by Aaron Oster
For now, he had other things to worry about, like finding the Soul Well. Oh, and catching himself before he slammed into the rocky ground below. His Flight came back to him suddenly, and Morgan pushed himself to stop in time. He would still hit the ground pretty hard. The only question now was how hard. The wind whipped around him as the dark stone, shining with reflected blue light, loomed before him.
Then, he slammed into it, angling himself forward and tucking into a roll. He still hit pretty hard and felt the reverberation of the impact radiate throughout his body. Luckily for him, he was tough, and the impact did little to actually hurt him. However, as he rose back to his feet, he noticed that the tough canvas pants, as well as the thick shirt, had been torn in several places.
He let out a snort as he rose, wondering if there was any way to get his hands on some better-quality armor. The biggest problem he had was balancing practicality with comfort. While light and very comfortable, the canvas uniforms he tended to favor never seemed to hold up as well as they once did. Not that he was really surprised, since his growth had been exponential over the past few years.
His clothes had also been dirtied as well. The damp rock underfoot had been covered in a thin layer of dirt, most of which had seemed more than eager to leap onto his clothes.
Oh, well, he thought as he began examining his surroundings.
The cavern was absolutely massive, stretching to either side as far as he could see. The source of the blue glow that seemed to permeate the cavern was nowhere to be seen. When Morgan tried to use his Aura Sense again, he was forced to deactivate it immediately. The reiki down here was so thick that even if he had the ability to keep his senses open, he’d have been unable to see a single thing.
“I guess I’m in the right place,” he muttered, adjusting the strap of the spear sling on his back.
The silvery length of Godsteel reflected the light as it shifted, beautiful colors shimmering across its surface. Morgan didn’t notice, as his attention was fixed on the cavern. He had no idea which way he should be going. He did what anyone in his situation would do. He simply picked a direction at random and began to walk.
He had no idea what this place was or how it even came to be. There was no way out as far as he could tell, so all he could do was hope. Hope that he could find the correct Well and be able to find a way back to the surface once he did.
32
Morgan felt the Beast King beginning to stir after only a few minutes’ walking, not that he was surprised. The ambient reiki down here was so strong that he could feel it, even without his Aura Sense active. It pressed up against his skin, demanding to be allowed entry into his body. However, he had never taken any outside energy into himself, at least, not like this. Using the energy from a beast core was one thing, but siphoning energy directly from the air simply didn’t seem possible.
Aside from that odd feeling and feeling like the Beast was going to break free if he didn’t do something soon, Morgan felt another strange emotion. This one was associated directly with the strange cavern. It was absolutely enormous, which made him wonder how it had escaped detection for so long. Sure, not many would think to look for it, but there had to be at least a few people over the years who’d come looking for this place.
If Elyssa knew where it might be located, it stood to reason that this was pretty public knowledge. How, then, had no one managed to find this place, especially with how big it seemed to be?
His footsteps echoed hollowly off the walls, sending them ringing into the distance, and the smell of dampness and water grew sharper. Just a few more minutes of walking and the sound of a trickling stream reached him. Excited by this new development, Morgan sped up, walking faster now and hoping against hope that he’d found the Well. As more of the cavern became visible, he found himself looking at an underground stream.
The oddest part about the stream wasn’t the fact that it was glowing blue, nor that there seemed to be an endless array of colorful luminescent plants dotting its banks and walls. Nor was it the fact that the cavern seemed to narrow to a tunnel, making the only way forward the stream itself. No, the oddest part of this entire scene was the small dock stretching partway into the swiftly flowing stream.
Attached to that dock was a boat, and standing in the boat was a tall, hunched figure who held a long, blackened poll. Morgan stopped to stare at the man for several long seconds. It was immediately obvious by his appearance that he wasn’t human, though with his features hidden by the deep cowl of his hood, Morgan couldn’t quite be sure what he was.
It didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge his presence. It simply stood there, pole in hand, as though made of stone. Cautiously, Morgan approached the dock, watching the figure for any signs of life. It was only once his foot landed on the actual dock, his boots causing the floorboards to creak, that the figure finally stirred.
Morgan froze as its hooded face turned in his direction. The only thing visible from beneath the cowl was a pair of burning red orbs that seemed to pierce into his very soul.
“I see that you have finally come, King of Beasts. But I am afraid that your journey was in vain.”
The voice echoed both in his mind and out loud, seeming to radiate out from within the hood, though there was no actual movement of the mouth or jaw. Not that he could see, anyway. The fact that this creature could see through to his true nature reaffirmed in his mind the fact that this being wasn’t human. He wasn’t mortal either, that much was abundantly clear. Though he still had a ton of questions, Morgan decided to just go for the most straightforward.
“Why was my trip in vain?” he asked, trying to keep his eyes locked on the burning orbs.
“You are not ready,” the figure said. “Your resolve is not firm. Nor do you have the power needed to push through.”
Morgan bristled a bit at this. He crossed his arms and stared the creature down.
“I have plenty of resolve, and I am more than powerful enough to forge on ahead.”
