Demon Core - Chapter 19: The World Beyond the Chaos

~ [Crusader Valtos] ~

Orc, Male, Crusade Legionnaire Location: The Demon-King’s Castle, Floor 16 Level: 83

The crusader’s heavy armor drags him down like an anchor as he makes his way through the dimly lit and musty corridors of the underground castle, which belongs to the terrible Demon-King. In spite of the power and resolve he had when he initially started out on this quest, a creeping sense of hopelessness has begun to take hold of his heart in recent days as they plunge deeper and deeper towards the true heart of darkness. His comrades in arms, his fellow crusaders, advance beside him with what appears to still be deadly resolve etched over their features. However, the orc just can’t escape the notion that they are all heading in the direction of their certain deaths.

The fact that he is currently suffering from chafing beneath his armor is not helpful in the least. They have discovered some of the stolen undergarments that were left behind by the spirits along one of the many corridors. However, his belongings have not been found yet.

He can’t speak for the others, but he certainly is becoming more and more exhausted as they continue to move through room after room that is inhabited by ugly monsters and other vile, corrupted things. His feet hurt, his armor is irritating on his flesh, and the arm that holds his sword is heavy and numb. He can’t help but worry about how much longer he will be able to keep going, as well as what would happen to him and his comrades if they were unable to complete their mission. In a sense, his acknowledgment of his own discomfort and his distaste for it make him feel almost ashamed.

In spite of his misgivings, Valtos continues to march, not that there is anything else to do. He is compelled to do so by the strong feeling of duty that remains and by the remembrance of all those who have been harmed at the hands of the wretched Demon-King — a vile plague on this world. But as time passes and they get no closer to reaching the end of the castle, he can’t help but worry whether everything he’s been through will have been for nothing in the end.

What if he dies?

What if he dies due to some stupid trick or mechanism, like so many others have already? It’s not like his death will have been some noble sacrifice, then. It’ll just be dumb. It’ll be pointless.

The crusader stands back and watches the others as they proceed up the path, led by the divinely chosen half-elf. Their expressions are carved with resolve and intent. However, the more he looks at them, the more he gets the impression that they are nothing more than a group of naive idealists heading in the direction of their own ends. He begins to doubt his own intentions for joining this campaign and wonders whether he made a mistake by leaving behind his comfortable life to fight in this futile struggle. He also begins to question the motivations of everyone around him for joining this crusade.

The man looks down, rubbing his face, wondering what’s gotten over him. He’s certainly not the most zealous person, but he’s not some whiny quitter either.

However, the longer he stands here, stuck in place as it were, as the crowd moves on around him, the once-impregnable warrior gradually loses his bravery and self-assurance by the second. Immediately, he starts to picture himself as a failure, a coward who is unable to press forward, if not even a full on failure at life in general. He reflects on the people he cared about, including his family and his close friends, and how he would never see them again if he died down here. He has this nagging feeling that he should have just remained in his hometown and had a quiet life there.

Shouldn’t he have?

What difference does he make here? He’s just one man.

The crusader’s thoughts become entangled in this web of self-doubt and despondency, and he begins to fall farther and farther behind the other members of the gang. He can’t shake the sense that he is holding them back, and he begins to question whether it wouldn’t be better for everyone if he just turned around and went back right now, right?

“You need to keep walking,” says a voice from next to him. The orc turns his head, looking at the heavily armored, stick-like woman, wearing a helmet with slits in its visor, allowing her to peer through. She nods her head to the side. “It makes it go away.”

“Pardon?” asks the man, looking at her as she turns to walk along with the rest of the crusade, leaving him standing there still.

“You need to keep walking,” she repeats, lifting a hand to wave it over her shoulder as best she can in her heavy armor. “Makes it go away,” repeats the woman as she vanishes into the crowd.

The crusader stares after her, trying to decipher her message for a moment, as obvious as it is. He watches the crowd move, realizing that he isn’t the only one who harbors these sorts of doubts as he watches them, observing uneasy steps, clusters of people moving in groups to stay safe with their friends, and paranoid glances out into all directions. They’re all having the same exact thoughts that he’s having.

But the difference is that they’re still walking.

He gulps, steeling himself as he moves his foot forward again, breaking it free from the spiritual ice that had bound him in place. And then, as if by magic, the next step that follows is so much easier. Then, another and then another, and pretty soon, he is moving together with the rest of the tide.

