Warnings: possible dark themes, psychologically dark-ish? (apathetic) Harry, no magic, virtual reality gaming AU
Pairing: TMR/HP (Tom Marvolo Riddle/Harry Potter)
Summary: Voldemort was just supposed to be the bored necromancer who had a slightly creepy obsession with the undead. Scarred was just supposed to be a berserker-but things never quite work out that way.
For one, he isn't a berserker. He's a bishop. For two, he isn't just anything-he's the renegade High Priest of Gryffindor. For three, well... let's just say Voldemort's slightly creepy obsession wasn't on the undead anymore.
Glitches were so inconvenient.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter series - J.K. Rowling; this story was also inspired by Legendary Moonlight Sculptor by Nam Hee Sung, a korean light novel about a virtual reality game called Royal Road and a main character who wants to conquer it all (for money). You can read it at:
(Vol 1-20): royalroadweed(period)blogspot(period)co(period)il(slash)2014(slash)11(slash)toc(period)html
(Vol 21+, WIP): jawztranslations(period)blogspot(period)com(slash)p(slash)legendary-moonlight-sculptor(period)html
(Vol 23+, WIP): clickyclicktranslation(period)blogspot(period)com(slash)p(slash)blog-page(period)html
Also, 1/2 Prince by Yu Wo inspired this story too! A Chinese VR-MMORPG light novel (adapted as a manga as well) about a girl who plays as a handsome male elven warrior. Read it now at princerevolution(period)org! The manhua can be read at mangahere or mangafox, or probably any of your favorite manga reading sites.
Third shout-out of inspiration to The Gamer by Sung San-young, a manhwa/web comic about a main character who gains the ability to live life as a game character. Read it at mangahere, or probably any of your favorite manga reading websites.
Tom woke abruptly, eyes snapping open only to see the headgear of the virtual reality equipment.
It had been…an experience. Dying, that is. In game.
It hadn't hurt, Tom decided. Witches and Wizards made it clear that the pain levels they transmitted were muted, made to be uncomfortable rather than outright painful. Drowning, lungs filling with water, being unable to breathe—it had been uncomfortable, with the pain being equivalent to the level of a nasty bruising, but not much more.
Tom lifted his hand to press it against his chest, right over his heart. Still beating.
Loudly as well.
Tom's head was filled with bouncing information and theories. Skeletons, water, a throne and eyes. No, sight. It was all a lot to take in. The feeling of four hours passing by, and yet only an hour had passed in reality. Tom checked the clock on the wall.
Eleven o'clock at night. Not terribly late, after all.
After calming himself down from his first death in Witches and Wizards—a nice hot shower did wonders, as it was—Tom settled into his plush computer chair and decided to do some research before turning in for the night. He was curious about the whole ordeal, and if someone else had encountered what he had before, then surely it was bizarre enough to post on the internet?
First, the cave. His previous attempts had been fruitless, but maybe now that he knew it was full of undead skeletons he would get a result or two. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.
Tom tried to narrow it down. The faction with the smallest player base was undoubtedly Slytherin. Hufflepuff had the most players, with Gryffindor and Ravenclaw roughly in a tie for second. While it wasn't by extremely large numbers that Slytherin was the smallest, it was still a significant amount. That considered, there were several newbie towns one could end up in.
Since Slytherin had the least amount of traffic, it also had the fewest amount of newbie towns—there was a theory going around that the game generated more should the proportion of incoming players rise, but it was as of yet unconfirmed. All that supported the theory was the appearance of more newbie towns after the game's popularity rose; they had been unannounced, but it wasn't farfetched to assume the developers simply added them without warning.
Tom digressed. He was moving off topic.
The amount of identified newbie towns in Slytherin amounted to five. Out of all of them, Malarum—the place Tom ended up in—was the smallest, and the worst. Apparently not all the newbie towns received the same rate of players. It was possible that it was random, but also possible that it was not—no one had figured out the formula, if there was any. Fair enough.
Malarum was unpopular for a reason—it was considered the worst, so people wanted to get out of it faster. Also, since it was the smallest, not many people ended up there anyway. Those things concluded, it should be reasonable that there wasn't anyone who went into the cave, explored it, and decided to post it online. The amount of players who posted information was very different from the amount of players who actually played the game, after all.
There were people who simply browsed for information, never giving back in return, as well as people who simply didn't research at all through external resources. There were simply too many variables. Tom did not know if anyone had ever found the 'throne room' he had died in, or even if someone had gone through the exact same thing and was told to 'die'.
So he didn't know if this 'event'—if an event was what it was—lead anywhere significant, or where he would end up if he followed through. What items he could have a chance of getting, or what effects it had upon his character, were also unknown. Tom conceded the information simply wasn't available—whether through a genuine lack or a purposeful censoring of it—and decided to move on.
The skull had spoken of eyes—special eyes. Eyes that saw what could not normally be seen, or something like that.
Tom had assumed it meant the undead's eyes, as the skull had said, very specifically, "my eyes." And since there were clearly no eyeballs in the eye sockets of the skull, it had to be a metonymy. Eyes meant sight. A special sight, specific to the undead?
Going by Tom's previous logic, that would be a clear downgrade—even a handicap—as he was in the realm of the living, currently. It would place a restriction upon his sight because the ability of an undead was limited because they were not in the realm of the dead. They were not alive, and yet existed as if they were. There were consequences for things of that nature, Tom figured. There had to be. That was how games usually operated.
