Chapter 12
Titanic
Ϫ
"This…"
Lincoln's voice echoed throughout the room, cold and hollow as the biting air around him. His mahogany eyes were affixed securely to the reddish blade jutting from the wall, its brass pommel shining faintly in the light of the far off campfire. As his echo carried, his voice could choke out no more. His mouth dried and his throat closed nearly shut, a sick awe overtook him as he stared.
"Did you find something?!" called Lily, a little worried over his silence.
Yet the young man did not reply, for he could not had he wanted to. His gaze was fixed firmly to the blade, his mind now flooding with memories of the journal. Tales of a beastly man, one to whom he was blood kin, overtook his consciousness as he gazed. He was firmly bewitched with the splendor.
The others took close notice of this after a few minutes of his absence. There was no way it could take so long to peer around the room for possible points of egress. With a look to each other and hesitant nods, the three stood and approached the entranced man.
Their steps were far from silent, slowly taken but not carefully considered. Any novice of combat would've easily heard the crunching of rocky ground as they approached. Alas, Lincoln was far from himself as they advanced, causing his comrades to worry at his lack of reaction.
They stood beside him, unnoticed and all but ignored, and turned their gaze from him to the object of his fascination. One by one their eyes lit with likewise amazement, peering upon the wavy blade dug deep into the dungeon wall. Though not familiar as he, the man's comrades knew very well the stories and legends. The blade of the one-armed man, a veritable monster in his own right. The hero who slew countless monsters, neither blessing nor party to watch his back.
Indeed, as all four stood and stared upon that most famous of blades, the still-living legend of Francis gripped them all in its splendor. The blade sat there, stunning and beautiful and unimaginably deadly, rested tightly in the equally reddish wall. Its aura had now transfixed the entire group, nary but a whisper uttered between them as they gawked.
"Is that… really it?" Welf pondered, first voice to pierce their shared silence.
None answered him for quite a few minutes, bewitched by the blade. Yet Lincoln did eventually break himself enough to respond, more of instinct than manners or awareness.
"Yeah… that's her…"
"So, we're on floor fifteen then…"
This time Liliruka voiced herself, a whisper barely audible above pounding hearts. Those chestnut eyes were measuring it up, pondering heavily the value of such a legendary weapon. Old habits do die hard after all.
"Something's not right." Bell spoke up, sensible albeit fearfully so.
"Bell, nothing's been right today." Lincoln responded, largely breaking himself of his fixation, "This is… something else entirely."
The other three nodded their heads in agreement, absentmindedly but still unanimously.
By this point, having stared at the sword for nearly ten minutes, the awe was wearing off and gradually being replaced with a sort of curiosity. Bell's heart and mind were beginning to fill with the tales of his late grandfather, of heroes conquering vile beasts by virtue of will alone. Lily's thoughts became fully occupied with ponderings over the blade's value, a virtue of her disavowed former self. Welf was taking in the full grandeur of the craftsmanship, of a blade worthy of song and praise in the greatest smithies the world over.
Lincoln though, his initial stunned awe having worn off, was still consumed with thoughts of a man he'd never known. One Francis the Bold, great-grandfather and patron of his family, the famed hero and pariah of Orario. Equally adored and hated, depending on who was asked. Indeed, as he still gazed upon her, Titanic brought back the memories of a certain old leather journal. This along with thoughts of the new life he now leads, a life that might soon come to a grisly end.
"Should we try to take it?" Lily pondered aloud, unintentionally voicing her old habit.
"How could we?" Welf responded dejectedly, "There've been level fives that couldn't so much as budge that thing. We couldn't hope to pull that sucker free."
"Yeah, and besides…" Bell whispered, turning to look at the hordes of Minotaur at either end of the chamber.
"Besides, now's not the time." Lincoln interjected, finishing the boy's thought.
His fellows agreed with faint nods of their swirling heads. All had equal interest in the thing for one reason or another, but for the moment the weapon was the least of their concerns. Save for Lincoln, who was finding himself hard-pressed to avert his thoughts. Yet he mustered himself to do so, pulling himself to the situation at hand.
"This at least tells us where we are." He stated coolly.
"Yeah, now we can die knowing how close we were to makin it." Welf spoke up, his tone cold as the air.
Bell and Lily shared a simultaneous glance at the ground, seeming to admire their shoes as Welf's words sank in. Lincoln had no argument against the observation, yet neither would he let it go without retort.
"We're not dead, Welf."
"Not yet." The smith interrupted.
"Since that's so, we can still look for a way out." Lincoln finished, perhaps rougher than he should've.
"Well, did ya see anything while you were walkin around?!" Welf half-screamed in reply.
Lincoln turned his gaze back to the sword, admiring its eerie beauty as he thought of exactly how to reply. The answer was obvious, he'd seen nothing remotely resembling a way out, but that did not mean he would just let it go. As he stared at that reddish blade, wavy like a serpent, a measure of confidence filled him.
"I didn't find anything, but I'm horribly tired." He said, earnestly yawning, "I think we all are and that's not gonna help us find a way out."
