Draven and Thalgor were expelled from a sphincter of sand and rock, landing in a heap of debris. A halo of light from a nearby torch illuminated evenly spaced horizontal furrows, stretching from floor to ceiling, like fingers had pulled an ancient bulk through the space.

  Ren called from above, as he floated down, "You two ok down there?" DG4, tucked against Ren's shoulder, peeked out, giving a series of concerned beeps.

  Draven squinted, his eyes burning with debris, Thalgor's legs framing his face in a Y, the rest of him –

  Bells and whistles. Ren's head on a swivel. His eyes ran down the tunnel. Interment torchlight dotted the landscape, pockets of light. A single tunnel wide enough for a party of four to stand, shoulder to shoulder. He lost track of the number of torches before a bend swallowed up his vision, turning his head in the other direction. Rens's vision was obscured; chaos was swirling around his two companions.

  Worms, mouths wide, circular cavities of death and disposal, rained down from above, "Frag, me!" Pudgy tubes of grimy death, their wrinkled, dry skin covered in polished black spines, wriggling like fish, were latched onto him.

  Ren crossed his arms before his face, as their growing masses bore him to the ground, impacting the bottom of a near wall. Up on his feet, Ren shook himself like a dog, sending the attackers flying like drops of water. His skin was covered in red depressions, forming the outlines of the monster's mouth. Dozens of them, across his body. "Free Thalgor, I got this." First on wrist, palm open, Ren snapped off notes at the scattered enemy, while dodging those continuing to expel from above, "[Bombastic Base Drop]...Free Thalgor, I got this...[Bombastic Base Drop]”

  Draven leapt from the pile of debris, “[Summon Scythe]." He hit the ground at a run; his fists together, he slid them apart, a brown handle materialized, its outline shimmering into a rusted head like a curved dragon's tooth. Draven bowled past Ren, swinging his weapon overhead, “By the Shining Ones – Dance with me!”

  Ren cursed under his breath, hitting the deck – Draven's scythe rending the air overhead, as it cut through shadow into a pool of light. Ren crouched, looking over his shoulder, at Thalgor's weakening kicks. Damn him, Ren dashed to Thalgor, leaping with all his might. He reached out a hand, hooking a leg, pulling himself down, "Urrrrrhh, Come on –" Ren tucked Thalgor's legs beneath his arms and pulled for all his worth.

  Sliding sand, curses, and luck – the debris shifted, and Thalgor moved. Rens' muscles strained and bulged. DG4's basket arm hooked onto a single hair blade, jetting in reverse. With one final burst of strength, Thalgor popped free of the ground, gasping for breath.

  "The moon split in twain and so shall you!" Behind them, Draven continued his rampage. He was methodical – reaping worms with each swing, no movements wasted.

  Ren noticed the panicked expression on Thalgor's face, lying on his back, vigorously searching around with his hands, His satchel. Ren's eyes darted around, half-buried in the dirt, just to the side, he spotted it. Wrapping its strap around his fist, Ren yanked it free, before firmly pressing it to his companion's chest, "Here, Thalgor, you're alright – your pack's fine, everything's – "

  There's something bigger up there, much bigger. Ren's core was resonating with whatever these worms were. Their subterranean vibrations were strangely 'noisy'. Hundreds of vectors swarmed the entrance – trap mouth, whatever had dumped them here. The smaller vectors were bad enough, but something else – a whale – was coming.

  Ren felt panic. They couldn't handle what was coming. It would fill the cavern. They were being swarmed, as it was, even with Draven's heroic efforts. They were disorganized. Draven was on a rampage, and Thalgor was in a daze. DG4 zoomed in nervous circles, unsure how to help. The weight of their circumstances bore down on Ren. They would die soon. "WE NEED TO MOVE – DRAVEN! " It was the only thing Ren could think of; they needed to move, and they needed to do it now.

  Ren threw Thalgor’s arm over his shoulders, supporting the other's weight, “Come friend, it's ok, I got you.” Thaglor gave a slight nod, determination in his eyes. The two stumbled down the mound, Thalgor favoring one leg. Draven was at their backs, the sounds of battle unrelenting. As they moved away, they entered a pocket of shadow.