Putting that aside, there was also another point the skull made—one had to be 'worthy' of the eyes. The skull had to "acknowledge potential", whatever that meant. Of course, it was equally possible that the ability was utter cow manure anyway and that 'playing it up' could not be trusted because the undead were the enemy of the living—
Theories that Tom was unable to put any weight upon! It was because in the end, he knew little about how Witches and Wizards was prone to moving. What the quest system was like, how one thing led to another, what sort of nuances a seasoned player would find second nature…he had none of them. Yet. And so he continued to question his own thoughts, unable to settle on something definite because he lacked knowledge!
'Eyes of the undead', 'Witches and Wizards' was what he searched. No results.
Tom tried 'Sight ability', 'Witches and Wizards'—but that was too vague. The results he got were too varied. He tried to add the word 'dead', and then after that 'undead', but nothing was related to his situation.
Tom reminded himself that Witches and Wizards, while not completely new, was still considered fresh on the market. The player base hadn't peaked and was looking like it wasn't going to peak for awhile—so it was still possible that he was the first to experience this event. Unlikely, but possible. Seeing as this too was a dead end, Tom decided to search up the stat he'd created instead.
'Taint of the Dead'. This got results.
It was a necromancer's stat—a hidden class' stat! Tom, somewhat disbelieving, browsed around some more. necromancers were definitely rare, so it wasn't like there was a boundless amount of information about them, but apparently this stat was basic enough that it was known and available to the general public player base.
Taint of the Dead—the approximate equivalent of a Paladin's faith stat. However, there were key differences.
It was a stat that points could not be put in. Only actions could raise it. For a Paladin, some stat points every level should be set aside to raising faith, as it proved to strengthen their overall defenses and skills. For a necromancer, while Taint of the Dead did the same thing, it could not be leveled in this way—necromancers had to constantly be dealing with the undead because of this.
Taint of the Dead could only be raised through involvement with undead monsters or actions. The stat points were consumed the longer a necromancer stayed away from the undead, or their own raised army of undead monsters. So, staying in a town or refraining from battle for too long could decrease it. Also, the rate that it was decreased by increased if on holy ground, such as a church.
Naturally, this effected how a necromancer played! Necromancers, already shunned by many because of their undead, would much prefer hunting in lands distant from society, and their stay in such places with more players would be much shorter as they rushed away in order to preserve their hard earned stat points!
Sociable necromancers could not be as strong because their Taint of the Dead would be lower—most players, after all, saw cities and towns as their base; a place they would always return to after a hard hunt or difficult quest! On the other hand, necromancers would see cities and towns as places to restock supplies and then to immediately leave—a pit stop, like how one would stop at a gas station on a road trip! The difference between the two would be as jarring as night and day. Having a permanent party as a necromancer would be too difficult and uncomfortable.
Tom continued to read. Apparently, this handicap only applied to races that were not already associated with death, who became necromancers. Humans were affected—so were elves, and dwarves, and beast race players. Demons, on the other hand, were not affected—they could freely roam without fearing their Taint of the Dead stat would decrease, should they be a necromancer. It would probably be the same for an undead race too, but no one had figured out how to become an undead as it wasn't one of the offered races during character creation.
Tom had found a thread for necromancers to share information. It was a rare find, as most forums like that required an account and identification. People did not want to share valuable information with strangers—they wanted to know who they shared with, and get information in return.
This thread, because it was public, was not as full on information as Tom would like. It was more casual, a place to complain or tell odd stories, cracking jokes and moving off into tangents rather than serious trading, but they mentioned Taint of the Dead often enough in its abbreviated form—TotD, TD, or sometimes even taint.
My TD dropped again today, someone would say, and another person would sympathetically pat them on the back. It happens, they would reply, Even when we're careful, dropping is inevitable. Such is the life of a necro. How much did you lose? And so on and so forth.
I regret being an elf, a player said. I didn't know I was going to find the necromancer class! I would've been a demon for sure otherwise. But I don't want to recreate my character since I've already gotten so far…
Managed to reach a new goal—got 100 TD without dropping as of today! Let's see how long I can keep it up… another wrote.
I've never lost TotD, another person, known to be of the demon race, cheekily replied.
Get out, said another forum user, demon race pride not appreciated here. You don't know the suffering of us NDs!
It really was nonsense, but Tom learned quite a bit of shorthand browsing the forums. ND was short for 'not demons' among necromancers, which Tom inferred to mean that the only race so far confirmed that did not lose Taint of the Dead were demons.
There rose an interesting point—everyone assumed necromancers were the only players with Taint of the Dead as a stat. Demons were not created with it. Necromancers seemed to gain it upon obtaining their class. A case like Tom's—where he was in possession of the stat but not the class—was definitely unheard of. It more resembled a scenario of gaining the faith stat despite not being a bishop or paladin.
But that was the problem! Creating a faith stat required constant visit to the church, doing quests for the clergy, and such and such of that nature. Tom considered his own situation and figured that the Taint of the Dead stat came from him killing so many undead—but if that was the requirement, why did it seem like no one else managed to do what he did? He was sure many other people hunted undead. Paladins especially would be the most likely, as their attacks were super effective against the undead and therefore ideal grinding monsters.
