Five more moons passed. Roland led his fellow delf-miners in a bellowing song:

  “Dig! Heave! Equip that pickaxe boys!

  Ho! We select ‘Use!’

  Swing! We gather Baubles

  Break! We collect our quarry.

  Wait! We bide our time.”

  Many were like Mia, born of the gaol and speaking the old pre-demon tongue of the land. Was this some outland chant? Many foreign knights such as grenzritters had come to this land both to test their might against devilry and in damned fool’s crusade to liberate the land from demonic influence.

  Mia could hear this clamor from her bed, and even from the beehouse annex. It rang through the stone. There was no chance the Demon Warden couldn’t hear the din.

  Stone hauls doubled, which quickly warranted a twofold quota. Yet the captives met that new quota and then some! They worked as a tight-knit band, going to each grueling shift without complaint. Until, as the change-shift bells rang, the crew would take any baubles or Baubles they found and trade them to the worker with the highest Agility stat. Pickpocketing, sneaking, and other forms of stealth were all downstream of this attribute.

  This chosen swift-of-foot, fleet-of-hand courier passed by the Demon Sentry they traded their ore to, emptying their inventory of all but their hidden goods.

  Past the demonic checkpoint and back in the living quarters, they made their way to Gustavo.

  They traded all to this master smuggler, who hid the level-up Baubles from their jailers in hidden chests and various other compartments.

  Each day, the band toiled. Every day, they found at least a dozen Baubles between them. Their hoard swelled with each week. Outside, winter came and went. A faint chill snuck through the slits and cracks in the stone. Mia’s dire-bees were safe in the relatively cozy environs, free to overwinter until the temperatures began to rise.

  All this continued, with the Shackled prisoner’s stockpile of rare baubles grew. Until…

  “I… come from afar,” he said after a time. “Perhaps one day you will see it. Fort Duran Du Lac. The seat of resistance to the Demon King.”

  Mia gasped. It was a known name, even in this dark pit. The Fiend Lord—the wardens had a shrine to this half-fabled tyrant on one of the higher floors. They urged the capt-hafts to pray there now and then, though to what end Mia never learned.

  “Most near the capital seldom see a Shackled,” Roland explained. “A few treacherous lesser lords have taken some as slave labor. But the grenzritter of our order hold the Fort and man the walls of the Capital. Even now scouts attempt to brave the path through fell fumaroles keeping us from the beast’s domain.”

  Mia knew not what these strange terms were from the out-world. There were distant memories of her erdmother’s secret whispers of the grand Capital. But forts and fumaroles were alien to her, she knew naught even the words her grenzritter used. She nodded along regardless.

  As Roland told her of these distant lands, the shift change bell rang.

  "I’ll show you one day." Roland stood from the stone slab that served as his seat, bed, and resting spot. "Very soon."

  Swing! We gather Baubles

  Break! We collect our quarry.

  Wait! We bide our time.

  The tune went on, ringing through the passages. Mia did her common rounds, mending hurt flesh from the just returned night shifts, and then looked in on the honeycombs.

  Dire-scorpionbees grew more lively in the Spring, and judging by the cool yet bearable breeze sneaking into the delved-cavern, the seasons had shifted.

  Another troop of twelve wasps had crept in to strike the bees. Mia found them on the ground, having been charred in their shells and run-through by tail-skewers. The three hives had joined together, frying their foes all at once with minimal harm to their own.

  From deep below, the song grew cacophonous:

  Gather! We stockpile our baubles.

  There was an echoing thunk as dozens of pickaxes struck stone in unison.

  Distribute! We go back to collect our share before the shift!

  Another thunk.

  Use! We apply our baubles.

  Strange static filled the air as nearly fifty Shackled leveled up at once, many increasing levels in succession.

  The din of pickaxe strikes dulled, and gradually died.

  Together! We are strong.

  Mia held her breath.

  It was almost time.

  All at once! We fall upon the guard!

  A Shackled work crew consisting of over four dozen brand-slaves leveled up simultaneously. Shifting from levels 2, 3, and 4 to levels 5, 6, 7, and even eight in some cases.

  Demon Sentry #5 was but level 8. Still higher than its charges. But there were over fifty of them, armed with low-level and rusty but still sharp pickaxes. And they were all gathered close, set on a single foe.

  The whole tower would be crawling with their fiendish wardens in due time, and there was much to do in the interim.

  Mia rushed to the mining grounds, the deepest pit in the spire. The cell door, normally swung shut and so hefty only a demon could lift it, sat wide open. A makeshift key, a Thief’s Slapdash Key Ring +1 (x1) lay in the lock. Prisoners of all sorts, wielding their simple level 1 pickaxes, streamed out into the prison’s main floor. Mia had to battle the flow and push her way through.

