Everon’s lips curled into a knowing smile. She had chosen well. The failed Skeleton Chimera was no easy opponent—it should have required a warrior of level 20 or 25 to defeat. And yet, Jack had brought it down. Impressive. She glanced down at his battered form, a slight grimace crossing her face. Of course, he’d had help. The creature had deteriorated significantly over the centuries, and Jack had drawn from a fragment of her aura. Well, not exactly hers—but close enough. Still, he had shown more skill and resilience than she had expected.
As she floated away from Jack, gliding silently across the room, shadows clung to her like mist. Yes, she thought, he was worth the risk. She couldn’t deny the satisfaction she felt watching him overcome the challenge, though she would never let him see it. Jack had potential—raw and untapped—but undeniably formidable.
Her eyes landed on a worn-down chest in the corner, once a proud vessel for powerful relics. Now, it was barely more than a decaying box, its contents corroded by the passage of time. The chest bore unmistakable signs of age—rust creeping over its hinges, rot claiming the wood. Once, it had held mighty items, not legendary, but potent. Now, it was just a reminder of what she had lost.
She frowned. The enchantments meant to preserve these relics had failed long ago, worn down as she had been forced to pull her magic inward, siphoning it from every corner of the dungeon. The power that had once kept this place alive for thousands of years was dwindling, and she had to watch as her grand creation decayed piece by piece.
I thought I would have tens of thousands of years, she mused, frustration bubbling to the surface. Instead, less than ten thousand have passed, and already my strength has been reduced to a fraction of what it was.
Her smile faded, replaced by a furrowed brow. What if it’s not enough? What if I can’t hold on much longer? The thought gnawed at her, a growing worry she couldn’t quite shake. She had counted on this place sustaining her, keeping her hidden, keeping her powerful. But now, as her power waned, the cracks were showing.
She clenched her fists, shadows flickering around her as frustration surged. “Damn it,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, the weight of her fading strength pressing down on her. Jack’s victory meant something—it reminded her of the fleeting nature of her power. He was growing stronger, while she was slowly weakening.
The magic was fading faster than it should. The dungeon, once so strong and stable, was deteriorating. And the very air felt thinner, like the magic that once saturated every corner of this place had diminished, leaving behind only traces of what had been. Why? What was draining it?
Reaching into the worn chest, her hand closed around the object that might be her salvation—a deep onyx stone, its surface etched with intricate golden inscriptions that locked together like the gears of a finely tuned machine. The stone was heavier than it looked, not just in weight, but in meaning. It held what was left of her power. This was her last gamble. If this didn’t work, if it failed to bond with Jack, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold this place together.
Her lips curved into a predatory smile, though there was a shadow of doubt beneath it. I don’t have the luxury of patience anymore, not with the magic around me fading so rapidly. Without hesitation, she flung the stone toward Jack, watching as it shot through the air and sank into his chest. He gasped, his body seizing in agony, convulsing as his back arched and his fingers dug into the floor. After what felt like an eternity, he collapsed, panting heavily.
“That will do,” she murmured, though the tension in her voice betrayed her. It had to work. The stone was her only chance to regain control over the waning magic in her domain. Over time, the enchantments that had once held everything together had faltered, crumbling as she had pulled her power inward just to sustain herself. Now, even the air felt thin, like the magic had been siphoned away, leaving her and this place vulnerable.
It wasn’t the gentlest method—but Everon had no time for gentleness. She needed results, and she needed them now. Waiting for Jack to wake naturally would only delay her, and with every moment that passed, the magic in this place slipped further from her grasp.
She floated away from Jack, scanning the room as shadows seemed thinner and the air less charged. The magic is dying. And if the stone didn’t bond with Jack, she would be left with nothing. Her strength was dwindling too quickly, and she couldn’t afford to lose any more of it.
Her eyes flicked back to Jack’s still form, a flicker of hope mingling with her worry. Please, let this work. Let him survive. If Jack could bond with the stone, she might be able to reverse the tide, to rebuild what was falling apart. But until then, all she could do was wait—and hope that her last desperate move would be enough.
