by Wolfe Locke
515 of 1100
STR
8<10
INT
3<5
AGI
5<7
WIS
3<5
LCK
3<5
PHY
1*
END
5<7
PER
4<6
SOL
2930*
Notification: Ability Unlocked “Black Avatar”
You have unlocked the ability “Black Avatar”. For a limited amount of time you may drastically increase your own power by undergoing a temporary transformation into a summoned body of the Black Seraph. This ability also allows you to passively channel extra energy to boost the effect of spells and senses.
Seraph dismissed the notification, wishing he had the stat advantage just a few minutes prior when he had been attacked by the group of legendary classes. It won't do me any good to wish, Seraph thought as he considered Amarath’s words. It was all he could do as the hand carrying him sped up, passing through hardened layers of thick granite as it relentlessly carried out its duty, ignoring every effort Seraph made to get free. Though if I had been able to channel some of my old power and assume my old form, I would have easily been able to massacre the lot of them.
Notification: Now Entering "Perdition's Oubliette"
Details: Perdition's Oubliette has existed in one form or another for eons. The final resting place of the damned and condemned. Tended by a titan and a Demon Prince, this forgotten place has no escape, only the torment of silence and an eternity alone for those who would forget the price that pride has wrought.
While a prisoner of Perdition you will have your inventory and access to your status sealed. You will not have access to the status menu and will be unable to allocate stats.
After traveling through miles of dirt and rock a lit opening appeared under him and the hand that had bound him released him to fall the rest of the way. The opening below swallowed him whole as he fell into a small lightless room. The only light he saw came from the opening itself which sealed behind him, leaving him alone in complete darkness with only his thoughts as company.
Seraph landed with a hard thud on the cold stone, the hard surface slick with a layer of permafrost. The force of the fall broke the bones in his legs with a wet snapping sound. Seraph gritted his teeth but refused to scream as anguish welled up deep within him. He cursed the humans, cursed the elves, and cursed the few allies that he had for their weakness and inability to help him. He cursed them all and collapsed on the ground, his injuries not healing.
From within the darkness, a light-blue glow began to shine, a light that drew his attention away from his misery as it began to wiggle and move across the floor towards him like a snake. Once it was closer, it struck out at him even as he tried to protect himself from it, the blue glow revealing itself to be an enchanted binding which attached itself to his wrists, revealing what they were: a way to shackle him. The man who had once been known as the Angel of Genocide was to be restrained and imprisoned for over a thousand years in the deepest part of the dungeon.
Once the shackles were attached, Seraph felt pressure exert as they began to pull him off the floor towards the wall. His legs buckled, struggling to support his weight. It would seem he would find no rest and no respite as the chains went slack once his back was pressed to the wall, but as soon as he attempted to sit or rest, the process would repeat itself. He screamed and grit his teeth in pain as he was forced to put weight on still-mending bones. I can still heal, he thought, relieved. But the effect is stunted here.
Unable to move around, Seraph noticed a deep cold beginning to set in—a cold he had never felt before, subzero if not more so. With every ragged painful breath he took, Seraph could see a thick cloud of mist by the dim light of the enchanted shackles.
Time passed deep within the bowels of the World Dungeon, and Seraph languished in the dark. He remained shackled by his wrists with cursed steel cuffs, bound on a short chain to a wall of greywacke stone. Even with eyes that allowed him vision in the dark, Seraph could make out only a few details of his prison, save for the constant drip of enchanted water above his head that seemed to burn a bit every time a drop landed on him.
Beyond the light of the shackles, it was too dark for him to see even the walls that marked the boundary of his imprisonment. The cold worsened, and a deep chill dug into his flesh, freezing his outer layers and setting into his bones, continually sapping his strength and his stamina, forcing his body and his magic to focus on constantly healing the damage done by the everfrost, leaving him without strength to break free. Even so, he knew there was no option but to escape—no matter how long it took. No matter how impossible it seemed right now.
Hours passed into days, and the days seemed to stretch into eternity. Of his cell, Seraph had been able to explore sparingly. The chains gave him more slack than he first realized, but the effort left him completely exhausted, and as he used up strength, there was none to be recovered.
There were no guards to this prison—there was no need, at least none that ever visited him. The prisoners did not need to be taken care of. Their nourishment came directly from the dungeon. Once a day, a plate of stale bread and moldy cheese would appear next to a pitcher of water, and whatever reservations Seraph may have once had about eating it were gone, as his body hungered, and within that window Seraph’s restraints were eased. Though he would not die of starvation while in the dungeon, he could still feel the effects of hunger on him.
With no way to keep track of days and nights, Seraph had lost track of time, resorting to generalizations and guesses. However, he knew it had already been at least four weeks since he was first dragged through the many layers of the dungeon, doomed to a cell for more than a millennium. Of cellmates, he had none, and if he shared his prison with others, there was no way to tell—the cell was soundproof, or nearly so, the hellish cold dampening all sound.
