For all his worry at the sight of a child, Melmarc’s eyes zeroed in on the knife and his kick was as swift as it was vicious.

  He felt it crack against the boy’s rib, the width of his leg large enough to contain the length of the boy’s torso. He struck through, the boy folded on his side as if seeking to wrap himself around Melmarc’s leg. Then he was gone, shot off into the distance where he cracked his skull against a wall.

  His interface lit up on impact.

  [Skill Knowledge Is Power is in effect].

  [You cannot receive or inflict damage.]

  Melmarc’s stomach roiled at what he had just done but he swallowed whatever disgust he felt for himself. Shame reared its ugly head and he took it off in one clean sweep. He was in a portal, he did not have time to be human.

  The remaining children suddenly materializing out of thin air proved to be too little of a threat as the bird people went into action. Melmarc watched with the best detached expression he could muster as the Spakkow caved in one of the children’s head with a powerful downward swing with his staff. It was a young girl with gap tooth. She looked waifish and her hair had clumps in it. She was the spitting image of what you would expect of a girl uncared for in medieval times.

  Blood splashed on Melmarc and he leaned away from it. Beside him Famon had ripped a child’s head into a grisly mess with his taloned feet.

  Melmarc’s eyes widened in horror at how easily they slaughtered and killed children. Even the innocent seeming Flenki was currently setting a child on fire despite being stabbed in the back. All the children were dead by the time [Knowledge Is Power] came to a conclusion.

  Melmarc just stared in horror at the massacre of children. It had been so detached, so decisive. It was familiar, described using words back home. Delvers had often given advice that sounded like this in their press conferences and interviews. It was what was required to survive.

  The massive cave stunk with the metallic tinge of blood and gore. Melmarc smelled feces too and knew its source. For all the feelings stirring in his stomach, he knew that he could not hold it against them. He knew it in his chest even though his heart said something else.

  They fought them as if they were monsters.

  The bird people killed the children like Delvers killing monsters.

  It was a difficult pill to swallow, but swallow Melmarc knew that he must. It was the only way to survive in the portal. What had to die, had to die.

  Footsteps sounded next to him and Spakkow leaned over to look at him with something speculative in his eyes. Finding whatever he was looking for, he moved his attention to Sentib. “We should probably hurry,” he said with an undertone of worry. “Minds change easily. The Unkali, I have heard, is not immune to this.”

  Sentib scoffed. “You’ve been listening to Elkav too much. They do not have a mind.”

  “They are merely constructs of the portal,” Famon said, walking forward. “It pieces together information from the past and present and offers us what it deems best suited to aid us.” He paused, looked back at Melmarc. “If it believes a demon is what we need to defeat the demon, then that is what is needed.”

  Famon’s words wrung a curious look from Melmarc. It seemed every world had their take on the Portal Helpers. Here they called them Unkatis and believed they were constructs of the portal. Earth believed something very closely similar too.

  Then there were those who found themselves pondering on the possibility of the Portal Helpers being actual living things just the way Pelumi had once pondered.

  “Never said they were alive or had a mind,” Spakkow pointed out, unbothered by whatever accusation Sentib had made. “I’m not a raving loon. I’m saying that they have been known to act differently, too.”

  “But never against the group.” Flenki pulled the knife she’d been stabbed with out from her back. She frowned at the thing. “Now I’ll be cleaning blood out of my feathers. Getting red out of blue can be annoying.”

  Famon hesitated. He stroked the bottom of his beak and let his eyes wander the cave as if looking for something. It wasn’t long before they were drawn to Melmarc where he stood beside Spakkow.

  “You are not wrong,” he said, contemplative. “They have been known to work outside the confines of the group.”

  “So, it’s true,” Flenki blurted, pausing her action of dabbing the feathers on her back with a brown piece of cloth. “I heard the stories, but I thought they were just that… stories.”

  Taluk made a casual gesture. “There are truths to every story. You just have to find it in the ones enamored by lies.”

  “Enamored by lies…” Spakkow hesitated, a smile played around his beaks like something mischievous. “It’s a bit poetic of a phrase, don’t you think?”

  Taluk looked away, embarrassed. “It is fitting.”

  Laughter bubbled up out of Spakkow. For someone who seemed so young, he seemed to enjoy riling up the others when he had the chance, except for Famon.

  Flenki looked between her teammates. From Spakkow’s grin to Taluk’s embarrassment. A gentle smile settled on her lips, as if she was happy to be here. To be in a cave attacked by children who came out of nowhere to stab you in the back.