The others agreed, unvoiced but still understood. So the man continued, hoping to rally his fellows to some degree.
"Let's rest for now, maybe even sleep if we can. It seems safe enough to do so after all."
At this he cast his own gaze to the two monstrous hordes, staring as well but still unmoving.
"Once we're a little more energetic and alert, we can look around again and try to figure a way out of this."
He looked to his comrades once more, receiving nods of agreement in response. Even Welf seemed pacified with the oddly clearheaded suggestion. So the four returned to their campfire, leaving Titanic to her solemn vigil within the rock wall. They put a few more bits of kindling on the fire, huddling close and wrapping in their salamander wool.
They did sleep, for a few hours at least, but it was not restful. Cold surety gripped their hearts as they bade their bodies for respite. It would be hard going from here on if they were to survive this.
Ϭ
"We have a situation." The old man stated calmly, "As I'm sure you've all heard, the stairs from floor twelve to thirteen have collapse wholly and entirely, barring all access to or from deeper floors."
This old man, round bellied and thin haired, was the head of the Guild's Public Relations division. Just as his title would indicate, he had a very regal and professional bearing to him. Though he stood in front of a crowd of worried faces, delivering worrisome news, he showed no sign of his own unease. This is not to say that he had none, for he was likely the most worried of all, but merely that he held it expertly in check.
The room and its occupants, recipients of his unsettling news, was an altogether different case. Alarmed gasps and gazes met his every word, whispers flying to and fro until he cleared his throat loudly to silence the clamor.
"Your job as advisors and guides is the safety and proper operation of adventurers and their dungeon related activities." He continued calmly, "My job, however, is to ensure the Guild's good relation with the citizens of Orario. This includes, but is not limited to, keeping adventurers in line and ensuring compliance with our rules and regulations. After all, nothing's worse than rowdy swordsmen who can't leave their work in that pit after a long day."
The old man paused for breath, eyeing his subordinates who were nearly on the edge of their seats. He took a deep breath to deliver the meat of the gathering.
"My job also entails the prevention and soothing of panic and public outcry, both of which are likely if news of this gets out to certain ears."
His wizened eyes met each and every pair of the room's other occupants, searching for confirmation that his innuendo was understood. With a few exceptions, and satisfyingly enough, it seemed it was.
"Therefore, we have detained those few who witnessed the occurrence. They are being held under guise of questioning for improper activity, but I must stress that this will not hold for long. It is for this reason you are gathered, as we must come up with a proper way to distract the people until we can ascertain the full gravity of this situation."
The alarmed whispers resumed almost as soon as he had finished. The room was alight with disbelief and anxiety over the situation, many mouths vying to give their opinion to neighboring seats. It was a cacophony of near panic and total discord, finally eliciting an outcry from the old man.
"Damn it, people, do you understand our situation?!" he yelled, pounding the lectern in front of him.
His composure now gone, the old man's eyes darted from person to person. A few beads of sweat formed upon and slid slowly down his forehead, reddened with irritation at the group before him.
"We're facing not just possible panic but total dissolution of public order!" he bellowed, his own alarm spilling through, "I need all of you to get it together just long enough to give me ideas for how to distract our good citizens. At least long enough for us to figure out how to break this news, if not fix it altogether."
The room was hushed for a good few minutes, all minds considering the old man's words. It was true that an event like this could incite panic, if not from the citizens then at least from the affected Familia. It wouldn't take long to notice the missing members, cut off by the dungeon's odd behavior. The last thing the organization needed was a gaggle of angry Gods and Goddesses, knocking down their doors in search of their missing members.
Thus, the whole room now fully understanding the issue, hands gradually raised one by one into the air. Thoughts and ideas were given, some useful while others simply compounded the issue. More than a few pointed out further trouble that covering up the disaster could bring.
Eina's mind was consumed with worry for her own wards, two of which stuck out particularly in her mind. A certain pair, whom had informed her earlier of their trip to the middle floors, were at the forefront of her thoughts. Even without confirmation, she was assured that they were trapped by this. It seemed to be their very nature to be accosted by any disaster or misfortune possible.
"Why don't we set up a festival, like Ganesha Familia?" spoke a timid man, normally posted at the exchange.
The old man eyed the speaker cynically, a piercing gaze if ever there was one. It was a fair idea, but it also stood to further compound the issue.
"How do you propose that we set up such an event on such short notice?" he posed his question cautiously.
"We could close the hall down and shut the dungeon off entirely, diverting resources and manpower to both the investigation and the festival. With forty or so working on it, we could have it set up and ready in a day or so."
The manager crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, running numbers and statistics through his mind as he considered the notion. It seemed a solid enough plan if they could flesh it out properly. So with a nod of his head, more to himself than anything, the old man gave his approval.
"Very good then, it's settled." He spoke with a commanding tone, "We'll set the exchange managers and all available goods-personnel to work on the festival."
He then cast his gaze across the room, searching for a certain half-elf. When at last his eyes fell upon her, he took a deep breath and continued.
