Chapter Fourteen
Eric's Passing
Eric turned and took one last look at his friends. His gaze fell on Diana and lingered there. Had they really just shared a Realm-shattering kiss? Yes, they had, and it was a kiss that said so much: I love you, Diana; I'm sorry, Diana; Goodbye, Diana. It was the best kiss of his life and, for whatever it meant, it was a kiss he would cherish for the rest of his life.
Not that he'd kissed many girls in his life. There had been that red-haired girl in seventh grade who'd had a crush on him. Everyone had known about it. What was her name? Carla? Carmen? He couldn't remember. She'd changed schools after the first semester. He had kissed her on a dare . . . and she had followed him around for weeks afterward. And then there was Melissa in eighth grade — the blonde Melissa, not the brunette. He'd kissed her, with tongue and all, more than a few times. She had seemed so into him . . . until he'd found that letter to one of her girlfriends in which she'd admitted she only liked him because he was rich. He remembered that Presto had tried to warn him about her. Yeah, he remembered now. . . . It was when he and Presto were sitting in that coffee house, eating the best blueberry and cream cheese croissants he'd ever tasted.
Oh God, my life is passing before my eyes!
The Thinker spoke. What did he say? "Time to die, Cavalier."?
Eric turned and faced his chosen fate, made his legs carry him forward into the dark wide crack of an opening. This is my choice. Selfless act, and all that, right? This has got to get me in good with The Good Guy upstairs. Ultimate sacrifice for the good of others. The good of the many, um, outweighs the good of the one. The good of the few or the one, that's it! I'll show you, you stupid, evil, ugly . . . Yeah, that's right! I know you're ugly! I know first hand, don't I?
Everything around him darkened, causing him to look wildly in all directions. Behind him, he discovered that what had been the opening to Death's Pass was now solid rock. He was blocked off from his friends, from Diana. He touched it to make sure it was real. Rock solid. Real. Or, at least, it was real for him, and that was all that mattered.
"You disobeyed me, Cavalier."
Eric jumped and turned to see Dungeon Master with the sternest look on his wrinkled face that he'd ever seen.
"Dungeon Master! You gotta help me! I don't really have to die, do I? I mean, I'll do anything! There's gotta be someth—"
"Foolish boy!"
Eric whirled around to see Venger's livid face and cried out in terrified surprise.
"You think to redeem yourself with your sacrifice? There is no redemption! Your death will only serve me," Venger roared.
Eric backed away from him and dove behind Dungeon Master. "D-Dungeon Master! Help! Do something!"
Dungeon Master turned and looked down at him. "You disobeyed me," he repeated.
"I didn't mean to! It just happened! It was an accident!"
It wasn't fair! he thought. Dungeon Master had told them that Evil would reveal its face before it attacked. It was reflex that had caused him to look up. Tell someone not to look, and what're they gonna do? They're gonna look! It's not my fault! You didn't tell us why we shouldn't look! But that simply wouldn't do. No one else had looked, had they? And so no one knew that he had. It was something he'd never been able to confess to them.
He had disobeyed Dungeon Master's order and found that he couldn't then take his eyes from those of whom Venger had called "He Whose Name Cannot Be Spoken." Venger wouldn't even speak the name! That's gotta say something!
Then the nightmares came. They were more than nightmares. Sometimes he awoke within a nightmare, floating in pure darkness, speaking words he didn't know, fighting to stop speaking them — whatever they were — and losing. The name of Evil. He knew he had heard it, but he could never recall it — not that he at all wanted to.
"All I can do for you I have already done," said Dungeon Master, and with that, he disappeared.
"No! Don't go! You can't leave me here! With him!"
"You're only salvation lies in surrender. Surrender, and let me be your guide in a new realm — a realm your child's mind could never fathom. Serve me, and live as you have never lived before!"
Without being given the opportunity to answer, Venger's wings flared out with a loud snap and just as quickly folded to enclose Eric. He was pitched into nothingness, tumbling forward, falling downward, thrown backward. His stomach lurched, and lurched again. He felt he was becoming sick with disorientation.
