Somewhere far below Seventh, Tanner, and Miller, Greg spat towards the tunnel he had been watching for the better part of the day. It was a fairly straight natural tunnel made of rough stone and occasional dripstone pillar.

  Perfect place to set up a safety perimeter, just add a lantern or torch a couple hundred feet away and you could see anything from far away moving towards you. At this point, Greg would have welcomed a Veltid invasion.

  Okay, maybe not an , but just a bit of action to break up the monotony.

  It was all Jon's fault.

  Apply to the expedition he said. It will show commitment and maturity of a leader he said. You will evolve into Commander in no time he said. Because of Jon, Greg had filled out the application for Raid-sized expeditions, but no one had told him a solo adventurer without a party was assigned automatically to watch duties.

  Adventurers with teams were the ones roaming around the camp perimeter, hunting monsters and keeping people safe. Ranking up. Greg spat again towards the dungeon, and leaned back on his stool, carefully balancing himself on two legs.

  He was stuck on an endless loop of being in watch, going back to camp to eat, shit, and sleep only to repeat it all over again. He had no idea what time it was or even what day it was.

  Greg thought as he lifted his "waterskin" to his lips and took a fortifying sip.

  He had been assigned to a mining expedition a month or so back. Nothing fancy, just Steel-rank hardened ore and lesser gems. Basic stuff for smithing and jewelry-making. The actual mining teams were further down the tunnels digging through the walls.

  Occasionally they punctured into new sections of the dungeon and adventurers were sent in to secure the locations. Usually it was just the same tunnel network, but just last year a team had found an untouched dungeon section. That expedition had returned to the city filthy rich.

  Watchmen like Greg were the sorry lot sitting on a stool, staring at the distant lantern lights for movement, just like at the dungeon entrances.

  "Lucky bastards, all of 'em," Greg muttered.

  He took another hefty swig. Being drunk on watch was fineable offense, but small sips here and there wouldn't hurt nobody. Besides, it wasn't like anybody would check on him.

  Weeks of guard duty, and the only time somebody else than his replacement from the next shift had come was an adventurer that had lost his way to the toilet.

  Greg leaned forwards, carefully placing the third leg of his stool to the uneven floor and rested his head on his hand. Slowly moving his eyes away from the light to check the shadows, he heard a familiar whispering inside his head. His Guiding Spirit informed him that he had filled all the requirements for Watchman class. That had been his daily highlight for a week now.

  Of course he had declined every time, but day after day he had thought about it a little bit longer. Each time he wondered for hours if it was a good idea. At least he could rank the class while doing nothing. What rank would that be now if he had accepted the class the first time it was offered?

  Greg thought.

  With some luck, he would gain a Skill resisting mental boredom. He would grind that straight up to Adamantine-rank in no time here.

  Hours crawled onward and Greg continued to think. A dangerous endeavor for a not-so-thinking-man. Maybe Jon had just been pulling his leg? There was that barmaid they both fancied, and Greg being away for weeks would give Jon ample time to grease the wheels. That sneaky little...

  "Huh."

  Was the furthest light just a little bit green? Greg squinted his eyes.

  Yeah it was definitely a little green. Lamp malfunction? Something real to do? Hell yeah! This was the best day since that direrat wandered into his tunnel!

  Greg quickly stood up and checked his gear. Belt and sword, check. Armor was nice and tight, check. Wine— erh, waterskin— little empty, but check.

  "Hello," a soft voice right next to him made him jolt in surprise.

  With a manly, "Agh!" he stumbled forward, tipping his stool, and reached for his sword.

  There was a young woman clad in black leather armor, reinforced with metallic plates made of glimmering silvery metal next to Greg. She had moved in total silence despite her armor and gear.

  He blinked. Was that mithril armor? At her age?

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  She was far too young for an armor like that. Barely in her mid-20s, scrawny, and huge bags under her eyes. Deep black hair cut short in tomboyish style. Her piercing blue eyes seemed to glow in the dark.

  Without the armor she could've just been a random woman he met on a street. Maybe even a street kid, but they were in the dungeon.

  She had to be one of the adventurers, but Greg would definitely have noticed her armor before. Had the second rotation already arrived? Had he missed new arrivals?

  "I... Uhh, didn't hear you coming miss, your Stealth must be pretty high," he joked, filling the silence.

  Actually no, it wasn't silent. She was humming, raising to her toes and falling down again, as if waiting her own turn at a service desk.

  "Yes. I could've just slashed your throat open without you realizing it," she said nonchalantly.

  Greg stared at the woman. Adventurers had at the best of times a dark sense of humour, but that was little too much even for him.

  Greg shivered. There was something in that voice that made his heart fall cold, and he cleared his throat before speaking. "Well— uh, I'm glad you didn't. That would be... eh, pretty bad for me."

  The young woman seemed to perk up on that. "Right? It would be over too fast and then there wouldn't be anybody to play with! It's sooo boring! The others were just too quick— stab and slash, and they fell."

