Heroes of Darkness: A Dark Dungeon Realm LitRPG Omnibus Collection

by Wolfe Locke

  "Great," said Sadie. "Looks like it’s all here. The pact is sealed, and you're almost ready to go. Just let me give you your starter kit really quick, then off you go. You’re assigned to room 3, and your son is assigned to room 7. Good luck and great adventuring. If you should need anything, remember, my name is Sadie, and I’ll be your Dungeon guide when you need one."

  "Hey, really quick," asked Paul, "how do I get a set of those?” He pointed at her elvish ears. “Is it part of the costume we get? Are we allowed other racial choices? I’d like to be something other than human.”

  Seraph looked at his father with raised eyebrows, and Paul shrugged sheepishly and responded, "What? I used to play Dungeons and Dragons. Role-playing as just a human gets boring."

  “No problem, sir. When you get to your starting room, you can make cosmetic adjustments from the in-stock prop items,” Sadie responded with a smile. “Hope that helps.

  “Oh, and here you go,” she said as she handed them the starter kits. “Each of these has an Emblem, the Emblem represents a randomly assigned class that you will play through the Dungeon as. Additionally, the kit had a basic olive-colored jumpsuit for you to change into. Anything else that you might need, you’ll be given or find along the way.”

  “Anyways,” Sadie continued, “that’s it. Just head through the door on my left, your right. Remember your room assignments. They’re pretty easy to follow. The doors will be numbered 1 to 8 on the hall, so it's hard to get mixed up."

  "Alright, thanks. Anything, in particular, we need to know?" asked Paul.

  "They'll cover that in the three phases of the orientation,” replied Sadie, turning around and walking away to wherever she had been before being summoned by the bell. Seraph strained his neck to see and thought he saw her step into a room labeled “General Manager.”

  Paul pushed Seraph down the hall to his starting room. He had insisted on at least walking Seraph to his door and poking his head in, having some measure of parental distrust of new and unfamiliar things. Seraph noticed that Paul appeared to be both relieved and disappointed when he saw it was just a small changing room connected to another room. Satisfied it was safe, Paul turned and looked at his son.

  "Alright, big guy. I know you don't need me, but try to remember if you need me don’t hesitate—just yell and I'll come running. And don’t forget to look through those props they talked about. If I can find anything, I think I want to be a halfling," he stated.

  He was sure there was more to the prop selection than just cosmetics, and Seraph was positive that a weak selection like a halfling would have consequences for his father. “Think a little bigger, Dad. Make yourself a titan, a demigod, or maybe just an elf like that girl,” he said.

  "Oh yeah, good call. Okay, so what do you think our Emblems are going to be? I hope I get a cool class.” his father asked, his face alight with excitement.

  Seraph looked at his father’s starting kit—a parcel with rope binding and a seal of wax. The emblem of a Sword over a Shield on the seal, it was the mark of a hero—a legendary class even among the elites of his previous life. Keeping his father alive was already having benefits.

  "Looks like they want you to be a sword and shield guy, Dad," replied Seraph, pointing to the wax seal. He was guessing the wax seal represented the Emblem inside the package.

  He looked visibly pleased. "Oh, that's awesome. You know, back in my Army days, I did my fair share of slitting throats and snapping necks,” he joked. ”So, what did you get?” he asked curiously, glancing at his son’s kit.

  Seraph laughed a bit and then looked at his package. The seal of the kit was a pair of black wings. His heart stopped, and he froze in excitement. He knew then he would have a chance to reclaim his power.

  "What did you get? You’re not saying anything," Paul asked nervously.

  "I got a set of wings, Dad," replied Seraph, trying to downplay his own excitement.

  "Ah. Yeah, that explains it. The long face. I wouldn't want to be stuck with a girls’ class either. What does that even mean? Cleric? Healer? Priest? Boring. No offense, Luca, but better you than me." His father laughed as he congratulated himself on having what he thought was the better starting class.

  "Alright, kiddo, let’s do this. See you on the other side," he added with some finality.

  "See you in a few, Dad," replied Seraph, a hint of reservation in his voice.

  He paused for a moment before turning around, just in case there was something he needed to say, and he might not get another chance to say it. There was a deep regret that he never got to say goodbye in his other life before his father died.

  "See you on the other side." Seraph had meant to say more, but he stopped himself. The words he had wanted to say felt false and not his own. At least, not yet. Seraph resigned himself to live with his regrets. He could not bring himself to say the words now.

  As for cosmetics, he knew his wings would come eventually, but in the meantime, until he could unseal his power, it wouldn’t hurt to look at what was available.

  Seraph grabbed a prop set of white horns that looked more bull than demon, but then realizing he could end up as a Minotaur just as easy as a devil, he opted to replace the ivory horns with something a bit more diabolic. The option to change your race wasn’t available to many in the past, and it had not been available to him. The changes to his body in his first life had been the doing of a dark spirit. But in the absence of past advantages, Seraph would use what he had available.