Everon drifted back toward Jack, her gaze cold and calculating as she examined his broken body. He had been useful, yes, but fragile. Too fragile. He won’t last long in this state. With a sigh, she flicked her wrist and whispered in an ancient, arcane tongue, “𐎡𐏀 𐎬𐏀 𐎢𐎮𐎬𐎬𐎠𐎭𐎣.” The words, heavy with magic, echoed softly in the chamber as a faint, shimmering light surrounded Jack’s form. It wasn’t a full healing—she didn’t have the strength for that—but it was enough to stabilize him, to ensure he survived. His breathing evened out, and the worst of the wounds began to close. Just enough to keep him alive.
Her work done, Everon exhaled, feeling the drain on her already taxed magic. She floated back a step, her eyes still fixed on Jack’s prone form. He’ll live, but barely.
Turning her attention away from him, she flicked her wrist again, and the remains of the Skeleton Chimera began to disassemble, floating toward her as if caught in a storm of black mist. The stinger and long tail segments hovered before her, swirling with dark energy. She twisted her hand, reshaping the pieces, reforging them into something new.
A weapon. A two-sided, three-pointed spear, its form a twisted blend of black and white, taking on a metallic sheen. The weapon looked deadly, dangerous—something worthy of a true fighter. Sanjian Liangren Qiang, she thought, a name whispered by a long-dead friend from Nanzhou, a weapon master of incredible skill. For a moment, a small, bittersweet smile flickered across her face. He had been clumsy, awkward, always getting in over his head. She had cared for him like a brother, and his death had been one of the most painful things she had ever experienced.
Clutching her chest, she forced those memories back. The ache of that loss flickered inside her, a momentary spark of joy quickly extinguished by sadness, like a candle blown out by a cold wind. There’s no time for this. Everon’s gaze hardened as she refocused on the task at hand. There was still work to be done.
The rest of the Skeleton Chimera liquefied, swirling around Jack’s form like molten metal. Everon watched as the substance seeped into his armor, repairing cracks, replacing damaged plates, and reinforcing weak points. She molded the material into a new gauntlet for his left hand, replacing the shield he had used. It was better this way, she thought. He shouldn’t grow too reliant on the shield; in the last fight, it had nearly cost him his life.
None of it was enchanted—no, she wouldn’t make it that easy for him. The material was stronger, lighter, but not enough to give him an advantage he hadn’t earned. He would still need to fight for his survival, just as she had all those years ago.
As she worked, a realization settled within her. If he survived this... he would need more. Jack wasn’t enough on his own. He would need further aid, further refinement. She had hoped to push him into something more, but even she could see that this dungeon, this realm, was draining faster than she could maintain it. If Jack was to be the key to her salvation, he couldn’t be left to fend for himself entirely. Not yet.
The thought filled her with a strange sense of acceptance. If Jack lived through this, she would have to do more for him. Guide him. Give him the tools, even if it meant risking more of herself.
The exertion of using so much magic was more taxing than she cared to admit. Each spell, each movement of energy, left her feeling more depleted than the last. The weariness weighed on her like a heavy cloak. With a tired sigh, Everon formed a chair from the remaining scraps of the Skeleton Chimera and summoned a familiar book to her hands.
Settling into the makeshift chair, she opened The Tale of Woe, the familiar pages falling easily beneath her fingertips. She had read it thousands of times—cynical love, tragic betrayal, and a villain who always seemed to outshine the heroes. She smirked to herself. Some things never change. And it helped that the story was based on an event she had caused herself.
Yet, as her eyes skimmed over the words, she felt something different—a faint sensation, like the brush of a breeze, barely noticeable but unmistakable. Her smile sharpened, darker and more eager. The bond had formed.
Everon tilted her head, closing her eyes as she focused on the fragile connection between her and Jack. It was faint, delicate, but undeniably there. Power, faint as it was, slowly seeped into her, a whisper of energy trickling through the bond. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Enough to remind her of what she had once been, of the effortless strength she had wielded so long ago.
Now, through Jack, the first threads of that power were returning to her.
It wasn’t enough to restore her fully—not yet—but it was enough to light a spark in the dark. The hunger inside her stirred, anticipation brewing as she imagined what would come. Slowly, piece by piece, she would reclaim what had been lost. Jack would be the key, and he wouldn’t even realize it was happening—at least not at first.
