Chapter 1: A Tired Soul in a Dark Place
SEOFOOOON!
Adrenaline smashes into my system and I shoot my right hand out to roll to my feet, only instead of feeling ground beneath my fingers a jagged rock stabs the scarred nub that is all that remains of my forearm and my face is introduced to the floor.
“Fuck.” I mumble around a mouthful of dust.
The sounds of my helpless floundering eventually dies and I just lay there defeated with my smarting nose scrunched in the dust. For the first time since my arrival to the Dark (Dark with a capital D, it’s the only name that suits this place.) I am grateful that there is no one here to witness my embarrassing fumble.
Watching a legendary immortal warrior that had slain countless powerful mages and monsters jerk awake from a bad dream and fall flat on his face isn’t exactly awe inspiring.
Once I recollect what was left of my tattered pride I roll onto my back and stare into the inky black. The floor is cold against my back, even through the multiple layers of furs I had fashioned into a garb and tunic. My toes have it the worst since I had long since worn my boots down to tattered flats years ago, leaving them bare and naked to the draining cold of the Dark.
I sigh and wiggle my limbs in hope of getting some semblance of feeling back into them, I stop as a sharp twinge of pain slices up my right arm, or rather what is left of it. My wrist was sliced in half, leaving several inches of useless bone and muscle below my elbow.
Before I had lost my right hand to Knivblad the Swordmonger on that battlefield all those years ago I had heard of amputees suffering from “ghost pain”. It’s a miscommunication between the brain and the limb, pretty much it means that the body is simply refusing to accept that its short one limb. It’s been a while since I had last felt this ghost pain, and let me tell you, it’s not fun.
I pull my emotions to my core and lock them away in the usual dark corner of my heart and climb to my feet. I take deep breaths of the stale inky air around me. My nose chills as I sniff the air. I don’t sense or smell any of those Things in the Dark close to me, so I am mostly safe for the moment. I close my eyes for a moment and slow my breathing to relax and find my center.
[True Sight] [Level: 7,421]
I feel my Observation skill snap in place behind my closed eyes, even through my eyelids I see the tendrils of mana squirm and twist in the dark, most are hues of light blue and purple but a single white trail of mana playfully dancing in the dark before me stands out from all others. I know if I were to look closer I would see streaks of crackling crimson lightening race across the white thread of mana.
The white and red hues is clear and vibrant today. Excitement builds behind my heart’s rampart where the rest of my emotions are pressing for a release.
I’m so close, I can nearly taste it.
No, no, calm down. Emotion is tied to Will, and Will is tied to Magic. If I become excited than the mana I internalized will seep out and make my presence known to the Things that go bump in the Dark.
I can’t afford to do anything rash now. I have been wandering in the Dark for close to an eternity, I can be patient for a while more. No that I really have another choice.
My fingers slide to my chest and find the medallion that hangs there. The medallion is my sigil, my house symbol.
It resembles a mithril coin that fits neatly in the palm of my hand that hangs from a chain of the same metal. A ragged traveler’s cloak wrapped around a stave is embroidered in the center with my motto etched around the rim in English, an ancient language from my home world outside of The Castaway Isle.
“Though the path is long, and my soul grows weary I will walk the hard road, even if I must bleed, cry, fall, and crawl.” It read.
Compared to other house mottos it is sobering, however it fits a tired old soul like me well.
After all, I am more stubborn than powerful.
The sigil is a reminder of who I was before being banished to the Dark. A memento of what I had lost and, God willing, what I can reclaim. The trail of white and red mana is my connection to what I desire to reclaim most-
Erin.
She is still alive, of that much I am certain. Over my unwilling tenure here in the dark my connections to the outside have been severed one by one. Before I was imprisoned here I had over two dozen familiars throughout the Castaway Isle.
Now… there is only one.
I’m coming Erin, and nothing will stop me.
I pick myself up and shift my ramshackle clothing more evenly across my shoulders and I pat myself down to make sure none of my equipment was knocked loose in my face’s unsightly meeting with the cold stone floor.
Sometimes I fail to tell if I am even moving or not. The absolute absence of light may have something to do with it, but I believe it is more due to my slipping sense of sanity.
