Chapter XXXI: The Slums (2)

William awoke from his dream-less slumber with a start as he felt his body vibrate along with the basement he was in. The basement was cloaked in darkness since his [Light] spell had expired while he slept. Quickly, recasting his luminous spell, he tried assessing the situation.

The wooden support pillars of the basement creaked and groaned under the stress of the earth shaking phenomenon. So, as to not be burried under the rubble when the basement's old pillars give out, he tried to get up by using his left arm to support himself against the wall but he forgot that he just recently lost said arm and only managed to move the remaining stump uselessly.

He looked at the stump with a deep frown before using his other arm for support. However, the vibrations ceceded as suddenly as they came. The young man stayed in his position for a few moments to check whether the earthquake would return or not. Thankfully, it didn't.

"Was it another leviathan trying to breach through the magic barrier?" William asked rhetorically, not expecting any answer.

Yet, one still came.

"That or Godzilla was having a temper tantrum. Either way, you're fucked."

Silence reigned before being followed by a resigned sigh.

William turned head slowly and saw another him with two intact arms sitting on the far side of the basement. His face was covered by the darkness of the basement, which his spell couldn't illuminate, leaving only two glowing, sickly-yellow irises visible.

"Had a nice nap, chief?" the voice eerily sounded similar to his but with a more distorted quality to it - as if several voices were speaking at the same time.

"What do you want, Faker?"

'Faker', that was the name he designated for this hallucination over the weeks he traveled the Forgotten Shore with Nephis and co., it had been hounding him whenever he found himself alone, which thankfully were not many since the group mostly stayed close together.

However, with him being all by himself in this damned place, it had to rear its ugly head sooner or later.

"It hasn't even been a day and you already lost a limb to the local denizens," his voice was filled with unhidden mockery. "Not only a limb, but you also lost something when you died didn't you? I bet you don't even know what was even lost."

The reference to his lost memory put William on high alert immediately, "Spit out what you know, you goddamned hallucination."

Faker hummed in an amused tone while staring straight at his soul with those yellow eyes of his, "Hmmm... I refuse."

"What?"

"I don't feel like telling you. It is much more fun watching you squirm around like a little worm who doesn't know that he's about to be curb stomped," it said in a sadistic voice that caused William to clench his teeth in irritation.

"If you are just going to spout bullshit, then do it somewhere else."

"And miss messing with my best pal?" Faker gasped dramatically. "Not on your life - sorry unlife - chief. You and I are going to see alot of each other in the future. Afterall, all we have is time."

William opened his mouth to refute but before he could Faker was already gone in the time it took him to blink, and he was all alone in the dark basement.

The white-haired Sleeper muttering something about bastards and assholes under his breath before looking over at his missing limb. Fighting with one arm, while not impossible, would be incredibly annoying. Also, it would be too time consuming to relearn how to fight but with one arm this time; especially when he didn't know how long it would take him to escape from this place.

As he was intently observing the stump and bony armor around it, a figurative light bulb lit in his brain, 'Maybe this would work.'

Concentrating on the remaining armor on his left arm, he saw the white bone stretching like dough and sloughing down.

Beads of sweat gathered on his forehead from concentration as the bone continued stretching and slowly being molded into the desired shape in his mind.

Of course, he didn't succeed in molding the shape he wanted on his first try. Yet, he didn't give up and after a few retries and a handful of choice profanities at his lack of imagination; he ended up with a product that he considered satisfactory.

His left arm now was covered all over with a layer of white bony material much similar to his other arm the inside of which was hollow. He watched as the fingers of the empty gauntlet clenched and expanded upon his mental command. Yet, the prosthetic bone arm still suffered from major flaws that he could do nothing about.

For starters, his balance was still off since his right side was still heavier. He could've filled the prosthetic with more materials to make it equal in weight but he would've compromised the defensive capability of his armor by diverting the limited material of it from essential areas. Also, moving his limb with his mind was a new and weird experience for him that would need a bit to get used to.

All in all, it was not a perfect solution but he would have to make do.

Also, he also made a pseudo helmet from his armor's material while working on the prosthetic. He felt stupid for leaving one of his most vital body parts defenseless. It was fashioned in the form of a half-helmet with only his eyes, mouth, and chin exposed. Well, it was not like he was going to be shot in the head anytime soon, but better safe than sorry.

Standing up on his legs, the young man summoned Frostmourne with but a though. The sinister mourneblade appeared in a shower of bright sparks and landed in his grip, the runes shimmering a bit brighter upon contact with its wielder.

He was not going to lie, holding Frostmourne in his hand felt both cathartic and nerve-wrecking at the same time since it was a symbol of the powers he held... and what he could become if he let those powers loose.

Shaking those wandering thoughts off of his mind, he gripped the handle of the runic weapon with both hands and went through a few stances and moves to get a sense of how badly was his recent lack of balance affected him.

Little by little, the Living Lich King changed his fighting style to accomodate his disability. Thankfully, the swordsmanship style he stole from Nephis focused on adapting in the battlefield and helped to hasten the already increased rate of adaptation provided by his [Adaptive] attribute.

Thus, it didn't take long before William's moved returned to their normal precision and 'grace'.

"All right, I should be ready to venture out again," he said as he dismissed Frostmourne. Even though he had been moving through fighting stances for several hours, he didn't look the least bit tired.

He turned his attention to the barricaded entrance of the basement and spent the next couple of minutes unbarricading it.

Exiting the basement, William entered into the living space of the house he was in. Due to being pursued, he didn't have time to fully observe the interior of the house he hid himself in.

