Ivan moved quietly through the dark, damp tunnel, the air thick with the stench of waste and rot. Beside him, a sluggish waterway carried the city's filth, its brown surface bubbling faintly under the dim light of his flashlight. He walked with measured steps, each one sending a hollow echo through the long passage, dirty and neglected.
He glanced down at his weapon, the PP19 Bizon, with its familiar weight reassuring in his gloved hands. The gun had seen better days, though—it bore the scars of his first quest, with the tip of his barrel full of scrapes and parts dented from the creatures he had faced. But Ivan had since repaired it, only replacing the important components and adding new attachments, including the flashlight mounted along the side, casting a stark beam ahead.
His attire was also different; instead of wearing head-to-toe riot gear, he was encased in a full-body hazmat suit, the slick material clinging to his form and sealing him from the foulness around him. A military-grade respirator covered his face, filtering out the pungent fumes rising from the sewers. On his combat belt, a handgun, a couple of grenades, a small healing elixir he’d bought from Eldarion, and a long combat knife hung within easy reach. He kept his gear light—additional armor would only slow him down in the cramped tunnels.
It had been a month since his first quest with Tanya, Kyle, and their hot-headed leader, Ramset. The memory lingered like a shadow in the back of his mind—the near disaster with the migrating goblins, the chaos and terror as they were almost overrun. He could still picture Kyle training at the guild, sparring with his teacher. Ramset, ever the firebrand, had joined Solas, the party that consisted of marksmen and scouts, while Tanya had returned to her village with her parents, who weren’t pleased to hear about her brush with death.
Class D. The rank was new but earned. After the goblin quest, he had moved up from Class E, his reputation growing with every mission he completed. Over the last three weeks, he had taken on hunting quests—eliminating goblins, harvesting slimes, and mandrakes—and he’d done some of it alone. Dangerous work, even for higher-ranked adventurers, but Ivan had his reasons.
He checked his status bar, now level 80. His stats had improved dramatically: he could handle high-caliber guns without worrying about recoil, lift heavy weights with ease, and run at speeds that would rival athletes, even in the restrictive hazmat suit. His stamina had grown as well, allowing him to push himself further and faster than before.
Satisfied, Ivan turned off the flashlight from his barrel and brushed his gloved fingers along the wet, grimy wall, summoning a primitive wooden torch. Pulling it free, he hesitated for a moment before lighting it. Through trial and error, he had learned that most monsters reacted differently to light. Flashlights, with their harsh, white glow, often deterred monsters. They mistook it for a mana lamp, assuming it belonged to a powerful mage or a large party, and kept their distance.
But a wooden torch was a different story.
Its flickering, uneven light made the monsters think they were dealing with ordinary adventurers—weak prey, easy to hunt. Ivan had learned that the hard way during one of his early solo quests. Now, he used that knowledge to his advantage.
The soft orange glow of the torch cast dancing shadows on the walls as he moved deeper into the tunnels. His footsteps quickened. He knew what awaited him in these depths—mutated rats, slimes, and worse things that lurked in the darkness. this season is winter, and many monsters haven't adapted to snow, like slimes that often live in labyrinths, drakes that struggle to fly in cold weather because they're featherless, and goblins that have a harder time finding food due to the scarcity of resources during the winter months. These creatures only survive by staying inside dungeons or sneaking inside the capital's swerves. But they weren’t the reason he had come; he was looking for something powerful.
A fungal beast, a monster that can release spores that can paralyze its prey, has tentacles writhing with a toxin that can cause hallucinations, and it's smart enough to recognize different classes of adventurers and adapt its hunting strategy accordingly. many adventurers have fallen victim to its deadly abilities. He even faced one once when he temporarily joined a party of dungeon raiders in a quest to find artifacts. But he wasn't able to fight one off on his own. Since the others only told him to watch. Thankfully, he learned that its tentacles can't regrow once severed, different from the ones he saw in sci-fi movies.