Did faith cancel out taint? No. He was sure it didn't work that way, otherwise there would've been posts about it. Tom, growing frustrated but enjoying the challenge, thought back again.
He hadn't simply killed the skeletons, he admitted. That would've been boring, and he wasn't going to play a game he considered entertainment if it was boring. So, he'd mixed it up a little. Tried to find out how the skeletons functioned. Could they trade bones? How far did a bone have to be until it was considered out of range of the skeleton? How about an arm, a hand? The bones still moved detached from the skeleton, so what would happen if—
…That sort of thing. Those sort of questions.
Now that Tom thought about it, no wonder he learned that new skill—Undead Mastery! It was apparently common among necromancers as well, but they didn't learn it like he had. They learned it through an NPC, or a quest, or a book even.
Not manually, by simply spending time around undead.
Taint of the Dead, Undead Mastery, and something about eyes…dying, too…
Tom blinked in realization. Had he accidentally stumbled upon a way to obtain the secret necromancer class? There were multiple ways to get some hidden classes, and if necromancer was one of them—
What if what he was doing was one of the more difficult ways? What if the requirements had been Undead Mastery and Taint of the Dead before he'd even become a necromancer? What if…
And if it was, did he want to become a necromancer? He was human. Taint decreasing was troublesome. But at the same time, it sounded interesting…
It sounded fun.
Tom settled on maybe. Maybe he would. Maybe he wouldn't. The only thing that mattered was whether or not he enjoyed the game—and if the nuances that came with being a necromancer were too troublesome and outweighed the good things, then it wasn't worth investing his time in. That was that.
How coincidental, that death would follow him even into a game.
When Tom logged on again, he expected to appear at Malarum's rebirth point. To his surprise, this wasn't the case.
He was in the cave again. On the island, to be precise. As if he had never drowned…
Tom sat up. Again, another oddity. When one dies, usually they respawn standing. Why was he on the ground…?
"Welcome back to the land of the living," a familiar voice greeted.
There, still, on the throne was the same pile of bones with the skull on top. Its empty eye sockets stared at him unnervingly, darkness piercing to his very mind but distant all the same. Tom stood.
"You killed me."
"You drowned." It was neither a confirmation or a denial. Tom frowned at that. Social politicking came to him as easy as breathing, but it was unexpected to encounter it with an NPC—undead, specifically. "Will you receive my eyes?"
"I thought you said it wasn't an offer," Tom said.
"It wasn't."
When the skull said no more, Tom spoke again. If something was going to be forced upon him, might as well know as much as possible about it—the internet certainly didn't help that. His only other option was learning about it inside the game—from the game. "What are these eyes of yours?"
"They are the Eyes of Death," the skull replied ominously. "They see what no living being sees. A human like you could not possibly obtain them anywhere or any way else. No—even if you hadn't been human, you would not have had these eyes. They are cursed eyes, blessed cursed eyes…these Eyes of Death. I called them mine, but truly only because I was the previous holder of them. The only one who owns them is Death, and death itself.
"A living being is not supposed to see what these eyes reveal. The difference between the essence of the living and the dead…do you wish to know? The Eyes of Death is one key of two to show you. Possess the other key that Life has left on this continent, and perhaps you will have the chance to know."
"Perhaps? If one has both keys, shouldn't one be able to open the lock?"
The skull cackled. "Who's to say? The keys are not enough alone. The Eyes of Life have been spread amongst those Life assumed were capable—thousands and thousands of years ago. But none have been able to use them. The Eyes of Death are more exclusive—I have waited for hundreds of years for the opportunity to pass on these eyes of mine. For the one. And now he stands before me. Do you wish to know?"
When it came to death, was it ever truly a question for Tom? Death had stalked him; lead him and stood beside him since he could remember. Even now, in an illusion world departed from reality…death was here. Did he want to know, even if it wasn't real?
Of course he did.
"I suppose I do want those eyes of yours after all," Tom declared.
"What is your name, he who will receive the Eyes?"
"Voldemort."
"Voldemort…" the skull mused. Its teeth clacked together as it laughed again. "Then I will tell you what I was told before, hundreds of years ago, when I first received the eyes…"
You have learned a new skill.
As every living thing in Mortem possesses an essence of life, so too do they possess a 'placeholder' for their own essence of death. These placeholders can only be seen by those few who are chosen to hold the Eyes, appearing as shadows—the shadows the soul casts, made of anti-mana! Without anti-mana, the essence of the dead, mana itself could not exist in the world.
While the two can never combine, their existences are paramount to the other. And despite this importance, very few know of the existence of anti-mana and its purpose, as it is only something that can be known in death. Its similarities to mana make it very hard to distinguish for those who are ignorant to it.
With your new understanding and respect of anti-mana, your eyes have been granted a new ability.
Shadow Reader Beginner Level 1 (0%): Allows you to recognize the presence of anti-mana, as well as see the shadows of the soul belonging to the living.
At the beginner level, mana will be consumed per second for the duration you have your sight active. However, certain events may trigger Shadow Reader to be activated without your command.
Gained title: "Holder of the Eyes of Death"
"Now, he who holds the eyes, won't you put me back together again? You cannot see me until I am whole."
Reanimate the Undead Quest
The undead are held together by a fluctuation of their anti-mana. When disconnected, their points of connection grow weaker—which is how damage is dealt upon them—and if completely taken apart, they grow unable to put themselves together again. Put back together the mysterious skeleton on the stone throne, and you will be able to see his true form.
