Heroes of Darkness: A Dark Dungeon Realm LitRPG Omnibus Collection

by Wolfe Locke

  Seraph thought of the Locum Malificar, and though the question was a rhetorical one to get him to reflect on his failings as a leader, he had experience to pull from. “Overconfidence,” he answered. “Failure is hard to consider when you’ve only known success on the battlefield. Sometimes you have to be reminded there is always a bigger fish.”

  She nodded, seeming to appreciate the answer, before pulling the third card. "I ask from where this man comes? The Tower answers. 'This man is a herald; he comes from disaster and calamity on the race of men.'"

  She held the Tower card for him to see and asked, “A rival faction has begun to emerge and gain advantage among your allies. How do you respond?

  Seraph considered her question for a second and deliberated with himself internally before finding his answer. “You get rid of them. All of them. Every last conspirator, and every last would-be enemy, even if it means biding your time until you can be rid of them all at once, just like in the game of Risk. If you can’t wipe the board with an attack against rivals, you leave yourself vulnerable to be destroyed by somebody else.”

  She frowned but said nothing and pulled the fourth card. "I ask what this man must overcome?" The Four of Cups answers, 'This man must overcome his apathy, for apathy is death, and indifference toward a helping hand will be fatal.'"

  She held the Four of Cups up for him to see and asked, “You look into a mirror, and it reveals your greatest faults. What does it show?”

  Seraph thought back on his other life and the decisions he had made. “It shows that the helping hand I have offered has been a tyrant's grip. I have always tried to bear burden myself, even when those burdens have to be shared by others, but I have not done enough to strengthen those who bear them alongside me.”

  “That sounds a bit like regret,” she commented before moving on and pulling the fifth card. "What must this man gain to know victory? The Knight of Cups answers, 'He must gain discernment. Be wary of low hanging fruit. Ask of all easy things, what is the cost?'"

  She held up the Knight of Cups for him to see and asked, “A demon you cannot defeat has taken your closest friend, your father, and your lover captive, but you can only save one. Who do you save?”

  To Seraph this was an important question that he had long ago answered for himself. “Love and passion are fleeting, and friends can drift apart, but the bonds of blood are forever. I’d save my father.”

  She pulled the sixth card. "What must this man be warned against? The Five of Swords answers, 'Be wary, lest victory defeat you. Choose battles carefully or risk losing everything. Be wary of forcing one’s companions to leave you. One’s actions ripple beyond oneself.'"

  She held the Five of Swords before him and asked, “Before you is a great weapon. You may use it freely whenever you wish, and no one but you may use it. What do you do with it?”

  Too easy, thought Seraph. “I would use this weapon to destroy my enemies, and the threat of its continued use would be a deterrent, allowing me to suppress any dissent against me.”

  Sadie closed her eyes slowly then blinked, clear disappointment on her face before continuing. She pulled the seventh card. "What effect will others have on this man’s victory? The Queen of Swords answers, 'Another will join him of harsh critique and demeanor, to teach and train him but never know him.'"

  She held the Queen of Swords for him to see and asked, “You see two creatures, one of dark and one of light, one of bane and one of holy. From which do you draw guidance?”

  Seraph considered the question. He had already been a creature of darkness, and he doubted he could learn much from another creature of the dark, but of the light there was plenty he knew he was ignorant of. “I would choose the creature of light, this holy being to draw guidance from. I know what I am not. There is no shame in drawing strength toward my weaknesses.”

  She pulled the eighth card. "What influence does the past have on the future this man struggles toward? The Ten of Swords answers, 'This man has known absolute defeat and tasted unavoidable calamity. His fate cannot be denied.'"

  She held up the Ten of Swords in front of him and asked, “A man, his wife, and the three children they foster are to be evacuated by life raft in the aftermath of a storm, only to be marooned by themselves on a nearby tropical island. However, only three of them may be saved? Whom do you choose to save?”

  Without even having to think on the question, Seraph answered, “I choose the strongest among them—those most likely to survive once they reach the island. Without further information on the contrary, I’d assume this to be the two adults and the eldest child. Better one of the children survives than none.”

  Sadie frowned but had no retort to it. She pulled the ninth card. "To whom does this man owe the future? The Devil answers, 'The future is owed to his own appetites. The voice that traps itself in the throat. He pays homage to that which he desires—vengeance and retribution.'"

  She shoved the Devil card in front of him and asked, “The thing you desire most has been stolen from you. What is this desire?”

  Seraph answered calmly, “The power to be free of the whims, desires, and the machinations of others. To be something that cannot be controlled or tamed, simply avoided and tolerated, like a typhoon or winter storm.

  She pulled the last card. "What is this man’s victory? Death answers, 'This man will know an end. New life will be given, and from the ashes, seedlings will spring.'"

  She held up the Death card to him to see and asked, “Someone close to you, a trusted lieutenant, has been discovered attempting to betray you at the height of a campaign. A betrayal that would cost you victory. How do you respond?”

  To Seraph, the answer was always known. “If they do not serve me in life, they will serve me in death. I’d consume their essence, their soul, and use it for my own power, and if within my means, I would reanimate the corpse and add it to my minions.”

