Bob’s plan was set. The moment Boss Door spat him out, he hit the ground running.
The pit stretched before him, its air dry with bonedust and long decayed rites. This time, however, only three valid towers of bone and root loomed in the distance. No marrowflower, no central tower. He already knew the tower-placements, already had their destruction mapped out in his mind. With purpose he sprinted toward the first objective, the closest, reaching over his shoulder to grab two skins of oil. He ripped one open and poured its content on the base of the tower, like you see with gasoline and movies. One more skin emptied. Jump back, then an alchemist’s fire arced through the air like a tiny glass comet against the pit’s twilight. It shattered upon impact with a ‘fwoosh.’
Bob didn’t know bones weren’t flammable. It did not matter. The graveroot holding the calcified remains easily took to fire that quickly bloomed and grew like a living thing. Bob had no time to watch. He was already sprinting. Soon, another fwoosh. Shortly after, fwoosh again. Light a torch. Retreat.
When Bob finally turned to watch, the towers were twisting and warping, groaning loudly. The roots were fighting back against the intense heat, a devouring intrusion. But fire doesn’t listen. It just licks.. gnaws.. consume.
[System Message] The Bone Assembly awakens. The dead will not rest until you do.
Too late system. As the foundational graveroot had turned to cinders heat kept rising. From the top of collapsing structures, three invisible figures eventually shrieked.. until they didn’t. Smoke continuously billowed upwards, curling into the swirling darkness above. Remains that hadn’t completely turned to ash cascaded down in broken heaps.
[System Message] You see through the veil. The true threat emerges.
Phase two started as silence swallowed the pit. Moments later came a groan. Low and deep. Bob’s breath hitched. His fingers flicked as he grabbed his crowbar and clenched his torch. He didn’t have to see it, he just knew. This scenario, it was not done yet.
[System Message] The Assembly’s last will takes form. One final requiem.
Phase three, right on que. Right, no more tricks up the bag, this last part is on you, Bob.
Charred, brittle bones shuddered where they had fallen, shifting, rolling, dragging themselves toward the center of the pit as if some unseen tide had gripped them. Bob took a step back, instincts flaring. The battlefield was no longer dead. It was building something. From the piles a vastness was pulling itself together. At first, the structure was chaotic, a senseless mass of tangled spines and jutting femurs, rolling vertebrae and grasping, half-formed fingers. But then, deliberation. Purpose. The skeletons weren’t forming a creature. They were forming a blackened throne. A massive, twisting monument rose from ashen ruin as a seat of the dead, sculpted in agonized precision. Spines locked into a frame, ribcages stretched into grotesque armrests, and at its highest point, a crown of skulls, each one whispering in lost tongues.
Seated upon it was something worse, massive even. Its form was jagged, ribcage burning with a deep violet glow, a horned skull looming above its hunched shoulders. The eye sockets were conduits twin-voids of dark hunger. Finally it stood and the throne collapsed into dust behind it, as if existing only to bring the creature forth.
Okay. New phase. New rules. This was a boss, the actual fucking boss of this dreaded pit. Not a lieutenant. Not a mid-fight gimmick. The fight. And like all true bosses, it was built for annihilation. Yet it had not expected Bob's fire. Blackened bones were brittle from the intense heat, embers from the graveroot had been dragged into its structure like vengeful parasites. Chunks of scorched marrow flaked from its shoulders. Its movements, not sluggish, but imperfect. Bob could work with this. Wait for an opening, tap it once, dodge roll to safety, repeat. He adjusted his grip on the crowbar, the steel rod slick with sweat. His other hand clutched the flickering torch, its flame guttering in the pit’s foul air. No sword. No shield. No magic. Just steel and fire. This is what I live for!
Then, movement. A deep, resonant grinding filled the pit, like stone scraping against stone, the tectonic shift of something vast preparing to erase him from existence. The boss dragged its weapon ready and Bob knew upon sight: There would be no grace, or artful swings either. It was just a pillar of remains, grotesquely molded into a single, monstrous club. Bone grafted onto bone forming a tool of torment that had never known anything but death. The first swing was not a test. Not a probe. Not a feint. It was intended for instant annihilation.
Bob threw himself into a roll as the death-totem came down, the sheer force of it ripping air apart. The ground where he had stood erupted, a shockwave of dust, dirt and ashen fragment blasting outward, shards peppering his exposed arms, stinging against sweat-slick skin.
[HP: 9/10] … [SP: 19/20]
If that had hit, he wouldn’t be wounded. He would be obliterated. No warm-up phase. Just instant homicide? Okay. My HP penalty is gone, and my stamina filled while watching the fireworks. Let’s go to town on you, big boy.
