The Genesis Game: Volume III: A LitRPG Adventure, page 13
"Ah yes," responded the Nightmare King. "The Anchor. The dungeon seed that bloomed from the death of one of your Lieutenants. Reverend. I saw him only once when he was still mortal during the assault on the 17th floor. A powerful dark paladin."
"That's him," Seraph admitted. "He still lives, suspended between life as both a darkness caller and a wight. A creature of the dungeon, and a creature of this world, though I cannot assume it has remained like that."
The Nether creature held up a claw and stroked its face in consideration. "If there is a chance to prevent this future, it is worth chasing. A world without prey is a slow death."
Seraph's eyes flickered as he took in the words of the Nightmare King. This creature had survived in this broken future for decades, a future where Seraph had failed, and Aeon's blight had consumed all.
"Tell me more of this world," Seraph demanded, his voice a whisper but filled with authority. "What has become of it since my death?"
The Nightmare King's yellow orbs shifted slightly, as if peering into distant memories. "The world you left behind has become a wasteland."
"Lord Seraph," the Nightmare King began, its voice echoing through the empty auditorium. "This future you see, it has been long since your death. Aeon's Blight has consumed not just this realm but all others. The gods themselves were not spared. Their once-great ruins now stand as silent witnesses to their downfall alongside the empty husks scattered across the land."
Seraph clenched his fists, he had to find a way to prevent this, to undo the devastation wrought by Aeon.
"The gods," Seraph muttered, "devoured by Aeon?"
The Nightmare King nodded slowly, its three yellow orbs flickering with an eerie light. "Yes, Lord Seraph. Their divine essences were consumed by Aeon's madness. They too were purged, and devoured."
"It wasn't just the gods," the Nightmare King continued, its voice growing darker. "Nameless things lurked in the dark, creatures of the void and deeper still, Old things, Hungry things. Aeon purged them as well. His madness knows no bounds, consuming all in its path until there is nothing left but an endless void."
"The doom of a world," Seraph muttered.
"Yes, the doom of a world," Ars Goethe repeated. "One for which we of the nightmares have starved from. Our existence thrives on fear and despair, but with nothing left to consume, we too fade into oblivion. The Nightmare Realm itself is withering."
Seraph tightened his grip on the Dragon's Claw.
The effect of the Lamb's Breath began to wear off. Seraph knew they were running out of time before they were noticed. With each passing second, more of the Infernal Legion passed through the breach to kill and wreak havoc on the other side.
"How are you going to survive this, Lord Seraph? How can you seal the rift without leaving yourself trapped here?" The Nightmare questioned. Truthfully, Seraph had no good answers to it, only conjecture.
The Nightmare looked at Seraph, its eyes narrowed and burning with determination. "I will give you all the time I can provide so that you may escape. If you are successful, it will be as if this future never existed. I do not know what will happen to me, but anything is better than this."
"What I do know is that your body will not last much longer. You are burning through your lifeforce to wield your old form. It will not last."
Seraph nodded. He knew it was true; he felt it.
The Nightmare King offered his counsel. "I am not of Pandemonium, but I have served you for a long time. There is only one way forward, one path."
"It requires that the seed be taken away from here. Take the dungeon seed and pass back through the rift before it collapses. Use the power stored within that body as fuel to spread the seed of the dungeon far and wide. Would that not give your humanity a better chance?"
Seraph considered it before responding. "I had thought the way forward in this life would have been simpler. A second chance and a way to gain strength, but that is not the case."
"The World Dungeon was never meant to be used an ark. I realize now, it was meant for preparation for the great war with Aeon and the fight against Wormwood. The dungeon is a training tool and a chance at the power to defend ourselves."
"I think you are correct. If I could spread it across more of the surface of the Earth, this would help humanity. Will you help me?" Seraph asked as he looked at the creature from another world in front of him.
"Absolutely, Lord Seraph," the Nightmare promised.
