The cavernous vault echoed with every step he took. Despite the time he had spent away and the slowly corrosive effect of the Depths, the walls of his most sacred place still seemed to pulse with magic. Though robbed and ruined, it was still teeming with enough power to prevent monsters from forming within its walls, something rather unheard of for a demesne so deep in the Depths.

With each step, the sigils carved into the walls nearest him shimmered in response to their master's presence. He knew that without maintenance, they would slowly fade away, but his past self had done much to ensure that they would last. That, at least, gave Abad some comfort. He was, if nothing else, home. His vault was still a memento to his past power, and being there made him feel rejuvenated, if only slightly.

He had spent several hours examining the vault's state, but there was little left to learn. The main hall had been sacked, and he hadn't had the emotional fortitude to explore the back rooms as of yet. So, after sulking, he finally meandered to the large hole in the southern side of his vault, ready to face his new reality.

He started by inspecting the large crack in his vault wall. He ran his fingers along the edge, tracing the line between his immaculately carved vault's inner walls and the crude hack job beyond. Pick axes and magical scoring marred the edges, revealing a deep, narrow tunnel extending into the Depths. Curiously, a sigil, glowing with red light, shone above the hole. While it didn't affect him, he knew it would prevent others from accessing the vault. A half dozen abandoned pickaxes lay on the ground just inside the tunnel, and hundreds of chipped rocks made it obvious that someone had spent much time trying to carve their way around the enchantment. They had failed.

Angra, having remained silent for much of the time, leapt from his shoulder, forcing his weak body to take a step back to brace itself, lest it topple over.

"This is where they are, master. What's left of them at least. Come." Her eyes glowed with delight as she waved to him.

Abad stared into the dark tunnel. He could almost taste the lingering desperation of the men and women that had been trapped within by his precious servant. He smiled. They must have died slowly, struggling to move rocks and debris as they starved. "How long ago was this?" he asked his familiar, whose head had peaked around a large boulder, eyes eager for him to follow.

She tapped her chin with a clawed finger, counting on the other hand. "Ummmmm...." After some time, her head bobbed. "Ten thousand four hundred twelve days." Her eyes glanced to the stone wall of the tunnel. Abad realized that much of the scoring on the surface of the stone was actually lines. She had been counting the days.

"...that means absolutely nothing to me."

"Wait a moment! Let me think."

"Angra," he sighed. "In years, please."

"No no, I got this. Alrighty then..." She held up a single finger. "One... two... almost three decades."

"That's... pretty impressive math, actually." Abad chuckled as he reached her, patting her head as he did. "Not bad, my servant. I might be proud." He forgot his vow to stop praising her until the words left his lips, but, again, she had earned it.

A thought nagged at him, though. How long had he been dead? If it had been three decades since the thieves had entered the vault, it would have taken them years to actually find it, even with Selene's guidance. Between it being located miles under the earth underneath an expansive wilderness and the many, many enchantments protecting it, it certainly wouldnt have been easy to find, even for a skilled treasure hunter like Selene.

A few hundred more steps led the pair to the cave-in. The collapsed tunnel was lit by green glowstones, small rocks native to the Depths that glowed with a variety of colored lights. The sickly pale light illuminated ten or so skeletons, their clothes ragged and rotten. He could also make out at least one crushed figure underneath the rubble, their bony arm sticking out of the many tons of rock. The stench of rot that had to have once filled the space was barely detectable, replaced with a dusty heaviness that permeated the air.

"Oh master, you should have seen their faces," she giggled as she floated up to the corpses, waving her hands like she was splatting water onto a window. "Smush, squish, crack." She popped her tiny fist into her other hand, wiggling her tail, before turning to face Abad. She pointed to another broken arm he had missed hanging loose from beneath a massive rock on the far side of the collapse. "Like I said, three are under there. And when they were split up from that whore of a woman, they couldn't enter your vault again. I made sure of it." The little imp looked so smug.

