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Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 53 - The darkest dungeon - Part Three
🕑 Added 2022-11-06 10:41:25 +0000 UTCFor those who didn't read the rewrites, I change Tim's original means of death. This chater references it, so you don't need to go back and read it, but this is just a heads up in case you get confused.
Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 53 - The darkest dungeon - Part Three
I continued to stare at the small female creature with mounting impatience. Since her attempts at testing my will had failed, she had rapidly become unresponsive. However, I was uncomfortably familiar with the expression she now wore.
It was exactly the same as the Daemons.
“Who and what are you?” I demanded in a tone that made it clear my patience was at its end.
“Hey!” A small voice called out from my right, “Yeah, you! The big guy!”
Without thinking about it, I turned my attention away from the bat-winged creature and searched for the origin of the new voice.
“Are you an Aussie?” The voice called out with wary curiosity, “Kangaroos, koalas, Vegemite and shit?”
It took a moment for the words to fully register. It was only after I had located the owner of the voice that I realised what had been said.
“Take that as a yes,” the grizzled-looking fairy announced with exaggerated indifference. Smoothcheeked and clean-limbed, the fairy was naked with the exception of a crude sarong worn about his waist.
“You’re speaking English,” I commented while making my way over to his iron cage.
“You mean we are,” the fairy corrected somewhat irritably before wincing and taking several deep breaths, “Sorry...I haven’t spoken with another person in...I don’t know how long...” There was a profound sense of loneliness in his voice that persuaded me to believe him.
“You’re an American?” I asked warily, guessing at his familiar yet odd-sounding accent. I was no stranger to American television programming, but the fairy’s size added a pitchiness to his voice that made the otherwise familiar pronunciations sound strange.
The fairy nodded silently, drawing my attention to his slightly overgrown crew cut. “Do you know where we are?” He asked after an uncomfortably long silence, “Is this...Is this hell?” His diaphanous butterfly wings drooped in reaction to his darkening mood.
I hesitated. A part of me had already recognised the fairy as another Awakened, making him a very real threat.
The fairy narrowed his eyes in confusion and he pointed an accusing finger toward me, “You know something.”
“I don’t think we are in hell,” I replied somewhat guardedly, “At least, not a version of it that I am familiar with,” I conceded. “Something, what the locals call the Labyrinths, brought us here to spread suffering and destruction. Or, at least, that is what I was told by someone I trust.”
I had the fairy’s full undivided attention.
“The form we take, it’s meant to represent our greatest insecurities, something the Labyrinths can leverage to upset us...” I shifted uncomfortably and took a few moments to settle my mind.
“So these, Labyrinths? They made you a giant because you were insecure about being tall?” The fairy asked with obvious scepticism.
“No,” I replied quietly, resisting the urge to lash out, “It made me...” I took a deep breath to find my voice again, “It changed nothing about me, it just applied a label.”
The fairy’s expression made it clear he didn’t believe me.
“On Earth, I looked like this,” I poked a finger against my chest and removed my helmet, “I wasn’t as big as I am now, but I was big enough. When people looked at me, I could see the disgust and fear in their eyes. So far as they were concerned, I was an Ogre in all but name...”
The fairy averted his eyes, “I...I’m sorry...I just thought...” He shook his head, “I don’t know what I was thinking...It’s just that it's been so long since I was able to talk to someone...Everyone else who came through was speaking gibberish and...I thought I had gone insane...” He gave me a peculiar look with his disproportionately large eyes, “I’m not even sure you’re here right now...” The fairy muttered so quietly I almost didn’t hear it.
“You were a soldier?” I asked, pretending not to have heard him and motioning to his shaggy crew cut.
The fairy gave a small start and stared at me for a few moments before slowly nodding his head, “Yeah...Four years, not including basic...How did you?-” He moved to scratch his head and stopped as his fingers touched his pale blonde hair, “-Oh...”
“To the best of my knowledge, the Labyrinths only choose killers...” I explained hesitantly, “Your being a soldier is admittedly not much of a surprise, all things considered...”
The fairy slowly nodded but stopped abruptly, “You were a soldier?” He asked uncertainly.
“No,” I replied hurriedly, having no intention of participating in acts of stolen valour, “I...I was attacked in my own home and was defending myself...I can’t remember clearly, but I think I fell down the stairs and...” I felt a surge of bile rising up from my gut and decided to leave the rest to the fairy’s imagination.
“An accident...” The fairy muttered quietly, “Maybe...Maybe that’s why you are out there and I am in here...”
“No,” I replied flatly, unable to keep the bitterness and anger from my voice, “Bar one, you are the first one of us I have encountered that hasn’t immediately tried to murder me or the people around me.”
