He had been made. Seventh's eyes widened as his head snapped towards the speaker. Who had seen through his disguise?

  What was it? A misspoken word, not greeting a friend, a gesture out of place? He opened his clenching hand, readying for shooting Shadowbolts.

  It was Soot-Fur, the younger smith he had helped earlier.

  Something must've flashed on Seventh's face since the ratkin took a step back and raised his arms in a calming gesture towards Seventh.

  "I mean, you're Shank-Tooth, right? The one who warned the clan? About him?" Soot nodded towards the mural while holding his arms at waist-height.

  Seventh blinked in confusion before realizing what was happening. He had seen glimpses of the body's memories he was using. He was sure its name was Shank-Tooth, but what's this about seeing the Lich— Seventh?

  He had been staring at Soot too long, his ears had started to droop a little. Just in case, Seventh made a small nod. That seemed to be the right course of action. A small smile rose to Soot's face.

  “Knew I recognized you from somewhere. Saw how you ran through the Old Home straight to the Chief, and well, everybody heard your yelling-argument.”

  Seventh continued making small nods while Soot talked. He was clearly excited, a weird contrast to his calm demeanor while working hot iron.

  While Soot spoke, a small group had started to gather around the barricade. Judging from the equipment they were next in line for a foraging or scavenging run. Lightly armored, only knives for weapons.

  “...right?”

  “Huh?” Seventh shifted his focus back at Soot. The smith had been talking and he had completely missed what was said.

  Soot looked a little bit hurt and glanced what Seventh had been looking at. His ears twitched.

  “Ah. I was asking if you liked the forges. More safe than the dungeon, right?”

  Seventh shrugged. He didn't really care for the forges. Sure, he did rank up his Lesser Stamina, but it wasn't exciting like the dungeon. No life or death situations, zero stakes.

  Soot seemed to grasp all what Seventh was thinking from the shrug and grunted. “Hmh. Once a dungeoneer, always a dungeoneer?”

  He scratched his neck and seemed to be bothered by something. Almost embarrassingly so. “We... have the rest of the shift. So, we should go, yes?”

  He pointed with both hands towards the forges. Faint hammer blows were already audible above the hubbub of busy ratkin.

  “No. You can go. I'll come in a bit.”

  Soot worriedly shifted his gaze from Seventh to the barricades. The scavengers were in full strength and picking up baskets for loot.

  “You can't go out without permission. Elders would skin you alive if they find out,” Soot whispered. “Let's just go back to work?”

  “I am going to work. work,” Seventh hissed. There was a little too much noise and some ratkin passing by looked at the arguing couple.

  Seventh lowered his voice. “I'm sorry, but I have to go back. I have to do something— something important. I can't just... stay here.” He opened his arms wide, gesturing the grand hall teeming with people.

  The awkward smile Soot had slowly vanished. His slightly twitching ears drooped, and he nodded after a moment of silence. He closed the distance between him and Seventh, taking something from his belt.

  “I didn't see you. I don't know where you went. If you can do a favor to me?” he said while handing something to Seventh.

  “Sure?” Seventh said while furrowing his brow. There was something in Soot's eyes that made him flinch, slightly raising his shooting arm.

  “Stick this to the Lich's neck, for the Silent Sea.” Soot slapped a sheathed, curved dagger on Seventh's hand. His eyes burned in a familiar hatred of the undead.

  He had seen similar knife used by a certain undead ratkin several times, but only this time he knew the name. The special blade of the warriors, fang-knife.

  “I want to know that the Lich was killed with steel hammered by me. Can meet my brother with honor in the afterlife.” Soot found another smile to give to Seventh.

  Seventh didn't say anything. He stared at the knife and almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. He felt his snout twitching under the emotional turmoil.

  Thankfully Soot didn't wait for a response, but gave an encouraging squeeze of a shoulder, and disappeared in the crowd. Undoubtedly heading towards the forges.

  Left alone, Seventh weighed the weapon on his hand. It was heavier than it looked. And did Soot say it was steel, not iron?