And then he opened his eyes and saw red. He jerked his head up and around, wondering how long he'd been asleep, or whatever this loss of time was that he felt. Every direction looked the same: rock ceiling, rock floor, rows upon rows of tapered pillars of rock, and an eerie light that cast a red glow all about. More, there was an incessant sound of faraway moaning and groaning, wailing and screaming, all mixed together so that one cry couldn't be distinguished from another. It was terrible to hear. And there was also a bad odor he couldn't identify. Like . . . no, he couldn't tell; he knew only that it stank.
Venger killed me. I'm dead and I'm in Hell! He remembered thinking once that he'd died and gone to Heaven. He had been relieved that it'd been quick and painless. He'd never felt that dead-on strike by the Guardian. But, in reality, he had only been transported to the Dungeon at the Heart of Dawn to be reunited with his friends after Dungeon Master's power had been restored there. It had been Venger who had burst his bubble of Heavenly expectations. This, though . . . this had to be Hell. It was hot and stuffy and stinky . . . and red.
Hmm . . . I don't feel any different. He looked at his gloved hands, ran them through his hair. He blinked and took a deep breath, and nearly gagged from the stench of the place.
He thought to call out, but he was sure he didn't want whatever might be lurking around to find him. Taking a few cautious steps forward, he looked around again. Now he saw something that had before been hidden from his view by one of the columns. Upon seeing it, he froze and went cold despite the oppressive air.
It was another statue, but there was nothing benevolent about this one. Though he was sure he had never seen it before, it was familiar in a nightmarish way. And there before it knelt Venger, bending low on one knee.
Eric felt the absence of his friends like he'd never felt it before. Lost and alone in this horrid place with its sickening smell and those terrible sounds and that evil statue and, maybe, a visit from the Force of Evil from time to time. . . . Was this all he had to look forward to, into eternity? Would he just exist as . . . whatever he now was forever, here?
It isn't fair! I don't deserve this! He'd wanted to shout it out loud, but didn't dare. What good would it do, anyway? He was here, and there was no going back, was there?
Eric stood there and just stared at Venger for a moment. The last thing he wanted to do was to get any closer to either that statue or to Venger, but Venger was the only other living thing here, as far as he could tell. Venger was the only one who could tell him what was going on. He decided he really had no choice. He even found that he feared Venger's leaving him there alone. At least Venger was someone he recognized. And since he was already dead — and already in Hell — what more could Venger do to him?
This wasn't the time to be timid. He walked the distance to Venger's kneeling form like he was about to give orders to his butler. When he reached him, he said, "So, this is Hell, huh? I thought it'd be a lot hotter. You know, hellfire and brimstone and all that?"
But Venger didn't move. Eric watched him and waited. Maybe he was finishing some kind of evil prayer or something, he thought. Another moment passed. "Uh, V-Venger?" Still Venger did not move. He was as still as the statue Eric now refused to look at.
Thinking himself crazy for doing it, he slowly reached a hand toward Venger and touched a folded wing. Nothing. He nudged his shoulder. The surface wasn't the right texture — too hard and smooth — but he looked entirely real. It was like pushing on a life-sized, finely detailed porcelain statue. His next thought was to try kicking him, but he decided that that might be going a little too far. He pushed again, harder this time. No movement at all. It didn't make any sense.
It seemed he was alone, after all. And was it his imagination, or was the moaning and groaning getting louder? It felt a bit hotter, too. He also had the feeling he was being watched. As wide open a place as this was, he was beginning to feel claustrophobic. His heart was racing. If I'm dead, why do I have a heartbeat? He pulled at his collar and turned back to Venger.
"Hey, get up! Cut it out already! Look at me! Say something! Look at me!" He didn't care anymore; he kicked him in the face as hard as he could. After striking Venger's hard, unmoving surface, he had to hop backwards to regain his balance. He waited for his foot to start hurting, but he felt no pain.
Breathing heavily, he put his hands on his hips and looked around in irritation as he wiped away the sweat on his brow. He had to do something. He couldn't just stand here with this fake Venger and this building-sized statue staring at him!