“Maybe that has more to do with this cage than you think,” the fairy replied darkly, “You don’t know me, you don’t know what I have done!” Tears welled in his overly large eyes and he looked away, “I belong in here! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!-Urk!” The fairy stiffened and spat up blood as I felt something skitter across my mental defences. He collapsed moments later, falling onto a thin bed of straw on the bottom of his cage.
“You shouldn’t do that,” I warned him before turning toward the dungeon expert, Teressa, “Are we allowed more than one guide?” The fairy was another Awakened, and I wasn’t going to risk leaving him where a potential enemy could find him. It would be only too easy to Enslave him and become a Lord by proxy, making him far too dangerous to leave behind.
“There are no trustworthy accounts suggesting it cannot be done,” Teressa replied enthusiastically, apparently very happy to be useful, “There are several unconfirmed instances of several guides being deployed simultaneously, but the final outcomes are unknown.”
“I WON’T SERVE!” The bat-winged creature in the other cage called out pleadingly, “DON'T TAKE ME WITH YOU! I WILL BETRAY YOU! I SWEAR!”
I unhooked the iron cage and handed it off to Teressa before making my way back over to the bat-winged creature.
“What is your name,” I demanded as I crouched down to reduce the distance between us.
The bat-winged creature hesitated for a fraction of a second before clenching her tiny clawed hands into fists, “Sebet,” She answered just loud enough for me to hear. I felt a familiar resonance accompanying the name and recognised it for what it was almost immediately.
“Sebet,” the bat-winged creature, Sebet, flinched as I repeated her true name back to her, “Tell me, what are you?”
“I am NOT a Devil, Lord,” Sebet answered quietly and reached through the bars of her cage. Tiny tendrils of smoke began curling from her arm and hand, suggesting that the cage was as much a magical prison as it was mundane.
*Fwoosh*
An impossibly large scroll appeared in Sebet’s tiny outstretched hand. Just as quickly as the scroll appeared, it was allowed to fall to the ground.
“Gregory,” I motioned toward the scroll, unwilling to touch it myself until I was certain of its nature.
Gregory obediently moved forward and investigated the scroll. “Apologies, Majesty, but I don’t understand this language...” He apologised and continued scanning the contents.
“Show me,” I insisted, mentally bracing myself, just in case.
Gregory shifted his grip and held out the scroll with both hands.
The scroll was covered in writing that alternated between several different font sizes and two different styles. The majority of the writing was in a careful even print, but several sections were crossed out and had what looked like scrawled index notations in the margins.
While I could not understand the language the document was written in, I recognised Sebet’s name referenced many times throughout despite taking on a few different forms of spelling. Upon recognising her name was most prominently displayed in a swooping signature at the bottom of the document, I realised that the scroll was almost certainly some kind of contract. I also realised that the alphabet of jagged runes looked incredibly familiar.
It was the same alphabet used by the Daemons.
“What is this?” I demanded flatly, pointing toward the contract.
“It is NOT a contract of conditional subservience,” Sebet replied with a whimper while cradling her injured hand, “It does NOT guarantee my loyalty contingent on several conditions. This does NOT include freeing me from my eternal confinement at the first available opportunity, and does NOT include an offer of continued subservience. This is NOT a standardised contract with a number of minor alterations due to my powers being limited...”
“As much as I would like to trust you, I can’t.” I was surprised when Sebet didn’t question my decision.
Instead, Sebet seemed genuinely saddened by the rejection. Which made sense if her bargaining for her freedom was not a ploy but a desperate bid at escape. It was a sentiment I could empathise with.
*Tingling*
“I need my own legal council to look it over first,” I amended, motioning to the heavily muscled green-skinned elf now standing at my side.
Gric had gone out of his way to model himself after the Elves who had settled in Sanctuary. Only, he hadn’t seemed particularly content with their willowy frame and build. To that end, Gric had packed on as much dense muscle as his reinforced bones could support without compromising his mobility and agility.
The end results, when combined with his refusal to sacrifice his natural weaponry, left Gric with the appearance of some sort of wild elven demi-god. A comparison I knew he secretly found pleasing.
Unlike his hatch mates, Gric had prioritised developing his mind above all else. Given his role as the literal leader of all Daemons under my banner, with the exception of Ril, it made sense that Gric specialised in administration over immediate confrontation. Although that was actually something of a misconception itself.
Gric’s mana pool was immense. After achieving his own specialised Evolution and completing its progression, his mana pool just continued growing instead of being directed toward another Evolution.
Nadine and the other Humans had called it his Evolutionary cap, but the Daemons had explained it differently. To the Daemons, Gric had reached his true form. Beyond semantics, the cap referenced by the Humans was meant to stop all further gains toward a higher maximum mana value. The Humans themselves were experiencing their current Evolutionary cap. So I had to figure that the Daemons knew what they were talking about.
