I walked with purpose now, scanning the horizon for movement. The imp perched on my shoulder, unusually quiet. The pink sash fluttered against my ribs, the name tag catching what little light existed here.
After about ten minutes of walking, the imp shifted its weight.
"Daniel," it said.
"Yeah?"
"Can I ask you something?"
I glanced at it. The imp was staring straight ahead, not meeting my eye sockets.
"Sure."
The imp was quiet for a moment. When it spoke again, its voice was different. Smaller. Less certain.
"Do you think you can beat the Curator of Ruin?"
I stopped walking.
The question hung in the air between us. It wasn't theoretical. It had weight. Something personal.
"I don't know," I said honestly. "I'm level two. He's probably higher. And he's a boss. The odds aren't great."
"But do you think you can?" the imp pressed.
I turned to look at it properly. The imp was gripping my shoulder tighter than usual, its tiny claws digging into bone.
"Why are you asking?" I said slowly.
The imp didn't answer immediately. It looked away, toward the distant white structure of the Gallery.
"It's just..." it started, then stopped. "Never mind."
"No," I said. "You don't get to do that. You asked. Tell me why."
The imp's wings twitched. "It's stupid."
"I'm wearing a pink sash that says 'Please Don't Kill Me'. Nothing you say is going to be stupider than my entire existence."
That got a small, strangled laugh from the imp.
"Okay," it said finally. "The Curator keeps records. Of everything. Everyone who enters the Gallery. Everyone who tries to fight him. Everyone who passes through. He documents it all. Every detail. Every name. Every—" The imp paused. "Every origin."
I kept walking, slower now, giving the imp time to continue.
"I don't remember my name," the imp said quietly. "I told you that. I don't remember where I came from. What I was before I became a tutorial imp. But I don't remember any of it. Just... sitting in that room. Reorganizing shelves. Waiting."
"And you think the Curator might have records of you," I said.
"Maybe." The imp's voice cracked. "If anyone would have that information, it's him. He's obsessed with cataloging everything." It paused.
I looked ahead at the wasteland. At the distant structures on the horizon. At the endless red dirt stretching in every direction.
"So you want me to beat him," I said. "Not just to progress. But to get access to his records."
"I know it's selfish," the imp said quickly. "I know you have your own reasons for being here. Your own goals. I shouldn't be asking you to risk yourself for something this personal—"
"Stop," I said.
The imp stopped.
I kept walking, eyes scanning the terrain out of habit. Looking for movement. For threats. For anything that might require my attention.
"I don't have goals," I said. "Not really. I'm here because I died. Because everyone else died. Because this is where you go when that happens. I don't have a grand plan. I don't have a purpose. I'm just... moving forward because standing still feels worse."
The imp was silent.
"But you," I continued, "you have something specific. Something you want. And honestly?" I glanced at the imp. "That's more than I've got."
"So you'll—"
"I'm going to fight the Curator anyway," I said. "Eventually. When I'm strong enough. Or desperate enough. Whichever comes first. If we beat him and there are records, we'll look for your name. Deal?"
The imp stared at me.
"Deal," it said quietly.
We walked in silence for a while. The red dirt crunched under my feet. The gray sky pressed down overhead, featureless and vast.
"Daniel?" the imp said after a few minutes.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet," I said. "We might both die before we even get close."
"Still," the imp said. "Thank you."
I adjusted the pink sash and kept walking.
To my right, something moved in the distance. Small. Fast. Darting between patches of shadow.
"Movement," I said quietly.
The imp tensed. "Where?"
"Three o'clock. About a hundred feet."
I changed direction slightly, angling toward it. Whatever it was, it was keeping its distance. Watching. Waiting.
"What do you see?" I asked.
The imp squinted. "Two figures. Skeletons. But I don't see name tags—they're not human. They're circling."
"Circling us?"
"Circling something. Can't tell what yet."
I kept moving forward, slower now. More cautious. My hand drifted to my side, fingers brushing against my cracked rib. It still ached. A dull, persistent reminder that I could be hurt. That I could be broken.
The figures came into clearer view. Two skeletons. One carrying a makeshift spear—a long piece of sharpened metal bound to a wooden shaft. The other had what looked like a club: a thick bone wrapped in strips of dark cloth.