"As for our advisors, you will all be under Miss Tulle. I expect ten propositions on my desk, in the next hour, for how to excuse this shutdown without raising too much suspicion."
Eina visibly stiffened in her seat as he stared at her, his eyes conveying the message that any mistakes would not be tolerated. With a huff, the old man gathered himself and started to leave, stopping just as he was crossing the threshold.
"Oh, and bring plenty of alcohol. Always seems to help pacify large crowds."
With that last bit, almost an afterthought with the way he worded it, the manager left the room. It was veritable bedlam no sooner than he'd shut the door behind him, everyone scrambling to make groups and strategize. Papers flew all around as seats shuffled and screeched along the ground, bodies scrambling to new positions.
Eina held her head in her hands, rubbing her temples as she began to dread her choice of career.
β
Lillian paced around the table square in the middle of their little room. Her frantic gait seemed poised to wear holes in the floor as she repeatedly traced a circle round the furnishing. Her anxiety was obvious to even an untrained eye, mirrored by the Goddess occupying the room with her. Said Goddess, who was busy chewing her fingernails, being just as worried as the girl.
There had been no word of Bell's party for two days now. The rising sun, which could not be seen in the subterranean room, greeted the third day of their worried ponderings now. It was a scene fit for a mental ward in some awful sanitarium, two people nervously pacing and ticking as though their minds had left them entirely.
Hestia had been through this before, yet, with the recent events and the addition of Lincoln and Lillian, all bets were off. She had been to the guild twice now, receiving no helpful information for her trouble. Many times had it crossed her mind now that she might've gotten more, were she a more affluent Goddess that is. Yet as it stood, Hestia was confined to sitting around and worrying while the guild handled the situation. A situation they would give her no details of.
"Goddess, there has to be something we can do…" Lillian spoke worriedly.
"They've shut us out every time, Lil." Hestia replied, almost whispering, "I can't even get in touch with that half-elf advisor now…"
The two shared a brief, worried glance along with a heavy sigh. It seemed there would be no solution in relying on their government this day. So with that, Lillian continued her pacing while Hestia chewed her nails to the quick.
This somber procession was eventually interrupted, and none too soon either, by a loud bang from up above. The hollow crack of metal meeting wood with repeated strikes. This snapped the two out of their worried musings, drawing both sets of eyes to the ceiling.
"What was that?" Hestia spoke, voicing their shared curiosity.
Silence followed the brief report, but only for a few moments. Long enough for the two to settle back into their anxious habits. When it sounded again, this time with true fervor and gravity, both nearly hit the floor in their surprise.
Hestia was the first to stand, without a word, and nearly lunge for the stairs. Her mind had only just made the connection that the sound came from the church's door. So with hope in her heart, hope for some sort of news about her children, the little Goddess scurried eagerly up the stairs.
It took only moments for the two to make it into the church proper, Lillian having followed close behind. They flew upon the door, furiously tearing it open only to be greeted by a pair of alarmed, golden eyes.
It was their rude guest from only a few days previous, the half-breed Annabelle. Her gaze was understandably alarmed, the door she was about to knock upon having been flung upon in front of her. Yet, it held something more as well. A sense of disgust almost, or perhaps disillusionment.
"What are you doing here, Miss?" Lillian asked as politely as possible.
The woman regained herself admirably, clearing her throat loudly to reestablish her composure.
"I just thought I'd come see if that white headed kid was back yet." She said flatly.
Hestia and Lillian shared a puzzled glance at each other, failing to notice the woman's growing unease. They turned back after only a moment, Hestia being the one to respond.
"He's not here and we haven't heard from him in two days now…"
The little Goddess' voice was as dejected as her expression, her eyes unable to meet the woman's.
"Here too…" Annabelle hissed under her breath.
Lillian narrowed her eyes at the half-breed, having barely made out the words she seemed to want to hide. The girl's heart was filled with worry anew, alarm bells ringing in her head as she broached an obvious question.
"Do you know something about what's going on?" she asked timidly.
Annabelle looked around for a moment, as if she were searching for a missing friend, before responding.
"I hate to ask, but may I come in?"
The girl and Goddess looked at each other again, mistrust clear in their gaze. With an irritated cluck of her tongue, the half-breed decided it would be best to elaborate on her request.
"I don't know that it's safe to talk about it outside. I'll tell you what I know, but only if you let me in."
Though it was indeed true that talking outside wasn't the safest option, the woman also had ulterior motives. Motives that would not be long hidden, due in large part to a loud growl resounding from her stomach. Loud enough, that is, to be audible to the two standing in the doorway.
"A little food would be nice, too…" she added, face blushing a deep red as she averted her gaze.
Ϭ
Eina shifted herself nervously in her chair, her eyes wandering all along the many bodies walking to and fro. Strong, muscular men carried equipment and bits to set up various stalls and stands. Bespectacled men, and women as well, barked orders at the muscle moving from place to place. Slowly but surely, the courtyard in front of Babel Tower was turning into a fairground.
