《Respawned》 The Day the System Woke Up BLAHH! BLAHH! The alarm screamed through the room like a dying siren. Jarek groaned, slamming his hand onto the snooze button with more force than necessary. Silence. Blessed, temporary silence. He exhaled, blinking up at the ceiling, his mind already reminding him why today was going to suck. The presentation. The boardroom. The directors who barely remembered his name. And worst of all¡ªthe fact that he didn¡¯t fully understand the project he was about to pitch. Jarek swung his legs over the side of the bed, stretching out the stiffness. Every movement was slow, reluctant. He needed a shower. Maybe a strong cup of coffee. Or maybe he just needed to fake an illness and skip the whole damn thing. But no. That wasn¡¯t an option. Today was the day he¡¯d been dreading for weeks. No more pushing it off. No more hoping someone else would screw up and take the heat. Jarek dragged himself together¡ªshirt, tie, suit that didn¡¯t quite fit right¡ªand stood in front of the mirror. What stared back was painfully unremarkable. Brown eyes. Brown hair. Five-foot-nine on a good day. The kind of face people forgot five minutes after meeting him. His best quality? Supposedly his intelligence. Or at least that¡¯s what he liked to believe. It hadn¡¯t gotten him promoted. Hadn¡¯t earned him respect. And it definitely wasn¡¯t going to save him in front of a boardroom full of directors expecting a pitch he barely understood. He stepped out of his room into the cramped living room of the apartment he shared with two other people. The place was already quiet, save for the faint drip of the kitchen sink. His roommates were gone¡ªprobably out living their lives. A pot of coffee sat warm on the counter, half-drained. He didn¡¯t ask questions. He poured what was left into a chipped travel mug, grabbed his keys, and stepped out the door. Time to go fail upward. He glanced at his watch and froze. Shit. How am I already late? I didn¡¯t even snooze my alarm. He bolted down the stairs, practically throwing himself into his car. The engine growled to life, and he tore out of the parking garage with more urgency than control. Merging onto the highway, he weaved through early morning traffic, speeding only slightly¡ªuntil a horn screamed behind him. Jarek glanced up just in time to see headlights bearing down. ¡°Shit¡ª!¡± He yanked the wheel. The car skidded, tires screeching. For a split second, everything slowed¡ªthe sound, the air, his heartbeat¡ªuntil he was back in his lane, alive, heart pounding. ¡°I¡¯m such an idiot,¡± he muttered, trying to wave an apology. The car was already gone. By the time he pulled into the office parking lot, he wasn¡¯t sure if he was more shaken... or just annoyed. He jumped out of the car and bolted toward the building. The elevator was too slow. He took the stairs two at a time, lungs burning, shoes slapping concrete with each frantic step. Halfway up, a sharp pain flared in his left arm. He winced. Not now. He shook it off and kept going. He couldn''t afford to be late. Not today. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. When he finally burst into the conference room, every head had already turned. Too late. Shit. The heavy glass door clicked shut behind him, sealing the room in fluorescent sterility. Bright overhead lights buzzed faintly above the oval table, washing everything in that pale, dead office glow. Dozens of faces stared back¡ªexpressionless, corporate, indifferent. A few tilted their heads slightly, as if they¡¯d already written him off. Jarek felt every pair of eyes like heat against his skin. He forced a tight smile, willing his legs to carry him forward. His breath still came in ragged huffs from the stairs. Richard¡ªhis boss¡ªsat near the head of the table, designer suit pressed, tie perfect, hands folded neatly. His eyes met Jarek¡¯s, and the glare he gave could¡¯ve sliced bone. Jarek didn¡¯t need words. He knew what that look meant. You¡¯re making me look bad. His ears burned. His shirt clung to his back. He slid into his chair, pretending not to see the way Richard shifted away slightly, like even his presence was an inconvenience. The screen at the front lit up, bathing the room in cold blue light. The first slide flickered into place. Jarek stood. His legs felt like wet paper. He hated this part. Always had. Public speaking was its own kind of violence¡ªslow, precise, humiliating. But today? Today was worse. Because he wasn¡¯t just nervous. He was screwing it up¡ªand he knew it. His voice caught as he started to speak. The words were there, somewhere, but they came out dry, uncertain. The slide behind him blurred as his vision tilted, just slightly. No one said a word. But he could feel it. The silence wasn¡¯t just awkward¡ªit was sharp. Heavy. Like a blade held just above his neck. Then the pain in his shoulder flared¡ªviolent, searing. Jarek¡¯s hand shot to his chest, clutching at it instinctively. His legs buckled slightly, knees brushing the edge of the conference table. Richard stood up, irritation etched across his face. ¡°You alright?¡± he asked, but his tone wasn¡¯t concern¡ªit was controlled annoyance. Embarrassment. The others didn¡¯t move. They just stared. Silent. Detached. Watching like he was another glitch in the system. Jarek couldn¡¯t breathe. His vision blurred. His heart pounded once¡ªtwice¡ªthen spasmed. But beneath the terror, something strange crept in. Relief. Maybe I won¡¯t have to give the presentation after all. His knees hit the carpet. His vision swam with light. His body locked up, every muscle tensing like cables about to snap. And then¡ª A screen. Faint. Floating. Glowing blue against the darkness closing in. [BECOME A PLAYER?] [Y / N] What the hell...? A player? That sounded¡­ better than an office job. Yeah. That sounds nice. The Y began to glow, pulsing brighter. And then the pain came back. All at once. A stabbing heat exploded through his chest like someone had lit a fuse inside his heart. Richard lunged forward, face shifting from fury to panic. But Jarek didn¡¯t hear the words. Didn¡¯t feel the floor as it rushed to meet him. He was already fading¡ª Am I dying? And why am I seeing a screen¡­ that¡¯s not normal. That was his last thought. Then¡ªnothing. A single moment stretched forever. Cold and black. "ARGHHHH¡ª!" The scream ripped from his throat before he even knew why. Jarek sat bolt upright, gasping like he¡¯d been dragged out of water. Grass. His hands dug into soft earth, fingers clutching green blades slick with morning dew. His chest heaved. The air smelled wrong¡ªfresher, sharper, like someone had turned up the contrast on reality. Mountains loomed in the distance, jagged and enormous, cutting into a pale sky like dark teeth. The ground rolled in gentle hills, almost peaceful¡­ except for the bonfire burning beside him. Tall. Unnatural. It wasn¡¯t a camping fire. It was a structure¡ªlogs stacked high, blackened at the tips, glowing red-orange from within like they were burning from the inside out. The flame didn¡¯t smoke. It shimmered. Like heat rising off a road in summer. Jarek stared. "What the hell..." His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Where¡¯s Richard? Where¡¯s the boardroom? He looked around¡ªno buildings, no roads, no signs of life. Just green fields, massive mountains in the distance, and the crackling of a fire that felt like it had been waiting for him. Why did they take me to a field? Did they leave me here to die? Did I have a heart attack? What just happened? His mind raced, trying to fill in blanks that didn¡¯t make sense. One minute he was in a conference room under fluorescent lights, sweating through his shirt while Richard shot daggers at him. The next¡­ a screen. BECOME A PLAYER ¨C Y / N He¡¯d thought it was just a hallucination¡ªsome weird, stress-induced death dream. But this? This felt real. The grass. The fire. The chill in the air. The strange weight in his chest, like a glowing ember had been buried just beneath the skin. All of it pulsed with too much detail to be a dream. Too much clarity. He touched his chest, expecting wires. A hospital gown. Maybe a sharp sting from a defibrillator. Nothing. Just heat. Not painful¡ªalive. Like something inside him had caught fire and wasn¡¯t finished burning. He looked around again. The endless green hills. The jagged black mountains slicing through the sky. The bonfire beside him, burning high with no smoke, no scent of wood. No people. No buildings. No sky scrapers. Was he even on Earth anymore?
