The chest sat in its neat little alcove as if it belonged there, metal bands dull in the dungeon’s thin light. Ray didn’t move straight towards it. He kept to the corridor edge, shoulders turned slightly, daggers loose but ready, eyes flicking between the lock plate and the darkness beyond. The scrape had returned the moment he’d taken that first step, slow and heavy, the kind of sound that carried weight. No clicking. No skitter. Something was being dragged, or something dragged itself, and it was close enough now that Ray could feel the vibration through the stone if he stood still long enough.
He let out a quiet breath and pushed a thread of intent out into the gloom with Identify, waiting for the System to give him anything useful. For a heartbeat there was nothing, then a broad shape shifted forward and the corridor decided to show him exactly what had been making that noise. Plates slid over plates with a grinding rasp. A crab, but not the sort he’d been carving apart for shell and meat. This one filled the passage, shell ridged thicker, legs set wider, and its pincers hung heavier, reinforced at the joints as if the dungeon had bolted extra armour onto the hinges for fun.
====================================
Identify: Vaultshell Crusher Crab
====================================
Level: 24
Rank: F
Tag: Miniboss Variant
A corridor bully built for pinning and crushing. Uses shove-and-clamp attacks to force prey into corners. Reinforced hinge plating. Weak points at rear leg joints and under-shell seam after overextension.
====================================
Ray’s grip tightened without him meaning to. “Of course,” he murmured. “Of course the chest has a bouncer.”
Movement flickered behind it. Two smaller shapes slipped out of the shadowed edges, skittering fast and low, keeping distance from the big one’s legs as if they’d learnt the hard way what happened if you got underfoot. Their shells were sleeker, their stance sharper, and they moved with the kind of intent Ray didn’t like. They weren’t rushing in to die. They were circling to distract.
He snapped Identify to the nearest one as it angled sideways, pincers held low like it wanted his ankles.
====================================
Identify: Stoneclaw Crab
====================================
Level: 22
Rank: F
Tag: Elite
Faster reaction time. Prioritises ankle clips and disarm attempts. Coordinates with larger variants.
====================================
“Right,” Ray said under his breath. “You brought mates.”
The miniboss didn’t charge. It advanced one step and stopped, blocking the corridor with its bulk while the elites spread wider. That was the trick. It didn’t need speed. It just needed Ray to make one bad choice, to step into the alcove, to get pinned between stone and shell while something the size of a small table clamped down on him and did what crabs did best.
Ray shifted his feet, keeping the alcove at his side instead of behind him, and rolled his shoulders once to bleed off tension. “You want me in there,” he muttered, eyeing the chest. “Yeah, nah.”
The elites came first, as expected. One darted in low, pincers snapping at his boot, while the other angled for his right hand, the same kind of grab that had nearly cost him a dagger before. Ray didn’t chase either one. He stepped back half a pace, turned his hips, and let the first elite overcommit into empty space before he tapped its inner leg joint with his left dagger. It stumbled, legs scrabbling for purchase, and Ray used the moment to pivot away from the second elite’s pincer sweep. The grab missed his dagger by a hair, close enough that he felt air move against his knuckles.
He didn’t get to enjoy that clean dodge. The big crab advanced in the same instant, plates rasping, and shoved forward with its shell and one heavy pincer in a blunt, brutal motion meant to move him regardless of what he wanted. Ray tried to slide away, but the corridor didn’t give him room, and the edge of the shove clipped him hard across the ribs. Pain flashed hot and immediate, stealing breath from his lungs.
He hissed and forced air back in through his nose. His footing held. Barely.
The elites darted again, one going for his ankle, the other going high. Ray’s head stayed clear. This was the part where panic got people killed. The big one wanted him to focus on the bulk and the plates while the smaller ones took his legs out or stole steel from his hands. He angled his body so the wall supported him rather than trapped him, then moved in a quick, ugly rhythm, stabbing low to keep the ankle-biter honest while his right dagger threatened the elite that kept eyeing his grip.
The big crab surged again, and this time it tried to clamp. One massive pincer snapped out, not to cut, but to trap him against stone and hold him there while the other pincer followed to crush. Ray twisted, scraping his shoulder against the wall, and felt the pincer graze his sleeve with enough force that cloth tore and his skin stung. He shoved back with his forearm and cursed under his breath, then the elite on his right lunged at his dagger hand again, faster than it had any right to be.
[Debuff Applied: Bleeding (Minor)]
Ray made a choice.
