Tormacc made his way across the plateaus to the rats’ territory in high spirits. They had been getting a little too high and mighty lately, their communal shielding ability able to chase him away with the weight of numbers, but it was time to lay down the law. Vermin were meant to be exterminated, and with his new upgrades, he felt it was time to turn the tables once and for all.

Reaching the rats’ area, he stared down at them, listening to their feet patter about the crevices below, their writhing stone bodies just begging to be crushed under his hammer. Truthfully, it was incredibly stressful to fight the same enemy over and over again, the repetition wearing on him as he struggled against a foe he felt should be easy. All his time in this Shard had been spent fighting against the rats, and while it had been fruitful, his Fate Wheel greatly expanded, he still felt stagnant, as if there was more he could be doing. Perhaps it was a result of him running away, as despite farming a substantial amount of Essence off the rat horde it still felt like he was losing to them, the mental strain building and wearing him down.

But that would change today; or he hoped it would. Part of him, a rather large part, wanted to immediately jump down and begin his slaughter. He had learned better. He wouldn’t underestimate the stone rats again, so instead of descending below, he called them up, banging his hammer on the ground with a loud clang to get their attention.

It was mesmerizing to watch the rats ascend the plateaus, their writhing bodies clumping together to form a second coating on the cliff, a moving wave of stone as they almost knocked each other off in their mad scramble to reach the top, their enraged squeaks preceding their frenzied climb. Tormacc was ready for them, and as they neared the top he laid about with his hammer, knocking them flying and signifying the start of the battle.

His normal routine had been to retreat once enough of them reached the top of the plateau, fleeing to another one before re-engaging, then rinse and repeat until he ran out of stamina and had to fully disengage to rest and recuperate. This time he let himself be surrounded, moving to the center of the plateau by his own will as rats flowed over the edge, eager to throw their tiny bodies at him in an attempt to spill the blood of their mortal foe.

Giant’s Strength lived up to its worth as a tier nine skill, and as more rats swarmed up the plateau his strength held, his blows still knocking back the tide of rats threatening to inundate and wash him away. Eventually the rats reached an invisible tipping point and his blows were no longer lethal, the damage spread out over too many rats. It didn’t matter, his attacks still possessing the power to knock the rats back, and if he couldn’t kill them in one hit, he would just use two. They never retreated, constantly throwing their bodies at him, which made it easy to land the second or third hit needed to finish them off.

If it had been before, he would have easily tired, the monotonous swings of his hammer quickly sapping his strength, his stamina not nearly enough to compete with the endless horde. With his new skills, everything changed; he could feel his stamina and vitality returning to him with each kill, the amount small, but even that small amount added up, revitalizing him as the kill count increased, crossing into the three-digit mark.

He could feel the wind around him, the gusts from his hammer blows caressing his skin and ruffling his hair. His blood was pumping, adrenaline surging through him as he stood, one lone man in the middle of a swarming tide of claws and teeth. The ground started to become slick beneath him, the blood of the rat corpses seeping out as they built a wall around him. He felt like a god, his skills giving him the support his mortal body lacked, allowing him to unleash his pent-up aggression on the clump of vermin.

The rats threw themselves at him, their baritone squeaks washing over him, drowning out the sound of his hammer impacting their rocky flesh. He repelled their attacks, alternating his normal swings with skills like Sweep and Whirlwind, his hammer a blur as it crashed around him, the craggy bits of their rock-like skin spraying into the air as he utilized every bit of strength to continue his slaughter, the vitality coming to him from Greater Lifesteal practically endless.

There was nothing like battle to focus his mind, each advance of the horde meeting his hammer blows like some choreographed dance, a give and take of alternating force that left only destruction in its wake as raw primal violence echoed about the air, suffusing it with a thrumming tension. He breathed in, his lungs inflating, filled to the brim with that bloody thrum of battle. Then he exhaled, blowing out that same energy, his very being breathing life and reaping death.

Time lost all meaning, the vibrations of his hammer blows melding with the screams of dying rats, the grisly serenade echoing around the plateau. But during the bloody mayhem something changed, the flow of battle interrupted, the song of death just slightly off key. He couldn’t be sure what alerted him, whether it was his Tattoo of Perception or his skill Firm Footing, but as he was fighting back against the rat swarm, he noticed something at his feet. It was a subtle shift, a small thing, but some primal instinct warned him it was important.

He used Whirlwind, buying him a small amount of space to allow him to glance down. He could feel something off, the ground almost seeming to ripple under him. Then, as he watched in horror, the stone swelled, flowing like liquid as it grabbed at his booted feet, seeking to encase them in stone. He was able to lift his right foot up, but his left foot was sinking, the stone-like muddy hands oozing around his foot to suck him in and keep him in place until he was overwhelmed by rats.

