...you know that feeling when you're 6000 words into the next chapter of another story, and the prose abruptly stops coming? And then you start writing a small snippet in the hopes of regaining inspiration, but end up with two chapters you could have written for the original story?
Yup. That's me!
Because I do not already have enough unfinished stories as things stand, here's yet another crossover, and hopefully, the last one I'm pushing out in the Danmachi fandom (I'm still an anime pleb, and yes, I haven't actually finished watching the second season... go figure). Incidentally, I've now crossed 400,000 words since I started writing on this account last October, and I still haven't progressed a single story past 60000 words (sweats).
The D&D side of things in this story is very much more a crossover in mechanics than strict established lore, and functions off homebrew handwaving bullshit. The purists might want to leave before they start pointing out that Hexblade patrons are beings of the Shadowfell, because I can assure you the lore only gets more twisted from there.
This is also probably my first story where the main character is actually resident to the base setting rather than the crossover element.
Bell Cranel knew he was about to die.
Cornered into a dead end in the twisting halls of the Dungeon, and with every fibre of his being burning with exhaustion after his last futile endeavour to escape from the rampaging Minotaur, all he could do was stare helplessly at the looming figure of death before him. His heart pounded rapidly, and though he weakly held his dagger in sweaty palms, he made no move to draw it.
He, an Adventurer who foolishly entered the Dungeon without even a Falna granted by the Gods, had no hope of even so much as scratch the beast before him. Minotaurs were capable of felling Level Two Adventurers in the fifteenth to seventeenth floors of the Dungeon where they hailed from, and someone as weak as him had no hope for survival.
In another life, perhaps a saviour would have arrived in the nick of time. In another legend, perhaps such an act of heroism would ignite a passion that would drive him to achieve feats beyond his wildest imagination.
Unfortunately for him, help was far from coming. All he could do as the Minotaur's nostrils flared, and an arm creeped excruciatingly slowly toward him, was lament the fact that he'd been down to the Dungeon for a reason as foolish of hoping to become strong, and perhaps one day rescue a damsel in distress like the heroes of old, in the stories that his grandfather had always told him.
"Please…"
His faint plea, barely louder than a whisper, fell on deaf ears. The monster drew ever nearer.
You… are untouched by your Gods.
A sudden female voice echoed in his mind. It was soft to the touch, feeling as though a fresh spring breeze, yet with the warmth of a summer's day. It was beautiful, and yet firm, the sort of voice that could make anyone's heart soften.
Was this his body's way of at least letting him have his final wish of having a beautiful lady beside him as he passed?
Bare your soul to me, child.
Great. And now he was starting to hallucinate, too. He'd heard of how people saw their life flash before their eyes when they died, but this… the sense of terror he felt as the ground tumbled from each step the Minotaur took, and this sudden strange female voice sounding in his head were not at all what the stories of Adventurers were like!
Haste, little one!
"Who…?"
Was he now simply imagining things? Was death that frightening, that his brain was making up some would-be rescuer?
What drives you?
"I…"
He had no good answer to that. He'd been here for selfish and foolish reasons. To seek love, to rescue a maiden in distress, to become strong like the heroes of old who fought against evil. He was no powerful Adventurer who could carve up mountains, or slay the mightiest of beasts.
What do you regret?
Many things. He regretted never knowing his parents. He regretted not being able to say a proper goodbye to his grandfather. He regretted being arrogant enough to believe he could grow strong on his own, without a God's Falna, and venturing down to the fifth floor of the Dungeon alone.
But most of all, he regretted being weak. It was his weakness that had made every Familia he approached reject his application. It was his lack of strength that forced him to run away from the Minotaur, to depend on some slim hope of rescue by more powerful Adventurers.
And now, it was weakness that would lead to his imminent death.
What will you do, if given strength?
The answer came naturally. Slay evil, but grant forgiveness to the repentant. Protect the weak and defenseless. Become a hero that could inspire others. Spare others from the fate that would soon befall him. Be like those heroes of legend from the stories he so loved.
I see, the lady spoke. Was this his mind's way of encouraging him as he drew his last breath?
