by Wolfe Locke
He needed to get there. He tried to push himself over in his wheelchair, but the wheels were completely unresponsive, no matter how hard he tried. The wheels would not turn, and the wheelchair would not move.
"Aren't you coming?" asked a voice. Startled, he looked, and now sitting in one of those chairs was the same hooded figure from before. It was the elf that Paul had mistaken for a human actor. The one who was supposed to be his dungeon guide, Sadie. Though he had been straining his ears, focused on listening, he had heard nothing to announce her presence before she revealed herself.
Seraph knew a moment of fear as he struggled with knowing how easily his life could have just been ended. It was a reminder of the weakness of his current state. "I'm having a little trouble with this wheelchair. Give me just a minute and I’ll have it all figured out," he replied, trying to downplay his fear and the extent of his handicap.
"You're not going to make it if you don't move. Don't you think it’s a little early to die off? Try your best. I mean, you've barely just begun," commented Sadie with that same cheery voice as before, but beneath the cheer, Seraph noted a hint of finality and an edge to her voice. Maybe not an edge, thought Seraph, but a hint. A hint that the danger started now.
Looking toward the darkness, Seraph could feel a hunger radiate through the impenetrable darkness as, one by one, red eyes opened in the darkness and stared out at him in hunger. They whispered at him in voices too low to be to be heard coherently. The whispers implanting a mental suggestion that he just give up and not struggle. Though the darkness called to him, it did not move. It was most likely a limitation put in place to give him a chance to progress. Effective and sinister, it was a charm-based illusion spell to send the weak to their doom. He would remember this for later and try to recreate it. But as for just quitting and to not struggle against fate, he wouldn't do that. Too much relied on him, and to quit would mean death.
Groaning and frustrated at the situation, he maneuvered himself off his wheelchair and fell heavily to the floor. It wasn't much, but Seraph was concerned about his body’s ability to travel the distance—a distance he figured to be around fifty feet or so. Miserably, he dragged himself along that path, pulling himself by pale bony arms that lacked definition, supporting himself with his elbows. He had to stop every few minutes to catch his breath and let his burning muscles rest, before wiping the sweat from his eyes and continuing. He was frustrated that his body was beyond weak. A weakness that he once would have culled in others if he had seen it, further irritated that his racial upgrade did not fix the problem.
It took him almost an hour to move the distance until he was finally within arm’s reach of the chair. In that time, the hooded elf had not once turned away or shown judgment. Instead, she had seemed patiently supportive, though no words of encouragement or discouragement had been aimed his way.
"Stand up and take a seat," Sadie said.
Drenched in sweat, he was ready to rest and went to pull himself up.
"Stand up and take your seat. You will not be asked again."
Dumbfounded, he looked up at her in complaint as he readied reiteration of complaint that he couldn't even move due to exhaustion, and as he went to open his mouth, the hackles on the back of his neck stood up, and his arms broke out in goose flesh as an aura of murderous intent began to roll off the elvish woman in waves strong enough to cause the furniture to be thrown aside.
"Yeah, sure. No problem. Just give me a second," Seraph said, realizing he needed to deescalate the situation. It worked, as the murderous aura dissipated but did not altogether disappear. He knew he had to try something, or she would kill him. Bracing himself with his arms, he tried to straighten his body as much as he could currently manage. Closing his eyes, he focused on his energy. The energy that circulated through his arms, his hands, and his torso. In his mind’s eye, he saw the energy within his body try to pass into his legs, but it was unable to bypass his middle.
He had an idea. Though he no longer possessed his arcane sight, he knew that magic was still all around him. Though he couldn't see it, he might be able to grab it. He imagined long arms and hands extending out from his soul, grabbing those tendrils of magic and feasting on them, consuming them and forcing that energy to repair his lower body. He knew it was working when he opened his eyes and saw his veins begin to glow blue—the blue glow even shining through the clothes he was wearing. His legs, though, didn't appear to have the same glow. He gritted his teeth and strained his will to a breaking point, summoning more and more hands to grab the tendrils of magic and ambient mana, consuming everything. Sweating, he strained, forcing the mana to circulate through toes, feet, bone, sinew, muscles and tendons that hadn't moved in years. He then forcefully attached the mana he was circulating through his body to integrate with the rest of his body. Instantly, he fell on his face, unable to brace himself any longer as the energy and magic was disbursed back into the room.
NOTIFICATION: Passive Unlocked: Mana Body - So long as the user has not completely depleted their mana pool, they will experience a bonus +1 to STR, AGI, and END, and any status effects will begin to heal immediately when outside of battle.
NOTIFICATION: You have unlocked the ability "Thousand Hands". Current mastery 6/1000. The user may deploy multiple ethereal arms through their torso.
The Thousand Hands ability was something he was quite interested in. He was pretty sure mastery level related to how many hands he could summon.
In his previous life, he had killed a few people with a similar ability over differences in how each thought humanity should handle the influx of refugees into the dungeon. If he could level it, this could make him an army of one, though he knew it was likely heavily wisdom-focused.