Difficulty: F
Tom's first reaction was that the skill was useless, but the quest had some potential. His second reaction was to reconsider his first opinion, since it was likely that the skill was required in order to complete the quest. Then he wondered what the use of it even was (returning to his first reaction), as mana was the power of the living and the majority of things in the realm of the living were, obviously, alive.
Even the undead were, in one way, living. The quest said so itself—they were held together by a fluctuation of anti-mana! Fluctuating things were obviously unstable, and obviously unstable things were, usually, either potentially powerful or practically weak.
Then Tom thought some more. He may be in the realm of the living now, but there had to be a realm of the dead somewhere, right? Otherwise the transition of anti-mana would be pointless, because it would transport it nowhere in the game, and then it'd be in oblivion (or deleted). But if anti-mana ended in oblivion, then mana could not exist because the anti-mana would be erased. So, there had to be another place inside the game that stored the anti-mana—ergo, the realm of the dead.
There, maybe Tom's potentially growing knowledge of anti-mana would prove useful. After all, not even the dead knew of it, which meant he was a step above already. And besides, the realm of the dead sounded interesting on its own—would Witches and Wizards treat it as Hell, the afterlife, purgatory or—?
Never mind, Tom mused, this skill isn't so useless after all.
Ah, but first, the quest. It could either result in a chain quest (which was incredibly likely, as it sounded like the beginning to something) or result in increased intimacy with the skeleton NPC. And Tom was sensing that this NPC wasn't just any ordinary NPC either…if he had been the original holder of the Eyes of Death, and there were very few people who had that opportunity in the first place, then that meant something.
The potential material rewards were worth investing in. The potential information he would gain could very well be priceless.
…And it shouldn't be forgotten either that Tom might've stumbled upon a secret class quest!
With all that taken into consideration, Tom stared into the empty sockets of the skull before nodding. He approached, closer this time, in order to observe clearly what he would have to do. The darkness of the cave, his eyes had already adjusted to, but that didn't mean it wasn't difficult to see regardless.
There was 206 bones in an adult human body. Obviously, there were not all two hundred and six bones in the pile on the throne—neither were they all disconnected and broken up. Tom could see a hand, fully connected, but the spinal cord for example was in pieces. If this was a matter of piecing together a human skeleton, he could probably do it, but Tom didn't think that was the full case. That was only part of the quest, if it was a part of it at all.
The skull was silent. In fact, it had appeared to be completely inanimate now. Tom no longer had the feeling that it would suddenly speak to him. Perhaps this was part of it…? Either way, the player carefully moved the skull to the side for later; it was at the very top of the pile, and for some reason starting with the skull didn't seem to be a very good idea. Whether it was because it had talked to him, that he had seen it move and laugh and stare, and that set it apart from the other bones…well, Tom didn't know. Didn't want to think about it, really.
The skull, he felt, was a link to Death. Whether that was 'Death' with a capital 'D', or 'death' with a lowercase 'd', was irrelevant. It was a link to the Death that was only capital because it represented all deaths, Death 'in general' as it was. The other bones did not give him that same feeling. So Tom went with his gut and focused on the pieces where he could fully concentrate without getting caught up in the figurative and metaphorical and the theoretical; that would be for later.
"Shadow Reader."
Instantly, Tom could see the difference between his sight with and without the skill activated. The bones that had seemed plain and common in the darkness of the cave lit up with a weak glow. Not white, not black, not grey—simply a glow. The glow was strongest—though not by much—at the ends of the bones, though that in itself was debatable because it fluctuated anyway. One moment it was there, the next it was fading, and then so weak it was practically gone in the next split second.
The left end could light up while the right end could dim. They could both glow together, they could both fade just the same. There was no pattern to the wispy, ebbing mist of the glow, other than that it flowed in a sort of rhyme and reason incomprehensible to that of the living. No, maybe it wasn't even understood by the dead; like the wonders of the universe, it shifted and flowed to the private, secret beat of nature's song, and Tom knew that he could not hear it even though he could tell it was there.
Anti-mana. So this was what it was.
Tom looked from the bone he gingerly held in his hand to the pile on the throne. They were all just as weak. He did not know whether it was because his skill level was weak or simply that the undead itself had waned in strength, but he supposed it didn't matter.
Instinct versus instruction. While some people argued against one and for another, Tom knew that both were equally important. Instruction built instinct. Instinct supported instruction. Because he did not have instruction, Tom trusted the same instinct that had told him to put the skull to the side and focus on the pile beneath it instead. It was the very same instinct that told him of the tempo the anti-mana flowed to, though it was not yet strong enough to tell him exactly what it was.
He was not strong yet. But he could be. And this—this quest—this was just the beginning.
Tom's hand moved on its own. It reached into the pile and extracted another long, curved piece of bone. He observed it momentarily, eyes following both the anti-mana and the physical material itself. It was a rib, he realized. Just one. He looked at his other hand, and recognized that, too.
Femur. A rib, and a femur…
Tom looked back to the pile. It was a small pile. There was no way there were two hundred and six bones in there. Not even a hundred.
Put me back together again, the skull had said.
Tom put both the femur and the rib on the ground, and began to look through the pile diligently without relying on instinct. Instinct had done its part. Now, if only he could confirm it—
Put me back together again, the skull had said.