For several moments, there was silence. Strangely enough, time was stretching on, the Minotaur's movements agonisingly slow.
Funny. He had heard of people seeing their lives flash before their eyes, but this seemed like the direct opposite.
There is goodness in you, the voice spoke quietly; a gentle melody. Conviction. Mercy. A selfishness within, but it appears you have already realised the error in such thoughts.
Oh, Gods! Was he being judged by the Gods even before his death actually came? Were they determining for themselves the sentence of which afterlife he would be sent into?
Will you pledge yourself to the Ideals you have spoken? Will you protect the innocent and weak, and destroy those who would trample upon the helpless? Will you seek always neither to deliver death, nor to cheat mortality, but to preserve the sanctity of life until it is due?
Bell had no idea what was happening.
Nonetheless, as the force of her words intensified, her voice transforming from a gentle breeze into an overwhelming gale, he felt compelled to answer.
"Yes!"
Will you accept my power, in exchange for swearing fealty to me and dedicating yourself to the enemy that plagues all life? Will you be an agent of my will upon the realm you dwell?
"…yes?" He was uncertain of what she meant, but the Minotaur looming before him was making him rapidly reconsider. "Yes, yes!"
Then say the words of the First Oath that would bind you to me, pledge yourself to my service, and let us seal the Pact.
And there, in that instant, he knew the words.
All at once, the word returned to focus, and though the Minotaur's bellowing was deafening to his ears, the voice of the stranger still echoed in his mind.
"Justice and Good above all," he said, rising up to his feet, his voice likewise strengthened from its previous feebleness. "This, by my blood and honour, I swear upon the name of Bell Cranel!"
Power rushed through him. Before his eyes, the dull weight of the dagger in his hands increased, morphing and reshaping as it turned into pure silver light. The Minotaur roared, bringing arms that were thicker than Bell's own head to shield its eyes from the radiance.
To him, though, it was not blinding. The light was mesmerising, beautiful beyond words.
The blade lengthened and twisted, its dull and chipped edge turning impossibly sharp. As the light dimmed, what he held in his hand was no longer a knife, but a scimitar that that reflected light from the glowing crystals of the cave wall all around him.
A scimitar of platinum.
The Pact is made, the voice said. My power, in exchange for your service as my hands upon your world. Arise, Hexblade. Take what is now yours by right. Claim the power that binds us together.
The Minotaur roared, but Bell felt no fear. This being – this Goddess who spoke directly into his mind, and gifted unto him her Falna – stood with him.
What cause had he for fear?
You cannot defeat this foe on your lonesome just yet, even with the trickle of power brought by our Pact, she said. Just this once, I shall offer assistance, but the rest of your journey is yours to walk. Only now, fresh from the forging of our Pact, can I directly intervene. Any further power must be earned.
The monster was still stunned from the fading radiance of the weapon. Without any conscious input on his part, he stretched forth his free hand, power arcing at the tips of his fingers as radiant light danced between them.
"Know this, creature born of shadow," a voice that was and was not his left his lips. "Cursed are those who would seek evil at the cost of good."
The Hexblade's Curse. Instinctively, Bell knew no other name for what the radiant light that surrounded and swirled around the creature could be. It was a power now granted to him by his still-unknown saviour.
"Upon the enormity of your sin, be crushed under the weight of your own evil," he continued saying, unfamiliar power swirling within him.
It was far more than he could bear, and just when he thought his own body would collapse and buckle under the weight of the foreign power gathering within, chains of golden light manifested around the creature, and the pressure was abruptly lifted.
"Hold Monster!"
They clamped tightly around the Minotaur – shackles at its limbs, chains that twisted around its body. They wound around it, tighter and tighter, but it did not move even a muscle, standing there motionless and paralysed.
Bell Cranel rushed forward, the scimitar crafted by the unknown Goddess slashing forth with speed he could never achieve on his own. It sliced at the creature's flesh, the blade absorbing the golden hue of the Hexblade's Curse. Each strike burned away at the darkness of the Minotaur's body, bolstered by strength beyond Bell's own physical might, chunks of the monster's form fading away into darkness. Blood splattered onto his clothes, but he paid it no mind.
