Seven had been subjected to countless literacy classes at the palace, but nothing she’d learned gave her the words to describe what burst through the back tunnel, flinging golden city bricks onto the worn stone at her feet.

  Easily thirty feet tall, she could only really describe the thing as a sort of centipede. Or at least, she thought it was a centipede. The thing was so large, it was hard to tell what the rest of it looked like, buried beneath the smooth stone of the city. Black, shining, and writhing, it made quick work of the bladed creatures, who were scattering for the smaller entrances around the forum. Those that were too close or too slow were pierced by the venomous talons of the centipede or eaten whole.

  Its body was encrusted with shattered dice—and a few whole ones, from what she could tell. Wriggling larvae spread from tiny holes in the ground, each nearly the size of a dog.

  Her first instinct was to run. Moore’s little hideaway was safe, at least, for all he was trapped. Her second instinct, as she looked at the wriggling larvae, glowing faintly in the magma-lit chamber, was to throw up. Her third was to wonder if she’d perhaps reached the end of her luck entirely.

  Luca whimpered nearby, and for a moment, all she could do was stare. Her Luck was low, having exhausted much of it fighting the alpha and its kin. She glanced into the bag at her hip and swore faintly. The shards were dim. Had she used that much Luck already?

  “Take these.” Emmet shoved a bag at Seven as the ground shook beneath her feet. She just barely caught it, nearly fumbling the worn leather in her hands, then peeked inside.

  She nearly collapsed at the wealth inside—dice pulsing so brightly that they’d give the shards in Hell’s Maw a run for their money.

  “Where did you even find these?” she demanded, staring at Emmet open-mouthed. He dug for another bag of dice, his mouth set in a grim line.

  “I didn’t,” he said. “I cut a deal with LMC for them—that’s part of the reason they seized my house.”

  “But why?”

  “Because everyone needs a backup plan.”

  Emmet fumbled with a golden bracelet, slapping it around his well-muscled forearm. It gleamed faintly against the magma, and Seven swore under her breath.

  “You had a whole set the entire time?” she asked, dumbfounded. “And you didn’t tell me?” The centipede let out a shriek that made Seven’s teeth ache, and she flinched, fumbling for her sword.

  “You never asked,” he said. “But sometimes LMC sends me out to be an exterminator in the lower levels—nothing as bad as this, of course, but it should be the same.”

  “Is that part of the job description?” Luca asked. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Fine print,” Seven replied at the same time as Pocket and Emmet. Seven sighed and readied her sword, Emmet’s dice bag in her other hand. Luck above, before tonight, she’d never so much as fought anything but a few bouncers after being kicked out of a dice parlor on a bad night. She reached into the dice bag, ready to drain it dry, but Emmet put a hand on her arm.

  “Don’t drain them,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because some of the dice in there have to be better than you, even Lucked up. And your body can’t take more right now.” He gestured at her face, and Seven finally felt the sticky warmth traveling down her temple from her ears. She wiped it away and swore, avoiding Luca’s shocked gaze.

  “Fair enough,” she said. “But even with gloves, they’re probably one use.”

  “I’ve made my peace with it,” Emmet said. “Better we use them here and live than die with perfect dice.”

  Luca nodded, a little too fast. “I like that plan. Prefer it even.”

  “Luca,” Emmet said, his eyes never leaving the centipede. “How stable is this room?”

  Luca’s eyes darted overhead as the centipede slammed a fat fleshy foot into the ground, shrieking again. “The pillars are unstable on the back left half of the room,” he said. “If you can get it over there, you might be able to bring the room down around it.”

  “And around us,” Seven snapped, but Luca shook his head, and when Seven looked at the ceiling again to double-check Luca’s inspection, she realized why.

  “The rest of the room is stable,” he explained, taking a few steps away from the centipede.

  “Right,” she agreed. Better than nothing. Pocket squealed from her shirt, and the centipede’s head swiveled towards them with a sound like grinding stone. Now that it was facing them, its face was clearer; beautiful and grotesque all at once, it was split open like a cracked geode, revealing a sparkling mass of colors that made her eyes water. Dice, she realized in shock. Its whole head is made of dice.

  “Can…can it actually use all of those?” She asked, terrified of the answer.

  Emmet shrugged. “I’m not about to stand around long enough to find out. How much is your quota?”

