Chapter 1: Kindling

Parth watched from the balcony as the rising sun bathed the slumbering city with its warmth. It was uncanny how even worlds apart, the sight seemed so familiar.

It was one of the very few mundane sights that he had seen since arriving here. It had been a couple of days, and he had come to terms with it. But it was still a bit hard to get used to. Especially when everything else was so different in this strange world.

Earth and Viz might be dimensional counterparts according to what he was told, but it was plain to see that Viz had taken a drastic turn somewhere down the line.

What he had seen so far could only be classified as a massive melting pot of species and culture. Some buildings were futuristic, with sleek lights and glossy metallic surfaces in odd shapes. Others were tastefully traditional, reminiscent of Earth. He saw a tower of European design in the distance, while at the same time, the futuristic building next to it had a lot of Asian influence. Yet all of this didn’t seem chaotic at all. There was a method to this madness, an odd symmetry to the diaspora of cultural influences. It had taken him off guard at first, but he was slowly getting used to it.

He had seen four species loitering about the streets so far. There were the outsiders: humans, fairies, and synthires. Then there were the D’Raacs—the natives. Funnily enough, all of them were humanoids. Sure, there were some additional appendages in some cases, but the general build was quite similar.

Such fantastical things were not what Parth had expected out of his life.

He sighed as he took a sip out of the mug he had procured from the cafeteria. It was a major solace, knowing that they had coffee in this world. He did miss the filter coffee of his homeland, but with the way things were going, he’d take any kind of coffee he could get.

“I didn’t expect you to be up and about at this time,” said a voice from behind, breaking him out of his reverie.

He glanced to the side as the source of the voice stepped right next to him. In these past two days, he had seen more of the natives of this world, yet the sight of them still surprised him. It felt surreal and was a constant reminder that he was no longer on Earth.

He’d get used to it eventually. For now, he took comfort knowing that, unlike some of the others, he was done denying his change of circumstances.

“Good morning to you too, Roul,” said Parth. Roul was a D’Raac and one of the first people he’d met on Viz. Like the rest of his species, he had red skin, white hair, and three pairs of arms. Parth often wondered whether the D’Raacs used to live on Earth in the distant past. Mainly because they fit the description of what the Asuras of old were said to look like. D’Raacs just didn’t have the extra heads.

In comparison, Parth looked mighty mundane with his brown skin, brown eyes, and short black hair. However, he had Roul beat when it came to musculature. Parth had been boxing since he was a kid, and it showed in his physique. Meanwhile, Roul was lanky. His only saving grace was that the six arms made his torso look bigger than it actually was.

“Couldn’t sleep?” asked Roul.

“Nope. I’ve always had trouble sleeping before big fights. Maybe I would have won my matches if I had slept more,” he said bitterly, remembering his failure of a nascent boxing career.

“Hey, you’re young. Maybe this is your big break.”

“Maybe. I have nothing left to lose, after all,” Parth responded, only to see Roul grinning ear from ear. It was not a kind smile, either. “What is it?” he asked after a brief moment of hesitation.

“I wasn’t speaking in any language you were familiar with,” said Roul, still sporting that unsettling grin.

“Bullshit, I would have—”

“Pay close attention,” Roul interrupted. “Is my mouth in sync with my words? Go on.”

Once prompted, Parth could clearly see that Roul’s lips were not in sync with what he had been saying.

“The potion worked?” he asked in astonishment.

“What else did you expect?” asked an amused Roul.

“I expected it to be a prank,” said a flustered Parth. “Not whatever this is. I thought it was like when you almost convinced me that the juice I was drinking was synthire blood.”

“Nope. It’s our patented translation potion working its magic. Just as I said it would,” answered Roul unrepentantly.

