Jace finally sobered up as he wiped the final tear from his cheek. It had been building inside of him for a long time. Not just since he arrived here. Long before that, several years even. He had let it all out, everything from his past life to his new one and now his mind was starting to clear.
He sat back on a broken stone pillar, staring at the flickering blue screen hovering in front of him. His name. His class. His skills. It all felt unreal—like a dream he hadn’t quite woken up from.
The air here smelled different—charged with something more than just the rot and decay of the dungeon itself. It was almost like the world itself was alive in ways he couldn’t explain.
He clenched his fists, feeling the new strength in his muscles, the sturdiness of his skin. His chest was broader and brimming with muscles. He was fit before but still had a bit of a dad bod. Now though, he felt like a weightlifter. Not quite master of the universe or Arnold in his hayday.
He could also feel magic humming beneath his skin like an untapped current. Real magic. Stuff he had dreamed of since childhood.
A part of him still wanted to panic, to scream that this wasn’t right, that he wasn’t supposed to be here. But another part—the one that had spent years grinding levels, memorizing skill trees, testing broken mechanics in every RPG he had ever played—that part understood. The part of him that had used that as an escape from the pain and stress. Gaming had always been his therapy until, one day, it became his only outlet.
And like the games he used to play, this world had rules. Rules could be learned, exploited, or mastered.
Jace exhaled slowly, watching the mist of his breath curl in the cold dungeon air. If this was his new reality, he’d do what he’d always done—figure out the system and survive. He'd done it in his old life, arguably not in the best of ways, but he did it.
His thoughts drifted again back to his wife and kids.
Jace hadn’t broken down when he first woke up here. No screaming, no sobbing, no desperate denial. There hadn’t been time for that. Figuring out what was going on, then surviving the dungeon, fighting through undead, deciphering this strange system—those were distractions. But grief wasn’t something he could outrun forever, he knew that because he had already tried it. It still crept in, silent and insidious, corrupting thoughts and sending him spiraling.
He sat there alone, turning the wedding band still on his finger, whispering apologies to souls that would never hear him.
No…
He couldn’t let his grief paralyze him, not now. This was a fresh start in a world he'd always dreamed of, he secretly wished for.
Because if this world ran on rules—on power, on souls—then maybe, just maybe, there was a way to undo this. Maybe his death wasn’t as final as it had been back home. He was still alive here right? Maybe there was a way…
And if there was even the slightest chance he could reach them again, he’d tear through monsters, dungeons, Gods— even the very fabric of this world itself—to find it.
Jace stood and dusted off his stained jeans, more out of habit than any hope of actually cleaning them. He was still in his work clothes and he managed to put both of his boots back and back on. Even though one was now loose since the laces were cut. He sighed, turning toward the only opening in the chamber he was in now—the one the zombies had shambled from.
He moved on, pressing cautiously through the room, his footsteps echoed in the damp silence. The air was thick with the stench of decay, and flickering torches barely pushed back the suffocating darkness. His heartbeat drummed in his ears as he kept a tight grip on his club.
This floor had tested him so much—forced him to fight, to adapt, to come to terms with his new reality. But now? Now he was stronger for it. The strange energy coursing through him—fueled by the small amount of soul fragments he had harvested—gave him purpose. Yet, it left behind so many lingering questions.
Who sent him here? Why did he feel like a pawn in a game he didn’t understand?
The whispers of doubt lingered at the edges of his mind as he stepped through a bone-wrought archway.
He gaped at the sight. Beyond him now lay a vast chamber. With stone steps that fed down into what looked like an underground church, one long forgotten.
Crumbling pews lined a central aisle, their wood warped with age, leading to a towering altar of black stone. Decrepit crypts lined the walls, their rusted iron gates still standing strong, as though guarding something unseen.
Statues of robed figures stood in silent vigil, their carved faces worn smooth by time, their expressions unreadable.
He watched the altar as he stepped closer. There was nothing on the crumbling black stone, but behind he saw steps that led down into more darkness.
