[Qualifications of a Legend]

The Keeper wishes to see if you

possess what it takes to become a legend.

Surpass the resistance, conquer the Dark Catacombs and cement your first story.

Objective: Claim the Altar within 48 hours

Reward: Title, ???

Failure: Death

Castor face stiffen. He stood there for a minute, dumbfounded by the quest’s contents, his bravado vanished in the face of death. Castor just couldn’t understand. Why am I being forced to do this? Tears welled in his eyes, but refused to let them fall.

Castor thought the Keeper would help after saving him, but the asshole threw him to the wolves instead. A literal do, or die situation. A part of him wanted to break down, but that wasn’t going to help in any way. He just had to keep going.

Store Access locked.

Revisit Safe Room to regain Access.

“I’m going to give that bastard a piece of my mind when I see it.” Castor cursed.

With no time to waste, Castor jogged through the tunnel at a brisk pace. He had wanted to go over the Instincts and knowledge imprinted on [Hallow Step], yet stopped himself. It was neither the time, nor the place. From a cursory glance at the spell, Castor thought he might be able to perform the first two forms. They were simple enough, but he held off. He had to save his RP for whatever lay ahead.

Surprisingly, the armor wasn’t restrictive and was lightweight compared to the shoddy Kobold armor. Castor ran through the tunnel unencumbered as the armor laid evenly across his shoulders, and with the mace in its base form, he wasn’t the least bit tired by the time he reached another opening.

Bigger than the first cavern yet just as empty, Castor struggled to see the walls in any direction. Without a speck of light, the darkness obscured even Castor’s mutated perception.

He didn’t dare move from the entrance, trying to gather whatever information he could in the dark. It took a few nerve-wracking moments, but eventually Castor did see something though;

Plaques.

Lining the sides of the walls on either side of him. They were carved into the walls evenly, and they covered every foot.

There must be hundreds, Castor thought before inspecting one closely. The only sign of time it exhibited was the dust covering the finely carved exterior. He tried to decipher the words etched into it, except it wasn’t in English. It didn’t look like anything Castor had seen before, the closest thing comparable was maybe a mix of Nordic Runes and Japanese Kanji. Simple strokes, yet exquisite symbols that Castor had no way of translating.

“I hope this won’t be a pop quiz on foreign language.” Castor half-joked. It would be twisted if the Keeper gave him a test he had no hope of passing.

Castor searched the cave, but nothing else of note was around. He sighed as he worked up the nerves to keep going forward. Except, when Castor tried to leave the cavern, he was forced back by an invisible force.

Chokepoint must be

cleared before proceeding.

A window blocked his way, confusing Castor until he heard a sudden rumbling. Behind him, multiple plaques had been smashed to bits, revealing holes—graves, Castor corrected himself when he saw withering corpses crawl out of the holes behind the headstones.

Incoming wave. Prepare Traveler.

Withered Draugr

Level 4

Corroded corpses donning half-rotted leather armor bursted from behind their headstones. They were all skin and bones, right until they unsheathe various weapons from their hips. Wielding rusted axes, maces, and swords, the [Draugrs] were far more deadly than the odd [Ghoul]. Still, at least Castor didn’t have to fight more than a few at once.

There’s no telling how many graves could open at once.

Castor reached for Sigil of Shifting Length with both hand and mind, and was pleased when the mace extended to four feet, the exact length he wanted. He settled into a comfortable stance, and watched his enemies stalk toward him.

There were only five monsters, but they lacked the clumsiness the other undead seemed to possess. They were definitely slow, but they didn’t trip over their feet, and moved their limbs smoothly as if they had full control over their bodies.

They surrounded him the same way a pack of dogs circled their prey, relentlessly and from every angle. The half-crumbled zombies held their weapons high, ready to lob Castor’s head off at a moment's notice.

“No mercy,” Castor whispered. [Alter] hummed in his chest as [Aura Release] pounded his resource into his body.

Feral Empowerment Bestowed!

One of the bigger [Draugr] attacked Castor first, swiping its sword parallel to the ground. Castor simply mirrored its movements and rotated into the blow.

