Oran’s younger brother, Lorcan, was the family member that he’d been closest to. At fourteen, Lorcan left the family behind to join the Church of the Anointed, as is the destiny of all third-born children of nobles. Those first few years away had been brutal for him, and he often reached out to Oran for emotional support. In that time, Oran learned a lot about the inner workings and training regimen of the Church, and the politics of the pantheon of deities that ran it. No matter which deity you served, the sacrifices were brutal.

And it was for that reason Oran turned down his brother’s appeal to join the clergy with him. The power of a divine core came with an entire host of prohibitions and sacred laws. Most concerning to young Oran was the interdiction against marriage. After he’d had the merest taste of the sweet nectar that is womanhood, there was never a chance for him to live like a priest. Being a clergyman invalidated the entire purpose of having a core to Oran’s thinking. After all, what good was having class if you couldn’t keep your family name, start a family, or own land?

Still, Oran had been proud of his little brother, and his choice to serve Vazriel, the God of Justice. Especially when he’d reached level nine and become a cleric. That was the day he’d also received a blessing.

Blessings were the carrot that the church held before their members to promote ambition. Having a blessing, fast tracked your success above your peers that didn’t. They were a finite resource, only granted during certain yearly rites and allotted to the very best or those with the juiciest connections. Rarely, a regular person or classer could receive one after providing a great service for a particular faith.

The power a blessing granted came in two ranks based on rarity: minor and regular. Each conferring an ability outside of one’s class. No blessing was bad, regardless of rarity, and they were all permanent. The primary difference between rarity was merely how often a high-ranking priest could invoke them. They divided out minor blessings every three months, or once a season, and regular blessings every three years.

But there was a third category of blessing, because the ridiculous divine beings of this world always did things in threes. The greater blessing. Greater blessings could only be bestowed once every thirty years, and only from touching a divine relic.

All it took was for someone to take a sacred relic away from the church’s protection, and they would have access to their own deific power. As one would imagine, holy orders took keeping track of such items seriously.

Indeed, there were entire organizations devoted to hunting down lost relics and the apostates that used them. Such a person was a walking mockery of what a god or goddess stood for.

Which is why, when I heard the metal stomping of boots coming from the corridor ahead, I freaked. There was no way I could account for getting a god's damned greater blessing from a random book. The book hadn’t even been a good read!

In my defense, why are the guards here now?

I snatched up my backpack and ran for the rope, leaving the Dead Scrolls of Thalzaxor on the dirty floor behind me. Now that I knew the book was a divine relic, I felt a little bad about flinging it around. Just a little, though.

I’d almost disappeared behind the precipice when I saw armored skeletal knights storm out of the doorway. The power radiating off of the undead guardians was palpable, and I knew they were far stronger than me. Their baleful green eyes instantly fixed on my location.

Reaching up with my dagger, I cut my reanimated hand free, then after it hopped on my shoulder, I slid down the rope. The fabric of my pants made a hissing sound from the friction of my descent.

I’d barely reached the ledge to the ghoul warrens, when one of my pursuers clattered down the rock face at a fall. The skeleton reached out, grabbing the rope, and swung into the rock face just below the ledge. Without hesitation, I slashed the rope a second time, but it was a little too late.

One of the boneheads' hands caught the lip just by the fingertips. For a brief second, we made eye contact, and I could swear it knew what was coming. I soccer kicked the fingers, sending big and scary off into the darkness, grasping in my direction like it was waving goodbye. If there hadn’t been a bunch more pounding out steps above me, I might have stopped to give him a proper farewell.

As it was, I pushed as hard as I could go. Which wasn’t too fast. I’d traveled maybe ten feet from the pit before hearing more clanging behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I spotted another guardian hanging onto the ledge with both arms. If I’d had a heart, the malice in its grinning gaze would have sent my blood pumping.

A second later, one of its compatriots crashed on top of it, and they both went sailing out of view. I moaned out a laugh in relief, but didn’t stop to look back.

The worn brick path rounded away, and I could hear the bang of metal armor hitting rock again, signifying at least one more pursuer behind me. Worse, I could feel the guardian with my sense undead spell. Hoping to create more distance, I activated Spring Forward, and did a quick sprint down the passage.

Twists and turns in the warrens took me ever further away, and I activated another sprint every time my ability came off of cooldown.

I wasn’t fast enough.

Somehow, the knight continued following behind me like Michael Myers. Even with me choosing my path at random and making no noise. There wasn’t much time before the skeleton caught up with me; even under all that plate armor. I figured I had a good five minutes left before it split me in half.

Time to flip the script.

Taking on a monster that was much higher than me was sheer lunacy, yet I couldn’t outrun it, either. Glancing around for an answer, I saw one of the crawl holes the ghouls used to travel the warren. The gap wasn’t that large, which was why I’d avoided exploring them. Hopefully perfect for stopping an enemy in full plate!

