by Wolfe Locke
Seraph pulled out ten tokens for Paul to use once he woke, for, whatever came next, they would be going their separate ways. In spite of everything, Seraph did not want his father to die.
As he finished placing the tokens down, the white light that had been building up finally exploded. It was a light that blinded all of those who saw it, except the caster—in this case, Erin. As she approached Seraph, her body trembled in fear, but armed with her Cat’s Claw, she was ready to strike him down. When her attack swiped at air where previously he had been, she could only gasp as ghostly arms reached out and grabbed her, arms of ethereal mana energy that didn’t just grab at her body, but at her soul.
“What's going on? Let me go! Let me go! I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!” she screamed.
“You just tried to kill me. Why would I let you go?” answered Seraph. “You didn’t listen to me when I told you I’d been here before. I’ve seen tricks like yours before. All I did was look away—not that it mattered. With how loud you're breathing, and how heavy your fear is, I could hear and smell you regardless.”
“You’re a monster. You may think you’ve got everyone else fooled, but I saw right through you. You’re a monster; you’re a stone-cold killer. I’ve known men like you. I know what you are.” But seeing his hardened face, Erin changed her approach crying “Just please, let me go. I won’t say anything,”.
“No, that won't do,” he replied. “You see, I am a monster, and I am a killer—something I’m reminded of right now as my thousand arm ability keeps you immobile. What you don’t seem to understand is that I value a little discretion—discretion you haven’t shown. I have a mission I won’t let anyone interfere with—something that you’ve just tried to do. So, if nothing else, thank you.”
“Thank me? For what?” she asked, fear evident on her face.”
“For this,” Seraph responded as he tore her soul from her body and consumed it, gaining her ability. “And for this,” he told her lifeless body as he equipped the Cat’s Claw.
Chapter 16: Loose Ends
* * *
Notification: You are “Fatigued.” For the next 5 minutes you will be unable to move while your stamina recovers.
Heavy breathing echoed down the hall from the interior of the office as Seraph collapsed onto a knee in complete exhaustion from the fight with the two adults. His stamina and his mana were completely depleted, leaving him in near paralysis from fatigue. He was unable to move or defend himself.
He let out a short, manic laugh, amused that he had been brought so low by something so simple. Even his body of mana passive ability had been disabled. There was a time in that other life when he would have simply killed someone for showing the same sort of weakness he was showing now. A silent thanks went out that the only danger to him currently was likely far down the hall, and his stamina would probably recover before any monsters could reach him.
Though Seraph was fairly positive nothing moved in the dark toward him in response to his labored breathing. He couldn’t be sure, and in his current state he lacked the ability to focus any of his senses to determine if something was after him.
The rapid use of his abilities had left him drained. His low stats were a liability, as shown by his exhaustion from the brief confrontation with his father. Though he no longer possessed the body or abilities of a normal human, he was still not so far removed from the human condition that this sort of exertion would not exhaust him. It was a good reminder of his limits before hitting any further confrontations. He was not yet a god.
Most notable, though, was the effect his thousand hand ability had on his stamina and his mana. He had misjudged his mana consumption, and in doing so, he had lost his mana body ability. For now, the temporary loss of some of his boosted stats left him drained and weary, a fatigue he would never be used to. It was something that no amount of training could prepare a body for, and as for his body, it felt different in a way. Sick almost.
A mental projection of the ability popped up in his vision. It was a good time to check his progress with the ability, at least.
Notification: Thousand Handed - Current ability progress 7/1000
The ability had barely increased. He would just need to find a safer way to use it if this was the effect it had on him. He couldn't be paralyzed from stamina and mana fatigue every time he used an ability, just for the sake of trying to level it up.
Seraph stood, having at least regained enough stamina to move, and in doing so, he was able to catch his reflection in the glass window of the office. His face looked bruised, and his skin hung loosely, sagging off of his bones. His body was pale and emaciated, similar to those who had known extreme hunger. It was as if his body was forced to consume itself to match the energy output, and in a sense, his body had done exactly that. It had fed on itself when his energy reserves became exhausted.
For Seraph to be in such a situation was almost comical. He who had reached toward godhood had actually run out of mana. It was laughable, but as he would always remember, not impossible. At least not currently. Until he was able to regain some of his former strength, he would need to be much more careful. Especially if he intended to use the thousand handed ability. Its use would require a delicate balance of precision and power, and that was something he was unsure he could manage in his current state.
For now, he resigned himself to limit its use. He would only use it if no other options remained—a trump card only to be utilized as a last resort due to its high mana burn that he could not simply maintain currently. The cost of using this ability in the absence of mana could easily render him unable to continue fighting.
Seraph watched the emaciated thing that was his reflection slowly return to normal as he regained his mana reserves. First the fullness returned to his cheeks and the color to his skin. His arms and legs regained some of their mass, and the little physique that he possessed returned.
When he finally felt that he was back to normal, he pulled his gaze away from his reflection, down to the body that lay crumpled lifelessly at his feet. He then looked toward his father. Paul's chest was rising and falling as a sign of life. Soon Erin's death would offer him yet another boon as he patted his new Cat's Claw and thought of the Starcall ability he had taken from her. When used correctly and without hesitation, it could easily decide any conflict.
