With a jaw-popping yawn, the wolf settled to sleep, tucked next to a small series of heating pipes that kept it blissfully warm. A few moments later, its consciousness faded.

You have gained the Passive Skill [Electricity Resistance - Level 1]

- [Electricity Resistance] has Leveled Up. Level 1 → Level 2

The wolf dreamt once more, seeing the rat it had devoured be deconstructed piece by piece in its mind.

Yet, there was no real difference between a mouse and a rat besides size and tail structure, so there was little to see, and its choice in the dream was that the rat had nothing it wanted.

The odd lucid dream faded, and for the first time in the last couple days, nothing had appeared to disturb its sleep besides the usual annoyance of the flying little things. Hours and hours passed, and eventually, it opened its eyes, feeling well rested for what must have been the first time ever. It had no frame of reference to know how much time had passed, no sun to indicate, but it felt like it had spent the better part of an entire day sleeping, based on its internal clock.

Wasting no time, it got up and walked towards the faint sound of rushing liquid, a strained sound that barely slithered out from under the all encroaching cacophony of pounding metal. Its paws pounded against humid grimy stone at a steady trot, feeling solidified waste tickle against the underside of its paws from where it had fused into the mossy stone and tainted it brown-green. The noxious scent of fumes invaded its nose, which was probably both good and bad, as it meant its nose was healing from the burn, but it also meant it could smell the foul scents of the rivers again.

Meaningless shapes of uncountable varieties and dizzying complexity surrounded it, but besides a cursory glance to ensure nothing was about to break and hurt it, it continued through them, the sound of rushing liquids getting closer and closer. It ducked under a pipe so hot that it released faint white wisps of steam as the surrounding moisture settled on it, and a forty five degree angle incline met its eyes, which turned into a far less steep angle a few feet down, and met in the center with another identical incline on the other side. Right where the two inclines met, a canal lined with lead directed the vast majority of the river, with bits that overflowed usually sliding back into the canal from the downward trending walls.

How it knew what a canal, or lead was, it didn’t know, but questioning things had never given it anything but a mild headache, so it left it alone.

Dead and rotting bits of blackened meat were strewn all around the edges of the canal, interspersed with dissolving, unidentifiable materials of less organic origin. Some parts of the river frothed and churned as if alive, the liquids interacting and reacting with each other in a cacophony of sizzling, boiling, and light screeching when the most volatile of the liquids met the lead. Glowing green insects buzzed all around the rotting corpses, undulating and covering them from top to bottom, carrying with them the pungent miasma of decay. Bits of slowly evaporating green-gray foam were strewn about on the edges of the canal, and brown slugs the size of the wolf’s front legs were gathered around the foam, hooked tentacles slithering out of their undersides and prodding at their surroundings as they walked, occasionally finding some organic material and dragging it under themselves to dissolve it in mere moments.

Some slithering vines twisted, their needled leaves piercing into slugs that wandered too close by, before the vines contracted and wrapped around the squirming slugs, after which too much glowing plant matter was covering the slug to see what was going on.

The wolf tilted its head as it stared at the plants, finding them oddly familiar, and after a few moments, it remembered the organic, dry looking green stuff that one of the metal buildings above was giving out to the two-leggers, back when some human threw orange sparks at it.

It continued observing the river as it turned its body and walked up towards the source, hoping that the droppings near the top would be less dissolved, rotten, and less dangerous to eat. It wasn’t exactly sure of why, but the closer one was to the top, the less dangerous the river’s liquids were. Maybe the liquids simply didn’t have enough time to grow and become stronger, it wasn’t sure.

That also presented the problem of less scavengers and more predators lurking about.

In an area like this, the only things that could be around the more dangerous rivers and survive were either scavengers like the things it saw below, or stronger creatures that had adapted to the environment, like those brightly glowing chubby things that jumped around everywhere, the eight-tentacled things that stuck to the bottom and waited for things above to come so they could drag them under and consume them, and the utterly terrifying behemoths that were those scaled quadrupeds with maws twice as large and long as the wolf’s entire body.

