Natasha the Halve

 

The cave went deeper into the mountain, narrowing the further I went until it became a tight passage, with my shoulders almost touching the walls. It also sloped downward at a noticeable and constant angle, sometimes bending to the right, sometimes to the left. The air became cold, damp, stale, and heavy, and the smell of minerals and stone eventually replaced everything else, leaving only the increasingly dense E'er.

The absence of critters caught my attention; I had expected spiders, bats, or some form of ambush predator.

After about thirty minutes, I grew bored and started humming a tune.

Forty minutes later, I noticed a change. My skin and hair stopped absorbing oxygen and relied purely on E'er.

Can I live without E'er? I wondered while walking, curiosity winning over concern. If I were to, hypothetically speaking, use Abyssal to open a portal to another world that has no E'er... would I absorb whatever is there instead, or die? I retrieved my list of things to ask the Gods and wrote it down. The idea of leaving Galeia wasn't very appealing, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

An hour later, I noticed that E'er made up more than 90% of the air in the tunnel, if you could still call it air, with no oxygen around.

A bit later—maybe five or six minutes—the tunnel widened, giving way to a small cave. In the middle of it stood a statue in the shape of a suit of armor. It held big, double-bladed axes in each hand and was poised, ready for battle.

I approached and gave it a closer look.

It was Shorvanna, but made of stone instead of metal. The smell of enchantments I couldn’t discern was thick around it.

Appraising it showed nothing, so I moved past it to search the area.

“Hark!” the Goddess’s voice suddenly came from the statue.

“Gyaa!” I screamed at the sudden noise, jumping and spinning around. “You shit!”

“Break me and you shall pass!” were the next words.

I sighed, letting the scare fade away, then retrieved my spear and activated [Initiation], [Prevention], and [Dragoon Might]. I gripped my weapon and swung with full strength, activating [Pierce], [Shielded Thrust], [Sharp Spear], [Long Attacks], [Spear Finesse], [Coiling Attacks], and [Crush].

Fourteen attacks in a fraction of a second for a total of four hundred E'er spent.

The crisp whistle of sharp metal cut through the air, each blow met with the loud sound of stone shattering under the sheer force.

Shorvanna’s statue collapsed in a heap of rubble. Some bits flew away and bounced off the walls, while others crumbled into dust.

My eyebrows raised slightly at the result.

Immediately, the ground collapsed beneath me, opening a chasm that stretched into dark depths.

“NO!” I screamed, stabbing the closest wall with my spear to avoid falling into the abyss. “YOU DUMB, FUCKING BITCH!” I shouted, anger swelling inside me.

“Access granted” the statue announced as it rebuilt itself, floating back to its original spot. The head moved with mechanical suddenness, turning to look at me. It raised an arm and took aim with one of its axes.

“HEY!” I shouted, swinging up and standing on my spear.

The Goddess’s likeness hurled an axe at the ceiling above me.

Stone shattered, breaking the wall my spear was stuck into.

I lost my footing for a second time but didn’t panic. Instead, I searched for a solution.

Falling down into darkness was not part of the plan.

…

Or was it?

It was possible that, in Shorvanna’s conflict-obsessed Divine mind, she had kept the part about me needing to fall into a seemingly endless pit a secret, rather than having a door and staircase like the other dungeons I’d seen so far.

Had I known, I might have complained. Just like now.

I wasn’t scared of falling to my death anymore. That just wasn’t possible. Instead, I heavily disliked the idea of falling. But then again, Shorvanna said conflict is a path to growth, and leaving the comfort zone is part of that. I fully agreed.

I stopped myself from activating [Dragon Dive] to crash into the ceiling and instead let gravity pull me down.

A feeling of déjà vu crept into my mind as I watched the walls rush past me. The lack of a laughing Oni falling beside me made the situation far less amusing.

“One,” I started counting.

The air whipped my braid around as I descended.

“Two. Three. Four. Five,” I muttered, trying to keep my feet beneath me.

Just as I was about to say "six," the ground appeared.

I landed on my feet with a loud bang, the metallic boots hitting the stone floor hard.

The smell of E'er, arranged in gravity-altering enchantments, tickled my nose. It was similar to the chains I lifted in Ladania, but these ones pulled down.

I looked at the ground, then the walls, then up. With a bit of strength, I jumped.

The pull brought me back down immediately.

“Aha!” I uttered in realization. To help prevent the undead from leaving. Smart, I approved and glanced around.

The stone floor was flat, and the walls were perfectly perpendicular to it. The walls gave way to an exquisitely rectangular hallway.

I searched for my spear, finding it near the wall. I stepped on it, rolled it onto my boot, lifted it slightly, and sent it into my storage. With that done, I looked around again.

That’s when I noticed a detail on the wall in front of me. A handprint.

It wasn’t just one; a line of handprints at shoulder level ran across the wall. Beneath each was an inscription. [Rozmu Imokk] was the first name I saw.

I stared at it for a bit, recognizing it as the name of my predecessor, the previous Halve Warrior from fifteen thousand years ago.

