Jace climbed up the stone steps, each one cracked and warped, as if countless feet had walked this path long ago—never to return. The stale air of the dungeon below clung to his clothes, a thick, suffocating reminder of the battles fought on the lower floors. But as he stepped onto the next level, something changed. Drastically.
The air itself had shifted, pressing in around him, like an unseen weight settling over his shoulders.
A vast, dead world stretched out before him.
The ground was parched and fractured, veins of blackened earth forming deep cracks that swallowed the light. It was as if the land itself had its vitality sucked from within its very existence, stripped of life long before his arrival.
Twisted, skeletal trees jutted from the ground in sparse groves, their bark long since peeled away, leaving only gnarled, claw-like limbs reaching toward the sky.
And the sky…
It was wrong.
A graveyard of color, suffocated beneath thick, motionless clouds—varying shades of gray, as if time itself had withered here. No sun. No wind. No sound. Only an unsettling stillness.
This floor was completely different from the last two. Those had followed a pattern: corridors, blood, battle. A rhythm of survival, brutal yet predictable. He’d expected more of the same—more fighting, more screeching undead, more lunging at him the moment he stepped forward. He was mentally prepared for it.
Instead, he was met with nothing.
No rustling of movement. No shifting shadows. Just the suffocating silence of a world long past its final breath. It was eerie.
Jace’s breath came slow and measured. His fingers flexed around the bone arm he carried as a weapon. He glanced at it, letting out a dry chuckle with the shake of his head. It was ridiculous, really. Fighting his way through the last bit of the dungeon with a severed piece of some undead Draugr.
Yet, the absurdity did nothing to ease the pit forming in his stomach. His heart began to pound. Each pulse was a drum beat in his chest, deafening in the quiet of the barren field ahead of him.
The unsettling silence pressed in harder. Every moment it was stretching, becoming thicker, more oppressive. He waited, eyes narrowed, scanning the empty horizon, desperate for any sign of movement, any shift in the stillness. But there was nothing. No sign of life. No hint of danger.
His breath grew shallow, each exhale rattling in his chest. His heartbeat grew louder, drowning out everything else. Thud-thud-thud—louder, faster, more insistent. There was nothing to see, but his body was already poised, waiting for something. Anything.
The tension wrapped around his nerves like a vice, each moment dragging him deeper into a coil of dread.
Fear was easy when you had an enemy in front of you. When your weapons were drawn, your opponent charging, you could focus on the battle, the chaos, the action. There was clarity in that chaos, a purpose, a direction. But this—this—was nothing like that.
This was anticipation.
Jace had learned the hard way that anticipation was far worse. The unknown clawed at your insides, scrambled your thoughts, made your heart race, and caused your stomach churn with uncertainty. The longer you waited, the heavier it became. The weight of it pressing down on your chest, squeezing out any sense of control.
“This is so much worse,” he muttered under his breath, agreeing with his thoughts, but even that felt too loud. His voice seemed to violate the unspoken rule of this dead place.
His throat was dry, he swallowed the saliva in his mouth trying to remedy it. The longer he stood there, frozen in place, the more that sense of unease burrowed deeper, digging into his spine, making his muscles twitch with a need to move.
Nothing happened.
‘Move…’ he thought.
Still, nothing. His terror screamed to stay put.
‘Move, damn it…’
With a sharp exhale, he forced himself to take a single step forward. His boot struck the brittle ground with a crunch that was far too loud, echoing across the wasteland like an avalanche of crumbling dirt.
He winced as the sound sliced through the air, the tension breaking with the sharpness of his step. He gulped and took another step. This time he tried to remain quiet like he was stealthily walking over broken glass.
He moved carefully, deliberately, each step a test, each one daring the world to react.
And then—it did.
A sudden whisper in the silence. A shift in the air. A flicker of movement—not ahead... but above.
A shape, barely discernible against the unmoving clouds above, suddenly moved. It wasn’t much—just a shadow at first, but enough to freeze him in place. His breath hitched in his chest, his senses screaming that something was coming. Something vast.
The air around him seemed to tighten further. His skin prickled, the hairs on the back of his neck standing at attention.
Then, the world convulsed sharpening the long drawn out quiet.
