Chapter 3

They spilled out of the shadows like ants from a mound. Tens of boggarts, all full of snarls, poking their spears in the air at him as though that would scare him off.

Boggart
Aether Level 6

Boggart
Aether Level 5

Boggart
Aether Level 7

And dozens more. They crowded into a half moon around him, leaving about twenty feet of distance between, weapons bristling like the spines of a porcupine.

Caleb stared at them as he stood hunched over the form of their slain kin. He slowly rose, standing to his full height, towering over their meagre frames. The thrill inside of him had yet to die. In fact, looking at the horde of monsters in front of him only caused it to grow, like dumping gasoline onto an already raging fire.

He guessed that these things were like henchmen to the Dungeon bosses – little swarming pests that did their master’s bidding, latched onto a greater power. Like vampires and their thralls. Only, these thralls had no issue devouring their master’s dead body. Pure, self-serving evil.

Even with the pleasure of battle thundering in his chest, Caleb had honor. He wasn’t going to bully and kill lesser creatures that didn’t deserve it as if it were a sport. But faced with this wall of writhing, snapping hunger? He had no issue there.

He stood tall and stalwart against the horde, looking them dead in the eyes. They would take several steps forward, then he’d lock eyes with one and it would scurry back. The entire group of them surged forward and back like a black tide crashing on the shore. He wanted to fight them, a good fight, a fair fight. He wanted to feel as though he were dangling above a precipice. He wanted to feel alive.

So he charged directly toward the bastards.

They screamed. The ones he was headed nearest toward took cowered away as far as they could before running their backs into the ranks of boggarts behind them and they were forced to stop. There was nowhere for them to go, trapped between him and their brethren.

Like caged animals, they bared their fangs.

Caleb ducked past skewering sticks, earning a few knicks on his skin, but nothing more than surface-level wounds. He grasped one of the shafts in his fist and shattered it to splinters with the simplest of efforts. The spearhead twirled through the air. He snatched it, then flung it straight into the head of a nearby boggart, dropping it like a bag of flour.

As quick as he’d dove, he leapt back out, streaks of energy rushing from his slain foes and into him. It was a balancing act – rush in, get in a few good hits, and then rush out before he got swarmed. Wait too long and he’d be surrounded, left at the mercy of gnashing fangs and claws.

Again.

Caleb darted forward, his climbing shoes tearing through ice and snow. The nearest boggart lunged at him, shrieking. He drove his fist straight toward it, crushing its throat with a wet crack.

This Brawling skill is incredible, he thought, arcing a hand into the chin of a boggart with the force of a sledge. I feel like an entirely new person!

“Muhhamad Ali!” he yelled, punching one in the throat.

“Floyd Mayweather!” A boggart doubled over, hands covering its shattered crotch.

“Mike Tyson!” He didn’t bite a boggart in the ear. That would’ve been gross.

A hiss of pain escaped him as another boggart’s jagged edge raked across his shoulder, hot blood welling instantly. He twisted with the motion, letting the strike slide shallow instead of deep, then spun on the next attacker. A spearhead thrust from behind, the iron tip glinting inches from his spine.

Caleb dropped low, the thrust cutting only air, then surged upward, snatching the culprit by the face. Its yellow eyes went wide in panic as his fingers dug into its skin. With a grunt, he heaved, swinging the creature like a rag doll and hurling it into the mass of its kin. The impact bowled several of them over into a heap of writhing limbs and spears.

By the time the mob scrambled to rise, Caleb was already gone – slipping back beyond their reach, chest heaving, blood dripping down his arm, smile wide across his face.

He wasn’t sure what the requirements for Skyward Will’s passive skill was, but surely this had to meet them. One against dozens. Fighting and surviving by the skin of his teeth. With every kill, he felt a bit more aetherial energy flood into his body, rejuvenating him just the smallest bit. It wasn’t nearly enough to make a real difference in the fight. The amount he got from killing Bolvun must have been monumental for it to heal him as much as it had. A tsunami compared to just drops in a bucket. If he killed the entire horde of boggarts, he’d likely only gain a single level. He could instinctively feel that it took more and more energy to level up with each successive level.

Time to keep pushing himself.

He dove back in. Boggarts shrieked as he split their ranks, their brittle bones crunching under his fists, wood shattering to splinters in his iron grip. Cuts scored across his skin, furrows of fire. His knuckles split in the cold. He laughed, relishing the pain.

Shit.

The world lurched as his footing gave way on a slick patch of ice, sending him crashing hard to the ground. The impact rattled his teeth and drove the breath from his lungs. Before he could rise, shadows collapsed over him.

Clawed hands seized his arms, his legs, talons scraping, teeth snapping. Their rank breath pressed hot against his face as snarls and guttural hisses drowned out the wind. One drove its jagged spike down, the tip sparking off ice and stone inches from his ribs. Caleb roared and bucked, tearing one boggart free, only for two more to take its place.

The thrill turned sour. A spearhead sank into his calf, a gout of blood pouring out. His screams were lost amongst the boggarts’ shrill, bloodlusted cries as they descended on wounded prey..

Gore smeared across the ice as he dragged himself forward, inch by inch, toward one of the pillars of stone jutting from the plaza. He had to get away. He may have been stronger and more durable than the boggarts, but even a lion can get killed by hyenas. It just takes enough of them.

He’d gotten cocky, lost himself in the flow of battle. But he was still new to all of this, fighting. He realized too little too late that there was more to it than just hitting your enemies and avoiding their attacks. It was like a problem on a boulder, you had to be aware of everything at once: your surroundings, the placement of your feet, your momentum and the momentum of those around you, even your shoes. Brute force might work, but you increased your odds of success if you took the time to analyze beforehand.

