Elysium's Multiverse

Chapter 46

Chapter 46

Two weeks had passed since Jalel’s death, with little gained other than a couple levels for each of them and no results in terms of a way out. Kajit had also been very quiet ever since Riven had denied her request, ever since he’d said he had more important things to do at the moment. She had yet to show up again at all, actually, which was a welcome thing in Riven’s opinion.

They’d never found the boat Jalel had once spoken of, the one that was supposed to have been tethered to an outcropping of rock on the river of blood that traced itself through the city. Perhaps this was because Jalel hadn’t specified which river of blood, as it was a far larger area than they’d anticipated, with many waterways branching off the main channel. They’d wandered aimlessly trying to find an exit, killing or running from undead and demon spawn alike when they weren’t scavenging off the battles between different monsters.

The things he’d learned in that time were quite interesting.

First off, there was actually a way to see HP (health points), MP (mana points), or SP (stamina points) even though they were usually hidden. Athela was insistent that if they found someone that had attained an Identifier class title, these people would be able to join a party and allow visualization of such things. These identifiers at higher class tiers were also able to give a lot more detailed information concerning the durability of items, the tiers of said items, the estimated value of those items, and various other things that normal people with no class title or other class titles could not see. It was apparently commonplace for guilds, armies, or explorers to incorporate an Identifier into their journeys to get more accurate reads on their enemies.

Then Riven came across a lich one day in the process of resurrecting the dead. Not just raising it to become an undead itself, but actually resurrecting the creature. He hadn’t realized that even possible until now, and he had gawked like a small child on Christmas when he’d learned that if he ever became powerful enough, he too would be able to perform feats such as that if given the right conditions. However, at the current moment that was way out of his league—the lich he’d seen do it was over level 200.

And finally, he was beginning to understand how magic worked at a deeper level than what he’d been able to glean in the past. Every day he practiced the ins and outs of the spells he already had, and he was now able to manipulate them far faster and with more efficiency than he’d been able to at the start of his journey. Athela had told him that he was a magical genius and a born caster, in her own words, and that he had an extreme talent for the Unholy arts. What would take people years to learn, Riven had learned in almost zero time, and the magic responded to him almost as if it was a separate limb he’d been able to use all his life. His spells were beginning to cost him less and less mana as time went on for the same amount of magical output, even disregarding level gains. Athela couldn’t really piece together why this was happening, but she was always visibly excited about it whenever he found a way to improve or expand upon his magical output for less mana cost simply by changing the way he manipulated mana or visualized the spell.

This practice was what consumed Riven’s time in the two weeks since Jalel’s passing while they searched for a way out. Riven wanted to get back home to Earth, or to whatever Earth had become since this “multiverse” had incorporated it. He needed to get out of this hellscape dungeon. He still had yet to find a portal exit out of here, and he hadn’t yet spotted any bosses or minibosses to attempt to kill for a ticket out.

But their efforts hadn’t been entirely fruitless. While they’d been searching for a path out, they’d realized quite quickly that there were different tribes of creatures that lived here in Dungeon Negrada—and mapping out the city in small pieces at a time had doubtless saved them from stumbling into certain death on more than one occasion.

There were the red-skinned, three-eyed Jabob demons, like the cultists they’d encountered when Athela had been imprisoned. The Jabobs were brutal, barbaric little shits that often employed varieties of magic, making them rather dangerous at a distance, but they were physically weak up close. It made them easy targets for Azmoth, as he’d crush them one by one after barreling through their fire-based attacks head-on while having the time of his life. Meanwhile, Riven stayed in the back lines for suppressive fire, dealing heavy damage at a distance, and Athela would focus on keeping Riven safe or on assassinating the back lines of enemy casters, depending on the situation. The arachnid was particularly sneaky and was often able to subdue a target without ever being spotted prior to the all-out fight.

There were the harpies, too, which had nests scattered among the rooftops and higher places of these ruins. In particular, the juvenile harpies were far weaker and smaller than fully grown harpies. The adults were twice the size of the ones Riven had first fought and far meaner. On one instance, Azmoth had nearly died fighting off three of them that’d tried to carry Athela away. Azmoth had the hardest time with the adults, as they were hard to catch and he had to rely on Riven or Athela to bring them down to ground level in order to tear them apart.

There were also the undead, with large packs of them each controlled by one or two minor liches. The liches in particular were incredibly powerful, and these were the enemies that worried Riven the most. They were often surrounded by monstrous flesh golems made from bunched-up corpses that smelled terrible or a small legion of ghouls and zombies, while being able to cast obliterating magics from the back lines, just like Riven preferred to do. Many of the undead also roamed the city without a pack, often unbound to any master and aimlessly wandering until they found food or were killed to be eaten themselves.

