PRIMAL RAGE – ACTIVATED

  Might +10, Fortitude +10, Pain Response Suppressed (see Journal for more details)

  Duration: 60 seconds

  Warning: Bloodthirsty screaming is a feature, not a bug.

  It was like he’d jammed his dick into a nuclear bomb. Greg’s world tightened into clear lines and sharp edges, vivid colors and too-crisp sound. He felt his heart hammer once, twice, then settle into a steady, pounding drum.

  The nearest Skulker hissed—a wet, chittering sound—and launched itself off the stone, all legs and teeth and hollow, mist-weeping sockets. It came at him in a zigzag burst that should have been hard to track. Greg saw every motion, every twitch, as if the thing moved through syrup.

  He stepped in, both hands on the Giant Fucking Sword, and swung.

  Greg used Great Cleave… (hit).

  Vault Skulker A takes 32 slashing damage (critical).

  Vault Skulker B takes 12 slashing damage (glancing).

  Vault Skulker A is. Out. Of. Here!

  Update: Giant Fucking Sword +1 seems to be drinking the blood...?

  The blade bit through the first Skulker’s midsection like it had been designed specifically for the job. The thing came apart in a spray of grayish ichor and bone splinters, its legs scrabbling uselessly in the air for a heartbeat before the whole mess hit the rock.

  The backswing clipped the second Skulker, sending it skidding across the stone with a screech that sounded insulted as much as injured.

  Nars let out a low whistle. “Well,” he said. “Lick me sideways, the boy can swing a sword.”

  The third Skulker didn’t waste time hissing. It sprang sideways instead, skittering along the wall with unnerving speed, legs tapping out a frenzied rhythm. It darted past Greg and arrowed toward Nars’ exposed flank.

  Nars, who had been casually impressed a moment ago, was already moving. His sword flashed up, not in a heavy block but a neat, precise deflection that redirected the creature’s lunge by inches. He twisted with it, sliding in close as the thing overshot.

  Nars used Exploit Opening… (hit).

  Vault Skulker C takes 18 piercing damage.

  Status Applied: Bleeding (damage over time).

  His blade slid between plates of bone like he’d memorized the monster’s anatomy in advance. The Skulker shrieked, convulsing, and he kicked it free, letting it tumble to the ground.

  Doran, for his part, didn’t even hurry. He took three deliberate steps toward the Skulker Greg had clipped, raised his axe in both hands, and brought it down like a judge passing sentence.

  Doran used Stonefall Chop… (hit).

  Vault Skulker B takes 26 slashing damage.

  Vault Skulker B apologizes for being born and then dies.

  The creature split neatly, halves flopping apart with a sound Greg never wanted to hear again.

  The wounded one near Nars lashed out in reflex, a spray of needle-like legs stabbing toward the half-elf’s chest. Greg moved without thinking. He lunged, planted a hand in the middle of Nars’ leather chestpiece, and shoved him sideways.

  The legs hit Greg instead.

  Vault Skulker C used Frantic Barrage… (hit).

  Greg takes 9 piercing damage.

  Pain Response Suppressed: Damage halved (5, rounded up)

  He barely felt it. Little points of heat blossomed across his ribs, more like data than pain. He brought the sword straight down, putting his whole enraged weight behind it.

  Greg used Reckless Overhead… (hit).

  Vault Skulker C takes 34 slashing damage.

  Vault Skulker C has left the chat.

  The last Skulker slammed into the stone, pinned like a bug under glass, and twitched twice before going still. Ichor ran in slow streaks down the blade toward Greg’s hands, sizzling where it touched the steel.

  COMBAT COMPLETE!

  Enemies defeated: 3

  XP gained: 40

  Damage Statistics: [Greg 45%] [Nars 30%] [Doran 25%]

  Loot: Skulker Carapace x3 (Junk), Strange Residue x1 (Alchemical, Violet Wants This!)

  Greg stood over the corpse, chest heaving. The world stayed sharp for a few heartbeats longer, then the edges softened. The drum in his veins quieted. His wounds made themselves properly known, a blossom of ache along his side where the legs had stabbed him.

