The courtyard in front of the hospital entrance was a stark contrast to the chaos within. The expansive area, flanked by tall, imposing buildings, featured neatly trimmed hedges and cobblestone paths that wound around patches of green. In the center stood an ornate fountain, its water now still, reflecting the flickering lights from the tall lampposts that bordered the space. Trees, their leaves rustling softly in the breeze, added a touch of serenity to the scene.
"RUN FASTER, DEAN!" John bellowed, his voice tinged with desperation as he glanced at the young boy struggling to keep pace beside him.
"I'M RUNNING AS FAST AS I CAN!" Dean gasped, his breaths coming in ragged, shallow bursts.
John muttered a string of curses under his breath as they raced across the courtyard, dodging around the fountain and sprinting along the cobblestone path. Shadows of the monstrosities danced on the walls, grotesque and terrifying. Humanlike creatures with decaying flesh and goblins with grotesque features scattered across the courtyard, chasing other unfortunate survivors or clashing with each other in violent skirmishes. John muttered a string of curses under his breath as he cast a glance over his shoulder. What met his gaze was a scene of pure horror, straight out of a nightmare.
John had witnessed firsthand how these abominations, with their ghastly visages and ravenous hunger, pounced on unsuspecting humans. He had seen them tear flesh from bone, devour limbs, and leave a wake of carnage. These creatures possessed strength and stamina beyond human limits, though fortunately, their speed was not extraordinary. Dean, despite his young age, was swift on his feet, but he was still just a twelve-year-old boy.
"JUST KEEP MOVING, DEAN! WE HAVE TO FIND THE OTHERS AND GET TO SAFETY!"
Dean didn't respond; he was too out of breath. His legs felt like lead, and he knew he couldn't keep this pace for much longer.
They had been fleeing from these zombie-like creatures for what felt like an eternity.
They hadn't dared to stop and close a door for fear of being overtaken but John knew that Dean was nearing his limit. He needed to act quickly.
They veered towards another entrance to the hospital, a set of glass doors partially shattered, offering a glimpse into the dimly lit interior. Jumping through the broken glass door, they rushed into a wide hallway with high ceilings, the flickering lights casting eerie shadows on the walls. They bolted past abandoned gurneys and crashed through double doors into a larger atrium. The space was vast, about ten meters wide and twenty meters long, lined with pillars and a cracked marble floor. The sounds of chaos from outside filtered in, mixing with the echo of their hurried footsteps.
While running towards the other end of the atrium, John spotted an open fire hazard door, a chair that looked like it had been placed there intentionally, stopping it from automatically closing.
"HEAD FOR THAT DOOR! GIVE IT EVERYTHING YOU'VE GOT, WE NEED A HEAD START TO GET THROUGH AND CLOSE IT BEFORE THEY REACH US!"
John increased his pace, determined to reach the door and secure it as swiftly as possible.
Dean turned to look back as he sprinted toward the door, his heart pounding in his chest.
The "zombies" were nearly upon him, their outstretched hands just inches away. Their grotesque faces and the guttural sounds emanating from their throats were nightmarish. Some still bore a semblance of humanity, while others were in various stages of decay.
This chaos had erupted only a few days ago, trapping their family inside this hospital ever since.
"Damn it!" Dean cursed under his breath, summoning every last ounce of strength for one final sprint. He saw John reach the door, but just as he was within reach, he tripped and fell. Terror gripped his heart as he hit the ground, his face a mask of sheer panic.
"NOOO!" he screamed, fully aware of the fate that awaited him. He had witnessed it too many times already.
But before the creatures could lay hands on him, a thunderous, bell-like sound reverberated through the air, and the ground trembled. The monsters halted, falling prostrate as if compelled by some unseen force.
Dean didn't know what was happening, but he seized the opportunity. Struggling to his feet with John's help, he managed to stagger through the fire door to the supposed safety beyond.
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"This is your final warning, Alyssa! Hand over the gem, or so help me God, I will take it by force! Do not test my resolve!"
Michael's voice reverberated with a chilling menace, his grip tight on the blood-stained short sword. Even though Alyssa was nervous to the point that her hands started sweating, she clutched the white gem tightly behind her back, her eyes a storm of defiance and fear.
They stood on the rooftop, the tension so thick it seemed to warp the very air around them. Behind Michael and Alyssa, two groups had formed, their members exchanging anxious glances as the confrontation escalated.
"Forget it, Michael! My brother died while we fought to obtain this.
If you have the courage to attack a woman for this gem, why don't you take on one of those zombies instead? I'd rather die than hand it over to you! If it weren't for your greed, Sam would still be alive!" Alyssa's voice cracked with both fury and grief.