  DG4 gave a low, short ascending whistle as they ignited their hull lighting. Ren's determination and actions helped to calm the little flyer, as it remembered its utilities. "Draven! Move it! There are too many! And –" Ren cut himself short, the sounds of Draven's scythe no longer whistling through the air. Concerned, he paused, looking over his shoulder, just as Draven crested the debris blocking the way behind. He spun his scythe overhead before sheathing it across his back, where it vanished in motes of light, as he scrambled down after them, face a mask of calm.

  Broken, battered, lost, and confused, the party of four made their way into the unknown with all haste.

  Draven had taken the lead, his fists at the ready, in case they encountered any more threats. DG4's soft white lighting showed their eyes more than they wished. Cratters and chips in the walls, their edges stained with blood—scraps of cloth and material, long since shed from some unfortunate party.

  After an hour of dragging themselves along, their nerves shattering at every sound (fast-moving air, the flickering of a torch, loose sand shifting underfoot), Ren spoke up, "Does anyone know where we are?"

  Thalgor shifted his weight beneath Ren, attempting to get to his Keeper's Tomb, secured within his satchel. Ren stopped, and Thalgor staggered to the wall, easing his weight against the grooved stone. Thalgor's eyes closed, a grimace on his face, he slid to a seated position, allowing his legs to spread on the floor, “My book–I need to consult–”

  Ren cut off the winded orc, "Take your time, we can rest a while – I think."

  Draven had already pulled the familiar case from his duster. He took up a position, underneath a torch, sending rings of smoke spinning into their dancing flames, his face a mask. Ren took up a position centered in the torchlight between the two orcs. Sitting mid-air, legs crossed, he floated down, closing his eyes in meditation. DG4 powered down, resting on the floor beneath Ren's hovering form. Ren reached out for the rhythm in his core, the steady beat in his soul, focusing his breathing, he reached out for the void –

  Stale air sat in the hardened stone tunnel, dug into the earth as if by a worm of legendary proportion. Draven's chain-smoke pooled on the ceiling, eerie in the flickering torchlight. DG4 hovered above Thalgor, its hull lights dimmed to a comfortable level, as he furiously scribbled in his thick, hide-bound Keeper's Tome.

  The air was stale, and Draven's smoke lay in a haze along the arc of the cave above. Ren's mind relaxed; he listened to every sound and whisper. The stone all around was hard-packed, and they appeared safe from the worms – for now. A slurp, barely audible. Ren held his breath and drowned out even the sound of torchlight. His mind drifted in the direction of the sound. This time, a squelching, a bit closer. And again rhythmically, it was moving closer. Ren's skin tingled. He climbed to his feet. "It's time to move."

  Thalgor glanced up with a worried look on his face, “I–I need more time. All I can say is that this is a nomad rank dungeon – the records are sparse.”

  Draven sighed, “Useless.”

  Ren was getting tired of Draven's attitude. It was going to get them all killed. There was nothing he could do about it now. His meditation had proved – the void was distant here.

  Draven snapped his case shut, taking the path left. “Going somewhere?” Asked Ren.

  “Cool air this way.” A short reply, as Draven tucked his case away.

  Ren took a deep breath before reaching out a hand to Thalgor. DG4 flared to life, taking his position above Ren's shoulder. The three, followed after Draven, who moved on the balls of his feet, duster tucked back.

  The squelching gone. They moved past piles of stacked bone. Picked clean, a polished ivory. No signs of a struggle. Silence an unwelcome companion.

  It was interrupted—the grinding of stone on stone reverberating, carrying from some unknown distance—a change in air pressure. The hairs on their arms standing up. What was it that moved in the dark, some beast, a worm to swallow a whale – large enough to push boulders, or to eat their way through these very walls; their minds wandered, imagining the worst, longing for some enemy to face, to finally lay eyes on what would come.

  Yet none showed; the companions were silent, fearing their very breath might cost their lives. Even DG4 dimmed their hull lighting, queting their engines. Time stretched. Death lurked around every corner.

  Only those lost, injured, and under constant threat of death could understand. Every moment might be their last, making each precious. The companions lived a lifetime between heartbeats. Ren handled this oppressive weight better than the others. Though the void distant, his core thrummed full in his chest; a constant reminder of his new power and time's ability to play tricks.