  PRIMAL RAGE – ENDED

  Emotional Stability: questionable (duration: 60 sec)

  You want to cry. And eat ice cream. And watch Spanish telenovelas.

  He yanked the sword free, trying not to slip on the ichor, and wiped the blade off on the least disgusting patch of Skulker he could find.

  Nars pushed himself back to his feet with a wince, dusting stone grit from his coat. “Not bad,” he said. “You make a strong first impression.”

  Greg forced air into his lungs. “Thanks,” he managed. “You, uh, almost got turned into a chew toy.”

  Nars waggled the fingers of his sword hand. “Apologies. I like to leave the heroic body blocking to people built like siege engines.”

  Doran stepped past Greg without commenting, nudging one of the corpses with his boot. “These ones are fresh,” he said. “Not long out of the dark.”

  “Which means more behind them,” Nars replied. “Skulkers rarely travel alone unless they’re scouting. Or have already eaten the others.”

  A small notification blinked politely in Greg’s vision.

  Environment Update: Shattered Vault Threshold

  Monster Activity: Rising

  ProTip: Standing around in the open like a dipshit attracts monsters.

  (Good if you’re looking to grind.)

  Greg was about to suggest that moving might be wise when something small and hard bounced off the corpse near his feet and rolled to a stop against his boot.

  All three men looked down.

  It was a brass cylinder with a rune etched into the side in cramped, irritated handwriting.

  The rune flared.

  The Skulker corpse burst into a pillar of violet flame.

  Greg yelped and stumbled back, one arm coming up to shield his face. The fire hit a few feet high, hissed like boiling tar, then collapsed in on itself, leaving behind only a smoking smear and a smell like burned mushrooms.

  “What the—” he started.

  “Oh good,” came a very familiar, very annoyed voice from above. “You actually killed them before they reached the village. Progress.”

  All three men looked up.

  Violet Chika stood on the rocky ledge above, cloak flaring behind her like a storm cloud. Goggles were pulled down over her eyes, lenses flashing with the echo of the incendiary rune. Her small hand held another brass cylinder between thumb and forefinger as if she were considering whether to throw that one too, just to make a point.

  She hopped down the slope in three quick, nimble steps, landing beside the next Skulker corpse. The top of her head barely reached Greg’s abs now, but she radiated enough indignation to make up for the height difference.

  “Honestly,” she muttered, prodding the ruined body with a boot. “I leave you alone for what, half an hour, and you manage to shed new blood, trigger a Skulker patrol, and start your first dungeon attempt completely unsupervised.”

  Nars blinked. “You brought a kid,” he said to Greg. “How responsible.”

  Violet’s head snapped toward him. “I am not a kid,” she said crisply. “I am a halfling. Arcane specialization. Municipal level. And who are you, elfblood?”

  Greg’s brain did a quick, doomed attempt at introductions. “Violet, this is Doran Ironhaft and Nars. Just Nars. Doran, Nars, this is Violet Chika. Town wizard. Mad scientist. Cupcake dealer.”

  “The ones in town?” Nars asked. “Those cupcakes are… problematic.”

  Violet ignored him. She marched straight up to Greg, squinted up at him through her goggles, then rapped him in the ribs where the Skulker’s legs had stabbed him.

  He hissed.

  “Good,” Violet said. “If you can yelp, you can listen.”

  She tugged off the goggles and shoved them up into her hair. Her eyes, free of tinted glass, were bright and sharp. “What part of ‘do not go near the Vault’ was unclear to you?” she demanded. “Because I remember being very specific, and I even used pre-school level language.”

  Greg felt his anger, which had been pointed entirely at Petar’l and the depths below, try to reroute itself toward the small, furious woman in front of him. It failed. It was difficult to stay mad at someone who had used him as a lab rat and also nursed him back from the brink of death.

  “We’ve been over this,” he said. “Elowen is in there, right now. Suffering. Maybe she lives, maybe she dies. If Petar’l succeeds in whatever he’s doing, lots of people die for sure.”

  “Yes,” Violet said. “Which is why I am here to supervise your poor life choices before they become my poor life consequences.”

  Doran raised an eyebrow. “How’d you track us here?”

