by Oliver Mayes
Damien used most of his remaining stamina to leap after it, landing directly on top of it and pinning it on its back. With his forearm pressed against its critically wounded throat, he raised the shattered rib and plunged it into the rat’s chest. It only did 3 damage.
He threw his arm back high above his head and stabbed it over and over and over again. After seven or eight blows, which to Damien felt like a thousand, damage numbers stopped appearing. The rat gurgled blood and joined its compatriot in death.
Damien fell off sideways and landed on his back between the two dead rats, panting for air. On balance, the first rat had been much easier to kill. Maybe Aetherius had it right and jumping head first into dungeons was the way to go.
Covered from head to toe in filth and rat blood, Damien started shaking with anger. He could have found a decent name by now and started leveling all by himself, but he’d trusted in Aetherius instead. Oh, he was gonna get him all right. One dead enemy at a time.
Notifications popped up, informing Damien that he had learned two new skills.
Sneak Attack Unlocked!
Critical Strike Unlocked!
Still lying on the ground, he opened his menu and navigated to the ‘Skills’ tab.
Sneak Attack: Initiating combat before the enemy is aware of your presence is extremely effective. Damage is tripled for daggers and doubled for all other weapons when Sneak Attacking an enemy.
Critical Strike: Targeting weak points on an enemy will grant a multiplier effect that varies depending on the vulnerability of the weak point.
Damien read the names without bothering to read the descriptions. Scorpius had used both these skills before, so Damien was already familiar with how they worked. He was more interested in the experience gain. He looked at his Stats page. The experience bar was at 312/500. More than halfway to level 2.
He closed the menu and the blinking red light caught his attention once more. The headset was still recording. Damien was about to speak when he remembered that was how he’d attracted the last enemy. Then he remembered how much noise they’d made during the fight and decided that if something else was going to come and kill him, it would have done so already.
“Sorry about that. I’m a little preoccupied at the moment. I might not be able to talk much, but I’ll keep recording anyway.”
He inspected his health. It was back down to 14/100, but at least he’d avoided being bitten. He knew from experience that even if the bite hadn’t killed him outright, the secondary poison effect would have resulted in a slow, lingering and extremely annoying death.
He placed his hand on his latest victim and a new loot tab popped up. This one had an eyeball, a thighbone and even a ruptured spleen. Damien sighed wearily. Still trash. He could kill a dozen rats without getting anything useful. He’d probably have to kill a hundred of them to get all the component parts of one complete rat.
Damien had a little more time to inspect the items than he did previously and noted that, like the shattered rib, the thighbone had a durability stat indicating it could be used. He picked it up in his free hand and opened his inventory to run a comparison.
Thighbone
Durability: 10/10
Damage: 5
Properties: None
Description: A versatile item used in crafting, potion-making or, in a pinch, clubbing things to death (or mild annoyance).
Shattered Rib
Durability: 6/8
Damage: 3
Properties: None
Description: A versatile item used in crafting, potion-making or, in a pinch, stabbing things to death (or mild annoyance).
A stabbing weapon and a blunt weapon.
Look at that, Damien thought to himself, I’m not even level 2 and I’m already dual wielding. So pro.
He snorted and sat upright, placing a hand on each rat to take all the items into his inventory. Even if it was trash, he couldn’t afford to be picky. The items did not budge. Damien frowned before realizing the problem. He didn’t have an inventory. In addition to being unclothed, he’d never picked up a backpack.
Sighing, he looked at his health. It had risen to 21/100, the highest it had been since he started this hellish dungeon crawl.
Damien stood up. He was going to get out of here. The novelty of wearing nothing but a loincloth was starting to wear thin, and he still had a streaming contest to win and a mother to save. It wasn’t going to be easy, though. Even if he did have weapons now (sort of) he was still almost completely blind.
He looked up at the opening for reference. There had been a staircase running around the outside of it. If the pattern held, he’d probably find the bottom of the staircase connected to the outer wall. With something resembling a plan in mind, Damien crouched down and slowly moved to the edge of the cavern, searching for the stairs.
7
Dungeon Crawler
Damien placed his foot onto the smooth stone tiles with incredible care. He did not want to give away his position to anything that might be lurking nearby. He also needed to stay as quiet as possible so that he’d hear anything coming for him. Just because nothing had attacked him, that didn’t mean something hadn’t seen him yet.
In the distance ahead he thought he heard a faint scraping sound. He immediately came to a complete stop, scanning the darkness for any sign of life. He was reluctant to move closer without ensuring he kept the element of surprise, but his tools were extremely limited.
Maybe the trash items could come in useful after all. Very slowly, he retraced his steps to the fallen rats and looted the ruptured spleen. Drawing his arm back, he took aim and threw it ahead of him into the darkness.
He waited, his ears pricked, as it landed out of sight with a satisfying splat.
A moment later something clattered across the stone tiles, moving across his non-existent field of vision from left to right as it followed the noise. Now Damien knew where his quarry was. Using the sound of his enemy’s footsteps to mask his own movements, Damien followed in a low crouch.