It was not an ability that was meant to be wasted on the weak, and now Seraph had ensured it wouldn't be.
Within minutes, the lifeless body before him began to disappear as, little by little, it dissipated into the nothingness of whatever abyss this place was built upon. Consumed by the dungeon, Any physical evidence that Erin had ever existed in this place was erased forever. But it was what came after the erasure that Seraph waited for. He waited for the stat boost that always followed when one consumed another within the dungeon. He waited for a familiar jolt of power. He waited, but it never came.
"Figures," Seraph muttered with a curse as he looked at the undisturbed floor where Erin's body had lain. The dungeon restored everything to how it had been, and now all that could be seen was a thick layer of dust that suggested that no one had been here in years. When the familiar jolt of power never came, Seraph realized what that meant. Erin had been truly weak—even beyond the standards he had known for weakness. For him to not even gain a single stat point from her death meant that she had remained at the most basic level: level one. Level ones rarely offered any sort of bonus for their consumption. It was a check the dungeon had put into place to prevent predatory camping of new players at spawn and entry points.
Not that it had stopped him in the past. There were ways around it. The easiest of which was to power level the fresh faces who entered the dungeon and then consume them early. It was an easy and quick way to build up large stat gains. In his past life, Seraph had been almost killed that way.
A rare smile appeared on his face in memory of how things had been before, when he and his guild of player killers had rapidly gained s
trength beyond anything anyone else could ever compare with. A good memory that he dismissed before he came back to reality.
The reality was that once again he was alone. His father lay only a few feet from him, slumped over and unconscious. Whatever partnership they might have been able to manage, it was clear it would never come to pass. Paul had been unable to separate his feelings as a father from the situation, and Seraph had been forced to act. Though as he watched Paul's chest rise and fall, he was still thankful the man was breathing. He had not intended to kill him, and he still wished for his father's survival.
He wished it enough, in fact, that he had left the required number of tokens out for him to move on to the next phase—an opportunity at continued survival that Seraph had rarely granted anyone. Though there was still something about the situation that lingered in his mind as wrong. Seraph thought for a minute and realized what it was.
Paul, his father, was still an obstacle in his way, and the last thing he needed was for Paul to ignore the tokens in his hand and go looking for him instead. Seraph was unsure of how much more this phase had to offer, but he was certain that the danger would only grow exponentially as he further explored and tried to find the dungeon seed. He refused to compromise his mission on the off-chance that his father would wake and either seek him out to rejoin as a party—his assistance at this point a hindrance—or seek him out in search of vengeance or some other ill-conceived sense of duty.
The man was an obstacle, but Seraph couldn't bring himself to kill him. Even though the man was his father, Seraph couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t bring himself to do it, especially this early on when a few quick power boosts would help him to set up a new empire that would rival and eventually surpass anything he or his guild had achieved in that other lifetime. In spite of all that, there was still something that was missing, something that he needed to fix. Seraph stared at the unconscious man. He really didn’t want to kill him, but he couldn't risk his goal being interrupted by this man demanding answers about where his new partner was either. Seraph's gaze lingered on the tokens he had placed near Paul's unconscious body, and the answer came to him. A way to remove his father without killing him.
Without further hesitation, Seraph reached out and grabbed the tokens he had laid down at Paul’s side. He admonished himself for taking so long to come up with a solution to his current problem. He really should have thought of this before. In one single coherent motion, he placed all ten of the tokens into Paul's hand and forced the activation. Instantly, the man's unconscious body was sent on to the next phase, and for the moment at least, he was no longer Seraph's problem.
Seraph stared at the spot on the ground where Paul had been minutes previously. Slowly but surely, the dungeon reclaimed the spot as the dust disturbed by the man’s presence returned, and in behavior not typical to him, Seraph spoke aloud, “Bye, Dad.”
Without another thought, Seraph left the office to explore the rest of the school and try to find whatever other secrets it still had to offer.
Chapter 17: The Remaining
* * *
As he left the office, Seraph slid his forearm into the Cat’s Claw to equip it. The weapon felt good on his arm as he adjusted the nylon straps for a tighter, closer fit. It was a good weapon. An extension of his own body, it was comfortable and deadly, and he would take very good care of it. He had once used something similar in his past life, and while it was not a weapon he had achieved legendary status with, he was certainly not unfamiliar. It would be well used in his hands.
The group had dwindled down to just him, and he felt good to be off on his own. In a sense, solo had always been his natural state. Without the need to hide who he really was, or what he was capable of, he felt complete confidence in his ability to take down any threat. Seraph was no longer obligated to try to tone down his abilities for the sake of others and had no need to hide himself. For now, at least, he was free.
Walking down the hall, he noticed the smell of dirt clinging to him. He looked behind him and saw the still-lingering clouds of dust that his heavy footsteps had kicked up. He laughed as he saw the trails he had made in the dirt, and as his laughs echoed down the halls, he felt nothing but excitement.
