Persepera

The 25th of Elaphebolion

The Year 4631 in the Era of Mortals

Muffled footsteps echoed off the walls. The voices of the beastmar grew louder, more varied. Multiple conversations filtered through, making it hard to pick out specific words. The distortion of the sound itself left no doubt to the fact that it was beastmar speaking, so Arche had no qualms about rushing in spear-first.

For the first time in a long while, he was on his own. No companions to protect or watch out for, only enemies to fight. He thought about what they’d done to Tess and a creeping fury grew within him. Bloodlust blossomed out from his chest like heat until his fingers twitched with anticipation. Every step brought him toward beautiful violence. He would paint the entire underground complex red with the blood of his foes, watch them grovel before him as he crushed them into paste.

Arche blinked.

Anger filled him but it wasn’t his. He hated the beastmar, true, but he wanted them dead, not broken. He wanted his friends safe. That was his goal. This violence and blood, he didn’t care about that, did he? It was hard to tell. The feeling was powerful. He wanted to bathe in their blood, taste their fear before they died. Or did he just want them dead, no matter how?

The feelings mixed together, impossible to separate. He did want to hurt. To kill. He wanted to rip these monsters limb from limb, hang them from their entrails, and nail their severed heads to every tree in the Sylv. The feelings were seductive, difficult to refuse. He wanted to give in, to commit to the freedom of the slaughter. To lose whatever vestiges of himself that he had established in the last month. It was overwhelming, the desire to become conflict in the shape of a man. To let go of the pain, fear, and anxiety. To do as he was born to do. Kill. It would be so simple, as easy as breathing.

It was also unacceptable.

Arche forced himself to breathe slowly. He turned inward, focusing on the expanse of his mindscape. He had no better term for his metaphysical sense of self. Without his Psychic trait guiding him through it, opening the path for him, he wouldn’t have had the first idea where to begin. As it was, there were still pockets he couldn’t quite focus on and it was difficult to feel out his entire mind at once, but he had awareness enough to recognize when something was wrong.

Scarlet energy blasted Arche’s mindscape but not from outside, like he’d thought. Beams of red light shot forth from a singular point within his mind, cracking the mud walls of his mental construct. Those walls represented the limits of his mind; if the energy broke through, there would be nothing protecting him from outside influence. There would also be nothing tethering his consciousness to his body. He would be lost, completely at the mercy of whatever forces lurked in the negative expanse between minds.

Arche focused on reinforcing the walls, Mana streaming into them in brilliant rivers, but the energy shifted, targeting new sections whenever he started to counteract it. He redoubled his efforts, funneling more and more Mana, trying to strengthen his walls and rebuff the rage energy. All the while, he tried to find the source, but the effort was immense. The Mana was thick and far too slow, like a glacier trying to catch a skier, but they flowed from the same direction.

He followed the energy to the center of his mindscape, where it bloomed from a blood-red pool of Mana-water. Deep below the surface, something glowed with tremendous energy. Arche dove into the pool with his mental construct, feeling the outside world slip away from him as he did so.

All that existed was Mana and energy.

The Mana reacted to him, swirling in shifting currents to wash over him, bringing with it a clarity of thought but the energy also brought anger. The pool dipped lower as the Mana drained to reinforce his walls, funneled outward to the edge of his mindscape. The red glow was below him, now, so Arche dove deeper, losing all sensation of the world outside.

As he went, anger and rage pressed upon him, trying to drown him. He should not be fighting this. This is what he wanted, after all.

To destroy. To break. To kill.

This energy was power he could use against his enemies, power he needed. Without it, he was nothing. Without it, he would die. It was necessary; good, even. He was a demigod, after all. This power was his right, wasn’t it?

Arche drew on the Mana to harden his own construct. The rivers pulled back from the walls and concentrated in the avatar of his consciousness, flowing around him in a nexus of currents. A brilliant, red crystal sat at the center of his Mana pool. Large, fleshy veins grew outward from the crystal, leaching into the pool and pushing outward into the ground and the rest of his mind. The crystal pulsed, a heartbeat of power, and sent beams of energy upward, trying to break through his mind’s meager defenses. Arche placed his astral hands against the crystal and tried to connect to it.

