I stared at the scene before me in amazement. A gargantuan cavern sprawled out in all directions with basalt stalagmite and stalactite columns as tall as skyscrapers supporting a distant, dark ceiling. Waterfalls came down from high above, breaking apart into mist and adding to the moisture hanging in the air. Pale Chasm clouds rolled between the stone columns, lighting the cave up from within.

A massive city was chaotically sprawled out beneath me, favela-style buildings surrounding stalagmite columns. A dirty-looking, green-brown river flowed between the base of the buildings that randomly spouted on little rocky islands like fungi growths. The city was not designed by a single architect, it was pure undiluted mayhem of random jumble of colors and flickering lights. Rafts and fishing boats that looked like they were made from trash lazily moved down the river. Grimy, dark bridges made from irregular-shape debris and old logs formed connections between islands.

“Undertown…” I exhaled. I was seeing this place for the first time, but some deep part of my soul recognized this place and rejoiced at the view.

“The city of debitors and criminal gangs,” Dawn muttered.

My sharp chimera eyes focused on the streets below me, spotting little details.

A hex-beacon shined in the distance. The tower bearing it looked as grimy as the rest of the city. Perhaps long ago the Constabulary Station was white, but now it was covered in layers of filth and grime, leaning to one side and practically buried in slums.

The city beneath me was alive. It breathed and moved all over like a massive anthill. Smoke wafted from burning fires and candles. Figures of all shapes and sizes dressed in dirty, colorful robes crowded the streets and bridges. Children played with random detritus. An old man was hanging his very stained laundry out to dry. An open-air restaurant was serving lime-green noodles, the chef smoking something akin to a blue cigar.

I unlocked my mask belts, pulling the helmet slightly away to smell the flavors of the city. It had been a mistake. A million smells had assaulted me, smashed into my sensitive chimera nose all at once. Far too many of them had been overbearingly unpleasant. The stench of human sweat and excrement was mixed with the smell of garbage. The river smelled the worst, like something had died and festered in it for a thousand years. I coughed and gagged, nearly throwing up.

“Eghagh, the smell,” I sputtered, pulling the mask back on.

“What were you expecting?” Dawn asked. “All of the sewage and trash from Illatius converge down here.”

“Isn’t Illatius supposed to be the shining gemstone of the Empire or something?” I hissed out trying not to throw up inside of my mask.

“Oh it is,” Dawn said. “This is the place they don’t show foreign dignitaries and tourists. There are no brothels, no beggars, no homeless and no poor in Illatius. Everything that’s unsightly is swept, washed away this this place. Undertown is home to the downtrodden. Once you end down here there is no way back to the surface.”

“I just walked from the surface,” I commented.

“Because you have an armacus,” Dawn said. “Try taking it off and climbing up. You’ll feel like your skin is peeling off. The capital is shielded against destitute chaff by its hex-beacons.”

“I see,” I muttered darkly.

“Look at those ramshackle houses,” the painting commented. “There’s no law in Undertown, no order and tons upon tons of magical refuse. It’s the perfect place for you to hide for a bit.”

“Looks like it’s the perfect place to get robbed or stabbed,” I commented nervously, noticing a whole gang of black-hooded hoodlums assaulting a fat, old vendor on the distant street with some home-made batons.

“Yet again, you have an armacus,” Dawn said.

“Which means what?”

“Not just any cheap, old armacus. You have a palladium magisteel armacus, my dear. Very expensive. It practically declares you untouchable.”

“How?”

“There are different metals and hexagram foci to each armacus. For example the rich Mercantiles wear gold ones. Yours declares you as the 'lawmen faction'. All you need to do down here is to show your pretty bracelet, and you can have as much fun as you want.”

“Fun like?”

“Down here you have the means to buy, play with or even kill someone and get away with it,” Dawn said. “The armacus-bearers come down here to play.”

“What?” I growled.

“All of the stuff that’s illegal up above is big business down here,” the painting explained. “Brothels, Topaz dens, Gambling parlors, Slave Rings, Fighter Coliseums, etcetera.”

“How do you even know about these things?” I sputtered.

“A few of me are hanging in those questionable-looking towers,” the painting replied, her tone filled with spikes of anger and dismay. “The local constables are practically owned by the Guilds. I’ve seen far too much wickedness down here. Sometimes… they make me watch. They find my reactions amusing.”

“I see,” my eye twitched. “What do you think about all of this then?”

“These people can’t be helped,” Dawn said. “I tried… they just don’t listen. None of them want my advice. I’d like you to remove my posters from the local stations, please. I can’t bear watching their grotesque deeds anymore.”

“They would just let me take the posters?” I asked.