Instead of sparks flying as two weapons clash, the zombie’s sword was smashed apart. Castor’s mace continued unimpeded, right into the zombie’s head. Black blood and rotted brains splattered on the ground as Castor brutally crushed the monster's head in a single motion.

The Sigil of Shifting Weight burned in his grip, but Castor ignored it; the other [Draugrs] occupied his attention as they attacked from all sides.

Castor kicked a body back, then smashed an ax wielder into the ground—nearly dropping his weapon from the instant change in weight. A sword-wielding [Dragur] tried to stab him in the back, but his mace fluttered behind him as he beat the zombie back with a backhanded strike. Castor was more than glad he didn’t cheap out on the armor—

—A tackle from the side threw Castor to the ground, the monsters scrambling on top of him the first chance they got.

“Fuck! Let go of me!” Castor yelled, but it was no use.

The monsters piled on him, abandoning their weapons and biting every bit of flesh they could. Castor tried to push them off—tried to escape, but the monsters were vicious and bit at every limb he threw at them. One split his knuckle with its cracked teeth, while another tried to go for his neck despite his frantic resistance.

Off to the side, a lone zombie grabbed an ax and lumbered towards him. Its intention to finish him was obvious. He fought them off even harder, but it was futile; each subsequent shove Castor mustered was weaker than the last.

“Leave me alone!” Castor screamed at the top of his lungs. He grabbed everything that was in reach; his mace, his resource, his skills, and the single spell, and pulled.

His resource suddenly thrashed in his body from Castor’s misguided attempts to use it. His bones creaked, while his organs twisted in a knot. Blood vessels ruptured throughout his torso and limbs before his energy found an outlet through the channels opened by [Hallow Step].

The magic was a needlessly complicated technique, so even thinking over the spell’s theory, Castor could only perform the first kata; Retreat.

[Alter] thrummed in the back of Castor’s mind as the spell dominated the forefront. It involved tirelessly shifting one’s Qi to either a Moon, or Ghost Alignment, and guiding the energy through imaginary veins called meridians.

The first stage was entirely sidestepped by altering his resource—his Qi, the name still fresh in his mind—to Malice, an apparent equivalent of Ghost. Working his Qi through his meridians was the hardest part as the energy slipped by his will, but [Aura Release] picked up the slack, dumping tons of RP into the Castor’s body.

The spell’s activation was the simplest part, but by no means was it the easiest. A single step seemed easy until you were pinned to the floor about to be eaten alive.

A [Draugr] tried to hold Castor’s feet down and get a taste by chomping on his toes. Target chosen, he carefully aligned his sole to the thing's face and stomped, moving both body and spirit at once. He was distinctly aware of kicking the zombie, before the spell clicked.

A black, cold hatred wafted around Castor as the spell roared to life. His tainted aura whirled around him as he kicked off the tip of his toes and stepped through—

—For a second, there was nothing; less than nothing. Frost, shadows and weightlessness flitted around Castor. He screamed, but no sound escaped his lips—

A bitter cold lingered in his lungs, revealing Castor’s stolen breath as his back slapped the ground. The cold nipped his extremities and made him shiver, but he rose despite the chill and pain. Two of the monsters that held him down were now encased in ice, while the other was only frozen from the waist down, dragging its legs behind it as it single-mindedly crawled to Castor. The last continued to shuffle towards him ice free, its ax held high ready for decapitation.

Cast Fail! Spell Backlash Afflicted!

Death’s Embrace Bestowed!

Castor activated a spell and skill simultaneously, and although the aura alteration was successful, his Qi surged violently as his spell failed. It pulverized his body with its passage, nearly making his body seize.

He could barely think as the edges of his peripheral faded away, and his vision tunneled onto the last monster. His rapidly beating heart calmed as [Death’s Embrace] washed over him.

