Elysium's Multiverse-Chapter 346

Elysium's Multiverse-Chapter 346

Chapter 346
Chapter 346
The dungeon was becoming more and more interesting, and Riven was beginning to enjoy his trip down memory lane.
He’d fought the trio of gluttonous harbingers again. The Rippenvire elites. The giant rat creature that the Empire of Dying Suns had utilized in a trap against him. He’d re-killed that vampire noble brat who wanted to force Allie into an arranged marriage too. He hadn’t re-fought the drake yet that he’d ended up giving to Allie as a creature to bring back as an undead, though hopefully this next part was going to be that in particular, or at least an entertaining fight to rehash things from the past.
But honestly, the more he went over these past battles, Riven didn’t even know what he was doing here anymore. He felt like he was just going through the motions of killing for survival, killing for growth, and then killing for hunger’s sake. What was the point of this Chalgathi quest? Why did he care about saving the world when he could just leave Panu behind? Why had he cared enough to save the people of this city from starving by spending his fortune on them instead of himself? Was it out of a sense of compassion, a desperate need to feel like he was still a good person, a way to forgive himself for all the innocent people he’d eaten in his time as a vampire?
He could still remember the very first man he’d eaten alive in Dungeon Negrada after killing the Satyr Warlord, and it haunted his dreams even to this day. Sadly enough, those dreams were bothering him less and less - and he was even at times craving the experience as his hunger seemed to constantly grow. It felt like he was on a teeter-totter, one of those children’s toys that went back and forth. At one moment he was trying to stay what he considered ‘a good guy’, but more often than not he felt like he just didn't’ care anymore.
He was becoming… tired. Exhausted. Over it. He didn’t give a shit about most of this much of the time. Not the world quests, not Gluttony’s conflict with Greed, not Panu, and not the kingdom he kind-of-sort-of ruled over.
He just wanted to be done with it all. He wanted a semblance of normalcy. To retire to the foothills of some isolated meadow where he’d build a large cabin. Where he could take strolls through the forest at night with his small harem of women he’d finally accepted, do lots of drugs and have copious amounts of sex. He wanted to spend time with his daughter Iris, to show her how to fish. To show her how to play soccer or chess, or how to read books. He wanted to drink himself into a blackout with his friends Hakim and Azmoth.
The thought of his desires made him chuckle. Instead, he was wrapped up in these events to the hilt - and sighed deeply as he set his sight forward again. Onwards, towards the blood spirit - and then to find the cultist Altar of Despair when he exited this place.
Riven’s shadowy figure drifted through gray mists of the dungeon like a wraith, his steps echoed through the long dark hallway until he came to a stop halfway down its length. He could now hear three heartbeats ahead of him, and they were growing louder - more rapid - as the figures approached.
The clopping hoofbeats were the first clue about what it was approaching. And as the monsters started to outline in the darkness and through the smokey surroundings, he could see the hot breath snorting out from three sets of large nostrils as bulbous, bloodshot eyes glared back at him.
Each rabid creature was an absolute beast of a monster and bore very similar resemblance to the original version he’d faced in the hellscapes. Curling rams horns, crazed eyes, saliva dripping from their mouths over sharp bloodied teeth - they were the nearly a spitting image of his first dungeon run crucible. Huge rippling muscles with veins outlined along its chest and arms flexed as they swung their crude weapons, as purple light illuminated from cores inside the creatures’ chests. Each club was about the size of Riven’s entire body, and had jutting pieces of metal sticking out of the wood.
[Fallen Satyr Warlord, ???]
[???]
[???, Level 199. ELITE.]
His identification information was so shit without Messenger on.
They stood like that, staring each other down as the red light shining out from Riven’s eyes pierced the fog - and the hot breath of the large drooling monsters dripped onto the stone floor below.
The first and foremost of the beasts then slammed its left hoof into the ground, grunted, and roared as its muscles all tensed with veins protruding along the entirety of its body. “RRRAAAAHHHH!!!!”
Then it lunged.
The momentum from the monster set off a shockwave behind it, ripping up stone and dust as it rocketed down the hallway towards him.
Riven’s right hand curled with a gesture, and ribbons of magic bloomed down his shoulder and towards his fingertips in an instant. A spike of crimson ice rippling with black lightning rocketed out from Riven’s outstretched hand and slammed into the charging monster, tearing off the beast’s right arm and part of its lung as it swung down with its left.
Riven snatched the incoming weapon with webbing of a wretched snare that sprouted from his opposite hand, and yanked the weapon out of the beast’s grasp with a surge of mana through Blessing of the Crow to enhance his body.
The startled and now injured monster stumbled forward with the quick succession of moves and skidded to a halt, just as Riven took the club in both hands and did a 360 wind-up swing with the club to bring it down on the satyr’s head with a resounding thud.
Brains splattered all over the hallway, and red frost began to accumulate over the passage as he stepped over the twitching corpse. He tossed the spiked club to the side and his fingertips flared out, creating dozens of gluttonous storm razors that crackled and began to blur as they span faster and faster while following his monotonous pace.
