Returning to the cage, Dane felt a white hot rage boil inside his stomach. He was paraded around like a prized animal, and that was something he promised himself he would never go through again. But here he was in a slave camp. At least I don't need to swing a pickaxe, he thought.

  The fires of the camp had died to embers, and most of the slavers had surrendered to drunken sleep. Dane lay still on the packed dirt of his cage. His collar was brittle, and all it would take was one good yank. Then he opened his character sheet and looked at his skill, Exodus.

  He had spent hours watching. The guard rotations looked especially sloppy. A beastman that could pass for human would linger too long at the bonfire before staggering to the next post. They always travelled in two, laughing and mocking each other, leaving a blind spot in the southwest corner of the yard. Torches flickered, casting long shadows that stretched over the cages.

  The cage was made of iron and rusted out in a lot of places. Dane tried to push on the bars, but even with his superhuman strength, they wouldn't move. He chalked it up to some mana infusion.

  Now was the time. He needed to try something before the guards came back. He activated his skill Exodus and directed it at the cage. The metal groaned and creaked under the pressure, and Dane's nose began to spout blood. The skill was meant to remove slave collars, and he was pushing it into something else. Something that it wasn't designed for.

  Dane gritted his teeth. Not enough. Not yet. He whispered to himself in a dry, resolute voice: This time, it bends to my will.

  Exodus responded, flickering like a flame caught in the wind. He poured more of his core into it, channeling pain, frustration, and defiance. Sparks danced along his fingers as a single bar broke free from the rest.

  After the loud clang of the iron slamming to the ground, he heard keys jingle on the Cage master's belt. While most were drunk, the Falcon beastman stayed sharp, and he approached the cage slowly with the cold stare of a predator.

  Dane froze, every nerve on edge, and he slumped into the bars. The timing had to be perfect. He felt the heat of the torch the jailer used on his face. He took long, deep breaths, the kind that signaled slumber. He felt the piercing glare of the bird watching for even a twitch. Then, when he could feel the birds' hot breath on him, he heard a roar of commotion come from one of the bar tents. A fight broke out, and the Jailer ran to police the outburst.

  Dane's eyes shot open, wide and unblinking. This was it. Dane shifted to the side and was barely able to slide out of the cage. He picked up the bar on the ground and headed for the two patrol guards that seemed a little too drunk to stand up, let alone circle the camp. Dane would have to tell them that it was dangerous out here and they should always be alert.

  Dane crept through the shadows, bar in hand, every step placed precisely so he didn't make a noise. The first guard was oblivious to the danger behind him, and he wandered toward the edge of the camp, waving off his comrade, and disappeared into the trees for a moment of privacy. Dane's muscles tightened, and his hand began to sweat.

  He followed silently, the bar held so tightly that Danes' knuckles began to whiten, and the metal began to deform under his grip.

  Once they were alone with only the stars as a witness, Dane struck. In one swift motion, he snapped the man's trachea with a wet, final crunch. The guard crumpled to the ground, life extinguished before he could even call out.

  The second guard's laughter carried faintly back closer to the camp, unaware of his companion's fate. Dane moved quickly, seizing the dagger from the fallen man.

  When the second guard came to investigate, he met the same fate: a swift, silent plunge to the throat, leaving him as motionless as the first. Dane dragged the bodies further into the forest, then stripped the first guard's uniform. It had been a long time since he had clothes that weren't rags. He felt almost human again. He didn't have a sword skill, so instead he took both men's daggers. Why is there never an axe user?

  Moving back toward the main path of the camp. The stolen uniform chafed at his skin. It had been a long time since he wore clothes, let alone something as heavy as scale mail. The daggers clanked at his side as he walked to the cages. The Falcon beastman stood vigil and observed Dane as he approached.

  Dane adjusted his posture, voice calm and steady. "Time for a shift change," he said, letting the words slide out like smoke. The guard's eyes narrowed as he scanned him, doubt curling in the lines of his face. "Passphrase?" the man asked, suspicion sharp as the blade at his hip.

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  Dane paused, letting the silence stretch.

  Then, without warning, a drum sounded and a horn blew.

  "There's an intruder. I'm gonna be needing that passphrase, son." The Falcon said as he gripped his hand around the hilt of his sword.

  During the small conversations, he overheard. Dane couldn't remember a password, so he just threw out the most common word that they all used. "Druid."

  The man swung his sword, and Dane barely dodged, hearing only a whistle and the sound of his hair being cut an inch shorter. Dane leapt backward and drew both daggers. He had very little training to wield two weapons, but something about his new primal flow style clicked with it. It was as natural as breathing, and Dane held one in a standard grip and the other in a reverse grip.