With quick thinking he activated Air Step, pushing off the air with his right foot, his left slipping out of his boot, leaving it behind to be subsumed in liquid stone. He flew up into the air, the ground where he previously stood transforming into a roiling, bubbling muck as tendrils of stone reached up towards him like grotesque tentacles. Watching the rocky tentacles reach higher and higher into the air, he knew he needed to escape.

Activating Reset, he used Air Step once more, pushing off an invisible platform as he rocketed towards the next plateau. By utilizing his full strength paired with Dash he made it, his height from the initial jump giving him that little bit extra to allow him to just barely grab the edge of the next plateau, the breath forced out of him as he slammed his chest into the cliff edge, hands and feet scrabbling for purchase.

He risked one quick look behind him before he was off running, fear hastening his steps as he fled across the plateaus, every fiber of his being hellbent on escaping the terror behind him. Those damned rats did it again. Every time he thought he had them, they pulled out something new; but this was the final straw. He was done. His glance backwards showed what attacked him through the ground: a giant rat, at least three times the size of the others, possibly four, its hulking form towering over its brethren.

He had hints; he had seen how the rats were able to pop out of the ground within the crevices, but it had never happened on the plateaus, the rats forced to climb up the sides instead of tunneling though the plateau itself. This rat was different from the rest, clearly a boss of some kind and the brains of the whole horde, the likely architect behind his original trap. That small glimpse showed the raw hatred in its eyes, intelligence shining through as it watched him retreat.

It had been a close thing. Just a bit more overconfidence and he would have been trapped, ensnared by the rocky tentacles before being submerged in stone and killed. No matter how much strength he had it was useless if he was trapped, no skill he had even close to breaking him free from stone restraints. He had gotten cocky with his new tier nine skill. Yes, he was able to kill the rats, slaughter them even, but he was still vulnerable, especially when even the ground beneath his feet rose to attack him, leaving nowhere to stand, no place of retreat amidst the horde of snarling rats.

Once he finally felt he was far enough away Tormacc slowed down his reckless flight, stabilizing his breathing to try and calm himself down. It didn’t work, his roiling emotions were still boiling under the surface, threatening to break free and explode. He was better than this, he knew he was. He had prepared; he had both information from Curtain as well as multiple advantages like the rituals he had undergone. But even with all that he was still powerless, unable to exert his dominance over the rats. He had played it safe in the starting zone, followed the plan, fighting tooth and nail to save his Essence, only to find out he had messed up even there, failing to stay long enough in the starting zone to harvest the bountiful riches it contained.

It felt like nothing he did was working out. Sure, he still survived, lived to fight another day, but for how long? How long would he have to bow his head, run away with his tail between his legs to preserve his life. The survivors were the winners. He knew that, knew it deep within his bones, but it was a cold comfort after all his setbacks. He was supposed to come back stronger after retreating, not be forced to retreat once more.

He felt tears leaking down his cheeks, the moisture quickly evaporating in the dry climate, only leaving salt stains behind. He couldn’t handle it anymore, breaking down into full-on wracking sobs. He was supposed to have a mission, was supposed to obtain glory: his a tale of struggle to fight for his people, eventually conquering all in his quest to climb The Tower. Instead, he was fighting rats; how was that glorious? Tormacc the conqueror, slayer of rats. What a grand title.

Loneliness. It was something he shouldn’t feel; he had his whole race behind him after all, his people cheering him on and supporting him as he climbed The Tower. But they were a people invisible, their silence deafening as he fought for them, bled for them, their cheers only the echoes of the wind as it whispered its way through the desolate Shard.

He thought back to how Stella had described the Shard and what words she used. It all came down to survival. He wasn’t some conqueror of old, driving his enemies before him with his powerful elementals. He was no emperor, wreathed in purple. There were no legends about his name, and he didn’t fight for the life of his planet in a new world. He was a survivor, forced to scavenge for Essence, debasing himself each day to just to see the next. He had let hubris guide the way, for surely he didn’t need to scrape by, farming the bare minimum Essence. Surely he wasn’t one of those people. He was above that, someone who could freely farm Essence to his heart’s content, building up his Fate Wheel for his eventual rise to fame and fortune.

Those dreams were crushed now, the hard boot of reality grinding his grand delusions to dust before they scattered to the wind. He remembered the faces of the people who had walked into the portal with him, how there were no smiles, pained grimaces the most common expression as they all walked into an inhospitable Shard. They knew what to expect. He was the strange one, his head still up in the clouds, dreaming of the honor he would gain in battle. It was time to come back down to earth. He had a long road ahead of him, a road not of honor and glory, but one of survival. He could conquer nothing if he was dead.