The Rifleman - Bk1 - Ch.8

Chapter Eight

Dungeon Wes

Wesley Lancaster slowly came back to himself. His mind was shattered, and while something had woken up a while ago, it took a long time before it was actually him again.

His soul ached. Wes was unaware a soul could ache and was never sure if they existed until that moment, but now he was sure as hell was. Wesley had a soul, and it had a massive headache. That was far from the only part of him that hurt. If he was honest, it was difficult to find anything that didn’t hurt. The top contenders were his soul, head, and the burning pain in his chest.

For a long time, all he could do was lie there on the cold floor and wait for it to pass. His mind drifted back to lying in bed as a child. His parents had decided to skip out on the measles vaccine, something his mom had read online, and when he got sick, they took the approach of shoving him into his bedroom and keeping the curtains shut. The idea had been to stop his eyes from being hurt by bright light, but at some level, he always wondered if they just didn’t want anyone to know they had skipped vaccinating one of their kids. 

The heat, the illness, and the fact he was alone all day had left him delirious at more than one point. He remembered the feeling of his mind clearing when they put him in an icy-cold bath one particularly bad day. That was the only thing close to how he felt now. 

Gradually, Wes became Wes again and pulled himself up into a sitting position. Leaning his back against the wall behind him.

Before he could figure out where he was, the chalky writing started to scribble itself on the wall across from him.

Tier 2 attained!

Totemic bonding attained!

Flare(98%)

Minor Heal(100%) 

Ready to upgrade

Reload(42%)

Tier Two (57%)

Influence: 1600

Firsts:

Totem Bonding:

You successfully bonded with a Totem animal!

Totem bonding grants the following benefits - 

All stats increased by (1) Tier

Grants ability - Were-wisp.

Were-wisp (0%):

Take on the properties of a wisp until canceled.

WARNING: Spending too long transformed will leave you in a prolonged weakened state.

Dungeon Crawler:

Entered a dungeon for the first time.

Skill Selection for Tier Two -

Armored Hide - Passive

Increase the toughness of your skin and resistance to all forms of damage

Ready Up! - 

Increase all stats by ⅓ of a Tier for 10 minutes.

Hawk Eye - Passive

Increase visual range and acuity.

The options weren’t exactly promising. He had been hoping for some kind of weapon skill or something similar. The increased armor looked good, especially considering he currently had nothing at all. That being said, nothing Wes had fought thus far would have had much problem with a little armor. The hyena, the freaky zombie things, and even the frogs seemed more than a match for anything less than full-plate armor. 

The thing that had come closest to killing him so far was the Wisp. It hadn’t seemed to bother with getting past armor, just straight up draining him from a distance instead. 

The buff was nice; he was pretty sure any form of buff was a top choice in any game, but Wesley was hesitant as he already had a buff from his Totem. It gave him an entire tier instead of a simple third of one. With no idea if the buffs would stack or not, it wasn’t a good choice, at least until he knew for sure.

That only left him with the other passive, Hawk Eye. He chose it and closed his eyes with a wince. He felt like someone was putting a tattoo on his bloody corneas. He would have screamed, but Wesley had a new definition of what counted as pain now. This was merely uncomfortable.

Body Tempered x3

Vitality increased by 30%

Toughness increased by 20%

Continue tempering to increase buffs.

“I’d rather slam my dick in a drawer, but thanks for the offer,” Wesley chuckled as he reached for his canteen, finding it completely empty. His mouth was as dry as a desert, and his throat felt like it was made of sandpaper. 

Water was a must.

Finally able to take a moment to look around the room he found himself in, Wes saw it was a simple stone room. The bricks looked like granite slabs with some crumbly mortar in between. The roof was hard-packed earth, with a few roots hanging out of it as if he were underground. Even the small details of the stone were visible to him, and if he focused, he could see the individual flakes of mortar even in the dim light provided by… nothing.

Wesley frowned and searched the room, looking for any sign of a light source, but there was nothing there. There was just a dim light that seemed to come from nowhere. He checked the pale shadows and found they showed a light source overhead, where the dirt was. In the end, he was too thirsty to care and simply pulled himself to his feet. The archway or whatever it was that had brought him here was nowhere to be seen. This room was a square box with one exit on the far side. Other than the exit, he could only see one thing: a shallow alcove in the wall behind him.

Tottering over to it, he saw a small bowl of water in the alcove, filled from a trickle of water coming out of a small opening in the brick. He felt his eyes get misty as he stared at the water for a second, enchanted by the softly rippling surface. Wesley was willing, at that moment, to swear it was the best thing he had ever seen.