  Violet flashed him a quick, irritated look, then returned her focus to Greg. “Do you have any idea how loud your aura is now?” she said. “I can feel it from my sanctum. It’s like someone strapped a brass band to a drunken bear and shoved it toward the nearest disaster. The Vault has been leaking corruption for weeks. Now you're here, and whatever... you are... is making it worse. You've...plugged into something.”

  “Also, sweetie,” the halfling smiled back at the dwarf, “he fucking told me where he was going.”

  “Plugged in?” Greg asked, thinking about the feeling he got when he raged. “What am I plugged into?”

  “Nothing cool, dude,” Violet shot back. “The ground here isn’t right. The air isn’t. Those aren’t normal Skulkers. Look.” She knelt beside one of the intact corpses, pulling a small, wicked-looking knife from somewhere in her attached pockets. With quick, practiced motions, she sliced along a joint, peeled back the thin gray hide, and revealed a network of faint, glowing veins pulsing faintly under the surface.

  “See that?” she said. “That silver threading? Believe it or not, not normal. That’s ambient Moon corruption worked into living tissue. The Vault’s bleeding up instead of down. Not supposed to happen. Very bad. Interesting, but very bad.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Nars wandered closer, peering over her shoulder. “Your mouth says ‘very bad’ and your eyes say ‘yes please, Daddy.’”

  “Some of us can hold two thoughts in our head at once,” Violet replied. She flicked a bit of ichor at his boot. “Also, gross. The Moonborn are using whatever’s in these Vaults as a power source. They’re spiking it with rituals or artifacts we don’t have names for yet. It’s changed the monsters, which means it’s changing the Vault. Which means if you all rush in swinging, you will die. And that will fuck up my data set.”

  Greg rubbed his forehead. That sounded familiar. “So that’s your main concern? Data?”

  Violet stood, wiping her knife on a rag that had probably once been a shirt. “My main concern,” she said evenly, “is that if the Vault tears itself open, Blucliffe will be the first thing it eats. After that, the farms. After that, the rest of the region. Also, yes, there is quite a lot I’d like to learn before all of reality turns into Moon sludge. Elowen is our only known Sun Cleric down there, and you are currently the only idiot idiot enough to go after her. So, I am going with you.”

  Greg opened his mouth, fully prepared to say, “Absolutely not, go home.” What came out was, “Doesn’t that make… you an idiot?”

  Nars snorted softly.

  “Greg,” Violet collected herself. “I’m not saying you’re the biggest fucking moron in the world. But you better hope he doesn’t die.”

  “I’m serious,” Greg insisted. “You said it yourself. It’s changing. It’s leaking. You should be back in town, warding things, keeping people safe.”

  “And how exactly do you suggest I ‘keep people safe’ from a problem whose source is a over a hundred yards below us?” Violet asked. “Inspirational speeches? Time travel? The power of love?”

  Doran folded his arms. “Halfling mage has a point,” he said. “If the Vault is the wound, someone has to see how deep it goes.”

  “Thank you,” Violet said briskly. “The dwarf understands. The elfblood looks decorative but skeptical.” She fixed Nars with a glare. “What’s your assessment, half-elf?”

  Nars had been watching all of this with a faint, appreciative curve to his mouth. “I think,” he said, “that if we leave you here, you will follow us anyway. Probably loudly. Possibly with explosives.”

  Violet’s eyes lit up. “I brought lots.”

  Nars looked at Greg. “For the record, I am opposed to bringing junior mages into death traps on principle,” he said. “However, I am more opposed to death traps without any magical support at all. We tend to need someone who knows which glowing things not to touch.”

  “Senior mage,” Violet corrected. “And I have done more field work than… whoever cut your hair!” she stammered at last. Greg thought he caught a whisper of a blush flash across her tiny cheeks.

  Greg scrubbed a hand over his face. Rage had made everything simple. Hit the monsters, save the girl. Now the world was complicated again.

  A small notification blinked on the side of his vision.

  [Violet] joined the Party!

  Role: Arcane Support / Chaos Element

  Synergy Bonus: Low DPS, Damage spikes high when Combo-primed.

  Greg sighed. “You’re really not going to go back, are you?”

