ã€ŠThe Castaway Isleã€‹


 Prologue: The Easiest Decision Ever Made

    Fire and steel flare and rage, twist and scream. Guttural, inhuman howls rip from the throats of the terrified and the dying. The sickly copper tang of blood fills the air, a perfume of slaughter and a shroud of the damned. Enith¡¯s crimson twin planet, Piros hung low in the sky above, as if the massive red planet was leaning forward at the edge of its front row seat for my performance.

    Chaos dances on its stage to the frenzied beat of blade through flesh.

    This was a dance of death, and I was leading.

    {Master!}

    A strong feminine voice sweeps from the base of my skull and thunders through the forefront of my mind. It was a voice usually so refined and sharp with sarcastic wit and distain, now it was dull from panic and an unfamiliar spike of fear, the kind of which I never thought to ever hear from the owner of that voice.

    {Erin, What¡¯s wrong?} My inner voice is a serene ripple in the frothy madness that raged through the Soul Link my familiar and I share.

    I keep my composure but much like my far more expressive familiar I am anything but calm. Once I heard what Erin had to say even my calculating and controlled mask cracked.

    {Regulators! The Kingdom of Avalon called in the Regulators!}

    The slow burning rage I had been stroking and meticulously reining in flared up into an uncontrollable inferno.

    For the first time since this battle began three days prior I feel my relaxed expression of calm twist into a disgusted sneer.

    {Let them come.}

    I felt surprise splash like a bucket of cold water into our shared Soul Link.

    {W-what?}

    {I will deal with the Regulators. I need you to hold your ground until the last of the transports finish the city¡¯s evacuation.}

    The cold bucket of water quickly boiled with anger.

    {I will NOT leave you to face the Regulators alone! Master, if you die, so do I.}

    My sneer softened at my fiery Soul Familiar¡¯s awkward and roundabout display of concern.

    {But if you die again my dear, then I will still continue to live on without you. Besides, I can only entrust defending the City of Libertas¡¯s gate to you.}

    ¡°Ruuuaaaragh!¡± A very familiar, far off roar of frustrated rage echoes over the sickening cacophony of frenzied combat.

    {Do not try to butter me up with your honeyed little words, you prick! I can not just leave you to fight them alone!}

    {You can, and you will.} I reply calmly but firmly.

    {But Master-!}

    {You will leave me to defend Libertas¡¯s gate.}

    {But-!} I cut my Soul Familiar¡¯s insistent begging as gently as I could manage while in the middle of a desperate 3 on 1 sword fight.

    Well, desperate for them, not so much for me.

    {Erin. Please do not force me to use your True Name in this matter.}

    {Seofon!}

    the sound of Erin mentally shouting my name was akin to reaching through the deepest and most private recesses of my mind to slap me across the cheek. The surprise of hearing my name from her (mental) lips were enough to send my mind screeching to a halt.

    It very nearly gets me killed as a massive great sword the side of a dwarf nearly took my head off at my hesitation.

    Nearly. Having thousands of years of combat experience can pay off in the strangest ways. Even as my mind was gridlocked my body jumpstarted itself, moving on little more than instinct and muscle memory.

    On reflex I activate my Observation Skill, the staple to my survival throughout my very long life.

    [True Sight] [Level: 4,127]

    [Urim Klikt] [Plains Orc] [Age: 147] [Level: 78] [Class: Heavy Warrior]

    Weak, and such a waste.

    As the sharped hunk of steel that could barely be considered a sword hurtles towards my neck my world tilts as my head leans back and away, letting the sword and the gargantuan Orc that wielded it pass me by with a hairsbreadth between us. As I came back into my mental faculties I didn¡¯t bother finessing with the 8 foot tall behemoth of tusk and green. I opt to simply punch my gauntlet clad hand into his chest and twist a fistful of internal organs free. A kick to the confounded orc¡¯s abdomen and a flick of my viscera painted wrist liberate me from the gurgling slab of dead weight.

    I have but a second of respite before another squad of hapless Avalonion soldiers line up for the slaughter and the whole process repeats itself.

    I fall back into a rhythm and turn my attention inward, back to my rebellious and irate Soul Familiar.

    {Seofon¡­ Master, please-} My Soul Familiar¡¯s sputtering pleas coughed through our Soul Link. {Please, don¡¯t leave me.}

    For a moment, just a split second, I considered it. Just turning back and taking off, burying the past behind me¡­ again. Turn away from the Regulators, their Council and the avaricious bitch they worship like a god. I just want to seclude myself from the world and try to cut out a piece of the Castaway Isle for myself and those very few I care about and get away from it all.

    No. Solas will never let me go. Not when you are her ¡°favorite toy¡±.

    A chest shuddering shockwave ripples through me, shaking my guts against my spine. I spin around and snatch off the head a soldier she so graciously offered and glance back to assess the damage.

    Libertas¡¯s fifty foot battlements shake from the impact of an enchanted ballista arrow, however the stone stands firm, denying the human sized projectile so much as a divet. I had warded the walls myself and they draw their mana from the lay line underneath the city. My walls will continue to stand proud and untouched through anything short of an Apocalypse-level destruction spell.

    Another giant glowing arrow streaks across the sky bearing towards my city. Their efforts may be futile but the possibility of one of those arcane charged projectiles striking something on the other side of that wall was a risk I am not willing to take. The sky above the city is swarming with dozens of transport ships of all shapes and sizes. I had used most of my amassed fortune from centuries of saving to pay off anyone I could get my hands on to evacuate the city. Where the pilots were to go was of no matter to me as long as my people got away.

    The ballista arrow peaks in its upward flight and hurtles on a collision course with a bulky transport shuttle rising from the central plaza, the unwieldly space craft was filled with helpless citizens.

    My people.

    A sharp snap kick folds a spearman over himself and frees me for the critical second I need to draw my weapon to my shoulder and take aim.

    The weapon I¡¯m holding is one of my own design, a Mage Rifle. Mage Rifles and similar weaponry are not that uncommon in the Castaway Isle; however, none were like mine, a labor of love and the result of thousands of years of accumulated knowledge, research, trial, error, and inevitable boredom.

    My Mage Rifle is a fusion of Technology and Arcane, a weapon that resembles the railguns of old from my long forgotten home world. A bizarre firearm with two distinct rails, one longer rail, three feet in length along the bottom with its twin six inches shorter that sat above it. A circular construct sits above the trigger at the base of these rails known as a ¡°resonance chamber¡±, the part of the weapon that had pre-inscribed runes that weave the user¡¯s mana into a spell that can be fired instantaneously, much like a normal ballistic or energy firearm.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    At the speed of thought the resonance chamber whirs to life. A grand orrery of rune inscribed arches spin and dance, lining up the spell I desire. The arches click in place and a high pitched whine fills the air as I feel mana, the intrinsic force that all life possess, trail from my core, down my arm and into my weapon. The condensed mana compresses and molds to the complex runic symbols and matrices as raw power spins and sings a song without words that emits a ghostly ambient glow to swirl from the sides of my Mage Rifle.

    [Mana Bolt] [Level: 2,014]

    then I pull the trigger.

    A clap of thunder shakes the ground and beats a shockwave through the air that vibrate deep in my chest as the hyper condensed bolt of pure Arcane energy streaks into the sky, the normally inaccurate, close range spell is guided by the Mage rifle¡¯s rails. The spell makes contact with the enchanted arrow and shatters the archaic projectile¡¯s magically charged runes, resulting in a fantastic blue fire vortex of directionless power and another shockwave washing more the battlefield.

    A tiny smirk tilts the edge of my lips, but alas my small victory is short-lived.

    {Master! Behind you!}

    Trusting my instincts, I duck and slid back as a massive ironblood katana as long as I am tall whistles through the space I had just vacated. I sense my new attacker advance and I spin and dance to the side as the dark metal blade slides past my shoulder. The next few seconds become a blur of madness as I spin, slide and shuffle away from the whistling blade. During the bloodlust fueled flurry I catch a glimpse of my assailant, a familiar face from the Regulator Council.

    I stomp and swivel sharply, catching the flat of the katana against my mithril gauntlet, the impact sends tingling shivers down my arm, but my coiled muscles succeed in rebounding the huge sword¡¯s trajectory askew enough to stumble the swordsman.

    The swordsman recovers and wildly swipes his katana in one hand to clear some distance between us. He keeps the reddish black katana trained on me as he draws himself to his full height. I have to crane my neck skyward to keep eye contact, even from several yards away. The swordsman was twelve feet tall, more than double my height, with shoulders as broad as I am tall. This surprises me little, after all this man towering over me was not the first Half-Giant I have meet in my long life.

    ¡°MAGEBREAKER!¡± The Half-Giant snarls, his bald head scrunches up like a wrinkled donut soaking in the rain. ¡°YOU FUCKING TRAITOR!¡±

    I don¡¯t have to use my Observation Skill to know who it was, but I do it anyway.

    [True Sight] [Level: 4,127]

    [Knivblad Lundberg] [Half Giant/Human] [Age: 618 (Ageless)] [Level: 237] [Class: Magnetic Spellsword] [Title: Swordmonger, Regulator, High Enforcer]

    ¡°Knivblad the Swordmonger.¡± My voice is barely above an exasperated sigh.

    The massive Half-Giant is clad in a blood-spattered toga with bracers on his limbs and blades of every shape and size strapped to his body and his katana clutched in his shovel sized hands.

    ¡°So, the Regulator Council has sent its faithful attack dog to maul me and claim my lands?¡±

    A row of bloody shark teeth twisted about Knivblad¡¯s head, the jagged canines glisten a sicky crimson in between the Half-Giant¡¯s ferial grin.

    ¡°WHO SAYS I CAME ALONE?¡±

    Even as he spoke I feel the push of mana disruption in the blood choked air.

    Several someones were attempting to construct and cast a spell on the far end of the battlefield about a quarter mile away or so. The fools.

    I am called Magebreaker for a reason.

    Before the Swordmonger could draw another breath, I raise my hand towards the disturbance and grasp at the threads of mana spooling away into the unseen mage¡¯s spell. I don¡¯t have to see the caster to pull on the magic, but I often bear witness to the results of my tampering.

    [Mana Unravel] [Level: 1,123]

    With a thought and a deft tug of my finger I pull the thread of mana tangled around my hand and the mage¡¯s spell unravels and implodes. The following arcane fallout from my tampering with such a powerful spell sucks the sound from the air before a blast of blue arcane hellfire just short of an atomic blast rips through the valley and bleeds the red sky above into a wash of blues and purples.

    Knivblad stares slack jawed at the mountainous plume of ash and smoke that rolls up from the enemy¡¯s rear line behind me. I sweep my hand towards it.

    ¡°Friends of yours?¡± The rage that flares behind the Half-Giant¡¯s beady eyes is all the answer I need.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure I have a broom and a matchbox somewhere in my workshop, or perhaps a feather duster work better?¡±

    ¡°RRUUUUAAAARR!¡±

    The mountain of angry muscle and sharp blades screams and barrels towards me with his katana high and shoulders square, poised to strike. An overhead strike whips past my back, I continue my spin and duck underneath the elbow and the cross chop that follow.

    ¡°STAND STILL YOU ABOMINATION!¡±

    ¡°You will not touch him!¡±

    A shock of short vibrant red hair streaks across my vision with a blue crystal sword as wide and as tall as I am. The Half-giant regulator¡¯s katana impacts the massive crystal blade with a sharp crack.

    The tall, sharp, and hardened back of my Soul Familiar stands before me, her massive weapon held abreast effortlessly as only she could. The sword weighs some 120 pounds. Erin¡¯s slim figure is wrapped in a lighter Mithril and Kevlar armor similar to my own, only she flat out refuses to wear the helmet I had crafted along with it.

    She¡¯s as stubborn as I am, though I would expect no less than the one that completes the missing parts of my soul. Though I would never have the chance to tell her, dare I say she is the better half.

    ¡°Master, what in the hells are you thinking?!¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m thinking I told you to guard the gate.¡±

    Erin looks over her shoulder and glares at me through her short chopped crimson hair. Her eyes are the color of burning coals, a deeper red than even the cherry colored locks that bounce playfully around her charming face. Her spear-like ears sweep proudly to the back her skull, the famous peculiarity of her kind.

    My Soul Familiar is an Elf. More specifically a Low Elf.

    Low Elves are an extinct race lost to ravages of a war long forgotten. No Low Elves survived their purge. Erin is no exception, she died with her family thousands of years ago, murdered in her own home. She would have stayed dead if not for me accidentally summoning her dead soul from the afterlife several short years prior.

    I am still not entirely sure she has forgiven me for that, I would not.

    Knivblad strikes Erin¡¯s weapon again and again in a raging flurry and with each strike the massive blue crystal hums and pulses a soft blue as it stores the Kinect energy from each wild strike.

    Funny thing Fae crystal, it¡¯s glutton for punishment and more than happy to dish it back out.

    A miniscule pause between wild strikes and Erin presses her advantage, pushing back the swordsman with a war cry, despite him being nearly twice her height.

    ¡°Come on! Is this all a high and might Regulator can do against little ol¡¯ me?¡± Erin laughs harshly and slaps her pommel across her opponent¡¯s wrist. Knivblad¡¯s roar of pain sends a ringing in my ears.

    ¡°YOU LITTLE BITCH!¡± Knivblad screams and casts a hand skyward.

    My Soul Familiar grins fearlessly as the countless fallen weapons strewn across the blood soaked battlefield rise from the mud and the filth and the gore. the blades wabble and jerk erratically, like zombies in their own right before descending upon the Swordmonger like a swarm being called home to its king.

    I can do little to interfere with his magic, the magnetism spell he had wrought had already been cast and set, now all unenchanted metal within his influence is his to command.

    It was like fighting an army all over again, though the only soldier stood at its center, swinging his sword unhindered and seeming to take the immense mana drain from his spell in stride and without breaking a sweat.

    Shit.

    Instantly Erin¡¯s advantage is lost as the airborne weapons whip through the air like a cloud of bloodthirsty wasps. A badly timed dodge allows a broken claymore to broadside my Soul Familiar, she stumbles opening herself up for Knivblad¡¯s vicious thrust.

    My Mage Rifle takes the blow instead, my meticulously crafted lovechild of blood, sweat, and tears crumples into a twisted hunk of useless scrap.

    Erin stares dumbly at the sword point hovering just above her throat before a guttural yell rips from my throat and I twist my destroyed creation away with Knivblad¡¯s katana tangled inside.

    Without missing a beat, the Regulator releases his weapon and draws another katana of similar make from his waist and spins the horde of airborne weapons into a frenzy before descending upon Erin and I like a vengeful war god.

    {P-perhaps I should go guard the gate.} Erin¡¯s voice shudders uncertainly through the Soul Link.

    I bark in sharp laughter.

    {Told you so.}

    {¡­Shut up.}

    The dance of death that ensued is a mad waltz of hissing metal and sweaty limbs pounding the bloody mud. I fail to recall ever in my long life to have ever been in sync with someone as deeply as I was with Erin that day. I still can recall every detail from that fight. Her rippling muscles and wild, fearless, breathtaking grin, and the way her beautiful crimson eyes shone with a reckless bliss I have only experienced a handful of times-

    -When I danced upon the razor¡¯s edge with death.

    Her skin was hot, and her breaths were deep and rapid as we slid and spun around each other, for the first and last time we truly were of one soul, two sides of the same coin.

    It was a day I will never forget. After all, that was the day I lost everything.

    All it took was a well timed arrow out of nowhere that slammed into her chest and it was finished.

    The dance was over, the spell was broken, the music came to a crashing halt.

    Time slowed to a crawl as Erin crumpled to her knees, mud splattering everywhere, staining her armor. Her Beautiful crimson eyes wide and staring in confusion at the huge arrow in her chest, just above the mithril plate and below her collarbone. She was frozen in shock as Knivblad¡¯s massive katana hissed in glee, the blade hungry to feast upon her blood as its laughing swordsman was eager to watch the light fade from her gorgeous eyes.

    I scream, barely noticing when another huge arrow smashes into my head, shattering my Mithril helm and knocking the now useless head ornament free from my shoulders. My boots dug deep into the mud in my desperate scramble to save my better half, my arm out, heedless of the huge blade wielded by the monstrous Half-Giant Regulator.

    This was the moment when I had a decision to make, sacrifice part of me, or let Erin die.

    I remember the feeling of assurance, determination, and irony that flooded my cold, dead heart as I slid across the mud and in front of those beautiful Crimson eyes gaping at me in disbelief and incomprehension.

    As the blade rends flesh from bone I laugh in hysterical realization that this was the easiest decision I had ever made.

 Chapter 1: A Tired Soul in a Dark Place

    Chapter 1: A Tired Soul in a Dark Place

    SEOFOOOON!

    Adrenaline smashes into my system and I shoot my right hand out to roll to my feet, only instead of feeling ground beneath my fingers a jagged rock stabs the scarred nub that is all that remains of my forearm and my face is introduced to the floor.

    ¡°Fuck.¡± I mumble around a mouthful of dust.

    The sounds of my helpless floundering eventually dies and I just lay there defeated with my smarting nose scrunched in the dust. For the first time since my arrival to the Dark (Dark with a capital D, it¡¯s the only name that suits this place.) I am grateful that there is no one here to witness my embarrassing fumble.

    Watching a legendary immortal warrior that had slain countless powerful mages and monsters jerk awake from a bad dream and fall flat on his face isn¡¯t exactly awe inspiring.

    Once I recollect what was left of my tattered pride I roll onto my back and stare into the inky black. The floor is cold against my back, even through the multiple layers of furs I had fashioned into a garb and tunic. My toes have it the worst since I had long since worn my boots down to tattered flats years ago, leaving them bare and naked to the draining cold of the Dark.

    I sigh and wiggle my limbs in hope of getting some semblance of feeling back into them, I stop as a sharp twinge of pain slices up my right arm, or rather what is left of it. My wrist was sliced in half, leaving several inches of useless bone and muscle below my elbow.

    Before I had lost my right hand to Knivblad the Swordmonger on that battlefield all those years ago I had heard of amputees suffering from ¡°ghost pain¡±. It¡¯s a miscommunication between the brain and the limb, pretty much it means that the body is simply refusing to accept that its short one limb. It¡¯s been a while since I had last felt this ghost pain, and let me tell you, it¡¯s not fun.

    I pull my emotions to my core and lock them away in the usual dark corner of my heart and climb to my feet. I take deep breaths of the stale inky air around me. My nose chills as I sniff the air. I don¡¯t sense or smell any of those Things in the Dark close to me, so I am mostly safe for the moment. I close my eyes for a moment and slow my breathing to relax and find my center.

    [True Sight] [Level: 7,421]

    I feel my Observation skill snap in place behind my closed eyes, even through my eyelids I see the tendrils of mana squirm and twist in the dark, most are hues of light blue and purple but a single white trail of mana playfully dancing in the dark before me stands out from all others. I know if I were to look closer I would see streaks of crackling crimson lightening race across the white thread of mana.

    The white and red hues is clear and vibrant today. Excitement builds behind my heart¡¯s rampart where the rest of my emotions are pressing for a release.

    I¡¯m so close, I can nearly taste it.

    No, no, calm down. Emotion is tied to Will, and Will is tied to Magic. If I become excited than the mana I internalized will seep out and make my presence known to the Things that go bump in the Dark.

    I can¡¯t afford to do anything rash now. I have been wandering in the Dark for close to an eternity, I can be patient for a while more. No that I really have another choice.

    My fingers slide to my chest and find the medallion that hangs there. The medallion is my sigil, my house symbol.

    It resembles a mithril coin that fits neatly in the palm of my hand that hangs from a chain of the same metal. A ragged traveler¡¯s cloak wrapped around a stave is embroidered in the center with my motto etched around the rim in English, an ancient language from my home world outside of The Castaway Isle.

    ¡°Though the path is long, and my soul grows weary I will walk the hard road, even if I must bleed, cry, fall, and crawl.¡± It read.

    Compared to other house mottos it is sobering, however it fits a tired old soul like me well.

    After all, I am more stubborn than powerful.

    The sigil is a reminder of who I was before being banished to the Dark. A memento of what I had lost and, God willing, what I can reclaim. The trail of white and red mana is my connection to what I desire to reclaim most-

    Erin.

    She is still alive, of that much I am certain. Over my unwilling tenure here in the dark my connections to the outside have been severed one by one. Before I was imprisoned here I had over two dozen familiars throughout the Castaway Isle.

    Now¡­ there is only one.

    I¡¯m coming Erin, and nothing will stop me.

    I pick myself up and shift my ramshackle clothing more evenly across my shoulders and I pat myself down to make sure none of my equipment was knocked loose in my face¡¯s unsightly meeting with the cold stone floor.

    Sometimes I fail to tell if I am even moving or not. The absolute absence of light may have something to do with it, but I believe it is more due to my slipping sense of sanity.

    I had also lost track of time almost the instant I opened my eyes to this inky black.

    I didn¡¯t know how long it had taken for me to be whisked away by that damned Warlock¡¯s teleportation spell after the ill-fated battle with Knivblad and the loss of my right forearm.

    My time displacement only worsened the longer I wandered these swirling black depths. Sometimes I would lose track of my sense of self completely.

    Not for the first time I would find myself clothed in gore and sporting a new collection of scars without a shred of a clue on where it came from or how long I had blacked out. it could have easily been a few hours, or even years. Its tough to tell without a way to even tell if its day or not.

    I make my way through the Dark following the thread of mana, my pace brisk, just a sort of power walk and just shy of a jog. My stamina is more than up for the task even if I were to take it at dead sprint, however I must be patient, I must pace myself.

    After all, I am not alone in the Dark.

    For a while there is nothing. The only sound that reaches my ear is my bare feet hitting the stone surface and my light breathing. All at the same time the Dark is a suffocating, malevolent force and a cold, empty expanse, a void as lonely and as careless as space. Sounds does not travel well here, the closest sensation I can compare it to is standing atop a mountain shrouded in a thundercloud. It is thin air yet still occupied by a thicker presence.

    Then I hear it. A sharp little tick, tick, tick. An innocent enough sound that rapidly grows into a frightening alarm of impending doom. It¡¯s a menacing little clicking that ignites the imagination and breeds terror in even the more stout hearted.

    In short, it sounds like a spider made of knives. Fuck those things.

    Actually, a spider with blades for limbs would practically be cuddly by comparison to what was actually be making that accursed ticking. I can¡¯t really describe it, nor really any of the other creatures I have encountered here in the Dark. That¡¯s why I just call them Things.

    [True Sight] [Level: 7,421]

    [t%&n1?] [Level: @&*#%] [Age: */@`]

    See? Even my fucking God-like Observation skill can¡¯t make heads or tails of these Things.

    A convulsing mass of madly twitching nightmare fuel jerks and skitters towards me on countless spindly legs, I can only gather my strength and calm my rising heart and the rush of adrenaline that slams into my system. The change is instantaneous, the ever so slight tremble in my hand ceases and my narrowing tunnel vision clears as does the roar of blood in my ears. I don¡¯t need the adrenaline rush, I only need my senses.

    Though the Thing lacks any sort of head or structure to its body a shrill screech of glee splits the cold inky dark as its spins and ticks closer. This Thing defies all reason and can only be described as unnatural. Just its very presence sends chills up my spine and a sinking dread down into the pit of my stomach. This Thing is revulsion and hunger given form. (Form, not shape, these disturbing creatures never could decide what they want to look like.)

    Now I am sure you are wondering how a practically naked one armed man would handle a wreathing anger blob of spikes and madness. The solution is pretty simple.

    Punch it.

    ¡°My Soul given form, my Will given shape, My Magic given purpose. Dance to my Will and sharpen to my resolve.¡±

    [Ethereal Talons] [Level: 5,193]

    I pull mana from my core, the arcane energy snaps to attentions and eagerly follows my commands, flowing like a flooding river down my mutilated arm and wrapping around my muscles before erupting from my arm in a rush of raw power. The disgusting, inky air flinches as my mana crackles and hums with a white glow and red lightening into a hand clad in wicked talons.

    Another screech of delight rips from the Thing and it barrels towards me with a frantic, starving desperation. There is little that I have discovered about these creatures in the times since I arrived, but I am sure of one thing. These Things in the Dark hunger for Magic. Magic, after all, is Life-force, and I wouldn¡¯t exactly call these Things ¡°alive¡±.

    Just hungry.

    ¡°Here freaky, freaky, freaky. Come get the nice glowing snack.¡± I gurgle with a shake of my pulsing claws.

    My throat hurts just coughing those words out. Wow, when was the last time I actually said anything beyond an occasional curse? I need to start talking more, even if I only have me for company. Though, to be honest, if I were to meet me I wouldn¡¯t want to talk to me either, I¡¯m kind of an ass. Meh, I¡¯ll sleep on it.

    The Thing thrashes closer with a sporadic tick, tick, tick. Just as it lurches within striking range it giggles, actually giggles, before throwing its spines out and pounces like a rabid sea urchin from hell.

    Then promptly explodes into a fine, inky mist and a shower of spines.

    [Ethereal Talons], is an old favorite spell of mine from back in the early days of my Agelessness. It is exceptionally difficult to learn, much less actually use in combat. Since I lack any sort of Affinity with any school of magic learning a spell from the Soul Branch of Arcane magic wasn¡¯t something I would let slip through my fingers. Why? Because Soul Magic doesn¡¯t care about affinity, anyone can use it.