  “Over seven hundred shards—but it doesn’t matter, Emmet. They’ll send a dud lift.”

  “Better that than no lift at all. Let’s get those shards.”

  The centipede hissed at Emmet’s statement, and the larvae scattered towards them, making squelching noises. Emmet’s bracelet flared in the darkness, and he rolled his first d6 with theatrical flair. It spun through the air, its sides catching the glowing light of the magma, then landed midair with a click.

  A perfect six. The ground beneath Emmet’s feet cracked open, scattering tiles older than the city itself, and Seven shielded her face as pieces of the mosaic peppered her cheeks. Emmet seemed not to notice at all, the tiles swirling around him like he was the center of his own personal storm, and Luca—perhaps more careful than Seven—had retreated behind one of the pillars.

  “Triple advantage for the next few rounds,” Emmet explained. Advantage or not, the larvae were nearly on them now, their tiny geode-encrusted teeth clicking together. Seven brought her sword up into a ready position, trying to stick as close to Emmet as possible. With or without Luck, she was pretty sure she could handle the larvae at least.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Emmet rolled another die—this one a d20, and the earth rolled as it tumbled, then clicked into place.

  A seventeen.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Seven muttered, but she couldn’t help but be at least a little impressed. She’d watched plenty of duels growing up between men and women with dice caches that would make Emmet’s look downright utilitarian, but there was something different in the way he used his set. A sort of chip on his shoulder that she’d never really noticed before in the few weeks they’d been together. Maybe LMC had tried to bury Emmet, but they clearly hadn’t finished covering the hole.

  Emmet raised his fist, then brought it down in a hammering motion. The impact sent shockwaves rippling outward in circles, pillars of stone erupting from the ground and sending larvae flying to splatter against the wall. Seven realized now why he’d asked Luca about the ceiling before rolling anything—any other tunnel might have collapsed by now with the earthen motion below, but this one was reinforced overhead. Perhaps he’d learned his lesson from bitter experience.

  And yet, before Seven could make a quip about showing off, she glanced at the boss centipede again. It was pulling itself from the earth, stained with the blood of its kin, but it didn’t look particularly put out by Emmet’s blow. If anything, it looked madder somehow, its eyes glowing, the dice embedded in its body lighting up in turn.

  It shimmered strangely—in the same way that shards shimmered, or her own palm when she called on her Luck. Seven rammed her sword into a tiny larvae attempting to gnaw her ankle off and wiped sweat from her brow, staring at the centipede again. There were several thick, shimmering lines running down its body, the light coursing away from the ground. With each pulse, the centipede seemed to gain strength, and it slithered towards them, gem-encrusted teeth bared.

  “Is that part of the plan?” Seven demanded, gesturing at the centipede. Emmet’s confidence faltered a bit, and he shook his bracelet, but it flickered and went dim. Seven felt her stomach drop clean to her feet. “You have a cooldown and you didn’t finish it off?” she snapped. “What kind of amateur—”

  “A long cooldown,” he corrected with a too-handsome smile. “I, uh, sort of thought it would finish it off.”

  Glancing at the centipede, Seven realized why it hadn’t. The shimmering light had collected around the creature, pulsing faintly as a faint shield, supported by several glimmering golden dice that glowed brighter than the rest.

  “It has a shielding skill,” she said, digging around in Emmet’s dice bag for anything of worth. Of course, she didn’t have the time to look at them in any real detail—not with the centipede now rumbling the earth just a dozen feet in front of her.

  “What shield?” Emmet asked, and Seven paused in her digging to stare at him.

  “You can’t see it?”

  “See what?”

  “The glowing golden shield in front of it,” she snapped, panicked. “The golden lines, the Luck it’s obviously extracting from underground. It—“

  Emmet shook his head slowly, frowning. “I don’t see any of that, Seven. I—“

  “No time,” she interrupted, digging faster through the bag. Without her Luck, they were hosed if none of these dice worked. “Do any of these do anything worthwhile?”

  Emmet had the good sense to look a little embarrassed, at least. “A few maybe,” he said unsure. “But I wouldn’t say any of them are particularly stable.”

  Seven wasn’t listening anymore. Even with Luck, she’d stand little chance against the thing at the end of the grand hall. Instead, she took the bag and scattered the dice everywhere, their shining forms clacking across the mosaic tiles of the city. Maybe some of them were worth something, but she didn’t have time to find out. She gambled. Like she’d always done.

