24. The Rift (III)

Bang.

With a resounding noise, the massive ornate door swung open, revealing a limping Raziel and his two bedraggled hounds. It was a pathetic sight. With a shaky hand, Raziel opened his map and drew a checkmark over the Devourer with a bit of blood.

The [Basic Rodent] was keeled over on the library floor, its dead, milk-white eyes frozen in awe.

Yz’kharj the Devourer had been clever… for a rat.

Yz’kharj the Devourer had been powerful… for a rat.

But in the end, a rat was a rat. Subtle and Sublime successfully [Entranced] the Devourer into a dream where it was lying prone in the center of a banquet table, surrounded by fine courses on all sides. Then Raziel leaped in and landed a killing blow.

Until now, Raziel hadn’t fully grasped the limitations of his [Elusive Dreamhounds] in direct combat. They had teeth and claws and spirit. But they had been stronger fighters as [Vilehounds]. Subtle and Sublime excelled at subterfuge and controlling the environment. He needed to remember that. Otherwise, well, he had come very close to losing one of them just now.

Raziel sat at 24/100 HP, but Subtle was at 15/100 HP, and Sublime 3/100.

With a whistle, his beast summons returned to his core. This was a good opportunity to test their healing speed inside his mana-flooded core. Luckily, the encounter hadn’t damaged their Beast Cards, so time would heal them back to full regardless.

Shuffling out of the library, Raziel headed down the hall in search of both the wraith and healing supplies.

///

A group of four individuals crept along the cavernous hall.

“Klaas, why did you have to touch that freaky altar?” Nanette’s lip curled like a hissing cat. “Where are we?”

Because this labyrinth was ancient and it was ominous and it was grand. There shouldn’t be a place like this hidden beneath the Dead City of Astyraen. There were only twenty-six Lich-Kings of Astyraen - Nanette knew. Before a treasure hunt, she always read every book available on their target location.

Enormous figures were carved into the walls with a level of detail reserved for kings. Far more than twenty-six.

And when Klaas touched the altar, they’d all fallen through the shrine’s obsidian floor and tumbled out of the mouth of one of the figures.

“If you want to kill us right next time, I’d prefer poison,” said Boudine in her lazy, husky voice. “A milligram of Thousand Mothsbane poured into a vintage from Old Nabru. Red, not white. I like my wines like I like my poisons - fucking bitter as fuck.”

Klaas rolled his eyes. “Yes. Thank you, Bandit.”

Aric’s expression was the perfect picture of authority - hard and solemn. “Cool it, you three. We fell into a dungeon. Nothing we haven’t experienced before.” Aric’s fingers subconsciously toyed with the hilt of his sword as he spoke.

That worried Nanette more than anything else.

On paper, she was the weakest, an initial-stage Alchemist of the Third Circle. Boudine and Klaas were in the Third Circle too but early-stage. Perhaps this was Nanette being snobby but she didn’t think highly of their foundations. Klaas dual-wielded light path Spell Cards and dark path Spell Cards - an out of date style known to cause severely disordered personality. On the other hand, Boudine’s Soul Palace was in shambles because she’d torn out her A-Rank [Trapaise] Martial Card in exchange for a few crowns. You couldn’t pay Nanette to tear out one of her foundational cards!

But Aric… oh Aric. He was older than them by seventy-five years, and the illegitimate son of a [Dragon Rider]. Third Circle, upper-stage. Nanette's interest in him had sparked early on. Back when he was the poster boy for the Dungeon Delver Guild. Knowledgeable, responsible, a pure talent. When Aric left to start his own party, free from the organization's rules and fees, she knocked over an ink well in her haste to fill an application.

On paper, her advancement was slower than the others. But that was the cost of a pristine foundation, perfect all the way down her mortal roots. Her Body had even been forged from a cup of Profound Moondrop Tea. Aric had immediately spotted her worth as an alchemist. The way she deserved -

“Since this is all my fault, princess, can I carry your bag for you?” asked Klaas in a baby tone. “I know you have at least six thousand books in there. Wouldn’t want your feet to get sore. You’re already starting to look irritated.”

Before Nanette could retort - something vile, something as bitter and poisonous as Thousand Mothsbane -

Aric gave Klaas a chilling glower. “It is your fault. I explicitly warned you not to touch the altar. You got greedy. After we get out of here, you’re off my party. I can’t have people I don’t trust watching my back.”

