Chapter 32: What lies beneath

II

Alma saw Dante’s panicked dash for the fireplace - of all things - and expected - when he caught his foot on the companion set, (the tongs, poker, brush, and shovel) - that she would be treated to yet another nose dive. Honestly, the satisfaction had waned and she was beginning to feel sorry for the lad. Instead of the sound of cartilage on stone and the sight of spraying blood, something surprising happened.

The tool hanger shifted smoothly, as if oiled. Soot sprung from about the fireplace. An almost silent mechanism sprung to life. One moment Dante was stumbling head first into a fireplace, the next he was gone.

“Dante?” Delphine asked, concern evident in her whisper. The sound of armoured feet entered the main chamber.

“See, no one here,” Iago declared.

“We really should check all the rooms,” his bodyguard said.

“Very well then, but be quick,” said Iago, impatiently.

A shuffling sound could be heard from the fire.

“I’m alright,” called Dante. He was responded to by a chorus of shhh.

“What was that?” Iago asked.

“I think it came from the study,” the thug remarked. Footsteps grew closer. Delphine began breathing overly much. James’ face seemed carved from granite as he thought furiously. Alma acted. The mechanism had moved too fast to see but she was sure of its function.

She grabbed the other two.

A hand was placed on the door.

She wrestled them into place.

The knob turned.

She kicked the stand.

The door opened.

“Nothing,” Iago declared, examining the room.

“What about the hidden chamber?” the guardsman asked.

“Hush,” Iago chastised, striking him with some papers. “You’ve been told not to speak of that. Besides, you see that mark? The one right there. It is only on this side of the fireplace, if it had been flipped - we would see. Now come quickly, we've been gone too long as it is.” Iago proceeded to bustle back out. His man was slower in coming. He took a moment to examine the room. The drawers were open but that wasn’t unusual. His master was a messy man.

Achoo came a muffled sneeze. It didn’t sound like much from the man's position however. He looked up the chimney.

“Must have been the wind,” he murmured to himself.

“Come along,” Iago called back impatiently. The man sprinted after his boss. The quartet held their breath for a moment, before the sound of key-in-lock, once more, rang out. Dante looked round. The room they found themselves in was small, just six feet by six. It didn’t see the attention of the maidly acolytes so dust had built up. There were four chests, not so large. Paintings were sat, leaned against the wall, covered by cloth. Weapons were scabbarded and propped up haphazard. Old furniture and jewellery spilled across the floor.

“If this isn’t that bastard's hoard then my names not Maple,” Alma declared, her eyes lighting up as she stared around at the wealth.

“But your name’s not…” Dante began.

“You can’t call his Holiness a ‘bastard’,” James spluttered indignantly.

“Then how do you explain this?” Alma asked, swirling around, overcome by the fervour of greed.

“These could be church relics, left in his care.”

“Really?” she asked, uncovering a painting of a naked woman lounging on a chaise lounge. Delphine blushed.

“Tastes change,” James tried, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“Dante, get over here and unlock this chest,” Alma demanded.

“Who’s maple?” he murmured, but was ignored. The lock was tricky and Sqwent’s expertise was nearly not enough, since signing the contract he had inherited the demon’s skills and apparently he was a sneaky prick.

Congratulations:

* Lockpicking has reached Lv.24

Click, the lock sprung to. “There,” Dante declared, pleased despite himself. Alma wiggled her fingers before taking the heavy lid in hand.

“Wait,” Delphine began, unsure of herself.

“Not a chance you Light stuffed bimbo,” Alma cackled, overcome with a greed fueled mania. She flung open the lid.

Dante wore a look of surprise at Alma’s outburst.

Delphine wore an expression of shocked injury.

Alma wore her twisted features with a vampiric grace.

James wore an old white robe which had seen better days.

All four, save the last, turned to looks of dismay as, again, the whirring of machinery could be heard. Over Alma's shoulder, Dante could just make out that the chest was empty.

“Ahhhh!” they all screamed in unison as the floor disappeared beneath them.

☠

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Darkness was no obstacle to the two undead, both possessed Dark vision, a fall into a seemingly bottomless pit on the other hand…

“I could save you,” Sqwent spoke in Dante’s mind.