There was a sound of something thick dripping to the rock floor. Dreading what he may see, he slowly turned his head around and back down to Venger. The sound was definitely coming from him.
Eric crept forward and bent low. He inched his face closer to get a better look. He saw where his kick had cracked Venger's closed eyelid, which was now oozing a black, tar-like goo that ran down his face and had pooled in the skirt to overflowing before spilling in steady drips to the floor.
"What is this? What's going on around here?" Now, he did turn to the double-horned statue with its long robe or cape or whatever it was. "What did you do to him!"
Now from Venger came the sounds of scraping, like fingernails down a chalkboard. They were coming from inside him!
Eric backed away, trembling. And then, like a baby bird breaking its shell to get free, bits of the Venger-shell were being broken out from within. More goop oozed from the broken face. The head broke away and fell, shattering. The chest cracked apart, and then fingers emerged to grip the two halves of the chest and pull them away from each other.
Eric continued to back away, but he couldn't take his eyes from what was happening before him. Something was crawling, dragging itself out and away from the broken bits of Venger. It was naked, had small black wings and hair, and had pale blue skin. The whole of it was covered in the black sludge.
When it was free, it crouched and shivered. Eric stopped and saw that it now assumed the same posture of kneeling to the statue, just on the other side of Venger's broken "body." He went closer. The sludge was oozing away from the creature. He had a bad feeling about this.
Against all better judgment, he moved closer to it. The thing suddenly looked up at him. Eric couldn't believe his eyes. It was, unmistakably, a Venger-like double of himself! It looked up at him now and tilted its head with a curious and questioning expression. Eric saw the fangs and the red eyes. His mind was made up in an instant. There was only one answer to this: Kill it! He could not allow it to live!
He'd never killed anything before. He wondered how he would kill this thing. But then he remembered all the shards of Venger's remains, like blades of all sizes.
He cautiously approached his double. Just stay where you are . . . right there . . . don't move. He tried to act as innocently curious about it as it was acting toward him. What if it kills me first? But I'm already dead, right? Right? What if I'm not really dead? But I'm dead either way, right? D. M., I could really use your help right now!
Eric looked down at the broken pieces at his feet, as if only now noticing them. "Hey there. Y-You and I, um . . . we really look a lot alike." His double only looked at him with that same curious expression. Eric pointed at the mess between them. "Did you come out of there? Huh? Is that where you came from?" He knelt down to pretend to inspect the fragments. His look-alike came forward and crouched beside him to watch. It gave Eric the shivers to have him so close.
"You know," said Eric, reaching for the shard of horn that had broken away from Venger's head, "I knew the guy this horn came from. Yeah. And you know what?" Eric looked at the creature. The creature looked at him. Eric gripped the base of the horn. "You aren't him!" With all the speed and strength Eric could muster, he rammed the horn into the chest of his evil twin. It howled with a familiar reverberation.
Eric toppled on top of the creature as it fell backwards, wrapping its clawed hands around his neck as it went. He felt the claws cutting into his flesh; the fingers squeezed his throat. Using his weight and all his might, he pushed the piece of red horn through its chest until he felt it hit rock. An icy-hot pain was spreading through his own chest, and he felt what was surely blood running down his neck, but he couldn't think about such things right now.
Finally, the monster's grip lessened, and its arms fell away from him. It was dead. Eric coughed as he pushed himself upright. His closed his eyes as his vision blurred, tried to catch his breath from the ordeal, but he only coughed painfully. His chest. . . . He opened his eyes and looked down . . . at the horn protruding from himself. He touched the horn and coughed again, spraying blood from his mouth.
And then there was no Venger, and there was no Venger-like twin. He was alone . . . alone and dying. He fell backwards, his head landing turned toward the double-horned statue. He tried, but he couldn't turn away from it. It was the last thing he saw as. . . .
Reality pulsed and fluctuated; it twisted and spun. He felt like he was spinning, spinning as fast as a tornado. Hues of red became hues of blue, and then he was standing on bare dirt with the open night sky above him. He was alone again here, but where was here? He looked down at himself, startled to discover he was no longer fatally injured. More than that, he once again wore the robes of a Dungeon Master!
