Michael stared at death in the face, and time stretched itself until it felt as if life was nothing but a movie that he could pause at will. But even then, he knew that it was just an artifice born of a mind that knew it had to squeeze every ounce of processing power out of the meaty brain that made it, if it wanted to survive.

It was during this window of time bought for him by Michael’s brain chemistry that he remembered about his gun. He didn’t even know how he did it, with his broken arms and all, but suddenly he was gripping it like it was his only lifeline, aiming it at the center of mass of the incoming skeleton. Three shots rocked the cave, the impact of the bullets on the far wall sending sparks flying like little secondary flashes of light. The first bullet blew through the ribs of the skeleton, but did nothing to stop it, but the second and third hit further up due to the recoil Michael’s wounded arms could not manage to stop. One of the two dislocated the skeleton’s shoulder and the second one beheaded it.

Out of bullets, Michael jumped to his feet, heedless of the pain, and stomped on the writhing skeleton until all that was left of its bones were shards and dust. Then he collapsed right as the door to the boss room appeared, back against the cold rock that dug into his wounds, panting. Healing took a long time, time during which his panicked mind decided that it was too dangerous to continue, that he finally understood why even those who had struck gold and found the dungeon had stopped before delving too deep, and that he was a fool to think that he could be different than them.

Then he saw the stack of coins that had stealthily appeared right beside him. One, two, ten, fifteen, twenty copper coins. He salivated. He could do so many things with them. He could literally turn his life around just with those twenty coins. If so, what could he do if he had more? Not just more coins, but more skills too. More magic. And, of course, he knew that if he had more magic then he needed more coins, or else it wouldn’t work for long outside of the dungeon.

The panic subsided. After all, his mind now told him, he had survived, had he not? This could be a learning opportunity for him, and next time he would be more careful until he found the right balance to get loot but without putting his life in unnecessary danger.

He was almost convinced already, but then he saw the glow coming from below a rock. A skill stone.

Skill stone: (Common) Fast Reflexes

Use this skill stone to learn the first level of the skill: Fast Reflexes

He used it immediately.

(Common) Fast Reflexes 1

In the dance of combat, swiftness is the brushstroke of victory; with honed reflexes, I weave through the chaos, shaping destiny with every move.

* The speed of your reflexes is increased by 10%.

Now he had no more doubts. This dungeon was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He was fully healed and still had food to spare, and his competitive spirit was burning. He felt more alive than ever. Battle had made his blood boil, adrenaline raging, and then he had been fairly rewarded for his efforts.

The world was finally recognizing him his due. He could not stop now.

The boss room was next. He crossed the threshold gingerly, cautiously.

Infinity Dungeon – Earth

Floor 1-3

One of his floodlights was broken, and he knew that with less light he had to be careful of the dark and the dangers that lurked within. Still, he was emboldened by his victories and by the tantalizing sweetness of the rewards for a fight well fought. He was rested, his mind was sharp, he was motivated. He could do this. He had a plan, a middle ground between the excessive safety of the first room and the recklessness of the second.

A huge skeleton greeted him with a roar that should have been impossible for a being without vocal chords. Air had moved, like a strong gale that rattled his teeth, but Michael had no time to contemplate the impossible before the battle started. For a moment the two enemies sized each other up, and the skeleton seemed to snarl and make faces at him even though its bones did not move at all, like a faux image one saw when there was not enough light and data to really know what you were looking at. Michael’s face was a mask of concentration. He had his shield up, gun hidden behind it and fully loaded.

Then the stalemate was broken when the skeleton lunged at him with a wild haymaker, and the blow was mighty enough that Michael decided to dodge it rather than taking it with his shield. He found it easier than expected, his new passive skill already paying dividends. For a while all he did was dance around the danger, dodging, learning the fighting style of the skeleton, predicting its patterns.

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Then came a blow he could not dodge. With a sharp breath, he readied himself, feeling the mana drain from him to empower his shield with [Distortion Field], repelling the gigantic fist that was descending upon him. He felt the blow rattle his bones, arms aching, but he was fine. The skeleton too, unfortunately. It had not shattered from the blow, its bones too resistant.

It was time to change things around. The skeleton was getting faster, its enormous bulk digging holes in the fortunately smooth stone of the ground as it moved, rage mounting, and it was only a matter of time before Michael would become unable to dodge a fatal blow.

“I’ve trained my reflexes enough,” Michael muttered, throwing himself to the ground and finally showing his trump card.

