Rusted Spikes and Old Scars

I’m brought back to my senses by the sound of my hair being rustled. My vision finally starts coming back to me as my eye cover is untied by the especially clumsy hands of one of the guards.

I take a few deep breaths and try to rub the blur of the world from my eyes with my fists.

We are definitely way further than ever before.

As I ponder that, I feel someone glancing at me. It’s Ken, anxiously stepping in a circle. I can’t say I blame him; this is his first time in a dungeon.

I decide to use the spare time while everyone is being untied to get a quick scan of the area. From what I can tell, this isn’t a particularly unique dungeon from looks alone, although that is hardly enough to calm my heightened heartbeat. Every dungeon, big or small, is dangerous. Overconfidence will only get me killed.

“Listen up, this here’s a special one,” the guard breaks down into a wicked smile, a hint of greed in his eyes as he continues. “We've personally been recommended this dungeon for a few simple reasons. Apparently this was a massive goblin settlement, implying lots of crawl spaces perfect for your unique uses. Which means the expectations are quite high—and trust me, you don’t want to disappoint.”

He drops his voice into a low, raspy gravel, the dark amusement vanishing entirely. A sudden chill sweeps down my spine, and I bite the inside of my lip, glaring back in frustration.

“Expect goblin ambushes. A few of the ugly bastards are bound to still be cowering in their hidey-holes. We’re staying down here for a full day at minimum, so get nice 'n comfortable.”

I can feel my knees trembling lightly. A full-day expedition? This has to be a massive dungeon if that’s the case. Well, either way, there’s no point in dwelling on it.

The guards finish setting up an improvised camp of sorts and lay down equipment for us to take. It’s a pile of bags, most just barely holding together. We aren’t allowed to have any kind of weapons either, so your odds greatly depend on how good of a bag you can get your hands on.

I’ve long had a preference for a medium-sized one made out of dark animal skin. It fits my frame surprisingly well, giving me a great balance of storage while keeping me nimble. I rummage around the pile until I finally spot it, slipping it over my shoulder with a sigh of relief.

Once again, I feel someone gazing at me from behind. Assuming it's Ken, I cautiously turn my head back.

“...Hey, y-you think I could tag along with you...?”

It’s Ken. I can tell he’s mortified. He’s still some distance away, but I can already hear his teeth clattering and make out just how hard he’s shaking.

I shrug a little and give him a slight nod. He has picked out a bag too, unsurprisingly going for the biggest one he could find. That’s to be expected; everyone thinks bigger is better, so they grab the largest pack they can, fill it to the brim, and end up unable to dodge even the simplest of traps. A small sigh escapes my lips, followed by a slight shiver running through my body.

“Great! That reminds me… you haven’t told me your name yet?” he continues, clearly happy I didn't turn him down. As I face him, his happiness almost confuses me. It’s genuine—the kind of warmth I haven’t seen much of. I can’t help but wonder what kind of life was stolen from Ken. A thought of asking him crosses my mind, but I quickly decide against it. It would only burden me should anything happen to him.

“...The bag. Get a new one,” I say in a small voice, completely ignoring his question.

He looks puzzled, so I continue. “It will only slow you down. It’s much better to have a smaller pack and just count on making more return trips. You’ll thank yourself if you ever get into a skirmish or if a trap rearms behind you.”

Before I even finish my sentence, he bolts off to choose again. A small giggle escapes my mouth, surprising even me, and I quickly cover my lips in shock.

It doesn’t take long before Ken comes running back, a smaller bag slung over his shoulder this time. I nod at him and gesture toward the tool pile with a flick of my chin.

“...Stop sprinting,” I bite out, keeping my voice low enough to barely carry over the sound of our footsteps. “You’re wasting energy we don’t have. Next time, move slowly and keep your head down—I’m not carrying you out of here if your legs give out.” I shift my eyes down toward my feet, muttering under my breath before he can interrupt. “...And it’s Lilith.”

Ken is slightly taken aback by my bite, but a soft, apologetic smile slips across his face. Even with his eyes half-shielded, I catch the small glimmer of warmth hiding behind them. He actually likes my lectures.