"What tha—? Aw, this is too much!" A rumble in the distance made him look around, and a sense of urgency gripped him. "Oh, no," he whispered in blood-chilling dread before he bolted for the falling tower . . . the Tower of Darkness.
He knew where he was now, and when. He had to get there in time! Why couldn't he have landed closer? he wondered. But then he remembered the power of the crystal he wore. Never slowing, he grabbed it in both hands and tried to touch the power as he had before, when the real Dungeon Master had made him his replacement for a day.
Nothing happened. "Come on! Work! I have to stop him! I have to stop . . . me!" He tried rubbing it, gripping it harder, he even pressed it against his head, but to no avail. He was forced to rely on his legs alone, but he found he did not tire. He was able to run on without stopping for breath. Without caring how it looked — no one was looking, anyway — he hiked up the long red robe to allow his pumping legs more freedom of movement.
It had taken forever to reach them, but he'd made it! And there he was! There I am! The lock was already broken. He saw himself pull the pin from the lock of the Box of Balefire and let it fall like it was no more important than a used toothpick. He was about to open it!
"Stop!" he cried out to his other self, who jumped with a yelp, as he ran down the ruined steps to stop him. "Don't open that box! Don't let it open!"
"Uh, th-thi-this isn't what it looks like, Dungeon Master. W-W-We were just—"
A horrid growl came from within the Box of Balefire. Eric the Cavalier stumbled backwards in fear and confusion.
"Put the lock back! Hurry! Lock it!" Eric nearly screamed.
It was maddening to watch the other palming around for the discarded bits of the lock. But then he himself saw the lock's pin. Quickly, he reached for it, but the other snatched it up first. However, his counterpart was shaking too much to get it in place in time. The Box's lid flew open, throwing a blindingly bright column of white light to an imperceptible height in the clear night sky.
Damn it! No! Not again! He ran over and shut the Box, grabbed the pin from where the Cavalier had dropped it, and shoved it back into place. But he knew it was too late, he knew what it had been, and he knew what was about to happen.
The Cavalier cried out again and said, "Wh-What was that?"
He remembered what Dungeon Master had told them well enough. And it did look like he was meant to play out that part. But, he swore to himself, this time it would turn out differently. It had to!
"It was . . . a messenger," Eric the Dungeon Master began, unable to bring himself to call them his pupils, as the real Dungeon Master had done. "You have released the signal to a being more powerful than any you have ever faced before." That was pretty good, he thought with the tiniest bit of pride. "And now he knows that we are here," he finished.
And then it came to him, laid out before him in his mind's eye. He must not find the Box of Balefire! But . . . what if this isn't even real? If it isn't real, it doesn't matter. Can I take that chance? But if this is real, and if No-Name finds this box, then he'll be able to find the other box. And that can't happen! He gulped. There wasn't much time!
"We must hide the Box!" He turned to Hank. "H—" He stopped, remembering himself. "Ranger! Use your bow to blast a pit in the ground, there!" he shouted, pointing.
To his credit, Hank didn't hesitate to summon an arrow. But as he rose from his crouch to aim from his full height, a strong wind caught him and knocked him off balance. He accidentally loosed the arrow, which went wild, zig-zagging over the others' heads.
"Hey! Watch it!" Diana shouted.
"Take it easy, Hank," Sheila said right after her.
Hank quickly took aim again, with a firmer stance this time, and fired two arrows into the ground. With that done, Eric took the bow and the club from Hank and Bobby as, together, they lifted the Box of Balefire to carry it to the pit.
"This way! Hurry!" Eric yelled to everyone. He had to keep them all close.
"I thought only crooks buried their evidence!" the Cavalier shouted. Eric had forgotten he'd said that. How wrong he'd been, he now thought. Just as the real Dungeon Master had, he let the quip go unanswered.
They reached the pit, and Hank and Bobby tossed the Box to the bottom.
