My blood pumps loudly in my ears. I focus on my footing as I close the distance between me and the Imp. I prepare my dash skill and activate it right before the clash. My aim is to fuck with its timing and land the first blow.

  I activate the skill and skip forward rapidly for a moment, activating Scales and Pierce simultaneously. Or trying to, I manage to activate Scales, but my stab at the beast’s chest doesn’t feel skill-enforced. The dagger pierces its rough black skin and muscle but glances off a rib and rips out the Imps side. It responds too quickly, snapping its knee out into my chest.

  Crunch

  I’m flying, skipping across the earth once, twice, then skidding to a stop. There is a sharp pain in my ribs, and my left arm is hanging limply, not responding to my commands. I’m still holding my dagger, though. I push myself to stand, expecting another faceoff.

  But the Elite Imp is already racing over to the tree. It kicked me out of the way, then dismissed me. I pour my energy into my Dash skill, and my vision goes dark around the edges. The pain is unbelievable.

  I arrive before it can reach its goal and activate my Pierce skill, driving my dagger through the Imp's knee. Feeling bones shatter and cartilage tear as I scream through the sharp pain in my chest and shoulder. It lets out a high shriek and falls to its one, whole knee.

  It whips around, swiping with its claw. I duck under the blow, losing some hair but saving my life. I dash a few steps away and turn back to the ugly creature. Its hate-filled eyes burn into mine. It looks between me and the tree as though considering.

  My combat core is nearly empty, but my enemy is hobbled. I pant, hunched over, watching the misshapen Imp as it registers the utter destruction of its leg.

  “Yeah,” I pant heavily. “You’re not gonna be able to walk on that.”

  It looks at me blankly, then back to the tree. It reaches toward the tree with both arms and digs its claws deep into the earth. Then, it pulls, dragging itself one step closer to the tree.

  “Fuck. No, stop.”

  When I approach, it turns, ready to fight. I pause, and it looks back to the tree and starts to drag itself again. The smart move is to let it bleed out. Or at least weaken from blood loss, but I can’t let it reach the barrier surrounding the Cinderfruit tree. I don’t think the barrier will stop him, but it might still stop me.

  I approach and attack, aiming at its shoulder. It rips one hand out of the dirt and swipes it at my middle, forcing me back. I only have enough energy for one more skill. My core won't fill up quickly enough to give me more than that. I must keep it occupied; I can’t let it reach the tree.

  I run around to its backside. I can see its blood pumping into the dirt, and when it starts dragging itself again, I’m able to run up and drive my dagger into its side. Right where its kidney would be if it were human. It screeches and swings its arm backward blindly, but I've already retreated.

  Now, it's just a waiting game. If it goes for the tree, I'll stab it again. It isn't mobile enough to come get me. I smile. This fight’s over.

  But it doesn't turn back to the tree; it roars, its head pointed up to the sky. There's a terrible pain and desperation in its alien display. It continues, growing in volume and desperation. Suddenly, red mist starts pouring from its wounds.

  The mist gathers around the black beast, more and more pouring from its side and knee. Its eyes snap to me, and it stands. The black beady eyes have taken on a maroon hue, and the mist surrounds the black knotty creature like an aura. Its knee is knitting back together. The hanging flesh is discarded and replaced with fresh red tissue from the congealing mist.

  It faces me, the tree forgotten. Wreathed in a fine red mist that pulses quickly around it. It moves fast, faster than I've seen, and it's in front of me. I activate my scales and leap to the side. Its claws graze my thigh, and blood blooms.

  I roll to my feet, and it's on me again, too close. The mist that was so dense before is fading, but the red eyes are still tracking me, and the Imp swings both arms at my torso.

  I block the first blow with my dagger, but it’s thrown to the side. And the Imp’s second strike lands, its claws sinking deep into my left shoulder. I can feel the sharp claws piercing my muscle and scraping my bones.

  The pain hasn’t touched me yet, but I know it will soon. I kick out hard at its chest, knocking it back, its claws ripping out of me. There's debilitating pain, but I channel it into focus. An acute focus on my combat core. I siphon my remaining energy into my Pierce skill.

  I throw myself forward and drive my dagger into the base of its throat, right in the hollow where its neck and chest meet. It collapses, with only a small amount of mist remaining. All of it is being drawn to the wound I just created. It’s healing. No, this is over.

  I put all of my weight and energy behind my right arm and lever the dagger handle upward, driving the point down and widening the hole in its throat. My vision is fading; all that exists is my hand, the dagger, and a hole that needs to be wider. The darkness around me feels warm and welcoming, but I refuse it.

  I rotate the handle in a wide circle like I am cranking a winch. Like I am trying to raise water from a deep well. I don’t remember why I’m doing it, only that my life depends on it. When the “level gained” notification pops up, my body and mind give out entirely, relaxing into the warm darkness.

