Octavius clenched his jaw as he looked at the scene in front of him. He needed to study the room and come up with a plan to help him get across it, but standing in the doorway would be far from safe. Even just peeking around the door presented a significant risk.

Spinning around, he checked to make sure that the corridor was clear in both directions. Then, he studied the massive doors with a frown. After a dozen seconds, an idea came to him. It would be far from perfect, but it would definitely reduce his chances of being spotted.

Closing his eyes, he reached out to his own shadow that was cast against the wooden door. Grabbing a hold of a section of the shadow with his mind, he compressed it and willed it to solidify. Once it was solid, he shaped it to the form he wanted.

Without having to create the many tiny projectiles that a grenade required, the process only took him a dozen seconds. Opening his eyes, a small rod of pure darkness hovered in front of him. It was six inches long and about three-quarters of an inch in diameter.

Reaching out, he grabbed it with both hands and flexed his enhanced muscles. As he steadily increased the pressure his arms exerted, the bar began to bend. More accurately, he could sense the mana that held the shadows in place start to bend. The shadows themselves were merely a medium for the mana to interact with the world.

Pouring more mana into the black colored bar, he willed it to remain in its original shape. Flexing again, it refused to bend until he was applying far more pressure than he needed the object to withstand. Letting go of the bar, it continued to hover in place.

He knew that it was his will and mana that held the bar up and could sense mana being expended slowly to counteract gravity and hold it in place. Concentrating, the bar rose to be level with his eyes. His hand rose with it and grabbed a hold of it.

He willed it to continue to rise and was greeted with a strain that told him that such an act would require far more mana than he was willing to use. Damn, he thought to himself, I knew it was a longshot, but flying would’ve made everything so much easier. I guess I’ll have to go with the original plan.

Closing his eyes, he willed one end of the rod to form a sharp point. Relinquishing his mental control over its movement, he drew it back in his right hand. He jammed it forward with a good amount of his enhanced strength, and it embedded itself into the wood of the door at an angle.

The solid thunk of the magical construct piercing the door was completely drowned out by the sounds of merriment from inside the hall. He strained his right arm and pulled himself up until his chin was above the place where the rod met the wood of the door. After another dozen seconds, another spike was in his left hand, and he was using them like one would the pick of an ice axe to scale the door.

He reached the top quickly and took a second to revel in the lack of strain on his injured leg. With his advanced stats, he could hang from the door for hours. Peering around its edge, he looked into the massive hall.

From his vantage point, he could see almost everything. However, the chances of him being spotted from within the hall were slim. After all, no one ever remembered to look up. He immediately began scanning the hall for anything that might aid in his escape. Just because he was unlikely to be spotted by any of the aliens within the hall, his form was incredibly obvious to anyone walking down the corridor.

The hall had even-sized tables of stone running from his position to the exit. There were open thoroughfares formed by separated tables. One of them ran from the door he clung to, to the exit. The other was perpendicular to the first. A large group of thralls dragged the massive body of the boar down one of the perpendicular paths to a smaller set of open doors.

The hall itself was ostentatious in a way that only highlighted the stark, utilitarian nature of the rest of the complex. While it was clearly meant to look like a natural cavern, massive pillars of stone rose up in rows and supported the ceiling. Each of the pillars held detailed carvings that, while far from the realism of the dwarvish reliefs, were strangely beautiful in their own right.

The pillars were connected by a series of stone arches that ran parallel to the tables below. Orbs of light were recessed into the pillars, casting the ceiling into shadow and giving it the appearance of being never-ending, all while illuminating the feast below.

Octavius noticed that while all the tables were physically identical, those that sat at them were not. The tables farthest from Octavius were filled with thrall mages that were similar to those he had seen scouting out the Sanctuary. They wore a mix of leathers and cloth, and he was willing to bet that each of them had an illusion ring.

They were by far the most numerous group and took up multiple rows of tables. The next closest group held thrall wearing the black, gray, and white robes of the mages he had seen that were above level 25. This group was much smaller than the first, and their tables were packed with food. Whereas the lower level mages ate an assortment of roasts, smoked meat, and plants, these thralls’ table contained the noticeable addition of bread.

Octavius’s stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. He quickly moved on to the next closest group of thralls. This group stretched from two tables down to only five feet past the door. They were the rogues. The farthest of the group contained the lower leveled rogues.

