Maiz stared down at the monster below him. The creature hissed, shrieked, and ran around in circles, apparently distressed by the light of the Color Tapestry spell he’d placed on the ceiling. But it didn’t attack him. A moment later, the creature dove directly into the sandstone like a fish into water, its dense golden fur blending into the rock so that it almost seemed a trick of the light.

What the--oh, right. Maiz looked at his hand again. His new spell, The Cowl, was supposed to make him difficult to detect. Apparently, it was working.

Maiz grinned to himself, and opened up his Name Sheet as he strolled through the room and into the circular tunnel sloping downwards into the earth below. His new spell was well and good, but there was something else he’d gained that was just as exciting.

The Mask (Nameless): Passive ability which allows the Nameless to ignore title restriction for all skills, talents and spells. However, the Nameless is unable to use divine guidance for any skill, talent, or spell. Whenever the Nameless learns a title-restricted skill, talent or spell, the Nameless may change his/her displayed title to the title associated with that skill, talent or spell. The Mask ability is negated if another sentient, non-divine creature comprehends the Nameless’ identity. Note: Benefits/drawbacks of talent change as rank increases.

Rank:3

Effect: Nameless may learn any skill or spell and change his/her title to that of a skill or spell he/she knows. Prevents the Nameless from using divine guidance on any skills/spells. The Nameless is impervious to direct mental invasion. The Nameless and all of his/her powers are impervious to all direct forms of scrying or divination.

Maiz winced even as he walked. The ability was incredible—perfect invisibility from anyone trying to scry him. The sort of effect he’d expect from a legendary artifact guarded at the heart of a king’s tomb. And for all that, it was more of a hindrance to him now than a help. What if someone attempted a divination in his presence? They would immediately realize something was wrong.

Don’t be stupid. No one had a reason to use scrying magic on him. He hadn’t met anyone with those abilities yet, in any case. But he should really think of some way to disguise this particular power, and soon. Maybe—

--Maiz stopped. He dismissed his Name Sheet, and looked around. He was in the final room of the Dungeon, a large chamber shaped like a squashed ball, a teleportation rune emblazoned prominently on the far wall. Numbly, he looked down at his hand. No blurred edges, no streaks of black shadow. And his head hurt. Right. Spells. Mana. Idiot.

A tremor shook the earth and he dove to the side. A giant mass of tan flesh burst out of the ground, coiling around itself as it rose. A giant worm.

The fight was almost laughably easy, and Maiz spent most of it cursing himself for not paying attention to his Cowl’s mana drain. This monster was at the upper end of the Novice ranks, so he was able to sidestep a lunging attack from the horrifying teeth-ringed mouth at its head, and slam it hard enough with his staff to send it into the ground with a strangled hiss. Two short, brutal blows later, the worm stopped twitching.

Idiot. Maiz continued to berate himself as he rubbed his neck, trying to massage his mana pool. It wouldn’t do anything, he knew—the headache would fade as his pool refilled, faster than an ordinary migraine, but before then it would jab away at his skull no matter what he tried to keep it at bay. He really had been acting stupid, keeping the spell active for so long. But then, he hadn’t even taken the time to read its description and find out its cost, had he? He stopped, halfway between the worm’s corpse and the inscription waiting on the opposite wall. Let’s see.

The Cowl (Nameless): Allows the user to dampen all perception from other living creatures. While effective on observers of all ranks, the intensity varies based on observers’ Intelligence, environmental factors, and the user’s actions.

Rank: 6

Cost: 7 mana per second

Effect: Dampens the perceptions of all observers based on their Intelligence. Degree of dampening improves based on rank of spell. Rate of improvement: indeterminate.

What the hells? Maiz was almost getting annoyed, despite everything he’d accomplished. Indeterminate? He’d never seen anything like that on an ability before. Hells, even the Mask told him what it did!

Of course, this was the first ability he’d created himself. So no one had actually tested how it worked, besides him. Was the information he had now based on how he’d walked through the Dungeon with it active?

The spell’s rank was also an anomaly, but one that he had an easier explanation for. When he’d learned Printing, it had already been at rank 10 because of his proficiency in the skill. As he had invented The Cowl, it made sense that he had more than a complete novice’s ability with it.