Michael's face contorted with rage, veins bulging on his neck.
"WHAT exactly do you know huh? HAVE YOU SEEN WHAT THESE CREATURES CAN DO? These zombies are NOTHING compared to what else is out there! I BEGGED SAM TO STAYWITH US, he made his choice! DON'T you DARE blame ME for HIS decisions!"
The people on the rooftop shifted uneasily. Michael's followers nodded in reluctant agreement, their faces set in grim determination. Alyssa's supporters, equally tense, shared her anger but were desperate to avoid bloodshed.
Despite her fear, Alyssa refused to back down.
"Don't make me laugh, Michael! You had the only decent weapon among us. You could have given it to my brother when you refused to help him. If you had, we might have more gems now! But your egoism and cowardice are boundless. If you want a gem, go get one yourself, you coward!"
Michael took a deep, shuddering breath, his expression hardening to one of unyielding resolve.
"I have been patient out of respect for Sam, but this ends now. This ends now!"
He advanced toward Alyssa, the sword glinting ominously in the dim light.
"I will cut down anyone who dares obstruct me! This concerns the safety of all of us!"
Alyssa's heart pounded as she retreated, her back meeting the cold, unforgiving edge of the rooftop. Michael's towering form loomed over her, his eyes blazing with desperation and madness. He seized her arm with a vice-like grip, his voice a harsh, crazed whisper. "Give it to me now!" Alyssa saw in his eyes that he would stop at nothing to get the gem.
"FINE, TAKE IT, YOU INCORRIGIBLE PIECE OF—" a deafening sound abruptly cut off Alyssa's defiant scream.
A bell-like toll, magnified a thousand times, resonated through the heavens and the earth, shaking the very foundations of the rooftop. The ground beneath them trembled violently, causing everyone to stagger.
In the chaos, Alyssa lost her footing, her scream piercing the air as she slipped off the edge of the rooftop. Despite his threats, Michael's reflexes kicked in. He instinctively tightened his grip on her arm, his knuckles white with the effort of holding her.
"HANG ON, YOU FOOL!" he bellowed, his voice raw with panic.
Alyssa, her face a mask of terror and bewilderment, struggled to grab his arm with her free hand, the gem still clutched tightly in her other fist.
"GODDAMNIT, WHY ARE YOUR HANDS SO SWEATY? HOLD ON TO ME WITH BOTH OF YOUR HANDS, LET GO OF THAT DARNED GEM, IM LOSING MY GRIP!"
Michael yelled, his voice straining as he fought to maintain his grip.
The People around wanted to help, but could barely stand up, much less move due to the heavy earthquake.
The rooftop shook violently, and most of the people had been knocked to the ground once more, scrambling to regain their balance. Michael's knees clamped against the edge, his entire body straining as he tried to hold onto Alyssa. Her hands were slick with sweat, and the relentless shaking made it nearly impossible to keep hold.
Alyssa, her knuckles whitening with effort, reluctantly let go of the gem. The precious artifact her brother had sacrificed his life for tumbled into the abyss, its brilliance fading. She strained with every ounce of strength to lift her other arm, desperately reaching to grasp Michael's arm with both hands, her fingers trembling.
"I CAN'T HOLD ON!"
Alyssa's voice was a raw, desperate cry that pierced the chaos. Panic and urgency echoed through the air, as the unrelenting toll of the bells and the ceaseless trembling of the earth continued their loud and unsettling clamor.
Alyssa's gaze fell downward, and she realized with growing dread that survival was slipping away with every passing moment. The thought of falling meant not just death but an even worse fate at the mercy of the terrifying creatures below—a torment far worse than death itself.
Her eyes, wide with fear and glistening with tears, locked onto Michael's as she struggled to maintain her grip. Every muscle in her body was taut, fighting against the pull of gravity threatening to claim her.
"I'M SORRY, ALYSSA! I DIDN'T MEAN ANY OF IT! I JUST WANTED TO CONVINCE YOU TO HAND OVER THE GEM FOR OUR SAFETY, I HAVE MY REASONS!" Michael's voice cracked with regret.
In Michael's eyes, Alyssa saw a flicker of genuine fear and sorrow.
For a fleeting moment, it seemed like they might both survive this ordeal. But before anyone could come to their aid, both of their grips finally failed. Alyssa's scream echoed through the chaos as she plummeted down, disappearing into the abyss below.
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A lone teenager navigated the well-lit corridor with the grace of a shadow, each movement calculated and deliberate.