  "Guess I didn't get the password right?" Dane said in a mocking tone.

  "There never was one." The jailer responded as he stepped in smoothly and swung the sword at Dane's left arm. He rolled to the left, and instead of fully coming back to his feet, he felt something snap, and he was stuck.

  He looked down and saw that his leg was caught in a bear trap. Why doesn't that hurt? The man swung wildly again and almost took Dane's head clean off.

  Dane didn't flinch. He raised both daggers, and they bit into the long sword. His leg still had no blood. This fucker is using illusion magic. Knowing it was magic and telling himself that it was were two different things. The falcon rained down blows, and he felt the metal of the twin daggers bend and give way under the relentless assault.

  He couldn't use mana, but that didn't mean he couldn't syphon it, so he pulled at the bear trap illusion. His resource pool was 4400, and he knew that if he pushed it too far, there were probably some consequences that he would have to pay. It ticked up to 7000, and he felt like a water balloon ready to burst. Then his DE flared up, he only had 7 points, but the excess mana stopped cramming into the overfull mana pool and spilled into his DE. It was small, but the 2600 excess mana converted to 3 points of DE.

  With the guard's illusions no longer pinning Dane to the ground, the next blow the guard landed with his sword was deflected, Dane used the momentum to help him roll backward to his feet.

  They circled each other, staring intently at one another. Neither wanted to make a mistake. But Dane noticed that they were very close to the cages.

  Dane's mind raced. His legs ached slightly from the previous rolls, his arms tingled from the savage attacks that bent the daggers. He let the guard press forward, taking the bait, feinting with subtle stabs and spins to force the Falcon toward the cages.

  "Come on," Dane taunted, letting one dagger tip scrape the dirt. "You're not even trying."

  The guard's eyes flashed with irritation, and he lunged with a heavy overhead swing. Dane sidestepped, pivoting so the force carried the man forward. That was exactly where he wanted him. The edge of Zeph's cage came into view, the bar glinting faintly in the torchlight. Dane adjusted his stance, positioning himself so that the jailer would be trapped between the cage and the rest of the camp.

  The guard pulled his sword back again and wound up for another huge overhead chop. The Falcon's eyes widened as the Zeph's talons wrapped around his sword hand, wrenching it upward. Dane didn't hesitate. With a brutal, practiced motion, he drove one dagger into the guard's throat while Zeph held him steady. The man gurgled, then let out a wicked smile, and while clenching his bloody teeth, he said. "Suffer."

  Zeph let go and writhed on the ground. The collar was glowing as it tore at Zeph's throat.

  Exp flooded into Dane, but he didn't have time to bask in the power. He reached through the bars, grasping the slave collar, and used Exodus.

  They both slumped to the ground, exhausted.

  "Why didn't you use that when you went out for your midnight stroll?" Zeph said in a raspy voice.

  "I didn't know how much time I'd have to get a weapon. I don't think we could have taken him unarmed." Dane said, still catching his breath.

  "That's a good point. Dibs on the sword." Zeph said

  Dane grabbed the jailer's keys and opened up the door to Zeph's temporary home. Zeph stepped out and stripped the Falcon. After he was wearing the dead man's armor, he shifted, clearly uncomfortable in the armor that fit perfectly.

  "Your turn, friend," he said quietly, gesturing toward the other cages. Dane nodded, already moving. He went down the row of cages, snapping collars and opening the cells one by one.

  None of the beastmen moved, none even looked up, trapped in the despair the slavers had carved into them. They were hollow, and no matter how hard Dane shook them, they didn't even register he was there. Zeph put a hand on his shoulder. And gave him a regretful look that said leave them.

  Dane's heart clenched, but he pushed the feeling aside. "We don't leave anyone behind," he whispered, mostly to himself.

  "Even if we get them out of here, what are we going to do? March these men and women across the sands and hope that we all make it back to the Beast Tide. The worms and Dune spiders will tear us apart, Dane."

  "We don't leave anyone," Dane said with finality

  The Eagle just nodded his head and started to bring them out of the cages.

  A sweet voice rang out, sharp, demanding: "Stop! The boss requires your presence!" Dane gritted his teeth, getting ready for another fight.

  And there she was. The Fox girl stepped into the dim torchlight, her presence like a knife against the night. Her amber eyes cut straight through Dane and Zeph. A faint poison lingered in the air around her. She sniffed once, then whispered in almost a hiss: "Do you think… You can escape?"

  Dane tightened his grip on the daggers, feeling the leather grips swell. Zeph's wings shifted, talons ready.