  Pulling the knife just a fraction out of the sheath revealed a shining edge. Too clean and pure for iron.

  Securing the knife on his belt, Seventh calmly approached the scavengers. Nobody even batted an ear when he lifted a basket and joined the line to crawl through the barricades.

  At the other side, he lagged behind faking equipment check until the backs of the ratkin were far. He scampered out of the guard's sight before ditching the basket, and quickly returned to the courtyard without stopping at every new smell and sight.

  Fang-Knife was faithfully guarding Seventh's body when he opened the doors to the temple. The ratkin's twitching ears and relaxing posture told Seventh about his companion's relief of seeing him.

  Forgetting that he was forcefully recruited to forge-duty, not much had gone wrong with the ragtag plan. The whole adventure of body transformation, infiltration of the clan-land, and getting out had taken barely 10 hours according to the integration timer.

  Seventh managed a weak smile. "Two plans out of two going off without a hitch. A miracle, really."

  Fang expressed his own wonder with a delicate nod with a hint of wide-eyed wonder.

  "Everything went well in here? No ratkin or monsters?"

  There hadn't been anything happening in the temple, and Seventh's body was safe and sound. It had been tucked between the umbrefel pelts, like a child tucked into bed.

  Seventh hadn't really looked-looked it when he had possessed Shank-Tooth's corpse. Sure, he noticed the pale skin and dirt, but he didn't look at the face.

  His face.

  Slowly peeling the pelt off, Seventh revealed the body.

  Fang was wrong. He could totally pull a beard off.

  The skin was cold and clammy, but there wasn't any damage to speak for. New armor was in order, the old one was basically ripped to shreds by umbrefel and held on with false hope and sticky grime.

  The body looked almost too peaceful to the situation. Seventh looked around the room, over the altar, and the high roof reminding him of an opening maw.

  Taking a comfortable position on the pelt next to his original body, Seventh closed his eyes and stilled his mind.

  , Seventh thought as his consciousness slowly drifted outside of Shank-Tooth's body.

  There had been so much fighting and death. Heartache and sorrow. Just tiny sparks of joy and happiness. A soldier's life passing by Seventh's eyes.

  With a sharp gasp for air, Seventh was back. His spine twisted involuntarily, arched with a cacophony of snaps and clicks of settling bones and cartilage.

  He roared in pain. He felt blood rushing to his every single muscle fiber and starting to sting, waking up being alive again. There hadn't been anything like this when getting into Shank-Tooth, just memories and regret.

  Moaning in pain and drooling the onto the floor, Seventh had ample time to wonder why going back to his body was so brutal. Something to do with the freshness of the body perhaps?

  Seventh had lost his consciousness when evolving so his timeline was fuzzy, but Shank-Tooth had been way more fresh than 10 hours.

  Or Seventh just had been unconscious during the tingly bit.

  Seventh thought while getting up on legs made of jelly.

  At least Fang had fun. Even with his inferior human eyes Seventh could see the rhythmic twitching of ears and corners of his mouth. The bloody ratkin was laughing at his misfortune! That bastard!

  Seventh snorted and started to laugh. Mostly at himself, but a little bit to the absurdity of his life. His chuckling slowly faded, and stopped to a heavy sigh.

  It was time.

  "Fang. Whatever happens next, you are free to leave, no matter what happens to me," Seventh said, and made eye contact with his party member.

  A questioning whistle escaped Fang's lips. One ear was raised, waiting for explanation.

  Seventh slowly walked in the middle of the temple. Staring at the lightly illuminated altar he went through his mental checklist.

  He breathed slowly, savoring the taste of air and the feeling of his lungs slowly fill and empty out.

  His heartbeat was slowly rising for the anticipation of things to come. He had his quest to think about.

  He remembered the tiny fingers stretching towards him.

  "HUNTING! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE!" Seventh bellowed to the empty stone room.

  A growl answered him from behind. "No need to yell— I am always here, ."

  Seventh twitched. He had hoped that the godling would stay away. Maybe he should have just walked away and let the timer run to zero?