His eyes drifted to the water at his side. The sluggish, murky flow carried the filth of the city above, but something stirred beneath its surface. Not the fungal beast—no, something smaller, but still dangerous.
Scuttlers.
At first glance, they resembled harmless crustaceans, their small, armored forms scuttling along the sewer walls. But Ivan knew better. In large numbers, these creatures could strip flesh from bone in moments. Their sharp claws and relentless numbers made them a deadly threat to anyone unlucky enough to attract their attention.
Ivan stood still, watching as a few scuttlers crawled up the stone walls, their tiny legs clicking against the wet surface. They were multiplying, their numbers growing. If he didn’t act soon, they could swarm him. But he wasn’t here for them; he needed this obstacle out of his way to reach the hidden chamber beyond. With a deep breath, Ivan readied his weapon and prepared to make a swift and decisive move to bypass the scuttlers and continue on his mission.
Without hesitation, Ivan phased his hand into his chest for a moment before pulling out a stick of dynamite. He lit the fuse with a practiced flick, the tiny flame dancing briefly before he tossed it into the murky water.
The explosion was deafening in the enclosed space. Water erupted in a violent burst, sending scuttlers and debris flying in all directions. The air filled with the acrid scent of smoke and sewage, and Ivan shielded his visor from the spray. The sudden change of pressure from the blast had killed most of the scuttlers instantly.
A few survivors scrambled along the walls, trying to escape the destruction. Ivan, unfazed, pulled out two more sticks of dynamite. He lit both in quick succession and dropped them into the water, stepping back as another pair of explosions rocked the tunnel.
When the water finally settled, Ivan surveyed the aftermath. No more scuttlers emerged from the murky water, and the tunnel was silent again, save for the soft trickle of water and the crackling of his torch.
Satisfied, he pressed onward, his mind already shifting back to the real challenge in the deeper parts of the sewer, the air around him growing thicker and colder with every step. The soft glow of his torch flickered as the damp walls seemed to close in, the once-clear pathway narrowing into a more treacherous passage. A faint scent of mold and decay drifted through his respirator’s filter, but it was what he saw next that made him slow his steps.
Spores.
Ivan pressed deeper into the tunnels, his footsteps echoing softly off the damp, grimy walls. The further he went, the thicker the air became, carrying with it a faint, unnatural glow that seemed to swirl and hang in the darkness. He squinted through the visor of his hazmat suit, his respirator filtering out the increasingly pungent odor. Something had changed. He could feel it—the atmosphere was different now.
The torch he held sputtered slightly as the moisture in the air clung to the flame, making the shadows dance across the slimy tunnel walls. As he moved closer, the faint sounds of battle began to pierce the silence—armor clanking, spells crackling, and the distinct thud of heavy impacts.
His brow furrowed behind the mask. He wasn’t supposed to be alone down here?
The sewer tunnel opened into a larger chamber, and as Ivan peered through the haze of spores, he caught sight of two figures engaged in combat. The fungal beast loomed large in the center of the room, its tentacles thrashing wildly, releasing waves of glowing spores with each movement. The creature’s grotesque form was almost plantlike, with tendrils and vines covered in bulbous, spore-filled sacs that burst open, filling the air with the paralyzing mist.
Two women stood before it, both clad in white-robed armor, their weapons raised as they fought to keep the beast at bay. The first woman he saw was a priestess, her mace raised high as she chanted incantations to purify the air. golden runes shimmered in the air around her, forming a barrier that deflected the beast’s toxic attacks. Beside her, the second woman, a licensed mage, wore an embroidered, enchanted armor that was a telltale sign of her profession. She too wielded a mace, but with the other hand, she conjured blazing orbs of fire and hurled them at the beast, keeping its tentacles at a distance.
The rhythmic chanting of spells, the clang of armor, and the dull impact of the maces against the beast echoed off the stone walls, filling the chamber with a cacophony.
