Chapter 10

Dungeon V (Alone)

Mags navigated the dark, labyrinthine corridors of the lower dungeon level, each step echoing the uncertainty she felt. Alone now, she followed Bidelia’s simple yet sparse instructions, hoping they would lead her to safety. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the soft tap of her boots on the cold stone floor. Every shadow seemed to pulse with hidden dangers, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. The air was thick with the scent of damp stone and something else, something metallic and acrid that made her nose twitch. She glanced over her shoulder frequently, half-expecting to see a shadow detach itself from the wall and come for her. She kept her hand close to Mithra’s hilt. The blade’s familiar presence, sheathed on her back, provided some small comfort.

Her thoughts drifted to Sabo and Bidelia. Were they safe? She hoped so. Sabo’s easy smile and demeanor had always been her anchor. Even more so in this treacherous journey. Without Sabo by her side, the weight of the dungeon’s oppressive atmosphere threatened to crush her spirit. You’ve been alone before, she reminded herself. And you’re no coward. You won’t run scared. Still, it was as though the air itself was pressing in on her, threatening to pull her down and bury her beneath the flagstone floor.

She reached a set of stairs ascending upwards and took them, her hand trailing the rough stone wall for guidance. The stairs were steep and narrow, their edges worn smooth by the passage of countless feet over the centuries. Though that’s not quite right, is it? She reminded herself that this Deep was only a few days old. It was uncanny how lived in and ancient it seemed at a cursory glance. At the top of the stairs, the corridor was darker than any other they had traveled through. It stretched out before her, narrow walls seemingly closing in on her as her foot left the last step. Overhead, lanterns hung from rusted chains, their glass cracked and grimy. They flickered sporadically, casting erratic shadows that danced and twisted like malevolent spirits.

The darkness between the flickers of light felt almost alive, a palpable entity that clung to the walls. Mags squinted, looking for any movement in the shadows that betrayed the presence of a Maldrath. Not seeing anything, Mags walked slowly, her senses on high alert. She passed several doorways leading into dark, empty rooms, each one a potential threat. Her heart pounded in her chest, a steady rhythm that echoed in her ears. She focused on her breath to calm herself and steel her nerves.

Suddenly, the pitter patter sound of small footsteps scurrying across the stone floor echoed from behind her. As Mags whipped her head around at the general source of the sound, a little girl’s giggling laughter filled the air.

Nothing. The corridor was as empty as it had been when she walked down it. Darkness, followed by flickering light the color of milky moonlight through a thin veneer of cloud. Darkness again. Then, the laugh. So faint it prickled the hair on Mags’ arms. Flickering light, illuminating the hall for just a moment. Empty again. Darkness. The pitter patter of feet on stone. Mags swore she spotted movement—faintly—dashing into one of the rooms nearest her. Light—and no sign of any person or creature.

Jebati! Get it together, Mags!

She thought of the countless Maldrath she had slain, and how they moved in the darkness and imitating disturbing sounds, often childlike. It was now more than ever she missed Bidelia’s presence and the Navigator’s ability to sense Maldrath. Instead, she had to rely on her gut and instinct. Her gut told her to be prepared for an ambush. Her mind, on the other hand, counseled not straying off the path straight and true, as Bidelia had instructed. Her gut again: why ignore this nagging feeling in your stomach and leave your rear exposed for a Maldrath or two to pounce on her back. Why not eliminate the threat quickly and then press forward? And collect another aether core or two for Kruno and his lackies? She thought of the childish giggling escaping from the hungry maw of a Maldrath as it leapt to take a bite out of her and the image sent shivers down her spine.

Drawing Mithra, its black blade gleamed darker than pitch, eating any semblance of light in the hallway and practically disappearing in the darkness created by the flickering lanterns. Mags turned back down the hall, eyes scanning for any sign of a Maldrath.

She peered into the first doorway, finding the room empty save for a three-tiered altar, illuminated by the same moon-like light that lit the corridor, or that chased them in the room with the pillars. It descended from the ceiling, casting a perfect circle of illumination onto a small pedestal atop the altar. Cautiously, she entered the room. The air was colder here, the chill seeping through her clothes and into her bones. Shadows painted the corners of the room, though she didn’t sense the familiar aura of fear she was accustomed to in her close encounters with Maldrath.

