Sam rolled out of the way, just barely dodging the ghoul’s attack. His heart raced as he noticed the sharp bones were encased in dark, rusty metal. The Patriarch’s armour clinked as it moved, reminding Sam of the tail of a rattlesnake; a warning to those who dared to get too close.

  He brought his spear to bear, but the ghoul danced away, easily dodging his sloppy strike. This creature was fast. Faster than even the rabbits that had given him so much trouble in the woods. It moved with the casual grace of a warrior who had been fighting for a thousand years.

  It reminded him of fighting Arther.

  Memories whirled as he repositioned, moving away from the largest roots onto open ground, trying to maximize the reach of his spear. They were evenly matched in terms of strength, but Sam knew it was only a matter of time before the ghoul wore him down. The beast was fresh, while he was anything but.

  The whisper of doubt grew louder in the back of his mind as he took a slash to the forearm, hissing as blood splattered the pollen-covered ground. Almost reflexively, he checked his HUD and confirmed that [Apostate] was active. While more subtle, the ghoul’s influence was already at work.

  He needed to do something drastic to change the tide. He’d won his more recent battles out of trickery or outright strength, but he was all out of aces. He knew he’d already be dead if not for the soothing effects of the potion. He was forced back on the defensive as he desperately looked for a way to break through the creature’s relentless attacks. Each strike pushed him farther back towards the wall of the courtyard.

  He was running out of time.

  The Patriarch had no plans of wearing him down. Every blow was aimed to kill.

  The ghoul came in with a fierce lateral swipe, and Sam pivoted his whole body behind his shield, leaning into the blow in an attempt to disrupt his opponent’s rhythm. Instead, he was met with empty air, as the creature suddenly vanished.

  He stumbled, completely unbalanced, and nearly lost his footing as he bashed his shield at empty air. It was reminiscent of the [Ghūl Apex Hunter]’s stealth ability, only far more complete. The Patriarch hadn't turned invisible; it had phased out of reality.

  His heart pounded as a hot wire of pain cut across his lower back. Somehow, the ghoul had gotten behind him and had raked its metal claws into his flesh. Only his [Enchanted Warrior’s Cuirass] prevented it from being a lethal blow, but Sam could feel the muscles in his back spasming in protest.

  It happened in an instant. How had it moved so fast? Had it teleported?

  Arther's word of warning about underestimating [Divine Skills] rang in his mind, and for the first time since the arena, he regretted his inability to worship a patron. Again, the doubt dug into his gut, and he forced it back with a snarl.

  No. I made my choice. I'll see it through.

  He watched as the ghoul danced away, licking the blood off its claws with a sickening glee. Ghoulish, he thought. Now seeing the word in a new light. At some point in Earth’s history, these creatures had made an appearance. Either on the planet itself, or more likely, here on the Spire. Their species had crossed paths before, and it hadn't gone well for the humans.

  Sam was determined to settle the score.

  The Patriarch darted back between the roots and spun, kicking up a cloud of the red pollen. Sam brought all of the force of his enhanced perception to bear and caught a glimpse of the creature just before it vanished.

  It almost looked as though it fell through the floor, but how did that make sense? Why would Nemesis give the power to traverse stone?

  He didn't have time to ponder it as his senses screamed, and he spun, just catching the edges of the claws on his shield. The beast had tried the same move twice and seemed genuinely shocked that Sam had predicted it.

  Too many years of fighting mindless draug had dulled its fighting instincts, and for the first time since the fight began, Sam got a sense that he could actually win. As soon as the feeling appeared, a cloud of insecurities rose to meet it.

  There it was again: the doubt. Only this time it was all natural. It was the same sense of hesitation he’d had in the sparring ring against Arther—the same feeling of inadequacy. He’d overcome it once before; he could do it again.

  Fight to win. The phrase became a mantra he muttered under his breath, striking back at the ghūl with renewed vigour. He managed to score a few solid hits to its flank and leg. He could feel his increased levels in [Spear Mastery] as the point of his weapon found the gaps in his opponent's armour.

