Claire made a mad dash down the hall as the borrok succumbed to her poison. With the corruptor’s explosion so imminent, it was certainly a wise decision, albeit not one that could keep her from harm.

The detonation’s roar came hand in hand with a sudden sharp pain. Blood dribbled from her lips as her broken hands shot to her equally broken chest. There was a foreign object struck between her ribs—a familiar chunk of ice, covered in a mix of red and yellow. Its molten shaft had been disintegrated by the explosion that propelled it, but the shard, the serrated catalyst, was fully intact.

Log Entry 1113
You have been afflicted with frostblight. Your health regeneration has been reduced from 266/hour to -234/hour.

Falling to her knees, she pressed her hands against the wound and wheezed. With each cough came a glob of half-congealed blood, some of which were accompanied by bits and pieces of bone. The aching pain was constant, but she wasn’t worried. The goddess had already started to speak.

Log Entry 1114
You have slain a level 62 Borrok Rotblood.

You have been awarded the following first-kill bonus:
- 14 points of agility
- 9 points of conjuring
- 7 points of dexterity
- 15 points of spirit
- 5 points of strength
- 9 points of vitality

Log Entry 1115
You have leveled up. Your health and mana have been restored, but cleansing all harmful status effects has ended in failure. This process will be attempted again following a purge of the foreign entity embedded within your body.

Your racial class, Halfbreed, has reached level 44.

Your primary class, Llystletein Rogue, has reached level 50 and qualified for evolution.

Your secondary class, Llystletein Vector Mage, has reached level 32.

You have gained 38 ability points.

Log Entry 1116
An attempt to purge the foreign entity embedded within your body has ended in failure. The Shard of True Ice has not been destroyed. Please stand by as the process is repeated.

“Uhhhmmm…”

Log Entry 1117
An attempt to purge the foreign entity embedded within your body has ended in failure. The Shard of True Ice cannot be destroyed. You will continue to be afflicted by frostblight.

“Okay. Now I’m worried.”

At the rate things were going, her health would tick down in just a few hours. Killing things would buy her a bit of time, but she doubted that she would be able to sustain it indefinitely. She was going to need to sleep at some point, and with her status as it was, even a brief snooze was likely to spell her doom.

Pushing her cloak aside and taking a closer look left Claire wide-eyed and shuddering. The catalyst had fused with her flesh. Looking through its clear blue frame, she found her own insides visible and exposed. She could see her magic circuits, her muscles, her veins, and her own pulsing heart. She could even see the damage that the foreign entity was inflicting. It was freezing her flesh and blood, creating tiny crystals in everything it touched.

Taking her eyes off her chest, the halfbreed poured all her points into vitality and gathered her things. Boosting the stat extended her death timer, but she remained stricken with concern. The clock was still ticking, and any damage she took would only speed it up. Still, the investment was a welcome addition; a tiny safety net was better than none at all.

Once that was out of the way, she returned her eyes to her status sheet and inspected her freshly capped class. There were three evolutions available, none of which were particularly familiar.

Assassin of the Lost Library
To be an assassin is to dwell within the dark fringes of society and live a life of isolation. Assassins are especially skilled at dealing with targets that are unaware or underprepared. Their skills emphasize remaining silent and deadly, making it in and out without a trace. The Lost Library’s students are particularly potent, capable of manipulating the shadows themselves. Many Assassins struggle to form social connections and thus suffer from chronic loneliness, the symptoms of which often manifest as nightly delusions and imaginary friends.

The shadowmancy suggested by the description was certainly tempting, but assassination was a concept that barely garnered her interest.

Llystletein Bloodthief
Llystletein Bloodthieves are degenerates that derive pleasure from the thrill of combat. Feeding off the lives of others, they deliver savage blows that value lethality over grace and efficacy over honour. This class is exclusive to those affected by Llystletein magic. Little is known about the mental states of Llystletein Bloodthieves, courtesy of the low sample size, but all those that have existed have trended towards extremity in perversion. Individuals that lack a sense of shame benefit most from this class’ selection.

It seemed like a half-decent choice, but the supposed lack of grace was off-putting. Lethality was certainly important, but she had no intention of throwing away her pride.