It was nothing extravagant by any stretch of the word, which seemed appropriate since it was in the slums. In the center of the room was a small wooden table that seemed to have seen better days. On its top lay a few wooden table ware with their content long rotten and turned to dust. The table was surrounded by three chairs of the same material: two were adult sized while the one between them was smaller, almost the size of a child.

Moreover, in the room were a few cupboards that held other table ware and other domestic paraphernalia.

He spent a few minutes rummaging through the house's contents for the slim chance of finding anything that may shed light onto any of the questions that plagued him. Alas, his efforts were for naught. Anything that hadn't already given itself to the passage of time was already on its last threads, and would literally disintegrate as soon as he touched it.

"How old is this place?" he muttered as the dust that had once been some sort of fabric fell between his fingers. He didn't manage to find anything of use that was in an acceptable condition.

Moving onto more important matters, if he were to venture out, then he needed to do so very cautiously since he was attracting nightmare creatures due to [Fateless]. Thankfully, through various trials he did while in the Forgotten Shore, he discovered this didn't have an unlimited area of effect. Thus, as long as he kept enough distance between himself and other nightmare creatures, then he was safe-ish.

'Speaking of nightmare creatures,' he pondered while rubbing his exposed chin

Firstly, the Warped Caprigors were of no threat as long as they didn't come in hordes; even then, he doubted any of their attacks could pierce through his armor's defenses.

Next, the dark soldiers' strength is still a mystery; however, observing how they easily overpowered a group of more than 20 Dormant Demons makes them at least an Awakened ranked nightmare creature, although he was not sure about their exact class due to incomplete data.

Finally, his greatest obstacle was that alien-looking creature stalking around. Considering the ease with which its attack broke through the defense of the [Osseous Exoarmor], it is at least a Fallen ranked creature. Also, the manner with which it was playing with him showed that it had some form of warped intelligence, making it a Demon at least. In addition to that, it seemed to be able to teleport itself - if the flash of light that blinded him before was anything to go by.

All in all, that creature was not something he could dream of defeating alone, his pseudo-immortality non-withstanding. Sure, he killed a Fallen Devil in his first nightmare, but that was when he had nothing to lose. Now..... the stakes were much higher, and he was not willing to bet on his luck against a teleporting sniper. He already spent all his luck when he only lost an arm in the first altercation rather than his life and he was not willing to go for a second round.

The stump of his left arm flared at the thought, causing him to subconsciously clench the hand of his prosthetic.

William walked towards the entrace of the home as Frostmourne got summoned into his right hand in a shower of sparks.

He stood with his back against the wall next to the old door. He gave it a gentle push, and it opened with a loud Creeeeaaaaakkkkk! that made him visibly cringe. It was only after waiting a few stressful minutes of nothing entering the building did he allowed himself a relieved sigh - not that the bliding light coming from the ball of light over his head offered much in the way of stealth.

Peaking over the side of the doorframe, he observed his surroundings and found it to be empty. Not wanting to waste this opportune moment, he exited the house and jumped over to the roof of the one opposite to it thanks to his increased strength.

Looking around, he could see little due to the blinding darkness but he still could see the roaring blue flame of the tower he woke up at in the distance. If there were more of such buildings around, he could use them as some sort of landmark.

With that thought shelved for later, he began running and jumping to the next building while keeping a close eye on the alleys and streets below him, which allowed him to dicover things that he didn't notice on his first outing.

He stopped on the roof of one of the hovels that was built over another one. He was looking at a crucifix - of all things - that had a skeleton wearing broken pieces of armor attached to it via rusted nails. Also, there was a wooden plaque hanging around the skeleton's head with symbols written in some type of reddish-black ink. He couldn't make heads or tails of it.

Thankfully, that was only a minor problem for him due to the spell he had recently engraved into his mind. Closing his eyes for a moment, he casted the [Comprehend Language] spell on himself for the first time.

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[Comprehend Languages]: Call upon eldritch knowledge to allow you to comprehend the languages that you can see and hear.

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Immediately, he got assaulted by a deluge of whispers. They spoke in languages he never heard and even doubted it could be spoken by a human mouth. Moreover, weird symbols and signs floated before his eyes for a moment before blinking out of existence and being replaced by other symbols. He felt his brain boiling and his nerves lighting on fire all over. He wanted to scream out his lungs but no sound would escape his vocal cords.

Then, in a blink of an eye, it all vanished as if it had never happened in the first place. However, the after effects were still visible on his body. His heart was beating like a drum inside his chest, his muscles were taught like a stretched string, his pupils were shrunk into pin-pricks even though he was surrounded by darkness, and he was breathing as if he had just finished a 10 mile sprint while weighing 400 pounds. He felt an iron-smelling fluid run down his lip. Bring his good hand to it, he saw that it got painted red with blood.

Of course, the sound of the Spell in his ear was just the cherry on top:

[Congratulations! Mental Fortitude (F+) evolved to Mental Fortitude (E-). ]

"In hindsight, this may not have been a very smart thing to do," he said as he picked himself up from his kneeling position and wiped the blood running down his nose.

He stared at the floating runes before him for a while before sighing and dismissing it. Looking down at the crucified skeleton, he could now read the symbols on the plaque around its neck.

{Traitor! Royal Cock Sucker! Death to the royal family! Glory to the prophet!}

"This.... did an uprising happen here?" he muttered as he observed the bony corpse. Now that he was looking at it more thoroughly, he could see the similarity with pieces of the armor it is wearing with the armor of the dark soldiers.

William gave the crucified skeleton one last look before continuing on his way. Whether a rebellion or a revolution happened here was none of his concern. He only needed a way to escape this death trap.