Seraph considered the Nightmare King's words carefully. The creature's loyalty was unquestionable, having served him faithfully for so long. If Ars Goethe believed that removing the seed was the only path forward, then it was worth considering.
"The seed," Seraph mused, his voice low and thoughtful. "Reverend's anchor to this world and the past. If we take it away from here, what will happen?"
The Nightmare King tilted its head, the yellow orbs in its eyes flickering with an otherworldly light. "The seed is a conduit, Lord Seraph. It tethers this future to the past, allowing Aeon's forces to pour through the rift. If you remove it, the connection will be severed, and this timeline will collapse."
Seraph's brow furrowed as he contemplated the implications. "And what of those who remain here? What will become of them?"
Ars Goethe's voice was somber as it replied, "They will cease to exist, Lord Seraph. This future will be erased, and their fates will be rewritten. It is only a heavy burden for you who will remember it."
Seraph closed his eyes. If there was a chance to undo it all, to save those who had fallen and prevent this tragedy from unfolding, then he had to take it.
"Very well," Seraph said, his voice filled with resolve. "We will find the seed and remove it from this place. But first, we must buy ourselves time."
He turned to the Nightmare King, his eyes blazing with determination. "Ars Goethe, I need you to hold back the Legion for as long as you can. Give me the opportunity to locate the seed and escape with it. Can you do this for me?"
The Nightmare King bowed its head, the chains on its hands rattling with the movement. "As you command, Lord Seraph. I will give you all the time I can, even if it means my own destruction. Go now, and may fortune favor your endeavor."
A Promise Kept
The Nightmare King looked at Seraph with unblinking eyes. The summoned Nether creature crossed its grotesque, patchwork arms and began to chant in the language of the Netherealm.
Seraph kept his gaze sharp, glancing toward the hole in the ceiling as Ars Goethe worked the ritual spell.
Powerful magic emanated from deep within the complex lines he drew. This power was supplemented by the blood Seraph had fed directly to the monster.
"Lord Seraph, I do not know for how long I can hold them at bay," the Nightmare King admitted. "You will have minutes at most before I am banished back to the Nether world. The Infernal Legion is not so easily waylaid."
Seraph nodded, unsurprised. The window the summon would provide was small at best. Neither of them had the power to stand against what lay outside for long.
The full might of the Infernal Legion lay just outside the auditorium. An endless procession of hunger pushed forward toward the rift, driven solely by Aeon's desire to consume.
The Nightmare spread out his emaciated arms, and a separate black circle appeared beneath him. It interwove with the circle that was already there.
Seraph watched intently as Ars Goethe continued his spellcasting. Each word dripped with dark intent as he summoned minion after minion from the Netherealm.
Seraph's eyes narrowed as he observed the dark figures rise from the complex, intertwining circles drawn by Ars Goethe. Shadows crawled and twisted, their forms ever-shifting and undefined.
They seemed to be born from the very absence of light, each one a crawling, amorphous shape that slithered across the floor like spilled ink.
The creatures were nightmares made flesh—or what passed for flesh in this place. Their bodies were dark mists given form, shadowy flesh with gaping mouths and outstretched hands. They moved with a jerky, unsettling grace, as if each step was an effort to hold themselves together.
Ars Goethe's chanting grew louder, more insistent.
The first of the summoned nightmares took shape fully, its form solidifying into something resembling a skeletal figure draped in tattered shadows. Its eyes, if they could be called that, were empty voids, reflecting no light and emitting only darkness.
These were not just any nightmares; they were the remnants left behind when all others had dissipated. They embodied the lingering dark when dreamers no longer dreamed, the last echoes of terror that refused to fade.
Seraph clenched his fists, feeling the familiar rush of power surge through him. The Black Seraph's body responded eagerly to his command, muscles coiling like steel springs ready to unleash devastation.
"More," Ars Goethe commanded, his voice resonating through the chamber. His hands moved in intricate patterns, pulling forth another wave of Nether beings.
