Carnivorous Caverns, Depth Level One…
‘Nature wants you dead’.
That notion appears to have been embodied by the Carnivorous Caverns, where everything one could encounter seems to want to tear them apart. That was, of course, if one considered the abomindations now running rampant through the halls ‘natural’.
“Another group of them…” Otto clicked his tongue in annoyance as he peeked around the corner. Just ahead, down the winding corridor littered with bones joined by the fresh corpses of his fellow participants, were a group of ten pinheads.
The monsters loitered about, aimlessly bumping into the walls and at times one another. They stumbled over the smallest pebbles and slipped just as easily; and yet these seemingly uncoordinated creatures had somehow killed dozens of people. Even a man ranked 1,202nd had fallen prey to them, stabbed to death in a circle of five pinheads. One did not even need to wonder what someone like Otto, ranked a mere 10,541st would fare against not one but ten of these things.
“Fucking all the Hells in Oblivion…” The sandy-haired man exhaled in exhaustion, the dirt, grime and blood on his body feeling stickier by the second. His compatriots, or what remained of them, seemed to be in similar states.
Beaten, tired and dispirited, their bodies, minds and Souls were in shambles despite them having only endured the second event for just over an hour. It was to the point where most, if not all three of them had to wonder if they would live through the next hour, nevermind see the next day when the ‘Extraction Points’ became available. That said, even if they did survive that long, a small part of Otto doubted they would even make it to the location marked on the map, though most him still held onto hope.
Hope that the Hands of Fate still had a role for him to play, a purpose to fulfil, a dream to chase after.
“I can’t die here.” Perhaps it was pride, or maybe it was his ambition. Perhaps it was the simple desire to survive. Regardless, Otto resolved himself to fight, to at least make it out alive without resorting to begging the ‘Watchers’ for aid like he had seen so many others do, although he would have been lying if he said he was not tempted. No, he would return to his homeland in victory. Glory, power, and riches will be his, and he will wed a woman worthy of his nobility!
Shaking away the negative thoughts with a renewed sense of purpose, the Wisterian rose to his feet, much to the confusion of his comrades.
“What are you doing?” His first friend since the beginning of Black Box, more a faithful lackey really, Trevor, asked in a hushed voice.
“We have to keep moving.” Otto replied, wiping the sweat from his chin before pointing leftwards. The hallway led only to darkness, but at least there were no pinheads in sight.
“But that’s…” The young woman next to Trevor, Amara, a merchant’s daughter from Sorkos, seemed unsure. Unlike Trevor who also ranked in the twenty thousands, she was in the forty thousands. Her opinion was worthless to the noble of Wisteris, as he would have never even considered forming a group with her in the first place if not for her looks.
A decision he had come to regret quite strongly, especially when the horde of monsters had descended upon their base like starved rats.
“Let’s go. The longer we linger here, the more likely those things will stumble upon us.” Otto said in a voice that brokered no argument, his feet already leading the way into the darkness.
Given no choice unless they wanted to go off on their own, the two naturally followed the strongest member within their group.
Tens of minutes passed in silence, with only the occasional scraping of metal on concrete echoing from both behind and in front of them. Despite the constant grating, Otto suppressed his fear and anxiety, soldering onward as light came into sight, as well as the visages of figures in the near distance.
“Are those…?” His pace quickened instead of slowed as he made out the unmistakable silhouettes of people. Humans. Not the pretentious elves or the boisterous dwarves, but humans.
With his approach and softened footsteps, someone in the larger group ahead would spot him and his comrades.
“Oi! Look what we ‘ave ‘ere!” A man with dark skin, tanned and not of a natural colour, all but yelled out, drawing both group’s attention.
“What is this moron doing?!” Otto wanted to scream at the peasant’s stupidity, but upon seeing the calm faces of the others, decided against it.
In contrast to the noble’s group of three, there were almost five people gathered at what appeared to be a doorway. The words ‘Green Hub’ were painted in common above it.
