As Cian stepped out of the cellar, the damp air gave way to the heat of battle. An odd sight met his gaze, still adjusting to the light of brightly burning torches. Armored soldiers of chain-mail and plate, tarnished dark-gray, were screaming at each other—barking orders—and rushing up and down the gray stone hallway. Outside, he perceived what could only be the sounds of battle. The noise of burning fires. Of splintering wood.

  There was a rush of wind, and on it rode the scent of death.

  Tekurat suddenly shoved him to the side, and a stray arrow whistled through the calamity, piercing the wooden door where his head had been with a loud thud.

  Cian leaned his back against the cold stone, pressed his hand to his heart, and willed it to slow its incessant beating.

  “Thank you,” he muttered under his breath.

  Tekurat merely nodded, his dark-brown dossan flipping up and obscuring his eyes. He snorted and pushed the hair aside.

  Suddenly, three guards stopped in their haste and surrounded them. They were shorter than Tekurat and him by a fair margin, but they appeared eager and battle-hardened beyond what their years would suggest.

  “How did you escape?” one asked, the youngest of the bunch, if he had to guess.

  They all three leveled their weapons forward.

  Cian stumbled for the words as they caught in his chest. He cleared his throat, saying, “We-uh-I mean… We were told to assist in the battle. Yeah, that’s it. We’re both quite capable as adventurers,” he pointed between Tekurat and himself emphatically, “despite how we may appear to upstanding guards such as yourselves.”

  [System]

  Deceit check…

  You get the feeling that none of the guards believed that load of trite.

  “Kill em’,” the younger guard said, and all three stepped forward in unison.

  There was a scream that rang out, cold and terrified, and then a sudden clang of armor which punctuated it. The two guards to his front turned to find that their third had suffered an unfortunate run-in with the boot of a minotaur, and had been subsequently catapulted from the vantage, out of a small break in the stonework, and had fallen at least two-story’s down. Glancing out over the railing, the guard was sprawled out on the stonework below, having crashed into a cart of hay which now laid in a heap covering most of his body. He certainly appeared dead as he made no other movement.

  The two guards swallowed hard, taking a step back. Fear broke their rank, and they now moved as individuals rather than as a single unit.

  “Help!” one yelped as Tekurat reached out, grabbed him, and pulled him close.

  The young soldier gave a cry of panic as he abandoned his weapon and ran down the hall, disappearing into another corridor at the opposing end.

  Tekurat walked to where he had launched the first man out and started to slowly press the guard he held out of the same opening.

  “Wait-wait-wait,” the guard pleaded, sprawling out like a cat, not wanting to be placed into a bath.

  “Tekurat,” Cian said.

  The minotaur paused.

  “Perhaps we can let him go?” he suggested. “No need to kill anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

  “No deserve?” Takurat asked, staring daggers at the guard.

  “Yeah-yeah-yeah, what he said. I’ll pretend like I never seen ya’s. Either of ya,’ just let me—”

  Tekurat shrugged and let the guard go… and the man lost his balance, falling and screaming all the way down until the sound of shattering metal silenced him.

  Tekurat glanced down after him. “Oops,” he said.

  Cian shook his head. “Nevermind… we’ve gotta get out of here. Fuck this quest—and certainly fuck whatever is going on outside. I never signed up for this chaos.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Tekurat scratched his chin. “Fuck, Sri?”

  “No… Not ‘fuck Sri.’” Then he considered for a moment. “Well, maybe fuck her too… She abandoned me.”

  Tekurat pointed to himself with one massive finger.

  “Us,” Cian amended. “I meant us. You know what I say? Every man and woman for themselves.” He reached out and thumped Tekurat on the chest. “Minotaur included.”

  Tekurat grunted as he hefted his two-handed axe onto his shoulder. For a man of such few words, he sure did look menacing all the same.

  Cian reached out, summoning [Swordbreaker] into his awaiting hand. He had a feeling he would need it sooner rather than later. It came in a flash, falling into his grip. It felt good now—like an extension of himself. He gave it a twirl and a thrust to get the weight of it.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he said.

  Tekurat snorted his agreement. “Fuck out,” he replied.

  ***

  Sri snickered to herself, rummaging through a medium-sized brown wooden chest in Advisor Amra’s study.

