As stone ground against bone and nerve, as muscles were slowly pushed upwards, leaving deposits of blood, skin, and flesh behind along the stone surface of the stalagwhateverthefuckytheywherecalled, Goodie could only grit his teeth as he tried to distract himself from the pain he was experiencing, desperately trying to lose himself within needless thoughts.

For the past…well, there was no real way to tell the time deep down in the underground, the cold darkness around him giving no sign as to whether it was day or night. Instead, Goodie began relying on his body's functions to give him any indication of how much time he had been down there, of how much time he had wasted on someone else's idiotic dream of treasure. The growling of his stomach and the functions of his lower body being the only sign of time’s march in the otherwise still cavern. That and the occasional beast that would wander in.

The beasts of the underground had mostly been avoiding the area since Her Majesty had knocked out the ones that had initially gathered when he had ‘landed’ and had continued to do so to any that followed. They had either learnt to stay away or had been driven off by the stench of their fallen comrades, or at least that was what Goodie hoped. There was the possibility that there was something else scaring them off or attracting their attention, but he more than suspected it might have been his own stench that may have been the reason for it, the smell somehow worse than that of the bodies around him. Stuck as he was, taking care of business had proven to be a difficult venture in a new aspect of humiliation, with him having to unlearn everything his mothers had taught him about potty-training. He had cleansed himself, of course, but his supply of the that particular spell as well as the rest of his [SACRIFICE] rewards were not unlimited so he had to pace himself and without a new source of XP to sacrifice to replace the almost endless supply of rats that he had back in the city, his supply of one use spells had begun to grow thin. He had been refraining from relying on them as much as possible, not that level 0 abilities offered much use beyond affording him some minor conveniences, but he had still gone through them like candy, especially in the past few days…weeks? However long he had been down here?

There was also the fact that the spell only affected his body and anything within about a finger’s width of it. Usually more than enough for his needs, but with his current predicament combined with the fact that after how many days within this hellhole, his clothes had seen better days.

He could not really tell, but the sounds of something falling and the following foul stench made it more than obvious what was happening behind him. Or beneath him. Direction took a bit of rethinking when you have been suspended on stone spikes for as long as he had been.

But all that was okay. Humiliating, yes, but okay. You do not spend a year traipsing around a sewer without learning to tolerate a bit of stank, and if it was keeping him safe from the mutated beasts, then it was more than welcomed.

Speaking of the beasts…thinking rather, the creatures had had him sweating like a stuffed pig ever since he had woken up, despite them being unable to reach him thanks to his current plight and Her Majesty rendering them all unconscious with her bite, the constant threat of their presence was stressful, to say the least and Goodie could not help but feel that the efforts of his only ally were merely delaying the inevitable confrontation that would no doubt occur if…when he finally got himself down.

But then one of the mutated rabbits had died, suffocated under the weight of a larger of its kind that had fallen on top of it.

The familiar tingling sensation of an XP notice crawling its way up from the back of his mind when it had happened taking him by surprise, it had been so long since he had experienced it that he had freaked when it had happened. It had not been a significant amount considering he, or rather Her Majesty, had not directly killed it, but the notice itself was rewarding enough.

The creatures needed to breathe, everything needed to as far as he knew. There was probably something in this world that did not, but he was not dealing with that, he was dealing with a bunch of flesh and blood creatures that needed to eat and breath and sleep.

Something that the more paranoid parts of his mind took some sick form of pleasure in pointing out was also one of his many, many weaknesses.

Ignoring it. Or trying to, he moved on to dealing with the sleeping beasts below.

Now that he was dealing with enemies that could not fight back, enemies that he could now kill, his course became clear.

His powers allowed him to summon his shadow stuff wherever he could see, even if that sight belonged to another. He had Her Majesty provide visuals for him as he went about covering the mouths and noses of the beasts with the same tar-like substance that had served him so well in the sewers back in the city, the substance hampering their ability to draw breath.

Unfortunately, the greater the distance between him and the substance that he was summoning, the weaker it was and the less control he had over it, with his shadow tar being more akin to water without sunlight to strengthen it within the pitch-black cavern that he was in. So, Her Majesty had to compensate by strengthening it with her own influence. And as she possessed no mana, every use of her abilities required that she pay the cost with her health instead. Her constitution was easily mended by infusing her with his own power, she did not even need to return to him to do so, but she was still suffering from having half her body vaporised by the spell of those idiots.

Mentally and physically.

Her attributes had been reduced by more than half, but the reason that they were so high in the first place was thanks to his [Sacrifice] ability, so she could recover them, but what had him worried was how stressed she had been since her loss. Before, she had been lazy, unphased by anything that did not affect her, but afterwards, she had been angry, stressed, always a second away from biting someone. She had never acted out, but with their shared link, he could feel it all. Barely noticeable when compared to his average stress levels, but its presence still disturbed him. The thought of causing his only ally, even though she had no real choice in the matter, did not sit well with him and asking her to sacrifice more of herself for him, no matter how temporary it may have been, just sucked.

But still, there was no one else to do it and it had to be done.

So the two of them went about suffocating the beasts one by one. Covering their mouths and waiting for them to die. A harder task than one might think, though they were out cold it did not paralyse them, their bodies twitching and convulsing as their bodies went into shock, their eyes bulging as their twisted faces contorted.

A cruel end.

And it went on for minutes.

Every time.

And there were just so many bodies.

They killed every one of them. Eventually.

Witnessing the extent of his abilities, some might have been happy with the results. Marvelled at the abilities that he possessed. Sure, he sucked in a straight-up fight, but as an assassin, he was pretty badass, even for a beginner.