The overlord lurched forward, shifting its stance, its massive frame crackling as marrow strained under its own monstrous weight. The fire had weakened it, hopefully it was enough to turn the tide. Bob swallowed, calculating distances, feeling out the tempo. This wasn’t a fight about power. Then, another swing, this time horizontal, wide. Bob darted back, skimming the edge of the attack. Wind pressure cut at his skin. No damage.
[ST: 18/20]
You've got quite the reach with those sweeps! Bob let out a slow breath, forcing his pulse to steady. Massive weapon, slow swings. Recovery windows exist. He just needed to find the rhythm. Learn the beat before dancing. He circled, making the overlord adjust. It tracked him, raising one arm, bones cracked as the joints strained. That was all Bob needed to see. So, you ARE falling apart. The overlord raised its weapon high for an overhead smash-down. Now.
Bob sprinted forward before the attack landed, cutting inside its reach. He leapt, momentum carrying him just beneath the boss’s ribcage letting him jam the torch directly between blackened, half-burned ribs.
[System] Weak Point Struck! Damage x2. Stagger Build-up: 50%.
Flames curled inside the overlord’s ribcage, intensified by the violet substance already there. Its skull snapped back in a silent scream. Then, inside the boss’s chest cavity, something quivered. Bob’s brain caught up before his eyes did. A blueish bubbling form, twisted in on itself, wedged between ribs and a violet, burning heart. It was half-melted but still alive. Slime! A tattered textbox flickered into existence, struggling against the ongoing tick of damage.
[???] H.. elp..
Shit. Bob’s stomach lurched. His grip on the crowbar tightened as a rush of calculations burned through his head. The stagger meter, fifty percent. One more well-placed hit, and the overlord would be down for a free execution window. Except.. If the ribcage fired up again, so would the slime inside. It already looked too weak.
Bob hit the ground in a roll, tucking his limbs in as the skeletal behemoth’s club sent a shockwave of dust and shattered bone flying past him. He was already moving, already adjusting.
[ST: 16/20]
His mind screamed a conflict of priorities. Damage vs. rescue. Boss mechanics vs. self imposed obligation. Bob exhaled sharply, pivoting mid-step. No more fire to the torso. He had to pry that slime out. Fast.
The overlord roared without sound, air trembling with the force of silent rage. Its charred fingers flexed, the blackened grip tightening around its massive club. A violent twist. A backhanded strike, wide and sweeping. The wind shear of the strike alone rattled his ribs, a phantom of force brushing past his head. Bob didn’t even think about blocking, he dodged forth again, landing himself right underneath the monster.
His eyes locked onto the knees. If he broke them, the boss might drop. Lunge, then swinging with everything he had.
[System] Weak Point Struck! Damage x2
The overlord faltered slightly, just for a second. And that was enough. Bob twisted, wrenching the crowbar free, then swung again, shattering the same knee entirely.
[System] Weak Point Broken! Movement and Balance Impaired. Material Dropped: Ancient Marrow.
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The boss fell as its ruined leg buckled, sending it crashing onto all fours. Bob was already climbing the toppled giant. The eerie fire inside the Overlord’s rib cage was dying down, but not fast enough. The slime trembled, its edges bubbling.
“Hold on, buddy,” Bob gritted out, jamming the crowbar between two ribs. He pried. Forced leverage where there wasn’t much to give. The ribs didn’t budge.
The Overlord shifted beneath him, skeletal fingers clawing at the ground, readying another attack. Bob clenched his teeth. Think. The ribs were already brittle. He just needed to smash. Bob raised the crowbar and slammed it down. Then again. And again. Finally, a shattering crack and snap. The slime tumbled out, rolling across his arm in a sizzling, half-liquid mess. Bob barely caught it in time, wincing as heat bit into his skin. “Aw, fuck..”
[HP: 8/10] .. [ST:10/20]
Beneath him, the overlord lurched, then grabbed him with one hand, slammed him against the ground twice and threw him skitting across the ash covered dirt. Slime just bouncing away like a ball.
[3 Damage (4-1) ] .. [3 Damage (4-1)] .. [1 Damage (2-1)]
He had hit the ground hard, thrice, seemingly surviving just because of.. damage-reducing polka dots? Just 1 HP left. Kinda fitting, hardcore and all.
Bob's opponent reeled, struggling to balance on its single functioning knee. Then, for a moment, it froze, hollow eye-sockets locking onto him. Bob glared right back. “You lost something, slime-napper?” An instant later, the overlord twisted, rearing back on its ruined leg, skeletal joints grinding like rusted machinery on the verge of collapse.