Her eyes flicked open, glancing at Jack’s unconscious form. Yes, she thought, I chose well. The bond would grow stronger, and with it, so would she. This small trickle of energy would eventually become a torrent, a flood that would fill the void inside her.
A low, dark laugh bubbled up from her chest, rich with excitement and satisfaction. This was only the beginning. The power filling her was intoxicating, even in its infancy. She could already feel it—the strength she craved slowly returning, the void inside her slowly filling. One day, the torrent of power would overwhelm everything in its path. For now, she would savor the delicate stream, knowing that one day it would become a flood.
But as the power trickled in, so did the memories. Memories of It. The entity—the faceless being whose presence had haunted her life, who had taken everything from her. It had pulled the strings behind the shadows, a force so vast and unknowable that even she had been unable to fully comprehend it.
Her smile wavered slightly as her mind turned toward It. It had been the architect of her fall, the invisible hand that had moved against her. And she knew that even with all the power she once had, confronting It directly would be a folly. It was ancient, entrenched in the very fabric of reality, far-reaching and subtle.
But she also knew that there were ways around It.
Everon’s smile returned, sharper this time. It may have been powerful, but It was not invincible. There were gaps, cracks in the grand design, places where she could slip through. It wouldn’t be easy—nothing about this would be—but if she could build her power through Jack, quietly, without drawing attention, she could find the weaknesses in It. She could outmaneuver It, find the places where It was vulnerable, where its control waned.
Her thoughts raced as the hunger deepened within her. This would take time. But patience had always been one of her greatest strengths. She would lay the foundation, carefully, subtly. It wouldn’t even see it coming until it was too late.
The rage simmering beneath her calm exterior flared again, but this time it was tempered by strategy. She wouldn’t simply confront It head-on. No, she would weave a web, one that would entangle It slowly but surely. She would work through Jack, build her power, and when the time was right, she would strike.
And when she did, there would be no mercy.
Her fingers tightened around her book as she envisioned the moment. The world that had been shaped by It would crumble. She would rip apart the threads It had woven. It had taken her family, her strength, her life. But she would take everything from It in return.
There would be no second chances. No redemption for It.
Her gaze returned to Jack, unconscious and oblivious. He was her way forward, her key to unraveling the power It held. Through him, she would find the path that would lead her back to her strength—and beyond it.
As she read, the flow of power continued—slow but steady, like the first whispers of a storm that would soon tear through everything in its path. It would fall.
And she would be there to watch as It burned.
-----
Pain. So much pain. You never realize how many muscles you have or where they are until you're lying in a state of complete agony. Why did my jaw hurt? Did I even use it in the fight? That was just one of the thousand questions swirling in Jack’s mind. From his toes to his head, every part of him screamed, and the maddening itch on his right arm was just another layer of torture. He had no idea how he won, his memory was fragmented, but he vividly remembered the fear and rage.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
After a while, with his body still withering in pain, Jack slowly forced his eyes open. The world was dark, bathed in dim lighting, and for that, he was grateful. He tried to sit up, feeling the awful grind of bones, every joint cracking like old wood. Nothing felt broken, but everything was sore. Groaning, he fumbled at his waist, reaching for a potion.
"I wouldn’t do that, little one." The voice came, soft and smooth like silk, but with an undercurrent of malevolent joy, as if the speaker was savoring what might come next. Jack turned, finding Everon standing in all her sinister splendor. Dressed in a flowing black gown with a large, ornate hat, she was beautiful, but her presence radiated danger.
"Why not?" Jack asked, his voice strained. Surely the potion could take away the pain, maybe heal some of these fractures. His body was bleeding, and he could feel several bones fractured or worse.
Everon smiled, her tone light and almost mocking. "Well, you see, there's a reason that potion won’t do much for your bones. Potions of that rank don’t always heal breaks properly. In fact, they might cause even more pain. Letting the injury heal naturally is often the better choice, especially for someone with a warrior class. I once knew a man who kept breaking his bones on purpose, thinking it would give him a skill to strengthen them. It worked, eventually—but not before he broke almost every bone in his body at least once. Quite the commitment, wouldn’t you say?"
Jack stared at the potion in his hand, his heart sinking. I need this... I need relief. He clenched his jaw, the ache intensifying as he realized that the potion wouldn't help him the way he needed. With a defeated sigh, he slipped it back into his pouch, the weight of exhaustion and pain pressing down on him.