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The god had his bestial doppelganger form of Seventh. Only now the left arm was fixed and his movements were more fluid. A boon of having both legs fixed.

  Yellow eyes stared at Seventh, and a mouth filled with sharp teeth was stuck on a crooked smile.

  "Ah...I— won't do your quest," Seventh blurted out while taking a step back. He made sure his hands were empty, non-threatening.

  The god gave him a slow tilt of head. He picked his ear clean with his pinky.

  "I'm sorry? There must be dust in my ears— it just sounded like you...... do my quest?" in a blink the bestial eyes were mere inches away from Seventh. Coppery smell of blood filled his nose, tickling his throat and lungs.

  "I believe you meant to say you — do the quest?" the god hissed. "Is that not right..." the last word was almost spat out.

  "No. I won't do the quest," Seventh answered leaning forward to the coppery stink-breath. "The tribe is too big. I would be shredded before I even got halfway done. There's also—"

  "And that." The god poked Seventh on his chest, interrupting him. It was almost like a punch.

  "IS

  "

  Seventh scrambled back to his feet, right hand instinctively going for the handle of his axe.

  The god was gone.

  Seventh could still feel his presence.

  "The point is to kill me?"

  "To you. Seeing if you got the right stuff in you to rip and tear through hardships."

  A flash of hair and claws rushed from the shadows, slicing Seventh's left shin open. White bone shone from the cut. Bright blood oozed out.

  The cut was clean and fast. Seventh stared at the wound, wondering why there was so little pain. Then it hit him with a spurt of blood.

  A shriek of an outrage pulled him out of his wonderment. Fang leapt on top of the altar, knives ready for a fight.

  "NO! STOP!" Seventh yelled the command. "DO ATTACK! STOP!"

  Anger flashed in Fang's eyes from the command. There was a want— a need to fight and die.

  A sigh from the temple, directionless. "I guess I was wrong again. What a pity."

  "Oh, you can shove your pity to your hairy ass," Seventh said. "What right do you have to dangle me to a ratkin clan? To any damn clan, or monster? The cat almost ended me!"

  Seventh circled the room slowly, searching the god in the shadows. He slowly pulled out his axe, and moved his mana for a channeled Shadowbolt.

  "I did what you asked. Hunted it. Trapped it. Killed it. There wasn't any talk about a next quest!"

  Fast footsteps circled Seventh from his blind spot, he swung his axe, but his right side was shredded. Right to the weak spot of his armor. Four deep fang-marks marred his flesh.

  Seventh spun on his left foot, hurling the shadowy mass at blurring motion of Hunting. The bolt was two paces behind and ineffectively hit the grey wall.

  Hunting was nowhere to be seen.

  Seventh grunted in pain, and took a deep breath. He tried to hold the blood in him, making his right hand slick with blood.

  A deep purring shook the entire temple.

  "Or— is this a negotiation?”

  Suddenly, the purring was right next to Seventh's ear.

  “What do you want then? More power? Items? Skills? The second left foot is still on the table you know," Hunting whispered.

  A green system box appeared in front of Seventh. Instinctively he tried to minimize it, to shove it away from distracting him, but the box stayed in its place.

  A flowing golden text started to fill the box. His quest to kill the ratkin tribe.

  The reward started to flicker between prices. Golden sparks lit the temple in divine light.

  【 Power ? Money ? Attributes ? Two Left Feet ▓ Skills ? Respect 】

  "I TOLD YOU! YOU CAN JUST SHOVE IT! FIGHT LIKE A MAN! NO, A GOD!"

  A golden flash severed Seventh's left arm clean off. He didn't even manage to scream from the pain before a clawed hand grabbed him from the jaw, and he was hurled through the room to a wall. His head cracking open in the ancient stone.

  Another jolt of pain came when the God of Hunting, Monsters slammed his foot on him, pushing Seventh's chest in, cracking ribs and puncturing lung.

  "," he growled with voice filled with fury of a god. "Was a very, poor choice of words."

  The god leaned down. His face had changed. It wasn't Seventh's anymore. It was a beast's face covered in golden-brown fur.

