by Wolfe Locke
"I'm dying, at least this part of me is dying. Soon my infinite self will go into a near comatose state to heal," Michael explained with a half-smile. "And it was for this possibility that I long ago planned. When a crippled boy entered a dark cave in my domain. When I implanted the Black Emblem into your chest. My emblem, and within the emblem, part of my essence. That essence still remains within you. You, Seraph, are in a sense my own phylactery, just as I have been yours. The phylactery of my true self, Amarath the Immortal. This form you see before you, this Michael, is like your own a pale imitation, and even now it is dying. My own powers were hobbled by the journey through time, and hindered more by this invasion."
Furrowing his brows, Seraph looked at the dungeon spirit as faint stirrings of memories clawed about within his head of his first encounter with the dungeon spirit, back when Michael had still been known as Amarath. Back when he was still known as Luca. A memory of the dark cave and the way he was brutalized by the dark spirit before being thrust into danger. "And what is it that you require of me?" Seraph asked suspiciously, his voice bitter, fully expecting the dungeon spirit to reach out with those brittle hands and consume him, just as Seraph had once consumed others.
Michael shook his head regretfully as though sensing Seraph’s thoughts as wisps of his white hair fell to the ground, torn off by the friction of movement, accenting the acceleration of the dungeon spirit’s decline. "To live within you. A joining at least for a time. Even though you no longer possess your original body, residuals of my essence still exist within you, I can harness those residuals until you can accomplish the mission for which I have called you here. I can protect you from the encroaching effects of the Wormwood and we can both survive long enough to see this through."
"You expect me to believe this, dungeon? That you, Michael, Amarath, whatever other names you have called yourself, that you are dying and need me to survive?" To Seraph it sounded unbelievable what he was hearing. The dungeon spirit was the closest thing to infinite power he had ever known.
"Yes, I do," responded Michael, raising his voice. "We don’t have time for this anymore. That is exactly what I expect you to believe. I have no reason to lie to you. Wormwood has come. You've seen it for yourself. The green mists even now fill this floor and I cannot stop it. There is only one thing that can be done," Michael explained, looking seriously at Seraph, imploring him to accept.
Seraph leaned against the wall, not wanting to disrespect the spirit, but needing to know. "What’s happened. Why now, why this?"
"A rift in time, Seraph. I have never before, not once, not in the scores of the worlds I have visited interfered as I did with this one. By either your fault or mine, a tear in reality was created. A tear that connects my dungeon to the ruined future we fled from. I had not noticed it at first, it was subtle and slow-building." Michael stopped and stared at Seraph, and for the first time, Seraph recognized an almost humanlike tiredness. Maybe he really is dying.
"Even now, Seraph, I can feel them. Moving around inside me like parasites. Little by little carving and corrupting the floors of my dungeon. You’ve seen it, my physical form is a consequence of that. Siphoning my strength and taking it for themselves. I will not survive if this rift is not shut," Michael explained. "This is why I need you. I cannot send any others. The few minions I possess who are strong enough to face the creatures of Wormwood would be corrupted by the green mist, and the Demon Princes have their own motivations. I cannot trust them, but I also cannot risk sending them, I need their strength to defend the floors. You, Seraph, are the only hope."
Seraph looked at him and knew that this was the time to ask, the time to secure for himself a promise and an answer to a question as his thoughts turned towards the future, and what would happen to him. "Does Luca, my younger self, still exist within me? I've a promise to keep to my father. If he can be saved, do so."
Michael closed his eyes, and for a moment, Seraph wondered if the dungeon spirit had passed on before he responded. "It's faint and becoming less viable in each passing. You have not fully absorbed him, but you will if you remain in that body. From what I can tell you've hours, maybe a day or two, before it becomes impossible for me to restore him."
"How would you restore him, Michael?" Seraph asked, curious, and wanting to have some kind of assurances. The way he’s talking, it sounds like this will be a one-way trip for us. I need to try and have some good come of this.
