Chapter 10 – Screwed

  He stumbled back, pain splintering through his skull. But he wasn’t fast enough. Something slammed into his left side like a truck.

  He heard the crack more than felt it. His left arm went numb, hanging useless at his side.

  He spun with the impact, cane flying from his grip as his right hand clenched white-knuckled around the dagger. He slashed out and the blade bit into rough hide. The knife lodged deep, and whatever had hit him tried to shake him off.

  Ashe flailed like a flag in a windstorm—slammed into its body, then into open air, then back again. With every jolt, his head swam and his grip slipped. The dagger began to drag downward through flesh, like it had slid past bone.

  The creature screamed, the sound knifing through his skull, then crashed to the ground. Ashe slid off its back and hit the dirt.

  He waited for the warmth to come, for the healing, but nothing happened. His arm still dangled, useless. And he was without his cane.

  He dropped to his knees and swept the ground, fingers searching for familiar metal. When he heard it clink, he grabbed it, folded it down, and stuffed it into his pocket.

  Only then did the panic hit. He yanked out his phone and ran a shaking finger along the screen.

  “Phew,” he breathed. The phone was still intact.

  Even if he wasn’t.

  He could tell he was underground. The walls were rough stone under his fingertips, damp and uneven. The air was humid and stale, thick with the sour, moldy smell of a flooded basement.

  As the minutes went by, the pain in his arm and ribs grew sharper. Then he heard footsteps behind him, heavy, furious, closing fast.

  Another attack. Pain lanced through his chest in that wrong, distant way.

  It was a gamble, but this time he stopped dead.

  So did the creature.

  Blind like me, he thought. He’d read once that many cave animals hunted by sound and smell instead of sight. He’d just hoped that would be true in portals, too.

  The thing sniffed loudly, like a pig rooting in mud. It crept closer, closer, until Ashe could feel its breath, hot and wet, against his skin.

  He pounced. He threw himself forward and landed on its back. Its hide was caked in dry mud, with a thin layer of wiry hair like a trimmed beard. He drove the knife up into its nose and forced the blade higher.

  He groaned with the effort; it bellowed in pain.

  With a final surge, the creature whipped around. The dull warning-pain flashed through him a heartbeat before impact, but this time he didn’t move. He just clamped down harder.

  It slammed him into the stone wall. His back cracked, stars popping behind his eyes, and he slid off its side.

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  He braced for another hit, another stabbing shock of pain.

  None came.

  Instead, he heard a heavy thud as the creature’s weight hit the ground.

  He pushed off the wall and felt around for his dagger. His fingers had just closed around the handle when the familiar warmth rushed over him, rolling back the worst of the pain. He focused on his left arm, his hand.

  He flexed his fingers. Still sore. Still aching. But working. He had barely taken a step when that wrong pain flared, this time along his hip, sharp and cold.

  He froze. No footsteps. No growls. Nothing but the heavy silence of the cave pressing in around him.

  They’re blind too, he told himself. Sound and smell. Just stay still. Stay quiet.

  That was where he was wrong.

  Something exploded through the cavern wall. Stone and dust blasted into him, pelting his side like a storm of tiny bullets. He tried to turn, but thick arms wrapped around his throat and lifted him off the ground.

  A thin, panicked sound scraped out of him.

  This is it, he thought. This is the end.

  The thought only stayed for a few seconds, but they stretched into forever.

  Then something else moved—no footsteps, just a faint stir of air across his cheek. The grip on his neck spasmed. A wet gurgle rattled behind his ear, and the hands slipped away.

  Ashe crashed to the floor, landing hard on his shoulder. It popped out of place with a sickening jolt. Dislocated, no question. But he was breathing. That was enough.

  “Are you okay?” a voice called, faint but clear from above him.

  He blinked, half convinced he was dreaming.

  “Are you okay?” it repeated.

  He groaned, pain pulsing from his shoulder. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

  A soft, delicate woman’s voice answered, closer now, a hand pressing lightly to his chest. “Do you need a heal or anything?”

  Heal. He only knew one person who could say that and mean it.

  “Annabelle?” he blurted, heart hammering.

  A small hum. “Mhm.”

  Panic and awe crashed together in his chest. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”

  The words slipped out on reflex, that old automatic need not to be a burden. The moment they left his mouth, the pain rushed back in and regret folded over him. His shoulder still hung wrong, the socket empty and throbbing. It hurt like hell.

  But their footsteps soon moved away, fading deeper into the cavern. With every step, a pressure he hadn’t even realized he was carrying evaporated. No questions. No attention. No danger of being recognized.

  He sagged against the wall and reached up with his good hand. When his fingers found his shoulder, his stomach rolled. It was sitting too low, wrong angle, wrong shape.

  He bit down on his tongue until he tasted blood and shoved.

  A wet, disgusting pop echoed through his bones as it slid back into place. The sharp pain ebbed into a throbbing ache.

  He fumbled for his phone, opened his notes, and dictated:

  Note to self – 25 April 2022

  Do not say no to a heal, even if you’re stunned.

  Prepare better. Learn mob reports and tier differences.

  Don’t attempt something you’re not ready for.

  Don’t be a hero.

  He slipped the phone back into his pocket and sat there for a minute, breathing the cold, damp air.

  Then the cave shifted. The air changed pressure; his stomach lurched. The wall behind him vanished and he rolled flat onto his back.

  Concrete under his shoulder. City air in his lungs.

  Footsteps thundered toward him.

  “Dragonspire! How’s it looking?” someone shouted.

  The words stumbled when they realized it wasn’t them standing in the portal’s exit. The crowd’s attention swivelled. He could hear the exact moment Dragonspire arrived—phones lifted, cameras clicked, people surged forward in a stampede of voices and footsteps.

  Perfect distraction for Ashe.

  And yet, a small part of him wilted that no one even thought to ask him anything.

  He shook his head. This was better. Safer.

  He dusted off his clothes as best he could, popped his earbuds back in, and opened his phone.

  “Directions home,” he whispered to the assistant, entering his address.

  As the route started to play, another thought settled in his chest, heavier than before:

  He was done doing this alone. He would have to join the Guild.