[Congratulations. You have killed 8 Skeleton Warriors lv 5. Experience gained.]

  [Congratulations. You have killed 5 Skeleton Swordsmen lv 6. Experience gained.]

  [Congratulations. You have enough experience to level up—would you like to level up now?]

  ‘Damnit, BB, can’t you see we are kind of busy here? Bugger off.’

  Misty gives me a look.

  ‘You as well, huh?’ I ask her.

  She just snorts in reply.

  Well, of course she gets some form of message from our great and powerful watchers. How else could she deal with her own level-ups?

  ‘Or get mad crazy new skills,’ I add, looking down at her in full fight mode, sleek fur bristling and claws gleaming faintly in the light.

  ‘Shall we?’ I ask her.

  And with her rumbling growl, we step into the next chamber.

  I had noticed with the first chamber that, although the stairwell had been lit by my magic light, the room beyondhad been completely blacked out until we entered.

  This seemed to be a feature of this place. From outside, the room had been hidden in its inky depths, yet as we crossed that threshold, the room lit up in the light from my hand.

  ‘Elara, I could kiss you. This beats stumbling around in the dark.’

  We had entered what appeared to be an ancient crypt. Lines of broken-open stone sarcophagi filled the centre, their shattered lids scattered across the floor. The walls were lined with carved niches containing what seemed to be assorted urns.

  Long-disused sconces sat unlit on the walls, and from the ceiling, a broken candelabra hung precariously from a single chain.

  The air smelled of stagnation and must, and the temperature had dropped considerably, biting through the remaining warmth from the hallway just behind us.

  Of course, that might have something to do with the glaringly obvious elephant in the room.

  At the opposite end of the chamber is a circle, intricately inscribed and glowing faintly with a red light. In the centre of it is a figure.

  In excess of seven feet tall, cloaked in a disturbingly black robe with a deeply cowled hood. I cannot make out its features, but I can immediately spot two things.

  In one hand, it has a large staff. The other is empty, but both hands are extremely skinny.

  ‘Skinny? They are bones,’

  I stare at the skeletal fingers.

  ‘And what of that face?’ This is a bit of a moot point, as within that deep hood it is impossible to see any sort of visage.

  Just two glowing red points of light that I absolutely know are staring right at me.

  Even Misty has gone utterly still, although I can hear her low, rumbling growl as she watches the creature ahead.

  The skeletal figure doesn’t move as we enter the chamber, but the weight of its gaze—those twin red points of light in the shadows of its hood—bears down on me like a physical force.

  My grip tightens on the hilts of my weapons, sweat slicking my palm despite the chill in the air.

  Misty’s growl deepens, low and guttural, as her fur bristles. Her tail lashes behind her like a whip, and her ears flatten against her skull.

  It’s not fear—no, Misty doesn’t do fear—but the tension in her body is unmistakable.

  This thing is dangerous.

  The creature’s hand shifts, skeletal fingers curling slightly around the staff. Its voice rasps out, dry and brittle, like old parchment torn in half.

  “You should not be here.”

  ‘No shit Sherlock.’

  The light of its eyes flares. The circle beneath its feet pulses with dark energy, the lines of crimson glowing brighter.

  My chest tightens as the air grows heavier, as if the crypt itself is holding its breath.

  And then it moves.

  The staff comes down with a thunderous crack, striking the stone floor. A shockwave ripples outward, visible as a distortion in the air, and I barely manage to raise my arm in time to shield my face.

  The force sends me staggering backward, boots scraping against the floor, and Misty lets out a sharp hiss as she scrambles to maintain her footing.

  It doesn’t give us time to recover. A burst of crimson light shoots toward me, fast as a whip, and I barely dodge in time, feeling the searing heat as it passes inches from my shoulder. It slams into the wall behind me, carving a blackened scorch mark into the stone.

  “Okay, then,” I mutter under my breath. “This just got serious.”

  I charge, Misty at my side, her claws scraping against the stone as she darts forward.

  The skeletal mage shifts slightly, the red glow in its eyes flickering. It raises its free hand, and suddenly, the floor around us erupts.

  Bone fragments burst upward like jagged spikes, forming skeletal shapes that claw their way out of the ground.

  Three of them—no, four—lurch toward us, skeletal warriors with glowing eye sockets and jagged weapons.

  One swings at me, a rusted blade slicing through the air. I parry with my weapon, the impact jarring my arm, and twist to avoid a follow-up strike.

  Misty launches herself at another, her teeth flashing as she clamps down on its arm. The skeleton lets out a horrible screech, the sound grating like nails on glass, but Misty doesn’t let go.

  She jerks her head violently, tearing the limb clean off before spinning to face the next threat.

  “Good girl!” I shout, but my moment of distraction costs me.

  One of the skeletons manages to get past my guard, its clawed hand raking across my side.

  Pain flares hot and sharp, and I grit my teeth, feeling the warmth of blood soaking through my shirt.

  I slam the hilt of my weapon into the skeleton’s skull, shattering it with a satisfying crunch. It collapses in a heap of bone and dust, but there’s no time to celebrate.

  Another one is already coming at me, its weapon raised.

  The necromancer watches it all impassively, standing within the glowing circle.

  Its skeletal hand moves in a slow, deliberate motion, and the air around it seems to ripple like heat haze.

  I catch a glimpse of something—no, someone—standing in the shadows behind the necromancer, a translucent figure with hollow eyes.

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  A ghost. It flickers, and then it’s gone, but the chill it leaves behind is unmistakable.

  I am frozen, unable to move.

