Crouched before the stone alter, Aaron scrutinised the runic carvings upon its weathered stone. As a scion of the Crest household, he was schooled in the language of the Dungeon. He could read the script, but it was not so simple to understand. The Dungeon was a living being—ever changing and adapting—even its words dug deep in stone would not remain static. Perceiving the runes, even a commoner was capable of such feat, but to synchronise oneself to the vital beat of the Dungeon’s animate will, that demanded nobility.
The runic symbols pulsated upon the stone. As though teasingly—mockingly—concealing themselves, the runes scurried in and out of perception. They whispered their secrets—like a hint of dew caught by the breeze—into Aaron’s mind before retreating in a swirling mass of shifting letters. Deciphering the alter was akin to a childish game he did not want to play. The process tightened his jaw with gritted teeth, but progress was, nonetheless, steady.
Had father permitted this excursion, I would not be reduced to the role of a scribbler, Aaron thought, snorting an indignant gust. To understand the Dungeon demanded noble blood, for certain, but tasks such as this was better fit for lesser nobility.
Sighing softly, Aaron slowly shook his head. Upon the beginning of his journey into the Forest of Desire, he had known he would be forced to demean himself. Having endured the White Temptress’ humiliations, taking on the role of translator was hardly the nadir of his experience within the Dungeon Cell. Indeed, under normal circumstances, he would have felt deep satisfaction in unearthing the Dungeon’s secrets. The alter told a fascinating tale. It spoke of the time after debasement but before godsfall—the death of the Stewards of Harmony.
As an heir to a powerful household, Aaron was familiar with the sentient life from before godsfall. The Beasts of Paradise, they had been named. Some were human-like in shape and substance, others were much stranger. From their contorted, tortured, defiled souls, the Abominations had been birthed, while their spirits—the energising link between the body, soul and higher planes—were ripped from their cores, substantiated with befoulment, their purity twisted into an unholy mockery of life, and shaped into Dungeon spawn.
The little Aaron knew of the Beasts of Paradise did not extend to their time within the Dungeon. The runes offered a feast of knowledge, each symbol a delicacy he should have delighted in. Yet, the taste soured on his tongue, spoiled by the sight of his love’s hand brushing Havoc’s arm, their whispered exchanges gnawing at his mind.
His love for Naereah was of the purest kind. She did not possess material wealth or great power, joining with her would offer no benefit or strategic advantage to his household. She could offer him nothing except a life brimming with joy overflowing. That is how he knew his love was true.
Smiling wistfully, he thought of all of their stolen glances and secret moments. Lucia was a cruel mistress neither one of them had the power to defy openly. But the time spent with Naereah in his arms, brushing her ivory hair, stoking her pale-blue skin, dreaming of the days to come when they could fully indulge in each other, it was divine consolation for the both of them.
She would rest so still in my arms, he remembered fondly. We shared such freedom in each other. So why does she now…
He could not understand how that bastard son of a flea and a wretch had stolen her affections from him. Had he not been gentle, whispering into her ears the promise of the life they would have together?
She would be a queen in the kingdom I would build in her honour. What more could she ask of me? What is it that I lack?
In many ways, it was all for her. He wanted to obtain a Soldier’s inheritance, and Annalise had assured he would, but he could have obtained that in any Dungeon Cell. However, the Tears of Desire—one of the vanishingly few means of purifying one’s Harmony—that could only be found inside their destination.
His own Harmony was pure—he needed no such blessing. It was for her that he condemned sixty souls, and for her, he would damn infinitely more. The plan was perfect. In one move, he would rid himself of his abhorrent fiancée—lost forevermore within a Dungeon Cell, he could hardly be blamed—and his father could not object to his union with Naereah once she possessed Blessed Harmony.
Not one thing has changed, he reassured himself. For now, that lout could enjoy her affections, but Havoc’s time would soon come. After all, of those who had entered the forest, Naereah, Annalise and himself would be the only three to leave.
****
‘There is a way to escape this city.’
At the sound of Aaron’s voice, Havoc turned to face the standing youth. Whatever was written into the alter was the secret by which they could survive. Though Havoc noticed Aaron’s occasional pointed glances toward himself and Naereah by his side, his unease was not worth distracting the only one of them who could translate the Dungeon script.
Whatever game they’re playing between themselves, they can leave me out, Havoc determined. All that mattered was survival. He would worry about everything else later.
‘You sure do like to take your time, darling,’ Lucia scolded. ‘Go on then, would you please
enlighten us.’
Aaron’s lips tightened, glaring at his fiancée. Lucia, seemingly enjoying his response, returned his glare with a smile. But even she faltered as a cradlefiend screeched just beyond the temple walls, its call shaking the air, a harsh, grating sound promising violence and death, followed by the rumble of its footfalls, shaking loose dust from the ceiling like the last grains of sand in an hour glass.
We don’t have time for this, Havoc thought, his skull throbbing with irritation.
‘Shut up. Don’t speak. Just stay quiet,’ Havoc whispered sharply, punctuating his words with a pointed finger toward Lucia. There was not much time, and yet, he stole a silent moment to enjoy the flair of Lucia’s nostrils and her red-tinted cheeks. Satisfaction tugged his lips, but he bit it back, snapping his attention back to Aaron. ‘No squabbling, no games—’ he spat the words, locking eyes with Aaron. ‘Just tell us how to leave here alive.’
Aaron stepped forward, his eyes sharp and pointed. His nose creased, and his mouth parted in a teeth-gritted snarl. In a different time, in a different place, Havoc knew his words would have led to blows—he had struck at Aaron’s pride, after all. But now, their circumstances were too dire for that.
Take it on the chin, move on. Whatever needs settling can be settled later, Havoc thought, suppressing a grin once more. He could not deny the petty enjoyment reaped—never there was a better time to chastise his “betters” than when circumstance demands they shut up and take it.