  His companions' hearts thumped in their chests, like jack rabbits avoiding a predator. He needed to do – Ren held up a hand, motioning for them to hold position. The sound of liquid dropping into a pool. Ren ghosted ahead, the sounds indicating a wider chamber to come.

  Rens' companions waited – their minds on a razor's edge. Draven spoke, "How did – he moves like an elite scout."

  Thalgor grimaced as he responded, clutching his twisted leg, “If he does have a core. He's not – he's not really mortal anymore. His run-in with Chest of Wonders, I think, advanced – a kind of level up."

  Ren was close; there was definitely a larger chamber ahead. Around a bend, an opening ahead, floating against the wall, he pressed to the corner, entering a large domed chamber.

  High above the sage moss, a glow cast over the stalagmites slick with moisture. Ren’s eyes tracked rivulets dripping from their tips, a full minute to reach their destination, the pools waiting below. These pools, gathered in the centre of the room, acted like spawning grounds for radiant, purple crystals, dotting the edges like oversized mushrooms. Rens' eyes traced the room, pulling every detail he could, his mind sharp, nerves steady. There is shelter here. I hope someone has rope.

  Returning to his companions. DG4 hovered protectively. Ren spoke softly, for fear of alarm, his approach, as of yet unknown.

  “Chill vibes, dudes –”

  Thalgor reached for his satchel, and Draven choked on his rollie. DG4’s lights and engines hummed to life.

  Ren ignored their nervous response, asking instead, "Anyone got some rope?"

  Thalgor, eager to contribute, assured them he had; it was exploring 101, he insisted, to bring a sturdy length, no matter the journey. Guiding them to the cavern, Ren took the robe in hand before giving them a show of his wall-running abilities.

  As he disappeared over a cleft tucked behind some longer stalagmites, Draven wondered aloud, "Thing he's coming back?" A length of rope rolled down the side as an answer to his question. DG4 clasped its end, attempting to fly a loop around Thalgor's waist. Draven sighed, wondering how he ended up here.

  Sometime later, after hauling Thalogor to their secured position, Draven smoked, sitting as far from him as he could manage.

  Ren glared at Draven before stating flatly, “Healing leeches.”

  “They're called –” Draven complained.

  Ren cut the air with his hand, his patience tested. The aether condensed around him, a weight bore down on Draven, Rens' face a mask, “Use your skills, Draven.” Ren swiped the rollie from Draven’s hand, indicating in the direction of Thalgor with the other, “I’ll hold this for you.” Ren held it between his lips, inhaling as he smiled.

  As Draven approached the barely conscious Thalgor, something bumped into the side of Ren’s head. Absent-mindedly, he brushed it away, his hand touching – “DG, you little scamp, when did you grab my Junior Explorer's Satchel?” Ren donned the belt pouch over one shoulder. DG4 gave a happy double beep.

  Ren hovered arms akimbo – "Is there any reason you're leaving your passive on. It upsets the system. Or so I've heard." Asked Draven, interrupting Ren's heroic pose.

  Ren’s hair drooped, " [ Super Anime ]." Ren's feet dropped to the stone before he remembered something else, " Un-store ." Nothing happened as Ren stared at his empty palm.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Draven rescued his rollie from Ren's mouth; he was smoking it wrong. "If you're trying to use that bag of holding, the command is remove item."

  Ren squinted, staring at his palm, "[ Remove Item ]." A blanket covered his arm.

  Draven blew a smoke O at him, "Think about what you want, or else you'll just get something random."

  The ring bounced off Ren's forehead, "[Remove Item]." A mini keg popped into his palm and a smile onto his face.

  Dimensional magic. Ren was learning a lot about it. The story of the Shining Ones, their dance among the stars, and this place their home among earth and aether. His ability to reach the void, and what exactly it did for him, was still a mystery. Should he ask Thalgor about it more directly? How exactly had he done what he did? How advanced is their science here?

  Later, after meeting Draven, he’d accessed the void, without much thought. Twice now, he’d been able to relax his mind and access that power. When he was in a stressful situation, and when not, but here – Why is the void so distant? I have an endless keg! Who cares about anything else?

  With a groan, Thalgor had woken from his slumber, not completely healed; still favouring his leg, but his color had returned, no longer pale. It was the group’s spirits that Ren was worried about now.

