The halfbreed’s surroundings blurred and burned as she plummeted down the drain. What started as a tunnel made of ice and snow quickly gave way to a hellscape of fire and brimstone, a canvas of burning ash, bubbling lava, and noxious gas. The waves of heat emanating from the active volcano caused the terrain to shimmer like an oasis behind a thousand dunes. Pits of molten rock extended as far as the eye could see. Each featured a frozen ladder, a less-than-subtle reminder of the wintery world that lay beyond.

With a mitted hand, Claire grabbed an icy rung just five meters above the lava line. She heaved bloodied, laboured breaths, one after another, as she finally cast her gaze on her body and looked over her wounds.

The icicles had already melted. The holes they left in her body were still bleeding profusely. Her health regeneration would fix her in a matter of hours, but the pain was still present. She couldn’t move her injured shoulder, and her frostbitten leg wasn’t much better off. Worse yet was the icicle that had pierced her side and torn open her lungs; breathing was nearly beyond her.

She didn’t want to move. She felt too heavy, too lethargic, too exhausted. It took imagining the consequences of borrokian indigestion for the halfbreed to convince herself to get off the ladder. With a swing and a kick, she landed on a nearby rock, removed her dirtied mitten, and threw it aside.

A grimace appeared on her face as she staggered away from the unsanitary glove and turned her eyes to the hole in the sky. She closed her eyes and raised her ears, keeping them trained for a solid minute before concluding that there was nothing to see but plumes of lava and clouds of ash. Her pursuers had abandoned the chase.

In spite of the good news, the halfbreed was far from relieved. The sewer system was far too hot for comfort. She wasn’t just sweating, but burning. Her once fair skin had already turned a deep shade of red, and it took dousing her toes with stale water to momentarily relieve the burning pain.

“How awful,” grumbled Shoulderhorse. “It is so hot that my beautiful mane’s going to burn!”

“You can’t burn. You don’t exist.”

“She would if you summoned her.”

“Oh, do not be so silly, Shouldersnake,” said the horse. “I would rather not be summoned without anything to eat. The borroks seemed rather delectable, but I cannot say I am fond of all these rocks.”

Claire gave the horse a cold, blank stare before quickly dismissing it with a wave of her hand. She didn’t want to imagine how the bug-monkeys tasted, let alone the sight of the poorly proportioned quadruped ravenously devouring one. The snake was also sent away. It had already had more than its fair share of fun.

“I should’ve expected mages.” The halfbreed muttered to herself as she limped over to a nearby rock and sat down. She opened her log the moment she was settled but stopped shy of reading its entries.

“I would’ve died if they were any more accurate.”

She looked at her leg and traced a finger around the open wound. Touching it made her wince, but she kept poking at the gaping hole nonetheless.

“What am I doing?” With another pained wheeze, she tore her gaze off her wound, propped her hand up against her knee, and looked at the list. “I might as well get it over with.”

The goddess had voiced each of the events as they occurred, but Claire had summarily ignored her. Looking through the almost two hundred entries confirmed that she had made the right choice. Only a select few were important enough to have grabbed the halfbreed’s attention.

Long story short, Halfbreed was level forty-two, Llystletein Rogue was level forty-five, and Llystletein Vector Mage had jumped all the way to level twenty-seven. The twenty-fifth had even come with a bonus, extra range for her vectors, and an absurd fifty points in every stat.

Llystletein Authority had gained a few summonables as well, namely Barbearian Stew and White Wolf Wine, both of which sat firmly in the drink category, even though stew was clearly food.

Log Entry 1081
Llystletein Vector Mage has attempted to evolve into Llystletein Cat Pimp, at the behest of one Alfred Llarsse, but a divine entity has interrupted this process on your behalf. Your heartfelt gratitude is to be directed to the goddess of the eternal flow.

A brand new entry popped up as she finished going through the list, its contents echoing through her mind and putting a frown on her face. The text warped as she remained silent, with a new clause soon added onto the end.

The goddess’ efforts will be undone if no appreciation is expressed. Only prayers and offerings are accepted at this time.

“That’s just extortion.”

It is not extortion. It is bribery.

The text changed again as Claire narrowed her eyes. “That’s basically the same thing.”