The [Draugr] whipped its weapon left and right, but Castor was just out of reach for every blow. He rode on a knife’s edge, creeping closer between swings until he was close enough to dart through the distance. He grabbed the monster’s skull and effortlessly drained the undead of its miniscule amount of aura. The creature put up more of a fight than a [Skeleton], but it wasn’t nearly enough to stop Castor’s will from barreling through and stealing its energy.

Instead of the sweet relief of avoiding Resource Exhaustion, draining the aura into Castor’s body felt like swallowing fiberglass and stabbing an ice pick between his eyes. It clashed against his veins and sliced into his body, disturbing all his efforts to regain RP. After a few uncomfortable moments, Castor stopped draining the withered undead, and crushed its skull with a squeeze of his hand.

Killing the last [Draugrs] was easy, but it tired Castor to the point that the small weight in his mace’s base form was almost too much to lift.

I did it. I’m okay. The frozen, battered bodies were surreal now that the battle was over. Almost like it was someone else who was fighting for the life moments ago.

First Wave Complete

Would you like to continue?

Y/N

Oh wow, I actually have a choice? Castor thought sarcastically. He declined and limped his way back to the safe room. Or he tried to.

Bites, scratches and cuts littered his aching body. Every breath was a struggle that ended in a coughing fit; Castor tried to hack out phlegm and blood, but his throat wouldn't clear. The blood just kept welling in his throat and lungs no matter what he tried.

Castor reached into his pocket and smashed a golden orb against his chest. A hazy light hovered over Castor, especially clinging to his wounds, but he didn’t feel much better. His head started to spin as the healing energy swirled around him, while the blaring headache jabbed further into his skull.

Using another healing orb only made everything ten times worse. Every step stabbed the headaches further into his skull with every jolt. He lied in the middle of the tunnel, pressing the cool stone against his head for some semblance of support. Castor closed his eyes, hoping his surroundings would stop spinning.

A faded screen popped in before glitching out.

Magical Backlash II Afflicted

Castor knew he wasn’t okay when he collapsed, and vomited all over the ground.

The halls of the crypt were devoid of life, lacking even undead patrols Castor expected to see. He tried to keep his ears open for any threats, but after the first agonizing hour, he couldn't bother to care anymore. His back was slick with sweat and nausea swirled in his gut as he laid on the cold, hard ground.

The orbs closed all the cuts and bites Castor had gotten, but its healing influence only went skin deep. The flesh and muscle his RP pushed through in the battle cramped painfully, like he was being stabbed by thousands of needles. The Refresh buff didn't help either, only sending another pulse of queasiness through his body instead of a refreshing wave.

Castor tried to pull up his menus, hoping to see why he was feeling this way, but looking through glitching screens made his headache stab even further in between his eyes. Unable to think of anything else, Castor stumbled to his feet, and dragged himself to the safe room step by step.

It was a long, excruciating slog, but he heaved himself forward without pause. He was so focused he almost didn’t notice a dim pink light emanating from the cavern. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was incredibly relieving to have the spirit waiting for him.

“Sit child,” The pink wisp directed without so much as a greeting.

The light made Castor’s eyes and head throb, but he obeyed nonetheless. The young man plopped to the ground and opened the shop tab without a moment to spare. He desperately looked through every option, but nothing he could afford to seem like it could help him

“You won't find a cure for your ailment in there, young one,” The flame berated him. “At least not one you can afford with your meager amount of Twilight.”

“What do you know?” Castor yelled, nearly vomiting. “You sent me in there to die!”

“Ether Backlash to the second degree. You have ruptured parts of your network and now your ether is running rampant through your body.” The flame rattled off.

Though Castor had no idea if the thing was telling the truth, he had no one else to rely on.

“...So what?…Can you help me?” Castor croaked.

“I cannot help you, not directly,” The flame dimmed, before perking up, “What I can do is lead you in the right direction. You have the skills and the abilities to help yourself.”

Castor waited for the flame to continued, but was forced to grit his teeth when the flame said nothing, content with waiting for the man. “Please, help me.”

“Assume the Lotus position.”

