Nikolai held very still—so still that he might actually beat his old record for how long he could hold his breath. He hadn’t timed himself since he was a kid, but as he watched the huge being, seemingly carved from marble, amble slowly past his hiding spot, he was fairly sure he’d beaten it.

  The thing was absolutely massive, barely able to fit in the hallway. It had thick arms and legs and a wide torso, but strangely, no head. Then again, why would it? All the utility of a biped, without the weakness of a fragile neck—there was a certain brutal logic to it.

  He only hoped it would move a little faster, because he wasn’t sure his nerves would hold much longer.

  About an hour earlier, he had encountered a smaller version of this thing and had confidently gone into combat, still riding the high of his new abilities. He had killed a bunch of zombies—so many, in fact, that he was starting to wonder where they all came from.

  This was supposed to be a crypt dedicated to those fifty-one heroes, right? So where the hell were all these undead monsters coming from? Especially those lumbering bastards seemingly cobbled together from a number of people. He had fought two of them already and won fairly easily. His new spell had proven immensely effective against the undead—so effective that it felt almost like cheating.

  Hence his reckless, overconfident attack on a stone golem.

  He had quickly learned three important things.

  First, golems were highly resistant to magic. Second, his spells didn’t work great against non-organic targets. They did something, but the amount of essence he could drain was laughable at best.

  Third—and perhaps most insultingly—they could move!

  They were so unjustifiably fast that one of them had nearly taken his head off before he even realized it was on him.

  Nikolai had tried to fight. His blade—taken from a zombie—had snapped on impact. Rusty piece of shit that it was.

  Then he had legged it.

  Yes. He had run the fuck away.

  His abilities didn’t lend themselves to that kind of fight—not even a little.

  He had managed to escape easily enough, though. As strong as they were, intelligence clearly wasn’t their forte.

  Now, he stayed perfectly still as the massive golem turned a corner and disappeared from view. Only then did he release a slow, shaky breath.

  “Shit… what is this place?”

  Nothing about it resembled a crypt anymore—and hadn’t for hours. He had stumbled upon an honest-to-gods courtyard earlier, complete with blooming flowers, insects, park benches, and glowing stones embedded in the walls. He had lingered there for a while, resting—and stealing the stones.

  They emitted a soft blue glow and weren’t difficult to pry loose. He had stuffed them into his pouch, though until he found someone capable of breaking whatever enchantment sealed it, he couldn’t take them back out.

  Now, he had reached what appeared to be a living area. The rooms held the remains of beds and furniture, but little else of interest—until he noticed a large door with golden inlay and some kind of illegible script above it. Even with his language skill, he couldn’t decipher it.

  Nikolai carefully checked both ends of the hallway, then padded silently toward the door. Strangely, it stood slightly ajar, the faintest wisp of light visible through the crack.

  He frowned. Was someone inside?

  For a moment, he considered ignoring it and moving on, but after hours of wandering with no closer sign of an exit, he couldn’t afford to pass up anything that looked important.

  He had nearly died more than once in the past hours, and his encounter with the golem had thoroughly knocked down his confidence a peg. He still believed he could survive—but he was painfully aware that he was nowhere near the top of the food chain yet.

  Taking a steadying breath, he placed a hand against the door and pushed it open slowly.

  Nothing happened.

  He opened it wider, carefully scanning the room. What he saw made his pulse jump—a vast chamber with towering ceilings and rows upon rows of bookshelves.

  A library.

  After hours of finding nothing, it felt like striking gold.

  The door opened wider, revealing an enormous chandelier hanging from the ceiling, its crystals glowing softly instead of candles.

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  Which meant the massive, gauntleted fist coming toward his face was very easy to see.

  Nikolai had a split second to react—and wasn’t particularly successful.

  He dropped sideways. Instead of his skull being crushed outright, the blow clipped the side of his head at an angle. Even so, the impact sent him flying sideways through the doorway and straight into a bookshelf.

  Pain exploded behind his eyes. He heard something crack and fought desperately to stay conscious.

  If I pass out now, I’m dead.

  He cast healing on himself reflexively and cranked Soothe up far higher than usual. Clarity rushed back as his fractured skull began knitting together slowly.

  A huge, vaguely familiar figure was charging at him, an enormous sword drawn.