"When I first molded you into the Black Seraph and recreated your body, I took from you aspects of your humanity I found less than ideal and stored them within myself along with many of your memories. Things I thought might hold you back from the destiny I wanted for you," Michael admitted bluntly. "I still possess these pieces. I believe I can use them to restore the boy to life, but you must do something first."
Seraph looked at him, wondering, waiting for the other shoe to drop, what favor he was about to be asked. "I need you to recover the pieces of your original body and travel through the rift to the other world. Take for yourself the Dungeon Seed from Reverend that has anchored us to the ruined future, and accept my essence so that I may live within you."
Notification: Quest Granted - Seal the Ruined Future
Details: The spirit of Amarath the Immortal has informed you that a rift in time has opened up within the dungeon and through it Wormwood has begun its invasion. The dungeon has given you a quest to seal the rift by traveling to the ruined future and has instructed you to recover your old body and accept the essence of the dungeon within you.
Do you accept it? Yes/No
Chapter 46: The Death of Michael
Seraph looked at the prompt and selected "Yes." It’s not like I’ve many choices anymore, and really what would I choose? Life? To walk away and leave this behind? No. That’s not for me, he thought. Choosing no isn't even an option I can consider at this point. There are no second chances. For better or worse, Seraph trusted that the dungeon spirit understood that their fates were linked together. Because if I fail, the dungeon fails too.
Immediately following the selection of Yes from the prompt it disappeared, and Seraph was left alone in the office while Michael began to deteriorate and rapidly rot away as the body began to turn to dust, withering away. The Black Emblem around Seraph’s chest pulsed and grew hot as it absorbed part of the dungeon spirit into it. To Seraph it was like watching the effects of years of decay all at once. The body collapsed into a pile of brittle bones and dust before being reabsorbed into the dungeon. Seraph tried to ignore the bits of white hair that still lingered in the air.
When the body had finished collapsing, Seraph waited for a moment, but there was no follow up, and no notification. Feeling nervous for the first time, Seraph spoke up. “Amarath," he whispered with some concern as he looked around the now empty room and saw on almost all of the lower screens green mists rising. "Are you still there? Now that you’re no longer masquerading as a man. What comes next? What am I supposed to do?” Seraph wanted answers, but more so, he wanted to know the dungeon spirit was still alive.
From within him came an answer, like an inner voice that wasn’t his own. I will open the path for you to retrieve your true body. But I cannot just give it to you. That power no longer belongs to me. Seraph noticed that the answer had a faraway quality to it and was difficult to focus on. The spirit sounded exhausted. My presence within you will keep the necrotic and metamorphic effects of Wormwood from harming you, but I cannot help you more than I already have. My powers already are beginning to wane and I must focus on keeping the dungeon together.
Seraph felt a jolt of energy leave his body, traveling outwards from the Emblem and then through his fingertips. Every screen in the room flickered and turned dark except for the middle screen, which seemed to reset itself and turn back on. It was to that screen that Seraph turned and looked. Seraph walked over towards it and looked and saw the hallway he had been imprisoned on, the angle showing the stairway leading to the next floor.
The
corridor was thick with the green mist, no longer hanging low, but rolling like a fog as Fetchers, crawling monstrosities, started to drag struggling and terrified prisoners away, having raided the deeper and darker portions of the prison. All those people are being taken somewhere to be transformed, have those monsters already established a conversion pit? But from where they had been grabbed, and to where they were being taken, Seraph could only guess. He knew that every screaming soul the Fetchers dragged off, would become some other monster he’d need to fight later on. At least I recognize these monsters, my knowledge of the Wormwood Mist Monsters was limited, Seraph reasoned as he tried to keep things in perspective.
Amarath…. asked Seraph curiously as he stared into the swirling green mist on the screen. Why hasn’t the Wormwood Codex been updating? This seems to be exactly the situation that quest was granted for.
Seraph waited for a moment before getting his answer, and it wasn’t an answer he was hoping for. That quest was cancelled along with the tutorial. Along with so many things I had planned for humanity. Defending against this invasion already taxes more of my strength than I have in reserve. Hastening the death I hope to prevent, Amarath replied.