Towering over even the tallest of the nightmares, the Dread Knights were spectral warriors clad in armor that seemed forged from the essence of nightmares themselves. Their forms flickered between solid and ethereal, each movement leaving trails of shadow in their wake.
They wielded weapons that defied logic, blades humming with dark energy and shields absorbing the surrounding haze of the green mist.
Despite their imposing appearance, Seraph knew they were not truly solid. These knights were creatures of both dream and nightmare, existing on the fringes of reality. Their forms wavered like mirages in a desert heat, flickering between states of tangibility and nothingness.
The leading Dread Knight advanced, its motions disturbingly smooth. It towered over the minor minions, a ghostly colossus that demanded both respect and dread. The other knights mirrored its actions, each moving with ease.
Seraph watched them assemble. He understood these knights were not just any spectral warriors; they were born from the deepest recesses of fear and despair. They carried an aura of dread that, against any other opponent, would have been impossible to fight.
Ars Goethe completed the summoning ritual. The final knight took its place among its brethren, and for a moment, the chamber fell silent.
The Dread Knights stood ready, their empty visages turned toward Seraph as if awaiting his commands. These were his weapons against the Infernal Legion—a force born from darkness to fight against an even greater darkness.
He could feel their power resonating with his own, a symbiotic connection that thrummed with potential. Each knight was a piece of him, an extension of his will and determination.
With a single thought, he could unleash them upon his enemies, and they would obey without question or hesitation.
The moment was fleeting but significant; Seraph understood that this was just the beginning of what lay ahead. He steeled himself for what was to come and focused on the task at hand, securing humanity's future against the looming threat of Aeon's blight.
Seraph tightened his grip on Ajana's Wrath, readying himself for what lay ahead. The battlefield was set; now it was time to face destruction head-on.
Grey blight began to spread upwards on the walls. The boards of the auditorium warped with rot as it spread, and the walls began to bend.
"It's time, Lord Seraph," the Nightmare stated. The preparations were finished, and the entire floor was covered in grey blight.
With a quick word, Seraph laid a hand on the Nether creature and cast Heroic Guard over both of them. This ability was the closest to immortal Seraph could make the two of them.
While it reduced all damage by 99%, it did not render them completely immune to harm. With enough time and consistent attacks, they could still be killed. Seraph was keenly aware of this fact.
"You have served me well these many years," Seraph said, looking up at the ceiling toward his escape. The way back into the school was sealed by fallen rubble.
"If you can, dismiss yourself before a final blow is landed. I do not know if even you can survive against them. I will try to summon you when this is over. This dead world is not yours to inherit. You have been instrumental to me. I have not forgotten when I first met the Nightmare Duke Ars Goethe."
Without another word, Seraph launched himself into the air with a powerful thrust from his wings. He passed through the rafters and out through a tear in the roof.
Once out of the auditorium, Seraph landed and crouched behind a rusted air conditioning unit. He tried to get a visual of what he was up against as he waited for the distraction the Nightmare King would provide.
As Seraph crouched behind the rusted unit, his keen eyes scanned the hellscape before him. The horizon was ablaze with an eerie green glow, the air thick with the stench of sulfur and decay.
The Infernal Legion stretched endlessly—a seething mass of abominations that writhed and roared, their forms distorted by the malevolent energies that animated them.
From his vantage point, Seraph witnessed Ars Goethe unleash the full might of the Netherealm. The Nightmare King stood amidst the ruins of the gymnasium, his grotesque, patchwork form towering over the crumbling structure.
His unblinking eyes glowed with sinister light as he chanted ancient incantations, each syllable resonating with dark power that shook the very foundations of reality.
The summoning circle beneath Ars Goethe expanded, intricate lines of arcane symbols intertwining and glowing with unholy radiance. The air around him crackled with energy as he drew deeper from the abyss, his voice rising in a haunting crescendo.
"From the shadows of forgotten nightmares, I call upon thee! Hounds of Darkness, arise!"