Some rational part of him warned it was a bad idea to drink water he found in some underground room when he had no idea if it was clean, poisoned, or worse, but it was way too slow to make its point. He was already drinking.

The bowl emptied way too quickly, so he stuck his canteen under the steam of water and let it fill, licking his dry lips the whole time.

He’d already drunk some, so he might as well go for broke. Over the next half-hour he filled it three times and emptied it twice. 

As he screwed the cap onto it and put the full canteen on his belt, Wesley decided it was time. With trembling fingers, he pulled up his shirt and his vest. The circle was there, still. An ornate border of vines had emerged from it, snaking up onto his chest–holy shit, he had some nice muscles all of a sudden– and down toward his stomach. In the formerly empty center was the most complex tattoo he had ever seen, here or on Earth. It was… the wisp. A ball of pale purple contrasted against his skin, thanks to a dark shadow behind it. The energy it gave off was shown as smoky waves of shifting color. Even as he stared, it looked to be in motion.

“What the ever living fuck were you?” Wes muttered to himself, hurriedly pulling his vest back down and buttoning the shirt.

//////////////

Wes racked the bolt on his M1 and swallowed hard before stepping out of the room and into the corridor beyond. Looking behind him, he saw chalky writing appear above the door, marking it as a ‘safe room,’ which would have been good to know while he was in there.

The corridor looked like something from an old castle, all stone and cobbles everywhere, with the weird dirt ceiling just to hammer home the idea it was buried. He could hear shuffling steps from the room beyond the hall, and he crouched and pressed himself against one wall while making his way slowly and carefully to the far end.

The shuffling was, not surprisingly, zombies. Several groups were lurching back and forth in a large, circular room. Each group seemed to vary, some having as little as three zombies while others got up to seven. 

“Trash Mobs,” Wes muttered to himself and focused, scanning for what he knew must be there somewhere. Just as two of the groups parted, Wesley saw the boss. Unlike the others, this one was armed. A large metal mace sat over his knees as he stared sightlessly but directly at Wes.

Jerking back, Wes brought up the rifle and peaked again.

It hadn’t moved. 

Wes slowly waved his hand, but the thing didn’t move. 

“I guess I have to kill the rest first,” Wes said, thinking out loud as the silence grew oppressive.

The question was how to do it. There were nearly thirty zombies in there, not counting the boss. If this was a game like the ones he had played, he could pull a few at a time and whittle them down. If it wasn’t, he could pull the whole room and die screaming as he was ripped apart. The only way to find out which it was would be to fire a shot. 

Looking around, Wes confirmed there was no cover, nothing to make a trap with, not even a bit of wood to put between him and them. Hesitating wouldn’t change anything, so Wesley spent some time watching the groups instead. 

They weren’t moving randomly. Each group followed a set path as they moved. More than that, they weren’t actually all the same. He could identify three types from here, and he was already pleased with the effect of Hawk Eye. Without it, he would never have noticed the small differences.

Type one, which he mentally labeled as shamblers, dragged one leg as they moved, had withered arms, and seemed less coordinated. They were also slightly slower than the others.

Type two, or walkers, seemed perfectly healthy aside from being dead. Their fingers were twisted claws, and they would take a few steps before pausing to let the rest of the group catch up. Wes was willing to bet they were the fastest zombies in the room.

He had to be careful of the 'bruisers.' They were much more heavily muscled and slightly shorter than their brethren, and they all showed glints of metal armor under their tattered clothes.

The groups with three zombies always had two bruisers and a walker. Never a shambler. In short, they were the elite groups. 

Resting back against the wall, Wesley accepted there was no way around this. The entrance room was conspicuously lacking an exit. There was no other exit from this corridor. The only way out was through. Not just the zombies in the room ahead of him but through everything between him and the exit.

Wes wasn’t a fool; he was probably going to die here. That fact was like a lead weight in his stomach. Fear wormed its insidious way into his thoughts, telling him to go back, hide, sit, and wait for rescue.

But this wasn’t that kind of world.

The only way out was through.

His first shot was dead on. The bullet slammed into the bruiser’s head and dropped it like a puppet with its strings cut. The problem was the bullet kept going, slamming into the head of a shambler and taking that out as well. The shambled lurched before it fell, crashing against a passing elite group.

“Shit,” Wesley swore and sent the next two shots wide as he panicked. In no time, the entire room was on its way over, and he was right about the walkers; they were much faster than the others. 

He emptied the rest of the clip and cast Reload, slapping in a new one as he backed away down the corridor. It created a natural choke point, but the entire corridor was packed in no time, a wall of undead flesh with the walkers in front.

