Bahron shifted his boots along the dark tunnel.

  It was pitch black, having only the torch in his hand guiding the path forward. His armor rattled along the walls of the sewers, and his sword swayed to his side. Behind him, Aref was sniffing and complaining about the smell.

  “Whose bright idea was it to take up the survey of the tunnels?” Aref scoffed with a spit to the waters. “It's early evening, and I’m hella tired. We could've been drinking our asses off in the tavern, staring at the asses of local beauties. You feel me?”

  “There's been a report of a Ghoulshroom infestation in the area.” Bahron continued down the tunnels before turning, bringing up a handkerchief to his nose, an attempt to keep the smell away. “It's a good way to gain the favor of the higher-ups, I’ll have you know–and it would do good for us down the line.”

  “A Ghoulshroom infestation?” Aref said. “I thought that was just for laughs. Obviously, nothing’s here. Who tipped the captain off on such a wild goose chase?”

  “The former Chancellor.”

  “Bah.”

  Bahron shook his head as he continued forward.

  This survey in the sewers was a chance to gain the favor of the higher-ups. Maybe with this, the captain would finally grant Bahron a position befitting of his status. He hadn't been with the City Watch for long, but he was aiming to become one of the lord's personal guards.

  Bahron scoffed at the man behind him, muttering to himself a curse. It was unlucky that he had to be paired with Aref of all people, but he had to make do with what he had.

  “Damn it, it smells like bodies here.” Steps continued to roll over the stone bricks before Aref let out another sigh. “You know what I think? The nobles are disappointed with the City Watch after the recent fiasco with the gray mage, and now they're taking it out on us with this shitty sewer duty. There's nothing down here aside from piss and feces.”

  “There's nothing we can do about it.” Bahron turned the corner into another long tunnel. “The gray elf has escaped the City Watch and is now under the protection of the Circle. Even if we push for his crimes, it would take a lot of negotiation with the Circle and Chancellor. The effort simply isn't worth it.”

  "You met him before, didn't you?" Aref said.

  "For a second, yes. Before he attacked me."

  "Word is that he was nearly as tall as a giant, with the face of a dragon to match. Is it true that he was able to breathe acid to melt skin and bones?"

  "He was certainly tall, but I didn't get to see his face," Bahron pressed at the healing scar on his chest. "And obviously, he couldn't breathe acid. That's just preposterous."

  Aref coughed. “But he murdered one of your friends. The one that's always with you on the western gates–what’s his name again?”

  Bahron sneered. It was the complete opposite. He was actually glad the gray mage killed the guy. That good-for-nothing was always drinking on duty, harassing the locals of Gren whenever he pleased–even Aref wasn't that stupid.

  A shadow then made itself known in the distance. It was a pile of something, of that, Bahron was sure of. It was hard making it out through the darkness, but inching closer with his hand by his sword, he found it was a rotting, dead body of an elf from Gren. The clothes were obvious enough.

  “How many coins would you bet that this is the gray mage the captain is looking for?” Aref started, pushing past Bahron before he crouched and poking his sword into the body. “He fits the description well enough. Doesn't look anything like a mage, though.”

  “That’s because this isn't him, idiot.” Bahron swallowed bile piling on his throat before he then kicked, turning the body over. It was an elf in his early thirties. The skin was rotting with maggots and flies squirming, and on its neck, there seemed to be an old bite wound. The head itself was sporting a newborn Ghoulshroom, right on top of its eyes.

  “Let’s give a proper funeral, then.” Aref stood up before unsheathing his sword. “The poor guy’s already transforming into a Ghoul.”

  “What are you–” The blade cut through the Ghoulshroom, splitting it in half dead center. It hissed before crumpling into a dry sack.

  “There,” Aref said. “Problem solved.”

  “Are you ?”

  A shriek then echoed in the distance. It was a hungry howl, almost like a wolf that had found its prey. What followed was a stomping of steps in the tunnel, a crowd of human footsteps, too low to call a stampede, but many of them regardless.

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  Bahron immediately turned tail and started to run, not daring to get a glimpse of the things running after them in the darkness. Aref followed after him in a frenzy, asking questions that only stirred static in Bahron’s ears. They had to report back to the City Watch right away; Chancellor Haref was right after all.

  Bahron swerved left and right, eyes guided by the torchlight in his hand as chainmail ruffled against the stiff wind. They were still far from the surface entrance, but he pushed that thought out of his mind.

  The wall beside him cracked.

  A Flesh Golem broke its way through stone bricks, spraying canal water in the aftermath. It stood underneath the fetter of dust and rocks, its bodies and limbs stitched together with roots and mycelium. A large mushroom stood out from its crown.

  Bahron thanked the dust cloud. It obscures the rest of the body just enough to stop himself from wetting himself.