“Boo-hoo,” said Klaas. “Did I join a party led by a famous dungeon delver, or a pansy lord still sucking on daddy’s thumb? Where’s your sense of adventure? Where’s the revelry? Look at this place!” His eyes were feverishly bright and still blue in the darkness. “This is the find of the century!”

His speech fell flat.

No one, not even Boudine, agreed with him.

Because this labyrinth was ancient and it was ominous and it was grand. There shouldn’t be a place like this hidden beneath the Dead City of Astyraen, and there were far more than twenty-six Lich-Kings carved into the walls.

“Nanette, there’s some writing carved into the wall. Can you decipher it? Looks Sothric.” Boudine gestured to the spot.

“I hope not.” Nanette hesitantly touched the carved words. “It’s a poem in the old dialect. It’s for…” her voice died in her throat.

“Well?” said Boudine softly.

“I can’t speak this name. It’s a cursed name.”

“Yz’kharj the Devourer,” whispered Klaas in awe.

Aric turned to him. “Since when do you know Sothric?”

“I know the dark tongues. Just as I know the light.”

They moved away from the wall, though Klaas lagged behind them, newly enraptured by the figures carved into the wall. Nanette had to stop herself from repeating the poem in her head over and over again. It was a beautiful poem. It was simple, yet bloomed with layers of meaning, each more profound than the last. It was a poem you could turn over in your head for the rest of your life.

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It was scrawled on a whim by someone far more powerful than she.

More powerful than she would ever be.

Nanette fell into step with Aric.

He looked at her from the side. “Yes, my princess?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“It’s a good title. Better than Lord Adjacent, or bastard, or whatever people try to not call me to my face.”

A scowl thinned her lips. “You misunderstand me. I don’t care for birthright. The only title that matters is Alchemist of the Third Circle, Upper-Stage. Everything else is... petty.”

“Names and titles have their own power, or else why would you refuse to say the name Yz’kharj the Devourer?” Aric was fiddling with the hilt of his sword again. Drawing circles at the top of it. Nanette wasn’t conceited enough to think it was because of her - though, she hoped. She hoped enough to see it in everything. “You know… you know we aren’t getting out of here, right?”

Nanette nodded faintly. “Yeah.”

Because this labyrinth was ancient. It was ominous. It was grand. There shouldn’t be a place like this hidden beneath the Dead City of Astyraen, and there were far more than twenty-six Lich-Kings carved into the walls.

“Realized it the moment that Klaas said that name. I’ve heard it before.”

“Who is it?” she asked, though she didn’t want to know. She just wanted to keep talking to him - he had a nice voice. He was only nice thing in this place.

“He’s the one who brought Sothria to ruins.”

“But that was - “

“No, not the sovereign,” he said. “The God he prayed to.”

Sothria was known in history as the Blood Rain Kingdom. A hundred thousand years after its first fall, blood still rained ceaselessly over the land, and pale faces bloomed in the grass like flowers.

“Oh,” said Nanette.

‘God’ wasn’t a particularly good descriptor - at some point the line between alchemists and Gods blurred.

“The folly of the Lich-Kings of Astyraen is well known. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had the audacity to build their kingdom on top of something like this.” There was a bitter smile in Aric’s voice, though his expression never faltered. “Who knows what existed here before Astyraen? There are many ancient and grand kingdoms lost to history.”

All of Nanette’s frustrations bled away, a certain feebleness entering her heart. She gazed up at the vaulted ceilings which towered higher than the heavens themselves, gold and iron and obsidian weaving together in an intricate mosaic.

Gods could be killed. Anything could be killed.

But not by low-level alchemists like them.

“Did Klaas know this would happen?”

Aric’s hand clenched over his sword’s hilt. “I don’t think its a coincidence that a dark path alchemist was able to activate a trapdoor into the lair of a dark god. At the same time, the shrine isn’t known for causing people to disappear.”

“It’s okay to say ‘I don’t know’,” she teased.

A smile ghosted his lips. “I don’t know.”

Nanette wanted to say something coy and silly, maybe because she was still nervous, but she swallowed the impulse. Just because her life was about to end didn’t mean she could fully throw decorum out the window. In fact, the reverse was true. The end of your life was when propriety was most needed.

She glanced up at Aric through the fan of her lashes. There was a simpleness to his looks. As with the poem carved into the wall, the more you turned his features over in your head, the more beautiful they became, and you realized each line of his face was meant to be precisely there. She wouldn't make a fool out of herself, but she allowed herself a quick look.

Boudine’s arm lashed out, stopping them.

