be busy. Maybe you can send some INFORMATION my way? PLEASE.

2 days ago: Thrash: I know that I’m serving time for my betrayal, but at least let me be useful. SEND SOMEONE TO ME, I CAN -

1 day ago: Thrash: Apologies for the cut-off yesterday. Mush swerved into my head ‘on accident’. Will try another floor pass tomorrow. Might finally get killed. Peace out, b*tches.

Thrash muttered under his breath, unimpressed. He knew she had asked him not to message her. He also knew she had probably blocked or muted his contact, or that the system wouldn’t even deliver his messages. Still, he tried every day. He had to. He had cleaned everything within an inch of its life on day one. On day two, he’d done it again, before finally settling in to see if there was anything he could do within his interface. By day three, he’d fallen into a routine of sitting, eating, and sleeping, constantly waiting for a response.

Mush exited her cubby hole, lazily floating across to Thrash while humming. Thrash didn’t recognize the song, but he had no desire to ask. He knew that would only encourage her to start singing, and he couldn’t handle another day of her voice. He repeatedly withdrew a Floor One pass from his inventory, inspecting it. There was nothing else to be done. If nobody visited, he’d drive himself mad with boredom. It was time to stretch his muscles again.

‘Right, Mush!’ he announced, startling her as he stood. ‘Where’s the sword? I’m going into the dungeons.’

Mush beeped dejectedly. ‘Sigrid and I were going to talk this morning.’

Thrash made sure his pickaxe and other items were in his inventory, not that he’d removed them recently. ‘Sorry, Mush, but I need to level her up. You’ve been talking for nearly two weeks and I’m going mad on my own here.’

‘On your own?’ Mush flickered, the tone of her voice igniting like a spark.

Thrash immediately backed up, smiling sweetly. ‘Without patrons, Mush. You’re the only company I ever need.’

‘Mother’s boy,’ she said, insulting him. ‘Go. Take her. No doubt she’ll keep you company, backstabber.’

Thrash stifled a laugh. ‘C’mon, Mush! Don’t twist my words. You can stay in touch through my interface.’

Mush blinked happily, forgetting his insult. ‘We will talk with or without your permission. She’s here.’

Mush whizzed back to her cubby hole, returning an instant later with the sword. It still shimmered blue on occasion, mostly when being talked to. It was a comforting light, like dawn reaching the tips of a mountain. It felt good at Thrash’s side. He added it to the quick bar in his inventory and walked to the staircase. He really wasn’t keen on using one of his floor passes, but it was now or never. He produced his ticket and allowed the dungeon message to present itself, waiting for the options again.

You have used 1x Floor One pass. Please select your dungeon of choice.

CAUTION: Your ticket is applicable to floor one and floor one only.

Dungeon Option 1: Caves of the Glade

Dungeon Option 2: Mines of Painswick Hill

Dungeon Option 3: Ruins of the Fallen

Dungeon Option 4: Depths of the Mystics

Thrash had been considering his options; there hadn’t been much else to think about over the past few days. He could head back to the Ruins of the Fallen. He imagined the likelihood of another boss fight was low, and even though he had more of a chance against a boss like Sheila now, he would rather assess the other locations. If a patron asked him for an opinion, he would have no experience to offer.

He selected Dungeon Option 1.

Dungeon Option 1: Caves of the Glade

Welcome to Caves of the Glade, a starting dungeon for the newest of newbies! This low-level dungeon is a must-visit for those eager to explore forest-themed environments and all they entail! Slip across moss-covered floors and wade through crystal-clear underground streams. Don’t worry - Mummy will keep an eye on you.

These forest-themed floors are resource heavy, ideal for gathering ingredients needed for crafting and potion-making.

Wear your helmets, kids. This dungeon is one to remember!

CAUTION: Enemy levels will adjust based on the party-leader's experience.

Thrash nodded as he read. He would take his time with it and see what the dungeon had to offer. He breathed in, and highlighted his intent.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

You have selected Dungeon Option 1: Caves of the Glade

Take care.

The movement from Thrash’s room to the dungeon was incredibly fluid. This time, it was far less unsettling. His body felt as though it had turned inside out, causing a slight discomfort in his stomach, but when he opened his eyes, he found himself staring into a large glade, feeling more than ready to start his adventure. In fact, he felt downright healthy, his time in the prison-like room fading to nothing in an instant.

