Ansel peeked his head around the corner, carefully scanning for any possible signs of monsters, and breathed a shallow sigh of relief when he realized there were none. Every moment he had spent thus far scouring the Tomb for the entrance to the boss room had felt agonizingly terrifying. The boy had never ventured off on his own, much less into a Zone Dungeon, cleared or otherwise. Doing so now without the reassurance of a party of stronger and more experienced adventurers was a new experience.

  In a way, however, it was slightly exhilarating.

  Making his way through the dungeon was a relatively simple task, considering the boy had already mentally tracked the route the first time he had entered. There were a handful of paths that he and the other members of Silverstride chose not to travel down that could’ve potentially held loot, but Ansel had neither the courage nor the strength to willingly travel down those paths. Curiously enough, there were also no signs of other adventurers attempting to loot the place, although that could be considered normal. It was only an E-Rank dungeon after all.

  A sound made Ansel stop in his tracks.

  Footsteps.

  Then, a snarl.

  An orc…? I’m so close to the boss room though… He thought, his mind jumbling into a frantic mess as he slowly felt for the dagger hanging at his waist.

  That’s when he spotted it. A single, lone orc, stumbling around in the dark with only a sword to his name. For any of the members in Silverstride, the solitary orc would’ve posed next to no threat, and they would’ve been able to dispatch of it without even blinking.

  For Ansel, that same orc spelled death. The door is just behind it, maybe I could sneak past? I could probably even outrun it. He thought to himself, but even as he did so, his own body betrayed his resolve. Beads of sweat dripped from his hands and face, and his heart hammered from within his chest, as if threatening to leap from his body and scurry off on its own. “I can do this,” the boy muttered under his breath, willing himself forward through sheer determination.

  Each step felt as if he were slogging through a pit of mud, slowing to a crawl as he grew closer and closer to the menacing orc. He watched as the grotesque green monster dug at its nose, slowly turning its back towards the adventurer approaching it.

  Then, Ansel slipped ever so slightly on a loose stone in his path, obscured by the darkness of the decrepit hallway, and the boy held his breath for one long moment.

  The orc roared, turning its attention to the boy and drawing its curved, iron blade.

  “Shit,” Ansel spat under his breath, freezing in place like a wounded animal.

  The orc began to charge.

  I’m gonna die. Ansel thought in despair, watching as the monster raised its sword.

  “Impudent child! Fight!” The strange, menacing voice from before screamed in Ansel’s mind. The boy drew his dagger on pure instinct, raising it in one motion and just barely deflecting the orc's attack. Ansel’s arm screamed in pain from the reverberation of the blow, but he wasted no time, darting forward and reaching out for the wooden door leading to the boss's room. He ripped it open, slamming it shut just in time to avoid a second attack from the orc, whose blade bounced off harmlessly from the door’s iron handle with a heavy clang.

  Ansel breathed a sigh of relief, raising a hand to his chest as he attempted to calm himself down. I did it, he thought. I fought a monster and didn’t die.

  A small accomplishment, but an accomplishment nonetheless.

  He glanced around, taking in the same room that he and the other members of Silverstride once fought within. The casket that Kortak, the Orc Champion, had crawled from was still half open, while remnants of the battle were still in place. Dried blood caked the floors of the tomb, while segments of the room were scratched and torn apart. Kortak’s corpse lay strewn between his fifteen orc summons, each one splayed out and completely lifeless, their armor clinging to their bodies as if they still required protection. Ansel was used to such a sight, having been brought along for numerous dungeon raids, but the stench still made him feel as if he would puke at any moment.

  “I’ve returned, alone, just like you asked. What do you want with me?” Ansel questioned aloud, but even as he spoke, he felt a creeping sensation from deep within his body.

  Why the hell did I come here alone? I’m going to die! He realized mentally.

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  The boy turned, frantically running to the door of the boss's room, laying one hand on the handle. But a thought stopped him. That orc is still out there. How am I going to escape?

  “Forget it, boy.” The sinister voice spat, its whisper in Ansel’s head only adding to the boy’s distress. “You cannot escape from my tomb.”

  “The Orc Champion?” Ansel asked, whirling around and staring at the lifeless body of Kortak, but the orc did not move.

  The voice within Ansel’s head laughed, then continued to speak. “A far stronger being resides here, boy.”

