Murphy nudged himself between Oke and Tim, nestling his aura warm snout into the pocket of greatest pain. He rubbed his snout back and forth, blowing snot into Tim’s side. It dampened the shirt while erasing a section of and strength of the agony.

  Tim breathed and arched his torso to expand his airways and mana channels with the new relief. He pet Murphy’s head and scratched behind his ear. “Thanks, bud.”

  Tim glanced at his vest pocket for Dryfu, then checked his shoulder. Dry? You there?

  Ja Seong is injured, too. He’s taken the worst of it.

  What happened?

  The jewel reacted to the Venom embedded in its cracks. Gantus’s Haunting found you and it sparked. The gas has poisoned Ja Seong. I’m not sure of the extent of the damage. If you’re able and want to come check it out.

  Before his guide finished inviting him, Tim started the gruesome effort of rolling onto Murphy. The aura cloud misting into him smelled of earth and stomach acid, but its blessing squelched the nausea enough to let his chariot mosey him carefully downstairs. Despite Dryfu’s insistence that he might be better off staying in bed, Tim knew that wasn’t how he should respond to his friend in need. He wanted Murphy’s aura and his Healing to help Ja Seong. My poison resistance is there for a reason, too, Dry. Let me help him.

  Your body is already weakened from the spells it cast in your Haunting.

  “My body’s sweet,” Tim groaned, bouncing the syllables on Murphy’s downstairs hitch, then gitty up, hitch… Tim squeezed a hug around the donkey’s chest. I know you turned it on for us like a champ ever since your… Tim stopped himself from thinking ‘defeat,’ instead transformation. Thank you. I know you’re tired.

  The nocturnal insects were still proclaiming dominance from the acres of fields of dormant land to the corners and shadows inside. Tim’s internal clock to what it was down here was a terrible form of jetleg. He guessed the dawn to be hours away still. The humming and click-click-aggghh sound of some kind of funky night lover seemed thicker, more vibrant than when they arrived.

  The venom expelled in the spell reaction has riled them into a frenzy, Dryfu answered.

  Tim checked his MP total in the low fifties, his HP capped at 65% due to “Leveling Fatigue,” “Venom Poison,” and “Haunting Touched.”

  Welcome to Axday, if we’re adopting the Pillar’s calendar. Same as Swordsday, except with new status effects. I’ll spare you the honorific duties assigned on Axday.

  Apprec’.

  Murphy lowered his chin to rest on Tim’s wrist, tucking a hug back before continuing on in his way. A wobble shook his front leg on a down step. Tim had enough. Stop. It weren’t a matter of if he became a farmer, it was when he would start acting like it. He braced a hand on the stairwell wall and carefully lowered his leg.

  A connected river of fade surrounded his leg from the nasty divot atop his foot to the tendril fanning up his thigh. All of it weak to the point of separation. He took the railing and patted Murphy’s back. Go on now.

  Murphy pooped.

  Fricken’ donkey.

  “Sorry,” he replied, as Tim cupped a hand and swooped the aura morsel.

  Fricken’ gross.

  “I don’t feel so hot either, champ. I’ll make you cookies another time, promise.”

  Murphy’s leveling routed more toward potency than convenience. There are ways to redirect some of his aura channels to produce regen boosts through elbow chips and oils combed from his coat. We can help him with that when we have some time.

  “Thank you, both.” With his MP over a hundred, Tim acknowledged the smell, then worked through it, preparing a Healing Spell using the blessing of the poop’s aura. The spell sparked to life with his palm inflamed in supernatural heat and red-orange light brought through Murphy’s influence. It trembled to be contained. I gotcha, I gotcha. Hold your britches. His tripart status defects made controlling the spell akin to shepherding a family of tree frogs. Flickering light erupted in motes of lost aura.

  Keeping the spell at bay cast his head in delirium as he progressed step by careful step to Ja Seong’s… office séance room? A set of four rugs made from animal hides so ugly they had to be ricken. Fanged maws and eyes locked on glassy tombs, frozen in place while Ja Seong squirmed beneath.