Valtos exhales, releasing a little of the fear he had inside of himself but not all of it.

He’s a man of faith. He isn’t afraid of the darkness in the world, is he? No. This peculiar sensation must be coming from the Demon-terrible King’s miasma, which is contaminating both his thoughts and his body, and nothing else could be the cause.

– Is what he tells himself, and it works.

~ [The Demon-King] ~

 

“What do all of these things have in common?” he asks, his grizzly voice rumbling through the throne-room as he finishes showing them his visions of several people around the world.

His followers, all gathered, look either at one another or around the room as they ponder, none of them having an answer to his question.

“…They’re all humans?” asks Kirsch. He shakes his head.

Cartouche lifts a hand. “They’re all afraid of you, my lord?” she asks.

“Yes, but that is not what I am after,” explains the Demon-King. “That is only a part of it.”

Abydos the painter and Byblos the cook both shrug, not having an answer either. “Let me show you more,” he says, lifting his massive hand to cover his sight of them, as his hundreds of eyes glow with magical power, bulging out of their sockets all over his body.

Their frail bodies tremble as his powerful magic covers them.

~ [Vava Malti] ~

Elf, Female, Seamstress Location: The Human Capital, A Cozy House Level: 13

The elven woman is sitting in her modest home in the nation’s capital all by herself at the table, peering out the window. She is beyond exhausted. As the freshly relit lantern light emerges out in the streets, an eerie orange glow spreads across the city in pulses, as if a failing heart were trying to beat fresh blood through a body one more time. Long shadows stretch out across the cobblestone roads, creeping through the light-untouched crevices. She is able to make out in the distance the sound of horns and drums, as the national army runs drills and preparations.

Malti wonders about her children, who are blissfully ignorant of the impending threat, not only because of their age but also because they are fast asleep in their beds. Knowing that she brought children into this world just to see it fall apart causes a sense of remorse to sweep over her in a way that she has never really felt before. She desperately wants to defend them and keep them safe from the unspeakable atrocities that are ravaging across the land, but… who is she? She’s just some woman. She’s a tailor. There’s nothing she can do. Her entire future and that of her children lies in the hands of other people and that thought is…

— Malti thinks of her husband, who is said to have been killed by the Demon-Sickness rampaging in the south. He was a traveling merchant. She really wants him to be with her right now to comfort her, hold her hand, and reassure her that everything will be well. However, he has left this world, from what she has been told by others who fled the region, and now she is alone with her children.

Unlike them, she finds no sleep.

The full brunt of the burdens of the worlds of two children are resting upon her shoulders, and she is overcome with a sensation of helplessness and despair at the thought of having to do this alone. She hasn’t even had time to mourn her husband yet. She’s just… she’s just been sitting here and staring for a while. She hopes that one day this will all be over and that the endless fighting and suffering will come to an end. But she is well aware that this is not the end; rather, it is merely the start of a new nightmare for her. If they survive, what then? How is she supposed to just… be normal again?

There really is nothing she can do to stop the Demon-King’s army from coming closer, and it is getting closer. At this point, there is nothing left for her to do but cross her fingers and say a prayer that her children will pull through this.

The woman, who is quite exhausted since she has been able to get so little sleep over the previous several days, looks about the room as she feels a sensation of dread sneaking up on her as it does from time to time as it does so frequently lately, ever since she stopped sleeping. How many days has it been? She rubs her tired eyes, but she can’t shut them. She doesn’t want to sleep.

And this is despite the presence of the shadows appearing to be moving around on the periphery of her vision; but if she looks directly at them, the shadows disappear, leaving her uncertain as to whether or not they were ever genuine to begin with. Her mind is falling apart from stress and lack of sleep. She can’t shake the sensation that someone is watching her, so she rubs her eyes.

The elf gets to her feet and shakes her head, her recently cut brown hair shaking past her face as she attempts to redirect her attention to anything else – anything else – in an effort to divert her attention away from the shadows.

She turns her head and stares at her children, who are lying asleep in their beds in the humble home of theirs. As nature and the warmth of good souls both intend, she feels a flood of love and protectiveness wash over her as she stares at her children, safely sleeping quietly in their beds in the corner of the little house that is really just one room large. They are protected here at the moment, not because of her, but because of other people.

It makes her feel so powerless.