Maiz started walking forward again, dismissing the information after one last, long look. Seven mana per second. That was a horrifying amount for a spell so low in the Novice ranks—it would only get worse until he broke into the Apprentice levels with it. Well, if it works, I won’t have to be using any combat spells at lea—

He stopped, staring once again at his hand. The hand that was pressed against the rock of the wall before him, directly over the teleportation rune. He lifted it slowly, as though he might break something if he moved faster, then rested it back down on the rune. Nothing. He pressed more firmly, and a sharp crack split the silence. Maiz jerked back, examining the stone frantically. Had the rune been marred somehow? Had he worsened the damage with his push?

The ground began rumbling a moment later, and three more cracks sounded in quick succession. Fine, gritty dust fell down before him, and puffed outwards with his sharp breath. Maiz almost stumbled as the rock beneath him began shaking, and soon the air was filled with the sound of grinding rock. Hells.

Calling Fast Feet and Nightwalker, boosting himself with an Air Blast against the wall, Maiz ran like Massahn’s hordes were at his heels. He cleared the room’s exit just as the rumbling grew louder, and the first clattering of stone sounded from behind him. Hells hells hells.

Forward, into the next room. Perhaps a dozen small worms darted in and out of the stone, smaller versions of the boss at the end. One lunged at Maiz, but he batted it out of the air without pause. The next opening was beginning to sag, stone grinding with a horrible screech, louder with every second, but he was through it in a moment.

He cursed the incline even as he bounded forward, pushing out another Air Blast as his mana replenished and shooting forward a few meters. He was through in instants, but the rock was beginning to crash down around him. Last room.

The moles were nowhere to be seen, but Maiz wasn’t looking very hard. He had eyes only for the rough-cut steps, still illuminated by his spell. Were those cracks in the stone?

He felt a pebble strike him hard in the face, the impact made painful by his own speed. He continued. In a breath, he was on the steps. He bounded upwards as the rumbling grew worse, and scrambled as he felt the steps break away beneath him, rock crushing rock and destabilizing the ancient structure. He stretched his hands out, felt the sharp flash of pain as he smacked into stone, and pulled hard enough to send his entire form into the air once more.

He landed with all the grace his attributes afforded, and still stumbled as he continued to run forward. Sand was pouring down all around him, and he stepped over huge clumps of the stuff as he shot across the tiny entrance room. There was a mound of sand directly below his hole to the surface. Godsdammit.

The ceiling fell away in a great wave as he raised his staff, marshalling what mana he had, feeling the sharp pain as his pool was drained once more. It wasn’t enough, but he willed it to be. His staff slammed against the ground in a burst of flame even as he jumped. His shoulders felt as though they were being pushed down by a great pillow, but he shot through the force holding him back, through the tide descending upon him.

For a moment, everything was the sand. His mouth, his nose, his ears, all filled in an instant. He clawed his way up as the weight began pressing all around him, keeping him from falling and squeezing the air out of his lungs. He pushed, and as the sand continued to flow downwards, he finally popped out, landing on top of the sand as it continued to fall, spitting and coughing and scrambling to get further away.

The ground was still shaking, and the sands were dancing all around Maiz. He didn’t care. He went to his knees as soon as he was away from the sinkhole of the Dungeon, and to his hands a moment after that. He retched as the earth rumbled his hands sinking into the sand, his vision watery and blurred, his limbs weak.

When he was finished, the worst of the tremors had faded. The sand had settled. And his stomach was a pit of dread, an empty void despite Enlightenment keeping his hunger away.

He looked up.

His gaze swept across the sands, where still some dunes were flowing down, resettling after the disturbance. He had no way of telling which way he was facing, but he knew when his eyes stopped moving that he was staring directly towards the Temple.

He was too far away to see anything but vague outlines, but even so, it was easy to spot. Great fingers of stone reached into the night sky, blotting out the stars. A forest of pillars, all massive enough in the distance to dwarf the tallest dune in his sight. Beyond it, something else, vast shadowed and hidden, but faintly discernible. A mountain? A wall.

Something had changed. And Maiz was stuck, once more, in the Waste.