Bennett's POV
Gosh darn it! My map must have fallen out of my pocket again! Ugh, and right when I'm traveling far away from the city... Can this adventure get any worse?
Cue thunder cracking
Oh, figures. A storm decides to crash the party. Classic. The wind howls like a pack of angry wolves, and the sky's all brooding and gray, as if Mother Nature herself is having a bad day. Venturing further in this mess would be asking for trouble. And today, trouble seems to be my best friend. As with any day I suppose.
As I trudge along, desperately seeking refuge from the impending downpour, I stumble upon a mysterious stone structure clinging to the side of a mountain. It's like something out of a fantasy novel, with angelic statues on the facade raising their arms and clutching stone skulls. The wooden door in the center looks ancient but still sturdy. It's not exactly someone's cozy cottage, that's for sure. The land around it looks forgotten, like time itself stopped bothering with this place. Unchanging.
But desperate times call for desperate measures. The wind's howls morph into full-on gusts, tossing my hair in every direction. Rain's about to join the party, and I'm not in the mood for a soaking. Following what appears to be a neglected dirt path, I find myself facing the enigmatic entrance of the stone structure.
With a deep breath, I summon the courage to knock on the old door and, finding no objections, turn the creaky metal handle. Raindrops tap dance on my back just before I step inside. After shutting the door behind me, I take a moment to survey my unexpected haven. A dimly lit corridor stretches towards a statue at the end, surrounded by stone indents on the walls, wooden coffins sandwiched between them like forgotten guests at a forgotten party.
It finally hits me – this place is a mausoleum, a small and eerie one at that.
I've faced my fair share of adventures, traversing dungeons with more coffins and corpses than I care to admit. Yet, there's an undeniable discomfort in seeking shelter among the resting places of the departed. Sure, I can handle a horde of zombies or a bunch of skeletons, but there's something about crypts that gets under my skin. You never know which one of cadavers might decide to take a stroll.
Not eager to back myself into a corner, I perch on the stone wall that doubles as a doorframe. Perhaps not the best idea, as the door immediately swings open, introducing my head to the ground and exposing me to the relentless rain. Quick recovery, door closed, and a futile attempt to shake off the excess water later, I'm left to contemplate the mysteries of this mausoleum.
The flickering candlelight barely illuminates the corridor, casting elongated shadows that seem to whisper forgotten secrets. The storm outside is putting on a spectacular show, but in here, the air is thick with history, the weight of time bearing down on my shoulders. I can't shake the feeling that I've stumbled upon a place where stories linger and ancient whispers dance in the shadows.
As I continue to wait, the unease settles in. The groans of wooden coffins join the symphony of the storm, creating a soundtrack for the unknown. The candlelight plays tricks on the eyes, and every creak of the mausoleum seems like a message from the past. It's as if the very walls are alive with tales waiting to be told.
The storm rages outside, indifferent to the brewing tension within the mausoleum. I stand, poised for whatever spectral encore this cryptic sanctuary has in store, wondering if seeking refuge here was a stroke of luck or an inadvertent invitation to a dance with the supernatural. The mausoleum, it seems, holds secrets as tightly as the coffins cradle the stories of the departed.
Two agonizing hours dragged on, and my rear end felt like it had struck an unholy alliance with the frigid, unyielding stone floor. As I peeled myself off the ground, limbs tingling from the prolonged sit-down, I embarked on a futile attempt at revival, pacing the corridor to resurrect my circulation. Anything was preferable to the soul-sucking grip of boredom and numbness that threatened to engulf me.
Choosing to defy the call of the cold floor, I strolled toward the end of the hallway, my attention drawn to the room's pièce de résistance—the statue. There, a horned boy gripped a scythe in one hand, while the other cradled a basin filled with flickering coals. At the statue's base, a peculiar plaque adorned with cryptic symbols begged for scrutiny. The symbols teased a whisper of familiarity, like the distant echoes of a forgotten language.
Driven by curiosity, I delved into my backpack and unearthed a borrowed journal from one of my guild-dads. Its pages boasted an array of deciphered languages, a testament to his scholarly pursuits. Fingers dancing over the worn pages, I searched for a linguistic match to the enigmatic symbols on the plaque. Panic gnawed at me as the pages yielded nothing, but relief finally washed over me when a half-ruined page revealed a semblance of the peculiar symbols.
Despite the scribbles and torn sections, I attempted the translation. Yet, the outcome resembled nothing more than a chaotic dance of nonsensical words.
Undeterred, I recited what I could decipher.
Bennett: "En'di Barakai... Reax Regius Indominum Ego Visceris."
As the incantation left my lips, an eerie silence enveloped my ears despite the echoing halls, and the shadows seemed to summon my name.
Thud.
The unsettling sound reverberated behind me, freezing me in place. Footsteps echoed, yet the door had not creaked open. Whatever produced those steps had silently infiltrated the room. Given the limited occupants—basically just me and the dormant bodies—the cold realization slithered down my spine.
A blast of foul air grazed my nape, and a repugnant odor invaded my senses. A lone bead of sweat embarked on a solitary journey down my forehead as I cautiously wrapped my fingers around the hilt of my sword. With painstaking slowness, I pivoted, and there, staring into the vacant eyes of the undead, I knew I had company.
My heart raced with trepidation as the ominous sound echoed through the mausoleum. A sinister omen, heralding a threat beyond the mere undead. I braced myself for the unknown, sword ablaze, prepared to confront whatever unholy force lurked in the shadows, eager to turn my sanctuary into a battleground.
YOU ARE READING
Unlucky~ Bennett x Male Reader
Fanfiction"They say nothing lasts forever, and I think this to be true as well. But what's stopping me from trying?" Among one of his many adventurers, and a close encounter with Death, Bennett finds himself in an underground kingdom filled with those shunned...
