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Thomas felt dizzy. He was being dragged by the arms down a set of stairs. He willed mana into the inscription he had tattooed on the inside of his wrist, and the healing spell was activated, clearing his fuzzy sight and bringing clarity to his situation. He was held by two guards in Khrelardian armor – royal armor. I’m still in the palace. The encounter with James replayed instantly in his mind. He attacked me?
He had never expected that from James . But, the more he thought on it, and the more he recalled the past with his perfect memory, the more it made sense.
“You have been summoned,” the archmage of the Kingdom of Khrelardia at the time had said, “To defeat the Demonic Dragon – the Destroyer of this age – and bring peace to Ghomar. Step forward, place your palm on the statue, and be granted powers you could only dream of.”
James was the first to run up, and slapping his hand onto the statue, he was surrounded with a bright blue and gold energy that settled around him like a mantle, girding him in armor and manifesting a sword at his hilt. “Holy shit!” he had said. “Guys, you have to try this!” The rest of the then-freshly-summoned and nude heroes hesitantly went to the statue and were similarly granted hero cores.
James had run up to Thomas as they were discussing amongst themselves post-statue-touch, and was buzzing with excitement. “The archmage said I’m the Paragon hero! I’m the strongest one!” He was giddy with excitement.
Of course he wouldn’t want to risk giving that up, Thomas thought as he focused on the here-and-now. Coming here was the best thing to ever happen to him. Here, he was famous. He had received credit for defeating the Demonic Dragon – credit they had stolen from Lyn to reward their own cowardice. He had a wife and two sons. Of course James wouldn’t give that up. If Thomas was in his shoes, he would not give that up, either.
Thomas knew the layout of every place he had been to, and this castle was no exception. He knew he was being taken to the mana suppressing prison. Surrounded with inscriptions in Elenthir that would prevent mana from being channeled. If they got Thomas in there, he would never escape.
But that also meant he would be close to the summoning room. The statue was enormous, filling the whole center of the room, and there was no way it could fit out of the doors. He focused the mana in his body to another inscription, one tattooed on his shoulder, and teleported out of the grip of the two men holding him. Not a far distance – the mana required for teleporting large distances was vast – but just a foot was well within his power. Enough to get him out of their grip. Turning on them, he fired off a rapid external spell. “Bartho nin ú-thiathol / doltho nin natha leithio nin sui faer.”
The spell enabled him to phase through solid objects. It was mana-intensive, and he felt the power in his torso slowly depleting. He knew right where he was and ran into the wall of the stairwell. As soon as he was fully immersed in the substance, his awareness expanded, and he could see through the solid substance and the open spaces – almost like being outside the playable area in a video game and looking in at the playable space. The gigantic, circular chamber with the vaulted, dome ceiling was only a short distance away, and he let the spell fade once he entered the chamber.
At the center of the room was a ten-foot-tall statue of the deity Aelor. The creator deity who split themselves into twenty shards – the hero mana cores – in order to better hold Raevan, the Destroyer deity – in check. The statue had no Elenthir transcribed across it. The solid, marble, intricately carved male figure being a single piece of unmarred stone despite the ages. Thomas ran up to it and reached into his storage-inscribed satchel, whipping out a black paint jar and brush.
Within a minute, he had covered the space around the statue with the Elenthir inscription. He put the tools back and put his hands down, channeling his mana. Come on! This has to work.
The doors behind him exploded inward, and he heard James’ voice. “Stop!” the Paragon hero shouted. But Thomas didn’t heed the man, instead forcing his mana into the inscription. A deep, black color of book ink exuded from his palms, and the inscription flared with black light. The statue’s eyes glowed.
Thomas felt pain – intense pain – as something sharp pierced him. Looking down, he saw the tip of a sword, covered in blood. Aelor’An’Alar – the Paragon hero’s sword. That fucker! He coughed up blood – but made sure to cough it into his lap, as to not mar the inscribed spell.
He felt the world start to dim and slumped backward. As the darkness began to overtake him, he saw the most beautiful sight he had ever seen before. The statue of Aelor looked down at him, and he felt a sense of peace fill him fully. All the horrible memories of the past, washed away in an instant.
“What did you do!” James shouted, standing over Thomas with rage written on his face…and tears streaming from his eyes. “Why?!”