A violent gust of wind slammed into him like a hammer, knocking the breath from his lungs. He staggered, barely staying on his feet, bracing against the onslaught as the wind howled. It wasn’t just the wind, though. No, this wind carried with it the stench of rot. It was thick and heavy, the nauseating, cloying smell of decay that seemed to crawl inside his nostrils, suffocating him from the inside out. And it was old. Far older than anything he'd ever encountered. Something ancient. Something… wrong.
Jace froze. His muscles locked in place as the air itself seemed to warp around him.
Then—
It screeched.
A sound that wasn’t just heard—it was felt.
The scream detonated across the wasteland, an explosion of agony that ripped through the silence with such force it seemed to tear the air itself. It was a wretched, gurgling shriek, like a lion’s roar dragged through rusted chains, mixed with the snarls of something that had forgotten how to breathe. Something beyond the natural world.
It wasn’t just a sound, though, it was a presence. A force that slammed into him, clawing at his skull, rattling his brain, worming its way into his very bones.
His ears rang. His knees nearly buckled from the pressure, the sheer force of the scream sending a wave of dizziness through him.
And then—
The shadow moved.
The clouds swirled above him, then they broke apart as a shape tore free from the now churning clouds. Something massive, spiraling downward in a grotesque dance of broken bones and decayed sinew. The creature plummeted toward him, its wings flaring open with a terrible grace.
A wyvern.
But not just any wyvern.
This wasn’t the living, primal creature of legend that ruled the skies. This was something else. Something far darker.
This was a corpse, given flight. Undeath in its most disturbing form.
The creature crashed to the earth a few hundred feet from him with a thunderous impact, the ground splitting under its weight, cracks shooting outward like a spider’s web. Debris exploded into the air, dust and decay rolling outward in waves as the wyvern rose. Its skeletal frame creaked and groaned as it stretched, towering above him, impossibly large even from far away.
Its hollow eye sockets burned with an eerie, violet glow. A spectral fire flickering and pulsing as if alive with malevolent energy. Tattered, rotting flesh clung to its bones in long strips, the remnants of its former self stretched thin across the frame like tattered rags. Its wings—torn and frayed from ages of decay—unfurled with a terrible grace, their jagged edges sending another choking cloud of dust into the air.
A long, sinuous tail—cracked and covered in sharp, jagged bone—snaked behind it. Its snout snapped and hissed in the air like a predator tasting the air for its prey.
This was like nothing he had ever seen.
He quickly cast Analyze and his eyes flicked to the creature’s screen, desperate to find any sign of what it was—what he was about to face.
Undead Abyssal Wyvern
Ancient Protector of the Barren Plains.
Level: Unknown
Weaknesses: Unknown
Strengths: Unknown
Warning…
Signs of Corruption Detected…
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Pain lanced through Jace’s skull, sharp and insistent, like his Analyze skill was trying to pierce something it had no right to touch. A foreign pressure, cold and suffocating, coiled around his thoughts like a vice, threatening to crush him.
He felt its presence, an overwhelming wrongness that pressed against his very soul. It wasn’t just fear—it was the kind of gut-deep, primal terror that came from standing in the presence of something that had mastered death.
Something that enjoyed it.
Jace’s muscles locked. His body refused to move. His own instincts betrayed him, locking him in place like prey caught in the gaze of a wolf.
No matter how strong he Had gotten, in this beast's presence he knew he was nothing more than prey.
Then the wyvern shifted, its neck raising with unnatural grace.
A great, heaving breath rattled throughout the wasteland. The sound was wet, a gruesome mixture of bone grinding against bone and something far too organic. A sickly, rotting cloud roiled through the air—thick and cloying, utterly wrong.
Twin embers of sickly greenish-purple fire burned deep within its hollow sockets, locking onto him with predatory intent. That unnatural glow pulsed in eerie rhythms, flickering like something evil.
“Is that… the corruption?” A chill crawled down Jace’s spine.
This isn’t just undeath.
Fissures of writhing purple energy coursed through its bones like veins, pulsing—as if feeding it, sustaining it. Whatever foul magic had created this abomination had gone beyond simple necromancy. It was something else entirely.
A flicker of movement—
Jace clenched his jaw. This was happening. The fight was coming. And he was going to survive it.
