He had been in the purple for a while now. Floating in the great nothingness, listening to the crackling sounds of lightning. Was it lightning? Probably not.

  The great spires in the distance occasionally lit up with the eldritch lightning, jumping between the spiraling constructs. The lightning jolted upwards, piecing the cloudy... sky? Or was it the ground? Hard to tell when floating without gravity or horizon. Nevertheless, there were flashes, but no booms. The sound came from somewhere else.

  Fang-Knife twitched his ears. It wasn't a single sound. Multiple sources, all around him. Like the air itself was made of whispered language through cracked lips. Muttering and screaming at the same time. It reminded him of the Voice he heard when he was awakened and when he had killed the Prowl-Shadow, umbrefel like Seventh had called it.

  He didn't care what was whispered around him. He was dead. Always had been, really. He had been born into the corpse of Fang-Knife and inherited his name, skills, and appearance. Everything else was new. When the Death Mana keeping him “alive” dissipated he would be gone just like he had been born. Another thing that didn't really matter. All that mattered was keeping the master alive and his orders. It was sometimes a daunting task.

  Okay, it was always a daunting task, colossal even.

  All had been well when the others were with Fang, the merry bunch of chatter mouths, all except the old one with the sword. What was his name again? Well...it didn't matter. Not anymore. Not since the ash.

  Master had changed after all that. He always had new ideas, strategies, and he was generally good company if a little dim at times, but at least he tried. He tried so damn hard to keep everyone alive. Failure had broken him. Meeting a mad god while fractured didn't exactly help either.

  Well, Fang didn't believe that the thing wearing Seventh's face was a god. He called himself one— and some other names and titles at the same time— but there wasn't any gravitas or weight behind those words expected of divine begins.

  His master didn't believe it either, not really. Fang could feel the suspicion and doubt through their connection forged with magic. Even in the purple, Fang had some glimpses of Seventh's thoughts. Fear, anxiety, trepidation, melancholy, and finally...small flashes of hope and happiness. That was nice to feel. The feelings were light and warm, cotton balls in the sun.

  That mattered. Wishes of his master. Fang focused on those for a while.

  Where was he again?

  In the purple.

  No, not that.

  Oh, yes, the thoughts.

  The others had also wondered about them. Only seven of them actually talked with each other and could share ideas. Apparently Seventh had been the same, but he had slain the bad master they had before and inherited his class and minions. All in all a positive development, Fang had been told.

  Just how bad the other master had been if Seventh was better?

  His orders were so full of holes you could steer a deepmaw through and still have enough room to spin stinkworm on all sides. Fang was sure he had a skill that clogged those nasty little holes after orders were given verbally. Something like following the spirit, not the letter kind of thing. Without that, Fang could have stabbed him in the front long time ago.

  But, well, Seventh had gotten Fang this far so he could coast with him to the end. Wherever that may lie. It wasn't like he was going to do anything important if master was gone, so they were stuck with each other for now.

  Nearby crackling of reality pulled Fang out of his revelry and he lifted his head with mild curiosity. It was literally the only new thing that could happen. Sure, lightning had couple different patterns, but after you noticed that and kept mental record— it got repetitive fast. Following the flow of floating items all around also got boring. There was a current and they were all going up— or was it down again?— with it. Ratkin and the other crap all alike. Who needs this much mushrooms?

  A wheel of cheese appeared with a puff of reality. The stray air dissipated quickly and got sucked to the void.

  All four reanimated ratkin turned their heads with a snap to stare at it, a golden wheel of delicious cheese. They had seen something like it only once or twice. Looted from adventurers, but those cheeses had always been dry, needlessly hard and old.

  This was fresh. You could see the milky softness, and the smell was intoxicating to the ratkin. Milky, nutty, salty, delicious. If they could just...touch it, swim closer in the weightlessness. But you couldn't move. Swinging your hands and feet didn't do anything, but looked funny when others did it.