Low Stats, High Stakes Jarek moved through the greenery, away from the bonfire. The grass was damp beneath his shoes, the air sharp and unsettlingly fresh¡ªlike the world had been reset overnight. He had questions. Too many. But standing around wasn¡¯t going to get him answers. He needed to find a road, a sign, someone who could point him back to the city. Back to the boardroom. Back to Richard. Back to¡­ reality. His chest tightened. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. What the hell was that blue screen? The moment the thought crossed his mind¡ª A soft chime rang in his ears. A pulse of blue light flickered in front of him, and suddenly¡ª [STATUS MENU] Name: Jarek Race: Human Class: None Level: 1 HP: 100 / 100 MP: 50 / 50 Stamina: 60 / 100 Strength: 5 Agility: 6 Endurance: 4 Intelligence: 8 Willpower: 7 Luck: 3 Jarek blinked. ¡°What the f¡ª¡± His voice caught in his throat. Stats. Numbers. Floating midair like something out of a game menu. Strength. Stamina. Luck? He scanned down the list again. Strength: 5. Endurance: 4. Luck: 3. ¡°¡­These suck.¡± He stared at the screen, brow twitching. He¡¯d played video games growing up¡ªback before the 9-to-5 grind devoured his soul. Back when life had respawns, and power-ups. He knew what good stats looked like. These weren¡¯t it. Level one? Are you kidding me? He sighed, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his palm. Maybe he¡¯d expected a cheat skill. Some broken ability. Anything to make this make sense. But these numbers? These were loser stats. He swiped his hand through the screen, and it shimmered before dissolving like mist. His heartbeat was finally starting to settle. But his thoughts were still spinning. This wasn¡¯t a dream. Wasn¡¯t a joke. If anything, the status screen only made it more real. Now he had even more reason to find someone¡ªanyone¡ªwho could explain what the hell was going on. He needed to get out of this clearing. The longer he stood there, the more exposed he felt. Like something was watching him. A chill crawled up the back of his neck. There was no sound but the wind through the grass and the low crackle of the dying bonfire behind him. Still, the feeling lingered. He looked around again¡ªopen field, endless green, mountains in the distance. No roads. No voices. Not even the rustle of an animal. He had never felt so alone. Come to think of it... he had never been this alone. Not in a place this wide, this empty. He¡¯d never even gone camping. He started to panic. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. His breath quickened, and he broke into a run¡ªboots crashing through the underbrush, kicking up leaves and dirt in his wake. The open fields had vanished behind him. Now the terrain dipped into something colder, darker, forgotten. The grass turned patchy. Roots jutted from the ground like twisted ribs. Dead trees loomed overhead, their bark split and blackened. The air changed¡ªmustier, thick with rot and wet stone. He stumbled into a half-collapsed gully, the earth sloping down into what looked like the remains of a sunken ruin. Moss-covered bricks jutted from the hillside, half-swallowed by time. The bones of old wooden scaffolding clung to one wall, black with decay. This place felt¡­ wrong. Low ceiling. Narrow walls. Just damp stone and silence. A place something might nest. Then he heard it¡ª ¡°Screeech!¡± The sound sliced through the air like metal tearing itself apart. Jarek skidded to a stop, breath caught in his throat. He spun around. And saw it. A rat. No, not a rat. A monster. Easily the size of a grown man¡ªmaybe bigger. Its matted fur clung to a twitching, wiry frame, wet and greasy like it had just clawed its way up from a sewer. Patches of skin showed beneath the fur¡ªraw, pink, and twitching. Its snout was too long. Its yellowed teeth jutted out in uneven angles, cracked and jagged like it had spent its life chewing through stone and metal. Bits of something¡ªbone? wood?¡ªhung from its lower jaw. Its eyes locked onto him. Small. Red. Focused. Not curious. Hungry. That thing¡¯s the size of a freaking person, Jarek thought, frozen. Of course the first thing I run into is a nightmare sewer rat. He took a single step back, hands raised on instinct¡ªlike maybe the universal sign for don¡¯t murder me worked on mutated wildlife. The rat didn¡¯t charge. Not yet. It just watched him, beady eyes twitching, yellowed teeth gnashing quietly like it was working something out. Was it sizing him up? Jarek wasn¡¯t sure if he looked intimidating. He doubted it. He was unarmed, underslept, and currently dressed like someone who lost a fight with a clearance rack at a department store. He had never been in a real fight. Closest he¡¯d come was elbowing a guy at a midnight Best Buy sale¡ªthen immediately apologizing. Maybe the rat was nervous. Maybe it was watching his movements like he was watching its. Maybe¡ª It lunged. Jarek flinched back hard, instincts overriding any thoughts of strategy. He dove sideways¡ªawkward, flailing, desperate. The rat''s claws sliced through empty air, close enough to make the hair on his arms stand up. He hit the ground shoulder-first, rolled through wet moss, came up gasping. Okay. Definitely not scared. If this was anything like a game, rats were supposed to be early-game trash mobs. Tutorial fodder. Something you killed to learn the controls. So maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªhe had a shot. The rat lunged again. Jarek scrambled aside, barely missing the swipe aimed to open him from hip to ribs. His elbow clipped a stone. Something popped in his shoulder. Okay. Not tutorial-tier. What could he do? No weapon. No plan. No dodge button. He backed up, boots slipping on moss-slick stone. The rat circled low, twitching, tracking. ¡°I don¡¯t suppose we can talk this out,¡± Jarek muttered. The rat hissed¡ªa sharp, wet sound like steam bursting from a pipe. It twitched. Then lunged. This time, Jarek moved¡ªnot because he was brave, just because dying face-first didn¡¯t sound great. He dove sideways again, barely escaping the claws, but this time, mid-roll, something clicked. It always lunges. Big commitment. Fast. Then it has to reset¡ªjust for a second. He hit the ground and scrambled behind a chunk of broken stone, heart pounding. "Now what the hell do I do with it?" His eyes scanned the ruins¡ªmoss-covered stone, rusted beams, a chunk of collapsed scaffolding clinging to the wall like a broken ribcage. That. The rat screeched again. Jarek grabbed a half-buried metal pole¡ªrusted, sharp, heavy¡ªand ran. He ducked behind the scaffolding and slammed the pole against the frame, the clang echoing like a dinner bell. ¡°COME ON!¡± The rat lunged, claws digging into the dirt. Jarek waited until the last second¡ªthen dove. The beast slammed into the scaffolding at full speed. CRACK. Wood shattered. The rusted beam punched through its shoulder, half-burying into muscle and bone. It shrieked¡ªa horrible, high-pitched thing full of pain and rage. It wasn¡¯t dead. Just stuck. Jarek ran forward, grabbed the sharpest rock he could find, and slammed it into the rat¡¯s head. Once. Twice. Again. It thrashed. Teeth clipped his leg. Claws tore at the dirt. Another strike. Then another. CRACK. The rat jerked, spasmed¡ªthen went still. Panting, Jarek stumbled back, arms shaking, hands soaked in blood. The rock slipped from his grip with a dull thunk. ¡°Holy shit.¡± ¡°I killed it.