Dungeon Heart 03 - Hell Gate, page 36
Afraid that the blood pearl’s effect of stealing souls had affected Pala, Smit dove towards him in a hurry. It didn’t take him too long to find Pala’s large body, and he charged the water with his mana, willing it to propel both him and his boy out to the edge of the pool. Like a living being, the water moved as he willed it, and practically spit them out on the shore of the pool.
“Come now, sonny boy, don’t go down like this!” Smit mumbled to himself as he turned Pala’s large frame over. “Come’ere. You are gonna be just fine, you’ll see.”
Smit wasn’t sure if he was talking to Pala or to himself at this point. All he knew was that he wouldn’t know what to do if Pala’s soul was severed from the link it shared with Smit, or worse, if Pala’s soul was enslaved like the one Smit had seen sacrificed to activate the checkpoint. Crazy witch, who detonates a demonic fireball like that at close range!?
“Just hold on tight; your brothers will be here soon and they will set you right as rain again, you’ll see,” he said, pressing his hand against Pala’s chest, noting how the heart was beating too softly for his liking.
“Arturus! Arturus, where are you!?” Smit shouted, looking around for the large creature. Arturus must have won his struggle right? His soul hadn’t returned to Smit, after all.
Sure enough, a moment later he sensed the large creature limping towards him, and he wasn’t alone. His two other siblings came close behind, all of them looking like they had seen better days. Echo’s armor was a complete mess, and her entire body seemed to have taken quite the beating. Ziggurd looked liable to pass out at any minute, his body more faint than normal, and Arturus’s fur was more red and brown than white by now. Several patches of fur had been torn off. Clearly, Ziggurd was in no shape to help, probably suffering from mana exhaustion because of the large amount of magic he had cast.
“I am here, Father,” Arturus said tiredly, walking towards Smit. “I heard an explosion, what—?”
“Never mind that. Quick, come here. We must stabilize your brother,” Smit said hastily. He could feel something was wrong with Pala. His presence was faint even to him. “That crazy witch demon was using a blood pearl with an Asbolus blade to channel the pearl’s properties. She must be insane!”
“A what?” Ziggurd asked wearily behind Arturus, plopping down on the ground. He didn’t even know elemental spirits could feel tired until now. “Also, should I help? I know some healing magic.”
“You heard me,” Smit said as he watched Arturus trot over to examine Pala. Arturus put his paw on Pala, and started to murmur something along the lines of a spell. “And no, Zig, you can’t do anything. If that really is a blood pearl in the asbolus sword, we need holy magic, and we need it now.”
“I don’t understand anything right now.” Ziggurd replied. “I can barely think straight, honestly. What is the big deal anyway? The bad guys are dead so they aren’t a threat. Even if we die right now we just go back to you and you can re-summon us, right?”
Smit gave Ziggurd an exasperated look. “You are a magic user. Surely you must have heard of blood pearls.”
“Not really, no.” Ziggurd admitted. “I learned mostly spell casting, mainly focused on defensive and support roles with a couple of offensive spells here and there. I don’t know much about magical items other than some of the more classical ones.”
Smit turned to look at Pala and Arturus, the latter of which nodded to Smit lightly. Smit released a sigh of relief, and relaxed a little as Arturus’s magic began to flow into Pala like a gentle creek. Clearing his throat, Smit stood up and walked over to Echo as he started to talk.
“Blood pearls are a rare type of… gem, you could call it. It can only form in places with high magic density, where excessive amounts of blood have been spilled. It’s a powerful magical ingredient that is associated with fire and the afterlife,” Smit explained. “It’s a rare ingredient, and it has many uses, such as being used by oracles, alchemy, and even enchantments to imbue items with the power to combat ghosts and other spirits. Of course, just as it can have benevolent uses, it can have terrible, dark uses… such as capturing the souls of an enemy, or imbuing elements of death magic into other spells.”
Ziggurd swallowed empty air as he heard that last bit. It quickly became clear why Smit was concerned. If there was an item that could cast death or sever the connection they had to Smit, then this was truly a cause for concern.
“The two most important things that determine how the blood pearl is used are how it’s processed, and the accompanying metals in where it is used,” Smit continued. “Without going into detail, blood pearls are usually used with Asbolus for only two things, to fight creatures that have an attribute of death, such as banshees… or to capture the souls of one's enemies. The latter is much more effective if the victim is in great pain, which I am guessing is why one side of her blade is serrated,” Smit said grimly.
“How do you know this?” Ziggurd finally asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he asked anyway.
“I have worked with just about every material there is,” Smit said slowly, “and worked on more projects than probably any other living man, elf, or dwarf with these hands. Some of those creations were not used as… benevolently as I had hoped. Other times, I was not aware of what chaos they would cause until much later.”
As he spoke, he stared far away into the distance, remembering things from a past life. Ziggurd looked at him in a new light now, his mind mulling over the implications of Smit’s words. Perhaps that was why neither of them noticed the injured demon that had crawled to the edge of the waterfall.