The corridor, about three meters wide and lined with wallpaper scarred by claw marks and stained by blood, stretched out endlessly, with flickering fluorescent lights casting eerie shadows on the cracked tiles below.
His demeanor remained calm and collected, his eyes sharp as he slipped behind abandoned gurneys and into empty rooms mere moments before a creature would lumber past. It was almost as if he possessed a preternatural foresight, predicting their movements with precision.
The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and fresh decay, remnants of a place that had only recently fallen into chaos.
Every so often, he paused to listen, his ears straining to catch the faintest sound of shuffling feet or guttural growls.
The teenager's heart beat steadily in his chest, his focus unwavering as he continued his journey through the desolate hallways, now an eerie labyrinth of sudden danger.
He moved with a purpose, his steps barely making a sound on the worn linoleum floors.
The walls, adorned with posters that had begun to fade and broken light fixtures, spoke of a place that had been suddenly and violently abandoned. Doors with shattered windows and rusted hinges stood ajar, offering glimpses into darkened rooms filled with the immediate aftermath of a hasty departure. Some of these rooms, roughly four by five meters, were cluttered with overturned chairs and scattered papers, evidence of the recent panic and flight.
After several minutes of skillfully avoiding goblins with their grotesque features and zombies with their decaying flesh, he arrived at a section of the corridor where an imp was patrolling. The creature's twisted form and malevolent eyes made it a far more formidable foe than the others. Luckily for the teenager, the imp was heavily distracted. Blood from recent kills stained its claws, and it seemed more preoccupied with ravaging its victims' remains than with its surroundings. The hallway's lingering stench of decay and antiseptic helped mask the teenager's scent, providing an additional layer of cover.
"Son of a bitch!" he muttered under his breath, frustration and fear mingling in his voice. "You're not supposed to be here yet!" For a moment, he stood frozen, weighing his options. "Screw it, I'll take the risk," he decided, steeling himself.
With cat-like stealth, he approached the imp, moving so silently that his footsteps were barely a whisper against the floor. At the last possible moment, he darted into a nearby room, his hands moving quickly to lock the door quietly behind him. The lock clicked into place with a reassuring finality.
Inside, he was greeted by a spacious office room, approximately six by eight meters, its air still heavy with the scent of old paper and polished wood. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with dusty tomes and medical journals, while intricately chosen furniture and elaborate decorations gave the room an air of faded grandeur. A large mahogany desk stood against one wall, its surface cluttered with papers and antique trinkets. Velvet drapes framed the windows, their deep crimson color absorbing the light and adding a somber tone to the room.
But none of this captured the teenager's attention. His eyes were fixed on a seemingly empty corner of the room, a grin slowly spreading across his face. It was a grin that spoke of triumph and anticipation. "I did it!" he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. The sound of a loud bell-like chime suddenly echoed throughout the world, reverberating in his bones.
"It's time!" he declared, the wicked grin widening as the sound continued to resonate and the earth began to quake. In that moment, he felt a surge of power and purpose, ready to face whatever lay ahead.
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"Ugh..." A soft groan reverberated through the darkness, blending with the unsettling noises of twitching flesh, faint grunts, and occasional coughs. The voice, tremulous with confusion and fear, whispered, "Where am I?" After a moment's pause, it repeated, "What happened?" as a small hand instinctively clutched at the neck.
A thick, cold liquid, sticky and unnervingly viscous, coated the throat and various other parts of the body.
The air was thick with a heavy, metallic scent that seemed to cling to every surface.
"Blood?" the voice murmured, panic rising as the chilling realization set in. The grim situation sent shivers down their spine.
With shaking hands, the individual began to wipe away the thick, sticky substance—presumably blood—from their throat and arms.
The effort was slow and cumbersome, but they managed to clear most of it, their movements deliberate and fraught with tension.
Then, after gathering their strength, they struggled to stand. After several attempts, they finally managed to get to their feet.
Beneath their bare feet, the floor felt uneven and slick, with a cold, clammy texture that seemed to cling with every step.
The tiles beneath were smooth yet intermittently sticky, as if coated with a grimy residue. Their hands, exploring the surroundings, brushed against metal fixtures and cold, unyielding surfaces. The walls felt chillingly smooth and sterile, a stark contrast to the damp, sticky residue that coated their skin.
As they moved cautiously through the darkened space, their hands encountered rough, metallic textures and cool, smooth surfaces. The oppressive silence was occasionally broken by the distant, unsettling sounds of twitching flesh and soft, labored breaths, each noise magnifying their growing sense of dread.