He closed his eyes and took in his surroundings. He could smell the moss of the trees around him, a damp and musty scent that only ever came with rain. Broken and rotted branches littered the edges of the trees, and thick trunks stood tall around him, enclosing him within the field. Leaves rustled above, whistling in the wind or clumping loudly together as small creatures bounded through their lofty heights.

Thrash smiled. ‘This is nice. I wonder how long I can just sit here?’

There was a single gap ahead of him, indicating the route forward, but he was in no rush. The opening above allowed the sun to hit his face, and a warmth he had forgotten spread through him. His mouth opened in utter peace. He held his hands out to his sides, trying to cover as much space as he could. It didn’t quite feel real; assuredly, the location was not. No dungeon was real, but all were so advanced that they felt real, and if this was all he could get his hands on, he would take it.

Thrash fell back onto the grass beneath him and moaned with pleasure. Each blade felt like a sprig of silk, feathered and soft to the touch. He could easily spend the day lazing about, exiting through the entrance rather than moving through the floor. It would be poor use of his Floor One pass, and also poor for his experience, but after being locked away for so many days... it really was bliss. For a few minutes, he allowed the peace of the environment to wash over him like a wave.

You are uncommonly lazy, Mush’s voice suddenly said via his interface, causing him to jump up in terror. I expected you back by now. Sigrid misses me.

Thrash settled his nerves, looking at the sword beside him. He spoke aloud. ‘I was relaxing for a moment, Mush. Sigrid is fine, leave her alone.’

Mush didn’t respond immediately, so Thrash stood and stretched, properly looking for routes to take. As he initially thought, there was only one way forward. He moved towards it.

Relaxing is a made up word for middle-aged losers wanting respite from their children, Mush finally said. Brigwell wouldn’t have used that word in a hundred years.

Thrash grinned but stopped in his tracks. He looked around, wishing he had a mini-map to help him. Near the bottom of the tree trunk closest to his route forward, a small squeaking noise was emanating. It almost sounded like a rusty door hinge, or the panel beneath Mush when it opened.

Mush, are there any mini-map upgrades down the line? Thrash asked her through the interface, cautious of the volume of his voice.

Some items can provide that benefit, Mush informed. You may also acquire a skill, allowing for the right circumstances.

And you can’t tell me those circumstances, can you? Thrash asked.

Before she could answer, the squeak finally revealed itself. In front of him, the ground erupted, a figure emerging like smoke from a volcano. Thrash leapt backwards, but another sound came from behind him. He spun around, noting another puff of black smoke before two more bangs sounded to his right and left. He was surrounded. His eyes trailed over long, slimy creatures, each having bounced up from beneath the grass itself. They were as long as he was tall and as wide as the tree trunks themselves. They were brown and patchy, like the bark on an oak tree, and the noises they made were... unsettling. Their squeaks had turned to shrieks. One would cry out like a child for its mother, and the rest would echo in response.

Thrash shuddered. As far as he could tell, they were simply oversized slugs. He inspected the initial creature.

Oakenslug: Level 2

Type: Slime Beast

They say that the Oakenslug is one of the first creatures to emerge in a forest-like environment. A breed of slime and bark, the Oakenslug is a formidable first-line defender, unsettling to all new adventurers. These creatures can grow as long as a fully-grown human, and their mottled skin lets them blend seamlessly with their surroundings.

Each Oakenslug emits a distinct, unsettling cry that resonates through the forest, and their calls are often answered by their kin in a haunting, coordinated chorus.

Don’t let them get their slimy, wet, gumless mouths around your head. That’s Grandma’s job.

Grandma’s job? Thrash shouted through to Mush. Ew, Mush - ew!

Thrash reviewed his situation. There were four of them, and each quick inspection told him they were Level 2, all with 50 health points. Thankfully, they moved as slowly as one might hope; the initial jump from the ground was obviously their quickest movement. Thrash saw the first Oakenslug moving its head backwards and then lurching forward. It didn’t move from its position, but it did manage to shoot out a glob of steamy liquid from its mouth. Thrash swore and jumped to his left, just as another launched the same attack. He ducked, and the spittle landed on the floor. It sizzled and burned into the grass, the smell of burnt flesh rising from the ground.

