The stairs wound downward longer than they had any right to.
Noah kept count at first—twelve, twenty, fifty steps. But then the walls widened, and the air changed.
Cooler. Moister.
Alive.
He stopped when the last of the stone gave way, and the stairwell spilled into something impossibly vast.
A cave. No—a world.
Noah's breath caught in his throat.
It was nothing like the corpse-ridden hell above. This place pulsed with color, with life. Towering mushrooms arched like trees, their caps glowing faintly violet and gold. Real trees—normal ones—grew between them, thick with green leaves and heavy with fruit. Pools of crystal-clear water glimmered in the low light, their surfaces undisturbed. Somewhere, he heard frogs. Birds. Wind.
The ground was soft underfoot. Moss, not meat.
In the far distance, half-covered in vines and crumbling stone, stood a vast city.
Not a ruin.
A memory.
Pale towers reached toward the high cavern ceiling, bridges arched over still lakes, buildings shaped like petals or blades rose in elegant angles—all of it eerily intact. Silent. Still. Empty.
Noah blinked, stunned.
And then he laughed. Loud. Beautiful.
"Oh, fuck yes," he said, arms wide. "Finally. Somewhere that doesn't look like Satan's colon."
He walked forward, slower now, breath deepening as he took in the scene. His skin no longer itched with dread. The Serpent's Grace still coiled in his veins, but now it made him move like a ghost among sacred trees, silent and fluid.
The first fruit he found was a pear-shaped thing with soft red skin.
It didn't rot in his hand.
Didn't bite him.
Didn't scream.
He took a cautious bite. Sweet. Crisp. Real.
"Miracle," he whispered.
He knelt at one of the pools next, cupping clear water into his hands. No blood. No slime. Just cool, perfect water. He drank deeply, then again.
His reflection in the pool stared back. Still him. Still the boy who died under a truck. Still the boy trying to become a god.
But something in his eyes had changed.
He wiped his mouth and stood.
"Alright," he murmured. "Let's see what you're hiding."
The city felt like walking through a graveyard made of art.
No dust. No decay. Just… abandonment.
Lanterns still hung from arched walkways, flickering with faint magical blue fire. They hummed quietly, pulsing like sleeping stars. Stone doors stood ajar, some intact, others half-collapsed.
Noah moved carefully, alert but not hunted.
He passed murals etched into walls—strange symbols, some of them like constellations, others like runes. He couldn't read them, but they felt familiar. The same way a dream feels familiar before it curdles into nightmare.
Eventually, he found a stairwell leading up through one of the towers.
Inside: a chamber.
A bedroom.
The bed was massive, canopied with sheer fabric now tangled in vines. An old wooden chest rested at the foot, carved with a motif of hands holding stars. A cracked mirror leaned against the wall. Wardrobes stood, one door half-open.
Noah stepped in, hesitant.
The room smelled like dust, like memory. And something softer. Like lavender dried a thousand years ago.
He moved to the wardrobe and opened it wider.
Clothing. Real clothing. Elegant but worn—long coats, high collars, dark linens with silver trim. Nothing flashy. Just clean. Lived in.
He stripped out of his torn shirt without hesitation, trying on a black vest layered beneath a high-collared coat. It fit well enough. He found soft underlayers too, fresh socks, worn leather boots that still held shape. He layered them on, grateful.
Next: the chest.
Inside, a long leather bag, empty but intact. Perfect for supplies. Beside it, two glass vials with silver caps—canteens, he guessed, for water. A rusted saber, still sharp despite age, its hilt engraved with a spiral sun. And a walking stick carved from white ash, its end capped in metal. A stylized rune glowed faintly near the grip.
[System Notification]
Items Acquired:
– Traveler's Pack (Capacity: 20 slots)
– Twin Vials (Refillable)
– Rusted Saber (Basic weapon – Tier E)
– Runed Cane of Ash (Focus Item – Unknown Tier)
He strapped the sword to his side, slung the bag across his back, tucked the cane beneath one arm.
Then he sat on the edge of the bed, just for a moment.
Just to breathe.
The silence wasn't hostile. It was… waiting.
"Whoever lived here," he said softly, "you had good taste. Hope you don't mind the looting. I'm kind of new at this whole 'god' thing."
He lay back briefly, staring at the ceiling—a dome of star-like gems faintly glowing above.
A low wind blew through the windowless arch.
Noah closed his eyes.
Just for a moment.
He didn't remember falling asleep.
One breath, he was staring up at the star-lit dome.
The next—
Screaming.
Not his. Not even in the room. But it was in his ears.
