Kenshiro Perez sat cross-legged on the stone floor before the altar, time losing meaning. Was it an hour? Two? He couldn’t believe he’d met a devil—let alone made a deal with one. At some point he stopped staring into space, remembering he was supposed to be in some sort of hurry.
He was tired, he felt weighed down. So much had happened in so little time. Not only was he stranded in a dungeon in the middle of nowhere, but now, that Infernal Skill was etched into his very being, intrinsically tied to his genetic makeup.
His mind reeled at the implications. Obsequity—the new Skill that he had recently been obliged to acquire—was still a mystery. He understood its basic nature, yet he didn’t know the full extent of its power. What did it mean to control Devils? How far did that influence extend?
His thoughts had drifted to Vahl as he sat there. Was he in league with other Devils? Did he flee because of the deal? Val’s agreement had been explicit: he couldn’t harm Kenshiro or Tara’s followers. But did that mean he could just go out and tell another Devil to come and dominate him? Did that include potential allies? He didn’t know. The part that unnerved him the most was his newfound authority over lesser devils. How long would they follow his commands? If he ordered an imp to do something, would it obey forever? Or did there need to be another deal involved, like Vahl's?
Kenshiro’s hands clenched and unclenched, his hand moving through his hair. “I’m an idiot.”
Kenshiro pulled up the quest screen with a thought.
Quest: Deal with the Devil
Description: Claim this temple for Tara, Venerated Spirit. If you have to make a deal, do it. We will figure it out. Just don’t trade your soul. Please.Success: +5 Attribute PointsFailure: Ken, it’s me. Tara
The screen flickered to life in his vision, dragging him from his spiraling thoughts. The translucent screen appeared, glowing with soft green light and white letters. His stomach dropped. It was like something ripped straight from a video game, and yet, here it was—an unnerving intrusion into his reality.
He hadn’t been paying attention before, too wrapped up in surviving. But now, in the silence of the altar room, he felt like he had overlooked something critical.
The quest from earlier, the one that had brought him to this dungeon in the first place, blinked back at him. The quest he barely understood. But what was the goal? Was it always to strike a deal with a devil? The thought gnawed at him. It felt like some grand manipulation—an elaborate con that had pushed him toward a fate he hadn’t chosen.
The quest had a failure condition, though. "It’s me.” Those words still rattled around his head. What did they mean? Was Tara the System? Was Tara in the system or controlled by the person controlling the system? He had too many questions and zero answers.
Kenshiro stood, unease crawling over his skin. The corpses of the gray-skinned Dru’ven littering the room made him increasingly uncomfortable. He stepped away from them, his eyes scanning the altar. These dead bodies—why were they here?
As he approached the altar, the mosaic tiles on the walls were a mass of color and runes he did not understand. A spacescape of four orbs crashing into each other in blues and blacks. Another sphere in six different lighter colors and one that looked kind of like earth in the far corner.
He looked it over, trying to keep his mind from the pile of corpses around him. He placed his hand on the cold stone surface, the words spilling from his mouth almost unbidden.
“I claim this place in the name of… Tara.” He had no idea what he was doing.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
The room responded. Colors on the walls swirled—blues and blacks bleeding into whites and reds, the hues shifting like they were alive. The sconces on the walls glowed, their flames flickering from one color to the next until they settled on a warm amber light. It wasn’t just the colors. The dark metal of the chandelier shifted to a bright copper, the very room reshaping itself, almost as if it was acknowledging his claim.
The mosaic on the wall twisted, colors reforming into new images. A red-skinned figure sat on a throne of bodies, while another stood tall before a dark-winged Devil. Above the altar, the grand mosaic shifted into a swirling living glass—depicting…Tara.
There she was—his wife, in a form he both recognized and didn't. Her dark skin shimmered with sunlight, her braided black hair cascading to her waist. Her eyes—those deep, knowing eyes—glowed with the very night itself, and in her hands, she held light and fire.
The most striking of all was her visage. It was an unscarred, happy, hopeful Tara. There were no burn scars on her neck, no hand with skin grafts or bandages. It was like she was healed, floating above him like some kind of ethereal being, beckoning him.
Kenshiro’s breath caught in his throat. There she was. “Tara.” His voice, hoarse with emotion.
Ken fell to his knees, not caring for the little notification of quest complete nor the free attribute points or whatever. He pressed his head against the cold stone of the altar, and cried. A tired, emotionally spent, physically drained, sobbing cry.
~~~
Tara hovered at the precipice. Caught between life and disaster. She had learned, in this strange afterlife, that a venerated spirit—which, apparently, she had become—would leave behind destruction upon its death. A cataclysm. An earthquake. A volcanic eruption. Something to mark the passing of a force tied to the very fabric of the world. But that worry paled in comparison to the sound of her husband’s sobs. She could see him even now. She could feel him, his exhaustion, his mental anguish. She watched him, kneeling in front of the altar, exhausted, drained in body and mind.
She watched as something incredible was happening all around him. Motes of golden light began to fall up from the ground like inverted heavenly rain. The motes fell up and poured into their connection. She watched as the ancient energies of the temple—the natural ley lines of Mana that crisscrossed beneath it—awoke. The power coalesced around Kenshiro, drawn into the soul tether they shared, and from him, it flowed into her like sunlight breaking through clouds.
It filled her,reawakening her senses that had dimmed in the struggle for survival. She gasped, her awareness expanding as the power rejuvenated her. Her small, dwindling reservoir of life energy swelled, pushing back the encroaching void. Awe overtook her as the Mana coursed through her, radiating out from her fingertips, flowing through her very being. She felt alive in a way she hadn’t since she’d first blessed Ken.
She felt like she couldn’t breathe. It was so much power at one time. Yet it felt wonderful.
“What is this?” she thought, marveling at the sensations. The space around her shifted, and for the first time, she saw the world as it truly was. Not just darkness—no longer just an endless void—but a dim, glowing pathway, like cobblestones floating in the emptiness. The path began to bloom, patches of grass growing underfoot, the edges of her vision tinged with soft blue light. Flowers and trees, their colors otherworldly, lit up like fires in a million hues, casting a serene glow over everything.
As she lifted her gaze, the scene before her unfolded into something far greater. Bridges of stone arched over gentle streams, the sky above was painted with light and shadow in colors she could hardly name. It wasn’t that these things hadn’t existed before—they had—but it was as though her eyes had finally opened to see them fully. Her perception had sharpened, her awareness stretched to encompass this realm that existed beyond the limbo she had known.
It was a world inhabited by beings far greater than her—a place where Godlings walked, she could feel them. Dozens of powerful auras, a smattering of Aspects and Mana. Tara could feel them, each aura unique and powerful. Radiant presences weaving through the fabric of this new reality, each one pulsing with its own unique power.
She glanced down, not at the grass or the glowing stonework beneath her feet, but at her own hands. Her dark, ebony skin was smooth, unmarred, free from the pockmarks and scars left by the fire that had once nearly claimed her life. It felt like a lifetime ago, those days of pain and struggle. Now, the burn marks were gone. Her skin was beautiful and pristine. Not so much as a blemish marked her appearance.
Tara fell to her knees, the knees of a Godling, and cried. A sadly grateful, overdue frustrated, and rightfully overwhelmed, sobbing cry.
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