It had taken two entire days now, along with nearly every trick Eina could recall, to raise the fairground without raising suspicions in the process. The tower and dungeon had been cut off from the rest of the city entirely, an elegantly spun excuse of renovation given to hush the masses. Thus far, it had all gone swimmingly, much to the half-elf's amazement.
Yet, she could not still a gnawing sense of dread welling up in her heart. Almost as if some sort of forewarning or omen, Eina's very soul seemed to be colored fantastically with trepidation. She just knew something, though what she could not be sure, would come along to knock over this house of cards they were erecting. All in the vain name of their current leader, one who believed the public only needed to know the bare minimum concerning goings on within the city.
The half-elf sighed deeply to herself, emerald eyes still affixed to the sight before her. It would only be a few hours now until it was all done, this she knew, and from there the festivities would commence. There had been no expense spared to procure the finest and strongest spirits. Neither had any effort been spared to bring in the city's most influential figures. Though rumors had already begun to spread that something was amiss with the dungeon, this massive party stood poised to quiet those tittle-tattles.
This was all according to the overall plan, to stay the masses long enough to finish their investigation. An investigation which had, in over forty-eight hours mind you, managed to come up with only more questions. An investigation which had not managed to make any progress, despite the massive force devoted to it. An investigation which would most certainly remain unresolved long after the fires of this festival grew cold.
So she sat there, overseeing her remaining duty of ensuring the festival's proper setup and initiation. That is, until a certain familiar voice called out to her. Faint and whispered, yet still loud enough for Eina's half-elven ears to hone in on. She turned her head toward the noise, keen eyes picking the figure out from behind a clump of brush in the distance.
Two jet-black ponytails quivered nervously as the half-elf's gaze fell upon them, the same soft voice calling out once more.
Ϫ
"Sorry, Mister Bell, but that's the last of our supply…" the prum admitted glumly.
Ruby eyes sat morosely on the meager scrap of bread, barely half of a handful, and the scraggly piece of dried meat beside it. Certainly not enough to make any semblance of a proper meal, yet hopefully enough to quiet a growling stomach. So, with a thankful nod, the boy clutched his tiny ration and staggered slowly back to his seat by the fire. He plopped himself down weakly, almost immediately setting upon his meager scraps of food.
The story was the same for the others: a tiny piece of bread and a scant piece of dried meat. This along with naught but a tiny cup of water to chase it down. For you see, the quartet was upon their third straight day in the bowels of the dungeon. A situation which many before them had weathered and survived, albeit with proper planning and supply. Though, one cannot exactly plan to be trapped in a room with only a day and a half's worth of food and water.
Snarling man-beasts stood ever vigilant at either entrance of the massive chamber, seemingly inexhaustible. The creatures had been this way since the group's unexpected arrival, watching them like hawks the entire time. They seemed unwilling to venture further into the room, which proved both blessing and curse. Yet they also clearly held no intention of leaving, be it for boredom or any other reason.
Thus it had come to this, Lily morosely handing out the last of a valiantly stretched food supply to her equally glum comrades. All seemed sure that this would prove their last meal, having found no potential points of escape despite days of searching. So now they sat around their tiny fire, dejected and all but broken, as they burnt the few scraps of roots torn from the dungeon walls.
The tiny fire did nothing to stave off the biting cold that blew through the chamber in regular intervals. Nay, it only served to give some small amount of light as the quartet awaited their demise. Yet, all did take some small solace in being able to at least see their fellows, dire situation notwithstanding.
"I'm sorry, guys…" Bell spoke up, barely audible over the crackling of the dying fire.
"What've you got to be sorry for, eh?" Welf replied, the others cocking their heads curiously.
Bell didn't answer immediately, instead turning his gaze to the flickering flames. His eyes lit an especially bright-red hue in the firelight, a hauntingly gorgeous sight as he considered his own meaning. Hunger had by this point dulled his senses and thoughts, though he still fought to maintain himself as much as he could.
"I'm sorry for getting us all into this." He replied at last, unwilling to look his fellows in the eye.
The smith and prum looked to each other, unwittingly sharing virtually the same thought, before chuckling faintly. Both looked back at the boy, still giggling more of nervousness than humor.
"It's not Mister Bell's fault…" Lily spoke up first.
"Yeah, I'm with shrimpy." Welf concurred, "This ain't your fault, kiddo."
The boy lifted his head and brought his gaze to the smith's, rubies locking stare with silver. The older boy smiled in response, strongly as he could manage despite his own hunger.
"We knew what we were getting into, Bell. The dungeon is never a safe bet and there's no telling when your number's up."
Welf's words were not particularly comforting, yet still they did elicit a wobbly smile from the boy. The tone and trust conveyed by the smith had reached him and it was a welcome feeling. It would not stay the growls coming from his stomach, protesting the measly meal consumed all too quickly, but it did comfort him all the same.
