He had a half-dozen notifications waiting for him as he toggled through the tafla’s various screens. His currency was the first thing he noticed, and he let out a small whoop, seeing how the number had spiked. The six undead had netted him a staggering 800 spira. He reviewed the logs, making mental notes of the various descriptions.

  [Combat - Draug Warrior - Common]

  Spira: 150

  These rattling warriors make up the bulk of the Spire’s undead legions. Composed of the corpses of the various mortal races, Draug are generally mindless, obeying the will of a greater master.

  [Combat - Draug Captain - Uncommon]

  Spira: 250

  Draug Captains are made from the corpses of great warriors. These leaders generate inspiration for their subordinates, resulting in more coordinated attacks.

  [Combat - Draug Cleric - Uncommon]

  Spira: 300

  Draug Clerics arise from the holiest of mortal worshippers. Perverted by the dark skills that resurrected them, Clerics are wielders of arcane relics and potent [Divine Skills]. Skills are dependent on the will of the deity that resurrected them.

  Undead legions, eh? he mused. That's ominous. It was clear all the warriors had been crafted from the dense bones of var corpses, further confirming what he already suspected about the Twilight Crypts. Something had happened here to upset the dead, and clearly the Arbiter wanted to make a challenge of figuring it out.

  He toggled over to his skills page, a warm flush blossoming in his chest. Despite the wound in his shoulder, these gains had been more than worth it. He reviewed his updated stat screen, pulling up his full profile.

  Name: Samuel Lin

  Race: Human

  Patron: N/A

  Class: N/A

  Rank: Iron

  Titles

  [Child of Babel]

  [Deific Mark]

  [Rodent’s Resilience - Tier 2]

  [Apostate - Tier 2]

  Achievements

  [First Blood]

  [Frugal Beastslayer]

  [Frugal Usurper]

  Enhancement Skills

  [Basic Constitution - Tier 2]

  [Basic Regeneration - Tier 2]

  [Basic Stamina - Tier 1]

  [Basic Strength - Tier 2]

  [Basic Perception - Tier 3]

  Martial Skills

  [Basic Shield Proficiency - Tier 2]

  [Simple Melee Weapon Proficiency]

  [Spear Mastery - Tier 2]

  Sam couldn't help it—he laughed. A choked, strained sort of laugh that was quickly swallowed by the ever-present fog. He’d gained six levels across his various skills and titles, with only [Basic Stamina] staying at Tier 1. The fight had been over pretty quickly, and he hadn’t been especially winded, but he still felt a niggle of disappointment at not getting everything to the second Tier.

  The biggest surprise came from [Rodent’s Resilience]. He’d forgotten that the Title was upgradeable. His first night in the woods already seemed distant, as if his brain were forcefully wrapping the painful memories in a fog of its own.

  He selected it with a thought, once again reviewing its properties.

  [Rodent’s Resilience - Permanent - Tier 2 - Iron - Upgradeable]

  You stand alone against the swarm, wielding their power against them.

  Survive a monster horde without purchasing a single skill or item. Slight increase in physical durability and injury recovery.

  Bonus Recovery: Survive the horde while taking damage that should have killed you.

  The Title had rewarded his survival against a horde, then again by enduring what should have been lethal damage. The bleeding from his shoulder had already stopped, and, closing his eyes, he thought he could discern the effects of both the Title and [Basic Recovery] working in tandem to close the wound.

  Seems like it only kicks in if I'm significantly outnumbered, he mused, thinking back to his earlier injuries, realizing that it hadn’t activated from his fight with the badger or the hares. He didn't love that it was so situational, but figured that, unfortunately, it was a situation he was going to find himself in pretty often.

  He re-equipped his cuirass, disappointed to see that its durability had taken a hit. Arther had mentioned that each Ring would have its own network of crafters and merchants, most of whom could complete repairs on mundane and even magical items. Sam just hoped that the reinforced leather would hold up until he was out of the Dungeon.

  He slowly got to his feet and picked up his torch from where it had fallen. The polished wood let off a greasy black smoke, but it burned slowly, slow enough that Sam was confident that he could find a replacement. He took the time to loot the Draug remains, putting their ruined weapons into his inventory. He doubted he could sell them for much, but it never hurt to have something he could pull out in a pinch.

  The most interesting find was the [Draug Cleric]’s lantern, which stubbornly refused to light, even when he shoved his torch inside.

  [Lantern of the Primordial Dawn - Uncommon - Iron - Corrupted]

  The Order of the Primordial Dawn were the record keepers of the Var Empire for millennia. These zealous knights upheld the ancient traditions of Var’gish - The First Uniter.

