Tibs headed for the next room with care and reached the cache, halfway to it, without encountering traps or creatures. It contained a pair of worker’s leather gloves in a darker leather than the armor. They would offer little protection, but were better than nothing.

  Firmen hadn’t worked out how to arrange essence within the caches to make the void that contained the item harder to notice, but he hadn’t taken any side path to get that loot. Tibs didn’t want Firmen to realize he could sense that and work on hiding them better.

  He remained alert as he set off again, aware the lack of traps and creatures could be the dungeon’s attempt to exhaust him with worry, but it could also be to cause him to lower his guard.

  Firmen was clever, and being the dungeon, he could adapt faster than Sto did, who often needed to wait for Ganny to tell him how Tibs had worked out something.

  He made the next turn without incident, then sensed the shift in the wall ahead announcing a creature was about to step out.

  This time, he watched and studied what he sensed as the essence pooled within the larger trunk. Life, mixed with Wood, and some Earth, Water, Air, Light, and even less Metal, and little of essences he couldn’t identify. The trunk’s bark didn’t part as the essence pushed against it. It bent around it; adhering, as a foot became recognizable. Then a leg, the bark becoming the Woodling’s ‘skin,’ or armor. It stretched around the upper leg without thinning, then the torso. The trunk didn’t run out. Its bark flowed, essence remaking it as quickly as it covered the creature. A hand, now, then an arm as more of the torso pushed out.

  Then, it stood before him, a fighter in a bark version on leather armor, which included a helmet.

  “Where did you get the shape for the helmet?” he asked before he stopped himself, then continued. “I mean, I doubt one of the villagers walked in wearing one.”

  “I…made it?” Firmen replied, puzzled. “With armor protecting the body, it made sense the head should, too.”

  “So it’s just a coincidence it looks like most leather helmets?”

  “I guess?”

  It wasn’t like there was a lot of variety in the helmets or armors Omegas wore, but he’d thought it was the guild going for the worse types they could get. Maybe it was simply that until other materials were added for extra protection, there was no point in anything…fancier.

  The…construction of the Woodling was interesting. Quite different from Sto’s creatures.

  Where Sto’s had them simply ‘filled’ with life essence, and the added ones held where it would be used; Earth at the surface for armor, Air at the feet for speed and so on. Firmen had the essence around the body in something that represented a person more than a thing.

  Water and Life flowed through channels that could be those blood, along with Life, flowed in though his body. Stone were ‘bars’ in the center of the limbs and torso much like bones, although they were without the shapes of bones, and were connected to where they needed to move by bubbles of air.

  The metal ‘flecked’ the edge of the wooden sword, while the shield was only Wood, and light pooled in its head, where Tibs felt the ‘sight node’ was. Did it need it to see?

  “Are you going to just stand around and admire my work?” Firmen asked. Then the Woodling charged, keeping Tibs from asking about the light.

  He raised his sword, reached for metal essence, and—

  Where was it all?

  He stepped aside with a curse, the tip of the Woodling’s sword scratching his armor. His return swing fell well short of cutting it and he hurried further back, putting a hand on his forearm and had a moment of terror at touching skin. Then he remembered Firmen had his bracers.

  What was he supposed to do without essence? There wasn’t enough in his minuscule one to accomplish anything of worth, and Firmen would know if he channeled an element, and—

  He wasn’t supposed to use essence at all. That had been the point of Firmen taking his bracers.

  He was an Omega Runner.

  He grinned.

  He was one with decades of training. So even without essence, he could handle a first floor and its creatures.

  He sprang forward, swinging. It parried, but he slid his sword along its, then slashed before stepping back, but he’d been early and missed its head. A reminder the sword was shorter, and that he didn’t have essence to adjust it.

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  He stepped around it, but instead of the usual moving to keep him in sight, it stood still.

  To test if that gave him an advantage, he attacked its back. The arm bent ‘wrong’ to bring its shield up and block him, and its sword came up, forcing him to retreat. It followed him, head looking the wrong way, and he had to parry and dodge.

  He cursed when a swing got through his defense much easier than he felt it should and cut through his armor. But it had brought the creature close enough he planted his sword, then slammed an elbow into it to force it away, putting distance between them.

  A touch at the cut brought his finger wet, but the line was thin and didn’t bleed much. It, on the other hand, leaked water from the hole the way he felt that kind of injury on a person would look, and he sensed a reduction in the water essence in it.

  “You’re having it bleed?”

  “You bleed,” Firmen replied in an even tone.

  It remained away, so Tibs continued. “Why? It’s not alive the way I am. It doesn’t need that water to live or move.” Although, for a first floor creature, it was more fluid than Sto’s had even managed on the second floor. His people golems were when Tibs thought the other creatures had also gained a more normal way of moving.

