For the first few days in the Dungeon, Sam had been meticulous about checking for traps. A short-lived D&D campaign in his second year of undergrad had deeply instilled the philosophy, one which had only been further cemented by his initial descent into the Crypts.

  After days spent checking every loose stone and suspicious doorway, he’d slowly eased off his pursuit of potential pitfalls. That complacency had cost him dearly.

  He scrambled forward, looking for an area he could defend. Almost two dozen tunnels branched off from the central chamber, but he didn't want to risk running into the unknown. His nightmare scenario was picking one at random and ending up at a dead end.

  The tug in his gut was getting more and more persistent. Somewhere beyond the ramshackle huts and piles of rubble was the Matriarch, goading on her brood like a feral matador. The rumble and scraping of their clawed feet echoed off the stone, growing louder by the second. He hid behind a boulder, trying to think of a way out that didn't involve killing at least twenty ghouls. He checked his quest, desperately searching for any hint that could save him.

  [Quest - Matricide]

  Defeat the Ghūl Matriarch and destroy the Nemesian Soulstone.

  [Time Remaining: 02:14:23:12]

  [Reward: 2000 Spira]

  His eyes fixed on the reference to the Soulstone. If it was anything like the one the Draug possessed—and given the nature of these kinds of quests, he figured it probably was—then it was possible that the stone was also the source of their power. Whatever it was, it had given the Ghūl incredible longevity. If he could destroy it, maybe he could cripple them, or kill them outright.

  It would be located someplace secure and highly guarded. Likely, the Matriarch would be watching over it herself, which meant that all he had to do was follow the tugging in his gut. But first, he needed a way past the incoming horde.

  Hearing the footsteps growing closer, he summoned a chipped draug sword from his inventory. Giving it a heave, he threw it in a wide arc across the cavern, where it landed with a clang against the opposite wall.

  The reaction was instantaneous. Howls pierced the air, and the mob set off on a mad dash, trying to track down the source of the sound.

  Sam grinned and crept out from behind the boulder, making his way in the opposite direction towards the large opening at the other end of the hall. It radiated a soft, red light, and through it he could discern the impression of rustling leaves. The cave sloped up ahead of him, and he dashed between the glowing patches cast by the clusters of mushrooms.

  He’d almost crossed the cavern before his ruse was discovered. The cadence of the howls changed from one of unbridled rage to that of impotent frustration. He spied the crowd dispersing from his vantage point behind a shack, and he quickened his pace, trying to reach the threshold.

  His luck ran out fifty yards from the entrance.

  A wisened, elderly ghūl poked their head out from behind a scrap of soiled cloth, nose twitching in the dim light. Their eyes were grey and rheumy, but clear enough to tell that Sam was not, in fact, a creature of nightmare.

  It managed to get off one panicked yelp before Sam silenced it with a jab through the throat. The response was immediate, and soon he could hear the impending calamity rushing towards him through the cave.

  He bolted for the massive stone archway, heart sinking when he saw the remains of the doors themselves smashed upon the ground. His loose plan had been to try and close the doors behind him, isolating the Matriarch and giving him time to destroy the Soulstone. His heart pounded, fear lapping against the corners of his conscience. His breath came in short bursts, and he frantically searched for any way to get himself out of the situation.

  He could make a mad dash towards one of the tunnels that exited off the main chamber, but that would only be delaying the inevitable. He needed to find some way to barricade the entrance.

  His gaze darted to the walls and ceilings, and he pushed [Arcane Eyes] as far as he could, seeking out any scrap of latent magic.

  There! Just inside the entrance, a stone that glowed a faint hint of orange among a sea of red. He rushed towards it, aware of the screams of a dozen ghūl bearing down on him.

  He didn't turn to look. He didn't flinch. He just acted. Lunging forward, he slammed the butt of his spear against the stone. His momentum carried him forward into the room as a massive iron portcullis dropped from the ceiling behind him with an ear-splitting shriek.

  The ravenous cries turned to howls of despair as the thick metal spikes bore down with all the certainty of an executioner's axe. A few managed to throw themselves out of the way, but many were caught in the gate’s plunging descent.

  Those who remained were trapped outside. [Child of Babel] couldn't make heads or tails of their incoherent babbling, but Sam got the gist of it. To say they were displeased was an understatement.

