So far, his experiences on Whorrl had been harrowing. One test after another in a dangerous environment he knew next to nothing about. A vast world of adventure and glory, but also of scheming evil and hardship around every corner. He had seen both first hand, though that was hardly the prize that stories often foretold. It all came at great personal cost, albeit a cost he was steadily more well equipped to bear.

Now that the [Quest] was through, and with new tools and [Levels] gained, it fell on Quintin to decide the path forward. The combination of Nyathamon's enemies and the threat of imminent capture was a persuasive motivation to stay away from PanQuil. Yet, the idea that he would leave Vissitri behind was profoundly troublesome.

Vissitri often spoke on the odd topic here and there, though nothing of true importance as yet. The subtle beginnings of trust and companionship were present, but still in early development. Though, Quintin saw the hope that one day, perhaps very soon, he could ask his most deeply buried questions—and just maybe squeeze some answers from the little lime.

His brow was aligned with worry, the same concern that drove him deeper into the sprawling tunnel-ways to start with. In order to make this decision, power was mandatory. Barring that, he could only continue to postpone the inevitable choice. Until now, that is. He was crystal-certain that too much time had gone by. If he went back to PanQuil now, it would invite far more trouble than his meager amount of power could solve.

Nerviness caused his right hand to shake as he set it on the slacken rope. Focus was in the deliberate, hand-over-hand, way in which he went up and out onto the performance stage for a final bow. This was the end of his dungeon crawl, and the start of a life spent on the run.

He beheld the ocean of [Starmoss] and reminisced. Of a fear-laden beginning in the early morning fog, not even realizing how close the edge really was. About survival in the midst of soul-crushingly brutal moments of life and death. In order to continue on, there were some subjects he chose to minimize. The fact that so many unusual encounters had and were still happening, made it all the easier to do so.

The somber, closing note to his time spent in Sozzelrift was eerie in both length and loneliness. The note being his decision to leave and never return.

Though misfortune rarely cares for the will of the blessed, nor the determination of the damned.

[Sinisphere] warned him a mere moment before contact, but it didn't help. A beheaded pike swooped in and took his legs out. He fell to the dusty [Coblerite] floor in confusion. Even in that state, he quickly took evasive steps in the form of prone-rolling towards stage-end. More pikes cut a sorry act across the stone floor, making a trail that followed his desperate avoidance.

There was a slight pause in the action as Quintin dove from the stage. Back on his feet, he looked up into the audience stands and saw the Headbearer's miserable appearance. Its flimsy body was only kept upright by a strenuous, hate-driven resolve. Quintin used [Lotus Step] twice in succession to cross the distance from the grass lawn to the seating area.

The [Shaman] acted too late to stop his approach. The pikes it sent to stall his advance only resulting in pinpricks on the lawn behind. He was too fast. The momentum and speed were both enhanced by the [Skill] and also [Pneumatic] amplification. He made his way speedily up the first few rows before he came within range to fire off a few projectiles. As he slowed down in order to take better aim, the Headbearer shook its arm, recited some gibberish, and sent a blast of negative energy his way. The projectiles were fired right as he was hit by the black bolt of magic.

[Breath of Sudden Calamity: 2x]

-20PP

PP: 132/500

...

1. {Miss!}

2. {Grazing}

...

-55 total [HP] damage.

...

Incoming: [Negative Energy Bolt]

1. {Energy Drain}, {Minor Slow}, {Minor Knockback}

—○Drain: -200[SP], -0[MP], and -100[HP] stolen!

—○Debuff: -10%[MS]

...

HP: 438/538

SP: 512/863(963)

...]

It was easy to forget that the little goblin was only [Level 23]. Not for nothing, his [Knockback Resistance] made it so he only went back a few steps. But as luck would have it, it was enough to trip him on the stone back of a row seat. As he fell backward, a part of him had to wonder if [Levels] even accurately portrayed the challenge or not. He got up in a hurry, now only twenty meters away, however, the telltale sign that the mage was channeling the powerful bundle spell gave him pause. The bundle of head-pikes was significantly less than last time, yet all the same, enough to ruin his day.

