“Some breathing exercises,” I lied. I couldn’t tell him the truth. Normal Awakened didn’t feel refined anathema. It was not something they had dominion over. “I met a high orc the last time I have been here. Had one of my Guildmasters not been with me, I would have died.”

Franco nodded. “Take your time,” he said.

“There is no need to. I’m okay now.”

We stepped outside of the passage’s shadows and into the lit interior of the cave. Not much had changed since I had last been here. The enormous cave was still mostly empty, with but the lone tree whose bark I left scorched after a spell, and the six humanoid figures, which huddled at its base.

Franco and I didn’t go unnoticed for long. The orcs’ response to our presence was swift. They rose to their feet, brandishing their crude weapons and assuming a loose formation before dashing us.

Franco moved in front of me as I chanted, readying his shield and sword.

“Waning light. Dying sun. At dusk, shadows encroach upon our land. While those who have sinned fear their judgement, the pious needn’t, for they will be left untouched. Song of Imprisonment; 3rd Poem, 5th Stanza—Dark Nails.”

As the words rolled off my tongue, the mana around me became more pliable, allowing the chant and my words to re-forge it in the fractal I knew to be the spell matrix of the Stanza. The spell burned to life, altering most of the mana in the cave and summoning four human-sized nails of liquid darkness out of thin air. They were placed at the corners of an imaginary square, which included the last two of the orcs. As soon as they materialized, the humanoid creatures stopped cold in their steps, frozen by the spell.

Franco engaged the remaining four while I struggled to maintain control over the spell, pushing more and more mana into it. I heard the orcs’ grunting and Franco curse as their weapons met in explosions of dull, heavy sounds originating no doubt from impacts behind which was a great deal strength. I didn’t turn to look at them—the spell I had summoned was taking most of my attention, and I didn't want to screw it up.

The area demarcated by the magic turned darker, with more and more nails appearing at random inside the perimeter of the first four. When the tenth appeared, I stopped. It now had enough mana to sustain itself for a few minutes, even against C-ranked monsters.

I turned to look at Franco. He was doing a great job in fighting four against one. Already, one of the monsters had a gash running obliquely over its chest and bleeding profusely, while another had its left arm limping against the side.

“Song of destruction; 1st Poem, 6th Stanza—Noise.”

I aimed the blast of screeching noise at the head of the most injured of the orcs, stunning it just enough for Franco to capitalize on it. He hacked down with his great sword on the defenceless monster like a butcher with his knife, biting deep into the creature’s torso. The blade travelled through most of it, stopping just before bisecting the bust from side to side. The other orcs chose that moment to act. They jumped at Franco, swinging their weapons in wide overarching arcs.

Franco ducked beneath one and parried a second with his shield. The third, however, impacted his shoulder, sending him to the ground. Just as that same club was about to crash on his head, I materialized a magical barrier over his head, saving him from having his head caved in.

Sword now free, Franco fuelled as much prana through his body as he could, turning into a maelstrom of golden magic. His sword shone with prana as he lashed at the orc with all he could. The silvery metal passed through the tough flesh of the monster as if it hadn’t even been there, drawing out its blood in a glorious spurt.

The prana surrounding Franco dimmed rapidly, but it was still enough to allow him one more attack. He turned towards the remaining monster, bending his knees at an angle. Before the creature could even process what was happening, Franco’s legs pushed against the hard soil of the dungeon, sending his body forwards while cracks akin to spider webs ran all over where he had stood on. With the momentum of a freight train, Franco slammed shield-first into the monster with a sickening crunch, reducing it to mush.

Covered in gore and panting, Franco sat on the ground. I watched in wonder as his prana worked to heal whatever injuries he may have sustained in the impact, leaving him without the energy to move but otherwise fine.

A sense of discomfort alerted me of the fifth nail of the spell to be gone. I turned to look at it, and surely enough, only five of them remained—the orcs would break out soon.

I Mana Stepped inside the confines of the magic, moving to stand in front of the monsters. They tracked me with their eyes but ultimately remained unmoving. Two White Lightning later, the orcs were dead, their bodies in perfect condition to allow the harvesting team to draw their blood out of them later. I reckoned they had enough blood that a skilled enchanter could inscribe some lesser runes with it.

“Done?” I heard Franco ask.

“Done,” I told him.

“Do you—”

“No,” I said before he could even finish.

“But I didn’t—”

“No,” I said again.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “Party pooper.”

What was he—a kid? He almost died fighting four C-ranked orcs. He wasn't ready to tackle the next caves without a team. Someone needed to make him understand that soon or he risked endangering both his and other people's lives.

I began pacing about, checking each of the bodies to see if any of the monsters had anything interesting on them—unfortunately, that wasn’t the case—when Franco’s continuous sighing got under my skin.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, somewhat peeved.

“Mr Porto is going to kill me,” Franco complained while looking at the state of his gear.

“It isn’t much worse than the other day in the Great Forest,” I offered him. “Why would it be any different?”

“Worse? You think this is worse?”

I nodded.

“Shit,” he said, bringing his hands to his head. "He got wind of the state of my gear when I returned from the Great Forest. He got very mad. Then he asked the armoury if anything similar had happened before. When he was told it did, he got even madder,” Franco added when he realised I kept looking at him, waiting for an explanation.

“Told you,” I said, gloating enough for it to bleed even in my voice.

Franco groaned.