The ground trembled as fissures opened, and from the depths emerged monstrous hounds wreathed in shadows. Their eyes burned like embers, and their obsidian fur absorbed all light. Muscles rippled beneath their sleek forms as they bared fangs dripping with ethereal venom.
They howled in unison.
"Shadow Fiends, heed my call!"
Amorphous beings materialized, their bodies shifting and flowing like liquid night. Elongated limbs ended in razor-sharp claws, and their faces were voids with only a semblance of eyes and mouths. They moved with unnatural grace, their whispers filling the air with echoes of despair and forgotten fears.
"Dark Knights, take up your arms!"
From swirling vortexes stepped armored figures, towering and imposing. Their armor was forged from the very essence of nightmares—dark plates etched with runes that pulsed with malevolent energy. They gripped colossal swords that seemed to devour the light around them, their visored helmets hiding faces too horrific to imagine.
"Empty the Netherealm! Let every starving terror taste the flesh of the Infernals!"
The sky above darkened as portals tore open, and a deluge of Nether creatures poured forth. Winged horrors with skeletal frames and tattered wings screeched as they took flight. Serpentine wraiths slithered through the air, their ethereal bodies leaving trails of darkness. Colossal Shadow Behemoths lumbered forward, each footfall shaking the earth.
The amassed nightmares surged toward the Infernal Legion like a tidal wave of darkness. The two forces collided with cataclysmic force, the battlefield erupting into chaos.
Seraph watched in awe and horror as the Hounds of Darkness tore into the ranks of lesser demons, their jaws snapping through armor and bone. Shadow Fiends weaved between foes, their claws slicing effortlessly through flesh and spirit.
The Dark Knights formed an unbreakable vanguard, their swords cleaving through the monstrous Infernals with brutal efficiency. Above, the winged nightmares clashed with aerial demons—the sky a storm of shadows and fire.
But the Infernal Legion was relentless. Massive brutes wielding flaming axes smashed through the ranks of nightmares, scattering the Shadow Fiends like leaves in a storm. The Hounds of Darkness yelped as they were engulfed in infernal flames, their shadowy forms dissolving into wisps of smoke.
A towering Infernal, its body a mass of writhing tentacles and molten rock, surged forward. It swung its appendages with devastating force, crushing Dark Knights beneath its bulk. Their armor crumpled like paper, and their ethereal forms dissipated with anguished wails.
Ars Goethe stood firm, summoning more creatures to fill the gaps. "Hold the line!" he roared. "Do not let them advance!"
Yet, despite his efforts, the nightmares were being overwhelmed. The sheer number and ferocity of the Infernals began to turn the tide. Shadow Behemoths toppled as infernal sorcery ripped through them. Winged horrors plummeted from the sky, their wings torn by barbed projectiles.
An ear-splitting roar echoed across the battlefield. Emerging from the heart of the Infernal Legion was a monstrous entity unlike any other—a behemoth of impossible proportions, its form shifting and contorting in defiance of natural law.
Its eyes were voids of darkness, absorbing all light. Its very presence warped reality around it.
Seraph's eyes widened as he watched the colossal creature advance. What in the abyss is that? he whispered.
The entity moved with terrifying speed, closing the distance to Ars Goethe in mere moments. The Nightmare King summoned all his power, casting bolts of dark energy that struck the creature but seemed to have no effect.
"Fall back!" Ars Goethe commanded his remaining forces. "I will deal with this abomination."
The Dark Knights rallied around him, forming a protective circle. They raised their shields as one, and a dome of shadow formed above them.
The monstrous entity let out a guttural laugh. With a single, sweeping motion, it shattered the shadow dome. The force sent the Dark Knights sprawling, their forms flickering as they struggled to maintain cohesion.
Ars Goethe chanted furiously, summoning tendrils of darkness to ensnare the beast. The tendrils wrapped around the creature's limbs, tightening with crushing force.
