-Dance With Hopeless Abandon-
By Rooster98
I
"War is cruelty. There is no use trying to reform it. The crueler it is, the
sooner it will be over."
-William T. Sherman
This story begins thousands of years ago in the land of the gods, known as
Euphoria, when the old gods decided to make a world of sin and vice, honor and virtue,
desire and apathy. A land of misery and woe, yet of loyalty, love and hope, to rival their
land of pure happiness and meaningless, mindless, trance-like lust. All mixed together to
create a balanced world of light and dark.
The creation of Windskyrd would prove to be the greatest, and only mistake of the
old gods, as born there, in Windskyrd, almost a thousand years after its creation, there
was one more than capable of their defeat. But their potential was not yet awakened. The
old gods laid ignorant of the darkness which brewed beneath them, as in the soul of that
man, the man who would go on to slay the old gods, there was an ever burning hatred that
only grew.
Most of the old gods laughed and laid each other in blissful ignorance as they ate
their ambrosia and drank their wine. All but one. Yes, that one who sits in the very back,
focusing on the merits and accomplishments of mankind. She was named Tenkol, and it
was the year 988 when the first one was chosen. The first Berserker. He would go on to
accomplish many great things…yes..many great things. Sometimes terrible, evil and
unjust, but great. But the god of the Berserker wasn't a traitor, no, not at first. Tenkol
asked her peers,
"Know you not of the evil that stirs beneath you? Surely you can feel it. The death
and violence he craves and will bring if he is not dealt with. Who knows…he may even
bring the death of us all. Were we not chosen to safeguard the world that lies beneath us
from such an evil that he brings?"
But the old gods were dismissive, and asked her,
"Do you honestly think that a mere mortal can rival us? Us gods? Unslayable
beings of infinite might and power? Worry not about ants, but titans." They said, ignoring
her warning, and imbibing their glasses of wine as if there was no other thing more
important in the world.
Tenkol turned her attention back to Windskyrd. And there the man whom she had
studied kneeled before her, asking something of her. The man was known only as Kanan
by the mortal population.
"Lady Tenkol…can you hear me? Are you here with me on this day?" Kanan
began.
"...Yes mortal, what is it your soul desires?" Tenkol asked Kanan.
"Power, my lady. Nothing more, nothing less. I wish for the power to destroy the
gods, and carve my name into the earth. And when they look upon it in their last
moments, they shall know the world is now mine…" Kanan asked. Quite a large request,
but one that Tenkol could gift.
Tenkol pondered the man's request. "He wishes for power? Power to destroy the
gods? Yes…yes, he seems like the perfect vessel. The one to destroy them all as He has
said…maybe…maybe…" Tenkol pondered.
"Very well. If you agree, I shall engrave in you, the Mark of The Berserker. It will
give you the power you desire, but at a great cost. Are you prepared, young man? Are
you prepared for the screams you will hear? The blood that will coat you. The morals and
sanity you will lose? I will not lie to you, young man. The things you will have to do are
things that no man should ever have to do or see. You will change, and that may destroy,
or build you into a better man. And so I ask you, are you prepared?" Tenkol asked.
"Yes my lady. I ask you to have faith in me, as I have had in you through the past.
I am prepared for this mortal blood to leave my body, and be replaced with the blood of a
machine made for slaughter." Kanan replied, gratefully.
And with those words, a legacy was forged from the hate of one man as a dull
stone mask fell slowly from the sky, along with a cloak as dark as the night. Kanan placed
the mask on his face, and threw on the dark cloak as he fled into the night, with only the
most violent of intentions.
Years went by with word of many feats attributed to Kanan's name. He slayed
dragons, giants, trolls, serpents, anything that threatened him. Eventually, most modern
weapons became useless to him, as he was too powerful to use them. With this
knowledge, he created his own weapon. God's Bane, he called it. It was forged with no
iron or steel or silver, but with hatred, anger and pain. It had the appearance of black
steel, but it could manifest itself in his hands like smoke. And with this blade, he slayed
the old gods without mercy or remorse.
But the last of the old gods, unknown to all, left a single message to their people.
A message to give what little hope there was left to fill thy being.
"I ask you to heed my words, loyal friends. In the darkest of times, these times we find
ourselves in now, fear not the dark night or its subjects of chaos! Have faith in
yourselves, as independent friends of the gods! This dark night shall be long and
grueling, and thine souls shall be shaken with the violence of war, but if you hold
steadfast with your resolve, and believe with all your heart in what is proper and just,
then the sun shall rise again! This dark night shall one day cease, and you shall once
again, revel in the light of the gods!"
Unmoved by these words as an agent of the dark night, Kanan trekked the ashen
lands before him, teaching others of his ways, forging an age of fear for all of Windskyrd,
and Drovakin to follow. The age known commonly as the Tarnished Age, named after the
thick layers of gray dust that covered all of the foliage that Windskyrd boasted, and the
orange and red skies from the wildfires all around. And with that same blade he carved
his name into the mountains, and made sure he was remembered for all of eternity as the
singularly most powerful being in all the lands.
And when he had accomplished all he had set out to do, standing on a mound that
was the corpses of the old gods, he crafted a temple, each stone set by his own hands, on
top of the god's graves as a site where one could do as he had done long ago, and ascend
to godhood. And when he finished, he turned back to his lady above all.
"My lady, I have done it! I have slain the old gods! I have accomplished the
impossible task! I have claimed the world as my own! None rival my power! None at all!
I am the
KING OF THE WORLD! ABOVE THE GODS, ABOVE EVEN THE HEAVENS
THEMSELVES!
" Kanan declared.
"You have done well, my pupil. I name you, Dragonbane, exterminator of the
vicious pests we called dragons from this land. I send you now, to the land of Victory, a
place where you will reap the rewards of your courageous feats for all of time." Tenkol
said, opening a rip in the clouds which hovered over them. A bright light shined from
above, and pulled Dragonbane to the land above, thus severing his link with the mortal
realm.
And in time, the temple grew, almost as if it was a creature of sorts. It continued
to grow and grow until it became a dungeon. A chasm in the perfect plains of the gods.
Some knew it as a dungeon, but others as a temple, bordering the three surrounding
lands. Many years have passed between when the first Berserker was chosen, and when
the story of Berserker takes place. Many years indeed. In fact, this story doesn't take
place until the year of 1585, the year of a great war to shake the lands.
A war between the People's Republic of Lexerefia and Sartelfixen, which had
opposed each other for hundreds of years ever since the PRL claimed independence from
Sartelfixen. The Golden Dukes of Lexerefia, their leading fighting power, wanted the
King of Sartelfixen's head, preferably on a silver platter delivered right to them without
delay, but the war had to come first. And it was that very next fateful year that a new
Berserker was chosen.
