Phatagin yelped and curled up into a ball as the first canine burst out from behind a weathered concrete wall that belonged to an old factory and dashed towards him. Its claws tore into the earth, flinging sand high into the air behind it. The dog’s face seemed frozen into a permanent snarl. Its powerful jaws hung wide open, allowing thick ropes of drool to slowly work their way free. The pangolin Champion braced himself, ready to use the dog’s momentum against it. At the very least, he was certain that he could turn the initial bite into a glancing blow, giving him the time he needed to make his escape.

  The canine ran straight past him. A moment later, more dogs appeared, running full tilt as they filled the air with pants and growls. These dogs ran straight past Phatagin as well. Despite one of them nearly tripping into the hole that the pangolin had dug in search of ants, none of them even looked his way. It was clear that these dogs were hunting for a specific creature. And it was patently obvious who they were looking for.

  Rouse yourself, Charlemagne! You are under attack! Phatagin cried through the Party link as he took to the air and reversed course, hoping that his warning had succeeded in waking up the rooster. His hunt for ants had taken him a fair way north of the beach, but it was easy to find his way back to Charlemagne. All he had to do was to follow the pack.

  He accelerated as quickly as he could, continuing to cry out through the Party channel in hopes of getting through to Charlemagne. The dogs were still moving faster, however, and they were quickly swallowed up by the gloom. The last thing that Phatagin saw of them was their elongated shadows dancing across the sand.

  A horrific screech rent the air. Then there was an even worse silence. Although loath to exert himself, the pangolin redoubled his efforts. Then came the worst sound of them all.

  Phatagin shuddered as he upped his adrenal glands’ production of adrenaline. His heart rate spiked, and his bronchioles dilated, sending waves of oxygenated blood to his muscles and brain. Additional fatty acids and glucose flooded his system, preparing his body for exertion. His reflexes and focus sharpened. Finally, his pupils dilated, allowing him to see the atrocity up ahead just a little bit better.

  A pack of eight canines had surrounded Charlemagne and was doing its upmost best to tear him to pieces. His left wing had been pulled off, while his left leg had disappeared halfway down one of the dog’s throat. Two other dogs were playing tug of war with his head, while the rest of the dogs danced around, waiting for their turn to get a bite in. Blood sprayed freely through the air.

  Charlemagne! Phatagin cried, as he barreled straight into the melee. The dogs scattered, dropping their prey as the pack whirled as one to defend themselves against the incoming threat.

  What’s going on?! Bridget cried through the party link. The pangolin ignored her as his adrenal overload narrowed his field of vision. He was one hundred percent locked in on saving the rooster. Had his body not been practically quivering with fight or flight hormones, Phatagin would have wondered when he made the decision to intervene. After all, it was no skin off his scales if the rooster ended up in eight different stomachs. But there, in the moment, there was no time for introspection. Like a living missile, he crashed into the sand in the middle of the pack.

  There was a moment where Phatagin was almost completely immobilized as he absorbed the momentum of the crash. Thankfully, the spray of sand that had been kicked up by his arrival caused the dogs to flinch. In that short window of opportunity, he grabbed Charlemagne and flew straight into the air.

  Found you! Bridget shouted a moment later. How…how is he so hurt? He’s going to bleed out if we don’t do something!

  The pangolin continued to put distance between himself and the pack, hoping that they didn’t have any ranged attacks handy. His mad dash had carried him out over the water, which served almost as well as height at keeping the pack of angry dogs at bay. Just a little further and he would be able to relax. That was when one of the dogs unleashed a Special Ability or Skill that he wasn’t expecting.

  He nearly dropped the rooster. He almost fell into the warm waters of the Gulf of Guinea. His overtaxed heart fluttered wildly under the effects of too much adrenaline. But Phatagin somehow reached deep inside himself and found the strength to keep going, fighting whatever it was that had come over him with every scrap of willpower that he possessed.

  Hey pangolin…are you okay? Bridget yelled as she landed on him, causing him once again to buckle under his load.

  Get…off…me. He managed to demand in response. So…weak.

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  We need to get somewhere safer than this! Bridget exclaimed as she lifted back off. Can you climb higher and turn right?

  Straining his powers of flight to their utmost, the pangolin managed to slowly gain altitude as he made a slow, gentle curve west. The pack followed along the shore, their angry barks growing fainter the higher Phatagin went. The going went easier the further they travelled: either he was slowly growing accustomed to his reduced strength, or whatever effect he was under was starting to wear off. The pangolin heaved a sigh of relief into the dark, humid night.