    There is one major drawback though, Soul Magic is rare for one main reason, its so damn hard to use. The most basic of spells from the Soul branch require an understanding of one¡¯s, well, Soul. The stuff that makes you, you. Those with the Monk Class are typically masters of utilizing Soul Magic, hence their inclination towards pursuing the road to enlightenment. Balance and finding your inner peace or whatever is kinda their thing.

    I am anything but balanced, and I tossed inner peace out the window the moment someone had tried to explain it to me.

    I¡¯ve come to terms with my reservation in Hell centuries ago, no need with crying about it. If I have to do evil to ensure those that I love to have a chance at a happy afterlife than it¡¯s worth it.

    Not that I feel good about it or anything¡­ its complicated.

    I¡¯ve spent too much time here. I need to press on. Squashing one of these Things will get the Dark riled up and I¡¯d rather stretch what little resources I have tucked away in my tatter garb.

    Suddenly I find myself blinded. I close my eyes and look away from the source of blinding light while trying to figure out what it was. I reach out with my influence and my soul flares with an incredible fury!If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    My mana goes ballistic and I clasp my remaining hand to my burning chest, my nails digging through my thick clothes and into my flesh. I think I smell blood.

    I clamp down on my core a second later to rein in my control. My mana resists like a feral dog trapped on the end of a leash. I pull harder and the dog turns into a bucking bull.

    Though I am taken by surprise I recognize why my mana is rebelling against me. A feral grin curls my lips, exposing my teeth in a feral smile fit for a madman, or perhaps a monster.

    The Gatekeeper is coming.

    Convenient, I was tracking it and now its coming straight for me!

    I decide that my rebellious mana had enough time to wiggle and squirm. I bring my Will down hard and my Mana goes silent, killing any notion of resistance. It hurts, God it hurts, but better a little pain than find myself shishkabobbed on the end of one of the Gatekeeper¡¯s claws.

    The first time I encountered the Gatekeeper that very nearly happened. All of my observation skills and sensatory enhancing spells had failed me. Every. Single. One.

    Now, I consider myself more paranoid than the average immortal nutbag but apparently my two dozen active and passive skills and spells were useless in detecting this thing. My only warning was my Mana freaking out like it just had.

    I have my theories on why I can¡¯t detect this Gatekeeper, and not one of them are very comforting. The one I find most likely is the most unsettling.

    That the Gatekeeper IS  the Dark.

    I¡¯ve seen what the Dark looks like beyond my little patch of sightline. That was the cause of my first ¡°episode¡± along a major loss of memory. I never tried to see that far again.

    The light that had blinded me turned out to be my connection with Erin, the thread of white and red Mana I had been following.

    It led straight towards the malevolent presence, straight towards the Gatekeeper. It looks as if it was leading me like a fish caught on a hook, Erin¡¯s connection the line.

    Only difference is this little fish is intent on eating not the bait, but the fisherThing.

    The Gatekeeper is difficult to describe. When I faced it last, I had been more focused on keeping Charles alive, he was a boy I considered a pueso-adopted son of sorts. Last I saw him he had leapt through a tear in reality, a tear ripped by the Gatekeeper.

    The same tear in reality that Erin¡¯s connection threaded through into the Dark.

    I had widened the rend in the Void to help Charles escape but imagine my surprise when I had fought the Gatekeeper to a standstill and escaped to find a faint little thread of light weaving through the Dark to my heart. This could mean only one thing, I hurt the Gatekeeper, I managed to wound the Dark and damage that tear in reality enough to keep it open.

    I finally have a way home.

    I must have scared the Gatekeeper though. It used to hunt me relentlessly, but after that particular beatdown it seems to be running from me. My memories of that fight had faded to black and white years ago. My excitement and enthusiasm had long since died to cold ash.

    But none of that really mattered. I have Erin¡¯s thread. I have a way home. I have a purpose.

    I was never really good with emotion, even as a mortal I found it difficult to relate to other people, and to really feel anything.

    What do people call that condition again? Psychopathy? Or perhaps I¡¯m more of a Sociopath? I have loved before so perhaps Sociopath is more accurate.

    My lack of emotion has proven beneficial to my survival however. I do not frighten easily, nor am I quick to anger, however that does not mean I am immune or incapable of those emotions.

    My lapses into insanity in this God-forsaken Dark is proof of that.

    A tendril of smoke and madness lashes out from the Dark, the huge tentacle nearly indiscernible against its inky backdrop.

    I duck and roll to avoid the massive tentacle and before it could attack me again I drop all of my power limiters and rip asunder my mental shackles. Pure energy flares from my core but paused in a moment of hesitation, as if the power I had been concealing was doubting I was actually allowing it free in full.

    But it was only a moment of hesitation.

    Suddenly my muscles and bones ignite in a torrent of power I had been cultivating and nurturing for years, a feat of [Mana Manipulation] all but a few could claim to. Mana I have been circulating, compressing and refining ceaselessly since I had discovered [Mana Manipulation] was finally allowed to flow free from my core.

    My glowing Ethereal arm flares a blinding white and crimson radiance as the magic I had been holding back since the last time I had fought this abomination ignites the air around me, revealing my Aura and what I really am.

    A monster.

    A thousand mouths pry open and screech in the Dark, the voice of the Gatekeeper a grating chorus of horror, a melody reminiscent of innocent women burning at the stake, drowning children, and disemboweled men scooping their intestines back into the ragged holes in their flesh.

    It¡¯s the sound of agony, the symphony of despair, the song of the Dark.

    I refuse to dance to this.

    I hold my Ethereal hand out to the Dark and my Mana pulses hungrily, eager to bend all to my Will.

    ¡°Still the Void and heed my Will! All within my sight is my own. My Aura is my Crown and the ground I walk my Kingdom! I will bow to no one! YOU WILL BOW TO ME!¡±

    [Aura Dominion] [Level: 10,007]

    The ground shakes, the air ignites and the Dark screams.

    And in the pale white light of my Mana the Gatekeeper shows its faces. An eldritch nightmare shaped with an arachnoid mass of eyes, mouths and mandibles with the temperament of a world-eating Kraken bears down on me and my meager flashlight of a glowing Ethereal arm. I am little more than a tiny, faint pinprick of light in a writhing sea of shadows and madness.

    Next to this bargain bin Cthulhu nightmare my feral appearance is practically adorable in comparison. You gotta take your victories where you can get ¡®em.

    I condense my Dominion to only a short distance around me. I may be fighting the Dark itself, but I have no need to stretch my influence over a large area, I just need to protect myself from this thing¡¯s influences and make it regret striking me.

    I shape some of my Mana into a mass in my palm, the air quivers from the miniscule bead of white light as I condense as much Mana as I can into this little bead. In the past I tried burning, freezing, electrocuting and any number of other of damaging effects on the Gatekeeper, the only one that I find to be effective was just to blow it up. Or punch it.

    So, I do both.

    I sweep across the floor towards the Gatekeeper as it rains countless shadowy tendrils down and around me, each tentacle at least as wide of a two story building, many are far larger. Just grazing one of these tendrils chills me to the bone, even through my [Aura Domination]. Had I not possessed [Aura Domination] or a similar skill I surely would have been petrified or driven mad by the dread that inky black mass of evil incarnate emits like a foul body odor.

    The Gatekeeper¡¯s face easily be the size of a small planet, but it moves far too fast for it to be fair. It swims about the Dark like a turtle thrown to sea. As I slip, dash, and spin around the earth shattering tentacles plowing across the ground around me the Gatekeeper slips away, dragging its wiggling limbs with it.

    I suppose it was now trying to give me the slip after obviously failing to catch me by surprise. That is not good, that means that contrary to what I had believed up to this point this Thing can learn and adapt. However, it is missing one vital detail.

    Erin¡¯s connection.

    The thread of white and crimson Mana spins and bounces across the Dark as the Gatekeeper makes its escape. Like I¡¯m going to let that happen. This Thing has the audacity to try a squish and run on me, so how can I not return that gesture in kind?

    I pour Mana into my legs and line up my shot, I will only have one good chance at this, I¡¯ve never tried taking a cheap shot at its back before, hell I¡¯m not completely certain this Thing even has a back, but whatever the case I¡¯m going to stab the fuck out of it.

    I jump.

    Stale air whips angrily at my face as punishment for attempting to break the sound barrier. My ears are completely useless against the harsh whistle of rushing air, but my narrowed eyes take the brunt of the abuse, however I refuse to close them, my gaze riveted on the winding white and red thread of Mana guiding me to my way home.

    I feel, more than see, the Gatekeeper, the familiar slimy trill of dread drips down my skin, signaling to me its near proximity.

    Trusting my instincts, I flare my Mana around and through me for every ounce of power I can muster and plow my fist into the Dark, the tiny bead of condensed Mana screaming for release. Just before I make contact I open fist and release the bead of mana.

    And for one brilliant, shining moment the Dark became day.

    Meat and rotten ichor are the last things I see as the brilliant flash of Mana winks out, but what I did see in the flash was a confirmation of my deepest, darkest nightmare.

    Millions. Billions. Countless.

    This was not the only Gatekeeper.

    Trillions of eyes from Billions of Things shone against my attack. Countless teeth and claws flashed in the explosion. It was like I was battling a planet only to find I¡¯m in a galaxy of Horrors.

    I can¡¯t win. Not against this. Not against the Dark.

    Good thing I don¡¯t have to win. I just have to escape.

    The Gatekeeper I stuck screeches in agony as it wiggles and flounders in a pain I am all too familiar with. I must have hit a soft spot, judging from what I saw before I looked beyond it I gouged out a huge wound from its back. Erin¡¯s connection trembles from the Gatekeeper¡¯s screech, drawing my gaze and focus back to my purpose¡­ but I can¡¯t help myself but take another shot from the monstrosity that had been stalking me for years.

    So, I¡¯m feeling a little petty, sue me.

    [Fist of Havoc] [Level: 1,620]

    I ignore the icy sensation racing up my remaining arm as I slam my fist home and activated my Skill and force Mana through my arm. The burn of Mana racing through my veins clashes with the Gatekeeper¡¯s chilling touch. I don¡¯t use [Fist of Havoc] often because of the danger associated with punching a target with the intention of detonating it from the inside. Mostly the skill is used on inanimate objects or the ground. I¡¯m standing on the Gatekeeper, so I guess it counts.

    My punch connects with a wet smack followed by a sharp crack, a tiny detonation just below the surface. One explosion becomes two and two becomes four until a chain reaction of small explosions race across the Gatekeeper¡¯s ragged hide, blowing out a swath of tentacles and several of its eyes and patchwork maws in the process.

    I smile and drink in the carnage.

    Damn that felt good.

    However, even after all the damage I¡¯ve done I still barely scratched this Thing. It is the size of a planet after all, and I¡¯m not even large enough to be considered a flea on its back.

    But I¡¯ve certainly gotten its attention.

    Dread and cold race up my legs with every stride and leap across one of the Gatekeeper¡¯s gargantuan tentacles. I force Mana down into my muscles to fight the chill to limited success. If I stay much longer this close to this Thing it won¡¯t matter that I hurt it, I¡¯ll just freeze up and perish. Already my body is fighting me at every step. I pour so much of my Mana into my body I actually begin to glow a faint, ghostly white with streaks of crimson crackling around it.

    [After Burn Skill Discovered!]

    [After Burn] [Level: 1]

    Cool. New shit to play with.

    [Aura Domination Compromised!]

    [Aura Domination Failed!]

    Ah.

    Oh dear.

    That¡¯s not good.

    What was once a trickle of cold breaks into a flood, My muscles spasm in protest against the rush of cold. I only have seconds before I succumb to the Effects, maybe less. My lungs scream in agony as icy despair stabs into my chest and spreads towards my core.

    The compromised tear in reality is so close, I can actually see the distortion where the thread of Mana meets with the other side of the Void. I feel my legs seize, causing me to stumble to my knees.

    NO! I will not die here! Not when I¡¯m so close!

    ¡°GRRRRAAAHHHH!¡±

    I tear myself to my feet. I¡¯ve lost all feeling everywhere. My fingers are numb and slow, my arms fight my every command- Wait. I look down to my dismembered arm.

    I smile.

    ¡°M-M-My Soul given form, my Will g-given shape, My Magic given purpose. Dance to my Will and sh-sharpen to my resolve!¡±

    [Ethereal Talons] [Level: 5,193]

    Ghostly claws erupt from my petrified arm, I didn¡¯t have the time, nor the Mana left to refine it as much as I would have liked but it will do.

    I abandon [After Burn] and pour all that I am into my mutilated limb and clumsily sling it towards the tear in reality. The misty white limb bends to my Will and stretches an impossible distance away. I anchor my claws into the Gatekeeper¡¯s hide and, much to its displeasure, extend my claws and hook in as deeply as I could go.

    With the last vestiges of my strength I pull with all my might and I slingshot across the Dark and narrowly avoiding getting squashed by an angry tentacle.

    Once again air whips against my face and deafens me to the howl of the wind. I whip by where I anchored it and dissipated the spell as I passed.

    It was all or nothing. If I miss the portal or come up short I¡¯m dead. I can only trust in my skill and pray my aim is true.

    I hold what I wholly expect to be my last breath and watch as the distortion grows larger and larger, until the ¡°tear¡± in reality turns out to be a huge crack in the folds of space. It was large enough to let an entire Light Combat Frigate fly through with room to spare.

    And here I was worried about missing it.

    I laugh as I sail through the distortion and into a different kind of Dark. I¡¯m hit with an odd sense of sideways vertigo as my horizontal trajectory builds speed, the likes of which I have only felt in the vacuum of space. My current predicament is forgotten in my delirious euphoria.

    I did it. I escaped! Take that Dark! Fuck you and your spider-calamari wannabe buddies!

    ¡°HAH!¡± I cheer.

    I find myself spinning a little as I continue to go faster and faster and as I come down from my euphoric high I feel my insides plaster themselves against my spine and ribs. Just as I begin to question the wisdom of chucking myself into a giant crack in the folds of reality held up by an ancient nightmare squid the size of a Planet I smack into a wall of air resistance.

    My skin flares and my clothes smoke and ignite as friction does what friction does and tears across my tumbling form as I fly sideways out of the portal at Mach 2. I clench my teeth against the heat and brace for a very fast and very messy landing.

    I wasn¡¯t disappointed.

    I manage to judge my speed right and tuck my burning shoulder with the ground rushing past me and for the second time today my face meets dust.

    The impact is every bit as painful as I had expected, though I do have to say I do a killer meteorite impression.

    I plow into the earth with a thunderous roar, my head spinning and limbs flailing, despite my considerable efforts to keep them tucked. After digging a respectable trench through the ground I¡¯m launched into the air and smack into the ground again and grind across the hard earth before bouncing like a superball where I finally end my journey with my face digging out a Seofon-shaped trough.

    I thrust a defiant fist to the heavens in victory.

    Thank God for my high Endurance. No way a normal person could survive that.

    My elation builds as I wipe the blood and earth from my face and snap my broken nose back into place. A small price to pay for my survival. Nothing could ruin this moment for me. I had been dreaming of this for countless years. My first moment as a free man since I lost everything.

    I open my eyes and look skyward.

    And I cry.

    I bawl like a child. I¡¯m completely overwhelmed. Its so beautiful, the night sky.

    Piros is hanging low in the sky shining a vibrant ruby red. Countless twinkling lights flicker and dance in the velvet canvas of space.

    I don¡¯t remember much after that. I must have cried for hours. But it was liberating, those tears of joy. I don¡¯t regret a second of that night. In fact, I¡¯m proud of it. I¡¯m proud that I can still feel enough to cry in the face of such beauty.

    Eventually the moment ends, and I force my ragged legs under me and fold my emotions away for a later time. Now I have to focus. I have to find Erin.

    I see our connection, the white and red thread, but to my eternal frustration it leads straight up, into space.

    She¡¯s not here. She¡¯s not on Enith.

    I¡¯m disappointed. No. that¡¯s not quite a strong enough word to describe what I¡¯m feeling but what did I really expect? To find my Soul Familiar, my better half, just sitting there in front of the portal waiting for me? I should have known better. Why can¡¯t anything be easy?

    All well, no use crying over spilled milk. Next, I have to figure out where I am and try to find where Erin is, then I can get off this rock.

    ¡°What I wouldn¡¯t do for a space ship right about now.¡± I gurgle-

    -Right before I¡¯m struck by a fiery hunk of space ship falling from the sky, and for the third time that day my face meets the dirt.

    ¡°Fuck.¡±

 Chapter 2: Shocker

    Chapter 2: Shocker

    ¡°Fuck.¡±

    For the third time today my face met the ground. This is getting old.

    The hiss of superheated metal and the pop of plants bursting from the heat fade in from over the ring in my ears. Everything still sounds distorted and echo-y. I hope I didn¡¯t knock anything loose when that damned spacecraft decided to use my head to break its fall from orbit.

    On the other hand, its not like it really matters, I¡¯ve always been a little screw-loose and unhinged anyhow so not much would change. Still, better leave nothing to chance.

    [Resonate] [Level: 8,112]

    A pulse of cool mana ripples outward from my core through my broken body like a drop in a lake. My wounds and injuries act like rocks protruding out from the ¡°surface¡± of the calm water and bounce back to my core like an echo. [Resonate] is another one of my favorite spells, for one it¡¯s Soul Magic, so I can use it with ease even with my lack of affinity, and second because it is so versatile.

    I often use [Resonate] on myself to get a clearer picture on how hurt I am. Don¡¯t get me wrong, I still feel pain, I don¡¯t have some kind of mystical resistance to agony, I¡¯ve simply learned to not care about it. I may be sturdier than must Ageless but even mundane injuries incapacitate me. I am human after all, I¡¯m not special.

    Pain rakes through my body, the sharp, crackling kind that sends your blood pounding loudly in your ears and you go all cross-eyed. Needless to say, I¡¯m having a hard time keeping my gaze from going all wonky as I try my best to keep my focus inward and my senses open to feel the ripples of mana reverberate around my body.

    Finally, after several agonizing seconds I feel like I have a good grasp on what¡¯s wrong.

    In short, everything.

    .A shattered hip, collapsed ribs on one side, a fractured shoulder, a dislocated right arm (also broken in three different places), a warped leg with a shattered knee, multiple skull fractures, several fractures along my spine, ruptured disks in my neck, and a busted ear.

    Not my best day.

    Life can¡¯t seem to resist sticking a wrench in the works, or in this case, dropping a random spacecraft on my head, for shits and giggles.

    Whelp, enough feeling sorry for myself, I may as well try to get back in some semblance of working order. If the universe decides to drop a ship on my lap (literally) than there is no way in hell I¡¯m not going to strip it to the melted frame of anything not bolted down.

    Ya know, when life gives you lemons and all that.

    I focus another [Resonance] pulse out to reconfirm what I already learned before beginning the arduous and very unpleasant process of putting myself back together. A warm, gritty wetness gurgles from my wounds, caking my skin. Bleeding out is not fun, I¡¯ll have to fix that as soon as I tighten whatever I knocked loose in my head, I¡¯m starting to feel sick and pretty dizzy.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    [Silent Casting] and channeling a high level healing spell is difficult for me, even without my life ebbing out of my body with every beat of my heart. The task is difficult, but not impossible.

    [Eldritch Regeneration] [Level: 120]

    I feel the last runes and symbols of the spell snap into place and ignite my damaged flesh. If I could speak around the bile and blood invading my throat I would not be surprised if I had screamed.

    Though it is technically a healing spell [Eldritch Regeneration] is by no means gentle or soothing. It comes in two parts; the activation portion of the spell destroys the damaged flesh and forces the body to recycle it, and the final portion of the spell drains the host of their vitality to regenerate what was lost. Its not a perfect spell though, if I am interrupted while I channel the spell I can potentially cause irreversible damage to myself or whoever I use it on and depending on the skill employed it would still leave scars.

    not that a few more scars really matter to me, my flesh is little more than a patchwork canvas at this point.

    I feel the blood caked on my broken body heat to a boil and slurp back through the dirt and into my body. I hope not too much of the muck found its way into my bloodstream, else I¡¯ll end up spending the next few days coughing up mud-balls.

    As I feel the last of my damaged flesh shrivel into nothing and reabsorbe back into my body I shift [Eldritch Regeneration] into the second Phase and the burn of extremely accelerated regrowth ignites and irritates my exposed nerve endings. Every part of my being is begging for me to stop and rest, but I push through, if I stop now I would only slow my recovery time and risk further injury.

    Barely a minute has passed since I started the healing process, even though its not recommended I grab my dislocated shoulder at the joint and jerk the limb back into place with a wet *click* and a nauseous rolling wave of agony rides the pain I was already feeling from [Eldritch Regeneration].

    Then I heard a sound.

    I roll my head around towards the low metallic groan.

    Turns out when the crash-landing spacecraft hit me I made another trough of sorts in the ground. I was curled in the shallow indent in the dusty earth, though I can still see over the lip of my would-be grave.

    the burning husk of a boxy spacecraft was partly visible over the small mound of dirt around me. The vessel¡¯s hull crackles and whines in the red tinted night glow. More than half of the planet hopping vehicle had plowed itself under ground. Now only what appears to be the upper deck was visible above the dusty flatlands I find myself in. The wide cockpit¡¯s viewports were intact, though the dark tinting prevented me from seeing inside, so I was unaware if the pilots were still alive.

    Judging from the rectangular tube-like design this spacecraft was a cargo vessel of sorts, though now the fuselage had crumpled and twisted into useless oblivion on impact. If this was a cargo vessel than I doubt there were many crew members. Too many bodies aboard would take up too much space that would otherwise be used for valuable cargo.

    The vessel looked to be somewhere between the corvette and light frigate class of ships, though its hard to judge when most of the ship is spread out in little pieces over a good 2 square miles of night-time wasteland. I estimate maybe 8 to 20 crewmembers of a vessel this size tops, though its perfectly possible I could be wrong.

    After the sharp pangs of agony from my relocated shoulder subside to manageable levels I close off the images of the burning spacecraft and redouble my efforts in channeling [Eldritch Regeneration]. Its taking longer than normal, after my dramatic escape from the Dark and the fight with that fucking planet sized monstrosity my mana reserves are running on empty and my vitality is practically null.

    If I was not so grievously injured and focused on repairing the damage I¡¯m sure I would have caught that low metallic groan of a blast door being pried open a second time. And If I was not intentionally blocking out the rest of my senses to carefully channel my healing spell I¡¯m sure I would have found a way to fend off the attackers that poured from the burning hull.

    Instead the only indication I had company was a nervous kick to my shin and a nice view down the barrel of a Mage-pistol.

    Before I could open my mouth to speak the elf holding the pistol fired and my vision went white as arcs of lightening lanced across my body.

 Chapter 3: A Headache From The Stars

    Chapter 3: A Headache from the Stars

    Thankfully (Or unfortunately I haven¡¯t decided yet) the elf with the Mage-pistol only fired once, in my weakened state I¡¯m sure I would have lost consciousness otherwise.

    It feels as if thousands of needles were underneath my skin and stabbing me from the inside to get out. My muscles spasm and convulse even several minutes after that elf shot me with that lightening spell, yet despite the fact that I retained my consciousness I still laid limp as several pairs of hands drag me from the ground and wrap bands of metal (Shackles perhaps?) around my arms and legs.

    There are a few moments of confusion among my captors when they went to bind my wrists, only to find I was lacking my entire right forearm. After several seconds of debate and awkward experimentation with wrapping the shackles around several parts of my body they settled with locking my arms behind my back with the shackles set just above my elbows.

    Problem solved, good job idiots.

    The worst part about this whole ordeal was that they interrupted my channeling of [Eldritch Regeneration]. Portions of my crushed leg and abdomen were still angrily swollen and, in some parts, broken or missing entirely. When that elf shot me full of electricity my muscles seized and convulsed hard enough to rebreak several of my barely healed bones causing the sharp fragments to slice my already damaged flesh and renew hemorrhaging in my open wounds.

    I can¡¯t start [Eldritch Regeneration] from scratch, so now I can only do damage control, but now I got an audience and they seem to have no issues plugging a dying man in a ditch with lightening spells.

    Not even an hour into my triumphant return from the Dark and already I have someone on my shit-list.

    Elf with the Mage-pistol, check.

    After they bind me my captors unceremoniously drop me on the ground somewhere nearby. I feel heat roll over my burnt rags and raw skin and the creaking and hiss of burning metal intensify so I assume they hauled me closer to their crashed ship. Why bother going through the trouble of dragging my broken ass just to drop me a few meters away? I was better off in the cool embrace of my little ditch. Jerks.

    A tiny shuffle and the sound of a foot dragging through the dirt peaks my interest. There¡¯s someone beside me, and they seem to be sitting just above where my head is resting in the dust.

    The tiniest puff of warm breath tickles my ear, sending my thick and wild beard hair standing on end. My mystery companion is leaning over me and seems to be nearly nose to ear with me.

    I think I¡¯ll just lay here and see where this is going, not like I have anything else better to do.

    I hear a tiny sniff and an adorable squeak of revulsion from my companion. Yeah, sorry I don¡¯t exactly smell like a bed of roses, sweetheart. Not bathing in a few centuries and getting pulped by a fucking space ship will do that to a guy.

    -----------------

    Lydia woke to the smell of burning flesh and screaming. She didn¡¯t know where she was, what was going on, why this was happening. She couldn¡¯t see and no matter how hard she tried she couldn¡¯t move. She was scared, terrified. She honestly thought she was going to die.

