Rise of the Deathbound Knight: A LitRPG Apocalypse, page 17
Emma returned Sir Bearington to her blade, satisfied that she’d managed an acceptable solution that kept him with her in perpetuity. Now technically alone, she finally began her descent down the staircase, expecting to return to the first floor, given the presence of the same barrier that had kept her companion from entering before. Happily, Emma found herself proven right after just a couple minutes of walking. Far less happily, she was also treading water, staring at a flooded catacomb, interspersed with islands formed of books that had floated to the top to form makeshift islands. There were no clusters of flying tomes visible, no signs of any other enemies nor any dots on her mini-map, just a flooded tunnel leading who knew where, beckoning Emma to go take a swim.
“Why wasn’t Sir Bearington allowed down here?” Emma complained. “The entire library is already ruined!”
“I didn’t make the rules governing Scholomance; it is not my place to question the will of the creator,” the overseer replied in a flat, dead tone, one that left little doubt as to her own opinion on the matter.
Overmind always did love her books more than her people. A shame, really, otherwise she might have defeated the founder when they first met. The problem with ruling solely by fear is that you’re likely to be abandoned the moment a viable alternative presents herself.
“Who’s Overmind?” Emma asked, deciding this was one conversation she didn’t want to be overheard.
The greatest living practitioner of the Western tradition— the Merlin of modern magical society in England and beyond. Paradox may be stronger and Anathema wiser, but they were both born into their magic; some don’t even acknowledge them as practitioners despite their power, given there was no process of learning involved to be able to use it. Ahem. Moving on, this trinity of Paradox, Overmind and Anathema, and the struggles between them have shaped the course of magic here, since the days of William the Conqueror.
“Just the west?” Emma couldn’t help but wonder. “What of the other continents then?”
Oh, those are quite different! In fact, the Western tradition is a bit of a misnomer really, given it only really dominates on the continents of Europe and Australia. It is the path of harnessing inner power through focus, willpower and copious academia; the aesthetic and focus of Scholomance is in many ways emblematic of this tradition.
By contrast, North and South America traditionally followed the path of sacrifice; warlocks formed pacts with beings of power using offerings of blood and souls, either their own or those seized from their fallen foes. Africa is closer to the European tradition but with a far greater emphasis on ritual magic, and a singular focus on death and what comes after. You’d fit in well there, given your current form. Finally, Asia blends martial strength and magic most closely of them all; in the pursuit of immortality, their cultivators are willing to go to extremes matched only by the most dedicated and insane elsewhere. If you ask me about Antarctica, I will freeze you solid.
Emma snorted, her intentions seen through and her question dying unasked.
Keep in mind however, that what I’ve listed above are only the paths available to practitioners. That is to say, a body of lore, techniques and contacts that are theoretically available to anyone with a baseline level of magic and the capacity to learn. There are many more groups whose powers are inherited rather than learned— far too many to list here in full, but the one you’ll need to concern yourself about in England are the Magical Girls.
“What, like in Sailor Moon?” Emma responded, shivering as she thought back to the insane levels of power shown in the later series.
Not that powerful, thankfully, at least not the ones you’ll be meeting any time soon. They’re not a single homogeneous group either; there are many female-exclusive organizations wielding inherited magic around the world, but following the rise and enduring popularity of Magical Girl media from Japan, the name stuck firm for the archetype as a whole. Typically, a Magical Girl is born with a single type of magic at the Magus or Master level, allowing them to wield extreme power even in their early preteens. Conversely, they find it much harder to learn other forms of magic, since their souls are so ingrained with their primary affinity; an experienced magus will always be more versatile than a Magical Girl, though whether that makes a difference or not depends on the people in question.
Getting back to the point: Magical Girls rule the Eternal Britannian Empire, and given your themed focus and unusual nature, many will think that you’re one of them too, even if the definition is not quite right for you. Since you’re coming into contact with magical society faster than anticipated, some further instruction will be required. I will make the arrangements after this Dungeon, if the overseer doesn’t.
“Thanks,” Emma replied gratefully with her mind, taking the hint to refocus on her trial.
Staring at the black and briny water, thick with ambient magic, Emma sighed before diving right in.