“Something is coming.”

A shadow on the wall grew larger, and the features of the statues darkened by it seemed to become even more ominous.

Aric lifted his sword an inch out of the sheath.

“Don’t be hasty,” murmured Klaas. “We don’t attack first. Or have you forgotten?”

“I truly believe this is an exceptional situation, Klaas,” replied Aric.

Klaas glanced at Nanette and mimed an expression of shock. “Oh, right, can’t have the princess thinking you aren't all hot bravado. How else will you get those medallions and honors you've been dreaming about?”

Nanette might be angrier on Aric’s behalf than he was.

“Not now, Klaas. Focus,” said Aric.

“I’m not afraid!” Klaas spun on his heels. “Life and death are two sides of the same coin. I cherish both equally.”

Boudine leaned into a fighting stance. “Glad to see you’re this loose and limber. I wouldn’t be surprised to see you come out with the least injuries.”

Nanette felt the aura before she saw them. The mana was thin and weak, like a formless wind stirring leaves on the street. But there was also a hint of something greater - something that reminded her of simple poems and simple faces. Breathing out heavily she crossed her fingers, a massive pale scythe materializing in her hands. A moon bell dangled from the end of the weapon, a clear, silver tune rising in the air.

Klaas took one look at her weapon, his next taunt drying up in his mouth.

She never brought out Aphelion.

“It’s… a kid?” muttered Klaas, who had perhaps been hoping for Gods.

The boy - or maybe a young teen - was a [Hunter] with red eyes and hair the color of loam. His clothes functioned more like decorative strips than protection. Cursed gashes crossed his stomach, the dark mana inside them dormant. Nanette’s attention drew to the boy’s forehead where a faintly glowing glyphstone sat. She knew a thousand different glyphs. She didn’t know that one.

What bewildered them all was the fact that he was mortal.

“Oh - alchemists?” the boy said to himself, yet his voice carried. “Hey, are any of you healers?”

“It’s just a [Mimic],” declared Boudine, straightening up. An embarrassed blush painted her cheeks.

When the boy reached them, Boudine grabbed him by the arm. The boy tried to yank out of her grasp but he was simply too weak. Aric slid his half-drawn sword back into its sheath and Klaas sighed, as though suddenly bored. Nanette kept Aphelion directed at the boy.

“You’re awfully stupid for a [Mimic],” said Boudine. “Why would anyone believe a newly awakened mortal child is wandering around this place, hurt and asking for help? It’s way too obvious.”

The boy stopped struggling in his confusion. “A [Mimic]? You think I’m a [Mimic]?”

“Stop interrogating the thing. If you think its a creature, then just kill it.” Klaas waved his hand.

“No,” said Aric. “We don’t know what kind of [Mimic] this is. Best to leave it alone.”

Nanette lowered her weapon slightly. The others had more experience than her, but could [Mimics] truly imitate a human this well? She'd heard stories, of course. But if she were on her own, she would’ve been fooled, and that frightened her. His mana system was perfectly formed. The only sign there was something off about the boy was his glyphstone, which was perhaps a poor imitation of a real glyph.

But something in the back of her mind protested. She had seen that glyph somewhere, she was sure of it.

The boy and the three other members of her team continued to argue.

“Can I heal your wounds?” she asked.

When those red eyes looked at her she felt like her soul was exposed. There was something weak in them, but also unfathomably powerful. Something young, yet ageless. It caused the hair on the back of her neck to stand on end.

Then, the boy grinned. It was a charming grin. “Yes, please. Thank you.”

Boudine stared at her. “Nan, what -”

“[Mimic] or not, his wounds are real. Just let him return to haunting these halls in peace.”

Nanette pointed Aphelion at the boy’s stomach and drew the curse into the scythe. It was an extremely simple process. This curse wasn’t high level or complex. Good thing too, as dark path alchemy was notoriously finicky to deal with.

When his wounds gleamed red instead of black, she cast [Moonlight Stitches] on him.

The boy felt his healed abdomen, his expression practically twinkling with marvel.

“You’re amazing,” he said sincerely to Nanette. “If there’s anything I can do to pay you back, let me know.”

Klaas rested his face in his hand. “Uh, yeah, can you help us escape? There’s this really bad guy called Yz’kharj and he -“

“Yz’kharj the Devourer? You don’t have to worry about him anymore,” laughed Raziel proudly. “I killed him!”

The alchemists glanced at each other with extreme confusion.

Huh??