It hurt.

It really, really hurt.

Lukas blearily opened his eyes and found himself lying on the floor, right next to the burning campfire. He coughed out some soot that managed to get in his nose, but flinched as every single breath sent a jolt of immense pain through him. Despite the fact that they were phantom pains at best and illusions at worst, his mind seemed to have trouble keeping the two apart.

It hurt.

But frankly, he was glad it hurt.

Because being hurt meant he was still alive.

And compared to what he’d just gone through, it was tantamount to a pinprick. Nothing— neither the khorkhoi’s swings nor the thoggua’s super-fast attacks —had been remotely close to replicating the agony he’d felt from that single punch thrown by Inanna. It was probably a good thing the training happened in his mindscape. Otherwise…

Still, he couldn’t help but giddily think, I scored a hit.

“That you did.”

And now, he was back to walking on thin ice.

“Untrue,” Inanna softly spoke. “It is I who stands defeated. To lose control for something so petty is unworthy of a being such as myself.”

That, Lukas decided, was the closest he’d come to getting an apology out of her.

“A boot has no business apologizing to an ant, mortal,” the goddess coldly retorted. “I am merely reflecting upon my own momentary loss of control.”

“No harm done,” he cheekily replied. “Frankly, I’m still surprised it worked at all.”

“Had I possessed my true power, something like that would never have taken place. Though had I been in my power, the universe itself would have been entirely different.”

Lukas coughed again. He had the oddest feeling that he should have been coughing out blood, but all that came out was spit. His entire body felt like a living, breathing dichotomy— one that could tell every single body part was in functioning order, yet still feel completely wounded and paralyzed for the foreseeable future.

Phantom pains, he reminded himself. They’re not real.

With conscious effort, he closed his eyes and began to breathe once more. It hurt the first few times, but as lifeforce circulated through his body, the feeling of intense agony began to slowly dissipate. Neural Suppression was working. Had this been real life, he’d have chosen to suffer instead, no matter the pain.

After all, there were few things worse than being injured and not having your brain know about it.

“You may prostrate before me for my forethought, then.”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

Quietly picking himself off the floor, Lukas began to gather his belongings. His shirt had been reduced to shoulder-length, with his sleeves being torn apart during his many monster confrontations. A double-layered band of thoggua membrane wrapped around his belly as a belt for trousers— it was now three-fourth of what it once was. He’d already ditched his tattered shoes and had gotten used to running barefoot over the rocky terrain.

Hell, on some nights, he dreamt about working as a prosecutor in his Tarzan attire. Though, unfortunately, the dreams ended before he managed to find out whether the judge ended up throwing him out of the courtroom or having him arrested.

Knowing his luck, they probably sent him to a zoo or something.

Speaking of luck, his mind idly played with the half-baked question of when he would finally be able to master the new art. As expected, the ever-faithful screen popped up like a faithful puppy, anticipating its master’s call.

 

Lukas frowned. Still the same as the last time he checked.

Shatter Fist was a skill he’d gained recently. In fact, the entire thing had come as a welcome surprise, simply from trying out a theory he’d been cooking up in his mind. A simple application of converging two different streams of kinetic forces into one single pinpointed focus.

The results had been rather spectacular.

It was one of those rare instances that had his resident goddess beaming at him with pride.

Empathy, on the other hand, was the skill he believed to be the most useful in his arsenal. And yet, there was nothing on the list he hated using more than that one. Hell, he was often on the precipice of wanting to simply forget that skill altogether, if such an option was on the table.

Not that it was helpful nowadays. It was the kind of skill that proved to be completely useless against Inanna during their spars.

“A harsh truth,” the goddess jovially replied. “You would have better luck trying to slay someone with a… paper napkin.”

Lukas wheezed, ignoring his discomfort at Inanna’s burgeoning familiarity with modern terminology. “Can you actually kill someone with a paper napkin?”

He felt the mental equivalent of a smirk. “There is but one way to be certain.”