    Just a few days before she had been begging for death, but not like this, not burning alive. She wanted it to be quick, painless, death by fire, smoke, and slag is anything but.

    She struggled against her restraints and, against her better judgement, opened her irritated, reddened eyes.

    Then she instantly wished she never had.

    All she could see in the fire¡¯s dull red glare was a dark rolling cloak of smoke bellowing out from the many hull breaches scattered across the spacecraft like an abstract pin cushion.

    Lydia was curled in a fetal position and crammed firmly into a container just large enough for her thin, bony frame, her three foot long brunette wolf tail curled between her legs and throbbed at the base from sitting on it for so long.

    She choked and gagged, her lungs fighting with the rest of her malnourished body until she felt her abdomen clench hard and she retched, spilling her meager stomach contents over the cargo hold¡¯s scalding hot surface.

    The young Wolf-folk struggled to free herself from her container, but her body refused to cooperate, she screamed and strained against her rebellious muscles, but they never budged.

    She couldn¡¯t move no matter how much she tried, she was a Nameless after all.

    Nameless, the title given to those that had their True Names stolen from them. True Names are bound to the soul, if someone holds the key to your soul they hold your life in their hands.

    Lydia was ordered by her handler to stay in her container, even if she were to burn alive or even be attacked she would be unable to defend herself or even run away.

    She was going to die here, and she knew it.

    ¡°HELP!¡± She cried. ¡°SOMEONE! ANYONE!¡±

    ¡°Hey! Some of the cargo¡¯s still alive!¡± A grating voice called out.

    Lydia recognized it as one of the Nameless Handlers aboard the Spacecraft responsible for the transportation of herself and the other Nameless. In any other moment she would be dreading seeing the likes of him, but here, now, he was her only hope.

    She didn¡¯t want to die.

    A bulky Gray-skinned Orc clad in an orange skin tight space suit with pieces of gray armor attached barreled through the smoke. His head was encased in a boxy helmet with a single sliver of tinted glass for a visor and a radio antenna attached to the side of his head.

    He spotted Lydia and cocked his head to the side. Even though his face was hidden Lydia was sure he was grinning behind that visor.

    ¡°Well ain¡¯t you a lucky bitch, eh?¡± He laughed.

    As he spoke more of the spacecraft buckled and melted around them, cold spikes of anxiety shot from the pit of her stomach straight to her brunette wolf ears, making her feel light-headed.

    ¡®Hurry the fuck up and get me out of here!¡¯ Lydia bit back her panicked scream, but only just. This slaver was taking his time and seemed to be enjoying the terrified look on her face.

    The smirking orc finally kicked into gear when a portion of the rafters gave and came crashing down with a thunderous roar of rolling flames and heat.

    The armored slaver held out a hand at Lydia. ¡°Get out of here.¡±

    The invisible force that stilled her muscles evaporated, allowing the Wolf-girl to scramble from her container with a frantic fervor.

    Lydia landed on the floor on her belly and tried to climb to her feet to no avail, she resorted to crawling on her elbows and knees. The slaver ignored her and busied himself with popping open the other containers, completely indifferent to the young girl crying out in pain as she crawled across the scalding hot floor.

    Somehow Lydia made it out of the cargo hold. The air in the hallways was thick with choking black smoke and the floor was rife with sharp protrusions, sparking wires and crevices eager to snag and twist limbs.

    ¡°Come on¡­ Just do it!¡± Lydia spotted a tear on the corridor wall. She wrapped her fingers in the crevice and bit back a curse as the sharp ragged metal sliced into her fingers. She needed to do this fast or she won¡¯t be able to do this at all. She pulled with all her might and clambered to her feet, albeit with a visible tremble in her knees.

    ¡°Yes!¡± She grinned and then inhaled. The smoke slithered down her throat like a hot gritty snake intent on sinking its teeth into every inch of flesh it could find. The frail Wolf-girl¡¯s body bucked as she coughed violently and puked again. She barely caught her balance before toppling onto a smashed section of floor.

    Another crash rang in her ears and a wave of heat and smoke seared her eyes, forcing her to close them. Panic boiled up in her chest as the world around her closed in around her.

    ¡®I got to get out of here!¡¯

    Inch by inch Lydia felt her way down the hallway, the skin on her elbows and knees were flayed and burnt to the bone, her feet did not fare much better from the bits of scrap and the rended edges of smashed walls and appliances that littered the corridor. Several times she tripped when she stepped on a sharp piece of metal or into a crevice. Her lungs burned for oxygen and her breathing was taxed with constant coughing fits. She risked opening her eyes a found she was nearly at the ramp!

    A shove out of nowhere sent the Wolf-girl tumbling onto a wicked cluster of metal teeth, the long jagged metal points sank into her flesh and hooked in deep. An agonizing scream tore from her throat as blood pumped around the metal in her flesh, staining the floor red. Her primal flailing attempts to free herself only shredded more of her flesh against the jagged edges and the bent metal teeth hooked in deeper. Lydia¡¯s burning eyes shot open and she whipped her gaze around in a desperate bid to find some way to escape.

    Instead she saw the slaver.

    The orc had shoved her out of the way onto the metal teeth.

    Huddled shapes stumbled and cried out in pain behind him.

    It was the other Nameless, the ones from the other containers.

    Naked sacks of skin and bone with dead eyes and masks of frozen terror were all that was left of the people they once were. None even spared her a passing glance as they stumbled past.

    Seeing the Namelesss¡¯ thin backs vanishing in the smoke filled Lydia with dread. They don¡¯t even care that she was impaled on the floor of a burning ship.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Lydia gave up.

    The light in the little Wolf-girl¡¯s eyes died and she curled in on herself as much as the spikes of metal in her side would allow. She drowned in her acceptance of death, something that seemed so surreal to her. Never in a million years did she think she would go out this way. Burning alive in a space ship on an unfamiliar planet? The odds of that happening are astronomical!

    But like the lottery, someone¡¯s gotta be the winner.

    Little teardrops rolled down Lydia¡¯s cheeks, cutting a winding trail through the ash clinging to her gaunt face. One tear found its way to her lips, it tasted salty, and a little sour.

    while Lydia was wallowing in her despair she almost didn¡¯t notice when a wrinkled hand closed around her free shoulder and gave her a shake. The little motion jerked the metal teeth in her flesh, eliciting a fresh spurt of blood and a tiny whimper.

    ¡°I got¡¯cha young¡¯un. I Got¡¯cha.¡±

    Strong, gentle hands worked her off the metal teeth, her hands found purchase in the thin arms that held her aloft. Another booming crash and a wave of heat and smoke boiled over, turning the corridor into a furnace.

    The wrinkled hands worked faster.

    With a final, excruciating tug the stranger pulled Lydia free of the metal teeth, though much of the twisted scrap remained embedded in her flesh.

    ¡°Hurry child. I know it hurts, just let me help you.¡±

    Lydia no longer had the strength nor the amount of fucks to care where this old man was taking her, she was prepared to die, and she is still not completely convinced this was happening anyway, not even the gentle whisper of cool, life-giving night air across her cheek was evidence enough.

    ---------------------

    Ragged coughing and the scuffle of bony, ragged bodies hitting the ground jolt my sensitive ears. Tiny pained whimpers and groans claw from the throat of some unfortunate creature.

    Someone¡¯s hurt, badly.

    Even from here I can smell the sickly sweet coppery tang of blood and the savory, gut retching aroma of burnt flesh.

    My mystery companion mercifully turns her sniffer from my admittedly ripe body odor.

    I heard a tiny feminine whisper close by, probably from my anonymous sniffer. She speaks in a language I don¡¯t understand, though it does seem familiar in a way. It sounds like Common Tongue chopped with Dwarven Thorin.

    Perhaps I¡¯ve been gone even longer then I had thought?

    It wouldn¡¯t surprise me truthfully, I have forgotten vast swaths of my time in the Dark during my many delves into insanity.

    A rougher, deeper voice replies to the sniffer, again in the same strange tongue. He sounds a little frantic. He moves closer and the smell of blood and burnt flesh follows, growing stronger.

    Another whimper from the wounded creature tugs at something in my chest.

    Pity. I¡¯m feeling pity. I¡¯ve forgotten what that feels like¡­. I don¡¯t like it, make it go away.

    I open my eyes. There is little real reason to continue to play dead, and I do want to get rid of this uncomfortable pull in my chest.

    I¡¯m surrounded by a huddle of what appears to be a gaggle of living skeletons. It takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for my addled brain to figure out that these sacks of skin and bone were, in fact, living creatures.

    I see a mix of races here, though none are elves funny enough. A good amount of them are beast-folk of one kind or another, while humans seem to make up the bulk of this sorry collection, though I do catch a glimpse of what appears to be a green skinned orc female entangled in a desperate cuddling match with another, equally gaunt gray skinned orc.

    Nothing else seems special about them, except I have this feeling that I¡¯m missing something incredibly obvious¡­ but what?

    Careful to not move my head I turn my eyes past my new companions to another group sitting in a circle close by. Slavers and the crew of this vessel I imagine, judging from their armor and clothes-

    Clothes¡­ I¡¯m a moron. Every single one of these starved creatures surrounding me are dressed in nothing more than their birthday suits. I hadn¡¯t had a need to wear clothes since mine were shredded while in the Dark, including the remnants of my ratty garb. Now only scraps of monster skin and my Sigil continued to doggedly cling to my frame.

    I roll over, careful not to jostle my mangled leg and injured arm and spot my sniffer and the older man she was whispering with, as well as the source of the bloody stench, a tiny body curled between them.

    My sniffer appears to be another beast-folk of the feline variety. Her gaunt frame boasting the pointed furred ears and the serpentine tail telling of her kind, though exactly what race of Cat-folk I can¡¯t tell.

    The older man she is speaking with is human. He is bald with dark bronze skin and wrinkles just beginning to sag, more from stress than age I¡¯d bet. He is smaller than I¡¯d expect the owner of such a deep baritone to own. I¡¯m going to have to evaluate his level later.

    The body between them looks to be that of a young girl. I spot a bushy brunette tail tucked between her bloodied legs with short chopped hair to match. A Canine-folk perhaps? They are equally as difficult as Cat-folk to tell apart. Even from my poor vantage point, being sprawled on the ground and all, I can clearly see the horrible wounds stabbing from the female¡¯s side. Wide rends of meat and flesh hang loose among twisted blades of broken metal.

    She is dying.

    The old man seems to be frantically milling around for something to stanch of the girls bleeding but being naked has denied him of the means to bind even just a few of the wounds.

    The wounded girl twitches and lets out another pitiful whimper.

    I glance at the slavers circled several yards away, still absorbed in their council to decide how to go forward.

    Do I risk exposing my abilities while in my compromised state? Hell, a stiff breeze could knock me over at this point.

    I look back to the skinny little creature suffering and crying out in pain.

    I scan the gaggle of slavers one more time to make sure their attention is elsewhere.

    Fuck it.

    ------------

    Another whimper escapes the mortally wounded Wolf-girl before Rufus. The old man sighs and presses his hands back over one of the more manageable gashes just below her ribcage, though even then her thick, deep red lifeblood seeped through his fingers, further staining her paper-thin skin crimson.

    ¡°Is¡­ Is there anything we can, like, do for her?¡± A calico cat-girl asked tentatively, her voice tight and barely above a whisper.

    Rufus shook his head sadly.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think so Arleen, I¡¯m hopin¡¯ the asshat over there that did this to her will notice and help her out, but I doubt he will. If any of them see they¡¯re more liable to put a bullet in her head and call it a night¡­ At this point she¡¯ll need a miracle.¡±

    Arleen¡¯s black and copper flecked ears twisted around and flicked irritably. She hates watching this. This girl, stranger or not, doesn¡¯t deserve to die like this, after surviving a crash and escaping only to bleed out or get executed just because she got hurt. Tears welled up in the Cat-girl¡¯s emerald eyes.

    Its just not fair!

    ¡°Maybe if we-¡° The Cat-girl froze and her ears stood at attention and spun behind her towards a new sound. After a few seconds of hesitation her head followed her ears and her jaw dropped.

    The twisted, burnt corpse that Asmodeus, the Elf in charge of these Slavers, had dumped next to her was currently sitting cross legged just inches from her face.

    This thing was little more then a mutilated skeleton with charred bits of skin stretched taut over top. It was chained above the elbows with Drain Manacles, a piece of equipment that pulls the stamina and mana from the wearer to keep them weak enough to transport. It was missing almost its entire right forearm from the elbow down, hence why its arms where secured behind its back.

    Its skin was blackened with burns, mud, and filth to the point that it was impossible to tell what it looked like underneath it. But she didn¡¯t need to see past the Thing¡¯s horrible condition to see the horrendous injuries it had incurred. Its left leg was twisted at the knee and completely facing the wrong way! The breaks in its skin spoke of huge swaths of lacerations and unnatural dips in its torso were signs of broken ribs and smashed bone.

    Honestly judging from the stench of death and the layers of filth clinging to its mostly naked frame Arleen thought it was a buried corpse the Slavers had dug up.

    Only its not a corpse. This thing is alive. Alive and currently close enough to kiss her.

    Two orbs of blue-gray light shone from beneath a curtain of matted, shoulder length hair, with a dirty brown beard to match. The Thing held Arleen¡¯s gaze for a moment longer before flicking his gaze past her, right at the dying Wolf-girl crumpled in the dust, bleeding to death.

    Unease rose in Arleen¡¯s chest. Potent maternal instincts rose their hackles at the creature that was staring at the Wolf-girl laying helpless behind her. Funny, Arleen was perhaps barely older than the dying Wolf-girl but she still felt that urge to protect her, even if she was stranger.

    ¡°N-no.¡± Arleen shook her head. ¡°You can¡¯t have her. Go away.¡±

    The Cat-girl blocked the charred corpse¡¯s view of the girl and she held her hand out to keep it at arm¡¯s length.

    The Creature tilted its filthy, matted head, as if it were trying to decipher her words and actions. Arleen could almost see the dots connect in the Thing¡¯s head as its eerie blue-gray eyes lit up in realization that she was protecting the Wolf-girl from him. It laughed.

    It was more of a grating gurgle but the way its shoulders shook, and the cadence of its breaths were unmistakably in the manner of a laugh. It actually found thisfunny.

    She opened her mouth to speak but before any words slipped her lips the creature sat on its butt, pulled its mutilated leg around and gave it a sharp twist. With a sickening snap the Thing reoriented its destroyed limb and flexed it with ease. Though she could be mistaken Arleen could swear she could see the ropy cords of muscle beneath its blackened skin wiggle, bulge and tighten back into place.

    It just healed itself. This Thing just snapped its bones back into place and fixed what was beyond repair in a matter of seconds! It just pulled off the impossible!

    Arleen¡¯s eyes widened in realization and a tiny glimmer of hope flared in her stomach.

    Not the impossible, it just pulled off a miracle.

    Her hands shook with giddy disbelief and not small amount of excitement. Completely disregarding the filth and shit Arleen reached for the Thing staring at her from beneath its hair and pulled it to her. She wasn¡¯t sure if it could understand her but she hoped she could make her intentions clear.

    ¡°Please help.¡± She asked.

    ------------

    Huh, seems I got my point across, though I never expected such a 180¡¯ from the Cat-girl. She looks to be a Calico. Don¡¯t see those very often.

    My head throbs from Mana Burn-out. My consciousness wavers for a moment, though the Cat-girl in front of me fails to notice.

    I¡¯ve been casting magic almost nonstop since my battle with the Gatekeeper. I¡¯ve been running on empty for hours now, and since that elf interrupted my channeling of [Eldritch Regeneration] I don¡¯t have anything else to give.

    Well¡­ that¡¯s not completely true. There is one other option, though Contract Magic with an unconscious person is a risky business¡­

    The Cat-girl grabs my hand and pulls me closer and away from my thoughts. The fire in her eyes never died, rather it simply changed. The defiant burning had simmered, giving way for a spark of hope, one that made her green vertically slit eyes shine in the night sky.

    She says something to me in her foreign tongue. I don¡¯t have to know what she said to understand was she is asking. The pleading in her tragically melodious voice is enough. She hesitantly leads me past a very confused old man to the dying girl crumpled in a tight ball on the ground.

    I glance back once more at the emerald eyes entranced on my every move. It feels good to be needed. It had been so long since I¡¯ve been around someone, even longer since I¡¯ve been with someone that needed me.

    I put my hand on the beat-girl¡¯s flayed flank. She felt cold, even though we are a few feet from the fireball that was once a space ship. Her blood clings to my fingers and adheres my palm to her ragged flesh.

    I close my eyes and pull mana from my core, writing the spell I need and drawing the magic circles from memory, just like I¡¯ve done thousands of times before.

    [Resonate] [Level:8,112]

    A trickle of my mana swirls down my arm and flows through the magic circles and runes I had written. The spell activates, and a pulse of soothing mana ripples form my palm. Like sonar against a cragged seawall the feedback I get is chaotic and disorienting, so I send out a few more [Resonate] pulses.

    The Wolf-girl moans in agony, her body is confused from the unfamiliar waves of mana invading her flesh. Sorry little one, I know its uncomfortable but bear with me, you ain¡¯t going to like what I¡¯m about to do but you¡¯ll get over it eventually.

    ¡°Reminisce and coincide, Little spirits of the wild. Though we are flesh and you, dreams and twilight, help this weary body and mark a-twixt us, life to life.¡±

    [Twilight¡¯s Mark] [Level: 17]

    A golden glow rippled beneath my bloodied palm, the fire behind me masks the light of the spell, hiding my actions from prying eyes.

    I feel the Life Magic Contract snap into place, a tiny force like a magnet between my hand and the girl¡¯s side.

    I lift my hand to admire my work, amongst the blood a tiny golden arch inside a magic circle encrusted with runes shone defiantly through the grimy crimson. I look to my palm and see the same symbol engraved there.

    For several tense seconds the little girl was still, then with a suddenly wet rattle she gasped for air and the bleeding lessened.

    I smile. I think everything¡¯s going to be alright.

    Except for this splitting headache.

    Oh, the world¡¯s spinning now. Its not supposed to do that.

    Ah, I¡¯m on the ground again. Magic Burn-out finally caught up to me.

    I look up and see two shining emerald eyes filled with confusion and panic. Sorry sweetheart, I gave it my all, now I¡¯ve had a very long day so, I¡¯m just going to take a nap.

    I savor the stranger¡¯s worried expression for just a moment longer before I close my heavy eyes with a deep, content sigh and let sleep claim me.

 Chapter 4: Aint That a Kick in The Head?

    Chapter 4: Ain¡¯t that a kick in the head?

    -----------------

    Naps are amazing, and sleep is a gift!

    I¡¯ll never take you for granted as long as I live! But as with all good things, everything must come to an end.

    In my case this good thing came to an end with a boot plowing straight into my nose.

    My head jerks to the side from the impact and my neck audibly pops but the only real damage done was to my pride and a mild case of whiplash. I jerk awake.

    First thing I notice was the tiny sliver of one of Enith¡¯s suns peaking out over the mountain dotted horizon, second thing I notice was that I was not alone.

    I glare up at the boot clad culprit that had walloped me in the face, a slimy little human with a greasy grin to match.

    Second guy on my shit-list.

    Dickwad with the boot, check.

    You''re next buddy, right after I pull that elf¡¯s head through his asshole.

    ¡­Wow, I don¡¯t remember being such an angry person before the Dark. Guess I¡¯m not as alright as I had thought.

    The Slime ball that kicked me mumbles something snarky in that unfamiliar tongue and spits on my chest. I cock an eyebrow and snort as the skinny little tool swaggers off. I notice a beat up energy pistol several sizes too big strapped to his hip.

    Overcompensating for something there little buddy?

    Bone thin fingers thread around my head and hesitantly trail down to my chest.

    Those weren¡¯t there before.

    I look up and see a refreshing sight, the Feline Beast-folk from last night. The one with the pretty green eyes.

    Streaks of golden sunlight dance across her gaunt face and sunken eyes. Her black hair was roughly chopped a little short with black, white and copper camouflaged fur on her ears and tail that spun around her naked chest in a vain attempt at some form of modesty, though for whom exactly is a mystery to me.

    But what proved to me as the most riveting from this girl was the expression of worry on her cracked lips.

    Someone doesn¡¯t actually want me dead. I¡¯ve forgotten what that feels like, not to have to stab the closest thing with a pulse.

    It¡¯s a nice feeling.

    The wreckage of the cargo vessel sits behind the Beast-girl. Much of the once impressive vehicle had collapsed in on itself as the fires ate it from the inside out, now all that¡¯s left was a blackened shell sunken into its earthen grave.

    Gentle fingers of morning light stretch across the grasslands I had found myself in from my escape from the Dark. Now that its light out I find myself breathless at the myriad of color and intoxicating sensations of a cool spring morning.

    Then I look down and get the first real look at what I had become, and I feel nauseous. No wonder the Feline Beast-girl had that look of terror and disbelief on her face when I went to her last night. I look like death itself.

    Now I was never one to boast, but I kept myself in good shape and I wasn¡¯t all that back lookin¡¯, but now¡­ Now I look like a skeleton dragged itself from its grave and got fed through a wood chipper.

    A thick layer of blackened grime and filth coat every inch of my body with pieces cracked here and there from moving my limbs or fingers. Parts of my skin are flayed, results of getting pulped by a certain crashing cargo vessel last night. Most of the internal damage I had fixed with [Eldritch Regeneration] but that doesn¡¯t not mean my more superficial injuries had healed, so even though I look more like a corpse rather than a human being I¡¯m actually not doing too terribly, all things considered.

    However, these thoughts make me feel little better about my condition. I¡¯ve fallen from grace hard, very hard.

    Just how much of my humanity did I leave in the Dark? Is there even a place in The Castaway Isle for someone like me?

    -------------

    Arleen woke to the dull impact of a boot striking bone. Her eyes flew wide and her tail bristled as she floundered back to the land of the living. For a moment she thought someone had hit her and she just didn¡¯t feel it, but her suspicions died when she spotted one of the crew standing over a frowning man, the same one from last night.

    The skinny human had his foot in the air still after striking it against the downed man¡¯s face, his head crooked at a very wrong angle. Anxiety shot through the Cat-folk. No one takes a nasty hit in the face like that and come out completely fine, but to her surprise the man simply shook his head and shot an irritated glare the crewmember.

    The skinny human frowned in momentary confusion. How is this guy not rolling in pain? He kicked him square in the nose, he knew it made contact, he felt it!

    ¡°Tough little fucker, ain¡¯t cha?¡± The human spat on the chained man and swaggered away to play off the chills that ran down his spine.

    The look in those blue-gray eyes put him on edge. They didn¡¯t burn with anger, nor shock, those eyes were mildly annoyed and calculating.

    Asmodeus, the High Elf that had found and shot it and told everyone that the humanoid creature they had captured was little more than an animal. The cold intelligence behind those feral eyes spoke of something else entirely.

    They spoke of nothing but trouble.

    Arleen watched the crew member leave and crawled over to the strange man still staring at his assailant¡¯s back. He didn¡¯t seem to notice her yet as she knelt above his head and carefully reached out and touched his head.

    His hair was wild with many knots and matted patches cementing some of his hair together. It was greasy and unpleasant, but Arleen¡¯s goal was not to feel the guy up, she was checking for blood or anything out of the ordinary. He looked normal enough beneath all that grime, or so she assumed.

    To Arleen¡¯s surprise she found nothing out of place, no broken nose, nor damaged teeth. Hell, she didn¡¯t even feel a bruise!

    The Cat-girl swallowed her surprise and apprehension and slid her hands from his face and down his thin neck to his sunken, mud covered chest. Her fingers traced the bumps and irregularities crisscrossing the man¡¯s chest when her fingers brushed against something cold and round underneath the remnants of what appeared to be a primitive cowl.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    What is that?

    Lost in her own little world Arleen¡¯s fingers found the object and pulled it free. She caught the glint of metal between her fingers when an unnervingly strong hand clamped down around her wandering fingers.

    Cold sweat sprung on the Cat-girl¡¯s forehead as she looked down to meet the strange man¡¯s blue-gray eyes leveled at her. A dozen apologizes began to tumble from her lips when his shoulders shook, causing her to flinch away, thinking she angered him for invading his personal space and touching his possessions.

    It took her a moment realize he was chuckling at her expense.

    He slowly released her hand and put a finger to his lips. Arleen guessed he meant it was okay and to keep it quiet before closing his eyes and settling back on the ground with her hand still wrapped around the odd metal object around his neck.

    Arleen gulped and wiped the chilling sweat from her eyes before turning her attention to the strange man¡¯s possession.

    It was a medallion of some sort. Its silvery finish was dazzling in the golden morning light. It was round and about the size of her palm with a depiction of a staff and a ragged traveler¡¯s cloak caught on it while its frayed and beat up fabric flittered in the wind. Symbols of some strange language trailed around the edge.

    Arleen never learned to read or write but she doubted she had even seen letters or symbols like this before.

    ¡®This kinda looks like the kinda fancy thing dad would have.¡¯ She thought as she turned the dazzling medallion over in fascination.

    ----------------

    Cats and their toys.

    I let out a quiet snicker and lay back to relax a bit to let the Beast-girl play with my Sigil before another chuckle-fuck gets the urge to kick the cripple. It¡¯s a tender moment for me, even though I have my eyes closed the little breaths of wonder that escape from the girl hanging above me paint a gentle, nostalgic picture. It reminds me of days long past spent with inquisitive children digging through my workshop.