Fleetfoot Venomancer
Venomancers are often defined as individuals capable of providing unconventional solutions to problems that do not require them. They are capable of curing seizures with paralysis, migraines with unconsciousness, and boredom with death. The fleetfoot variant of this class is particularly potent at spreading its concoctions and poisons on the run. But for what they have in speed, they greatly lack in brains. Venomancers suffer permanent mental damage courtesy of the poisons that actively pollute their minds.

Claire tried to cross her arms, as she normally would, only to find herself greeted by her new accessory. She could get the limbs to intersect if she raised or lowered them, but neither position was comfortable enough to warrant adapting.

Log Entry 1126
You have become a Llystletein Bloodthief.

Your dexterity and strength have been increased by 50.

The Manathief skill has evolved into Bloodthief. This ability has been enhanced to both HP and MP. It is also possible to activate this ability through touch and actively drain a target’s resources.

You have acquired Phantom Strike, which allows you to consume 25MP to empower an attack to deal a second instance of damage. This damage targets the enemy’s health pool directly.

Log Entry 1127
Achievement Unlocked - Evolution

You have begun to tap into your true potential. You have become slightly resistant to indigestion.

It had only taken her a moment to make her choice. Fleetfoot Venomancer was disqualified on its premise alone. She was already starting to see the limits that poisons could have; enemies with high vitality could either shrug them off or outright recover in the middle of combat, and not every individual was susceptible to every type of toxin. She could very well find herself at an impasse if she ran into a creature that her skills couldn’t affect.

Between the two more viable choices, Llystletein Bloodthief was the clear winner, and not just because it would eventually provide her with the vitality she needed to neutralize the drain on her health. The assassin class didn’t seem particularly weak per se, but having tried both several times in the past two days, Claire decided that she preferred candid approaches to their clandestine alternatives. Stealth was too easy to mess up and required far too much planning. Stabbing things in the face was far more universal.

Nodding, as if to affirm her decision, the halfbreed stood up with her eyes still on her skills. She was going to need to test them, but exploring the subterranean space led to the conclusion that there was nothing to kill. The borrok’s prisoners had already perished, courtesy of collateral damage.

The only things left to hit were the statues. She doubted that they had any HP, given their silenced hearts, but she approached a frozen watcher and attacked it nonetheless.

The punch broke straight through the glassy barrier and pierced the cyclops’ gut. She could feel the creature’s life force enter through the veil of light blue mana that coated her fingers. The constant ache in her chest quieted for the briefest of moments as she drained the creature of its health and magic at once.

Log Entry 1128
You have slain a level 27 Corrupted Watcher.

A smile crossed her lips as she looked around the room. Individuals incapable of resisting gave minimial experience. But with only five and a half levels to ascension, every tiny sliver was sure to help.

* * *

Claire climbed into the building’s roof after a short bout of exercise. Everything on the premises was dead. The borroks, the statues, and the guards had all been executed, and her new skills had gained a few levels apiece.

She couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction every time she glanced through her status. Rogue’s evolution wasn’t quite an ascension, but as the first class she had ever mastered, it was an important milestone in her growth. It would have been Ritual Mage that took the crown had her life remained on track, but there she was with a completely different class evolved in roughly a week. It was her most impressive achievement, barring the time she had tricked Princess Octavia into drinking from a toilet.

Still gloating, the halfbreed raised her head from the display and gazed upon the lava-lit city. As much as she wanted to dawdle, there wasn’t any time for her to sit around and relax. The levels she had earned by exterminating all the guards had bought her a bit more time, but she needed to keep the blood flowing if she didn’t want to die. She was going to destroy the city. That part was non-negotiable. The only question was that of her approach.

“You have the staff! I sense its power!”

Herk interrupted her thoughts with a screech as he swam down the side of the mountain. The obnoxious spirit was as loud as his flaming core was bright; he was making no effort to keep himself concealed.

“Be quiet.” said the halfbreed with a glare. “Are you trying to get us killed?”

“It doesn’t matter! With the staff’s power, our king will finally be whole again. Our magic will be blessed to overcome their immunity! They’ll drop like flies!”

“I don’t care. Quiet down, or I’ll make you.”

“No need to be so hostile,” said the rock. His eyes ran over her body, eventually settling on her chest. “What happened to the staff? Why is its tip inside of you?”

