The party began their descent into the Catacombs of Highcliff, down a long, winding staircase carved into ancient stone. The steps, worn smooth by countless years, spiraled downward into the darkness. Within minutes, the candelabras had extinguished themselves, leaving only Alistair’s Creator’s Light to illuminate the path ahead. As they descended, the air grew cooler and heavier, carrying the faint mustiness of long-sealed tombs.

Justin tried to ignore the growing sense of unease as he observed the ancient carvings and inscriptions along the walls depicting the history of Highcliff. Scenes of battles, peace treaties, and moments of royal court life unfurled before them, offering glimpses into a past long gone. Quite a few seemed to show a fair-haired king sitting on a throne, wearing rich vestments of crimson, bearing a scepter in his hand and a crown upon his head. Of note was also a glittering amulet that shone with the six lights of each Attribute, those lights depicted with various colored jewels etched into the artwork. Though Justin couldn’t have said for sure, he was certain the figure presented was King Alaric himself.

The descent felt interminable, each step echoing softly in the enclosed space, amplifying the sense of foreboding. Justin couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching them from the shadows.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they reached the bottom, and the party looked around in awe at a vast hall of marble and pillars. So vast was it that Alistair’s Creator’s Light couldn’t even reach the ceiling, nor see too deeply into the forest of columns.

“Major Moria vibes,” Justin said.

“A place from your world?” Lila asked.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

Alistair turned his head back, giving them what Justin could only describe as “the look.” Justin resolved to keep his lips sealed.

The hall was breathtaking, a testament to the grandeur of a bygone era. Eldrin had mentioned Highcliff was once a rich trade city with a grander past, but Justin hadn’t expected this. High ceilings soared above, supported by intricately carved marble pillars, each a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Statues of ancient heroes and imposing gargoyles lined the walls, their glinting ruby eyes seeming to follow the party’s every movement. The floor was a mosaic of variously colored marbles, meticulously depicting scenes of Highcliff’s past royalty, many dedicating themselves to King Alaric’s life. He led armies into battle, offered mercy to the defeated, and embodied ideals of justice and compassion. And in nearly every representation, he wore that same amulet with the six colored jewels.

“What is that amulet he’s wearing?” Justin whispered, unable to help himself.

No one answered him, and Justin figured that was their way of getting him to shut up.

Along the columns were sarcophagi on raised pedestals, the last resting places for the nobility and heroes of Highcliff, each adorned with inscriptions and carvings telling of their deeds and lineage. Scanning a few of the lines, they seemed to be written in an archaic form of Aranthian. They were hardly decipherable.

While the hall’s splendor was undeniable, there was a pervasive chill, an unease that hung in the air. Justin was certain it had something to do with the Cultists and their Death Magic.

Speaking of…where were those Cultists, anyway? Justin had so many questions, but he had to keep them to himself. Who was this Morvath guy? This God of Death was definitely not a part of the Pantheon of the Church of Light. Bad guy material, then. Maybe the foil to the Creator, whoever he or she was.

At last, the columns seemed to end, a square doorway of marble appearing at the end of the hall. Justin couldn’t perfectly decipher the writing above it, but he definitely recognized the word “Alaric.” They were heading the right way.

As they proceeded, the temperature seemed to drop further. Shadows danced ominously in the corners of the room, flickering from the orb of light shining above them.

Eldrin turned to them all, letting them know that something was about to happen. Justin remembered his skill, Ranger’s Intuition, which gave him an uncanny knack of knowing when danger was imminent. Just gripped his cane tightly.

It was then that the first signs of movement caught Justin’s eyes—shambling figures emerging from the darkness between the pillars and mausoleums. Stumbling into view were skeletal warriors, their bones clad in ancient, rusted armor, along with zombies, with decayed flesh barely clinging to their frame. Justin’s heart raced, the sight sending a chill down his spine. The undead, with hollow eyes and jerky movements, were surrounded by an aura of darkness, bearing weapons as aged and brittle as themselves.

The party sprang into action. As Justin twirled his cane, Alistair used his Leap of Faith skill to land directly in the middle of the mob, instantly drawing their attention. As they charged him, he let out a roar, giving a mighty Righteous Whirlwind that instantly smote the first wave of attackers. Flames of Life covered their bodies, a truly awesome sight. As they screeched their dismay, Justin felt no heat from those flames. Apparently, they only affected the undead.

With the pressure taken off the rest of the party, the others engaged. Lila moved with feline grace, her knives flashing as she threw with lethal precision, focusing on the zombies’ heads. Justin used his cane, finding the blade was quite effective at stabbing through the zombies’ faces or just below the base of the skull. Despite his fear, it was easy to fight when all the attention was off him. Eldrin swung his longsword, easily lopping off the heads of skeletons and zombies alike.

The air was filled with the sound of clattering bones and the dull thuds of falling corpses. As the last of the undead crumbled, the party took a moment to catch their breath. Looking around at their handiwork, there were at least thirty or forty undead. Without Alistair, who’d racked up well over half of the kills, it was obvious the party would have become overwhelmed.

