Backlebutt placed the final stone to complete the small barricade around Milo.

Dusting his hands, he took another long look at the man before sighing. It had been hours now, and he showed no signs of waking. No amount of prodding or shaking provoked even the smallest of reactions.

Perhaps he’d been wrong about the man making a successful recovery. Perhaps he’d been too late to grab his head during his spasms, and Milo had jarred it against the floor.

But then the potion should have fixed it. Or perhaps brain injuries were special in some way, out of reach of the alchemical brew? Backlebutt could only guess; he was no healer.

He couldn’t wait here forever. The longer he held on to false hope, the lower his chance became of succeeding in his mission. And that chance was already precipitously low. Many would say his team had already failed.

His teeth clenched against the doubt and self-pity that tried to worm into his heart. I still draw breath. I can still salvage something from this. Some shred of advantage.

While he wasn’t willing to sit here indefinitely, Backlebutt wasn’t quite ready to give up on Milo. Despite the high likelihood that they would be enemies were Milo to learn of Backlebutt’s true nature, Backlebutt needed him as an ally for now.

Hence, he’d struck a compromise. He would scout ahead and try to clear out some of the creatures if he could. In his absence, the wall of stones, along with the fact that he’d nestled the man in the darkest little corner of the tunnel he could find, would keep Milo safe from any passing enemies. He could leave the extra gear here, traveling light, and come back periodically to check on Milo and get more supplies as needed.

He swiftly loaded one of the bags with a little over a dozen of the best stones he’d found before slinging the strap over one shoulder so the bag rested against the opposite hip. He also helped himself to Milo’s small but well-made battle hammer and a couple more of the strange, filling drinks he carried. He took a moment to study the foreign script plastered all over the bottles—bottles cunningly made out of a thin, tough material he’d never encountered in his life.

It was odd; Backlebutt considered himself exceedingly well-traveled for a man of his station. He thought he’d encountered folk from most every part of the world, but this single man possessed so many curiosities he’d never seen before. And never once had he heard a tongue that resembled the one this man spoke. Perhaps he came from across the Great Sea, born on some strange land long separated from the rest of the world?

That might also go a long way toward explaining the odd hopping creatures that the Descent had thus far decided to populate its Shallow layer with. If Milo had entered the Descent before Backlebutt, then it was likely using twisted versions of creatures Milo was familiar with, rather than Backlebutt and his team.

It was no use wasting his time in wondering; if he didn’t live through the Descent, then nothing else was of any significance.

Backlebutt attempted to wake Milo once more before he departed, shaking him by the shoulder before flicking him hard in the center of his forehead. The latter made his face twitch, the first reaction Backlebutt had gotten from the sleeping man. It was an encouraging sign, but further prodding failed to produce any additional response. He gave up for now.

Farewell, odd companion. I’ll be back soon.

Doing his best to ignore the uneasy feeling of leaving the helpless man alone, Backlebutt walked away. He had a mission to complete.

It was close to twenty minutes of tense walking before he happened on his first group of skeleroos, lingering in a particularly dark patch of tunnel that lacked any direct torchlight. His Keen Sight passive skill allowed him to pick them out in the darkness before they noticed him. He was displeased to see that there were four of them together. Ducking back behind a convenient large boulder he’d just passed, he considered what he wanted to do.

These creatures looked the same as the others he’d fought with Milo, with the exception that one of them seemed to be carrying two curved weapons, one in each claw. Some kind of crude, bone daggers? He’d want to take that one out first if he could.

He’d proven that he could handle two of these single-handedly, though he knew he’d gotten a little lucky with some of his wilder and more desperate swings in that particular case. While he wasn’t completely unskilled in close arms combat, it wasn’t exactly his specialty either. Even if he could handle a pair of them with the hammer, he wasn’t sure he could disable two of them with thrown stones before the remaining two came into melee range.

