The sight of Johnson, another one of her last revenants crumpling to the ground filled her with despair. The once animated corpse now lay lifeless on the dungeon floor, its eyes, once glimmering with the greenish spark of her magic, now dull and empty.
These undead had been her protectors, her friends in this forsaken world, and now they were gone.
The Spawns that had caused their deaths roared in triumph. She felt a pang of sorrow, her heart heavy with grief and regret.
"Is this the end for me?" she whispered to herself. "Here, in this cursed place, will I die again?"
The corner of the dungeon she found herself trapped into was a surreal landscape, its walls and ceiling lit by violet and blue crystals known as Manacyte. These crystals grew like moss, grewing the side of the wall, the floor and even the ceiling thus casting an otherworldly glow that made the entire cavern feel like a dream, or perhaps a nightmare.
Yes, a nightmare. That was the closest thing to reality right now…
The air was thick with the stench of decay and blood. Shadows danced on the stone walls, cast by the flickering light of the crystals. The sounds of battle echoed around her, a cacophony of growls, clashing metal, and spells being cast. Her heart ached as she saw the lifeless and torn bodies of her revenants. Despite being undead, their eyes had once held a faint light. Now, they were dull and empty, making the sight macabre, even for a necromancer like her.
She felt a pang of sorrow, her heart heavy with grief and regret. Each fallen revenant was a loss, a friend she had infused with life.
The weight of their deaths pressed down on her, adding to her exhaustion.
Laying there against the wall she couldn’t help but lament, "Is this the end for me? Here, in this cursed place, will I die again?"
Her thoughts spiraled, fear gripping her soul. She remembered the place she was summoned from—a place of scorching torment, a place that she was sure was the people of her world called hell. The dread of returning there tormented her almost as much as her grievous injuries.
The memory of that place was vivid: that scorching radiance. She could almost feel the heat on her skin and hear her tormented cries and screams echoed endlessly. It was a place of eternal suffering, and the thought of returning there made her shudder.
Thinking about the possibility that that place is what’s awaiting her after death again, her heart raced with fear. It was an irony that despite her state, wasn't lost on her—a necromancer, a master of death, fearing death itself.
She recalled her arrival in this world, discovering an innate affinity for necromancy. Even before she officially chose the subclass, raising dead beings felt natural to her, with skills and abilities related to controlling corpses unlocking one after another. The strange power she was reincarnated with granted her an extraordinary power to bestow her undead a semblance of true life.
Her memories of the event were fragmented given how far back it happened but clear enough. She remembered the first time she used that power on her undead, feeling like it was what she was meant to do. The undead she infused with that power were different from others—more intelligent, more alive than the ones she conventionally conjured. This strange power, this gift, set her apart from her peers.
There was a sense of destiny in those early days, a feeling that she was on the right path. The power exhilarated her, made her feel alive in a way she never had before. From the moment she arrived in this world, her necromancer skills and abilities came naturally. She knew she had the potential to be good in this strange world, which seemed to be overseen by an interface that made her feel like she was in a video game—one in which she chose to be a Sorcerer and then, at level 12, chose necromancer as a subclass. With this mysterious power, she felt that her and her undeads were unstoppable.
But she understood that it was a mistake to take this second life of hers lightly. Despite many things in this world that might bait one into thinking it was a video game, it was real—just like the people in it, the monsters in it, the pain in it, and ultimately, death. That was why she had always been cautious, never rushing to level up, as leveling up by taking on monsters was one of the most expedient ways to meet one’s death in this world. But an inexplicable urge had driven her to this dungeon with the intent of grinding her way to at least level 20.
Now, in that very dungeon, surrounded by the bodies of her fallen undead companions, she deeply regretted that decision.
The dungeon was a maze of corridors and rooms, filled with traps and monsters. She had ventured deep—too deep, driven by a need she couldn't explain. Now, she was trapped, the way out blocked by Spawns that were smarter than she had anticipated, acting unlike how Dungeon Spawns conventionally would.
