Dworsul guided Sir Tristan, Dotty, Ted, and Heidi toward the colossal dwarven elevator. Once used to ferry entire caravans of ore in and out of the city’s bowels, the platform now sat silent. Only the faint orange glow of magma far below lit the curved walls, making their faces flicker with shifting shadows.
They had scoured the dwarven barracks and storage rooms for simple tunics—clothes they wouldn’t mind burning to ash during their upcoming training. Full suits of armor or thick cloth would interfere with the process Dworsul demanded they undergo. So they stripped their gear and carried only canteens, a few rations, and their newly acquired weapons and shields in neat stacks on the elevator itself.
Monica stood at the edge of the stone platform, carefully eyeing the group. Sir Tristan’s broad shoulders looked strangely vulnerable without his usual plate. Dotty shivered a bit, nervousness showing on her freckled face. Ted had replaced his trademark flamboyant bard outfit for a plain gray tunic. Heidi, arms folded across her chest, tapped one bare foot on the ground, keen to begin.
Dworsul struck a lever set into the platform’s metal console. An ancient mechanism rumbled beneath their feet, and the elevator began its descent. Hot air wafted up from deep below.
"I have already explained the process you need to follow. Inhale the Fire Mana and circulate it through your body. Normally, we would have started with a much safer amount of Mana, but we're in a hurry. Your friend, the Avatar, will shower you with her Golden Flame, healing all the damage you're about to do to your body. This will drastically accelerate the process."
"Dworsul said there's no stronger healing spell than the Golden Flame," Monica smirked.
"I did say that," the legendary Blacksmith sighed. "Now, start. I'll start lowering the elevator further. You will suffer internal damage. But this is the first time someone in Viscera learns Fire Breathing with the help of a healing spell this powerful. Not even I know how much this will speed up the process."
“Sit in a circle,” the dwarf barked. “Cross your legs and face inward. Let’s not waste time.”
They obeyed, kneeling upon the hard stone. Monica walked around behind them, a watchful guardian. The legendary blacksmith grunted in approval and then adjusted the console’s controls, making the platform descend faster. At once, the heat rose tangibly—sweat blossomed on everyone’s foreheads, and Dotty let out a soft gasp.
Dworsul turned to address them, his voice firm but not unkind.
“I’ve already explained the basics. Inhale Fire Mana, circulate it through your veins, and exhale the excess. Normally, we would begin with a slow introduction—barely enough Fire Mana to singe your throats—but we’re out of time. So we’ll be using the direct source from Viscera’s core.”
Sir Tristan wiped perspiration from his brow, face set with resolve. “Yes, Master Dwarf.”
Dworsul narrowed his eyes. “Your friend, the Avatar, will be right here to bathe you in her Golden Flame the moment your bodies start taking too much damage. It will keep you alive. In theory.”
Monica flashed a quick, playful smirk. “Dworsul did say there’s no stronger healing spell than my Golden Flame.”
“I did,” the dwarf sighed, “and I stand by it. Now, hush. The deeper we go, the more potent the ambient Fire Mana becomes. When I give the signal, start breathing it in—slowly, but steadily. And be prepared to feel like your insides are being cooked.”
The platform dropped another dozen yards, and the heat intensified. Even Monica, who felt relatively comfortable in these temperatures, could see how it wilted Dotty’s posture and turned Ted’s cheeks bright red. Heidi breathed sharply, a determined light gleaming in her eyes.
“Now!” Dworsul snapped.
They began the practice.
At first, Sir Tristan, Dotty, Ted, and Heidi tried to follow the steps exactly as Dworsul had outlined. First, they'd inhale—gently drawing in Fire Mana from the scorching air, letting it coat the inside of their lungs. Then, circulate it—guide that flickering energy down their veins—imagining it traveling from their chests along their arms or legs. Lastly, exhale—dispel the worst of the blaze before it could ravage them from within.
But almost immediately, they realized how vicious the Fire Mana could be. It stung eyes, scorched throats, and sent waves of heat ripping through muscle and bone. Within minutes, Dotty’s face went scarlet, and she looked on the verge of passing out.
