Azure: Gunner

#23: Some say the Black Razor’s blade is enchanted to cut through magic. This is false. The magic is scared of the Black Razor and gets out of the way on its own.

#37: The Black Razor can open a mimic and find treasure inside.

#41: When the Black Razor cuts a troll, it doesn’t regenerate. Why bother prolonging the inevitable?

#90: The undead stay in the QZ to avoid angering the Black Razor.

- Excerpts from “100 Amazing Black Razor Facts”, author unknown, presumed juvenile

Mason raced down the road, his long digitigrade legs pounding on the dirt and gravel. He didn’t bother with stealth, knowing that it was unlikely he’d encounter anything in this area that could even slow him down. His tail lashed behind him, helping him balance as he sped through the sometimes rough terrain.

Four hours, that’s what I promised them. I’m going to have a Tier 1 team here ready to go when they come out. Those kids just need to hold on and we’ll get this dungeon under control, even if I’ve never seen anything quite like it before. There’s no Wasted way it should be oscillating this fast so soon after manifesting. It should have taken a week or more to get to this point, but it wasn’t there when we made camp.

There was a flicker of motion ahead, a spray of sand, and Mason’s sword appeared in his hand. It flashed once, then vanished back into his Inventory. He was fifty yards past before the severed head of the Level 13 shadowcat bounced once. He wouldn’t have even bothered with it normally, since there was no Essence to be gained from killing something so far below his Level. Right now, he didn’t want to leave anything behind that could slow down his return trip. He let his mind go blank, fading into the rhythm of the run, not wanting to focus on what might be happening to his under-prepared recruits inside that strange dungeon.

He kept up his relentless pace, mixing in a Lightning Step every so often. The Skill sent him flickering several dozen yards ahead in the blink of an eye. Night was the most dangerous time to travel in the wilds, with dozens of varieties of nocturnal predators living just in this valley alone. The days would be blistering hot in the summer, and the scarcity of water made it more efficient for hunters to go out at night when it was cooler.

More efficient, and more violent, as they competed for scarce prey, often hunting other, smaller predators. On this night, the most dangerous predator of them all walked on two legs, if not exactly like a normal man, not anymore. Mason crisscrossed the road a dozen or more times in the first fifteen minutes, cutting a broad swatch through the local nightlife. He flitted through shadows that seemed to swell just a bit as he approached, then stretched behind him as he passed, as if trying to hold onto his corrupted form.

When he estimated he’d covered five miles, he pulled his flare gun from his Inventory, selected a yellow shell, and fired it high into the sky above. The shot left a trail of smoke as it rose, and it detonated in a bright golden flash, leaving behind glittering trails of yellow dust that hung in the air for several minutes, slowly falling to the ground. By the time they’d landed, he had covered another mile.

Yellow, single flare – danger imminent, prepare for an attack – it should be visible to the night watch in East Bank. At least, if they were decently competent and had anyone with a reasonable Perception on the wall. Used to disappointment, particularly when it came to small-town Guards, Mason reloaded and fired again fifteen minutes later and another five miles down the road, which was starting to curve to the south, bringing him closer to the eastern flank of the Shadow Hills.

He burned through two dozen stamina in a handful of seconds as a pack of Tier 2 wolves raced out of the night at a dead sprint, angling towards him. Chained Strike carried him from monster to monster faster than their bodies could hit the ground. His breathing was still deep and steady as he followed the crumbling, ancient roadway up and over a hundred-yard high rise.

As he reached the crest, the massive span of the remnant bridge came into view. A hundred feet wide and half a mile long, the smooth construct was the only way to cross the Devil’s Gorge for dozens of miles. Below the ancient structure, the Gorge plunged close to five hundred feet to the level of the river below. Eternally, perfectly preserved, the painted lines on the bridge's surface practically shone in the moonlight to Mason’s high Perception.

He sprinted over broken boulders with uncanny precision, forgoing the longer, gentler, winding gravel-and-dirt path in favor of speed. Still moving at a full sprint, he traced the spellform for Light – not the Cantrip, but a Tier 2 rune that was a hundred times brighter. His claws sparked off a particularly large rock as he leapt, landing fluidly on the ancient roadway, as the Spell flared to life around him, pushing back the shadows that reluctantly slid away from his half-human form.

Across the bridge, the town of East Bank stood, its wall rising two dozen yards or more into the sky. Far more formidable than Sunland’s meager fortifications, the scarred gates barred the final stretch of the bridge. Atop the twin gatehouses, large ballistae swiveled to face him. Mason wasn’t the least bit surprised when one of them twanged and a huge, two-yard long bolt flashed towards him.