“Don’t ask me,” said Claire, with a shrug.

The gargoyle paused for a moment, but soon regained his vigour. “It’s not a problem. The shard, the power source, appears to be fully intact. We should still be able to offer it to our king.”

“How are you going to remove it?”

“Painlessly, of course. The lord will perform the operation himself.” The dolphin turned around and lowered his posture as if to offer her a seat. “Now come, let’s return posthaste. We wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

After a moment of deliberation, Claire placed a hand on his dorsal fin.

“I’d rather not.”

And started draining his life.

The true ice was fused with her flesh. Even with a paltry understanding of her own biology, she knew that its removal would not be simple. Surgical precision was needed to avoid any heavy damage, and the giant whale’s poor vision served as a clear indicator that it would not deliver.

“W-what are you doing!?”

“I know you’re lying.”

The flame spirit tried to squirm away, but she grabbed its tail with her other hand. She squeezed, burying her hands into his flesh as she raised him over her shoulders and smashed him into the mansion’s roof.

“What are you planning?” she asked, with her expression perfectly neutral.

“Nothing! I was going to take you to our master so that he could extract it!”

“Tell me the truth.”

“I am!”

The shout did nothing to stay her hand. Again, she picked up the gargoyle and bashed his face against the manor, cracking ice and stone alike. The dolphin’s bottle-shaped nose was squished, crushed into a shape more closely resembling a boar’s. A crack soon ran along his body, exposing both his hollow interior and the thin membrane that floated around his core.

“I know you can’t remove it.” She placed a foot on the cetacean’s head and ground her sole into his temple.

Herk stayed silent for a few seconds before bursting into flame, shaking her off, and taking to the air.

“Fine. I admit it. There’s no helping you.” The flame spirit sneered at her as he reshaped his snout and snapped his jaw back into place. “You’ve merged with the shard. I was worried you were going to absorb it, but you don’t have even the slightest affinity for ice. It’s going to eat at you until you die. It could’ve been painless if you listened to me and let my master consume you, but I won’t be letting you off so easily anymore.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t kill the borrok. You won’t be able to kill me either.”

“I don’t need to. The king will learn of this. Now that he knows you have it, he will hunt you, he will find you, and he will wrench the shard from your charred corpse! There will be no mercy!”

Cackling in his usual shrill tone, the dolphin turned tail and began swimming away. But while he was able to escape her grasp at first, he went from dashing to meandering to moving in the opposite direction as the vectors were layered onto his frame. Before long, the distance between them was returned to zero. He was stuck in the palm of her hand, like a fish at the end of the line.

Turning his head, horrified, the lava-swimmer vomited a projectile, a desperate last-ditch attempt to escape. But that too was proven futile. A swing of the halfbreed’s mace dismantled the flames mid-flight, and a second did the same to the cete’s tail.

Claire bashed open the dolphin’s gut, grabbed his core, and stole his vitality. He flailed about, but was unable to break free. Her thievery disrupted the flow of his magic; he couldn’t piece together any spells, let alone rebuild his frame. He couldn’t even talk. All he could manage, as he was subjected to mystic strangulation, was to tremble with rage and fear.

Log Entry 1262
You have slain a level 24 lesser volcano spirit.

You have been awarded the following first-kill bonus:
- 1 point of conjuring
- 1 point of strength

Claire frowned as she threw the dulled core off the side of the building. She had been wanting to rid herself of the annoyance for quite some time, but following through on the impulse had only left her feeling empty.

Shaking her head, she returned her gaze to the city and sought a place to hunt. Her eyes eventually settled on the arena. If the battleground were anything like the Valencian colosseum, then it would be the perfect place to put her plan into action.

The pyramid was the only other notable alternative, but she wasn’t keen on visiting it just yet. The intricate icy structure looked to be the sort of fancy government facility where all of a society’s higher-ups would gather. And though she had every intention of murdering her targets within the allotted time, it was far from her most pressing concern. The corruptor had almost killed her when she fought it in good health. To challenge a pair of ascendants at once would function as little beyond a show of hubris.