  Fang couldn't tie a rope to a knife, and pull it in like that either. Firstly, he didn't have rope. Secondly, items repelled each other in here. He had tried the balance of his new knife by throwing it at things floating by, but all of his targets had moved out of the way. Boring.

  Luckily, the steel dagger also had a life of its own, and returned to Fang. It would have been embarrassing to lose such a gift in a place like this.

  That would be a nice trick actually, Fang thought. Throw a knife just to get it to return. Some ranged attacks would be nice, maybe Fang could learn a basic bolt Skill? Nah. Knives all the way!

  He didn't even have any magic of his own in him for twinkle-fingering. All he could muster was those tiny droplets of mana Seventh sometimes sent through the connection. Fang suspected that Seventh didn't even know he was doing it, if he was doing it at all. Might be one of those wibbly wobbly magic things.

  The Voice had told him he could spend mana to find weak spots in his enemies and stab real good. Just a little bit more and Fang could test the Skills. Sadly there was only feelings of tiredness and excitement coming from the connection, no mana this time. Seventh seemed to be in good spirits and...little nervous?

  Fang sighed. Hopefully that fool isn't doing something stupid again.

  His trepidation didn't last long. First, the body of Shank-Tooth disappeared from the Void, then the cheese!

  The ratkin wiggled in outrage. That was the good stuff! They wanted to look and smell it for some more! Admire it from the distance and the stupid—

  A portal opened below Fang and he was pulled through the fabric of reality. He felt himself being stretched through the impossibly vast cosmos for an eternity between fractions of seconds to a grassy hilltop.

  He instinctively drew his knives and was ready to slice and dice what ever needed to be dead. Blinking his eyes, he didn't see anything outright hostile around them. There wasn't screaming, Shadowbolts, or Seventh yelling orders. Only a sea of gold all around them. That made Fang pause. It was actually pretty nice.

  Slowly, he looked around him. Everything was too sharp to focus and Fang had to squint his eyes, they hurt a little bit. Too much light all around. The air was wrong— smelled wrong— filled with smell of bread and water. His neck and back felt hot, and he heard weird rustling all around him. The sea moved and swayed in ripples.

  Blinking furiously cleared his eyes and Fang realized finally what he saw: a colossal field of wheat all around. He and Seventh stood on a small hill barely poking out of the plants. It was surrounded by boulders and a small tree grew on one side, giving tiny shade.

  "Hey! No need for that, we're safe for now," Seventh said.

  Fang turned to glare at Seventh. Safe? They could never be safe in the dungeon, there always would be...some... His train of thought ground to a halt when he realized where they were: the Topside. Above the clan-land, above it all.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

  That couldn't be. Only the strongest warriors could challenge the surface dwellers and...well, Seventh wasn't one of the strongest, that was for sure. But wasn't he one of them? The Topsiders? Couldn't he just...walk up like that? He wasn't a strong warrior, that was for sure.

  Fang got mildly angry at himself for not realizing that sooner. He had thought Seventh wanted to know where the stairs was to embrace the death with honor and glory. Not for a moment he had thought he could actually walk the stairs.

  Now that he thought about it, they had met with the odd group that didn't shoot them full of arrows and steal their heads as trophies, and there had been a lot of climbing. But surely not all the way to the Topside? You would have to walk through the whole world!

  Huh, Fang thought and scratched his furry cheek. Well this was unexpected. Good thing that master can't read thoughts. This is embarrassing.

  Speaking of him, Seventh was expectantly staring at Fang, waiting for something. When their eyes met, Seventh turned his gaze up. Fang's eyes followed, and he saw something truly amazing.

  Another endless sea, blue and white this time. It rose far above them, the sky of the ancient legends spoken by the elders. A children's tale taken form in reality, a myth in the flesh. Fang's eyes opened wide in surprise, knives forgotten on his hands.

  Seventh pointed at something and Fang lazily followed his finger. What was he...?

  Fang's knives clattered to the ground when he saw it. The Big Cheese. It was real, as the elders had told. And Fang saw it with his own eyes, playfully dancing in the sky with the Grand Fireball.

