Five shuffling skeletons emerged from the fog, armed with a selection of decrepit maces, axes, and swords. One held aloft a glowing green lantern; the light solidified the mist, giving the warriors a burst of speed.

  Sam’s heart began to race, but he felt oddly calm. This was a chance for him to test his skills, to push himself to the limit of what he could do. His mind flashed back to the practice arena, facing down multiple enemies and walking away victorious. He remembered those lessons and shuffled back, looking to find a place where he could force them to group up; ideally, some sort of narrow corridor.

  His ears twitched, and he heard a faint creaking sound from within the mist. It sounded almost like…he dropped his torch and summoned his shield just in time to catch the arrow before it slammed into his face. The shaft parted the mist just enough for him to pick out the archer lingering at the back of the party.

  He glanced at the barbed arrowhead that had managed to puncture all the way through the reinforced wood. The rusted tip glinted in the sputtering light of the torch. That had been too close.

  Six against one wasn't great odds, but he took comfort in knowing that his weapons could kill them and that his strength was well beyond the average warrior at this stage. The group moved as a unit, but he darted away, using the fallen torch as a flaming beacon.

  He kept moving, making sure to position the nearest skeletons between himself and the archer. The one with the lantern—some sort of unholy cleric—was chanting a guttural litany, and the warriors responded with further aggression, their movements becoming smoother and less chaotic.

  Whatever that lantern was, it was strengthening the other skeletons and setting a timer on the fight. Sam clenched his teeth, but his strategy of playing for space and position wasn't going to work. He couldn't let the lantern power them up any further—he needed to go on the offensive.

  The ground shook as he broke into a sprint, making a beeline for the nearest warrior. The zombie raised its mace, but the action was far too slow. Sam hefted his shield and barreled into it, barely slowing as the skeleton burst apart in a flurry of armour and bone. He spun, whipping his spear around, cleaving another skeleton at the waist.

  He continued forward towards the lantern-wielding zombie but found his path blocked by an even larger warrior, who looked far more intact than the rest. It struck at him with a long, curved sword, before retreating behind a towering shield of its own.

  With each passing second, the creature appeared more and more solid, as if the mist were encasing the bones in ethereal flesh. The gaping holes of its eyes shone with a ghastly corpse light, and a haunting moan escaped from where its jawbone hung, suspended by a single strand of rotten flesh.

  Sam had to forcibly stop himself from recoiling as he willed his body forward, trying to find an opening. The skeleton was faster than it had any right to be, and it blocked the worst of his strikes, taking only superficial damage. Its broad shield effectively covered its core, and Sam began to panic as his straightforward technique was unable to break through the rapidly regenerating tank. His initial excitement with the fight was quickly dissolving as his spear clacked ineffectually off armour and bone.

  He was contemplating a desperate gamble to get around the skeleton when suddenly, his left foot refused to move. He yelped, twisting as he recoiled from a strike. He nearly fell, glancing down to see a set of hands wrapped tightly around his boot.

  The skeleton that he’d bisected had crawled over and was holding his leg in an iron grip. To his horror, he saw that even the one that he’d shattered with his shield was beginning to reform—the thick, armoured bones skittering across the floor through the fog.

  He realized that he’d never heard the chime confirming the kills, and the cleric’s light worked quickly to restore their desiccated bodies. The broad skeleton howled and swung its shield in a wide arc, knocking Sam aside. He was forced to twist awkwardly as he fell, desperately trying not to break his ankle in the zombie’s vice-like grip.

  I done fucked up, now. His confidence from the earlier kills had given him a false sense of security. This dungeon was designed for at least two people, possibly more, and his spear lacked the bludgeoning power to overcome the skeletons’ rigid defence. There was no flesh to pierce, no muscle to tear; it felt like he was swimming against the current. There was a real chance he could die here. His heart ratcheted up another notch, and he cried out in desperation.

  Time slowed, the towering skeleton looming over him like a rotting grim reaper. The dancing fire in its eyes crystallized into two points of leering green fire. Werelight burst from the core in its chest, and it brought down its scimitar like a lumberjack cutting wood.

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  Sam didn't have time to think. His shield was pinned beneath him, and his spear was held clumsily at his side—his grip all wrong to parry. He acted on pure instinct, bringing up his hand and summoning his [Warrior’s Side Knife]. The blade appeared the instant before the sword fell, the ringing of metal deafening in the muted quiet of the catacombs.

  The knife held.