Whimpering. Crying. Running feet over stone. Women sobbing. Children gasping through blood. Men screaming for mercy that would never come.
Noah's eyes snapped open.
His breath caught in his throat.
The room was no longer still.
Shadows danced along the walls—not cast by the flickering blue lanterns, but by something else. Something colder. And standing near the cracked mirror at the far wall, glowing in pale translucent blue, was a woman.
Or what had once been one.
Her hair fell in tangled curls across her shoulders, matted with bloodless strands of memory. Her face was half-turned away, too thin, too stretched. Her robes shimmered like they were underwater. She rocked slightly, hands clenched against her chest, whispering.
"How could they do this?" she moaned. "Our Lord Maurex… He trusted them. The black mages—those filthy traitors. The curse... The curse wasn't supposed to take us…"
Noah froze. Every muscle tight.
He stayed still. Silent.
Until, stupidly, his hand brushed the edge of the mattress.
A faint rustle. A creak.
The woman's head snapped toward him.
Her face was wrong. Like too many faces at once. Eyes wide with grief turned savage.
"You—" she hissed. "You're one of them. One of the black-hearted filth. The ones who burned the Spires! You brought the curse! YOU!"
She screamed.
Noah lunged for the saber.
The ghost shrieked and lunged for him.
He swung.
The blade passed straight through her.
No contact. No resistance. Just a faint hum, like slicing fog.
"What the—"
She swiped at him with fingers like claws. He stumbled back, tripping over scattered cloth.
"Fuck, fuck—why aren't you corporeal?!"
She charged again.
He ducked.
The cane—the ash cane—rolled off the bed with a hollow clack.
Noah didn't look.
He was too busy hurling the saber at her out of raw frustration. It spun harmlessly through her chest and clattered into the wall.
Useless.
She came again, teeth bared—
And tripped.
Fell.
Over the cane.
Noah blinked.
He ran.
Dove.
Snatched the cane from the ground just as she started to rise again, her mouth stretching unnaturally wide with fury.
Noah didn't wait.
He swung the cane like a bat.
CRACK.
It connected.
This time, she reeled. Let out a wailing screech, her form flickering violently, like a flame losing oxygen.
Noah followed through.
One more swing. Right through her chest.
Her scream shattered into a breathless gasp—and then she unraveled, light spilling upward in a burst of silver-blue sparks.
Silence.
Then:
[Special Event Triggered: The Cursed Andalons]
The city beneath the flesh still weeps. The ghosts remain.
Seek the lost king.
Break the curse.
[Alert: Focus Item Revealed]
Runed Cane of Ash → Warden's Staff of Pale Flame
Tier C Weapon – Focus Item (Bound)
Effect: Can strike ethereal and spiritual beings. Channels hidden divine energy.
Additional Effect: Amplifies Domain abilities related to Fate.
Noah stood in the silence, chest heaving, knuckles white on the cane's grip.
"Okay," he muttered. "Fuck ghosts. And fuck curses. But… thanks, I guess?"
He looked around.
The room felt emptier now. The mirror no longer glowed. The warmth of the lanterns had returned, though faintly dimmer.
[New Quest Added: The Lost King of Andalon]
Find the resting place of King Maurex. Discover the truth behind the curse. Free the city or seal it forever.
Difficulty: ???
Reward: Unknown
Domain Affinity: High
Noah slumped back onto the bed, the cane still in his hand.
His breath trembled. But something deep in his chest burned steady.
"I didn't sign up for this ghost-hunting bullshit," he said aloud. "But I'll be damned if I'm gonna be murdered in my fucking sleep again."
He stood.
The room around him was no longer just ruins. It was his, now.
A cursed palace.
A half-dead city.
A sleeping god with a cane and a title.
He exhaled. Sharp. Tired.
And started walking.
The corridors of the stone towers were not dead.
They wept.
Noah walked slowly, the Warden's Staff gripped tight in one hand, the glow of ghostlight lanterns casting long, trembling shadows across cracked marble. The deeper he went, the more present the dead became.
Children. Old women. Men with missing limbs. Dogs, even. Birds that fluttered across the halls with phantom wings. All of them ghosts, all of them flickering like torn film across reality—stuck in moments that refused to end.
Some whispered. Some sang lullabies that made his skin crawl. Others just stared at him, eyes hollow, as if waiting for something he couldn't give.
But most?
Most attacked.
Without warning. Without thought. As if something inside them recognized him not as a person—but as a symbol. A trigger. A piece of unfinished pain they were programmed to kill.
