Chapter 38

Chapter day cometh again!

This is a fun one. I needed this interlude back in Pax for a couple of reasons: to broaden world scope and show the changes from instancing, to force an emotional/developmental confrontation with Riley/Frank/Jerry, and to address Jason's dungeon scaling issues.

The introduction of Jason as a boss monster was just a bonus lol.

In other writing news, I am ALMOST content complete. This damn thing just keeps getting longer and longer. But there are only 3 chapters left. These later ones are requiring some extra TLC, though. I can already tell I'm going to need to seed a few details earlier and then smooth the dungeon progression a bit on my next pass. Nothing super huge in terms of overall plot structure -- more just to refine and provide better foreshadowing.

Oh, and once I'm done (probably this weekend or early next week), I'll probably switch us back to twice-weekly posts during editing to get some beta feedback. I plan to start editing around where we're posting and do a short pass through the end, then start over and do one large pass across the whole book. So, I'll probably bump up the posting frequency either next week or the week after that to give me some time to edit chapter 39 forward.

Anyway, enjoy, and I'll be back soon!

Chapter 39 - Bone Throne

Pax – Jerry’s Basement

Jason

Jason stepped out of the swirling darkness of the teleportation waypoint, his senses snapping into focus as the world around him settled. Jerry’s basement was dimly lit, the scent of aged wood, stale beer, and the ever-present tang of mana lingering in the air. The moment his boots touched the stone floor, he felt it—his mana shifting, twisting slightly as the dungeon’s tether loosened. It was an unsettling sensation, a reminder that he was once again outside his domain, vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been for days.

As if that wasn’t enough, a red notification flickered at the edge of his vision. His health bar ticked down slowly—an effect of being outside the dungeon’s protective influence. With a sigh, he reached into his bag and retrieved a mana potion, downing it to offset the gradual damage. The familiar warmth spread through him, stabilizing his health.

Underfoot was another platform—similar to his own—which housed the sister fragment to his own gatepiece. Jason had racked his brain about who should keep that fragment.

The obvious choice? Jerry, of course.

Who else? Frank and Riley were reliable, but they occasionally had to log off, their connection to Awaken Online still tethered to obligations in the real world. But Jerry? The roguish innkeeper was always there. Unpredictable, maybe, but trustworthy.

And, most importantly, he understood discretion.

Or… at least, Jason thought he did.

As he surveyed his basement, he was beginning to second guess that.

A lot of things had changed since the Twilight Throne, and Jason understood why Jerry had wanted to hold onto the nostalgia—to recreate his inn from the ground up. So, when he’d asked, Jason’s answer had been easy. Sure… within reason.

This. Was. Not. Reasonable.

This basement wasn’t a simple cellar for beer and wine. It was a palatial affair that stretched a few thousand square feet. And why would Jerry need all that room?

A fantastic question!  For his new showroom, of course.

The one showcasing different model boss rooms, each on its own elevated stone platform.  It looked like something out of a big box furniture store – except if those displays were all being featured in Better Lairs & Dungeons. “Affordable and easy setups for the aspiring archvillain on a budget!” Or, so the brochure described it.

So, weirder and more deeply uncomfortable. A sprawling exhibition of excessive theatricality showcasing Jerry’s apparently unlimited budget and unstable mental state.

Like, was it really necessary to bathe each showcase in shifting arcane spotlights that cast jagged shadows across the floor? That ambience was helped along by the thick grey mist that coiled around each platform—courtesy of a machine made of water and fire mana crystals.  Because why not? As the roguish innkeeper always said, it was all about the lighting and effects.

Jason let out a slow breath through his nose.

It wasn’t necessary, but it helped soothe him.

Of course, Jerry had done this.

He could already hear the innkeeper’s smug justification in his head: “What is a dark lord without a proper lair?”  It was almost like he’d anticipated Jason’s dungeon design issues.

Impossible, of course, but still, the coincidence was unusual.

Jason spared a glance at Alfred, and the AI shrugged as he stepped out of the shadows.  “Like I said, most NPCs are autonomous.  I’m not responsible for this,” he offered.