Ser Alaric of Lexerefia. That was her name. In the war, she fought alongside her
brother, Colonel Rockford, alongside countless others, to claim the head of King
Coscor, who was the King of the Sartelfixen at the time.
She had a messy bob with a center parting, and streaks of gray and white
scattered around from the stress and pressure of her daily work. Her skin was a pale
white, her cheeks thin, and her cheekbones quite high. One of her irises was a deep
black, while the other was cloudy, and almost pure white from an injury she sustained
as a child. Her face was riddled and covered with scars and burns, rendering her
unsavory to any who would have sought her for romantic pursuits, the only thing
covered said scars were her hair, and a beautiful, porcelain, plain white mask that she
wore only for her formal appearances. Only one before had looked past her wounds and
saw her for who she really was, and gifted her with the greatest gift of all.
Her older brother, Colonel Rockford, on the other hand, had long and wavy hair
that went down to his shoulders, and looked much more weathered and tarnished than
his sister. He was covered with deep scars that went down to his bones, and had many
dueling scars across his face. His eyes were just like his fathers, a common gray. Both
he and her sister had both gotten their scars the same way, from years and years of
relentless, endless wars that took such a toll on them, rendering their life spans cut in
half. That went twice for Rockford, as he had become something of a chainsmoker, his
lungs now as black as the night sky.
Before the war, they were both valiant warriors, only with the most noble and
valiant intentions, and they were tasked with dispatching people who aspired for
nothing more than to be like Dragonbane, to keep them from hurting others and
themselves. Lexerefia had won the war later that year, and Ser Alaric and Col. Rockford
were given a new task. To claim holy texts from an ancient dungeon far north, close to
the Dark Castle, where Rockford alone had spent many of his days before in a crusade
to bring the enlightenment of Tenkol to the vampiric people and slay the dark lord
Malcrox.
Many had suffered or died before attempting to claim these texts. Many
Lexerefian and Sartelfixen legends all the same, like Aldex Sullivan, Adeodatus Admir,
Helen Lide, and most unfortunately, Elidius Saint.
Elidius had been the big sister of both Rockford and Alaric, and had tried to
shelter and care for them throughout their youth. She had always been a quite solemn
and mournful individual for as long as she had known them, but the dungeons….they
had changed her.
Ser Alaric had terrible feelings about the ancient dungeons. She had been having
recurring nightmares about the dungeons. In those dreams, she saw a mountain of
corpses, bloodthirsty monsters without a place in this world, a woman who rode a silver
horse, and glowed in the moonlight like an angel, and something she lost long ago, a
piece of her that she couldn't live without much longer. But she wouldn't abandon
Rockford to face such a ghastly place alone again, so she accepted the quest, and vowed
that they wouldn't return without the texts, despite her inner turmoil and unrest.
Rockford on the other hand, wasn't anywhere near the proper state of mind. Ever
since his tragedy at the dark castle, he had locked himself away, hanging around in bars
to drown his sorrows to no avail. It was a far cry from what he had once been, a noble
and honorable night, who had fallen to such depths. Alaric was lucky to find Rockford at
the third tavern in town. When she saw him, he was slumped down in the corner, barely
able to stand let alone walk. He had a flagon in one hand and a monstrously large
scabbard Alaric had never seen before in the other, and reeked with the smell of booze.
"...What is it you wish for?" Rockford asked in a drunken stupor.
"Don't do this to me, brother. you know well why I have descended upon you." Alaric
said.
Rockford refused to face her, and instead looked back down at his reflection in the
mead inside his flagon.
"...Rockford, are you well?" Alaric asked, placing her hand on his shoulder.
"Of course I am, why wouldn't I be? Rockford asked, taking another sip from his flagon
while trying his hardest to keep his mind focused on the task at hand, which was to hold
the flagon without his hands shaking violently, as they had done almost non-stop ever
since his siege on the castle.
"You've been dwelling in these taverns and saloons, practically residing in them as a
home of your own. I worry for you, brother. I haven't seen you in training in months, and
the only times my eyes lay upon you, you are more like a shell than a sibling." Alaric
replied. She was concerned for her brother, as she had seen many veterans fall down the
same path that he was following, and they all ended the same way.
"I don't need any training, I'm a MACHINE." Rockford snapped before facing away
from her and turning back to his flagon. The way Rockford looked at his hands, he felt as
if that was what he truly was.
Like these arms weren't his, these hands weren't his. They had been given to him
to become who he had to be. He could still remember the feeling of a second layer of
flesh coating him, when he had to crawl inside the rotting corpse of a horse for warmth,
and to avoid the approaching enemy scouts. He could still feel the maggots crawling on
him, the horse's rib cage weighing down on him, crushing him into a pulp, yet the fear
creeping up his spine that they would find him was so much stronger, and they would
have him crucified before the very people he swore to destroy.
This was a frequent, recurring nightmare he had. Where he would be almost
completely bare, and limply hanging from a cross, his head moving back and forth with a
look of pure ire in his eyes for the torch wielding mob before him. But the rest of his face
rendered emotionless, nothing but the ire in his eyes to convey his pain and fury.
Even when he wanted to fight, all he could do was hide. And hide he did. What a
descent he had. Once a raft for those in the tides of war, now less than a pontoon.
Alaric tried to take the large sword from Rockford, but he snatched it away from
her before she could.
"Hey! Off with you…" Rockford said, holding the sword as if it was a real person, the
way he cradled and wrapped his arms around it. Like a lover around their spouse.
"Go….get your own…" He said, trailing off as he slumped against the bar stools sleepily.
His eyelids felt heavy, along with the rest of his scarred, tarnished body. He felt as if his
skin was a suit, and at any point it could fall off.
"...Alaric, give me just a moment." Rockford asked. He tried to stand, but barely
managed to grab a seat before he fell back down.
Alaric did as she was asked, and waited for Rockford to sober up before she spoke
again. He ran his bony fingers along the dueling scars and numerous burns on his
weathered face as he took in the day's light. He wished for the times when he was found
handsome and attractive, when half of his face didn't resemble burnt leather in both
darkness and texture.
"...Do you remember what happened to Elidius?" Rockford asked, holding his pounding
head in his hands.
"How could I forget?" Alaric replied, her eyes drifting towards the sun shining through
the stained windows.
"But she's…she's still around. Healthy and all that. We won't end up like that, Rockford.
I promise." Alaric continued.
"What, you think I'm scared or something?" Rockford asked, rubbing his red eyes.
"Then why did you bring it up? You know I don't like to talk about it…I hate seeing her
so…lost."
"I just…I don't want something like that or worse to happen to us. To you. I can't…I
can't keep losing siblings, Alaric."
"...But we didn't lose her. She's…she's still around, she just doesn't…she still likes to
come and see us now and again. She's still human, Rockford. She just needs help. Help
we…can't give her."
Rockford was silent. He remembered his big sister, her quiet solace yet and an
aura of subtle hopelessness that he had only seen in the eyes of those at the Dark Castle.
