“…And dead.” – he proclaimed as beads of blood, flew through the air, shining red in cyan light of the underground. The rat squeaked in its last final moment, before its eye, carved out with an axe, hit the floor colouring the dark green malachite.

Seeing their comrade dying, the giant rats squealed, some lunging forward towards, towards its corpse devouring it. Some of them were covered with cuts, some were missing a limb here or a limb there, some had their ears ‘trimmed’, while other’s tails cut short.

The axe, covered in fresh blood, danced in the air slashing and hacking away in a violent tornado of blood and steel. As the trails of blood fell on him and the blade traced with red travelled through flesh, more and more corpses fell. Spin, attack, hack off leg, hold axe in two hands, attack the head, ”dead”, dodge, spin, hack in the eyes, dodge, jump, hack again, “dead”, sidestep, slash, twist, slash again, jump, hit, dodge, dash, hack off arm, spin, hit the face then dodge forward, hold in two hands, hack at the spine, dodge, sidestep and then sidestep, making some distance. The rat he hit in the spine started wobbling, hitting its brethren in its fit. The rats looked at their friend in silence, a moment before devouring it. Fixing his hair, he spat the monster blood, cleaning his mouth and drawing a small dagger. He was a lot more fit than he was a month ago(at least it only felt like a month) and a lot stronger too, still he favoured the rotary movements and agility over the strength. His body now was relatively toned, with muscles barely seen through skin, yet still seen.

He had an idea as to why he was able to change his body this fast -the healing factor and change of foods. Back in his world he fancied to eat many things, here dried meat, bread and water, maybe some dried fruit on the side every now and again. If he marches in the labyrinth it is another story altogether. His modest rations will eventually run out and the only thing left to eat is monster meat. Highly nutritious, yet disgusting and literally painful to eat.

The first time he ate it, it was goblin meat. By ‘goblin’ he meant child-alike monsters, with jet black skin, smooth faces and yellow markings on each shoulder and tail, glowing in the night leaving a trail, with long five fingers with claws on each hand, large three claws on each foot and a spike on the tail. Despite how they looked, they were actually pretty docile, slow and easy to kill. Their meat was black, which was discouraging and eating it felt like munching rubber which tastes like shit. Generally a minute later when the meat will start to properly being dissolved by the stomach, the acid or whatever the meat contains will seep out, hurting him. It’s like having a heartburn, except you ‘cough up’ blood not only with your mouth but your eyes, nose and ears. Even so, human hunger can make you get pretty desperate. At first he tried munching on his own flesh… which ended in an unfortunate way, so eventually he gave up. After a week of torturing his stomach it generally adapted to it siding only with a mild indigestion before disappearing a half of month later. It felt just like eating normal food. Felt. It tasted like cancer…

*squeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaak*

He wasn’t waiting for rats to attack him, dashing to the first one in line and ramming the dagger in its neck. With a spin his axe flew through the air before encountering the skull of another one, easily passing it by leaving decimated flesh and pieces of grey matter covering the floor. Ripping the dagger out, he jumped aiming it at the other rat’s eye. He missed, striking the rat in its skull. The blade, unable to pierce it, simply slid off, ripping the skin of the rat and ruining his balance. He lost his balance but not his composure, taking advantage of the shifted weight of his body, he twisted it, delivering a crushing blow with his axe, burying it deep inside the rat. He pulled and the rat squeaked, he thrust his dagger and another one did too. He then sidestepped again, releasing the grip on the dagger and gave in to the rhythm of the dance.

When he was done he was soaked in blood, his hair mouth and ears, his clothing his axe. Around him dismembered corpses, not all, but a good amount. He walked towards one rat and pulled out a dagger out of it, then walked towards the next one pulling another dagger out of its eye.

“How nice…” – he said as he looked at his torso and arms, checking for injuries, there were some minor scratches and bruises, but nothing that wouldn’t heal within an hour or two. He felt pretty good about this; after all it was an indication of his progress. The first time he fought these giant rats he was ripped to pieces after all.

“Ok, now puzzles…” – he said as he walked towards malachite door, ornate with ebony and gold.

He didn’t bother changing his clothing or washing it. After the next floor, it was a boss fight. He would be able to complete the next floor within the next 2 hours, so he’ll just slap his best armour on top and roll into the boss fight, which in his state right now, with his level of skill and strength would probably mean death.

He sighed…

He couldn’t afford to submit to despondency, nor he wanted to, but he had to be realistic. He fought the thing multiple times, already, usually taking off about 5 of its heads and then dying, miserably. The creature was at least 15 meters high, had wolf heads, lizards body and 9 necks, not to mention the acid blood it has, so saying chances were slim would be an overstatement.

He touched the marble wall looking for a switch, tracing a small red line from his fingers. He found a small button without much hassle, after all he already found it before more than 100 times. Without much thought to it he pressed it, flattening it into the wall, forcing it to make a ‘click’ sound.

*thunk* followed it.

As they always would, spears appeared, stuck in the floor, a freshly baked projectile from the ceiling.

He lazily walked around them, tapping at some in a strange beat, submerged in the thoughts about next fight.

The moment he will enter its domain, it will attack from the side, with one of its wolfheads.

‘Sword will melt from one hit…But the axe won’t be able to slice the whole neck off…’- he thought, giving a look to a large empty room, with square slabs as the floor, no more than a second, before returning back to his thoughts.

While walking, he took out a sword from one out of his two bags. Reflecting the light, the silver sword seemed green, similarly to how a chrome car seemed to mirror to its surroundings. He looked at himself in the reflection. His face and hair all in blood and muck, even the small grey thread that he used to tie his fringe with, is deep in crimson now, the colour of the rags on his hands, improvised gloves.

