Chapter 32

Chapter day cometh again!

In some exciting news, AO is coming to books stores summer 2026. I signed a deal with Aethon to have them distribute. Crazy stuff! Here's a handy link.

Also, I kind of like this chapter...

Chapter 32 - Making It

Dungeon – Two Days Later

Alex

How the hell had he gotten here?

That question clawed at Alex as he lay beneath a collapsed stone wall, his once gleaming armor now dulled with dust and streaks of dried blood—most of it not his own. Evidence of nights spent hunting in reverse, becoming prey to lure the native wildlife back to their killing ground.

But that wasn’t what unsettled him. What made his chest tight wasn’t the deception, the dirt, or even the blood staining his once pristine armor. It was the realization that somewhere between running from Jason’s skeletal grin and planning this elaborate ruse, he had stopped thinking about his father; about his sketchy memory; about the crudely scrawled notes on his bedroom wall; about all of that shit waiting for him in the real world.

Instead, the ruins of the town stretched around him, a graveyard of shattered buildings and broken dreams. Debris stacked to suggest natural wreckage, and his breathing deliberately shallow and controlled. The perfect stage, one he’d arranged meticulously. Not because someone had demanded it, but because he’d wanted to. Every detail crafted with a precision that might have even made his father proud. Assuming George cared about such trivial things.

More likely he would just ask where his report was...

Which was the problem. In these moments of silence, reality came crashing back in.

A notification dinged in Alex’s UI, a screen floating above him like an accusatory ghost. His report on Jason’s activities. The one George had insisted he prepare. Alex had recorded every conversation, every battle. Screenshots of the Dungeon Core interface, that upgrade menu flickering above the urn. Details about Jason’s abilities, his skills, his forces.

Dozens of pages. Hours of video.

All of it telling a story of a dangerous teenager. Of enemies transformed into something else. Not friends—Alex wasn’t naive enough to believe that. But partners maybe?

The word tasted foreign on his tongue.

Yet it also felt strangely familiar…

Jason and Alex had spent their nights farming, building the dungeon’s power with methodical efficiency. At first, Alex had resented being used as bait, forced into such a servile role while Jason simply twiddled his bony thumbs atop the mausoleum. But the work had a rhythm to it, a purpose that felt different from the hollow victories his father celebrated.

The Necromancer had urged creativity, discovering something about Alex’s abilities he hadn’t even known himself. His Authority skill seemed to scale with his confidence—with his emotional state. An uncomfortable revelation for the son of George Lane, a child taught since birth that emotions were weaknesses to be suppressed.

Yet that led to an inevitable, exciting question: Did his other abilities scale the same way?

The answer appeared to be yes.

That first pull had been reckless, desperate. He’d ended the fight covered in cuts and bruises, with too many close calls. But as he led the monsters back to the Mausoleum again and again and again, wearing a dirt path through the rolling hills, something changed.

The hardened panels of mana coating his armor grew brighter, stronger, gradually becoming impervious to claws and pincers. His buffs made him faster, more resilient. By the end of each chase, he was barely breathing hard, needing no time to recover before he started back off across the plains in search of new monsters.

Those improvements couldn’t be explained by levels or skill increases alone. There was only one conclusion that made sense: his abilities—all of them—scaled with his light affinity. A hidden variable that the tooltips never revealed. And that affinity was a function of something George Lane had simultaneously spent years trying to beat out of him, all while demanding a perfect performance in public.

Confidence.

Not an imitation. Not an act. Genuine belief – that’s what mattered.

Which explained why he’d felt so weak after their “death run.” In the wake of so many failures, so many crushing defeats at the hands of undead squirrels and countless other creatures. If he were being honest, his fractured memories didn’t help. That hesitation and uncertainty that came with not quite knowing who he was.

But with each new victory, his confidence had grown. By the end of the second night, Alex blazed brilliant trails across the plains, his legs sending him yards with each leap. His gleaming armor attracted dozens of creatures through the darkness, nearly invulnerable to their attacks, any scratch or cut healing instantly in waves of light.

