The village of Xiǎo Shāngǔ was founded in the middle 7th century of the New King. Safe in the shallow bottom of a secret hollow, its very first stones were laid by refugees: the retainers of a princess that fled an arranged marriage for the sake of love. In time the hamlet was expanded by a troupe of performers, persecuted migrants who made winter shelter there until the day they were invited to make it their home.

Xiǎo Shāngǔ thrived for three hundred years, a village renowned as a mecca for artists and thinkers, for the strange, for the outlaw – an idle bucolic retreat for revolutionaries and for wealthy, spoiled courtiers alike. It is perhaps no coincidence that one of the six great classics of Houzi literature was penned by a native son of the Little Valley, The Maid in the Blue Scarf.

And now, eight hundred thousand years later, the Houzi are gone and the name Xiǎo Shāngǔ is lost forever.

The walls of the home had once been built of carefully fitted stone. Surely there had been an inner surface, a layer to insulate and soften the room. Whether it had been wood paneling or paper, gypsum or lime, it was gone now. Thick, ropy bands of blackened, glassified stone drip over and between the bricks, forever warping and deforming the structure while at the same time freezing it locked into place. Pinholes and seams let in dim grey light from overhead and the left wall; and rust-orange lichen grows in a few of the larger breaches. There is an open door frame across from where Todd is standing, but it has melted down with the drooping roof to a height which would need to be crawled through. The only other exit is a larger section of stone on the right which has collapsed open into a small adjoining room, though inside it he can only make out a small round hearth or oven. Even after all the destruction and weathering, the skill of the craftsman leaves marks: the even, regular shape of the stones, and the precise grooves which might once have held shelves or amenities long long ago.

Todd stands in the back end of the room, his head just under the drooping undercarriage of the roof. Under his feet and between his toes, crunches a thick layer of fossilized ash and organic debris, brittle with trapped air bubbles. He shifts his weight.

If Todd were to inspect the masonry, to consider and recognize its quality, its transmutation, and its age, he might be astounded. But he doesn’t. For one thing, because he doesn’t not possess an academic foundation in archaeology, and more importantly because of the giant naked rat looming in the doorway.

“Oh, god. It’s like going to the gym and there’s an old dude in the showers,” Todd groans. He breaks into a laugh which lasts for the two seconds for him to realize that he is here utterly alone.

Screeching, gnashing, claws grinding through petrified ash, a living bulk rushes at Todd. The pink of its body is obscene in the dark, its eyes are black oil, and its incisors are yellow knives.

“What the –” Todd backpedals, his left arm coming up as the crown of his head clips against low stones and he is forced to duck. The plate of his [Knuckleshell Bracer] is wide, but in his surprise, he has held his arm out sideways. Gaping and snapping, the red mouth closes around his forearm and its lower teeth clamp into his wrist.

Sharp, blinding pain: the bones of Todd’s arm creak under strain as the rat bites down, digging deep into the rubbery bracer sleeve. Cursing, crouching, yanking his arm back, Todd slaps the rodent in the side of the head with handle of his [Mercury Rod]. A bead of sweat erupts from the pores of his forehead as the creature rears up and its scrabbling forepaws scratch at his gi and reach for his face. He clubs it a second time with the side of his weapon and comes to his senses, he needs to stab it with the pointy end. Feeling trapped, he braces the top of his body against the low roof and kicks out forward as hard as he can.

The rat squeals and releases its grip. Todd’s foot scrapes along its underbelly and collides solidly against a back haunch, knocking it back and down onto unsteady footing. Todd pulls his arm free, and it aches with a ballooning pain.

“Gah, Fuck off!” He cries, gripping his fist and choosing not to risk to check if he’s bleeding. He sidesteps, trying to circle out from under the low roof as the rat leaps up to its feet and flecks of spittle arc from its squealing mouth. The ugly pink folds of its skin wobble, denser and thicker than they appear. Mania glitters in the black eyes of the megalo-rodent and it lunges at him again, its claws digging furrows into the ash and kicking up a grey cloud of dust.

“Not gonna die to a freagin’ scrote,” Todd whispers. He jabs the long spike of his weapon into the neck of the rat, but the thick skin rolls back and to the side. It arrests the forward lunge, but the beast’s momentum twists it around and the back end of its body swings in an arc to thump against Todd’s braced arm guard. He grunts as his limb thrums in pain, and then the back legs of the rat fall to the dirt and kick up again.

Scratches score his leg and hip through the fabric of his pants as the skittering back claws tag him and the rat wrenches itself loose from where it was speared. Todd huffs, his body shaking with adrenaline. This damn animal is out of control, wild and slippery and unpredictable. It’s practically out of its mind. Todd glances at the tip of his [Mercury Rod] and sees only a hint of dark blood at its point. The rat glares at him, a faint score visible in the flaps of its throat.

In that moment, the sound of a distant, muffled scream trickles through the gaps in the stones, and Todd realizes he’s needed elsewhere.

He swishes his weapon, which has neither the weight, nor the edge of a sword. The sharp point scratches two lines into the skin of his enemy, at the haunch and over its eye, but neither draw blood. Mistake. The beast’s elbows swing out akimbo and it’s front drops low to the ground; it lunges from under his guard.

