That’s the problem with you supers. You think you’re all better than us, flaunting your powers as if the world being yours was a given! We had to work for our homes! Learn skills and make something of ourselves rather than being born superhuman!

- Sentiments of the Anti Super Movement

The smell hit first.

Ludus scrunched his nose as he looked around. He was underground, that much was obvious, but it was nothing like the metro. Instead, he was standing on one side of a river of waste. He’d explored the real sewers on occasion but he was quickly remembering why he kept those escapades to a minimum. Again, it smelled.

He took out his wand and held it at the ready. Then, without any better of a plan, he started walking. He should’ve brought nose plugs. Maybe there was an Article for that. He chuckled lightly, keeping alert.

“Is it a structured instance with a clear path forward? Or will it be more of an open zone with random encounters?” He wondered. The fact he didn’t already know was telling. His power usually gave him some inkling of knowledge. Perhaps every Dungeon was different? That seemed likely.

He proceeded with extreme caution. He heard something like broken voices and immediately went wary, freezing only for a moment before taking action to address the threat. Peeking around the corner, he saw something that made him gape in disbelief.

Three… things. They were playing in the river of sewage like it was clear water. Their faces were ugly with eyes that were too small, heads that were misshapen, and limbs that were gangly. Teeth came up and down in angles and spittle flew as they spoke to each other in broken gibberish.

Whatever the hell these were, he’d never seen them before. Not in Newhold. In the realm of video games, they fit the criteria for goblins, small, nasty, ugly, and deadly if not seemingly stupid. He wasn’t sure if their appearance meant they existed somewhere in Newhold’s actual sewers, or if they were a product of the Dungeon.

He knew Dungeons were a separate pocket of reality, instinctually, but he wondered how accurately they reflected reality. After all, this Dungeon was based on Newhold’s sewers.

Ludus’ wand came up and a peal of thunder rang out. A blast of blinding lightning exploded outward, latching onto the nearest sewer goblin and frying it alive. It screamed as it fell over in the sewage, splashing gunk everywhere as its muscles protested. The other two were paralyzed in the water, locking up from the electrical discharge into the river.

Ludus took them out as well. The closest thing to reality that they could’ve passed for was a mad scientist's failed science experiment, in which case Ludus and every person would treat them the same. They were clearly not natural nor normal occurrences.

There was still some guilt. The guilt every person with a conscience might have from taking the life of something beyond a bug. He tried to move past it, seeing as he didn’t have time for morality.

He noticed a drain on himself. An exhaustion of sorts, only it wasn’t physical or mental—though there was some of that—but magical. Somewhat strained but not entirely tired out. Six lightning bolts were his limit, he guessed. He wondered how much of that was affected by his [Lightning Touched] Trait affecting the efficacy of lightning magic. That would naturally apply to mana expenditure and power of his spells.

Trait: [Lightning Touched] (Epic)

You’ve experienced, in some way or another, the unadulterated power of a fundamental force of nature on a level of lethality so pronounced it is a miracle you still breathe. Every cell in your body vibrates with energy. To be subject to lightning is to witness the sublime, to feel it and know it. An awakening like no other.

- 100% increase in lightning resistance

- 100% increase in reflexes and reaction speed

- 20% increase in efficacy regarding lightning-based abilities

- Gain random lightning-based Skill: [Lightning Magic]

Revisiting his Trait, he regarded the bonuses closely. It was exactly the sort of question he set out to answer. It was just tricky considering he had no baseline to test it against. Getting a feel for his magic was good though. Testing it in real combat was the dubious part.

He made his way cautiously over to the sewer goblins. He already felt the name sticking. It was easier to justify if they were just mobs. He... supposed they were, really. Monsters in a Dungeon.

Yet, this wasn’t a game. He had to keep reminding himself that. The mortality rate of newly originated supers was not insignificant. There was a reason for that. People thought they were invincible once they had power, they were not. Well, unless they actually were. The point remained.