  “Is anyone else thirsty?” Ren had an endless keg to test and some spirits to lift. Skeptical looks all around, “Come on, team! I found a sweet spot for us, you can’t deny it.”

  Thalgor was the first to buckle to the pressure, and Draven felt he would need a drink, he was going to make it through Thalgor's drinking — the orc tending to get overly desrptive when drinking — more than usual.

  One drink was poured. Then another. Tongues loosened and spirits lifted. Currently, at Rens's insistence, Thalgor was educating the group on the finer points of dimensional storage. "Dimensional items can be pretty tricky; they don't usually play nice together— technically a dungeon is a giant Junior Explorers Satchel, as they are both dimensional spaces.

  As Thalgor held up a finger, Draven looked to the ground — he was considering throwing himself over — if he had to listen to more of this theorizing, he would —

  "So the fact your bag can enter the dungeon means, dimensional spaces can be stored inside each other, though doing so can be — a bit, tricky, its best you ask a master artisan about their item, or speak with a specialist. You don't want to fall victim to an uncertinity bomb, those can be, its hard to define — "

  Ren interupted, saving Draven from having to take drasitc measures, "Drink!"

  Thalgor glanced at his finger, scrunching up his nose, "Thats not fair! How am I supposed to accent my point without — a bit of visual communication. Some points are too important to just gloss —"

  Ren held up a hand, "Fine, I'll let you off — this time." The team learned, Thalgor became a vigorous pointer to the sky, after he imbibed a few too many bowls of zug zug.

  "Game break!

  Ren shouted. The adventurers threw their hands down, above their makeshift table, a powered down DG4. Fist, flat palm, peace sign; no clear winner, "Again! Ready – One, Two, Three!" Ren, looking for some way to get his two companions to drink together, had challenged them to a game of wit and luck after explaining that it was an Earth tradition. Thalgor was eager to learn something new, and Draven had reluctantly agreed, if only for the chance to beat Thalgor in a match.

  DG4 had agreed to be their table – he needed to power down, and was definitely not pouty about his inability to play in the game or drink; he would be having a conversation later with Draven about his poor design choices.

  "Two rocks vs one scissor, Draven and Thalgor – TIEBREAKER!"

  Draven's blood was up now. The drink coursing through him, and after several victories over his nemesis, he had more of a reason to live. Thalgor consulted his hide-bound tomb between bouts, marking notes as the games progressed.

  DG4 kept score from his position as table. The night progressed, endless keg giving way to cold protein cubes. Games won, feelings hurt, and spirits lifted – their drinking done, the companions did what any would do in their situation, engaged in a philosophical debate.

  “It's clearly a grand construction project, I suspect, and as an [Apprentice Keeper], I am the most qualified here, that this was their society's first temple.”

  DG4 whurrled, in awed agreement – his hooded companion, really could be quite insightful.

  “Then where is the temple?”

  Draven, the killer of buzz, cut through the majesty of the moment. Thalgor responded, not so easily deterred.

  “Well, and I’m glad you asked, the answer is obvious. This mural is only the first in a multi-part exposé – a simple depiction of temples' early construction.”

  Thalgor, the art history professor, gestured towards the wall with an open palm.

  DG4 beeped twice, a clear indication of which side he fell on.

  Draven lit a cigarette as he contemplated the meaning of life. At the same time, Ren was thinking on a smaller scale.

  “They're obviously worshipping the stones; those aren’t tools, but offerings. Whoever those people are, they live down here amongst the stone, right? So, they must worship stone, and those are obelisks to their gods.”

  Draven spoke as he blew a ring towards the nearest hair blade.

  “Obelesks are pointy at the top.”

  Ren shifted uncomfortably, causing the ring to miss and ricochet off his temple.

  Their voices were cheerful, and their quips light – stalagmites dripped and whistled between cracks and crevices.

  Their camp was peaceful, and their camaraderie more natural, less forced – Thalgor’s brush with death and Draven’s capitulations, having eased hearts and minds – DG4 approved.

  It seemed like a lifetime ago – DG4 appearing like a messenger, with a warning in his beeps. The hanging market had been their first destination, not a moment to spare; their tea left to cool on the mezzanine, perhaps still there, gathering dust, unwashed and untouched – a relic from their first meeting standing guard, awaiting their return.