She was battered, her face now completely scarred with burn marks, her sword arm missing entirely from the elbow down, and her wonderful armor had half of its torso ripped to shreds. She was blind in one eye, which had been destroyed by the heat of the explosion. And yet she clung to life by the smallest of margins, sheer pride and rage keeping her alive. A talented warrior from one of the demon tribes of pride, she had always envisioned that, if she were to die, it would be a death that would be remembered for the ages—perhaps fighting an angel or trying to take down the leader of another strong tribe.
She hadn’t counted on dying in the depths of a young dungeon, with several limbs rendered useless or gone, with her death brought about by her own misfired fireball. All because a suicidal lizard had decided to take her out with him. Just the thought of it made her want to die in shame rather than go back and beg for help from her mistress. But she wouldn’t go down just like that. Her life was much more valuable than a mere lizard’s. She would take the accursed dungeon that had taken everything from her. She would grant it eternal suffering in exchange for her life. That was the only way she would feel at peace.
The demoness summoned every last ounce of her power, mumbling under her breath the incantation she wanted. A black metal piece rattled off to her right, and slowly started to defy gravity, coming towards her. It was her sword, which although damaged and bent, still remained in one piece. With her one remaining arm, she pointed her fingers at Smit, and the sword shot like an arrow towards its target.
With Pala knocked out, Arturus finishing the healing process, and Ziggurd busy conversing with Smit, none was in any position to see the wicked blade. None except for Echo, that is. Eyes going wide in an uncharacteristically human expression, Echo pulled Smit into a hard hug, turning her back to the weapon.
“Echo?” Smit blurted out, just in time to see the black blade slam into Echo’s back. Her eyes widened even further and she gasped for breath. Smit could barely process what had just happened.
Up on the ledge of the waterfall, the demoness growled as her vision wavered, her life blood draining from her too fast. She had not thought that the clumsy golem would have managed to see her, let alone react in time, not given how injured she was. Spiteful as ever, the demon used the last resort in an attempt to get rid of Smit. “…Burn.”
With that final word, the buried tip of the blade tried to create a fireball as the demon’s consciousness faded, and her life snuffed out like a candle. The spell within the sword, however, did not fizzle out like the life of its owner. On the contrary, the magic did not complete properly, and started to go wild. The partially activated magic began to cause a backlash along the sword, and the weapon detonated without warning.
The sword shattered with a deafening explosion accompanied by blinding light. The sword was in pieces, and so was Echo. Smit, on the other hand, suffered the equivalent of being kicked in the chest by a pony. A painful and disorienting experience, but not a deadly one. Echo’s body had taken the brunt of the impact, protecting not just Smit, but also the rest of her family from the explosion.
“Echo!” Smit shouted, his arms wrapping around her quickly, only to find that her entire back had been blown to pieces. Her left arm was missing, as was part of her head. Both of her legs were shattered, and her hips were barely connected to her upper body. Even the developing magic core embedded deep within her chest seemed to have cracked.
With the one eye that she had left, Echo looked at Smit with a smile. Her eye slowly started to close. Smit immediately began to pump mana into her, as well as Pala, trying to speed their healing in any way. But for once, their bodies didn’t respond properly towards it. Instead, it felt like he was fighting to make sure that the mana reached them. Worse, he could feel the connection between himself and his two children grow faint.
“Father, I can’t,” Arturus said as he started to pant, looking tired, straining as he struggled to maintain his healing. “Too much damage.”
“No… The pearl should be broken!” Smit cursed. “By the gods… It must have severed the connection between our souls despite not being able to contain them.”
The realization was horrifying to Smit. For the first time in his new life, he felt despair. True despair, as he found no way to rescue his eldest children from the brink of absolute death. The blood pearl was the nucleus of the magic sword. It allowed the sword to sever the soul of the enemy from earthly ties, and sealed their soul within itself. The sword had certainly damaged their souls, but now that the pearl was broken, their souls were not bound to anything in this realm. Not to their bodies, nor were they tied to him. Hence, all that was left was death. True death, like that of any other living being.
It was a chilling thought, one that made his soul tremble. If only he had access to his ring, or the soul elixir, or anything of comparable power, he could rescue them as easily as turning his hand. He stared at his children, watching their life drain before his eyes. Each second they grew weaker, their life fading away like a candle faltering in the wind. Feeling his heart crumble, he did the only thing he could think of: He prayed. It hurt his heart and his pride to do so, but this was nothing compared to the heart-wrenching fear and pain of watching his children die before him. For the first time in centuries of life, he wholeheartedly reached out in prayer.
For long, heavy seconds there was naught but silence as Smit prayed with all his heart. He clung to that thin strand of hope, reaching out to the only god he had worshiped once upon a time. In the back of his head, he feared that his lack of faith had led the god to abandon him. Not just him either, but his previous refusal to take divine protection during his rank up might have offended any other gods too. Nevertheless, he continued to pray.
FWOOSH!
His prayers were answered as a body composed of floating wisps of fire and snow manifested before him. Smit looked up at the messenger, its figure as ethereal as the last time he had seen him, somehow containing both warmth and cold equally within the radiant body. The being was clothed in a fine robe and sported a helm of silver, his large wings spread behind him. The angel had arrived, and Smit had never been so glad to see another being in his life.
