Floor [0] - The Chapel (1)
Waking up to find oneself disembodied is…a curious experience. Not strictly unpleasant, but definitely disconcerting. There’s a set of sensations I’d always associated with getting up that were just not present; no phone alarm to drowsily turn off, no covers to lazily crawl back under. Hell, no skin to feel the covers upon, nor eyes to screw shut against the unwelcome morning light. Not even just darkness and weightlessness; no bits to even process the absence of such things.
All that remained was a tiredness that stretched far deeper than bone and the vague impression of the passage of time.
I had the sneaking suspicion I was dead at this point. I couldn’t remember say how, exactly. Though my more distant memories seemed intact, things got blurry as I tried to think forward. I could remember splitting time between work and university, and the slowly growing exhaustion that came from trying to split my attention...But anything more specific eluded me.
I was content to let things stay as they were for a time. How long, I couldn't say, but there came a point where I became cognisant enough to realise I was awake. And with that realisation came the vague obligation to get up and do something. Slowly, I managed to open what I now had instead of eyes and took in my surroundings.
There was a room.
My perception of it was at once impeccable and indistinct. I could sense the entirety of its shape. Every nook and cranny, from the great vaulted ceiling above, to the rocky foundation beneath the floorboards. I could tell the entire building was ever so slightly crooked as handmade structures are more or less guaranteed to be. I could sense weaknesses along the sides, at even intervals gave the impression of what I could only guess were windows. Chapel was my immediate instinct. As whatever contrivance granted me vision began to kick into gear, I appended that to abandoned Chapel. Rows of old, dusty benches, all in some level of disrepair, lay neglected on one side of the room, while the other was dominated by the altar and an old, broken down organ, all coated in a thin layer of dust. There was this feeling of ownership over its entirety. Like I was less looking at an unfamiliar room and more my own hand.
If this was the afterlife…Well, actually, I found that unlikely. It was always a possibility, in that philosophical 'What if the world was created last Thursday' sort of way, where technically anything was possibility if you doubted the concrete nature of reality (and believe me, with how strange my situation was at the time, I was considering it), but I ignored that possibility, as usual. I might not have believed in any specific afterlife, but I always assumed that, if one existed, it’d at least make sense. Or, failing that, aggressively make no sense. My current situation was confusing, but not so much in a Dadaist ‘everything is chaos’ manner. More like I’d turned the page to find an entirely different story in a completely different genre.
My conclusion was, even if I was dead, I probably wasn’t in a place for the dead quite yet.
As tightened my grip on the waking world, I noticed something out of place in this otherwise unremarkable place. In the centre of the aisle, a figure stood over a thing on podium. Though entirely unfounded, I couldn't but feel threatened by this. Beneath her gaze, maybe an inch above the podium, floated a small, metallic orb. One that I knew with uncharacteristic certainty was me.
"You're awake," she declared, with all the affection of a particularly disagreeable hornet.
Mm'zhat?
KKKZZ'TT
GLRGH-THE HELL?!
> ALERT: CORE UNDER ATTACK (99.71% HEALTH)
The shock was more surprising than painful. It focused my attention somewhat, at least, which mostly manifested in a far more detailed sense of the room's contents, albeit from a position high above eye level. My assailant was probably a witch or mage of some kind (or thought herself as much, insisted my arbitrarily sceptical side), given the purple traffic cone she wore. The lustre of her long, black hair and her thin-ish body shape implied both a certain youth and vanity, though such things could easily be called into question by the presence of what appeared to be magic. The cape and the stiff, ornate dress that went down to her knees implied she was less fairytale hag and more along the lines of an anime character.
"I will not tolerate inattentiveness, dungeon spirit. I have not the time today to repeat this. You have been evoked here to serve as the training ground for beginner and low level adventurers. Serve your purpose adequately and you will be allowed to subsist off the ambient mana here without interference. If there is any attempt to overstep what might be considered fair…"
She trailed off, allowing the sparks of energy running up her hands to punctuate the threat. Intimidating though she might've been, the effect was rather muted by how I was watching her from what I guessed was five or six metres up in the air, rather than being loomed over.