  Violet set her jaw. For a moment, the manic energy that usually crackled off her dimmed, revealing something quieter. “Elowen is a good person,” she said. “And my best test subject. I am not letting some Moon-drunk zealot feed her to an ancient rift because he wants to impress his horrible god. And I am not letting you go down there to get shredded by something you don’t understand. If you die, I will have to start over with someone less promising, and I am very busy.”

  Nars glanced sidelong at Greg. “She grows on you,” he said. “Like mold. Or cheese. Dangerous cheese…”

  Doran grunted again, which Greg was beginning to recognize as his version of reluctant agreement. “If she comes,” the dwarf said, “she follows orders. No wandering off to poke things.”

  Violet scoffed. “I don’t wander. I investigate with purpose. And I will consider your advice.”

  Greg looked between the three of them, the Vault yawning behind them, the wind carrying the faint, wrong-smelling air up from below.

  “Fine,” he said. “We do this together. But if things go bad, you get behind me. Both of you,” he added, looking at Violet and Nars. “Doran seems like he knows what he’s doing.”

  Doran’s beard twitched in what might have been a small smile.

  A soft chime sounded, crisp and bright.

  Party Management Tip: Balanced parties are more likely to survive.

  Current Roles:

  Tank – [Greg] [Doran]

  DPS – [Greg] [Nars]

  Support – [Violet]

  “Excellent,” Violet said. “Now. Before the next Skulker wave arrives, perhaps we could move this heroic adventuring company indoors?”

  “Indoors,” Nars repeated, glancing at the Vault. “That’s one word for it.”

  They took a few minutes to kick the Skulker remains off the plateau, at Violet’s insistence. “I want to see how quickly new ones spawn,” she said. “It’s important.” Greg tried not to picture another clutch of horrors crawling out while they were below.

  When they were as ready as anyone could be to walk willingly into an ancient elven nightmare, they gathered at the threshold.

  Up close, the archway was taller than Greg had realized from a distance, its keystone etched with worn symbols that might once have been a radiant sun. Thin lines of silver…and something darker, had been hammered into the cracks, like someone had tried to stitch the stone back together using moonlight.

  Violet ran her fingers a few inches above the surface, not touching. “Old wards,” she murmured. “Half broken, half overwritten. Totth’s work underneath, Velyun’s on top. This entire place is an argument between the Gods, carved into reality. No wonder it’s unstable.”

  A prompt slid into Greg’s vision.

  Enter Dungeon: The Shattered Vault – Upper Tunnels

  Recommended Level: 5–7

  Current Party Level Average: 1.75

  Difficulty Modifier: Brutal.

  Proceed? [Y/N]

  Greg looked at the others. Nars gave him a little two-fingered salute and an infuriatingly charming grin. Doran hefted his axe and nodded once. Violet adjusted her goggles down over her eyes, lenses snapping into place with a click.

  Greg took a breath, tightened his grip on the sword, and mentally hit [Y].

  Crossing the threshold felt like stepping through a film of cold water. For a heartbeat, the air resisted him, like a rubber sheet stretched across the entrance. Then it gave, snapping back into place behind them with a soft, unpleasant pop.

  The light changed immediately. Outside, the morning had been gray and thin; inside, the dimness had a color to it, a faint bluish cast like the air before a storm. The walls of the tunnel were smooth where they hadn’t cracked, the stone bearing the same elven patterns Greg had seen at the arch, spirals and lines that suggested branches, waves, rays of light. Here and there, moon sigils had been carved over them, sloppy by comparison, their sharp angles biting into the older work.

  Pale, coin-sized crystals jutted from the ceiling at irregular intervals, shedding just enough light to see by. Shadows clung to the corners of the floor like puddles of ink.

  They moved slowly at first while their eyes adjusted. Doran took point, heavy boots testing each step, axe held low but ready. Greg followed a pace behind, sword angled to avoid decapitating his own party. Nars drifted along the left wall, hand trailing lightly just above the stone, eyes alert for anything that might stick a blade, or a curse, into them. Violet stayed in the middle, hands free, every now and then flicking her fingers to send a tiny spark of light darting into an alcove or crack.

