Chapter 13 – Life and Death

Finding that balance between anger and calmness had been hard. But as he meditated on everything that had happened here in this dungeon, and the words from Ignatius before, he found that he didn’t care anymore. He didn’t care if he died or lived so long as he proved himself to himself. The pressure he had been feeling since he got here, the dreams of his supposed future deeds, the anger that had been growing inside of him. He was tired, but in that he felt clarity, he knew something big was about to happen. Bel needed to be prepared.

Bel checked over his gains and they were few, skill-wise, but he had received four levels in his mad dash up the ziggurat. He had twelve points to assign, so he put five points into willpower and the remaining seven into strength. His physical strength was through the roof now, he was lagging in nimbleness but that would have to come after. Now he needed the strength to crush his enemies.

After an hour he was long since full, but he kept going, for peace of mind if not for anything else. Standing up he took stock of himself and his gear. His armor and sword were all in pristine condition, with no nicks or marks anywhere, they were however covered in blood, gore, and several layers of ash and dust.

Bel felt disgusting but there wasn’t much he could do about it now.

Looking around he saw that everything was as before. The fire had come closer and was almost upon him. Bel spat at the fire and a sizzle could be heard. The pressure on his shoulders and mind increased somewhat at the action. He grinned to himself before turning back towards the next part of his trials.

Glad for his new gauntlets he removed the make-shift protection he had made for his sword and carrying the sword he moved up the stairs at a slow and steady pace. He thought about filling his pool but something told him that what came next would depend on him. He loved his minions in a way, but he also needed to prove himself, he was THE Necro-Lord after all.

Smiling he stepped up, looking the angels, cherubs, and whatever the other kinds were called, in the eyes. He was defiant against their arrogance and pity. He didn’t need them to look down upon him, he was so far above them that they should be breaking their necks just trying to look up at him.

Where did that come from? Bel stumbled a little at that thought. Why was he so arrogant himself, why did he care about them so much? His steps faltered some but the pressure increased and the doubts were pushed to the back of his mind. He needed to focus on the task at hand, he could worry when he was safe and victorious later.

Stepping foot on the seventh floor a ripple went out from where he stepped. Changing the ground to that of marble. A sense of peace tried to worm its way into Bel but he didn’t allow it. The area looked more like the floor of a giant church than a dungeon of death of now. The watchers all kneeled as on command and a different kind of pressure fell upon Bel, and somehow the dungeon he thought, but he didn’t know how or why.

Like a filled balloon that you press your hands against the membranes of the dungeon bulged inwards, he could see the ceiling buckling in places but then it stilled. Bel felt that whatever happened was big, on a scale he probably couldn’t understand. Then out of nowhere, a needle-like sensation hit the balloon that was the edge of the dungeon and pierced through, a white burning comet landed at the far end of the arena floor, the impact and shockwave stumbling Bel and he was forced to steady himself with his sword.

The floor was undamaged, instead, two white wings could be seen as the shockwave dissipated. The wings parted showing an armored man clad in pure white armor, on his chest was a symbol of a rising sun, and the edges of his armor were hemmed with gold. He was carrying an arming sword and a shield. Bel was no expert but he suspected the craftmanship on the weapon and armor was perfect.

The man was taller than Bels 180cm but not by much. His face was as angelic as the other ones watching, but there was a presence to him, he seemed more, real.

His face was beautiful and at a glance, he could be taken for a human, but there was something off that turned him alien to Bel. His blonde straight hair was held back by a headband. Bel identified the man.

Eurasmus – level 24

There was only a name and level, no other mentions. Bel knew there were a lot of differences between this one and the others he fought. A growing suspicion took root in his heart.

The angel held out his sword toward Bel and spoke.

“This is as far as you go wielder of Death. The Goddess asked for a willing sacrifice and I stepped forward without hesitating, as did my brothers and sisters. Even if I may never leave this place for all eternity, it will still be worth it by stopping you.” The angel's voice was full of stoic pride and he looked Bel in the eyes, these eyes were full of hate and determination.

Bel didn’t know what was going on but he would never allow this thing to stand in his way to ascension and freedom.

“Get out of my way, now.” Bel spoke in a low but firm voice.

“I cannot and I shall not. You will not reach your goal; you will not be unleashed upon the worlds again. I am Eurasmus, first of the Tin Legion, defender of the Celestial Territories. I am not some dungeon spawn for you to easily defeat and be showered with rewards you have not earned. My Goddess sent me here at great risk and cost, her sacrifice will not be in vain.” He readied himself, holding his shield towards Bel and the sword at his side.

“I don’t care who you are or where you’re from. You won't stand in the way of my freedom, nor keep me from my friend!” Bel shouted the last part and charged the arrogant angel. Bel was too mad to see the look of surprise on the angel's face.