With each step, each slab went down releasing air stored under it for decades if not centuries, at least the ones he was stepping on. Others had ‘mines’ installed under that. By ‘mines’, implied set of runes inscribed on each other slab. Some sliced the bones, others gave frostbites and froze blood, while the others made the blood boil and skin evaporate, in all cases it would be better to be blown up by the mine as that at least kills quickly. Even so, unlike mines do (which blow you up the moment your foot is off it), some these enchantments have a time lag of about a second, which for Kai is enough time to dodge. Though only some.

‘Coat the sword in poison…? Maybe the axe too… It weakened it the last time…kind of…’ – he continued and trailed on with his thoughts, desperate to come up with any sort of strategy against it.

He spent too much time here, 100 weeks, 2 years. He was already 19, yet nothing really changed about him. His friends have already long graduated from school and are either in university or working. They accomplished something. Him on the other hand, what did he do? Learned how to fight? To kill? To kill what? He will die now and every single achievement he has achieved, every single thing he did will disappear. He will start at square one, again. Mental solitude? He grew wiser? In his own opinion he simply grown to hate his life and everything that just simply comprises of it. He hated humans, he hated fighting, he hated the grey sky, the rain, the mud, the air, the cold, the warmth and most of all his weak self. He hated hating, being angry made him angry and futility of it simply thrown him into despair which was again masked by fake rage, making him more angry and frustrated than he already was. He was aware of this childishness, but that didn’t particularly help. This awareness was like a punch in the gut to him, a reminder that he was still weak, trapping him in a constant cycle, where it only gets worse.

Having no one really to talk with in the dungeon was bad too. So bad, sometimes he even started having small conversations with the bandits before going dungeoneering. They wouldn’t last long or end well, but still it was some sort of interaction with other humans that he needed. That would get him by, but only for a short while, when the anxiety, depression and headache would peak it, he would generally catch up with Uncle Rohg and his family. But not anymore. Last time, it was 20 deaths ago. That time, Kai found himself reciting Rohg’s lines. His headache was only getting worse as he watched the same events unfold before his eyes, eventually ending in him being spearfished or slowly rotting away, either on the battlefield or in someone’s room.

_______________

The door to the next floor always looked different. It was distinct from other ‘normal’(as much as that word could be stretched) doors. Here, normal dungeon doors had ‘some’ decorations here and there, but at the same time were made out of high grade materials, per se malachite. This door in turn, was made out of simple grey iron, but saying that, it also had elaborate engravings etched in a picture, a story, over it. The wolf, fighting with the snake, both disappearing into a small box, with hexagonal shapes drawn on its sides and human fingers supporting its base. Despite the peculiar taste, the artisan knew what he was doing. The work looked perfect, throwing Kai in awe, captivating him in a similar manner that his father’s work did.

He raised his hand, barely touching it and gave it a tiny push with his finger.

The gears in the door started moving, hitting each other, moving the contraption, almost silently, in order to let the intruder pass through. He always wondered at how this door worked, every time he passed here. Triggered by a touch, some magic must’ve been used here for sure. This place looked really old, just to get to here he had to go through a crack in the cavern deep in the ground. Yet, the iron, gears specifically did not make any sound. Iron rusts with time and any contraption without any care will eventually collapse or at least screech here and there before it dies completely.

‘Magic. Huh?’ – he thought with a little cynicism.

He liked the concept of magic, before he arrived here and even still. He doubted this love when he had negative experiences with magic, but still this awe, the thought, that there is this unknown power in the air, which he cannot grasp but with training can eventually use, failed to die out. He was pretty sure he even had ‘some’ power or hold of it already and his healing factor was a proof to that.

Before entering a narrow hall in front of him, he decided to prepare first. Taking out poison, couple of potions and some more weapons, the main thing he was actually looking for was conviction. Knowledge that even if he dies, again, he will be able to proceed beside this point.

Once he was done, he walked into the darkness of newly made passage, descending down the stairs, walking through a hall, walking the way he did many times before, step, semi-circle, step, recalling the patterns of the creature, allowing his body to feel the movement it will experience in the next 5 minutes.

With each step, his breathing was getting stronger. Inhale, exhale, inhale…exhale. Small purple blaze was dancing maniacally in a torch stand above, reflecting his anxiety or even perhaps the opposite cheering him on.

He hit his breastplate with a dull ‘thunk’, trying to snap out of his melancholy, sending an echo through the hall.

It wasn’t long till he eventually reached the iron door to the boss.

Similarly to the etchings on the one guarding the hall, this door also depicted the battle between the wold and the snakes on its surface, except the wolf was missing its limbs and some snakes were torn apart, the box looked scratched, broken on the side and was missing a finger too.

Before opening it he closed his eyes and covered his face in his hands, standing, simply standing and listening to the fire crackle in this empty hall.

He took a deep breath again and checked his equipment, taking out one last important factor in his upcoming battle.

Sword on the back, three daggers and an axe on his belt all coated with poison, potions in the small leather road bag at the side and a small ‘bomb’ in his hand, or at least that what he liked to call it.

He gripped the fabric of the sacks that he was carrying and touched the door, watching it slowly open, showing him glimpses of a large room, enshrouded in the dark.

*gulp*

He took a step forward.

__________

Hiatuses... Mmmm... I apologize to all my readers and all the people that support me... for those things. Anyway i should be back right now and i'll try to keep these updated weekly. Anyway enjoy!