The first display was a jagged obsidian throne set atop a dais of polished volcanic glass, etched with fiery runes that pulsed a deep crimson. Gargoyles loomed at its sides, their stone eyes flickering with an unsettling inner light. When Jason drew closer, a wave of heat rolled over him, the air shimmering as if he had stepped too close to an open forge. The fire magic adjusted for its occupant—comforting to him, scalding to anyone else.

He knew this because the instructions were written on the tiny placard.

Jason had to admit, he appreciated the attention to detail.

There was even a title for each exhibit.

Throne of Fire:  The seat of destruction for the “Eternal Infernal.”*

*Working title only.  Willing to brainstorm new monikers for fire-themed villains.

Wow. Just… wow.

Next was a throne sculpted from interwoven bones, their surfaces polished to an ivory sheen. The skeletal remains twisted together in elaborate patterns, forming a high back and curved armrests, wisps of dark smoke curling from the gaps, as if the souls of the dead still lingered within.  The air around it felt heavier. Grave-soaked.

The OG: For my special guy, who puts the ‘bone’ in ‘throne.’

Okay, that was even worse…

But then, Jason’s gaze fell upon something starkly different—a simple iron chair. No embellishments. No excessive ornamentation. Only chains and manacles hanging from its frame, their links polished smooth from years of use. The armrests bore deep indentations, as if hands had gripped them too tightly for too long. The faint scent of old blood clung to the air.

There was no magic here, no supernatural force infusing the metal.  It simply was.

Fifty Seats of Gray: For the ruler who likes to be tied down.

Jason shook his head, forcing himself to move on. This was absurd.

Yet, amid the ostentatious displays… he couldn’t deny a flicker of inspiration.

A small one. Very, very small.

It was just that his own dungeon was so efficient and bare-bones—focused entirely on functionality over form. Jerry would likely use different words, of course. Like boring.  Uninspired. Overly symmetric. Thematically inconsistent. A quality lair was supposed to strike fear into your enemies. To tell a story—usually one about their imminent death or torture.

Yet Jason had basically just built a dungeon farming simulator.

It was necessary, he knew that, but…

He sighed wistfully. There was a time when he would have leaned into the theatrics.

For example, that bone-throne didn’t look half bad as a starting point. Although, he might alter the aesthetic slightly. His dungeon seemed to have a ruined Nephilim village vibe, so maybe he could lean into that. A corrupted church or cathedral, maybe? Assuming he could figure out how to move the contents of his dungeon outside?

Vaulted ceilings were a must—acoustics were important for a proper cackle or spontaneous evil monologue. Maybe some corrupted religious imagery, a desecration of the Lady’s temple to set the mood and really rub it in the goddess’ face. Like a big, black fuck you she could see all the way from the Gambler’s VIP suite? A legion of undead Nephilim all kneeling in worship to a false idol—a human-turned-god. Bowing before Jason himself—

A notification suddenly popped up:

x1 Skill Rank Up:  Interior Design

Skill Level:  Intermediate Level 2

Effect 1:  Customizable room design, the number of Undead Swarms required scales with room size and volume.

Effect 2:  The room may be modified to provide soundproofing, heating, cooling, or basic illusions. You may currently choose one. Undead Swarm needs to be modified with the appropriate mana crystals

Jason couldn’t help but let out a short, incredulous laugh.

Of course, he’d get a skill up….

A slow clap broke the silence.

“Ah, I see you’ve found my surprise!” Jerry’s voice rang out.

Jason turned to see the innkeeper lounging in the doorway, his ever-present grin sharp and full of mischief beneath his floppy, brimmed hat. One hand twirling his moustache. Frank and Riley flanked him, both visibly unimpressed by the sheer ridiculousness of the showroom.

In a flash of movement too fast to follow, Jerry was suddenly beside Jason.

He inhaled deeply, then let out a satisfied hum. “Mmm. Have you done something different lately? Shampoo? Conditioner? There’s something tantalizing about you. A certain… je ne sais quoi.” He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming. “I’m getting malice with light notes of genocide.”

“You sound disturbingly pleased,” Jason replied.

“Oh, I am,” Jerry confirmed, stepping even closer. “It’s rare that I get to witness such a marvelous transformation firsthand. I mean, sure, you’ve always had a bit of that brooding necromancer aesthetic, but now? Now, you have drip.”

He couldn’t help but sigh.