Lincoln sat apart from the group, though still near the fire. He was off in his own little world for all this, abstaining entirely from the heartwarming colloquy. The man's thoughts were still entirely consumed with the sword, far off from the campfire, still dug in its lonely resting place. His mind had scarcely wandered from it at all during these two days. Now, hunger and fatigue setting upon him, the young man could almost feel it calling to him.
His mahogany eyes stared into the darkness, towards the blade's lonely vigil. He was utterly bewitched, transfixed as he all but heeded the siren call echoing in his mind alone. It went entirely unnoticed by the others when he stood, silent as the grave, and sauntered off toward the call. The three continued a less than lively conversation while their companion ambled off towards Titanic.
Lincoln's approach was erratic and trancelike, to say the least. Still, he managed to come to stand right before the blade before regaining himself somewhat. He had made almost no sound during his entire walk, gasping faintly when he somewhat came to.
It did shock him to recover himself there, standing before the aptly named sword. The last he could recall, he was sitting by the shabby little fire and gnawing at his last bit of ration. Yet here he now stood, staring at his great-grandfather's blade. He could feel his heart begin to pound in time with his head, the faint siren calling now a palpable hum in his ears. The man glanced momentarily to his fellows, blissfully unaware of the ghostly call it seemed only he could hear.
As Lincoln returned his gaze to the blade, its glorious silhouette greeting him like a forlorn lover, his consciousness grew weak once more. It almost seemed to call his hand, said appendage raising slowly in response. He wanted to fight it, in some small part of his heart, as it frightened him to no end. Yet no matter what, he could not stop his slowly rising hand.
The man's world went pitch black with a furious bang the moment his finger brushed the brass of the hilt.
β
Hestia and Lillian stared with wide eyes as their guest, the none too polite Annabelle, hastily consumed the small feast before her. It was nothing too fancy, yet still it was prepared with mind to feed three rather than one. Though, as the aforementioned two watched the half-breed's consumption, their appetites seemed to leave them. So they sat there and watched, wondering if a break to this gluttony would ever come.
When at last it did, the woman stopping to guzzle her water, Hestia leaned forward to grab her attention. This might have failed, had the Goddess not grabbed the woman's plate and pulled it back just enough to notice. Annabelle looked up at her, her eyes full of ravenous hunger, as Hestia spoke at last.
"You certainly are hungry, eh?" she said, with no small hint of sarcasm.
"You not gonna let me finish?" the half-breed inquired crassly.
Hestia nearly had to bite her tongue, in a very literal sense, to withhold her irritation. She wanted badly to tell her off, yet Annabelle had information she sorely needed.
"Oh, no, you're more than welcome to eat me out of house and home." Hestia replied calmly, "But first, before you go on, could you please tell me what you know about my children?"
The two locked eyes for no less than a few minutes, a tense air descending upon them, before Annabelle relented. With an angry cluck of her tongue, the half-breed leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. She averted her gaze before speaking in a low, sneering tone.
"I hope you realize I'm going to hold you to that statement, Goddess." She spoke coldly, staring at the kitchen, "But I guess I do owe you some explanation first."
The woman grew silent after this statement, her breathing becoming audibly nervous. She was clearly considering her next words carefully, though for what reason was anyone's guess. Before a minute could pass, she sighed deeply and uncrossed her arms. The woman instead leaned forward, locking her gaze to the Goddess' once more, and rested her elbows on her knees.
"I was in there when it happened, just barely managed to get away. Now those crooks in the guild wanna cover it all up, probably thinking it might damage their reputation."
Hestia watched her with questioning eyes, clearly not following Annabelle's words in the slightest. She could see this and, with an exaggerated sigh, decided to start from the beginning.
"I was on my way out that day, unsettled by this weird rumble everyone was talking about. It did seem odd to see so few in there, but it's not like I care enough about other adventurers to wonder. Besides, coming here had set me in a sour mood so I was satisfied enough to have blown off some steam."
She paused, grabbing her water and taking a long sip before continuing.
"So as I'm leaving, I see some guild bozos up ahead. They're grabbing and cuffing people, everyone that was trying to leave. That ain't right, ya know? So, I decided to… hide myself. Managed to give em the slip, but not before overhearing this little tidbit."
At this, the woman leaned in closer. Whatever she was about to say was clearly important enough to whisper up close.
"The stairs between floor twelve and thirteen collapsed. No one's been allowed in since then, and no one's come out either. No telling how many are trapped down there…"
Her story finished, or at least told as much as she was willing, Annabelle sat back up. She grabbed the plate Hestia had withdrawn, easily removing it from the Goddess' weak grasp. The half-breed proceeded to dig into the meal once more.
Hestia only sat there beside Lillian, both now the color of bleached bones. A deathly pallor had overtaken them, alarm and fears at last confirmed by their guest. It was an undoubtedly unsettling sight, to see a Goddess so seemingly hopeless.
"Miss… Annabelle…" Lillian half-whispered, trying to piece her thoughts together.
"Hm?" the woman replied, mouth full of food.
"Do you know why we haven't been able to contact their advisor?"
The woman swallowed her mouthful, chasing it down comically with her water, before mounting her reply.