“You have to, it’s in the contract,” Dante screamed aloud. The others only screamed.

“Maybe so, maybe so,” Sqwent allowed, talking as if he had all the time in the world. “Your friends however…” he ended, seditiously. A rather hasty and panicked agreement was reached within seconds. Dante’s back exploded, flesh splattering the walls of the pit. Two great, black wings emerged, similar to Sqwent's, only proportioned to Dante. He screamed in agony, bore down, and focused his Dark Vision about him.

Delphine was first, she was closest. Dante swept back his new wings and dove. The woman started screaming when claws came from nowhere and arrested her momentum. Ignoring the woman, Dante pulled her up to an alcove he had spotted, not four feet deep in the natural-stone wall. With one safe, Dante dove again. A hellish wail escaped his maw unbidden. James was just as panicked when the sudden, unseeable drop turned to the clutches of a sudden unseeable demon but Dante again ignored his objections - getting the elf to safety. Alma was last and she had been falling for some time, whatever this pit was, it couldn't be infinite. She had passed out of the range of his Dark Vision so he propelled himself down at great speed. The bottom of the pit drew into view with terrifying quickness, and there was Alma - not a hundred feet away. She was the only one to stop screaming, falling with a silent expression of acceptance on her face. Dante wouldn’t let her die, couldn’t. She was greedy, cruel, and selfish, but he pitied her.

Fifty feet and closing, Dante flapped his wings recklessly. At this speed Sqwent wasn’t sure that he could stop them before they hit the stalagmites that lined the cave's bottom. Thirty feet, and he drew within a body’s length. Twenty, and it became an arm's length. Dante's fingertips grazed her.

Shlink. Sqwent took control of the wings in the final second, flaring them open. He had drawn too close to the ground, however, and he hurtled bodily into the side of a calcium stalagmite, smashing it and himself in the process. He bounced about like a pinball, finally coming to rest, alone, beneath a pile of rubble. He thrashed about, extricating himself from the stone in a show of demonic anger and might. Dust billowed up, around him, as he bellowed out his frustration in a roar that shook the cavern walls. In the Cathedral, far above, the sound could not be heard but the tremors were felt and it would later be looked upon as a sign from the almighty Light of things to come.

Drained, both physically and mentally, Dante dropped to his knees, staring blankly ahead. The demonic aspects dropped away and he looked unseeing as the dust cleared.

“You know…” Sqwent began in a rather jovial tone.

“Shut up,” Dante managed weakly in his mind. Sqwent fell silent, leaving behind the feeling of dejection. When the dust did finally clear, he saw what he was dreading. Draped over a blood covered stone spire was Alma. Her skin pale and lifeless, she was impaled through the stomach. Without the slightest effort, memories became untangled. Alma’s deathly complexion had reminded him of that face that haunted him. She was his mother, an uncommonly kind woman who had suffered much indignantly and hardship so that he might pursue his dream.

He had never seen, in life, quite how far she had gone for him, but in death, everything was clear.

Alma’s black hair and dark eyes reminded him of a girl his age he had known back home. Many had picked on him, calling him slow witted and stupid. She had, perhaps, been the worst of them. When he performed in the town square she had been there for each show making sure to criticise his every note. When he left town, she had been the only one to try and stop him, saying that the town needed its punching bag. He had thought her excessively cruel, he wasn’t able to see the best in her as he was in others. But in death, everything was clear.

Dante brushed Alma’s hair from her face, he didn’t remember stumbling over, nor clearing the remaining rubble. He had felt sorry for the vampire, she covered her fears and insecurities with cruelty and anger. He knew he shouldn’t feel sorry for her, she had made her own choices. The deaths at Far-Reach were her fault. Now he could see the brave woman she truly was, he did not fear or hate her for her choices. He respected her, he could never agree with her decision, but at least she had the strength to do something. He had stood back and let Osseus solve the issue. He didn’t know how to feel about her, but in death, everything was clear.

He brushed a gentle kiss across her lips in farewell.