¡± A chime echoed in his ears¡ªsubtle, but impossible to ignore. Then, just like before, faint blue text burned itself into the air, glowing soft and cold: [Level Up: 2] Stat Points Gained: +5 Minor Wounds Healed. Vitality Restored. He stared at the screen, still catching his breath. His body already felt better¡ªwounds sealed, pain gone, heart rate dropping to something almost normal. Okay. Five stat points. Strength was still low. That rat nearly folded him like a lawn chair. Maybe Intelligence would help? He still had no idea how magic worked here, or if it was even a thing. Then again, he¡¯d never really played mage classes in games. Strength and dexterity¡ªthat was his style. Hit fast, hit hard, try not to die. Alright. Three into Strength. Two into Agility. The screen shimmered again and updated. [STATUS MENU] Name: Jarek Race: Human Class: None Level: 2 HP: 100 / 100 MP: 50 / 50 Stamina: 60 / 100 Strength: 8 Agility: 8 Endurance: 4 Intelligence: 8 Willpower: 7 Luck: 3 Nice. His stats actually went up. He rolled his shoulders, flexed a hand. Nothing felt wildly different. No glowing veins. No dramatic muscle bulge. He didn¡¯t feel stronger. But the numbers had to mean something. They had to. Because if that rat was just the beginning¡­ and worse things were waiting out there¡ª He was going to need every single point. Respawned. And Watched. Jarek quickly moved out of the gully, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the bloody mess he¡¯d just left behind. His legs were still shaky, but the adrenaline kept him upright¡ªbarely. The terrain shifted as he pressed forward. Grass gave way to brittle ground, the color leeching from the soil. Patches of earth looked scorched, not by fire, but by time¡ªcracked and pale, like something had drained the life straight out of it. He found what looked like a trail, though it was hard to be sure. The earth here wasn¡¯t marked by footsteps or wheels. It was warped¡ªflattened in places, grooved in others¡ªas if a hundred paths had been worn through and then forgotten. Not a road. Not really. More like the scar of one. Jagged stones protruded from the earth like crooked gravemarkers. Here and there, old stone markers leaned at impossible angles, etched with symbols too faded to read. The trees changed too¡ªtall, thin things with bark like charred paper, their branches twisted into spirals, reaching not up, but out. Like they were listening. And above them, the sky stayed silent. Overcast, but unmoving. Like it was holding its breath. He followed the trail anyway. Because it was the only thing that felt like it was going somewhere. And standing still didn¡¯t feel like an option. Jarek kept walking, boots crunching across the withered ground. The twisted trees thinned, and the air opened up again¡ªstill stale, but clearer. That¡¯s when he heard it. Voices. Metal clinking. The low, rhythmic clop of hooves. He crept forward and saw them. A group¡ªhalf a dozen figures, maybe more¡ªclad in full armor. Dented, ancient-looking plate that clung to their forms like it had grown there. Most stood in a loose formation around a mounted rider, tall and still atop a black horse with a silver-plated skull mask covering its face. The rider held a tattered banner that swayed in the windless air. It was black, with a crimson symbol in the center. A jagged spiral made of thorns. Like something meant to catch blood more than signal allegiance. A pistol hung from the rider¡¯s saddle. Not sleek and modern¡ªsomething older, more brutal. Barrel long, stock wrapped in what looked like braided sinew. Jarek ducked behind a chunk of fallen stone, heart hammering. They were human. Probably. But they didn¡¯t look friendly. Still¡­ he needed information. Anything. Even a threat made more sense than this silence. He crouched low, slipping into the brush, moving slowly¡ªcarefully¡ªtrying to get closer. Maybe he could listen in. Catch a name. A phrase. See their faces. Or whatever was wearing their armor. He crept closer, inch by inch, squinting through the mist¡ª ¡°CRUNCH.¡± Shit. His boot snapped a twig underfoot. One of the soldiers turned immediately. The one on horseback didn¡¯t move. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it And then¡ª CLANG. SCHNK. Steel rang. Something moved. Jarek blinked. The world shifted. Huh. Where¡¯d he go? He tried to turn, to look around¡ª But something hit the dirt with a wet, meaty thud. His arm. It was gone. Severed just below the shoulder, muscle and bone exposed in a ragged, steaming stump. Blood sprayed in a wide arc, pattering across the cracked stone. Pain didn¡¯t just hit¡ªit detonated. Every nerve screamed at once, white-hot lightning ripping through his chest, his spine, his skull. Jarek stumbled, gasping, vision blurring. The knight¡ªif that¡¯s what it was¡ªstood directly in front of him now, impossibly close, blade already lowered. The others hadn''t moved. They just watched. Jarek turned, trying to run. He got a step. Maybe two. Then the knight was there again. No windup. No movement. Just¡ªthere. The world tilted. His legs crumpled. Huh. When did I get so short? Everything went black. [You Have Died.] Jarek¡¯s eyes shot open. He gasped and instinctively grabbed his shoulder¡ª Expecting blood. A stump. Agony. But his arm was there. Whole. What the fuck. He sat up fast, heart jackhammering in his chest. He flexed his fingers. Touched his face. Patted his ribs. Everything felt solid. Intact. Wrong. His brain hadn¡¯t caught up yet. He remembered pain. Bone. His arm hitting the ground like raw meat. And now he was¡­ back? Back here. Grass brushed against his fingers. Cool, slick with morning dew. The air was sharp again¡ªfresher than it should be, too clean, like someone had scrubbed reality down to the bone. The sky hung overhead, pale and hollow. Mountains jagged the horizon like black teeth. And beside him, the bonfire burned. Same as before. No smoke. No scent. No warmth. Just that shimmer¡ªlike heat rising off asphalt in the dead of summer. Jarek slowly stood, eyes scanning the hills. This was the exact same place. Every blade of grass, every distant ridge. Exactly the same. Except for one thing. There was someone else here. He stood slowly, brushing the dew off his hands. ¡°Hello?¡± he called out, cautiously. The figure turned. Tall, wrapped in a long, ragged brown cloak, the hood casting most of his face in shadow. He looked like he¡¯d walked out of a wizard loadout screen¡ªdefinitely gave off mage build energy. The man studied Jarek for a long moment before nodding. ¡°You¡¯re awake,¡± he said, voice calm, almost distant. ¡°I saw you resting at the flame. I didn¡¯t want to interrupt.¡± Jarek hesitated. ¡°Have¡­ we met before?¡± The man tilted his head, just slightly. ¡°No.¡± A beat. ¡°But you¡¯ve been here before.¡± Jarek¡¯s mouth opened, then shut again. He didn¡¯t know how to explain it without sounding insane. ¡°I think something happened,¡± he said. ¡°I was¡­ somewhere else. It went bad. Then I woke up back here.¡± The stranger¡¯s gaze shifted to the bonfire. ¡°That¡¯s what it does. The flame brings you back. If it still remembers you.¡± Jarek stepped forward. ¡°What is this place?¡± The man didn¡¯t answer. Instead, he said: ¡°You¡¯re not ¡°¡­the first to die in flame¡­¡± He paused. His eyes finally met Jarek¡¯s. Pale. Sharp. Tired. ¡°¡­but you might be the last.¡± Jarek¡¯s chest tightened. He swallowed. ¡°Listen,¡± the man said, turning slightly, his cloak catching the breeze like paper. ¡°If I were you¡­ I wouldn¡¯t take the path you took last time.¡± ¡°What¡ªhow do you know¡ª¡± But the stranger was already walking. One step. Two. Gone. No sound. No dust. Just the quiet crackle of the bonfire behind him¡­ and the emptiness where the man had stood. Jarek stood there for a long second, staring at nothing. ¡°What the fuck¡­¡± he muttered to himself. ¡°How did he know what happened?