His grip tightened around his bone weapon grounding him in the moment. He could feel the fine cracks in its surface, the imperfections, the weight—it was real. Tangible. A reminder that he could fight.
The wyvern flared its wings, kicking up a storm of dust and bone fragments.
Then, without warning, it moved.
Not sluggishly. Not stiffly.
Fast.
Jace barely had time to react before the creature’s maw opened, and a torrent of rot and decay exploded from its throat.
The breath attack wasn’t like fire. It was worse. It poured out in a thick, putrid cloud, a vile, bubbling mass of corrosive sludge that ate through the air itself. The stench hit him first—foul, rancid, thick enough to choke on. His eyes burned, his lungs seized, every instinct in his body screamed at him to run.
He moved.
Jace threw himself sideways, rolling hard over loose bones and jagged debris. Pain flared up his arms as he scraped across rough stone, but he didn’t stop. The breath attack surged past him, missing by inches—but even in its wake, the air itself felt wrong.
His exposed skin prickled, his muscles tensed involuntarily. The very ground where the breath landed sizzled, corroding into blackened, bubbling sludge.
“I do NOT want to get hit by that.” Jace’s stomach twisted.
He scrambled to his feet, sucking in a breath—only to cough as the lingering stench clawed at his throat. His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he scanned the wyvern and his surroundings.
Think. THINK.
Undead. What were their weaknesses? Fire? Holy magic? Healing magic?
I have NONE of those.
But—blunt force.
That, he could work with. He just had to get close.
His grip tightened on his weapon as he circled to the beast’s left side. He had to time this just right. He had to—
The ground shifted.
Jace barely had time to react before he plunged downward.
The world tilted and rolled violently. His stomach lurched as he tumbled down.
Shit—!
He hit the ground hard, slamming onto a mound of something soft and wet. His breath left him in a sharp wheeze. Panic surged through him as he scrambled to his feet—
Then his brain caught up with his senses.
Oh. No.
He wasn’t standing on stone or dirt. He was standing on corpses.
The pit was filled with them. Broken bones, half-rotted corpses, shattered skulls, twisted remnants of adventurers who had come before him and failed. The stench of death—raw, thick, suffocating, just like everything in the dungeon—coiled around him like an embrace.
Above, the wyvern’s skeletal form loomed in the distance.
Jace swallowed hard.
He needed to move.
A sharp, searing pain flared in his shoulder.
His vision blurred as a notification flickered into view.
Debuff Applied: [Decay Poison]
Your flesh begins to rot beneath the skin. Suffering 5 HP damage per second. Duration: 60 seconds.
Warning: Healing effects reduced while active.
His eyes darted to his health bar. It was nearly full—but dropping.
His stomach twisted as he looked down.
The tattered remains of his shirt sizzled where the breath attack had touched him. The creeping rot spread, devouring fabric, flesh—everything it touched.
Jace didn’t hesitate. He tore the fabric away, gritting his teeth as the motion sent another jolt of pain through his body. His skin beneath was raw, the corruption barely held at bay.
“I can’t take another hit like that.” His eyes flickered across the grave pit, searching, thinking. He needed a weapon. Something better. Something to keep him from getting blasted into oblivion.
Then, his gaze landed on something.
Bones.
Not just bones—armor. Weapons.
His bone club had triggered Improvised Bone Weapon.
Maybe…
Maybe he could do the same for armor.
Jace scrambled through the grave, hands moving on instinct. Most of the armor was useless—leather too rotted, metal corroded—but the bones?
The bones were plentiful.
His fingers closed around a set of thick ribs, breastbones, shattered pauldrons. He worked fast, binding them together with the remains of ruined armor, creating a makeshift shell of reinforced bone.
As he tightened the last piece, a notification popped up.
New Skill Acquired: [Improvised Bone Armor] (Rank 1) – Allows the creation of makeshift armor using available bone. Offers minimal protection, but can be crafted quickly in emergencies.
Jace grinned and he focused on the bone armor. Just then, the makeshift armor began shifting and solidified into something more structured. A bone helm, chest piece, greaves, and arm guards were rough. They provided no stats, but they were better than nothing. He guessed his skill wasn't high enough to create anything of decent quality.
He identified the pieces that lay on the ground before him.
