Fall of the Black Seraph: The Complete Genesis Game Collection, page 4
Seraph looked at him, every bit resentful and angry. The man saw the look and responded sheepishly. "I know you don't like to be reminded, but you’re not quite as mobile as you used to be, and you tire out so easily now. Try to look on the bright-side though, kiddo. It wasn't that long ago we would never have been able to do something like this. It’s a testament to how good the therapy is that you’ve been doing. I just wish your mom was still around to see it."
Everything clicked together, and Seraph remembered. The accident. He had been in an accident. He survived it and all but lost the use of his legs. He survived when his mother didn't. That was it, the secret he had kept hidden in his other life, in the past. He had been like those who he would later condemn to die—weak, broken, and defenseless. Like a mad dog, he had gone out of his way to never be reminded of that. Much to the detriment of those who had been like him. Doing what he could to kill those who reminded him of his previous weakness, as and when he found them.
"Alright, Dad,” said Seraph, “I'll take it easy, but do you think we can maybe spend most of the day here? I think I'd like to hit up the arcade at the food court. Besides, it's better than having you pushing me around the whole time.”
"Sure," said Paul giving him a sympathetic look. "That's fine. I've got a few bucks on me too. If memory serves, you can pretty much beat anything in an arcade with enough quarters and time. We could even try this new escape room I've seen advertised."
Perfect, thought Seraph. Maybe this wouldn't be impossible, and together they went inside as Seraph looked at all the people moving about their business, shopping and browsing, all unaware of how their lives would soon change.
Seraph was unsure as to how much time they had before the dungeon would appear, but knowing it would be soon, he decided to simply enjoy the moment. He knew the years to come would be difficult; he could let himself enjoy this. He did not need to miss out on simple comfort after decades of going without. As he and his father sat down and ate their smoothies, he held no regrets. It would not make him weaker to enjoy this last comfort while any semblance of comfort still existed.
A simple comfort it was, enjoying the frozen treat of mixed berry, coconut milk, and yogurt that had been a favorite of his mother’s—a woman who had died years before the emergence of the dungeon, but whose death had still haunted him throughout his life. He had gone so far as to have her body exhumed, and he tried to raise her within the dungeon, but it was all to no avail. He had never stopped missing her.
Memories could be like that, and as he ate in relative silence, contemplating the past and future, he looked at the man who was equally enjoying the moment, and Seraph felt shame for how easily he had considered killing the man. He remembered how that man had once before, in another life, died for him. Maybe this was part of what the dungeon had condemned him for, how easily killing others came to him.
Seraph realized he was making a mistake. He kept referring to him as "The man.” But he wasn't just "The man." This man was his father. His name was Paul, he had a past, he was a person, and he was a person who had once mattered deeply to Seraph. But, more importantly, he was a person who would value Seraph in a way no one else could, once he assumed the mantle of the accuser.
Even though decades had passed for him since he had last seen his father, it did not change the fact that in his prior life, his father had been kind to him. It did not change the fact that his father had died protecting him by shielding him with his body from the jaws and claws of the Hell Hounds. It was a sacrifice that Seraph had never honored. He would now.
Seraph made up his mind and clenched his fists in determination. If this was to be how this new life began, he would embrace it. He was a son once; he could be a son again. There are far worse challenges than reconnecting, he mused. He was committed. From this point forward, he would think of the man as ‘father’ and he would enjoy these moments while he could. He would enjoy these moments while the man still knew him as the child Luca and not as Seraph.
In remembrance of his past, and thinking of the future he was heading toward, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease. A knot was building between his shoulder blades as phantom muscles tried to move wings. He was anxious to regain his power.
His father’s voice interrupted his thoughts, and in response, he looked directly at him.
"Gotta say, kiddo, this was a good idea of yours. I just wish your mom could be here with us. You know I've been worried about you a lot, but I think you’re going to be alright. Let's make a promise that we’ll always be a team, OK?”
Seraph frowned, not quite sure how to react. Deciding to try the words he had already committed to in his mind, unfamiliar and ugly, they spilled out of his mouth. "Um, sure. Dad, we’re a team.”
Paul looked at him with concern, putting his bowl of half-eaten yogurt on the table. Seraph might be unfamiliar with the setting, but he knew serious and paid attention.
“If you're ever feeling down or like you just want to quit,” Paul said, “just say you want to come here, no questions asked, and I'll take you. It will be a little promise between you and me to never give up. I will never give up on you, no matter how hard things get. It will be a good reminder that I'll always be there for you. Always."
Seraph shook his head in disagreement. He appreciated the sentiment, but such a promise was only that. "I don't think either of us has much of a say on if you’re always going to be there or not, Dad." He had not meant to be somber or ruin the mood, and he was moved by his father's promise, but Seraph knew the promise to be empty.
He had killed too many good men who had made the same promise to their families. Men who had only wanted to protect their loved ones. He could not believe such a promise. But still, this man, his father, just wanted to protect him, and for that, Seraph was grateful.
His father gave a sad smile. "You’re right, I don't know, but I can promise you I’ll do everything in my power to always be there for you and give you whatever strength I can muster." Paul then flexed his overall small and unimpressive biceps. "That's what I've got these guns for, kiddo."