The exhausted woman’s eyelids begin to droop and her head begins to slump as she continues to lose more and more of her energy. She makes an effort to resist it, to remain awake and maintain watch, but her body is too exhausted to comply with her will. Since the passing of her spouse, she has just been… She can’t seem to fall or stay asleep. When she is asleep, she is able to see him.

As she begins to nod off, she becomes aware of whispers in her ears that are gentle but persistent, much like the sound of leaves rustling in the breeze. At first, she believes that her mind is playing tricks on her, but the murmurs continue to get louder and more intense as time passes.

Malti jumps, startled back into consciousness in an instant, the rapid beating of her heart audible in her sternum. She casts her paranoid gaze all across the room, but there appears to be nobody there… as always. It’s just the three of them now.

The whispers keep going, getting louder and more frenzied, and she can’t help but feel a mounting sense of dread and impending doom in her chest. It feels so heavy, it’s like there’s a weight in her gut. The elf can’t really help but get the feeling that she’s going crazy. She really needs to sleep, but she, well, she just doesn’t want to. She can’t bear to. The elf instead tries to clear her mind and concentrate on what is happening in the here and now by closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

She is aware that she will need to go to sleep at some point. It’s just that… Later. It’s okay if she sleeps later. She does not need to do so now, right? She is simply not prepared to face him again at this time. It’s better to stay awake so that she doesn’t fall apart in front of the children. They need calm and stability right now, most of all.

Nevertheless, the whispers keep coming, and she can’t escape the sense that something is watching her, as evidenced by the fact that the hair on the back of her neck is standing on end.

~ [Arsurni] ~

Human, Male, Hunter Location: A Hunter’s Lodge, in the Remote South-East Level: 37

The contents of metal tankards quietly slosh around as the men sit quietly, drinking and eating over the spoils of their work here in the remote regions of the world. A dark shadow has fallen over the world, and this seems like a safe place to be. However, even this far away, nature has become… difficult. The animals have become strange, and the trees have become strange.

Asurni lifts his gaze, looking at his compatriots in the lodge with him, fellow hunters.

— The people have become strange.

As a result of the Demon-King’s march over the world, the wild animals have been in a panic, and the hunts have grown far more deadly and unpredictable.

The hunter is currently surviving at an old lodge deep in the woods, surrounded by other hunters. It’s best to stay out of the cities right now. However, the mood is strained as is. Hunters who venture out this deep into the woods are already strange types to begin with, often those who don’t do well with others.

The hunter casts his gaze over his fellow adventurers, all of whom are grizzled veterans of the art. Each and every one of them is a man or woman of action who is motivated by the excitement of the pursuit and the surge of adrenaline that comes with the finality of the kill. However, even they are beginning to see the gravity of the threat that is all around them, even if it is so far away. If he were to describe it, he would say that he feels as if he were on the opposite end of a rabbit hunt. It’s like he’s here, hiding in a burrow, and some large, thumping monstrosity is just above, waiting…

The man recalls the most recent hunt, when he and the others were surprised by a pack of feral wolves while they were out looking for game. The animals’ eyes were wild, far more than usual and their yellow, gnarled smelt of death. Now that the sun never rises, the nocturnal hunters of the world never stop hunting. Wolves, large cats, and all manner of monsters prowl the world, never coming to rest as they partake in a time of great feasting and gorging.

It is the hour of the hunt for everything that has been hunted up until now.

— Which is very unfortunate for the hunters of the human and other species, as they are somewhat outmatched.

It took everything they had to withstand the wolves’ attacks and make it back to the lodge in one piece.

Arsurni mulls over the current predicament of the planet, how everything is deteriorating as a direct result of the Demon-King’s befoulment. He is aware that things are only going to grow worse. Survival is the name of the game at the moment, and hunting for sport is going to go on a very long pause until this is all over.

He straightens up, sitting upright in his chair, as he takes another sip from his tankard and another bite of his bread and venison. He’s going to have to hold out here for a while, at the lodge. With any luck, in a week or two, this will all blow over and they’ll just all go their separate ways. He’s probably going to take a break from the south for a while.

Something scratches at the front door.

“The hell?” asks a man, sitting across from him.

The other men stop eating, and everyone sits quietly and listens as something continues to scratch on the thick wood. The noise isn’t very very loud, but it is always present, scratching. The men, despite their reputation, can’t quite seem to hide their concern as they cast nervous looks at one another and unconsciously go for their knives and crossbows.

