After a few frantic blinks, Sam’s eyes adjusted, revealing what he could only describe as a throne room. Tall, angular arches bisected the ceiling at odd intervals, giving the space the sense of being subtly twisted. Pillars lined the walls, casting deep pools of shadow. At the far end stood a throne basked in emerald light. The craggy seat was carved directly into the stone, and resting atop it was the largest draug Sam had seen yet. A rotted cloak hung around its shoulders, faded finery dully glistening over rusted metal armour. A spear, larger and more ornate than Sam’s own, rested beside it.

  Above its head, clutched in a similar clawed metal frame, was a larger version of the gem Sam had seen in the square. It appeared to be the source of the fog, and its light was much stronger than the broken conduit. It thumped again, sending out another wave of putrid mist. The Draug’s core beat in tandem, and it was clear that whatever the gem was, the two were linked.

  “Enter, Warrior,” a voice groaned. Sam took a few hesitant steps forward, spear held loosely before him. “Your caution is not unwarranted, but you have nothing to fear in the Court of the Primordial Dawn.” It was the same grinding cadence that he’d heard after he’d killed the ghoul, though louder and more ominous in the cavernous space.

  Sam sincerely doubted it, but he entered the hall. [Basic Perception] caught the subtle shift of sinew and bone from within the shadows cast by the pillars. Guards stood at the ready, but far enough back that he’d have a chance to fight or run if it came to it.

  “My name is Lord Arngrym, the final Master of my order. Do you know why I've summoned you to this place, Warrior?” The draug paused, dessicated head shifting on armoured shoulders.

  Sam took a deep breath, but his own voice was firm as he responded. “I’m guessing you need help dealing with the invaders?”

  “Invaders, hah! Yes, that is a good name for them. The Ghūl have long desecrated our most sacred holds. They seek to erase our history and claim the favour of the gods for themselves.” The towering draug leaned forward, releasing small clouds of dust.

  “This battle has lasted long, too long, I fear. A stalemate of years turned into centuries, and then…” the glowing green eyes seemed to blink, voice hesitant. “Something shifted, changed. I cannot say what, only that I know the world above is not the one I remember. And I am the only one left who remembers anything.”

  Sam frowned and contemplated the logistics of moving the entire Dungeon to the Spire. “So what do you need me to do, kill some ghouls?”

  “In simple terms, yes. But a few dead scouts on the periphery won't be enough to turn the tide. You need to kill their Matriarch and destroy the source of their power. They've made a pact with a dark god, giving them obscene powers of regeneration. They corrupt and taint our holy invectives. Only if that source is destroyed can we truly be free of them.”

  Sam could only raise an eyebrow at the draug’s self-perceived “holiness”. A dull chime echoed in his mind, and he snuck a glance at his tafla.

  [Quest - Matricide]

  Defeat the Ghūl Matriarch and destroy the Nemesian Soulstone.

  [Time Remaining: 04:23:59:57]

  [Reward: 2000 Spira]

  He blinked, double-checking his quest screen. The quest to discover the secrets of the Twilight Crypts remained unchanged and was clearly deemed more difficult than simply killing one of the faction’s leaders. The sum seemed low for the potential risk, but in addition to the spira he’d earn from the kills, he couldn't deny it would be faster than any farming he could do on the surface.

  His eyes drifted up to the gem floating above the Draug Lord’s head. If the Ghouls had a Soulstone, it made sense that the Draug would have one as well. Arngrym seemed to sense his train of thought, his ancient body creaking as it hefted its spear and slammed it to the ground with a thunderous boom.

  “Should you choose not to accept our quest, Warrior, I would have every reason to believe you were already in league with the Ghūl. That would make you a spy sent into our midst.”

  Sam gulped and took a step back. The Draug Lord stood, drawing itself up to its full nine feet, armour flashing with traces of green and silver fire.

  “Let's back up a second. I am definitely not a spy. I'm honestly not even sure what good that would do. I just came here from the surface, and your soldiers attacked me. Why should I help you?”

  The grinding of bones echoed throughout the throne room. “It is no fault of mine if you wander into my sentries. My perception is limited on the fringes. We must always be vigilant; the Ghūl are limitless in their capacity for guile and deception.”

  The massive var took a shuddering step down from the throne, the light in its eyes growing by the second. Above, the gem let out another concussive blast. “You should aid us because it is the right thing to do. We were the stewards of our world—its great protectors. The gods chose us to usher in an age of enlightenment. The Ghūl were resentful. They appeared to accept our leadership only to betray us in the most abhorrent way. They are vermin; the depth of their malice knows no bounds.”

  Sam wasn't prepared for the amount of venom in the Lord’s voice. Hundreds, if not thousands of years of resentment had curdled within its rotten skull.

  “So you turn to necromancy? Don't get me wrong, the Ghouls are monsters, but from where I'm standing, your side looks just as scary.”

