Reincarnated as an Apocalyptic Catalyst-Chapter 104: A Toast to the Damned

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Chapter 104: A Toast to the Damned

The tavern was as decrepit as the rest of the city, but at least it had four walls and a basement. That was enough to qualify it as a temporary safe haven, possibly even more so than the church. We had taken a brief moment of reprieve, partially assuming that maybe it offered some kind of holy protection, but by the end of that first horde attack, it was clear that we had misplaced our trust in the deities. After all, this was a place before the gods, a place dedicated to death itself, and we would find no comfort here.

The wooden sign out front had long since rotted away, leaving only the rusted hinges swinging with the wind. Half the windows were shattered, and the ones that weren’t were covered in grime so thick, and the glass so brittle, that it served more as a risk than a defense.. The door was barely on its hinges, but after the hell we just escaped, it was still an improvement over the blasted-out husk of the church. Ronan had cleansed it in holy flame–or flame at least–and it would have to remain that way, because we sure as well weren’t going back any time soon.

Vance pried open a locked door within the cellar, likely holding supplies that could be used by us sometime in the near future. The interior was exactly what I expected—dust, decay, and the continued scent of alcohol. Broken shelves peppered the room, a few things still standing, one was a mop that would never again see action unless a blade broke and we had to improvise a weapon. Unfortunately, there were a few bodies within the supply closet, both decayed down to bone, and even the bones were in varying states of decay. They held open bottles of booze that were clearly of no more use. Whatever food they brought with them, was long gone, telling us that this place offered little in the way of canned goods.

Still, nothing moved. No shuffling corpses. No waiting horrors.

"Clear," Vance muttered, stepping aside to let us in.

Ronan followed without hesitation, while Nythera hesitated at the threshold, her gaze lingering on the bones barely forming what we could identify as people. I placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hey. They’re long gone. No threat left in them."

When it was clear there was nothing left to be scavenged within the utility closet, we worked our way out and explored the cellar further.

Barrels. Shelves lined with dust-covered bottles. A stash of liquor that had somehow survived the collapse of the world above.

"Well, would you look at that," I muttered, stepping into the cool, musty space. "We actually caught a break."

Vance let out a low whistle. "This stuff might be older than we are."

Nythera wrinkled her nose. "Do you really think drinking in a place like this is a good idea?"

I turned to her, raising a brow. "Do you really think sobriety is a good idea after everything we just went through? As long as we take turns, we should be alright. Besides, based on what I can make out on the labels, this shit is potent enough to never go bad, at least not for hundreds of years more."

She had no answer for that.

We cleared out a space in the corner, stacking crates to form makeshift barricades against the entrance. It wouldn’t hold against anything serious, but it would buy us time. After confirming that the basement had only one entrance, we settled in for a much-needed break.

Ronan, rather unsurprisingly, was the first to open a bottle. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t check the label, just twisted off the top and took a long swig.

Vance smirked. "Well, at least one of us has our priorities straight."

"Drinking in shifts," I reminded them, grabbing a bottle of my own. "We still need someone watching for movement. No getting wasted."

Vance groaned. "You’re ruining the moment."

"Yeah, well, I’d rather not wake up with a horde tearing us apart because we got too drunk to hear them coming."

He rolled his eyes but relented, nodding toward Nythera. "You first. I’ll take first watch."

She hesitated again, but after a long moment, she reached for a bottle. It took her a moment to pick one—probably debating which had the least chance of killing her instantly—before taking the smallest sip possible. Her face scrunched immediately.

I laughed. "Yeah, that’s about right. Tavern booze isn’t exactly top shelf."

"Why do people drink this?" she muttered, coughing slightly.

"Because after enough, you stop caring about how bad it tastes," Vance said.

Ronan, for his part, said nothing. He was already three swigs in, and if it affected him, he sure as hell didn’t show it.

I leaned back against the wall, letting the warmth of the alcohol settle in my stomach. It had been a long time since I’d allowed myself something as simple as this. The feeling of something normal in a world that had long since lost its normalcy.

Nythera stared at her bottle, turning it over in her hands. "I never really drank before. Not much, anyway."

I raised a brow. "Why not?"

She hesitated, then shrugged. "Didn’t have time. I was studying, training. Trying to be a proper healer. Never thought I’d end up in a place like this, drinking in a ruined city surrounded by the dead."

"Life’s funny like that," I said, taking another sip.

Vance smirked from his place near the stairs. "You’re taking it better than most."

She let out a quiet laugh, but there was no real humor in it. "I think I’m just too tired to feel anything about it."

Ronan, of course, had no such reflections. He simply drank, methodical and unbothered, as if consuming alcohol was just another function of his body, as if it fueled the flames in his veins–which may actually be true. I wasn’t sure what he did in his off-time, if anything. For all I knew, he drank his brains out and then found me, before unleashing hell on our enemies..

We passed the next hour in relative peace, drinking just enough to take the edge off, but not enough to dull our senses–at least too much. Eventually, Vance swapped out with me for watch, giving himself a chance to partake.

It was strange, seeing them like this–unguarded, even if just slightly. Vance, usually so sharp and ready for a fight, let himself relax, stretching out with his back against a crate. Nythera, normally tense and anxious, leaned against the wall, her gaze distant but no longer frantic. And Ronan... well, Ronan was still Ronan, but maybe just a little looser at the edges.