“The wolves?” whispers a man, only to get shushed for his trouble by his neighbor.

The sound of scratching continues, and it gets both louder and more persistent as whatever is on the other end of the wood begins to try harder. The hunters can see that the door is beginning to wobble as whatever is on the other side of it begins to push against it — lightly but noticeably. Arsuni can feel his heart thumping in his chest and his tongue drying out.

“Hey, go check it out,” says a man, knocking him on the shoulder.

Arsuni blinks, looking at him and then around the room. Somehow, everyone is looking at him all of a sudden.

He looks back towards the door and grabs his knife, slowly rising to his feet as it continues to wobble.

The man takes slow, measured steps as if he’s stalking prey and approaches the door, placing his hand on the latch as he moves closer to the entrance. When he glances back at the others, they give him a nod, indicating that they are prepared to confront whatever is out there — of course, not as the first men up front. But they’re there and ready in the second row.

After taking a deep breath, the hunter unlocks the door to the room and tears it open at once, his knife held ready.

~ [Trall] ~

Orc, Female, Fighter Location: The Wild-Lands, Just South of the Human-Capital Level: 23

The party of adventurers runs for their lives, storming through the howling night that never ends as they escape from hordes of wild monsters who are pursuing them from the shadows, practically nipping at their heels as they flee for their lives out of the wilderness towards the north. They had been examining an ancient ruin in the middle of the wilderness for wealth and any notable treasures when… well, when something just changed in the air. A man screamed. Then the next man had screamed and before they knew it, everyone was running for their lives.

Trall pants, sweating as she sprints. The ruin they had been exploring was an ancient one. They had only just gotten away with their lives, and now they are fleeing towards the north in the hope of finding some kind of refuge from the unrelenting pursuit. The city isn’t far from here. In retrospect, maybe it was dumb to try and loot a place so close to the capital. Surely, it’s been combed over a thousand times by now.

She looks out of the sides of her eyes as they run. The group of adventurers consists of a rather misfit crew, each member of which possesses their own set of special talents and capabilities. The troop is being led by a brave individual who is brandishing a hulking greatsword — that would be her. Notable is that she actually had to leave her greatsword behind though. It was too heavy to run away with. There is a rogue who moves stealthily through the shadows while keeping a vigilant eye out for any ambushes or traps, in theory. He is also running away. A mage who is performing spells to slow down the pursuers as he runs away, casting all sorts of magic into the darkness, and a priest who is tending to those who have been injured — himself — as he runs away. In essence, they are a perfectly normal adventuring party like any other.

She grits her teeth, clenching her eyes as she runs as quickly as they can, but the monsters are getting closer to them, and their roars and screeches are getting louder and more frenzied — She can practically hear them and feel them on her skin.

Trall’s terrified mind entertains the possibility that she won’t make it, that the monsters will capture her and eat her alive. But then his thoughts turn to her comrades, the relationships that they have developed over the course of their fights together, and the ways in which they have battled together.

It’s not much further. The city isn’t far.

Just a little more.

They can make it.

~ [The Demon-King] ~

 

“They’re… uh…” Byblos, the cook, stops, thinking for a moment. “They’re all moved to action in some way by your presence.”

He shakes his head, wanting them to find the way on their own. “Think as artists,” instructs the Demon-King. “You are watching with your eyes, when you should be watching from further away than that. Look again.”

~ [Vava Malti] ~

Elf, Female, Seamstress Location: The Human Capital, A Cozy House Level: 13

The tired mother is hunched over her children’s beds, glaring at them intensely with her eyes wide open as she watches them sleep. Their chests rise up. Their chests fall down. Breath goes in. Breath goes out. Perfect.

She smiles, staring at them with dry, red eyes.

Everything is perfect.

Her previously serene countenance is now etched with concern, marking the edges of her eyes, and her body trembles from tiredness, which she dutifully ignores in her state. Her thoughts and memories are all over the place, and her mind is a complete mess as a result. Shadows whisper into her ears, telling her how imperfect everything is. Her husband and love are dead. Her children are going to die. She’s going to die — a failure, a nothing, screaming.

But she pays the shadows no mind as she stares at her children, her smile growing wider as they breathe, like good children should.

She observes as they sleep, their serene and pure features providing a striking contrast to the atrocities that are occurring outside in her mind’s eye that she pays no mind to. She has an overwhelming feeling of love and protection for them, as well as a resolute resolve to keep them safe no matter what. So, she has to stay here and make sure they behave, that they sleep, and that they don’t die like their father.

