Sam was beginning to forget what the sun looked like.

  Days of trudging through endless stone hallways had left him tired, hungry, and restless. The only break from the monotony came in the form of [Nightseeker] attacks, and even those were growing sparser as the colonies were culled by groups of adventurers. He’d made good time retracing his steps from the Ghūl village, but the lack of light over the past week was starting to get to him.

  His plan of following the corridors with the densest fog quickly unravelled. Without the Ghūl to combat them, the Draug had expanded their domain, pushing farther into the Crypts. Sam occasionally caught glimpses of Warriors clashing with the skeletal monsters, but resolutely kept his distance.

  Without his spear, he had no desire to get involved. He’d gone through the various scrap weapons that he’d collected from the draug he’d killed, and selected a mace that was mostly intact. The chunky block of cold iron would do the job in a pinch. He was fortunate that maces were included in [Simple Melee Weapon Proficiency], though, if he was being honest, he probably could have figured out how to swing them on his own.

  Eventually, he stumbled across the long, narrow corridor that led to the Court of the Primordial Dawn. He’d followed a pair of [Draug Warriors] in the hope that they led him back to their base. He wasn’t sure if it was a coincidence or if the Necromancer was throwing him a bone.

  He hated himself for making the joke.

  The countdown timer continued resolutely onwards, and he realized it had almost been a whole week since the War began.

  [Ring Purge Initiates in 42:14:06:18]

  He didn’t have much time before the Truce ended, which meant that as much as he dreaded the idea, he’d really need to start searching for party members. He’d make an effort when he got back to Homst. The idea of approaching another Warrior in the wild–or in a Dungeon–just felt like asking for trouble.

  The long hallway ended in its familiar dead end. Green torches once again sprang to life, and the iron portcullis rose with a hair-raising screech. Sam took a deep breath and steadied himself before entering. He was fairly certain the only thing left to do was prove that he’d killed the Matriarch and collect his additional reward, but he couldn’t help feeling like something would go wrong.

  He tugged at the remains of his now [Ruined] cuirass, wishing he’d been able to afford more armour before venturing out. Despite his new skills, he still felt vulnerable. He’d tested [Iron Skin] a few times on the walk back, and while it was certainly powerful, it still had a cooldown.

  Shaking his head, he set off down the gently sloping corridor. The hall of previous Var rulers looked much the same as it had, though Sam noticed a slight change. A new chest had been added to the center of the room, directly in front of the large stone doorway.

  Intrigued, he crept closer, once again religiously checking for traps. Finding none, he opened the simple stone chest, wincing at the shriek of ancient hinges. Inside the chest was a simple metal pendant, lying on a faded silk pillow.

  Not seeing much choice, he quickly removed it, doing his familiar shuffle as he backed away.

  Nothing happened.

  He let out a long sigh and stored the pendant, pulling up his tafla to review it.

  [Dawnheart Pendant - Iron - Rare]

  Crafted by the Var’s most prestigious smiths and alchemists, this pendant bestows the inevitable power of the dawn.

  Grants the user increased strength.

  [Durability 250/250]

  Sam’s jaw dropped as he read the description. No caveats, no qualifiers, just ‘be stronger’. The item was clearly the pinnacle of the Necromancer’s remaining hoard. Sam vaguely recalled that he’d be given a chance to choose an item, but when it was this good, he wasn't complaining.

  He stared up at the stone doors, biting his lip as he weighed his options. The chest was a choice. The Arbiter was making that perfectly clear. He could take his existing gains and walk away, or he could push forward and risk it all.

  He had no illusions. Walking through that door would likely result in another Boss fight. Arngrym held the final piece of the puzzle. If he were going to discover the Dungeon’s final secret, he’d need to confront him.

  He pulled out the [Dawnheart Pendant] and slipped it over his head. A gentle hum coursed through him as newfound strength invigorated his limbs. It wasn't a drastic change, but it was noticeable.

  Did he really need to keep going? His armour was mostly scrap, and he didn’t have a primary weapon. Sure, 3,000 spira for the quest was a big deal, but it wasn't worth dying over. There was also no chance he could leave and come back before some other group of Warriors found this chamber. The portcullis had stayed open behind him. If he was going to do this, it was now or never.

  He stood, summoning his [Battered Draug Mace]. The more he thought about it, the more he realized the choice was no choice at all.

  Fight to win.

  Thousands of spira lay behind that door. He wasn't going to walk away and let someone else claim it. And more than that, he wanted to know.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Clenching his teeth, he marched forward and began the arduous process of unsealing the door. The stone turned easily under his grip, as though it wanted him to enter.

  The mist poured out thick as honey, but he waded through it with little resistance. He couldn't tell if it was from his increased physical strength or the additional levels in [Apostate].

  The throne room looked identical to his previous visit. The row of pillars shook with the pounding heartbeat that emanated from the Soulstone mounted above the dais.

  Arngrym raised his head from where he sat upon the throne, spectral eyes taking in Sam’s ragged appearance.

  “So you've returned, Warrior. I knew you would. The Arbiter wondered if you could be tempted with paltry trinkets, but I knew better. Anyone foolish enough to feel pity for the Ghūl would be foolish enough to challenge my dominion.”

  Sam frowned, “What pity do you mean? I killed their Matriarch and destroyed their Soulstone. They're gone. Every last one of them. You’ve won your war thanks to me.”