"The Guild's gonna hold some kind of banquet or something today, to distract everybody most likely. I guess she's probably mixed up in that nonsense. Hell, the rumors goin around are sayin it'll be a weeklong shindig."
With that she dug in once more, her hosts sitting in stunned silence as the half-breed gorged herself. Having been cut off from her only source of income, a shaky source at that, the woman had no intent of leaving a scrap of the meal behind. She was absolutely determined to scarf down every morsel of her first meal in over thirty hours, the size of which she hadn't had in years.
The gears in Hestia's head began to turn with both alarm and lucidity. If ever there had been a time for the little Goddess to act, it was now. With hardly a moment's hesitation she stood, walking briskly over to the nightstand beside her bed. She opened its lone drawer quite forcefully, seeming as though she would tear it off. She dug around for only a moment before taking a leather-bound book, covered in a film of dust that seemed impossible to remove.
Journal in hand, the Goddess set off without a word. Her tiny feet echoed loudly up the stairs and out the door.
Ϭ
Eina had snuck away from her station as discreetly as possible, alerting none to her absence. She crossed the courtyard, now more of a fairground, quickly and nearly dove into a bush. The very same bush behind which a tiny figure crouched, doing its best to be inconspicuous.
The little Goddess jumped with a scare when the half-elf came crashing into her little hiding place. Sapphire eyes met Eina's form, slouched on the ground and rubbing her now aching rear. The advisor returned the stare, somewhat relieved to see the familiar Goddess.
"Goddess Hestia, what are you doing here?" she asked calmly, expertly hiding her worry.
"What, I'm not good enough for an invite to your party?" she replied angrily.
The two stared each other down for a time, a furious Goddess and a trepid guild advisor. Both had plenty of reason for their emotional state, though neither was willing to show their hand. Before long, Hestia had had enough and decided to speak up.
"I know you know something about what's going on." She said, eyes full of furious tears, "I haven't seen my Bell or Lincoln for two days, nor have I heard from the smith or the supporter!"
Her voice gradually became more and more frantic, raising in octaves but thankfully not volume.
"Now, miss advisor, before I go and do something stupid, you have exactly two minutes to tell me what's up! And remember, you can't lie to a God!"
Hestia's face may have had the appearance of a child's, round and soft-featured, but her eyes presently burned with all the fury of the heavens above. That alone told Eina that the Goddess was quite serious, eliciting a deep sigh from the half-elf.
"I could lose my job, you know?" she spoke as if defeated.
"Piss off a Goddess and you stand to lose much more…" Hestia muttered sternly in reply.
With an audible gulp, Eina swallowed her trepidation and relented.
"The festival here, it'll be starting very soon. We're throwing it all week to distract the masses and important Gods while we figure out exactly what happened in the dungeon…"
"Go on."
"That's all I know, Goddess. I was given the bare minimum explanation of what went on, since my task was more public relations in this debacle."
Hestia eyed the half-elf suspiciously, wanting to be beyond sure that she was being honest. Her divine gaze pierced into Eina's heart, showing her exactly what the woman had said. Since both seemed to match up, Hestia sighed in a mixture of relief and irritation. It seemed she'd have to play her hand after all.
"Get back out there before I decide to throw you under the cart, Miss Advisor." Hestia hissed angrily.
Eina acquiesced to this order without a second thought, bowing a good three times as she crawled out from the bush. The half-elf retreated quickly to her station, thoroughly worried at what the irrational Goddess might be planning. Yet, she did her best to put it out of her mind. It wasn't as if she agreed entirely with this façade she was being forced to take part in, after all.
Hestia waited there for a long while, at least a good hour into the festivities, before emerging. Her tiny figure went completely unnoticed as she waltzed into the center of it all, climbing atop the fountain as if it were a natural thing to do.
From her new vantage, the little Goddess peered out over the crowd all around her. A few noticed her here and there, but most were well on their way toward fully enjoying the various refreshments. Too busy in their merrymaking to notice one tiny little Goddess standing atop a water-fixture.
Hestia clutched the leather-bound book tightly to her chest, taking in a deep lungful of air before shouting louder than she ever had before.
Λ
"Μπορείτε τελικά ήρθε!"
A powerful voice, something akin to a thousand earthquakes, rattled Lincoln's very bones and roused him from a deep slumber. The young man gripped his head tightly with both hands, straining against the furious roar of the voice. It seemed to be all around him at once, much like a crowd speaking in perfect unison with one voice.
The man's mahogany eyes struggled to open, gradually managing to fight their way through the sound. When at last they did he was met with an utterly foreign sight, the likes of which he could never have imagined.
All around Lincoln was a wriggling mass of grey matter, sloshing much like waves in the sea. It seemed alive, thrashing around in all directions from where he lay. As he looked around, still clutching his head against the echo of the voice, a fixture came into view. Something like a pillar of granite, reaching upward into eternity, sat around ten meters in front of him. Carved like a great throne at the base, something shone brilliantly upon it.