  “Shit–”The Flesh Golem swung its giant mass of a hand, slamming directly into Aref behind. A faint crack resounded in the air before his body twisted in the air, flying back before slamming directly into the wall.

  Bahron trembled, his armor shaking with his knees. With that strike alone, he knew he was dead.

  And yet, he stood his ground. With quivering fingers, he unsheathed his sword before pointing it against the monster. He didn't know what the hell he was hoping for, but it was better off dying with a sword in his hand than without it.

  He took his stance and pointed his blade. The moment the Flesh Golem moved, that would be his chance.

  But the chance never came.

  It all happened in a single moment. One second, he was standing on his feet, ready to take on the beast of the monster. The next second, he was staring directly at his legs, his top half folded into his own body.

  The world turned red. The pain was endless. Blood oozed from his contorted body, and all Bahron could think of now was how to end the suffering. Nothing from the bottom part of his neck moved, and maybe then it was a mercy in disguise that he couldn't feel the horror of his guts pouring from his stomach.

  “Another one?” A rough voice echoed in the distance. It was a figure of a man, with grotesque limbs and deformed shapes around him. Bahron could only blink through the pain as the man came closer and closer, and when his feet stopped right over Bahron's eyes, he crouched.

  …and he smiled.

  “I’ll have a use for you.”

  Quill spent the rest of the evening locked up in his room.

  He stared at his hands filled with books, ones that Haref gave him before he left. A heavy weight pressed against his chest and pulled out the rest of them. He had pushed it away long enough. He needed to learn Quickscripts tonight.

  Quickscripting is the only way a mage can cast instant spells in the heat of battle. It is a foundational skill especially to close ranged mages, ones who require a constant barrage of spells mid-engagement to keep the pressure on. Normal Scripting was great for mana conservation, but for speed, Quickscripts couldn't replace even the fastest of casters.

  Now, Quickscripts aren't necessary for long-range mages. Instead of adding a vertical power-up in the form of casting speed, what it does grant is flexibility. Summoners prepare their familiars beforehand, and Casters are far enough to use normal Scripts, but there's always no guarantee in battle, especially at the lower Tiers of Iron and Bronze.

  In that regard, it would bode well for Quill to learn White Quickscripting. His duels with Gerald and Elarah told him everything: as he was right now, he needed to lean on anything he could before he got an army going. The fact that he couldn't use White Sphere and his other Simple Spells as fast as he could was a detriment in his fights.

  Quill moved to the table at the corner of the room, pulling a chair to sit. He stacked all the books on one side before he read over them, and after an hour, he more or less got the essence of White Quickscripting.

  Quickscripts were unique for each individual spell. The structure of a Quickscript builds upon the foundations of written and spoken Scripts, binding them together to form a spell command that can be used instantly. Given that, the structure of a Quickscript is made up of two pillars: a ‘word’ bound to a ‘symbol.’

  The ‘word’ stems from spoken Scripting, carrying the essence and function of the spell. Meanwhile, the ‘symbol’ stems from written Scripting, carrying the instructions and functions that make the spell possible. By creating a unique symbol that signifies the instructions for a spell, along with binding that symbol with meaning through a word, a spell is then achieved through Quickscripting.

  Such a method had its own advantages and disadvantages. Quickscripting is much faster than regular Scripting, but it is also taxing on the mage’s manapool. Compared to a spell cast with normal Scripting, Quickscripting ate away twice the usual amount of mana.

  To add to this, failing a Quickscript had a larger set of consequences. Since you’re handling something that requires twice the usual amount of mana, it was a precaution to be twice as careful when setting up a Quickscript.

  If made hastily, the volatile mana would end up blowing this entire room apart. That was why Quill started with a smaller spell.

  Quill skimmed past the book one last time. He then played his fingers into a brush over the air, carving out a unique symbol for White Ball. Each stroke and line represented a unique script, a function that would handle specific aspects of the spell.

  Quill stared at the symbol in front of him. It somewhat represented the letters and symbols of the ancient languages of the past, ones that were closer to the creation of mana.

  He shook his head before he then bound the word ‘White Ball’ to the symbol in the air. He half expected the entire thing to explode then and there, almost forgetting that he had centuries of experience under his belt.

  “White Ball.” The complex symbol he carved earlier appeared again right over his mouth.

  In an instant, a White Ball appeared above his palm. It shimmered the same way as his normal spell, the white light gleaming against the scant light flickering from the candles. To anyone else, it would take weeks or even months with no prior training to create a Quickscript.

  To Quill, it took him less than an hour.

  Quill grinned before he started with the next set of spells. Before he got to it, a flock of night birds chirped and cawed, flapping their wings to fly out from the branches of trees outside the window.

  He turned his attention to the outside. Nothing was out of the ordinary, but he couldn't help but feel the presence of something .

  …and with his recent dream of a red world and a faceless demon, maybe there was.

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