Tom would. He organized the pile of bones into the order they fell into in the human skeleton, arranging them in smaller groups in the ground. When he tried to interchange the parts of skeletons still technically alive, they fit in place but didn't seem to click. The individual monsters still controlled their own pieces. Now, Tom knew why.
Anti-mana. While all living things had mana, they also had anti-mana—or at least, a storage for it, which was the shadow only Shadow Reader could see…according to the skull. While everyone had mana, they couldn't just go around using other's mana. That was like saying a priest that ran out could borrow an archer's to cast a healing spell—impossible! And so Tom figured it worked the same way for anti-mana.
An undead was held together by anti-mana. By their own anti-mana. But it didn't work like glue. Anti-mana flowed. In some mysterious motion that Tom was not privy to, anti-mana ebbed and flowed.
It was like listening to an unfamiliar song! Even though he had never heard it before, occasionally he could predict the next note or lyric because there was a pattern! Even if he could not name the pattern. Even if he could not present a formula of the pattern or rhyme, or find a universal law that the song could fit into a snug little box for, sometimes he could predict it. Sometimes.
Tom started with the chest, because that was where the heart was protected. Even if the organ was not there now, it made sense for the physical body's flow to replicate or complement the spiritual flow. He held the sternum up, approximating it to the place it would be had a person been sitting on the throne. Then, eyes carefully watching the misty apparition of anti-mana, the player waited.
Tom was waiting for the most opportune time! The very second before it was supposed to happen, the moment when he could hear the metaphorical next note in his head—
Then, he placed the only rib of the pile in place. Holding two bones there, it seemed somewhat silly, but when he let go, they floated in place and he knew he was right.
The bones that made up the pile were major bones! One part of each limb. There was one spinal cord in pieces, one sternum, one rib, one hand, one foot, one humerous, so on so forth. Tom started in the middle, because that was where the symmetry began. From the pieces of the spinal cord, he continued to connect pieces, leaving them floating in the air as the anti-mana binded them together, even without the missing bones.
How did he know what piece would come next? How did he know if he skipped one? Tom didn't know—these questions, in fact, cycled around in his head, but he did not allow them to impede his movements! He was not privy to the answers of these questions because he was not privy to the rhythm behind the flow of anti-mana. He was only a listener; an audience member to nature's orchestra!
Predict. And if he couldn't, Tom waited until he could. It was as instinctual as he could get!
Unfortunately, with only 100 mana, it was inevitable that he would run out and Shadow Reader would deactivate. Tom was a third of the way finished when it did. He would have to wait until his mana recovered, and he would have to wait again when it inevitably ran out the next time. Even though it was tedious, Tom did not try to rush. It was a task that required patience, and so patience he would give!
In doing this, Shadow Reader reached level three, and the quest was almost complete.
Now, all Tom had to do was place the skull on top! He waited for his mana to recover once more—just to be sure it didn't run out while he was waiting—and then carefully bided his time until the single second came when he was absolutely, one hundred percent sure it was right.
He held his breath. Of course he did. And then, Tom let go of the skull.
It bobbed in place for a few seconds until it stabilized, floating fully in the air as there wasn't a neck it connected to. Then, once everything was perfectly aligned, the places where bones were missing gradually began to fade into existence. The glow of anti-mana strengthened exponentially. Tom tried to reach out and touch a piece that had literally come out of nowhere—it was solid.
You have completed Reanimate the Undead Quest.
"Hmmm! Ah, what it is to be whole again…" the skeleton said, now fully sitting on the throne. Tom took a step back when it moved, stretching its arms as if it were human and in need of movement lest its limbs grew numb.
Over its head in blood red read the name, '(Incomplete) Skeleton King'.
"You have my thanks."
Tom read the system message of the quest reward (some experience was it, really; it was only an F difficulty) with an apathy originating from delayed surprise. He was talking to a Skeleton King. Who also happened to be a boss monster.
A notably higher level boss monster. So much for harmless NPC—
"And yet we are still not face to face. Tell me, Voldemort, do you still seek the secrets of the dead?"
"If I am?"
The skull rattled with laughter. "I can open the path for you," the Skeleton King said. One boney hand raised from its rest on the throne's arm, bones clicking as the fingers waved. "To be worthy."
"The Eyes are not enough?"
"The Eyes are plenty, but I doubt you would want to exchange them."
"Exchange?" Tom asked sharply. Of course, all things came at a price.
The skull laughed again, really only the motion and the clacking of teeth and bone the only identifying factor. "You are yet living. You may be the holder, but you cannot yet wield. What do you expect you can do with something you cannot yet use? They are keys. You have not found the lock, or the other key, or the ability to turn the key inside the lock! What else can you do but exchange?"
The player was silent.
"To be worthy, you want to be worthy," the Skeleton King answered without asking what the question was. "To be above exchange. To stand above all others—both the living and the dead. Tell me, do you know what power is? Do you know where to find it?"
"No," Tom replied, terse and harsh and biting.
"There are many ways. There are many paths. Few coincide with that of Death. Dying is always at the end, but Death is another matter. But you know that already, don't you? What you seek is very expensive. What you have is absolutely nothing, other than the Eyes. And the Eyes are worth more than but not enough. However, I can open the path for you…for a price."
"You won't lead me—you'll only give me a chance. Is that right?"
"I will simply do what I say I will. What you do with it, what it means to you, is entirely your business."
"What do you want?"
