Beta Read - For a Friend (Feedback wanted) Post 1

Ok - An author I know is trying his hand at all this. Wanted to know if he could get some feedback from people who enjoy it before he tries launching. I'm going to copy/paste like 5k words at a time (over 4-5 posts). If you are willing, give it a read give some feedback!

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Hey everybody, I'm writing my first litRPG/progression fantasy and I'm kind of nervous about it. (And that is an understatement. I am very very nervous.) But I have enough chapters and I think that I could use some beta readers if anybody is interested. Blurb writing is not my strength, but here's what I have so far:

Khalil Anthony, a high school student, finds his life upended when an alien artifact appears before him, a headpiece made out of pure metal. He puts it on and finds himself controlling a powerful suit of armor in another world. He can feel what it feels and see what it sees. When he raises his arm, it raises its arm. When he strokes a tree limb, he can feel it in his metallic fingertips.

A tyrannical race oppresses a once noble people and he is the champion they inadvertently summoned to fight back. Now he finds himself the target of forces beyond his imagination. However, he thinks it's all just a game.

I know, it's not the best. Feel free to make suggestions.

This is my first time incorporating any sort of gameplay mechanics into a story so please, feel free to let me know what you like, what you don't like. I can take it. I'm sure there's plenty of mistakes, typos, and a few continuity errors in there too.

Part Time Legend- Chapter 1: It Starts With a Ritual…

Kalati...kalati... akree, amah, shalaktai...

Kalati...kalati... akree, amah, shalaktai...

In a dark, damp cavern, seven priests chanted in unison. Their voices resonated off the limestone walls and their words weaved between dripping stalactites. Their bodies formed a ring and they engaged in a slow, methodical dance. The ring widened as they stepped, the ring shrank, then it widened again. It oscillated with each stride. Their toes, dragging against the cave floor, left trails of ethereal light. They pivoted on one foot and painted an arc with the other. They created lattices out of luminescence, repeating designs that thrummed with power.

As Naia watched, she could feel the potency emanating from the ritual. The lines, which had been initially faint and quick to dim, were growing brighter and they were lasting longer. The light responded to the priests’ unnerving chant, pulsing to its rhythm. Several people stood by, including her father, Jerell. Nobody spoke, not even to whisper. The dance had to be perfect. The priests had to move not as people, but as machines. Every utterance had to be correct, every movement, precise. Or else it would all fail.

Two statues stood in the middle of the ring. They had a pair of legs, a pair of arms, and a head. Unlike people, they were made of both stone and crystal. And where there should have been eyes, nose, and a mouth, their faces were instead like polished, featureless glass. Where there should have been ears, two gill-like slits with ridges lining them existed instead. They were majestic, powerful-looking and maybe even a bit ethereal. Their arms were held at their sides, elbows slightly bent, palms facing forward and open, fingers spread, as if they were about to welcome somebody into their embrace.

An eighth priest approached, holding two helmets in his hands. Like the statues that stood in the middle of the ritual, they too, were made of stone and crystal. Chanting, the priest approached the statues and put a helmet on each head. Then he joined his brothers in their dance.

Naia looked around the cavern. Everybody looked just as nervous as she felt. After all, this was a lore that had been buried for ages, millennia, even. The stone avatars were unearthed by a local mining operation by accident. Their existence was instantly buried in secrecy for years and the mines; abandoned. The official reason? They had run dry. The real reason? Kelast writings had been etched into stone next to the avatars. Kelast, an ancient script, was also a forbidden one. Very few people were allowed to learn it. Everybody else would be executed if they did.

The Nikral Lords never explained why the language was prohibited. Very few asked. And so, people treated the language as a cursed one. The previous owners of the mines were frightened so much, they would rather abandon it than to continue the mining operations. If the Nikral ever found out, everybody in this room and their families would be killed.

Quillen, the translator, shifted his feet. Like the rest of his people, he resembled a bird that walked on two legs. A few of his feathers stood up and he clicked his beak. He held in his talons an amulet given to him by his father. Naia knew he used it as a good luck charm. He caught her eye before redirecting his attention toward the priests.

The glyph they painted with their feet was now bright enough to illuminate the whole cavern and something new was happening: the helmets were glowing. Their light was dim, so Naia couldn’t be sure what she was seeing at first. But as the ritual continued, lettering materialized on their surfaces, pulsing to the same rhythm as the dance. Naia clenched her hands.

They’ve never come this far, she thought.

