I shoved my dagger upward, and the blade went clean through his jaw and cut into his brain. I watched his eyes milk over and his head shrivel like an apple left in the sun for too long.
Most people had heard of me, and they thought I was a crooked bastard who’d kill anyone if the price was right. But I had principles. Most people were deserving of death, so the rumors came close to the truth. These three, though, I’d killed for free.
I retrieved my throwing stars before I looted the corpses and found a handful of copper coins. Their weapons and armor were of no use to me.
The mention of the skull had piqued my interest, so I descended further into the crypt. Grave Oath emitted a dull light, negating the need for torches to illuminate my path. Empty plinths flanked me as I trod down the narrow passageway and arrived in a square chamber. The room was entirely empty.
Except chambers inside a crypt were never truly empty.
Nor were the traps hidden without some sign that a particularly perceptive diver could spot. The whole point of the burial crypts was to reward those brave—and intelligent—enough to enter them. The brave ones tended not to last long, but the smart ones would be remunerated a hundredfold for their efforts.
I stayed in the passageway while I inspected the walls for some kind of magical proximity trigger. I passed over the mosaics of the Death Goddess’ rise to divinity and her subsequent fall but found no indication of glyphs used for enchanted traps. I flicked a throwing star onto the tile in front of me and waited a few seconds.
Nothing.
I reached out with my foot and pressed on the tile before leaping back. A heavy cleaver swung onto the spot I’d touched, its edge gleaming in the light of my dagger. The massive blade swung back and forth a few more times before it started slowing down and finally stopped moving.
A sound like an ax grinding against an anvil came from behind me, and I ducked. A spear the size of a ballista bolt raced over my head and crashed into the wall behind the dais.
“Fucking crypts,” I muttered. “There’s a reason I never enter them.”
I looked to where the spear had embedded itself and saw that the wall had been broken through. Bricks were scattered on the ground, and a hidden room lay behind the wall. My curiosity got the better of me, so I continued checking for traps until I’d triggered another half dozen cleavers and a particularly terrifying trap that rained metal spikes from the ceiling.
It didn’t take long though, and soon, I was crawling through the hole in the wall and into the small room. Only a single font of blessing stood in the center. Inside it was the clearest water I’d ever seen.
“Why are you here?” I asked the font.
Everything in a crypt served a purpose. Unlike the burial chambers in the Southern Isles, where I came from, these structures were made not for the dead but for the people who wished to claim their prizes. Every item, every image, and every relic was purposefully placed to help a diver progress through the crypt.
I studied the font, staring into its crystalline surface. I was greeted by the reflection of a man of about 30, with silver-white hair and sunken eyes. Stubble peppered his gaunt face.
“Shit,” I said. “You look like you haven’t slept in days.”
Which was mostly true. I’d been pursuing Rollar and his men for almost a week, hoping they would lead me to some kind of prize. I’d heard the sergeant had abandoned his post along with half his soldiers. Apparently, he’d found a codex filled with locations of lost artifacts, and he’d set off across the continent to find them.
Was this font one such artifact?
I removed my left glove and held it above the font. The liquid looked like water, but one could never be too sure. I slowly lowered my glove, and as soon as it touched the liquid, bubbles started to form around it. In an instant, the hissing, broiling water had consumed it.
“Acid water. What’s the point of you?”
As soon as I muttered the words, the image of a troll entered my mind. I whirled around with my dagger raised, half expecting one to leap from the hidden room and attack. But none came.
There were other creatures who were vulnerable to acid, but those hadn’t been seen for centuries. Not since the Death Goddess had truly fallen and the very thing she served had claimed her.
Out of nowhere, the mosaic on the wall nearest to me started to move. The tiny tiles peeled off the walls of their own accord and fell to the floor. They collected together, swirling and seemingly attracting and repelling each other in a fixed pattern, building upward piece by piece until a woman was standing before me. She was a patchwork of tiles, but her identity was clear.
Isu. The Death Goddess.
“Vance,” she said. Her voice was like icy fingers trailing down my spine. She smiled, her teeth whiter than the wedding gown of a paladin’s wife.
I glanced at the acid. If this was truly the Death Goddess, then chucking the contents of the font over head was a bad idea. If she was merely an imitation, however, not throwing the font right away could lead to my immediate death.
Still, I’d been searching for three years for some sign that a god might have survived. I couldn’t risk losing this chance.
“You have finally come to me,” the woman said as she approached me. She wore a black gown of spidersilk—all made of tiles—showcasing her ample curves. Twin horns curved up from her head, her facial features a visage of artistic perfection.
“You’re Isu,” I said with a slight upward inflection, positioning myself in front of the font so that I could push it toward her if necessary.
It would be difficult to flee