Parth hadn’t taken the claim seriously the previous night when he was given the potion along with the medicine. There had been no immediate effects, so he had put it off his mind, thinking it was another one of Roul’s pranks. Mainly because the other medicine had worked as advertised and had alleviated his pain. The cost of being dimensionally displaced was apparently steep, and his body had not been happy about it. He had been wracked with severe pain and had to be given a regular dosage of a potions to get rid of it momentarily.

Now he felt like a right fool. He should have expected this world to have crazy stuff like translation potions.

“You should have told me it wasn’t a prank instead of smiling enigmatically,” he groused.

“But I did tell you. It’s not my fault that you didn’t believe it. Moreover, the expression on your face just now is something else. Such a shame that a repeat performance would be hard. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The next dimensional anomaly won’t be for another century, after all,” said Roul with an air of nonchalance.

Parth glared at him for a few moments and turned back towards the sunrise, knowing that nothing he said would change Roul. He had known him only for two days, but he had already gotten a good grasp of his character. Roul was an impenitent troll. There were no two ways about it.

“How does it work, anyway?” he asked instead. “Am I permanently omnilingual?”

“I’m not an expert on magic, but I’ve been told that it works based on intent. It translates the intent behind my words to a language that you can understand, and vice versa.”

“If that’s the case, can I understand animals as well?” Parth wondered, thinking about all the possibilities.

“I think so. But we don’t have the time. The potion only lasts for a day after it has been digested. It has a passive effect, though. The more you converse with someone who is speaking a different language, the faster you learn it.”

He was disappointed that the effect was not permanent, but he figured that these things couldn’t be cheap to make. He was grateful enough that they were willing to help him integrate with the local populace.

“So all we need to do is talk?” Parth asked.

“Not really. Writing works as well. Prewritten words won’t work, but as I write, it’ll once again work based on the intent projected by me. Let the potion do its work. Within a couple of hours, you’ll be fluent in D’Raakan. Then you won’t need me to babysit you anymore,” said Roul.

“As long as you’re not picked as my team’s advisor, I will be content,” Parth said as he took another sip of the coffee. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the help. But you do take inordinate pleasure in seeing my worldview break.”

“Eh, you’ll be praying for me when you get saddled with some other advisors. They’re all an uppity bunch. You’d be hard-pressed to find a fun one like me.” He shrugged. “It’s out of our hands anyway.”

“Yeah,” mumbled Parth, thinking about what the day held in store.

“Most of the others aren’t ready yet. It says a lot about how quickly you’ve managed to adapt to the situation. You’ll do well, don’t worry,” said Roul with uncharacteristic seriousness.

“I can’t really do anything other than go along with it. Throwing a tantrum won’t do anything. I don’t have anything to lose, anyway,” said Parth morosely. “The others probably have other attachments holding them back.”

They stood in silence for a moment before Roul walked back inside.

“It’ll be fine, the dungeon chose you for a reason. Anyway, I have two more people to teach after I’m done with you. Finish up your breakfast quickly, we have work to do.”

Parth nodded as he gazed at the horizon once more.

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Two hours later, Parth stumbled into the cafeteria, his mind abuzz with newfound knowledge. He looked at the buffet and grimaced. He was in no state of mind to peruse the many foreign options for something familiar.

“Hey, where’s the table with the dishes from Earth?” he asked the nearest cafeteria staff in fluent D’Raakan.

The D’Raac was astonished for a second before he grinned and replied in his native tongue.

“Over there, those two tables.” He pointed with two of his right arms. Having multiple pairs of arms sure seemed convenient.

“Thanks,” Parth replied as he walked towards the tables with a smile on his face. It felt nice to interact with the natives on his own and not depend on Roul for translation.

He could see a mix of humans and fairies lined up for the food from Earth, and vice versa. The food from Funar was almost entirely plant-based and tasted pretty good. Likewise, the fairies were hooked on spicy cuisines from Earth. Parth didn’t eat meat, so D’Raac cuisine was not something he had tried much except for some of their excellent egg varieties.

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The less said about synthire cuisine, the better. He didn’t want to even think about what the artificial vampires ate. At least they didn’t pounce on people for blood, so he would count his blessings where he could.