  Nikolai hurled himself aside as the armored figure brought the blade down with terrifying force, cleaving the bookshelf in half where Nikolai had been moments earlier.

  His mind raced. He needed an opening—any opening.

  He rushed forward as the figure recovered, but it regained its balance faster than expected, forcing Nikolai to turn his charge into a controlled roll.

  As he passed beneath the second sword swing, he slapped the figure’s armored leg and cast Curse of Torment.

  The figure jerked—but that was all.

  Nikolai scrambled back into the hallway and aimed his cane behind him, casting Lesser Essence Drain. The spell latched on, and he immediately felt essence flowing—but only a trickle.

  Resistance. Enchantment. Something.

  Still, it was better than nothing.

  He drew the slightly rusted sword he’d taken from a zombie as the figure ducked through the doorway, forced to bend over to fit through.

  That was when the real fight began.

  The thing—man, construct, whatever it was—was stronger than him. He was fairly certain of that. But he was faster. More agile.

  At least… he thought he was.

  The figure charged, a wall of metal moving with impossible speed.

  Nikolai leapt sideways, eyes wide.

  He avoided the blade—but the armored shin slammed into his thighs mid-jump.

  There was a sickening crunch.

  He spun completely around and hit the ground screaming, pain detonating through his leg despite Soothe running at full tilt.

  The figure turned. Its blade ignited with ethereal light as it lifted the sword overhead.

  Nikolai prepared his last resort.

  Sacrificial Mana Blade.

  He had no choice.

  His curse barely affected it. His drain was nearly useless. His leg was broken, bone through skin, and his skull was still healing. If he didn’t act now, he would be dead in seconds.

  Draining his own essence suddenly seemed like a perfectly reasonable gamble.

  He grinned—a wild, unhinged expression.

  The situation was absurd, and somewhere along the way, something inside him had started to crack. Days without sunlight. Constant fighting. Near-death again and again.

  Whether Vitzer had intended this or not, Nikolai was changing—and fast enough to terrify himself. He was not at all sure it was for the better either.

  Just as the blade began to fall, a voice rang out down the hallway.

  “Lurk, stop!”

  The massive warrior froze mid-swing.

  Nikolai’s head snapped sideways so fast it made him dizzy. Through blurred vision, he saw a second figure approaching.

  For a moment, he forgot entirely about the sword hovering inches above him.

  “Lurk,” the voice said sharply. “Step away. He is not an enemy.”

  The towering warrior stepped back.

  Nikolai, trembling, raised his cane toward the newcomer. “Stay… away,” he rasped.

  The figure paused, raising both hands.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” she said. The voice carried a feminine lilt, distorted slightly. A hood and dark robes obscured her form.

  Nikolai huffed weakly. “A little too bloody late for that…”

  He sent a cautious thread of healing into his leg and nearly blacked out from what he sensed.

  The bone had pierced the skin. He was bleeding badly.

  The woman hissed. “Your leg—how bad is it? I have potions, we need to—”

  “No,” Nikolai gasped. “If I heal it without setting the bone… it’ll be worse.”

  She flinched. “Shit. I have some skill with bones, but you have to allow me in. My magic won’t work unless you consent.”

  He let out a shaky laugh. “Fine. Not exactly spoiled for options.”

  His words slurred as blood loss set in.

  The woman stepped closer and drew a dagger. Nikolai watched the blade with detached clarity.

  She sliced open his pant leg and hissed again at the sight. Then she met his eyes.

  Purple, he thought. Familiar. He had seen those eyes before.

  “This is going to hurt,” she said urgently. “Stay conscious.”

  “Get on with it,” he muttered.

  Moments later, his bones began to move.

  The sensation was horrifying—writhing, grinding, the sound echoing up his leg and into his skull. At first, the shock was so complete that he couldn’t even scream.

  Then the pain hit.

  He cried out as a large cold hand clamped over his mouth. He barely noticed.

  Time stretched, distorted, until something cool splashed over his leg.

  “There,” she said. “That’ll have to do for now. Are you still with us?”

  Nikolai managed a faint nod. The hand withdrew.

  “Good. We need to move you.”

  Strong arms lifted him gently.

  His vision narrowed. He saw the woman walking ahead, heard a door close behind them—

  —and then darkness took him.

  The pain went with it.