Much to my irritation.

Next, we stop by the tool pile. Just like the bags, most items are barely holding together and coated in rust. The pile is a mess—the guards don’t bother neatly stacking anything. Instead, they just dump it all on a table and call it a day. The disdain they have for us never ceases to make my blood boil.

Still, it’s better to have poor tools than no tools at all. From my past expeditions, I’ve managed to figure out a fairly decent priority order for what to carry.

Ken seems overwhelmed, hesitating as if waiting for me, so I start rummaging through the heap. I look for a few specific items, showing each one to Ken while giving him a quick lesson.

“First up are these,” I say, sliding four thick iron rods between my knuckles so the rusted spikes fan out from my fist like iron claws. “These are pick-chisels. They’re perfect for chipping away ores or unruly stones.”

I pull out another tool, spinning the wooden handle around in my free hand before gripping it tightly and pointing it at Ken.

“This here’s a mallet. It goes together with the chisels. In a pinch, it can also be used to finish off a wounded monster—though I don’t recommend trying to rely on it to get them to that point.”

Ken’s whole body jerks at the thought, but I pay it no mind, deftly slipping both the mallet and chisels into my bag.

Next, I take out two much longer, thinner metal rods. As I turn around, I realize a few other kids are sitting nearby, quietly taking in my lecture.

“Thi—”

Ugh. I was making sure to keep my voice down, too. This is quickly becoming a drag.

With a small click of my tongue, I resume, throwing a nasty glare at my impromptu audience. The others pay my glare no mind and continue listening intently.

“...Probing rods. Long, light, and good for poking floor tiles or checking for tripwires.”

The sudden crowd is seriously draining me, and I can’t wait to be done. I hurriedly pack the trap sticks against the side of my bag. They poke out slightly due to their length, but not enough to pose any real danger.

“Next up is light. Not being able to see makes you easy prey, so I always stock up on these.” I pull out a batch of foul-smelling tallow candles and set them on the table, placing two flint rocks beside them. “You light them like so.”

With a quick strike of the stones, a small spark catches, bringing the short wick to life. The kids look on in mild amazement at how easy I make it look, nodding quietly to my words.

It’s times like these when the reality hits me: we really are just children. So inexperienced, yet forced into a perpetual nightmare no one should ever have to suffer.

I let my head fall into my hand, pinching the bridge of my nose. I wish for nothing more than to just talk to everyone like a normal person, but I know I can’t afford to.

Dark memories from my past flash through my mind. The countless lifeless bodies I’ve stepped over during my time here.

Then, one prominent memory rises above the rest: a group of four kids. They would always huddle together. Even in these horrific conditions, they seemed to genuinely care for one another. I stumble back a bit, still clutching my head as the painful recollections take hold.

I remember all too well how they slowly, surely lost their spark...

The youngest of the group tripped over a hidden wire, triggering a wall-mounted harpoon trap that pinned one of the older boys straight to the stone. Oh, how she cried and screamed as the rest hurriedly dragged her away. He died right there, a sorrowful smile fixed on his face. It still haunts me.

A few days later, another boy stumbled upon an undead skeleton while looting a forgotten chest. He was so giddy, stuffing his pack full of materials and treasure, that he completely missed the old bones rousing from their slumber.

The horror that followed is something I’ll never forget either. I was up on a ledge looking down, witnessing it all. I called out to him, but it was already too late. The rest of the group barely managed to squeeze back through the narrow crawlspace they came from, but his oversized bag got jammed in the entrance, blocking his escape.

I only remember the vicious tearing sounds as I squeezed my eyes shut, dropping to the floor and burying my face in my knees. I still hear the sound of that skeleton’s blade piercing the boy’s body over and over whenever it gets too quiet.

Eventually, only the two girls remained. The younger one stopped eating from pure shock. It wasn't long before her body simply refused to go on. I remember the older girl holding her, desperately trying to get her to swallow a few bites, but no matter how hard she tried or how tightly she held her, the girl wouldn't budge. She breathed, but all the light behind her eyes was gone. Malnutrition eventually finished what grief started.