  “Not entirely.” Arngrym tapped a skeletal finger against his bracer, illuminating a set of glowing runes. Suddenly, a window appeared, hovering above his head.

  Sam flinched, and it took him a moment to realize that the screen was a video. It was a shot of him lying face down in a sea of red pollen. A small creature came over and poked him, and he swatted it away before getting unsteadily to his feet. The Ghūl pups ran out not long after, and the video ended with Sam smiling as he watched them go.

  His heart dropped. “How did you get this? I didn't think the Arbiter interfered so directly.”

  Arngrym let out a low chuckle. “The Arbiter? No. They were not involved. You brought me along on the journey, Warrior. It was so very entertaining.” He tapped another rune, and a dozen screens appeared around the hall.

  Sam saw himself represented from every angle. Each screen was a different fight, a different conflict. He winced as he watched himself get impaled. Over and over, he battled against the ghūl until a torrent of violence completely surrounded him. He had to turn away as the screen directly behind the throne showed him dropping his weapons underneath the Bloodroot. He saw the flash of orange light. He knew what came next.

  “How?” was all he could say, forcing his eyes to focus on the Necromancer.

  “You brought me with you,” Arngrym replied, skull cracking into a grin.

  Sam’s heart sank as he looked up and behind him. The [Mooneye Gem] floated serenely on an unseen breeze. The gem has proven invaluable in the Dungeon, but he now knew it had come at a cost.

  “You were watching everything?”

  “Indeed, it felt like a prudent precaution. One that is now entirely justified. Do you know how long it will take to hunt down the vermin? Already, I am sending warriors into those accursed tunnels.”

  “Why?” The word sounded small in Sam’s ears. “Why bother? They’re no threat to you. Their connection with Nemesis has been cut. They’re children.”

  The draug’s eyes burst with an inner radiance. “WHY?! After a thousand years, you ask me why?! They were the reason we were forced underground. They were the reason we were forced to act. Our world, our precious world, turned to ash because they would. Not. Know. Their. Place.” The final words were punctuated by the slamming of his spear against the stone.

  The sudden rage took Sam aback. The screen flickered and cracked, and he was acutely aware of the rattling of bones from alcoves around the hall. “They revolted because they were slaves. What would you have done in their position?” He forced the words out through gritted teeth, his own anger rising to the surface.

  “We were CHOSEN!” Arngrym surged to his feet, shockingly fast for a creature of his size. “The gods chose us, not them. Who were they to question the order of the divine?”

  Sam felt his muscles tense, his whole body rebelling against the words spewing from the dead var’s skull. “They questioned because it was their right to! Who are the gods to say what we can and can’t do? Even if it cost the Ghūl their lives, even if the gods struck them down for it. They’re living beings. They deserve to make their own choices. All of us do!”

  Arngrym cocked his head, posture shifting. “The gods did not strike them down, Warrior. The gods do not interfere in the petty squabbles of mortals. They simply show us the way. It is up to us to interpret their teachings. They made it clear they demanded righteous judgment, and so we delivered it.”

  The Necromancer input a series of commands on his bracer, and a new set of videos populated the screens. Sam saw a lush, verdant world, laid out under a sky in a perpetual state of twilight. The images shifted, showing a second sun rising over the horizon. The world burst alight, highlighting fields of rich colour and towering cities of glittering spires.

  It was beautiful.

  The cities were massive; wide streets filled with giants in sweeping robes. Sam was shocked to see that their skin was often a rich, deep brown, so different from the ashy pale complexions he was used to. Beside the giants, small creatures kept pace; often fetching and carrying, clearing away trash or hauling goods.

  The divide could not be clearer.

  The video continued to shift, showing ghūl faces tight with anger. Protests broke out in the streets, fires burning in the dim twilight. The civil unrest grew, and the var fled to deep, underground bunkers. Sam saw a group of determined ghūl break into what appeared to be a colossal stone fortress, an ancient structure surrounded by more modern buildings. He saw the light leave their eyes as the sky dissolved behind them.

  All around the throne room, the screens went white, forcing Sam to shut his eyes and bury his head in the crook of his arm. After a few seconds, it dissipated, revealing towering columns of smoke and flame. It took a moment for his brain to register what he was seeing.

  “You nuked them,” he whispered, voice carrying the length of the hall. “You nuked yourselves. Why? Why did you do it?”

  Arngrym stared at him as if it should be obvious. “We could not let them have the world. We could not let them be our equals. Better to see it burn than to see it taken. We are strong, we endured. And now we will rise again to reclaim the land above.”

  Sam stared, aghast, as the pieces fell into place. The gods hadn’t caused the Great Cataclysm, hadn’t poisoned the planet for generations. It had been greed. Simple greed. The desire to maintain what you have, whatever the cost. Even if the cost was everything.

  “You buried yourselves.” The words echoed off the cold stone. “You dug your own grave. That’s why you’re here. The rest of the universe might believe that the gods punished you, or the Ghūl; it doesn’t matter. It was you. It was always you.” A soft chime rang in his ears.

  [Quest Complete: Discover the Secret of the Twilight Crypts]

  Reward: 3,000 Spira

  “It matters not,” Arngrym replied, stepping down off the stone dais. “We remained the chosen of the gods, we retained their favour. With that, we will survive.” He paused, the sound of grinding bone growing by the second.

  “You, however, will not.”