Razor-sharp blades clacked against the ice as I picked up speed. Seconds away from reaching the lip of the ramp, I released the dead vine my skeletal guardian had used to sling me around. The incline curved upward, and right before I reached the ascent, I used Spring Forward to hurl myself at an angle even faster. I left the ground behind, feeling the whipping wind through my hair. A nonsensical shout of joy burst from my lungs just as I reached the zenith of my stunt, twirling in the freezing air. I sustained my jubilant note all the way until I crashed into the snowdrift.

I flailed around in the thick snow for a moment before I got back to my feet, still chuckling at how awesome ice skating was. I’d always wanted to learn how, but never got the chance.

It was everything I hoped it would be.

Though there was definitely a learning curve. Thankfully, my leather armor and tough zombie skin kept me from sustaining an injury to my body. And setting up the little course had taken several hours of work. The snowdrift was especially monotonous, because we didn’t have the tools to push it around well. I ended up emptying my backpack and using it to cart the packed snow to the designated landing area.

Unfortunately, the novelty was wearing off. Or at least, my curiosity at seeing the interior of the three thousand year old black stone tower outweighed my appetite for sport.

The monumental dark tower stood silent as the grave the blood tree reputed it to be. Ghoul tongue vines I couldn’t reach still swarmed the upper layers of the structure, but we had culled them across the lower half. When I skated around it, I noticed something interesting. Despite being large vertically, I estimated that the diameter of the building to be around fifteen feet.

Almost exactly the length of the pit of denunciation, where the people tossed “damned” dead bodies.

If my theory was correct, and the tower used to occupy that hole, then there was a lot more to see, either above or below the ground. Maybe both. How the followers of the Thalzaxor pulled off moving the tower was another point of interest, but I didn’t expect to find an answer to that.

I strapped my coin purse and warhammer to my belt, then tossed the backpack with my remaining items on my back. My shield connected to the drawstrings of the backpack, giving me a kind of turtle shell protection. I carried the spear in my left hand, using it as a walking stick. From my bone necklace, I channeled the spear mastery skill.

The door to the tower was like the one I’d found on the temple. It was large, carved in golden runes and there were two of them. Not in any particular rush, I studied the entryway for a short while to make out what the runes did. Though the symbols themselves meant nothing, I inferred that at least a few of them were for durability. After all, how many doors stay upright after three millennia?

Also like the temple doors, I backed away and let my extra tough henchman throw open the doors. I’d watched enough role-playing games on YouTube to expect magical traps.

A cracking sound, like an old ship on the water making a turn, emanated from the door. Then the wood buckled under the pressure my knight exerted, displacing a bunch of ice. But it looked like the door would not concede to our demands.

Not deterred in the slightest, I commanded my minion to shake the door handle. After nothing bad happened to it, I stood closer to the racket and finally got a glimpse of the problem. There was a bar blocking us from entering.

Oh, that’s it? Easy!

I had my minion pull on the door again, then I slipped out one of my ice skating blades between the narrow gap. That done, my minion let the doors close back to their original state. Then it was just a matter of having my skeleton slide the blade and bar upward through the door crack.

Once we heard an awful clunking sound on the other side, we knew we were in.

The doors opened with a loud squeal, clearly happy to be in that position after so long. My trap tester entered first, and I followed with my ghoul claw perched on my shoulder. Lanterns the color of blood ignited all around the circumference of the room.

Of course, the vampire queen had blood colored light bulbs in her tower. How quaint.

The first floor didn’t impress me.

Cracked piles of stone and dust covered mummies littered the area. Dirty scraps of clothes sat next to or on the ancient corpses. And if there were stairs leading downward, huge piles of earth and debris covered them.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

When someone forcefully translocates a place, I guess this is the result.

Fortunately, there was a narrow stairway upward.

Blood lights continued to ignite as we climbed the steps. I idly wondered if Mizrah Kest had been going for a sexy red-light district theme or a hold corpses by the feet and drain them in a trough aesthetic. Why not both?

The next few floors were as uninteresting as the first one. Dust, debris, and corpses. I was ecstatic to be immune to breathing.