“If you wish to proceed, I cannot stop you. However, you would do well to heed my warning.”
“And who are you?” Morgan asked, raising an eyebrow.
Truthfully, this entire scene creeped him out, but he’d learned to hide his emotions long ago and wasn’t going to break simply because of a creepy guy in an underground boat.
“The Gatekeeper,” the figure replied. “My purpose is to assure that only those who are worthy may pass and bathe in the waters of the Well of Souls.”
“You just said you couldn’t stop me,” Morgan replied. “Kind of a shitty gatekeeper, if you ask me.”
A low, wheezing chuckle echoed out from beneath the hood, one that caused chills to run down Morgan’s spine.
“I cannot stop you, King of Beasts. That job is reserved for the Guardian of the Well. You are not yet strong enough, nor do you have the resolve to push through. I will warn you one last time. You will not be granted access.”
“Sorry, but I didn’t come all the way down here just to leave empty-handed,” Morgan said. “I came looking for the Soul Well, and I will find it. With or without you.”
The figure didn’t answer, instead standing still as a statue once more. Morgan looked at him for a few seconds, then cautiously approached the boat. The figure didn’t try and stop him as he stepped aboard, the boat rocking slightly as his heavy bulk settled into it. Truthfully, he was surprised it didn’t capsize outright.
Though he looked fit and relatively light, Morgan was many times heavier than his build would imply. That had to do with the density of his muscles and bones, all of which were reinforced with metal by this point and were stronger than pretty much any armor he’d ever seen. That was why he almost never bothered with the stuff in the first place. The armored clothes were simply there because while they would rip, they would not do so as easily as regular ones.
As soon as Morgan settled into the boat and took a seat on the far side, the figure came to life once again. He used his long pole to push away fro
m the dock, then propelled them forward. It was only once they began moving that Morgan noticed a lack of a rope. In a stream as fast-moving as this, he found that to be very strange.
He tried to engage the mystery man in conversation once more, but just as before, not a word left from beneath the hooded figure’s cowl. So, after a couple of failed attempts, Morgan simply gave up on trying, and instead focused on his surroundings. The tunnel walls closed in around them, plunging them into semi-darkness. It was still quite easy to see, as the water itself continued to glow with blue light, while the small pieces of shoreline contained dozens of colorful plants, all shining beautifully in the darkness.
The fresh smell of running water, especially down here, where it was so cool and damp, allowed Morgan to slowly begin relaxing. There was little he could do as they drifted along, other than wait. His eyes didn’t stop moving as he took in the absolutely stunning scenery. Never before had he seen anything quite so unique, and though he’d been to many Beast Zones in many different places, none could compare to the grandeur of this place.
It practically hummed with power, yet at the same time, seemed to contain a vastness the likes of which he couldn’t even comprehend. He briefly wondered if Dabu, one of the only people he’d truly been able to count on, had ever been down here. Dabu was the very first of his kind, a supermage who had been thousands of years old when Morgan had first met him. The man had been so kind, given him so much, and in the end, even sacrificed himself to give Morgan a better chance.
He wasn’t sure what brought up the thoughts of his old mentor, but now that he was thinking of the lost, Morgan’s mind began to drift to the others. Gwendolyn, the woman who’d adopted him once he’d awoken from his thousands of years of slumber. She’d taken him in, treated him like family, and though the two of them had only been together for a single year before Samuel had torn him away from her, she was the closest thing to a mother he’d ever had.
Sarah flashed in his thoughts once again, her beautiful smiling face seeming to shimmer in the air before him. She had been his oldest friend, the two of them having met when they were both only ten years old. Their first adventure together had hardly been what one could call fun, seeing as they’d been captured by gangsters hoping to get money from Lord Simon, Sarah’s father, in exchange for her life.
They’d managed to escape, thanks to some quick thinking on both their parts and their friendship had only grown from there. They’d been through so much together, from their times sneaking out to play, to when they’d run from City Four once Morgan had discovered his abilities. He remembered their adventures at the Academy and everything that followed. And although Morgan could not feel what she wanted in the beginning, she never gave up or left his side.
“What’s happening to me?” Morgan asked, staring up at the hooded figure through blurry vision, tears streaming down his face.
The pain he was felt was immense, so much so that he had a hard time even breathing. Surprisingly enough, the man actually answered.
“I warned you, did I not? The Well of Souls does not so easily give up its prize. You are not ready. You have not made peace with your loss, nor have you released your hold on the concept of mortality. You are not ready, yet you chose to pursue this course of action regardless. Whatever happens next is your fault.”
Morgan doubled over, clutching at his head as more images flashed through his mind. Memories he’d long since forgotten, details of his past that were nothing more than hazy recollections and things he’d been forced to endure in a life riddled with pain and sorrow. There was so much of it, so much misery. He didn’t know how he’d managed to survive until now, how he was still functioning as a human being.
Their voices echoed in his mind; their smiling faces torturing him with guilt and uncertainty. They were all dead while he was still alive. How was that fair? How was it fair that while everyone he loved was dead, that he was continually forced to keep on living? The pain was unlike anything Morgan had felt before. It was as though someone was squeezing down on his core, forcing it to stop beating and sustaining his pitiful life.