  He lay in the center of the room, one arm out and his head digging into it with the moaning of one preparing for a long ride. His body’s sprawled contortion reflected upon its opposition, a broken off scribble in the spell written on the floor.

  A brilliant blue engraving encircled notes scribbled in charts of chicken scratch and mathematical shorthand. Sub-sections indented by emboldened title words drove deeper, fuller blue permeance with every millimeter of fissures cracking lightning bolts in branches of new growth.

  Tim’s low-burn Analyze revealed the progression of power and a semblance of how Ja-Seong corralled it into tunnels indicated as Tim and his familiar’s skills and attributes. Where he wove the seam into alignment with XP storage and the magical unknown of how each body, soul and spirit could evolve once touched by his gift. The Venom stored in Tim’s body ignited in a chain reaction with Venom stitched into the Leveling Jewel like veins of scar tissue from every time it was used to increase Venom based skills and class builds.

  A flash of memory revealed artisans and a white robed nivelador with the wheezing whistle that passed through his third nostril. Compared to the niveladors who’d wielded the jewel since its extraction millennia ago, his essence residue drowned out the rest. His influence had corrupted the core, contributing to its instability and where it overcame Ja-Seong’s best efforts.

  Inside a partial rectangle around an emboldened phrase, unlike the other quarantined perimeters with vibrating blue light, the brightest fissure emanated yellow pulsing light within dirty maroon globs.

  The nivelador’s pencil tip shattered there. A Venom trap of some kind, or merely a victory through attrition warfare—however it happened, ended the leveling spell in that spot. Its aura remnant would also be how Tim fought back.

  He drew Farji and smeared the donkey doo along the flat of the blade. It shone in white light at the absorbing into the gotr, assimilating the Healing spell in a healthy enough depth that Tim had room to pour and blend Draw and Aura Hunt into the tip. Again, the sprites of misfiring spell particles flared in a sloppy but somehow successful charge. His reserves gave him just enough to push the core inside.

  Sword tip to divot, he discharged Draw into the lead, gulping down the Venom in a straw connected to the Leveling Jewel underfoot.

  Beneath Ja-Seong lay a compartment and silk wrapped bed for the Leveling Jewel. Venom intricately hidden within the funhouse of mirrors inside jewel angles had burrowed a tunnel up to Ja Seong’s pencil mid-spell inscription. Tim’s Draw chased the evolution in reverse, right to its source inside the jewel.

  A tremor made him clench an eye. His hand shook. Links of barbed spirit chains twisted down his leg.

  Still, he kept on.

  Ja Seong writhed on the floor in his own battle, reminding Tim of the benefits and responsibility as the one still standing.

  Tim pushed Draw deeper into the jewel. Venom hardened to resist his rooting out of its stronghold. Here’s Johnny!

  A ridged blade of Venom sliced through his Draw and forced him to shoot a Poison Resistance bead down the shute. It splashed into the Venom not far into the tunnel. Tim’s c-mana discharge carried Aura Ward to stick the Venom to the tunnel, then slid Aura Trap under before the Venom blanketed overtop. When it did, Venom squelched and swallowed his spell into its wellspring. Venom slashed out and bit Tim’s palm. Righteous fire! Stitches of buzzing agony shot down his arm, weakening his control on his expended aura.

  Danger Sense read a surge of Venom blasting heat from the jewel and making headway his way. Deeelightful!

  He summoned Indi as soon as his MP reached 90 and he rushed another Aura Trap spell to throw in his pocket. “Hey bud, head on a swivel.”

  He popped Indi into the space between his pounding fists. Cannon shot sent his spirit bud on a beeline for the sword. Indi splat against the flatness with the grace of a stunt double covered in glue, destined to stick this shot on the first try. Tim swung the blade in a maneuver S’Trace taught him, coiling into an upward flip. In the turning of his hips, he timed the pinball of his spell to hit the tip and rebound, restrained in his control to treat the sword like a runway to build speed.