“Devil,” Gric sneered contemptuously before shifting his attention toward the contract in Gregory’s hands. Gric frowned. A few moments later, his frown turned into a scowl. “You would bind my Tyrant to such a bargain?!” Gric snarled, exposing a mouth full of fang-like teeth and causing neon-green energy to pulse through the trio of horns anchored to his brow.
Sebet shrunk away from the verbal assault and began to tremble in fear, “Daemon King?!” She squeaked in terror.
Gric snorted in disgust and contempt, “Should I end this foul creature, my Tyrant?” Despite his cold exterior, it was clear by the tone of his voice alone that Gric was not bluffing or presenting an intimidating front. He wanted Sebet dead.
“No,” I replied and stared Gric down for good measure, “I want you to read the contract out to me, word for word.”
Gric bowed his head and his features relaxed almost immediately, “As you command, my Tyrant.”
Gric then spent ten straight minutes slowly and carefully reading aloud the contents of the contract. Taking particular care to read out the redacted portions and then amended contents intended to replace them.
I felt a certain sense of vindication when Gric finished.
The contract’s intentions were rather simple, but the phrasing was painfully deliberate in obfuscating certain liabilities, contingencies and preparations. Most of these had been redacted and were replaced with ‘-Waived by {Participating Signatory} Sebet-’ but the major penalty for a willful breach of the contract remained fully intact.
“It is non-enforceable,” Gric stated reassuringly, “The little Devil has no backing, no ties to a more powerful authority to enforce the contract. You would experience a moment of weakness or discomfort, but no more, my Tyrant.”
“That’s all?” I insisted sceptically.
“Other Devils would know you have broken a contract, but that is all,” Gric explained with a nonchalant shrug.
“What about this Curse of hers?” I asked curiously, “Can we break that?”
Gric frowned slightly and worked his lower jaw in what I assumed was thoughtful irritation, “Yes, I believe so, my Tyrant.”
I motioned for him to continue.
Gric hissed in irritation before swiftly marshalling his emotions, “Underlord Fesk has an Ability suited to this task, but it requires that the target is an ally.”
“Would signing this contract facilitate that requirement?” I asked, “Assuming I cannot recruit Sebet through the cage.”
Gric glanced at the cage and nodded, “My Tyrant can destroy the cage with certain ‘tools’, but the occupant would be culled,” he didn’t seem at all opposed to the idea, “The Imprisonment otherwise prevents recruitment, as my Tyrant has already realised.”
“Does that mean I could try to contest control?” I pressed curiously, wondering if there was a potential loophole.
Gric shook his head, “This is...different, my Tyrant. There is no enemy to contend with, so a contest may not take place.”
“Figures,” I muttered while taking a moment to look around at the other potential guides.
Besides Sebet and the fairy, none of them had attempted to gain my attention at all. For all I knew, they were mindless constructs.
“Tell me more about Devils,” I ordered, “And why you hold them in such contempt.”
Gric silently stared at Sebet for a few moments and then nodded. “We are enemies and rivals,” Gric stated matter of factly, “Daemons conquer through force and obedience to the hierarchy,” he said with a small measure of pride, “While Devils seek dominion through treachery and cunning, serving only when compelled to do so and only so long as they are bound,” the level of Gric’s contempt was palpable, “Devils are only rejected by the Angels because they are more proficient negotiators and mediators of contracts. It stings the Angels' pride to be considered inferior in the dealing of souls.”
Sebet appeared to be fighting hard not to challenge Gric’s assertions, so I was left wondering how accurate his explanation was in relation to a more unbiased perspective.
“The contracts are the Devils primary means of accumulating power and establishing a semblance of a cohesive hierarchy,” Gric continued, “However, the power a Devil can obtain is limited. A Devil can never rise above their station. So they plot and scheme and betray one another to exert influence.”
Sebet was biting her lip so hard it had begun to bleed.
“They are further limited by their caste,” Gric stated contemptuously, “Daemons adapt, overcome and empower themselves to suit their role. A Devil's caste dictates who they are and all they will ever be,” he looked down at Sebet and sneered, “A Lust Devil will never amount to more than a deceitful, manipulative parasite.”
“That’s enough, Gric,” I warned coldly. I was not happy about how much pleasure he was deriving from antagonising Sebet. “You said the Angels deal in souls. What did you mean by that?”
Gric seemed somewhat surprised by the question, “The relationship is not dissimilar to the loathsome Vampyrs and those they feed upon, my Tyrant. All living things generate mana, and through concerted effort can manipulate that mana. The Angels have a talent for not only directing that mana toward themselves but dictating the flow,” he paused for a moment and seemed to be considering something, “I believe Orphiel and Ophelia have forgone such feasting so as to remain in your good graces. That, or they do so to remain compliant with your laws. Instincts insist that the process can be decidedly unpleasant should the Angels wish it.”
“And the Valkyrja?” I pressed, keenly aware of the behaviour of their Warlocks.