Seraph laughed, and the laughter surprised him. It had been so long since he had a reason to laugh. He had missed his father. For all his quirks and his overbearing nature, he had been a good man who had always been in his corner, and he hadn't deserved to die like he had, in the way that he did. Seraph had never been able to recover the body for burial.
I won't let you die this time, Seraph promised silently. Shocked by his own feelings. The thought of his father dying again one was something Seraph refused to allow.
Chapter 4: Sign Me Up
* * *
Seraph looked over toward the arcade entrance, past the crowds of people enjoying their meals at the food court, and not focusing on the families sitting together or the young couples flirting. He wasn't here for that. He needed to get on the move and into the dungeon, and his father caught the look and read Seraph well enough to know what to do next.
"Well, hey, kiddo," he said, giving Seraph a light punch to the arm. "Enough of the serious stuff. You leave that to me to worry about, alright? You said you wanted to hit up the arcade. Looks like they've got some new stuff we might want to check out, and I," Paul said, laughing as he pulled some coins out of his pocket, "well, I've got quarters. Plenty of them."
Seraph looked over toward the arcade, and what he saw made his heart drop in shock. Right there at the entrance to the arcade, an advertisement poster showing small teams of knights in armor, mages, healers, and archers entering the maw of a great doorway of aged stone and rough timber.
Admonishing himself for getting caught up within the moment, Seraph realized he hadn't done a decent job of checking his environment. Though he had talked his father into bringing him into the mall—so he could be one of the first to enter the dungeon under the guise of playing games in the arcade—he had never intended to actually go into the arcade.
"Enter the Dungeon!" the poster read. "The adventure starts at 2:00. Sign up now. The prize? Power Everlasting, Wealth Beyond Measure, and Eternal Life!"
"A little heavy on the theatrics, aren't they?" commented his father in mocking disapproval.
Seraph rubbed the bridge of his nose in annoyance. How could he have missed that the dungeon was right here? The entrance was right in front of him, and he hadn't even noticed, even when it was so obvious. He should already be inside. He needed to be inside, though he did take some solace in knowing that it hadn’t opened yet.
Though Seraph had been one of the earlier ones to get into the dungeon, he had not been among the very first, and being among the very first had its advantages—this he had learned from others in his past life who had come before him. He had thought the dungeon had originally appeared from within the depths of the wreckage of what had been the mall. The dungeon having displaced and destroyed the already existing structure. Seraph had not known that the dungeon had existed beforehand inside the mall. He had assumed it simply spawned inside the mall and rapidly grew out of it. That it had actually existed in such a fashion was a secret no one had divulged to him.
A game. He would never have guessed that the dungeon would have disguised itself as a game to be played within the mall. It was just something he had never considered. Why would he? The few who had been first into the dungeon had refused to talk about the details of what they encountered and knew—even when threatened with the pain of death.
Seraph knew that sometime in the near future, the dungeon would explode out of this spot and grow, spreading like wildfire through dry underbrush. Eventually, the dungeon entrance would grow to the size of a small town that would draw crowds and people from around the world.
He knew there was only one option at this point: to go forward.
"Hey, Dad,” Seraph said, nudging his father and guiding his attention. “Let’s check out that dungeon. It will be open soon, and it looks like they accept preregistration."
His father nodded in agreement as they finished the last of their smoothies. Seraph watched him gather up their bowls and toss them in the trash. Before he was even done with the chore, Seraph had taken off toward the arcade, insisting, despite his father’s protest, that he could push the wheelchair himself.
The arcade ended up being a little sparse. They were alone except for a few parents rotating kids through a Helicopter motion ride and a few awkward teens playing Dance Dance Revolution. Seraph and his father paid them no attention. Though the teens did glare at them, letting Seraph and his dad know their presence was not appreciated.
Regardless of the undue animosity from the other patrons, they continued without issue. Seraph had come for the dungeon. His father thought it to be just a game, but once they started their adventure, everything would change. Seraph briefly considered a hope that things would remain as they were between him and his father but then instantly dismissed it. Things just didn't work like that; things evolved and hardly ever in the ways wanted.
The entrance of the dungeon was surprising to both of them as they passed through a wooden door at the back of the arcade with an obvious sign above it that read "To the Dungeon" and a path in white paint showing the way. If not for the pointed clues and his limited foreknowledge, Seraph would have questioned if maybe this was just a coincidence and not the dungeon at all.
Once inside, they found a basic sanitized waiting area resembling that of a medical clinic with six other people in waiting—all who appeared bored. Obviously, they had already preregistered. Seraph tried to make eye contact to register faces with his foreknowledge, but all of them refused to so much as look his way. Seraph doubted that any of these people had lived long enough to meet him.
They both approached the check-in counter and rang the bell upon seeing no one waiting to collect payments or working at the counter. It appeared unmanned.
A hooded figure in response to the sound of the bell came through a door Seraph could barely make out behind the counter. Though the figure tried to obscure itself, Seraph could tell just what the figure was.