  By the time it clanged on the hilt, he had his back foot planted and balance leaning into the strike. Instead of a slash, he raised the handle and drove it straight down into the divot.

  The spell zipped through the tunnel like Cool Runnings and a jacked-up bobsled team. In the blessed name of John Candy, we ride!

  Venom crusted within the Leveling Jewel in preparation for his. Its burn off when that bobsled cut through shed more memories of the white robed whistler, and partners in crime outing him as Hixel Mur, Nivelador to the Childockians, and apparently the go to for their rogue casting. No wonder she was on the run.

  One memory exposed the triple-bubbled snot wad taking payment from the chieftain in exchange for…

  The world shook, but only from Tim’s perspective of their meeting under the shade of a tree with an unhealthy-looking congestion of trunks and nests of moss-covered hidey holes. Danger Sense pulled him from his spy’s eye to the microscopic angle within the veins of the jewel where Venom had last stung him. His spell banked wide to escape the live-as-an-alley-cat Venom and hit a wall, ricocheting from one hard surface to the next. Time shortened between each head jarring rebound, sending his mind reeling as the back and forth intensified.

  In the last fading moment, he unsheathed the spell’s core of Cleanse, then gassed the four walls of mayhem with a bit of his own.

  His sword kicked out of the divot as though ejected by a jet engine.

  A taste of something earthy entered his mouth, stringy and grainy like dirty grass between his teeth.

  “Enough!” Ja Seong grunted. A puff of dust and speckles of spit flew out in a tiny cloud. His body slackened and he relaxed onto his back, arm resting across his chest as though to reassure the new inhale that all was well. “That’s enough. For today.”

  Tim drew his cleaning cloth over his blade to remove Murphy’s blessed brown residue. He raised it to the nivelador in, well, a ball of shit, and suddenly felt ashamed of his foolishness.

  “Let the jewel cool,” Ja Seong said, and closed his eyes. “The Venom is now silent. I must rest until sundown.” He trembled and gripped a fist in rebellion against the aftershock of pain.

  Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

  Cooling down sounded good to Tim. His MP was spent. His regen, even with his increased Constitution, struggled to percolate up from zero. He’d come to heal the nivelador, but now that man seemed at ease.

  “Do you think I should leave this on his…” Tim wasn’t sure where exactly the nivelador was hurt. Was it purely internal? His hand had swollen fingers…

  “If you’re referring to dookie stains on your sword…” Ja-Seong parted an eye to peer at Tim with his hand in the cookie jar, and started to rise from the floor, “you should toss it far in the other direction.” He waved a hand and turned, chuckling toward his bed, and collapsed onto the stubborn padding and creaking wood.

  Snoring and a sweet whistle of sleep proceeded the dismount in short order.

  Okay… Tim thought and took in the library outside his room. The taste in his mouth was gone, but he wondered how he might tie it to the meeting with the Chieftain.

  By the central windows, a pitcher of iced tea called him to the reading table between two lounge chairs. “Come ‘ere, cats and kittens. Let’s have a drink.”

  He poured some for Dryfu and Murphy, then Oke and himself using the porcelain cups in need of a good dusting. Them and the books could use a polish. Tim took in the library while enjoying a slow indulgence in iced tea. It tasted of dark berries and lemon, and if neither the supply nor his ability to consume knew no end, he would have entertained much longer in its embrace.

  “What do you know of Hixel Mur, Oke?” Tim asked once he came up for air.

  “Childockia’s Nivelador for the past eleven years.” The furry friend twisted his mouth in thought, tucking the long whiskers in suspense. He found more comfort on his haunches and the floor than in the chair, so Murphy climbed on up to the empty seat.

  Tim didn’t stop him. He’d earned a good sitting. “You want a cigar or doober while we’re at it? Scotch on the rocks?”

  Murphy looked him dead in the eye and snorted. Bits of snot sprayed free from his snout in the rumble of skin.