In a last ditch gambit, Caleb willed his final two available stat points into Resilience, desperately hoping that would be enough to eke out the strength to live. It wouldn’t do anything to heal the wounds he already had, but it would hopefully prevent him from getting more.

Should he make it out alive, he would not make these mistakes again.

His muscles screamed, vision swimming with angry red. The boggarts tore at him, ripping cloth, drawing fresh welts of searing red, their shrill laughter echoing. He kicked and slapped at them, but they were endless. The meager amounts of energy he gained from them did nothing to stem the flow of his life as it fled his body.

With a desperate heave, Caleb clawed at the pillar, fingers scrabbling for a hold, leaving ruddy streaks. It was smooth and slick with a thin layer of frost, like trying to climb up an oiled fireman’s pole. Screw this.

If he couldn’t find a hold, he’d make his own.

Caleb roared, stabbing his fingertips into the face of the column, breaking straight through over an inch of ice and stone. He dragged himself upward, fighting against the myriad arms trying to pull him back down. One caught his ankle, its nails biting deep, but Caleb lashed out with his heel, smashing its jaw and sending it tumbling back into the mob below.

Bit by bit he climbed.

His fingers punched straight into stone as though it were made of paper mache, his toes kicked footholds of their own. His wounds left a dark trail down the column face, but he climbed anyway. Higher. Away from the writhing mass snapping and stabbing at his heels.

When he finally reached the top, he hauled himself onto the flat surface and splayed out. It was just large enough for him to lay on, his arms and legs dangling down, but still over twenty feet up and well out of reach from the boggarts’ strikes.

He spent a solid minute just catching his breath, hearing the thunderous drum of his blood in his ears. Then he started to laugh.

It started out softly, just light chuckles. But it quickly grew louder, out of his control. He’d nearly died, been stabbed and eaten by monstrous little gremlins, and yet he was laughing. What was wrong with him? Why was this the most fun he’d had in years? He wasn’t even safe yet, there were still a good two dozen boggarts down below waiting like a pack of hungry piranhas.

They hissed and screeched down below, angrily throwing spears or stones like children trying to get their ball unstuck from a tree. From up above, it was easy to see just how weak the boggarts were individually. The fact that he’d been forced to run… it made his blood boil. It felt like cheating, like he’d given up on the challenge. Even though the fight wasn’t over, a part of him felt like he’d lost simply because he’d been forced to climb away.

“Assholes!” He flicked off all of the ugly little boggarts beneath him. So far beneath him. Then he pulled off the shoes that had caused him to slip and tossed them off the column, leaving him just in his climbing pants and torn shirt. His chalk bag still dangled from his waist.

He would never be forced to run again. It was a promise to himself.

Caleb lifted his head, the mob still howling below, and willed his status screen to life. A few of the words glowed with a seductive light, blood red against the blue screen.

Aether Level 10 reached. Please select a class.

The path you choose will draw out the strength within you, molding it into a form shaped by your Intent and Will. As your Aether Level increases, you will gain opportunities to change and upgrade your class. No two paths ever unfold the same.

Bound Inheritance Detected: All available Classes have been augmented by your Inheritance, each receiving a bound Aspect. This Aspect evolves with you and your class.

Please choose from the 4 available classes:

Class: Hunter (Skyward Will)
Class: Champion (Skyward Will)
Class: Slayer (Skyward Will)
Class: Arcanist (Skyward Will)

Caleb giggled with excitement at the prospect of what was to come, like a kid in a candy store. It may have been a while since he’d last played a video game, but even he knew that with a class should come massive bonuses.

He couldn’t wait. The screen rippled and shifted as he focused and read over each available class.

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Hunter (Skyward Will): Eyes that never miss. Hunters master the most wild of terrains, attuning to the flow of nature and the creatures that roam within. They are perceptive, precise, patient, and cunning, excelling at ambushing and striking their prey from afar. Many hunters form deep bonds with animal companions, fighting alongside them as a team.
Inheritance Aspect: Horizon Bow

Champion (Skyward Will): Strength and honor. Champions stand at the front lines, wielding heavy arms and armor while shielding their allies from harm. They are stalwart, indomitable, valiant, and inspiring, excelling at turning the tide of battle through martial might.
Inheritance Aspect: Aegis Plate

Slayer (Skyward Will): Lethal even without a weapon. Slayers reject the crutches of heavy armor or divine tradition, forging themselves through raw grit and countless forms of brutal combat. They are agile, adaptable, tough, and relentless, excelling in the thick of the fight.
Inheritance Aspect: Spirit Self

Arcanist (Skyward Will): Power through knowledge. Arcanists draw upon the Aether within and around themselves, balancing instinct and study to shape it into countless expressions. They are artistic, precise, subtle, and devastating, excelling in their command of the mystic arts.
Inheritance Aspect: Runeblade

Caleb’s eyes traced over every option, drinking them all in. He read each of the classes several times to make sure he wasn’t missing anything. They all sounded incredible.

They all seem quite powerful. Am I sure these are proper starter classes? I was expecting something more like fighter, thief, rogue, mage. These are… well, way cooler. But which one do I pick?

Each class also granted him a special weapon that would grow with him. Whichever one he chose would likely decide his fighting style for a very long time. He had to be careful and think this through.

Hunter, Champion, Slayer, and Arcanist. Caleb stroked his chin. Down below, a huddle of the boggarts hustled away, scurrying back through the entrance on the side of the steep mountain. He paid them no mind.