Rewind: A Grimdark LitRPG Series (Pyresouls Apocalypse, Book 1) by James Callum (reading tree .txt) 📕

He stepped around a natural pillar splitting the room in half and summoned his [Kite Shield], bringing it up to block a heavy club strike from the next Skeletal Warrior.

Curious if Sword Forms translated to other weapons, Jacob looped his [Mace] out wide and crashed it down in a heavy strike on the skeleton’s crown.

The [Mace] crushed its bone to powder, igniting it like a handful of flour thrown over an open flame. Quickly glancing at his log, he was surprised to see that the Sword Form was called something else.

Instead of Lightning Cracks Stone, it was considered a Mace Form by the name of Hammering the Nail. “Good enough,” he muttered to himself, stepping over the charred corpse of the skeleton. He set his shield in line for the next one.

By the time the room was clear, a dozen charred piles of bones and ash littered the ground. Jacob was down a single ampoule and worn out from the constant fighting.

The longer a skeleton was alive, the more skilled it became. Like an expert warrior slowly awakening from a deep slumber, every second they were awake they became a bigger threat.

Kicking a pile of bones, Jacob lamented taking the time and effort to clear the room.

This was only the first of dozens. Perhaps even hundreds.

At first, he thought it would be easier to clear them out room by room. A typical strategy for resource gathering back on Earth. He had to remind himself that this was not Earth. He could die here and return.

Time was more precious than avoiding the pain of death.

Old habits died hard and Jacob found himself using Heat Blade’s ability to put down a skeleton enemy for good again and again. Clearing the room came naturally to him, it created safety but he didn’t need it.

It would take too long and the number of Souls the skeletons awarded was far too little to make it worthwhile.

Raising his flaming [Mace], Jacob rushed forward with his shield up to guard against oncoming blows. It would slow his Stamina regeneration but it would defeat any ambush attacks coming from the dark ahead.

Lit by his [Mace], the catacombs became marginally less terrifying. The silence remained oppressive, but the darkness rolled back beneath the weight of his enchanted weapon, giving him insight into blind corners and small nooks that appeared as viable paths from afar.

For some time he ran on, unmolested by the creatures of the catacombs. They would be hot on his trail, he knew. The skeleton army of the Desecrated Catacombs was slow in waking and relied heavily on the labyrinthine tunnels to confuse and disorient intruders.

Unlike the run-of-the-mill player, Jacob had a vague idea of where he was going. Down. He didn’t allow the rattling of bones and the scraping of weapons being drawn that filled the tight corridors to unnerve him.

He kept up a steady pace and remained vigilant, taking every path that hinted at going deeper. The exact opposite of most players, who would be scrambling for an exit.

With a magical light that peeled back the shadows in the dark corners of the cramped, twisting warren of the catacombs Jacob stayed ahead of the horde. But he was just one dead end, one false turn, one misstep away from being swarmed.

They made no noise besides the clatter and clacking of their bones.

Somehow that was worse than if they screamed or wailed at him. The silence was only punctuated by the sound of their gaining bony footfalls. But with the way the catacombs were designed, it sounded as if they were coming from all directions at once.

He kept up a jogging pace most of the time, only sprinting when he came upon a room full of bones. Before they even began to reassemble, he would be out of the room and into the hallway beyond.

On and on he went, one room, one hall blending into the other until Jacob gave up ever trying to map his progress in his head. He was tired, afraid, and the Heat Blade spell was beginning to flicker fitfully, signaling it was nearing the end of its duration.

Thousands of loculi decorated the walls. Every space possible seemed dedicated to the dead. There were enough bones down here to build a city. Grinning skulls leered down at him as he broke left through another circular room just as his Heat Blade extinguished.

It was like being plunged into the abyss.

The dark rolled back in, stifling him. Fear threaded through his heart and made his hands shake as he recited the rites and passed one hand over his [Mace].

By the time the enchantment took, Jacob could hear the army of the undead marching upon him. A brief glance over his shoulder, fiery [Mace] held high, showed him countless bleached bones staggering toward him.

Dozens of red fiery glowing eyes burned with hatred, visible even as he lowered his source of light and turned his back on them.

He quickly found himself in a large cylindrical room. A narrow walkway corkscrewed down along the edge. Not even the light from his Heat Blade spell could illuminate what lay beneath. Even the other side of the room was lost to the dark.

Behind and above him, those twin specks of red glowing hate followed him. They were so numerous it was like looking up at the night sky full of red stars.

Skidding to a halt, Jacob stopped just a few inches from an obvious pressure plate. There wasn’t even an attempt to hide the spike trap in the wall. Nevermind that a rotting skeleton was still stuck to the half-retracted spikes.

Not for the first time, he wondered if he was going the right way. What if the skeletons – or the necromancers that controlled them – were corralling him? Without his extra light, he would have been too scared and going too fast to avoid the trap.

Then an idea hit him.

Looking over his shoulder, he could just barely see the