Ogre Tyrant

Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 53 – The darkest dungeon – Part Five

Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 53 - The darkest dungeon - Part Five

I endured Wraithe’s well-intentioned lecture as best as I was able to manage while removing small shards and splinters of stone from my knees. Enduring the lecture was made that much easier by knowing Wraithe was taking her position seriously. If she was willing to stand up to me with such vigour, then I could only imagine how she would tear anyone else a new one.

Which was exactly what I wanted from her.

The whole point in promoting Wraithe and assigning her a Faction all of her own was to ensure Wraithe could stand up to whoever she needed to.

However, it irked me on a deeper level watching her enduring disintegration while tending to the fairy. I had no idea how much pain disintegration caused, but I imagined it would be similar to dissolving in acid.

I had terminated Shady’s projection shortly after the fight had ended, seeing little point in having him linger for another minute or so doing nothing.

Teressa’s projection was in rough shape. Rather than drawing out her pain, I dismissed her and then re-Summoned her projection. As close as we seemed to be to the end of the dungeon, I couldn’t take the chance that Teressa might be able to provide a deeper insight into any of the remaining challenges ahead.

In stark contrast, Mortimer’s projection was completely unharmed. However, he was also almost completely out of mana. As best I could figure, he had been burning mana to avoid being hit. All the same, I had to dismiss his projection and re-Summon it after doing the same for Gregory.

Sebet had sustained a number of light burns from bouncing around inside of her cage, but otherwise seemed to be fine. Which was more than I could say for the chest itself.

It was still largely intact, but the joins in the corners were loose and on the verge of coming apart. Making matters worse, one of the hinges had snapped and I doubted that the chest would remain closed without some repairs.

The Sanctified Statues and Sanctified Amalgam naming scheme made a sort of sense in hindsight. I hadn’t had time to identify them during the battle, but reviewing the kill record after the fact made it simple. Similarly, Sebet had been only too eager to lay blame at the feet of the Angels. Much like the treasure they were guarding, the Sanctified Statues, and the Amalgam they became, were a product of divine creation.

The Angels literally created them out of collected divinity. This particular discovery made me profoundly uncomfortable because the black morningstar on the altar was an artefact.

I had felt its presence since the moment it appeared and was currently waiting for Mortimer to finish his inspection of the dias and altar. With all the traps we had experienced and witnessed thus far, I figured not doing so would be incredibly foolish.

Dipping into my limited food rations was not a great idea either, but I consoled myself with the knowledge that I had to eat anyway. My body had begun healing itself all on its own, and starving myself would just lead to erratic decision-making.

“Well, I can’t find any traps...” Mortimer declared with notable hesitation, “Which makes no sense since jus’ lookin’ at it makes me knuckles ache.”

“Hrm,” I stared at the morningstar for a few moments and then began approaching the altar.

“Majesty, wait!” Gregory rushed forward, “Allow me! I insist!” Leaping up onto the plinth he grabbed the shaft of the morningstar and froze. “Grrrkgggrrrr,” Gregory began to violently shudder, falling onto his side but still managing to keep a hold of the morningstar.

Without thinking, I yanked the morningstar from Gregory’s hand, cutting the palm of my hand in the process. Upon realising what I had done, I braced myself for the worst.

Nothing happened.

Shaking, pale-faced, and breathing hard, Gregory pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, “That. Was. Un-pleas-ant.” He wheezed.

I concentrated on the artefact and willed my mana into it for good measure.

[Identifying {Key of Awakening (???)}...]

[Identified {Key of Awakening}. {Blackthorn} Lesser Mace of Conquest: Drains the {Core} of a defeated enemy to empower itself and its wielder. Immunity to {Poison}. Can expend MP to impregnate {Barbed Thorns} with {Poison: Mage Bane}. Reserves (5 MP) to become {Bonded}. When {Bonded} the Master may summon or dismiss {Blackthorn} at will. Core Progress: 1/100000]

Opening my fist and taking a closer look at the head of the morningstar, I realised that the spikes were indeed shaped like large wicked thorns. Furthermore, the thorns had an oily rainbow sheen to them that I hadn’t noticed earlier. The dark leather grip had a strange scent to it as well, but if it was poisoned it didn’t seem to be affecting me.

Similarly, the cuts made by the thorns hadn’t transferred the poison either. Or perhaps it had, but my high Toughness had negated it. In either case, it seemed Gregory had not been so fortunate.

“What is Mage Bane poison?” I asked warily.

Gregory seemed to be at a loss, but Mortimer looked at me with a strange expression on his face.

“Mage Bane?” Mortimer repeated cautiously, “Yer’ sure?”

I nodded, “What do you know?”

Mortimer fidgeted nervously, “I have that protection from the law, right?” He asked Gregory.

“You have legal immunity for past crimes committed, yes,” Gregory qualified.

“Right...” Mortimer closed his eyes and took several slow breaths. “Mage Bane is...” He paused and seemed to struggle with his choice of words.

“Rare?” Teressa volunteered helpfully.

