He scanned the hallway. Empty. Quiet. From behind a few closed doors came the muffled sounds of movement, shifting beds, low voices. His Blood Sense told him there were people in most of the rooms but threads did not show up through walls or doors.
He stopped in front of a door marked with a small wooden plate: #202.
One presence inside. No sounds of movement. One soft heartbeat.
Harry looked around again to make sure he was alone.
System, heal.
:: Skill [Self-Heal]: Activated (Active, cost: 6 vitae)
Harry experienced the odd sensation of his lip pulling itself back together and what must have been a tendon in his back untearing.
V: 79 | TM: 21%
He looked down at his clothes. The good news, getting kicked around on a barroom floor hadn’t made them any worse. He knocked.
A faint shuffle. The door creaked open.
Sally stood barefoot in a pink silk robe, the hem brushing the floor. Her hair loose. Her face as striking as he remembered, but different now. She didn’t have the same radiance he remembered from the alley. Dimmed.
Her scent hit him. Wild and animal, and on the edge of waking hungers more primal than food. But again, muted like her beauty. And layered now with something else. Roses. Or rosewater. He blinked, caught off guard. His aunt had worn rosewater. Every Sunday. It clung to his memory like dust.
Sally smiled.
He didn’t expect the sadness in it.
Her eyes were tired. Her posture slack. She looked like someone already halfway through saying goodbye, with the same calm he’d seen in animals that knew it was their last visit.
She stepped back and whispered, “You came.” Then opened the door wider and waved him inside.
He stepped in and she closed the door behind him with a soft click.
They stood in silence, the space between them heavy. Harry was reluctant to speak first. He was almost certain she’d seen what happened downstairs.
Harry, you’re acting like a school boy. Martha would laugh at you.
After a moment, she moved deeper into the room.
She gestured to a chair by the dressing table and sat on the edge of a large double bed that dominated the room, taking up nearly a third of its space.
He crossed to the dressing table. There was a mirror. Out of curiosity, he stepped in front of it.
His reflection failed to make an appearance. Probably embarrassed, considering the state he was in.
Stupid magic. Who needs mirrors anyway?
He sat, watching Sally. Waiting for her to say something.
She looked… conflicted. Her brow tight, mouth drawn. Like she was turning something over in her mind.
This is silly, are we going to sit here all day?
He started to speak but only produced a grunt. He coughed and tried again. “Why did you ask me to come?”
She wrung her hands together, “I need help.”
“Is everything alright?”
She shook her head, slow and deliberate but offered Harry a half smile. “What’s your name?”
“It’s Harold.”
“Harold, thank you for the last night. But what’s your whole name? I should know the name of my hero.”
“Yeah? About that…” He frowned. Footsteps echoed in the hall, stopping outside their door.
Sally stood, a quick pleading look crossing her face. “We don’t have much time. What’s your name?”
“It’s Harold Blackstone. But people call me Harry.”
The door handle turned. Sally stood, stepping partway toward it.
Harry stood too, something twisting in his gut as he watched her watch the door. Tension rising fast. “Oh wait. Or maybe Blackheart.”
She looked back, confused. “Blackheart?”
“It’s… complicated.”
The door swung open.
A very large man entered, tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in worn leather with a sword at his hip. He moved with the quiet control Harry had once seen in a silverback gorilla he’d been called to treat. Deliberate, calm, and you got the clear impression you wanted to keep it that way.
He stepped into the room and took position beside the door, posture straight, gaze fixed on Harry, giving nothing away.
Behind him came someone much smaller, miniature by comparison. Harry felt his brows rising in rebellion and tried to bring them under control.
Don’t be rude, Harry.
The newcomer was a man, standing maybe three feet tall, wrapped in deep purple-and-black robes stitched with elaborate patterns that shimmered faintly as he walked. His green eyes were sharp, twitchy. A neatly trimmed goatee, dyed an unnatural midnight black, clashed with the fading copper of his hair. He’d swept the longer strands up into a towering pompadour, a theatrical attempt to disguise the recession at his temples and add several inches to his height.
Harry spotted burn scars on the backs of the man’s hands, and one eye caught the light oddly, moving just out of sync with the other.
Maybe a glass eye. Or in this world, some weird magic.
The man came halfway into the room and stopped to pose, like he expected applause. Harry looked to Sally for some clue as to what was happening.
She stepped forward. “Harry, meet my… my boss. Zinkle Doomcaller, Sorcerer Supreme, Master Summoner, Lord of the Dark Arts, and Mayor of Brookhaven.”