Condemned or not to a thousand-year hell in the cell, Seraph had only one drive. I need to escape. Wormwood is coming, and I won't let humanity be driven into extinction. Not because of me, not because of this dungeon, and I need to kill that man and the others. Not once had he forgotten about his mission and the needs of humanity, even if it appeared that they had forgotten him—as had the spirit of the World Dungeon that gave him this chance to begin with. If he was to escape, Seraph knew he would need to keep up his strength and gain whatever power he could in the process. All the while, he would need to watch over his health, always looking for some means to get free.
After four weeks in the dungeon, Seraph received his first notification.
Notification: Global Announcement - "Guild Formation"
A new Guild has been formed: "Arcadians". They have seized for themselves The Forested Halls. All members gain the "Wood Golem" ability.
It was a reminder that in his absence things progressed, and others got stronger as they seized the limited resources available. There were no guarantees that anyone in his absence would use the resources available for the enrichment of humanity.
With nothing else to do but hang his head in defeat, Seraph used his shallow mana pool to summon an ethereal arm to probe around. He was hopeful that mana exhaustion and fever dreams might give him a way to at least be gone from this place, but even as he slumped over unconscious, no dreams came.
Shortly after waking up, unknowing whether minutes or hours had passed, Seraph received another notification. One thing he had attempted to do was make requests, but even asking how much time had elapsed or what the current time was were ignored.
Notification: Global Announcement - "Guild Formation"
A new Guild has been formed: "Legends". They have seized for themselves The Flowing Halls. All members gain the "Swift Movement" ability.
Briefly, Seraph wondered how the rest of his small group was doing, hoping that Jack had survived and recovered from Ghost Touch or that his father had recovered enough to
heal and lead the guild in his absence. But no notices or messengers came for him—not even the spirit of the World Dungeon. From them he heard no word; none came to find him. None except for the demon.
After he had been imprisoned for over a month, trapped within the dark with nothing but the maddening sensation of the dripping water and his own thoughts, Seraph heard a voice calling out to him.
Chapter 37: The Lesser Evil
"You owe me a soul, little brother," the voice had said, though Seraph ignored it, believing himself to be alone in a cell, doomed to spend a thousand years alone, condemned to the cold of his dark cell. An impossible voice but one that Seraph thought he recognized.
Seraph struggled to raise his head, the strength to resist his punishment having been taken from him, his restraints weighing him down as he tried to find the mocking and familiar voice that he had heard calling out to him. The effort of moving his head to visually search for the source of the noise left him further exhausted as he peered out into the impenetrable darkness all around him, a perpetual state of lightlessness that his cell had been cursed with as part of his punishment.
Even with my dark vision, I still need some light to make it work. This is an absolute darkness. I'm blind here, Seraph told himself with a heavy sigh of disappointment after honing his senses and still not seeing anything. Even the blue light from the shackles had faded away. Seraph collapsed back against the wall, his body tired from resisting the magical restraints that bound him and stole his strength.
It would not be the first time in recent days Seraph had hallucinated company in his cell. He shook his head in frustration as he tried to clear his muddled and cloudy thoughts. Over the past few weeks, Seraph had struggled to maintain his sanity amidst the pressure of isolation, imagined voices, conversations, and reliving many of his old memories. The absence of any stimulus was playing tricks on his mind, plaguing him with vivid illusions.
The lack of contact with anyone else was quickly driving him insane from the isolation. Only a thousand more years, Seraph thought to himself with a disgusted half-laugh that quickly diminished in the cold room.
From the other side of the cell, Seraph heard a quiet snap of two fingers, and the scratching of a talon on skin as a blue magical flame blazed into existence in the hands of a demon, and not just any demon, it was Beelzebub, the Harlequin Demon Prince. "Perhaps you didn't hear me, little brother. You owe me a soul for services rendered, and I've come to collect on your debt. It has been a month. Otherwise, the contract falls to one of the other Abyssal Elves of my choosing. Perhaps your father can keep the debt."
The words stalled in the frozen air of the prison, warping the sound and distorting it. For Seraph, the demon’s presence didn't disturb him. Even spoken without a growl, the demon's words were muffled and stifled, but even then, the edge of mockery in his voice was evident. He had already learned to ignore the illusions of his mind and he feared no monster. Why would he? When Seraph was one of the worst monsters of all.
The Demon Prince stared at Seraph with a look of malicious mirth on his cruel face, seeming to enjoy the pitiful sight of the imprisoned man. The man who was supposed to be the savior of all humanity. Seraph, seeing the look, made an exhausting effort to show off his chains. The irony was not lost on either of them as the demon smiled, though the smile stopped when he noticed a slight glow began to shine around Seraph’s neck from the Black Emblem. “Ah, I see you’ve made some progress then,” the demon commented cryptically in annoyance.