The more I recall, the more my right eye pulses and pinches. A faint ringing sound builds in my ears, growing louder and louder as I fight to block it out. But the memories torment me—the last one being the absolute worst.

I hiss, biting down hard on my lower lip with my fang in hopes the physical sting will anchor me, but it does nothing. In my mind, I’m standing at the edge of a cliff, watching the last remaining girl flash a sorrowful smile back at me.

She lost her footing—or more accurately, she had hoped to lose her footing. Stepping ever so close to the edge, teetering on the precipice as much as possible, until the ground finally gave way beneath her. I just remember her looking up as she plummeted down into the everdark abyss. She appeared peaceful. Happy, almost.

After that... I just remember a heavy thud.

My vision slowly fades to black, the ringing in my ears growing absolutely unbearable. My branded eye pulses with such ferocity I fear it might burst, completely enveloped by that suffocating blue light.

The fog... the blue fog I see everywhere.

But the magic is only the surface. These feelings cut far deeper than the curse carved into my skin. This isn't the brand pulling my leash—this is me, drowning. It feels like I’m choking on my own heart as I struggle to catch a single breath.

“-ith” Huh...?

“-ILITH!” What...?

“LILITH!” Who...?

I’m suddenly rattled back to reality. My heart is pounding against my ribs like a war drum. Streaks of cold sweat run down my face, arms, and legs. My whole body is trembling—even my tail shakes in the exact same frantic rhythm.

I’m clutching my branded eye so hard it feels like I’m denting my own skull. Warm blood drips down my chin. What was I...?

“Lilith, are you alright??!” Ken screams, completely panicked, his hand reaching out toward me.

I react instantly, grabbing his wrist with my left arm while my right hand remains clamped over my eye, blue light and white hair strands poking through my knuckles. My voice comes out unnaturally low, raspy and breathless.

"...Don’t... touch... me."

I can’t stop myself from flashing a wicked, devilish smile at him, more blood pooling over my teeth. I must have bitten my lip pretty damn hard with my fang.

What just happened to me?

I try not to dwell on it as my legs give out. I drop to one knee, chest heaving as I desperately try to regain control.

“...Guess the Overseer’s saying hi,” I growl quietly, forcing a dry chuckle to play it off. But deep down, I know this had nothing to do with the Overseer—which scares me even more.

The other kids are staring at me, some with genuine worry in their eyes. Ken looks outright devastated by my state. Seeing their faces like that opens a cold pit at the bottom of my stomach. Panic spikes again, and I scramble backward onto my feet. My throat seizes, my eyes widen, and my lips press into a thin, trembling line.

Don’t do this. Don't look at me like that. It will only hurt you so much more when I don't come back one day.

...Please...

I take a slow, deep breath, using the hand that was just covering my face to comb my hair back over my right eye. I roll my tongue around my mouth, gathering the residual blood, and spit it firmly onto the dirt near my foot. I drag two fingers over my punctured lip; it stings horribly. I really lost myself for a second there.

With my resolve patched back together, I walk back up to the tool table. The other kids are still shaken by what just happened, but thankfully no one asks any questions—and I certainly don't intend to offer answers.

We’ve wasted enough time already. Time to pick up the pace.

I shove my lingering terror deep into the dark where it belongs.

“Alright, last on the list is rope,” I say, snatching a coil from the table and testing its weight. “It’s rough, cheap hemp. Bites into your hands hard if you aren't careful.”

I turn and catch Ken staring at me. He’s practically vibrating with anxiety, his eyes searching my face, utterly thrown off by how quickly I put myself back together. He looks at me like I'm a ticking bomb, and I hate it. I hate the pity, the hesitation, the quiet terror in his gaze.

An impish urge strikes me. I step in close, casting a dark shadow over his face, and let a wide, menacing grin split my blood-stained lips.

"Don’t," I growl, dropping my voice into an unsettling whisper. "Drop it."

