Chapter 9

  You should start to feel better. The potion is a Major and is fast acting," Wormpool explained.

  The healing warmth spread through Tyler's body, chasing away the last remnants of paralysis.

  "Now, I can't tell you much other than Severen runs the game. He is an acolyte to our Demi-god Siruc. It's a way for energy-rich assholes like him to pass the time, but it also serves other purposes I'm not allowed to disclose." Wormpool's tone became more hushed. "Just know the soul contract Henry signed is now bound to you through that ring."

  Tyler looked down at his hand. He'd forgotten the green ring was even there. He subtly adjusted his belt, making sure the other ring Vlad had given him remained safely hidden.

  Acolyte? Demi-god? What is this place? Tyler wondered, trying to process the bizarre information.

  "Other high lords of this place—Kings, Priest, Nobles and the like—place bets. They follow strict guidelines placed by The Cosmore in agreement with our Lord Vacuus." Wormpool's pale eyes darted around nervously. "Now that's all I can say without the wards taking notice."

  The bat-creature straightened his robes. "You are very late, and you will need some gear before you meet the others. Here."

  Wormpool made a series of quick gestures, and items began to materialize around Tyler:

  Each item had stone on it with a glyph or rune or some kind of etching. Each time Tyler looked at one of the stones a notification popped in his head.

  [Item Acquired: Basic Short Sword (Unenchanted)]

  [Item Acquired:Basic Reinforced Wooden Shield (Unenchanted)]

  [Item Acquired: Basic Studded Leather Cuirass (Unenchanted)]

  [Item Acquired:Basic Leather Bracers (Unenchanted)]

  [Item Acquired: Basic Leather Greaves (Unenchanted)]

  [Item Acquired:Basic Adventurer's Kit (Unenchanted)]

  Each item had a description but they were lackluster at best.

  "Oh, one more thing," Wormpool said, dropping a pouch maybe the size of a fist. "This is a simple containment pouch. Like my ring, you can fit a larger amount of items inside. Bond with it like you did the skill scrolls."

  Tyler picked up the pouch, examining it. Unlike the ornate ring Vlad had given him, this looked almost mundane—rough leather with simple stitching. But if it worked like the dimensional storage ring, it would be invaluable.

  He closed his eyes, focusing on his pathways as he'd done before. The golden energy flowed from his core, through his arm, and into the pouch. The connection formed almost instantly, much easier than his previous attempts at bonding. After bonding with it a notification popped up. He mentally swiped it away. He wondered if he could put a storage ring in a storage poached or would that break this world.

  The way Wormpool was treating him, Tyler figured that Lucky Charm was something he'd had his whole life—it had just been labeled and formalized in this place. People had always treated him in a way that didn't quite match how annoying he could be.

  As Tyler adjusted his equipment, everything felt a little lighter than expected. Those two extra points in Strength had done enough for him to feel a difference. But he felt silly in his armor, like a knight with an ankle bracelet on. Where did he fit in this world? Would he be able to escape?

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  They walked through a long corridor of darkness and purple flames, and Tyler saw other chambers just as barren as his—each with only a bench and nothing else. Other beings similar to Wormpool moved about, looking busy but seeming like wallpaper, pretending to work but not actually doing anything, like NPCs chopping down the same tree forever.

  He supposed they needed to pretend to work to keep their jobs. Government workers, fucking bums, Tyler thought.

  They made their way through large double doors spanning upward—they looked like gates made of wood but painted black, unlike the stone doors that somehow didn't creak. From what little Tyler could see, they were ornately decorated with black silver and obsidian gems. It was a striking look.