He had never understood how someone with this sadness could be nearly as loving and
caring as she was. Her warm and soothing hugs that always seemed to make everything
all better, her tender words that could quell and sadness in his soul…she was just like a
mother to him, more than a mother.
But now she was lost. Still present, but missing what made her human. She was in
the Royal Guard, only leaving her post when it was absolutely necessary. That naturally
left her with little time for anything else besides her basic needs, so Rockford and Alaric
rarely ever got to see her.
"...We…we were already supposed to be gone, now get up and get dressed. We don't
want to dwell any longer." Alaric said, tossing him a large satchel full of his armor,
clothes and supplies.
"Oh what's the point, Alaric? As soon as we get back with whatever the hell they want us
to find, I can't remember what, they'll just send us out again and again and
again…It's…pointless." Rockford replied.
"...What's the point of this ceaseless conversation?" Alaric thought.
"Rockford, I'm certain that you will feel much better when we reach our next
campground in Mensk. Now rise, and take this world for your own once again!" Alaric
said, trying to be as chipper and optimistic as possible.
She wanted more than anything to pull Rockford away from this cross faded haze.
Because if Rockford went the path of Elidius, then she would have no one, not a soul, to
relish and cherish for her days. Her life would be filled with not but loss.
"...Alright. Very well." Rockford replied as Alaric pulled him to his feet.
It didn't take long for Rockford to sober up, and when he did, he seemed all the
worse for it. When Rockford wasn't drunk, he was serious and pessimistic. He was aware
and alert, yet always seemed bothered. Alaric didn't want to admit it, but she liked
Rockford more when he was drunk. At least then, he was usually approachable and warm
instead of reclusive and blue. It made her feel at home and welcome rather than like how
it truly was.
Alaric tried to take her mind off of this by focusing on the task at hand, but once
the closer they got to the dungeons, the worse Ser Alaric's nightmares got. They seemed
less and less like nightmares, and more like warnings, telling her to abandon her quest,
and flee the country for terrible things were going to happen if she remained there. But
Alaric was determined to acquire the texts, and eventually, was faced with the mouth of
the dungeon.
It was darker than the night sky inside, and it seemed to consume any light that
stepped inside, as it had been nicknamed the Toothless Maw. Col. Rockford waded
through the darkness with his lantern, with his courage and what little faith he had left
guiding him and protecting him from the fear that consumed Alaric. Rockford noticed
this and stopped.
Alaric had always been the better of the siblings when it came to sensing danger,
as she had an uncanny sense of telling when something negative would befall them,
which got them both out of many incidents in the past.
"What is the matter? You look…concerned." Rockford asked, putting on a pair of thick
leather gloves.
"This feels…unnatural. Dangerous, even. Almost…almost as if there is something in
there waiting for us." Alaric informed him.
"Like the texts?" Rockford asked positively.
"Like a monster." Alaric replied.
Rockford was silent as they both peered into the darkness in front of them. He
wanted to believe that it was safe, but even he had his doubts. Those voices in the back of
his mind were clawing at him again.
"But are you sure?"
"Why don't you run away again, Rockford? It saved you last time."
"Or find another horse corpse to crawl into and hide?"
"Remember the maggots, Rockford? How you can still feel them crawling on your skin
and the back of your neck?"
Rockford shook them away. To calm his nerves, he made sure Alaric wasn't
looking when he took out a pouch of opium powder, poured it into his hand, and whiffed
a gram of it. The only way his plaguing voices stayed away for any decent amount of
time was when he clouded his mind with depressants. He couldn't handle his fully
operating mind any longer without assistance now that his mind and spirit had both been
destroyed by his past. He tucked the bag away, wiped his nose and continued forwards.
"Don't worry, it will be fine. As long as we are together, you will have nothing to fear."
Rockford said, flashing a quick, completely ingenuine smile at her. He just wanted her to
be calm. To be happy. For if this was to be their final moments together, he wanted her to
have one more good memory of her brother.
Alaric put her worries away as well, and followed Rockford, truly believing that
there was nothing that could stop them, as long as they were together. She, much like
almost everyone else he knew, was oblivious to Rockford's deteriorating state, only
seeing his drunken side rather than his darker side. They continued through the dark of
the dungeon, disregarding the fear that followed them and tried to sway them to abandon
their journey. Eventually in the dungeons'
quiet entrance, they came across a fork in the
road, two hallways that lead down two different paths.
"Let us go left." Alaric advised. Although it was almost impossible to say for sure, the
left path had a certain calmness to it that the right path lacked. She held her own lantern
in front of the darkness of the left hall, but saw nothing except an endless hallway. But
she still felt confident that the left path was the best option.
"Are you sure? I'd much rather take the right path." Rockford asked, wiping his nose
with his thumb. Rockford lacked the same danger sense that Alaric had, and was
oblivious to the possible dangers beyond. It also didn't help that he was still under the
influence and couldn't think straight if he tried.
"…I thought we had agreed on the way here that we weren't going to argue about this?"
Alaric asked.
"We aren't. The right path is much nicer." Rockford replied.
"Rockford, the last time I took your advice when it came to these sorts of things, it was
that bridge in Kasserine, and do you remember what happened in Kasserine?" Alaric
asked.
Rockford rolled his eyes, turned away from her and leaned up against the dungeon
walls.
"Oh do not roll your eyes at me! That was a huge fault on your behalf!"
"Will you quit it? I just wanted to help that one time! Was that really so much to ask?"
Rockford argued.
That was one of the many shameful moments in Rockford's life. It was the first
time he had snapped, and let the voices take control. They were civilians, civilians with
ties to a known menace in the lands of Mensk, sure, but there was no excuse, no possible
justifiable reason for what he did. When Alaric had first seen the bloodbath, the pool of
carnage that Rockford had left in his wake, she puked just at the sight. Rockford looked
back on it no fonder.
It was back in Kasserine, just like Alaric had said.
She found it difficult to look at Rockford the same way after that. Bodies of people
barely old enough to drink or be out on their own lined the walls of the house as
Rockford stood tall in the center of it all, his blade drenched in blood, wielding that same
large sword from before. A sword that Alaric knew nothing about, and had never seen
before. When she looked at him, his eyes almost seemed to glow through the darkness.
Eyes of a madman, one who couldn't quite fathom what they had done.
Young soldiers drafted for a war they did not understand. The voices and his
manic attitude had all begun when he had come back from his latest quest, at the dark
castle in Makarosh. As soon as Alaric set her eyes on him when he got back and wrapped
her arms around him in a tight embrace, happy to see her brother alive and well once
again, she knew something was wrong.
Instead of wrapping his arms around her, he just looked at her. And for a second
when she met his eyes to see what was wrong, she saw a glimpse of something that
wasn't her brother. Whether it was a monster that had been born somewhere in the castle,
or the man that she had known before, now destroyed by what he had seen, Alaric didn't
know.