Yeah, your leg is fucked up! Bob didn’t hesitate. He rushed in, feet kicking up ash, every muscle coiled in momentum. He had seconds, no, fractions, before the boss adapted, before some last-ditch phase transition turned this win into a reset. He swung. The crowbar crunched into the join of an elbow, shattering brittled bone.
[System] Weak Point Broken! Right Arm Disabled. Material Dropped: Large Bone Fragment x3
The Overlord let out a soundless wail, more rage than pain as its weapon tilted, too heavy, too much. With a dull, earth-shaking thud, the weapon crashed against the ground, a useless relic of violence it could no longer wield. Dust plumed. Bone shards rattled. Bob was already moving. Left arm. He had to take the left.
It sensed intent and lunged. Bob dodged, instincts firing on raw experience, years in the making. If there’d been muscle left on those bones, maybe it would’ve adjusted, maybe it would’ve twisted in time, caught him, crushed him. But there wasn’t. And there they were locked in the final moments: Big enemy, small weak points. small enemy, big attitude. Bob was first to react, exploding upward, crowbar leading. Crack. Dodge. He didn’t know what he hit by this point as shattered parts and dirt rained around him, a massive form tumbling. For a long, stretched moment, the overlord struggled. Trying to move. Trying to fight. Trying to exist. It couldn’t. Bob let out a slow exhale. Then, gripping his weapon tight, he paced forward, swung and won.
[System] Boss defeated. Updating progress: 1/7. Victory achieved. Rewards pending.
With a great groan, the floor beneath the shattered remains sank. The arena peeled away in layers, bone and debris falling inward as if being consumed. It wasn’t violent. Not a trap. Just the world correcting itself, revealing what had always been there. Then the ground stabilized, and in its center was a stairway leading to an underground chamber.
[System] Tier 5 Vault Accessible. Claim your rewards, and may you bear them well.
Bob's pulse had remained somewhat steady through the fight, but now that it was over, the aftershock of tension settled into his limbs. His knuckles cracked as he flexed his hands, rolling his shoulders. A textbox flickered beside him, as a tiny blue slime, no bigger than a fist sized bouncy ball, arched into his arms.
[????] Thank you.
Bob didn’t respond, and the Slime bounced to sit on his shoulder. With measured steps, he made his way inside. The vault was smaller than he expect. Not filler and fluff. In the back stood a dark pedestal, its frame glowing faintly and a velvet-lined chest sat at its heart. Chest first. Deep red interior, pristine, as if untouched by time. Unlike the grandiose treasure hoards of other games, this was deliberate minimalism. A choice leaving no excess or clutter. Just five slots and five gleaming orbs placed neatly inside. Bob didn’t need a tutorial to figure out how this worked. One orb for each tier cleared. A reward structure baked into the arenas. He reached out, fingers hovering nearby as he felt the orbs intent: Each carried an choice of rewards.
He had played enough brutal games to know when to spend and when to save. He had no safety net here. No respawns. No second chances. But he could at least adapt. Stockpile and adjust on the fly. Nodding to himself, he decided: test one out and pocket the rest. Don't pop all the loot-lamas just yet. He plucked an orb and it started too pulse, stirring the system to life.
[System] Path Orb Activated. Select Your Reward:
Coin Roll. Gain a randomized sum of coins.
Stat Roll. Choose one stat increase from three options.
Passive Roll. Choose one passive from three options.
Skill Roll. Choose one skill from three options.
Bob snorted. Easy choice. ‘Skill’ The air shimmered. Three golden glyphs flared before him, hovering, waiting.
[System] Select One Skill:
Firebolt. Shoot tiny globes fire!
Arcane Dash. Get your short-ranged-move on!
Shield Slam. Builds stagger based on shield.
Bob’s fingers twitched. All three had some merit. Firebolt would give him a much needed ranged option. But, tiny globes? Was that even worth it.. Shield Slam was tempting, but he already sold the buckler. That left Arcane Dash, a movement skill.. Well, mobility is king. Always had been. Always would be. The Path Orb shattered, reforming into a faint glow that sank into his skin.
[System] Ability Acquired: [Arcane Dash] A swift burst of horizontal movement. Distance scales with movement speed. Mana Cost: 1
Bob rolled his shoulders, testing the weight of himself. No immediate, physical shift, but the knowledge settled in his being, like muscle memory waiting to be triggered. Right, this will come in handy. Then he closed the chest of globes and pocketed it.
[Item Acquired: Exquisite Chest]
[System] Inventory Slot added x5
[Item Acquired: Path Orb x4]
Space for days! Bob let out a quiet breath of relief, flexing his fingers at the subtle shift in his status. Having more inventory-slots was almost as satisfying as hearing a tight loot-filter spasm after hours of grinding. Now, the pedestal in the back. Under its soft, beckoning glow, something flickered, a final reward for making it this far. Bob reached out.
