Interference.
Distorted sounds.
Something beyond.
Louder distorted sounds.
The air around me wavered, as if heatless flames licked at the edges of existence. I rubbed my temples. "Nope. Not dealing with this in tattered robes with my undergarments showing. Even a sorcerer must have standards."
I gave my sleeve a cautious sniff. Nothing. Thank the void. At least the stench was gone. Small mercies. But I still needed a new set of clothes.
I got up, almost forgetting the rum, and made my way to the 3rd floor—the artifact and armory floor. I entered through the double doors, bottle in hand, taking a moment to absorb the sight before me. Racks of enchanted robes lined the walls, some humming with latent magic. Weapons, wands, and hats rested in their places. Rings and necklaces lay secured behind reinforced enchanted display glass, glinting with arcane power. Staves, shoes, boots, pants, undergarments, gloves, scarves, and even a few eccentric capes were arranged with obsessive precision. Suits of mithril armor stood in silent readiness, flanked by an assortment of mithril gloves, helmets, and bracers. There were even enchanted belts and cloaks, some of which I had forgotten acquiring. The sheer variety was staggering—an arsenal built over years of paranoia, preparation, and the occasional impulse buy.
I ran my fingers along the racks of enchanted robes. Some hummed with latent energy; others shifted ever so slightly when I wasn't looking. One particularly unsettling garment twitched. Another exuded the distinct feeling of hunger. I ignored both.
Instead, I sought out a robe that didn't seem particularly interested in sentience—or digestion.
I grabbed a plain, well-worn ensemble that had survived various magical mishaps without attempting to consume me and threw it on. The fabric settled against my skin—and at that moment, the interference outside surged in response.
Another loud distorted sound.
I stiffened. The sound wasn't just noise anymore. There was something in it—something trying to form words.
A pause. Then—
"A… wakee…"
A chill ran down my spine. That wasn't just sound—it was intent. A fragmented attempt at communication, pressing against the edges of understanding.
That was directed at me.
Taking a last swig from the bottle, I exhaled sharply, set it down on a nearby dresser, and turned toward the stairs. "Alright. Nexus it is. And if this is another eldritch horror, I'd appreciate it if it had the decency to schedule an appointment."
As I ascended to the sixth floor, the interference intensified. The Astral Nexus pulsed, threads of energy flickering in and out of existence. Something—or someone—was reaching through.
I hesitated at the threshold, watching as the distortion coiled and pulsed in erratic bursts.
For a moment, my mind flashed back to the seventh floor—the place where I had inscribed the circle, the place where it all went wrong. The memory of the experiment felt heavier now, as if the interference itself was a reminder.
I exhaled, rolling my shoulders. "Well… time to see what fresh disaster this is."
And with that, I strode toward the Nexus, bracing myself for whatever cosmic absurdity awaited me.