"The sigil above the tunnel, then?"

"All me, master. Once I got strong enough, I was able to charge your sigil. Then, they were stuck." Her fangs gleamed in the pale green light. He smiled at her, impressed with his servant. He had chosen her essence and shaped it well.

There were eight bodies in total outside the rubble. Some of them were whole, resting where they eventually died. Others were dismembered, their bones piled on the far side of the tunnel, teeth marks running up and down them. Another had its hands tied behind its back, the torn skirt and ruined blouse suggesting what its ultimate fate had been.

The group had carried equipment and tools with them—pickaxes, shovels, hammers, and rope—that sat against the walls. Each showed clear signs of heavy use, and many were broken. Their remains told stories of struggle, of desperation. They were willing to do whatever they needed to get out of their situation, and as the realization dawned on them that they would die, they devolved into the monsters that mortals so desperately despise.

Stepping between the bodies, he let the image of the desperate mortals trying to claw their way to safety linger in his mind for a moment before letting it fade. What truly mattered was not the demise of these pitiful beings, as pleasing as it was; it was the restoration of his rightful property. He began searching the bodies, looking for anything that could be of use to him.

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Rifling through their ragged clothes, Abad found little of use. Some of their pockets had coins, which he in turn tried to pocket, only to realize his own clothes were little more than rags. Finding a leather coin purse on one of the bodies, he slowly collected their currency. Mostly copper mixed with a few silver coins. Other than their money, there was little of value. He found a ring with some promising runes, but his [Elven Senses] told him that its magic had long faded from the item. He threw the ring back onto the corpse.

Nothing much of worth remained. The Depths, as always, were merciless.

He glanced over at Angra, who sat perched atop one of the skeletons like it was her personal chair. She tilted her head, anticipating his next words.

"I am ready," he said flatly. He hadn't been able to bring himself to truly inspect his vault's inner rooms before. However, there was little to be salvaged out here, and he had gotten some small satisfaction in knowing that the mortals had died pitiful deaths in the dark. As he walked back towards the hole in his vault, he hesitated for a moment before adding, “Let's go inspect what’s left of the house proper.” If there was anything left to scrounge for, it would be there.

Her scrunched face made his heart drop.

***

Abad sat on the edge of his coffin again, feeling like he might just lay back inside and close the lid.

His armor? Gone.

His favorite cloak, the one he had layered his best enchantments into? Stolen.

His scepter? Missing.

His spellbook? The good one that contained all of his spells? The one he kept on a dais in the center of his spellchamber? Gone forever.

So were the spare traveling spellbooks. And his collection of enchanted rings. And his statuettes, the ones that transformed into beasts when you said the correct trigger words. His favorite was a black panther.

Gone, gone, gone.

Selene, you bitch.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Everything that meant anything to him was simply taken from him. The bitch and her bastards had plucked everything of value, leaving him with barely enough material wealth to live like a peasant in some backwater town for a few months.

He gazed down at the sackcloth bag he found that he'd fashioned into a makeshift pack. A single silver necklace, tarnished and blackened from decay, weighed it down, along with a pair of bronze bracers, their enchantments still surprisingly active. Angra said she had recovered those when she had hunted down the thieves. Most of the other belongings had lost their potency, courtesy of the Depths seeping into his home through the ruined wall and weakened enchantments.

Luckily, he had found some more coins hidden behind pedestals and scattered on the ground. Including the small number of coins he found on the bodies, he had managed to scrounge up 76 copper, 23 silver, and 4 gold coins. They jangled inside the worn leather pouch he'd found among the thieves' bodies. For his purposes, this would have to do. He managed to look through several of the inner rooms but lost all motivation after the fourth, his enchanting room.

All he could do was sit and sulk until, finally, after what felt like an eternity of sighs, he picked himself back up.

"Well. Good news, I suppose. We have enough money for some necessities once we get out of here." He flashed a half-smile.

