“Argh… No good.”

I sigh. My right arm is stretched out, and my left hand is holding onto my right arm, almost in an anatomical splint sort of fashion. I’m focusing intensely with hope on my right hand, which is stiffening and grasping what appears to be an invisible ball. That is, it’s forming the shape as if it was holding something. Currently, nothing’s there.

I am practicing magic. Graham looks behind to me without emotion, observing my actions. I stand there slightly frustrated and slightly disappointed. If all things went right, there should’ve been a small fireball where there wasn’t one, in my right hand. Right now, I look like a child pretending to cast magic despite worldly common sense, wrapped up in his/her fantasies, ignorant of the outside world.

…

Yeah, middle school was a dark time. Let’s change the subject.

If you’re wondering, I threw out all my old outfits and imitation swords and…

Yeah, let’s roll back.

“Hmm… I don’t see anything wrong with your form according to the book. I apologize that I don’t have said book with me, I threw it out back once I was finished with it. In hindsight, that was a big mistake, but according to what I remember, you seem to be following everything properly. I think you may just not have an affinity for fire magic, unfortunately. We should just stop now,” Graham says.

“Hah… hah… gotcha,” I pant.

My assumptions land correctly on the fact that magic comes from books in treasure chests. I’m not sure if it’s limited to just room loot, but I do know that there are 7 main types: water, fire, earth, air, dark, light, and null – which is basically all other magic that doesn't fall into any specific categories. Graham mentioned that each book has a small, useful introduction to the 7 types of magic. Each book’s color corresponds to its type. Graham had a basic fireball spellbook, which was red, and it is apparently very common. He had run into it 3 times during his conquests. Weird how he encountered mainly spell-type books while I encountered weaponry and apparel. He admits it would’ve been more useful if he had seen some more weapons and gear, rather than magic books.

Unlike games, you have to actually read the books and grasp its techniques. It’s not a one-time consumable item where knowledge somehow magically floats into your mind and you understand the spell – nothing convenient like that. Each book’s a spell or technique. Each spell or technique is categorized into 5 grades. The basic fireball’s, of course, a grade 1. The blast radius spell Graham mentioned earlier is a grade 2 spell. He demonstrated it once to me after we cleared a room, and I must say - it’s really amazing.

I’m kind of jealous, to be honest, but also equally relieved knowing we've got some firepower in our arsenal - literally.

After our initial meeting, we had discussed our schedule. After some debating, we decided to meet up around 10-ish at night. I plan to wake up at 5:30 a.m., as usual, and he wakes up at 6. We live in the same time-zone, fortunately, so there are no problems there. Funny how I wake up earlier than a working adult. I didn’t mention that, of course.

During my absence, we agreed he is to just relax and not engage any rooms. Likewise if I find myself time alone. We also agreed to use the bathroom before we sleep and not drink too much water; such activities like those in the efforts of clearing potential obstacles in our sleep, towards minimizing interruptions. We also delegated a system in case one of us were to wake up suddenly and leave the other helpless. In the case of that happening, the other person is to immediately flee into a safe room, even if we had an overwhelming advantage prior to the escape. We need to be extra diligent after all, increasing our odds of survival to our utmost best and reducing odds of death to a minimum. Whenever we engage a room, we always keep a path clear to the previous room - always. We also came to find out traps deactivate upon clearing a room - which is extremely useful. That means every cleared room is practically safe. If we find any others, I definitely intend to vouch for them to stay in the cleared rooms – they are by far the safest. It’s a lot of work to work in a group, but it’s also much safer to have someone at your back.

I feel more relieved than ever.

I take a drink of water, which was handed to me by Graham. We both slouch over at the wall behind us, next to each other, catching our breaths. Engaging in magic training drains a lot of energy. We confirmed mana is a tangible thing. If you use too much mana, you are left immobile, which is extremely dangerous. Graham tested all sorts of things with mana before we met. Graham, while I was practicing, was training in his close combat melee skills, as well as crowd control with his fireballs. I suggested this because it’s really dangerous if an enemy gets close to him and I’m unable to support him, leaving him extremely vulnerable. Basic combat skills with the blade are necessary, even for magic users. Minimum strength is needed, definitely, for every combat member despite the class. I had him practice crowd control for the obvious controlling of a crowd, of enemies. If we can secure a healer and a tank, we would more or less have the core. Maybe an assassin or another high damage output class too. They would be very helpful. Hoping for someone like that is wishful thinking, but I have nothing but something to hope for.