“The truly dead do not suffer from their feasting, and the undead are undeserving of pity,” Gric replied indifferently.
“What about Spirits?” I had a suspicion that I already knew the answer, but I wanted confirmation.
Gric shrugged uncertainly, “Less control than the Angels, but not nearly as predatory.”
Unless they fed upon their worshipers in order to strengthen themselves and keep their worshipers weak. The sorry state of the Bleak-Fang’ had seemed too strange for how established they should have been.
The Black-Mane and other tribes of Boarmen had all Evolved collectively from Pigmen over many generations. So far, the only explanation I could see for why they had managed such a feat was due to a lack of effectively leveraged outside interference.
“Thank you for your assistance Gric, it was quite illuminating,” I dismissed his projection and turned my full attention back toward the contract.
“A Daemon King...” Sebet repeated in disbelief and horror.
“Yes, that was Gric,” I replied offhandedly while looking over the contract for what felt like the hundredth time, “Now, I am willing to sign, but I want some additional amendments first.”
Sebet just stared up at me in shocked silence.
“I want an allowance to forgo this potential penalty for breach of contract on the condition that I remove your Curse,” I insisted, “I think that exchange in and of itself is more than fair. I also can’t guarantee your freedom since the usual means at my disposal won't work,” I motioned for Gregory to return the scroll.
Gregory nodded in agreement while professionally rewinding the scroll before pushing it through the bars of Sebet’s cage.
It was only after the contract fell upon the floor of her cage that Sebet suddenly appeared to come to her senses, “Amendments...” She stammered nervously, “No, absolutely not possible. I definitely can’t do that...” Sebet muttered to herself, dismissing the previous contract with a wave of her injured hand and materialising a new one.
Gregory took the initiative, taking hold of the contract as it poked through the cage bars rather than waiting for Sebet to deliver it herself.
“I hope you understand, but I need to make sure everything is as specified,” I cautioned Sebet somewhat apologetically.
Sebet nodded and shrunk away toward the opposite side of her cage.
Aware that Summoning Gric again would be needlessly cruel, I opted for Wraithe instead.
*Tingling*
Wraithe’s attention immediately fixated on Sebet, and I realised that Gric had very likely already informed every other Daemon about her existence. “She is injured,” Wraithe stated somewhat accusingly, “What steps have been taken for her recovery?” She turned on Gregory, staring him down with the cold confidence and intimidation that reminded me of the Indonesian Head Nurse who had spoken at several of my nursing lectures.
“Ah, nothing?” Gregory replied uncertainly before quickly regaining his confidence, “Nothing yet, that is,” he amended.
Wraithe narrowed her eyes at Gregory and twitched her whiskers before turning her attention back toward Sebet.
“Daemon Overlord!...” Sebet squeaked.
“Yes yes,” Wraithe acknowledged, dismissing the observation with a busy wave of her long fingered hand. “The Imprisonment is artificially supporting all mundane needs, so a simple bandage is the only real option-” Impressively tall herself, standing at about eight feet tall, Wraithe casually reached up beneath my hauberk and tore off a strip of my tunic, “-give me your hand,” she reached into the cage with her long dextrous fingers and began wrapping Sebet’s hand, ignoring the little Devil’s cries of surprise and terror, as well as the tendrils of smoke trailing off of her own fingers. “There!” Wraithe declared with satisfaction as the improvised bandage glowed with golden light and slowly began to disintegrate.
“Wraithe, I need you to look at-” I was about to point to the contract in Gregory’s hand but was interrupted as Wraithe noticed the unconscious fairy.
“Ack! Careless!” Wraithe whipped herself on the back of the head with her own tail, “Always evaluate first!” Wraithe reprimanded herself before glancing up at me and determinedly looking away, “Subject appears to be unconscious...Blood on the lips and nasal cavities suggest internal trauma...”
“I think he challenged me to a contest of will,” I explained helpfully, “The reaction was very abrupt and intense.”
Wraithe nodded thoughtfully, “Do you have a medical kit, my Tyrant?”
I nodded and unbuckled the small iron-banded chest that was hanging off my hip before handing it off to Wraithe.
With the intensity and volume usually directed toward me, I couldn’t ‘just’ carry a satchel like the Surgeons. I also couldn’t rely on them to have the right supplies to treat my injuries in an emergency. So it was a matter of prudence to carry my own.
Wraithe carefully scanned the contents before using the empty cup and some of the bottled water from a large clay jug to dissolve the edge of a willow bark tablet. Wraithe then used some leftover fabric from my shirt to soak up the liquid and then wrung it out into the fairy’s mouth while massaging his throat. While thin the confines of the cage, Wraithe’s fingers smouldered just like before.
Whatever enchantments lay upon the cages were clearly intended to keep people out and their charges imprisoned.