Is there anything you could do to help me?" Jack asked, his voice trembling with desperation. He was clinging to the hope that maybe she had a healing spell or some way to ease the agony that gripped him. He looked at her again, eyes pleading, but she slowly shook her head, smiling that same sardonic smile.
"Well, if you’d prefer to be mutated into some sort of eldritch undead horror, entirely numb to pain, I could certainly assist with that," she remarked, her tone light but ever so condescending. "Otherwise, I’m afraid you’ll have to handle this on your own. I’m not a white witch, after all." She offered a faint, knowing smile, as if his suffering were a trivial inconvenience.
"Then... what’s the point of this bond between us if you won’t help me when I need it?" Jack’s voice broke, more exhausted and pleading than angry. He tried to pull himself up, grunting in pain, but as he moved, he noticed something different was his armor, replaced with something new.
Instead, Jack found himself wearing a strange mix of black and white armor that covered his body. It was incredibly light—so much so that at first, he didn’t think he was wearing any armor at all. As he examined it closely, he noticed something odd about the texture. The black portions were glossy and rigid, almost as if liquid metal had been poured over him and solidified into place. The white patches, though, had a rough, bone-like appearance, smooth in some areas but jagged in others. The combination gave the armor an unsettling look, as if it had been forged from both molten metal and hardened bone.
Despite its eerie design, the armor was striking. Next to him lay a spear, its three-pointed, double-edged tip resembling something from ancient Chinese weaponry. The spear, like the armor, seemed to be crafted from a fusion of metal and bone, the shaft gleaming like polished steel but with organic curves and ridges that hinted at its grim origins.
If Jack had the strength, he would’ve loved to test the armor’s flexibility and the spear’s balance, but his body screamed for rest. He still had all his other gear, but leaning back against the wall, he could do nothing more than breathe slowly, trying to ease the pain.
Everon sighed loudly, her gaze fixed on Jack with such intensity that he eventually flicked his eyes open, just to make her stop. It was almost as if her stare could pierce straight through him, unsettling and unavoidable.
"While you’re right that our deal involves my helping you on this journey," she began, "it’s not without its costs." She paused, her words slower as if she were admitting something she’d rather not. "Using my magic in the physical world drains me a hundred times more than it normally would. And with the effort of forging your new armor and weapon. After you so expertly destroyed the last set. I’m running on fumes. I’m almost on empty and using what remaining amount I had to keep watch over your sleeping body."
Her tone softened, a flicker of reluctant understanding slipping through. "I didn’t think it would take this much out of me," Her voice trailed off as her eyes drifted into the distance, lost in thought. For just a moment, Jack saw beneath the façade not the powerful and malicious dark witch, but a tired, old woman burdened by the weight of time and struggle.
But just as quickly as it appeared, the softness in her expression vanished. She snapped her book shut with a snarl, and the chair she had been sitting on vanished in an instant. The moment of vulnerability was gone, replaced by the sharp, familiar edge of her presence.
She glided over to Jack, towering above him as she waved her hand. A small chest appeared at his side, materializing with a soft thud. Jack glanced at it, hesitating for a moment before flipping the latch and slowly opening the lid. Inside were three items: a bottom-half skull mask, a strange black gem necklace pulsing with dark energy, and two scrolls, each sealed with intricate arcane writing etched down the sides.
Jack looked up at Everon, then back at the contents of the chest, unsure of what to do next.
Everon’s eyes bore into him as she sighed, her voice low and commanding. "I will only say this once: the gem contains my soul. Guard it with your life, and do not lose it." Her words hung heavy in the air, the room suddenly thick with a sense of unease and dread. Jack felt a chill run down his spine as he slowly picked up the necklace, fastening it around his neck and tucking the gem beneath his shirt, feeling its cold weight press against his chest, just under the armor.
"As for the scrolls, they are as follows. The entrance to this dungeon is sealed, its magic depowered since I withdrew my own influence from this place. Now, the first scroll—the one with the blue and gold writing—is a spell of greater teleportation, a tier-seven spell I crafted myself eons ago." She paused, looking at Jack as if waiting for some acknowledgment of her brilliance. When none came, she sighed and continued, her voice becoming more lecturing.