Fragments of recent events surged through their mind—chaos, fear, a desperate struggle. The memory of pain and loss brought a wave of sorrow that mingled with their fear, intensifying the sense of disorientation. Their face, marred by tears and blood as well as healing injuries showed a heartbroken expression as they tried to suppress their sobs.
They paused, heart pounding, attempting to steady their breath amidst the encroaching darkness.
Eventually, they approached a door. The cold metal handle felt unnervingly smooth and unyielding under their trembling fingers. Whether it was the door to freedom or a new, darker space, the act of turning the handle and slipping through offered a fleeting sense of relief. The latch clicked softly, the sound echoing ominously in the gloom.
Stepping through, they embraced the cold and darkness that lay beyond, their breath coming in shallow gasps as they pressed against the cool, smooth surface of the new surroundings.
The oppressive silence wrapped around them, every touch and sound heightening their fear and confusion.
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"AE-SIN!"
Samuel jolted awake from a disturbing nightmare, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he grappled with the remnants of fear that lingered from the dream. After a moment of disorientation, he began to piece together the events that had transpired before he had succumbed to sleep.
His first instinct was to examine his own condition. As he touched his body, he was relieved to discover that most of his wounds had nearly healed, though a few injuries were still in the process of being healed, while one or two of the most gruesome ones, seemed like they would remain as scars as a stark reminder of his recent trials. Also, old scars and his injured eye remained unchanged.
"Incredible!" he exclaimed, his voice a mix of astonishment and relief.
Despite some wounds still being raw and unhealed, he felt a lot better than he had in previous hours. He shuffled toward the mortuary chambers adjacent to him, using them for support as he maneuvered. Once he leaned his back onto the mortuary chambers in a sitting position, he attempted to transition into his soul state, a skill he had relied upon regularly since his revival, but to no avail. The failure was disheartening.
"Have I lost this ability?" Samuel pondered, a note of frustration in his voice.
"Have I lost this ability?" Samuel asked himself.
Choosing not to dwell on an issue beyond his control, he shifted his focus to the crucial intelligence he had gathered earlier, knowledge he deemed essential for his survival.
"These gems, they appear to hold significant importance. I must ensure I keep it with me," he resolved. Samuel meticulously navigated the room, careful not to disturb the numerous corpses strewn about, and after an extensive search, he finally located the gem.
"Found you!" he declared triumphantly. He reached for his pocket to stow the gem, only to find that his pants were in tatters, leaving the pockets shredded and useless. "Damn imp!" he muttered in frustration.
With a scowl, Samuel glanced toward the spot where he suspected the imp's body might be. He had previously contemplated retrieving the gem from the imp's skull but had abandoned the idea due to his inability to physically perform the task. Now, with a functioning body, he reconsidered. Yet, should he do so?
The imps presented a formidable challenge, he had observed them when he was on the rooftop in his soul state, and they were remarkably powerful.
In the hospital's confines, they seemed to dominate all other creatures, be they goblins, humans, beasts, or any other life forms. The imps displayed no discrimination in their merciless approach, eliminating any being that crossed their path. Notably, they usually operated in groups of two to five, making a confrontation with them potentially lethal.
Samuel was left to ponder the gravity of the situation. Would he survive an encounter with such a group? If he were to face them, a fate much worse than what befell him before might await him.
And even more importantly, would he be able to survive by detaching his soul from his body this time?
And even if he managed to survive by detaching his soul from his body, would he be able to endure the consequences of doing so? The thought of losing more of himself, of ceasing to exist, was a chilling prospect.
With a sigh of resignation, he decided to delay further contemplation on this matter. The imp's body might still hold value.
Before proceeding further, Samuel decided to leave the mortuary hall and retreat to one of the adjacent rooms he had previously inspected, one devoid of corpses and the stench of blood.
He also required adequate lighting and dreaded the thought of seeing Sophie in her current state again.
With his decision made, he collected the daggers and the short sword before he exited the room.
As he stepped into the corridor, the lights flickered on automatically, as he had anticipated. Samuel cautiously surveyed the hallway and noted, as before, the absence of any creatures or beasts—none that were alive and posed a threat, anyway. Confident in his safety, he proceeded to a nearby room, only about seven meters from the mortuary chamber. This particular room was a bathroom designed for handicapped people.
Once inside, Samuel locked the door and turned on the lights. He placed the gem, approximately the size of a ping pong ball, on the washbasin. He then began washing the blood from his face, arms, and hands. After a moment of contemplation, he decided to clean the gem as well. He removed his torn and bloodied shirt, discarding it into the garbage bin, and proceeded to carefully cleanse his upper body and neck, mindful of the open, healing wounds.