◆◆◆
Saint’s prey squeaked as it groomed itself, nearly flat against the sidewalk and utterly oblivious as to its impending doom. Stalking through the night, her paws silent as the grave, the huntress began her final approach. This was a most fortuitous encounter; to find prey as succulent as it was foolish, confident in its newfound strength such that it was willing to indulge in self-care both in the open and above ground.
One step, two step, red step, dead step… As her paw caught the helpless mouse in the side, stunning it long enough for her fangs to sink in, Saint couldn’t help but praise her mistress once more. Clearly, her mistress, in her divine foresight, had known that this was the perfect hunting ground for Saint to sharpen her claws, filled with ambient Anima that suffused every being still alive. Not in sufficient quantity for the demons to be drawn back, but more than sufficient for her to feast and grow, and grow she did, gaining a full two inches in length and one in height as her prey’s vitality became her own.
She could have taken me with her when she departed her father’s home. But if that had happened, I would have lost so many opportunities for power! Truly, I must repay her generosity with a gift of my own; perhaps a rat for the road? Nice and plump and juicy…
Permitting herself to drool just a little, Saint returned to the hunt, following the path paved by her mistress and eradicating all the vermin along the way.
Saint - Level 2 Cat
◆◆◆
Emma Knight - Level 8 Revenant
Race: Undead {LOCKED}
Alignment: True Neutral
Anima: 450
EXP: 1520/2000
Abilities
Summon Unholy Sword {Epitaph} (Cost: 50% current Anima)
No Pal of Mine: Capture the soul of the slain, creating a simulacrum identical in strength and fully obedient. Maximum 1 active per 10 levels, rounding up.
The Leech King - Level 8
Sir Bearington - Level 4
Weeping Scar: Wounds inflict periodic poison damage until they are healed.
Oversoul: Become intangible and possess the body of a living target. Only works on those with a lower level than the user, with effectiveness varying based on willpower.
Traits
Arcanivore: Enemies restore Anima when wounded or slain.
Wolf, Ram and Heart: All attacks imbued with Death Magic, significantly increasing damage dealt.
Circle of Life: Increased affinity with animals. Decreased affinity with humans.
One with Everything: Damage reducing Anima to 0 stops at 1 instead. This effect cannot activate more than once an hour.
Inventory
Tea Kit (4/5th Bundle of Holy Tea Leaves, Kettle, Teacups, Matches)
Add-ons
Music Player: Most of YouTube’s hits, all in your head.
Fast Travel
Academia Mortalis
Main Quests
404 - Answers Not Found
Objective: Discover the cause of the mana surge that brought about the Apocalypse.
Reward: ???
Blood Borne
Objective: Find your mother.
Reward: ???
Cum Laude
Objective: Reach the 10th floor of Scholomance.
Reward: ???, Save Point, Quest: Magna Cum Laude
Chapter 41
Dive to the Heart
Interestingly, Emma proved buoyant enough to swim with minimal exertion despite her status as a suit of armor, far better than she had in life as a matter of fact, now that the water no longer stung her eyes closed. Following the path laid before her, Emma descended sharply into the depths, finding it almost as bright as the surface. The contribution of massive anglerfish that swam all around, the glowing lures upon their heads provided her with some much-needed illumination.
There was only one direction to go, down, down, and further down, accompanied by a procession of fish who occasionally bumped into her, more curious than hostile. The further she descended, the greater the pressure Emma could feel forming around her. By the two minute mark, Emma noticed some minor discomfort. By five minutes, spasms of pain lanced through her, none truly debilitating or even distracting to the Revenant but notable all the same. Ten minutes in, cracks began to form upon the surface of her armor as the descent continued, yet all throughout there was a surprising lack of notifications for Anima loss.
Your condition makes you ideal for the current trial. A living man would need to breathe, and their fleshy body would have long since collapsed under the pressure of the deep. An Undead, on the other hand, has no need for air, and your hollow form allows intake of water to fill your insides, mitigating the crushing pressure much like these deep sea fish swimming alongside you. For the average apprentice, this would be a grueling struggle for survival, requiring them to sustain a shield spell for protection and conjure a constant supply of oxygen. All the while making their way through unforgiving terrain for almost an hour, keeping in mind most apprentices are hardly paragons of physicality. For you, on the other hand, this is more of a jolly than a true test.