“Stay,” Todd insists as it attacks at his legs, its lips peeled back and yellow teeth sharp. “Back!”

Yanking his knee up to his chest and awkwardly kicking with his protected shin, Todd knocks against the rat’s nose and deflects its face. Its neck bends and its body collides into Todd’s side. He is spun about his heel and stumbles backwards as the freakish animal rolls and flails back onto its feet. Ash dust bursts up under its claws, and the little chamber begins to fill with a low rolling cloud of grey debris.

Todd places himself with the door to the ruined kitchen behind him, his eyes flash over to the light of the entryway and he is relieved to find it is still empty. “You know what, fuck you,” he growls, raising his left hand. Stoking the energy inside himself, he connects his heart to his palm and if flashes like closing a shorted circuit.

His [Water Spear] shrieks out in a line, a high pitched whine sounding in the air as it cuts into the flank hide of the rat. The magic lasts less than a second, but in that time folds of skin catch in the pressure of the impact, ballooning up and then tearing, and the force pulls the beast screaming towards the cutting line. Todd frowns and quickly directs the jet away from the creature’s face, down towards its leg which wrenches back and the liquid tapers off.

Spray flies into the dirt and against the walls, and a deep furrow cuts wetly into the ash.

Once again, the raw pushing force of the [Skill] impresses Todd, as the rat is driven backwards and to its knees. The liquid ribbon is tighter and steadier now, but the durable hide of the beast is considerably stronger than Redburr shell. It leaps upright, frenzied and undeterred. Torn skin bleeds along a ragged zigzag, but only at the rate of a slow ooze.

“Don’t make me kill you, you little weenus,” Todd cries, slicing with his weapon again. He calculates for signs of retreat or hesitation, but the legs of the rat tense like steel springs for attack. Todd spirals his energy along his channels again, firing another lance of water. This time, he aims it directly at the left front leg and the limb is wrenched back and under its body, the beam sprays, continues under and dislodges its back leg from the ground as well. Toppled sideways, its face plants into the dirt and its mouth chews angrily on mud.

Todd’s bruised arm aches, but he pulls it back and winds up a punch. He slams the knobby forward protrusion of his bracer into the beast’s mouth as it leaps at him again; clips it right in the dentistry. With a sharp crack of shell on tooth, an enamel flake chips off and flies across the room.

“I bet your ugly ass species eats its babies,” Todd snarls. With a sharp, preparatory breath, he ducks left and low. The rat opens its screeching mouth and Todd decides he’s given it chance enough to back down. He fires his third spear, this time directly into its open maw.

The naked rat gurgles awfully and its eyes bulge. The wobble of the cutting jet lacerates the creature’s tongue, gums and lips as it lurches backwards and its belly swells.

“Oh damn. Gross,” Todd winces as the rat collapses to the ground, wobbles back to its feet and vomits blood and offal. It warbles with rage, its lips red with hurt. Todd rolls his eyes. “Sorry, not sorry.”

The froth of his fourth spear cuts through the dust in the air, sinks deep muddy divots into the torn up ash. It pummels the beast in the face, and Todd doesn’t wait for the attack to end before advancing to kick it savagely in the muzzle. His heel digs into the rubbery layers of skin and shudders as the cheek bone underneath cracks.

The eyes of the beast swivel furiously to meet Todd’s eyes and he huffs impatiently. “Fuck it.” Todd calls on his energy again, but this time overcharges his skill. It responds more stably to the power he feeds it, taking about a third more than its standard before a slight tremor in the aqua haze in front of his palm warns him that he’s reached the skill’s new limit. He turns away as the close range soaks his robes, but keeps the attack leveled at the rat’s head.

The battered animal has been driven forcefully into the crook of the wall, its haunches toppled. Its head makes a sucking sound as it rises exhaustedly from the mud. Todd lines his weapon up with the animal’s eye. He sends a careful spark of energy into his [Mercury Rod] to narrow and sharpen its point, and then hesitates for less than a heartbeat before driving the silver needle through the eyelid, under and into the socket.

A mangled tongue lolls out of an open mouth. A leg jerks spasmodically, and its spine stiffens in mortal rigor. The [Mercury Rod] has bent crooked against the back side of the rat’s skull, and as he yanks his weapon free it drags out fragments of brain matter.

There is a pressure of energy which flows into Todd’s body, a nauseous feeling which marks the [System]’s grisly reward for a life taken. Blood seeps into the grey-black mud, replacing the fast evaporating phantasmal water.

Todd shakes out his left wrist, an ugly red bruise visible under the semi-transparent sleeve of the bracer binding. He had been lucky, the pliant joint chitin is hardly armor grade. If the rat had bit down with better leverage, it would have punched right through and put a hole between his ulna and radius.

The ash-spattered pink body of the rat grinds softly in the dirt as it slowly settles. Dust hangs in the air.

A wicker box, a stride in length, and two hands in depth and width is sitting in the kitchen. A careful observer would have sworn it hadn’t been there before, but it sits expectantly in the center of the small room. Todd spares a glance at it, but before his curiosity puts his feet in motion, he turns toward the warped, sunken door instead. Light paints a stark line between day and shade in the dirt outside, and there is nothing beyond but grey and the cries of human voices.

“I’m coming!” He shouts.