An elf, and likely female by the way it held its body. He resisted a sneer. In his previous life, the elves had controlled life for the humans within the dungeon. These were not the tree elves of the forest or the elves of lore that people thought of when they thought of elves. These were something else. A dungeon construct. An imitation of life that few understood, and the last remnants of a destroyed world.
In his past life, when he had ruled with an iron fist and controlled the player killer guild known as Carrion Crow, Seraph had sent out many of the raid teams that decimated the race of elves and took from them the city of Hometown. He had no regrets. Only after the elves had been destroyed was humanity fully able to proceed to the second floor. The elves, like many things, had been an obstacle in his way.
"Good afternoon," said the figure in a polite and friendly way, her smile easy and infectious, cheerful even. “I’m Sadie.”
"If you’re here to try out the Dungeon on launch day, I’m going to need you to fill out a few liability forms and go through a quick orientation. It’s three phases, but I promise it’s not terrible,” she continued.
"Yes, we want to try out the Dungeon. How much is it? I didn't see a price advertised. It’s not too expensive, right?” asked Paul, who seemed to be intensely studying the woman in what he thought was just an elf costume. A look Seraph noticed and disapproved of.
"Opening day promotion, sir. No cost today, but is the young man able to move by himself? We don't allow teams, partners, or families to start together. That would be an unfair advantage you see. Think of this as one of those escape rooms that you might have experienced before," Sadie explained apologetically.
Seraph looked at his father, and his father back looked at him. "You sure you got this, kiddo?" he asked with some worry.
"Yes, Dad. I'm sure I’ll be fine. I promise I won’t try anything crazy, and I’ll ask for help if I need it." Seraph hated acting the part of a child, but until he was actually in the Dungeon and able to regain the use of his legs, he would be entirely dependent on his father, and until then, his father could disrupt all of his plans.
"That settles it. I’ll go ahead and sign those forms, so we can get started," replied Paul in excitement.
Sadie pushed the papers and a pen across the counter. Paul only vaguely looked at what he was signing, ready to start the adventure and be gone. Even while wearing the hood, Sadie was very obviously female, and that was making Paul uncomfortable. Seraph noticed his father’s discomfort, making a mental note of this weakness to rectify or exploit later.
When he was finished signing everything, Paul slid the papers back across the counter. "And… done."
"Great," said Sadie. "Looks like it’s all here. The pact is sealed, and you're almost ready to go. Just let me give you your starter kit really quick, then off you go. You’re assigned to room 3, and your son is assigned to room 7. Good luck and great adventuring. If you should need anything, remember, my name is Sadie, and I’ll be your Dungeon guide when you need one."
"Hey, really quick," asked Paul, "how do I get a set of those?” He pointed at her elvish ears. “Is it part of the costume we get? Are we allowed other racial choices? I’d like to be something other than human.”
Seraph looked at his father with raised eyebrows, and Paul shrugged sheepishly and responded, "What? I used to play Dungeons and Dragons. Role-playing as just a human gets boring."
“No problem, sir. When you get to your starting room, you can make cosmetic adjustments from the in-stock prop items,” Sadie responded with a smile. “Hope that helps.
“Oh, and here you go,” she said as she handed them the starter kits. “Each of these has an Emblem, the Emblem represents a randomly assigned class that you will play through the Dungeon as. Additionally, the kit had a basic olive-colored jumpsuit for you to change into. Anything else that you might need, you’ll be given or find along the way.”
“Anyways,” Sadie continued, “that’s it. Just head through the door on my left, your right. Remember your room assignments. They’re pretty easy to follow. The doors will be numbered 1 to 8 on the hall, so it's hard to get mixed up."
"Alright, thanks. Anything, in particular, we need to know?" asked Paul.
"They'll cover that in the three phases of the orientation,” replied Sadie, turning around and walking away to wherever she had been before being summoned by the bell. Seraph strained his neck to see and thought he saw her step into a room labeled “General Manager.”
Paul pushed Seraph down the hall to his starting room. He had insisted on at least walking Seraph to his door and poking his head in, having some measure of parental distrust of new and unfamiliar things. Seraph noticed that Paul appeared to be both relieved and disappointed when he saw it was just a small changing room connected to another room. Satisfied it was safe, Paul turned and looked at his son.
"Alright, big guy. I know you don't need me, but try to remember if you need me don’t hesitate—just yell and I'll come running. And don’t forget to look through those props they talked about. If I can find anything, I think I want to be a Halfling," he stated.
He was sure there was more to the prop selection than just cosmetics, and Seraph was positive that a weak selection like a halfling would have consequences for his father. “Think a little bigger, Dad. Make yourself a titan, a demigod, or maybe just an elf like that girl,” he said.
"Oh yeah, good call. OK, so what do you think our Emblems are going to be? I hope I get a cool class?” his father asked, his face alight with excitement.
Seraph looked at his father’s starting kit—a parcel with rope binding and a seal of wax. The emblem of a Sword over a Shield on the seal, it was the mark of a hero—a legendary class even among the elites of his previous life. Keeping his father alive was already having benefits.
"Looks like they want you to be a sword and shield guy, Dad," replied Seraph, pointing to the wax seal. He was guessing the wax seal represented the Emblem inside the package.