He tried not to gag at the edge of the river, especially when looking at the bodies. Dead. There was no loot to be had, meaning it didn’t happen every time or Dungeons just functioned differently. His instinct told him it was the former. The bodies didn’t disappear into motes of light, they stayed. Corpses, unmoving and floating amidst raw sewage that was just as real as the death he caused. It was a far cry from the roadkill he’d often see in South Hold.

Dungeons were supposed to have greater rewards and greater dangers. Ludus knew that, both from experience rooted in RPGs and instinct borne from his power. He expected this. He came in ready to use his magic, ready to slay monsters.

It had almost been too impersonal, dealing with them at a distance with his magic. Less real than fighting the rathounds. He took a deep breath, wincing at the smell. Killing creatures and slaying monsters. Weren’t they the same thing?

The next group of sewer goblins found him. Three again. They rounded a curve in the tunnel and spotted him. The moment they did all feelings of guilt evaporated. They started whooping and screeching, running at him on all fours. The clear bloodlust and glee on their faces were enough to answer his moral qualms.

Ludus jerked out of his thoughts and raised his wand, dancing backward as arcs of lightning raced outward. A lightning bolt slammed into the first one, a singular moment where both wand and chest were connected with a brilliant yellow-blue, and then time resumed and the goblin was thrown backward into his friend in a clatter of limbs.

The third goblin, unhindered, leapt at his face with surprising range. Ludus went wide-eyed but his reaction was fast and he was already ducking. He took a large three-clawed gash across the shoulder, crying out in pain. The thing turned around only to find Ludus’ foot slamming into its face.

Then another goblin was on him. Ludus turned to find it running at him, preparing to leap. He saw all of this in a moment and lunged forward before it could do so, jamming the tip of his wand into the creature’s stomach. It screamed as lightning engulfed it, smoking.

Ludus stepped away, breathing hard. He groaned, grabbing at his shoulder and hissing. He leaned against the wall and reached into his inventory.

“Already?” He muttered, annoyed at the injury. At least he had something for it. Although, from the description, he wasn’t exactly sure how much it would help.

Item: [Weak Healing Vial] (Common)

A small vial of diluted healing liquid that can recover small injuries or staunch larger ones. It may be imbibed for a general effect or applied for localized healing.

- Recovers 3% of max health

The vial was full of red-pinkish liquid as it appeared in his grip. He popped the cork off and poured the contents carefully over the gash on his shoulder. He watched his flesh knit together with a sigh of relief and awe. It didn’t close the wound completely. The worst of it was gone though, he could move his shoulder now, the gashes having shrunk smaller and shallower.

In the past, he would’ve no doubt stumbled and fallen over during that fight. He would’ve been on the ground, helpless as they piled him. His [Acrobatics] kept him on his feet, maneuvering with a grounded sense of balance. It was such a small thing. In tight quarters like this, it meant everything.

But that was nothing if he hadn’t been able to react. His [Lightning Touched] Trait was saving him there. He wasn’t combat ready, or combat-hardened. He had no experience in real fights where his life was on the line. By sheer reaction and impulse, he managed to keep his head.

He let out a breath. “Distance. I need to keep my distance and avoid close encounters if I can manage it.” He told himself, conscious of the sting in his shoulder. “Not too different from an actual caster. I just don’t have a party to protect me.”

For a moment, he debated leaving. He could sense the exit in the exact spot he had entered from. He could turn around and leave. Go home, rest, treat his shoulder. It would be so easy. Smart. So what kept him here? Standing around these bodies?

He wanted to get stronger. That meant putting himself in danger. He needed to get used to these types of encounters, whether he liked it or not. And there wasn’t really an easy way to do so other than just… doing it.

Why? The question echoed in his mind as if from another space. What was he getting stronger for? Of course, he knew why, he had always known. The moment he’d gotten his power. The reason he had jumped into it with shameless enthusiasm was more than just excitement born from the nature of his power.

His mind flashed to unpleasant memories. Fire and screams. Loud noises and crashes. The site of a battle. Of tragedy.

His parents were smiling at him, bloodied and strained. Maybe they thought they had fooled him. He wasn’t that young anymore. He knew what death was. He saw the news, saw the casualties.