A silhouette loomed out of the darkness a few feet in front of him. He could make out shoulders and a head, tilted down toward the floor. Whatever the enemy was, it was humanoid.
Nerves on edge, Damien lunged forward, driving the shattered rib into the thing’s neck and simultaneously smashing the thighbone across its head in the opposite direction. The last fight had been a mess; he wanted this enemy mob dead with as little fuss as possible.
Sneak Attack Multiplier Added!
Damage: 0
Sneak Attack Multiplier Added!
Critical Strike Multiplier Added!
Damage: 20
The attack with the shattered rib had done no damage. Had he missed? The enemy spun round, clacking its teeth menacingly as its empty eye sockets turned on him. Damien realized his mistake. It was humanoid, all right, it just wasn’t technically alive. The rags it was wearing had concealed its lack of flesh. No wonder the stabbing attack hadn’t done anything.
A bony arm swung at his head and Damien leapt back. The skeleton advanced on him with wild sweeps of its limbs, its teeth rattling all the while. Damien had the reach advantage.
He stepped backward, narrowly avoiding another swipe, and swung the thighbone round in a wide arc. There was a crack as bone connected with bone.
The skeleton fell to its knees, still clicking its teeth. Damien didn’t wait for it to get up. He brought the thighbone down on its head, exploding the skeleton’s skull into fragments. There was a low rattle and the dungeon fell silent once more.
Level Up!
Damien smiled. Now he was getting somewhere. He knelt and put a hand on the skeleton, hoping for a better weapon. Maybe by the time he got out of here he’d have a whole host of bone-based weaponry. Perhaps he could appropriate this thing’s spinal column and swing it around his head like a mace? Unless the game decided the skeleton didn’t have any bones to give him. He wouldn’t be surprised.
Looting the skeleton, he found somethin
g even better. Clothes!
They were only rags, no better than what he’d given Aetherius, but it was a whole lot better than continuing in a loincloth. At least now he could have a little dignity while he murdered rats and skeletons in this cold dank dungeon using nothing but bones and spleens.
He selected the rags and they were automatically equipped on him, leaving the skeleton’s body bare. As expected, the skeleton somehow had no bones to offer him.
Damien opened his Stat page.
Account Name: Damien Arkwright
Character: ????
Level: 2
Health: 110/110
Stamina: 110/110
Mana: 110/110
Stats:
Strength 11 - Agility 11 - Intelligence 11
Constitution 11 - Endurance 11 - Wisdom 11
Stat points: 5
Experience: 26/750
The level up had restored him to full health. Finally! He also had five stat points to allocate. Strength, agility and intelligence would increase his damage with specific skills and weapons. Constitution, endurance and wisdom would increase his health, stamina and mana by ten per point, respectively. How he allocated his stat points would affect what gear he could use and how his character would progress.
Heavy armor required decent constitution and high strength, but mage robes would need high intelligence and wisdom to unlock their power. On top of that, he needed to put the points into something useful to stand any chance of getting out of this dungeon alive.
It was an important decision, so Damien was far too focused on the numbers to pay any attention to the light draft that blew into his ear. Until it came again. And again. With the same steady rhythm as one might expect from breathing.
“That was extremely impressive.”
Damien didn’t hesitate. Even as fear gripped him, his elbow shot backward toward the voice. It connected with something, but didn’t budge. He twisted his head and found himself face to face with something far worse than rats or skeletons.
It was humanoid, but it was most certainly not human. A clawed hand had effortlessly caught his elbow before it reached the creature’s face. Pale skin was drawn tightly over it, more akin to wearing it like a mask than actually belonging there. And the eyes…the eyes were black orbs with no apparent pupils.
Damien could see his face reflected in them in duplicate, offering a bizarre warped insight into his own terror. It smiled at him, revealing row upon row of shiny white teeth, extending back into its mouth like a shark's. Two fangs stood out in particular, protruding to cover its colorless bottom lip.
The vampire continued to speak as if nothing had happened.
“Although, if you don’t mind my saying so, it was also quite pathetic.”
Damien moved to pull his elbow away. The vampire’s grip was not painful, but he couldn’t move his arm so much as an inch. It might as well have been encased in concrete.
But he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. He swung his free arm around, still holding the shattered rib. Another clawed hand intercepted it at the wrist and the weapon fell to the floor with an impotent hollow clatter.
“Are you quite finished?”
Damien tried to think of a sensible plan. Nothing came to mind.
“Look, I can see we’ve got off to a bad start,” the vampire said. “I’d like for us to get along. But I really am very hungry, and if you keep trying to kill me I’m going to have to eat you.”
He let go of Damien’s wrists.
Damien paused. The vampire’s own arms retreated underneath a black cloak. Even from just a foot away, the cloak meant Damien had to concentrate in order to perceive the creature’s outline. It blended into the darkness perfectly and would have given the illusion of the vampire being nothing but a floating head, if not for a few wrinkles in the fabric. It was probably enchanted for stealth.
“If I was going to kill you, I’d have done it already.” The vampire drawled. “Do me a favor. Ask me why I haven’t killed you yet.”
