Chương 32: Life is Hard

The noise outside amplified as we sat there. I moved to the back of the room and propped myself up against a wall away from everyone else, closing my eyes and focusing. Karen, I signaled. Could really use your help right now. Her voice was clipped. Still distant. [Progress... I... Bastard—fucking—shit—] Come on! I sent. Nothing? [...] Patch and Freddie dug through the various crates around us. From what Patch tossed onto the floor, most contained nothing but junk.

Metal bolts and screws, a dented pommel, a plank of wood. Occasionally, they found something interesting.

"Found this," Patch said, holding up a rounded sheet of metal.

"Could be a bowl or a pot if we wanted. With the wood, we could probably start a fire."

"Still need water, though," I said. Freddie exhaled.

"I think I've found some. There have been a few bottles and glass jars stacked in some of these with clear liquid inside. At least I hope it's water."

"If we can boil it, we can find out," I muttered. Freddie froze, hand in a crate.

"There's something in here." I walked over. A small chest sat at the bottom, no longer than a forearm. He tugged at it, grunting and groaning. I laughed and reached down to help him haul it out. He bristled when I got close, but said nothing. A lock hung off the side. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a sliver of metal.

"Glad I kept these on me." He crouched and picked the lock. A few seconds later, it clicked open with a pop. Inside, a pale cloth was bundled around something long and slender. Freddie pulled on it to reveal a dagger. The blade was made of pale gray steel, gently curved, with a red jewel set into the crossguard. Freddie chuckled.

"What is it?" I asked. A note sat beneath the dagger, yellowed and cracked with age. Part of it flaked away as Freddie lifted it, handing it to me. The writing was hurried, written in crimson ink. Time has become something of a suggestion more than a reality in these halls. The Mechanicus stretches ever onward. The dead keep coming. This expedition was a failure. To come so far and to fail in a place like this… They will find me, sooner or later.

My body will be added to the unholy legions of undead, and I will be sent off to slay those whom I came here to protect. But this blade… my last act of spite. I hide it here, in hopes that the Carrion King never finds it. My last act of spite. May whomever finds it, wield its power to drive a hole in her unholy crusade.

"Her?" I said. Freddie raised a brow.

"The note refers to the Carrion King as a woman. Would that not make her the Carrion Queen?" Hollow laughed.

"The Carrion King is a title more than a person. A heavy crown worn by many." Karen had never complained about the name I'd given her. Was this why? I had more questions, but Freddie interrupted.

"It's a nice weapon. Not really my style, though. Hollow?" Hollow stood and looked it over, eyes widening as she took it in her hands.

"It's a magic weapon?"

"Quite a good one, too. I think it'll suit you fine." I focused on the weapon, placing a finger on its hilt. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work. [Blade of Continuous Strikes] [Compounding Energy]: Energy from each strike is stored in the blade. This excess energy can be released by the command of the wielder to strike a deadly blow.

"Huh," I said.

"Didn't know there would actually be good loot in this place." Freddie raised an eyebrow at me.

"That's kind of the whole point of a dungeon, isn't it? Loot." I paused.

"Most of what we've found on the lower floors has just been bones and rusted-out equipment. Worthless." Patch shook his head.

"Grelgo found a nasty mace on the earlier floors. Maybe you just haven't been looking."

"Fair," I admitted. Freddie nodded.

"If this place is like any other dungeon, the higher up you go, the better loot you find. Old adventurers leave stuff behind, and if you have a dungeon this size, things are bound to get lost. Though it's an odd ability to have on a dagger. I would have expected something like this to be on a hammer or something similar." Hollow frowned, giving it a few test swings. She struck a wooden crate with it, and the red gem inside lit up ever so slightly.

"It looks good on you," I said.

"It doesn't help us get out of here, though." I sat back down in my corner and groaned.