“Specifically, the copper variety.  I speak of blood, of course,” Jerry overexplained with a deadpan expression.  “The musk of the abyss, the scent of undeath—” he sighed wistfully, pressing a hand to his chest, his expression exaggeratedly solemn.

Then, in a completely unnecessary display of dramatics and a blur of inhuman speed, he was suddenly holding a heart in his hand—his heart, presumably. “You’ve even started my cold, dead heart beating,” he whispered, waggling his eyebrows.

The heart even gave a sudden lurch…

Although, Jason was pretty sure he’d just squeezed it.  Hopefully.

Jason let out a short laugh, despite himself.  Jerry had always been over the top, but today, he seemed even more extra than normal.

Frank grunted, eyeing the displays. “This is so weird.”

Riley chuckled. “No, this is Jerry.”

“I come to you, heart in hand… my artist’s soul laid bare—" Jerry waved at the showroom floor. “—and this is how you treat me?  The betrayal!”

Yup, definitely a little extra.

Gods, he’d missed this.

“Right, uh, so you want the tour of Pax?”  Frank interjected, eyeing Jerry skeptically before stepping over him to give Jason a hug.

“And you need to fill us in on what you’ve been up too,” Riley added quickly. Judging from her expression, she was expecting the full report.

“Sure, but can we do it while we walk?” Jason asked. His fingers were already starting to crumble as he snagged another potion and popped the cork.

“What’s happening to you?” Frank muttered.

“That’s a really long story,” he began, stopping to chug the potion, “The short version is that I’m on a time limit and need to see Cady—or whichever clone is in charge right now.”

“She relocated to the earth district—you know, after you destroyed Cady-Prime’s office,” Riley replied with an amused expression.

Ahh, right. The pretty princess castle of personal injury lawsuits.

“But we’d better get the full story this time,” Frank grumbled.

“Don’t worry,” Jason began, “I have plenty to tell…”

He began his story as they walked upstairs and through what appeared to be a replica of Jerry’s inn from the Twilight Throne—albeit, still under construction—and stepped out into Pax.  He told them about the death run, Alex’s initial moody bullshit and spotty memory, the Nephilim they’d killed, the war they might have “accidentally” started.  Before he even got to the dungeon, Jason was starting to realize that this was all a lot…

To make matters worse, he was distracted by the city around him.

Pax had come to life after Eliza and Finn had gotten the Carousel up and running. The instance layering had mostly dealt with the population problem. And now that the travelers weren’t stepping over each other to turn in quests, they now had a revolving door of players mining crystals and performing tasks for the city. Many of the travelers had even managed to earn enough reputation to make it into the city’s second layer where they housed most of their residents, the ring broken up into elemental zones that Finn had helped build.

Although, most of those players avoided rolling as undead, so primarily residents walked the streets near Jerry’s replica inn.  The undead district was a near-perfect imitation of the Twilight Throne—they’d even captured the ominous black clouds and artificial lightning. The buildings were twisted black affairs lit by haunting emerald lamps, forming shadows that stretched unnaturally as if bending toward him.

It should have felt comforting, but something was off.

The undead residents of this section watched him a little too closely; they greeted him a little too eagerly. Which was odd since he was in a makeshift body and wrapped head-to-toe to hide the ghastly horror show he had going on upstairs. His Disguise skill should have been enough.

And yet… they stopped as he passed. Nodded. A few even bowed.

Frankly, they were all acting as clingy as Jerry.

It made having a conversation almost—

“Greetings, my name is lord Asher,” a skeletal mage said with an eager bow, stepping directly into Jason’s path. “I had hoped I would get the chance to—”

Jason’s teeth ground together.  Like that—exactly like that.

He side-stepped him without slowing. “Actually, we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

Another ghoul-like figure emerged from a shadowed alley, his eyes burning blood-red. “I knew you would return. The dungeon—”

He was cut off by a group of zombie children. “Great One, we bring an offering, a gift—”

“Uh, sorry, I’m not interested,” Jason retorted quickly, pushing ahead with the others.

Frank and Riley exchanged an uncertain glance, the flow of their conversation unraveling completely.  He kept trying to get to the juicy, fun bit.  The part about the dungeon and his brilliant plan to help the travelers level, while also weaponizing their worst tendencies against the Originals. But after the fourth, then fifth, then tenth interruption, his own patience started to fray.