Graham beside me is covered in sweat. He takes a drink of water, too. I look at Graham curiously. I’ve been with him a few days now but I don’t think I’ve really got to know him that well yet. Trust is an important factor in the team chemistry of parties, but also, I’m just curious. Graham is a tall, slender man with a slightly muscular build. He mentioned that when he first entered the dungeon, he was in his suit, which meant he had probably dozed off during or after work. Right when he entered the dungeon, he immediately ran into a woman, who, upon seeing a monster, ran away in fear into a trap – a pitfall. That was the first thing he witnessed upon entering the dream dungeon and has realized the situation was much bigger than it seemed. Other than that and him being a lawyer, I don’t really know that much. I do know that he does like suits. The two most precious worldly things according to him are his family and good suits. He mentioned he felt bad leaving his treasured suit behind for more appropriate gear, even though he knew it didn’t affect the real suit in the real world. He would get along well with my father, who's a suit fanatic himself. Just loves his suits, that guy.

“Hey Graham,” I ask out of nowhere.

“Yes, Ely?” he replies.

“What type of lawyer are you?”

“Good question." Graham pauses a good while, then continues. "I’m a criminal defense lawyer. I own my own firm, actually. We mainly help the wrongly incarcerated, defending those on death row, including minors and women, etc... It’s a tough job, you see. I spend all this time trying to help these poor souls, but it’s unlikely that they'll get the help they need or the sentence they deserve. The justice service is very pedantic on certain things, skewed if you will. It’s terribly saddening. Remember what I said earlier? Over the 8 years I ran the firm, I haven’t won a single case yet. It might be bad luck or something, but I struggle with it nonetheless. Despite it all, I’ll keep fighting.”

Graham crosses his arms and looks the other way.

“My firm mainly runs on federal support and donations. We’re really bare bones now. We don’t even have enough money to support a proper staff – we’re terrible short-manned. The only people left are my wife, the secretary who we met and hired since the very beginning, and me. I actually met my wife at the firm. She’s my greatest supporter.”

Graham smiles a small, sincere smile. In his eyes are reminiscence and a little hopelessness.

“It’s real tough. A lot has happened. Mariam, the secretary, and Taylor, my wife, help keep me sane, if I am to be truly honest.”

Graham finally looks at me.

“Sorry I went on a tangent. That was a bomb of information. You were trying to get to know me a bit more, correct? That’s pretty much the story of my life - emit the past, which actually is a large chunk of my 'story' but let's brush the fine details for now. What about you? You said you were a high school student?”

“Yeah,” I reply, my words mix with a sigh, an exhale of air, “I’m a junior at Rivenburg High in Monroe County. You probably don't know it. It’s a small, unimportant county and the school itself is obscure, but it’s a good school. I’m an honors student. Umm… let’s see. Oh, I have a little sister, if you'd like to know about my family. She’s a handful, really.”

I flush slightly, and this time, it’s me looking away. I’m not exactly sure what to say.

“There’s not too much to mention about me. I have a pretty standard family and live a fairly ordinary life. My parents are very caring people, but not very 'extraordinary' to say, for good or for bad. Except my father, actually, he has a bit of a thing for suits. Sometimes, he locks himself in his closet to admire his suits. He thinks he's secretive, but the whole family knows." I roll my eyes at the sudden remembrance of something embarrassing and possibly too personal. A light flickers in my head.

"Oh, but I think you two would be good friends," I say nonchalantly.

Graham turns his head abruptly away, trying to hide a snicker. It is an unsuccessful venture. Suddenly he pauses and his eyes widen. He quickly shakes his head.

"So I'm not the only one..." Graham mumbles inaudibly.

"What? Sorry, I couldn't hear you?" I probed Graham.

"Oh... Um... I just agreed. I believe we would make good friends," Graham, for the first time, fumbles his words. "Someday I would like to meet this esteemed man. If we ever meet in real life, introduce me, would you?"

