My lungs burned. My sword hand wouldn't stop trembling, no matter how hard I clenched my grip.
The chamber reeked of death. Shades swirled at the edges of the light like vultures waiting for the flesh to fall from the bone. And in the middle of it all stood Malkoran, his presence heavier than steel. His voice still lingered, thick as tar in my head.
"You carry the light of Meridia… and yet you crawl like a worm."
My knees wanted to give way. My chest wanted to cave. The truth was simple, sharp: I wasn't strong enough. Not for this.
But then something stirred at the back of my skull—an echo. A reminder. The weight of every battle I had crawled through to stand here.
Level up.
It felt almost absurd, the thought creeping in at a time like this. But desperation clung to it. I closed my eyes, dragging air into my lungs, and reached inward.
The world around me dimmed. Instead of Malkoran, instead of the shades, instead of the Beacon humming in its pedestal, I saw something else:
----
Name: Chad Michael
Race: Imperial
Level: 12
Health: 150 → [160]
Stamina: 130 → [140]
Magicka: 90 → [100]
Unused Points: 3
----
Each word wasn't written anywhere. It wasn't carved in stone. It simply was, as if my body and spirit whispered back their truth.
Health. The ache in my ribs reminded me how easily I could die. I pressed one point into it. My lungs expanded easier, blood rushing steadier through my veins. The ache dulled—not gone, but manageable.
Stamina. My arms burned, heavy as lead. Every swing in this cursed place had drained me. Another point went there, and it was like a deep breath for my muscles, strength returning in a tide. My grip steadied on the sword.
One point left.
Magicka. The word itself felt foreign on my tongue. I wasn't a mage, never had been. But after seeing what the shades could do, after watching Malkoran weave darkness like a cloak… I'd be a fool to ignore it.
I forced the last point into it.
Heat shivered under my skin, a tingle sparking at my fingertips. Not power I understood, not yet—but something waiting, like kindling before flame.
The numbers faded. The chamber returned.
I opened my eyes. The fear didn't vanish. The shadows didn't retreat. But the weight on my chest lightened, if only by a fraction. My body felt steadier, sharper, alive.
Malkoran hadn't moved. His pale face stared at me through the dark, lips curled into a smile that made my stomach twist. He raised his hand, and the shades shivered forward like a tide of black glass.
I raised my sword.
"Let's see if I crawl," I muttered.
The first shade struck. A blur of smoke and steel lunged for my throat. I swung wide, sparks flying as my blade met its weapon. The impact rattled my arms, but I didn't stumble. I shoved it back, drove my boot into its chest, and the thing scattered into mist.
Another came from the left. My sword barely caught its strike, its edge scraping my pauldron. The sting burned, but I twisted, using the new strength in my arms to shove it off balance. The steel cut through its form, tearing it apart into smoke.
They kept coming.
Three. Four. My breath grew ragged, sweat freezing on my skin. Each swing cut, but each swing also cost me. For every shade that fell, two more seemed to circle. Their whispers hissed in my ears, low and cold, like promises of a grave waiting just behind me.
And always—Malkoran stood at the center. Watching. Smiling.
I cut another shade in half, chest heaving. My knuckles ached against the hilt. My body screamed at me to give in.
Then his voice boomed through the chamber.
"Pathetic."
The shades froze at once, retreating like a tide pulling back. The air grew heavier, darker, as Malkoran stepped forward. His robes did not stir with the movement of his legs, as if he wasn't walking at all but gliding. His eyes—two pits of black fire—fixed on me.
"You think the light will save you?" he asked, his voice a razor across stone. "It has only brought you here to die."
My mouth was dry, words clawing at my throat but refusing to come. My grip on the sword tightened until my knuckles went white.
Every instinct screamed to run. To flee, to crawl out of this cursed place before he cut me down where I stood. But the Beacon's light pulsed behind me, thundering like a heartbeat. Meridia's command burned in my skull.
Survive.
My legs steadied. I forced my breathing even. I raised my sword again, even as doubt gnawed at me.
Malkoran stretched out his hand. Shadows bled from his palm, curling into a blade of pure void. The shades shrieked as though his will alone had torn them back to life.
The chamber shook.
And then he lunged.