"Hurry the hell up” Harkell demands. His two underlings struggle to keep up behind him as he practically runs through the outer tunnels in the dead of night.

  Hastened by the prospect of dangerous fight, with opponents that may actually provide more than a modicum of experience.

  The dungeon can be very stingy with experience. Known for harsh maximum and no real minimum in how much you can receive at a time. The system awards experience based on its perceived difficulty of a fight. The 3 largest factors and the ones that all inhabitants know as the real bottleneck in their progress are actually super simple. You get less experience the higher a level you are from your foe. After defeating a number of the same monster, the amount of experience you get in subsequent fights with that monster type, regardless of its an unfought new class, will be significantly reduced. Monsters within an area rarely ever reach higher than a certain level.

  Of course many other things will reduce experience. Such as: fighting in groups, excessively high skill levels, items with high stat bonuses and trap based strategies; being the easiest to quantify.

  These factors combine to create a form of equality within sections of the dungeon, creating a soft level cap that affects everyone. It’s almost impossible to get significantly stronger than that level cap.

  Thus while Harkell stands well above the average goblin, his companion or only a bit behind him in strength. Harkells motivation, his drive is what gives him vigor.

  Harkell’s insane battle lust comes primarily from his family’s legacy. For as many generations as the Whisteblade people can remember their family was the strongest. The ideals of power and strength to rule were instilled on him from the moment he could learn.

  His father was the chieftain and so was his father before him. He has molded to be a chieftain. They passed down the artifacts they obtained through numerous life endangering dungeon delves. Through the generations they picked up techniques and methods of gaining power through the system that they kept hidden, close to their family.

  Apart from each of the generation being raised under the best possible circumstances the greatest strength they unlocked was through; the rare class Goblin War Chief.

  Harkell started fighting when he was 2. Shortly after he acquired his first skill, his father would pay the local homeless people to attack the boy. The training, while harsh, proved fruitful. He acquired his family's unique class by the age of 3 and was off fighting in the upper tunnels under the guard of his father and uncle. His rise was meteoric and soon he stood at the top 2nd only to his father.

  Harkell took well to the warrior lifestyle and his personality was sculpted around his strength. Might was right. He believed that to be true and lived that way to his very core.

  He stood on his podium of power for as many years as it took him to achieve it. He let his father live out his life as he slowly caught up to him, but the single level difference would take years to overcome.

  When a goblin half his size from some unknown outside village arrived as soon as his father died Harkell lost his chance to become chief. The mysterious figure rapidly gained notoriety, funding numerous outreach programs and proving to be an equal to the late village head in terms of power.

  The stranger found a group of skilled young rascals to train up. Either due to his peculiar training methods and magics, or through their skill of minions they also rose to equal Harkells in power.

  Harkell never bothered with the people in his village. He never gave them the time of day. While his father was in power he let him deal with all of the political matters. With him gone he still kept to himself expecting that his power alone would make him the obvious choice for leader

  Sure, he does care about people and he does want the village to prosper. On an individual to individual basis he never gives little thought. The stranger however talked with everyone, he made allies with nearly every trader and craftsperson. He even made some unknown deal with the alchemist to produce a healing tonic that he dispersed to the masses and reduced charge.

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  The people practically begged the mage to rule and he usurped the throne without conflict.

  At some point the man even changed the position's title to mayor to make him sound like a peaceful elected official that watched over the village like a sentinel.

  Now that his family's legacy has fallen, that battle lust has turned to something deeper. Something more fierce. He’s achieved his father’s level and is unlikely to ever get past it. He can only crawl up the ranks with his skills and hope if he throws himself in enough danger he’ll find something to shatter the ceiling.

  “Huh. I-I’m tryin’ boss” Greese says between breaths as he totters along. The heavy man like his leader prioritizes strength above all. However unlike his leader he sees strength as a pure concept. Relating entirely to one's physical ability to hit hard and live big stuff. He’s bulked up to the point of bursting to bring out the full effect of his strength stat. His metal armor riddles with dents slows him down further.

  “Graa you’re not good enough, you fucking disgust me you slow bitch..”

  For once Ikar was glad to have his smaller body and non strength focused class. “Yeah come on slowpoke don’t tell me you're scared” Ikar jeers at his panting companion.

  “Graa! Shut up you bastard as soon as catch you I’m gonna wallop you something fierce” Greese ’screams back stumbling at the distraction

  “Yeah catch me if you can fatso. At the rate you're going I doubt you have it in you for an overnight trip. All that training means “power” when you can’t even hit your target” Ikar continues his insults while adding a childish tone and finger quotes over some it.

