He didn't have time to take a deep breath. He was ambushed in the next hallway. How did they manage to surprise him in such a narrow hallway? Very simple. The enemies came out of the walls, half-fused with the stone, without making any sound. They were enemies with completely green skin. They glowed with a sickly tone, and for some reason he thought they'd spit acid. It wouldn't be surprising in a video game with that kind of enemy design.

  But they didn't spit acid. They just staggered toward him. Although the way the stone was fused with those corpses was very grotesque, at least they weren't fast zombies. He could deal with them one at a time. That was precisely what he did. He painted the hallway with their entrails. It wasn't even difficult. The more he did it, the easier it became. He supposed it was like everything in life.

  James rested his sword on one shoulder, stepping back. He looked around at the enemies he'd taken care of without help. It might be grotesque, but he felt proud. And why not? What was wrong with feeling proud of a job well done?

  "They're just dead anyway," he said.

  He kicked one's skull, ripping it off its shoulders. It went rolling around. For a moment, James thought that somehow a trap would be triggered as a result. Maybe a bit of karma for treating what was, after all, a corpse that way. But he had too active an imagination. The only thing that happened was the skull stopped rolling.

  One less thing to worry about. For now.

  A bit further ahead, he saw a corpse hanging from ropes, from the neck and wrists. It was a real corpse, not a zombie waiting to ambush him. James swallowed. Suddenly his mouth was dry. If it wasn't a zombie, then it had to be the corpse of a real person, right? Some poor bastard like him, who'd suffered an unfortunate fate.

  His legs trembled a bit.

  No. It doesn't have to be real. And even if it were, he doesn't have to end up the same way.

  He couldn't go back with the corpse on his back. He decided to show it a minimum of respect anyway, cutting the chains and lowering it slowly and carefully. It was the least he could do. No, the most.

  Something inside him said he should do something more than this, but the reality was he'd already done enough.

  For starters, this guy had died in such a fucking horrible way.

  What told him that whatever had killed him wasn't around the corner? He shuddered. He had to be very careful or he'd end up the same, maybe worse. It wasn't all adventures and glory. He knew that perfectly well. That didn't mean he was going to back down. Besides, even if he wanted to, he couldn't go back. How was he supposed to climb back up, considering all the times he'd fallen or slid down?

  So many he didn't even remember the number of floors he'd traveled.

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  Objectively, he'd already done more than most would. Most would have gotten the hell out of here. They wouldn't have stopped to think about the dignity of a corpse, but about what the hell had done this and if it was still nearby.

  He moved away from the corpse, looking around, searching for an exit. It's not like he had to kill every monster that got in his way. The important thing was to reach the first boss and defeat it, so that a portal would open to take him out of this place. That was all the quest consisted of. Reach the tenth floor, where the first boss waited. He could come back later, but now that was all he had to do.

  He wasn't sure which way to go. In the end, his mind went blank because someone hugged him from behind, pulling him. Except they'd done it through him, through his body. Yes, he was talking about ghostly, terrifyingly cold arms.

  Fuck, he jumped, but still that thing stayed attached to him, refusing to let go of his armor's grip. Fuck, ghosts were also enemies in dungeons. Well, why not? Skeletons, zombies, ghosts... they were typical enemies in RPGs. And he supposed, if he thought about it, he'd already seen more absurd things.

  He managed to slip away anyway. It was a ghost, indeed, floating a few meters above the ground. It had no feet or legs, only the upper half of that thing was visible.

  James gritted his teeth. How was he supposed to defeat a damn ghost? By slashing it with his sword, like everything else? He decided to try.

  As expected, his sword passed through the enemy's body. And the ghost's hands, extended like claws, passed through his chest. They closed around his heart. A claw with a cold from beyond the grave, tearing the air from his lungs. His hands trembled. He felt like he was on the edge of a precipice.

  See those nonsense things about glory and adventure. The only thing in the depths of the dungeon was the cold hand of death.

  James gasped. He took a deep breath, but that wasn't enough. The air didn't reach his lungs. He tried to tear the thing's arm from his chest, but how could he, when his fingers slipped through that thing, which was already dead, as he would be soon?

  No, he wasn't going to die here. He was never going to die. But he had no idea how to kill this thing. He could defend himself, but that was only delaying the inevitable. If he couldn't finish off the ghost, therefore, there was only one possible answer: he had to run. He gritted his teeth, but turned around. Damn it, and started running in the direction he hoped was right. Down, always down. That was the trajectory his whole life had followed, since his parents' accident, since the orphanage.

  He'd left the ghost behind. At least it seemed he could breathe easy for the moment, but he didn't allow himself to stop, instead he kept running. The sooner he found the boss, the better. He wanted to get out of this damn place. This morning's euphoria had abandoned him.

  I haven't heard anyone talk about it in Ashfall, he thought. Neither good nor bad. Nothing about a tragedy. It was possible it had happened today and he hadn't found out yet. It was also possible it had been there a long time and people had already moved on. But what if it was relatively recent and they didn't give a damn anymore? He couldn't get that idea out of his head. Ashfall was a beautiful place full of possibilities, but maybe it was as rotten as everything else.

  James laughed at the world and at himself. Of course, everything was the same everywhere. The idea of being able to simply escape was too fantastical. Fortunately, he could escape from his thoughts. All of them vanished as soon as he collided with someone, a girl who was running in the opposite direction. An inevitable collision. Despite the tension, he couldn't help but think: fuck, what a rack. He felt deeply embarrassed with himself, but it was the first thing he thought.

  "Fuck," the hot chick muttered. "Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?"

  What a question. She wasn't the only girl; there were three others behind her. All very pretty, but this time he didn't think about any nonsense. This time he realized they all looked tired and hurt, as if they'd come out of a big fight and lost.