“Well, I’m certainly not complaining,” Emma thought back in response, once again vindicated in her decision to live in death, much like a certain terrorist from Command & Conquer. Indeed, the swim was almost relaxing, putting aside the stabs of pain from what she now knew to be an immense amount of water filling her up. Emma let her mind drift, following the fish on autopilot as ten minutes became thirty, then an hour, then two, until finally her path took on an incline, then a sheer climb. As her head breached the water, a disappointed sigh could be heard faintly in the distance.
Floor 3 completed!
100 EXP gained.
“Well, that was boring,” the overseer complained to nobody in particular. “I would have selected something a bit more challenging, were I allowed to, but all trials are randomly selected to avoid issues with corruption. You got a very lucky draw just now from the pool of choices—no pun intended.”
“I don’t even have a Luck stat either.” Emma laughed. “Do I?”
You don’t. Active fate manipulation is a difficult art, and quite frankly invites more trouble than it’s worth. Take good fortune where you find it, but otherwise there’s no need to dwell upon it. That way lies conspiracy theories.
Nodding along in agreement, Emma emerged fully from the water, finding herself before an obsidian gateway that resembled the original approach to Scholomance, at least superficially. Seeing that there was nothing else of interest in the small cave she’d emerged in, Emma wasted no time approaching the portal. Pushing it open with a light shove, she took a single step through the threshold and vanished in a beam of light.
◆◆◆
For the first time since he left the Army, Noah awoke to the sound of gunfire. Blinking away the remnants of a dream best forgotten, he instinctively attempted to draw his sidearm before a sharp pain in the arm reminded him of his present injury and forced medical leave. That didn’t make it easier to listen to the rattling of rifles, nor the shouting and occasional screams as a fierce firefight raged outside. Though part of him urged that he stay out of it to rest and recover, Noah simply wasn’t willing to accept that as an excuse.
“Someone get me out of these!” he yelled, catching the attention of a guard who walked into his tent with a tight frown on his face, both hands wrapped around a handheld radio so tightly his knuckles were white.
“You’re not going anywhere,” the guard replied immediately. “How do you plan to help anyway, with an injury like that? Can you even aim a gun properly, with your hand wrapped up like a mummy’s?”
“I don’t need a gun,” Noah retorted, summoning a flicker of flames in his good hand. “I won’t throw myself into the fray either, but judging by the sounds coming from outside, a bit of fire support wouldn’t go amiss.”
“Huh, thought it was only your daughter who could do things like that,” the guard muttered before another burst of radio chatter drew his ears.
The transmission quality was poor, leaving Noah unable to hear the words exchanged, only able to see his captor’s expression turn progressively grimmer with every passing second. Finally, unable to bear what he was hearing any longer, the guard drew a combat knife and cut through Noah’s bedside bindings without another word.
“Thanks.” Noah nodded to the guard as he slowly stood, working the feeling back into his limbs.
“We’re dead if we lose you, so stay in the back,” the guard instructed, clipping his radio back onto his belt and unslinging his own rifle. “Target the big ones; they’re the most resistant to our bullets.”
“Got it.”
◆◆◆
“Been a while since the last one of those,” Emma remarked, as her eyes adjusted and she found herself in a large, circular arena.
Unlike the Colosseum created by her brother, there were no gaudy gestures to human history in the makeup of the arena. Pure white walls devoid of decoration surrounded them, the roof following suit in a total lack of personality—no cheering crowds here, only pure practicality.
“Oh good, looks like I’ll get an actual fight on this floor. All that swimming didn’t give me much experience, considering the amount of time invested.”
Fourth floor reached. Begin mid-boss encounter?
“Do it,” Emma ordered at once, smiling as the blank serenity of the stage was shattered from below.
A viscous black mass surged from the ground, forming the barest outline of what might resemble a human being, if they were made of clay and bathed in the blood of giants. Towering over Emma, whose head only reached its knee, dagger-like fingers clenched, eager to throttle. Most notable of all was its head: a bulbous thing with eyes in every which way, eight in total arrayed equidistant, unblinking, and glowing a dull red as they stared vacantly into the distance.
Earthbound Immortal - Level 13
Chapter 42
Answers
“Unworthy,” Felix declared, releasing his grip upon the most recent soul to die facing his lions.
The pale, nearly translucent specter—still clutching the echo of a tire iron—faded from sight, returned to the sea of souls before he could utter a single word in protest of his fate.