All she knew was that she was holding someone else for those few seconds. But
just as fast as it had appeared, it disappeared, and Alaric was back to holding her brother.
But Rockford never talked about what happened there, only leaving a second rate book to
inform people about what happened there. Rockford tried to keep his cool, but shuddered
when the images of the butchered youth flashed through his head.
"...Just following orders…I was just following orders. Steady yourself, Rockford. This
isn't the time for such thoughts." Rockford thought to himself. He hated to worry her, to
seem like he couldn't hold his own in such a place, but he couldn't keep going much
farther. He had to keep going. Not just for him.
All his drug use made him even more tolerant to higher dosages, and he found that
he was headed on a downward spiral, like a train plummeting straight into a pit, with no
way to stop.
"...Rockford, I didn't mean to-" Alaric began to apologize.
Rockford held one hand in front of him to silence Alaric as he tried to calm
herself, then held his head in his hands as he tried to push his memories to the back of his
mind as he took a look around him.
"I just…I want us to be friends again." Rockford replied.
"I…what?" Alaric asked.
Rockford was silent. He was always silent when he tried to suppress his memories.
Alaric had a bad habit of letting her temper get the better of her at times, and had tried
many times to get it under control. Rockford could be quite disagreeable at times, but if
there was one thing that upset Alaric, it was silence. It made her feel uncomfortable and
alone. And alone was an emotion she swore she would never feel again.
When she was alone, she began to get deep into her own head, whenever she
wanted to or not. For most people, thinking deep isn't a bad thing, and can provide useful
insight, but for Alaric, it made her feel so terrible. She felt like a degenerate, like a piece
of filth, leaching off of others. She couldn't exactly say why. Must have been that
crumbling self esteem. A lifetime of negligence with no positive reinforcement does that
to you, I suppose. And Yenvir. Poor Yenvir.
Whenever Rockford was silent, it meant he was trying to deal with his own bad
habit. It wasn't his temper that was the problem, but the trauma of his past that haunted
him. But when he stewed on it for too long, he would become lost in it, stuck in a state of
constant self depreciation and dejection. One of Rockford's flaws was a low self esteem,
which stemmed from the constant and overbearing negative environment that he and
Alaric both grew up in.
They had both grown up as the legal equivalent of slaves, forced into manual labor
by the People's Republic of Lexerefia during a period known as The Rebirthing, where
every able bodied individual was forced to work to repair their nation. Only a few years
after they worked as secondhand merchants, known as Farhanders, who conducted trades
and sales on behalf of those who refused to enter the nation.
"Rockford I…are you okay?" Alaric asked, placing her hands on his shoulders.
Rockford didn't answer, his hands trembling from what played through his
memories, and managed to set them on her shoulders to settle her. He would never be the
same. Not after all he had done. With none other to blame but himself. He felt the
maggots again.
As he tried to apologize for before, and assure Alaric that he was fine, he felt a
strange, unwelcome feeling. A feeling that he had only felt during his darkest moments, a
rising, creeping dread that felt like a panther creeping out of the darkness.
The hairs stood on the back of his neck, and he slowly forced himself to turn
towards the darkness surrounding him as Alaric noticed this and did the same. They both
noticed the menacing figure moving from the surrounding corridors.
"Look out!" Ser Alaric said, unsheathing her greatsword from off her back.
Just as the shadow swung the mace downwards, Col. Rockford dived to the side,
avoiding a large crude mace that was slammed into the ground before them by the
malicious force. From his hip he took his morningstar, and from his back he took his
shield, and prepared for battle that awaited them.
Alaric swung her blade at the creature's arms, but the blade merely sliced lightly
through the skin. When her sword grazed the ground, skeletal arms broke through the
ground and grabbed the blade. She tried to pull the blade free, but the skeleton's grip was
too strong, so she began to kick at their heads. It was a good idea at first, but everytime
she kicked one down, another one appeared.
"What in the land of the lords? Rockford, watch out!" Alaric warned Rockford,
who was blocking an incoming attack from the beast that swung at him, who's form was
now revealed as it was now out of the shadows. It was a large monster, with the head of a
boar and long tusks, but the body of a large man, yet covered in fur.
Rockford had blocked the attack, then swung at the creature with his morning star,
which wounded the creature greatly. It recoiled in pain, and Rockford took the
opportunity to help free Alaric's blade. They both tugged on the blade, and it broke free
from the skeleton's grip. As soon as they finished retrieving the sword, Alaric swung the
blade, aiming for the creature's crooked brow, and sliced off the top part of its head.
Rockford then stomped on the skeletal hands that encroached from the ground.
Alaric and Rockford both breathed heavily after slaying the creatures, and slowly
readied themselves. They were shaken, but had been prepared to witness anything that
the dungeons might throw at them.
"What…were those things?" Alaric asked, a tinge of dread and fear mixed in her voice.
These creatures Rockford had seen before. In the castle, where he feared they
would never believe him about his sightings of such beasts. Such godless, hapless
creatures. Rockford had no reaction, his face unflinching. There was no escape, no
salvation. It followed him everywhere, memories of the castle. He shed a single tear,
letting it run down his face, then turned back towards Alaric.
Alaric had always admired Rockford's steadiness in tense situations, but it had
been dwindling as of late, with today being the tipping point. She was worried about
Rockford, she was worried about a lot of things, but Rockford was slipping, and quickly.
There was less and less human to see in Rockford as life went on. She feared that this
machine would overtake him.
"...Well… I suppose left seems safer after all of that. Come, and I suppose…we will
continue on our search." Rockford said, helping Alaric from off the floor.
"...It is for the best, Rockford. Trust me." Alaric replied, grabbing her weapon and
reading herself for future encounters.
However, as soon as Alaric started after Rockford, the ground began to give in
underneath her, and Alaric fell down way down into the darkness below.
Rockford didn't hear a sound as Alaric plummeted into the darkness, he had only
heard her screams for a few seconds as she disappeared into the abyss, the shadows
encompassing her and the light of her lantern as she fell down into the pit.
"Alaric!" Rockford yelled down the hollow. He got no answer. "She must be
deeper down! I have to find her!" Rockford thought while trying to remain as still as
possible to avoid further mistakes. "Alaric! I will come for you!" Rockford called, as he
headed down the left path.
Meanwhile, things were a lot less pleasant for Alaric. She had been impaled by a
rusty iron spear when she fell down the hollow. It stabbed her right through her stomach,
and she was bleeding out quickly. She coughed up blood as she felt the life leave her
body. She saw the darkness of death creep into her vision and panicked as she tried her
hardest to keep pressure on her wounds and call out for Rockford.
"R-Rockford-d…" Alaric said as she grew weak and she coughed up blood in between
calling for her brother.
