by Wolfe Locke
I tried to buy time for my children to evacuate into the dungeon using the seed I had planted, and though I stopped the Fetchers—the monsters that can leave the green mist and look for victims—it was still not enough time for the Dungeon Seed to sufficiently mature."
"What's a Fetcher?” asked Seraph curiously wanting to confirm it was the same thing from his memory." Despite how it may have seemed, Seraph had had limited contact with the Miasma and its monsters until after he had secured his Dark Mantle ability, an ability which afforded him massive defensive boosts to both raw stats and status protection.
"You wouldn’t have any need to know of it,” explained Reverend with a satisfied look on his face. “The Fetchers are wretched things. They are small and deformed, but they are quick too, with eyes in all directions. Much stronger than you would guess for their stature, they collect many of the people who are to be left behind, and they take them somewhere else—I’m not sure where. You'll find out either in person, or when you fetch my report. As you make discoveries, you'll find it automatically updates to reflect new topics."
This was impressive information. He regretted not having access to it in his previous life. “I didn’t know that,” he admitted with an appreciative nod. “But what are you now? What happened next?”
“One thing at a time, cousin,” responded Reverend, the blue in one eye beginning to move deeper into purple. “The Dungeon Seed wasn’t done, you see. It still needed something else to grow and mature, and I offered the only thing I could find—the people who were with me. I’m sure you may have encountered some of them—reanimated, soulless, intelligent things that they are now. But in the end, the sacrifices I made were still insufficient. So, I offered myself instead and took the immature Dungeon Seed. I cut deep into my own chest and gave myself to nurture it.
“The result,” continued Reverend, “is what you see here. The children were allowed to evacuate to Hometown, and I was bound to this location, forever unable to leave. The dungeon has made of me a Wright, though my captivity has made of me something darker and fouler still. Something that is both me, and of me, and separate from me. A thing that claws in the dark.
“So, now I find myself repeating questions I should never have to repeat,” said Reverend, his voice tinged with anger and some regret as the vestiges of the man began to fade as the purple orb flared again. “Tell me, what year is it? For how long, dear cousin, have I been trapped here?”
Seraph considered his answers carefully. Based on what he had seen and heard so far, this portion of the dungeon appeared to have continued to exist within the future that Seraph was from, but it also existed within the present.
“Careful, cousin,” interrupted the abomination that was Reverend. “I can smell a lie, and you reek of falsehoods.”
"I don't know for how long you've been trapped here. I'm also not entirely sure where this is. But I can tell you the year. It’s 2010," answered Seraph without trying to give away many other details.
"Impossible!" shouted Reverend as both eyes blazed with light. “I have been here, trapped, for endless decades, alone in the dark as everyone I ever cared about and knew has fallen or been consumed. It has been decades, adventurer! Cousin, you lie.”
“I promise you, I haven’t lied!” shouted Seraph as the floor began to break under Reverend’s body, and things begin to shift out of sight, revealing what had been hidden. Seraph had thought Reverend was stuck to a pillar, but what he had thought was a pillar appeared to be a great black root, gangrenous and vile-looking. It appeared to have grown from the man’s torso and embedded itself into the ground.
The floor continued to break as Reverend sped forward like a serpent, the wooden planks underneath him parting like a wave, reforming behind him. The bulk of his body was far greater than anything Seraph had guessed, and now he witnessed some of what lay beneath the floor.
The Reverend Seraph had been speaking to was little more than a puppet for the abomination that had been lurking beneath the floor. Hiding the true body of the monster that lived below his feet.
Still, the monster came at him with a speed that Seraph had difficulty keeping up with, and as he went to a guard position with his Cat’s Claw, he wondered for a brief second if it was even possible to get out of this situation.
Without warning, and before Seraph could see anything, Reverend was upon him, hands like claws upon his throat, and duel orbs of purple looking directly into his eyes. The monster sniffed once, then twice. “You lie, cousin.”
As Seraph went to protest, he was thrown across the room with enough force that when he hit the ground he heard an audible snap. His off-arm was broken on impact. Instant pain flooded through Seraph’s mind, but he couldn’t think about the pain, regardless of its distraction.
He needed to walk away from this alive. He grabbed the pills he had found earlier from within his pocket, taking two of them to numb the pain as he tried to assess the situation. Reverend sped across the room again to finish the job and kill him as Seraph began to mentally charge his Starcall ability—this time, focusing the point on himself.
Seraph’s vision wasn’t working like it should have been—a sign of damage to his body that he didn’t want to consider. He never saw Reverend as he was lifted off the ground again, this time the monster laughing as he was struck across the face with a blow that split his cheek on the sharpened high bones of his skull. As he spat out white flakes in bloody spittle, he wondered about deeper damage until he realized he had just lost teeth.
Coughing up blood, he knew if this lasted any longer he was likely going to die. This was too early to face alone. This monster that Reverend had become was far beyond him. Once again, his ego and over-confidence would be his undoing.
