In dreams, madness, and the land of Terraria, nothing mattered to Darryl anymore.
Joy became an obsolete distraction, pain became numbness, and any hope left for Darryl shattered a long time ago. What was once a man full of charm, a man who had big dreams for money and glory, became a shell. The firearms he held in his hands felt heavy, and the passion he had creating them faded forever ago. Now, they were mere weights to him, a symbol of both his past and sins.
Deep scars littered Darryl's limbs, and faded discolored patches of skin covered his body. His aching feet begged for the warmth of his home, of rest- yet Darryl knew he couldn't go back. Acorn Acres was gone. When he still lived in the bustling town a near decade ago, the town felt safe; It was a place for reconnecting and community. However, when the hero disappeared, the town became deadly. New monsters appeared out of seemingly nowhere, and nobody was there to protect the townspeople from the new threats of the night. Even with short curfews, better weapons, and new fortifications, they could only delay their inevitable destruction. With the first fatality came the end of the once lovely town, and Darryl made his worst mistake.
As he continued to walk, green grass slowly changed into rough sand, and finally: a large shadow greeted him. Standing taller than the trees surrounding it, the dungeon stood before the silver-eyed man. There was no sound, and as the sun lowered, lights from the lanterns above the arms dealer began to shine. With only a slight hint of hesitation, Darryl approached a single oak door. Such a simple entrance to hold such a horrifying creation… The more he thought about it, the more ridiculous it all felt. Pushing the door open, Darryl's eyes at once noticed the beginnings of what seemed to be a staircase. Sure, the variety of many different colored banners looked lovely, at least compared to everything else about the wretched building, but Darryl wasn't inside one of Terraria's most dangerous structures for loveliness. Darryl was at the dungeon for knowledge. As he stood inside the horrible structure, Darryl's reminded himself of why he was there. To fix his mistakes, to fix his sins.
When the first fatality in Acorn Acres came, Darryl ran like a coward. He left his home, his dignity, and his neighbors behind. He was their greatest defense and supplier, yet he let his grief and fear ruin that. Since then, grief ate at Darryl's ego, his heart, until he couldn't handle it. Everybody he cared about, the people he loved, needed somebody: and he failed them.
Hell, if Darryl could just figure out what the hell was going on with Terraria, maybe there would be a tiny piece of redemption in his soul. No. A bit of humanity. Darryl didn't deserve redemption; he lost that chance when he turned his back on his community. That young, naïve arms dealer is gone, and to fix his mistakes: he will become a martyr, a means to an end. He just needed enough information to be able to learn how to fight back, how to protect himself and others. Only then could he live in good conscious.
Footsteps echoed through the open staircase as Darryl began his descent. Holding the cold steel of his minishark close to his chest, the arms dealer stayed silent. One wrong step or missing the sound of a nearby creature meant a quick, certain death. As he continued, the air around him became colder, and horrible scents invaded his nostrils. The unbearable smell of what Darryl assumed to be a mixture of moss and gore became more potent the deeper he went, and a rough cough escaped his throat. Feeling a wave of nausea, saliva began to slowly pool in his mouth, yet the man continued. Slowly placing his firearm back onto his belt, his hands shook as he slowly reached for his torch. His dark surroundings became illuminated as he used the flame of a nearby water candle to light his own. Checking his surroundings, Darryl paused as he finished walking down the first flight of stairs. Holding the flames out towards him, a long hallway stretched beyond his vision.
Despite the corridor's size, the sight of a large bookcase caught the man's attention, and he slowly approached the strange craft. It looked as if it was made of brick, yet the structure had been made as if it were only wood. Taking a quick look at the many books, which somehow remained organized after god knows how many years, within, the man reached towards the middle section of the shelf. Taking a random book, Darryl felt the soft, yet tender leather cover with his ungloved hand. Even by a glance at the texture, it was clear that the book was just as ancient as the dungeon it was stored in. Despite their age, however, it seemed that all the books were in good condition.
Perhaps this is what Darryl came for. Surely, one of these books held the information he needed. Unfortunately for the man, his only means of portable storage was the belt wrapped around his waist, and it was already occupied by two firearms. All he could do was carry as many books as he could. Examining the bookshelf once more, the arms dealer began to grab bestiaries, history books, or anything he felt he needed. However, a man could only hold so much, and Darryl had four books in his arm by the time he finished his plunder. Struggling with the weight of the books, Darryl eventually made his way back to the staircase.