They were nearly identical to the two he had met after exiting the dungeon nearly a month before. Their studded leather armor was more uniform than that of the mages, and long, curved, knives hung at most of their waists. The rogues closest to Octavius were much of the same, only with higher levels and slightly better gear.

Of this group, however, a few stood out to the operator. They were spread across the row of tables closest to him. Each wore a black cloth cloak in addition to a cuirass made of a strange metal that was identical to the one that Kzedr wore.

What truly made him take notice of them was how they acted. Their large black eyes never once looked down at the food they ate from wooden plates or bowls. Instead, they were constantly scanning the hall. They were seated at the right end of their table without exception.

Such a thing would be done by a human to make sure that their dominant hand was always ready to draw a weapon. While he didn’t know if most thralls were right-handed, or even if they had a dominant hand, each wore a weapon on the left side of their belt.

The group reminded him far too much of the extremely experienced operators he had met when they were in the tail end of a deployment. Months of constant combat readiness, life and death combat, and paranoia led to actions like that, and he didn’t like what it implied.

So these are the elites, he realized and used identify on one to get an idea for its strength.

Lmiszk - Thrall (F) (Lvl 31) (Rogue*)

That one was on the leaderboard at the end of the Emergence, he noted. He quickly counted the rest of the elite rogues. There were a total of nine of them in the hall. One of them sat at the table farthest to the left of the hall and was wearing leather bracers that he recognized. They were part of the armor he had gotten from the dwarvish catacombs.

His eyes scanned the rest of them once more, and he found Kzedr. The thrall’s bulk stood out amongst its shorter brethren. It wore the cuirass of the elite rogues, but not the cloak. It also sat in the middle of a table while it ate. So not one of the elites, he realized, but it does have the highest level.

The politics of the thralls wasn’t what he needed to understand at the moment, so he filed the information away. Instead, his eyes fell on the head of his silver spear, where it peaked up behind the massive thrall’s armored shoulder.

His eyes scanned the length of the hall over and over, desperate to find some way for him to get past the hundreds of thralls. If he was so much as spotted, he was as good as dead. With the dozens of stone shapers to trap him, he would never get out. Even if he did, he doubted that he could outrun Kzedr.

The thrall was at nearly twice his own level and was uninjured. Octavius had longer legs that could help him increase his running speed, but he didn’t know if that would be enough of an edge. He just didn’t know how the thrall’s stats stacked up against his own. He had incredibly high starting stats, along with twenty-four levels worth of additional points, but for all he knew, the thrall had over a hundred in every stat.

As he was beginning to come up with a plan, a glimmer caught his attention. His eyes focused on it as it moved toward a table filled with thrall rogues. He nearly lost it in the irregular light of the cavern, but the fact that it was moving in a straight line allowed him to follow it. Why is one of them invisible? He wondered.

The distortion stopped at the end of the table for a moment, and a large loaf of white bread snapped into existence. Octavius blinked in surprise but froze when one of the stone cups seemed to tip itself over as the invisible creature drew its hand back.

The thrall, with a lap full of its drink, snarled and jumped to its feet. In a flash, its knife was out of its sheath, and bright arterial blood was flying through the air. The surrounding thralls barely looked up from their meals as Octavius looked on with wide-eyed horror.

A human body snapped into existence and collapsed onto the floor. It was a young, blond woman. She was maybe in her early thirties, he guessed. She wore the same eclectic mix of cloth and leather as the thrall mages, though hers was rapidly turning red with blood. He swore he could see the fear and pain that lingered in her dead eyes even from the distance that separated them.

His jaw clenched as his mind went back to what the thrall had said about turning him into a thrall. He quickly scanned the hall for any more illusioned beings, human or thrall, but didn’t see any. Even if he did find another human, he was in no position to help them, but he wanted to know. He went back to creating his plan of escape, silently resolving that he would come back with every fighter from the Sanctuary that would follow him and wipe out the thralls.

With it clear that stealth would be the name of the game, he removed the reflective silver robe and let it fall silently into a heap on the floor below. What he needed to do was clear. There wasn’t a chance in hell that he’d be able to cross the hall on the ground. No, he’d have to climb through the shadows on the ceiling.

The beginning and end of his climb would be the most dangerous. Once he was safely hidden in the shadows above, he doubted any of them would spot him. Reaching those shadows, however, would be risky.

Where the walls of the cavern were illuminated, the natural irregularities would give him plenty of handholds. While he couldn’t see the ceiling, he doubted it was different.

