Death After Death

Chapter 16: Level Six

When Simon slowly opened his eyes, he felt different, and he didn’t need the mirror to see it, though he did consult it anyway. “Show me my character sheet,” he ordered, as soon as he sat up.

Name: Simon Jackoby

Level: 5

Deaths: 25

Experience Points: -7960

Skills: Archery [Poor], Armor (light) [Average], Athletics [Poor], Cook [Very Poor], Craft [Very Poor], Deception [Very Poor], Escape [Very Poor], Investigate [Poor], Maces [Below Average], Ride [Very Poor], Search [Poor], Sneak [Poor], Spears [Very Poor], Spell Casting [Very Poor], Steal [Very Poor], Swimming [Very Poor], and Swords [Average].

There it was, on his sheet. His spell casting used to be none. Every time he looked at it previously it had taunted him with its absence, but now it was very poor, and that made all the difference in the world. Every other ‘very poor’ on the list taunted him, but not that one. That one he cherished. The way the words still echoed in his mind, it was a wonder they weren’t on his sheet under a new section like ‘acquired spells.’ Gervuul and Meiren. As soon as he’d finally cast his first spell it was immediately clear to him that they were two words, and not just one that had run together. He didn’t know what either of them meant, but he knew that he would never forget them. Even now they both felt like they were branded on his soul, and he was hesitant to get too close to either of them.

Speaking them had felt… wrong. That was the only way to describe it, and he wasn’t looking forward to doing it again. This was just one more thing that wasn’t at all like his expectations for it had been. Manipulating mana, and casting spells - those were supposed to be amazing experiences. He’d spent evenings wondering if channeling the universe like that would be more orgasmic feeling, like sex, or if it would be something closer to getting electrocuted while you were high. It turned out it was neither. It was like turning your brain inside out while the universe rebuked you for violating its laws. Saying them had hurt less than a goblin bite, but more than a sucker punch, and he wasn’t looking forward to doing it again.

He was going to have to though, because now that he had his fire spell, he had a way to beat that awful slime. That thought brought him back to the present, and he stood up. “I’ve got a new weapon in my arsenal now, bitches,” he said to himself as he started to get out his armor, “Arcane Napalm!” He pondered the name for a moment before he laughed and shook his head. Nah - that definitely wasn’t going to work, but he’d think of something better in time. Time was the one thing he had plenty of.

Simon decided to leave the chainmail at home this time since he was no longer so afraid of the skeletons, and once he was geared up, he started heading down into the basement. This time he took it a little slower than he had been lately and poked around a bit on levels one and two. There really was nothing in the rat filled basement but produce in wicker baskets and burlap sacks, although he did realize that the walls were only dirt, so presumably if he got really desperate he could dig his way out and see what was on the outside of the basement, assuming that there wasn’t just infinite dirt of course. That seemed like something that Helades would enjoy doing. Making a whole world of dirt to go with her piece of shit personality.

On his trip through the trap floor he noticed a trigger plate that he’d seen a couple times before, but he’d never noticed a trap that was connected to it. This time, just for the hell of it he tripped it just to see what it was. It turned out that it opened a secret room, but the only thing in it unfortunately was a chest full of gold and silver coins. In any other circumstance it would have been a hell of a find, but in this one it was kind of pointless. The gear he had to carry weighed enough already. Sacks of gold? That would be a special kind of hell.

He picked up a few coins just in case he ever found a place to spend them, and then continued on his way. On the goblin floor he tried killing a few of them with his mace, but he discovered what he already knew: it was much more fun killing the little bastards with his sword. He took his time with it so he’d be as rested as possible for the skeletons. Last time that had been a real marathon, but this time it wasn’t even half as hard as he remembered it. Simon managed to kill almost every skeleton before the knight even rose from his tomb, and the fight with it was over in less than a minute.

“So far so good,” he told himself as he unlocked the door. “Today’s the day I go down two levels with one life. I can feel it.” After he spoke, Simon went back for the knight’s sword. He still couldn’t wield it, or even touch it, but he wanted to try something, so he scooped it up onto a decaying kite shield from one of his earlier kills, and carried it with him into the cave that would be his next battleground.

Nothing appeared to have changed since the last time he was here, so Simon approached the stream to within a few feet, and then tossed the sword in it before he stepped back. The whole way down he’d been wondering how to get the damn creature out of the water. No matter how powerful his fire spell was, it wasn’t going to do much good there, and Simon didn’t exactly want to bait it with his body again. He’d considered dragging a goblin body down to use as bait, but those things stunk, and the sword might work even better.

Even now he could see a thin rime of ice slowly spreading along the surface of the water. That left the slime or the ooze or whatever it was two choices: it could come out to play or it could stay where it was until it was frozen solid. He didn’t care. He had all day. That wasn’t strictly true Simon realized. He would prefer that it stayed and froze. That way he wouldn’t have to try to cast that terrible spell again, even if he was eager to actually kill something with it.

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He didn’t get his wish though, because a few minutes later as the magical frost approached the wall to his left, the slime slowly slid out of the water ahead of it. Simon considered running to the far side of the cave and trying to just get around it, but it seemed like kind of a cowardly thing to do, so, getting as close as he dared, he shouted his magic words when he was about ten feet away from the thing and sure he wouldn’t miss. "Gervuul Meiren!”

