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— Adrian —
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The next couple of days were a slow-moving montage of dread and boredom. Dullahan had been making the rounds, apparently treating Madam Bagel and Quen to his signature “I’m definitely the bad guy, now where’s the ghoul?” monologues. From the looks of it, the dude was trying to patent fearmongering as a new form of interrogation. Classic.
Then, in a stroke of “What the hell is he thinking?” logic, he up and decided to head west toward the Fire Shrine. Maybe he heard the place was on fire sale for finding suspects. Either way, it left us with a rare and fleeting sensation of safety. Emphasis on fleeting. If there’s one thing I knew, it’s that safety in this world has an expiration date shorter than milk left out on a summer’s day.
Our allies in town proved trustworthy, though. Madam Bagel, Quen, and even that damned mouthy clown-turned-mime-turned-bard Climmard kept quiet. But let’s not kid ourselves—if anyone so much as sneezed in a suspicious direction, Dullahan would be back faster than a cokehead sensing free lines.
Night snuck up on us, as it always does, but for once, it wasn’t quite the ally I’d hoped for. The guards, who were apparently experts at noticing when the sun went down, had already lit up enough torches to burn a small village. Not exactly the ideal setup for sneaking around, unless your idea of stealth involves flaming lights and a parade.
With silver clutched in hand and looking like a walking armory disaster in a brown cloak, I shuffled toward Quen’s shop. I opened the door with all the stealth of a barn door on a windy day and slammed it behind me, just for added dramatic effect. Who needs subtlety when you’ve got that much flair?
“Welcome ta me blacksmith, what can I—YOU!” Quen’s roar hit me like a thunderclap before her hands did. In one swift motion, she grabbed me by the scruff of my already battered breastplate and yanked me clear off my feet.
Before I could so much as squeak out a protest, I found myself in a new role: floor mop. She dragged me across the shop with the same enthusiasm she’d probably use to haul a misbehaving goblin out by its ears.
I flailed helplessly. “Quen! Ow, ow, OW! Take it easy, I’m fragile, damn it!”
I hung limp as my complaints were ignored, like a tame kitten dragged by its mother. That didn’t stop my mouth from flapping though.
“Ow-ow-ow! Quen! You’re gonna tear me in half!” I yelped as she unceremoniously dumped me behind the counter like a sack of defective swords. By the time she released me, I was crumpled in a heap, my pride bruised worse than my backside.
“I got the silver! For the sword! And maybe some repairs!” I stammered, holding up the bag like it was some magical shield against her wrath. It didn’t feel particularly effective.
“What in the bloody hell’s this nonsense about getting torn in half?” Quen snapped, her voice the auditory equivalent of stepping on gravel barefoot—gruff and unapologetic. She didn’t even glance up, her focus entirely on the blade she was already grinding. Sparks flew like furious fireflies being told to get back to work. The sword in question had a regal look to it, although much shorter than my liking, with a black stone embedded in the hilt. The metal, almost a faint blue, showed a glow that felt a lot more mystical than your average steel.
“That bastard Dullahan was here, sniffin’ about like a stray dog lookin’ for scraps. Damn near got me shredded when he started askin’ where you two fools went scamperin’ off to!” she growled, her grinding stone hissing with each fiery pass.
The casual threat in her tone was somehow scarier than the molten sparks flying past my face.
“You didn’t go blabbing to him, did ya?” Ichni asked, her voice low but with a pointed edge. Crawling out from my gauntlet, she looked like a nervous cat caught between curiosity and dread. “Did you even know that Adrian was helping me, who is-”
Before I could even register her presence, Quen dropped to one knee with all the grace of a falling anvil. “Oh... so you do know.” Ichni mumbled.
“Aye, yer Highness, I bloody know,” Quen hissed, flashing a sharp grin that could probably cut steel. But just as quickly as she’d knelt, she plopped back into her chair with a loud thud to continue her work. “I know you’re a traitor to the crown, cozyin’ up with a—what’s that? A lich?” She stopped mid-snarl, giving me a slow, exaggerated once-over. Her eyes narrowed, her lips twitching with barely contained laughter. “Nah, more like some haunted mailbox. What’s next, letters gonna pop outta him sayin’ ‘Return to Sender’?”
“I’m standing right here,” I grumbled. If looks could kill, Quen would be using her own forge for a funeral pyre.
“Well, at least you didn’t sell us out to him, so, uh… thanks?” I said, offering a cautious nod, like handing a hungry bear a loaf of bread and hoping it wasn’t into protein that day.
Quen’s response was a sharp snort, the kind that could strip paint off a wall. “Oh, I didn’t sell ya out, don’t worry yer bony arse ‘bout that.” She waved her hand dismissively, the way someone might shoo a particularly dumb fly. “I just told him ya were headed for the Fire Shrine and that he might wanna warn Bernie.”
“Wait, YOU WHAT?!” My voice cracked like a rusty hinge, but Quen just leaned back, utterly unfazed.
“Relax, ya rottin’ scarecrow. That flaming bastard Bernie’ll have his knickers in a twist chasin’ shadows fer days. By the time they figure it’s a wild goose chase, you’ll be long gone.” She said it like she was explaining textbook tomfoolery, completely ignoring the fact she’d just casually weaponized misinformation like a blacksmithing Sun Tzu.
“That Bernie One-Hander fella? Yeah, he’s a proper twatwaffle, that one. Worst foreman I ever had the misfortune o’ bein’ in the same room with.”
She leaned closer, her face a perfect cocktail of disgust and grudging recollection. “Saw ‘im dunk some poor sod into a magma core once—just ‘cause he wanted to ‘see if it cooled off already.’ Spoiler: It bloody didn’t. Poor bastard walked out lookin’ like a roasted sausage, got two days off and a pat on the arse for his ‘trouble.’”
I stared at her, mouth agape. “That’s… horrifying.”
“Aye,” she agreed, grinding her blade like she was imagining Bernie’s face on the steel. “But the real tragedy? It wasn't even that poor lad’s shift. He was just coming in for his paycheck.”
I cringed at this poor fellow’s abysmal luck, still confused as hell why she was telling me.
“He was burnt to a crisp, but it’s more ‘bout cruel irony than anythin’ else. Now shut yer yap an’ let me finish,” Quen snapped as I went to ask her the point, aiming the sword at me like a gavel condemning me to silence.
“The point is, Bernie’s a bloody idiot. Like I said, he’ll turn those mines inside out like a kid tryin’ to find the last sweet in his candy bag. By the time they both realize they’d been had, you’ve skipped town here. You’ll be halfway to nowhere, and Dullahan? That bastard’ll be so busy chasin’ shadows he’ll think he’s in a bloody puppet show.”
I blinked at her, trying to process how this somehow both reassured and terrified me. "So, you're basically saying we’ve got a window of opportunity because Bernie’s too dumb to find his own reflection and will drag his feet trying to find the excuse?”
Quen shrugged, her grin sharp enough to hammer nails. “Aye, now yer gettin’ it.”
I paused for a moment, and though I thought she had betrayed us by telling him where he was heading, she was right! If Dullahan searches the Fire Shrine and finds it empty, then he’ll probably head back while we’re sneaking about, giving us the chance to infiltrate the mines ourselves uninhibited. It was a risky gambit, but then again, so was every other idea I’d had since reincarnating as an undead punching bag.
