Having wings was a dream that Ramal had given up in 3rd grade, when it was publicly crushed by Garret Vance, a 5th grader. It was a dream he’d only confided to Chin, another 5th grade boy who had been his best friend despite their age difference. Chin and Ramal had many things in common, foremost of which was their love of sports and in a close second, their mutual hatred of Garret.

Garret was half a head taller, stronger, and faster than all the other kids. Back then, all the boys had lived to play football during recess. And Garret dominated everyone at recess football, except Ramal.

It didn’t happen every time. It was just touch football after all, and touching wasn’t that hard when you were surrounded.

But when Ramal got into the open field, he was like the wind. Garret didn’t have a chance. On those plays, Ramal made him look the fool.

And in a world where touch football during recess defined your social standing, that made Garret look bad, especially since Ramal was only a third grader.

One fall day, when the yellow birch and red oak leaves were thick on the field, Chin threw Ramal a perfect pass over the middle and Garret couldn’t bat it down. The large boy grabbed only air as Ramal juked past. When the older boy planted a foot to give chase, the damp leaves slid over the grass and Garret hit the ground, hard.

Ramal had chosen that play to do something he and Chin had worked out. Instead of streaking down the field, he traversed it. Dodging between outstretched hands he collected the rest of Garret’s team in a pack before turning toward the small, bent maple that marked the corner of the goal line.

Ten feet shy, he’d turned back, and as the pack surged, he threw the ball laterally and slightly backward to Chin who was streaking down the other side.

The ball was big and Ramal’s hands were small, so it had wobbled some as it sailed over the pack of craning eleven-year-old heads. But Chin was almost as fast as Ramal and darting in, he snatched the pass at his knees and strolled in for a touchdown.

The display enraged Garret and just after Ramal’s celebratory high-five with Chin the furious bully slammed into the 3rd grader yelling that he cheated and that the pass to Chin was illegal.

It wasn’t, but as soon as Garret shoved him, that didn’t matter. Ramal had never been afraid of Garret, or anyone that he could remember. Garret should have stopped when Ramal hit the ground and rolled to his feet with eerie dexterity. It wasn’t an act any normal 3rdgrader should have been capable of.

But he hadn’t stopped, and the power that lived in Ramal got cold and thrummed as he turned to face the much larger boy. That power was why he was the wind in the open field. When everything was moving and uncertain, Ramal was silent, he listened and the whole world feed him information.

His surroundings became a living mental map that included every player on the field, the kids playing kickball one field over, the teachers talking over on the blacktop, and even the occasional blue jay or ren that sung in a close by tree. In his mind they all existed in a moving projection and he could dance amongst them.

Normally, he would have felt Garret coming. But his projection faded in the glow of celebrating with Chin. But Garret’s shove had angered the listener inside. The information flooded in as he hit the ground and rolled, then for the first time ever, the world also slowed. Cold as ice, he stepped toward Garret who radiated a promise of violence. There was no way Garret or Ramal or anyone could have anticipated what happened next.

His 9-year-old brain had offered up a beloved quote from the Avenging Angel series. “What are you gonna do about it?” he’d said.

In response Garret’s face went purple, and he stepped forward with a mighty punch to Ramal’s face. The fist had come at him as if through molasses, and Ramal simply shifted his weight, turned slightly sideways, slipped inside the swing, and launched the crown of his head into Garret’s chin. The impact made a hollow clack, then Garret hit the ground like a sack of rocks.

In the fallout, the other kids backed his story. Mrs. Hagerty had also witnessed Garret’s unprovoked shove and his having thrown the first punch. Plus, the teachers and principal also knew how Garret was. So, Ramal got a lesser punishment, a week of after school detention.

He served the detention helping Rosco, the fat old janitor with wild hair and thick-framed glasses, clean classrooms. Rosco had turned out to be strangely kind and he’d ended up enjoying the experience. So much so, he’d periodically helped Rosco after that, just because he could.

Garret, on the other hand, got a week of suspension from school. Unbeknownst to Ramal, it was a week that he’d spent plotting.