  After a short stretch, the tunnel opened into a wider passage. Old alcoves yawned in the walls, some containing toppled statues worn smooth by time, their faces erased. Others held nothing but dust and a faint smell like long-extinguished incense.

  “First level’s usually empty,” Nars said quietly. Even his voice seemed reluctant to bounce off the stone. “A few Skulker patrols. Traps if you’re unlucky. The real trouble starts past the First Break.”

  “The ‘First Break’ being what?” Greg asked.

  “You’ll know it when we get there,” Nars replied. “Vaults likes to announce their mood swings.”

  “Helpful,” Greg muttered.

  Violet stopped briefly at one of the statues, reaching up to brush grit from a carved hand that had once held a sunburst symbol. It was cracked straight down the middle, the sun’s rays smeared into something more like a crescent. She frowned, then moved on.

  They walked. Time felt slippery inside the Vault, stretched thin and then suddenly thick. Greg’s internal clock, never especially reliable, gave up entirely. The only real markers were the steady rhythm of their footsteps, the occasional drip of water somewhere out of sight, and the quiet notifications that popped up when Violet disarmed something invisible.

  Violet used Arcane Sense… (success).

  Trap Disarmed: Faint Moon Glyph (Drowsy Mist)

  Party Status: Still Conscious.

  “You know, I’m pretty handy with traps that aren’t fucking invisible,” Nars mentioned after the third one.

  “Fucking elves,” Doran laughed. “They love a dramatic hallway.”

  “Original purpose was probably a sealed treasury or research facility,” Violet said. “Then history happened. Gods fought, cults squabbled, someone opened the wrong door, and now it’s a haunted meat grinder for adventurers with more optimism than sense. Like us.”

  Doran grunted again in what Greg was coming to recognize as “true.”

  They turned a corner and came upon the first sign of Petar’l’s group beyond mere footprints: a length of frayed rope dangling from a ceiling hook, end stained dark. Beneath it, the stone was scuffed in a chaotic pattern. Something had bled here. Something had slipped.

  Nars’ jaw tightened. He reached down, touching the marks with careful fingers. “Not Skulker blood,” he said quietly. “One of ours.” He wiped his hand on his pants as if erasing the name. “We shouldn’t be here...”

  “No, we shouldn’t,” Violet said, not unkindly. “Yet, here we all are.”

  Farther in, they found an abandoned pack slumped against the wall. Nars knelt, checking it quickly. Empty. Whoever had carried it had taken what they needed and left the husk behind.

  The tunnel sloped downward. The air grew colder, the faint blue cast to the light deepening. Greg’s breath came out in little puffs that faded quicker than they should have. The walls narrowed, then opened again into a low, wide space where broken columns lay like fallen trees, half-buried in rubble.

  “Here,” Doran said. “This is the First Break.”

  Greg realized what Nars had meant. He could feel it. The air here hummed with something, like standing too close to a power station, humming through his bones. The hair on his arms and the back of his neck prickled.

  At the far end of the chamber, the floor dropped away into a circular shaft perhaps twenty feet across. A narrow stone bridge spanned it, barely wide enough for two to cross side by side. On the other side, a door waited in the far wall.

  It was not like the others. This one was whole. Its surface was worked in intricate relief, half of it etched in sun motifs: rays, circles, arcs, half in sharp crescent moons and jagged stars. Where the two designs met down the center, the lines tangled, interlocking, neither quite eclipsing the other.

  The stone around the frame was blackened, as if from repeated attempts to force it.

  “Well,” Nars said softly. “It’s a thing, alright.”

  Violet stepped closer to the edge of the shaft, bending carefully to peer down. Greg forced himself not to grab her by the hood.

  “What’s below?” he asked.

  “Don’t know,” Nars said. “We didn’t get past this part, ourselves. They needed Elowen to open it and that’s when Petar’l and I had our little spat.”

  Greg studied the bridge. The drop beneath it looked bottomless, the kind of darkness that made his eyes want to invent shapes. When he squinted, he thought he saw something move down there, a slow, pulsing glow like a heartbeat buried deep in the stone.

  A new notification flickered.