  Corrupted: This ancient talisman has been corrupted by a divine force, usurping its original purpose.

  [Durability 52/75]

  “So I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that its original purpose wasn't to animate a bunch of zombies,” Sam muttered to himself, trying to get a sense of where he should go next.

  The fog had receded somewhat after the fight, revealing three main streets that exited the courtyard. Two of them ran perpendicular to the wall, while the third continued straight ahead, leading towards the center of the Crypts.

  Sam hated that the obvious answer was most certainly the correct one. He highly doubted that any key to unlocking the secrets of the Crypts would be located on the outskirts. All the paths from the surface seemed to spit warriors out along the walls, which meant the answer had to reside somewhere in the middle. It also meant that the path was most likely chock-full of enemies and traps.

  The mausoleums themselves didn't have any entrances. The tall buildings occasionally featured barred windows, but they were located so high up that Sam wasn't able to see inside. He momentarily considered trying to scale one of the richly engraved walls, but his injured shoulder quickly dispelled the notion.

  In an ideal world, he’d wait for his injuries to completely heal before pushing farther in. Unfortunately, his current situation was far from ideal. The square had no real defensible position, and his torch would give out eventually. That limited his potential choices to exactly one: keep pushing forward.

  He steeled himself and set out into the mist. He held his spear loosely in front of him, prodding at any floor tiles that seemed suspicious. After the first hundred feet, the path split, and he turned left to walk down the path that seemed less foggy. After a few steps, he stopped and looked back.

  Less fog likely meant fewer enemies, but also meant a lower concentration of whatever magic permeated the dungeon. If he was going to uncover some sort of ancient secret, there was a good chance he’d need to get to the center of whatever was causing the mist, which meant heading to where it was thickest.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  He sighed and turned back, proceeding down the right-hand path. The buildings continued to tower above him, and he quickly realized the Crypts were more akin to a labyrinth than a city. He encountered multiple junctions, each time choosing the path that contained a higher concentration of the magical mist. His nose staunchly refused to adjust to the damp smell of rotting meat, and the wispy tendrils tugged at his tunic as he awkwardly shuffled through the broad corridors.

  The world pressed in around him, and even the crackle of his torch seemed muted in the ocean of grey fog. His entire world consisted of a ten-foot bubble of light. Each new step brought the impression of a face, or a lumbering skeleton charging out at him from inside the mist. His nerves quickly reached the point of fraying, which is why he nearly jumped out of his skin when the sound of ringing metal broke through his shell of silence.

  It seemed to be coming from an opening that materialized at the end of the boulevard, the normally unmarked buildings collapsing into towering piles of rubble. Sam slowed, lowering his torch as he scaled the pile of jagged rock with as much grace as he could muster.

  Beyond, the mist receded, revealing a similar courtyard to the first one he’d encountered, only this one looked as though it had been lifted out of WWII London during the Blitz. Massive craters marred the stone, and half of the buildings that surrounded it had either collapsed or were in the process of doing so.

  The sound of pitched battle echoed from the center of the square. The ringing of weapons indicated at least twenty combatants, and the screeching of the nightseekers whirling overhead made him think of air raid sirens.

  There were two distinct forces at play. Sam could make out the familiar silhouettes of a squad of [Draug Warriors], accompanied by a [Draug Cleric], and led by a [Draug Captain] wielding a lance almost twenty feet in length. It rippled with a toxic green flame, casting frantic shadows throughout the courtyard. The Captain was much more substantial than the one Sam had fought before—lean cords of muscle encasing the skeleton like lengths of creeping vines.

  Arrayed against the Draug were a group of what Sam could only describe as ghouls. The long-limbed and longer-clawed creatures hunched like the perverted offspring of a monkey and a hyena. Their naked flesh and coarse fur pulsed with a sickly red glow, bathing the scene with a bloodstained light. The stones beneath them hissed and cracked as spittle rained down from rows of gleaming white fangs.

  Combined, the two forces looked like the most fucked up holiday display Sam had ever seen, as warriors of red and green clashed around the remains of a shattered pillar like a macabre Christmas tree.

  The pillar itself wasn't too dissimilar to the one from the arena, only this one was topped with a twisted, metal claw. Inside the claw was a large gemstone, which throbbed weakly with a fluttering green light. The draug were arrayed in front of it, creating a defensive line against the encroaching ghouls.

  The light from the Cleric’s lantern perfectly matched the discordant pulse from the flickering gem. Sam watched as the draug drew in the ambient light and hurled a bolt into the chest of an approaching ghoul.

  The effect was instantaneous.