On the fourth one, I found a white banner with a crimson drawing of the hieroglyph'd tree in the courtyard. Somehow, the rich cloth had a magical protection against deterioration, so I rolled it up and stuck it in my backpack. Against all odds, the leg of a chair survived the tragedy that happened here, but I crushed it under my own legs for not being interesting.

Floor six was where I struck gold.

A black iron cauldron took up the center of the floor, tilted on its side. Dried herbs on rotted shelves lined one side of a wall, and shelves with glass jars adorned the other. My first notion was that this floor had been a cooking area. But after thinking it through, I realized a kitchen would be a stupid thing for a vampire to have. Given the preferred liquid diet, I mean. So, after searching through Oran’s memories a little, I remembered that alchemy was a thing in Abatur!

Ignoring the long dead herbs, I walked over to the glass jars and began reading the labels. With my handy Zu-Rakan translation, deducing the names wasn’t very difficult.

Moon Harvest Cream of the 2nd degree.

Okay, maybe knowing the names didn’t help that much.

I searched through all the bottles, discarding the ones that were empty, full of dust, or just plain looked nasty.

Keep that turd colored Moon cream for yourself, honey child.

I found the real treasure in a lockbox at the top of the shelves. My ghoul hand flipped it open, and a poisoned needle stung it right in the ribbon. Nobody minded.

Inside the velvety insulated box was a preserved jar labeled, “Fearless Blood Palace Mana Refinement Pill”. I knew instantly that I’d found something special. Oran had known that classers highly coveted mana refinement pills. The alchemical products would shape the mana of anyone with a mana core, offering new classes for future progression.

Unfortunately, the pill would do nothing for me. I didn’t have a class to upgrade, and experimenting with drugs was not my style. With my luck, I’d probably end up mutating into a giant flesh balloon with lips for an asshole. Still, I merrily packed it away in its original box and placed it in my backpack. Someone down the line would really want that pill, and I’d demand an exorbitant price.

I took an assortment of colognes and perfumes as well, hoping they might be valuable, too. Though some rebranding would be in order. I doubted many men would be interested in buying “Imperious Thunder Goat Spray”.

My favorite item was a lotion that had the apparent use of restoring undead skin. As terrified as I was about getting damaged, having it as an ace in the hole was a godsend. The pearl colored liquid looked fine, but it being so old, I decided to only use it as a last resort.

I reached the seventh floor and found a destroyed library. Yellowed scrolls fell apart as soon as I picked them up, as did the pages of the few books I found. Trying my best not to destroy the ancient history any more than I had already, I sauntered back to the stairs.

The eighth and final floor was the best looking of the lot.

As soon as we entered, I couldn’t do anything else but gape at the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. She was pale skinned and wore a slutty black robe that barely contained her voluptuousness. Dark red hair flowed down around her shoulders.

I drew closer to the eternal ice block that encased the corpse of Mizrah Kest. Her open eyes were the color of pink roses, and her pouty lips nearly matched. High cheekbones and a refined nose, balanced across from each other with perfect symmetry.

Wowza.

The only small imperfection with the picture was that the top of her head resembled a microwaved pizza roll. There was a hole that looked semi-exploded outward; probably from when Thalzaxor had sucked out her brain and eaten her power.

Back to single life, I guess.

As I stared at Mrs. Cadaver Universe, it occurred to me that a two thousand year old vampire might have some incredible knowledge within those bones. I reached out to touch near where her toe almost closed in on the edge and tried to sense the power hidden within her skin with my Necrometry.

I got nothing.

Thalzaxor had likely eaten every aspect of the vampire queen.

Turning to search the rest of the room for treasure, I felt a hand unexpectedly shove me back against the wall.

In shock, I looked up to see my skeletal knight glaring down at me with those baleful green eyes. Checking to see that the mask was still on, I reached up so fast I slapped my face.

It was still there.

My knight broke the tension by stepping forward to take my previous position. A writhing shadow grew mere feet from where I’d stood, and my Sense Undead spell triggered. The darkness continued to boil and ripple, growing from the ground to stretch from an indistinct ink blot of my parents fighting over medical bills to the shape of a woman.

In a sibilant voice, the creature spoke, “Why have you come here, priest?”

”