His stomach twisted with dread when what sounded like human sobs became the shrieks of something else.

Something worse.

"Voco Apis!" he hissed, enjoying the comforting presence of the massive crimson bee now buzzing just beside the powerful air sprite swirling around his head, thanks to his remarkably potent Tier 2 Witchery spell of protection that only his mother's gifts allowed him to cast at all, a benign summoned spirit being perhaps the only way to lock a swirling storm of air in place. Fortunately, it seeming to get along quite well with his summoned blood bee, a Druidic spell, and the tiny sprite that forever kept his hair perfectly styled, and his ears carefully hidden.

He felt a tad bit foolish as he sensed the tiniest portion of his earned experience leave him, experience which he was eager to gain, maximizing his total once more, so he was just a single class choice away from maximizing level 1, the resultant pressure then allowing the potency of future kills to translate to even further accelerated skill growth. And skilling up his Tier 3 Windfire spell, still in the novice ranks, was definitely high on his list of priorities. It could obliterate nearly anything, but it drained him utterly in just a couple of seconds.

"Definitely a spell I want to train up properly in a party. For now, it's Leveling up Wind Gust, Bloodflame, and finally getting Rank 2 versions of both those spells," he whispered to himself, taking a tiny bit of comfort in the sound of his own voice when a second gut-curdling shriek echoed through the long, oddly bending corridor of stone that seemed shrouded in crimson mist the color of blood.

The stench of blood too, now that he thought about it.

He clenched his jaw as the pitiable screams shivered through his bones... again transforming to something inhuman by the end.

And here he was, protected only by his mother's quilted gambeson and a pair of Tier 1 spells, even if they were masterwork variants. His knuckles squeezed the hilt of a sword that was the farthest thing from a glowing artifact of legend, enchanted only to hold its edge and resist all damage.

Jack took a steadying breath as the cacophony of shrieks grew in pitch and desperation, forcing himself to recall the strengths of the blade he now held so tightly. Recalling just how exquisitely sharp Mitch had made the beveled edges, giving him such a smug smile, weeks ago, when he gifted Jack with this very blade, the best of the batch they would sell to the world at large.

Jack knew as well as anyone how well the micro-serrations could bite through almost any beast hide, so long as he sliced as he cut, just like Mitch and he had practiced against so many targets, bonding over countless days that had bled together into endless months like one long beautiful dream that had so mirrored the first 18 years of his life, and who knew how many incarnations before.

A dream Jack had to pull himself free of, for the sake of the town he helped elevate to the safety of Regio, now forever free of Lord Hecklebart's vile machinations and those of other corrupt lords just like him.

Jack chuckle softly as memories of that halcyon summer washed over him. And for all that he had forsaken sweetest dream to delve into crimson-tinted nightmare where the air rang with far-off shrieks and cries, only now did he feel truly alive, truly in the moment, as he deliberately pricked his thumb against the edge of his exquisitely balanced blade so well mirroring the Carolingian era swords of ancient Earth and so popular among the warrior tribes of this world that had to contend with savage beasts far more than they did heavily armored knights.

"And how much experience did I flood into forging countless smithing marvels, anyway? At least my Rune Forging skills totally kicks ass now, and I couldn't ask for a better sword. So who gives a fuck if it's not a +3 whatever, glowing with eldritch powers?"

He chuckled softly, oddly reassured by the blood streaming from what should have been the tiniest of cuts. He knew his weapon could saw right through flesh, hide, and bone, honed to a near indestructible serrated sharpness keener than a surgeon's scalpel. Fortified by Arcane Enhancer, Warrior Smith, and Rune Forger enhancements, it represented the best of three arcane disciplines blended into one wondrously deadly whole

Now that he thought of it, his blade was probably more than a match for a good number of weapons that might be blessed with far more visible magic. Not that he was at all eager to test that theory, of course.

