《Mythic Chance》 Chapter 1: Task Failed Successfully When one wakes up in a strange place, especially a place where one didn¡¯t go to sleep the night before, it is understandable for one to act a certain way. So, when Oliver Weston fell asleep on his sofa in his front room, while watching the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy in one sitting for the tenth time, and woke up chained to a dungeon wall, it would be understandable for him to panic, scream, shout, cry, or at the very least exclaim ¡°Oh darn!¡± What he actually did, instead of all these things, was laugh. Just a chuckle, a small titter that would hardly be audible anywhere else. But with the dungeon he now found himself in being vast and spacious, his harmless little laugh transformed into an evil cackle as it bounced off the dank, crumbling walls, the sound reaching all the way to the cavernous ceiling. Oliver didn¡¯t really know why he laughed. Maybe it was because he thought he was dreaming? Or perhaps his brain was having a huge nostalgia trip for the opening of The Elder Scrolls 4 Oblivion? Or maybe he¡¯d finally gone mad, like his mum always said he would? He looked around, feeling he may as well humour his subconscious by playing along with the weird hallucination. He was in his summer pyjamas, held in place to a stone wall by iron shackles on both his wrists, splayed out like a starfish, his bare feet only just touching the floor. The floor itself was the same stone as the walls, with occasional clumps of straw and¡­brown patches, scattered about. He could only see about twenty feet in front of him, a strange dim white light that reminded him of moonlight beaming down from a convenient hole in the ceiling high above. He would have tried to convince himself that the aforementioned¡­brown patches, were chocolate, but all the smells of the place chose that moment to assault his senses. Damp, stagnant water, piss, excrement and something else, like something had died in here. He gagged and tried to breathe through his mouth for the time being. ¡°Okay¡­maybe this is actually real then?¡± He croaked to himself. His throat was parched. He remembered reading somewhere, (probably a random Facebook article, which would of course have been factchecked), that dreams didn¡¯t involve taste or smell, so maybe it was real after all. The revelation that he wasn¡¯t dreaming made some of the strangely absent panic start to creep in. The shackles holding him in place now suddenly felt a lot tighter, jagged metal digging into his wrists, the feel of the cold stone wall cutting through his thin pyjama top like a knife. ¡°Hello?!¡± Oliver wheezed through chapped lips, the word reverberating all around him. He repeated it three more times, slightly louder each time, but he couldn¡¯t quite yell. He experimentally (and admittedly naively) tried to pull his wrists free from the shackles, but was unsurprisingly unable to apply any degree of force. He turned his head to look at the shackle holding his right wrist. The shackle was a hollow cylinder of iron encasing his wrist, held to the wall by two metal bolts on either side. Something stood out to him almost right away. The body of the shackle was tarnished and rusty, the metal¡¯s shine long since dulled. He turned to look at his left wrist. The other shackle was in much the same state of disrepair. In his dehydrated, confused and panicked state, he tried to think of any way he could free himself. And that was when things got weird. As he squinted at the right shackle more closely, to his utter bewilderment, words appeared in front of him, floating in his vision as though on a screen. They scrolled across his retinas as though they were being typed in real time, overlayed in bright green text that was stark against the shackle¡¯s iron grey. ASSESSING MOST PROBABLE PATHS: PATH 1: FORCIBLY BREAK SHACKLE MORTAL CHANCE: 5% MYTHIC CHANCE: 55% PATH 2: MANOEUVRE LIMB FREE MORTAL CHANCE: 10% MYTHIC CHANCE: 70% MYTHIC MANA STORE: 100% CAPACITY Oliver blinked, resisting the urge to laugh again. On top of the absurd situation he found himself in, now his mind was making him hallucinate words from staring too hard. He looked again and the same words appeared, re-typed fresh each time he focussed on them. ¡°What in the world?¡± Maybe these could help him. Looking at the ¡°PROBABLE PATHS¡± and thinking for a couple of minutes, he concluded that the two options presented were indeed (in his mind) the only obvious courses of action he could take. It took him longer to get his head around the MORTAL and MYTHIC CHANCES. Was he supposed to know this? Was this something from a game he had played that he should recognise? After a lot of mental gymnastics, he arrived at what he thought was a sensible theory. Since he was (last time he checked) mortal, he assumed that MORTAL CHANCE, referred to his chances of achieving that path¡­naturally, was that the right word? Achieving the outcome on his own, without help¡­maybe? If that was correct, then he also agreed with the text¡¯s projected chances of him achieving each outcome. It said he had a 5% chance of breaking the shackle naturally with his own MORTAL strength, that made sense. He would need strength he just didn¡¯t have, even with them as rusted as they were. He agreed his chances were higher (if only just) of prying his hand free at 10%, but he also knew he would either have to imitate that scene from Gerald¡¯s Game (deeply unpleasant)¡­or the one from 127 Hours (even more unpleasant). He squinted again at the text. He had no idea what MYTHIC MANA STORE was, but assumed it must be connected to the MYTHIC CHANCES, which he was also clueless about. ¡°What is MYTHIC CHANCE?¡± Oliver croaked to the dungeon at large. Silence ¡°What is¡­MYTHIC MANA STORE?!¡± He said louder, his throat feeling like sandpaper as the dungeon echoed his words back to him. What had he been expecting, a voice to suddenly come out of nowhere and explain everything to him just because he asked? Then again he didn¡¯t know what to expect at this point. It looked like he was going to have to figure everything out himself, most likely through trial and error. Maybe if he attempted to follow the trail of moon logic this bizarre situation seemed to demand, maybe he would get some answers. ¡°Use MYTHIC CHANCE¡± he said, focussing on the right wrist shackle. Nothing happened. ¡°Use MYTHIC MANA STORE¡± he tried, continuing to stare at his trapped right wrist. Again, nothing happened. He tried a few more times with the same outcome. He then tried saying anything from the text in the hope of eliciting some kind of response. Thinking it was the lesser of two evils, he randomly said ¡°Path 2¡±. As soon as he said it, the PATH 2 section of the text seemed to glow brighter, as if it had been highlighted. The text also got bigger, as if he had zoomed in on it. ¡°Okay¡­that¡¯s something.¡± Oliver croaked. His head was beginning to pound from dehydration and his vision was getting blurry from staring at his right wrist for so long. He was developing a crick in his neck from stretching. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°Erm¡­Use MYTHIC CHANCE?¡± he said experimentally. The text flashed and zoomed back. In his mind, that seemed like an acknowledgment. ¡°Oh now that works?!