  Greg slowly took a step back towards the long tunnel and the lantern. This one was clearly out of her mind. Too much darkness and tunnels? Dungeon-fever?

  "Miss, why don't we go back to the camp and see if there's some hot food available? Maybe a drink of something strong and a good night's sleep? Yeah?" Greg said, trying to stay calm.

  "No, everybody's dead there," she said in a bored voice. Her face snapped to stare at Greg. "Do you wanna play?"

  Her voice was full of excitement. Her breathing quickened and her pupils dilated. Sharp fangs gleamed in her smile.

  Greg croaked as an answer and drew his sword.

  He didn't even have a chance to take a proper stance before something metallic flashed between him and her.

  A wet thunk and clattering of a dropped sword echoed in the small tunnel. Slowly, Greg turned to watch his arm on the ground, still holding the blade. His gaze moved to his stump. "Oh.”

  There was a far too short moment of blissful serenity before the bleeding started, and the pain hit his mind. He howled in pain and tried to stem the bleeding by compressing the wound. The cut was clean. Impossibly clean, cutting through chainmail, flesh and bone like warm butter.

  Blood dribbled on the floor. It was impossible to cut the bleeding with just a hand.

  "My arm, you bitch!" Greg yelled. So much blood.

  He abandoned his tries of first aid. Greg knew a lot about wounds, and he couldn't fix his arm in time. At least he could die a weapon on his hand— one that was still attached to him— so he fumbled to his dagger with his good arm, nearly dropping it from his blood-slick fingers.

  The woman flickered, and in an instant Greg was slammed to a wall and down to the floor with a series of snaps. He was lifted from his throat back up, against the wall.

  She tsked in displeasure, tilting her head to the side and pouting. Greg saw the blood on her pale face. She kicked his dagger far away.

  "You are like all the others— too to play with. Where is the skill? The exciting exchange of skills and wit? This is what adventurers are nowadays? Pathetic."

  Greg saw what had cut him. A long, dark green tail was slowly wrapping around her leg before flexing open, and raising to point at his head. The tip of the tail was metallic blade covered in fresh and old blood. It resembled drake tails Greg had seen before.

  , he thought groggily.

  The tail slowly slid around him, following his back up to his shoulders. A quick slice later, his breastplate clattered to the floor, its straps cut open.

  She caressed his abdomen and made small noises in admiration while slowly rubbing his pecs. Greg wasn't young and spry anymore, but he had kept himself fairly active with on and off adventuring when he ran low on funds.

  She lifted her eyes to stare Greg deep in his eyes. There was a speckling of green in her iris now, mixing with the cool blue. "Shame there isn't time to get to know each other better. Such a pity."

  She sighed before continuing. "But we can have a little fun, don't we?"

  She winked at Greg while her tail aimed at his stomach, starting to pierce through his skin and flesh. Slowly, purposefully. Painfully.

  He croaked in pain, and with his good hand pounded at the hand holding him up. Her arm didn't even buckle from the hits, and his legs kicked the air until he felt strength leaving his body.

  She giggled as the tail slowly sank deeper. The hot pain started to leak in Greg's body, searing his insides.

  He felt getting weaker. Strength draining from him with every drop. Greg's vision started to fade in and out until all he could see was blackness.

  He jolted awake on the floor.

  Only a fall from his stool during a daring lean, and everything was fine. Maybe a bump to the head, but at least he still had both of his— his arm was next to him on the ground, dutifully holding the sword. Pool of blood was widening around him.

  A potion bottle clattered somewhere in the distance. "Now now there mister, we don't stop playing just because we're a little sleepy now do we?" the woman asked with sing-song voice, and slapped gently Greg on the cheek. “I have more potions to keep you wide awake for this.”

  He whimpered and tried to crawl away. To the light at the end of the tunnel. The stump slammed down, introducing Greg to a new world of pain.

  He grabbed his ruined hand again, screaming in his own blood. There was too much red, and green.

  Looking around, Greg noticed that the dull grey color of the dungeon was indeed turning a green of new summer leaves. He blinked. Something was moving in the distance, right next to the lantern. A mass of movement coming towards them.

  "Aww, you wanna play with my toys?"

  She knelt and raised his head by his hair to look into his eyes. Her pupils were wild, blown wide like plates. There was madness inside.

  She licked his blood off her cheek. "I'm gonna put more holes into you, and you're gonna guess how many you can take before passing out. If you win, you die. If I win, you play with my toys."

  "Please... Don't..." Greg sobbed.

  The tail stabbed him below his ribs.

  "Guess."

  "NO! PLEASE, PLEASE! I don't wanna..."

  The tail flashed and pierced his lungs.

  "GUESS! PLAY THE

  Greg sobbed before answering. "Four."

  With a youthful laughter, she started the game. “Those two jabs don't count, you know.”

  The tail slowly pulled back. His screams echoed through tunnels drowning in green light.