With every ounce of courage he took the steps down and when he hit the landing he saw the large room, a burial chamber.
Then came the sound—low, guttural growls that sent a shiver down his spine.
They rose slowly from the crypts like insects spilling from a broken nest, their bodies twisted with undeath, eyes glowing with a cold, malevolent hunger.
Some wore rusted armor that barely clung to their decomposing forms, others clutched decayed weapons that still carried the remnants of battle. Their movements were jerky but purposeful, and Jace knew that hesitation meant death.
More undead.
But these were different. Taller. Broader. Stronger.
And when they moved… they didn’t shamble. They stalked.
Jace tightened his grip on his bone club.
They reminded him of Draugr.
The first one closed the distance and attacked, lunging at him with its rusted sword.
Jace met it head-on, deflecting the strike with his club. His movements sharper now, his strikes more calculated. He wasn’t a master by any means, but sheer will and survival drove him forward.
He sidestepped another slash, pivoted, and swung his club into the Draugr’s skull. It collapsed with a hollow groan, lifeless.
Another notification popped up, but he quickly dismissed it. Another rush of power surged through him as its soul was reaped, absorbed into his growing core.
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Another Draugr jerked forward, swinging a metal mace.
Jace parried, and cast Soulrend. The impact missed his head barely as he blocked it with his bone club. The hit rattled his bones.
Before he could recover, a second Draugr raked its claws across his back, forcing him forward with a sharp grunt.
He spun, smashing his club into the second Draugr’s ribcage. Black ichor splattered against the cold stone as it staggered. But the first one was already coming back, its rusted blade raised.
Jace wiped the ichor from his eyes, forcing himself to focus. Panic was death.
He ducked the strike, shifting his weight before driving his club down with brutal force and another Spulrend. The club crunched through the Draugr’s shoulder, splitting bone and flesh with a sickening pop.
It only slowed the Draugr as it swung at him again, claws swiping across his cheek. Pain flared, hot and sharp.
“Fucking… undead!” Jace snarled, lunging forward with a downward swing. His club crushed through Draugr's skull, sending it crashing to the ground.
Another notification Quickly dismissed. But he felt the soul fragment radiating through him as well as the power it brought. Not as much as before but still noteworthy.
The second Draugr lunged again. Jace cocked back his fist and drove it straight into the creature’s rotting nose. It stumbled, just enough for him to rip his weapon free and swing again. The mace caught the undead clean across the skull, sending it sprawling.
Relentless.
They were fucking relentless.
He had to keep up with dismissing his notifications as soon as they popped up.
More Draugr emerged from their crypts. Jace gritted his teeth, planting his feet firmly as the fight started anew.
For every one he smashed down, another took its place. Each kill fed his strength, but exhaustion loomed, creeping in at the edges of his awareness. He kept casting Soulrend, until he got a notification he didn't expect.
Skill has Leveled Up! [Soulrend] has reached Rank 2 – Strikes now rend a greater portion of the target’s soul, dealing increased damage and restoring more health and stamina. Stronger souls leave behind lingering fragments that can be harvested or repurposed. Critical hits now temporarily weaken the target’s defenses.
He kept attacking and defending and reaping soul fragments when he spotted it—an ornate chest, resting against an altar, half-shrouded in shadows behind the looming Draugr.
His pulse quickened.
‘Loot.’
The thought spurred him on, his strikes gaining a renewed edge. He cut down the last of the immediate threats, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Finally, the last Draugr fell and he had a moment to breathe, but he only took a moment. All the notifications he’d been suppressing flashed before him, filling his vision.
Jace exhaled, wiping sweat and blood from his face.
Now… let’s see what we’ve got.
You have killed a Level 12 Undead Draugr.
Massive XP Earned!
ERROR…
Class unable to gain XP…
Massive XP forfeited…
Reaper’s Touch Skill activated.
+1 Soul Fragment Reaped.
You have gained +4 to Strength, +4 to Dexterity due to level discrepancy.