¡± Was he watching me? The clearing should¡¯ve felt empty¡ªopen air, soft grass, nothing but sky overhead. But he didn¡¯t feel alone. He felt¡­ studied. Okay. So don¡¯t take the path I took last time. Problem was¡ªhe didn¡¯t exactly remember which way that had been. If I see the rat¡¯s nest again, I guess that¡¯s my sign to turn back. He glanced around. The field looked the same in every direction¡ªjust pale grass and hills fading into the haze. That distant ring of mountains loomed like a painted backdrop, never any closer. No roads. No markers. Just¡­ pick a direction. He paused. Then grabbed a nearby stick, snapped it clean, and planted it in the ground next to the bonfire. Tore a strip from his shirt and tied it around the top. A marker. Just in case I die again. Would it even stay? Or does everything reset? Wait¡ªmaybe I can check. He called it up with a thought, just like before. [STATUS MENU] Name: Jarek Race: Human Class: None Level: 1 HP: 100 / 100 MP: 50 / 50 Stamina: 60 / 100 Strength: 5 Agility: 6 Endurance: 4 Intelligence: 8 Willpower: 7 Luck: 3 ¡°Shit. Back to level one.¡± So killing that rat was for nothing. He sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair. ¡°Fuck me.¡± With no better plan, Jarek started walking. They Were People Once Jarek moved slower this time. Every step felt louder than it should¡¯ve. He couldn¡¯t shake the weight in his chest¡ªthe memory of that blade, the moment it all went black. He had died. And then he hadn¡¯t. It felt like a game. But it wasn¡¯t. The pain had been real. The blood had been real. He stepped over a low ridge¡ªand stopped. Below him, nestled in a shallow valley, was what looked like a village. Small, old. Maybe even ancient. Straw-thatched roofs sagged under years of decay, some collapsed entirely. Cracked stone chimneys jutted up like broken fingers. Wooden fences leaned at impossible angles, held together more by moss than nails. The whole place looked like it had been forgotten for decades¡­ maybe centuries. And yet¡ªsomething about it held together. A few buildings still stood. There were narrow dirt paths winding between them. A well in the center. Even the faint outline of a shrine, half-swallowed by overgrowth. For the first time since waking up, Jarek thought: Maybe there¡¯s someone here. Then he remembered the knight. The sword. The way his arm hit the ground like meat. The last ¡°people¡± he met weren¡¯t exactly friendly. He took a breath, slow and quiet. Approaching this place wasn¡¯t going to be easy. But doing nothing wasn¡¯t an option either. He started down the hill. As he neared the edge of the settlement¡ªif you could even call it that¡ªsomething caught his eye. A sword. Half-buried in the dirt, rusted to hell, but unmistakably a weapon. ¡°Yes,¡± Jarek muttered, already moving. ¡°Finally.¡± He crouched and picked it up. It was heavier than it looked¡ªblade chipped, hilt wrapped in some kind of rotten cloth. [ITEM ACQUIRED: Rust-Touched Shortsword] Type: Melee ¨C One-Handed Durability: 18% Attack Bonus: +4 Description: "Better than your fists. Just barely." Huh. So weapons trigger the system. He looked down at his tattered office clothes. ¡°I wonder what kind of stats this suit has,¡± he muttered. ¡°Business Casual Defense +1?¡± Still, the sword in his hand was something. At least maybe I could take the rat now. He stepped through the broken gate and into the village proper. The dirt path was lined with rotting fences and sagging huts, most missing entire walls. Straw from collapsed roofs lay scattered like dried seaweed. An old cart sat overturned near a well, one of its wheels still spinning slightly, even though he hadn¡¯t seen any movement. He moved cautiously, sword raised in a grip he wasn¡¯t sure was correct. Then he heard it. Low. Wet. A gurgling groan echoing between the buildings. Guttural. Human, but¡­ not. Shit. Did I go the wrong way again? This has to be worse than the rat. He crept around the edge of a collapsed building, sticking to the shadows. And then he saw it. Lurking just ahead¡ª A hunched figure twitching near a crumbling stone wall. Its skin was pale, stretched thin over sharp bones. Filthy rags hung off its frame. The way it moved¡ªstiff, jerky, like a puppet on loose strings¡ªmade something in Jarek¡¯s gut twist. Its head snapped toward him, jaw hanging open far too wide. Its eyes were gone¡ªjust black pits sunk into a hollow face. In one bony hand, it gripped a sword. Nothing fancy. Old. Cracked. But still¡ª Bladed. Clean. Definitely better than his. ¡°Seriously?¡± Jarek muttered. ¡°Even the ghouls get weapons?¡± Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. The thing twitched again and stepped forward. Without warning, it lunged¡ªa wide, arcing slash, fast for something that moved like a busted marionette. Jarek barely dodged. He threw himself sideways, boots skidding over loose dirt. The blade hissed past, close enough to feel the air bend. The ghoul stumbled at the end of its swing, posture sagging like it had to reset. Jarek hovered just out of reach, sword raised, debating. Do I hit it now? Or is that just how I die again? The pain from last time hadn¡¯t faded. Neither had the memory. The ghoul snapped upright. A sharp twitch. And it moved again. Faster. It came in with a sudden flurry¡ªslash, slash, slash. Jarek raised his weapon too late, barely catching the first blow, then the second¡ª The third slipped past his guard and tore across his chest. ¡°Shit¡ªdamn it!¡± Pain bloomed. His knees dipped, breath catching. But he stayed up. Just barely. Fuck, how did I let a slow-ass ghoul hit me? Well¡­ it wasn¡¯t actually that slow. Screw that. I¡¯m getting it back. He surged forward, teeth clenched, sword raised high. The blade came down in a heavy arc¡ªugly, untrained, but fast. The ghoul tried to block, but it was off balance. The blow knocked it back a step, arms flailing. It lunged again¡ªthe same sloppy strike as before. This time, Jarek was ready. He sidestepped, dragging his sword behind him, and slammed it down into the ghoul¡¯s back. The creature staggered, spine bowing unnaturally. Jarek didn¡¯t hesitate. He raised his blade and brought it down again¡ªhard, full of panic and weight and pain. The ghoul hit the dirt with a sound like wet rope. [Enemy Defeated: Hollow Villager] XP Gained: 10 Jarek exhaled, shoulders still tense. ¡°Huh. I didn¡¯t level up...¡± he muttered, eyes flicking to the floating screen as it dissolved. ¡°When I killed that damn rat, I leveled. So these things are weaker?¡± That felt wrong somehow. That rat had been a beast¡ªsure. But this thing had a weapon. A face. Almost a person. Another sound broke the silence. Wood creaked. Fabric tore. Two more figures staggered out from one of the nearby huts¡ª One tall and broad-shouldered, dragging a warped farming scythe. The other... smaller. Limping. Barely waist-high. Jarek¡¯s grip tightened around his sword. The smaller one moved like the others¡ªtwitchy, mindless. But still. The size. The shape. The rags hanging from its shoulders. He swallowed, hard. "...Were these people?¡± He took a step back. Didn¡¯t even realize he had. That hut they came out of¡ªit wasn¡¯t a lair. It was a home. He readied himself, tightening his grip, trying to ignore the burn in his chest. This couldn¡¯t be worse than the presentation that killed him, right? Both ghouls lunged. The smaller one was faster. It reached him first, blade flashing in a sharp, low arc. Jarek jumped back¡ªthe strike missed by inches. He felt the wind off it slice past his ribs. The larger one followed, slower but heavier. Jarek barely got his sword up in time to block. Steel clanged, his arm jolting from the impact. He staggered back a step¡ª And the smaller ghoul was already on him again. It unleashed a flurry¡ªthree quick, jittering strikes. Jarek caught the first. The second clipped his shoulder. The third he ducked, barely. His breath hitched. He needed space. Needed time. He kicked the smaller one away and circled to his right, keeping both enemies in sight. No more getting surrounded. His chest throbbed. His grip was slipping. But he wasn¡¯t dead. Not yet. He needed to split them up. Make one lunge, bait it, and take the other out fast. These things weren¡¯t strong¡ªhe¡¯d dropped the first one easily enough. But two at once? That was a different story. He shifted closer to the bigger one, edging into its range. Just a little more. It took the bait. The ghoul lunged¡ªsame wide, telegraphed strike as before. But this time, Jarek didn¡¯t dodge backward¡ªhe dove forward, slipping beneath the swing and breaking toward the smaller one. It raised its blade, slow. Predictable. He was already moving. His sword punched through its guard and sank deep into its skull. The body crumpled instantly, twitching once before going still. [Enemy Defeated: Hollow Villager] XP Gained: 10 Jarek turned¡ª Too late. The bigger ghoul was already on him. It lunged. Jarek yanked at his sword¡ªstuck. ¡°Shit¡ª¡± He dove, the ghoul¡¯s blade slicing the air behind him. He hit the dirt hard, skidding through dead grass, empty-handed and scrambling. The ghoul paused. Just for a second. Watching. Jarek met its eyes¡ªdark, hollow, but locked on him. Were these things really human once? Was that smaller one¡­ a kid? Why did he feel bad? He shouldn¡¯t. It tried to kill him. Still¡ªsomething about the way it dropped, limp and twitching, made his stomach twist. Did he have to stab it in the head? Did it know what was happening? The ghoul moved. Jarek hesitated. Just for a second. Too long. The blade flashed. Pain tore across his forearm. ¡°Fuck¡ª!