Chapter Twenty-Five: Life

TWENTY-FIVE

LEVEL QUEST GENERATED

DESTROY THE ANOMALIES

ANOMALIES DESTROYED: 0/4327

“Think we found out why we all got sequestered in the saferooms,” someone muttered. Roan was already dismissing the words from his vision and heading out of the saferoom portal.

“Roan, hold on we should,” Darren said from behind him, but Roan ignored him and walked through the portal.

“Whatever they want to talk about is going to be pure speculation. Better to go and figure it out and then make a plan if I can’t handle it myself.” It was the type of reasoning that justified being rash. The ticking clock and his still slim bank account was a pressure that continually pressed him forward.

It was a change in the air. That was the first thing that Roan noticed as he stepped free of the portal, warhammer poised and ready to defend or attack at a moment’s notice. Instead of the normal crypt smells, dust, rot, stale air, it felt invigorated. Like a spring day as the plants bloomed and the wind whipped forth with vigor.

Then he saw the bodies. Or rather, the lack of them. They had taken the slain and moved them to the side, giving them what dignity they could in the tower. The flickering light of the torches in the cul-de-sac revealed that there was nothing to be seen. No dead bodies, no hordes of undead waiting patiently in the confines of their hallway crypts.

Only broken bones and rusted weapons. Those were still laying on the ground in great heaps.

Roan moved forward carefully, eyes alert for any change or sign of danger as he headed to the closest of the hallways that would lead to the boulevard. Behind him came the sounds of boots scraping the ground and people talking as the rest of the association started to pile out of the saferoom.

“Losing your lead. Move it,” Roan chided himself and started to move faster. If there was any chance of breaking free of the pack, truly breaking free of them, then he needed to move by himself and earn by himself. At least until he managed to buy his foundational skills.

He started to jog down the halls, moving toward the wide boulevard at a good clip. Part of him wanted to do this slowly, creeping grave to grave and harvesting everything he could. But the sounds of the others behind him pushed him forward until he was nearly running, long legs eating up ground as he searched for any signs of a fight.

Without the worry of fighting his way through a horde of undead, the hallway didn’t take long to run. He guessed it was close to a mile long but couldn’t be sure. It took about six minutes to run at a comfortable but steady pace. The boulevard appeared before him suddenly and he slid to a halt as he felt a breeze on his face.

“That’s not right,” Roan muttered as he started to jog forward into the breeze. He felt good, there was no strain as he ran or hint of exhaustion as he looked around for anything that would break the monotony of the boulevard.

Roan had guessed that this entire level was just rows of the graves bisected by the single boulevard that dead ended into cul-de-sacs. He had to think it over again as he ran, the breeze growing stronger against him as he ran. Nobody had managed to meet him yet and there still wasn’t a sign of any skeletons aside from their destroyed bodies on the ground.