  I gag, coughing blood onto my cold hands.

  I’m lying on the Imp's chest, my legs still wrapped around its middle. Why is it so cold?

  “You’re dying.” Says a voice nearby. It sounds familiar.

  “Dad?”

  “You need to get to the berry patch. Now.”

  I raise my hands in front of me; they are covered in blood, and I only have eight fingers. These aren’t my hands. Who am I? I look around and only see a mangled dark corpse and a tree in the middle distance.

  “Who are you?”

  “Get to the berries. Now.” It’s familiar, but not my dad. Not Earl.

  The name snaps me back jarringly. I’m in a Crucible. Where’s my dagger? I need to survive this place. I have eight weeks. I’m so cold. I killed the Imp. The berries. Where are the berries? The jumbled thoughts feel foreign and strange.

  I try to pull on the dagger; it moves but is too heavy. I frown and try again.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  “FORGET IT! YOU NEED TO EAT A BERRY!” okay, chill. You don’t have to yell.

  I push myself up. No. I fall. My left arm doesn't work. At least it doesn't hurt anymore. That’s good, right?

  “Noelle, you need to get up now.” It’s the bird from before. That little keeper asshole who keeps sending mangled black monsters to eat me. I hate him, but he’s right. I’m dying. I know that. It doesn't seem so bad until I think of my father, that gets me on my feet.

  My right leg isn't as good at walking as my left; it's too bloody. The blood must be really heavy. The leg drags behind me, and each bend and flex feels slow. But I muddle forward, cold. I remember how hot the berries felt when I ate them. That heat sounds nice.

  I focus on the thought of a warm berry bath until I am standing, wobbling, next to the bushes.

  “Whyr thereso few em?" Hunh, my mouth is numb, too, I hope I can chew the berry.

  I finally find one of the tiny red jewels and look at it closely. It shines in the bleak landscape. I squeeze it gently between my fingers. It's tight, like an unripe tomato.

  “Now, Noelle.”

  Yeah yeah, I pop it into my mouth and fall to my butt in the dirt. I chew it slowly, relishing in the heat from the little red tomato.

  The warmth spreads through my cold body, washing the icy chill away and the numbness with it. The pain in my shoulder feels deep, but the berry begins to take the pain away quickly. Filling that space with an incredible warmth. The top of my arm shifts back into my shoulder socket.

  Pop

  I shrug my newly fixed shoulder while I lay on my back, looking at the sky as the berry does its work. Are there stars here? I never noticed that.

  I feel like I’m basking in the sun, letting the warmth pour over me and drive away the cold water that clings to my clothes. I love laying out like this, just baking in the sun, no noises, no bother. It's the perfect place for a catnap. I hum a simple tune. With a few notes, it rises and then falls. I cough once, snuggle into the warm stone, and have a sweet, warm tomato dream.

  "Hey, love, can you help me with this?"

  I put down my book and step out from behind the counter with a groan. Dad must be messing with me again; he used to harvest dungeons with Mom, but now he can't handle a rug without my help?

  "Seriously, Dad? I'm right in the middle of a good bit!”

  “Yeah? Grab that end. What’s happening in your little story?”

  "Ellie just killed this huge ugly Imp and almost died. But then she ate a magic tomato, turning her into a Phoenix.”

  “And that’s good? Being a Phoenix?”

  “Better than being dead,” I retort. “Phoenixes are strong.”

  “Right, but she’s not a human anymore? Can she turn back?”

  “Don’t know, you interrupted the story.”

  “Right, well then, let's get started.” He pulls out his great sword and swings it once or twice, rolling his shoulders to warm them up. “you ready?”

  "Why do you get that great big thing, and all I have is this toothpick?" I hold up my dagger.

  He shrugs, then swings the big sword at me. I duck. But he’s too fast, and I’m flying across the practice yard into a pile of weapons.

  I stand up, looking at the swords, shields, spears, and staves surrounding me.

  “Well?” he says. “You wanted a weapon. Pick one.”

  “There’s too many choices.”

  “Pick one.” He growls, his eyes beginning to glow red, mist pouring from his open mouth, full of sharp yellow teeth.

  “I don’t know! I think – ghrkk” I gag on steel. There’s metal in my throat. His sword is stuck there. I can't speak. He is standing there, wordless, with mist spewing from his mouth. There’s so much, I can’t see anything.

  “Ghrrkkk”

  I want a big sword. The one like dads. But I can’t say it. There’s too much metal in my neck.

  His mouth opens, and he bites me. His teeth are buried into the skin around my face. I can feel the pain as they dig into my eyebrows and under my chin. I’m staring down his throat, mist pouring straight and into my mouth. It's all I can see. I can't breathe.

  “AHH. Fuck!” I yell myself awake.

  I’m lying on my back, feeling weak and fuzzy. No pain, though; that's nice. My mouth is parched. That's probably why I couldn't talk in my dream. I need water.

