The [Dungeon Core] rose from the ground. Twist looked to the bonus chests in the distance, lingering on the platinum one. Ethan placed a comforting hand on the Rogue’s shoulder, shaking his head.

“That was one hell of a move,” Ethan said.

“It was great,” Targe said. “Eyes off the chests, guys. I know everyone loves chests—no matter the size—but we have a job to do. We owe it to Luca.”

“Agreed,” Twist said, shifting his gaze to the core.

It was like the other cores Ethan had seen. A big ball of metal, roughly the size of a man, that radiated power. When clearing a dungeon, a party had a few options. They could destroy the core there, if they had the means. Taking the core was another option, although Ethan had never done that before. Or they could leave it, allowing the dungeon to continue on. The last option was the most common, as it allowed them to get the loot. Destroying or removing the core took away the chests. Took away the [Platinum Bonus Chest].

“Alright,” Ethan said, slapping the core. “How do we get this bad boy… oh.”

A system message appeared.

Only the party leader can remove the [Dungeon Core].

“Guess you gotta slap it, Targe,” Ethan said.

Targe placed his hand on the core, looking at his companions. “Ready?”

Twist and Bells nodded. A system message appeared.

[Targe’s Party] has taken the [Dungeon Core].

Removing the core will result in the destruction of the dungeon. Please stand clear.

The world swirled around them, sending them hurtling through nothingness. Alongside them was the massive silver dungeon core, sailing across the black void. As Ethan traveled, he felt the pull of urgency in his mind. Something like a series of instructions, whispered from Lucantele washed over his brain. But he didn’t need it. He’d put it together before they’d finished the boss battle.

Before Ethan’s eyes adjusted to the outside light, he’d used his [Deep Healing] ability. He spotted the prone form of a man in the orc’s camp and cast [Cure Wounds] without hesitating. A voice of surprise issued, but the light was too blinding. The [Dungeon Core] rolled awkwardly down a slight hill, coming to rest just as the Caller’s eyes adjusted. A notification appeared.

[Spinal Decay Poison] removed from [Maxwell Ainsworth (Radiant)].

[Ethan Stout’s] [Healer’s Subcore] gained 0.1% experience.

Resting near the entrance of the second dungeon was Radiant. Pit knelt near the downed Healer, casting a concerned look up at Ethan. His mouth was agape, as though words begged release they’d never get.

“We…” Pit started, unable to form a coherent thought.

“Damn, Ethan,” Targe said, rushing over to the downed man. “How’d you know?”

Ethan joined them, kneeling to inspect Radiant. “Lucantele told us to hurry up. He showed me the outside of the dungeon. I could barely make out the pair of you. What happened?”

“Poison,” Pit said, scowling. “Took hold quicker than he could heal.”

Radiant coughed. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Pit said. Ethan spotted the tears forming in the corners of the man’s eyes. “You almost died, Max. You had five health left.”

“Seconds,” Ethan said with a nod. “That was too close.”

“Perhaps we should expand our team, Pit,” Radiant said, still laying on the ground. “I suppose we weren’t ready for it.”

But that could have happened to anyone. If the poison was strong enough, and the Healer was out of mana. That could have been Ethan, or Twist, or Targe. Any adventurer would have died from that nasty poison. Anything called [Spinal Decay Poison] would have been absolutely vile.

“Thinking you guys need to do some training,” Targe said, clapping a hand over Pit’s shoulder. “We got lucky with our dungeon.”

Pit’s eyes were suddenly glued to the [Dungeon Core]. “You brought the core? Why did you bring the core?”

Without explaining himself, Pit scooped up Radiant. And ran.

“You’re welcome!” Targe shouted back, shaking his head. “Yeah, but we should run.”

Twist was already running off to find Tulip while Targe rolled the core.

“Uh, why?” Ethan asked.

“The cores attract monsters,” Targe said, grunting against the heavy core. “Give me a hand.”