I had also lost track of time almost the instant I opened my eyes to this inky black.
I didn’t know how long it had taken for me to be whisked away by that damned Warlock’s teleportation spell after the ill-fated battle with Knivblad and the loss of my right forearm.
My time displacement only worsened the longer I wandered these swirling black depths. Sometimes I would lose track of my sense of self completely.
Not for the first time I would find myself clothed in gore and sporting a new collection of scars without a shred of a clue on where it came from or how long I had blacked out. it could have easily been a few hours, or even years. Its tough to tell without a way to even tell if its day or not.
I make my way through the Dark following the thread of mana, my pace brisk, just a sort of power walk and just shy of a jog. My stamina is more than up for the task even if I were to take it at dead sprint, however I must be patient, I must pace myself.
After all, I am not alone in the Dark.
For a while there is nothing. The only sound that reaches my ear is my bare feet hitting the stone surface and my light breathing. All at the same time the Dark is a suffocating, malevolent force and a cold, empty expanse, a void as lonely and as careless as space. Sounds does not travel well here, the closest sensation I can compare it to is standing atop a mountain shrouded in a thundercloud. It is thin air yet still occupied by a thicker presence.
Then I hear it. A sharp little tick, tick, tick. An innocent enough sound that rapidly grows into a frightening alarm of impending doom. It’s a menacing little clicking that ignites the imagination and breeds terror in even the more stout hearted.
In short, it sounds like a spider made of knives. Fuck those things.
Actually, a spider with blades for limbs would practically be cuddly by comparison to what was actually be making that accursed ticking. I can’t really describe it, nor really any of the other creatures I have encountered here in the Dark. That’s why I just call them Things.
[True Sight] [Level: 7,421]
[t%&n1?] [Level: @&*#%] [Age: */@`]
See? Even my fucking God-like Observation skill can’t make heads or tails of these Things.
A convulsing mass of madly twitching nightmare fuel jerks and skitters towards me on countless spindly legs, I can only gather my strength and calm my rising heart and the rush of adrenaline that slams into my system. The change is instantaneous, the ever so slight tremble in my hand ceases and my narrowing tunnel vision clears as does the roar of blood in my ears. I don’t need the adrenaline rush, I only need my senses.
Though the Thing lacks any sort of head or structure to its body a shrill screech of glee splits the cold inky dark as its spins and ticks closer. This Thing defies all reason and can only be described as unnatural. Just its very presence sends chills up my spine and a sinking dread down into the pit of my stomach. This Thing is revulsion and hunger given form. (Form, not shape, these disturbing creatures never could decide what they want to look like.)
Now I am sure you are wondering how a practically naked one armed man would handle a wreathing anger blob of spikes and madness. The solution is pretty simple.
Punch it.
“My Soul given form, my Will given shape, My Magic given purpose. Dance to my Will and sharpen to my resolve.”
[Ethereal Talons] [Level: 5,193]
I pull mana from my core, the arcane energy snaps to attentions and eagerly follows my commands, flowing like a flooding river down my mutilated arm and wrapping around my muscles before erupting from my arm in a rush of raw power. The disgusting, inky air flinches as my mana crackles and hums with a white glow and red lightening into a hand clad in wicked talons.
Another screech of delight rips from the Thing and it barrels towards me with a frantic, starving desperation. There is little that I have discovered about these creatures in the times since I arrived, but I am sure of one thing. These Things in the Dark hunger for Magic. Magic, after all, is Life-force, and I wouldn’t exactly call these Things “alive”.
Just hungry.
“Here freaky, freaky, freaky. Come get the nice glowing snack.” I gurgle with a shake of my pulsing claws.
My throat hurts just coughing those words out. Wow, when was the last time I actually said anything beyond an occasional curse? I need to start talking more, even if I only have me for company. Though, to be honest, if I were to meet me I wouldn’t want to talk to me either, I’m kind of an ass. Meh, I’ll sleep on it.
The Thing thrashes closer with a sporadic tick, tick, tick. Just as it lurches within striking range it giggles, actually giggles, before throwing its spines out and pounces like a rabid sea urchin from hell.