It couldn’t even hope to compete, so it was simply going to see what kind of things were around the river, and if they were dangerous, it would return to one of the bridges that went over the canals, and go look for a less risky choice. There were many burning rivers in the nest, and it didn’t have any desire to risk its life in a futile fight against the river-dwellers.

After a couple hundred steps more, it confirmed its suspicions, and backtracked in disappointment, hoping the next river was less scary.

It eventually found one of the arching bridges, and crossed over the canal safely, only having to avoid a single stone two-legger on its trip to the next canal. Unfortunately, from just a glance, it could tell that the river was only a tiny bit less dangerous than the last one, so it moved on to the next canal, its legs screaming for rest, its tendons feeling sore somehow.

Thankfully, it was rewarded for its efforts, the next canal being about as safe as it could reasonably hope for. Besides a couple of those dangerous plant things in the corners that it knew how to avoid, and a couple slugs, it was fairly safe. The flies would burst into green burning liquid if the wolf hit them too hard, so it had to approach some of the dissolving organic bits with caution and slow steps, lest it jostle the things too much and they’d burn another hole through its fur.

With cautious steps and a single upright ear, it crept forward, checking the washed up bits of scrap food it could find. A couple brave rats, dissolved down to their hind legs and covered in flies, some strange black winged thing that was half eaten by the-

The wolf stopped as it realized that it suddenly had a name for the flying things, out of nowhere, so naturally that it barely noticed as it used the word inwardly.

Flies.

Deciding not to dwell on it, as per usual, it resumed walking. Not wanting to waste the food while it was still there, it slowly moved its snout to prod one of the half-eaten rats, making the green glowing flies scatter, some of them trying to settle on top of it and its foul-smelling ear.

As soon as it was sure little to no flies were still attached to the rat, it gripped it between its teeth, barely feeling the pressure on its teeth, and briskly turned around, slowly increasing its speed until it was trotting away, and then lightly running, making sure no flies impacted it. After a couple moments, it turned, watching the scattered flies go off to eat the winged thing.

It didn’t particularly mind the loss. It had eaten more bits of rats than anything else, and it knew that they were at least somewhat safe to eat. It had never eaten one of the flying things.

Although now it suddenly wanted to. Both its mind and body wanted nothing more than to turn around and charge through the flies, grab the odd black winged thing and eat it whole.

Instead, the wolf chomped down on the half-eaten rat, flinching slightly as the familiar burning settled in its mouth and throat.

Lessened significantly, but it still hurt. The first time it had chomped down a rat from around there, it was covered in so much burning stuff from the flies that its entire mouth and throat were rubbed raw and bleeding, and it had almost choked on its own blood when it went to sleep, barely able to breathe through the pain.

Lessons in the two-legger’s nest were often as dangerous to its life as they were helpful.

It repeated this process a few times, but besides the tiniest of scraps, most things were too rotted, too dangerous, or too unknown for it to try and eat, despite the angry snarling of its stomach.

Still, with the total amount of about an entire half of a rat in its stomach, this had been a great day when it came to food.

It decided not to stick around too much in the area, both because some of its worst memories were created down there, and because it was far more dangerous than the places where two-leggers were, despite more food being available.

It trotted up, backtracking to where the giant metal tower met the ground, and after about half an hour, it was safely nestled underneath the staircase it descended down with.

For some reason the two-leggers rarely if ever used it, preferring their moving metal boxes that were on the inside of the tower, but it wasn’t about to question why two-leggers were so insane they’d ride a moving box of metal rather than walk down like normal beings. Especially when it gave it such convenient shelter.

It closed its eyes, fully ready and willing to sleep away its digestion and go back to find a few more scraps of food soon.

-[Restful Awareness] has Leveled Up. Level 2 → Level 3

A short while later, it woke up from its nap and headed straight for the canals, taking a slightly different route that used the two-legger’s streets, hoping it would help it circumvent or entirely avoid things like the sparky water from before. Its left ear had started to hurt, enough for it to be noticeable, but there was nothing it could do about it, as any attempts to scratch it only made it hurt more.

It got a little lost much sooner than it expected, the sound of rushing liquid too drowned out to be distinguishable, much less with a direction that the wolf could infer with any accuracy.