They were focused on something between them. Something low to the ground.
"What are they hunting?" I asked.
"Can't see from here," the imp said. "But whatever it is, it's not moving."
We got closer. Fifty feet. Forty.
The skeleton with the spear turned suddenly, its empty sockets locking onto us.
A tag appeared.
WASTELAND SCAVENGER
LEVEL 3
STATUS: TERRITORIAL
The second skeleton turned as well.
WASTELAND SCAVENGER
LEVEL 4
STATUS: HOSTILE
"Oh," I said. "That's not good."
The level four scavenger raised its club and started moving toward us.
My Delayed Reaction timer didn't activate. Not yet. We were still too far away. Still in that uncertain space where violence was possible but not inevitable.
"Daniel," the imp said urgently. "We should—"
The scavenger charged.
I turned and ran.
Behind me, I heard the sound of bones clattering against dirt. The scavengers were fast. Faster than the Ash Gnawers. Faster than I was.
"LEFT," the imp shouted.
I cut left, dodging around a cluster of broken stones. The club whistled past my shoulder, so close I felt the air displacement.
I kept running. The wasteland blurred around me. Red dirt. Gray sky. The distant white structure of the Gallery, impossibly far away.
My cracked rib screamed with every step.
"They're gaining," the imp said.
"I NOTICED."
Ahead, the ground dipped slightly—another depression in the landscape. I changed direction, sprinting toward it.
If I could get some distance. If I could find cover. If I could—
My Delayed Reaction activated.
2.4 seconds.
The spear-wielding scavenger had circled around. It was coming from my left, spear raised.
1.8 seconds.
The club-wielder was directly behind me, closing fast.
1.2 seconds.
I was trapped between them. No cover. No escape route. No—
0.6 seconds.
I dropped flat.
0.0 seconds.
Both scavengers collided above me with a bone-shattering crack.
I rolled away, scrambling to my feet. The two scavengers were tangled together, momentarily confused. The spear had gotten wedged between the club-wielder's ribs.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
I didn't wait. I ran.
The depression was close now. Ten feet. Five.
I jumped.
The ground dropped away beneath me. I landed hard at the bottom, ribs protesting violently. The impact rattled every bone in my body, but I forced myself to keep moving, scrambling deeper into the depression.
Above me, I heard the scavengers shouting at each other. Angry. Frustrated.
Then silence.
I pressed myself against the side of the depression and held perfectly still.
The imp didn't move. Didn't breathe. Just clung to my shoulder with tiny, trembling claws.
The footsteps continued. Passed overhead. Moved away.
I waited.
Counted to thirty.
Counted again.
Nothing.
A notification appeared.
EXPERIENCE GAINED: 20 XP
REASON: EVADED MULTIPLE SUPERIOR THREATS
CURRENT EXPERIENCE: 45 / 200
DELAYED REACTION QUEST PROGRESS: 4 / 10
I let out a breath I didn't have and slumped against the dirt wall.
"That was close," the imp whispered.
"Yeah."
"Too close."
"Yeah."
I looked up at the edge of the depression. At the gray sky beyond.
"I need to get stronger," I said. "A lot stronger."
I sat there for another minute, letting my bones settle. Letting the fear drain away.
Then I noticed something.
The depression didn't just slope downward—it continued. A narrow passage, barely wide enough for me to squeeze through, leading deeper into the earth.
"Daniel," the imp said. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking those scavengers might come back," I said. "And I'm thinking we need somewhere to go that isn't up."
The imp looked at the passage. "You want to go down?"
"Why not?"
The imp didn't answer.
I moved toward the passage, crouching low. The walls pressed in on either side, rough and cold. My cracked rib protested with every movement, but I kept going.
The passage sloped downward. Gradually at first, then more steeply. I had to brace myself against the walls to keep from sliding.
"This feels like a terrible idea," the imp muttered.
"Most of my ideas feel that way."
The passage opened suddenly into a wider space. I stumbled forward, catching myself before I fell.
We were in a clearing of sorts.
Three small wooden structures stood in a rough triangle around a central point. Houses, maybe. Or something that used to be houses. The wood was weathered and gray, the planks warped and splitting. Each structure had a single door and no windows. They looked ancient. Forgotten.