  ‘Del!’ Misty’s voice cuts through the chaos in my mind, sharp and urgent.

  I snap out of it and turn just in time to avoid a large bone hitting my head.

  I glance her way to see her leap out of the way of another skeleton, her fur singed where one of the necromancer’s crimson blasts grazed her.

  She’s limping slightly, her movements slower than before, but her eyes burn with fierce determination.

  I don’t have time to check on her.

  The necromancer’s staff slams down again, and this time, the circle’s glow intensifies.

  Dark tendrils of energy snake outward, crawling across the floor like living things. One of them latches onto my ankle, and a freezing pain shoots up my leg, making me stumble.

  “No, you don’t!”

  I swing my weapon downward, severing the tendril. It dissipates in a puff of black smoke, but the damage is done. My leg feels heavy, numb, like it’s been dipped in ice water.

  Misty lunges at the necromancer, her claws extended, but she’s stopped mid-air.

  The necromancer’s bony hand gestures, and she’s flung backward by an invisible force, slamming into the wall with a sickening thud.

  She slides to the ground, dazed but still conscious.

  “Get up, Misty!” I shout, panic clawing at my throat. “Come on, girl!”

  The necromancer turns its attention back to me, the red glow in its eyes flaring once more.

  It raises its staff, and with a rumble, spears of bone leap upwards.

  I am forced to leap onto a sarcophagus to avoid getting impaled, somehow balancing on my one good leg.

  The skeleton starts to laugh, the sound echoing and beyond evil.

  I know—instinctively, deeply—that whatever it’s about to do will end me if I don’t act now.

  I hurl myself forward, ignoring the pain in my side and the numbness in my leg.

  My weapon comes down in a desperate arc, aiming for the staff, the source of its power.

  The necromancer blocks me with its skeletal hand, the sound of bone against steel ringing out like a bell.

  Sparks fly as we clash, and for a moment, we’re locked in a battle of strength and will.

  Its empty gaze meets mine, and I can feel the sheer malice radiating from it, a tide of hatred that threatens to devour me.

  But I don’t back down. I can’t back down!

  With a roar, I twist my weapon free and swing again.

  This time, I connect. The staff splinters under the force of my strike, shards of black wood scattering across the floor.

  The necromancer lets out an unearthly scream, its skeletal frame convulsing as the glow in the circle flickers.

  “Down!” A voice echoes from behind me, and I turn to see Elara standing at the entrance to the chamber, her bow drawn.

  Her eyes are focused, determined, and the arrow in her hands glows brightly with magic.

  I dive to the floor.

  She releases.

  The arrow streaks through the air, striking the necromancer square in the chest.

  The impact sends it staggering backward, and out from the circle beneath its feet.

  The stone begins to crack, crimson light seeping through the fractures, before flaring brightly and dying.

  The remaining skeletons collapse in heaps of bone and dust, their connection to the necromancer severed.

  The figure itself crumples to the ground, its robe pooling around it like spilled ink. The red lights in its eyes dim, fading to nothing.

  I stagger backward, breathing hard, my body aching from the fight.

  Misty limps over to me, her movements slow but steady, and I drop to one knee to check her over.

  “You did good, girl,” I say, my voice hoarse.

  She nuzzles my hand, her warmth grounding me. Slowly, she starts to shrink back to her normal cuteness.

  Elara steps further into the chamber, her bow still in hand, and looks down at the necromancer’s remains.

  “Is it dead?” she asks, her voice wary.

  I glance at the broken staff and the cracked circle, then back at the motionless heap of black robes.

  “It better be,” I mutter, but I don’t take my eyes off it. Not yet.

  The chill in the air begins to fade, and for the first time, I notice how quiet the crypt has become.

  [Congratulations. You have killed Skeleton Necromancer lvl 9; Experience gained.]

  [Congratulations. You have advanced your primary cuvat: Points added.]

  [Congratulations. You have advanced your secondary cuvat: Points added.]

  ‘Damn, I don’t want to do that again in a hurry,’ I say to my cat as she starts to fastidiously clean her fur.

  Misty gives me a look. I can see she agrees with me.

  I look up at Elara as she comes closer.

  “Where’s Naomi?”“Sat on the stairs where I left her.” She pauses. “I hope.”

  Turning, she rapidly heads back to check on the girl.

  As she leaves, I start rooting through the dry old bones that had just now been trying so hard to kill me.

  There is little of value—no rings, the staff is broken, and skeletons don’t usually bother with money.

  The one curious thing I do find is the mage’s skull, which gives off distinct magical vibrations.

  With nothing else of value here, I wrap the skull in cloth from its robes and head back to the others.

  Once I am back up in the main chamber, I can see it has been cleaned up a bit. Debris has been pushed aside, and the broken parts from the statue have been placed reverently in the pool basin.

  “When I find a temple, I will let them know of this shrine so it can be repaired and rededicated,” Elara informs me.

  Even without that being done, I can feel the change in the ambient mana. No longer is it tainted with that earlier darkness; it now emits a clean and wholesome energy.

  “You know both Misty and I probably owe you our lives,” I tell her. “Where did you learn that arrow thing?”

  She smiles at me radiantly, obvious joy in her eyes.

  “The place may be a bit broken, but it is still of Myrrith.” She looks at the statue.

  “She knew my need and gave me the ability. It’s called Nature’s Wrath. It will only work against things that are intrinsically evil or go against the will of Myrrith as the Mother of Nature. But it’s certainly showed its worth today.”

  I go over and give her a big hug, then Naomi squeezes in as well.

  “Just let her know, I said thanks.”