  It was cratered grey with small strips of green forests coloring the dead landscape. Fang could see valleys where water had carved through the rock, leaving deep scars into the landscape. It was alien, dead. Desolate. Fang drew in every detail, just in case he couldn't see it never again. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

  "The Big Cheese," Seventh said.

  Fang's mouth lost all of its strength and hung even looser. Seventh spoke. Not the stupid human-speak, but smooth rattican!

  The human saw the incredulous stare, and laughed dryly. "Some stuff clung in here— after I possessed Shank-Tooth." Seventh tapped the side of his head. "Too much if you ask me..."

  He craned his neck to see the object in the sky. There was similar wonderment in his eyes as Fangs. And a little bit sadness. "They're called moons up here. There's two of them, actually, and that one is called Eszra. His sister is named Isria."

  Fang stared at Seventh like he was a madman. Two? Impossible! Heresy! The Chief and Calls-Lightning had said that—

  They hadn't seen the Sky.

  No ratkin in generations had. There were tries, but the excursions had always failed, bringing more scrutiny on them, so some had voiced concerns of trying to go up.

  Fang twitched as the memories of past battles faded away. His head started to hurt. He continued scratching his cheek as he stared at the Big Cheese...moon? Ezra? Would it even be the Big Cheese? If there is two isn't it a Big Cheese? Or is the other one smaller?

  Well...it didn't matter. Not really. Maybe a little...

  "There's someone you might want to meet. I think...I think you two know each other."

  Seventh gestured atop of the hill. Over there, a small figure was sitting in the grass, holding a wheel of cheese on her hands. Shank-Tooth. She rose her head and gazed deep at Fang's eyes. She had more depth in her eyes that the others. Was she like...him?

  Betrayal!

  Fang snarled at Seventh and looked around for his knives. Now he really would stab him, drag blades through his guts, and feed on his entrails— orders be damned.

  The human raised his hands protectively and steped back. "Whoa! Easy! Only for a while! I have absolutely no plans to use her. She's here to see the sky."

  Here to see the sky? Through the connection, Fang felt embarrassment, guilt, and honesty. At least he hadn't lied. He could keep his guts. For now.

  Spitting at Seventh's feet, Fang slowly walked next to his old comrade. Shank-Tooth, the one who was always the fastest. Memories from the Past-Fang filled the new one's mind. Faint images, scents, and feelings. Just enough to remember, to feel sadness.

  She still smelled like fire and smoke. Her eyes were dead, but a tiny spark lived in there. He sat next to her, on a soft piece of grass, warmed by the sun. Both something a ratkin hadn't felt for living memory, maybe never. At least in Fang's mind.

  Neither of them said anything. There wasn't anything to say. They were dead, words were for the living.

  Shank broke off a chunk of cheese and offered it to Fang. He accepted the golden piece of ambrosia and sniffed it. Everything he had been dreaming off. Heavy cream, nuts, and something he couldn't even identify, something from the Topside that hadn't never been shared down.

  The taste was even better. The texture was spongy, but broke easily under the sharp fangs, and was quickly chomped down. Shank ate more delicately, savoring every bite until the wheel was gone.

  They stared at the sky together, an immortal moment that both would remember for the rest of their lives. The Grand Fireball slowly rose, and finally started to go down. Behind a never before seen horizon.

  As Fang started to think when the other “moon” would appear, Shank brushed her hands clean on her knees and stood up. She glanced behind and nodded.

  Fang heard rustling footsteps behind them. Seventh was approaching, closing a small book in his hands and looking at the two ratkin silently.

  "You ready?"

  The question was directed to Shank. She turned to give Fang a crooked, wide smile and gently squeezed his shoulder.

  “We could still—“ Seventh started, but was stopped by Shank's raised hand.

  She slowly walked down the small hill. The short ratkin almost disappeared between the tall wheat stalks, but Fang could follow her from his higher position. She spread her arms, feeling the wheat in her hands.