With a low grumble of annoyance, it turned the corner and instantly stopped moving, tilting its head. A two-legger lay collapsed on the ground on its side, the glass mask the two-leggers wore cracked open, most of the glass missing entirely. The two-legger was groaning weakly, turning over on its stomach with slow, lethargic movements, its breathing ragged as it tried to curl its limbs inwards.

The movements and motions of something dying were more than familiar to the wolf.

It had gone through them itself multiple times.

So it moved to the side, eyes nailed to the two-legger as it tried to find the best spot to wait for the two-legger to die, its limbs and heart basically vibrating with excitement at the potential of a huge meal.

The two-legger managed to curl its bottom legs under it, and extended its upper legs to touch the ground, paws flat as it coughed, a wet, sickly sound. It put its bottom leg’s knee against its own chest, supported it with its upper paws, and staggered upright, much to the wolf’s dismay.

It leaned on the wall for a few steps, each one slower and more unstable than the last, until its knees buckled, its grip on a pipe turning its body to drop on its back.

The wolf stilled its tail that begged to wag, and slunk forward, as still as it possibly could be. The two-legger’s motions were oddly reminiscent of the rat, it thought, as it watched its ribcage expand and contract with heaving breaths, shallow coughs shaking its entire body. The wolf moved up against a wall, and sat on its haunches, slowly becoming more confident in the two-legger’s inability to harm it, so much so that it sat on its butt just a mere couple feet away, silently watching, its eyes boring a hole through the two-legger and its right ear pointed up.

Two minutes passed without much change, and the wolf started feeling nervous as time passed and the human refused to die, wondering if one of its kin would come and take away its meal. Not only that, the more it waited, the higher the chance some stone two-legger would come and save the human. It didn’t know the capabilities of those things, nor if they would even bother helping the two-legger, and it definitely didn’t want to find out.

After a shuddering breath, accompanied by a dry sounding cough, the two-legger’s head lolled to the side, its eyes settling on the wolf, who simply stiffened and went even more statue-still than before.

A halting series of tiny coughs came out of the human, something that humans did when conversing happily with each other, yet the sound was oddly bitter. The wolf didn’t know what the two-legger was trying to say, nor did it care too much, just hoping it would die already without it having to risk its safety by getting close and biting it.

“Haaagh. My mother… always said that. The Keeper of Oblivion sends a different… vision. For everyone. Oddly fitt-” A violent cough stopped the two-legger’s sounds, but it continued after a series of small convulsions. “Oddly fitting that he sent… a dirty fleabag… like myself.” A shuddering series of sounds like the tiny coughs from earlier came from the two-legger, the sound more like a series of bastardized yelps, and the wolf tilted its head, curious as to what the sound meant.

Despite its curiosity however, it felt a heavy sensation in its gut, an unpleasant emotion like sadness as it watched the two-legger die. Despite the fact that it was little more than a meal in its eyes just a moment ago, the two-legger’s eyes portrayed so much emotion, so much despair, that it transcended any and all barriers that stood between them, be they barriers of intelligence or linguistic ability.

It could almost sense, almost feel the two-legger's emotions like they were its own, even if it was just a tiny strand of a grander whole.

If it just closed its eyes, it could easily imagine itself in the exact same position, as it had been many times before, its breath choked by poison and fumes, certain it would die in a moment that never came, inwardly begging for one of its kin to sit next to it just so it would not die empty and alone.

“Just… give me a moment… Oh honored guide. Let me… regret just… a bit more.” The two-legger yelped again, tears visible through its shattered glass mask, pooling around its cheekbone.

Another two minutes passed in relative silence, the wolf’s concerns fading as it stood straight, staring into the two-legger’s eyes without so much as a twitch.

The two-legger’s breathing grew slower and shallower, breath by breath.

Renfred breathed out slowly, the motion still almost causing him to burst into a fit of coughing. An odd sense of peace washed over him, tainted by despair. His lungs churned and burned and convulsed in his chest, the mana-infused poisonous fumes of the Bone Pits ravaging his insides.

His broken gas mask obstructed his view of The Guide, and for that, he cursed it more than he cursed it for causing his death in the first place. Never was a religious man, never been a real man in general. Yet how could he deny what was in front of him, how could he not curse his mask for not allowing him the final wish of a clear look at the servant of a god?