The process was surprisingly easy. It was, after all, already inside his head. The crystal radiated rage and its power. It was immense, far stronger than he would ever be. It contained multitudes, capable of consciousnesses that would shatter his fragile mind to behold. This was the source of his Divine Body skill, there could be no doubt. Whatever it was, it wasn’t from him. Cohabitation was apparently no longer an option. It sent wave after wave of energy, leaching fury into his Mana and turning it bright red.

It was going to break his mind. Going to acquire him.

Each pulse rocked Arche, threatening to shake loose his defenses and consume him entirely. It whispered to him of power, of what it could do to his enemies. It roared at him to kill. It demanded blood and sacrifice and worship. As its demands grew, Arche’s mind quivered. What could he do in the face of such power? It was beyond anything he’d ever experienced. He was nothing next to this unyielding hate, this undying violence. It would drown him and use him to exact a blood price against all of Tartarus. He would become nothing more than a mindless vessel to the fury.

Lost in a sea of blood.

The energy beat against Arche, crushing his construct from every side. It was growing harder to fight against it. As if it could sense his weakness, the waves of energy hit harder, came faster. He couldn’t last against it. All he was would be lost in the darkness of the dungeon, never to reemerge. Arche would die and this rageful thing would live on. A face filtered in front of him, thought made form.

Lyssa.

He would never see her again. Enslaved to this maddening hate. Worse, if he did see her, there was no guarantee that this hatred wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t extend to her. He couldn’t let that happen. More faces filtered through, joining Lyssa’s.

Helwan. Tess. Odelia. Abraxios.

His friends. He couldn’t let this hate rip them away from him. More faces joined the bunch. Vik, Gigator, Elpida, Cypress, Danocles, Baldwic, Theodorous. What would happen to them if he lost himself here? What would he do to them?

He pushed his hands through the crystal’s walls and opened himself fully to it. He joined with the energy, felt the power of it, the pulsating rage, the thirst for blood. It consumed him. It would consume the world in glorious tribute.

Arche nudged it.

There was no battle cry, no defiant stand. The crystal wanted rage and blood but it wasn’t Arche. When the crystal sent rage, Arche thought of his friends. When the crystal wanted blood, Arche sent back his will to protect his allies. He poured his Mana into the crystal and the waves of energy slowed. The crimson tides dulled and grew auburn, then orange.

Energy stopped flowing outward from the crystal altogether. He had tuned it to himself. Turned its power to new use, a weapon to help his friends. Divine Body was a powerful tool but he would use it to make a world worthy of his friends, not drown the old one in blood. Nearly drained of Mana, Arche fell out of his mindscape and back into his physical body.

Divinity has increased to 50%.

The message hung in Arche’s vision as he caught his breath. His head pounded from lack of Mana but that didn’t keep the grin from spreading across his face.

He was in control.

Howling from ahead reminded him that the beastmar were still a threat. He’d stayed still too long. It was time to move. With every step, he felt more confident, more certain of himself. The influence was suppressed and Arche was back in control over his own emotions. He doubted the fix was permanent. He didn’t understand the crystal well enough to change it permanently but, for the moment, he was in charge. It could last for minutes or it could last for months. He could only hope that his Willpower would hold. Until then, his goal was unchanged.

There were beastmar that needed killing.

Arche reached into his mind again, this time focused outward. He expanded his mental awareness, imagining it as a net flung out in front of him. He connected each strand back to the walls of his consciousness, ready to pull his mind back at the first sign of danger. The psychic net didn’t extend far, but in the darkness of the tunnel, barely illuminated by some bioluminescent moss, it would be a better indicator than anything else of how far ahead the beastmar were.

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

For several long minutes, Arche perceived nothing. He was forced to take it slow, one hand on the tunnel wall for guidance. His foot pressed a small slab of stone into the ground with an audible click.

Arche froze and looked down at his feet. There was no way to tell if the trap was ahead of him, behind him, or all around him, but stepping on it hadn’t been enough to fully trigger it, likely he would have to step away. He weighed his options. Forward, back, or stay put. Not much to go on. If the pit he’d fallen into was really meant to be a spike trap, then it stood to reason that the trap would either be in front of him or around him to finish off survivors. Then again, he hadn’t properly explored the spike pit and there might have been treasure he’d missed, which could mean the trap was around him or behind him. It all came down to whether or not he felt lucky. Either way, staying still was probably a bad option.

