The floor shifted beneath them—stone becoming liquid, solid becoming void—and Kyle's stomach lurched upward as the chamber plummeted downward, the walls around them spinning, blurring, melting into streaks of sapphire light that painted their faces in colors of drowning. His hands scrabbled for purchase against stone that refused to remain still, against forces that cared nothing for human expectations or street-learned instincts.
"What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck," Dex chanted, red rage energy flaring uselessly against the descent that claimed them all equally, that reduced power to simple weight, that transformed newly-minted gods back into falling men.
The cub yowled from Marcus's shoulder—a sound so primal it bypassed Kyle's ears and struck directly at something ancient buried beneath concrete memories and jungle violence.
We're being tested. We're being sorted. We're being judged.
Motion ceased with stomach-churning abruptness that knocked Kyle sideways, sent Marcus sprawling, threw Dex against a wall that had reappeared from the blur. Silence dropped heavy across them—smothering, intimate, wrong—broken only by their ragged breathing and the cub's quieting whimpers.
"Everyone still breathing?" Kyle asked
Nods answered him—Dex already pushing himself upright, Marcus checking the cub for injuries that thankfully didn't exist, both scanning their new surroundings..
They stood in a chamber twice the size of the first, its architecture identical yet twisted—same blue-lit walls but carved with different symbols, same arched ceiling but higher, same stone floor but darker. And rising from its center with geological patience, with mathematical certainty, with cosmic indifference, another pedestal took shape—stone flowing upward like water in reverse, like time refusing forward motion, like death rejecting finality.
The chest still sat before them, lid open, innocuous.
"Motherfucker tried to kill us," Dex snarled, kicking the chest with force that should have shattered wood but instead produced hollow echo, empty sound, meaningless gesture.
Kyle approached cautiously, silver energy ready. The chest's open maw revealed impossibility—interior dimensions that defied exterior boundaries, space expanded beyond physical constraints, reality rewritten within wooden confines. Within its depths lay weapons and armor and treasures arranged with deliberate care, with intentional display..
"It's bigger on the inside," Marcus observed, his analytical tone restored now that motion had ceased.
Kyle leaned forward, careful not to touch, not to reach, not to repeat Dex's mistake. Symbols adorned each item within—glyphs that burned into his mind with immediate translation, with unwanted comprehension, with disturbing familiarity.
"Spear of the Swift Fang," he read aloud, the words forming themselves in his mind before his eyes fully registered the corresponding glyph. "Basic enchanted. Costs one core energy per hour."
His finger hovered above but didn't touch the sleek weapon whose jagged tip resembled predator's tooth larger than any they'd encountered. The description continued unbidden in his thoughts: Enchanted agility attunement. Plus ten percent agility for faster strikes and movement. Increased piercing.
"Enchanted," Marcus breathed. "Actually fucking enchanted."
Dex had already moved past anger to acquisition—his default transformation in the presence of valuable items, of power sources, of anything worth taking. "What else we got in there?"
Together they catalogued the chest's contents—each item triggering automatic translation in their minds, each description materializing without effort, each enchantment promising power beyond mere physical enhancements they'd gained through leveling.
Windreaver Lance with its razor tip that disturbed air rather than slicing it. Whispersting Blade leaving tiny breezes in its wake. Vined Leather Belt whose tendrils coiled seemingly of their own accord. Frosttouch Gloves. Gale Trinket. Featherstep Slippers. Whisperlily Earring. Steadfast Buckle. Two silver bands—Rings of Minor Holding—whose inner dimensions defied outer limitations.
Books bound in materials Kyle couldn't identify, couldn't catalog, couldn't compare to anything from Earth or jungle. Potions in crystalline vials, their colors shifting between states, between possibilities, between outcomes dependent on users yet unknown.
And cakes—simple, unadorned, unassuming—that radiated scents bypassing nostrils to attack hunger centers directly, to stimulate appetite beyond conscious control, to awaken starvation they hadn't recognized until presented with its cure.
Kyle's mouth flooded with saliva so sudden it bordered on pain, so intense it overwhelmed caution, so demanding it erased recent memories of eating. His fingers reached before his mind ordered movement, before thought formed warning, before experience counseled restraint.
"Should we—" Marcus began, but his own hand already betrayed him, already selected cake with creamy center, already conveyed food toward mouth that opened independent of will.
Dex didn't bother with pretense of resistance, with facade of control, with illusion of choice. He grabbed and bit and swallowed in one fluid motion that spoke of hunger transcending normal limits.
Even the cub stretched from Marcus's shoulder, tiny paws extended toward fragments that fell, toward crumbs that escaped, toward sustenance that called with voices deeper than sound.
This is a mistake. This is a trap. This is—this is—this is—
Kyle's thoughts scattered as flavor exploded across his tongue—sweetness wrapped around savory centers, textures transforming between teeth and throat, temperatures shifting hot-cold-hot with each chew. His vision blurred at edges, narrowed at center, focused on nothing while experiencing everything.