"Your soul. Not to own; I won't exist in this plane or the next long enough to own…but to do as I please. Perhaps then, a better price would be your freedom. Your freedom of choice. You will be what I want you to be; it shall mark your soul forever. It is a fair price; you want me to open the path for you…but that is only possible if the path you take is the one I present. It must be the only path, and so I must take your freedom of choice."
"Freedom of choice of what?"
The Skeleton King laughed. "So young, Voldemort. So inexperienced. So new. Your freedom of choice is your fate. Your destiny. If you give it to me, I will open the path for you to the Eyes of Life. No, at the end of that path is the Eyes of Life. On the road of that path is becoming he who stands above all others. The Eyes of Life and the Eyes of Death are not meant to coincide. They are keys not meant to be used. If you give me your fate, I will change it—they will be keys that must be used. You will no longer have that choice. You will be bound. You will use them, because you will be unable to do anything else."
"Oh? That's all? That's fine with me, then," Tom answered, utterly nonchalant.
"You give it so freely?"
"That is the end I desire. If you're changing it for me, then it's simply one less thing I'll have to do by myself."
"Well said! Fine. In order for our…transaction to be complete, I cannot take the payment. You must pay me."
"How?"
"First, complete me. I am whole, but as the Skeleton King, I am a mere shade of my former self. So long have I lied in wait for he who will hold the eyes that my power has been lost and declined. Bring me three items: my orb, my scepter, and my crown. Only then will I be the Skeleton King."
Power of the Skeleton King Quest
Disconnected from his power, the Skeleton King is unable to complete the promised transaction. Re-establish his rule by bringing him the symbols of his power—his orb, his scepter, and his crown, lost somewhere within Malarum's swamp region.
Difficulty: D
Orb of the Skeleton King 0/1
Scepter of the Skeleton King 0/1
Crown of the Skeleton King 0/1
*Power of the Skeleton King - ? Chain
It was just a game.
That was what Tom told himself to believe…but still—
"Are you looking for someone?"
The answer was supposed to be 'no.' Tom did not enter the game expecting to see anyone or anything. That was simply the truth of the matter—the nature of his curiosity did not hide any ulterior motives; it was purely focused on the game. The entertainment aspect of Witches and Wizards. What else, truly, could he have said other than "no"?
"Even so…"
The Skeleton King's black, empty sockets had sought him then.
"Voldemort, you said your name was? How…curious."
"What's curious?"
"Why, your name of course. Stealing from death...how curious it is, to call yourself such an audacious thing on the continent of Death! But it isn't my business who you'll steal from. No, I heartily approve—whether it is from the demons of the netherworld, the four Founders themselves, or…that one."
It was just a game. It was just a game. The mantra repeated inside Tom's head, even as he arrived back in town.
"…That one?"
"Why, the esteemed emperor, of course. During my time, there was another, but the nature of the emperor of Mortem has always been absolute rule through divine right. And then salutary neglect. That hasn't changed in the least. Do you know, even sitting here estranged from all reaches of society, even I have heard…the mana that reaches every corner of this continent does not lie…do you know? If you're going to steal from him, you should know."
"I obviously don't, if you insist on going on like that. If you plan to tell me, tell me."
Just a game. Just a game. Just a game.
"The emperor! He sits on his throne in the lost castle of Hogwarts, waiting…waiting…waiting—and for what, no one knows! That one. Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore! If you plan to steal from him, you'll have to find him first!"
What in the name of almighty gods was that man thinking? Tom mumbles to himself beneath his breath. He was dead. It was an acknowledged, proven, known fact that Albus Dumbledore was dead. He didn't even want to call that man a father—'father' meant something entirely different to Tom—but the papers and effects he had certainly considered him so, and as such Tom knew for a fact that Albus Dumbledore was dead.
He'd taken care of the funeral himself, after all.
Dead. Dead. Dead.
So what was he doing here? No, that in itself was impossible; Dumbledore couldn't be here. But—but it was his name. His full, undisputed name. Lofty and irritatingly upper class, that thrice bedamned, three names too many name!
It was too sudden. Too abrupt. It opened up wounds that Tom refused to categorize or even believe to have existed.
Never mind this. He didn't want to think about it—not him, it; it encompassed everything, and it made him feel better for being unnerved with not only the man, but also the circumstances. Him made him feel weak for losing his composure at the fault of a single man—so he wouldn't.
Tom took all of the thoughts that disturbed him—Albus Dumbledore being number one; number two being the frustratingly high level of artificial intelligence belonging to the NPCs—breaking down his IGN, and then translating it to French? What the bloody hell?—And then number three and everything behind that followed along the same line of thought—and shoved it into the far corner of his mind.
He pushed it away, shoved it into a bottle, and then put in the stopper and threw it out into the metaphorical sea. Hopefully it wouldn't float back, and if it did, hopefully he would only find it several weeks, preferably months, later.
Right. Back to Malarum. Tom was performing the most common action among fellow RPG players, and that was to take a detour right after getting an incredibly important quest!
…Ha. Well, it wasn't like he could do much anyway until he emptied his bag full of monster drops! The weight of undead bones wasn't terribly high, as these were still very weak undead and thus the bones were comparably very small and light (let it not be mentioned how much an undead ogre's bones weighed, or an undead dragon's). However, because Tom had accumulated so many of them, they did begin to weigh him down.