Suddenly, a skeletal hand grabbed the back of his tattered jacket. Tugging as hard as it could, the skeletal warrior threw Darryl to the floor. The ancient books he held landed onto the floor with a loud thud, and the arms dealer quickly reached for his gun. Feeling his head throb from the impact as he aimed, Darryl's vision blurred when he held down the trigger. Bullets fired in the monster's direction, and the sound of bones snapping rung in the arms dealer's ears. Within seconds, the warrior fell to the ground, dead.
Darryl inhaled as he stood back up, trying to catch his breath- until a searing, sharp pain shot through his shoulder. His eyes widened as he quickly turned around; he saw an arrow pierced into his flesh. Dropping the torch he held, Darryl could only make out the figure of what seemed to be a skeleton holding a bow as the sound of wood hitting brick echoed through the corridor.
Abandoning the hallway, the arms dealer ran for the staircase, feeling his eyes begin to water. The injury was agonizing. Jolts of pain spread through his body, and the arrow in his shoulder felt numb as the metal dug into his muscle. However, a flame of blue fire shot towards the man as he fled, only missing by an inch as another skeleton made it way towards him. The heat of such flames irritated Darryl's skin, and with nowhere else to go, he sprinted towards the other side of the hallway. Spotting the blue glow of a water candle, a flickering flame of hope, the arms dealer began to descend further down the staircase, deeper into the dungeon.
Blood poured from Darryl's wound as he ran, and his head began to feel fuzzy. Yet, he didn't stop running. Spotting a green, stone-like door, he rammed his other shoulder into the closed, and likely locked entrance. It slammed open, and as the sound of growling and gargling got louder, he pushed it back closed. Hearing the locks click into place, the injured man sighed. Leaning against the door, Darryl felt himself slowly fall to the ground. Blood stained the door as he moved, and the brick ground felt cold below him, even though his clothes. This was a mistake; his mind screamed at him, ridiculed him for his foolishness, and the bile built up in his throat only made it worse.
Silver eyes shut as Darryl tried to control his breathing, using a technique he was taught years ago. Breathe in… Hold… Breathe Out… No matter how slow he made himself inhale and exhale, his heart continued to race. The fuzziness in his mind began to spread, and he felt a numbing chill wash over his body. There was nothing he could do, and he felt a bit of relief knowing that if he died: he'd go out peacefully, even if the floor below him was dirty.
Wait… Dirty? Dragging his hand across the ground below him, Darryl didn't feel a single spec of dust, or even grime below him. The horrible smell of rotting flesh and other unrecognizable scents were gone, replaced with lavender. The arms dealer forced himself to stand up before he began to look around. Instead of the pitch-black darkness of the hallways, the room he found himself in was covered with a dim cyan, his surroundings were beautiful. Lush, green vines and chrome flowers grew from every crack of the pristine bricks of the room, a large clean fountain, and even a tree found its way into space. Large windows, despite not showing much of the outside world, were stained with gorgeous artwork. In front of Darryl, on the wall furthest from him, he spotted three large statues, all life-like and crafted perfectly.
The first statue was one of a large slime, with a man resting inside. Darryl recognized him at once as the Slime King, but with how pathetically quickly he was defeated, the title of king honestly felt downright ridiculous. A pitiful laugh left the arms dealer's lips and he turned to face the statue between the three. Standing taller than the two, the figure of what seemed to be a large octopus-like man was captured into the stone. Noticing how its two hands stretched outward, Darryl simply walked past the sculpture as the odd sense of a bad omen became stronger.
However, to his right stood a truly remarkable piece of art. With a book in hand, was the statue of a woman draped in white fabric. Long, curly hair fell from her fair shoulders, and the freckles sculpted onto her face complimented her frame very well. However, as Darryl continued to stare, he started to notice something off. On parts of the woman's flesh, her skin seemed separate into pockets. Inside, small teeth and other bits of flesh rested- resembling jaws. Hungry, unhinged jaws.
The pain of his wounds seemed to fade as he approached the statue of the woman, and he let himself lean against the concrete. He went back to sitting down on the ground, and the room around him seemed to get dimmer as he did so. As he sat still, blood spilled onto the sculpture behind him- but instead of staining red, the material quickly turned back to its original color as the fluid was absorbed. Darryl remained silent, before he felt his body relax. He let his lidded eyes shut, and he felt a strange sense of safety loom over him.
With only the smell of lavender, the sight of the water fountain ahead of him, and the feeling of cold concrete, Darryl finally allowed himself to rest.