  Quest Updated: Rescue the Elven Cleric

  New Objective: Cross the First Break!

  Optional Objective: Cross the First Break without being forever changed.

  Violet closed her eyes for a moment, fingers flexing unconsciously as if feeling for invisible threads. “There’s something bound into that door,” she said. “Sun seals, older than the Cataclysm. Moon magic layered on top, crude but powerful. They’re fighting each other. Constantly. That’s part of the leak.”

  “Can you open it?” Greg asked.

  She opened her eyes. In the weird light, they looked almost luminous. “No,” she said. “I mean, I could blow it up, but... consequences. And I would need lots more explosives, more than the three of us could carry.”

  “Petar’l wanted it open,” Doran said. “He’ll have tried. If Elowen used her power here, there may be residue.”

  “And if he got through,” Nars added, “he’s somewhere on the other side. With her.”

  Greg’s hands tightened on the sword hilt. His Barbarian Rage was gone for now, but some smaller, steadier flame had taken its place. Fear and fury, braided together.

  “Then we cross,” he said.

  “Single file,” Doran agreed. “I go first. Big muscles in back, small troublemakers in the middle.”

  “Rude,” Violet said. “But that matches my assessment.”

  They arranged themselves accordingly: Doran on point, testing each step of the bridge with care; Violet behind him, goggles down again, palms ready; Greg behind her, a living shield; Nars last, walking backward for the first few steps to watch their rear before turning around.

  Halfway across the span, the humming in the air deepened. The hair on Greg’s arms prickled harder. The stone under his boots vibrated faintly.

  “Listen! Do you smell that?” he asked.

  “Smell what?” Nars said.

  “That’s death,” Violet answered before Greg could. “And sulfur. Means we are inside the Vault’s primary field now. Congratulations. This is where my data model predicts we die.”

  They reached the door. Up close, the craftsmanship was even more intricate, the sun-side carvings worn smooth by age, the moon-side sharper and more recent. In the narrow seam between them, a thin line of light pulsed faintly, alternating gold and silver.

  Doran laid a hand on the stone. “Feels wrong,” he muttered. “Like two hammers striking the same anvil from opposite sides.”

  “Stand back,” Violet said.

  They did. She stepped forward, planting her boots at the very edge of the bridge. For a moment she was very still, every line of her small body focused. Then she reached out and placed her palm against the seam of the door.

  The Vault shifted.

  Not for long. Less than a heartbeat, really. But for that sliver of time, Greg’s vision fractured into two overlapping images. In one, the Vault was as it was: dark stone, cold air, faint blue glow. In the other, everything was bathed in harsh, clear light, the door blazing with sun symbols, the shaft beneath them filled with a swirling storm of silver mist.

  He heard Elowen scream.

  Not in front of him. Not from behind the door. Somewhere else. Somewhere below. The sound lanced up through the stone and through his bones, a raw thread of pain, fury and prayer.

  Then it was gone.

  Violet yanked her hand back, gasping. “Okay,” she said, voice a little higher than usual. “That’s… that’s new.”

  Greg’s heart slammed. “That was her,” he said. “Elowen. She’s down there.”

  A final notification slid into place, letters sharp and crystalline.

  Instance Locked: Shattered Vault – Depth One

  Exit Conditions: Explore to unlock!

  You may not fast-travel from this location.

  Behind them, the archway they had entered through gave a soft, grinding groan.

  Greg turned in time to see a sheet of stone slide smoothly across the tunnel mouth, sealing the way back with the kind of ancient, inevitable finality only old magic could manage.

  The four of them stood on the narrow bridge, the sealed door of sun and moon before them, the closed way home behind, the heartbeat glow rising from the depths.

  Nars exhaled slowly. “Well,” he said. “I think that answers the question of whether we’re committed.”

  Violet swallowed. “On the bright side,” she said faintly, “the data set just got very interesting.”

  Greg tightened his grip on the sword, staring at the door that had swallowed Elowen and Petar’l and who knew what else.

  “Then let’s open it,” he said.

  The pulsing line of light in the seam flickered in answer, as if the Vault itself had been waiting for someone stupid enough to say exactly that.