Monica, ever watchful, ignited the Golden Flame across her palms. She hovered her hands over Dotty’s shoulders, letting radiant warmth flow into the younger woman’s body, neutralizing part of the lethal burn surging inside her. Dotty’s breathing stabilized, and she managed to keep inhaling.
Moments later, Sir Tristan’s thick arms started trembling. He clenched his fists, trying to keep the swirling Fire Mana from pooling too harshly in his biceps. When his face twisted with pain, Monica swept Golden Flame around his torso, mending the micro-tears forming in his muscles. He gasped in relief.
Ted, sweat pouring off him, tried to hum a gentle tune under his breath—an attempt to calm himself. But the Fire Mana clawed at his ribcage, and he coughed violently. Monica nudged him with a wave of healing, and his lungs cleared enough for him to continue.
The one who struggled the least surprised everyone: Heidi. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her brows knitted in concentration, and though her complexion flushed, she didn’t tremble nearly as badly as the others. She managed to exhale the Fire Mana after each inhale, controlling the swirl in her meridians.
Dworsul’s eyes flicked to Monica, then back to Heidi. “She’s a Phoenix Pyromancer, isn’t she?” he muttered. “Likely got the same fundamental Fire Affinity as you. That explains her resilience.”
Monica nodded, glancing at Heidi with an approving smile. Heidi, for her part, was too focused to notice, lost in the slow cycle of drawing in the blazing energy, letting it sear her insides, and pushing it back out before it caused lasting harm.
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* * *
Three Days Later
The training dragged on for days in a brutal loop. Dworsul would lower the platform deeper into the scalding depths, intensifying the ambient Fire Mana. Monica’s Golden Flame bathed the group repeatedly, staving off lethal damage. Sir Tristan, Dotty, Ted, and Heidi gradually grew more adept. Coughs subsided. Their faces stayed red, but their eyes no longer brimmed with panic.
Dworsul hovered at the console, arms crossed, occasionally barking out corrections on posture or breathing method. But as the third day dawned, the dwarf’s stoic facade cracked with surprise. He murmured under his breath, “Remarkable. If not for that Golden Flame, we’d be looking at months of training… not days.”
At last, while the others were in the midst of one more punishing cycle of inhalation, Ted’s eyes snapped open. He held his breath for a moment—and the swirl of Fire Mana stayed steady inside him. A grin spread across his flushed face.
He exhaled slowly.
“I… I think I’ve got it, dude,” he said, voice husky with excitement.
Heidi, Sir Tristan, and Dotty jolted out of their trances, each blinking in confusion. A current of superheated air wrapped around them. They looked at Ted, noticing how calm he now appeared, how that usual tension in his shoulders had melted away.
Then, one by one, they all broke into short, disbelieving laughs.
* * *
One Day Later
Everyone had learned Fire Breathing in record time. Their Skill wasn't as powerful as Monica, since she had learned it through Divine Fire, but it would still be enough to allow them to survive the main parts of the second floor. Altough, they'd struggle in the Blacksmith District.
Everyone was decked in their new equipment.
Monica gleamed and shined in her Midnight Widow Armor.
Sir Tristan wore a reinforced chestplate crafted from dwarven steel, laced with molten wasp chitin. A circular shield strapped to his left arm boasted the same anti-wasp material.
Heidi had on a black-lacquered breastplate with swirling orange runes.
Dotty had replaced her ragged leather gear with a lighter scale mail.
Heidi had on a black-lacquered breastplate with swirling orange runes that glowed faintly
All eyes turned to Monica, who rested a hand near the elevator’s lever. “We’ve come a long way,” she said, voice echoing in the wide shaft. “But these wasps have spread even further. We need levels, gear, and synergy if we want to keep pushing deeper.”
But, right when they started descending, something happened.
A warning shout echoed from below: “Incoming!” Dworsul’s gravelly voice boomed across the cavern.
Monica stiffened. “Wasps? Here?”
She checked her Eradication Quest tracker.
*Ding*
Quest Received – ‘Eradication II/III’
Progress: 34/882
Reward:
???