Arche stuck the Tridory into the ground and put one foot on it for leverage, then launched himself back the way he’d come. Fire erupted in the passage. The intense blast of heat washed over him, then he was out of it. Arche rolled along the ground, stamping out the embers that had caught on his clothing. He pushed himself to his feet, wincing as he saw thirty points had been taken off his Health bar, almost entirely undoing the healing that had occurred during his brief stint of unconsciousness. His clothing and armor had blocked the brunt of the flames but nothing had caught alight. Arche looked out at the still burning trap, blinking his eyes rapidly against the bright light.

The Tridory had apparently stuck into a second pressure plate and had pinned it in the active position. The flames weren’t coming from spouts, as he expected, but from glowing runes placed all along the walls, floor, and ceiling. If whoever had designed this trap had included the runes both before and after the activation, Arche doubted he would have survived. As it was, the intensity of the flames was fading, white to blue to orange. Finally, the runes sputtered and died, their fires dying along with them. Arche eyed the rest of the passage warily before the last the flames died out, plunging him in darkness. The converging flames had incinerated much of the glowing moss in the tunnel and, even if they hadn’t, they had killed his acclimation to the dark.

It was there, stuck in absolute darkness with afterglow burned into his retinas, that he heard shouting echo down the passage. Bestial howls signaled hunters who had prey within reach.

In spite of himself, a shiver of fear wormed its way into Arche’s gut. He was alone, in the dark, potentially surrounded by traps, and was being hunted. He held his hand out to the side, calling the Tridory back to him. There was a hint of resistance as the spear ripped itself free of the floor, then it fell into his hand. With the heavy spear in hand, he felt a shadow of security, but was still at a serious disadvantage. Without knowing the number or location of additional traps around him, he couldn’t move without risking his own death. All he could do was wait for the beastmar and hope that he survived the encounter.

The howls grew louder. The slapping of paws, feet, and hooves against stone echoed, heralding their arrival. Too many to get an accurate count, especially with the discordant harmonies and the fact that beastmar did not have a standardized number of limbs. Arche gripped the Tridory in both hands and cast his mental awareness outward again, taking pains to ensure that his mental walls were, if not strong, at least present. The last thing he needed was inexplicable bloodlust making him lose all caution and become a cooked dinner for the monsters.

Three tense minutes later, the beastmar entered his awareness. There were three of them and they proceeded more slowly than Arche had expected. He wasn’t sure how far away they were, exactly. Thirty strides, perhaps. He had a vague sense of direction as well, which was helpful as his vision still hadn’t acclimated to the near absolute darkness of the tunnel. Part of him considered activating Divine Body for the light the skill gave off but he dismissed the idea. Not only would he need to conserve that Mana in the event he actually needed to use the skill but activating it would only give him light for a few seconds, even if he tried to rein it in as much as he could. It wouldn’t be enough time to do anything and it would ruin any acclimatization he’d achieved in the last few minutes. No, he wouldn’t be able to gimmick his way out of this one. He was going to have to rely on strategy and luck.

Mostly luck.

“Oi! Uglies! I’m over here!”

His words echoed off the stone walls and the beastmar howled their response. They surged forward, much more quickly than before. Arche’s hair stood on end as he felt them approach. They were nearly upon him when he heard a low *click* and saw the tell-tale red glow of runes.

Arche ducked, shielding his eyes as a torrent of flames shot out of the floor, walls, and ceiling, incinerating two of the beastmar in front of him. The last pulled up short, snarling at him from the other side of the flames. The runes slowly faded again, the fire dying down, but Arche was ready for it this time. He stood, twirling his spear before launching it into the conflagration. A surprised, pained yelp let him know that the attack had struck but the lack of an experience notification meant it was only wounded, not dead.

Arche held his hand out and summoned the Tridory back to him. It tore through the flames, landing warm and bloody in his palm. His psychic net told him that the creature was moving moments before it appeared, leaping through the flames at him.

“Wha—?”

The burning beastmar slammed into him. Arche’s feet left the ground and he lost all sense of direction. His psychic net splintered into nothingness as his concentration broke and he lost all idea of where the beastmar was. His head hit something hard and it became difficult to think. Dazed, Arche tried to curl up, wracked with pain. A huge hand lifted him and hurled him into a wall.

