30 minutes isn’t really all that long, in the grand scheme of things, but if someone were to say such aloud to Lucas as he finally reached the bottom of the frustratingly long, boring and painfully familiar descent he’d been stuck on for the past half hour, he’d consider himself well within his rights to break their nose - and perhaps a few of their bones, too. Staring at the door that marked a possible end to their frustrating journey, he took a deep breath and raised his voice.
“If this door has a second ramp behind it, or some other last second change designed to fuck with us, I will personally spend however long it takes to fill the entire Dungeon to the brim with gravel out of sheer spite.” Then, he pushed with every ounce of his considerable strength on the stone door that barred his team’s path.
Then, he pushed again.
And again.
After three more pointless attempts to force the door open, Damaia gently cleared her throat and reached past the lycanthrope, grabbing onto a small handle that he’d completely failed to notice and easily pulling the door open instead.
“If you’re keeping track of Dungeon weirdness, add ‘has a sense of humor’ to the list,” Jubel muttered to Zen. Though he’d meant it as a joke, the scribbling sound he heard immediately after suggested that the socially awkward scholar had indeed adjusted his notes.
The room beyond was made entirely of pitch black stones, and was easily more than twice the size of Andrew’s inn. It was dimly lit, illuminated only by a runic circle made of dozens of interlocking and intricate pieces of shimmering magic. The circle seemed to form a faintly glowing, but otherwise invisible, barrier - presumably to contain what lay within.
An incredibly thin, pale man that looked to be in his early twenties sat in the middle of the massive circle, completely motionless except for his eyes, which narrowed as he took in the appearances of his latest visitors. He might’ve looked almost bland if not for those eyes. The sclera were pitch black, so much so that they almost seemed to suck the light out of the air, and his iris gleamed a distinctly familiar shade of purple as his catlike pupils widened ever so slightly.
“I knew I would be receiving guests,” he said in a voice that sounded unnaturally deep, his gaze locked on Damaia, “but I didn’t expect family. Welcome, child. Come! Sit! I haven’t had visitors in ages!”
“Child? Family?” Damaia asked absently as she looked over the runes that surrounded the man. “What are you talking about?”
“All in due time,” the man said quietly. His voice seemed to echo more than the room would allow, reverberating in a strange way that each of them could feel almost as much as they could hear. “I’ve been locked up with nobody to talk to for centuries, you see, so I’m not exactly in a hurry to get rid of you. Normally, I’d congratulate you on getting this far, but let’s be honest - the labyrinth has fallen upon hard times since my hold here weakened. Back in my prime, this place would’ve been full of traps, puzzles, and deadly beasts… but that was a long, long time ago. These days, I can barely even keep up with rookie Dungeons.”
His seemingly gaunt frame blurred into motion as he sprang to his feet and raced to stand at the edge of the circle nearest to them. “What’s new in the world above?” he asked casually. “Any wars? Have any new kingdoms risen or fallen in the past thousand or so years?” Met only with silence, the man scowled. “Are you lot mute, or just stupid? I’m trying to have a conversation!”
“And we’re trying to finish this Dungeon and go home,” Lucas growled back, “so we’re not really in the mood for a friendly chat at the moment.”
“Fine.” The prisoner narrowed his bizarre eyes, his rumbling voice little more than a whisper now. “Straight to business it is. I want to leave this place. I’ve been here for over a thousand years, and I’ve had quite enough of it. If you free me, I’ll offer you gifts beyond your wildest dreams.”
“Because deals with demons never go wrong,” Vivi replied dryly.
“I’m not just any demon,” the man replied calmly. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am the demon known as Therilax, the Crimson Truth - creator of the blood oath, ancestor to your purple friend here, and world renowned for my honesty.”
“I think he’s telling the truth,” Zen said softly, interrupting the heavy silence that followed the imprisoned demon’s grandiose claim. “The history of Therilax is one of the most well documented of all Archdemons - I’ve written more than one paper on him throughout my studies.”
“He could be lying about who he is to get us to trust him,” Lucas objected
“I’d be more worried about his safety then ours, if he is,” the scholar retorted. “Several of his enemies have tried to impersonate him and ruin his reputation in the past. Few lived long enough to regret it, and those that did envied the swift deaths of the former.”
“I see my reputation precedes me,” Therilax said, clearly pleased with himself. “To think scholars tell my tales even now - do you have a favorite, little man? I could give you a first hand account, if you’d like.”
“Not now,” Jubel said firmly, shooting the scholar a warning glance. “We’re more interested in getting out of here quickly, if it’s all the same to you.”
“But I haven’t had guests in nearly a thousand years!” the demon said, unable to keep himself from smiling. “Besides, we haven’t even negotiated yet! Come, what would it take to convince you to free me?”
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“Women?”
Jubel shook his head, idly glancing around the empty room. “Getting a girlfriend through magic sounds an awful lot like brainwashing to me. Not happening.”