  Chapter 5: Into The Dungeon

  * * *

  When his father left the room and the door shut behind him, Seraph breathed an audible sigh of relief. To an extent, dealing with the man was rather difficult. He found pretending to be a near-helpless teenage boy exhausting. Having even a few moments of respite from the man was already paying off as Seraph examined the demonic horns that he had chosen from the available props. He was 100% positive that his father would have interfered and prevented this selection. While they appeared cheap and completely ridiculous, he was hopeful that the cosmetic selections made would translate into racial selection, complete with bonuses once integrated fully into the dungeon.

  His father truly was a good man who meant well, but he also prevented Seraph from acting to the fullest extent that his foreknowledge allowed. In short, the man was a complication, and there were things he needed to do that this father’s presence would eventually complicate.

  Overall, Seraph assessed his thoughts on the matter as ‘confused’. Whether this was due to general nostalgia or the effects of once again having an immature brain—with its poorly defined emotional controls or impulse controls—it was clear to him that the presence of his father had affected both his thinking and decision-making.

  While Seraph had enjoyed the presence of his father, and he freely admitted it to himself that he had enjoyed portions of this day, it had still already become a distraction for him. It was an enjoyable distraction, but remained a distraction nonetheless. Any diversions now could have massive consequences for the future. If those distractions came between him and his goal of conquering the dungeon, unsealing his power, and saving humanity, he would have to remove those distractions or remove himself from the presence of those who distracted him.

  While the thoughts turned over in his head, he came to conclude a hard truth. The father Seraph had originally known had been dead for decades and long since mourned, but the man he was traveling with was living and breathing. Though it had been thirty years since he had last seen the man, the passage of time had not abated the sense of loss he had felt, and this man… well, this man was still his father.

  Regardless of the passage of time or his current sense of fondness for his long-lost father, he had a more pressing concern. So long as he held the body of a child, or rather a pubescent teen, he was at his father’s mercy. At the mercy of whatever whims he had and whatever beliefs he held. Seraph realized he would need to act accordingly until he had enough strength to separate—if need
ed.

  Besides, there are benefits to changing the future, Seraph thought, and he examined his new horns. The presence of his father was not all risk. New options existed that didn’t before. Seraph was excited about some of the possibilities that would be open to him now that he had access to someone who held the hero emblem, which bestowed access to the Hero class. In his first life, there had been only two Heroes that Seraph knew about. One he had killed with his own hands on the 3rd floor of the dungeon, and the other his guild had hunted down and killed. It was a secondary benefit that Seraph now had a potentially powerful ally that would help ensure his safety until he grew stronger. But more than anything, Seraph was excited about his father remaining alive, and that very human emotion surprised him.

  Regardless of whatever thoughts and plans Seraph might have considered for the emblem bearers and their respective classes, there was one thought that drowned them all out, pushing those thoughts aside as the emblem in Seraph’s possession pulsated with power, demanding, needing to be his primary concern: The emblem of the Black Seraph. The Angel of Genocide, the Accuser, and the one who would bring test and trial of the weak during man’s calamity.

  Those black wings on the emblem were unique to his rebirth, for in his other life they had been his own personal sigil, a symbol that spread dread and fear as it claimed absolute power among those few who had been spared by Seraph. The same sigil which was used as the mark of the player killer guild he had formed "Carrion Crow" in the early days within the dungeon, before reorganizing the guild for more generalized command as they grew.

  Seraph grabbed the starter kit, and in a painfully complicated and time-consuming process for someone in a wheelchair, he was able to get changed into the olive jumpsuit. He caressed the emblem in his hands, his fingers stroking the wings proved a curiosity in itself as the emblem responded. In his previous life, nothing like it had existed. He was unsure if it had been expressly created by the dungeon to help him to power up, or if it was a portion of his power he had left behind in his ruined body. He quickly dismissed the former. He knew the truth. The emblem was part of him, or at least, part of whom he used to be, and who he could once more become.

  The thoughts were in themselves a distraction, and Seraph quickly dismissed them to focus on the present. He was unsure of what was about to happen to progress past the starting room, as no one in the other timeline had ever told him what happened to those who went into the dungeon first. With no other ideas—and when his desire to start didn’t manifest in some type of change—he broke the wax seal that had come with his starter kit. As the seal crumbled beneath his hands, he felt the sensation of something passing through him, and he knew on an instinctive level that if he still had his arcane sight, he would have seen trails of magic weaving throughout the room.

  The room went completely dark and a screen appeared in front of him and began playing an audio-visual clip with the message being actively captioned on screen by a somewhat comical, cartoon-like man dressed like a caricature of a bard.

  This is likely the start of the orientation we were told about, he thought as he stopped what he was doing to focus and listen.

  "Greetings and hello, Adventurers!"

  "Welcome to Dungeon Quest. The only live-action full-function dungeon delve role-play on Earth, and that's right, you guessed it. You found it here first."

  Seraph groaned. This was already absolutely terrible and seemed to be the orientation.

  "But before we can get started there are just a couple of things you need to know.

  "The first thing is simple. You all start out at Level 1, and as you complete quests, craft items, finish missions, defeat monsters, or even defeat each other, you'll gain experience that will help you level up. As you level up, you'll gain new powers and abilities and boost most of your stats. To check your status, all you need to do is say status screen, or mentally summon your status screen and it will appear in front of you. Be careful where you use this as it pretty much ruins your vision and leaves you very vulnerable.