“No, well yes, but that’s not what I was gettin’ at,” Mortimer waved his hands dismissively, “More common name is Widow's Tears it’s-”

“Incredibly dangerous!” Gregory interjected while feverishly trying to wash his hand against his pant leg, “It burns the mana right out of your veins!”

Mortimer nodded, “Pretty much. One good stab from a knife coated in Widow’s Tears would kill a royal guard in less than a minute,” he replied confidently before coughing awkwardly and avoiding eye contact with Gregory, “Or so I been told.”

“What makes it so lethal?” I asked out of a combined sense of morbid curiosity and a need to know what I was dealing with

“It burns the mana out of its victims while dealing damage to health at the same rate,” Gregory explained slowly while eyeing Mortimer suspiciously, “As your Majesty is already familiar, depleting one’s mana induces a coma until a certain amount of mana is recovered. However, there is more to it than that. If your mana is drained beyond your maximum capacity, you will die.”

“The mana damage is probably why your projection experienced a seizure,” I reasoned aloud while eyeing Blackthorn warily.

Gregory shrugged, “Perhaps?”

With no other explanation forthcoming, I decided to leave the matter be for the time being. After all, it could just have easily been the Ability to drain ‘Cores’ that was responsible. As far as that reference itself was concerned, I was fairly certain Cores was just another name for manastones.

Filtering more mana into Blackthorn, I was forced to change my grip as the weapon grew larger and larger. As I stopped the rescaling process, I found small black droplets of condensation on the thorns that shimmered with the same shifting rainbow pattern I had noted on the thorns earlier.

Tapping Blackthorn against the ground displaced the droplets and drew looks of alarm from Gregory and Mortimer.

“It creates the poison in exchange for mana,” I explained before frowning slightly, “I would have thought it would disappear after losing contact with the weapon.”

“Wouldn’t make a very good poison then would it?” Mortimer observed. “It will prob’ly lose potency soon enough though. Tha’s why yer meant ter store it in glass.”

Gregory nodded warily in agreement.

Mortimer pottered over to the only available exit and began searching for traps again. He seemed to be exaggerating the ailments of his old age now that Gregory was keeping a keen eye on him.

Teressa retrieved the fairy’s cage from the far side of the room and set it down beside Sebet’s cage while I re-Summoned a Kobold to facilitate my rapid mana regeneration.

“Hey!” The fairy shouted and waved his tiny arms to get my attention.

I picked up the fairy’s cage and held it at eye level, “What do you want?”

“I...I was going to ask you the same thing...” The fairy replied somewhat apprehensively, “With me I mean...” He amended hurriedly.

I thought the question over, but couldn’t arrive at a satisfactory answer, “I don’t know.”

The fairy seemed as dissatisfied with the answer as I was, “You don’t know?” He scowled.

“I am not a murderer,” I stated bluntly, causing the fairy to momentarily avert his eyes in what I assumed was shame, “I told you the how and why I believe we came to this world. Despite your...outbursts...you are still less deranged and far less violent than most Awakened I have encountered up to this point.”

I wasn’t thrilled over the idea of discussing such matters in front of Mortimer and Teressa, but I figured that so long as I kept to generalities rather than specifics, things would be alright. They were already bound to an oath of secrecy, so there didn’t seem to be much damage they would be able to cause with anything they learned.

“So long as you do not give me cause to act differently, I have no intention of seeking harm against you,” I added, “I refuse to be like the others.”

The fairy stared at me for several moments in silence. “You don’t know me,” he stated coldly, “I could be exactly like them, or worse! You have no idea what things I’ve done! How much blood is on my hands!-”

“I don’t even know your name,” I interrupted in agreement, “But I think there is a fundamental misunderstanding between us.”

The fairy angrily narrowed his eyes at me, but remained silent.

“I have killed and am responsible for the deaths of thousands,” I stated coldly, “Tens of thousands even,” I closed my eyes and took a steadying breath, “Protecting those I care for, those I have sworn to shelter from the mindless violence, it requires sacrifice.”

“You would sacrifice others just to-” The fairy began to demand.

“Yes!” I interrupted with a snarl, “So long as there are weak men in positions of power, war and violence are inevitable! The world outside, an entire country, and millions of people, were being put to the sword because two rival powers desired their territory. Worse than that, they wanted to make Slaves of those who called the land home. Is it just to allow millions of innocent people to be slaughtered and pressed into Slavery?!”

The fairy flinched but there was still anger in his eyes.

“I have slain no innocents! Only soldiers and monsters!” I growled bitterly, “And it pains me that I have done it...That I must continue to do it...But I will not allow that pain to prevent me from doing what I believe is right.”

“Well, my hands aren’t nearly so clean!” The fairy replied angrily, “I killed innocent people! Women! Children!...” His voice broke, “Maybe I am no different than the rest of them?!”

“No,” I replied flatly.

“No?!” The fairy demanded incredulously, “You have no idea what-”

“No!” I repeated with a feral snarl, “YOU have no idea what they have done! They kill for Sport! Revelling in the pain and destruction! They have no guilt! No remorse! They just keep killing until someone puts them down!”

