Colorado Springs, a city with a population of about half a million, six military installations, known for Garden of the Gods, and home to what is known as The Dive Bar. This unknown bar is hidden in plain sight near a base gate in what appears to be an empty store in a strip mall. No one questions the comings and goings of patrons, after all there is a small restaurant still in business.
The younger regulars in this dive bar change fairly often, as is the nature when most of them are in the military. The Army and Air Force rivalry leads to many an argument over which service is the better one, although both agree that the Navy is the worst one, being stuck on a ship and all, with the Marines a close second. After all, who wants to hang out with a bunch of jar-heads missing a few marbles.
During PCS season, the dive bar could almost be mistaken for a VFW bar with all the veterans that sit there reminiscing. However, what sets the dive bar apart is the content of the reminiscing, these are veteran divers and as such, many have seen more horrors than most war veterans.
(*****)
It was a crisp evening as I left base, more than ready for some downtime. For the last few months, I had been in charge of a bunch of whiny girl scouts. Scratch that, girl scouts would have been easier to deal with. What I had to deal with was the on-the-job training of those fresh out of training. I know why I was stuck with such a shitty task, but it did not make me want to beat the stupid entitled little shits who refuse to do more than the bare minimum over the head with a two by four.
I strode down the street, my breath visible with every exhale, when I returned to Bob’s bar for the second time that year. My last 24 hour duty shift had fallen on my normal dive day, so I was anxious to return and get back on track. Reaching for the front door, there was no indication of the anticipation thrumming through my body when I pushed the door open and strode confidently in and made a beeline for the bar.
The bartender, Bob, was the same as always, standing behind the bar polishing a glass with an off color cloth that had seen better days.
“Evening Bob, how has the diving been going?” Bob’s eyes met mine. The calm brown reassured me that nothing major had occurred.
“Everything’s been calm here, no divers lost, and plenty of records cleared.”
“Fuck yeah, that’s what I like to hear.” A savage grin flashed across my face. “Hook me up with a token and we’ll keep that streak going.”
Bob gazed at me as if weighing my worth and abilities before he glanced at the jukebox. With a shadow of a smile, he passed me a token.
“Have a fruitful dive. See you on the other side.”
“Of course, you know me. I’ll be back in a few for my usual.”
I strode to the jukebox, contemplated the available records, and noted most of them were below my level and thus not a consideration unless there were none at my level. Luck was with me, there was a single song at my level. I inserted the token and selected ‘Angel with a Shotgun by The Cab.’
“Angel’s going to do an angel song,” one regular called out to the entire bar.
“Yah, well at least I’m doing some fucking diving. I don’t see you doing anything, Mr. Chair-Force.” With that retort I strode towards to bathroom and flipped him the bird over my shoulder.
Even though I was nominated for the ‘Angels of the battlefield’ award, I still found it ironic and more than a little annoying that nobody would call me by any other name, especially considering my middle name is Angel. It was my duty as a combat medic, there had been no need for the award nomination but once the bar found out from a dumb ass private there had been no getting rid of the nickname. It had become especially popular among the Air Force regulars, just another thing to keep the rivalry between services going. Lucky me, I still had another two years at Ft. Carson before I could PCS.
At the back of the bar were two unisex bathrooms, I entered the one with the out-of-order sign.
The door closed behind me with a soft snick. The familiar sensation of my clothes becoming lighter, less substantial, as they shifted into a new form washed over me. Gooseflesh raised on my back as it started to itch before two fine lines appeared in the skin over my shoulder blades. Within the span of a heartbeat, the lines had split open, and white wings began to form, the skin seamlessly fused with the new appendages. Soft downy feathers grew at the base of the wings to protect the sensitive joints.
I could see my new large wings in the mirror above the sink. ‘Shit, I was expecting these to be smaller… they better not get in the fucking way.’ While I waited for my clothes to settle into their new form, I stumbled, thrown off balance when my height shot up just over a half foot.
“Fuck, what is this shit!”
Startled and pissed that the dungeon was not letting me use my normal gear, and to add insult to injury, it had given me a pair of ankle breaker heels! ‘WTF is wrong with this…. Oh, wait, it’s a dungeon. It likes to fuck with us and make things as difficult as it can…. fan-fucking-tastic.’
I normally wore gear received from prior dives. Armored combat boots with stealth bonus, cargo pants with expanded pockets, a black turtleneck with defense bonus and a scale mail armor vest.