He jerked, flinched, but kept staring. A beam of purple energy tore through the air, ripping a perfectly sized hole through a nearby house. His eyes, usually so bright, were a mundane green, the regular color of a mortal human, unable to do anything but watch.

To watch his parents die.

It was unfair how gently their heads fell. How they relaxed into oblivion. How their smiles never faded, even in death their faces held him. There were no screams, no yelling, nothing on their face reflected how Ludus felt in that moment. In their frozen expression, he found understanding, love, patience, and an overwhelming amount of pride. Nothing in their eyes reflected what he felt. No hatred, spite, or everburning anger. No disgust. Frustration. Rage.

He was paralyzed by the horror until a hand landed on his shoulder.

He shivered, testing his shoulder. “Revenge, maybe.” He answered himself, words ringing clearly in the tunnel. “Or strength, power, so it never happens again.”

Did that mean he wanted to be a hero? He wasn’t sure.

All he could do was the Dungeon. He trekked on, this time watching out and listening for the signs of the goblins. He was focused now. He refused to make a mistake. “Slow and steady Ludus.” He whispered, moving on, trying to shrug the memories clinging to him.

He took out another group, finding his mana tapped out. They died at a distance and he finally earned some loot. He stalked up to the bodies, finding the floating screen between them all.

New Item: [Sewer Sword] (Common)

A rusty sword made of dirty metal. While unremarkable in craftsmanship, its blade is sure to impart some kind of disease or bacteria.

- 5% total weapon damage inflicted as poison

- .1% chance to inflict debilitating disease

He took it immediately, taking the sword into his right hand. It was a length of rusty metal half as long again as his arm. Its edge was more jagged than sharp. A distinct upgrade from the [Steel Pipe]. He held his [Wildwood Wand] in the left.

He took out three more groups like this. Cautious and careful. Slow and safe. As much as one could be given the circumstances.

He couldn’t observe the effects of the [Sewer Sword’s] poison let alone any disease since most of the encounters were dealt primarily with his magic. He only had to cut down a goblin once, and it had died at the neck.

With breaks in between, he was able to eventually confirm his arcane limits. Six bolts of lighting when his mana levels were full. His guess had been correct. It took him at least 10 minutes to fully recharge his mana pool. At the expense of extra mana, he could empower a lightning bolt enough to send a goblin flying ten feet backward. He was learning how to manipulate his magic with every fight.

He didn’t know how long he spent in the sewers. Every encounter blurred. He was too preoccupied with the memory of his parents. It was nearly a decade ago. He had barely looked back since. Now it consumed him with deadly clarity.

He needed to vent.

Then he came across something new. He tried to push the thoughts away and focus on the anomaly. It was a rathound, only it looked diseased. Matted fur was normal, but the sickly pallor was not. Its eyes seemed to be bloodshot and rather than being around a few of its number as was expected, it was alone.

Was it some kind of mutation? Or just diseased?

The grip on his weapons tightened. He willed his mana forth, coalescing at the tip of his wand, touching upon that instant moment of nature sublime. It struck the sickly rathound with a thunderclap.

And it fell over smoking, like every other foe prior.

He hovered nearby, inspecting the ugly thing for a moment. It was no different than a regular rathound, just disgustingly diseased, but he needed to make sure. He moved on and found more of its number. They wandered the sewer, drinking from the river, scratching themselves. He’d never seen such a diseased population. He instinctively recoiled at their appearance.

“I can’t let those things get near me.” He said cautiously. He hadn’t thought of the dangers of a Dungeon being anything but monsters. Disease was as easily a killer as anything else.

He crouched behind the tunnel’s brickwork, peering around the corner. They milled about, unaware of his observation. Past some invisible boundary, the sewer goblins had been replaced with rathounds. The only thing to hide behind besides the occasional parapet bordering the river was the natural curvature of the sewer.

When his mana fully recharged, he went on the offensive. The first lightning bolt struck the closest rathound. If not outright killing it, then putting it down for the fight. They all addressed the threat and Ludus was already backing up. He threw another lightning bolt and struck another one of their numbers. The rathounds near his target recoiled, growling and whimpering in one sound.

