“Are you sure we should be moving around? Why not just stay in our safe little hole?” Micah asked loudly as he trudged behind Castor and Blue.

Castor led the way through the sewers—being the only one who could see in the dark—while Micah followed close behind. Blue walked beside Castor, refusing to stray away from him for too long. This place spooked the canine, and it wasn’t hard to figure why.

Micah's stomach grumbled loudly into the otherwise silent tunnels.

“That’s exactly why. We need to find a safe exit, and search for food and water. I would rather run into the werewolf than die slowly from starvation and dehydration.”

Castor and Micah talked for a bit in their hiding hole, Castor before decided it was time to scavenge and look for some supplies. Oddly enough, the teen had chosen the [Altar of Dreams] and gained the Mage Role, a basic class that offered medium to long-range magical damage and support.

It was the same Role he had in Rifts and Boundaries, so he knew how it should work, but the teen couldn’t even figure out what the skill he got did, let alone actually use it.

But Castor was in the same boat himself.

Alter (Rare)

Score: ATM, ???

Available Alignments:

Dire

The skill had more information than Micah’s [Mana Bolt], yet it gave Castor more questions than answers. Micah knew that skills correlated with one of their stats—or scores—yet he didn’t know anything else about the skill or what it meant by essence. The one thing he said barely made any sense.

“They all do slightly different things, but stats always follow a pattern; the first category is physical, the second category is mental, with the last being magical.”

Castor still didn’t know what the abbreviations stood for his scores, but at least he now knew which one correlated with what. I still need to figure out what this damn skill does, and how I can use that to my advantage. Castor thought before he sighed deeply and closed the skill page.

There were still too many unanswered questions, some of which could probably get Castor killed, but it did no good concentrating on things he couldn’t change, so he focused on the task at hand.

“We know where one exit is, even if it might not be safe,” Castor said. “I’m hoping we can find another one. It’s good to know all the ins-and-outs of your base of operations.”

“You must play a lot of FPS games.” Micah joked. “I only ever heard people talk like that in those types of games.”

Castor paused. “Not really… I knew someone who was in the military. Took me in where I had nowhere to go.”

“You think they could get us out of here?” Micah asked, the hope in his voice undisguised and obvious.

“I don’t think so. We kinda had a falling out between us. Plus, I lost my phone a while ago.”

“So who’s going to call whoever the hell is going to get us out of here.” Micah grumbled.

Micah let the conversation fall off, and Castor was glad for it. The pair fell into a slightly uncomfortable silence as they made their way further into the sewers. They passed several turns on either side; Castor made note of them, but continued straight. Getting lost would turn an already bad situation worse.

A few times, Castor could hear Micah muttering ‘Mana Bolt’ behind him, each subsequent whisper filled with more frustration than the last. Castor shook his head at the teen’s carelessness, but understood what he was doing.

At least Castor could see in the dark now, Micah had no immediate benefits to the supposed “awakening”. Instead, he probably felt as useless as before.

There’s no need to talk about it now. I can just bring it up later when we’re safe. Castor thought. Blue nudged his snout into his hand, and he returned his affection with a scratch behind the ear.

The dog stopped to enjoy the pet—involuntarily scratching his side until he suddenly stopped altogether and tensed up, his tail stiff in the air. Blue growled so low Castor felt it more than heard it, while he stared down the tunnel.

Castor paused and raised his hand to stop Micah, to his grumbling complaint. Closing his eyes and focusing, Castor could hear something from the direction they were walking in, albeit barely. It sounded like the rhythmic beat of several pairs of feet hitting the ground, but something about it was off.

There were no clicks of footwear, only the awkward slaps of bare feet against the concrete.

“Look Castor, people.” Micah pointed over his shoulder.

Castor opened his eyes to see light radiating from around a bend. Guttural voices echoed about, too far to understand the words.

The steady sound of footsteps came closer and closer.

Something about the situation raised the hairs on the back of Castor’s neck. Bells of alarm rang in his ears. The dull corridors suddenly felt smaller.

Micah tried to move closer, almost yelling to catch their attention, but was stopped by Castor’s iron grip on his shoulder.

“What’s up, man?” Micah asked. “I don’t want them to be surprised by us.”

Long shadows painted themselves on the walls, against the flickering firelight. A group of four walked close together. The source of the light and shadows seemed close.

“I think we need to leave,” Castor’s grip on Micah's shoulder tightened. “I’m getting a bad feeling from this.” Castor wanted to find a place to hide and let the group pass, but the sewer went straight for several hundreds of feet behind them.

