by Wolfe Locke
Seraph was not sure if he would be able to escape this. He was half expecting his father to reappear, or even one of the elves like Sadie to appear and save him, but he knew in his heart he couldn’t count on such a thing. It wasn’t going to happen. No one was coming for him he needed to save him.
As the intensity of the fire spread, and with the continued debuff from Desecrated Battlement, the remaining Hungers quickly burned to death as they were engulfed in the fire. As their bodies blazed, they screamed and tore at their flesh trying to save themselves, but the fire would not be denied.
The room was heavy with the smell of burning flesh and smoke, and though Seraph was thankful to have managed to kill the group of hungers, they were no longer the biggest threat against him. The fire was his main concern, and he had trapped himself in the building.
As he ran out of places to run, it appeared that Seraph would not survive either as he continued to backpedal to stay in front of the burning monsters until finally, his back brushed against the back of the reception area walls.
Maybe I’ll be able to survive this after all. I’ve got a chance, thought Seraph as he opened up one of the two rooms that the original hungers had shuffled out of earlier when they had first entered the building.
“I was wrong,” remarked Seraph as he saw something he hadn’t realized before. What he had thought were men and women’s separate bathrooms was, in fact, an unmarked room—possibly office space—and a separate family bathroom. Even though the two rooms had been adjacent to one another, he had thought there were two bathrooms, and he was wrong. This was just an assumption he had made based on the layout of the building and his previous experiences with similar buildings.
Seraph knew that if anything was going to save him it would be in the office space. Completely ignoring the bathroom, Seraph chose to open the door to what he thought was an office space and slammed the door behind him in the hopes that it would give him time before the fire spread this far. Giving him time to search for something with which he could save himself before the fire also spread to this room.
When his body began to heal the minor cuts and burns, it was a sign that all enemies nearby had perished. He took some comfort in that fact that if he escaped the situation, he would be safe for a little while. He looked round for anything he could use—maybe a fire extinguisher, a place to hide, or a fire blanket, but he saw nothing of the sort.
The only thing he noted was more filing cabinets, chairs, tables and desks and a small cubicle in the back with a sad yellowed window. The windowsill was full of pictures of what had once been somebody’s family.
Wait a minute, thought Seraph. That’s exactly what I need. He ran towards the window and tried to pull it up, if nothing else eager to just escape out the window.
Smoke now rapidly filled the room, and Seraph began to feel unsteady, light-headed, and dizzy. He knew he didn't have time to do anything but commit to a course of action. Seraph grabbed the ancient-looking printer and threw it at the window, causing the window to break.
The window was small, and Seraph knew there would only be one chance. He dismissed his plate armor into his spacial pocket—the plate armor that he received after specialization as a tank. He would need the ability to crawl unhindered if he was to make it through.
Without bothering to push out the glass shards. Seraph climbed up onto the desk and started to crawl through the window, the glass cutting deep into his unprotected extremities. Blood poured out as the lacerations bled freely. Ignoring the pain, Seraph only had thoughts of pushing forward until finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he fell to the ground below.
Landing with a loud thud, Seraph collapsed unconscious on the ground outside the building—exhausted, in pain, and unconscious, but alive.
Chapter 19: Reunion
* * *
The shape of footprints in the sand steadily revealed themselves as a man made of stars, and the infinite cosmos blinked into existence. An impossible man. The spirit of the World Dungeon whose true name was not to be revealed. A true immortal masquerading as a man under the guise of Michael. Along the beach he moved rather than walked, the sand forming into footprints by his will rather than by disturbance—another imitation of movement for a body that didn’t exist.
Michael approached the unconscious form of the man known as Seraph. Bending his knees, he squatted as he peered down on his unconscious form. He examined him for any lasting or residual injuries to both his body and his mind, watching as his cuts slowly healed, and burns disappeared and flesh mended. Finding no injuries in his inspection, he allowed himself to feel some measure of relief that the champion he had chosen was not yet broken. Probing and verifying his own suspicions as he placed a finger on the man’s forehead, he looked into his memories.
A quick glance showed him what he had not seen since leaving his viewing office—shards of glass on which the body of his champion lay bleeding, a broken window many feet above, and a burning, heavily damaged building that housed one of Michael’s visiting shops.
“Seraph has always been trouble for me,” mused Michael in consideration of the situation. This was not going as seamlessly as it should have. The fool had almost killed himself, but Michael partially blamed himself. He had not thought Seraph would turn down the opportunity to have his legendary class restored. It was a calculated risk. A calculated mistake. Seraph’s raw human form was much weaker than Michael had remembered from those brief moments before offering Seraph the chance to avenge himself on those who wronged him all those years ago.