Even Jerry—normally unfazed by any amount of social chaos—was raising an eyebrow.

“You seem to have some fans,” Frank muttered by the time they neared the Fire District.

Riley gave him a look. “I don’t think fans bow. Or offer their souls in eternal service.”

“Not the casual kind, but the super fans are a different breed—” Jerry began.

Jason exhaled sharply, picking up the pace. He had a theory for what was happening, but he was hoping he was wrong.  Maybe the residents just recognized Frank, Riley, and Jerry. Maybe they had just put two-and-two together and assumed this ragged, weak body was Jason. That made sense. Yeah… that had to be it.

Alfred just let out a skeptical huff at his heels—one that sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

Which didn’t make Jason feel better. Reality TV required drama, after all.

Then they crossed into the Fire District.

Heat crashed over them—thick with mana, saturated with the smell of molten metal, oil, and scorched rock. The cobblestone transitioned to soft sand, and the clouds disappeared as though suddenly cut in half. The light cast by the crystal overhead was brighter, harsher, the glow of forges and smelting pits lining every alleyway. Sparks danced through the air and sweat glistened off bare-chested blacksmiths—members of the Khamsin and other players—and in the heart of the district, enchanted furnaces pulsed with raw energy.

Emerald-tinted mana dripped down over those workshops, the sheen of time compression shimmering like glass, distorting everything behind it. Inside the workrooms, crafters and engineers moved at impossible speeds, their actions stretched and condensed into a blur.

At the entrances, satyrs in crisp formal attire stood at every doorway, scrolls unfurled in their hands. Binding contracts. No doubt unforgiving. Yet accelerated crafting and training were in high demand… and Cady had the only supply in town.

Or anywhere in Awaken Online.

Jason barely had time to take it all in before he noticed the difference in the way people reacted to him. The vibe had changed. The undead had been welcoming.

Here?  Here, the residents stiffened as he passed.

Not just that—some stopped working entirely, staring daggers.

Others took a measured step back, eyeing him warily.

And then Jason saw hands moving toward weapons.

Not everyone. But enough.

Swords loosened in sheaths. Staves adjusted in grips. One smith’s hand hovered over a hammer—not the one he was using, but clearly enchanted, a weapon rather than a tool.

Jason’s steps slowed. His hood was still drawn low, his face mostly concealed. He hadn’t done anything. Hadn’t said anything. Nothing had changed. Disguise was still working. They might have noticed Frank and Riley, but they’d already hidden their faces. And would the former denizens of Sandscrit recognize them anyway? That seemed like a stretch, didn’t it?

This felt different. Jason had seen this behavior before… a long time ago. It reminded him of the way guards used to react to his infamy—as if they knew more than they should.

And he was rocking a sky-high infamy score now.

But his reputation with Pax should override that.

The others had noticed the mood shift, too. The conversation died. Even Jerry—normally unable to keep his mouth shut—was quiet, his usual grin thinning as he glanced between Jason and the watchful residents. And then, the travelers blew up his infamy theory.

They began noticing him. Except they weren’t residents; they weren’t tied to the reputation system. And yet his Listening skill picked out the whispers:

“Who is that?”

“What is that?”

“What's wrong with his tag…?”

That last one made something in Jason’s gut twist.

“What are they talking about?” Riley asked, eyeing Jason. “Your tag seems fine.”

Frank cocked his head. “Well, we’re still in a party with him. Maybe they’re seeing something we aren’t?” His eyes lit up. “Oh, the pvp system, maybe?”

“Except he died days ago—” Riley began.

“We have some company,” Jerry whispered, interrupting.

The group went quiet, and Jason grimaced. He was right. He’d dropped a few drones a while back—a reflex. His map showed a couple of travelers trailing. At least, at first. They were soon joined by more, the crowd growing as they marched between the shops and smithies.

The Earth District was approaching. They just needed to move quickly.

Jason briefly considered dropping into Sneak, but decided against it.

It was better not to escalate—not in this body.

Instead, they picked up the pace, but by the time they turned the corner, they weren’t alone anymore. A group of players stood waiting. Jason should have sent a drone ahead…

Oh, well, too late now.

