“Damn dungeon shenanigans!” Targe shouted, swiveling to search for the new sub-boss in the room.

The [Big Subversive Orc] remained knelt for a few moments more. As Targe searched, the monster rose to its feet and let out a war cry. The sound signaled the Phase Mage to burst from the ground, seizing Twist by the ankle. The Rogue let out a shout of pain, swiping at the mage’s wrist. Only chipping against the stone below, his slash missed entirely.

Ethan assessed his situation, finding 150 mana to his name and no summon ready to go. He froze for a moment, watching the Phase Mage sub-boss take another swipe at Twist. He realized that his next action could have determined the direction of battle. Without attention on him, it was time to clear up the damage the bosses had inflicted.

The Caller cast [Cure Minor Wounds] on both Twist and Targe, then used his [Mana Tap Ring]. He stumbled back after the Phase Mage took a swipe at him, falling on his ass before the big orc swiped at him with a spear. Targe bashed the [Big Subversive Orc] in the back of the head with his shield, sending the monster tumbling end-over-end. It fell on Ethan, then over in a heap.

Ethan righted himself, groaning to his feet to cast [Summon Lucantele]. Twist had gone into sentry mode, daggers ready as he searched for the hidden mage. It wouldn’t have been a problem if it was just one sub-boss after the other. But the [Big Subversive Orc] had gained his health back. Luca sprung from the ground, jumping into the air to cast [Barrier of Hope] and [Persistent Light of Hope] on Targe. Then the spirit got to work, joining with the Rogue to find the phase mage.

“There has to be a cooldown on the mage’s phase ability,” Ethan said, holding his staff at the ready. He kept his staff at the ready. Abilities locked in his mind.

Targe kept the spear-wielding orc busy, but the mana drain of keeping Luca out was taxing. Ethan held his staff high and shook it, invoking the [Caller’s Mana Regen] ability. The second bell on his staff rang through the arena, a hungry hand bursting from the ground when he did so. Twist and Luca were on it, descending on the hand. But it was too late. The Phase Mage had fled before grabbing the Caller’s leg.

“Burn the big one, Ethan,” Targe said.

Ethan hesitated. But he didn’t let his doubts linger longer than a moment. He dismissed Luca and cast [Summon Telbarantis]. The Fighter kept the big orc busy while he cast, Twist searching the area near his feet. Once Tel was clear of his blue circle, He shook his staff and stomped his feet. The spirit grew in size, dashing across the room to attack the orc.

Slamming the end of his staff into the ground, Ethan activated [Caller’s Steadying Stance]. His mind rushed as it split between himself and Telbarantis. He felt his hunger for the orc. His willingness to rip the thing’s throat out. To grind its bones into dust. The Caller swayed on the spot as the connection deepened. But the spirit was upon the [Big Subversive Orc].

Targe stumbled back from the bloodbath. Even at Rank 0, the combination of abilities brought together reduced the sub-boss to nothing within moments. The Fighter had laid the groundwork for the burn. Small wounds that reduced the orc’s ability to respond. When it fell, the spirit searched for something else to gnaw. Nothing came by the end of the various effects’ duration. When [Caller’s Steadying Stance] wore out, Ethan fell back onto the ground.

Ethan clutched his head, a searching pain flooding through his mind. The intent to attack, to main, still lingered there. An unwelcome guest as much as the hand reaching up to pull him through the stone.

“There!” Twist shouted, dashing over and channeling a quick spell.

The Phase Mage’s hand burst with blood, a faint shriek of terror from under the rocks. Targe was there to grab the offending hand, digging his feet in and preparing to hoist the damned mage out. Twist joined him, counting to three to coordinate their heaving lift. Clad in animal furs and hooded with a bear’s head, the Phase Mage was removed from the stone. Like last time, it soared through the air. Twist threw both his daggers, slamming hard into the monster’s chest.

