Two darts were sticking out of my chest.

Worse yet, they were smoking.

Before I could react, the two darts burst into flame, as did my flesh around the two impact sites. I quickly batted the darts away with my gloved hand, but the fire remained. I tore a waterskin from my belt and squeezed the container onto my chest.

Rather than water, a thick, lumpy, gelatinous mass oozed from the waterskin, turning black and smoking foully where it touched the fire. Tom’s curse had curdled it.

I threw the waterskin aside and began to pat frantically at my chest. Where “water” failed, smothering seemed to do the trick. I held my gloved hands over the twin wounds on my chest until the pain became too much and then pulled my hands free, living the gloves in place as I pushed my hands on top of them.

My armour cooled, though the pain did not subside. I pulled the gloves away. Twin holes had been burned into my gambeson in the middle of my chest. Each was about the size of a circle made with my thumb and middle finger. The clothing beneath had blackened and charred away. The flesh beneath that... an ordinary man might have had holes drilled into his chest.

As it was, I had two shallow divots, as if twin orbs had been pressed into my flesh. The skin was red and shined like polished apples. the centre of each divot was torn and ragged, where the darts had pierced deepest. There, the burns went bellow my skin into the flesh of my chest. I could feel flesh slide beneath burns no matter how I moved my arms. Every action elected a wince or whimper.

I’d been so surprised the combustion I hadn’t even thought to teleport. Teleportation might not have even worked. Poison would follow, of that I was fairly certain. Burning flesh? Hopefully I’d never get the opportunity to test it.

I bent with a groan and retrieved my gloves. The leather had done its job. They were a little stiff at the outset, but even the act of inspecting the damage worked the leather back into a softened state. I stopped just short of pulling them on. My burns. Right. I’d need to get the ointment first. Burns always carried the risk of infection. Always.

I tucked the gloves into my belt while I retrieved the ointment from under Oldshoe’s seed.

“May the clouds never return!”

The acts of twisting and manuevering required caused both sides of my wound to compress at one point or another. It felt almost... crunchy.

I shuddered from more than the pain as I applied the ointment.

What had been the Mushroom-King’s deal? Knowledge for healing? Shame I didn’t trust him.

Several more minutes of yelping and ginger application later and I had everything packed back away. I bent (“Destroyer take me!”) one last time to retrieve my discarded waterskin.

Time to move on. The only way out was through at this point. I’d found enough wonders in the dungeon, perhaps this next room would contain another which could deal with my injury.

I pushed the door open the rest of the way and cautiously entered my hard won room. It was empty of creatures thankfully, otherwise they might have taken advantage of me while I was otherwise occupied. It was not, however, empty.

A stair case leading up to a balcony, much like the one I’d discovered near the top of the stairs of the first floor was on my right. An archway stood in the centre of the balcony, leading off to some unseen alcove high above the rest of the room.

To my left were more words scrawled upon the wall.

“Kill them with fire”

Yeah, I’d already gotten the gist of that, thanks. Shame they hadn’t written it on the other side of the door.

The stairs up had a hand rail, but I only used it for the first step. The pain from raising my arm was too great. I continued on without it, slightly less safe, but infinitely more comfortable.

There was a chest at one end of the balcony, cleverly angled so it couldn’t been seen from the ground level. At least I assumed it was clever. It could have just been a coincidence. Or my eyes might be going. Pain had a way of doing that.

I opened it cautiously, one hand ready on my spellbook. My sword and spare torches remained at my belt. Carrying the book was hard enough. My fingers weren’t responding to my commands properly.

The chest opened without incident. Whether it was untrapped, or I’d failed to set off the trap, it was good enough for me. I knelt to get a better look at what it might contain.

First thing I noticed was that the chest stank. There was a small corpse on top of the horde; a rabbit or badger possibly. It was so decomposed it was hard to tell. It had been wrapped in paper at some point, but time had taken its toll, and the paper lay in flakes around it, soaked through and rotten. Birch bark. The whole mess rested atop a large iron ring. A longsword of all things, bent into a circle.

This had the feeling of ritual about it. The rest of the cask confirmed those suspicions.

Thorny brambles ringed the outside of the chest. A deck of tarot cards lay wrapped in black silk flanked by to a pouch of salt and a pouch of spices. All three rested on a cask of pine sap. Below them, oriented with the walls of the room rather than the chest, was a painted deer skull complete with one broken antler. The top half of its jaw was propped up on a blob of red iron ore. The base of the skull was held on either side by two bloody gloves. A pair of candle clocks protruded from its eye sockets. The whole of the chest’s contents rested on a massive tangle of rusted chains.

