Three tunnels later, two forks in the descent, in what was a mix of a labyrinth, catacomb, and lava-tube at once, it was there that he found his first foe.

  Or rather, that his foes found him.

  They came fast, quick as bullets, small enough to hide and wait in ambush, which he assumed that they did. He heard them scurry across the floor, scampering and chittering in a crude facsimile of language.

  He felt a moment of doubt. Now that he was to actually follow through on his plan to battle beasts to ‘level-up,’ and he could scarcely even think that thought without feeling a wave of disgust, but now that he was about to fight an unknown number of foes, while naked, while lacking even a stick to club them with… well, he found he had second thoughts.

  But what else could he have done? Beg? He likely would find himself in a worse position if he did so. A contemptuous position at that.

  No, he would follow through and battle these foes. They were small, afterall. And he could regenerate from most damage.

  But they came so quickly and so fast! They were practically on him before he realized what they were: rats.

  He was being accosted by rats. These were what had frightened him, gave him second thoughts? He derived his own cowardice and lashed out at the first to reach him.

  Except, his kick missed.

  A rat landed on his thigh, digging in and clawing his bare flesh, inches away from his privates.

  He panicked and flailed and struck the rat with his hand, pulling it off him along with a flap of his flesh.

  It hurt.

  He smashed the rat against the ground then stomped upon it, killing it with a squish. It was pleasantly warm.

  But that rat had not been alone.

  Others scurried towards him, from all angles.

  His thigh itched as skin began to regrow.

  He stomped another, catching its back and breaking it. A warmth suffused him, the rush of combat.

  Another lept from a nearby crevice in the wall. He struck out, punching it–he missed–it hit his chest–he grabbed it and twisted it, losing more skin but already regenerating. More came. He never found himself winded or exhausted, instead he was growing with vigor and was working up a hearty appetite.

  Another rat reached him.

  At some point, one of them had gotten his achilles.

  Nick was slow on his feet, but still much larger than any of these rats.

  He fell down, using his weight and his knee to drive the rat into the stone, crushing it, and once again gaining that warmth.

  In such a tunnel, in such a place, even if the air was room temperature, which it was not, being naked would leave him cold and vulnerable to the elements. But all around him, he felt warmth, which was very noticeable against the chill he had been feeling previously, before the rats had attacked.

  Something stung his arm. He lashed out but found nothing. The burning was coming from beneath his skin, under the godsmark.

  It appeared his gambit had paid off, although there was no obvious power gained. Truthfully, he could not read his own godsmark, and he assumed that most lacked that ability as well. At least from the inquisitor’s who questioned him, it appeared that the knowledge to read the sigils was either very rare or unique to each individual.

  The fact he lacked understanding of his godsmark did bother him, but he shoved that irritation aside.

  He had gotten what he wanted, growth.

  But now, as he was regenerating, and as the adrenaline settled, he ached and he hungered.

  His stomach made its emptiness known. He felt faint and light headed and he realized he not eaten since he had awoken… his ribs felt hollow.

  With his current resources, he knew what he had to do, although he felt disgusted that he was forced to resort to this. It was better than being dead, though. At least, he thought it might have been. Surely he could suffer this indignity now so that he could prosper later?

  Yes. He once more steeled himself and brought the rat from beneath his knee up to his mouth. He shut his eyes. He lacked the tools to disassemble the rat, to cook it.

  With what he knew, he doubted he would suffer from any food-borne illness.

  It was just… gross.

  Dirty fur, which he tasted, the sensation of warmth, squeezing of teeth, juice popping…

  It reminded him of a hairy tomato with a thicker skin than normal–yes, he decided that was what he would picture himself eating–even though there was sinew and crunching bones–and something hard–he bit down and felt the object lodge itself between his teeth, causing some to chip.

  If his teeth were not included in his regeneration, he would have been upset. Instead, he spat out the bits of teeth and the hard object he had mistakenly bit.

  It was a rough and uncut gemstone of some sort, which glowed, if slightly.

  Why was a glowing bit of rock inside a rat? Was it a phylactery? No, he knew that it was not. It was something else. He checked the other rats, they all had a stone buried within their chests.

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  The stones were tiny, but they glowed, and they clearly had some value.

  Suddenly, he understood.

  The penal-colony forced prisoners to enter this aptly named dungeon to kill these creatures and return with the bits of glowing stones, which he assumed were then traded for necessary goods. It was practically slave labor. A part of him was impressed at the setup. It solved the issue of housing criminals while generating a stream of income.

  It was later he learned the gems were called Dungeon Stones.

  His arm was burning again as his godsmark stretched further up his arm.

  He was growing inured to the pain. In fact, he was coming to appreciate the pain. Afterall, it meant he was growing.

  Although, regarding the godsmark… his feelings were mixed.On one hand, a force he could not comprehend was modifying his body without his consent. On the other hand, he very much required these improvements in order to attain any worthwhile quality of life. As there was little choice in the matter, he continued as he did, hunting the beasts in the tunnels, subsisting off raw flesh.

  It was difficult to keep track of time. It was just so monotonous. And there were no windows overlooking a city, or pretty little office administrators to help him keep track of his schedule. He wondered if this was what working for an hourly wage was like, but he suspected that what he had been forced into was worse.

  Another fingernail was torn off just as he thought that.

