Ashinaro stood before a place no sane person went willingly. The repository of all waste generated by the million inhabitants of Argalis.

  The stench rising from the stonemetal grate leading into the sewers was already potent, and promised far worse below.

  Three layers of oiled linen over his face did nothing against the sewer’s putrid breath. He was in his battleform, and his heightened senses were doing him no favors, but he’d need it for what awaited him below.

  He really didn’t want to do this, but wanted even less to risk getting below a flawless binding. The less complete the binding, the less essence received when instilling cores, and the less frequently he’d be able to use the relic, as the deficient binding would mean it would take longer to recharge between uses.

  He glanced around. The alley was deserted.

  He swung his repaired pack off his back, removing his supplies: a length of rope, a dented lantern, and a flask of cheap, pungent oil that smelled exquisite in comparison to the malodor wafting around him.

  He filled the lamp and lit it, then stowed the oil back in his bag and the bag on his back.

  He knelt, gripped the cold stonemetal bars. They were heavy, crusted with rust and filth.

  The grate groaned, resisted, then came free with a shriek of tortured metal. Already, he was benefitting from the increased strength of reaching Lesser Defender.

  He slid it aside just enough to slip through and peered down into the dark.

  Then staggered back as a wave of putrid air billowed up and assaulted his senses.

  He fought the urge to vomit. This was already more intense than he remembered. But then as a whelp his senses hadn’t been so acute.

  He secured the rope to the grate, hung the lantern handle on his tail, then swung his legs into the opening, his boots finding purchase on stonemetal rungs set into the slimy stone wall of the access shaft.

  The descent was short, perhaps thrice his height, but each rung was coated in slick slime that threatened his grip.

  The air grew thicker as he descended, heavier, the stench amplifying. Sounds grew louder: the constant drip-drip of unseen liquids, the distant gurgle and rush of flowing waste, a faint skittering that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

  He landed with a squelch on a narrow stone walkway coated in grime. Below it, a channel of thick, black sludge flowed sluggishly through the center of the tunnel, reflecting the flickering light of his lantern.

  Bubbles occasionally broke the surface, releasing puffs of gas-laden air that smelled even fouler. The walls wept moisture, streaked with shades of brown, green, and black.

  He took the lantern in hand and shone it around. The small flame cast plenty of light for his battleform to see clearly, though his humanform would be practically blind.

  Setting the lantern down, he took hold of the rope and hauled on it, pulling the grate back into place. It wouldn’t do to be discovered by the night guard.

  A hundred breaths. That’s what it would take to attain a flawless binding with the relic.

  He could do it. He just had to make sure he didn’t vomit.

  Though even if he did, that would be all for the better.

  The idea of vomiting into the cloth tied around his snout ramped up his disgust.

  Good, progressing already.

  But this wasn’t peak disgust.

  For that, he had to go deeper. He had to locate the nests which had haunted his nightmares for long after the night he’d spent down here as a whelp.

  Several hundred breaths later, he’d still yet to reach the scene of his most disgusting memory, and was beginning to worry he’d remembered incorrectly and taken a wrong turn.

  But a few ten-breaths more and he spotted signs he was on the correct path: pale, multi-legged things vanishing into cracks; glistening bodies slithering into the fetid water; segmented, chitinous horrors that scuttled with staccato speed.

  The air grew fouler, mixed now with the cloying sweetness of advanced decay.

  The bloated carcass of a muckcrawler floated by, half-submerged, its fur matted with sewage. Further on, a clump of only-the-gods-knew-what clung to a protruding pipe, pulsating as unseen little monsters fed within it.

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  He passed by a flamegel gem embedded in the wall, glowing with yellow light, and recalled Akaris placing it there before beckoning him onward.

  He was getting close, and he both blessed and cursed his younger self for ever following her down here.

  But he still hadn’t reached the zenith of his disgust. No, that came deeper into the sewers.

  The memory grew more vivid in his mind the deeper he went, the intensifying stench and forgotten landmarks jolting loose long-repressed memories.

  Shortly, he rounded a bend and the tunnel opened into a junction where another stream of sewage joined the main channel.

  And there, clinging to the walls, clustered near the ceiling, were nests. Pulsating sacs of leathery grey material, dripping viscous fluid. Some were torn open, revealing wriggling masses of tiny monsters the size of his thumb.

  The smell here was exponentially worse.

  He opened his beyondsight and peered into the nests, just to be certain this was the right place.

  [Lustborn, Copper Beast]

  With a grimace, he set his lantern down, removed his backpack, then reached within himself for the relic, and tentatively connected it with his battleform.

