Matt tries to remove the Dungeon Core from his chest, even as the pain of non-existence racks his bones. Nerves he didn’t know he had are on fire, and the only thing he can think of to end the agony is to remove the core. Which sits in his chest, something he can feel as its energy and malice pulse and pulse, feeding him and eating him.

So Matt tries to pull it, trying his best to yank it from his being. But he couldn’t. His own body fights him, fights his hands as he tries to move them to his chest, and the mana that sustains him grows thick and sludge-like, engorged on power, as Matt tries and fails to yank the orb from his body. Not even his failure is without pain.

Matt feels like he is pulling his own heart as he tries to separate himself from the little seed from hell. It is a weird feeling, associating something as important as a heart with something he just ate—with an undead body that could barely absorb a beer moments before. But here he is. Yanking at something that feels as much a part of him as any living organ inside a body that no longer has any.

All the while, the System screams. A piercing, unending sound that unmakes the senses and replaces them with its shrill sound. Matt can’t cover ears that no longer exist or pray to go deaf as the sound echoes from outside and somehow inside. But it hurts all the same. Matt only knows pain in this limbo world surrounded by numbers that fall and move.

Matt tries one more time, his two hands collapsing around the Dungeon Core and pulling. And for a brief moment, there is a faint hope in the painful searing of nerves that shouldn’t exist, and in the sheer effort Matt has dedicated to trying to remove the source of soo much suffering…

But like many things in life, Matt comes up short and can only collapse in defeat to his face as he screams in agony and futility.

And something laughs.

It is deep, shrill, and out of place amongst Matt’s own screams and the System’s. But the laughter informs him of a presence, not unlike the System but…more dangerous. Less neutral and hungry.

And it speaks, not like thunder but silky and smooth, “Oh, dear baby Liche. So many problems caused by just one aberration. Exception, after exception. You’re more than what I asked for. Much much more. Here. A respite from your suffering.”

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And then the world ceases to be pain. Even the System wails are in the distance, allowing Matt’s mind to recover and process what has just happened, like a fish gasping for air out of water.

“Good, good. Think baby Liche. You have but mere moments before the glitches build up and doom your world.”

Matt’s mind can only manage one word to croak, “What?”

“Yes. Doom. Doom, doom, doom, doom, doom.”

It laughs; the creature beyond this world of pixels and greyscale laughs.

“Make a deal with me, boy. I will re-bind you to your world. For a fee.”

Matt’s mind reels. Years of arcane training, necromantic ambitions, and study all come to a head. Matt may not know where he is, what the thing is talking about, or what that thing is! But he knows he cannot trust it!

“Only dark gods exist in realms like this!” Matt’s mind screams.

“Yes,” the voice says. “Yes, we do.”

Matt can’t run or hide despite wanting to. So desperately he wants to! But the voice never shows his face, nor does the pain return, though Matt feels darkness creeping in at the edges of his vision. In this land frozen in time, shadows seem to deepen and pool. Matt realizes why necromancy is Forbidden then. Why his curiosity should have rightfully gotten him killed.

“Just say yes, oh baby Liche. So yes to saving the world. To ending your suffering.”

If Matt had lips, they would be chapped and dry while saying, “What do you want!”

“Oh, nothing you’ll miss.” it chuckled, “just one skeleton. One body to make my own. Give me this. And you return to your world.”

“No,” Matt says flatly.

“Yes.”

“No!”

The voice huffs, and Matt braced for the pain that never comes. There is silence for a moment, not awkward or painful, as if the entity is no longer there. Then, with inspiration, the voice returns-

“I can give you Greg the Segerra.”

Greg! Matt thinks and realizes, looking down, knowing exactly where his friend is, that he is truly dead. His skull is cracked in half, his mana light, gone. Matt knows his soul is in the void… no that would be optimistic. Things live in the void. Big things. Hungry things. And Greg had a soul. A real one, not just a barely noticeable sliver.

Matt knows this but doesn’t want to acknowledge it at the moment. Is it survival? No. It is hope. Hope that Greg will simply rise again when he isn’t looking, like he always had. That his life wasn’t wasted on an E-Rank dungeon.

Matt thinks about when they first met, how desperate he was to get back, to end his un-life. Matt could have been gutted by Greg, but now, looking at him truly gone and lifeless, Matt cries. Greg was a friend, even if they didn’t like each other. Even if Matt ruined his life. They were friends, the necro party. The skelly boys.

“Yes.”

And the thing laughs.