“Quen, you’re a freaking genius!” I declared, the kind of elation in my voice that would’ve made me pucker up if she didn’t look like she’d deck me for trying.
“Hold your ghoul-britches, Mr. Hero,” she said, voice dripping with that gravelly charm that could only mean bad news. “There’s one damn catch.” Her hand tightened around the blade she was working on, as if the metal itself could help her deliver the blow.
The sword was mesmerizing—shorter than I’d prefer, but regal in a way that made my battered gear look like trash tied with string. The black stone that rested in the hilt shimmered like it owned the place, and the faint blue sheen of the blade glimmered with a mystical promise that whispered “You’ll never afford me.”
Quen locked eyes with me, her expression as sharp as the edge she was perfecting. “He’s gonna come back. And when he does, he’ll be madder than a cat in a bathtub. This town’ll turn into a nightmare faster than you can say, ‘Whoops, welcome back.’”
I twitched. The mental image of Dullahan stomping back into town, steam pouring from his neckhole, sent me reeling. If he didn’t find us at the Fire Shrine, he’d return to Aratan Villa ready to turn it into a pancake—and us into the syrup if we stick around.
“Hell’s bells, Quen,” I muttered. “Any other cheery news to brighten my day?”
Her smirk widened, showing teeth that gleamed as wickedly as the blade in her hand. “Yeah. There is. Yer gonna fix this mess by doin’ somethin’ stupid.”
I sighed deeply. Of course I was.
“Yer gonna be marchin’ yer bony ass into the Maiden’s Crypt,” Quen announced, her tone so nonchalant you’d think she was sending me out for groceries. “Find that secret hall everyone yammered on about a couple years back. Fetch me somethin’ shiny, and we’ll call it square.”
I blinked. “The Maiden’s Crypt? The A-ranked dungeon Maiden’s Crypt?”
“Yeah, that one. What, scared ova few skeletons?” Her grin widened like she was daring me to chicken out. Spoiler alert: I was already halfway there.
“Are you out of your gourd? I have silver, right here! Silver! You can take it and call us square!”
Quen didn’t even blink. Instead, she hefted the sword she’d been working on and held it aloft like it was the freaking Excalibur. “Nah. You’ll be even because you’re gonna earn this, Mr. Hero.”
I squinted at the weapon, unimpressed. “Oh, you mean this glorified shiny toothpick? Look, it’s barely longer than what I’m carrying now. Can’t I just—”
“TOOTHPICK?!” she roared, her voice echoing so hard I swear I felt it in my bones. She jabbed the sword toward me, the blade catching the light like it was calling out to a celestial choir. “You don’t know what this is, do ya, ya murakka? This isn’t some flimsy steel from a travelin’ peddler. This is Elementium! Forged by yours truly! Go ahead, say ‘toothpick’ again, and I’ll make ya eat it blade-first.”
She thrust the sword skyward, and the fire rune on her arm flared to life like she’d ignited a dragon’s breath. Flames erupted from the hilt, consuming the blade in molten brilliance. The metal glowed like it had been pulled fresh from a forge, shifting as if it were alive. Lava coursed through the transparent blade, spilling over its edges as it extended into a weapon so massive it looked like it could split the heavens themselves.
With a single, deliberate swing, Quen brought the sword down in a sweeping arc. A fiery crescent roared forth, slamming into the floor and leaving a molten trench behind. Heat washed over me in a wave so intense that I half-expected my skin—or what was left of it—to start melting.
Its glow over my dumbstruck eyes left me a sweat-drenched wreck.
When she finished the swing, the molten glow faded, and out stood a fiery behemoth—a claymore that looked capable of turning mountains into valleys. Runes carved along its side flickered like they were smirking, daring anyone to underestimate it again. It practically winked at me as a sign of what it could be.
The heat lingered in the air, and I swear I could feel my dried-out eyeballs practically begging for tears they didn’t have anymore.
“SWEET PROMETHEUS AND AGNI AT A BONFIRE!” I shouted, my awe so overwhelming that it felt like my skeleton wanted to leap out and applaud.
Ichni, not missing a beat, squealed like she’d just seen the world’s most unhinged fireworks display. “NOW THAT’S WHAT I CALL A FIRE! Somebody light my candles and call it a seance!”
The mighty sword’s flames died out as Quen gave it a sharp jerk, the fire vanishing like it had been vacuumed into some fiery void. The air cooled quickly, though the heat it left behind lingered like a bad sunburn. My body, which barely had enough moisture to sweat as it is, somehow managed to pull it off.
“I call ‘er the Aether Blade. Made of pure elementium. Form of the weapon differs from person ta person, but you get the idea of what happens if ya gain the blessin’ of an Element.” Quen said with a note of pride before placing the masterful sword on the workbench and then pouring a bucket of water over the scar in the ground she just made.
“It’s beautiful. Honestly, I haven’t seen anything like this since I wielded Chandrabolg,” I said, a hint of wistfulness creeping into my voice as I recalled my old legendary greatsword.
“What’s a… Chandler-borg?” Ichni asked, tilting her head, her mispronunciation painted across her puzzled face.
“Chandrabolg. It was my old holy sword.” I corrected her.
“Chandrabolg. My old holy sword,” I clarified, trying to sound casual despite the nostalgia that tugged at me.
“Were you completely hammered when that name got slapped on it?” she asked, chuckling under her breath.
“No, actually. The gods handed it over already branded with that mouthful,” I said, crossing my arms in mock offense. “Not my call, okay?”
“Huh. Figures. Gods are weird,” Ichni muttered with a shrug.
“Now, there’s me end o’ the bargain.” Quen jabbed her thumb at the Aether Blade. “That beauty’ll turn ya from some beggin’ ghast inta Mister Hero quicker than ya can spit. BUT!” She thrust one finger skyward. “Ya gotta prove to me yer tough enough ta handle real danger an’ come out swingin’. That’s why yer headin’ into that dungeon ta fetch me a fine bit o’ treasure. Sure, the place’s been picked near clean, but if there’s a secret nook still hidin’ about, ya know somethin’ good’s waitin’ to be grabbed—and I want it.”
I mulled it over. This deal hit all the right notes: an honorable trial, a proper shot at something genuinely heroic. Still, I couldn’t deny that part of me wished she’d just hand over that sword so I could start carving my place in history, no strings attached.
But I’d let my sword skills rust. After waking up in this sorry excuse for a body, I’d lost my drive. That stops now. Once I earn that blade and get a moment to breathe, I’m jumping straight back into my old regimen, no matter how hard it feels.
“It doesn’t matter what kind of treasure, right?” Ichni pressed, curiosity lighting her eyes.
“Nope,” Quen said, fixing her stern gaze on us. “Long as it’s valuable an’ ya can swear it came from that secret chamber, we’re square. Could be a dragon’s skull, somethin’ shiny ta mount on me wall—don’t care.”
“And how we get it? Any method goes?” Ichni continued, her tone clipped but eager.
Quen shrugged, the movement sending sparks off her grinding stone. “Aye. ‘member, lots o’ folks have tried, only ta be run out by skeletons an’ worse down there. Ya don’t gotta slay the big boss ‘less it’s blockin’ some secret lever. Slash ’em, torch ’em, whatever ya fancy. Just be back ‘fore Dullahan returns, else we’re all knee-deep in trouble.”
