Victor blinked. “What was that for?”

Deva took a step back but didn’t stop glaring at him. “I didn’t take the burden of saving your ass just to have you throw it all away by delivering yourself straight back into the clutches of that psychopathic monster.”

Massaging his stinging cheek, Victor glared right back at her. “What a way to talk about your own father.”

Deva blinked. “How did you know that?”

Looking away, Victor crossed his arms. Despite the young woman’s frigid demeanor, he didn’t think he had the wrong read on her motivations. His gut told him he could trust her — so long as he remained useful to her personal interests, that is.

“I went to Lord Harvey’s mansion earlier today…” He paused, gathering his thoughts and restraining his emotions. “I found Lord Harvey hanging from a chandelier, hid in a kitchen cabinet, and had the pleasure of watching your father torture Pierre — one of the other kids Lord Harvey recruited.”

Uncrossing his arms, he met her eyes again and shrugged. “He didn’t actually mention you by name, but it was pretty easy to piece it together.”

Victor looked down again, staring at his shoes. “The whole thing was pretty fucking intense, but…” he trailed off. He was going to say I’m just glad it wasn’t me. “Is that… is that normal for him?”

Looking back up, he saw Deva nod. “Yeah, pretty much. He does things like that.”

Victor didn’t know what to say to that, but fortunately, after a few more seconds Deva took the conversational initiative. “They raided your apartment. And I’m pretty sure they kidnapped the people there.”

Victor wilted. Shutting his eyes, he let himself stagger, collapsing against the damp brick wall of the alleyway. He had expected it, and he didn’t have the energy to cry — but he did almost choke several times.

No one should have to suffer the cruelty that he had seen Lord Grantly cheerfully inflict.

Least of all his family.

Soft splashes approached, before stopping right beside him. With a great effort of will, Victor opened his eyes, boring into Deva’s sharp, perfect features with a hollow gaze.

“Do you want to save them?”

Victor nodded — though the motion was so shallow that it was barely perceptible. Nevertheless, Deva seemed to have registered it.

“Then for the love of all Creation, don’t fucking turn yourself in.” Her emerald eyes pierced Victor’s own, shifting slightly side to side with a searching gaze. “You have the book, don’t you.”

Instead of answering, Victor straightened up, not so subtly stretching as he did so, before tugging on that strangely familiar sensation nestled within his mind.

The thick black tome materialized in his hand — completely dry and unscathed, of course. There had never been any risk associated with surrendering it to his earlier attacker — it was his Focus and would respond to his commands and his alone, after all.

Eyeing it with a hungry gaze, Deva straightened up as well and uncrossed her arms. “I don’t know what’s so special about that one,” she said, indicating the book, “but my father flew into a total rage when he realized it was missing. I’ve rarely seen him like that before.”

Turning the book over in his hands, Victor frowned. “So what now? If I can’t turn myself in, what would you suggest I do?”

Instead of answering, Deva strode forward. Before Victor realized what was happening, she had shoved him down with surprising strength, toppling him backwards into the puddle.

Dismissing the book, Victor groaned. What is it with ridiculously strong women pushing me into puddles today?

“You’re weak.”

Making no move to get up, Victor simply glared. “Unlike some people, I didn’t have a rich daddy to hand me a Focus and train me, let alone feed me actually nutritious food.”

That wasn’t entirely true, of course — but it had been for three quarters of Victor’s life, so he felt justified in saying it.

Deva rolled her eyes. “But you have a Focus now.”

“And?”

“Use it. Train with it. You’re weak now, yes, but you don’t have to stay that way.”

It was Victor’s turn to roll his eyes as he finally sat up. “And how do you propose I do that? I can assure you, I absolutely do not have the means to afford any kind of combat training, ignoring the fact that I’m a wanted criminal now.”

Extending her hand, Deva helped hoist Victor back up to his feet. Carelessly wiping the dirty water off on her richly dyed silken vest, she shrugged. “The dungeon is free.”

Victor stared. “You can’t be serious.”

Deva arched one neatly trimmed eyebrow. “And what if I am?”

Throwing up his hands, Victor began to pace. “So first, I’ll educate you on the fact that unlicensed delving is one hundred percent illegal.”

“But you’re already a wanted criminal.”

Ignoring her, even though she was right, Victor continued to pace. “Sometimes, people try anyway. They think that they can use it as a quick way to climb out of poverty. That the dungeon will reward them for their efforts, and then they can move on to an easy life.”

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He stopped, glancing back to Deva. “They don’t come back.”

Resuming his pacing, he continued. “Even for properly equipped delvers, it’s fucking dangerous. There’s a reason they massively overprepare the rookies, and even then, one third don’t make it to graduation.”

Shaking his head, he sighed. “Do you want me to die?”

The young woman didn’t react at all. “Why ask me? Why not ask the guy who was about to turn himself in to be experimented on and then executed?”

Alright, fuck you too. And what does she mean by experimented on?

Deciding to file away the question for a later time — if there would be one, he thought darkly — Victor glared at Deva. “Fine. So if I somehow survive a delve, what does that get me? You can’t seriously expect me to suddenly become so powerful that I can take on your father single handed.”

“No. You can’t.” Deva chewed her lip, before giving him a faint smile. “But it’s a start.”

----------------------------------------

Victor stared down at the unassuming sewer grating. “So this is it, huh.”

To his great irritation, Deva had convinced him fairly quickly that delving was the best — if not actually a good — idea. Once he had been convinced, Victor decided that there was no time to waste.

His only family was in trouble, and he had nothing else to lose.

