The sword descended. Ice rimed its edge, then the entire blade was encompassed. A thin, fluid fog glittered in its wake. Fritz couldn't move, his mind frozen and his feet stuck in place. There was a twisting, a dull thrashing in his Sanctum. But he was too cold to join its battle.

  The brittle air was cut, and so was Fritz. With a biting swish and a brutal chill, the blade passed through his shadowed form and rang out when it struck the floor. His vision was coloured in bleak and blacks. Cold wracked him, and even between worlds, as he was, he remained still, unable to break free.

  Fritz, transfixed, yearned for warmth, for any heat. He reached for it in the dark, for any escape from the blizzardly blade's cruel power and the terrible white glare of the knight's eyes. His hands, or rather his Control, alighted on heat, blazing, vicious and all too eager to burn.

  Upon touching the blue-green fire that writhed and raged in his Sanctum, his sluggish mind was invigorated, the ice binding his spirit boiled, then broke, and his body came under his command again.

  He was a moment from rephasing, and slipped to the side with the last of his insubstantiality. Fritz had no desire to reform where the sword still lingered, stabbed deep and stuck fast in the spilt stone bricks.

  A heat built within him, and he drew Quicksilver. Hot power flowed through him, then, in merely a moment, before he had the chance to enjoy the comfort it provided, it twisted terribly. The warmth, while never gentle, blazed madly, burning, warping, weirding. Agony, one he had known before, seared him.

  This time, though, Fritz could feel there was a difference. A change. There, in his Sanctum and written on his soul, were lines of power, glyphs forged of direction and demand. They couldn't be corrupted or corroded by the blue-green fire.

  Screaming, he activated Hand of Eldritch Flame. The brewing inferno was pulled through his arm, down to the tips of his fingers, gathering in his palm. Then it burst forth, igniting his gloved hand. The pain was great, and the heat was horrible, but it was his. Pushing the agony away, he leapt forward and pressed the fire to the gold adorned armour.

  If he was going to burn, so would his foe.

  Steam billowed. If the metal was as cold as the knight's stare, Fritz didn't feel it. The armour reddened from his touch, the gilding writhed, then dripped like wet paint. Blue-green fire spread over the gleaming surface, catching, crawling, like the armour had been carved of wood rather than forged of steel.

  Fritz realised he wasn't the only one screaming. The knight shrieked like a high wind. It pulled on its buried blade, trying to wrest it free. With a crack, it came loose, and the man-alike began swinging it wildly.

  Without the cold gaze chaining him, Fritz dodged one strike, then another. He had to rely on his eyes for this as his Danger Sense felt like it was bathing his whole being in phantom fire. Knowing that he had to deal with the Eldritch Flame now creeping up the dark fabric of his glove, he seized the middle of Quicksilver's blade.

  The sword drank the fire greedily, pulling the defiant blue-green tendrils that attempted to cling to Fritz's hand. With a whoosh and a whirl, it was drawn inside in less than a moment. Then the Eldritch Flame was gone.

  His blackened glove smoked and smouldered, but not even an ember of Eldritch Flame was left. Rather, it gleamed within Quicksilver, licking at its edges ethereally. Though it was a relief to have tamed the fire, for now, there was still the rampaging knight to deal with.

  Fritz rolled, and a horizontal slash parted the air where he had been standing. Now that his Danger Sense was cleared of the creeping fire, he could dance with the knight. However, it was in no condition to waltz as well as he could.

  Eldritch Flame had spread across its breastplate, and a hole had been melted where the fire had first alighted. That hole had the eerie shape of an elongated hand, one far more grotesque than Fritz's own. But there was no time to dwell on that. There was an opening in the armour, and his foe's stance, and he would take it.

  Timing his step between the net of the knight's fierce, swift slashes, Fritz lunged, infusing his legs with Grace. The towering figure lurched back, but it was too late. Quicksilver had sunk into its thickly muscled torso. Fritz twisted his sword, then willed for it to spit out the fire it had swallowed. Blue-green fissures glowed bright over the black blade, then that searing light poured into the knight's chest.

  Fritz could see the silhouette of the man-alike's ribs as the flame churned within it like a forge.

  The hulking man-alike tried to roar its icy bellow, attempting to freeze Fritz and itself. Instead of mist, smoke billowed from its helmeted head, leaking from under the rim and pouring from the visor. Small embers, blue-green and orange-red, spun up in a swirl of ash.

  The knight fell to its knees, clanking heavily, it dropped its sword in the same motion and clawed at the burgeoning inferno that was its armour and flesh.