“Alright, Adrian, I think we’ve got this,” Ichni said, clapping her hands and nudging me upright like a lazy recruit in need of motivation.
“Y-you sure?” I stuttered, then turned toward Quen with my most hopeful grin. “So, uh, Quen... about borrowing that—” I jerked my chin at the Aether Blade, only for her glare to cut me off cold.
“Not a damn chance,” Quen barked, folding her arms over her chest. “If ya croak down there, I’ll just tell Dullahan I saw ya wanderin’ in. Covers me just fine! Plus, if ya did keel over, I’d have to march in there and grab the sword meself later. Besides, ya got no elements, so a scrap blade’ll suit ya well enough.”
“No worries, we’re fully prepared,” Ichni chimed in, brimming with unwarranted confidence.
“W-we are?” I managed, my voice cracking slightly.
“Absolutely! Trust the tactician, Adrian,” Ichni said, flashing a sly grin. I narrowed my eyes at her, more than a little skeptical, but if she believed in this scheme so wholeheartedly, maybe I should just roll with it.
“Take the back door, slip inta the alley,” Quen instructed, jerkin’ her head toward the rear. “There’s a sewer grate at the crossroads just beyond. Follow it south, an’ ye’ll pop out right near the tomb, less than a kilometer off. Can’t miss it.”
I offered a nod of forced confidence and slipped into the night without another word. Spotting the manhole Quen had mentioned, I paused. Instead of ducking straight in, I let temptation lead me deeper into the alley, gambling on one last detour.
“Whoa, Adrian, you just passed it!” Ichni chirped from the gauntlet. “What’s the big idea? Gonna waltz through the town gates and get spotted by every guard on duty? Don’t tell me you’re ditching my genius plan after all the effort Quen and I put in, just because you can’t stomach a little sewer stench!”
“I’m snagging a bite first,” I whispered defensively. “If I’m stuck down there for days, I’d rather not rely on whatever I last ate—especially if it’s just that cleansing Chili Con Carne.” Without another word, I crept toward the Bagel Boutique.
“Oh my devils, ralla?” She scoffed.
“Ralla, ralla!” I remanded back.
Moments later—after a furtive visit to the bagel shop—I emerged triumphant with my first “legendary item”: the elusive Headless Ham & Cheese Bagel Sandwich. Madam Bagel had just crafted it for her once-a-day special, and I’d arrived in perfect time, delighting her with my purchase. Carefully wrapping it to shield it from the foul scents soon to assault my senses, I secured it in my pack, snagged a torch off a post, and slipped down through the nearest manhole cover into the sewers.
To my relief, the sewer wasn’t the apocalyptic odorfest I’d braced for—and my torch didn’t spark a catastrophic methane blaze, so that was a plus. Wading into the murky flow, I grimaced at the ladder’s awkward placement over a large mucky puddle and surveyed my surroundings. Apart from a few oversized rats skittering away from the flame, it was mostly just damp tunnels, dripping arches, and gunk-choked canals leading south, exactly as Quen had described.
Judging by the water’s pace, it felt like the town siphoned straight from the river, using nature’s steady push to flush out all manner of unpleasantness. In theory, great for the villagers—at least they didn’t live ankle-deep in refuse. In practice, I was pretty sure all this sludge had to end up somewhere, likely forming a swamp that could breed a thousand plagues. Fun thought.
Hoping that the Maiden’s Crypt arrives much sooner than that, lest I have a shitty swamp dungeon on my hands, I saw the exit of the sewers as it met a moonlit meadow sprawled beyond it. Dousing my torch, I peaked out of the tunnel to see if any guards were stationed nearby, or perhaps a fifth-dimensional chess playing lieutenant waiting to ambush me.
I waited until a bobbing torchlight above—likely a guard patrolling the terrace—drifted well out of sight. Only then did I pull my cloak close and slip into the night as quietly as an oily shadow.
* * *
An hour later, after carefully skirting the town’s perimeter and pausing for a breather against a half-rotted tree, I mustered my courage and leaned over the knoll to examine the ground roughly five meters below.
“Yup, that’s definitely it,” I muttered under my breath.
The Maiden’s Crypt was, shockingly, a tomb—an old brick gateway set right into the hillside I stood upon. Five armed skeletons paced lazily around the entrance, each clattering step drilling home the fact that I was well beyond my comfort zone.
“So, what’s the plan, Ichni?” I hissed, glancing at her spectral form hovering at my side.
“Count on plenty more inside,” she murmured, frowning thoughtfully. “If we start brawling from the doorstep on in, we’ll wear ourselves out fast.”
“Okay, full disclosure—my plan’s kinda ‘murakka,’” she confessed, offering a sheepish grin.
“You’re telling me now?” I sighed, but she waved a hand dismissively.
“It might be a dumb idea, my dear zombie friend, but they’re even dumber,” she whispered, brimming with excitement. “All we need is a little… performance. You, with your crusty armor and undead look, will just shuffle on in like you belong. Trust me, they won’t know the difference!”
I stared at her, waiting for her to just announce “Just kidding! Here’s the real plan!”, but after she said nothing, I realized that she was dead serious. No, undead serious.
“They’ll sniff me out immediately,” I objected. “I reek of sweat, blood… basically the whole human package.”
Ichni leaned in, sniffed, and scrunched her nose. “Actually, you smell like sewer slurry and gods-know-what else. Congratulations, you accidentally perfected your own disgusting camouflage! Besides, skeletons don’t exactly have noses, silly pakkha!”
As much as I loathed admitting it, she had a point. I’d imagined myself as the valiant hero storming a dungeon’s halls, not some shambling extra in an undead parody of a music video. With a heavy sigh, I resigned myself to this humiliating charade.
“Fine,” I muttered. “But if this goes sideways—and it will—we fight our way out. I don’t care if we have to slash, burn, or lure them out one by one. Deal?” I finished, thinking about the ways we had to convince an owlbear to leave its nest.
“You’re such a buzzkill, but fiiine,” she groaned, patting my cheeks lightly as if priming a canvas. “Alright, showtime! Let’s see your best zombie impression.”
I idly stared at her as I went slack jawed, assumed my dopiest expression, and even tried to make one of my eyes point in a different direction. She puffed her cheeks and nearly choked on her stifled laughter.
“Shhh!” I said hastily, covering her mouth with my own hands. Her look of embarrassed shock quickly became annoyance as she shook me off.
“Sorry…” she whispered, still snickering. “I was just thinking how hilarious it’d be if I said you looked normal like that.”
“Har-har. But seriously, was it convincing?” I asked, trying to recall how zombies shambled—an uneven gait, a dragging foot, maybe some incoherent groans. I’d just have to wing it.
She shot me two enthusiastic thumbs-up before slipping back into the gauntlet. With a resigned huff, I crept down the slope, ready to make my grand debut at “Crypt’s Got Talent.” Time to embrace my inner undead and hope my acting earned me a callback.
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— Ichni —
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I am… an absolute genius! Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure I could outdo myself this time, but here we are. Cornered between a rock and a hard place, and I still managed to articulate a plan even Adrian could follow. Fine, I’ll give him credit—he’s not stupid. He might stand around slack-jawed and wide-eyed like some baffled peasant, but beneath that dopey expression lies a strategist’s mind of a hardened general.
