Chapter One

Jackson blinked his eyes, adjusting to the poor light conditions around him. A rattling cough echoed through his chest as he swatted away at the dank dust that hung in the air. He didn’t know where he was, but it was cold, so very cold. He rubbed his arms in a futile attempt to return warmth to them.

Where am I? Jackson thought to himself as he looked around before his gaze landed on a group of people talking amongst themselves.

Who are these people, and why… why can’t I remember anything other than my name? Gods blast it, why is it so cold!? He rolled a strand of his hair between his fingers; it was pitch black, curly, and just past his ears. Jackson shrugged, looking around.

His thoughts returned to the present as the talking group of peoples’ voices increased slightly in volume and tone. There was a blonde-haired boy with wide shoulders speaking with an elderly woman that had long snow-white colored hair. Another person was present as well, a woman with sanguine hair, and as Jackson looked she move her hair from one side of her neck to the other, the strands of it looking like ruby droplets against the backdrop of her lithe neck..

At least I’m not alone. Although it doesn’t look like they’ve noticed me yet… Jackson’s eyes traced past the low light of his surroundings. The walls were a dark gray, covered in moss that shifted due to a slight breeze that caressed them. Several plaques with faded names were on the walls in different areas, each affixed to the stone, although it was difficult to discern them from the other surroundings due to the dim and dank nature of the environment. In one of the corners, just barely visible if Jackson squinted his eyes just right, was an outline of yellowed bone of some kind.

As he got off the ground and dusted himself off, he walked closer the strange and randomly placed bone. Or bones to be specific. They turned out to be a set, a partial set of an aged skeleton. It appeared as though Jackson was in a crypt of some kind.

Am I dead? It didn’t feel that way; Jackson ran his hands over his pale skin. He certainly felt alive enough. The material of the light brown tunic and darker brown pants he wore felt real enough.

If I’m in a tomb and I can’t remember anything about myself, doesn’t that mean I must have died? Jackson desperately scrambled through his mind trying to recall anything he knew about himself. Anything at all. There was his name, Jackson Grey, and nothing else despite his ceaseless efforts.

This can’t be normal, right? How do I know that the bones over there belong to a skeleton, or that this place is a crypt of some kind, or even that moss is called moss, yet I can’t remember a single element of my entire life? Jackson took in his outward appearance once more and confirmed that he was an adult. Adults were supposed to have memories. The question was, why did he know that and not anything else?

Jackson ran a thumb across his jaw while chewing on his tongue. He must have had some form of basic education; that much was clear. He also knew his name, but what did…

All thoughts were cut off as a rumbling sound echoed through the room and Jackson looked up to find a previously unseen door of stone slid open, its tremendous weight making itself known by the sound of it grinding against the floor. A black-robed figure stepped through the opening; they held a gnarled staff that thumped the ground with an imposing authority with each step the figure took forward.

Jackson felt an unnatural aversion to this person immediately, as if his gut had churned and imaginary bile ran up his throat. When the two massive walking skeletons dressed in armor and wielding heavy weapons followed the figure in on his flanks, Jackson began looking for an exit. Any exit. He had to get away from this person, and fast.

Is that the grim reaper or something?

The figure turned towards the skeletons, “Take them,” A distinctly masculine, but very raspy and cold voice commanded as the deeply pocketed hood rustled but kept his features hidden from view.

Jackson’s pulse shot through the roof as he quickly backed away towards a nearby dark corner, his hands scrambling to find any kind of hidden door as his head constantly swivled from the stone wall back to the frightening man with the skeletal warriors. He searched for cracks, hidden switches, anything that would let him out of the accursed room and away from the monsters.

A scream cried out and Jackson’s head shot back to find a leanly built young man in tattered clothes and brown hair, he was being lifted up effortlessly by one of the walking skeletons. The young man’s hand struck fiercely, yet hollowly against the bones and armor that composed the monster. All the brown-haired man’s efforts were for naught, however, even as he cursed out profanities that echoed throughout the crypt. The black-robed man did not react at all to any of this. Not to the screams, nor the attempts the boy made to fight. The man did not even flinch as the skeletons took the young man out of the room. When the robed man spoke again something washed over Jackson, and something dark, something so malevolent it seemed alive in its maliciousness, slammed down on upon him like a physical thing.

