“Aw man…” Tim started.

“What?” Chris asked.

“I just realized the Aura Ward strategy means I don’t get to dump the oshi poison down the Murphy’s throat. Talk about killin a b. I had plans.”

Tim mimed pumping a shot gun.

Thron shushed them and reached for the door. Tim thought the low rumble of river rolling over the bed above them was white noise enough to cover their noise. He understood the caution, and hushed with a humble nod.

Their hall ended here with the entrance to the alchemist wing of Squire’s Castle. Built under the river, it drew power from the falls. Another reason for it being outside the castle walls was the risk of explosion. If their experiments went that route, no one would survive, so the river caving in would only help protect the exposure to the castle folk.

Tim sent a danger sense ping through the cracked open door. Pent-up power emanated from inside. Tim parted the line to get closer. Papa Ptol’s story included the reason the cartel never took over here, which was more than just the Murphy’s proximity.

“When Aeu built the rings, he did so for the people to have power to defend their home,” Ptolemy said earlier. “The cartel knew it was the biggest threat, so they sent a demolition crew to bury it. Aeu was one step ahead, laying traps in each entry tunnel. He just didn’t expect the demolition crew to be trolls packing a shaman for such an occasion.

“His tzek stones popped the trap, unleashing three concentrated beams shooting an equivalent of 18,000 watts from rixin blocks half buried in the floor and ceiling. The tzek stone absorbed the aura and fell with a hapless thud and the burning smell of thousands of hours of manpower, and about fifty thousand pecants in cost.

“Turned out that stone took some damage in absorbing that amount of aura. For when the shaman touched the ring, a chain reaction set off the tzek stone, which burst like a nail bomb, slicing shrapnel through the shaman and his crew.” Papa Ptol wagged his finger like you better listen to this part. Tim had been stuck in his tent crafting arrows at the time, so they both knew ol’ Papa had a captive audience. He also had a flair for the dramatic, especially when given the floor. “Not only are those stones still in there and plenty charged, the damage they caused to the rings made this too unstable of a location to bother fighting the Murphy for. Good enough for me to teleport, but most of that power came from my ability.”

“Can anyone teleport through the rings?” Tim had asked.

“No.” Papa Ptol said it as though he’d curse the thought. “Only Aura based creatures, and the cost in power if the creature doesn’t have teleport as an ability makes it cost efficient only in the rarest situations. Teleportation is one of the uses. Costly Aura spells can transfer protected items to another pair of rings. The main use for the Cartel is drawing aura from their prisoners and turning it into Eiyero. The addiction element arises the worst in creatures with no aura. This has built a higher concentration of aura-based classes, and failures leading to death or crippling Eiyero wounds. The more a pair of rings are used—and they must always remain a pair together or risk imbalance and explosions—over time the instability increases the odds of failure, both in the product and the forced manipulation to evolve aura classes. You’re an example of successful evolution, and a rarer one with the Oil and Water progression.

“That’s why the Cartel never really threw manpower into this problem. Now that word’s out about that aura generator, the Cartel is coming for them both. Like me, they must feel like it’s worth the risk to repair the rings. Maybe they’re improving their repair skills. Maybe they have something else in mind.

“Two things we got that they don’t: someone who’s traveled through the rings;” he said, pointing his smokey finger at himself; “and you, someone who could seemingly—potentially— handle drawing the aura from the stones in the wall, one at a time, before we swap our new rings in with the busted old ones.”

Khempal got captured before she could retrieve those rings, then was held captive by the Cartel on their way to kill the Murphy and try their method of securing the room ahead and swapping the rings. The differences between then and now were Tim gaining Aura Ward, and they didn’t need the Cartel’s method to secure the room—a method Papa Ptol had a good chuckle over.

“The gloves they made for the artisan are in Khempal’s pocket, the artisan they expected is dead, at your hand, and now you’re getting his gloves to protect your dainty little fingers.”

“Hey,” Tim had said, looking at his hands. “They’re not that small.”

Papa Ptol lifted his and let the digits trail off in their smoky whispering, reaching nearly a foot before dissipating.

“Show off.”

That smoky creature floated into the narrow space between Tim and the door, Tim with his gloves ready and his heart beating over time.

Colorfully painted wood lined the circular platform housing the rings hanging from the ceiling. Runes Aeu hired his niece to design as an honor to his fallen brother.

The rings were hoops with enough space to fit your head through, and thick enough he could hang from them, but probably not Thron. Plated Fine Silver gleamed in the light from the aura within, refining his vision on the room and where the rings were cracked and weakened.

Danger Sense pinged off the shrapnel pieces buried in the wall. Once he got one, the rest would be easier. He found one that cut through a desk before sticking in the rock.

Papa Ptol followed him. “Good.”