The first thing that came to his mind was the sun. A great brightness fit to blind the unwary eye, throbbing like a roaring fire. This glorious brilliance seemed to regard him much like a sentient being, staring back at the man.
"Με ακούς?"
It came again, the pounding roar of a voice fit to split mountains. Lincoln nearly vomited under the pain piercing through his skull, doubling over as he fought the call. It served no purpose to clutch his ears tightly shut, as it pierced clean through his very bones. Yet still he did so, trying in vain to stand as he struggled against the sound.
"Αχ, μου φαίνεται να είναι πάρα πολύ δυνατά…"
Once more it rang, like a thousand bells and a thousand splitting mountains all at once. This third volley of sound brought Lincoln to his knees, his head now feeling as if it would disintegrate if this continued.
Through teary eyes, barely able to open through the pain, Lincoln watched as the light came closer. In what seemed a few moments, or perhaps a few years, the brilliant figure came to stand above the man. His senses were so twisted at this point, Lincoln could no longer feel the proper passage of time. That is, until a warm and comforting sensation resonated from the back of his head.
With it the pain left him instantly, almost as if it had never been there at all. He could feel himself properly once more and was quick to scramble to his feet. What stood before him was awe inspiring by any stretch of the imagination.
A figure much like a man, clad in a dingy ivory robe. It shone like ten thousand suns, seeming as though it should blind him immediately. The face, hands and feet were little more than utter brilliance, the pure manifestation of light itself. Yet, somewhere under the hood, Lincoln could've sworn he could make out a face. A face smiling coyly like an excited child.
"So, can you understand me now?" it asked.
The voice was powerful, just as before, but soothing and warm. Like a mother speaking to her child, trying to calm them after a skinned knee. Lincoln was left nearly bereft of words by the indescribably amazing sensation.
"I… Yes…" he replied as if ensorcelled.
"Good, there's a lot to say and little time to say it." It continued, pacing elegantly back to its throne.
The Being sat down with all the poise and dignity of the cosmos themselves, resting its face lazily on a shining fist.
"Come, sit down child. I won't bite…"
Lincoln did not, could not, disobey. He followed the instructions without a thought, coming to sit at the foot of the throne. The aura enveloping him was warmer and kinder than anything he'd ever felt. It calmed his very soul as he sat in the countenance of this Divinity.
"You've gone through much, haven't you." It spoke sweetly, soothingly, "You and your poor sister, so brave and so devoted. Why, I wonder?"
Lincoln's eyes stared blankly at the Being, his ears listening but not hearing. He was entirely consumed in the glory of this thing, this Divinity, and could not snap himself out of it enough to respond. The Being saw this and, with a snap of its glowing fingers, dispelled the trance instantly.
"There, better now?"
Lincoln blinked his eyes a few times, still calm and under no duress. He answered the Being plainly and honestly.
"Yeah, I feel right…" he replied, calm but hesitant, "Where am I?"
"Oh, not where but why." It responded with something like a chuckle.
As the Being laughed, if it could be called such, the swirling grey masses all around Lincoln began to take odd form. Some became stars, shining brightly and shooting off into the ether. Others became tiny maelstroms, dancing harmlessly around the bewildered young man. It was truly an amazing sight to behold, had any been there to do such.
"Forgive me, child, as I have had not one guest in eons." The Being spoke, still giggling lightheartedly, "I wish we had time to speak, but mine grows nigh. So, pleasantries aside, I'm afraid I must ask a favor of you."
Lincoln sat transfixed once more, though not ensorcelled as before. This time it was his own fascination, not the Being's aura, that gripped him.
"What?" he asked, unable to muster more.
It smiled at him, though the view was largely hidden by its brilliance.
"I need you to help me. I can't tell you how, but you will know when it's time. Would you do this for me, child?"
The man could not refuse had he wanted to, which he did not. Wordlessly he nodded his head in acquiescence. At this the Being smiled fervently, the wriggling masses all around giving birth to fantastic displays. More beautiful than before, the mass became tiny galaxies and burning quasars. A celestial dance ensued around the two, attesting to the Being's delight.
"Good, thank you." It spoke excitedly, though still soothingly, "Now, return and dance for me. My first messenger awaits..."
With that, Lincoln's consciousness once more faded to blackness. A heavy sleep overtook the man, removing him from the Being's throne-room.
Ϫ
The first sight to return to his eyes was golden in hue and heavy. Lincoln blinked wearily, two then three times, as he struggled to come back to himself. It felt as though he'd been asleep for ages, just now waking once more. It took a few minutes for the man to register what his hands were clutching so tightly.
"Gods…" came a voice, familiar and slightly baritone.
He turned to see the redheaded smith, standing just to his right. The younger man had a look on his face that could only be described as bewildered, his eyes looking as though they might pop from his skull. His mouth hung agape as well, further attesting to his astonishment.
"Bro, how'd you… how'd you do that?"