    These memories are dim, several literal lifetimes old, but I have not forgotten the warm glow in my chest, nor the sense of wonder that sparkled in the little ones¡¯ eyes. I¡¯d like to experience that again someday.

    But not until I get Erin back, everything else is secondary.

    I crack an eye and peek at the gaggle of slavers and crewmembers congregating nearby. The High Elf that shot me with that mage-pistol last night was speaking with the scum that kicked me awake, and he was currently glaring right at me.

    Great. This should be good.

    --------------

    ¡°I¡¯m tellin¡¯ you boss! Somethin¡¯ ain¡¯t right with that one you found last night.¡± The skinny human, Devis, pleaded.

    Asmodeus rolled his eyes but nonetheless peered though the throng of naked Nameless huddled next to the cargo vessel¡¯s wreckage. The creature he found last night was sprawled on the ground still covered in countless layers of filth and tattered rags that clung to its skeletal frame.

    The rare Calico fuck-toy Asmodeus bought off that Cat-folk Nobleman on Carria appeared to be coddling the creature¡¯s head and fiddling with some if its rags. A flare of anger heated in the pit of the High Elf¡¯s groin.

    That pathetic shit stain was marring his toy, dirtying his property. No way was he going to let that go unpunished.

    ¡°Devis, go get a blank Name Tablet. Its time to get that Thing on a leash.¡± Asmodeus trilled. Devis grinned and shuffled off to find the Poacher master.

    ------------

    Dread claws from the pit of my stomach. That High Elf was smiling right at me and, if I¡¯m not mistaken, my feline companion as well.

    I gently ply my Sigil from her fingers and tuck it away in the folds of my destroyed cloak. She doesn¡¯t protest, instead I feel, more than hear, her tense up and start to tremble as the High Elf and a couple of his goons make a bee-line straight for us.

    The other Nameless part like the Red Sea before their captors, none seem eager to draw attention to themselves, less they attract trouble.

    He kneels next to me and my companion with the other goons, one being the human that kicked me, flanking him on either side.

    Now that its light outside I get a better look at the guy that shot me last night.

    Elves are one of the few species that are native to the Castaway Isle, unlike the vast majority of other races that had been snatched from other parts of the universe. Elves are a diverse race, the example before me is one of the best known, the High Elf.

    Much like the jackass kneeling in front of me High Elves are famous for their bronzed skin, spear like ears, blonde hair, and golden eyes. This one was no exception. He looked to be one of the Purebloods as well. His facial features are sharp, inhumanly so. His chin was tampered to a point sharp enough to stab you and his slender, elegant figure is near ethereal, to the point its nauseating.

    He looks so beautiful it seems fake. That¡¯s not attractive at all. It¡¯s like looking at a wax mannequin dressed in fancy robes.

    The mannequin in question crinkled his face as he caught a whiff of my ripeness. He frowns. (at this point I¡¯m fighting not to smile and break the illusion that I¡¯m still asleep) He growls something at me in the foreign tongue I have yet to learn.

    Since I¡¯ve heard it a few times I begin to piece together what¡¯s being said due to its similarities to the Common tongue I remember.

    It sounds like he¡¯s asking me for something, or if I know something? When I fail to answer and simply continue to faint unconsciousness my Cat-folk companion speaks up for me in a tiny shaking voice.

    The High Elf doesn¡¯t let her finish and with a vicious anger backhands the Cat-girl across the face, sending her spinning to the dirt crying.

    Rage, pure rage the likes I haven¡¯t felt in centuries, roars up my throat.

    My eyes fly open and my hand acts on its own accord, clamping down on that pretty boy¡¯s collar. The terror in that Elf¡¯s golden eyes as I drag him down until we are nose to nose tempers my rage enough to make me realize where I was.

    I¡¯m severely weakened, past the verge of collapse, surrounded by slavers and poachers with no issues shooting and beating their victims. I could kill them, but the other Nameless would be at risk, including the gentle Cat-girl that tried to comfort me.

    I quickly make a decision and reside myself to my painful fate.

    A breath of shock is spent between me and the High Elf staring at each other¡¯s eyes. The shock wears off and his fear quickly twists into petty anger.

    The Elf draws his mage-pistol, plants the barrel against my temple and pulls the trigger.

    --------------

    Arleen sobs and begs as Asmodeus fires his lightening spell again and again in a blind rage into the poor man¡¯s head. The stranger¡¯s skeletal, filth coated body bucks and spasms as arcs of electricity race through his emaciated flesh.

    Finally Asmodeus holsters his mage-pistol with a disgusted snarl and spits on his newest victim. The smell of cooking meat permeated the air as coils of smoke spiral from the man¡¯s still corpse. A choked cry slips between her fingers covering her mouth and stinging.

    They killed him.

    One of Asmodeus¡¯s henchmen trades nervous glances with his counterpart and looks back at the smoking corpse. His eyes widen.

    ¡°B-boss!¡± He near shouts, making every Nameless flinch at the tone. Asmodeus glares at Arleen with a fire in his eyes before whipping around to his hapless underling.

    ¡°What now?¡± He snaps.

    The orc flinches away but points past him at the corpse. ¡°He¡¯s still alive!!¡±

    ¡°WHAT?!¡±

    Arleen¡¯s crying chokes to a halt. She struggles to peek at the smoking corpse and nearly starts crying again.

    Sure enough, his blackened chest rose and fell in a feeble, but defined, cadence. He¡¯s breathing! He¡¯s alive!

    ¡°What the fuck is this thing?¡± Asmodeus asked to no one in particular. ¡°No way a human survives that. [Analyze] !¡±

    [Race: ^#*!@ (ERROR)] [Class: %@!($& (ERROR)] [Age: *&# (ERROR)]

    ¡°What the fuck? [Observe] !¡±

    [UNKNOWN] [ WARNING: Skill blocked by UNKNOWN entity]

    ¡°Are¡­ are you okay boss?¡± The orc asked delicately.

    Asmodeus shot to his feet and whirled around to the surviving crew watching the gruesome spectacle, his two goons stumbled back from the short fused Elf.

    ¡°GARROL!¡± He roared.

    ¡°Yes sir?¡± A High Elf with red-blonde hair dressed in embroidered robes similar to Asmodeus stood up from his circle of conversation and approached him.

    ¡°Get the rest of these Nameless shackled and chained together. We leave in thirty minutes.¡±

    ¡°Yes sir.¡± The Elf glanced at the blackened skeletal body sprawled in the dirt. ¡°Why the sudden rush? Find something interesting?¡±

    ¡°Something like that. It could bring us a pretty amount of coin given to the right people.¡± A sly grin split the Elf¡¯s face, one mirrored by several of those listening in, all except for Garrol himself.

    ¡°I¡¯m glad for that sir, but there is a bit of bad news.¡±

    ¡°What is it now?¡± Asmodeus hissed. Garrol was unfazed by his superior¡¯s annoyance.

    ¡°It seems we figured out where we crashed.¡± He explained.

    Asmodeus rolled his eyes. ¡°And that is a bad thing, how exactly?¡±

    ¡°Well sir, its bad because turns out we crashed in the Cursed Lands, just outside the Fallen City of Libertas.¡±

    The air escaped from the slavers¡¯ lungs and the blood drained from Asmodeus¡¯s face. This new information shocked the survivors into a deathly silence that hung over them like a thick fog. Not a sound broke the spell-

    -except for the rattle of dry laughter from Seofon¡¯s cracked lips.

 Chapter 5: The Cripple in the Fog

    I feel him rapidly approaching. His Fog is rolling, sweeping ever closer.

    He is the Lord of these dead Woods.

    The Curse of Libertas.

    Kern, the Spirit of the Forest.

    Come little spirit, heed my voice.

    Come little Fae, answer to the Master of the Cursed Lands.

    [Summoner¡¯s Call]

    -------------

    Pain was what the little Wolf-folk girl woke to. Pain pounding her skull, pain in her side, and pain in her throat.

    Lydia¡¯s thin, malnourished body shook violently from a sudden bout of scathing coughs. She rolled against the hard ground, jarring her skinned knees and elbows in the process, sending fresh ripples of agony up her limbs.

    Why does everything hurt so much?!

    Her coughing fit was the worst part of this whole ordeal. When she tried to breath slower or deeper in an effort to calm her jerking diaphragm her lungs spazzed even worse than before. These coughing fits had to have come from inhaling that smoke during her escape from the ship.

    A gentle weight settled on her head and shoulder, along with a low, gruff voice.

    ¡°Its alright little one, just let it out and try ta breathe.¡±

    Lydia cracked open her hazel eyes and caught a brief glimpse of a bald, elderly man frowning down at her. She gradually gained control of herself and the coughing blissfully passed.

    ¡°Where¡­ am I?¡± She croaked, her voice raw from the smoke and the coughing.

    ¡°You¡¯re safe¡­ for now.¡± The old man replied sheepishly.

    Lydia pried open her eyes and stared down the old man with a blank expression. ¡°W-what?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll get to that.¡± The old man grumped. ¡°Hmm, names first. You can call me Rufus.¡±

    ¡°Um¡­ Lydia.¡± The Wolf-girl murmured. She squinted her eyes and peered closer at her savior. ¡°You¡¯re-you¡¯re a human, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°So what if I am?¡± The old man¡¯s brows furrowed sternly.

    ¡°Oh! She¡¯s awake!¡± A delighted chirpy voice startled Lydia, a tiny squeak escaping her lips.

    The Wolf-girl wiggled against the rush of adrenaline as a Cat-folk, naked as the day she was born, bounced over with a grin on her charming face. (though the darkened circle of bruised flesh rising on her cheek marred it)

    ¡°Umm¡­ hi?¡± Lydia waved uncertainly at the newcomer. She was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the happy demeanor that jarred directly with the rest of the tense atmosphere between her at the old human.

    ¡°Hi! My name¡¯s Arleen! What¡¯s yours?¡± The peculiar Cat-girl asked.

    ¡°L-Lydia.¡± She replied faintly.

    Arleen¡¯s ears and tail shivered in excitement. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m so, like, glad you woke up! Rufus and I were worried one of the slavers would notice and¡­¡± her excitement died, and her ears splayed against her head. ¡°well¡­ They would¡­ you know¡­¡±

    ¡°But they didn¡¯t, because you¡¯re awake now.¡± Rufus jumped in, salvaging the conversation from the awkward Cat-girl. He cocked his head and looked Lydia over. ¡°How are ya feelin¡¯? It was a close call last night.¡±

    Lydia briefly considered lying to this human. Since she was snatched to the Castaway Isle and met her first human she has held a contempt for them, so why would this old man be any different?

    In the end she decided it was too much trouble. ¡°I¡¯m aching all over, and my side and chest really hurt.¡±

    Rufus opened his mouth to reply but Arleen beat him to the punch.

    ¡°Well, Duh. You got, like, tossed on a bunch of sharp metal teeth and shredded ¡®n stuff. Rufus spent almost half the fuckin¡¯ night pullin¡¯ shards outta your-¡°

    ¡°Arleen!¡± Rufus¡¯s barked, jolting the bubbly cat-girl from her enthusiastic rendition of last night¡¯s events. ¡°Perhaps she doesn¡¯t want to hear about that?¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Her emerald eyes widened in guilt. ¡°Oh! Ah shit, I¡¯m sorry. I didn¡¯t mean-¡±

    ¡°It-it¡¯s okay. Really.¡± Lydia stammered.

    She was barely keeping up with the conversation and change in scenery as it was, to but hearing such foul language from a dainty looking face threw Lydia for a loop for a moment. She heard the words, but it took her brain a few seconds to realize it was Arleen who said them.

    Lydia shook her head to clear the pointless thoughts clinging to her sleep idled mind. She looked up to Rufus with a small smile on her lips.

    ¡°Thank you for saving me.¡± She said reluctantly. Rufus chuckled.

    ¡°You¡¯re welcome, but it wasn¡¯t me that saved you.¡± He looked over her prone body and pointed with a knobby finger. ¡°It was him.¡±

    Lydia turned her head and blinked in confusion.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ------------

    [two hours later]

    ¡°I still can¡¯t believe it.¡± Lydia mumbled with a shake of her head. ¡°How is that guy even alive?¡±

    ¡°Beats me.¡± Arleen replied behind her in a bubbly voice.

    A couple hours ago the slavers had beaten every Nameless to their feet and shackled them together into a single chain gang. The chain held the 17 surviving Nameless one after the other in single file. Rufus, the kindly (?) old man, was mixed in somewhere in the center of the chain while Lydia was third from the rear with Arleen behind her and the strange one armed man at the very end.

    Sweat poured from the Namelesss¡¯ bodies and their emaciated limbs trembled from the weight of the shackles and the long, stressful trek through the massive forests that made up the majority of the Cursed Lands.

    Lydia and Arleen were better off than most of the Nameless, even considering Lydia¡¯s wounds.

    For some odd reason she couldn¡¯t figure out Lydia felt a constant tingling coming from the cuts in her side. They didn¡¯t hurt per se, but the fleeting absence of burning pain from her deep lacerations was a little alarming, as was the non-presence of blood.

    It was like she was watching herself heal on a video stuck in fast-forward.

    She resolved to find out the cause once they sit down and rest.

    The old hum-¡­ Rufus had mentioned something about that half-dead cripple covered in filth being the one responsible for saving her, maybe she can press Arleen or Rufus for more answers about her mystery savior.

    Speaking of that strange one armed man¡­

    ¡°He looks really scary, huh? Like a walking skeleton.¡± Arleen commented airily.

    ¡°With one hand.¡± Lydia remarked.

    ¡°Yeah, that.¡± The Calico Cat-girl giggled. Her tiny smile pulled into a grimace as her bare foot crunched onto a dry stick, the splinters digging into her foot. She hissed in pain and half hopped a few paces, pulling on the chain at the same time.

    ¡°Ah! Watch it, you¡¯ll take me with you!¡± Lydia cried out as she was jerked to the side by her shackles, the chain that interconnected each Nameless pulling her down.

    Arleen¡¯s foot hit a root and she yelped as she toppled over. She braced for impact but never hit the ground. A strong, careful grip wrapped around her waist and pulled her into the air.

    ¡°Whaa!¡± She squealed as her feet dangled in the air and the arm around her waist keeping her aloft.

    A quiet, dry chuckle rasped behind her. Arleen¡¯s hand found the blackened arm holding her and she half looked over her shoulder at the one embracing her, the strange one armed man.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± She whispered in a tiny voice.

    ¡°hmm.¡± Came the reply.

    Arleen was gently set back on the ground without anyone in the chain without missing a step. She pulled a few paces away from her savior and tried to wipe the embarrassment from her bruised face.

    ¡°Fuck.¡±

    Lydia¡¯s wolfen tail and ears stiffened before she had to muffle her giggles.

    ¡°What?¡± Arleen titled her head in confusion.

    ¡°Nothing¡­ I¡¯m just not used to hearing someone pretty like you cuss so much.¡± Lydia replied honestly. It was Arleen¡¯s turn to stiffen, her tail poofing out in alarm.

    ¡°Wha-? What are ya talkin¡¯ about? I-I ain¡¯t pretty. I¡¯m just used for a good fuck.¡± She mumbled.

    ¡°Why would you say that?¡± Lydia asked, the shock evident in her voice.

    ¡°Why do ya think I was outside at the same time as the rest of the crew when every other Nameless was still in the cargo hold?¡± Arleen asked.

    She saw Lydia¡¯s bare shoulders shrug.

    ¡°It¡¯s ¡®cuz three of ¡®em were already takin¡¯ turns on me in the crew¡¯s quarters right before the crash.¡±

    ¡°¡­Oh.¡±

    A charged, awkward silence followed, hanging about the two beast-folk like a storm cloud. For a while the only sounds were the jiggle of swaying chain links, groans of pain and the scuffle of boots and bare feet against the dead forest floor.

    Finally, with blistered wrists and bloodied feet Asmodeus called a halt. A few of the Nameless Handlers corralled the starved gaggle of Nameless dregs to a small clearing next to a river.

    ¡°Shit, it¡¯s getting dark already? Its barely mid-day!¡± Asmodeus cursed as a thick wave of smoke-black fog rolled in from over the mountains and choking the sunlight from the sky.

    ¡°You and you go set up a perimeter.¡± Asmodeus flicked a finger at a couple of the crew and they reluctantly collected their sidearms and dredged off to find a good tree to lean against and keep watch.

    Lydia shuffled after the male Raccoon-folk chained in front of her as she did her upmost to keep her eyes trained on the center of his scarred back and not stray towards the scowling Nameless Handlers glowering in their direction.

    So focused was she on trying not to stand out that she missed the thick root protruding from the dead ground. Her toes plowed into the dry wood and hot stabs of pain raced through her swelling feet. The Wolf-girl bit back a cry of pain, the only sound that escaped came out a low whine.

    ¡°You okay?¡± Arleen asked on hearing Lydia¡¯s distress and seeing her stumble.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah, I¡¯m fine. Just kicked a root.¡± Lydia saw it was the end of the line and plopped down on the ground.

    She brought her foot over and flexed her toes experimentally. ¡°See? It¡¯s already feeling better, just a dull tingle now. It hardly hurts at all!¡±

    --------------

    Fuck that smarts!

    I stifle a growl as the little Wolf-pup kicks a gnarled root and her pain barrels through our shared [Twilight¡¯s Mark], forcing most of her physical pain for me to deal with.

    [Twilight¡¯s Mark] isn¡¯t so much healing magic as a magical contract that shares vitality between its users.

    The only sticking point? This Wolf-girl has virtually no life-force of her own, so she has nothing to share with me, she was (and basically still is) on death¡¯s door. Instead I¡¯m the one supplying her with vitality.

    Basically the only thing keeping little miss kick-every-root-in-the-woods alive is me.

    I¡¯m constantly racked with pain from the young girl¡¯s vicious wounds while she gets off with a little tickle. Every time she moves she actually aggravates her injuries, however the Mark pulls the pain to me before she can feel it.

    Judging from what I¡¯m feeling right now the shock from her injuries alone would have killed her, never mind bleeding out first. She is fortunate I even know this obscure magic, otherwise she would never have woken up this morning, even with medical attention.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Our benevolent idiot overlords lead the chain gang and I to a little clearing. As the merry band settle in a sudden wave of heavy fog darkens the dead forest. I watch at our little band is swallowed by the fog.

    The Spirit of the Forest found us faster than I anticipated. He must have had centuries of practice keeping out invaders, so I suppose he would have to get better at a tracking. He will be here very soon. I better prepare. Don¡¯t want any Nameless being caught in his wraith.

    No doubt the Spirit of this forest is the cause of this land¡¯s ¡°curse¡±. After I was defeated at the Battle of Libertas all those years ago he must have gone on a rampage and pushed out any that dwelled in these lands.

    It warms my heart a little knowing he was angered at my supposed demise.

    A tiny noise tickles at the edge of my hearing. It¡¯s a gurgling of sorts, but not the sound of from a dying creature, it¡¯s the happy kind. It sounds almost like-

    I feel my eyes widen and my brows shoot to the skies.

    -It¡¯s water! It¡¯s gotta be actual flowing water!

    Giddy excitement races through my bones. When was the last time I drank water let alone bathed? It was before the Dark, of that much I am sure. The alternatives I had to resort to in order to survive during my stay in the Dark were¡­ better left forgotten in the Dark.

    To my infinite joy I catch a glimpse of a muddy, filth ridden stream frothing against a cluster of smooth rocks. Its nasty water, but water nonetheless.

    If we stopped close to water, perhaps there is food?

    I have to swallow thickly to keep from salivating.

    My wandering eyes settle on The Feline Beast-girl with the pretty eyes, perhaps I can ask her?

    The frail creature chained with me was dutifully avoiding the eyes of the Wolf-girl I saved. Those two must have had a disagreement of some sort during our nature walk. They had stopped speaking a number of hours ago, now all that remains between them is a guilty, saddened air.

    I end up sitting relatively isolated against a decaying pine tree with the kind Feline-folk sitting a few feet next to me. I notice that if I wanted to reach the water I wouldn¡¯t have enough chain unless she moved with me.

    I delicately reach over and tap her shoulder.

    ¡°Meep!¡± The sound that slipped from the poor thing was nearly enough to keep me rolling on my back in laughter, but I settled for a painful, raspy chuckle instead.

    The naked Cat-girl¡¯s calico ears shot ram-rod straight and her tail bushed out twice its normal size as her back arched in surprise. I watch patiently as a visible shiver ripples up her spine before she whirled around to face me with wide, scared eyes.

    Her voice is several octaves higher than last she spoke to me, her question coming out as more of a squeak than anything else.

    Guess I startled her.

    I still have no idea what she actually said but I do catch a few familiar snippets of Common tongue.

    I decide to try responding this time. ¡°Help me to the water?¡±

    --------------

    ¡°Help ic ?t se burna?¡± The strange man rasped.

    ¡°What?¡± Arleen asked automatically without really listening. Her wide deer-in-the-headlights look pulling a smirk onto the one armed man¡¯s bearded face.

    ¡°Help ic ?t se burna?¡± He repeated. His voice was still grating to listen to, but it was in a rather saddening way.

    It was clearly difficult for him to speak, most likely it caused him pain to do so, but he still tried. Somehow knowing that even this creature still felt pain put Arleen more at ease. Hearing the hitched agony in his plea made her realize this wretched creature wasn¡¯t some emotionless alien abomination.

    He was hurting, just like her.

    ¡°Do you want water?¡± Arleen asked. The strange man tilted his head for a moment to comprehend her question before quickly nodding.

    Arleen glanced around nervously. None of the slavers or crewmembers were paying attention. They were either distracted by the unnaturally thick fog looming among the woods or pre-occupied with resting their aching limbs. She took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart and gave the strange man a nod.

    ¡°Okay, I¡¯ll help.¡± She whispered.

    It was difficult to tell from the matted length of hair and dirty beard, but Arleen was confident he smiled. The feline Beast-girl crawled to her knees as the poor man got up to follow.

    ¡°Hey! What do you think you¡¯re doing?¡± Lydia hissed.

    Arleen looked back over her bare shoulder and shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m gonna go with this guy and get some water.¡±

    Lydia scowled.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to get us in trouble!¡± She bickered. Disdain and acidic malice poisoned Arleen¡¯s sweet countenance.

    ¡°What can they possibly gonna fuckin¡¯ do to me that¡¯s worse than what they already put me though, eh?¡± She growled. ¡°They gonna kill me? They gonna off their fuzzy little fuck-toy for getting thirsty?¡± She laughed bitterly at the double innuendo. ¡°That would be a gods-damned blessing.¡±

    Lydia leaned away from the sudden verbal assault with her ears peeled back and her mouth hanging open in stunned silence.

    Arleen took this as her cue to leave.

    She and the stranger stayed low and crawled over to the stream while keeping their chains from rattling or getting caught on protruding roots.

    Arleen¡¯s knees hit the edge of the stream with a wet squelch. She dug her hands into the cloudy water and drank greedily with complete disregard for what else may be in the water.

    Despite the grit and filth the water went down cold and relief spread from her stomach, easing aches and pains she didn¡¯t even notice she had. Arleen didn¡¯t have to look up to know her feral companion was enjoying this as much, if not more, than she was.

    When she took a moment to come up for air and glance over at the stranger she had to slap a hand over her mouth to muffle a snort of laughter.

    Where Arleen had chosen to cup water into her hands the poor man next to her opted to dunk his entire head into the stream and slurp like a dying man in a desert. The water around his head visibly darkened as years of filth and grime was washed off his hair and face.

    Arleen watched him for a while with an amused grin on her lips. After a minute of him not coming up for air her grin faded into a concerned frown.

    ¡°Uuum¡­ hey. You can stop drinking now.¡± Arleen shook his shoulder. Some of the grime on his skin stuck to her wet hand.

    Thankfully he did resurface. Arleen was worried he was trying to drown himself. When his head splashed up from the stream his long dark brown hair clung to his head and his beard thinned out into a sopping pointed on his chin.

    He looks like a wet cotton ball. Arleen giggled at the thought.

    The cotton ball noticed he had an audience. His eyes twinkled with mischief, only Arleen noticed too late. Before she could get away he shook his sopping wet head around like a dog, flinging rings of water droplets all about.

    Arleen squeaked as she was struck by the flying liquid, the cold water sending chilly tingling trills up her naked body.

    When he finished air drying his hair he smirked at the wet (and grumpy) Cat-girl frowning comically back at him with water dripping from the tips of her ears and nose.

    ¡°Fuckin¡¯ asshole.¡± She muttered. He snorted in laughter and inclined his head back over to the rest of the Nameless.

    Arleen¡¯s frown vanished as she made her way back through the quickly thickening fog, still a reveling in the after-glow of drinking her fill. As she and her companion neared their tree she saw the rest of the Nameless gathered in a huddle around Rufus, must wearing expressions of concern or outright horror.

    ¡°What¡¯s goin¡¯ on?¡± Arleen asked as she slid next to Lydia. The wolf-girl was on the outer edge of the little gathering to avoid getting their chain too tangled.

    ¡°I don¡¯t really know.¡± Lydia admitted. ¡°The old human- I mean¡­ Rufus- said he had something important to tell us. Since the fog is thick enough to kind of hide us from the Handlers and the crew this was the perfect time.¡±

    She glanced over as she spoke but did a sudden double-take. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. ¡°Why are you two wet?¡±

    ¡°Uum¡­¡± Arleen shrugged. ¡°Accident?¡±

    ¡°Sure, whatever¡­¡±

    Rufus¡¯s gravelly voice brought everyone¡¯s eyes and ears, even the stranger paid attention despite most likely being unable to understand a word of what was being said.