  "Secondly, you'll be getting a spatial pocket that is specific to just you, no one else. This is just a small gift from me for being our new beta testers. This means that every pocket on any outfit you wear connects with your very own pocket dimension to store stuff in. Cool right? I know. If at any time you can't find what you’re looking for, just say the word or think really hard about what you want and reach in for it. In case you’re wondering, it's impossible for your spatial pocket to fill up, so hoard away.

  "Thirdly, if any of you should conquer this dungeon—and the only way to conquer it is to get to the very end and place your hand on this altar that, you guessed it, is called the Altar of the End on the final floor of the dungeon—you get one wish granted for almost anything you want. I've been told I need to be specific about that. Others have gotten the wrong idea. Genie rules: No wishes to kill anyone, no wishes to make anyone fall in love with you, and no wishes to bring back the dead.

  "Lastly, you'll find that your bodies have undergone a few changes in the last few minutes. No worries. You still have all your equipment, even if things don’t quite look the same. Go ahead and look at yourselves. You'll see you’re now wearing upgraded gear. Those basic olive-green jumpsuits have been reinforced with leather on the bony prominences. This will offer some minor protection as you start this adventure. Just know, this is only a very minor protection. Be looking to upgrade as soon as you can.

  "Oh, and before I forget, this is a forever game. You’ll be able to leave and re-enter the dungeon later, after completing the orientation—I mean, after all, this isn't a prison—but if you die here, you die for real. There is no simulation or play-acting. This is real violence, and you will be put into kill or be killed situations. Oh, and lastly, if you do manage to leave the dungeon, if you tell anyone what you’ve seen here, you’ll be killed instantly—regardless of where you are. Hoped you enjoyed orientation, and have fun!"

  Quest Granted: Complete every floor of the dungeon and reach the Altar of the End.

  REWARD - One Wish.

  FAILURE CONDITION: Seize the Altar while the numbers of humans left alive are less than 1 million.

  FAILURE CONDITION: The allotted time of 50 years expires or complete annihilation of the human race

  As the presentation ended the screen disappeared, and the room lost all light. Unable to see, Seraph remained still and waited for whatever was to come next. Then, Seraph felt it. The room shifted, and he felt the telltale sign of nausea after teleportation. Seraph figured it was likely that he and the other participants had been transported into an instanced event or location.

  But, in the meantime, he wanted to check something.

  "Status Screen," said Seraph.

  His vision was instantly replaced with graphs and numbers.

  Name: Luca Fernandez

  Race: Fallen

  Aliases:None

  Passives Abilities

  Body of Mana

  Abilities

  Thousand Handed 6-1000

  Level:1 of 999

  Unassigned Stat Points: 0

  Current Experience: 1-10

  STR: 1 INT: 1 AGI: 1

  WIS: 1 LCK:1 PHY: 0*

  END: 1 PER:1

  SOL: $00000*

  Seeing the racial change, he quickly grabbed the horns he had been wearing and pulled. no longer were they a cheap cosmetic prop; they had been fused into him. Beneath his fingers, he could feel the power coursing through those horns—power that had yet to be unlocked. Whatever advantages his new race would give him, those advantages appeared to be locked for now.

  In the past, he had remained human. This was something that surprised many who had assumed him to be a demon of sorts. He who had been known as the Black Seraph knew something that many did not—that Seraph was a class, not a racial selection. The Accuser, the Angel of Genocide, all those names he had been known as were all due to a class that demanded him to be a trial of humanity, and in the end, though pow
erful, he had been only human and failed.

  Things would be different this time, and while he was unsure of all the perks and consequences of his new race, he was confident in his decision. He caught sight of the flesh on his arms and noticed his skin had turned the palest white. He hoped the changes to how he looked would be little, but there was nothing he could do about it currently. All these changes confirmed it for him—he was in the dungeon.

  He wondered how badly his father was currently panicking or if he was adapting quickly to the changes. In his mind, he imagined Paul banging on the walls demanding that somebody let him out, so he could see his son. The thought of Paul complaining to the dungeon amused him, and he gave a shallow laugh at the thought.

  "Dismiss," Seraph said. The status screen disappeared, and he regained the use of his eyes. With these kinds of changes, Seraph could see why it would be easy to panic. But it was not the changes that drew his attention. It was the darkness that surrounded him. It was a darkness deep enough that he couldn't make out any of his own features. He couldn't see his own hands as he waved them about his face, nor could he see his surroundings. This was a perfect dark. He thought maybe he should try moving, but he decided against it. He had no idea how the wheelchair would manage and didn't want it getting stuck on something he couldn't see.

  Having few options, Seraph chose the one which made the most sense—he waited, keeping his ears focused on any movement from within the dark. As this was orientation, he didn't expect much damage to come from the darkness, at this point, but it was good practice in the fostering of situational awareness that could save his life one day. As his ears strained and made phantom sounds as his senses deafened, a candle lit up in front of him, and then another and another, forming a path he knew he needed to follow. At the end of that path, he saw two chairs and a small table.