Dungeons. Kain lacked the historical or cultural context to understand the word beyond is dictionary-specific meaning. As he understood it, a place where one interred prisoners to keep them from roaming free and not infrequently as a punitive measure. It didn’t sound all that different from his present state of affairs in the detention facility. Through his education, he understood the concept of the Horde in a slightly more meaningful manner. A threat that had face all of society on an intergalactic level. Creatures so rapacious and violent that galactic society’s only answer ended up being to exterminate them where they could and push them to the dark void between galaxies where they couldn’t. To a modern person, their scale and scope would make for a terrifying thing to contemplate. Landing on planet after planet. Expanding quietly. Then rising up, and consuming all organic matter and any resources of value before taking to the stars and repeating it. Easy enough to fight in their own right.

  The problem was their method of expansion. Their breeders merely fired clouds of microscopic ‘seeds’ into space. Occasionally some would lodge on a ship and carry them down to the local planet. Of course, this wasn’t an easy occurrence. In fact, it was downright rare. There were plenty of regulations that allowed for the scanning, sterilization, and if necessary, quarantine of ships. Few such ‘seeds’ actually ever made it through a local spaceport. It’s why all incoming ships and travelers had to make it through the spaceport in the inhabited worlds. To make sure proper procedures were followed. So that no such ‘swarm’ infestation was ever allowed to gain a hold.

  This is only really effective though when you actually go through the spaceport. As Kain’s arrival had bypassed the whole process, however, Kain had been examined for traces of parasitic Horde infestation and then passed through the system. The vessel for his arrival however, was not. The seeds landed upon rich soil, and as seeds ever do in such situations… They grew. Budding, growing, digging. They buried themselves deeply in the soil until a breeder had spawned. Soon it had acquired enough space and Hordelings to begin constructing a full nest beneath the city at large. Normally, they would continue to build and expand as quietly as possible until they felt ready to begin an assault on the city. Instead, they were moving slower, more circumspect.

  And as with many odd happenings lately, Kain was the cause. Even if Galactic Society was unaware at large of Kain or his connections to the now-extinct humans, the Hordelings and their breeder could sense the DNA and energies of their hated foe. The ancestor of the humans was not strictly speaking human, of course, but he was certainly related to them and the psychic stench was unmistakable. It was imprinted on them at the deepest level: Be wary, observe, and if possible absorb. Unlike many sentient beings, Hordelings did not automatically hurl all their resources downwind to destroy a dangerous foe. First they would try to incorporate it into the Horde and partake of its strength. In this case, Kain, with his psychically active brain provided a tempting chance at something the Horde did not possess. Psionics.

  Of course, humans were not the only race to possess the ability to psionically manipulate the world around them. Humans were the least genetically complex creatures to possess that ability, though. Most races that possessed it were so advanced that their DNA and anatomical complexity defined the Horde’s methods of reverse engineering. Of course, that didn’t stop them from trying wherever possible. Which is why Kain, Kres, and the Hordeling were now all staring at each other with whatever approximated surprise for each of their peoples. For Kres, it involved skittering from side to side nervously. For Kain, it was a very rapid series of blinks. For the Hordeling? An overwhelmingly putrid stench filled the air.

  Kain felt a moment of fear. This wasn’t unnatural, of course, even if he didn’t know the cultural history and background of them in regards to society. The Hordeling was a black, shiny color on its armor plates. If it were able to move fully upright in the tunnel, it would easily reach seven feet tall with its legs at extension. It had twelve of the things, spindly creations with asymmetrical numbers of joints, as adept at moving close to the ground as it was upright. The hide beneath its armor plates was a greyish color, bristling with sharp spines and spikes. Each limb was tipped by a blade, a sharpened scoop, or a spike of some sort, and once again, here, the compliment was asymmetrical. Worst of all was the blister at the head of the beast, in which seemed to float some sort of viscous liquid. Its maw was only slightly less terrifying, like some kind of constantly grasping lamprey’s mouth.

