Reincarnated as an Apocalyptic Catalyst
Chapter 99: The City of the Dead

Chapter 99: The City of the Dead

So I wasn’t about to have 10 health again–though to be fair, that was my parasite self, not this body. I wondered if that would change this time around–, and willpower wasn’t such a big deal anymore, now that I had no intention of being some global overlord. Morgana didn’t have the same sway over me anymore– honestly I hadn’t heard from her in ages. If I could integrate dexterity into this body, I could really do a shit ton of damage. The mana regen was nice, and it helped a lot with my abilities, but here, now, I think I needed movement and lethality.

Here we were, a shit ton of points. Let’s be a little careful and test the waters. Previously my stats weren’t that big of a deal, doing little to alter the body I inhabited, but I was willing to take a gamble here. If the system within this dungeon could manipulate my vessel so easily, I had to hope that it could do it in my favor.

I leaked a few points into Constitution and waited... I started to feel different and put a few more points into the stat.

[10 points allocated to Constitution. Base health 100. You have reached 20 Constitution. Current health 200/200.]

Holy fucking hell, this is going to be sweet! It’s actually working! Okay, okay, so 10 points into strength, 20 into dex, er...

[10 points allocated to Strength, 20 points allocated to Dexterity.]

I shuddered as the system began to warp my body to fit my new stats. At first it was pure bliss, followed by pain, followed by agonizing pain, followed by, "Oh god, oh shit, please kill me now!" I bellowed, looking around frantically as other party members began to follow suit, primarily Vance, followed by Nythera curled up on the floor clawing at her skull, and Ronan closing his eyes tighter than he likely ever had. When the pain finally subsided, I felt pleasure return to me as my brain desperately tried to keep itself from shutting down due to the trauma.

"Okay," I said, panting, out of breath, absolutely wrecked. "40 points down, and I think maybe we should do this a point at a time as we explore." I blinked a dozen times, testing out my body as feeling my muscles refine into rippling cords. I was still nothing compared to my previous form, but this was quite the horrific thrill.

I heard what was likely confirmation from the others as I tested my balance and moved around. This was like taking over a new body, except I already owned it and there was a lot more pain involved. We all slowly got back to our pace as we followed Ronan in what was hopefully the right direction. Every so often I would toss another point into another skill, let it work its way into my body, and do it again.

By the time we started to ascend to what was either the Scar, or the true dungeon itself, I had fully allocated all 60 of my points.

[Stats are as follows:]

[Strength: 20]

[Dexterity: 30]

[Constitution: 22]

[Intellect: 18]

[Perception: 20]

[Willpower: 10]

This was going to be a wild strategy, but I could always increase willpower after our next foray into battle. I took a slightly deeper look into some of the side effects and noticed my HP pool was at a solid–

[HP: 220/220]

That was noticeably better than my last build, and at such a low level too. I wondered if maybe I was fighting on handicapped mode, but the whole Assassin style of combat I had adopted seemed to rely less on dealing a shit ton of damage, and more on stabbing the important parts. With HP verified, I hesitated at looking at my mana. I didn’t need a lot, especially with my Shadow Dance evolving the way it did, to allow for so many free casts, but still, I often ran out even with my exceptional mana regen. The moment of truth...

[Mana: 130/130]

Wow, that was better than I expected. It looks like Intellect gives more mana per point than willpower, at the cost of regen. Speaking of which... Oh god, what is my regen system?

[System Request Acknowledged. Present Mana regeneration rate is 5 MP per minute. To restore from 0 to 130, it would take 26 minutes.]

Fuck... Still, I could make this work, though I really might benefit from double my willpower in the near future. It just depended on how many levels I got this time. I expected the leveling to slow down quite a bit in the near future.

After hapless wandering for what felt like hours, we emerged onto the surface. expecting the Scar for some reason. Instead, we found something else entirely. A city stretched out before us—massive, sprawling, and utterly ruined. Buildings stood half-collapsed, streets littered with rubble and debris. A thick fog clung to the ground, and the sky above was a murky, oppressive gray. No sun, no moon. Just endless gloom coated in a layer of depressing melancholy.

We stood at the entrance of a graveyard, tombstones jutting from the earth like jagged teeth. A crumbling church loomed in the distance, its stained glass shattered, its doors hanging ajar, and the path leading from where we came, directly behind us, descending into the earth.

Nythera shuddered. "I’m not happy to have been right about the crypt."

"Neither are we," Vance muttered before interrupting himself, "Quiet, and look over there." He pointed out past the gates and into the city.

Further into the ruins, figures moved—slow, shuffling bodies, wandering aimlessly through the streets. Some dragged broken limbs behind them, others moved in unsettlingly synchronized groups. They didn’t appear entirely mindless, but not entirely thinking, either.

I frowned. "I get zombie mobs moving together, but these things are practically marching in unison."

Ronan observed them for a long moment. "Horde behavior. They do not attack alone. They gather. Consume. Multiply."

"I mean, yeah, the movies say so, but this is different," I muttered. "If we draw too much attention, we might get the entire city trying to eat us."

Nythera swallowed hard. "Then we avoid them."

"Easier said than done," Vance said, scanning the streets. "Where do we even go from here?"

Ronan pointed to the church. "Shelter."