Zinkle strode into the room, his robes shifting with each step. He stopped in front of Sally and extended one hand. Without hesitation, she bent low and pressed her lips to the ring he wore.
Harry thought he looked both ridiculous and very dangerous.
System, can you tell me anything about him?
:: System: Negative. It is a violation of core directives to provide information about others not directly available to the user.
Well, damn.
Zinkle approached Harry and waited. Harry offered his hand to shake. Zinkle reached out and lightly gripped one of Harry’s fingers, wrinkling his nose as he did so.
“Um… nice to meet you, Mr. Doomcaller.”
The dwarf, maybe gnome, nodded. “No doubt.”
He let Harry’s hand go, nudged him aside with his body, and climbed onto the chair Harry had given up, all with exaggerated dignity.
Once he was settled he continued. “You may call me Master Zinkle, or simply Master.”
Harry stepped away from the chair to give him more room and looked to Sally again, his brain trying to process what he’d walked into.
Mayor? Master of what?
The large man closed the door behind them and took up position in front of it, hands loose at his sides, feet planted.
Yeah, a silverback that’s been trained as a bodyguard.
Zinkle made no move to speak. He perched on the chair like royalty, waiting. Watching. Sally returned to the end of the bed and sat, quiet and withdrawn.
Oh… whoever talks first loses? Fine.
Harry shifted, the floor creaking under his boot. “I’m sorry… but I’m not sure what’s happening. At all.”
A smug grin slid across Zinkle’s face, which he quickly tried to hide. “I can see that. You’re new. Weak. Unstable. But somehow free.” He leaned forward slightly. “You are free, correct?”
“Free?” Harry frowned.
“No master? No creator? No progenitor?” He pronounced the last word slowly, deliberately.
Harry shook his head. “No. Nothing like that… that I know of.”
System, do I have a progenitor?
:: System: Negative.
“Good.” Zinkle settled back, lacing his fingers in front of him. “You’ve got potential. I can use potential.”
“Use?” Harry echoed, not sure he liked the sound of it.
Zinkle smiled. “Of course. I use you, you get my help. Everyone’s happy.”
Harry shifted his weight. “You know what I am.”
A thin laugh escaped Zinkle. “Creature of the night? Hearth side myth? Monster?” His voice dripped with amusement, but his gaze didn’t waver.
Harry didn’t answer.
Zinkle’s voice stayed calm, almost casual. “Yes, I know what you are. And that’s what makes you useful.”
Harry’s brows drew in. “I don’t understand.”
The way Zinkle spoke, he’d definitely spent time on stage. “You have appeared in my humble city at a very opportune time.”
Harry looked around for somewhere to sit, making eye contact with Sally and gestured to the bed. She nodded and slid farther down one side giving him plenty of room.
“That’s… interesting. In what way?”
“Help me retrieve something from an old ruin, a dungeon,” Zinkle said, adjusting the cuffs of the ruffled shirt he wore under his robe. “In return, I’ll see what I can dig up on... dealing with your situation.”
“Deal with it how?”
“Being well versed in magical theory,” he paused to give his audience time to follow along, “there is no way to ‘cure’ your affliction.”
He paused again, obviously waiting for Harry.
“Then what are you offering?”
“Ah… what the uneducated masses don’t know is that there are ways to change, or even give up, your class.”
Harry sat up straighter. Looking back and forth between Zinkle and Sally. Zinkle looked smug, Sally just shrugged.
System, is that possible?
:: System: Theoretically. But there is no consistent method.
To buy time to think Harry gestured toward the large man by the door. “Why not send him?”
Zinkle glanced that way. “Otho is good for many things. Unfortunately, he’s unsuited for this situation.”
Otho grinned. Just a slow curl of the mouth that made him look even more dangerous.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“I imagine changing class is rare and difficult or people would do it all the time.”
Zinkle smiled, for the first time looking actually pleased, “Yes, exactly. It’s so nice to deal with someone,” he flicked a glance at Sally, “who understands the challenges that must be overcome.”
“If I were to help you, how would you change my class.”
“In the same way you would help me now,” he answered. “I am tracking down rumors of another dungeon, said to contain an artifact exactly suited to your needs.”
System?
:: System: It is possible.
“Why me?” Harry asked.
“The item is locked away in a very special dungeon,” Zinkle said smoothly. “One that has unique criteria for entry and time is running out.”
“Unique in what way?”
Here Zinkle opened his arms and gestured at Harry, much like he was presenting him at a débutante ball. “I need a zero level hero.”
Hero?
Harry blinked, “I have questions.”