Ken flinches hard, tears stinging the corners of his eyes as he backpedals, shooting me a hurt, frantic look.

Perfect. Anything is better than him staring at me like a ghost.

I cover my mouth with a hand, letting out a quiet, sarcastic chuckle. As I shove the coil of rope into my pack, I see that Ken has also finished filling his bag with the items I recommended.

Suddenly, the air takes a sharp, bitter cold turn. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up in warning.

A group of guards surround our table, their eyes burning with dark annoyance.

Damn. We took too long.

A heavy shadow falls over me—too late for me to react.

A sharp pain tears through my right hip as a heavy boot flings me backward. The impact knocks the breath right out of my lungs. That’s going to leave a mark.

I jerk my head up. Dodge!

Kicking off the ground, I roll my body to the side, narrowly avoiding a heavy, half-filled water canteen smashed toward my head.

I can't relent just yet. My eyes track another object flying through the air. Still low on my chest, I plant both palms on the stone and push myself back onto my feet, keeping my eyes locked on the projectile.

Opening my fingers, I catch the item mid-air, my arm snapping back slightly from the impact. I turn my palm over to inspect it and pause in surprise.

It’s a chunk of hard, stale bread. Without missing a beat, I toss it over my shoulder straight into my bag.

“Tch!”

One of the guards—the one who clearly intended to hit me in the face—glares at me, thoroughly exasperated.

I meet his gaze and flash him a wide, toothy grin, curling my upper lip just enough to showcase the full length of my right fang.

I can't help myself. I genuinely love flaunting it at them. In a place where they try so hard to strip away everything we are, explicitly brandishing the very feature they deem wicked is the one small pleasure I have left.

I’m well aware there’s a brutal beating waiting for me later to settle the tab...

Maintaining eye contact, I sink into a mock bow—overly grand, absurdly polite, and utterly mocking. The guard's jaw clamps tight, his face flushing a furious crimson before he stomps off, muttering curses under his breath.

…let them add it to my bill.

It seems I absorbed most of their aggression; the rest of the kids got off with light shoves or throws. Now that the guards have cleared out, everyone begins scattering toward the nearest crawlholes.

I take a slow breath to tune my energy back down. I really let myself go wild for a second there.

I inhale the icy air until it burns in my lungs and the adrenaline stops buzzing under my skin. I roll my shoulders, adjust the strap of my bag, and turn to Ken.

He’s still standing there, clutching his lightened pack, staring down the yawning, pitch-black mouth of the lowest tunnel. He’s terrified, but he’s holding his ground.

“Stay close, watch your footwork, and don't touch anything I don't touch,” I say, my tone dropping back into its quiet, pragmatic edge.

I give him a firm nod. He swallows hard, his knuckles white against his bag straps, but he nods back.

Without another word, I drop onto my hands and knees and plunge headfirst into the damp, suffocating darkness of the crawlspace, listening to the sound of his ragged breathing right behind me.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hey there! Lilthara here!

Chapter 2 is officially live! What was originally planned to be a single chapter is now shaping up to be more like three—the story just keeps expanding as my mind runs rampant with new ideas.

In this part, I really wanted to dive into Lilith’s inner battles and baggage (pun fully intended!). My main goal was to showcase how her past experiences have shaped her—showing how seasoned she’s become at selecting her gear and guiding others, but also revealing the deep scars those memories have left behind. She's definitely more broken than even she realizes.

To top it all off, I wanted to highlight her mischievous, defiant side. She’s fiercely determined and will gladly give the guards a run for their money whenever she gets the chance. I hope you enjoyed it! It was a ton of fun writing her sharp reactions and chaotic energy, and I can't wait to jump into the heavy action sequences coming up later.

Before I go, here's a little teaser for Chapter 3: we're going to see a surprising side to Ken as he pulls his own weight, giving us a deeper glimpse into his past!

Thank you all so much for the warm comments, reads, and support. Seeing the reader count grow genuinely brightens my day, and I hope you’ll continue to enjoy Lilith's journey.

See you all in Chapter 3!