Extortion would involve threatening to cause harm. Bribery involves offering a boon. If you were any less ignorant, then you would have no trouble processing the difference.

“Sure, Box. Whatever you say.”

Indeed. I am always correct. Now that you understand that, I order you to stop being irreverent and worship me as is due.

“No.”

You have prayed to Builledracht 361 times. As your patron deity, I am owed at least twice as many.

“Why do you know that? That’s creepy.”

It is in the logs. A simple query retrieves the information in the matter of moments. Now I will do no more explaining. If you wish for my efforts to continue, then you will get down on your knees and pray.

“I won’t,” said Claire. “It wouldn’t be a proper prayer anyway. I don’t even know your name.”

…

“And even if I was to pray, it would be to Builledracht, or perhaps some other god whose concept is important enough to be commonly known.”

…

Claire flicked her tongue, the sweet taste of victory lingering upon its tip. Her health had barely regenerated in the time she had spent resting; the burning environment was hurting her nearly as quickly as she was healing, but there was a spring in her step regardless.

Her joy lasted until a buzzing sound started to play in the back of her mind. She spun around immediately, checking for any nearby foes, before she realized that it was coming from the inside of her head. Her log was closed; there was no way for her to see the goddess’s words, but it was clear, from the foreign, prodding sensation, that the divine was refusing to leave her alone.

It was only a mild disturbance at first, but it grew more aggravating with time. She was bothered by the time she dragged herself over to her mitten, bothered to annoyed as she started washing it, and annoyed to insane by the time it stopped smelling of filth.

Log Entry 1082
Detect Vector Magic has reached level 12.

The entry was the final nail in the coffin. Hearing the Goddess’ voice again led the rogue to shout as she smacked a fist into the nearest burning hot wall.

“Fine! You can have a stupid prayer! Just shut up and leave me alone!”

Log Entry 1083
You have received a divine revelation: (𓁹󠁘◡𓁹)

“I just want you to know, Box, I really, really hate you.” Claire grumbled as she double-checked her belongings for a potential offering. Nothing she had on hand was of any value. Her weapons were makeshift and her clothes were full of holes. “You know what? Maybe that’s good enough for an annoying goddess like her.”

Laying her bloodstained cloak down in front of her, Claire sat down on her knees, closed her eyes, and clasped her hands together in her lap. It was a traditional posture adopted by Cadrian priests and ritual mages from all walks of life, a symbol of reverence expressed with her body alone.

“O goddess of the eternal flow, the almighty shepherd of souls and the fairest in all seven realms. I offer to you a warrior’s pride, a garment crafted by my own two hands and soaked in the blood of my foes. May you accept it and continue to grant me your grace.”

The words were blatantly dressed up and ingenuine, but they were accepted nonetheless. Her offering was gone by the time she opened her eyes, taken by the realm above.

“Now leave me alone,” grumbled the halfbreed.

Log Entry 1084
Marish has reached level 19.

The goddess’ voice echoed in her mind the moment she finished complaining, almost as if to spite her. She was so annoyed she nearly threw a tantrum, but suppressed the urge by biting her lip. The goddess would only be happy if she reacted in any which way.

* * *

The next leg of her journey was spent aimlessly wandering around the stratum in search of a tenable exit. The escape routes themselves were common; ladders could be seen all over, but she steered clear of ascending them. They were difficult to climb, unsanitary, and even risky. If the borroks were anything like her father, they surely would have stationed guards at every hole so that she could be executed as soon as she was found.

It was only as her body grew weak and lethargic that she recalled her empty stomach. She had burnt a lot of energy, fought a lot of foes, and her last meal had barely gone down.

Opening up Llystletein Authority, she quickly settled on summoning a serving of Barbearian Stew. Her hands moved automatically as the option was selected. They were held in front of her while a tray spawned on top of them. It came with a large porcelain bowl, filled with steaming hot meat and potatoes, but no spoons or other utensils.

“How does this even work?” she muttered, as the dish’s herbal scent reached her nose. “I’ve never heard of magic like this.”

“We may very well have known if you paid more attention during your classes,” said Shoulderhorse.

“Why didn’t you do it then?” asked Claire.