Zinkle gestured for him to continue, “As any intelligent man would.”
“A dungeon?”
“Exactly,” Zinkle said. “You go in. Get what I need. Then I help you with your unique condition.”
Harry held up a hand. “Hold on. I’m lost here. What do you mean by a dungeon?”
Zinkle paused. For the first time, his smooth delivery hitched. “A dungeon. What’s not to understand? A portal opens, there’s a riddle, you go in, kill the monsters, get the treasure.” He glanced between Harry and Sally, gauging their reactions.
Harry looked at Sally. “That’s really a thing?”
She gave a small nod. “Yes, Harry.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Zinkle tapped a finger against his temple, “Ah, I understand. Just like sweet Sally here, you are not originally from this plane of existence.”
System, how much should I trust this guy?
:: System: As we continue to interface, my ability to analyze others will advance. At this moment, I recommend you trust your own judgment.
Thanks. Helpful as always. But if we’re going by my gut feeling, I’m not willing to trust this guy much at all.
Harry slowly shook his head, “Something like that, but I’m not ready to talk about it.”
A look of disappointment crossed Zinkle’s face but he nodded, displaying a great deal of magnanimity and forbearance, “Of course. But it is a conversation I greatly look forward to.” He casually gestured at Sally, “I am in fact, the world’s foremost expert on interdimensional and extraplanar travel.”
Is that true?
:: System: Highly improbable, but not impossible.
Harry leaned forward despite himself. He was intrigued. “What did you mean, time was running out.”
Zinkle grinned, “Good, focus on the task at hand. I grow more and more fond of you… Harry is it?”
“That’s right. Harold, or Harry is fine.”
“Sir Harold then, the entry requirements will change from dungeon to dungeon, but one thing that stays consistent, when they spawn you have a year and a day to defeat and loot them before they disappear.”
“What happens to them?”
Zinkle shrugged, “Sometimes they reappear in some far corner of the world, sometimes they are gone forever.”
“How long is left on this one?”
“Two weeks.”
“That’s not a lot of time. What happens if you’re inside when it happens?”
“The normal outcome is that any intrepid explorers inside at the witching hour are vomited out. No worse for wear.”
Harry looked to Sally who nodded.
System, is that true?
:: System: Usually.
Harry turned back to Zinkle. “Why hasn’t someone else gone in to get your treasure?”
Zinkle chuckled, folding his hands in his lap. “Oh, they have.”
Harry waited. The silence stretched. His brow knit. “What happened to them?”
“They never came out,” Zinkle said, as if he was sharing a joke. “Apparently, this is a very dangerous level zero dungeon.”
“They’re stuck inside?”
“Possibly.” Zinkle shrugged, he obviously wasn’t too concerned about their fate. “If so you can rescue them while you’re inside.”
“What did you mean, level zero?” Harry repeated.
Zinkle sighed sadly, “As I said, every dungeon has entry requirements. Unfortunately, this one has a level cap. It is locked to anyone not level zero or below.”
“How can someone be below level zero?”
“My apologies, Sir Harold,” he said, without looking apologetic at all, “I forget that you are not conversant in common knowledge. The rabble are all considered beneath even the lowest level of any who are blessed with a User Interface.”
“Why not send soldiers, or I guess you’d have knights?”
“Alas, this particular dungeon bars even commoners above level five. There is also their unfortunate lack of magic, which makes clearing even a basic dungeon difficult in the extreme.”
“When the first group didn’t come out, did you send more in to get them?”
“Indeed,” he gave another honest smile, “in a sense.”
Harry waited but Zinkle did not go on.
Really? He’s read one of those self-help books about how to control others?
Harry sighed and asked the question he was waiting for. “In what sense?”
“All dungeons have a limit, only so many can enter.”
“If that’s true, how can I go in?”
“Direct and intelligent questions. After this, we really must talk about you joining my staff.”
“Alright.” Harry waved for him to continue. “In the mean time, how do I go in if it’s full?”
“If the dungeon determines those inside are no longer capable of clearing to the end, it creates the cherished chance for a new challenger.” Zinkle paused. He seemed to go cross-eyed for a moment in admiration of his own turn of phrase.
“So they’re trapped or dead?”
“Precisely. The dungeon is completely open. You will be able to go inside with a full party.”
“No one has ever come out?”
Zinkle held one hand over his heart, or where his heart should be, and put on a very sad face, “They have not.”
“You want me to go into a dungeon no one has ever left? You said a portal, how do you know it doesn’t just drop you off a cliff?”