“Such a waste.” Felix sighed, returning his consciousness to the Dungeon Core as the Colosseum vanished, no longer required with the death of the final challenger for the day.
Absent anything demanding his immediate attention, the Imperator returned to his favorite hobby, staring balefully at his quest log.
Administrator Quest: Every Man a Star
Objective: Build a cadre of worthy subjects (352/1000).
Reward: External Manifestation, Construct(ion), Quest: The Iron Throne
Now granted, the definition of worthy was subject to his interpretation; had Felix wanted to, he could have met the quest objective in a single day by ordering his wolves to seize every warm-blooded human they encountered. Felix didn’t do that, of course, because that way lay ruin and a permanent role babysitting the helpless; and though willing to assist those who proved themselves, he was not selfless enough to indulge in charity. A certain level of martial inclination was a requirement; three wolves slain followed by a passable showing against Dies and Nox. Just as important was the mentality; a certain level of resilience was required to handle the loss of the world they knew, alongside the practicality to rationalize trading subordination for survival.
“Still, it shouldn’t be this hard to find a thousand decent people,” Felix lamented. “South West England alone had over five million people before.”
‘Had’ being the operative word here. Losing the cities erased a third of that straight away; the first wave of demons would have claimed another third at minimum as they cut through humans grown weak in peacetime. The total collapse of infrastructure, including basic provision of food and healthcare will take many more, not even counting the continued attacks come nightfall. If a tenth of the population is still alive a month after the apocalypse, it would be an excellent result. In practice, I would expect a survival rate of three percent, dropping to one by the end of the year before leveling out as the survivors adapt to their new circumstances.
“The entire global population, reduced to no more than what the United Kingdom had alone,” Felix murmured. “I’d known it would be bad, but that’s hard to think about.”
Then don’t. Even if we hit my pessimistic prediction of 1%, that’s still 70 million people alive in the world. Putting it into context, the average human met less than 100,000 people total in a lifetime before the apocalypse, so really, numbers this large are meaningless past a certain point, and may as well be arbitrary, as they bear no relation to someone’s everyday life. It’s like talking about the economy as a whole—nobody can properly conceptualize the flow of hundreds of billions of pounds every year, so they break it down to think about grocery bills and utilities despite the comparison being wholly inaccurate. The point being, forget about the past that cannot be changed, and focus on what you can do in the here and now.
“Right,” Felix exhaled slowly, not entirely convinced but unable to think of a counterargument in the moment. “Right. A distraction sounds good right now. Maybe I should extend the hunting range again? Not many humans are left in the current boundaries.”
“Why wasn’t Sir Bearington allowed down here?” Emma complained. “The entire library is already ruined!”
“I didn’t make the rules governing Scholomance; it is not my place to question the will of the creator,” the overseer replied in a flat, dead tone, one that left little doubt as to her own opinion on the matter.
Overmind always did love her books more than her people. A shame, really, otherwise she might have defeated the founder when they first met. The problem with ruling solely by fear is that you’re likely to be abandoned the moment a viable alternative presents herself.
“Who’s Overmind?” Emma asked, deciding this was one conversation she didn’t want to be overheard.
The greatest living practitioner of the Western tradition— the Merlin of modern magical society in England and beyond. Paradox may be stronger and Anathema wiser, but they were both born into their magic; some don’t even acknowledge them as practitioners despite their power, given there was no process of learning involved to be able to use it. Ahem. Moving on, this trinity of Paradox, Overmind and Anathema, and the struggles between them have shaped the course of magic here, since the days of William the Conqueror.
“Just the west?” Emma couldn’t help but wonder. “What of the other continents then?”
Oh, those are quite different! In fact, the Western tradition is a bit of a misnomer really, given it only really dominates on the continents of Europe and Australia. It is the path of harnessing inner power through focus, willpower and copious academia; the aesthetic and focus of Scholomance is in many ways emblematic of this tradition.
By contrast, North and South America traditionally followed the path of sacrifice; warlocks formed pacts with beings of power using offerings of blood and souls, either their own or those seized from their fallen foes. Africa is closer to the European tradition but with a far greater emphasis on ritual magic, and a singular focus on death and what comes after. You’d fit in well there, given your current form. Finally, Asia blends martial strength and magic most closely of them all; in the pursuit of immortality, their cultivators are willing to go to extremes matched only by the most dedicated and insane elsewhere. If you ask me about Antarctica, I will freeze you solid.