“Glad we have a tank,” Justin said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Everyone all right?” Eldrin asked.

“Not a scratch,” Lila said. Her knives had already been retrieved and were secured in the holster strapped to her thigh.

Justin raised his hand as if he were in a classroom. “Um, question. So, if a zombie bites you or something, do you turn into a zombie, too?”

The others looked at him in confusion.

“Nay,” Alistair answered. “It requires Death Magic to be turned, and you must first be dead yourself. However, with the Mark given to you by the Baron, this would be your fate should the worst happen. Although your undeath would be markedly…different.”

Different, how? Justin was afraid to ask, his stomach twisting just knowing there was a worse fate than becoming a zombie. It had been three risings of the moon since receiving the Death Mark. While he didn’t feel any different, he was all too aware of it.

“Then I just have to stay alive.”

“The Six willing,” Alistair said.

“And the Creator,” Justin added.

Alistair frowned at this, and Justin wasn’t sure why. Perhaps invoking the Creator’s name was out of place or disrespectful in this context. So many questions about this world, too few answers. If he had pen and paper, he could make a long list.

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Whatever the case, the immediate threat had been neutralized, but the chill in the air and the oppressive atmosphere told them that this trial was just the beginning.

“We are getting closer to the crypt itself,” Alistair said, his voice low. “Stay by me.”

The others nodded and proceeded through the doorway, down set a wide, curving staircase that led deeper into the Catacombs of Highcliff.

Justin soon realized that this staircase, circling down into darkness, gave access to lower levels of the catacombs, each deeper than the last. From time to time, Alistair would pause at each landing, reading inscriptions that detailed who exactly was buried on each level. But each time, they continued down to the next level, deeper and deeper underground. The first levels seemed more crowded, filled with the remains of commoners, their skeletons clearly visible in loculi within the walls, with the next levels becoming more ornate, with more generous tombs and individual details.

Clearly, the lower one went, the more important the deceased. And it became easy to guess just where King Alaric would be laid to rest, given his importance.

As they descended, Justin, once again, couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. The air grew colder, and the oppressive atmosphere weighed heavily on his chest. At last, they were nearing the bottom, going down the final spiral.

Eldrin held up a hand to signal that danger lay ahead. Once again, his Ranger’s Intuition had come in handy.

They rounded the final spiral as quietly as possible, finding before them a smaller chamber, dimly lit by a few flickering candles. In the center stood a female figure clad in black robes, on the front of which was embroidered a skeletal hand grasping a wilting white flower, what had to symbolize the God of Death. She was chanting in a low, guttural voice in some indeterminate tongue, and before her lay a row of six corpses adorned in richer clothing and robes.

The Cultist of Morvath was completely oblivious to their entrance, clearly engrossed in her dark ritual. The surrounding air crackled with dark magic.

Quick as a flash, Eldrin raised his longbow, nocking an arrow. At a nod from Alistair, he let loose with a twang. The arrow flew true toward the Cultist’s head.

But somehow sensing the intrusion, the Cultist cast a ward of dark magic, and the arrow clattered to the stones beneath her feet.

Alistair gave his Leap of Faith, hammer extended, just as the Cultist raised her arms. Eerie, translucent figures that looked like ghostly apparitions issued from the bodies before her, swirling in the air as she stepped back.

“Wraiths!” Eldrin warned.

The wraiths were ghastly, their spectral forms shifting between solidity and intangibility. They bore grotesque faces, what Justin could only assume was a macabre mockery of their former selves. Their semi-solid forms hinted physical attacks might work, but it might be difficult to get some damage in.

Alistair landed hard among the specters, drawing their attacks. Flashes of blue light glanced off his armor as the wraiths attacked him. The Paladin brightened his Creator’s Light, which slowed the wraiths’ movements.

Eldrin wove among the specters, his sword doing some work, but the attacks were mostly ineffective. Lila threw her knives from a distance, each one sinking into one of the closer wraiths. The knives only seemed to annoy the creature, which turned its attention to them. Justin stood next to her, cane twirling, as the specter floated toward them.

“Justin!” Lila cried.

The wraith advanced, and with a bloodcurdling screech, lunged at Justin, ethereal jaws agape. Instantly, with no volition of his own, his cane spun and knocked it back a suitable distance, the weapon’s tip flashing yellow.

Gentleman’s Rebuff has shielded this attack!

Justin let out a breath; by some miracle, this thing was Level 12 or lower, and he had needed that. Eldrin spun fiercely, wailing on the creature with his sword. He drew the wraith’s attention, but from the look of things, it seemed to be an even match.

Justin charged forward, joining in Eldrin’s attack.

Lila’s voice pierced the din. “Justin, Eldrin, duck!”

Justin immediately dropped to the stone floor, and as soon as he did, six whistling knives flew overhead, each burying itself in the wraith before sinking through its body and clattering to the floor. The wraith advanced toward Justin, who stood between it and Lila. Justin gave it a strong thwack with his cane. While the attack connected, flashing yellow at the point of contact, it did little. The entity floated forward, surrounding Justin with its frigid, spectral force.