The fairy shrunk back under my tirade and refused to look me in the eyes.

“The fact that you feel bad about what you have done puts you leaps and bounds ahead of them,” I qualified with an effort in a more measured tone, “You feel so bad about what you have done that you want me to kill you for it. Don’t deny it.”

The fairy lowered his head in shame.

“Well, tough luck, I’m not going to unless you force me to,” I stated coldly, “You’re trying to take the easy way out to escape the pain, I get it. But I won’t willingly be a party to it.”

“Then what am I supposed to do?...” The fairy croaked, “Their faces...Their screams...”

“Be better,” I insisted, “Make their deaths, their suffering, have meaning and dignity. Bring light out of the darkness.”

“How?” Tears were running freely down the fairy’s face, “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Live,” I replied bluntly, “You can’t repay what you owe if you’re dead. Look beyond yourself for opportunities to improve the lives of those around you. It won’t erase what you did, but it will prove to yourself that you can be more than what you were yesterday.”

I was leaning hard on the lessons taught to me by my own psychologist, so I wasn’t sure how effective the coping tools for my depression would translate to what seemed like suicidal tendencies brought on by untreated post traumatic stress disorder. It wasn’t a condition limited to soldiers, but the inherent stress of the occupation made it far more prevalent.

Even if I could talk him down from his suicidal mindset, the fairy wold most likely continue to suffer from mental and emotional breakdowns when triggered by events connected to the root of his trauma. Without medications and a qualified and experienced therapist, I didn’t see what positive changeI could enforce in the long term.

However, I had meant what I had said. I didn’t want to have to kill him unless I absolutely had to. More than anything, he just seemed broken inside, and abandoning someone in that position seemed wrong to me on so many levels. Especially after all I had been through.

The fairy was quiet for a long time and was refusing to look at me. I was about to put his cage back down but paused as he showed signs of movement.

“Dan,” the fairy croaked quietly, “My name is Dan...”

The fairy, Dan, didn’t seem any more talkative than before, so I set his cage back down beside Teressa.

*Bang*

A stone panel ricocheted off of the stone altar before crashing against the far wall.

“Oops...” Mortimer muttered sheepishly from beside the exit door which was now missing a stone panel.

“That’s one way to disarm the traps I suppose,” I sighed while trying to shake off the lingering adrenaline.

After a few more minutes of inspection, Mortimer declared his inability to locate any additional traps.

For the sake of caution, I opened the door from the side.

Contrary to my expectations, nothing seemed to happen.

Peeking around the corner, I was surprised to find a cavernous expanse supported by huge stone pillars. “Sebet, what can you tell us about this room?” I asked warily, lifting her cage and positioning it so she could see what I was talking about.

Sebet frowned in confusion, “I don’t know this place...But to be so large, it must mean that we are close to the end of the dungeon. It might even be the very next room.”

“Alright, let’s take a minute to prepare, just in case,” I handed her cage back to Teressa. There was something familiar about the cavern, but I couldn’t quite figure out what it was.

I took my time to Summon ten Swordsmen and ten Archers.

While I was loath to admit as much to myself, they would serve as additional screening for any traps we might encounter while crossing the cavern.

In stark contrast to the dungeon thus far, the cavern had no magical ambient lighting. I had brought a couple of dozen regular-sized torches in a satchel on my belt, but half of them were broken during my fight against the Amalgam. I gave a pair of undamaged torches to Mortimer and Gregory and left the remainder in my satchel for safekeeping.

With Mortimer taking the lead, the Swordsmen and Archers followed a short distance behind in a staggered chevron with five or more feet between them to ensure that no two Summons would be hit by the same trap.

I followed about ten feet behind with Gregory on my left and Teressa on my right.

We had been walking for over a minute when Gregory suddenly came to an abrupt halt and raised his free hand.

I sent a mental command on reflex, bringing everyone else to a jerking stop.

Gregory silently looked to the left, then the right, ahead and behind, all while growing increasingly nervous, “I think I can hear something...” He muttered anxiously.

“Cover your torches, or put them out,” I ordered. I had incredibly good lowlight and dark vision, but the brightness of the torches in my immediate vicinity cut it down by a significant margin.

Once the torches were extinguished, I closed my eyes for a few moments to allow them time to adjust and then opened them again.

Almost immediately, I could see that Gregory was right, there was something out there. Many things. They were too far away to make out clearly, but the stiff, poorly coordinated movements were familiar enough that I felt confident in identifying them all the same.

“Undead,” I growled bitterly.

The undead were sweeping in from directly ahead of us and the only exit appeared to be ahead and to our left. Unless we were exceptionally fast, we would need to fight our way through the undead in order to reach the exit.

I was immediately tempted to Summon Ophelia or Wisp to handle the situation on our behalf. Somehow, I managed to resist the impulse and think things through. There was a very real chance that the Angel responsible for creating the dungeon was lurking somewhere within, just as Orphiel had done.

