by Wolfe Locke
Seraph put off grabbing the keys for now and ran toward the spawning pool, careful to avoid its edges. He would be a fool to forget that the dead hands of the drowned ones could still easily reach out and grab him if he was unwary, pulling him under to be torn apart. It was a grisly end, but one he could easily avoid.
Effortlessly, Seraph dispatched the Drowned One as it was still dragging itself out of the pool, He managed the same for the second, but by the time he was able to face the third, it had already pulled itself out from the pool to come after him, its arms stiff and outreached as it tried to kill him. It was not on the same level as the one with the name tag he had killed previously.
He dodged and weaved as more and more of the drowned ones emerged from the pool, careful to try to avoid exerting himself. Easy opponents or not, he was unsure how many he faced, and the last thing he needed was to be killed because of a fatigue debuff. As he moved, he struck where he could and cut and severed tissue and tendons alike. What he could not kill, he could maim, and within minutes, the drowned ones which had not been killed outright by severing their spinal cord at least had their movements severely inhibited.
Seraph took his time to finish killing the rest. Though he was tired, he felt he had managed pretty well to keep from over doing it, and as he grabbed the keys in his hands, he took stock of how many of the things he had killed. Eleven in total. “Not bad at all.”
Before heading off, he decided to put the experience he had just gained farming to work, putting the two stat points from the levels he had gained into endurance. This was a marathon and not a sprint. He would need an extra reserve to pull from—he was sure of that—and he needed to try and avoid having another spell of fatigue.
He counted a total of four keys, instantly dismissing what looked like a car key as being unimportant. He also dismissed the key marked 1B. He’d use it to lock the room behind him to make sure when the spawn reset nothing could approach him from behind. But, aside from that, it had no use, which left the remaining two keys—one marked maintenance, and the other one wasn’t marked at all.
An unmarked key was hardly a lead, which left him with the idea of searching for the maintenance room.
Name: Luca Fernandez
Race: Fallen
Aliases:None
Passives Abilities
Body of Mana
Abilities
Thousand Handed 34-1000
Starfall 6-1000
Level:5 of 999
Unassigned Stat Points: 0
Current Experience: 3-90
STR: 2 INT: 1 AGI: 3
WIS: 1 LCK:1 PHY: 0*
END: 4 PER:3
SOL: $04240*
Chapter 18: Revelations
* * *
Ragged breathing echoed down the hall; the empty lockers, rusted by age, further propelled the noise into the distance, acting as amplifiers to the sounds that Seraph made as he struggled to get his breathing back under control. Even with the extra points he had put into endurance to boost his stamina, it was still not enough to ward against his battle fatigue completely. Thankfully, the hallway was bereft of life except for him, and he saw no signs of monsters in various states of undeath haunting or roaming the halls.
Feeling somewhat safe—at least, as safe as the situation warranted—he allowed himself a moment of respite as he propped his back against one of the less rusted-looking lockers to catch his breath. The brief moment of relaxation was enough to coax his body into slowly regaining his strength. All the while he remained on guard for enemies and threats that might take their opportunity to fall upon him while his stamina was low.
His labored breathing grew less labored as the minutes passed until Seraph finally felt he had recovered enough of his stamina to continue. he was still trying to find the Dungeon Seed by searching the remaining portions of the school he had yet to explore, hoping to find whatever door or lock the key he had found belonged to.
Following his encounter in the classroom of Mr. Johnston, and his subsequent encounter with the Drowned Ones and the abuse of their spawn point, Seraph felt more physically ready to meet any challenge or enemy that might come his way than he had since his rebirth. But despite his readiness, he had no further notable encounters as he went room by room, clearing classroom and closet alike as he continued down the hall, working to exhaust all avenues of possibility for the location of the Dungeon Seed before continuing on.
Though no notable encounters occurred, he still came across several lower level monsters.
Within what had been a computer lab, he had been quick to strike down wights that had settled down among the rusted cables beneath the work desks. Though quick and easy to dispatch, the encounter with the wights had been a reminder that he was not alone. A reminder that he was still within the dungeon, and as such, he was always in danger. That mentality further reinforced his posture of awareness.
It was a posture that had saved him from catastrophe when he had gone to clear what he had originally thought was a janitor's closet. Seraph had been surprised to find a small teachers break area instead, filled with the rotting corpses of school staffers, milling around in their state of undeath—all of whom quickly descended upon him with reflexes beyond what a corpse should have.
As the bodies pressed into him and tried to tear into his flesh with tooth and claw, he was able to activate his Thousand Handed ability and used the spectral limbs to push the zombies off and away from him, putting much-needed distance between himself and the zombies. He then used this distance to eliminate them as he then had time to maneuver his way through the horde, destroying their brains and brain stems at leisure.
Nothing further occurred as he cleared the rest of the rooms. Nothing elite crossed his path. Nothing beyond the most basic of monsters, and nothing that he could build real strength on or that would help him progress in his quest. Nothing that could even be viewed as irregular or something he had never encountered before. The rest of the rooms on the hallway cleared, his frustration with the situation grew. He had still not found the Dungeon Seed, nor had he found the maintenance room where he thought the seed was kept—the maintenance room he was sure the key he had found belonged to.