  This Hordeling was for the sole purpose of digging. To Kres and Kain, it looked like a nightmare covered in weapons for the sole purpose of murdering any and every thing it came across. The Hordeling’s first instinct was to flee and alert its node of the intruder. Kain’s internal reaction had a long history with human kind and its ancestors: Kill it with fire! There was no way Kain was going to touch the damned thing with his bare hands, so almost reflexively, he focused his will and poured his PP and rage into his pyrokinetic abilities, hand extended towards the Hordeling. The little blister atop its head, filled with fluid, began to tremble, and a moment later, the air around the creature ignited and exploded, sending bits and pieces of armor and hide raining down.

  Kain sat there, blinking for a moment before examining the prompts that shot his way.

  He didn’t have much time to worry about that as the tide soon came. The Horde was unprepared for this incursion, but it was by very dint of its nature, quick to respond. Workers were pulled from their digging as the breeder deep in the nest sensed the death of one of its workers and directed to the tunnel where it had died. Kain rushed forward, finding a flat place on one of the enemy’s armored pads and slapped it with the flat of his hand as his legs swept forward in circular motions, covering each inch of ground. “Burning palm.” The creature’s body lit up, its sensory blister popping and spraying fluids as bright lights flashed from inside it, and then collapses, smoking.

  Somewhere behind him, he was aware of a terrified, high-pitched shriek in a language he didn’t understand. Aware of his friend, his tribemate, Kres running over one of the creatures and wildly tearing and scratching with all six of his limbs at the relatively soft head of the creature beneath him. Then he was moving, desperately trying to avoid flashing, scything limbs and stabbing spikes. A wave of desperate Hordeling workers rushed forward. They had many natural advantages, with their weapons, armor plates, and natural speed. Kain, however, had actual talent fighting, however small it might’ve been.

  So he dodged, and slapped weapon after weapon aside. Punching, kicking, and throwing fire where he could to burn them to smoking, empty husks. Every so often, one would go down, and he would feel a surge of strength and a renewed sense of energy and health. As he fought, he could feel his steps growing more sure, his strikes growing stronger, and more precise. He somehow knew his brother was feeling the exact same thing. Perhaps even more rapidly than his own self. The little Murinus, though weak, seemed only to be getting stronger as the minutes ticked by like hours. Impossible strength, more than his small form should be able to hold. As the bodies piled up, the press began to grow difficult to move in. The hits came more and more frequently, and the kills less so. The appearance of the creatures began to change. More and more blades, more armor plates, less flammable.

  Finally, ever practical, Kain yelled to Kres, who was desperately flailing around in the ruins of a Hordeling’s sensory blister, “We must flee. The wardens will deal with this infestation. And if not… there is safety in numbers.” Kres did not need to be told twice, and fled back towards the entrance to the ‘Dungeon’ with his friend, the Hordelings in close pursuit. He bolted up through the hole, pushing the grey cubicle back over it and waited to see it move.

  It never did.

  ***********

  He didn’t know where the white ape had gotten a shovel, but he did NOT appreciate it. Oh, sure, when he was still living in a cave with his tribe, he would’ve killed for one. Literally, he would’ve murdered and then robbed someone for one of these tools. Now it was the source of his torment. Still, he didn’t stop digging. He had been next to the glowing blue fire pit digging for what seemed like hours. He hadn’t gotten very far down, but it gave him time to talk to her. “I don’t understand this ‘dungeon’ thing. Why did the creatures I fought fail to follow me out? Why did the wardens fail to hear our battle down there?”

  “It’s… based on the concept of a ritual battle ground. The things you saw in there are real, but your spirit sponsor… When you enter a dungeon, it’s like you’re invoking the spirits to witness your test of might and courage. And because they like these contests, and they depend on all these bizarre rules and regulations, when you’re in an area declared as a dungeon, with allies, the spirits don’t allow anyone to interfere. There’s a grace period after you leave, to keep them from retaliating while you’re weakened. If you keep going in until it’s cleared? That grace period won’t expire. And if you beat the leader in there, you’ll get a… sort of prize or trophy as a reward for your bravery.”

  “A ritual. I understand this, the importance of rituals. Spirits, they are obsessed with their rules, their parameters. They embody concepts. And they follow them… strictly. When I blessed my tribe on a hunt, I called upon spirits of the hunt. When I blessed them for war, I called upon spirits of strength and toughness. So often, I called upon the spirits of good luck. For nearly everything, in fact.”