  Fritz leapt back, the heat of the blaze stinging his face. He coughed once and took another few steps back. Then, remembering there was another knight, he turned quickly. It was still, stoic, satisfied, it seemed, to standing sentinel over its own passage.

  Fritz sighed, then turned back to the horrible noises of choking and wheezing and the sizzling of skin and cracking of charring bone.

  The sight wasn't much better than the sound. Red-hot metal dripped from blackened, burning flesh and pooled around the kneeling man-alike. It looked at Fritz with hateful eyes and began to crawl. Slowly, sluggishly, it crept. It struggled only a yard before it fell before his feet. Its helmet clanged on the stone, and it stopped wheezing.

  Soon it was but a pyre of blue-green, a twisted pile of scorched steel and a body only fit for fueling the fire, crackling, cackling and hissing.

  "What in the Abyss?" Nail said softly.

  He turned to see the thug's face. It was pale, and his eyes were fearful.

  Fritz smiled. He hoped it came across as confident. He sheathed Quicksilver, and stifling a wince, clasped both his hands behind his back haughtily, hiding his still steaming glove and the searing pain beneath it. He suppressed that agony as best he could, squeezing it tight with Control.

  "Oh, it's nothing," Fritz lied. "An Ability, though it is a little taxing, and quite risky. Still, it seems to have worked well enough."

  "Well enough," Toby repeated, his expression impassive. Though his awe was obvious to Fritz, as was a new wariness.

  While Fritz could have claimed the power came from a Treasure, keeping his Trait a secret, it was better that they believed it came from him. That way, they wouldn't have an incentive to attempt to rob him of the imagined object.

  "Is it safe to come out?" Barge asked.

  "I assume so," Fritz said. "The other knight looks content to stay all the way over there, thank goodness. Or perhaps it just fears me after what I did to its fellow. Who can say?"

  "That looks like the light on top of the Spire," Trudge said, nodding toward the still smouldering corpse.

  "A coincidence," Fritz said, though he didn't think the crew would believe him. From the doubtful looks on their faces, he was right.

  There was a pop, a crack and a clank. The knight's head and fused helmet fell off the charcoal remains of its neck. The crew stared.

  "Now we shouldn't dally, there's a Well to draw from and some Treasures to Note," Fritz stated, attempting to distract them from the sight. A little fear of him was all well and good, but a lot would lead to trouble. He wanted whatever respect he had earned to overshadow any terror they had of him in their hearts.

  "What about the armour? It had gold on it," Reed said. "Should we really leave it behind?"

  "The sword is enough, is it not?" Fritz said.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  "It's not," Reed said. "Why leave all this if we don't have to?"

  Fritz couldn't argue, and if his arm wasn't in immense pain, he would have agreed easily. As it was, he wanted to get to the Well as soon as he could.

  He nodded. "Very well, you may stay and collect these molten scraps once they've cooled. And whatever else there is to be found. However, I am leaving for the Well room. We will wait there for the rest of the day as this Floor has been a difficult trial."

  "Didn't look that way," Reed said. "One Ability did all that?"

  Fritz shook his head. "I meant it was difficult for all of you," he stated. Again, he hid a wince. The pain roiling over his hand, the slight stinging in his Sanctum, pressed at his impatience. "Farewell, for now."

  Fritz left three of the crew to collect the armour, Barge, Trudge and Nail, so as to avoid the Spite. Toby and Reed followed quietly.

  They turned the corner, crossed a hallway, then turned another corner to find the Stairway.

  Frustratingly, a gate of steel sealed it.

  Fritz cursed.

  It was easy to see how to raise the gate. There were two obvious recesses on either side of it, both of which where just the width and length of a huge sword. Like the one the knights carried.

  "How did the others get through?" Reed thought out loud.

  Fritz was silent, seething.

  "It probably closed when our Captain was refused passage," Toby said.

  "Think we need both the swords?" Reed asked, hefting the heavy blade.

  Fritz swept his Door Sense over the gate. "Yes."

  Reed kicked the steel. Fritz wanted to do likewise, but refrained. It wouldn't be dignified, for one. For two, the motion would only hurt his seared hand.

  He considered slaying the other knight, but decided against it. Instead, he crouched and made use of his Stone Pit and Control, forming a hole under the gate. One large enough that they could all crawl through, even Nail and Trudge. Though it would be a tight squeeze for those two.

  Of course, they had to push their packs through independently, which was a hassle, but Fritz knew the alternative would be far more tiring and deadly than this small inconvenience. That and every moment was worsening his pain.