  The sound of gas escaping broke the smile from her face as a rancid smell filled the air. Everyone turned to find Sentib standing next to one of the corpses. She had kicked it in the side.

  “What?” she said at everyone’s attention. “It soiled itself.”

  “They all soiled themselves.” The fun was gone from Spakkow as he turned his beak up at the smell. “Demons soil themselves when they die. You’re not supposed to go kicking them to make it… Ugh,” he groaned, suddenly sullen. “You’re just a pain to deal with.”

  As he stomped off, heading down the path, Sentib grinned in satisfaction. Taluk mouthed something to her. Flenki caught it and shook her head.

  “You two,” she said, “should grow up.”

  Despite the gore, Melmarc actually found himself fighting back a smile. For all they were, they were just people, much like any Delver back home.

  With that in mind, he moved. When he past Flenki once more, he stopped. A familiar feeling settled over him once more. He looked at her and wondered if she was an [Invoker] by class. The same urge to listen to what Pelumi had to say as well as the urge to answer washed over him.

  Maybe it was because she was the one who had done the summoning? He couldn’t be too sure.

  Shaking his head, he pushed the thought aside. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had been summoned here and knew nothing of his quest. Veebee had not been able to give him one for some reason. Melmarc assumed it was because the person that was supposed to give him had been eaten alive. It had been quite gruesome to watch but, not wanting to make Veebee feel bad, he had said nothing.

  It's not like I didn’t know he eats people.

  Ignoring the corpses around, they continued on their path. Famon remained leader of the group, forging the path forward while the others attacked.

  The cave was an interesting pathway. Never having been in one, Melmarc assumed that there was a possibility that all caves were an interesting pathway.

  They walked slowly through the cave. Their footsteps were softened by the damp dirt and fine gravel that shifted beneath their feet. The deeper in they went the more the smell of blood lessened until there was nothing left of it. With the absence of smell, the air was cool and heavy. It carried with it the sharp scent of stone and minerals.

  The path narrowed as they advanced, and each breath they took echoed faintly in the narrow passage. Pale lights from the cave entrance had since faded behind them. When they were attacked, they had survived by the light of shadowy walls that glistened where moisture clung to the rocks. Water dripped steadily from the ceiling, even now, the sound landing in the silence like the slow, patient tapping of the finger of a man who had waited too long.

  Melmarc noted how the bird people kept their path. Famon’s hand brushed along the uneven wall for balance, though Melmarc didn’t think he needed it. his fingers tracing the grooves carved by time and flowing water. If he appreciated the artistry of nature, he didn’t show it. Then again, this was a time to be alert not appreciative.

  Stalactites hung overhead. Each time Melmarc took a glance at them, he was reminded of jagged teeth of massive sharks in channels obsessed with talking about animals. The stalagmites weren’t sharp, not even close, but they sufficed to remind him. They were so packed together and so ready to drop that he had to force himself to stop looking, lest his worries get the best of him.

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  Flenki staggered at a point where the ground dipped and rose without warning. Melmarc’s head snapped to her immediately and he snatched her up by the arm before she hit the ground.

  She blinked, giving him a confused look. It turned appreciative. “Thank you,” she said.

  “You’re welcome,” Melmarc replied reflexively. The look on her face told him that she hadn’t heard a word of what he had said.

  Everyone stopped, paying attention to the both of them.

  “A polite Unkati,” Spakkow mused when everyone was sure that all the present members of the group were safe. “That’s a rare sight.”

  “Rarer that it has the form of a demon.” Sentib’s expression was full of loathing. It made Melmarc wonder what exactly humans had done in their world to make them see them as demons. Especially when there were actual demons out in the universe.

  “Hand on the wall for balance, Flenki,” Famon grunted, returning his eyes to the front.

  Melmarc understood it now, maybe they did need balance. After all, he knew very little about birds and how they saw in places that weren’t so bright. For all he knew, there were things that the bird people couldn’t see walking here. The hand on the wall also served for balance. So maybe he had been wrong, maybe Famon did in fact need the balance.

  The continued existence of sudden rises and dips in the ground with the soft dirt and fine gravel in accompaniment forced careful steps. Every movement stirred echoes that ran after one another down the cave. Sometimes they danced about so that Melmarc thought that he heard them from behind.

  It was either the sounds playing tricks on him or someone was actually following them. So, just to be safe, he stopped to look back. There he waited, listening once more for the sounds. They did not come.

  When he turned back around, it was to the sight of all the bird people standing alert and facing the direction he had been looking at. There was something fierce in how much larger Famon looked when his was alert. His beak looked like the edge of a blade and his grey feathers seemed more like spikes than actual feathers.