  He made short work of the two [Ghūl Juveniles] who’d managed to leap inside before turning to get a proper look at the room. It was a mirror of the throne room in the Court of the Primordial Dawn, though that one was fraught with death, while this one overflowed with life.

  A [Great Nemesian Bloodroot] sprouted from just behind the throne, its branches intertwining with the high arches, covering the ceiling with the web of glowing red leaves. Mushrooms clung to the pillars that lined the hall, further inundating the room with crimson light.

  The throne itself sank into the trunk, and above it, embedded into the silvery bark, was a pulsing black gem. The colour surprised Sam until he looked closer and realized it was a deeper shade of red—the colour of dried blood.

  Seated on the throne was a thickset ghoul wrapped in a ragged cloak. Bits of metal and hunks of carapace completed her attire, matching the piles of bone strewn throughout the room. Flanking her were two [Ghūl Patriarch], their fangs barred. They were slightly smaller than the one he’d faced earlier, but that didn't make them any less intimidating.

  The [Ghūl Matriarch] gave a quick jerk of her head, and her consorts sprang forward, one instantly dissolving into the pool of shadow beside the throne.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Sam tensed, eyes already sweeping the room, noting possible points of re-entry. There had been no preamble, no threats, no bargaining. They knew why he was here. They knew the mission he was tasked with. The time for negotiation had passed. This was his chance to end the conflict once and for all. While he regretted his part in it, it didn't change what he had to do.

  The first Patriarch came at him in a mass of flailing limbs. Its arms were covered in roughly hammered hunks of metal, creating a buzzsaw of claws and spikes. Sam went low and forced the beast to leap over him, leaving its back exposed…too exposed. Sam didn't take the bait, instead pivoting to block the strike that came from the base of a nearby pillar.

  The two ghūl fought in perfect synergy. Either one was willing to take a fatal blow if it meant bringing him down. Their devotion to their cause went beyond fanaticism.

  Sam was on the back step from the very first moment. Despite his increased skills, despite days of pitched battles, he was still outmatched. It couldn't be more different than his fight in the training ring. While the sylvan and the var had been tripping over one another, these two fiends fought with centuries of familiarity.

  Sam was forced to second-guess every opening or moment of weakness. Was it a trap? Was he about to be punished for a hasty attack? Once again, his mind flashed back to the ring and his sparring with Arther.

  I’m not fighting to win; I'm fighting to not lose.

  He’d become more timid as the days progressed, hesitant to take injuries that would slow him down. The constant discomfort he’d been living in had made him more cautious in fights, moving away from the core of his fighting style. Like it or not, he was a brawler.

  He’d brawl.

  He pounced on the next opportunity he saw and was rewarded with a deep gash along his side. The pain made him cry out, but it twisted into a laugh as he pulled his spear from under one of the Patriarch’s ribcages.

  The beast slumped to the floor in a bloody heap, and all the ghūl wailed in unison. The Matriarch joined in, her keening sweeping through the throne room. The gem behind her pulsed and throbbed, and a jet of red mist descended on the dying ghoul.

  Sam was forced back, the remaining Patriarch lunging at him in a frenzy. He could only watch as flesh was re-knitted and blood replenished. The wounded ghūl was back on his feet in a matter of moments.

  He’d seen the power of their healing magic firsthand in their battle against the Draug, but this was elevated even further. The Matriarch wove her blood magic with a frightening speed and intensity.

  Sam needed to either incapacitate both Patriarchs at once or finish one before they could be restored. Neither seemed like a particularly attainable solution, but he couldn't think of any other options.

  Any move he made towards the throne was immediately countered, and he constantly felt himself corralled back up against the gate, and the slobbering mass of ghouls who were desperately trying to get it open. He needed to end it. Strike, and make it count.

  He lost himself in the rhythm of the fight, feeling the ebb and flow of his varied skills as he pushed them to their limits. [Spear Mastery] thrummed in his mind, the moves flowing together in new and unexpected ways. He scored a half dozen solid hits in this time, forcing the Matriarch to use her healing twice more.

  In both instances, he was unable to finish the fallen beast, but he could feel himself getting closer to some kind of epiphany. The moment crystallized when both ghūl leapt at him in unison, claws outstretched, fangs barred. The whole world melted away, leaving him with a perfect still image.

  The one on the left was slightly off balance, their ankle bloody from where they'd taken a grazing blow. Because of this, they were slightly behind, their body twisted awkwardly in the air. The one on the right was completely committed, not even bothering to shield themselves as they flew through the air.