He was more than a little disappointed when nothing happened again, and quickly retreated while the slime slowly gave chase at something below walking speed. What had he done differently the other time, he asked himself as he backed away. He’d said the words, and said them right. He’d pointed at the thing. He thought back to that night in the clearing with the fire all around him while he was bleeding against the tree. Was there something he did there that he wasn’t doing here?

All he could remember about that night was how badly he wanted to see those bastards burst into flames. Maybe that was all it was. Maybe he didn’t have intent or visualization or whatever behind him with this slime.

He stopped and focused, imagining lighting this ugly bastard crawling towards him on fire, and then said those terrible words again. “G?????e??????r???????v?????u?????u????l???? ??????M???????e???i???????r??????e??????n????!” This time they ripped themselves out of his throat with the same ferocity he remembered as arcs of fiery death shot out of his hand through whatever he’d done to warp reality. Several of the burning streamers missed the slime, but several others hit the thing, and its skin went from clear to smoldering and ashen across almost a third of its body, which was about right because just saying the words made him feel like he’d been a smoky room yelling over music that was too loud all night. He doubted there were any bars in the pit to celebrate his latest victory in though.

Simon’s thoughts of celebration were rather short lived. Rather than put it down, the slime came after him even faster after that. He yelled the words again, out of fear as much as anything. Less fire arced this time. Simon wasn’t sure if that was because his voice was shot, or because he hasn’t visualized its death as vividly as before. Either way it didn’t matter - the second blast was enough, and the smoldering slime finally stopped making any movement more threatening than twitching as it slowly dissolved into a widening puddle.

The first spell he’d cast made him feel like a chain smoker, but the second one had felt worse than any bout of strep throat he’d ever had. It was pure misery. He honestly wasn’t sure if he’d be able to cast it a third time any time soon, so he hoped that he didn’t have to. Simon spat on the ground to try to get the taste of brimstone out of his mouth, and wasn’t surprised when he saw blood.

Even though he was pretty sure it was dead, he gave the thing wide berth as he walked towards the waterfall to gargle and refill his water skin. That helped a little, but not enough. It wasn’t like he could do anything else right now though. Only a lot of beer or a quick trip to his next life was going to fix this, and he wasn’t about to die now. He was on a roll.

With that thought in mind Simon walked across the cave, and down the passage on the far side. It didn’t take long before it ended in a bright and cheerful wooden door that looked entirely out of place here. Simon wondered how it had gotten here, but having no other choice, he opened it to find… a dining room of some sort. “Well you don’t see that…” he croaked as he walked inside, shuddering from the pain as much as the sound of his own voice before he trailed off into silence. He knew what he was saying, and he could barely understand himself.

Still, even if it hurt to talk, and even if the roast ham on the table didn’t inspire much of an appetite, the mug of dark ale not far from him certainly looked appetizing. Simon looked around but couldn’t see any diners. The state that they’d left the table in definitely spoke to some kind of battle though. Maybe there was a dragon attacking the castle and they’d all gone to fight it, leaving him this lovely feast to enjoy. He strode forward to help himself, but as soon as he picked up the beer, suddenly something charged him from the right, practically knocking him off his feet.

Simon raised his tankard and shattered it against the man’s face. It was only then that he realized his attacker was already dead. It took another few seconds, long enough for the zombie to try to unsuccessfully bite through his leather bracer, for his brain to work out that he wasn’t just dead. He was a zombie. To his credit he didn’t panic or freak out, he just pulled his flanged mace off the loop on his belt and swung it down hard enough to crack the thing's skull.

It kept fighting through the first and second blows, even after Simon heard its skull crack. When the third one landed though, it crumpled like a rag doll. He smiled at that, surprised to find out that zombies might actually be as easy as he thought they were going to be. He kicked the thing just to make sure it really was completely dead, and then he walked past the disrupted feast to the next door, his weapon at the ready. Having a drink could wait. Now that he knew what this floor’s monster was, he wanted to find out just how many there were.

On the other side of the door was a blonde tavern maid, holding a pitchfork. As soon as the door opened she whirled to face him. “Wiednsval!” she yelled menacingly jabbing towards him with the pitchfork to keep his distance. “Wiednsval? Bidsden Aufriven?”

Her strange accent and her lack of English made it almost as clear as her weapon did that this wasn’t going to go well, but since she was the only person he’d seen besides that damn goddess in what felt like weeks, and she made the plunging neckline of her bodice look particularly good, Simon was certainly willing to give it a try.

“I come in peace,” he said slowly and calmly as he dropped his mace and raised his hands in the air. At least that’s what he tried to say. It came out more as “Ichkom enpeeez.” He had only half a second to realize that he sounded more like a groaning zombie than a person before he realized that the bar maid must have thought the same thing. With a roar of anger, she charged forward, plunging all three tines into his chest. His leather armor had been pretty effective at lots of hazards, but they did almost nothing to slow down the farming implement as they penetrated his flesh.

He tried to struggle then, not caring that it made him seem even more like a zombie as he flailed and groaned in pain. It wasn’t any good though. She drove her thrust forward until he was pinned to the wall behind him, and then held him there for a few seconds until the internal bleeding from where her blow had nicked his heart caused enough blood loss for him to lose consciousness.