Another sob threatened to escape him as he felt death come ever closer, his legs growing numb and cold, yet burning at the same time. His vision swam, the colors changing and the shadows lengthening, darkening.

It was a natural response, yet he still felt ashamed to be crying when he had already accepted what was going to happen to him the moment the glass cracked and shattered alongside his heart. Through teary eyes, he tried to focus on the Guide.

It was beautiful, in the way few things could ever be. Wondrous in the way something could only be when one knew their time was running out, and every millisecond was precious and beautiful, when every image could be the last they’d ever see.

The Guide stood above him, towering over him despite its small stature. Its form was gaunt beyond belief, little more than a skeleton draped with a hide of matted fur that was darker than darkness itself, like a torn hole in reality. The utter stillness of its form was that of a tree standing tall in howling gales that tore the earth around it asunder, an eternal presence that could never be displaced. Its youthful eyes gazed into his own, the deepest, most wonderful shade of gold he’d ever laid eyes upon, like liquid churning honey, like the golden glint of lost wealth, like the warmth of a campfire in a frigid winter storm, like forgotten summer sunshine and the bottom of a glass of shared beer, like the scent of midday harvest and the bittersweet sound of Eline’s laugh.

The Guide gazed down upon him with the faintest sense of compassion.

No, not just compassion.

Of understanding.

Like a kindred soul that had felt what he was feeling now, like it knew what he was going through, like if only by the tiniest pluck of the strings of fate, their positions could have been reversed, and he would have been the only one in the entire world to sit by its forgotten, fading soul, and guide it into the embrace of Oblivion.

“What was… the prayer?” He whispered, his mind fuzzy and his senses fading, the wondrous sight of the Guide growing murky.

“Ah.” He remembered, whispered words spoken before a flaming pyre, his mother’s warbling voice the only thing to keep him grounded. “It’s…”

No, that prayer was for those who couldn’t pray for their own souls. One that was spoken if you wanted to be sure of the fate of your loved ones. Yet, he knew that nobody would speak the prayer for him. There were none left. The one he was looking for while he still drew breath was another, something half-forgotten, written in a book he’d placed on his mother’s pyre with a bitter glare.

“As i was lowered to… the cradle… take me to… my grave. Thank… you, oh Leader of The… Broken. Guide to our… fading souls… may i pay… the toll?... Oh revered…” His mind grew fuzzy once more, trying to remember the rules. Yet, an outside force nudged him, ever so slightly, and he remembered. Sincerity was all that mattered.

“Hound of Oblivion.”

He breathed out, so low he feared The Hound didn’t hear him. Yet, its eyes widened, its pupils growing smaller as beautiful gold spread across his vision, its fur standing on end in reaction. He twitched the smallest of smiles, happy at the acknowledgement.

With his next breath, his heart stopped.

“Hound of Oblivion.”

It whispered, its tone strange and full of an odd sense of awe. A familiar sensation washed over the wolf, whose eyes widened, its fur standing on end in a wave as a shiver washed over every inch of its skin.

The abstract notion of a choice clawed at its mind as the world froze.

It lacked the complexity of its dreams. It lacked the flexibility, the understanding of what exactly it was being asked. It was a simple idea of acceptance, or refusal.

It found that it could not move. The two-legger’s eyes remained glued to its own, and while no breath left its lips, not the faintest twitch of movement could be seen out of the corner of its vision, they were both frozen in time, the light of life frozen in the process of receding from the two-legger’s eyes.

The freezing grasp of death slithered up its spine, its gauntlet slowly closing around the scruff of its terrified neck, the tips gently scraping against its spine. It considered each option for only the most minute of moments, and found that both had dire consequences it couldn’t fathom nor understand.

So it accepted, and the world vanished.

It did not fade, it did not dim.

It simply vanished, there one moment and gone the next. There was no light, no sound, no scent, not even the faintest brush of moving wind against its fur.

The all encompassing darkness receded like ink retreating back into its fallen pot, condensing into a tiny pinprick of black in the distance, alone in a vast, endless expanse of pure white.