They barked, chittered, and squealed, grabbing his attention. Ludus instead eyed the pair of rathounds circling across the river of sewage, they were heading to a small metal bridge behind him, intending to flank him. They growled low when he retreated behind it, cutting off what would’ve been a deadly pincer attack, snarling at him.

The last lightning bolt had scattered the majority of them, missing. At that, they yipped and ran down the tunnels, barks echoing until silence reigned. Retreating.

Ludus frowned. “They’re smart.” Of course, these weren’t artificial bits of intelligence controlling digital monsters. These were living beings so far as Ludus was concerned. Just another detail to keep in mind. Unpredictable.

He noted that his rathound Quest made no progress. “Probably because I’m in a Dungeon.”

He spent two hours with no surprises. He was getting comfortable, accustomed to the threat. He had thought [Newhold Sewers] was a Dungeon that was going to keep its monotony. An endless, sprawling system of interconnected tunnels for him to get lost in. He was just about used to it.

He found he was wrong in that regard.

The regular brickwork ended. It looked like something had dug through the walls, striking dirt, soil, and rock before continuing a widening tunnel. The scent of sewage became less intense and an earthy loam replaced it.

He kept his sword and wand ready, clearing the tunnel with practiced movements. Then he paused.

He heard noise. Slowly, he turned the corner carefully to find a single rathound, and he reacted immediately. The tunnel was dark and his hand lit up with lightning. That crackling light caught hundreds of eyes in the darkness.

In an instant, his priorities suddenly changed, his heart leapt up to his chest.

Within less than a second, his body was moving and his feet were pumping back down the tunnel. An unholy screech consumed all noise in the tunnels, piercing his ears like knives. The high-pitched ringing threatened to stop his heart. He ran as the thundering steps of hundreds of rathounds followed him, squealing and chittering combining into a collective roar.

A literal horde of writhing bodies, claws and teeth. A diseased horde.

His scream was primal and raw, lost in the fear for his life. Why were there so many?

He slid on sewage, crashing into the wall, jarring him. He found his feet, and ran again. He turned around, swinging his sword blindly, panicked, hearing one near him. He caught a body on his blade, but it forced him to the floor. His sword found its heart but its jagged teeth found the meat of his good shoulder. He screamed in pain, yelling out.

A dozen rathounds tried swarming him while he was down but they blocked each other. Three snapped at him from the sides. The corpse atop of him kept him safe, he shoved it off. Lightning engulfed his arms once he freed himself and they shrieked, backing off. A half-circle cleared and Ludus saw dozens more running down the other side of the river. They swarmed forward like a single entity poking at him, testing him. Each one died by a shock of lighting and Ludus became aware of a dire problem. His magic wouldn’t dent their numbers.

The lightning dissipated and he brandished his sword instead, silently in fear, conserving his magic. Panicked. The rathounds didn’t seem to care about the blade, they were more focused on his arms. The lightning. It was only a few seconds, but they hesitated. His thoughts fired and he looked for escape.

He’d run into a fucking nest. Of all the luck.

He wouldn’t outrun them now. Rathounds could chase down a human easily. He couldn’t kill them. He’d die if he tried fighting. What did that leave? He was going to die right here. No!

His eyes were cutting the tunnel in imaginary slices, searching—hoping for a way out, while simultaneously trying to track the boldest of rathounds in the front. Adrenaline had taken him and it almost seemed that time slowed. Every half-second that passed, they were becoming more confident. A constant moving mass of pestilence, individuals lost among the roiling flesh and fur and disease. One nipped at him, then two. More surged forward. He stepped forward and the half-circle cleared, cautious, cowardly even. But smart. His blade tasted the blood of only a handful of cocky rats.

His gaze slid downward and to the side. The river.

The sewage. He gulped. Water. Lightning. Lightning immunity. Open wounds. Sewage. Those were the thoughts that shot through his mind like fireworks. Benefits and consequences. Pros and cons. The last thought was what made him start running—start diving.