  Thalgor sat on a rock as he explained, "So anyway, Ren, the system assigns classes and levels, I'm sure you understand that much at least? What is your class, if I may ask?"

  "[Echo Runner], I got it when I was still in the Coral Plains, right before I passed out – I had just killed several hundred blood flies all at once."

  Draven and Thalgor looked at each other, doubt on their faces. Ren, the perceptive, countered their silent protests.

  “I uhh, didn’t notice them gathering at first.”

  Ren took a long drink, hiding his expression after that last statement.

  “My danger sense was going off, but I just kept ignoring it."

  Draven was chuckling to himself, shaking his head at the floor. DG4 gave an irritated whistle in his direction.

  "So by the time I realised what was happening. More and more blood flies just kept pouring out of the swamp, and eventually, a cloud of dust fit to block out the stupid smirking sun, rumbled behind me.”

  “Smirking? Stupid? How much did you drink?”

  "Yeah, it wears sunglasses...I think. If you talk trash to it, or make it mad, or whatever, it will cut off the sunlight. I'm not really sure how that works. Day didn't seem to be that consistent either. It was weird. I could have just been hallucinating? I don't know, I wasn't doing too well when I first arrived here."

  Thalgor set his bowl down, leaning forward, chin resting on his palms.

  "When did you get your core? How did it happen? Do you remember? Could it have been the sun? Records from the old world are dated, and none mention the Sun in glasses...Did you see the Shining Ones? Perhaps they are back, hence the sunglasses, a kind of precaution?"

  The grinding of stone on stone, a change in air pressure. Below, a section of the wall slid inwards, movements in the shadows beyond: a grunting voice, tone raised in a question, a braying response. The exchange heated in volume and tone.

  Four frozen companions, eyes turned, expressions still in silent observation.

  A wide, hairy foot entered the chamber, its long, dirty nails clacking on the rock. The size of the foot belied its owner, as a hunched and bony figure shuffled into the light.

  It stood under five feet, its sickly, greasy, shoulder-length hair, leaving most of its scalp uncovered, draping across a pockmarked humanoid face.

  Large white eyes and a red bulbous nose. The body was naked, save for a cloth covering, its groin, a large pot belly rolling over, in defiance of its bony appendages.

  "Meen – dish meen!"

  "Bree-ah, Bree-ah."

  A wet sound, wood on meat, a smaller figure staggered out of the darkness, while the first to appear strode proudly towards the nearby crystal pools. Those that came pouring out behind him trampled the now fallen recipient of the club to the head, who lay prone on the floor, blood pooling.

  Three companions lay on their bellies, faces red, inhibitions lowered, strong zug zug coursing through their veins.

  “Troglodytes – cousins of yours, Ren.”

  Thalgor’s reply had Draven chortling under his breath.

  “You got jokes–very funny–but do you have anything useful?”

  “Their vision is poor, weak joints, and stiff bodies.”

  Draven played with his rollie case, a look of longing on his face. Ren worried he might do something foolish, flushed from the drink.

  Thalgor spoke up as the troglodytes began setting up tents, the one sitting by the crystal pools, directing their efforts with brays and finger points.

  “It looks like those are Troglodyte skin tents, records to mention them being canna –”

  Ren glanced at Draven, monitoring the rune-stick situation. His scythe had replaced the case.

  Nothing to see here.

  Draven rolled over the edge, kicking off the wall as he plummeted – backflipping towards the centre of the room, his legs scissored, the scythe behind him pointed at his feet. With his free hand, Draven placed a rollie in his mouth.

  Ren stared with a mouth agape.

  “I knew he couldn’t resist a smoke.”

  Ren backed up from the ledge, standing, quickly storing his supplies. He was shaking, not from fear but, these things – he thought of the art on the wall behind, of their clear, if simple use of language.

  Ren hadn’t killed a person before; these were people, right? Time slowed as Draven’s form tucked into a ball around his scythe’s shaft, spinning like a ringer. Glancing at his hand, a candy cone appeared, and stuffing a finger full into his mouth, Ren handed his pack back to DG4.

  “[Super Anime][Electric Pace], time to Super Mario some mutants.”

  “Wish us luck.”

  Thalgor gritted his teeth, Ren smiled, and DG4 held out a basket claw, disappearing his pack. It was Thalgor’s turn to gape.