It’s not like we even have generals anymore—just four lieutenants and that pathetic, demoted Captain Onshi, who used to be top dog until he botched something so spectacularly that Father stripped him of rank. I’m not entirely sure what he did, but apparently it was a colossal blunder during the human-demon war, enough to rob us of a well-earned triumph.
At least Onshi still has the ambition, obnoxious furball that he is. Bernie ended up overseeing Makka Makka Mines after bungling task after task and pinning it all on his underlings. The Cryotect managed to freeze herself solid in the middle of some grandiose attempt at glory. Dullahan, though… he’s just Father’s well-trained hound, never lifting a finger unless commanded.
At least, that’s what I used to think. I never knew about his ties to Madam Bagel—what a sad tale, and she had to drag him into it. Always rattling on about doing things “by the book,” Dullahan makes my bones ache. Whenever I try chatting about anything beyond castle protocol, he clams up and scolds me, saying my gripes won’t alter a thing. Ugh, he’s insufferable!
Well, Dullahan, looks like my complaints did spark some changes—one nasty argument with His Majesty later, and I’m dead. All because I dared to ask why this realm ended up so cursed. No one wants to admit what’s wrong with it. Time flows strangely, countless races exist, and their offspring might be something entirely new. Father, King Malphas, was a colossal, horned goliath, while Mother was more of an elven spirit. And then there’s me, more cursed looking than the both of them and I ended up looking like the black widows that lurk in the corner of my windows. I don’t even look like my parents!
Mother understood something, but it only drove her mad. By the end, she couldn’t even meet my gaze. I’d thought myself special once, but with Father confining me to my wing of the castle and Mother refusing to acknowledge me, I realized I was considered a freak, even among demons.
Ugh, just recalling it makes my nonexistent blood simmer. They wondered why I snuck out into the kingdom, mingling with common folk, partying until dawn? Because out there, nobody cared about my face or my lineage. I was free—free to make terrible decisions, free to be rude and crude, free to be utterly myself.
Then Dullahan hauled me back, and I had that stupid fight with Father. Now my biggest issue isn’t just being a weirdo—it’s being a cranky, soulbound ghost, stuck in a smelly gauntlet. Truly, my life is a gift that keeps on giving.
But then Adrian shows up. It’s bizarre—I’m a demon princess, and he’s a literal lowlife oddball who just happened to be around when my world collapsed. Yet he’s not cruel like Onshi, not rigid like Dullahan, and nowhere near as mindless as the rest. Sure, he’s timid, but at least he knows his own weaknesses.
Not only that, he’s beyond confident that he can become fantastically stronger than he is now, enough so that he could face the all-encompassing might of my father. Though he doesn’t have anything to show for it, he did manage to come back to life, and save me from becoming wormfood.
On the other hand, he keeps talking about how he’s the mortal enemy of demonkind, and how he wants to “release the four lights to the world”. Why would he take me along when I’m supposed to be the pinnacle of all that he despises? Is he saving me as a hostage? A bargaining chip? Or is there something else at play?
No, I told myself, he might be angry about something that happened to him long ago, but he’s either too dense to carry the grudge onto me or too soft-hearted to blame me for his struggles. Probably both. He’s infuriatingly aloof whenever I toss a playful barb his way, as though unsure whether to laugh or sulk.
And then there’s that embarrassing habit of his—thanking me shyly whenever I stitch him back together. It’s not like he orders me to heal him, but what else am I supposed to do when he’s hobbling around like a rusty scrap heap? I do it because I’d rather not end up on a dusty shelf, obviously. Still, he’s so grateful, as if I’m doing him a personal favor. That bumbling fool, grinning at me like that… it’s enough to make me, I don’t know, annoyed!
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
That’s why my current scheme is so brilliant. He trusts me enough to attempt the most absurd plans, and I’ve been studying him closely. Whenever he deals with others, he tries to fit the role—like when that old man shot him a glare that made my hair stand on end, and he returned it with careful composure. Even when his mask slipped and I saw the pain he felt after he looked in the mirror, I watched. I’ve seen the cracks, glimpsed the pain beneath the surface. Maybe I don’t truly grasp what he’s endured, but I know how he adapts. This upcoming performance? It could be his masterpiece, and it’s all thanks to my genius—bwahaha!
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— Adrian —
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My legs jerked and wobbled like a newborn fawn’s as I crept around the cliffside. The skeletons, who’d been huddled together as if on some spectral smoke break, snapped to attention the instant they spotted me. Each was a mismatched collection of bone and scrap armor—one had a dented helm perched at a crooked angle on its skull, another wore half of a rusted breastplate strapped on with fraying ropes. A third clutched a chipped buckler made from what looked suspiciously like a coffin lid, while its neighbor sported a ragged cloak that might once have been a banner of some forgotten lord. As they straightened, daggers with cracked blades flashed in the gloom, and a heavy club rose overhead, ready to strike.
Their empty eye sockets bored into me, and their teeth clattered in a chorus of hollow menace, sounding like a perverse applause at my stumbling performance. Moss clung to a few of their ribs, and faint scratches on their bones suggested old battles or failed attempts at looting. The group reeked of ancient grave soil and damp stone, as if the graveyard itself had spit them out for an encore.
But even these rattling sentinels hesitated when I tripped over a stray rock, pitching forward with a graceless “Urrrrgh.” I flailed on the ground, an undead marionette gone wrong, then hauled myself upright. One eye fixed on the door ahead, the other drifting off to the side, I shambled closer, doing my best impression of a mindless ghoul.
I nearly jolted when one spoke:
“Sayyy, Mason... did one of the boss’s goons wander off, or sssomething?” hissed one skeleton, words crisp and oddly casual. I maintained my sluggish shuffle as another answered, “Might’ve crept out on Jerry’sss shift,” its hollow gaze probing me as if trying to determine my threat level.
“You, zombie!” a third demanded, her tone sharper and distinctly feminine. “Name and rank—now!”
“Mmmmrrrrgh…?” I moaned, tilting my head and providing the perfect blank stare.
“Told you he wouldn’t talk. Just a sssstupid zombie,” sneered the first, its teeth rattling in mocking laughter.
“More like sssstupid Jerry, always letting these brainless ghouls wander off,” scoffed a fourth, dripping contempt for their absentee comrade. “He’s alwayssss sleeping on duty.”
“Eh heh heh, poor Jerry,” giggled the namer-demanding skeleton. “All right, ghoul—back to the kennel with you!”
They parted grudgingly, allowing me to hobble past. I really leaned into the role, gurgling and moaning like a professional method actor. But I must’ve laid it on too thick. With a snort of impatience, one skeletal guard planted a bony foot in my back and booted me straight down the staircase.
“Stop dawdling, you maggot-ridden dolt! Sssheeesh!” the female skeleton snapped. I hissed as I tumbled down each step, finally sprawled on the stone floor below. With a groan, I slithered into a side chamber, pale-blue torches lighting my path—just like those at that old ghost-infested fort. The room itself was empty save for broken pots and rusty tools. Perfect hiding spot.
“Nicely done, they totally bought it!” Ichni whispered, smug delight in her tone. “I knew you could just be yourself.”
“Sure,” I grumbled, “but I might’ve hammed it up a bit.” I rubbed my sore spine, fantasizing about rearranging that skeleton’s jaw.