If I don’t, I’ll die.

He swung forward with his sword, untrained and messy. That was okay, the sword went into his inventory the next moment, slicing at the haunches of the nearest three rats. That was all he needed it to do. It gave him time to run to the edge of the river and leap. He tucked his head, arms forward and hands pointed, and braced for the shock. He’d never had such perfect form before.

He pierced the sewage like a reluctant missile.

The worst part of it was everything. Warm, cold, chunky. His hair caught on floating mysteries like a lint roller. He loathed to open his eyes but he forced himself, guiding himself down the river. The rathounds howled and started diving. He resisted the overwhelming urge to swipe at his face. He needed his arms to cut through the sewage, trying desperately to ignore everything he was touching. They couldn't make a large enough leap to land directly on him where he had surfaced; the middle of the river.

He tried not to gag. Tried not to throw up. Not even open his mouth. But he had to breathe. He gasped the disgusting air and plowed through the sewage. The rathounds had no problem or hesitation diving in after him. They sensed the retreat of prey. He felt their bodies crawling on him, threatening to drown him in sewage. Claws and teeth dug into his back. He screamed, spitting as sewage got into his mouth. He kicked them off, yelling obscenities all the way.

His swimming became frantic. They started running ahead and diving into the brown sewage in front of him.

With trepidation that was immediately banished by necessity, he took a deep breath and dived into the sewage.

There, under the film of bodies, he unleashed his magic. Lightning engulfed him, spreading tendrils through the water like snaking, glowing blades. He felt the rush of water and moving, panicked, limbs. The struggling of dozens of bodies locked up in paralysis, fighting to survive, frantically trying to bail. The fearful screams pierced the sewage, reaching his ears. Squeals and barks and howls. By now, he knew the death knell of a rathound. There were dozens of them, frying alive in the electrified waters, filling the tunnel with a ghastly sound that he could hear even underwater.

He didn’t know how long he kept the electricity going. It was easier to just generate the lightning than send it out. The water’s conductivity handled the rest. Refusing to think of where he was and what he was surrounded by, it was easiest to just focus on the feeling of his magic.

A new feeling, despite it all. Magic. A rush of potential. A surge of power. Possibility made lightning. It flowed from somewhere that was still him, to the surface of his skin. His palms, his arms, his legs, his feet, even his chest and back and head. Everything became a generator. He became a generator. He became a ball of lightning, sheathed in it like a sword in a scabbard.

It felt like hours, but it was only less than a minute. Less than a single hurried breath.

When he surfaced, it was because he had to breathe. He broke the water like a drowning man, wading through fried bodies, gasping and reaching for land. His hand found the lip of the river’s edge and he pulled himself out like a newborn slug.

He flopped over suddenly acutely aware of the possibility of enemies. Nothing. He searched around him, heart calming down, blood electric. A handful of bodies but nothing living. His eyes drifted to the river of sewage, his stomach churning for more than one reason. He spat, desperately trying to get rid of the taste assaulting his mouth. He didn’t want to think about it less he threw up. He looked around at the aftermath instead.

A floating sea of fur. Greys, blacks, and browns. Pinkish tails standing out as the only thing to distinguish the bodies from each other. A blanket of slowly floating corpses. Death.

He dry gagged. Then he wiped at his face, gagged again, and emptied his stomach despite his efforts. His body stung all over and his stomach flipped again when he saw what he wiped off of himself. What had been in his mouth.

The splattering of his vomit was the only sound in the tunnel. He didn’t want to wipe his mouth and risk getting more sewage in it. He sat there, hunched over with arms forward for support, trying to breathe.

He glanced at his wrist, covered in sewage slime and bits and chunks he didn’t want to think about. The [Ratbane Bracelet].

Item: [Ratbane Bracelet] (Common)

A braided length of cord made from rat-whisker and fur. By the thickness of the cord, a large number of rats had to die to make it.

- 10% increase in damage against rat-aligned enemies

That increased damage. How much had it just helped him? He stared at the bodies again but couldn’t find the focus to think of them.