Traversing the settlement proved difficult. It was easy for the monsters to spot her through the translucent walls, and the bloodstains that covered her clothes only made it even easier. Like the ice, the reds and yellows glimmered beneath the light of the stars.

Upon arrival, some thirty minutes and eight silenced wolves later, she found the arena rife with noise. Borroks and their corrupted companions lined the stands, cheering and jeering as they watched the pair in the ring. Both of them were clear outsiders, one an uncorrupted watcher with an icy bow in hand, and the other, a halfling wielding an axe twice his size. It was an interesting bout, but Claire ignored it, taking the opportunity to wander around. The first entrance she found was quickly dismissed. There were three borroks guarding it and no way for her to get past them. Likewise, the second doorway also featured a living bomb that she couldn’t displace. It took finding a third entrance for the halfbreed’s requirements to be met.

She quickly dispatched the non-explosive guards, stabbing and strangling them before tiptoeing down the stairs. She had expected to find a series of fancy chambers. Back home, the fighters were treated as celebrities and given suites so beautiful that even the most pretentious of guests could hardly complain. The service was even better than the aesthetic; anything that a combatant requested was procured immediately, be it food, drinks, harlots, or servants. Even the beasts were treated well. When not in combat, they would be fed and groomed by the best tamers in the nation.

The gladiator pit was a promised land where warriors were made into legends, an illusory paradise where the deserving were showered with praise, and a heavenly utopia where laymen bridged the gap between fantasy and reality.

The space beneath the borroks’ arena, on the other hand, was a hellscape where dreams went to die.

Thick bars of ice lined the sides of the stone corridor. The prisoners locked behind them were huddled in the furthest corners, desperate to make themselves unseen as they whispered their pointless plans. Their schemes would only be overruled. She would make them pawns in hers.

* * *

“Do you think Beck will make it in time?”

Carter looked up from his position in the cell’s darkest corner as he addressed the lady seated near its only door. The pair was being held alongside a pair of strangers. One was a large, unconscious frog, and the other an equally unconscious bear. The anuran had been asleep ever since he was thrown into the cell, whereas the latter’s state was derived from the centaurs’ handiwork. Targg, as the man had called himself, had been a little too lively. He would have been sure to attract a group of guards had Marleena not clobbered him over the head with the butt of her spear.

“Stop being such a coward. You’ll clear your name if you just fight and win.”

The mare snapped at Carter with a glare. Unlike her masculine counterpart, she had no intention of sitting around and awaiting rescue. She knew that Beckard had promised to send a search party if they failed to return, but the mountain was vast and the Paunsean was unaware of their capture.

“I don’t want to fight.”

“Are you really still whining? It’s your fault we’re here in the first place. We could’ve been in and out in half a day if you didn’t decide to open your big fat mouth."

“I’m sorry, Marleena. I didn’t think that they would take us in for somethi—”

“Didn’t think? Of course, you didn’t think. You never think! Next time, stop and use your head before you decide to start telling everyone around us that we managed to sneak in without paying the fee!”

“It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. They didn’t lock us up for it last time.”

The stallion slouched and hung his shoulders. He didn’t think his actions particularly unacceptable. Pvraggdt, the watcher that was their guide, was a skilled smuggler that had never done wrong by them before.

“Last time, they weren’t under attack,” said Marleena, through gritted teeth. “Why would you admit to sneaking past the guard right after they told you he’d been killed? You moron!”

“I just thought it would be better if we cleared our names before they accused us of murder.”

“That’s a terrible idea, you spineless imbecile!”

“Ma’am, please. I’m just trying to b—” Carter froze in the middle of his sentence, his ears twitching.

“Carter?”

“Quiet.” He lifted a finger to his lips. “Something’s coming.”

He closed his eyes as he listened to the footsteps inbound. It wasn’t a borrok or a warrior. The occasional rustling of clothing seemed to indicate that it was something more intelligent. His first guess was that it was the sentinel, back to take another pair into the arena, but he began to doubt the assumption as he opened his eyes and spotted a faint glow.

Borroks didn’t need light to see. That was why they had turned the sunless subspace into their refuge to begin with. Or at least that was the theory commonly proposed.

Carter gulped as the light grew brighter. After another brief moment, the glow’s source finally drew close enough for it to be revealed. The figure it came from was tiny, its bipedal outline was shorter than the horse-man’s even in his seated position.