As if the strings that bound it snapped all at once, the wolf could suddenly move, which it did by jerking out of its frozen position into a terrified ball on the ground, its tail tucked so deep between its legs that it brushed against its ribs as it stared wide eyed at its incomprehensible surroundings. Had it any water in its bladder or any waste in its guts, it would have expelled them both out of pure terror.

Despite the void of white all around it, there was ground under its feet, marble smooth and perfectly flat. Some corner of its mind wondered ‘what if there wasn’t?’, and then suddenly, there was nothing below it.

It yelped in terror, legs kicking wildly as it desperately wished there was ground just under its feet, and suddenly, there was, its body slamming into the ground without an ounce of pain.

For many, many minutes, it simply curled into a ball and hid its face under its paws, beyond terrified, and uncaring of the faint sensation of something being tethered to its very being, floating above it.

Yet, after what could have been a second or a century, nothing happened, and it slowly unfurled itself, phantom nerves making it vibrate in place. Because something called it forth, the small point of black in the endless white filling it with understanding.

It was a Guide. And it had to take the two-legger’s soul to the darkness.

With just a thought that it wished to complete its goal, a single step suddenly placed it in front of the sphere of pure darkness, a gargantuan sphere millions, billions of times larger than the wolf, towering so high it was difficult to even tell that it was a sphere rather than a curving mantle that passed above it to become one with the sky.

It simply knew that it was.

And out of the sphere, a two-legger’s foot stepped out, followed by its shin, its knee, a second foot, and in one incomprehensibly long stride, a pitch black titan towered over the wolf, its head so impossibly far away that were it looking, its eyes would never be able to catch even the faintest glimpse of it.

But it wasn’t looking. The moment the giant’s chest stepped out of the sphere, it nailed its eyes and snout to the ground in a show of submission, trembling from tail to snout in terror.