Summoning Gric in the entrance to the dungeon had been a risk, but it was possible that I had gotten lucky or the Angel had not been paying attention. However, I could only assume that the Angel would pay more attention as we made progress toward the end of the dungeon. So Summoning Fallen Angels, Daemons, or Purified Spirits could backfire as spectacularly as the last time in the Hurst Labyrinth.

That didn’t mean I was out of options entirely.

Dumping two-thirds of my maximum mana, I summoned a pair of Hulking Boars and sent them charging off into the darkness. With a mental command, the Swordsmen and archers formed a ragged line formation on our right flank as we began moving in earnest towards the exit.

With the search for traps abandoned, Gregory seemed only too happy to fall back toward the core of the group while furiously relighting his torch with a manic gleam in his eyes.

Having faced hordes of zombies before, I couldn’t blame him for his fear.

If it came to it, I would dismiss them all rather than allow them to experience the gruesome death only the undead could inflict upon the living.

Besides my heavy footfalls and the distant squealing of the Hulking Boars, the cavern remained as silent as before.

The Archers were the first to begin skirmishing with the undead, loosing arrows while on the run. Unfortunately, their arrows did not seem to be having much of an effect, and once the undead drew closer, it became rather obvious why.

Bearing a striking resemblance to the corpses from the previous room, the undead were little more than desiccated husks. Dried petrified skin and tendons were drawn over their skeletal remains. Without pliant flesh for the arrows to anchor into, and a circulatory system to compromise, the undead proved incredibly resilient to the Archer’s piercing attacks. Arrows would ricochet off harmlessly or chip at petrified bones to little or no effect.

For all the noise they were making, the Hulking Boars had not managed to destroy any of the undead either. Despite watching the Status Kill alerts like a hawk, I only grew increasingly worried as it continued to remain empty.

Despite our mad dash, the undead had beat us to the exit and were sweeping in from two directions.

Despite Mortimer’s advanced age and Linette’s encumbrance from carrying the two cages, they both seemed to have little difficulty in matching Gregory’s pace by burning additional mana.

The Swordsmen were fighting hard to delay or redirect the desiccated undead from our path. Two Swordsmen had been lost in less than a couple of seconds when the animated remains of a Boarman deliberately collapsed on top of them, pinning them to the ground.

I had to dismiss the two Swordsmen before they were torn apart.

The undead could only move at the speed of a brisk walk, but it was enough to establish and maintain a constant pressure. They were now ahead of us, behind us and on our right. If we were to slow down, then those behind would bury us beneath a pile of bodies. This was a problem because we had less than a couple of minutes at most before we would meet the undead blocking our path to the exit.

The Hulking Boars died within moments of one another and gave a name to the undead.

An Archer charged out of formation and tackled one of the undead that slipped past the Swordsmen. Within moments he was buried beneath a mountain of petrified skin and dusty bones.

Dismissing the Archer, I realised that we wouldn’t be able to reach the exit at our current rate of attrition.

Opening the satchel containing the remaining torches, I grabbed as many as I was able with my free hand and began filling them with as much mana as I dared.

“Gregory! Take the cages and get behind me!” I barked while dismissing Mortimer and tossing the broken torches toward the exit.

Teressa awkwardly handed off the cages to Gregory as he dropped his torch.

I dismissed Teressa a moment later and grabbed Gregory, slinging him over my left shoulder and holding him there as I tightened my grip on Blackthorn.

Closing my second set of eyelids, I was just in time to witness several explosions of magical energy erupted from the ranks of the undead in my path.

Dismissing the remaining Archers and Swordsmen, I began charging toward the exit, swinging Blackthorn back and forth to thin the horde still further before trampling those that remained.

Bony fingers clawed at my legs and feet while skulls, ribs and spines were crushed underfoot by my immense weight. Despite the pain radiating from my feet, I continued toward the exit with single-minded abandon. To stop now would mean a slow and gruesome death. A little pain was nothing compared to the horror of being eaten alive and dying alone in the dark.

Despite thinning their numbers in advance, the horde had no problems filling the spaces of their fallen. By the time I reached the final stretch to the exit, I was practically wading through a sea of corpses. Only making forward progress thanks to my sheer size and aggressive approach to crowd control.

Thankfully, the only undead large enough to attempt to make a play for Gregory and the cages he was holding were the undead Boarmen, and I was already smacking them first to save my own skin. I couldn’t risk two or more of them grouping together for fear they might be able to stall my charge outright.

Finally reaching the exit, I was both relieved and thoroughly concerned that it didn’t have a door and led straight into another passageway.

With no time to hesitate, I continued forward into the passageway and mentally braced myself for the pain I believed to be waiting for me up ahead.

Seconds passed by and I continued running forward, anticipating hosts of spears to impale me from below or a volley of javelins and darts to strike my chest.

Only, nothing happened.

I quickly realised that the opposite end of the passageway didn’t have a door either and that the room beyond had the same dim illumination that had been prevalent in the other sections of the dungeon. I could still hear the undead chasing us, so I continued as fast as I dared.

