The first hint Cilifus would meet his expectations after all was a faint, acrid whiff growing through the smell of cooked food.

  "Seventh Core Law of the Tower is," Menan said, "you can't reveal the secrets of the Game of Heaven to those they don't pertain. Usually, this means, 'don't tell newbies what they gain or lose as they climb Ranks,' but there're a couple exceptions."

  They kept heading in the same direction, the marked thinning around them into poorer stalls, rickety shacks,, soot piles, and the occasional hammock on weighted sticks where Guests slept, their belongings tucked tight against their bodies. The exit wasn't too far ahead, a square door thrice his height and about as wide, flanked by pairs of guards in green and brown stone armor. With every step, the stink grew pungent, already burning his nostrils and coating his tongue with the aftertaste of soap.

  Menan continued unbothered, "Cilifus Etiquette #2 then is going to be taboo topics, but that's a river of discourse I don't care to swim too deep into, so let me give the best rule of thumb I've ever heard: If it's something you get up to Rank 5, then it's probably fair game, outside that you maybe shouldn't discuss it if not behind closed doors. Common Knowledge Clause, as people call it."

  "As an example, let us discuss your Invitation's Armory," Fendrano said, reaching outwards. He gripped the air and yanked with a grotesque wet squelch. Little by little, he dragged a large object out of nothing as if pulling it from inside a still fresh body, skin audibly tearing from the effort.

  It was a monster of a club, made of that same crystalline gray material but of a darker tone, polished, handle encased in mundane leather with a pommel decorated into a perfectly smooth sphere. It looked wicked, so large and heavy Francies doubted he could lift it over his shoulder, while Landrino wielded it with a single hand as he ripped a large steel shield out the same way.

  Menan, simultaneously, dragged out her own weapons. The knife was strange, over half handle for a comparatively tiny, rounded razor blade, but far from extravagant in comparison to her bow: black wood carved with swirling clouds in vertical symmetry, small masks of polished iron interspersed from top to bottom. Spinning it around one arm, rotating the knife with a deft hand that would leave the senior hunters back in South Lateno slobbering with envy, she twirled to face them.

  "Rank 2, when you choose your role and your first Traits, is your first proper taste of being a Guest. Rank 3 though? That's when the party really starts," she said. "Presenting you the Armory, an invisible, intangible bag for all your Guesterly needs! Weapons, armor..."

  "But realistically, you will fill yours with supplies." Fendrano said as they walked outside. "Take a good look around."

  Francies looked up. A single glimpse of the twisting crimson sky froze him on the spot.

  A city of proportions to shame the Town behind his back sprawled all around him, grand buildings of stark white marble, some stout and wide while others gaunt but one and all as gargantuan as the roiling hills that bore them and vanished into the far horizon. Most were featureless, sans the odd out of place window, but some spread their innards wide to reveal, no, glorify unspeakable abominations with indiscernible bodies rendered eternal as statues and reliefs.

  And down there, below the gazes of said abominations, folks toiled in the acidic air. Some carried carts of material in and out of the fetid channel below, where others tended or picked apart enormous succulents and erect tower caps in red, purple, gray with hammers and chisels. A third group repaired an impossibly thin bridge of that same marble with globs of dark ooze, a fourth patrolled around in lax conversation, while a fifth ate and laughed among themselves as if immune to all the foulness.

  "This is the World's Mortuary, First Floor of Cilifus, vaster than your eyes see and yet one of its most diminute. I hope I need not say, losing yourself among its maze with no nutrition is not a pleasant experience."

  The great white buildings were called Morgues.

  The word was not strange to Francies, though he had never seen one in person. Places where the dead were collected for purposes he refused to learn. Graveyards by another name, worse, he didn't care to think about it.

  These Morgues around them, according to the instructors, were mostly empty. They belonged to the Welcome, the entrance region of Cilifus' First Floor which had been conquered and cleaned of dangers. Guilds dedicated to security and recon now patrolled the area for any monstrosities that may threaten that absurd peace.

  They crossed a second guarded gate, wooden logs and mundane metal in scraps bound together. Below a short parapet to their side, the sound of rushing water beckoned attention to a stream of blood colored water and over a dozen people, folks of all different types, rooting around the ankle deep waters with crystal spears and sharpened red sticks. Occasionally, one would hurl insults at nothing, or stab the water randomly.