"This is wonderful news, master!" Angra cocked her head to one side, a thin smile pulling on her pouty lips. She leaned closer to him, almost purring in delight. "I promise you I shall not disappoint you when we leave. I will serve you dutifully, even if we must live like poor slobs." With a quick wave of her hand, she performed a curtsy, bowing before her master. "Whatever you wish of me, I shall carry out."

He pushed himself upright, using the lip of the sarcophagus to steady himself as he rose.

"Well, that leads us into the bad news." The warlock took a deep breath. His ribs expanded, pushing out his thin frame and pressing against his shredded tunic. He felt a chill from the stagnant air rush through his lungs and into his veins. "My spellbooks are gone. Without them, we can't leave."

She smiled brightly. "But surely there is some kind of brilliant plan in that cunning skull of yours!" She practically bounced as she leapt to his shoulder, clasping her little claws around his neck. "Soon, we will be far from here, slaying heroes and eating monsters."

"If I had my scepter, I could have you cast my teleportation spell for us. Alas, someone stole that, too. Without my spellbook or scepter, we're stuck here. And now that I'm alive again, I'll eventually need to eat, so unless you've been practicing necromancy behind my back or know how to turn rocks into meat..." Abad paused for dramatic effect, smiling at the idea. With his full power, he was certain he could make it work... "I've got a few days, a week at the most." His stomach growled, backing him up.

"And then...?" Angra fluttered her wings nervously.

He took a deep breath. "Then I'll die."

She shrieked. "No, no, no! You won't die again. I don't want to wait again until you come back together! We have so many things to do!"

He frowned. "Not like that. I'll need you to kill me. I refuse to die like a caged animal. I'll go out on my own terms."

The look she gave him hurt almost as much as her nails digging into his neck. "NO! I'll feed you, keep you healthy!" Her wings fluttered wildly as she wrapped her arms tighter around his neck. "I cannot stand by while you waste away!"

"Ow ow OW. ANGRA. Get. Off!" He peeled her claws from his skin. She wriggled free, jumping into the air before landing in a heap at his feet. "I would rather have a loyal servant kill me quickly than suffer slowly."

"Master, I've been eating well for years!" She twirled, and for the first time, he realized what she was wearing. A rat loincloth. The nappy looking grey fur covered her lower half, the dead rat's empty eye sockets decorating her left thigh, and her tiny bust was wrapped by woven rat tails.

Disgusting, yet oddly creative. She must have really hated being alone... But still.

"I'm not eating rats." Abad swept his arm across the ruins of his once-glorious vault. "I'm a lord among men! I refuse to eat rats." He set his jaw and glared at her out of the side of his eye.

"But... but... they're tasty..."

"Enough." He let the command sink in, watching as she shrunk into herself. The idea of his ultimate demise made him grimace, but he wouldn't lower himself to eating rats. "Does anything remain in my library?"

"The books were stolen too, Master."

"What about the hidden drawer under my bed?" He really hadn't want to see his bedroom yet.

"She knew about that one too." The imp looked sheepish. "I told you not to bed her. That she was no good." Then she snapped. "How many times did I tell you not to trust her, that she shouldn't come here?!"

He rubbed his temple. "Yes, I get it, I made a mistake."

"Many mistakes," she spat.

"Sure, sure. I get it. But was it all taken?"

"No... One book remains. The metal one that talks." Her voiced dropped low, her face twisting with disgust.

"The grimoire?" The grimoire!" He stood up in excitement, his weak legs popping as he did.

"Yes, master, the grimoire." She pouted. "But I don't think we should grab that one. It's awful. Scary, even..."

Abad let out a long sigh. His muscles relaxed as he reached down to pat his familiar's shoulder. He forced a smile as she looked up at him. "I don't like it as much as you, but it's our only choice." He picked her up and pulled her onto his shoulder as he marched back into the backrooms of his vault. His bare feet pressed against the stone floor, the sound reverberating through the vast great hall as he made his way through the grand chamber and into the living space beyond.