The clothes were blindingly white. The ankle breaker boots had thicker heels and came up to just over my knee, combat boot style laces climbed the length of the boot and looked like they would be a bitch to lace by hand. My pants were now a skintight leather that looked like it would limit my movement. ‘Just another way for the dungeon to fuck with me.’ This was topped with an over-bust corset. Which, while not ideal, it was also not the worst thing it had forced me into. ‘Damn sadistic dungeon.’ I ran my hand across the corset, determined that the ridges of the boning were fairly close together. Thus, I would have some protection from attacks, but that was assuming the boning was more than just decorative. ‘You know what they say about assuming… it makes an ass out of you and me.’ Thankfully, my hair had remained in its no nonsense braid and would not impact my visibility.
As the back wall of the bathroom faded, it revealed the dungeon entrance. Grimy walls littered with graffiti in many places abruptly changed to walls of rough stone blocks, giving it a medieval appearance. The stained tile floor was replaced with a hard packed earth and random small stones along the edges of the path where the walls meet the floor.
A new stat sheet appeared in my mind. I had given up on trying to figure out how my typical stats got converted for each dungeon.
Name: Angel H.
Level: 8
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Accuracy: 98%
Speed: 75%
Power: 40%
Reaction Time: 0.01 Seconds
Health: 100%
Skills: Rapid aim level 5, stability level 4, dodge level 2, stealth level 6, first aid level 10, feint level 2
Gear/Abilities/Summons Available: Wall of fire—can summon a wall of fire length 20 feet for five minutes once per dungeon. Will cause 20 damage to any creatures weak to fire as they pass through. Creatures without weakness will take 10 damage and creatures with resistance will take no damage.
Despite having cleared multiple dungeons, there was only one external item that this dungeon will let me use. ‘Fuck, this is going to be difficult.’ A pump-action shotgun appeared on a pedestal where the wall had previously been. I strode over to the pedestal, slightly slower than before to maintain my balance. ‘So fucking glad I’ve had to wear heels before or I would be face-planting right about now.’ As I grabbed the shotgun, a notification went off in my mind, providing information about the weapon.
Level 1 Shotgun
Abilities: infinite basic ammo
Rate of fire: 1 per second
Damage range: 1-10
Critical hit rate: 10%
Critical hit Damage: 20
“Lets go kill some shit.” A round loaded when I pumped the shotgun, ready to be fired.
While it was not the M-4 I am intimately familiar with, there was something reassuring about using a gun. ‘Fucking glad to be rid of that stupid magic pen.’ My pace remained methodical as I brought the shotgun into a ready position and entered the dungeon. I swept my eyes from side to side, vigilantly searching for any signs of movement. Methodically, I went down the corridor. I quickly noticed that while there was no obvious light source, the corridor was dimly lit. This was not ideal for visibility, but it was better than stumbling around in the dark.
A narrow path branched to the right, only visible once I was on top of it, a jagged gash in the wall. Following instincts honed by many years of rigorous training, I entered while hugging the wall as if I was clearing a room. The path widened after a minute, which revealed an oblong room the size of a large basketball court, with smooth stone walls arching overhead to a domed ceiling about 20 feet high. The room contained a group of creatures on the far side. ‘Two, four, six,… 18, 19 if I’m counting right.’ They were vaguely humanoid shaped with gray skin stretched taut over withered muscles clinging to bones and deformed skeletal wings devoid of any feathers that hung limply from their backs. This gave them the appearance of walking corpses. The face, if it could be called that, contained eerie yellow eyes that glowed in the dim light, no nose making the face appear distorted, and a grotesque mouth with unevenly spaced sharp teeth visible between the lips, shrunken and pulled apart. They shuffled around each other in an awkward gait usually associated with zombie movies, as if looking for something.
“Aren’t you ugly, you look like someone ran you over then backed the fucking bus up.” I muttered under my breath.
The instant I crossed the threshold, all the creature’s eyes locked on me and they began to run at me with a stilted, awkward gait. Bringing up the shotgun instantly, I aimed at center mass on the closest creature and fired. It was a direct hit, causing the creature to stumble back, torso speckled with bright red blood. Quickly I pumped the shotgun to reload it, continued aiming at the first creature while I slid my left foot back for a more stable position and fired again. The second shot did not take it down, so I fired a third time and the creature fell.