  When the reading was over, the elf stood and walked away down another path that lit up as she walked. Seraph walked wordlessly behind her, thinking on the meaning behind the cards she had pulled. The meaning of some cards had not been clear to him, while the meaning of others had been painfully obvious, making him wonder if the magic behind the reading was clairvoyant or omniscient or if she was just skilled at guessing at information.

  "Where are we going?" he asked curiously. Just the reading itself could be of great benefit to him if he could just figure out the meaning. He had no doubt in their truthfulness.

  "We are heading toward Phase II of orientation, which is the start of your actual dungeon experience. In the cards, your fate—as it has been ordained—has been revealed to you, but foreknowledge should not be confused with forearmed. Maybe the words make more sense to you and you’ll benefit from them, but regardless, you will not be sent to start your journey defenseless. You will be armed. If you complete Phases II and III, you will gain access to the ability cultivated from the reading."

  Notification: Quest - Complete Phase II and Phase III. Upon completion, Seraph will be awarded a personalized ability.

  This was welcome news to him. Any advantage or power up was a benefit. "Just how many phases are there?" he asked. "Am I the first to finish?”

  The elf turned around and looked at him, eyes probing him, looking for something. Something he could not guess. A faint trace of surprise was barely noticeable on her face. "Seraph, If you’re asking about your father in a roundabout way. He lives and is likely to survive the remaining two phases. Only one of you humans have died so far—a woman who refused to remove herself from the starting point. Her mind was unable to accept what it had decided was impossible. She was judged to have forfeited her right to survival, and the dungeon consumed her."

  This piqued Seraph’s interest. She had been killed not by an environmental threat or an enemy, but by being judged unworthy to live. How was that any different from many of the lives he had taken?

  "Why did the dungeon consume her?" Seraph asked, wanting clarity.


  "She knew her life was in danger and refused, even in fear of death, to step forward. She had chosen the cosmetics of what you would deem a mermaid and began to asphyxiate without water. She refused the accommodations provided to ensure her survival. We have arrived," she finished.

  The dark path had led them to an ornate oak door. Just a door—no walls, and no ceiling—though it was a beautiful door with sculpted bronze and gold leaves. The elf reached into the collar of her clothing and pulled out a key with which to open the door and motioned for him to go inside.

  An elven armory, he realized as he stepped through. Inside, he saw racks filled with weapons and armor of all types, neatly packed away in this pocket dimension. Convenient to quickly transport weapons for an army. He had only heard of these armories in his other life, but he had never seen them.

  When he had conquered the elves in the other timeline, he had not been able to secure all the spoils before his few rivals, and special resources like this had been very rare. Rare enough that the other humans had destroyed their armories when they found themselves fearful over losing control of them to Seraph. The key itself held the armory and could be opened from any door.

  "What weapon do you have an aptitude with?" asked the elf, though Seraph guessed she already knew the answer. “You need to be taught the basics.”

  Finally, this was an area were Seraph could show his genius as one of humanity's elites, long-favoring an elegant spear over all other weapons. "The long spear. Give me the long spear.' The elf arched her eyebrows, clearly questioning how sound of a decision that was.

  Regardless of her doubt, it was his decision, and he insisted, so she tossed the spear toward him. His fingers barely brushed the shaft of the spear before dropping it on the ground. "Can you at least pick it up and hold it?" He was absolute in his confidence that he could, but the elf had her doubts and made those doubts well known and apparent.

  His own doubts appeared after he struggled to pick up the spear, and they worsened when he struggled to hold it, his arms shaking with exertion before being forced to drop it. Even with his mana body buff, he was still too weak to wield the weapon that in his other life he had been an expert with.

  The elf looked at him with open contempt. "Part of being a man is knowing one’s own limits. It seems you can't recognize yours. What other weaknesses do you have? Too prideful to see and recognize. How could you not have known your limits? I have an easy solution for this. In the absence of good fundamentals, and when lacking proper physicality, a mace will have to do until you are able to pick some skills."

  She rolled the mace over to him on the floor. She had a valid point, Seraph had to admit. He wasn't strong enough to wield his weapon of choice—regardless of his experience. He picked up the mace, admiring its simple design and its relatively lightweight, and though he was a pure novice with the weapon, he was confident he would soon be able to master it.

  He took a stance and began going through a series of movements to try to get a feel for the weapon. With each movement, the power of the armory was fully transparent as pieces of gear and armor began flying off the racks and shelves, until, finally, the clothes he had been wearing had been reduced to bare thread at his feet, and he found a new outfit being magically put on him. A dusty olive-black overcoat with his soft areas wrapped in a gray cloth under armor, and the shoes he was wearing were replaced by heavy steel-toed tan boot. It offered some more protection for him.

  “It originally came with a tweed cap, but it was decided with your new horns it wouldn’t do, and with your new racial attributes, it was deemed you needed something thicker than the jumpsuit you were wearing. Fallen are quite susceptible to the cold,” explained Sadie.