Silence. Silence like the world itself had ceased to exist. And then-

...Y̴̢̢̡̧̛̟̱͍̼͍͎͉̼̙̤̤̱̲̫͎̻̞̻͇̹̒̎̿̂͐̆̀͗͆̄̎̒́́͌̀͂́͋̈́̅̓̄̚̕͘͘̕͘̕͠͝͝ͅͅơ̵̢̨̠̖͓͖̦̦̬͇̮̭͎̫̲̜̖͙̺̠̻͕͎̮̫̫͔̔̎̔̏̉̀̽̀́̀̾̾͒͗͊͂́͂̍̽̍́̓́̀̀̓̄͊̏̀̕͝ͅͅͅư̴̛̛̙̰͗̄̂̈́̀͌̀̓̅̔̈́̓͋̓̂̾̈́̿́͝͝͝͝ ̴̡̧̡̧̧͍̻̜̘̯̳͉͖̗͕̩̺̼̦̹̘̳͚͓̼̹̯̻̘̰̬̣͙͎͉̭̲̫̝̲͚͎͂͑̆̽̅͆̌̈́͐̃̇͑͆̂͑͘̕͘͜͜ͅa̷̙̫̼̣̤̋̉̎͑͒̊̊̍̒͋̽͑̆͋̉̑̏͑͐̈́̋̃̆̄̔͒̂̿̽̄͛́͆̇͑̄̚̕ȓ̸̨̧̧̬̖̜̲̻̻̬̱͔̥͙͙͍̭̠̙̦̟̹̺̝̤̹̙̘͆̚͘͜͝ͅe̴̡̡̛͕̤͇̬͕̦͚̝̮̮͔̫̼͕̗̲̤̳̮̤̟̦̜̦͇͍͛̂̀͑͌̆̏̾̆͒̊͗̈́̃̋̒̊̅̀͑͘̕͠͝ͅ ̷̢̡͓̰̝̞̬̬̘̞̟͈̮͇̥̺̲͕̲̙͕̣̂̀̏̇̿̐̐̈́̈́̒̕̕͝͝ͅn̶̡̳͕̱̻̱͕̼͓̻̊͌̌́̈̃͐̎̂̿͗͐͊͆͐̓̒͒̄̇̽͌͑͂́͊͌̿̌́͒̈͆͐̏͘͠͠ờ̴̢̧̢̛̛̠̩̖͕͓͉̝̲͔̝͚͍̲̟̻̘̣̮͉̜͙̲̙̥̲̣͙̾́̒̈́̔̃̐̓̄̇̓͆́̏̿͗̋̒͗̃̉̆͐̇̋̾̓̉̈́̚͘̚̕̚͜͝͝͝͠͝͠͠͠ṫ̴̨̨̧̲̝̹̥͔̗̦̯̜̗̳͙̤͙̻̼̹͖̯̙͙̤̪̪̰̩̗͙̠͉͚̪͛̈́̎͗͛̐̍̽̈́̐͂̚̚̕ ̵̧̢̛̤̜̠͎̖͚͕̯̞͚̱͍͙̬̪̙̹̯͍̜̬͔͉̺̇́̑͗̈̓̿̃͝ͅỡ̶̢̪̦̙͕̰̗̹͙̤͕̞͓̹̩̥̜͓͇͍̺͙̺̞̯̘̮̣̬̇̍͂̐̋̒͒͗̎̉̏̀̒̒͗̄͋̍́͂́̏́̊͌̿͒̾̓̔͑̈́̋̄̒̓̓̃͘͝͝͝͝n̴̢̛̛̮͖͖̖̭͍̮͍͚̙͔͖̼̫̘͔̬͖̩͎͖͈̙͕͖̺̗̺̜͓̗̦̦̑̀̋́̐͐̉̄͋̒͑̔̑̇̉̾͊̉̏̃̾̉͊̓̎̕͝͝͠ȩ̷̧̢̡̨̧̝̜̪̥̹̺̗͙͇̰͔̬̦̼̼̭̲̜̰̻̯̮̥̞̗̳̮̯̦̥̳͔̗̞̣͇̪̫̄̆̉̚ ̵̧̡̡̨̡̘͙̬̜͕̺̩̘͈͖͖͓̲͍͍̻̬͖̣͚͈̟̟̲̼͚̥̫͕͉̫̙̗̜̞̖̹̔͌̌͑̆́̋̄̎̊̒̑̈́͐̂̌̽̇͌̓̏͌̆͘͘̚͜͝ố̸̡̡̨̧̧̗̜̭̳͙̭̯̯̘̺̬͍̤͔̹̤̥̦̠̫͈͓̟͓̳̠̹̟̥͎͓̘̮̼͎̒͘͜ͅf̴̛̛̛̜̮̲͈̭͈̟̭͆̿̒̈́͑̅̏̉́̆̅̐͊̽̾̎̋͘̕͘͘͝ ̶̡̨̛̬͔̹̜̮̮̦͚̋̒̇̀̂͂͗̓̐̒̑̄͗̀͐̾̐̌͑̋̈́͛̿̈́̈́͗͆̍̾̍͐́́̏̿̉̎͂̈́͘͘͘͘͝͠͝͝͠m̶͕̰̀͗̈́y̴̡̨̨̛̘̻͎͉͖͉̫̻̜̣̩͎̠̘͓̥̻͍̟͒̋̈͆͗̾́͒̆̄̀̽͋̔͐̈́̒̍͌̎͑̅͊̏̃̃̆͋̏̈́͑̋̔͐͑̚̕͜͝ͅͅ ̷̨͓̻͚̦̱̠̞̫̲̙̪͓͕̜̠̗̥͖̱̞̮͌́̓͋̆̎̀͌̕ͅȯ̷̩̪̗̹̺̭͖̙͓͕͉̬̤̖̹̳̟̘̐͐̎̍͒̄͑̏̕w̵̡̹̹̜̖̣͔̮̥͕̫̹̪̎̈̃̈́̌̀̈͛͂̀̔́͒̆͛̇́͒̑̈́͂͑͛̇̈́̏̿̚͘͝͠ń̴̢̡̖̫̬͓̖̗̱͚̫̺̭̹̬̬̲̰̣͔̥̺̹̲̩͕̙̞͙͍͑̇̒̈̇̓̿̓͝͠.̷͓̘͇̜͕̻̗̯̭̏͒̓̔͐̈́͂̈́͂̉̅̋̈͆̓̉͛̀̾̈̃̈̑͗̈́́̄̾̽̀̓͑̐̒͊̓̓̀͗̀͋͘̕͘̚̕͠͝͠͝