There was a loud pop and pain flooded Arche’s left shoulder. Heat flashed near him and feral screams bounded off the walls. It took him a few moments to realize he wasn’t the only one screaming. The beastmar burned merrily and flailed about, desperately trying to douse itself. Arche met the beast’s eyes and the creature stopped, then lunged toward him again.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Arche scrambled backwards, his left arm nearly blinding him with pain. The beastmar tripped as it advanced, hitting the ground and scrabbling with three outstretched arms. Arche kicked out at it, connecting with the creature’s face. It howled but one of its arms grabbed hold of Arche’s ankle and yanked him forward. Arche yelped and tried to pull away, but the beastmar had too strong of a grip. The Tridory had been knocked from his grasp after the first hit and he didn’t have the space to use it effectively here even if he had it. Another hand reached toward him.

Arche panicked.

Everything screamed. His arms, his chest, his legs, Arche himself, and the beastmar. The racket was unbearable. He didn’t have space to pull his sword free, his left arm was limp and useless, and this creature was set on killing him even if it had to burn itself alive in the process. Arche knew in the pit of his stomach that he was going to die, alone in the dark where none of his friends would ever find him.

The fingers of his right hand curled into a fist, intent on making his final moments one of defiance, and closed instead around a sword hilt. He didn’t have time to question it, he activated Divine Body and swung for all he was worth.

A heavy, wet weight fell on top of him. Arche trembled, whole body spasming as his conscious brain fought for control. Divine Body slipped away almost immediately, leaving him in complete darkness, colorful after-images still burned into his retinas. The weight pressed down on him, black blood soaking him through once more.

Arche shoved the bisected corpse off himself. Then the smell of blood, roasted meat, and feces reached his nose and he turned and heaved onto the ground next to him. The motion aggravated his injured ribs and he laid there, hurt, terrified, and revulsed.

Several attempts after he’d emptied the last dregs of his stomach, he’d calmed down enough that he could start thinking again. As much as his body wanted to go to sleep under the weight of his armor and the pain of his wounds, he knew that doing so could spell death for his friends, if not himself. Arche raised one hand out to the side and called upon his bond with the Tridory, summoning it to his hand. The action caused a tingle of pain to run through his head but the Tridory landed in his grip regardless. Checking his vitals, the reason became clear: he was running dangerously low on Mana.

Health: 144 / 495

29%

Stamina: 84 / 355

24%

Mana: 6 / 190

3%

No doubt about it, he’d seen better days. Using the spear, Arche hauled himself to his feet. His legs were unsteady, like he was standing on the bow of a ship over the open ocean. He stumbled to the side, pressing his weight up against the wall. His mind wandered away from his pain to wonder if he’d ever been on a ship, if such an endless expanse of water really existed and how nice it would be. The sea breeze running through his hair, the smell of salt, the endless expanse of blue above and below and the sun warming his skin.

The idea of it made the damp dark nearly unbearable.

“What I would give to level up right now.”

He checked his Profession Quest status, knowing his leveling was blocked until he completed it.

Objectives

· Reach a Divinity of 100% (50/100)

· Do not die

“How the fuck do I do this?”

Arche tried to focus on each word but there were no descriptions, no hints.

“How am I supposed to figure out what to do? What even is Divinity?”

Divinity has increased to 55%.

Arche stared at the new message, then looked upward at the ceiling.

“Are you shitting me?”

Silence.

“It’s just gonna be questions and speculation? I can’t even get a condescending explanation?”

No.

~H

“What the fuck.”

The notification appeared in the center of his vision for about three seconds, then dismissed itself. Whoever this ‘H’ was probably had answers to a lot more than just Divinity, if he could make them talk. It was an issue to shelve for later.

Moving forward, Arche used the sauroter of the Tridory to tap the trapped step and activate the fire runes. The hot air blasted him but he was far enough from the fire that it was only uncomfortable heat. When the flames died down, he limped across the trapped zone, leaning much of his weight against the spear and hoping there were no more traps in the passage.

The path ahead was long and dark, and he was injured, but there was still fight in him. He would fight these beastmar, down in their dark tunnels. He would fight these beings that were playing with his life. He would fight whatever he had to in order to save his friends and live free.