    ¡°We can¡¯t stay here.¡± He began. ¡°These slaver yahoo¡¯s have no idea what¡¯s comin¡¯. If they did, we wouldn¡¯t be settin¡¯ down here. We need to get movin¡¯ and outta this fog as quickly as possible.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± The male green-skinned Orc asked from his gray-skinned mate¡¯s close embrace. ¡°What is coming?¡±

    Rufus was quiet for a moment. The old wrinkly man leaned forward and took the opportunity to look his fellow Nameless in the eye.

    His answer was barely above a shallow breath.

    ¡°Kern.¡±

    No one noticed the one armed stranger¡¯s expression perk up.

    ¡°Kern is the Spirit of these Woods. An incredibly powerful Fae creature that once served the Magebreaker before his defeat at the Battle of Libertas.¡± Rufus continued in his rough growl.

    ¡°When someone mentions the Curse of Libertas they are actually talkin¡¯ about Kern. When the Magebreaker fell in battle against the Regulators and their army Kern went on a rampage.¡± The old man¡¯s bald face broke out into a grim frown.

    ¡°Upon attempting to withdraw from Libertas with their spoils the forest itself rose up from its slumber and attacked the battle weary army, killin¡¯ hundreds of the surviving soldiers. Since that day over a 1,000 years ago Kern¡¯s wraith has kept his lands hostile and the forest itself would descend on any fool who has dared trespass his woods.¡±

    ¡°And now¡­¡± Rufus sighed heavily. ¡°We are smack dab in the middle of a gods-damned forest haunted by an angry Fae wit¡¯ a bad habit of impalin¡¯ intruders on sharp tree roots.¡±

    The Orc couple scooched wearily from their tree.

    ¡°W-What are we gonna do?¡± A bone thin human asked from somewhere in the middle of the audience.

    ¡°We gotta make a run for it.¡± Rufus answered confidently. ¡°I¡¯m confident in my navigation skills. I ain¡¯t a Level 76 Ranger for show ya know.¡± He replied with a tiny smirk.

    ¡°Level 76?!¡± Arleen squeaked in awe.

    ¡°What does that mean?¡± Lydia arched an eyebrow, not comprehending what was so amazing. Arleen¡¯s incredulous stare made the Wolf-girl curl her head into her shoulders. ¡°What? I¡­ I¡¯m not from around¡­ here.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re one of those Outsiders?¡± Arleen asked with wide shining eyes. ¡°Wow! I never met an Outsider before! How did you get to the Castaway Isle? What was it like?¡±

    ¡°Umm¡­¡± Lydia was clearly not comfortable with this line of conversation. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t want to talk about it. Sorry?¡±

    ¡°Oh¡­ Okay.¡± Arleen¡¯s ears flattened in embarrassment. ¡°Sorry, I like, just got so fuckin¡¯ excited. I always wondered what it must be like outside the Castaway Isle.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine¡­ So, Levels?¡± Lydia asked, trying valiantly to get the conversation back on track. She¡¯s clearly in the dark about something very important here.

    Arleen¡¯s face brightened. She¡¯s usually the one that has no idea about what¡¯s going on, so actually being the one to teach someone else is new and exciting for her.

    ¡°Right. So Levels¡­ Well, I¡¯m Level 6. I¡¯m pretty fuckin¡¯ weak for someone my age. I also don¡¯t have a Class. You need to be at least Level 10 to get one.¡±

    ¡°Okay¡­ so the higher the Level the stronger you are?¡± Lydia¡¯s brows furrowed in thought.

    ¡°Yup!¡± Arleen chirped, happy that her ¡°student¡± caught on fast. The Cat-girl always wanted to be the smart one in a conversation. Her tail whipped animatedly behind her naked body.

    ¡°Alright, so how do you get a higher Level?¡±

    ¡°To ¡®Level up¡¯ you gotta get Attribute Points. Every <u>10</u> Attribute Points gains you a Level.¡±

    ¡°Wow, that¡¯s¡­ straight forward. I was worried it would be complicated.¡± Lydia mused, more to herself. ¡°What Level am I?¡±

    ¡°Solas, The Master of the Castaway Isle, gave everyone a way to look at that. Just think about your ¡®status¡¯ realllllly hard and you¡¯ll see it!¡±

    ¡°M¡¯kay¡­¡± Lydia closed her eyes and thought with all of her mind. She felt ridiculous, but the absurdity of her current situation help soft the blow to her common sense. (Or what was left of it anyway)

    To her relief Arleen hadn¡¯t been pulling her leg.

    [Status]

    <table>

    <tbody>

    <tr>

    <td colspan="2" width="378">

    True Name: Lydia Acacia Fenrir

    </td>

    <td width="246">

    Level: 4

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td width="84">

    Age: 19

    </td>

    <td width="294">

    Class: N/A (Requires Level 10)

    </td>

    <td width="246">

    Race: Red Wolf-Folk

    </td>

    </tr>

    </tbody>

    </table>

    Basic Attributes: (Each Level is gained every 10 Attribute Points)

    <table>

    <tbody>

    <tr>

    <td width="156">

    Strength:4

    </td>

    <td width="156">

    Agility:7

    </td>

    <td width="156">

    Intelligence:9

    </td>

    <td width="156">

    Wisdom:7

    </td>

    </tr>

    <tr>

    <td width="156">

    Endurance:3

    </td>

    <td width="156">

    Perception:9

    </td>

    <td width="156">

    Dexterity:5

    </td>

    <td width="156">

    Vitality:4

    </td>

    </tr>

    </tbody>

    </table>

    A little blue screen popped into existence behind Lydia¡¯s closed eyes.

    She felt an odd pull from somewhere in the back of her head, almost like her eyes were sucking something from the base of her brain. It was an unsettling sensation but not an overall unpleasant feeling.

    ¡°Huh, it says I¡¯m Level 4¡­¡± The Wolf-girl murmured and opened her eyes. The status screen flittered out of existence and the pull behind her eyes relaxed.

    ¡°Yikes.¡± Arleen commented. ¡°That¡¯s really weak. Here I thought I was bad.¡±

    Lydia leveled a deadpanned stare at her companion. ¡°Right, thanks for that¡­¡±

    ¡°Heh, my bad.¡±

    A badly shaking voice cut through the beast-girls¡¯ conversation.

    ¡°W-w-what are we gonna do?¡± One of the beast-folk moaned. ¡°If we make a run for it these drain manacles will make it impossible and the Handlers will hear that chains rattling!¡±

    ¡°Yeah!¡± A middle aged female human piped up. ¡°We first gotta get these damn chains off.¡±

    ¡°I agree, that¡¯s one o¡¯ the reasons why I gathered everyone here.¡± Rufus explained. ¡°Someone is gonna have to sneak over an¡¯ snatch the keys. Any volunteers?¡±

    The air of anticipation soured in an instant. Weary glares and whispered arguments erupted like tiny wildfires. No one wanted to be the unlucky bastard, but everyone wanted someone else to do it. The fragile sense of unity against a common enemy shattered now that everyone else is a possible threat to their survival.

    ¡°Actually¡­¡±

    Everyone¡¯s eyes turned to the tiny voice. Arleen raised a trembling hand. Though she looked extremely nervous the serious glint in her normally playful eyes silenced any sort of argument.

    ¡°What is it Arleen?¡± Rufus asked gently, prodding the shaking Cat-girl into action.

    ¡°I¡­I have an idea¡± She stammered. ¡°You¡­ just ain¡¯t gonna like it.¡±

    -------------

    My sense of dread boils hotter the longer I watch. At first, I was curious to see what sort of result I¡¯d get to see from this little pow-wow. It was fine, but something the elderly man said set everyone off. My unease spiked when my kind feline companion paled and swallowed thickly and raised a trembling hand.

    I do not know what she said but the dumb stare of shock on the old man¡¯s face and the guilty shuffling from the other Nameless sets off alarm bells in my head.

    Whatever she suggested, I don¡¯t like it.

    The old man tries to dissuade the frail Cat-girl from her plan of action, but she puts a brave face on and stiffens her upper lip.

    She is going to do this¡­ whatever it is.

    This little mystery was solved not two minutes later when one of the Handlers slogged by with a scowl on his face and an energy pistol in hand.

    Why would they even hold onto those energy weapons? Don¡¯t they know that Tech weapons don¡¯t work on Arcane saturated worlds? It¡¯s a fancy paperweight here.

    The Handler gave the occasional kick to any Nameless that he deemed either out of line or just kickable.

    Except when he stopped in front on a certain Calico Cat-folk.

    It frustrates me to no end in being unable to understand a word of what was being said, but the grin that split the Handler¡¯s ugly mug was enough. With hands shaking slightly with anticipation he plucks a key from his pocket and unlocks the scared little Cat-girl from the chain and pulls her towards his fellows.

    The Nameless around me avert their gaze and some even cover their ears. The brunette Wolf-girl actually sputters into tiny sobs. I push away the dread in my throat and take a deep breath to center myself.

    Then I listen and watch.

    A burst of gruff laughter and vulgar hoots and hollers from the slavers and crewmembers camped out behind the curtain of thick fog that hung over the forest like a bad omen.

    A flare of soft orange light and the long forgotten crackle of a campfire teases my senses as repulsive jeers and laughter poison the nostalgic break back to past experiences. Shapes and silhouettes dance about the obscured campfire. The heavy fog scattered the flickering campfire¡¯s glow, bending the shadows and silhouettes into nightmarish abominations and bizarre creatures of light and dark.

    Next came the smell.

    The canine-folk recoiled from the distinctly earthy stench of sex a few seconds after me. The salty tang of semen overpowered the more feminine smell, for obvious reasons. Reasons that took me far too long for my isolation-idled mind to piece together.

    Naked cat-girl in the middle of a gang of slavers.

    Even without knowing their language I should be ashamed with not figuring out what my feline companion was trying to attempt. She must being trying to get a key for these chains. And the only way she could get close was¡­ while servicing them.

    I go to get up but the clang of these chains binding my arms around my torso brings me back to my situation.

    I can feel these manacles constantly bleeding away my mana and stamina. In my weakened state I expect I¡¯m not even a 20th of my power. Whatever. I can make due. However the danger comes from snapping apart these chains and endangering these innocent Nameless Dregs.

    A loud slap of an open hand against bare flesh and a feminine squeak of pain makes every Nameless flinch in guilt.

    I only feel a burning growl of anger rise in my throat.

    Fine. You know what? Screw this. Consequences be damned.

    Motherfuckers are going to die tonight.

    While the other Nameless are looking away in shame or, especially in the case of the wolf-girl, were burying their heads in their hands and crying as quietly as possible.

    I slide around the side of the tree I had been resting against and flexed my arms. My muscles were made feebly thin from centuries of malnourishment and overuse, but even in my desperately terrible shape snapping chains with my bare hands and tearing the jewels of a bunch of rapists.

    My biceps and traps tremble as I strain against my bonds. The thick manacles dig into my skin and I am confident do manage to draw a little blood. With the chains stretched taut I sharply tug my arms apart and the poorly maintained iron chains warp and give with a groaning snap and the broken links fall away with a loud jingle.

    I flex my freed limbs and reach around to the manacle on my shortened arm and crush the hinge and flick the offending accessory to the dust. Instantly I feel the drain from my mana and stamina stifle to an uncomfortable trickle. I can work with this.

    I feel a feral grin spread across my face and my body vibrates with the primal excitement of a predator starving for the hunt as I fade away into the pale white fog.

    Time to go to work.

 Chapter 6: Who Let The Crazy Man Off His Leash?

    Bornean was a man of certainties.

    Money makes worlds go ¡®round, both Arcane and Science Worlds it mattered little, of this Bornean was certain.

    Shoot first ask, questions later, of this Bornean was certain.

    All magic was helpless in the face of technology, of this Bornean was certain.

    And that Cat-girl¡¯s cunt was the best piece of beast-folk meat he¡¯s ever fucked, of this Bornean was very certain.

    The lanky Hyena-folk tittered to himself as he reveled in the pleasant sting from his palm when he had slapped that whore across the face and heard her squeak in pain.

    Gods, the look on her face and the way she curled her tail between her cum splattered legs almost made him orgasm all over again.

    ¡°Hey Dust-Dog!¡±

    The sound of that infernal wannabe noble High-Elf Asmodeus cut Bornean from his pleasant thoughts. The Hyena-folk turned his eyes to the mist choked heavens and suppressed an exasperated groan.

    ¡°Yeah Boss?¡± He asked over the panting and frantic slap of bare hips against flesh and the moans of ecstasy from the tangle of bodies gathered around the fire.

    Asmodeus¡¯s sharp arrowhead shaped face appeared from the throng of bodies. His tan face was pulled into a stressed frown. Bornean noticed with mild disinterest the anxious twitch in the High-Elf¡¯s spear like ears.

    Asmodeus¡¯s lip curled in distain as he scowled down at the slimy little hyena-folk dressed in a baggy orange and gray jumpsuit several sizes too large for him.

    ¡°Quit stroking your meat and go relieve Denvel from guarding the dregs.¡± He drawled.

    Bornean scowled back up at the towering High-Elf with an irritated snarl on his lips but when his eyes grazed over the Mage-pistol strapped on the elf¡¯s hip he held his tongue.

    ¡°Sure Boss¡­¡± Bornean growled. ¡°Whatever you say¡­¡±

    Bornean zipped up his jumpsuit¡¯s front and groaned to his feet, his short tapered ears prickled with Asmodeus¡¯s gaze burning into the back of his neck as he scampered off into the mist.

    ¡°¡­Gods-damned fuckin¡¯ Elf with his fuckin¡¯ needle nose stuck up his fuckin¡¯ ass¡­¡± A stream of mumbled curses spilled from the irritated Hyena-folk as he slouched and stomped towards the stream and the orc resting there against the tree.

    ¡°Oi, Den! Get your fat ass up. Boss says its my turn to watch the dregs.¡±

    The orc didn¡¯t move from his spot or make any indication that he heard Bornean call out. Bornean growled and drew his trusty shock baton from his belt and rounded on the tree until he was nearly nose to nose with the lazy orc. He laid into the apparently sleeping orc¡¯s leg with the deactivated shock baton.

    ¡°Hey Den! I saaaid get up- Oh shit-!¡±

    A cry of alarm slipped from his lips as the orc¡¯s severed head tumbled from his shoulders into the drying blood coating his lap, his tusked mouth agape and his beady eyes wide in a soundless scream of terror.

    ¡°Shitshitshit!¡± Bornean turned to shout towards his companions. ¡°H-urk!¡±

    Steely fingers choked the words from his throat and dug around his neck like a vice.

    It was then that Bornean came nose to nose with what he was certain was the face of Death himself.

    It was the creature they had found at the crash site. A battered and broken skeleton with blackened skin stretched taut over jagged bone with one arm seared off just below the left elbow. In its hollow eyes burned twin infernos of blue Hell-fire and hanging from its shoulders was its filthy patchwork garb, shredded and burned.

    This monster looked all the world like a corpse recently exhumed from the grave¡­I f it wasn¡¯t for the fact that it was effortlessly holding a full-grown man aloft in one hand that is.

    In blind panic Bornean flicked his shock baton to life and swung wildly at his assailant. The baton crackled and fizzled out as Enith¡¯s magic saturated air fried the baton¡¯s sensitive electronics into uselessness.

    Not that it mattered much, even if the baton¡¯s taser would have still worked. Not when the one armed monster was free of his drain manacles with death dancing in his eerie blue-gray gaze.

    Bornean gurgled in dismay as his baton bounced uselessly against the bony arm that held him aloft. The baton tumbled from his hand and he squeezed the grinning monster¡¯s sharp wrist with the desperation of a trapped animal and madly bucked back and forth with all his might to struggle free.

    The monster chuckled darkly and is fingers sank deeper into the helpless hyena-folk¡¯s reed-like neck. Seofon lifted his victim into the air with an unnerving ease as Bornean flailed and kicked in against his grip.

    Bornean¡¯s rubber boots harmlessly bounced and slid off the grinning creature¡¯s arms, chest, and face, his eyes bugged out as his strangled brain screamed for air.

    Bornean¡¯s vision narrowed as black creeped closer from the edges of his sight. He was only vaguely aware of his stomach flipping and the pain blossoming from his shoulder when the Monster choke-slammed him into the dust, his body smacking into the ground with a dull thump.

    What got his attention was the sweet, sweet taste of moist air rushing into his lungs. The beat-man gasped and gulped, momentarily forgetting the dark figure looming over him.

    The foot crushing his knee jogged his memory however. A strangled whimper of pain slipped from his swollen throat and his eyes locked onto the pair of glowing sapphires burning from behind the curtain of filthy hair as the monster knelt over him, his hand clamping down around his left arm.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Bornean struggled against the agony lancing up his ruined leg and he fought to push out a shout against his protesting vocal cords as the monster leaned closer until they were nose to nose. The monster¡¯s voice was cold and hard as iron striking stone as he uttered a single word.

    ¡°Scream.¡±

    Then he ripped the slaver¡¯s left arm free of his body in a shower of blood, bone, and gore.

    Bornean was a man of certainties.

    He was certain he was about to die a very painful, bloody death.

    --------------------

    The fuck that had slapped the kind Cat-girl squealed like a stuck pig after I freed the offending limb from his twiggy body. The grimy jumpsuit the beast-folk hung off his body pulled apart easily and stained a dark crimson as he rolls around pitifully in a pool of his own blood.

    I feel my cheeks stretch taut as a feral grin spreads across my bearded face.

    His scream is music to my ears.

    Something dark, dark and revolting curls in the pit of my stomach to churn with my savage glee until I feel sick.

    It¡¯s not guilt. Well, not guilt over harming scum like him. It¡¯s more like disgust at how much pleasure his suffering was feeding me.

    Just how much of my humanity did I leave in the Dark?

    Oh well -I think as I casually toss the slaver¡¯s sundered arm over my shoulder- a problem for later, when I have time to care.

    The limb squelches wetly as it splatters to the dead gray forest floor.

    Panicked shouts and the pound of scrambling bodies breaks the tense silence that followed my new one-armed friend¡¯s squeal.

    Caught them with their pants down, it seems.

    Cries of fear from the river bank draw my attention. The chained Nameless dregs heard the slaver¡¯s scream, but the mists seem to have prevented most of the low-leveled dregs from seeing what happened. There¡¯s a good possibility that old man saw me though. Just at a glance I figure him to be around Level 75 or so.

    I make out the dim outlines of the slavers blindly racing around their campfire for their discarded clothes and weapons.

    In their confusion none of them noticed the naked Cat-girl fleeing from the chaos with her hands clasped tightly to her chest as a tiny key glitters from between her slender fingers.

    Good girl.

    ¡°RRUUUEEEAAAAHHH!!¡±

    An earsplitting screech echoed from the depths of the dead forest. A sound of agony and eternal regret, the likes of which the Dead are all too familiar.

    When the last vestiges of that horrible cry die in the mists silence consumes the hollow. I can clearly hear the purposely shallow breaths of those around me. Even I begin to breath lightly, not out of fear of what horror made that God awful screech, but more to blend in.

    Its rather unnecessary I suppose. None here are remotely close to my Level. However attention is a dangerous thing, especially when the forest your traversing has a violent disposition.

    Shapes and horrors slip from the shadows and dance along the edges of the clearing. Animal-like cries and howls tear break the spell held over the slavers and the Nameless dregs. Like someone flipping a switch everyone threw themselves into a frenzy.

    The Slavers snatch what they can and scatter like the wind, many straight into the jaws of whatever monstrosities await just outside the clearing. Their Perception not high enough to even see what was killing them.

    Pathetic screams join the jubilant howls of the prowling monsters as they gorged on their slaver buffet.

    A few of the slavers have to presence of mind to keep their cool however. That snooty High Elf with the Mage-Pistol among them. He seemed to have rallied a few of his hapless minions around him in a bid to form a buffer against the forest and his creatures.

    Wait. He¡¯s not running out of the clearing. He¡¯s leading them to the river. To the Dregs chained by the river. Where the Cat-girl was frantically with the key to unlock the shackles binding her fellow Nameless.

    I bunch my emaciated legs and launch myself into path of the High Elf and his cronies. My heart flutters in my chest as the thrill of the hunt slams into my bones and the indescribable power high sends my blood roaring through my blackened veins.

    I laugh, exhilarated, in the power I weld, however weakened and restrained. Moral dilemmas and thoughts of my broken feral inhuman soul are stamped down and locked away.

    Who cares about right and wrong when you can bend the world around your fingers?

    -------------

    ¡°WHAT THE FUCK!¡±

    A splatter of copper and crimson slaps across the High Elf¡¯s knife sharp face. Salt and metal sting his tongue and adrenaline pours into his veins as the orc slaver running just in front of him folds over sideways.

    The audible snapping of the unfortunate meat shield¡¯s spine and the wet squelch of tearing flesh and gore was all the warning Asmodeus had before a bloodcurdling laugh of delight hissed and gurgled from the mists.

    ¡°What the shit is that?!¡± One of the slavers cried and pointed to the wretched shadow grinning from above mutilated orc¡¯s dying corpse.

    ¡°The fuck does it matter? FUCKIN¡¯ SHOOT IT!¡± Asmodeus screamed and as the creature chuckled and lunged.

    Asmodeus felt his heart seize in his chest. He¡¯s going to die. In a place like this?! All because he was surrounded by imbeciles?! No!

    Hatred burned his fear and he forced himself into action. He snatched the closest cannon fodder- some worthless pig of a human crewman- and twisted his arm, forcing the squealing pig into the laughing monster¡¯s path.

    The pig¡¯s squeals were instantly silenced as the laughing abomination clamped blackened, bony fingers around the man¡¯s head and twisted it off.

    Blood and fatty viscera gushed from the obese carcass. The creature flung the flabby head at one of the other slavers and splattering his deceased companion¡¯s thick fluids across his body and winding the hapless slaver where the head smashed into his chest.

    A squeak of terror slipped from Asmodeus¡¯s pretty lips as his flabby meat shield smacked into the ground.

    The High Elf drew his Mage-Pistol and blindly fired.

    Angry yellow bolts of lightening zips through the mists. The chuckling monster seemed to melt into the fog.

    Just when the wildly firing High Elf thought he had for certain struck the giggling monster the bolt of lightening would snap through the mists and the disturbed fog would roll away, revealing nothing but empty air and spine chilling laughter.

    ¡°whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhaTTHEFUCK!¡±

    Panic and terror surged through the haughty High Elf. His blood was pounding so loud in his ears he barely noticed the screech of agony as another of the slavers was brought to his knees from behind and pulled apart by the snickering Devil.

    The monster jerked his newest victim¡¯s spine sharply to the left and pried the screaming man apart in an explosion of intestines and gore.

    The bisected man¡¯s arms clawed at his ruined stomach as his innards fell out. Being pulled apart was not a quick death.

    The monster dropped the dying man and settled his gaze on the trembling High Elf Slaver weakly aiming his Mage-Pistol at his chest.

    ¡°Shoot,¡± The blackened skeletal figure snarled, his haunting blue-grey eyes flashed in the fog choked expanse. ¡°Ic Dearr Uncer. (I Dare You.)¡±

    Asmodeus had no idea what the monster said -he didn¡¯t even know it could talk!- but whatever it said scared him on a level he hadn¡¯t known existed.

    He didn¡¯t like that at all. The High Elf¡¯s sharp lips twisted into a snarl of his own and he forced as much of his dwindling mana as he could down his arm and into his Mage-pistol.

    If this idiot was going to stand around and wait for him to shoot, why keep him waiting?

    With a howl Asmodeus pulled the trigger.

    Angry yellow lightening erupted from the wore arcane weapon and struck the grinning monster square in the chest. Arcs of electricity rippled and tore across the half-naked creature¡¯s blackened skin and a hiss of triumph slipped from Asmodeus¡¯s lips-

    -only to choke in horror as the skeletal monster chuckled and casually snapped his fingers.

    An incredible thunderclap rocked the forest as Asmodeus¡¯s lightening bolt was ripped from the monster¡¯s body and slammed back into its caster¡¯s body.

    Asmodeus didn¡¯t even have the opportunity to scream as half of his body and face flash-fried in an instant. The redirected spell¡¯s impact launched the High Elf across the clearing and into a dead oak where he bounced and crumpled into a boneless heap on the forest floor.

    Seofon shook his tingling arm and smirked down at the unmoving Slaver¡¯s body. ¡°Bitch.¡±

    Before he could properly bask in his gruesome and bloody victory a terrified scream split the air.

    Its coming from the river- The Nameless!

    Without a second thought Seofon spun around and sprinted into the mists, praying that whatever was happening he wasn¡¯t too late.

 Chapter 7: The Master of The Cursed Lands

    Chapter 7: The Master of the Cursed Lands

    ¡°Come on, come on, come on! Where the fuck is it? Where the fuckin¡¯ shit is it?!¡±

    A slew of filthy curses and vulgar language spilled from Arleen¡¯s pretty lips as the naked Cat-girl fumbled blindly for her query by the campfire.

    Screams and thuds of bodies and foot pounding into the dirt filled the terrified Cat-girl¡¯s sensitive ears. The elated howls of the monsters stalking through the fog sent her pounding heart rate soaring.