Justin felt a horrible cold and despair such as he had never known. Just as his vision began going dark, a strange sensation surged within him—a resistance that, miraculously, forced the wraith back with a screech.

Justin had no time to ponder this; he followed the wraith, which was now outright fleeing from him.

With newfound confidence, he chased it down, slapping it repeatedly with his cane.

“Take that! And that, foul specter!”

The wraith screeched in both pain and fear, especially as Justin cornered it in the chamber. He wailed on it repeatedly, rage fueling his attacks, until it was reduced to almost nothing. Destroying it took far longer than Justin would have liked, his low Power attribute likely not helping matters. Again, his cane flashed flashing yellow with each strike, and it took him a moment to realize that perhaps it resulted from the enchantment. Lila’s knives and Eldrin’s sword seemed to go through the wraiths at least half the time, not finding purchase.

Eventually, the wraith collapsed into a puff of blue smoke that spread along the stones in a fog.

Justin, panting, turned around to find that the rest of the wraiths had already been dealt with, a low blue fog hanging over the stones. The Cultist’s head had been smashed to a pulp, thanks to Alistair’s hammer. Alistair was watching him curiously, while Eldrin nodded in respect. Lila’s green eyes were wide.

“It was… afraid of me!” Justin exclaimed.

Alistair came to stand by him. “It would seem it feared the Baron’s Mark. Wraiths like this feed on the living, draining the Spark of Life from one’s Core. If successful, the victim is doomed to become just like them. The Baron’s Mark of Death may have helped you, at least in this situation. It’s not you they fear, but him.”

It was a sobering reminder of just how powerful the Baron was. Justin suppressed a shudder.

“This happened with Zaramund, too,” Justin mused. “Maybe it’s a blessing in disguise.”

“It is no blessing, I assure you,” the Paladin said. “Now fully mature, the Mark will be detectable by the Baron himself if he gets close enough. Given the extent of the situation, it wouldn’t surprise me if he made his own way to Highcliff soon. We must be well away from the city before that happens.”

The party took a moment to regather themselves. The air was thick with the acrid tang of the specters’ remains, which were thankfully now dissipating.

“Glad we got that taken care of,” Justin said. “Where’s our prize?”

Eldrin snorted. “Prize? We’re just getting started, lad.”

Justin frowned. “Wait. That wasn’t the Boss Fight?”

“Nay,” Alistair said. “That was a lackey at best, a Death Mage of middling level. About equivalent to Zaramund, if I had to guess.”

“Zaramund was the Boss last time.”

“We are now in a Level 15 Vault,” Eldrin said quietly. “The Boss, as you put it, is now just another goon.”

Justin gulped. “Yikes.”

For the first time, Justin took stock of just what the Cultist had been defending. They stood before a grand door, wrought of what seemed to be pure gold. It was a magnificent piece of craftsmanship and art, intricately carved with scenes from King Alaric’s life. The images depicted his coronation, his battles to defend Highcliff, and moments of wisdom where he sat in council, dispensing justice and mercy. Above King Alaric himself was a majestic eagle in flight, the symbol of the City of Highcliff.

Above the door, an inscription read:

Here lies interred Alaric,

Good King of Highcliff:

A King Just and Balanced,

Beloved of the People.

Guardian of the Realm,

Protector of the Peace.

Wise Wielder of the Magic of Life,

In Death, he doth rest with Honor.

Never shall his like be seen again.

The door stood slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness visible through the crack.

Alistair sighed sadly. “They say Good Alaric was one of the most powerful Life Mages to live on Eyrth, and besides that, that he had mastered the blade. It is ill indeed that the Cult of Morvath has so perverted his legacy.”

“Arion willing, that won’t be true for much longer,” Eldrin said.

“Aye, Ranger,” Alistair said. “The Six will it so.”

Justin remained silent, still shaken from the battle. He still couldn’t get over the fact that they hadn’t even reached the main Boss yet. Once again, he’d only survived by luck and forces beyond his control. His Gentleman’s Rebuff was gone, and the Death Mark had kept that wraith from absorbing his life force.

But maybe there was something to this Death Mark. Despite what Alistair said, it might allow him to take risks the others couldn’t, at least regarding monsters that wanted to feed on his so-called “Spark of Life.”

It was something to keep in his back pocket, perhaps.

At last, Alistair shifted on his feet, steeling himself for what lay ahead. “I don’t know what lies beyond this door, but I know it will test us dearly. Lila, Justin; remember your potions. Take them as soon as the final battle starts. I would take no risks.”

“Will do,” Justin said.

Lila’s response was a firm nod.

“We stand behind you, Paladin,” Eldrin said. “Lead on.”

Alistair started forward, slipping through the crack, through which a cold draft wafted, carrying the faint smell of decay mixed with an oddly sweet scent. Justin shivered.

It was as if death itself lay just beyond this door, waiting for them to step through.