“Listen up,” Ichni continued, ignoring my gripes. “This crypt isn’t huge, but rumor has it some nasty newcomers moved in. Plus, we still don’t know what’s raising these skeletons. Keep your head down, keep your weird sensual moaning up, and watch for magic runes or suspicious brickwork.”
“Magic runes and weird walls?” I whispered, double-checking the corridor behind us.
“Exactly. Ages ago, someone found a journal belonging to the Maiden this crypt’s named after. It hinted at some ‘secret treasure close to her heart.’ Mages and warriors came and went, finding nothing but danger. Now it’s too risky for most. If you spot anything suspicious, like a false wall, let me know. I can check!” Ichni explained.
“You can phase through walls!” I hissed excitedly. For someone who first declared they weren’t an encyclopedia, she was suddenly a wealth of information for dungeon divers.
“Yup! You shuffle along the left corridors like a mindless grunt, and I’ll slip through the masonry to hunt for hidden rooms. Once we find something, we clear it out, grab the goods, and make a run for it,” she replied proudly. “Now you see why my plan’s brilliant?”
“And that’s why you’re the royal tactician,” I said, mustering a shaky grin. She shot me a sour glare—probably remembering how I refused her the title earlier—then sighed and gave a small smirk.
“Can’t be helped now. Off you go, my faithful zombie—stagger forth!”
I shrugged and obeyed, no point arguing.
Wandering deeper into the Maiden’s Crypt, I discovered that my clumsiest foe was the uneven stone floor. I had to shuffle by countless skeletons and zombies. Unlike oblivious shades, these undead were alert. While the skeletons watched me with hollow, unreadable eyes, the zombies offered a more visceral discomfort. Each bore tattered garments that might’ve once been fine tunics or peasant smocks, now reduced to moldy rags clinging to sloughing flesh. A few wore mismatched boots or the remnants of a leather glove, as if dressed in a hurry before the grave swallowed them. Their skin ranged from ashen gray to a sickly greenish-brown, and their faces sagged with half-rotted cheeks, exposing yellowed teeth or even bare jawbone beneath.
Some zombies sported bloated bellies or swollen limbs, pockets of decay and stagnant fluids trapped within. Others trailed fragments of old chains or broken spear shafts embedded in their torsos, mute evidence of the battles that claimed their lives. They moved with slow, uneven gaits, their shoulders hunched as though the weight of undeath itself pressed down on them. And while the skeletons seemed to judge me silently, the zombies hardly acknowledged my awkward passage. They never turned their heads fully my way—just a sluggish shift of milky eyes or a slack-jawed mumble that produced nothing but a foul breath. A few drooled thin streams of rancid fluid from torn lips, and a faint, wet rasp rattled in their chests with each step. They were an army of tragic leftovers, too dull to question my presence, too wretched to do more than shuffle aside as I edged past.
Every step felt like a test, not just because I might trip again, but because I had to navigate this crowd of half-rotten horrors without drawing attention. If the skeletons were guards judging my worth, the zombies were the drooling audience, apathetic and aimless, content to let me pass so long as I didn’t disturb their languid existence.
At times, skeletons blocked doorways, forcing me to detour and giving Ichni a moment to slip through walls undetected. Other times, patrols of boneheads herded me along with their undead minions as if I were just another shambling drone. It felt like the world’s slowest dance, weaving through dim halls without a hint of treasure. With each step, my hope for a secret passage or shiny prize dimmed.
Not that the place was dull—far from it. Despite calling it a crypt, it was more like a sprawling underground labyrinth that had once aspired to grandeur. Twisting halls and low-ceilinged corridors branched off into open chambers, each lined with toppled pillars and crooked archways. Overturned coffins lay scattered like abandoned carriages, some with their lids half off, exposing the splintered wood and moldy satin within. Fragments of armor and shattered weaponry littered the floor, grim reminders of would-be heroes who had tried—and failed—to escape. Their bones, picked clean by whatever lurked down here, were strewn about like a cautionary tale spelled out in ivory and rust. The very stones seemed to whisper, Welcome to your doom, each uneven step and distant echo amplifying the sense of encroaching peril.
The walls bore faint remnants of once-elaborate carvings—winged figures, crumbling sigils, and faded runes—now smoothed and blurred by the relentless creep of centuries. The damp air licked at every surface, encouraging moss and fungal blooms to sprout in dark corners. Strands of pale lichen hung like spectral curtains where mortar had cracked, and a slick, organic film coated some stretches of the corridor floor. The reek of death and mildew was thick, layered with a sour stench that suggested something more than just stagnant air. Watermarks marred the lower stones, hinting that a nearby canal might occasionally flood these halls, turning them into a foul, subterranean swamp. The idea of brackish, sewer-laced water rushing in made my stomach—what remained of it—lurch. The intermittent drip of moisture from overhead crevices punctuated the silence, while the distant skitter of unseen vermin hinted at more life than I cared to meet. Each torch’s weak, blue-white flame cast jittery shadows on the jagged stone, illuminating every grim detail and ensuring I couldn’t pretend ignorance of the horrors around me.
When I shambled my way towards a particularly promising empty corridor, a lone skeleton stood blocking the doorway. I couldn’t just whip around in an unholy u-turn, so I sauntered against the wall and was preparing to pass the bag of bones to come back later.
However, this skeleton was apparently a bit keener than the others, because when it locked it’s spectral flames for eyes on me, it made a move.
“You… you are ssssuspicioussss…” It drawled in a disdainful tone. “I’ve not ssssseeeen you before…”
I turned one of my eyes to it, slowly as I could, and began internally trying to will it to fuck off. As I kept a half-staring contest with it, I kept thinking of the word “move” over and over. Suddenly, my chest tensed as though my breath caught on something menacing, and before I knew it– the skeleton straightened up and moved.
“Ssssssorry… massster….” It hissed, and I realized the smoldering flame eyes– once a blood red– were now a golden yellow.
“Master…?” I hissed, leaning in. “Me?”
“Yesss… I felt the ownership of my ssssoul transfer… to you…” It murmured without hesitation, moving to the side and giving a slight bow.
Somehow, in my stare-off, I accidentally took control of the undead monster! I wasn’t sure if it was because I was so mad it was about to tattle me out, but some sort of magic– a bizarre version of ‘control undead’– triggered between us.
“Adrian, you are a paladin!” Ichni whispered excitedly from her gauntlet, practically beaming from the gem. “I thought you were just joking, but you really do have access to the fel Element!”
The what Element?
“No, n-n-n-no, it’s… I wasn’t able to do this before.” I hastily muttered, but Ichni giggled, clearly impressed.
“It’s okay, you’re still trying to get a wrangle on it, right?” She said encouragingly. “Does that mean you can talk to these boney bitches, too?”
I froze. Wait. Did she not understand their clattering teeth forming words? It sparked a lot of flashbacks. The ghost at the abandoned fortress, the entrance to the crypt, here– was I the only one?
“I mean, I can talk to you, right? You’re a ghost, technically undead!” I tried to reason, earning me a royal snort.
“Well, yeah, because I was alive at one point! People like me and Dullahan still have our souls, so we can speak our native language. A bonehead like this, though–” I felt her pointing at the patient servant waiting for my next orders. “These guys are soulless husks, just echoes of life. What is this guy saying?”
