When he saw the skeleton rising, the boy's heart started pounding wildly. It wasn't something terrifying—the skeleton inspired neither fear nor strength. But the environment weighed heavily on him, burdening every thought. He tried to push everything aside and focus on the task. Deep down, he had no idea how to summon a weapon; he didn't even know what it should look like. But he had one simple idea: he called out the weapon's name, clenched his fist, and concentrated. And in a moment, as if by some unknown force, a sword began to materialize from the dust in his hand.
The sword looked grim, its grayish blade seeming to absorb the light, with a pommel that had a semi-transparent, ghostly tint. It wasn't exactly heavy, but not light either—the perfect balance for a weapon that gave off a sense of deadly threat. The skeleton, which seemed clumsy and slow, posed no real danger, and the boy, who didn't know how to wield a sword but understood well enough how to cut, easily sliced it in half as if it were paper.
Having dealt with the threat, the boy smiled. He felt a strange rush of excitement and moved forward, into the unknown. However, after a few steps, a massive door appeared before him, both majestic and frightening at the same time. It felt as though he had passed the easy opponents and now stood face to face with the real challenge, the final boss. But how to open the door? He didn't know. Yet, when he approached, the door slowly and ominously opened on its own, as if inviting him to enter.
He didn't immediately decide to cross the threshold. The boy gripped the sword tightly, holding it in front of him, and stepped forward. Before him lay a vast hall, dark and foreboding. In the center stood a massive statue of a skeleton in a robe, holding an ancient book in one hand. Nearby, in the shadows, were statues of its followers—grim warriors frozen in combat poses. The red torches that lit the corridor were replaced by blue, cold flames that cast ghostly shadows. It seemed to be a temple dedicated to something ancient and terrifying. But the most ominous sight was the coffin standing in the center of the hall. Open, as if waiting, but empty. It felt as though the one who should have been resting there had long since left.
The walls and statues were covered in strange inscriptions, perhaps names or spells, but the boy couldn't read, and his gaze slid past them. What truly caught his attention was the disappearance of the door he had entered through. The boy quickly turned around, but where the door had been, there was now only a solid wall. Fear gripped him, his breathing became labored, and he collapsed to the floor, trying to calm down and find a solution. It was hard for him to think, but he tried to focus: the skeleton warrior in the corridor, the mysterious lich mentioned in the artifact, and the coffin, which was empty but illuminated by torches and surrounded by statues.
"How am I supposed to understand what to do if I can't even read?"—a desperate thought flashed through his mind.
He began to search the hall, but found nothing except repeating texts. Finally, he decided to examine the coffin more closely. It was made of strange metal, covered in mysterious symbols. The boy cautiously reached inside to inspect its contents. And then something terrible happened: the coffin suddenly slammed shut, trapping his hand in a steel grip. Unbearable pain shot through his body, and he screamed, trying to break free, but it was in vain. Tears streamed down his face as the first blood spilled from the wound, and at that moment, a metallic voice of the system rang out:
**[You have awakened the ancient fallen lich.]**
The boy's hand suddenly became transparent, as if dissolving into the air, and he was pulled out of the coffin. It was the first time he had used his ability, and possibly the last. But there was no time to rejoice: the coffin lid opened again, and from the darkness emerged a skeleton in a robe, just like the statue. Its eyes glowed with a menacing red light, and its face bore a horrifying mixture of ancient malice and unquenchable hunger.
The boy tried to focus, but his vision was blurred by pain and fear. He noticed how all his wounds and tattered clothes were slowly healing, but even that brought no relief. The lich spoke in a low, rumbling voice, each word seeming to be carved into stone:
— You have pulled me from my eternal tomb, and I am ready to reward you for it.
"What the hell? This lich, who seems to have been lying in the coffin for centuries, speaks in such a polite tone?" the boy thought, bewildered.
— I know what you want, — the lich continued. — And it will be no trouble. Just get into the coffin and lie there for a few seconds. After that, you will receive the power you desire.
The boy froze. "I'm supposed to get into the coffin that nearly bit off my hand? Are you serious?" flashed through his mind. But aloud, he said:
— I don't need power. If you want to thank me, just show me the way out and the road to the village.
