I opened my eyes and rolled out of bed, the cold stone floor a harsh reminder that sleep was a fleeting comfort. The weight of what I had done pressed down on me like a leaden blanket, suffocating and inescapable. After killing my father, all I wanted was to curl into a ball and sleep for eternity, to escape the memories that clawed at my consciousness. It didn’t matter that he was a monster or that he killed the man I loved. All I could see were his pleading eyes in those final moments. The same eyes that had once looked at me with pride and affection. I could still feel his hand holding mine when I was little, lifting me into the sky as I giggled with delight. I remembered the warmth of his kiss on my knee after the court healer had bandaged my scrapes. My stomach twisted into knots, a bitter cocktail of guilt, grief, and confusion churning inside me. I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I know what woke me up.
[IT'S TIME TO GET UP! WOOHOO! Party time! Let's do this! Second floor, Baby!] Malice crooned, his voice filled with an exuberance that felt almost mocking in contrast to my mood.
His voice pierced through the fog of my thoughts, dragging me back to the present. When I slept, he disappeared. It was strange, but as long as he came back, I didn’t care. I wouldn’t have survived this place without him. I pulled my armor back on, the metal creaking in protest. The fight with my father’s guards and the final battle with him had left the suit battered, each piece hanging on by a thread of durability. Each piece had about 5 durability left, and I wasn’t sure what to do if I didn’t get a new set soon. The helm I’d picked up would help, as would the sword my father dropped. But stats and armor could wait. Right now, I needed to move.
It was surreal that Malice was so calm and collected, letting me mourn my father without a single snide remark. I’d expected him to mock me like he did when I dealt with my matron, but he hadn’t said a thing. He guided me back to my chambers, silent and steady, his usual flamboyance replaced with an almost eerie silence. Now, however, was not the time to dwell. Now was the time for action.
As I walked down the familiar pathways from my chambers to the grand hall, I glanced out at the burning city below. Flames danced in the distance, their orange glow painting the sky with a sinister light. A part of me hoped I wouldn’t be forced back there. I couldn’t bear the thought of killing more people I might know. I didn’t know all of my citizens, but I knew enough to make the idea unbearable. The memories of the lives I’d already taken weighed heavily on my mind, each one a fresh wound on my soul.
The clanging of my boots echoed through the halls as I ran toward my father’s throne room. The distant groans of zombies reverberated through the corridors, a reminder of the dangers still lurking in this twisted place. I could have stopped to kill more of them—there were probably Malice Points and treasure to be had—but I pressed onward to the second floor. The gold staircase that led outside was my goal.
When I entered the throne room, I paused, my breath catching in my throat. The light that once radiated from my father was gone, replaced by the dim flicker of a few lone torches. Shadows loomed over the room, and in the faint light, I could make out the pile of ash where my father had once stood. I walked past it, my steps heavy with a mix of sorrow and determination. I spat on the ground, a final act of defiance, and moved toward the treasure room I couldn’t bring myself to loot last night.
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My breath came in heavy, expectant bursts as I entered the room. The air was thick with the scent of dust and decay, the remnants of a legacy now reduced to rubble. I had made my peace. My father was dead, and I wouldn’t have to face him again—at least not for a while. One of the best parts of the Book of Blood was knowing how to break the dungeon. Once I entered, I could get my respawn point on the second floor, and I intended to do just that.
The treasure room was smaller than I remembered. A lone chest sat in the center, surrounded by three smaller piles of coins—none of them Aurums. The sight of the chest should have filled me with excitement, but all I felt was a hollow emptiness.
[Loooot! Let’s hear it for the treasure room!] Malice, my floating crystal guide, was in top form. His excitement almost made me smile. Almost. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. He had pulled me out of two bouts of depression already, and I was grateful, even if I didn’t like what this place was doing to me. I was on the wrong track—the track that almost always led to a penitent’s eternal damnation. Malice wasn’t here to guide me to salvation; he was here to guide me away from it. I could only hope his amiable personality was a sign that he wasn’t as gung-ho about sin and death as he seemed.
I didn't even bother to ask Malice how many coins I picked up; they would likely be useless anyway.
The sword I looted from the chest was the coolest thing I had ever gotten. It glowed brightly in the dark room, working overtime as both a weapon and a light source. Its stats were even better—bonuses against undead monsters and a 5% chance to burn enemies.
I equipped the sword as my main weapon and returned to the throne room. Something had always struck me odd about my father’s version of the throne room. My ancestors were frugal, judicious with money, and never wasted a dime. The throne had always been a simple wooden chair with our family’s coat of arms—a Lion-Dog chasing its own tail, a symbol of endless pursuit and happiness.
My father, on the other hand, had made a throne plated with gold, encrusted with rubies and sapphires. He changed the coat of arms the day after my mother died. I walked up to the throne and knocked it over, the sound of metal clashing against marble echoing through the chamber. The glass covering of the dragon devouring a necromancer shattered as the chair bounced across the marble floor.
Behind the throne was a massive double door stretching from floor to ceiling. Gold inlays traced intricate patterns along the wood, and rubies and sapphires framed each door. This door wasn’t there in the real world, but I knew what it led to now—the second floor.
I stared at the door for an eternity, my hand hovering over the handle. Was I ready to continue? Did I want to keep killing to save my own soul? I knew the people in this dungeon weren’t real, but my body didn’t. Memories of my matron begging for death flashed before my eyes. I shuddered and stepped back, the weight of my choices pressing down on me.
But there was no turning back. I opened the door, revealing the path to the second floor. [You gain 20 Malice Points and 20 Library Checkpoint Tickets.]
Library Tickets?" I questioned.
[Don't worry about it; it's for the 3rd floor.]
I paused for a second but walked through the threshold.
[Oh, Jamie, I am so proud. Do you know how many penitents make it to the second floor on their second run? It’s almost unheard of. We need to do shots to celebrate!] Malice’s voice was filled with genuine pride, a strange warmth that contrasted with his usual cheekiness.
“I’m sixteen,” I muttered, my voice barely a whisper as I stepped forward.
[Yes, but you’re also dead. Live a little!] Malice’s voice boomed, followed by a chuckle that echoed in the corridor as we moved forward, stepping into the unknown of the next adventure.