Castor steeled himself and ignored the bouts of lightheadedness, pain and nausea that assaulted him with every move. He crossed his legs and cupped his hands alongside his belly, where he felt his energy roil and churned uncomfortably.

“Close your eyes and focus on the resource you have fostered.”

“How is this cryptic shit supposed to help me?” He growled.

“Don’t curse me, child. Listen to me, or live the rest of your life as a cripple.” It warned.

Castor stopped grumbling and turn his attention to the ripples in his gut. He tried to ignore the pain stabbing from every angle in his brain, and it didn't help when he basically had a ghost looming over his shoulder. His breath was short and shallow, tiring instead of reinvigorating.

“Deepen your breath, utilize all of your lungs.”

“I can’t. Every time I do, I immediately start throwing up.”

The wisp paused. “...Buy an Ether Orb. Quickly.”

At its behest, Castor navigated through the Store and bought the consumable. The item coalesced in his cupped hands, reflecting a cool blue light. “Now what?” He asked breathlessly.

“Break the orb near your face. Afterward, take a deep breath. You’ll need to focus on both your internal ether and my voice.” The wisp instructed. “But, prepare yourself, Challenger. This will not be easy.”

“When is it ever?” Castor grit his teeth, staring at the marble that gleaned in his palm. He was pretty much all in now. He lifted the orb to his face, and clenched it until it popped. Thick smoke enveloped his head, and despite his urge to hurl, he inhaled as deeply as he could.

While Castor was still disgusted, the smoke was better than the thin, muggy air in the catacombs. He sniffed a little more, amazed to smell a breath of fresh air. Another inhale and Castor could taste the electrifying tang of potential energy, becoming dizzier from the dazzling stars in his head—

“Don’t waste it!” A voice cut through Castor’s fading awareness. “Use it to see, you idiot.”

Castor turned away from his other senses, solely focusing on his sight despite having his eyes closed. Taking long drags of the billowing smoke, it was immediately apparent what the Keeper was talking about: pure, unadulterated energy washing against his throat and lungs. Particles of colors that Castor didn’t have a name for illuminated every nook and cranny of his mind’s eye.

As more of the mental image was revealed, Castor realized he was peering into the inner workings of his body.

Long rivers of ether, she called it, flowed from his respiratory system. Some currents sank into Castor’s core, while others circulated throughout the rest of his body, in channels and waves.

All of it was highlighted for Castor to observe. From where the mouth filtered all incoming ether to the hard-working lungs that fueled his bloodstreams, and everything in between. Time only revealed more as the ether continued to flow through his veins, allowing Castor to comb through the finer details.

The energy flows Castor now knew as meridians were jagged and slow-going. In some places, the currents didn't exist at all, breaking and tapering off into meaningless eddies and reservoirs.

“Recite these words, child. Water invigorates Wood, Wood purifies Air, Air feeds Fire, Fire tames Earth, Earth harbors Metal.” The Wisp said.

The flows of his circulation enraptured Castor, but he got the gist of it. He repeated those words over and over again, watching as the pure energy he took in was mysteriously influenced by those words. It condensed into strands in his mouth and twisted into cords down his throat. The cords radiated a pure, natural energy but it gathered into his pool all the same, not healing any meridians nor alleviating any of Castor’s symptoms.

“Now circulate the ether through your body. Don’t stop, no matter how painful.”

Castor hesitated, unsure of what to do. He didn't want to be in pain, but another bout of dizziness made him choose. He mentally grabbed a rope of ether and dragged it to the nearest meridian, all the while continuously reciting the mantra. Castor was more than ready to begone of his sickness, until he slammed the rope into the aperture, and was stopped by its deadly slow currents.

Immediately, a crippling pain on par with the [Altar of Substance] struck in his gut, freezing his mouth and thoughts.

“Keep going. Don’t stop!” The flame yelled.

Sweat poured down his face and back as he continued reciting the mantra, ignoring the slight hiccup. He burrowed his way into the meridian aperture like digging glass into his flesh. He cried and whimpered in between words, but kept going nonetheless.

Either he would die trying, or he would die wasting away in a tomb powerlessly.