《Bloodfyre: A Vampyre LitRPG》


 Chapter One

    CHAPTER ONE


    I blink my eyes, struggling to adjust to the poor light. A rattling cough tears through my chest as I swat away the dank dust hanging in the air. The cold penetrates my skin, seeping into my bones like liquid ice. I rub my arms in a futile attempt to restore warmth, but the chill remains, persistent and unwelcome.


    For a fleeting moment, I recall the warmth of a small closet, the feeling of safety as I hid while voices murmured beyond a thin door. The memory vanishes before I can grasp it fully, leaving only a hollow ache of something lost.


    Where am I? I scan my surroundings, my gaze finally settling on a small group of people talking amongst themselves. Their voices echo off the stone walls, creating an eerie chorus that only heightens my growing anxiety.


    Who are these people, and why can I not remember anything other than my name? Gods blast it, why is it so cold? I roll a strand of my hair between my fingers. It is pitch black, curly, and just past my ears. The texture feels familiar, yet I cannot place why. A part of me expects to see blonde hair, though I cannot explain the reason.


    The voices of the gathered people increase in volume, drawing my attention back to them. A blonde-haired boy with shoulders like tree trunks speaks animatedly with an elderly woman. Her hair cascades down her back like fresh snow. Another person stands nearby, a woman with sanguine hair that captures what little light exists in this place. She moves her hair from one side of her neck to the other, the strands looking like ruby droplets against the pale canvas of her lithe neck.


    Something about the crimson strands draws my eye, causes my throat to tighten with an inexplicable thirst. I swallow hard and look away, disturbed by my reaction.


    At least I am not alone. Although they have not noticed me yet. My eyes trace the outlines of my surroundings more carefully now. The walls are dark gray, covered in moss that shifts with each slight breeze. Several plaques with faded names adorn different areas of the walls, each affixed to the stone. In the dim light, it is hard to make out the inscriptions. In one corner, barely visible even when I squint, lies an outline of yellowed bone.


    I push myself off the ground, dusting the grime from my clothes before walking closer to investigate the strange, randomly placed bones. They turn out to be a partial skeleton, aged and forgotten. The realization hits me suddenly¡ªI am in a crypt of some kind.


    Am I dead? The thought sends a jolt of panic through me. I run my hands over my pale skin, feeling its warmth. I certainly feel alive enough. The light brown tunic and darker brown pants I wear feel real under my fingertips, the fabric coarse but solid.


    If I am in a tomb and cannot remember anything about myself, does not that mean I must have died? I desperately scramble through my mind, trying to recall anything about who I am. Anything at all. There is my name, Jackson Grey, but beyond that lies only darkness despite my ceaseless efforts.


    A brief flash¡ªsitting at a desk, staring at a computer screen, bored with another simple case solved through social media. The memory dissolves like mist in sunlight, leaving me grasping at shadows.


    This cannot be normal. How do I know that those are bones over there? How do I know this place is a crypt? How do I know moss is called moss? Yet I cannot remember a single detail of my entire life? I take in my appearance once more and confirm I am an adult. Adults are supposed to have memories. The question is, why do I know that and nothing else?


    I run a thumb across my jaw while chewing on my tongue. I must have had some form of basic education; that much is clear. I also know my name, but what does...


    My thoughts shatter as a rumbling sound echoes through the room. I look up to find a previously unseen stone door sliding open, its tremendous weight announcing itself by grinding against the floor. A black-robed figure steps through the opening, holding a gnarled staff that thumps against the stone with imposing authority with each step.


    Immediately, my gut churns with an unnatural aversion to this person. Imaginary bile rises in my throat, bitter and burning. When two massive walking skeletons dressed in armor and wielding heavy weapons follow the figure on either side, I begin looking frantically for an exit. Any exit. I have to get away from this person, and fast.


    An instinct rises within me, something primal and violent. The urge to stand and fight rather than cower surprises me with its intensity. I suppress it, knowing that whatever this feeling is, it will not help me against armored skeletons and their master.


    Is that the grim reaper or something?


    The figure turns toward the skeletons. "Take them," commands a distinctly masculine voice, raspy and cold as winter wind. The deeply pocketed hood rustles but keeps his features hidden from view.


    My pulse races wildly as I quickly back away toward a nearby dark corner, my hands scrambling against the stone wall in search of hidden doors, cracks, switches¡ªanything that might let me escape this accursed room and the monsters within it. My head swivels constantly from the wall back to the frightening man with his skeletal warriors.


    A scream tears through the air. I whip my head around to see a leanly built young man with tattered clothes and brown hair being lifted effortlessly by one of the walking skeletons. His fists strike fiercely yet hollowly against the bones and armor of the monster. All his efforts are for naught, even as profanities echo throughout the crypt. The black-robed man does not react at all. Not to the screams, not to the boy''s attempts to fight. He does not even flinch as the skeletons carry the young man from the room.


    The scene triggers something¡ªa memory of standing up to someone larger, protecting a smaller boy from bullies. "Whore''s son," a mocking voice echoes in my mind. My fists clench involuntarily.


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    When the robed man speaks again, something washes over me¡ªsomething dark, something so malevolent it seems alive in its maliciousness. It slams down upon me like a physical weight, crushing me to the ground. That is when the whispers begin.


    They speak of horrible things, dredging up deep inner fears from within me, assaulting my mind with horrors I did not know existed. I begin to scream uncontrollably, my nails chipping and breaking as I dig them into the sides of my head, desperately trying to stop the whispers running rampant through my mind.


    Every instinct tells me to run, to flee as fast and hard as possible from this madness overwhelming my senses. The air grows colder around me, raising the hair on my arms. For one brief yet inescapable moment, my heart simply stops. I can no longer breathe.


    Then it vanishes. All the insidious maliciousness that had just put me through hell is simply gone, not even a shadow remaining. Instead, that cold, unfeeling, rasping voice fills the air.


    "I am Abaddon, a celestial of Shadow, and you all belong to me. You are my prisoners. Listen closely, for I will only say this once. You will make your way through this dungeon you now find yourselves in, and when you reach its end, you will retrieve for me the orb you find there. Succeed and you will be free. Fail, and you will die."


    With that, Abaddon leaves us in complete silence. He beat us upside the head with the stick while offering a tiny sliver of a carrot. I never want to go through that again, I think to myself while running a trembling hand through my hair.


    The groups that had formed are talking amongst themselves quietly like shaken mice, but it all quickly falls to silence when another man enters. Why would not it? The last time a man entered, everyone had been picked up and moved to another room without any of us realizing, myself included. By skeletons, no less, and that was not even considering whatever those horrible whispers were.


    The newcomer has a short sword sheathed at his hip, and he moves with the deadly grace of a leopard. His hood is down, revealing features too sharp to be entirely handsome, like a straight razor given flesh. His warm brown eyes regard our group impassively, but something about those eyes triggers an instinctive warning in my mind. There is something not quite right about them, a falseness to their warmth.


    When no one speaks to him, he holds up a hand and produces an ebony wood table from seemingly nowhere, setting it directly in front of himself. Next, he produces a book¡ªthe most ancient-looking book I could imagine. The binding is made of some material I cannot place, gray and white like an old, blank slate touched by the elements.


    Finally, the man speaks. "I am Delathorn Selavax. A servant of the Shadow." He taps the book. "This is an artifact; normally I would have you analyze it, but none of you have increased your level enough for the Judge to tell you what it is. Suffice to say that through it, the Judge will unlock your Domains. You should consider that a boon; normally, it takes much inner searching for you to do that. One by one, you will come up and place your hand on this book. The Judge will do the rest. After your Domain has been unlocked, your skills will be as well; this, in turn, will unlock your class. Before you start wondering about all of this, rest assured, you will learn it in good time. Let us begin."


    I am not sure what it is¡ªperhaps resignation, perhaps curiosity¡ªbut people begin lining up to place their hands on the book. It is then that I get a good look at some of them. My eyes widen as I realize some of them are not human. I see elves, orcs, and dwarves too. It is as if someone transported races straight out of fantasy stories and placed them in this crypt with me. A phantom voice whispers in memory: "The brave knight approached the dragon''s lair..." A woman''s voice, gentle and loving, reading from a book.


    When each person places their hand on the book, nothing outwardly appears to happen. No glowing lights, no hair rising¡ªnothing fantastical at all. The only indication that something is happening is a widening of eyes or shifting expressions of wonder.


    After what seems like an age, it is my turn. I approach the book with tense muscles, my hands opening and closing reflexively. Taking a deep breath, I reach out and place my palm on the book''s cover. Information immediately lights up in my mind as if someone ignited a bonfire within my skull:


    Unlocking Domain... Domain unlocked... scanning Domain... Domain aspects are destruction and blood... scanning for resonate skills... Katanas Level 1 is unlocked. Enchanting level 1 unlocked... Level is insufficient to unlock any further resonate skills. Generating classes based on Domain¡­Swordsman generated.


    Beyond the information flooding my mind, I feel something swirling deep inside my core, something opening within me that I had not known was there before. But there is also a strange sense that something else remains dormant, like a sealed chamber within my Domain waiting to be unlocked. The crimson liquid pulses once, as if in response to my observation, then settles.


    The leather-armored man looks at me and nods. I return to find a spot and slump onto the ground. So much is happening, and I am not sure how to take it all in. The man nods one last time when the last few people finish.


    Then he speaks again. "Within this dungeon, these ancient catacombs, you will find many dangers. You will also find rewards should you overcome those dangers, both from the Judge and from what you find. Lord Abaddon will not be giving you any equipment. Two floors down, you will find a very open area of the catacombs. In the middle of this area is a safe zone, and it is here that you will find a bazaar. Good luck."


    With that, the man leaves, and we are alone. It is not long before people start filing out. Some are already talking, forming groups, while others venture out alone. I stay behind, in no hurry to get started. Delathorn did not say anything about it, but I wonder if I have some kind of profile screen. At that thought, a window unfurls in my mind, like an ancient scroll being opened:


    Name: Jackson Grey


    Level: 1


    Race: Human


    Lives: 3


    Domain: Aspects: Blood and Destruction


    Class: Swordsman


    Attributes: Mind-10, Strength-12, Dexterity-17, Constitution-13, Will-14


    Skills: Katanas (Apprentice Level 1) Enchanting (Apprentice Level 1)


    Weaves: None


    Eden Coins: 0


    Faction: Unsworn


    Blood and Destruction. The aspects send a chill through me. What does it say about me that my core, my very essence, is made of such ominous elements? I run my thumb along my jaw. There is a lot to think about, but I choose to focus on the Domain for now. Neither Abaddon nor Delathorn explained what Domains are or what they do, but I want to explore mine anyway.


    I focus my consciousness inward, toward that place that had not existed before. Suddenly, I find myself in a void, an endless expanse of nothingness. Just blackness. However, it does not stay that way. Crimson liquid begins to flow into the void, like a river released from a dam. It rushes toward me in a massive tsunami-like wave, and I flinch when it hits me, but it does not hurt; it merely surrounds me.


    The red is familiar somehow, comforting despite its ominous nature. For a moment, it reminds me of something I cannot quite grasp¡ªa feeling of power held in check, of knowing when not to strike.


    Strange light flows from the red river and into me; it is metallic red-gold and full of energy. I reach out and touch that light with my consciousness, and suddenly I hold it in my hands. It is almost like a thread. I cannot say what drives me; it is instinctual, a part of me on an almost fundamental level. I begin to weave that thread, that red light. Then I realize I need something else, and I take some of that nothingness, that pitch blackness, and weave that in as well.


    I release it and come back to myself. In my hands, I now wield a katana; the blade looks to be entirely crafted from red liquid, though that should be impossible. It is solid enough; I can wave it about, and when I test the edge, it is razor sharp. A strange knowledge of how to use the weapon runs through my head, but I know my knowledge is incomplete. I let go of the weaves, and the katana vanishes. A notification lights up in my mind:


    You have cast Blood Katana (Apprentice Level 1).


    Blood Katana, hmm? It sounds ominous, but what is a swordsman without a sword? Out there, I do not even have my fingernails left, having broken them in my panic earlier. Before leaving the room, I consider the other information I have received.


    My task is to get this orb, which is at the lowest level of the catacombs. Fail, and apparently, I will be killed. Obviously, I am very much against that. I like living. It is good for my health.


    But why does tall, robed, and creepy want it? Furthermore, both Abaddon and Delathorn mentioned Shadow. That sounds ominous to the extreme, and if they serve whatever this Shadow is, then I definitely have no desire to join them, not after the way I have been treated.


    Anyone in power who forces others to do their bidding is not really a good person, in my book. My mother taught me that much. The thought comes unbidden, and I freeze. My mother? For a heartbeat, I can almost see her face¡ªblonde hair, blue eyes, the kindest smile. Then it is gone, leaving only an ache where the memory should be.


    I want nothing to do with people like that. Obviously, I have no intention of going along with Abaddon''s plans, whatever they are. But perhaps I could get this orb and use it as leverage for my freedom? That seems as good a plan as any.


    I take a deep breath, my fists clenching as anxiety runs through me like an electrical current. I do not know what is out there. But I must face it. I must survive. With fearful determination, I step out into the dungeon.

 Chapter Two

    CHAPTER TWO


    The corridors spread before me, wide enough for comfort but shrouded in shadows that the sparse torches lining the walls cannot fully dispel. Their flickering flames cast dancing shadows that play tricks on my vision, making the darkness seem alive. Every so often, I pass doors leading to rooms or branching corridors, each one a potential threat or opportunity.


    I have not encountered any other people yet. The silence weighs on me, broken only by the occasional crackle of torch flame or the distant drip of water. The solitude gives me time to think, to process everything that has happened since I awoke in this strange place without memories.


    A strange thirst tickles the back of my throat, unlike normal thirst for water. Something deeper, more primal. It reminds me of hunger but not for food¡ªfor something else entirely. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the sensation. It feels both foreign and familiar, like a part of me I should recognize but cannot place.


    The relative peace shatters when I spot two small creatures ahead, wielding crude clubs and dressed in little more than brown shifts. They are perhaps the ugliest beings I have ever laid eyes on. Their skin is a sickening yellow-green that reminds me of fresh vomit on hot pavement. Jagged teeth jut from their mouths, yellow and sharp like broken glass. Their features appear twisted, as if someone had shoved puzzle pieces together that were never meant to fit. Beady yellow eyes glitter with malice in the torchlight.


    I focus my attention on them, trying to gather any information that might help me, and a notification flashes in my mind:


    You have learned the skill Analyze (Apprentice Level 1). These two are level 5 goblins of the Jagged Crown Clan.


    The creatures¡ªgoblins, apparently¡ªnotice me standing there. They begin speaking to each other, and though I am certain they are not using my language, I understand them perfectly.


    "Lookit, Dahg, there''s one of them newbies the master brought in. We shoulds kills it like the masters said we shoulds."


    The goblin on the left points directly at me with a crooked finger. Dahg, the one on the right, nods enthusiastically.


    "Yous right, Lugs, we shoulds. Come on, let''s dos it."


    Their plan does not exactly thrill me. I swiftly consider my options: run and have them chase me, or fight and risk death. Either choice seems preferable to standing here passively while they end my life. My pulse quickens as I decide I would rather go down swinging.


    A voice echoes in my memory: "Real power is knowing that you do not have to use it." The half-remembered words carry a woman''s gentle tone¡ªmy mother? But these creatures have already decided my fate. Sometimes, self-defense is the only option.


    I reach for my domain, brushing my consciousness against that inner space. The process feels more natural now, like flexing a muscle I have always had but never noticed. Threads of crimson light and pitch-black nothingness pour into me. I weave them together, and my blood katana materializes in the air before settling into my hand, its weight reassuring.


    For a fleeting moment, the crimson seems to respond to that strange thirst I felt earlier, calling to me. The blood aspect of my Domain pulses with anticipation, as if hungering for what is to come. The sensation both disturbs and exhilarates me.


    Instinctively, I take a stance¡ªright foot forward, left foot back and slightly raised. I grip the katana with both hands, surprised by how natural it feels. Knowledge I should not possess flows through me, ingrained in my muscles despite having no memory of ever wielding a sword. Then again, I have no memory of using magic either, so that is not saying much.


    The goblins pay little attention to my weapon. They simply charge forward, clubs raised high. When they come within range, I move. My footwork is practiced and precise, bringing me to the side of the goblin on the right. Time seems to slow as I raise my blade, the crimson edge gleaming with malevolent beauty in the torchlight. My overhead strike splits the creature down the middle with a wet, sickening sound.


    You have delivered a fatal blow to a level 5 goblin.


    His partner whirls to face me, seemingly unconcerned that his companion now lies in two halves on the stone floor, green blood pooling outward like a burst water hose. He simply steps over the corpse and swings his club at my head.


    I move smoothly out of the way and slash sideways, my blade cutting through the air with the speed of a viper''s strike. The goblin''s head drops to the ground with a hollow thud that echoes through the corridor. The body remains standing for a heartbeat before crumpling lifelessly beside its head.


    As the creature''s blood spills across the stone floor, that strange thirst intensifies for a moment. My gaze lingers on the dark green fluid more than it should. Something within me recoils at the sight while another part leans toward it, drawn by some instinct I do not understand. The conflicting reactions leave me unsettled.


    You have delivered a fatal blow to a level 5 goblin.


    Your Katana skill (Apprentice Level 1) has increased to (Apprentice Level 3).


    Your weave, Blood Katana (Apprentice Level 1), has increased to (Apprentice Level 4).


    You have gained a level. Congratulations! You are now at level 2.


    I check the bodies but find nothing of value, which disappoints me more than I expected. As I stand there contemplating my next move, a faint, almost inaudible pop draws my attention. My head swivels toward the sound, and there, barely a foot away, sits a wooden chest that definitely was not there before.


    Without hesitation, I open it, expecting some kind of useful item¡ªmaybe a potion or a piece of equipment. Inside lies a simple brown scroll tied loosely with string. I pick it up and unroll it, and immediately a notification appears in my mind:


    You have been awarded a quest. Completing quests can lead to unique and often powerful rewards. The quest is as follows: Locate the hidden tomb of Lazarus. Lazarus''s tomb is within these catacombs and can be found by locating the hidden portal on the catacomb''s first floor. Look for the mark of the fang.


    I frown, staring at the scroll in confusion. A quest? The term feels foreign yet somehow appropriate. Whatever this "Judge" entity is, it seems intent on giving me tasks to complete. Find a hidden tomb of someone named Lazarus. Look for the mark of the fang. I have no idea what that means or why I should care, but something in my gut tells me this is important.


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    The name Lazarus resonates within me, stirring something in the crimson depths of my Domain. A flicker of recognition, gone before I can grasp it. The mark of the fang sounds eerily significant too, though I cannot explain why.


    I carefully roll the scroll back up and tuck it into my waistband. I dismiss my katana, watching as it unravels before me and vanishes like smoke in the wind. Leaving the corpses and chest behind, I continue my exploration.


    It is not long before I come across what appears to be a goblin encampment. They have taken over an entire corridor that opens into a larger room beyond. I can see no other way forward. The sour smell of unwashed bodies and cooking meat wafts from their camp, making my nose wrinkle in disgust.


    I pause, counting at least eight goblins milling about their primitive camp. Firelight gleams off crude weapons and burnished armor pieces. A strange intuition tells me there are more in the shadows, unseen. The blood katana might have served me well against two, but these odds are decidedly against me.


    The best solution is probably to backtrack. I have been wandering aimlessly anyway, so there must be another path. I am almost certain I cannot defeat all those goblins with just my blood katana. Scowling with reluctance, I turn and walk away from the camp.


    Eventually, I come to what looks like a door, but it is covered with three carved symbols: a rat, a monkey, and a serpent. To the right, against the wall, stand three pillars. Each pillar has three sides, and each side displays either a rat, monkey, or serpent symbol. The pillars are set into circular bases etched with arrows that point to the current image.


    I rub my jaw as I consider the puzzle. The symbols seem to correspond to the ones on the door, suggesting some kind of combination lock. From the right, I rotate one pillar until its arrow points to the rat image. It takes a surprising amount of strength to turn. The moment it clicks into place, the pillar begins to shake violently, and a cold blue light emanates from it, flashing brightly and forcing me to look away.


    A chittering sound draws my attention back down the corridor. Some distance away stands a giant rat, its pink tail whipping about like a vicious lash, cracking loudly when it strikes the stone. When I say giant, I mean it¡ªthe thing is larger than a wolf. Beady red eyes glitter with undisguised hunger as it stares at me. Its fur is the color of mold on cheese, and the stench of rot and filth rolls off it in waves, making my stomach turn.


    My heart drums a panicked rhythm in my chest. I immediately begin weaving my katana, summoning it into existence. The crimson threads respond more readily this time, as if eager to be used. At the same time, the rat leaps for me, hissing, spittle flying from its mouth and hitting my cheek. The wetness makes me wince as I dive and roll underneath its attack. The rat slams into the wall behind me with a sickening thud, chittering angrily as it turns to glare at me.


    I come up smoothly from the roll, facing it warily. There is a kind of twisted intelligence in those red eyes. It clearly recognizes the danger of the katana I wield, but approaches anyway, swiping at me with claws that gleam wickedly in the torchlight.


    Quick and sure, I step to the side, ducking under the slashing claws. With a forward step, I slash downward with my blood katana, cutting deep into the beast''s right shoulder. Blood gushes from the wound, and it cries out in pained fury. Disappointment wells up in my chest¡ªI genuinely expected the blow to be fatal.


    The creature is faster than its size suggests, and I realize my mistake too late. I pay for my overconfidence as the rat''s uninjured paw slams into me like an oncoming truck. The force hurls me against the wall, and my head cracks against the unyielding stone. Pain explodes through my skull, blurring my vision. My lungs struggle to push out air, the tightness in my chest choking me as I slump to the ground.