Then promptly explodes into a fine, inky mist and a shower of spines.
[Ethereal Talons], is an old favorite spell of mine from back in the early days of my Agelessness. It is exceptionally difficult to learn, much less actually use in combat. Since I lack any sort of Affinity with any school of magic learning a spell from the Soul Branch of Arcane magic wasn’t something I would let slip through my fingers. Why? Because Soul Magic doesn’t care about affinity, anyone can use it.
There is one major drawback though, Soul Magic is rare for one main reason, its so damn hard to use. The most basic of spells from the Soul branch require an understanding of one’s, well, Soul. The stuff that makes you, you. Those with the Monk Class are typically masters of utilizing Soul Magic, hence their inclination towards pursuing the road to enlightenment. Balance and finding your inner peace or whatever is kinda their thing.
I am anything but balanced, and I tossed inner peace out the window the moment someone had tried to explain it to me.
I’ve come to terms with my reservation in Hell centuries ago, no need with crying about it. If I have to do evil to ensure those that I love to have a chance at a happy afterlife than it’s worth it.
Not that I feel good about it or anything… its complicated.
I’ve spent too much time here. I need to press on. Squashing one of these Things will get the Dark riled up and I’d rather stretch what little resources I have tucked away in my tatter garb.
Suddenly I find myself blinded. I close my eyes and look away from the source of blinding light while trying to figure out what it was. I reach out with my influence and my soul flares with an incredible fury!
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
My mana goes ballistic and I clasp my remaining hand to my burning chest, my nails digging through my thick clothes and into my flesh. I think I smell blood.
I clamp down on my core a second later to rein in my control. My mana resists like a feral dog trapped on the end of a leash. I pull harder and the dog turns into a bucking bull.
Though I am taken by surprise I recognize why my mana is rebelling against me. A feral grin curls my lips, exposing my teeth in a feral smile fit for a madman, or perhaps a monster.
The Gatekeeper is coming.
Convenient, I was tracking it and now its coming straight for me!
I decide that my rebellious mana had enough time to wiggle and squirm. I bring my Will down hard and my Mana goes silent, killing any notion of resistance. It hurts, God it hurts, but better a little pain than find myself shishkabobbed on the end of one of the Gatekeeper’s claws.
The first time I encountered the Gatekeeper that very nearly happened. All of my observation skills and sensatory enhancing spells had failed me. Every. Single. One.
Now, I consider myself more paranoid than the average immortal nutbag but apparently my two dozen active and passive skills and spells were useless in detecting this thing. My only warning was my Mana freaking out like it just had.
I have my theories on why I can’t detect this Gatekeeper, and not one of them are very comforting. The one I find most likely is the most unsettling.
That the Gatekeeper IS the Dark.
I’ve seen what the Dark looks like beyond my little patch of sightline. That was the cause of my first “episode” along a major loss of memory. I never tried to see that far again.
The light that had blinded me turned out to be my connection with Erin, the thread of white and red Mana I had been following.
It led straight towards the malevolent presence, straight towards the Gatekeeper. It looks as if it was leading me like a fish caught on a hook, Erin’s connection the line.
Only difference is this little fish is intent on eating not the bait, but the fisherThing.
The Gatekeeper is difficult to describe. When I faced it last, I had been more focused on keeping Charles alive, he was a boy I considered a pueso-adopted son of sorts. Last I saw him he had leapt through a tear in reality, a tear ripped by the Gatekeeper.
The same tear in reality that Erin’s connection threaded through into the Dark.
I had widened the rend in the Void to help Charles escape but imagine my surprise when I had fought the Gatekeeper to a standstill and escaped to find a faint little thread of light weaving through the Dark to my heart. This could mean only one thing, I hurt the Gatekeeper, I managed to wound the Dark and damage that tear in reality enough to keep it open.
I finally have a way home.
I must have scared the Gatekeeper though. It used to hunt me relentlessly, but after that particular beatdown it seems to be running from me. My memories of that fight had faded to black and white years ago. My excitement and enthusiasm had long since died to cold ash.
But none of that really mattered. I have Erin’s thread. I have a way home. I have a purpose.