  It was a subtle thing, as only a life-or-death battle could be. Entire lives, fates, destinies, decided by mere millimetres. He was clawing his fate back one lunge at a time.

  It took all his concentration, but he caught the Patriarch as he made his move. It swept up another cloud of pollen and leapt back into the shadow of the wall, and then kept going… into the shadow.

  The movement recontextualized the last two instances in which the creature had vanished. Both times it had stepped into the shadow of a root, and reappeared–he dashed forward just in time as a set of jaws snapped shut behind where his foot had been a moment before.

  The Patriarch howled with frustration, and Sam’s ears rang from the force of it. Now that he knew how the skill worked, it would make it significantly easier to counter. It couldn't teleport anywhere; it was limited to travelling between different pools of shadow.

  Sam had to fight to suppress a grin as a plan took shape in his mind. However, it would rely on him getting a handle on his new skill.

  Using it was as intuitive as breathing. The system knew he wanted to activate the skill the moment the neurons fired. The problem was that it came in at full blast every time. He’d managed to reduce it slightly, but only with uninterrupted focus. He’d now have to attempt to do the same thing in the middle of a battlefield.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  He dodged backwards from the Patriarch, swinging his spear in wide arcs in an attempt to create some distance. All the while, he was solidifying the image of a dial in his head.

  His parents had insisted that he learn an instrument growing up, despite his certainty that he was tone-deaf. As an act of pettiness, he’d asked to play the electric guitar. To his surprise, they’d acquiesced, and he’d spent one miserable summer blasting the tiny Fender amplifier in the hopes they’d cancel his lessons. They did not. And twenty years later, he still had the image of those dials burned into his memory.

  He summoned one of them now, and wasn't surprised to see that his brain defaulted with it at 10. He turned it down, setting the knob to a hesitant 2.

  He activated the skill, willing the tiniest trickle of mana to enter it.

  It didn't work, and he took a slash to the right bicep as punishment. He tried again, setting the knob to 4. This time, the skill activated, but it pulsed and strobed, nearly blinding him again. For a split second, though, before it had gone out of control, he caught a glimpse of the reduced state; a subtle magical glow overlaid on his surroundings, but still very much comprehensible.

  He barred his teeth; it was possible. Rather than jumping up the setting, he set the knob at 0 in his mind and slowly cranked it up.

  It worked. The skill flickered a little bit, but settled on a reasonable level. He could feel some imperceptible drain in his core, but the level was manageable. The Patriarch was outlined in a fluctuating crimson mantle, the world around it losing its vibrancy in contrast.

  Sam took a moment to appreciate how much easier it was to track the creature’s movements. Its aura flowed around it like water, settling into limbs before it struck. It didn't mean he still didn't have to push himself to the limit to block or parry, but he no longer felt outclassed in terms of speed.

  The shift in combat was immediate. The Patriarch’s eyes narrowed, realizing something fundamental had changed. It screamed in frustration and lunged at Sam with reckless abandon. The two traded a few glancing blows, but neither gave ground. Sam knew his enhanced endurance was reaching its limit. As much as he'd managed to stabilize, he was still living on borrowed time.

  C’mon, c’mon. Do it!

  In desperation, he twisted, launching his shield like a discus at the slobbering ghoul. It jerked backwards in surprise, foot settling into a pool of shadow cast by a pile of broken stones. It was pulled into the dark like water being sucked down a drain. The shield thrummed as it impacted the root behind the creature, the wood vibrating like a plucked bowstring.

  Sam’s eyes weren't focused on the shield. They tracked the pulsing line of crimson mana as it wove its way between the pools. The movement was faster than he’d have believed possible; faster than his senses should have been able to perceive.

  His body turned of its own volition. He didn't think. He didn't guess. He just acted.

  He thrust his spear in a two-handed strike, the tip aimed at open air. Just before the apex of the lunge, the Patriarch appeared, birthed from the shadow like a demon from the pits of Hell.

  Its eyes widened at the sight of the spear mere inches from its chest. It had no time to react—no time to counter. Sam’s spear plunged into its sternum with a crack that echoed off the ceiling of the massive cavern.

