The corridor widened after a few more turns and stumbles, as if the world had finally gotten tired of squeezing me between rocks and decided to give me enough space to die comfortably.
And that's when I saw it.
The hall was vast. Very vast. Massive columns rose like the bones of some extinct creature, covered in glowing fungi and dried-out vines. And in the center… was history.
Literally.
The walls of the place were covered in carvings that looked like giant comic strips. Yeah, like those stained glass church panels — only with way more decapitation and way less forgiveness.
Among the figures carved into the stone — mirrors, veiled kings, and soldiers with eyes on their backs — one symbol caught my attention, even though I couldn't say why.
Two spirals intertwined, crossed by a single vertical line.
Simple, almost insignificant in the middle of so much grandeur.
But it wasn't just decoration. There was intention in that design. Like it was part of a ritual, or a command mark.
I moved forward. Didn't have time to stop and analyze. But the image stayed in the corner of my mind, waiting for the right moment to come back.
I approached one of the walls, even with my brain screaming "don't touch anything, you idiot." Curiosity won.
And the weirdest part?
I understood it.
| NEW SKILL UNLOCKED |
Latent Runic Affinity [Passive]→ You've developed a basic sensitivity to magical language through continuous exposure to arcane runes.
EFFECTS
→ Allows comprehension of simple magical inscriptions without external translation→ Recognizes runic patterns with 60% instinctual accuracy→ Minor bonus when interacting with rune-based magical artifacts (+1 success on activation/disarming attempts)
| NEW STATUS UNLOCKEDRunic Affinity: 6%→ Dante's magical affinity with ancient runes and symbols is growing. (Next stage at 15%)
From staring at arcane symbols, dodging traps, and getting lost in corridors scribbled with forgotten threats, something inside me had started decoding all of it through sheer magical osmosis. As if my brain finally said: "That's enough. We're learning this crap now."
Maybe it was the system compensating me.Maybe it was just the universe trying to balance the game.
But it worked.
No effort. No translation spell. The runes that once looked like drunk chicken scratches now came through like voices in my head — clear, sharp, almost familiar.
Runes that once resembled the doodles of an inebriated scholar now formed coherent phrases. The figures, grotesque as they were, told a story — beginning, middle, and maybe… an end.
"In the time when the sky was stone and the ground, light...""...the Forgotten Kings carved into the belly of the world...""...and created the Living Mirrors to guard the Way Back..."
This wasn't just a hole in the ground. It was the breathing tomb of a buried empire. And worse: I was standing dead center in what looked like the heart of it all.
Each wall told more. Wars against creatures made of living mud. Men in armor with eyes growing out their backs. A king — or queen — with a veiled face, offering something to a formless being wrapped in spirals of black ink.
And way at the back of the hall, there was a broken altar, under a carved figure on the ceiling: something tall, thin, and hooded, with both hands facing upward as if waiting for something to fall from the sky.
But the statue's head… was missing.
"What a charming little place," I muttered, approaching with caution. "Real cozy. Reminds me of my last board meeting: uncomfortable silence, weird symbols, and the very real sense someone wants to murder you."
Then the system decided to ruin the mood:
PASSIVE DETECTION: ANOMALY EMERGING || Runic Creature Awakening Near the Center of the Hall |
I froze.
Behind the altar, a crack opened — not with a sound, but with pressure. The air changed. The humidity vanished. The glow from the fungi went out like candles too scared to stay lit.
And then it appeared.
ENEMYFOUND: PÓLUX, THE SPLIT EYE || SPECIES: Sentient Runic Construct| TYPE: Ancestral Guardian / Living Ruin| LEVEL: 7
ATTRIBUTES |→ Strength: 20 (Long arms, every strike makes the ground shake)→ Dexterity: 11 (Rhythmic, heavy movements)→ Constitution: 18 (Resistant to piercing and physical impact)→ Perception: 16 (Sees through runes and magic)→ Intelligence: 5 (Fragmented awareness)
SKILLS |→ Split Vision [Passive]Sees through illusions and magical camouflage. Always knows the target's location after first contact.→ Chisel Arm [Active – 1 turn charge]Focuses energy into hands, turning fingers into runic blades. Cuts through stone, wood, and flesh with pure damage.→ Sonic Impact [Cooldown: 3 turns]Slams the ground, unleashing a sonic wave that disorients for 3 seconds. Interrupts concentration and dispels weak enchantments.→ Stone Memory [Passive]Recognizes intruders in protected zones. Gains bonus attacks against "unregistered" beings.
WEAKNESSES |→ Sensitive to pattern disruption. Erratic rhythms and unpredictable noises briefly confuse it.→ Vulnerable to dispersion-type magic (especially sound and light).→ Slow to react to multiple moving targets at once.
The thing raised its arm like it was feeling the air — or maybe trying to remember if it had already killed me before.
Naturally, I did the sensible thing.
I grabbed my pickaxe, glanced at the altar like it was my own open casket, and said:
"Shit!"
And then it charged.
It saw me.
I heard it before I saw it — like the world's flesh tearing from the inside out. PÓLUX rose, and with it, the weight of the air shifted. Everything around us agreed to be quiet, just to better hear the sound of me dying.
The ground moaned under its steps. It wasn't fast — but every step was a promise of annihilation.
Its body was elongated, made of ancient stone plates and fossilized meat. Too many arms. No face, just a single carved eye-shaped scar on its chest. And when it moved, the sound was like metal scraping wet stone.