“I’m gonna try using Aura Ward on my hands,” Tim said, preparing the ability and stepping within reaching distance of the stone. Splinters in the desk were stuck out from where the shard exited, pointing a line to the exposed stone. He had two inches of the fragment to hold onto. His grip sparked an aura into his fingers. Ward defended the length of the spike, then Draw wrapped around and metabolized it. With Foraging, he plucked it out. The power transfer ricocheted off him, the wall and almost out of Tim’s hand. The absorbed aura created a magnetism and his Aura Ward protected him enough from the initial spike to keep his hold.

A warning signal hummed and faded inside Tim’s gut.

Alien presence detected. Your Priest class has evolved a supernatural white blood count ability called, Cleanse. 3 MP per minute will drain until the presence is eradicated.

A sharp pain lanced through his stomach, driving Tim off balance and reaching for a handhold. His eyes closed in the next round of attack.

“What’s wrong?” Papa P asked.

“Alien… presence?” Tim didn’t know, and from all signs, his Cleanse ability seemed to be losing the battle.

Dryfu flew around and landed near the epicenter of pain.

Tim’s aura flowed differently as though it was clogged and some pipes were out of sync.

“You’re a priest of Childockia,” Dryfu said, in a hurry as he swarmed close to Tim like an angry hornet. “A priesthood originated by the Swiss Cheese Priest, Pilk the Docile.”

Dryfu spun and thwacked Tim in the chest.

A memory formed by a folk tale and torn parchment read by candlelight informed a deep history of the Docile Priest.

The legend goes, while on the run from Prince Ilef of Wachamia. A storm blew hail sharp and fast enough it tore no less than a hundred holes in the priest’s body.

Tim didn’t like where this was going.

No more when Pilk breathed the Spirit of God through the wind, then traveled the rest of his days whistling in the wind. In some towns, his form was as bright as the sun off the middle of the lake; in others disappeared as quickly as morning fog before their eyes.

Take on the spirit of Pilk and accept the gift of his lineage to drive out the darkness?

Whatever had zipped into Tim’s body drilled holes through aura bone and marrow. Bulls on Parade was its theme song and spirit animal. He didn’t have time to debate. This game realm or whatever it was had him on an evolutionary path he assumed to be for his benefit, and from all angles, the gifting of a third class was supposed to be a boon. At this point, his Cleanse ability seemed to have the foreigner on the run, but every second it survived inside, stretches of flesh and precious fibers were torn away.

God provided food to Elijah when he was on the run, strengthening him for forty days on a single meal. Maybe this was this world’s equivalent. He prayed that this would work and save him before it was too late.

Ok. I accept Pilk’s mantle.

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

Cleanse evolves into Light Burn.

As though being dropped from a tall branch on the count of two, the power so enraged ang overwhelming only God could have born it shot a burning hole through Tim’s midsection. Then another. Another. Hot, yet releasing the pain. Beams of aura leaked out like sunlight to a dark room. The foreign ping ball bounced around, tearing strips of aura flesh in scallops and cracking bones. A force twisted Tim’s hips and shot the invader out.

Dryfu zipped after it. A dark glob with tucked wings and a sharp beak. Silver dripping in pink aura. Tim’s aura. He held up the stone fragment and cast Magic Hunt and Forage. A magnetic tug pulled the rock after the ricocheting aura bird. Its speed diminished on its last sprint to hide in a cubby hole made by another shrapnel fragment. Danger Sense read fear in hiding. It had something to lose.

Tim shuffled closer, his insides rumbling with nausea as his class power poked him with stitching needles and cinched his wounds. His Light Burn rays faded, failing to reach the other side of the room or the ceiling. Tim got an idea and held out the shrapnel to deflect.

The ray ricocheted up at the ceiling, missing by inches until Tim righted it into the narrow hole. A small screech popped out of the inside and resistance pushed back on his ray. Danger pulsed strongly from the direct hit.

Kit cloud kicker! C-mana pumped strength into his shot. He pinned it into a corner until the noise and fight died.

The bird slid out.

Tim caught the stone-dry corpse. Aura leaked from its cracks, its frame withering and blessing Tim with its power.

And the memories it tried to hide.

This was a part of the Murphy, left inside the aura mine as a last-ditch effort to track anyone who would set it off and walk away.

The Murphy knew where they were. It was waiting for this, to see if any intruders had the balls to go for the rings. Its defenses were packed in a dormant state inside the walls, protected from his Danger Sense.

Until now. Races Tim wouldn’t have imagined awakened inside the walls in both tunnels connecting to his room.

Tim picked up a few whys and where’s he doubted the Murphy anticipated him to gleam from this little scout.