And besides, he didn’t have anywhere he felt he could safely hide. He had absolutely no doubt that Lord Grantly was searching for him even now, and given that he already intended to enter the dungeon — what better place to get lost in?

Well, he was probably going to die. Victor was under no illusion as to the chances of even a sliver of success. But with no better option presenting itself — there was no time to start like the present.

“Just hop down, and you’ll figure out the rest. If you don’t die.” Deva frowned. “One or the other, it happens pretty quickly.”

“…Right.” Eyeing the grating skeptically, Victor kneeled down and gripped the rough, rusty iron rungs tightly, before heaving upwards, putting his whole back and legs into it.

The grating didn’t budge.

“Fuck.” Looking up, he glanced over to his ruby haired companion. “Think you could help give me a hand? Maybe we can jiggle it free.”

Stepping closer, Deva shook her head. “Back up.”

With some degree of reluctance, Victor obliged. The young woman bent down, grabbed the thick iron grill with one hand, and gingerly lifted it up, before setting it back down with a wet scraping sound.

Victor stared. “…I think I loosened it for you.”

Deva was clearly not as impressed. “In you go.”

Hesitantly, Victor scooted over to the gaping hole, trying and failing to stare into the dark, yawning abyss with nervous apprehension.

Deciding that delaying further would only increase his chances of backing out, Victor dropped his legs in, scooting his butt up to the very edge. Gulping, he took a deep breath. “…Are you sure you can’t come with me?”

They had already discussed this, of course — twice, actually — but Victor wasn’t going to just jump in alone without prodding her one final time — even if it made her scowl. “I’ve already wasted enough time escorting you here instead of just giving you the directions.” She flicked a lock of hair out of her eyes. “You’re not the only person who needs my help, you know.”

While the prickly young woman had refused to elaborate on what the rest of her plans were, Victor had gathered that she had just narrowly escaped her father’s clutches — at the cost of future punishment, of course — and that meeting him by the rusty, gore filled dumpster had been a lucky chance encounter.

As Victor slowly inched his way deeper into the hole, Deva began to tap her boot impatiently. “Are you going to get in already, or do I have to shove you in?”

Victor looked up pleadingly. “Wait, can you?”

Deva stared down at him blankly. “…You’re actually serious, aren’t you.”

“…Yes.”

Rolling her eyes, Deva walked behind him, crouched down, and placed her hands on his shoulders. “It’s just a short drop. You should be totally fine, no way you’ll get hurt.” She paused. “Not from the fall, at least.”

Yeah, that wasn’t exactly comforting. “Just a short drop, right?”

“Just a short drop. Feet first, remember?” She paused. “Ready?”

Victor frowned. “Actually wait —”

“That’s what I thought.” And then she pushed him.

Victor yelped as he slipped fully into darkness. His stomach lurched in the sudden absence of gravity, and he shut his eyes, bracing himself for the incoming impact.

…It didn’t come.

Opening his eyes in wild panic, Victor flailed about in the darkness. Time always seemed to slow down when he was falling, yes, but it had already been several breaths since he was first pushed in. The exhilaration couldn’t account for that.

Victor screamed.

Incoherent thoughts raced through his mind as the wind rushed by his body, bouncing between a certainty that Deva had betrayed him to raw primal terror to a small part of his mind that calmly reminded him to keep himself oriented falling feet first.

A crash, and then a sudden chill, and then everything was strangely silent.

Shocked by the cold, Victor inhaled with a sharp gasp — only to receive a lungful of water for his effort.

Coughing and choking, Victor frantically began to push himself upwards, desperately clawing his way to the surface. It only took several seconds for his head to break into open air, but his lungs were burning by that point, and the first breath was truly exhilarating.

For several seconds, Victor simply treaded water while trying to recover from the shock. Why the fuck didn’t she warn me?

Anger replaced fear. I’m going to get her for this. I don’t care what kinds of monsters are lurking down here, I’m going to fucking slaughter them if that’s what it takes to make her pay.

Choosing a direction at random, Victor began paddling his way through the darkness. The water wasn’t really that cold, it had just been a major shock at first. Still, Victor was pissed.

Several minutes later, he staggered up a soft, silty shore. The entire space was midnight black — he couldn’t even see the hole where he had dropped in from.

Light. I need light.

There was no way he could explore — let alone fight monsters — in the total darkness. Fortunately, he had one potential tool at his disposal. Pulling at the other alien limb within his mind, Victor conjured fiendfire.

A crimson blossom of fire bloomed above his outstretched hand, illuminating the space immediately around him — revealing nothing but muddy ground and gently lapping, shallow waves.

Great.

Victor could already tell that he was starting to become increasingly fatigued, so it was obvious he wouldn’t be able to sustain the spell.

Thinking quickly, he conjured the spellbook in his other hand, flipping it open to a random page. “Hey, think you can be of any help here? I kind of really need light.”

Under the dim glow of the ethereal blood red fire, Victor waited impatiently as dark lines etched themselves across the page.

Casting and sustaining spells requires a source of arcane energy.

Yes, how helpful, I already knew that. Clearly, the spell was consuming it from his own physical body.

“Is there any way other than using up your own stamina?”

There are many.

You get one.

“Then give it to me!” Victor was growing increasingly distressed and he wasn’t bothering to hide it. Exhaustion was already setting in, and the flame was beginning to sputter.

This time, the lettering was different. It was more rigid, more geometric, almost reminiscent of a simpler version of the design that had given him the spell in the first place. Victor eagerly read it as quickly as he could.

His face paled, and a distant memory from the hazy time just after he killed the woman chasing him resurfaced.

Consume baseline human soul to fuel Conjure Fiendfire: Rank 1 Spell?

Harvested souls: 1 available