    My thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm. What was I supposed to be doing? Everything hurts so much. I shake my head, trying desperately to clear my vision and regain focus.


    When my sight finally clears, the giant rat looms before me, opening its mouth wide. Saliva drips from jagged, sickly yellow teeth. Its breath smells of rotten meat and eggs, the stench so powerful it makes my eyes water. Those red eyes shine with triumph as its jaws snap shut on my head. All I can do is scream one final time.


    You have died.


    I wake in a different place. Blinking in confusion, I am surprised to find myself standing upright. I take stock of my body¡ªI am wearing the same clothes I started with. Running my hands over the fabric, I touch my face, confirming I am alive. Is this the afterlife? No, I recognize the familiar old stone of the catacombs, though I am clearly in a different area.


    For a moment, I could swear I feel flames licking at my skin, not burning but renewing, like I am being remade from ashes. The sensation fades quickly, leaving only the faintest warmth in my chest.


    I stand on a massive golden rug etched with abstract black designs that seem to shift subtly when I do not look directly at them. Despite its size, I am the only person on it. Notifications blink in my mind, and I open them:


    You have died.


    You have been respawned in the dungeon''s safe zone. You have two lives remaining.


    I groan aloud. The safe zone is two levels below the starting floor¡ªexactly where I do not want to be. I need to get back up there, but I have no idea how to accomplish that. That strange thirst has vanished completely, at least for now.


    "Huh, we were not expecting one of you yet. Did you die already, laddie?"


    I turn toward the voice and find myself face-to-face with a massive orc. He is truly enormous, with rippling muscles that stretch the fabric of his tan shirt. Polished, sharp tusks jut from the bottom of his mouth, framing noble, strong features. Blue eyes glitter with merriment and intelligence as they study me. He wears blue pants, sturdy brown boots, and a white smock covered in what looks like black soot. A truly massive hammer hangs at his side.


    The orc seems used to reactions like mine, smiling with amusement as I openly gape at him. He extends a hand that could easily crush mine.


    "My name is Frederick, though most just call me Fred."


    I shake his hand, acutely aware that to him, it must feel like shaking hands with a child.


    "Jackson. Jackson Grey," I reply, my voice sounding small compared to his.


    Fred eyes me appraisingly, taking in my appearance with a practiced glance. His gaze lingers briefly on my hands, then my face, as if searching for something specific. "From the looks of it, you have not faced many challenges yet. I am guessing you do not even have any EC yet, do you?"


    I raise an eyebrow, my mouth twisting slightly. "Uh, what is EC?"


    Fred chuckles, the sound reminiscent of rolling thunder. He shakes his great head and gestures toward me with a massive hand.


    "I can tell we have some things to speak about. Why not come to my tent?"


    I shrug and follow as he leads the way. The bazaar spreads out before us¡ªan open area surrounded by circular gray stone walls. A gate leads outward into the dungeon proper. Within this space stand tents and stalls of all varieties. Some are large and bright green, others small and yellow, and some barely qualify as tents at all.


    The sounds of hammering echo against the walls, mingling with a hundred other noises to create a cacophony that fills the air like some discordant melody. I scan the faces of the other people, but do not recognize anyone from my starting group. Am I the only one to reach this area? The first to die? My face heats with embarrassment at the thought.


    As we walk, I notice the occasional glance from other individuals. One man in particular watches me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl, his eyes lingering a moment too long. There is something calculating in his gaze, as though he is measuring my worth or potential. Fred seems to notice my discomfort and subtly positions himself between me and the watcher.


    "The bazaar has all sorts," Fred murmurs quietly. "Some are just looking to profit off newcomers. Best stay close until you get your bearings, lad."


    Fred''s tent is blue and one of the larger ones, located on the outskirts of the circle, closer to the wall and farther from the gate. A small forge stands outside, smoke from a dying fire trailing upward in curling, almost merry circles. The scent of hot metal and coal reminds me of something pleasant, though I cannot place the memory. Fred holds the tent flap open for me, and I step through.


    The interior is clearly a shop. Weapons and pieces of armor rest on mannequins, while miscellaneous items and dried foodstuffs occupy various shelves. A medium-sized counter made of polished dark brown wood sits neatly to the side, near the entrance¡ªclearly the place to negotiate prices. A few items catch my eye¡ªparticularly a set of gems arranged in a locked glass case, glowing with faint inner light. One gem, a deep crimson stone the size of my thumb, seems to pulse in rhythm with my heartbeat. I look away, unsettled by my reaction to it.


    Fred produces two chairs by the counter and gestures for me to sit.


    I take a seat, surprised to see that Fred fits on the other chair, though to my eyes it looks as if he is practically sitting on the ground. He takes a deep breath before speaking.


    "So, to answer your question, EC are Eden Coins, the currency in Eden. I take it you have not earned or found any."


    I shake my head, looking around the well-stocked shop with newfound longing. "Which is a shame. I would not mind looking at some of these items." I offer a small, rueful laugh.


    Fred returns the chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "So, how did it happen?"


    I give him a questioning look.


    "Dying, lad," he clarifies with a grin. "I do not see how else you would have gotten here otherwise."


    I rub the back of my neck, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "A giant rat bit my head off."


    Fred chuckles again, though there is a sympathetic note in it this time. "Ah, not a great way to go. I suppose you will be wanting to head back out soon."


    I nod firmly. "I need to get back up there, actually. There is just so much I do not know, though." I run a hand through my hair in frustration. "I am a fair hand with a katana, though clearly not fair enough, but I know nothing about this enchanting skill, and it is the only other skill I have!" I throw up my hands in exasperation.


    Fred''s eyes widen considerably. "Ahh, did I do something wrong?" I ask, suddenly concerned.


    Fred shakes his head, somewhat mutely. Finally, he says, "You are an enchanter?"


    I raise my hands and shoulders in a helpless shrug. "Maybe? It says I have the skill, but I do not have any idea how to use it."


    Fred gives a great belly laugh that seems to shake the very walls of the tent. His eyes sparkle with newfound interest as he leans forward, and I notice that his gaze has changed. He is looking at me not just as a newcomer now, but as something rare and valuable.


    "Well then, I shall tell you, lad. In fact, I think we can help each other.¡±

 Chapter Three

    CHAPTER THREE


    Fred brews us coffee before we begin our discussion. The rich aroma fills the tent, making my mouth water unexpectedly. He hands me a wooden mug filled with the dark liquid, and I take a grateful sip. The warmth spreads through my chest, though it does little to sate that strange thirst lingering at the back of my throat. If anything, the bitterness of the coffee only accentuates the craving for something else entirely.


    Fred claps his massive hands together, the sound like thunder in the confined space. His blue eyes twinkle with an excitement I cannot quite place.


    "So then, I suppose you should hear why I am so surprised that you have that enchanting skill, lad. Do you know anything about skills?"


    I shake my head, feeling completely out of my depth.


    "Honestly, I know next to nothing. That black-robed old man, Abaddon, told us zilch, really. Delathorn just said this book would unlock our Domains, which would unlock our skills and then our class. That was pretty much it."


    Fred nods as if he expected that answer. He strokes one of his polished tusks thoughtfully.


    "The trouble is where to start. I suppose I am just going to give you the basics, and you will learn as you go. What you have to understand is that your Domain is the source of everything. It determines your base attributes, your skills, all of it, boy."


    I contemplate his words. So that place where a river of blood ran through the nothingness inside me¡ªthat was where it all came from? The thought is strange, considering I never knew it existed before today. Or did I? I cannot remember anything about my past self, but some things seem instinctual. Clearly, some knowledge exists, ingrained within me.


    "I do not even understand what Domains really are. Yet all of this stuff... it all comes from there, this place inside me."


    Fred nods again, his massive head bobbing with the motion.


    "Yes, all of it. Domains are the manifestation of your spirit, the sum total of everything you are. When Domains are unlocked, they manifest skills that resonate with you. The Judge can grant you skills through various means, including skill books, but that is adding to your Domain. Enchanting, it is¡­"


    Fred trails off, lost in thought. He fingers one of his tusks, the ivory gleaming in the dim light of the tent.


    "Sorry, I sometimes forget the right words. Enchanting is rare because it is not often a granted skill; it almost always has to come from within, from the Domain, and of all the skills that resonate within people, enchanting tends to not be one of them. Why would it be? It is simply natural that many, many people would be more suited to more mundane things. Such as myself."


    Fred claps a hand to his impressive chest, the sound reverberating through the tent like a drum.


    "I am a smith, and I was good with a hammer. The Judge generated the Smith Class for me nearly a decade ago. I have been honing my class ever since."


    I shake my head, wondering about the fairness of such a system. Some are born with talents others can never achieve? It seems arbitrary and unjust. I say as much to Fred.


    He laughs, a booming sound that seems to vibrate the very air. "Of course it is! But when has life ever been fair, lad? Some people are good at some things, and some are good at others. That does not mean you cannot forge your own path; the Judge recognizes practice and training, and he often awards other skills, though those skills are most often tailored to you or any companions you may have. People often do not take the practice route, though. It is hard and long, and people most often choose to stick with what they are already good at. The Judge simply prefers people stick to progressing what already aligns with their inner selves."


    His words trigger something in my memory¡ªstanding in a dingy office, surrounded by files, feeling utterly bored with the simplicity of my cases. The memory flickers and fades before I can grasp it fully.


    I rub my face, feeling the weight of more questions pressing on my mind. Everything feels overwhelming, like trying to learn an entire lifetime of knowledge in a single sitting.


    "Okay, so who is this Judge I keep hearing about?"


    Fred waves a hand to encompass everything around us, the gesture expansive and all-inclusive.


    "The Judge is the soul of the Eden Tree, its avatar. Or some often refer to the Judge as the Domain of the Eden Tree. Scholars often study him. He simply is. Questioning him would be like questioning water or the sky. He just is, and I am but a simple smith; it is enough for me."


    I rub my jaw and nod. I feel much the same about it. I cannot see spending a lot of thought on something I cannot change, even if I did figure out all of the mystery surrounding it. Better to focus on immediate concerns.


    "So, how do I advance this Domain, or everything, really? I have gained a couple of levels, but that is it."


    Fred nods his head and pokes at a tusk thoughtfully.


    "Well, you will have already earned some attribute points then." Fred pauses as he notices my quizzical expression. "You did check your attribute gains, did you not, lad?"


    I shake my head, feeling foolish. "I had no idea I gained any. It just said I gained levels."


    I focus inward, checking my profile:


    Name: Jackson Grey


    Level: 2


    Race: Human


    Lives: 2


    Domain: Aspects: Blood and Destruction


    Class: Swordsman


    Attributes: Mind-10, Strength-12, Dexterity-17, Constitution-13, Will-15


    Skills: Katanas (Apprentice Level 3), Enchanting (Apprentice Level 1), Analyze (Apprentice Level 1)


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    Weaves: Blood Katana (Apprentice Level 4)


    Eden Coins: 0


    Faction: Unsworn


    "I see," I murmur. "My will increased by one point, and my skills advanced from using them."


    Fred laughs again, slapping his hands together with such force that I feel the vibration through the floor.


    "I know I call you lad, lad, but you do have a mind of your own, and you seem old enough for a human. The Judge is not always going to inform you of every little thing; he may seem like a mindless system, but he is not. He is very real, has a mind of his own, and will choose to tell you things in the way he chooses to, or not. Sometimes that is based on your attributes, though sometimes it is just what the Judge decides. At every level, you gain one attribute point. As to how to progress in your Domain, well, that is where skills and weaves shine. The higher your skill level, the higher your weave; all of that influences your Domain and progresses it. At a certain point, it will level, and that in turn will affect how many skills you can learn and how far you can progress. There is more to it than that, but it is not something I can go into."


    I blink at him, concerned about his sudden shift to being closed-mouthed.


    "Why not?" I question, leaning forward. Fred shrugs his massive shoulders, the motion like mountains shifting.


    "Because I do not know how. I have been stuck for a while. My smithing skill is at a high level, but I cannot progress it any further. I do not know why. I am hoping that it has to do with what I make¡ªchallenging myself. To do that, I have to make something truly amazing, and I do not think I can unless enchanting is involved."


    Understanding blooms within my mind like a dark flower.


    "That is why you are telling me all of this!" I exclaim. Fred smiles, his eyes twinkling with mischief and hope.


    "Well, I certainly was not doing it out of the kindness of my heart. I said we could help each other, and I meant it. Here is what I propose, lad. I will help you with the theory behind enchanting; I know a lot about it due to my suspicion that I need it to progress, and I will kit you out with some basic-level equipment. I will also provide you with enchanting resources. In exchange, you give me a few days of your time and help me enchant some items. What do you say, lad?"


    I lean back, considering his offer. The truth is that I smell an opportunity here. I could get more out of this deal. But what should I ask for? I need to know more.


    "How are you here?" I ask, my eyes narrowing slightly.


    Fred looks puzzled. "What do you mean?"


    I wave a hand around us, indicating the bazaar beyond the tent.


    "Here. In the dungeon, I mean. Abaddon said there would be a bazaar here, but obviously this is not where you live or anything."


    Fred nods slowly, clearly wondering what direction this conversation is taking. His tusks gleam in the lamplight as he considers his response.


    "Well, we got an invitation to come here. The Shadow faction is large and well known, and we were told new people would be here in the dungeon. It is an opportunity, as dungeons always offer good rewards. There is no telling what you might find. The fact that you have the enchanting skill is a good example, now that I think of it. That is the kind of thing that comes with new people."


    My voice becomes slightly harsh, my face growing tight with anger.


    "Did you know Abaddon is essentially holding us hostage? Making us go after this orb at the end of the dungeon. He says if we do not get it, he will kill us!"


    I deliver the last bit with a slight yell. Fred holds up his hands placatingly, their size making the gesture almost comical.


    "I did not know. I just knew a lot of new people would be here. It does not matter though, lad; Abaddon cannot kill you."


    I blink at him, confusion washing over me. "What do you mean he cannot kill me? He did something to us; I will tell you that. I felt like we were being crushed with fear, and these nightmare whispers were in my ear."


    Fred sighs, the sound weary and knowing.


    "That was probably his spirit. Yes, lad, I can see you are wondering what spirit is, but I cannot explain every little thing. You will get there. Let us explain what matters. Abaddon cannot kill you because the Judge prevents him. He is the Shadow Celestial, and Celestials cannot harm non-Celestials. That does not mean he cannot send people after you; he can, but trust me, he cannot outright kill you. The Judge will not allow it."


    I chew on my inner cheek, digesting this new information. Abaddon had lied. Or at least he did not tell the whole truth. What else could he have been lying about? The thought makes my blood simmer with anger. The crimson river in my Domain churns in response to my emotions, its flow quickening.


    "And what about Delathorn? Is he a Celestial too?" I ask, recalling the man''s too-warm brown eyes and the falseness behind them.


    Fred shakes his head. "No, but he is powerful in his own right. A servant of the Shadow faction. I would be wary of him."


    I let out a breath, forcing myself to calm down. "Okay then. That brings more questions to mind, but I will save those for now. Surely you have a main shop somewhere."


    I make it more of a statement than a question, watching Fred''s reaction closely.


    "Yes, I do have a main shop. It is in Aetherius, and before you ask, Aetherius is considered to be the capital city of Eden; it is underneath what is considered to be the largest portion of the Eden Tree that we have discovered in all the realms. Why do you ask?"


    I rub my hands together, anticipation building within me as I prepare my next words.


    "Because I want to be a part owner. You say you need enchanting? How about making me your exclusive enchanter? I will enchant the equipment, items, whatever, and in exchange, I get an even split of all the profits as well as everything you just listed."


    Frederick simply gapes at me, then shakes his head. A sinking feeling develops in the pit of my stomach. Is he going to say no? The thought of losing this potential alliance makes my chest tighten. I have always hated rejection, though I cannot recall specific instances of it happening before.


    "Before I respond to that, lad, I should tell you about the Enchanters Guild," he says carefully.


    "Yes?" I question, the word stretched thin with apprehension.


    "Well, it does not like rogue enchanters. See, they try to get every enchanter to work with them eventually, and if you make this sort of deal with me, it is bound to anger them. My original deal is a short-term thing, lad. A longer-term partnership, particularly how you are suggesting it, well now, that would get their goat if you get my meaning."


    I do get it. The information gives me pause, but honestly, I do not know anyone in that guild and likely will not meet any of them in this dungeon. Or if I do, I do not care much. I trust Fred; he has been forthright with me and took an interest when I appeared, something no one else did. I say as much to Fred and add,


    "Besides, what fun would the world be if you did not make a few enemies?"


    Fred laughs and slaps his knee with such force I expect it to shatter.


    "Very true, lad, very true indeed. Very well then, let us make it official, shall we?"


    A notification appears in my mind, formal and precise:


    Frederick, level 199 Smith has offered you a partnership in his business, Catalyst Forge, and the terms are the following: You will assist him in enchanting equipment, items, and weapons when it is reasonable, and in return, he will give you the equipment, items, and weapons you ask for within reason or on favorable terms. He will also offer you reasonable aid, and you will receive 50 percent of all profits going forward from this point. Do you accept this partnership?


    I accept without hesitation, giving my answer to the Judge. The crimson thread within my Domain pulses with satisfaction, as if approving of my decision.


    Congratulations! You have entered into a partnership with Frederick!


    I grin and slap my palm into Frederick''s, not caring how much larger his hand is than mine. The contact sends a jolt of energy through me, cementing our alliance.


    "I think this is going to be the start of a beautiful partnership, Fred. Now then, let us get enchanting, shall we?"


    Fred''s answering grin is all I need to see. His tusks gleam in the lamplight as he begins to gather materials for my first enchanting lesson. He pulls out a small wooden box from under the counter, carefully opening it to reveal an assortment of gems, each glowing with faint inner light.


    "These are basic enchanting materials," he explains, his voice taking on a teacher''s tone. "Each gem corresponds to different aspects. Rubies for fire, sapphires for water, emeralds for nature, and so on. The purer the gem, the more powerful the enchantment."


    As he moves about the tent, I notice a blood-red gemstone among his collection that stands apart from the others. It pulses with inner light, calling to me on some primal level. I feel the river of blood in my Domain stir in response.


    For a brief moment, I swear I see the gem shift, revealing the outline of a fang etched within its depths. The mark from the quest scroll. But when I blink, it is gone.


    "What is that one?" I ask, pointing to the blood-red stone. "It feels... different."


    Fred follows my gaze, his expression shifting to one of curiosity. "That one? It is a bloodstone. Quite rare, actually. I have had it for years but never found a proper use for it. They are said to respond to blood magic, but I have never met anyone with that aspect who could work with it properly."


    He picks up the stone, studying it before handing it to me. "Here, hold it. Tell me what you feel."


    The moment the stone touches my palm, I feel a connection form between it and my Domain. The crimson river surges, reaching out as if trying to touch the stone through the barrier of my physical form. A warmth spreads up my arm, and for a heartbeat, I can sense possibilities within the gem¡ªprotection, power, consumption.


    "It is alive," I whisper, staring at the pulsing stone. "Not truly alive, but... aware. It wants to be used."


    Fred watches me with newfound interest, his blue eyes narrowing slightly. "Blood aspect and enchanting skill. A rare combination indeed. I wonder..."


    He shakes his head, as if dismissing a thought. "We will start with simpler materials first. That bloodstone requires expertise you do not yet possess. But perhaps, in time..."


    I reluctantly hand the stone back, feeling the connection sever as it leaves my grasp. Something tells me this partnership will lead to far more than just profit. And that bloodstone¡ªit is calling to me, waiting for the day I am ready to harness its power.


    "Let us begin with the basics," Fred says, setting a simple copper bracelet and a small yellow topaz on the table before me. "Focus on your Domain, feel the aspects within you, and then try to channel a small portion into the gem while thinking of what you want it to do."


    I nod, closing my eyes to concentrate. I reach for my Domain, finding that river of blood more responsive than before, eager to be used. I gather a small thread of it, careful not to take too much, and weave it with a strand of destruction. The combination feels volatile but powerful.


    As I channel this energy into the topaz, I visualize strength¡ªthe ability to enhance the wearer''s power. The gem begins to glow, and I feel the enchantment taking shape, guided by my will and the natural properties of the stone.


    Something stirs within me as I work¡ªa sense of purpose I have not felt since awakening in this strange world. Perhaps this is why the enchanting skill resonated with me. Perhaps this is the path forward.


    Whatever the future holds, I have at least found a direction. And an ally.


    The first step toward reclaiming who I am.

 Chapter Four

    CHAPTER FOUR


    "You need to weave your aspects through the sapphire and into the dagger. Right now, you only have one aspect; that is why you are failing."


    I shake my head, clenching my fists and sucking in an annoyed breath. Frustration builds within me like pressure in a sealed vessel. We have been at this for hours, and I feel no closer to success than when we started.


    "I need my hands! You are telling me I have to be holding the dagger and the sapphire. I cannot weave and do that."


    Fred shakes his massive head, his polished tusks catching the lamplight as they sway with the motion.


    "How did you get that notion? You do not need your hands; all you need is your willpower."


    I scowl, but try again. I take hold of the weaves and begin to thread them through the sapphire and then into the dagger. Except as soon as I begin, the weaves fall from my grasp. It is as if I am trying to pick up a thread with just my lips and sew that way. It does not help that the blasted gem heats up in my hands, and the air begins to smell like burnt hair. Frederick sighs, seeing my trouble.