Ethan’s eyes went wide, then he was there with his companion. Pushing the massive core uphill toward Tulip. “Important information!” he shouted, shoving his full weight against the core. “I feel I was denied critical, need to know information!”

“Well, damn,” Targe said, having a much easier time rolling the core. “Thought everyone knew that.”

“I’m not from here!”

The pair rolled the core for a short while longer before Twist brought Tulip up. Now came the task of getting the damn thing on top of the beetle. Targe urged her to get down, lean to one side. Then he wrapped a rope around the core, pulling it from the other side as the beetle tilted with him. Some seriously good knots later, and the [Dungeon Core] rested, secured on the back of Tulip.

Targe smacked the core, grinning at Ethan. “This thing ain’t going nowhere.”

Ethan swapped his [Healer’s Subcore] for his [Evoker’s Core]. “Good. Can we leave now?”

“Yes, let’s retreat,” Twist said, urging the beetle forward by her reins.

“How fast can she go?” Ethan asked, slapping the beetle on her shell.

“Not fast enough,” Targe said, casting a concerned look over his shoulder. “How much daylight do we have left?”

“A few hours,” Twist said. “And… ah, of course.”

The sound of horns issued in the distance. Orcish war horns, echoing off the sparse landscape. Tulip picked up her pace, urged on by the Fighter. The group was already exhausted from the fight. Worn down and out of breath. But as the horns grew louder, they dug deep. They tapped into hidden reserves. Bursts of strength born from fear. Because the horns grew in number. When they reached the rise to the top of the valley to the north, they could see the monsters.

From the south, the flicker of torches danced across the orc’s camp. The thunderous sound of thousands of feet hammering down from the mountain. Shouts, from the throats of every orc on the mountain, filled the valley. From the north, the stampede of monsters. [Dig Deer], [Thorn Badgers], and [Hill Bears] burst from hidden places, descending on the group.

While the Rank 0 monsters provided no challenge, they delayed the group’s progress. Targe would remove the head of a monster, only to find Tulip scattering in panic. Ethan brought up the rear, keeping Luca’s symbol out for the journey. The silver squirrel lit the way under the dense canopy of trees. Latching onto the neck of a monster, the spirit growled. A sense of hope bloomed in the Caller’s chest, but he wouldn’t dare to grasp it.

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“Not far!” Targe shouted.

But the Fighter had no idea how far they needed to go. The temple was a ways off, and the orcs were closing in. No one knew how far Lucantele’s influence went, or if the Great Spirit could aid them in the fight. Ethan slapped Tulip’s shell again, forcing her forward over the difficult terrain.

A horn issued, closer than ever this time.

“I’ll delay them,” Ethan said, holding back as the others went forward.

“You’re an idiot!” Targe said, tripping over an errant root.

“They’re right there!” Ethan shouted, pointing down the slight hill they rested on.

The Caller ignored whatever Targe said next. But Twist was near him, a firm hand pressed onto Ethan’s shoulder. Under that mask there must have been a grim resolve. A hardness to match the stone. The Caller dismissed Luca and cast [Summon Telbarantis]. The lizard-spirit emerged, eager to find something to chomp.

“Get ready to run,” Ethan said, taking a steady breath.

The orcs were there. In their thousands. A seething mass that rolled over the forest below. Trees bent to one side as the insane creatures hacked away, flailing their makeshift weapons as they went. Another steadying breath was all Ethan needed to face them down. That, and a combination of abilities.

[Spur], [Caller’s Sprint], [Echo], [Duplicate Effect], and [Caller’s Steadying Stance]. The forest filled with the sound of bells, echoing even as Ethan’s mind split into four distinct pieces. He fell to one knee, then heard the sound of battle around him. Three massive versions of Telbarantis barreled into the orcish force, tearing them limb-from-limb. The Caller’s mind was split among them, [Caller’s Steadying Stance] filling him with the rage they felt. The need to tear apart every orc, no matter the cost.