  The flesh of the creature’s chest sloughed off, revealing a gruesome mass of muscle and bone. The skin around the blast turned grey and necrotic, and Sam fought back a wave of nausea as the beast desperately tried to contain its own bowels as they burst through the remains of its decayed abdomen. The ghoul took three trembling steps before collapsing in a pile of steaming meat.

  It was the singularly most disgusting thing Sam had ever seen.

  He glanced down at his own chest, feeling the subtle imprints of the runes etched into the leather. If it hadn't been for his [Enchanted Warrior’s Cuirass] and [Apostate], he surely would have met a similar fate. He wasn't sure he could imagine a much worse way to die.

  The remaining ghouls surrounded their fallen comrade and, in unison, let out a bone-chilling howl. The beasts scrambled into a frenzy, dog-piling the nearest draug. Sam could only stare on in horror as they ripped the skeleton’s limbs off and yanked the glowing green core from the zombified chest. This one was a lot more condensed than the ones he had destroyed, taking the form of a calcified stone. The largest ghoul shoved it in its mouth, powerful jaws crushing it with an audible crunch.

  The monster howled again, blowing out the green light. Sam watched with morbid fascination as the light changed, its deific power hijacked as it shifted from green to red. The cloud of crimson mist swirled around the fallen ghoul, and the corpse began to twitch. The flesh knitted itself back together, and the beast lurched back to its feet, eyes rekindled as sparks of glowing coals.

  In response, the Cleric let out a wailing moan and pulled more light from the pillar. Bones from the various scattered corpses rose from the ground, accompanied by scraps of rusted armour. After a few moments, a new Warrior stood among the draug ranks, and both sides resumed the fight.

  Sam observed for a short while, watching as the process was repeated in various configurations, with both sides occasionally striking the first blow. Even after ten minutes, he couldn't predict who would come out the victor; both sides were locked in an eternal stalemate.

  His eyes shifted to the edges of the square, tracing a potential route around the melee. Mounds of rubble provided plenty of cover, and he could make out three exits, the closest leading back behind the draug lines. The mist was thickest in that direction, and if he kept to the plan, that would hopefully lead to the source and some clue as to its origin.

  He suspected it had something to do with the gem embedded in the fallen pillar. The draug could draw power from it, and it was clear they were defending it from the ghouls. He thought back to the destruction of the entryway when he’d first entered the Crypts. The stone looked as though it had been gouged by some kind of rabid animal.

  Sam watched as a ghoul decapitated a struggling Warrior, claws easily renting the metal armour. It seemed too similar to be a coincidence. Whatever these creatures were, they were some kind of invaders, and likely the reason for the guards and traps.

  With a plan decided, Sam reluctantly stored his torch. There was just enough ambient glow from the battle for him to be able to navigate the route, and he couldn't risk letting it give away his position. While the two sides seemed keen on fighting on another, it was possible they’d forget their conflict if presented with another target.

  The trek down the slope was slow going, made especially difficult by the lack of light. He could have sworn it had been brighter when he’d first arrived. He paused within the lip of a crater, watching intently as the Cleric drew power from the gem, sucking away a small fraction of its power. While the light did rally, it was almost imperceptibly dimmer.

  So not a complete stalemate, then. The draug were losing, slowly but surely. He continued his cautious skirting of the battle, hoping his cloak would help him blend into the fog. Each footfall sounded too loud to his straining ears, but they could barely be heard over the pitched melee.

  The buildings directly behind the draug were mostly intact, and he caught his first glimpses of their shadowy depths. Pillars, similar to the one in the courtyard, filled their interiors. Each pillar rose from floor to ceiling, and Sam thought he could make out the impressions of bodies carved into the stone. Not pillars then—coffins.

  He did some quick mental math, guessing the average mausoleum had at least four floors…there would have to be thousands. Tens of thousands. The sheer weight of the bodies pressing in around him nearly made him lose focus, and he teetered awkwardly on top of a loose pile of stone. The mound beside him shifted with a loud crack, and he froze, eyes scanning the courtyard.

  Off to his right, a ghoul whipped its head, eyes searching for the source of the sound. It had been trailing on the edge of the battle, one arm held limp from a deep gash. Its gaze locked on him, and its head tilted in a very human way. The eyes, however, were anything but.

  It charged after him in a rabid frenzy, and all thoughts of stealth fled from Sam’s mind. He turned and bolted down the corridor, trying to put as much space as he could between himself and any potential reinforcements. He summoned his torch, but the street was thankfully empty, vacant of any lingering draug.