The travelers’ intent was obvious. They were all armed. Spells already forming at their fingertips, weapons held at the ready, and every eye locked on Jason. They were hesitating, but only for now, more than a few glancing at the rippling rainbow energy that cascaded down the cavern’s walls—the Respawn Field.  They were worried about the PVP debuff.

Frank let out a low breath. “What the hell did you do to piss these people off?”

“Today or just in general?” Riley muttered.

“About that… I think I may know what’s happening,” Jason offered slowly.

“Do tell,” Jerry chirped, eyeing the travelers.

“Not enough time. If I’m right, it’ll only take one idiot to—” Jason cut off as a crackle of electricity came from behind.

His Dodge activated automatically, time slowing as he spun. However, this wasn’t his primary body and he was still getting used to Body Surfing. A different weight, different balance, weaker stats. That combination proved to be his downfall. He managed to avoid most of the blast, but some still singed him, burning through his cloak and cutting into the bone beneath, his meager health pool dropping.

That was damage—obvious damage, inflicted by one player on another.

A test shot. An experiment.

Everyone in the street froze, all eyes turning up to that rainbow field of energy as it convulsed, pulsing outward in jagged, erratic waves. That was new. Jason could almost feel it—a shift within the system. The crackle of static as the barrier that wrapped Pax processed this action, like it was trying to decide whether or not to launch a PVP flare.

His eyes dropped to Alfred, the cat riveted by the current scene. That was a terrible sign. Wait… hadn’t he said something about a patch?

The field’s fluctuations grew wilder.

The air thrummed with unstable mana.

Then, it finished processing.

A blast of mana pooled along the Respawn Field before launching out across Pax, streaking through the air above the city as a hushed murmur rippled through the crowd. All eyes were on the sky, many of the travelers swiping at the air as sapphire cameras bloomed around them. Turning on their streams to broadcast this strange new event.

Jason felt his stomach lurch.  Shit.  Shit, shit, shit.

Because this wasn’t a normal PVP flag.

This was different… oh-so-very different.

Darker. Grimmer. Not a bright announcement, but a corruption, dark mana seeping across the Respawn Field. That missile wasn’t a bright firework but a poison capsule. It exploded, a cloud of black and red blooming in the sky. The mana twisted, dark energy tinged with crimson, warping into a massive, imposing skull that loomed over the city, its blood-red eyes taking in the hapless, confused travelers and residents that stood frozen along its streets.

Every moment captured on camera and broadcast to the world.

Letters scrawled under that skull, glowing with an ominous intensity.

WARNING: A BOSS MONSTER HAS ENTERED PAX!

Followed by another prompt—the issuance of an emergency quest.

Emergency Quest: Like a Boss

A dungeon boss has somehow infiltrated Pax and has penetrated the city’s inner layers, no doubt lured there by some enterprising player. In order to ensure the safety of the city, an emergency quest is being issued. All restrictions have been temporarily lifted. Kill the boss with impunity.

Objective: Murder the boss.

Victory Condition: Boss is super dead.

Failure Condition: Boss is still alive.

Rewards:

+30,000 Experience

+1,000 Reputation with Pax

Silence followed.  Tens… hundreds… thousands of eyes scanning the same message.

All except for Frank and Riley. They were glaring at Jason.

Like this was somehow his fault. Except it wasn’t! It was Alfred’s!

“What did you do?” Riley asked in that tone.

“So, uh, like I was trying to say. I used my relic to create a dungeon,” he offered weakly.  “I’m a dungeon boss now. Isn’t that cool?”

Riley was speechless. Frank just shook his head. Jerry looked like he was in love.

And Alfred? He was definitely laughing. Jason was fucking sure of it this time.

Not that they had the opportunity to discuss his clever exploitation of the dungeon’s limitations or its completely unforeseeable effects on the traveler and resident populations of Pax. Because the travelers were already turning and swiping away their quest notifications. All of them focused on Jason. That was greed shining in their eyes. They no longer saw a man—a player. They saw a piñata. One filled with precious loot and experience.

Huh… this must be how the monsters felt.

That stray thought came unbidden.

No, this was fine. He could do this. He’d trained for this. He was a tactical prodigy. All he needed to do was craft the perfect plan for this situation. One that would allow him to make it to the Earth District with only minor casualties and property damage.

He inhaled slowly, taking a measured breath.

“Run like hell!” he roared.