He made use of his window of opportunity to take aim with his gun, shooting at the bony knee of the monster, shattering calcified cartilage. The monster staggered for a moment, and Michael used the opportunity to advance with his own shield like a battering ram, changing the angle of attack at the last second and transforming all his momentum into upwards force. He swung the shield in an arc, [Distortion Field] active, hitting the monster’s right arm like a tennis ball being hit by a powerful player. The hand flew, along with several fragments of shattered bone that further broke apart when they hit the far wall with incredible speed.

Even though Michael felt the drain of the skill, he knew he had to press his advantage. His foe was unbalanced, trying to right itself now that its weight had suddenly been redistributed by a powerful force. He activated his skill… only for it to fail.

Michael blanched, jumping away from a savage kick that still managed to nick him in the leg and draw blood. Now he was on the defensive.

He grit his teeth, letting go of his gun in an unplanned move that was however very necessary, and thrust his hand into his pocket where the copper coins clinked like a lifesaving weight. He absorbed five of them, topping off his mana, and brought his shield to bear again. With [Distortion Field], the punch from the monster only felt like he had been hit by a truck, but it did not break bone. It pushed him against the edge of the room, where the cold unfeeling stone of the wall pressed against his back.

With restricted movement, it was a very dangerous position to find himself in, and the skeleton was suddenly much faster than before, charging at him. That’s when a nasty idea came to his mind. A wicked smile appeared on his face at the same time, and his shield glimmered with the repulsion effect of his magic skill.

This was going to be dangerous.

He planted his feet against the wall, and pushed. He flew up, gaining his footing and breaking into a mad run, shield held up high with both of his hands, glimmering. Then the collision. The impact was violent. He didn’t know where or when he had hit the skeleton, but he felt something give and then he was tumbling on the ground, both arms broken, body battered and bruised. Around him, a shower of pieces of white bone slowly being dissolved into raw mana.

Then the sound of the wall opening up, and the light from the outside filtering in lit the cave with a much brighter light than the electric floodlights Michael had bought and taken with him.

It was only after he was all healed up that Michael went to see what he had gained from this battle. He was hungry, but he could eat later. The spoils of war had been calling to him while he had been healing, and he could not resist their call anymore. A message was also blinking in his vision, beckoning for his attention.

Skill Level up!

[Distortion Field] reaches level 3 and gains the ability to Shield Bash enemies once per fight.

A third effect had been added to the skill, the magical ability evolving to accommodate the novel way in which Michael had used it.

(Common) Distortion Field 3

Like a sturdy bamboo shield, may my resolve deflect the arrows of adversity, standing firm amidst the storms of fate.

* Activate to immediately conjure a small, short-lived region of distorted space-time close to your body, which will act as a localized repulsion field for any incoming physical attack.

* Can be used to infuse a shield with a weaker version of the effect, which will last until the energy is spent.

* The infused shield will have improved durability and gain the ability to cast Shield Bash once per fight.

Moderate mana cost per activation.

He grinned.

Already, he was seeing huge gains. Not only that, but with all the physical effort and healing, he felt stronger and faster than ever before. It had not occurred to him before, but all the little aches and pains he always felt in his body were gone too, thanks to his healing bringing him to top form. In that moment, he truly felt better than he had ever felt in his life. Then he went over the spoils. More coins, thirty of them, bringing the total to forty-five. Not exactly what he wanted to see, but fair enough that he couldn’t really complain. Buried under the coins he also found a small metal bar, shining silver and not too heavy. He had never handled silver himself, and for all he knew it could be aluminium or some alien metal just as easily, but if he was lucky, then perhaps the small bar was indeed silver and could prove to be a life saver for his broke ass.

There was a pawn shop on the way back home, he remembered seeing it while driving. They will surely try to rip me off, but pawn shops rarely ask too many questions.

He could get the bar appraised and sold in a couple hours, and be relatively sure that he wasn’t going to attract too much attention to himself.

Besides, it’s 200 miles away from where I live, and only one hour drive from the Trail. Perfect spot. Even if they decide to investigate my identity, what are they going to find?

Just walk in, give the bar, take the money, walk out. Be confident, and don’t talk too much. It’s mental training, overcoming hard odds, growing stronger.

He parked. Old Dave’s Pawn Shop had a broken sign, neon light flickering in the darkening light of the late summer day. Michael took a deep breath, gripping the bar in his right pocket and the feeling the few coins he had stashed in his left pocket as insurance—on top of his topped-off mana.

Showtime. He told himself, but why do I feel like a damn thief?