It was possible, sure, but if he was honest with himself, it wasn’t particularly likely. One? Yes. He could practically guarantee a kill if he used Perfect Shot in an ambush. A flawless throw should be able to take one of their heads clean off. Once they were aware of him, however, things got shakier. A moving target was a much tougher prospect. He’d be forced to aim for broader, less vital areas.

Once again, Backlebutt cursed the loss of his bow. The precision and the amount of power he could bring to bear with the weapon was vastly superior to throwing rocks around like some boy skipping stones at a pond. Granted, creatures of bone weren’t ideal opponents, but he had a collection of heftier arrows meant for punching through armored foes. They would have done the trick, certainly.

The sound of clacking bones drew him out of his thoughts. He peered around the boulder to see what was happening. What he saw dismayed him. The jumpers had begun heading his way.

They were in no particular hurry, so it didn’t seem like they’d noticed him. However, now that they were all focused in his direction, retreating discretely would likely no longer be possible. He’d also lost his opportunity to pick one off unawares from afar. That was going to be a big problem.

Think.

The skeletons were fast and tireless. He was fairly certain he’d be able to outrun them in short bursts, but not indefinitely. Fleeing wasn’t a good option. He had to fight them.

He could lie in wait behind the boulder and try to ambush them from behind once they passed, but he preferred to start the fight with some distance while he still had it. Also, the chance of being noticed as the skeleroos passed by was a concern.

Decision made, he set his bag of fist-sized stones on the ground as quietly as he could and took one of them in each hand. With every reason not to delay, he stepped out from behind the rock and briefly scanned the group. They were already a mere ten strides or so away as a group. The one holding the weapons had just left the tunnel floor for a massive leap. Several grunts rang out in the tunnel as the monsters became aware of his presence, instantly aggressive. Ignoring this, he loosed at the airborne target.

It was a hit. He’d struck its skull, even, but unfortunately not quite dead-center. The rock glanced off, jerking the skeletal head to the side but accomplishing nothing else. Backlebutt transferred the second stone to his throwing arm and threw it, unfortunately a split second too late as the skeleroo had landed and was able to attempt a dodge. He still scored another hit, but it merely struck the creature’s collar bone with a crack that unfortunately seemed to have little effect.

Backlebutt darted back behind the boulder and, fumbling slightly in the almost complete blackness the boulder’s shadow created, retrieved two more rocks to throw. These would be his last before the monsters closed the distance. He would need to make them count.

He re-emerged from cover with his right arm already cocked back, ready to release. However, he was immediately forced to abort his throw in order to dodge as something came careening toward his head. He’d barely noticed it in time.

The skeleton wielding the oddly-shaped daggers had stopped while the other three drew nearer. One of its claws was empty now. Backlebutt watched as the creature whipped its other arm forward, releasing the second dagger. He dodged to the side, avoiding it entirely as the weapon spun toward where he’d just stood with deadly accuracy.

It’s disarmed itself, he thought smugly. That freed him up to focus on a nearer target. Not having had much success with head shots, he aimed for its spine at roughly the height of where its chest would be. That way if his aim was a little off, it would still hopefully do some damage.

His strategy paid off, the stone ripping into the creature’s shoulder as it crouched for its next leap. The arm didn’t come off entirely, but it did seem to be hanging limply at an awkward angle. His second throw wasn’t nearly as effective, clipping two ribs as it passed through mostly empty space.

They were almost upon him now. Backlebutt darted back to the bag, snatching up Milo’s hammer. When he popped out from behind the rock a moment later, ready to engage, he was surprised to be immediately assaulted by yet another of the oddly-shaped bone...things. Not daggers, he decided. This one actually hit him, but had little effect other than a moderate sting as it connected with his padded jacket and was rebuffed by the fine chain-link shirt underneath.

He watched with surprise as the skeleroo who’d thrown it tore out one of its own ribs. Amazingly, the bone rapidly morphed into another one of the weapons before his eyes. It apparently had a special ability to create those things from its body parts, likely making it a higher level than the rest of the creatures.