The group ahead of them turned around the corner, revealing four short scaly things that stood on two legs—barely taller than Micah—grunting and croaking in their gruff language through long snouts. Three walked in primitive furs and carried white, blunt weapons in their gangly arms that were almost too long for their bodies. They proceeded in a loose triangle formation around one wearing a shoddy set of robes, who carried the torch that illuminated their surroundings.

A light that revealed Castor and Micah standing in the middle of the tunnel, their eyes wide with shock.

Kobold

Level 2

Fighter

Kobold

Level 1

Priest

Several prompts appeared in front of Castor, distracting him for a brief moment. A deep screech reverberated down the tunnel, quickly followed by stomps as the Kobolds brandished their weapons and ran towards the trio.

Castor’s heart banged against his rib cage, his stomach dropping with each step the monsters took towards them.

If they ran now, they would just get chased down and killed when they were too tired to keep going.

They had to fight here and now.

Blue snarled in their direction, baring his sharp fangs at the lizardmen. Castor shoved Micah to the side, trying to shock him into action, but was unable to do much else.

The monsters were upon them.

Two Kobolds came for Castor—yet he stepped back from the wide, slow swings of their clubs. The lizardmen swung in blatant motions, telegraphing where they planned to strike and allowing Castor to slip aside the monsters’ swipes.

But it was a narrow effort.

For every bash Castor dodged, another club came closer to hitting him, and the way the air split with every passage of their weapons clued him on how much force each swing of their clubs deceptively carried.

Castor was acutely aware he couldn’t take more than a few hits.

Micah was doing much better than him, somehow managing to climb on the Kobold’s back and hang on the monster’s neck. Fortunately, it seemed too confused to know what to do, slowly being choked from the teen’s weight.

During the whole fight, the Kobold in robes still hung back and avoided the fight altogether, holding the torch in front of it to shine more light on the battle.

Castor was fine with that—fewer enemies to fight at once, the better.

Blue bit at the Kobold’s heel, yet was launched away with a yip as it kicked him away. Castor grit his teeth. He capitalized on the chance and ducked from an incoming strike from the other Kobold.

He hurled himself towards the injured lizardman and tackled him to the floor.

Castor and the lizardman tumbled on the ground, punching and scratching each other before he snatched the heavy club from the Kobold’s claws.

Castor landed a few elbows to its snout, and rolled away before the monster could grab a hold of him and leverage its superior strength on the ground.

The other Kobold ran at Castor—club raised high—yet before it could even get close, the lizardman was tackled to the ground by Blue as he lunged for its neck.

Castor immediately jumped to his feet and brought the club to bear overhead, bashing the Kobold below face in once, and twice; a sickening pair of crunches booming throughout the tunnels despite the sounds of fighting ringing out.

The other Kobold tried to throw off the large dog, but Castor didn’t give it a chance. He spun around and swung his stolen club at the Kobold’s arms, shattering its forearm and shoulder with two heavy swipes, effectively disabling it.

Blue tore into the monster’s neck, ripping its throat out. Blood dripped off his exposed fangs as he threw the Kobold side-to-side until it was nothing more than a corpse of mangled flesh.

Castor turned to help Micah finish off his opponent—and because seeing Blue covered in blood disgusted him—but was suddenly blinded by a flare as something exploded in Micah’s direction.

A scream tore into the air, while a blackened body dropped to the ground. The lizardman’s still body crushed the screaming Micah, his arms still stuck around the Kobold’s neck, burned and covered in soot like the lizardman’s corpse.

Further into the tunnel, the Kobold Priest held its hand in the air, the torch’s flame dimming for a second before returning to a full illustrious brightness.

The hair on Castor’s neck raised as he heard the monster chant under its breath, its otherworldly words somehow carrying over Micah’s screams. Castor had to stop it; he had to move. He gulped at the proposition, sweat rolling down his back from more than the shift in temperature.

Castor sprinted towards the priest, desperate to stop it from unleashing another devastating attack. The priest’s chant built into a crescendo, red streaks that crackled with power congregating from its hand to its torch. Fire exploded with strength as the monster pointed its weapon towards him.

Castor saw fiery death erupt from the tip of the torch as a blinding light and an overwhelming heat cascaded off the priest in waves. Castor squinted his eyes as the flames congealed into a sphere and were thrown in his direction.

Twice in as many hours, Castor could see his death. He could barely gasp as the fireball sped towards him.

