The Genesis Game 1

by Andrew O'Kelley

  Chapter 5: Into The Dungeon

  * * *

  When his father left the room and the door shut behind him, Seraph breathed an audible sigh of relief. To an extent dealing with the man was rather difficult He found pretending to be a near-helpless teenage boy exhausting. Having even a few moments of respite from the man was already paying off as Seraph examined the demonic horns that he had chosen from the available props, he was 100% positive that his father would have interfered and prevented the selection. While they appeared cheap and completely ridiculous, he was hopeful that the cosmetic selections made would translate into racial selection, complete with bonuses once integrated fully into the dungeon.

  His father truly was a good man who meant well, but he also prevented Seraph from acting to the fullest extent that his foreknowledge allowed. In short, the man was a complication, and there were things he needed to do that this father’s presence would eventually complicate.

  Overall, Seraph assessed his thoughts on the matter as confused. Whether this was due to general nostalgia or the effects of once again having an immature brain, with its poorly defined emotional controls, or impulse controls, it was clear to him that the presence of his father had affected his thinking and decision-making.

  While Seraph had enjoyed the presence of his father, and he freely admitted it to himself that he had enjoyed portions of this day. It still had already become a distraction for him, an enjoyable distraction, but a distraction, nonetheless. Any diversions now could have massive consequences for the future. If those distractions come between him and his goal of conquering the dungeon, unsealing his power, and saving humanity, he would have to remove those distractions, or remove himself from the presence of those distractions.

  While the thoughts turned over in his head, he came to the conclusion of a hard truth. The father Seraph had originally known had been dead for decades and long since mourned, but the man he was traveling with was living and breathing. Though it had been 30 years since he had last seen the man the passage of time had not abated the sense of loss he had felt and this man, this man was still his father.

  Regardless of the passage of time or his current sense of fondness for his long-lost father, he had a more pressing concern. So long as he held the body of a child, or rather a pubescent teen, he was at his father’s mercy and at the mercy of whatever whims he has and whatever beliefs he holds. Seraph realized he would need to act accordingly until he had enough strength to separate if needed.

  “Besides, there are benefits to changing the future.” Thought Seraph, and he examined his new horns. The presence of his father was not all risk. New options existed that didn’t before. Seraph was excited about some of the possibilities that would be open to him now that he had access to someone who held the hero emblem, which bestowed access to the Hero class. In his first life, there had been only two Heroes that Seraph knew about. One he had killed with his own hands on the 3rd floor of the dungeon, and the other his guild had hunted down and killed. It was a benefit that Seraph now had a potentially powerful ally that would ensure his safety so long as he kept up the father and son charade. But more than anything, Seraph was excited about his father remaining alive, and that very human emotion surprised him.

  Regardless of whatever thoughts and plans Seraph might have considered for the emblem bearers and their respective classes, there was one thought that drowned them all out, pushing those thoughts aside as the emblem in Seraphs possession pulsated with power, demanding, needing to be his primary concern. The emblem of the Black Seraph, the Angel of Genocide, the Accuser, the one who would bring test and trial of the weak during man’s calamity.

  Those black wings on the emblem unique to his rebirth, for in his other life they had been his own personal sigil, a symbol that spread dread and fear as it claimed absolute power among those few who had been spared by Seraph. The same sigil which was used as the mark of the player killer guild he had formed "Carrion Crow" in the early days within the dungeon before reorganizing the guild for more generalized command as they grew.

  Seraph grabbed the starter kit, and in a painfully complicated and time-consuming process for someone in a wheelchair, was able to get changed into the olive jumpsuit. He caressed the emblem in his hands, his fingers stroking the wings a curiosity in itself as the emblem responded. In his previous life, nothing like it had existed. He was unsure if it had been expressly created by the dungeon to help him to power up, or if it was a portion of his power he had left behind in his ruined body. He quickly dismissed the former, he knew the truth, the emblem was part of him, or at least, part of whom he used to be, and who he could once more become.