Clearing the doorway, I was surprised to find a portcullis mounted above the doorway and a lever beside the door. Without thinking, I awkwardly slammed my right fist down on the lever, freeing the portcullis and allowing it to anchor itself three feet deep into the floor.

Breathing hard, I tried to calm myself down. However, watching the undead rush toward the portcullis was making it all but impossible. Backing away from the portcullis, I had to fight hard not to start running again. The mindless hunger of the weaker undead had a way of unnerving me in a way that the more powerful undead couldn’t, and I had no way of properly rationalising it to myself so I could get over it.

“Great One!” Sebet called out anxiously, “We have reached the end!”

It took a few moments for Sebet’s voice to sink in, but when it did, I began to slowly turn my back on the passageway and the undead.

Easily five times the size of the previous rooms we had encountered in the dungeon, the walls were heaped high with what I could only rationalise as ‘loot’.

Far from a typical treasure hoard, the majority of the items appeared to be personal possessions, weapons, and armour. There were coins scattered here and there, but I felt no need or semblance of greed regarding them. Sanctuary’s economy operated around barter and manastones, making traditional currency almost completely devoid of value.

Setting Gregory down, I warily eyed the room for potential threats but found nothing.

Besides the loot piled high against the left and right walls, the far end of the room had a three-foot-tall silver altar with a large golden hammer sitting on top of it. The altar was encircled by engravings on the floor that I couldn’t quite make out without getting considerably closer.

Lastly, a ten-foot-tall statue of a robed angel carved from white marble stood atop a deliberately rugged cliff top that protruded from the wall. Holding a runed black marble staff inlaid with gold in one hand and staring down in such a way that his gaze fell upon the entire room with judgemental disdain, I felt an immediate dislike for the Angel the statue was intended to represent.

“How are we meant to leave the dungeon?” I asked cautiously while staring up at the statue of the Angel.

“I...Don’t know...” Sebet replied awkwardly, “But it probably has something to do with that altar!” She offered helpfully.

I waved Gregory forward and then began making my own way toward the altar.

As we drew closer to the statue, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched. Gathering my mana, I decided to prepare part of a contingency plan.

*Tingling*

Toofy appeared atop my right shoulder with a big grin on her face, “Tim!” With a twitch of her right index finger, my helmet disappeared and Toofy lunged for a hug, “Toofy was waiting! Lash is so mad with Tim!”

“Mad?” I was about to ask why and realised that I had taken for granted that Wraithe would let her know how I was doing after the battle ended. “Mmm, you're probably right,” I agreed quietly, “So how about we bring Lash some presents?” I nodded toward the piles of loot suggestively.

Toofy grinned greedily, “Some for Ril too? And Nnet?”

“Of course,” I agreed in an exaggerated conspiratorial tone, “And for Toofy as well.”

“Heehee,” Toofy eagerly rubbed her hands together and was about to slide off my shoulder but stopped and gave me another hug first, “Tim be safe!” Toofy warned and wagged her clawed finger less than an inch from my left eye.

“I’ll be safe,” I agreed before kneeling down and watching Toofy dive into a nearby pile of loot.

Gregory had set down Dan’s cage and was holding Sebet’s cage aloft while slowly pacing the periphery of the rune markings surrounding the altar. He repeated two more complete revolutions before I finished making my own way across the room.

I could have moved faster, but I was playing for time to allow my mana to regenerate.

“What does it say?” I asked bluntly, earning a worried and disapproving look from Gregory when he noticed my missing helmet.

“To earn your own freedom, you must make a sacrifice upon the altar,” Sebet answered with heavy suspicion.

“I think I understand,” I looked pointedly at the hammer and then back to Sebet, “It’s a trap or some sort of trick. Right?”

“Probably,” Sebet replied irritably.

“The hammer is definitely magical though,” I could feel it. What bothered me was that the altar itself didn’t seem to be magical at all. However, the runes engraved on the floor were practically pulsing with mana. “Definitely a trap,” I decided.

“What about opening the cages?” Gregory asked curiously, “Or is that meant to be performed with the-oh...Okay, I think I understand.”

The guides were meant to serve as the sacrifice.

Assuming a group of Adventurers managed to make it to the final room and deciphered the meaning of glyphs on the floor, they would be far more inclined to sacrifice an outsider than one of their own. However, there seemed to be more to it than that.

If the trap intended for the Adventurers to kill the guides, why choose a hammer instead of a dagger, sword or spear, that could reach through the bars? Unless...

I knelt down and ran my fingers over the nearest engravings.

I could feel power, but more than that, I could feel potential.

“Is that the game?...” I muttered suspiciously while eyeing the statue.

“Majesty?” Gregory looked concerned, “Perhaps we should seek our own means of leaving the dungeon?”

“If it comes to it,” I replied quietly, “But there is something I wish to try first.” I took Sebet’s cage from Gregory and took a few steps back away from the circle. “Do you trust me?” I asked quietly.

Sebet gulped nervously and gave a nearly imperceptible nod.