She recalls the many things she has given up for children, including sleep when they were babies, as well as the many hours she has spent fretting and worrying since those many years ago. She goes back to the moments when she had the desire to give up, when it seemed as though the burden of the world was too much for her to carry. However, she never stopped fighting for them, and she never stopped fighting for her children.

Malti smiles, the corners of her dry mouth cracking as she watches them turn over to their sides.

She wishes that she had the power to allay all of their concerns and apprehensions and protect them from the calamities of the world. However, she is aware that this is not possible, and so she remains where she is, keeping watch over them with a heart that is heavy with both love and grief. Her eyes are wide open, and her skin is as dry as she looks.

— She leans down lower, hovering over them, her face inches from theirs as they sleep.

~ [Arsurni] ~

Human, Male, Hunter Location: A Hunter’s Lodge, in the Remote South-East Level: 37

The hunter stands with his knife at the ready.

— But there is nothing there.

Confused, the man blinks, looking around, and then steps to the side, showing the others the emptiness. “Nothing there,” he says, shrugging and then closing the door again. They murmur as he walks back to his chair, looking over his shoulder towards the door. “Must’ve been the wind.”

“It’s never the fucking wind!” yells a man from across the room. Arsurni shrugs.

He picks up his mug again, returning to his meal. But the others don’t seem so content. They look around at one another, clearly still paranoid. It’s not wrong to feel this way. These men are seasoned, old hunters. Their gut feelings are what have kept them alive so long to begin with.

Arsurni takes a bite of his venison, looking back around the room.

Somehow, everyone is still staring at him.

“What?” asks the man, chewing as he looks at many faces that are showing the telltale signs of paranoia. If he didn’t know better, he would start to get the sneaking suspicion that there is something nefarious going on in their minds.

“You didn’t smell anything?” asks another man, looking at him.

Arsurni swallows. “Smell…?” he asks. “No, just the usual.”

“Nothing touched you?” asks the man.

Arsurni narrows his eyes. “What are you getting at?” asks the hunter.

“Something was at that door,” says the questioning man. “That wasn’t the damn wind!”

The others murmur in vague agreement, looking over at him. “What? What the hell?” asks Arsuni. “You all watched me open the door; what the hell is supposed to have happened?”

“Witchcraft,” replies the seasoned man next to him, scooting his chair back a little.”

“Wit- What?!” asks Arsuni incredulously. “Didn’t no god-damned witch touch me,” he remarks, pointing at the man with his piece of meat. “It was three seconds.”

“…That’s enough for a witch,” replies the old hunter, eyeing the piece of meat being pointed at him.

Arsurni looks around the room, his trained eyes picking up on subtle cues such as a twitch of the eye in one man or a shift in the manner in which another one whispers, looking his way, his friend nodding. They start murmuring to one another in low tones and lower registers of their voices.

This might be a problem.

The hunters begin to infect one another with their paranoia, which quickly becomes contagious. Nobody says anything to his face, but given their looks and glances, he can tell that something has spooked them, like animals. They maintain their distance as though his very existence posed a new danger to them, as if the very air from outside the lodge had somehow tainted him.

“You guys are kidding, right?” asks Arsuni. “This is absurd. I opened the door because you asked me too. There’s no witch outside. What the hell?” he asks, looking at the paranoid men.

Somehow, his trivializing of their nonsensical paranoia doesn’t really help, but he can’t understand what’s gotten into them all of a sudden. These are rational, calm men under most circumstances.

His fingers graze the edge of his knife.

~ [Trall] ~

Orc, Female, Fighter Location: The Wild-Lands, Just South of the Human-Capital Level: 23

The group of adventurers, still desperately fleeing towards the north, are overshadowed by the looming dread of imminent death. They have exhausted all of their reserves, including their spells, weapons, and energy. Equipment has been dropped, potions drank, curses flung, and tears cried — all so they can run faster still.

In fact, they are so desperate that they have begun to shove each other away into the darkness in an effort to distract the monsters long enough for the rest of the group to make their escape.

The first person to fall away from the group is the priest, who had been leading the others with a magical glow in his hands. He puts up a fight, but the thief was determined to get him into the shadows before he himself was taken by them. The next one to go, however, was that very same cloak wearing thief. He tries to fight back, but one quick, strong shove from the orc sends him off balance and flying into the darkness, where he screams in terror.

