Exoskeleton

Jesse

Cayti’s hand is warm in mine, soft enough that it anchors me. The simple contact comforts me more than I’d ever admit aloud. Ahead, the group strolls with unnerving ease, chatting as though danger couldn’t be hiding just beyond the next corner.

Fianna’s in the middle of a story - some nonsense about a monster lurking in the dungeon. Her descriptions clash with any logic: angelic wings, fishlike scales, glowing eyes. A creature out of a fever dream. Nobody believes her, but her words dig into me. If this dungeon follows the same patterns I’ve seen in anime or games… then there should be boss rooms. And those mean monsters far stronger than goblins.

We descend a stairwell slick with moisture and turn left. I’ve been memorising the route without thinking - an old recon habit from long-range patrols with my friends. The thought pierces me like shrapnel. I push it down before the grief can crest. Now is not the time.

A group of goblins bursts out from a side passage. Jira and Bree dismantle them in seconds, steel slicing and twisting like they’ve rehearsed this dance a thousand times. Before I can even take it in, Fianna whirls around, eyes catching Cayti and me still hand-in-hand.

She squeals. Asa nearly drops his staff.

“Ooo! You’re dating now? I knew something was up! Congratulations!”

Cayti and I release each other as though burned, both flushing red. Fianna and Asa turn back, giggling. I risk a glance at Cayti, but the moment has already dissolved, lost in the steady rhythm of footsteps.

We press on, the air thick with stone dust and silence, until the passage opens briefly onto something enormous: a door taller than a house, hewn of stone so heavy it seems the earth itself is holding it shut. Curved, elegant symbols curl across its surface, thrumming faintly with power.

Fianna shakes her head as we move past.
“There’s a boss in there. We don’t need to fight it - there’s another route.”

So there are bosses after all. What are they like? Could they rival the tortoise… or the Guardian of the Wall? My hands itch to shove the door open despite her warning. Instead, I turn away and follow.

We descend again, boots striking echoes from the stone steps. I’ve noticed the smallest changes from level to level: the way rock strata shift, the way echoes ring sharper or duller, the occasional trickle of water following us along the path. The enemies are coming more frequently now too - still manageable, but heavier in number, a tightening coil.

“How far are we going?” I ask.

Fianna glances back.
“Until we’ve hit our quota. Then we’ll turn back.”

I nod, though part of me wants to question the absence of other adventurers. The town outside was overflowing with them, yet here the dungeon feels deserted. Later. I’ll ask Cayti later.

“Hey!” Jari’s voice echoes from ahead. Bree follows close behind him, her blade still dripping goblin blood. “We found something!”

We hurry after them, weaving past fallen bodies, until the passage spills us into a vast circular chamber. The walls ripple with carvings. Symbols. At first, they’re meaningless - abstract lines, unfamiliar designs. But then one freezes me in place.

A triangle. Bold, carved deep. Within it, the universal hazard symbol for explosives.

My chest tightens. I step closer, pulse hammering, scanning the walls again. And the world tilts.

A jet fighter. Carved in stone, wings swept back, unmistakable. Nearby, a biplane straight from the Great War. Siege engines from antiquity. A grenade. A rifle. A flak cannon etched in cruel detail. Even a modern missile.

My heart slams. This isn’t random art. This is knowledge - preserved here, waiting. A diagram of a gas-operated machine gun almost identical to the one slung across my back. A tank etched into rock, angular and brutal.

I stumble back a step. My hands are trembling. I’m not the first. Someone else from Earth came here, carrying weapons. Which means… more could still be out there.

Cayti edges close, concern tightening her voice.
“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She tilts her head so I can whisper without being overheard.
“These carvings… they’re weapons from my world.”

Her eyes widen, breath catching.

Bree has wandered to another section, eyes scanning, and suddenly stiffens. She points, summoning Asa. He squints at a carving, then straightens.
“It’s a holy weapon. Could they be made here?”

Jira lights up, practically bouncing.
“Made here?! Oh, imagine that! If they’re made here, maybe we can get some of our own. Then I can - then I can-”

His excitement shatters into a yelp as the chamber trembles. The carvings quiver like ripples on water.

From the floor’s center, stone grinds against stone. The ground splits, shifts, and something massive begins to rise.