The second satyr roared in unison with the third, before the two beasts coated themselves in thick purple miasma from the energy of their cores and stomped down to create a kinetic surge of energy forwards. The attempt, Riven assumed, was to destroy his projectiles.
But Riven’s projectiles were anything but weak compared to these creatures. He was far from the pathetic mortal man who’d once had his ass kicked in by the satyr warlord miniboss back at around level 20.
He didn’t break his calm and steady stride. A wall of ice launched itself from the ground, intercepting the two kinetic shockwaves before shattering and splintering into a million tiny fragments that rocketed forwards on a current of mana created by his aura’s will. It was like a shrapnel bomb had gone off, and the satyrs screamed in rage as their muscles and skin were put through an ice blender before the real wave of attacks hit.
Crackling, spinning saw blades smashed into each of them in a rapidfire follow up, blurring through the hallway with resounding explosions as each of the saws embedded and exploded - leaving corrosive sin energy behind in the craters of gaping flesh. One after another and in quick succession they blew off bits of the monsters’ bodies, tearing off chunks of bone and muscle and guts each second until there was nothing left. It was like watching an explosive gatling gun take down rabbits.
Riven stared at the patches of mutilated gore the satyrs had left behind. A piece of broken wood with a spike through it there, a part of a skull here. A patch of fur off to the left.
The walls, floor, and ceiling were painted in it, dripping from frost covered stone as the gray mist began to seep back into the space between them. Stoic and unconcerned, Riven once again began his trek through the dungeon towards the end of the first floor. Onwards to find the man named Jerico, who would apparently be the one to lead him to where the spirit of blood was located.
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***
The first floor ended after a very brief snippet of a boss fight that wasn’t even worth noting. The boss monster of the first floor was some kind of kraken creature that Riven had killed with a single fully-powered blast of black lightning, although he felt like the creature was likely weak to the shadow attack based on the critical hit notifications he got.
The prize was also sub-par compared to his usual getup, consisting of a pair of chain link gloves only a brawler type would use based on the hand to hand skill bonuses it gave - and a bag of gold consisting of 35,000 Elysium Coins.
Pocket change at best.
The second floor of the dungeon was certainly different from the first floor though, and Riven noticed the change immediately upon descending the stairs even before the system notification hit his vision like a wall of bricks.
[You have entered the 2nd floor of Dungeon Fauxinshine. Contractual obligations with Elysium have compelled this dungeon to have 5 differently themed levels with 5 different floor bosses and 5 different exits.
The Curse of Reawakening is redacted, and you will no longer encounter prior crucibles.
For the 2nd floor of Dungeon Fauxinshine, you will need to assassinate three monster warlords in their respective bases without being caught. Being detected in the act will count as a loss, and you along with your entire party will be expelled from the dungeon.]
The 2nd floor of the dungeon looked more like it was outside than it was an underground castle lair, like so many of the other dungeons Riven had been to. The stairway leading into it was also gone now, disappeared into thin air, and there were patches of clouds illuminated with the shades of sunset, and adobe huts with patched rooftops were in abundance as human villagers walked to and from their respective homes or places of business. But the false sun here didn’t hurt his eyes.
“Ah, are you the 10th member of the expedition from the outer worlds?” An old human man in a brown sack that he probably called a robe came over to stroke his frazzled white beard while giving Riven a twice-over scan with his eyes. “Hmph. Don’t look like much, but then again neither did the others. Ever heard of a bath, young man?”
Riven looked down at his gore-covered body, laughed, and eradicated the excess body parts splattered over his clothes with a pulse of Hell’s Armor that quickly receded after doing its work. He brushed off some of the leftover ash and shoved his hands into his pockets with a toothy smile. “So you know where the others are then. Know where Jerico is?”
The old man clasped his hands behind his back and narrowed his eyes. “Jerico? You can’t expect me to know all the names of the men and women that come down here over the ages to our humble home. But I do know where the party of 9 set up before heading out to do the usual culling.”
“Usual culling? What you’re saying makes it sound like you remember all the other dungeon delvers that come down here. Are you not part of the dungeon yourself?”
“Oh, we are.” The old man nodded sagely. “Our ancestors have been part of the dungeon for thousands of years now. As long as we stay within the perimeters of this village, the dungeon allows us to stay here, live longer lives, and keeps us free from disease. But we depend on dungeon delvers like yourself to clear out the monster warlords that destroy our crops outside the protective barrier. If the warlords aren’t regularly assassinated by the system’s terms, they spawn minions that trample all the fertile fields and lead us to starvation. But that thankfully hasn’t happened for quite some time. Anywho, it’s a tradition for someone like me to wait at the village center in order to make sure delvers are met and pointed in the right direction before setting off, so come along. I’ll show you to the others, I think they plan to head out to do their assassination work tomorrow after they have a break from clearing the first floor.”
The old man turned and headed towards a larger rectangular adobe hut with two chimneys on either side, smoke spewing from the stacks. Riven plodded along while inspecting some of the more attractive young women in village garb that giggled his way, and he gave them a wink before slipping through the door and into what appeared to be a pub.