She could feel the magic's heartbeat pounding in her chest. The walls of the cavern became insubstantial, motes of light appeared behind them. Naia could feel the stone at her feet, but it was becoming transparent. She felt like she was floating among the stars in the sky. The helmets lifted into the air and began to shake. Lines of lore arose from the lattice in the ground and began to wrap around them. This was it…the moment they had all been waiting for. A bright flash of light blinded everybody and a surge of power crashed against their chests. Reality bent and the helmets vanished. And just like that, it was over. The lattices disappeared, the stars vanished, and the cavern became solid again.

"It is done," one of the priests said.

A few moments of silence followed, but then cheers erupted. Naia hugged her father and then she ran over to hug Quillen. At first, he was taken aback by the gesture, but then he wrapped his wings around her before pushing her away. Affection did not fit his stern character.

"Not so fast," he said. His words, formed in his throat rather than his beak, had a slightly odd hollow inflection. "We will only know if we succeeded if the call is answered. Even then…we do not know whether the champion will be friend or foe."

"Well for now, I say we celebrate!" Jerell said, "The Lords want to bury this lore! A statue not unlike these was unearthed in the west and they killed everybody who knew about it."

"Almost everybody," Quillen corrected.

"The point is…no matter how they try to downplay the rumors, they fear this knowledge. For once…we can fight back. So I say whatever the future may hold, this is a cause for celebration! Slaughter some cave beasts and open the flagons! We eat well tonight for once!"

Later that evening, the Cavernheart, a chamber that was large enough to host an entire army, bustled with celebration. Glowlights hung in chains from the ceiling, fluttering with bioluminescent insects, creating dancing shadows on the walls. The rebels gathered around crude tables made of pallets and crates as steaming cave beasts were placed in the middle. Everybody dug in, ripping out chunks of carapace and bits of meat. Beakers of mead and wine were passed around and soon, the rebels were filled with a rowdy joy.

"Quillen!" A soldier called Rhine said, "The man of the hour! Why are you so quiet?"

"I do not enjoy fettering my mind," he said. Quillen was never one for festivities, so he just sat with his meat and ate in silence.

"But it is because of you we celebrate! So have a drink!" Rhine slid a mug over to the bird man.

"I will pass."

"Oy, Naia!" Rhine said, "You tutored under this bird. Tell us how to break him out of his shell!"

Naia giggled shyly. "I'm afraid you can't. Quillen is set in his ways," she said, "Besides, alcohol is toxic to the Feyaran."

"Oh? I did not know that!" Rhine grabbed the mug and pulled it back, "No drink for you then! So…that ritual, what did it do? How does this help us to fight the Lords?"

"There is no guarantee that it will," Quillen said, "According to the Kelast writings, the avatars are empty vessels. They are imbued with powerful lore, one that the Lords can't control. This is why they fear it. And it is a lore that can only be accessed through the helmets. Whoever wears the helmet controls the avatar."

"Well then…why did we send the helmets away? Why don't we wear them?" Rhine asked.

"Because it's not meant for us," Naia answered, "Right, Quillen?" She had studied the writings alongside him.

Quillen picked up his notes and riffled through the pages. A few stray feathers fell from his arm. "The helmets will only work for somebody beyond our realm. Nothing will happen of one of us tries to put one on."

"Beyond our realm?" Rhine asked.

"That is my closest attempt at a translation. We performed a sending ritual. We do not know how it works, only that the helmets are traveling across multiple realms in search of a champion, somebody who is beyond the Lords' reach and influence. But we do not know who will answer. They could be supportive of our cause, they could be indifferent, or they could be hostile."

"Are you saying we could be summoning somebody who could kill us just as easily as help us?" Rhine seemed aghast.

"That is exactly what I am saying. And so, I will not celebrate until the call is answered and I am certain the champion will not slay us all."

"Then why did we perform it in the first place?!"

"Because we are already dead," Jerell took a seat next to them both, holding a large mug of mead. He lowered his voice. "I just got word that our lovely prince has been captured by the Black Guard. They have finished with the process of renaming him. They call him Merik the Defiler."

Naia and Rhine looked down at the table in shock. When the Lords prosecute a wanted criminal, they give them a title that reflects the severity of their crime. Defiler is one of the worst condemnations one can receive. First, he will be tortured. Then everybody that knew him would either be forced to denounce him or be killed.

"And we," Jerell continued, "are his army of defilers."