“Mana Bolt!” A blue ball of light shot from behind Castor, sailing directly into the fireball that hurtled towards him.

The crimson spit of flame and a blue neon bullet burned across his vision, contrasting each other before dispersing entirely in waves of heat and force.

Darkness claimed the tunnel, the torch spent and unable to fuel the fire once more. Castor could only see a vague afterglow that was seared into his now useless vision.

Castor had never stopped running, even in the face of death—even as the sudden shift to darkness blinded him all the same. He kept pushing forward, until a pair of eyes shone, fear clear in its eyes.

Castor swung his club, but the priest ducked. A metal object was smashed into Castor’s face, the priest throwing its only weapon as it clawed his legs.

Castor swung his club all around him, high and low, until he scored a lucky shot in the dark. The blow knocked the lizardman into a wall. He could hear it gasping for air.

Castor stopped for a moment, unnerved for the first time at killing another being—

—The priest lunged at Castor with its claws aimed at his neck.

On reflex, Castor smashed the creature’s skull. The thwack and splatter rang in his ears. The strike propelled the body towards the ground beside his feet.

The one clear eye looked warped in its destroyed head. Castor promptly emptied his stomach right next to it.

Looting the bodies was painfully awkward, and the walk back to their grovel afterwards was a long and brutal one.

Micah passed out shortly after he launched his [Mana Bolt] at the fireball, so it was Castor’s turn to carry him, and the newfound gear on top of it. He was unwilling to let something as valuable as a weapon leave his grasp, but he was also unable to stay in that section of the sewers—the smoke and the smell of charred corpses were too much for him to handle.

So, Castor resigned himself to shouldering Micah and dragging the pile of loot behind him on the priest’s robes. Blue limped behind him, but frequently looked back to where they left the bodies behind. Castor had to call out his name multiple times, getting him back on track when his attention strayed too far.

Castor was tired, too tired to do anything but look down at his feet as he dug his feet forward. He would have liked nothing more than to pass out, but his mind couldn’t do anything, but wander back to the fight.

The Kobolds were like preteens; they didn’t know a goddamn thing about how to swing the weapons they held, so it was easy to take out them, if a little harrowing when it was two versus one. Yet, the two of them were almost killed by the priest, burnt to a crisp by the brutal power it possessed.

Magic… It was more than an equalizer, but a total game-changer. Castor just couldn’t get over the fact that although the Kobold warriors were a level higher and more numerous than the priest, the magic-wielding thing heavily injured Micah, and proceeded to almost use him as kindling. Castor found himself shaking, his mind replaying the last few seconds over and over again. Showing Castor just how close he was to death.

It was only Micah’s magic that saved his life.

When Castor finally made it to their hiding hole—as Micah eloquently put it—he gently dropped Micah behind him and dragged the weapons with a final heave.

He leaned against the wall and slowly lowered himself to the ground, cupping his face with his bloody and soot-covered hands. Blue whined and shoved his head in between his hands, all but demanding attention from the shaken Castor.

“Hey, Blue.” Castor smiled wearily. The pup’s fur calmed Castor nerves extensively, but it was marred with sticky and dried blood around his neck and jaw, staining him a dark crimson.

It just served to remind Castor that they weren’t safe, that there could be monsters lurking behind every corner.

Micah’s groan interrupted Castor’s downward spiral. He thought that the teen might’ve finally awakened, but Micah continued to sleep restlessly. Castor eyed the burns on Micah’s arms, still covered in soot, and stood up from his brooding.

His work wasn’t over yet.

Castor crawled to the loot—the word felt weird to him, almost entirely unfamiliar—examining the items they won through literal deadly combat:

There were two clubs from the warriors, and only one was stained with blood. Looking closely, Castor could actually see the weapon was one solid object, made of either ivory or bone. Three sets of crude leather armor that were uncomfortably small for Castor, but might’ve been a good fit for Micah. A set of robes that may or may not be covered in blood, and a stylized torch that was surprisingly heavier than it looked.

Castor rubbed his head. He could still feel where the Kobold threw the thing at his face. A little more leverage and that could’ve been me on the ground. Somehow, the thought was comforting. It reassured him he was alive, that he survived.

Going over Micah, Castor could see more than just burns, his forearms were covered in deep scratches. The soot soaked in his blood and dirtied his wounds. Castor grabbed the bloody rags Micah used for his arm and cleaned Micah’s arms the best he could. It was made all the more harder when Micah jerked in his sleep, the pain too much for sleep to stave off.

“I gotta get some more supplies.” Castors sighed.