He slumped against the wall. He didn’t feel well. His vision was blurry, he felt hot. Sick, feverish. His breath was rapid. He was burning up and he looked at his shoulders only to find blood running down his body. He had multiple wounds, gashes, and scratches all over his front and back. That was the stinging, he realized. Everything was covered in sewage, seeping into his wounds.

Weakness.

He fought unconsciousness. He was seeing black spots, to the point he wondered if he had gone beyond his own breath. He might’ve starved his brain. But that thought, among many, was a snippet of an incoherent mind, slowly fading to darkening oblivion.

Name: Ludus Rowth

Level: 8

Titles: [One Man Army], [Rathound Slayer]

Traits: [Lightning Touched]

STR: 4 (+1)

CON: 5

DEX: 4

AGI: 6

PER: 8

INT: 8

WIS: 8

WIL: 5

CHA: 6

LUK: 4

Stat Points: 8

Credits: 0

Skills: [Lightning Magic], [Acrobatics]

Constitution. The measure of one’s livelihood, durability, hardiness, and vitality. If he were to compare the attribute to known super-types, it would be found prevalent in paragons. Those originating with supernatural physiques. To be able to withstand a tank shell to the chest, or stop a cannonball with a wave. To shrug off damage like a light rain. To survive.

He placed a Stat Point into it. CON incremented to 6. His breathing became slightly easier. His thoughts became less muddled. He repeated the process, finally stopping at 9 wherein he didn’t feel as in danger of dying. Each point was a banishing blow against his pain, his feverish symptoms, and his stinging wounds.

He opened his eyes and regarded himself. All of his wounds had shrunk somewhat. It meant nothing considering the sheer quantity of them. But he felt better, able to breathe, not on the verge of passing out. That was something, at least.

He grimaced at the fact had to use his Stat Points though. “Not the worst thing to dump it into.” He sighed, feeling some measure of relief. “Might’ve just saved my life too.” He said, wincing as he adjusted himself against the wall.

Name: Ludus Rowth

Level: 8

Titles: [One Man Army], [Rathound Slayer]

Traits: [Lightning Touched]

STR: 4 (+1)

CON: 9

DEX: 4

AGI: 6

PER: 8

INT: 8

WIS: 8

WIL: 5

CHA: 6

LUK: 4

Stat Points: 4

Credits: 0

Skills: [Lightning Magic], [Acrobatics]

Then he looked at his messages. There was a tide of them, as if to remind them of what he had just accomplished. His Epic Trait and Skill, perhaps, put him ahead of what he should’ve been capable of. He could believe it.

Staring at the mass of floating bodies, he considered that might’ve been beyond the upper edge of what the Dungeon recommended. A level 10 threat. At that level, it’d be assumed some attribute of his was above 10, marking him as superhuman in at least one capacity.

Even then, he wasn’t so sure survival was guaranteed. Would any attribute over 10 have helped him in this situation? Only AGI fit the bill, or maybe PER so that he’d see the threat before it came to this.

He took in one of the new items on his Status.

New Title: [One Man Army] (Epic)

Requirements: Defeat 250 Enemies of Greater Level Alone In A Single Encounter.

You are a tide breaker against both armies and hordes. The mass of bodies crash against you, only for you to stand and they to break. You have faced down countless enemies, rising higher upon their corpses, holding steady upon a mountain. What hope does an army have against a single man as strong as their whole?

- 30% increase to efficacy when outnumbered

- 20% increase to efficacy when alone

His eyes bulged at the bonuses. “250 enemies?” He glanced over, shivering at the acrid smell. Sewage and fried rathound did not go together. He dry gagged, thankful his stomach was empty.

30% efficacy when outnumbered was no joke. If he continued this Dungeon, he’d basically be 50% more effective at everything he did, so long as he was outnumbered. Since he was alone, he’d get that additional 30% too. That would hold… for basically any Dungeon he tried.

It was a huge boon. The perfect Title for a lone super. One that scaled the stronger he got.

