The moon hung low over Alerensia, casting a pale glow over the blighted landscape. The once-thriving town now lay under a layer of moss, a by-product of the land's corruption since the Holy Prohibition. This moss, thriving where little else could, clung to buildings, trees, and even the very stones of the earth.
Sorren stood at the edge of the homestead, an old, crumpled scroll in his hands. The parchment, yellowed with age, bore the faded markings of what seemed like a map, leading to a place whispered of in old tales—a cave where the earth still pulsed with the life of a leyline.
"It's time," he said, his voice tinged with reverence.
Orren approached him, concern etched on his face. "Are you sure about this, Grandfather?"
Sorren nodded. "We don’t get many visitors, and this time they’re on our side. If there's a chance to reclaim what we've lost, we must take it."
Rumiel stood tall, and raised her hand in a salute. “Rumiel, the future saint, and her merry men at your service!”
Sherry shot Rumiel a sharp look and pressed a finger to her lips. “Keep your voice down, future saint. You want to invite the Chaliceguard with us?”
Rumiel winced and gestured zipping her lips shut. “Sorry, sorry. I just thought we could use a little morale boost before heading out.” She leaned toward Sherry and whispered dramatically, “Besides, I want Rumiel, the saint who brought back alcohol, to be remembered as charismatic.”
“You can be charismatic and quiet,” Sherry muttered, already checking her gear.
The path Sorren led us down was no road at all—just the faintest suggestion of a trail winding through untilled muck and pale moss that squelched softly underfoot. Dead trees loomed above, gnarled and twisted, and the further we walked, the more the signs of human presence faded, until there was nothing but wind, the rustling of moss, and the occasional creak of leather and gear.
Meryl, who walked with me on the rearguard, nudged me with his elbow. “So what were you doing before we got in this mess?”
All that running and being scared to death had made me forget that I was about to have the best moment of my life. I squinted my eyes, and glared at him in an interrogating fashion. “Before I tell you, I need to ask you something.”
“Ask away,” replied Meryl, making a beckoning motion with his hand.
“Are you a tits or ass man?”
Meryl choked on his breath and nearly tripped over his own feet. “What kind of question is that?”
I grinned. “A very important one. For science.”
He gave me a long, judgmental stare, then sighed. “Fine. If I had to choose? Ass man. No contest.”
“See? I knew it. You’ve got that vibe.”
Meryl looked affronted. “That vibe? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You walk like someone who appreciates structural integrity,” I said, gesturing vaguely to his posture. “Balance. Support. A foundation.”
He blinked at me. “Barrett, you’re an idiot.”
“An insightful idiot,” I shot back. “Now it’s your turn. What do you think I am?”
Meryl scratched his chin dramatically. “Hmm… honestly, I’d peg you as a legs man.”
“Legs?” I frowned. “Really?”
“Yeah. Something about the way you stared at Sherry when she kicked that scarecrow in the face. There was admiration there.”
I turned red. “I do not stare—”
“Oh, you absolutely do.”
“Keep your voices down, back there!” Sherry called over her shoulder.
Meryl smirked and whispered, “Told you.”
I groaned and rolled my eyes. “Alright, fine. For the record—before all this madness—I was about to fall into the arms of the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” I said it quickly, hoping the change in topic would steer us somewhere safer.
“That’s not what I meant,” Meryl said, his tone softening as he glanced over at me. “I mean… What was your life like?”
“I worked in the call center of a debt collection company. If you never want to be thanked for what you do, then that's the job for you. I've been called scum, a rat, a parasite, and once—and I quote—‘the human equivalent of foot fungus.’”
Meryl snorted. “Wow. Inspiring stuff.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, spreading my arms dramatically as we trudged through another patch of moss. “Dream job, really. You haven’t lived until a guy screams at you for twenty straight minutes because he bought a jet ski he couldn’t afford during a midlife crisis.”
“Did you at least get perks?”
“Absolutely. One time, I got a company-branded stress ball shaped like a heart. It exploded on day two.”
Meryl laughed under his breath. “So basically, you were a verbal punching bag in a cubicle graveyard.”
“Exactly,” I said. “So how about you?”
“Well—Rumiel kinda got me out of a pinch.” Meryl glanced down at his boots, his voice trailing with something quieter than usual. “I was just a broke college student, pulling late shifts at a convenience store, half-asleep most nights. Then one night, some guy bursts in shooting his gun at the ceiling and shouting nonsense about the world ending.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought that was it. Figured my life would end next to a shelf of instant noodles and expired milk. The guy pointed his gun at me and then I got magically transported here.”