My apologies, ma'am, but you'll have to excuse me if I have no earthly idea what the hell you're talking about. Also, that’s not how respect works. Your earn it, not 'deserve' it.
Her eyes narrowed and I was briefly mortified by the thought that I’d somehow vocalised that thought to the very unhappy looking magic user.
A moment or two passed.
Then she scoffed and turned her back on the orb and I breathed a metaphorical sigh of relief as she decided not to go in for a more vigorous round of shock therapy. A more complicated set of gestures etched a set of arcane circles beneath her, as she made one last declaration.
"Faryea, ensure this matter is dealt with. I expect this place to be ready for the first run in exactly one week. You have permission to form a contract with the dungeon until then."
Wha-Who?
Before I could articulate anything more eloquent, a gout of fire erupted from the ground, briefly engulfing her. A moment passed, as her silhouette disappeared into the flames and she was gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
What a unpleasant individual.
Someone cleared their throat, drawing my attention and disproving my previous assumption. The individual was tiny and blue. A deep, navy blue that had no business being a skin colour, punctuated only by a shock of white hair. I tried my best to do a non-visual version of squinting. A curious sensation, considering I didn't have eye muscles, but it seemed the phantom response managed to trigger something as my bird’s eye not-sight warped, coming to rest at normal eye level and resolving itself into a fair simulation of standard binocular vision. The return of more familiar senses was reassuring, though the absence of any personal features left me feeling like a cheap FPS protagonist.
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Speaking of being inside a video game, my attempt to examine this new individual was suddenly interrupted by something very unexpected.
A menu prompt.
Actually, scratch that. ‘Mildly’ unexpected. I was far too overwhelmed by all the sudden changes to be surprised enough to consider it 'very unexpected'. I was a disembodied being in what was likely a fantasy world. Why not also make it ‘basically a video game’? Made as much sense as anything else. More sense, actually, if the explanation was that I'd suddenly become trapped in an RTS.
The left side of my vision had a small, option prompt running right through the middle.
> **UNIQUE** Imp Familiar (Level 8) wishes to make a contract.
>
> [ACCEPT]
> REJECT
The right side, on the other hand, was completely obscured by a box full of context-less stats.
> Faryea - (UNIQUE) Imp Familiar [Level 8]
> Monster - Tamed
> Health: 43 / 44
> Mana: 10 / 10
> Attack: 6
> Defence: 4
> Magic: 19
> Speed: 30
> Luck: 0
>
> Abilities: Hex, Infernal Magic (Basic)
>
> Even among the lowest ranking demons, there is a hierarchy and the imps sent to become familiars are the lowest of the low. While they aren’t any more useless than a normal imp, they often lack the temperament that would earmark another to unlock future evolutions. Weak-willed and easily cowed, these imps are usually awarded to aspiring Warlocks as menial servants, thus receiving the associated evolution.
>
> Incompetent lackeys make everyone feel important!
Instinctively, I pushed the menus to the peripheries of my vision, allowing me to take a good look at the imp herself. The summary was impersonal and generalising (and vaguely insulting), and I had no frame of reference for what the stats meant. Those could be figured out later anyway.
Faryea, I presumed, reminded me of a cross between a librarian and a shoulder devil. A set of thick rimmed glasses sat upon a face that might've looked slightly feral, with it’s tiny fangs, long pointy ears; almost bat-like, but more narrow, and monstrous looking eyes; a cat's pupil, ringed by a yellow iris upon a black schlera, if it wasn't completely …de-fanged by her boundlessly worried expression and black, pageboy haircut. A hairstyle only one step removed from an actual bowl. Her body couldn’t quite be called child-like, despite her full high putting her just above where I’d expect my knees to be. Even through what were more or less loose fitting robes, one could tell her features were definitely more developed than that.
