I handed over a duffel bag worth of elixirs to Jakob and he headed off to one of the tents in the back—compliments of the house—for a peaceful night of rest and relaxation, while I spent the next few hours sorting through the enormous pile of Relics he had unceremoniously dumped onto the front counter.
As expected, most of them were complete garbage, fit only for sacrificing.
Elevator Music conjured elevator music for thirty seconds, cost forty Mana, and had no combat effect whatsoever. Selfie Sense was a bit like my Sixth Sense ability, but instead of locating traps, it allowed the user to detect the perfect lighting and angle conditions for snapping a selfie. I couldn’t imagine a single use for a skill like that and wondered why it even existed.
There were a handful of gems in there, though, including half a dozen Basic Camo Kits and two Sucker Punches.
I forged another Mall Ninja’s Strike and added it to the store’s available Relic Inventory, along with the rest of the Camo Kits and the other Sucker Punch. There was also a Common-grade called Arsonist Accelerant, which took the form of a cheap grocery store squirt gun. Except it was filled with lighter fluid. Although it didn’t have an active damage component, it could conjure a large AoE puddle of lighter fluid that increased all Fire Damage by one hundred percent.
It had extremely high synergy with the Erlenmeyer’s Molotov Cocktail Relic, and I forged the two together, creating an Uncommon Relic called Burn, Baby, Burn. It effectively turned the Molotov Cocktail into a flamethrower spell, allowing the caster to unleash a wild jet of continuous flame for as long as they had Mana to burn. It dealt a shit ton of Burst damage and did decent DoT as well, but it came with a few significant drawbacks that made me hold off adding it to my core.
Burn, Baby, Burn
Uncommon Relic – Level 1
Range: Single Target
Cost: 2 Mana/Sec
Ever wonder what burning hair smells like? Now, you’ll know. Unleash a reckless column of purifying flame and cleanse the world of its many, many transgressions. Let it burn, baby, burn. The target takes 30 points of Flame Damage on contact, and an additional 5 points of damage per second while the opponent is directly in the flame stream.
But there are drawbacks.
Do you know what the life expectancy of a flamethrower operator in Vietnam was? Four minutes. Yours probably won’t be much longer.
While actively using Burn, Baby, Burn, you are rooted in place and unable to move. You receive 2 points of Flame Damage per second while using this skill. If actively using Burn, Baby, Burn while your Health is below 10%, you have a 25% chance of spontaneously exploding—just like the flamethrower operators in ’Nam! This Relic enables Mana usage.
The drawbacks were horrendous—so much so that I didn’t even want to sell the damned thing—but if I could forge it with another Relic that mitigated some of the god-awful side effects, it might be a real contender down the road.
The single Uncommon Jakob had given me to sweeten the pot ended up being a physical Relic that was too good to ignore. It also addressed one of the fundamental problems with my current abilities: I was weak as a newborn kitten. I’d dumped the vast majority of my Personal Enhancement Points into Resonance, Perception, and Grit. Although, in theory, I was already significantly stronger than even the strongest human athlete, compared to the things in the Backrooms I was like a toddler swinging around a pool noodle.
On top of that, I had a serious glass jaw thanks to my low Toughness score.
The Uncommon-grade Relic Jakob had given me wouldn’t solve all of my problems, but it definitely lived up to the hype. Even better, because I hadn’t harvested it from a dead Dweller, it retained all the levels Jakob had already imbued it with.
Baldree’s Scale Mail Cuirass
Uncommon Relic – Level 7
Range: Self/Passive
Is this just the chest cavity of a dead Cendral? That’s not important right now. What is important about this rib cage/chest cavity is that it’ll imbue your frail, squishy meatsack with a sliver of the Cendral racial bonuses without having to run your body through the DNA equivalent of an industrial woodchipper.
While equipped, this Scale Mail Cuirass—which may or may not have been harvested from a poor schlub named Travius of Baldree—grants the user +1 Toughness per 2 Variant Assimilation Level and offers an additional 10% resistance against all sources of magical damage.