A stone cylinder, about the size of a trash can, grinds upward from the floor before splitting neatly down the middle. The casing halves fall apart, and standing in the middle is, to my shock, a rocket launcher. I recognize the model instantly - old, but reliable. Still in use today. I’ve killed more than a few soldiers who dared raise one of these against Tyur’ma.

Jira edges closer, cautious but curious. My instinct is to grab the weapon, but I freeze - if I handle it too easily, they’ll wonder how I know so much.

He stoops, grunting as he lifts it onto his shoulder.

“It’s a lot heavier than it looks!”

The rocket juts awkwardly from the rear of the tube. He doesn’t notice. Instead, he grips the handles and points the back end at the ground.

“How does this work?”

Fianna shifts uneasily.
“Guys, we’re getting sidetracked. Something feels off. Let’s go.”

Only Bree seems to hear her. Asa steps up beside Jira, eyes gleaming with interest. Cayti and I hang back. She leans in, whispering.

“Is that a weapon from your world?”

I nod, silent. Her gaze lingers, but she doesn’t press.

Jira perks up suddenly, turning toward me.
“Hey! Jesse, you’ve got a holy weapon. Maybe you know how this one works?”

I shake my head - too quick, too firm. A lie, but a necessary one. If they knew the truth, they’d start asking questions I can’t answer. That’s why I keep my back planted against the carved image of the tank. I’m not moving until they leave.

But then the floor shudders and rises again. Another casing emerges. Asa and Jira scramble back, dragging the launcher with a screech across stone. The shell cracks open - this time revealing a rifle. Bolt-action, wood stock, a scope fixed on top. A small box of ammunition sits neatly beside it.

Asa’s eyes light up. He grabs the gun.
“Hey, this looks like yours, Jesse. Think you can use it?”

I shrug, trying to play it off. I can’t flatly deny it - when they open that box, they’ll see cartridges identical to the ones in my machine gun.
“I’m not sure. Maybe.”

He looks ready to hand it to me when the floor lurches again. A third casing splits open, and this time a metal cylinder bursts apart, spilling bars of gold onto the floor.

The light catches, shimmering brilliantly in the dim chamber. Asa’s jaw drops.
“Gold!”

He seizes a bar, testing its weight. A faint glow shimmers as he feeds magic into it. His grin widens.
“It’s real!”

For a heartbeat, Fianna’s expression flickers - hunger, raw and sharp - but she clamps it down. Bree doesn’t move at all. Blank. Watching. Like a machine waiting for orders.

Jira abandons the launcher with a clatter and snatches a bar himself.
“Hey! We’re rich! Come help us carry it all!”

But then-
The air changes.

A new scent snakes through the chamber: rot, meat long dead. The floor trembles beneath us.

Fianna’s voice cracks into a shriek.
“JIRA! ASA! GET AWAY FROM THE GOLD!”

Instinct claws at me. I grab Cayti’s hand, dragging her toward Fianna and Bree by the exit.

The far wall rumbles. A seam splits wide, stone grinding against stone, opening into a hidden chamber.

And then it steps out.

My blood runs cold.

A figure, clad in an experimental combat exosuit. Bulky, armored, built to shrug off small-caliber fire. My machine gun would be useless. At the sight Asa leaps to his feet and scrambles away, his staff left behind.

For a heartbeat, I think it’s just another abandoned relic. Then I glimpse the face beneath the helmet.

Not a face.

A skull.

The thing reaches behind its back, drawing a weapon. A long pipe, with a smaller tube slung beneath. At the nozzle of the smaller tube - a flicker of fire.

My stomach drops.
Flamethrower.

I shout, throat raw.
“JIRA! RUN!”

He hesitates, frozen as the skeleton advances. Finally he scrambles up, twisting to flee - but his foot catches the rocket launcher. He crashes to the floor.

The weapon rises. A hiss escapes the nozzle.

“RUN-!”

Flames roar out, engulfing him.

Jira vanishes in fire. His screams tear through the chamber, searing into my ears, into my chest. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. Cayti’s hand trembles violently in mine as Fianna screams his name.

The fire dies down, leaving only smoke, crackle, and the stench of charred flesh.

Jira’s body lies blackened, twisted, still burning. His golden hair gone. His armor melted into his skin.

Fianna wails, raw and broken.
“JIRA!”

Bree’s face remains blank, but a single tear carves down her cheek. Asa stares, rigid, eyes wide with horror.

And then - he twitches. His gaze darts to Cayti, to her glowing hand clasped in mine.

“D-d-demon…” he whispers, voice strangled.