The lich fell silent, and a heavy, ominous silence filled the hall. After a long pause, the skeleton spoke again, this time in a colder and more sinister tone:
— You are a good person, and for your kindness, I will repay you with everything I have. But first—get into the coffin so I can pass the power to you. Then I will lead you out of here and show you the way.
The boy felt a chill run down his spine. It sounded like a threat disguised as an offer. He slowly backed away, trying not to make any sudden movements, but the lich seemed to notice every thought.
— Sorry, but I don't want any power. Please return me quickly, — the boy pleaded, almost retreating to the far wall.
The lich's face twisted in anger, and its voice grew loud and sharp:
— Boy, I'm giving you one last chance. Get into the coffin.
The boy realized that the lich wasn't who he claimed to be and retreated sharply. But before he could take a step, the lich uttered an unfamiliar word, and the boy was lifted into the air, his body pierced by an invisible force, and he was drawn to the skeleton like a puppet.
— Boy, before I reward you with a generous death, tell me your name, — the lich said, squeezing his throat.
The boy was furious. A string of curses ran through his mind, but aloud he managed to choke out:
— Go to hell. It's none of your business.
The lich tightened his grip, and the pain became unbearable. The boy could no longer scream—he could only rasp, struggling to stay conscious.
— I'll give you one more chance. What's your name? — the lich hissed.
The boy was on the brink. Every moment stretched into eternity. But despite the pain, he gathered all his strength and rasped:
— I am nameless. Remember the name of the one who will end you.
The lich loosened his grip, and the boy, summoning the last of his strength, called forth his sword and lunged into the attack. But the lich was too fast. He dodged every strike as if he already knew all the boy's moves. The boy desperately tried, but his sword swings cut through only air, not touching a single bit of flesh. The lich continued to toy with him like a cat with a caught mouse, until the boy felt his strength begin to wane.
At some point, the lich decided that the game had gone on long enough. Grabbing the boy by the throat, he lifted him off the ground, bringing him closer to his menacing, hollow eyes that burned with crimson fire. The lich's voice was soft and almost gentle, but it carried a threat so strong that the boy choked not only from the strangulation but also from pure terror.
— Nameless, you are the weakest person I have ever seen. I don't hate you, — the lich said with a barely noticeable sneer. — I just have to do this if I want to survive. There are no enemies, only benefits and losses. But you're not destined to understand that.
In fact, the Lich had encountered many before him, but none possessed such a perfect affinity with the essence. He was the first to meet the requirements.
With each of the lich's words, the pressure increased, and the boy realized that his time was running out. The sword in his hand slowly lowered, as if it had become too heavy. He felt the darkness engulf his consciousness, swallowing the last glimmers of hope.
But at the moment when the darkness was about to consume him completely, the boy made an unexpected move. With the remaining strength, he thrust the sword into the lich's back, but the blade only passed through his ghostly body, doing no harm. The lich didn't even flinch, but the boy didn't stop. In a fit of desperation, he turned the blade and aimed it directly at his own heart.
A sharp, excruciating burst of pain shot through his body, but it was a pain of release. The boy felt his strength leave him completely, and he slowly sank to the ground, holding the sword in his heart. Dark spots swam before his eyes, but in his last moments, he saw the lich's face change. In the ancient creature's eyes, something like surprise flashed, and then—fear.
In the instant when life left his body, the boy heard a sound like the shattering of glass. It was the sound of destruction. A wave of ether filled the space, and the entire world around him began to crumble.
- No! - the lich shouted when he realized that the boy had done something he did not expect. with the help of his ability, he could feel his hatred, but who knew that this hatred was not addressed to the lich, but to himself.
But it was already too late. The boy felt his consciousness dissolving in the waves of the ether, leaving behind only emptiness. In that moment, a cold, indifferent voice of the system echoed.
[You have passed the trial: Ethereal Refuge.]
[You receive the relic: Lich's Crown.]
The world around him was vanishing, and the dark silhouettes of the last moment melted into the ether like smoke. The boy felt nothing more; his body disappeared along with the space, but deep inside, he knew one thing—this was not the end.