Surely this must have bought them some more time.

Trall gnashes her teeth, listening to the screams in the darkness as they run. The light on the horizon grows brighter and brighter as they get closer to the city. It’s so close. It’s right there. She doesn’t have to die out here. It’s right there!

“SORRY!” yells Trall, her heart smashing against the inside of her chest as she swings out, hammering the party wizard right in her gut and sending her crumpling down to the ground.

She’s going to make it.

~ [The Demon-King] ~

 

“My lord…” says Cartouche, the dancer. “These are just… people, aren’t they?” she asks, shaking her head. “They’re deranged. Beasts,” she says. “They’re falling into panic and delirium and descending onto one another because of that.”

“Yes, and no,” remarks Swain, looking up towards the ceiling of the cavernous throne-room. “This is what’s happening, you are correct. But look a layer above that,” he instructs. “You are observing what is happening as would any person,” begins the Demon-King. “But as an artist, I want you to tell me what is happening,” he instructs, as the visions continue one last time.

~ [Vava Malti] ~

Elf, Female, Seamstress Location: The Human Capital, A Cozy House Level: 13

Her children are awake.

She is still there, standing unmoving and staring at them. Her eyes are entirely open, yet she has no emotion on her face, and her body is totally still. The youngsters stare up at her with a mixture of confusion and fear on their faces as they lie within reach of her breath.

Her girl, the older one, opens her mouth. “…Vava?” she asks uncertainly. However, Vava Malti doesn’t react to her question. The child’s worry quickly escalates into a deeper panic as she attempts to shake her to rouse a response from her, but she continues to be unresponsive to his efforts. “Vava!” asks the girl, who is already crying as she is too terrified of the wide, hovering eyes pressing down on her, bloodshot and deeply red.

The smaller child begins sobbing and clinging to his older sister, as he is still too young to understand the nature of the situation and comprehend what is taking place. The older child makes an effort to soothe the anxiety of the smaller youngster, holding him as they crawl back over the bed, pressing their backs against the wall to look at her.

She stands there, where she stood, and slowly cranes her head to look at the two children, frozen in fear as they look at her.

Such good children. Look at them breathing. Those are fine, strong breaths.

They start crying in terror, both of them now, and she smiles, looking at how wet their eyes are, not like hers. Hers are so very dry.

Such good children.

~ [Arsurni] ~

Human, Male, Hunter Location: A Hunter’s Lodge, in the Remote South-East Level: 37

Asurni kicks his chair back, knocking it over himself as he sits on it — the crossbow bolt shoots past his face, sticking into the wall as men begin to scream.

It’s devolved.

He rolls, jumping up to his feet and lashing out with the knife, immediately cutting the arm of the man trying to grab him, who stumbles back and snarls in pain. Asurni swipes the blade through the air to keep them away, kicking over an old table to dive behind as crossbow bolts shoot through the room.

An instant later, he’s on the move again. When being hunted, one has to stay on the move. He jumps out. A man tries to tackle him. With a twist, he ducks down half-way, cutting him in the gut, and then making a break for the door.

Their eyes are like those of wolves. They’re not different from the animals they themselves had fled from before.

Asurni realizes that the Demon-King doesn’t just make monsters and animals strange and dire; he does the same to people too. The man grabs hold of the door, yanking it open a second time to flee into the night — even with the wolves, it’s better out there than in here, where he is guaranteed to die.

— The door crashes against him, something barging in from the outside and knocking him down against the wall.

His vision spinning, Asurni watches as snarling beasts storm in through the open door, as if they had been waiting for their chance. It doesn’t make any sense. Wolves are smart bastards for sure, but not like this. They don’t have this kind of planning.

Hunters scream in terror as a full pack of them tears towards them, ripping the armed but unprepared men to the ground with violently gnashing teeth. Panting in terror, pressing his back against the wall in fear, something clicks in his head, and Arsurni jumps to his feet and, ironically enough, runs out of the door, slamming it shut behind him, sealing both of his problems and their screams and howls inside the lodge.

Rain pelts down all around him as he runs into the night, separating himself from whatever the hell that was, only coming to a stop as he sees the other thing out there with him in the night.

The hunter’s senses scream to him that something is off. He reaches for his knife, but he has lost it in the prior fray.