"Sana Injurium," he whispered to himself, smiling with relief when the cut instantly healed, and with awe as well, that instead of being plagued with the awful flashbacks of battlefields and disaster like before, now all he sensed was the insights in how best to sterilize and treat wounds like his own, did they not heal up in seconds, that one would expect of any scholarly healer. It was a wonder to have finally ranked up that spell to the point that casting it was a pleasure, not a torment.

Jack then shook away the wandering thoughts of his mind, doing his best to ignore the frantic pounding of his own heart, knowing that he was utterly over head head and had absolutely no business in a former Guild dungeon as a solo first level character.

He was being an idiot. A fool!

He should turn around and leave right now. Accept that a certain magical college would forever be out of his reach, knowing he had no shot against a corrupt council of lords who now had their eyes on a kid stupid enough to reveal obviously valued healing skills. Without any proof of Guild sponsorship or exclusive academy tenure, he was just one more of the unwashed and easily exploited masses, as far as the council was concerned.

Magical, glorious Erovering, or the technological marvels of Velheim, were where he should be heading to at this very moment! He could sign up at a guildhall within either territory, take on whatever level 1 noob assignments the local guild heads recommended, and avoid any obviously suicidal quests popping up on his interface, like the one still ringing through his soul after he had taken out those two flesh peddlers.

Just how stupid was he to think he could make his start here?

Even as he cajoled himself, still he strode forward through the bloody mist not even his senses could fully penetrate as desperate sobs turned to horrified screeches, and then no sound at all as Jack's leather boots tread upon the damp tunnel floor before seeing, of all things, a door just ahead.

Marked with a single rune he had never seen before, for all that the serpentine sigil seemed to resonate with perfect stillness upon the oak door it had been burned within.

Understanding at that moment with absolute certainty that peril lay beyond that door.

Peril and the promise of power the likes of which he could only dream of one day achieving, any place save here.

And for all that his hands shuddered with another desperate shriek and what sounded like the slamming of a steel gate, of all things, he did not hesitate to put his hands upon that door, choking back a guttural cry of surprise and pain, as he dared to make that rune his own.

Congratulations! You have successfully learned the greater rune Pertinax!

His mind was suddenly racing with images of cities rising and falling, caverns forming and collapsing under floods of liquid magma or inconceivable volumes of water, magnificent edifices worn away to sand over countless eons. He wanted to howl with rapture and the sweet caress of oblivion, so much of him wanting to sink into that dream.

To become one with the crashing waters, melting lava, cities blossoming, expanding and contracting to dust and ruin... to become one with the constancy of change himself, just a tiny flickering light of awareness in the magnificent world that was itself a living dream as it was an AI algorithm of inconceivable depth and scale, and he, just the tiniest piece of that magnificent, ever-changing puzzle.

But even as his soul howled with rapture and dread in equal measure, he was able to hold on to his sense of self, his eyes captivated by the sigil now blazing in his mind's eye that seemed utterly unaffected as the world around him rose and fell. A symbol demarcating the transient from the eternal, separating liquid dream from rock-hard certainty.

And with a shuddering gasp he realized he understood the rune for permanence, for unshaking continuity of form, even in the liquid living dreams of Regio and the darker realms of Shadow, such as the dungeon he had just taken his first footsteps within. Similar in some ways to Resilience, this would allow its target to resist the susurrations of time itself, and the eternal malleability of dream.

You have learned the greater rune Pertinax, tearing it free from eternal nightmare without being consumed by dream yourself!

Rune Forging is now Adept Rank 5!

Jack stumbled back with awe, gazing at his own trembling hand, sensing an outline of that rune upon his own flesh and bone, realizing the gift this rune had revealed to him.

"I can manipulate living dream!"

He laughed with wonder now the equal of the horror surging through his blood at the sound of a fresh round of desperate pleas and screams, just beyond the door before him.

"Something awful is down here! Open the damned gate!" shrieked the hoarse voice of an old man given frantic life by unspeakable horror.

