Chapter 1: The Dungeon Maker
Beneath the maker’s gaze the human held its sword. The maker was glad: there’s finally someone the maker could engage itself with. Expanding and sculpting, being alone with only the company of itself had caused the maker to feel rather dull and monotonous.
His time in the sanctuary had become bleak; it had been a long time since the maker went outside, it did not even know the exact time it had spent in the sanctuary, the maker needed a change of pace. The presence of the human had caused the maker to realize that this was the highlight of the day. Is it even day? The maker thought for itself.
The many possibilities it could interact with the human roused the maker to no end. But still, the maker wondered. How did the human manage to get past all the obstacles so quickly that it was able to catch up to the maker?
The maker studied the human; it was fully clad in crimson armor, not an inch of skin showed. The armor piqued the maker’s interest; it couldn’t tell if the armor was originally crimson but it was certain that the human carried an awesome stench of blood. The human must’ve sailed through the dungeon with speed and ease, sword merrily singing.
After a long silence the maker decided to speak.
“Welcome, human,” It had been a long time since someone listened to the maker’s voice.“How long have I seen your kind? I myself do not know but It’s been too long!”
The maker offered its appendage as greeting. The last time the maker performed this gesture was ages ago but the maker still remembered proper etiquette. The maker expected the human to shake it but instead the human tensed up and gripped its sword tighter.
It confused the maker; the human’s action did not make sense. The maker pondered until realization came to him, the human was tense.
It had been too long since the maker had contact with another living creature that it had almost forgotten. The way the human held the sword, the animosity it represented... The maker stopped its tentacle, but it was too late. The damage was done. Dashing, the human slashed its sword at the makers outreached tentacle.
The human was fast, but the maker was faster. Advancing, the human kept slashing the maker’s retreating appendage, slowly inching towards the maker.
“Calm down human! I did not intend nor do I wish to harm you!” the maker’s words only seemed to agitate the human further.
The human pushed on, slashing and stabbing at the tentacle.
Why wouldn’t the human stop attacking?
The maker dug deep into its mind trying to recall some of its memories—humans tended to have different cultures and greetings, a handshake was one of the common greetings but sometimes reaching out sometimes surprises and scares humans who are from a more reserved culture.
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Perhaps the maker had unintentionally insulted the human? Maybe reaching one's arm is a form of insult?
The maker pulled back his tentacle. At once, the human bound at the maker’s main body, blade poised and singing as the human pierced through the air. The maker questioned itself, “Why would the human would jump towards it?”
But then, as the human flew closer and closer to the maker’s observing eye, it became obvious. It wanted to stab the maker. before it thrusted, the maker swatted the human to the ground. The impact created a dust cloud the shape of mushrooms.
“Oh, crap! I’m sorry!” The maker had hit the human too hard.
Panicked, the maker threw out a tentacle with an eye grown into it, hoping to find the human in the dust and help it up. The maker scrambled, searching for any sign of life; it was such a hard hit that the maker was certain it caused life threatening injuries. Once he finds the human, the maker would patch the human up and make things right.
The maker saw a flash of metal and its vision blackened..The maker felt a twinge of pain; it retracted its tentacle from the smoke only to discover that it was cut in half.
A silhouette of a raised sword loomed into view. It came fast, blowing away the dust and debris, revealing a crater and the kneeling human at its center. The human’s helmet had fallen off. Gazing through red hair, a deathly glare met the maker’s eyes.
The maker learned of two things from seeing the human’s face, one was that the human was a girl, or perhaps a thin long haired man with feminine looks—it truly had been too long. The second one the maker surely knew that it, or more exactly—she—was pissed.
The human spat out blood without breaking her dagger-like glare.
The human started babbling incomprehensible sounds, spitting out syllables and tones in a pattern, unfamiliar to the maker; at this point the maker understood what happened.
Language, she was talking in a language that the maker did not know, it was strange, The maker had learnt all of the tongues the humans spoke, in fact it even made a few, but it did not know this one, was it a new one? How long had it spent here for a new language to surface?
Now the maker had discovered the reason why the human did not listen. When the maker spoke, the human hadn’t understood a word the maker said.
The maker knew of a way to get past the language barrier. But before the maker could act, the human stood up, stopped talking, and in a burst of lightning fast speed, dashed towards the maker.
“A speed incantation!” the maker shouted in surprise.
The human quickly bridged the distant miles between her and the makers main body. The maker hardened itself as the human slashed in a flurry.
Sparks flew as the human’s sword chinked away. With a mighty slash the sword broke in two. The human retreated, her breathe heavy.
She dashed again, dropping the sword midway then brandished another—a different one. It was from one of the maker’s many creations that littered across the floor.
The maker lifted its tentacle to stop her but she slashed with the sword; it released a fiery inferno unto the maker. Deftly surprised, the maker couldn’t guard and once again the human slashed, creating even more fiery explosions that crawled through miles of the maker’s surface.
Then the sword cracked, inciting the human to back away and retrieve another. This time a crossbow.
“Please stop that! Let me-” She released the trigger, murderous lightning struck, crackling and sizzling the air around the maker.
With another frenzied assault she riddled the maker with attacks from various projectiles, from Dark throwing spears to ice arrows. The maker could do nothing but watch in awe as the human turned its weapons against itself. But nothing penetrated the maker’s skin, still it entertained the maker, watching the human fight.
But as she hoisted the largest claymore, the maker snapped from its awe. The maker grew concerned; its tentacles quivered.
“Umm, that’s a little dangerous. Please put that dow-” The sword impact sucked away and drowned the makers voice.