Twist danced around Ethan, cutting down Rank 0 orcs and maiming the Rank 1 ones. Experience notifications rolled in by the paragraphs, the limbs of orcs tossed in every direction. Watching Tel do his thing against a single orc was bad enough. There, in the field of thousands, a river of blood soaked down the hill.

“Not good,” Twist gasped, ripping a rusted dagger from his gut. His voice carried none of the distress of the wound. “We must retreat.”

Ethan let go of the [Caller’s Steadying Stance] effect, turned to plant a foot in a climbing orc’s face, then ran. Far slower than Twist, he stumbled through the forest. A moment of running full-out, and he felt his connection with his summoned spirits fade. The copies vanished, then the Symbol was destroyed. The Caller’s head already felt as though it were split open. Sundered by the connection to too much of Tel’s power.

Twist’s footfalls ceased behind him. Ethan spun, watching the dark elf stand with daggers wide. “Go,” he said.

“Like hell!” Ethan shouted, casting [Summon Lucantele]. The silver squirrel burst from the ground before the orcs arrived, trotting to stand near Twist. “If one of us dies, both of us die. Hear me?”

Twist only offered a sharp nod, tightening the grip on his weapons.

Ethan followed suit, the palms of his gloved hands hurting under the force of his grip. He grit his teeth, jaw bunching painfully as he awaited their fate. Luca jumped into the air, casting [Barrier of Hope] and [Persistent Light of Hope] on Twist. There was little else the Caller could do.

Except wait for the forest to come down around them.

Whatever damage Telbarantis did to the orcish force was not enough to diminish their numbers. The Caller put his entire body into the first swing of his staff, cracking an orc over the head. Twist danced between strikes, jabbing his knives to find the heart of the monsters. Luca lunged with gnashing fangs, tearing the throats out of the approaching creature.

Until the group was encircled. Fighting back-to-back against a horde that had become tepid. Once a raging river, they were now dribbling into the fight. The ground shook beneath them as an orc lunged with a spear, catching Ethan under the arm. Blood soaked into his white robe, even as he struck back against the monster.

The ground shook again, sending several orcs pitching over onto their backs. Twist swept in and ended them before the others could take their place.

“Come on!” Ethan shouted, swatting at an orc and missing. “Lucantele! Where the hell are you?”

A pulse of silver light washed over the battle. Ethan’s doubts were scoured away. Then Lucantele appeared before him. The Great Spirit bowed his head to the Caller.

“A true Caller,” Luca said, bowing deeper. He turned away from Twist and Ethan to look at the orcs. “Not just a man. Or an outworlder. A Caller, Ethan Stout.”

The first row of orcs encircling the group burst into silver flames.

“A Caller dedicated to the Great Spirits,” Luca said, another row turning to ash in moments. “To PURGE this world of FILTH.”

With the last word, Luca vanished. Ethan looked up, seeing how wrong he was. Lucantele was different. The opposite side of hope. The Caller’s blood ran cold, even as bolts of silver light burst from the massive form of the Great Spirit. His laughter boomed across the forest, laying trees flat with its force. Silver arrows fell, twice as long as a man, to impale each orc gathered. They made to flee, but it was too late.

Despair had fallen on the monsters. And they were wiped clean from the world.

Ethan and Twist stood, clutching wounds and drawing breaths filled with more blood than air. The sound of footfalls issued behind them, and they spun around. The Rogue was already leading with his daggers, a single insane eye flashing under his mask. His weapons stopped an inch from Targe’s heart, breath still coming as ragged gasps.

“Holy shit,” Targe said.

Space warped around the group. Suffused with silver light, they were suddenly standing in Lucantele’s temple. The silver spirit stood before them, reduced to his normal form. If a squirrel could have an expression, this one would be a twist of regretful pain.

“There are two sides to every coin,” Lucantele said. “Hope… and…”

“Despair,” Ethan finished, managing a weak smile. He stumbled on the spot, collapsing. His health pool was dwindling, siphoned by the slowing beat of his heart. “I don’t feel so good.”