I was never really good with emotion, even as a mortal I found it difficult to relate to other people, and to really feel anything.
What do people call that condition again? Psychopathy? Or perhaps I’m more of a Sociopath? I have loved before so perhaps Sociopath is more accurate.
My lack of emotion has proven beneficial to my survival however. I do not frighten easily, nor am I quick to anger, however that does not mean I am immune or incapable of those emotions.
My lapses into insanity in this God-forsaken Dark is proof of that.
A tendril of smoke and madness lashes out from the Dark, the huge tentacle nearly indiscernible against its inky backdrop.
I duck and roll to avoid the massive tentacle and before it could attack me again I drop all of my power limiters and rip asunder my mental shackles. Pure energy flares from my core but paused in a moment of hesitation, as if the power I had been concealing was doubting I was actually allowing it free in full.
But it was only a moment of hesitation.
Suddenly my muscles and bones ignite in a torrent of power I had been cultivating and nurturing for years, a feat of [Mana Manipulation] all but a few could claim to. Mana I have been circulating, compressing and refining ceaselessly since I had discovered [Mana Manipulation] was finally allowed to flow free from my core.
My glowing Ethereal arm flares a blinding white and crimson radiance as the magic I had been holding back since the last time I had fought this abomination ignites the air around me, revealing my Aura and what I really am.
A monster.
A thousand mouths pry open and screech in the Dark, the voice of the Gatekeeper a grating chorus of horror, a melody reminiscent of innocent women burning at the stake, drowning children, and disemboweled men scooping their intestines back into the ragged holes in their flesh.
It’s the sound of agony, the symphony of despair, the song of the Dark.
I refuse to dance to this.
I hold my Ethereal hand out to the Dark and my Mana pulses hungrily, eager to bend all to my Will.
“Still the Void and heed my Will! All within my sight is my own. My Aura is my Crown and the ground I walk my Kingdom! I will bow to no one! YOU WILL BOW TO ME!”
[Aura Dominion] [Level: 10,007]
The ground shakes, the air ignites and the Dark screams.
And in the pale white light of my Mana the Gatekeeper shows its faces. An eldritch nightmare shaped with an arachnoid mass of eyes, mouths and mandibles with the temperament of a world-eating Kraken bears down on me and my meager flashlight of a glowing Ethereal arm. I am little more than a tiny, faint pinprick of light in a writhing sea of shadows and madness.
Next to this bargain bin Cthulhu nightmare my feral appearance is practically adorable in comparison. You gotta take your victories where you can get ‘em.
I condense my Dominion to only a short distance around me. I may be fighting the Dark itself, but I have no need to stretch my influence over a large area, I just need to protect myself from this thing’s influences and make it regret striking me.
I shape some of my Mana into a mass in my palm, the air quivers from the miniscule bead of white light as I condense as much Mana as I can into this little bead. In the past I tried burning, freezing, electrocuting and any number of other of damaging effects on the Gatekeeper, the only one that I find to be effective was just to blow it up. Or punch it.
So, I do both.
I sweep across the floor towards the Gatekeeper as it rains countless shadowy tendrils down and around me, each tentacle at least as wide of a two story building, many are far larger. Just grazing one of these tendrils chills me to the bone, even through my [Aura Domination]. Had I not possessed [Aura Domination] or a similar skill I surely would have been petrified or driven mad by the dread that inky black mass of evil incarnate emits like a foul body odor.
The Gatekeeper’s face easily be the size of a small planet, but it moves far too fast for it to be fair. It swims about the Dark like a turtle thrown to sea. As I slip, dash, and spin around the earth shattering tentacles plowing across the ground around me the Gatekeeper slips away, dragging its wiggling limbs with it.
I suppose it was now trying to give me the slip after obviously failing to catch me by surprise. That is not good, that means that contrary to what I had believed up to this point this Thing can learn and adapt. However, it is missing one vital detail.
Erin’s connection.
The thread of white and crimson Mana spins and bounces across the Dark as the Gatekeeper makes its escape. Like I’m going to let that happen. This Thing has the audacity to try a squish and run on me, so how can I not return that gesture in kind?