“Oh, my dear friend. You know that is simply impossible. I had my hands full just eating and sleeping. Even as beautiful and wise as I am, I could not have possibly paid Allegra any attention.”

Claire rolled her eyes and turned to her other shoulder, where she found a serpent awkwardly averting its gaze.

“Don’t look at me,” said the danger noodle. “I’m deaf.”

“I’m sure you are. Now go away before I put all my points into strength.”

“Now that’s just unreasonable.” The snake hissed. “I’m innocent. I just want to kill things.”

“And I am only present because I would like to consume the stew. I would also not mind the vicarious experience of having you eat it in my stead,” whickered the horse.

Ignoring both imaginary imbeciles, Claire looked back toward her points and heaved a sigh. She had no idea where she was supposed to put them. The more she thought about each attribute, the more important it seemed. She wouldn’t have struggled as much with the two-tailed borrok’s speed if she had more agility and an increase in her dexterity would have eased the handling of its technique. Likewise, investing in brute force was always an option. She wouldn’t have needed as many hits with more strength, and she was well aware that particularly powerful blows were capable of crippling her foes.

“I might as well put a few points in each.”

“Anything but that,” said Shouldersnake with a groan. “We need to specialize.”

“What does it matter to you? I thought you said you just wanted to kill things.”

“Yes, but it’ll be easier to kill things if you don’t mess up your stats.”

“Do be a dear and listen to her, Claire. She may not be as intelligent as I, but she is often correct when it comes to things like these,” agreed Shoulderhorse.

The halfbreed spent a few moments looking between her shoulders. “Fine,” she sighed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Put it all in agility and dexterity,” said Shouldersnake.

“Or spirit,” said Shoulderhorse.

“Can it, Pony. You’re the only one that gets anything from spirit.”

“Why not strength?” asked Claire. “It’ll help me stab things in the face.”

“Why settle for stabbing something once when you can stab it five times fast?”

Claire paused for a moment to flick her tongue. “That does seem better.” Her one-hundred-and-fifty free points vanished as the words left her mouth. She dumped just over a hundred into agility and split the rest between dexterity and vitality. It was clearly a skewed investment, but not one made without reason.

Her agility was boosted to the two-fifty breakpoint, the results of which were immediately apparent. Lightly jabbing at the air with her function hand, the halfbreed confirmed that she was several times faster than she was just the previous night. The speed came alongside a minor loss of control, but she hardly cared. Her hands only felt clumsier when she moved them around at their new top speed.

“There, happy?”

“Very.” The snake hissed as it bobbed its head up and down.

“Shelve that thought, it is time to eat. I cannot fathom how you have managed to ignore your meal when you have hardly eaten a scrap in hours.”

Nodding, Claire turned towards her dish and inspected it with a flick of the tongue. Its scent was herbal, as she had noted with her nose, and she could practically taste the tomatoes used in its sauce. Bringing it to her lips, however, left the halfbreed with a mouthful of disappointment.

The pleasant aroma was not present in its flavour, the complexity of which simply did not exist. The flesh itself was tough and gamey, and the root vegetables had somehow failed to soak up any of the juices and oils that otherwise filled the bowl.

“I can’t believe I wasted five hundred mana on this.” Claire grumbled under her breath and set the pointless concoction on the ground beside her.

“Your tastebuds must be broken. Please, allow me. Such good food does not deserve to be put to waste.”

Shoulderhorse stepped forward with its head held high and its dark brown eyes glimmering with excitement. Loud wheezes left its throat, each louder and heavier than the last.

Claire glanced at her remaining MP before crossing her arms. “You know what? Fine.”

One spell later, the imaginary mutant was made real. Like its serpentine counterpart, the equine spirit came alongside the burden that was its creed, inspiring in the back of her mind an exaggerated dose of gluttony, vanity, and sloth. She felt like it was her god-given right to stand above others, to show off her beautiful ears as she indulged the pleasures that came with food and inaction. She was almost tempted to take another bite of the rancid soup, but Shoulderhorse beat her to the punch.

The gourmand made a beeline for the plate the moment it phased into existence. It dashed to one of the platter’s far ends, running across the air as if it were nothing but more solid ground, before opening its mouth and putting its lungs to work. Everything was inhaled in a single breath. Not even the dinnerware was spared; the ceramic container and the metal board were absorbed alongside the stew.

