Scanning the desolate grounds for the thousandth time this hour, Rex diligently focuses on consistency. Everything is the same, which is good. When things get different, things go bad, which is also good. Having to do nothing is good, and creating ice bombs out of the living is also good.

As much as he wanted to hate being on guard duty, he loved the perks equally so. That is why when Ruts, his half-brother, came to replace him, he was glad and disappointed. His heavy boots clanged upon the obsidian steps as he makes his way down the four stories of stairs passing the commanders station, the training grounds, and the experimental floor.

Rex took extra care to quickly descend past the experimental floor. He found himself conflicted about the second floor. Wizards and sorcerers work night and day, draining the mana from their prisoners. Goblins and kobolds are constantly depleted, never abused — Rex and his brothers were far too noble for that — they were just overworked… extremely overworked.

The traitors deserved every bit of their treatment. How they allied themselves together and led a strike against his brothers in the stronghold… Anger rises within him, causing him to linger on the second level a moment longer. If his squad and he were there, things would have been different. Perhaps some of his friends would have survived.

Instead, they are alone in this secluded land looking for a long-missing gem. The goblins and kobolds still outnumber them, monsters plague the grounds, and tired groans cry from the drained traitors. It wasn't right that they were treated the way they were. Yet, the traitors' mana gives the castle much power to keep the legion of bugbears safe from the dragon's attack.

"Hey, swamp foot. How about you go drown yourself or get me something to eat," A dark assassin goblin calls to him from behind her iron bars. The resilient pest had smooth dark green skin. Her violet eyes were still lively, unlike the other goblins brought in with her yesterday. "Keep staring, and I will personally stab your eyes —"

A loud rattle of the back of an ax hitting the iron cells pulls Rex out of his stupor. "Keep your slimy mouth shut, or I will see to it you never want to open your sweet mouth again." Horc gives the cell a couple more hits for good measure. As Horc pulls his ax back from the last swing, the goblin grabs below the sharp edge and wrestles for it. Rex's ice fist smacks the goblin's perky nose, forcing her to stumble backward and release the ax slicing her hand.

"You lizard skins are all the same. Have fun bleeding out." Horc shoots spit into the cave covering the assassin and her goblin prisoners. "You can say goodbye to any rations from here on out too."

"Filthy rats," Rex adds his slander and spits on the goblins in the cell.

"You through with your shift then?" Horc turns his attention from the prisoners looking up at Rex.

"Yeah, finally paid off the extra portions I've been receiving."

"Stop eating for five, and you won't have to do the shift of five."

"I don't know why we are rationing now. Our portal will be complete within the week."

"Rex," Horc interjects admonishingly.

"Like they matter. Rames and Stul will have them dried out by the end of tomorrow."

"They will still be able to report to their clans when they revive."

Rex lets out a disapproving grunt but concedes. "I'm going to go eat and sleep. Night Horc."

"Try not to think about our darling goblin too much as you put yourself to sleep tonight," Horc responds with a crude chuckle. Rex turns away as Horc finishes wiping the blood from his ax. The warrior looks at his newly stained cloth and back at the goblins. With much disgust, he adds another round of spit to their cell. "Rotten leather skins."

On his way to the bottom floor, the door to the castle opens as the eighth squad walks into the court. Their patrol shouldn't be over, giving rise to curiosity. Rex looks down the stairs listening carefully.

"Jenks, go get Rames and Stul. Tell them we have two more fresh ones for them," says the squad leader, Ruts, who is a cousin and a brother to other Ruts still on guard duty on top of the castle. In his opinion, guard Ruts is night and day better than squad Ruts. But that was an unpopular opinion.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Rex strains his eyes, looking past the bugbears to see the two new prisoners. One new prisoner, the goblin, is standing alone, surrounded by seven bugbears. "Ruts, you still don't know how to count?"