When the orc hit the ground, there was no thud. It passed through the material yet again. Targe cursed, but Twist watched. Moments passed when nothing happened. The Rogue crouched as though he saw something, the bolted in a random direction. To catch the handles of two daggers as they emerged from the ground. The Phase Mage shouted in pain as he twisted, then pulled the weapons apart. The shouted stopped when Targe brought a sword down on the monster’s head, splitting it down the middle.

A system message appeared as the barriers dropped.

[Targe’s Party] has defeated the [Big Subversive Orc], earning a [Gold Sub-boss Chest]!

[Targe’s Party] has defeated the [Phase Shaman Blarg], earning a [Gold Sub-boss Chest]!

Defeating a sub-boss with 4 party members has earned a [Gold Bonus Chest]!

Defeating a sub-boss dual-encounter has earned a [Silver Bonus Chest]!

The party collapsed to the ground. Ethan couldn’t remember the last time he felt this spent. This headache raging through his mind wouldn’t go away, even after he cast [Cure Wounds] on himself. He dismissed his summon and fell back, clutching at his skull. The sound of three chests dropping from the ceiling didn’t help matters.

“You alright?” Targe asked, rushing over. Unprompted, the Fighter tipped watered wine into Ethan’s mouth.

“Remind me not to use the gloves,” Ethan said. “Ugh, screw those gloves.”

“What happened?”

While Twist opened the chests, Ethan explained what happened. The overwhelming sense to kill was almost too much to take. Perhaps it was because he’d used so many abilities on his summoned spirit. Without experimentation, it was impossible to say. And he wasn’t interested in trying that again anytime soon.

“Good news,” Twist shouted over. “You finally have a hat.”

A dome-like cloth hat soared across the room, hitting Targe in the face. It was a weird hat. Baby blue and domed, almost like an umbrella, it looked completely impractical. Hanging from the brim, which was facing down, were strips of cloth. Whoever wore the hat wouldn’t be able to see a damn thing. Of course, there were four bells hanging from the front, both sides, and the back.

“You’re really earning your name,” Targe said, cramming the hat on Ethan’s head.

To the Caller’s shock, he could see. The cloth that dangled down was still in his way, but he could see perfectly fine. He removed the hat, checking that the cloth was there. It was. When he inspected the item, the description explained what was going on.

[Caller’s Domed Hat of Sight]

[Headwear]

Rank 1

Epic

Description:

Doubling as a weather-deterrent device, this caller-specific design of hat enhances their connection with the spirits.

Effect:

Allows you to see your summoned spirit through walls.

Increases the mental connection between you and your spirits.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

+5 [Mind]

Ethan crammed the hat back on his head. “Five [Mind]?” he asked, more of a shout than a question.

“You look like an idiot,” Targe said.

“Wait, there’s no bell effect on this one,” Ethan said. When he turned his head, the bells were silent. “Decorative, I guess.”

“Now we don’t have to see your face,” Twist said, presenting another item for Targe. “Good news for everyone.”

“Har-har,” Ethan said. He hardly had to inspect the item to know it would be useful for the team’s tank.

The shield was an all-metal construction. Ethan doubted the real-world applications, but didn’t know enough about shields to make a decision. It was shaped much like the old kite shield, but significantly larger. Made of some kind of iron, banded around the edges with a darker metal. Rivets bordered that raised strip, and the image of a bull rested in the center, painted with green pigment. It was half the height of the fighter, and seemed to weigh just as much.

Targe looked at the item with reverence.

“Do we need to give you two a moment?” Ethan asked.

“Maybe,” Targe said, running his fingers over the shield’s surface. “Been using that mundane shield for a while. Damn, this new one is so light. Did you inspect it?”

Ethan hadn’t. He pressed his will against the item, inspecting it.

[Heater Shield of the Bull]

[Heater Shield]

Rank 1

Epic

Description:

Hold firm behind this sturdy heater shield.

Effects:

+3 [Vigor].