“Wealth?”
“Adventuring pays pretty well, actually.” The walls seemed to have faded out of existence - as had his friends.
“What about immortality?”
“I’m good.”
The demon scowled. “What do you want, boy?”
The half elf shrugged. “I dunno. Feel like most of the things I want I can either do without or get for myself.”
“Revenge on your family?”
Jubel sighed. “Falls under the ‘get it myself’ category.”
The demon snarled in frustration.
“Servants?!”
“I coulda sworn we went over the whole brainwashing thing already.”
“Lost magic!”
“50 gold says Nihlus can one up whatever you can cast.”
“... Lost magic of your choice? There are spells out there your phantasmal friend won’t even acknowledge, you know.”
“The sort that gives people wealth, women, and immortality?” the half elf asked dryly.
After a long pause, the demon let out a defeated sigh, burying his face in his hands.
“That’s what I thought. Look, how about we skip to the bit where you tell me where my friends are, alright?”
The demon blinked. “You noticed?”
Jubel frowned. “Of course I noticed! They’re my friends, my team! How the hell would anyone not notice something like that?!”
“Most people actually don’t notice until I mention it,” the demon said, a somewhat defensive note to its voice. “It’s probably because of that damned snake! Still, if you must know-”
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“Your friends are doing well,” the demon assured Damaia. “Incidentally, you don’t happen to know what sort of things your half elf friend likes, do you?”
“Bad pick up lines, lame jokes, music, magic items, and Vivi.” Damai said absentmindedly. “Don’t think that’s gonna help you much, though.”
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
The demon sighed, shaking his head. “Got my hopes up for a second. Is he really so… simple? Well, I suppose he’s a lost cause then. No matter. I’d rather talk to you about -”
“Nope! Not releasing you!”
Therilax blinked. “Come now, Damaia, surely I can offer-”
“NOPE!”
He frowned.
“Perhaps a Telling? I can gaze into your fate, dear child. Provide answers as to what may lie ahead for you - or those you care for, if you prefer. Help you avoid danger.”
Damaia shook her head. “I don’t believe in fate.”
“That’s a pity,” the demon rumbled, “especially considering how many disasters seem to be headed your way. You will not live a peaceful life anytime soon, Damaia Rita.”
The felblood stiffened. “How-”
“You’re one of mine, Damaia,” Therilax answered with a grin that was just slightly too wide to be natural. “It makes you easy to read. My felbloods always have a few distinct traits - the horns, the skin tone… and an intense curiosity. My apologies for that last one - it may get you into trouble one day.”
“Are you the one that called to me, then?”
The man’s smile slowly faded, pain and fear flashing in his inhuman eyes for the briefest of moments. “Yes. I… have been stuck down here for a long, long time, you understand. I sensed your presence when the seal was breached, and tried to reach out to speak with you, but my powers are substantially weaker beyond this room. I couldn’t manage more than a few words before collapsing. How pitiful…”
He blinked and shook his head before meeting her eyes once more. “I am tired of this place,” he rasped, his entire body shuddering. “I want to leave. I want to be free! I cannot take one more year, one more day of being sealed here! Please, break the circle, child! Release me, and I’ll tell you whatever great secret you want to know. Do you wish for immortality? Lost secrets from ancient times? Surely, there must be something I can offer?”
Damaia shook her head as she pulled out her spare quill and inkwell, along with a few sheets of parchment. “I’m not letting you go,” she said cheerfully, “but here! Take some art supplies. To help you pass the time.”
The demon blinked dumbly as she pushed the parchment through the barrier, stopping only when the shimmering field prevented her hand from moving further. “Art… supplies?”
“Drawing makes the time go by faster,” she said with a shrug. “Plus, you’re incredibly powerful, right? I bet you can probably copy things as basic as ink or parchment with your magic if you start to run out.”
“Your solution to my eternal imprisonment,” Therilax said, utterly bewildered, “is to tell me to pick up a hobby?”
The smile slid off Damaia’s face as she handed him the quill and inkwell. “Your situation is awful, and I wish I could do more but…”
“You CAN do more!” Her demonic ancestor screamed in frustration. “You can release me! End my torment!”
She slowly shook her head. “I’m not quite that naive. Honest or not, you’re still a powerful and dangerous demon. If I let you go, you’ll hurt someone, sooner or later.”
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“That’s awfully judgemental, don’t you think?” The demon sounded sincerely offended.
Vivi did not care. “Zen isn’t the only one who knows your stories, Therilax,” she said quietly. “How many of them ended well?”
“All of them,” he answered immediately.
“Allow me to rephrase. How many of your exploits ended well for someone other than you?”
This time there was a long pause.
“Perhaps… one in three? Let’s be conservative and say one in four.”
“Not great odds,” the elf pointed out.
“No, but there are people who’ll do anything to get what they want… and I think you’re one of them.”