Ivan narrowed his eyes, observing the fight from the shadows. He was curious now. What’s a priestess and a licensed mage doing under the capital’s sewers? Their presence didn’t make sense—these weren’t the types to take on a sewer quest, especially not in a place as dangerous as this. Something was off.
The fungal beast let out a guttural, wet roar, its massive body convulsing as it slammed a tentacle into the priestess’s shield, causing it to crackle and flare with protective magic. The woman grunted, bracing herself against the force, while her companion unleashed a volley of flame bolts, searing into the beast’s side. The flames momentarily forced the creature back, but it quickly retaliated, releasing another cloud of spores that swirled toward them.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Hold on!” the mage shouted, raising her mace and swinging it at the incoming cloud. As she did, the runes along her robes glowed brighter, and a protective spell spread out in a barrier around them, dispelling the spores before they could take effect.
As the fungal beast collapsed with a final, grotesque shudder, the air in the sewer chamber became eerily still. The glowing spores began to dissipate, leaving only the stench of rot and the fading embers of magical fire in the air. The priestess wiped her brow with a gloved hand, her mace resting heavily against her shoulder as she turned to her companion.
"Well," she said with a sigh of relief, "that's that. Another one bites the—"
"MMMMFF MMF MMMF!"
A strange, garbled noise interrupted her. Both women turned, their eyes narrowing as they tried to locate the source of the sound. Out of the shadows, a figure emerged—short, stocky, and dressed in the oddest outfit they had ever seen.
"What in the goddess's name is that?" the priestess muttered, blinking in disbelief.
Standing before them was a boy—no more than seventeen—encased in a full-body suit of slick, strange material. His face was completely obscured by a bug-eyed mask, the kind that looked like it belonged to a deranged alchemist. The muffled noises continued, and the women realized they were coming from the boy, though his words were completely unintelligible.
"Is... is he yelling at us?” the mage asked, struggling to make sense of the situation.
The priestess cocked her head, watching as the boy waved his arms frantically, pointing at the fallen fungal beast, then at them, then back at the beast. His gestures were wild, and the tone of his muffled shouting indicated he was very, very upset.
“He sounds angry, but I can’t understand a word he’s saying!” the mage replied, giggling behind her hand.
"MMMMMF MFFF MMFFF!" the boy continued, stomping his booted foot in frustration. It looked ridiculous, like a child throwing a tantrum in a suit three sizes too big. After several moments of this, he seemed to realize his attempts at communication were failing miserably. With an exaggerated huff, he reached up and yanked off his respirator, revealing a flushed, irritated face underneath.
"That was my kill!" the boy shouted, his voice finally clear. "I accepted this quest at the guild! That fungal beast was mine to slay, and you two just—just stole it from me!"
The priestess and the mage exchanged amused glances. Up close, the boy looked even younger than they had initially thought. His face was still soft, with barely a shadow of stubble on his chin, and his wide, earnest eyes only added to his youthful appearance.
"Your kill?" the priestess repeated, trying—and failing—not to smile.
"Yes!" Ivan, still red-faced, gestured wildly at the beast. "I’ve been tracking it for days! This was my quest, and you just swooped in and—"
Before he could finish, the mage stepped forward, bending down slightly to get a better look at the boy. She wasn’t much taller than him, but the way she peered at him made him feel smaller than he was.
"Aw, how adorable," she cooed, reaching out and ruffling his hair. "Look at you, all grown up and taking on dangerous quests by yourself."
Ivan recoiled, swatting her hand away, but it was too late. The priestess had already joined in, her grin widening as she tousled his hair from the other side.
"He's so serious! How old are you, kid? Sixteen? Seventeen?" she teased, ignoring the Ivan's irritated glare.
"I’m old enough!" Ivan snapped, trying to duck out from under their hands. "I’m a Class D adventurer for crying out loud!"