"Of course," Quillen said. He did not seem to be surprised. "When do we move? I assume our location is in danger of being compromised."

"Merik does not know where we are, so he cannot reveal our location. And we have already destroyed the echo shards we have been using to communicate with him. But I agree…we will have to move. I already have a place up North in mind. We will begin preparations tomorrow. But tonight…" Jerell stood up and hollered so he could be heard. "Tonight, we celebrate a victory! So fill your guts and drink to your hearts' content!" The rebels cheered.

Naia laughed as she watched the soldiers grow more intoxicated throughout the night. They leapt up onto the tables and began to dance while others cheered. Somebody tapped Naia on her shoulder. She turned around to see Thomin standing there. Though he was one of the soldiery, he was her age and she quite liked him.

"Let's get out of here," he said.

"You don't want to dance?" she asked.

His face gave the answer. Shrugging, she allowed herself to be led from the Cavernheart and into a few winding tunnels. They headed for the surface. The cave opened up like a maw full of stalactites for teeth, yawning at the evening sky. The entrance was heavily guarded of course, so Thomin had to assure the guards they wouldn't wander off. He and Naia took a path that lead to a cliff and they found themselves standing on the side of a mountain. It was on the outskirts of the mountain range, the border of which dropped into foothills.

Blanketing the land in the distance like a carpet was The Wildwood, a forest of perpetual growth. It was a feral forest, which meant it unable to be tamed. Even now, though it was far off, Naia could hear the occasional cracking of wood as the fast-growing vegetation stifled and choked each other. Trees would devour other trees. Beasts that wandered too far in would become lost and ensnared in vines and brambles. Sometimes one could hear some hapless animal screaming for help until it was snuffed out. This forest was supposed to protect the rebels, as it was incredibly difficult to navigate.

"Do you really think those statues will help us fight back against the Nikral?" Thomin asked, chucking a rock over the cliff.

"Just two of them?" Naia asked, "We don't know what they are capable of."

"Two statues, against an entire empire," Thomin said. "Am I the only one who's skeptical? Look at the sky."

Naia looked up. Her ancestors used to be able to see the stars. But now, the sky was perpetually blurred by the Nikral's fog. Light could still make it through during the day and one could make out the sun as it passed through the heavens. But at night, only the moons could be seen. Everything else was blotted out. Naia did not know why the Lords created such a thing, why they would blanket the land in mist. But it was always present, never thinning, never growing thicker. Nobody knew the origin or where it was coming from, but everybody knew it was the Lords' doing.

"How are we supposed to fight that?" he asked.

"Just…have hope?"

"Hope," he grinned, as if he found the idea of hope amusing.

"You've changed, Thomin," Naia said. It had been a year since she last saw him.

"Yeah…I have," he admitted. He had only recently joined this faction of the rebels. Before then, he served with the White Guard, another faction of rebels that got massacred. He did not like to talk about it. When asked, his face would drain of color and he would refuse to speak. "You haven't seen what they can do. One ravager…" He shuddered at a dark memory. "You've heard the tales, haven't you? One ravager is worth a small army?"

"I have."

"They aren't tales," he said. She put her hand on his arm. At first, it seemed like he was going to pull away. But then he took her fingers into his palm and gripped.

"There were two-hundred of us," he said. His voice became soft. "The Lords sent one of those things after us. We were armed. We had cannons, bombs. We had trained spike-hounds. But it tore through everything."

She squeezed his hand tighter.

"I can't sleep," he continued, "Every time I shut my eyes, I see red…just red. I saw my friends killed. It reached into them…its hands just passed into their chests. There was a flash of light…then their backs…they erupted. Painted the walls with their insides. Every time I look at a wall…" He could not continue.

"But you are alive," Naia said.

"They let me live," Thomin countered, "You know how it works. They let survivors live to tell the tale."

"But have you given up?"

"No…no I have not," Thomin said, "I want them all dead."

"Well, the avatars are a start," Naia smiled. He looked at her, fixing her in his sapphire blue eyes. But he could barely manage a slight curling of his lips. "Come, let's go back inside. It's cold out here."

Later that night, Naia had trouble sleeping. Her stomach was full for once and her body tired, but her mind would not let her slumber. She kept thinking of the imagery Thomin painted. Viscera plastered against the walls, people screaming. Frustrated, she sat up, wrapped her blankets around herself, grabbed her lantern and walked out. The caverns reverberated with the rebels' snoring. Some stirred as she passed them by and talked in their sleep. She hid behind a stalactite as a patrol walked by. She didn't think she would get into trouble but still, she did not want to be seen. When the guards passed, she made her way toward the chamber with the avatars in it.