  The Lord cocked its head, glowing eyes narrowing. “I did what needed to be done. We did not know the state of the surface when we fled into our ancient enclaves. I needed to ensure that my people endured. I will not accept judgment from a Mannen. Your kind were still crawling in the mud while we built towers that touched the heavens.”

  Sam’s shoulders tensed, acutely aware of the horde of draug slowly awakening from alcoves all around the room. His only path of escape was blocked by a group of Draug Warriors, led by a Captain. He’d walked into the lion’s den and foolishly assumed that he'd be fighting the lion one-on-one. It was a rookie mistake.

  The mist swirled around the towering Lord, a thrum of power resonating through the room. Sam could taste the thick aura of decay on his tongue. He was out of options.

  “Let's say I agree to help you, I assume there is some kind of reward?”

  The Lord shook its head in a surprisingly human gesture. “Your greed is a tribute to your race. The Dalith are often unfairly maligned, but you Mannen are truly mercenaries. Yes, in addition to the reward the Arbiter bestows, I will allow you to select a treasure from our vault…and I will let you keep those that you've already stolen.”

  Sam felt its spectral eyes lingering on the [Enchanted Pugilist Bands], but the draug sounded more exasperated than angry. The promise of more loot certainly made Sam’s decision easier. He was not remotely confident that he could fight his way out, let alone actually kill the Lord. It was clearly the kind of quest that forced you to pick a side, and he didn't see what choice he had.

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

  “Alright, I'll help. Where can I find this Matriarch?”

  The Necromancer’s skull took on the rough approximation of a grin. “She has taken up refuge in the Halls of the Ascendant Dusk. The Ghūl territory is large, and you will need to thin their numbers before attempting to breach their defences.” The Draug Lord paused, cloak billowing as the Soulstone let out another pounding thud. “But first, I need to determine whether or not you're even worthy of undertaking this quest. I had originally intended to seek out a party of warriors, yet here you stand—alone.”

  Sam’s hackles raised as the sound of shuffling bones echoed through the hall. “I may be alone, but I'm stronger than the average Warrior. Don't worry about it. If I say I can do it, I can do it.” He wished he felt as confident as he sounded.

  “Such pride, mannen. You think you can do alone what I've failed to do for centuries? Very well. Show me what your ego is worth.”

  All around him, the sound of creaking bone suddenly stopped, then exploded into movement. Sam barely had time to get his shield up before a screeching corpse smashed into it. He batted it away, spinning, trying to get bearings as a tide of bone rushed towards him through this mist.

  He reacted on pure instinct, whipping his spear in a wide arc and dancing back from the main group. There was a new type of draug intermixed among the standard Warriors; smaller, more chaotic. They appeared to be made from horrific amalgams of animals and other mortal creatures. Sam noticed a few [Nightseeker] carapaces and what appeared to be horse or dog skulls.

  They moved low to the ground, often on all fours, and were much faster than their bipedal counterparts. The snapping of their jaws and high-pitched yowls set Sam’s teeth on edge as he worked his way towards the edge of the hall. He was a flurry of movement, spear weaving through the mess of rusted blades and chipped axes. He focused less on striking killing blows and more on redirecting incoming attacks, positioning himself around one of the massive pillars.

  He needed to create a barrier between himself and the group in the center of the room. There were at least seven Warriors, plus the Champion, and possibly as many as ten of the little yapping horrors. A regular party would have been able to divide and conquer, but he was limited in the number of attacks he could block at once.

  His only saving grace was that there wasn't a Cleric among the encroaching horde. The light from the Soulstone was bolstering their ranks, but at least he didn't have to worry about dealing with the caster’s necrotic magic.

  He set his shield and went to work. Keeping the pillar on his right side, he managed to pierce the cores of two of the smaller draug. The green stones exploded in a tiny puff, and the associated bones collapsed in a heap. He let out a yelp of his own as something slammed into his shoulder from behind.

  He dismissed his shield and ripped off the beast from where it had latched onto his cuirass. With a grunt, he smashed it into the wall, pleased to see that he’d managed to destroy the core as well. With a thought, he checked his tafla and pulled up the combat report.

  [Combat - Draug Thrall - Common]

  The lowest form of undead life, thralls are made from the scraps of a necromancer's victims. These mindless creatures are driven by pure instinct, often barely within their master’s control.

  Spira: 45

  He was getting quicker with summoning and navigating the tafla; his eyes less so reading it, and more so having the information downloaded directly into his brain. He re-equipped his shield from his quickslot and battered a mace aside, slamming the haft of the spear down into the Warrior’s shoulder and breaking off an arm. A quick follow-up dispatched it, but not before taking a blow to the thigh.

  Despite the mace scoring a direct hit to his unarmoured leg, he barely winced at the contact. [Rodent’s Resilience] was working overtime in tandem with the blunt impact resistance from his newfound bands. He would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so terrifying.