Dex tilted sideways, shoulder striking stone as legs abandoned their duty. Marcus sank gracefully to his knees, frost energy flickering then fading as consciousness receded. The cub curled into an impossibly tight ball against Marcus's neck, eyes already closed, whiskers already still.
Kyle remained upright longest, silver spatial energy fighting whatever consumed them from within, whatever rewrote them from core outward, whatever transformed essence rather than merely form. His last thought before darkness claimed him completely, before awareness surrendered to void, before Kyle ceased to exist temporarily:
We died on 58th Street and never fucking stopped dying since.
Kyle woke to blue light and stone cold against his back and the certainty that his body no longer fit inside his skin. His limbs stretched longer, muscles pressed tighter against flesh, bones felt denser beneath meat that had transformed while awareness took holiday in darkness. He sat upright and noticed hands first—still his but more defined, veins more prominent, tendons more visible beneath skin burnished darker than before.
"What—" he began, voice deeper than memory insisted it should be, resonant in ways it hadn't been minutes or hours or days ago.
"We've been upgraded," Marcus announced from Kyle's left, already awake, already analyzing, already accepting transformation with scientist's detachment. The cub perched on his shoulder—slightly larger, slightly sleeker, golden eyes brighter against darker fur. "Race: Basic 4 according to my stats. Significantly higher affinity ratings."
Kyle accessed his mental interface, numbers materializing against backdrop of consciousness:
Subject: Kyle "Alvin"
Age: 24
Level: 12(Tier 1)
Race: Human (Basic 4)
Class: Reality Nomad (Advance 1)
Affinities: Void, Spatial, Gravity, Time.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
Affinity Rating: 43.4
Core Type: Cosmic (Basic 2)
Energy: 742/742
[Stats]
Will: 24
Strength: 16
Intelligence: 20
Vitality: 13
Agility: 15
Dexterity: 13
Resilience: 16
Unbound Points: 0
His eyes widened at the affinity rating jump—38.4 to 43.4—and core energy maximum that had expanded beyond previous limitations, beyond expectations, beyond normal progression curves they'd mapped since awakening.
Dex groaned from floor nearby, hands exploring face that had changed subtly but fundamentally—cheekbones higher, jaw more defined, forehead broader above eyes that remained unchanged yet seemed to contain greater depth, greater intensity, greater danger.
"I feel..." he trailed off, searching for words to describe sensation beyond normal vocabulary.
"Stronger," Kyle supplied, flexing arms where muscles pressed against skin with new definition, new mass, new potential for violence. "Faster."
"More," Marcus corrected, frost energy spiraling from fingertips in patterns more intricate. "We're more of what we were becoming."
They stood together, each discovering height increased by inches that shouldn't matter but somehow did, somehow changed perspective literally and figuratively. e.
"The stuff in the chest," Dex said, already moving toward treasure they'd abandoned for unconsciousness, for transformation, for momentary death that resulted in rebirth. "We need to divvy it up."
"Strategically," Marcus countered, frost energy forming a brief barrier between Dex and chest—not threatening but cautioning, not challenging but reminding. "Based on abilities and combat styles."
"I get first pick," Dex declared, red energy flaring briefly before control reasserted itself. "I found it."
"You opened it without checking for traps," Kyle corrected, inserting himself between chest and Dex with familiar ease. How many times had he played buffer between Dex's impulses and consequences? How many corners had he stood mediating between want and need? How many fights had started because he stepped aside rather than between? "We divide based on what makes us strongest as a unit."
Argument stretched between them—minutes or hours trapped in blue-lit chamber with treasure that promised power beyond killing, beyond survival. Eventually, strategic distribution won over greed, over attachment.
Kyle claimed Spear of the Swift Fang and Whispersting Blade, enhancing his already formidable speed and adding wind element to arsenal that already contained time, space, void, and gravity. Dex selected Windreaver Lance and Vined Leather Belt, combining piercing power with strength enhancement that complemented his Berserker Revenant class. Marcus chose Frosttouch Gloves and Steadfast Buckle, leaning into his frost affinity while increasing resistance against movement effects that might separate him from those he protected.
The remaining items—Gale Trinket, Featherstep Slippers, Whisperlily Earring—they distributed based on secondary benefits, on minor enhancements, on aesthetic preferences none would admit aloud but all recognized in choices made.
"These," Kyle said, lifting one silver band while Marcus examined the other, "change everything."
The Rings of Minor Holding—spatial storage devices costing four energy per hour when activated—promised solution to problems of carrying, of storing, of maintaining possessions in world where weight meant speed meant life.
