The final room had been cleared. A black mist drifted over the floor, dusted Zenos’ pants and boots with the powdered remains of monsters. His sword rested low in his hand and his gray-wool coat was in tatters, dampened red by recent wounds. He tilted his head back and drunk from his canteen until the tin was dry.
Zenos gasped for breath and wiped his lips; breathed hot through his nose as the canteen clipped neatly onto his belt. The character menu acknowledged his wordless request and presented his paper doll of equipment.
[Gray-Wool Noble’s Greatcoat] one line read. [Quality: 100.] [Defense 25.] [Durability: 10.] [White Noble’s Long Sleeve] read the notification for the icon just below the coat. [Quality: 100.] [Defense: 5.] [Durability: 10.]Zenos’ eyes moved to the weapon equipped in the doll’s hand.
[Longsword of the Novice] it read. [Quality: 100.] [Damage: 50.] [Durability: 89.]Durability, huh? He frowned and closed the menu. I read about equipment degradation in the player manual, but when I checked my equipment, there was no durability stat. Did the dungeon change something?
Mad’s photograph flapped in the air, approached Zenos’ ear. “These stairs will lead to the dungeon ruler’s lair,” it said. “Madilhero will be there.”
“Thank you for supporting me this far,” Zenos said.
“You must hurry,” it said. “The dungeon ruler has already awoken.”
“Then we’ll waste no more time.” Zenos lifted his sword and ran toward the stairs.
The anima followed him.
Below the fifth floor was the sixth-floor narthex, a grand dome of black walls and black marble floors. The wide dungeon stairs curved around a single pillar in the center of the dome, descended a hundred feet or more to the ground. Dungeon raids would have used the large area to gather and make ready before pushing through the last gate, but Zenos had no such opportunity to rest.
The door to the ruler’s lair was open. Mad was visible by the light of golden braziers. A staff capped with green tourmaline was held in his hand, pinned to the floor where white mist swirled up its wooden handle.
“Spirit Barrage!” He shouted. “Level 7!”
Arcane circles drawn in light appeared in an array around him. They fired bolts of white flame at the dungeon ruler, whose stone form towered ahead. The flames crashed on its beard and disappeared in plumes of smoke. Zenos’ chest tightened and a wave of pressure tossed his hair. White light flashed across the dungeon ruler and it exploded.
Chips of stone clattered across the floor, but through the thick smoke, the dungeon ruler’s red eyes glared bright. Zenos watched Mad in the haze. He thrust his staff through cracks in the floor and appeared to draw his knife. He cut free his ponytail and his hair fell in a bushel to the floor behind him. The knife was discarded—clinked the floor when it was tossed—and Zenos heard Mad’s hands clap together.
“Mass Anima, Level 4!” Mad shouted.
A cascade of white light filled the threads. They lifted into the air, swept around Mad in a whirlwind. “Restrain it!” he shouted. “Don’t let it move an inch, I beg you!”
With the speed of a striking viper and the strength of tempered steel, the anima struck the dungeon ruler. They illuminated the smoke, wrapped themselves over the ruler’s limbs and tethered them to the floor.
The dungeon ruler groaned and pushed against its bonds. The floor shuddered and the ceiling quaked, sent torrents of dust down the black colonnade. The anima held fast, but Zenos saw by the health bar over Mad’s head that he had already lost 80% of his HP. It was clear that Mad couldn’t maintain his offensive for long; it was remarkable that he could even stand.
What am I doing? Zenos wondered. Just standing ? He’s dying over there! He clenched his teeth, but he couldn’t take another step. That thing. Those eyes. Is that… Balagrim?
He could see it in his mind’s eye: A desolate valley cloaked by night where mud, like quicksand, swallowed his men. Amid the din of battle, a dauntless dwarf, Balagrim Dazka, approached the demon emperor. The red glare of dwarfen eyes penetrated his mind. A mental bridge formed between them and by that his thoughts were shared.
“Wait for me, Father.”