He had even started to… enjoy it.

The chase, the strength pulsing through his body, the unparalleled progress. Alex had grown more in days with Jason than in weeks and months alone. The thought should have troubled him; made him jealous. Instead, it felt like stepping into sunlight after years in shadow.

While nights were spent patrolling ever-widening circles around the dungeon, daylight hours allowed for something Alex had never experienced: genuine collaboration. As native monsters slumbered in their burrows, Jason had him farm the growing undead horde for XP. The Necromancer couldn't level directly—his power scaling with the dungeon. Yet Alex could and Jason didn't even hesitate to offer that advantage.

Hours turned into days, urgency replaced by something altogether new.

They planned. Built. Prepared… and talked.

When they’d discussed the inevitable return of Nephilim scouts, they’d diverged on strategy. Jason proposed building their strength to slay the scouts outright, ensuring no one returned to report the dungeon's existence. Alex admitted the plan had merit—it sounded exactly like something he would have done. At least, judging from that broken reel of memories that flickered through his mind.

But somewhere in those conversations, he’d learned to think outside the box his parents had built around him. Jason’s strategy carried risks. If the Nephilim viewed the dungeon as a threat requiring immediate containment, wouldn’t that be a problem? So, what if, instead of attacking the scouts, they feigned weakness?

That wasn’t Alex’s first instinct—wasn’t something the Lanes embraced, even as pretense. After all, their goal was turning the dungeon into an XP farm for travelers. The Nephilim were distracted by Jason’s manufactured conflict with the Twilight Throne, and Alex had observed their disgust toward the undead.

How would they react to the animated remains of their own children filling the dungeon?

Disgust. Revulsion. They might even be open to another solution…

So, what if Alex convinced them to take him back to the Crystal Reach? What if he used that opportunity to convince the Nephilim to let the travelers handle the dungeon? Weak though they were, they could serve as disposable assets while keeping them busy and out of the way. Especially with a war brewing with the Twilight Throne.

He’d expected pushback from Jason. Spiteful pride or dismissal.

Instead, the Necromancer had agreed without hesitation.

Which was why Alex found himself here beneath this rubble, staring at reports that revealed an uncomfortable truth: they had become partners.

More than that—Alex had been the architect of this plan.

Maybe that was why he hesitated to send the report to George. Despite his newfound confidence, maybe he was worried about what his father might think. Or, worse, what if George tried to manipulate or destroy this fragile thing that Alex had created?

What the hell happened to me? He wondered.

Am I really worried about losing a relationship with Jason—?

Alex froze as his UI dinged again. Ironically, a message from the necromancer. It was time. Jason’s Drones, hidden among the swaying grasses that ringed the barren patch of earth around the dungeon had detected movement. Light mana.

The patrol was here.

Swallowing hard, Alex swept aside his report and forced himself to focus. Only moments later, the Nephilim touched down outside the village, Jason feeding him information through their chat. Alex couldn’t risk responding—not yet.

The Nephilim search party moved cautiously through the ruins, and Alex kept one half-lidded eye open. Their radiant forms cast faint light against broken stone, their movements carrying that same detached arrogance Alex had once worn like armor. They surveyed the wreckage as if the world itself existed for their convenience.

Their spears gleamed wickedly sharp, eyes scanning for survivors with clinical efficiency. Alex remained motionless, waiting. Anticipation thrummed beneath his skin—not quite fear, not quite excitement. Something between terror and exhilaration.

A pulse of light mana rippled outward from one of the soldiers, washing over the ruins in a shimmering wave. It illuminated broken stone and shattered lives in sharp relief, every crack and crevice briefly outlined in pale gold. The spell swept through Alex, making his skin crawl with tingling awareness. Already, the casting Nephilim was pointing in his direction. The spell had detected his mana signature.

He forced himself to remain still. Breathe evenly. Play the part.

He forced his mana down.  He couldn’t heal his injuries – not yet.

A shadow flickered at the edge of his vision.