The cane proved its worth. Again. And again.
CRACK.
One swing shattered a boy barely taller than Noah's hip.
THUMP. THWACK.
Two strikes to end a keening butcher still dragging spectral knives down the walls.
Every encounter left him more shaken. Not because they could hurt him—yet—but because he saw them. Heard their last thoughts. Their terror. Their memories. Each hit silenced not just a ghost, but a moment echoing long past the death of time.
He stayed unscathed.
But not untouched.
And still, he kept walking.
The corridor widened.
Stone arches curved overhead, carved with murals of masked balls and star-draped ceilings. Faded paint. Velvet banners rotted to ribbons.
Then: the doors.
Tall. Twin. Once beautiful. Now hanging ajar.
Noah stepped inside.
A ballroom.
Massive. Grand. A fallen jewel.
Crystal chandeliers still dangled above, some intact, some shattered across the dance floor. Pillars lined the walls, each one carved with masks—smiling, frowning, weeping. Music that shouldn't have existed whispered faintly through the air, like a record stuck on breath.
And in the center—
A woman danced.
Or… something that resembled one.
Spinning slowly, her pale gown billowing, skin blue as frost and glowing faintly in the lantern haze. Her hair flowed like water, her arms curled with unnatural grace, and from her lips came a soft, melodic hum.
"He said he'd dance, he said he'd stay,
But fathers lie and go away…"
Noah froze in the shadow of a broken column.
His first thought: What the actual fuck.
His second: Why does this suddenly feel like a horror movie before someone's skin gets peeled off.
He started edging back. Slowly. Carefully.
Her head twitched.
Then turned.
Not slowly. Not delicately.
Like a snapping hinge.
She smiled. Too wide.
"Ohh," she purred, "a guest?"
Her voice was airy. Melodic. But not sane.
"Does the gentleman wish to dance with me?"
Noah swallowed, hard.
"Yeah, um… no thanks," he said, hands up. "I don't dance. And I'm not into ladies. So. Best of luck finding a ghost husband."
She blinked.
Paused.
Still smiling.
Then the smile cracked.
Her face split, jaw elongating like wax melting too fast. Her arms twisted backward. Her gown exploded outward into writhing tendrils of bone and sinew, her body growing, shifting, corrupting into a tower of grotesque mass.
Flesh rippled.
Eyes blinked open where none should be.
She screamed—a shrill, furious noise that sounded like violins dragged over broken glass.
Then she leapt.
Straight at him.
Noah didn't scream.
He ran.
The ballroom doors slammed shut behind him with a deafening clang.
[SYSTEM ALERT: MINI-BOSS ENCOUNTER INITIATED]
"Daughter of the King – The Left Mistress"
First of the Fallen. Bearer of the Spite Crown. Twisted by longing. Guarded by lies.
Location Locked: Ballroom of Regret
Victory Required to Escape.
"Nope. Nope, nope, nope—"
She crashed down where he'd just stood, shattering tiles in an explosion of marble and slime. One tendril lashed across his chest—nearly caught him. Missed.
He vaulted over a broken bench, landed in a slide, swung the staff—
It connected.
The flesh recoiled, hissing.
But it didn't stop her.
"Cheating bitch," he panted, dodging another tendril that shattered a chandelier behind him.
"Is this how you get dates?!" he shouted, rolling to avoid a spine-spike that nearly impaled him.
[Serpent's Grace – Inactive]
The luck helped.
He dodged—barely. Jumped when the floor cracked beneath him. Landed on a balcony rail that should've broken but didn't.
Another swipe came. He ducked, then jabbed the cane upward—
Right into what passed for her jaw.
The thing shrieked.
Noah didn't hesitate.
He struck again.
Again.
His heart hammered. His arms burned. But he didn't stop.
This wasn't just survival anymore.
This was his test.
His first boss.
His first taste of divinity clawing out of blood and bone and consequence.
[WARNING: MINI-BOSS – PHASE TWO INITIATED]
"Mistress of the Hollow Court – Awakened Form"
Stage Two Detected. Mutation Underway. Escalation Level: Critical.
Noah didn't hesitate.
"Second phase?! Are you KIDDING me?!"
He turned and ran.
The ballroom echoed with cracking bone and bubbling, writhing flesh behind him. Whatever the fuck was happening—it wasn't over. It was evolving.
He risked a look back.
The heaving mass of the Left Mistress convulsed in the center of the floor, all shrieking tendrils and wet limbs folding inward. Her grotesque form shivered, spasmed—and then began changing.