¡± He said sarcastically, beginning to lose patience with whatever this bullshit system was. So, he needed to actually select a ¡°Path¡± before he could use whatever these ¡°MYTHIC CHANCES¡± were. It was great things were obvious. When the text flashed, he heard a strange tone, like a piano key playing, but instead of echoing around the room, it simply faded quickly, as if he were wearing headphones. He then jolted, as he briefly felt as if cool water had been poured over him. He looked down at his body, thinking that water had dripped from the ceiling onto him, but there was nothing. Apart from sweat, he was dry as a bone. Looking back at his right wrist, he found that some of the numbers had changed slightly. ASSESSING MOST PROBABLE PATHS: PATH 1: FORCIBLY BREAK SHACKLE MORTAL CHANCE: 5% MYTHIC CHANCE: 55% PATH 2: MANOEUVRE LIMB FREE MYTHIC CHANCE: 70% MYTHIC MANA STORE: 90% CAPACITY He waited a few moments. Nothing happened. Was he supposed to try to manoeuvre his hand free now? But nothing had happened. How were his chances now 70%? Maybe the percentage wasn¡¯t his likelihood of succeeding? Maybe he had interpreted this completely wrong. Maybe he was hallucinating the text and he was wasting his time. Maybe he was messing with a system he didn¡¯t understand and wouldn¡¯t help him in the slightest and he would simply rot here on this wall for the rest of his short life. Then, suddenly, a glint caught his eye. Looking past the text, focussing on his right hand itself, he could see that though it looked roughly like it always did, there was now a subtle difference. In the light of the small moonbeam above, he noticed that the skin on his hand seemed to have a wet, glistening look to it, as though it had been dipped in lubricant. It didn¡¯t feel wet, but it was hard to tell as his hand had gone slightly numb from the tight shackle. He flexed his fingers, and droplets of¡­something fell from his hand and dripped onto the floor below. Bracing his feet on the floor, he lightly pulled on his right hand. His hand slid into the inside of the shackle, as though it were jelly being fed down a small pipe. There was a bit of resistance as he pulled harder, but eventually, with a wet sucking sound, his hand popped out of the shackle, thankfully with no skin or flesh being sheered off in the process. Steadying himself, he nearly jumped as he heard a chime sound off, again just in his head. He could have sworn it sounded like the Windows 98 ¡°Tada!¡± sound, the most condescending sound in history. Was this¡­system¡­whatever it was, mocking him? Panting, he inspected his right hand more closely. It looked exactly the same, except for gooey layers of the strange lubricant that covered his whole hand and half way down his forearm. His inspection caused some more of the goo to drip to the floor again with a wet slap. He sniffed it, but it didn¡¯t smell of anything. Then he gagged as¡­other smells crept in again. He waited for a few minutes, astonished that he had freed his hand so easily. Despite multiple shakes of his hand and wiping it on his pyjama shorts, the strange lubricant didn¡¯t seem to come off. Or it did, but it was replenishing itself, as if his skin was naturally producing it. Wait, was his hand like this forever now? At that moment, he didn¡¯t care. ¡°Alright, one hand down, one to go.¡± He croaked, standing there with his shackled left hand still raised above his head like an overeager student asking a question. Looking up at his left wrist, the same text appeared again. ASSESSING MOST PROBABLE PATHS: PATH 1: FORCIBLY BREAK SHACKLE MORTAL CHANCE: 5% MYTHIC CHANCE: 55% PATH 2: MANOEUVRE LIMB FREE MORTAL CHANCE: 10% MYTHIC CHANCE: 20% MYTHIC MANA STORE: 90% CAPACITY ¡°Wait, why is the PATH 2 MYTHIC CHANCE now 20%?!¡± He asked no-one in particular. Did it not carry over to his other hand? Did using a particular MYTHIC CHANCE suddenly lower it¡¯s effectiveness if he used it again? It seemed the only course of action was to try PATH 1 and hope for the best. ¡°Path 1¡± he said with more confidence this time. The text highlighted PATH 1 and zoomed in as before. ¡°Use MYTHIC CHANCE¡± he said, clearing his throat as his voice cracked. The same piano tone played and the same coldness feeling swept over him. His eyes started blurring as sweat from his forehead had begun to go into them. He wiped his face with his free right hand, which only resulted in him covering himself in the gooey lubricant. He spluttered as he shook his head and some went in his mouth. It didn¡¯t taste of anything but it was still an unpleasant feeling. He wiped off his face on his upper right arm, before looking back at his still shackled left wrist again. This ¡°PATH 1¡± was to do with his physically breaking the shackle. He pulled with his left arm, and suddenly felt a new found strength, just in that arm, that he¡¯d never felt before. It felt good. He felt like he could crush stone, bend a steel bar in half, or lift a car single handed. He used that strength and pulled with all his might. He staggered forward as the shackle came free from the wall in a cloud of dust. A second chime went off, but rather than the ¡°Tada!¡± sound, it was what sounded like the ¡°Chord¡± sound from Windows 98 (what was it with this system and Windows 98?!). Once he found his balance and stood up straight for the first time, he frowned. That ¡°Chord¡± sound was generally associated with ¡°something fucked up¡±, but he had pulled his hand free. Was it just coincidence and this system just played random sounds regardless of what he did? A few seconds after the dust had cleared, he looked at his hand. He saw that yes, his left hand was free, yay¡­but it was still inside the shackle, which in turn had the large chunk of stone from the wall still attached to it, boo. He shook his arm, but the stone chunk wouldn¡¯t budge. His buffed strength was enough that it didn¡¯t really weigh anything, which was fine, but the stone chunk was as big as his head. He couldn¡¯t walk around with this attached to his wrist, he would look ridiculous. Flailing his arm about as if it were a spider that wouldn¡¯t let go, he accidentally smashed the stone chunk into the wall, shattering it into dust and pebbles which tumbled around him. ¡°Well that¡¯s one way to do it.¡± Oliver said, flexing his bicep to show the unimpressed wall how strong he was. The shackle itself was still attached to his left hand, but that would have to do. He was free, that was all that mattered for now. ¡°Right¡­where the fuck am I?¡± Oliver said, finally having a moment to taking in the dungeon around him. He could tell the place was vast, the lone moonbeam in the ceiling illuminating just twenty feet in all directions, surrounded by total darkness. Looking at the section of wall he¡¯d just been shackled to, he now noticed other visible sets of shackles set at small intervals along it. And some of the shackles¡­still had occupants. Though it hardly mattered, as they were long dead. Bodies were still chained in place by their wrists to the wall. Some were full bodies, their flesh still holding them together, their faces gaunt and sunken, maggots burrowing away into their eyes and mouth, tattered clothing still clinging to their frames. Some were crumbled skeletons that had broken away from the shackles and piled on the floor, the occasional boney arm or hand still held captive. Oliver looked at the nearest body, a bearded man with half his face missing, his belly bloated as his legs had buckled and splintered under his weight. ¡°Jesus, who were these people, and why am I here with them?