“Just act important and tell anyone who asks… that the posters expired and that you’ll bring in new ones later… after some fun at the Dens,” the painting said. “Only acknowledge people with shiny armaci. Ignore everyone else. If a lowborn doesn’t want to get out of your way or bothers you, repulse them.”

“Repulse them?”

“Check your armacus,” Dawn said.

I did. There was a new spell there.

[Repulsor] [Wide beam] [Focused beam]

“Why is there no level to this spell?! What’s the difference between a Wide and a Focused beam?” I blinked in confusion.

“It’s basically a nerve-stinger-type repelling field. Crowd control for the unwashed masses,” Dawn clarified. “The beam is shot from the nearest hex-beacon tower and redirected through the armacus. Pressing the trigger will drop everyone within thirty elbows of you with the Wide setting or knock someone down from afar with the Focused setting. It’s not lethal but it’s very painful from what I saw. The Guilders like to use it to torture people.”

“So my armacus has a weapon,” I said darkly.

“One that’s available to the rich and powerful only in Undertown,” Dawn added. "Lambert wouldn't let you go down here without protection."

“Why haven’t Annya or Lambert told me any of this stuff?” I huffed. “I feel like this would have been important to know ahead of time.”

“Because they’re good people,” the painting muttered. “Law-abiding humans like them either don’t know everything about this place or like to pretend that it doesn't exist to keep their conscience clean.”

“Lambert knows about Undertown,” I insisted. “He subsists on secrets and mysteries.”

“Yes, but I know more than he does about this place, so he asked me to protect you,” Dawn said. “I’m guiding you on his orders.”

“Right,” I nodded. “I do appreciate your guidance.”

“I just wish that I could do more,” the painting sighed. “This place is a festering cesspool of sin and vice.”

“I’m sure that there are some good people down here,” I said.

“There are,” Dawn replied. “But they’re powerless and victimized by the bad ones.”

“Is that why you’re guiding me?” I asked. “Because you think that I can make a difference?”

“I think that you have the future potential to make a difference,” the painting said. “You’re not like anyone I've talked to before. You understood what I am pretty quickly.”

I was silent for a moment, contemplating the painting’s words.

“Let’s go,” I finally said, breaking the silence.

A wet, moss covered stairwell led me from the stone outcropping down onto the street. As I entered into the ramshackle marketplace, I felt that my armacus started to pulsate with power. The level of the [Repulsor] wasn't defined, but I definitely knew that it was there now. All I had to do to knock people away from me was activate the spell. I had practiced with the armacus while walking through the caves and discovered that I could activate any of its spells by touching the concealed trigger with one of my soul-threads.

The people around me seemed to move away from me, making plenty of room for me to pass, some scrambling out of my way rather quickly. They must have noticed the thrumming power of the armacus warning-pulse. As I walked down the street paved with compacted refuse, I felt that I was akin to a shark cutting through a school of fish.

I looked around the market as I walked briskly. I wasn't even sure where I was going. The streets of Undertown were a labyrinth without any sort of labels, crowded with dead-end ghettos and favelas sitting precariously atop each other. Living space was randomly mixed with crowded street-shops. A stall on my left was selling something that looked like black, oily squids. The shop on my right featured roasted rats on a stick. I blanched, not feeling experimental. My chimera stomach could digest all sorts of monsters with ease, but I had gotten used to Lomb crepes. The smell alone would likely make me puke without even attempting to sample the local food.

"This isn't the way to the station," Dawn commented as I aimlessly traversed through Undertown. "Do you know where you're going?"

"No," I said. "I have no idea where I am going... but I feel like I'm heading somewhere important. What does your future-sense say?”

“You’re on an… interesting path,” Dawn commented.

“Alright then,” I muttered.

I had traversed over several crooked, trash-bridges and started to climb uphill, towards the part of the city that circled the gargantuan rising stalactite column. The streets started to feel oddly familiar, as did the people.

I stopped in front of a building that looked like it was about to collapse. The front was leaning precariously to one side, part of it hanging in the air. I could see the dirty, green-algae covered river below through the cracks in the makeshift, slapdash foundation.

[ShoEmEker MiSeM] a crooked, hand painted sign declared. A large, lopsided drawing of a shoe was visible on a rotting, old board.

"Ah... I see where you brought me," I looked up at the derelict-looking building. A small group of kids had spotted me and scattered like fleeting, terrified kittens, their eyes wide with panic.

I entered the old workshop. It was musty and moldy inside. The only source of light came from a small, barred window. An empty, grimy workbench stood idly in the corner. Cobwebs and empty bottles were omnipresent.

Judging by the panicked reactions of the kids, I wasn't going to get much of a conversation here with my current body. I put my bag down, quickly stepped into Saccy, grabbed Grogtilda's body and switched my consciousness out of my chimera self.

"Hey what... you have two bodies?" Dawn asked.