  The thoughts were in themselves a distraction, and Seraph quickly dismissed them to focus on the present. He was unsure of what was about to happen to progress past the starting room, as no one in the other timeline had ever told him what happened for those who went first into the dungeon. With no other ideas, and when his desire to start didn’t manifest in some type of change, he broke the wax seal that had come with his starter kit. As the seal crumbled beneath his hands, he felt the sensation of something passing through him and knew on an instinctive level if he still had his arcane sight, he would have seen trails of magic weaving throughout the room.

  The room went dark completely dark and, in front of him, a screen appeared and began planning an audio-visual clip with the message being actively captioned on screen by a somewhat comical and cartoon like man dressed like a caricature in the attire of a bard.

  “This is likely the start of the orientation we were told about.” Thought Seraph as he stopped what he was doing to focus and listen.

  "Greetings and Hello Adventurers!"

  "Welcome to Dungeon Quest. The only live-action full function dungeon delve role-play on Earth, and that's right, you guessed it, you found it here first."

  Seraph groaned. This was already absolutely terrible and seemed to be the orientation.

  "But before we can get started there are just a couple of things you need to know."

  "The first thing is simple. You all start out at Level 1, and as you complete quests, craft items, finish missions, defeat monsters, or even defeat each other, you'll gain experience that will help you level up. As you level up, you'll gain new powers and abilities and boost most of your stats. To check your status, all you need to do is say status screen, and it'll appear in front of you. Be careful where you use this as it pretty much ruins your vision and leaves you very vulnerable."

  "Secondly, you'll be getting a spatial pocket that is specific to just you, no one else. This is just a small gift from me for being our new beta testers, what this means is that every pocket on any outfit you wear connects with your very own pocket dimension to store stuff in. Cool right? I know, and if at any time you can't find what you’re looking for, just say the word or think really hard about what you want and reach in for it. In case you’re wondering, it's impossible for your spatial pocket to fill up, so hoard away."

  "Third, if any of you should conquer this dungeon, and the only way to conquer it is to get to the very end and place your hand on this altar that, you guessed it, is called the Altar of the End on the final floor of the dungeon, you get one wish granted for almost anything you want. I've been told I need to be specific about that, others have gotten the wrong idea. Genie rules. No wishes to kill anyone, no wishes to make anyone fall in love with you, and no wishes to bring back the dead."

  "Lastly, you'll find that your bodies have undergone a few changes in the last few minutes. No worries, you still have all your equipment even if things don’t like quite the same. Go ahead and look yourselves, you'll see you’re now wearing upgraded gear. Those basic olive-green jumpsuits have been reinforced leather on the bony prominences. This will offer some minor protection as you start this adventure, just know, this is a very minor protection, be looking to upgrade as you can."

  "Oh, and before I forget, this is a forever game. You’ll be able to leave and reenter th
e dungeon later after completing the orientation, I mean, after all, this isn't a prison, but if you die here, you die for real. There is no simulation or play-acting, this is real violence, and you will be put into kill or be killed situations. Oh, and lastly, if you do manage to leave the dungeon, if you tell anyone what you’ve seen here, you’ll be killed instantly, regardless of where you are or not. Hoped you enjoyed orientation and have fun!"

  Quest Granted: Complete every floor of the dungeon and reach the Altar of the End.

  REWARD - One Wish.

  FAILURE CONDITION: Seize the Altar while the numbers of humans left alive are less than 1 million.

  FAILURE CONDITION: The allotted time of 50 years expires.

  As the presentation ended the screen disappeared, and the room lost all light. Unable to see Seraph remained still and waited for whatever was to come next. Then, Seraph felt it, the room shifted, and he felt the tell sign of nausea after teleportation. Seraph figured it was likely that he and the other participants had been transported into an instanced event or location.

  But in the meantime, he wanted to check something.

  "Status" Said Seraph.

  His vision was instantly replaced with graphs and numbers.