  I shift myself to standing and walk over to my campsite, sparing a quick glance at the Elite Imp corpse I nearly died on. Just another day in the Talor Crucible, am I right? Wait, how long have I been in here?

  The unchanging half-light makes estimating the passage of time nearly impossible. Through the fighting and the time I've spent sleeping or unconscious, I really have no idea how long I've been in here. It wouldn't surprise me if someone told me it'd been only two days or as long as a week.

  I pull the waterskin from my pack and drink small sips slowly. It's challenging. I feel like the right move is to chug it all as fast as I can, the quicker I drink, the faster I'm hydrated right? But no, that's wrong. I can't afford to vomit up any of my limited water.

  I lean up against the stone and feel my combat core. It's full, the energy is more vibrant than before, and my energy pool is deeper. That's right, I got a level up. I pull up the notification.

  Fighter Level 2 > Fighter Level 3 > Fighter Level 4

  Two levels from that one fight. That's a nice surprise. It explains why my core feels so full. Wow, I’m level four already! It took me over a year to reach level four in my profession. Now, I've reached that height after only a few days and a handful of death-defying battles.

  I think back to my conversation in the Inn with my dad. It feels like a lifetime ago, I was feeling nauseous after stabbing that realistic mannequin, and Dad told me about how he earned his class. Killing a pre-hobbled beast. That's how most people do it: they kill a prepared monster and then shadow an experienced team to gain enough levels. Then, they can apprentice to an experienced adventurer or join a team with a vacancy.

  I killed a monster on my own with no class. I’ve already faced an incredible amount of danger. I had really earned my class, and then I had used it. I am using it. I am not killing tied-down beasts but fighting for my life. I’ve lost fingers and been stabbed and gouged. I’ve leveled so quickly because of the risk, the danger. Without risk, there is no reward.

  Nyce didn't earn her class this way and didn't level it up through blood and pain. She was fed monsters by people who were fed monsters. A cycle that probably goes back generations. Wow, I am breathing rarified air. Why does it smell so much like blood and shit?

  I take another sip from my canteen. The voice that guided me to the berries was the Keeper. He helped me. Why? Isn’t that against the rules? And that monster, was that a Skill? The red mist? So many questions.

  While it’s quiet, I decide I am sick of smelling so awful. The blood on my clothes and armor has begun to rot, making existence much less pleasant. It makes death seem like an alright alternative.

  I strip off my armor first, then my clothes, throwing the clothes into a heap but placing the armor down with care. I take a look at my nude body in the half-light. I don’t look any different. There are no scars to show the pain I've been through. I'm not ripped with corded muscle; I might be a little leaner, but that's probably just my empty stomach.

  Mostly, I just look filthy, bloody, and grimy. I pick up handfuls of dirt, using the grit to scrub myself clean. Who would’ve thought that my best option for getting clean would involve scrubbing myself with dirt? It seems counterintuitive. But it works; the blood and black grime are replaced slowly with a subtle dusty dirt layer. I even feel cleaner, though the body odor smell is still too present for my liking.

  I put on a fresh set of clothes from my pack. I'm sure they will only stay fresh for a short time, but it feels really nice to wear clean clothes. I treat my armor like my skin, scrubbing it with dirt. I have to use my knife in some places to scrape blood and … stuff … out of the cracks and crevices.

  Ultimately, I am clean, and my armor is mostly whole. The bracers are gouged, and the left is full of puncture holes from Imp's teeth. The most significant source of damage, though, is the three gaping slits in the chest piece. Where the enraged Imp sunk its claws into my shoulder.

  I wish I had a mirror. I bet I look like a real badass right now. I remember the shiny new adventurers with their untouched and polished gear. I’d take mine over theirs any day. My armor has been tested. I set my hands on the collar and pull. It's saved my life a few times, and I know how far I can trust it.

  I spend time harvesting the last three imps, ending up with a psychopath’s collection of teeth and four beast cores on my waxed canvas. The elite imps core looks the same as the others but feels more than twice as powerful. That Skill, the red mist, it nearly ended me.

  I cut a slab of meat from the Elite Imp and put it on the fire. I close my eyes while the meat sizzles on the coals. Thinking about my journey so far, I’ve come a long way since I was pushed into this place. But, my class still feels foreign to me, and using my skills still feels strange.

  I am worried that my rapid jump in classes is outpacing my understanding and comfort with my new Class and Skills. It’s time to change that. When the Elite Imp and I first collided, I tried to use two Skills simultaneously and failed. If I had succeeded, it might have ended there.

  I sit cross-legged, smelling the toasting meat on my fire, and focus on my status. Let’s figure out what this Fighter Class is all about, eh?

  public discord channel on my server for anyone who is interested in chatting about the story.

  https://discord.gg/vx8YyxUN