[Item Acquired] Phantom Cloak (Hooded), Unique, Bonus: Grants invisibility after standing still for 10 seconds.
He held the cloak in his hands, marveling at the lightweight fabric that felt almost colder than the air around it. It reminded him of a necromancer’s garb he’d seen in old-school MMOs, minus the skull buckles and swirling black gloom that screamed ‘evil coming through.’ This one was simpler, quieter. Subtle arcs of dark green and gray with faint stitching suggested power without making a parade of it. Necromancer-lite. He had what he came for. Now came the real question: How the hell do I get out of here? The moment he thought it, the ground beneath him 'lurched.' A great grinding noise echoed through the vault, like mechanisms shifting after years of disuse. Bob tensed, dropping into a ready stance. Then, without warning, the floor beneath him vanished. Son of a.. !
He fell. Not a gentle, gradual drop. This was a plunge. For a moment, all he could think of was every platformer rage-quitted as a youth. Wind roared in his ears as he flipped and twisted in the air, his body reacting before his mind fully caught up. ‘Arcane Dash’ He was yanked sideways, somehow slowing his descent. Just enough for him to see the bottom before impact. Twisting his body just in the knick of time, he went from face planting to landing in a kneel, one hand on the ground. Hero pose!
[System] ‘Stick the Landing.’ Achievement Unlock. Reward: 25c, x2 Base Jump Power
[System] Mail Received (Sender: System)
The torch he’d been carrying earlier was nowhere to be found. He must’ve lost it mid-plunge, or maybe it finally sputtered out. The brand-new phantom cloak though, draped neatly over his shoulders, its hood sliding forward to conceal half his face. If he stood still long enough, he’d vanish from sight. He kinda digged the look: The shady-grey-with-flair-aesthetic with a sprinkle of I-have-a-metal-rod-and-zero-patience. He flicked off a bit of debris clinging to the cloak’s hem. Underneath, his simpler gear remained: well-worn boots, battered pants, the belt that still held an empty sheath. Then a floating text box appeared.
[Echuu] Oh. You lived. Unexpectedly.
The Antechamber once again encased him, its circular boundary of walls still half-shrouded. “Yeah, well. I’m full of surprises.” The little slime guide bounced in place, next text box flickering with playful snark:
[Echuu] So.. Did you bring me a souvenir?
Bob rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I think so.” He patted himself down, checking pockets and the folds of his new cloak, only to frown when he didn’t find what he was looking for. “Where did that little..”
Something squirmed in his left boot. Bob balanced awkwardly on the right leg, hasting to get his boot off without untying it. Through a gap a bluish blob slid out landing with a wet plop. It rolled once or twice, then sprang up in a bizarrely graceful arc straight onto Echuu’s head. Double 'Wrouble'..
[Echuu] Hey! Personal space, you clingy bit of goo!
Bob snorted. “This is one of your friends?” Gesturing to the newcomer slime. It was way smaller than Echuu, tinted a pale ultramarine that pulsed at its core. It clung to Echuu’s tendril with a soft squelch, then settled in place like some bizarre new year eve hat.
[Echuu] Oh, that’s a collector-slime. Bibidiblob. Sweet find. He hoovers up boss materials faster than you can say ‘loot drop.’ You know, like a bib on a baby. Yeah, let’s actually just call him Bib.
Bob’s eyes narrowed, as he recalled the faint glimmer of items left behind by the boss, dropping from a shattered weak point. He’d been too busy, or too dazed, or both, to scoop it up before the vault appeared, and vanished. Maybe this slimeball had done the job for him. Squeeeeeeeeze!
As soon as Bob wrapped his fingers around Bib and clenched, it rippled, squirting out items onto the floor beside him. Three tinted green text boxes labelling the Large Bone Fragment’s and one white box with dark red text labelling Ancient Bonemarrow. ‘Click.’x4. Wonder what these do. “Thanks Bib. Guess I owe you now.”
[Echuu] You mean, owe me. I gave Bib a home on my head after all, just within arms length! You can pay me back, by squeezing me, like you did him.
Bob managed a small laugh, shaking his head in mild reprieve. Oddly, it felt kinda good to be back in the antechamber. Echuu gave a playful nudge to the smaller slime perched on top. Their two jiggling forms made for a wholesome sight, like the comedic siblings in an isekai. Then Echuu’s text flashed again in bright, teasing letters:
[Echuu] .. you really are The Bob.. Right Bib? That’s nice. I’m not filing my complaints with management then.