    "I am no mage, lad, but you are too focused on this idea of needing your hands. You keep focusing on this idea, and you are going to continue to have problems. Let go of that notion and just focus on what you want the weaves to do."


    I try to take Fred''s advice and let go of the idea that I need my hands. It does not work, as I get the message.


    You have failed to enchant Apprentice Iron Dagger.


    The crimson river in my Domain churns with my frustration, the liquid becoming turbulent and agitated. I squash the urge to throw up my hands or hurl the dagger across the tent.


    "Why can I not use my hands? Can you tell me that?" My voice comes out sharper than intended.


    Fred actually chuckles a bit, which makes me a little more annoyed than I already am. The orc finds my predicament amusing!


    "Because the dagger and the gem need to be as close to your Domain as possible, which means touching you. In addition, all of your focus needs to be on the weaves and what you want them to do. What you are doing right now is trying to split your focus; it is fine for weaving a spell, but enchanting is not the same."


    I growl, clenching my hands around the objects. The sapphire feels cool against my palm, while the iron dagger''s hilt is worn smooth from handling. Sighing, I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm the turbulence in my Domain.


    Then I ask my second question, "If I put points in mind, would that make it easier?"


    Fred shakes his head, his blue eyes patient despite my frustration.


    "That is not how attributes work. Putting points in mind does not make you any more intelligent or focused in that regard; it simply serves as a way to balance power in the ways we talked about before. I am afraid there are no shortcuts, lad."


    I sigh, resigning myself to it. This is going to take time, whether I like it or not.


    _________


    I am unable to enchant a dagger for more than a day and a half. I sleep on a pallet with soft blankets and pillows that Fred put in his tent for me. The comfort is welcome, but I cannot fully enjoy it. I feel like I am falling behind, having gained no other levels or made much progress at all in that day and a half.


    During a break, I check my attributes, curious about the points I have accumulated.


    You have two attribute points available for use. Which attributes would you like to increase, and by how much?


    I consider my options carefully. Will has been helpful so far, allowing me to create and maintain weaves. Mind seems important for what I am trying to accomplish with enchanting. I give my answer to the Judge and get the following prompt:


    You have increased your will from 15 to 16. You have increased your mind from 11 to 12.


    I am not sure if that has been the best choice to make, but it seems like a good decision to me. Now I am still trying to enchant this dagger, and it is proving difficult. I keep failing, and each failure seems to make it even harder. I know I am expecting to fail, and that is affecting me. It is not until I decide to expect to succeed that something changes.


    As I sit cross-legged on the floor of Fred''s tent, the dagger and sapphire in my hands, I realize I am looking at this wrong.


    I am trying to grab my Domain aspects, and that thought of grabbing sets me to wanting to use my hands. This starts me off poorly for what I am trying to do. Furthermore, the process tires me out. At one point, I receive the prompt:


    Your mana is critically low.


    Stolen story; please report.


    Mana? What is that? I ask Fred about it.


    "What mana actually is is complicated and studied by scholars. I am but a simple smith, as I have said, lad." Fred strokes his tusk thoughtfully. "However, if you were to say that mana is the energy that comes from your Domain and makes up your weaves, not many would disagree with you. There are mana potions that will restore your mana, though I recommend simply resting, and it will restore in time on its own."


    I nod at his answer. I have to think about this differently.


    The next morning, feeling refreshed, I try a new approach. Instead of thinking about grabbing the mana, I immerse myself in it like one might immerse themselves in a hot bath. I let that river of crimson liquid I think of as blood run over me while I sink my mind into that nothingness of destruction. I allow all of it to encompass me, surrounding me completely.


    A memory flickers¡ªa woman''s voice speaking softly: "Let it come to you, Jackson. Don''t force it." The context is gone, but the advice remains.


    I direct the aspects, imagining them doing what I want. The weaves respond, flowing through the sapphire and into the dagger, just as I intend. The gem glows with an inner light, and the dagger''s blade takes on a subtle crimson sheen.


    I finally get the message I have been waiting for. I whoop and pump my fist, which is holding the dagger in the air.


    You have successfully enchanted the Apprentice Iron Dagger! It is now an Apprentice Iron Dagger of Lifestealing. Congratulations! Your Enchanting Skill (Apprentice Level 1) has increased to (Apprentice Level 2)!


    Lifestealing? I wonder what that means. I analyze the dagger.


    This is an apprentice Iron Dagger of Lifestealing. The life-stealing enchantment gives you a small portion of any slain target''s health. The target must be slain by the dagger.


    Fred pokes his head in and grins, his tusks gleaming in the lamplight. "Well now, lad, I take it you finally succeeded?"


    I smile widely and flourish the dagger, presenting it to him. Fred looks at it, and his mouth falls open and his eyes widen. His voice is a little hushed.


    "Lad... Your Domain has a blood aspect."


    I nod, not understanding his reaction. "Why? Is that a big deal too?"


    Fred nods mutely. Then he shakes his head to clear it and closes his mouth before clearing his throat and speaking.


    "Blood is an exceptionally rare aspect indeed, lad. How many do you think have it?"


    I shrug; I have not given any of it a whole lot of thought. The river of crimson liquid in my Domain pulses as if in response to being discussed.


    "Probably not many," I reply.


    Fred chuckles, but there is a strange note to his laughter. "Probably not many is right. When you are enchanting something, the item you enchant always takes on an enchantment that is related in some way to your Domain aspects. It pretty much has to, given that you are, in a way, literally weaving who you are into the item."


    My mouth twitches as a question occurs to me. "So I do not get to choose the enchantment?"


    Fred shrugs his massive shoulders and holds up his palms, raising one after the other, as if weighing two things.


    "Yes and no. If you do not give the weaves some idea of what you want to do, then the enchantment will be somewhat random but always related to your aspects. If you do try and direct the weaves a certain way, it could fail if it is too powerful an enchantment or not related to your aspects closely enough, or the weaves are not right for it."


    I tilt my head, considering. The crimson liquid in my Domain stirs with interest as new possibilities unfold in my mind.


    "Does the item matter, Fred? If I enchant another dagger, will it always be combat-related? Could I enchant a dagger to be a kind of trap, for example? Or a sphere, or a vial of some sort?"


    Fred thinks about his response for a moment before answering me, and when he does, his voice is thoughtful.


    "The dagger itself plays a part, but there is a good bit of wiggle room too. Enchanting is all about your imagination, picturing what you want it to do. Most magic works that way, as far as I know. Skill with the weave, the quality of the gem you use¡ªthat all matters, of course. You would not want to make it explode; that would not be in the dagger''s nature, you see? But you could surely make it nasty for whoever wields it wrong. It is all in the way you weave it, lad, your intent, and what you see in your mind''s eye."


    I think for a bit, an idea forming. I recall my encounter with the goblin encampment, how I was forced to retreat because there were too many. If I had a way to thin their numbers quickly...


    "Do you have any kinds of spheres? Like glass ones?" I ask.


    Fred considers and then goes over to some boxes at the far side of his tent, the area he uses for storage primarily. He glances through them and then moves some stuff around before taking out a separate box. He walks back over to me and opens the box. Inside are many multicolored glass ornaments, delicate and perfectly formed.


    "I have these. They were supposed to be decorative, but I brought them as surplus items. I thought maybe I could trade them to another merchant for something more useful. What are you thinking, lad?"


    I pick up a clear one. It has a string attached, and I cut it off with the dagger and then set the dagger to the side along with the string. I look at the ornament, consider it, and then nod. The shape is perfect for what I have in mind.


    "Do you have any more gems?" I ask Fred.


    Fred nods but adds, "I do not have unlimited gems, though. I have three sapphires left, a ruby, and a diamond. I really recommend you save the ruby and diamond; those will be needed if you want to make a truly powerful enchantment."


    I nod and then ask another question. "Can I only do one enchantment at a time?"


    Fred nods, "That is correct."


    I blow out a breath, a little disappointed at the answer. I was hoping to make this go a lot farther. I select three more clear ornaments and put them on the counter, then I ask Fred for the three sapphires, which he fetches for me. Fred seems to sense that I have some idea I am exploring, and it is clear from the way his eyes regard me that he is curious. Once I have the sapphires, I hold one in my hand and the ornament in the other.


    I take a breath, really hoping this will work, as I still my mind and immerse myself in my Domain, its aspects running over and through me like a stream of water unbarred by my body. The crimson liquid flows eagerly, almost excitedly, as if it understands what I am trying to create.


    Then I fix my attention on what I want, firmly keeping what I imagine in mind. I visualize not just the outcome, but the mechanism¡ªhow it should work, what should trigger it, and most importantly, what it should do when activated.


    The weaves begin to pack themselves into the ornamental sphere after running through the sapphire, of course. The weaves layer themselves, bundling up tightly near the bottom and twisting to form another layer, as if I am creating a complex knot. Each time I do this, I tighten them and keep in mind what I want to happen should the weaves snap.


    Every so often, I twist the weaves in another direction, layering them in a different way. Around all of the blood weaves, I weave a dome of destruction, the catalyst in my imagination, that, when the sphere is smashed, would set the whole thing off. The process is intricate, demanding, but also strangely satisfying. There is something about creation that feels right to me.


    After some time, the Judge acknowledges my efforts.


    Your enchanting skill has increased. Congratulations, Jackson! You have created a Blood Shard Bomb (Apprentice)! When thrown on the ground and smashed, or simply squeezed, these little bombs will explode, unleashing an impressive amount of blood shards that will severely harm everyone in the blast radius except for Jackson Grey.


    I grin in satisfaction, examining the glass sphere with new appreciation. The clear glass now has a faint crimson tint, and tiny swirls of darkness move within it like smoke. I almost cannot believe it worked! Weaves truly do respond to imagination.


    Fred eyes the bomb and grunts, though his eyes glitter in appreciation.


    "I cannot say I would have thought to make something like this, but it is impressive all the same, lad. Why did you make this?"


    I tap my head, a plan already forming for my return journey. "I think I am going to need them a little later."


    Fred chuckles and shakes his head. "Fine then, lad. Keep your secrets. Listen, I think I can get some more sapphires from a merchant. More people have been showing up the last few days, so there has been a lot more activity as of late. If I can get them, do you think you could produce more of those daggers there?" Fred nods to the dagger on the counter.


    I shrug, "Sure, why? Would it not be better to experiment? Produce other enchantments?"


    Fred shakes his head from side to side. Not in the negative, but in a yes-or-no kind of way.


    "It would probably help your skill level a tiny bit to experiment with your enchanting, but it would not help the wallet. That dagger has a powerful enchantment. Killing things and getting your health out of the deal could save your life. Enchantments like that are always valuable. I bet I could sell that dagger for a thousand EC or more."


    My mouth falls open. I am not sure how good that is, but Fred makes it sound like that is a considerable sum for a dagger.


    "Really, that much?" I ask.


    Fred grins, his tusks gleaming. "Did you not hear me, lad? I said it could save your life. Healing of any kind in Eden is prized. Now, I will be back. I am going to go see how many sapphires I can get you."


    As Fred leaves, I hold up the Blood Shard Bomb, watching the swirling patterns within the glass. My Domain pulses in response, the crimson river flowing with anticipation. I have a feeling that these bombs will be my ticket back to the first floor¡ªand eventually to that strange quest in Lazarus''s tomb.


    For the first time since waking in this place, I feel a sense of control over my destiny. I may not know who I was, but I am beginning to understand who I am becoming.

 Chapter Five

    CHAPTER FIVE


    Fred ends up getting me quite a few sapphires. He even acquires another ruby and diamond for me to experiment with. The orcish blacksmith does not stick around to watch me enchant, however. Fred spends much of the day at his forge, the sound of his hammer echoing throughout the area. Mixing with all the other sounds of the safe zone, it becomes just a small drop in the ocean of noise.


    In the end, I am able to produce twenty daggers and make five more blood-shard bombs, bringing my total to eight. However, I have the problem of where to put them. I figure I will simply ask Fred for a bag. I do not feel too guilty about asking for things; we are partners now, after all, and Fred seems very happy with the deal.


    After finishing the last dagger, I receive an intriguing message from the Judge.


    Congratulations, Jackson! You have reached Journeyman Rank in your Enchanting Skill!


    I rub my chin thoughtfully and bring up the skill display in my mind.


    Enchanting (Journeyman Level 1)


    My mouth falls open; apparently, with each rank, you start at level 1 again. I look at the previous notification of when I gained a level in enchanting.


    Your enchanting is now at Apprentice level 25. Enchanting is now Journeyman Rank.


    Ah, I see it now. When a skill levels to twenty-five, it advances a rank. I wonder about the other ranks and if it is always every twenty-five levels. Fred is not here to ask, so I file the question away for later.


    As I rest, the river of crimson in my Domain flows with renewed vigor, as if pleased with my progress. The nothingness that represents destruction seems somehow more defined, like a void with purpose rather than mere emptiness. I can sense my power growing, though I still understand so little about it.


    I am still contemplating these changes when Fred comes back, practically dancing into the tent with a giant, goofy grin on his face. His tusks gleam in the lamplight, and his blue eyes sparkle with excitement.


    "This venture of ours has been truly profitable, lad! I sold every single one of your daggers!"


    I laugh, caught up in his enthusiasm. "Every one? Wow! So, what was our profit?"


    Fred grins, rocking back on his heels. "I bought the sapphires from a gem merchant who had a surplus of basic ones. There were twenty-five of them, and I got them for two thousand EC. We sold all twenty daggers for twenty thousand EC, so what does basic math tell you, lad?"


    I whoop, pumping a fist. "We made a profit of eighteen thousand EC!"


    Fred high-fives me, and I ignore the jolt of pain that lances through my body at the gesture. Fred really is massive. He hands me a sack¡ªa small and nondescript-looking bag made of dark leather with runes stitched along its edges.


    "This is a bag of holding. I spent another thousand EC on it, but trust me, it is worth it. It has a little pocket realm inside of it, which is very useful for storage. Also, I transferred ten thousand EC to your account!"


    I gape, shaking my head at the sum. "Why, Fred? You did not need to do that!"


    Fred laughs, the sound booming in the confines of the tent. "Sure, I did, lad. You needed a bank account, and trust me, that sum will be gone a little faster than you might think. Now then, you have detoured here long enough, yes? You cannot stay forever; there is exploring to be done! I suggest you hit up the other stalls and get yourself some gear. Come back here before you leave; however, I have a gift for you."


    I shake my head, and my chest tightens as the weight of Fred''s generosity settles over me like a heavy blanket. Something about his kindness triggers a distant memory¡ªsomeone else who believed in me once, who gave without expectation of return. The memory slips away before I can grasp it, leaving only a warm echo. I accept the bag with genuine gratitude and take a deep breath. It is time to go shopping.


    I have not explored the bazaar much. I have been stuck, though not unwillingly, working on my enchanting. Also, I did not have any money at the time. The noise is still very prevalent, but that is the nature of shopping areas: forever loud. Merchants shout at other people, trying to get their attention with various deals and wares.


    "Health potions at a discount! This way!"


    "Premium rations at a great price!"


    On it goes, a cacophony of commerce. As I walk, I consider what I need. Food is essential, so I purchase some of those "premium" rations, which I am not so sure are actually premium, but I put them in the bag of holding nonetheless. They will serve.


    I do not want to wear any heavy armor; I need to be able to move. That is important. With that in mind, I head to a clothing shop. The merchant is a short man¡ªthe shortest I have ever seen, in fact¡ªwith silver gray hair, silver circular-rimmed spectacles, and smile lines that touch his aged features. His blue eyes twinkle at me, and I notice the merchant wears the tiniest suit I believe I have ever seen, even if I cannot remember much about my past life.


    "Ah, a customer. Hello there, young man, how can I help you?"


    I smile at him and nod. "I am looking for an upgrade to my wardrobe." I indicate my peasant garb in all of its ripped and tattered glory. The short man nods, chuckling a bit. I analyze him as he does.


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    This is a level 199 merchant. He is a gnome. Your analyze has been detected!


    The gnome, as I now know him to be, frowns at me. "Did not anyone ever teach you basic manners, Sonny? Keep up that rudeness and see if I can help you." The gnome snaps at me, his blue eyes glaring in cold anger.


    I hold up my hands, apologetic; I had no clue that analyzing people like that is considered rude. I figure it is just part of the course. The gnome shakes his head but gestures for me to follow, and we enter his tent.


    It is absolutely filled with clothing. There are mannequins everywhere, with coats, robes, breeches, leather armor, suits, gloves, boots, and shoes of all different styles adorning them. The gnome nods, a proud tilt in his chin.


    "Ya see, Sonny? I am the best clothing merchant in this bazaar and probably in all of Eden. This is my shop, Glimmer''s Garments! You definitely got lucky when you talked to me, do not you know? Now, you take your time and tell me what you like, and we can talk price."


    I nod almost absently at the old gnome and look around. I dismiss much of what I see for various reasons. Some of it I just do not like, and some of it I feel would hinder me in some way. I want to find something I would look good in and that I could potentially enchant to last me a while.


    I dismiss some dark robes; they are a little too dark for me in the sense that I am not trying to be a dark overlord kind of guy. I do not like the white robes; they would just get needlessly dirty.


    After ignoring many of the mannequins for one reason or another, I find myself looking at one outfit that I could see myself in. It starts with a white undershirt, and a deep, dark blue vest is over it. I really like the color of the vest, as it reminds me of a patch of dark sky that twinkles with starlight; silver buttons adorn it. The breeches are black, and utterly so. The boots have a combination of silver and gray leather that extends into a black sole.


    Over the whole thing is a long black coat that I imagine flaring dramatically in the wind. It comes complete with a set of gloves and silver gray vambraces. Something about the ensemble feels right, as if it resonates with who I am or who I want to be.


    I point at the set-up. "How about a price for this, sir?"


    The old gnome looks at me as if gauging something, and then his blue eyes flick to the outfit. He strokes his chin. "I would say 150 EC is a fair deal, sonny."


    Honestly, I would have paid more than that, but I sense the gnome is expecting me to haggle.


    "How about 80 EC? I think that is more than fair, and you are not likely to sell it to someone else any time soon."


    The gnome grins at me, clearly pleased about something. "Ah, but I do not really need the EC, you see, so that is no leverage at all, young man! 140 would be a steal for this!"


    I shake my head, schooling my expression. "I think you are trying to take advantage of me due to my youth, sir! Surely you can part with this for 90 EC!"


    It goes on like that for a bit, with the old gnome coming up with every reason under the sun for why I should pay more. I start pointing out flaws, even if they are not actually flaws, and the old gnome guffaws and harrumphs at me. In the end, though, we settle on 115 EC for the set.


    I probably would have paid much more if I were being honest, but I cannot know when I will need my funds or for what, so being shrewd is the safer bet. Still, there is something enjoyable about the haggling process itself¡ªthe back and forth, the verbal sparring. It feels like something I might have done before, in that life I cannot remember.


    The old gnome has a privacy screen, and I use it to get dressed. The Judge has a message for me when I do so.


    You have discarded the apprentice peasant garb and put on the Dark Wanderer''s Set. This set offers zero protection physically, slight protection against spells, and is designed with enchanting in mind!


    I smile at the message. I almost cannot wait to enchant this!


    Your level is too low to enchant this clothing set. Your enchanting skill must be Journeyman Level 10 before being able to enchant this set.


    I am back at Fred''s tent, waiting for him to finish what he is doing at the forge, and I am not too happy about the Judge''s message. That seems like a high requirement just for some clothes, but there really is nothing I can do about it. I sigh, disappointment fluttering through my mind, but I shake my head. It is what it is.


    The crimson river in my Domain churns with impatience. It wants to be used, to create, to transform. I can feel it responding to my ambition, eager to grow stronger. Soon, I tell it silently. Soon we will be strong enough.


    Fred soon opens the tent flap and comes in. He is grinning, his massive form filling the doorway. "Ah, there you are, lad! Are you ready for your parting gift?"


    I nod, curious. "What do you have for me, Fred?"


    Fred produces a katana in a dark sheath. My eyes widen. The handle is wrapped in some kind of black material, but it is made of a shiny white oak. I carefully unsheath the blade, and it is patterned; it looks like raindrops in the steel. The steel, for its part, gleams dark blue, so the silver raindrop pattern really stands out.


    As I hold it, the weight feels perfect in my hand. The balance is exquisite, as if the blade were crafted specifically for me. The river of crimson in my Domain surges toward the weapon, as if recognizing a worthy vessel.


    Fred grins, clearly pleased with my reaction.


    "Raindrop damascus is one of my favorite things to do when forging any blade. See, it requires forge welding the pieces together to create a single billet, and the¡ª" Fred cuts himself off and rubs the back of his great neck sheepishly. "Listen to me prattle; you do not need the details. Now you just need to enchant it!"


    I chuckle. Fred is a smith through and through; that is clear. I take out a diamond; I want the katana''s enchantment to be powerful. But what kind of enchantment do I want to give it?


    I sit down while I think about it. I could put a life-stealing enchantment on it; that would be useful, clearly. However, could not I do more? Fred has told me imagination is a big deal with enchanting.


    Fred has also told me that I cannot go against an item''s nature. With that in mind, I think about the katana''s nature. Obviously, it cuts, kills¡ªthat is clear as day¡ªbut is it more than that? Does the blade truly just represent killing? No, in a way, it means defending oneself and even others as well. That is just as true of the katana as anything else.


    Moreover, it could mean pride in one''s skill to wield it well. It could also mean honor, because one faces foes head-on with it most of the time. What I need to lean into is the destroying part, the cutting part of the blade. I know this because my aspects are blood and destruction, so whatever enchantment I do will have to fit inside that, regardless of my imagination or intent.


    Blood and destruction. I rub my chin and chew on my inner lip. Weaves are such a big deal in this world; they are what make up spells or magic. Would not it be nice to have a way to deal with that?