In the center of the triangle was a well.
Stone walls, crumbling at the edges. A wooden crossbeam overhead with a frayed rope hanging down into darkness. The well opening was about three feet across, ringed with moss that looked black in the dim light.
I approached slowly, scanning the area for movement. Nothing. The space was empty. Silent.
As I got within ten feet of the well, text materialized in the air above it.
ZONE QUEST DISCOVERED:
THE CREATURE IN THE WELL
OBJECTIVE: INVESTIGATE THE WELL AND DEAL WITH WHATEVER LURKS WITHIN
REWARDS:
- RANDOM EQUIPMENT DROP (UNCOMMON QUALITY)
- RANDOM EQUIPMENT DROP (COMMON QUALITY)
- SKILL POINT +1
ACCEPT QUEST? [YES] / [NO]
I stared at the notification.
"Three rewards," the imp said quietly. "That's... actually pretty good."
"No experience though," I noted.
"No, but a skill point?" The imp shifted on my shoulder. "That's worth more than experience at this stage. You could upgrade Pocket Sand. Or save it for something else."
I looked at the well. At the rope hanging down into darkness. At the three wooden structures surrounding it.
"What do you think is down there?" I asked.
"Nothing good," the imp said. "Wells in the afterlife don't usually contain water."
"What do they contain?"
"Things that used to be alive. Things that wish they were still alive. Things that are angry about not being alive anymore."
"So, the usual."
"Pretty much."
I walked around the well, keeping my distance. The rope swayed slightly, though there was no wind. The wooden structures remained silent. No movement. No sounds.
"Should we check the houses first?" the imp suggested. "Before accepting the quest?"
"Good idea."
I approached the nearest structure. The door hung crooked on rusted hinges. I pushed it open with my foot, staying back in case something lunged out.
Nothing.
Inside was mostly empty. A single wooden table, collapsed in the corner. Shelves along one wall, bare except for dust and what might have been dried blood. The floor was packed dirt, disturbed in places like something had been dragged across it.
"Cozy," the imp said.
I moved to the second structure. Same layout. Same emptiness. This one had claw marks on the walls—long, deep gouges that went all the way through the wood in some places.
"Something was very upset here," the imp observed.
"Or very hungry."
The third structure was different. The door was intact. Closed. When I pushed it open, it resisted slightly, like something was pressing against it from inside.
I shoved harder. The door swung inward.
The interior was darker than the others. A shape huddled in the far corner. Small. Motionless.
"Daniel," the imp warned.
I stepped inside, eyes adjusting to the gloom.
It was a skeleton. Child-sized. Curled into a ball with its arms wrapped around its knees.
Daniel hadn't seen a child—living or dead—in over forty years. The sight hit him harder than he expected. His mind immediately went to his daughter. To memories he'd buried so deep he'd almost convinced himself they didn't exist anymore.
On the ground next to the skeleton was a small wooden toy. A carved figure. Too worn to tell what it used to be.
From his research in those years on Earth, Daniel knew enough about skeletal anatomy to recognize certain markers. The pelvic structure. The skull shape. This had been a girl.
His daughter would have been in her fifties by now, if the world hadn't ended. If she'd survived. If any of a thousand different things had gone differently.
He stood there longer than he should have, staring at the small curled form in the corner. The imp on his shoulder stayed uncharacteristically quiet.
Finally, he backed out of the structure and closed the door quietly, something heavy settling in his chest that had nothing to do with being dead.
"This place is wrong," he said, his voice quieter than before.
"Most places here are wrong," the imp replied. "But yes. This one feels worse than usual."
I returned to the well. The quest notification still hung in the air, waiting.
"We don't have to do this," the imp said. "We could keep moving. Find another way forward."
I looked at the notification again. At the rewards. At the rope swaying over darkness.
"A skill point," I said. "And equipments."
I reached out and mentally selected [YES].
The notification shifted.
QUEST ACCEPTED: THE CREATURE IN THE WELL
TIMER: NONE
FAILURE CONDITION: DEATH
GOOD LUCK, DANIEL KERES
VIEWERS: 16
I grabbed the rope. It felt ancient. I lowered myself over the edge. The rope creaked but held. I descended hand over hand, the stone walls closing in around me. The light from above faded quickly, replaced by a dim phosphorescent glow coming from below.