  He pushed through the wave of Thralls and dashed towards the next pillar, trying to keep space between himself and the slower-moving Warriors. They were delayed in responding to his movements, and he took advantage of their shuffling gait.

  He repeated the process at the next pillar, only this time he took a few nips in the process; the Thrall’s sharp fangs did what the mace couldn't. He gritted his teeth, feeling blood dripping into his boot. He returned the favour with a stomp, crushing the elongated hound skull. A blow from the butt of his spear finished the core.

  The battle continued as Sam maintained his cat-and-mouse game. The Draug Lord didn't re-summon any of his defeated minions, but Sam noticed subtle motions from his hands. The draug moved in a tighter formation, their attacks more coordinated, leaving fewer openings for him to exploit. What had started as a few easy kills devolved into a slow grind, his arms growing leaden as he pounded his way through battered shields and decrepit armour.

  He accrued a series of shallow wounds over the course of the fight. While none were debilitating, the constant pangs of discomfort made it hard to focus. He took an axe to the face as he desperately tried to wipe the sweat from his eyes, resulting in a narrow gash across his forehead. While it wasn't deep, it meant he was constantly blinking blood from his vision, causing him to lose sight of the smaller draug.

  After nearly ten minutes, he’d whittled down Arngrym’s forces to two Warriors and the lone Captain. He was breathing heavily, his arms leaden from the repeated blows. The Necromancer seemed content to let him tire himself out, relying on the unending endurance of his undead horde.

  Both warriors rushed him in unison, and Sam barely had the strength to parry the first blow, leaning into the second as he went low and drove his shield into the skeleton’s thigh, snapping off the bone at the knee. He let out a cry as the first Warrior recovered far quicker than it should have, slamming its mace into his shoulder.

  He lashed out with a snarl. A short burst of strikes destroyed both cores, but the damage was done. His spear clattered to the ground, his fingers refusing to close around the supple leather grip.

  Laughter echoed through the hall. “Is this the limit of your might, Warrior? Will you be the deliverer of our salvation, or simply another corpse for my legion?”

  The Captain stepped forward, dropping its shield and taking its greatsword in both hands. The blade was nearly six feet long, and even with his enhanced strength, Sam doubted he could do little more than swing it.

  His right arm was a mess. Both knuckles and forearm were crisscrossed with rough lacerations, and his shoulder was already turning purple from the mace, every movement sending a lightning bolt of pain down to his fingertips. He bent over, storing the spear, eyes frantically searching for anything that could give him an advantage.

  The dungeon’s floor was made up of a lattice of interconnected stone pavers. The septagonal block was rough under his fingers; the intricate designs were dulled by age and wear, yet they were still beautiful. He found himself focusing on the brutal geometric lines, the intertwining flowers sending their roots into the earth.

  The outline of an idea began forming in his mind, and he stayed low, giving the perception that he could no longer rise. His fingers curled around the lip of the slab, and he steeled himself, preparing to gamble everything on a hunch.

  The Captain loomed over him. Sam looked up, staring into the glowing green light that emanated from the blocky skull. He could sense the Necromancer’s loathing through the connection. To him, Sam was nothing more than a bug waiting to be squashed. The Captain raised the blade above its head, shoulder joints creaking under the weight.

  Sam stored the slab.

  The wide block disappeared without a sound. The pocket of space underneath it was only six inches deep, but it was enough to throw the draug completely off balance. It fell backwards, dragged down by the weight of its massive blade. Sam sprang up and resummoned the block—shifting its orientation.

  He let out a grunt and pushed his shield into the slab, straining against the weight that threatened to tip over on him. For a second, he thought his legs might give out, but he powered through, muscles straining as he toppled the stone over onto the armoured skeleton.

  It slammed to the ground with a hair-raising crunch.

  Dust mingled with the fog as Sam stood there panting. His hands trembled from the weight of the slab, and it was a struggle to remain on his feet. The Captain’s skull rolled across the hall, disconnected from shattered vertebrae. The rattle of bone on stone was not the only sound in the vast hall. In his mind, a series of soft chimes sounded, a bloody grin cracking his lips as he listened to the skill tiers increase.

  It had been a risk. The stone was almost as long as he was tall. If he hadn’t been strong enough, he’d likely be in two pieces—not standing triumphant. He made a mental note to see if Arther had any weights he could test with, and get a definitive number on how much he could lift.

  Arngrym slowly nodded his head, posture relaxing. “It seems I underestimated you, Warrior. Your grit may yet be enough to overcome the Ghūl. I would thank the support of your patron, but you have none…an oddity, to be sure.” The Necromancer scratched its chin with a bony finger. “You will have my blessing then, and carry my will through these halls of the damned.”

  He stepped forward, and it took all of Sam’s willpower not to recoil at the sight of the rotting corpse. “Will you accept my gift, Warrior?”