Gripping the cage tightly, I began to squeeze. As unrelenting as solid stone, the bars refused to bend. In feigned frustration, I shook the cage and felt Sebet’s body and limbs make contact with my hand.

<Swear loyalty to me!> I demanded, forcing communication past the enchanted cage through our physical contact. <Swear an oath to obey my laws!>

My hand began to ache and tendrils of black smoke began curling from the space between my fingers.

<Swear it! And I will free you!> I could feel Sebet’s hesitation and shifted my focus toward our contract.

Sebet relented. <I. So. Swear.> Her words were heavily distorted and barely legible, like an old radio struggling to maintain the frequency of the desired station.

I extended an invitation immediately to allow Sebet to become my minion.

There was another moment of hesitation and then acceptance.

<Be ready!> I relaxed my fist and carefully placed Sebet’s cage on the ground.

Gregory remained silent, but I could tell by the look in his eyes that he had noticed Sebet had joined our party.

I tried not to flinch as I looked down at the raw eroded flesh of my left hand and fingers. The flesh was reknitting itself in real-time, but it looked like it was going to take the better part of a minute to fully heal.

I felt like I now had a solid understanding of how the cage and its Imprisonment Condition were maintained. It appeared to be some sort of Curse that drained health and converted it to mana in order to maintain the integrity of the cage. Anything entering the cage would be cannibalised for mana in the same fashion as anything trying to leave. Touching the cage was also enough to harm the creature inside.

I had a gut feeling that the hammer ‘could’ indeed break the cage, but that didn’t guarantee the occupant would survive.

Furthermore, the runed circle’s familiarity took a new shape in my mind after understanding the functionality of the cage.

Sebet had been right in saying that it called for sacrifice. But the sacrifice wasn’t to provide an escape from the dungeon. The sacrifice was to Summon something else to finish us off. The hammer, cage and circle were all part of a single trap, and the guides served as the magical power source, little more than batteries.

Dan didn’t seem to be paying much attention to anything else besides the pale bony arms reaching through the gaps in the portcullis. I could only imagine what must be going through his mind after the mad dash I had made to bring us to safety. Surrounded by the ravenous undead in the dark.

Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I motioned for Gregory to take up the cages and move away from the circle. As a Summoned being, I was able to impart a basic impression for him to ready himself for combat as well.

“It’s about time to face the true boss of the dungeon,” I muttered and gathered my mana.

*Tingling*

Gric appeared on bended knee and head bowed in deference, “My Tyrant.”

“Gric, prepare for combat,” I commanded while turning to face the statue of the Angel.

Gric bowed his head and then rose to his feet.

<A spear. Part of a plan.> I ordered through our telepathic link and formed an image of Shiverfang in my mind.

“As you command, my Tyrant,” Gric agreed obediently. Extending his right hand to one side, Gric beckoned toward the pile of discarded weapons and armour. A pronged fork flew out of the pile and Gric snatched it out of the air. “Empower Weapon,” Gric’s mana dropped slightly and the fork began emitting a faint magical aura.

I had expected the Angel to attack immediately, just as Orphiel had, but I wasn’t going to begrudge the extra time to regenerate my mana. After all, I wanted to make the fight as one-sided as possible.

“TCH!” A hiss came from the mouth of the statue as a thin crust of stone fell away to reveal a cruel and impossible beautiful face beneath. “I thought I smelled Daemon on you!” The Angel spat disparagingly as the rest of his body was freed from the thin marble shell.

“Prey must have a strong nose to know when predators approach,” Gric replied calmly with a wolfish smile.

“Prey, am I?!” The Angel demanded, his unearthly beautiful features distorting in rage.

“Of course,” Gric agreed, taking great delight in the Angel’s anger.

“You had better listen to me, and listen well you lowly cur!” The Angel snarled, stepping off the cliff and expanding his pale silvery wings of mana for dramatic effect, “I am going to enjoy beating you within an inch of your wretched life! And if you beg for what remains, I MIGHT consider Imprisoning you!”

Gric shook his head condescendingly at the Angel, “You think a lowly Princept such as yourself stands a chance against a Daemon King? Ridiculous!”

The Angel’s confidence wavered, “Daemon King...” His golden eyes brightened for a moment and faded almost just as quickly, “Pathetic! Trying to pass yourself as a Daemon King with such pitiful mana!”

Gric shrugged, his smile unwavering, “I have told no lies, yet it is in the nature of prey to seek refuge in doubt when no hope remains.”

The Angel bared his perfect teeth in a snarl, “I’m going to carve your face off and mount it on my wall!”

“Hrmph,” Gric scoffed arrogantly, shaking his head, “A weakling like you would struggle mounting a human.”

“............!?!?!?!?!?!?!” The Angel’s features spasmed in rage as he lunged toward Gric with his black marble staff.

Gric parried the blow with the shaft of his fork and knocked the Angel back.

I cautiously retreated back toward the other side of the room while trying not to draw undue attention to myself.