Seeing its—her—features, the stallion found himself with his mouth open and his breath caught in his throat. He almost couldn’t believe his eyes. The hallucination before him was practically the spitting image of a foreign princess. She had a thin, dainty build, fair, unblemished skin, and a silken bluish-white mane that, even bloodstained and uncombed, left an inexplicable impression of awe.

Her body was glowing with an almost divine light, with the crystalline blade in her chest serving as its primary source. Delicate glimmering scales could be seen peeking out from the cuts in her cloak. But as beautiful, tempting, and almost immoral as they were, the lamella were but an extra. The stallion’s focus had long settled on her head. And not because of her pretty features, nor her stunning cheek scales. It wasn't even her piercing, slit-eyed gaze. Nay, he was staring at the part of her that had taken his breath away.

Her ears.

To merely describe them as shapely was an act of blasphemy that no centaur could possibly let slide. They were, in a word, heavenly. Each had a thick base that grew out into a fine tip, the transition of which was flawlessly uniform—not a single point along the length was any wider than the one before it. The fur decorating them was fluffy and well-maintained, coming in the same bluish-white as her hair. If that was all they were, then they would simply be ideal, but the glowing princess’ went further beyond. Their size, their jaw-dropping size, pushed them into the realm of the divine. From base to tip, they were one and a half times as long as her head was wide, a fantasy that every stallion had dreamed, but none had ever seen fulfilled.

“Carter Plainsrunner, Marleena Morgan.” She called for them. Her voice was soft, frail even.

“Who are you, and how do you know our names?”

Marleena snapped out a response, as she always did, but a momentary quiver had betrayed her nervousness. Unsettling the merchant’s daughter even further was the lack of an answer. The visitor continued to draw near without identifying herself or explaining her presence.

“Leave this place.”

That one line was all she said as she walked right up to the door. One of her hands reached towards the magical icy lock that kept their cage sealed, the lock that not even Marleena’s thousand strength could break. At first, nothing seemed to happen. But after a brief pause, the construct began to disintegrate, leaving not a trace behind as it was sucked into a singular point in space.

“Take the left path. The guards have vacated their posts.”

“Wait, what i—”

Finally coming back to his senses, Carter tried to question the fair maiden’s instructions, but as she looked upon him, he found himself capable of neither speech nor movement. He was stuck in place, seemingly frozen by an overpowering, inexplicable force. Likewise, Marleena stiffened and fell over; she had been subjected to the same mysterious power.

“Go. Now.”

The door flung open on its own accord as she pointed a finger down the hall.

Carter looked towards Marleena as soon as his body unfroze. The party’s decision-maker still seemed a bit nervous, trembling as she turned to match her guard’s gaze. Her weapon still at the ready, she gulped, nodded, and slowly stood up, motioning for him to follow as she cautiously walked to the open door. The pair had expected the mysterious figure to guide them, but she had vanished down the hall before they escaped the cage. Carter tried following her with his ears, but he wasn’t able to track her. She had simply disappeared without a trace, footsteps and all.

* * *

Claire opened the captives’ cages as she passed them by, ordering Shoulderhorse to eat each of their locks in turn. The beasts were slain immediately, but the prisoners she let run free, greeting each with a nod or quick word as she directed them towards the streets.

It was not out of pity or compassion that she released them. She would have executed them just as readily for the raw experience, but undeserved kills granted little, and the victims were more useful with their hearts still beating. Their escape would draw the borroks’ attention; it would be much easier to handle the horde if she was not alone in wreaking havoc.

Log Entry 1263
You have slain a level 18 Barbearian.

It was difficult to determine exactly where on the prisoner-beast spectrum the dungeon’s unique monsters lay. In hindsight, she found that even the borroks were edge cases. They were capable of coherent thought and lived in a community that suggested an understanding of each others’ needs. The corruptor had taken it a step further and proven that he had possessed a strong will, one powerful enough to drive him to attempt her murder at the cost of his life.

Her mother would have liked her to empathize, but she couldn’t. There was no use in pitying her victims. Their purging was but another part of the natural order. If she didn’t take what she was offered, then she could only fail when it came time for her to use her strength—their lives—for her own purposes.

