Cillian woke in spurts. He wasn’t in pain, was the first thing he registered, and then he drifted once again. The second time he half-woke, he registered that it was cold. Again. The third time, he realized he was still wet.

The fourth time, he truly woke with a few blinks. He felt well-rested, unlike last time, and he slowly sat up to take stock of his surroundings. He was on a stone floor, with empty cells stretching on and on, the walls lit by flickering lamps in neat rows. His items were still next to him, and his hatchet was still there. He was wet, so he couldn’t have slept that long, and his clothes were still torn. But, upon closer inspection, he was no longer bleeding. In fact, his skin was completely closed, with faded scars in the shape of teeth on his leg and side.

So, his hypothesis was right. When you moved levels, you completely healed. That was good news. It upped his survival chances.

“Status window,” he ordered as he sat up, and it flickered in place.

CILLIAN JAMES

LEVEL 4

STR 15

DEX 15

INT 15

WIS 15

MANA 15

VIT 35

LUCK 50

SKILLS: NONE

STAT POINTS TO ALLOT: 20

ITEM BOX: 0 ITEMS

ADD ITEMS?

Y/N

Oh, it must be a storage box. Okay. Cillian took stock of the items at his feet. Four packages of meat, the cloak, a pair of boots he missed, and the amulet, along with his hatchet. Not much, but maybe the meat was good for something.

He clicked ‘yes’.

Salamander’s Cloak

Rare Item

Decreases damage dealt to wearer by 5% and increases damage output by 5%. Bludgeoning damage increased by 10%.

Oh, that wasn’t awful, wow. How did he get that on his first drop?

Salamander’s Boots

Rare Item

Decreases damage dealt to wearer by 5% and increases damage output by 5%. Slashing damage increased by 10%.

Okay, also not bad. He would have to equip those. It was a lot easier to think of everything in terms of this was a video game. Just a really hyper-realistic video game. A scarily hyper-realistic video game that could kill him and---

Was that why it was designed this way? To let people adjust easier? Cillian looked down as he considered this, his brows furrowed. Before, he hadn’t given much thought to---

No, he needed to stop, or he would lose his mind again.

Gnashing Fish Meat x3

Rare Item

Meat of the fish that dwell in the deeps. Eat this and see your luck improve. Perhaps some sashimi, hm?

Greater Salamander Meat x1

Common Item

What an accomplishment to survive the Greater Salamander! You must be playing on hard mode, dear player! Consume the flesh and see your strength improve. Cooking is encouraged.

So, there were no stats for meat. Okay. The stats must be determined by luck. But, if Gnashing Fish gave better luck, wouldn’t it be better to eat them first, and then the Greater Salamander? It seemed like the better way to go, but he had no idea how to make sashimi. Wouldn’t it be better to cook it, or would that affect the efficiency? And wasn’t luck a weird metric? Come to think of it…

“Status window,” he said, and it flickered back on.

All of his other stats were sitting pretty at 15, with the exception of vitality and luck. Luck seemed abnormally high. He tried to recall what his stats looked like at level two, but he couldn’t recall.

Anyways…

“Item box.”

The last item was the amulet.

The Writer’s Secret

???

Description conditions not met. Unlock.

Untradable item.

… That was it? That was all he had? What were the conditions to unlock it? He risked his life for this, and he had no idea what it did, and there wasn’t a single hint beyond the name. The Writer’s Secret. It sounded ominous. No, it sounded stalkerish. He knew the Tower had already seen his naked body and knew his full name, but this was…

There was no way it was a coincidence.

And what secret? Because… because he did have a secret. Was this mocking him? Did it happen to everyone that came in here, or was this a direct target on his back? Maybe it meant everything about his past life meant nothing here, or maybe it meant everything. Was this place some kind of psychological torture chamber? Was that it? Why?

“Is this some kind of game?” he asked the air, and there was no response.

Would you like to equip?

Y/N

The screen blinked in front of him, and he stared at it in silence. So, that was the reply? Would he like to equip? Nothing else?

The Writer’s Secret.

The mockery was clearly there, and he inhaled slowly. He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. He had no idea what it did, but…

Yes.

The amulet clattered to the ground, and he picked it up and studied it. This could go very badly, but he wasn’t exactly the poster boy for good life decisions, anyways. Fuck it. Cillian swung it over his head and braced, expecting something to blow up, but…

One second. Two. Three and four. Five. Nothing happened. The amulet was still glowing faintly, and he tucked it into his blood stained bra to hide it. Now… he had his hatchet, so he needed to equip the cloak and boots, and then allot stat points. And then he needed to figure out when this level actually started.

Cillian sat down to tug off his mangled boots and set to changing as best as he could. The blood smelled awful, but that was nothing new. It was better than period blood, at the very least. Taking a moment to examine the scarring, he pushed and prodded at the flesh on his leg.

