Micheal has a routine; wake up, check for any missions, buy something to eat from his 'gamer screen', sharpen Shevra, his magical staff that turns into any weapon, and move deeper into tunnels. After this, he would kill all the monsters on the floor, get the loot, dig out a hole, go on the 'gamer store', buy something he can use, level up in that hole, create a ward (the last time he forgot he awoke to a manticore chewing on his arm), and then sleep. Repeat the process the following morning.

He has been repeating this process for days. He lost count a while ago. The floors differed, from the terrain to the monsters that lived there. The higher he goes, the stronger the monsters become. At first, he relished in the fighting, the killing. He loved it when they rushed him. When he stabbed them with swords. Michael once adored the feeling of his muscles burning, screaming in pain as he fought these grotesque beasts. Once, he even liked it when they tore off a limb. He called it his learning process. It made the fights interesting once.

As he entered the dark, dusty plains, Sherva shifted into two white daggers that glistened in the dark. Micheal's silver eyes searched for the dangers. Oddly enough, five monsters were in the plains, all reptilian. All hidden under the tall brown bushes.

"I know you can hear me," the six-year-old boy said aloud as he cautiously stepped forward, deeper into the plains. His eyes flittered as four dagger-like spines leisurely circled him, the grass swaying in the wind, singing a pleasant, disarming melody. "And unless the screen deceives me, you can understand me. I know you are not hungry. I know I am trespassing on your territory but I assure you, You are not my mission. I only wish to exit this place. We do not need to fight. Let me pass,"

A silhouette of a tail danced in the corner of his eyes, which began to glow red. Micheal stayed still. His blades glowed in the darkness. The brown bushes swayed rhythmically, giving away nothing; Michael's screen revealed everything. A small noise escaped his throat as he shifted; one arm raised above his head, the other pointed right at the reptile in front of him, who froze. "It doesn't have to be this way," He said, arms shaking.

A keening sound erupted from its mouth as it rose above the bushes. Its face was elongated and angular; its scales a dark green, and its spine jutted from its back. Its eyes were a harsh yellow. Strong, muscular forearms showed its chipped chest as its mouth opened, revealing sharp yellow teeth. It snarled, its tail aggressively slapping the ground, tearing the bushes from the earth. Michael did not need to observe the creature to know he would not change its mind but he did. He felt a deep sadness within him before he whirled,

Sherva sliced from the beast's chest through its stomach like a hot knife through butter. It screeched in agony as it tumbled before its leader. The others snarled and leaped, and the world devolved into violence. Michael was a whirlwind; slashing and deflecting, giving ground, and punishing the beasts for it by kicking them in their heads. Sherva sang as her dual form cut through scales and muscles, irritating and hurting Michaell's adversaries. The beasts fought admirably, continuously, relentlessly, regardless of their wounds and the blood that flowed and forcibly fed the earth.

Michael's eyes found that of the leader, and his heart clenched. The leader of this group's snout touched its slain lover's and its throat trembled. Its lover had only a speck of life, just enough to rumble "I am sorry," before the light of its eyes dulled. The leader looked at him, its eyes burning and screeched. It echoed throughout the plains and Michael pivoted, Sherva separating his opponent's head from its body. The other reptile turned, its long, sharp, tail darting toward him.

It screeched and fled as he sliced it off. "Sherva," He called, spinning the blades behind his back as it morphed. Its staff form stopped the leader from taking Michael's head off. They collapsed; the leader biting and snapping at his head. Michael had found the leader's neck and the beast gave one last snap before it choked, an icy sword jutting out of his head. With a grunt, he shoved the beast off him and stood; looking at it in pity as it gurgled. "Sherva," He said as he brought the spear down into the beast's heart; his body in the air as it took one last swipe at him. It gurgled, its hand slamming into the earth as it bled. "It did not have to be this way," Michael murmured as more screeches entered the air.

Mission: Kill the Larzkin (2,500)

Reward: 100 EXP per Larzkin killed

Now, the boy thought. You all are my mission.

Away from the cave was an old cottage. Here an old man named Julius and his child Elena. Elena was outside, playing with a majestic but wayward peacock (That giggling as it rubbed her chest with its head and tried to hug the poor thing in turn). Julius smiled and beneath the cottage roofs, he watched from afar, sipping a colorless drink that reminded him of his mother's wine. His eyes widened, as men, women, and children emerged from the forest and made their way towards the cottage.

"Elena!" He bellowed as he dug in his pocket, taking two bracelets out of his pocket as they dashed towards each other; the peacock turning fleeing into the opposite side of the forest as he hurriedly placed the bracelet on her arm. "Keep this on," He instructed and she nodded. Holding her hand, he waited until the group circled them, watching confusingly.

"I smelled them," One murmured.

"Need to get your nose outta grass these are mortals, Tom,"

"I know what I smelt. Not what we're looking for but demigods the same,"

"If I wanted to snack on a mortal I'd just go inna bloody bar and start something,"

"Long way to go for some mortals Tom,"

They murmured their murderous thoughts, and Julius brought Elena closer to him. His eyes flickered; his hand strayed to his belt.

"You will not be eating these two," One announced and the crowd parted, revealing a heavily muscled man and two boys at his side. "One's an old friend, and I see his eyes on the girl. Make yourselves scarce," Armani commanded and the crowd grumbled and dispersed.

"Julius," He greeted, his hand outstretched. Their hands clasped as Julius responded with a soft smile. "Armani,"

"You look older," Armani commented as he looked at the greying man before him, idly remembering when his hair had no grey lines. "You look the same," Julius replied as they stared at each other. A small sigh escaped Armani's mouth as he looked down. "These are my sons, Lyrus and Damien," He introduced, his hands touching each boy as he said their names.

"Elena, my daughter," Julius said in turn as they began their trek to the cottage, the children following behind and beginning their conversation. "Business or pleasure?"

"Business," Armani answered, and Julius' brow creased. "You're here for my daughter?"

"I would never do that to you. Please," Armani said as he held Julius' wrinkled hand. "Let us discuss this inside, privately," Julius nodded slowly and opened the door to his cottage without hesitation.