  "Slug Pickers," Fendrano scoffed.

  "Ah, leave them to their harmless fun, can't really win with that sort." Menan said with a shrug. "Like I was saying, never forget rope either! You don't know what kinds of headaches it can save you from, but you will learn. I have a friend who now carries whole rope ladders in their Armory, and more in a separate bag because they got a stuck in a hole once. Never again!"

  "Does everybody, like, need to carry one?" Lagalla asked, holding her bow like a shield close to her chest. "I-I can fly! That means I won't be getting stuck in any holes, right?"

  "Plan among your teammates. Me and Fen carry some each, but a different Party might be expecting the newbies to come carring a lot of gifts for the expedition, if you catch my drift. Ugly behavior, I say! It's why you always need to—"

  Francies wrinkled his nose. He was pretty sure now the burning tang came from the stream below. Banks of salt white and pinkish sand grew more razor edged succulents and other miscellaneous plants. One of those Slug Pickers dug a small patch of red grass, sniffed it, promptly popped it into their mouth, only to spit it out as another slapped them on the back of the head.

  Fendrano grunted, sounding pleased, but waited until Menan finished her rant about hare hazing and how the prices of spelunking tools had risen these last couple years to speak. "Cilifus Etiquette lesson 3, do not eat what you do not have a hundred percent certainty is safe to eat, and boil it thoroughly beforehand."

  "W-which is not nothing!" Menan quickly added. "There are actually a lot of edible things you can gather or hunt in Cilifus, you just need to figure out what exactly, and maybe not take chances if you don't."

  "Eeeeew! I can't imagine eating here, much less from here." Lagalla's mandibles clicked together. "This place smells grows! It's making my belly curl..."

  Menan rolled her eyes. "It's an acquired taste, yes, but no need to be dramatic. Besides, it's something you need to get used to if you want to keep diving, since outside supplies can be a little unreliable inside Cilifus. A couple Dwellers know to aim for them first when they ambush you."

  "I-I'm not being dramatic! I'm serious, like what kinds of food do you even get from Cilifus, Dweller meat?!"

  "I mean, if you're hungry would you even care?"

  Lagalla paled. She turned to each of them, searching their faces with pleading eyes. "I-I can't be the only one who thinks this sounds insane, right? Dweller meat! It's sounds like the punchline of a joke, b-but they're being serious!"

  "I mean, I hardly even believed Dwellers could die at all, but if they can why not?" Francies answered honestly. So long as they were not folk, food was food.

  On that thought, he glanced at Scarlet and Bulwark, who he had been careful to stay at least a few steps away from at all times.

  While nobody was looking the duo had reached into their own Armories. Scarlet now held a long sickle and a round shield, both made of the same varnished looking yellowed bone material. Bulwark, maybe trying to do good by his name, carried two bone shields, both with sharpened bottoms and so large Francies would struggle to use one, both which looked tiny in comparison to the man himself.

  Bulwark didn't look particularly enthralled with the discussion. Scarlet looked everything but, expression fluttering between disdain and discomfort, at which idea in particular he couldn't start to guess.

  Lagalla shrunk into herself. Menan shrugged.

  "Are we going to be eating Dweller in this expedition?" Francies thought. "I did notice they didn't let us bring stuff from outside, but also didn't give us any supplies inside."

  Lagalla's eyes lit up. "Y-yeh, that's true! Didn't you just say—"

  "For this first expedition, both me and Fen will be carrying the bulk of the Party's supplies. We could hand you some right now to carry, if it makes you feel better, but I'm guessing the Guild got another budget cut since I'm not seeing any packs on you guys... Well, no biggie! We can hold on to the important stuff!"

  That sounded odd. A big, potentially deadly oversight by this Endless Dote if true. Except there was an issue, if he complained would it matter? In that sense, he understood Lagalla some, it had been none too pleasant being tugged around like a toy by Cilifus' politics, yet she was the living proof it probably didn't particularly care for his opinions.

  "... Oh well."

  "What?" Menan's ears twitched.

  "Don't mind me, just grumbling the jitters away." Francies chuckled.

  "If you say so. Anyway, like I was saying, another item you can't forget is—"

  It was easier to watch the Slug Pickers, to remind himself this was a place regular people lived in, somewhere surly édipos could go in and out of alive. Rope bridges connected rooftops but left no room for mistakes above, and a young'un nearly got pushed to the dirt below. Normal, peaceful.