  The study itself was modestly sized, with multiple roof-high wooden bookshelves filled to the brim with various tombs that held not even a lick of dust on them. Expensive rugs of various bright colors adorned the floor, obscuring the drab stonework underneath. And paintings… so many paintings. They all seemed to be on one subject, and one subject alone… Advisor Amra himself. The man was so clearly a narcissist, and she was giddy at the thought of stealing from him. She loved to take from pompous men. Men who thought themselves better. Men who thought themselves beyond reach. Of course… She liked to steal from women too. They could be just as full of themselves, despite what they would have others think.

  Now if she could just find something worth stealing.

  Sure, she had found a few gold coins here and there, but mostly it was bland paperwork. Parchment, pens, ink… items that would sell, but nothing truly worth taking. She needed something big. Something worthy of this entire [Dungeon]. Something worth her time and name… Something like that staff she saw in most of the paintings. But, alas, there was no staff to be found here.

  Frustrated, she jumped up into a rather large intricately carved reading chair, with cushions of deep-red, and leaned back. She bounced on it a few times and found herself surprised at how comfortable it was. This would be considered luxury even in her own time in the real world. Too bad she couldn’t steal a chair. She was sure that some rich farmer type [Player] would pay out the ass for something this comfortable, and so obviously well crafted.

  She suddenly heard the door to the study open, and she leaped off the chair, rolling under a nearby writing desk.

  It was Advisor Amra, and he was dressed in ceremonial robes of silver and, he held in his hand… the staff made of bones she had been searching for. He strolled over to the chair she had just been resting in and sat down himself. He shifted uncomfortably. Reaching down, he felt the cushion, rubbing his hand back and forth. His ears twitched as he stood, gripping the staff with a white-knuckled fury.

  “Who’s here?” he asked, tiptoeing around the room.

  He began by walking around the shelves, checking the dark corners until he disappeared behind one.

  Sri rolled out, crouching low, and made her way to the door. She reached up, pulled, and… nothing. It didn’t budge. She pushed and, again, nothing. She pulled again. Quickly, she reached into her pocket to find her thieving tools, but when she looked at the door handle, it was gone. Hell, the entire door itself had disappeared, leaving a stone wall where it had once been.

  “Leaving, hero?” Advisor Alma asked. “Or should I say… thief.”

  Sri chucked the bundled pouch she kept on her belt, landing a few steps in front of Alma. He danced back as a large plume of white smoke exploded from the pouch, obscuring the entire study in an instant.

  Sri pulled a mask up to block her nose and mouth. She descend the stairs with a quickness, both daggers in hand. She went to where she had seen Alma last and slashed at the space, hitting… nothing.

  “Pathetic worm,” Alma hissed, and she felt a sudden pull.

  As she turned, she saw Alma, like the eye of a tornado, spinning the staff of bones, and the smoke swirling around him. He tapped the staff twice on the ground and the smoke vanished instantly, leaving the room clear.

  Sri lunged forward, striking with her dagger, but Alma merely swiped her away with his staff. She tried again, backhand with her second dagger, but he merely spun away like an experienced fighter.

  Spinning the staff, he slapped the edge of the rock, and the ground shook, jettisoning out, and hitting Sri directly in the chest. She flew backwards, slamming into a bookshelf which knocked it over, slamming into another and then another. Soon, the room was a cascading event of falling books, and she was buried beneath them.

  She managed to keep consciousness, despite being hit and buried beneath heavy tombs. She could barely see Alma tiptoeing around the cluttering of texts, looking for her.

  “Come out, rat,” he taunted. “Come and meet the cat.”

  One chance… She had one chance.

  [System]

  [Stealth] check…

  You have the feeling that you are not as hidden as you think

  Now!

  Sri lunged from under the books, a dagger aimed at Alma’s throat. She connected, and she couldn’t help but smile from ear to ear. She had done it. She had—

  The staff of bone struck her on the side of the head, throwing her twirling into the desk, breaking through it with her body.

  She could feel her [HP] getting low. Her vision was blurry. Cloudy. She struggled to open her eyes and when she did; she saw something unexpected. Where she had expected the face of an elderly white-haired elvish man, she instead saw…

  Blue scales.