It was numb. That probably should be concerning, but he was a bit too tired to care. It had already keloided, and was somewhere between white and pink. It was hard to tell they were bite marks. Killing them had dragged their teeth through his flesh and made a mess out of a patchwork of scars. But, he seemed to still be able to stand just fine, so that was something. His side was also a hot mess, and the leather vest was so shredded he considered abandoning it, but some defense was better than nothing. It would be nice if the Tower could fix the clothes, too, but apparently that was too much to ask for.

… Had he actually just jumped into the water because he saw something shiny?

That was all it took to overcome a lifelong fear of ponds in caves?

Something shiny?

“Ha…” he breathed out and slumped back down to the ground, cloak over his shoulders, and pulled the hood up to hide his face between his knees. “I’m going to die so fast.”

He didn’t have the brain cells for this. His entire life, his brain had only moved in one singular direction: writing. Cillian had always been consistently stupid in every other aspect of existing as a human being, and it had always been a problem. Impulsive, careless, thoughtless, and insensitive were his hallmarks as a human being, and he knew it. Why had he even been chosen for this? It felt more like he was being laid out at an archaic altar with a knife poised over his throat. Surely whoever chose him knew he was going to immediately die.

Maybe that was the point here.

Right. He had to allot the stat points.

With a sigh, he pulled his head out from between his knees and said “status window” for the millionth time. The screen flickered to life and he studied it intently.

“I should have a high vitality,” he said out loud and clicked on it, bumping it from 35 to 40. Okay. Fifteen points left. He had never worked out in his life, so… Three to strength, three to dexterity, three to mana, and six to luck. The luck seemed like a stupid option, in hindsight, but if it was going to be so high, he might as well roll with it. Wisdom and intelligence were probably a lost cause without his Adderall, anyways.

CILLIAN JAMES

LEVEL 4

STR 18

DEX 18

INT 15

WIS 15

MANA 18

VIT 40

LUCK 66

SKILLS: NONE

STAT POINTS TO ALLOT: 0

ITEM BOX: 4 ITEMS

That seemed better… ish. Now…

Come to think of it, he had gotten that notification of some guy named Julius. What was that about? What did it mean to “accompany” someone? It sounded suspect as hell.

Attention.

The level will now begin.

Oh.

Oh, right.

He had to actually fight, how terrible---

Every single cell door slammed open, one after another in a crescendo, and Cillian scrambled back in shock. There hadn’t been anyone in the cells?! Why were there people now in the cells?! Monsters, whatever?!

A low growl echoed around the dungeon, and the first thought that crossed his mind was, ‘ah. I should start running.’

Objective: navigate the labyrinth.

Extra rewards for no damage sustained or inflicted.

Sustained or inflicted? How the hell was he supposed to do that?

Cillian didn’t wait to find out. Instead, he turned and broke into a dead sprint down the hall. Figure out the rest later. Right now, his primary focus was making sure he didn’t die. There were a total of five doors before the corner, and he rushed them without a second thought before something swung out, and Cillian didn’t even take a moment to register what it was before he was screaming at the top of his lungs, nearly jumping out of his skin.

Humanoid. No, maybe just once human. A jaw practically detached from a half-rotten face. Bloodshot eyes, teeth falling out of the gums, oozing something black from every corner of its mouth.

“Chocolate syrup!” Cillian shouted, because he couldn’t think of a single other thing to do. “It’s just chocolate syrup!”

The thing growled and swung at him, and Cillian leapt back before scrambling around it. Two more were in front of him, and he almost said ‘to hell to it’ with avoiding them and just smacking the shit out of them with the hatchet, but…

Now that he was looking at it, was the handle really that long?

He was panicking. Fucking zombies? How was he supposed to get through an entire hoard of zombies without dealing or receiving any damage at all? While navigating an actual labyrinth?

Cillian didn’t even realize he was screaming at the top of his lungs, nor did he fully realize that he was past the cluster of zombies that were doing their damndest to pursue him, but they didn’t exactly move fast, did they? He needed to get out of here. Immediately. Who knew if they could speed up, or if there was a phase two? He certainly didn’t.

Think, think, think, he thought as he sprinted down the hall, only to see another cluster of zombies far down at the next corner. How did you get out of a labyrinth? He had to research it for Decay, but that was at least two years ago when he was on the first draft. How did Bard do it?

Ah, who was he kidding? He couldn’t even remember his own plots in a low stress environment. His fans probably remembered his shit better than he did.

Turn around. He had to turn around. Oh, nope, more zombies. They were all shuffling slowly towards him, and he had about thirty seconds to figure his way out of this.

It smelled. It smelled horrible, and the blood on their faces was rotting. They looked almost green. Like someone dug them out of a hot landfill under the summer sun.

“Chocolate syrup,” he muttered as he slowly took a step back. “Chocolate syrup. Chocolate syrup. Chocolate syrup and ketchup.”

His leg almost went out, and, oh, no. It wasn’t his leg. Slowly, he looked down at the brick beneath his foot that was now pushed in, and he opened his mouth.

“Shi---”