Three weeks later, Elenya was leaning over the kitchen table, sharpening her massive halberd with a grindstone. Astrid walked out with a stack of books as the midday suns shone through the balcony window onto the floor. Whisky lay outstretched in the light, tail wagging. On the table lay an open newspaper with a bold headline.

  String of Sabotages in the Strongholds

  “What’s up with the stack of books? You reading up on something?” Elenya asked.

  “Wretchy asked to borrow them,” Astrid said, pushing up her glasses with her shoulder.

  “Lil Ratty the reader, who would have guessed?” Elenya chuckled. “What’s he studying? Romance novels? Ledgers of dead hunters?”

  “Anatomy,” Astrid replied. “Nothing about his father.”

  Elenya clicked her tongue. “Thank the Saint. Thought you were going to say philosophy.”

  “Is he still down there? He was out again last night,” Astrid asked.

  “Four hours and counting,” Elenya answered, pressing the steel against the spinning stone with a shrill noise.

  “He is going to burn himself. His mind and body need to rest,” Astrid said, peering over the books.

  “Nah, he can regenerate fatigue, and he’s become pretty sharp with the throwing dagger. Though that new Blessing is freaky as hell,” Elenya answered.

  “I’ll talk some sense into him,” Astrid said, puffing up her chest.

  Elenya didn’t look up. “He wants to go after the Gulschaks for revenge and to grow. I feel the same.”

  Astrid ignored her and carried the books down the creaking stairwell, knocking once before entering the training room.

  “Break ti—” She froze.

  Wretch was bare-chested, sweat dripping down his thin but well-defined frame. Scars marked his body from head to toe, circular ones on both arms at the base of the shoulders. Astrid had offered to heal them, but he had declined.

  But that wasn’t why she had paused.

  Two massive arms sprouted from his back. Dark-skinned trunks of stitched muscle and grafted bone, each three meters long. They were connected at the shoulder blades, and two rows of triangular teeth ran down their length. Each limb ended in a massive hand shaped from at least two dozen of Wretch’s own hands, stitched into a grotesque claw.

  Astrid gazed at him through her glasses, carrying her signature look of deep thought.

  Wretch placed the oversized palms onto the stone floor and lifted himself into the air, turning around by using them as spidery legs connected to his back. His black eyes burned with pupils of fire.

  “Hey Astrid! You found the books,” he said with a nod, lowering himself down to the ground as the arms collapsed back into his spine with a sickening sound.

  “Yeah,” she let out. “I did. Is that the Fireling power you talked about?”

  “Yes. It’s ridiculous how hard it is to grow an extra set of shoulder blades and enough muscle to move them,” he said with a grim look. “It costs a mountain of flame too.”

  “I have structured my Blessings into layers. As a base, I have my regular form made from Flesh-stealer. Even without flame, I can bring the hurt. Then there is Regeneration, allowing me to trade blows others can’t. And finally Form-weave, powerful and adaptive but guzzling flame.”

  “At most, I can manage two of Jonah’s arms for just a few minutes,” he said, pacing across the room littered with training equipment. “And that’s with full concentration.”

  Astrid nodded slowly and extended the stack of books. “Here. How about a break?”

  “Thanks. I guess I could go for a breather,” Wretch said, taking the books from her arms and setting them aside.

  Astrid leaned against the smooth stone wall with folded arms. “You are grinding yourself to dust, and I know you’re sneaking around at night. Slow down.”

  “Movement and training settle the ache. When I reach Blaze, things might be different,” Wretch answered as he pulled a linen shirt over his head.

  “Promise me you’ll slow down.”

  Wretch limbered up his arms and fell to the floor. Hands thumping against the stone, he smoothly began a furious string of push-ups.

  “Next time you use your flame,” he said as he pushed up and down, “try to tell it what to do. Don’t just drag it. It works way better for both me and Elenya.”

  Astrid tilted her head. “You didn’t answer.”

  “As of now, I can do a decent crab claw with my left hand, two of Jonah’s arms. The form of Milley, the first thing we hunted, is still too hard, but I will get to it,” he said.