  Eventually, Toby, Fritz and Reed were on the other side and could climb the spiral stairs. They did so, and soon they were in the Well Room.

  It resembled a bathhouse; in fact, it likely was. Most of the large room was taken up by a gently steaming pool with stone walkways all around. In the centre was a gurgling geyser, spraying hot water into the air. Normally, it would have been a wonderful respite from the bitter cold of the castle. However, having been terribly burned, Fritz couldn't fully appreciate the odd comfort the Spire had allowed them.

  He set his pack down and peeled off his cracked glove. Black flakes fell from the tortured fabric, and it tore in several places. It was beyond repair. A mess of ash and charred cloth. The skin below looked far better than he had feared it would. His hand was a light red, and there were patches of yellowing blisters all over it, but it wasn't the roasted ruin he erroneously envisaged.

  It even hurt less now that the glove was off and no longer pulled and rubbed on his skin. It seemed the magic within the garment had protected him from the Eldritch Flame, far more than it had any right to. And perhaps the other two duplicates he had were of more use than he thought. It was a shame that he hadn't packed them for this Spire, thinking them superfluous.

  He dipped his hand into the warm waters. Immediately, the healing power washed over and up his arm and into his Sanctum.

  Fritz groaned. The swift relief was a keenly cherished bliss.

  "I know what you mean," Mel said in a tone of total relaxation.

  He glanced up to see her sitting in the pool, the cloudy water sloshing around her shoulders. The steam drifting over the hazy surface did little to obscure Fritz's keen vision, and he could see that she was completely naked and not at all unappealing. She had larger, smoother curves than he had expected or would imagine she had.

  His eyes lingered a little too long, and she frowned at him. Then she smirked and drifted back into a more heavily clouded corner of the room, where he could see Clover bathing. She was still too thin from her ordeal at the hands of the Rat Cleaver. He could count her ribs even through the steam and rippling water. Her eyes couldn't pierce the mist, but she glanced his direction, perhaps hoping he was watching her.

  "Too-pretty prick," Reed muttered. "She woulda cut my eyes out if she caught me starin'. Bloody unfair it is."

  "What was that?" Fritz asked.

  "Nothin', just sayin' you was lucky," Reed said, trying to grin. It appeared as envious and as annoyed as his grumbles.

  Toby smiled darkly.

  "Is that you, Reed? You got anyone else with you?" Bucket called out. He was on the opposite side of the bathhouse, and it looked as though his arm had mostly healed. His fingers were still purple at the tips, and his hands were pink, but that was a good sight better than the black they had been.

  "Yeah, the Captain and Blades," Reed replied.

  "What took you so long?"

  "Long story, I'll tell you once I get my kit off and get some soakin' done," Reed said, setting down his pack and undressing.

  When his trousers were off, Mel whistled, which caused the man to blush.

  "Can't see why you're called reed, you should be called cudgel," she cackled.

  He chuckled, but quickly hid his self-consciousness by jumping into the pool.

  Toby shook his head. "What children. You'd think they'd be more serious. Knowing who they work for and the danger we've just survived."

  Fritz raised an eyebrow. "And you're so much better?"

  "I am," Toby said. "And I always have been."

  "As you say, Mr. Blades," Fritz replied. He couldn't be bothered to argue with the man or list all the times he'd been a nuisance or a jester. Instead, he followed suit in undressing. A bath wouldn't go amiss.

  "And now the real show," Mel whispered into Clover's ear. They both surreptitiously drifted closer.

  Fritz didn't mind their ogling. Really, considering how much he'd seen of them, it seemed only fair that they catch a glance. That, and he had no shame in how he looked. Honestly, he was quite proud. In fact, he'd worked hard for his physique, it was only right that it should be appreciated.

  Soon, he was in the pool, delighting in the heat. Although his hand was sensitive and still too raw to be wholly healed, the water wasn't too uncomfortable. A tingle ran down his spine.

  He enjoyed the bath as best he could, and shared some of his spare soap with those who had forgotten to pack any. Which had been all of them, save Toby.

  "Fancy stuff, smells like flowers. Are you sure we can use this?" Mel asked.

  "Of course," Fritz said. "Though don't expect any lotions or oils."

  "Who would expect that?" Mel asked, incredulous. "You would have to be a mighty pampered Lady to think that."

  Lauren would expect it, Fritz thought fondly, recalling the time she had even produced powders and lip paint for an unexpected liaison in the middle of a Spire.

  An absurd woman. And a fine friend.

  Fritz closed his eyes, drifting into a daze. A low hum tickled his mind, but he ignored it. He was tired, and the water was so warm and good. He could just melt, his muscles loosened, and every part of him relaxed.

