Chapter Eleven

When Jackson stepped into the water’s depths, something yanked him down with tremendous force. He felt the jutted-out bone smash into the bottom of the pool, which was more gray stone. He tried to scream—in fact, he tried to let loose a hellish scream—as pain tore through his body like an enraged monster. All he succeeded in doing was allowing the water to fill his lungs and nose, cutting off his air. He struggled against the grip that held him under, but whatever it was, it was not a human grip. Nonetheless, it may as well have been the hand of an angry god, for he could not budge.

All the while, Jackson thrashed and desperately clawed, attempting to reach the water’s surface. The pain was threatening to overwhelm him, but all he could think about was surviving. He needed to live. He needed to succeed. It drove him like a taskmaster might drive a slave. Yet he was not winning; he was not making any progress forward.

Jackson was going to die. Not just that, he was going to die in agony. A terribly cold, clawed hand gripped his heart in a vice and squeezed, sending him into an absolute frenzy. He could not breathe; the water filled his lungs, and every attempt just sucked more of it into him. This pool would become his grave.

Embrace death, or life is not worth living.

The thought cut through everything like a divine lightbulb going off. It was so obvious; how could he not see it? He allowed his thrashing to cease, his body relaxing like a wet dishcloth, every muscle releasing its tension. He allowed the water to take him; he allowed himself to die.

Thus, he did not. The water calmed, the grip that held him down relaxed, and he suddenly found he could breathe as easily as if the water were not there at all. He tried to stand up, and he found he could. His head came out of the water, streams of it rushing down his face like mini rivers. The pain was still there, still angrily throbbing along. Yet he was alive, and gratefully so. He breathed in and out, and the cold grip that held his heart let go, and the panic that pulsed through his mind faded into nothing.

Jackson walked out of the pool. There were no more gargoyles. Part of him wanted to think about how that was possible, but he was simply relieved that nothing would block his way. He made his way to the portal and stepped through.

He was as ready as he could be for whatever came next.

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The following room was large. All along the room, statues of various figures were tucked into the corners. The figures, Jackson noticed, were of pale people dressed in either robes, platemail, or leather. They held staffs, swords, and shields, or held nothing at all. In the middle of the room, on a slightly raised dais, was a sarcophagus of blood red and bright gold. It was in the likeness of a warrior king. His features were strong and noble; his eyes were round and made of glittering rubies; his ears were ever so slightly pointed; and his hair was a flowing mane of reddish gold. The crown he wore was midnight black, with glittering red orbs inlaid around it. His hands rested on the ruby pommel of a greatsword.

As Jackson studied the sarcophagus, a low laugh echoed around the room. He saw nothing, but a voice emanated from somewhere.

“So, after all this time, a traveler has come to my tomb. One with unawakened blood. Welcome, traveler, to my place of rest.”

The voice was strong and noble, with a malicious kind of richness to it. Jackson looked around, trying to find the source. Another low laugh whispered through the air.

“You cannot yet see me, traveler. Tell me, do you know who you are? Do you know why the judge gave you the quest to find this place?”

Jackson shook his head.

“Where are you? Who are you? What do you mean by unawakened blood?” Jackson asked.

Another low chuckle. When the voice next spoke, Jackson jumped because it sounded like it was right in his ear.

“I am here, traveler. Oh, never fear; I will not hurt you. In fact, I think we can help each other. First, open the sarcophagus.”

Yeah, Jackson wasn’t too keen on doing that. When strange voices coming from somewhere you could not see asked you to open a sarcophagus, it was probably common sense to avoid them.

“I’m going to have to pass, thanks. You didn’t tell me who you are.”

The low laugh again,

“Have you not put it together? I am Lazurus, young player. I assure you, I will not harm you. Here, let me put your mind at ease, shall I?”

Two notifications hit Jackson then. One was the completion of his quest.

You have completed the quest: Find the Tomb of Lazurus! You have explored this tomb and passed its challenges, only to find the ancient spirit of Lazurus himself. Congratulations, Jackson! You have gained strength! You are now level 15!

Jackson almost grinned, and he would have if he wasn’t in so much pain and exhaustion that it did not suffuse his entire body. The second notification read:

Lazarus has offered you a non-aggression pact. Its duration is indefinite and will last so long as you do not take hostile action against Lazarus. Do you accept this pact?

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

Jackson willed an affirmative to the Judge. Lazarus spoke,

“Excellent. Go on, then, traveler. Open the sarcophagus so that we may speak to one another.”

Jackson was still a little hesitant. The non-aggression pact did not mean he couldn’t harm him, merely that the Judge would probably punish the spirit severely if he tried. Still, it seemed eager to speak to him further, and the gesture of the pact eased his mind. He walked to the sarcophagus and began to push.

It wasn’t easy; he could only use one hand, but he did it little by little. The sound of the ancient lid sliding open filled the air. He looked into the sarcophagus and was greeted by a polished, blood-red skull. Within its eye sockets were orbs of glowing black and red light. When the voice spoke, the orbs of light seemed to pulse in time with the words.

“Pick up my skull, traveler.”

Jackson did so, and a notification echoed in his mind.