Ray didn’t trigger the red edge straight away. He couldn’t afford to. The big one was already moving to seal the corridor and the elites were doing their job, snapping at his ankles and hands whenever his weight shifted. He feinted a stab at the nearest elite and watched it bite, then used the reaction to shoulder-check his own position back into the corridor’s centre line. The vaultshell crab wanted him pinned against a wall. The chest alcove wanted him stuck in a corner. Ray kept himself in the only place he could move, even if it meant taking shallow cuts and bruises instead of one clean death.
The big crab clicked again and shoved, not with a pincer this time, but with its whole armoured front, a forward surge that turned stone into a battering ram. Ray tried to slip past it, and the elite on his left clipped his boot hard enough that his foot skidded. He caught himself on instinct, shoulder slamming into the wall, pain spiking up his ribs, and the pincer snapped in right where his head would’ve been if he’d been half a beat slower. The air cracked with the force of it. Ray spat out a breath and felt something warm run down his forearm again, then forced his eyes up, because the sound of that pincer closing told him the crab had committed and couldn’t stop on a dime.
He punished it anyway, driving his right dagger into a rear leg joint the moment it overextended. The blade bit shallow, dragged, and skittered off armour plating that felt thicker than it looked. The vaultshell didn’t even flinch. It turned its bulk with a grinding pivot and swept the other pincer low, aiming to take Ray’s legs out from under him. Ray hopped, half-stumbled, and the second elite darted in, pincers flashing at his dagger hand again. It didn’t care about dying. It cared about disarming him long enough for the miniboss to finish the job. Ray snarled and ripped his dagger back, refusing the grab by brute grip alone, and felt the sting of tendon strain up his wrist.
The vaultshell crab pressed forward, patient and brutal. It didn’t chase. It occupied space. Every step it took stole options from him. Ray’s back brushed the alcove’s edge and he felt the chest at his shoulder like a dare. The crab clicked, then lunged with a shove-and-clamp that was fast for something that big. Ray twisted away from the clamp and still got clipped, pincer teeth scraping his side through cloth, driving him into the stone hard enough to make his vision flash white for a fraction of a second. The second pincer came down immediately, trying to pin him fully. Ray jammed his left forearm against it and felt bone protest. For a heartbeat he was trapped, half-squashed between chitin and rock, and his mind went cold and simple. Move or die.
He shifted his hips, shoved off the wall with his boots, and forced just enough space to slip free. The elite chose that exact moment to lunge, pincers snapping at his dagger hand again, confident because Ray was off balance. Ray let it commit. He let it get close. Then he pushed intent through both blades, controlled and sharp. Heat sparked along the edges, crawling into that familiar dull red glow, and the cramped corridor lit with a thin smear of crimson.
He stepped into the elite’s reach instead of away. His left dagger swept in a tight crescent, the arc compact enough to fit the space, and the red edge bit clean through hinge and shell in one motion. The crab’s leg collapsed under it, and its body hit stone with a wet clack.
Ray didn’t stop. He turned the follow-through into a second cut, shorter and meaner, carving across the other elite’s upper leg joint before it could retreat. That one shrieked and skittered back, dragging a leg that didn’t want to work anymore.
The big crab clicked once, deep and harsh, and committed.
It shoved again, harder, and Ray felt the corridor narrow down to two options: give ground into the alcove, or stand and get crushed. He refused both. He shifted diagonally past the chest’s edge without stepping fully into the recess, letting the stone corner brush his shoulder, then slipped under the arc of the shove as if he were ducking a door swinging too fast. The big crab overextended, plates grinding as it tried to correct, and Ray saw it, a brief opening under the shell ridge where the armour didn’t overlap cleanly.
Ray called Crimson Crescent again and kept it tight. The daggers lit red. He carved across the seam under the plate line, felt the hinge bite and crack, and the miniboss staggered. Ray stepped into the gap without giving it time to think.
“I’m not losing a dagger to seafood,” he growled, and punched the right blade up under the shell seam in a fast, brutal thrust.
The resistance gave way. The big crab shuddered once, heavy and violent, then sagged forward as strength spilled out of it. Ray yanked his dagger free and stumbled back, chest tight, ribs screaming where the shove had landed, but he stayed upright. He watched the thing for a few heartbeats, blade up, waiting for the dungeon’s favourite trick. It didn’t rise. The elite he’d crippled had already dragged itself away into the corridor, fleeing on instinct.
Ray let out a slow breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and flexed his fingers once, checking for tremor. The red glow on his daggers faded, leaving the blades dark again, almost innocent in his hands.
He gave the corridor a final scan, then made himself pause before greed took over. If he was bleeding, if something had cracked, if he’d pushed too hard, he needed to know now, not after he’d stuck his hands into a chest like an idiot.