As he continued to explore, he finally found his forward progress inhibited by a set of closed double doors with reinforced glass panes that allowed him to see the other side. He caught a faint trail of dried blood, the brown rust-like substance heavily staining the floor but barely perceivable. Despite his low perception, he was still able to make out the trail.
Looking through the small windows on the door, he followed the trail with his eyes. The other side was as dusty and dirty as the rest of the school, but nothing stood out to him—except the trail leading deeper into the ever-widening common area. Where it went, he was unable to tell. His night vision heavily assisted him in the gloom, but it did not help much with his depth perception. He would need to follow the trail by foot, and his heart began to race in excited anticipation. As his strength continued to grow, so too did his need to test himself, and he had the impression he would soon be doing exactly that.
From what he could see through the small windows on the door, the other side was as dusty and decrepit as every other part of the school. It appeared to be empty, but Seraph knew better as he saw that trail of blood leading away into the darkness. He had already grown bored with the regular monsters on this side of the door, and he had a minor suspicion he had already killed every monster present. With a smile, he stepped forward and pushed through the doors, ready to continue his search.
He carefully followed the trail that led away from the hallway into the wider common area, snaking around the broken tables and stopping in front of a group of busted vending machines. The food that hadn’t been taken had long since been reduced to dust, the wrappers faded beyond recognition. The trail led to a dead end, which left him with one option—head deeper into the dark. Within a few steps, the temperature in the room quickly dropped, and the air crackled with e
nergy.
This is exactly what I've been looking for, he thought as he noticed the obvious change in the environment.
Notification: Now Entering Phase 3. If you would like to skip ahead and go directly to Hometown, please select ‘yes’. NOTE - Caution, all deaths within Phase 3 and beyond are permanent.
Would you like to skip ahead? Yes/No?
Well, this is interesting, he thought. I had thought all the deaths were permanent from the beginning and that I had sent the others directly into Phase III, but if this where I am, and this is actually Phase III, then the others must already be in Hometown. Seraph wasn’t surprised by this. It was a usual trick of dungeons to reward those who dared to do more, and for those who took the easy way out, and quit in advance, they were never given the offer or opportunity of achieving greater power.
The screen disappeared as he mentally selected “No.” He had no intention of missing out on a chance to grow stronger—regardless of the risk to him. He hadn’t come this far to quit already. Not when every step put him closer to his goal.
“Cousin!” shouted a raspy voice from the center of the room, far into the dark. “Come here, cousin. I can smell the scent of the damned on you. come here; it has been so long since I've had a guest.”
Seraph recognized the voice, even in this altered state. This was Reverend. He stepped forward as asked, and as he crossed the threshold, more was revealed as he saw what remained of the guests the voice was referencing, their mutilated bodies nailed to the wall at the far edge of the room.
In the center of the room, propped up—his body somehow attached to a jagged piece of earth that had thrust up through the floor—was Reverend. Or at least it was something that used to be Reverend, for the withered monstrosity that Seraph saw before him could hardly be called a man—even though the monstrosity closely resembled the man he had once known.
This is not the man I knew, he thought. Gone was the mane of black hair that Reverend had been so proud of. Instead, in its absence hung white and gray hair, thin, wispy, and wild. The man’s eyes no longer shined through with strength, the passion of his convictions, or even his resilience. Instead, all Seraph could see was empty eye sockets burned black where those pale orbs had been burned out.
Whatever had happened here, Seraph promised to end it now. He could not allow Reverend to live such a cursed existence, and as he promised to end it, he stepped forward.
“Good, cousin. Good. Come closer. What is your name?” asked Reverend.
If what he had read in the Wormwood Report was correct, he knew Reverend likely bore some resentment toward him, and to the guild. Now was not the time to reveal himself, but with his low charisma and luck stats, he also knew he couldn’t get away with a lie. However, he could get away with a half-truth.
“Announce yourself!” demanded the withered figure of Reverend impatiently as it turned its head, its empty eye sockets facing Seraph. “Who are you?”
“My name is Luca and I’m a new adventurer. Tell me, cousin, how are we related? What is your name?” Seraph asked.
The withered figure cackled in a mad laugh. “You lie, cousin, there are no new adventurers—Lord Seraph killed them all. Just as he has killed this world. I was known as Reverend, though now I am little more than a shade, a persistent shadow of darkness in this place, cousin. Like you, I am a type of demon. I once served the great genocide himself—the Black Seraph. I served him, and I served his guild of murderers for many years, until I came to this place and served the children as their protector. There were twenty-eight in all. Twenty-eight children that I saved when the Wormwood spread this far.”
Seraph thought he knew enough about where this was heading to ask the right follow-up questions. “What is Wormwood, and do you know what those things are outside? Are they related? And how did you manage to save the children?”
Reverend drew a quick breath and sniffed the air. “It's bad luck to talk about those things. They are not monsters. They are an end, and even within the dungeon, they can find ways inside. It is best to ignore them and continue living.”