Wesley cast Flare through the rifle, sending three glowing bullets into the throng, gaping as the fire spread fast between the dried-up corpses that filled the corridor. Smoke billowed as he continued firing, casting Reload again when the clip ran dry. 

In no time, he was back in the Safe Room with his back to the wall, firing into the smoke. When this clip ran dry as well, he waited, nervously watching the smoke-filled corridor for signs of movement. Reload was not infinite. If something–

A bruiser charged out of the smoke, flames licking at its shoulders as it reached for him. Wes ducked and spun away, surprising himself with how quickly he reacted and how fast and fluid the movement was. In a single movement, Wesley drew and fixed his bayonet before stabbing it into the bruiser’s head twice in quick succession.

It collapsed, but a walker was coming next. The minutes that followed were busy, but Wes surprised himself by actually having fun. This was the first time he had a chance to actually feel his new Tier and buffs in action. The longer he fought, the more natural it all felt. Spinning the rifle to slam the butt into a shambler’s head shattered it instantly, ducking and spinning to stab the bayonet into a walker, reaching for him through the smoke. It was no more difficult for him than walking down the street, as the zombies seemed to be moving in slow motion. When the last one fell, Wesley sat down to escape the smoke filling the top of the room and took a long swig from his canteen.

“Well, all right,” Wesley said with a satisfied smile. “I might be able to survive this after all.”

Looting the corridor had not been fun. Wes crawled along, staying close to the floor and looting one burning corpse after another. It had been his only option, as the smoke seemed to be getting thicker. One by one, they disappeared, taking the fire with them. The smoke remained, but he thought he could already see it thinning as he looted the final corpse. 

The zombie loot was not great. While Wes would be eternally grateful they didn’t drop meat like everything else seemed to, the piles of bones and cloth scraps were not exactly getting his blood pumping. 

The smoke clearing let him get another look at the boss, seeing it was now standing, massive mace held in both hands as its empty sockets stared ceaselessly at the doorway. A thick metal chest plate was matched with an armored kilt; both looked like iron instead of steel. Rust had formed over the years, but it certainly didn’t look weak. 

He hoped that a Flare shot would set the thing on fire, taking it out nice and quick. Still, he wasn’t going to bet his life on it. Wesley might have enjoyed the ease of fighting the other zombies, but that hadn’t suddenly made him a dare-devil. 

Killing was never something he wanted to do. Any time he was given a choice, Wesley would choose not to kill. The problem was that this dungeon didn’t offer other options. Hell, this world didn’t seem to offer other options.

Ask Gem.

Standing just inside the doorway, Wes lined up his shot. Flare poured into his rifle, and light spat from the rifle as he pulled the trigger. The burning bullet hissed across the room… and the boss ducked.

Wes turned and hopped back down the corridor, taking great leaping jumps until he was just outside the Safe Room once more. Dropping to one knee, he waited. 

The boss appeared, ducking another Flare shot. 

The third bullet, fired a split second after the first, drilled into the shoulder, and a faint stream of smoke rose. 

The boss’s mouth opened in a hiss as it rushed him.

The bone piles he had received as loot were spread across the hallway, causing the boss to stumble and slip as the bones under his feet broke or rolled.

Wesley took advantage of the opening and fired another five shots, aiming for the head. Three missed as the boss moved to steady itself. Another blew the bottom jaw off while the last pinged uselessly off the thick iron chest plate.

Knowing the same trick wouldn’t work twice, Wesley cast Reload and kept firing. 

The boss advanced down the corridor, mace held in front of the head as bullets tore away at it. 

“Was really hoping you would be too stupid to do that!” Wesley yelled. “Shit, out of bullets! Fuck!”

The boss roared and lowered the mace to charge.

“Kidding!” Wes smiled and fired a Flare shot from the rifle. The glowing bullet slammed into the skull, and smoke poured from the eyesockets as it swung the mace wildly.

Wes tried to dodge but slipped on his own trap and crashed to the floor.

The Mace whistled down toward him, and Wes kicked out in panic, shattering the boss's bony knee. The mace slammed into the cobbles, spraying his face with smashed rock, right next to his head, as the boss toppled onto him. Flames burned in the skull as it wrapped skeletal hands around his throat and squeezed.

With his rifle trapped between him and the boss, Wesley didn’t dare fire. Letting go of the M1 and grabbing just above the boss’ wrists, Wes twisted and ripped, the dry flesh tearing like paper until his fingers dug in between the bones. He ripped the bones outward, causing the forearms to tear. The hands choking him went limp as the boss reared back. 

