Cyril paced back and forth across the room, burning off some of the manic energy seeping through his body. Reason was beginning to win out, his mind picking at the little information he knew in order to form a coherent narrative.
The rune hadn’t been targeted at him specifically. It probably wasn’t meant to trap or convert anyone to its cause. He had stumbled upon a symbol imbued with great significance, containing truths that its creator hadn’t bothered shielding from those whose souls were too weak to resist them. Either they didn’t expect an Early Condensation human to discover the spot, or they didn’t care. Cyril increased his estimation of the prior occupant’s rank several tiers, and lowered his opinion of their attitude equally.
The Destiny hinted at in the rune had been similar enough to his own that it had immediately latched onto him. Though Cyril knew little about Destinies, having another attempt to influence him helped map the boundaries of his own--what aspects of his soul it had touched, and the commonalities between them. It reflected his own nature and that of Behemoth, now fused into one fate that influenced past, present, and future. In a way, his powers of Knowledge transcribed the Destiny written onto his soul, categorizing it into Dominions, blessings, accomplishments, and the like.
He was unsure what Destiny the rune represented, only that it was also related to Earth. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t remember any of the intricate details. His heated refusal to acknowledge the nebulous truths had fragmented and suppressed his comprehension; their broken shadows hid into the depths of his subconscious.
He did, however, recall the shape of the rune. By itself, the symbol had no more meaning than a few scribbled lines. The intention and spirituality of the carver were what had imparted such great significance.
Cyril cast his Mind Scroll Cantrip, bringing a blank scroll to the forefront. Just in case, he drew the rune in disjointed sections and inverted them as if looking at it through a mirror. He stared at it for a moment, arms crossed. Nothing happened. Behemoth had returned to its slumber, uninterested in examining some indecipherable symbol.
After a minute, Cyril dismissed the Mind Scroll. Someday, he would match it up with outside records and figure out what it represented. It could be the name of the prior occupant or their spirit, a religious icon, or something else altogether.
At least he had added a couple of higher-grade materials to his Transmute Cantrip, even if they were innately tainted. Focusing on the positives helped bank the embers of his rage. He forced a smile onto his face.
Time to move on.
The marble of smoke guided him towards the exit door. He pulled on its handle and, like its twin predecessor, it creaked open with minimal resistance. Flicker darted out, illuminating the next section: a tunnel, wide enough for him to fit comfortably, curving subtly to the left so that he soon lost sight of the flame. Rusted iron supports lined the walls, preventing the passage from collapsing in on itself.
“Can’t even make an entire thing out of metal?” Cyril muttered, dropping his estimation of the mystery figure’s rank slightly.
He summoned a second Flicker and entered the tunnel.
As he walked along, a small discrepancy came to his attention. His earth affinity allowed him to sense his surroundings on a vague, metaphysical level. At his current core stage, it was far too undeveloped to be more than a heightened awareness that he was surrounded by countless tons of stone and dirt. For the most part, he ignored the intrusive sense unless he was attempting to detect tremors from nearby monsters.
Now, the rusted iron stood out to the point it captured his attention. Something about it felt slightly more real than the surrounding earth. It became impossible to ignore as he passed by more and more of the supports, his gaze drawn to them.
A sinking feeling in his gut, he skimmed through his soul. He breathed a sigh of relief after reading through the Transmute Cantrip. It looked as expected. He remained in high spirits until he came to the bottom of the text.
The rune had left a taint on his soul.
Cursed Blessing:
Scion of the Underdark (partially suppressed)- increased affinity to metal
That’s it? he thought. Doubt it.
Scion, he knew, was a term westerners used to describe the heirs-apparent to noble houses or other grand institutions. Presumably the Underdark was the name of the subterranean region. More concerning was the term ‘Cursed Blessing.’ The term indicated a hidden downside. Hopefully, it wasn’t too serious if his Dominion of Knowledge didn’t mention it.
He doubted his luck was that good.
At least he hadn’t developed a new Dominion. Something like Metal wouldn’t have been the worst outcome. It could fit into his Destiny as long as it didn’t dominate the other aspects, but he would’ve preferred to develop it as part of his own path instead of having it grafted onto his soul.
The Dominion of Darkness, on the other hand, would have tainted his bond with Behemoth irreparably. The Titan may have spent countless years wandering through the dark depths of the ocean and under the night sky, but it hadn’t enjoyed them.
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What an insidious Destiny he had stumbled across. Unless they had their own method of soul analysis, anyone influenced by it would think they had chanced upon a priceless inheritance. Based on the spiritual distinction between the rusted iron and surrounding earth, his affinity towards metal had surpassed the other materials by around 20%. A wonderful boon, at the cost of upsetting the balance and incentivizing him to specialize in a sub-element.
Cyril shook his head and continued walking along, following the marble of smoke. The tunnel seemed near endless, uniform in size and direction throughout. For a few minutes, he suspected he had been trapped in some sort of loop, or maybe a perfect circle where he would eventually end up right back where he started.