"Quickly, Barbarian! Cover it!" said Eric, as he returned the club to Bobby. Eric watched as Bobby filled the hole with one mighty downswing that brought the surrounding dirt and rock down to bury the Box of Balefire.
And now, it was time to change history — if any of this was actually happening. He desperately hoped so.
He knew what he would do because he knew what not to do. They would not run. Nor would he waste his Dungeon Master's powers by futilely transporting them all to the other side of the Realm and back. And he would also waste no time fighting the Evil. With only six of the thirteen Objects of Power, it was hopeless, he knew. He couldn't imagine why the real Dungeon Master had even tried it, except that he must have felt that same desperate hope Eric himself now felt, but for different reasons.
"Now, everyone, gather close to me!" He waited until all sat in a circle around him. In his best Dungeon Master voice, he said, "Listen to me. This is not a being that we can run from, nor is he one that we can fight. Our only hope is in escape."
"Are you kidding? We've been trying to escape this place since we got here! Now you're telling us we have to escape now?"
Damn, I could be such a jerk! Sometimes. . . .
"Come on, Dungeon Master, who is it . . . or-or what is it?" Bobby asked.
Here, too, Eric felt that Dungeon Master's original answer would serve. He found he remembered the words as though he'd heard them a hundred times.
"His name is not for your ears, Barbarian. He is not life as we know it." And don't I know it! "He has many identities on many different worlds. But all know him as 'Evil.' He is the ruler of many universes, but his goal is to rule the entire cosmos with evil."
As if on cue, the sky darkened with black clouds, the winds blew harder.
"He has found us! We have one chance. If you will give me your weapons. . . ." They all obediently placed their weapons before him. He could feel how they trusted him, but not him. They trusted Dungeon Master. He prayed he could live up to their trust.
"This is all just some kind of a-a test, isn't it, Dungeon Master? I mean, you are going to save us, aren't you?" Diana asked. Eric hated hearing such fear in her beautiful voice. It had struck his heart with renewed fear when he'd heard it the first time. Now, it only served to strengthen his resolve. Yes, Diana, that's exactly what I intend to do.
Now, he had to concentrate; he couldn't fail now! His timing had to be perfect. No Name had to believe that he'd killed them. And he first must warn them all not to look up and into its face.
Just as Dungeon Master had done, he summoned the powers of the weapons into himself, combined them with his own power, and enveloped them all in a protective white light.
"Listen carefully. The instant before he strikes, he will reveal his face. No matter what happens, you must not look upon it!" And then he added, "You will be trapped here in this realm forever if you do!"
And so there was the Cavalier's needed reason. Now, he knew he would not look. The rest was arranged. He felt the great powers of a Dungeon Master open to him, and he knew the binding rules of the Balance enough to bend them . . . just a little.
No Name approached and stopped short of plowing through them. He could smell the burning of the Realm in the wind.
"What's that thing waiting for?" Presto cried.
The Cavalier responded, but not in the way he had before. "Stuff it, Presto!" he shouted at his friend. "And keep your head down!"
It was much better than the idiotic thing he'd said the first time, thought Eric the Dungeon Master.
The moment had come. He knew that Evil had just revealed its face. If he looked up now, he would see it. He was tempted to turn a defiant eye up at it, but no. That was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. It would be stupid to make the same mistake twice. Instead, he looked around at his friends. No face was turned toward the cosmic evil in the heavens above.
Eric took a deep breath. Goodbye, guys.
He felt the torrent of negative energy descending. No more than a second, he calculated. No sweat. Plenty of time. Eric the Dungeon Master then made the slightest of folds in the temporal fabric of the cosmos. The changes he had influenced would remain in place. In almost the same instant, he relinquished his role to the real Dungeon Master and transported them to the Underworld. He knew they would proceed in the Underworld much as they had before.
But it wasn't enough to have saved his younger self and the others. The sacrifice must still be made. And now, the Eric of a different time was ready. He thought of Diana's courage, of the kiss they had shared, and was able to smile before the might of He Whose Name Cannot Be Spoken was upon him.