  He used the falling sword’s momentum to turn the skeleton aside, causing it to stumble, its groaning limbs creaking like an old oak. He twisted and brought the steel rim of his shield down on the arms of the zombie that grasped his leg, letting out a fierce growl as the bone shattered with a satisfying crunch. His unbound leg kicked out and broke the knee of the towering skeleton, further pushing it off balance and sending it tumbling down beside him.

  He stored the knife and struggled back to his feet at the exact moment his brain registered the twang of a bowstring. The crooked wooden shaft slammed into his left shoulder with a dull thud, sending a bolt of pain running down his arm. The cuirass had lessened the blow, but he could still feel the trickle of warm blood that streamed down his chest.

  He was too stunned to scream, and instead channelled his fear and anger into the bulky skeleton that was clambering to its feet. He brought the butt of his spear down on its chest, driving it straight through the rusty armour. The spectral core flickered but didn't go out, and Sam turned his attention to the cleric.

  The ferrule on the end of the spear caught as he pulled it through the armoured ribcage. He cocked his head, noting the thick metal diamond that ended in a dull spike. His training and skills had drilled the importance of using the whole weapon, but in his panic, he’d overlooked it.

  He dismissed his shield and gripped the spear in both hands like a baseball bat. Barrelling forward, he spun, twisting at the hips and bringing the ferrule to bear.

  The cleric raised the lantern, and the fog congealed, lancing out in a blob of ectoplasmic sludge. Sam charged through the blast, barely slowing as the chilling magic splashed against his chest.

  If it was possible for a skeleton to look surprised—this one did.

  Its head exploded into a cloud of dust and bone fragments as the end of the spear whipped through it. Sam’s shoulder screamed in protest, but he didn't stop, bringing the spear around once again to crush the core. Light burst from it like water from an exploded pipe, and he bellowed in triumph as he rushed past the fifth skeleton, making a beeline for the archer.

  The lantern hit the ground behind him with a loud clunk, and the eerie green light withered and died, leaving only the soldiers’ glowing cores and eyes. They shone like beacons in the mist, and Sam honed in on them like a predator on prey.

  The skeleton didn't have time to notch another arrow before the blunt end of the spear took out its legs and summarily crushed its chest. Sam winced as his right arm took a glancing blow, the zombie he’d bypassed scoring a clumsy hit.

  Without the cleric to guide them, the remaining skeletons devolved into a shambling mess. Even the larger shield-bearing skeleton looked confused—the erratic light in its chest sputtering like a dying candle.

  It was a simple matter to dispatch the rest, utilizing his superior reach to bat weapons aside and crush knees and elbows before finishing the cores with the point of the spear. The first two zombies had only partially reassembled themselves, and the chime of slain enemies became a familiar rhythm.

  In the end, Sam stood alone in the courtyard and raised his spear in triumph. He had the wherewithal not to yell anything too obnoxious; he didn't want to draw any unwanted attention…any more than he already had. A second set of chimes joined the first, and he broke out in a wide smile, hearing multiple skills hitting the next tier.

  He trudged over to a nearby building, noting the tall stone walls and grated windows. They looked similar to mausoleums he’d seen on Earth, only wider, and decidedly less gothic. The blocky, brutalist style was represented everywhere, overlaid with natural patterns of flowers and vines. The contrast was jarring, though it seemed to fit with the little he knew of the stoic var.

  He sat down with a wince and began the arduous process of removing his cuirass, dragging it slowly over the wound in his shoulder. Snapping the arrow was almost as painful as the initial impact. It had lodged just below his collarbone, but luckily hadn't gone all that deep. The armour had negated the worst of the impact, though Sam had to suppress a scream as he ripped this arrow from his flesh.

  He sat there, panting, and pressed a scrap of cloth against the wound, his eyes blankly watching the flames of his torch dance from where he’d dropped it. That had been far, far, too close. If it hadn’t been for his armour and [Apostate], he likely would have been killed by the undead cleric’s attack.

  He could still feel the biting cold of the [Divine Skill] as it struck his chest; the feeling of drowning, of being pulled under by a never-ending sea of mist. He shuddered and pushed the thought aside. He was alive. He'd faced the first real challenge the dungeon had thrown at him, and he’d overcome it. Without a party, without a patron.

  He leaned back and laid his head against the cold stone, widening the screen on his tafla. The battle had been fierce, and while he may be battered and bleeding, the fight hadn't been without its upsides. A series of notifications met him as he reviewed the screen. A wicked grin spread across his face as he tallied his gains.

  Oh yeah, he could work with this.