Kyle slipped the ring onto his finger and focused core energy into activation, into awakening enchantment, into establishing connection between spaces that shouldn't intersect. The band warmed against his skin as glyph stone embedded in silver shifted from dormant to active, from potential to kinetic, from theoretical to actual.
eight cubic feet doesn't sound like much until you need it.
He tested storage capacity by inserting knife, book, potion—each disappearing into space contained within ring's boundaries, each retrievable with thought rather than physical action, each suspended in dimension that existed perpendicular to normal reality. Organizing stored items required visualization rather than manipulation, required mental mapping rather than physical arrangement, required new understanding of space itself.
Marcus copied Kyle's actions with second ring, his more methodical approach resulting in categorized storage—weapons in one mental quadrant, potions in second, books in third, miscellaneous items in fourth. The cub watched with unblinking attention, golden eyes tracking movements it couldn't fully comprehend yet studied with intelligence that seemed to grow with each passing hour.
Kyle ran fingers across his new face—feeling bone structure that hadn't existed yesterday, touching features that belonged to him yet felt foreign, exploring physical form that had evolved beyond human limitations without surrendering human identity. The transformation had burned away remaining baby fat from cheeks never completely hardened by street life, had defined jawline that spoke of predator rather than prey, had reconstructed physical form to better contain power that continued expanding with each chamber conquered.
"Ready for whatever comes next?" Kyle asked, not expecting answers, not requiring confirmation, not seeking reassurance.
Dex grinned with teeth that seemed sharper than ever, with eyes that burned redder, with hunger that grew rather than diminished with each feeding. "Born ready."
Marcus nodded once, frost energy swirling in controlled eddies around fingers.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Items of Significance]
The Spine (Basic Spear, No Enchantment)
- Description: A sleek throwing spear with a shaft of interlocking blue scales, smoothed and tied with hide cords for grip.
The Fang (Basic Spear, No Enchantment) In ring of minor storage
- Description: A short, stout spear with a thick tusk as its head, mounted on a shaft
Bleeding Edge (Basic Knife, No Enchantment) In ring of minor storage
- Description: A brutal knife with a thick fang as its blade, its tip chipped but deadly sharp
Beast Bite (Basic Knife, No Enchantment)
- Description: A compact knife with a curved claw blade, its edge filed to a wicked point.
Stonefang Greaves (Basic Shin Guards, No Enchantment)
- Description: Flexible shin guards crafted from layered blue scales, sewn onto a hide backing with sinew.
Reaper’s Clasp (Basic Arm Guards, No Enchantment)
- Description: Arm guards of tough hide, reinforced with scales layered like armor plates.
Swift Fang (Basic Spear, Enchanted) cost 1 core energy per hour
- Description: A sleek, lightweight spear with a jagged tip resembling a predator’s tooth. Enchanted agility attunement.
- Enchantments: +10% Agility(Active when striking). Increased piercing damage
Whispersting (Intermediate Blade, Enchanted) cost 7 energy per hour
- Description: A slim dagger that leaves a faint breeze in its wake.
- Enchantments: +8% Dexterity(Global), Minor Wind Breath effect (small gust on strike)
Amethyst Husk (Basic, Armor, No Enchantment)
- Description: A backplate of large interlocking purple scales that shimmer with a metallic edge, while hide straps secure it tightly across the back. It’s sleek and minimal, built for agility over bulk.
Featherstep (Basic Slippers, Enchanted) cost 4 energy per hour
- Description: These lightweight slippers are crafted from buttery-soft suede, dyed a muted gray to blend into shadows. The interior is lined with a plush layer of bird feathers
- Enchantments: +3 Agility:(Active while moving) Boosts the wearer’s speed and reflexes, Reduced Noise on Wooden Floors.
Ring of Minor Holding (Basic Ring, Enchanted) cost 1 energy per 2 hours(attuned energy 100% compatible)
- Description: A plain silver band with a quartz glyph stone. If not charged, 12 hours of storage before collapsing.
- Enchantments: 8 cubic foot storage, no weight reduction, 1 item retrieval per turn. Cooldown: 30 second
In Ring of Minor Holding
Minor healing potions x3
- Description: Increase vitality by +50 and 500% for 3 seconds
Minor growth potions x2 (Attuned enchanted)
- Description: Regrowth of major wounds
Minor potion of strength x1(Attuned enchanted)
- Description: Plus 30 Strength for 1 hour
Minor potion of Will x1(Attuned enchanted)
- Description: Plus 120 Will for 15 minutes
1 Vials of purple substance
- Description: (unidentified)
Basic book of metal work(Fleeting Book)
- Description: introductory book offering a blend of theory, properties of metals, and practical instructions.
Spear Dancers of the Storm(Non-Fleeting Book)
- Description: Written by legendary enchanter-warrior, Kaelith this book chronicles the origins, philosophy, and techniques of the Spear Dancers of the Storm—a nomadic order of warriors who mastered spear combat as an art form.