Half expecting the shot, Mason could easily have dodged, but in his irritation he decided to make a bit more of an impression. Speed Protects, one of his favorite defensive Skills, became tougher to break the faster he was moving when he was hit. With it active, he could Lightning Step through even most Tier 4 attacks without taking a scratch, but that would have been overkill for the situation.

His flat-out sprint was more than fast enough to let him run right through the enchanted Tier 2 bolt, which practically vaporized on impact. At least they’re competent enough to hit a target moving in a straight line, even if their trigger discipline sucks…

“DELVER’S GUILD!” he bellowed as he crossed the halfway point of the bridge and started to slow down. The other ballista, perhaps manned by a more experienced crew, held fire as he halted. He felt the subtle flickering sensation of multiple Identifies targeted at him, prompting muffled cursing sounds.

“OPEN THE GATE! I NEED TO SPEAK WITH CAPTAIN RIVERS AND YOUR COMMANDING OFFICER IMMEDIATELY! THERE IS AN UNSTABLE DUNGEON NEARBY!”

He considered Lightning Stepping straight to the top of the wall for a moment, though it might trigger defensive enchantments – if they had any. For all the size of the walls, East Bank was in reality a minor outpost. The town was more the product of some politician’s idea that the ancient bridge should be protected as a strategic asset than anything else.

He heard muffled cursing from the top of the walls, then a shouted command. The thirty foot wide main gate remained stubbornly closed for a moment as a mechanism strained, then half of it creaked open with a loud clanking of gears. It stopped almost immediately, leaving a narrow gap for him to slip through.

Inside, he was confronted by a squad of Guards, a dozen Tier 2s of varying Classes, with lowered weapons in hand. Weapons that were quickly raised to guard positions as they saw him – or more precisely, saw his legs and tail. Sighing, he prepared himself for a potentially long and irritating conversation, or a short fight followed by lots of even more obnoxious paperwork. The sound of bootsteps pounding on the gravel road saved him. Sprinting towards him, in full armor, was a familiar figure.

“HALT! Lower your weapons!” a voice rang out, and the Guards turned in surprise.

Captain Emelia Rivers was a short, whipcord lean woman, barely five and a half feet tall in her brown camouflaged half-plate armor. Even in a world of Classes and Skills, people constantly underestimated her due to her stature, but Mason knew very well that the high Tier 3 axe-wielder could cut apart the entire patrol facing him with ease. He’d always enjoyed sparring with her.

The Guard sergeant lowered his warhammer and turned, saluting the much shorter woman respectfully.

“You know him, ma’am?” he asked, jabbing a thumb at Mason.

“Yes,” she replied curtly, stepping past the man without a glance. “What’s going on, Mason? One of my troops woke me just minutes ago after noticing the activity on the wall.”

“Hassan spotted a dungeon manifestation less than two hours ago, right off the road about fifteen miles from here. Tier 0, highly unstable, oscillating faster than any new dungeon should. We moved on it, intending to wedge it at Tier 1 so I could send in Block and Vale. It flipped at Level 8.” Mason kept his story short and to the point, knowing Rivers would follow the implications instantly.

Stolen novel; please report.

“Shit,” she replied, equally succinct. “How long do we have before it merges? Where’s your team set up?”

“We have long enough,” he replied quietly. “We wedged it at Level 2. We were preparing to deploy to the west, try to drive the monsters towards the Gorge, but my recruits volunteered to go in. They’ll hold it until we get a team out there. How many Tier 1s do you have? I need them on the double, while I check the Guild outpost.”

He couldn’t see her face under her helm, but the surprise in her voice was clear.

“You sent fresh recruits into a dungeon? Are you mad?”

“They. Volunteered. All four of them. And they’re not unblooded, you know my methods better than that. Three Advanced Classes, and one of them survived the Advanced Tutorial. They’re to find the wedged exit and hole up as long as they can, not try and clear the dungeon.

“Emelia, I asked them for four hours. That was just under an hour ago. I need a squad of Tier 1s, and we need to get moving now.”

“Wastes,” she exhaled. There was activity down the street, moving towards them, but they both ignored it as she continued. “You won’t find any Delver help in time. One of my men checked in with the Guild outpost, looking for an old friend – the local teams are out on patrol.

“Mason, I have three Tier 1s, but the most experienced one is down with some kind of illness. The other two are Level 12 – one's a Medic and the other a Fighter who was a Blacksmith in Tier 0. Without Kane, they’re not ready to clear a dungeon by themselves. We’ll need a few Guards as well.”

A portly, middle aged man strode – strutted, really – up to them. He was wearing a suite of elaborately engraved, nearly decorative armor that looked absurd on him. Mason wondered in amusement if the pieces had been crafted for him or, as he suspected, with someone more fit in mind. They contoured tightly to his overweight form, as components tended to do when attached to a baselayer. Identify.