“Could be worse,” he muttered, voice tight. It didn’t feel great. His ribs felt like someone had taken a hammer to them, and the scrape of cloth against skin told him he’d be cleaning blood off his sleeve later. Still, nothing was hanging loose. Nothing was broken. He could work with bruises.
He wrapped a strip of cloth around his forearm where the pincer had grazed him, pulled it tight and felt as the bleeding debuff was slowly removed. He finally turned his full attention to the chest. The thing sat there patiently, as if it hadn’t just been the centrepiece of an ambush.
Ray approached like it was a trap waiting to bite. He crouched, ran his fingertips along the lock plate, and pushed Identify into it.
====================================
Identify: Bronze Chest
====================================
A chest containing items. What more do you want?
====================================
He used the tip of his dagger to lift the latch instead of his fingers, then stepped back as the lid shifted. He waited. No hiss. No flash. No sudden bite from a hidden mechanism. When nothing happened, he moved in and opened it fully.
The inside wasn’t overflowing with treasure. It was organised. Padded recesses. A few items sitting in place as if the dungeon had packed them with care. Ray’s eyes went to the obvious one first, because it was impossible to miss.
A small stone crab sat in the centre slot, palm-sized, carved with smooth legs and tiny claws, flecks of metal caught in its surface. It was warm to the touch, even here, even now.
Ray stared at it for a long moment. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
====================================
Crabstone Idol (Bound Item)
====================================
A dungeon-formed stone idol shaped like a crab. Consumes mana to generate stable heat without a flame.
Type: Utility
Rarity: Uncommon
Functions:
? Heat Level I (Warm): drying, warming
? Heat Level II (Low): simmer, gentle cook
? Heat Level III (Medium): boil, reduce
? Heat Level IV (High): sear, char
Bound to: Unbound
Please do not attempt to feed the crab.
====================================
Ray’s mouth twitched despite himself. “Who’s feeding it,” he whispered, looking around the corridor as if the dungeon might answer. “What, am I meant to toss it pebbles? Offer it a prayer?”
Like with his amulet. He thought bind and felt the sensation of the Crabstone Idol run through him. Would all of his items be Bound eventually?
He rummaged through the remainder of the chest and took scooped up what he could into his inventory. There were a few minor potions, along with clean bandages and surprisingly, some bottles of what looked like herbs and spices. Ray would definitely check those out later.
Once the chest was empty, Ray shut it and left it where it was. It’s not like he could carry around an empty chest after all.
He retreated to a safer stretch of corridor, then pulled up the details on his new skill while his breathing slowed, because he wasn’t going to keep swinging red-glowing daggers without knowing what it was costing him.
====================================
Skill: Crimson Crescent
====================================
Channel power into your daggers, create a controlled crescent arc along the blades edge, improving cutting and slicing power.
Level: 1
Rarity: Uncommon
Requirements: Daggers
Rank: F
Active:
? Upon activation, a crescent arc is formed on your dagger. Drastically increasing cutting and slicing, causes increased bleed effects.
Mana Cost: 10
Cooldown: 5 Seconds
Notes:
? A clean slice may cause critical damage
====================================
Ray read it twice, then snorted quietly at the last line. “Yeah. No kidding.”
He tested it once, carefully, a small activation with a shallow swing that traced a red crescent through empty air before fading. The drain hit his shoulders and forearms as a dull heaviness rather than a sharp sting. Manageable. Something he’d feel if he got greedy.
That done, he opened his character sheet and stared at his unallocated points. Ten sat there waiting, simple and blunt, as if the System expected him to immediately know where to put them. Ray had ideas. The vaultshell crab’s shove had given him a few.
He didn’t overthink it. He made practical choices and continued looking at allocating things relatively evenly. He also made the active decision to finally start allocating points into the shitty luck stat. What he, and most others seemed to think was a dump stat, had finally reared its head in places. At least… Ray thought so.
By the time he made it back to his recess, his arms were heavy, his ribs ached with each breath, and the pack he carried… Teddy’s bag felt like it had doubled in weight. The little alcove he’d claimed as a camp looked the same as he’d left it: a rough stockpile of shell plates and pincer segments pushed into a corner, dried meat wrapped tight, and a narrow space where he could sit with his back against stone and pretend he wasn’t living in a crab-filled hole.
Ray dropped his pack with a grunt and pulled out the Crabstone Idol. It sat in his palm, smug and warm, a tiny stone crab that had the audacity to come with instructions.
“Alright then,” he said, setting it on the flattest patch of stone he could find. “Let’s see what you do.”