‘Chibi’ would be the word, I suppose.
I hesitated, torn between the accommodating parts of me saying ‘yes’, my contrarianism and caution saying ‘no’ and the rest of me saying ‘can I put off answering this until the sun explodes?’. On one hand, she looked sincere enough and it wasn’t like I’d have much else to do if I said no. On the other hand, ‘looks can be deceiving’ and making any sort of contract with what appeared to be a living, breathing demon immediately set off the alarm bells.
The only thing I could conclude concretely was that I needed more information. Asking what this even entailed was an obvious place to start.
Okay, before I sign anything, may I quickly get a ‘What’s going on?’, please? What exactly am I agreeing to?
Surprisingly, rather than the raspy squawk I'd been conditioned to expect by popular media, Faryea sounded more like an embarrassed school girl, awkwardly admitting she'd been talking in class rather than listening.
“Uh...Sorry…? I can’t answer questions I can’t hear…”
I paused, about to launch into 'IF YOU CAN'T HEAR ME, HOW CAN YOU KNOW I WAS ASKING A QUESTION?!', but I stopped. The light bulb turned on and I did my best simulation of a sigh.
So you can tell I’m asking a question, but not what I’m saying?
An entire awkward pause passed.
...Right, right. Stupid question.
“...I, uh, guess you want to know why we were, uh, here.”
...Not as such, but I’ll take what I can get, I suppose.
She hesitated, likely sensing my resignation. It'd take some time getting used to the idea that my emotions could be communicated directly without a medium for them.
Go on.
I pushed as much 'impatience' into those two words as I could. Stumbling and stuttering with the sudden impetus, Faryea explained, “Well…So, the boss is...Well, she’s a Warlock, as you probably can guess. I was…awarded to her as a familiar when she reached level 10...”
A’right, pretend I understand what that means and keep going. I’ll figure it out as we go, I guess.
“Uh, the two of us work for the Southern Reaches Adventurers’ Guild. Have you heard of-wait, no, you...uh...of course you haven’t. The boss is a professional hero, so she’s had a lot of experience around dungeons and…”
She froze, likely realising she’d just made a horrific fauxpass that would’ve gone right over my head if she hadn’t drawn attention to it.
“...NOT THE BAD KIND, I MEAN, she’s...uh, not that kind of hero. Anyway, the Southern Reaches and...uh...the rest of Atraria...that’s the country you’re in. You know what a country is r-Alright, I’ll, uh, get on with- So we’re currently at war with the Northern Union as of last week, so not only are random monster encounters set to explode because ‘threat to the king’s rule’ and all, but all the soldiers and guards that’d usually keep smaller towns safe are marching off to the front...So our guild’s been hired to protect them in their stead...But the boss says ‘Okay, there’s no way I’m going to be able to save an entire town from war tier monster attacks, so I better train up some newbs to help me out’...Only we’re out in the middle of nowhere here, so there’s nowhere to train, so the boss may...have…uh…invoked her patron demon and artificially accelerated the creation of a dungeon here to give everyone something to gain combat class levels in...Y’know, what anyone in her position...would...do...Um, that’s the long and the short of it.”
‘That only raises more questions!’
“So, if you could, y’know, accept my contract, I can help you gather materials from the outside world and make you a dangerous and attractive dungeon that...uh...some adventurers might want to...maybe...visit...” she deflated as I forgot to reign in my scepticism.
I'd like to say I wasn't convinced. I'd like to say I wasn't so easily swayed. The prospect of being 'attractive' had never been something I'd particularly cared for and the idea of being 'dangerous' actively repelled me. Her story seemed authentic enough, but her word was all I had to go on and, while she had all the trappings of a terrible liar, that too could also have been a deception, plus she seemed to be working with someone actively willing to threaten a complete stranger for what seemed like no reason.
I still had no idea what I was getting into. I still had no idea what a 'contract' even meant.
But, well...
Fine, fine, enough with the puppy-dog eyes. I Accept.