It was an unbelievable sight, regardless of the magic involved. Unlike the snake, who could easily shrink and grow on a whim, Shoulderhorse was tiny enough to comfortably sit in the palm of Claire’s hand. It did have a rather strange set of proportions, but the size of the phantom equine’s mouth suggested that it shouldn’t have been possible for it to ingest even half a bowl, let alone it and everything else.

“Delicious, absolutely delectable,” sang the tiny black hole. “All these years, I was bound to suffer as I watched from over your shoulder. But now, with a body of my own, I am free to eat all there is!”

“It was disgusting,” groaned Claire. Her throat itched with the urge to vomit. She had tasted everything that the pony had ingested; it felt like it had been forced right down her throat.

“You are simply just too picky.”

“Sure. Whatever you say.”

Claire rolled her eyes as she dismissed the overeater—who had started drinking from a pool of magma for reasons unknown—and got to her feet.

Log Entry 1085
You have unlocked the Basic Fire Resistance skill.

The halfbreed slowly turned her head between the smug pony and the half-empty puddle to her right before raising a hand to her face and kneading the bridge of her nose.

“Really? Now? And not when I literally buried my hands in lava?” She breathed a sigh and slowly, reluctantly popped open the skill’s description.

Basic Fire Resistance
Congratulations. You have learned that fire is hot. This skill will aid you in avoiding harm should you continue to abuse your body. Please be aware that while the defences provided by this skill are formidable, touching lava remains injudicious under any circumstances. The pursuit of common sense is advised.

“Shut up, Box. No one asked you.” Shaking her head, Claire bit her bottom lip and continued on her way.

Her annoyance was quickly replaced with curiosity as she wandered about. For a sewer system, the lavacombs were awfully devoid of monsters. Even back home, where there was technology aplenty, the underground waterways were flooded with all sorts of dangerous pests. Their unsanitary conditions provided the perfect nesting grounds for giant rodents, slimes, and many other incarnations of filth.

By contrast, Borrok Peak’s sewers were empty, devoid of both excrement and the life it attracted. Anything discarded was incinerated the moment it reached the pipe’s bottom. The environment served as the perfect disposal system, so long as the people inhabiting it didn’t mind the constant threat of a society-ending eruption.

It was as she contemplated such an eventuality that the halfbreed finally happened upon a landmark—an exceptionally large pit with the pipes above it sealed. Their ladders were still present, but not fully intact. Some looked partially melted, while others seemed to have been torn by some sort of heavy object or force. Whatever the case, the remaining rungs ran no more than halfway down the chamber.

“Who dares intrude upon my domain?”

A deep booming voice called out to her as she approached the pit, accompanied soon after by the swelling of magma. Molten rock was raised and pushed aside as a creature with an absolutely massive frame rose from within the fire. It was at least fifty meters long and perhaps half that across. Flames were plastered all over its face, covering its visage with a repeating multilayered pattern akin to a spider’s web. Its ovular head was decorated with a large mouth that spanned its entire length, a gaping maw that could easily swallow a building in one bite.

Right beneath its face were a pair of wide paddles attached to a body that gradually thinned from head to tail. Two large eyes sat on each side of its skull, tiny when compared to its frame, but large enough for her to think her weapons inert.

The creature was a cetacean, a titanic whale made from crystalized volcanic discharge. And it wasn’t alone. The giant was accompanied by dozens of dolphins, each of which had taken to the air after rising from the magmatic banks.

A blink and a half was all it had taken for the rogue to spin around and scamper away. She had no way of dealing with it. Giant slaying was far beyond the realm of her expertise, and not even the borrok warriors had been able to inflict any meaningful harm upon its servants.

But even with her speed bolstered by her recent investment, the halfbreed was unable to flee. A wall of magma stopped her in her tracks. The lava within the honeycombs rose and gathered to form a bastion that spanned the length of the subterranean space. Its height was equally as impressive. The wall nearly reached the ceiling, leaving only the tiniest of gaps between the roof and its apex.

“Don’t run, little one. Face me and explain yourself.”

Taking a deep breath, Claire set her expression to neutral and slowly turned around. “I’m just passing through.”