But he knew it was too easy to give in and think that he had power, that being able to stand over a defenceless beast and decide whether or not they got to live or die was somehow a sign of strength. But power was an illusion and he had no delusions about his limits. You do not get bragging rights for bashing in a baby’s head.

At least, you are not supposed to.

Whatever he could do, someone else could do better. That was how it had always been. He was not alone now, but as much as he had gone out of his way to ensure that Her Majesty was special, he highly doubted that she was unique. Drowning a snake in alcohol was far from hard, there were probably a few like her running about. Or slithering.

And his class, [SHAMAN OF SHADOWS], were rare, but he had heard of several in the time he had been in this world. The ones he had heard of were in manufacturing, using their powers to make some sort of local equivalent of rubber and plastic as well as some other stuff, hell the truck-waggon the city had given him when they had told him to piss off had been made by them, which was why he had first started infusing different materials with his powers in the first place. A half-hearted attempt at getting into the same business. Half-hearted, because any actual enterprise that he could form had he been truly successful would have been claimed or destroyed by either the locals or the people of earth as they played their bullshit political games, with most of them having to sign a magical contract that bound them to the employ of whichever power that they surrendered themselves to. They were not necessarily treated as such, most even living better lives than the politicians that controlled them, but still, Goodie had no interest in being a slave of any sort, even if it meant having to suffer through another of the events that had become the hallmark of his life.

But undoubtedly, there were other [SHAMAN OF SHADOWS] out there who had focused on combat, assassination at the very least. And if even one of them had a summons with a similar ability to her majesty, he was screwed. Hell, with all the pure summoner classes and actual assassin classes out there…

“NO! No. Stopitnow,” he yelled at himself. Goodie’s voice piercing the silence of the cavern like a knife to flesh, the sudden sound after what seemed like an eternity of nothingness causing his ears to hurt.

His words had not been particularly loud, but having spent so long with neither sight nor sound had made his senses more sensitive.

The maddening stillness of the cavern slowly settling back in, Goodie waited for his heartbeat to slow down, its pace disturbed by his stress.

He was panicking again. His stupid brain freaking out over the thought of being killed, obsessing over some remote possibility that would probably never happen instead of focusing on the situation that he was in that would probably kill him if he did not focus. Stupid, stupid brain. Was it any wonder why people who never think ruled the world. Worlds.

After dispatching the beasts, there had been little else to do. He was stuck, unable to free himself, nor could Her Majesty. And with any effort in thinking of a solution hampered by the pain he was experiencing, Goodie had been forced to wait.

Not for long, but long enough that sustenance became a concern.

Again, he owed Her Majesty for his life. She helped provide for him during the long wait by bringing him water and food. The water was relatively easy, taken from one of the many small pools that were scattered around the cavern. Thoughts of bacteria and such had crossed his mind, but beggars could not be choosers, so he tried to not think about it. Much like how he had tried not to think about how she was bringing it to him, having to swallow it before transporting it to him then dribbling it into his mouth.

As for food, though it had come loose during his fall, his backpack had dropped nearby his own landing point and with it, the ration bars that the waggon train had given him. By some people’s definition, they were food. Not his, but some.

Being small and not having hands or teeth, she had to wrestle small chunks off using her body to constrict them until they came apart, then taking it to him like she had the water.

A horrid thought, being fed like a bird, but honestly, considering that these were the preserves of the waggon-train that she was feeding him, the taste was greatly improved. Enough so, that he had and still was genuinely giving thought to having her predigest his ration bars in the future. It would have sounded mad to anyone who had not had the misfortune of eating one of them, but the rations were truly, truly that awful.

So awful.

Enough so that even if freeing himself had not been his main priority, it would have been bumped straight to the top of his to-do list now, just so he could avoid having to eat another bite.

The answer to that problem was obvious, really.

Use his powers.

But it was the how of hit that had him stumped.

He had considered creating some type of bungee cord from his shadow stuff and using it to yank himself upwards. It would've hurt like hell, but he had experienced pain before and was willing to experience more of it if it would have gotten him out of his predicament sooner. Unfortunately, there were three problems with that plan. One, there was nothing above him but the hole he had fallen down, meaning there was no roof to attach it to even if he could. Two, his shadow substance was still extremely weak, any cord thinner than his arm would've snapped after a few seconds without him constantly reinforcing it with his abilities and a cord that would have been long enough and thick enough for his needs would have been expensive in terms of mana use, again, only affording him a few seconds before he would need to stop and recharge. And three, he did not know how to make a bungee cord. He had various bits of elastic gathered from the other bits of clothing and various other items from Earth back in his truck–waggon, which he had meant to infuse with his shadow stuff to try and copy the properties, but it had always been on his to-do list. Something he hoped he would live long enough to get back to someday. The only type of substance of his that could stretch was his snot/tar attack, but that was more sticky stretchy rather than rubber band stretchy.

So, if pulling was out of the question, then what about pushing?

He was high enough off the ground that the beasts could not reach him, even when jumping, but he was still within reason for the use of his powers. Using the stone stalags as pillars, a foundation to provide the strength that his shadow stuff would lack in the darkness, he formed a thin rubbery wall between each stalag, creating a container that he had Her Majesty strengthen while he poured liquid-type shadow stuff within it. And, watching through his summon’s eyes, he saw as ever so slowly, his creation began to rise.

It took…time. How long? He had no idea. But it took a while.

Slowly waiting, slowly growing the wall as his homemade pool rose.

Slowly, but eventually, after so much waiting, it reached high enough that it touched him.

And that was when the easy part ended.

Since then, he had been raising himself…slowly…ever so slowly, millimetre by excruciating millimetre. The forefront of his mind occupied by the pain that he was forcing himself to endure despite his many attempts to focus on anything else. But he had little else to think of as he lay there in the complete darkness.

Nothing except…was it getting brighter?