They were exactly how they had been left, vacant faces, and with arms poised as if ready to embrace. They were tall, filled with dignity and majestic. But there was an emptiness in them that unsettled her. Looking into their dark, glassy, featureless faces felt like staring into a void.

"Why are you up, child?"

Naia started, whirled around, and found Quillen staring at her.

"I couldn't sleep."

Quillen stepped forward and approached one of the avatars. He held his hand over it and felt its stone.

"You should not be in this chamber alone," he said, "We do not know who will answer the call. We could be killed on sight."

"Then why are you here, Quillen?" Naia asked.

"My role will be as a mentor and ambassador for the champion who answers. You know this. The lore, from what I understand of it, surpasses language barriers. And so, there is a chance that I can gain its trust before it kills us."

"We are pinning our hopes on an unknown…" Naia said.

"We have no choice. All sorcery belongs to the Lords…all except for this."

"I know…" Naia brushed her hand against the avatar's stone. "You should be proud of yourself, Quillen."

He did not respond to this. The Feyaran, his people, were not known for overt expressions of joy. Quillen was no different. Like most of his kind, he was straitlaced and taciturn.

"You should go back to your bed and try to sleep, Naia."

"Very well…" She dragged her feet back to her bed and closed her eyes. Sleep did not come easily. But eventually, she was able to find it.

In the dead of night, a loud explosion echoed throughout the caverns. Naia yelped in fright and shot upwards. She felt around until her hands found the lantern and gave the knob a turn. Flames ignited to life. As she looked around, she saw others rising from their beds.

"What was that?" somebody asked.

"I don't know…" she said. Both of them waited and listened as more people awakened. There was another explosion, followed by shouting.

"What's going on? Are we under attack?"

Naia stepped outside of the dorm cavern and watched as soldiers ran about. Their shouts were unintelligible, but they were saying something about invaders. It was impossible! There was no way the Lords found them that fast!

"Naia!" somebody shouted. She saw her father running toward her.

"Father, what's going on?" she said. Tears began to fill her eyes when she saw the fear in his face.

"We need to go," he said, "We were duped!"

"What do you mean?!" she demanded.

"All of you," Jerell shouted into the dorm. "Head for the escape tunnels. Grab only the necessities and flee! Skin-rippers are heading our way!" 

Chapter 2: Attack 

Skin-rippers…Naia had never seen one in person. She had only heard the nightmarish tales. They were entities of lore and dead flesh; abominations woven of magic and bone. They killed, then they took the flesh from the bodies of the dead and made it their own. She could hear screams echoing throughout the cavern. Weapons clashed and more explosions shook the passages. Dust fell from the ceiling. Where did they come from and how did they get inside?! It should not have been possible. The Wildwood should have protected them from such things! And there were patrols all around the mine entrances! Did the Nikral lords send them? If so, how did they find them this fast?

"Stop!" Jerell hissed.

He pulled his daughter to the side just as they were about to enter the Cavernheart and drew his hand cannon. At the far end, soldiers fought something in the entrance. Creatures, humanoid but feral, pounced on them, slashing at their faces. Green energy pulsed inside their hollow eyes. The flesh they stripped from their victims floated away and attached itself to their attackers. The more the skin-rippers killed, the more massive they grew. The biggest ones, gross amalgamations of flesh and tissue, lumbered forward, moaning. They wore the faces of the dead on their bodies.

More rebels poured into the chamber and fired their hand cannons. Muzzles flashed and bits of flesh painted the walls. But this only seemed to anger the rippers, who came for them with saliva dripping from their maws. Another volley of flashes cracked and the scent of gunpowder filled the air. A few of the rippers fell and their light died. But more continued to pour in.

"We have to go around," Jerell whispered as he pulled his daughter into a side passage.

"They're dying…" Naia said. Her voice was devoid of emotion.

"There's nothing we can do!" Jerell said, leading her deep into an old mine shaft.

"Where are we going?” Naia asked. “The escape routes are in the other direction!"

"We aren't taking them! You and I need to go with Quillin."

"Jerell!" Somebody shouted. Naia saw one of the priests up ahead, illuminated by a lantern. It was Alof. He waved at Jerell frantically. "Hurry!"