I had no idea what the ritual was supposed to achieve or if it had already served its purpose. It felt primal, almost barbaric. Like something the Rowing Men or even the North Men might do. All cultures had their own magics, but there was also gods to consider. Perhaps this was meant to appease them.

Incongruous with the ritual items, tucked here and there around the chest in what spaces remained were five other items:

A waterskin filled with what smelled like vinegar or spoiled wine, an apple, a sign looted from what appeared to be a tavern, a short list of household items, and a potion labelled “Obscurement”.

I took from these items first, feeling less confident about disturbing the ritual. From the five only the potion and waterskin truly interested me. The potion I swapped for the empty vial at my belt, the waterskin I tied on above the others. I could have saved the empty vial or emptied the waterskin first, but with the wounds in my chest, every action was at a premium.

The other three items I gave a once over in case they revealed any magic chest-healing properties, but alas, I seemed out of luck.

I shuffled around on my knees to study the ritual objects in detail. The arrangement felt powerful. Primal and crude, yes, but masterful all the same. In a place infused with as much magic as Bleakfort, breaking the ritual could cause all manners of aethereal disturbances.

I wouldn’t say there was no magic, as magic was found in all things, but there was a chance the arrangement was purely an aesthetic one. It was more likely than not, despite my gut feeling.

I grabbed the deer skull first. Straight for the keystone of the whole thing. I wasn’t disturbing the ritual because I didn’t trust my gut, far from it. Rather, it was my curiosity and desperation at fault. I wanted something to happen. I wanted the ritual to backlash and turn me into a frog if it meant escaping the blinding pain of my wounds. I wasn’t in the best state of mind to be making split-second far ranging decisions. Unfortunately, part of that was not realizing I wasn’t in the best state of mind to be making split-second far ranging decisions.

I waved it about a few times (gently), and placed it on my head.

Nothing.

I discarded the skull and grabbed the gloves, replacing my own with them. They fit rather well, but that was the only thing remarkable about them and I didn’t need more bloody gloves. Brambles, tarot cards, and iron ore were likewise tested and discarded.

I noticed the ground starting to shake again just after I finished testing salt, spice, and sap. Had the ritual-

The world exploded.

Sulfur, smoke, and fire roared and flashed all around me. The room attached to the balcony was bathed in red-orange light, sweeping bars of fire which only grew brighter as I watched.

Heat, unbearable heat rushed from the room, rushed from below the balcony. The metal twisted and bent and I was thrown to one side. Thankfully I was already kneeling or I might have been bucked from the balcony. As it was, my injured chest impacted with the metal grate electing a fresh scream of agony from me.

I laced my fingers through the grill and held on.

Stone fell from the ceiling. The floor rippled and buckled beneath me. The wall, complete with the trapped door I’d come through, suddenly crumpled inward, shooting under and past me and impact on the far wall.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Dust filled the air, black and hot. Ash.

I tore the cloth gloves from my belt and pressed them to my face as the ash began to rise. I was soon covered from head to toe, eyes squeezed shut to protect against the swirling flakes. It smelled awful. It should have been the least of my worries, but the smell of sulfur and brimstone was so strong it was making me nauseous. There was no where to go for fresh air. Even if there was, the balcony was still shaking, still twisting. Red light still played over my eyelids, and the temperature still continued to rise.

I was beginning to think the ritual had been doing something.

Thankfully the rate of warming had slowed immediately after the initial blast. Not so much like my Lightning Cascade, and more like a large fire in a small room. It was uncomfortable, but not immediately dangerous.

Speaking of Lighting Cascade: I called my list of dark magic spells to mind. inviting the whispers to drown out the deafening cracks and explosion reverberating about the dungeon. Some of the sounds were coming from far enough away, judging at least by how muted and distorted they were, that I didn’t think a single corner of the dungeon had been left untouched. Hopefully Conan and the others made it. Eric too.

Piercing Shield

Spawning Cauldron

Hasting Stasis

Hindering Claw

Glass Aura

Withering Insect

Intoxicating Blood

It was like hearing my name spoken in a crowded room. The whispers were chaotic, overlapping, nonsensical, and yet each phrase leapt to mind with ease. I couldn’t not hear them if I’d wanting to.