  “Not a friendly sort,” Oke added, “obviously not talking about Murphy, though the timing made Tim laugh. Oke didn’t understand what was funny. Tim shook him off apologetically and he continued, “though I attributed that to his rise in esteem among the Pillar. He was really good at his job, and his willingness to show it found few barriers, even among political enemies.”

  Tim didn’t suffer fools who took bribes, especially when said dealin’ put his friends in trouble. “Did you know the Artisans primarily used him for their rogue leveling?”

  Oke shook his head. “No, though that’s not for lack of seeing the two together. Like I said, he had many eyes and purses willing to part for favors.”

  “Would any of these provide details, or perhaps you know of where he and the Troll Chieftain would have met for that parting of favors?” Tim’s gesture started with the books and parchments before he noticed Oke had stepped into the kitchen. “I saw an unfamiliar tree in the vision. And a taste left behind could be connected to its roots or branches.”

  Dryfu flew to examine the books stacked on the shelves. “We might be able to narrow it down if we can find… the right…” He darted down a row, then another, zipped to the end and then up to the top. The total must surpass a hundred books, yet his guide had a bee in his bonnet—

  “I’m far more impressive a specimen than a bee, you twit.” Dryfu cocked his head ever so slightly, hovering in line with the book Tim knew to be the one he’d been hunting for. Tim recognized the stoic playfulness for what it was.

  “It was the first phrase that came to mind. You know I grew up watching cartoons of flying insects who were far nicer than you.”

  “I don’t care about your fairy tales. Okay, maybe a little. The point is,” Dryfu pointed at the book behind him, his smile barely able to contain his face. “You have someone far more valuable than the caricature on your cereal box.”

  “And what, pray tell, is said… value?” Tim’s woozy head reminded him to maybe speak less until he recovered.

  A throaty hack drew Tim’s attention to Dryfu choking over his cup of tea.

  Are you always in my head?

  Yeah, it’s more pronounced now that we’ve gained those levels. That one… Dryfu laughed, shaking his head then admired Tim at a glance Tim placed among his favorite with his tiny friend.

  “No one should bother recording me verbatim and expect the spectacular.”

  “While I don’t blame you for not choosing Historian as your Priest profession,” Dryfu continued, “That means my work as your honorary guide among the stykillers is to up my reading and relay what I learn while you’re taking care of your various practices.”

  There was a point in Tim’s life where school could have been the rest of his life, and he’d have loved it. Small town college with cozy autumns, a pool for therapy and license to read. “You don’t have to do all of it. Thank you, though. I’ll take the help. I was hoping we could talk about the various improvements and new profession.”

  “Yes, get some food, then we’ll circle back.”

  Tim and Oke grabbed portable portions of breakfast from the kitchen; with Tim’s body stiff as a board and the pull to get a good morning stretch inclined him toward grazing options like nuts, berries and even a little of the spicy spinach Oke pressed into his palm without discussion. Oke was like a furry father from another world; no need to bother with the pretense of spending those early years together, instead, Oke treated him with a silent kindness and assured helpful presence, that the handful of foliage passed like one loving gesture among ten thousand stored in reserve.

  It made him miss his dad. As he chewed down mouthfuls of the food, he recalled the light of compassion and contentment in his dad’s eyes stolen from distant time as memories to bless his now. In his time of need, memories of love filled the space so suddenly empty that its refilling taught him the wisdom of faith and expectation. Hope. His heavenly father had blessed him with many friends and father figures among the transient settings of this strange new world.

  Tim closed his eyes from the sight of Oke lapping water from his bowl and in the darkness, prayed for light.

  Acceptable worship in thanksgiving and reverence calmed Tim’s spirit in the stillness of morning. The insect chatter had fallen asleep at the passing of light through the mirrored caverns set in organized angles along the domed underground farm. God above had gifted wisdom and ability to find a way for light to reach this isolated home. Tangles of gray and black trees formed unkempt fences and invasions across the farmstead fields. Tim cast a Danger Sense ping out in a circle to scan the perimeter of his protection spell for holes caused by the Venom outbreak.