He would have to go sell them. It wasn't much of an issue because Tom planned to sell them to the shop merchant NPC. Not having to sell to players lessened the amount of time he'd take otherwise.
"How much would you give me for this?" Tom asked, taking one of the bones out of his inventory and placing it on the counter.
"Hmm…" the NPC scrutinized it carefully. "Fifteen knuts."
That was fair. The skeletons had been low level, after all. In Witches and Wizards, the currency system was similar to many Asian RPGs—there were three types of coins, and a certain amount of one coin was equivalent to another coin. In this case, instead of having bronze, silver, and gold, it was knuts, sickles, and galleons. One hundred knuts would equal a sickle, one hundred sickles would equal a galleon.
While this seemed like an incredible amount to new players, it really wasn't. The higher level a monster was, the more likely they would drop more money. Monsters now only dropped a few sickles or some knuts, but later on they would begin to drop galleons. So the conversion rate—a hundred to one—wasn't that amazing after all.
Tom was about to confirm the transaction in the message window in front of him, but then he suddenly got an idea. He canceled the window and then promptly told the NPC he would be back before walking out of the shop and settling down in front of it. There weren't that many players in Malarum, so the fact that there weren't any around him wasn't surprising in the least. Tom did not feel the need to seek any privacy.
It was really just a thought. Not much to go on, but a thought. Tom was naturally curious about the things he could not find any information on, after all. He was tempted to log off then and there to look up his newly obtained skill on the forums, but after how the Skeleton King went on and on about it, he figured there would be little to nothing in the public threads.
Thus, unless he wanted to figure out how to get connections to a more private, information based group, he'd have to do all the discovering on his own. That meant finding out what his boundaries were, just like with the skeletons.
He could read skill descriptions. That didn't exactly tell him to what extent the Shadow Reader skill saw. He knew what he experienced in the cave—but that was, naturally, for a quest. Would he see the same things otherwise? Tom didn't know. He wanted to find out.
Anti-mana. Because he was in the realm of the living, Tom did not expect to see much of it. The concept of "shadows" did interest him however, because based on the information he'd previously gotten from the Skeleton King, he should be seeing them hanging around.
That would require a person though—the question of, 'does it matter if it's an NPC or a player?' rang in his mind, but he ignored it temporarily—and a person he didn't conveniently have. Besides, that wasn't his goal as of yet, and Tom felt he should thoroughly explore his first thought before jumping into another.
If it wasn't obvious, Tom was planning to use his Shadow Reader skill! The only thing he had that was technically 'dead' though were the bones he'd harvested as drops from the skeletons. Thus, he pulled one out from his inventory and held it in his hand.
Skeleton Bone
A bone from a weak undead skeleton. It isn't worth much.
Before activating Shadow Reader, however, Tom noticed something he had not seen before in the dim light of the cave. When he had pulled a bone out to show to the shop merchant, he had also not been looking very carefully. But now that he focused and put his attention on the bone in his hand, Tom could now see that it was colored in a light, ebbing pale luster that reminded him of the moon.
That…obviously wasn't natural. Or realistic. Bones didn't shine.
Odd. He didn't recall seeing that in the cave…shouldn't it have been amplified in the darkness? But then again, it wasn't exactly shiny in the same way glow sticks or glitter or something equally gaudy was—and the shade wasn't the same white as sun-bleached bone either. In conclusion, Tom had no idea how to describe the strange appearance, but perhaps…
"Shadow Reader."
Perhaps he could if it was seen with 'different eyes'.
Instantly his sight lit up. There was the glow of anti-mana, but it did not look like when he had put together the Skeleton King. Instead, it was a murky sort of glow—like cloudy wisps of smoke fading in and out, stuck in between the gradient of grey and black. Tom could see the eerie pale luster beneath it all, a perfect back drop to the opposing glow.
He ran a finger across it, and instead of blowing away like smoke, it moved like viscous sludge. In one way Tom was surprised it moved at all—somehow, the knowledge that he could only see it with his skill made him think it existed in some alternate dimension, and he shouldn't be able to affect it with touch. Apparently that was wrong.
He moved his fingers in a pinching motion, as if to draw the anti-mana out of one reality into his.
You have successfully absorbed the anti-mana of the bones.
Shadow Reader has gained a significant amount of proficiency.
Tom stiffened. Ignoring the messages for now, he looked at the bone again without his Sight. Where there used to be a pale luster was gone. Now it was just a normal, yellowed bone, old and indiscriminate. And no matter what angle he looked at it from, it remained the same. The sheen it once had was completely gone.
To make sure he wasn't just seeing things, Tom pulled out another bone from his inventory in order to compare. It proved that he wasn't just imagining things—the bone was genuinely different now.
"Psst."
The player turned his head. There, leaning against one of the walls of a hut, stood a male NPC. There was an old raggedy cloth tied about his head, acting like a bandana, and his clothes appeared to be in no better shape. The only reason Tom didn't think he was a beggar was the way he held himself—confident, but sly. In no way was this man someone who had lost himself to desperation and resignation.
"Hey. You've got good eyes," the NPC whispered, leaning over. "Keen. And you've got the focus to use them. How about I teach you something good? After all, talent must be nurtured!"
"…I'm listening."
The NPC grinned. "I'll teach it to you, then! It's a skill all top tier adventurers have to know! The Observe skill! Listen up good, yeah? I'll only tell it to ya once!"