Before Wraithe depleted her limited mana, I had her quickly read aloud the altered contract.
To my surprise, it was exactly as I had demanded.
After biting my thumb, I pressed the small bead of blood against the open space in the bottom right of the contract. I probably could have signed it if I had a pen or quill, but the partial bloody thumbprint seemed to prove sufficient.
I felt a sensation similar to the experience of giving an oath, only it was far weaker. Where giving an oath felt like someone taking a firm hold on your heart, the contract was nothing more than the faintest and most hesitant caress.
When Wraithe’s projection disappeared, I Summoned Fesk to help facilitate more direct communication with Sebet.
I had not given Fesk’s projection much mana, but he lingered long enough to confirm that he had not only lifted Sebet’s Curse, but resisted the Curse when it attempted to latch onto him instead.
With Sebet’s Curse removed, I felt the connection between us shift to become entirely one-sided. I had fulfilled my side of the bargain, and now it was her turn.
Removing Sebet’s cage from the wall, I gave it to Teressa for safekeeping. She was already holding the fairy’s cage and was a non-combatant to begin with, so I figured it wouldn’t make much of a difference.
You have my profound gratitude, great one!” Sebet declared earnestly, “I will do my best to uphold my end of our contract!”
“Then you can start by telling us what’s up ahead,” I replied and motioned to the two doors.
Sebet’s enthusiasm dampened somewhat, “Apologies, great one, but I fear I must explain myself?”
I sighed and motioned for Sebet to continue.
“Gratitude, great one,” Sebet released a sigh of her own, apparently quite relieved by my patience, “As a guide, I have a rudimentary knowledge of the components that comprise the dungeon, but-”
“It’s like a puzzle,” I interrupted, “The rooms are the same, but they are set in different places each time the dungeon is formed. Or something to that effect right? So guides can’t give away the best route, even if they wanted to.”
Sebet looked surprised, “Ah, yes, indeed, great one...”
“So what exactly can you do in your role as a guide?” I asked with waning patience.
Sebet began to visibly sweat, “Ah...”
“What about the riddles? Or the puzzles?” Teressa asked curiously.
“Or th’ traps,” Mortimer added somewhat crankily while stretching his stiff fingers and swollen knuckles.
Sebet perked up, “Yes! I know of many of the riddles and puzzles! Even some of the more deadly traps!”
“Just not until we reach them,” I reiterated with a sigh, “Alright then. What about the doors? Are we just going to pick at random? Or is there some sort of trick to it?”
Sebet deflated slightly again, “At least, in the beginning, the possibilities make choosing practically random...B-But there are far fewer possibilities further in!” She added hastily, “And that’s when the dungeon is the most dangerous!”
“Fine,” I shrugged and pointed to the left door, “Then let’s take the left door.”
“I’m on it,” Mortimer grouched as he gingerly made his way across the room and toward the left most door. After scrutinising the floor and the large ringed door handle, Mortimer shrugged and stepped aside, “Seems safe,” he declared dubiously, “No traps I could find.”
Pulling open the door revealed another passageway that ended in a sudden left hand turn after forty feet.
“Other door jus’ locked i’self,” Mortimer declared in mild surprise. I hadn’t heard anything, so I could only assume he had felt something or had some sort of Class Ability that detected locked doors.
“It’s a common dungeon trap,” Teressa chimed in happily, “So you can’t just pick the more favourable direction when given multiple choices. This door will most likely lock behind us as well.”
“Why is the front gate left open then?” I asked curiously.
“It provides the illusion of an easy escape,” Teressa replied helpfully, “So long as you think the doors will stay open, you are less likely to think twice about pushing on ahead.”
“And then it’s too late. Right, I think I get it,” I sighed and motioned for the soldiers to begin slowly advancing down the passageway.
Mortimer seemed perfectly content to use the soldiers as fodder, hanging a good ten feet back from the front while scanning the walls, ceiling and floor for traps.
*Shunk*
Mortimer’s caution was vindicated when the lead soldier cleared the corner and was immediately impaled by a javelin originating from the adjoining passageway.
Rather than allowing the Summoned soldier to suffer, I dismissed it and replaced it with another generic clone.
“Big pair o’ crossbow traps up ahead,” Mortimer announced somewhat casually, seemingly unphased by the soldier that had been launched off of its feet right in front of him, “Trigger plate was tricky this time...Think I got it...”
Mortimer spent ten whole minutes slowly crawling down the second passageway and scratching up the floor around a dozen or so ‘suspicious’ tiles with a spare dagger.
When the all-clear was given, and the Summoned soldiers had made several trips back and forth down the passageway, we moved up toward the door barring entry to what I assumed would be another room. Two large holes, one on either side of the door, marked the firing location for the ‘large crossbows’.
“Door seems safe,” Mortimer shrugged.
