Bawk, Charlemagne lamented.

  No new class options, huh, boss? Bridget commiserated. Any changes at all?

  The rooster was about to reply in the negative when he finally noticed that there was indeed a slight difference. The Fledgling’s class description had been updated.

  Bawk! He announced.

  Indeed? Please, share the update with us, Phatagin asked. Charlemagne quickly shared the new description.

  Well that confirms one of my theories on how the System works. Your actions, attributes, and possibly other factors affect the classes that you are offered! Simply wonderful, the pangolin noted with enthusiasm.

  Yeah, like in your case, the System knew you were the laziest being in existence, so it made you a class that let you move around without having to actually do anything, the mosquito joked.

  I’ll have you know that I am not lazy: it is my metabolism that is to blame! You try eating a low protein diet your entire life and see how much energy you have.

  Yeah, yeah, my diet is entirely liquid. I’ve got you beat, pangy-pie.

  I told you never to call me that, you bloodsucking parasite!

  Why thanks for the compliment. Would you like me to drain you right here, right now, or would you rather me wait until you’re asleep.

  Charlemagne, fed up with the bickering, allowed his mana to do the talking for him as he flexed his mystical powers. The other Party members got the hint and returned to the task at hand.

  Well, putting aside which of us is a genius and which of us will put practically anything in her mouth, I think there is only one Class choice for our dear leader. Charlemagne should pick Advanced Fledgling, Phatagin argued.

  I wasn’t so sure at first, but I think you’re right. It gives just as many stats as the Transcendent Berserker option and promises more upgrades in the future. Plus, it now says ‘Advanced’ at the front. That’s gotta be worth something, Bridget agreed.

  Charlemagne felt a strange sensation as both of his Party members suggested that he pick the class that most appealed to him. Although still nascent, the spark of intelligence that had been kindled by the System was beginning to engender new needs within the rooster’s psyche. Having never been part of a real flock besides the brief, blissful period in Parakou where he had been the sole rooster for thousands of hens, he had missed out on the camaraderie that came from having shared goals. For chickens, these goals were rather simple: don’t get eaten by that fox over there, find a lot of food, and raise the next generation of chickens. But what he was experiencing with Bridget and Phatagin somehow satisfied both the need to flock that came from deep within his genetic heritage and his emerging desires for intellectual stimulation and emotional validation.

  Mixed in with the warmth of friendship was the satisfaction of knowing that he had managed to get the Squiggles to offer him a better class. Like Bridget, he loved the way that the word ‘Advanced’ made him feel. But as he basked in the glow of intellectual discovery, a new thought struck him. Could there be something beyond ‘Advanced’, similar to how there was a Dungeon difficulty that went beyond ‘Hell’? How could he verify that?

  But even as the aftershocks of this thought reverberated through his mind, the Squiggles took notice of his question.

  Charlemagne was unused to the Squiggles being so demanding. As he considered the message and whether he should mention it to the group, a memory began to detach itself from his unconscious mind and worked its way up to the surface. The process was agonizingly slow and surprisingly painful, but, eventually, a small portion of that memory managed to pierce the veil that separated his consciousness from the vast portion of his mind that lay beneath his awareness. A migraine of epic proportions welled up as the fragment of memory impinged upon his awareness. Between the pain and the shock from the revelation, the poor rooster was completely overwhelmed.

  Bawk, he sent to the Party.

  Wait, are you all right, boss! Bridget immediately responded as she buzzed over and hovered directly in front of Charlemagne’s face.

  That didn’t make any sense at all, I’m afraid. Could you repeat that? Phatagin sent with a frown.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Despite the splitting headache and some sort of strange resistance that tried to prevent him from moving his mouth, Charlemagne repeated what he had sent through the Party link, this time speaking out loud.

  “Bawk!”

  How odd, I still did not understand any of that, Phatagin noted.

  “Boss, what…what was that?” Bridget added.

  “Bawk!”

  “Bawk!”

  “Bawk!”

  There was a moment of silence as the entire Party grappled with its sudden lapse in communication.

  Bawk? Charlemagne sent after a moment.

  Yes! Bridget affirmed.

  Ah, I think I understand. He was trying to share some sort of information that is not allowed to be communicated to others. How interesting that the System saw fit to censor something; that must mean it is either extremely valuable or extremely sensitive information, Phatagin mused.

  Bawk, the rooster confirmed.