  Flenki looked at Melmarc as if with a question on her lips.

  “You think it saw something?” Sentib asked. For all her hate, she seemed ready to live and die on Melmarc’s instincts.

  Flenki looked Melmarc in the eyes, studied him, then shrugged. “No idea.”

  “Taluk,” Famon commanded, “watch our back. The Unkati might not be able to communicate with us, but if it is looking there, then something must be up.”

  Melmarc was surprised by this. Then again, within a portal, people took the actions of a Portal Helper seriously.

  When they resumed their walk with Taluk, the most silent of them all walking behind Melmarc, the echoes resumed once more, dancing and mocking in Melmarc’s ears as one followed after the other only to track back for a small symphony behind.

  Melmarc ignored it this time, slightly ashamed that he had underestimated the gravity of his role in the portal.

  The darkness thickened as they moved deeper. Melmarc’s eyes were beginning to strain to find light with which to walk with. Still, the others didn’t walk any slower. Hands on the uneven walls, they moved at the same pace. Quiet. Alert.

  Gently and very slowly, the cave seemed to close around them with the rising darkness. The group seemed to close in as well, drawing closer, Melmarc noticed, to himself.

  It took him only a moment to realize why. He was bright enough to see what was immediately ahead but not what was far in front. They used him for his light.

  The question was if the portal brought him to them just to be used as a source of illumination.

  They continued this way for what seemed to stretch on for hours. Within those hours, Melmarc wondered if time as a Portal Helper moved the same way as it did on Earth. If it did, then there was a chance that classes would be coming to an end. How were his classmates and teachers reacting to what had happened to him?

  What was Ark doing? Who was he calling? Who else outside of school knew?

  Focus on keeping yourself alive, he thought, knowing that it was what was most important in this moment. He wasn’t even going to risk dying for the group. After all, he didn’t know what would happen if he did.

  “You think the demon is going to be S-rank?” Taluk said, tossing the question for anybody to pick up.

  “Unlikely,” Famon said with his gruff voice. It always came out as if he was an adult already tired of talking to a bunch of children. “The Unkati is only a B-rank, no stronger than I am.”

  “He’s a recreator, though,” Flenki pointed out. “You know how strong they can get.”

  Sentib tapped a feathered finger against her beak thoughtfully. It was yellow and thin, long too, as if it was designed for stabbing deep and precise holes. “Recreators are known to be close rivals to ranks above them.”

  “Personally, I think they are just unfair.” Spakkow twirled his staff as if trying to keep himself active. Flenki shot him a dark look when he almost hit her in the head. He gave her an apologetic look before continuing. “The ability to recreate the blessings of others is a terrifying thing. Who recreates the blessings of the gods?”

  “That’s why some tribes consider them divine,” Taluk offered. “Blessed with the ability to borrow the blessings of the gods, they are the closest things to gods on the tree.”

  Melmarc blinked as all of them nodded in united agreement.

  On Earth, the [Faker] class was hated and treated poorly, even if not openly. In these people’s world it was revered, seen as godly, divine.

  Then how do they see the [Mage] class?

  It was a while before they came upon anything significantly different. This time, Melmarc knew that it did not feel like hours, it was actually hours. At one point Spakkow had tapped his chest a few times only to inform the team that it had been over eight hours since they’d entered the cave.

  They had also been ambushed by another group of children armed with knives and shivs that spawned out of nowhere. Flenki got stabbed again. This time in the stomach. Like the last time, she shrugged it off only after they were done killing off the group of children.

  Melmarc stomached this one a little more poorly. While he didn’t throw up, it was not by any willpower of his own. It was because he realized that he was actually physically incapable of throwing up. His body didn’t even as much as retch at the idea.

  What brought him sadness was that while the bird people seemed to have enjoyed killing the children like the righteous at the thought of angels slaying demons, he now finally had the answer to a question that he had not asked.

  The life of a child was only worth a hundred and twelve [EP].

  When they came to a point, Famon raised his feathered hand, pulling the group to a halt.

  Flenki groaned in annoyance and she placed a hand to her stomach. Spakkow looked back at her, then down at her stomach. A worried expression crossed his face.

  “Still bleeding?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Flenki moaned, checking the injury. “I think the bastard coated it with poison or something. It’s healing back up but too slowly. I wish I had some seeds to help.”

  “Maybe I could just patch you up some.” Spakkow held his staff out to her and Famon stopped him with a growl.

  Melmarc, not for the first time, wondered how they could growl since they were birds. He didn’t think birds could growl. No, he was sure of it.

  “You are our healer,” Famon said, walking over to grab the end of the staff extended to Flenki. “We are out of food, rations, seeds and medicine.” His eyes were fierce and harsh. They broached no argument. “You will conserve your mana for the final fight. I will not risk any wastes.”

  Spakkow wanted to say something but Flenki beat him to it. “He’s right,” she said. “Save it for the demon. I’ll live.”

  “Good.” Famon turned back around with a haunted expression. “Because we’re here.”

  Sentib snorted. “That’s what you said the last time.”

  No one found her amusing or the least bit funny.

  In front of them, like at the entrance to the cave was a wall of green mist. They could not see what was on the other side, at least Melmarc could not. Famon peered into it, then touched it. His hand slid seamlessly into the mist. He brought it back and checked it.

  His hand was in perfect condition.

  “We remember our positions?” he asked, dropping his hand and ignoring Sentib’s jab at him.

  Flenki finished up whatever she was doing with her injury. “Definitely. But what’s the plan for the Unkati?”

  “Every one knows that you always think of the Unkati as a roamer,” Taluk answered. “The Unkati will do whatever it wishes to do. We just have to work as a team and let it do its job. Just know that whatever it does is the best possible outcome it can achieve. The portal has designed them so.”

  Melmarc didn’t think it worked that way. In fact, he could bet his life that it did not work that way.

  Again, Melmarc had no idea what his quest was or what the risks were. He also had no idea what the rewards were. He was literally flying blind here.

  “Move,” Famon commanded, then walked into the mist.

  It swallowed him whole, then Sentib followed. Spakkow was next, walking in with a sigh. Flenki made a sign over her left wing that looked ceremonious, maybe religious, before she entered.

  Taluk waited. Only when Melmarc walked towards the mist did he follow. Moving through the mist felt like nothing. He walked through and that was all there was to it.

  Melmarc found himself in an open space. It was a vast natural chamber as if at the heart of the cave. The space was immense, its ceiling soared high above them all. It was lost in shadows except where a single opening split the stone. From the gap, light poured down in a wide and pale column. Moonlight, Melmarc realized. It was nighttime.

  The light cut through the darkness like a solid, lilting baluster. Dust and mist drifted slowly through the beam, turning the light soft and almost fantastical as it touched the ground below.

  The chamber grounds were uneven but open, surrounded by towering rock walls. The walls curved inward like the inside of a colossal dome. Stone formations rose from the ground in thick pillars, some connected to the ceiling as if they were holding everything up, as if they had been burdened with the task for ages.

  Water trickled down the walls near the opening, feeding small pools that reflected the light in undulating patterns across the stone. The air in the chamber felt lighter than it had been in the cave somehow. Perhaps because it was touched by the outside world.

  The sounds within the cave were clear, spreading outward, returning as low quiet whispers. Footsteps, the dripping water droplets, even the breaths of the bird people. Melmarc noticed that he left no breath to be heard. His footsteps were his only accompaniment to the sounds.

  Melmarc felt less as if he had entered a cavernous room and more like a boy in a cathedral crafted by nature yet abandoned by time.

  Still, for all its beauty, none of it held their attention. There was only one thing that did. There, within the chamber, a man sat with his back to them. He sat at the center of the beam of light. With the dust dancing about, he looked like the beginnings of a boss fight in a dark fantasy video game.

  He wore robes of light brown that looked like they had been bathed in desert sand. A glaive waited stabbed to the ground beside him. His fingers caressed the long handle of the weapon forlornly.

  “I see.” The words rolled out of him like lava from an erupting mountain, a deep tremble. His hand fastened around the weapon. “It is time.”

  “Oh shit,” Flenki swore under her breath. “It’s an old one.”

  All of them moved into combat stances, each one varying in some way but with purposes unmistaken.

  The man rose from his seated position with white flowing hair and thinning beards on a weathered and wrinkled face. He stood with a bend at the waist like some of the elderly do.

  The man held his hand out to them. “Come!” he said, and there was chaos in his voice.

  Everyone moved, as if on command. They rushed him, spreading out to attack him from all directions. Spakkow stayed behind. He held his staff up and it glowed a bright yellow. The others reacted to it. All of them emitted the same light. They moved faster, sharper too somehow.

  Melmarc would’ve sighed in relief at their show of seamless teamwork if not for the notification above the man’s head.

  [Balusad Tavet (Oath of Desolation) (A)]