¡± He stumbled back, clutching the wound. Idiot. Why are you doing this now? In the middle of a fight? Think later. Survive now. Didn¡¯t getting your arm cut off teach you anything? He forced himself to focus¡ªjust the ghoul in front of him, its soulless eyes locked onto his. He didn¡¯t wait this time. Jarek threw his full weight into the thing, slamming his shoulder into its chest like a linebacker. It wasn''t clean. It wasn¡¯t even smart. But it worked. The ghoul staggered back, arms flailing. Jarek dropped to the ground, skidding to the smaller corpse, fumbling at its stiff fingers¡ªthere. A weapon. Dull, bent, but still sharp enough to kill. The moment his hand closed around the hilt¡ª The bigger ghoul lunged. It came down on him fast, flailing in that same brutal combo¡ªslash, slash, slash. Jarek surged up with the new blade. One. Two. Three. He caught them, barely, the force jarring through his arms like metal against bone. The ghoul overextended. That was all he needed. He twisted past the final blow and rammed the blade up under its chin. It shrieked¡ªif that was still a thing it could do¡ªthen buckled. Jarek didn¡¯t stop. He drove the weapon deeper, all the way through, until the thing collapsed under its own weight. [Enemy Defeated: Hollow Villager] XP Gained: 10 [Level Up: 2] Stat Points Gained: +5 Vitality Restored. Minor Wounds Healed. He stood there, shaking, breath ragged. Blood on his face. On his hands. He didn¡¯t say anything. Just stepped over the smaller body¡ª Didn¡¯t look at it. Couldn¡¯t. He sucked in a sharp breath as warmth pulsed through his chest. The pain in his arm dulled, then vanished. Even the gash on his side¡ªthe one from the first slash¡ªwas gone. He flexed his fingers, testing his grip. ¡°I could get used to that,¡± he muttered. Ahead, the hut stood quiet. Just a wooden door, cracked open, hanging slightly off its hinges. Jarek approached slowly. Reached out. And pushed it open. The hinges groaned. Dust kicked up from the threshold. He stepped inside. The Village Drank to Live. Now They Don鈥檛 Die. The hut was dilapidated, yet Jarek could tell¡ªpeople had lived here. The door creaked shut behind him as he stepped into the stale dark. Dust floated in the air like ash. What little light crept in came through cracks in the boarded windows, casting long lines across the warped floorboards. The furniture¡ªwhat was left of it¡ªlooked scorched and broken. A single chair lay collapsed in the corner, its legs splintered like someone had fallen through it. The hearth was cold, filled with long-dead coals and a bird¡¯s nest jammed into the chimney above. On the wall, a faded cloth still hung¡ªpart of a banner, or maybe a family crest, now too stained to tell. Mold climbed up the walls in spidery veins. The air stank of rot and dried blood, but under that¡­ something else. Like damp stone and wilted flowers. Jarek moved slowly, boots creaking with every step. Nothing moved. In the corner, a table sat slumped against the wall, one leg broken, tilting everything on top. Rotting food¡ªbread gone green and meat slick with black fuzz¡ªlay untouched on a cracked plate. Flies buzzed, lazy and fat. Beside it, a note. Folded once, stained at the edges, pressed beneath a glass cup filled with something dark. Father won¡¯t leave. He still believes the Sunlit Bell will ring again. I think he¡¯s gone mad. I¡¯ve locked the cellar behind the old shrine. If anyone reads this¡­ don¡¯t drink the blackwater. Jarek read it twice. Then he looked at the cup again. He didn¡¯t touch it. Not even close. What happened to these people? So that was the girl, he figured, grimacing. And that¡­ that was her father? Had he just killed what used to be them? The black liquid¡ªhad that been the blackwater she warned about? Why would they drink something that looked like oil and smelled like death? He glanced around the hut again. Nothing else. Just one room, and it wasn¡¯t hiding any trapdoors. ¡°Huh,¡± he muttered. ¡°Guess secret cellars don¡¯t come with glowing arrows.¡± He started to turn toward the door¡ªthen stopped. Something had glinted beneath the table. He crouched. Brushed aside a crumbling scrap of cloth. A key. Rusted. Heavy. Ornate. He picked it up. It was cold¡ªwrongly cold. [Key Acquired: Cellar of the Bellkeeper] Used to unlock the sealed crypt beneath the shrine. The metal hums faintly. As if it remembers something. He paused at the door. ¡°So she locked something down there¡­ and I¡¯m going to find it. Of course I am. That¡¯s what we do now.¡± He sighed. "I guess I have to. Fuck me. What did she lock away?¡± He stepped out into the quiet ruin, already scanning for anything shrine-shaped¡ªor anything that looked like it might be hiding a door. The air hadn¡¯t changed, but he had. He looked at the scattered bodies now with a different weight. That had been a father and daughter. Not monsters. Not really. And somewhere in this village, their secret was still waiting. He exhaled, pulled up the blue system screen with a thought. Might as well get stronger before whatever the hell comes next. Same as last time¡ªthree points into Strength, two into Agility. Let¡¯s try not to die this time, he thought. Keeping them would be nice. He pushed deeper into the village. He¡¯d never seen a shrine before¡ªbut he figured it¡¯d be at the center. The heart of the rot. As he moved forward, the buildings began to change. More intact. Less burned. But older. Stone replaced wood. Cracked tiles clung to slanted rooftops. Iron statues¡ªlong rusted through¡ªhung from wooden beams that creaked when the wind touched them. He passed a fountain choked with black weeds. Stagnant water dripped from a mouthless statue, its hands cupped like it was waiting for an offering that would never come. Somewhere nearby, a single bell rang. Once. Then stopped. Jarek paused. ¡°Right. Cool. Let¡¯s just pretend that didn¡¯t happen.¡± But all shrines have bells, right? So maybe he should go toward it. ¡°Fuck. I don¡¯t want to.¡± But he kept moving anyway. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. The path sloped downward slightly, the stones underfoot cracked and uneven. Moss clung to everything¡ªwalls, stairs, the edges of rusted railings. And then he saw them. Bodies. Not like the ghouls. These weren¡¯t twitching. They weren¡¯t rotted down to bone or shambling through the streets. These were people. Still. Their skin had that pale, waxy look like something frozen in time. Clothing torn. Weapons nearby. Some had curled up against walls. Others lay sprawled, half-covered in dust and fallen leaves. They weren¡¯t moving. Jarek didn¡¯t like the thought that came next¡ªbut it came anyway. I hope they stay that way. Were these the ones who didn¡¯t drink the blackwater? Or the ones who drank too late? He passed a collapsed blacksmith¡¯s stall¡ªonly the forge chimney still standing. Charred wood and rusted tools lay scattered, but something was carved deep into the soot-dark wall behind it. Not with paint. With a blade. STARVE BEFORE YOU DRINK. DIE BEFORE YOU KNEEL. THE BELLKEEPER DOESN¡¯T FORGIVE. Jarek stared at it for a moment. The letters were jagged, uneven¡ªlike whoever carved them did it in a hurry. Or with shaking hands. ¡°Great,¡± he muttered. ¡°So we¡¯re doing cult vibes now.