Just keep running, god damnit!
Darryl held his signature mini-shark close to his chest as he ran, desperately digging into his pocket for just one more bullet. A skeletal, armored monster chased after the arms dealer, its skinny hands reaching out to tear into his flesh even more. Around him, other undead creatures started to notice the intruder, and many more joined in the chase. The several paintings that hung on the grey-brick walls, decorated in rich history, seemed to only make the human panic more.
Seeing a door ahead of him, Darryl felt a slight hint of relief. Slamming the door open, he only hesitated for a moment before shutting it closed. Keeping his body against the old oak, Darryl could hear the monsters that hunted him down desperately clawing at the wood, gurgling growls, and other indescribable noises. With shaking fingers, Darryl grabbed the latch of the slide-bolt lock, pulling it into the latch before pushing himself away from the door. Humiliated from the fear crawling on his skin, and- despite his refusal to admit it- the terror in his mind, Darryl's legs stopped supporting him. He fell hard onto the ground, before desperately trying to control his panicked breathing.
The arms dealer never cared for monsters, evil, or other creepy crawlies, but he almost fucking died. His arm was damp with blood, his face covered in grime, and his neck housed a nasty gash.
As he regained his composure and stood back up, Darryl reminded himself about why he entered the dungeons in the first place.
He was here for Harley.
When Darryl first heard that Harley had passed away, during a trip he left town for to rub salt in the wound, it killed him. Sure, his body was fine, but he was a shell of who he once was. He stopped working on firearms, he stayed in his bed all day, and he even contemplated a permanent way to ease his pain. What made it worse was when Darryl learned why his Harley was sacrificed. For the hero's own sick, twisted, motives. Burnt alive because the hero wanted to fight a monster of hell?! To make things worse, after the defeat of that sick creature, things in Terraria only became more hellish. More monsters, less peace, and an exceedingly high chance of dying by just stepping outside.
So, Darryl was stuck in his own eternal hell. Harley, who provided Darryl with so much love and comfort, was gone, Terraria was no longer safe, and everything felt unbearable. However, one fateful book returned life to his soul, and to Harley's too if Darryl could just reach that room! The only time Darryl decided to leave his palm-wood house, he went to visit his friend Emily, and his acquaintance Konah.
The Lihzahrd never bothered the arms dealer, despite the stigmas about non-human species among his past peers. If anybody had money and stayed out of his way, unlike a certain dwarf, then Darryl could not care less if they were a human, or a small critter. Hell, even his closest friend was a goblin.
When Darryl first entered Konah's home, the first thing that he noticed was a single book. He didn't feel bad about taking it, since it looked mostly unopened. After a bit of small talk with the nurse and doctor, Darryl eventually returned to his home, carrying the book in his bag.
He never was a huge fan of books, since words seemed to move and change whenever Darryl tried to read anything, but he noticed he was strangely intrigued about this older book. In a fancy leather cover, with paper older than Kohan, was a history book. When Darryl saw who the author was, it was clear why he wanted it so badly. Harley, except there was another name under it as well. Hacisious.
Assuming it was just a co-writer, Darryl sat down, brushing off the dust and giving the book as much attention as he could. Inside, there were things Darryl both understood and could not comprehend at all. First, he saw the Eye of Cthulhu, then the Brain of Cthulhu, and even other monsters he had seen the player defeat, including that god damn "Wall of Flesh," as the book called it. However, after the fleshy monster's page, there was so much information that he had never seen. An Empress of Light, The Light and Dark war, the ancient Dryad tribe, and other horrifying monsters, like a large plant-like queen of the jungle.
As he kept reading, one part of the book stood out to him the most. The final chapters, the old god and his descendants. The first descendant was the only one he knew, the Slime King. Born from the creation of slimes and other creatures that plagued Terraria during the night, from the Moon Lord (a name that reeked of pure evil) the Slime King was this lunar god's eldest son. Next, the second and final descendant, Hacisious. The more Darryl read about The Daughter of Crimson and Flesh; the more curious Darryl felt. Created from when the Moon Lord formed the crimson, a terrifying forest full of pure death and gore, Hacisious had significantly more information than anything else in the book. She was a demigoddess of both life and death, and with her blessing, a mortal could revive a loved one.
Back in the dungeon, Darryl took the book from his bag, scanning over the descendant's page once more. With a ritual in the ancient room of the dungeons, Incunabula, a mortal can ask for the blessing of a god or demigod. With Hacisious' blessing, Darryl could bring back Harley, to fix everything. Even if he was not the same, hell if he was a shell of a man like Darryl, he did not care, he missed him so god damn much.
With a renewed passion, Darryl continued his walk through the grimy dungeons. Smoke and raw meat flooded his senses, but nothing would- and could not stop him.
After walking on the hard, dry floor for what seemed like hours, fortunate enough to avoid more skeletons, Darryl finally made it. A large, metal door stood out against the grey bricks of the dungeon. Dry, brownish blood stained the ground in front of it, and Darryl took a small breath before approaching the room. He pushed as hard as he could with his uninjured arm, then his body before finally getting the damn thing open. The metal creaked open with a sickly squeal, yet the room was anything but grimy. Light poured into the room, despite the dungeon being so deep into the crust of Terraria, and plant-life decorated the walls. The horrors of the dungeon seemed to dissipate as he walked into the room. The decor surrounding him reminded him of a church in his youth, and he took a seat in a pew, thinking about his next steps.
First, he needed blood. Lucky for him, his torn-up arm was the perfect way to get it. Taking a bowl of incense, he placed the sticks on the ground, before he let his blood pour into the old bowl. He waited until it was a quarter full, then looked around. The location of the circle and sigils didn't matter, but when he saw a large statue of a suspiciously familiar woman, presumably Hacisious, he felt like it'd be an appropriate location for the ritual. It felt strange to care so much about some random cult-y ritual, but he continued. Finding a clear, lit up spot in front of the demigoddess' figure, Darryl allowed his body to sit back down, onto the cold ground. The blood loss was starting to get to him, but he forced himself to stay conscious. Using his shaking fingers, he placed the opened book beside him. Following the picture that his Harley left him; he copied it to the best of his ability. It was far from perfect, but the smell of fresh air and lavender, along with his fading vision, kept him from judging his sloppy work. After only a couple of minutes, he was done. Yet, he couldn't shake his feelings.
He felt pathetic. He was about to beg a random goddess, who might not even be real, to give him a chance to get his Harley back. How desperate was he?
Despite his best attempts, he couldn't stop the tears from running down his face. Darryl always knew he was a softy, and he hated it so much. In mere seconds, however, he felt a wave of calmness. He no longer felt the overbearing isolation that haunted him.
It's working, it's actually fucking working!
The blood below him started to boil, the heat burning Darryl's legs. He pushed himself out of the circle, yet the blood didn't smear. It stayed in place, hardening. As he stared in awe, a sudden pain ripped through his body, moving to the right side of his face. Darryl felt agony, yet held on to his determination. As his flesh burned, the smell of cooking meat invaded his nostrils.
He tried to hold on, but eventually fell over, and his vision went black.