Although it quickly became obvious that I needn't have bothered.

Gric and the Angel had eyes only for one another and were exchanging fierce, albeit short, bursts of frenzied attacks against one another.

For his part, Gric seemed content with goading and enraging the Angel while expending only the minimum amount of energy to avoid taking damage.

However, the pulsing golden runes on the Angel’s staff made it clear that there was more to worry about than just the Angel himself.

A full minute passed before the first blow found its mark, and despite his intentions, Gric had been the one to land it. While parrying an overhead swing to the side, Gric had feinted to the Angel’s left with the butt of his fork. The Angel either hadn’t seen it coming or didn’t deem it a significant enough threat and was struck hard in the side.

Taking the hit seemed to douse the Angel’s anger and make him far more cautious. Even going so far as to retreat away from Gric and toward the ceiling.

Then, quite suddenly, the Angel was no longer alone. Seven exact copies flew shoulder to shoulder with one another and glared contemptuously down at Gric. “The real battle begins now!” The Angels stated coldly and in perfect unison before swooping down toward Gric.

Staying true to his role, Gric retreated toward the far wall while dodging the attacks made by the Angels.

Confident in Gric’s ability to take care of himself, I switched the mana regeneration to burn HP instead of MP and began gulping down the last of my emergency rations. Instead of recalling Toofy, I Summoned a second projection of her, only with less mana.

“Tim?!” Toofy materialised on my shoulder, grinned happily and gave my head a tight squeeze. “Lash mad at Tim,” she warned with a sly smile, “Tim give Lash gift, make not mad!” Toofy suggested sagely with the unmistakable glitter of greed in her eyes.

“Gifts for Toofy too,” I agreed, “And for Ril and Nnet,” I added.

Toofy’s smile grew wider, exposing her sharp teeth as she began to shiver with excitement.

I pointed to the piles of loot on the right side of the room, “I thought you could take what you want from there,” I suggested, “But first, I need some food. I’m REALLY hungry.”

It made me happy that despite all her greed, Toofy’s priorities shifted the moment I made my request.

“Tim hungry?” Toofy repeated with sympathy and concern, Tim no worry, Toofy has food! Tim have!” With a wave of her hand, roasted Beasts began tumbling out of thin air and piling up on the floor. Within moments Toofy had created a mound of meat that was almost as large as myself. “Is enough?” Toofy asked hesitantly, “Toofy has more?”

“It’s enough, thank you Toofy,” I gingerly rubbed her head with two of my fingers.

Toofy grinned happily.

“Gric might want your help too, but try not to be seen, okay?” I told her and nodded toward the fight taking place on the other side of the room.

Toofy nodded solemnly, “Ahuh.”

“Until he asks, you can pick anything you want from that side of the room,” I nodded toward the loot on the right side of the room again.

“Anything?” Toofy asked slyly.

“Any and all the things,” I qualified while reaching for a roasted Swamp Lurker.

“Tim is best!” Toofy squealed, taking only a moment to give me another hug before leaping off my shoulder, skidding down the pile of food and then disappearing in the piles of abandoned equipment haphazardly stacked against the wall.

The price for rapidly regenerating my mana had opened a yawning pit in my stomach and it was steadily dominating my every thought. Seizing a roasted Swamp Luker from the pile of food provided by Toofy, I released the reins on my hunger and began tearing into flesh and bones with savage abandon.

***** Solariel - Asrusian Capital Labyrinth ~ Eighth Floor ~ Dungeon *****

Solariel scowled.

The Daemon before him was no King, but he was not a Daemonling either. Somehow a new infestation had taken root while he and his kin had indulged their interests.

Watching the Daemon slowly lose ground against his illusions gave Solariel considerable peace of mind. Currently invisible, he toyed with the idea of positioning himself behind the Daemon and stabbing it in the back.

Solariel was forced to dismiss the idea when he considered that the Daemon’s hide was almost certainly too tough to pierce with a blunt object like his staff. Of course, it would make Solriel feel that much better for trying.

The very presence of the Daemon rubbed Solariel’s nerves bloody and made it difficult to think rationally. Making things worse, each of Solariel’s attempts to directly confuse and deceive the Daemon’s senses was met with unprecedented resistance and a sensation Solariel had long since grown unaccustomed to experiencing.

Pain.

In resisting Solariel the Daemon was somehow inflicting pain upon him in kind.

A dozen different possibilities passed through Solariel’s mind and he dismissed almost all of them due to the sheer unlikelihood of their existence.

The most probable explanation lay with the Ogre Solariel had thus far elected to ignore. After all, the Daemon was the only true threat present.

Observing the Ogre rapaciously gorge itself on a mound of assorted Beasts body parts, Solariel was forced to fight back a wave of nausea. Were it not for a lack of alternatives, he would have dismissed the Ogre as a threat then and there on principle.

Of course, the Ogre did not require Intelligence to be of use to the Daemon, it only had to be pliable.

Extending his will toward the Ogre, Solariel felt a shiver of apprehension run down his perfectly proportioned spine. Dismissing the sensation for the weakness it was, Solariel drove his will forward and latched into the mind of the Ogre.