Rolling his eyes, Lukas ignored her antics and stared at the screen instead, trying to focus on the problem at hand. Despite looking through his list of skills multiple times, he was unable to find any proof of making progress on his newly assigned martial arts.

“You are wondering about the lack of Pammachon.”

“Yeah,” he sighed in frustration. “Shouldn’t it be listed as a skill already—” He paused. “Or maybe an art? Are arts skills?”

“Yes and no,” she replied cryptically. “The Thessalonians of old described an Art as an elevation of one’s use of lifeforce. An entirely new form, fashioned from Skills already possessed.”

“I see,” Lukas contemplatively nodded to himself. “So… it’s like a super-skill.”

Inanna muttered something about mortals, over-generalizations, and mental capacities, but he ignored it in favor of pondering about this so-called Art.

“So why haven’t I gotten the skill for it yet on the screen? Am I doing something wrong?”

“No,” the goddess replied after a beat of silence. “You are simply… not doing everything right.”

Lukas blinked.

And blinked again.

“That’s— that’s exactly what I said,” he spluttered.

“Did you now?” He felt Inanna beaming in his head. “Surely it was happenstance.”

Lukas sighed, recognizing a lost argument when he saw one. Despite what he said, Inanna’s tone had a tilt to it that made him ponder. Was he doing something wrong per se, or was it something else? Perhaps he was missing something. Some sort of prerequisite he had yet to complete before Pammachon was available to him. But what kind of prerequisite possibly existed for a martial art?

He glanced back at the screen, and resisted the urge to slap himself.

Obviously.

“I’m missing a Skill, aren’t I?” he asked her.

“You figured that out faster than I had anticipated.”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then?”

Inanna nodded. “Pammachon is a martial art developed around the use of lifeforce. In order to achieve mastery in the Art, one must be proficient in two Skills. The first is Internal Lifeforce Manipulation, a Skill which you are already able to perform with mediocrity.”

Coming from someone like Inanna, that was practically glowing praise. “And the second?” he eagerly asked.

The goddess smiled. “A topic for another time. Now that you have had your rest, return to the inner depths of your mind.”

Lukas groaned at that. “What is it this time?”

“A game. With a reward.”

Game? And then a reward? That certainly didn’t sound like the usual ass-kicki— spar between the two of them. Were they going to move on to a different lesson?

Closing his eyes, Lukas allowed himself to drift back into his mindscape. And immediately, Lukas averted his gaze from her face as he felt a suffocating feeling pushing at him from all sides.

The truth was, being in the presence of the exquisite creature that was Inanna was no simple task. He could constantly feel raw, primal lust slowly gnawing at the edges of his bull-headed stubbornness. What was worse, Pammachon was a lifeforce-intensive art, and with everything he’d gone through over the past week, he was currently on a lifeforce high.

It was like watching an erotic scene doped on Viagra while your hands were tightly bound.

There were times when the lunacy rose to degrees that made it damn near impossible not to just lunge forward towards her.

But he couldn’t. If he did, he would die.

“How do you feel, mortal?”

There she went again, tossing him an amused smile.

He felt a slow thrum building up inside his body, reacting to her mere presence. Just the faintest twist of her lips shoved the image of her below him into his mind, forcing him to imagine her squirming in ecstasy as he had his way with her.

The aching force of naked need doubled in intensity.

She was lovely. More than lovely. Sensuous. Willing. Perfect. Unrestrained. Passionate.

For a moment, he couldn’t help but wonder just what he’d have been able to do had he succumbed to the wishes of this goddess of sensuality. Indulgence, satiation, delight— he could have had things you’d only get to read about in magazines, and even then, something told him it just wouldn’t compare.

Hell, he’d had sex that felt inferior to her smile.

For a moment, he nearly gave in.

He knew it was a trap, that he was being utterly foolish, yet the urge to act on his primal desires was more powerful than ever. There was no way she’d ever allow him to get within spitting distance of her unless it was a spar. Her sultry figure was a proverbial carrot to his untrained libido, and she’d only use his weakness against him.