“Greetings.” Otto said, mustering as much decorum as he could as he faced the five men who looked like they had crawled up from the gutters of the slums. Strangely, the stripes on their uniforms were all different. Red, blue, orange, green and purple - the only thing they appeared to have in common besides their disheveled looks was that they were all ranked around fifteen thousands. Not too low nor too high. “We seek no trouble.”
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The gruff men exchanged looks before their lips curled into amused grins of yellowed teeth. The leading man, the one who spotted them first, stepped forward and gave a bow. It was far from the correct form.
“Greetin’s there, sir. What can this wee little sailor ‘ere do for ya?” The towering man mocked, earning a few chuckles from the lowlifes behind him.
“You can let me pass.” Otto grounded out as Trevor flanked him and Amara hid in the back.
“Sorry, can’t do that, sir.” The seaman still had a grin on his face, but the look in his eyes had visibly turned a bit more serious.
“May I ask why?”
“Sure. Doesn’t mean you’ll get an answer from me.” The man chuckled.
Otto scowled. “Then which of you can I get an answer from?”
Three of the four other men laughed, while the exception remained silent in the back corner.
“It’s not so complicated.” One of the laughing men stepped up next to the spotter. His dark hair was greased back, clinging to his sickly pale skin. He spoke better than the bigger man, but it was clear as day that he was of the lower classes and not very well-educated. “Beyond here is the ‘King’s’ territory. You can come through, but you hafta respect the rules, see?”
“King? What King?” A small semblance of hope beat in Otto’s heart. If it was a noble of Wisteris, then perhaps his family influence could help him here. None can look down upon the Steelfists.
“No no no. Not ‘King’. Kings.” The sickly man clarified.
“See, ya didn’t say it right, Greg. Confused the sir ya have.” The spotter chimed in. “It’s ‘Kings’s territory’. Not ‘Kings territory’.”
“Oh, really? Too many ‘s’s that is.” The scrawny yet tall beanpole of a man rubbed his chin. “Why do we say it like that?”
“Who knows? It’s just the we fuckin’ say it. Ask the Gods or somethin’. They’ll sort ya out.”
“Gentleman!” Otto roared in anger, having had enough of the pointless tangent. “Can you just get to the point? Who are these Kings? How many are they? From what lands and houses do they hail from?”
“Hail?”
“Come from.”
“Ah, that. Not a clue. Them Kings be Islanders. All three of ‘em.” The dark-skinned sailor explained, a thoughtful expression on his long face.
“I see…” Otto sighed. It seemed that his family’s name would not work here. Still, it may allow him to at least enter into this ‘territory’, which he assumed would be much safer than the outside where pinheads roamed. The question remained as to just what he had to give up for entry.
“What are the Kings’ rules?” The nobleman questioned, stern in his tone.
“Well, it’s pretty simple.” The lanky man began to explain. “Through here, there’ll be no violence, stealing or any other crime. You want to fight? Take it outside or get in the pit. You break the rules, you get kicked out or killed right in there. Whichever one the Kings feel like doing.”
“Before all this though, ya still got to meet ‘em.” The spotter added, pointing a thumb at the door. “We’ll take ya through to meet one of the Kings, since only one is in right now. Recommend ya make a good impression on ‘im.”
Otto glanced back at his companions, their uncertain faces burned into his eyes. “Alright, take me through.”
With his agreement, the impassive gatekeeper banged his fist thrice against the large steel door. A moment passed before the heavy walls parted, basking them in a dazzling light.
Shielding his eyes as he was guided through, Otto took a moment to adjust to the brightness. Once his vision cleared, he could not help but gape at the sight before him.