That next Monday, Chin had stayed home sick, so he was wasn’t sitting with Ramal during lunch when Garret and his crew of lackies sat at his table. Garret had loudly outed Ramal’s dream of flying in front of everyone and belittled him viciously for it. He’d displayed an eloquence and knowledge that were atypical for him as he methodically shredded Ramal’s dream of flight.

That night he’d cried for losing the dream and more for losing his best friend. Later he found out Garret had threatened Chin’s little sister to make him give up the information, but it didn’t matter, Ramal was too hurt by the betrayal for their friendship to survive.

The old memory flashed through his head in an instant, leaving a bitter taste. He cast it aside just as quickly when he landed back on the road and re-engaged with the moment.

His sensory collection took in everything moving within a hundred yards. His wings scissored back and morphed into his back tissue as he reactivated grounded resolve. This consumed another chunk of his itical energy and left him with enough transformational juice for one more shift until it refilled.

The transparent overlay that swam in his vision was the Kuoran version of his earthly ability to directly absorb information from his environment. From the data, Ramal intuitively knew he had fourteen seconds before the demon was on him.

Dnoeth’s concern about Ramal’s size hadn’t been too far off the mark, he was too large to crawl through the tunnel. That said, he wasn’t technically too large to get into the hole. There was a way he could fit, and he’d trained with it by traversing small diameter drainage pipes. The technique just wasn’t recommended for claustrophobics or sane people.

Knowing he had no time for half measures, Ramal dove headfirst into the airshaft with his right arm stretched out in front and his left tight to his side. The position canted his shoulders slightly, moving them inward and reducing his profile at the cost of dramatically reduced mobility. There was no choice though, he wasn’t leaving Dnoeth and Roxy. He wasn’t going to abandon his team.

He skidded on the rock until his body was more than halfway into the opening. Before he even stopped sliding, Ramal forced his body to the right, twisted his hips around as far as he could, braced his lower half with knees and feet tight against the tunnel sides, then rotated his upper body to the same.

Fast repetitions of this worked him around and onto his back. Then by scooting his feet in and pushing while arching his back, Ramal propelled himself.

The thin cloth covering of his shirt offered almost no protection and the rough stone shredded it, then began cutting into his skin. He powered forward, ignoring the pain. He was fully within the tunnel in a couple seconds, and the demon beast chittered in rage at the sight of its disappearing prey.

He didn’t slow though. If the demon could spit acid or breath fire, it could still easily kill him. Roxy and Dnoeth were still in the tunnel about fifty feet ahead of him.

His body was blocking most of the tunnel, so if he died, it would at least shield his team. And he could fly back here. But that would separate them for at least a couple hours and Ramal loathed betting their lives on a hunch. Holding this thought, he yelled, “Get out of the tunnel!”

Roxanna was trying to avoid scratching her knees and elbows all to hell while still moving as quickly as possible. She had tremendous body awareness and could manage the task fairly well, although her flimsy cloth garb wasn’t going to make it through the mad crawl without damage. Despite her care, it was already starting to tear. That was an issue for later though, right now she was desperately hoping this tunnel led to a cavern.

Behind, the sound of Dnoeth scrabbling along followed her, but she couldn’t hear Ramal, so she knew he was still out there. From what she could tell the man was more than capable, and he seemed to have extensive real-world experience with conflict.

She mentally noted that she needed to get some strait answers out of the man about that. Roxy silently chided him for not fully disclosing his capabilities, it was basic gaming to know your party and ensure they knew your strengths and weaknesses.

“Get out of the tunnel!” Ramal’s hollered command echoed down the narrow stone pipe and she was instantly relieved to know that he’d made it.

“How the hell…?” Dnoeth said and she wondered the same. It wasn’t like they had an option; it was one long tunnel.

She ducked her head to her armpit, responding, “We’ll just keep going, it has to open up.”

“What?” Dnoeth replied sounding confused, then he seemed to catch on. “Oh. Yeah. I know, it has to. And, it’s not like we have another option. I meant, how the hell did he fit in the tunnel. The guy’s like twice my size.”

Roxy hadn’t thought of that, but Dnoeth was right. The winged elven giant was enormous, and she barely fit in here. How was he fitting? She set the concern aside. Somehow, he was, and that was all that mattered.

The backs of her fingers, wrapped about a baton, landed on smooth stone and she stopped cold. “Hold up, there’s something here,” she called and stuffed her weapons into her shirt.