Mags’ eyes were drawn to the altar and the pedestal that crowned it. Something about it drew her closer and—as though her legs were moving of their own accord—she found herself climbing the steps of the altar to get a closer look at the pedestal.

The pedestal was adorned with cryptic runes, and nestled atop it was an egg. The egg’s surface shimmered with a mesmerizing iridescence, a cascade of colors that shifted and danced, reminding Mags of the colorful tails of the starlight swimmers moving through the night’s sky. Intricate patterns of gold and silver filigree laced the shell, intertwining in an otherworldly tapestry. A heartbeat pulsed in her ears, but it didn’t feel like her own. Rather, staring at this strange egg, Mags had the undeniable sensation that she could feel a warm pulse reverberating from the egg itself. She stepped closer to the pedestal, leaning in closer to further examine the egg, but being careful not to touch it or the pedestal it sat on.

Beneath the shell’s delicate, glass-like exterior, Mags swore she could see shadows flicker and writhe. Upon closer inspection, the dancing scripts that lined the egg’s shell emanated a faint, ethereal glow. It was a sight both breathtaking and unsettling. And she had not been sensing things before—the air surrounding the egg was charged with a palpable energy, a hum that resonated deep within her bones.

As Mags gazed upon the egg, an almost hypnotic allure compelled her to reach out, to touch the shell and feel its cold, smooth surface. Yet, an instinctual dread gave her pause—a primal fear in the back of her mind, whispering of some unspeakable terror. Mags blinked, and realized she had extended her right hand, a finger a hair’s breadth from the egg’s surface. Mithra still sat comfortably in the grasp of her left hand. Then, the thought hit her. This egg, whatever it actually was, was far more valuable than all of the jewels and gold coins she had shoveled into her satchel. With this single item, she could earn her and the entire orphanage’s way out of Solstice and away from the reach and influence of the Blackfire Company. With this egg, she could buy them all a new life, a fresh start. I could go to the Front and wouldn’t have to worry about them.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Just take it. She heard a voice in her head. It was her own but also different, urging her to take it. After another moment of hesitation, she reached out and snatched the egg, placing it into her satchel. The surface of the egg was cool to the touch, and she felt a slight tingle as she handled it, as if the runes etched upon its surface were alive with energy. As soon as she safely deposited the egg into her bag, Mags began to quickly backstep down the altar, hoping the floor wouldn’t once again collapse beneath her.

As if on cue, the shadows on the walls and in the corners of the room began to bubble and writhe. From the shadows, the Maldrath emerged, a seething mass of inky blackness, their forms shifting and undulating like the surface of a dark, malevolent sea. There were too many for Mags to count, though several eyes materialized across the roiling sea of shadows. Red eyes, burning like hellish coals of some forsaken fire, filled with a cruel intelligence. All of the eyes locked onto Mags.

The entire mass of hungry shadow surged forward with unsettling fluidity. Mags sprinted towards the door and back into the narrow corridor. Pivoting on her heels, she landed several slashes, each strike dispersing the shadowy forms but not enough to destroy their physical manifestations and reveal their aether cores. The Maldrath she had struck down immediately began reconstituting while the rest of the horde advanced. As the inky shroud surged, hisses and growls filled the air, a chorus of horrific and suffering screams, many sounding like children. The sound made her skin crawl.

She needed to avoid being trapped in the narrow confines of the corridor. She made a run for it, dashing in the direction she had been moving before. She didn’t look back but could feel the aura of fear clawing at her back as the flood of Maldrath crashed against the walls and ceiling, closing in on her. A claw nipped at her heel. Mags turned, slashing at the unnaturally elongated arm and fingers, which screamed like frustrated toddlers. The arm recoiled, the shadows dissipating with a shriek, but more took its place.

Mags continued to run, her heart pounding, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She reached a flight of steep stairs ascending upwards and began taking them two at a time. The narrow passage behind her filled with countless Maldrath, merging again into a single mass of shadow, reaching limbs, glowing eyes, and gnashing teeth. The air grew colder with the overwhelming amalgamation of the Maldrath’s auras, the chill of the shadows seeping into Mags’ very bones.