  “Because it’s how I wanted to make them?”

  The cut stung, but it was clean. He’d be fine until the run was done and he healed it.

  He straightened. “How many tries until you got it to work?”

  “A lot.” The reply was wry.

  That didn’t tell him how long it had taken, but with the first villager disappearing over a decade ago, it would be where Firmen had had the idea.

  While he appreciated the dungeon letting him satisfy his curiosity by not attacking, he had a run to get through.

  He ran at the Woodling, dropping under the swing and willing the metal in its sword to move just enough to miss him, but feeling the blade cut his back as he ‘opened’ its ‘stomach.’ Then he was face first on the floor as the ice he willed under his knee didn’t manifest and the momentum tumbled him away.

  He rolled away from the kick that didn’t come, sensing the cut was fortunately shallow, and was up, the Woodling watching him.

  When it attacked, it was with broad slashes that forced him back. He acted on his hurried plan before he was close to the thicket. He threw himself aside, for the distance, then ran on the creature’s shield side, sword high, but the Woodling turned fast enough it was its blade that was moving to catch it.

  A curse, a shift in his grip and his sword passed it by, but his arm took an injury. He slashed as he stepped away, biting deep into its side, then turned to face it.

  More of the water that represented its blood flowed. His arm had another light cut, the leather having done its work, but he was still annoyed at himself. This was a first floor. He was a better fighter than this.

  It seemed to be losing more from this wound. Had Firmen gone so far as to make how they fought dependent on how injured they were? It wouldn’t help the creatures, but if all he had were the villagers as models, they would be worse when injured.

  He ran at the Woodling, sword high, hoping it would have to protect its injury, but ready to adapt if he was wrong. Its shield was up, and he smiled. He twisted out of the way from the sword and brought his down as hard as he could on the ‘wrist’ of the hand holding the shield, where the bubble of air was.

  It went through easier than he’d expected; he caught the falling shield, then jumped back.

  He couldn’t remove the hand, as it was a lump attached to the shield, and resorted to holding it at the edge to bash the sword away from him, putting it off balance, and taking the opportunity to cut its head off.

  He stepped away, found a better grip and readied for the next attack, but the creature was on a knee, falling to the side. The moss grew over it.

  “That killed it?”

  “Why are you surprised?”

  “It still had plenty of life essence. Nearly all of it, and a good amount of Water.

  “It doesn’t matter how much life essence you have. When something loses its head, it dies.”

  “Sto never bothered making them do that. We had to cut and break them until there wasn’t enough Life essence to hold them together.

  “I’m not Sto.” There was an edge to the statement.

  “Sorry. I’m just surprised. You’re only the second dungeon I’m met where I saw their creations, and I was focussed on reaching Joman last time, so I didn’t pay attention to how the Woodlings were made.”

  “It as a name?”

  “All people do.” He studied the ball that connected to the shield, trying to find a way to hold it. It was too large and had nothing to properly grip. He’d have to… “Firmen, can I get your permission to use essence to change the shield so I can hold it?”

  “You don’t have your bracers.”

  “I can manipulate the essence in the shield, since it’s just wood. I’ll have to maintain it, but it’s better than nothing.”

  “It isn’t for a Runner.”

  “I know, but so long as I don’t put it down and walk away, it’s going to remain.” He looked at the patch of moss that was all that remained of the Woodling. “And you didn’t leave loot behind, so that can be it.”

  “Leaving loot? You asked Merka about that last time. What does it mean?”

  “When we killed Sto’s creatures, they left something behind.”

  “I’m not Sto,” Firmen snapped.

  “But it’s not just him. Ganny said it’s something dungeons do.”

  “Merka!”

  Tibs waited.

  “Fine, go ahead while I find Merka. If I find out you lied, the arrangement will change.”

  Tibs steadied his breathing. He didn’t need to channel Wood for this. The essence was there. All he needed was to take hold of it and shape it. Then it would just be about willing the new form to remain.

  It was safe. He wouldn’t accidentally channel the element and then…he didn’t want to think how he’d go about helping Firmen grow without caring about the consequences.

  All he needed was to—

  “Why aren’t you done?”

  “That was quick,” he said, instead of addressing his worry.

  “It’s all me. Once I paid attention, it was simple to know where Merka was sulking. You are right, loot drop is a thing.”

  He could do this. He could take hold of the essence and—

  “How long is that going to take?” Firmen asked, sounding impatient.

  “A bit, I have to—”

  Something clattered to the floor, well behind Tibs.

  “Just use that one so we can get on with this.”

  The shield was like the one he held, except for two loops of leather on each side of where the ball of wood was. They were wide enough, his forearm fit and he could grab the other one.

  This would do nicely. He dropped the Woodling’s shield and put this one on. Then he continued with the run.

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