I pour Mana into my legs and line up my shot, I will only have one good chance at this, I’ve never tried taking a cheap shot at its back before, hell I’m not completely certain this Thing even has a back, but whatever the case I’m going to stab the fuck out of it.
I jump.
Stale air whips angrily at my face as punishment for attempting to break the sound barrier. My ears are completely useless against the harsh whistle of rushing air, but my narrowed eyes take the brunt of the abuse, however I refuse to close them, my gaze riveted on the winding white and red thread of Mana guiding me to my way home.
I feel, more than see, the Gatekeeper, the familiar slimy trill of dread drips down my skin, signaling to me its near proximity.
Trusting my instincts, I flare my Mana around and through me for every ounce of power I can muster and plow my fist into the Dark, the tiny bead of condensed Mana screaming for release. Just before I make contact I open fist and release the bead of mana.
And for one brilliant, shining moment the Dark became day.
Meat and rotten ichor are the last things I see as the brilliant flash of Mana winks out, but what I did see in the flash was a confirmation of my deepest, darkest nightmare.
Millions. Billions. Countless.
This was not the only Gatekeeper.
Trillions of eyes from Billions of Things shone against my attack. Countless teeth and claws flashed in the explosion. It was like I was battling a planet only to find I’m in a galaxy of Horrors.
I can’t win. Not against this. Not against the Dark.
Good thing I don’t have to win. I just have to escape.
The Gatekeeper I stuck screeches in agony as it wiggles and flounders in a pain I am all too familiar with. I must have hit a soft spot, judging from what I saw before I looked beyond it I gouged out a huge wound from its back. Erin’s connection trembles from the Gatekeeper’s screech, drawing my gaze and focus back to my purpose… but I can’t help myself but take another shot from the monstrosity that had been stalking me for years.
So, I’m feeling a little petty, sue me.
[Fist of Havoc] [Level: 1,620]
I ignore the icy sensation racing up my remaining arm as I slam my fist home and activated my Skill and force Mana through my arm. The burn of Mana racing through my veins clashes with the Gatekeeper’s chilling touch. I don’t use [Fist of Havoc] often because of the danger associated with punching a target with the intention of detonating it from the inside. Mostly the skill is used on inanimate objects or the ground. I’m standing on the Gatekeeper, so I guess it counts.
My punch connects with a wet smack followed by a sharp crack, a tiny detonation just below the surface. One explosion becomes two and two becomes four until a chain reaction of small explosions race across the Gatekeeper’s ragged hide, blowing out a swath of tentacles and several of its eyes and patchwork maws in the process.
I smile and drink in the carnage.
Damn that felt good.
However, even after all the damage I’ve done I still barely scratched this Thing. It is the size of a planet after all, and I’m not even large enough to be considered a flea on its back.
But I’ve certainly gotten its attention.
Dread and cold race up my legs with every stride and leap across one of the Gatekeeper’s gargantuan tentacles. I force Mana down into my muscles to fight the chill to limited success. If I stay much longer this close to this Thing it won’t matter that I hurt it, I’ll just freeze up and perish. Already my body is fighting me at every step. I pour so much of my Mana into my body I actually begin to glow a faint, ghostly white with streaks of crimson crackling around it.
[After Burn Skill Discovered!]
[After Burn] [Level: 1]
Cool. New shit to play with.
[Aura Domination Compromised!]
[Aura Domination Failed!]
Ah.
Oh dear.
That’s not good.
What was once a trickle of cold breaks into a flood, My muscles spasm in protest against the rush of cold. I only have seconds before I succumb to the Effects, maybe less. My lungs scream in agony as icy despair stabs into my chest and spreads towards my core.
The compromised tear in reality is so close, I can actually see the distortion where the thread of Mana meets with the other side of the Void. I feel my legs seize, causing me to stumble to my knees.
NO! I will not die here! Not when I’m so close!
“GRRRRAAAHHHH!”
I tear myself to my feet. I’ve lost all feeling everywhere. My fingers are numb and slow, my arms fight my every command- Wait. I look down to my dismembered arm.
I smile.
“M-M-My Soul given form, my Will g-given shape, My Magic given purpose. Dance to my Will and sh-sharpen to my resolve!”