¡± Oliver said, strangely calm in the presence of several half rotted corpses. He guessed it must be the adrenaline and him still not being 100% sure that this was real at all. Inspecting the corpse closer, (holding his breath as he did so), he noticed that beardy faceless had the remains of what must have been a cloak draped over his shoulders. Shivering in his short sleeved top and shorts as a cold draft blew through the darkness, Oliver decided any other layer would be good regardless of where it came from. Looking at the other corpses, this was the largest item of clothing still remaining. He grabbed the hem of the cloak with his right hand and the material slipped through his fingers due to the lubricant. Changing hands, he pulled with his left. His still enhanced left arm strength caused the cloak to tear off the corpse in one motion. Unfortunately, the huge force he didn¡¯t really intend to use (as in his confusion and delirium he had already forgotten about his strength increase) caused the corpse¡¯s arms to peel out of the shackles as if they were made of jelly, which caused the remains of the man to slump forward, making Oliver stagger backwards and away, tripping over the hem of the cloak as he did so. The corpse fell to the floor, the bloated stomach bursting, fetid stomach contents and maggots spraying out in all directions. Oliver wretched and instinctively used the cloak to shield himself from the flying sludge. A few seconds passed, and he lowered the cloak, doing a damage check. Miraculously, none of the foul stuff had ended up on him. Shivering in a way that had nothing to do with the cold, he looked at the not so lucky, drenched, stinking cloak that he was now both thankful for and regretted taking. Unsurprisingly, he no longer felt like wearing it. But what choice did he have? He couldn¡¯t explore a dungeon in thin pyjamas. Trying not to wretch at the overwhelming smell, he dropped the cloak. In doing so, his eyes fell on a torch bracket that was set into the wall nearby. Fire! Light! That was exactly what he needed. Oliver rushed over to it. It was empty. Well that was pointless excitement. He walked away, shivering, trying to ignore the small wisps of steam coming from the still decomposing corpse on the floor. Great, he was free, but he was now going to freeze to death before he figured out where he was, why he was here and how this weird system worked. Wait¡­the system. Glancing at his still lubed up right hand, he smacked himself in the head at his stupidity. The wet smack echoed around him, and he wiped his face on his arm again. Yes the torch bracket was empty, but he could do magic, so could he light it somehow?! Staring at the torch bracket, the same green text as before appeared over it. ASSESSING MOST PROBABLE PATHS: PATH 1: LIGHT EMPTY TORCH BRACKET MORTAL CHANCE: 0% MYTHIC CHANCE: 40% PATH 2: LIGHT FULL TORCH BRACKET MORTAL CHANCE: 5% MYTHIC CHANCE: 80% MYTHIC MANA STORE: 80% CAPACITY By the looks of it, Oliver seemed to lose 10% of his MYTHIC MANA STORE every time he used it. He supposed that meant he had eight more ¡°supernatural¡± things he could do with his body before it ran out. What would happen when it ran out? How did he refill his MYTHIC MANA STORE? Could he refill it at all? So many questions. He knew at some point he would probably have to use this weird power sparingly, but right now he was cold, alone, confused and lost in a strange place with no idea what to do or where to go. For the moment, fire would solve two of his problems, warmth and light. He thought that a worthy trade for some mythic power. He selected PATH 2 and used the MYTHIC CHANCE, the same tone and cold feeling passing over him again. He looked down at his body. Nothing seemed to have changed. Supposedly he now had an 80% chance of lighting the bracket, if it was full. Oliver picked up the dripping cloak he hadn¡¯t been sure what to do with and stuffed it into the top of the iron torch bracket. Realising the bracket was permanently set into the wall rather than being designed to be held by hand, he took hold of it and pulled both the bracket and another chunk of stone out of the wall, breaking the jagged rock into pieces like he had the first time. This left him with an iron bracket with a dusty, fetid stomach contents soaked cloak stuffed in it, which that he awkwardly held from the bottom in his left hand. Adjusting the bracket¡¯s position, he saw a glint of something as his hand turned in the moonlight. Holding his left hand up to the moonlight, he saw that his left thumb and middle finger were now black rather than his pale skin tone. He placed the bracket on the floor to look more closely. He panicked momentarily, as in the moonlight it looked almost like his two digits were necrotic or injured in some way. But when he tried to move them, they moved normally and he felt no pain, as if they were no different. Rotating his fingers, these two in particular seemed to gleam, as though they were encased in a dark shiny material. He moved them both and touched them to each other. A small click sound echoed, like two rocks clacking together. ¡°Wait¡­it¡¯s EXACTLY like rocks hitting each other.¡± Oliver mused. Without thinking, he clicked his thumb and middle finger together. A burst of sparks erupted from the contact, causing him to jump back in alarm. His fingers were encased in flint! He had to admire the system¡¯s ¡°spark¡± of creativity. He chuckled at his hilarious joke. Oliver picked up the bracket in his right hand (having to hold it as firmly as possible to stop it slipping in his lube covered fingers) and snapped his flint fingers, causing sparks to fly over the bracket. Instead of lighting the cloak inside the bracket however, one of the sparks landed on his right hand. Instantly, the weird lubricant ignited, causing his whole right hand and forearm to burst into flames. Oliver screamed and dropped the the bracket, staggering around frantically as the light from the blaze nearly blinded him. He flailed about and shook it to try and blow it out, but if anything the blaze seemed to get bigger and brighter. Now, had Oliver been more rational in that moment, had the events of the last half an hour or so not caused him to enter a weird brain fog where logic didn¡¯t belong, had any stray thought he may have had not been instantly overwritten by ¡°Ah! Ah! My arm is on fire! Fuck! Fuck! Put it out! Fuck!¡±, he would probably have noticed that the fire was not actually causing him any pain. Nor was the arm itself actually burning or crisping or getting smaller. After about a minute of screaming, running in circles and waving his arm as though he were trying to fly, he slowly came to realise these facts. He stopped and stood, squinting at his fiery appendage, his eyes slowly adjusting to the brightness of the fire. He realised the heat produced from the fire was not overpowering either, more akin to being stood near to the grated fire in his grandad¡¯s living room. It was actually quite pleasant. The ¡°Chord¡± tone from before chose that moment to play, causing him to jump in fright. ¡°Task failed successfully I guess.¡± Oliver said, wishing the system could have at least used tones from this century. Holding his immolating extremity in front of him at embered arms length, Oliver stepped tentatively into the darkness at the edge of the moonbeam. Chapter 2: Dry as a bone. Oliver took slow, steady steps into the veil of darkness. Other than his own bare footfalls, the only sounds were the crackling of his hand/torch, and what he thought were the faint drips of water coming from somewhere. With nothing else to focus on and his throat feeling like he had a hedgehog lodged in it, he headed vaguely in the direction of the tinkling sound. The stone floor started to slope downwards as he moved further. There was nothing but floor and darkness after five minutes of walking, no walls, no other bodies, not even any support pillars. Just how big was this dungeon anyway? The water got louder and Oliver could feel a slight dampness on the stone beneath him, as well as a light spray on his legs. Eventually, a wall appeared in front of him, stretching upwards into the blackness of the ceiling. Under the light of his ¡°torch¡±, Oliver could see a steady stream of water trickling down the stone wall, splashing into a small pool. Not stopping to check or even think, egged on by that overpowering biological urge of ¡°you¡¯re fucking thirsty, drink something dickhead!