  Well, that is…fascinating, the pangolin continued. If that’s the case, I wonder if there is any way that we can get around this censorship. Maybe we should hone in on exactly what it is you cannot say, and then try to infer the meaning from what you CAN tell us.

  Bawk! Charlemagne objected.

  I’m with the boss, here, Bridget opined. Let’s not bring the wrath of the System down on our heads. If there is information it doesn’t want us talking about, I don’t wanna get anywhere near that.

  The pangolin’s tongue flicked out as his small, beady eyes flashed with surprise at being countermanded.

  Well…if that is your desire. I must confess I am simply dying to know what the information is, however.

  Bawwk!

  Yes, I will get over it, Phatagin agreed quickly, as he backed away from the blistering aura that had flared to life around his Party leader. Bridget, who had landed on the ground in between the other two, was somehow completely unaffected by the rooster’s show of annoyance.

  Yeah, mister smarty-scales, the mosquito chastised as she added her words to Charlemagne’s silent displeasure, I don’t wanna get smote…smoten…smacked down by the System just because you’re too curious.

  Fine, fine. Let us move on, if that is agreeable to you both. Bridget and I are both in favor of the Advanced Fledgling class. Do you concur, or do you have a different opinion?

  Baawk, Charlemagne squawked as he stalked off. His goodwill toward his Party members had largely evaporated in the wake of his inability to communicate, the pangolin’s suggestion that they flout the will of the Squiggles, and the migraine from the memory fragment that had just surfaced. Worse still, the memory itself was largely incomplete. Despite Charlemagne’s best efforts to remember, the fragment was mostly impressions of being in front of a being vastly more powerful than he was. Who that being was, what they had discussed, and where the meeting had taken place, the rooster still did not know. The only thing that he could say for certain was that the memory was not about Grimfalk, his Patron.

  The other two left him alone as he made his way into a corner of the Dungeon and settled down to think. When he tried to dredge up more details about the mysterious being, his entire being throbbed, so he quickly abandoned that line of effort and returned to thinking about his class. The Squiggles had been clear in their advice, but for some reason, the rooster found himself hesitant to commit. What if the Advanced Fledgling class changed him in a way that he didn’t want? The Squiggles, always watching, noticed his internal struggles and saw fit to intervene.

  The Squiggles’ answer assuaged Charlemagne’s trepidation. If the System itself was guaranteeing that his genetic code would be safe, then he could rest easy knowing that, no matter what class he chose, he would never again have a template applied to him against his will. With strange emotions swirling deep inside of him, the rooster pulled up his class choices one last time. He read them all again paying closer attention to Advanced Fledgling.

  He was a bit embarrassed to note that he had indeed missed the change the first time around. It seemed like this class was indeed the best choice out of the four. Not only would it enhance his current abilities, but it would also give him additional benefits down the road. He would also get as many Attribute points as he would with the Transcendent Berserker class, and the rooster was all about stacking more and more Attributes. With the ever-growing bonuses from his numerous Achievements, each base point was multiplied several times over, providing benefits that were seemingly unmatched by anything besides his ability to manipulate mana. And, unlike the varied boosts he had gained to his ability to use the mystical energy, bonus Attribute points were few and far between. Even undergoing extremely painful tempering tended to only yield a few base points here and there.

  As the rooster procrastinated making a final choice, he pulled up his remaining rewards from conquering the Dungeon.

  Charlemagne spent a bit of time wondering what he should spend his remaining rewards on. He didn’t feel like talking to the others about it just yet, so, after spending a few minutes wondering whether he should get more Attribute Elixirs or focus on his Skills, he dismissed the Squiggles and took a deep breath. Then he made his decision: Advanced Fledgling it was.

  A strange warmth began to flow through his entire body, but, unlike his previous experiences with his Mana Core, and then later acquiring Pyro, the sensation did not originate from any particular area. From his wattle to his claws, and from his feathers to his heart, no part of his body remained untouched. He even felt it deep within the places that were usually locked away, and he somehow knew that his very soul had been affected. The warmth intensified until the rooster’s entire being felt as though it had been laid bare before the hot, West African sun. But, as intense as the sensation was, it was far from painful. In just a few moments, the rooster’s eyes closed, and he sank into a deep sleep.

  There was a long period where he floated alone in the darkness, just enjoying a time of pure rest. But, all too soon, the grim light of consciousness returned.