Regret gnawed at her. She should have come to her senses before things had gotten this bad. Now, that decision seemed foolish, a mistake that would cost her life.
With a loud thud, Derrick, another of her beloved revenants, fell. She felt a pang of sorrow but was too exhausted to properly mourn the Monk revenant. She tried to summon something but was met with disheartening sight. As the magic circle appeared, it fizzled out before anything could be summoned out of it. The reason—her magical reserves were fully depleted.
The Spawns surrounded her in the tight corner where she had been trapped. She pressed her back against the coarse wall, facing the hulking reptilian beasts of muscle and malice. The dungeon felt colder, darker, as if it was closing in on her. Desperation clawed at her, mingled with a deep exhaustion. She was at her limit, her body and mind pushed beyond their breaking points. Fear was her only companion, whispering that this was the end.
"I'm going to die here. I couldn't even accomplish my mission. I don't want to go back to that place. Not again..."
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Her thoughts spiraled into despair, repeating her fears and regrets. Suddenly, a sound pierced through, echoing against the dungeon’s walls, catching her attention. It was a sound that didn't belong in the dungeon—a metallic clink, like metal striking stone. It echoed, clear and sharp. Her eyes widened as she turned towards the source, hope flickering in her heart.
"What was that sound? Could it be...Guh?!"
She tried to look ahead where the sound was coming from, but as she did. Her surroundings blurred as the pain in her abdomen worsened. The sound of battle filled the air, a cacophony of growls, shrieks, and the clang of metal against metal.
Despite the chaos, the uncertainty of whatever whatever was currently she found herself oddly comforted by a mechanical roar reverberating through the dungeon, for it was a noise familiar to her ears—reminiscent of the cars and machines from her past life. As she strained to see through her blurring vision and the sound getting prominently louder, she realized it was more akin to a chainsaw than a car engine—a harsh, jarring sound.
It was then as she struggled to focus on the source of the noise that paradoxically brought her a sense of comfort, that she heard a powerful voice cut through the air.
"Orrrya!"
A thunderous impact followed, and she saw the upper halves of several Spawns launched into the air. Mid-flight, the creatures disintegrated into dust, vanishing as if they had never existed.
The sight drew the attention of the remaining Spawns surrounding her. They turned toward the source of the commotion, just as she did.
Through her hazy sight, she glimpsed a masked figure effortlessly wielding a massive, intricately designed weapon with a circular, saw-like head and a long shaft. It tore through the monsters with terrifying ease, spinning with deadly precision and eviscerating the Spawns that had given her so much trouble. At the sight of the strange weapon, she couldn't help but draw a comparison to a giant, pizza cutter, albeit one forged for the sole purpose of slicing through the toughest of enemies.
The man wielding the weapon was a blur of motion, his every swing dispatching multiple foes. His sheer power and ease made her feel a pang of inadequacy.
“Had she really been so weak all this time?” She thought at the sight of each strike of the spinning blade sending sprays of blood and chunks of flesh flying when not outright banishing the spawn into oblivion. At times the weapon’s blade suddenly stopped spinning, but undeterred, the man with a casual efficiency, wielded the weapon like a battleaxe which it arguably also very much looked like when not used to dissect enemies with the blade’s spinning motion. After some time cranking the weapon he once again activated the spinning blade again, it was then in the middle of what could be described as a one-sided slaughter that the weapon's blade suddenly jammed into the shoulder of the spawn—one of the remaining ones, stopping its deadly spin. The man struggled to free it, providing an opening for another spawn to launch a sneak attack. The Spawn lunged with terrifying speed, but the man remained unfazed. With a calmness that belied the danger, he drew something from his belt.
Her heart pounded hard as she realized what it was—a gun. One that unleashed a defeaning blast in the confined space they were trapped in, and the Spawn was thrown back, crashing to the ground in a lifeless heap.
She watched in awe and disbelief, a maniacal laugh bubbling up inside her. Was she dreaming? Was this some hallucination brought on by her injuries?