Emma snorted, her intentions seen through and her question dying unasked.
Keep in mind however, that what I’ve listed above are only the paths available to practitioners. That is to say, a body of lore, techniques and contacts that are theoretically available to anyone with a baseline level of magic and the capacity to learn. There are many more groups whose powers are inherited rather than learned— far too many to list here in full, but the one you’ll need to concern yourself about in England are the Magical Girls.
“What, like in Sailor Moon?” Emma responded, shivering as she thought back to the insane levels of power shown in the later series.
Not that powerful, thankfully, at least not the ones you’ll be meeting any time soon. They’re not a single homogeneous group either; there are many female-exclusive organizations wielding inherited magic around the world, but following the rise and enduring popularity of Magical Girl media from Japan, the name stuck firm for the archetype as a whole. Typically, a Magical Girl is born with a single type of magic at the Magus or Master level, allowing them to wield extreme power even in their early preteens. Conversely, they find it much harder to learn other forms of magic, since their souls are so ingrained with their primary affinity; an experienced magus will always be more versatile than a Magical Girl, though whether that makes a difference or not depends on the people in question.
Getting back to the point: Magical Girls rule the Eternal Britannian Empire, and given your themed focus and unusual nature, many will think that you’re one of them too, even if the definition is not quite right for you. Since you’re coming into contact with magical society faster than anticipated, some further instruction will be required. I will make the arrangements after this Dungeon, if the overseer doesn’t.
“Thanks,” Emma replied gratefully with her mind, taking the hint to refocus on her trial.
Staring at the black and briny water, thick with ambient magic, Emma sighed before diving right in.
◆◆◆
Saint’s prey squeaked as it groomed itself, nearly flat against the sidewalk and utterly oblivious as to its impending doom. Stalking through the night, her paws silent as the grave, the huntress began her final approach. This was a most fortuitous encounter; to find prey as succulent as it was foolish, confident in its newfound strength such that it was willing to indulge in self-care both in the open and above ground.
One step, two step, red step, dead step… As her paw caught the helpless mouse in the side, stunning it long enough for her fangs to sink in, Saint couldn’t help but praise her mistress once more. Clearly, her mistress, in her divine foresight, had known that this was the perfect hunting ground for Saint to sharpen her claws, filled with ambient Anima that suffused every being still alive. Not in sufficient quantity for the demons to be drawn back, but more than sufficient for her to feast and grow, and grow she did, gaining a full two inches in length and one in height as her prey’s vitality became her own.
She could have taken me with her when she departed her father’s home. But if that had happened, I would have lost so many opportunities for power! Truly, I must repay her generosity with a gift of my own; perhaps a rat for the road? Nice and plump and juicy…
Permitting herself to drool just a little, Saint returned to the hunt, following the path paved by her mistress and eradicating all the vermin along the way.
Saint - Level 2 Cat
◆◆◆
Emma Knight - Level 8 Revenant
Race: Undead {LOCKED}
Alignment: True Neutral
Anima: 450
EXP: 1520/2000
Abilities
Summon Unholy Sword {Epitaph} (Cost: 50% current Anima)
No Pal of Mine: Capture the soul of the slain, creating a simulacrum identical in strength and fully obedient. Maximum 1 active per 10 levels, rounding up.
The Leech King - Level 8
Sir Bearington - Level 4
Weeping Scar: Wounds inflict periodic poison damage until they are healed.
Oversoul: Become intangible and possess the body of a living target. Only works on those with a lower level than the user, with effectiveness varying based on willpower.
Traits
Arcanivore: Enemies restore Anima when wounded or slain.
Wolf, Ram and Heart: All attacks imbued with Death Magic, significantly increasing damage dealt.
Circle of Life: Increased affinity with animals. Decreased affinity with humans.
One with Everything: Damage reducing Anima to 0 stops at 1 instead. This effect cannot activate more than once an hour.
Inventory
Tea Kit (4/5th Bundle of Holy Tea Leaves, Kettle, Teacups, Matches)
Add-ons
Music Player: Most of YouTube’s hits, all in your head.
Fast Travel
Academia Mortalis
Main Quests
404 - Answers Not Found
Objective: Discover the cause of the mana surge that brought about the Apocalypse.
Reward: ???
Blood Borne
Objective: Find your mother.