Arturus yelped, and Ziggurd’s eyes went wide. They tried to scramble to their feet, thinking it was another intruder. Smit put a stop to that quickly with his next words.
“Please,” Smit quietly begged. “Help me.”
The angel looked at him with an unreadable expression. Its eyes turned to Echo, and then to Pala, their lives hanging by a thread. For a moment, Smit thought he saw sorrow in the eyes of the angel, just before he turned his eyes to look at Smit.
“For so long you have forsaken faith,” the angel murmured. “And yet you reach out to the All-powerful once more. To save these young souls is it? Of what consequence are they to you? You could create more creatures and give them souls given time. Why risk everything for them?”
“Because,” Smit said as he stared directly at the angel, “they give me purpose. I love them more than I ever thought it was possible to love a creature. They are my children. What father can bear to see his children die before his eyes?”
“Is that so?” the angel said quietly, looking at Smit with a searching gaze. “Despite the fact that their continued survival would mean potentially a lifetime of struggles? Surviving invasion after invasion, a constant battle with countless hardships?”
For once Smit hesitated. He had never considered fully the extent of hardship his children endured. To him, it had been natural to ask them to get stronger and send them into battle. That’s what had to be done to survive after all, but he had never truly considered the hardships that entailed.
“Of course,” Arturus said out loud, sitting before the angel. “All of us, including my brother and my sister, would love nothing more but to be here. This is where we belong, beside our father.”
His words were full of confidence and conviction. The words warmed Smit’s heart despite the dire situation. He truly felt loved.
The angel looked at Arturus, and found no lie in his eyes. Sighing, he turned his gaze to Smit again. “By the grace of the All-father, I shall grant you help. But it's not without price.”
“Anything,” Smit replied. “What do you require?”
“Three things. The first, your ring,” the angel said, stretching out his hand. “Second, you will return to your old faith, and return to the grace of the Highest Being. And last, you, who will become the last living person to worship the great All-powerful, the Ancient One, he who preceded the universe and ignited the spark of existence, will bear the struggle to collect faith, and be set on a path to wield divinity. Your dungeon shall bear the relic of the All-powerful, and all other tributes to the lesser gods shall be expelled to where they must be. Your existence will be revealed, but not without gain. The remaining creations will be scattered or destroyed. Do you accept?”
“I do,” Smit replied instantly. He had no idea what all of it meant, but he was sure he would find out in time. He handed the ring to the angel quickly and without regret.
“Then it shall be so.” The angel clutched the ring tightly, heat and cold swirling around his fist in such a way that it distorted the space that surrounded it. The ring heated and cooled, glowing as it started to crack. Then it shattered in a flash of light.
The shattering of the ring meant that many of his priceless creations would be lost forever, destroyed. However, some of these survived, primarily those related to demigods, great spirits, and gods. Those exploded out of the ring, enveloped in light, and rocketed away towards the exit of his dungeon. A few of those rays of light launched themselves towards his core room, settling there.
Finally, the angel opened his hand. In it lay one of the artifacts that Smit had created so long ago. A necklace crafted in platinum and gold. From it hung a pale blue gem, filled with light. The angel held it before Smit, and infused it with power, making it glow radiantly.
“You once created this,” the angel said, looking over it with appreciation. “The so-called “Tear of the Goddess” crafted from a sapphire with traces of divinity. A powerful artifact that can cleanse the soul from any foreign curse, once. Here, it will not only cleanse, but reestablish the connection between their souls and yours. Their bodies will need time to be set right, but I leave that to you. Farewell.”
The angel handed Smit the artifact, and just like that, he disappeared.
Smit grabbed the necklace, clutching it tightly. No sooner than he had received it, he started gathering his mana, funneling it towards the necklace. He looked at Arturus and Ziggurd, and spoke. “Quick, move Pala next to Echo.”
Nodding, sensing the urgency of the situation, the two siblings dragged Pala’s body to the side of Echo, and backed away. They had no idea what was about to happen, but they knew better than to speak. They recognized that intense look in Smit’s eyes, one that was reserved for when he was extremely focused.
Smit lifted the artifact, and it glowed gently, starting to levitate from his hands. From the center of the gem, a radiant white light shined onto Pala and Echo, while particles of different colors danced down towards them. It was a beautiful sight, but one that none present allowed themselves to appreciate. They all waited with bated breath, watching for any signs of healing.
The light finally subsided, and the glow of the gem died completely. Smit could tell just from the feeling, it was now naught but a regular pretty necklace, but that was fine. He could feel it now again, the connection between their souls and his own reestablished. The blackened wound in Pala’s head seemed to be cleansed, and on Echo’s chest, a proper crustal had formed. Unlike that of the wooden golems, this core was clearly special, filled with a blue light. From within it, Smit could feel Echo’s soul.
He finally allowed himself to feel relief. He fell to his knees happily and closed his eyes. With the crisis averted, Smit could only thank the heavens that his children had survived. He truly did not know what he would have done if they had died for good.
“Father?” Arturus said quietly. His voice subdued and concerned. He had never seen his father like this.