But on the next question his demeanor changed. “Of course, they are related. This is my life's work. Wormwood is the celestial poison manifested on Earth to rid it of humanity, to rid the cosmos itself of all life.
As for the children? Well, they escaped into the dungeon. I implanted myself with a Dungeon Seed, and from my mana and my body I helped it grow. Through me they escaped—to Hometown—and I remained, stuck forever. Embedded into the portal.”
Seraph responded with as much support as he could muster. “That's terrible, Reverend. Is there anything I can do to help?”
If Reverend heard him, he didn't respond.
Seraph needed to know more. He needed to know what Reverend would tell others who made it this far. “Who is this Black Seraph, and how do we defeat him?”
Those dead eyes narrowed, and somehow Reverend shifted his body to close the distance between him and Seraph. “Cousin, you don’t know of the Black Seraph? Be warned then and be wary. With his appetite for power, he has consumed millions. Millions more he has doomed to death or killed outright. He is a monster to be stopped at all costs, yet I do not know how to stop him. Though he calls himself Black, he is neither a creature of bane or of bone, nor is aligned with the holy. He holds his allegiances elsewhere and to no one. He is doom, and his is blight.”
Reverend moved his body back onto its pedestal and began to mutter to himself. However, he muttered loudly enough for Seraph to hear the ramblings of a madman. “How could he not know? Who doesn’t know? Of course, he knows. Of course, he doesn't know. Yes, he should. No, he shouldn't.” The internal deliberation continued until Reverend’s eyes lit up—one side lighting up with purple flame, the other with blue flame. Both eyes then turned to him, each side seemingly independent of the other. He asked, “Cousin, what year is it? Yes, cousin, what year is it?” Reverend spoke in mocking contempt.
Seraph was unsure how to proceed, but fate interfered. The double doors of the hallway shut behind him, and the sound of the doors locking announcing that he was stuck. Something was coming his way. An audible click announced that he was committed. There would be no retreating from this.
Chapter 19: The Webs We Weave
* * *
Twin eyes glared at him, eyes of fire, and eyes of the abyss, one purple and one blue. Each eye represented a different aspect of the Reverend’s state of undead, and each eye asked the same lingering question. They looked impatient, hungry for Seraph to stall, looking for a reason to satisfy an urge not for flesh alone, but for the kill.
Seraph looked into those eyes, wondering just what kind of monster Reverend had become. He thought perhaps it was either some kind of Lord-Caliber Wright or a Darkness Caller—a type of spirit trapped to a place that drew others in to share in its misery. Seeing the duel colors of purple and blue, Seraph thought perhaps maybe Reverend was some sort of combination of both.
“Did he not hear?” Reverend mumbled to himself as his monstrous body began to quiver, ready to move and strike. The bodies of the other guests hanging from the walls were a clear reminder of what Reverend was now capable of.
"First, will you tell me what happened here? How did you end up this way?" Seraph asked, buying time. “I would like to hear your story.”
The monster’s eyes glowed red in anger. Reverend then sighed, the anger extinguished, and with that its orbs returned to their usual colors. "Fine, but only because it has been such a long time since I spoke with anyone but ourselves."
“Thank you,” Seraph replied as respectfully as he could manage. He knew that whatever had happened to Reverend was, at least, partially his fault. He needed to fix this—not out of some sense of right and wrong, or some sense of justice, but because Reverend had once been an ally and as close to a friend as Seraph had got.
Reverend moved his rotted arms to stroke his face in contemplation. No, thought Seraph, not rotted at all. The black plate mail he wore i
n life appears to have melded with this new body of his.”
Reverend suddenly stopped stroking his face as both eyes turned blue. He drew in a deep breath. It was a breath that rattled against bones and deep fibers. A breath that Seraph was unsure even drew air.
It took the undead a minute, as if this was his first time in years he had heard his own voice. When he spoke, it was deep and serious with none of the chaotic vestiges he had shown earlier. To Seraph’s eyes, it appeared that some minor changes had occurred as well as more of the man and less of the monster was brought forth.
“I failed, you see,” he explained. “I came here to find a way to prevent the spread of the green mist, the miasma outside—or what I termed Wormwood. I left most of those details in my old office. If you find it, bring it here and I will unseal it and share it with you, imparting the knowledge of how to access artifacts of my old guild—Carrion Crow. That will conclude Phase III and my responsibilities to Amarath."
Seraph nodded his head in understanding, not wanting the monster to know he already had found the report and that it was on his person. Even a low luck stat could pay dividends.
"But how did you get here?" Seraph asked as he probed for information. The monster was friendly, for now, but in the dungeon there were no guarantees. "And become this… well, I'm not quite sure what you are, I’m sorry to say.”
"Brazen aren't you, cousin?" chided Reverend with the mocking laughter of the dead. "When the Wormwood Phenomenon began to spread this way, it did so at a speed we had never seen before. Usually, we tried to evacuate well in advance, but this time it wasn’t possible.