“You know this is sacred ground, borrok. I will execute you unless you are here to return my staff.”

The whale crafted several spears of flame, each thick enough to split the halfbreed in two. They were suspended in the air behind it, unmoving but poised to strike, like a set of arrows nocked against a giant, invisible bow.

“I’m not a borrok,” said Claire, as she contemplated the stupidity of a sacred cesspool.

“You’re not?” The whale turned its head on the side and focused a pair of eyes on her. It had to squint for a good few moments before finally shifting back to its previous position. “How strange. Your frame reminds me of their ascendants and you reek of their blood, but it is as you say, you are not one of their members.” The clear displeasure in its voice had been replaced with curiosity and suspicion. “Name yourself, little one. And explain your presence.”

“I am Claire Aug—” The halfbreed caught herself mid-sentence, let go of her skirt, and returned her trembling hands to her sides. “I’m Claire. Just Claire,” she said. “And I’m here to kill borroks.”

The whale raised a brow and looked at her again before breaking into a series of booming cackles.

“You? Kill borroks?” The cave shook as it laughed. Tiny pieces of dirt and stone fell from the ceiling. Every violent rumble unsettled a ladder, with some of their rungs snapping and falling into the pits below. “Ridiculous!”

The gargoyle’s flaming spears faded as it huffed and wheezed. Its tail emerged from beneath the lava’s surface with an uncontrollable shake and smashed the paths in its way. Flopping up and down, the rear flipper created a series of massive waves, blasts of flaming stone that decimated the pipes behind it. Even the dolphins were busting their guts; the subterranean space was filled with their high-pitched demonic screeches.

“I’ve seen more powerful assassins try and fail.” The cete raised a fin to its face and wiped away its molten tears. “You stand no chance against the borroks. You’ll be swarmed and eaten in a matter of minutes. Give up and go home, little one.”

“We’ll see about that,” she muttered. “Tell me where the sentinel is and I’ll pro—”

“The sentinel? The sentinel!? You want to kill the sentinel?” The whale cut her off by breaking into another unrestrained fit of laughter. “Now that is a sight I would like to see.” He drummed the front of his belly with his flippers as he continued to chortle.

She lowered her gaze, but she refrained from clenching her fists or grinding her teeth. Taking a breath, she crossed her arms, looked up at the magmatic cetacean and spoke in a perfectly neutral tone.

“Who are you?”

“I am the lord of the mountain, the spirit that governs this land,” said the whale. “And this is my abode.”

“And you’re aware that you live under their toilets?”

“Yes, I am.”

Accompanying the low growl was a rumble. The earth shook and the already glowing creature turned an even brighter red.

“Then tell me where the important ones are. I kill them, your home stops being a cesspit, everybody wins.”

“You really think you have a chance?” The molten rocks receded as the whale started to laugh again. “Not even I can kill the ascended borroks lest they step foot in my domain, and I have been trying for years,” he said, between half-stifled giggles, “a tiny, flimsy thing like you is not going to get anything done.”

“You don’t lose anything if I die,” said Claire. There was a faint tremble in her voice, but it was gone by the time she raised it again. “The sooner you tell me where to go and how to get there safely, the sooner I get out of your face.”

“Very true.” The spirit’s chuckling slowed, grinding to a halt after one final fit. “Fine, I will have one of the lesser spirits show you to the ascended borroks. If you happen to live long enough to find the Staff of True Ice, and you somehow orchestrate a miraculous escape, return it to me and I will reward you handsomely.”

The halfbreed looked towards the obsidian dolphin flying her way and greeted it with a light nod as she contemplated her approach to the named staff’s destruction.

“This is Herk,” said the mountain. “He will show you the way.”

“We’ll start with the corruptor,” said Herk. His voice was oddly high-pitched, but not effeminine. He was so squeaky that she suspected he was secretly a mouse. “It’s the easiest ascendant to find.”

“I don’t need to kill the corruptor.”

“You will, if you want to stand a chance against the sentinel.”

There was a moment of silence as the halfbreed narrowed her eyes and shifted her glare towards the lesser spirit’s master. “Fine.”

The message was clear. The corruptor was the one that bore their staff.

She wasn’t happy to be made a pawn, but experience was experience, and an ascended borrok was surely worth plenty.