The darkness took him in, like a long-lost friend offering a silent embrace.
The instant the stone door sealed shut, the atmosphere inside the dungeon shifted subtly. It wasn't a dramatic change, no sudden pressure or blaring alarm, but the silence seemed to deepen and solidify, as if the very space acknowledged that the world outside no longer mattered.
Zairen rotated his shoulders, loosening them up.
Then he did it again.
Muscles tightened, bones fell into their new positions. That familiar discomfort from being restrained faded , replaced by something far more comfortable. His breathing slowed, each inhale deeper than normal, each exhale steady and measured.
His skin was the first to change.
It didn't happen all at once but darkness spread across his arms and chest like ink bleeding into cloth. Then his skin changed its texture, The smooth surface hardened into layered shadow-flesh, dense and flexible, sucking up what little light managed to filter down through to stone.
His spine shifted.
A faint crack echoed as his posture changed, realigning for movement instead of standing still. His legs bent slightly, lowering his center of balance, redistributing his weight forward, ready for action.
Zairen flexed his fingers.
They grew longer, and the joints clicked into place. His nails thickened into curved claws that glinted in the dim light of the stone floor.
The grin was back.
Wide.
Unashamed.
Before he could fully settle into his new shape, the first monster attacked.
It shot out of a side tunnel with a high-pitched screech, all long limbs and hunched posture, its mouth gaping impossibly wide as it lunged. Sharp, thin claws scraped against the ground as it charged, headed for his torso.
Zairen sidestepped the attack.
It wasn't a fancy move, just a simple change of position. The creature flew past where he'd been just a moment before, slamming into the stone wall with a wet, sickening crunch. Its screech was cut short.
Zairen's arm fell in a swift arc.
One strike, delivered without a moment's hesitation.
His shadow-coated hand sliced through the monster's torso, the body collapsing into two uneven halves that slid apart on the stone floor. Dark fluid, steaming slightly, formed a pool beneath them.
He didn't pause.
Movement rippled through the chamber as more shapes emerged. Five. Then seven. Low-level creatures, drawn by noise or instinct, poured out of the shallow tunnels and broken alcoves.
Too slow.
Zairen moved closer to them in a blur, his feet barely touching the ground. He dodged snapping jaws and flailing limbs, his body twisting at impossible angles, each movement designed to avoid contact while keeping his speed.
A claw scraped across his shoulder.
It failed to break the skin.
Zairen twisted mid-step and drove his elbow backward. The blow crushed the monster's skull, bone fragments sprayed across the floor as the body collapsed.
Another creature fell from above.
Zairen glanced up to track it.
His hand shot out, fingers closing around the creature's neck as it fell. He slammed it against the ground with such force that the stone cracked, then brought his heel down through its chest.
The chamber was quiet once more.
For the moment.
He stood among the bodies, his chest rising and falling steadily. No hurried breaths. No shaking limbs. His control was better than before.
Still not perfect.
A slight twitch ran through his right arm as extra energy bled off. Zairen flexed the limb, feeling the tension ease.
"Too much," he muttered, his voice rough and distorted by his altered throat.
He moved on.
Deeper into the dungeon, not far, just enough to clear the remaining tunnels. The layout was basic and predictable. Monsters liked corners, narrow passages, spots where they could surprise intruders.
Zairen wasn't easily surprised.
A pair of monsters tried to attack him from both sides.
He charged the one on the left.
The creature recoiled without thinking, underestimating his speed. Zairen's shoulder rammed into it, sending it flying backward into its partner. Both crashed together in a heap.
Zairen stepped forward and ended them with two accurate strikes.
No wasted motion.
No showboating.
Just clean work.
When the last sound died away, he was alone again.
The dungeon felt… emptier now. Not completely cleared, there were still deeper areas and minor threats, but this section was finished. Enough for one day.
Zairen crouched and pressed his palm against the stone floor.
He closed his eyes.
The faint pull stirred.
Not hunger, not exactly.
Something deeper, something older. A pressure that pushed back against his mind, testing, probing. He let it happen for a moment, enough to confirm what he already knew.
No change.
Not yet.
He pulled away before it could push back.
Zairen stood and exhaled slowly. The shadow covering his body began to disappear, blending back into his skin as muscle and bone realigned. The change took longer this time. His limbs felt heavier, resisting the shift.
His control was improving,
But it demanded more from him each time.
By the time he reached the entrance, his body had returned to its human shape. Pale skin, normal limbs, no sign of what he had been just moments before.
Zairen dressed quickly, his movements smooth and practiced.
He pushed the stone aside with some effort, letting light flood back into the chamber. Fresh air rushed in, carrying the scent of moss and damp earth.
He stepped out, replaced the rock, and shut the dungeon once more.
To anyone who passed by, it would appear untouched.