  He took corners at random, not bothering to try to discern the path with the densest fog. His only thought was of losing the bloodthirsty ghoul. Logically, he knew that it shouldn't be significantly more powerful than the draug, but there was something about it that triggered a deep, instinctual fear.

  When humans spoke of terrors in the night, of creatures of fangs and claws and ripping death, they spoke of those beasts. These were truly the stuff of legends—of myth. Campfire stories for hundreds of generations had spun tales of them in hushed whispers. It made his already pounding heart nearly beat its way out of its chest. He had to forcibly make himself slow down to avoid careening into a wall.

  The hand gripping his spear was coated in sweat, and he couldn't seem to get enough air into his lungs. It was the weakest he’d felt since he’d purchased [Basic Constitution]. Panicked, he checked his HUD and saw that [Apostate] was active. That forced him to slow, his rational center wailing against the wall of fear that seemed to have been erected around his brain.

  Something was impacting him, some sort of mental-focused [Divine Skills]. He took a deep, shuddering breath and slowed to a jog, trying to get his bearings. The fog had certainly gotten denser in his mad scramble, but he’d completely lost the loose sense of orientation he’d maintained since setting out into the labyrinth.

  He continued forward, teeth bared as he tried to get his pounding heart back under control. Now that he was aware of the outside influence, it was easier to deal with.

  He still felt like shit.

  The walls loomed above him, and his footsteps trailed off as he realized the street had gotten progressively narrower. He hadn’t passed an abutting corridor in a few minutes, the path continuing in a straight line. He resumed his trek, ears straining for the heavy footfalls of his pursuer.

  After a few more tense minutes of walking, he finally reached the end of the passageway. Raising his torch high, he found himself in front of a tall, imposing gate. A portcullis of black iron barred his path, with grating as thick as his arm.

  It was a dead end.

  Torches of green werelight sprang to life in sconces set into the stone beside the gate, momentarily blinding him. The fire was more gelid than warming, the viridescent light further sapping the strength from his already tired limbs. He tried to peer through the gate, but true darkness lay beyond, swallowing up even the faintest idea of light.

  Hissing his frustration, he turned to begin the trek back down the corridor. He needed to rest and recuperate, and there was no chance he could do that in the presence of those freezing torches. The fog swirled and danced in the unnatural glow, and he stopped, hackles raised.

  A looming figure appeared in the mist, its clawed feet silent on the damp stone. Its pointed jaw opened, revealing a maw with far too many teeth. The stench of it nearly bowled Sam over. His already exhausted nose rebelled at the treatment, forced to endure the overwhelming stench of wet fur and rotten meat.

  His eyes scanned the small patch of unremarkable corridor, looking for anything he could use to his advantage. He found nothing, only bare stone.

  Reluctantly, he stored his torch and equipped his shield, his body actively fighting off the multiple outside influences. He was injured, but so was the beast, and it didn't seem to like the bilious green light any more than he did, staying well back from its flickering domain.

  Stepping forward, he levelled his spear, settling into his familiar stance. For a second, he felt like he was back in the arena with Arther, and this was simply another bout.

  It was only when the ghoul moved that the illusion was broken; its long, wiry limbs slinking back out into the mist.

  “Oh no you don't,” Sam said with a snarl. He wasn’t about to spend the next hours or days looking over his shoulder. He wasn't about to let the lingering dread drive him insane. The fear inside him shrivelled and died as he made the decision, charging towards his pursuer. It recoiled, suddenly on the back foot as their roles were reversed.

  The ghoul had made a horrible mistake. It had assumed that Sam was the one who was trapped, so convinced that the smaller human was prey. Sam almost laughed as he lunged, driving his spear into the beast’s abdomen. The flesh parted even easier than the badger, and he yanked the blade free, serrated edge ripping into his foe.

  His shoulder throbbed as his shield deflected a few meagre blows from the stunned ghoul—but the damage was done. Sam had nicked the beast’s heart with the first stab, and the floor was soon slick with its blood. It wasn't a flashy victory, but Sam felt a cold sense of pride as he heard the notification chime, and the ghoul collapsed at his feet.

  He stood there, panting, letting the anger drain away. He would have thought a predator would know better than to back its prey into a corner. He knelt to store the corpse when someone behind him spoke. The deep, grating voice was like the sound of an ancient wooden wheel, straining under a heavy load.

  “Well done, child of Earth. Your tribute is accepted. Come, and enter the halls of the Court of the Primordial Dawn.”

  Sam spun, but couldn't locate the source of the voice. Its echo was quickly drowned under the squeal of straining metal as the gate began to creep open.

  He stood facing an empty void, but in the distance, a single torch lit, leading him into the abyss.