The well was deeper than it looked. Twenty feet. Thirty. The walls were slick with moisture that definitely wasn't water.
"Do you see anything?" the Imp whispered.
"Not yet."
Forty feet down, the walls changed. Instead of smooth stone, I saw carved openings. Small doors. Tiny balconies jutting out from the circular wall, no bigger than my hand. Rope bridges connecting them, swaying in air currents that shouldn't exist underground.
"Daniel."
"I see it."
Lanterns hung from the balconies. Not normal lanterns—these were made from skulls. Tiny skulls, maybe the size of walnuts, hollowed out and filled with something that glowed pale green.
I kept descending. More doors. More balconies. The architecture spiraled around the interior of the well like a vertical settlement carved into the stone itself.
Fifty feet. Sixty.
The rope ended.
I looked down. The bottom was maybe ten feet below—a circular floor made of fitted stone, illuminated by dozens of the tiny skull-lanterns. I could see movement down there. Small shapes scurrying around.
I let go.
The landing jarred my cracked rib violently. I dropped to one knee, pain flaring through my chest. The imp tumbled off my shoulder, caught itself, scrambled back up.
"Ow," I said.
"Ow," the imp agreed.
I looked up.
The bottom of the well opened into a proper underground chamber—circular, maybe thirty feet across. The walls were covered with the tiny carved dwellings, stacked five or six levels high. Rope bridges crisscrossed the space overhead. In the center was a small plaza, paved with smooth stones arranged in concentric circles.
And standing in that plaza were skeletons.
Tiny skeletons.
Maybe eight inches tall. Two dozen of them, arranged in neat rows, staring up at me with empty eye sockets.
They were dressed. Actual clothes—little tunics made from scraps of fabric, tiny boots, miniature belts. One wore what looked like a hat made from a dried leaf.
For a long moment, nobody moved.
Then someone rang an alarm.
It was a ribcage. An actual ribcage, suspended from a wooden frame, being struck with a femur by a skeleton wearing what appeared to be a security guard's uniform. The sound echoed through the chamber—hollow and discordant.
Chaos erupted.
The tiny skeletons scattered in every direction. Some ran for the carved doorways. Others grabbed weapons—spears the size of toothpicks, swords made from sharpened bone fragments. A group of them formed a defensive line in front of the largest doorway, holding their tiny weapons with both hands.
"SURFACE BREACH!" someone shouted. The voice was high-pitched but deadly serious. "SOUND THE GENERAL ALARM!"
Another ribcage alarm started ringing. Then a third.
"Daniel," the imp said slowly. "I think we might be the creature in the well."
"Yeah. I'm getting that impression."
A door at ground level swung open. A skeleton emerged, larger than the others—maybe ten inches tall. It wore a formal jacket made from dark fabric and carried a staff topped with a tiny skull. A name tag materialized above its head as it approached.
MAYOR OF DEPTH
LEVEL 6
STATUS: EXTREMELY DIPLOMATIC
The Mayor of Depth walked to the center of the plaza with measured, dignified steps. It stopped about five feet from where I was kneeling, planted its staff, and looked up at me.
"Hold," it said, voice clear and commanding despite its size. "HOLD!"
The alarms stopped. The tiny skeletons froze mid-panic. Weapons remained raised. Everyone stared at the Mayor.
The Mayor looked at me. Then at the imp. Then back at me.
"State your purpose, Surface God."
I blinked. "I'm not—"
"He's not a god," the imp said quickly.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd of tiny skeletons. The ones with weapons shifted nervously.
"Then an Omen," said a voice from the crowd. "A Herald of Collapse!"
"He's going to crush us!" another shouted.
"SILENCE," the Mayor commanded. The crowd went quiet immediately. The Mayor turned back to me. "If you are not a god, and not an omen, then what brings you to the Depth Settlement? We have had no contact with the surface in three hundred years."
"I..." I looked at the imp. The imp shrugged. I looked back at the Mayor. "I accepted a quest. About a creature in the well."
More murmurs. These sounded offended.