Unfortunately, the Cendral suck so profoundly at magic that their suckage has even seeped into this odd Relic. While equipped, you lose +1 point of Resonance per 5 Variant Assimilation Levels.
Even accounting for the penalty against Resonance, equipping the Cuirass—which did indeed look like the hollowed-out, scale-covered torso of a Cendral—was a no-brainer. An extra ten percent resistance against all forms of magic? Fuck yeah. Plus, I’d gain seven points of Toughness, while sacrificing only three points of Resonance?
Sign me up.
Deciding which Relic to get rid of was a little tougher.
Bad Trip was a solid control technique, and Slippery When Wet had proved to be surprisingly effective more times than I could count.
The best option was to replace Tinfoil Hat of Mind Shielding, which would cost me a point of Grit, plus the slight protection it offered against Hypnotic Psionics. I hung on to the Tinfoil Hat, though, since I could always swap it back in if I found myself squaring off against a Dweller that primarily dealt in mind-fuckery, like the Photophage.
After sorting through the Relics—forging those worth forging, and separating out those worth selling—I had forty-three Common-grade Relics fit for the burn heap.
Since my Drain-O Bolt had hit the level 5 advancement threshold, the cost to level the ability had increased from five to ten Relics per level. With forty Relics to burn, I could’ve pushed it up to level nine, but instead I decided to raise a few of my other abilities up to the first advancement threshold, which would give me the most bang for my buck. The Cendral Scale Mail was already at level seven, so I ignored that one, and instead sacrificed ten Relics to bring Sterilization Field from level 3 up to level 5.
The effect wasn’t nearly as exciting as I’d been hoping for, though still not bad.
The total aura duration increased to 30 seconds and the Mana cost decreased by ten points, from 50 to 40. It also added an additional effect: while I was actively inside the aura field, all my Mana costs were reduced by 10%.
Good, but not nearly as flashy as the changes to Drain-O Bolt.
I used fifteen to boost Mall Ninja’s Strike to level 4 and the last fifteen to bring the Pharmacist’s Scales up from level 2 to level 5. The advancement didn’t change the core mechanic of the Relic in any way—it still allowed me to exchange Mana for Health or Health for Mana in equal measure—but now I could extend the effect to others, instead of just myself, which would be handy to have.
Even more so now that I knew about the whole elixir situation.
I spent some time tinkering around with the Monolith, distributing the fifteen Personal Enhancement Points I’d racked up over the past two weeks. I dropped two points into Athleticism, increasing my attack speed and damage, a single point into Grit—making up for the point I’d lost by removing the Tinfoil Hat—then put five more into Perception and the remaining seven into Resonance.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
For my level, I was still critically weak when it came to physical damage output, but overall, things were looking up.
Dan Woodridge
Specimen Biotag ID #03A-01-B00R7T569C
Variant Assimilation Level: 15
Race: Human, Archetypal
Current Experience: 16,370
Next Level: 19,250
Personal Enhancement Points: 0
__ __ __
Health: 69
Health-Regen/Hour: 3.25
__ __ __
Stamina Reserve: 36
Stamina-Regen/Minute: 2.7
__ __ __
Mana Pool: 89
Mana-Regen/Minute: 6.35
Individual Adaptative Stats
Grit: 10
Athleticism: 10
Toughness: 16
Perception: 20
Resonance: 34
Preservation: 5
Spatial Core - Active
(C) Moving Walkway – Level 1
(C) Slippery When Wet – Level 1
(C) Force Multiplier – Level 1
(C) The Pharmacist’s Scales – Level 5
(U) Mall Ninja’s Strike – Level 3
(U) Bad Trip – Level 1
(U) Baldree’s Scale Mail Cuirass – Level 7
(R) Sterilization Field – Level 5
(R) Drain-O Bolt – Level 5
(ME) Compass of the Catacomber (Fully Tempered)
Current Titles – Passive
Out of Your League, Deathwish, Marked for Death, Weapon of Opportunity, Legend in the Making, Overkill Overlord, Fish in a Barrel (E)
I caught a few hours of shut-eye after that, since Croc and I had been pounding the metaphorical pavement nonstop for what felt like forever. When I woke up, I was still tired but significantly less so than I’d been before. I headed over to the breakroom with a trio of microwaveable Hot Pockets—well, Magma Calzones, technically—in tow and found Croc and Jakob lounging together at the circular table, a half-demolished plate of chicken wings sitting between them.
