Crypt (Doors of the Dreamer, Chapter 13)
Expressions of terror
Author’s note: For the month of July I am challenging myself to write and post one chapter a day every two days with minimal planning and outlining. You can read the first chapter of Doors of the Dreamer here.
Lance laid out a map and explained his plan. When he was escaping the dullahan, he saw two dungeon entrances between the apartment complex and the park. On the way back to the base they would check both, and if one was level 25 or lower, Lance wanted to clear it.
“30,” David said.
“What?”
“We can handle a level 30.”
“Remember what happened that last time you said something like that?”
“Unlike the dullahan, you know dungeons. You want me to be raid-ready within the month?”
“Ideally,” Lance said, rubbing his beard.
“Then have a little faith in me.”
Lance studied him for a while, then said, “We’ll play it by ear. Just remember, your spell range is shorter with a wand. It may take some adjustment.”
David nodded.
“Use the rest of today to relax and prepare. We’ll head out first thing tomorrow morning.”
David held up a hand. “Actually, I’d like you to do something for me.”
“What’s that?”
“I have a pretty good idea of what you’re capable of already, but can you walk me through the details of your skills?”
“Good idea,” Lance said after considering it for a moment.
Wind cutter gathered air around the user’s sword and then hurled it as a razor sharp projectile when the sword was swung. It was Lance’s only ranged skill, which made it perhaps his most important weapon. Blood rush significantly boosted the user’s speed and mobility for a very brief time, launching him forward. War cry was a taunt skill, capable of distracting and pulling the “aggro” of all monsters in an area. It could only be used with a shield equipped.
“There are a few more skills knights have access to, but I primarily use those three.”
David spent most of that day thinking. He thought while doing push-ups, sit-ups, and sprints. He thought while eating the food the vagabonds provided, mostly roasted meats and vegetables (where these came from was a mystery to both David and Lance). He thought while wandering aimlessly around the camp. When the musicians and dancers started up again that night, he thought while staring into the twisting flames of the pyre.
Something felt off. It was like the feeling of being watched, or perhaps the feeling that he was missing something. This feeling did not leave him when he saw Lance and the shaman woman disappear into a tent again that night, or when they said their goodbyes and left the following morning, or even when they reached the dungeon Lance had mentioned.
“Level 31.”
They exchanged a glance. David smiled. “What’s it gonna be?”
Lance sighed but nevertheless pulled open the door and said “Come on.”
The dungeon was crypt themed, which meant plenty of skeletons, wraiths, and other assorted undead to contend with. Even with the increase in difficulty, David’s second dungeon progressed much like the first. Lance went ahead and slaughtered everything while he stayed back managing buffs and watching his companion’s back. He did this without complaining or losing focus. While he waited for Lance to clear rooms, he concentrated on his “mental tallies”—namely, how long until his buffs expired, how much mana he was using, and how close he was to potion sickness. As much as Lance seemed to hate comparing this world to a video game, his strategy reminded David of his dungeoneering days in World of Battlecraft. Everyone in the party had a job. Someone had to call the shots, someone had to deal damage, someone had to heal, someone had to pay attention to timers and cooldowns. And just like in a game, mastering this strategy was going to be the key to defeating the hardest challenges—and getting home in one piece.
The boss room had a low ceiling and felt almost claustrophobic compared to the manticore’s room. A robed figure with its back turned to them stood in the middle of a circle drawn with something like chalk. Black candles were placed at five points along the circle. Besides the flickering flames of the candles and wall-mounted torches, all was still.
“Necromancer,” Lance said. “I won’t be able to block his spells without switching to the tower shield, so stay on your toes. In the second half of the fight, he’ll put up a barrier and summon thralls. Should be no problem to taunt all of them with war cry, but run back here just in case.”
David nodded and cast his blessings.
The necromancer proved to be surprisingly nimble for a rotting, decrepit creature. It dodged Lance’s opening wind cutter, spinning around and answering with a dark bolt of magic. Lance slowly advanced, sidestepping black projectiles, while David trailed him. Lance had said the “second half” of the fight, but it only took one hit. The knight waited until the necromancer was about to cast a spell, and in one clean motion, stepped in and cut open its belly. Undead guts spilled onto the floor and Lance jumped backward.
“Thralls!”
David, realizing what was about to happen, scrambled back into the corridor. As Lance swapped to his shield, the necromancer held out its arms and gurgled something. The five candles lifted themselves into the air and a lavender bubble formed around them. Within the protective barrier, the necromancer called out to its undead slaves.
The stone floor cracked and the thralls crawled up through the ground. They had lifeless black eyes and gaunt, skeletal frames. There were quite a few of them, but they were slow. Lance stood at the center of the crowd, head on a swivel.
“Lance?”
“If I do it too early, it won’t work,” he called.
The undead closest to David were nearly free. They groaned and grabbed at the air. He pointed his wand at one of them and waited. A cold bead of sweat ran down his back.
“War cry!”
The sound of Lance’s voice filled the room. The thralls stopped and turned in unison, then began shambling toward him, reaching out their rotting hands. Before any could touch him, he used blood rush to charge through their ranks, shield first. With a speed that could only come with experience, he switched back to his greatsword and began systematically culling the horde using wind cutter. David watched in amusement as the thralls were sliced apart, body parts flying everywhere. Then he heard something behind him.
He jumped away and turned to see a thrall bite the space where he had been standing. Had one spawned out in the corridor? David raised his wand, but hesitated. He had enough mana to smite this one, but what about the necromancer? What if there was a dullahan waiting outside the dungeon? The expression he saw reflected in the thrall’s eyes was that of terror. Was it his own?
You do not shy away from weakness, do you?
There is something empowering about holding a sword, David discovered that day. He grit his teeth and shoved his left hand forward. The silver blade flashed and pierced the thrall’s skull. It went limp.
“You alright?”
“Yeah,” David said, exhaling. “You missed one.”
“Sorry.”
The rest of the thralls lay dead and dismembered. Lance was standing directly in front of the necromancer’s barrier, poised to strike.
“It’s supposed to drop the shield when the minions are dead.”
David glanced down the corridor. “Maybe there’s more.”
“I doubt it. Do you see anything?”
“No.”
“I think it’s toying with us.”
David wrenched his sword free and cautiously approached the barrier. He tapped it with the tip of his blade.
“It blocks physical attacks and skills,” Lance said, “but at least it can’t attack us while its in there.”
The necromancer followed them with its dead gaze, but was otherwise frozen with its arms extended. Even with its torso split open, it didn’t appear to be in any hurry to fight them—David imagined that an undead monster couldn’t bleed out anyway.
“Maybe there’s some trick to it,” he said.
The floating candles seemed an obvious place to start. They were inside the barrier so he couldn’t just reach in and grab them, but on a whim he tried blowing one out. To his surprise, it worked. The necromancer immediately dropped its arms and began casting a spell. But Lance was faster. The instant the candles hit the floor and the barrier dissolved, he cast wind cutter. The boss dodged, but clumsily. Lance closed the distance and swung. The necromancer’s decapitated body collapsed.
“Good kill.”
Lance was breathing hard. “Used too much mana on that one. Nice thinking with the candle.”
Once again, the loot was nothing impressive. David did level up, but he did not unlock a new skill this time. They had a long road ahead of them.
They backtracked through the dungeon and, after a short break, ventured back into the city. Thankfully, there were no dullahans waiting for them this time. They returned to the apartment and found it as they had left it. Mostly.
“Do you smell that?” David asked.
Lance unequipped his gear and sniffed. “No.”
David was surprised to smell anything—this world was oddly devoid of any strong scents or flavors.
“What kind of smell is it?”
“It’s… sweet. I don’t know, maybe I’m imagining it.”
The aroma did fade, and by dinner time he had forgotten about it.
He remembered very quickly, however, when he woke up in the night with the sickly sweet stench violating his nostrils. Something was on top of him. He blinked, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.
A woman’s voice whispered in his ear. “Miss me?”