“Blood,” A hoarse voice croaked out desperately, spitting a black fluid into Dante’s eye as it spoke.

“You're alive!” Dante exclaimed, overcome by jubilation.

“Obviously. Not.” Alma gasped out inbetween slow, laboured breaths. For a moment, all Dante could do was laugh, the relief he felt was so all encompassing. Eventually the woman's angry stare got through to him and he cut his wrist above her open mouth. She grimaced and gagged but swallowed it down. Alma began to heal rapidly, with the rock still embedded. Calling up his demonic strength, Dante smashed the object, removing as much as he could. The Vampiric powers did the rest, knitting the skin and spitting out chunks of stone.

“You taste like rotten eggs,” Alma said, looking at him in disgust, before falling unconscious.

☠

It took some time before Dante could control himself. He made sure to set Alma’s sleeping form aside, somewhere less rubble strewn. They appeared to be in a natural cave beneath the church, a shaft had been dug to create the trap they had fallen into. Dante was about to leave and seek the others when a voice in his head stopped him.

“You should destroy that necklace she has in her pocket,” Sqwent said, cleaning his imaginary fingernails.

“You,” Dante accused, but searched Alma anyway. In her left pocket, he found pearls that glimmered without light. It was beautiful, incredible. Dante wanted it, he needed it. Opening his mouth in awe, to his surprise and horror a torrent of flame burst forth.

“I’ll kill you!” Dante snarled, prepared to rip his own head open to get to Sqwent, when the spell was broken and he suddenly felt rather stupid. The jewellery was little more than slag when Dante gave Sqwent a belated apology. “Wait a minute. How long have you known she had that?” Dante asked.

“I saw her take it from that hidden room, it made her rather overcome with greed,” Sqwent replied, distractedly. What could take the demon’s attention inside their own head, Dante didn’t know.

“And you didn’t say anything?” Dante persisted.

“Why should I? You weren't in immediate danger and I knew whatever happened would be entertaining. Besides I ended up getting what I wanted,” Sqwent ended with an evil grin. Dante thought back on the deal they had struck and shivered.

Looking up Dante could see that the two devotees of Light had finally summoned some. Seeing this, he decided not to use his demonic wings and instead, called up to them.

“Delphine, James, are you well?” Dante called. There was a pause.

“I’m fine,” Delphine called back hesitantly, “But James has broken his arm.” There followed a grunt of reluctant affirmation. Dante grimaced, perhaps he had been a bit rough in plucking the young elf from the air. He had thought that they might have been able to climb down the shaft but not with James in that condition.

“How about you?” Delphine asked back. “I’m okay but Alma’s unconscious, fine otherwise.” Dante could hear her sigh of relief from where he stood over a hundred feet below. “We were scooped up by something, I couldn’t see what - in the darkness,” Dante added, at Sqwent’s behest.

“As were we,” Delphine shouted back, concern evident in her voice.

“Have you any way down?” Dante asked, casting his eyes about for a rope or some such. There followed a quietness, broken up by a conversation out of earshot.

“I know a Slow Falling chant,” Delphine finally called down, clearly embarrassed. If she had expected some form of scrutiny or judgement Dante didn’t provide.

“Good,” he replied, genuinely relieved. “Is it strong enough for the both of you?”

“Yes.” Delphine called back, relieved at the lack of teasing. The pair proceeded to float gently down from the alcove. When their light illuminated a bloody and dust covered Dante - staring up at them - James, embarrassed, cradled in Delphine’s arms, asked:

“How can you see?”

“Dark Vision” Dante replied, although his memories had once more fogged over, he knew that it was a common enough Skill. When the pair were safely on the ground, they used a scrap of robe and a straight shard of rock to splint James’ arm.

The group debated: whether or not to wait for Alma to awaken, the unknown creature that had saved them, but destroyed half the cave floor, and whether Iago might have some way of knowing the trap was triggered.

The three concluded that they needed to press on, into the cave network. Dante hoisted Alma over his shoulder, much as she had done to him, and stumbled. She was much heavier than she appeared. He shrugged off the offers of help, and decided to bear the burden alone as they ventured forth into whatever lay beneath the Church.