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As though heeding Havoc’s silent command, all signs of animosity melted from Aaron’s expression, his affable arrogance slipping back into place. Lifting the side of his loosely-balled fist, he cleared his throat. A gentleman through and through, one of his station could not be seen to lose composure.
It would simply be scandalous, Havoc mocked, unable to resist even as a cradlefiend’s stomps rattled the debris beneath his feet.
‘As I was saying,’ Aaron said once the rumbling retreated a step. ‘This city need not be our tomb.’
Buried deep beneath the city, the cryptlords—titans of immense power reaching the Lord rank of Inheritance—raged against their bindings. Were it not for the chains forged from shards of eternity, they would have reduced legions of Inheritors to dust with a mere gaze—or so Aaron claimed.
The denizens of the city—known for aeons as The City of Monsters—were far from powerless. Yet even their might could not withstand the Hell that ascended to consume them. Desperate, they invoked the names of the gods, their prayers falling on apathetic ears. In hopelessness, they turned to a devil.
He answered their call.
‘We get to them towers, ring a bell, and smear some blood the walls, and them beasties bugger off, that about the long of it?’ Ugly said, his tone slathered in all the charm Havoc had come to expect from the mercenary.
‘I would not phrase it so crudely… However, you have grasped the concept,’ Aaron replied.
‘Only one problem, boss. They’ll flatten us long before we find yer magic tower,’ Ugly retorted, shaking his head with a drawn-out sigh.
Cradlefiends were dungeon-spawn of the Solder rank. Killing one was an impressive feat but possible. Facing a countless horde? That was a death sentence.
‘Don’t know ‘bout yous, but I ain’t got the ‘armony left to shoo off a squirrel. Couple of strikes, that’s all ‘bout all I got left. What ‘bout yous, farin’ any better?’
Havoc closed his eyes, his consciousness retreating into his core. His dualistic Harmony simmered inside him, ebbing and flowing with a rhythmic pulse. He could still fight, but not for long.
About half-full, he determined, a frown slipping across his face. His Harmony reserves had grown considerably, fattened by the corpse of the Temptress, yet a sole cradlefiend demanded so much… Better than nothing, he sighed.
‘Have we any fragments of renewal?’ Aaron’s voice wavered slightly, his eyes pleading as he turned to Naereah. As if a child hiding beneath her mother’s skirt, Naereah shrank behind Havoc as Aaron’s sight rested on her.
Summoning her large, brown coffer, Naereah knelt beside it, placing her hands atop its lid as she closed her eyes.
‘We do,’ she said, her voice a soft whisper. ‘We have three of them, but if I take them out now, the Hungry Chest will destroy every fragment we have left.’
‘Do not dare!’ Lucia’s voice cut through the air, her glare bearing down on the gently quivering girl.
‘It was my understanding that your Remnant’s sacrifices had to be of equivalent value,’ Aaron asked, his shock not hidden in his voice.
To Havoc, it made perfect sense—after all, to a king fleeing revolt, was a horse not more precious than his kingdom?
‘It is out of the question!’ Lucia snapped, swinging an arm to the side, her voice sharp and unyielding.
‘Perhaps we only use one?’ Aaron suggested as he massaged his forehead with a clawed hand.
‘And you’re the one who gets it, right?’ Havoc snapped, stabbing at Aaron with daggered eyes.
‘Indeed. Of the five of us, I alone can harness a Set.’ Aaron replied without shame or hesitation.
‘Of the five of us, I alone killed the White Temptress,’ Havoc shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘What were you doing again? That’s right—too busy with her arm up your arse, flapping about as her puppet.’
‘You dare!’ Aaron shouted, ripping free his sapphire neckcloth and hurling it to the ground, all reason lost in his wild gaze.
Aaron’s voice still echoed through the nave when piercing screeches cut through the air, penetrating the dilapidated edifice, followed by thundering steps. They did not come from one direction but from many. Shrill giggling bounced from crumbling wall to crumbling wall, and the hall began to quake. The shattered debris would not remain still nor silent, they rattled up and down as if agitated and aggrieved.
Sharp panic slashed Havoc’s chest. He turned in place in every direction. They were surrounded.
‘What do we do?’ Naereah asked urgently, gripping Havoc’s wrists as she stared up at him, his distress reflected in her damp ebony eyes.
In that moment, three fragments of renewal were worth every other fragment Naereah held inside her chest. By that same logic, every other fragment was worth those three. Havoc had only seen a fragment used once, but it left a deep impression. Time was short, slipping away. He made his decision.
‘All of them! Every fragment but the three of renewal. We use all of them!’
‘I will have you flogged’ Lucia screamed, advancing on Naereah with bulging eyes ready to burst.
‘Do it now!’ Havoc yelled to Naereah’s recoil. ‘Which way?’ Havoc asked, facing Aaron.
‘Wh—‘ Aaron stuttered.
‘You read that damn alter! Point us in the right direction,’ Havoc demanded as crimson mist flowed from the Hungry Chest, pooling on the ground.
Aaron swung his head from left to right, shaking whatever sense he had back into place, before pointing toward the leftmost wall as the first crash of a cradlefiend breaching the temple’s interior boomed throughout the hall.
‘Take what you can grab!’ Havoc shouted. ‘Stay close,’ he whispered into Naereah’s pointed ear as he bent down to scoop as many fragments as he could into his hands, pocketing as many as would fit within his trouser pockets.
Havoc did not look back to see if the others would follow as he sprinted toward the wall Aaron had pointed to. Fragment in hand, as two plump, grey arms burst through the wall, he flared Harmony into the thin, rectangular slate, and threw.
The fragment dissolved in flight, and from its dusted remains, lightning ripped through the air.