The body collapsed into itself. Organs reformed. Bones twisted. Flesh peeled.
What remained was no longer a woman.
It was an egg.
A pulsing cocoon of raw viscera and translucent fluid. Red veins spiderwebbed through the sac, and within—something moved.
Noah's stomach turned.
A shape emerged from within.
Not human.
Humanoid—but wrong. Too tall. Too thin. The outline of limbs grew longer with each beat. Fingers stretched to impossible lengths. The head tilted at a sharp, insectoid angle. A long mane of hair—or maybe sinew—hung around it like a halo of viscera.
Then the egg split.
With a wet, ripping sound that echoed like a scream across dimensions, the thing tore its way free.
Flesh exploded outward. Gore splashed across the marble. And from the steaming ruin stood the true form of the mistress.
Skeletal. Towering. Nearly four meters tall.
Her skin was stretched pale, too tight across bone. Fingers elongated into sickle-like claws—nails the length of blades, twitching with hunger. Her "hair" writhed with life—red-black tendrils like blood vines twisting from her skull, wriggling like starving worms.
Her face was worse.
Eyes, too large, too red, burning with a bottomless need. Mouth—wide, slit from ear to ear, teeth like shattered glass arranged in too many rows.
She smiled.
Then screamed.
"WHY—DON'T—YOU—LOVE ME?!"
The air itself shook.
She charged.
Noah barely had time to roll aside.
She hit the floor where he'd been a breath ago and shattered it—tiles rupturing, stone screaming. A column cracked and collapsed behind her. Her claws left gouges two feet deep.
"Holy SHIT—!"
Noah scrambled to his feet, heart going feral in his chest.
The thing turned, faster than it should've. She sprinted again, slicing through the air like death given legs.
He rolled, ducked, weaved.
The cane clipped her once—useless. She screeched. The blade-fingers lashed and carved a table in two.
Noah dashed behind a broken statue, breath ragged.
"Okay, okay, okay—think. You're not gonna outfight her. So trick her. Outplay her. C'mon, Fate-boy. You pulled a serpent card out your ass, you can do this—"
His eyes flicked upward.
And there it was.
Above them: a massive chandelier.
It still hung by a miracle—a great, crystalline horror of art and metal, nearly four meters wide, suspended from a blackened steel chain. The entire thing hovered directly over the center of the ballroom, where she'd first transformed.
Noah's eyes narrowed.
His head whipped around—tracing the chain.
A wall-mounted anchor. Cracked. Old. Weak.
His lips curled.
"Oh, yes. Come to daddy."
He took off, running to the far side of the room to draw her away.
She roared, saw him move, and launched after him.
Tiles exploded behind his heels.
"Nope, not today!"
He dove, kicked off a chair, vaulted over a railing, and landed near the chain's base.
He had seconds.
[SYSTEM UPDATE: TACTICAL OBJECTIVE DETECTED]
Chain Weak Point Identified – Direct Damage May Sever Connection
Timing and Position Required – Fate Modifier Active: High
"Perfect," he whispered.
Now all he had to do?
Get her to stand right underneath.
She stood under the chandelier.
Just for a second.
Noah didn't breathe.
Didn't move.
Then—he struck.
The Warden's Staff cracked against the rusted anchor point with a sharp, desperate swing. The chain snapped loose.
The chandelier dropped.
And missed.
It slammed into the floor just behind her, shattering into a thousand shards of jagged crystal and bent iron.
She shrieked, too fast, already moving—
And then she was in front of him.
Noah turned. Her claws were inches from his throat.
Her eyes burned red. Her breath stank of rot and roses. Her voice curled like a blade around his skull.
"WHY—DON'T—YOU—LOVE ME?"
"Twist of the Thread!" Noah screamed.
Time shuddered.
The world blinked—
And rewound.
He was back. Standing by the chain. Mid-swing. The staff in his hands.
His eyes wide.
[FATE OVERRIDE: TWIST OF THE THREAD – ACTIVATED]
Outcome reroll successful.
He swung.
This time, the chain cracked in just the right place.
The chandelier dropped.
She never even saw it.
It crushed her mid-sprint, a shriek caught in her throat as bone snapped, limbs twisted beneath the weight, and a rush of black-red fluid sprayed across the marble floor.
Silence.
For a moment.
Then—
Movement.
Her body twitched. A leg kicked. One of her claws scraped the ground, useless. Her ruined face lifted slightly, pinned beneath jagged crystal and steel, and her voice rasped—
"Why… don't you… love me…?"
Noah didn't answer.
She giggled, voice cracked and rattling like broken bells.