Reduce the damage you take while blocking with a shield by 50%.

It seemed like a simple thing, hardly worth the epic rarity. But a 50% reduction on damage taken while blocking was massive. Even though a person blocked an attack with a shield, they normally took a percentage of damage to their health anyway. This reduced that by half. That was massive. Ethan clapped a hand over the Fighter’s shoulder.

“You’re a real boy, now.”

“Some mage gear, too. Pants,” Twist said. “Not a bad haul for two sub-bosses. Just a shame…”

“What?” Ethan asked.

“If we take the [Dungeon Core], we don’t get the final boss’ loot,” Targe said. “Small price for helping a Great Spirit, but… hard not to think about what could be.”

While it was nice to think about hoarding gear, that’s not why they were here. Ethan could see the shine in his companion’s eyes as they thought about the extra loot. This would be a test for them. Resisting the urge to take the final boss’ chests instead of helping Lucantele. Assisting the Great Spirit wasn’t tangible. A fancy new shield was. He considered what he’d do if they went against Luca’s wishes. A solo path forward. Something he wasn’t sure he wanted.

Sure, Ethan could likely solo these dungeons. He might get really good at it. But as Twist removed the flame artifice from his pack, setting it down in a section of the room, he remembered what delving with others was about. Long nights without the sky above his head, or even a roof, meant an amount of insanity. A need for social interaction, even for the man who previously worked the night shift. He didn’t get placed on that cursed shift because he wanted it. He was just too amiable to object.

“Stow your worries,” Targe said, punching Ethan in the arm. “We’re in it for the spirits. Same as you. Luca wants [Dungeon Cores]? We’ll load Tulip up until she collapses.”

Ethan came to rest near Twist. He always enjoyed smelling the aromas that were issued from that pot. They’d rest for the ‘night’, whatever that meant down here. A calm moment before they took out another sub-boss, then the boss itself. Targe’s words were more soothing than he could have realized. A beacon in that dark dungeon.

“I have to ask why,” Ethan said, adjusting his new hat. He might have been able to see through it, but the hanging cloth tickled his nose when he moved. He took it off for the meal, anticipating Twist’s move after the tea was done. “You’re not doing this out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Maybe,” Twist said, shrugging. “Some people do good things when running from their past.”

“Maybe we owe you,” Targe said. “You helped clear our names. Didn’t you?”

“But I didn’t do anything, did I?” Ethan asked. “Telbarantis did.”

“Well, there’s your answer!” Targe boomed. He removed his wineskin and held it high. “To the Great Spirits. Those who washed away my debt to the army.”

“To the Great Spirits,” Twist said, finding his own wineskin. “Who purged the sin of my people.”

Ethan found his wineskin, raising it over the fire to toast with his friends. “To the Great Spirits. To Lucantele, who pulled my soul from the void. Brought me to Avansea and you two chuckleheads.”

The group pressed their wineskins together, laughing as they squished above the flames. Each drank deeply from the skins, drowning the awkwardness in a slight buzz brought by the wine. They fell back and laughed about it, burning away their pasts together in that dungeon. Sitting by the fire, each man’s sin was washed away. Through mutual combat, a hope for the future, or a new beginning. Everything fell away, like the names new adventurers took.

Deraeda the dark elf, enemy of Wexenhal sat as the Rogue Twist. Sven, traitor to the king’s army, rested as Targe the Fighter. Ethan the outworlder reclined as Bells the Caller. Pasts forgotten. Desires renewed as adventurers in the [Orc Dungeon]. Brothers reforged in their blood. In their trust.

Ethan sipped on the tea as he reflected on those thoughts. Dramatic as they might be, reinforced by the wine, he drank the citrus tea Twist had prepared. While the Caller had little to do with the preparation of food—constantly hopeless in all culinary matters back on Earth—he enjoyed watching the process. Dinner was some manner of stew today. Twist seemed to have endless jars, skins, and containers of stock in his bag.