“I neither want nor need your help,” the bard said firmly.
“Of course not,” the demon retorted with a vicious grin. “I’m sure you just need another 43 years to figure it out on your own, right?”
Vivi froze, her heart pounding against her ribs. How much did he know?
“I’m a keen listener,” Therilax said slyly. “It’s one of my best qualities, really. I know everything you and your friends have said since first setting foot in this Dungeon - and a few things that you didn’t say.”
He leaned forwards, his unnatural gaze fixed firmly on Vivi’s face. “You hide behind clever words,” he hissed softly, “but I invented the game you’re fumbling your way through. Half truths are still half lies, and I can taste the falsehood in each word from your lips. I know what you’re looking for…”
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“... the power to bring back the dead.”
Lucas clenched his fist around the amulet he wore - Resh’s amulet, reclaimed from the Beast Knight mere weeks ago. Could he bring back his brother? His parents? All three of them?
No. This was a ploy.
But what if it wasn’t? He was the Honest Demon, right? The Crimson Truth?
No. Too risky.
But what if -
The lycanthrope growled, pulling at the rage of the beast within to burn away the treacherous thoughts. If the imps from earlier could read their minds, there was no reason to think this thing couldn’t. He was offering something he thought Lucas couldn’t refuse, but at what cost? How many would die if Therilax was released? How many would suffer?
Lucas remembered the screams that filled the air the night he lost his family.
Never again. He didn’t know what kind of man would willingly inflict such suffering on others for his own selfish gain, but he knew it wasn’t the sort of man he wanted to be. No necessary evils. No sacrifices. No pyrrhic victories.
“No deal.”
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Deep underground, far beneath the prison of Therilax, there sat a small stone chamber where all that existed were dozens of runes and a floating, glowing crimson orb the size of a watermelon. It was a vicious trap, luring in victims ‘lucky’ enough to find the hidden door that led there, only to seal them in, the doors vanishing behind them almost instantly as they rushed towards the Core to claim their prize.
A prize that was, of course, perpetually out of reach. The runes carved into the stone beneath it made sure of that, but by the time most people noticed them, it was already far too late.
The room seemed almost deliberately designed to evoke a sense of claustrophobia and helpless dread, with its slanted walls and low ceiling, and more than once a ‘victorious’ hero had nearly lost their minds, having overcome the many dangers of the Trial only to find themselves trapped here.
Yet the scholar that sat on the floor of that room, carefully carving his way through solid stone with an enchanted chisel, was utterly unphased by his seemingly hopeless circumstances.
Perhaps it was simply due to how fascinating he found the task at hand. Runes were more than a handful of scratches set in stone and steel, after all - they were the language of magic itself, the building blocks of the arcane. Some people spent their whole lives never truly understanding this fundamental truth. Others devoted their entire lives to it.
Fire to frost, then back around to earth. Rage to light, and dark to void.
Zen smiled gleefully as he worked, linking lines and rerouting arcane energy at a frantic pace. The Core was right there, right in front of him! If he could just unwind the barrier surrounding it, he’d be the first researcher in centuries - if not milenia - to be able to study an intact Dungeon Core directly.
Sun to moon to sun - then link both to light and dark each.
The language of magic was universal, in its way, bound by symbolism and intent… but that was what made translating ancient runes so complicated. What did people value a thousand years ago? You needed to understand that, understand them, in order to truly comprehend the way their runic arrays would work, because while the meaning behind it might not change, the perception and intent behind them would. Did they see the sun and moon as opposites, or reflections? Siblings, or lovers? Perhaps even bitter rivals? You needed to know their culture to be sure, and too much of that culture had been destroyed, lost to time as faith in the Moon Goddess faded.
Link sky to light and dark as well, then bridge the gap by connecting essence with man and sky both.
That was what had taken him so long, when he was trying to work out the meaning behind the runes on the doors of the Trial. He had to know, to understand what he was working with, and he had precious few texts from the appropriate era to use as reference. Still, as he finished his runic array, Zen felt a deep sense of satisfaction.
With a final stroke of his chisel, he linked his array with the barrier protecting the orb, unable to keep a smile off his heavily bandaged face as the light filling the room began to flicker.
----------------------------------------
“Well done,” Therilax said with a wide smile. “It would seem The Trial of Sun and Moon has been completed.” His voice deepened as he spoke, echoing throughout the Dungeon.
The shadows seemed to recede, and suddenly, Vivi and Jubel stood side by side, weapons drawn, while Damaia sat at the edge of the barrier, sketching copies of runes into her notebook for later reference.
Lucas sighed, sliding between his party and the cheerful demon as the ground began to tremble yet again. “Don’t tell me-”
“All participants will be returned to the entrance,” Therilax continued, cutting the lycanthrope off. “Attempting to resist may result in death. You have been warned.” Then, after a brief pause, the demon added in a more friendly tone, “Have a great day. I know I have.”