With a final blow at the Minotaur's core itself, the entirety of the beast that sought to kill him abruptly faded into darkness.
All of a sudden, the pressure that had taken over him abruptly lifted, and Bell slumped to the ground, utterly exhausted.
Still, he felt the foreign presence within him, a link to something far greater than he. As strength left his hands, he released his newly granted blade. Now that the power had left him, it had dimmed, turning into just an ordinary scimitar.
The Pact is made, she said once more. Stay your path. Grow strong, and keep to the Ideals you have sworn. Be a force of reckoning to the evils you face, and a shining beacon of hope for the downtrodden. I expect great things from you, Bell Cranel. In time, you shall hold up to your end of the bargain.
In the distance, he could hear rapid footsteps quickly coming toward him, as his eyes began to close in the wake of a display of power his body could hardly cope with. In a final struggle against the exhaustion that sought to drag him into unconsciousness, he voiced a final question.
"Who… are… you?"
There was a pause.
Advance the Pact further, young one. Nurture your newfound strength, and stand not idly by as evil festers. Reflect always upon your actions, for your deeds reflect not just on you alone. Pursue the Oaths that bind you to me. Abide by the Pact, and continue to do good. When next we speak, if you remain worthy of strengthening our Pact, you shall learn my name. Rest assured, however, that you are not alone.
And with that, just as he glimpsed the blurred form of an armoured Adventurer rushing toward him as though carried by the wind itself, he swore that he would not disappoint the Goddess who rescued him from the claws of death.
In his dreams, he thought he saw an image of a seven-pointed star, placed against a field composed entirely of black.
-x-x-x-
He awoke with a loud gasp. What had happened in the Dungeon had felt so unreal, so impossible to fathom, that for an instant he wondered whether he'd been caught out in a whimsical dream.
Then, he felt the sensation nesting deep within him, tying him to the divine being who had rescued him. Though he had barely experienced that power for a matter of minutes before his body finally gave way, it felt entirely natural to him now, as though this connection to him and his Goddess had always been there.
He didn't know her name, or how she had even gifted him her Falna. It didn't matter. She had saved him, and granted him the means by which he could finally achieve his dreams.
He had a Familia, now. And he would not let his Goddess down.
"Bell!"
"Miss Eina?"
Come to think of it, why wasn't he in the Dungeon? Last he remembered –
"You absolute idiot!" she roared, and he flinched. "Didn't I tell you not to go beyond the second floor?"
He winced. He'd been so desperate to be able to grow stronger, or perhaps find some monster drop he could use to create equipment to make up for his lack of a Falna, that he had ignored her warnings.
"You're lucky that Miss Wallenstein found you unconscious on the fifth floor before any monster could get to you! You could have died there! What were you thinking?"
Miss Wallenstein?
Then that armoured Adventurer he saw had been –
"T-the Sword Princess?"
"Don't change the subject!" The bespectacled elf glared at him. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
"I'm sorry," he said meekly. After having been so close to death for the sake of reasons as selfish and petty as his had been, he had no excuse. If his patron hadn't been there to save him…
Hexblade, she had called him. Immediately, his eyes drifted to the scimitar that had been placed by his bedside within the Guild infirmary over in the Pantheon. Something drew him toward it, connecting them both together. He and the blade both were agents of his Goddess' will.
"You're lucky the Minotaur hadn't found you," Eina continued saying. "The Loki Familia is still continuing to search for the any stragglers that might have escaped from them, but it seems to mostly be cleared out, now."
The Minotaur…?
Right, it had died just before Ais Wallenstein had arrived, and with the magic stone shattered, there were no traces of it left behind.
He could have told Eina the truth, that he had felled the Minotaur himself. His pride, however, didn't let him do that.
Beyond the fact that no one would ever believe that he, an Adventurer with no Familia or Falna to speak of, could kill a Minotaur himself, it was not truly his own might that brought down the creature. He had felt it for himself – the power that his Goddess had wielded through him had been so utterly incomprehensible, that it would have shredded his body asunder had she not been in control.
He had to earn his power, she had said. Whatever he achieved with the gift bestowed upon him by the Pact forged between him and his Goddess had to be done by his own will.