The two clashed in the center of the arena. Bel's sword landed with a giant crash upon the angel's shield. A shield that didn’t waver, but the angels' eyes grew wide at the strength of the human. How much had the dungeon given him, and how much had Death infused himself into this sad excuse for a human. Gritting his teeth Eurasmus shoved the man back, but to his surprise, he didn’t manage to budge him.

Bel was as surprised as the man before him, but he adjusted quickly. It wouldn’t be the first time he fought a thing stronger than himself.

He waited until he saw it, the small shift in the angel's feet as he shoved forward. Bel held out for half a second before jumping suddenly taking all the weight of the shove. The angel stumbled forward as the resistance suddenly disappeared, he was a skilled fighter and immediately adjusted his feet. What he didn’t see coming was the pommel of a large sword, he tried blocking with his sword but just missed it. The hilt hit on the pauldron and he heard something tear before he felt the pain.

Bel didn’t allow himself to smile at his small victory. This was far from over and his opponent was a much better and more experienced fighter. Bel was surprised he managed to get that hit in. The fight shifted then as the angel drew back and touched his shoulder with the shield hand, a faint white glow showed and he rotated the shoulder, the pain gone.

Bel growled, of course, he had healing magic and so he charged again. The fight flowed like ebb and tide, all over the arena they fought, both taking small hits here and there. Bel was surprised that he didn’t outright get beaten to a pulp but he couldn’t see the doubt that plagued the angel's mind. How was this nobody so strong, and why did he fight this well without any sort of training? Had he unlocked some passive skills as well, Eurasmus didn’t know.

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Twenty minutes later or what felt like an eternity they stood apart both breathing heavily. Sweat dripped from their brows. Bel threw a necrotic bolt and Eurasmus caught in his shield, the latter threw a white bolt of energy and the former slapped it out of the way with his sword. Bel was starting to regret not getting any minions, why did he do that, he couldn’t remember his reasoning.

He couldn’t remember much about his ascent, only bits, and pieces. Shaking his head, he tried clearing it, he was so tired both physically and mentally. He wanted to lie down right now but his willpower kept him standing.

“You fight well, Human.” Eurasmus reluctantly nodded.

“So, it’s human now, is it?” Bel scowled at the man before him. Why was he so confrontational?

“I am sorry if I offended you. I do not interact with your kind often. I only defend the ones who die and reach the Territories.” The angel seemed regretful.

“I don’t care...” Bel bit his words off. What was he doing, all he could think about was killing this man and reaching the top.

“What are you doing to my head?!” Bel shouted suddenly, the pressure lessening. His mind cleared somewhat.

“What are you talking about?” The angel seemed surprised and suspicious at the strange behavior of this man.

“Not you, you!” Bel pointed towards the corpse upon the throne. The thing didn’t react visibly, but Bel felt a shift in the air, like the attention of something vast settling upon him. The pressure returned tenfold.

The angel was watching the exchange and he didn’t know what to believe. He was a simple soldier, a warrior, he left the thinking to the commanders and the higher ones. Something was not right here; things were not as clear as the Goddess had thought perhaps.

“Boy, listen to me. That thing up there is trapped for all eternity. If it should ever escape this place the eight realms will suffer unimaginable pain and death.” He was about to continue when a warmth spread in his chest, that told him to be quiet. His eyes widened in disbelief but he would never go against the Goddess's wishes.

Bel was looking at the angel but he couldn’t see anything but that stupid grin. Looking up the stairs all he saw was that corpse, desiccated and weak.

With a scream, he ran for the enemy before him. His head was hurting so badly, he could feel the torture being done to Ignatius. His friend was suffering and he could help him.

Raising his sword, he brought it down as hard as he could. He saw the angelic man standing there, but he didn’t raise his shield, he just looked at Bel with determination and a hint of fear.

Bel screamed, this time it wasn’t in anger, he screamed in confusion, fear, and frustration. Something within shifted for a moment, a tiny sensation from the bond with Ignatius, and Bel’s eyes went wide. He change the trajectory of the blow on the defenseless man before him and hit the ground so hard he cracked the marble.

Breathing hard, he just stared at the floor, sensation returning to him. He was still himself, he was still alive. Bel straightened and met eyes with Eurasmus.

“I don’t know if you are any better, I don’t know anything. All I know is that I am my own man, from now and for always. I won't bend to any of your supposed Gods.” Bel’s voice was firm like stone.

The angel just nodded, even if he didn't understand everything that was going on, he trusted in his creator, and so he admitted defeat. A white portal appeared behind him and he was sucked into it so fast he couldn’t even react. A wave of external anger hit Bel then, the pressure was still there but it didn’t affect him anymore. He couldn’t explain what had happened but he felt it now. The sinister magic of this place, trying to seep into him, and his willpower was greater. With a single thought he had broken free, a thought sent from Ignatius, three simple words.

I am okay.

Bel remembered the words Ignatius whispered before, again. Straightening his back, he started the walk up the stairs towards the throne. No rewards were given this time, and he knew he wouldn’t get any more here. He had figured it out.

The corpse looked at him from empty sockets. A small smile touched its cracked lips.

“What gave it away?” The voice was like the wind, a wind full of carrion and maggots, traveling from far away through this puppet, this symbol of his torment.

“You grew desperate, you feared that his words would sway me and you showed your hand too early. A little longer and I would have lost myself, and your plan would perhaps have worked.” Bel lied as he looked at the corpse.

The corpse was clad in simple clothes, decayed over the years, and it was a man once, that much he could tell. But more than that no one could say, it was both rotting and dried out at the same time. Its eyes were gone and much of its flesh, the chains clamped upon its back, arms, and legs. There was a dryness to the air, like the stale air of a sealed-off room that had not been opened for millennia.

“Yes, my hubris was always my greatest weakness. The thought that my power could win anything. How foolish of me to fall into that same trap again. Although I haven’t failed just yet. Yield to me Bel, give in, and become the first Necro-Lord to walk Eshander in several thousand years. You will be so powerful nothing can stand in your way, and when you succeed with my plans, I will send you back to Earth again.” Bel believed him. There was a truth to his words, but there was also poison behind them.

“Who even are you? Are you Death?” Bel’s mind was going every which way trying to figure out what to do.

“You are correct, as you knew you would be. I am He. The Dead God, the one whose brothers and sisters slew him for the betterment of all ‘eight’ worlds as they call it now. They even erased my world from the mouth of their worshippers. All so that they could take my power, the power they so feared and envied. A great wrong has been done to me, a wrong so great you couldn’t understand it Bel. The pain I have endured would destroy you in a second. Free me Bel, let me live again!” By the end, the voice had taken on a pleading tone and Bel’s heart ached for the being, so strong was its sorrow and pain.

“Who am I to free you? I do not know what happened here on these worlds as you describe them. I was taken from my world, thrust into this place and I have no idea what is true or not.” Bel gritted his teeth, that flame in his chest, his flame this time, was back.

“That is true Bel, I am responsible. I brought you here for a purpose. Many years it took me to gather enough energy to create the scroll that would bring you here. Even longer I searched the cosmos for a worthy individual, and in the end. I didn’t even find one, I had to settle for you!” The anger in Death's voice was growing, as was the pressure. Even dead Gods had great strength and a great will it seemed.

“Sucks to be you.” Bel didn’t care anymore but he didn’t think that comment would go over well, and he was right.

The dungeon shook and groaned from the dead God's anger. The corpse before him tried to lunge for him but was secured so tightly that the movement didn’t ever register against the chains.

“So be it. If you will not give me what I want freely then I must force the issue. All I need is permission Bel, remember that, all I need is for you to say, I do.” The corpse turned its head ever so slightly to the side and Bel followed its sight. It was the glowing white source from before. It had moved up beside them.

A basin of dark grey stone stood there; a white shield that gave off light was placed around a dark stone. The stone was so dark it looked like there was a hole in space laying in the basin. Bel looked at the thing and he knew what it was even without Identify.

Dungeon Core – Dungeon of the Lone Peak.

He’d found his way out of here. But why had Death let him get so close to it, he thought. His eyes widened as he spun around, just as a huge hand slapped him across the face, knocking him out cold and sending his body flying like a rag doll.

“I’m sorry Master!” A high-pitched voice squealed.

“You fool! Make sure he still lives, heal him if need be.” Bel couldn’t hear this conversation since he was currently drooling blood at the fifth level of the ziggurat. A large man, a large dead man walked down the stairs and picked up Bel, caring him carefully up to the top again and placing him on a stone bed that just appeared, a bed with manacles. Strapping Bel to the bed he stepped back and lowered his head, waiting for his master.

The large man was a Draugr. A sentient undead that had lived a violent life and whose soul had been dragged from the Eternal Rest to a new body, to serve its caller.

“He is secure, My Lord.” The deep voice of the draugr said.

“About time, stop dawdling next time and be more careful. You almost damaged the Master's vessel, you imbecile.” The high-pitched voice said. It belonged to a craven-looking man, a tall but skinny man in black robes, caring a staff topped with a skull.

Stepping up next to Bel he made a gripping motion with his left hand against the draugr. Green lines of energy were drawn from the large man who groaned in pain. The necromancer then fed the energy into Bel who sputtered and groaned as the energy healed his wounds, bringing him back to consciousness.

“What, what happened.” Bel looked around as he tried to sit up, but the chains stopped him. Instead of panic, he felt anger rising in his chest. He looked up and met the necromancers' eyes. The man had deep sunken eyes and a sneer on his face, a sneer of contempt and a little jealousy perhaps.

“I don’t know what the Master wants with you. But I was the only one that answered his call. You will not enjoy what comes next.” The man smiled a wide-crazed smile.