Then there were the lone solo monsters or less common species, ranging in size and variety. Aside from the liches, it was often these creatures that took the title of apex predators—often being some sort of demon or abomination that Riven had no intention of ever facing in battle lest he be immediately killed. They’d seen a huge yellow-eyed basilisk with shiny black scales, another muscular, axe-wielding minotaur twice the size of Azmoth, an elemental wolf created from fire and lightning, and even a gorgeous gorgon surrounded by statues and nesting atop a mountain of rotting bodies that they’d dared not approach. A couple of other tribal creatures also called this place home, but they were sparse in number and not a significant percentage of the dungeon’s occupants.

Aside from the types of monsters, they’d also learned much about how the monsters came to be. The dungeon…this place that the system called Negrada…spawned monsters at random. Meanwhile, there were other certain species that were seen reproducing. The Jabob demons in particular had been seen carrying eggs, and one of these eggs had hatched into an infant while Athela watched from a distant window—as she’d been unfamiliar with this breed before now even though she was a demon herself. Meanwhile, Riven had actually seen a zombie ox being created out of thin air from nothing but mana. He’d even gotten a warning notification from the dungeon system saying he was in the spawn area of another creature.

That’d been the same day that Riven had learned the river of blood had healing properties. The first time he’d actually thought about utilizing it for this reason had been shortly after the encounter with the giant blood squid creature in the pit trap. Back then, right before Gluttony had ripped the monster apart, he’d been instinctively drawing on the blood pool to heal himself, and he was pretty damn sure it’d been the same type of blood as the stuff flowing through the rivers here. So after engaging in a battle nearby that’d been drawn out into the river, Riven had been made keenly aware that drinking it regenerated his body even faster than his already abnormal regeneration could produce.

They’d been quick to bottle it in the six glass vials taken from Jalel’s bag—one of the few things that’d actually been worth anything in the supplies they’d dug through. The resultant pseudo-potions weren’t really even potions at all, but rather had quite a different label to them entirely when inspecting them through system commands.

In turn, the description of this blood brought about two very serious questions. The first: Was he really willing to give up such valuable healing and mana-rejuvenating remedies just because of potential adverse side effects? Truly? The second: What kind of side effects was it talking about?

The first question had been answered immediately the day after the discovery, when he’d used two of them to not only heal a nearly fatal wound but also used the follow-up potion to regain mana midfight while helping Athela out of a bind. He couldn’t afford to lose a minion to banishment after their defeat, not here in this horrible place, not when he likely couldn’t afford the resurrection cost of a blood price (which, according to Athela, would be at least in the low thousands of Elysium coins that he’d have to pay the system in such a scenario), thus he would risk drinking the stuff time after time in order to make sure he didn’t end up dead.

He’d also drunk tons of the stuff already without any serious problems, given that he’d regenerated his body numerous times in the pit trap by using it. So even if they knew that there were potentially unwanted side effects, there wasn’t much they could do about it. They needed the Sinner’s Blood; not only had it already saved his life, but it was also a means of sustenance. Jalel’s sack unfortunately contained no food whatsoever. Riven had taken Athela and Azmoth hunting for more food in their spare time, and even though Athela laid her traps expertly—dropping webbing on her enemies or luring enemies into pits for her to wrap them up in—each encounter meant potential danger. After discovering that the blood would satiate their hunger to an extent, they would make regular trips to the river of blood to drink their fill despite how grotesque it’d seemed to Riven at first.

But it was certainly better than starving, and strangely enough, he was also beginning to like it. Logically he knew it was disgusting, but the taste…the taste resonated with him—and he couldn’t help but remember the time fangs had sprouted from his mouth.

It was on one of these trips toward a nearby river, at the bottom floor of a ruined skyscraper within a thin stone hallway, that the three of them found themselves now.

The undead’s shriveled hand raised high as it screeched, spewing saliva and a foul necrotic stench all over the dusty stone floors before it lunged. The downward stroke sank its copper blade into Riven’s staff as he blocked, and he grunted with the effort before spartan kicking the creature in the chest and sending it backward a couple feet.

This gave him an opening, and a large crimson disc ripped through the air to embed itself within the ugly, half-decayed creature to force it stumbling back. Riven grinned, then looked over his shoulder at Azmoth and Athela just behind him in the hallway. “Watch this.”

He snapped his fingers, and the Bloody Razor he’d already cast was infused with even more mana as it exploded in a spray of red shrapnel. The ghoul was shredded from the inside out, pieces of its body bathing the sides of the hallway, the ceiling, and the floor in gore. This was something Riven had recently perfected through trial and error, and it gave not only the initial strike damage but also the explosion damage as long as he remembered to infuse it again after impact.