Esteemed? "Yes, of course," I reply.

I eye him suspiciously. "Hmm... As for free time," I continue, "I mainly study and play games, although the latter I haven’t found much time for recently.”

“Hmm…” Graham sits there, quickly back to his composed stature, frighteningly so, and he's thinking. He looks away again but tilts his head upward as if he was looking at something at the ceiling. This is another habit of his. He always does this when he’s thinking about something hard. I really wonder what’s going on in this mind of his when he does this. It’s really a mystery. If I weren’t uncovering the secrets of the dungeon, I’d definitely be scanning his mind or something. “Your story is pretty atypical, abnormally so. I really wonder. There’s something to you that the dungeon called. Some sort of reason. I won’t probe into your business if you’re not going to share. Who knows, you might just be plainly brilliant – something of that sort. Then, that begs the question whether anyone's truly 'normal'. Everyone's special in their own way. Ah - of course, this is all just a theory of mine."

“Hah, you’re plenty more brilliant than me. If anyone, and if your theory holds true, it’s you,” I retort.

“Haha.” This is the second time I’ve ever seen him smile, only it’s a little different this time. “If only that were the case.” It’s sadder this time.

I eye him suspiciously once more but with solemnity this time. He, of course, has already looked away. He props himself up. We entered a routine break and had sat against the wall. We had long finished refreshing up with spring water. I also wonder how there is spring water in a seemingly underground dungeon such as this, but I've got bigger worries.

“Let’s head out now,” Graham suggests, “Time for the next room: room 56.”

“Right.” I get up as well and follow him. “Let’s jam.”

Specifically, my worries involve the matters swirling within Graham's head. While walking, I see him staring at the ceiling in deep thought. He's a really odd person. Sometimes he would just startle up and walk about indistinguishable, sometimes muttering, sometimes silents, sometimes eyes closed, and then suddenly return to his senses without reason and continue about his rhyme inexplicably. Walking beside him and observing him pseudo-earnestly, I can imagine him pacing about in the vast spaces of his head; but unfortunately, his head's a locked door.

"Graham, I..." I stop myself short.

"Hmm?" Graham cuts himself from his universe of a mind and flicks his head back at me, his eyes ever so stern yet calm but also slightly frightening - not his demeanor necessarily, but I'm sure if he was completely silent in some sort of public space his mere presence can probably scare a child. Then again, most adults do that. At least, the adults I know.

Specifically, my dad. This makes me imagine Graham to be less of an enigma but more humane. This is just my imagination though. I'm sure he's both.

Both Graham and my father though have scary eyes.

"Nothing, nothing," I reply. I decide otherwise to pursue any more idle chatter.

We walk up to room 56, stopping short of the door. The same wooden, double-doors we’ve seen for a while, I’ve seen for a while. It’s become a bit haunting now that you look at it closely, despite its simplicity. Sweat slowly runs down our foreheads as Graham slowly pulls open the doors, both of us ready for what’s to come.

After the doors open and we’re sure nothing’s going to blast up in our faces, I take the lead. Graham follows cautiously behind me, and we run through our confirmed course of action. We stick closely to each other and keep eyes around us, especially on our course of retreat in case of emergency. Fortunately, we haven’t needed it yet. Though, it doesn’t make it any less necessary.

Room 56 is a series of hallways intersecting perpendicular and elevating/declining in an uncoordinated manner. We stick close to the walls and watch for traps. We avoid a pitfall or two, as swiftly make our ways through the sticky, gooey sections designed to slow you down. They’re also covered with monster bait which serves as an alert to nearby monsters that there are people to devour. We rush through the hall with practiced ease and we prepare ourselves for the onslaught of monsters.

Here they come. A variety of monsters assault us, all viscous slime monsters with one eye and devilish smiles and without appendages. Red, blue, green, violet - an assortment of colors, like gumdrops, charge towards us. I made sure to keep our method of retreat and our path with which we came recorded in my mind. We follow formation number 2 – monsters surrounding in a tight space – putting it in effect. Graham moved to the center and I covered the side most populated by monsters while also keeping eye on my back, on Graham’s side. They all rush forward sequentially, and I make haste to cut them down.