Feeling significantly cleaner, Samuel sat on the closed toilet seat, taking a moment to recalibrate his mindset. He needed to cheer himself up and temporarily block out the dreadful events of the past hours—at least for now. This mental adjustment was crucial for his composure and the challenges that lay ahead.
"Alright, let us proceed, shall we?" he murmured to himself, steeling his resolve.
He focused on summoning Dorans Grimoire of Wisdom, mentally recalling the arcane memories associated with the process. Taking a deep breath, he resolved to give it his best effort. "Here goes nothing!" he declared with a hint of nervous excitement.
"Abra-Abra-Kadabruh!" he shouted, his face flushing with a mix of embarrassment and determination.
"Just like that and I'm..."
As he completed the wholly unnecessary and voluntary incantation, a thick, weighty Grimoire materialized before him, suspended in mid-air. Samuel's gaze was immediately drawn to the grimoire's intricate design and the mystique surrounding its appearance.
"I couldn't resist saying that," Samuel thought to himself with a wry smile as he reached for the book. As soon as he grasped it, the magical aura sustaining its levitation dissipated, revealing its tangible heft. "Quite heavy," he noted, feeling the substantial weight in his hands.
The grimoire was an impressive tome, its cover crafted from a coarse, leathery material interspersed with fragments of unknown metals. It was evident that a skilled artisan had meticulously created the grimoire, paying careful attention to each detail of its construction. Samuel admired its craftsmanship and the sense of ancient power it conveyed before he finally opened its pages and read what he found within.
"Congratulations on acquiring this revered Artifact," Samuel read aloud, his expression marked with a hint of skepticism.
Those who possess this Artifact shall be accompanied by it through all circumstances. It will remain eternally concealed within the depths of their souls, persisting beyond death and into the subsequent cycle of existence. This is what distinguishes it from all other similar Artifacts.
Samuel took a moment to digest the profound words. "Life cycle? Is the author referring to the afterlife? Or perhaps reincarnation?" He pondered these questions, though he pressed on with the reading.
The Grimoire of Wisdom possesses numerous facets:
1. Doran's Grimoire records the entirety of its bearer's essence—their history, memories, secrets, and desires. Access to this section is severely restricted, even for the bearer, to preserve their sanity."
Samuel paused. He wasn't sure what to make of this, but he continued nonetheless.
2. The Grimoire is eternally Soulbound. As long as the soul endures, the Grimoire shall accompany it. It can be summoned merely by the will of its bearer.
3. The Grimoire can reveal the bearer's current state—their health, state of mind, strengths, and weaknesses. The bearer can choose to conceal certain elements to even the bearer himself if necessary.
4. The Grimoire will always manifest in a form familiar to the bearer: a book, a scroll, a stone tablet, and so forth—the possibilities are virtually limitless.
"This might come in handy." Samuel Thought, already contemplating on what would be the most convenient form.
5. Should it sustain damage, the Grimoire will mend itself within the Holder's Soul space. It can be summoned in an incomplete state but can never be utterly destroyed, even if reduced to ashes.
"Well that's convenient," Samuel said spoke, as he shifted his attention towards the next paragraph.
6. The contents of the Grimoire are inscribed in a language comprehensible only to the bearer. The bearer may enlist others who can read designated pages of the Grimoire, with the ability to hide specific details within those pages.
7. The bearer can unlock various ■■■■♦ and ■■■ through the use of different ■■♦ ■■■■ or ■■♦ ■■♦.
8. The Grimoire can be used to ■■♦ for various ■■■♦ from ■■'■ ■■■■, in exchange for ■■♦ ■■■■ or ■■♦ ■■♦.
9. By completing specific tasks, achieving significant milestones or using Materials such as Power Crystals the bearer can infuse distinct energies into the Grimoire, thereby unlocking hidden features.
10. The Grimoire can store Doran coins as well as various power crystals and other items.
11. If the bearer were to ■■ ■■■♦ ■■■■ ■■■ and ■■■ their ■■, they would acquire a quarter of the recorded ■■ ■■♦ within the ■■■■, along with any unused ■■♦ ■■♦ or ■■♦ ■■■■—the remainder would transfer to ■■'■ ■■■■.
12. The bearer is urged to uncover the remaining secrets of the Grimoire—These will be recorded here once the bearer manages to do so.
Samuel paused, the weight of the text sinking in. The words seemed to pulse with ancient energy, a divine aura permeating the room as he absorbed the monumental implications of the Artifact in his possession.