  Greese grits his teeth, infuriated by the insults. Normally he and Harkell get to team up to mock the stringy fighter. Unable to cope with the changing power dynamic he fails to come up with a good retort. “AAAA Yeah. Shut up tiny”

  “Quit your yapping. Time is being wasted, my axe is getting thirsty”

  Few ever venture this far out into the out cave, fewer stay the night and even fewer make it back alive.

  Harkell made one trip like before shortly after his father died, so he could force himself up to his level.

  ******

  Kyle drops his bag on the ground next to the bottom of his basement’s staircase. The heavy bottle inside, still mostly filled with water, crashes to the ground with thud. Kyle ignores and stambers up the stairs . Giving an exaggerated groan with each forced step.

  Forgetting his pen dead, he tries and fails several more times to take a dab before finally reaching his room.

  Plopping down face first in his bed Kyle once again submits himself to sea thoughts. “Please don’t let them be shitty this time”

  In his exhausted state Kyle doesn’t actually spend much time dwelling. Instead he falls asleep moments after hitting the pillow.

  Awoken, by the alarm on his phone, Kyle lays motionless. “Every day’s the same, every day is hell” He lets the alarm blare even though the sound makes his skin crawl. *Should I even go back there? Will it even matter? Nothing I try ever works out for me.*

  Kyle keeps his face shoved into his pillow. Not just resting it peacefully, but actively applying pressure. Even with his eyes closed he should be able to see his health bar and ammo gauge, since he fell asleep with his holster on and when he had his eyes closed in the dungeon his display didn’t disappear.

  Kyle doesn’t see them. He doesn’t panic. He doesn’t care. He expected this.

  Once the system merges with a creature However, Kyle hasn’t thought to use anything he learned in the dungeon yet. He doesn’t believe that the system works when he’s not in the dungeon; in fact he holds a strong, persistent, nagging feeling that as soon as he left the dungeon he lost all the progress he made and he’ll have to start back 0. In some endless loop

  The sheer lack of confidence Kyle has that something will work in his favor made the augmentations Kyle made to his display menus disappear. No longer is his health displayed

  “Later though not now” He mumbles into his pillow. He stays in bed hoping his thoughts will wander to some pleasant place.

  For once the thoughts stay consistent. Focused on one thing. It’s not an entirely new thought, or idea, but it’s certainly taken on a new flavor now that the prospect of death is so tangible in front of him.

  Eventually the alarm stops and several minutes later Kyle sits up. “I don’t wanna go to work! You can’t make me!” He says emphatically to nobody, but himself

  *what do I even have to gain like a best case scenario, what am I risking my life for? A couple of silver coins. The ammo probably cost me more. I’d be risking my life. Who fucking cares though. I’ve never cared about life. In fact I fucking hate living. I’m never gonna achieve anything, or do anything with my life, anyway. I have no goals, no ambition, no fucking desires. EVERY DAY IS THE SAME AND EVERY DAY IS HELL. The pain sucks though. What the fuck is a level gonna do, but make me better at doing the dungeon thing. It seems like the only thing I can progress through in the dungeon would help make going in the dungeon easier. How the fuck does that help me. What the fuck does that do for. I mean sure I’m fucking desperte for something interesting to happen to me, but this seems like some weird fucking bullshit that only happened beucase I’m entertainment for some malevolent deity. But so does living ah fuck this shit is too hard to think about*

  Kyle reaches his hand blindly into his pocket. The movement reminded him of how sore his whole body really is. He grabs his pen. Slowly he sits up using his arm to support himself he scoots on to his knees, the right one now covered in scabs. His eyes are still closed and he brings the pen to his mouth. His lips pursed he sucks in as deeply as he can.

  “GOD FUCKING DAMMIT” The uncharged pen the final straw to get him out bed. Kyle limps to his desk in his filthy blood stained rags. He strips off most of the excess layers leaving the clothes balled up next to his chair. He takes off his pants leaving the holster attached and the pockets. Wearing nothing but his shirt and soiled boxers he sits down at his chair not to get up for the next 12 hours.

  After a full day of doing nothing Kyle returns to the kitchen he gorges on another feast then heads to his desk chair, his stomach bulging.

  “I hate my life”

  *No fuck this I should go at least until I get a level! Even If I have to start over! Even if I fucking die. I should see if that mechanic is worth anything, or if this strange system and portal shit is the next stop on my transit line of shitty experiences and false hopes.*