    Struck by sudden inspiration, I nod my head and grip the blade in one hand and the diamond in the other, and I begin to enchant.


    First, I layer the blade with weaves of destruction. I put those weaves through the core of it, making each individual weave almost a blade itself. Then I entwine blood weaves through it but invert them, making the weaves almost inward, creating a kind of funnel with them. I anchor that funnel to the hilt of the katana, so it flows all through the handle and the entire blade.


    Through the whole process, I infuse my imagination into the weaves, directing them with my will and intent, and they respond to my imagination as if the threads of mana have a mind of their own. The crimson river in my Domain flows eagerly into the blade, as if recognizing a kindred spirit. The nothingness of destruction carves channels through the steel, invisible to the eye but palpable to my senses.


    When I finish, the weaves glow with an inner light, and I receive the message I hoped for.


    Your enchanting has increased! Congratulations, Jackson! You have created a journeyman-level katana of spell destruction and absorption! This enchantment will allow you to disrupt all weaves, though it will not allow you to destroy all weaves; only weaves of the same level or lower will be destroyed. Any destroyed weave will be absorbed, granting you the mana used for that weave!


    I grin and show Fred, who examines the blade with expert eyes. His expression is impressed, but also tinged with disappointment.


    "What is wrong?" I ask, concerned by his reaction.


    "Ah, lad, I am sorry. It is just that I thought I would finally level to two hundred! I wish I knew what the damnable problem was all about."


    I nod, understanding his frustration. "We will figure it out, Fred. I promise." I test the weight of the katana again, feeling the enchantment humming beneath my fingers. "However, I am sorry, my friend; I need to leave."


    Fred sighs, resignation in his eyes. "I know, lad. You''ve got that quest to find, and I''ve kept you here long enough." He claps a massive hand on my shoulder. "You''ve got what you need now¡ªgood gear, some coin, and a way to defend yourself."


    I sheathe the katana and secure it at my side, its weight a comforting presence. The blood-shard bombs go into my bag of holding, along with the rations and other supplies.


    "I will come back," I promise Fred. "After I find this tomb and see what lies within it."


    "You''d better," Fred says with a grin. "Or I''ll have to come looking for you, and trust me, lad, no one wants that."


    We share a laugh, and then it is time. I adjust my new coat, check my supplies one last time, and head for the exit of the safe zone. The gate leading back into the dungeon proper looms ahead, dark and foreboding.


    The strange thirst that has been dormant for days stirs again as I approach the gate, as if sensing the violence to come. I push it down, focusing instead on my goal. The tomb of Lazarus. The mark of the fang. Whatever lies beyond that gate, I will face it.


    With one last glance back at Fred''s tent, I step through the gate and back into the dangers of the dungeon.

 Chapter Six

    CHAPTER SIX


    Fred knows that I need to go and is not too upset about it. He shows me the exit from the safe zone and points to some stairs not too far away.


    "That is the exit, lad. It leads upward or downward to the next floor. I genuinely wish you all the best." Fred holds out his massive hand, and I clasp it with my own. We grip each other''s forearms, sealing our friendship with the simple gesture. I try not to wince at his crushing strength and instead smile. Fred nods at me, and then it is time for me to go.


    I bite my lip and take a deep breath, my eyebrows furrowing as concern builds within me. I do not want to go. With Fred, I have been mostly safe; at least no one was directly trying to kill me. Now that the time has come to set out again, I am confronted with the fact that I will be in danger again. Sure, I am a little more prepared with my katana strapped to my belt and my bag of holding filled with rations and bombs, but it does not change the fact that once I head out, I will face peril.


    The crimson river in my Domain churns with anticipation, almost eager for the dangers ahead. The aspect of destruction seems to pulse with readiness. I push aside the discomfort this causes me¡ªwhat does it say about me that part of my essence craves violence?


    I close my eyes and open them, allowing myself to feel determined. I have things to be about¡ªa quest to finish, a tomb to find. I will see it done. Confidently, I begin to stride forward, toward the unknown and all it represents.


    I emerge into a corridor covered in thick webs. The stuff is incredibly sticky, clinging to my new clothes and making movement difficult. My face twists in disgust, my lip curling as I try to free myself from the clingy strands. I grip my katana tighter as I make my way forward. The whole area smells of rotting milk and decay, a sickly sweet odor that makes my stomach churn. I have to hack through some of the webbing to proceed.


    It is during this process that a thick, wet glob of something spatters on my head.


    A chill races down my spine, and ever so slowly, I look up. Eight red eyes stare at me with undisguised hunger, saliva dripping from an open maw lined with needle-like fangs. That would be enough to give me nightmares, but it does not stop there. The creature is large, grey, and black with thick bristle-like hair all over its bulbous body. Its massive eight legs tense, and my eyes widen as I push myself back just as the spider monster launches itself at me.


    I trip on the webbing and fall to the ground, my katana flying out of my hand with a muted clang on the web-covered stone. I scramble toward the blade just as a spider leg tries to spear me where I had laid. The spider chitters angrily at me, its eyes swirling with hunger.


    I quickly analyze it as I scoop up my blade and scramble to my feet.


    Plague Spider Level 10!


    "That sounds pleasant," I mutter to myself as I ready my blade.


    I prepare for it to charge me, or maybe leap at me. It does none of those things but rather lobs a dark green glob of goo at me, the substance bubbling and hissing as it flies through the air. I do not have many options; the space is narrow and covered with webs. I cannot dive to either side as the walls block me. My only option is to roll under the projectile.


    As I do this, the spider leaps at me, fangs flashing in the dim light. I feel a drop of the goop land on my arm. Pain blooms as the goop, which I now understand to be acid, burns my flesh, turning a small patch of it a sickly dark color.


    I howl as I bring my blade upward, meeting the spider''s leap. My katana cuts through the monster like it is a rotten melon, dark insectoid skin parting easily, spilling green ichor and dark guts all over me as the monster gives a dying screech.


    You have defeated a level 10 plague spider! You have increased your level from 3 to 4. Your katana skill has progressed!


    I am covered in smelly, rancid spider monster guts and blood. My arm burns with acidic pain, my breath comes a little heavy. But I am alive. I have won. I grin at my victory, which quickly fades as more chittering fills the tunnel.


    The cold grip of dread reaches around my heart and squeezes as the color drains from my face. I slowly turn. A portion of the webbing down the tunnel has parted, revealing three more plague spiders that have dropped from the wall beyond the webs.


    Their red eyes flick to their fallen brother and then to me. I gulp. At least I have two more lives.


    I raise my katana, grip sweaty around the handle. I will spend this life fighting at least. The crimson river in my Domain surges, ready for battle despite my fear. I wonder briefly if it has a will of its own.


    An emerald green burst of power slams into one of the spiders, sending it crashing into the wall with a wet crunch.


    "I hate spiders so freaking much!"


    A crimson-haired woman strides forward from behind the spiders. She wields a staff in one hand, a grimace of disgust painted all over her face. She looks like she has just picked up something gross and is trying to get it off her hand, especially from the way she rubs her free hand against her robes.


    I blink, feeling like I have seen her before. The sanguine color of her hair triggers a memory from the crypt where I first awoke. I do not get a chance to think much about it. The other spiders turn, hissing as they leap at her.


    A boom echoes throughout the area as a blonde-haired man in basic, dirty armor rockets forward, kite-shield slamming into one of the spiders, sending it crashing into the wall with such force that the creature squelches, breaking from the pressure. It falls to the ground like a swatted bug, twitching.


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    An arrow slams into the final spider, piercing its brain with a hiss of force. Another arrow collides with the twitching spider, causing it to go still as green ichor bursts from it. I stand there, awkwardly, smelly, and uncertain of what to say.


    A woman with hair as white as fresh snow on a cold winter day strides into the area, green eyes flicking around to identify threats. Satisfied, she nods. She moves with confident grace, every step purposeful.


    "Quit being a baby, Riselle. We have dealt with worse."


    Her attention turns to me. I get the sense that she is the leader here. Her nose wrinkles as she regards me, her eyes focusing on the blade I wield.


    "Hey there. Looks like we came just in time."


    The warrior speaks up, the mace he holds shifting on his shoulder.


    "Melanie, look! He is a swordsman."


    His voice is a youthful rumble. The flame-haired woman, Riselle if I heard her name right, perks up, hazel eyes bright.


    "Mels! He could¡­"


    The white-haired woman holds up a hand, her lovely face tightening.


    "I know." She turns to me. "Sorry for them. The redhead is Riselle, and the warrior is Adaran. We were headed this way to clear out these spiders. Should be the last of them. Listen, do you want to come back to our camp? It is not far, and you could get cleaned up there. I have a proposal for you."


    I chew on my tongue, shifting a bit as my eyes dart around the room. I have to admit, I am a little reluctant. I have done well on my own so far. Yet without them, I would have surely died, spending another life and being down to just one. At this point, I feel like I owe them at least a conversation.


    Besides, I do want to get cleaned up.


    I nod, "Okay, yeah, why not? Lead on."


    Their camp is a few small tents put up in a corridor with a dead end that faces the way they came. There is a fire going, built with bricks to make the fire pit, wood, and some kind of moss that gives off a pleasant, spicy aroma. There is a lookout as well, a black-haired man with a bow and piercing brown eyes that I know see far.


    Others are in the camp as well: more archers and a few more warriors. All told, there are about seven of them. They all nod with respect at Melanie, but they eye me suspiciously. Melanie sits by the fire and indicates I do the same.


    When I sit down, Adaran smiles at me as he sets a water bucket with a rag in front of me. Gratefully, I clean myself as best I can, scrubbing away the spider remains. The cool water soothes the acid burn on my arm.


    Melanie smiles, "Do not worry, we will not bite, I promise. Honestly, we need you."


    I raise an eyebrow at that. Need me? I voice the obvious question, "What for? I am just a passing swordsman. I have not analyzed you, but I bet you are all at a higher level than I am."


    "It is not your level that matters, but rather your class and skill. See, there is a man, Dylan Roache; he is a swordsman like you, except his sword is different. A hand and a half blade. Dylan and his guild are forcing other players to enter into slave pacts with them; if they do not, he hurts them. Dylan does not kill them because he does not want them to despawn, but he does torture them until they give in. It is barbaric." Her face twists until it is full of rage and disgust.


    The name Dylan Roache sends a chill through me, though I cannot place why. Something about it feels important, like a warning I should heed. The crimson river in my Domain churns with an emotion I cannot identify.


    I take the opportunity to interject. "That is horrible, but where do I come in?"


    Riselle speaks up, her voice eager and sharp. "We need you to fight him."


    I look at her and tilt my head. I am a little perplexed.


    "Again, I am low level; if he is forcing people into this and has a guild that follows him, I doubt I could win."


    Melanie shoots Riselle an annoyed glance and looks back at me. "What Riselle means is that we need you to challenge him to a duel. A swordfight. Dylan fancies himself the best swordsman in this dungeon, and he looks for every opportunity to prove it. He killed three of my fellow guild members, all officers, just because they wielded swords. He wants to kill me as well, and given the chance, he certainly would." Her eyes gain a hint of sadness, but steel is in her voice. I can tell the deaths pained her, but I still do not know how I could really help.


    "I understand that, but you are looking at the wrong guy. He will probably kill me too."


    Melanie nods and admits, "He might, but that does not matter. You do not need to beat him. It will be a distraction. While you are doing that, I will have my archers get into place, and Riselle and Adaran will charge into battle at my signal, and chaos will ensue. We rain arrows down on Dylan and his crew and win the day. All thanks to the element of surprise." Melanie smiles, satisfaction rolling off her in waves.


    I do not know how much I like this plan since it hinges on me lasting long enough for all of them to get into place. I would essentially be bait, likely sacrificing one of my precious remaining lives. That said, if this Dylan really is doing what Melanie says he is, I do not think I have much of a choice but to try and stop it.


    A voice echoes in my memory: "Real power is knowing that you do not have to use it." Was that my mother''s voice? The half-remembered lesson makes me wonder what she would think of me now, considering using violence to help these strangers.


    Still, I want to try and get something out of the deal. So I ask, "Do you know where the stairs to the upper floor are?"


    Melanie nods, "I do. Why do you ask?"


    I rub my hands together. "I will help, but in exchange, I want you to show me those stairs. I have unfinished business on that floor."


    Melanie thinks about it, her eyes looking at the others, but eventually, she nods. "That sounds like a deal to me. However, you will need to wait. Dylan is not at camp yet and likely will not return for some time."


    I sigh and settle back. "How do you know that?"


    Melanie shrugs, "We scout his camp. He does tend to leave at times; it is not that surprising. He will be back, though, likely in a few hours."


    I rub my face, but there is nothing for it. I settle back to wait.


    Melanie and the others talk for a while, but eventually, their attention turns toward me.


    "So, do you remember anything? You know, from before this," Melanie waves her hands as if to encompass everything.


    I shake my head. "Not a thing. Sometimes I get an idea, maybe, of what kind of person I am, but no memories." I choose not to mention the brief flashes I have experienced¡ªthe blonde woman''s voice, the sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu. They feel too personal, too fragile to share just yet.


    "How about all of you?" I ask.


    Melanie and the others shake their heads.


    "Essentially the same thing you have experienced, we have. Little bits of instinct, but that is all. How did you end up here?" Melanie inquires.


    I feel my face heat up, and I rub my neck. "I, uhh, well, I kind of died."


    I cough, embarrassed. Melanie chuckles, "It is not anything to be ashamed of; this dungeon is dangerous. In fact, I believe the world is very dangerous. I think that if I had not banded with Adaran and Riselle here, I would have died much earlier. What about your Domain, have you been able to access it yet?"


    "Yes, I have." I hesitate, not wanting to reveal my rare blood aspect. "It is interesting to have a whole world inside of you." Melanie and the others nod at that.


    Before I can comment further, Riselle''s stomach rumbles, and her face flushes.


    "Sorry, it is just that I have not eaten in a while."


    She looks down, her hair hiding her face. I laugh and reach into my bag, pulling out some of those so-called premium rations I had bought.


    "I do not know how appetizing this is, but you are welcome to it. I have enough for everyone," I say, smiling.


    Soon enough, I have passed out extra rations, and all of us tuck into them, the fire burning with a merry flame. As we eat, we swap stories of our adventures so far. I tell them of how I was killed by the giant rat, and Adaran lets out a belly laugh.


    "You just thought one slice would do it, eh?" he says, his eyes twinkling.


    I scowl, but it is in good humor. "It had been up until that point," I say a little defensively.


    Adaran laughs again, shaking his head. The others talk about fighting off goblins and finding a treasure chest full of EC, which is how they bought their equipment. We talk for what seems like hours, laughing and ribbing at one another.


    I finally start to feel like I have found allies. Maybe even friends. The strange thirst that had been dormant seems quieter in their presence, and the crimson river in my Domain flows more calmly. There is something comforting about being part of a group, something that feels right.


    It is too bad; we will be in a lot of danger very soon.


    As the conversation continues, I find my gaze lingering on Melanie. Something about her seems familiar, though I cannot place it. Perhaps it is just that she reminds me of someone I knew before. Her confidence, her leadership¡ªit draws me to her.


    I glance down at my sheathed katana, considering the enchantment I placed on it. Spell destruction and absorption. Will it be enough against this Dylan Roache? I have no way of knowing. But I have made my choice. Sometimes, standing against those who harm others is worth the risk.


    My hand drifts to the bag of holding where my blood shard bombs wait. I have those as a last resort. If things go badly, perhaps I can create enough chaos to escape. Or at least enough to ensure Dylan cannot hurt anyone else.


    As night falls in the dungeon¡ªor what passes for night in this timeless place¡ªI feel a strange mix of dread and anticipation. Tomorrow I will face a skilled swordsman in combat. Tomorrow I might lose another life.


    But I will also be one step closer to finding the tomb of Lazarus and discovering what secrets lie within.

 Chapter Seven

    CHAPTER SEVEN


    I blow out a breath as we crouch behind a low outcropping of rock, positioned some distance from Dylan''s camp. The air here is stale and musty, carrying the faint scent of smoke from their campfires.


    "I can barely see! I do not understand why we have to be so far away," Riselle protests. Her voice is a whisper, but it is still delivered forcefully, her frustration evident. Melanie shakes her head and sucks in a breath through her nose, letting it out before responding.


    "We do not want to risk being spotted, Riselle. We talked about this already." Her tone is patient but firm, brooking no argument.


    Adaran nods in agreement. Riselle grumbles, but she falls silent. I turn my attention back to the camp ahead of us.


    Players move about the encampment, which has large and small tents, with fires set up in two different places. A half-constructed wall made of rocks and random stones surrounds the perimeter, not overly large, clearly sourced from the dungeon. And then I see him¡ªDylan himself is present.


    He is similar to me in build, I grudgingly observe with narrowed eyes. He leans casually against a tent post, a sword at his hip. His hair is chestnut brown, almost artfully curled, and though I have trouble making out all of his features from this distance, they appear strong and almost noble. He wears brown leathers with a darker brown coat over them, and his hands are gloved. Dylan moves with the confidence of one used to being in command. He is to be my opponent.


    My heart beats a little faster and I shift nervously. I steel myself to stillness, taking a calming breath. I can do this, and I will do this. Now is the time to test myself, to truly see if I am a good swordsman or not.


    I bring up my katana skills in my mind, checking my progress.


    Your katana skill is Journeyman level 10.


    I had not expected it to progress so quickly, but it seems the spiders had been high-level. Honestly, how does the Judge determine when a level is warranted? I shake my head, dismissing the question; it is unhelpful for now.


    I look over at Melanie and say, "I am going to approach now and set this in motion. Are you ready?"


    She nods and moves silently around the wall to the corridor that heads back the way we came. A second later she returns, but this time she is followed by many people holding bows, as many as eight of them. She nods at me, her eyes blazing with determination. I take a deep breath and stand up.


    The crimson river in my Domain churns with anticipation, almost eager for the coming confrontation. I push away the discomfort this causes me¡ªwhat does it say about me that part of my essence craves violence?


    With one final glance at Melanie, I approach the camp, ready to confront Dylan.


    The two guards at what could be called the entrance of the camp wear the same basic brown leathers I am beginning to see so much of; they hold out swords pointed directly at me to bar my way and shake their heads.


    "Who are you?" One sneers. He is a bulky man with a very mouse-like face, dark hair cut short, and dull brown eyes. The sneer makes him look particularly ugly. The one next to him is smaller in build, with a gruff face, unsmiling and considering as his brown eyes scrutinize me.


    I analyze the pair.


    The one on the left is a level 11 warrior. The one on the right is a level 12 brute. Both are humans.


    I nod, wondering if Melanie and the others are on a similar level. Why have I not analyzed them? It just has not occurred to me before, and that was a mistake. That kind of information could prove useful; I need to do it more often. I rest a hand on my katana.


    "Where is your boss?" I ask. The brute spits at my feet, his ugly features twisting into something even more horrifying to look at.


    "That is none of your concern, worthless newb. Get lost or else." The warrior says nothing, but his gaze flicks to my katana and back to me. I nod pleasantly.


    "I do not think he would be very happy to hear that you turned away a challenger. Have not you analyzed me yet? Surely you can see I am a swordsman." I touch the hilt of my katana for emphasis. The brutish guard narrows his eyes for a flash of a second, but then he laughs, and there is no humor in it.


    "I doubt you would be much of a challenge; you are a low-level scrub, barely level 4. Worthless." He sneers again as he glares at me, his eyes full of hate.


    "How would Dylan feel about you making that decision? Come on now, run and tell your boss, and at the very least he can decide for himself, or do you think you know better?" I ask, eyebrow raised.


    The brutish guard takes a menacing step forward, his hand on his sword, ready to draw it. The silent one places a hand on his shoulder, firm and uncompromising. He shakes his head as the angry guard glances at him. He scowls but steps back. The silent guard turns and walks into the camp, his strides purposeful.


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    I smile at the remaining guard, whose eyes burn with undisguised menace.


    "If the boss does decide to fight you, scum, you must know that you will lose. The boss will cut out your heart and send you to respawn in pieces."


    I feel a pulse of fear tighten around my quickening heart. The crimson river in my Domain surges in response, not with fear but with excitement¡ªa reaction that disturbs me even more than the guard''s threat. I push the feeling aside and simply smile widely at the guard.


    "Which is it? Will he cut me into pieces first, or will he cut out my heart first? It seems to me that if he cut out my heart, cutting my body into pieces afterwards would be kind of redundant."


    The guard''s fists whiten, and his breath comes harder. He is a hair''s breadth from violence. Yet he does not get his chance to act on it. The silent guard has returned, and Dylan is with him.


    Dylan scrutinizes me, taking in my stance and my eyes flicking to my katana. His sword hand grips his sword''s hilt, but it is not in anger but rather in anticipation. His eyes glitter, like those of a predator ready to pounce.


    "My guards tell me you are challenging me. Are you sure about that? You are only level 4, which seems like suicide to me."


    I have come this far, and I certainly am not going to back down now. I grin at Dylan, ignoring the fluttering in my stomach.


    "Trying to give me an out? I had not heard you were a coward."


    That does it. Dylan''s eyes go dead, and his face settles into a calm mask. His voice is colder than winter snow.


    "Follow me," he replies.


    I follow him deeper into their camp, and we pass several cages. In them are people with dead eyes, and as I look into those dead eyes, I catch flashes of something precious, a light being corrupted by darkness. Something hardens within me then, and my eyes narrow. I take a breath, calming the flash of anger that lances through me.


    My mother''s voice whispers in memory: "Stand up for those who cannot stand for themselves." The fragment fades as quickly as it came, but its impact remains. These captives need help, and I am the distraction that will hopefully set them free.