Maybe the demon isn't an illusion after all, Seraph thought to himself tiredly as he braced himself against the wall, trying to gather a bit of energy before raising himself up against the chains. For a brief moment, he was able to return the hostile look, staring directly into the burning eyes of the Demon Prince. It was an act of short-lived defiance that quickly collapsed along with his strength. The effort of raising his body caused the magical restraints to leach even more of his energy from him.
The curse laid upon his restraints was without mercy, leaving Seraph in an even more pathetic state then he had been moments before as it literally sucked the life out of him, leaving his body in a state of terrible emaciation. His strength had been taxed beyond its limit. The iron restraints that bound him and shackled him to the wall would not be denied. Not even Seraph could resist them. The only saving grace he held was that in this place, he could not die.
In a broken groggy voice, Seraph responded, his words raspy and dry. "I had wondered if you would come for me, Beelzebub. I was uncertain if the walls of my prison would stop you. This place is far beyond your realm, isn't it? I have nothing to give you, and I cannot pay the debt. I've no power here to collect what is owed. My hands are figuratively and literally restrained. I am doomed to languish here. The only soul you can take is mine, and I offer it freely."
Seraph watched as the Demon Prince shook his head as he glared at the Emblem. "The payment of debts has its own rules, Seraph. Your soul is bound to another, and this debt must be repaid. You should know that better than most it is not a simple swap. But I wouldn't venture to say there's nothing you can do for me, Seraph. I can still gain plenty from you."
The Demon Prince grinned as he stepped forward, the blue light in his upturned hand illuminating his face, showing the yellowed teeth running over with saliva that dripped down onto the edges of his Harlequin outfit, staining the fabric in splotches of pale yellow where it landed.
"You said it yourself, payment of debts has its own rules. This debt cannot be passed to my father, it is mine alone," Seraph retorted wearily, his head slumped downwards, trying to find a moment of rest before the chains forced him back into submission. "Mock me to death? Kill me? Torture me? Do what you want, demon; it would be a favor."
The Demon Prince’s face hardened as he snarled in harsh critique and disappointment. "Self-pity is not a good look on you, Genocider. I have seen the vision of the things that you have done that left you so condemned. Your hands have run red with more blood than my own, and I must admit, I am jealous. I've seen what you are capable of, what you are, and what you can become. I am willing to negotiate alternative terms of your debt to me. But understand, we are not even partners, and it is not up to debate."
Seraph said nothing in response as he sank back into the wall in bitter resignation, his apathy angering the Demon Prince. "You stand there, sullen and angry, yet you do nothing to escape. You are nothing like that man I had come to expect. Tell me, where are your friends? Your allies? The only one who has come for you is I, and yet, you do nothing but remain silent. Your silence is complicit, you know the world is doomed without you, and yet what do you do in the meantime? You accept this punishment. You choose now to fall into a depressive malaise and the trap of self-pity? No, little brother. I refuse to accept that. You will do so much more than that; I demand it."
"I'm not going to help you destroy this world. I won't trade one hell for another, one end for another," Seraph responded in muted resistance as he rebuked the Demon Prince. Seraph's words rang hollow to him; he didn't really believe what he was saying, and he didn't really care, they had condemned him. The survival of humanity had always been his mission, and even chattel slavery was still better than total annihilation.
"Why? Because I'm a demon, and demons are evil, right? Don't be so simple, little brother. My motives are pure. I crave that which I desire, vengeance and retribution. Feast, not famine. Everything ends if humanity is lost to the blight. I mean everything, and for my brothers and I, that is a fate worse than death. We would be banished back to the formless void to wait for eons for another world to form before we could venture forth again. My motives are pure, I look out for myself and I look out for my interests," the Demon Prince replied bluntly.
The Demon Prince walked forward and removed a glove from his hand as tiny bells rang, revealing a set of withered fingers teeming with abyssal energy. The Demon Prince grasped Seraph’s chains with the uncovered hand, inspecting the links in the chain f
or weaknesses and flaws. Eventually, finding whatever he had been looking for, he channeled power through his calloused hands, melting down the metal even as the heat seared Seraph's skin and caused the room to mist up.
Without the restraints to hold him up, Seraph fell to the ground. In his state of perpetual exhaustion, he lacked the strength to stand, collapsing on his belly, unable to even get on his hands and knees. “What am I going to do with you, Seraph?” the Demon Prince asked in annoyance as he looked down at Seraph.
In the demon's hand appeared a black orb that shone with fel energies. "Do you know what this is, Seraph? It's Dead Man's Essence. Eat this, and you'll find your strength returned to you. I cannot use you in this state." The demon bent over and forced the orb into Seraph's mouth as the man bit down.
Rather than the vile and terrible taste Seraph had imagined, it was sweet though tart and oddly refreshing. Seraph could feel the strength returning to his limbs and within seconds his body had been mostly restored to the state it was in before he had been condemned as the emaciated and withered look was replaced by a more filled-out body. Standing up, Seraph turned and asked, "Why are you doing this, demon? You know I cannot repay this debt."