On reflex, Solariel’s will recoiled as fresh waves of pain erupted through the connection and rampaged through his mind.

Stunned by the intensity of the pain, it took Solariel several moments before he managed to sever the connection.

Breathing hard, Solariel evaluated his earlier assessment.

The Daemon was not the greater threat.

*Tingling*

Solariel looked on in horror and rage as the corrupted form of one of the Fallen appeared before the Ogre.

Bathed in bright amber light, the Fallen’s feminine form was accentuated by tightly fitted copper plate armour.

Of course! It all made sense! Only one of the Fallen could orchestrate such a plot! Fashioning unholy servants to hunt down one as pure himself was no doubt one of the Fallen’s greatest priorities.

Bracing himself for the fight of his life, Solariel was surprised when the Fallen retreated instead of pursuing him directly. Lingering at the entrance to the chamber, the Fallen reached out toward the animated husks desperately failing through the spaces in the portcullis.

Before Solariel could guess at what the Fallen was up to, a radiant sword appeared in the Fallen’s hand and incinerated the husks closest to the entrance.

Thoroughly confused, Solariel barely managed to parry the Daemon’s fork as the Daemon lunged straight for his heart. Using his wings to put immediate distance between them, Solariel was frustrated further as the Daemon unfurled its leathery Beast wings and gave chase.

Pushing back against his rage and confusion, Solariel now understood that the Daemon had simply been toying with him. The Daemon had been able to see Solariel’s true self since the beginning and was now paying his illusory copies no mind whatsoever.

With the threat of the Fallen looming, Solariel channelled mana into his runestaff and performed a vicious swing at the Daemon’s centre mass. He had to suppress a smirk as the Daemon moved its fork to parry the blow.

*Wooompf!*

The instant the two weapons collided, the stored mana inside of Solariel’s staff ignited and engulfed the Daemon in righteous fire.

“AHAHAHA! HOW'S THAT TASTE DAEMON FILTH?!” Solariel howled in joy as the stench of the Daemon’s burning flesh filled his nostrils.

Completely immolated, the Daemon fell from the air with a soundless scream on his lips, striking one of the many piles of discarded trinkets that covered the floor of the chamber.

Despite his outburst, Solariel was surprised to find that the Fallen was still ignoring him.

As much as that rankled his pride, Solariel decided to make the most of the opportunity and followed after the Daemon. Better to eliminate the lesser threat while he had the chance.

Channelling more mana into his runestaff, Solariel prepared to lance the incapacitated Daemon with superheated plasma. Daemons were many things, but they were not fireproof.

Detecting a burst of corrupted Divinity from the Fallen, Solariel hesitated and reflexively retreated. While scanning the far end of the chamber, he stifled a gasp as the Imprisoned Devil leapt free of the ruined remains of her cage.

“FREEEEEDOM!!!” The lesser Devil screamed in ecstasy while making a point of touching itself in a vulgar and suggestive manner.

Redirecting the point of his runestaff toward the lesser Devil, Solariel was barely aware of his own actions as the primordial instincts he had been warring up until that moment overwhelmed his control and began dictating his actions.

Devil, Daemon and Fallen, they all needed to die. NOW.

The lesser Devil’s cry of ecstasy became pain and terror as the superheated plasma washed over its tiny body.

Solariel followed the Devil’s collapse to the floor with his runestaff, unwilling to let up the assault until all traces of the abomination were thoroughly destroyed.

“No,” the voice of the Fallen cut through the Devil’s screams and brought an immediate silence to the chamber.

The stream of plasma from Solariel’s runestaff began to gutter and then died entirely, revealing the feminine figure of the Fallen standing over the blackened remains of the Devil.

Despite its features being hidden beneath a helmet, Solariel could feel the Fallen’s contempt for him.

“Sebet...” The deep rumbling voice of the Ogre filled the silence of the chamber, drawing Solariel’s attention from the Fallen, if only for a moment.

The Devil’s charred limbs twitched in response.

Driven by instinct, Solariel began channelling more mana into his runestaff in earnest. Something wasn’t right, something was very-

“Gah!” Solariel’s concentration was shattered as a giant polearm materialised a foot in front of him and scythed through his right arm like water before shearing into the wall behind him.

“Ahahaha!” The Daemon’s cackle from below made it clear that he had been the one to strike the blow, although Solariel knew not how.

Just as quickly as it appeared, the giant polearm disappeared.

Staring at the bleeding stump where his elbow used to be, Solariel followed a flicker of movement below and witnessed a small creature lay hands on his severed limb and runestaff. However, Before he could act, the creature, his arm and his runestaff disappeared.

Brutally maimed, Solariel reconstructed his severed limb with mana and manifested his armaments of war. Surrendering to his rage and shame, Solariel pointed his newly constructed blade toward The Fallen and charged.

The enemies of Paradise would fall, even if he had to sacrifice himself to make it happen. Solariel swore it upon his eternal soul.