“Just fucking die, will you?” Wesley watched the boss smash its own forearm against one wall, shattering the bone. Before he could react, the boss lurched back down, burying the jagged remains of the forearm into his chest before it finally stilled.

The boss’ body fell apart as Wesley coughed, blood filling his throat. Surging up to his feet, Wesley pulled the shard of bone out while he struggled to breathe, blood pouring out of the wound.

In a panic, Wesley pushed his right hand against the wound and cast all three charges of Minor Heal at once. The wound started to close, but the blood was still filling his throat and lungs. It was just too slow.

Chalky writing appeared on the wall as he dropped to his knees.

Minor Heal Upgraded!

Choose One:

Heal:

Heal a light injury

Emergency Heal:

Heals a smaller amount than ‘Heal’ but prioritizes life-preserving healing.

Requires: Rifleman Class. 

Despite knowing the charges were spent, Wesley chose Emergency Heal and tried again. To his surprise, it worked. However, when he tried again, all he got was pain. It seemed that Emergency Heal received an extra charge.

Just as his vision started to darken, the last of the blood cleared from his throat. Wesley lay there, coughing and spluttering while he gasped in air. He looked down at the wound on one side of his chest. It was still healing, blood still flowing slowly from the wound as it knitted back together. The Emergency Heal must have prioritized the lung damage, saving his life.

It was surprising to see it was a Rifleman-only skill, especially since he was sure the class didn’t even exist before he arrived here. Did it mean the system was making up new skills for his class? The medical bag lay on the floor nearby, having come off in the struggle. Was that the reason for the change? Wesley knew emergency medicine was the entire purpose of the battlefield medic, but did the system? 

Yet again, Wes threw himself into a puzzle to avoid thinking too much about what had just happened. 

The system had scanned his mind to make the class, so did it get the medic and rifleman confused? Or had he? The idea that pure luck had saved him twice, first when he arrived holding a rifle and second because he was dressed as a medic, was frankly terrifying. He really had to stop surviving based on luck.

//////////////////

The boss zombie did not respond to him trying to loot it for some reason. After trying twice, Wes gathered all the parts together and tried again. Nothing happened.

The only difference he could think of was that this was a ‘boss’ creature. It was undoubtedly the first one not to die immediately after being shot in the head. The rules clearly worked differently for this one, but he wasn’t sure how or why. Right about now would be a great time to discover a game manual lying around, but nothing presented itself.

The armor it had worn was heavy and slightly too small for him. Wes considered putting it in his pack, but at the end of the day, the added weight just didn’t seem worth it. There might still be a lot of dungeon left to go, and if he got out, the idea of lugging it clear across a swamp-riddled zone was exhausting to even think about. Sure, his stats made him feel like some kind of super soldier, but that didn’t make his energy suddenly limitless or anything even close to that.

Wesley turned to go and check out the now empty boss room, only to turn back and use the butt of his rifle to smash the boss’ skull to smithereens. 

Still unable to loot it, Wes felt a bit better anyway. Too many horror movies in his past had made him paranoid, but either way, he felt better knowing it was definitely dead.

The large empty room was… completely empty. There was no sign of a chest or any other kind of reward. 

Who made a boss room without loot? He searched as carefully as he could, not wanting to miss anything. There was only so much you could do to search a completely empty room containing exactly one wooden chair and sweet fuck-all else. 

Two corridors led off the room. One looked like it went further down into the dungeon, and the other curved up. At the end, Wesley caught a glimpse of silvery liquid.

Onward or out?

Wesley sat down to think.

The room was quiet as he fiddled with the strap on his rifle. Wes was very tempted just to leave the dungeon now, especially given the lack of any kind of reward so far. He supposed Gem would have loved the bones and cloth scraps he had been offered, but he was far from enthused. 

The room boss had also nearly killed him. The fight had only gone his way because of a last-second skill upgrade that was exactly the right one. With that in mind, heading back out into the swamp seemed like a no-brainer. 

Except… there was a reason he came in here. The swamp had nearly killed him as well. Gem had seemed sure the Wisp was not meant to be there, which left open the possibility of there being more or even worse stuff out there. In the dungeon, he could backtrack to here and leave if there was something too bad ahead; out in the marshy nightmare, there was no safe escape—no safe room, nothing.

In short, he might as well keep going. If the next room looked like a bad bet, he could simply take option two and leave then.

With his mind made up, Wesley got up and stepped through the archway leading further into the dungeon. Three steps in, he felt a shift in the air and looked back to see a blank stone wall where the archway used to be.

“Fuck!”