"…Hm."
How convenient, Tom thought.
You have learned a new skill.
It came down to a matter of money, or experience.
Tom had went back to the shop, asking for an appraisal of the (now anti-mana-less) bone. What was once fifteen knuts became a measly one! One knut! Even monsters gave more than that!
Bone
A really old human bone.
So, he couldn't have both. Either he sold the undead bones for fifteen knuts a piece, or he sucked them dry of all anti-mana and sold them at one knut a piece. Decisions, decisions…
Well, in the end, it was rather obvious to Tom. Experience would always be best! Money was secondary. There were a lot of ways to earn money, and if he was truly desperate he'd just go kill more skeletons. Experience, however, was more difficult to get—specifically, skill experience. He'd rather he have a stronger Shadow Reader than a few sickles in his pocket any day.
So, Tom proceeded to absorb the anti-mana from all his undead loot. It was enough to barely get him to beginner level 5! He hypothesized that the stronger the undead the bones came from, the more experience it would give him, but he didn't have any real proof to back it up. All he knew was that the stronger the undead, the stronger the anti-mana.
Shadow Reader Beginner Level 5 (2%): Allows you to recognize the presence of anti-mana, as well as see the shadows of the soul belonging to the living.
You can absorb the anti-mana from objects associated with the undead. This anti-mana will increase the strength of your shadow.
At the beginner level, mana will be consumed per second for the duration you have your sight active. However, certain events may trigger Shadow Reader to be activated without your command.
The new description was odd. Increase the strength of his shadow? Tom had turned around to check. His shadow was still firmly on the ground. Logically, that was sound—a shadow was, after all, cast because of light. How could it grow in strength?
…No, perhaps that wasn't the 'shadow' they were referencing? Not shadows of the physical realm, but shadows cast 'of the soul'…
"Shadow Reader."
For a second, Tom saw nothing. Then, he turned around again, squinting, and then slowly saw it come to life.
It was as if his eyes were too weak to see it. The image was blurry—not fading in and out of existence, just blurry. It was either that the presence was too weak to see or his 'Eyes' weren't strong enough yet—but he could still make out the vague form.
Tall. It was about as tall as him. Humanoid, as it stood on two legs and had two arms and a head. But as its head was round, Tom assumed it was hairless. He didn't know, as it was all a black shape to him. There was no shading, no definition really other than that it was three dimensional. The only reason he knew it was wearing some sort of robe with sleeves was because he could not see the more natural outlines of its body.
It, Tom thought, but his instinct said he.
Tom raised a hand. He reached out for it—him—but then it stepped back out of range. It did not want him to touch it, for whatever the reason; certainly it was a shadow, and yet it did not move like a mirror to him.
Shadow of his soul. Perhaps that was it. Souls were a strange, vague idea to Tom. He knew of all the different ways religion defined it, but not which one the game decided to follow.
It shook its head. No, it seemed to say when Tom thought about trying to touch it again. Not good. Not allowed. Can't. Bad things will happen.
Slowly, Tom nodded. Fine then.
...If it was sentient, did that mean he could command it? Would it even listen?
Tom looked around. "Go there," the player said, pointing.
Surprisingly, it moved.
No commands. It wasn't a thought, it was an instinctual feeling inside of him. He didn't need to give commands to it. It was not another being. It was part of him. No commands. It did not think in terms of 'me' or 'you'; perhaps did not think at all.
Tom looked at another spot. About two meters away from where the shadow stood now.
It moved again.
You have learned a new skill.
All living beings possess shadows cast by the soul, placeholders and balances to their mana. The more powerful their innate mana is, the more prominent the shadow. As they are not reflections of the physical body, but of the soul, shadows come in all sizes and forms. It has been thought since ancient times that the shadows reveal the true form of a soul.
Hand of Death Beginner Level 1 (0%): You can control your shadow. The stronger the shadow, the more defined it is and the easier it is to control.
As it is an unstudied art, shadow manipulation may have various side-effects later on.
Shadow Reader does not have to be activated in order to control your shadow.
Current Shadow Level: 1
Wait…didn't I get a title as well from the Skeleton King?
Tom blinked, pausing only a moment before calling up his stats.
Title: Holder of the Eyes of Death
[? Tier]
?
*Information about this title is locked.
*Wearing this title while locked will not give you any stat bonuses.
Tom hoped the Skeleton King would come back to life again so he could kill him.
Name: Voldemort ~ Level: 20
Faction: Slytherin ~ Class: None
Title: Holder of the Eyes of Death ~ Fame: 0
Health: 700 ~ Mana: 100
Strength: 11 ~ Stamina: 11
Intellect: 11 ~ Wisdom: 11
Luck: 10 ~ Agility: 10 (+1)
Taint of the Dead: 10
Attack: 0 (+3) ~ Defense: 0 (+4)
Fullness: 62 ~ Fatigue: 33
Current Skills: Undead Mastery (Beg. lv 5), Shadow Reader (Beg. lv 5), Observe (Beg. Lv 1), Hand of Death (Beg. Lv 1)
Ahh Tom kekeke...he's finding his strength in a different way than Harry. That's as big as a hint as I'll give you (for now)!
...I should be working on other things. Buuut I'm not. oops. Well my excuse is that I've had most of this chapter written already! So there :c
Hope you enjoy the ~9k chapter!
Sincerely,
R.R.