Zinkle clapped his hand and looked at Otho standing at the door. “Didn’t I tell you we had the right man… er… person for the job this time.”
Otho grunted in reply, which seemed to satisfy Zinkle as he continued.
“Brilliant question. And might I add, you are the first to ask it.” He nodded proudly at Harry. “The answer is simple. I should have said that no one has ever exited the dungeon once the full party had entered. Until then, you are able to do some minor exploring of the entry area.”
“And what’s in there?”
“It appears to be the entrance to some kind of catacombs.”
Harry sat thinking for a moment and Zinkle seemed perfectly happy to let him. Sally fidgeted beside him but when he looked to her she shook her head, apparently having nothing to add.
Finally, Harry started again. “How do you know your treasure’s in there?”
“Every dungeon has a riddle, giving clues to what’s inside.”
“What’s the riddle?”
Zinkle sat up straighter and recited:
“The key is not held, but carried.
The gate is not seen, but known.
The journey ends where the heart began.”
Harry stared at him. “From that you know the treasure?”
Zinkle’s expression softened, wistful, almost sincere. “My heart’s desire.”
This whole world is crazy.
“This is all rather vague.”
Zinkle gave a satisfied nod. “It’s all you need to know.” His eyes flicked to Sally. “But other signs and portents have been studied.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “That’s not a lot to go on before leaping into a dungeon no one has ever escaped.”
“True,” Zinkle said, spreading his hands. “But return with the final treasure and we will consider our bargain fulfilled.”
Harry glanced at Sally. She met his eyes and gave a subtle shake of her head.
System, what do you think?
:: System: Proceed with extreme caution.
You think?
Looking back at Zinkle, he shrugged. “I need time to get my bearings. I don’t know anything about this world.”
Zinkle waved the concern away. “This is a perfect opportunity. Go in, level up, get some treasure. With power and gold you’ll find getting what you need much simpler. Not to mention, the favor I will owe you.”
Harry’s brows pulled down. He stayed quiet, trying to make sense of everything. “This talk of dungeons and levels. None of this seems real to me. Not yet, anyway.”
Zinkle gave an indulgent smile. “You’re still level zero. That’s the only reason you can enter. If you wait, the chance will be gone. Also, the dungeon will close permanently in a few weeks.”
Harry didn’t respond. He didn’t like being rushed. He didn’t like being used. He needed more time to understand where he was and what he’d become.
“I’ll make it worth your while,” Zinkle added. “I’ll throw in a bonus. One hundred gold, and you spend as much time with Pink Sally as you like, if you bring back what I need.”
Beside him, Harry heard Sally give a small gasp.
The implication of that offer was enough to make him furious, but if nothing else, time spent with Harry was time she wouldn’t have to spend with anyone else. Or do anything she didn’t want to do.
Ignore it Harry. Talk to Sally later.
Instead, Harry tilted his head. “Is one hundred gold a lot?”
Zinkle blinked in apparent confusion. “Yes, it’s a lot.” He looked around the room, “You could buy this inn with half of that.”
Harry frowned. “It won’t matter if I don’t come out.”
Zinkle scowled, “Are you refusing to help me?”
Harry studied Zinkle a moment. “If I do?”
"Of course, if you refuse... well, the people of Brookhaven have such strong feelings about monsters. A nightmare like a vampire especially. I imagine the mob would be quite enthusiastic once word spread that one had infiltrated their peaceful town. Started drinking their blood in dark alleys."
Harry's jaw tightened. "I’ve been dead before. And how would that help you clear your dungeon?"
"Oh, you misunderstand," Zinkle said with a casual wave. "I have no intention of starting any rumors. I'm simply pointing out how... fragile your position is. One careless witness, one loose tongue at the Dusty Lantern, and I'd have a terrible time controlling the situation."
He smiled as his eyes shifted to Sally, then back to Harry. “I understand you and Pink Sally are quite good friends.”
“We just met.”
“You like her though?”
Harry hesitated. His eyes flicked toward the window.
Easy jump. System, would I get another title if I went out the window?
:: System: Unlikely. It would be a minor achievement after the bell tower.
Dammit. Do I like Sally? She’s an innocent in this but I hardly know her.
Harry clenched his jaw and nodded. “I don’t dislike her, but you're asking a lot.”
Zinkle’s grin widened. “Oh well, shame then. Sally, it looks like we’ll have to try that ritual to get what I want.”
Sally visibly slumped, eyes dropping to the floor.
“Now don’t be like that.” Zinkle made a shooing motion. “There’s a chance you’ll survive it.”