  This time she lost. Each dice puffed up a number, and while she’d rolled a mixture of d20s, d10s, and d12s, the results were abysmal:

  3, 1, 1, 5, 6, 2, 4, 6, 1, 2.

  Seven stared as the numbers popped into the air, fizzling out and dying. Then all hell broke loose.

  A gust of wind whipped up around her, dramatic and completely unearned—and most importantly, without any logical source. Seven sneezed as glitter of all things rained down from the cavern ceiling, and tiny rocks raised up and zipped around the room, pelting the side of her face.

  Emmet watched, slightly open-mouthed, then rolled as the queen centipede nearly crushed him with the back half of her body. “Forget luck,” he gasped. “You’re definitely cursed.”

  Seven ducked as the rain of tiny pebbles increased. It was nearly impossible to see through them now. Which dice was that? Several pieces sliced into her cheek with biting pain, and Seven winced.

  “It’s…schist,” she said without thinking. The tiny rocks were called schist. “But…why?”

  “Rock identification!” Pocket chimed in from her shoulder. “Very useful for a miner.”

  “I don’t care what it does, Pocket, I—” She stopped herself, dodging a particularly large chunk of granite. “It’s not me who’s cursed,” she snapped at Emmet, slamming her sword into one of the larvae with a grunt. “It’s these dice. I thought you said these were better than my Luck.”

  Emmet had finally pulled a dagger from his belt; new, gleaming, and clearly unused, he plunged it into the side of the giant centipede. It swiped at him with a heavy claw, nearly gutting him.

  “Some of them are,” he insisted, though he barely looked at her as he said it. “Just keep digging. You’ll find something we can use.” The doubt in his voice was so thick it could have painted the cracked pillars at the side of the room. “Look, I didn’t exactly have time to gather my things before they threw me down here,” he snapped. “And those were worth half my salary this week.”

  Luck above, they were getting nowhere. Seven charged towards the pile of cast-aside dice. Surely there was something she could use in the pile. Surely she’d just rolled too low on them. Surely with better rolls, she could—

  A blast of wind hit her again, her hair blowing back perfectly with an unseen breeze. “Dramatic air!” Pocket squealed, elated.

  “If they’re worth so much,” she said, kicking at a larva, “then sell them.”

  “Can’t find a buyer.”

  “Can’t imagine why.”

  Her last words were a grunt as she clumsily swung her sword and slammed another larvae back into the centipede. Something shifted in the air. The centipede…the thing…the mother, she now realized, screeched and slowly turned her head with a clicking sound. Right towards Seven. She stood half stooped over, several dice in her hand, clumsily gathered from the shattered mosaic at her feet. Exposed. Helpless. But there had to be something that could help her.

  Can’t use my Luck, she thought frantically, dabbing at the side of her head, the blood coming away sticky at her touch. A wave of dizziness assaulted her, and she gripped the dice in her hands, her only hope in this world of nightmares.

  With trembling hands, she gave the last few dice another roll. A few flickered and died, obviously still on cooldown after her first attempt. The ones that lit up were a different story, however.

  The rolls were higher this time. Almost respectable.

  It hardly mattered.

  A thin mist trailed into the room.

  “Spring dew,” Pocket said, bouncing on her shoulder. “Creates a dewy mist. Very atmospheric!”

  Something chittered distantly, so far away that Seven barely heard it.

  “Small mammal summoning,” Pocket offered. “May take as long as one business day.”

  Finally, a confetti shower and another string of rock identifications later, Seven watched the last dice fire off—the same one that had pelted her with the schist and granite. An abysmal one.

  Shit.

  “Oh,” Pocket added, sounding genuinely interested. “There’s synergy between rock identification and pocket sand.” Then he seemed to see the centipede for the first time. He shrunk on her shoulder. “We’re pancakes again, aren’t we?”

  Seven didn’t have a chance to respond before one of the centipede’s sharp talons closed around her midsection.

  Also, if you'd like to read ahead, or sign up for free for news and updates, you can find my .

  NO AI TRAINING: Without in any way limiting the author’s and publisher’s exclusive rights under copyright, any use of this publication to “train” generative artificial intelligence (AI) technologies to generate text is expressly prohibited. The author reserves all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and development of machine learning language models.