Soulreaver Core Progression Activated.
Soulreaver Core: 10/100
…
You have gained +4 to Strength, +4 to Dexterity due to level discrepancy.
Soulreaver Core Progression Activated.
Soulreaver Core: 22/100
On and on it went.
For every kill he made.
It begged the question, what would happen once his core progression finished. He still had so many questions and no answers he could find out for himself.
A welcome notification popped up redirecting his thoughts.
Skill Leveled Up! [Soulrend] has reached Rank 3 – Your strikes tear into the very essence of a soul, causing spectral backlash that echoes through the target’s body. Deals heavy soul damage, restores a significant portion of health and stamina, and inflicts Soulburn, a lingering effect that weakens enemies and makes their souls more unstable—yielding more power when harvested.
“Inflicts Soulburn…” He read the message twice more. He was starting to feel the power this new world could offer. Yet, he still didn't have anything to base it off of. After scanning the previous notifications, he realized that the previous fight alone had gained him 48 points to Strength and Dexterity.
The casting of Soulrend had another effect. He looked down at his chest and saw the wounds had visibly vanished and healed over. He felt his head. The blood was still there but there were no wounds.
He quickly willed up his sheet again. His eyes shot to his stat bars. All three had been refilled. Soulrend had been worth its weight in blood by now.
Name: Jace Halloway
Race: Soulborne (Unique)
Class: Soulreaver (Unregistered)
Level: Error, current class unable to gain experience
Health: 344/344
Stamina: 191/191
Mana: 89/89
Strength: 74
Dexterity: 56
Endurance: 27
Intelligence: 9
Wisdom: 8
Soulreaver Core: 22/100
Skills:
[Soulrend] (Rank 3) – Your strikes tear into the very essence of a soul, causing spectral backlash that echoes through the target’s body. Deals heavy soul damage, restores a significant portion of health and stamina, and inflicts Soulburn, a lingering effect that weakens enemies and makes their souls more unstable—yielding more power when harvested.
[Reaper’s Touch] (Rank Max) – Harvest a small fragment of the soul of slain enemies, storing them within your core for future use. You can use Soul Fragments to empower abilities based on the amount of Soul Fragments used.
“Use Soul Fragments to empower abilities?” it wasn't something he remembered seeing before. How could he use the Soul Fragments, weren't they a part of his core?
Suddenly, a surge of raw strength ripped through his muscles, sharp and overwhelming. He felt them swell and tighten, power coiling beneath his skin like a drawn bow. The sensation staggered him—but he didn’t fall. His reflexes snapped into focus, sharper than they’d ever been.
Now, he felt like he could easily take on the whole floor at once. It may have been a little far fetched, but at this moment he damn sure felt it. The Draugrs would have trouble keeping up with him. Hell, the whole dungeon would. That thought reminded him of something else.
‘System, can you minimize notifications during combat?’ He thought to himself, half expecting it not to work when a notification flashed before his eyes.
Notifications have been minimized during combat.
It worked! Slowly but surely he was making his way in this new world, and now, it was time to move on to the best part—the loot.
He approached the chest cautiously, half expecting a trap or a fucking mimic. He gripped the bone club tight and gave the lid a light tap, then a harder one and waited.
Nothing happened.
A grin spread across his face as he knelt, carefully running his fingers over the intricate carvings before inspecting the heavy lid.
The entire chest looked to be made of ivory white bone, and the carvings depicted heavily armed and armored warriors. Thick with muscles and standing tall with their looks and how they stood, they reminded him of the Vikings from his old world, it looked like what the Draugr might have been before their death or undeath.
He placed his hands to each side of the lid and lifted. As the lid opened, there was a small flash of light that momentarily startled him. He thought he'd set off some type of flashbang trap. His breathing hitched, and his eyes burned.
“…Did I seriously just fall for the oldest trap in the goddamn dungeon manual?” he let out a deep sigh. “…Yeah. That’s definitely not good.”
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