  Helpless. Abuzz. Grating. There were wasps under their feet, and if he let his mind wander too far they protested. Nobody noticed it, another oddity granted only to him, except maybe the sky, which roiled to their beat. Wings clapped, bodies clicked together, and the clouds bent, indented like a finger pressing from above, sliding down towards the all consuming center-point.

  Stolen story; please report.

  And that was... a hole? A sinkhole draining the sky like the waters of a flood, insignificant size belying horrid depth, the end of all horizons choking an abomination sip by sip, and so close he knew if he started walking now he could make it there in a couple hours, maybe days, weeks at best.

  Suddenly, copper, fingers, right on his face. Or rather, somebody was holding a small device right in front of his eyes, a round copper plane with an embossed image of a five winged head slowly gyrating in circles. Each of the wing tapered to an arrow, and was accompanied by a symbol like a letter, but from a language he had never heard of.

  "I asked, do you know what this is, Francies?" Menan said, smiling.

  "N-no?" he said.

  "This, dear newbie, is called a Ballasid Compass, and its the biggest lifesaver you could have! If I didn't have it, I would be gone the way of the Father-Mother right now."

  "Oh, is this one of those things that point you towards landmarks and such?" Lagalla asked.

  "Yup! This one is keyed to the main Morgue of the Welcome, so it's Seeing Wing is always pointing that way. No matter how far we go, so long it's within the World's Mortuary we know where home is."

  "It's Cajan!"

  "It sure is. Anyway, I want you to look at this wing right here, left of the chin." Her finger though pointed to the far distance. "That way lies Lake Vinegar, one of the largest and for sure stinkiest lakes of the First Floor. It's also where we're heading."

  "W-worse than this?" Francies said.

  "A shit ton!"

  "Why?"

  "Who knows!"

  "The path to Lake Vinegar is ideal for Initiates with no experience against Dwellers," Fendrano answered for her."Very small chances of encountering the First Floor's most dangerous inhabitants, the area is well mapped, frequently patrolled, but weaker Dwellers are left be for purposes such as ours."

  "It's so safe, we're spending a whole night there! Meanwhile, we're giving you hands-on experience on extracting the two most important resources the Tower ever gave us. I assume you guys know what I mean?"

  Tyrants and Demons, if Francies went by reputation and personal experience. Of course, he did not say that out loud.

  "I-Invitations and Guests?" Lagalla had the more reasonable answer, but it drew a sharp breath from both veterans.

  "H-ha! N-not wrong, girl, but I was thinking more in term of material resources, you know? Gains! Of course it's Essence and materials!"

  Francies' ears perked up. For a second he almost dared hope he would be cured of his ignorance on such a supposedly pillar topic, but Menan showed them the banks below instead.

  "Alrighty, you've seen the farmers tending to the Edgebushes back at the Welcome, but look at your armor. Skin doesn't grow on trees, not down here anyway, so while some goodies we can cultivate, most the rest we need to fight for."

  It was not the grand revelation Francies hoped for, but that last piece of a different puzzle locked in. "We're wearing Dwellers?"

  Made sense, now that he thought about it properly. If mundane materials didn't do it against Dwellers, and he wouldn't side eye the steel shelled Bulwark or Fendrano's shield if he could help it., then Dweller sourced should logically be at least up to par. It explained why it felt like nothing else he had ever touched.

  "I see you there, don't be getting green on the gills just yet! Dweller harvesting is one of the most profitable sources of income for beginner Guests, and the Essence surplus ain't no joke either! The Guilds are always in need of more Desecration leather, and the outsider nations basically grovel at our feet for a sniff of artifact, but to get to those, you're going to have to learn how to pry it from a Dweller's cold, dead body, and to get started on that..."

  "Sorry, what leather?!" Lagalla asked.

  "Shhhhh! Etiquette #4, don't interrupt your superiors when they are focusing!" Menan squinted left to right. "Hmmmmmm, Francies, what's up with your spear? Don't recall having seen that one yet.."

  "It's a hunting spear," he said. "Those little wings near the blade help me pin down things that don't care about being gored."

  She suckled on her lower lip for a second, before nodding to herself and whispering: "Yah, we can use that alright. Hey. big boy! You actually ever used two shields like that or are you just posturing?"