“What?” Harry stood up and took a step forward. Heat rose in his chest.
Zinkle would hurt her just to force him to go along.
Over by the door he heard the scrape of steel. Otho drawing his sword.
Seeming unconcerned, Zinkle raised both hands, palms facing each other. Several threads of purple flame danced between them.
“Now, now, Harry,” Zinkle said, still grinning. “Don’t do anything foolish.”
Sally stood sharply, voice tight. “Harry, don’t!” Her eyes were wide, pleading.
Harry stepped back. Forced his breath to slow. His eyes found Sally.
She mouthed the words, I am sorry.
:: System: Use skill [Frenzy]? (Y/N)
Harry laughed. No, but thanks.
System’s prompt had the odd effect of calming Harry down. Reminding him of what he was and that he didn’t really have a lot to lose here. He’d already thought once about jumping out of a tower.
Harry looked back at Zinkle, his voice hardened. “Say it. Don’t dance around it.”
Zinkle’s grin didn’t falter. “I think you understand me just fine.”
Harry, “Free her and I’ll go.”
Zinkle’s eyebrows went up and he almost giggled, “You are full of surprises. I never expected that answer.” He turned to Otho, “Did you expect that?”
Screw this guy, I can always run for it later.
Otho gave a noncommittal grunt.
Turning back to Harry, “As much as I’d love to agree to that, she is helpful in my work.”
“She’s helpful, but you’d hurt her if I don’t do what you want.”
Zinkle leaned forward on his chair, his expression shifting to something more thoughtful. “Before you do something rash, consider this. What are the odds, Sir Harold?” He spread his hands wide, theatrical as ever. “A level zero dungeon appears in my territory. The first in this region in decades. It sits here, unclaimed, for nearly a year. And then, days before it vanishes forever, you appear.”
He paused, letting the words hang.
“Someone with a class so rare most believe it’s a legend.” Zinkle's voice dropped, taking on an almost reverent quality. “You arrive in Brookhaven, of all places. Not in some major city where you'd be hunted down immediately. Not in the wilderness where you'd be lost. Here. Now.”
Harry felt something cold settle in his chest.
Zinkle stood on the chair, drawing himself up to his full height. “The cosmos does not deal in coincidence, my friend. You were meant for this. Destiny herself has delivered you to my doorstep.”
Destiny herself.
Harry’s breath caught. Mrs. Destiny Weaver. The Department of Soul Reassignment.
“That's ridiculous,” Harry said, but his voice came out uncertain.
“Is it?” Zinkle tilted his head. “Tell me, Sir Harold. How did you become what you are? Who made you?”
“I don't know.”
“Precisely.” Zinkle's grin widened. “You simply... appeared. Reborn at the exact level, with the exact abilities, at the exact moment required.” He gestured grandly. “If that's not fate's hand at work, I don't know what is.”
Harry looked at Sally. She met his eyes, she looked as uncertain as he felt.
“Even if you're right,” Harry said slowly, “that doesn't mean I'm meant to help you specifically.”
“Perhaps not,” Zinkle conceded with a theatrical shrug as he sat back down. “But you must admit there's a chance. A possibility that you were placed here for this very purpose.” He laced his fingers together. “And as for helping me?” A smile crept across his face. “I control access to the dungeon. So think of it less as helping me, and more as... fulfilling your destiny through my generous facilitation.”
Harry clenched his jaw.
System, is there a chance any of this is true? That I was put here just to go into this dungeon?
:: System: Given current circumstances, it cannot be ruled out.
Dammit, Harry. You’re too old for this kind of nonsense. But if there’s a chance to find out why this is happening…
Harry turned back to Zinkle and nodded. “What do you need me to do?”
Zinkle beamed. “See? I knew we were all going to be friends.”
He hopped off of his chair and turned to Otho. “Call down to… whichever flunky we brought today. Tell them to get the wagons ready.”
Harry looked around, surprised. “We’re going now?”
“The timer is ticking, Sir Harold. Don’t worry about supplies, I have everything you need.”
Sally moved to hook her arm through his and whispered. “You can still back out.”
Harry shook his head, “It sounds fun. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Sally laughed, the first real sign of life she’d shown since he got to her room. She tugged his arm and pulled him toward the door. “Shall we?”
System, whose idea was this again?
System didn’t answer.
He gave Sally a lopsided grin and together they followed Zinkle out of the room.
***
This story is free to read on RoyalRoad.com
If you are reading this on another site it is a pirated copy. If you enjoy the story please read it on RoyalRoad.
You can find the official updated story here: