I rolled my eyes so hard it almost qualified as an ocular workout. “Wasn’t trying, Cloudy. I’m just built different. So… now back to Karzi?”

  “Yes, Charlie. Don’t forget, next time you want to know the properties of an item, you need to identify it properly. I won’t make any more exceptions.”

  “Sure you won’t,” I said, suppressing a mischievous giggle. “Gotcha.”

  I fully expected some sort of dramatic farewell, or at least a half-hearted goodbye, but Cloudy just flickered and vanished.

  One moment I was in the sterile white room, and the next, I slammed back into reality with all the grace of a dropped potato sack.

  The air hit me first, thick and damp, smelling strongly of fresh blood and acrid insect guts. My feet skidded slightly on the slick stone floor, making an awful squelching sound as I tried to regain balance.

  “Yeah, nice seeing you too, Cloudy,” I muttered into the empty air, rolling my eyes.

  Drawing in a steadying breath, I summoned my profile, hoping to at least understand what had just happened. The familiar translucent screen appeared:

  I squinted at the screen critically, chewing my lip. “No idea how good or terrible that is for a level five NPC… But I guess fine? Sure, let’s go with fine. I’m fine.”

  I waved the interface away with a flick of my wrist and peered around the dimly lit cavern, now eerily quiet after the chaotic fight. The massive body of the termite queen sprawled nearby, oozing a viscous golden ichor onto the cavern floor, mingling with the cracked shells and twitching limbs of her fallen minions.

  “Okay, Charlie,” I said aloud, immediately irritated by my inability to stop talking to myself. “Stop talking and get to work.”

  The persistent habit ignited another flare of irritation in me. My teeth clenched, and I forced a slow breath, counting methodically to five before releasing it, trying to center myself. Emotions under control, I reminded myself.

  As my gaze swept the cavern walls, it caught upon something glimmering faintly in the dim torchlight: thick clusters of amber-colored [Crystallized Royal Resin], embedded like jewels along the rough walls.

  A grin spread slowly across my lips. “Now this… this could be useful.”

  What prevented me from taking resin and going straight to the city? Well, I did not know which way it was, but being free would beat seeing Karzi again, right?

  Okay, she was going to die. That would not change.

  Walking carefully, sword in hand, I approached the resin. The scent here was strangely sweet, sickeningly mixed with something medicinal.

  Reaching out, I wedged my sword blade between the resin and stone, applying pressure until, with a satisfying crack, a chunk broke free. I picked it up, feeling its weight in my palm. Solid and smooth, warm and faintly pulsing with dormant mana.

  “Nice,” I murmured appreciatively. “One down, tens more to go.” I moved methodically from one deposit to the next, the repetitive cracking sound echoing throughout the cavern.

  Each piece went onto a growing pile at my feet, clinking gently against one another. My arms burned slightly from the repetitive effort, and my fingers were soon sticky with the resin’s residue.

  After several minutes, the cavern walls were stripped clean, and I stepped back, stretching sore muscles, satisfied with the heap of amber treasure I’d gathered.

  Then reality hit me like a bucket of cold whiskey.

  Blinking slowly, I stared down at the accumulated loot, dumbfounded. “Charlie,” I whispered, “you have no inventory.” The frustration burned through me again, intense, as my fingers curled into fists at my sides.

  I glared at the resin, then at my own messy, dirt-and-blood-caked form. “And of course, you’re still talking to yourself,” I snapped bitterly. The urge to kick the resin across the cavern surged through me, but I barely reined it in.

  My jaw tightened, and my heart hammered erratically. “Fine. Everything is fine.” The words felt like ash on my tongue. “So what if I’m dirty and exhausted?” I paced back and forth in a tight line, heels clicking sharply against the stone floor. “So what if Karzi is probably plotting new tortures?” I laughed hollowly. “So what if, at any moment, with friends, I could vanish from Earth into another insane slave experiment?”

  Pausing, I took a deep breath. My voice dropped to a whisper. “I will survive. Whatever it takes.”

  Resolved now, I scanned the cavern for anything remotely useful: bags, cloth, baskets, anything that would help me transport the resin.

  Unfortunately, termites weren’t exactly known for their luggage. “So, improvisation it is,” I muttered darkly.

  Spotting one of the larger dead termites nearby, I grimaced, wrinkling my nose. It was about the size of a small pig, its shell mottled and slick, mandibles frozen mid-snap. Perfect. Absolutely disgusting, but perfect.

  Bracing myself against the inevitable grossness, I thrust my sword into its carapace. A sickening crunch filled the air, and dark, foul-smelling ichor oozed out, spilling onto my heels and making me gag.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  “Oh, gods above, that’s awful,” I gasped, nearly vomiting from the overwhelming stench. “Why am I like this? I’ve defeated blood demons, and those were disgusting!”

  Gritting my teeth, I hacked again, opening the insect up wider, hollowing out its innards.

  It took several repulsive, sticky minutes of grunting, swearing, and gagging before I’d carved out a rough, empty shell.

  Exhausted and utterly revolted, I began piling the resin inside my makeshift container, wincing every time my fingers brushed the damp, slimy interior. When at last all the resin was packed inside, I stood, breathing hard, covered in insect gore, and utterly triumphant.

  “Congratulations, Charlie,” I mumbled sarcastically, hefting the makeshift sled behind me. “You’ve officially reached peak desperation.”

  As I dragged my grisly prize toward the cavern exit, my boots leaving slimy, glowing trails behind me, I sighed dramatically. “Yeah, I definitely deserve a drink after this. Or twenty.”

  After switching back to my shabby, slave-like attire, I exhaled deeply, gathering the resolve needed to drag my makeshift cargo through the winding tunnels.

  The resin-filled husk scraped noisily along the tunnel floor, an echoing scrape-grind-scrape that grated on my nerves. Every tug felt like pulling a stubborn mule through knee-deep mud.

  It was exhausting, frustrating, and embarrassingly slow.

  Every now and then, termites scuttled from the shadows, mandibles clicking angrily. At least these were the smaller variety, easy to handle, their fragile exoskeletons shattering satisfyingly beneath my blade and ice spikes.

  Still, every fight was an annoying delay, interrupting my rhythm and wearing down my patience.

  The tunnels twisted in maddening loops, sometimes narrowing to barely allow my improvised sled through, other times expanding into caverns filled with stale air and irritating buzzing echoes.

  Finally, after nearly an hour of monotonous labor, sunlight spilled in through a jagged opening ahead, bathing the tunnel in a soft golden glow.

  Emerging into a tranquil meadow, I inhaled deeply. The air tasted fresh, the scent of grass and wildflowers temporarily washing away the stench of dirt, bug guts, and frustration that clung stubbornly to me.

  The gentle hint of wind rustling through tall grasses felt blissfully calming after the oppressive silence of the tunnels.

  “Freedom at last,” I murmured, hauling my cargo fully into the sunlight and taking a quick glance around. Lush grass stretched lazily toward distant rolling hills, speckled with colorful flowers swaying gently.

  A picture-perfect scene of serenity… utterly ruined by the obnoxious resin-filled termite carcass trailing behind me.

  I eyed the horizon thoughtfully, estimating directions based on the sun’s hazy position in the sky. Camp was east, probably, so naturally I headed west, dragging my bounty through the soft meadow grass, each step crunching gently beneath my boots. Not heels, sadly.

  I didn’t get far.

  A loud voice shattered my fragile peace. “Hey! You there!”

  Ice slithered down my spine, colder than any magic I’d wielded today. Turning slowly, dread pooling in my stomach, I spotted one of Karzi’s Wolfmen, towering over the grass like some hairy monolith of doom.

  Damn.

  Two options flashed through my mind: surrender to Karzi’s smug satisfaction or fight. Clearly, the latter was preferable; pride before captivity and all that nonsense. Dropping the carcass abruptly, I charged without a second thought.

  No explanations. No battle cries. Just pure aggression.

  The wolfman stared, startled, clearly not expecting a tiny elf girl charging him with murderous intent. My hand flicked forward, conjuring a sharp, glittering spear of ice, cold vapor curling dramatically around my fingertips.

  I hurled it with ease and watched, heart sinking, as it harmlessly clanged off his massive axe.

  Smooth, Charlie. Real smooth.

  Undeterred, I sped up, closing the distance fast. He was huge, a lumbering brute, and I hoped my agility would grant an advantage. My sword flashed upward, a deadly frost coating the blade, gleaming pale blue in the sunlight.

  “Wait, mage—” he began, but my blade swung faster than his words. His axe intercepted with ease, the force jarring painfully up my arms. But I pivoted gracefully, redirecting the momentum into a quick sidestep, my sword sliding across his armor with a frustrating scrape.

  Zero damage. Wonderful.

  “Mage!” he barked again, clearly irritated as my shield intercepted his next powerful blow. The impact reverberated through my entire body, rattling teeth and bones alike. Pain bloomed sharp and hot in my arm, but adrenaline shoved it away.

  Determined, I surged forward once more, coating my blade in another wave of frost, slicing low across his shin and thigh with desperate precision.

  Still zero damage.

  “Just stop! By Karzi’s command, I order you!” He snarled, axe thundering down again, pushing me roughly backward into the dirt. My back slammed hard against the grass-covered ground, air forced painfully from my lungs. Stars danced mockingly in front of my eyes.

  I blinked slowly, assessing my pitiful situation.

  Clearly, physical combat wasn’t my forte against an armored giant. I played my last card, forcing meek submission into my voice. “Yes, master,” I said, lowering my gaze, feigning obedience.

  “Why in the hells did you attack me?!” he demanded, visibly annoyed, nudging me forcefully with his axe, pinning me further into the dirt.

  “Dame Karzi commanded me to attack everything in sight,” I deadpanned, masking my disdain. “I saw you.”

  His anger melted into weary realization. “Oh, right,” he grumbled, shoulders slumping. “‘Watch the south,’ she says. ‘Kill everything that moves,’ she says.” He shook his massive head. “Fifteen years tracking for the pack, and now I’m a bloody nursemaid for suicidal mages. Look, mage, don’t attack friendlies. Let’s get you back to camp.”

  “Yes, sir,” I intoned flatly, showing the carcass lying forgotten behind me. “What about the resin?”

  He followed my gesture, eyes widening slightly in surprise. “That’s royal resin?”

  “Yes, sir. I killed the queen,” I stated plainly, suppressing the smug satisfaction bubbling inside me.

  His jaw tightened, disbelief flickering briefly across his rough wolfish features before turning into reluctant admiration. “Well, damn,” he finally muttered. “Maybe you’re worth something after all.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said through clenched teeth, scrambling back to my feet like the world’s most obedient doormat.

  My palms stung from the impact with the dirt, and my knees were smeared in the sticky, mud-caked grime of the meadow and I bathed earlier in termites.

  The cool breeze that greeted me earlier now felt like mockery, brushing against my neck like it was whispering, you’re so screwed.

  “Royal resin’s worth good coin,” he mused, patting the carcass. “Karzi will be pleased. Might even get you a decent buyer instead of the fighting pits.” He paused, then added quietly, “Small mercies, I suppose.”

  Oh, goody. My cargo is stolen to make him feel better. How flattering.

  Then his expression shifted, brows pulling tight as his gaze locked onto mine with suspicion. “Was it against orders? Are you really under the slave spell?”

  The pressure in my chest tightened. My lungs didn’t want to cooperate, but I forced my voice calm, flat, deferential. “As you say, sir,” I murmured, keeping my eyes on the ground like the obedient little spellbound mage I definitely was pretending to be.

  I dug deep for my last reserves of self-control. The ones buried somewhere below the sarcasm and smoldering rage.

  “Dame Karzi said get to level five and don’t go near one of the queens.” My tone stayed even, even if my throat burned. “I was ordered to get to level five, so I ran there, didn’t go.” He still didn’t look satisfied by my answer. “The resin and… my value are yours.”

  And that was the hardest line I’d spoken since I woke up. It tasted like acid in my mouth. But I had to say it like I meant it. Like I wasn’t trying to strangle him with my frost-laced shoelaces the moment he turned his back.

  He squinted at me for a moment, and I feared for a heartbeat too long that maybe he’d caught the slip, heard the snark behind the obedience.

  But instead, he just shook his head, annoyed. “Crazy mages,” he muttered, like I was a breed of mildly annoying livestock. “Why is it always the magic ones that lose their minds?”

  Then, without so much as a grunt of effort, he reached down, grabbed the hollowed-out resin-filled bug-carcass I’d spent the last hour dragging like some half-broken mule, and slung it over his shoulder like it was a sack of potatoes.

  A very expensive sack of blood-smeared, crystallized loot potatoes.

  My pride made a sound like a dying balloon.

  I almost glared, almost, but remembered just in time that glaring could get me another faceful of axe. The difference in strength wasn’t just obvious now, it was shoved in my face and doing squats.

  I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  He started walking toward the edge of the meadow, whistling. “Alright, let’s get you back,” he said with a cheer that made me want to enchant his kneecaps off. “Can’t wait to sell you.”

  And with that, we marched toward the camp. Him, humming like a man walking toward a bonus payday. Me, silently rehearsing my eventual revenge in increasingly creative ways involving high-voltage mana surges, frostbite, and certain armor seems.

  I would remember this.

  I would remember everything.

  pretty clear... Overwhelmingly in favor of focusing on Charlie’s POV rather than multiple. Like, 21:2 across all platforms. ?? I’ll still leave the poll up just in case, but I’m not expecting a dramatic comeback here. Or maybe...?