“Pathetic,” a sneering voice cut through his concentration.

Alex’s body went rigid. The Lady materialized at the edge of the collapsed building, her expression twisted in contempt. She seemed utterly unconcerned about discovery, despite the soldiers converging on Alex’s position.

“Hiding beneath the dirt like a rodent? Is this what you’ve become?” Her voice dripped with the particular venom reserved for disappointment. “Your father would be disgusted.”

Alex clenched his jaw, fingers curling into dust beneath him. He hated how her words found purchase where swords and claws had failed, doubt blooming in his chest like poison. But he couldn’t afford to give in.

A sharp breath. Focus.

As he ignored her, the Lady’s sneer twisted into something uglier. “He won’t save you, you know. Your precious new friend. You can pretend that isn’t what’s happening, isn’t what this is. But we both know the truth. When this fails—and it will fail—you’ll be alone again.”

One of the Nephilim stepped closer, his gaze narrowing with professional suspicion. “We have a survivor,” he called back over his shoulder.

Alex ignored the Lady – he knew what she was trying to do.  Distract him. Ruin his carefully laid plans. But he wouldn't let her. He let out a weak, ragged cough, shifting beneath the rubble with practiced difficulty. He’d spent hours perfecting his appearance—just the right amount of dirt and blood, surveying himself through his own camera. Now he needed his actions to match.

“You’re... Nephilim?” Relief crept into his voice as they hauled debris off him, healing light washing over his staged wounds. “Thank the gods... I thought I was the only one left—” He cut off in a hacking cough that tasted of dust and desperation.

The Lady rolled her eyes, crossing her arms in exasperation.  “They won’t buy this."

Alex’s heart lurched as he saw the soldiers exchange glances, silent communication passing between them.

“They see through your ruse,” she mocked. “Because we both know the truth, weakness is never the answer, Alex. Your father taught you better.”

She was right about their suspicion—Alex had anticipated this. After all, he was the only survivor among dozens. But she was wrong about weakness. Sometimes strength meant knowing when not to use it. All that mattered was the result.

“Who are you?” their leader demanded.

Alex swallowed hard, pushing himself upright as if the effort cost him. “My name is Alec,” he rasped. His real name was too widely known. “I was—I lived here.” Technically true. This place had been home, if only for days. “I don't know what happened. There was a man in dark robes, a Keeper? We thought he was just another traveler, but...” He shook his head as if still dazed. “The patrol chased him toward the border, but he must have doubled back.”

His gaze swept the ruins, landing on the mausoleum with calculated timing. “By the time I realized what he was... everyone was dead.”

His eyes locked on that mausoleum nearby. A corrupted pillar splitting up out of the earth.

Then, with perfect horror: “Oh gods, that thing created a dungeon?”

As the group turned to follow his gaze, bone scraped against stone from within that shadowy maw. The soldiers raised weapons, mana flaring in readiness.

Figures emerged from the dungeon entrance—twisted remnants of what had once been angelic children. They stumbled through the emerald veil covering the entrance, venturing into harsh daylight. Their small skeletal limbs sizzled and burned, shrieks of agony splitting the air before they hissed and retreated into the protective darkness. Glowing sockets lingered in the shadows, watching the intruders with hungry malevolence.

The Nephilim’s disgust was palpable although they relaxed as they saw the undead retreat, their formation shifting to avoid looking directly at the abominations.

“That decaying filth converted acolytes,” one growled, revulsion thick in his voice.

“And formed a dungeon on our border,” another spat. “Perhaps the Empress is right to mobilize our forces. We should rid this world of such unholy abominations.”

The others nodded grimly, but their leader peered at the tomb carefully, light mana radiating away from him and wrapping the Mausoleum as he inspected it. “This dungeon is weak. Level 400-450 at most. Lesser undead—the lowest of the low. Easily dealt with.”

Yet no one rushed to fulfill that promise.

Alex hid his satisfaction beneath a pained grimace. Exactly the reaction they’d wanted. But the soldiers still weren’t convinced about him.