While this would be a major push from the Murphy and its legion, Tim also saw where it tried to minimize vulnerability to counterattack. “Dryfu, we have to go. Everyone, wa–”

The ground shook from an explosion outside their room, knocking Tim off his feet. He crashed into a cabinet and fell forward, ears ringing like all get-out.

Tim accessed his aura map and traced a path to the back side of the aura generator room. He tapped a side tunnel in between waves emerging from the forward tunnel, circled the map to save it into the party view, and planted a foot to start his charge.

Thron and Roz rolled in with heads full of steam.

A memory sparked from Aeu installing the rixin blocks and how he stored the aura. Similar to the lockbox Tim unlocked to get the oshi. All he had to do was retrieve the shrapnel before the war turtles blocked their path. Their shells would deflect his shots. Tim’s window to beat them depended on his group intercepting the quicker race of armadillo creatures with hyena legs and poisoned tentacles around their face and balled on their tails.

Tim relayed directions–Thron to the rixin blocks, Papa Ptol as their first line of attack, and the rest waiting for the first entry to break open. Door to door they had less than twenty feet. The ceiling was too short for Roz to get a full swing. It worked well for one Battleground spell, though. Tim locked on the next shrapnel and pumped c-mana into the Hunt. Indi appeared in his hand, and he threw him up at the hole.

“Yeehaw!” Indi hollered. Whip stretched out and waving in the wind.

A war cry erupted outside. Tonda lowered into a ready posture to pounce, her growl sending a luminescent aura into the hair standing on end. Aura strength concentrated in her legs.

The loud hyenadillos–native, choqs–shook stone from their limbs and blew dust out of the holes to clear the way for their tentacles. The mini triceratops-looking turtles with sawblades lining their underbite–native, nugtol–shifted inside the walls, driving their horns and shell spikes into the stone, splitting it into cracks they’d use to get out.

Papa Ptol disappeared into the wall by the closed forward door. War cries turned to hellacious screams.

Tim split his focus between Indi and hunting out the next shrapnel. Papa Ptol was strong and quick at first, but he’d tire because the creatures outside were purely physical, and thus harder for him to digest and metabolize.

The rear entrance shook. Welcome our first participant at the Price is Right.

Thron punched strategic holes to retrieve the rixin blocks quickly. Indi sped up the extraction of shrapnel, allowing Tim to focus on locating and carving a clear separation between the rocks and the wall. Peel combined with Magic Hunt in surprisingly helpful ways. Once he loosened each piece, he took the extracted pieces and set to creating a channel to deliver the aura inside to the rixin blocks. He chewed on a mouthful of juicy orev and set to crafting with his Aura Armor skill.

The choqs broke through the rear entrance to the well-placed and eager uppercut of a one Mr. Thron.

“Oh! The price is wrong, Bob!” Tim said and cast Keeper.

Thron’s hook smashed into the jaw of the second choq, cracking bone through the small furry section of its head. The rest was shell and waving tentacles. One latched onto Thron’s wrist, singing flesh evoking an angry growl. Thron pounded his good fist into the creature’s back, splitting shell with the splat of a busted melon.

Tim itched to get into the thick of it with them. He let a thin cloud of Danger Sense emanate around him so he could focus on his crafting. A choq leapt through a line in their defenses, on path for Tim when Tonda crashed midair. Her throat bite dug deep and her deflecting angle sent the enemy off path. Tim felt the thud when they hit the wall. He wove the last part of the trigger and shouted for Thron. The big guy caught the block with his off-hand shaking. White puss oozed from the burn marks. Several tentacles had scored nasty wounds.

One of Chris’s purple pods fired off a glob of yellow mucus, hitting square in the middle of Thron’s injury before he passed through the doorway.

Tim picked up the second block and enough shrapnel—a tentacle caught his hand and ripped them from his grasp. Tonda scraped at the stone floor to get it, but the choq on top of her caught her arm with a thick tentacle.

Chris’s snot balls went toe to toe with choq tentacles. Tim cut through one wrapped on his bracer and stumbled against the resistance from another caught on his leg. Tonda had two choqs on top of her. Chris’s staff was tangled in a mess of tentacles and his heal shots lacked the density as before.

Jil shot an arrow through the tentacle tied to Tim’s leg. It snapped and sent him falling. The shrapnel he’d just picked up bumbled in his grip and he lost one to rolling along the blood and juice slick floor. Chris’s magic and ingredients burning away the horrific odors of the choq poison stung Tim’s eyes and nostrils.

Through the difficulty of deep breaths, Tim pushed C-mana into his Aura Armor. Battleground, Keeper, and Danger Sense faded into the last seconds of use. His cool down in those would have wasted re-spells as well as interfered with the concentration and dexterity he needed to craft the fuse on the next block.

Blasts from outside flashed blinding white light, forcing Tim to lean into his aura touch to feel his way into the connection between shrapnel and block.