Tears streamed down her face as she grew frightened of the possibility of death,
and never seeing her loved one's once again. Her tears blurred her vision as she coughed
more and more.
"Rockford…please…oh god's no…" She cried quietly, the blood pouring from her
wound staining her skin red. She had never been so scared before. Completely alone with
nothing she could do. This powerless feeling was traumatizing.
"Please….no…" She muttered as her breathing slowed more and more.
She shivered as her body went cold, her tears running down her face once more
before she met her fate. Was this what death felt like? There was no light or bright skies,
just darkness. So much darkness. She couldn't help but let out what left of a scream she
had left to express her eternal fear.
But in the dark, there was not but a voice.
"He cannot help you now. Between you, there is only oblivion…and Him." The voice
said. It was despairing, but Alaric persisted.
"...Is that you, my lady?" Alaric asked, weakly. She couldn't feel her hands or legs any
longer.
"Yes, my loyal follower. It is me. I have come to ask something of you, if you are willing
to spare what time you have left." The voice said.
"Yes, my lady. Anything!" Alaric whispered with all her strength.
"I wish to make you one of my pupils, capable of godly levels of destruction and power. I
can return to you what you lost all those years ago…All I ask is that you make the blood
flow through these dungeons, the blood of all the creatures who reside here on this
land…His land…" Tenkol asked.
Alaric contemplated the request. Let the blood flow? Return to her what she had
lost?
"Little…Yenvir?..."
It wasn't like she had much of a choice, now that she thought about it. It was either
death, right here, or death, at a later date. Only difference being that there would be much
more bloodshed if he took the deal. But maybe, just maybe, she could get Rockford out
before the dungeons consumed him as well. But this didn't sound like the merciful and
peaceful goddess she had learned to worship. She knew little of the fate that awaited her
when she accepted the deal.
But she was too late, she had already gone limp, and her heart had ceased beating.
Alaric was dead, her torso suspended by the iron spear that ran through her. The only part
of her moving was her blood still running out of her wound and her tears flowing down
the sides of her head. Alaric, once proud soldier, now nothing more than a corpse. And
that was the way it remained.
"Hmph. Very well. I suppose she would have wanted this." Tenkol muttered.
And with those words, a crude stone mask fell down the hollow, along with that
same dark cloak. But just as the stone mask grazed the tips of Alaric's cold fingers, her
heart began to beat once again, her blood rushing through her veins once again.
And then she saw the truth. Just a small fraction of it at first, but it was a start.
The truth that everything she believed in was a lie. The Tenkol he had learned
about was dead. She had been for hundreds of years. And turned into a cruel, bloodthirsty
deity. The Golden Dukes of Lexerefia only had their own best interest in mind, and cared
not for the people with their hearts. That the Sartelfixen were right to believe in no god,
because the only one left was a cruel, twisted bastard. And that there truly was no
meaning of serving any kingdom or god, because all the right ones to stand for never
existed.
And with that, life returned to her body once more, and she took in another breath.
It was a grand, sweet breath of air that filled her lungs for the first time after her
untimely death. Her vision returned, and she could once again feel her limbs. She was
almost overtaken by joy and being alive once again, escaping the crushing grip of death,
but then the reality of her scenario came back to her. She had become the very thing she
swore to destroy.
"Now you see, the truth. How do you feel?" The wicked deity asked.
Alaric was unresponsive. The sudden shock was a heavy load to bear.
"Yes, that is a common reaction. But you must continue, pupil. Do you not value the
sacred texts?" The deity asked, almost mocking her.
Alaric was still unresponsive. Still taking in the shock.
"Oh, one last thing for you to remember. You are no longer a knight, who abides by
chivalry or a code. I name you now, "Isayah'', destroyer of worlds. You will fulfill His
will, and when you are finished, only then may you return to your normal life, and have
your precious little Yenvir back, if He wills it." Tenkol finished.
Ser Alaric lied there, with chaos in her mind. She tried to make sense of things,
like why would she be taught to worship such a cruel and malignant god? A god that
caused some of the most brutal acts of mindless violence, all for what purpose? But one
thing was clear. This was her goddess now. She had to follow her, through all that she had
to do. The quest for her Yenvir was all she had left here.
"Is that clear?" Tenkol asked.
"..Yes my lady." Isayah said, breaking the spear that ran through her stomach with her
hands, and a newfound strength. She then stood on her feet.
"Good…now, you may go, but remember who you now serve." Tenkol said, her presence
slowly fading.
Isayah picked herself up from off the floor, and took in her surroundings. She had
been lying atop a mountain of bloodied corpses, with weapons stuck into it at random
places. Next to her, there was a rusty sword, which still looked sharp. She pulled it from
the ground, and threw on the dark cloak which had been sent down with the mask. It was
as dark and as cold as the midnight sky. As soon as she pulled the blade from the ground,
however, she heard a low, heavy growl come from a ginormous dark hall next to the
mountain.
A wave of fear crept over her as a shadow stirred stumbled in the darkness ahead,
and slowly but surely, an enormous creature pulled itself from the hall. It was larger than
anything Isayah had ever seen, as it was larger than the town hall in the outer circles of
Lexerefia, and it wielded a giant, crude hammer.
Upon inspection, it was a large, hideous beast with two large eyes, the eyelid of
one hanging lazily. There was a large gash across its forehead, where you could see parts
of its skull. It had streaks of blood on it that certainly did not belong to it. There were lots
of tiny cuts on its face, and blood dripped from its dark gray eyes. Its body resembled a
human's, but much larger and misshapen. Its mouth was inhumane, just like the rest of
his giant body. It resembled a cave more than a mouth, as it had no teeth or tongue. The
giant beast picked up a pile of flesh, and dropped it into its toothless maw. There was no
chewing or licking, just a drop. Then it turned its attention to Isayah.
It was most likely hundreds of times her size, and could've eaten thousands of her
without noticing, but it set its attention directly on Isayah. She was hit with a paralyzing
fear as the creature grew closer.
"Hrngh…." The creature growled as it crept ever closer. Isayah looked around
her. She couldn't possibly hope to fight the creature, she couldn't even give it a minor
splinter, but she could run. The cowardly act was a small price to pay compared to what
would happen if she stayed.
It was about to crush her with its finger when she dove off the mountain, breaking
into a roll as the creature squashed the area where she just was. It checked its finger, then
looked at where Isayah was. It let out a loud growl, then dove after Isayah as she ran to
the second hall. She had just barely cleared the doorway when the creature hit the ground
with a ground-shaking thud, and missed. It let out a deafening howl which made Isayah's
ears bleed, but she seemed to be mostly fine. The creature tried to stick its hand through
the doorway, but failed due to its massive size.
She wiped the blood from her ears, tried to calm her rapidly beating heart, and
took a few deep breaths. She was scared out of her wits and still distraught about what
she had just learned. She cried tears of fear, shock and sorrow as she curled up into a
small ball on the dungeon floor, her hands shaking and sweating.