I looked at the skeleton expectantly, and realized it was just standing there.
“Ugh, okay.” Ichni muttered. “Ask it- no, command it to take us to the treasure!”
“Take us to the room where all the treasure is.” I ordered, and like clockwork it went through the doorway I was casing out. Seeing that as our cue, I followed it. So, this was demon arts? I don’t know why I can access the Fel Element, as Ichni so brazenly termed it, but if it means getting the VIP treatment I wasn’t about to complain. If Quen had the fire Element’s rune on her arm, why didn’t I see mine?
The nameless skeleton servant had led me with mindless fervor, and my new pace was getting the attention of several nearby undead. Like before, though, I would glare at them, think menacing thoughts like “chill”, “ignore us”, and “fuck off”, and they would suddenly enter their debug obedience mode. By the time we reached our destination, I felt like I had control of over two dozen undead at my beck and call. Command Undead, as I termed it, had left me winded though, as though instead of my brisk pace I had sprinted a marathon. Whatever magic or mana this used, it was draining me swifter than I hoped.
“What’s this?” Ichni whispered after we rounded what felt like the hundredth corner.
Our skeletal guide had paused finally, where we confronted a massive dirt tunnel, easily two meters wide, clawed right through the corridor as if something huge had smashed in and out. To the left, darkness and slimy muck. To the right, a similar filthy path, but faint light flickered somewhere in the distance.
“The path ahead is blocked, master…” The skeleton croaked in a whisper. “This tunnel will lead you inside…”
“Alright. Stand guard here.” I ordered, and it turned as though it had resumed its previous command before I ran into it.
The nearby marked zombies ignored us as I told them to, so I stepped into the tunnel, slipping deeper into this makeshift passage. Halfway through, I noticed roots and stones poking from above. We weren’t going deeper, just tunneling along the crypt’s perimeter. Suddenly, the ground shuddered, the hint of distant light vanished, and a colossal shape slithered my way. Panic seized me as I realized something gigantic had blocked the exit.
“Shit, shit, shit!” I hissed, trying to backpedal, only to trip in the sludge and faceplant into the muck.
Then came the tremors, like a runaway train bearing down on me. In an instant, I was pinned, buried alive in squelching mud. I couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. Something heavy, slimy, and utterly repulsive pressed onto my spine as if the monarch of all slimes decided I’d make a fine floor mat.
Just as I thought I’d die (again), the pressure lifted. I wrenched my head free, gasping as rancid air scorched my lungs. A slick layer of slime crowned my hair. Rolling over, I glimpsed the massive backside of a frog-like colossus slithering away, indifferent to my existence. Its mottled gray hide and hulking legs made it look like a diseased boulder lumbering off. Maybe I didn’t smell appetizing enough. Praise be to any spirit of the Four-Lights listening.
I heard the clattering and crunching of bones, and I realized that I inadvertently just ordered my first minion to an early retirement in the path of the monster. Well, shoot.
“Unholy shit, you still alive?” Ichni exclaimed, her voice an odd mix of relief and disgust.
I nodded weakly, drenched in mud and slime. “What was that abomination? Some kind of demon toad?”
“Frog, actually,” Ichni corrected primly. “A frogfiend, and a well-fed one at that.”
“Whatever it was, I’m just thankful I wasn’t a snack,” I muttered, trying to clear my face. My armor’s cracks were now cemented with filth. Perfect. Ichni chuckled, hovering nearby.
“Given your new makeover, maybe being eaten would’ve been kinder,” she teased, prodding at the grime. “Forget ‘zombie,’ you’re a walking mud necromancer now.”
“I feel disgusting enough to pass as a slime’s cousin,” I grumbled, flinging off chunks of muck. Louder now and far less graceful, I slogged forward, each squelching step a chorus of sloppy misery.
“Those must have been the ‘dangerous B-Rank’ monsters though…” Ichni murmured as she began to head back into the gauntlet. “They’re pretty restricted in their tunnels, but they can leap dozens of meters at a time, and their weight can crush you to death instantly if they land on you. Their jaws are like vices too, so once you get gobbled, it’s game over!”
“So, avoid them topside and don’t smell delicious. Understood,” I muttered. The tunnel forked: one path dark and descending, the other showing a distant light. I chose the lit route, rounded a bend, and froze at what I saw next.
I emerged into a vast rectangular hall, lit eerily by rows of ghostly torches perched on tall pillars. Scattered throughout were countless statues—if they truly were statues—of various creatures, including a stone-carved frogfiend reclining as if taking a lazy nap. Many were crumbled or chipped, lending the place a strange, frozen-moment-in-time vibe.
They weren’t mere statues. These were petrified victims.
At the chamber’s heart lay a marble coffin, gleaming amid flickering torchlight, oddly pristine. On top of it, however, was a translucent humanoid body that hovered just a few inches about the structure. It was long, slender, and feminine, wearing a ghostly maid’s outfit, and when the figure turned to me, I saw green hair that flowed like a fountain around her shoulders before ending in the head of snakes. Her eyes glistened in a purple hue as they bore into me before her eyelids lowered in disinterest.
So this was the one responsible.
“Ugh… another zombie.” She muttered as she turned away. “How boring. I have enough of those already. I want more attractive adventurers to save me. Shoo, go away.”
I debated whether or not to heed her advice and simply turn back around. I wasn’t sure how well my shortsword, non magical for all intent and purposes, would fare well if it turned into a fight.
On the other hand, there were big double doors that were begging to be opened on the other side, though giant pillars had collapsed on them. To the left of me, a barricaded door that felt as though it would eventually take me back to the hallway with the tunnel. Whoever this was, likely the Maiden if this is her crypt, didn’t actually want any more visitors. I took a step into the chamber and began a clockwise waddle to check both doors. If trouble brewed, I’d bolt like a mud-soaked hare.
“Ahh… just like all the others,” she sighed, watching me with cobra-like boredom. “Go on then, desecrate my tomb. Step closer and my lovely tresses will sink their fangs in.”
“Muuuurgh…” I moaned, staying in character.
“Yeah, that’s right, you undead dolt.” She went on, looking at her well kept nails. “I might not be able to step off this coffin, but everyone wants to violate my resting body for some trinket I wore in life. All have tried, all have failed. My venom consumes flesh and leaves stone in its place, and no one, and I mean no one, has survived it. Not even me.”
Wait, she can’t leave that spot? I glanced around and saw that all these statues, victims of her bite, were running away from her position, but there was a circular pattern of sorts. Some were on the ground just by the imprint, as though they tripped, while others barely reached the pillars. None past it, though. It appears that she has a “reach” of some kind. Ichni must have noticed it too, because she came out with a look like she owned the place.
“You too, huh?” Ichni said haughtily, crossing her arms like a queen addressing a servant.
“What… what sorcery is this?” the snake-haired maid gasped, twisting her neck in a spine-chilling 180-degree pivot to face us.
“I guess the princess is out of the bag.” I admitted, straightening my back and stretching the more sore muscles. “Ichni, let’s examine this door first, then figure out how to get past that blockade.”
“You’re alive?” the maid hissed, eyes wide with shock. “You mimicked my undead minions so well—explain yourselves!”