Flames spread overhead, raging like an inferno as the fire enveloped the rest of the building. As the heat and embers bit at his body, Michael, with a wave of his hand, commanded the burning building to repair itself. Brick by brick, it set itself back on its foundation, the boards resetting themselves in their place. It was as if time itself were being reverted, and the building was restored to its form in the way the unconscious man had originally found it.
“Sloppy, so very sloppy. Reckless and risky,” critiqued Michael. For someone as calculated as he, the one who had been known as the Black Seraph, the Angel of Genocide, this approach and result was unexpected and underwhelming. For such a person as Seraph to have such issues early on during the beginning stages was a concern there would need to be an intervention.
Standing over Seraph, Michael called out, “Wake up, Seraph.”
Seraph stirred, but he did not wake, enveloped in the dreams and nightmares of the past. More forcefully, his voice edged with power, Michael called out, “Seraph, it’s time. Wake up.”
Seraph stirred and briefly opened his eyes before slipping back into a state of unconsciousness.
"I said wake up," Michael said again, this time with no hint of patience, almost yelling the command. Whether or not the sleeping man on the ground heard that commanding voice didn't matter as the sand itself underneath him rose up and threw him through the air. If not for dumb luck, Seraph would have become seriously injured, even if most injuries were only superficial outside of combat. Somehow, Seraph managed to land on his feet, the violence of the action jolting him from his sleep. In his confused state, it took him a second to realize he was suddenly standing. He could only look around in confusion and guess with a bewildered look on his face what was going on.
"Seraph. It's time to wake up. You've slept enough," said Michael.
Seraph blinked in groggy confusion, wondering who this man waking him up was, heavily disorientated from his fall and abrupt awakening.
"Don't be dramatic, Seraph. You’re fine. I’ve watched your wounds heal up, and even the residuals from that concussion are already disappearing. You've been resting, and you've rested long enough. You and I need to talk while it’s just you and I."
"Before we go any further, who are you?" replied Seraph as he adjusted the Cat’s Claw in his arm, ready to strike as he squinted his eyes trying to pinpoint how he recognized the voice. "How do I know you? What is your name?"
&nbs
p; Memories came unbidden to Seraph, as looking at the man before him seemed to reveal some of the man’s otherworldly nature. "It’s you. You're the spirit of the World Dungeon, aren't you? What are you even doing here? How can you be here for that matter? And what could you possibly want from me? Isn’t this enough?"
"As I once told you, Seraph, I am what I am. I am the dungeon, and the dungeon is me. In this body I have chosen the name of Michael for myself, though you have known me by other names. This form before you is an extension of me, just as the dirt and sand you have laid on is my body. I am the air that you breathe, I am the dirt that you tread on, I am the dungeon, and I am here Seraph, because things are changing. They are changing because you attempted to consume rather than merge with your younger self, and I fear you will fail in your purpose without intervention," explained Michael as Seraph looked at him in recognition, relaxing his grip on the Cat’s Claw.
“When I agreed to send you back in time, I did so in order that you may one day save the human race from extinction and desolation. Yet, time and time again, you have failed me,” admonished Michael.
“What do you mean I’ve failed already? I’ve only been here a few days,” replied Seraph.
Michael replied, “Seraph, it’s only because you and your father are still alive that this hasn’t been a complete failure. You just blindly accepted and followed the path, when I needed you to question. I needed you to lead. I needed you to change and grow.”
“I gave you a means to get your power back, to once again don the mantle of the Black Seraph, tempered with the humility of defeat, but rather than accept it, you refused that power. And in your refusal, you killed two other humans I had also gifted with power—and crippled a third. In your current state, you’ve almost died time and time again.”
Seraph said nothing as Michael continued.
“Did you even once attempt to persuade the others to your side? Did you try? You didn’t, not really. I watched you. Options existed—I ensured that—and you killed them instead. But your worst sin has been taking for granted the classes you had been given. Have you ever asked how you or your father might unlock your emblems?
“You haven’t asked,” answered Michael without waiting for a response, and Seraph knew it was wiser to wait before saying anything. “I’ve been watching you, and you haven’t. Neither have you asked my elves. So, as you humans like to say, let’s have a heart-to-heart. Let’s get to the bottom of what’s happening with you and why it is you’re not performing like I know you can.”
Seraph went to speak in his defense and answer the question, but he was immediately cut off and interrupted.