At the top of the stairs, she reached a door and sheathed Mithra, hurriedly trying to wrench it open only to find it locked. Her desperate fingers brushed over a keyhole. Fuck! She continued to desperately try to open the door, but despite all of her strength and pounding against its wooden frame, the effort was futile. The Maldrath were upon her, their aura of fear pressing against her back. She pushed down the terror and turned to face the abominations. She wasn’t a coward, and certainly wasn’t going to die like one. If she was about to meet her death, she would meet it head on. Mithra sang as she drew it from its sheath. Mags couldn’t stop the wobbling of her knees, or the sting of tears in the corners of her eyes, but her hands were unwavering and strong.

She slashed and moved through the forms Vitomir had taught her with precision and steadiness, mowing down the Maldrath. But for each Maldrath she cut down, another two took its place. Mags didn’t let up. Her shoulders burned as she continued to furiously attack the encroaching shadows. A shadowy limb stretched out towards her leg, and again Mithra’s blade was there to meet it. Only this time, Mags was too slow to stop the claw that latched onto her left shoulder. She tried twisting her blade to cut it off—but missed the Maldrath’s tentacle that had curled itself around her other thigh. Still, she continued to struggle and fight, her limbs burning. She screamed, but couldn’t hear it over the throbbing of blood in her head, her heart working overtime. One by one, more shadows engulfed her, washing over her as though she was being plunged into cold, dark water.

Just as she was about to be completely overwhelmed, she felt a different touch grab her by the shoulders. Not the cold grasp of a Maldrath, but the warmth of human hands. Mags was yanked backward, ripped from the maw of the Maldrath horde and pulled into the dim but warm glow of another corridor, as though she had been sucked through a portal. She stared into the swirling mass of hungry shadows one last time before a wooden door was slammed shut, accompanied by the click of a key turning into a lock. Strands of the Maldrath that had latched onto her were abruptly cut off by the slam of the door. The tendrils, audibly hissing and leaving small burns on her skin and clothing, fell to the ground, writhing once or twice before dissolving to dust on some invisible wind.

Then, Bidelia’s familiar face filled her vision.

Mags heard Sabo whisper from behind her, “It’s okay, we’ve got you.” It was only then she recognized it had been his hands that had pulled her from the mass of Maldrath. He turned her around, and Mags felt a wave of relief and joy wash over her at the sight of her best friend alive and well, though covered in dried blood and looking like a complete mess, if she was being honest. His face was smeared with grime, and his clothes were torn and stained, but his eyes still held that familiar spark of determination.

“You’re alive,” she breathed, her voice trembling with emotion. She reached out, her fingers brushing against his arm as if to reassure herself that he was really there.

“Alive and kicking,” Sabo replied with a grin, though his eyes showed the weariness of their ordeal.

“You didn’t let me finish,” she said. “You’re alive, but look like absolute shit. What happened to you?”

“You could talk,” he said, soaking her in with his eyes. If she looked anything like she felt, he probably wasn’t lying.

“We need to keep moving. This place isn’t going to get any safer. And this door can’t be guaranteed to hold them back,” Bidelia chimed in. She tucked a key dangling around a cord around her neck into her jacket. Her face was pale, but determined. “We’ve got to find the dungeon core and get out of here.” She glanced around the corridor, her eyes sharp and wary, as if expecting an attack at any moment.

They quickly moved through the corridor, Mags still catching her breath and processing the events. She glanced at Sabo, noting the dried blood on his clothes and the exhaustion etched into his features. Every step seemed to take more effort than the last, and she could feel the toll the dungeon was taking on all of them.

“What happened to you?” she asked quietly as they walked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Ran into some goblins,” he replied, his voice grim. “It wasn’t pretty, but we managed.” He rubbed a hand over his face, smearing the dirt and blood even further.

Mags felt a pang of guilt for getting separated while Sabo and Bidelia faced dangers of their own. But she pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. They had to find the dungeon core and Mags, though shaken, knew she had to be strong for all of them. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and forced a smile for Sabo. “We’ll get through this. We always do. We’re no strangers to hard times.”

Sabo’s mouth quirked into a smile of his own. “Not strangers at all. Us and hard times are more like well-acquainted friends at this point.”