“The doors, in the beginning, are not trapped,” Sebet called out from beside Teressa, “It’s a sort of trap in and of itself, lulling you into a false sense of security.”
“Very common,” Teressa agreed matter of factly.
“What about that other door?” I challenged, “The one with the spikes.”
“That was technically the floor,” Teressa replied before Sebet had a chance.
All the same, I had the soldiers open the door rather than doing it myself.
I felt only minimal relief when the door was opened without evidence of triggering another trap.
The large room beyond was much the same as the first. Instead of cages on the walls, the central expanse of the floor was dominated by three large concentric rings of dark marble inlaid with gold, silver and platinum respectively.
Each ring had several large symbols each surrounded by a ring of the same precious metal of the larger ring to which it belonged.
An isosceles trapezoid of burnished bronze hovered over the three large rings and near perfectly framed one symbol from each.
“It’s a combination puzzle,” I pointed to the three symbols beneath the isosceles trapezoid, “There are probably three symbols hidden around the room somewhere-”
“My cage...” Sebet called out awkwardly, “The combination is on the bottom of my cage...”
Teressa lifted the cage and peered underneath, “There is something here, but I need light.”
While Teressa set about confirming Sebet’s claims, I continued investigating the room from the safety of the doorway. The door on the opposite wall had three smaller levers and one large lever built into its surface, reinforcing my assumption that the symbols on the floor were some sort of locking mechanism.
“What happens if the wrong combination is attempted?” I asked warily despite already assuming the worst.
“It depends on the combination, great one,” Sebet replied respectfully while trying to keep her balance as Teressa and Gregory quietly discussed the combination on the bottom of her cage.
“Assuming the worst?” I pressed.
“The dungeon Guardian would be Summoned,” Sebet replied flatly, “You do not want that, great one.”
I had been expecting the room to flood or be filled with toxic gas, but facing the Guardian again, in close quarters such as these, wasn't particularly appealing either.
After a few minutes, the correct symbols were rotated into position using the levers on the door and the final lever was pulled to lock them in place. All of this was performed by the Summoned soldiers, but if Sebet was telling the truth, it didn’t seem to matter who performed the unlocking procedure.
“Do you know what the symbols mean?” Teressa asked Sebet curiously, “They look similar to the symbols used in your contract.”
I paused and took another look at the symbols. It took me a few moments but I began to see what Teressa meant. The core structure was similar, if not the same, while the external components were completely different.
“Unlock, The, Door,” Sebet explained slowly, pointing to each of the three symbols in turn, “It is a cheat for their devout followers...” She sighed and shook her head.
“This is the Angels’ language?” I guessed from context.
“Yes, great one,” Sebet replied nervously, fluttering her bat wings slightly.
“Is this common in this dungeon?” I asked, “Using their own language as part of the puzzles and riddles to leave clues?”
Sebet nodded, “Common enough, Great One.
“One last question before we move on,” I pointed to the symbols on the floor, “Why are your two languages so similar?”
Sebet fidgetted nervously, “I do not know for certain,” she admitted quietly, “But a master I once served claimed that we were once one and the same...Now we simply mirror one another...”
“You mean like the seven cardinal sins and virtues?” I asked before realising my mistake, “Pride, envy, greed, lust etcetera mirrored against humility-”
“No, great one,” Sebet grew increasingly uncomfortable, “We mirror the same desires, we simply pursue them...differently...”
That seemed to fit what I knew of Orphiel. In the months I had known him, Orphiel had never exemplified any of the seven virtues in any meaningful capacity, and Ophelia was prone to intense anger under the right conditions. Then again, neither of them were true Angels, and were in fact classified as Fallen. Not that I was sure that made much of a difference.
For some reason, the revelation bothered me and I wasn’t sure why. I already considered Angels to be just another breed of monster, so learning that they were essentially wolves in sheep’s clothing wasn’t a surprise.
Then it clicked.
One of the nearby countries was a theocracy. Given that the gods the locals worshipped were in fact Angels, they would pose a serious problem in the future.
Moving on to the next room, we encountered several more traps, one of which required Summoning a new soldier after its predecessor was scythed in half by a giant blade that swept out through the wall.
Mortimer had made a point of checking the door over three times before I had the soldiers open it.
The room beyond the door was different to the previous rooms we had encountered. It had three doors on the opposite wall and two huge pools of oil dominated the floor, leaving only a small walkway to the other side. A large lever was placed an equal distance between the two pools and had a single rune carved into its base.
As we entered the room, I felt a familiar pressure build inside of my mind and my eyes were drawn toward the ceiling.
The stone roof parted to reveal two large empty cages held aloft by thick steel chains that disappeared into the shadows above them.
“What is the point of empty cages?” Gregory asked warily.
“They are-” Sebet began to speak but was cut off as the fairy released a pitiable wail.