"I am hurrying!" Jerell ran past him.

"You are just in time," the priest said. "We are erecting a ward around these passages to slow the rippers down."

"That will work, Alof?" Jerell asked.

"For a time. But the wards are Lord's lore," Alof said. "It will hold back the mindless husks but the smarter ones will break through."

Jerell took a moment to catch his breath.

"How did they find us?" Alof demanded.

"I don't know…somebody sold us out? That is the only explanation."

"Well we don't have time to speculate. Quillen needs you!" Alof said.

"Yes…" Jerell turned to Naia, who was trying her best not to cry. "Come on…we have to go."

"What about Thomin?" she asked. "What about the others?"

Alof raised his hands in front of him and began to chant. Rocks on the cavern floor rolled away from him as he erected an invisible barrier.

"We can't think about them right now!" Jerell said. "We need to take the avatars and go! That's what they're here for! It has to be!"

Naia was in denial and she kept expecting to wake up. For months they had been safe in this mountain, far away from the Lords' strongholds and citadels. What a foolish sentiment…it was only a matter of time before they were discovered. But even though she heard the sounds of death echoing throughout the stone labyrinths, she kept expecting somebody to shake her awake and comfort her. She grit her teeth. She had to be strong. Father was right, they needed to get the statues out of here.

Quillen was waiting for them, preparing the minecarts for departure. There were four of them on the track attached to each other, poised to go. The mines had fallen into disrepair when the rebels took them over. But their tracks had been restored once excavations went underway.. They had hoped to find more of the stone statues deep within the caverns.

"Jerell!" Quillen shouted, clacking his beak. "Help me load them into the carts!"

He wrapped some ropes around each of the avatars' necks, leaving two ends hanging free from each of the statues. He grabbed one end, Jerell grabbed the other. They both pulled. The avatar tipped over and came crashing to the ground. Then they strained as they dragged it toward the first minecart. It was a bucket cart, which meant that it could tip over to dump its contents. Panting, Jerell let go of his rope, lifted the handle to unlock the bucket and tilted it over so they would have an easier time getting the avatar into the cart.

"Naia, get over here, we're going to need your help!" he demanded. "Quillen and I will pull, you get on your knees and push!"

Quillen and Jerell took each end of the rope and pulled while Naia knelt down and pushed. The avatar was lighter than it should have been. A statue of its size would have normally required five or six men to move and yet, just the three of them were able to slide it. It was still incredibly heavy though. They managed to hoist it into the bucket and turn the bucket upright. Quillen got the next minecart ready while Jerell roped the second statue. They hauled it over and shoved it into the second minecart.

A third explosion rattled the caverns and there came a crashing sound. A few chunks of rock on the ceiling of the shaft came loose and fell onto the tracks, kicking up dust. Naia gagged and coughed as she felt it filling her throat.

"Naia?!" Jerell called.

"I'm fine!" she gasped.

"The tracks are blocked Jerell!" Quillen shouted.

Naia could hear snarling in the passage behind them followed by the crack of hand cannons. Jerell made his way over to Quillen and helped to clear the tracks. Moments later, Alof appeared with a wild look in his eyes.

"They are at the ward!" he shouted.

"Help us!" Jerell snarled.

Naia stood by with her feet frozen to the ground, locked in place by fear. All she could do was watch the three of them carry the chunks of broken ceiling from the track. It was only when her father shouted her name that she broke free of her paralysis and helped. A voice, wet and terrible, echoed from the passage. Its words felt like poison on the flesh.

"How cute…" it rasped. "A ward to stop us…"

The four of them heard the wards Alof had erected pop just as they got the last of the rubble off the track. Naia practically threw herself into the leading cart and loosened the brake. Alof, Quillen and Jerell pushed from behind. Frantic, lustful panting came from the entrance. The rippers were coming for them. Alof chanted something as he pushed. His hands were glowing with energy. Their light bled into the cart.

"Jerell, Quillen, get in!" he panted. "I will hold them off."

"You will die!" Quillen shouted.

"I am aware of that!" Alof seemed to be content with his fate. "Get in the cart and hold on! We do not want to get caught in a death ring."

A "death ring" or a "ring of death" was a lore shared by many powerful lords and creatures. It was not Lord's lore, but rather a naturally occurring, mysterious phenomenon in which a wall of transparent light would appear in a large ring around the entity, trapping those within it. One could not escape unless the entity's prey was dead or until it was dead. If the leader of the skin rippers trapped them in a death ring, they would have no choice but to try and kill it.