"Just give it some time. We will figure something out." The sense of discovery faded, and everyone's mood soured yet again. Freddie and Patch went back to digging. I pulled on the lone connection I had up here with Smith. Reaching out along our connections, I channeled Commune. It was one of the few abilities I didn't need to verbalize to activate. Smith. How are things out there? {...} I sighed. I forgot he wasn't strong enough of a soul to actually communicate with.

There had to be more to this than just speech, though. I knew I could send a pulse, a command, through, and Smith would have no choice but to obey. But surely that wasn't the extent of it. I tightened the connection between us and ran my mental energy along it. As I did so, my mind tightened. My vision blurred, growing fuzzier and fuzzier until it snapped into focus all at once. Smith's hammer rose and fell over the metal below, his rhythm unbroken. Skeletons wielding hammers of their own moved past him.

None gave him a second glance. [You have ridden down the mental connection between you and your undead, and now gaze through their eyes as if they were your own.] [Ability Manifested] [Commune: Gaze]: Peer through the eyes of a linked connection. I laughed. Every time I manifested a new ability, a part of me felt more whole. The ability would snap into place, and it was as if I had always known how to do these things. The ability name was a conduit—a shortcut—to activating the patterns of power within.

That was why Commune didn't require me to speak the words. The action was easy, and I could instinctively follow the flow of power to speak to my undead with no need to rely on the word as a crutch. Smith continued to swing his hammer. With the newfound confidence of learning an ability, I attempted to move him forward. To stop his swing and move to follow the other dead around him. A jolt of pain ran through my head. Smith's hammer struck the anvil at a lopsided angle, and he stumbled onto the floor.

There was a block between us, then. Or perhaps I was not powerful enough to take control? Smith, I signaled, put the hammer down. Go look outside the room we're barricaded in. The skeleton signaled something like sadness, glancing at the hammer that lay at his side. You can get back to it, I said. He nodded and picked himself back up. At least I could still issue commands. My stomach gurgled. Peering through the skeletons' eyes while my body remained still did something awful to my sense of self.

Our connection grew tighter the more Smith approached. He passed through a scattering of zombies and ghouls without incident. Only crossing the path of two beastmen the entire way. Neither gave him a second glance. Was the plague doctor controlling all these dead himself? He had to be. This was too coordinated, too deliberate to be the dungeon acting on its own. Smith reached the door and stood there for a moment.

A lone ghoul punched and kicked at the crate blocking their way in, but the rest of the dead waited, unmoving. Entirely silent. Entirely still. A chill ran down my spine. Go back. Keep working. He turned, glanced once at the zombie beastman, and then went back to his forge without incident. I opened my eyes and took a deep breath. My mind spun, needing to take a moment to recover from the out-of-body experience.

"There are a lot of them out there," I said. My companions all looked at me, and then at each other.

"I, er, was able to look through the skeleton's eyes out there." They all nodded, and Freddie said, "Of course you can." I rested my head against the wall, looking upward. The ceiling rose into a crisscross of metal beams. Above those, the same pipes and ventilation systems ran from one end of the room to the other. A grate stuck out of one section of the ductwork.

"Hollow, Patch," I said, "Do you think one of you could squeeze through those ducts if we could get that grate open?" Hollow rolled her shoulders and nodded.

"Give me a lift."

"I want to go too," Patch said.

"You can both go," I said, climbing atop a crate to reach up and pry off the loose piece of metal. However these ducts were hooked up, from the layers of dust inside, they hadn't been used in a long time. I grabbed Hollow's hand and pulled her up. She crawled over my shoulder and into the vent, looking in either direction.

"Where do you think they go?"

"Only one way to find out." I lifted Patch up to the entrance, and both goblins made their way through.

"Don't go too far," I said. Neither responded, disappearing. I crawled down and scratched my head. A moment later, Freddie said, "So now what?"

"Hopefully they find a way out. All they need to do is find a way to distract them. I can handle the rest."

"I'm sure you can." I rolled my eyes and wondered what everyone else was up to.