  There was a vague human resemblance to the features, but the mouth was too wide, and the nose was a black snout of a predator. A little bit pointy too.

  Human ears were gone. Pointy, long vulpine ears twitched with Hunting's emotions

  Were those short horns poking on his forehead? No, those were antlers.

  Seventh tried to grab the god's leg with his hands. Only the right one obeyed, left was left somewhere on the temple floor.

  Seventh tried to laugh with lungs filled with broken ribs. "Hah! It was the perfect choice of words— me versus you. How many can say they're killed by a god? Personally?"

  "You won't say anything after death. You won't do nothing. You will nothing." Hunting's face was an inch away from Seventh's. “I'll make sure of that.”

  "Wouldn't be the first time," Seventh said, making a smile. "Maybe next time I won't meet a dick like you. A god of Smiles and Hugs, maybe?"

  The god raised his hand, but stopped. He ground his teeth, and stared at smiling Seventh.

  "What was the other reason? You would be shredded, yes, but clearly..." Hunting made vague spiraling hand gesture to Seventh's bleeding wounds, "...that isn't an issue."

  His eyes narrowed. "You were going to say something. Another reason. There's also— "

  "Children," Seventh said, "elderly, women, wounded. An innocent society."

  Hunting scoffed.

  "Oh now killing innocents is a problem? Wanna know how many ratkin you have killed in the past month? " Hunting said while lifting his leg off from Seventh's chest.

  Seventh wanted to stand up, but his body felt like leaking waterskin. Pain spiked everywhere, and a numbness was spreading from his fingers and toes.

  He was running out of time. Out of life. That brought up some old memories. Counting health points, worrying how to keep his party alive.

  "Different situations. They made a calculation. Ambush attack to kill me. They got it wrong, and lost. I'm doing the same. Them against me. I would lose. So thank you very much, but I refuse to play." Seventh made a bloodied grin. "I'm better at immoral mathematics than they are."

  The God of Hunting, Monsters raised an eyebrow. The faintest echo of a smile tugged the corners of his lips.

  The green box still in Seventh's view of sight flickered.

  【 DO YOU WANT TO ABANDON THE DIVINE QUEST? Yes/No?】

  Seventh also raised an eyebrow. That was probably the best deal he was going to get here. Seventh mentally selected 'Yes'.

  A head splitting headache filled what was left of Seventh's head. Red-hot needles danced inside his head— trying to pierce through his skull from the inside. It was frankly impressive that he could feel even more pain after all that.

  A deep chuckle filled his ears, and changed into a howl of amused animals. Seventh felt Hunting's foot leaving his chest and saw a howling tornado of pack animals running on the walls.

  The wall carvings of people hunting monsters became alive and every carved arrow, spear, sword and axe opened a bleeding wound on the walls. Dying monsters joined the pack, howling in their newfound freedom.

  The roof shuddered, as if readying itself for a bite.

  The hot needles inside his skull surged away to fill his whole body, focusing on his wounds. For the second time that day, Seventh bucked on the floor, spine complaining.

  His flesh knitted back together, arm stitching itself back, ribs grinding to correct positions, and pooling blood flowed backwards.

  Slowly, he came back to his senses. Both of his hands were grasping his head, securing that his skull wouldn't actually split open.

  He felt the back of his head. No damage. No leaking brains or skull fragments. He stared at his hand that was cut off just moments ago. He wiggled his fingers, they felt just fine.

  A blue box appeared. To Seventh, it felt like a sledgehammer to the soul, making him lean back.

  Seventh stared at the box, trying to parse all what he read while breathing heavily. Almost hyperventilating.

  Voidspace? Corruption? A new attribute? Seventh's brain bounced inside his skull. Thinking loudly hurt too much.

  He was sure he was going to die. Ripped to pieces by an insane god. But there he was, still alive. His heart pounded, phantom pains racking his body.

  Slowly, Seventh looked at the walls. They were dry and still. No moving monsters or hunters. There was a loud hiss from the altar. Fang was still standing there, ready for a fight. He looked pissed.