  His return informed him of his fears confirmed. “Dry?”

  The stykiller flipped a page and looked up to his call. “Yeah, there’s a lot here. I agree, we should go tighten up the perimeter.”

  “I meant to ask about the Battleground upgrade and casting that into the Protection spell now that its duration is based on damage taken instead of time.”

  “Yes,” Dryfu nodded in approval of his connecting the dots. “That spell is more useful to combining with your Protection spell.” Dryfu put the book in Murphy’s satchel and flew toward Tim. “Once you’re done with your morning routine, we can work on that. Let’s go, outside.”

  S’Trace’s lessons for mornings included a yoga-tai-chi blend of forms and elongated stretches to loosen the aura around his joints and muscles. As much as he would love to get to work, it was a necessary evil. Once he got the hang of it, S’Trace encouraged Tim to try talking through the correct breathing patterns. With his stomach tucked in abdominal fortitude, his strength issued out from the core, not only as he would normally, but also in an aura regeneration point. His workout improved his regen to a degree. He still felt like bed might be the wisest decision yet wouldn’t leave his party hanging.

  Tim caught Oke up on what he’d learned so far around FFA, moon golems and his search for Gantus so he could free his brother.

  Talk of the trolls he’d met in the Spirit Memory and their enthusiasm to help did not jive with Oke’s experience with the FFA, leaving Tim at odds with how little he knew of their diverse culture. Of course he wouldn’t assume the worst of all of them; he just wondered where to draw the line between ally and enemy. Not all Trolls were hell-bent on revenge, and according to Oke, the FFA was only half of the population of trolls. It stretched beyond their race and borders separating the Pillar nations from the Outer Rim, infiltrating at a grassroots level among every industry and race.

  Oke was no expert on some of the associations’ names and people, and Dryfu picked that up to research some of the letters and historical accounts. Sitting on Murphy’s saddle, he set out a book he said described the Troll pilgrimage from the forest on the Hong Ha Island, Kehmoja. While speed reading pages from a flying posture, turning one by one with the flick of his wing and a gust of wind, Oke caught him up on some surface news.

  Oke relayed how since the assassination of the Wachamia President, which they’re blaming on a tax revolt in Padstoligan, where artisan heroes fell in defense of our nation’s security… since that little tootsie pop of propaganda, the Padstoligan Guard and Crimoan have locked the city and offered a reward for Tim, Chris and any Open Arms citizen to be imprisoned in Hist’s Prison belowground.

  “A small riot ensued, more of a distraction while citizens fled city limits through fivel tunnels. We’re redirecting them safely to Open Arms,” Oke said. “They’re sad to lose their homes, but better to have freedom in a new home than to stay and lose it forever.”

  Tim tried suggesting they might also consider somewhere far away with less of a target on its back, but Oke shooed the thought. “They’re gladder than a rock in the sun to join something right, and thankful to have the chance to return the good deed of you saving their lives. Upwards of fifty families and all, but not counting some of the pets, will have joined the efforts at Open Arms by the time we bring you back.

  “The two kids, Oria and Paiz are reunited with their dad, Corki at your grove to tend the Goso El Sinuous trees while we wait for your brother and friends’ return. Our fivel survivors are staying fluid within our tunnels and stash hovels to keep an eye on the surface, though they could use a rest from the action.”

  At that point, Papa P strolled in through the space between gnarled trees, with Jo floating at his side, as casual as the hum of resonating in the background from critters delighted to partake of the morning insects.

  Seeing his friends, even as wraiths of their former fleshly forms, inspired Tim with hope that he may find more soon, including Jil and his Childockian friends.

  Tim’s analysis of their essence revealed spots of fatigue in growing measure. These nocturnal creatures had spent a great amount for their mission this night. Tim greeted them with a wide smile. “Thank you for your service, friends. What message burdens you?”

  “A mother leth huri laid an army of eggs not far from your farm,” Jo said.

  What’s that, Dry?