Zairen adjusted his cloak and headed back toward Kulap at a relaxed pace.
His body felt… stable.
The road back to Kulap was busy when Zairen joined it.
A pair of carts rattled past, the drivers arguing loudly about prices. Farther ahead, a group of adventurers sat near a milestone, their armor loosened, their laughter carrying easily. Someone had lit a small fire just off the road, and the smell of boiled grain drifted in the air.
None of it was his concern.
Zairen walked past without slowing, his presence unnoticed. His cloak hid the dirt and faint marks from the dungeon, and his pace was steady enough to avoid attention. By the time he saw the guild's banner, his breathing was completely normal.
The Adventurers' Guild in Kulap never closed.
The doors were open, as always. Inside, the air was thick with noise, with overlapping voices, boots scraping against stone, and the occasional clang of metal as weapons were moved.
Zairen stepped inside and went straight to the reception desk.
Mira Feld looked up as he approached.
Her eyes briefly scanned his boots, then his hands, then back to his face.
"You're early," she stated, without a greeting or any surprise.
"The dungeon wasn't deep," Zairen replied.
She made a noise that was between agreement and dismissal. "Herb?"
Zairen put the wrapped bundle on the counter. The Lowland Moonleaf was still intact, the leaves undamaged, the roots clean. Mira inspected it quickly, her fingers moving with practiced skill.
"No damage," she noted. "That's unusual."
Zairen didn't reply.
Mira moved the bundle aside and picked up his token, pausing for a moment before pressing it against the desk.
The rune on its surface flickered.
"Cleared faster than expected," she stated. "Again."
"Is that a problem?" Zairen asked.
Her gaze sharpened, not hostile, just evaluating. "It will be if it keeps happening."
She returned the token. A small pouch followed it, its weight almost insultingly light.
"Payment," she said. "Standard."
Zairen took it without looking inside. He already knew what it contained.
"Next task will take longer to post," Mira continued. "Nothing pressing. Come back tomorrow."
He nodded. "Understood."
As he turned to walk away, her voice stopped him.
"Crow."
Zairen turned back.
Mira leaned closer to the counter, lowering her voice. "If you're going to finish jobs so… cleanly, don't do it so cleanly."
He studied her. "Why?"
She shrugged. "People will start asking the wrong questions."
That was all.
Zairen left without another word.
Outside, the sounds of the guild quickly faded. He didn't return to his room but instead headed toward the Craft Ring, following the familiar stone streets until the air grew warmer with the smell of smoke and metal.
Ironroot Smithy was in its usual place, between two larger workshops, its exterior plain and blackened by years of heat. The sign above the door was simple, the iron letters worn smooth.
Inside, the sound struck him first.
Metal on metal. Steady, rhythmic.
The smith, a broad-shouldered man with graying hair pulled back in a short tie, didn't look up when Zairen entered. He continued to hammer the blade in front of him, raising and lowering the hammer with controlled force.
Zairen waited.
Only when the hammering stopped did the man glance over.
"You're back," Ironroot said, his voice deep and rough from smoke and age. "Early again."
"Seems that way," Zairen replied.
Ironroot wiped his hands on a cloth and stepped closer. "Blade."
Zairen handed it over.
The smith turned the weapon slowly, inspecting the edge, the spine, the grip. His thumb ran along the metal, testing the balance and wear.
"You're not abusing it," he said. "That's good."
He frowned slightly. "But you're pushing it."
Zairen tilted his head. "How can you tell?"
Ironroot snorted. "The edge is stressed where it shouldn't be. You're hitting harder than this thing was made for."
He put it down on the counter. "I can add some support. It won't be pretty, it won't make it stronger."
"What will it do?" Zairen asked.
"Last longer," Ironroot said.
"That's good enough."
The smith nodded. "Come back tomorrow night."
Zairen left the weapon and turned to go.
By the time he returned to his room, the light had begun to fade. The Outer Ring grew quieter as shopkeepers closed and adventurers gathered at taverns or inns.
Zairen unlocked his door and stepped inside.
It was small, bare, and just as he had left it.
He dropped the coin pouch onto the table and sat on the edge of the bed. When he opened it, his expression didn't change.
Enough for food.
Enough for repairs.
Not enough to matter.
He closed the pouch and put it aside.
Lying back, Zairen stared at the ceiling.
The monster form stirred beneath his skin, a restless feeling that faded as quickly as it rose. His body felt stable, but there was a sense of strain now, as if holding back was becoming more difficult, more costly.
Tomorrow's job would be harder.
Not because the dungeon would be deeper,
But because someone had decided it should be.
Zairen closed his eyes.
"Stay unnoticed," he murmured.
Outside, Kulap carried on as it always did.
And somewhere beneath it all, the monsters waited.