I looked at the eerie, looming structure and sighed. "Of course it’s the creepy church. Because nothing bad ever happens in abandoned churches during the zombie apocalypse."

Vance gave me a look. "Would you rather stay out here?"

I glanced at the shifting horde in the distance, then back at him. "...No, I would not."

"Then let’s move," Ronan said.

We didn’t argue. We slipped into the ruins, keeping low and quiet, moving from cover to cover. The undead didn’t immediately notice us, but their heads would twitch every so often, as if sensing something just out of reach.

Every step closer to the church made me wonder exactly when we would be discovered, and how defensible this location could be made. Based on all the broken entryways, something told me the answer was bad.

We slipped through the broken gate, past rows of crumbling tombstones, and up the steps of the ruined church, keeping low and quiet. Every movement felt like walking a tightrope over a pit of vipers. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and I wasn’t sure if the musty, rotting stench was from the graveyard or from whatever still lingered inside the church.

Vance pushed open the half-broken doors, wincing as the rusted hinges let out a groaning screech. My hand immediately went to my weapon, eyes darting toward the shifting figures in the distance. If any of them had working ears, we were about to find out.

Nothing happened as we stood in terror, wondering when certain doom would come knocking. Then, slowly, the nearest ones turned their heads toward us.

"Inside. Now," I hissed, ushering the others through.

Ronan was already in, searching the interior as I slipped inside and shut the doors behind me as quietly as I could. It wasn’t much of a barrier—the wood was splintered, hanging loose in places, barely holding itself together—but it was something.

I turned, taking in our surroundings. The church was... eerie, but nothing immediately lunged at us, which was already a better start than I expected. The inside was cavernous, lined with rows of broken pews covered in dust and cobwebs. Stained glass windows, broken and ruined, let in a weak grimy light that offered to shelter from the doom and gloom outside.

A single figure hung from the rafters above, swaying slightly from where it had been left to rot. Judging by the remains of its clothing, it had once been a priest.

Nythera made a soft sound of dismay, covering her mouth. "This place is cursed."

"I mean, yeah," I said. "It’s an abandoned church in a zombie-infested city. I’d be more surprised if it wasn’t."

Vance stepped forward, taking stock of the interior. "Doesn’t look like anything living’s been here in a while."

"That doesn’t mean nothing unliving is," Nythera whispered.

I gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder before immediately using her as a shield to step past her toward the altar. It looked like she understood what I was doing and I had to say, she did not appear to appreciate it.

"So," I said, hopping up onto the stone slab. "We have some time before this place stops feeling like a safe haven, so let’s talk strategy."

Vance shot me an exasperated look but wandered over to a broken pew to sit on. Nythera hesitated before doing the same, though she kept glancing toward the doors like she expected something to burst through at any moment. Not a terrible reaction, and I myself felt my eyes darting to the door as well.

I stretched, rolling my shoulders as I started. "Alright. Let’s get the obvious out of the way. We are weak."

Vance scoffed. "Wow. Insightful."

I ignored him. "We just got reset. I don’t know about you all, but I feel like a stiff breeze could take me out if I’m not careful."

Nythera nodded grimly. "My spells are weaker. I can still heal, but it takes more effort. And if I had to restore someone completely, I don’t think I could do it in one go."

"Fantastic," I muttered. "What about you, Vance?"

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I keep this sword in peak shape, but it still feels dull in my hands. The technique’s there, the muscle memory is there, but I don’t have the same edge. Everything takes more effort, like I’m swinging underwater."

"And Ronan?"

"I remain capable," he said simply.

I sighed. "Of course you do."

Still, even Ronan had to be affected by this, right? He lost his levels, same as us. Maybe his combat ability didn’t drop as dramatically, but there had to be something he was missing. Unless he dumped everything into Intellect and Willpower, which... would be unnerving.

Whatever. We’d figure that out later.

I exhaled. "Okay. So we’re low level, our power is gimped, and we’re in the middle of zombie central. What’s the next step?"

Vance gestured at the altar. "You’re sitting on our first step. We need a base. Somewhere to rest, recover, and not get murdered in our sleep."

I looked down at the stone beneath me. "So we’re just gonna live in a church now?"

"For now," Vance said. "We need to figure out if this place can be fortified."

Nythera glanced at the doors. "If we can block the entrances, we might be safe for the night."

"Not a bad plan," I said. "What about supplies?"

"We’ll have to scavenge," Vance said. "See if there’s anything useful left in this city."

Nythera frowned. "And if there isn’t?"

Vance grimaced. "Then we’re screwed, and we gotta move out ASAP."

I clapped my hands together. "Alright... Step one: secure the church. Step two: figure out what the hell this city even is. Step three: get strong enough to survive whatever fresh hell this dungeon throws at us."

Ronan, for his part, was already moving, inspecting the perimeter of the church.

"Vance, Nythera," I said. "Let’s start checking for ways to block the entrances. We don’t need anything permanent, just enough to keep us from waking up with company."

Nythera nodded, standing. Vance sighed, pushing himself up.

I lingered for a moment, glancing toward the ruined city beyond the graveyard. Shit was out of control, and if these things really were some level of organized, we would need a bit more than some pews stacked against the door. Beyond that, we needed to figure out where to go. The cultists had likely already moved past this part, and were heading toward the key. We needed to keep up with them at the very least. Still, we needed rest, and that was step one, Nythera had that part right.