You have acquired the skull of Lazarus. This ancient skull has been turned into an artifact of knowledge about the world, and Vampyre’s in particular. Holding the skull allows you to see the ancient spirit of Lazarus. This item is soulbound and will return to you upon death.

Jackson could indeed see him. Lazarus leaned against the sarcophagus, arms crossed. He was the very visage of the sarcophagus, though his eyes were an iridescent red, and his skin was even paler and seemed to glow and swirl, like the moon on a dark, cloudy night. He grinned at Jackson, and his eyes widened.

He had fangs! Lazarus chuckled, his laugh still low but not nearly as creepy as before.

“Ah, traveler, that’s much better. I must thank you. Someone in possession of my skull always makes me feel a little bit more tangible.” His red eyes twinkled.

Jackson sighed and sat down, exhaustion rolling through him like an unrelenting storm. Lazarus tapped his chin. Regarding him,

“It seems you have been through much, young traveler. I can offer a way for you to help yourself if you so desire.”

Jackson looked up at his red eyes, which regarded him with surprising intensity. He gestured weakly.

“How?” Jackson asked.

Lazarus answered, and his voice took on an almost seductive note.

“Why, becoming a vampyre, of course.”

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Jackson blinked, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Finally, he shook his head and said with a wry chuckle,

“An undead that sucks the blood of the living? You mean that kind of vampyre?” Jackson raised an eyebrow, his mouth twitching.

Lazarus did not respond to his humor.

“In a manner of speaking, yes. Except you would not be undead. Those would be vampires, not vampyres.”

"Oh, I see. Yes, that’s entirely different then,” Jackson replied dryly. He couldn’t help it; the idea just seemed ridiculous, like out of a horror novel. Lazarus sighed and crossed his arms.

“I see this is going to take some explaining. I should say that you’re already a vampyre; it’s in your blood.”

Jackson looked at him, confusion etching itself on his tired face. Lazarus rolled his eyes.

“Vampyres are a race like any other. We start human, our blood unawakened. Extreme trauma or an elder can awaken your blood and therefore awaken your true self.” Lazarus explained with the kind of patience one might have when explaining something to a child.

Jackson rubbed his face, exhaustion pulsing through him in time with the pain.

“Why would I want to awaken my blood, then?” Jackson didn’t bother wondering if he was lying. It wouldn’t serve anything to question him and just delay the explanation. Lazarus shrugged,

“Why else, boy? Power. One cannot truly advance in Eden if you are not true to yourself. A wolf can act like a sheep, young man, but no matter how hard he tries to hide it, he will always be a wolf. To pretend otherwise does him a disservice.”

Jackson groaned. He had no idea what Lazarus even meant by that, and he told him so. Lazarus looked amused.

“I’m sure you’ll put it together. Eventually.”

Jackson blew out a breath.

“Are there any downsides to awakening my blood?” Jackson questioned. In his mind, there had to be. After all, some chose not to, and there must be a reason for that.

Lazarus nodded and elaborated further.

“It comes with a very powerful thirst for blood and a need to drink it. If you don’t, you go mad and die. Oh, and most, if not all, celestials in Eden will want to kill you if they find out.” He said the last almost absently.

“Oh, is that all?” Jackson said, Deadpan.

Lazarus shrugged,

“Pretty much. I can awaken your blood, if you like. It will probably evolve your class if I do. It’s worth it if you want my opinion.”

He flashed Jackson a wolfish grin.

“You should know that I’m usually right.”

He sounded as if he truly believed it. Jackson closed his eyes, considering. On the one hand, if he didn’t awaken his blood, he would cripple his advancement, and that just seemed unacceptable to him. Why even bother doing something if you are just knowingly going to do it wrong? He may as well not try at all if that is the case.

On the other hand, if he went through with this, he would have these new urges to deal with, and apparently celestials, beings with godlike power, would do their absolute best to kill him if they found out.

“Why would they kill me? The celestials, I mean.” Jackson asked.

Lazarus looked at him with serious eyes.

“That is dangerous knowledge I am not going to give you yet. For your own good. Suffice to say that, given time, you would be a threat.”

Jackson chewed that one over. If becoming a vampyre meant he would eventually be a serious threat to the gods, then Lazarus was not lying when he said power was a reason for awakening his blood.

“You said it would help me? Becoming a vampyre?”

Lazarus shook his head.

“I used the wrong words when I said it that way. What I should have said from the start was that you’re already a vampyre. It’s just a choice of whether or not you embrace that or abandon it. In answer to your question, it would help in the sense that you would gain the means to heal yourself.”

Jackson rubbed his jaw, trying his best to force his thoughts to work through the pain that kept up its relentless throbbing through his body. He wanted so very badly to not be in pain right now. He was doing his absolute best to ignore it and push through it, but the thought of not hurting anymore was almost enough reason to say yes all on its own.

Yet he had to consider it from all angles. Making himself an enemy of Eden’s celestials was a huge decision. Yet it was either that or to cripple his advancement and continue to suffer.

In the end, he could not justify handicapping himself. If he couldn’t advance, then he wouldn’t get anywhere in this world; in fact, he would not likely survive it anyway.

Jackson looked at Lazarus and nodded.

“Okay then. Awaken my blood. I’ll embrace being a vampyre.”