What is happening? That one thought explored every corner of the stone slab I called my brain. Well, it's what others, less kind individuals, called what existed between the ears. Dagger in hand, dipped in a rather effective poison of my own devising. I brandished the blade at the enemies before me. Still confounded about my predicament, I tried to recall the last thing I could remember.

  Being called by the doctore for another battle in the arena. Only to discover a human girl chained at the wrist, to be executed by myself and brethren. Disgust at the dishonourable combat — to fight someone unable to draw a weapon was cowardly. Sadly, my brothers cared little for that sentiment. They revelled in the blood, and they showered fickle praise on our lord and master. As if such a creature were worth our reverence.

  Now I was here, locked in a dungeon with people I had fought to the death only a short while ago. However long that was, the headache and stiff limbs suggested only a short while had gone by. I also had a vague memory of that human smiling at me as we descended to the ground.

  Eyeing the creature with the face of a human. I could tell he was much more than that. A sense I had honed for years that always seemed to trigger around those that succumbed to the system's allure. Not this creature; he gave off a very different scent. But no doubt he was another system user, but something was far too different to ignore.

  The former captive brandished a familiar blade. The dead man held his weapon as well. But the creature with the face of a man merely pointed his finger to both sides. Siding with neither. One would expect his antics to suggest insanity. But I had seen wizards before, and anyone with half a brain would learn to fear unarmed strangers with peculiar airs about them.

  As the standoff continued, the strange not human, explained himself rather thoroughly before demanding we cease our quarrel. I would never have entertained the idea until I heard the sounds. Familiar voices all calling for blood, hurried steps and the grunts of the wrathful. It reaffirmed his point, and so reluctantly I lowered my weapon.

  The moment the others similarly lowered there's, the tension in the room noticeably lessened. Still, despite the temporary truce, I was weary. Years of experience told me to trust no one, daggers in the dark and around every corner. Oddly, I was the only one without a dagger. Wait, a moment.

  "Where are my crossbows?"

  The not-human looked like a Volkaran pup who had just pissed on his cub master and was hiding the offence. He gestured to the corridor where the noises echoed. Slowly, realisation dawned on me.

  "Burn the system!" I cursed.

  "Yeah, so unless you want to go back for it. I suggest we bail." He suggested, and I couldn't find fault.

  Reluctantly accepting his words, I brushed past them and made my way down the familiar corridor. Passing the distasteful implements of Strigoi cruelty. Now repurposed to the lord's will, and as expected, he was just as cruel. The scent of blood and decay was an odour I couldn't ignore. No doubt that necromancer could raise a thousand ghosts just from this room.

  "Where are we going?" The half-breed questioned.

  She was indeed a half breed, I could smell the blood of a vampire anywhere. Although her mongrel blood was unique, unlike any vampiric creature I had met before. Of course, the only vampires I had met were the lord and that Strigoi lady he was trying to court.

  "To the doors," I answered without explanation.

  "The doors? Do you mean those annoying magic doors that shift you to different places?" The not human asked.

  I really needed to figure out their names. It would be easier if I had that analysis skill the others harp on about. Granting the foolish system users a peek at the names and levels of others. While I despise the system itself, that would have made things more efficient.

  "Yes, the doors..." I paused, unsure how to ask. "Who are you anyway?" The non-human visibly brightened, that fur just above its eyes practically shot up half a claw.

  "Names, Joey." He offered his hand. "That's Marius and Xynthia; the little guy is Jeremy." He gestured back to the half-breed and the undead before finally settling on the animal.

  Unable to stop the low growl escaping from my lips, I stared at the odd group for a full minute as we walked. Resigning myself, I returned the introductions with a quick shrug.

  "My name is Rakshur."

  "Rakshur, can I call you Rak?" The not human called Joey requested with an irritating grin.

  "No." I flat out refused.

  "Oh, come on, everyone deserves a nickname. You can call me Joe?"

  "No!" I refused again, unable to stop growling.

  The group went silent, but that didn't matter; all that mattered was escaping, and I knew the best place to flee. As we turned a corner, leaving the torture dungeon, and entered a common hallway. A sight I had seen a thousand times since I was a child. Exploring this temple with my stone mates, trying to find new and impressive treasure. Swallowing the bitter taste of the memory, I shifted back to the task at claw.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  This hallway was one of many, with many enchanted doors that, if opened correctly, would whisk you away to any part of the temple. Bitterly I recalled how it never took us to the exit and thus my stone mates and I languished in this prison we called a home. Memories had a way of sneaking up on you. And only a heart of stone is strong enough to bear the weight of the past.

  "Where are you leading us?" The half-breed known as Xynthia called out, accusation and suspicion etched into every word.

  "A safe place, now quiet, I am trying to remember."

  Scanning the doors, I tried to find a specific configuration. Dismissing all the lavishly decorated ones and a few wooden ones barely hanging on with age. All illusions, if you had the eyes to see, were merely fabrications for aesthetics. In truth, every single one of them was brimming with magic, and I could sense it, like a prickle at the back of my neck. It made me want to turn to stone.