  After half an hour, or maybe more, he heard the clanking of metal and the grunts of men. He sat up straight and heard splashing. Clover and Mel had pulled themselves out of the pool and were quickly drying themselves off, then rushing to slip on their clothes under the cover of the heavy steam.

  The white haze was denser now. He could only see their shadowy figures. Though that had a sort of mysterious appeal, too.

  Fritz closed his eyes again, remaining in the water for some minutes before rough voices stirred him again.

  "Whoa, it's hot in here," Barge said.

  "That meant to be the Well?" Nail asked. "Looks more like a bath."

  "I think so," Trudge said.

  "Can't bloody see a thing," Nail complained.

  "Good," Mel said.

  "Damn," Nail grunted.

  He was echoed by Barge.

  "What was that?" Mel challenged.

  "Not like you're much to look at anyway," Nail said loudly. "Bet you're as saggy as a dead squid."

  "Piss off," Mel replied. A bolt of shadow flew through the air, striking a wall. Thankfully, no one but Fritz noticed it. Otherwise, he might have had a fight on his hands.

  He stifled a sigh and stood from the pool, climbing out. "That's enough. We're safe and we found some loot, let's not bicker."

  There were some muttered agreements. He wasn't pleased, but he didn't press them for more decisive affirmation. He yawned and dried himself with a towel. After, he pulled on his clothes. They were slightly damp from the steam, and all too warm.

  Fritz wiped the sweat and water from his forehead, then inspected what Nail, Barge and Trudge had brought up with them. It was as he suspected, scraps of mixed metal, steel and gold, warped and scorched. It could be worth a fair bit outside the Spire.

  "Well done, " Fritz commended the men.

  They had jumped into the bath only minutes before, but already their faces were red and they were sweating from the heat.

  "Damn, it's boiling," Nail complained.

  Fritz frowned. It hadn't been so hot as that when he had entered the pool, and he and the remaining crew had soaked for some time without feeling overwarm.

  His attention alighted on the tingling in his mind, and he realised then what was happening. It wasn't the tingle of pleasure or any release he had felt, but his Trap Sense. That he had confused the sensations at all made him feel foolish.

  "Up and out, all of you!" Fritz commanded. "Pack up, we're leaving the Well Room immediately."

  "Why?" Toby said blearily. He alone hadn't bathed and had instead stayed clothed the whole time. His shirt was soaked with sweat, and his cloak hung from his shoulders like a wet sheet in a drying hall. Of course, the idiot wouldn't take it off. He always had to look fearsome.

  "Don't you feel it? It's getting hotter and hotter," Fritz explained. "We're the frogs in the proverbial pot."

  "What?" Mel asked.

  "We'll be boiled alive if we stay. This is a timed Well Room," Fritz said, abandoning his attempt to appear well-read and wise.

  "Right, heard of those," Reed said. "Aren't they rare?"

  Fritz shrugged. "Only encountered this one and one other."

  "The flooding one," Toby recalled.

  Fritz nodded, then strode to the Doors. He had a decision to make, and swiftly.

  The first of the Doors was carved of blue stone. Its frame and stairs were blocky, but smooth and seamless. There was no breeze, nor scent issuing from it, and it emanated an impression of uniformity. His Sense alighted on it, and he could feel the Floor within. An open plane of that same blue stone as the Door, set with thousands of precisely placed, square pillars. Stalking between them were solitary beasts. They were near invisible, and were hunting and hungry.

  The next Floor was shrouded, he knew that much from the shallow response from his Door sense. It was a dull portal of dim energy, a grey disc set into the stone brick wall. All he could glean from it was that there was little physical danger, yet there was also a sense of vastness, or of emptiness. A great hollow.

  He didn't know what to make of it and could feel nothing further from it, so he turned to the last of the Doors.

  This one was more obvious in its peril. Death blew from it like the breath of a sepulchre. It had the appearance of a mine shaft. After a brush of Doors Sense, Fritz's mind was blighted with the image of skeletal miners, labouring eternally in long ago depleted caves. A greedy, robed man-alike cackled. His fingers were adorned with gold rings, and his shoulders were heavy with chains of precious metals.

  Fritz began to pace. It wasn't an easy decision. He pulsed his Door Sense, just in case there was another Hidden Door, but it returned no such response.

  The steam grew thicker, and the room hotter. Sweat dripped from his hair and trickled from his chin. His thoughts felt sluggish in the increasing heat.

  But he had to choose a Door, and fast.