Livi groaned nearby, and it was surprising that Nikolai could even hear her over the din of the battle.

  Well—battle was perhaps a stretch. It was more like a one-sided assault on Azila and the warrior. They had nothing meaningful to strike back at, and the animated weapons weren’t bound by the physical limitations of any wielder. They attacked from odd angles, with startling speed and brutal force.

  Nikolai caught glimpses of the chaos out of the corner of his eye, but nearly all of his focus was on healing the doll. He poured mana into the spell, circulating it toward the worst of the damage.

  It was really fucking strange—if he closed his eyes, he could have been fooled into thinking he was treating a living person. Magically, the doll imitated blood flow, organs, even reproductive systems it didn’t physically possess. It was male, apparently…

  The organs were the worst; the extremities were mostly fine aside from bruises and torn skin. He had started with the ruptured liver, then moved to the intestines, which had been mangled so badly he wasn’t even sure where to begin describing the mess.

  That was when his mana hit its limit, despite his spells being unusually effective—and he was barely halfway done. The ceiling rumbled overhead and began to descend. He glanced at Livi, but she had collapsed against the pedestal, panting like she had sprinted up a mountain.

  Someone shouted, and Nikolai felt a sudden cut across his back. A hit—then warmth—then pain. The sword whirled past him, and the warrior appeared beside him, shielding him with his own body.

  The man grunted as he intercepted another strike, but Nikolai ignored everything. He couldn’t afford to be distracted.

  He wouldn’t have enough mana. His only other option was dipping into his essence—an incredibly fucking bad idea. He could do it, but the aftermath could leave him weakened or even crippled. In this place, that meant death.

  What else? How could he stretch what little mana he had left? Did he even need to heal everything?

  His mind raced. Then an old memory surfaced—him messing around with a garden hose, his brother putting a finger over the opening to increase pressure. A lazy trickle became a powerful jet.

  He had no time to think it through. He quickly assessed what was essential.

  A broken arm? Non-lethal. Torn back muscles? Painful, but survivable.

  No—the punctured lung took priority. So did the severe concussion.

  He focused on the lung first. He looked inward and saw his mana stream—calm and steady albeit quite depleted. Then he mentally squeezed it.

  The change was immediate. His mana turned violent and difficult to control but far more precise, allowing him to target the injuries directly with more force. It was by no means elegant, and not something he was likely to try on a real person, but It worked—and he pushed the spell as fast as he dared.

  “Get a fucking move on, you prick!” Azila screamed. She and the warrior were covered in blood and bruises, but neither stopped fighting.

  The ceiling had retreated slightly, but Livi looked half-conscious at best.

  Nikolai couldn’t rush. Using mana at this pressure could make the spell backlash and worsen the injuries.

  The lung healed, inflating with air. Next—the head.

  He saw the bleeding in the brain. Not catastrophic, probably recoverable if treated now. Probably. He wasn’t a doctor—he barely knew anything about brain injuries. Should he have started here? No. Too late for that now. He had to finish.

  His mana ran dry.

  Desperate, he dipped into his essence to fuel the spell. His skin immediately began turning a pale, unhealthy grey.

  Suddenly the doll jerked upright—like, well, a doll.

  Nikolai stared as it stood, bowed to him of all things, then ran to the exit door. It pressed a fingerless hand against it. Nothing happened at first.

  Then everything stopped.

  The weapons froze mid-air. The ceiling halted. Livi collapsed fully unconscious. Nikolai remained on his hands and knees, too exhausted to move.

  The door opened. The ceiling retracted. The weapons returned to the walls, and the pedestal and stone table sank into the floor. Azila rushed to Livi while the warrior approached Nikolai with a grin.

  “Fucking dungeons, eh?”

  Nikolai looked up—and his smile died. The door to the chamber behind them had opened, releasing a flood of acid that was now pouring into the room.

  “We have to move!” he choked out.

  The warrior spun to look, then grabbed Nikolai and hauled him onto his back before taking off at a dead sprint. Azila had already done the same with Livi.

  As they passed the doll, Nikolai stared in disbelief. It waved cheerfully, almost playfully, as if seeing them off on a pleasant journey, before it was swallowed by the acid.

  Being carried was nothing like the movies. The warrior’s metal armor was painfully rigid, and every jolt rattled Nikolai’s battered body. They took a right, then a left, then another right.

  Eventually he insisted on being let down, and the warrior steadied him.

  “Thanks,” Nikolai said, breathless.

  The man nodded, clapped him on the shoulder, and they ran. Azila was far ahead now, Livi limp over her shoulder.

  They reached a long corridor—far longer than any they had passed so far. Nikolai tried to speed up, but his body refused. He was exhausted, drained both physically and mentally.

  The warrior pulled ahead. Nikolai ran as best he could.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Ahead, he saw the wall open. Azila shoved Livi through the new doorway but didn’t follow. The warrior passed her, frowning in confusion at her.

  Nikolai glanced back—the acid was gaining, faster now than he could run.

  He reached the door and saw it too late.. A pitfall had opened right in front of it.

  He gritted his teeth. He would have to jump—

  As he leapt, he met Azila’s eyes. A nasty grin spread across her face. Time seemed to slow. She stepped back.

  The door slammed shut.

  The last thing he saw before the door slammed shut in his face, was Azila winking at him.

  “Fuuuuuck!” he screamed as he smashed into the solid wall.

  Pain flared in his face, and then he was falling—down, down—into a wide pit.

  He desperately tried to summon mana to form a barrier beneath him, to slow his fall, anything.

  Nothing answered. He was empty.

  He fell for a few seconds before hitting a sloped floor, sliding violently down a narrow tunnel barely tall enough to fit him.