Jerell stared at Alof for just a moment, then he hopped into the minecart. Quillen joined him.

"All of you, stay alive…"

Alof let go and the minecart surged with energy. It lurched forward, nearly knocking Quillen and Jerell out. As they raced away down the shaft, propelled by Lord's magic, Naia saw Alof turn toward the mass of shapes running toward him. He was glowing with a yellow theurgy. One of the rippers reared up and came down upon him.

He was immediately enveloped in a bright flash and the tunnel collapsed around him, sealing the passage off. He bought them time, but now the shaft was covered in darkness. Naia felt around in front of the cart. Every lead cart had a lantern with a built-in sparker on the front. She found the tiny crank and gave it a few tugs. The lantern ignited, filling the passage ahead with its warm light.

Jerell did not have time to grieve Alof's sacrifice. The mine carts were still accelerating at a dangerous rate. Keeping his head low so that it would not hit the ceiling, he climbed toward the front cart where his daughter was. Naia could feel the caves' damp wind racing against her face. The cart was rattling beneath her feet. Her father climbed down beside her. When they approached a curve, he pulled on the brake. The tunnel filled with an awful screeching and a shower of sparks trailed behind them. Even with the brake applied, the speed tested the carts' stability and it was only getting faster. Every curve they hit threatened to capsize the whole train.

"Jerell!" Quillen cried out. Jerell did not seem to hear him over the noise. So he climbed over the avatars until he sat in the second cart.

"Jerell!" he repeated, "Take a right at the fork!"

"What?!" Jerell shouted

"Take a right at the fork coming up!"

Jerell shot him a questioning look, but he didn't argue. When the fork appeared in view, he picked up a shovel that had been lying on the bottom of the cart and used it to strike the track switch. The transition jerked the train. The minecarts were never meant to take them at this speed and they were still getting faster. Alof's lore burned bright at the back, leaving a trail of green in the tunnel behind them. They sped past closed off shafts and piles of rubble.

Cave-dwelling critters skittered into their hidey holes and crannies. Quillen would bark directions whenever they came upon a fork and every time, the train jerked. Naia kept expecting a wheel to break off. Jerell tried to pull hard on the brakes, but they were failing. The brake itself was glowing with heat from the friction alone. Some of the wheels were wobbling now, causing the carts to shimmy.

Finally, Alof's magic began to die, but not before they shot out onto a bridge spanning a massive chasm. It was an older track, one that had not been used in years. Its structure groaned in protest, like an old man's aching bones. The lore went out and only the momentum continued to carry them into the expanse. They were slowing down. Finally the train came to a stop in the middle of the bridge. The three of them were panting.

"Why did it stop?" Quillen asked. "The track is sloped. It should not stop."

"I don't know, Hold on," Jerell said. He put his hands around his daughter's face. "Naia, are you all right?"

Her hands gripped the sides of the cart and they refused to let go until he pried her fingers loose. Then she broke down. He took her into his arms and tried to comfort her. Naia's wails echoed throughout the dark cavern.

"Are they all dead?" she sobbed. "Thomin? The others?"

"There will be survivors," Jerell said. "We lost people, but there will be survivors. We are strong. Right? We are strong. You are strong. Listen to me, we can grieve for them later. I need you to be tough like your father, yes?"

Naia tried to swallow her sorrow and terror, but she was still quaking. Jerell turned to Quillen.

"You know this section of the mines better than I do," he said, "Do you know where we are?"

"The old hub," he said, "It is not good for us to stay here. The old tunnels are sealed off, but they stopped using this as a hub because they uncovered patches of glasswort in those shafts.

"I heard about that," Jerell said. He pulled his shirt over his mouth.

"No need for that, Jerell," Quillen said, "It should be safe to breathe. But we should not stay here."

"Then where do we go?"

"There is a fork up ahead. We take a left. There are old explosives in a shack. We should use these to destroy the track."

"But then we'll be trapped," Naia said.

"No. There is a way out," Quillen said. "It will take a few days to reach the surface but I packed rations for a situation like this. And there is a spring that is safe to drink from."

"All right then. Let's get this moving."

Jerell unhooked the lantern and climbed from cart to cart, inspecting the wheels on each one.

"There's our problem," he said when he inspected the third cart from the front. "The axle is bent. The wheel is wedged against the track."

"Can it be fixed?" Naia asked.