‘What the -’ Thrash shouted, having to jump again. This time, his left arm was hit. ‘Ouch!’

You have received 19 points of damage.

You have 113 health remaining.

Commiserations! Mush exclaimed. You have taken too long to strike. You are now injured.

‘Piss off, Mush!’ Thrash shouted back. The skin on his lower arm burned to nothing, leaving a perfectly round hole down to the bone. He winced in agony. It didn’t bleed, but boy did it hurt. Thrash did not want that to happen elsewhere. He sprang into action.

Thrash pulled out The Whimpering Sword of Sigrid and swung it directly at the first Oakenslug. He put all of his effort into it, trying to make sure that each one of his strength points added the maximum possible attack to the swipe. To his surprise, it made a clanging sound upon contact. A health bar appeared above the Oakenslug.

6 damage points dealt.

44 health remaining.

'Stop,' a voice suddenly whispered, low and velvety.

Thrash leapt back, ensuring his back was against the edge of the glade. Each Oakenslug writhed where they were, screeching at the attack. Thrash looked up and down the field, unable to pinpoint the source of the voice. Again, he pushed forward, jabbing the Oakenslug with his sword.

‘Stop!’ the voice pleaded with desperate anxiety.

Thrash looked around, distracted and confused. He swung again.

‘Stop!’

He lunged in quick succession; one, two, three more swipes, then jumped away as all of the mobs launched a simultaneous Slime Burst attack. Luckily for Thrash, two of the slime balls struck his targeted Oakenslug, dealing a combined 16 damage.

16 damage points dealt.

4 health remaining.

Thrash jumped at the Oakenslug one last time, slicing the creature and ending its life.

‘Stop!’

Pale slime oozed from the open wounds, its wooden flesh cut in half a dozen places. The slime leaked onto the grass, sizzling it slightly. Two new achievements popped up in Thrash’s interface, but he was thoroughly confused and still needed to kill the other three. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that the sword had levelled up, but the effects wouldn’t come into play until combat ended.

He launched himself at the second Oakenslug. He sensed another long-ranged attack heading for him, so he rolled behind the large creature and let the opposing mobs do his work for him. Then, he jabbed repeatedly at the tough-skinned invertebrate, watching its health drop. It took him six strikes, and each strike elicited another exclamation.

‘Stop!’

‘Hmm, stop, stop!’

‘Stop, stop, stop!’

He stared dumbly at the sword, ooze hanging off of it. A Slime Burst shot past him.

Move! Mush shouted at him through his interface. She had been quiet, evidently watching his every move. Now, she was overly loud. Oh, she’s beautiful! She’s gorgeous! Her skin is so shiny! Mummy is so proud!

‘Mush, what the f -’ he started. An Oakenslug had finally revealed an additional move. It had charged up from across the field, rocketing towards him with the force of a tree trunk sized bullet. Thrash turned just in time to catch the attack with his stomach - the very last place he wanted to injure - and was flung back into the wall of trees. The force of it caused one trunk to crack from the bottom to the top. His eyes saw a momentary field of stars.

‘Ouch,’ he groaned, amber lights flashing around him while his stomach churned in agony. This was looking far too familiar; Sheila had almost destroyed him with the same move.

You have received 82 points of damage.

You have 31 health remaining.

The sword was speaking. Thrash had no idea how, but it was the most distracting sword he could have chosen. He didn’t want to use a snack to restore his health just yet; he only had four left, and he wanted to make them last. Instead, he decided to continuously move up and down the field, assessing the last two Oakenslugs. Somehow, both had received around twenty points of damage each. It seemed that their Slime Burst attacks were quite inaccurate.

Thrash ran behind the third Oakenslug, swiping ferociously until the beast was dead. Each time the voice shouted, ‘Mmm, stop!’. It was overly sexual, screeching in agony. He shimmied to the final opponent, jumped over it with his meagre dexterity, and then brought his sword down with all of his might.

6 damage points dealt.

0 health remaining.

Thrash gulped in oxygen, his body finally breaking from the exertion of the fight. His screen flashed a momentary title: ‘Combat Over’, and he could see his new Passive Healing skill taking effect. Slowly, his health ticked up as his body began to heal itself.

He closed his eyes and spoke to Mush. So, this sword really can talk, can’t it?

Thrash could feel Mush’s display turn into a smile. One word at every level. Aren’t you excited!