  He continues the thrust, impaling the ghoul against the stone wall whose shadow he’d leapt from. His hands ached from the impact, but the wood held.

  The Patriarch met his eyes, shock plastered on its alien face. It reached up with a clawed hand to touch the spear in its chest, but the light in its eyes was already fading. It breathed out, a wet wheeze that made the hairs on the back of Sam’s arms stand up.

  “Remember, human. Remember us.” Its head fell forward and lolled against its chest, body hanging suspended from the spear. Sam stored the weapon with a thought, and the body slammed to the ground, sending up a cloud of rancid pollen.

  Soft chimes sounded in his ears, but they felt hollow. Killing mindless monsters was one thing, but this creature hadn’t been born a monster. It had hopes, dreams. The universe had decided that it was good enough only to be fodder.

  Not the universe, he amended. The gods. They were the ones who’d deemed the Ghūl lesser. They were the ones who’d set them on this course. He sat down on the ground across from the corpse, feeling a flood of emotions wash over him.

  More than anything, he was tired. His day had only just begun, and all he wanted to do was curl up under his blanket and wake up when it was over. But there was no over. There was only win or die. He hated himself at that moment. He hated the weakness, and he hated the part of him that could so easily dismiss it.

  Every one of these fights felt like a battle for his very soul. He hated how much the killing affected him, but at the same time, he feared who he’d become when the killing became too easy. Even if he made it to the Halls of Eternity, would there even be anything left? Would he even still be human?

  No tears came as the churning in his gut reached its zenith. He wasn't sure if he was capable of crying any longer. He didn't retch, he didn't scream. Instead, he stood and stored the body. He didn't look to see what else had been added to his inventory. The rest of the ghoul corpses followed suit, adding to the growing pile of meat in his storage.

  He was numb to it, letting the layer of stunned apathy cover him like armour. He couldn't look too hard, because if he did, he’d see exactly what the monster had done. His eyes glazed over the bodies that he’d ripped apart with his bare hands—the blood now dried under his fingernails.

  He debated removing the [Enchanted Pugilist Bands], but he couldn't deny they'd saved his life. The [Bloodhaze] had been the difference between life and death. He’d have to be extremely careful if he ever ended up adding anyone else to his party. The haze had been just that, and he knew he could have just as easily killed a teammate.

  Without thinking, he opened up his tafla and selected [Basic Mental Resistance]. He was in the open, exposed, and injured, but he didn't care. He couldn't stand the thought of losing control like that again. He purchased it, and pain flooded through him, but it was secondary to the wounds on his body and his heart.

  After a few minutes, the pain subsided, and he heard a soft chime confirming he’d learned the skill. Immediately, it was like a blanket was thrown over emotions. Around him, the pollen lost its lustre, and he realized the Ghūl’s vengeful goddess was still subtly influencing him.

  He limped out of the courtyard and continued on. What else could he do? The quest to kill the Matriarch still hovered in his vision, and despite the knowledge he’d gleaned from the Patriarch, the ‘secrets’ of the Twilight Crypts remained.

  He didn't want to have to kill the Matriarch, but he didn't see much of a choice. There was likely a penalty for abandoning a quest, and he couldn't deny himself thousands of spira.

  Arther’s words on morality hung heavy in his mind. “Whatever line you think you've drawn. Just know, it doesn't exist.”

  He hadn't expected to have to cross that line so soon. The Spire was brutal, unforgiving, unrelenting. If he let these deaths weigh on him, then they’d surely crush him.

  On a whim, he channelled all of his focus into his new skill, and was pleased to find that the soothing numbness deepened. The terror and trauma of the day retreated as he cycled more mana into the skill. He could feel some resistance from his singed [Mana Network], but the discomfort was more than bearable.

  His gait steadied the farther he moved from the [Great Nemesian Bloodroot], and his mind slowly cleared. Nothing about the knowledge changed what he had to do. His mission remained. He and the Ghūl ultimately wanted the same thing. If he couldn't save them, then he’d avenge them.

  He’d do as they asked.

  He’d remember.

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