But I can’t even process it.

The skeleton shifts its gaze to us. Slow. Deliberate.

Instinct takes over.
“RUN!”

I drag Cayti along at first, but soon she’s pulling her own weight, running on her own strength. The others follow, the desire to survive overwhelming everything else. My mind races with calculations as fast as my feet.

The exosuit could run at forty kilometers per hour - faster than any human. But now it’s inhabited by a skeleton clutching a flamethrower, not a pilot. Without biometrics it won’t reach full speed, yet its armor and strength remain unmatched.

“Jesse!” Cayti yells as we run, her voice breaking through my pounding heartbeat. “What is that thing?”

I grunt between ragged breaths. “A weapon from my world that a skeleton has inhabited. We have to get to Tyur’ma - she’s our only chance.”

We sprint up staircases two steps at a time, lungs on fire, eyes blurring at the edges as adrenaline burns through me. The pounding metallic footsteps echo down the passageway behind us. Time bends, every second pulled tight and sharp.

Fianna and Asa are just behind, but Bree is already ahead, her small frame surging forward with explosive power. She must have endured brutal training once - nothing else explains it. But I can’t think about that now. Left turn. Right. A pitfall avoided by inches. The dungeon walls close in like jaws.

Then I see them: the fallen wolves. Relief spikes in my chest. We’re close.

My legs are lead, my heart hammering so hard I can taste iron. Cayti’s nails dig into my hand as we stay linked, running faster than we’ve ever dared. Light blooms ahead.

We burst into the smaller chamber, but don’t stop. The guards whirl, startled, as we crash into the main room. For an instant everything freezes.

“RUN!” I scream.

The word shatters the silence - but no one moves. Then the doors explode open. The skeleton strides through. Flames roar.

Panic detonates. Screams erupt. Adventurers scatter. A knight catches fire and goes down thrashing, his armor glowing red, his screams drowned in the hiss of the inferno.

We sprint between towering pillars, the street stretching before us like salvation. Bree rejoins at my side, Fianna and Asa clinging on behind. The five-minute walk to Tyur’ma becomes a one-minute blur.

We leap onto her hull. Her steel is cold, grounding me. I haul myself into the hatch, Cayti right behind. The others skid to a halt nearby as I slam the starter. Tyur’ma growls to life beneath us.

Throttle down. Tracks bite stone. We tear through the streets, scattering townsfolk. A minute later, we’re back before the dungeon.

Fire devours its proud façade. Smoke pours skyward. Between the pillars of flame, a shape emerges - slow, steady, inevitable. The skeleton. Its flamethrower hangs low, carried like a heavy gun from some old war film.

Systems whir to life. I slam the hatch shut, Cayti doing the same. The cannon swings on target, sights centering on its chest - the power core.

Fianna, Bree, Asa - I barely notice them running alongside. No time to warn them.

The skeleton raises its weapon at a wounded adventurer crawling for safety. My screen blazes: RDY.

I exhale. Pull the trigger.

The world detonates.

Tyur’ma bucks with the recoil, the roar deafening. The sabot discards mid-air, crashing into the cobblestones, a shop window, a wooden cart. The dart streaks true.

Impact. A thunderclap.

The exosuit explodes, vaporizing the skeleton’s chest in an instant. The depleted uranium rod slams it against a burning pillar, scattering it in a spray of metal and bone.

The breech slams open with a mechanical clang. The smoking shell tumbles out, hits the ground, bounces once, twice, then settles in the dust. The autoloader clatters, feeding the next round.

But I don’t hear it. My blood runs cold.

It’s over. No hiding now.

I glance at Cayti. She already knows. She gives me the smallest smile and a shrug. Nothing we can do.

I shut Tyur’ma down and climb out slowly, the hatch groaning open above me.

Silence. Heavy. Unnatural.

Fianna and Asa crouch by Tyur’ma’s flank, still cowering from the gunshot. Bree stands tall, unshaken. Then Fianna’s gaze follows mine, to the smoldering ruin in the flames.

She breaks. A wail tears from her chest, raw and piercing. Asa grabs her, pulling her close, but his own sobs soon join hers.

“Jira!” she screams. Her voice cracks. “JIRA!”

Hopeless. Fruitless. Her grief echoes off the stone, louder than the flames.

I watch, hollow, as Cayti climbs out beside me. The weight of it all presses down - and there’s no escaping it now.