  Leth huri—arthropod—think silverfish that hatch the size of a hand and grow to a yard. Possibly more by the sound of it. Now spice it up with piranha fierce bites, twenty miles an hour baseline for straightaway speed, and mining ability as they eat through even abso rock.

  Thanks, Dry. “Thanks Jo and Papa P. We’re going to build up our defenses and then we have a few missions outside the farm. I recently learned the nivelador for Childockia, Hixel Mur, the one Jil is chasing, was involved in the rogue leveling conspiracy. Do either of you know where Hixel might hole up if on the run in this area?”

  They both shook their heads in honest disappointment.

  “That’s okay. We’ll keep looking.” Tim saw he had enough mana to scope out the newest threat. “Mind showing me in the direction of our spider friends?”

  Josim pointed north. “Where the mine and the river bisect the north and west fields.”

  Tim’s strength had recovered enough to try another spell. Before he reinforced their perimeter and weak points along the interior, he ought to take in the new threat.

  He stretched his hand for the spiraling cloud of Danger Sense he’d left to permeate the fields and aura settled inside. One perk to the new helmet he gained was it stored aura and had a cinching effect to prevent leakage, allowing him to gather more and pack it in before hurling it for the wind.

  The arcing spell soared over the fields on a golf ball style arch left of the fairway. Magic Hunt took a mind of its own, charting the course toward an optimal landing. It hit a tree on the riverbank and splashed over a strange silk webbing coating the entrance to a forest. His spell showered trapped animals, some of whom were already food to the hatching monsters. Tim spun up a whirlwind to expand the spell, searching with Magic Hunt for... life essence?

  Frahnk. Tim noticed a familiar life essence or two with him.

  He gathered from the Danger Sense aura in the atmosphere and found the chieftain along with a few other trolls, and Wilqo. They had climbed out of a slippery vertical shaft bottoming out beyond what Tim could search. The leth huri web blocked their escape, and what small sections of openings at the plateau some twenty feet above their mini resting place, predators with a sniff for their lifeblood methodically peeled away web to enlarge a tunnel in.

  Tim spell died there the last particles disintegrating as they reigned over Frahnk.

  Tim’s Party Oversight enabled him to reach the shadestriker’s mind. Hey, Frahnk.

  “Tim. We’re pinned in.”

  I know. You have company creeping in from the forest.

  “I smelled something like that. What are you doing here? Can you help?”

  I’m working on that. I spent my first night at the farmstead and leveled, but a Venom scar tissue vein in the jewel sparked out and now we have company, and Ja-Seong and I are sick. Long story, but in the fight, I saw a memory of the Chief making a deal with Hixel Mur. I’m not sure if it was Kehmoja or if where matters. Tim pressed that Spirit Memory out on a link within the churning chain of their communication, hoping to deliver the taste of the tree in the wind where said deal took place.

  Frahnk’s physical misery from the long journey buoyed under the weight of suspicion confirmed. “That would explain the split in our forces which he said was unexplained. Over half our group seemed to vanish in the first wave. I suspected a Venom spell carried them away, but not because of their treachery.”

  What might that have to do with a deal between Hixel and the Chief?

  “Hixel must be the nivelador the artisans used to execute their rogue leveling down here. Once in their territory, they pulled the tarp to expose their trap. The seven of us are all that’s left.”

  We’re on our way. Sit tight. Tim released the Party Oversight thread, and it slipped away like a snake fleeing fire. Into its hole his Danger Sense went to bleed a slow death, expelling Tim from its clutches and a nauseas state welcomed him back to sobriety and their row among the weeds. He clicked his teeth at Murphy and rose.

  Oke and Dryfu snapped to. Tim whistled for Tonda to wrap up her morning hunt and soon saw her bouncing over underbrush with ease. “We’ll have to tighten the border on our way while managing to save strength to focus on leth huri side of the farm. Dryfu, hit me with that sweet information. You look fit to be tied. Did you find something good?”

  It starts out that way! Dryfu smiled wide as Joker on Halloween, stalling before the next step went off the metaphorical cliff.