“Weak. Pathetic,” muttered Reverend with regard to Seraph. “Maybe he wasn’t lying about being a new adventurer. Only new adventurers and regular humans are this weak. No, no; can’t be. He lies! He lies!” Eyes flashed in disagreement, but the monster continued to move across the room where it had thrown Seraph.
An idea came to Seraph as he struggled to remain consciousness. His ears rang, and the sensation of vertigo hit him. He just needed to present the Wormwood Report, and the dungeon would be forced to send him onward to safety. Seraph held no illusion that whatever Reverend had become, this would not be the day that Seraph freed him.
“Stop!” yelled Seraph as he released his Starcall, the room turning to white as he was unable to turn away in time. It seemed to work though, as the blow that Seraph thought would kill him never came. He quickly used the time to reach out into his spacial pocket and pull out the Wormwood Report. “I have the Wormwood Report, Reverend. Stop this madness.”
The monster stopped, and though its eyes had not been affected like Seraph’s had, they still lingered with some vestiges of limitation. “Let me see that, cousin. If you’ve lied again, I'll spend the rest of your life flaying your skin and tissue from your bones, reanimating and healing you only to repeat the process.”
Seraph blindly held the report out, and the undead man quickly snatched it out of his hands.
“This report has been activated already, not just found,” accused Reverend, its eyes flashing deep red and purple. “You’re one of us, aren’t you? You’re of Carrion Crow? What of the guild? How do they fare? Only officers are taught how to undo the seal.”
The monster looked on in wonder, and Seraph took the time to stand up and at least try to get his posture correct. He leaned in to whisper into the monster's ear. “You once called me Lord. I who was the Black Seraph. This truly is a new beginning. Be well until I come for you again”.
The monster looked back in confusion and reverence at the revelation as Seraph disappeared.
The dungeon had accepted his quest completion.
Chapter 20: Welcome To Hometown
* * *
Gradually, Seraph began to wake, his face pressed into the fibers of the office carpeting he had been passed out on. His head was heavil
y swollen and itching from the rough fabric. Impulsively, he went to scratch his face and was met with an immediate response of agony as pain wracked his whole body. Sensation was returning to his limbs, and consciousness returned to his mind. The idle sensation of carelessness he had been experiencing disappeared as he was reminded of the events that had put him where he was.
Badly hurt and near death, Seraph had barely been able to escape being killed at the hands of his old guild member and companion, Reverend. He had become an abominable type of undead wright, a Dweller in the Dark.
At heart, Seraph knew he had been outclassed by the monster as he had been unable to do anything to stop him. Until his injuries finished healing, he had to resist the compulsive need to check his gum line to see if he was still missing his teeth, or if they had regrown already.
What Seraph knew was that he hadn’t been unconscious for long. That he was currently starting to feel pain meant that the pills he had taken were wearing off, but not enough time had passed yet for the dungeon to heal his injuries. At least, not all of them. He no longer felt the jagged tears in his chest and labored breathing indicative of a collapsed lung or broken ribs. Those, at least, had healed.
Trying to stand, he found the pain was still too intense, and he had to calm himself to wait it out on the floor. Then a hand grabbed him by the back of his head and sharply pulled him off the floor, a light flashing in front of his eyes. Behind that light, he could only guess at who or rather what was examining him.
Anger and the force of wrath filled his body as his stature adjusted itself in the wake of his temporarily boosted status.
“Let go of me!” Seraph demanded with a voice full of hostility as he attempted to interject a hint of his power into the demand. He did this despite knowing it would do no good. Seraph could hear the fatigue in his own voice.
“He’s still alive!” shouted a voice that Seraph knew he recognized from somewhere. “Go ahead and let the higher ups know he’s going to make it.” Whatever the man had been looking for, he had found it, because as soon as he picked Seraph up, he was placing him down on the ground.
Seraph strained to try to look at the man who had grabbed him, but his eyes had still not adjusted, and for his effort to look, his only response was one of pain.
“Hey, listen kid, knock that off. Just give it a few more minutes, so the healing can kick in and take care of you. You look like absolute shit, I'm sorry to say, and that face of yours has taken one hell of a beating. I guess that’s just what to expect from a guy who just graduated first in his tutorial class. Congratulations, by the way,” said the man.
“I'm Garen, and I’ve just got to say well done, kid. Well done. None of us on this side of the fence expected you to manage any of that on your own. I was positive you were a dead man walking until just now. Man, that was intense. Well done. Seriously. So, take a second to catch your breath and get your bearings. I’m going to unseal the other participants in a minute. Each of them has been sealed away in a sort of stasis, waiting for the tutorial class to end. We’ve just been waiting on you.”
Notification: Quest Completed - Complete Phase III by presenting the Wormwood Report to the monster known as Reverend
Reward: 300 Sol, 150 Experience Points.
Reward: Gain a tailored ability.
Notification: Ability unlocked. “Cold Hands” At will, the user may siphon thermal energy on touch. The speed of the siphon is 3% per second, with an additional 1% per point in Intelligence.