“MICHAEL?!” The fairy rushed to the limits of his cage and screamed as his skin blackened and burned upon making contact with the bars.
I hadn’t been aware that the fairy had regained consciousness, so his outburst came as quite a surprise to myself as well.
“WE HAVE TO GET HIM DOWN! CAN’T YOU SEE HE’S HURT?!” The fairy’s voice had reached a pitch that made my ears itch, ‘MICHAEL! HOLD ON! I’M COMING TO GET YOU!” His screams intensified as his skin continued to blister and burn.
“I don’t see anyone up there, do you?” Teressa asked Mortimer, who simply shrugged in return.
“It’s an illusion,” Sebet stated somewhat distractedly while covering her long tapered ears, “The trap scours your mind for suitable targets and populates the cages-”
Gregory grimaced, “And then we must choose which cage descends into the boiling oil.”
Sebet nodded.
“Does it matter which cage is lowered?” Gregory asked while eyeing the smouldering fairy with an expression that on anyone else might have approximated pity.
“Either cage can be lowered to unlock the doors,” Sebet replied, her tone devoid of the deference she seemed content to reserve for me alone.
Gregory nodded and began moving toward the lever.
“HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” The fairy shrieked, “STAY AWAY! I-”
The pressure in my mind briefly flared in intensity before abruptly receding.
“-Urk...” The fairy spat up a mouthful of blood and collapsed against the bars of his cage.
Teressa watched the fairy burn for a handful of moments with an expression of morbid curiosity before jostling the cage to knock the fairy roughly into the centre of the cage.
Gregory pulled the lever experimentally and watched as the leftmost cage slowly began to descend from the ceiling. He let go and we all watched as the lever ever so slowly reset to its original position. All the while, the cage continued descending toward the oil below, albeit at a gradually decreasing pace.
“Slow enough to keep the group fighting for a long time,” Gregory grunted appreciatively, “And the maintained momentum only encourages an escalation in confrontation. Not bad.”
Mortimer nodded in agreement, “Saw somethin’ like this about...twenty-ish years ago. Only there was one cage, not two.”
“I’m familiar, “ Gregory replied conversationally before pausing, “Baron Kershal? On the Randly estate?”
Mortimer seemed somewhat surprised but nodded, “Yeh’, I think so. Big ol’ dead tree in th’ yard by th’ window.”
“That’s the one,” Gregory replied with wry amusement before casting a critical eye toward Sebet and Teressa, “We should get a drink sometime, exchange work stories,” Gregory insisted.
Mortimer shrugged, “I’m retired, so long as you’re buying, and the client is ‘gone’, I have all the time in th’ world.”
The sorry state of the fairy continued to irk me as the cage continued its glacial descent.
With profound reluctance, I summoned Wraithe for the second time and sacrificed a small portion of the contents of my emergency medical supplies. The fairy was proving to be far more effort than he was worth.
His status as another Awakened made him a potential threat. A threat that I couldn’t ultimately afford.
Jacque had proven herself to be something of an exception and had shown that I could trust her. Her personal ambitions seemed to begin and end with ensuring the safety of her son. It was a sentiment I could understand and appreciate.
The fairy had attempted some form of mind manipulation on me twice already, so I couldn’t rule out the possibility that he would attempt to do so again. Even if his attempts were unintentional, that only supported the argument that he shouldn’t be trusted.
All the same, I couldn’t bring myself to just abandon him either. After all, he knew what I was. Worse than that, he seemed unstable. Even if we were to part on good terms, there would be no telling if that would matter even ten seconds later.
“Don’t restore him completely,” I cautioned Wraithe, earning a narrow-eyed glare in response, “He will just hurt himself again if you do. It would be better if he remains unconscious and has a chance to settle down.”
Wraithe slowly nodded in agreement, “Failing another contest of will could prove permanently fatal. Prolonged rest is perhaps the best option.” Her long whip-like tail twitched uneasily, “He is a threat,” Wraithe stated bluntly, “But he is also my patient. I...I don't know what I should do, my Tyrant.”
“That makes two of us,” I sighed dejectedly, “That makes two of us...”
***** Sebet - Asrusian Capital Labyrinth ~ Eighth Floor ~ Dungeon *****
Sebet carefully and silently observed the interaction between the Tyrant and his subordinate Daemon Overlord, Wraithe.
Just like before, the conversation seemed closer to one held between equals rather than a subordinate and their master. This was incredibly strange considering the Daemon King, Gric, had deferred to him at every turn.
Sebet wanted to chalk it up to internal politics, but her instincts told her that it didn’t quite fit.
She was broken from her musings as the human female, Teressa, began carrying Sebet’s cage across the room.
The Tyrant’s party chose the middle door and continued cautiously onward.
Sebet recognised the next room almost immediately.