  “Who are you?” Ansel demanded, growing angrier. “And what do you want from me?”

  “Take my power, and bring me back.”

  Despite himself, the boy began to laugh. “I think you’re confused. I can’t even resurrect a squirrel. What makes you think I could bring you back, mysterious voice?”

  “Silence!”

  Ansel’s spine felt as if it would collapse on itself, and the boy knelt to the floor, briefly wondering how the invisible voice could physically affect him. It felt as if a crushing weight had suddenly appeared on his back, and it took everything Ansel had just to stay conscious.

  “A necromancer,” the voice chuckled once again. It quieted, and its next words came out much fainter. “The… hero… such… luck… resurrect… me…”

  The words were fragmented and impossible to decipher, but Ansel felt a strange sensation. Whenever he had attempted to use his only skill, Raise Undead, in the past, he had felt the same sensation. Luna had described it as the building of the mana within his body, which could then manifest into a skill, but Ansel had always felt like his mana was buried under miles of rock and stone, impossible to uncover.

  Now, however, it felt as if it were bursting at the seams, pouring from every crevice in the boy’s body.

  Is this… is this how it’s supposed to feel? Ansel wondered, but the sensation slowly began to grow stronger and even began to feel painful.

  Unimaginably painful.

  “What… what are you doing to me?” Ansel gasped, ripping at his clothes as if he could tear the mana out of his body with his bear hands.

  “The… casket…” The sinister voice croaked, its voice even fainter than before.

  Without bothering to think, not that Ansel even could with the pain ripping through his body, the boy slowly inched forward, stumbling as he took his final step, barely holding on to the rim of the casket’s body. The necromancer didn’t need further prompting, closing his eyes and focusing on his one and only skill, remembering all the lessons his former adventuring parties had attempted to teach him. Unlike before, however, he felt something happen.

  [Raise Undead failed, (1/3), Retry?]

  “Failed?!” The voice roared, louder, but still fading.

  Ansel closed his eyes, letting the mana surge from his fingertips as he attempted to cast the skill again.

  [Raise Undead failed, (2/3), Retry?]

  “Worthless!” The voice raged.

  “I’m… not… worthless!” Ansel screamed in retort, activating the skill for the final time.

  [Raise Undead]

  The boy felt the pain subside immediately, gasping for air as he did, loosening his iron-tight grip on the casket. He slid to the floor like his bones had become jelly, resting for a brief moment before finally opening his eyes.

  What he saw made him scream in terror.

  “What the hell is that?!”

  A monstrous figure, clad in a dark suit of armor, stood over him. It towered above the boy, standing at least seven or eight feet tall, and in one hand the monster wielded a humongous greatsword, easily a foot taller than Ansel himself. A dark, purple cloth hung around the creature's neck, and its helmet spiked up into four small points, sharpening into a triangular shape as it made its way to the front of the helmet. Two glowing blue eye sockets shone from the mask, as if they burned with an intense fire, gradually analyzing the tiny necromancer before its feet.

  “Describing me as a ‘that’ is hardly respectful for someone like me, don’t you think, child?” The monster said.

  “You can talk?!” Ansel screeched, eyes bulging in fear as he attempted to scurry away.

  “Well, considering I’m a human, it would be odd if I couldn’t,” The monster retorted, unamused.

  “You, you’re a human?”

  “Of course. I am Orion, hero of light, defender of humanity, the last bastion of the mortals against the evils of Hell,” the monster, or rather, Orion, recited monotonously, counting a finger for each title, as if struggling to remember them all. Then, his voice dropped low.

  Dangerous.

  “And I should be dead.”

  “Right! Well, you can blame that creepy voice! I’ll be going now!” Ansel popped up, blinking away his confusion and attempting to escape, hurriedly making his way to the door. I’m in way over my head, I need to get the hell out of here…

  An iron grip on his shoulder stopped him in his tracks.

  Then, Ansel began to fly.

  Well, he wasn’t quite flying. Rather, the monster known as Orion had simply picked him up with a single hand, turning the boy around to face him. Ansel gulped, but stayed silent, not wanting to risk angering the monster.

  “You pay no respect to my name nor my numerous, ridiculous titles. No fear, no admiration, nothing. Tell me, boy, do you know who I am?”

  Ansel eyed the two glowing sockets, then answered honestly. “I… I don’t think so…?”

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