None of the spells available to me were obviously useful. No Ceasing Volcano or Pyroclastic Portal to be seen. Perhaps the Hasting Stasis or Glass Aura could be put to some use, but I couldn’t think of anything which would do more than delay my problems.

My true magic I likewise dismissed. I could teleport away from danger if I knew which direction to teleport in. I could slash at the burning gases with magic swords or bite them or push on the flakes– nothing which would actually effect the roiling clouds. The best I could do with the lava was cool it slightly with feces.

My items then. Or the items remaining in the ritual chest. Wherever the ritual chest was. We’d both been thrown about by the eruption, or the explosions, or whatever it was going on. The chest would have to be a last resort. I wasn’t sure I could even access my own pouch come to think of it. One hand held over my mouth, the other clinging to the metal lattice. I couldn’t even see, and I didn’t dare open my eyes. If I thought of a solution, I’d have to do it fast.

The druid stone appeared to reestablish the nature of whomever held it. That would be less than useless even if it worked on non-living things. If ending the ritual had caused this explosion, it was highly probable that the dungeon had been carved, at least in part, into the side of a volcano, and by ending, had allowed nature to reestablish itself.

My water had all curdled, whatever that meant. It wasn’t about to put out any fires or trap any ash. The vinegar might succeed, but I’d poured it out, hadn’t I? Had I? I couldn’t remember. The stress was getting to me.

My potions then. What had they said? Healing... I was drawing another blank. Still, they were probably my best bet. I doubted drinking them at random would be good for me, but I doubted it would kill me. I’d have to secure the cloth glove against my face somehow. Perhaps if I shifted position I could pin it against the balcony with my chin-

The problem solved itself while I was busy trying to think of a solution.

Typical.

The shaking stopped. Hot air stopped wiping by my face, ash stopped invading my ears and the gap in my clothes at the small of my back. I gave it a minute and then dared cracking open one eye. A bit of caked ash fell into it, but the air itself was relatively clear. My watering eye could make out swirling flakes still dancing about the room, but the black cloud had settled.

It was still hot. Unbearably hot. It might have been getting cooler but it was hard to tell. My gloves, pants, and gambeson all had a lattice of scorches lightly burnt into them from where they’d pressed against the metal balcony.

From the room attached to the balcony, the one which had held the red sweeping light, there was the sound of crackling and tinkling. Rock shattering and rock against rock. The lights had stilled, now only a steady deep red glow with heavy shadows.

I pushed myself to my feet and looked down at my vials. The wax had run, but enough remained of the shapes to remind me of what they had said: Obscurement, Ascension, Breathing.

They might have helped then. I’d hopefully remember them for next time.

I carefully made my way across the crooked balcony, twitching at every groan, creak, and pop from the tortured metal, and made my way into the adjacent room.

It was a small thing. More of a hallway or observation gallery. Cut along its length were long rectangular holes, giving a view of another room beyond and below this one. I’d probably been in the room before, or at least near it, given that it was located in the direction I’d come from. I’d been in several rooms now with holes cut into the wall, but if this was one of them I was peering at from the other side, there was no chance I’d recognize it now.

A field of lava blanketed it from wall to wall. Given the uneven shape of the room, and the crumbled corners of some of the walls, the lava had destroyed a number of the rooms walls, in some case completely subsuming them. A pillar of lava fell from the ceiling in the centre, which was the source of most of the light. It was dim, dim enough that someone without my enhanced eyes probably wouldn’t be able to see with it, but to mine it was a bar of light in the dark.

Even though I was on the second story, as it were, the lava was still far further below me than that would warrant. It suggested that the dungeon wasn’t completely even. That this side of the dungeon rested on a shelf half a floor above the other half.

Give that the lava had had no compunctions about blasting, melting, or pushing through the other four walls it had been adjacent to, the two step nature of the dungeon might have saved my life.

Heat was still coming through the loopholes but it seemed to have equalized at a survivable, though very uncomfortable, temperature.

Still, to be safe it would be best to get some distance between myself and the lava. Perhaps also to find my way back to Conan and Brace. There might be people in need of help or defending. The denizens of the dungeon had resumed their clamouring, more wound up than before.

I’d have to abandon the ritual box. Even if there was a magical cure to my injuries in their, I didn’t dare fool around on the balcony for any longer than I needed to. In fact...

I headed quickly for the stairs. Better to do it now before anything else. The structure was continuing to buckle and twist.