Figuring he may be trapped for a while and not wanting to waste his core’s rapid regeneration, he began experimenting. First he manifested the upper half of a stone spear, including the blade, out of earth qi. The rest of the shaft could be added on later once he wasn’t in such a cramped space.
It took him longer than he would have liked to mold the earth the way he wanted. Finally satisfied with the shape and weight, he moved on to the next step.
Channeling the Transmutation Cantrip properly still required a few seconds delay as he struggled with the pattern of circulation. Better than his first attempt, at least. The subtle cracks in his hand pathways had already repaired themselves, the renewed area slightly more resilient than before.
It wasn’t much, but progress was progress.
This time, he attempted to transform the stone shaft into Rotten Wood (?). A tenth of his qi seeped into the weapon before one of the lower corners changed into dark, splintered oak.
After a few minutes, Cyril’s core was brimming with energy for the next attempt.
He paused before beginning the process again. The faintest tremor carried from the earth ahead. A bizarre chittering sound rang out. Too small and quiet to be more than a freshly-hatched wyrmling.
He cast his second Flicker out ahead and found the offending critter quickly. To his surprise, it was a new type of subterranean creature. A black beetle the size of a man’s head clung to the wall, its thin, translucent wings spread and shimmering. Its pincer-like mandible chittered as it detected his approach. It looked innocuous enough, at least compared to the other denizens of the Underdark.
Cyril supposed he wasn’t too surprised to find the Underdark’s ecosystem extended beyond the wyrms. They had to eat something besides one another. Beetles were less disgusting, at least.
He took one step too far, and the beetle detached from the wall, its wings whirring. It condemned itself to death by heading toward him instead of retreating. A quick Pressure crushed it against the wall, cracks ringing out as its chitinous shell imploded. Its feeble wisp of death energy nourished his Dominion of Gravity.
From farther ahead came a susurrus of thrashing mandibles and buzzing wings. Traces of blue-green moss began to appear along the walls, emitting a faint bioluminescence. A pair of beetles crept along the outskirts, mandibles dipping to chew on the moss. Once Cyril came close enough, they too flung themselves to their demise. He daintily picked his way past their crushed bodies and sipped up their death energy.
The streaks of luminous moss soon bloomed into a tapestry, and from there spread to cover almost every inch of the tunnel. Dozens of beetle shadows flowed ahead of him.
He resisted the temptation to flood the tunnel with Sun qi. Lighting the dense carpet of moss on fire may very well trigger the release of a cloud of toxic spores, or just end up roasting him inside a raging inferno of plant matter, neither of which sounded too appealing.
Cyril tested his spear against the next suicidal beetle. The stone head shattered after barely managing to pierce through the carapace covering the creature’s thorax. He removed the twitching body from the weapon with one of his feet and reformed the broken spearhead with earth qi.
The beetle’s futile charge spurred on the others. He had to admit it was kind of fun knocking them out of the air with repeated applications of Pressure. Most of them found their mark, but his aim wasn’t perfect. The misses, as well as a short gap between one use of the Cantrip and the next, allowed a couple to sneak through the barrage.
He flung the half-spear, skewering the beetle in front out of the air. The other insect dove straight at him, directly into the path of his fist. He threw all his prodigious weight behind the blow and the beetle exploded like an overripe fruit.
Disgusted, he shook his hand clean. A quick glance confirmed all the beetles were destroyed or had fled the slaughter.
His stomach rumbled, reminding him of his hunger. He wasn’t quite at the point where he’d start shoveling mouthfuls of insect and moss into his gullet, but he was getting close.
After a few hundred more paces, he had crushed four beetles and harvested their death energy. His Dominion of Gravity had reached a respectable 55/100, each beetle increasing the tally by about half a point.
He wouldn’t have minded spending all day in the tunnel, accumulating easy death energy at such a fast rate. Most basic creatures released a negligible amount of death energy, but after surviving for gods knew how long in the ferocious gauntlet of the Underdark, the beetles had evolved into low-rank monsters. Even the moss had probably developed unique qualities; Cyril imagined if it was transplanted into some aboveground forest, it would bury the rest of the flora within days.
As he was fantasizing about coming across a horde of thousands of beetles at the end of the tunnel, he finally reached the end of the passage. Beyond the exit, the Flicker Cantrip that had floated ahead of him cast its feeble illumination into a new cavern. Luminous moss crept through the opening and spread out into the new space, contributing its own dim, eerie glow to the area.
Cyril sent the Flicker at his side to join the other one and poured Sun qi into them. Soon, they blazed like miniature suns.
The exit of the tunnel was embedded into the side of a sheer cliff. He would have plummeted about a hundred paces if he had walked off the edge. The fringes of the pale light reached out miles in every direction and still hadn’t found any sign of the far walls. It did, however, reveal a breathtaking sight spread below.
Row after row of elegant stone buildings. Spires and towers reaching upward like the fingers of a buried colossus. Most of the structures were in ruins, but a few of them looked as if they had been constructed yesterday. A great, looping river coursed through the city, its water crystal clear.
Shadows flitted here and there, none of them remotely close to human.
Cyril grinned. So this was where the Great City of Beljeza had disappeared to.