Slash, cut, slice, dice, I’m chopping down each slime with no resistance. The power of slimes is not in their individual strength, but their collective number. Some have special characteristics that can be really annoying and extremely dangerous. Here, they are just in high number.

Which is both fortunate and unfortunate for us. More so the former. Definitely less annoying.

“Slimes in the rear! Switch!” Graham yells.

“Right!” I yell back.

I switch positions with Graham, focusing on the other side as monsters seem to be focusing there. My former side’s being taken care of by Graham, where the monsters have dwindled due to my efforts. The monsters keep rushing forward but I form a protective wall. I cut each slime down, to which no slime can make it past a certain point. I continue slashing and slashing and slashing. Fortunately, my blade can cut through slimes as well – I guess somehow they count as having “flesh” but I’m sure flesh is not the actual extent of its capabilities. It seems every slime in the room is gravitating towards us. We have been in full fire for 10 solid minutes without rest. Graham and I are still hanging in strong, continuously destroying slimes.

I hit the wall with Ringarde, causing some stone to collapse in, creating a smaller opening for the slimes to enter, easing the resistance. I switch with Graham again and repeat the process on his side. It made the fight considerably easier, but it still isn’t time to lose focus.

“Watch out!” Graham yells. He points a fireball my way, hitting a slime right beside me. It was a transparent slime. Somehow, it made it past the barrier without my notice and clung to the wall. It was right about to attack me when Graham noticed it and attacked it first. Transparent slimes are really crafty – they blend in with the surroundings easily. You can notice them, but during a fight, you may not be as aware as you’re focused on other enemies. They work best with other slimes, blending in with them. They are slightly weaker than normal slimes, but their transparency is really dangerous and you have to be even more careful. You might not even notice when transparent slimes attack you yourself because they blend in so well.

“Thanks!” I said while cutting a nearby blue slime and, right after, a red slime that tried to slip in through the barrier’s cracks. Graham waves his hand in acknowledgment and drinks a mana potion, shortly following returning to the fight. This is where Graham shines. Graham currently has 3 spells – fireball, blast radius, and lava pit. The last one, lava pit, temporarily creates a pit of lava in the ground, about the width of the hallway we’re in, which isn’t that big to begin with, and it’s about 3 feet long, 3 feet square, with his current capabilities. It lasts for about 30 seconds before hardening to a solid rock again, which resembles the familiar dungeon stone. All of his spells work very well for crowd control, which is perfect in this situation. My weapons and fighting style are more focused on strong, single enemies, so I’m very thankful for Graham’s contribution.

“Head’s up!” I yell. I throw Cheryl towards Graham’s head at a fraction of its capable speed as he ducks and it just barely misses him and hits a rather large purple slime that was bouncing erratically from wall to ceiling to wall to floor, etc. I was watching it carefully and predicted its course of action, striking it accurately in the eye and pinning it to the wall, killing it. The blade swiftly returns back to me.

“You mean heads down,” Graham complains.

“You get the idea,” I retort. I shake my head briskly.

We quickly finish up the rest of the slimes without a problem. Most of the work is credited to Graham, who cleared about 70% of the slimes. I just took care of the more dangerous and aberrant ones, as well as during the beginning provided much of the firepower, until over time Graham's contributions steadily increased and his efficiency growing exponentially. Instead of waning, he strengthened, as if the initial wave was his warm-up. Of course, it wasn't. A majority of the slimes were small, pesky slimes. Now they’re just burnt remains.

We heard the click of the treasure chest appearing and made our way in the direction of the sound, keeping watchful of traps. The traps don't deactivate until around 10-15 minutes after you open the chest, so the battle's not over until we reach our spoils, and then some.

“Man,” I say, “I wish I could learn fire magic. You have such an amazing affinity for it. Blasts, why couldn’t I have an affinity for fire magic?”

“No use complaining,” Graham says nonchalantly. “It is what it is. You still don’t know if you don’t have an affinity for any other types of magic. Just wait and see.”