I walked along the wall, reading more names.

Lumin Dagar, Finestra Palaz, El'kuu Lao, Koluum Tyrus, Lola Mento, and many more.

The ones whose names became those of royalty or countries were more recognizable, while others had shown up in books I’d read. They were all warriors.

The farther I walked, the fewer names I recognized.

It was a bit sad, in a way. All those people, my kin and predecessors, were long dead. Most lived the full ten-thousand-year lifespan, while a few fell before their time.

The dungeon itself was pretty old if even Koluum, who allowed the founding of Koluum Kingdom more than two million years ago, was recorded here.

And I, after all that time, would do what he did.

Clear the dungeon to grow in power.

It was almost poignant.

I sighed and walked toward the hallway leading deeper into the dungeon, but something caught my eye once more—a free spot at the corner.

I smiled and placed my naked hand on the stone.

The entire wall lit up, lines of gold and silver branching outward.

I followed the lines with my eyes, seeing more handprints and names.

A surge of E'er concentrated on my palm, tickling my skin. The stone gave way, taking the shape of my hand. Below it, the name 'Natasha Novak' appeared.

I stared at it for a bit, wondering who’d end up reading it in the future, and if they’d recognize it. The last part was mostly up to me, honestly. Maybe I’d be the first Halve to have a bunch of kids.

A laugh escaped me at the irony of being ready to breed with Pokora but having to clear a dungeon across the continent. It felt a bit cruel. For the first time in months, I’d be alone.

I walked into the hallway.

The first thing I saw was a wall of fog about two meters in. Then the words "Mortals Beware" etched all over the walls in every Mortal language.

How would they get here, anyway? I wondered, thinking of Shorvanna's statue, but then I remember how psychotic Gods actually are, finding beauty in Mortals' self-destructive behaviors. I had no doubt anyone would be allowed to pass if they managed to break the statue. And knowing Mortals, some would take it as a challenge to reach our heights.

A foolish notion.

I walked to the wall of fog but stopped before reaching it. A familiar cold emanated from it.

I’d felt it firsthand not too long ago—when Death claimed me.

The memory of dying replayed in my mind: numbness and cold encroaching from all sides, unable even to call for help as my body gave in.

Once again, like with any memory from Earth, there was no emotional response. Maybe a slight annoyance. Not even anger replied.

I retrieved several bottles and scrolls from my storage. As a former whale and a firm believer of Pay to Win, I used the almighty power of financial income to my advantage when I played Redeemer's Bush. With the items now actually in my storage and having real effects, I unashamedly popped buffs left and right.

[Draught of Necrotic Resitance]
-Reduces the potency of Necrotic effects on the consumer by 80%.

I drank many more, granting resistances to poison, rot, psychic, fire, lightning, force, shadow, space, bleed, cold, insanity, chaos, earth, wind, water, and ghost.

It took a couple of minutes since I had to physically drink them instead of pushing a button like in the game. I also went for the same Strength and Constitution combo I had used to lift the tree two days ago.

Fortunately, my stomach quickly absorbed liquids and food.

As for the scrolls, I used the same [Writings of Superior Reflexes] I used for the arena fight against my companions, along with others that granted similarly vague effects.

Maybe I was overdoing it, but it's better to have too much than too little.

Once done, I walked ahead and crossed the fog.

The foul stench of death, decay, and rot landed a clean uppercut to my nose. The air hung thick with them in equal measure, with spells and other such effects causing E'er to try and sneak into my body to rob me of Life Force, the E'er at my disposal, and cripple my senses.

I immediately stopped breathing and shook my head, activating [Monster Hunter] and moving my braid to the front.

My glow revealed the space I had entered: a wide, stadium-sized cave littered with corpses and decaying flesh.

Ew! Ew! Ew! I winced and frowned.

A quiet groan came from a nearby pile of corpses.

I slowly approached, spear first just in case, and poked the topmost corpse.

A Mortal, more specifically an Elf, was trying to get up. Torn leather garments failed to functionally cover a mangled body that shouldn’t have been able to move due to the extensive injuries. The left leg was stripped of flesh from thigh to ankle, and a large hole in its chest exposed rotted internal organs.

I felt no compulsion to help, so I appraised the individual.

[Deathbound Interloper – Lvl 1200]

The mockery of life slowly turned its head toward me. Bits of flesh still clung to the skull, and the eyes were covered in a white fog of sorts.

The zombie – for lack of a better term – opened its mouth wide.

I activated [Charge], rushing forward before it could make a sound, and swung my spear down.

My weapon made clean contact, bisecting the body from forehead to crotch.

Ah, fuck, I swore in my mind when I realized what I just did.

[Charge] made me move faster than sound, and breaking the sound barrier is not exactly a silent affair.

The loud bang echoed in the cavern.

At least they're slo- I started.

An armored Goliath was already standing before me, weapon drawn back and ready to swing.

I lifted my spear to intercept the blow.

It connected, the zombie's three meter long sword stopping.