    Soon we come to a clearing where there are no tents or bedrolls. Mannequins have been set up, and it becomes clear to me that this is a practice area. People begin gathering around Dylan and me in a loose circle. Dylan draws his blade in a smooth motion.


    "Let us get this over with; I have things to be about," Dylan states with a bored tone.


    I sigh, and I analyze Dylan.


    This is Dylan Roache, a level 16 swordsman.


    My lips twist into a frown; he is significantly higher level than I am. I am not sure I can win this, and I could very well lose another life here. I am not eager to die; losing just another life would put me on my last one; lose that, and I would not be coming back. I draw my katana and steel myself. I really hope Melanie and her people are getting into position. They are supposed to begin the attack as soon as the fight is underway.


    Dylan holds up a hand to the others.


    "No one is to interfere," he commands.


    Then he attacks. The first thing I am forced to notice is that I am outclassed. I am simply not prepared for his speed; the man moves like lightning itself. Instinct guides me, and I barely fend off his slash with my katana. Still, though I fend it off, the blade has more reach than I account for, and it nicks my shoulder.


    You have been lightly wounded and are bleeding.


    I almost laugh at the Judge for pointing out the obvious. Except I have no time for laughter, and the pain is not pleasant. I push the pain away; Dylan is sizing me up. His predatory eyes are scanning me, taking in my balanced stance and the way I hold the blade. There is a glint of appreciation in his eyes.


    That is when arrows begin to slam into the crowd. Shouts of pain fill the air, and blood spurts from open wounds, coating the dark gray stone. Dylan does not seem to care. He merely watches me and then strikes like a viper. He comes low, and I manage to deflect the slash and then the overhead slash that follows it. Back and forth, we move across that clearing, a dangerous dance of blades.


    Your katana skill has increased to level 11.


    I dodge an overhead slash, ducking under it as a massive roar echoes off the walls. Melanie''s crew has attacked. Dylan cocks his head at me.


    "You are relieved. You should not be," Dylan says as he hurls toward me like a lightning bolt.


    I earn a slice on my ribs, opening up my clothing and my skin like a ripe apple. The cut feels deeper than the last, and the pain is so much worse that it lights up my entire being, and I want to howl and fling my blade. Instead, I grit my teeth and push the pain away. I will not allow it to take me.


    The crimson river in my Domain surges toward the wound, and for a brief moment, I feel a strange connection between my blood and the blood spilling from my cut. I ignore it, focusing on the fight.


    I have to acknowledge that I am losing. A thought floats across my mind, but its passing is a storm of warning.


    Why is not Dylan concerned about the attack? I understand that he has a hatred for defeating other swordsmen, some kind of complex, but anyone in his position should be showing some concern. His people are being shot with arrows; a battle is erupting around him. Why does he not appear the least bit worried?


    Dylan does not give me time to think it through; he is on me again, and my katana dances with his blade, fending off his attacks with desperation more than anything else. Then a deadly combination of blades leads to both of our blades locked against each other. Dylan smiles at me through the gap between the blades. He appears not to struggle at all with holding me back.


    "Did you think I had no contingencies in place for this? Melanie is my enemy. I knew she wanted my head, so I knew she would try something like this. Maybe not this specifically; I have to admit, she certainly knows how to push me, but I knew she would try something."


    My eyes widen, and then Dylan pushes me away with force and produces a dagger with his off hand. In one blur of motion, a burst of speed even faster than before, he stabs at me. All I can do is turn to the side, trying not to take it directly. It slashes my other side, just under my other wound. More pain erupts¡ªa fire that threatens to consume me.


    I intend to focus past it, but instead I simply drop to the ground, like a stone, katana clattering beside me, its sound a distant echo as my vision begins to blur and twist, barely making out the notification that lights up my mind.


    You have been critically injured. You have been poisoned with a paralytic; however, it is only partially effective.


    Dylan crouches beside me, his face swimming in and out of focus.


    "I would have preferred to beat you in a straight-up fight. Frankly, though, you lack the skill to beat me. You wield the blade; you do it well, but you are not one with it. Your skill clearly came from your Domain, not added to it, but you do not embrace that part of yourself. Disappointing. Well, I suppose it is time to deal with this little incursion into my camp by your allies."


    Dylan stands and waves a hand. Suddenly, vines erupt from the ground and lance through warriors and archers alike. The vines do not seem to have any kind of limit on distance; they move like living spears, seeking out Melanie''s people and piercing or grabbing them.


    I had not paid too much attention to the battle around us; I had been too focused on Dylan, but now I have plenty of time. Warriors engage with one another, slashing with blades; one takes the head of one of Dylan''s followers with a brutal overhead slash. Mages weave spells and fling them at others, setting tents ablaze. Yet Dylan''s vines snake through all of it, unconcerned and unworried.


    As I lie there, partially paralyzed, the crimson river in my Domain writhes with frustration. I feel it reaching for the blood seeping from my wounds, as if trying to call it back. The sensation is disturbing but also somehow comforting¡ªa reminder that I am not yet defeated, not completely.


    My hand inches toward the bag of holding at my belt. If I can just reach one of the blood shard bombs...


    That is when something truly monstrous enters the battle. A nightmare roar splits the air, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Whatever that roar is, it is undeniably not human, not elf, not any race I have seen or heard of up to this point. It is hellish and rageful.


    It is coming for us.


    Through blurred vision, I see a massive shape moving through the chaos, tearing through both Dylan''s people and Melanie''s forces with equal savagery. I strain to see clearly, but the paralytic poison clouds my vision.


    The crimson river in my Domain surges with renewed vigor, as if detecting something kindred in the approaching monstrosity. The strange thirst that has lingered at the back of my throat since awakening returns with sudden intensity, and I wonder with growing dread what that means.


    Dylan''s attention has shifted from me to the new threat, his eyes widening in recognition or perhaps fear. The shift in his demeanor tells me this was not part of his plan. Whatever is coming, it threatens us all equally.


    I feel the ground shake with each step of the approaching creature¡­and I could do nothing to stop it.

 Chapter Eight

    CHAPTER EIGHT


    Dylan''s back is turned away from me, but as the source of the nightmare sound becomes visible, he speaks, his voice disbelieving.


    "But he promised..." Dylan shakes his head and begins to move away.


    For my part, I take in the nightmare beast that roars its challenge. It is large, and its shape is hard to define. The best my mind can come up with is to call it abstract. Its skin is purple, brown, red, and yellow. The red seems to bleed out from the brown and yellow, like an infected open wound. The purple looks like a massive, stretched-out bruise. Eyes, red and mindless with rage, are open all over its body. It has many clawed legs, or maybe they are tentacles. All I know is that my mind is screaming with horror just looking at it.


    Rows of sharp, jagged teeth open on its body, and it seems to turn sideways, like a falling building, and swallows a person whole.


    Crunching sounds and screams of horror come from that mouth. Blood spurts and sprays onto the ground in great drops. I have to adapt; if I let my mind break, I will go mad, and that seems worse than death. I breathe in and out, taking in this horror...this abomination. I need to get used to it, so I keep my gaze on it, forcing my mind to take it in.


    Strangely, it does get easier. The crimson river in my Domain churns with something I cannot name¡ªnot quite fear, not quite recognition, but something between the two. It is as if part of me understands what this thing is, while the rest recoils from it.


    Finally, I am able to look at it without flinching or my mind trying to turn into mush. I focus enough to analyze it.


    Fledgling Demonic Abomination level 25...Your analyze skill has increased!


    A demonic abomination. It is the highest-level thing I have seen yet. As I watch, it eats another couple of people, and it is every bit as gruesome as the last. During the time I have been getting used to looking at the thing, Dylan has strode off, probably to join the fighting.


    Everyone is trying to take this thing down, fighting each other forgotten. Vines pierce it, and something purplish-green leaks onto the ground. Warriors hack at it with blades, mages blast it with spells, archers shoot at it, and rogues dart in with blades, retreating like fading shadows.


    Through the chaos, I spot Adaran charging the beast, his shield raised. Melanie and Riselle are behind him, providing support. They work well together, I have to admit¡ªa coordinated team against the chaos.


    All throughout, people are yelling, screaming in terror, and all of it creates a cacophony of chaotic noise. I cannot do anything; I simply lie here, flaccid. The scents of spilling guts, blood, and dirt fill my nose with every breath I take. My stomach roils, wanting to eject its contents in protest of the smells. I close my eyes and force myself to calm my mind. I need to do something. Simply laying here is not going to help.


    Yet, what can I do? I cannot move...or can I? The Judge''s message had said that I was only partially paralyzed. It does not feel that way, but partially is not fully, and that means I should be able to do something. I try to twitch my toes...they move! It is only a slight movement, the twitch of a snail, but I keep at it. At the same time, I try to move my fingers, and the fingers of my right hand twitch!


    I am so excited I almost miss the fact that the demonic abomination is getting closer.


    It does not seem to care in the least about all of the people attempting to kill it. It merely gobbles up the ones it can reach, crunching on them as casually as you might a handful of peanuts. I begin to panic, trying to move my hand. It will not budge! I can feel the tingle and twitching of my bones, the slight whisper of movement, but it is not enough! The abomination shuffles forward, unhurried, and yet inevitable. It is coming my way, I am certain about that now.


    My eyes widen, my heart quickens, and I feel a cold grip wrap around my stomach and squeeze. I close my eyes tight and try to move my hand again. If I can just reach it...My hand moves! It is slight, but it is there, just a micro movement, but a surge of renewed energy pulses through me, and that cold grip vanishes. I can do this; it is happening. That demon is not too fast; it is content to stop and attempt to eat people every few yards.


    I see Adaran and a group of warriors attempt to flank the creature, coordinating with archers who loose volleys of arrows at its many eyes. Melanie directs them from behind, while Riselle weaves nature magic to entangle its lower limbs. They are making progress, actually slowing the beast.


    The people, for their part, are not giving up. They keep pelting that monstrosity with arrows, spells, and blades. Though they are paying a horrible price, dying in twos and fours, being eaten like pretzels. I can only try to move, and I am making progress. My hand inches closer to my bag of holding, slow as slime down a drain, but definitely moving.


    It becomes a race between the monster and me. The monster is unaware and uncaring about being in one, but I know, and I will win. I am about halfway there now, and the abomination is closer to me. I do not succumb to the building storm within me. It wants to overwhelm me, and I refuse it. My hand inches closer, but so does the demonic abomination.


    The crimson river in my Domain surges with renewed effort, as if lending me strength. I feel it flowing through me, urging my muscles to obey, to move faster. A faint memory flickers¡ªstanding against a larger boy, refusing to back down despite my fear. The memory gives me strength.


    My hand is nearly to the bag, but I have run out of time. The abomination has made its way over to me. Its eyes focus on me, inhuman madness afire in them. Its mouth opens, saliva hits me, soaking me in slimy wetness, a rancid smell like that of rotten meat fills my nose, and I taste it on my tongue. I gag and throw up, the wet bile mixing with the slime that coats me, my face resting in the sick now.


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    The mouth falls on me, darkness swallowing my vision, but my hand has finally reached my bag. I will out an orb, one of the many I had enchanted with the blood shard enchantment. It settles into my hand, which all the while has been gaining strength as I moved it. I squeeze my hand as hard as I can.


    The orb had been a glass ornament; it had never been very sturdy. In fact, they are fragile, as fragile as these things come. Meant to be smashed with ease, it is why I had enchanted them to begin with. All that means that even though I do not squeeze very hard, it is enough, and as those teeth attempt to swallow me, the blood shard bomb erupts in a cloud of jagged, crimson shards that explode with a storm of violence.


    The shards pierce the demon abomination, and it shudders, the vibrations of its answering roar of pain shattering my eardrums as the demon rocks back, light welcoming my vision once again. The crimson shards seem to pulse with a life of their own, as if drawn to the creature''s flesh. They burrow deeper, causing more damage than should be possible for such small fragments.


    But the shards do not discriminate. Unlike my mental intention when I crafted them to "harm everyone in the blast radius except Jackson Grey," I watch in horror as they spray outward in all directions. The closest warriors caught in the blast cry out as crimson shards embed in their flesh.


    Among them is Adaran, who had been charging forward to help me. Multiple shards pierce his throat and face. His eyes widen in shock, blood spraying from his neck as he drops his weapons and clutches at the wounds. He falls to his knees, his gaze finding mine in confusion and betrayal before he collapses.


    You have used a Blood Shard Bomb (Apprentice Rank). You have been injured and slightly deafened. You have critically wounded a demonic abomination level 25.


    You have killed Adaran, level 14 Warrior.


    Horror fills me, but survival instinct takes over. I cannot fall apart now. The demon is still here, still a threat. I remove another blood shard bomb, though my hand shakes. I will not relent. I cannot say whether it is me or the massive amount of damage the demon has taken from the others, but it is close to death, and now is the time to capitalize on that.


    This time, I wait until others have cleared the immediate area, my guilt making me cautious. I squeeze the bomb again, and once again it explodes into a storm of bloody shards that lance outward, jagged bits of crimson death that pierce the demon''s skin and sink into it.


    I had not expected the shards to behave the way they did in the first explosion. I knew the enchantment was a powerful one; it was infused with weaves of blood and destruction, after all, but I expected more control. Once the shards sink into the demon, however, that is when it seems to do the most damage. The demon''s painful roar splits the air, seeming to cause reality itself to warp.


    My mouth twitches, but there is no satisfaction now. Only grim determination. I am killing it. The demon thrashes, and I squeeze a third blood shard bomb, making sure no one else is nearby.


    That does it. The storm of dark crimson shards deals deadly destruction, and it is simply too much for the demon. It slumps to the ground, deflating like a popped balloon. Steam rises from it, and it moves no more.


    You have defeated a demonic abomination, level 25! Congratulations, Jackson, you have increased from level 4 to level 7! Your enchanting skill has increased from Journeyman Level 1 to Journeyman Level 4. Reminder: You have 6 attribute points.


    Three levels. Killing that...thing...has netted me three levels. I am not sure if it has been worth it, though. Not with Adaran''s lifeless body lying just yards away. I decide since I cannot move yet, I will spend these attribute points. I bring up my attributes with a thought.


    Attributes: Mind-12, Strength-12, Dexterity-17, Constitution-13, Will-16


    I try to rub my chin, but my hand only moves an inch. Right, still paralyzed. I decide to spread out my points evenly: two to constitution, two to willpower, and two to mind. It strikes me as a little odd that I am doing this after just avoiding being eaten by a demonic abomination straight out of a nightmare¡ªand after killing one of my temporary allies¡ªbut I feel my heart settle, my hand unclenching. The familiar actions are calming, and my mind eagerly focuses itself on the task, anything to avoid thinking about what I''ve just done.


    The crimson river in my Domain seems agitated, churning with what feels like guilt. The destruction aspect pulses darkly, as if satisfied with the carnage.


    The paralytic poison has run its course, you may now move again.


    I stand slowly, my body aching. There is no relief, no exultation. Only a hollow feeling in my chest as I look around at the aftermath.


    I am still weak, still bleeding, I am covered in rancid demon slime, and I smell revolting, like rotting eggs and sewage. Around me are corpses, and bits and pieces of flesh and torn ropes of guts that litter the ground. I walk through it all, looking for anyone that might be alive. I make it to the entrance, and there, where the two guards had confronted me, are Melanie and Riselle, kneeling over the fallen form of Adaran.


    As I draw closer, Melanie looks up, and on her face is not relief, not happiness, but raw, undisguised anger. Her eyes are blazing, and they are directly on me. She stands up and stalks towards me, her stride that of an angry leopardess on the prowl.


    "You!" she thunders, her features twisting with even more rage.


    "You did this! You killed Adaran, you undisciplined murderer!"


    I step back, eyes widening, holding up my hands.


    "I did not mean to¡ªI was trying to kill the demon¡ª" I stammer, but even to my ears the excuse sounds hollow.


    Melanie screams at me, jabbing her finger into my chest with force as she makes her way up to me.


    "HE WAS ON HIS FINAL LIFE AND YOU UNLEASHED THAT BOMB WITHOUT WARNING! YOU SAW HIM CHARGING TO HELP YOU!"


    She is hysterical. I try to back up, but she stalks towards me, unrelenting. My breath comes faster, and I shake my head mutely. The crimson river in my Domain roils with guilt and confusion.


    "WHAT? NOTHING TO SAY!" she demands, screaming into my face. My ears pop from the force of her voice.


    I do not have anything to say. How can I excuse it? I did not have much of a choice about using the bomb, but I could have waited, could have warned them. I have taken the action that led to Adaran''s death; it has been my choice. It does not matter that Adaran might have died anyway; that is not what happened. What excuse could I possibly offer? So I offer none.


    "I am sorry," I whisper, but the words feel inadequate, empty.


    Melanie''s blazing eyes bore into my face, but she takes a breath. When she speaks again, her voice is ice cold.


    "Just go, Jackson. Get away from me before I kill you myself."


    She walks away, leaving me to my haunted thoughts.


    Riselle looks up at me, her eyes filled with tears. "You should leave," she says quietly. "She will not forgive this. None of us will."


    Her words cut deeper than Dylan''s blade. I helped create this plan. I took part in it willingly. And now I have cost someone their final life with my own actions, my own weapon.


    Melanie does not show me where the exit is. It had been a part of our deal, but that is clearly shot. However, it takes me a surprisingly short amount of time to find it. I am not sure if it is luck or perhaps fate deciding I have been through enough for the moment, but as I walk the corridors of the catacombs, it is a couple of turns, and I find myself facing the stairs before I know it. They lead upward, and I eye them with a blank expression. My muscles are slack, and moving them causes a jolt of pain to shoot through me, like a tiny shock.


    I do not want to go up the stairs. I want to sleep for a week. Pain is a steady friend at the moment, and I just feel done with it all. I stare at the stairs, knowing that going up them represents facing more challenges, putting myself in further danger. Thoughts of that abomination swirl around my mind like rancid toilet water. If something that so clearly defies comprehension exists, what more is out there?


    The crimson river in my Domain has gone quiet, subdued by my guilt and exhaustion. I think of Adaran''s smiling face as we shared rations around the campfire. I think of his eyes, wide with shock and betrayal as my shards pierced his throat. I think of Melanie''s rage and Riselle''s tears. I did not mean for this to happen, but intention means little in the face of consequences.


    A half-remembered lesson from my mother surfaces: "We are defined not by what happens to us, but by how we respond when we''ve made mistakes." The memory brings no comfort, only more questions. Who was I before this place? What kind of person am I becoming now?


    With a heavy sigh of resignation, I head up the stairs, each step heralding the challenges to come. The quest for Lazarus''s tomb awaits, but the weight of Adaran''s death will follow me there.


    As I climb, I realize something has changed within me. The river of crimson flows differently now, as if altered by the demonic abomination''s blood or by the guilt of what I''ve done. The strange thirst lingers at the back of my throat, and I wonder if I am becoming something I will not recognize.


    Yet I must continue. If nothing else, I owe it to Adaran to make my survival mean something. To learn from this mistake¡ªto be more careful, more precise with my power. And perhaps someday, to find a way to make amends.

 Chapter Nine

    CHAPTER NINE


    I am finally back on the first floor. The corridors are much the same as the lower floors, but they feel familiar to me nonetheless. As I pass through them, I come across little challenges. Something tells me that other people have cleared them already, creating an eerily empty place lit by faint torchlight.


    The silence weighs on me. In the absence of immediate danger, the events at Dylan''s camp flood back¡ªAdaran''s face as my blood shards pierced his throat, Melanie''s rage, Riselle''s tears. I push these thoughts away. I cannot change what happened, but I can focus on what lies ahead.


    It is not long before I pass the goblin camp, which is still filled with goblins, and like before, I stay away from it. Finally, I come to the corridor where I experienced my first death. The memories are vivid¡ªpain, fear, and failure.


    The giant rat is still there, and warily, I draw my katana. The crimson river in my Domain stirs with anticipation. I approach the rat, which senses my presence immediately. It turns and hisses at me, the sound filled with clear menace, its red eyes glittering like angry orbs of hate.


    It charges me, mouth open, teeth glittering, dangerously sharp. I wait until the last second and flow around it, slicing into its side, causing blood to spurt from it in a wave. The scent of iron fills the air, and that strange thirst tickles the back of my throat. I ignore it, focusing on the fight.


    As I near the end of my movement, I slash downward, cutting off the rat''s tail. It squeals loudly in pain; the sound is like nails on a chalkboard. I immediately turn, a good thing too, because the rat whips around, blood flying from the bloody stump of its tail. Its giant clawed paw tries to slash me, but I dive underneath it, come up, and slash forward with speed, cutting open the rat''s chest.


    It squeaks and heaves but is not dead yet.


    You have critically injured the giant rat.


    It tries to flee then, its squeaking high-pitched and desperate, but I will not allow it to escape. I hurtle forward, blade high, and slash diagonally downward like an avenging angel. The blade bites into the back of the rat and cuts through it as if I were slicing off a piece of ham.


    Blood fountains, the rat squeaks a final time, and its body, slashed and bloody, drops to the ground like a sack of rotting meat.


    You have defeated a giant rat level 9. Your katana skill has increased to level 12.


    There is no increase in level, causing me to blow out a breath in disappointment, but I have been stronger than the rat. In fact, this encounter has been significantly easier than before. The more my katana skills increase, the better swordsman I become.


    Yet, ever since Dylan told me that I was lacking in it, I have worried over his words. I had not had much time to consider it at the time, but once the danger passed, that seed bloomed. If I acknowledge the truth, I feel like Dylan is right. The skill clearly works for me; there is nothing wrong with it, but there is something wrong with me in the sense that I do not or cannot connect with the blade on a deeper level.