The Rogue dumped chunks of meat in a blackened pot. Sizzling filled the open sub-boss room with the scent of browning meat. He dropped a knob of butter in, then diced an onion with ease. Carrots went in next, then some herbs Ethan didn’t recognize. Salt was added at some point, but the Caller had missed that step. Then, in one great pour, Twist added the broth. Perhaps it was stock, but the effect was immediate. A hissing sound issued from the pot, then silence. Several minutes later, it boiled.

“Damn, that smells good,” Ethan said, edging closer to the pot. He took in the smell of the rich aroma. “That’s an adventuring meal if ever I smelled one.”

Targe offered a lop-sided smile. “I don’t think most people put this much effort into food within dungeons.”

“I enjoy my cooked meals,” Twist said, glaring from under his mask.

The wine was making Ethan brave. He stared at the stone facade of his companion, not knowing what the man looked like beneath it. “Do you ever show your face to your friends?”

Twist paused for a long moment, holding a wooden spoon in his hand. His frozen motion remained for some time before Targe cleared his throat.

“Twist was wounded when he was escaping,” the Fighter interjected. “Burned half his face badly. It’s a pain point.”

“Sorry,” Ethan said, suddenly feeling like garbage. “You can borrow my hat, if you want.”

Twist laughed.

Ethan couldn’t help himself. The mirthful chuckle from the dark elf made him laugh. A deep belly laugh that caught the attention of Targe. The Fighter snorted at first, then burst out laughing. It was all they could do to keep stirring the stew while cackling in the dungeon. The ridiculousness of the situation set on in full, and they were soon on the floor, rolling around and ignoring the stew. A stitch formed on the Caller’s side, forcing him to beg for a break.

Fortunately, Targe’s fortitude allowed him to keep the stew from burning. Then the chuckles died down, and Twist served up three bowls of the hot stew.

It was a rich aroma that did the flavor no justice. Despite being a simple dish, it had a deep flavor that spoke to Ethan. Like a comforting blanket that washed over him as he sipped the thick sauce. He remembered carrots being overpowering on Earth, often fouling a good stew. But the flavors here mingled perfectly. Like a well-executed dance. He couldn’t help but see the similarities between that delicate balance, and the Rogue’s ability to dance in combat.

The wine was talking too much. So Ethan sucked down his stew with delight, partaking of the hard bread that Twist had to offer. The dark elf was in the mood to share more about his past, detailing the brutal rituals that his people endured. From birth, they were trained to fight. To take the best core and subcore combination to serve their under-empire.

The conversation swayed to Targe’s past. His was much more boring, containing none of the training that Twist endured. A familiar story in this world, where a man wanted to rise above his station and take a core. He joined the king’s army to see that dream become a reality, then realized he wasn’t a military man. At least he didn’t have an outrageous loan on a truck like they did back on Earth.

Instead, the Fighter got a ducal pardon to ease his passage through the world. That point seemed to make everything better, in Ethan’s mind at least.

“How about we get some rest?” Targe asked, getting his bedroll from his pack.

“I never sleep well in dungeons,” Ethan said, pulling out his own plush bedroll. “Something eerie. Especially since we’re sleeping next to them.”

The bodies of the two orcs were still there. They’d decay over time, but until then they rested near the adventurers.

“Don’t expect a full night’s sleep,” Twist said. “Just get what you can.”

Like true adventurers, no one stripped down to sleep. Ethan kept his hat off, but everyone slept in their gear. It might have been fear of the dungeon screwing them over, or laziness. But they all climbed into their bedrolls and settled down. The constant pulse of magical light from the dungeon made sleep slow to come. But the exhaustion of the day won over each of them in turn.

Snores filled the open room before Ethan had fallen asleep. Something he expected to keep him up for hours. But as his mind drifted, he couldn’t realize that wasn’t the case. He fell asleep with his friends.