Pressing deeper into the catacombs was like walking into the world's dustiest refrigerator. The temperature continued to drop, and the air grew heavy with the kind of silence that feels loud. Kazuma found himself constantly looking over his shoulder, a nervous tic that was becoming a permanent part of his personality.
Leading their procession was Deadpool, who had fully embraced his role as lead archaeologist. He swept the floor ahead of them with a long-handled brush, occasionally stopping to inspect a loose cobblestone or a particularly interesting patch of moss.
"Alright team, keep your eyes peeled for environmental clues," he instructed, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Look for changes in stonework, residual magical signatures, or any discarded high-end shopping bags. The elites of yesteryear were just as snobbish as they are today. We're looking for the fantasy equivalent of a Gucci tomb."
"I am a goddess," Aqua complained from the rear. "My talents are being wasted on this… subterranean spelunking. The lack of natural light is an affront to my holy aura."
"Think of it as a character-building exercise," Deadpool called back. "Besides, the divine glow you're emitting is doing wonders for spotting cobwebs. You're our high-powered, high-maintenance flashlight."
They entered a larger chamber, a nexus where several tunnels converged. In the center of the room was a collapsed section of ceiling, creating a pile of rubble. And crawling over the rubble, drawn by the light and noise, were new forms of undead.
They weren't skeletons. These were ghouls. Their desiccated grey flesh clung tightly to their bones, their forms hunched and bestial. They had long, yellowed claws and teeth, and their movements were unnervingly quick. They sniffed the air, their heads twitching, and then let out a collective, guttural hiss.
"Ghouls!" Kazuma yelped, his hand instinctively going for his sword. "The quest description mentioned these! They're faster than skeletons and their claws can cause paralysis!"
"Paralysis?" Darkness breathed, a dangerous excitement entering her voice. "To be rendered completely immobile while a ravenous horde descends upon me… unable to fight back, only able to feel every single scratch and bite… It's the ultimate defensive scenario!"
Before Kazuma could scream "NO," she charged. As usual, her mighty sword swing missed its intended target by a comical margin, burying itself in the rubble pile. The ghouls, seeing a large, shiny, and completely stationary target, immediately swarmed her.
They clawed and bit at her armor, their attacks producing a cacophony of scrapes and tinks. Darkness stood there, taking the full onslaught, a look of pure, unadulterated bliss on her face. "Yes! This is it! More! Scour the filth from my armor with your unholy claws!"
The problem was, she was now completely blocking the narrow entrance to the chamber.
"She's a perverted bottleneck!" Kazuma shouted in frustration. "We can't get to them!"
"Move, you beautiful, masochistic idiot!" Aqua shrieked, trying to peek around Darkness's broad shoulders. "You're blocking my smiting lane!"
Deadpool, however, was not looking at the ghouls as a threat. He was looking at them as a problem of preservation.
"Careful! Careful with the claws!" he yelled at the ghouls. "You'll ruin the funerary wrappings! These are C-plus-tier artifacts at least! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find intact ghoul garments? The moisture content is a nightmare for preservation!"
He then tried to reason with them. "Hey! Fellas! Ghouls! Can we talk about this? I'm on your side here! We're both just trying to appreciate the dead in our own special way. You eat the flesh, I take the socks. It's a symbiotic relationship! We can work together!"
The ghouls, unsurprisingly, did not respond to diplomacy. One of them, bolder than the rest, leaped over the rubble pile. It landed in front of Aqua, its long tongue lolling out, dripping a foul-smelling saliva.
Aqua screamed, a high-pitched shriek of pure disgust. "It's going to get ghoul-juice on me! Ewww!" She thrust out her hand. "Sacred Create Water!"
A geyser of pure, holy water erupted from the floor beneath the ghoul, launching it into the air. It flew backwards and landed squarely on Deadpool, knocking him to the ground in a tangle of wet, angry ghoul.
"Again?!" Deadpool's muffled voice came from beneath the monster. "Twice in one week?! I am not the party's designated sponge!"
The ghoul scrambled off him and lunged for Aqua again. Kazuma, seeing his healer about to be paralyzed, acted on pure instinct. "Freeze!"
A jet of ice shot out, not hitting the ghoul, but the puddle of holy water on the floor. The ground in front of Aqua instantly became a miniature, treacherous ice rink. The charging ghoul hit the ice, its feet slid out from under it, and it went down in a flailing heap. Two more ghouls, leaping over the rubble to join the fray, met the same fate, creating a pile-up of undead slapstick.
"It worked!" Kazuma cheered.
"Quickly, while they are down!" Aqua yelled. "Turn Undead!"
A brilliant flash of light filled the chamber. The pile of ghouls convulsed and then dissolved into sludge and dust, leaving behind only the stench of decay and a few tattered loincloths.
Deadpool slowly got to his feet, dripping with both holy water and ghoul-slime. He looked at the pile of dust, then at the still-occupied Darkness, who had finally pulled her sword free and was now trying to get the ghouls to attack her again.
"Okay. That's it," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "They ruined the artifacts. They slimed the suit. The gloves are officially off."
He drew his katanas. The remaining ghouls, seeing their comrades vanish, seemed to hesitate. It was a fatal mistake. Deadpool became a red-and-black cyclone of violence. He didn't just kill them; he dismantled them with terrifying precision, severing limbs and heads without ever letting their filth touch his actual suit. Within seconds, the chamber was clear.
"And let that be a lesson to all of you," he panted, flicking ghoul-ichor from his blades. "Nobody, and I mean nobody, ruins a perfectly good excavation site."
With the path clear, they ventured into the tunnel the ghouls had been guarding. It opened into a large, ornate burial chamber. This was it. The air was still and heavy. In the center of the room stood a large, masterfully carved stone sarcophagus. Along the walls were several treasure chests, sealed with age.
"Jackpot," Deadpool whispered, his eyes gleaming. He immediately went to work, not on the treasure chests, but on the sarcophagus itself, tapping it and listening to the echo. "Right. This is the main vault. The big prize. The rest of you, pop open those chests. Look for gold, jewels, magic items, and, most importantly, any high-quality silk or argyle."
Aqua and Kazuma managed to pry open one of the chests. It was filled with tarnished silver goblets and jewelry. A good haul. Darkness, meanwhile, was inspecting the walls for traps by deliberately leaning on them.
Deadpool approached the sarcophagus with the reverence of a bomb disposal expert. "Okay, big fella. Let's see what you've got." He put his shoulder to the heavy stone lid and, with a grunt of effort, began to push.
The lid slid open with a deep, grinding groan that echoed through the silence. A puff of stale, thousand-year-old air rushed out.
But the sarcophagus wasn't empty. And its occupant was not a skeleton.
A figure sat up inside, its movements stiff but deliberate. It was a Wight, a powerful undead being retaining a shred of its former intelligence. It wore the desiccated but ornate robes of a high priest, and its eyes glowed with a cold, blue, intelligent light. It looked around the room, at the intruders, at the open chests, and finally at the red-and-black figure standing over its eternal resting place.
The Wight opened its mouth, and a dry, rasping voice filled the chamber, each word dripping with ancient power and utter disbelief.
"Of all the grave robbers and defilers who have disturbed my rest…" it began, its glowing eyes narrowing as it watched Deadpool immediately try to peer past it to get a look at its feet. "…you are, without a doubt, the most perplexing. What, in the name of the abyss, are you doing to my socks?"