"It's so easy… I'm so wonderful… so beautiful…"
He walked up slowly.
Covered in blood. Shaking. Breathing like a man who'd just seen God—and hated Him.
Noah lifted the cane.
"I hate clingers."
He brought it down hard across her face.
CRACK.
[SYSTEM ALERT: MINI-BOSS DEFEATED – "Mistress of the Hollow Court"]
XP Gained: +5,000
Location Unlocked: Ballroom of Regret
LEVEL UP: 10 → 15
Allocate 5 Stat Points.
Noah leaned against the shattered chandelier, hands on his knees.
Covered in gore. Crystal. Sweat.
Heart still hammering.
Then he laughed.
Not manic.
Just… tired.
"Okay. Okay. Luck is definitely going up."
He opened the stat window.
No hesitation.
– +5 into LUCK
[Updated: LUCK – 15]
Effect: Probability distortion increased. Rare outcomes more likely. Passive card draws enhanced.
He exhaled through his teeth.
Then paused.
His thoughts flicked back—through the ballroom, the towers, the ghost-children, the weeping wives, the spectral men with phantom weapons.
He'd killed dozens of them.
Not one XP.
Only the Mistress.
"Great," he muttered. "So it's not a game. It's a goddamn trial by escalation. No easy grind. Only big kills. High risk. Story shit."
He leaned against the wall and wiped his face with his sleeve.
Noah's eyes flicked over the battlefield one last time.
"You want me to fight monsters that shouldn't exist. You want me to build a kingdom. You want me to be a god."
He looked up at the ceiling.
"Fine."
A pause.
"But I'm gonna cheat my way to the top, you bitch."
Noah sat slumped on a cracked chair, sticky with blood that wasn't his, eyes half-lidded, breath slowing as the aftershock of the fight finally drained from his limbs.
His coat—new, clean, elegant—was now ruined. Soaked in viscera. Mottled with black ichor. His sleeves stuck to his arms. His hair clung to his face.
He spat something red onto the marble floor.
"Great," he muttered. "Had these clothes for what, two hours?"
He scraped off what gore he could with the edge of his cane, flicking jelly-like clumps onto the tiles like peeling off regret. Bits of bone cracked underfoot as he moved—shards of chandelier and maybe bits of her.
Noah didn't care.
He wanted out.
But then—he heard it.
A soft click. Mechanical. Deliberate.
His eyes flicked up.
Behind the shattered podium at the far end of the ballroom, something shimmered.
A chest.
Massive. Gilded. Unseen until now—either hidden or sealed during the fight.
Its edges pulsed faintly with gold light. The lid had cracked open slightly, as if unlocked by her death.
Noah stared at it.
"Of course," he muttered. "Of course there's loot after I almost die."
He approached carefully. No more traps, no more bullshit.
The chest didn't bite him.
Inside, he found:
– a scatter of gold coins, strange in shape but gleaming with real weight
– three red vials, corked and glowing faintly—health potions, probably, or poison, whatever
– and a book
Old. Bound in deep blue leather with tarot-like embossing.
Across the front, written in silver ink:
"Faith Weaving: A Beginner's Guide to Channeling Belief through Cards"
Noah blinked.
His pulse quickened.
Finally—finally—something useful?
He opened it, flipping to the first page with anticipation.
It was written in a language he couldn't read.
Not just unreadable—alien. Curved, thorny symbols that danced if he looked too long. One glyph blinked at him.
He stared at the page for ten long seconds.
Then screamed.
"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!"
The ballroom echoed.
Birds—ghosts—somewhere above scattered.
Noah hurled the book onto the chair and kicked the side of the chest hard enough to make his toe throb.
Then he slumped again, arms over his knees, breathing hard.
"This is hell. This is Isekai hell. I'm in a haunted DLC for a game no one beta-tested."
He sat for a while.
Eyes closed. Mind blank.
Then he opened one eye.
And saw it.
The ballroom's side wall—once sealed—now had an opening.
A massive stone door had creaked open. Beyond it, a sloped hallway leading deeper into the ruins. Into what remained of the city. Or the tomb. Or the trial. Or whatever gods called this kind of bullshit.
Noah sighed.
Long. Deep. Profoundly exhausted.
Then he stood.
"Tired. Alone. Covered in flesh. And now I have to walk deeper into the death dungeon. Great."
He grabbed the book, the vials, and shoved everything into his satchel with unnecessary force. The gold too. Why not. Might be useful if he found a cursed vending machine.
Then he walked.
Into the dark.
Into whatever came next.