“We’re adventurers on a mission to find the secret passage of the Maiden’s Crypt. The one, actually, written in your diary!” I said, turning towards her. “Don’t suppose you would mind spilling the deets?”
“You waited until I told you of my plans before revealing yours? How cunning…” The maiden ghost growled. “But it’s not the ‘Maiden’s Crypt’, it’s the Maid’s Encrypt! My diary was supposed to be a series of riddles and clues to find the sacred treasure that lurks in these halls!”
I gaped at her maid’s uniform, and it did explain why she was dressed that way.
“Yes, yess….” She went on. “I was instructed by my master to wait here in the bunker to guard its secrets in life, killing anyone who was foolish enough to approach it. Alas, my master has since perished, and without any food I did as well. Still, my spirit remains intact, and my bite will kill. And you know what the humans did when they realized that they could go no further? They turned my master’s hiding place into a damn tomb!”
“So… this wasn’t supposed to be a crypt?” I asked, entirely unsure why I needed to know this.
“Of course not! It was a laboratory to experiment on humans after the war.” She hissed. “Alas, one other discovered I can’t leave my place, like you, and decided to torture me with song until I told him my story! He said he’d make a coin off of my ‘diary’, and in return promised to send more adventurers my way to play with, that damned clown!”
“You got scammed by Climmard? Ahahahaha!” Ichni was laughing at this, earning her a reproachful glare from the maid ghost. The maid came forward, making me flinch, but her tail stretched in a way that reminded me of Ichni’s boundary with the glove, and she stopped just a few meters short of me.
“Why don’t you come and say that to my face, brat?” The ghost demanded.
“Brat? I’m a princess ghost, thank you very much!” Ichni said derisively. “At least I get to move around and travel, you’re just leftovers from a mad scientist with agoraphobia!”
“Leftovers, leftovers?!” She sneered, and then brought herself to some level of composure. Her voice smoothed into a cooing alluring hiss. “Hmm, hmmm… you there, ghoul boy. Or potentially… master.”
“M-m-master?” I echoed, baffled.
“Yessss, master. You’ve clearly mastered some dark art to bind a spirit in that gem. That little girl looks like dead weight to a fine adventurer like yourself. Why haul around that little girl when you could have me?” she purred, striking a sultry pose. I swallowed hard, noting her, uh, generous proportions.
“Surely, you grow bored of playing babysitter for this kid. I, however, am trained in the Elite-Class maid rank.”
“The hell, that’s a rankable class?” I remarked in shock. This was news to me.
“Oh Addy, don’t believe that dujjan nonsense from this muso!” Ichni insisted, grabbing my face. “She’s just trying to trick you into getting closer and turn you into a door stopper!”
“Oh, but they are not lies. Even in this form I can fend for you in your sleep and in battle, I have enough strength to even cook and clean while you carry on with your life.” The maid cooed. “I’m even skilled enough to use my hands for…” She looked down past my chest, and I covered myself out of shame. She was trying to honey trap me!
“Oh ho ho, you’re not appealing to the ladies, I assume, but no matter, master. I would take care of all your needs. I’d even let you down into my old master’s lair beneath this slab to gather all his treasure, including mine.” She went on, using her hand in a vulgar jerking motion. “Just ditch the royal bitch and make room for little ol’ me, won’t you? You want a strong, experienced woman, don’t you?”
“Oh puh-lease!” Ichni snorted. “You’re a second-rate maid with a third-rate wrist! Besides, I might not look it now, but Addy here got a huge look at the goods I pack! Plus, when he came out of the shower and took off his towel, I-”
“Holy Four-Lights, that’s enough out of both of you!” I cried indignantly before pointing at the medusa maid. “Especially you! Have you no shame in your disloyalty to your fallen master?”
She blinked at me, startled. “Huh?” Even the lifeless snakes that made the ends of her hair turned to look at each other.
“I am a chaste man by choice, but Ichni’s right about her living form. Girl could crush a watermelon. She was at least twice as hot as you. Though like half as mature.” I went on, crossing my arms and nodding in thought. Realizing I was slipping towards degeneracy, I went on. “Besides, you’re just a bloodthirsty killer, and she can heal me.”
“Oh geez, Adrian, stop bragging about me…” Ichni stammered, red in the face in embarrassment. “But keep going.”
The maid stared at me, her face contorting into deeper rage each time I made a point. It was as if I had momentarily gained affinity with the Simp Element.
“Her highness got legs for days, you got a missed appointment with a vet! I’ve seen the way she scoffs at my retorts, but you? I bet you’d just fake a laugh. At least she keeps it real. Plus? Check it–” I make a broad sweeping motion over the magenta color that dips over Ichni’s chest to her stomach, surprisingly earning me a pose from her like she’s presenting a car at a gameshow. “Black widow. The latrodectus hasselti. Boom. She’s the scary kind too. I bet she has her own bite that can kill a fool.”
“Ohh, uh, Adrian…” Ichni was blushing furiously as she curled her hair. “I think you’re overexaggerating just a tad bit, y’know? I’ve never tried to bite anyone.”
“Oh please, you have bitten me at least once!” I exclaimed. “And who knows, once you’re alive again you can see if you can, uh… envenomate someone?”
“Mate? What am I, some kind of spider in heat to you?” Ichni huffed, planting her hands on her hips.
“Envenomate means bite to poison, not… never mind.” I sighed. The maid gawked at us as I pressed on. “Look, you could bite enemies as a last resort!”
“I am not resorting to biting!” Ichni snapped. “You call me pretty one second, then act like I’m a crazed beast the next. Pick a lane!”
“I never said that!” I protested, exasperated. Ichni began wearing me down with a heated glare.
The maid sniffed. “I’ve decided. I don’t want to join you. At first I was tempted, then I considered lying, but now you’re both insufferable. Working with you would be a waking nightmare.”
“Great, that’s settled,” I said dryly. “You mentioned a secret passage under that slab. We’ll just pass on through, shall we?”
“Pass? Oh no, I’m still going to kill you,” she said sweetly, drifting back to her coffin. “But come closer, let’s talk. Maybe I’ll share the code…”
“Allow us safe passage.” I tried using my menacing voice for Command Undead, but she looked at me like I just told her to strip.
“Of course, master… just come a little fucking closer.” She said, clearly not influenced by my fel power. Maybe it was like the rules with undead with souls, or I had tapped out on energy. She was the big bad boss of this lair, after all– it would make sense that I couldn’t just wrangle her in with my “level one” ability. Either way, I’ll need to test this power out later.
Ichni, thinking I was actually considering her offer, took matters into her own hands.
“Fat chance, naga-hair!” Ichni said, diving straight into the floor.
The maid and I stared at each other in surprise, wondering what the hell the spider had planned. It must have clicked for the killer ghost maid, because she gasped and dove into the ground too. I looked around, wondering if I should help, and I heard shouting and things clanging underneath the rocky floor.
After about twenty seconds of this, Ichni returned, her hair tousled into a mess, but otherwise with a triumphant look.
“She’s guarding the control room to some kind of storm drain, ahahaha!” She cackled mirthfully. “She’s trapped in a cursed boot down there, and the only treasure she’s in care of is a lever that makes sure the village’s shit doesn’t get backed up when it rains!”
The maid ghost trembled with fury, clearly frustrated that Ichni had outmaneuvered her. She bared jade-colored fangs, itching to sink them into something, but her intangible prison left her powerless from this distance. This pissed her off all the more.