Seraph heard the regret in the spirit’s words and nodded in affirmation before looking back at the screen, watching as the Fetchers disappeared. Many going further into the prison, disappearing as they passed out of sight from the screen, while many more seemed to be heading towards the stairs leading into the rest of the dungeon. Towards everyone else, my father, Jack, Sadie. Maybe even the rest of the people I’d known, all new and fresh to the dungeon.
The dungeon spirit interrupted his thoughts, these abominations are spreading, but it’s not towards the surface I need you to go, it’s towards Adramelech, the Demon Prince of Fire. He guards over your body and the other treasures, preventing these creatures of Wormwood from taking it.
Of course he would be, Seraph thought anxiously as he remembered his last battle with the Demon Prince, and how he had been mortally wounded after defeating the demon in battle. Things will be different this time though, we are allies, or close to it.
How do I get there? Seraph asked the dungeon spirit bluntly, thinking, even if I’m able to reason with Adramelech, I’ll still be at a huge disadvantage. I’m not strong enough to kill the Fetchers that are roaming the hallways. I’ll be captured just like anyone else.
Amarath responded with something like amusement, A one-way portal. Underneath Seraph a hole in the floor opened up and he fell through, though he did not keep falling so much as pass through the thin film that marked a portal and went elsewhere before tumbling out on the other side. Seraph was greeted by the sounds of battle, and the bellows of the greatest demon engaged in mortal combat.
Chapter 47: The Way to The Armory
Seraph landed roughly on the ground in a three-point stance with a grimace as he looked at the bodies piling around the Demon Prince; while the demon was holding his own, Seraph knew it would not last forever, as more and more of the Infernals arrived.
The Demon Prince was not as large as Seraph remembered, though he recognized the curved horns and fiery sword, the demon’s power seemed diminished, lessened since their battle in the abyss. But still, Seraph noted he towered over the mob of Infernals as the demon’s muscles rippled with power as he swung the flaming sword in his thickly corded arms in wide sweeps against the abominations of Wormwood.
Around the demon, the ground hissed and bubbled as acidic blood as hot as hellfire poured through the demon’s many wounds. The blackened plate mail of the Demon Prince hung useless by a strap that was still attached around the shoulder, a long bloody gash marred the surface of the armor piece. The fiery sword swung again, cleaving through the abominations in droves. A useless effort as they were quickly replaced as more joined the battle.
The horrible sound of metal shattering was followed by a loud clang as a shard of the demon’s sword landed near Seraph as the Demon Prince bellowed in rage and breathed black fire as he reduced the closest Infernals to ash and used the lull in the fighting to reach up and tear off that last part of his armor.
Internally, Seraph cursed the dungeon spirit for opening a portal onto a battleground without warning. Focus, Seraph told himself as he cast the enchanted whip at a nearby Infernal that had turned towards him and started running to attack. The whip unfolded and the spirit of Ajana rose up from within it, the lamia elder gliding along the bladed edges of the weapon crafted from her bones, guiding the attack as the weapon wrapped around the Infernal and cut it straight through.
Seraph felt an intense gust of heat coming his way and just barely managed to dive away from a wall of fire that was thrown out like a wave by the Demon Prince as the bestial demon bellowed with blind fury, an Infernal having landed a heavy blow on his unarmored body that tore the demon’s side wide open.
As Seraph glanced over, their eyes met, and the look of hate he saw reflected was a reminder of just who Adramelech was. The Demon Prince appeared to be heading his way and threw a fireball spell towards Seraph that exploded just above his head as a Wormwood monster fell to the ground in a smoking husk.
Seeing that Seraph was ok, the demon returned to his task of killing the monsters nearest to him. As the monster turned, Seraph could see that patches of the demon's skin had been torn off and large clumps of muscle were missing as if cut out or bitten off.