Backlebutt didn’t have long to marvel, however. The other three skeletons rapidly approached.

Whether by chance or intention, they all converged on Backlebutt at the same time, slashing or kicking in a barrage of attacks that didn’t give him a chance to strike back. He danced back, swinging the hammer in a wide arc in front of him to ward them off and gain some space.

Once he did, however, it gave the rib-throwing skeleroo the opening it needed to launch another of the curved things his way. Distracted by the three enemies in front of him, he didn’t register the throw until the projectile suddenly caught him in the side of the head, dazing him slightly.

Backlebutt cursed aloud, still backpedaling. This wasn’t going well. He needed to change the dynamic or they were going to whittle him down until he was too exhausted to fight back.

Any time he tried to hit one of them with the hammer, the others would take the opportunity to slash in with their vicious claws while his target simply leaned back on its tail to dodge.

What he needed, he realized, was to create some space so that he could harrass them with rocks once more, possibly reduce their combat ability by breaking more of their bones from afar. The problem was that they were now between him and his bag of stones.

Ah. A plan crystallized in his mind. Backlebutt turned around and ran away, being sure to zig-zag a bit at the start so that the skeleroo throwing bones would have trouble getting a clean shot.

Once he was hundred strides or so down the tunnel, he stopped, facing the skeletal creatures once more. They were only a second or so behind him.

Had he gone far enough? He could no longer see the boulder with his bag of stones, having passed a bend in the tunnel. Still, a little further probably wouldn’t hurt. He backed away at a jog, warding off the creatures with wide swipes of his borrowed weapon when they drew near. He was breathing heavier now, despite his training. Still, he should be fresh enough for what came next.

When he judged that he’d backed far enough down the tunnel, he reversed direction abruptly, darting through a gap in the four creatures in front of him. They were caught flat-footed by the sudden change and he was able to charge through the group. Only one managed to hit him with one of their powerful kicks as he passed by. He stumbled, but kept his balance.

Now he sprinted as hard as ever he had, giving his all to create some real distance between himself and the damnable creatures.

He rounded the bend in the tunnel and spotted the outline of the boulder in the distance. It wasn’t visible yet, but he knew the bag would be there, obscured in the boulder’s shadow.

Backlebutt traversed the remaining distance until, chest heaving, he reached his goal. Dropping the hammer, he grabbed two stones and turned around, spotting the skeleroos perhaps twenty strides distant.

As he released the first stone, he knew in his heart that it wouldn’t be enough. He hadn’t accounted for being so winded. The rock connected with the leading skeleroo, but the sprint had taken so much out of him that he just couldn’t muster the same force as with his earlier throws. With a grunt of frustration, he let fly the second stone, missing entirely despite the fact that the creatures were closer now.

He picked up one more stone. He prepared to throw it...but then his arm fell to his side in defeat. Time seemed to slow for Backlebutt as he watched them come, realizing this could truly be the end for him. These enemies didn’t tire, didn’t bleed. There were just too many for him alone.

Alone. The faces of his team members flashed in his mind, accusing. Gone forever, and yet they judged him. He alone still carried their mission, their memory. Would he fail them?

No. He couldn’t quit. It can’t end here. It won’t! I won’t let it. I can’t fight them? Fine. Let it be a merry chase.

He didn’t see a point to running back to the place he’d left Milo; if the man was still unconscious, he would simply be leading the fleshhungry skeleroos to an easy meal. Even if he had awoken, Backlebutt estimated that they still stood no better than an even chance against the group of monsters. Milo would be weaker than before, and Backlebutt himself exhausted.

However, there was still the slim possibility of a zone of safety somewhere ahead. That must be his new goal. He could recuperate and make a better plan. As long as blood still flowed through his veins, there was yet hope.

Snatching back up the weapon he’d dropped, Backlebutt began to run.