“How did you survive?” their leader pressed, redirecting that magical attention back to Alex. “Your injuries seem... minor for someone caught in such destruction.”

The Lady’s grin turned feral. “Here it comes. The moment of truth.”

Alex exhaled slowly, letting shame color his cheeks. This was the crucial moment—where he had to make weakness his weapon.

“I tried to stop the creature,” he began, then let the words trail off meaningfully.

“They don't believe you,” the Lady hissed.

But Alex had learned something these past days that the Lady—that his parents—had never understood. Sometimes the most powerful thing you could wield was honesty.

His Authority might save him through force, but he lacked the mana to control this many Nephilim. The dark ritual and villagers’ sacrifice had been easier. Those people had been desperate, scared, tired. Even then, he could only influence that many briefly and only while continuously chugging mana potions. And he couldn’t do that now.

Which meant trying something different—imagine another application entirely.

A simple thought brought up the translucent blue tooltip:

Skill: Authority

Skill Level: Beginner Level 9

Effect: Consume mana to influence another living creature.

The description was frustratingly vague. For days, Alex had struggled with this ability. Influence could mean many things—obviously he could force obedience, override another’s autonomy as he’d done with the villagers. But he suspected Authority could be more than that.

He’d seen George use such skills countless times, wielding natural charisma like a weapon. Appearance, body language, vocal inflection, even lighting and emotional state—all variables in a complex equation designed to manipulate and seduce and command.

Jason had offered himself as a test subject, but he and his undead proved immune, their dark mana providing natural resistance. The native creatures showed similar immunity, except for the more intelligent mammals. And Jason had offered guidance based on his experience with the other avatars and with manipulating his own skills, like he’d done with Dodge.

“It’s not just about the skill itself—it’s about intent. Try to visualize the ability,” he’d said.

Alex inhaled slowly, shifting his focus. Easier said than done, but he forced himself to consider the underlying mechanics. Authority was still a function of light mana, and light pervaded everything. It was both wave and particle.

His direct commands felt concrete, static—particle-like. But could he use the skill like a wave? Something less distinct, more pervasive?

He pictured it: an aura radiating from him, gentle and subtle. Not commanding them, but simply changing shifting their perspective, like light refracting through a prism. The energy shifted to accentuate the blood staining his armor, the shadows under his eyes that he’d painted with soot.  He bowed his head, “I-I tried to save them but...”

Their leader remained unconvinced, that magical lens still hovering as he peered into Alex's character status. “Words are cheap. How do we know you’re not lying? Some traveler masquerading as Nephilim? Your level seems far too low for this community.”

The Lady's smile widened.  He already knew what she was thinking: weakness wouldn't work. Alex clenched his fists, doubt threatening to overwhelm him as his experimental aura flickered. But he held firm, drawing on reserves of confidence he hadn't known he possessed.

He was Alex-fucking-Lane.

But more than that, he was someone who had learned to think beyond his father’s narrow definitions. A naked command wouldn’t work here. He needed to project emotion itself—sympathy, compassion, understanding. To lean into his weakness harder.

To make himself appear not as a threat, but as someone deserving of the kindness he’d never received. Every look and touch and word of comfort he’d yearned for after scraped knees and poor grades, after each small failure. The way he’d always wished George would look at him—like a father rather than a disappointed employer.

He needed to imagine another world where his father loved him…

Something clicked. A fundamental shift in his mana’s flow.

The air around him began to sparkle. Not the harsh glare of his usual abilities, but subtle flickers of light. An aura radiating outward like morning sunlight through mist.

A new prompt materialized, one Alex hadn't even known was possible:

Skill Evolution: Authority

Through continuous practice and creative application of your light mana, you have discovered the true nature of your Authority. The skill has been split into two distinct effects.

x2 Skill Rank Up: Authority

Skill Level: Intermediate Level 1

Effect A - Command: Consume mana to command another living creature to follow your will. Extreme mana drain per target. Power and duration relative to your light affinity. Ineffective against dark affinity users and unintelligent species.