It doesn’t take long for a knight to spot the fallen casing lying a short distance behind Tyur’ma. He picks it up, turning it over in his hand, and in a moment his expression sharpens. He comes around the left side of the tank, Fianna still whimpering on the right, and calls up at us.

“Hey! Is this yours?”

I nod. I can’t exactly say no, not after everything that just went down. His grin spreads.

“I knew it. Then you’re the one who defeated the Guardian of the Walls?”

Another nod. He cradles the casing like a relic.

“Well, I’m afraid I have to ask you to follow me. The governor wants to meet you.”

I glance at Cayti. She shrugs, so I nod again. The knight grins wider.

“Great! Follow me, then.”

We roll after him in Tyur’ma, the ruined dungeon shrinking behind us. A column of black smoke stains the sky, rising like a bruise above the city. Seven minutes later, we slow outside the front gates of the palace. Its white walls gleam even against the haze, banners hanging motionless in the still air. The gates creak open, and I ease Tyur’ma into the courtyard, parking beneath the shadow of the grand façade.

We dismount, boots clicking against polished stone, and follow the knight inside.

The entrance swallows us into a hall as long as a parade ground. A crimson carpet runs down its length, framed by towering marble pillars and flanked by paintings in gilded frames - scenes of past rulers, forgotten battles, divine patronage. The scale alone presses down on me, as if the building itself is testing whether I belong.

An official hurries over, his robes trailing.
“Knight! Are these the people responsible for the defeat of the Guardian of the Walls?”

The knight nods proudly.
“Yup. And they just stopped another beast that escaped the dungeons, though I’m sure word has reached you already.”

The official’s eyes flicker over us, calculating. He inclines his head.
“That is correct.”

He turns, hands folded neatly.
“Please follow me. You are being granted an audience with the governor.”

The knight departs as we fall in behind the official. We cross the endless carpet until he pushes open a pair of heavy doors.

The throne room stretches before us, vast and austere. The same red carpet leads onward, terminating in a dais where steps rise toward a golden throne. On it sits a man in white robes, a silver crown gleaming against his bald head - the governor, unmistakably. Beside him stands a tall blonde woman, her watchful eyes following every movement we make.

The chamber is lined with pews, half-filled with richly dressed officials. Their conversations fall silent as Cayti and I approach. We kneel at the base of the steps, their gazes weighing on us like stones.

The official who escorted us whispers in the governor’s ear. The man nods, then addresses us. His voice is deep, authoritative, yet not unkind.

“My esteemed guests. May I ask for your names?”

I raise my head, choosing my words carefully, unsure of what etiquette demands here.
“Certainly, sir. I am Jesse, and this is Evren.”

The governor’s lips curl into a broad grin. He rises, spreading his arms wide.
“Jesse and Evren. On behalf of the King and the city of Ragin, I thank you. Twice now you have saved us. Without your actions, we may never have been freed from the Guardian. And this new threat - had you not intervened, perhaps our city would already be in ashes. For this, we owe you more than words.”

A low murmur of approval ripples through the pews. I bow my head, throat tight.
“Your words mean much to me.”

The governor settles back into his throne.
“And so there is the matter of reward. For the destruction of the Guardian, we have agreed to grant you one hundred platinum coins.”

My heart lurches. One hundred platinum. That’s ten thousand gold - a million silver. Enough to change a life a dozen times over.

He continues smoothly.
“As for the other creature, we still lack a report on its nature. Until then, your second reward cannot yet be determined. Take what is offered today, and you will be summoned when the next is prepared.”

I bow again, struggling to keep my voice steady.
“Thank you, sir.”

“Then our audience is concluded. You are dismissed.”

Cayti curtsies. I bow. Together we withdraw, the heavy doors closing behind us.

“What now?” she murmurs.

I only shrug. Before I can answer, a servant approaches, carrying a pouch. He offers it to me with both hands.
“Your reward, sir.”

The bag is heavier than it looks. I thank him, and he bows before hurrying off.

I lift the pouch, feeling the dense weight of the coins within. It bulges against the leather, each piece cold and solid - proof of how far we’ve come, and how quickly the ground is shifting beneath us.

I sigh. The money is real, the wealth staggering. But I know rewards like these never come clean. If the palace hasn’t already announced our deeds, it soon will, and then every eye will turn our way. Trouble follows fame. And as Cayti and I walk out into the sunlight, I know our routine is gone for good.