Notification: As the first person to complete Phase III, you have been granted an additional 300 Sol and an additional 150 experience points. Additionally, you have been granted two stat points to assign.
Notification: The Wormwood Report has been upgraded and transformed into the Wormwood Codex. Data on the Fetches and the Infernals has been added.
“Good,” said Garen. “It seems like you’re coming around—judging by that look in your eye that says you’re reading status prompt notifications. Wait to assign any points till after this is done, okay?“
Garen looked down at Seraph, who was still lying on the ground. “Okay, give me a minute. This is really starting to bother me, kid.” Garen bent down, his knees cracking with age, and reached out his hand to help Seraph up. Seraph, while prideful, accepted the help.
This wasn’t a man he wanted to offend, and he was still feeling the sheer magnitude of the extent of his injuries. If he had been a normal man, he would likely be dead on the floor, or worse—back in that room with Reverend, still screaming as his skin got flayed. One of the benefits of the dungeon was that he could at least rule out permanent damage.
“Here,” Garen said as he guided Seraph to a chair. As Seraph’s vision began to clear, he saw that he had been seated at a table in what appeared to be a conference or training room. It was not lost on him that he was sitting alone.
Garen clapped his hands twice, and those who had been in stasis appeared—disheveled and confused. They then took seats in the other chairs around the table. Seraph inwardly cringed. This was not a confrontation that he wanted—this was just a side show he’d rather avoid. He looked around, and the others in the room avoided his eyes—at least, those who knew him. He was already a pariah. A suspicion confirmed when not even Paul would look his way.
Garen moved to the front of the conference room and began to speak. “For those of you who didn’t hear me before, my name is Garen, and I handle in-processing into Hometown. I've some other duties and functions that go along with that, but you’ll find out later about those. They aren’t relevant to what we are doing right now. Let's focus on the fight and the hell you’ve all just been through. I hope you learned a lot because it only gets worse and deadlier from here. In spite of what you might think, this was done for your benefit.
“So…” Garen continued, looking at the group as he rubbed his hands together, “for those of you who are unfamiliar with this process, it's called an after action review—or a debriefing if you prefer? This is a convenient way to process and go through what it is that you’ve done, what it is that you’ve been through, and what you can do better.
I try to follow the three up and three down formula, but I’m not married to it. It just depends on the flow. That means focusing on ways to improve and sustain the good that you did, if anyone was wondering? First, let’s focus on those participants among you who managed to be killed before the start of Phase III and were afforded a respawn.”
“For the record, folks,” Garen empathized for clarity, “we don’t do second chances around here. If you die from here on out, it's for keeps.”
From the back of the room, Alexander spoke up and asked, “Why wouldn’t you just tell us that we would respawn if we died? I was terrified, and I know I wasn’t the only one. That's not cool, man.”
Seraph saw that most of the heads in the room nodded in agreement. Fools. They’re hardly able to realize the favor that’s been granted to them, Seraph thought in judgment.
“It’s simple, it really is, and I'm guessing most of you,” Garen answered as he looked at the group, his eyes lingering on Seraph for a moment, “aren’t going to like the answer. You, all of you, are being cultivated to fight and to kill, but most of you are soft. These concepts are as foreign to you as hunger to a man that’s never missed a meal. We needed you to learn and to overcome. Again, I repeat myself, this was done for your benefit most of all.”
A clamor broke out among the participants as they yelled and screamed over each other, wondering what was going on. They screamed accusations at Garen, demanding to talk to whoever it was that Garen identified in his “we” statement. Garen held up his hands, asking for patience and silence, but all of them ignored the commands.
All but Seraph, who finally placed where he knew the man from. This man whom in that other life had been an early rival for Seraph. This man who was not a man at all. Garen was the leader of the elves who ruled over Hometown, and he answered directly to the spirit of the dungeon. He wa
s not a man to be ignored or trifled with.
“Quiet. Quiet, please,” repeated Garen, his face strained with the polite and practiced smile of a politician. When this still did not give him the attention he asked for, he used his power to demand it as he thrust a fist out and a wave of yellow energy forced the arguing participants back into their seats. A follow-up red wave silenced every sound from within the room except for him. People continued to yell, but no sounds could be heard.
Garen looked out at the shocked faces and shrugged, their discomfort wasn’t his problem, and they had interrupted him. “Now, as I was saying—and, please in the future, do not make me repeat myself. I will not be as accommodating—we will be focusing first on those of you who died. Mary Anne, it was an interesting choice to go with the mermaid cosmetics.
We did try to work out the details for you after, but you refused our help. I hope the experience of suffocating out of water wasn’t too traumatic. I imagine it was a bit awkward to die like that. It certainly looked unpleasant.”
Seraph looked at the woman that Garen was talking to. Her face had gone from blushing in embarrassment to pale from the reminder.
“That said, I've taken some executive liberties and removed those cosmetic selections. This is why you're reverted to your human form. You’ll be allowed to choose from a pre-set list of approved races, if you find your human form unappealing,” he explained.