But wouldn’t it be worth it?

After all, death came for everyone. And from everything he’d seen, there were certainly worse ways to die.

Her lips twisted even further.

Lukas clenched his fists hard enough to draw blood. Inanna could’ve been an incredible saleswoman, if her pitch was anything to go off of. Then again, everyone selling something to a sucker like him looked inviting.

Edging his fingers towards his thoggua-belt, he plucked out one of the daggers nestled within and drove it against the side of his leg, tearing a narrow gash into it. Lukas winced, but the gesture had its intended effect. The overwhelming, nearly feral hunger withered and vanished as pain flooded his mind once more.

But it was enough.

His thoughts cleared, and his mind reclaimed a semblance of sanity once more.

“Fighting desire with pain?” Her smile widened. “Your wisdom grows by the day.”

“What can I say? I suppose I have an unconventional teacher,” he offered, still keeping his gaze averted.

“You certainly do. And as surprising as this has all been, you have finally succeeded.”

“Succeeded in what?”

“In putting an end to the games.”

So this was the game? He wasn’t sure if taking advantage of his libido was a game he absolutely despised or ravenously craved, but thankfully he didn’t have to. By her own admission, it was over.

“Then what’s my reward?”

“Proceeding to the next step.”

Lukas was almost too afraid to ask. “And what’s next?”

Inanna put a finger to her chin, seemingly in deep thought. “How do you mortals put it. Ah, yes.”

She grinned.

“Showtime.”

---

They watched. They listened. They learned.

Countless eyes peered from the shadows lurking in the cracks of the walls. Countless tails swayed in the darkness, their compound eyes shining in the eerie green fauna that covered the surroundings.

They had seen the intruders traversing through the valley of the naegelin. Unlike the Watchers— who had strength in numbers —naegelins were powerful of their own accord. But it didn’t matter, for the King-That-Rules-Beneath sought out their services.

They were tiny. They were quick. They were many.

But the prey was so small. So raw. Not yet a menace.

Not enough for the legion to be sent in.

So the Watchers stayed underground. A twitch here, a little movement there. It was always so easy, luring prey towards the naegelins. Besides, there was something far more interesting at play. That-Which-Consumes-Within was resting again. The Watchers had seen it move and rest.

Move and rest.

Move and rest.

That-Which-Consumes-Within was predictable.

But the King’s orders were the King’s orders. That-Which-Consumes-Within was small, but it had a lot of potential. Their hallowed King wanted it to come into its power, at least for a little while, before the King buried its essence into the Great Provider. There was also the matter of the… curse travelling within That-Which-Consumes-Within.

So wait they would. Wait they shall.

They were Watchers. They could wait. They would wait.

The King’s orders would not be disobeyed. Disobedience was failure.

Failure was bad, bad, bad.

There was no hope for independence, no desire to flee. After all, if the King did not reign over them, who would the Watchers follow? What would they do? What would they eat? The naegelins were messy eaters, but they always left good scraps behind.

It had been ages since the Watchers had eaten. So when a group of strange creatures entered their lair, they had been ecstatic.

Perhaps these would be judged as worthy prey.

Perhaps they would finally get to eat.

The three prey had entered, killed several of their kind, and moved ahead. They were… unusual. There was Frost among them. The Watchers could see it, feel it ensnare their very souls.

And then there was the Beast. The Great Progenitor couldn’t identify it, but it reeked of antiquity. It appeared small, possibly infantile, but the physical form could not fool those who could observe the soul. It was odd. A Joey, if they’d heard their prey correctly.

Between the ancient thing and the Frost, it was going to be difficult. They would have to proceed with caution.

They would have to plan their moves and lure the prey into a trap, to bring them to the dranzithl. The prey was too far out, and acting too early would cause them to flee in advance. It mattered not. Patience was a game the Watchers were born for. One could not grow to become a good hunter without the ability to wait.

And so they watched. And they listened. And they learned.