Effect B - Aura: Create a sustained aura that influences others’ reactions to the caster. Can be infused with specific emotions or feelings. Reserves 40% of the caster's mana. Unlimited targets within radius.

Holy shit. Alex stared at the screen in shock, his world tilting on its axis.

Even the Lady was speechless, her perpetual sneer faltering.

But he needed to focus. The aura helped, but wasn’t a guaranteed solution. The Nephilim shifted slightly, their expressions softening almost imperceptibly. They weren’t aware of it, but their stances had relaxed, suspicion giving way to something approaching sympathy.

Their leader blinked, shaking his head slightly as if clearing it. But his questions remained valid—Alex’s level was unusually low for the Nephilim, and why had he survived with only minor injuries when the entire village was destroyed?

There was only one answer that would satisfy them.

Alex hung his head, shame coloring his cheeks with genuine heat. “You’re right. The truth is...” He forced the words out like splinters. “I’m weak. I neglected my training, ignored the teachings. I was too comfortable, too complacent. When the Keeper came, I...” The admission tasted like poison. “…I ran. I abandoned my community and let them die.”

He looked up then, moisture beading at the corners of his eyes—not entirely manufactured. “But I don't want to stay weak. I need to repent. I heard you mention the Nephilim are mobilizing for war against the Twilight Throne. I have no right to ask this, but...” His voice cracked with desperate sincerity, his eyes raising to meet theirs. “Take me back to the Crystal Reach. Let me join the war. I'll probably die, but I should have died with my people. At least now my death might buy others a chance at vengeance.”

Their leader studied Alex for a long moment, the others shifting uncomfortably. But what Alex saw in their expressions wasn't scorn—it was understanding. Recognition of a familiar pain.

“Agreed,” their leader said finally. “May the Empress grant you the atonement your life demands.”  At the same time, a glowing blue notice appeared, announcing his success.

New Quest: Persuade the Nephilim

Objective: Convince the Nephilim to send travelers to the dungeon.

Time Limit: Five days.

Rewards:

+500 Reputation with the Crystal Reach

+5 Light Affinity

+10,000 Experience

Alex allowed himself to exhale, fighting the urge to smile with relief.  He almost swiped away the notice before stopping himself. The Lady was still there, her scowl only deepening as she saw him hesitate—the Nephilim still watching him. Ahh, that was her play? To trick him?

He just smirked. Thanks for the free reputation, affinity, and experience.

“Thank the Empress,” he intoned, bowing his head with appropriate reverence.

Come, we will leave this dungeon for now. There is no time to waste,"” their leader continued, gesturing to the others. “We have confirmed the Keeper’s presence with a witness. We must report this to the Crystal Reach immediately. We will make that undead filth pay.”

Alex pushed himself unsteadily to his feet as they prepared to depart. But before following, his gaze drifted back toward the dungeon one final time.

Jason stood in the shadows of the mausoleum's entrance, skeletal and still, empty sockets trained on Alex with what might have been pride. He lifted one bony hand in farewell as a message flickered across Alex's UI:

Jason: Good work and good luck.

Alex blinked in surprise. That actually sounded sincere.

Another ping followed:

Jason: Oh, and I told you so. You were born to sparkle. Try not to blind them lol.

Alex choked on a laugh, barely disguising it as a cough. The Lady scowled at the exchange, her composure returning with venomous force.

“What? So, you really think you’re friends now?” she demanded, the word dripping with contempt. “You think he actually cares about you? The moment you’re gone, you’ll be forgotten. Just another tool that served its purpose.”

Yet, for once, her words held no power over him. Alex turned away, following the Nephilim toward the sky and whatever came next. They might not be friends—not yet. Alex wasn’t even sure what that word meant, his fractured memories offering no examples to guide him.

He was certain of one thing, however: leaving the dungeon left him feeling genuinely conflicted. Almost... sad.

The Lady fell silent, perhaps sensing that her usual weapons had grown dull against this new armor he’d forged.

Apparently, it was a day for firsts.