It was almost too good to be true. Something that wouldn’t have been possible if not for this exact scenario occurring. Luring the rathounds into the water was his only hope of survival. He didn’t have to think too long about it. The disgusting river was his only chance of escape and his [Lightning Magic] was the tool that allowed him to kill them all.

He staggered to his feet. Unsteady still. He was in no shape for any more battles. His head still throbbed, unrelated to his bodily aches. It was like a drain on his soul, if he ever thought he could feel it. He knew what it was though. It was a distinct lack of mana, whatever muscle—if it could be called such—that he used for spellcasting was strained and sore. He wouldn’t be casting anything anytime soon. He’d pushed himself past the limit of both his physical and magical means, and then some.

His attention drifted to the other Title. [Rathound Slayer]. That one was more believable. Undeniable given… he stared at the bodies for the dozenth time. Was it disbelief? Disgust? He was drawn to the sight over and over, numb, guilty, something. He wasn’t really sure what he felt aside from the fact he was happy he was alive.

“Ludus the Rathound Slayer.” He chuckled to himself, somewhat crazed.

New Title: [Rathound Slayer] (Common)

Requirements: Defeat 100+ Rathounds In A Single Encounter or Extinguish A Rathound Colony

You are the bane to all rathounds. They are, as any rat, nothing more than a pest to be exterminated. They come in hordes, hiding in nooks and crannies, repopulating and infecting. You are unavoidable and absolute, slaying them in number countless times.

- 33% increased damage to rathounds

- 10% increased damage to other rat-aligned enemies

He took the [Rathound Slayer] Title in stride because it made sense and his focus was elsewhere. He needed to get out of the Dungeon. He got up and started moving albeit slowly—

Then a screen appeared in front of him. Loot, he realized slowly. He felt something drop into his inventory.

New Item: [Rathide Armor] (Uncommon)

A patchwork set of rathide armor offering decent protection against mundane attacks. The various browns, greys, and blacks worked into the armor allow some measure of camouflage in the dark.

- CON +2

- DEX +2

- 20% increased camouflage in the dark

As soon as he equipped it, which he did immediately after seeing the bonuses, he felt even better than he had, which was to say a little less than terrible. It didn’t fix him, not nearly, but it mitigated the dreadful experience that was moments prior. The bonus to his DEX was also apparent. He felt nimbler, more capable of micromovement.

It was both a good idea to equip it and not. It made him feel so much better compared to what he had been feeling. It also settled onto him automatically, coalescing onto his body as a perfect fit. Right above all the sewage.

“Ughh.” He shivered. “Really? That’s how this works?”

He walked with a disgusting squelch he did not want to think about. He needed a bath. Then a shower. Then a trip to a decontamination center. Then he needed to burn himself alive before he’d ever feel clean again.

He leaned not-so-heavily-anymore on the tunnel walls, hoping to any god that he didn’t run into—

He froze as he heard familiar gibberish.

“Fuck.” He whispered to himself. According to his minimap, they were directly between him and the exit. Sewer goblins. A burst of energy, a short sprint. He could rush past them.

He rounded the corner, ready to fight for his life.

Four goblins. His hopes shattered. He might die anyway, after all that. With no magic? With barely the strength to lift the [Sewer Sword]? They took one look at him. He froze. Then they glanced at each other with unintelligible expressions. They started running. The opposite direction.

Ludus thought he saw their noses scrunch before they retreated. He stood there dumbly. Numb. Tired.

The reason they retreated could’ve been many things. They could’ve seen the floating bodies and decided not to take their chances with an unknown. Maybe they knew of his lightning, having seen the bodies of their comrades, and left for that reason. He knew they could communicate.

Surely it wasn’t because he smelled? These creatures lived in the sewer! They were playing in the sewage for gods’ sake. And yet, their expression had been almost… recognizable.

Ludus almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. Instead, he made a beeline for the exit before something else showed up. He wanted out.

The portal was that Common grey color, set right into the wall. He walked through it without preamble, having never been more ready for anything in his life than leaving at that moment.

As soon as he exited, he limped half-conscious to somewhere secluded, then promptly passed out.