Item: Crude Bone Helm
Type: Crafted Plate Armor
Rarity: Crude
Effect: Provides minimal defensive protection
Item: Crude Bone Breastplate
Type: Plate Armor
Rarity: Crude
Effect: Provides minimal defensive protection
Item: Crude Bone Vambraces
Type: Plate Armor
Rarity: Crude
Effect: Provides minimal defensive protection
Item: Crude Bone Greaves
Type: Plate Armor
Rarity: Crude
Effect: Provides minimal defensive protection
Honestly, they looked like shit. But they were his pieces of shit. The armor was crude, uneven, and ugly as sin, but he had made it. A rough sense of pride swelled in his chest, an odd contrast to the exhaustion weighing down his limbs. He’d never crafted armor before—hell, he wasn’t even sure if "shoving bones together until they stuck" counted as crafting—but it was his work. His hands had made something useful, something that might keep him alive.
Hopefully, he could infuse it too.
He pulled up his core progression. 35 out of 100. Not bad, but not great either. If he infused the armor now, he’d burn through 25 of his collected souls. A huge chunk. Too much of a gamble when he didn’t know if the armor would hold up in a real fight. Testing it first made more sense.
With a sigh, he picked up the armor and slipped it on. It was heavier than expected, the bone plates awkwardly shifting as they settled against his frame. A frown tugged at his lips—too big. It would slow him down. Just as he had that thought, the armor shuddered. The plates tightened, adjusting until they fit snugly against his body.
Jace blinked. “Huh. That was… convenient.”
Rolling his shoulders, he tested the weight. The armor wasn’t perfect, but it was something. He had no idea how much it would protect him, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to walk around unarmored if he had a choice.
Still, just having armor wasn’t enough. His makeshift bone nunchucks were solid but short-ranged only and he needed reach. If he had to wade into melee to deal damage, he’d take too many hits before he even got a chance to swing.
His gaze swept the scattered remains littering the ground, searching for anything useful. Most of it was shattered bones and rotted cloth, but something caught his eye—a collection of long, curved ribs, stripped clean and gleaming faintly in the dim light. Whatever they’d belonged to, it had been big.
Jace crouched and picked one up, running his fingers along the edge. The bone was surprisingly sharp, almost like it had been naturally honed over time. An idea sparked in his mind.
A few minutes of work later, he had fashioned together a set of makeshift spears—crude, but functional. They weren’t pretty, but they were sharp, and more importantly, they gave him options.
Jace exhaled, gripping one of the spears and testing its weight. Yeah… this would do. For now.
Skill Leveled Up! [Makeshift Bone Weapons] has reached Rank 3 – Create durable, vicious bone weaponry with enhanced lethality. Weapons forged at this rank can carry temporary enchantments drawn from nearby souls or ambient death magic. Bone structures now adapt to your fighting style—lengthening, splitting, or reinforcing mid-combat.
He smirked. “Now we’re talking.”
With his new skill thrumming in his mind, he focused on the spears. An itch sparked in the back of his skull—a strange, almost instinctive pull. He narrowed his eyes, willing the weapons to be longer, sharper, deadlier.
Something in his mind cracked.
It wasn’t painful, but it was sudden—like forcing open a door that had been rusted shut. The moment it gave way, his will surged forward, and the spears responded. The bones groaned, stretching slightly, their edges honing to a finer, almost unnatural point.
Jace’s breath hitched. “Holy shit.”
He turned the spears over in his hands, the weight unchanged despite their altered form. The change had been effortless, like guiding water along a path that had already been carved. It felt… right.
Now, he was ready.
Fastening his bone mace securely to his back, he gripped the spears—one in each hand. For an extra boost, he poured five souls into each weapon.
You have used 10 soul fragments.
25/100 soul fragments remaining.
The spears pulsed, faint tendrils of ethereal light weaving through their jagged surface. He felt it immediately—energy vibrating through his fingers, an unnatural warmth pushing back the ever-present chill of this forsaken place. The souls merged with the bone, reinforcing it, strengthening it.
He inhaled deeply, steadying himself. His eyes lifted to the lip of the mass grave, toward where he had last seen the wyvern. His fingers curled tighter around the spears, a smirk tugging at his lips.
“Alright, ugly. Round two.”
Jace vs. the Corrupted Undead Wyvern—how’s he doing so far?