That was what her father had always taught her, and her perpetual mistreatment served as evidence to drive home the point.

Duke Augustus was never one for mercy. The doctrine of violence he perpetuated was one that put power above luxury, merit above justice, and war above peace. He saw no problem with taking whatever it was that he wanted—her mother included. To him, she was loot, a crown jewel pillaged from a nation whose armies and people had been systematically destroyed. That was why he hadn’t cared. About her, or her daughter.

Log Entry 1264
You have slain a level 21 Llystletein Bloodraven.

Claire would likely have met the same fate had Cadria ever fallen. She couldn’t fend for herself or stand her ground as a warrior. Not then, not ever. Even with her newfound prowess, a fresh squire would have her on her back foot. A well-practiced apprentice was likely to have three optimally chosen combat classes to her two haphazard ones. And that alone was enough to make a world of difference, their towering levels only icing on the bloodied cake.

Log Entry 1265
You have slain a level 24 Frost Wolf.

“Stop! Identify yourself!”

A voice pulled her from her thoughts as she approached the final cage. It caught her almost completely off guard; she had been too engrossed in her own mind to hear any footsteps, and she had no idea when and how she had been spotted.

Awaiting her at the end of the tunnel was an ascended borrok. It looked almost exactly the same as the first she encountered, but with larger muscles and a completely different set of equipment. Instead of a cloak, he had a loincloth, and instead of a staff, he had an axe and a sword, both raised and pointed toward the intruder.

“Are you the sentinel?”

Claire reached for her mace as she stepped away from the cell, her eyes torn from the unlucky dwarven man sleeping inside.

The ascended borrok let out a series of high-pitched, barely audible clicks as soon as her hand moved to her weapon. Feet of all shapes and sizes began hammering the ice above as warriors and mages swarmed the underground tunnels. “Yes, I am.” Only when he was backed by an impossibly large mob did he finally answer the question. “And you must be another one of Alfred’s.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” lied the halfbreed. She took a step away from the ascended warrior as she dismissed her lock-eating horse.

“You aren't the first one he’s sent to kill us,” said the bug monkey. “It happens every time things finally start to change for the better.”

Claire didn’t interrupt him, opting instead to blatantly raise a brow as she continued to assess the situation. She didn’t know if the monkeys were adept at reading humanoid expressions, but if the look on her face didn’t get the message across, her silence most certainly did.

“You wouldn’t understand. He treats us like disposable things. He made it possible for us to think, grow, and ascend just so we would be worth more experience. He created us. But in his eyes, our lives have no value.”

The borrok squeezed the words out in a raspy voice. They were weighed down by venom. He was seething with rage, out of control of his emotions, and only half prepared for combat. It was the perfect opportunity. Even if she wasn’t in perfect form.

“So what?” Claire put on the most exaggerated overbearing smirk she could muster as she brushed off the familiar claim. “Your experience is all you’re worth.”

His nostrils flared as he exposed his yellowed teeth and raised his trembling hands. “How dare you?” He spoke again, each word accompanied by its own shallow breath.

“I’ve already exterminated hundreds of you. It won’t take me long to clean up the rest.”

“Kill her!”

He leapt into action with a primal roar, charging at her with both weapons poised to strike. The borroks behind him followed suit and rushed her like the fools they were.

Raising an arm, Claire pulled one of the smaller insectoids forward and reeled it straight into her grasp. The newly acquired shield was pressed straight into the sentinel’s axe. Her living shield’s defences were worthless before the smelted iron edge. Its chitin yielded and crumpled, leaving the blade to cut through its flesh and into her hand.

All according to plan.

She went on the offensive before the sentinel could swing his other weapon and paralyzed him with her eyes. Even with the gaze at full power, she was hardly able to stop him for anything beyond a fraction of a second. More than enough time to squeeze in a sweeping kick to the gut.

The borrok used the force of the blow to retreat, but that too played into her hand. The magical shove that followed sent him flying into a cluster of icy bars. Shouldersnake flew after him, butting him in the head and biting him in the neck.

The serpentine projectile was followed by a diving kick. She continued with her momentum and bashed him in the wrist. When his grip loosened, she seized his axe and drove it into his stomach, just in time for the borrok that he had slain to perform its final act.