A few short, slow claps broke him from his thoughts. "Now that was unexpected," Sadie said, her hood down and smiling cheerfully. "You could have just stood up. You’re in the dungeon now, and physical injuries—no matter how severe or old—will heal so long as you’re not dead. Except for loss of limbs, the dungeon will restore a limb if the other is already severed. Now please, sit down. It’s time to start phase one of your orientation."
She was right. He should have known that. Being in the dungeon alone repaired damage to the body quickly, if not engaged in combat. In his other life, that small factor had been a chief cause of his death when he had bled out at the Altar of the End; the healing of the dungeon stalled due to nearby enemies. Sheepishly, he sat down in embarrassment. Seraph knew the reason, he had been in a state of shock from being unable to walk, and with his perspective as low as it was, had not noticed the healing magic of the dungeon restoring the use of his legs.
"Let’s begin. Let’s do your interview, and then we can get you some equipment,” she said.
Chapter 6: Starting Point
* * *
The female elf known as Sadie broke the silence between them first when she removed the hood that had been hanging from her neck like a scarf. Long platinum-white hair revealed itself as it fell forward past her shoulders, no longer tied back behind her head. Without the hood to obscure parts of her face, Seraph was able to take a better measure of her. Her face was illuminated in a pale light against the backdrop of the endless dark void behind her, accenting her features with a hardness not typical of the elves. This hardness contradicted the outgoing persona she had exuded before. Seraph noticed a single scar that marred what would otherwise have been a perfect face, contrasting with her high cheekbones and sharp features that suggested she herself had a cruel nature. The scar left the permanent appearance of an angry scowl.
Sadie noticed him looking, and her eyes flashed in annoyance, resenting the attention. Her eyes focused on him in hyper-vigilance before she spoke. “Rest a minute and catch your breath. This won't work if I can’t hear myself think over the sound of you panting like a dog.”
Seraph slumped down into the chair as he tried to mentally will himself to be as small and unnoticeable as he could. As he did so, he took advantage of
the small comfort of sitting to let his stamina and his pool of mana recover and replenish. Pathetic, he thought as he cursed this new body of his and its impulses. He was embarrassed by the assumption that he possessed wandering eyes, and more embarrassed by the weak performance of his body. His journey had only just started, and yet he was already struggling to meet the expectations he set for himself.
He was utterly exhausted; he had exhausted both his stamina and mana stores to a dangerous degree. For many currently in the dungeon, and many who would come later, the exertion may have seemed trivial, but the effort for Seraph had been anything but, due to his low base stats. The effort had almost killed him, although the permanent buff of "Mana Body" had certainly been worth it.
His biggest concern was that someone had seen him show this weakness. Should his stamina and mana be exhausted, he would revert to his weakened and crippled state. This was a secret he would kill in order to keep safe. But for now, Seraph was forced to dismiss the thoughts from his mind. The elf was currently too far beyond him, and he hoped that she had not realized the implications of what she had seen.
As Seraph waited for his stamina to recover, he took the opportunity to examine and look over his body, He wanted to see what, if any, changes had occurred following the +1 Buff to his STR, AGI, and END after developing the body of mana ability. The buff had helped to fill him out a little, but it had not given him any definition in his extremities or any easily observable growth. This was to be another concern he had not previously had. This body was weak, sickly, and feeble. He worried about his ability to survive, much less thrive in the dungeon with this handicap in place. It had just become apparent to Seraph that this concern needed immediate attention.
Seraph made no assumptions that he would be granted the same buffs he had been given in his first life. He had been extremely lucky in that regard. He had been awarded his legendary class, fully unlocked, within minutes of being placed in the dungeon. The unlocked legendary class had provided him with passive boosts that he exploited ruthlessly. Those buffs had afforded him the equivalent of a 50-level head-start advantage—something that amounted to years’ worth of effort. It was a lead he had taken advantage of to ensure that no one could close that gap. It was a promise and a creed he had lived by and would continue to live by. He would do everything he could to widen the gap between him and anyone who could be an enemy.
As Seraph looked over his emaciated body, he resigned himself to a long grind and difficult progress. He would not be able to boost his power like he had before. The spirit of the dungeon would not allow him to pursue such means of getting strong again, and he had no choice but to grow stronger. He was too weak as he was, and his weaknesses would kill him eventually, if he did not overcome them soon. He would have to find other ways to widen the gap between him and those who would eventually follow him, and he would need to find other ways to build his power base.
As Seraph reflected back on the decisions he had made since his rebirth, he noted some concerns that he would need to rectify. The elf seated next to him had already pointed out one of those concerns. Her earlier criticism was correct when pointing out that he could have simply stood up and walked, rather than crawling on his belly like a dying animal. He had overlooked and forgotten the healing power of the dungeon, and the implications of this were not lost on him. This was something he should have known and had forgotten and overlooked.