Reward: ???
Cum Laude
Objective: Reach the 10th floor of Scholomance.
Reward: ???, Save Point, Quest: Magna Cum Laude
Chapter 41
Dive to the Heart
Interestingly, Emma proved buoyant enough to swim with minimal exertion despite her status as a suit of armor, far better than she had in life as a matter of fact, now that the water no longer stung her eyes closed. Following the path laid before her, Emma descended sharply into the depths, finding it almost as bright as the surface. The contribution of massive anglerfish that swam all around, the glowing lures upon their heads provided her with some much-needed illumination.
There was only one direction to go, down, down, and further down, accompanied by a procession of fish who occasionally bumped into her, more curious than hostile. The further she descended, the greater the pressure Emma could feel forming around her. By the two minute mark, Emma noticed some minor discomfort. By five minutes, spasms of pain lanced through her, none truly debilitating or even distracting to the Revenant but notable all the same. Ten minutes in, cracks began to form upon the surface of her armor as the descent continued, yet all throughout there was a surprising lack of notifications for Anima loss.
Your condition makes you ideal for the current trial. A living man would need to breathe, and their fleshy body would have long since collapsed under the pressure of the deep. An Undead, on the other hand, has no need for air, and your hollow form allows intake of water to fill your insides, mitigating the crushing pressure much like these deep sea fish swimming alongside you. For the average apprentice, this would be a grueling struggle for survival, requiring them to sustain a shield spell for protection and conjure a constant supply of oxygen. All the while making their way through unforgiving terrain for almost an hour, keeping in mind most apprentices are hardly paragons of physicality. For you, on the other hand, this is more of a jolly than a true test.
“Well, I’m certainly not complaining,” Emma thought back in response, once again vindicated in her decision to live in death, much like a certain terrorist from Command & Conquer. Indeed, the swim was almost relaxing, putting aside the stabs of pain from what she now knew to be an immense amount of water filling her up. Emma let her mind drift, following the fish on autopilot as ten minutes became thirty, then an hour, then two, until finally her path took on an incline, then a sheer climb. As her head breached the water, a disappointed sigh could be heard faintly in the distance.
Floor 3 completed!
100 EXP gained.
“Well, that was boring,” the overseer complained to nobody in particular. “I would have selected something a bit more challenging, were I allowed to, but all trials are randomly selected to avoid issues with corruption. You got a very lucky draw just now from the pool of choices—no pun intended.”
“I don’t even have a Luck stat either.” Emma laughed. “Do I?”
You don’t. Active fate manipulation is a difficult art, and quite frankly invites more trouble than it’s worth. Take good fortune where you find it, but otherwise there’s no need to dwell upon it. That way lies conspiracy theories.
Nodding along in agreement, Emma emerged fully from the water, finding herself before an obsidian gateway that resembled the original approach to Scholomance, at least superficially. Seeing that there was nothing else of interest in the small cave she’d emerged in, Emma wasted no time approaching the portal. Pushing it open with a light shove, she took a single step through the threshold and vanished in a beam of light.
◆◆◆
For the first time since he left the Army, Noah awoke to the sound of gunfire. Blinking away the remnants of a dream best forgotten, he instinctively attempted to draw his sidearm before a sharp pain in the arm reminded him of his present injury and forced medical leave. That didn’t make it easier to listen to the rattling of rifles, nor the shouting and occasional screams as a fierce firefight raged outside. Though part of him urged that he stay out of it to rest and recover, Noah simply wasn’t willing to accept that as an excuse.
“Someone get me out of these!” he yelled, catching the attention of a guard who walked into his tent with a tight frown on his face, both hands wrapped around a handheld radio so tightly his knuckles were white.
“You’re not going anywhere,” the guard replied immediately. “How do you plan to help anyway, with an injury like that? Can you even aim a gun properly, with your hand wrapped up like a mummy’s?”
“I don’t need a gun,” Noah retorted, summoning a flicker of flames in his good hand. “I won’t throw myself into the fray either, but judging by the sounds coming from outside, a bit of fire support wouldn’t go amiss.”
“Huh, thought it was only your daughter who could do things like that,” the guard muttered before another burst of radio chatter drew his ears.