  Scenes of slaughter lay ahead. Hurt and shaken rebels hobbled toward the way out, still keen to join in the gaol-riot. Interface windows blinked over fallen and the injured:

  Roland remained at the scene, boot on the Demon Sentry’s corpse.

  “The Shackles. We could only strike one at a time. In some sort of regimented format.” Roland raised and struck Demon Sentry #5 with the pickaxe. “We killed it by sheer number. Even so, it could attack four times in a row despite our melee.”

  A Demon Sentry Meat Cleaver lay on the ground, still name-bound in ownership to Demon Sentry #5. Its strength requirements were well beyond any STR level that a human could dream to reach before level twelve.

  Another strike of the pickaxe prompted Demon Sentry #5’s status to drop down to -3/32.

  “My lord, are you okay?” Mia cast Quick Heal on Randolph twice to stabilize the poor soul, then rushed to Roland’s side.

  “I’ll be fine,” Roland said. “Everyone who can move, rush the stairs. We must push as far as possible. Remember to trade the keys that Gustavo gave you. We must hope the night shift has managed to at least take through floor six!”

  The gaol was abuzz with riotous inmates. Floors twelve through seven were unbarred, cell doors and chokepoints flung open.

  Gustavo had provided a small hoard of stolen and spoofed keys. He’d toiled many hours, dodging shifts to perfect the Interface-based art of ‘crafting’. He’d grown quite skilled at roughly aping the contours of the guard’s keys – enough to spoof the locks. But of course, the former smuggler wasn’t out here facing the demons himself.

  Demon Sentries 2, 6, and 8 stood on the seventh floor, bearing the brunt of the rioter’s attack. Sentry three lay dead on the floor, but not before having held back the night shift at a crucial point and leaving ten dead prisoners in its wake. Demon Sentry #9 was nowhere to be found, while Demon Sentry #7 had shut the door to the recently restricted sixth floor and wandered back up to prepare the demonic garrison’s defenses.

  Roland ran to the door. He called upon the Interface and utilized it to jam the key into the lock. Where at any point before being branded this would be up to skill or dexterity of the hands to interface between the lock and key, here everything was… flattened. Yet the false key did its work, and the sixth floor lay open to the rioters.

  Below, Demon Sentry #8 was at 4/33 HP.

  It fell to Roland’s vanguard to break past the demon-infested upper floors and up to the surface.

  Roland stopped at a familiar wooden board. The Greater Plain Board Barricade beckoned. Mia waited in the back as the brunt of the captives flowed past.

  “I need some kind of shield,” he said as he bashed the barricade down.

  The Greater Barricade would not break, at least not in full. Yet a single board did jostle loose. Thick enough to block a blow, and with just enough of a splintered back half to grasp. The distraction took but a breath, but already Demon Sentry #1, strongest beside the Warden, strode down from the upper floors.

  Mia dared glance through the smallest of holes in the barricade. Darkness reigned. It must be night outside.

  Each demon was sturdier than any Shackled could hope to be at the equivalent level. They were twice the height and triple the mass of the tallest man. It towered before the narrow chokepoint, forcing the prisoner’s advance to stall on the stairwell up to floor five.

  Demon Sentry #1 let out a mighty bellow. Only three rioters could draw near enough to strike, Shackled to the Interface such as they were. And with a mighty sweep, he waylaid three prisoners at a time. Wounded, down to about 2 HP. Piling along the sides of the stairwell. Meant to be taken alive for later punishment.

  Roland rushed to the front.

  The head of the Demon Sentries swung its rebar club. Roland countered, jutting his makeshift shield out to parry the blow, just like he would have done before he was bound to the interface.

  “Ha!” Roland huffed in triumph.

  But the Demon Sentry was still in the way, barely damaged, and more than capable of delivering a flurry of blows from relative safety.

  The next swing of the rebar hit Roland’s shield. The simple wooden shield was not enough to negate all damage.

  Mia filled his heath Basic Heal, but by the time she was done another two blows had dropped him down below 20/28.

  Other Demon Sentries waited on the topmost floors, ready to support Demon Sentry #1. Their riot would be over before it began if they could not pass this roadblock. Even the sudden defeat of Demon Sentry #6 far below would not turn the tide. Punishment for this attempted rebellion would mean only the liquidation of the entire oubliette, even those who had not joined in the uprising. They’d be replaced with other Shackled slaves carted in from the more populous areas further north, and the work would begin with scarcely less than a month’s delay.

  Just then, a whirl stepped along the wall, using a flying leap off the barricade for a burst of speed, this blur leaped clear over Roland and the Demon Sentry both.

  “Aha!” cried the smuggler, brandishing custom-sharpened prison shanks.