¡±, Oliver dropped to his knees and scooped some up with his hand. Realising the pool was deeper than he thought, he then decided not to bother with a measly handful. He plunged his head into the pool, holding his hand torch awkwardly behind his back so as not to put it out. The hedgehog that had taken up residence in his throat was evicted instantly, and he gulped down litres of the precious liquid. All thoughts vanished, all worries vanished, all other pressing matters simply disappeared from his mind as he refuelled his dried husk of a body, the water (at that moment) sweeter than anything he had ever tasted in his life. He broke the surface with a satisfied gasp, gulping in the dungeon¡¯s stale air, wiping his face and pushing his sopping black hair out of his eyes. Oliver sat there for a few moments, letting the water of life fill him and spread through his body, puffs of steam forming around his hand torch as the mist of the waterfall hit it. As the rejuvenation began to banish the brain fog that had built up since he had woken in this strange dungeon, his attention fell on the surface of the pool. It was moving. Yes it was moving from the waterfall filling it, but also from¡­something else. Something¡­writhing. Tentatively holding his arm out to get a better view of the pool, his eyes widened in horror. Maggots were wriggling all over the surface and under the small pool, thousands of them. Turning to the edge of the pool, he saw their source. More bodies were lying at the water¡¯s edge, the same varying states of decay present as those chained to the wall, some merely piles of bones, others slumped over as if they were just sleeping. It was at that moment, that Oliver felt movement in his own mouth, movement that squirmed and wriggled. ¡°Oh fuc¡­¡± Oliver began, as his body suddenly realised what he¡¯d done, and began a full stomach evacuation procedure. He retched, instantly losing control, as he vomited a huge volume of the crawling, twitching liquid that had tasted so sweet in his thirst induced delirious state. A minute later, just when he thought his stomach had emptied and his convulsions were under control, he vomited again, more violently this time. He jerked forward on his knees, which resulted in his hand torch splashing into the pool and extinguishing with a loud hiss, instantly plunging him into darkness once more. Oliver knelt there for several minutes in the blackness, his body continuing to vomit up the deceptive maggot soup until there was nothing left and he was dry heaving, his body well and truly telling him ¡°This is what you get when you swallow strange liquids. Don¡¯t do it again you fucking moron!¡±. Finally, the retches and dry heaves seemed to subside, and he had a moment to actually think, while he breathed in heavy laboured breaths from the exhaustion. Snapping his fingers near his hand, the lubricant caught fire once again, nearly blinding him for a second time. Despite violently vomiting up what he felt was half his body weight (as well as a few things he¡¯d dreamed he¡¯d eaten, thought about eating and things his neighbours had eaten too) he didn¡¯t feel thirsty anymore, so something must have absorbed. ¡°Okay, so I¡¯m not going to die of thirst right away, that¡¯s good I guess¡± Oliver said, still breathing heavily. He stood up, deliberately not looking at the maggoty pool and it¡¯s decomposing side decorations. All around him was still just a deep, impenetrable black, the empty void stretching out in front of him. ¡°Where the fuck do I go?¡± He muttered to himself, suddenly very aware of just how exposed he was. Oliver had always considered himself a rational person. He didn¡¯t believe in the supernatural or anything otherworldly. But staring into that black void, unbidden irrational thoughts of all sorts of horrors just lurking past his sight line flashed through his mind. He shook his head, banishing them. Everything he had encountered so far had been dead, and even if he did come across something that meant him harm, he had superhuman strength in one arm and a flaming torch in the other. He liked his chances in a fight. That was of course, provided these ¡°powers¡± didn¡¯t wear off after a while. Pushing his hair out of his eyes again to clear his head, Oliver felt a slight draft cross his legs, causing him to shiver despite the warmth of his torch. That got him thinking, that draft had to be blowing from somewhere, which to him meant outside. If he followed the wind, maybe it would lead him out of here, or at least closer to the exit. He set off again, hand torch held before him, half as a light source, half as a half hearted weapon should anything nasty spring out at him. Where before, the floor had moved down towards the water pool, as he moved towards where the breeze was blowing from, the floor sloped upwards. It got steeper and steeper, until Oliver was genuinely out of breath after a few minutes of climbing up hill and had to take a break. ¡°Man was not meant to go up slopes¡± he said. He squinted ahead of him in the hope of making out anything at all in the inky veil. Eventually, as the draft got stronger and he climbed higher, the ground levelled out and a stone archway materialised out of the black. Oliver could hear the wind coming from the arch, which seemed to lead into a narrow passageway. ¡°Okay, that¡¯s progress, an actual corridor.¡± Oliver said, striding into the passageway with a new found confidence. The draft blew strong, howling down the dark stone corridor, making his hand torch flicker. After a few minutes, the wind died down, completely. He was once more in complete silence as he slowly kept walking. Then he heard a new sound. A scratching sound, like someone running their nails slowly along a blackboard. The sound went through him, making him cringe. Oliver had always hated that sound. It had always made him feel physically sick, and he would prefer to avoid vomiting his guts up again. He stopped and held his hand torch out further, as if he could somehow move the light away from him without moving himself. The scratching grew louder, becoming more and more grating. Oliver ground his teeth as he stared at the darkness. Slowly, as the terrible noise reached it¡¯s peak, a shape emerged from the shadow. A skull.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Oliver started, and staggered backwards, causing the light to dance around the narrow tunnel. The skull seemed to be hovering in mid air, as if being held by and invisible hand. Then, more bones emerged beneath it from the dark, a ribcage, thin stick like arms, a pelvis, and finally two spindly legs. The skeleton lumbered forward, and Oliver saw that one of it¡¯s legs was connected to the pelvis at a weird angle, causing it to drag one of it¡¯s feet across the stone floor, which was the source of the dreadful scratching. Upon entering the light fully, the skeleton stopped and looked at Oliver. Oliver stared back at the thing. He was in shock. This was a human skeleton, of someone long dead, and it was moving. It was walking around like a person, no strings, no man in a green jumpsuit holding each of the bones, nothing. It was an undead skeleton, brought back from the grave, and it was looking at him. The grime covered skull of the horror turned slightly to the side like a curious dog, the jaw clamped shut in a permanent rictus grin. Oliver looked into the black hollows where this person¡¯s eyes had once been, and he saw nothing. The jaw then lowered with a click, opening it¡¯s mouth wide, and it let out an ear splitting screech. If the scratching of its feet had been grating, this was like insects attempting to burrow into Oliver¡¯s brain. While still screeching, the skeleton staggered forward, it¡¯s arms outstretched towards him. Despite it¡¯s disjointed leg and being only bone, it was suddenly remarkably fast. It closed the distance between them in less than a second. Oliver had no time to react, instead reacting purely on instinct. He yelled in fright and thrust his hand torch out at the monster. The skeleton didn¡¯t stop, ploughing forward into him, the skull making contact with his outstretched burning hand. This halted the moving mass of bones, it¡¯s arms writhing and flailing, Oliver stood in surprise, his hand gripping the skull as if he were holding back a small child who posed no threat to him. Slightly taken aback by being able to hold the creature at bay so easily, Oliver stood there for a few seconds, watching as it struggled to reach him, the fire of his hand leaving black soot on the skull¡¯s forehead. Jolting back to reality and deciding that he had gawped enough, Oliver raised his left hand and punched the wriggling skeleton in the ribcage. With his enhanced strength, the bones instantly crumpled and the skeleton itself broke apart, the bones uncoupling like a puppet with it¡¯s strings cut and clattering to the floor. Oliver staggered forward, wobbling to stop himself from stepping on the scattered bones. He looked at the pieces of the creature that looked in the torchlight like dirty white twigs. Then he spotted the skull, the jaw open and dislocated on one side. Nothing moved. Had he killed it? He waited for a few minutes, but the before energetic bones lay still on the floor, the only sound the crackling of his torch and his heavy breathing as the adrenaline wore off. Oliver bent down, and picked up the skull in his left hand. It looked like the skeleton was smiling at him, but then again they always looked like they were smiling, they had no choice. A gust of wind chose that moment to blow again through the tunnel and Oliver, in panic, crushed the skull in his fingers. He still kept forgetting about his increased strength in the heat of the moment. Dropping the crushed bone powder and dusting his hand off on his shorts, he lamented that he wouldn¡¯t be playing Hamlet any time soon. ¡°Alas, poor Yorick, he had brittle bone disease¡± Oliver said to himself. He continued on, spurred by a combination of adrenaline and pride at defeating his first foe. If a skeleton, the literal reanimated bones of a dead person, could be dispatched like that, then he could take on anything. He hadn¡¯t even hit it that hard. Oliver made his way through the long tunnel, even lightly jogging at one point, knowing that he could take on whatever came out of that darkness before him. After another five minutes of walking, Oliver saw what he so desperately hoped to see. However faint, he could see light at the end of this long tunnel. He sprinted towards it, not caring that the tunnel floor got rougher and sharper on his feet. This could potentially be a way out. He could be saved. Hurling himself out the last few feet, he emerged into another cavernous chamber, but this time it was much better lit. Now he could actually get a good look at the place, he saw that the dungeon¡­castle¡­wherever he was, was in an incredible state of disrepair. There were multiple holes in the high ceiling, through which that same moonlight was streaming through. There were holes in the walls that seemed to lead to nowhere, as if stones had just become dislodged and fallen away, leaving the wall looking like Swiss cheese. The holes in the ceiling were where the wind was coming from, and Oliver took a step back as the wind nearly made him singe his own eyebrows off with his hand. The chamber sloped down into a flat area at the bottom, the occasional large stone scattered on the slope, looking like odd seats in an amphitheatre. He looked across the room and saw another archway, similar to the tunnel he¡¯d just left. Seeing no other archways and using his brilliant powers of deduction, he surmised that that door was the only other way out. He made his way to the edge of the slope, and saw that stones were slick with water, whether from rain or damp or¡­something else, he didn¡¯t know. Oliver took a tentative step onto the slope, and instantly slipped, causing him to fall flat on his arse. The act of falling on his backside did not stop his momentum though, and he slid down the slope on his rear end all the way to the flat area at the bottom. Cursing, he got up, brushed his now dirty and scraped pyjama shorts off, massaged his bum, then stopped as he heard another noise. A scraping and creaking, like metal on stone, reverberated around the room, just as cringeworthy as the skeleton foot dragging, if not more so. Oliver covered his ears as it became earsplitting. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw sparks from the top of the slope. He saw to his horror that they were coming from the other archway. Dazzling sparks were flying out from the the sides, as what looked like a portcullis slammed down across the exit, blocking the path completely. Oliver turned, his heart sinking, as he saw the same kind of portcullis block the arch he had just come through. They both slammed down with loud clangs and the scraping stopped. The noise echoed around the room and suddenly there was silence. Oliver looked around nervously. ¡°Great, now I¡¯m trapped. Well, at least there¡¯s nothing else in here¡­¡± he started to say, before clamping his mouth shut. Though he didn¡¯t believe in jinxing and tempting fate, growing up with his mother insisting on not crossing on the stairs or stepping on cracks had drilled it into him. This lead to him pondering on whether there perhaps was something to her superstition, as a scuttling sound then began to build. Oliver tried to figure out where the sound was coming from, as it got louder and louder. He began to panic as he realised it was coming from all around him. When the sound reached it¡¯s peak, he saw movement on the walls. Skeletons, dozens of them, began to climb out of the holes in the stone and ceiling. They crawled on their twig like limbs, some fully formed, some merely a torso with arms, some even without skulls. They scuttled down the walls like weird white spiders, causing rocks and shingle to fall with them. Oliver looked around frantically, but they were coming from all sides, every wall covered in the monstrosities, all making their way from the walls down the slope toward him. This room was designed to trap him, to funnel him into the middle and then allow him to be swamped by skeletons. This was just unfair now. As they reached the bottom of what he now saw as a pit, Oliver tried to take up a fighting stance, using his torch hand to try and ward them off, but they didn¡¯t stop. They clicked and clacked across the floor and began grabbing at his legs. Unfortunately, seeing the sprawling mass of white bones about to engulf him, feeling their cold rotten fingers on his legs and hearing the countless scratches and scrapes of bone on stone, made Oliver¡¯s logical brain shut down. Terror began to flood him and he yelled, then screamed, as they climbed up his legs and his torso. He fell to the ground, only to land on top of other skeletons behind him. They sprawled across him, and suddenly all he could see was a churning mass of bone and cartilage. He pulled his hands up to protect his face, screaming the primal terror cry of a trapped animal. He subconsciously curled into a foetal position and waited for it to be over. They would tear him apartin this cold, dark dungeon and he would die never knowing where he was, how he got here, what these powers were or anything. He would never see his family again, never go on another date, never own a dog, never get his dream job, never have kids, never live the life he had always wanted. He would die alone, forgotten, and terrified. ¡°Hang on¡­¡±Oliver managed to get out over the noise of the skeleton avalanche. They had been crawling over him for some time now, but hadn¡¯t actually done anything to him. He looked around through the sprawling bones and saw that to his surprise, it wasn¡¯t for lack of trying. The skeletons were attempting to hit him, tear him, scratch him, even bite him. But every time they did, they simply slid off of him. Their fingers and teeth couldn¡¯t find purchase, or when they did, it looked like they just didn¡¯t have the strength to actually do any damage. His terror from before leaving him and remembering once again that he had superhuman strength in his left hand, he wrenched his left arm away from several skeletons that had hold of him. They went flying, launching into the air. He punched through several more, getting to his knees, then more and getting to his feet. The bones formed a whirlwind around him as he sent them soaring in all directions, some breaking apart from the fall or from hitting the walls or in some cases the ceiling. Some of the bones even shattered and splintered, the sheer strength of his arm hitting them with the force of a speeding car. He kicked a few with his un-enhanced legs and that seemed to do the trick too, the skeletons breaking apart so easily, it was like they were held together with pritt-stick and spit. Finally, a few minutes later, Oliver stood in the centre of the room, surrounded by piles of broken and smashed bones, thankfully none of them moving anymore. He stood in silence, taking in his victory over not just his foes, but his won fear as well. It felt good, very good. ¡°Well, that¡¯s one way to do it I suppose¡± a voice said from behind him. Oliver spun, hands raised, eager to hit something else after taking some of his frustrations out on the pathetic skeletons. He was also caught of guard upon hearing a voice other than his own for the first time since he got here. It felt weird and strange. Up high on the wall, hanging from shackles not too dissimilar to the ones Oliver had escaped¡­was another skeleton. It hung limply by it¡¯s knobbly wrists, it¡¯s feet dangling and swaying slightly in the breeze. The skull was turned slightly downward, the empty eye sockets fixed on Oliver. It¡¯s jaw opened with a click and with nonexistent vocal chords it said ¡°You really showed my brethren what for. I would say it was Humerus, but then I¡¯d have to die of shame.¡± Chapter 3: McKeleton ¡°I¡¯m sorry, was that¡­a joke?¡± Oliver asked the talking hanging skeleton in disbelief. The hanging bone man¡­woman¡­thing, turned it¡¯s skull slightly downcast, almost as if in shame. ¡°Not my best I know, but it is hard to think of new ones when all the blood is rushing to your feet. One¡¯s brain has trouble thinking straight.¡± the skull said. Oliver stepped over the debris field of bones in the pit to get a better view of the chained figure. ¡°Erm¡­you don¡¯t have blood, or a brain either¡­never mind, who are you?¡± Oliver said, checking himself as he realised that pointing out inconsistencies in a talking skeleton¡¯s words was probably not the most productive thing he could be doing right now. The skeleton¡¯s jaw opened wide, its limbs and ribcage tensing, as if excited to be asked such a question. ¡°Who am I? Oh well it is so nice to be asked that, but¡­I think at this moment it is probably more important who you are, may I extend the same question to you?¡± This skeleton seemed a lot more polite than the others, but maybe that was because it was chained up and was in no position to try and bite Oliver¡¯s face off. It¡¯s voice was deep and croaky, but not nearly as croaky as he expected someone with no vocal chords of even lungs to sound like. What was even stranger was how well spoken it was. It had a strong RP British accent, which coupled with the gravelly tone, made it sound like some elderly British thespian. Still wary of the posh sounding prisoner and desperate for any answers at all to his mountain of questions, Oliver replied, ¡°I¡¯m Oliver, I¡­just got here, what is this place? Why am I here?¡± ¡°Oh dear, it¡¯s happened again hasn¡¯t it. I¡¯m so sorry my lad, but I believe you have been the victim of a summoning. They happen every month. Oh I do feel for the summons, I really do. But I must say you¡¯ve done better than most. Well done!¡± the skeleton shook it¡¯s shackled hands back and forth, as if trying and failing to clap Oliver. ¡°Summoning? I was summoned here? Why?¡± Oliver asked, frantic to ask even more questions than before. ¡°Slow down my boy, take a seat, make yourself comfortable and we can have a good chin wag.¡± The skeleton said. Oliver, slightly bewildered, looked around the chamber. There were no chairs, just bones strewn everywhere. Did this thing think of this as it¡¯s living room or something? Feeling relatively safe as long as all the bones didn¡¯t start crawling again, Oliver went over to the wall and sat cross legged with his back against it, looking up at the chained skeleton. He kept his hand torch lit as the wind occasionally blew through, though he had to keep his arm outstretched or risk setting his thin pyjamas on fire. The skeleton, apparently taking him sitting down as a cue to start talking again, began speaking animatedly, swaying slightly in the breeze. ¡°So to start, you are in the dungeons of Brackhurst castle. While I agree it is not the most inviting place in the world, I find that it has a certain charm to it. Charm being the operative word of course, in that it is the home of the esteemed wizard Herman Lunoteck.¡± Oliver momentarily racked his brain to see if he knew a Brackhurst castle, before giving up as it was ultimately pointless. Even though he was from England where old castles were fairly common, this was clearly not a castle from Earth at all. Last time he checked, castles didn¡¯t summon people and have animated skeletons running around. ¡°So I was summoned here by a wizard? Why?¡± Oliver asked. The skeleton simply continued as if Oliver had said nothing. ¡°Yes, Herman Lunoteck is the master of this castle. He¡¯s quite famous around these parts. He¡¯s loved by nobles and peasants alike. He has advised kings and emperors and has saved the realm multiple times. Put food on thousands of tables, slain several dragons and rescued too many children from burning orphanages to count. His magic is second to none, rivalled only by the College Warlocks, but of course they are boastful and selfish and keep to themselves, so they are shunned by all. Only Lunoteck is worthy of the love and adoration of the people, only he is talented, capable and handsome enough to aid the realm in it¡¯s plight. And this castle, oh it is as charming and enchanting as it¡¯s master. A place for comfort, solace and private reflection. Built from the finest stone and enchanted within an inch of it¡¯s life. Many come from miles around to witness the marvels that take place here. It has hosted kings and queens and even emperors, and has hosted lavish balls and exciting tourneys. Anyone who is anyone has been a guest of the master Lunoteck ¡± Oliver looked around at the dank, draughty stone room, with the crumbling walls and literal holes in the ceiling open to the sky. ¡°So you see, you are really quite honoured to be here dear boy.¡± The skeleton finished with a permanent smile, looking at Oliver with those empty eyes of black. Oliver waited for a moment to make sure the skeleton was truly done before replying. He had been excited and hopeful at first that he could get some answers, but all it had done was raise more questions. And Oliver was not entirely sure this thing could be trusted at it¡¯s word anyway, considering it¡¯s contradictions in it¡¯s glowing sales pitch for the castle and host. ¡°How do you know all of this?¡± Oliver asked carefully after a long pause. ¡°It is a butler¡¯s job to know the history and reputation of his master and his estate. I know it down to my marrow¡± The skeleton seemed to push out it¡¯s rib cage slightly as if in pride. ¡°Wait, you¡¯re the butler?¡± ¡°Yes my dear boy, don¡¯t act so surprised. I know we are in need a spring clean down here but I can assure you that you will marvel at the wonders of the rooms above.¡± ¡°Okay, but if you¡¯re the butler, then why are you down here chained to a wall?¡± The skeleton seemed to ponder this, turning it¡¯s skull this way and that, before finally turning back to Oliver and looking blankly at him again. ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡± Oliver asked. ¡°I do know, it¡¯s just¡­rather embarrassing.¡± The skeleton splayed it¡¯s hands defensively. ¡°Well can you at least tell me about this summoning? You said it happened every month. And that I¡¯d done better than most. Why was I summoned here?