Jakob was picking the wings clean with his razor-sharp teeth and Croc was then swallowing the bones down whole. Just slurping them into a stomach that didn’t seem to exist. The reptilian Cendral had a half-full beer propped up on the table, condensation beading on the glass.
“Good morning,” the lizard-man said, lifting his bottle and offering me a small salute.
“Is it morning?” I asked, squinting bleary eyed at him.
“In the Backrooms,” the man replied evenly, “it is whatever time you want it to be. You just woke up, so for you it is morning. I wanted a beer, so for me, it is evening.” He paused and regarded the glass in his hand. “I find that it is usually evening for me, these days. I never was much of a drinker before coming here, but now it is one of the few pleasures I have left.”
“Amen to that, brother,” I said, before popping the Hot Pockets into the microwave, then setting them to whirling as I hit the start button. “Looks like it’s five o’clock for me too, so how’s about you grab me a beer?”
“Of course,” Jakob replied, fishing one out from the employee’s fridge, then popping the cap off with a claw. He slid it across the table toward me with ease, not spilling a single sud in the process.
I plopped into a chair opposite him and took a long swig, enjoying the flavor of the brew. At least the beer was good here. And plentiful.
“So your compatriot and I”—he nodded toward Croc—“have been discussing this enterprise you have started, and I think your idea might have some merit. How exactly it is you’ve come by this place is still a mystery, and one I won’t press you to divulge, but with all of this advertising you are going to attract some powerful interests very quickly if you haven’t already.”
“And?” I asked, cutting him off. “What’s it to you? I thought you were just trying to scoop up all the elixirs you could get before the Syndicate cuts my hands off and feeds me to the shit golem on the second floor.”
“Genau. Indeed, I was,” he replied, dipping his chin slightly, “but I’ve had some time to ponder your situation. The truth is, I think the service you can potentially provide would be of tremendous value to a great many Delvers, just like me. Is this vision of yours likely to work? No. Is it suicidal? Yes, almost certainly. And yet…” He trailed off. “And yet I find myself both curious and rooting for your success. Which is why I want to offer you a little advice.”
The microwave dinged, punctuating his words.
“That’s awfully considerate of you,” I said, retrieving my Magma Calzones, which were roughly the surface temperature of the sun. “And I suppose you’re doing that out of the goodness of your heart?”
“Do not be obtuse, it is beneath you,” Jakob replied. “I am doing it because if you succeed it will benefit me greatly. Much like you, I am an outsider. Not fully accepted by the Cendrals below, since I am a Transmog, but not fully accepted by the human settlements for the same reason. Plus, I already have plenty of bad blood with the Skinless Court. As a result, finding reliable allies can be tricky, but this place… It could be something truly fantastic, but only if you survive long enough to make it so.”
“I’m listening,” I said, absently tracing a finger along the slick exterior of my beer bottle.
“You are moving too slow,” he said.
“How the hell are we supposed to move any faster?” I asked, mildly annoyed.
“It’s true,” Croc added in, seeming to sense my frustration. “We’ve been out canvassing levels for sixteen hours a day. Sometimes more. The only way I can see it going faster is if we recruit Princess Ponypuff—an idea I am not particularly keen on—or if Dan finds a way to shed his frail, fleshly need for sleep.”
“I have no doubt you are working tirelessly, but it will not be enough,” the Cendral said, shaking his head. “The marketing, it is creative—perhaps even a stroke of genius. Again, how you are accomplishing such a feat given the nature of the Backrooms is a baffling conundrum, but that is not the point.”
“And your point is what, exactly?” I pressed.
“That you are overtly drawing attention to yourself, but do not yet have any worthwhile allies, discounting dear Croc here and those nightmarish golems working the floor. But they will hardly be enough, considering who your adversaries are. Especially once the Syndicate gets word about your activities. It’s like you’ve installed a neon sign telling everyone who might want you dead exactly where to find you.”