"It will transport you from this location to another, though I set it up thousands of years ago, so the coordinates may be... somewhat off." She raised a finger, adopting a loftier tone as she explained. "The planet, you see, is constantly shifting its position around the stars, and the stars themselves move ever so slightly over time, altering spatial locations. So, you may not end up exactly where I intended, but I estimate somewhere in the northern reaches of Avloris, perhaps bordering the Dreski and Skylift territories, maybe before the Great Plains. But again, who’s to say?" She waved her hand dismissively.
Jack blinked, clearly taken aback. "Wait, shifting around the stars? I thought the planet was flat... so how can it move like that?" He crossed his arms, his expression serious.
Everon froze, her eyes widening in genuine confusion. "The planet... flat?" She stared at him for a moment, as if trying to comprehend what he just said. "You… you can’t actually believe that, can you?"
Jack shrugged. "I mean, there’s a horizon and all. If it were round, wouldn’t we fall off the bottom? Makes sense it’s flat, right?"
For a few seconds, Everon looked genuinely bewildered, processing his words. Then, with a slow exhale, realization hit her. Her confusion shifted to irritation as she narrowed her eyes. "Ah, I see. You’re mocking me." She crossed her arms, her voice dripping with mild exasperation. "How amusing. Mocking the teacher with such nonsense. Truly, you must be proud."
Jack grinned slightly. "Well, you did make it sound pretty serious."
Everon rolled her eyes, waving her hand dismissively. "Very well. Now, if you're done toying with me, we can move on.
"The second scroll is far more straightforward," Everon said, her voice softening slightly, almost as if she was lost in thought. "It’s a scroll of regeneration—a tier-seven spell. I didn’t create this one. A great friend of mine did, a long time ago." For a brief moment, her eyes flickered with something that could have been longing or perhaps a distant memory. "This scroll will boost your natural healing, allowing you to regenerate organs, limbs, and even purge poisons from your system. But be warned—I cannot cast this spell, and this is the only scroll I have left."
Her gaze lingered on the scroll, and for just a second, it felt like she was looking at something far more than just a piece of parchment. "If you use it now, it won’t be available later. So, ask yourself—can you endure the pain, or will you waste it in this moment?"
Her tone, though cool, carried an undercurrent of something deeper, something almost personal. Jack picked up on it, his gaze shifting to the scroll. He could see the weight it held for her. A relic from a time long gone... from someone she’s lost.
Jack hesitated, staring at the scroll in his hands, marveling at the power it promised. For a moment, he felt tempted to use it—anything to stop the pain coursing through his body. But as he held it, he realized that its true value was not in immediate relief but in having it when things got truly desperate.
His fingers brushed the edge of the scroll as he looked up at Everon, her eyes distant, lost in whatever memories the scroll had stirred. He cleared his throat softly. "I’ll hold onto it," he said, tucking the scroll carefully into his bag. "Better to suffer through this pain now and save it for when I really need it."
Everon nodded, almost approvingly. There was a faint glimmer of something in her eyes respect, perhaps but it passed as quickly as it had come. "A wise choice," she said, her voice regaining its usual coolness, but a hint of nostalgia still lingered in the air.
"The last item," Everon began, her tone more serious now, "is a rare-grade artifact—one that could save your life in the right circumstances. Or, if used unwisely, it could lead to dangerous outcomes." She held his gaze, ensuring her words carried weight. "It’s called the Devil’s Skullshroud. A half lower-skull mask. It offers two notable abilities. First, while wearing it, you will be immune to any type of gas or airborne toxins, whether magical or otherwise. It won’t cure you if you’re already poisoned, but it will prevent further exposure by filtering the air through a complex system of magical circuits."
Everon raised a finger, emphasizing the importance of what came next. "The second ability is self-repair. As long as the majority of the mask remains intact, it will slowly restore itself, along with the magic that powers it. But the true power of this mask lies in its final ability."
She paused briefly, as if considering her words carefully. "It can induce a berserker rage if it senses you are near death. This rage will greatly increase your physical attributes and make you nearly unstoppable in battle. However, be warned—you won’t be able to control when it activates. The mask decides. And with that lack of control comes immense power, far beyond any normal rage skill—even surpassing some level 25 capstone abilities."
