1 Savior [1]

'Never again.'

Alphonse didn't know why those two words were at the forefront of his thoughts when he awoke from the dark confines of unconsciousness.

He gazed into the equally oppressive darkness of the tunnel and waited for his eyes to adjust. His pupils dilated, and after a few minutes he could discern the muted stone walls and dim outlines of small debris. A drop of water from the low, arched ceiling forced him to blink. Another cluster of drops sprinkled his battered, outstretched hand. He watched as some of the water converged and trailed down his thumb. More drops fell and formed a trail deeper down the tunnel, as if the life fluid was urging him on.

'Move,' his mind said.

Alphonse released a hissing breath as he forced his arms underneath him. One of his wrists bent awkwardly, and his elbow scraped against a stray rock. The sharp sting of exposed flesh stimulated his survival instinct.

"Fucking move," he said aloud this time.

Alphonse pushed himself up with trembling arms. He planted one foot, then the other and bent his knees to steady himself. He took a few sliding steps forward along the rough stone. His senses and awareness started working in tandem again. They functioned well enough for him to recall the events leading to his dire situation.

Alphonse's mouth tightened into a grim, thin line.

Betrayal. It is something more common than one might think. It is seldom taken into consideration, especially with those deemed as a 'friend.' But everyone differs in some way concerning their morals and goals. They may be minuscule, seemingly insignificant and accessible to compromise. It is these suppressed details which bring that first damned betrayal, and only then does the victim proceed with the utmost discretion if he should survive.

For Alphonse, this was his second time -- a second time where he found himself on the receiving end. The reason for this broken trust eluded him in his sorry state.

He pressed against the arced wall of the tunnel as one of his legs threatened to fail him. He grasped at his soaked thigh and grit his teeth as pain flashed over his vision. Dark splotches ate through his undershirt, and he felt the warmth crawl down the inside of his leather armor. He glanced down and examined the wet crimson that painted his trembling fingers.

Alphonse released another breath when he lifted his hand slightly and stared at the source of blood where an arrow had once punctured him. He'd managed to pull the arrow out, but now he felt his body waning. It was a drunken, drifting sensation that made his joints feel like rubber. At the time, he hadn't considered that the tip might be laced with poison. Letting it sit there for a while seemed like the best option so that the blood could seal around the wound.

The blood loss hadn't been too excessive, but it was an unlucky spot that pierced the narrow crease of his leather armor at the thigh.

He reached into his satchel and rubbed some more curing ivy in the wound. He took a sharp breath as he felt it slip into his body. The herb effectively stifled the bleeding, but the tradeoff was irritation of the flesh inside the wound for a short time.

Alphonse froze against the wall and listened as the ache in his thigh diminished to a dull throb. The goblins and ogres that pursued him seemed to have lost his trail. It wasn't just luck. He'd placed his stat points into 'perception' and 'sneak' for a specific reason. He always wanted to be a scout/assassin-type of adventurer when he entered this world. It was what he always leaned towards when the trainers back on Earth introduced him to role-playing game systems. The stats also complemented a particular skill set nurtured through his past lifestyle.

He waited a short while as the silence entered a comforting permanence. When it was apparent that he had lost his pursuers, he reached into a smaller compartment on his hip that held the vials containing health and mana replenishment. The cotton slots on the inside prevented them from clinking together and making noise. He crafted it himself with the thought in mind.

Alphonse carefully twisted the elastic cork on one of the bottles to prevent it from popping and took a swig. One of the complications in this world was that even though health potions restored vitality, they didn't solve handicaps from injuries. He still felt the numbing pain in his side from where he'd taken the arrow. He applied a pressure bandage that mended part of this issue.

Another problem was that there was no indicator to display his hit points. The normal game systems that he was accustomed to usually had some sort of health bar to visually present the extent of his injuries. No such thing existed in the world of Hovestile.

Alphonse's head jerked up as a shriek echoed from somewhere down the tunnel back where he'd been previous. Goblins.

A set of stray pebbles bounced near his foot as the ground rumbled. Ogres.

"Fuck..."

Alphonse padded silently down the tunnel. He felt the vibrations run through his fingers as they trailed along the rough wall. A bit of dust and small debris showered around him as the quakes intensified. When he arrived at the tunnel's end, he saw a natural bridge spanning a chasm that stretched into unfathomable darkness. Another outlet in the wall across led somewhere unknown, but presumably deeper into the dungeon based on the angle. He didn't have the time before his party's expedition to scout further ahead, and there hadn't been plans to traverse this direction since it didn't pertain to their previous objective. All he focused on now was survival and escape.

The adventurer steeled himself and started making his way across the bridge in a full-on sprint, ignoring the protest from his injured leg. Better to move fast without thinking instead of slow and tottering, worrying about the endless black below.

He made it a little more than halfway across when he noticed three individuals appear from a passage on the other side of the cavern to the right. A path hugged the wall and spiraled downwards like a staircase. After a few hundred feet it curved up at a sharp angle and inserted at a short ledge. This eventually merged into a platform dotted with tall stalagmites in a labyrinthine formation that ended at another tunnel traveling upward towards where Alphonse knew led to salvation. It would only take the three other adventurers ten minutes or so to find the exit.

The one leading the group was a young man about Alphonse's age, perhaps in his early to mid-twenties. He held a massive broadsword in both hands and cut down a pair of goblins that stood in his way. The heads of the foul, slimy creatures sliced clean off and sprayed the man's chestplate.

Alphonse swallowed hard as he watched his former party member.

"Alex," he muttered, the name a bitter taste in his mouth.

The two other individuals were around a similar age. Another man wearing a hood and cloak trailed to the rear of the group with a longbow slung over his shoulder. A pair of daggers flashed in his hands. The one in the middle was a woman with long black hair wearing a grey healer's robe, clinging to a staff like it was her very existence.

Alphonse slid to a stop on the bridge and instinctively drew his bow. He nocked an arrow, pulled back on the string and aimed at the adventurer with the dual daggers.

'You fucking bastard!' Alphonse thought, the budding fury clouding his focus.

His fingers trembled with hesitation. The draw weight started to wear on him as his mind cooled, and he considered whether to shoot or not. Alphonse had some confidence in his abilities with the bow, but one arrow probably wouldn't kill his target. A headshot was nigh impossible. Back on Earth, he'd practiced with a bow for years. The level points he put in his 'dexterity' stat would probably help too, but it wasn't a certainty. Alphonse and his fellow humans had been hastily sent from Earth before the researchers could provide such information, and he hadn't been in this world long enough to figure out what stats complemented other real-world, natural ability.

He glanced over his shoulder and counted the number of arrows in his quiver. Six left. Not worth it.

The rumbling of the cavern spurred him on. He spat a curse as he lowered the bow and rushed the rest of the way across the bridge.