The hall, if you could even call it that, was massive. As big as a castle, perhaps even more than that, with a ceiling no less than fifty metres tall and a square space spanning hundreds of metres in length. Filling this space was an abundance of greenery. Trees and bushes bearing fruits, shrubs blooming with flowers, and vines climbing across each and every surface. Walkways of steel led the way, illuminated by soft-hued lights that gave off a comforting warmth amongst the artificially constructed paradise.
“...” Otto could not find his words, nor could his two companions. They simply stared on in bewilderment as the two men that came through with them chuckled at them in amusement.
“Ya ‘aven’t seen nothing yet.” The dark-skinned sailor said, moving forward.
Snapping out of his stunned state, the nobleman followed quickly after, motioning for his underlings to do the same.
“What is this place? This ‘Green Hub’?” Otto asked, to which the pale Greg merely shrugged.
“Some sort of garden. Lots of plants and light and stuff. But uh…don’t touch nothing. Kings don’t like it when people take everything.”
“Yeah. Only been here thirty minutes. Saw one guy get cut in half for hoarding a bunch of apples in a pile.” The sailor explained, a little unnerved by the way his steps faltered for a moment. He looked at Otto. “Just don’t go thinkin’ you’re some big shot.”
The sandy-haired man raised a brow. “Why are you giving me such advice?”
“It’s just the way ya walk and talk. Nobles like ya always thinkin’ they some big shots.” From the way the sailor spat, it was clear that he disliked the nobility, and not by some small amount. “Ya wanta live? Keep ya head down.”
Despite the anger he felt at the insult, Otto suppressed his emotions, knowing that it would not do him any good to try and shut the man up. For now, he was the newcomer, and until he established himself here, he would do as he was advised. He was no fool. He was an educated elite! The best Wisteris had to offer!
Following the winding walkway through a forest chirping with life, they eventually arrived at the centre of the room, and once again, Otto was taken aback. There, in the near distance below, a large body of sky blue water sat in the middle of a small canyon of green. Surrounding it was a thin circle of gold - sand, and upon that sand, no less than a hundred people were wandering between straw huts that formed something akin to a small village.
“By Ataraxia, what in the world is going on here?” Otto followed Greg and the sailor down the staircase, quickly descending to the bottom in less than a minute.
The two guides did not hesitate in walking across the sand and through the village. Around them, a few people waved ‘hellos’, while most simply ignored them after shooting a quick glance of curiosity. Otto ignored them, focusing himself as they were led to a lone hut.
While other huts kept a respectful distance from the small lake, this home was right by the edge. Up on an elevated piece of grass-covered land, a man could be seen sitting on a low stool. A fishing pole made of bamboo was held in his scarred hands while a long length of straw hovered from his mouth.
“Milord. Some newcomers ‘ere to see ya.” The sailor said in a clear voice, bowing low as he did.”
The man on the small hill did not respond, keeping his eyes fixed on the lake without a semblance of movement. It was as if he were merely a statue. He certainly had the stature of one. Tall even sat down, a body that could rival an orc’s, and the gruff look of a warrior people would praise for centuries. That said, the man was clearly Estrian, given his almond-shaped eyes and the way he tied his long dark hair in a brush-like ponytail.
Moments passed on in relative quiet, only the chattering of the people in the near distance and the singing of birds breaking the silence. Neither of the guides had any intentions of speaking again from the way they kept their heads bowed.
What if this ‘King’ simply did not hear them?
Unwilling to be ignored for any longer but justifying himself with the aforemention excuse, Otto stepped forward. “I am Otto Steelheart of House Steelheart! And I-”
His words suddenly choked in his throat, an invisible pressure pressing down upon his shoulder as the eye of the fisherman turned to look at him. The gaze only held for a moment, no more than a glance, but to the nobleman, it felt as if he had just been drowned in the water.
…
What felt like an eternity, but was in actuality only a few seconds, passed before the fisherman spoke. His voice was low, fluid like wind and water, yet carried a level of power Otto had only ever felt from his great grandfather, the ‘Mage Lord of Steel’.
“Who the hell are you?”