For a moment, we all just stood there, breathing hard.
Level Up
Lysa Level : 9 HP: 65/160 (+10) MP : 8/45 (+5) ATK : 14 (+0) M.ATK : 32 (+2) R.ATK:16 (+0) DEF: 16 (+1) M.DEF: 27 (+2)
Tirion Level: 10 HP: 124/375 (+25) MP : 11/11 (+0) ATK : 24 (+2) M.ATK : 5 (+0) R.ATK:9 (+1) DEF: 48 (+3) M.DEF: 25 (+1)
Estella Level 8 HP: 51/150 (+10) MP : 13/19 (+1) ATK : 14 (+0) M.ATK : 14 (+0) R.ATK: 33 (+3) DEF: 16 (+1) M.DEF: 15 (+1)
Noctus Level 8 HP: 66/175 (+10) MP : 69/150 (+10) ATK : 15 (+0) M.ATK : 100 (+5) R.ATK:19 (+1) DEF: 16 (+1) M.DEF: 66 (+3)
"Everyone still alive?" I managed between breaths, doing a quick visual check of my team.
"Define 'alive'," Estella caught her chakrams, wincing as she rolled her shoulder. "Because I'm pretty sure I felt my soul leave my body at least twice during that fight." She attempted her usual graceful spin but stumbled slightly. "Maybe three times when that axe nearly took my head off."
"I'll need a new shield." Tirion's shield arm hung limp at his side, his once-proud tower shield now warped beyond recognition. The metal was twisted like melted wax where the corruption had eaten into it. "This one will only last another battle at best." He glanced at Lysa, concern evident even through his exhaustion. "Are you alright?"
He glanced at Lysa, concern evident even through his exhaustion. "Are you alright?"
Lysa nodded, though she had to lean on her staff to stay upright. "I'll manage. But we can't afford another fight like that."
Status Effect: Exhaustion Party stats -5%
"Shall we take a break?" I collapsed to the floor, my legs finally giving out. The stone was cold against my back, but I couldn't bring myself to care. My sword clattered beside me, the blade still smoking faintly.
"Agreed. We should rest," Tirion said, sliding down against a wall. His bunny ears drooped with exhaustion. "Just long enough to recover some stamina."
"Here," Lysa said, pulling supplies from her inventory. She passed around sandwiches wrapped in leaves. "I got these from a famous undead baker. Eat. You'll need your strength."
"It smells good..." I sniffed the sandwich.
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"Of course," she affirmed with a hint of pride in her voice. "His bread may be made by someone without taste buds, but there's a reason he's the most popular baker in the Undercity."
Tirion snorted, wincing as Lysa examined his shield arm.
I took a careful bite. The bread was perfect, crusty outside, soft inside, with just the right amount of herbs. The filling was some kind of mushroom and cheese combination that practically melted in my mouth. Trust an undead baker to make food that brought you back to life.
Status Effect: Well Fed HP Recovery Rate increased by 20% Temporary bonus to CON
"How's the arm?" I asked Tirion between bites, gesturing at his mangled shield.
He flexed his fingers carefully, wincing at the movement. "It's seen better days. Though I think the shield got the worst of it. Lysa, don't waste your mana, save it for when we really need it."
"I wasn't planning to," she replied dryly, though her hands still glowed faintly with diagnostic magic as she checked him over. "But someone needs to make sure you haven't permanently damaged anything. The Shadow Lord knows you won't admit it if you have."
"I'm fine," he protested, then immediately grimaced as she found a particularly sore spot.
"Clearly," she deadpanned, though her touch remained gentle.
I watched them with a mix of amusement and envy. Even in the middle of this nightmare, they had each other. My eyes drifted to Estella, who was attempting to fix her hair while using her chakram as a mirror.
"Your hair looks fine," I said without thinking.
She caught me looking and grinned. "Why thank you! Though I'm not sure 'covered in corruption ash' is really my best style."