Among the SOF community, almost everyone had something athletic as a hobby. Some played sports, many did martial arts, and he even knew a young man that fenced. A few of the guys had done rock climbing, and he had gone with them a handful of times. He was far from experienced with the activity, but he understood it enough to know that his superhuman stats would allow him to power through.

He reached up with a hand and gripped the top of the door. Once he no longer needed the rods of shadow, he slowly relinquished his control of the mana that held them together. The solid constructs expanded into a cloud of black mist identical to the mist that the apparitions from the dungeon left behind when they died.

Using his connection to the cloud of shadow, he willed it to shift and cover him. It was not so thick that he couldn’t see through it, but any onlookers would hopefully only notice a shadow.

Time seemed to slow as he moved to the other side of the door. He was careful to move in a way that didn’t shift the massive door. Once he was on the other side, his eyes scanned the wall above the doorway for handholds. Even as his eyes landed on a tiny ledge that was barely the width of his fingers, he was heaving himself upward with every ounce of explosiveness he had.

The mist of shadow appeared to flow around him as it followed him into the air. He flew over five feet into the air and caught himself with the tips of his fingers. As soon as his weight settled, he was reaching for the nearest handhold. He scrambled up a dozen feet until the wall began to slope inward and transition into the ceiling.

As the shadowed depths of the cavern’s roof hid him from sight, he breathed a sigh of relief. That was definitely the more dangerous part of his climb. The fact that none of the thralls noticed him was likely due to the dimness of the cavern compared to the bright corridor. The doors themselves were mostly silhouettes, and he would’ve just been a quickly moving patch of darker shadow.

He let the shadow mist around him, dissipate and checked his mana counter. It was already a third empty, and he was glad that he had found the mana potion. His hand reached out and swept across the rock until he found a handhold. Squeezing it tightly, he pulled on it. When it remained solid, he transferred his weight to it and repeated the process with his other hand.

His stamina slowly began to tick down as he rotated himself to face forward and crossed the ceiling like it was high-stakes monkey bars from his childhood. His wrists and fingers began to ache as he used them to pinch ledges and grip small cracks in the irregular stone surface. He knew that he would never have been able to do it without his superhuman physique and felt thankful for every point of strength, dexterity, and agility he had.

The process was slow and tedious as he quickly swung over to the stone arches that connected the pillars. Bracing his left leg against it, he was able to make the climb significantly easier.

He tuned out the noise of the thralls’ feasting and merriment down below as he quickly crossed the cavern. It didn’t take him long to reach the point that the arches disappeared into the wall, and he could use it to brace his legs against.

As he climbed down to the cave that he believed would lead to the exit, he considered his options. He thought about trying to climb up the roof of the cave but discarded the thought. The cave was small enough that it wouldn’t really help him stay concealed. In fact, it would greatly hamper his ability to move quickly. Alright, he decided as he lingered at the edge of the shadow that covered the roof, I guess I’ll just drop to the ground, run up the cave, and hope none of them see me.

It wasn’t the most complex strategy, but he figured it was his best choice. After all, “Keep It Simple Stupid” was such a popular saying for a reason. He focused his mana on creating a mist of darkness and used it to cover himself once more.

Hand under hand, he scrambled down the wall until he was five feet above where the cavern’s wall curved inward to form the cave’s ceiling. He looked down to double-check his landing zone and dropped.

He landed with most of his weight on his good leg and rolled to dissipate his momentum. Coming back to his feet, he set off at a dead sprint. The tendon in his leg had mostly healed, and he fought through the pain coming from the muscle with sheer will and adrenaline.

The sound of metal pinging against stone was quickly followed by a loud voice that boomed over the general din of the cavern.

“Stop that human!”

He risked a glance over his shoulder, and his eyes landed on a metal-tipped dart on the ground behind him. Following the dart upward, he saw the elite thrall rogue that wore his leather armor pointing at him with one hand and lowering a blowgun with the other.

Cursing, he pushed himself to run as fast as he could with his injured leg. While his escape was noticed, it was far from the worst time. As things stood, he still had a solid chance of escaping. If the thrall had seen him on the other side of the hall, however, his chances would have been nonexistent.

This better be the actual exit, he decided, Or I’m fucked.

A high-pitched whistling sound drew his attention, and he looked over his shoulder while throwing himself to the side. The silver glimmer of his own Soulsilver spear was flying directly toward his back.