He fed it a thin trickle of mana, careful and measured. The idol warmed in response, heat building without any flicker of flame. No smoke. No light. The stone beneath it grew warm enough that Ray lifted his hand away and nodded once, impressed despite himself.
“That’s… actually brilliant,” he admitted, then immediately scowled. “Still stupid. But brilliant.”
He dug out a wide shell plate from his pile and balanced it above the idol, making a crude stove top with whatever the dungeon had handed him. It looked ridiculous. A stone crab heating a shell pan in a recess underground while Ray cooked actual crab. The whole thing felt like the System was trying to see how far it could push a joke before it broke.
Ray pulled a chunk of crab meat from his bag, cleaned it as best he could, and set it on the warmed shell plate. The heat held steady. When he fed the idol a touch more mana, the warmth climbed. He tested it in small steps, easing it from warm to low, then to something closer to a simmer, watching the meat change colour and texture instead of just burning or staying raw.
He pulled out a few of the different seasonings he had received from the dungeon chest.
====================================
Identify: Salt
====================================
Ground Sea Salt
====================================
====================================
Identify: Pepper
====================================
Ground Peppers
====================================
====================================
Identify: Coriander
====================================
A basic herb for seasoning
====================================
He threw the Coriander back into his pack. No way was he eating soap. He added a pinch of salt and pepper and waited. The smell that rose a minute later made his stomach tighten in pure hunger. Warm food. Proper food. Not dried strips eaten with one eye on the corridor.
Ray stared at the sizzling meat and shook his head. “This is where we’re at,” he muttered. “Levelling up, nearly getting crushed, and now I’m chef.”
He took the first bite cautiously, expecting it to taste like disappointment. It didn’t. It was simple, salty, and honest, and it was the best thing he’d eaten in days.
The System, naturally, chose that moment to reward him.
[New Skill Unlocked: Seafood Cooking (Inferior)]
Ray froze mid-chew and slowly lowered the shell plate. He stared into empty air where the message had been, then looked down at the tiny stone crab heating his makeshift stove.
“You’ve got to be joking,” he said, voice flat. “I fight a miniboss and get a cooking skill. What are you doing to me Arkus Gaia?”
[Proper training grants proper reward]
Ray sat there… silent for a moment. “Wait… You can hear me?”
[You are the sole user of Arkus Gaia… Naturally]
Ray huffed a laugh, took another bite, and leaned back against the stone. His ribs still hurt. His arms were still heavy. The dungeon was still waiting outside his little recess with more teeth than patience. Still, for a few minutes, he had heat without fire, food that didn’t feel like punishment, and a stupid stone crab that made survival slightly easier.
He chewed in silence for another minute, letting the warmth settle. This felt like the first time in awhile he could rest, like nothing was actively chasing him. He scraped the last bits from the shell plate and set it aside, then looked at the empty air again, because now he couldn’t unfeel it. The sense of being listened to. Of something behind the messages.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “If you’re Arkus Gaia… I’ve got a question.”
[Query received]
Ray hesitated, choosing his words. “There was… another voice. Earlier. The System that started all of this.” He tapped his temple with two fingers. “It left things behind. Broken messages. Fragments. Weird log spam that didn’t make sense at the time. You called it training data before.”
A pause. The idol’s heat continued to hum under the shell plate, steady and patient.
[Internal logs detected]
Ray’s eyebrows lifted. “You can access them?”
[Partial access. Corrupted segments present. Integrity low.]
He let out a short breath that was half laugh, half disbelief. “Good. Then do me a favour. Search them. Anything that looks like… personality. Tone. The way it talked.” He glanced down the corridor mouth, then back to the air. “I don’t need you to be nice. I need you to be useful. If that old voice was better at keeping me alive, I want you to copy it.”
Another pause, longer this time.
[Request: mimic prior System output style]
[Feasibility: unknown]
[Action: scheduled analysis]
Ray sat up a little straighter. “Scheduled analysis?”
[Processing during rest cycle recommended]
He snorted. “So you are capable of making suggestions.”
[Correct]
Ray stared for a moment, then shook his head, still smiling. “Alright. Do it. Tomorrow, I want results. If you can’t copy it, tell me why. If you can… we’re tuning you properly.”
[Acknowledged]
The dungeon beyond his recess stayed quiet for now, but Ray didn’t relax. He settled his daggers where he could grab them fast, adjusted the bandage on his forearm, and leaned back against the stone. The tiny crab idol continued to radiate heat like it had all the time in the world.
Ray closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again.
“Yeah,” he murmured to the dark. “Tomorrow we talk.”