¡± He moved on, but the words stuck with him. The Bellkeeper. Who the hell was that? And why did it sound like the whole town had bowed before him? It didn¡¯t matter. Whoever he was, he was probably long gone. Everything here seemed dead. Or... ghoulified. Kinda like corporate America. He winced. ¡°Not the time for jokes,¡± he muttered. ¡°Idiot.¡± The bell rang again. Closer this time. He pressed forward. The path narrowed between broken stone buildings, their walls leaning inward like the village was collapsing in on itself. And that¡¯s when he saw it. More bodies. Not ghouls. Still human. Or close enough. One sat slumped beside a broken well, back against the stone, arm outstretched toward a door. Like they were reaching for something. In their hand¡ªsomething crumpled. Jarek stepped closer, cautious. Not moving too fast. The hand didn¡¯t twitch. But the thing in its grip¡ªit wasn¡¯t just cloth. Paper? He leaned down. Hesitated. Could that be another note? Another piece of this nightmare? He reached out and carefully pried the fingers open. The skin was stiff. Brittle. The parchment tore a little as he pulled it free. ¡°We buried five more today. There¡¯s nothing left to plant. No rain. No warmth. The merchant caravans don¡¯t come anymore. The priest says he¡¯s found a way to keep us. He won¡¯t say how, only that the Bellkeeper waits.¡± Jarek read it twice. Then looked at the corpse. Didn¡¯t seem like ¡°keeping¡± worked out too well. He moved deeper into the village. He was surprised at the size of it. From the outskirts, he¡¯d assumed it was a cluster of huts, maybe a few farms. But this? This had been a real place. Narrow stone alleys branched out in crooked veins. Crumbling homes leaned into one another like they were trying to stay upright through sheer proximity. It wasn¡¯t just ruins. It was a skeleton¡ªeverything still standing because it hadn¡¯t realized it was dead yet. Jarek kept going. The bell hadn''t rung again, but he could feel it in the air. Close. Heavy. Like sound was waiting to break loose. He turned one last corner¡ªand saw it. The shrine. It stood in the center of a sunken courtyard, partially overgrown and ringed by warped iron fencing. A half-collapsed bell tower loomed above it, the top section missing entirely, the great bell now cracked and hanging low like a broken tooth. The shrine itself was old stone¡ªweathered, jagged, warped by time and heat. Its doors had long since rotted off, and the symbol above the entrance was so eroded it might¡¯ve been anything¡ªa sun, a flame, an eye. The shape was lost. But it was the ghouls that stopped him. They were everywhere. Dozens of them, scattered like the aftermath of a silent ritual. Some knelt in the dust, heads bowed. Others twitched where they stood, backs hunched, muscles spasming like puppets with tangled strings. A few were frozen in mid-reach¡ªarms outstretched toward the altar, fingers curled, unmoving. Like they''d been trying to pray. Or beg. He walked slowly through the courtyard. The ghouls didn¡¯t rise. But they turned. Heads snapped toward him, one by one, bones popping in their necks. Some twitched violently, spasming like they were trying to stand. One dragged its hand across the stone, nails screeching in slow, jagged lines. But none of them moved. They reached¡ªarms outstretched, fingers curled. But something held them. Age? Rot? Or something worse? Jarek swallowed hard and stepped past them, edging toward the altar. The stone was cracked, blackened with soot and old blood. But at its base, a message had been sprawled¡ª Not carved. Not inked. Smeared in blood, half-dried, but still legible. ¡°We asked for more time. He gave us eternity.¡± ¡°Drink the blackwater.¡± Jarek stared at the words. So this was it. The desperate promise. The price. These people hadn¡¯t just wanted to survive. They wanted to be preserved. To escape death. And they had. Kind of. He looked at the kneeling ghouls, stuck in place like broken statues. This wasn¡¯t living. Not really. Whatever they were now¡ªit was worse. And for the first time, he felt it hit him: What the hell was he doing pressing on in this place? He didn¡¯t have an answer. But he took one more step forward anyway. He was close now. Close to whatever the girl had locked away. What could it be? More of the blackwater? Something worse? He moved behind the shrine, circling the cracked altar and the kneeling ghouls until he found what he was looking for: a door, nearly hidden behind a crumbled section of stone, swallowed by moss and shadow. It was old. Ironbound. Splintered with age. But still intact. A heavy ring of rusted metal served as a handle. At the center, a symbol had been carved into the wood¡ªweathered and barely visible. A bell. Split down the middle. He hesitated. Then slid the key from his pocket. It fit. With a loud clunk and a groan of protesting hinges, the door creaked open, spilling a wave of cold, stagnant air up from the depths below. Stone steps spiraled downward into the dark. Jarek gripped the frame, leaning in, eyes struggling to adjust. The walls were lined with old carvings¡ªbells. Dozens of them. Some etched in rows, some hung upside down, cracked or warped. Others were drawn ringing¡ªlines cutting from their bases like shockwaves. But none of them looked celebratory. They looked like warnings. The deeper he went, the quieter everything became. Even the wind. Even his own breath. At the bottom, the air thickened. Damp. Sweet and rotting at the same time. And then¡­ the floor changed. Stone gave way to liquid. Not water. Not blood. Something darker. Blackwater. It stretched out in a shallow basin across the chamber floor, rippling faintly around his boots. Each step disturbed it like ink in a bowl. In the center of the room stood something massive¡ª A bell. Twisted. Fused with chains. Half-melted like it had been burned from the inside out. And melded into it¡­ a figure. Motionless. Arms outstretched, back fused to the bronze like a man crucified on sound. Robes clung to its frame. A mask of cracked porcelain covered its face¡ªhalf intact, the other side shattered, exposing something¡­ gray. Too still. Too ancient. Then, it moved. Jarek froze. The figure¡¯s arms shifted, slow and deliberate, like waking from centuries of stillness. Its head turned. A single eye glowed faintly beneath the mask. And then¡ª It spoke. ¡°You came to take them from me. You¡¯re too late. They asked to be kept. Let me save you.¡± The chamber trembled. The blackwater surged. And what he could only assume was the Bellkeeper stepped down from the bell. Jarek raised his rust-touched shortsword. It suddenly felt very, very small. He exhaled. ¡°¡­Right. Of course you talk. That¡¯d be too easy.