  He was extracting stones from dead rats. Without the appropriate tools, he had been forced to improvise with his own body. His godsmark burned again. His finger itched at the cuticle as a new nail was beginning to regrow. Certainly painful.

  For the Dungeon Stone he extracted, this he stored in the guts of a dead rat he was carrying with him, using the corpse as a makeshift bag of sorts. Not for the first time since he had entered these tunnels, he wished for tools. Even a flint knife would be better than he was now, naked and relying on his arms and legs to fight.

  How he ever had the arrogance to believe he could combat that oozing creature, he could not fathom. Even the rats proved troublesome.

  Eventually, his makeshift bag was stuffed full, and he decided to return to the shanty-town to trade for supplies. Or a bath. Before he left, he used twisted guts and uncleaned skins to form a loincloth. It stank, it itched, but it mostly covered his decency.

  A shameful display, but he hoped to resolve it soon.

  He ascended from the tunnels.

  Throughout his sojourn, he had never lost track of his positioning, despite the all of the tunnels and forks he had traveled down. While not all ascending pathways led towards the town, most of them did. As he traveled, he did hear the echo of voices, and the sounds of laughter and what could almost be described as boisterous and drunken combat, but he never caught sight of any of these other parties.

  He was thankful for that.

  The only other people he saw was when he breached into the mega-cavern. There were several well armed and armored thuggish looking people resting along benches, far more attentive than Nick would have expected.

  He paused in his stride.

  Other than the guard that had ejected him into the cavern, these were the first humans he had come across in his near naked state. He must have looked more like a feral animal than anything else.

  But, he knew that even if he felt shame and embarrassment, that he should absolutely avoid showing it.

  He resumed his pace, striding with false confidence and purpose.

  One of the armored persons, Nick thought possibly a woman but was unsure, turned their head to observe Nick.

  Nick kept going, making no effort to confront them, choosing rather to pass their guard post.

  “Think he’s got enough for the toll?” the opposite guard asked, a man.

  A woman’s voice answered, “Him? Does he look like he can?” she scoffed. “Let him be.”

  “...alright, I guess he’s had a rough couple of days.”

  Nick nodded towards them but did not stop, striding past them and entering the larger mega-cavern, where a ramshackle civilization had been built around a penal-colony. The path he followed led directly towards the town, towards the main boulevard, in fact.

  Of course there were people between the dungeon and the town. He expected stares. But with the scant lighting, none of the locals saw him until he reached the main thoroughfare.

  He stepped onto the partially lit boardwalk and could not help but feel the stares of the merchants and thugs. He heard laughter but he continued searching for an adequate merchant that would be willing to barter and had the goods he needed. Preferably as quickly as possible. He did not feel either safe or confident with his current abilities and state. He needed to escape the town as quickly as possible, as soon as he bartered for what he needed.

  The first merchant to have what he needed is where he immediately headed. It was basically a glorified wagon turned stall, selling what looked like second hand goods.

  It was operated by an old woman She seemed amenable enough, and did not overly judge him for his plight. At least, if she did, she kept the judgment to herself.

  Best of all, she accepted Dungeon Stones raw, instead of the ‘chits’ that the town used for currency. Of course, he suspected he got a worse deal because of it, but he had no intention of heading towards the warden’s tower in the middle of town. Because of this, though, he ended up trading most of his haul away, which she seemed to take more as a mercy to him, or so it seemed.

  He came away wearing a pair of trousers made of what might as well be jute, along with a cord for a belt, and a small rusted blade, no longer than his thumb. He tried negotiating for a bag as well, but she refused. Apparently, he lacked the funds for even a leather pouch.

  Without an abundance of funds, and even if he still had a few stones left, he retreated the way that he came from.

  As he left the town, he saw a pitiful sight that left Nick feeling something akin to empathy.

  He found the experience less than comfortable.

  It was something he spotted in the cramped space between two buildings which leaned against each other.

  There, sprawled on the ground with sunken cheeks and the obvious appearance of starvation, there was a starving child. Dirty, piteous, and too weak to survive, if left alone. It was bad enough, that if the child had remained silent while Nick passed, Nick would have thought the child a corpse.

  However, the child did groan.

  By this time, Nick had already overstayed his welcome in the town. He also may have gained a tail in town. One of the shirtless thugs had started following Nick after he found himself a pair of pants.

  Nick decided to resolve both his problems at once.

  As he passed the child, Nick tossed the rat which still had some stones in it towards the child.

  The child barely responded to the opportunity that landed several feet away from them.

  Twenty seconds later, Nick reached the edge of the boulevard, where the mega-cavern began, and where the lantern light stopped.

  A thug was still following him at this point. But Nick was not about to be robbed and murdered once more. No. The second he passed the threshold, he took off sprinting into the dark, angling off the path and into the rougher terrain of pocked stonework surrounding the town.

  The thug shouted and ran after Nick, but from the sounds of it, quickly stumbled.

  Nick felt like gloating, but he refused to risk it, instead heading once more towards the dungeon.

  He passed the toll-takers once more, this time with a nod from the female.

  “Found some pants, aye?”

  “Indeed,” Nick answered.

  “Be sure to bring enough back up to pay this time.”

  After learning the current expected rates, Nick continued his descent. Privately, he wondered if it would be worthwhile to find the alternative dungeon entrance he had used before. There had to be several, considering the byzantine series of caverns and tunnels.

  Regardless though, he intended to remain down below for some time.

  Especially with the cost of the toll.