  Immediately, the Demon Sentry reached around to try and pull out the shiv in its back.

  Roland and the other captives pushed forward with a good old-fashioned shove. The demon was forced back, harried by scratch damage from Gustavo’s smaller knives. Pickaxes wouldn’t deal more than 2 HP max, but now the prisoners were spilling out onto the fifth floor, and there were many more angles from which to strike.

  Rather than fight a losing battle with its high ground advantage gone, Demon Sentry #1 dropped its Behemoth Rebar Punishing Rod and lumbered towards the edge of the platform. It dived off… then ascended through the oubliette on leather bat wings.

  “Ha! It’s retreating, we won!” declared a prisoner.

  “Keep pressing to the higher floors,” Roland ordered. “Gustavo, you have keys?”

  “For everything but the last door to the guard quarters.” The smuggler nodded.

  Demon Sentry #1 flew up to the top of the pit. The trap door through which new captives were thrown downward opened, and it flew up and out, a poisoned shank still in its left shoulder. All was silent below floor four, broken only by a mighty cheer from the surging rioters. Until…

  … The asylum’s warden leaped down out of the very same trapdoor. It landed on some of the newly victorious, cheering rioters with a great thud, crushing four of them where they stood.

  What’s more, the Warden held a bauble high.

  This was enough for the Warden to level up not one, but twice!

  Health surged to 39/39. Already he was far beyond the level range of what any captive could hope to reach. Through strength multipliers alone it could tear opponents apart with its bare hands.

  All that, and they still had at least three more Demon Sentries on the higher floors.

  “Keep pressing!” Roland commanded.

  Gustavo had each floor’s keys on a singular, bulging keyring. He opened the door up to the next floor and then followed the crowd of remaining rioters.

  Below, the Demonic Warden laid into stragglers.

  “What shall we do?” Mia asked Roland.

  Her squire picked up the abandoned Behemoth Rebar Punishing Rod.

  “Good sir, you cannot wield that with your current strength stats,” Mia said.

  But Roland slung his makeshift shield on his back and gripped the rebar with both hands, doubling his true strength and bringing stat requirements within his reach. He plodded onward, feeling the added heft on his frame.

  “Gotta…” he huffed on the stairs. “Get to the top floor.”

  Three more Demon Sentries remained between the prisoners and the top floor. Three foes, each above level eight, and the spearhead of their uprising was growing a little thin.

  “Mia, hit ‘em!” Rolland said, still lugging the rebar around.

  Mia summoned forth from her inventory:

  Mia used Throw, a basic action of the most simple of modifiers. The honeycomb fell before Demon Sentry #3. At first, all was quiet, but soon a swarm of dire-scorpionbees poured forth.

  Dire-bee stings would do a flat 1 HP of damage, 2 HP with crits. This was consistent against any foe without rock or especially heavy armor, a level 100 Dire-Bison, or a level 8 demon. Only a Dire-Bison had thousands of HP while these demons only had thirty or so each.

  Demons flailed about, swatting and being stung. Gustavo, Roland, and Mia rushed forth, tanking a sting or two each to be easily mended by Mia’s Basic Heal.

  Below, their Warden pressed on in its warpath. Even if they fled the asylum, there would be no escape so long as that demonic ringleader yet lived.

  “Uh, I don’t have the key to the guard’s quarters,” Gustavo said.

  “Well, how do we get out?” Mia asked.

  “Warden probably has the key. If either of you have some plan for how to deal with it…”

  “Just wait here. Working on it!” Roland said.

  The squire hastened as he rounded the spiraling staircase to the uppermost floor, one that had been reserved specifically for demons for longer than Mia had been alive. There was no railing here – demons could just flutter about on their bat wings, after all – and the ledge loomed, a sheer drop down to the prison floor, where the Warden raged.

  Roland jumped, rebar club in both hands. He swung:

  The rebar club impacted the Demon Warden square in its squat, batlike head.

  Critical Hit!

  The Warden reeled, then righted itself. It leered at Roland, who’d by now hopped off and struggled to bring his rebar club to bear. One hit would be all it took to defeat the Warden now… except, the beast had another Ginormous Level-Up Bauble of Endurance ready – more than enough to level up and reset its health and provide an END-based boost as well!

  Yes, this would be the end of Squire Roland’s journey were it not for another falling figure from on high. Mia fell, a Plain Wooden Mallet in two hands.

  The healer’s strength was but a fraction of Roland’s. Her weapon was but level one with minimal stat requirements. But with pure velocity it more than finished off the last three hit points, slaying the demon.

  Experience flowed into all who happened to get a hit in on the Warden and what few survivors of its wrath remained. There were level-ups all around.

  And what more…