  Phatagin! We need to land soon…Charlemagne is losing too much blood! The mosquito shrieked through the Party chat. I need to give him a transfusion, now!

  That would be prudent, yes. I feel that I can bear your weight now.

  If you’re calling me fat…this is not going to end well for you.

  Far from it. Just help him. I’m not sure when we’ll be able to get back over land.

  There was a brief whining of tiny wings as Bridget came in for a landing on the broken and unconscious rooster. The pangolin waited a few moments for an update, but whatever the mosquito was doing, it was apparently time consuming. Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him.

  Well? Is he much improved?

  He’s slowly stabilizing, but I’m not sure how long that is going to hold him. We need to find another source of blood sooner rather than later. Then I can keep healing him until his body’s natural regeneration kicks in. Wait…do you smell that?

  The pangolin sniffed but smelled nothing but salt air.

  No, I don…

  There! Bridget interrupted. There was a high pitched whirr as she took off to the skies, her tiny form practically invisible against the black sky. Then an anguished screech pierced the darkness, echoing off the waves below.

  I got it! It was just a bat, the mosquito Champion gloated. Coming back in to…oh man! There’s like a hundred of these things! We gotta boogie.

  Phatagin’s strength was still slowly returning as he pushed himself to go faster. He allowed himself to drop a bit to gain more speed as he converted his downward momentum into lateral propulsion.

  Hop on! He called as he accelerated. He wasn’t facing the right direction to see the bats, but he could hear them flapping behind him in the distance. What are bats even doing out over the water? They usually hunt on land.

  They smell like fish, so maybe they were hunting? Bridget guessed. Does it matter? Unless you want to fight all of these while carrying the boss, get a move on.

  Where do you propose that we go? The pangolin Champion asked. We’re going to attract a lot of attention if they keep after us.

  Despite his complaints, the pangolin headed north towards the ruined city of Porto Novo. The bats followed, with more joining the chase from time to time, if the increasingly loud fluttering of leathery wings was any indicator.

  We’re attracting more! Bridget confirmed. We need to make some distance.

  That might be easier said than done, Phatagin retorted. We’re headed directly toward the Dungeon that I was planning to get the rooster’s help with. But this entire area is radioactive…I’ll need to either go high above it or around it. Otherwise, we might get a lethal dose of radiation shortly before the bats catch and eat us.

  A loud howl announced that the dog pack had once again picked up the trail of the three Champions, further complicating their plans to escape.

  I am not going to be able to carry Charlemagne if I am enervated again, the pangolin warned. If I slow down, they will certainly get close enough to use that ability on me again.

  Empty veins! Bridget swore. We’re going to have to risk it, pangolin. Let’s go straight to the Dungeon. We can set it to Easy mode so I can steal enough blood to heal up the boss. Then we’ll be able to face the dog pack together.

  But that’s suicide! Phatain complained. I might as well just feed him to the dogs now.

  That’s not true…he can manipulate that energy you were talking about. It’s a Skill that’s fused with his Ember Core.

  That is…improbable. How do you know that? Are you sure?

  Yes, I’m sure. The mosquito Champion admitted. I was originally tasked with killing him too, so I got a full readout of his Status. It must have been pretty old, because he’s grown so much since then…

  What if he never wakes up? Phatagin complained. We’ll die a slow, painful death.

  Meh, life’s all about risks. You wouldn’t know how it feels since you don’t risk getting turned into a pancake every time you want to have a snack.

  That’s…surprisingly true.

  Phatagin took a deep breath and considered his options. They were already on the outskirts of Porto Novo, and the little pools of water that dotted the ruined landscape were glowing with an eerie light. The distant baying of the canines and the fluttering of hundreds of pairs of bat wings only added to the spooky atmosphere.

  Fine. We’ll go straight into the Dungeon. There should be a small safe zone that enemies avoid just in front of the entrance. We can try to wake Charlemagne up and then head into the Dungeon together.

  That’s the spirit, you big strong hunk of scales. Get us to that spot and we should be all right.

  The pair flew along in silence after that. Charlemagne was still in rough shape, but Phatagin couldn’t worry about that. Besides, Bridget was the one in charge of the rooster’s condition. His job was to get them to the Dungeon’s entrance before they were exposed to a lethal dose of radiation.

  The only problem: he had no idea exactly where the entrance was.

  Phatagin said a short prayer to Liang Xing and spiked his acceleration once again. If he was going to rush headlong into near-certain death, he wanted to at least get it over quickly.