"Rockford…where are you?" She asked in between sobs and shivers.
"Please…someone…anyone…" She whispered into the shadows.
She waited there for what seemed like hours, then stood up in defeat and
continued down the path she had set out on, eventually coming across a junction in the
road, which split into two separate paths. She checked the hallway to the left, and saw
nothing but darkness.
"I just…I just died. Oh gods…" Isayah wept as she took in what had just happened to her.
When her soul left her body, and she was greeted by the afterlife, she saw nothing.
Nothing but a vast silence, and millions, maybe billions of other souls, all sharing her
confusion and anguish. They didn't resemble humans, just floating, ghastly pearls that
floated in the water, radiating pain, fear, sadness and most of all, anguish. But even the
darkness was different from any regular darkness that would encompass the night sky.
This darkness was more intense, more isolating. If you walked inside of it, it would
swallow the light around you as if it was alive. It was unnatural, and instilled a fear in her
that was alive and well, and made her lip quiver. And with no lantern to light the way, it
was even more fearsome. She could still hear their screams. Feel their sorrow.
Imagine the darkness you see when you close your eyes, only magnified to
impossible amounts. A lagoon of glowing pearls in pure black water. If you moved an
inch, you would almost instantly lose sight of what was directly behind you, and be
greeted with more and more of these spectral pearls. In the sky, you could see the moon,
and its light reflecting off the water, and the only source of light besides the pearls. She
felt the cold water of the lagoon up to her knees, and the chill air that belonged to an
autumn night. Was this the truth? The afterlife not but a collective of every soul, memory,
hope and dream, just pearls in a pool? All equally worthless in the end?
She felt like she had lost her mind, and tried to come up with some reason for why
the afterlife looked the way it did. Could it truly be so hopeless, dark and cold? Was there
no heaven or hell for sinners or samaritans?
"No…no…I…I was just envisioning things. That couldn't have been it…it..it can't be."
Isayah said, brushing it off as just a vision, and nothing more. All she had left was hope,
and she wouldn't through it away in vain.
Scared, damp and cold, Isayah walked around through the dungeons, looking
for some place warm and dry. Losing hope as she creeped through the cold and damp
hallways, she felt dreadful of what could lie mere feet ahead. The further she crept
ahead, the darker it seemed to get. She wondered if she would ever see the light of
day again, when the path ahead seemed to almost brighten.
She dashed forwards with a burst of enthusiasm, getting closer and closer to
this light source. And as she checked the hallway to the right, after her trail of
darkness, she saw grass and sunlight. It was out of place, but very welcome and put a
little glimmer of hope into her smile. She dashed down the right path, running as fast
as she could, and touched the grass that she had seen. It was wet and cold, but cut
short, as if someone had trimmed it recently.
She was in some sort of courtyard, and from the infrastructure, she could tell
that this place was at one point a garden. She looked up from the grass, and saw a man
digging a grave. There were lots of graves there, almost hundreds. The man, much
like her, wore a dark cloak and metal mask. He was very muscular and large in size,
digging up the earth with relative ease. The man noticed Isayah, and waved her over.
He seemed nice enough, so Isayah went over to greet him.
"You look cold, friend." The man said.
"You do not know me, how can you call me your friend?" Isayah asked.
"That mask. It says enough. We Berserkers are all friends in heart and spirit. But those
times are changing. Slowly, but surely." The man said.
"Are you…also a Berserker? I haven't been one for very long, and I'm…still new to the
concept.
Excuse me for asking, but do you have a blanket or something of the sort?"
Isayah asked. She was shivering and her lips were turning blue. For some reason, when
she donned the black robe, her armor had vanished, leaving her with only a tunic and
bloomer pants to keep her warm under her robe.
"Ah, yes. Here you are." The man said, reaching into his bag and handing her a thick
wool blanket for her to drape over herself. It was warm and soft, and provided just
enough heat to keep her from freezing, while not overheating her when she would exert
herself. She smiled and chuckled a little from the pleasure that the warmth gave her.
"I have been for a long time. I spend my time here, giving my fellow warriors proper
burials. I seek their bodies out in these dungeons to put their souls to rest and give them
the peace they deserve." The man explained, gently laying the withered body of another
Berserker into the grave.
"...That… that is very noble of you. What's your name?" Isayah asked, watching the man
work.
"I am known only as The Gravedigger. I see no need for names, but titles. A Title given
with not but utmost honesty truly deem ones worth. Who are you, friend?"
"I am Isayah. I used to be a knight for the Golden Dukes of Lexerefia, but I hold no
loyalty to them any longer."
"I know not of kingdoms and armies. Speak not of these "Golden Dukes" But you were a
knight once before. That…that is good. You must be a woman of honor and courage.
Those are what knights abide by, yes?"
"Yes, they are. Thank you, stranger, but how do you not know of the land you reside in?
The People's Republic of Lexerefia has ruled these lands for many years. Do you not
know of the great war? Or the rebellion?" Isayah asked.
"I dedicate my time to remembering the fallen, not dwelling on political matters. You
may think it foolish to live in the past, but someone must remember those who fell to the
dungeons. No one else will."
"I think not that it is foolish. I think it is quite honorable that you devote your time to the
forgotten, but these are events that have shaped history and the world as we know
it….But I suppose I understand."
"Thank you. But I must ask. Why are you here?"
"I am here to find my brother, and that is the whole truth of the matter."
"Is that truly all you seek to accomplish?"
"I tell you nothing but the truth."
"I see. You are quite a unique soul, Isayah. Hold on dearly to what forms you, vows and
oaths, and may you never stray from the light, and what you know is just. I've heard
many footsteps above me as of late, so I would begin by trying to find a way up."
And with that Isayah waved the man goodbye, and headed back to the junction,
this time heading down the left path. Meanwhile, Col. Rockford laid an unknown amount
of levels above her, searching for the texts, and his sister. Rockford was beaten, battered,
anxious and tired from all of his previous encounters since Alaric went missing, but that
did little to quell his resolve. Rockford continued down his path, occasionally calling out
for Alaric with the hopes that she would hear him, and return his call.
He missed Alaric dearly, as she was all he had left in this world. He didn't know
what he would do if something happened to her. He had embraced the fact that his many
addictions hurt her and their relationships, but he couldn't stop. Everytime he tried, he
woke up in another pile of empty bottles with powder on his fingers and nose. But
whenever he tried to approach Alaric about his issues, he couldn't bring himself to get
close to her. He would look into her eyes, and see her sad, tired eyes and he couldn't
bring himself to damage her any further, although she most likely already knew.
He just wanted everything to stop. To give him time to fix these issues with her, to
fix their relationship, but he never told her any of this. He tried time and time again, but
failed each and every time.
