Chapter 806 (2/2)

The Wraith Adder slowly uncoiled in his chest. “If they were, then why did I not find them? Do you expect me to believe that they wandered off? And it wasn’t like someone could just waltz up to them and defeat them. Who else in the city has that power?”

“If they were there,” Aylwind cut in, “Shal would have found them. For all his inexperience and weakness, he is not inattentive.”

“FUCK.” Ophelia bellowed. She slammed her fist against the wall. Shal was so taken by surprised when the building next door cracked and began to collapse that he couldn’t stop the chuckle from escaping his lips.

Ophelia’s glare silenced him. For all the Wraith Adder wouldn’t accept being bullied, there was no reason to antagonize her if he didn’t need to. After another whistling breath, Ophelia folded her palms. “So you are not Level 99. You have not reached the point where you might take a Great Path. But we have high-Level Dungeons. We can push you up to that Level.

“Besides,” Ophelia continued, “The opposing image is not yet ready. Perhaps… some patience is a good thing.”

*****

Once again, Silo experienced the sensation of dying. It was not the sort of thing that grew more bearable with repetition; if anything, it grew worse.

I hate this… Silo swore to himself, even as some stubborn fraction of his consciousness refused to give in to the sea of black pain he swam through.

The strange runes on the ground followed by the bright, vicious light that filled the world had ripped something precious from Silo. The obsidian spider in his stomach collapsed, dragging Silo down with it. All the vital energy that the spider had infused him with dissipated. All that was left were the dregs of life from his injured physical body.

And yet…

The obsidian spider had stitched Silo together so that he might serve it more efficiently. For all that it wasn’t concerned with his comfort, it had ensured that he had a working body. Rather than one of the Wight skeletons with a small bit of flesh manipulating the limbs, his was a normal body.

One that, after several gasping minutes, he managed to move.

But for all that he had enough strength to manage for now, something inside of him was fading. He was living on borrowed time. His stitched together body would not last long.

Stumbling, Silo wandered half-blind through the city. Although his senses were mostly fuzzy, he had a strange unerring intuition that the answer to his problems lay within the city. He simply had to make it there before his body failed.

By the end, Silo had to use his strange arms as crutches to continue to push himself forward. He hobbled around like some sort of naked beetle, the flesh of his back exposed to the air. People saw him and let him pass without comment, their glassy eyes wide with shock; it had been a long day for everyone.

When Silo barged into a building and reached the stairs, he paused. This was truly hell.

What followed was a half hour that Silo would never forget. Three times he vomited black blood, making the stairs slick and dangerous. Twice he slipped, smashing his head against the hardwood. The fourth time he vomited, there was nothing left within him. He just wretched until he could control his shaking enough to straighten.

Once someone entered the house and began to walk up the stairs. But one look at the trail of blood, bile, and scratched wood sent that individual running away screaming. It did, however, give Silo a fresh wave of adrenaline. With it, he clawed his way upward.

The top of the stairs was an accomplishment. The long hallway afterward was a punishment.

Perhaps the easiest part of the whole journey was the thin wooden door at the end of the hall. While his left arm struggled to keep him upright, he slashed with his right arm. The door shattered.

From her position in the bed, Skarch looked upward. “So it is you.”

Silo didn’t bother with pleasantries; he simply murdered her and stole her image to fuel himself.