It was Alan’s first time visiting the Sanctuary’s prison. It was quite easy to miss because from the outside it looked like parts of the concrete ruins one could find buried everywhere in the forest. Just a slab of greyness, covered in dirt and surrounded by taller buildings made of all sorts of things. A remnant of what once was. Reminders of Earth, and the life before the System wrecked everything.

  Alan had wondered if it was worth exploring the vast underground seemingly permeating the endless forest. He had gone down twice—once when he met Ig-Thun after escaping the awful Echidna, and the second time for his breakthrough but that had been a minimal experience. How deep did it lead, how connected were all the tunnels, and could they perhaps be used?

  More importantly, was there something to be gained by going deeper? If the world was as large as he thought it was, then the possibilities were endless. It was not like the System to not make use of such a resource.

  It sounded like a productive use of time. If not anything else, a system of underground tunnels made from the ruins of human civilization was a great backup for when shit hit the fan. An escape route, or a base of operations. Alan noted to ask Rosalyn if the World Temple could be moved, or perhaps hidden. There was war brewing, after all, and something made him doubt they had years to grow and explore. The cheating Empire of the bug people was bound to come to take all they could.

  There were many other things and ideas to explore though. The oath he had made was bearing down on him the longer he postponed returning to that cursed place. The more time passed, the more he hated seeing it on his status page too, however. It was a stark reminder of mistakes, of weakness, and of failure. Erasing it felt like another step forward toward being better and realizing his true potential.

  The shadow fire inside him flickered, spreading its tendrils of power, and Alan took a deep breath to calm down. Every moment made him stronger, but levels were still the best way to grow, and it was time for him to go and earn a few.

  Right after satisfying his curiosity.

  The cells were square rooms adorned with classic iron bars. They were clean, with simple beds that were one with the floor and covered in the fluffy vegetation he was seeing everywhere. There were no locks, but most guards could control metal to some extent, so that seemed to serve as the mechanism. It wasn’t quite safe and excluded anyone with similar abilities from being locked up, but it was something.

  The corridor he was led through was of thick walls of human make. The telltale signs of barely mastered skills were evident, and Alan knew first-hand how difficult it was to sculpt details or even a smooth surface. This was no ruin, even if it was fashioned after one on top. However, the deeper they went the more Alan felt it. Something else. Something not of human make. It was probably the World Temple-bought cell that held Bob the Immortal.

  He couldn’t quite get over the silly name.

  There were very few prisoners, and they mostly stayed silent, meditating or sleeping. The prison was not a particularly terrifying place, nor did it make him feel like he was in an asylum.

  Rosalyn had done good. The guard she had sent to escort him begrudgingly led him deeper, where what he had felt finally snapped his senses shut like they were not worth the consideration. It was a block of dark stone and the rest of the prison seemed to be built around it. This one was certainly made by the System. It was reminiscent of his Tower, although very different as well. He shared a connection with the former—one of ownership. This here was felt almost threatening, and for a moment Alan wondered if it could perhaps be used to hold him. Could he escape using all his power? Were his shadows, his insights, his gifts enough?

  No, that’s paranoid. Rosalyn wouldn’t do me like that. Would she? Probably in the far future, when power was much more stabilized. She knew he didn’t want her position. Hell, Rosalyn herself didn’t want her position. It was a burden, but someone had to do it. Alan was fine with mostly anyone, as long as it wasn’t him.

  The guard stopped. He was a sullen-faced guy with a solid body clad in metal armor, and a large axe strapped to his back. Another variety of a warrior. Alan wasn’t about to try and keep up with all the weirdly named classes, as long as they weren’t coming for him.

  “You sure about this, boss?” the man asked. “He’s kind of crazy.”

  “I’m afraid I’m both sure and crazy as well. Do you want to come in with me? I’d feel better knowing you won’t shut the door behind me.”

  The guard was trusted by Rosalyn, but Alan didn’t know him. The man quickly paled and shuffled in place. “I wouldn’t like that very much. This guy is kind of scary, and if he goes crazy, I’ll become a splatter on the wall. I’m only level eighty. And I wouldn’t betray you, boss. I saw what you did to those people…”

  Aha. A perfectly good play to convince me to allow him to stay on the outside and close the door behind my back, isn’t it? What would Xil say? ‘Come on, Alan. Don’t be a little bitch.’ Or, ‘Kill him! He lies!’. If he does that then all I have to do is kill everyone, right? It will pain me greatly, but I might at least unlock some special ‘dark’ powers from it.

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  Alan chuckled, then froze. Even the sarcastic thoughts seemed to make the whispering shadows in his mind more enthused. They were quite bloodthirsty lately.

  “Alright. Don’t betray me, Samuel.”

  “My name isn’t—”

  Alan stepped through what seemed an open door and instantly felt the change. An oppressive force severed his ability to sense mana, making him panic for just a brief moment. The sensation was so ingrained in him that it was a part of him. A constant presence that buzzed in the depths of his soul along with all the voices and thoughts he had. A new sense he had grown reliant on.