Targe dug through the Caller’s pack, pulling out the [Healer’s Subcore] and holding it out for Ethan. He took it weakly, pressing it against his chest to no effect.

“Get your other one out, you idiot!” Targe shouted, slapping Ethan in the face. “Luca, can you heal him?”

The spirit said nothing. Ethan urged his [Evoker’s Subcore] out, watching as it tumbled to the ground. Targe forced the healing core into his chest, slapping his face again.

“Heal yourself,” Targe said, pressing his calloused hand against Ethan’s face.

Ethan didn’t move for a long moment. Looking up at the crumbling ruins of Luca’s temple, he felt some kinship there. More than just their related circumstances, he felt as though he were crumbling. From the inside, perhaps. His consciousness ebbed and flowed, finally catching long enough for him to cast a spell.

The golden motes of light danced through the air as he cast [Cure Wounds]. His health shot to full, the deep cut on his side knitting in moments. Ethan could only remember it feeling itchy, until his mind caught up with the present. He bolted to his feet, focusing on Twist to cast [Cure Minor Wounds], then Targe for the same thing. The Rogue coughed once, then bowed his head.

“Thanks.”

“Damn it, Luca,” Ethan said, staring at the Great Spirit. “That was a close one.”

“You have done me a great service today,” Luca said. He stood tall on his four legs, pulses of hopeful power rolling off the Great Spirit in turgid waves. They stirred the air, sending drips of silver power falling from the ruined walls. “You’ve restored my full power.”

“Wondering if that’s a good thing,” Targe said, turning to face the spirit. “You really messed those orcs up.”

“When you brought the core to me, I consumed it. Regaining my power. They were within my realm, so I annihilated them,” Luca said. “The forests around my temple will no longer be the home of orcs.”

“What about the Fangstone mountain?” Ethan asked.

“My influence stretches to the foot of the mountain range now. To the dungeon you just delved,” Luca said, looking at Ethan as though seeing him for the first time. “Eat of the fruit, Caller Bells. Rest.”

Then the silver spirit was gone without another word. Twist, Targe, and Bells stood there for some time. They shared a look then silently agreed to set up camp. Ethan went to the north of the temple to retrieve the [Lucantele Pears], something his companions hadn’t enjoyed yet. Twist got a pot of tea on, and Targe secured Tulip. The beetle had attempted to flee away from the massive spirit. And the Fighter let her go. He was too concerned about his companions.

When Ethan returned, having pulled up his robe to create a container for the pears, he found Twist working on the tea. The Caller let the fruit bounce over the ground, then fell into a seated position near his friend. He leaned back, letting out a steady breath.

“Deraeda,” Ethan said, staring at the dancing flame. “I hope you know we’re brothers now.”

Twist laughed, shaking his head as he set the teapot aside. “We didn’t leave each other, did we? Not even when we could have. We are brothers now.”

Twist reached under his hood, working his fingers over something. His mask tilted to the side before he grabbed it and slid it off. The visage of a once-handsome man was illuminated by the flickering flame. He pulled his hood back, revealing his bone-white hair. His single working eye was violet, revealing that there was some magic in his mask. It obfuscated the true hue. Otherwise he had elegant features, and a lop-sided smile. His skin was bunched where it was burned on the right side, his dusky skin purple in places.

“It took you half a year to show me your face!” Targe said, stomping over. “Damn, Ethan! What did you guys do in that forest?”

“We’re all brothers, now,” Twist said, setting his mask to the side. He told the story of their brief battle in the forest.

The details Twist relayed weren’t accurate. According to the Rogue, Ethan had done a backflip, kicking two orcs in the face at the same time while smashing a third with his staff. Instead of summoning three copies of Telbarantis, he brought forth no less than a hundred. When they tore through the ranks of the orcs, they only left behind a red mist. Targe nodded along to the story as though it were gospel, never interrupting.

Only when Twist was done with his embellishments, moving on to cook their dinner, did the Fighter speak.

“Alright. Now tell me the real version, Bells.”