His insides were consumed, caught in a burst of acid and blood before his men could so much as react.

The display left his subordinates dazed and confused. Some of them slowed while others backed off, with only a trio of particularly brave warriors still leading the charge. But with her increased speed, they were no match for her. Shouldersnake handled two on its own, while she slashed at the last with the sentinel’s half-melted sword.

She threw them towards their ascended leader as soon as they perished. Subjected to another series of explosions, the dying rotblood found it impossible to resist his own.

The plan was a success, a perfect success that left her smirking in satisfaction. She was finally starting to understand her father. There was hardly anything more enjoyable than forcing a foe to dance in the palm of her hand.

She felt like a god atop the battlefield, an all-seeing embodiment of conquest and victory. And it had only happened because the sentinel was an intelligent being capable of thought and emotion.

It was that same capacity that fueled the borroks’ next decision. A series of loud chirps and hoots later, they resumed their offensive, more fiercely than before. Individuals of all shapes, speeds, and skill levels attacked her with vigour, as if to seek vengeance for their fallen leader.

They tried every tactic they could fathom. They surrounded her with elites, they bombarded her with magic, and they even used their own corpses as fodder, sacrificing themselves midflight to burn her with the weight of their lives. But never did her health drop below a third. Because a swarm of borroks was precisely what she had hoped to face. There was nothing they could do in a narrow corridor where she could face only a few at a time.

She fought off the warriors with her bare hands, deflected the mages’ spells with her enemies’ bodies, and magically redirected the incoming bombs.

After a series of deaths and replacements, the borroks were joined by a horde of the corrupted, but they too proved incapable of turning the tides. Bats were crushed, wolves were strangled, watchers were stabbed, and bears were drained. Without a level-headed ascendant, they were doomed to struggle fruitlessly as she turned the underpass into a tunnel of death.

Each level she gained provided her with stamina anew, stamina she could use against them. But little by little, the endless wave began to take its toll. The amount of time that passed between each milestone grew, and with it followed the time it took for her vigour to be restored. Her attentiveness slipped. She grew noticeably worse at dodging, and her fatality plummeted with every deadly flourish. It was a battle of attrition, and one measly Claire did not an army make.

The moment the halfbreed was finally hit by a spell—an icicle that pierced her straight through the gut—was the moment she decided that enough was enough. Throwing borroks into their allies wasn’t cutting it anymore. They were failing to die en masse. She needed a new strategy. So she abandoned close combat and replaced her serpent with her horse.

As useless and vain as it might have seemed, Shoulderhorse was also a guardian spirit, an entity whose purpose was to serve her in combat. Like Shouldersnake, who could amplify its physical prowess and inject its targets with an endless supply of venom, the pony had exactly two abilities. One was to function as an invisible shield, an imperceptible aegis that could devour any inanimate entity. The other was to regurgitate every non-magical thing it had consumed within the last twenty-four hours in a single messy breath.

And that was exactly what it did.

The four-legged puppet opened its mouth the moment it was summoned and ejected the contents of its stomach. Everything was mingled together. The ceramic shards, the bodies, and the lava had all melded into a single, spherical mass of indescribable matter.

So massive was the orb that it broke the prison’s halls. The dirt and ice did nothing to stop it from being launched at a breakneck pace. Flying like a ball from a cannon, it crushed everything in its path, turning beasts of flesh and blood to lumps of bone and pulp. Its sheer weight and momentum carried it all the way through to the end of the corridor, where it burst into a thousand pieces on contact with the far wall.

Somehow, there were still more enemies inbound. The city’s inhabitants continued to stream into the passage from the hallways that lined it. But Claire didn’t care. Even without looking at her log, even without hearing the goddess’ voice, she knew. She knew that she had finally killed enough. Power welled up from within, flooding her system with wave after wave of euphoria. It was time, and she couldn’t wait.

Using Shoulderhorse to eat the ice beneath her, Claire tunnelled her way deep underground. She didn’t stop descending until there were at least ten meters of rock overhead, a layer more than thick enough to prevent the borroks from breaking through.

Once confident that her location was secure, she blocked the tunnel with the material used in its making and crafted an underground chamber.

Everything was ready.

She was going to ascend.