He gave a helpless shrug. “One second I was bracing for a bullet, the next I was lying face-first in the dirt with you guys.”
“Lucky break,” I said, offering a crooked smile. “Could’ve been worse. You might’ve had to restock hot dogs for eternity.”
“Honestly?” Meryl said, pointing his gaze towards Rumiel. “I owe Rumiel my life.”
“Never tell her that by the way,” I quipped. “She’ll start thinking she's good at her job.”
We shared a tired laugh—quiet, strained, but real. By then, the brush around us began to thin, and Sorren, who had taken the lead, stopped at the edge of a slope hidden behind drooping moss. He parted the green curtain and pointed through.
“We’re here,” he said.
And there it was—the cave.
From the outside, it didn’t look like much. Just a craggy opening halfway buried by moss and broken stone. But even from here, I felt something… strange. Like the cave itself was breathing. Not with air or sound, but with something older, deeper. A pressure in the earth. A subtle hum in my bones.
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We ducked through the moss, stepping into a world that felt older than the one we’d left behind.
Inside, the warmth hit me first. Not hot, exactly, but… balmy, like the inside of a greenhouse or an indoor pool. The walls shimmered faintly with condensation, beads of moisture glistening along uneven stone. Fungi clung to the walls in pale blues and unnatural purples, their faint glow casting strange shadows across the narrow passage.
“It’s warm,” Sherry whispered, peering into the dark ahead. “Why is it warm?”
“That's how you know we're in the right place,” Sorren answered, his voice low.
The air carried a strange scent—earthy rot, damp wood, and something sharp, almost like burnt sugar left too long in the pan. It was oddly sweet and sour at the same time, clinging to the back of my throat like a taste I couldn't quite place but knew I’d smelled before—or maybe I was breathing in ghost who drank vinegar in life and still reeked of it in death.
We moved deeper into the cave, the glow of the mushrooms lighting our way. The path sloped gently downward, and the walls closed in, curling like the throat of some great beast.
We continued to press forward, the only sounds our footsteps, the drip of water, and the occasional skitter of something small and unseen darting into cracks. The cave narrowed and widened at odd intervals, like it couldn’t make up its mind whether it wanted to swallow us whole or let us go. Above us, the ceiling shimmered faintly with mineral deposits, forming jagged teeth of rock that gleamed like frost.
Rumiel reached out and poked one of the glowing mushrooms with her flickering halo. It jiggled in protest, then released a puff of luminescent spores. She recoiled with a cough.
“Please don’t inhale the cave,” Sherry said flatly.
“I’m exploring the flora,” Rumiel whispered back.
Orren, who had been quiet up until now, paused and pointed to a set of old stone carvings partially buried in the wall. Strange circular symbols lined their edges, like bottle caps etched by some long-lost civilization.
“Grandfather, can you read this?” Orren asked.
“I can't read it myself, but it must be old brewer’s code.” Sorren didn’t stop. “But we must be on the right track.”
We rounded a bend—and froze.
A low growl echoed through the tunnel. From the darkness ahead, something large scraped against the stone—followed by the clack of heavy limbs. A hulking, crab-like creature emerged into the mushroom light, its moss-covered shell glistening with damp rot. Faint green veins pulsed beneath its carapace like sluggish lightning, and its body was agile in the cave’s warmth.
Two jagged claws, each the size of a longsword, dragged across the floor, carving deep gouges into the stone. Its eyes—clusters of them—glowed faintly blue, bloomed out of the shell like spring bouquets. Its mouth bubbled and the stink of wet earth and fermented algae wafted into the air.
Combat Initialized…
Barrett – Level 2 | Class: Rookie
Equipment: Neglected Shortsword
HP: 120
Strength: 6 (+1)
Defense: 10
Magic: 2
Dexterity: 6
Intellect: 6
Speed: 7
Enemy identified: Fungal Pincher – Level 3
Exp Gain: 12
The Fungal Pincher hissed—a wet, gurgling sound that rumbled through its carapace like a clogged drain pipe. It reared up, claws snapping, and charged.
“Spread out!” Sherry shouted.
The Fungal Pincher let out a wet, gurgling screech and lunged forward. Its claws slammed into the stone floor with the weight of a boulder, sending up a spray of broken rock. I stumbled backward, nearly tripping over my own boots. Scrambling up off the ground, I reached to my belt and drew my sword.
Sherry was the first to react, slipping into a defensive stance. “Barrett! Meryl!” she shouted. “Those without weapons, hide!”