¡± Oliver got up and gestured to the dungeon at large with his flaming hand. The boney figure somehow looked sheepish as he dangled from his shackles. ¡°Yes¡­I did say that didn¡¯t I. Well¡­you see¡­I have rather embarrassingly lost track of the master¡¯s projects¡­or indeed¡­the master in general. I came down to the wine cellar one day to fetch the master a bottle of the finest red for his guests. Our cellar has thousands of bottles and vintages that go back centuries you see and we had occasionally needed to expand the cellar into the dungeon to make room. I find the right bottle and the next thing I know, I am chained to this wall. It was rather undignified to say the least, but I made the most of it. I made a mental inventory of all of the master¡¯s wine collection. I waited for the master to find me and let me down, no doubt some spell or safeguard had backfired, but he never did oddly enough. It was quite strange I¡¯ll tell you, and inconvenient.¡± The skeleton ground it¡¯s teeth slightly before continuing. ¡°I think it was about a month in, I¡¯m not sure, when I heard the sound of magic from deeper in the dungeon. I had never gone that deep in there myself, too cold you see and not very sanitary. The sound faded and I thought nothing of it. Then I heard the same sound, the sound of strong magic a month later. Then again and again. It became a regular occurrence. It let me keep track of the time so I was rather thankful for it.¡± ¡°How long have you been down here?¡± Oliver asked. ¡°From the amount of summons, I estimate 210 years 3 months, give or take a month or two when I may have been preoccupied when the summoning happened that month.¡± ¡°Preoccupied, what could you possibly have been doing¡­you know what, not important.¡± Oliver took in the skeleton before him in bewilderment. It had been chained to this wall for over 200 years. He was tempted to ask if it had been a skeleton before it was chained up or if something had kept it alive and it¡¯s flesh had rotted off over time. ¡°And your master, this ¡°Lunatic¡± never once came down to find you or free you?¡± Oliver asked in disbelief. ¡°Lunoteck, let us not smear the master¡¯s good name. He is obviously too busy with his courtly duties or preoccupied with his latest project to be constantly checking in on his butler, who is supposed to run things for him.¡± Oliver rolled his eyes, this thing was in so much denial it would give flat-earthers a run for their money. ¡°I must say it is nice to be able to have a conversation again. You are the first real conversation I¡¯ve had in¡­well¡­136 years.¡± The skeleton clacked his feet together. ¡°Who was the last person?¡± Oliver asked ¡°A rather thin young man who looked like he could do with a good meal crawled in here. He told me that he had come from a place called Lon-don, said his name was Jack and that there were others chained up down there. That¡¯s when it all fell into place. The strong magic I could sense was a summoning ritual. People were being summoned and appearing in shackles in the castle dungeon. This Jack, very odd name, only managed to escape by cutting his own hand off after several weeks.¡±This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it ¡°Wait how did he cut his hand off if he was in shackles¡± Oliver asked, chastising himself for askingyet another pointless question. He always had a need to clarify whenever something didn¡¯t make immediate sense. ¡°Apparently he happened to have a knife in his hand at the time he was summoned.¡± The skeleton said humorously. ¡°What happened to him?¡± Oliver asked, curious if there was someone else alive down here. The skeleton gestured with it¡¯s leg to the various bones scattered about. ¡°He didn¡¯t get far I¡¯m afraid. He was bleeding out from his cut hand and then¡­the other summons turned on him.¡± The skeleton said regretfully, shaking it¡¯s skull, making it¡¯s teeth chatter. ¡°So those skeletons were other summons?¡± Oliver looked at the piles and piles of thin white bones. ¡°Yes, ones that didn¡¯t manage to break their shackles and¡­expired shall we say. When they are nothing but bones, the castle¡¯s natural magic eventually reanimates them. Quite remarkable actually, we didn¡¯t even have to tell it to do that.¡± ¡°Is that what happened to you? You got reanimated?¡± Oliver asked curiously. ¡°Certainly not, the idea!¡± The skull opened it¡¯s mouth wide in outrage. ¡°Those reanimated scaffolds are nothing but dumb beasts. Incapable of speech or anything really. Attack anything on sight but as you have seen, useless in a fight and hardly stellar company. I often made a game of seeing how many could walk across this room without stumbling or losing a limb or two, the record was 5 in 10 minutes.¡± Oliver thought for a moment. It made sense, with one summon every month for over 200 years that would be over 2000 people. That explained the amount of skeletons, and meant there were probably a lot more wandering around. He started pacing. ¡°Okay, so random people have been getting summoned, appearing in the dungeon in shackles and in the 200 plus years this has been happening, only one person has managed to free themselves before starving to death. Those that do die are reanimated when they are just skeletons and they roam around being creepy and menacing. I think understand all that.¡± Oliver said more to himself than the skeleton. ¡°What I don¡¯t understand is the question you¡¯ve been avoiding answering. Why are people being summoned in the first place? Is this Lunoteck guy summoning them? If so, why?¡± The skeleton looked away from Oliver and stared at the floor. ¡°You don¡¯t know do you?¡± Oliver asked sarcastically. ¡°¡­no, I haven¡¯t the foggiest. I have tried dear boy to think why Master Lunoteck would do this, and for so long, but it has defeated me. I assume it is beyond my comprehension. I¡¯m sure if you went up to the castle itself and talked to the master he would be more than happy to explain.¡± The skeleton said cheerfully. Oliver looked over at the portcullis that was blocking the only way out of the room. He turned to go over to it, but stopped and looked back at the chained figure, gently swaying with a gentle clinking noise. ¡°Do you want me to¡­get you down, somehow?¡± Oliver asked after a pause. ¡°Oh I couldn¡¯t possibly ask such a thing dear fellow, it wouldn¡¯t be proper to have a guest in the castle help the butler. My embarrassment in my duty failures is already extensive.¡± The skeleton said. ¡°I don¡¯t really see myself as a guest, more of a prisoner. But let me just try something.¡± Oliver squinted at the shackles that held the figure high on the wall. ASSESSING MOST PROBABLE PATHS: PATH 1: FORCIBLY BREAK SHACKLE MORTAL CHANCE:55% MYTHIC CHANCE:100% PATH 2: MANOEUVRE LIMB FREE MORTAL CHANCE:70% MYTHIC CHANCE:100% MYTHIC MANA STORE:70% CAPACITY It seemed if he used his MYTHIC MANA STORE again, he would essentially guarantee those outcomes. But it seemed that it now viewed his MORTAL CHANCES of achieving the results to be as high as his previous MYTHIC CHANCES. They seemed to be taking into account the buffs he already had. Applying his MYTHIC MANA STORE again would probably give him even more strength or make his arm¡­even greasier? Thinking his chances were already high with just MORTAL CHANCE, Oliver decided he should try and ration the MYTHIC MANA STORE and use what he already had. He tried to climb the wall to reach the dangling figure. ¡°Please dear boy there is really no need for this, you go on and talk to the master he will¡­¡± the skeleton pleaded, embarrassment colouring his rich voice. Oliver slipped on the stone as he couldn¡¯t get a proper handhold. His flaming hand was getting in the way and not allowing him any grip from the lubricant, despite it being on fire. He then tried throwing things with his left hand at the shackles to try and break them from afar. His aim