He piled some fried rice on his plate and grabbed a tall glass of orange juice. He had a fight in the evening and he didn’t want to eat too much.

There was a part of him that was miffed at being forced to fight for his survival in a few days, but he didn’t dwell on it. The way he was living life back on Earth was nothing to write home about.

He picked a seat at the far end of the cafeteria—away from everyone else—and dug into his meal. As he ate, his mind wandered back to the events that had led him here.

After losing his parents a year ago in an accident, his life had taken a downward spiral. It had been a mistake to go through with his boxing debut in such a mental state. He had lost the two matches he had been in, which had worsened his headspace something fierce. He gave into his rage and frustration—especially in the ring. Angry at the world for taking his family away from him, frustrated with himself for losing his debut.

He had not been good to his few remaining friends. An increased practice schedule had also only made things worse. In the end, he had decided that he needed to go somewhere and unwind. So he had gone on a cruise to try and relax. To be rid of the perpetual rage.

It hadn’t worked. Maybe the cruise would have helped if he had opted for it before he failed miserably at the one thing he thought he was good at. It ended up being a waste of both time and money. He just couldn’t get himself to do anything besides brooding and eating.

It had been such a shame, too. The weather had been beautiful, and he’d always loved the ocean. The amenities aboard the ship—excellent. But he had been stuck in his head, unable to enjoy the good food and amicable company.

That’s when he’d finally accepted that it was time to seek professional help. Nothing he was doing was working, and he couldn’t bear to live like he did the past year. Something had to go right, and he had to take the first step.

To his astonishment, something else had taken the reins from him and plunged him into a dimensional event. Parth had been sunbathing on the cruise when a pitch-black maw opened up in front of him, umbral teeth closing around him in an instant. Before he could react, it had swallowed him—and taken a bite out of the deck of the ship. After that, all he remembered was a terrible, oppressive pressure and immense pain that enveloped his whole body.

When he came to, he was in a new world.

The people were friendly, the food was good, and the natives took care of him. It was almost as though he’d never left the cruise ship.

But there was a deadly truth behind the hospitality. The dungeon hadn’t transported Parth across reality by accident. It had awoken, hungry for competitors to challenge its depths, and it had stolen them from his world.

He was angry about being so callously uprooted and forced into a death match, but he also recognized the opportunity for what it was.

A chance for greatness.

If it was a fight the dungeon wanted, it was a fight it would get.

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After lunch, Parth was in his room, throwing jabs at the punching bag, bareknuckle. The room itself was reminiscent of a hotel room, albeit bigger. He was told that each voyager had a room that was similar to those found in their world, in order to give some amount of familiarity to them and not overwhelm them completely due to all the differences.

The punching bag swayed a bit before he unleashed a powerful hook. He hadn’t gone at it with full vigor, as he didn’t want to tire himself out before the big event. There was no way that he was going into any sort of a fight without properly warming up.

The D’Raacs were very understanding and gave him practically anything he asked for. He knew that part of it was guilt and part of it was pity. They couldn’t do anything but make the voyagers’ lives better before they had to inevitably step into the dungeon.

“Oh, practicing already? You do know that it’s not the start of the tourney yet, right?” asked Roul as he waltzed into the room.

“Yeah, but since I’ll still be fighting something, I’d rather be ready for it,” Parth replied. He felt calm despite knowing what Roul’s entrance meant. It was time.

“Eh, it’s not like you’ll be using your fists. Stop being so dramatic.”Roul’s face scrunched up with distaste.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time you talked about the artifacts,” he said as he jabbed at the punching bag a couple more times.

“I should have explained things better…” grumbled Roul in response.

“Knock it off, man. This is how I de-stress. Now, do we start or not?” asked Parth impatiently.

“Yup. I finished teaching the other two voyagers assigned to me. Since you’re ready, it’s time for you to undergo the selection.”

