About two-thirds the way up the bell tower stairs, I stopped, gripping the railing as a strange sensation ran through . It wasn’t quite fear, but it was fear-adjacent. It was sothing I had experienced in the past, the early days of my ti in the capital, while I was still getting a feel for who I wanted to be and how I would reach that goal. It was the classic feeling of being observed without your consent, the helpless feeling of not knowing where the eyes were, but knowing that they were watching your every move.
"Anyone else getting a bad feeling?" Nythera whispered.
Vance let out a slow breath. "Yeah. And I don’t like it."
Ronan didn’t speak; he clearly had been running through the sa thoughts I had. His posture beca more rigid, his head tilting slightly, listening as his eyes surveyed the rest of the way up. Normally, I would be confident in his ability to pinpoint these sorts of things, but after our stat reset, it was Vance who would have the best chance of identifying our silent observer.
I looked back at Vance and mouthed the words that sothing was watching us, before proceeding further up. It wasn’t much farther before we had reached the top. I glanced down at the spiral of stairs we had just ascended and it looked significantly shorter than what we had experienced, after all, how tall could these towers be, and even if we were leisurely climbing the stairs, why did it take so damn long? Maybe we would get lucky and it would be a short trip down.
We reached the top. The room was small, lined with old wooden beams, and at the center hung a massive rusted hunk of tal in the shape of a bell. Cobwebs practically coated every open area and I hesitated to walk into that. I’m not about to coat myself in spiders. A faint breeze drifted in, and with it, the powerful sll of decay. Also coming along for the ride, were the webs, a disgusting, morbid sail of spidery bullshit capturing the breeze and blowing onto my face, coating in the stuff.
For a mont I contained my composure, and then I panicked. I started clawing at my face trying to pull it off of , when I heard Ronan snap–his all too familiar signature move. Suddenly I was coated in, well, a web of fla that spread across my body, eagerly feasting upon the webs before spreading out into the room and devouring the rest. Just like that, the area was clean, so, I guess we got that going for us.
I stood there, blinked a few tis–unsure if I had eyelashes or brows still–and ran my hand across my face.
"Thank you Ronan," I stated coldly, my mind still working through the trauma.
"Much better," he replied, indifferent to my tone.
Nothing else jumped out at us, which likely just ant that we had a few minutes, or seconds, until the next wave of nonsense bombarded us.
"We should take a look," I said, moving toward the edge of the tower, "Who knows what had just witnessed our little fireworks display.
Vance didn’t argue. He joined , peering out over the ruined cityscape. The view was exactly what I’d hoped for—and worse than I expected.
The streets below were filled with the undead. Hundreds of them, wandering aimlessly, clustering in small groups. So just stood there, staring at nothing, until another would brush past them, triggering an uncoordinated but inevitable march. Unfortunately, so of them were indeed looking up at the tower, like they were in a trance as they stared at the lingering light from Ronan’s little sparkler show. I’d never seen such a dead city, look so alive. We all shared looks, wondering what the zombies’ next move would be–if they would just go back to their shuffling or if they would make their way toward the barricaded doors of the church.
"This place is packed," Vance muttered, saying what we all were thinking. The undead really did fill the streets for blocks upon blocks. Fortunately, it did appear as though they were migrating on so kind of path, not likely to stick around forever, but with the little light show, I think we all expected a few to detach from the herd. True to our thoughts, so of them started shambling toward the church, inexorably leading to the ones at their back peeling off and following the masses.
Nythera hovered near the staircase, eyes flicking between us and the bell. "We shouldn’t be here," she said. "Sothing about this place is really off."
"No kidding," I replied in a hushed tone, "Just look at them all. We might want to head back down and–"
A sound cut through the air. Not a shuffle, or a whisper, but rather a scraping noise. It was slow and calculated, as it deliberately navigated from sowhere above us.
My blood turned to ice as I looked up to witness a shadow detach itself from the darkness, shifting, unfolding. It had been clinging to the ceiling just above the bell. Despite the fire and all of our commotion, it had chosen to wait and watch us. It could have co at us at any point, but it chose now to drop, landing on all fours with a wet squelching thud. Maybe it anticipated reinforcents, maybe it felt like we were adequately distracted, or maybe it just worked with a mind or consciousness that acted in ways we couldn’t comprehend, but we had company.
I didn’t have ti to process what I was looking at before it lunged.
"Move!" I shouted, throwing myself to the side as claws raked the spot where I’d just stood.
The thing was surprisingly fast for how much ti it put into adjusting itself before plopping down in front of us. It was a blur of movent, hunched and gaunt, its skin stretched thin over bones that jutted at unnatural angles, so of which even pierced the skin, creating a twisted spiked area of defense around its shoulders and spine. Its eyes—if it had eyes—were sunken pits, voids of nothingness that bore straight into .
Vance swung his sword, but the creature twisted unnaturally, dodging with ease. Nythera stumbled back, hands glowing as she tried to summon a spell—but the mana in the air resisted, flickering out before it could fully form.
Ronan, however, didn’t hesitate. He moved in a blink, knife flashing as he slashed at the creature’s exposed flank. Black ichor splattered against the floor, sizzling as it hit the wood.
The creature screeched, spinning toward him with overwhelming speed, ready to slam into Ronan and possibly send him careening off of the bell tower and into the oncoming horde. I had only seconds to react, so I spent one of those seconds diving in, daggers drawn, aiming for its throat, or what I assud to be its throat.