"Yes," I replied. "Be back in a bit."

"Mkay," the painting said.

I didn't say anything else, leaving her inside of Saccy. For some reason this moment felt personal, pivotal and I didn't want Dawn getting in the way.

I put Saccy back on my shoulders and stepped out of the workshop as Grogtilda and started to walk further uphill. I didn't know where I was going, but Grogtilda's body wanted to be there, so I let her.

My human body from Undertown didn’t seem to mind the smell. In fact, she couldn't smell much at all. I guessed that having no sense of smell came with being born down here.

I walked up a few more crooked, wet stairwells, weaving between old, broken buildings. I didn't think that this place could get worse and yet it did - the buildings here absolutely decrepit. I stopped in front of a house that was half carved from old basalt stone and half random junk and refuse.

"Lic, when are you going to stop drinking and get back to work?" A female voice screeched from its innards.

My body flinched at her voice. Grogtilda was afraid of... her mom?

"I'mrr just traaying to relax," a gruff man's voice, presumably Lic, replied.

"You've been saying that for months," the woman accused. "You're getting addicted to blueshine. You think I don't see that your face is all bloated and blue? It's time to let it go and start working. Our daughter's not coming back. The damned Guilders killed her, sent her into the Dungeon with an inexperienced guide!"

"I know, I know," Lic muttered.

"You need to move on," the woman said. "We need to pay the Guild. You smell like rot."

"I'll get to it," Lic hiccuped. "I jussst need to rrelax. I’ll get to it soon."

I stepped to the rotting door covered in blue mold and knocked.

"Who is it?" The woman screeched.

“S’my friends,” Lic mumbled. “We goin’ to the docks soon to catch some squids…”

“You’re a shit liar, Lic. Piss off, he ain’t gon’ drink with you! Take your shine elsewhere!” Grogtilda’s mother screeched.

I found it difficult to speak and tried to turn the handle. It was locked from within with a rusted iron bolt. The door handle groaned.

"Lic, go to the door!" She barked. “Tell em to piss off!”

I heard movement from inside and the door opened as the bolt slid away. A man who looked like he was in his mid forties stood in the doorway. He was wearing a pair of dirty overalls and a very soiled undershirt. His eyes were red and puffy, his cheeks bloated and his skin had a faint blue tinge. He looked like he hadn't shaved in months and his black hair was greasy.

"H-how... c-can I help you, excellency?" He stammered, his voice slurred. He was staring at my polished, leather boots, terrified to meet my eyes. He must have felt the pulse of my armacus as he opened the door. "I am but a lowly cobbler... m-my life isn't worth much. P-please have mercy. M-my daughter died recently and I haven’t been p-payin’ the G-guild f-fee…"

"Dad," my lips whispered. "I'm home."

Lic's eyes slowly moved up my body, taking in my leather armor. He stopped at my face and his eyes widened in disbelief. "Grogs... is that really you?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to say more.

"It can't be," he muttered, his eyes tearing up. "My baby girl is dead. The Guilders killed her…"

He pinched his arm and yelped, then looked at me once again.

"No, I'm alive," I said. "I'm back. I'm home."

"Grogs?" Lic's voice cracked. "You're really alive? Yous not just a shine dream?"

"Yes," I nodded, my eyes tearing up.

"Oh my baby girl," Lic sobbed, wrapping me in a very weak, shaking embrace.

I felt awkward and out of place, but the dancing shadows at the back of my mind were finally satisfied. Grogtilda had brought me to her parents, hoping that I could help them, knowing that her father would suffer if she was gone forever.

"I thought you were dead," Lic muttered. "I thought you wez’ gone."

"I... I am gone," I finally said.

"What do you mean?" Lic asked, his black eyes narrowing in confusion.

"I'm not the same person I was before," I explained. "I've changed. I'm not the little girl you used to know. I can barely remember you. I got hurt in the Dungeon and… became changed by it."

Lic's eyes darted to the armacus on my hand and then back at my face.

"I see," he muttered, his eyes swimming in tears. “S’alright… you’re home Grogs… yous rr’ home. You’re not a shine-dream…? You are really my Grogs?”

"No," I shook my head. "I'm not a dream. I’m… your daughter. I just... I can't really remember much. I'm sorry… dad."

"Lic! Who are you talking to out there?!" The female voice screeched. "Another one of your moonshine pals? Tell em to go suck on a squid and get back inside!"

"No, it's... it's our daughter," Lic called back. "She's finally back! She's alive!"

"What?" The woman's voice sputtered. "Are you seeing things again? I told you to drink less shine, you tit!"

"I... I probably am seein some thingss," Grogtilda's father mumbled, pulling me into the trash-filled house. "She's a highborn lawmans now! Got a genuine armaca n’ everything!"