Parth removed his sweaty tank top and threw it into a laundry basket. He then wiped his body with a towel before throwing it into the basket as well. Quickly donning a t-shirt, he punched the sandbag one last time before turning towards Roul.

“Let’s get going, then,” he said.

“Alright, come on.”

As they walked through the winding corridors in silence, Parth looked around the building curiously. He hadn’t seen much of the place yet, since he had been cooped in his room. The only places he had properly visited were the infirmary, the cafeteria, and the conference rooms. He had been too busy coming to terms with the new world and dealing with the physical pain caused by sudden exposure to the dungeon’s caustic mana during the dimensional event.

At least he wouldn’t have to deal with that once he bonded with an artifact. The dungeon had bound every single voyager, threatening increasingly harsh punishments the longer they spent outside it. To survive the depths and lessen the effects of the dungeon’s curse, an artifact was key.

Having mana felt quite odd to him. There was this constant feeling of something other than blood pumping through his body. Whichever artifact he got, it would regulate his internal mana and quell the pain as a bonus. He wouldn’t be able to stave it off indefinitely, so he would still need to undertake the dungeon’s trials. Or so he was told.

The further they walked, the more he was astonished by how magic and tech went hand in hand on Viz. Of course, from his regular perch on the balcony, he saw the citizens moving around. He had seen machines resembling sleeker, more advanced cars. A few of them didn’t even have wheels and were airborne. A part of him was itching to get his hands on one and go for a joyride.

This building itself was a good example of a place where magic and technology coexisted. He saw rooms with shelves of glowing potions, and rooms where some advanced doodad was humming and flashing various lights. He didn’t understand what any of this magitech did, but he recognized it when he saw it.

Even some of the D’Raac guards had implants like the synthires. Their weapons too were a mixture of both sides of the coin. They wielded a spear in one hand, a shield in another, while two arms cradled a rifle. A pistol was strapped to their side and he could see a dagger on their thigh. The rifle and the dagger looked mundane, but the pistol, the shield, and the spear housed a glowing crystal that most definitely gave them a magical boost. The juxtaposition was truly extraordinary.

He felt a tinge of guilt as he realized that all he had brought with him was a deck chair and his phone. They had scanned his phone and had told him that they would use the technology to further their civilization, but he knew that they were just trying to spare his feelings. He had seen them use devices that surpassed modern phones.

At least the summoned synthires brought useful, futuristic tech that the D’Raacs would put to good use. The fairies almost always got pulled alongside exotic flora and fauna that the D’Raacs then preserved and incorporated into their own culture. These dimensional shifts had been happening for ages, after all. The least they all could do for the D’Raacs to repay them for their hospitality would be to help them advance their civilization.

Soon enough, they reached a massive metal door that was guarded by several D’Raac soldiers armed to the teeth. They saluted in unison the moment they spotted Roul.

“Good evening, advisor and voyager,” said the largest of them before he guided Roul towards a console next to the door.

“Good evening, everyone,” Roul said cheerily as he began typing something into the console and stepped on a glowing tile.

Parth jumped back in surprise when Roul was engulfed by a beam of light that erupted from the floor and touched a similar tile on the ceiling.

The pillar of light disappeared within a second. Roul seemed unperturbed by it, and a tad bit amused at Parth’s reaction. A chime emanated from the console as the screen lit up green.

“Biometrics and passphrase confirmed. Welcome, Advisor Roul Z’Chi,” a robotic voice said from the console.

Roul beckoned Parth. “Come here and stand on top of this.”

Parth was prepared for the swift light show and didn’t flinch as the beam of light consumed him. It was not so bright as to blind him, and he could see through it. It felt more like a holographic construct than anything else. Before he could scrutinize it further, the light disappeared and the console chimed once again.

“Biometrics confirmed. Voyager Parthasarathy Ulundurpettai Parandhaman approved for armory visit,” said the mechanical voice, completely butchering the pronunciation in the process.