  Then he crouched down, and, with the aid of his tail, launched himself into one of the sacs, and began to count his breaths.

  Ashinaro vomited for an eternity. A never-ending stream of effluent spewed forth, his body purging itself of the impurities.

  When it finally did end—for it only lasted what would have been a few breaths and not an actual eternity—he reattached his oiled cloth to his face and smiled to himself as he felt the relic now bound within him.

  He’d overdone it just to make sure, going for a hundred and thirty of the swiftest breaths he’d ever taken—which had only amplified the stench—but it had worked. A flawless binding.

  [Flesh’s Frenzy (Flawless)]

  For a breath, separate your flesh from your body and animate it with your will.

  Your battleform has enhanced this effect. While breath is held, flesh regenerates at the cost of your blood.

  That was a good binding and synergized well with the primary effect, since it only lasted for a single breath.

  This secondary effect gave him more options. With its primary effect, he could slow his breath to make it last as long as possible, but he could hold his breath longer than he could make a single breath last. Though both of those would improve once he refocused on breathwork, which he’d long let languish.

  But it was also a detriment in some ways, depending on how much blood it took to heal.

  There was one way to know for sure, and he couldn’t wait to test it out.

  Ashinaro stood fleshless, a dripping mass of raw muscle, sinew, and pulsing veins. Blood slowly seeped out from him, forming a growing pool around his feet.

  It didn’t hurt, but it was disgusting. If it weren’t for his battleform’s Renewal trait, he’d worry about getting an infection from the sewer’s filth.

  In front of him, he watched himself battle an armored leaping exsanguinator.

  Well, himself without eyeballs.

  Otherwise, the golem looked exactly like him. Even the clothes he’d been wearing had remained intact as his flesh split from him.

  Despite lacking muscle and bone, the golem didn’t look deflated. It was only in its boneless movements that its skeleton-deficient nature was evident.

  Controlling it felt at once both natural and unfamiliar. Not like moving his own limbs, but like directing a marionette with threads of intention.

  It did respond instantly, so that he’d only to watch the battle and let his thoughts flow as though he himself were in battle, and the flesh golem would enact his will.

  The exsanguinator reared up, chitinous plates scraping against the brickwork. It lunge-fell forward, opening its mouth, revealing concentric rings of teeth apt for shredding.

  His flesh golem attempted to dodge, but without bones it wasn’t as agile and didn’t fully get out of the way in time.

  Ashinaro registered a phantom impact as teeth scraped against the golem’s arm. Simultaneously, he felt a surge of warmth flow through it as the regeneration effect kicked in. The torn flesh visibly knitted itself back together near-instantly. It was far faster than his innate drakken Renewal trait.

  But there was a cost. A wave of lightheadedness washed over him as the trickle of blood leaving him increased.

  His golem cracked the Beast about the head with his staff, creating another fracture in the chiton.

  The monster staggered, then reared back and spat a glob of thick, corrosive slime.

  The flesh golem sidestepped, and the acidic projectile splashed harmlessly into the sludge beside it, sending up a puff of stinking smoke.

  Ashinaro’s vision began blackening around the edges and he let out the breath he’d been holding since activating the relic.

  He took in a gasping putrid breath and his flesh soared to him, sealing back about him in an instant.

  He’d definitely need to put more effort into his breathwork. He’d trained it when he was young, but lacking a relic, he’d let that training lapse and consequently couldn’t hold his breath for as long as he should be able to, nor control it well enough during battle.

  The exsanguinator popped its two hidden rear ‘legs’, launching itself at him.

  He cracked it across the abdomen with his staff, splitting its carapace open, then spun away and stabbed the end into the crack, penetrating its soft insides.

  It hissed and died.

  His golem wasn’t as adept as he was with the staff, nor as strong, and he wasn’t sure if it was benefitting from Staff Mastery. He controlled it with his will, so it should be, but it just didn’t move right. Though that might be due to its lack of muscle and bone.

  He opened his beyondsight and located the monster’s core. He watched, making sure it wasn’t going to transmute.

  The essence within stilled without coalescing, but the core didn’t fracture. A white core.

  [White Beast Core]

  Enhances power of battleform and relic when purified through a relic.

  They were the most common of the cores, but still infrequent prizes, especially with Beasts, whose cores usually fractured and left behind only a hollow core.

  He dug in with his claws and ripped it free.

  Another one to add to the collection. He was sorely tempted to use it now, but that would be dangerous. Better to do it in the safety of his room.

  Plus, the smell was really getting to him. The oiled linen over his snout felt utterly useless. It was well and truly saturated with stench by this point.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to hold his breath when the air didn’t smell like death.