I surged forward, blades slicing through the air as I intercepted the creature’s lunge toward Ronan. My dagger t flesh—or whatever counted as flesh for this thing—but instead of a clean slice, it was like trying to carve through leather-wrapped bone. I barely managed to push its trajectory off course, sending it skidding across the wooden planks instead of knocking Ronan over the edge.
The mont it landed, it rebounded like it was spring-loaded, claws scraping across the floor as it twisted toward instead. I had no ti to react as the second it landed from our attack, it was across the room, the next second, it was nearly on top of , a blur of jagged limbs and gnashing teeth.
Before I could move, Vance was already there. His blade slashed low, aiming to hamstring the creature. This ti, it wasn’t fast enough to avoid the strike entirely. The edge of Vance’s sword cut deep into its... calf? Wherever it hit, he caused the beast to go stumbling off to the side with a strangled, wet shriek.
Ronan wasn’t ready to give into the idea that his magic would flicker out like Nythera. He had a decent chunk more Int stat and was ready to put it to use. Flas burst to life in his palm as if to say, Nothing is going to stand in the way of my love of arson. He was crackling with unstable energy and thrust it forward, a spear of fire shooting straight at the creature’s torso, and thankfully the spell hit dead on.
For a split second, I thought that was it—we had the thing. The force of Ronan’s magic sent it staggering back, black ichor hissing as it boiled away from the wound. But instead of going down, the creature convulsed violently—and then just kept moving.
It’s still standing? My stomach twisted as I realized the flas weren’t spreading like they should. It was supposed to be a reenactnt of the spider webs, but whatever this thing was made of, it clearly wasn’t flammable–which may I add, was absolute bullshit. Zombies were supposed to be, if anything, very flammable. This was the better option, the worse option would be that it was actively resisting the magic, which made a bit of sense. Sothing took Nythera’s magic away and it was a fine line between what she could do and what Ronan could do. Still, it could have technically been resisting the magic.
"Ronan, that should’ve turned it into charcoal!" I barked, scrambling back to my feet.
His expression barely shifted, but his stance shifted slightly, eyes narrowing in understanding. "It resists fire."
God dammit, of course it does. But is it fire that it resists, or magic? Why can’t you ever just give the specific answers I don’t tell you that I want!?
Vance swore. "Then what the hell do we use to kill it?"
Nythera finally managed to force out a spell—a lance of golden light shot from her fingertips, slamming into the creature’s chest. It let out a shrill, piercing screech and recoiled, its body convulsing unnaturally. The light lingered for a mont, burning into its flesh like acid.
"It’s weak to divine magic!" Nythera gasped.
Of course it was. Because this thing had all the hallmarks of an undead monstrosity, and we were standing in the remains of a goddamn church.
"Great, Nythera, keep hitting it with that!" I called, shifting into a defensive stance as the thing twitched violently. "Vance, don’t let it close in on her. Ronan, keep it distracted. I’ll go for the kill, unless Nythera is able to finish the thing off."
Vance nodded, stepping into position, his blade gleaming faintly in the dim light as he likely activated so kind of defensive duelist ability. He darted in and out, harrying the creature with precise, calculated strikes, never letting it get a mont of peace. Ronan, despite his usual preference for obliteration, adapted imdiately—he switched tactics, weaving quick, feinting jabs and testing out different magical elents in small bursts, trying to figure out what else, if anything, would affect the thing. If there was one thing Ronan had never shown a proficiency for, it was Divine magic. That shit required an entirely different school of magic from any classes we were enrolled in.
Nythera planted her feet, raising both hands. The air around her shimred, golden light flaring to life once again. The second divine bolt was faster, sharper—and so much god damn deadlier.
The mont it struck, I moved, surging forward, my daggers flashing in an arc toward the sa wound Vance had made earlier. The divine energy had weakened it just enough. I thought deeply about my desire to murder this thing and activate Phantom Edge, to cut through its flesh without dealing with any resistance—my blades plunged deep, cutting through whatever sinew held the thing together.
The creature convulsed, ichor gushing from its torn form. A shrill, rattling gasp tore from its throat—a death rattle that echoed through the tower, and then it collapsed.
For a mont, none of us moved. We stood there, panting, the adrenaline still thrumming in our veins as we watched the body twitch one final ti before going completely still.
"...Okay," I exhaled, dragging a hand through my hair. "That was disgusting."
[You have defeated a level 20 HollowStalker and are awarded a portion of the experience. Experience Gained: 2,000 tis 35x multiplier. 70,000 experience gained.]
[Congratulations, you have leveled up. Level 11.]
[Congratulations, you have leveled up. Level 12.]
[Current XP: 77,000/102,400]
Nythera looked pale, still catching her breath. "It resisted fire, but divine magic worked. That ans this place is crawling with things beyond just zombies, doesn’t it?"
Vance wiped his blade on his sleeve, scowling. "Probably. And that thing waited for us. That’s what freaks out the most."
I swallowed hard. He was right. That wasn’t so mindless undead—it had patience and intent, which was fucked up.
We weren’t just dealing with a horde of brainless corpses, not that the hordes outside really cared. It was still another threat.
Ronan crouched near the creature’s remains, inspecting it closely. "This was a scout."
My stomach dropped. "What?"
Ronan turned his gaze toward the horizon, where the undead still moved through the streets below. "It was observing, studying, and preparing."
Vance groaned. "Oh, fantastic. So we’re dealing with tactical zombies now."
Nythera shuddered. "What do we do?"
I took a deep breath, pushing my exhaustion aside. "We stick to the plan. We use this high ground to scout the city, and we get the hell out of here before more of these things show up."
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