  The mana all over them shifted. Powerful surge from Shank to Seventh. The same thing that had happened during the battle. Seventh collecting mana all around him— from the undead.

  Shank advanced only for a dozen feet or so before starting to crumble. First, her fur sheared off as ash, then her hands and shoulders turned grey.

  When her legs gave way, she collapsed, and an ashen spire puffed from between the stalks. A strong wind picked up the ash, and sprinkled it all around the golden sea. The wheat bowed with the wind.

  Most of the collected Death Mana trickled away from Seventh as he let it go. Wasted and returned to the earth, but a tiny fraction was transferred to Fang through their odd necromantic connection. He watched as the ash swerved in the wind, starting a journey no ratkin had made before.

  Fang wanted to be angry, but this was the best funeral any one of them could ask for. Maybe something he or Seventh wouldn't ever get. They would probably die at some half-thought, half-baked, and half-assed idiocy of Seventh.

  Speaking of the devil, he sat next to Fang. The left side, Shank's imprint was on Fang's right side. Fang noticed his right hand was on the imprint, feeling the lingering presence of Shank-Tooth. He had made a fist without even realizing it, wringing the long, cold grass. Shank's body had cooled it.

  "I asked around." Seventh started after a heavy silence. "All this wheat has a byproduct. Straw. Wanna guess what they do with it?"

  The ratkin made very ratkinesque shrug. How in the Hells would he know? He didn't even know there was a thing called straw.

  "It's stored for the winter and fed to cows, the cows are milked, and they make cheese with the milk— at least I think so? It got really complicated for me." Seventh pointed at the horizon. "You can see the village. I bought this from there."

  He produced a second wheel of cheese from his inventory. It was smaller and seemed heavier.

  "Their specialty, Semner-cheese. Dense and salty, just what adventurers need, they said."

  Fang shifted his eyes from the wheel to give Seventh a doubtful look.

  "Yeah, I'm not one, but they insisted I try a piece. Now I have a sackful of them," Seventh said with a chuckle. "Everybody seems to think me as an adventurer, but... I'm not so sure, not really. I like it here. A warm summers day, not a monster in sight. No fear or panic, no need for survival. But there isn't his...feeling of doing something, you know?"

  Seventh rolled the cheese in his hands. "Also no need for immoral mathematics..."

  Silently, they sat between the two seas. One of sky, one of wheat. They in the middle.

  Far away, next to the village, a group of men started to converge. Tall scythes ready for summer's first harvest.

  "So, what do you want to do?"

  There was a slow, methodical cocking of Fang's head, and deadly slow blink. You're asking me?

  "Yep. Not gonna do adventuring on my own. And... you are kinda stuck with me, sooo you have a vote in all this." He cracked the cheese into two halves on his knee and offered the bigger half for Fang.

  "Cheese for adventurers. You can just eat it and walk to the chalks...or stay with me and enjoy the calm until we go and sign up for more death and destruction."

  Fang-Knife searched for a trick in Seventh's words and expression. He didn't see anything else but a determined burn and need in his eyes.

  If Fang left now, Seventh would probably become an adventurer without him, and what would happen to him then? Somebody has to keep an eye on the boy.

  Damn troublesome master, Fang thought as he grabbed the cheese and shrugged.

  Before biting in, he had a thought. He had tried something after the big battle, but back then Seventh had been a stupid blockhead mumbling with the human-speak. But now...

  "P-p-party," Fang-Knife stuttered.

  Looking at Seventh, Fang was greeted with a delightful openly hanging mouth and a handful of cheese forgotten on its way there.

  Fang bit into his own cheese with satisfaction. The cheese really was dense and salty— like his master. He was slowly coming back to his faculties, his mouth flopping open and close.

  The wind rustled the sea of gold again, and the men in the distance started their harvest. They moved fast and iron glimmered as scythes rose high, but the duo on the hill had all the time in the world. Time was for the undead.

  After a while, Seventh was also chewing on the cheese, eyeing his ratkin companion. He swallowed loudly, clearing his throat. "Party."