The room itself was nothing special and was more or less identical to the rough dimensions of the others. Two doors on the far wall each had a sullen Envy Devil trapped inside of a cage mounted halfway up each door.
Beyond belonging to a different caste, Sebet loathed Demus and Reale with a fiery passion.
The feeling was mutual. Upon spotting Sebet, both Demus and Reale made grotesque faces, stuck out their warty tongues and spat raspberries at her from across the room.
Before Sebet had a chance to give away the nature of the challenge out of spite, the Tyrant beat her to it.
“Let me guess, this is going to be one of those, one tells the truth and other lies kind of deals?” The Tyrant sighed irritably.
Sebet grinned as Reale curled his misshapen lips into a feral snarl and Demus rubbed at his tiny eyes with spindly fingers.
“Two doors,” a disembodied feminine voice cooed, “Two paths to tread. One with danger, and the other, death. Two keepers, to point the way. One to trust, and other betrays.”
“That’s not even a true rhyme,” the Tyrant grunted, “But fine, I know this one.”
The group entered the room and the Tyrant approached the two doors, “You,” he pointed to Reale, “Which road would-” he pointed his finger at Demus, “-he tell me is safe?”
Reale and Demus looked at one another and then both visibly deflated with disappointment, “This door,” Reale grunted dejectedly and pointed at his own door.
“Mhm, easy,” the Tyrant grunted as he looked toward his followers and shrugged.
Reale and Demus began to grin.
“It’s the other door,” the Tyrant confidently pointed to Demus’ door instead.
Demus and Reale collapsed into hysterics as the Tyrant opened the door and led his party into the passageway beyond, and Sebet had to fight not to revel too greatly at their expense.
Three of the Tyrant’s expandable minions were destroyed by traps as they approached the next door, but he seemed to have no difficulty in replacing them.
Sebet’s amusement died as the next room was revealed.
Row upon row of six foot tall statues stood between the Tyrant’s party and the door on the opposite side of the room. For the most part, they looked like petrified versions of the Tyrant’s human minions. They were not what worried her. It was the two giant statues shaped like Angels flanking the opposite door that terrified her.
A foot or so taller than the Tyrant, each of the Angel statues held a forked spear affording them considerable reach.
Before Sebet could shout a warning, the smaller statues began rumbling into motion.
Without hesitation, the Tyrant’s minions surged forward on the offensive and drove several statues to the ground.
Unsure why she had expected otherwise, Sebet stared in surprise as the Tyrant stepped forward into the melee, snatching up one of the statues and then hurling it into several others deeper in the room.
In response to the Tyrant’s actions, the Tyrant’s minions entered an almost frenzied state of battle lust, bodily tackling statues to the ground and snapping off their limbs barehanded.
Sebet could feel it herself. Several potent Abilities reinforced her otherwise painfully mediocre combat prowess. If she hadn’t known better, Sebet would have attempted to break out of her cage then and there.
“Cover!” The Tyrant snarled, and Teressa dragged Sebet behind a clustered wall formed from the other minions.
*BANG!*
Sebet screamed in fright as an explosion sent shards of stone flying in all directions.
Expecting the battle to be over, Sebet was surprised yet again when Teressa brought her out of cover and found the Tyrant battling against the two giant statues. One of them was very badly damaged, missing both forearms and one of its wings.
The smaller statues had suffered a similar fate, missing one or more limbs and desperately struggling to engage with the minions or the Tyrant.
The smaller statues that approached the Tyrant were destroyed as they were knocked down or struck by the Tyrant or giant statues’ errant blows.
The fight was over almost as quickly as it had begun. The Tyrant used a brutal heavy flanged mace to take the giant statues apart piece by piece and in rapid succession. All the while, he ignored their retaliatory strikes, soaking their blunt blows while knocking the spear strikes wide.
Of course, Sebet knew that the danger was still far from over. “THEY WILL REGENERATE!” She cried as loudly as she could manage, hoping that the Tyrant could hear her. Sebet would have attempted telepathy, but she was on thin ice already and didn’t want to tempt the wrath of the Tyrant in his current state of battle lust.
“MAJESTY! WE MUST PRESS ON!” The minion named Gregory roared over the cacophonous din while motioning the other minions forward.
*Bang!*
The Tyrant blew apart the remaining giant statue with a vicious backhand, sending chunks of stone flying against the wall with incredible speed. Two smaller statues were destroyed by the ricochet and one of the expendable minions disappeared.
Ignoring the mangled statues gathering around his legs, the Tyrant took hold of the large door handle and heaved the door open, “MOVE!” He roared savagely, stomping one of the statues into pieces.
Teressa scrambled across the rubble-strewn floor, and Sebet did her best to avoid making contact with the bars of her cage, hissing in pain each time she failed.
Of course, Sebet knew she could have had it much worse. She could be unconscious and smouldering against the bars of her cage like the Pixie.