  Bulwark blinked. When he spoke, Francies expected their surroundings to quake, but despite being as low as the ground his voice was also gentle and clear. "I know how to use my weaponry yes."

  "But, like, well?"

  "Yes? Who would enter Dweller territory with armaments they are unfamiliar with?"

  "So, what do you think?" Menan whispered on Fendrano's ear, who had to bend over for her to reach. "Double Vanguard duty sounds fun?"

  "It is needless," he answered. "For this Party I am thinking triple lines, the Fox Tail remarks me as one not entirely inexperienced, cannot say the same of the others."

  "Slash and bash, hold and scold? I don't know, she feels a little skittish for front line duty. How about—"

  Past that, their conversation became entirely inaccessible to Francies. Jargon was best learned by silent observation and context, but at a certain point it grew so dense bashing your head through the proverbial wall just wasn't possible.

  At least, they reached a consensus fast. Fendrano pointed at Scarlet, then at Bulwark. "Scarlet, you are on the front with me. Bulwark, you are the back line with Menan."

  "Very well," Scarlet said.

  "No," Bulwark said.

  She halted dead mid step and nearly stumbled, glaring back with more animosity than Francies thought safe against a mountain of flesh and bone. Thankfully, he only rose a brown up, otherwise remaining placid.

  "I will not take a position that does not allow me to directly protect her," Bulwark explained.

  "Cilifus Etiquette lesson 4," Fendrano visibly squared his shoulders, taking a step forward. "Once a hierarchy is established within the Party, it should not be stressed lightly. Point flaws if you see any, ask questions if you doubt, but refusal is tantamount to treachery in enemy territtory."

  "It is a simple observation of my duties. I am otherwise perfectly willing to cooperate so long as my requirements are met."

  "They will not be. You are welcome to turn back and wait for your next opportunity, if this one does not suit you."

  "Unecessary. If you allow me to comment on our Party composition, I believe—"

  "I know your type."

  Francies stepped back. Bulwark had no fangs to bare or claws to unfurl, but with a slight narrowing of the eyes and a sigh he managed to make him sense death in a way actual beasts struggled to. "Do you now?"

  "Searching for any breaches that can help you squirm upwards is in your blood." They were almost chest to chest now. "Perhaps your superiors found you too amusing to teach you this behavior during conflict leads only to the highest stands of the gallows, or they could not be bothered, nature is not so easily beaten. Anchors exist for reasons such as you."

  A dull knock. Francies didn't see Menan move, but she was between them now, a hand stopping Fendrano's advance. "Fen, Fen, Fen, let's take it a little easier right now. Newbies don't know left from right on a good day, and big ones aren't any different are they? Maybe if we explain our decision he'll get it better."

  Bulwark shook his head. "I have read on Party Composition and understand your decision perfectly well. As an Enfocer, physically gifted in a general sense and with some experience in combat, you believe her presence in the front lines will help with our offense, while my presence on the backline will help deter the inevitable ambushes we will face."

  Menan whistled. "Wow, nicely read!"

  "But it will not work. My duties to her are more important then my duties to you. If there is a chance I can be distracted by protecting the unimportant while she is in harm's way—"

  "Bull!"

  Scarlet's scream sent Francies jumping, but only made the other frown. "Scarlet, that is our agreement. If you were to—"

  "Bull," she said, softer, "please, you know this is too much."

  "But—"

  "Please."

  He slowly nodded. A hand grabbed Francies by the shoulder, Menan now at his side with a wide eyed Lagalla hugged to her flank.

  "When we are in the thick of it, everyone needs to look for the other's backs," she said.

  "S-sure?" Francies said. "I got that alright."

  "Wouldn't it be nice if we had somebody to coordinate us in the muck through the eyes of a god, knowing every element of the battlefield and directing our moves accordingly? Sadly, we don't! That's why we make do with Party Composition!" She was yelling for everyone to hear now, and it hurt.

  "I-I'm not even complaining anymore, let me go!" Lagalla pushed herself free with some effort.

  "But it's important that you hear me! Somebody with a good eye for Party Composition is a huge asset to have! Though, I guess just saying it won't do."

  "W-we're listening!" Lagalla said. "L-let's not rush ourselves now!"

  "No! Enough spiels!" Lagalla hopped to their midst, shouting from the depths of her lungs. "Everyone! Follow our lead! Let us go kill our first Dwellers and eviscerate them out of spoils!"