Roul sniggered at the long name and Parth shot him a scowl. He really wanted to be rid of the sarcastic advisor and hoped that the temporary assignment was just that.

Parth followed Roul through another maze of corridors. These hallways were chock-full of armed guards and secured doors.

Soon enough, there were no more doors in the hallway and just an abundance of guards. At the very end of the corridor was an elevator that they embarked on only after another biometric scan. Once inside, Parth looked around the spacious elevator and wondered whether it had some other security measures as well, considering they were moving deeper and deeper underground. They descended for a while and the only sound was Roul humming a merry tune.

After the elevator stopped, they stepped into another guarded hallway. There had been no buttons and no indicator of floors, so Parth didn’t even know how far underground they were.

He followed Roul through several more security checkpoints and god knows how many hidden traps and security measures. Finally, after several minutes, they were standing outside a majestic door. The door was made out of silvery metal. It seemed more exotic than mundane silver, as the entire thing had a mystical sheen to it. Apart from that, there were intricate carvings on the door that were glowing with a dim blue light.

“Welcome to the masterpiece of the king of kings,” Roul began, speaking in an uncharacteristically serious tone. “This is the armory of our ancestor, Emperor Byrone K’Wul. Nine thousand five hundred years ago, he created these magical artifacts in the hope of saving the voyagers from the dungeon’s bloodthirsty nature. These creations enabled us to empower the voyagers and turn the dungeon’s brutal and senseless killings into the Centurial Challenge. Should you prevail, you will be crowned the ninety-fifth Centurion.”

Parth was taken aback for a moment and stared at Roul incredulously. The D’Raac’s serious facade shattered only a second later.

“Phew, I hate giving that speech. But apparently, some traditions have to be upheld.”

Parth was annoyed at Roul’s flippancy, but schooled his reaction. “Nine thousand years… you never told me that this thing had been going on for such a long time.”

“Meh. Whatever team you get on, the advisor will have to debrief you regarding everything. I’ll have to do it to the team I end up advising. And I don’t like repeating myself. So bug your advisor when you’re slotted into a team.”

Parth just didn’t get the man’s attitude. “How did you even land this job?”

Roul rolled his eyes as though the answer was obvious. “Because I’m good at what I do.” He placed all six palms on the massive door. “I just don’t see the point in putting too much effort when someone most likely won’t end up on my team.”

The dim glow increased in intensity and almost blinded Parth for a second. It then began to blink at intervals. A low clicking and other mechanical noises came from the door as the blinking picked up pace.

“Just give it a minute. The vault and the mechanism guarding it are quite old, as I told you. We can’t even change it because of the way everything is set up.”

“Is it really that old? I find it hard to believe that all of this is still functioning so many years later.”

“Most records say that Emperor Byrone was an unparalleled precog and a master enchanter,” Roul said, shrugging. “We D’Raacs can’t wield magic on our own. Our bodies are just not built for it. Throughout our vast history, only a handful have been able to, and he was said to be the most powerful of them all.”

As the mechanical noises came to an end and the door moved upwards, Parth resolved to read more about the history of Viz and the continent of Tava. Especially about the era of Byrone.

“Welcome, voyager,” said Roul as he ushered Parth in.

The moment Parth stepped inside, he inhaled a sharp breath in astonishment. The sound of the door slamming down behind him was distant, all his attention focusing on the magnificent sight before him.

The armory was filled with exquisitely crafted weapons and artifacts that were beautiful beyond compare. The air was charged with energy and he could practically feel the mana emanating from the constructs in front of him.

Roul once more assumed a serious demeanor. “Step up, voyager, and find the partner that will stay with you for the rest of your life. Answer the call of the magical marvel that will be your bulwark against the dungeon’s savagery.”

Parth only half listened to the rehearsed speech as he took another step. This was it—he’d never have this opportunity again. There was no turning back from this, and he was sure that he didn’t want to turn back.