It felt like smooth ground granite, flat and consistent. She inched forward and spread her hands out to feel for an edge and found walls of a room on both sides. Her head and shoulders passed into the space then and she looked up. It was a large, square, grey-stone room. There didn’t seem to be any dangers. Crawling fully in, she stood. “It’s a room, seems safe.”

A moment later Dnoeth emerged, took a brief glance around, and got back on his knees, peering down the tunnel. “What the… Oh shit, that looks horrible.” His face screwed up in a grimace.

“Help!” The cry sounded from Ramal just as Dnoeth finished speaking.

Without a moment’s pause he dropped his batons and was in the tunnel crawling furiously back toward their self-appointed leader. “Hold on! I’m coming!”

Ramal appeared to be on his back with one hand out in front extended toward Dnoeth. His barrel-chested body was blocking three quarters of the passage. To Dnoeth’s eyes, the position looked like a panic attack waiting to happen.

“Hurry!” Ramal yelled, “It’s the fucking tongue!”

Roxy’s stomach lurched. “Its… tongue,” she mouthed with a shiver. She couldn’t see anything past Dnoeth’s form. Following him would be worthless, she wasn’t even sure what he could do to aid Ramal in the confined space. Without any direct course of action available, and feeling thoroughly distressed, she yelled after them. “Don’t you two dare die on me!”

Ramal pressed his forehead into the tunnel roof and kicked wildly at the black tongue that was trying to wrap about one of his ankles. His knees, heels, and toes were getting battered to hell as his frantic flailing caused them to be smashed again and again.

The tongue was fast, scary fast, and this was not a fight he was trained for, plus he had no effective way of fighting back. He would have been lunch without his ability as it was the only reason that he’d sensed the attack. Still, the stress was threatening to break his icy calm and he was struggling to keep up his mental projection.

“Oh shit.” Dnoeth said, right behind Ramal and the near panic in him settled.

Still kicking frantically for his life, he dared not take his eyes off the thing he yelled, “Pull me back!” Hoping that the much smaller man had the strength to do so.

Dnoeth grabbed Ramal’s outstretched arm by the wrist and Ramal locked onto his, then the smaller man shuffled his knees back, braced them into the sides of the tunnel and pulled with all his might.

Ramal slide about a foot and immediately cried, “Again!” Dnoeth did with the same result. They repeated the exercise with adrenaline fueled haste. After some unknown number of pulls, they were rewarded with a deafening scream from the demon that left his ears ringing.

Ramal let go, looked at him with wild eyes and barked, “Go! Go!”

The demon hammered on the cliff side, bellowing. Bits of rock and dirt fell and Ramal closed his eyes relying on his projection. Given the situation, it was more than sufficient.

Despite Dnoeth moving backward and Ramal laying on his back, his every push ripping his back to shreds, the two traversed the tunnel much faster than Dnoeth had the first time.

Dnoeth got to his feet in the small room and grabbed Ramal’s wrist again, pulling and lifting him for the final few feet in an effort to spare his back. The big man quickly shook off his help when his torso cleared the opening. Then he flipped onto his stomach and slid around the corner, clear of the tunnel opening before springing to his feet.

“Stay away from the opening,” He said, as his sharp eyes immediately began to survey the room. “Batons?” he asked holding out a hand. “I had to ditch mine.”

Roxanna handed hers over and Dnoeth retrieved his own. The screech of nails on stone echoed down the tunnel, followed by a chittering roar, and then the pounding resumed.

Ramal ignored the noise, and as he turned, his companions got a clear look at his back. All things considered, it wasn’t as bad as Dnoeth had expected.

Roxanna didn’t agree. “Oh! Your back looks horrible.” She skipped past the tunnel opening and reached to put a hand on it. But, Ramal ignored her attentions as he continued to get his bearings in the small space.

“Stop it.” Roxy ordered with the authority of a floor nurse addressing a misbehaving patient. Ramal stopped his scan and turned his head to appraise her with the smallest hint of smile. “I’m not a noob,” she declared. “I’ve cleared the room, its empty. Now turn around.”

Ramal smiled with respect at the power of her presence. Then with a nod he turned. “Yes ma’am.”