Chapter 6

It turned out, if you went looking for a fight in a Dungeon, you were likely to find one. And in Caleb’s case, much more than one.

A group of two boggarts trudged along the bank of the icy river, spears in hand, grunting in their nasty, guttural tongue. They never looked up until the shadow passed over them, and by then it was too late. The first’s skull exploded in a shower of brain matter, staining the pure white snow with a splatter of chunky red and grey. The second let out a strangled cry before a ghostly arm speared through its jaws and out the back of its head. It struggled, choking, eyes wide, teeth trying and falling to cut into Caleb’s spirit arm in the few seconds before it died. The body sloughed off, sliding down the arm and collapsing in a crumpled heap beside its friend.

He was a specter to the boggarts, a reaper, killing them before they even knew he was there, then vanishing as if he’d never been. All he left behind was a trail of bodies and red-stained snow. He hunted them through the cracks in the mountains, stalked them across the valleys, descending upon them like a hawk upon a mouse. Their bodies broke beneath his fists.

He’d lost count of the number of fights he’d had. Dozens of scouting parties, just like the one dead at his feet, roamed these mountains, swarming like rats through every valley and pass. At first, he’d tried experimenting with a wide variety of tactics. Breaking rocks to pieces in the grip of his spectral arms and flinging it at his enemies proved to be terrifyingly effective. Like a shotgun of debris. But it lacked the visceral thrill that came with fighting with your own two hands, so he tended to avoid doing that. The best strategy he’d found so far was simply running in swinging his fists. Both fun and effective.

Every kill made him stronger. The more experience he got, the deadlier he became. And he was getting a lot of experience. The Dungeon was a crucible, and he was forging himself in its fire.

Caleb stared down at his handiwork, studying the mess at his feet.

Was it wrong of him to be enjoying this as much as he was? The violence had never bothered him much, but should it have? He’d gotten used to it incredibly quickly. The grisly sight of the corpses at his feet affected him no more than if they were spilled food.

When he was fighting, at least he had the excuse of the adrenaline. He could tell himself he loved the action, the stretch of his muscles, pushing himself to his limit, feeling the fire rage in his veins. But when that fire went cold, when the fight was done, he felt numb. And all he could do was look forward to his next one.

Caleb set his jaw. The morality of the past was no longer relevant to this new world. Here, it was simple – kill or be killed. If he didn’t harden his soul, it would be crushed beneath the pressure. This was the path he was walking down now, the way he was climbing. There was no point in trying to fight it. The boggarts wouldn’t hesitate to tear him limb from limb. So, he would break them first.

During his hunt, he’d managed to go from level thirteen to level fifteen, giving him a total of four free points, which he distributed evenly across all four stats. Even Presence – which he still wasn’t a hundred percent what it did.

He thought about saving his stat points until he figured out the most efficient distribution, but that would only slow him down. It wouldn’t matter if he wasn’t one hundred percent efficient if he was able to level up quicker because he didn’t save his points.

I need to find something that gives me more of a challenge. Fighting boggarts two or three at a time fells like bullying at this point. Even if I just laid down and let them stab me, they probably couldn’t break my skin. And I can feel my leveling slowing down. It takes a lot more aether to go up one level than it did before.

His Inheritance had said to challenge himself, so that was exactly what he planned on doing.

Caleb raised his gaze to the sky. He was about halfway between the blue mountain and the yellow mountain. Perhaps another day of travel if he pushed himself and went straight there.

But then something else caught his eye. Southwest from his current position, peeking out between the distant peaks, a trail of dark smoke snaked up into the sky. A fire? Is something burning?

He changed directions, heading toward the smoke instead of the next boss. To him, fire meant one thing. People. Well, either that or more enemies. Both options sounded good to Caleb.

It wasn’t a straight shot to get there. Several mountains stood between Caleb and the rising smoke. He could have gone around, walked through the valleys as he’d been doing, following the icy river, but instead he went over. What could he say? He loved the climb.

Rock blurred beneath him as he practically threw himself skyward, all four of his powerful arms biting deep into the stone and ripping him through the air. It was really closer to flying than climbing. He was at the peak in less than twenty minutes, then continued along the mountain range’s spiny ridge.

His breath plumed in the cold air, tattered clothes flapping, but he barely noticed. The smoke was growing closer.

Soon, the wind carried more than just snow and frost. Shouts echoed faintly across the landscape, carried on the same draft as the bitter stench of something burning. Human voices.

Caleb skidded to a halt on a narrow overlook, gravel spilling from beneath his bare feet. His spectral arms dug into the cliffside for balance as he leaned out over the edge.

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Down below, at the base of a wide valley, was a burning… car?

There were nearly a dozen boggarts, their warty hides smeared with ash and filth, circling the valley floor. Two wolves padded between them, shaggy and grey, bigger than mastiffs, their breath steaming in the cold.

In the middle of it all sat a wreck of a car, half-buried in snow and flame, its back wheels sticking up in the air. Like it had somehow fallen from the sky nose first. The windshield was cracked and collapsed inward, and thick black smoke poured from under the crumpled hood.

Clustered against the metal husk were five people. Their clothes were ragged, faces streaked with soot, eyes wide with terror, knuckles white around the scraps of burning wreckage they held like makeshift torches. They waved them wildly, yelling and screaming, trying to ward the monsters off.

But it wasn’t working. The predators pressed inward from all sides, like a noose tightening around a neck. A woman screamed and flinched back as one of the wolves snapped its teeth. She threw her flaming scrap at the hound, but it only bounced off harmlessly before falling into the snow and extinguishing with a hiss.

***

“Damn it, Angela, don’t just throw your weapon away!” Lucas yelled.

Angela stumbled back against the burning car, tears streaking through the soot on her cheeks. “They’re going to eat us! What the hell do you want me to do?”

“Not that!” Lucas gritted his teeth, waving the burning stick in a wide arc to ward off the ugly little monsters. They snickered and gnashed their hideous teeth. Toying with them, playing with their food. It made him sick, but Angela was right. They were going to die.