As Col. Rockford continued down the path, he saw the light of another torch just
up ahead. He extinguished his torch, crouched down, and slowly crept up to the light,
morningstar in hand. When he got close enough to strike, he saw that the figure was that
of a man, who in his hands, wielded a katana and the aforementioned torch. Rockford,
being a generally trusting man who saw shreds of good in most, lowered his weapon, and
tried to converse with the man.
"Greetings, fellow adventurer." Rockford said, with as much of a friendly demeanor as he
could muster in the trying times.
The man flinched, and quickly swung around, prepared with his blade. He looked
frantic and extreme, ready to kill at a moment's notice.
"Who are you? Who sent you? You already killed my family in the name of your
misguided quest, I owe you nothing!" The man said, his eyes darting across the room
from Rockford to the walls to the ceiling to the darkness beyond.
"Now, hold on there. I was only sent here….on my own accord. I only seek to acquire the
sacred texts. I will not hurt anyone, and I have slain the family of none. I simply wish to
talk." Col. Rockford replied, holding his hands in front of him to calm the man. He didn't
know why he didn't tell the man about the Golden Dukes, but all the sudden, he had felt
very self conscious, something he hadn't felt many times before.
The man seemed to calm himself slightly, and lowered his blade.
"Yes…I see. You do not look like….My apologies for my sudden outburst. I have been in
these crypts for much too long, I only wish to escape from this place." The man said to
Rockford. The man placed his empty hand over a wound to his side and leaned against
the walls of the hall.
Col. Rockford gave the man a once over, inspecting him. The man was of the
eastern persuasion, wearing a black cotehardie and a cowl. He was covered with cuts and
scars, and looked battered and anxious. His hair was long and black and his eyes were
large with fear and dread. He was very thin, and looked undernourished. He had clearly
been starving in the dungeons for an unknown amount of time. Rockford reached into a
small bag on his shoulder, and handed him a loaf of bread. The man looked at the bread,
then at Rockford.
"You will need your strength if you wish to escape this place. Take it." Rockford said.
The man took the bread, sat down on the floor, and ate it, making sure to savor
every bite. It was stale, dry and had pieces of mold on it, but it wasn't like Rockford was
eating any better. It was the most fresh thing Rockford had in his bag, everything else had
already been spoiled. Rockford didn't quite understand how almost everything in his bag
had expired so quickly, but he wasn't in the mood to ask questions. To the mystery man,
it was like heaven in the form of a loaf. When he was finished, he stood back up and
shook Col. Rockfords hand.
"I thank you for that, sir. Had I went much longer without eating, I surely would have
perished." The eastern man said. "My name is Cyrus. And you are?"
"Colonel Rockford, and it was just common courtesy, think nothing of it. If you seek to
leave this dungeon, I would suggest heading back the way I came. But I do wish to know,
why have you come here?" Rockford asked, opening a bottle of ale. Even in the most dire
of situations, he couldn't keep from indulging in his vices.
"...Originally I set out to find ancient texts, as you have as well, I am certain, which were
supposedly somewhere deep in the dungeon. But it is far from worth the trouble that the
task imposes. There are far too many monsters to justify venturing deeper. I'll take your
advice and continue down the path you came from. Good day to you, sir." Cyrus said,
heading down the hall from whence Rockford came.
"Just a minute!" Rockford halted.
Cyrus paused and turned to him.
"Would it not be smarter for us to travel with each other? You have seen the horrors that
lurk around the corners of these halls for yourself. We stand a much better chance
together." Rockford asked.
"You may be right, Colonel, but I wish to delve no deeper into the depths that lie ahead. I
would much rather leave at once." Cyrus replied.
"Very well, Best of luck to you." Rockford said, re-igniting his torch.
"As to you." Cyrus replied, waving him goodbye as they went their separate ways.
"Oh, but I would keep in mind that part of the floor has given out near the entrance, so
watch your step."
"Ah. I will keep that in mind."
Colonel Rockford watched as the torchlight slowly faded into the darkness, and
the eastern man was gone. He then turned his attention to the darkness ahead of him.
But the further he went, the more darkness consumed Rockford, and he felt the
memories flooding back in. But this one…this one was special. It was one of the better
times.
He remembered the first day.
It was Rockford's very first day as the company's Colonel, and he was ambitious
to do his job and do it well. He sat around his company with high spirits, determined to
serve them to the best of his ability. Everyone was smiling, drinking, enjoying themselves
after a successful first day on the job. It had been tough and grueling, but they had been
trained for such. They knew so little of the sweet summer children that they truly were.
Joel, Micheal, Noah, Conner, Stevenson, Phelps, Damian, Wayne, Harver…all soldiers of
Rockford's.
"They were so happy…" Rockford thought.
Meanwhile, Isayah ventured down the left path, her hands grazing upon the walls
as she walked. She felt the moss that grew in between the stones, and the tiny bugs that
crawled along them, then onto her fingers for her to swipe onto the floor.
"Reminds me of home…" She thought to herself.
She walked the halls subconsciously until she came across a door. She put her
head up to the door and from behind it she heard singing. It was faint, but divine in its
nature, sounding as if it had been uttered from the lips of an angel. Quite out of place in
these gloomy ruins. But as soon as it had come, it was gone again, and many footsteps
followed. But when Isayah mustered up the courage to slowly open the door, she found
that no one was there. Just a few rugged bookshelves and stools scattered here and there,
but no source of the voice. That didn't stop her from searching under tables and in
corners, and anywhere a person could have hid. But still she found nothing.
She picked through the bookshelves for anything intact, maybe the ancient texts
were there. It was more than a little difficult, as all the texts were at least hundreds of
years old. She didn't even know whether or not she would notice them when they were
present.
"But the ancient texts would stand out, would they not?" Isayah thought to herself. "They
have to."
After flipping through many books that were considered classics, Isayah came
across something quite interesting. A copy of 'Crucible Nights' by Jen Alistor. Isayah
knew this book. She knew it well. It was the story of one of Col. Rockford's many
accomplishments, this one being his exploits at the Dark Castle which belonged to the
vampire lord known as Malcrox. But what stood out about this book was that it hadn't
come out hundreds of years ago. It happened about three years ago, and the book was
published last year, so what was it doing here, with all of these classic texts?
"Someone has been here. Recently. Doing what, only the gods know." Isayah said to
herself, tossing the book to the floor.
One little interesting detail she knew was that Rockford was never fond of the
book, or the whole event at all. He would never discuss it in length, or for any amount of
time. So whenever Alaric asked about it, Rockford would always tell her to go and read
the book for any details about the topic.