There was more to this than just casual oversight. This was a mistake, and the Black Seraph didn’t make mistakes. But, he realized, this was the issue. He wasn’t the Black Seraph—at least, not currently, and maybe never again. His current stats were the lowest they had ever been. Far lower than when he had first been brought to the dungeon in his first life. He considered his low wisdom and intelligence stats and found them to be the likely explanation for his lack of mental acuity.
Regardless of the reason and the explanation, he had made an error. An error that more than warranted the mocking looks and the harsh tone that Sadie had adopted when dealing with him. He promised himself that he would be more careful in the future. That one mistake had nearly cost him his life during a minor challenge. Out of necessity, this had become a learning experience. He would need to temper his expectations for his own outputs now that he possessed a less than ideal body and an immature brain.
A second problem then became clear to him regarding the elf woman, Sadie. She had been more than willing to kill him just a few minutes before, and while some of that willingness to kill was likely part of her function within this tutorial, there had been something more. Seraph recognized that something beneath the surface simmered—something that triggered a blood lust in her that would only be satisfied when he was dead. A hint of that something in the looks of bitter resentment, thinly disguised anger, and of hate, she directed at him. He would need to find the reason behind her hate. But as he looked for signs of those emotions again, hoping to gain insight, they were gone, replaced with the cheery disposition she had held when processing him into the dungeon.
Sadie interrupted his thoughts with a scathing look of contempt. "Are you so important that you’ve somewhere else that you need to be?”
Seraph went to respond but was cut off before he could say anything.
“You would do well to show more gratitude and humility toward my master and his creations,” Sadie said. “He has shown you a great deal of latitude never before given to others, and he has been extremely accommodating toward your condition and your situation, in spite of some of us having reservations toward your qualifications."
Seraph noted the edge to her voice and the pointed nature of her comments. They appeared to suggest that she knew much more about him than she let on. Just how much Seraph was unsure, but he would take precautions regardless. He would need to assume a measure of distrust with her. These unanswered questions lingering around the elf worried Seraph.
Though this was a civil setting, the dungeon could be full of volatile dangers—the sort of danger that comes from other people’s ambitions, need for vengeance, pettiness, and grand delusions. Seraph doubted the dungeon would try to kill him or ensnare him in some trap, given their connection, but he was unsure about the dungeon’s sentient minions like Sadie.
They may obey the will of the dungeon, and be of the dungeon, but they were not the dungeon and still possessed free will. Seraph would never forget that.
As he finished up the last bit of stamina and mana recovery, he remained on guard, assuming that at any moment Sadie could strike out against him. If so, he would be forced into a life or death battle that he was not prepared enough to win. It reminded him of something he did when vetting new recruits to his old guild by making applicants fight to the death and choosing from among the survivors those who would ascend into the guild, and then he and his officers would consume those that had not been chosen.
Two options were likely. The first option being that this chain of events was set up by the dungeon itself to prepare him to fight the elf as some sort of rite of passage to continue to progress out of the tutorial. His second thought was that he might be forced to fight one of the other early participants. These were the only ways he could think that made sense to foster both early growth and harden the new participants to the harsh realities of the dungeon.
In the other timeline, Seraph had his own method of hardening new participants to the dungeon. When time allowed, new humans were forced to fight each other in Battle Royale arenas as the other adventurers cheered on for the entertainment. Murder was the price of acceptance. His guild had recruited heavily from among the survivors of the practice. His guild under his direction had administered those Free-For-Alls. The practice had heavily boosted the experience and stats of the survivors.
Today’s orientation was nothing like the orientations he had held, and he was unsure if that was better or to the detriment of humanity.
The elf moved to grab a set of Tarot cards set nearby, and, with a calm look of icy detach
ment on her face, she began her task. She set the deck of Tarot cards on the table between the two of them face down and motioned for Seraph to pick ten cards. He complied with the directions, and each time he chose a card she would grab it and expertly place it in an arcane pattern.
The entire process went by quickly. The elf passed neither word nor glance in his direction.
When all ten cards had been selected, she weaved a series of hand motions and whispered words of power he could not hear, signs of mana glowing as the magic worked. The cards responded, illuminating in blue light with traces of the magic Seraph had previously collected when earning his mana body.
As the cards began to glow, the elf leaned forward in her seat, placing both hands over the cards and speaking softly, her voice aimed at the cards as she began to read the spread.
She pulled the first card. "I ask who is this man? The reversed Judgment answers. ‘This man is a contradiction. He is full of self-loathing and doubt, unable due to his own arrogance to understand and be aware of his own failings.’"
She held up the Judgment card for Seraph to see and asked, “Tell me, human, and be honest—for I’ll know if you're lying to me—if the world as you know it was to end today, who would you save?
Seraph didn’t need to stop and consider the question; he had already lived it and responded, “I would save myself.”
Without responding to his answer, she pulled the second card. "I ask for what cause must this man struggle? The Hanged Man answers, 'This man’s destiny is his doom. He will be a martyr. He will be a sacrifice.'"
She held out the Hanged Man card for Seraph to see and asked, “A great army that you have led is laid to waste. For what reason did they fall?”