  Name

  Luca Fernandez - Alias Seraph

  Race

  Fallen

  (+50% Melee Damage Output)

  (-50% Healing Debuff)

  Level

  1 of 999

  Current Experience

  0 of 10

  STR

  1

  WIS

  1

  END

  1

  AGI

  1

  INT

  1

  LCK

  1

  PER

  1

  Seeing the racial change, he quickly grabbed the horns he had been wearing and pulled, no longer were they a cheap cosmetic prop, they had been fused into him. Beneath his fingers, he could feel the power coursing through those horns, power that had yet to be unlocked. Whatever advantages his new race would give him, those advantages appeared to be locked for now.

  In the past, he had remained human, something that surprised many who had assumed him to be a demon of sorts. He who had been known as the Black Seraph knew something that many did not, that Seraph was a class, not a racial selection. The Accuser, the Angel of Genocide, all those names he had been known as were all due to a class that demanded him to be a trial of humanity, and in the end, though powerful he had been only human and failed.

  Things would be different this time, and while he was unsure of all the perks and consequences of his new race, he was confident in his decision. He caught sight of the flesh on his arms and saw his skin had turned the palest white. He hoped the changes to how he looked would be little, but there was nothing he could do about that currently. All these changes confirmed it for him, he was in the dungeon. He wondered how badly his father was currently panicking or if he was adapting quickly to the changes. In his mind, he imagined Paul banging on the walls demanding that somebody let him out, so he could see his son. The thought of Paul complaining to the dungeon amused him, and he gave a shallow laugh at the thought.

  "Dismiss," Seraph said as the status screen disappeared, and he regained use of his eyes. With these kinds of changes, Seraph could see why it would be easy to panic. But it was not the changes that drew his attention. It was the darkness that surrounded him. It was a darkness deep enough that he couldn't make out any of his own features. He couldn't see his own hands as he waved them about his face, nor could he see anything in his surroundings. This was a perfect dark. He thought maybe he should try moving but decided against it as he had no idea how the wheelchair would manage and didn't want it getting stuck on something he couldn't see.

  Having few options, Seraph chose the one which made the most sense, he waited, keeping his ears focused on any movement from within the dark. As this was orientation, he didn't expect much damage to come from the darkness at this point, but it was good practice in the fostering of situational awareness that could save his life one day. As his ears strained and made phantom sounds as his senses deafened, a candle lit up in front of him, and then another and another, forming a path he knew he needed to move on. At the end of that path, he saw two chairs and a small table.

  He needed to get there. He tried to push himself over in his wheelchair, but the wheels were completely unresponsive, try as he might. The wheels would not turn, and the wheelchair would not move.

  "Aren't you coming?" Said a voice. Startled he looked and now sitting in one of those chairs was the same hooded figure before, the elf that Paul had mistaken as 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, a reminder of the weakness of his current state. "I'm having a little trouble with this wheelchair, give me just a minute and ill 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 edge to her voice. Maybe not an edge thought Seraph but a hint, a hint that the danger starts now.

  Looking towards the darkness, Seraph could feel a hunger radiate through the black as one by one red eyes opened in the darkness and stared out at him in hunger, Whispering at him in voices too low to be heard, suggesting that he just give up and not struggle. Though the darkness called to him, it did not move, likely a limitation put in to give him a chance to progress. Effective and sinister, 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 be death.

  Groaning and frustrated at the situation, he maneuvered himself off his wheelchair and feel heavy 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 50 feet or so. Miserably he dragged himself along that path, pulling himself by pale bony arms that lacked definition and supporting himself with his elbows as he crawled in the prone. He had to stop every few minutes to catch his breath and let his burning muscles rest and wipe the sweat from his eyes. 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 that distance until he was finally within arm’s reach of the chair, and in that time the hooded elf had not once turned away or shown judgment but rather 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 in complaint the hackles on the back of his neck stood up, his arms broke out in goose flesh as an aura of murderous intent began to roll off the elf women 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 good 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 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 shining through even 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 hands and more hands to grab the tendrils of magic and ambient mana, consuming everything. Sweating straining, forcing the mana to circulate through toes, feet, bone, sinew, muscles and tendons that hadn't moved in years, then forcefully attaching 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.