“Easy for you to say.” I pick up a stone with my gauntlet and throw it frighteningly fast, the stone piercing the wall at the other end of the hallway erupting in an audible boom. “You have awesome fire spells that also contain excellent crowd control abilities. Not to mention the wide variety of practical uses. I could, like, roast a marshmallow with fire magic.” I make up some flimsy support on the fly. The stone I threw ahead of us pierced the wall a good 7-8 inches. “Plus, it looks cool as heck.”

“Says the kid with a blade that cuts all tissue and the gauntlet with superhuman strength.” Graham picks up a stone also and throws it a good distance, pitiful compared to the previous display of awe and wonder. Graham crosses his arms and looks the other way.

“Fair point,” I recede.

We make our way to the spoils. The treasure chest is elegantly decorated, raised on a small podium - not nearly as gallant as the boss room. It's barely a 'podium', elevating the chest less than about six inches. We check its contents. There's an assortment of attractive items, notable is the vial of poison, which I’m not sure if it’s poison, but it’s a putrid shade of green that can’t mean anything good, along it is a crown with slime jewels, and another spell book. This time it’s yellow. I become a little excited looking at it.

“Nice, another spell book! This seems to be a light type. I wonder if I have an affinity for light,” I say.

“Yeah, I wonder as well. For me and for you.” Graham takes the potions and stores them on his belt, which is similar to mine but has more storage capacity and is lighter. It matches his apparel which is made to be for mages and is lightweight. One of its designs is that it can store more potions, namely mana potions for the spell user. We decide to take anything that might be remotely useful. I look at the crown and decide to take it as well. We don’t know if miscellaneous items provide buffs or anything, so just in case, we, or rather I, take as many as I can hold without ruining my mobility. I seldom would imagine this dungeon would have items in its treasure chests just for show. Graham also takes the spell book and flips through it. While he is scanning the book’s contents, we hear a faded scream.

A sharp, distinct, scream that echoes in the hallways. The torches flicker slightly and a sound of shifting stone can be heard, although very subtly. You would have to be really silent and really fixated to hear it. Graham and I are both.

The scream - it's a person's.

“Hurry!” Graham is the first to move. I follow him. We navigate around haphazardly while avoiding traps, both already and yet to set. If the situation is what I think it is…

“Dear…”

Graham stops ahead of me. He stares at the ground in pained disbelief. I stop shortly after him. I was able to see it clearly from afar, but getting a closer look..,

It’s despicable.

What lies before us is a bloodied man, disfigured and dislocated, in all areas. A pool of blood is spread on the ground where he lies, and blood drips from the ceiling. A horrified expression is shown on his dreadful face. Holes are evident in his body and clothes. Besides him are some cracked vials of potion, a sword, and an antique detective hat. The man appeared to be in his mid-60s. The most pressing issue is the spike currently lodged into his stomach, piercing through his body, up and out his chest. His body is twisted.

Terribly twisted.

I feel sick.

The traps - it hasn't been 10-15 minutes yet. They are still primed.

It was a spike trap. A spike trap was laid down visibly on the center of the ground. Normally, you’d jump over it, but there’s also a hidden spike in the ceiling that appears once something is sensed above the floor spikes. The top quickly closes in. You’re supposed to trigger the trap with an item, like a large enough stone, and then once it clamps you go around the edges. Sometimes the spikes are on the edges of the ground, sometimes there’s a time limit to the safe areas with which you progress before spikes cover even there, and sometimes there are no ceiling spikes and instead is a pitfall trap. There are lots of various versions. It’s a trap I’ve come to recognize during my first night, and ever since, I’ve been acutely familiar and careful for. It’s not nearly one of the more dangerous traps, but it’s still dangerous, like any trap really.

I punch the wall. A hole is made from where my fist made contact with the stone. I had punched it with my gauntlet hand. I frown and clench my teeth.

“Someone… someone was here, so close to us… yet we…” I choke on my words.

“Stop it. Don’t beat yourself up. We couldn’t have stopped it. Just… Let’s go.”

Graham crosses his arms and looks away, but this time with visible nausea and disgust. I look at him helplessly. He spares no time to walk away, turning his back on this poor man. I hesitate. I stare at the man, who looks so horrible. Terrible, desperate, and disturbing.

“I’m sorry…”

I utter my final words and follow Graham back the other way.