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  “Wretchy, stop.”

  Wretch froze halfway through a push-up. “I’ll strengthen the tendons and change my skin to fish scales,” he muttered, eyes trained on the floor. “Tougher that way. I won’t look human, but that doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Stand up,” Astrid said firmly.

  Wretch sighed and stood, meeting her gaze. They were the same height, and neither hunter looked away.

  The room fell quiet for a moment, but in the end, Wretch spoke first. “I won’t promise something I can’t keep, not to you, Astrid.”

  Astrid frowned, emotion breaking through a face that rarely showed it. “Trust me. Trust Edmund. You have to pace yourself. Slow down.”

  Wretch shook his head. “I was lying to myself, Astrid. After the Flame blessed me, I figured good things would come. Why wouldn’t they? After all, I deserved it.”

  He gave a dry chuckle and stretched his arms. “Easy steps to a summit where my father waited with open arms. Naive.”

  “You can still find him,” Astrid said.

  “And what would I show him, if he’s even alive? A hunter who gets caught and brutalized. Worth nothing more than bait. No, I’ll find him eventually, but now—”

  He bared his teeth in something that was perhaps meant to be a smile. “I have to grow. As fast as possible, no matter what.”

  The lines on Astrid’s face vanished. She truly did look tender, just as her name implied. Frail in this line of work. During the next hunt, if he wasn’t ready, this world would eagerly reduce her to a memory.

  “Good things happen too,” she said softly. “The city protects us all in the end.”

  His dark, orb-like eyes snapped back to her. “No. I’ll kill the Gulschaks, find our enemies, and snap their necks. Not with luck. Not because I deserve it. Because they can’t stop me.”

  His eyes flickered to the door. “Captain is back. He’s walking fast, like he’s in a hurry.”

  “I hear nothing,” Astrid said, turning toward his gaze just in time to hear the creak of the outer door.

  Wretch walked out of the room first, the healer close behind.

  “Good day, Captain!” Wretch said.

  “Hunters,” Edmund said with a nod. “Mind coming up to the common room?”

  Upstairs, Elenya was sharpening two long knives next to a pile of blades.

  “How many of those do you carry around on missions?” Wretch asked.

  “The lot,” Elenya said without looking up. “What’s up?”

  “First, here is your new badge,” Edmund said, throwing Wretch a metal insignia with a small fire engraved on it.

  Elenya looked up to follow the badge as it soared through the air before Wretch caught it. It was heavier than he had imagined. Polished metal formed the Fireling symbol, a tiny flame, bolted to a leather card containing his information.

  He looked up at Elenya. In a flash, she turned her head back to the grindstone. She and Astrid were the only two Embers left on the team.

  Edmund sat down on a chair, placing his hat on the table. “You know that I have purposely declined missions for the last month. We needed stability. Time.”

  Wretch sat down on the sofa and intertwined his clawed fingers, peering into nothing with his black eyes. His excursions in the Lows hadn’t yielded any meaningful results in his climb upward.

  “The Bureau and the military branch are under pressure,” Edmund continued. “Gulschak sabotages, hunts. They allowed my stall until now.”

  “We leave tomorrow,” he finished with a sigh.

  Wretch and Elenya’s lips parted into similar, uncanny smiles, while Edmund and Astrid shook their heads.

  “We’re to provide railroad protection between strongholds. We’ll be gone for two weeks. Pack accordingly,” the captain said, running a hand through his hair.

  “We are leaving the city?” Astrid asked with her mouth open, her previous displeasure evaporating.

  “I thought you wanted to stay put, little scholar,” Elenya said with a rough laugh.

  “Well, we should, but it’s an order, so what can you do?” Astrid exclaimed, running for her room.

  “What is railroad protection?” Wretch asked.

  “The horrors of the wild destroy the rails connecting Nov Yansok and her strongholds. The railroad workers who repair them need protection. It’s usually the army’s job, but they’re tied up elsewhere,” Edmund explained.

  “Maybe it was saboteurs who damaged the tracks,” Astrid said from her open room, digging through a wardrobe.