String instruments played light and upbeat music in the corner as the fireplaces at either end of the establishment burned brightly. Mild amounts of laughter was heard, and card games were being played as men and women drank, though it wasn’t what Riven would ever consider rowdy. It was relatively calm and quiet compared to most bars he’d been in, and the mood was easygoing as the old man continued to lead him over to a long table where men and women with feathers growing around their ears could be seen - a stark contrast to the normal human villagers otherwise settled here.
Before Riven’s presence could even be announced by the old man however, the entire party of feather-people - which is what Riven was calling them now since the system was calling them a “human” variant - all abruptly stopped talking and snapped their heads in Riven’s direction. Many of their eyes went wide, two of them were shivering, and three of them put their hands on their blades. They were a mix and match of rangers and melee combatants with only a single healing mage amongst the bunch, which took Riven multiple attempts of identifying them in order to figure out as he lacked his normal armor getup or any identification class.
“Hold on, hold on.” Riven said as the old man leading Riven inside shot them a curious glance based on their reactions. Riven held up the small silver badge with a hawk emblazoned on the front, and tossed it to the highest leveled man in the group who he assumed to be Jerico. “Veronica sent me.”
Some of the others of the city’s feathered-peoples group had stood up more slowly to match the central man, and they all shot each other wary glances while inspecting the badge.
“Is there some sort of problem here?” the old bearded villager said with a frown, glancing between Riven and the others in their standoff as Riven stood silently by. “Are you not all working with one another? I’ll ask you to please refrain from any violence inside the village, we are a peaceful people and don’t want anything like a fight breaking out here. It is even in our contract with your liege that we-”
The feathered man holding the badge cut the older villager off with a wave of his hand, and pocketed the trinket. He was far taller than Riven, probably nearing seven and a half feet tall, and had a thick mustache underneath a capped metal helmet. He otherwise wore sparse steel platemail over leather, and walked around the table to stand in front of Riven with arms crossed.
“My name is Jerico, yes.” He said, side-eyeing the old villager with a frown. “And what do you mean by is there some sort of problem? Can you not feel it?”
“Feel what?” The old man asked, puzzled.
Jerico snorted. “The aura leaking off him.”
The old man blinked, then shrugged. “I feel nothing.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.”
Jerico frowned, then tilted his head to the side. “Likely because you’re considered part of the dungeon now. The charisma may not affect you like it does us… and I assume you didn’t realize this person you led here was a vampire either?”
The old man blinked. “What’s a vampire?”
Jerico raised an eyebrow, then chuckled to himself with a shake of his head - arms still folded. “Aye. You probably wouldn’t know having grown up in isolation like this. But please, be on your way. It appears that I have some words to trade with this stranger.”
[Jerico, ???, ???, ???]
Confused, but ready to be on his way, the old man shrugged and turned heel to leave - only stopping on the way out to grab a pitcher of ale from the pub’s countertop when the barkeeper wasn’t looking.
“So… A pureblooded vampire of Mythic rank of all things shows up out of nowhere saying he knows Veronica while displaying her badge.” Jerico said with a dubious grin. “And you even know my name. Hells, you haven’t attacked us either, so I can only assume that you’re here because of a legitimate reason. At least… that’s what I’m hoping for. Please, would you like to sit? We’re playing cards now if you want to join in. Ever gamble?”
Riven took a hand that was offered to him and shook it. The man’s grip was firm, and he took the offered seat when the healing mage - a redheaded woman with red feathers growing out the sides of her head - fidgeted before she moved over to make room. “Ahem. Yes I’m quite good at losing money while doing it too.”
Riven smiled, and the other men and women at the table with him gave a round of nervous laughter.
Jerico took his own seat from whence he’d originally stood up, took in a deep breath, and put on the best fake smile he could muster. Steepling his fingers, he looked around the table just once and asked: “Do you play the game: Arktavius the Grand?”
“No idea what that is, so no.”
“Aye. Then we’ll teach you. But first, let us rehash the deck.” Jerico began picking up the cards as people around the table passed them back, and began shuffling in awkward silence as Riven leaned backwards on his chair. “So… What business brings you to our humble dungeon, traveler? I can only assume that you’re one of the cultists or non-cultists if you’re here speaking with me now.”
Riven, who had his non-cultist hood underneath the Riven’s Happy Birthday Cloak that Athela had made for him, made the non-cultist hood visible a second later. “Yes, I’m actually cultist hunting quite soon after this little escapade. But I need your help before that.”
A collective sigh of relief left the table, and one of the men grumbled: “It’s about time someone came and took it to those cultist bastards.”
“They’ve been causing a great deal of grief for our city.” The redheaded woman sitting on Riven’s right confirmed with a sagely nod, though she still looked rather stiff while sitting next to him. “What is it that we can help you with?”
“Yes, she took the words right out of my mouth.” Jerico stated skeptically, folding the cards together once, then twice, then three times. “What is it we can help you with, exactly? Please be specific so that this… eh… meeting of ours, doesn’t last any longer than it has to.”

Chapter 346