Dane McAlister - Smithy on the Fifth Floor

  The scent of burning oak rolled out from the doorway, smoke, hot iron, and the acrid bite of burning oil. Nostalgic, in the worst kind of way. A bell jingled above the door, out of place in the Middle Ages camp they had. Dane took a deep breath and walked in.

  "Not takin' requests!" Murphy barked without turning. His hammer rang against steel.

  Dane raised an eyebrow. "Amelia said to swap out my set."

  Murphy froze mid-swing. Slowly, the man straightened. He turned, wiped his face with a rag, and stared down at Dane like a disappointed mountain.

  "Well. Orders are orders." He set the hammer aside. "Let's make it quick. I've got a commission from the Witch some time-and-space-infused axe. Don't ask me what a hexmonger needs with a weapon like that. Probably planning to slice tomorrow."

  Dane's eyes drifted toward the forge. Something inside pulsed a deep, rhythmic throb, like a heart learning how to beat.

  "You embedded mana stones?" Dane asked.

  Dane stepped closer. The mana inside was swirling with purple hues. These weren't just stones anymore. They were close.

  He kept his face neutral. If Murphy knew what these were becoming, he'd shut the whole forge down. No one knew about dungeon spirits, and Dane wasn't ready to explain it, least of all to a mountain that called itself a blacksmith.

  "I can help," Dane said. "If you let me channel into the steel."

  Murphy eyed him. "You sure about that? Even if you have the right affinity, the whole thing could blow up in your face. If you ruin the witches' project, I don't think anyone in camp can protect you. Well, maybe Amelia. But I don't think she would get involved."

  Dane managed a dry chuckle, "I've been stared down by worse."

  "If you say so." Murphy handed over a pair of tongs, gripping one of the mana stones, which glowed faintly violet at its core. "But don't come cryin' if you set it off."

  Dane took the tongs, the weight of the stone heavier than it should be. It pulsed in his grip, faint but growing.

  The Space and Time magic left Danes' fingertips first, a small trickle, then the stone greedily hissed for more. He put half of his mana pool into the axe before it was satisfied, and he was met with a message.

  You have successfully crafted a Legendary weapon due to your achievement, the first of my kind. The Axe has been upgraded to Divine rarity.

  Warning: System is running on minimal settings.

  Dane took out the core he gained from the monstrous dog on the 49th floor and began to chomp down on the stone like a jawbreaker that took months to see the center.

  "What are you doing, kid? I have heard of being so hungry I could eat a horse, but that was something else." Murphy questioned, puzzlement embroiled on his features.

  "Just getting the system back up and running," Dane replied like an IT worker who cycled the power to fix a boomer's computer.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "So you're the Baron? I'm still not bowin'. Hell, I needed Jason to figure out how to unlock the Smith class. Your Earthbound System's got more bugs than troll stew."

  "I don't have anything to do with controlling the system, but if I find out how, I'll keep that in mind," Dane replied

  Holding the weapon, he smiled widely. The spirits in the stones had awakened with the completion of the axe. He pulled it close, and the warmth of the fire still clung to the metal, burning at his neck.

  Murphy didn't comment on the axe again. Just grunted and headed to the back of the forge. After a moment of rummaging, he came back dragging a long, scuffed-up crate.

  "This came in four weeks ago," he said, snapping the latches open. "Amelia said that it was for someone going to the lower floors. Guessin that's you."

  He flipped the lid. Inside was a complete set of combat gear that felt halfway between salvage and sorcery.

  The base was a tight-woven underlayer of soot-black thread, a material that fell somewhere between leather and cloth. It was char-resistant, mana-receptive, and faintly reinforced along major joints. Over that, Murphy had layered black titanium plating: chest, shoulders, forearms, and greaves. The plates were slim but sturdy, each piece etched with runes that pulsed faintly under the forge-light.

  "We don't know what the dungeon will throw at us," Murphy muttered. "So Jason rigged a bubble ward for underwater breathing. We haven't tested it in open ocean, but it'll hold for an hour or two in a puddle."

  Dane raised an eyebrow as he lifted the chestpiece. The runes shimmered faintly with a washed-out blue. "And the hover enchantment?"

  Murphy smirked. "Yeah, that was Jason again. Said he found a way to piggyback on the local mana meridians. Whatever that means. It ain't flight, but you'll float about a meter off the ground if you pulse it right. Useful for uneven terrain or not going splat if you take a fall. Still not that graceful, but better than dying... Probably"

  Dane chuckled. "Sounds about right."

  "You break it, don't come crying to me. I just etched the stabilizers." Murphy tossed him the bracers. "This is the best we can make at the moment."

  Dane began suiting up. The underlayer fit like a second skin while still being breathable. The armor plates snapped into place with a muted clunk, each one locking in with a satisfying magnetic pull. As he buckled the last strap, the armor thrumed, drawing power directly from Dane.

  "No helm," Murphy noted. "She said you wouldn't wear one anyway."

  "She was right." Dane rolled his shoulders. The armor moved with him, light and flexible despite the weight. "Thanks."

  Murphy folded his arms. "Don't thank me. Thank the person who placed the order."

  Dane paused, hands hovering over the last clasp.

  "Still. You did good work."

  Murphy gave a gruff grunt and turned back to his forge. "Yeah, well. Try not to die in it. That would make both of us look bad."

  Murphy was already turning back to the forge when Dane spoke. "I'll deliver the axe to the Witch."

  Murphy paused, then glanced over his shoulder. "You sure that's wise? She might not take it well, seeing you show up with it bound to your soul."

  "I didn't think you noticed. She'll find out eventually." Dane's tone was steady. "Better she hears it from me than the rumor mill. How can I find her?"

  Murphy considered that, then gave a low grunt of reluctant approval. "Fair enough. She spends all her time on the outskirts of the camp, go to where the air starts to feel wrong, and you won't be far off."

  Dane smirked. "Noted."

  Murphy nodded toward the door. "Well, don't let me stop you. You look like a damn hero now, go make it someone else's problem."

  Dane let out a chuckle, turning and walking out into the daylight, the forge smoke parting around him. Behind him, the hammer rang out once more, the rhythm steady, like a heartbeat trying to forget what it just witnessed.

  Far from the main square, he heard something familiar and foreign at the same time—the joyous laughter of small children. Amelia and Ada had orders. Orders they ignored; they were supposed to save only those that could fight. He was glad they hadn't followed that part. It was something to fight for and a sign that the world was healing.

  Dane tore his eyes from the children. Something was coming. Close. Heavy. The shadowman. He needed to alert Amelia that there was going to be a fight. Just then, he heard a mechanical screech coming from an alert tower. Then the sound of a voice that could only belong to the glorious bastard interrupted the broadcast.

  "This is not a drill. Everyone get to the bunker. The elves are coming, I repeat, the elves are coming. It ain't Christmas, get in the safezone." Jason shouted over an intercom.

  Dane was relieved he didn't need to play Paul Rivere today and could focus on the roaring flame coming from the outskirts of town.