  Wretch’s grin grew wider.

  “That would be unfortunate,” Elenya said, giving Wretch a knowing glance. “For them.”

  Edmund looked over at Wretch on the couch. “Kid, I know you want revenge, but you won’t get there if you get us all killed. Keep it in check. That’s an order.”

  Later that night, Wretch closed the door behind him and stepped into his room. He removed his clothes, throwing them into a heap on the floor. On the bedrest lay the Compendium of the Hunt, the only belonging left from his father. His fingers brushed over the cracked and worn leather. The old tome had followed him through blood and change, its pages filled with shapes of horrors.

  He turned to the mirror. The person staring back was lean, not starving. Black orbs for eyes. Dark claws and a whipping tail. Every inch of skin covered in scars. He was nothing if not strange.

  He breathed in through his nose, turning his focus inward. The flame danced in his chest. In the space inside him, several horrors stood near its light.

  His concentration turned to one in particular, brushing against its form with his mind, feeling the texture as real as anything. Blavssish, Corpse Child, was an amalgamation of a one-clawed crab and two eels, its scales cold and wet to his thoughts.

  Skin to scales. Hard and slick to blade and teeth.

  The eyes of the reflection burst to life with two fiery pupils. Fire darted through his body. The skin twitched and squirmed like a thousand worms crawling beneath the flesh. Pale skin cracked and ripped, dull blue appearing beneath it. A minute later, Wretch breathed out.

  The ascension from Ember to Fireling had doubled his reservoir of flame, and he intended to squeeze out every drop. He drew a sharp claw along his chest. The skin split like paper, revealing bluish scales underneath. Wretch grabbed the dead skin and pulled, ripping it free like shredded clothing.

  Carefully, he scraped a claw against the fresh scales. It left a mark but did not cut. He pressed harder, and the edge pierced the surface, but the scales were thick and required more force.

  He nodded in approval, then closed his eyes and moved to his tendons, burning them into the shape of the ratling one by one. When he opened his eyes, he had become just a bit more deadly.

  Moving to the bathroom, he ripped free the remaining dead skin and shoved the strips into the bin. When he looked up again, a new form stared back. Bluish-gray scales covered his skin from the knees up to his neck, running down his arms to the elbows until they met the dark skin of his claws. Each movement felt tighter with thicker ligaments and tendons. The human ones had snapped far too easily.

  This is good. Now give me a horror to hunt, human or otherwise.

  He stalked back and crawled into bed. The skin felt tight, and the sensation of touch was muted. He closed his eyes and prepared to face the nightmares that always came these days, his mind filled with grisly scenes against beasts and Gulschaks. In each, his scaled skin turned the tide of battle.

  The dungeon must grow. The stolen power must be reclaimed. Everything else is of no consequence.

  Viktor had been called many names: the Impaler, the Tyrant, the Dark Emperor. And he couldn’t have cared less. Those who dared oppose him all met swift and brutal ends. Kingdoms fell as he carved out his own empire. With his unparalleled power, he brought the entire world to its knees. Yet, even the mightiest could fall. One day, he made a mistake, a mistake that cost him everything. His reign abruptly ended when he was slain by a group called the Six Heroes, who not only took his life but also stole his power and divided it among themselves.

  Three hundred years later, Viktor came back to life. He awoke in the body of a young boy named Quinn and found himself in a world changed beyond recognition. His castle had been left in ruins, his capital had been razed to the ground, and the once-prosperous Central Plains had become a wild land ruled by trees and beasts. Of all the treasures he once possessed, the only thing he had found was a Dungeon Core, small and underdeveloped, buried under rubble, forgotten by everyone.

  His power was now scattered among the Six Heroes’ descendants, who reigned as kings and queens of this new world. And he wanted it back. With a fledgling Dungeon Core as his only ally, he set out to exact vengeance on his enemies and reclaim what was rightfully his.

  What to expect:

  - A competent, ruthless MC who stops at nothing to achieve his goal

  - A long and epic story

  - Book 2 completed on Royal Road