I was too late.

Halfway down the stairs the upper deck of the suddenly sagged, spinning me around and sending me careening for the wall.

I jumped, trying to disentangle myself in a manuever which was half leap, half stumble. I managed to somersault over the railing and into the wall just as the stairs swung around and hit me in the small of my back. My armour softened the blows, both of landing on the stone floor and being struck by the metal stairs, and my toughened skin handled the rest.

The only injury was a sudden headache and flashing lights as my brain bounced around the inside of my head. Better scrambled than spilling out of my skull. I staggered up to my feet, and tried to place my hand against the wall for support, but it dodged out of the way. I collapsed to my knees just in time for the floor to jump up and smack me in my jaw.

My strengthened bones were getting a workout today.

I curled up into a ball and rocked myself onto the balls of my feet. Then I closed my eyes and extended my legs, ignoring the feeling of launching through the air. When I opened them again I was standing, rocking back and forth like on the deck of a ship as the floor swayed beneath me. I wasn’t sure if it was a second eruption or my own senses playing tricks on me at this point.

The room resolved a few minutes later. I’d manage to catch the wall in one of them, and leaning against it for support seemed to help. I wasn’t sure if I could stand properly without it, even now that the room had stopped spinning, but it was becoming unbearably hot.

I glanced to my left as I pushed away from the wall. “Kill them with fire” indeed.

First thing first, I stumbled along to the trapped door. Half the wall had been blown away, though not evenly. A pillar of crumbled stone still remained part way along, with blasted holes on either side. The checkerboard bathroom’s tiles had been blown across the room and piled at the edge of a great rippling explosion like foam in front of a wave. A ragged hole on the ceiling right against the destroyed wall showed its source. A pocket of gas or heated rock, held at bay for who knew how long by the ritual.

Beyond the shattered and scattered tiles the fractured glow of lava peeked out from beneath its rocky shell. The hallway I’d entered by was completely flooded. I’d have to find another way back. Perhaps this is what the other room had been referring to when it claimed death was the only exit. Prophetic graffiti, what would they think of next?

There were two other exits from the room I was in. Both were wooden doors, though I wasn’t sure if I felt up to smashing any doors down at the moment. I could use my magic swords. I should use my magic sword. Stand back while they triggered whatever traps the door had in store.

But no-they were gone. Had it been over an hour already? Had it been less than an eternity? Time had moved both too fast and too slow.

I held my left arm against my chest, covering the holes in my gambeson, with the spell book clutched between my fingers. With my right hand I opened the door furthest from the lava. It was stuck. I’d hoped the explosions might have shaken some of the doors out of their frames, but alas it appeared they could get worse.

I was regretting EliminateIII at this point. What good was avoiding infection, pain, and embarrassment if I couldn’t even open a door to escape encroaching lava?

I could try the other door, but on the other hand, had a stuck door ever been trapped? I couldn’t remember. The question was, better to try my luck with a trap or with my chest? I might crack some scabs or make something bleed, but I did have more ointment. It was only pain.

“Aaaagggggghhhhh!”

I was lying on the floor, stars about my eyes. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been lying there. My wounds had reopened and were leaking clear, sticky fluid down my chest.

Jeers and howls met my scream. Something which sounded like a cross between a fox and an owl, with the lungs of a wolf, screamed in return. All were thankfully distant. Chains. Could I hear chains rattle as well? Was Eric near?

I strained to listen, but the sound faded. My own broken breathing perhaps.

The door was open. It hadn’t taken much force. One good kick. The first kick hadn’t worked. The second I’d put all my strength behind, and here I was.

I performed the juggling act that was undoing my pouch, moving aside the dream seed, retrieving my ointment, removing my gloves, applying my ointment, securing the lid with oily fingers, wiping my hands redoing my pouch and re-donning my gloves. By the end of it I was exhausted. My chest not only suffered from stabs of sharp pain, and tugs of hot pain, but now aches from abuse and the constant motion of my arms.

I needed to find a place to rest soon and recover my spells. Also find water. Tom’s curse had ruined all of mine and the heat wasn’t helping matters. Images of the stream, cool and refreshing, running over my toes, soothing my forehead, flashed against my will.

Thinking about it wasn’t helping.

I took up my spellbook in my right hand this time, and ventured through the now firmly wedged open door and into the hallway beyond.

Water, and then rest, and then I’d find the others.