Good thing I spent so much time in MRI machines.

I adjusted my path to the hole and threw myself in without a second thought. The brick work was pleasantly smooth, probably from centuries of ghouls passing through. On my hands and knees, I had about one inch of give from the ceiling. Occasionally, my leather armor still scraped against the stone as I tried to maneuver, but I barely noticed.

I wasn’t very far into the crawlspace when I reached my first split. A chimney-like chamber opened up directly in front of me, giving the option to go up or down. The depths below my position were too far for limited my sight, but I could see other openings above and below me.

I had little time to consider which direction to go. A horrid grating sound echoed behind me, signifying my stalker entering the passage behind.

Sticking out my hands, I balanced myself on the opposing wall until I could stand at an angle. Then I spread my arms out to either side and started shimmying upward with my feet.

No way I could have done this as a shambler. I might enjoy doing this if it weren’t for the circumstances. Haven’t gone up walls since I was a kid.

The going was slow, but intense. I could hear that bastard coming behind me with every single pull of its arms. By the time I reached the next shaft, I saw old creaky pop its head out into the chimney. I gave it the finger. The chase continued on like this for several passageways until the crawl space opened back up for me into a regular tunnel. Walking again, I sprinted in a random direction several more times, then jumped back into another hole.

This sequence repeated several more times until I realized I could no longer feel the relentless dog’s presence. I didn’t stop moving, but I allowed myself to relax.

Time I got one of those famous reanimated hand head massages, methinks. I earned it. Just as soon as I get out of this burrow.

The next entrance broke away to reveal a hexagonal room with a sarcophagus in the center. Charcoal and blood red images covered the ceiling, creating a ghastly mural. Unfortunately, I could identify many of the scenes from the Dead Scroll of Thalzaxor. Chiefly the one where he got his dick cut off.

Not gonna lie, I’d have kept that part a secret.

Another scene presented Thalzaxor like a parody of The Last Supper but organized by Hannibal Lecter.

Across the room was an enormous set of rune covered black wood double doors, and I got excited at the possibility of traveling to a new area. A layer of dust covered everything in the room, including Sleeping Beauty's tomb.

I made my way to the center and looked over the pall. At first glance, the lid appeared nothing more than a plain square top, but I took my time to look it over. Working my way around from the bottom to the top, I found an interesting decoration. Near the slight gap between the top of the sarcophagus and the body were compact glyph-like symbols drawn all the way around. The symbols faced each other like the two sides of a zipper.

Given the subtle nature and placement, I’d assumed I found my first trap. That didn’t deter me from wanting to launch open the cover like a fat booger I wanted off my finger. I couldn’t sense undead coming from within the confines, and I really wanted that heavy ass lid.

Because, while I might have bought myself time, I didn’t believe for a second that the knight wouldn’t find me again. And I wasn’t the type of person to let a problem shadow over me. Not anymore. The fear of being chased for hours on end had put a flame of anger in my chest, but I gripped it firmly like a weapon.

So, I gathered up my strength and pushed the burdensome stone just a fraction off course. Using Spring Forward, I made a run for the crawlspace, but I needn’t have bothered. The moment the seal broke, green gas filled the chamber from holes in the ceiling that I hadn’t spotted. The chemical barely moved faster than I did normally. Still, I kept ahead of the fog on the off chance that it was acidic.

A few moments later, my ghoul claw confirmed the trap was merely poisonous by dancing along the creeping boundary.

Inside the stone box was the badly deteriorated ghoul. Time had reduced a luxurious robe to tatters, and turned the once revoltingly unhealthy ghoul skin to mummified beef jerky.

The only thing of value was an obsidian colored mask over the priest’s skull. Ironically, the shape of the mask was a half skull covering the top half of an actual skull with vampiric looking canines protruding from the upper lip. The shiny black mask was, unfortunately, too familiar. Nearly every depiction of Thalzaxor included the stupid thing. I suspected that the wasted corpse had been a member of his priesthood at one time.

I snatched up the mask and studied it. The outward surface was smooth, with an almost blocky design. In contrast, the inner half had a lining of runes over every inch of the interior. A coolness radiated from holding the object and my mana reacted out to the resonating feeling. It felt like the object wanted me to have it. Maybe with my greater blessing, it really did.

Hesitantly, I lowered the mask over the top half of my face, and felt a jolting sensation, like a magnet snapping to metal. I waited a hot minute for something else to happen, and when it didn't, I pulled it off—you know, just to make sure I could.

That mystery settled, I put it back on, mostly because I liked how it felt against my skin, and focused on the real reason for my grave looting.

It was time to go on the offensive.