    I laugh; the skill had literally come from the very manifestation of my spirit, from my Domain, and yet it does not feel like a part of me. I do not like getting lost in introspection, but I feel it is important to identify this about myself because it could very well cost me my life.


    As I stare at the katana, gleaming with rat''s blood, I realize something. When I craft my blood shard bombs, I feel a connection to them¡ªto the blood aspect of my Domain. The destruction aspect feels familiar too, resonating with something deep inside me. But the sword...


    Is it simply that I have no natural affinity for swordplay? Or is there something deeper? Some part of my forgotten past that recoils from the violence of a blade?


    I shake my head and turn my focus towards the puzzle. I still have not solved it. Moving these pillars caused that rat to appear, and logic dictates that more creatures would appear if I get it wrong. Yet I have no choice but to try. I ponder and look at the symbols. A rat, a monkey, and a serpent.


    I rub my chin, my eyes narrowing. The pattern seems familiar somehow, but I cannot place it. I try moving the pillar in the middle toward the monkey.


    That is a mistake. Another flash of light, and suddenly a robed monkey appears. The robes are a deep silver gray and have a deep hood that is pulled up. I can still see into it, however, and the monkey''s aged face stares at me, blue eyes ablaze with azure rage. The monkey has a flowing white beard falling into the robe, and it holds a gnarled staff in one hand. I analyze it.


    This is a monkey mage level 12.


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    I ready my katana as the monkey flings a ball of silver, white, and blue flames my way. I cut into it with my katana, and the weaves burst apart as my blade slices through them.


    Your enchanting skill has increased to Journeyman Level 5!


    I grin; my blade''s enchantment works! The spell-destruction aspect of the enchantment proves its worth. The monkey mage''s eyes narrow, and it begins to run, bouncing over my head and twisting; its tail curled into itself. Its gnarled staff glows with silvery white light, smoke curling from it as it hurls another ball of fire at me in midair.


    I twist and roll away. The fire detonates, an explosion of flame blasting outward. I raise my katana to a guard position, and it cuts through some of the magical fire, bursting the weaves apart. However, I cannot slash through all of the weaves, and a tiny bit of the fire licks my left arm.


    I howl as my flesh burns, leaving an angry pink and singed patch of skin. Pain lances through my arm like hot lightning, and I hiss, my eyes watering. I grip my sword tighter and grit my teeth through the pain. It is not that bad, I tell myself. It is not, really. The monkey mage laughs at me, its lips parting over white teeth.


    The crimson river in my Domain surges, responding to my pain and anger. I feel it reaching toward the wound, as if trying to soothe it. The sensation is strange but not unwelcome.


    I hurtle towards the monkey, my hands tightening around the hilt of the katana blade, my vision tunneling. Just me and the monkey. It tries to hop over me again, but I am ready and raise my blade high, slashing through the air like trying to cut the very sky. The blade cuts off the monkey''s left leg, taking some of the fabric of its robes with it. Blood rains down on me¡ªa crimson shower. The monkey howls, crashing into the ground and clutching at its foot.


    You have critically injured the monkey mage.


    I let out a determined huff and ready my blade to finish the fight, but the monkey mage is suddenly suffused with golden yellow light, and before my very eyes, its leg is whole again. My mouth falls open, and my eyes widen. I step back, shaking my head. It has healed itself.


    As of yet, I have not seen anything, creature or person, do that. I know that health potions exist; that is just obvious, but I have yet to see a single one. Yet this monkey has used weaves¡ªhealing weaves¡ªto weave a spell that not only heals itself but also restores a leg!


    Has the weave been granted by the Judge, or has it been a part of its Domain originally? I shake my head; those thoughts are unhelpful right now. I flow forward, moving like water and striking like a serpent, attempting to vivisect the monkey.


    The monkey mage rolls away, and my deadly slash meets open air. The monkey has picked up its staff as it rolled, and now it is weaving again. The spell is a large one, as the flames had been nearly instant, and this weave clearly is not. I lunge forward, trying to distract the monkey and disrupt its spell.


    It is not having it, however, and hops onto the wall at a run, dashing past me and landing behind me. I scowl, turning around to try again.


    The monkey finishes its weave, and a wave of golden light touched with silvery blue fire rushes towards me like an oncoming tide. I feel a hand squeeze my heart; my pulse quickens, but I act with decisive speed, dropping low and slashing horizontally. I destroy nearly the whole weave, unraveling it as if I had lit it on fire, but yet again, I cannot entirely get rid of the weave.


    I am blasted back with force, slamming into the wall at a weird angle. I drop to the ground; my arm burns worse than before, and when I look at it, a bone juts out of my forearm as if it had been stabbed through from the inside. My stomach lurches at the sight.


    My whole body shakes, and my breathing comes in haggard, labored breaths. The pain is rocking my world. The monkey stalks toward me, eyes glinting with undisguised satisfaction. Dangerous light and silver flames begin to weave together, forming a beautiful pattern of impending death.


    The crimson river in my Domain writhes, and the destruction aspect pulses with urgency. I reach into my bag of holding, fingers finding one of my remaining blood shard bombs. I grin at the monkey and laugh, my eyes narrowing.


    The monkey eyes the orb, and its eyes widen. It tries to back away, but it is not fast enough.


    "This monkey business is over," I say, and fling the bomb at its feet.


    It smashes with a crack and shattering glass. Crimson shards blast outward, a cyclone of bloody crimson death that stab into the monkey and sink into its flesh. For the first time, I see the truly devastating effects up close.


    The monkey vibrates, its eyes going dead and widening as blood begins to leak from its eyes. That is not all; blood bursts from the monkey like a crushed leech, and its body begins to pale as all of its lifeblood bursts and bleeds from it. It falls to the ground, lifeless.


    You have defeated a monkey mage level 12. Your katana skill has increased to level 14. Your enchanting skill has increased to Journeyman Level 6.


    I slump against the wall, completely spent. My body refuses to move any longer, and the pain that wracks through me is simply too much to bear. The bone jutting from my arm sends waves of agony through me with each heartbeat.


    It is no surprise, then, when darkness takes me.


    I do not die. So there is that, at least. The pain is still immense, but I am awake. Groggy, eyes blurry, mind foggy, but awake. My katana lies by my side. I reach up with my right hand and gingerly touch the bone that juts out of my left arm. That is a mistake, as pain pulses, angrily letting me know what a bad idea that was. I hiss and take several breaths.


    You are critically wounded. You are bleeding.


    I laugh at the Judge''s message. A way to state the obvious. I take off my vest and tear it into a long piece of cloth. I carefully, ever so slowly, wrap it around my arm. It is still incredibly painful, throbbing with constant, burning fire, but I methodically push through it, wrapping it as tightly as I can.


    When it is done, I look at the ceiling and simply breathe. In and out, steady and calm. The crimson river in my Domain seems to flow toward the injury, and I wonder again at the strange connection between my blood aspect and my physical blood.


    It helps, if slightly. I regard the pillars. I do not understand why I cannot get it right. I know I cannot afford another battle. I am near death as it is, and now I cannot grip the katana with two hands. I have four more blood bombs, so I feel like I could kill anything else that appears if I use them instantly.


    Yet I cannot keep relying on them; eventually something will be too powerful, or it will not do the job. If that demonic abomination had not been wounded by so many people trying their absolute hardest to kill it, I do not think it would have worked on it as effectively as it did.


    Rat, monkey, or serpent. It has to be in order, so what is the problem? I blink; my thoughts are sluggish, and in my mind''s eye, I feel like I am watching a hamster move on a wheel. It is lazy and fat, but it is moving, and it picks up speed.


    My mother''s voice echoes in memory: "Remember the old Chinese zodiac story? The rat rode on the ox to win the race, the tiger came third, then rabbit, dragon, snake..."


    A light bulb goes off, and I hurriedly stand up, ignoring the stabs of pain. I rush to the far-left statue and move it to the rat. It clicks, the noise ringing around the room like a victory bell. Then I move the far right stone to the serpent, since the monkey is still in the middle.


    The moment I do, it clicks, and a rumbling splits the air¡ªa grinding of stone on stone as the wall lifts up towards the ceiling. It stops until only a tiny part of it inches out from the ceiling.


    I laugh, my heart soaring and my brain bursting with relief. I have done it! I have finally solved the blasted puzzle!


    I look down the corridor the wall has revealed, and the glint of a chest catches my eye.


    But that is nothing compared to the engraved fang I see right above it.


    The mark of the fang. The entrance to Lazarus''s tomb. Despite my pain, despite my critical injury, I feel a surge of excitement. The crimson river in my Domain surges forward, as if eager to proceed, to discover what lies within.


    I step forward, one hand clutching my injured arm, wondering what secrets await me in the depths of Lazarus''s tomb, and whether I will emerge from it alive.

 Chapter Ten

    CHAPTER TEN


    The first thing I notice is the iron chest. It sits just inside the revealed corridor, medium-sized and polished to a mirror shine. The torchlight dances off its surface like rays of glory, creating tiny stars in my vision as I approach. With my good hand¡ªthe one not connected to an arm with a protruding bone¡ªI carefully lift the lid.


    Inside lies a single item: a book bound in dark leather with runes embossed on its cover. My first weave book. I analyze it, curious about what it might contain.


    This book contains the knowledge of how to weave the spell: Mass Charm (Basic Level 1). Mass charm allows you to influence the domains of others, turning them into allies who believe themselves to be serving you and your agenda. They will follow all commands except any command to harm themselves intentionally. You lack the proper class and cannot learn this weave.


    I hang my head and let out a gigantic sigh. I had been hoping for healing potions¡ªsomething to help with my injuries. I am battered and bruised, and one of my bones is literally sticking out of my arm. I know my health is dangerously low, and it is not healing on its own. My entire body aches, and I feel slumped and sagging, my thoughts sluggish like mud flowing uphill.


    I eye the fang symbol carved above the corridor, and I just know there is more ahead of me, more to do. More danger, more chances of dying. For a second, I actually consider letting myself die.


    It is a very dark thought; I know that, but it would send me to respawn and I would come out fully healed. To me, in this moment, it seems less of a dark thought and more of a strategic decision. Yet, I know I will not go through with it. It feels too much like giving up, and furthermore, it would place me on my last life, something I simply do not want to risk. With one extra life, I have a buffer¡ªanother chance to move forward if I make a fatal mistake. Just throwing that away without fighting for it would be foolish.


    The crimson river in my Domain churns with what feels like agreement. The strange sense that it has a will of its own grows stronger by the day.


    I consider resting, but there are problems with that plan. Mainly, there are goblins not too far from me at all, and they could stumble upon me while I sleep. I am a little shocked they did not find me when I passed out earlier, in fact. Furthermore, even if I did rest, it would not heal me. I am certain of that. The Eden Tree does not allow health to heal over time, or I would have healed even a little bit by now, and I have not. There is just no other conclusion to reach.


    Yet I have to face it; there are no healing potions in this chest. Just a book containing a weave I cannot even use. I sigh and deposit it into my bag of holding. The pain in my arm throbs, deep and unabiding. I close my eyes and breathe slowly, pushing the pain away with my thoughts.


    Opening my eyes, I focus on the fang symbol. I have finally found it. I bring up my quest; it has been a while since I read it.


    Quest: Locate the hidden tomb of Lazarus. Lazarus''s tomb is within these catacombs and can be found by locating the hidden portal on the catacomb''s first floor. Look for the mark of the fang.


    Well, I am looking at it. It stands out against the gray stone, a white engraving that is definitely a fang. I turn a little awkwardly and shuffle forward, touching the fang with the fingers of my injured arm. I figure if something bad happens, at least it will happen to my bad arm and not my good one. Nothing happens.


    I frown and blink. More puzzles. I hang my head again. A wave of mental fatigue passes through me, and I imagine that my brain seems to actually sag within my skull. I take a deep breath and set myself to the task.


    What do fangs usually mean? Obviously, they are sharp, usually for eating and tearing into meat. I get the feeling that offering it rations would not get me anywhere, however. Instead, I decide to focus on what I can do and what I have access to.


    Fangs also tend to be related to blood; in fact, fangs are almost always related to blood in some way. With that in mind, I reach over and into the cloth I have wrapped around my arm. It is already soaked with blood and it is easy, if painful because I jostle it, to get a little blood on my finger. I coat the fang with it...and nothing happens.


    I growl and kick at the wall, succeeding only in hurting my toe. More pain stacked on top of the rest of it does not bother me that much anymore. I am still not ready to give up on the blood angle; instinct tells me I am on the right track.


    A memory whispers at the edge of my consciousness¡ªmy mother reading me stories of vampires and their fangs that drank blood. The memory fades before I can grasp it fully, but it strengthens my resolve.


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    The only other thing I have that is related to blood is my Domain''s blood aspect. I immerse myself in it as I learned to do in what seems like forever ago and weave it into the fang in the way I might if I were enchanting it.


    The fang begins to glow, an inner crimson light swirling from its center. It continues to expand until a vortex of red light encompasses the whole wall. I step back and consider it. This must be the portal the quest spoke of. The Judge confirms it:


    Quest update! You have found the hidden tomb of Lazarus! To complete this quest, explore the tomb of Lazarus and overcome its puzzles.


    The crimson river in my Domain surges forward, as if eager to enter the portal. The strange thirst returns, stronger than before. With a heavy head and a sense of trepidation, I step into the portal.


    Where I end up is a very simple room, if you can call any room in this dungeon simple. There is a mirror inlaid into the graystone of the wall directly ahead. There is nothing else in the room¡ªno furniture, no decorations, nothing. Just the mirror and four stone walls.


    I approach the mirror, and it is the first time I get a good look at myself.


    I do not look good.


    My black curly hair is a matted mess, caked with slime and blood, and stuck to my skull. My sharp features look gaunt, and my pale skin looks like it belongs on a corpse. There are deep bags under my eyes. This is the first time since entering the dungeon that I have seen my eyes, and I realize I had not remembered what color they were.


    My eyes are blue, but currently they are bloodshot, shot through with lines of swollen red. My clothes are shredded, showing patches of bloody skin beneath. The sight is disturbing, like looking at a stranger wearing my face.


    After examining my harrowing appearance, I look around the room. Other than the mirror, it seems empty. I close my eyes and push back the sudden desire to scream. I really hate puzzles.


    I know I should be grateful; I could be facing down some monster trying its hardest to kill me, which, admittedly, could still happen. I turn back around and look at the mirror again, and rather than look at myself, I examine the reflection of the rest of the room. It looks the same. Nothing appears out of place.


    Dismissing the mirror for now, I walk around the room, examining the stones. I cannot see anything else I can do except look for anything that seems unusual. Every stone looks mostly the same, but I keep at it, inspecting every stone as closely as I can.


    It is not until I make it to the back right corner that I find anything. I rub the dust off a particular stone at eye level and am presented with small, faded red text. It reads, "Life moves ever onward."


    I mutter the words aloud, the sound of my voice oddly flat in the small room.


    Now, what could that mean? The obvious interpretation is that it is true¡ªlife does move on, whether you want it to or not. But it is clearly a clue, so what does it mean in this context?


    To get in here, I used blood weaves, so I try the same, using blood weaves to infuse the mirror. No dice; nothing happens. Blood is often associated with life, and this tomb has already set a precedent for using blood. Not seeing any other choices, I flick a little blood from my injured arm at the mirror.


    The mirror ripples, like a pebble dropped into a pond. Well, that is interesting. I rub at my chin, trying to mush through my sluggish thoughts. It feels like I am trying to make my way through a swamp of thick mud.


    The mirror rippled, yet there is no sign of the blood on its surface. I stand in front of the mirror again and look for changes.


    I find some. The little bit of blood I flung at the mirror appears to have landed on some stones at my feet¡ªat least, they are visible in the mirror. Looking down at the actual floor, I see none of the red drops. Yet in the mirror, they are most assuredly there.


    What does that mean? The only thing that makes sense is that the mirror is a door to another room, though it looks identical. The mirror is the size of a door, so it does make sense in a way. Steeling myself, I attempt to walk through the mirror. It ripples around me like water, and I pass through it.


    I have made it to the next room.


    I had expected this room to be identical to the previous one. It is not. There is no sign of my blood at all. In fact, the room is much larger. A pool of water lies off to the right; it is surprisingly large, with stone steps leading down into the depths. Words are engraved into the wall above the pool.


    "Embrace death, or life is not worth living," I read aloud.


    As I look forward, I see five statues spread throughout the room. The statues depict some large winged beast with an open maw of jagged stone teeth. I analyze the statues.


    This is a statue of a gargoyle. It has no level.


    Past the gargoyle statues is another portal of swirling crimson red. Seeing the clear exit for this place, I do not hesitate to stride forward.


    Instantly, the statues move, the sound of stone sliding on stone echoing throughout the room. The gargoyle statues surround me, blocking my path forward and leaving me with only the option of moving backward. I cannot move forward.


    "I should have known it would not be that easy," I say to no one in particular.


    Back to the words, then. "Embrace death?" I have already died once before; that is about as embracing of death as one can get. Clearly, that does not qualify here, though.


    The burning question is why there is a pool of water in the room. There does not appear to be any reason at all for its presence. It is not like the gargoyle statues need baths. Then there is the location of the words, which are obviously a clue; they hang over the pool. I look around and confirm that there are plenty of other empty stone walls where the words could have been engraved, so why that wall? It is not the first wall you see, so it cannot have been placed there for convenience. No, it has to be related to the pool.


    But what does embracing death have to do with a pool of water?


    The crimson river in my Domain stirs, almost as if trying to offer guidance. A memory surfaces¡ªdrowning is called "the little death" in some cultures. Could that be it? The pool seems to represent death, and I need to embrace it.


    I stare blankly at the water, a wave of exhaustion wiping away all thoughts. What was I thinking about? Oh, right, water and death. Perhaps I just need to go into the water? It seems as good a plan as any.


    I hesitate, though; I do not think the water will feel good on my open wound. In fact, it might make things worse. But I cannot see any other choice. I take several deep breaths and gather my wits, bracing for what is to come. I know this is going to hurt, and I have to steel myself for it.


    One step, and water moves around my boots, rippling outward. Another step. There is nothing for it, and being hesitant is not going to do me any good. With a final breath, I plunge into the pool, bringing a world of pain with me.


    The cold water shocks my system, sending a jolt through my injured arm that makes me gasp. The water fills my mouth, and I choke, sputtering as I try to keep myself upright. The pain is immediate and intense, like fire racing through my veins despite the coldness of the water.


    As I sink deeper, the water rises to my chest, then my neck. The crimson river in my Domain surges, reaching out as if trying to connect with the water around me. The strange thirst intensifies, but not for drinking¡ªit feels more like my very being yearns to absorb something from this place.


    "Embrace death," the wall had said. With a final, desperate gamble, I let myself sink completely beneath the surface, fully submerging my head.


    The water closes over me, and darkness takes hold. Yet within that darkness, I sense something waiting¡ªsomething ancient and powerful. Something that knows me, even if I do not know myself.

 Chapter Eleven

    CHAPTER ELEVEN


    The darkness that takes hold as the water closes over me is not complete. Within it, I sense something ancient and powerful waiting¡ªsomething that knows me, even if I do not know myself. This presence seems to consider me for a heartbeat before something yanks me down with tremendous force, deeper than I expected the pool to be.


    I feel the jutted-out bone in my arm smash against stone as I am pulled to the bottom. Pain tears through my body like an enraged monster. I try to scream, but all I succeed in doing is allowing more water to fill my lungs. I struggle against the grip that holds me under, but whatever it is, it may as well be the hand of an angry god, for I cannot budge.


    All the while, I thrash and desperately claw, attempting to reach the water''s surface. The pain threatens to overwhelm me, but all I can think about is surviving. I need to live. I need to succeed. This determination drives me like a taskmaster might drive a slave. Yet I am not winning; I am not making any progress.


    I am going to die. Not just that, I am going to die in agony. A terribly cold, clawed hand grips my heart and squeezes, sending me into an absolute frenzy. I cannot breathe; the water fills my lungs, and every attempt just sucks more of it into me. This pool will become my grave.


    The crimson river in my Domain, which had surged toward the water with such eagerness, now churns violently as if trying to fight against the force holding me down. The strange thirst that had intensified moments ago transforms into panic and desperation.


    "Embrace death, or life is not worth living."


    The words inscribed above the pool flash through my mind with sudden clarity. I had already begun to embrace death by willingly submerging myself, but that was not enough. It is not about the action but the acceptance. I allow my thrashing to cease, my body relaxing like a wet dishcloth, every muscle releasing its tension. I surrender completely, accepting whatever fate awaits me in the depths of this ancient pool.


    Thus, paradoxically, I do not die.


    The water calms, the grip that held me down relaxes, and I suddenly find I can breathe as easily as if the water were not there at all. I try to stand up, and I find I can. My head comes out of the water, streams of it rushing down my face like mini rivers. The pain is still there, still angrily throbbing along. Yet I am alive, and gratefully so. I breathe in and out, and the cold grip that held my heart lets go, and the panic that pulsed through my mind fades into nothing.


    I walk out of the pool. There are no more gargoyles blocking my way. Part of me wants to think about how that is possible, but I am simply relieved that nothing will block my path. I make my way to the portal and step through.


    I am as ready as I can be for whatever comes next.


    The following room is large with high ceilings that disappear into shadow. All along the walls, statues of various figures are tucked into alcoves. The figures, I notice, are of pale people dressed in either robes, platemail, or leather. They hold staffs, swords, and shields, or hold nothing at all. Their expressions are solemn, their eyes seeming to follow me as I move.