The pain in her abdomen assured her it was real. This man, with his chainsaw-like weapon and firearm, was a reality she had never expected to encounter in this world.
As he very effortlessly finished off the remaining Spawns, he turned toward her and rushed over. Up close, she could see that he was young, no older than nineteen, with a determined expression. He knelt beside her, concern evident in his eyes.
"You're alright?" he asked, his voice a mix of worry and urgency.
Through the pain and dizziness, she noted his youthful features, unmarred by the harshness of the world. His short, dark hair framed a face that was almost too kind for someone so skilled in battle. She realized what she had thought was a mask was actually a pair of tainted motorcycle goggles, now pushed up onto his forehead.
"That's a nasty wound you have here," he said with a grimace, examining her injury. "Do you have any healing spells? Can you do healing magic?"
She tried to respond, but the pain was too great. She managed a slight shake of her head.
He frowned, an obvious look of concern on his face. the young man gazed at her with a gentle, warm but ultimately pitying expression. "I'm sorry. I too don't have any healing skills."
She could have guessed that. The way he fought made it clear he was martially focused—likely a warrior or even a barbarian. It was rare for such classes to have healing abilities, and even if they did, it was usually geared toward self-regeneration rather than healing others.
"Is there something you'd like for me to do for you?" he asked, his tone sincere.
She understood his words could be translated to "What are your last words?" Though it felt offending to hear that, she knew it came from a place of good intention, especially considering her position. She thought about it, considering everything she knew about the man. Rather than uttering last words, she pushed herself to ask a question, but almost nothing came out except a groan, a miserable yelp.
"Don't... Don't push yourself," the young man warned.
The pain she felt made her want to stop, but she couldn't bring herself to do so. No matter what, she wanted to know if what she was thinking was true. With the goggles he wore, the gun he used, and the weapon that resembled both a chainsaw and a pizza cutter, she had enough evidence to consider a possibility she had forgotten due to the time spent alone in this world—the possibility that she wasn't the only one summoned from that place.
Despite her efforts, she couldn't fully voice her question. She could only voice a fraction of a word at a time. Giving up on that approach, she looked him in the eyes and gathered her strength to utter a word that only someone like her would know, someone that came from that place.
"K.R.U.L."
His initial reaction was one of confusion, making her instantly feel the beginning of an intense disappointment that with her greatest vanished as she came to understand that his confusion was not from him not being familiar with the meaning of the word but rather from him being unable to decipher her rambling. When he did, when he obviously finally understood what she had said, his expression changed, making the corners of her mouth curl up into a smile.
"You know about K.R.U.L?!" he exclaimed.
It hurted, but she nodded.
I see... I was never alone in this. There were indeed other people just like me out there, she thought to herself.
"Ma'am, you too are from that place?! Are you from…."
Ah, what a shame I didn't meet you earlier. Truly a shame.
As she was thinking to herself, she noticed her hearing was fading. She couldn't hear anything he was saying, and clearly he clearly had a lot to say.
She couldn't blame him. She too would be excited to see someone from her world here in this cursed place, in the same position as her.
A shame our meeting is like this, she lamented internally.
Understanding her time was running low, she did not feel any of the fear she had earlier about returning to that damn place. No, she simply had no thoughts about it. All her thoughts were on the young man in front of her and the mission they shared in this world.
Realizing she wouldn't be able to see it through, she decided to do the only seemingly logical course of action—entrust her hope to him.
Drawing from her SP, which was the only resource she had left, she tried lifting her arm to his face. Midway through, she felt her strength waning, causing her arm to drop, but as it did he gentle held onto it.
Good enough, she thought. Using her last bit of strength, to mumble, "I'll entrust this to you. Make better use of it than I did.
Passing the power that made her so special to she felt, she felt lighter as things slowly faded to black, as if her very existence was being erased.
At the sight and at the thought and mostly the hope that this would be the “end”, she couldn’t help but smile,“This is how death properly ought to be.”