It slammed the ground.
BOOM.
A sonic wave hit me like someone had screamed directly into my brain. I heard my own balance collapse before I did. I almost puked.
"Okay," I muttered, staggering, "this is gonna be fun."
I dodged the next strike by inches, a wide arc that passed so close I smelled the wind slice my skin. It smelled dry. Ancient. Like burnt parchment.
I circled it. The legs — or limbs — dragged heavily, but in rhythm. A pattern. It always struck from the left, rotated in two beats, then went for an overhead smash with the blade arm.
It was a forgotten war machine, stuck in a loop for centuries. Dangerous? Absolutely. But predictable.
"Let's see if you'll dance with me, monster."
I stepped between two loose plates on the ground and lunged to the side. Its strike came exactly as I'd predicted — I rolled behind a toppled column that cracked under the blow.
Debris flew in my face. Dust stung my eyes and throat. Burned like dry fire.
But now I knew: three beats. One strike, two steps, another strike. A cycle with pauses. Pauses I could use.
I rolled to a raised platform of cracked marble. It turned to face me. Heavy feet sank into the tiles, and when it took the first step toward me, I noticed something: the floor here was loose.
"Perfect," I whispered.
I waited. Let it come. Each step cracked the marble further.
On the fourth, the platform gave.
A crack. A deep groan.
It sank to its knee — and that was all I needed.
I charged with the pickaxe. Not out of courage, but because this was my only shot.
I struck one of the stone joints between its arm and torso. The tip lodged in poorly, but it lodged. A blue spark flew — like I'd just severed a nerve.
It screamed. Not with sound — with vibration. My stomach flipped at the frequency. Ears ringing. Blood rushing.
I dove back. Threw a piece of my still-charged Burning Calderite on the floor. The spark it left scorched the air for half a second — enough distraction.
I climbed onto a side rock and kicked another loose slab onto its leg. Nothing damaging, but the combo of impact, weight, and heat was enough to throw it off-balance.
It toppled sideways, and when its "head" — or whatever it used to think — hit the ground, the runic "eye" on its chest pulsed — dim and flickering.
There was an opening.
I ran with my body in ruins. Lifted the pickaxe with both arms.
And brought it down with everything I had.
CRACK.
Stone split. Sparks flew.
Once more.
CRACK.
The rune went out.
Pólux trembled, and then... stopped.
I stood there, breathing like a wounded animal. Blood in my throat, ears ringing, shoulder begging for mercy, and the system probably laughing at me in binary silence.
But I was standing.
And he... wasn't.
The entire hall seemed to breathe with me. The echo of that final strike lingered in slow waves, as if the walls themselves wanted to remind the world that something ancient had been silenced here.
I dragged myself away from the creature's lifeless body. My arms ached, my chest was heavy, and sweat clung to my clothes like a sad little armor made of fabric and misery.
That's when the system decided to speak up:
COMBAT COMPLETE || You defeated: PÓLUX, the Split Eye |
Rewards Unlocked |→ 320 XP→ Fragmented Runic Essence x1→ Stable Silvarite Core x1→ Lost Record: "Fragment of the Vigil of the Mirrors"
Runic Affinity increased: +4% (Total: 10%)→ You sense the arcane patterns in the environment shifting toward your perception. Partial understanding of advanced runes unlocked.
I approached the core. A cracked sphere embedded in the guardian's chest — pulsing with residual warmth, like an old heart trying to remember what life was. It was hot to the touch, but bearable. A fragment of silvarite. Stable. Rare stuff. The kind dwarves would trade for an arranged marriage and a keg of ale.
I packed it carefully in my bag and turned to the altar where Pólux had emerged. The runes behind it now glowed gently. Not threatening — more like whispers. Like they were inviting me.
I stepped closer. The altar projected a hidden shelf, and on it, a scroll — sealed with wax that was still warm. The seal showed a split eye — same as the rune on Pólux's chest.
I touched the seal.
CLIC.
The rune snapped. The scroll unrolled itself and floated for a moment in the air, like it was still being read by someone I couldn't see.
And then...
TUUUUUMMMM.
The sound came from below. Deep. A hollow drum pounding inside the earth. The ground trembled like the hall was exhaling a scream it had held in for centuries.
I took a step back.
Behind me, Pólux's body cracked.
But it wasn't just him.
The walls began to vibrate. The panels — those ancient symbolic figures — shook with life. From the cracks, thin lines of blue light seeped out, like circuits awakening. The carvings on the murals were moving subtly now — and some of them... had eyes.
Then came the sound that froze my blood.
Screams. Lots of them. Not human. Not alive.
A distorted choir echoing from within the walls. And with it, the sound of stone shifting... not in one, but in multiple directions.
ALERT: RUNIC MEMORY INSTABILITY |→ Intruders identified as threat to the cycle→ Awakening Supplemental Defenders→ Location: Hall of the Four Echoes
The wall opposite the altar began to open. Not like a door — like a wound. From it came arms.
Not one monster. Not two.
A legion.
Creatures smaller than PÓLUX, but with eyes glowing bright blue. Half bone, half stone. All of them crawling out from the cracks of a story that should've stayed buried.
And me? I was alone, holding a pickaxe and limping on a twisted ankle.
I sighed.
Tactic number one: do not panic.Tactic number two: run like your ass is a national treasure.
They came.
And I thought:
How, exactly, am I supposed to get out of this crap with all my organs still inside my body?