  It took me a while to locate the proper door, and it was just as I remembered. At the end of the hall, there was a simple wooden portal that no one would look at twice. Yet it evoked such memories of a time better forgotten. Of the days of childhood and innocence. Alas, the burden of time degrades everything, even stone. As much as that sounds impossible for such marvels to fall to something as trivial as age.

  Placing a claw against the wooden frame, I caressed it as gently as these hands of death could allow. Trying desperately not to get lost in the past. But as hard as I tried, I remembered. The insistence of potential death spurred me on, if only for a moment. Without thought, just good old muscle memory, I sketched a rune with a single claw. Gently parting the wood beneath the nail, I drew a pentagram surrounded by four runes. Each represented the four founders of this little of magic. Our magic, the key to an escape only we could cherish.

  "Is that a pentagram?" Joey asked.

  "Yes, I am surprised you know of it."

  "I was big into occult video games back in the day."

  "Video games?" I said, perplexed at the new term.

  Glancing to the side just as I opened the door, I could see him grumbling, resigning himself to short mumbles and curses. I ignored the strange creature and quickly entered. I admit I wanted to lock them out. But thinking about it for a moment, I owed the strange one. Joey — what a weird name — he did, in a manner of speaking, save my tail.

  Gesturing for the group to enter, I kept the door open as Joey came through, followed by Marius, Xynthia and the tiny creature. Once everybody was inside, I scraped off the pentagram with a single claw, defacing the magic with one swift strike. Closing the door as quickly as possible ended the magical connection and rendered our location a mystery.

  Meeting my guests with as much caution as letting a group of vipers into your nest. I made sure a claw was close at hand. Drawing a blade would be far too slow in close quarters, far better to slice someone apart with your natural weapons. Despite the very useful poison I dip my blade into.

  Inspecting them, struggling to come up with strategies in the event they turned on me. Getting rid of the half-breed was first. Her ability to become ethereal made her the trickiest opponent. With time and little surprise, I could reach my stashed weapons. A few crossbow bolts to vital organs and she would fall. I doubt she could become ethereal in a moment.

  Now the others, the one called Joey, has an effective barrier. Oddly, I sensed not a drop of magic; only his strange blade had the aura of crude magecraft. I wondered if he had a martial class, but considering his ability to move objects with his mind. Mage seemed more likely. I would have to save him for last, after the undead.

  Revenant, I was pretty sure he was a revenant. But being so calm was strange; the undead I had met before were quite obsessive unless controlled by a necromancer. Was this Joey a master of the undead? Not possible without magic, and he radiated none of it. Whatever, just sever the undead's head and be done with it.

  Crossbow bolt to the half-breed, take her sword, remove the undead's brain and then hammer the odd not-human to bits until his barrier breaks. Looking down at the tiny four-legged creature, I quickly dismissed it as a non-threat. Maybe it would taste good on a spit. With plans made, I brushed past the half-breed and quickly reached a stained and old couch.

  Every piece of furniture evoked memories of times that I should leave behind. Ghostly figures of young and wild Garathi lounged together. As quickly as they had appeared, a blink sent them back where they belonged. Unable to stop myself, I glanced around at the faded room, so lifeless but brimming with history.

  "This place is awesome! Regular bachelor pad," Joey announced just as I was reaching beside the couch.

  Feeling the grip of my backup crossbow, I paused for a moment, glaring back at the man. Studying his wide-eyed expression, I felt a sudden melancholy. Unable to shake it off, I couldn't help but stare.

  "Bachelor pad?" Xynthia questioned, never taking her eyes off me.

  "Yeah, like a man cave, a place for the boys. Come on, Rak, you know what I am talking about."

  "Don't call me that; it's Rakshur." I snapped, wondering why I was engaging.

  I should lose every bolt into that half breeds head and then eliminate the lot of them. Present their corpses to the lord and get a better position. Instead of a slave made to fight for entertainment. That seemed the best plan and very doable with the right surprise attack. Yet something stopped me. Was it the half breeds suspicious gaze or the raw enthusiasm on the strange man's face?

  I don't know, but despite my best efforts, I let go of the crossbow and fell onto the couch. Exhausted and weary, I angled my landing near my weapon. I had no intention of drawing it right now; all I could do was sigh.

  "How did you find this place?" he asked.

  "Long story," I replied tiredly.

  He looked around, obviously assessing the room's suitability as a safe place. Grinning like a child, he shrugged his shoulders before checking with his companions. "This seems like a good place to chill." He declared before turning back to me. "Tell me the long story, so let's all get to know each other."

  I got the sense that was not only directed at me, as everybody else reacted. Half-breed sighed, giving Joey a dirty look. The undead looked happy, but that gaunt face made it tricky to work out his expressions. Lack of blood flow makes him akin to stone.

  "Come on, dudes, let's breakfast club this shit."

  "Breakfast what?" the half-breed spoke, and I was right with her.

  "I don't have any food." I explained.

  Joey just sighed, his shoulders looking heavy and worn. He appeared done with this world; perhaps he was weary, which was justified. But what in the terrible system was he talking about? This creature was strange indeed. But then again, I was a filthy Uncounted, a fool that spurned the system. Who was I to judge?

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