"You know," Vance mused, swirling the bottle in his hand, "this almost feels normal. If you ignore the part where we’re trapped in a dungeon full of undead horrors."

I scoffed. "Yeah. Real cozy."

Nythera sighed. "How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?"

I didn’t have an answer for that, and wasn’t terribly concerned at the moment. Maybe it was the half dozen shots of god knows what, but I was fine to just drift off to sleep and let them deal with the bullshit.

Ronan, surprisingly, spoke up. "Not long. We move at dawn."

Vance raised a brow. "And go where, exactly?"

"Further in," Ronan said simply. "The dungeon does not end here."

No shit. But that wasn’t the point.

"Ronan," I said, rubbing my temple, "you do realize we have no idea where we’re going, right?"

"We will find the way," he said, completely unconcerned.

I sighed. "Yeah, that seems to be your general answer for anything we question."

Despite everything, despite all the shit that lurked outside, we were rather safe, all things considered.. Just a few survivors, drinking in the ruins of the world.

The warmth of the alcohol settled in, seeping through our weary bodies like a slow-burning fire. The cellar was dark and damp, but it was safer than anywhere else we’d been in the last twenty-four hours. The barricades at the entrance to the cellar were solid enough for now, and we’d set up ourselves to be warned to anything that dared to come knocking.

I hovered in that strange space between wakefulness and sleep—meditating, but never quite allowing myself to drift off, allowing myself a bit of rest while the others started to drink a little–expecting them to do the right thing in the end. I said that, or rather thought it, but as I lay there in a shallow state of meditation, it was clear Nythera was a lightweight and wouldn’t do great as someone standing watch for the rest of us.

She was giggling at something Ronan had said—Ronan of all people, whose sense of humor was drier than the gods-forsaken desert. I cracked an eye open to see her swaying slightly, sitting cross-legged on top of an overturned crate, cradling a bottle of something strong in her hands.

Vance, sitting nearby, groaned. "I swear to every divine force out there, if she throws up, I am not cleaning it."

"I’m fine," Nythera insisted, waving a hand and immediately knocking over an empty glass. She flinched at the sound, then let out another soft giggle. "Okay, maybe a little tipsy."

"A little?" I muttered, head resting back against the stone wall.

Nythera pointed at me, her movements sluggish. "You don’t get to judge. You’re barely drinking. Why aren’t you drinking?"

"Because one of us has to be responsible," I said, letting my eyes fall closed again. "And you’re clearly off the list."

Nythera pouted dramatically, then turned to Ronan. "He’s boring."

Ronan blinked at her. "Yes."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why don’t you say more?."

"Good question, Nythera." He took another measured sip of whatever Vance had handed him earlier. Unlike Nythera, Ronan didn’t seem to be affected much by the alcohol—though I wasn’t sure if that was due to tolerance or something else entirely. His body was a mystery in more ways than one. Still, there was something off about the way he carried himself now, just a little looser, a little more... human. He had never–or at least not that I remembered–used another person’s name before.

I almost snorted. Maybe alcohol was the secret to making him act normal–ish.

Nythera, meanwhile, had decided that Ronan’s minimal response wasn’t enough for her inebriated state. "You’re so weird," she declared, squinting at him. "Like... creepily quiet. But you have jokes. I heard them. You did them. You can’t take that back."

Ronan stared at her for a long moment before responding, his voice as flat as ever. "I cannot take back words already spoken."

Nythera gasped dramatically. "See?! That was a joke! You’re doing it again!"

Vance let out a wheezing laugh, shaking his head. "I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I like drunk Nythera, as ridiculous as you are. That wasn’t a Ronan joke, he’s only told one before and it was at my expense."

"You like me in general," she said with a grin, poking his arm. "You just don’t want to admit it."

Vance rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. I let their banter fade into background noise, sinking deeper into my own thoughts. Despite the warmth of the room, the comfort of being safe for the moment, something still felt... off. The kind of off that had nothing to do with the alcohol or our precarious situation.

"Lucian," Nythera called, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Tell me something fun."

I cracked an eye open again. "Fun?"

"Yes. You joke around, but overall you are too serious. You talk like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders. I think you need to tell a fun story."

Vance chuckled. "Yeah, I’d pay to hear that."

I sighed. "I don’t have fun stories."

Nythera gasped again, even more dramatically this time. "That is the saddest thing I have ever heard in my life."

"I grew up in a different kind of environment," I muttered. "Not a lot of room for fun when you’re scraping by."

She frowned, suddenly looking more sober. "I don’t care, tell me about your life."

I shrugged in agreement, "I guess I have a few stories from my previous life..."

"...I once watched Lucian fall down a flight of stairs." Ronan chimed in.

Nythera gasped a third time, turning to me with wide eyes. "Is this true?"

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "I was being chased!"

Nythera clutched her sides, laughing so hard she nearly fell off the crate. "By what?"

"A very angry merchant," Vance supplied. "I remember that shit, it was hilarious."

Nythera was breathless now, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "Oh, this is amazing. You do have fun stories! Embarrassing, but fun!"

"If you all promise to stop with these stupid stories, I’ll regail you with tales of my previous existence."

This 𝓬ontent is taken from f(r)eeweb(n)ovel.𝒄𝒐𝙢