I quickly calculated the speed of the creatures, my rate of fire, and the number of creatures and realized that there was no way I would be able to defeat all the creatures before they reached me. I adjusted my position, aimed at the general center mass of the group, and fired steadily, sacrificing accuracy for mobility. Using this, I backed up into the corridor to create a choke point and even the playing field a bit. While I moved, I downed three of the remaining creatures, but with the proximity, there was no longer a knock back effect. When I was solidly in the side branch, I fell into a solid firing stance and again aimed at the closest creature, and began firing as rapidly as the shotgun would allow. ‘I’m so fucking glad there is no real reload needed.’
The creatures continued to advance, reaching out as if to grab me. When one lunged forward in a half fall, I let it, knowing the trajectory would miss me. Unfortunately for me, the creature was not aiming for my body, but for my new wings. Grabbing a feather, the creature continued its path forward, yanking it out of my wing as it fell to the ground. When the creature pulled out the feather, a stabbing pain shot through my body, briefly incapacitating me. This brief moment was enough for a second creature to seize the opportunity and lunge for the wings. I reflexively jumped back, stumbled slightly due to the heels, and narrowly avoided the grasping hand. In that instant, I realized that the feathers on my wings are important to my survival. The creatures being focused on taking them was an obvious giveaway.
Calculating the odds of defeating the creatures before they could catch me, I noticed that they were not coming any closer. The realization struck that these creatures must be bound to the room they are in since even the one that fell forward still has its feet in the room. As I watched, one of the other creatures pulled it back into the room.
A vicious grin split my lips at this realization. ‘Fuck yes! Lets kill these motherfuckers.’ I adjusted my aim and began taking out the creatures. With my accuracy stat and rapid aim skill, I was doing close to maximum damage with every shot. Within a minute, I had taken out the remaining 15 creatures. Entering the room, the creatures were dissolving into dust that was rapidly being absorbed into the floor.
In the now empty room, the feather shone from the floor. I crouched to pick it up without sacrificing visibility. My fingers closed around the feather and I received a system message asking if I wanted to use my first aid skill, with a 90% chance of reattaching it. The shotgun was gently placed on the ground next to me, then I firmly grabbed my wing and pulled it forward to get a better view of where the feather had plucked from. The small hole with fresh blood coating it made it easy to see where the feather had been. I lined the feather up with the edge of the hole and slowly pushed it back in. With a jolt of pain, the feather slammed back into place with the force of strong magnets attracted together. A grunt escaped me at the stabbing pain that shot through my wing and into my body. I released my wing and waited for the pain to fade to a tolerable level. There were now streaks of dust and blood on my pants where I wiped my hands on my thighs, ruining their pristine appearance.
While waiting for the pain to fade, I checked my status and saw that my health was now at 99%, ‘did I lose more health and get some back with the first aid, or did it just prevent more health being lost? Note to self: check status before and after performing first aid actions to see what’s going on with that.’ I also saw that the shotgun was 95% of the way to leveling up, and that I now had an experience (XP) log. Apparently each of these creatures were worth 25 XP, and I had just killed 19 of them. Also, the log told me they were called basic grunts, ‘what is up with this naming convention. Well no one ever accused a dungeon of having imagination.’ I picked up the shotgun and stood, ready to continue.
I moved back toward the main hallway of the dungeon, mentally prepared for what I was going to face, or so I thought. The fact that the creatures were targeting my wings let me know what my greatest weakness is. This let me know what to prioritize protecting when I am attacked.
I continued down the main path, not seeing any paths branching off to either side, which was unusual when compared to the underground dungeon I had previously faced. As I walked, I noticed the walls had become rougher at some point. There were jagged spikes of rock that could cause some damage to my bare skin or wings if I were careless. The floor was still smooth packed dirt, but the stones littering the bottom of the walls had increased in size and frequency.
After a while, maybe 20 minutes or so, the path curved and looked like it made a right turn. When I arrived at the turn, the path continued straight into the distance. ‘Fuck, my feet hurt. That’s why this dungeon has long empty paths, to torture you with the fucking heels until you just want to give up. Well fuck that shit! There is no fucking way that I will give up like some god-damned private in boot camp!’ After walking for another 30 minutes down the path, there was finally a path that branched from the main one. One portion of the path kept going straight while the other branched off to the right. Sticking with the rule for mazes and dungeons, I took the path to the right and followed it. It came to a dead end, after 15 minutes of walking, I was forced to backtrack to the turn. I turned right once again, back on the main path. The path continued straight for about 15 minutes, before expanding into a large cavern.