Huh. I wondered if we could get an actual neon sign. That would be a helluva lot more eye-catching than the spray-paint.
“The doorway anchors act as temporal restriction fields,” I said dismissively. “I can keep out those shitweasels from the Skinless Court, and if the douches from the Syndicate get froggy I can ban their asses too.”
“And what is to stop them from simply setting up a cordon around each of your little doors, hmm?” he asked. “Will you just stay in here forever?”
“I love how you’re laying out all the problems, and not giving me any solutions to work with,” I shot back.
There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“That is only because I have yet to finish. You see, gefährte, I approve of what you’re doing, but to speed things along, you need to post one of these doorways of yours in a proper Safe Harbor—preferably one without ties to the Syndicate. And there is only one I can think of within your reach. Howlers Hold, down on floor seven.”
That wasn’t the first time I’d heard the name.
“The Researcher mentioned Howlers Hold in one of his prompts,” I said, picking at the hot pocket and shoving the cooler bits into my mouth.
“You received more than one prompt from the Researcher?” Jakob asked quietly, more for himself than for me. “Curiouser and curiouser.” He eyed me and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “But never mind, one mystery at a time is more than enough. Howlers Hold is run by a rather… shall we say eccentric group of likeminded individuals, but they also happen to be quite powerful. They can be a little standoffish toward outsiders, but of all the communities, they are the most likely to render aid to outcasts and new Delvers just trying to find their way.
“You happen to be both: a new Delver and an outcast. And their standoffishness might actually be a benefit in this situation. Although they have a ruling council of sorts, which resides in a hidden enclave somewhere below the hundredth floor, they don’t owe allegiance to any sovereign and their Safe Harbors are among the only ones where the Syndicate doesn’t operate freely.”
“So I wouldn’t have to worry about the Aspirants of the Court or Syndicate thugs?” I asked.
“I didn’t say that,” Jakob cut in sharply. “I said the Syndicate doesn’t operate freely. There will certainly be Syndicate members lurking in the shadows. But they will keep their allegiance hidden. That means more knives in the dark. But there will be far fewer of them, and they won’t have the blessing of the Harbor itself. Making an ally out of the Howlers might prove to be difficult, at least initially, but if you could secure a trading partnership with them, it would certainly boost the prospect of your long-term survival.”
As he spoke, I thought about the fabled Artifact I had tucked away inside my storage space. The Seal of the Researcher. I could only use it once, but assuming the Researcher held sway with the Delvers of the Hold, then maybe setting up shop wouldn’t be as tough as Jakob thought.
Not that I was going to divulge any of that information to him.
“If you would like,” he said after a moment, “I could, perhaps, make an introduction for you? Although I am not a standing member of the Hold, they’ve always treated me with a great deal of kindness. Friendliness even, which is saying quite a lot since this is a world where friendship doesn’t exist.”
I felt the hairs stand up along the back of my neck, almost as though Spelunker’s Sixth Sense had activated. This had nothing to do with magic, though, and everything to do with gut instinct. Maybe this guy was really on the level, or maybe he was being useful with an ulterior motive in mind. Like getting me out of the store then turning me over to the Flayed Monarch. Or, more likely, killing me the second I was an easy target, and looting every single Relic from my Spatial Core.
“And what’s to stop you from ripping my head off the second we leave this place?” I asked bluntly. “You’re level twenty-five. I wouldn’t last two minutes against you if you decided to kill me.”
The man just grinned. “Maybe you will survive here after all. So long as you assume that everything, everywhere—
“All the time is both lying to you and trying to murder you?” I finished.
“Exactly,” he agreed, practically beaming. “And what would you say if I asked to stay a while longer in this store of yours?”
“As long as you can afford to pay for a room and follow the posted rules—don’t steal shit, don’t harass my golems, don’t break anything—you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like. I’ll have another shipment of elixirs ready by next week.”
He pulled out a Silver Delver Token and slid it across the table toward me. “Excellent. Put me down for a week—in the private tent of course.”
“Of course,” I said, pocketing the coin.