“I will kill you if you tell anyone.” She snarled. “I’ve been in charge of this place for over a century. If word got out that I was just some maid sent to operate a sewer pipe, my reputation as a lair boss would be ruined. RUINED!”
“I mean, no offense to you, madam.” I began, shrugging at the silliness of it all. “But I don’t think you can reach us from here.”
“True enough,” she conceded, lips curling wickedly. “But I’ve got a trump card. Leave at once, swear silence, and I may spare your wretched lives.”
“I mean, I’d be fine with that,” I said, hesitant. “But what about the treasure?”
She jabbed a finger at the blocked doors. “My master perished in there, leaving only his corpse and possessions. Perhaps one of his rings might fetch a decent sum…”
“A ring? That’s loot!” Ichni cheered, clapping excitedly.
“You will not disturb his rest!” the maid snapped.
“Uh, yeah, we will, actually! Come on Adrian, let's go desecrate a body this toothy tramp loves so much!” Ichni said with as much grace as a hag.
We started walking towards the blocked double doors and the maid lost her mind.
“No, NO! His spirit perished in agony, he’s only just found rest! You would act as vultures, chewing at his tragic tale for baubles and trinkets? I will NOT ALLOW IT!” She bellowed, enough so that I wondered if she was trying to raise the alarm.
Then her throat puffed out as though she was a bullfrog, and she made a noise like a deep, ominous croak. What the fuck is she doing?
“What the hell is that supposed to be, some kind of mating call? Were you hoping you could belch at my sweet faithful knight to woo him? Or does your breath reek from all the ghost dick you choked on from daddy master dearest and you were hoping to make us pass out?” Ichni began hurling insults with enough force that I’m surprised that the maid didn’t perish from the blunt trauma of the words alone. The maid ghost kept croaking, and Ichni’s barbs grew ever harsher.
“Oh look how she can ‘deep throat’, Adrian! Maybe her master was a bullfrog and she’s crying out to him! Too bad she did such a merdu job as a maid that he put her in charge of flushing the crap out!”
The maid was crying at this point, as though unable to withstand being compared to a designated plumber, but as she continued this bizarre guttural croaking, I heard an echoing croak coming from deep within the tunnel, answering her.
“Oh… oh no.” I whimpered in a panic, abandoning the double door. “She’s trying to summon that frogfiend!”
“Oh yes, I am!” She blubbered with spiteful delight. “I can’t reach you, but it can!”
Realizing I was seconds away from becoming a frog’s dinner, I bolted for the other door. I struggled to pry loose a heavy wooden beam that barred it, but before I could gain any ground, the frogfiend emerged from the tunnel, its bulk filling the space like a living, mucus-slick battle tank. It paused, surveying the corridor with a slow, arrogant blink, as if perplexed by the commotion. Its bulbous eyes fell upon the maid’s hovering form. She resumed her pitiful croaking, jabbing a finger in our direction. Slowly, the frog turned our way, its wide mouth twisting into a nauseating grin, as if it had just been handed the perfect meal.
“Uh-oh,” I breathed, dread coiling in my gut. The frog launched itself forward with horrifying speed, each leap hammering the floor and rattling my bones.
“Tonight, you dine in hell, my beloved frogfiend!” The ghost shrieked in cackling glee.
With a desperate grunt, I shoved the wooden barricade aside and slipped through the narrow doorway. The monstrous frog’s bulk whooshed past behind me, its foul breath brushing my spine like a deathly caress. The giant figure pressed the door shut as it flew by, and for a split moment, the sudden silence felt like it was business as usual– I knew full damn well it was time to clock out, though.
Sword clutched tight, I sprinted into another corridor. Startled zombies and skeletons gaped at my sudden appearance—apparently, I’d just gatecrashed their undead lunch break. They stared, uncertain whether I was ally, enemy, or some horribly misplaced stage performer.
“Argh, murgh, ‘cuse me, pardon me, coming through!” I began grunting and shouting as though trying to roleplay a polite ghoul on crack.
Right on cue, the doorway behind me exploded in a shower of shattered stone, the frogfiend forcing its colossal bulk through a gap it had no right to fit. Zombies gawped, slack-jawed, while a few had the good sense to shuffle off as fast as their rotting legs could carry them.
A skeleton raised a bony finger, about to alert the whole crypt—“An intruder! There’s an in—”
I didn’t let it finish. With a deftly practiced swing, I lopped off its jaw and half its skull, splintering bone into a grisly mosaic on the floor. Poor guy. Maybe that was Jerry. If so, guess he finally got the nap he wanted.
“All of you, block that creature’s path!” My voice practically seethed with faux authority, and I felt my gut wrench in pain as the undead turned to face the massive frog. I couldn’t use that again if I needed to make it out of here.
A frantic chase ensued, me sprinting through winding halls, the frog close behind. It barely fit, yet still managed to squeeze after me with dreadful persistence. I slammed doors, the undead barreled into its path—nothing helped. I couldn’t hide, not leaving muddy footprints with every step. My panicked panting mixed with the slosh of muck underfoot and the deep, thunderous croaks echoing in my wake.
“I promise, I won’t taste good!” I began pleading. “I’m half-rotted, covered in shit, mud, and slime!”
“And I’ll block you up, so at least spit the glove out!” Ichni added, and my bulging eyes popped out at her. The traitor!
As I made the final corner, I saw the stairs that led upward to freedom- and the five skeleton guards, weapons drawn and ready. Like they had done in the beginning, they began chattering their teeth at me like tails of a rattlesnake, warning me that death was the only way forward if I approached them.
Before I could lunge for the skeletons, too exhausted to demand they take my side instead, the frog bounded into view behind me. Its bulging eyes locked on, and in a blur of motion, its sticky tongue lashed out, coiling around my torso. I jerked back, sword spinning away, as it reeled me in like a prize catch.
“Adrian, NOOO~!” Ichni screamed, the gauntlet forcing her along for the ride as she dragged across the ground. The frogfiend’s jaws snapped open, slurping us down like a pair of slimy noodles.
It was gross. Let me tell you, if I thought that the slimy underside of this hideous creature was a foul substance, the saliva of this thing made it smell like scented candle wax. Its rancid breath choked me, its gullet tightening around my legs, dragging me deeper into that horrible maw. It wanted to swallow me whole—an ending I would not accept.
“Adrian, use your magic, your chanting, anything!” Ichni began pleading to me in the dark. I began rummaging my gear for something. I cursed when I found the sacred bagel sandwich still wrapped away, but when I felt one of my bags, I shouted in delight. I opened the wet pouch, dumped the entirety of its contents on this stupid frog’s tongue, and waited.
The frog convulsed violently, gagging, and then spat us out in a geyser of slime. We skid across the floor, crashing into the skeleton guards, scattering their bones like bowling pins. I scrambled up, reclaimed my sword, and watched the frog thrash about, likely poisoned by whatever I’d just force-fed it. Not what I’d planned, but I wouldn’t complain. Let it writhe—it was my cue to leave.
I bolted up the stairs, bursting into daylight so bright it stung my eyes. Without slowing, I pelted toward the river, desperate to wash off the slime and filth before I keeled over from sheer disgust.
“I HATE SLIME!!!” Was all I could muster in my rage.