I pushed the weapon to the side and stabbed at the neck.

The blade of my spear cut cleanly through decaying flesh and bone, removing the head without much trouble.

All in less than a quarter of a second.

Fast! I thought.

A fireball zipped towards me from the left.

“No!” I told it in Infernal.

The flames sputtered into nothingness.

“GRAAAAAAAAHHH!!” A shout came from the right.

Then, motion exploded everywhere.

A Luzo wielding ribs instead of blades, a Lupum carrying a large hammer, a Human swinging another Mortal's spine, and an Elf with a shield and a sword rushed me faster than any zombie should have any right to move.

I was surrounded not even a breath after the Goliath got beheaded.

The first one lunged at me, faster than expected. Almost as fast as I was.

My spear was already in motion before its improvised weapons could reach me, a clean sideways swing that cut the thing in half at the waist.

I spun, the butt of my spear slamming into the temple of the second zombie.

Its head twisted unnaturally, but it didn’t stop.

The third one was upon me.

[Dragonclaw] made me rotate ten times in an instant, turning their bodies and armor into ribbons of putrid flesh.

A second fireball shot towards me, this time bigger and faster than before.

A wall of zombies blocked my sight, obscuring the zombie Wizard.

The spell was fast as sound, and the zombies charging at me were just as fast.

So, I activated [Charge] and barreled into the horde, cutting through the initial wave of undead like a scythe through tall grass.

My spear cleaved through their rotted armor and brittle bones.

It barely made a dent in the sheer number of them. Their numbers were overwhelming, a literal tide of death and decay crashing down on me.

I cleared a path through their ranks, sending pieces of flesh, armor, and bone flying in all directions.

The sound of my body breaking through the sound barrier echoed in the cavern once more, but the horde kept pressing in from every side.

Every footstep I took felt like I was trying to move through a thick swamp of rotting limbs and grasping hands.

My spear cut down one, two, three—each one falling faster than the last, but the ones behind were already on me.

Their speed was unnatural. These were not sluggish zombies, they had been Chasers once, and the muscle memory of their spells and skills, just like the little bits of flesh still clinging to their bodies, remained.

I spun on my heel, activating [Dragonclaw] again, rotating ten times in an instant, the centrifugal force of my spear slicing through the crowd like a whirlwind of destruction.

A dozen bodies were torn apart, their limbs scattered across the cave, but for every one I cut down, three more took their place.

The cavern echoed with the groans and shrieks of the dead as more and more of them rushed forward, their eyes glowing with a faint, malicious light.

I planted my feet, abandoning all defense, and activated [Endless Rain]. My spear became a blur, striking all in front of me with relentless force. The longer I struck, the firmer my stance became, the stone beneath my feet strengthening, the impacts of the zombies’ attacks bouncing off my body. My strikes were fast, precise, and brutal, each one cleaving through the undead’s armor, their bones, their flesh.

Their counterattacks barely registered as I continued my assault, cutting down hundreds in the span of seconds.

But it still wasn’t enough. The horde was endless.

For every row I cut down, a new wave surged forward, undeterred by the fallen.

They clawed at me, swung weapons with rusty, decayed hands, and sent spells hurtling in my direction. Spells and attacks that should have been sloppy and weak were instead sharp and deadly, driven by ancient skills that refused to die.

The force of my attacks sent shockwaves through the cave, but the horde continued to come, unending.

[Coiling Attacks] made each thrust rotate, preventing my spear from getting stuck and leaving wide holes in their bodies.

[Spear Finesse] guided my movements to [Overwhelming Violence], making my spear an extension of my own body, slashing, thrusting, spinning, and blocking in one continuous, deadly dance that sought to annihilate everything I faced.

Every Warrior charging at me was met with [Crush], breaking through thick armor and sending their broken bodies crashing to the ground in a heap.

Sixty attacks per second.

Rotted flesh and barely adequate armor and weapons against a Halve wearing Legendary armor and wielding a Mythical weapon.

Putrefaction against Perfection.

Undead Mortals against an Eternal Protector.

And still, the tide surged.

And so did my anger.

[Coiling Attacks] and [Shielded Thrusts] revealed every flinch of their bodies indicating their intent to parry, grapple, counter, or block.

I hid myself from Wizards in the slaughter, using the horde as undead shields, but moved in their direction nonetheless.

One of their staves swung at me from the back of the horde, the undead's E'er gathering at the tip.

I didn’t wait for the spell to be cast, activating [Throw Spear] and hurling the pike.

My weapon pierced through not just the Wizard, but the tens of undead standing behind as well.

Their bodies crumpled as the spear embedded itself in the stone wall of the cave, a massive shockwave ripping through the ranks of the horde.

The spear returned to my hand in an instant, but more were already upon me.

I grew obese on the feast of violence, swallowing the tide whole and regurgitating ever-burning anger as a reward for the insolent mortals who dared to trespass into the dungeon.

My anger had turned to arrogance, distracting me from the pops that signaled an increase in levels.