"Keep your mouth shut when you are talking to me." Yeah, guard Ruts is so much better…

****

Seeing Gene stand by my side while the bugbears act like she's escaped is odd. Now that the cat is out of the bag, there is no way it's going back in. I strain a bit to break my binding. Once I am free, I start punching bugbear faces. Admittedly I am swinging above my level. Still, there is enough power behind my punches to knock them out one by one.

Gene, covered by her perception veil, stays by my side, knocking out more than half of our escort guard. She spear throws her staff into the throat of the bugbear that ruined her bet of sneakiness and quickly recovers it before the gasping bear falls down the stairs. With a smack to his head, she eases the wheezing bear to sleep.

Our violent commotion stirs the slumbering castle, and quickly, the first floor is crowded with armed bears. Wizards have their mana at the ready. Support casters are standing behind guardians. Warriors and rogues are scanning the floor looking for us. We're still at the main entrance. I'm focusing hard to keep my perception veil up while Gene makes it look effortless.

We wait for the crowd around us to become tight. Before we're entirely pinned in, we strike again.

I pop in and out of my veil, masked as a goblin, and start swinging. My goal is to punch as many faces as I can. Uppercuts are thrown, followed up by haymakers and fists of fury. Powerful jabs lead into cactus jacks and tornado punches, only to return to uppercuts and haymakers. It's wild fist-pumping action amid the bear pit.

I take the occasional hit and am nearly skewered several times. Pretty sure a table is busted over my back at one point, and I might be on fire. I don't even care. I just keep on punching bears into dreams. Gene uses my distraction and masterfully takes down the wizards and support units. I don't know if it's her doing, but eventually, the burning smell originating from me is doused by a lancer that is quickly dropped.

Heads are cracked, faces are smashed, and Gene laughs wildly as the cathartic exercise releases pent-up aggression. Some of the aggression can be placed on my shoulders. I'm not the best of company. Most of the aggression is on the horde. They're even worse company.

Fire burns in my path, adding more injury to the concussed bears. I never stay in the same spot using my veil to weave in and out of the crowd. Water is aimed more at the fire than me. Occasionally warriors and berserkers are skewered by ice or knocked down by boulders. I continue to punch dance my way across the castle floor.

"Stop firing on the monk. Dim the lights. Night squads… bring me the lizard's skin." Just as the commander finishes his order, I see Gene give him a good thump on his head. He doesn't fall immediately, but he does fall. Gene gives him a couple more thumps right before the lights go out. Now the party really starts.

The two of us keep our veils on as we tango in the dark, causing more bruises and knocking out more heads. We preserve the dark wizards, not wanting the lights to spoil our dark deeds. By the time the lights come back on, Gene's laughing is renewed, and the entire first floor is covered in sleeping bodies.

"You want to loot now or later?" I ask, letting Gene have a say in my plan.

"There is a lot more to this castle than I originally thought. I think we will have to bring this whole place down." A wry smile spreads across her face. She lifts her arms high and begins stretching her preparation for the next level.

"You got a ritual for that?" I shake out my arms a bit as well. My cracked knuckles slowly recover on their own. Unfortunately, the blood on my hands remains. I clean them up on the leather jerkin of a slumbering bear.

Gene's wry smile becomes all-devouring and locks onto her face, threatening to never retire for the rest of the party. Her howling laughter wakes anyone who dares sleep through such times, inviting them to the dance floor on the second level.

Kitchens and beds are replaced with strange devices, and cells are filled with worn-out goblins and kobolds. In a cell of fresher-looking goblins is a dark-haired assassin with a bleeding hand and a broken nose that looks frozen.

"Si — Gara!" I almost break my cover due to the unexpected reunion. "You slippery knife. I am glad you made it to the party. Do you know if Cru is going to make it? Scratch that. You probably don't know Cru. He's kind of a loner. Not really one for the clan life. It's a shame. He's a life changer. I think you'd like him."

I know we didn't separate on the best of terms. That's the thing about friendships. Sometimes you just got to accept the bad with the good. Just as long as the bad isn't a vile bad. Which, in our case, isn't. Dungeons and bondage are more of a running joke… an inside joke between friends.