"Please! My arm! You have to let us back up. We'll do anything!" sobbed what sounded like a desperate girl.

The desperate pleas were greeted with cold, mocking laughter. "Then make it to the end of the corridor! Embrace your destiny as drone slaves, and touch nothing else! If you dare take another class, or claim a crimson talisman as if you were anything other than the worthless trash you are, I'll make you wish for death when I'm done with you! Understand, fools? Obey and live, or fail me and die. the choice is yours, vermin!"

Jack clenched his fists as wonder transformed to horror for the victims that were being tossed in here like chattel as a perilous quest suddenly dinged in his mind, wanting nothing more than to cut down whatever monsters would so casually laugh at desperate victims pleading for their lives.

No matter the peril he faced, daring to move forward in a quest he had no business accepting at his level.

Because some vile acts must never be tolerated, no matter the peril, lest he surrender all dignity and a piece of his soul. Cowering before the tyranny of others, refusing to face the foulest of deeds being committed just yards away.

He refused to walk the Coward's Path, no matter how perilous the trail before him. Not when it seemed that the very ether pleading for salvation. Not when there was the slightest chance that he might be able to do something about the tragedy unfolding just ahead.

No longer caring that he was playing the fool, he forced open the bound door with a single act of his will, as flashes of the rune he had just mastered and the ever fluid nature of its counterpart somehow made it effortless to transmute the lock of this now malleable door, its sigil now forever his own. The chipper voice of his interface was an odd discordant note to the terror and determination flooding his veins as he raced forward with sword held high, caustic death he'd launch from the knuckles of his sword fist at the ready as he dared race through crimson mists, space stretching and warping in inconceivably horrid ways as a distance of a few dozen yards seemed to stretch forever.

Insight gained! Greater Rune / Elemental Armor synergism detected! Your compressed study of transience and permanence has given you added insights into how best to shape the world to your own will! You have learned the Earth-aligned power: Artisanal Manipulation. You may now manipulate any inert physical object as if it were softest clay! Contest of wills is needed if this object is in direct contact with another, their universal constancy then at war with your own!

Note. At your present skill rank, this power will not work on enchanted or rune enhanced objects (unless the rune or enhancement is one you yourself have mastered!) Base cost to cast: Variable!

Heart pounding, Jack burst out of a narrow doorway to find himself at the end of a door-lined vaulted corridor of finely worked stone, lined with evenly spaced crimson doors that wavered eerily in their own reflections upon the polished marble flooring. He frowned at the striking contrast from the natural tunnel on the other side of the door he had entered, paying particular attention to the 4-way intersection just ahead, past a double pair of widely spaced doors.

As much as a part of him itched to open those doors, he feared the victims he had heard howling so desperately had no time to lose.

A blood-curdling shriek pierced the air.

Jack's cautious pace turned to a sprint, making a quick left towards the sound as he raced down corridors filled with that pervasive crimson mist, praying he could get wherever he needed to be in time.

Yet no further cry followed as Jack continued to race down the arterial branch of this maze of hallways and corridors, passing by scores of door-lined hallways seemingly without end, not quite sure if he should be terrified or relieved that he saw no trace of any monster, fellow adventurer, or any living thing at all along these seemingly endless passages.

Before seeing a massive gate shimmering like gold just ahead, his internal map that had seemed utterly disconnected from the world above until he had finally hit the main corridor, now made it clear that he should be somewhere just below the college, assuming space here was anything like that of the realm above, just a few feet or a universe away.

And he was somehow absolutely positive that the stairs he could just see beyond that golden gate would take him up to the surface in truth.

Not knowing why he felt so compelled, he sprinted for all he was worth for the golden gate, as if it represented sanctuary or refuge somehow, breathing a heaving sigh of relief when he was just feet away. About to pull out his own golden key, in the desperate hope they might match.

And that's when he realized he wasn't alone.

Perception check made!

Diving away on pure instinct when death crashed down from above.