Thomas couldn’t respond, the blood beginning to fill his lungs.
I…did it…The cycle…is…broken…
The world went black.
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James looked down at Thomas’ body, confused, as he breathed his last before vanishing. Not disintegrating, like the ancient lich he had killed four years ago. Not like the ghosts he had slain before with his holy blade. A wholly different type of vanishing; and one he had never seen a person subjected to. What did you do?
He heard a mighty crack, and looked up. To his horror, the statue of Aelor spiderwebbed with cracks across its surface. Then, it shattered, the stone falling to bits.
James panicked, and stood stock-still, waiting for the inevitable feeling of his mana core being pulled away from him by force. He didn’t know what it would feel like, but he cursed at himself for not just killing Thomas outright.
Minutes passed.
He didn’t move.
What did he do? James looked at the inscription around the base of the now-shattered statue, and was able to pick out a few words. Enough for a basic idea of what Thomas had done. He fell to his knees and wept. I just killed him for nothing!
He had just killed his best friend. He didn’t have many in the first place, instead losing himself in worlds of written fantasy fiction. But Thomas actually connected with him a bit, and they bonded over their interests. Thomas was the only hero that kept in contact. The only one who had met James’ family since they all split up a decade ago. And he had just killed him, why? To protect his fucking mana core? He wept openly, feeling grief wash over him. He held his sides and gasped for air through the bouts of sobbing.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Anyone looking at him would think he was a broken man. And he was. Broken. All of the memories, all of the horrible things he had witnessed – came crashing back into him as a cataclysmic cascade. He was overwhelmed with the recollections and felt sick to his stomach. I killed my friend.
Looking through his tears, he spotted something. A ball of paper. His eyes went wide, the Knowledge hero core? None of the heroes that died in the past had a recoverable mana core – it vanished to God-knows where. But here was a hero mana core – sitting right in front of him. The orb turned translucent and shot out of his grip, through the Northern wall…vanishing. Looking up, his sharp eyes caught several other mana cores floating above the statue before they shot off into various directions, vanishing through the walls. That’s what he was after.
James reasoned the hero mana cores were recalled to and stored inside the statue when a hero died. Thomas must have figured that out, and by shattering the statue, freed them. They’re out there in the world, now. Would they find new hosts to turn into heroes? Wait for James to claim them? He had no idea. Looking back down at the bloody spot, he felt the sorrow rise in him again. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just wanted to stay…me.” He fought back the sobs to regain composure, as he heard booted feet in the hall behind him. “I…I had a family to protect.” That was justification enough, he hoped.
A single silver lining to the situation was that Thomas was now back on Earth. Along with the rest of the dead heroes. They were home. Thomas was home. And James was still here.
That made what he did tolerable enough that he could put on the façade he needed to present right then.
Guards ran in behind him and secured the area. “I…I need to get home,” he whispered as he stood. Turning to the guards he issued orders, “…Clean this place. Tell the king…the Knowledge hero betrayed us…and was slain. But he destroyed the statue.” He didn’t like lying, but if he told the truth of what happened, he would lose all credibility. Using his foot, he smudged the painted inscription – enough to prevent anyone from discerning what he had learned. I have to keep the hero cores leaving a secret.
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The next chamber of the dungeon looked similar to the last one. The main difference was the layout. Not a cube with perfect dimensions; instead, this room had several raised platforms on either side, and the pedestal in the center was on a smaller platform. The twins looked at Lyn for instructions. “Go to the top of either side. And be ready for a fight.” They nodded and set the supplies down before moving up to the indicated positions. Lyn heard them both use a more advanced incantation of the internal spell she had used during training. “En ethiel an le / thalion min / an dautho nin ennas / Gannon in helw / an ú-dol / a posto nin maethor / a thalion.” Their muscles expanded, their weapons blazed with a blue light – Vael’s slightly darker blue than Gael’s – and a sheen of blue surrounded their bodies.
Layering protection and mana charged weapons into a single incantation. Not bad, Lyn thought. It wasn’t a custom spell like what she could craft with her advanced knowledge of Elenthir. They had strung together a series of combat incantations. The trick was the pronunciation in rapid succession – and their ability to cast spells, she estimated, was about on par with the average combat mage she had fought alongside. Looking at the chamber, she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. If this room is like the others in past dungeons, ranged foes will appear up top, and one to fight in melee down here. She walked forward and pressed the pedestal.