A stir in the air was the only indication of the coming barrage. They came as fast as he remembered, even faster because of the shrunken distance. The first one crashed against his shoulder, still, it had the effect of awakening his instincts as he dove for cover. On the way down he was also pierced in the abdomen, but at least now he was safer between the [Cobblerite] seats. The bulk of the pike-storm went by overhead in a chaotic mix of sound and fury. The pike shafts and heads exploded in gore and splinters as they hit stone seats like the bottom of a waterfall. Pebbles were sent in scattershot all around, which peppered his tucked-in turtle shell defense.

[Various Damage Sources x15]

...

1. {Puncture}, {Pierce}

2. {Grazing x2}

3. {Splinters x4}

4. {Minor Blunt x8}

...

-300 total [HP] damage.

...

HP: 138/538

SP: 435/863(963)

...

+{Bleeding} D.O.T.: -10[HP]/second.

...]

The last charge of the [Healing Potion] was used to stem the 'D.O.T.' effect and regain a small amount of [HP]. His body was a warzone with his own blood, and pieces from the 'head' portion of the attack. He brought himself up slowly after the collisions ceased only to find an unmoving Headbearer laid back in a stone seat.

He ran up to where the goblin sat, all the while keeping his eye and mind sharp for any movements. None were forthcoming, it even had a blank, uncomprehending look on its face as he came within reach and made to snatch the Headbearer's arm. He wasn't sure what game the tricky mage was playing at, but all the same, he went through with the attack.

Quintin sent a [Pressurized] leg chop into its midsection while still holding the arm.

Which summarily detached as the Headbearer flew through the air, and finally crash-landed against the tunnel access wall some fifteen feet away. It was a powerful kick. A devastating blow, and what's more, enough to kill any man back on Earth. Yet here he wasn't so sure about that.

He was carefully walking up to the prone creature with the intent to put it down when an out-of-place clapping brought him to a sudden standstill. He quickly activated [Aura of Healing] out of a primal fear-urging. The soundwave grew more and more pronounced, with reverberations sent into the Amphitheater, but he knew it originated from the tunnel access.

The shadow of the being began to fill in as she strolled out and the blue lighting touched her. The sparkle of highly magical equipment came into focus first, but then he saw the fur-covered convex legs and goat-head. He knew trouble had come to collect the second he saw her.

A final, sarcastic clap brought the two of them squarely at odds.

Her yellow eyes gleamed playfully as she spoke, "Wow! What a fight! Although, I can't have you kill my newest pet. What kind of owner would I be?"

Quintin took up a defensive posture as he thought, She looks more than capable, that armor looks [Magical] compared to the stuff I've seen. Just who is she?

As if in answer to his silent query, she spoke, "All my friends call me Cramie. I have some questions, so are you a friend, Quintin? Actually, don't answer that, after all, you did beat the fuck out of my pet. What kind of savage are you?"

A brutal, blood-loving intent ran through her face. Quintin required more information, so he [Identified] her quickly before speaking.

[Cramie ?]

—Demihuman: Goatwoman

—Glyph-Keeper

—???

—???

???

???

???

*Target's [Level] is too great for further information.

Shit!

"What do you want? Why are you doing this? You said you have questions, what questions could I possibly answer that you don't know?"

He didn't expect clear answers and only wanted to delay as much as possible. Every second that went by, meant more [HP] for him.

"Ah! The fool are we? You are the rookie who turned in Nyathamon's head, correct? Well, just so you know, I'm here to ascertain all the information you have inside your head—before you lose that too." She grunted and crossed her arms before continuing, "As to the why simply put I love to fight. The look of dread. The agony that passes through my prey's eyes. Oh! They always answer me like an obedient puppy... As will you."

Cramie uncrossed her arms. The battle was set to start at any moment. Quintin was trying to think of a way out of this, when an idea snaked its way into his mind.