"A creature," the Mayor said flatly.
"That's what it said."
"We are not creatures. We are citizens. We have a postal system."
"I can see that. I apologize for the misunderstanding."
The Mayor studied me for a long moment. Then it struck its staff against the ground three times. "Lower weapons. This is now a formal negotiation."
The tiny skeletons lowered their weapons slowly, clearly reluctant. They didn't disperse though. They stayed in formation, watching.
The Mayor gestured to someone in the crowd. Another skeleton hurried forward carrying a wooden box. It set the box down, and the Mayor stepped onto it, gaining maybe an inch of height.
"I am Ossian, Mayor of Depth Settlement, Fourth Custodian of the Deep Council, Keeper of the Lower Records." The Mayor—Ossian—spoke with the gravity of someone announcing a royal title. "This settlement has endured for sixteen generations. We have survived two collapse events, one flood of refuse, and one incursion by the Worm of Appetites. We are a sovereign entity."
"Noted," I said.
"And yet," Ossian continued, "you arrive from above, unannounced, during our most dire hour."
I paused. "Dire hour?"
"Yes." Ossian's voice dropped. "We face a crisis that threatens our very existence. A crisis that has left us... in need of outside intervention."
The crowd shifted uncomfortably. Some of the tiny skeletons looked away.
"What kind of crisis?" the imp asked.
Ossian hesitated. Then gestured to the far side of the chamber. "Come. You will see."
The Mayor descended from its box and began walking. I stood slowly, careful not to step on anyone. The crowd parted, giving me a wide berth. They watched with a mixture of fear and desperate hope.
Ossian led me to the edge of the chamber, where the stone floor met the wall. There was a crack—a jagged split in the ground, maybe six inches wide. Green light seeped from below, pulsing slowly.
"This appeared four days ago," Ossian said. "It grows wider each day. And from below..."
A sound drifted up through the crack. Low. Rhythmic. Like breathing, but wrong. Too wet. Too deliberate.
"Something sleeps beneath us," Ossian said quietly. "Something vast. We do not know what it is. We do not know when it will wake. But when it does..."
The breathing sound grew louder for a moment. The floor trembled slightly. Dust fell from the carved dwellings above.
Then it stopped.
Silence.
Ossian looked up at me. "You say you came here to deal with a creature. Perhaps your quest was not mislabeled after all."
I stared down at the crack. At the green light. At the darkness below.
"What do you want me to do?" I asked.
"We need you to go down there," Ossian said. "And ensure it does not wake."
The imp made a small strangled noise.
"And if I can't stop it from waking?"
Ossian was quiet for a moment. "Then we hope you can kill it before it kills us all."
Another tremor. Stronger this time. The breathing sound rose again—closer, louder. Something massive shifting in the dark below.
A new notification appeared.
QUEST UPDATED: THE CREATURE IN THE WELL
NEW OBJECTIVE: DESCEND INTO THE CRACK AND CONFRONT WHAT SLEEPS BELOW
WARNING: THREAT LEVEL UNKNOWN
OPTIONAL: SPEAK WITH MAYOR OSSIAN FOR MORE INFORMATION
I looked at the crack. Then at Ossian. Then at the hundreds of tiny skeletons watching me with desperate, hollow eyes.
"I'll do it," I said.
Ossian studied me for a long moment. Then nodded slowly. "You have our gratitude, Surface God."
"Still not a god."
"Perhaps not yet." Ossian turned to the crowd. "CITIZENS OF DEPTH! This traveler has agreed to descend! Prepare the descent equipment!"
The tiny skeletons burst into coordinated action. Some ran to the carved dwellings and emerged with coils of rope—thread, really, but rope to them. Others hauled out tiny lanterns. A group of three carried what looked like a map drawn on parchment.
"We have little to offer in payment," Ossian said, turning back to me. "But what we have is yours. Supplies. Information. And—" The Mayor paused. "—if you succeed, the eternal alliance of the Depth Settlement."
"That sounds nice," the imp said weakly. "But you don't need to give me anything… seriously."
I looked down at the crack again. The green light pulsed. The breathing continued, slow and wet and wrong.
Whatever was down there, it was big. And it was waiting.
"I'm going down now."