  He screamed the whole way.

  The slope leveled out and launched him into a dark chamber. He tumbled end over end before crashing into a wall.

  He lay there for a moment, groaning.

  He was alive. Alive!

  What the fuck—how?

  He pushed himself upright, clutching his head. A throbbing headache surged, and he threw up—whether from the fall or the likely concussion, he had no idea.

  A sound—slithering—approached through the darkness.

  He turned. His dark vision revealed a large, amorphous blob made of the same liquid as the acid above, although quite a bit smaller.

  His eyes widened as it dropped onto him, engulfing him completely.

  His breath vanished instantly. Burning agony erupted across his entire body, like he was being slowly melted.

  He squeezed his eyes shut instinctively—and felt his eyelids begin to burn.

  Pure desperation seized him, and he cast Lesser Essence Drain, using his own essence to force the activation.

  To his shock, it activated. More shockingly—it worked, he began draining essence. Whatever this creature was, it was alive.

  The gelatinous mass convulsed violently as he drained it. His stomach lurched from the motion, making everything worse.

  He felt the stolen essence convert into mana and health, barely keeping him alive. The pain intensified, and he forced the sudden influx of mana into a full-powered Soothe. His hand glowed through the acid, and the agony dulled to something distant and hazy.

  He clung to the drain spell with everything he had. The amount of essence he absorbed was enormous—seemingly endless.

  He blindly cast Curse of Torment, feeling the spell latch onto the creature. Veins of harder substance began running through the ooze monster.

  It thrashed in panic now—and then, thankfully, recognized him as the source of its suffering. It expelled him violently.

  He slammed into a wall and collapsed in a heap.

  Barely conscious, Nikolai pressed a shaking hand to his chest and began healing himself. Acid had seeped into him, and everything inside felt dangerously close to shutting down.

  He pushed the healing spell harder.

  More.

  More!

  He gagged and coughed up acid. Good. He needed it out.

  Heat blossomed in his chest—intense but almost welcoming—and the healing accelerated. Hus spell had upgraded, finally some good news.. The essence he had stolen burned away quickly though, converted into what his body needed to stay alive.

  Then it was gone, and his mana ran out shortly afterward.

  The headache returned with a vengeance—mana insufficiency.

  His hand dropped to the floor. Despite telling himself to stay awake, he passed out.

  Waking in absolute silence was unnerving. The darkness pressed in like a weight.

  Nikolai groaned and sat up very slowly, clutching his head. He was still low on mana, and his body made sure he knew it.

  His dark affinity let him see that his robe had disintegrated almost entirely. His sword sheath was gone, and the blade itself was rusted and warped. He had lost his pack and more or less everything else somewhere along the way as well.

  He was naked. And unarmed.

  In a deathtrap dungeon.

  “...This fucking world,” he muttered.

  He remembered Azila’s wink and felt fury boil in his chest. He wouldn’t forget that. She would pay—but not now. Even if he escaped, he couldn’t lift a candle to her in his current state. Maybe later…

  He looked around. The chamber was large and mostly bare. The acid creature was gone—apparently unwilling to come near him again, so, small blessings.

  He felt a spark of pride. He had scared the monstrosity off.

  He stood, testing his body. He felt alright to do so, though not fully healed. His skin felt tight, like stiff new leather that needed breaking in.

  Reasonable, considering he had effectively regrown it, while it was melting off him.

  The memory made him shiver.

  Nightmare later, Travelion. Action now, he told himself.

  There were two exits. More importantly—he found items scattered around the room. Likely belongings of previous victims, no doubt. What mattered was that they weren’t melted or corroded. They were covered in thick dust though, so they had been there a while.

  Since they seemed otherwise undamaged. It likely meant they were at least acid-resistant. Maybe magical.

  He picked up a dark grey robe with lighter grey patterns sewn into the back and sleeves. Worn but strangely not dirty, it seemed in perfect condition actually which was strange.

  He hesitated briefly, then put it on. He wasn’t wandering a dungeon like this while going commando.

  Nearby he found a small pouch, a cane, and a ring hidden between floor cracks.

  The pouch was heavier than expected. He tried to open it—no luck. Probably a sealed storage item if it was magical. He grinned. He’d need help opening it later if it was, but the possibilities were exciting.

  The ring was silver with a red stone. Simple, elegant. Nothing happened when he touched it. He wisely decided not to put it on and instead decided to test the pouch. To his delight, it seemed to sort of vanish as he did. He tried reaching inside for it, but it was gone.

  Then he picked up the cane—black wood, smooth, elegant, topped with a round, translucent crystal.

  The crystal fit perfectly into his palm.

  It felt sort of like his wand, wherever that thing had disappeared off to, and he tried reaching out with his mana.

  Immediately a connection snapped into place.

  The crystal swirled with black and white energies—violent at first, then calming into a balanced, lazy spiral.

  Nikolai grinned. He felt it—a deep connection to it. He knew instinctively, the cane was his, like a missing limb restored. He could cast magic through it, enhanced by the enchanted crystal. And there was something else—a function of its own.

  He probed it mentally.

  Darkness swirled around him. For a few seconds he was encased in shadow—and when it faded, he stood fully clothed.

  A shit-eating grin spread across his face.

  He was now wearing the fantasy equivalent of a tailored suit—black and grey with silver buttons, polished shoes, and a vest. The robe layered perfectly over it, completing the look of a well-dressed gentleman wizard.

  He almost laughed at how ridiculous the day had been. Part of him even wanted to thank Azila for being such a bitch.

  Her betrayal had turned into a massive windfall it seemed. At the very least, he could face death in style.