"No. Not right now. We have to disconnect it and leave it behind." Jerell said.

"We cannot do that!" Quillen protested. The feathers on his arms puffed up in anger. "We are not leaving any of the artifacts behind!"

"If you have a better idea, speak now!" Jerell snapped. "Otherwise the statue stays."

Quillen had nothing. His feathers settled down and he clicked his beak in frustration.

"We can't let the Nikral get their hands on it," he said.

"Those things aren't working for the Lords," Jerell said, "Did you hear that voice? That was a reaver."

"Are you sure?" Quillen demanded.

"Yes…I would never forget how a reaver's words feel."

Reavers…no wonder its words sounded like poison. Nobody knew why their speech had such a visceral effect on those who heard it. But Naia's father was right, they would never work for the Nikral. They had their own mysterious motives.

"It was well-versed in Lord's lore for a reaver," Quillen argued.

"Some of them are," Jerell carefully stepped out onto the track. "Hold this."

Quillen took the lantern and provided the light so that Jerell could disconnect the third minecart.

"Careful!" Quillen warned, "You do not want to know how far the fall is."

"Pass me a shovel or a bar or something," Jerell said.

He then used the shovel as a pry bar to unhook the carts. The front two began to coast forward until Naia applied the brake. Jerell grabbed Quillen's supplies from the backmost cart and brought it with him. After hopping back in, Naia released the brake and they rolled forward. They came upon the fork Quillen mentioned and an old shack appeared in view. They stopped here. As Quillen said, there were a few charges wrapped in wax and some old fuse hanging in the wall.

"Flash clay," Jerell muttered as he turned one of the charges over in his hand.

"Old recipe. Safe to handle," Quillen said.

The two of them walked back, making sure not to misstep and fall to their deaths. Then they placed the charges just before the fork and wired as much fuse to it as possible.

"Ok," Jerell said. "We light it, then we push as hard as we can to give the cart a boost."

"Wait…" Quillen took a moment to hit the track switch, "I just want to throw them off if they do make it across."

"Ready?" Jerell asked. He opened up the lantern and used its flame to light the fuse. It shot out sparks and sputtered around. He slammed the lantern shut. "Go! Go! Go!"

The two of them pushed hard against the cart, got it going, and pulled themselves on. They climbed over the remaining avatar and ducked into the front cart. There was a loud crack, the entire cavern flashed before their eyes, and a shockwave slapped their clothes. Sounds of crumbled wood and tortured metal filled the cave. 

Naia felt the track below them tremble and sway. The scream froze in her mouth. She thought they were going down. But the swaying stopped. It was too dark to see the carnage behind them, but they didn't need sight to know that the track had crumpled.

After they left the chasm, they followed Quillen's directions until he led them to an old loading station. They got off, walked down the passage until they found some old dorms and a spring. Water poured from the wall and disappeared into a hole in the ground. They decided to break here. Jerell paced back and forth, clenching his teeth in rage.

"A reaver!" he shouted. "A cursed reaver!"

"That would explain why it caught us by surprise," Quillen said.

Reavers were mysterious entities. They preferred to stick to the shadows, away from the Lords' eyes. But they could seemingly appear out of thin air with little warning. Is that how it brought the skin-rippers with it?

"Why would it be here? There were no reports of reaversigns in the area!"

"Do they need a reason?" Quillen asked. "They do what they want, they go where they want as long as they think it's safe and the plundering is good."

Jerell wanted to break something. He was trembling with fury. The two of them talked about their situation, about what their plans were. For now, they would sleep in the old dorms if they could. Jerell would stay up and keep watch.

"We are going to get out of here," he said to Naia, who simply nodded. It was cold in the caves and she had nothing to warm her up. So she spent the night curled up into herself, shivering and weeping. She thought about Thomin and hoped he survived. She wanted him here now.

Jerell stood guard at the loading station. He glared at the stone creation in the mine cart, a black shape glistening in his lantern light. He brushed his hands over it, feeling its rough texture. Then he grabbed a chair he had found, dragged it over, took a seat in it and rested his hand cannon across his lap. 

He kept his eyes glued down the dark passage and listened for any signs of the reaver or the skin-rippers. His eyes became heavy and he had to shake himself in order to stay awake. But the needs of the body could not be staved off forever so eventually, he had no choice but to drift off.

Inside the cart, the avatar lay dormant. Its arms were still held by its side, waiting to embrace somebody.