"A Class D adventurer, huh?" The mage laughed, straightening up and crossing her arms. "And you thought you could take on that big fungal beast all by yourself?"
"I was going to take it down! " Ivan protested, straightening his back as if to prove his point. "I had everything planned. The explosives, the strategy—everything was in place. You just… showed up and messed it all up! "
The priestess raised an eyebrow. "Explosives, huh? In a sewer? That sounds… safe."
Ivan’s face turned a deeper shade of red. "I know what I’m doing!"
The two women exchanged another glance, clearly amused by the boy's reaction. The mage took a step forward, leaning down again, but this time with a more serious look on her face—though the amusement was still evident in her eyes.
"Look, kid," she said, "we didn’t mean to steal your thunder. We were just passing through when we saw that beast and figured it needed to be dealt with. But trust me—taking on something like that alone, especially when it’s releasing paralyzing spores? That’s risky business, even for a seasoned adventurer."
Ivan crossed his arms, still fuming. "I know, I had a plan, and I didn’t need your help."
The priestess chuckled, shaking her head. "You know, you remind me of my little brother. All stubborn and ready to take on the world, even when he’s in over his head."
"I’m not in over my head!" Ivan insisted, though his voice had lost some of its earlier bites.
The mage smirked. "Sure, sure. Well, next time, how about we let you have your big moment, huh?"
Ivan shot her a suspicious look, but before he could retort, the priestess ruffled his hair one last time. "There, there, big guy. You’ll get your chance. Just don’t blow yourself up in the process."
With that, the two women turned and started walking further into the sewers. Ivan stood there, fists clenched at his sides, his hair a tousled mess, glaring after them.
"I’m not a kid," he muttered under his breath, pulling his respirator back on as he grumbled to himself. "I’m not."
As they continued through the dimly lit tunnels, Ivan couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. He quickened his pace to catch up with the women, his footsteps echoing behind them. The priestess glanced over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at him. "What are you doing?"
“Obviously, I’m following you two,” he said with an air of feigned indifference.
“Following us, huh?” The priestess gave a sly smile. “So, Mr. Class D Adventurer," the priestess chuckled softly. "How many levels have you reached so far? "
“Oh, you know… twelve. I've been exploring the deeper levels since last week," he replied, trying to sound more confident than he felt.
There was a beat of silence before the priestess raised an eyebrow, her expression turning from amused to suspicious. “Interesting,” she said slowly. “Considering there are only ten levels built by the old rulers ever since this kingdom was a town, you must be quite the explorer.”
Ivan felt his face heat up under his mask as he scrambled for a way out. “Oh, did I say twelve? I mean, uh, I must have lost count. Been down here so many times, everything’s a blur.” He threw on a laugh, hoping they’d let it go.
“Actually, come to think of it, I think I… forgot something back a few tunnels," he said, gesturing vaguely behind him. "So, uh, I’ll just—”
Before he could make his way in the opposite direction, the mage stepped in his path, crossing her arms with a smile that was entirely too curious. "Oh no, no. Now you’ve got us intrigued. I mean, it’s not every day we meet a kid who’s secretly exploring uncharted levels under the capital city.”
Ivan felt a bead of sweat form on his forehead as he tried to come up with a convincing excuse, but the mage's gaze was unrelenting. "Fine!” he snapped, louder than he intended.
“Yes, I’ve been through the lower levels, but only the first few!” He glanced between them, feeling their eyes practically bore into him. “But,” he continued, thinking fast, “if you’re so interested, why don’t we make a deal?”
The priestess and mage exchanged an amused glance, neither of them flinching under Ivan’s sudden naivete. Ivan took a steady breath and raised a hand, listing off his conditions.
“First off,” he said, mustering all the confidence he could, “I need to know your names; I don't like it when I keep calling strangers ma'am, sir, miss, or mister." The mage’s lips quirked in an amused smile, but she nodded, folding her arms in a silent agreement.