  The doors opened as if automated, revealing a cavernous chamber that stretched wide and tall, a tribunal hall carved from shadow and stone. The first level sprawled broad enough to hold a hundred souls, its floor a polished slab of black marble veined with silver, reflecting the flicker of purple flames that lined the walls in sconces. Above, a balcony jutted out, ringing the room like a judge’s bench, its dark wood polished to a gleam and fitted with rows of high-backed chairs—twenty-five, maybe thirty seats, no more—overlooking the chaos below. Obsidian pillars thick as tree trunks flanked the space, soaring up to a vaulted ceiling lost in gloom, where faint glints suggested more gems or carvings hidden in the dark. The room was packed with people: Wormpool’s kind, other creatures—some with green skin, red-skin, fur, others with hair on their long ears. Some looked more human-like than others

  But on the balcony level, there were beings who looked a lot like Vlad—dressed very suave, moving about, eating and drinking, what looked like wine or was it blood Tyler hoped it was the former. They were laughing, and chatting, being served by the batmen, some sitting in polished chairs, while others stood. The people or more appropriately, the beings on Tyler's floor looked how Tyler was beginning to feel: dreadful.

  "This is where they gather. People have been here for weeks waiting for all the contestants to arrive, and you are the last one, so try to get acquainted with some of the people. It would be in your best interest to make friends.”

  Wormpool pulled out a pen - one of those old quills from the 1600s or whatever era they belonged to - and wrote something down, handing it to Tyler as his voice lowered. "It's been my pleasure to serve you.. Henry." He said that last part as if reading from a script, as if it was something he was forced to say.” As he turn to leave he faced change back to a scowl, mouth just open enough for a single fang to show. Tyler took the note, wondering if it was a favor or a fuck-you.

  As Wormpool slipped away into the shadows, his robes whispering against the stone, Tyler turned to face the room. It was a zoo—green-skinned bruisers with tusks, long-eared types with twitchy fingers, bat-faces like Wormpool scuttling around like they owned the place. The air buzzed with tension, a cocktail of dread and jittery hype, like a bar before a brawl breaks out. Up top, the balcony crowd—Vlad’s suave cousins in slick capes—sipped drinks and laughed, their eyes flicking down every so often, sizing up the meat like it was a buffet. Detached, cold.

  Tyler’s gut twisted as it sank in. He was “Henry” now—some dead guy’s soul contract stuck to him like gum on a shoe, courtesy of that green ring weighing down his finger. He flexed his hand, feeling the other ring—Vlad’s silver trick—still tucked safe under his belt. This wasn’t a game he’d signed up for; it was a cosmic cage fight run by demi-gods and assholes with too much power. All he had was his Fate Core humming in his chest, that Lucky Charm vibe bending wills, and the same wits that’d gotten him out of bar fights and cop cars back home. Enough to survive? Fuck if he knew, but he wasn’t folding yet.

  He fished out Wormpool’s note—scratched in jagged ink on brittle paper: “Keep your head down, ‘Henry’ Living Lord Severen likes things that bleed.” Great. Real helpful, Batman. Tyler snorted, pocketing it in his new containment pouch with a mental flick—still weird, shoving stuff into a void bag like some RPG inventory hack.

  Time to work the room. He slapped on that grin—the one that’d talked bouncers out of tossing him, charmed strippers into real numbers—and started weaving through the crowd. A tusked green-skin grunted a nod, too dumb to care who he was. A long-eared chick with sharp eyes and sharper cheekbones flashed a smile back—damn, things might be looking up. A couple others, rough-looking humans maybe, smirked like they’d seen his type before. Lucky Charm was doing its thing, softening edges, but not everyone bought it.

  A shadow loomed—a broad bastard with gray skin and a scar splitting his lip, glaring from across the floor. Didn’t smile, didn’t blink, just stared like Tyler owed him money. “Fresh meat,” he growled, loud enough to turn heads. Tyler kept the grin, but his hand brushed the short sword at his hip—Basic 7 mastery or not, he wasn’t itching to test it yet. Above, a balcony prick leaned over the rail, cape fluttering, smirking.

  Tyler shrugged it off, sidling toward the long-eared chick instead. “Hey, you look like you know how this shitshow works. Name’s Henry—late to the party. What’s the play?” She raised an eyebrow, sizing him up, but that Lucky Charm glint in her eyes said he might just have a shot. Whatever this dungeon trial was, he’d bluff, hustle, and luck his way through—or die trying. Again.