And so, he had no right to claim this kill.
There was also the matter of the nature of his Goddess. He knewwhat he possessed came from her, but it was not like any Falna he had ever heard about. Who was she, truly, and why had she chosen him?
"Are you even listening to me, Bell?" Eina spoke, irate.
He gulped, and nodded rapidly. "Yes, yes! Lucky that the Sword Princess came just in time!"
She continued glaring at him a moment longer, before sighing. "Honestly," she huffed. "You could have died, Bell." Then, she hesitated. "How do you feel?"
"I'm fine," he said. "More than fine, in fact."
His body didn't hurt in the slightest. Though he'd been exhausted in the mad rush away from the Minotaur, he felt lighter, more powerful than ever, and he couldn't wait to return to the Dungeon and make good on his pledge to the Goddess.
He stood up from the bed, and Eina watched him with concern. "Are you sure you should be moving?"
Experimentally, he moved about, and once again felt no pain or exhaustion. A fire had been kindled, a new power yearning to be tapped upon, and he couldn't just continue to lie there.
He grinned widely, picked up his scimitar, and made his way over to the door.
"I feel great, Miss Eina. Thank you!"
With that, he ran out, laughing, ignoring the looks directed toward him from the scores of Adventurers and Guild employees going about their business in the main hall.
Once he stepped out, however, he learned just how much time had passed. While it had been early in the morning when he'd entered the Dungeon, with how long it had taken him to descend to the fifth floor, and then the duration he'd been unconscious for, it was now already well into the evening.
…tomorrow, then.
For now, he would rest, reflect as he'd been told to, and make sense of the Falna he had been given.
-x-x-x-
He dreamt.
He hoped it was a dream, at least, because otherwise he had no idea why he was wearing such odd armour, or why he and many others like him were standing in line carrying all manner of weapons. He glanced beside him – the man there was tense-faced, gripping his spear tightly. On his left, the woman was chanting a soft prayer, glowing with faint silver light. They were all gathered in defense of a mighty castle.
At the head of the line, a single man in resplendent plate armour raised a massive greatsword, and his booming voice and commanding presence was made known to all. All at once, gripped by awe, all other voices fell silent.
"Servants to the Balancer, to Her Mercy, and the Justicemaker," he said. "Today, we face an evil unlike any before. Though we each have pledged ourselves to different facets of the Three, today, we are united against a single foe."
Members along the ranks began to fidget. Bell was still lost, trying to make sense of this strangely lifelike dream.
"Today, we stand resolute against the bane of life itself! Though he seeks to twist the nature of life and death, to corrupt our paragons of faith, we shall not falter! Strands alone may break, but together, we shall triumph!"
A roar swept through the crowd, and Bell joined in with them, enthralled by the man's aura just as much as everyone else was. Conviction burned in his eyes, and upon his plate of platinum, Bell saw the image of a silvery dragon's head.
"I ask that you join me! Though we stare into the maw of death, we shall never falter! Remember the oaths you made! Remember the day you first came to know of our blessed three!"
Justice and Good above all. Though he had just made the pact only earlier that day, it felt as though it had been a lifetime ago.
Just then, from the side, a harried man on horseback urged his mount toward the leader. Immediately, he turned to regard the messenger.
"Lord Paladin, sir!"
"What is it, lad?"
"M-message from the tower, sire! He knows! They know! They're approaching!"
A hushed silence fell across the crowd. The man beside Bell took up his spear, his eyes darting about in the skies. Likewise, the woman to his left was now clutching an amulet, her eyes focused, scanning the horizon.
"W-what's happening?" he whispered.
"You're new?" the woman whispered back. Though her eyes were filled with fear, there was a determination within. "They're coming. Get ready with your spells."
"What is?"
The reply came not from her, but from the Paladin at the fore.
"Dracoliches and undead! Loose spells! Archers, fire at will! Bring them down! Brethren, to arms!"
And then, Bell raised his hand, as though he'd performed this hundreds of times before. A current of energy coursed through him, and as the power beyond mortal comprehension coalesced within, he opened his mouth, and cried out –