I did not feel anything: not the slash of claws, the tearing jaws, the overwhelming pressure of weight, or the suffocation. And, for the first time, I realized being painless was not a benefit.
The Wolves could play with me all they wanted without their toy ever breaking. I could lay there uselessly as they gulped down my arms in front of me, wrenched open my stomach, gnawed on the bones beneath the flesh and muscle of my legs.
I could gasp uselessly for air I didn't even need, missing the throat that provided for me when I was alive. I think I'd seen a purplish colored Wolf swatting it playfully like a domesticated pet, deciding that my throat wasn't important enough to eat, but certainly worthless enough to rip out.
I could only think that this was the perfect representation of how my life was falling apart . I'd always felt kind of like my existence was pointless, and seeing this was a confirmation.
I couldn't move, but I couldn't die either.
So pointless.
I wondered idly if my Lich Transformation could make it seem as if I wasn't in pieces. Could I loose it all, and still be put back together?
I activated it, and along with it my passive conditional Skills, Black Aura and Fear of the Undead.
I couldn't laugh, but if I could I would've. The wolves scattered like roaches, dropping their meat in favor of surviving. With my brand new arms I hefted my dagger once more and called on the Incinerator.
I was drained, my Transformation had taken a lot out of me. I was fueled by nothing but adrenaline.
One by one, I sprinted to each wolf, tapping them on a leg, chest, muzzle, or wherever else they left exposed in their panic. I stepped passed to watch in satisfaction as the Incinerator blasted them to ashes.
Who was the one in pieces now?
With a smirk seemingly permanent on my face, and a weird feeling in my gut, I moved on to the Seventh Floor at last.
I had no Magic to fight with, as it was all exhausted out of me from the consecutive Incinerators.
I was still in Lich form though, so my conditional Skills were active. I slit the throats of the creatures until the Seventh Floor was cleared and my Dagger was covered in gore.
Enough of my power had recovered on the Eighth Floor to use a couple of Blue Fireballs, so that one didn't become a repeat of the dreaded Sixth.
I made it to the Ninth Floor, feeling as if I should've been bone tired, and hungry enough to eat a pool of souls. Yet I wasn't tired and the Chaos Ghouls there didn't stand a chance with the higher recovery rate of my Magic as a Lich in an Undead Environment.
I found my first chest on the Ninth Floor, hidden behind some extra vine-filled trees, and it was a nice repose. I honestly wasn't expecting a Chest or many Spawn Drops until after the Tenth Floor. Beginner Dungeons were considered easy, so the Chests and Drops were low.
In it I found some low-grade Studded Armor, a Shortsword, and a Ruby. I was looking forward to selling it. If I was lucky, the Ruby would fetch two Silvers, and the Armor and Sword would sell for two Silvers and five Coppers.
The Warp Spell was what I most wanted, but it was one of the most expensive since every Mage wanted one even if they weren't a Stealth Class.
It was difficult and cost a lot of Magic, but it could literally take you anywhere, as well as save your life.
It costed a hefty sum of five Silvers if you were a good bargainer. Even if I sold all my Loot at maximum price, I still wouldn't have enough.
I moved onto the Tenth Floor, daydreaming of fire and portals.
I was snapped out of it when I fell into a pit.
Oh shit.
This was one Dungeon Floor I remembered from Suzui's stories. A Floor that was shrouded in darkness with a towering fortress made of the blackest bricks.
I was on a Floor with a Boss, and it just so happened to have Spawns that were basically my siblings.
I had to face Daimons.