Her eyes widened at the updated total—882. They had multiplied at an alarming rate since she left. She cursed under her breath and leaped onto the elevator platform, scanning the darkness. The hum of wings approached.
Sure enough, a Corrupted Molten Wasp Scout emerged from a side shaft, mandibles clicking with molten saliva. Another soared behind it, and from the corner of her vision, Monica glimpsed at least two more.
Before she could shout a warning, Sir Tristan marched forward, shield ready. One of the wasps spat resin. A sizzling mass of black goo collided with the knight’s shield—and slid right off. The custom forging they’d done ensured the shield repelled the noxious spittle.
“Hah!” the knight barked. “Come on!”
Just then, Heidi took a single step forward. A swirl of Dark Phoenix Furnace manifested around her—apparently as a newly evolved one since instead of black sparks conjured three ominous orbs of black fire, orbiting her staff like miniature suns. She unleashed a Fire Lance shaped from that black flame with a sharp gesture. It streaked through the air, doubling mid-flight size, and tore half the wasp’s body apart. The creature crumpled instantly.
Monica’s jaw dropped. “Heidi, don't use all your Mana at once! Wait, Heidi, that was—how are you—?”
Heidi flicked sweat from her brow. “They’re Bronze Rank now,” she said simply. “All my primary Skills.”
Monica stared in disbelief. “All of them?!”
A second wasp streaked toward them. Before Monica could react, she heard the heady strains of Ted’s music swirling around the platform—the Phoenix Song. Energy surged through Monica’s limbs, intensifying the mania in her blood. But it wasn’t just her who felt it—Heidi’s orbs of black flame grew brighter, and the next Fire Lance she hurled was even larger than the first. It soared across the gap, slamming into the wasp’s thorax and ripping it clean in half.
“Bronze Rank for me, too,” Ted called out proudly, still plucking the mandolin’s strings. “Let’s see how they like it!”
As if on cue, two more wasps dived. Sir Tristan raised his shield once more, but this time, instead of bracing for impact, he snarled, “Enemy Magnet!” A wave of Mana flared from him, instantly dragging both wasps into his personal gravity well.
Monica’s eyes widened. “They’re all Bronze…?”
She barely finished the thought when Dotty leaped from behind the knight’s broad back. Her sword shone with a superimposed, crackling purple edge—an antimagic effect. “Void Slash!” she yelled, voice echoing. The purple blade extended well beyond the physical sword’s length, slicing both wasps in a single diagonal cut. Their bodies hit the platform floor in two neat halves each.
A hush fell over the group. Four wasps, all dispatched in seconds—no injuries beyond some scrapes.
They waited, tense, but no further scouts appeared. The faint hum of distant wings soon faded away.
“Everyone hold your Fire Breathing,” Dworsul said, stepping carefully onto the platform to check for stragglers. “The heat is going to spike once we descend to the tunnels. I don’t want any of you collapsing. Avatar, do your part.”
Everyone?!
Monica was surprised to see that all of them had their Skills ranked up to Bronze Rank.
She knew that this was a good group, but she had no idea how strong they'd be once she was back from the second floor. In fact, she had feared they'd be left in her dust. She had even considered tackling the entire floor by herself.
At last, the elevator ground to a halt, aligning with the threshold that marked the second floor of Viscera. A massive gate of dark metal, engraved with dwarven runes, stood half-melted and battered by centuries of neglect. Beyond it, a dim corridor breathed waves of infernal heat.
Monica stepped off the platform first, sliding her gaze across each friend in turn. A grin touched her lips. “These monsters have no idea what’s coming for them,” she said quietly.
Sir Tristan readjusted his shield, face set. Heidi’s orbiting black fire pulsed with readiness. Ted’s hand strummed once over his mandolin, a resonant chord that made the air hum. Dotty flexed her grip on her sword, the lingering purple sheen of Void energy dancing in the corner of Monica’s Mana Sense.
Behind them, Dworsul set his jaw. He might not have his old Skills, but an unyielding fire still burned in his eyes. “Lead the way, Avatar,” he said. “Let’s clear out these filthy wasps—and save my people’s heritage.”
"These filthy monsters have no idea what's awaiting them," Monica said.