Damien looked it up and down, trying and failing to inspect it. It was talking and behaving like a player, but none of the cues Damien would have with a player were appearing.
Something else did show up in his HUD, though. A small silver skull flashed above the vampire’s head before fading away. This was an elite monster. Probably the dungeon boss. If that was so, Damien could see no reason why it would keep him alive. No reason that meant anything good for him, anyway.
“All right. I’ll bite—” The vampire’s eye twitched and Damien hurriedly threw up his hands. “Sorry! Bad choice of words. Why haven’t you killed me yet?”
The vampire had put the question in Damien’s mouth, but Damien had responded by putting his own foot there immediately afterward.
“How nice of you to ask. You see, while you would usually serve as a meal, I have a different proposal in mind. One from which we both stand to profit.”
Then its maw split into a jagged grin and some of the former light-heartedness returned.
“But I’m getting ahead of myself! Where are my manners? My name is Bartholomew and I am the master of this dungeon. The reason you aren’t dead yet is because you have no class.”
Damien looked down at himself and frowned. That seemed harsh. He’d only just started playing.
“Okay, look, I know I’m not very well equipped, but that’s a bit rude. I don’t have any gold yet to buy gear, and I came straight—” He flinched.
Bartholomew was groaning loudly and slowly drawing one of his claw like hands down his face.
“No, you imbecile! No class! No area of expertise! You are yet to choose a discipline. Fortunately for you, I can assist you in that regard.”
Damien eyed Bartholomew suspiciously. This seemed like a bid to eat him with extra steps.
“You… want to make me a vampire?”
“HA! Being a vampire isn’t a discipline, it’s a way of life. One that precious few can accustom themselves to. No, I wish to make you an occultist.”
Damien knew all the classes available to human characters. He’d reviewed them extensively before he started playing, and had never heard of an occultist. Despite himself, his interest was piqued.
“What’s an occultist?”
Bartholomew’s clawed hand whipped out of his cloak and he pointed at the ground at Damien’s feet, his fingertip glowing red. Damien yelped and jumped backward, trying to avoid the attack. But Bartholomew’s eyes didn’t leave the floor.
A red line zig-zagged into the stone tile where Damien had stood, searing a pattern into it. Damien caught his breath and glared at his erratic host. For a moment he’d thought Bartholomew was about to murder him where he stood.
The amused smile the vampire cracked confirmed that scaring Damien out of his wits had been the intention all along. Bartholomew demurely launched into an explanation as the runes continued to form under his extended finger, ignoring Damien’s displeasure.
“The occultist is a magic class that can only be taught by a master of the art. There is only one master of Occultism in Tintagel - me. In other words, you are being presented with a unique opportunity.”
The glow of the vampire's finger faded away and the completed image on the floor flashed red. While he’d been talking, the rune had completed its long trail. Damien might not have been a master of the art, but he knew a pentagram when he saw one.
As the circle and the star within it flashed, a black portal opened in the air above it with a low hum and a small red body dropped through, landing on the ground with grace and poise. Damien barely had time to register his shock before the creature swiveled to look at him and pulled what appeared to be a well-rehearsed gang sign. Damien recognized it all too well. It was an imp.
“You will gain the ability to summon and control demons, such as this… odious little specimen. Not to worry, though. As your power progresses, you will gain access to more impressive denizens of the underworld, each—”
Damien had stop
ped listening. He was looking between Bartholomew and the imp. Gears were turning in his head. They clicked into place and Damien realized who he was talking to. The town Scorpius had been trying to save from cultists was in the next zone. The cave where he’d had such a bad time fighting imps could only be half an hour away. Bartholomew wasn’t just a class trainer or a dungeon boss. He was the Big Bad Evil Guy of Scorpius’s campaign. The cultist leader Rising Tide had defeated just a few days earlier. Aetherius hadn’t kicked him into just any old dungeon: this was The Downward Spiral, a place so unspeakable that Rising Tide hadn’t shown the footage of what happened there.
Damien stared at Bartholomew slacked jawed. This was more than he could handle.
“You’re the leader of the cultists!”
Bartholomew’s tutorial ground to an abrupt halt. The moment the word ‘cultists’ was uttered, the imp stopped throwing gang signs and flinched. Bartholomew very slowly turned his derogatory gaze from the imp to Damien’s poorly timed interruption.
“No. I am not the leader of the cultists. There is no such thing. I am the leader of the occultists. Do try to keep that in min—”
“Oh, come on! I’ve seen plenty of those imp things before, always attached to angry, pale-looking weirdos screaming ‘Death to the Empire!’ and ‘We serve the shadows!” and all that nonsense. I can hardly go anywhere without them popping up and trying to kill me! You can add an ‘O’ if you want, but a cultist is still a cultist.”
The atmosphere changed immediately. The imp glanced between Bartholomew and Damien before scurrying away into the dark. Bartholomew soundlessly closed the all too narrow gap between himself and Damien, the cloak covering his feet so he seemed to float rather than stride. He extended a hand and roughly grabbed Damien by the back of his head, pulling him in close and deeply sniffing his face.