[Ethereal Talons] [Level: 5,193]
Ghostly claws erupt from my petrified arm, I didn’t have the time, nor the Mana left to refine it as much as I would have liked but it will do.
I abandon [After Burn] and pour all that I am into my mutilated limb and clumsily sling it towards the tear in reality. The misty white limb bends to my Will and stretches an impossible distance away. I anchor my claws into the Gatekeeper’s hide and, much to its displeasure, extend my claws and hook in as deeply as I could go.
With the last vestiges of my strength I pull with all my might and I slingshot across the Dark and narrowly avoiding getting squashed by an angry tentacle.
Once again air whips against my face and deafens me to the howl of the wind. I whip by where I anchored it and dissipated the spell as I passed.
It was all or nothing. If I miss the portal or come up short I’m dead. I can only trust in my skill and pray my aim is true.
I hold what I wholly expect to be my last breath and watch as the distortion grows larger and larger, until the “tear” in reality turns out to be a huge crack in the folds of space. It was large enough to let an entire Light Combat Frigate fly through with room to spare.
And here I was worried about missing it.
I laugh as I sail through the distortion and into a different kind of Dark. I’m hit with an odd sense of sideways vertigo as my horizontal trajectory builds speed, the likes of which I have only felt in the vacuum of space. My current predicament is forgotten in my delirious euphoria.
I did it. I escaped! Take that Dark! Fuck you and your spider-calamari wannabe buddies!
“HAH!” I cheer.
I find myself spinning a little as I continue to go faster and faster and as I come down from my euphoric high I feel my insides plaster themselves against my spine and ribs. Just as I begin to question the wisdom of chucking myself into a giant crack in the folds of reality held up by an ancient nightmare squid the size of a Planet I smack into a wall of air resistance.
My skin flares and my clothes smoke and ignite as friction does what friction does and tears across my tumbling form as I fly sideways out of the portal at Mach 2. I clench my teeth against the heat and brace for a very fast and very messy landing.
I wasn’t disappointed.
I manage to judge my speed right and tuck my burning shoulder with the ground rushing past me and for the second time today my face meets dust.
The impact is every bit as painful as I had expected, though I do have to say I do a killer meteorite impression.
I plow into the earth with a thunderous roar, my head spinning and limbs flailing, despite my considerable efforts to keep them tucked. After digging a respectable trench through the ground I’m launched into the air and smack into the ground again and grind across the hard earth before bouncing like a superball where I finally end my journey with my face digging out a Seofon-shaped trough.
I thrust a defiant fist to the heavens in victory.
Thank God for my high Endurance. No way a normal person could survive that.
My elation builds as I wipe the blood and earth from my face and snap my broken nose back into place. A small price to pay for my survival. Nothing could ruin this moment for me. I had been dreaming of this for countless years. My first moment as a free man since I lost everything.
I open my eyes and look skyward.
And I cry.
I bawl like a child. I’m completely overwhelmed. Its so beautiful, the night sky.
Piros is hanging low in the sky shining a vibrant ruby red. Countless twinkling lights flicker and dance in the velvet canvas of space.
I don’t remember much after that. I must have cried for hours. But it was liberating, those tears of joy. I don’t regret a second of that night. In fact, I’m proud of it. I’m proud that I can still feel enough to cry in the face of such beauty.
Eventually the moment ends, and I force my ragged legs under me and fold my emotions away for a later time. Now I have to focus. I have to find Erin.
I see our connection, the white and red thread, but to my eternal frustration it leads straight up, into space.
She’s not here. She’s not on Enith.
I’m disappointed. No. that’s not quite a strong enough word to describe what I’m feeling but what did I really expect? To find my Soul Familiar, my better half, just sitting there in front of the portal waiting for me? I should have known better. Why can’t anything be easy?
All well, no use crying over spilled milk. Next, I have to figure out where I am and try to find where Erin is, then I can get off this rock.
“What I wouldn’t do for a space ship right about now.” I gurgle-
-Right before I’m struck by a fiery hunk of space ship falling from the sky, and for the third time that day my face meets the dirt.
“Fuck.”