The hymn. It was truly haunting. It carried through the depths on lonesome winds. The old cobblestone floor glistened wet, and that distant twinkle had drawn much closer. Close enough to reach, if he only had legs...

“Back so soon?”

Dimrat spluttered with fright. It was the dungeon master. Only this time he’d hidden his presence.

Dimrat sighed. ‘Unwilling, my liege. I sought only to chastise an interloper. I acted with restraint and dignity”

“You unleashed a thousand years worth of cursed energy on a lvl 7 Dreg.”

“A fitting punishment for a thief.”

“Well. This time it was my fault. I had not anticipated such an imbalance. I will revive you one last time, and adjust your transformation accordingly”

“A thousand apologies, my liege. I shall tread lightly from hereon in”

“Yes, try not to stir the pot too early. I am terribly busy elsewhere in the Dungeon. It pains me to say you are not the only troublemaker” There was an undertone of irritation at those last words.

Then, as if it was naught but a vague memory, he snapped back awake. Before him, a Dreg had lifted its head up above the others from its feast, a bone lodged down its throat, a thick necklace swinging from its neck.

‘Truly, just like that?’

The head had no concept of time travel. But slowly, as he watched the Dregs repeat their movements and noises as they had done so before, it dawned on him.

‘How peculiar’

He considered the possibilities. His eyes poked and darted about the scene. The ruined keep persisted. This was not mere deja vu.

‘I have returned’

He searched his mind for changes to his class and found only one.

[Dungeon Handicap: Curse Dispersion]: Curse abilities disperse 99.99% of cursed energy into the dungeon. Factor adjusted based on stats and tier.

‘Hmph. I hope it is that simple, my liege’

[Transformation available]

[Cursed Dreg](Rare)

[Cursed Levitating Skull](Rare) - trial ended

‘Trial ended, you say?’ The head pondered, then grinned with sinister intentions.

[Cursed Dreg](Rare)

Transformation potential: Excellent

HP: 14

MP: --

Strength: 10

Toughness: 10

Agility: 10

Intelligence: 10

Willpower: 10

Magic Affinity: 0

[Passive: Cursed Claws] Clawed strikes inflict Curse of Fatigue

A larger, more dangerous breed of Dreg. Feeds on the plump maggots of rotten flesh. Favours stealth. Humanoid transformation.

[Would you like a free trial of Cursed Dreg?]

Now, these were stats he favoured. This rarer breed of Dreg had no weaknesses and would serve as an excellent base class. He imagined the superior transformations in store that he’d discover from this bipedal creature. There was a glint in his eye.

The head plotted his next course of action. The system offered him a glimpse into the future. This was no small feat, and yet he could not fathom why. A system like that would surely be exploited by everything and everyone across all factions and with every class change. Yet, this was not the case. Surely, he thought.

‘System. What is a free trial?’

[A free 10 hour trial is offered to those beta testing a new class. Please report bugs to the appropriate administration]

‘A ten hour trial, you say? The snail’s eyes reached up to meet his.

‘..there is work to do, brother’

Dimrat planned to scout his surroundings. He had ten hours of free trial and he wasn’t going to waste this opportunity. With this chance, he would discover the truth. He would chart the lay of his broken homeland. He would gather as much intelligence as he could, before he ended the trial and returned to this point once again. With that advantage he could plot a safer course of action.

‘I shall trial the Cursed Dreg’

[Beginning trial of Cursed Dreg. Trial expiration: 10 hours, or til death do you part]

His consciousness slipped cold through the cracks beneath him, where he returned to the dark dream…

‘I am returned? Bah! What now’

He waited patiently, but the dungeon master did not appear. This time a gentle rain pitter-patted against the cobblestone floor, and ran down ancient stone pillars that seemed to hold up nothing at all.