The words that Zenos saw presently, in the eyes of the dungeon ruler, were garbled. They were a confused cacophony, a raging storm, from which no distinct phrase emerged. There was only hatred of all things; adventurers, humans, and life itself.
If that’s Balagrim, can I still fight him?
The dungeon ruler pulled its left arm free from its anima binding. It roared, battered Zenos’ ears with the pressure of its anger. Mad’s hand was on his staff, but his head had slumped down, he hadn’t moved or cast a spell.
Could I fight my friend? Zenos asked himself. His longsword trembled in his grip, tapped against the floor. Its anxious rasp was lost in the pained cries of the dungeon ruler.
A second arm was tugged free. Stone fragments and ripped anima fell, and those threads, so far pushed beyond their limits, lost their light against the floor.
If I don’t move now, Mad will die. Zenos thought.
Must I choose?
Tears streaked his cheeks as his sword lifted from the floor. There was only one answer.
Zenos charged over broken and split black marble tiles, into the smoke and haze, and through the colonnade. He fixed his bright reptilian eyes, unblinking through the dust and debris, on the supreme dungeon ruler.
That monster of stone and darkness, the titanic creature that towered ahead, locked eyes with Zenos. There was a gleam in its red glare and it swung its axe with its left hand. The blade swept right, low across the floor, at incredible speed. Zenos planted his foot down. He halted to brace the flat of his sword against his arm.
[You received 0 (2,000) lethal damage to the left arm. Successful parry negated all damage,] the system reported. [Warning: Momentum exceeds player constitution check. Momentum applied to character model.] [Warning:] Zenos read as he was lifted off the floor, pushed by the edge of the axe blade. [Character model accelerating.] [Warning:] His vision was clouded by dust and his ears deafened by a gale of wind. [Collision will now result in lethal damage.]Zenos slammed a wall and his HUD flickered; it disappeared. [Your HP was reduced from to 1,200 to 20. Your head was hit for 100 lethal damage. Your left arm was hit for 100 damage. Your back was hit for 200 damage…] the report carried on, detailed in his thoughts by the indifferent monotone of the demon emperor.
[Your Gray-Wool Noble’s Greatcoat has been broken. It has returned to your inventory.] [Your White Noble’s Long Sleeve has been broken. It has returned to your inventory.] [Your Longsword of the Novice has been broken. It has returned to your inventory.] [You are immobilized.]It seemed his every bone was shattered, his every organ ruptured, and his very body annihilated in a crater of cold marble in the colonnade wall. His head had taken a severe blow and ideas were difficult to form. The reports spoken by the system were received in a stupor as the dust cloud churned wildly in his daze.
Zenos survived on small breaths as his lightless eyes stared listless into space. He wondered to himself, but they were not the thoughts of a coherent person, they were the flashes of a life shortly lived. In some enduring corner of his impacted skull, there was a memory.
He stood on a dock among a queue of hardy men and women, all bundled in their warmest clothing. A gust of wind blew in from the sea, sprayed water up the dockside, and harrowed the line. Despite his own heavy coat, Zenos felt cold. He checked behind his shoulder and saw Mad standing on the dock, waving him off. There was a big smile on his face.
The line moved. A short man, maybe about Zenos’ age was checking tickets. He was wearing a well-tailored greatcoat and a gray triangular cap. He wasn’t a civilian.
Zenos checked over his shoulder once more, but Mad was gone. The officer called for the next ticket holder and Zenos stepped forward.
“Ticket,” the young officer said.
Zenos handed him the yellow slip.
The officer touched the brim of his hat, adjusted it over his head of shaggy blonde hair. He examined Zenos with his dull blue eyes. “Demon emperor, eh?” he said. “I thought the last demon emperor died 8,000 years ago.”
Zenos’ heart dropped.
“Well, if this is your boat then that’s fine with me,” the officer said. “But is that okay with you?”
Zenos trembled and his eyes rounded. He felt the urge to speak, but there was a block in his throat.