  “They always answer, you know. That’s the funny thing. Or, they did. Until you became spirit-ridden. You’ve been… claimed. By a spirit of Progress. That’s why the other spirits have stopped answering you by the way. This spirit is relatively new, though. So it gives you a method to prove yourself. And by proving yourself, it blesses you with increased… well… everything. The more you challenge yourself, the better you’ll get.”

  His hands were actually beginning to get sore. It was a dream. Inside his soul. And his hands were beginning to get sore. How does that even work?

  “You’re wondering about why your hands hurt like that when nothing’s attacking you? This is all metaphorical of course. A representation if you will. That pain in your hands represents the spiritual effort involved in rebuilding your soul. That ache is the ache of your self will as it stitches the broken and torn parts of you together.”

  “Does it have to hurt, though?”

  “Yes, Kain. It does. That’s the point. Life hurts. Growth hurts. Healing hurts. It all hurts. That pain is important, though. You can either complain about it and focus on how awful things are or you can keep moving working and maybe be whole one day. Possibly, one day, you’ll be strong enough.”

  “Strong enough for what?”

  “For anything, Kain.”

  ***********

  “I have made an error, my brother.”

  Kres stirred from where he curled up in the corner, long, hairless tail rasping along the ground in pleasure over the appellation. He looked larger. The size of a large dog in fact. His talons had grown sharper on each of his legs, and his body, while still too lean by far, was sleek and more well-muscled. Even his teeth seemed sharper, straighter. His fur was now a uniform, silken black. All in all, he looked better, “An error? And what kind of error did you make?”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “I have been treating Kyxx like he matters.”

  “He’s strong.”

  “Yes. But we can be stronger.”

  “Kain, you’re obsessed with being strong.”

  “Strength is power. Power is freedom.”

  “We’re not free, though. We’re here.”

  “Because we’re not strong. Yet.”

  “Kyxx is still a problem.”

  “He will be made to join us. Or he will die.”

  “Okay. But what THEN, Kain? I still don’t get why you need all this… power.”

  “Because there is a greater enemy here than Kyxx. It is the beasts down there in the dungeon.”

  Kres subsided at this, thankfully. Kain tried not to think of the white ape’s words to him, once upon a time: “Stop lying to yourself Kain.” He grunted, and stood up, striding out to the recreation area. He looked up at the sky. The strange grass. He closed his eyes, and held his arms out. Took a deep breath. He felt the stirring of the cool wind as it blew against his fur. The strange, now-scentless tang of ozone, courtesy of the atmospheric scrubbers. Nothing smelled for long in this place. Not like in the tunnels. None of the smells of old smoke, and meat. Of the bodies of his tribesmen. Of the familiar scent of rain-laden clouds.

  He opened his eyes. The sky burned a reddish shade. Or was it a hologram? It was hard to tell in this place. The reddish hue was not even the color of the sunset he’d been fond of watching before his tribe was betrayed. There had certainly not been three stars. And one of them should certainly not have been that strange, burning blue color. No. None of this made sense. He couldn’t begin to understand how he could be here, so far from his own planet, his own time. However, he knew that whether or not the universe deserved him an explanation, it was NOT going to offer it to him. He had asked the world… the universe ‘WHY’ many times in his life, and it had never seen fit to answer. The only answers he’d ever found where shaky ‘maybe’s and suppositions. He seemed to live his life lately reeling from one conclusion and plan of action to the next.

  He had also lied to his brother. Kyxx DIDN’T matter. Not in the grand scheme of things. What mattered was his tribe. Of which Kres was the only member now. He was chief now. And that came with certain responsibilities. Namely, looking out for the well-being of his tribesmates. He had put Kres in a situation where he had nearly died and given no thought to protecting him. Yes, Kres had come out stronger for it, but he had been USING his brother. Not taking care of him. So today that would change. A chieftain’s first duty was to make sure his people were nourished.

  Kain walked over to where one of the many Frekkid in the detention center sat, lounging away from the others. One of Kyxx’s lackeys. Less popular than many. He was in the middle of eating… something. Kain had never figured out what the strange grey blocks were, exactly, but he knew they were food. The water he received was easy enough to figure out.

  Kain leaned over from behind the blue-skinned man, and placed his hand upon his shoulder. In a mild voice, he said, “You will give me your rations. I have need of them.”

  Hopefully, this 'Psion' class would be of help.