He felt it crush him into the ground, and that’s when the whispers began. They spoke of horrible things, things that dredged up deep, inner fears from within Jackson, assaulting his mind with horror. Jackson began to scream in terror uncontrollably, the nails on his hands chipping and breaking away as he unconsciously dug them deep into the side of his head in a futile attempt to arrest the whispers running rampant through his mind.

Every instinct told Jackson to run, to run as fast and hard as possible. To get away from this madness that was so overbearing upon his mind. The very air seemed to grow colder as the hair on his arms stood on end, and for one very brief yet inescapable moment, Jackson’s heart seemed to suddenly stop. He could no longer breathe.

Then it vanished, and all of and the insidious maliciousness that had just put him through hell was simply gone; not even a shadow of the feeling remained. Instead of that cold, unfeeling and rasping voice filled the air.

“I am Abbaddon, a celestial of Shadow, and you all belong to me. You are my prisoners. Listen closely, for I will only say this once. You will make your way through this dungeon you now find yourselves in and when you reach its end, you will retrieve for me the orb you find there. Succeed and you will be free. Fail, and you will die.”

With that, Abbaddon left, leaving Jackson and everyone else in complete silence. He beat us upside the head with the stick while offering a tiny sliver of a carrot… I… never want to go through that again. Jackson thought to himself while running a hand through his hair.

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The groups that had come together were talking amongst themselves quietly like shaken mice, but it all quickly fell to silence when another man entered. Why wouldn’t it? The last time a man entered everyone had been picked up and moved to another room without any of them realizing, including Jackson. By skeletons no less and that wasn’t even considering whatever those horrible whispers were.

The man had short sword sheathed at his hip, and he moved with the deadly grace of a leopard. He had a hood, but it was down, revealing features too sharp to be entirely handsome—, a straight razor-given flesh. His eyes were a warm brown, and he regarded the group impassively.

When no one spoke to him, he held up a hand and produced a freaking ebony wood table from seemingly nowhere. The table was set directly in front of the man. Next, he produced a book—the most ancient-looking book Jackson could imagine. The binding was made out of some old material Jackson could not place, but it was grey and white, like an old, blank slate that had been touched by the elements.

Finally, the rogue man spoke, “I am Delthorn Selavax. A servant of the Shadow," He tapped the book, “This is an artifact; normally I would have you analyze it, but none of you have increased your level enough for the Judge to tell you what it is. Suffice to say that through it, the Judge will unlock your Domains. You should consider that a boon; normally, it takes much inner searching for you to do that. One by one, you will come up and place your hand on this book. The Judge will do the rest. After your Domain has been unlocked, your skills will be as well; this, in turn, will unlock your class. Before you start wondering about all of this, rest assured, you will learn it in good time. Let us begin.”

Jackson wasn't sure what it was—perhaps it was resignation or perhaps it was curiosity—but people began lining up to place their hands on the book. It was at this time that he got a good look at some of them. Jackson realized, eyes wide, that some of them were not human. He saw elves, orcs, and dwarves too. It was as if someone had transported the races you would normally find in Dungeons and Dragons and place in the crypt with him. When they each placed their hands on the book, nothing outward appeared to happen. No glowing lights, no hair rising—nothing fantastical at all. The only indication that something was happening was a widening of the eyes or shifting expressions of wonder.

After what seemed like an age, it was Jackson’s turn. He approached the book, with his muscles tense. His hands opened and closed reflexively, but Jackson reached out and placed a palm on the book cover. Information immediately lit up in his mind as if lighting a bonfire from within.