    In the middle of the room, on a slightly raised dais, is a sarcophagus of blood red and bright gold. It is carved in the likeness of a warrior king. His features are strong and noble; his eyes are round and made of glittering rubies; his ears are ever so slightly pointed; and his hair is a flowing mane of reddish gold. The crown he wears is midnight black, with glittering red orbs inlaid around it. His hands rest on the ruby pommel of a greatsword.


    The crimson river in my Domain surges forward again, as if drawn to the sarcophagus. The strange thirst that has plagued me since awakening in this dungeon returns, stronger than before.


    As I study the sarcophagus, a low laugh echoes around the room. I see nothing, but a voice emanates from somewhere.


    "So, after all this time, a traveler has come to my tomb. One with unawakened blood. Welcome, traveler, to my place of rest."


    The voice is strong and noble, with a malicious kind of richness to it. I look around, trying to find the source. Another low laugh whispers through the air.


    "You cannot yet see me, traveler. Tell me, do you know who you are? Do you know why the Judge gave you the quest to find this place?"


    I shake my head, then realize the entity might not be able to see me either.


    "Where are you? Who are you? What do you mean by unawakened blood?" I ask, my voice hoarse from exhaustion and pain.


    Another low chuckle. When the voice next speaks, I jump because it sounds like it is right in my ear.


    "I am here, traveler. Oh, never fear; I will not hurt you. In fact, I think we can help each other. First, open the sarcophagus."


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    I am not too keen on doing that. When strange voices coming from somewhere you cannot see ask you to open a sarcophagus, it is probably common sense to avoid them.


    "I am going to have to pass, thanks. You did not tell me who you are."


    The low laugh again. "Have you not put it together? I am Lazarus, young one. I assure you, I will not harm you. Here, let me put your mind at ease, shall we?"


    Two notifications hit me then. One is the completion of my quest.


    You have completed the quest: Find the Tomb of Lazarus! You have explored this tomb and passed its challenges, only to find the ancient spirit of Lazarus himself. Congratulations, Jackson! You have gained strength! You are now level 11!


    I almost grin, and I would have if I were not in so much pain and exhaustion that it did not suffuse my entire body. The second notification reads:


    Lazarus has offered you a non-aggression pact. Its duration is indefinite and will last so long as you do not take hostile action against Lazarus. Do you accept this pact?


    I will an affirmative to the Judge. Lazarus speaks again, his voice warmer now.


    "Excellent. Go on, then, traveler. Open the sarcophagus so that we may speak to one another."


    I am still a little hesitant. The non-aggression pact does not mean he cannot harm me, merely that the Judge would probably punish the spirit severely if he tried. Still, he seems eager to speak to me further, and the gesture of the pact eases my mind. I walk to the sarcophagus and begin to push.


    It is not easy; I can only use one hand, but I do it little by little. The sound of the ancient lid sliding open fills the air. I look into the sarcophagus and am greeted by a polished, blood-red skull. Within its eye sockets are orbs of glowing black and red light. When the voice speaks, the orbs of light seem to pulse in time with the words.


    "Pick up my skull, traveler."


    I do so, cradling it carefully in my good hand. The crimson river in my Domain surges toward the skull, as if recognizing something kindred. A notification echoes in my mind.


    You have acquired the skull of Lazarus. This ancient skull has been turned into an artifact of knowledge about the world, and Vampyres in particular. Holding the skull allows you to see the ancient spirit of Lazarus. This item is soulbound and will return to you upon death.


    I can indeed see him now. Lazarus leans against the sarcophagus, arms crossed. He is the very visage of the figure carved into the sarcophagus lid, though his eyes are an iridescent red, and his skin is even paler and seems to glow and swirl, like the moon on a dark, cloudy night. He grins at me, and my eyes widen.


    He has fangs! Two elongated canines, perfect for piercing flesh. Lazarus chuckles, his laugh still low but not nearly as creepy as before.


    "Ah, traveler, that is much better. I must thank you. Someone in possession of my skull always makes me feel a little bit more tangible." His red eyes twinkle with an ancient intelligence.


    I sigh and sit down, exhaustion rolling through me like an unrelenting storm. Lazarus taps his chin, regarding me with what appears to be genuine concern.


    "It seems you have been through much, young traveler. I can offer a way for you to help yourself if you so desire."


    I look up at his red eyes, which regard me with surprising intensity. I gesture weakly with my good hand.


    "How?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.


    Lazarus answers, and his voice takes on an almost seductive note.


    "Why, becoming a vampyre, of course."


    I blink, open my mouth, and then close it again. Finally, I shake my head and say with a wry chuckle, "An undead that sucks the blood of the living? You mean that kind of vampyre?" I raise an eyebrow, my mouth twitching.


    Lazarus does not respond to my humor. His expression remains serious, even somewhat offended.


    "In a manner of speaking, yes. Except you would not be undead. Those would be vampires, not vampyres."


    "Oh, I see. Yes, that is entirely different then," I reply dryly. I cannot help it; the idea just seems ridiculous, like something out of a horror novel. Yet even as I mock the concept, the crimson river in my Domain seems to still, as if listening intently.


    Lazarus sighs and crosses his arms, his patience visibly wearing thin.


    "I see this is going to take some explaining. I should say that you are already a vampyre; it is in your blood."


    I look at him, confusion etching itself on my tired face. Lazarus rolls his eyes.


    "Vampyres are a race like any other. We start human, our blood unawakened. Extreme trauma or an elder can awaken your blood and therefore awaken your true self." Lazarus explains with the kind of patience one might have when explaining something to a child.


    The strange thirst that has followed me since awakening in the dungeon suddenly makes more sense. The way my Domain''s crimson river responds to blood, the odd connection I feel to it¡ªcould this be what he means?


    I rub my face, exhaustion pulsing through me in time with the pain.


    "Why would I want to awaken my blood, then?" I do not bother wondering if he is lying. It would not serve anything to question him and just delay the explanation. Besides, on some level, his words resonate with something inside me.


    Lazarus shrugs, his movements elegant and precise. "Why else, boy? Power. One cannot truly advance in Eden if you are not true to yourself. A wolf can act like a sheep, young man, but no matter how hard he tries to hide it, he will always be a wolf. To pretend otherwise does him a disservice."


    I groan. I have no idea what Lazarus even means by that, and I tell him so. Lazarus looks amused, his red eyes glittering with mirth.


    "I am sure you will put it together. Eventually."


    I blow out a breath, frustration momentarily overriding my pain. "Are there any downsides to awakening my blood?" I question. In my mind, there have to be. After all, some chose not to, and there must be a reason for that.


    Lazarus nods and elaborates further, his expression growing more serious.


    "It comes with a very powerful thirst for blood and a need to drink it. If you do not, you go mad and die. Oh, and most, if not all, celestials in Eden will want to kill you if they find out." He says the last almost absently, as if discussing the weather.


    "Oh, is that all?" I say, deadpan.


    Lazarus shrugs, unbothered by my sarcasm. "Pretty much. I can awaken your blood, if you like. It will probably evolve your class if I do. It is worth it if you want my opinion."


    He flashes me a wolfish grin, his fangs gleaming in the dim light. "You should know that I am usually right."


    He sounds as if he truly believes it. I close my eyes, considering. On the one hand, if I do not awaken my blood, I would cripple my advancement, and that just seems unacceptable to me. Why even bother doing something if you are just knowingly going to do it wrong? I may as well not try at all if that is the case.


    On the other hand, if I go through with this, I would have these new urges to deal with, and apparently celestials, beings with godlike power, would do their absolute best to kill me if they found out.


    "Why would they kill me? The celestials, I mean," I ask, genuinely curious.


    Lazarus looks at me with serious eyes, all traces of amusement gone.


    "That is dangerous knowledge I am not going to give you yet. For your own good. Suffice to say that, given time, you would be a threat."


    I chew that one over. If becoming a vampyre means I would eventually be a serious threat to the gods, then Lazarus is not lying when he says power is a reason for awakening my blood.


    The crimson river in my Domain pulses with anticipation, as if it already knows my decision. My broken arm throbs, a constant reminder of my current vulnerability.


    "You said it would help me? Becoming a vampyre?"


    Lazarus shakes his head, his expression thoughtful. "I used the wrong words when I said it that way. What I should have said from the start was that you are already a vampyre. It is just a choice of whether or not you embrace that or abandon it. In answer to your question, it would help in the sense that you would gain the means to heal yourself."


    I rub my jaw, trying my best to force my thoughts to work through the pain that keeps up its relentless throbbing through my body. I want so very badly to not be in pain right now. I am doing my absolute best to ignore it and push through it, but the thought of not hurting anymore is almost enough reason to say yes all on its own.


    Yet I have to consider it from all angles. Making myself an enemy of Eden''s celestials is a huge decision. Yet it is either that or to cripple my advancement and continue to suffer.


    In the end, I cannot justify handicapping myself. If I cannot advance, then I will not get anywhere in this world; in fact, I would not likely survive it anyway.


    I look at Lazarus and nod, my decision made.


    "Okay then. Awaken my blood. I will embrace being a vampyre.¡±

 Chapter Twelve

    CHAPTER TWELVE


    Lazarus holds out a hand to me, and the Judge sends a notification.


    Lazarus would like to awaken your slumbering bloodline. Do you agree to this?


    I will my response to the Judge, and my world rocks. It is not pain, exactly; it is more like a river being unleashed in my body. My skin actually writhes, my veins bulge and pulse, and suddenly I am within my Domain.


    The river of crimson that normally flows within the nothingness that represents my destruction aspect is swirling into what appears to be a crimson hurricane. The hurricane eventually settles, but the blood has changed. No longer is it simply dark crimson; it has taken on a golden sheen, and now the liquid is red gold.


    It still flows through that nothingness, but there is a different feeling to it now¡ªa feeling of hunger, a desire to grow. As I come back to myself, I feel that hunger within me, like a living thing with a will of its own. It pulls at me, demands, and howls to be fed. I push it back for now and address the notification that unfurls in my mind.


    Jackson Grey, your bloodline has been awoken, and you have embraced your vampyric nature in full. Your player profile will reflect this change. In addition, your Domain has changed, and thus your class can evolve. There are three options available. Would you like to view these options now and make your choice?


    Lazarus seems to look down on me, a knowing twinkle in his eyes.


    "Ah, I see by your expression that you have received an interesting message from Eden''s Avatar. What does it say, fledgling?"


    I raise an eyebrow at being called fledgling but make no comment on it as I reply.


    "The message says my class can be evolved. It is asking if I want to view the options and make my choice."


    Lazarus coughs, a mean feat given that he is just a spirit.


    "You were given options?!" He sounds incredulous.


    I nod. "Why is that rare?" I inquire, genuinely curious.


    Lazarus chuckles, his fangs gleaming in the dim light. "Rare, he says. It is basically unheard of, young fledgling. Your class and everything you are come from your Domain. When skills get added to your Domain, it is really just the Judge unlocking or awakening an inner part of your untapped potential. A class evolution reflects your Domain on a deeper, more advanced level, but usually there is only one option. For the Judge to perceive multiple options within you, it means that your Domain resonates with all of them on an equal level. If I were a dusty, boring scholar, I would find that fascinating. I suggest you go over the options with me; you will not find anyone that can give you better advice than I can."


    I shake my head at Lazarus''s tone but will an affirmative to the Judge. Another message unfurls in my mind.


    Here are your class options and the following skills they grant you:


    Vampyre Swordsman (Apprentice Level 1): The vampyre swordsman uses blood and destruction aspects to enhance his sword combat, often becoming so powerful he can cut down an army with a single slash.


    Skills granted:


    Minor Regeneration (Basic Level 1): This skill allows you to regenerate health and therefore wounds at a very slow rate. This can be increased by consuming blood.


    Sword Skill (Basic Level 1): This skill grants you the ability to use any sword effectively. The higher the skill level and rank, the deadlier the swordsman.


    Consume Blood (Basic Level 1): A required skill for any vampyre, this skill must be used daily. The longer the vampyre goes without using it, the likelier it is that he will go mad and die. This skill accelerates minor regeneration and, in addition, restores mana and strengthens your domain. Warning: completely draining any player with this skill will result in their final death.


    Vampyre Shifter (Apprentice Level 1): The vampyre shifter uses his blood and destruction aspects to transform himself into a terrifying winged and batlike form. In this form, you are a physical powerhouse, leaving swaths of destruction in your wake.


    Skills granted:


    Shifting (Basic Level 1): This skill governs shapeshifting, but due to your vampyric nature, it is locked into the Vampyre Combat Form.


    Consume Blood (Basic Level 1): A required skill for any vampyre, this skill must be used daily. The longer the vampyre goes without using it, the likelier it is that he will go mad and die. This skill accelerates minor regeneration and, in addition, restores mana and strengthens your Domain. Warning: completely draining any player with this skill will result in their final death.


    Minor Regeneration (Basic Level 1): This skill allows you to regenerate health and therefore wounds at a very slow rate. This can be increased by consuming blood.


    Vampyre Acolyte (Apprentice Level 1): The vampyre acolyte forgoes all physical weapons and abilities in favor of focusing on mastering the weaves of mana that come from Domains. Vampyre acolytes are therefore unable to use any physical weapons or even weave physical weapons. Any weapon-based skills you have upon taking this class will vanish. Instead, you will gain the following skills and weaves:


    Hidden Bloodline (Basic Level 1): The hidden bloodline skill will hide your vampyric nature from all; even celestials must use their most powerful means of discernment to uncover your bloodline.


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    Minor Regeneration (Basic Level 1): This skill allows you to regenerate health and therefore wounds at a very slow rate. This can be increased by consuming blood.


    Consume Blood (Basic Level 1): A required skill for any vampyre, this skill must be used daily. The longer the vampyre goes without using it, the likelier it is that he will go mad and die. This skill accelerates minor regeneration and, in addition, restores mana and strengthens your Domain. Warning: completely draining any player with this skill will result in their final death.


    Blood Lightning (Basic Level 1): This weave will allow you to weave together your blood and destruction aspects into a powerful bolt of lightning that will pierce and destroy most defenses, magical or otherwise.


    I stare at the choices, taking them in. The newly transformed river in my Domain seems to pulse with excitement at the possibilities. All of them are clearly better than my current class, by miles, in my estimation. I go over them with Lazarus, and the ancient spirit cannot keep from looking slightly impressed either.


    "I am familiar with these classes; however, I am genuinely shocked that you resonate with all of them. If you pick the swordsman class, you will keep the progress you have made with that katana of yours, and it will be the most familiar for you."


    Lazarus taps his chin, clearly thinking. Before I can reply, he shakes his head, his eyes closing briefly.


    "Alas, you should not pick it. I am afraid you must pick the acolyte."


    "What! That is the one I least want to pick!" I protest, slapping my knee with my good arm. The thought of giving up my katana skill¡ªthe one ability that has kept me alive so far¡ªmakes my heart sink.


    Lazarus crosses his arms and looks down on me, clearly taking the tone of a parent dealing with a child throwing a tantrum.


    "No need to shout. You can express your thoughts without throwing a tantrum, yes? I assume you are old enough to understand this." He regards me, lips pursed in disappointment.


    I feel heat flood my face, and I bow my head. His patronizing tone is irritating, but there is wisdom in his words.


    "You are right. I would like to hear your reasoning, though."


    Lazarus nods, mollified. "You need to pick it because of the hidden bloodline skill, obviously. Use your head, fledgling. I just told you not even five minutes ago that becoming a vampyre would make you a target for celestials everywhere. With this class, you will remain hidden from their sight, and that gives you a fighting chance to prepare and advance."


    I sigh; I do not want to admit it, but the spirit is probably right. With the other classes, I am not hidden, and I would be vulnerable to most analyze attempts. It just seems a little unfair that I would have to give up my katana skills. I express this to Lazarus and then add,


    "Why cannot this skill be available in the other classes? Did not you just say that granted skills are already a part of me?"


    Lazarus unfolds his arms and looks at the ceiling, as if ready to give up.


    "The skills best represent the class, and the class best represents the skill; it is a kind of synergy. I believe I have already explained this. I cannot say why that skill is best represented by that class; that is the Judge''s decision. Perhaps it is because of the focus this class has on weaving. Regardless of the reason, it is what it is; what are you going to do? Deny reality." Lazarus snorts.


    My shoulders slump, and I let out a giant sigh. I really hate to admit it, but the spirit is correct, and I cannot deny it. I eye the class description. As I do, a grudging thought occurs to me. I am not very good with the katana anyway. I must have voiced my thoughts, because Lazarus asks,


    "What do you mean by that?"


    I explain my duel with Dylan and what he said about me not being one with the blade. Lazarus asks me some pointed questions, and the whole tale comes out, including how easy it was for him to defeat me. When I am done, Lazarus bows his head and mutters to himself. Finally, he shakes his head.


    "It seems you have had quite the experience so far, fledgling. In regards to the katana skill, it sounds like it is a flawed skill."


    I am about to ask what that means, but Lazarus holds up a hand, cutting me off.


    "Yes, yes, I know you do not know what that means. I will explain; it appears I will be doing a lot of that in the future. Sometimes our Domains resonate powerfully with a single skill, despite the fact that we are not actually suited for it. This can be for any number of reasons, such as a deep dream of ours or a strong belief that we should be good at that particular skill. Regardless of the reason, these skills resonate when they should not. It leads many down a broken advancement path, close to perfect but inherently flawed. So often, in fact, they strive to perfect the skill and never can. That is your katana skill."


    I take the information in, not even sure how to respond. My path has been flawed from the start. I do not want it to be. The katana was a weapon that gave me certainty; by being armed with it and by moving with it, I did not feel weak.


    But perhaps this is why the crimson river in my Domain always seemed more responsive to my blood shard bombs than my katana. Perhaps it has been trying to tell me something all along.


    I bite my lip and suck in a frustrated breath through my nose. Sometimes the things we want are not right for us. Understanding this, I make my decision, and the Judge sends a message into my mind.


    Class evolution is commencing.


    Purging katana skill¡­


    Congratulations, Jackson! You are now a Vampyre Acolyte!


    I feel knowledge erase itself from my mind, as if someone has taken a mental eraser and scrubbed it away. New knowledge replaces the old, blazing through familiar paths in my mind, causing me to clench at my head as I hiss in pain.


    The skills and weaves are all there as if I have known them my entire life. I just wish it would have gotten rid of the pain in my arm. Instead, all I have to show for all of this is a newfound feeling of intense hunger. Pushing it aside with a practiced mental shove, I look over at Lazarus.


    "Well, now that is done. What now?" I ask the ancient spirit.


    Lazarus shrugs, his ethereal form shimmering slightly in the dim light. "I do have a request for you, but before we get to that, why do not you tell me what has happened to you other than the encounter with Dylan and the demon? Start at the beginning."


    I hesitate; I am still not entirely certain I can trust Lazarus. Sure, he has been helpful so far, but I highly doubt he does not have his own agenda. That does not change the fact that he has been supportive, and my journey up until this point is not a great secret.


    Other than my newly awakened vampyric bloodline, I do not exactly have anything worth hiding. Why not tell the spirit everything? I wrack my brain, trying to come up with one reason beyond not being fully sure I can trust him, and come up short. At some point, I have to trust somebody, and Lazarus is at least being more helpful than Melanie had been.


    I feel a sharp stab of guilt when her name crosses my mind. Adaran''s shocked face as my blood shards tore through his throat flashes in my memory. I push that away as well. I need to focus on the present, on survival.


    Coming to a conclusion, I take a deep breath and tell Lazarus everything¡ªfrom waking up in the crypt without memories, to my first death at the rat''s jaws, to meeting Fred, to killing the demon and Adaran''s subsequent death, to solving the puzzle and finding this tomb.


    Lazarus listens intently, his ethereal form occasionally shifting as if he is considering what I tell him. When I finish, he nods slowly.


    "Quite the journey, fledgling. And now I believe I can tell you what I need from you."


    His red eyes gleam with an intensity that is both fascinating and unsettling. "In the Blood Sands, there is a sealed coven of my kind. They have been there for centuries, locked in Blood Sleep. I want you to find them and wake them."


    I raise an eyebrow, skeptical. "And why would I do that?"


    Lazarus smiles, showing his fangs. "Because fledgling, you are going to need a proper teacher. I can only do so much as a skull. And with celestials like Abaddon lurking about, you will need allies of your kind. Besides," his voice drops to an almost seductive whisper, "do you not want to know who you truly are? My coven has ways of recovering lost memories."


    That gets my attention. My lost past¡ªthe opportunity to discover who I was before waking in this place...


    As I consider his request, I feel a new sensation from my arm. The pain is... lessening? I look down to see the bone that had been jutting out from my skin slowly receding back into place. The torn flesh begins to knit itself together at a visible, if slow, rate.


    You have used Minor Regeneration (Basic Level 1). Your wound is beginning to heal.


    Lazarus nods approvingly. "Ah, your regeneration is working. That is good. It will still take time to fully heal, but now you can at least function. Be warned, though, the hunger will only grow stronger. You will need to consume blood soon."


    I stare at my arm in fascination as it continues to slowly heal. The newly transformed river in my Domain flows with renewed vigor, and for the first time since the rat killed me, I feel a sense of possibility. Perhaps becoming a vampyre was not such a bad choice after all.


    Now I just need to learn how to control it.

 Chapter Thirteen

    CHAPTER THIRTEEN


    Lazarus does not immediately react to my story. His expression is blank, but I can see thoughts swirling in those iridescent red eyes of his. Or maybe that is just because he is a spirit. When he finally speaks, his voice is measured, as if he is carefully picking each word.


    "You have experienced much for one so new to Eden. Now that I understand your situation better, I am even more certain you will need my guidance." His eyes glimmer with what might be sympathy or calculation¡ªwith an ancient being like him, it is difficult to tell the difference.