His blood rushing in eager anticipation, nothing quite compared to the feelings that adventuring alone brought up in him, feelings that made him feel alive and in control of himself. Seraph was free of the constraints of having to act a part that wasn’t him, and though he was almost recklessly happy, he was still tuned into his surroundings. His altered senses revealed no current danger to be feared. This was his element.
He walked down the hall, looking at old pictures and trophies, photos of graduating classes in their multitudes. Seraph quickened his pace, and he caught sight of a classroom at the end of the row of awards. The sign above the door read 1A. With no additionally identifying information, Seraph moved to clean the dust and grime from the glass pan on the classroom door. He looked through and saw desks piled up, one on top of the other. Whatever this room had been, it hadn’t been in use for a long time. This wasn’t what he was looking for he was sure, so he turned around and continued to explore.
He didn’t think it would be that easy, and not finding what he was looking for on the first try wasn’t a surprise. He came to the second classroom—this one marked 1B. A name on the door read “Mr. Johnston.” Finding a name plate was a good indicator that this classroom had been in use. Seraph tried to remove the grime and dirt from this window, but still he couldn’t see inside. The interior of the window was covered in some sort of black residue.
Seraph was in a mood to fight, but he wasn’t going to take any risks, so he used his new Starcall ability to summon the point of light on his side of the doorway centered in this air, and he let it charge for a few moments. As he waited, he checked his surroundings and noticed nothing amiss that he needed to be concerned about. Just yet, at least. He knew he wasn’t alone, but he wasn’t sure if he was alone in the halls. For now, nothing was nearby.
With a loud thud he knocked on the door three times, each knock louder than the last. He exerted enough force to dent the door and partially cave it in. He smiled at his handiwork and prepared himself to fight as he heard quick movements and scraping on the floor coming from the other side of the doorway. As if to confirm that something was there, the door shook as something hit it from the other side.
Perfect! thought Seraph as he grabbed the door handle and opened the door. He turned his back away from the doorway as he released the Starfall that he had been charging.
What appeared to have once been a man, stumbled out of the doorway in a frenzied state, screaming in incomprehensible guttural noises as it clutched at its eyes. It’s skin was green and gangrenous, covered in thick boils that oozed puss. Its clothing was in relative disrepair, rotting at the seams and heavy with mold and mildew.
Ah, thought Seraph with a smile. A Drowned One. That's interesting. A Drowned One was a type of undead that usually, but not always, had a water-related death. However, they were most commonly known for their requirement of water nearby in their undeath. It was not a basic type of undead. Any attack, whether it landed or not, had a chance to apply a necrosis or gangrene—neither of which resolved itself out of battle. It was best to make this quick. With one quick motion, while the Drowned One was still unable to see him, Seraph thrust the Cat Claw up and forward while grabbing the top of the monster’s skull by its slimy skin and the wispy tuft of hair it still possessed. The sharp knife-like points of the Cat’s Claw easily cut through the rotted flesh, tissue, and bone.
Despite what should have been a death blow, the drowned man roared in anger as it swung its arms wildly, trying to kill the thing which had hurt it. This wasn’t a problem for Seraph. As he pulled the blades of the Cat Claw out of the back of the monster's skull, he applied pressure in a downward curve, severing its spinal cord. The monster fell to the ground lifelessly for a true death.
As he pulled the blad
es out, thick white pus dripped to the ground, and his blades were a deep, reddish black from the coagulated blood with flecks of gray brain matter.
“That won’t do” Seraph mumbled to himself as he bent over and wiped the claw’s blades on the drowned one’s rotted shirt, noticing as he did the name tag above the undead man’s heart that read “Mr. Johnston.”
With no signs of other monsters within the classroom, Seraph stepped forward, through the doorway of classroom 1B.
Scorch marks marred the walls in blackened angry scars. The few remaining desks were heavily burnt, their metal frames warped from exposure to extreme heat. The room was heavy with moisture and the smell of mildew. In the middle of the room pooled fetid, green water. Seraph cast a quick glance around the room, seeing if anything caught his eyes, and on the desk that had belonged to Mr. Johnston, he saw a set of keys that he was sure he would find useful.
Though Seraph did not see or hear anything that hinted at the presence of monsters, he was still wary of the standing pool of water in the room. A lesson he would always remember was that few things, inside the dungeon or outside, were ever really harmless.
Treat everything like a threat and be surprised by nothing. The pool of water was an unknown that he kept his eyes on, and as he walked toward the desks and grabbed the keys, he was then not surprised when the first rotted hand began to pull itself out of the water. Nor was he surprised when another set of hands followed swiftly after.
A normal adventurer might have been intimated or even scared at what appeared to be a spawning point right in the middle of the room he was in—effectively trapping him from escape—but Seraph was not normal by any means, and he knew what many adventurers did not—if this was a Drowned One spawning point, which Seraph was positive it was, it was limited to spawning a number equal to however many people had originally died in the room, and though the room was not small, Seraph still believed the number to be more than manageable.