  "Don't give me that look. No need for us both to die." Seventh slowly stood up. He had spent way too much time on this temple's floor.

  Shank-Tooth's body was untouched during the confrontation and Seventh started to drag her out before remembering he had just gained a skill for this— maybe. The wording was a word salad to him, but the instinctual knowledge of the skill came again to the rescue, and Seventh knew how to activate the skill and its basic functions.

  Focusing on the body and the pelts, he felt a haptic tingle at the back of his head. Really, really uncomfortable feeling after possible major brain damage. A purplish crack in reality appeared, and sucked in the body, pelts and all. It stayed open while Seventh focused on the skill and he could put his hand in.

  A new kind of menu popped to his interface. It nested right next to LOGVoidspace Inventory

  He would have to read the description again, and test the skill out, but now he just wanted to get the hell out. Not only from the temple or the courtyard. The whole dungeon.

  Seventh waved Fang to follow and the ratkin gladly obeyed. They promptly rushed the large stairs up.

  At the top, Seventh paused and turned around for— hopefully— a last glance at the courtyard, the well, temple and barred gate slobbered with undead warning symbols.

  And the smoldering remains of an inn. Seventh felt an odd twang of regret from burning the inn down. Sadly, it had housed the few happy memories of his short existence.

  With a slow nod, Seventh turned his back at all that, and took his first steps back to the ratkin.

  ──╰∞╯──

  In the empty temple, Hunting stood alone. Watching an apostate walking up and away from him.

  He snorted, chuckled. And finally, guffawed.

  "Veeery interesting playmate indeed! Ya see that? I believe you owe me a coin," he said to the icy goddess next to him.

  "I never agreed to the bet. I know better than to gamble with you," the sound of midwinter chill said.

  "Really? I could have sworn we shook hands and everything," Hunting said and looked at his arm. "Not frozen solid? Maybe I was just daydreaming."

  The goddess followed Seventh with her gaze through the grey stone, all the way to the top of the stairs.

  “Don't you think you are a little... rough with him? A kinder hand would suffice.”

  Hunting waved his hand. “Bah! He'll manage. I need to check if he's going to fold right in the beginning. He's made from the good stuff, don't ya worry.”

  “Like was?”

  A flash of anger rippled through Hunting as he snapped his head to look at his conversation partner. He opened his mouth for a venomous retort, but snapped it closed. An awkward smile rose to his lips as he scratched his neck.

  He shrugged, and continued like she hadn't said anything. "Darling, would you kindly send a word for War and Order? I have deals to make."

  Hunting could feel an eyebrow rising behind the goddess' veil.

  "War? He won't come to you, not to a place like this. He'd want a spectacle. A public appearance in a divine distri—"

  Hunting flicked his fingers and a coin appeared between his fingers. The goddess fell silent.

  The coin was deep-green, adorned with the golden symbol of antlers rising from eternity symbol made of thorns. It wasn't made of metal or any other material mortals could recognize.

  "Give this to War? Tell him that I'm willing to give two more. No strings attached. A blank— what did you bus people called them? Oh yes— cheque for him. All I need is three of his own. I even tell him how I'm going to spend them, what rank-ups, and to whom."

  Hunting handed the coin to the goddess.

  She hesitated, but raised her hand, and a coin fell on her palm. She could feel the weight of the Essence.

  "Anything for Order?"

  Hunting chuckled. "She gets a coin too. But that has other price. We need to pluck the strings of Fate to our liking, and I can help her with a certain... person she has problems with."

  "War and Order," the goddess murmured. "The others will make some noise of you three scheming again."

  "Others are welcome to join us here. I'll even make lemonade. We can make a barb-a-qude party out of it." Hunting's voice rose a bit in annoyance.

  "Barbecue," she corrected. "I'll ask around. Everybody will want a coin."

  Hunting groaned.

  "And that they shall get at the moment I consider them something other than a gaggle of hissy fitting pansies with their panties in a twist. But now, I wanna make the best snooker shot the whole universe has ever seen."