¡± His hands tightened around the grip. No jokes. No plan. Just him, a rotted sword, and a half-fused nightmare priest walking toward him through blackwater. No backing out now. Bellkeeper of the Blackwater The ground shook with every step the thing took, blackwater rippling outward in widening circles. It was fast, but heavy. Jarek watched it come closer¡ªeach step slow, deliberate, like it wasn¡¯t walking to fight, but to bury him. Up close, the Bellkeeper was worse. Its robes clung in strips¡ªsoaked and fused to skin that looked like wax and rot. Patches of gray flesh were visible between the folds, warped and bubbling, like the system itself had tried to patch him together and failed. Chains dragged from his shoulders, clinking with every movement. And from his back¡ªstill attached by what looked like old sinew¡ªhung a massive broken half-bell. It twitched as he moved. Jarek took a few steps back, his grip tightening around the rust-touched sword. How the hell was he supposed to fight this thing? The Bellkeeper stopped ten paces away. He reached behind him, slow and ritualistic¡ª Fingers curled around the broken bell like it was sacred. He raised it high above his head¡ª And brought it crashing down. DOOOOONG. The sound hit like a weight. It shook the water. Shook the air. Shook Jarek¡¯s chest. A shockwave burst from the point of impact, rippling through the ground in a wide circle. It wasn¡¯t fire. Wasn¡¯t wind. Just force. Jarek staggered back, vision warping at the edges. His knees dipped¡ªhe nearly dropped the blade. His ears rang. His balance was gone. ¡°Shit¡ª¡± he hissed, trying to steady himself. Too late. The Bellkeeper was already moving again. His arm shot forward¡ª Not slow this time. A single, precise movement. Jarek¡¯s eyes widened¡ªhe dropped low, throwing himself into a half-roll just as the fingers whipped past his face. Too close. Way too close. The air behind him turned icy. The place where the grasp missed hung there, humming. Like it had tried to pull him into something he didn¡¯t want to see. He hit the ground hard, scrambling back to his feet. His chest heaved. His limbs felt heavy. That slow bastard almost grabbed him. "Shit. Okay... okay. He''s slow. But I''m not." He raised his sword again. Still shaking. No more hesitation. The Bellkeeper stayed still for just a breath¡ªmaybe two¡ªbefore his head turned slowly toward Jarek once more. Jarek kept moving, backing up, giving himself space. He was thinking now. Watching. Same rhythm as the ghouls. A reset window between attacks. Was that part of the blackwater? Some kind of glitch in the way it animated them? The Bellkeeper shifted again. Raised the broken bell high. Jarek braced. DOOOOONG. The sound thundered out again, vibrating through the marrow of his bones. But this time, he was ready. The shockwave burst outward along the floor¡ª And Jarek leapt over it, boots splashing down hard as he landed inside the Bellkeeper¡¯s guard. Slash. Slash. His blade carved shallow lines into the warped, wrinkled flesh of the priest¡¯s side. Black fluid oozed out, thick and slow¡ªlike oil. The Bellkeeper didn¡¯t roar. Didn¡¯t flinch. He just¡­ turned. Head following Jarek¡¯s motion like a pendulum. Jarek darted back, putting distance between them again. The boss still wasn¡¯t fast. But every step he took seemed to eat up too much space. Jarek circled, heart pounding. Then the Bellkeeper spoke again. Not loud. Not at him. Almost like remembering something from too far away. ¡°They all come back¡­ Different.¡± His voice sounded hollow. Not empty. Echoed. Like the words weren¡¯t coming from his mouth, but from somewhere inside the bell. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Jarek didn¡¯t answer. He didn¡¯t know what the hell that was supposed to mean. He could think about it after the fight. He already knew what happened when you got distracted. It cost you blood. Or worse. So he tightened his grip on the sword. And waited. He didn¡¯t wait long. The Bellkeeper raised one hand¡ªnot the one holding the bell. "Huh. That¡¯s new," Jarek muttered. The blackwater shifted. Coiled. A wave surged forward from the priest¡¯s outstretched palm¡ªthick and high, like liquid tar folding in on itself. Jarek¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Shit¡ªnope, not taking a bath in that.¡± He sprinted. Fast. Faster than he thought he could move. The wave crashed behind him, a thick curtain of sludge that hissed and popped as it devoured the stone beneath it. He looped wide, circling back toward the Bellkeeper¡ªjust in time to see the priest''s arm snap forward again. Jarek dove beneath it, skidding low, shoulder slamming into slick stone. The robes towered over him. He swung hard and fast¡ªhis blade driving into the Bellkeeper¡¯s side. The flesh tore open like soaked parchment, blackwater gushing from the wound. Jarek twisted away and came up behind him, bringing the blade across the priest¡¯s leg, carving through layers of dripping, unnatural muscle. The Bellkeeper shuddered¡ªhis form jerking violently, like a puppet hitting the end of its string. Jarek didn¡¯t stop. He lashed upward across the back, and the blade carved through fabric, through skin, through the dead weight of something that was once maybe human. Blackwater sprayed in heavy drops. The sound it made wasn¡¯t a scream¡ªmore like a wet gasp, like something being drained. The Bellkeeper dropped to one knee. The bell he carried slid from his grip, landing with a hollow clang that echoed through the dark. For a second, it almost seemed like that was it. Like it was over. Then the water stirred. It began to rise¡ªnot in waves this time, but in slow, spiraling threads that wrapped around the Bellkeeper¡¯s arms, his chest, his face. The porcelain mask cracked further¡ªfractures racing across its surface like spiderwebs. A deep, bell-like pulse throbbed through the chamber. Not a clang. Not a strike. A toll. Long. Resounding. Endless. The Bellkeeper stood. Faster. Straighter. Wrong. His head tilted toward Jarek, and for the first time, both eyes were visible¡ªtwo burning pinpricks in the shattered porcelain. And he spoke again. ¡°You refuse the gift? Then I will take you back¡­ piece by piece.¡± Shit. Is this a second phase? Like in one of those nightmare boss fights from the games he used to play? ¡°God, were the developers stuck in here too?¡± Jarek muttered, backing up fast. ¡°At least that means there¡¯s a way out.¡± But the Bellkeeper didn¡¯t give him time to think. He moved¡ªfast. Faster than he had any right to, his decaying frame whipping forward with unnatural momentum. The bell in his hands came around in a heavy arc. Jarek barely raised his sword in time. CLANG. The blow hit like a truck. His arms screamed. The impact blasted him back a step, staggering him hard, boots scraping across the slick floor. He barely had time to breathe before he saw it. Another strike. The same one. Echoed. The ghost of the last swing came just behind it¡ªa half-second delay, no windup, just boom¡ª The bell slammed into his ribs before he could raise his weapon again. Jarek flew backward and hit the ground with a grunt, air driven from his lungs. He rolled onto his side, coughing, vision swimming. His sword skidded a few feet away. ¡°Okay¡ªow¡ªecho attacks,¡± he wheezed. ¡°That¡¯s fun. That¡¯s real fun.¡± He hit the ground hard, sliding through a puddle of blackwater. His ribs lit up in pain. His sword was out of reach. Breathing ragged, Jarek grit his teeth and muttered, ¡°Status menu.¡± The screen blinked to life in front of him, glowing faint blue in the dark. [STATUS MENU] HP: 30 / 100 ¡°Cool. Great. Love that for me,¡± he hissed. He pushed himself up to one knee, chest heaving, his limbs trembling with every breath. ¡°I wish I had a damn second phase¡­¡± But he wasn¡¯t giving it the next move. Jarek charged, low and fast, cutting into the Bellkeeper¡¯s flank. His blade hit, drew black fluid¡ªbut he didn¡¯t stay to admire it. He was already peeling away, boots slapping across the soaked stone. Then he stopped. The Bellkeeper didn¡¯t stagger. Didn¡¯t retaliate. He stood tall. Arms out. And raised the bell again¡ªhigh above his head. Not to swing. To sound. The strike came down not toward Jarek¡ªbut toward the floor. BOOOOOOOM. It wasn¡¯t a clang. It was a toll. A deep, world-shaking pulse that seemed to ripple out from every surface at once. The blackwater vibrated. The air compressed. Jarek froze for a heartbeat too long. Then it hit. The sound wasn''t just loud¡ªit folded him. His vision blurred. His legs buckled. Something inside his chest spasmed like his lungs had been yanked sideways. He dropped to a knee, hands over his ears¡ªbut it didn¡¯t matter. The sound was in him. Under his skin. Shaking something deeper than bone. He stumbled sideways, tried to rise¡ª And nearly fell again. His whole body felt like it was humming wrong, like his blood was being screamed at. The Bellkeeper stepped through the ringing silence that followed. Closer now. Too close. Jarek¡¯s breath hitched. Then something in him snapped into place. Focus. Sharp. Cold. No panic. No thoughts. Just read the pattern. The bell rose again, heavy and deliberate. Another swing¡ªsame wide arc. Jarek ducked beneath it, teeth clenched, boots sliding through blackwater. He didn¡¯t move. Not yet. Half a breath. The echo came¡ªa delayed, ghosted repeat of the strike. Jarek stayed low, the air howling over his head¡ª Then he surged forward, driving the rusted blade up in both hands. The sword punched into the Bellkeeper¡¯s neck, just beneath the jaw¡ªright where porcelain met gray skin. The priest twitched. Staggered. Fell to one knee. Jarek yanked the blade free, breath ragged. The Bellkeeper looked up at him, what was left of his mask fracturing down the middle. Blackwater poured from his eyes. And he spoke. ¡°They begged me¡­ not to let them go. I only did what they asked.