  “How did he – but that's a dimensional –”

  A single loud bray echoed around the chamber, cut off by the sound of a butcher's cleaver impacting a pig's skull.

  Ren ran to the edge, still looking back at his two companions – a flicker of concern, before –

  “Wait for me!!!”

  That was all Ren said as he flying-squirrelled off the side of the ledge.

  “Bree–Breee-A-AH-BREE!”

  The entire camp was alive now, stiff-necked bodies tottering to face the sound of their fallen tribemate. Draven was silent; his scythe-head rested on the ground, and a thin line of smoke ran into the air for his rollie’s tip.

  Ren sailed overhead, his eyes glued to the big one in the man thong. Several females surrounded him. It wore a stupid expression on its pocked face, an attempt at a smile, as it whipped spittle from its chin.

  “Got you.”

  Spotting his target, Ren tilted his arms, angling himself, his core oscillating as he tucked into a ball.

  “[Super Anime].”

  Cutting off his path, Ren plummeted towards his target. His hair blades waved wildly on their own accord, and a gallows grin split his face.

  At the last second, Rend extended his legs, and Sandals contacted his shoulders as he super stomped his target – the Greater Troggladite, taccoed at the waist, from the back of the head to the heels. Ren felt its spinal column pop, the sound reverberating up his legs, into his soul – a sound he would never forget.

  Sandy’s Candy was in full effect as he rolled to the ground, leaving the folded leader in his wake. Ren popped up, throwing an accelerated kick at the nearest crotch, trailing notes in his wake. The surrounding troglodytes stood around staring at their flattened alpha.

  Troggladites streamed over boulders and waded across pools–there were too many; Draven was going to be overwhelmed. A piercing bray immediately came from his right.

  I can’t let them catch me – distance I need distance.

  “[Super Anime]”

  Ren bolted with the camp – as it swept towards Draven. He angled towards the nearest wall, and a knife struck his back, a glancing blow.

  Gripping his wrist, Ren opened his palm.

  “[Bombastic Base Drop]...”

  He fired off as many notes as he could at the enemy's backsides; core oscillating, palm pulsing, and will focused. Ren hit the wall at max speed – doing the splits as he climbed onto its surface. He angled up, looking down as he ascended. Just before he impacted an outcropping, he sprang forward, pogoing off the barrier, careening back towards Draven's position.

  Ren tucked into a ball as he floated through the air.

  “CANNONBALL!”

  Draven was silent, focused, a farmer reaping his harvest – in blood and bone. He spun his scythe overhead, in a dazzling two-handed display – rune-stick glowing, eyes shining.

  “[Super Anime]”

  Ren plummeted to the ground, bowling into the thickest part of the swarm – joy evident in his mad laughter. Springing to his feet, surrounded, his laughter continued, dodging outstretched arms and shouldering cudgels.

  “BREEHAWWW!”

  A Greater Trogladyte blocked his path; he couldn’t dodge. Ren accelerated, leaping and tucking into a ball, slamming into the figure. Ren felt its ribs snap as the mutant flew across the room.

  DG4, peaking from behind stalagmites, covered his cockpit – afraid to look.

  So it went for the troglodyte camp. Ren’s battle laughter and Dravens' practised determination struck fear into the hapless tribe; their numbers dwindled, their resolve shattered.

  Brays of anger turned to squeals of fear as those few remaining turned and fled. Ren stood arm akimbo as he charged up a single shot, tearing the aether around his palm.

  This is going to be another big one!

  “Draven, check this out!”

  There was a peel in the air as the note erupted from his target's head.

  “O M G – that was like some Mr. Beast exploding fruit challenge! Hey, look out, I think some watermelon – I mean troglodyte brains might be falling in your area!”

  Draven sheathed his scythe across his back–where it vanished, leaving behind an afterimage of sparkling light. He rolled his neck, adjusted his duster's collar, and pulled out his rollie case before walking towards the open wall.

  “I’m going to check for more of the cursed ones.”

  “Yeah, whatever, you're just jealous!”

  Though that scythe of his is – wicked.

  Draven left behind a single ring as the darkness swallowed him up –

  “Where is Thalgor? I wonder if–”

  Danger sense, darkness – a new theme for Ren.

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