Rumiel, Orren, and Sorren didn’t need to be told twice. They bolted behind a cluster of thick mushrooms, their bioluminescent caps casting ghostly shadows across their pale faces. Rumiel crouched low, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Try not to die! And make it look heroic!”
The crab lunged, one massive claw snapping toward me with a sickening crack. I rolled to the side and aimed for its legs. The weight of my sword bounced off its mossy armor with a dull clang.
0 Damage!
“Ah, crap, I’ve seen this before!” I yelled. Our swords are useless here!”
“We need to aim for something soft!” Meryl shouted. “Go for the joints!”
Its mouth bubbling, the Fungal Pincher let out another roar. The Fungal Pincher’s eyes glowed brighter—clusters of pale blue orbs pulsing like lanterns in the dark. It raised one claw and slammed it down where I had just been, missing by inches and sending a shockwave through the stone. Cracks spiderwebbed out beneath it.
I scrambled to my feet. “Okay, okay! Joints! Totally fine. Totally doable!”
Sherry darted to the side, her shortsword gripped in reverse. She ducked low under a sweeping claw and lunged, driving her blade toward the creature’s exposed leg joint. The metal met flesh with a squelch—only to bounce off again with barely a scratch.
1 Damage!
“Barely made a dent!” she growled, dodging back as the crab reared up.
“Keep hacking away!” Meryl shouted, circling the beast from the opposite side. “There’s gotta be something soft under all that shell!”
The Fungal Pincher turned toward him, its bubbling mouth frothing with pressure. With a gurgling roar, it spat a spray of foul-smelling liquid. Meryl cried out and dove behind a boulder just in time. The acid hit the stone with a violent hiss, burning a dark pit into the rock.
“Okay, that’s disgusting!” he yelled.
I dashed along the creature’s flank, ducking low as one claw arced overhead. The smell was overwhelming—fermented rot and wet earth, like a swamp left to boil in the sun. My eyes stung. I spotted a joint where one of its legs met the body, the thick plates of its shell flexing as it moved.
“There!” I muttered, gripping my sword with both hands. I stabbed forward with all my strength. The blade clanged off the chitin, sending a jolt up my arms.
0 Damage!
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“It’s like hacking at a boulder!” Sherry growled as she ducked beneath a sweeping claw. “We need to find a weak point—eyes, maybe! Anywhere it can’t protect with its shell!”
The crab screeched again and turned toward her, one claw rearing back like a battering ram. She rolled aside and came up panting. “Barrett, Meryl—get its attention! I’ll look for an opening!”
“I’m already doing that!” Meryl called, scrambling out from cover. He grabbed a rock off the ground and hurled it at the crab’s face. It shattered harmlessly across its shell, but the Fungal Pincher turned its many eyes toward him.
“Great, now it’s angry,” he muttered, backing away.
The crab shrieked and made the ground quake with it multiple legs, putting me off balance. I stumbled, caught myself, and dove for cover just before another claw came crashing down.
“Keep distracting it, Barrett!” Sherry barked. “Meryl—go for the eyes when I give the signal!”
“But I’m scared, Sherry!”
“We all are!”
Sherry sprinted forward again, this time feinting left before throwing her sword at the crab’s face. A very familiar technique. It flinched—just slightly—and in that blink, Meryl charged.
He leapt onto a ledge and launched himself off it, landing clumsily on the creature’s back. “Ohgodohgodohgod—!”
He jammed his sword down into one of the eye clusters with a wet pop. The Fungal Pincher screamed—high-pitched and furious—and began thrashing violently.
“Now, Barrett!” Sherry called.
Heart pounding, I charged again, aiming for the spot where Meryl had struck. I plunged my sword into the leaking socket.
Critical Hit! 28 Damage!
The creature shuddered… then collapsed.
Combat Victory!
Fungal Pincher defeated!
EXP gained: 12
New Total: 6/40
Level Up!
Barrett – Level 3 | Class: Rookie
Equipment: Neglected Shortsword
HP: 130
Strength: 7 (+1)
Defense: 11
Magic: 3
Dexterity: 7
Intellect: 8
Speed: 8
I collapsed next to Sherry, heart pounding like a war drum. Across the cavern, Rumiel peeked over a mushroom cap, blinking.
“…Is it dead?” she called.
“It better be,” Meryl said, fed up, wiping sweat off his forehead. “Because there’s another one...”
We all got to our feet again. From deeper within the cave, another Fungal Pincher had emerged, its low, echoing hiss rising—slow, steady, and unmistakably hungry.
“We’ll wait behind these mushrooms,” Rumiel whispered, eyes wide, “and let you guys do all the stabbing again.”