The transmission quality was poor, leaving Noah unable to hear the words exchanged, only able to see his captor’s expression turn progressively grimmer with every passing second. Finally, unable to bear what he was hearing any longer, the guard drew a combat knife and cut through Noah’s bedside bindings without another word.
“Thanks.” Noah nodded to the guard as he slowly stood, working the feeling back into his limbs.
“We’re dead if we lose you, so stay in the back,” the guard instructed, clipping his radio back onto his belt and unslinging his own rifle. “Target the big ones; they’re the most resistant to our bullets.”
“Got it.”
◆◆◆
“Been a while since the last one of those,” Emma remarked, as her eyes adjusted and she found herself in a large, circular arena.
Unlike the Colosseum created by her brother, there were no gaudy gestures to human history in the makeup of the arena. Pure white walls devoid of decoration surrounded them, the roof following suit in a total lack of personality—no cheering crowds here, only pure practicality.
“Oh good, looks like I’ll get an actual fight on this floor. All that swimming didn’t give me much experience, considering the amount of time invested.”
Fourth floor reached. Begin mid-boss encounter?
“Do it,” Emma ordered at once, smiling as the blank serenity of the stage was shattered from below.
A viscous black mass surged from the ground, forming the barest outline of what might resemble a human being, if they were made of clay and bathed in the blood of giants. Towering over Emma, whose head only reached its knee, dagger-like fingers clenched, eager to throttle. Most notable of all was its head: a bulbous thing with eyes in every which way, eight in total arrayed equidistant, unblinking, and glowing a dull red as they stared vacantly into the distance.
Earthbound Immortal - Level 13
Chapter 42
Answers
“Unworthy,” Felix declared, releasing his grip upon the most recent soul to die facing his lions.
The pale, nearly translucent specter—still clutching the echo of a tire iron—faded from sight, returned to the sea of souls before he could utter a single word in protest of his fate.
“Such a waste.” Felix sighed, returning his consciousness to the Dungeon Core as the Colosseum vanished, no longer required with the death of the final challenger for the day.
Absent anything demanding his immediate attention, the Imperator returned to his favorite hobby, staring balefully at his quest log.
Administrator Quest: Every Man a Star
Objective: Build a cadre of worthy subjects (352/1000).
Reward: External Manifestation, Construct(ion), Quest: The Iron Throne
Now granted, the definition of worthy was subject to his interpretation; had Felix wanted to, he could have met the quest objective in a single day by ordering his wolves to seize every warm-blooded human they encountered. Felix didn’t do that, of course, because that way lay ruin and a permanent role babysitting the helpless; and though willing to assist those who proved themselves, he was not selfless enough to indulge in charity. A certain level of martial inclination was a requirement; three wolves slain followed by a passable showing against Dies and Nox. Just as important was the mentality; a certain level of resilience was required to handle the loss of the world they knew, alongside the practicality to rationalize trading subordination for survival.
“Still, it shouldn’t be this hard to find a thousand decent people,” Felix lamented. “South West England alone had over five million people before.”
‘Had’ being the operative word here. Losing the cities erased a third of that straight away; the first wave of demons would have claimed another third at minimum as they cut through humans grown weak in peacetime. The total collapse of infrastructure, including basic provision of food and healthcare will take many more, not even counting the continued attacks come nightfall. If a tenth of the population is still alive a month after the apocalypse, it would be an excellent result. In practice, I would expect a survival rate of three percent, dropping to one by the end of the year before leveling out as the survivors adapt to their new circumstances.
“The entire global population, reduced to no more than what the United Kingdom had alone,” Felix murmured. “I’d known it would be bad, but that’s hard to think about.”
Then don’t. Even if we hit my pessimistic prediction of 1%, that’s still 70 million people alive in the world. Putting it into context, the average human met less than 100,000 people total in a lifetime before the apocalypse, so really, numbers this large are meaningless past a certain point, and may as well be arbitrary, as they bear no relation to someone’s everyday life. It’s like talking about the economy as a whole—nobody can properly conceptualize the flow of hundreds of billions of pounds every year, so they break it down to think about grocery bills and utilities despite the comparison being wholly inaccurate. The point being, forget about the past that cannot be changed, and focus on what you can do in the here and now.
“Right,” Felix exhaled slowly, not entirely convinced but unable to think of a counterargument in the moment. “Right. A distraction sounds good right now. Maybe I should extend the hunting range again? Not many humans are left in the current boundaries.”