was terrible, the target was too small and the materials he was throwing were either bones or random rocks which which crumbled away pretty much as soon as he threw them. It seemed the MYTHIC MANA STORE only affected his strength and not other factors. After the fifth rock throw bounced back and nearly took his eye out and he tried and failed again to climb, Oliver smacked the wall with his fist in frustration. The stone wall that the skeleton hung from shook violently, chunks of stone falling and breaking on the floor. Oliver looked at the pockmarked wall and smiled. ¡°Oh this will take forever to clean up, please my lad just make your way out and¡­¡± the skeleton moaned. Oliver smashed his left fist into the wall several times, and the wall that seemed held together with hopes and dreams to begin with, crumbled. The stone that held the shackles was torn from the wall and the skeleton was flung across the room. The stones falling and the wind now blowing through the cracks caused Oliver¡¯s hand torch to go out once again. Oliver made an effort to try and catch the skeleton as it fell, but he also realised there were large chunks of heavy stone falling towards him as well. So rather than being crushed flat, he decided to get the fuck out of the way. Once the wall had fallen and the dust had settled, the room somehow looked even more like a bomb site than before. ¡°Erm¡­are you okay¡­mister¡­erm¡­Ian?¡± Oliver shouted, suddenly realising he had not asked the skeleton¡¯s name. ¡°I¡¯m over here son, my my that certainly did the trick.¡± Came a muffled voice from underneath a pile of stones. Oliver gingerly walked over the rubble in his bare feet and dug through the stone pieces until he unearthed the bones of the well spoken bone man. He then recoiled as he realised that most of the bones of the main body were broken and shattered, splinters jutting up like weird twigs, the skull the only fully intact part of the body. ¡°Oh god, I¡¯m so sorry¡­erm¡­are you okay?¡± Oliver said, as he knelt down and picked up the skull. The skull spoke, the cranium bobbing up and down on the jaw as it moved, vibrating slightly with each word. ¡°Well I have been better I must say. When one hasn¡¯t moved in two centuries one would like a chance to stretch ones legs, but it seems my legs have been well and truly stretched and snapped.¡± ¡°I am so sorry¡­erm, I can try and rebuild you maybe?¡± Oliver said apologetically, looking around frantically at the broken piles of bones. ¡°No no, not to worry, I needed to lose some weight anyway. This was a blessing in disguise.¡± The skull clacked it¡¯s teeth together. ¡°Is that meant to be a grin?¡± Oliver asked, holding the skull a little further at arms length. ¡°I can¡¯t really do much else, I don¡¯t exactly have the face for smiling these days.¡± The butler said. As Oliver looked at the butler¡¯s skull held in his hands, he saw the same green text appear. ASSESSING MOST PROBABLE PATHS: PATH 1: RE-ASSEMBLE SKELETON MORTAL CHANCE:30% MYTHIC CHANCE:90% PATH 2: MYTHICALLY INVEST SKELETON MORTAL CHANCE:0% MYTHIC CHANCE:100% MYTHIC MANA STORE:70% CAPACITY Oliver stared at the text. Did re-assembling the skeleton with MYTHIC CHANCE mean he would fix the bones, or would it make him smarter and allow him to spot more intact replacements? He put that path aside as he was intrigued by PATH 2. He had no idea what it meant to MYTHICALLY INVEST something. Did it mean he gave some of the MYTHIC MANA to the skeleton, or something else? ¡°Why are you staring at me like that? Do I have something in my teeth?¡± The skull said, causing Oliver to jump. ¡°Oh, nothing, I just have something that I think can help you.¡± Oliver replied. Oliver paused. Did the skeleton butler know about MYTHIC CHANCES and MYTHIC MANA STORES? He had just assumed that the green text he was seeing was part of the magic of this place and that everyone had it. But the butler hadn¡¯t mentioned anything about it, implying that at the very least it wasn¡¯t commonplace. This idea was further bolstered when Oliver considered that if everyone could use this power, why was he the only summon in over 100 years that had managed to free themselves. Surely everyone would have free themselves easily. Taking the plunge and selecting PATH 2, Oliver felt the now familiar coldness seep through him and the same tone play. Looking at the text again, he saw his MYTHIC MANA STORE was at 50% CAPACITY now. Whatever he had just done had taken twice as much as the other times he¡¯d tried. This made him excited and a little nervous that he had maybe made the wrong choice and wasted it. He looked down and did a double take. He saw what looked like wisps of purple smoke coming from the base of the butler¡¯s skull. The smoke seemed to swirl and undulate in an unseen breeze, moving this way and that, as if seeking something. Oliver walked with the skull, watching as the smoke continued to stretch out, like fingers searching for something to grasp. Eventually, as they neared the edge of the pit where Oliver had fought the other skeleton summons, the smoke seemed to snap into something more solid, and Oliver felt a pull on the skull itself, the smoke forming a straight line to a headless skeleton body nearby. As he took a few steps closer, the pull grew stronger, until Oliver¡¯s lubricant covered fingers caused him to let go. The butler¡¯s skull flew through the air and slammed onto the neck joint of the headless body on the ground with a loud click. The sound of the ¡°Tada!¡± tone played in Oliver¡¯s head. So it really was playing that when he succeeded at something. The now fully formed skeleton shook, as a brief flash caused every bone to light up. When the light subsided, the butler skeleton stood, it¡¯s new bone body creaking and twisting at odd angles, as if it were being tested. ¡°Well that is a wonderful trick you have up your sleeve young man I must say. Are you trained in the magical arts? You really must speak with the master.¡± The skeleton said animatedly, it¡¯s legs doing a little skip and it¡¯s fingers flexing and clicking. ¡°I honestly doubt your master is still alive, it¡¯s been over 200 years. Either way, I need to get into the castle itself. It looks like there will be some bloody answers in there¡± Oliver said solemnly. ¡°I will accompany you sir, I need to make sure that the staff have not become lax in my brief absence. Thank you for the assistance.¡± The skeleton said, extending a boney hand, a spider crawling away from the tip of the index finger. Oliver shook the butler¡¯s hand with his right, the wet slap of the lubricant echoing in the air. He was glad he hadn¡¯t used his left hand, or he may have broken the skeleton¡¯s bones all over again. ¡°Erm¡­sure, if you want. By the way, what¡¯s your name?¡± He said as he broke away. ¡°We butler¡¯s renounce our names when we enter the service of our master, and so we allow ourselves to be referred to by any name our master or his guests dane to address us by.¡± There was a creak as the skeleton gave a slight bow. ¡°So¡­I can call you whatever I like?¡± Oliver asked. ¡°Precisely, though if I were to provide a personal request, I would politely ask you refrain from any names relating to bones. One, it is far too obvious, and two it is far too crass.¡± ¡°Alright.¡± Oliver said, thinking of what best to call him. He discarded the million and one bone pun names that had been buzzing around in his head as soon as he¡¯d started talking to him, and focused on something that fit the butler¡¯s personality more. He thought back to the skeleton¡¯s voice reminding him of an old British thespian, and the perfect name came to mind. ¡°How about Ian?¡± Oliver said with a smile. ¡°Hmm, Ian¡­short, simple and practical. I like it. I will be Ian my good man.¡± Ian did a little skip with his feet again, causing Oliver to laugh. He thought that he would perhaps keep the full name he had in mind ¡°Ian McKeleton¡± to himself for now.