The light orbs above went dark, and when they came back on, the grey portals appeared and six figures stepped out. Two on the ground floor, and two on either side next to the twins. Really? Naga? Nine-foot tall male and female combatants; the two on the ground floor with Lyn were wearing chain mail and wielding tridents. The two flanking Vael and Gael respectively held bows, but had knives strapped to their waists. Serpent-people with the torso and upper body of a person, with a snake head, that to the center of the belly and further down turned into the form of a serpent. Their fangs were poisonous, and by the way their weapons and ammo dripped the viscous green substance, she knew those were mana charged with poison elementalism.
She dashed forward and bisected the first one with Cataclysm; her blade carving through its attempt to parry with ease. Wheeling on the second one, she raised her blade and parried a strike – her weapon melting its own. She spun with the momentum and slashed that one in twain as well. Glancing up, she saw the twins in action.
Gael and Vael were both holding their ground against these foes. Their technical skill with the spear was just as good as Lyn’s, if not better. Makes sense, they’ve been alive for…huh, I don’t know how old they are. She watched them almost simultaneously dispatch the first of their foes – catching them off guard as soon as they had left the grey colored portals.
The remaining ones drew their knives and slashed at the twins. Vael dodged the knife and struck a counter-blow, the blue mana surrounding her spear easily piercing the hardened skin of the Naga.
Gael didn’t bother dodging – instead deflecting the knife slash before reaching his hand up to grab the Naga by the throat. With a single move, he snapped its neck, dropping it limp.
The pedestal rose in the center of the room, the lights reactivated, and the doors at the far end opened. “Well done!” Lyn said as she clapped for her Bodyguards’ performances in the combat. “Grab the supplies, we have one more fight to go.”
Vael nodded and laughed, “I haven’t ever been in a dungeon. Are they all this easy?”
Lyn shook her head, “It depends. I’ve experienced some difficult ones. Even with twelve heroes, we were hard-pressed. Kory-” Fuck.
Gael stopped loading up the supplies and stared at Lyn, “What did you say?”
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James walked out of his audience with King Kristoph. He had been admonished, but ultimately, his actions were cleared. After all, he was the Paragon hero, and his reputation was impeccable. Killing Thomas was an attempt to keep him from sabotaging the statue of Aelor. James just didn’t get there in time. At least, that was the story James chose to go with.
He had not shared his insight into the hero cores being scattered across Ghomar, or possibly finding new hosts. Leaving the castle and palace, he traveled through the city, giving lip-service and mumbling thanks to those who praised him on his walk home. His heavy greaves clanking on the street was a call to clear the way, and people parted for him. Their savior. The Paragon that slew the Demonic Dragon.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity grappling with the guilt and shame of killing Thomas…he arrived home.
He opened the small gate leading to their front garden, and his boys stopped playing with their wooden swords. “Dad!” They both shouted, dropping the toys, and running to him. James knelt and embraced his sons, feeling the tears begin to brim once more. I killed him for them, he thought. I couldn’t risk losing this.
His wife walked over and shooed the boys away. Maria could read him like a book, and she closed the gate behind him, walking inside with him, and shutting the door to leave the nanny to watch the boys outside. “Honey…what’s wrong?” She sat him down on the couch and rubbed his back.
James cracked, his mask vanishing. He sank into her embrace and, for the first time in quite a long time, just let himself be miserable. Killing Thomas brought back all the memories of violence that he had thought dealt with. The bloodshed, the people he had killed, the heroes he saw slain – his classmates – in their lead-up to confronting the great evil of the past. They all overwhelmed him in a torrential flood of trauma that threatened to consume him entirely in a black pit of despair.
Maria shushed him, and held him close, unclasping his armor and pulling the pieces from him. “It’s okay. I’m here.” She slowly raked her fingers through his hair, having comforted him before during one of these breakdowns. She understood him. She knew him better than anyone else. Her empathy was bottomless, and it gulped down James’ sorrow.
James held tight to her. What kind of monster am I? No, he wasn’t a monster. Just a man desperate to keep what he had.
Thomas…forgive me.