"I don't know," I played along, grateful for the distraction. "Purple really brings out your eyes."
"Now you're just being silly." She tossed a small stone at me, which I didn't bother dodging. "Though I suppose it's better than brooding about what just happened."
The levity faded as we all remembered the Silver Wolves. The corruption. The masked man.
"I think it's obvious." Lysa's fingers traced the shadow sigils on her staff, a habit I'd noticed she fell into when discussing serious matters. "The Veiled Crown is notorious for having a high concentration of necromancers. They're after the corpse of the First King."
"To revive him as a skeleton?" The thought made my skin crawl. "How vile..."
"Even worse." Lysa's expression darkened. "The stronger the corpse, the stronger the revived entity. For a legend like the First King..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "He would almost certainly be revived as a death lord. I'm not sure the Undercity would be prepared for something like that."
"A death lord!" Estella exclaimed
"Potentially stronger." Tirion's ears twitched nervously. "They say the First King was the strongest person the Undercity has ever known. Even till this day.”
"How are they even related to the Undercity?" I asked. "That masked man talked like he had some kind of claim to this place."
"Well, it's complicated." Lysa said. "In the time when the Demon King was the predominant religion, the Veiled Crown was the most influential organization in the Undercity. They weren't just religious leaders - they were the driving force behind our resistance against the Church of Light."
"The old texts speak of their undead armies," Tirion added. "Legions of undead warriors that held the line against holy crusades. But..."
"But those times have long since passed," Lysa continued. "With each passing day, the Demon King's influence waned, overtaken by other faiths."
"Now only the misfits of society flock to them," Estella said, but Lysa shook her head.
"That's what makes them dangerous. They're not misfits - they're zealots. True believers who think the Undercity has grown soft, forgotten its purpose." She gestured at the corruption-marked walls around us. "What we saw today was likely just another one of their experiments to create an army against the Church of Light.”
Tirion stood up. "We need to stop them."
I stood up in turn, muscles protesting the movement. "Right, let's continue then."
"But which way?" Estella asked, gesturing at the three identical corridors branching from our position. "We lost our bearings during the fight."
The implication hit me. In making our way here, we'd broken our strategy of always turning left. Now, the maze stretched before us like a dark puzzle.
I studied the corridors but there was nothing obviously different between them. Just more roughly hewn stone and writhing veins of darkness.
"Let's continue with left," I suggested.
Ten minutes and three identical intersections later, that idea wasn't looking so great.
"I swear we've passed this exact spot three times now," Estella said, studying a particularly twisted nightstone vein that did look frustratingly familiar.
"Impossible to tell," Tirion replied. "Everything looks the same."
I tried marking the wall with my sword again, but like before, the darkness simply flowed over the scratch mark, erasing all evidence of our passage. Even the dust on the floor refused to hold our footprints for more than a few seconds.
"Okay, new plan." I stopped at yet another identical crossroads. "We go straight until we hit something that isn't another copy-pasted corridor."
Twenty paces later, we hit a dead end.
"Brilliant strategy," Lysa muttered, leaning on her staff. "Truly inspired."
"Hey, at least it was different," I defended weakly. "Anyone else got a better idea?"
We backtracked to the last intersection. Or what we thought was the last intersection. The corridors had started to blur together, each turn leading to another set of identical choices.
"Wait," Estella held up her hand. "Listen."
We froze. In the distance, barely audible over our own breathing, came the sound of stone grinding against stone. The maze was shifting.
"That's not good," Tirion adjusted his grip on his ruined shield. "The ghost said this place couldn't be mapped, but it never mentioned it could move."
"Actually," I recalled the spirit's exact words, "it said 'what your eyes see and what truly exists may not align.' Maybe the maze isn't just unmappable - maybe it's actively changing."
As if to prove my point, we rounded the next corner to find a corridor that definitely hadn't been there before. The nightstone veins formed different patterns here, more angular and aggressive.
We took another turn, then another.
"Hold up," Tirion called suddenly. "Something's different."