    [Status: Terrified]

    [INT, DEX, AGI, PER, WIS, Suppressed By: 90%] [Mental Faculties reduced by: 90%] [Positive Experience Gain Reduced By: 90%]

    [Biological Ability Activated: Adrenaline]

    [END, STR, VIT Buffed By: 70%] [Inherited Augmentation: Blood of the Cat (AGI Buffed By: 50%)]

    Arleen¡¯s hands trembled, and her knees buckled beneath her, her knobby limbs crashed to the ground, sending lances of hot agony up her thin legs. The terrified Cat-girl barely registered the pain as adrenaline roared in her veins, her entire being instead focused on the odd blurs and shapes of hastily discarded clothing littering the dust around her.

    A thunderous roar from one of the monsters was replied by the shrill report of a small kinetic holdout revolver. The deafening sounds disoriented Arleen, making her already obstructed vision swim as the clearing devolved further into bloody chaos.

    I gotta find it! I gotta go faster! Why is this takin¡¯ so damn, fuckin¡¯ long?!!

    She didn¡¯t dare look up from the scattered gear and clothing around her. Many of the Poachers and crewmen she had been¡­. Servicing¡­ were literally caught with their pants around their ankles (with several balls deep inside her) when that horrible scream interrupted their ¡°sexy fun-times¡± and sent them scattering like roaches caught under a light. In their haste many of the poachers left much of their gear and clothes where they lay.

    This brings Arleen to her current situation, in the middle of a slaughter fumbling her shaking fingers through pockets and pouches in search for a key.

    The key that goes to the shackles holding her fellow Nameless in this very same clearing infested with hungry fog-monsters.

    A shriek and the wet squelch of ripping flesh dully rung in the back of her mind as a body flung in from the swirling wall of mist and sailed over her hunched form. The corpse splattered and tumbled into the fire, extinguishing the flames and plunging the clearing into darkness as the stench of cooking meat and boiling blood choked the air and caught in Arleen¡¯s throat.

    No, no, no, no! I can¡¯t see! Come on! Please!

    As the light died despair flared hot underneath her terror, sending the sickening venom of fear spewing from deep in her chest into the pit of her stomach. Hot tears welled up in her eyes.

    Hopeless¡­

    Something cold brushed against her finger.

    The Cat-girl¡¯s heart flinched in disbelief, her hand cautiously curled around the small shaft of a battered iron item.

    Tears spilled down Arleen¡¯s shallow cheeks, though this time they rolled around the drunken, wild grin on her face.

    The Key!

    Countless howls thundered through the heavy mists, the terrible screams shook deep in Arleen¡¯s bones.

    The next moments were a blur for Arleen. It was the sort of spinning nightmare that would haunt her thoughts as she lay awake years from now under a blanket of cold sweat as ¡°what-if¡¯s¡± danced and kicked her tormented memory.

    Arleen¡¯s only anchor was the frigid iron key digging into her fingers and palm as she pressed her precious cargo to her bare chest and scrambled through the carnage of bodies and howling shadows.

    Somehow, in some way, by some miracle, Arleen made it, even though she didn¡¯t remember how. she made it!

    Withered arms caught her as she fell. She saw Rufus, the kind old human, smile at her through her adrenaline-fueled haze.

    [Status Change: Terrified -> Scared]

    [INT, DEX, WIS, AGI Suppressed By: 70%] [Mental Faculties Reduced By: 70%] [Positive Experience Gain Reduced By: 60%]

    Arleen felt some of the weight of fear lift from her mind. Her thoughts flowed clearer and even though she was still scared shitless she wasn¡¯t alone anymore. She had allies, she had an anchor to hold her fast.

    Speaking of fast¡­

    ¡°Quick!¡± Rufus spared a glance around the veiled mayhem and death screams obscured by the unnaturally thick mists. ¡°The key Darlin¡¯! Quick!¡±

    ¡°R-right!¡± Her fingers were heavy with fright and trembled still. She fumbled the key as it fought against her infuriatingly rebellious digits.

    A painfully tight hand snatching her wrist and pulling her face first into the dust interrupted Arleen¡¯s struggle.

    One of the humans, a reedy, scarred bastard with a nasty scowl of disgust on his toothy maw, whipped her around and plowed a fist into her face.

    Her scream of pain was cut off as her nose broke and blood blossomed from her nose and down her face and throat.

    ¡°Gimme the fuckin¡¯ key!¡± The dreg screamed, his red eyes rolling madly in his skull. ¡°I¡¯m getting¡¯ out first!

    The human snatched at the key and wrapped a hand around the cold iron. Even through the incredible pain in her nose and her convulsing lungs Arleen fought her assailant, bucking her naked hips and pulling her arms away.

    Her blood spattered into her eyes, so she didn¡¯t even see the fist until it had already smashed into her cheek, knocking the Cat-girl senseless and sending her world spiraling and her ears ringing.

    Cold metal links pulled hard around her neck and panic and fear spiked hard in her chest as the chains choked the breath from her lungs. Her nerveless fingers clawed at the metal links helplessly as she was lifted from behind by the shackles wrapped around her neck.

    ¡°Don¡¯t ye come any closer!¡± spittle flew from the human¡¯s mouth as he glared madly at Rufus, the old man half stood to jump to Arleen¡¯s aid.

    The human hauled his hostage higher and Arleen gurgled as tears sprung once again from her eyes.

    In one of the dreg¡¯s hands the key glittered. He pointed it at the old man snarling at him.

    ¡°I-I unlock my chains first.¡± The dreg said. His emaciated muscles already trembling from holding his strangling hostage up. ¡°I unlock my¡­ fuckin¡¯ chains first or- or your kitty cum-dumpster dies.¡±

    Rufus growled.

    ¡°Fine. FINE! Unlock your gods damned chains. Just let her down, gods fucking dammit!¡± the old man snarled, his knobby fingers curling as he fought the urge to crush this selfish prick¡¯s throat.

    The dreg stared at the furious old man with wild eyes as he weighed his options-

    -when his head exploded.

    A gnarled spear of twisted wood and ash zipped from the depths of the fog and struck the dreg between the eyes and gorging a bloody trough across Arleen¡¯s cheek.

    The spear¡¯s speed was so vicious it sailed through the dreg¡¯s head, his skull split and detonated like a watermelon struck by a shotgun slug. Blood, flesh, and pulverized bone slathered and painted Arleen¡¯s head and back in a crimson shower.

    The Cat-girl hit the ground hacking a coughing, the headless corpse dragged her down into a gruesome tangle of limbs and pumping blood.

    ¡°THE KEY!¡± One of the Nameless eyed the glittering iron like a starved animal.

    Like a trigger being pulled the entire chain-gang launched themselves into a mad tangle of chains snarls and naked limbs as they fought over the key like rats caught by the tail.

    The next few moments were a panicked eternity for Arleen. The hot, sharp press of bony bodies squirming, punching, grabbing, and biting tugged and hit her.

    The pain was only made worse by the slain dreg¡¯s gritty blood making every touch and motion slick and gritty with the thick, coppery fluid and every time she opened her mouth to suck in a desperate, strangled breath blood or bits of dreg brain choked her.

    ¡°ENOUGH!¡± A gravelly and pissed off voice roared over the scuffle.

    With unnerving ease Rufus, the ¡°frail old man¡±, lifted the orc couple from the dog pile, casually tossed a grabby beast-man away and easily pried the key from half a dozen fumbling hands.

    193 years old or not, he was still level 72 for a reason.

    Rufus held the key up victoriously.

    ¡°Aight, shut up and git in line!¡± He snapped.

    Another scream and a screech of feral delight ripped through the forest.

    Rufus raised an eyebrow. ¡°Unless ya want to stay here of course?¡±

    His reply was a few whimpers and the obedient shuffle of bodies getting in line.

    Rufus made short work of the other dreg¡¯s manacles as a pair of trembling hands reached out and pulled Arleen from where she lay.

    The bloody, gore clothed Cat-girl looked up into Lydia¡¯s wide brown eyes. The Wolf-girl¡¯s lips were curled and her nose scrunched as she fought a terrified sob from slipping her lips.

    ¡°A-are you okay?¡± Lydia rasped.

    ¡°No.¡± Arleen tried to wipe the blood and grime from her eyes but gave up soon after, the crimson filth on her fingers only seemed to make things worse. ¡°C-can you fuckin¡¯ help me?¡± She whimpered with her blood gummed eyes helplessly shut tight.

    Pity fell over the wolf-girl¡¯s petite face. ¡°Sure. Hold still.¡±Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Arleen tilted her head up and Lydia carefully rolled her thumbs over her face. The Wolf-girl fought the urge to squirm and gag as she felt the grainy viscera stain her hands.

    ¡°Done.¡±

    ¡°Thanks.¡± Arleen¡¯s emerald eyes fluttered open from behind the mask of crimson dyed filth molded to her bone-thin face.

    ¡°Are you¡­ hurt?¡± Lydia asked delicately. ¡°L-like.. you know.¡± She finished lamely.

    Arleen did know, but to spare her friend¡¯s adorable innocence she refrained from giving her usual, blunt answer.

    ¡°My hips and¡­ ah¡­ nethers hurt.¡± She admitted. ¡°I¡¯m sore too, and bleedin¡¯, mostly from my knees ¡®n shit, but I¡¯ll live.¡±

    ¡°Hey girls!¡± The beast-girls turned to see Rufus waving them over. Lydia was the last of the dregs still chained. ¡°Git over here so we can get the hell out!¡±

    Lydia noticed that more than half of the dregs were already gone, vanished into the mists, the other half or so were huddled by the river itching to flee from the frantic battle raging just out of sight.

    ¡°Where are the others?¡± Arleen asked as Rufus fiddled with Lydia¡¯s manacles.

    ¡°A group of ¡®em took off already. Guess they thought the faster they run the better off they are.¡± Rufus grunted as he freed the wolf-girl from her metal bonds and the chain snaked to the ground with a loud clatter.

    ¡°Well ain¡¯t that the best option?¡± Arleen asked. Lydia shuffled away from the old man rubbing her blistered wrists.

    ¡°Sure.¡± Rufus shrugged. ¡°But that only works if ya run in the right direction. Those bubbleheads ran downstream. The way out is up the river.¡±

    Arleen¡¯s eyes widened and her feline ears snapped to attention.

    ¡°We gotta stop ¡®em!¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s too late honey.¡± Rufus shook his bald head sadly. ¡°They are long gone, and I¡¯m gonna have my hands full with just the ones here.¡±

    Suddenly the old man¡¯s wispy eyebrows furrowed as he stared down at the chains.

    ¡°Wait a minute.¡± He stooped over and scooped up the very end of the chain. ¡°Where did that creature go?¡±

    Dread spilled down the old man¡¯s spine. In his gnarled fist hung the shorn remnants of shattered pair of manacles. I knew it. I knew something wasn¡¯t right with that guy.

    ¡°What happened?!¡± Arleen gasped. He was strange sure, but he didn¡¯t seem dangerous. ¡°Did the monsters get him?¡±

    Before anyone could answer a terrible scream split the air. It sounded so close, the horrible images of unseen monsters stirred at the edges of their minds as the wet crunch of bone and flesh squelched against maws of countless teeth.

    ¡°We gotta go.¡± Rufus whispered hoarsely. ¡°We gotta go NOW!¡±

    The survivors surged onto the stream¡¯s bank, Lydia with them.

    Arleen however, hesitated. her head turned to the brutal carnage, her eyes searching desperately for their missing number.

    ¡°Honey,¡± Rufus pulled the stubborn cat-girl by her arm towards the river. ¡°There is nothin¡¯ more you can do. He is gone.¡±

    Arleen glanced at the old man¡¯s desperate face. ¡°But-!¡±

    She never got to finish her protest. One second, she was struggling against the old man¡¯s steely grip, the next she was spinning, thrown bodily across the dusty ground like a careless afterthought.

    Rufus lost his hold on the girl when a speeding mass slammed into him at full charge, his bones creaked in agonizing protest.

    The dregs look up in to see a nightmare of bone and twisted plant-life spilled from the fog. A horror of thorns and desiccated flesh with the legs of a horse and the body of a man, though what was once living had long since been torn from its sundered form.

    Its skin looked more like a shredded canvas pulled taut over a frame of twisted roots and bone. A sickly green orb pulsed in the creature¡¯s chest through like an unholy heartbeat through the massive tears in the creature¡¯s dried flesh.

    On reflex Rufus activated his observational skill and the blood drained from his face.

    [Observe] [Level: 43]

    [Avatar of Kern] [Thorn bound Undead Centaur] [Level: ???]

    ¡°Well, fuck.¡±

    The undead abomination craned its skull around to lock empty sockets with Arleen¡¯s terror filled eyes. Branches of thorns slithered and twisted grotesquely around the skeletal monstrosity¡¯s mummified innards. it stretched out a decayed hand as the wicked thorns slithered down its arm and weaved into vile spear.

    Arleen wordlessly cried out as Kern¡¯s avatar clomped towards her. The cat-girl scrambled desperately away from the horror, her heels digging into the hard dusty floor.

    ¡°Hey! Tall ¡®n ugly!¡± With a momentous effort Rufus shakily climbed to his feet and shouted out a challenge to the creature. Without turning the rest of its body the centaur¡¯s skull spun on its neck like an owl.

    That¡¯s just fuckin¡¯ wrong.

    The old man took a step back and felt his heel knock against something. It was the spear that had killed the dreg trying to steal the key. The twisted shaft of unnaturally sharp wood was still embedded in the thief¡¯s naked corpse.

    With a firm yank Rufus freed the weapon from the ground and leveled the spear at the grinning skull.

    ¡°Come on!¡± Rufus snarled.

    Rufus was experienced, you didn¡¯t get to Level 72 by being a chump, but no amount of experience could prepare him for the unnatural way this undead abomination moved, nor its speed.

    The centaur¡¯s spine twisted and contorted like a viper uncoiling to strike. Its front hooves left the ground as the rest of its bend over its rear limbs and with the speed of a snapped rubber band the centaur thrust its thorn spear like an arrow towards a bullseye.

    Rufus barely parried the lethal blow. The old ranger made sure to angle and deflect the centaur¡¯s heavy strike rather than take the blow head on, but even then he barely managed to shift the Undead¡¯s spear from its path towards his chest.

    It¡¯s too strong!

    ¡°Fuck!¡± Rufus threw himself away as the thorn spear whistled through the space where his chest was a split second before, but not in time to escape the razor-sharp point tailing a nasty cut across his chest.

    Somehow the old man managed to keep a grip on his spear. He hefted it in one hand and probed his bleeding chest with shaking fingers.

    His momentary lapse in focus cost him.

    The undead pulled its spear back and swung it like a baseball bat at the old man¡¯s head.

    Rufus saw the thorn spear¡¯s shaft speeding towards him from the corner of his eye. He barely got his own weapon up in time to block but the undead centaur was just too strong, the level gap was too enormous.

    The thorn spear impacted with the force of a speeding train. The vicious blow shoved Rufus¡¯s weapon into his flank, knocking the old ranger out cold as he tumbled boneless into the shallow stream.

    ¡°No!¡± Arleen screamed. She watched as the old man¡¯s body vanished into the swirling mist, leaving only her and the centaur.

    A whimper slipped from her trembling lips as the undead monster turned its hollow sockets back onto the cat-girl. With agonizing slowness it raised its thorn spear.

    Time seemed to slow to a crawl, the sensation bizarre for the cat-girl as moments of her miserable life flashed before her eyes. Faded memories of her mom, much more recent, sour memories of her hated father and half-brothers, with only a handful of tiny pinpricks of happiness in between.

    Arleen knew she didn¡¯t have a good life, but as she watched helplessly as the undead monster¡¯s spear hiss towards her heart, she realized that she had never been happy.

    Why?

    She watched as the spear plunged towards her chest, she just prayed she bled out fast.

    Only, it never made it that far.

    A blackened skeletal arm shot from the swirling wall of fog and the gnarled, bony hand wrapped around the thorn ridden spear shaft, stopping the wicked blade cold a hairsbreadth from her naked chest.

    A horror in the vague shape of a shadow of a man, a monster in blackened human skin with a curtain of filthy hair and a missing arm loomed out of the fog.

    It was the strange creature, the one Arleen thought killed just a moment before. The cat-girl hadn¡¯t been scared of him. Sure he was weird and unusual but he was gentle and kind towards her and had somehow even saved Lydia!

    The creature she saw now was anything but gentle.

    A river of blood dripped from his body. His hair and cragged beard were slick with crimson. The stench of death and gore hung onto him tight as a shroud. It shredded and burnt garb was stained and clung to his bones, though instead of smaller it only made him more terrifying, an unholy abomination stripped of its humanity.

    A devil.

    But the devil¡¯s voice was the same as the kind creature Arleen had first met. A soothing brassy husk that rolled through the air like a far-off thunderstorm. The voice carried a subtle power, a humble wisdom-

    -and a feral, primordial rage.

    He didn¡¯t speak Common, the universal language of the Castaway Isle. What he spoke was older, more archaic, yet strangely familiar.

    Most words Arleen failed to understand, but some remained the same she noticed, even in Common.

    ¡°Kneel.¡±

    The undead centaur¡¯s empty sockets whipped to face the blood-soaked devil. A rattling screeching snarl curled from its desiccated chest and it tugged its thorn spear, its hooves digging into the dust.

    The devil kept his hold on the spear let the centaur pull him a step forward.

    The hairs on Arleen¡¯s nape stood on end as magic suddenly thrummed joyously around the one-armed devil.

    ¡°Ic be¨®t KNEEL!¡± With a harsh shout he stomped his forward foot and Arleen cried out as the ground trembled causing Kern¡¯s Avatar to stumble.

    The devil snatched the spear and the centaur buckled to its knees bringing its skull eye level with the devil.

    Every sound in the clearing died. The monsters hidden in the mists fell silent and Arleen felt every eye turn to the devil and the centaur.

    The undead creature¡¯s jaw rattled and worked as if straining to pull out words from the cracked and ruined bones.

    ¡°Frigea¡­¡±

    The dusty, unnatural voice that rasped from the Undead¡¯s dried lungs was filled with awe and disbelief.

    ¡°How¡­?¡± It rasped.

    The devil snorted, mostly in laughter.

    What he said in reply to the foul undead was lost on Arleen but it seemed the devil had saved her this time.

    The devil muttered something else at Kern¡¯s avatar and shoved the kneeling centaur¡¯s thorn spear away. He turned and come over to her, she was still on her back, her arms splayed out to keep her weight of her tail.

    He stood over her and to her surprise offered his hand to her.

    Arleen hesitated, and for good reason, but when she looked up to meet his eyes she lost herself.

    His eyes glowed. Though it had been hard to tell with the off-putting ambient light from the fog the devil¡¯s gaze shone with an eerie, haunting blue and gray, like a will o¡¯ wisp from the stories her mother had told.

    She was enraptured, enough to make a fool of herself at least. She had been staring dumbly up at him for the past half-minute like an idiot.

    ¡°T-thanks.¡± She stammered and took his hand.

    She felt fresh blood squeeze from where the spear¡¯s thorns had pierced his palm. With an unnatural strength the devil practically lifted her from the ground and set her back onto her feet, her eyes refused to leave that glowing blue gaze.

    The undead centaur¡¯s snort of distain slapped her back to reality.

    ¡°Go.¡± The devil pulled his gaze from her as the centaur¡¯s soulless eye sockets burrowed into her.

    ¡°Thank¡­ thank you.¡± Arleen bumbled.

    The devil flicked his eyes from the glaring undead back to her. He gave her a light shove, pressing against her palm.

    ¡°Go.¡± He murmured one last time before he turned his back to face the centaur.

    With a whispered Word of Power and a sweep of his arm the devil pulled the fog around him like a curtain and he, along with Kern¡¯s avatar, vanished from sight.

    Arleen stared out into the swirling fog for a moment longer when she noticed her hand felt heavier.

    When she opened her palm a silvery medallion with a tattered hood and staff glittered back up at her. The strange man had given her his sigil.

    Why?

    ¡°Arleen?¡±

    The cat-girl pushed those questions out of her head and with a tiny breath to steel her nerves and a strange sense of awe she slid the sigil¡¯s shining chain around her neck and let the metal settle between her modest breasts. Strange as it was, the medallion¡¯s weight was a comfort to her.

    Arleen rushed to the water. Much to her relief the cat-girl found Lydia kneeling in the shallow water with Rufus¡¯s head on her lap to keep it above the water.

    The frown that pulled at her lips told Arleen that Lydia wasn¡¯t very happy about having to touch the old human but it did warm her heart a little to see the wolf-folk was at least grudgingly willing to put her prejudice aside to help.

    ¡°How is he?¡± Arleen splashed through the shallows next to them.

    ¡°How should I know?¡± Lydia snorted. Despite her displeasure the wolf-girl¡¯s shoulders did relax at seeing her friend alive.

    ¡°M¡¯kay.¡± Arleen grabbed one of the old man¡¯s arms and started pulling him from the water. ¡°Shit he¡¯s heavy. Help we?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡±

    With a little grunting and straining the girls managed to pull the old man from the shallows. Arleen found his spear stuck in the shore and relatively undamaged. She took it gladly, the twisted white wood that made up the shaft and blade appealed to her, not that she could use it..

    ¡°Where are the others?¡±

    ¡°Here.¡± The orc couple crawled from beneath an overhang further along the water¡¯s edge. Several more of the survivors trailed after them. Arleen saw several of the dregs holding stones and a few feeble branches for makeshift weapons. They still looked terrified, hell Arlen definitely still was, but they at least calmed down.

    ¡°We need to get out of here.¡± Arleen curled Rufus¡¯s arm over her feeble shoulders and looked up at the other dregs.

    Every eye was trained on the shiny medallion settled on her chest. ¡°Well? What are ya fucking starin¡¯ at? Help me carry him!¡±

    The male orc blinked and with a grunt hefted the old man¡¯s weight to his own shoulders, taking the burden from Arleen.

    Though they were itching to speed from the area they had to take it slower until Rufus would hopefully wake up. The old man had some nasty bruises on his chest and hands along with a small cut on his head where he had struck a river stone.

    ¡°What happened over there?¡± Lydia¡¯s whispered question demanded an answer, one that Arleen wasn¡¯t exactly sure how to put into words the skeptical wolf-girl would understand.

    ¡°Ya know the weird guy that saved you?¡±

    ¡°Sure.¡± Lydia shrugged. ¡°He got eaten right?¡±

    Damn, that was pretty callus.

    ¡°Well, he¡¯s alive.¡± The wolf-girl¡¯s eyes bugged out in disbelief. It was Arleen¡¯s turn to shrug. ¡°He said somethin¡¯ to one of the monsters, gave me his necklace and let me go.¡±

    ¡°Why would it do that?¡±

    ¡°I dunno¡­¡±

    ¡°Figea.¡±

    Rufus sputtered and coughed a glob of blood, stopping the group.

    ¡°Rufus! Oh thank the fuckin¡¯ gods!¡± Arleen ducked under his free arm and held a hand to his chest as he caught his balance. ¡°You okay?¡±

    ¡°I will be.¡± Rufus hacked and spit out another glob of blood.

    ¡°What did you just say?¡± Arleen asked curiously as the old man got his bearings. ¡°You said somethin¡¯ as ya were wakin¡¯ up.¡±

    ¡°Figea.¡± Rufus repeated. ¡°That was the Avatar of Kern we met back there. It said the word Figea.¡±

    ¡°So what?¡± Lydia asked rudely.

    ¡°It¡¯s a word from Old Common. An ancient tongue.¡± Rufus glanced back to where they had came, his eyes searching the fog wearily as he spoke.

    ¡°Figea, it means Master.¡±

 Arc 1 Interlude: A Char-broiled Elfs Lament

    Arc 1 Interlude: A Char-broiled Elf¡¯s Lament

    One Week Later-

    ¡°Looks muggy out there ta-night, dunnit?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the Cursed Lands ya dolt. It always looks muggy.¡±

    Two guards stood on a roughhewn wooden platform, one a Wood Elf, his skin a darker bronze, almost mud black, the other a bulkier human with a beard flecked with gray. Both were kitted out in belted leather armor with shabby iron plates riveted over their pectorals and a small utility belt around their waists were a quiver of arrows hung.

    A pair of low-quality longbows leaned against the platform¡¯s support beams, the sort of weapons used by poor hunters common on Enith¡¯s wilder lands.

    The Wood Elf glanced over to his buddy and snorted at seeing the scowl on the human¡¯s face.

    ¡°Hey now, just ¡®cuz the Cap¡¯ stuck ya on night watch for a week for kickin¡¯ up a ruckus down at the pub don¡¯t mean ya gotta take it out on me!¡±

    ¡°Its called a tavern, not a pub ya damn tree hugger, and it ain¡¯t my fault! That pig toothed tusk chomper punched first!¡± The human guard cried.

    ¡°Ya called ¡®is mother a swine gurgler!¡± The Elf scoffed. ¡°Tha¡¯ fuck does that even mean anyway? And ya picked a fight with the bartender. I¡¯d boot your sorry pink-skinned arse on night watch too.¡±

    ¡°Whatever.¡± The human grumbled lamely and turned his bored gaze back to the border of the Cursed Lands.

    They were on the border of a small frontier town, though calling it a town was a stretch. Less than two hundred people call this little patch of shacks and wishful thinking home. This settlement didn¡¯t even have a name! The locals didn¡¯t seem too bothered by it though, and their tiny community was growing, however slowly.