There was another door at the other side of the room which Isayah went through,
completely oblivious to the danger that awaited her just outside. As soon as she opened
the door, she was hit with the smell of rotting meat. Outside the room, there were piles
and piles of bodies, all wearing the same mask as she. Some were bare skeletons, and
others were still fresh, the blood on their bodies, still wet. And past the piles and piles of
bodies, there was a door. A giant door, the bottom stained with blood and meat. From
behind the door, Isayah could smell delicious sausages, eggs, bacon, fish and chicken
being cooked. She could feel her stomach growl loudly as she made her way towards the
door.
"Please…just let there be something left over, something, anything!" Isayah whispered.
She had been starved before, many times in her childhood and many times in the battles
she had fought, but this time the hunger felt unnaturally strong.
She thought back to the past times in the war when she would try to distract
herself from the hunger by interacting with the other starving soldiers. This rarely ever
worked, and just made her focus more on the hunger, which in turn made her even more
hungry. She remembered feeling angry and spiteful at the world whenever she was in a
position like this one. The anger was bitter, and lingered for much longer after it rose. She
learned to take deep breaths in times of anger, and try to focus on better things in life. But
then she would turn sad instead, as she had little good memories to look back on. Darker
memories of hunger and abuse, just like these.
"Damn you, Jacob…" Isayah muttered as she continued on.
Isayah opened the giant door with her frail and thin arms, amazed by how thin she
had grown so quickly, and saw a hall that stretched on for seemingly miles, that was
much larger than she. She climbed on the table and walked across it. Eating at the table,
there were monsters that looked almost human, but were too fat and giant and grotesque
to be anything but monsters. They ate everything in front of them with disgusting speed,
and only ever stopped to grab something outside their reach.
Isayah walked for miles and miles down the table until she came to the end of it.
At the head, one monster sat alone, dining with polished, giant silver cutlery on a clean
plate. It ate only the finest of the selections provided, and drank from a giant glass of
wine. It wore a white, long sleeve button up shirt, and a brown vest. It wasn't fat or
chubby, but instead very muscular and tall. Its face was like a humans, but it had no
features or wrinkles. No eyes or ears or nose. Its mouth was only visible when it raised its
fork up to where it would be, and its flesh parted to reveal its perfectly straight white
teeth.
It bit the bit of steak speared on its fork, and turned his attention to Isayah. It
stopped for a moment, wiped its mouth with the napkin tucked in its collar, then turned its
attention back to her, squinting and trying to get a feel for the tiny creature in front of
him.
"Hmm, what a curious thing…My my! How rude of me. I was indulging in these earthly
delights, and I completely missed this fine lady right in front of me! Now where are my
manners? My name is Archibald. And you are?" The man asked.
"I am Isayah. I..I have come here from far away for ancient texts." Isayah replied, trying
to be as direct and forward as possible.
"Well I'll be! Quite an undeviating young woman you are, eh? Ah yes…the texts.
Those…unsavory things…" Archibald muttered, stabbing a piece of steak with his fork.
"Many have come for them…but please, enjoy these fine meats. It will be quite difficult
to find them anywhere else in this place." The man said, enjoying their little tête-à-tête.
Isayah was reluctant, but didn't want to make a spectacle of herself, and was about
to grab a piece of a piece of meat that looked almost like a sausage with her bare hands
when Archibald stopped her, disgusted by her unmannerly behavior.
"Were you raised in a barn? Use your utensils! You wouldn't want to be part of the
common rabble here, would you? And here I took you for a fellow gentleman! The other
ones are like that for a reason.
Unsightly creatures that they are…
" Archibald said, gesturing
towards the others.
Isayah took the smallest fork that Archibald handed her, then pierced it through the
smallest piece of sausage that she could find, studying its greasy and grimy nature and
demeanor before she took a bite, then questioned the taste. It tasted like no sausage she
had ever eaten. It tasted more like liver, but tougher. It was quite delicious, and she
savored the taste. She thought that it would taste even better between slices of bread.
"Ah, I see that pleasant look you have under that mask. It's quite good, isn't it? There are
many ways to cook human meat. Personally, I prefer it fried, usually with sausage and
bacon. The juice that leaks out of the sausage when it's pressed forms a great broth, like
lamb… " Archibal said, acting as if this was not such a big deal, and that this was indeed
a common thing.
Upon hearing that, Isayah spit out the meat, and wiped her mouth. Even the mere
fact that human meat had been inside her mouth nauseated her. Archibald slammed his
fist on the table, offended by the insult.
"You dare disrespect this fine cooking?! You ungrateful worm. You will pay for this
insult!" Archibald said, taking up his knife and pointing it at the tiny woman.
"It is you who will pay, carnivorous demon. The cracks in this table will run red with
your blood." Isayah said, taking out her rusty sword and pointing it at him.
"Then you will meet your end here, Berserker. Have at you!" Archibald said, stabbing his
knife at Isayah with unprecedented haste and speed.
It was just then that Isayah was reminded of the size difference between the two
of them, and decided it was best to avoid getting speared by the creature's giant knife.
She dashed away from the knife, sustaining a mild wound across her back, and swung
at the creature's wrist. She expected that her blade wouldn't cut deep. She expected that
the sword might even break into two, but she didn't expect that it would cut through the
creature's arm, slicing off its hand like warm butter.
Archibald let out a deafening roar, and mourned in pain as the other creatures at
the table dove after Isayah, only slowed down by the numerous plates that lay in front of
them. Isayah used her size to her advantage, running off the table, and through a crack in
the wall that was too small for the creatures to follow through. She fell to the ground
inside the crack, and collapsed in exhaustion.
She had expected to die there, fighting against that creature in an act of defiance.
But she had lived. Using power that she never knew he had. Power that was only told in
stories. Power…of the Berserker. It was really happening. It was all real. Isayah breathed
heavily as she tried to wrap her mind around reality. She felt like she was losing her
mind, like she was going insane. She took a few more deep breaths, and then got up and
looked around her.
She was, again, surrounded by darkness. Rats ran past her legs, and bats flew
above her head as she regained her bearings. Her sword was gone. She had either
dropped it when she was running, or it had gotten stuck in the table when she sliced off
the creature's hand. Either way, she was unarmed and in a worse situation than before.
She was tired, drained of his energy and her head was pounding. She was hungry and
hadn't eaten for a while, yet the nausea of having eaten human meat still lingered. She
had skipped breakfast that morning, as the nervous feeling she had kept her from eating.
All she could really do was keep going forward, or surrender to the dungeons.
And so she continued forth. She kept stumbling forward, with no idea where she
was going, or where she was headed. Eventually, she collapsed. Tired from constantly
running and fighting and hunger. She tried to get up again, but failed and fell back down.
Was this the end? Would she die of hunger and blood loss, in a wall somewhere? Did she
really have many options? She decided that if he wanted to die, she was going to die
fighting, even if it was pointless.
So she gathered the strength to get up, and stumble in the darkness for just a bit
longer. Just until she could get to the hole that she crawled in through. When she got to
the hole, she crouched down-(which took much more strength than she thought it
would)-and went through the wall.