  A moment of pure clarity rang through Sam's mind like a gong. He knew how he needed to strike. He knew what he needed to do…

  He knew. Not the skill, not some past Champion. Him. He saw the path of his spear and knew it like it was written on his own heart.

  He pivoted and stored his shield, crouching and striking with a two-handed lunge. His spear pierced the unarmored underside of the first monster’s forearm, passing through a gap in the second one’s armour and taking it through the side of the chest.

  Both creatures went down in a heap, their bodies pinned together. They thrashed, but Sam didn't hesitate as he jumped on them, summoning his shield beneath him. The battered wood splintered with the force of the impact, but it broke the free arm of the less injured Patriarch.

  Sam’s knife was in his hand, and he made short work of the injured pair. He kept stabbing until he heard two chimes ring clearly in his ears.

  Around him, the sounds of fury collapsed into wails of despair. The Matriarch sat slack-jawed, eyes bulging out of her skull. It was clear that she hadn't even entertained the idea that her two elites would fail to kill a lone Warrior.

  Sam grabbed his spear with a snarl, ripping it from the corpses even as he stored them in his inventory. He wasn't sure if they could come back from the dead, but he wasn't going to wait around to find out.

  As he did so, a third chime sounded. This one was lower, and Sam snuck a glimpse at his tafla.

  [Spear Mastery - Iron - Tier 5 - Upgradeable]

  New Skill Available

  He let out a low chuckle as he charged towards the throne. Like his other skills, there seemed to be an additional component to hitting key thresholds. In some cases, it seemed as simple as manually directing the skill. In others, there was a requirement to demonstrate a level of innate competency and knowledge.

  He shoved the thought aside and refocused his attention on his last remaining opponent. She had gotten to her feet and stood even taller than her male counterparts. She threw back her tattered robe, revealing a nearly complete set of armour. A segmented pauldron covered one shoulder, and it lit up Sam’s [Arcane Eyes] like a lighthouse. Whatever the item was—it was distinctly magical.

  The Matriarch jumped down off the dais with a crash, shaking the stone beneath his feet. She rushed him with all the momentum of a freight train, and it was all he could do to dive out of the way. He managed to end up behind her, scrambling towards the Soulstone.

  Her panicked shriek echoed around him, but he didn't turn; instead, he took the stairs two at a time.

  “NO!” her voice tore through the throne room, but he paid it no heed as he cleared the top step.

  “Leave them out of it!” The fear in her voice sent a chill through him, and he stole a glance over his shoulder. Her eyes weren't fixed on the Soulstone—she wasn't even looking at it. Instead, she was looking at the throne itself.

  It was then that he noticed the three small ghūl cowering behind the throne, hidden in an alcove in the wood. They were tiny, their spindly limbs all knees and elbows.

  It clicked in his mind, the real reason she hadn't joined the fray. It hadn't been arrogance or overconfidence. She was trying to protect her pups. Luckily for her, he had no desire to kill unarmed children.

  He bit back a cry of his own as he vaulted off the throne and thrust his spear at the pulsing red gem. The light congealed in front of it, and for a moment, he thought his spear was going to shatter it outright.

  Reality was far less accommodating.

  The light formed a shield in front of the gem, and the force of his strike rebounded with a deafening BANG!

  He was thrown down the steps and across the hall, his body smoking from the backlash of his own attack. He groaned, trying to force his eyes to focus.

  A guttural chuckle washed over him, and he craned his cracked skull, watching as the Matriarch slowly skulked towards him.

  “It will take more than that to shatter the strength of our goddess, Warrior. For you're not just breaking her strength, but also that of our conviction.” She leaned over him, her face a manic grin of grief and anger. “For over a thousand years, we’ve fought the Var and their ilk. When they turned to necromancy, we knew we needed to do something equally…drastic. Only, who would we turn to? The gods had spurned and abandoned us. Only one answered our call, but she was more than enough.”

  The Matriarch stood tall, summoning a ball of molten red energy in her palm. “With your death, we will have the strength to finally end this conflict. Though you may have weakened us, it is nothing compared to the strength that Arngrym has lost. We will finally have our vengeance. It is a shame that you won't be alive to see it.”

  She let out a laugh as she launched the spell, filling Sam’s vision with blood.