Jack stared down at the mask, a strange mix of admiration and reluctance welling up inside him. The craftsmanship was undeniably impressive, and the potential power it offered was tempting, but the idea of losing control, of becoming a bloodthirsty force driven by instinct alone, made him uneasy.
"It also comes with a hood and cloak," Everon continued, her voice steady but growing slightly softer. "They’re tough enough to deflect weak blows and arrow shots and will keep you warm in extreme conditions. Now, I think this balances our deal rather well." She gave him a meaningful look, her expression leaving no room for argument.
Jack hesitated, still eyeing the mask, before finally nodding. "I guess... this could come in handy," he muttered, though his tone carried a trace of unease. He carefully took the mask, feeling its cold, smooth surface.
Everon sighed, her posture stiffening slightly, and when she spoke again, there was a weariness in her voice. "Just remember—using this comes with a cost. You can’t rely on it without understanding what you’re risking. It’s not a tool you want to use carelessly."
Her voice wavered slightly, and Jack noticed a hint of exhaustion on her face. "Now, if you don’t mind, I need rest. Don’t disturb me. And be warned—I won’t be able to help you if you get yourself killed. My assistance from this point forward will be limited to knowledge alone."
With those final words, Everon’s form began to dissolve into a dark mist, swirling into the gem hanging around Jack’s neck. Her departure felt rushed, her usual commanding presence diminished, leaving Jack alone with the weight of her warnings—and the mask in his hands.
Sitting there, Jack sighed as another wave of pain hit him, his body throbbing with a relentless ache. He took a deep breath, bracing himself, and then slowly stood, wobbling like an old man as he waddled to the other side of the room. He didn’t know how long he’d need to stay here and heal, but he figured he had enough food and water to last him at least three weeks. Three weeks of limping around like a half-dead corpse. Great.
Leaning against the wall, he relieved himself, feeling the pressure in his bladder finally ebb away. Well, at least that still works, he thought grimly, shaking his head. As he stared down at the ground, the exhaustion hit him harder. His entire body screamed for rest, and the constant pain wasn’t letting up.
Sighing, Jack’s thoughts drifted to the one bit of dark humor that brought him any comfort. Thank God I don’t have to shit yet. That was all he needed—trying to handle that in his current state. The thought almost made him chuckle, though it was more of a dry, tired laugh than anything else.
He wiped his brow, already feeling the weight of his situation bearing down on him again. Stuck here, in pain, half-broken... what a life. There was no point in feeling sorry for himself, though. He’d have to accept it. This was his reality now. Pain, exhaustion, and a long road to recovery. Wonderful.
After relieving himself, Jack slowly shuffled back to his original spot, each step a reminder of the pain coursing through his body. With a groan, he slumped down, his back against the cold wall. He reached into his pouch, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. His hands trembled with exhaustion as he pricked his finger, drawing a small bead of blood. He muttered the incantation under his breath, his voice barely above a whisper.
His eyes, heavy with fatigue, watched as the words began to form on the paper, swirling into legibility. He wanted to feel something excitement, curiosity but all he could muster was a dull sense of relief. At least this worked, he thought, his mind clouded by the relentless weariness that seemed to drag him down deeper with every passing moment.
{Level up Acquired Warrior level 7!}
{Level up Acquired Pactbinder level 2!}
{Skill Acquired [Counterstrike]}
{Skill Upgraded [Eldritch Echo → Eldritch Echo - Destruction]}
Name: Jack Roger
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Race: Human
Titles: None
Class: Warrior Lv 7, Pactbinder Lv 2
Skills: Iron Will, Precision Strike, Multi-Strike, Eldritch Echo - Destruction, Quick Block, Counterstrike
A small smile tugged at Jack’s lips as he felt the rise in power. Finally, something good. The sensation was brief, but it gave him hope—a glimmer of strength to hold onto. He crumpled the paper in his hand, breathing out slowly. I’ll train more... once I feel better, he thought, the idea of pushing himself further both exhilarating and utterly exhausting.
Before he could think any more about it, the weight of everything crashed down on him. His body, worn and broken, had reached its limit. His head tilted back against the wall, his smile fading as his eyelids grew heavy. Within moments, the darkness pulled him under, and Jack slipped into a deep, exhausted sleep.