He’d essentially created small bombs from the razors he could summon.

“Yay!” Athela rapidly clapped her front spider paws in excitement, and Azmoth gave a grunt of approval, watching what Athela did and mimicking her to clap all four of his clawed, armored hands together over and over again while smiling as if he’d learned a new trick, too.

They would often take turns like this. Though they’d experimented and figured out that they all shared a baseline XP even if they didn’t participate in the kill, the more one participated in a fight, the more XP one got. Those who took the killing blows also acquired another boost of XP that the others in their party didn’t get, and they were actually able to measure this through a feature Riven had not been aware of prior to Athela informing him of it.

With every kill, if he used “Visualize XP” as an out-loud system command, he would literally see the amount of XP he was getting with a glowing number over the heads of slain enemies before they passed away. He certainly didn’t intend to use it a lot, but it was useful from time to time.

This particular ghoul had given him forty-four XP, as he’d done all the work, while his two minions each got a paltry six XP for what Athela called a “minion tax.” It worked both ways, though, so in theory even if he commanded his minions to go do all the work, he’d still be able to sit back and level up—just at a slower pace than his contracted demons would until they hit the cap that limited them in growth, which was equivalent the summoner’s own level. This cap was also the reason why summoners could not acquire demons far stronger than they were—as the demon contracted would need to be equal or lower level when the contract was signed.

So in the end, they decided to split it as evenly as possible—occasionally toggling the “Visualize XP” command on and off while trying to get Azmoth level with Athela and Riven. According to Athela, some events hosted by the system had absolute level requirements regardless of actual power—so they weren’t just numbers for show. This also somewhat explained why levels were even a thing, because previously Riven had been questioning why they even existed if some creatures like Azmoth had such enormous stat gains in comparison to the average human, for example. A level 5 Hellscape Brutalisk would have gained about as many stat points as a level 15 to 20 human if they were both classless.

Then again, Athela had also told him that humans generally had a much more broad expanse of classes than demons did. Neither Athela nor Azmoth had classes yet, and they could only attain certain ones within a limited scope depending on their species. Humans enjoyed an incredibly large number of options, and classes could give stat points, too—so in the end, a high-level human with a really good class could still keep pace or even outpace Azmoth’s stat point gains per level in certain circumstances.

Riven hummed to himself as he stepped over two more bodies of low-level ghouls he’d already killed, tossing the copper knife to Azmoth, who put it in their loot bag, and yawned as he turned a corner in the small hallway. With every breath he took, tiny puffs of blood mist would exit through small pores in the mask he wore…a rather cool visual effect for a vampiric item, and he was pretty damn sure the mask was also purifying the air around him, as every time he inhaled the air felt crisp and refreshing.

Looking down at his chipped, gnarled staff, he could only hope he’d get a new weapon soon, too. It was looking much worse than when he’d first gotten it, and although he kept it for the mana regeneration, he tried not to use it as a physical weapon anymore because he didn’t want it to break.

He turned another corner and came to a stop as his eyes locked onto yet another undead, the last of the small pack that was inching its way toward them.

The approaching ghoul, the straggler of the group, had finally seen him after turning the corner and nearly tripping over a small pile of rubble. With a roar and a phlegm-filled, barking cough, it began barreling down the narrow hallway with bloodlust in its eyes, either too stupid or too hungry to care about the peril it was in under the cold stare of the warlock.

Athela glanced Riven’s way with a raised leg. “I believe it’s still your turn?”

He nodded and wiped the sweat off his brow while stepping over a partially broken skeleton. “Mine.”

Riven’s fingers clenched into a tight fist as red ribbons of magic drew up the length of his arm to his right bicep, licking his skin and smoldering as the mana was condensed and prepared for a strike.

The blood magic immediately bristled, streaked through the veins of his forearm and into his fingertips—and his mind homed in on the intended target. It only took a few seconds, and the ghoul was still ten feet away from him as he let the magic soar through the air like a crimson torpedo. In an instant, the monster’s body ripped apart in a blur—tearing into the shrieking, bloodthirsty creature with a clean hole the size of Riven’s thigh carved out of its chest and left shoulder.

The blast ripped the undead creature backward, flipping it over and spraying black blood everywhere while it shrieked. It slammed into the ground with a wet splat, lying broken on the floor from the aftershock of the magic and only letting out low groans.

Riven snorted, then casually walked up to the monster—lifted his boot—and slammed it into the creature’s head. He repeated this two more times until his heel went through the skull and into the groaning undead’s brain.

“Another critical?” Athela asked curiously with a paw to her mandibles as if in thought.

Riven chuckled and lowered his hand, accessing his character sheet to assign the stat points to Intelligence. “Yep. I mean, I did kick its skull in.”