Unlocking Domain... Domain unlocked... scanning Domain... Domain aspects are destruction and blood... scanning for resonate skills... Katanas Level 1 is unlocked. Enchanting level 1 unlocked... Level is insufficient to unlock any further resonate skills. Generating classes based on Domain…Swordsman generated.

Other than his mind, Jackson felt something swirling deep inside his core, something opening within him that he had not felt was present before. The leather armored man looked at him and then nodded. Jackson went back to find a spot and then slumped onto the ground. So much was happening, and he wasn't sure how to take it all in. The man nodded one last time when the last few people finished up.

Then he spoke, “Within this dungeon, these ancient catacombs, you will find many dangers. You will also find rewards should you overcome those dangers, both from the Judge, and from what you find.Lord Abbaddon will not be giving you any equipment. Two floors down, you will find a very open area of the catacombs. In the middle of this area is a safe zone, and it is here that you will find a bazaar. Good luck.”

With that, the rogue left, and they were left alone. It wasn't long before people started filing out. Some were talking already, and some went out alone. Jackson stayed, he was in no hurry to get started.. Delathorn hadn’t said anything about it, but Jackson wondered if he had some kind of profile screen. At that thought, a window unfurled in my mind, like an ancient scroll being opened.

Name

Jackson Grey

Level

1

Race

Human

Lives

3

Domain

Aspects: Blood and Destruction

Class

Swordsman

Attributes

Mind-10, Strength-12, Dexterity-17, Constitution-13, Will-14

Skills

Katanas (Apprentice Level 1) Enchanting (Apprentice Level 1)

Weaves

None

Eden Coins

0

Faction

Unsworn

Jackson ran a thumb along his jaw. There was a lot there to think about, but he chose to focus on the Domain for the moment. Neither Abbaddon, nor the short sword man had explained what Domains were or what they did, but Jackson wanted to explore them anyway.

He focused his consciousness inward, towards that place that had not existed there before. Suddenly, he found himself in a void, an endless expanse of nothingness. Just blackness. However, it did not stay that way. Crimson liquid began to flow into the void, like a river released from a dam. It rushed towards him in a massive tsunami-like wave, and Jackson flinched when it hit him, but it did not hurt; it merely surrounded him.

Strange light was flowing from the red river and into him; it was metallic red-gold and full of energy. Jackson reached out and touched that light with his consciousness, and suddenly he held it in his hands. It was almost like a thread. He couldn't say what drove him; it was instinctual, a part of me on an almost fundamental level. He began to weave that thread, that red light. Jackson then realized that he needed something else, and he took some of that nothingness, that pitch blackness, and wove that into the weave as well.

Jackson released it and came back to himself. In his hands, he wielded a katana; the blade looked to be entirely crafted from red liquid, though that was impossible. It was solid enough; he could wave it about, and when Jackson tested the edge, it was razor sharp. A strange knowledge of how to use the weapon ran through his head but he knew my knowledge of it was incomplete. Jackson let go of the weaves, and the katana vanished. A notification then lit up in his mind.

You have cast Blood Katana (Apprentice Level 1).

Blood Katana, hmm? It sounds ominous, but what is a swordsman without a sword? Out there I don’t even have my fingernails left. Before Jackson left the room, he considered some of the other information that he had received. His task was to get this orb, which was at the lowest level of the catacombs. Fail, and apparently, he would be killed. Obviously, Jackson was very much against that, he liked living. It was good for his health.

But why does tall, robed, and creepy want it? Furthermore, both of them mentioned Shadow. That sounds ominous to the extreme and if they serve whatever this Shadow is then I definitely have no desire to, not after the way that I’ve been treated...

Anyone in power who forced other people to do their bidding was not really a good person, in Jackson’s book. He didn’t want any place near people like that.

Obviously, he had no intention of going along with Abaddon’s plans, whatever they were. But perhaps Jackson could get this orb and use it as leverage for his freedom? That seemed as good a plan as any.

Jackson took a deep breath, his fists clenching as anxiety ran through him like an electrical current. I don’t know what’s out there. But I must face it. I must survive. With fearful determination, Jackson went out into the dungeon