A honking war cry roared through the forward entry, sounding something like nugtol as spoken by a three hundred pound jacked turtle triceratops with a firecracker in its anus. Then jack up the terror to a twelve.

Jil’s arrow skipped off its face shell, missing its eye by an inch. No. Jil switched in her shield and braced for the tusk. The beast drove her back. She tripped on a dead choq and shifted the heavy turtle toward its side. It moaned and a dark liquid spilled from its hard belly. Jil drew a bloody knife over her head and stabbed it into a pocket of flesh between its headshell and neck.

Tim tip-toed between severed body parts and flopping tentacles, careful not to–crack. Crap! The fuse line snapped.

Another mutant turtle appeared at full steam with no one free to get in its way. Its eyes locked on Tim and flared neon. You sneaky bastard. The Murphy didn’t make these creatures. They were trained by the Cartel rangers, sealed with a low burn of magic to keep them alive for this moment, and the Murphy… Tim grinned at this little nugget while shifting into defensive posture… the Murphy’s involvement was leaving behind a drop of aura life in the eyes. Maybe not a huge risk at the time in exchange for being able to see what happened when they woke.

The risk didn’t calculate for an Aura Mage with greater awareness of aura life now that he opened the mantle of Childockian Priest and successor to Pilk. His aura mine breaker gave him a strong taste for Murphy’s spirit, allowing him to evolve Swoon, a nasty little surprise to share with the Murphy when they finally met face to face.

The nugtol didn’t give him any slack. Its thick muscled legs drove it toward pulp speed. Head lowering for the final blow, it failed to disengage from its glare. Tim activated Flee. A knot tugged under his scalp. Somehow his feet left the ground.

The beast turned its head in a pitiful victory over Tim’s command. Too little too late. Its momentum rammed its bent snout into the wall. The half-ton of mass and shell cracked its neck and split up the wall.

Its instant corpse delivered an arm length of ancient feces to splat foul green, brown mush onto the floor.

Thron appeared in the doorway, his revulsion flicking to terror. The crack fissured into three long rivers stretching out across the ceiling. One cut toward the rings but stopped a half foot before the platform. Had it gone through or otherwise disengaged the ring carrier from the power cords, a surge of energy could have triggered the rods and fried the aura inside.

Thron tossed the charred black, spent rixin block and ran into the room.

Another turtle honked and charged with the rage of a lover’s scorn.

Thron collided with a ramrod punch into its back leg, sideswiping it into the other and tripping the creature into a fallen choq and a wounded Jil.

Tim didn’t have time to help her, other than to finish his job and get the block to Thron. He was nearly complete with the reroute around the broken path. His Magic Hunt carved its way through the block and Spirit Memory of Aeu’s skill gave him the precision to finish the line and activation switch. “Got it.” Tim tossed the block, sent Indi for the rings and side stepped to check Jil.

She waived him away, annoyed, and yanked her leg free. A nasty gash drew a steady stream of blood and puss down two feet of her leg. She limped away and let an arrow fly. Tim had tried to catch the nugtol’s eyes to replicate his new Swoon ability.

His force hit a wall.

Thankfully, she hadn’t needed the help. Her arrow cut through its face and under its dome to extinguish its light.

Outside, Thron shot blinding blasts from the rixin block. Cracking explosions followed suit.

Khempal threw a golden laced net around the massive creature. The net’s weighted balls flashed, sending yellow flares across the netting as they tightened. Cutting the shell and through flesh and bone with the ease of string through pudding, the magic empowered net deposited the remains into coins arcing into piles as though pulled by magnets. Could Swoon look like that at some point, moving creatures like a flowing river at the exact arch he intended?

“You okay?” Khempal asked Tim.

Another time. Next step, get Indi to the kill switch Aeu planted in the middle of the ring platform. Without that, they’d be useless.

Problem was, Indi was slogging every step, and Tim couldn’t want to wait on his cool down to push him any farther. They had no backup if Tim couldn’t disable them. They’d have to take their chances against the Murphy without them.

Worse than that, Tonda’s faint efforts to get out from the now dead choqs made him fear the poison would be too much. Chris attended to the tentacles melted into her fur. “I got this,” he said, noting Tim’s attention where it shouldn’t be.

Her life meant more than the rings, but Indi was so close.

His gloves were shredded so bad he’d lost the middle finger on one of them. At least I still got you, he said to his swollen and twitching finger. A gross sliver of burned flesh stitched one side. He’d deal with one finger’s direct contact with the rings. No other choice.

Shades of aura lit along the bottom of one ring.

Tim smiled. His hunt had struck jackpot.

Time to resurrect some demons… he thought, Dana Carvey’s old church lady voice ringing with excitement as he wiggled his happy finger. It’dn’t that special?