  Having it disappear to an extent that made him unable to observe even the inner flow of his mana was ridiculous, but he gritted his teeth and endured. His skills were there, and shadows played along his fingertips, and bled through his mouth, slowly permeating the room and outside of it.

  Just in case.

  The prisoner in question was chained by dark iron chains coming from both the ceiling and the floor of the bare cell. They were not taught, so he was allowed to sit on the floor. There was no reaction as Alan walked closer. None at all.

  I wonder how fucked he was before that? It can’t be my skill causing all this.

  Rosalyn had said she’d questioned the guy using her abilities, but there was little she had learned apart from his name and some useless details. It was impressive, considering her class was one of the rarer and most annoying ones Alan had heard of. He wanted to know more of the sagird—a line of questioning Rosalyn hadn’t known to pursue at the time. Perhaps he could’ve left it to her, but… he had to meet the guy.

  “Hey, Bob. Remember me?”

  The man flinched, and then his face lifted. Dark hopeless eyes met Alan’s for a few moments, and then the ‘Immortal’ started thrashing. The chains grew taut instantly, lifting him in the air and forcing him into an ‘X’ position.

  Poor guy.

  “Hey, hey. It’s alright. Rust is dead, you know?”

  The man snapped to attention.

  “You killed him?” the voice was rough, like steel. Sane enough to give Alan a pause.

  “I did, yes.”

  “His corpse? His belongings? Where are they? WHERE?” the man screamed suddenly, yanking at the chains.

  His skills seemed to be suppressed. Was it the chains, or because he was the prisoner of this room? The System was scarier by the day.

  “Lost, unfortunately. All of it. It was outside of my control.” Not quite, but… was there a treasure? Something that controlled this guy? Rust, you sly fox. Even in accidental and absolutely weird deaths, you keep annoying me.

  “No… No… my dear. My dear. He promised. He promised to bring her back. All I had to do was grow. To live. To have endless vitality. All I had to do. All I had to do. All I had to do.”

  All the fight left the man, and he hung limply on the chains as he muttered those last five words. Slowly as if understanding what had transpired the chains slackened and lowered him down.

  Alan remained frozen for what felt like an eternity. He was confused. Growing one’s vitality was a given to most people, but… doing it for someone else? And who was this ‘dear’? Had he, unknowingly, fucked something else up apart from Rust's megalomania?

  “What are you talking about, Bob? Tell me, and maybe I can help. You know how strong I am.”

  Ugh, I feel dirty just saying these things.

  The man lifted his head.

  “Robert. My name is Robert.”

  “Ah, that sounds better. See, there’s just not much Bob the ‘Immortal’ does for image, you know?”

  “My daughter,” Robert said and Alan shut his mouth. “My daughter died, but Rust kept her body. He told me he knew of a ritual that could bring her back, but he needed a lot of vitality for it. The towers in the Sanctuary… I served. I killed. Each point—each point was for her. And then… you took them! I’ll kill you! I’LL END YOU”

  The last words were like a bark. A snarl of a rabid beast. They reeked of hate, and for just a moment, Alan’s finger twitched and the shadows fueled by the shadow fire of the harvester moved. He stopped them just in time before tendrils of pitch black stabbed at the fuming man.

  Alan took a few moments to calm himself down. It was not anger, nor fear that had prompted him to act. Rather, it was an annoyance that someone could blame him for things he knew nothing about. Rust had obviously lied, but looking around those towers was still something he planned to make Mayra do. She understood such things better.

  Could it be possible they were no simple buildings purchased as status symbols, but the beginnings of a ritual? What had Rust planned to do with all the people he had gathered? He had obviously culled the number of people while taking the Sanctuaries.

  I should ask questions before I kill people next time. Fall to the ground and pretend I’ve lost or something. Get at least a monologue out of them… Goddamn it.

  Without another word, Alan turned around and left the prisoner behind. He felt sorry for the man, but his capacity for compassion was dulled. There was only so much one could take before darkness spread like cancer and suffocated empathy. And in Alan’s case, he had a whole army of voices urging him to do so.

  “How’d it go, boss?” the guard asked with worry.

  “Lovely. He was awfully chatty. Would you be nice enough to tell Rosalyn that I’ll leave some info with ‘the witch’? She’ll find it useful.”

  “Sure thing, boss. But why—”

  “Thanks.”

  Alan left for his Tower, not stopping to observe the Sanctuary or its people for long. Top Rabbit was gone, and Turtle was locked up in his room performing a weird ritual. Emerson was uninterested in growing for the time being, and Mayra was doing her own thing. Rosalyn had a Sanctuary to run, and as much as Alan wanted to make the process easier, he was not in a selfless mood.

  After a short rest, he gathered himself and again checked on the harvester’s shadow. It was smaller than before. Of course, smaller in this case meant that large parts of it had become parts of him. Alan almost felt like it was making him regress in some ways, driving him toward a more primal state. One where survival and self-preservation trumped common sense.

  I think I should let off some steam, fulfill the oath and see what happens, and maybe check on my rotting friends. I should have enough time.