He realised something now. He did not quite remember what he was doing. His thoughts seemed addled, mixed up, wrong. Then the hymn reached him, but closer still and more alarming did the grate of heavy iron boots prompt him into action. Something drew closer, and as it did it’s footsteps increased their pace and fell louder. He hid behind the nearest pillar with eyebrows raised high. The boots stopped dead.

Confusion subsided, or perhaps took hold, when he realised there were no pillars at all. Nor anything for that matter. He was alone and exposed in the darkness.

When from behind, a distraught voice prickled the nape of his neck.

‘Who am I?!’

He gasped and spun, but found nothing.

It chilled him. The voice was more than familiar. It was his.

Then he felt his consciousness leave that place. He was back, and none the wiser.

He focused between the blurry gaps of his fingers with relief. He had hands. His vision was not as sharp as the Levitating Skull, but the feeling of human-like anatomy was enough to make him weep. He’d waited so long. So long in fact that he barely remembered how to walk. He studied his hands in more depth, for claws he did not see. A moment later he’d tensed the muscles down the back of his hand, and with a winced pain, out ripped five rather dull looking claws fresh from the flesh. They glistened in the light, pink with his own blood.

Blood, something else he’d forgotten about. Was it blood he felt pulsing through his body? He thought to spill the blood of another Dreg to see, then reasoned himself out of that idea with a shudder. Shuddering, something else he’d forgotten about. His ears were of most intrigue. Never before had he heard the world around him in such detail. Whichever direction he twitched his lobes the background would tune out, providing a cone of cleaner noise. Every echo and pop and movement painted an audible picture in his mind. He had an idea of his environment without laying an eye on it. This was the right choice, he was sure of it.

What joy it was to bask in the feeling of wholeness. He kicked out his legs and waved his arms making dust-angels in the frost-tipped debris. The feeling of having a whole body was the greatest. Only, it wasn’t.

‘No. How is this even possible?!’

Dimrat tried to stand, but felt an immense weight on his head. It pulled him back to the ground, something wasn’t right here. When two large eyes coiled from above him and blinked. The snail had doubled in size. Or rather, he had shrunk twofold.

His little impish face scrunched livid.

‘I will dash you on the rocks if it’s the last thing I do, you infernal gastropod’

He rolled around on the floor for quite some time, and even managed to draw closer to a large rock with which he thought to bash the snail, when a shadow smothered the ruins. His flight instincts were set ablaze. Whatever Dregs that fled in the wrong direction now clawed at the wall in the corner opposite the presence. They scrambled and screeched like a ball of rats fighting to be in the center, a din that bounced noise in all directions, which aided Dimrat’s newly enhanced hearing to pin it.

It perched above them. Lofty and suffocating. What was this monstrous aura? Not even the Dark Lady commanded such terror, such impending dread. Who, or what was this presence? He could not say. It had no breath. It made no noise. Something extremely dangerous watched them. He did not roll around to face it, he would not dare. He instinctively feigned death, and fell limp.

The undead are practically immune to fear. And yet he was paralyzed with it. He had not known fear like this, not even as a human. Whatever it was ignored his natural faction immunity to fear and did so easily. He almost passed out with the intensity, with the pressure, when it spoke.

“Silence, Dregs”

The Dregs planked.

He felt its gaze fall upon him once again.

“..clever little thing, aren’t you?”

It was no good. His ruse had been discovered. The jig was up. His eyes flashed open. He could not hold his breath any longer, and coughed into a fit of gasping.

“Oh? You understood me?”

The presence seemed to swell with excitement, nearly rolling Dimrat’s eyes into the back of his skull, when it simmered down and spoke again.

“I see you. Stand”

Dimrat grimaced. His shenanigans had humoured it, but now it commanded him to stand when he could not.

“Forgive me, but I cannot. For I am bound to this snail”

The aura became more pointed, more threatening - the beings intentions were sharp enough to skewer him and for a moment he thought perhaps it had - when he felt himself grow lighter.

Before he knew it, something had lifted Dimrat off the ground by the snail on his head and rotated him slowly to face it…