Now another voice, higher pitched but still clearly male. It came from his right and the man lazily swung his eyes to see its owner. White hair and ruby eyes, his fellow Familia member. The boy had the same look upon him, somewhere between bemusement and amazement. Slowly the man's mind began to come back to life, firing up as it shook off the heavy sensation of deep slumber.
He turned his gaze back to his own hands, seeing now exactly what had transfixed his fellows in such bewilderment. It grabbed hold of him as well, the man's freshly awoken mind filling with fascination as he looked upon it. Glorious and wavy, like a serpent crossing the ground. Reddish and powerful by virtue of appearance alone, edge sharp enough to see with the naked eye.
There it sat in his hands, the fabled blade of his predecessor. The mighty sword with which his great-grandfather had laid low a Minotaur, single-handed and without a blessing. There in his hands he clutched the mighty Titanic, pulled free of its long vigil within the dungeon wall.
All mouths were agape and silent as they beheld this, a sight fit for the greatest of song. A feat attempted and failed by thousands before, performed unawares by this unwitting young man. A title and namesake reclaimed, by means unknown. Even Liliruka, who normally had much to say no matter the situation, was struck dumb by this scene. Yet the spectacle would quickly be brought to an abrupt end.
As they stood there, staring at the fabled blade, a great rumbling overtook the chamber. A rumbling much the same as what had stranded them before, destroying the stairs above and dropping them down two entire floors. It returned once more, this time with a fury the likes of which none of the four had ever felt. The walls buckled and cried under its wrath, seeming as if they would give at any moment. The ceiling, far above and out of sight, rippled like water under the furious tremor. Even the floor seemed to undulate like a tumultuous ocean.
The quartet was thrown to the ground by the violent quaking, their bodies unable to perceive direction. The dungeon rumbled and roared, seeming to be alive as it angrily protested their very presence. It went on this way for nearly three minutes before stopping as abruptly as it started. When it ceased, it ceased entirely as though it had never started.
The four looked around warily, frightened beyond words by this third quake. It seemed the dungeon was trying to eat them, what with all the unexpected quaking and tremoring. Yet as they looked around, no damage could be spotted. Not a piece loosed from the wall, not a pebble disturbed upon the ground. It seemed as though they had shared a hallucination.
That is, until a great crack crawled across the center of the chamber floor. It began at one side of the room and ran to the dead center, swallowing their little campfire in its maw. It wasted no time in opening either, gaping wide as it split apart the ground. The crevice was some fifteen meters across by the time it stopped growing, a sickly red glow spilling from its depths.
The four stared in awe and fear, bereft of either will or sense to move or speak. They watched in muted fascination as the hole gave way to a true terror, something fit to bestill even the mightiest of hearts.
From the maw of this great crevice, this veritable trench torn into the dungeon floor, came first a mighty hand. It swung blindly at the sky, searching for anything to grasp hold of. At last it found an edge, digging mighty fingers into the rock as it clenched the earth. Three more followed suit shortly after, similarly searching for and finding earth to clutch tightly upon for support.
Next a hideous sight, a great oxen head poking forth from the depths. A single horn stood on the left side of it, curving like a jet-black sickle. Very shortly after, a second head popped through, this one with a horn on its right side. The snouts snarled fiercely, puffing enormous clouds of white vapor into the cold air. The eyes were black as the horns, seeming to be voids rather than organs.
Next came the body, a mighty and muscled thing, revealing the two heads to share it. Indeed, they sat side by side each other, atop a mighty wall of muscle passing for a torso. It looked like some Olympian man, a perfectly chiseled figure in the bright red glow.
Lastly, the legs came forth as the creature hauled itself free of the pit. They were oxen as well, just as the heads upon its shoulders. Mighty and muscled as the torso, thighs that looked much like a man's. These lead into dual-jointed legs much like a cow or a bull. Enormous, jet-black hooves finished off the fearsome features.
The quartet stood in stunned silence as they beheld it, a freshly born Monster Rex. It stood an unnerving five meters tall, with four mighty arms and skin the color of coal. The fur that lay in patches here and there, looking as if torn by many battles, was as white as snow. It was, in no other words, a sight of true fear and horror.
The creature did not regard its onlookers at first, instead glancing lazily around its hunting ground. After but a few moments of taking in its surroundings, the great beast turned and crashed to its knees. All four arms reached into the pit that had just birthed, withdrawing what would only serve to further unsettle the quartet.
As it stood once more, it held a weapon in each of its four powerful hands. The top-right held a sword nearly two thirds its own height in length, likely four feet wide at the tip. The bottom-right held a dual-headed axe, an easy seven feet from beard to beard. The top-left held an enormous mallet, the head of which was easily four feet across. The bottom-left held a gargantuan club, looking something a mighty Oaktree uprooted and parted from its branches.
The beast turned at last to regard its prey, the now cowering party of unfortunate adventurers. It snarled evilly, showing off nasty yellow fangs, as if it were smiling at them. As it regarded them, the crevice which had given it birth shut completely with a bang. The floor seemed as if it had never been disturbed.
The four beheld their opponent, knowing fully well that death likely awaited, as it began a lumbering march toward them.