    I nod, still considering his earlier request about finding his coven in the Blood Sands. The promise of recovering my memories is tempting, but I want to be sure of what I am getting into.


    "About your coven... what exactly will I be facing when we reach the Blood Sands? And how do we formalize this arrangement between us?"


    "A pact," Lazarus says, his voice taking on a formal tone. "Bound by the Judge itself. As for what you will face¡ªmy coven is sealed with powerful weaves of my own creation. Breaking those seals will be no simple task, but with my guidance, you will manage it."


    He flicks a hand towards me, and surprisingly, a message from the Judge unfurls in my mind.


    Lazarus has offered you a pact! In exchange for your help finding his lost coven in a sealed realm, he will become your guide and mentor on your journey through Eden and be bound to your soul. Doing this will grant Lazarus access to your player profile and all notifications related to it. This relationship will continue until such a time as you find Lazarus''s coven, at which point your Pact will be renegotiated. Do you agree?


    I read it over carefully. I am not sure about Lazarus having access to my player profile, but as our conversation has progressed, I have begun to like the ancient spirit, and the seed of trust has been planted. Plus, I could smash his skull if I wanted to, and I am certain that would hurt him if he did betray me.


    I give my confirmation to the Judge.


    Lazarus''s eyes flash the same color as the orbs that float in the sockets of his skull. He grunts in satisfaction.


    "Excellent. Your profile is not bad. I expected you to be a little higher level, but that is okay; you will get there. I am surprised that you are an enchanter; I have not seen that in a while. Now then, before you put points into your attributes, tell me what you know about them, fledgling."


    Lazarus''s tone has taken on not a lecturing tone, but rather the tone of someone used to teaching or guiding. I answer him as best I can through the fog of exhaustion.


    "Not much. I know they are a representation of myself in a way, and I know they govern what skills I can learn. All of it has a kind of synergy with my Domain."


    Lazarus nods thoughtfully.


    "That is right, though it is not everything. Attributes, more than anything else, are critical for your advancement," he says.


    I blink, trying to stay focused through all the pain and exhaustion still plaguing me despite my slowly healing arm.


    "How so?" I ask, rubbing my eyes. Lazarus watches me, clearly seeing my exhaustion, but he continues.


    "You said it yourself; it governs what skills you can learn and use. Think about that," he urges.


    I try, and I honestly do, but the thoughts will not flow. I cannot see what Lazarus means, and I tell him so. The spirit lets out an annoyed sound.


    "I can see that your exhaustion is taking its toll. I prefer to guide my fledglings to the answer, but very well. Domains level based on your attributes, which are a reflection of your Domain and overall strength."


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    A question occurs to me then, cutting through the fog in my mind.


    "Would not a player just naturally do that, though? After all, we get an attribute point at every level. Surely that is enough that no one would ever have an issue," I ask.


    Lazarus smiles, pleased at my question.


    "It is not even close to enough, dear fledgling. To reach Journeyman Rank alone you need two attributes at level twenty-five. You do the math."


    I whistle softly. "That is fifty points just to get to Journeyman. That is an absurd amount of points."


    Lazarus nods, his expression grave. "It is indeed, my dear young fledgling. Apprentice lasts until level twenty-five, and Journeyman lasts until level one hundred. That is a whopping two-hundred points in attributes, just to get to Expert Rank, and most waste them, putting points willy-nilly into their attributes, and this leads to being unable to advance their Domain, and thus their growth stagnates."


    I shake my head, both amazed and grateful. I could have fallen into the same trap without Lazarus.


    "Is there any way around it? Any way someone can fix it, I mean?" I ask.


    Lazarus waves a hand dismissively.


    "Sometimes the Judge will grant attribute scrolls as rewards for completing quests, dungeons, or particularly hard encounters. However, by that point, it would take a tremendous amount of work to rectify."


    I lean my head back, thinking, and finally, I look at the spirit.


    "How would you recommend I spend my points then?" I question.


    Lazarus''s eyes shine with approval.


    "You need to keep your path firmly in mind. Too many try to go in too many directions. A warrior wants to throw fireballs, so he invests in his mind and will. Or a mage wants to wear plate armor and be able to select skills that help take hits, so he invests in strength and constitution, despite having several points in both mind and will. It happens all the time and in many different ways.


    The Eden Tree is not fair; you are not meant to be able to do everything. Yet time and again, people try to anyway. My advice is thus, fledgling, know what kind of path you wish to walk and choose two attributes that represent that path."


    I consider his advice, chewing on my lip. It is good advice, and my path is pretty clear as it is. I am good with weaving and enchanting. My class even has acolyte in the name, which is perhaps the strongest indicator that I am on a magic path of advancement, more than anything else.


    I have five available attribute points I can spend. I decide to split them between mind and will, putting two extra points into will. With that, I decide to bring up my profile; it has been a while since I looked at it.


    Name: Jackson Grey


    Level: 11


    Race: Human (Shown) Vampyre (Hidden)


    Lives: 2


    Domain Aspects: Blood and Destruction


    Class: Vampyre Acolyte (Hidden Class) Acolyte Class (Shown Class)


    Attributes: Mind: 13, Strength: 12, Dexterity: 17, Constitution: 15, Will: 18


    Skills: Minor Regeneration (Basic Level 1), Consume Blood (Basic Level 1), Hidden Bloodline (Basic Level 1), Analyze (Apprentice Level 6)


    Weaves: Blood Lightning (Basic Level 1)


    Eden Coins: 9910


    Faction: Unsworn


    A slight pang of sadness echoes through my heart as I see my katana skill stricken from my profile. I will not ever be able to pick up a blade again. Yet it had been necessary and right to make that choice.


    Lazarus claps his hands, the sound somehow audible despite his ethereal nature.


    "Well, that is settled. You will need to continue this way; you are already a little behind since your path has essentially changed a bit, causing your previous attribute points to be essentially wasted."


    I had not thought about that, but Lazarus is correct; by changing my path, it renders the points I had previously spent wasted. At least the points I put into dexterity and constitution. I sigh and slump to the ground against a wall. I wave Lazarus away.


    "I need to sleep. I am too tired to think anymore," I say.


    Lazarus holds up a finger, his expression concerned.


    "Sleep will not heal you, you know. Your minor regeneration skill will help a bit, but without blood or a healing potion, you are going to be critically wounded like this for a long while."


    I have stopped listening; my eyes, which feel like lead weights, are closing, and I allow myself to fall into a deep slumber.


    The pain still throbs like a constant burn when I wake up. Despite that, I do feel a little better, in the sense that my thoughts flow a little better and I no longer feel like I am slogging through a bog. In fact, I am fairly certain the pain has gone down, if minutely. Compared to where I was at, it is a vast improvement, and I almost weep from the relief that washes over me.


    Lazarus looks up; he is sitting on his sarcophagus. His expression is relieved.


    "Finally! I thought I would be waiting for you to wake up forever. Did you know that you snore?"


    "Har har," I say to him, not appreciating the humor at my expense.


    I carefully unwrap my broken arm and am surprised to see that it has set itself in place and new skin has regrown around it. The arm is still very much broken, and it still throbs with absolute pain, but it is so much better than it was.


    I am hungry, though, so very hungry. I know it is an almost unnatural hunger. I push it away and stand up.


    "I think it is time we got going, Lazarus. I still have a lot to do," I say.


    Lazarus vanishes and appears in front of me, holding up a hand.


    "Hold on, we still have a few things to discuss. One, you should put my skull in your bag. I can still see and talk to you even with it in the bag, since the Judge sees it as still being in your possession. Take care of that, and then I have something to tell you," Lazarus says.


    I eye him but do as he bids. Then I regard him and gesture for him to go on.


    "Abaddon is lying to you," Lazarus says.


    I interrupt him with a question before he can continue.


    "How so?" I ask.


    Lazarus glares at me, "If you stop interrupting me, I can tell you."


    I rub the back of my neck sheepishly.


    Lazarus nods curtly and continues, "He does not need you to receive the orb at the end of this dungeon; he could do that himself if he wanted, and if you had thought about that for more than five seconds, you may have realized that. Did you really never wonder why he could not retrieve this orb for himself?"


    I scowl at him but shake my head. Lazarus chuckles, though there is no humor in it.


    "I thought not. What he needs is for you all to progress and then die."


    I stare at him in shock. "What? Why? Why in that order?"


    Lazarus''s expression grows solemn.


    "This goes into dangerous information, Jackson. Information that very few know, and until you learn to protect your mind, I cannot give it to you. I need you to trust me on this. Suffice to say, Abaddon has very good reasons."


    I chew at my tongue at his answer, but it does reveal to me that there is clearly more going on than I know. Which I find not at all surprising.


    "Well, there is nothing I can do about it right now, but I appreciate you telling me what you could. Now can we go?" I ask.


    Lazarus waves a hand.


    I turn and head for the portal. It is finally time to move on.

 Chapter Fourteen

    CHAPTER FOURTEEN


    The portal shimmers before me like liquid mercury, its surface rippling with unseen currents. I take a breath and step through, leaving Lazarus''s tomb behind.


    Traveling through the portals is uneventful until I pass the final wall. A force blast catches me unprepared, slamming me off my feet. I hit the stone floor hard and slide several feet, my head cracking against the corner of a wall. My vision blurs, the world spinning around me in a nauseating swirl.


    "I knew we would find you here! Murderer! I am going to end you!"


    I tilt my head up over my chest, blinking to clear my vision. Two figures come into focus: a furious Riselle and a warrior I don''t recognize. The man is small but muscular, with flowing brown hair and piercing brown eyes. He stands bare-chested, wielding a massive axe in one hand like it weighs nothing.


    I push myself up slowly, and Riselle''s blazing hazel eyes lock onto me. She raises her staff, weaves beginning to form around it in swirls of green and gold.


    "Wait! Can we talk about this? Please, Riselle," I call out, raising a hand in a placating gesture.


    Her eyes intensify, hands clenching white-knuckled around her staff. Her entire presence radiates violence, rage burning around her like a palpable aura, wild and uncontrolled as a stallion galloping across open plains.


    Riselle snarls and unleashes another blast of force in my direction. I roll sideways, coming up to face her again. From the corner of my eye, I spot Lazarus leaning against a wall, studying Riselle with clinical interest.


    "I don''t think these two are here to play nice and have a discussion with you, fledgling. If you don''t want to imitate what a rag doll looks like, I suggest you strike back," Lazarus says cheerfully. I ignore the spirit''s commentary.


    Instead, I focus and analyze the pair.


    This is Riselle, a level 20 druid. This is Azlam, a level 18 barbarian.


    I exhale slowly. This won''t be easy. Levels aren''t everything, but they have more experience than me. Riselle sends another force blast my way, which I dodge as smoothly as possible with my still-healing body. So far, the barbarian hasn''t joined the fight. I need to engage before he decides to.


    With that thought, I immerse myself in my Domain, gathering mana and beginning to weave. Blood and destruction twist together, and from that weave comes lightning. The crimson lightning crackles and hums with power, casting an eerie red glow across the stone walls. Riselle''s eyes widen, and I fling it¡ªnot at her but at her barbarian partner.


    The barbarian rolls out of the way, and the lightning explodes against the wall with a thunderous boom. Azlam turns toward me slowly, eyebrows raised in surprise. Riselle gapes as well, but her expression quickly hardens to cold fury.


    "It doesn''t matter how many tricks you may have picked up; I''m going to end you."


    She blasts me with force again, but this time I''m ready and rip lightning out of the air. It detonates against her blast, causing an explosion of crimson lightning that fills the corridor with crackling energy. Lazarus claps his hands together in delight.


    "Oh, good move. I wonder if you''re starting to see the problem, though."


    I scowl, considering our situation. It doesn''t take long to understand what he means. We''re fighting at range, and I don''t have any weaves that can effectively harm them from a distance. The lightning can be dodged or countered, so flinging it around isn''t doing anything effective. Riselle''s face twists in rage, but she too seems tired of the stalemate.


    Which is why she begins to weave a different spell, her hands moving in unfamiliar patterns. Azlam hefts his axe as she works, and I sense something changing in the air around us.


    "Oh, that''s interesting. I do believe the young lady is about to shift. I haven''t seen that done in an age!" Lazarus sounds like he''s enjoying a show. All he needs is a snack.


    I glare at the ancient spirit, but I can''t spare him much attention. Instead, I rush toward the pair. Azlam smiles grimly and sets his stance. I keep running. Azlam raises his axe. I close the distance. He begins to bring his axe down in what would be a deadly strike, and that''s when I start to weave.


    At the last possible second, I roll under his strike and to the side. The deadly axe misses me by inches, and Azlam cannot reset himself fast enough. My lightning takes him directly in the head.


    Your have dealt Azlam a fatal blow! Azlam has died!


    Blood lightning has increased to level 4.


    Azlam''s head explodes like a detonating bomb. Blood, brain matter, and viscera fly through the air in all directions. A strange smell fills the space¡ªthe acrid scent of burning meat. Azlam''s headless body collapses to the ground, the stump of his neck charred and blackened. I look at the body grimly. I honestly didn''t want to do this¡ªdidn''t want to be killing these two.


    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    I don''t have time for introspection. A giant roar splits the air, shaking the very stone beneath my feet. I whip my head around and see a massive brown bear standing in the corridor. The monster grizzly takes up nearly the entire passage. My jaw drops open. It towers above me, deadly and primal, eyes blazing with that same uncontrolled rage that Riselle had shown. The bear''s breath comes heavy and strong, pushing dust across the floor. It smells like an ancient cave in a forgotten forest¡ªwild, dangerous, and untamed.


    "Yep. You''re not hallucinating. That''s a grizzly. Aren''t druids awesome? Remind me to tell you about the druid I used to know. The things he could turn into, let me tell you." Lazarus appears beside me, examining the bear with interest.


    "The commentary isn''t helping, Laz," I growl under my breath.


    Lazarus holds a hand to his chest, eyes wide with mock surprise. "Did you just give me a nickname? How wonderful! Oh, you better watch out; I think she''s charging."


    She is, and she''s too large for me to dodge in this narrow corridor. I rip lightning out of the air and hurl it at the grizzly. It strikes her and blackens a patch of fur but does little else. I curse, turn tail, and run. I can''t see any other option. I don''t want to kill her, and my lightning isn''t doing enough damage. Lazarus seems to always be nearby, which makes sense; his spirit moves with the skull.


    "She''s gaining on you, I hope you know," he observes casually. "I really don''t think you''re going to outrun her, my fledgling. There''s also your hunger; it''s going to weaken you a bit."


    He''s right. I do feel hungry, almost unbearably so. It started pulsing within me at the sight of the blood that exploded from Azlam''s head. The sight of it had once seemed gross, but now it looks like a gourmet meal. Delicious. I want it, and I want it badly. That''s another reason I want to escape Riselle.


    At that thought, a massive paw crashes into me, nearly crushing me to the ground like someone might push a bag of trash into a can. Pain, sharp and blinding, lances through my body.


    I try to slide away, immediately rolling to my feet, but it''s not enough. I''m batted again, claws digging into the skin of my shoulder and shredding it like paper. I cry out in pain, and the grizzly that is Riselle roars in my face. My eardrums pop at the sound. Her breath is hot against my skin, though I find myself oddly grateful that it doesn''t smell bad. I almost laugh at the absurdity. Here I am, staring into the bear''s hazel eyes, watching its gleaming, deadly teeth set into powerful jaws descending toward me, and I''m grateful its breath doesn''t stink.


    "I''m sorry, Riselle," I say sadly.


    As the bear''s jaws descend toward my head, her eyes blazing with triumph and fury, I slam lightning directly into her mouth with my free and unbroken right arm. The crimson lightning crackles with almost destructive glee, and this time it isn''t hitting the bear''s fur.


    Riselle, in grizzly form, rocks back from me, her roar transforming into a howl of pain. I stand up and walk toward her, and I don''t let up. I slam blood lightning into her head over and over again. The pain coursing through my body fuels my grim determination, and the hunger pulses right along with it, growing stronger with each beat of my heart.


    You have critically injured Riselle. Riselle''s bear form has faded.


    Riselle''s human body lies shaking on the ground; little sparks of crimson lightning dance along her skin. She groans in pain, and I notice a small scratch on her throat. It''s tiny¡ªnot much of a scratch at all¡ªbut those tiny droplets of blood are suddenly the most beautiful things I''ve ever seen.


    Time slows. The crimson beads glisten in the dim light, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat. The scent hits me next¡ªcopper and salt and something else, something primal that calls to the deepest part of my being. My vision narrows until there''s nothing but those perfect ruby droplets and the blue vein throbbing beneath her pale skin.


    I don''t remember moving. One moment I''m standing over her, the next I''m straddling her body, my knees pinning her arms. Her heart pounds frantically, the sound deafening in my ears. She looks up at me, and our eyes meet. The rage that burned so brightly before has extinguished, replaced by naked terror. A single tear slides down her cheek.


    "Please," she begs, her voice trembling.


    Something stretches in my mouth¡ªa sharp, almost pleasurable pain as my canines lengthen. I run my tongue over them in fascination. The hunger roars through me now, not just in my stomach but in every cell, every fiber of my being. It''s a living thing inside me, clawing to get out.


    Riselle tries to buck me off, but her struggle only makes the vein in her neck stand out more prominently, only makes her pulse race faster. I lean down slowly, inhaling deeply. Her scent is intoxicating¡ªfear and sweat and beneath it all, that sweet, metallic promise.


    "What are those? Are those fangs?! Don''t¡ª"


    I strike like a viper, fangs plunging deep into the soft flesh of her throat. Her skin parts easily, like it was made for this purpose, made for me. Blood explodes across my tongue, hot and thick and indescribably sweet. It''s like nothing I''ve ever tasted¡ªhoney and wine and liquid life itself.


    Riselle''s scream chokes off as I drink deeply. Her body arches beneath me, hands clawing weakly at my back. I don''t feel it. I''m lost in sensation, in pleasure so intense it borders on pain. Each swallow sends waves of euphoria cascading through my body. Each heartbeat pushes more of her life into me.


    The blood flows directly into my Domain, filling it with power. I feel my broken arm knitting itself together, bone fragments aligning perfectly. My shredded shoulder repairs itself, skin growing over raw muscle. Even my mind feels clearer, sharper, like a fog has lifted.


    Her struggles grow weaker. Her heartbeat falters, struggling to pump blood that''s no longer there. Some distant part of me knows I should stop, that I''m taking too much. But the hunger is insatiable, demanding everything she has to give.


    Her hands fall away from my back. Her body goes limp beneath me. Still, I drink until there''s nothing left, until the last drop slides down my throat and her heartbeat fades to silence.


    Only then does the haze clear from my mind. Only then do I see what I''ve done.


    Your blood consumption skill has increased to level 7.


    You have consumed all of Riselle''s blood. You have dealt a final death to Riselle.


    Congratulations, Jackson! You have advanced to level 17!


    The notifications cut through whatever remains of my bloodlust. I pull back slowly, staring down at Riselle''s corpse. Her face is ashen gray, drained of all color. Her eyes stare sightlessly upward, the ghost of her final terror still visible in them. Two small puncture wounds mark her throat, surprisingly neat and clean compared to the violence of what just happened.


    What have I done? For the love of everything, what have I done?


    "You''ve fed, fledgling," Lazarus''s voice is quiet behind me. "It''s what we are."


    I stumble backward off of Riselle''s body, my hands shaking. The euphoria of the blood is still coursing through me, but it''s tainted now by the realization of what I''ve become. My newly healed body feels alien, powered by someone else''s life.


    "I didn''t mean to... I just wanted to..." The words catch in my throat.


    "She was trying to kill you," Lazarus reminds me, his tone surprisingly gentle. "And she would have succeeded."


    I look down at my trembling hands. They''re stained crimson. "I didn''t have to drain her completely. I could have stopped."


    Lazarus floats closer, his spectral form wavering slightly. "Control comes with time and practice. You''re new to this hunger. It will become easier to manage."


    "Easier?" I laugh bitterly. "I don''t want it to be easier to kill people, Laz."


    "Then learn to feed without killing." His eyes glow more intensely. "That will be your first lesson from me. But not here. We should move on before others come looking for these two."


    I cast one last look at Riselle''s body. Her face seems peaceful now, the fear fading from her features as death takes full hold. Without thinking, I reach out and close her eyes.


    "I truly am sorry," I whisper.


    As I stand, I notice something glinting near Azlam''s headless corpse. A small pendant on a chain has fallen from his neck. The crimson gem at its center pulses with an inner light that seems to call to me. I pick it up, examining it.


    "That''s interesting," Lazarus leans in, eyes narrowing. "A blood ruby pendant. Quite rare. It resonates with your Domain."


    I slip it into my pocket, not wanting to think about why it seems to call to me. "Let''s go. I''ve had enough of this place."


    As we walk away from the scene, I can''t shake the feeling that something fundamental has changed within me. Not just my newly awakened vampyric nature, but something deeper. The hunger that led me to drain Riselle completely is still there, quieter now but waiting beneath the surface.


    I know it will return. And when it does, I''ll need to be ready.


    For a brief moment, I feel something stir within my Domain¡ªa flicker of crimson and violet at the edges of my vision, gone almost before I can register it. A warmth spreads through my chest, both comforting and unsettling.


    "Did you feel that?" I ask Lazarus.


    The ancient vampyre smiles enigmatically. "Your Domain grows, fledgling. The blood of another has fed more than just your body."


    I don''t like the implications of that, but I keep walking. The path ahead stretches into darkness, and I can only hope that the next challenge doesn''t require me to become even more of a monster than I already am.