He felt as though he couldn’t breathe, the pain redoubling over and over again until he was left as a hunched husk on the bottom of the boat. It continued moving, slowly drifting forward through the winding tunnel, the silent Gatekeeper continuously sweeping the poll from side to side as he kept them on course.
“I’m sorry,” Morgan whispered, staring through bleary eyes and out onto the open water.
They were all there, Dabu, dressed in his long robes, his teeth standing out in contrast to his dusky skin, his kind brown eyes showing more compassion than Morgan could bear. Next to him stood Gwen, her almond-shaped violet orbs locked squarely on his. Tears streamed down her face as well, though there was a smile fixed on her lips. It conveyed more love than Morgan could bear to feel at the moment.
And, on the far side, standing a bit away from the other two, stood Sarah. Her green eyes seemed to shine with both joy and sorrow, and when she spoke, it pierced him down to his very soul.
“Don’t blame yourself for what happened to us.”
“But…It’s all my fault,” Morgan croaked, his throat so tight that he could barely get the words out. “It’s my fault you’re all dead.”
“No, Morgan. It isn’t your fault,” Gwen said, her smile soft and her voice even more so.
“Do not blame yourself for the sacrifices we made,” Dabu said. “We chose this path ourselves. So that you could secure a future for all of Somerset.”
“How…How am I supposed to keep going? I…miss you all so much!” He was crying so hard now that his body shook, great sobs wracking his frame as he forced the words out through trembling lips.
“We aren’t gone,” Sarah said, striding over the water toward the boat.
Her ghostly figure crouched, running fingers he could not feel through his hair.
“We are here, with you,” Gwen said, appearing next to her.
“Right in here,” Dabu said, tapping at his own heart.
“So long as you carry our memories, we will never truly die,” Gwen said.
“We live on through you,” Sarah said, leaning down and pressing ghostly lips to his forehead.
“I…I don’t think I can keep going on…” Morgan croaked as their figures began to vanish. “Please! Don’t leave me! Not again!”
He reached for them desperately, trying to keep them from going, but it was a futile attempt. His fingers passed right through their ghostly bodies, his senses not registering so much as a hint of resistance as he did.
“Remember us, Morgan,” Dabu said as he vanished, his voice echoing faintly in his mind.
“I will always love you, don’t you ever forget that,” Gwen said, her body dissipating into the wind.
“Please,” Morgan said, his voice coming out as a half-whisper, begging Sarah not to go.
“I am always with you, Morgan,” Sarah said, giving him a soft smile. “And I will love you no matter what you do. We will be together again one day, and sooner than you might think. You always knew how to make the right choices, and now, for your own sake and for the sake of everyone who is counting on you, you need to let go.”
“I can’t,” he whispered, watching as Sarah’s form began to vanish. “I can’t forget you…”
“Letting go and forgetting are not one and the same,” Sarah said, her voice fading down to a whisper. “Free yourself of the burdens you carry, the guilt that keeps you from living your own life. We all love you, which was why we were willing to sacrifice ourselves so that you could keep living. Don’t let our deaths be in vain…”
Sarah gave him one last smile, the sadness in her eyes almost more than he could handle without passing out. Then, she was gone, leaving Morgan to stare blankly ahead, the words of the dead still echoing in his soul as darkness closed in around him.
33
The ground beneath his cheek was cold and wet, yet Morgan could not bring himself to ri
se. It was too much, too much pain to bear. Seeing them had only made it worse, making him feel like he had lost them all over again. The worst part of it all was the fact that none of them seemed to blame him for their fates. If anything, they seemed saddened by the fact that he was carrying around so much guilt.
He didn’t understand how they couldn’t be angry, how they’d told him to just move on. To let them go. The pain of their loss was the only thing he had left of them. That, and the anger, both at himself and toward the ones who had caused it. Since he couldn’t kill the author and Octagon was far out of reach, the only one left to blame was himself.
Morgan turned as he heard the sound of shuffling footsteps and peered up through blurry eyes to see another figure, this one dressed in an all-white cloak, opposite of the man in the boat, approaching him where he lay. He had no idea when he’d ended up back on land, or where the mystery man had gone. Honestly, he couldn’t bring himself to care, as he was so wrapped up in his misery that had the woman pulled a knife and moved to kill him, he’d have done nothing to defend himself. He would have accepted the act as mercy.
“You were not ready, yet you still came.”
This voice was female and echoed out of the hood with a light airiness that seemed to be the exact opposite of the Gatekeeper. Her eyes, the only things visible beneath the hood, burned a bright blue, though the side of her white cloak seemed to carry an odd purple tint to it.
Morgan couldn’t bring himself to reply, all but paralyzed by the crushing weight of his many failures.
“You have made it this far, King of Beasts,” the figure said, not moving to help or hinder. “Is this where your journey ends?”
Oddly enough, Morgan felt no stirring from the Beast. It hadn’t so much as twitched since he’d gotten onto the boat, and even now, in the presence of someone calling it out, it did not answer.