  No sooner had he finished inspecting his new look, when he felt an intense killing intent again. The elf was moving toward him to attack, her hand brandishing a short-curved sword. In his other life, blocking and countering the attack would have been easy. Instead, he was struggling with rare indecision at the worst of times. He made his choice. He was unsure if he could block the attack with his current body, so rather than try, he jumped out of the way as the blade descended.

  As he jumped, he heard the sound of a blade slicing through the air but heard nobody shifting, and still, his vision remained on Sadie. Someone or something was attacking him from behind, and without the ability to maneuver in the air, he had no choice but to block as he slammed his mace into the downward slicing sword. As his mace connected with the steel of the blade for a moment, his eyes locked with the pale blue orbs of the Spectral Knight that had attacked him, which disappeared immediately after its blow had been blocked.

  "Well done," said the elf in simple compliment. "Two more of you humans died during this iteration. One neither attempted to block the attack nor move out of the way—the fool thought his new-found stature as a Minotaur made him somehow immune to attacks—and the other assumed skill with a blade based on his new Elven stature, skill that he didn’t possess. Both have learned a deadly lesson."

  That made sense to Seraph. “Learning firsthand is different from being told. It's a valuable experience, though I thought it would be more complicated. All you did was try to attack me and sent your Spectral Knight after me. Besides, what about my father? How did he do?"

  "I didn't try to attack you. I loudly broadcast that I would kill you, and I would have if you did less than required to survive, move, or block my attack. I also made sure my minion was loud enough to warn you of the danger. This isn't a trial, it’s a tutorial. The intent is to help people live—even if it kills a few. And, yes, your father is fine, though you may be surprised at his changes," said the elf. "Considering how unimpressive your performance was, he's a natural prodigy and a genius with the blade. He actually asked for a long knife, the ceremonial dagger of a calvary soldier, and had to explain a bit to us about what exactly one was."

  The elf continued, "And no, human, this wasn’t it. This isn’t phase two. You remaining humans are going to do a quick run through a trial dungeon allow you to get a feel for what the real one will be like. You’ll be given abilities based on your reading to assist you."

  The elf pulled out her key again and headed toward the door. "Come on now. It’s time for Phase II. This is the fieldwork portion—the trial dungeon."

  Chapter 7: Phase II Begins

  * * *

  Seraph followed the dungeon guide as she walked off into the gloom that surrounded them. With his eyesight boosted by his new racial attributes, he had no difficulty keeping up with her in the dark. After they had walked for some time, she held up her hand in a closed fist to get Seraph to stop in place as she pulled another item from her spatial storage and threw it on the ground.

  Without any noise, an aged-looking brown door grew up from the spot in which she had thrown the item. She looked back at him as if to say, ‘Come along’ and opened the door. Though only darkness could be seen within that doorway, she stepped through it without hesitation.

  Seraph looked at the door in suspicion; he had reason to hesitate. He had no way of knowing what he would find on the other side until he stepped through the doorway. He didn’t hesitate long. The only answer for him was forward, following behind her. As he passed through the doorway, his eyes were temporarily blinded by the sheer light that glared down at him with an intensity he had never struggled with before. He covered his eyes with his hands, trying to shield himself from the white glare and give his vision time to recover.

  “Your eyes will get used to it,” remarked Sadie. “It’s the racial change. I’m sure you’ve found your eyesight in the dark has dramatically improved. This is a passive trait of all Fallen—you’ll find that you’re more suited for the dark than the light. Fitting really, considering your background, Seraph.”

  Notification: Passive Unlocked – Due to your racial change to “Fallen”, you have discovered a weakness to light, manifesting as temporary blindness when exposed to light. Alternatively, you have discovered that you now p
ossess “Dark Vision”, which grants the user limited vision in the absence of light and increased vision in reduced light environments”.

  There it is again, thought Seraph as Sadie made yet another comment suggesting she may know his true identity. Seraph couldn’t rule out that she still had her memories from the other timeline. He couldn’t rule out that all the elves still had their memories from before.

  Red flags went off in his head as the realization of the danger he was in hit him. “Blind!” he cursed. “This is the last thing I needed.” Seraph almost missed the sound of footsteps running toward him, pounding against the wooden flooring he felt beneath his feet, heading his direction.

  In the absence of one of his senses, he knew a method to supplement his other senses, but he could not currently use it due to his low stats. But in this situation, he didn’t need better senses to tell him something was going to crash into him. He braced himself for the hit, unable to see what was coming his way and unable to defend himself.

  “Can you help me, Sadie?” Seraph asked, assuming the dungeon guide might be responsible for assisting him in this situation.

  “I’m just a guide, not a babysitter,” she answered in a cheery tone—a tone that no one but Seraph could tell was full of mockery. The message was received; he was on his own.

  As the sound of running moved closer to him, Seraph resigned himself for the hit as the impact was upon him. But the hit never came. Instead, Seraph felt hands grab him and pick him up, wrapping him in a long extended hold, threatening to break his ribs. No, not a hold, he thought with a sigh of relief. Just a hug.

  "Kiddo! This is amazing!" said a familiar voice—the voice of his father—and though Seraph’s vision was only just now starting to adjust to the bright light, he could make out the biggest smile on his father’s face. The man’s happiness was evident.