    Being this close to the Cursed Lands guaranteed the only visitors they got were deviants and the desperate.

    A few moments of wallowing in his misery the human¡¯s expression perked up as a though struck him.

    ¡°Hey, did ya hear about that ship crash?¡±

    ¡°Oh, now ya wanna talk¡­¡± The elf snorted.

    ¡°Just answer the damn question.¡± His human companion growled.

    ¡°Nah I didn¡¯t. What happened?¡±

    The human pointed out to the ominous forest of dead trees and swirling mists several hundred yards across the open field that separated the settlement from the woods.

    ¡°Down at the tavern I heard that one of those big-time guild cargo ships got ambushed by rebels an¡¯ got shot down over the Cursed Lands.¡±

    The wood elf¡¯s spear like ears flicked in surprised interest.

    ¡°Rebels? Ya talkin about those loons fightin¡¯ to abolish the ¡°Nameless¡± system, right?¡±

    ¡°Yeah.¡± The human chuckled. ¡°Those idiots attacked one of the Night Raven cargo ships and last I heard the ¡®Ravens are gettin¡¯ the Avalonions involved.¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    The elf let out a low whistle.

    ¡°Damn, they¡¯re haulin¡¯ in the big guns. Let¡¯s hope they don¡¯t go pokin¡¯ around here. We did come out here for a reason.¡± The elf commented. The human smirked knowingly. He was right, the less attention their little town gets from the government the better, them being deviants and desperate after all.

    Ain¡¯t gonna do ¡®em much good though.¡± The Wood Elf added. ¡°If they crashed in the Cursed Lands any survivors are plant food by now. No witnesses ya kn-.¡±

    ¡°Shut it!¡± The human cut off the elf¡¯s rambling and swept up his bow.

    The elf¡¯s laxed demeanor flipped in an instant, his expression hardening as he took up his own bow and strung an arrow.

    The mists were moving.

    The curtain of pale, haunting white churned and swirled as a small black figure was coughed up from the Cursed Land¡¯s depths. Its movements were irregular and hunched, as if it were in incredible pain.

    ¡°The hell is that?¡± the human murmured.

    ¡°Fuck if I know.¡± The elf replied. He straightened his sharp shoulders and squared his shooting stance as his companion did the same.

    ¡°Halt! Who goes there!¡± The Elf challenged. It was standard to call out to whatever approached the settlement, now matter what it looked like. It was a habit the Captain of the guard had pounded into all of them. The denizens of the Castaway Isle were countless, and not all of them were humanoid.

    The shape that had emerged from the mists stumbled to a halt just as the guard had ordered. The closer it got the more humanoid it looks, and the more mangled.

    The figure hacked and coughed, the tremors racing through its body then it straightened up and called.

    ¡°I am called Asmodeus Coridola! I am a Red Wing of the Night Ravens!¡±

    The guards¡¯ breath caught in their throat. A ranking member of the Night Ravens? Here?!

    They both shared shocked looks as understanding dawned on them, though both were skeptical.

    Was he a survivor from that rumored crash? Was it possible Kern missed one? How?

    Few knew just how deadly the Spirit of the Cursed Lands were as the guards did. Their settlement was next to the damned place after all.

    ¡°Approach!¡± The elf shouted and turned to his companion. ¡°I guess I¡¯ll go down there. Stick ¡®em with a few if he tries anythin¡¯ funny.¡±

    ¡°Gotcha.¡±

    The elf stepped off the platform with all the ease of walking off a curb. The wind whistled in his ears for the short 20-foot drop to the dirt below. He hit the ground on the balls of his feet and bent his legs to absorb the impact like a coiled spring. He bounced lightly as his legs straightened and he jogged to the barrier of sharpened stakes that made up the perimeter of the settlement.

    ¡°Hold where ya are and state your business.¡± The elf called as he neared. He still couldn¡¯t make out the rest of the stranger¡¯s features, it was too dark. The guard cursed himself for neglecting to pick up his Class¡¯s [Night Vision] ability sooner.

    The stranger did look wounded, and the foul smell of burnt rot hung over him, every little detail struck the elf¡¯s instincts in all the wrong ways.

    The stranger forced his spine straighter once again as he addressed the guard with a haughty sneer.

    ¡°My business is my own Insecte do bois! Did you not hear who I am! I am Asmodeus Coridola of the Night-¡°

    ¡°Yeah, yeah whatever ya say tweety-bird, keep ya britches on.¡± The elven guard rolled his eyes. Great a High Elf. ¡°Come on yer highness, allow this lowly peasant to escort you to the guardhouse. Wouldn¡¯t want his majesty to catch somethin¡¯ out here among us common folk.¡±

    ¡°You think this is a joke!¡± Asmodeus snarled. ¡°You take me for a fool!¡±

    Before either guard could move a faint gold light -a spell of some sort- erupted around the high elf¡¯s legs and the guard found himself pulled by his breastplate.

    His cry of horror stuck in his chest as he locked eyes with the abomination staring back at him.

    Half of the High elf¡¯s once noble and sharp face was melted and blackened, the destroyed skin hung off his skull like wax over a fire. A white orb stared blindly out of the fried socket it rolled in as a trickle of blood dripped from his destroyed tear ducts. The most of the Elf¡¯s hair was missing, his scalp seared off from his own reflected lightening spell.

    His body was in the same condition. His robes were burnt and ragged. Pockets of flesh were melted together and wrinkled, the cells there dead, dried up when the lightening evaporated the water from his flesh. His right hand, the hand that once held his mage-pistol, was little more than fused bone, useless and frozen.

    ¡°Does this look like a joke to you?¡± Asmodeus hissed, his melted lips revealing teeth cracked from the spell¡¯s heat. ¡°This is all HIS doing!¡±

    ¡°No¡­¡± The High Elf shook his head slowly. ¡°No, not just his fault¡­¡±

    "What in the fuck is wrong wit''cha! Let go ya psycho!" The guard cried as Asmodeus shook him around by his armor.

    The crazed High Elf didn''t even seem to notice the guard anymore and turned his gaze to the blood red planet hanging close in the night time sky overhead as he screamed nonsense like a madman.

    ¡°It is all THEIR doing!! That wretched cat-slut and that DEVIL!¡±

 Chapter 8: The Swordsman From The Stars

    Chapter 8: The Swordsman From The Stars

    11 Months after Seofon¡¯s escape from the Dark-

    Gemini System 11E-42P-68, home of the planets Enith and Piros, the world duo fondly nicknamed ¡°the dancing sisters¡±, and for good reason.

    One a beautiful Arcane World of green and blue; the other, a Tech World of stone, rust, and technology. Enith and Piros were polar opposites, perfect reflections of the paths every world could take, one of magic or science.

    Both planets, so different from each other, hugged so close their atmospheres had melded together in places, creating a sort of bizarre negative zone in the center of their intertwined grasp. Two huge masses this close should have collapsed and warped against the warring gravitational forces in play, and yet they remained in delightful, playful balance.

    This anomaly was just a single example of the impossibilities that are commonplace in the Castaway Isle, and this was one of the more believable of the bunch.

    {Attention all personnel, brace for Warp Re-entry. Attention all personnel, brace for Warp Re-entry.}

    Several thousand miles outside the sisters¡¯ negative zone a silent piece of the void suddenly and violently curled and bent as if something beyond the veil and taken hold of the cold fabric of space and pulled.

    With a thunderous roar lost to the empty, soundless vacuum a mass of white-hot metal erupted into existence. The tower like shape stretched and snapped like a rubber band as the distortion was calmed and the fabric of space relaxed, leaving the searing hot monstrosity of metal and technology floating just inside Enith¡¯s lower orbit.

    Slowly the metal cooled, the huge warship¡¯s glowing armor died to its normal battle scarred black, revealing the complex array of laser batteries and blast shielding. The main body resembled a mile ling square tower laid on its side with four massive main thrusters on its aft with raised sections protruding from its walls. Every inch of the monstrous vessel was covered in odd black shielding, the same material that had glowed hot from the incredible energy friction Warping caused.

    {Warp Re-entry successful. Diverting power from Warp Drive to Main Systems and lowering Warp shields. Welcome Home, Crew of the Prosecutor.}

    A sea of lights flickered to life all across the ship as a thunderous cheer rose up from the Prosecutor¡¯s crew as the massive plates of armor sunk back into their slots, revealing more weapon arrays and ship systems.

    ¡°Its good to be back.¡±

    Near the aft of the warship an older man in a black jumpsuit with red trimmings settled back in his chair with a satisfied sigh.

    The human¡¯s black and grey flecked mustache twitched as he watched out of the command bridge windows as the last of the heat shields slid away, revealing Enith¡¯s beautiful blue and green surface. The man sat behind a console at the top of the bridge, the rest of the room was designed like an amphitheater with each step down led a row of consoles manned by a plethora of races dressed in similar regalia to the old man.

    The command bridge was a hive of activity as the heat shields slid back into their slots with a chest shuddering thud. The jumpsuits the crewmembers wore were baggy in some areas, a more efficient one-size-fits-all solution to clothing the hundreds of crewmembers on board than the custom skin-tight flight suits common among some of the merc outfits throughout the Castaway Isle.

    The jumpsuits double as a combat uniform should the need ever arise. The scars that marred some of the crew¡¯s faces and skin were proof that feature was more than just hearsay.

    A door behind the mustached man slid aside and every being in the room fell silent. The man spun his chair around and climbed to his feet.

    ¡°Lord Regulator on the Bridge!¡±

    The old man roared and snapped to attention, his subordinates following suit, their postures straight and expressions neutral, the very demonstrated height of military professionalism and precision.

    A huge shadow encroached the open doorway, the shape herculean in size and shape. The figure was so massive it had to bend its head just to get through the doorway. It straightened and proudly settled a shovel like hand on the hilt of a sheathed katana taller than a man as the other, a dark metal contruct, curled its fingers into a fist.

    The gargantuan man that stood before him was more than twice his height and his shoulders as wide as the old man was tall. Muscles bugled beneath the half-giant¡¯s tanned skin, his toga a white fabric that rippled and shone like scales on a fish; a subtle indication of the enchanted power that dwelled in the modest bit of clothing.

    Most of the being¡¯s torso was exposed, his toga only covering part of him, though only half of his body was still flesh. The scars of a battle fought centuries ago, the left side of the intimidating monster of a man¡¯s chest was a constellation of dull black metal in the vague mockery of his original anatomy.

    His shoulder and entire arm were the same, the plates shifted and flowed almost as if they were alive, the entire construct was powered by the Regulator¡¯s magnetic magics. He did nothing to hide the horrific wound, nor the artificial portion of his being, he wore it as a reminder of his mistakes and warning, though to whom it was a mystery.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    ¡°At ease.¡± The huge being growled. The room instantly kicked back into action and the dull roar of voices filled the bridge as if hitting the play button.

    The old man relaxed, if but a fraction. It seemed his spine was stuck rigid from habit and personality than nerves, even in the face of a being more than 12 feet tall.

    ¡°Glad you could join us Lord Regulator Knivblad.¡± The old man aired and glanced out of the bridge¡¯s window. ¡°The view is something to behold.¡±

    ¡°Beauty is only an illusion Captain, worthless and deceptive. You will do well to remember that.¡± The half-giant growled in disinterest. The old man¡¯s mustache twitched in mild amusement.

    ¡°Of course Lord Regulator, just as I remember the dozen other times you have reminded me of this lesson.¡±

    ¡°hmph.¡±

    ¡°Is the Young Seer going to join us?¡± The captain asked as he kept his eyes on the wonder they orbited.

    ¡°He already has.¡±

    The captain glanced behind him once again as a short person shuffled into the room. Though, truly calling the young Seer that had just walked in as short was incorrect, he was a gnome, and a very tall one at that.

    ¡°Seer Elo.¡± The captain dipped his head in greeting.

    Seer Elo looked human enough, except for his abnormally large feet and 3-foot, 6-inch stature. He was a Plains Gnome, distinctive with his short curly blonde hair and light skin.

    He was young, though only by gnome standards. Humans in the Castaway Isle can live to be about 300 years old, triple their normal lifespan, Gnomes in the Castaway Isle can live to be nearly 900 years old. Elo was barely out of adolescence at a mere 92 years of age and was easily the youngest gnomic Seer in the Regulator Order.

    ¡°Greetings Captain.¡± Seer Elo squeaked.

    The old man fought to keep his mustache from twitching at seeing the young man try so valiantly to act regal and grown up in his white and gray robes, of which were size too big for him.

    ¡°Have you gathered anymore information about the disturbance you envisioned Seer Elo?¡± The Captain asked.

    ¡°I have!¡± The gnome¡¯s hardened face broke into a beaming smile before he realized his mistake and he forced it into a frown. ¡°I mean, yes I have Captain.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± The old man¡¯s mustache bent upwards, losing the fight to contain the smile on his face. Can¡¯t help it, the kid¡¯s so damn cute. ¡°Shall we?¡± He waved to another closed door behind the Command Bridge.

    The trio entered an empty conference room with a long table and spinning chairs bolted to the floor along its sides.

    The captain and Seer Elo settled into a chair on the corners with Knivblad setting his weight into a huge throne like chair at the head of the table.

    ¡°So Seer, have you uncovered anymore on your vision?¡± The Captain asked. ¡°It has to be important to pull an Avalonion flagship and one of the most renown Regulators in the Order from the warfront just to investigate.¡±

    ¡°I shall start at the beginning.¡± The gnome squeaked and cast a nervous eye towards the huge half-giant glaring down at him. the Seer knew Regulator Knivblad had little patience for beating around the bush, and to be frank the massive, bloodthirsty Enforcer scared him.

    ¡°Approximately 11 months ago myself and a number of other Seers were given a Vision. It was muddled, even in Elder Seer Elijah¡¯s eyes, yet there were a number of clues we managed to put together. First, whatever caused the disturbance was strong enough to tear a rend a hole straight into our dimension, our plane of existence.¡±

    ¡°What does that mean?¡± Regulator Knivblad asked. Elo¡¯s shoulders popped in fright at his low growly voice, but he found his head quickly.

    ¡°It means that what we Saw had ripped a hole into the Castaway Isle. In short, a monster on par with a Gatekeeper, or perhaps even an Overlord.¡±

    ¡°So it is powerful.¡±

    ¡°Y-Yes Lord Regulator.¡±

    ¡°Go on.¡±

    ¡°Yes Lord Regulator.¡± Elo swallowed and ordered his thoughts. ¡°The second conclusion we came to was the invader¡¯s aura. It is evil without a doubt, its alignment is sure to be chaotic in nature and, under normal circumstances, should have been extremely easy to find a track.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s been almost a year though, and you have not found it.¡± Knivblad rumbled and crossed his arms skeptically. Elo shrunk in on himself in shame.

    ¡°Yes Lord Regulator.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°We¡­ We don¡¯t know.¡±

    ¡°So this¡­ powerful monster strong enough to tear holes in the fabric of reality just¡­ vanished?¡±

    ¡°Yes Lord Regulator.¡±

    Elo fought to keep from sobbing as Knivblad loomed over him and bared his dagger-like teeth in a snarl.

    ¡°Useless little FOOL!¡± He roared. Spittle slapped against Elo¡¯s child like face and a sob really did slip from his lips.

    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry Lord Regulator, b-but it¡¯s the truth!¡± He squeaked in a trembling voice.

    ¡°Lord Regulator,¡± The captain¡¯s composed tenor drew Knivblad¡¯s ire from the little Seer. The Captain frowned at the Half-giant with a  sort of disappointed look in his eyes. ¡°Perhaps you should let the boy finish?¡±

    Few would dare speak to Knivblad the Swordmonger as if he were an equal, and even fewer could get away with it; the Captain however, is once such person.

    ¡°Hmph. Very well.¡±

    Chastised, Knivblad thumped back into his seat as Seer Elo recovered. He allowed himself a few sniffles then launched himself back into is explanation, the only evidence of what had just happened was the slight slip and hiccup at the edge of his words.

    ¡°T-the last definitive clue we could identify c-concerns you, Lord Regulator.¡±

    ¡°Does it?¡± His usual monotone rumble rose an octave. Knivblad¡¯s interest was piqued.

    ¡°Y-yes. After months of research and collaboration we have come to believe that the location of the vision is in fact on Enith. We believe the creature emerged in a place you are¡­ were, familiar with.¡±

    The Seer swallowed nervously and Knivblad didn¡¯t miss the way the young gnome¡¯s eyes flicked to his artificial arm as he spoke.

    ¡°The creature emerged in the Cursed Lands. The same place were the Magekiller took your arm.¡±

    Shocked silence descended on the fiery Regulator, even the Captain was stunned. Neither had expected this.

    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Knivblad¡¯s question came as little more than a strained whisper.

    ¡°Y-yes Lord Regulator.¡±

    ¡°Well, this must be dealt with immediately.¡± The captain spoke up, jolting Knivblad from his shock.

    The captain turned to the Regulator. ¡°Isn¡¯t your apprentice in Chador?¡±

    ¡°Hmph. Yes. Last I heard he just married his eighth wife. Some half-elvish ranger.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps this is a good opportunity to test him? Arawin is talented and powerful but his performance in his last quest left much to be desired.¡±

    ¡°I agree.¡± Knivblad nodded, surprising Seer Elo immensely. The regulator was actually taking advice from a weak little mortal human?! Inconceivable!

    ¡°Would you like Seer Elo to accompany him Lord Regulator?¡± The captain suggested as he tapped his chin in thought.

    ¡°No.¡± Knivblad shot down the notion bluntly and didn¡¯t explain his reasons further.

    ¡°As you wish Lord Regulator.¡± The Captain rose from his seat. ¡°Shall I send a messenger down to the surface, or are you paying him a visit?¡±

    ¡°A visit.¡± Knivblad left his seat and followed after the departing captain.

    ¡°Very good! I shall prep a vessel.¡±

    ¡°Hmph.¡±

    Seer Elo hesitated for a moment before scampering after the pair as anxiety gnawed in his gut.

    The gnome had told them both the confirmed facts, but he left out much of what he had Seen in the Vision. Blood, screams, monsters, a beautiful red haired Elf, a growling wolf, a cat holding a shining medallion-

    - and an image of haunting glowing blue-gray eyes above a feral, bloodstained grin.

 Chapter 9: The Dungeon Town With No Name

    Chapter 9: The Dungeon Town With No Name

    RIght After Seofon defeated the Poachers in the Cursed Lands-

    The reasons why a settlement would form out in the middle of nowhere can generally be narrowed down to possibilities.

    Possibility number one, location.

    This could mean either a position of power in a region or trade hub, though the most common reason is water. Civilization flocks to the stuff. Rivers, streams, lakes, hell I¡¯ve even passed through a tiny little despot whose crown feature was a muddy puddle in the middle of their courtyard.

    Okay, to be fair it was a desert on a Fallen World in the midst of an all-consuming apocalypse, but still my point stands.

    Possibility number two is resources. Forests are an example, though out here forests are the last place a lumberjack would want to wander around, we are right next to the¡­ what do they call it now? ¡°The Cursed Lands¡±, I suppose its accurate enough. Kern can be a piece of work.

    The only reason why a settlement would spring up on the fringe of the Cursed Lands would be for resources of a rarer breed.

    A Dungeon.

    Yup, a living thinking hole in the ground in need of an attitude adjustment.

    No I¡¯m not making this up! It¡¯s too stupid to be a lie.

    After we settled our disagreement Kern had tried to bring me up to speed on what had happened while I was imprisoned in the Dark but bless his brambled little heart he is clueless.

    He couldn¡¯t even tell me how long-ago Libertas fell, he just gave me a lopsided shrug and a very helpful ¡°Many moons ago¡± in that monotone rasp of his. All well, Kern is a spirit with no proper sense of time or being, there is only so much I could expect to gleam from him.

    However, our exchange wasn¡¯t a totally fruitless endeavor.

    Kern saw who took Erin.

    After I fell in battle and was sucked into the Dark by Regulator Ethergen¡¯s spell Erin went berserk. She actually managed to kill one of the Regulators! However she was eventually defeated and was taken captive by the same chuckle-fuck that locked me away in the Dark.

    Ethergen.

    A cold rage crept into my heart when Kern told me who had taken her.

    Ethergen is a sorcerer, and a damn powerful one, but that alone wasn¡¯t the reason why I felt the way I did. Ethergen had quite the reputation and was the center of hundreds of unsettling rumors.

    The guy has one of the sickest Alignments I had ever had the displeasure of seeing. Pure Chaotic Evil. His aura was so tainted it put ink stains to shame, and this was coming from a mortal no less! Spirits I could understand but this man looked born evil. I always found it unsettling.

    The only other Alignment that I could compare his to was my own, though mine was more a dried blood red than black.

    The only reason why Ethergen would have bothered taking Erin prisoner is if he somehow knew she was my Familiar. Mercy wasn¡¯t in his vocabulary. He would only keep her to torture her, to experiment on her.

    And he had been doing so since¡­ God knows how long.

    I needed to find her, I have to find Erin at any cost.

    If I just so happen to bump into Ethergen along the way, or rather my fist bump very violently against his twiggy little nose, then that¡¯ll be an added bonus.

    First problem in my plans, money, or lack thereof. My fortunes of bygone years was either used to evacuate Libertas¡¯ citizens all those years ago or ransacked by lucky pilferers.

    Well, all except for one, but presently I had no way to get to it, nor do I really want to dip into those savings, there are a lot of memories attached to that place.

    Call me a sentimental fool but cut me some slack, I¡¯m old and memories are all I have.

    When I voiced my concerns to Kern, he managed to surprise me. Most spirits are slow (very, very slow) to change but Kern actually had learned to take some basic worldly matters into consideration.

    He knew where a dungeon was, and the small settlement that had grown near the dungeon¡¯s main entrance. If you were strong enough a dungeon was a never-ending goldmine of treasure and artifacts.

    In short, Kern had just given me an express ticket off this rock.

    After I recovered for a few days I gathered the most salvageable of the Poacher¡¯s gear and made my way east, towards the dungeon.

    A week¡¯s travel upstream had taken me to the edge of Kern¡¯s influence where a tiny little settlement lay just a few hundred yards away from the forest. I took care not to be spotted by any of the guards and pretty much waltzed into town dressed in whatever I could scrap together from the Poacher¡¯s space suits.

    I knew I looked like a hot mess. I was still skin and bones with a wild head of hair, both on my noggin and my face. The terribly baggy patchwork space suit that hung off my skeletal frame didn¡¯t contribute anything positive to my appearance but at least I wasn¡¯t naked. Small victories.

    First place I would seek out was a tavern. Food drew everybody regardless of race or disposition and drinks put people in a good mood. If I were to pull a hustle it would be easier here, but I decided against it. I looked far from normal (and poor to boot) and the only thing I wanted was information. The more info I had the faster and more efficient I can be, and time was of the essence.

    The¡­ town for lack of a better word, was a muddy street with a smattering of shoddy shacks surrounded by a spiked barrier. The tallest structure was also the most well built. It was a two-story inn looking affair with empty windows above and a rowdy roar echoing from the first floor. Seems I found where all the action¡¯s at.

    However, the moment I slipped into the grubby little tavern I ran into my second obstacle.

    I can¡¯t understand a word anyone was saying.

    The Common tongue I know was similar to this I suppose, but words and sentence structure had changed, making me wonder once again just how long I was gone.

    I settled for sinking into a corner and listening intently for anything familiar to me. Not everyone here was speaking in this New Common and I hoped to be able to find these people and speak to them in their own tongue.

    As I drank in the scene around me, I fought the stifling pressure of claustrophobia.

    Before the Dark I wasn¡¯t never one for crowds but there in that corner it finally hit me, I was back. I was surrounded by people, normal people, not illusions, people that I could talk to and¡­ well stuff. I¡¯ve been alone for so long I felt like an alien lost in a strange world.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    I suppose that wasn¡¯t too far from the truth.

    Loneliness is the greatest killer among Ageless Mortals like me and the depressing feeling of isolation in a crowded place bitch-slapped me outside the back of my head. It was a physical pain, it was real, as corporeal as a fang or claw to the heart.

    I am not used to so much emotion. Sure I¡¯m a sarcastic ass but that¡¯s more of a coping mechanism rather than a personality. A heart is not necessary to be an asshole after all.

    The closest emotion I would guess to be something like joy was when I cried like a child when I escaped the Dark, beyond that it was an act.

    The giggling face of a naked and scarred Cat-girl fending off the water I shook from my hair bounced into my mind.

    Okay, so maybe it wasn¡¯t all an act.

    I hope she made it out with the others. I told Kern not to attack anyone in possession of my House Sigil but an angry Spirit of the Forest isn¡¯t the only danger that stalks Enith¡¯s Wilds.

    That old man though looked strong enough though, level 70-something, so they should be fine.

    A deep barking voice pulled me from my musings.

    A green skinned orc in a leather apron and an empty mug in his hands was staring in my direction and trying to talk to me. I spared a cursory glace over his being with [True Sight].

    Level 25-ish. Not bad, but not great for his age. He looks about 90 years old or so.

    I catch the tail end of a twirling scar on his exposed tricep. A tribal tattoo? Perhaps this one knows his kind¡¯s native tongue. It¡¯s a long shot though, not too many Orcs outside of their native worlds know Orcish, and there is a chance the language had evolved beyond recognition like Common had. Fuck it, lets see what happens.