¡± Cracks spread through his body. His limbs began to dissolve, slow and unnatural, like wax melting into water. The blackwater surged around him, curling upward in slow spirals. Then he slumped forward¡ªarms open, head bowed¡ªand sank. No splash. No struggle. Just silence. The bell behind him split clean down the middle. And everything went still. A soft chime echoed¡ªgentler than the Bellkeeper¡¯s toll, but somehow deeper. A blue glow sparked to life in front of Jarek¡¯s eyes. [LEVEL UP: 2 ¡ú 4] Stat Points Gained: +10 Minor Wounds Healed. Vitality Restored. New Milestone Unlocked: [First Boss Defeated] ¡°You have broken the silence. Others may hear it now.¡± [STATUS MENU] Name: Jarek Race: Human Class: None Level: 4 HP: 100 / 100 MP: 50 / 50 Stamina: 100 / 100 Strength: 8 Agility: 8 Endurance: 4 Intelligence: 8 Willpower: 7 Luck: 3 Unspent Stat Points: 10 I Unlocked a Class Called GRAVEBOUND. I Think It Remembers Me. Jarek dumped more points into Strength and Agility¡ªthree each. Then, after a second of internal debate, added two into Endurance and Intelligence. ¡°If Intelligence is tied to MP, maybe Endurance boosts health too,¡± he muttered. ¡°Would be nice not to almost die every fight.¡± The moment he confirmed the changes, a soft chime echoed in his ears. [HP +25] [MP +25] Huh. Guess that theory checks out. The blackwater began to recede¡ªslowly draining away from the room like it had lost its source. Was the Bellkeeper the thing keeping it here? Either way, the chamber grew quieter. Wider. More open. And now¡­ it felt empty. The silence settled like ash. For a second, Jarek thought that was it. Fight over. Reward claimed. Move on. Then he saw it. Something wedged in the stone near the back wall¡ªhalf-dissolved, just barely visible where the blackwater had pooled the deepest. He stepped closer, squinting. A scrap of paper. Warped. Water-stained. Almost part of the wall itself. ¡°...I didn¡¯t see this before.¡± He knelt, peeling it free. The paper came away like skin¡ªfragile, clinging, resisting. A few black droplets oozed down its edges. The words were still legible. Barely. the fire doesn¡¯t forget found it behind the bell not part of the cycle. not preserved. it burns. you¡¯ll need it the others came back wrong the water took their names, their eyes, their faces they begged me to let them drown fail enough and it starts with forgetting the fire whispered my name i forgot it it named me instead we are the ash now and the ash remembers Beneath the jagged scrawl, something had been smeared into the paper. A crude, half-rotted sketch¡ª The cracked bell the Bellkeeper carried. Drawn like a marker on a map. The bottom of the bell pointed directly toward the wall behind the altar. Jarek stared at the page. ¡°Guess sanity isn¡¯t a feature here,¡± he muttered, rubbing the grime off his fingers. Was this left by another player? Whoever wrote it¡ªthey weren¡¯t okay. But they¡¯d clearly been here. Fought the same fight. Survived¡­ at least for a while. Fail enough and it starts with forgetting. Was that what the Bellkeeper meant when he said, Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°They all come back¡­ different.¡± Did he mean players? Or the villagers? The ones who drank the blackwater, who whispered prayers with no mouths? Jarek didn¡¯t know. The note at least gave him a hint. Jarek stepped around the cracked altar, boots scraping over damp stone. There had to be something back here. A door? A gap? A passage, maybe. He ran his fingers along the wall, looking for seams. Loose brick. Airflow. Anything. Then¡ªclick. One of the stones shifted under his hand. Just slightly. Not enough to be a lever. But enough to feel wrong. He pressed harder. There was a grinding sound¡ªstone dragging against stone¡ªand a narrow seam split open in the wall, revealing a passage barely wide enough to squeeze through sideways. ¡°Cool. Hidden door. Not ominous at all.¡± He ducked inside. The corridor beyond was short, tight, and sloped just slightly downward. The walls pulsed faintly with residual blackwater, like veins clinging to the stone. No writing. No bones. Just silence. And at the end¡ª A small chamber. Empty. Except for one thing. Another bonfire. But this one was dead. The logs were there¡ªstacked, scorched at the tips, but cold. No embers. No glow. Just ash. Jarek stood in front of it. It looked¡­ expectant. He stepped closer, almost without thinking, and reached toward the center. The moment his hand passed above the top log, something sparked. The fire bloomed¡ªnot with smoke, but with presence. Like something recognized him. Crackling red and gold and violet, licking upward in a silent roar. Jarek staggered back, but it wasn¡¯t hot. It felt warm. Right. [Bonfire Lit.] A soft flicker shimmered above the newly lit bonfire. Text burned into the air¡ªfaint, pulsing like a heartbeat. [CHOOSE A CLASS] [Gravebound] You died. The world remembered. [Nameburned] The system rejected you. You burned your way back in. [First Flame] The fire lit. But it did not keep you. Jarek squinted. "Huh. These don¡¯t really come with tooltips, huh?" He eyed the options again. Nameburned? The system rejected him? Had it? It gave him the prompt in the boardroom. This felt deliberate. First Flame? What does that even mean? The bonfire didn¡¯t seem like it was kicking him out. But Gravebound¡­ ¡°When I died, that guy at the fire knew me. I didn¡¯t get to ask the rat or those knights if they recognized me, but¡­¡± He exhaled slowly, brow furrowed. ¡°System. Give me class info. System. More details. System¡ªclass breakdown?¡± Nothing. Just the options. Waiting. Jarek clicked his tongue. "Figures." Gravebound. It felt like the only thing that made sense. The one constant in this hellscape was that he¡¯d died¡ªand came back. He reached forward mentally¡ªdidn¡¯t touch anything, but something in him clicked. The menu pulsed. [CLASS SELECTED: GRAVEBOUND] You died. The world remembered. A low, echoing chime followed. Not celebratory. More like a funeral bell heard through six feet of soil. New Skill Unlocked: [Echo of the Fallen] Your past death follows. You may summon an Echo of your former self¡ªbrief, spectral, and fractured. It remembers the way you fought. The way you died. (Echo Strength: 50% of stats at time of death. Duration: 30 seconds.) The screen faded. The glow lingered. ¡°¡­Cool. So I¡¯m haunted now.¡± His voice sounded smaller than he meant it to. He looked at the bonfire. The way it burned with no smoke. No scent. No warmth. The note had said the ash remembers. That the fire whispers. That it keeps things. ¡°Guess it¡¯s keeping my corpses,¡± he muttered. His chest felt tight. If every time he died, a part of him got saved, replayed, dragged back out like a file from a corrupted hard drive¡­ Was he still him? Was he already just a backup? He flexed his fingers, just to feel them move. ¡°I mean¡ªhey,¡± he said, voice louder now, trying to mask the spin of his thoughts, ¡°could¡¯ve picked ¡®No Class.¡¯ That would¡¯ve been worse.¡± It didn¡¯t land. Not even for himself. He shook his head, more tired than before, and dusted off his coat. ¡°Better than no class at all,¡± he said again, softer. Then he turned toward the dark beyond the bonfire. His next death was waiting out there somewhere. And now? It would have company.