“Second,” Ivan continued, his voice faltering for a moment, “I’ll need your protection if we go any deeper. I, uh, haven’t actually explored much down there. And I’m not stupid enough to wander into a death trap without some extra help.”
“And third,” he added, forcing himself to sound confident again, “I’ve got an upcoming quest lined up—a dragon hunt with some friends from the guild. I could use experienced allies like you two. So, if we survive down here, you help me with that hunt.” He ended his list with a defiant stare, daring them to refuse.
For a long, silent moment, the two women simply looked at each other, unreadable expressions passing between them. Then, the priestess turned back to him, her mouth curled in an intrigued smile.
“Well,” she said slowly, “seems you’ve got this all figured out, don’t you?”
The mage chuckled, shaking her head. “I’ll be honest, kid, you’ve got guts. Most would never negotiate with someone they know nothing about.” She glanced at her companion with a small nod. “I’m Mira,” she said, bowing her head slightly, “and this is Novaria.” Novaria nodded in acknowledgment.
"So," Novaria continued, "Lead the way."
With Mira and Novaria now behind him, Ivan grinned to himself, his plan surprisingly working. He adjusted his respirator back over his face and gave them a nod, his posture tall and steady as he led them deeper into the sewers. The light from their mana lamps flickered against the damp walls, casting long shadows that danced in sync with their footsteps, and the silence hung heavy between them.
After several winding turns, they finally descended into the tenth layer, the air growing colder and tinged with an earthy musk. They turned a final corner and stopped dead in their tracks. Before them lay a massive breach in the wall, the stones scattered like shattered glass, and in the rubble were the flattened, twisted remains of mutated rats, their bodies crushed beyond recognition.
“Intriguing,” the mage said, stepping closer and squinting at the damage. She traced her fingers over the edges of the broken wall. “The wall was reinforced with layers of protective spells and defensive runes. Whatever blasted through here had to be strong enough to overpower centuries of enchantments. And it looks like it was recently blown open… by an explosion?” She raised an eyebrow, glancing back at Ivan.
Mira joined her, observing the remnants of spellcraft left on the wall. “You once mentioned you carried explosives,” she said with suspicion, eyeing Ivan curiously. “Could this have been caused by one of your little ‘tricks’?”
Ivan scratched his head, his gaze shifting as if lost in thought. “I may have, uh, accidentally blown it open last week,” he admitted, his voice muffled slightly behind his mask. He cleared his throat, piecing the memory back together. “I’d been doing a solo raid with some goblins. There was a big fight in the tunnels, but things went south fast when an ogre showed up. It went after the goblins first, but when it saw me, I had to throw everything I had at it to keep myself from becoming its next meal.”
Mira and Novaria exchanged a look, their eyes widening slightly as they processed the story.
“So let me get this straight,” Novaria said slowly, her voice now laced with shock. “So you're saying that you managed to lure an ogre down here, into the deeper levels of the sewers?”
Ivan nodded, trying to play it off with a casual shrug. “Not my best moment, I’ll admit,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “But I didn’t have much of a choice once the goblins started piling up and that ogre got involved. So yeah, I used a few of my… bigger tricks to clear the path.”
Mira chuckled, crossing her arms as she took in the boy standing in front of her. “You know, kid, you never fail to surprise me. Blowing down century-old walls, tangling with ogres… You don’t seem to take many low-risk quests, do you?”
Ivan gave her a lopsided grin. “Guess I have a habit of biting off more than I can chew.”
She shook her head with a small laugh while nervously making eye contact with Novairia. “Well, you’ve certainly left an impression.”
“Yeah,” Novaria added with a worried smirk. “On the wall, too.”
The three of them stood there a moment, assessing the damaged passageway, before Ivan took a step forward and motioned them to follow him. The trio moved carefully, their footsteps echoing off the damp walls as they ventured deeper into the unknown.