“I already know the answer, Seraph. You lack guidance. I remember the path of bodies you left in your wake. They numbered in the millions. More died at your hands than by mine. I had not wanted you to forsake power. I wanted you to build others up using that power.
“So first, Seraph, I give to you, all of humanity, a quest. The 1st guild to establish itself in Hometown will be granted five legendary classes. This is your contest to lose, Seraph. Do not.”
“Second, finding the upgrade shops will no longer be the focus of each floor. I have given control of each floor to a different demon prince. Each floor beyond can no longer be accessed by anyone until they have killed my floor boss. Spread the word on this.”
“Lastly,” said Michael as he moved his hands together in creation. “I grant you this. A single-use seed to spawn a shop—the only one in existence. Use it wisely. I would suggest not losing it."
With that, Seraph held out his hand in anticipation as Michael presented the rare gift. Seraph was worried only slightly about what manner of abilities that pocket shop would offer, but overall, he tried to minimize the thought lest it be withdrawn.
"No, Seraph, not an ability shop. This is an upgrade shop. You'll see when you use it. Just set it down when you’re ready. Be warned though, it can only be used once, and I will not be granting you another,” cautioned Michael.
Seraph put it into his spacial pocket for safe keeping, not yet sure where he would be able to place it and maintain control. "This is pretty amazing, Michael. Why all these changes, though. In my other life, not once did you ever appear like you have, except as I lay dying upon the Altar of the End"
"Seraph," responded Michael, "you weren't alone in failure. The failure was mine as well. I was to prepare humanity, and I was unable. Just as you have traveled into the past, so have I. This is not the dungeon you once knew. It is the remnants of the dungeon ripped from the future."
"Prepare for what?" asked Seraph curiously. "Prepare us for the final floor? The Future? Is that why I found Reverend in your tutorial.”
"To prepare you to survive, Seraph. The dungeon was only ever meant to be an arc. I need progress from you, Seraph. Either secure your guild, or defeat the demon prince of this floor. Goodbye, Seraph. I’ve said enough,” said Michael as he excused himself.
As quickly as Seraph had blinked into the world, Michael just as quickly faded out of it, leaving Seraph with more questions than answers and a generalized anxiety about the future.
Notification: The ability “Retreat” has been added as a default ability of all adventures. When not in combat state, utter the verbal command to “Retreat”, and you shall be transported out of the Dungeon into Hometown.
(Note - Ability does not work after dusk or during combat.)
Chapter 20 - The Road
* * *
Following his encounter with Michael, Seraph had to pause and consider his options. Now that it was daytime, he could use the retreat ability to go back to Hometown and rendezvous with Paul and Jack. They could make a plan of action to secure and start the guild. The spirit of the World Dungeon had given him one of two tasks: beat this floor or establish a guild.
Though it had already been a long day, Seraph figured it was somewhere around noon or a little past. He still had almost two full days before other people would start arriving. He had time to put off the guild, and he did some of his best work alone.
If he was going to go off alone into the city looking to fight the Demon Lord Beelzebub, he would need to consolidate his gains. Seraph mentally called up his status menu.
Name
Luca Fernandez
Race
Aliases
Seraph
Fallen
Passives
Abyssal Body
(+50 Melee Damage)
(-50% Healing Received)
(Dark Vision)
Abilities
Thousand Handed (79-1000)
Cold Hands (129-1000)
Burning Fist (48-1000)
Starfall (9-1000)
Preservation (N/A)
Level
Current Unassigned Stat Points
4
13 of 999
Current Experience
20 of 1000
STR
4
INT
3
AGI
3
WIS
3
LCK
2
PHY
1*
END
5
PER
3
SOL
$2230*
Four points to upgrade almost made the whole ordeal worth it—though, once upon a time, he could have easily gained stats many times more than that just by consuming one of his enemies.
That was another life though, Seraph thought as he pushed the thought away. He had realized he should absorb the abilities and stats of other humans only when absolutely needed—and when in the case of certain death. It was not a secret he planned to reveal ever again. It was his and his alone to know. He would not bring that ruinous knowledge into the public domain again.
Seraph knew where he wanted the four stat points to go, and he added every single one to boost his strength. So much of his fighting strategy ever since he had taken the Cat’s Claw was focused around precision cuts and
strikes. He could not afford for those strikes to not cut deeply enough. He needed to be stronger.
As soon as Seraph felt the power of the dungeon settle into his bones and his muscles, he set off, leaving the visitors’ center behind. He walked across the ruined parking lot, up the stairs, and along the walking path that connected to another road.