“That man you were with looked pretty sad, didn’t he?” The officer looked back, down the dock. “If you want to wait and take the next boat, then… I don’t mind.”
Zenos followed the man’s eyes. As he turned, he realized the villagers were looking at him with eyes touched by orange light. Stars of that same color pierced the thick clouds above, shined as bright diamonds in the sky.
“They can’t reach you,” the officer said. “But they’re cheering you on. Wherever you go, whatever you do, they’re behind you one-hundred percent. They won’t leave you behind, so I’ll wait right here.
“Don’t let me hold you back.”
Zenos broke away and ran down the dock.
It’s not okay! he thought. It’s not okay!
This fate—I’ll change it!
[You have exited combat. Health will now regenerate.]Zenos stumbled and tripped onto his knee. Hands caught his fall and Mad was there, knelt before him with eyes filled with tears. “Why did you come back?” he asked fearfully. “Why?”
The sea turned black and the dock fell out from beneath Zenos. The villagers, the ship, and the village itself crashed into a black sea. Zenos tried speak, but his throat was still tight. Black water coagulated into columns, spread into a floor and ceiling. His HUD reappeared and his vision clarified as his HP ticked higher.
Presently, Mad held Zenos where he had crumpled in a crater in the colonnade wall. He looked exhausted, his hair ragged and stuck by sweat to his forehead. A direct hit had split Mad’s coat straight down the middle, and his shirt clung to his brown chest, wet with his own blood. While he searched Zenos’ face for answers, Zenos watched his HP tick up.
His health was regenerating, but at just 5 health-per-second it would still take a maximum of four minutes to fully recuperate. The dungeon ruler wouldn’t wait.
“I’ll… be fine,” he finally uttered. “Can you… give me time?”
“Time?” Mad’s eyes rounded. “I thought you were dead!”
“Four minutes….”
Mad’s lips parted in confusion. Zenos’ crushed body was recovering before his eyes; wounds closed, bones aligned, and with each passing moment Zenos appeared more alert. Mad’s eyes suddenly sharpened, he swallowed hard and hung his head.
“I should have realized it earlier,” he said. “Ever since you said you appeared on a bed.”
Mad patted Zenos’ shoulder. “Four minutes,” he continued. “I’ll do it.”
Only one anima-bound leg still restrained the dungeon ruler. Mad stood and cleared his eyes of tears. As he turned to face the ruler, it broke free and sprinted toward him. But its legs were snared by four threads of orange anima. The ruler fell forward, crashed against the marble floor, and shattered the many tiles around it.
Mad lifted his staff and knocked it against the ground. He stood straight, with his head held high. Perhaps his constitution stat was remarkable, but that didn’t explain the smile he flashed over his shoulder.
“This smile is for you, Zenos.” A white circle appeared beneath Mad’s feet. “So, for four minutes, don’t be afraid. Believe that I’ll protect you, and I’ll believe in what you said!
“We’ll win!”
The circle around Mad’s feet shined bright and a spectral wind was whipped around him.
“Summon Deathless Phantom, Level 4!” he shouted. “If there is anyone that will heed my request, answer it now! Stand from beyond and protect us!”
The orange-lit anima threads turned dark and the dungeon ruler stood again. It lifted its axe from the floor and sprinted, its arm wound and ready. Mad held his ground. The axe was swung and it crashed on an enormous spectral shield.
An orange-colored phantom appeared ahead of Mad. It was a knight clad in magnificent plate armor, knelt on the floor with its longsword struck through the marble. Three other figures appeared beside Mad, two women and a man. One of the women held a large book, and the other a bow. The man, cloaked in his layered robe, held a staff.
Mad’s shoulders relaxed and his hand fell at his side.
“Why were you the ones… to answer me?” he asked quietly.
The woman with the bow touched Mad’s shoulder and smiled at him. She turned her head and smiled at Zenos, too. Then, she laced a spectral arrow in her bow and walked forward, toward the dungeon ruler.
“Thank you.”