Above his head, a group of flying abominations that resembled insects flew at the Demon Prince as he responded with a slash of his sharp talons that destroyed most of the abominations, yet one got through and the demon once again bellowed as clear fluid seeped down his face from a destroyed eye.
Ajana’s Wrath lashed at a Fetcher that tried to take advantage of the Demon Prince’s rage to run up the demon’s spine towards the soft tissue around the neck, but Seraph was too quick and the whip lashed around the Fetcher and with a quick tug, the monster fell over, having been cut into pieces.
Seraph ran over and surveyed the damage as an idea began to make its way into his mind. The damage the demon had sustained was terrible. One of the ram-like horns the Demon Prince was known for had been torn off at the base. “Hold and don’t attack me,” Seraph said as he sprinted towards the demon and reached for the bit of frozen slime he had been carrying as he used his Abyssal Touch ability to reduce it into healing energy, healing energy he thought the demon might need in order to keep fighting.
Seraph thrust a palm onto the open wound in the demon’s side and instantly the bleeding stopped and the side wound began to heal. It didn’t matter which monster had caused the damage, whether it was a Fetcher, Infernal, or one of the other monsters from within the green mist that ebbed and flowed around the floor boss; Seraph knew Adramelech would eventually fall as more and more monsters poured through a sliver of reality that shimmered and warmed the area around it.
The rift, Seraph thought as the crisis at hand registered in his mind as his heart started to beat fast from the combined effects of anxiety and fear. Infernals were one of the few things that had been able to harm him in his other life and here they were, almost overwhelming the Demon Prince that Seraph had only barely managed to kill at the height of his power. What chance do I have now?
A flash of anger surged through his body. Since when has it mattered if I have a chance or not. There is no try, only do. If the demon fails here, I fail. Seraph gripped his whip tightly as he watched Fetchers grab the demon's tail and begin to climb up. A surge of speed coursed through him as he used his tank subspecialty and cover ability to run to the Demon Prince’s aid, summoning every spectral limb he could as he forced a shield between the demon and the encroaching Infernals. A shield that Seraph hoped would last long enough for the demon to tell him what he needed to know.
The demon wasted no time attacking the remaining monsters with curved claws and swipes of his sword followed by bursts of flame from his mouth as Seraph focused on keeping the shield up and used his whip to destroy the Fetchers
that tried to crawl up the Demon Prince’s back. It was with some satisfaction that Seraph watched the weapon curl around a Fetcher’s neck and pull, decapitating the monster as the body fell down to the ground.
In response to Seraph's sudden involvement, a few of the nearby Infernals turned away from the Demon Prince and went to attack him as the other monsters tried to break the icy shield that separated them.
A crack formed in the shield of ice, and Seraph abandoned it, instead refocusing his ethereal arms on the monsters near him, activating Abyssal Touch in every outstretched mana limb and siphoned all the life out of the monsters. When the score of them lay dead, all that remained was the rift, and the frozen monsters who had come out of it but had not yet joined the battle.
The rift hung frozen in the air. It was like nothing Seraph had ever seen before. A literal tear in the fabric of time and space. If the dead abominations were any indicator, Seraph knew exactly what lay on the other side: the alternate future that he was struggling to prevent.
Behind him, the Demon Prince of Fire, Adramelech, tended his wounds as he rent the flesh of the remaining monsters, using them to restore his own flesh. On the demon’s face Seraph could see a clear look of resentment, hate, and bitterness.
"What happened here?" Seraph asked, knowing now was not the time for fear or restraint. I just have to hope the demon knows that too.
"The rift happened," the demon snarled in anger. "You should know well enough what it is. You’ve likely doomed us all by seizing the body of that boy."
"I don’t know what happened, Demon," Seraph replied, knowing this wasn’t the time to keep fighting. "Amarath sent me. Where is my true body? It’s the only way."
A crack began to form in the frozen rift. "Go then," the demon replied as he reached around his neck and grabbed at the necklace before pulling an ornate charm from off it and threw the key at Seraph before bounding over to the portal to kill another monster that stepped through.