    I¡¯m rusty as hell though, haven¡¯t spoken it proper since that meeting with the Great Tribes on Ferini.

    ¡°Jag ?r ledsen, jag talar inte det spr?ket.¡± ( I''m sorry, I do not speak that language.)

    The Orc¡¯s thick eyebrows rose in surprise. Success, did I say it right?

    He came from behind the counter and stood in front of me with his arms crossed and a puzzled tilt to his head.

    ¡°du l?ter som min farfar. Var kommer du ifr?n?¡± (you speak like my grandfather. Where are you from?) He asked.

    ¡°N?gonstans l?ngt borta.¡± (Somewhere far away.) I answer. The bartender snorted and ran a thumb against one of the tusks protruding from his lower lip.

    ¡°Jag s?ker efter arbete, och jag h?rde att det finns en n?rliggande f?ngelseh?la. kanske kan du peka mig i r?tta riktningen?¡± (I am looking for work and I heard there is a dungeon nearby. perhaps you can point me in the right direction?) I asked.

    The orc bartender looks me up and down. My desiccated, skeletal body and filthy synthetic rags don¡¯t exactly inspire confidence. But I¡¯m not looking to impress him, I just need a foot in a door- any door- to get started. I¡¯d even settle for a pity handout, I was never exactly known for my pride or honor.

    ¡°F?ngelseh?lan kan vara f?r mycket f?r dig, men jag vet en grabb som s?ker efter hj?lp p? hans lantg?rd.¡± (The dungeon may be too much for you, but I do know a guy looking for help at his farm.) He said carefully.

    ¡°Det l?ter perfekt.¡± (That sounds perfect.) I reply with a weak grin. I figure it¡¯s better to play the part of the desperate hobo for now.

    The orc¡¯s expression hardened into a serious frown.

    ¡°Jag ska varna dig ?nd?, Morikal ska inte ge n?gra flygblad till snyltare. Du m?ste arbeta f?r din uppeh?lle..¡± (I''ll warn you though, Morikal isn''t going to be giving any handouts to freeloaders. You are going to have to work for your keep.) He explained.

    ¡°det ska inte vara ett problem.¡± (That won¡¯t be a problem) I tell him. ¡°Tacka dig f?r din v?nlighet.¡± (Thank you for your kindness.)

    Turns out the guy the bartender, who goes by Verde, recommended is a coal-skinned Orc. Morikal is an older orc about level 30 or so, a pretty high level for a farmer, though I suppose you would have to be to be to survive out here. He was also from the tribal worlds so he spoke Orcish fluently, though he did pick on me for speaking like one of their decrepit elders.

    Sorry I talk like a senile old fart when I¡¯m older than all of your elders combined you snaggle-toothed whippersnappers.

    Morikal is a pot-bellied man with a human wife. Their kids are out of the house with one of them living in the village as a baker.

    Halflings are not exactly common and many civilizations throughout the Castaway Isle actively discriminates against mixed couples. It makes sense that people like Morikal and his family would come out to a place like the Cursed Lands. No one is out here to hate you.

    I know the feeling, I can relate.

    Perhaps that was why Morikal and I get along so well? Grated his ¡°room and board¡± was throwing me in the barn to share the feed with the other animals.

    Guess we also share a sense of humor. Rotten kid.

    For the first few weeks Morikal wanted me running around the quarter acre of farmland he had staked out. He needed it tilled and prepped for a crop called Chromista, an odd little plant used in potions as a reaction accelerant. It¡¯s considered a [Rare] ingredient and picky on where it likes to grow.

    I had experience growing similar plants on a much smaller scale so I at least had an idea on what was required. Morikal had been concerned that I would fuck it up and I did make a few mistakes in the beginning. To be fair though I didn¡¯t touched horticulture since long before Morikal¡¯s great, great ancestors were even a twinkle in their forefather¡¯s eye but I managed to tighten up my techniques.

    Morikal said he wanted the plot tilled and ready in two weeks. That would have been a tall order, if I were actually a starving hobo.

    I¡¯m actually a stubborn starving hobo without the need to sleep for days on end.

    I took two weeks and did the job in less than 24 hours.

    I never realized just how insane my Endurance had gotten. Under normal circumstances the Endurance stat allows one to push harder for longer, like being able to run for an extended period of time or swing an axe more.

    For me its gotten to the point where I don¡¯t feel the need to eat or sleep for days, weeks, or perhaps even longer. I had never had the need to push my body that far but being thrown in the Dark changed my stance on that quick.

    There is a cost though. Here, let me show you.

    [Extreme Starvation]

    [All Stats Reduced by 95%] [Positive Experience Reduced by 95%] [Hallucinations] [Organ Failure: Liver (100%), Digestive System (97%), Lungs (95%), Heart (89%), Brain (83%)] [Extreme Muscle Degradation (94%)] [Immune System Failure (100%)]

    See? Hot mess. The only thing keeping me alive were my ridiculous stats and my Main Class¡¯s passive traits.

    Morikal was struck dumb and gibbering when he came out to check my progress. I just smiled and waved.

    Old guys rule.

    He asked me how and I told him give a man a couple weeks and a barn to sleep in and he¡¯ll turn into an animal, so plowing comes naturally.

    That evening I got the guest room.

    Morikal had agreed to pay me 2 silvers a month when I first showed up, that same day he slapped 4 silvers in my hand and with a sly grin on his tusked face asked me if I hand anything else up my armless sleeve.

    I grinned back and asked him if he had a forge handy.

    A few days later Morikal came back from the settlement with a willowy Planes Gnome in tow. The 3-foot humanoid had curly shoulder length blonde hair and wore a leather apron with tools stuffed in the pockets.

    Morikal introduced the gnome as Leki, he was the town¡¯s apothecary and unofficial housing officer. The gnome didn¡¯t speak a lick of Orcish so our conversation was mediated by Morikal.

    Leki asked me if I really was a metal-bender (Orcish slang for blacksmith). I told him I was, once upon a time. He was skeptical, after all I was a cripple with only one hand, but all I told him I needed was a hammer and an anvil. The rest I can make myself.

    Turns out when the settlers first came here they did have a blacksmith but he was killed before they had even founded the town. Four years later all they had was his anvil.

    I bought it from Leki at the heavily discounted price of 3 silver, I bought a cheap little hammer from Morikal for 5 Copper, leaving me with only 5 Copper to my name.

    I spent the next few days seeking out rocks large enough to stack into a ramshackle mockery of a coal forge. I spent a day collecting materials for mortar and slag. Mud from a nearby creek close to the dungeon mostly to keep the stones together, though I did mix in pitch and other materials to keep my makeshift mortar together. Add water and presto, primitive mortar.

    A had to wait for the forge¡¯s stones to set into the mortar I slathered between them, then I set to work.

    Doing this with only one hand though was an incredible pain. I could have used [Ethereal Talons] but I was still suffering from the [Extreme Starvation] debuff. My body was rejecting what little food I managed to choke down.

    Honestly I was concerned I was going to die for a while there until the [Extreme Starvation] changed to [Severe Starvation] and my organs began to heal ever so slightly.

    As soon as my Stats were released from 95% Reduced to 85% Reduced I locked down my power behind a [Soul Seal].

    [Soul Seal] is a rare ability, mostly because it¡¯s from the Soul Branch of Magic and its purpose is to make the user weaker, though after experimenting in the Dark I found another use. Who was stupid enough to intentionally make themselves weaker?

    Me, that¡¯s who. The weaker I appear the less attention I would bring upon myself and the easier I could move from place to place.

    I was still weakened by my time in the Dark, the last thing I need are the Avalonions crashing back into my life and making it harder to rescue Erin.

    She is why I am doing this, why I would go to such lengths as to bring myself to organ failure. I failed Erin all those years ago. I may have saved her life but ultimately it led her to a life worse than death at the clutches of Ethergen.

    I plan to rectify that problem, one step at a time.

    I set the first tool Morikal asked me to set back into shape on the anvil and I tested my grip on the hammer.

    One step at a time I am getting closer to her.

    One swing at a time.

    I¡¯m coming Erin. Hold on, I¡¯m coming to bring you home.

    One swing at a time.

 Chapter 10: Early mornings and New Horizons

    Chapter 10: Early Mornings and New Horizons

    [Eleven Months after Seofon defeated the Poachers in the Cursed Lands]

    The city of Chador is one of the few cities in the continent large enough to warrant a spaceport for travel off-world. The entire city was surrounded but massive stone walls thirty feet deep and sixty feet tall.

    Etched into the huge walls are Anti-magic Wards designed to draw out and repel mana in Enith¡¯s mana rich atmosphere.

    This prevented the mana to interfere with the Spacecrafts¡¯ electronics and opens up a well free of mana to allow travel into Enith¡¯s orbit.

    The reason for all of this is that Magic and Technology don¡¯t play nice but even in an Arcane World like Enith there is need for Space travel.

    The Anti-Magic wards also had the auxiliary benefit of restricting Magic usage within the city of Chador¡¯s boundaries. The less mana there is in the atmosphere the less mages and other magic-users have to draw on for their spells.

    The City of Chador is divided into eight districts: the four inner districts are home to the nobles and aristocrats of Enith¡¯s society, while the outer four districts are for the common rabble and the artisans. Markets dot the huge city in every district but while the four inner districts house the famous and renowned craftsmen and businesses; the outer districts markets are ever evolving mazes of shoddy stalls and random corridors.

    In the outer western district, the market there was fondly nicknamed ¡°Folly¡¯s Web¡±. A fancy name with a dark meaning. This place was home to the shadiest and most desperate of Chador¡¯s denizens, and if you weren¡¯t careful, you could be caught and tangled in its web of debt and devoured by the crime bosses that call the market home.

    There was another name for the outer western district¡¯s market: ¡°Folly¡¯s last resort.¡±

    The early morning sunrise broke over the horizon to an unusual spectacle for Folly¡¯s Web.

    The normally drab and downtrodden market was abuzz with activity. The cold moist air was practically vibrating with excitement.

    The reason? The adventurer¡¯s Guild had announced a Dungeon has been discovered just inside the Cursed Land¡¯s eastern border!

    In a masterful feat of intimidation and coercion one of the crime bosses of Folly¡¯s Web, a Vampire known as Boss Morgan, has gotten enough support to get a jump on the rest of the competition and arranged a push into the tiny town that had settled next to the dungeon. It would be the perfect foothold on establishing a monopoly on the Dungeon and its resources.

    On the outskirts of Folly¡¯s Web sat a line of horse-drawn carts fifty-four strong, most were laden with supplies while the few left over would transport personnel.

    The workers had dark circles under their eyes and some even shook from exhaustion. However, every single man and woman there had hope in their eyes and a spring in their step. No one needed to work them hard, they were hell-bent on this. Settling a Dungeon was an opportunity of a lifetime!

    Along the mud slogged street, just outside one of the main entrances into Folly¡¯s Web Market proper stood a freshly erected stall manned by a reedy looking Dark Elf dressed in a neat black coat and a frilled business suit. Dark Elves are a normally nocturnal race of elves that tend to dwell underground. It¡¯s ash grey skin and red pupils coupled with an Elf¡¯s typically sharp and angular features give their kind an almost sinister continence.

    Flanking the neatly dressed Dark Elf and his stall were four massive and imposing guards clad in gleaming plate and chain mail. In front of the stern Dark Elf and his guards were a sizable portion of Folly¡¯s Web¡¯s denizens. Beings of nearly every race and nationality were lined up and laden down with weapons, armor and whatever possessions they could strap to their backs. They were here for the caravan, or rather the chance of joining the caravan.

    Anxiety was the word of the day for these Dungeon Delver hopefuls. There were slots on the carts that needed filling and a slot on this caravan was a shiny new lease on life, a fresh start with easily reached tools of potential.

    Dungeons were widely considered forges for the growth of adventurers and others crazy enough to risk plunging into its depths.

    A tall human man stood before the unimpressed Dark Elf in hastily stitched leather armor and a rusted spear that looked as if it had, until recently, served as a broom handle.

    ¡°Put your hand on the Status Plate.¡± The Dark Elf drawled.

    The buff ¡°warrior¡± gave the Elf a nervous twitch of a grin and with shaking hands placed his sweaty palm on a stone plate engraved with a complex magic circle on its surface.

    The magic circle flashed once where words and numbers scrawled themselves onto the blank square of stone facing the Elf.

    ¡°Name, Erith Mare. Race, Human. Age, 41. Main Class, Carpenter. Level, 19.¡± The Elf mumbled off as the words on the plate fizzed out and the young human watched the Elf¡¯s face with a desperate light in his eyes.

    The Elf consulted a series of books that surrounded the stone plate with agonizing slowness as the human watched on and trembled. Then the Elf opened a leather bound book and swiftly annotated something on its pages with a quill pen. When he finished the Elf pointed the feathered tool over his shoulder at the caravan.

    ¡°Cart 21 mister Mare.¡± The Elf said in a disinterested monotone drone.

    The young man nearly burst into tears.

    ¡°T-Thank you sir! Thank you!¡± He sniffed as he gripped his gear tighter and made off to find his cart before the Elf changed his mind.

    ¡°Next!¡± The Dark Elf shouted. His red eyes roamed over his books for a moment longer before looking up at his next customer. An imposing human much like the one before stood before him, though his armor looked professionally made as did the sword strapped to his hip. A confident smirk was on the man¡¯s boyish face.

    Looks like someone with financial backing.

    ¡°Put your hand on the status plate.¡±

    The human did so and the Elf read the words that flared up onto the plate before him.

    ¡°Name, Coller Doren.¡± The Elf¡¯s eyes flicked up to the man¡¯s face and narrowed for a split second before turning back to the status plate. ¡° Race, Human. Age, 32. Main Class, Swordsman. Level, 14.¡±

    Instead of carefully combing through the lagers stacked around him the Dark Elf went straight to an unassuming little black leather book tucked away underneath one of the larger lagers. Seeing the literal ¡°black book¡± in the Dark Elf¡¯s hand The human¡¯s confident front quickly morphed into wide-eyed dread.

    The Dark Elf flipped through the little black book and upon finding whatever he was looking for snapped the book closed and slid it back into its hiding place. When their eyes met the Dark Elf¡¯s bored frown evaporated into an amused grin.

    ¡°I regret to inform you Mister Doren that you do not qualify for this expedition.¡± The Dark Elf wasn¡¯t feeling an ounce of regret at all. ¡°Your outstanding debts to Boss Morgan bar you from leaving the city. Please exit the line and vacate the premises.¡±

    A furious scowl burned over the Human¡¯s trepidation. He opened his mouth but the Elf beat him to the punch.

    ¡°Did you really think you could escape your outstanding debts with Boss Morgan that easily Mister Doren? You assumed you could hop a ride out of town from right under our noses and skip town?¡± The Elf sniffed. The man¡¯s face turned red with fury, but one glance at the Elf¡¯s high-level entourage quickly extinguished any immediate thoughts of violence.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°That¡¯s a good human.¡± The Dark Elf sneered. ¡°Get out.¡±

    Coller Doren beat a hasty retreat, all the while cursing and nursing his petty rage at his failure.

    ¡°Next!¡± The Elf¡¯s previously nasty and animated grin melted back into his normal dead expression of indifference.

    A hunched over old human covered in a threadbare cloak and a pair of young girls stepped up.

    Upon seeing the next expedition hopefuls The Dark Elf¡¯s indifference cracked into an annoyed frown.

    ¡°Sir, this caravan is going on an expedition to the edges of the Cursed Lands, not a family vacation resort. Move along.¡±

    ¡°And what makes ye think we ain¡¯t aware of that?¡± The old man chuckled and removed his hood. He was mostly bald with a few wisps of white hair struggling to hold on, though his gray beard was filling in nicely over his wrinkled face.

    The Dark Elf was about to say something else when once of his guards interrupted.

    ¡°Hey old man, that¡¯s a weird spear ya got there.¡±

    The Dark Elf shot a glare at his guard but noticed the guard glancing back at him unfazed. It seemed like he was trying to hint at something. The Dark Elf pursed his lips and took a closer look at the odd old human and the two girls.

    All three of their clothes were ratty and filth clung to their frayed edges. The old human looked worse for wear. He seemed thinner than was healthy and his skin hung loosely off him in some places but he looked coherent and unusually confident for someone of his stature.

    The Old man tapped his spear on the ground, drawing the Dark Elf¡¯s attention. The guard was right, it was an odd weapon.

    The Spear was completely made of a deathly pale white wood, the razor sharp spearhead was seemed to have been grown from the shaft as one single piece. Leather binding was wrapped around the shaft in some places for added grip and a decorative tassel hung from the tangled roots the spearpoint was grown out of. It was a weapon the Elf had never seen before.

    The Dark Elf studied the human for a moment longer before settling back under his mask of indifference and waving at his desk.

    ¡°Place your hand on the Status Plate.¡±

    The old man cracked a grin and placed his hand in the center of the magic circle.

    Like before the circle flared with blue and white arcane light, unlike Before however the flare of light grew larger and brighter until the Dark Elf was forced to close his eyes and look away.

    The light finally died a few agonizing seconds later and the Dark Elf blinked to get rid of the afterimages with a barbed rebuttal on his lips.

    Until he looked down at the old man¡¯s status displayed on the stone that is.

    ¡°Name, Rufus Hollins. Race, Human. Age, 194. Main Class, Ranger. Secondary Class, Apothecary. Level¡­¡±

    The Dark Elf¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Level, 77.¡±

    The four guards surrounding the Dark Elf flinched.

    This harmless little old man apparently wasn¡¯t so harmless after all. Level alone suggests Rufus was strong enough to overpower all four of them on his own.

    ¡°Still thinking I¡¯m here for a vacation?¡± Rufus chuckled at the Elf¡¯s stunned expression.

    ¡°N-no Mister Hollins.¡± The Dark Elf pulled his jacket straight and squared his sharp shoulders. ¡°Just a moment sir, I need to check the lagers to make sure you do not have any outstanding debts.¡±

    The Dark Elf swiftly blew through his books and in record time his quill recorded Rufus¡¯s name across the caravan list.

    ¡°You are good to go Mister Hollins. Cart 21.¡± The Dark Elf flashed the old man a respectful smile.

    ¡°Oh, just one more thing Mister¡­?¡± Rufus asked.

    ¡°Ali¡¯han Darim.¡± The Dark Elf answered.

    ¡°Mister Darim.¡± Rufus gestured to the girls behind him. ¡°These two are my students and I¡¯d like for them ta accompany me.¡±

    Unease clouded the Dark Elf¡¯s professional smile. ¡°T-they would have to still be screened just like everyone else Mister Hollins.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± Rufus gave the taller of the two a gentle push forward. ¡°Go on Honey.¡±

    The girl timidly shuffled up to the desk and hesitantly let her hood down.

    Two black, orange and white camouflaged ears sprung up from the girl¡¯s short chopped black hair. Her eyes were vertically slit like most Feline-folk, surrounding her thin pupils was a sea of deep emerald that shone in the early morning light.

    Though most of her figure was concealed by her cloak what skin that was exposed was crisscrossed with countless scars that marred her otherwise charming looks.

    ¡°Place your hand on the Status Plate please.¡± The Dark Elf requested respectfully.

    The Cat-girl¡¯s face flushed with anxiety as her palm pressed against the plate and the circle flared with a weak light.

    The Dark Elf scanned over the girl¡¯s status.

    ¡°Name, Arleen Saoirse. Race, Cat-folk. Age, 21. Main Class, none. Level, 8.¡±

    The Dark Elf nervously looked over to Rufus.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry Mister Hollins but the minimum requirement to qualify for the expedition to the Dungeon is Level 10.¡±

    Arleen¡¯s eyes widened in devastation but Rufus chuckled and waved off the Elf¡¯s comments.

    ¡°Ya saw my Level Mister Darim, correct?¡±

    ¡°Yes sir I did.¡± The Dark Elf tried to hide his unease. Rufus¡¯s grin turned predatory, almost like he smelled the Elf¡¯s weakness.

    ¡°The only way I will bother with your expedition at all Mister Darim is if my students can come with me. You asked where I got this spear?¡±

    The old man casually spun the simple weapon in one gnarled hand and watched in amusement as five sets of uneasy eyes watched the spear¡¯s wicked point whistle through the air.

    ¡°I got it from the Cursed Lands after a battle with The Avatar of Kern.¡±

    Rufus was telling the truth, just omitting the fact that in said battle he got his wrinkled ass casually handed to him on a silver platter.

    Before the stunned Dark Elf could get a word in edgewise Rufus crooked a thumb at the nervous cat-girl busy making puppy-eyes at the Dark Elf.

    ¡°Both my students were there as well. I suspect as of now the three of us have more experience out in the Cursed Lands than any others in this caravan. Yeah?¡±

    The spear thumped against the dirt and Rufus cracked a grin.

    ¡°Levels can be trained, but experience is only for the survivors. Even with low levels my students would be an asset.¡±

    The Dark Elf glanced at the Cat-girl and sighed.

    ¡°Very well Mister Hollins, bring your other student over and get her checked out as well.¡±

    ¡°Finally.¡± The other girl snorted and threw off her hood and exposing her short auburn hair and scruffy wolfen ears. Her face was fuller than her Cat-girl companion and lacking in scars. Her brown eyes only held what Darim would describe as general distaste.

    ¡°Move over Arleen.¡± The Wolf-girl bumped the startled Cat-girl aside and slapped her palm on the plate.

    It flared to life and the Dark Elf skimmed over her information.

    ¡°Name, Lydia Fenrir. Race, Wolf-folk. Age, 19. Main Class, none. Level 6.¡±

    The Dark elf skimmed over the lagers and annotated their names into the caravan.

    ¡°You and your students are cleared Mister Hollins. Cart 21. Good fortunes.¡± The Dark Elf bowed his head.

    ¡°To you too.¡± Rufus cracked a grin waved as he swept passed the Elf and his entourage with the two girls scampering in his wake.

    The Dark Elf and the guards let out a collective sigh of relief. The Elf closed his crimson eyes and massaged his sharp temples before slipped back into his mask of indifference and turned to face the next person in line.

    ¡°Next!¡±

    -----------------------

    ¡°Whew! That was fuckin¡¯ stressful that was!¡± Arleen exclaimed. The Cat-girl gathered her baggy clothes around her and pulled her cloak against her body as she fought the shivers that rattled down her body.

    She still wasn¡¯t used to the cold, or being outside in general, even after almost a year of living in the wilderness.

    The Outside is so much bigger than I thought. She mused as he thoughts turned to the stories her mother had told her when she was a little girl.

    Lydia¡¯s condescending snort broke her from her trip down memory lane.

    ¡°Rufus already had that guy by the nads anyway. You were getting on this cart regardless.¡± The Wolf-girl huffed.

    ¡°Yeah, but still I was a little scared when he said no.¡±

    ¡°Well, he changed his mind and now it¡¯s all good and you and I are going to that dungeon or whatever to get money and then I can finally get off this rock.¡± Lydia she growled. ¡°Gods its going to take forever to get the money together. Why does everything in the Castaway Isle cost so damn much?!¡± She complained.

    ¡°Just be glad you get to even get this chance.¡± Rufus pointed out. ¡°This is the fastest way ta get money and we get to be one of the first ta dip our paws into the honeypot, sorta speak.¡±

    ¡°Whatever.¡±

    Rufus rolled his eyes at the young Wolf-girl¡¯s bitter attitude. Her personality had only soured further since they had met. Her snide and childish attitude irritated him to no end. It left him wondering what kind of life Lydia had led before she was snatched into the Castaway Isle and captured by Poachers.

    Arleen on the other hand was an absolute sweetheart without a single bad bone in her petite body. He¡¯s lived long enough to recognize that she has had a rough life. Not counting the countless scars she bore across almost every inch of her body he knew she had been hurt. He knew without a doubt in his mind that she was still suffering from her trauma but she was actively working through it.

    Rufus suspects Arleen is possibly the strongest out of the tree of them and his shriveled and cynical heart swelled when she was around and smiling.

    Though he would never say it out loud but some days Arleen¡¯s curious innocence in everything she sees and learns is the only thing that keeps him going.

    It was like raising a child all over again.

    ¡°Come on you two.¡± Rufus stopped at a half filled cart with the number ¡°21¡± scrawled on its wooden side panel with his hand out to help them up.

    Lydia pushed past him and with some difficulty clambered up the cart herself. She took a seat across from the nervous human in the cheap leather armor. She still doesn¡¯t like humans, even though she lived with one.

    Arleen flashed Rufus a bright and grateful smile and took his hand. He smirked back and helped her onto the cart before jumping into the seat next to her and the anxious man.

    ¡°Y-you three together?¡± The anxious man asked.

    Arleen was right next to him and jumped a little at his sudden question. She studied his face for a moment. Lydia had a scowl on her face and was no doubt about to say something rude when Arleen beat her to the punch.

    ¡°Yup!¡± the cat-girl exclaimed with a smile. Her calico camouflaged tail wiggled from behind her cloak and happily snaked around Rufus¡¯s arm.

    The man looked at them with surprise written on his face.

    ¡°What of it?¡± Rufus asked. He was glaring at the man and daring him to say anything ugly.

    The man instead shrugged and nervously chuckled.

    ¡°You have an interesting family here sir. I hope I can bring my own to the dungeon town soon.¡±

    Rufus quirked a brow and Arleen caught a glimpse at Lydia¡¯s aghast expression and giggled.