Instead, he stands there, grasping around on his belt and stepping back as a looming, towering shadow turns his way. A strange, twisted husk with a long, lanky frame, its presence mimicking the tall pines, stares at him.

It bends down towards him, wearing the fur of wolves on its skeletal body.

Its face is hollow and empty, like dried skin pulled back over an old skull. It purses its lips as its face hovers before him, his heart freezing him in terror, and it lets out a long, soft howl that carries through the night.

Many dozen howls come in return from behind him.

Terrified, he looks over his shoulder as the wolves violently drag the hunters from inside away, their ankles and tendons having been chewed through so that they can’t run, as they are dragged into the darkness.

“…What…” He looks back at the thing, finally being able to take a step away. “What are you?”

It smiles, the yellow of its teeth matching the faded tone of its dead skin. “A hunter,” says the Demon-General, as the man is pounced on from behind, animals chewing through the back of his knees.

~ [Trall] ~

Orc, Female, Fighter Location: The Wild-Lands, Just South of the Human-Capital Level: 23

Trall is an uncoordinated mess, screaming and flailing as she finally manages to reach the light of the city, falling down to her knees and then crawling as she emerges out of the darkness of the wild for the very first time since the panic began. Snot and tears run down her face, her heart aching so badly from the exertion and her head spinning so wildly that she’s sure she’s about to just die right here and now anyway.

She’s the only one who made it.

She sits on her knees, catching her breath and looking back over her shoulder towards the darkness, in which her party had vanished.

Nothing.

After a few minutes of recuperation, she rises to her trembling legs, moving towards the gates of the city.

— Laughter.

“Huh…?” mutters Trall, looking back behind herself at her party members, all of them. They are very much uneaten, unmangled, and un-killed.

They walk towards the city, talking to one another and making jokes like nothing ever happened, as they reach the light and look towards her. “Guys?” she asks.

“There weren’t any monsters, asshole,” says the wizard, looking at her and holding her gut. “Turns out that some wimp just screamed for no reason,” she explains, rolling her eyes. “We may have gotten caught up in the whole thing a little,” she says, narrowing her eyes. “Fuck you, by the way.”

“…No… monsters…?” mutters the orc, going through her visions of what just happened.

It’s true. She never saw a single monster, did she? Somebody screamed and then somebody else screamed, and the panic after that was just kind of what happened. It took over the group as a whole. In essence, they made themselves afraid of nothing.

She sighs, lowering her head, and then starts laughing, understanding now why they were laughing when they got here after her.

“So, this is going to be awkward now, huh?” she asks.

“I’m quitting the party,” says the priest.

“Me too,” remarks the wizard. “Fuck you guys, seriously. What the hell?” she asks. “Should report this to the adventurers’ guild, actually. Betrayal is grounds for exclusion,” she threatens.

“Woah, woah,” says Trall, lifting her hands and walking back towards them. “Let’s take it easy here. We all got a little over excited,” explains the orc. “There’s no need to make this a big incident.”

“You literally threw me off to die,” hisses the wizard, narrowing her eyes.

Trall points at the thief. “And he gut-punched the good brother priest,” she says. “Look at them now. They seem fine to me.”

The two men look at one another.

The wizard crosses her arms, lifting her nose. “For the next week- No, the next month. I want all of your drops. Every single one. Or I’m out, and I’m reporting this,” she threatens.

“That’s not fair!” argues Trall. “It was life or death!”

“Take it or leave it,” says the wizard, holding out a hand to strike their deal with. Trall grimaces, her face going through a very wide variety of expressions.

Fuck.

“Fine!” she relents, seeing no other way out. If she loses her membership in the adventurers’ guild, she’s going to be screwed, with or without the whole Demon-King thing. It’s her only lifeline. She grabs the wizard’s hand, shaking it. “We have a deal. One month and then this is all going to be forgotten.”

“Give or take a few days,” says the wizard, her voice lowering, sounding like gravel, running down an incline. She turns her head to look at the orc. Now that she’s close, she can see the flesh covered rod breaking in through the back of her skull, hidden by her long hair. “The castle is about three and a half weeks away by foot as of now.”

Trall doesn’t have time to scream, as she is yanked into the darkness by the thing that caught not only all of her ‘friends’, but now has her too, to complete the set.

The demon-general of the north scurries away, having picked off more stragglers from the human capital for the Demon-King’s benefit.

May his darkness cover this realm forever.

~ [The Demon-King] ~

 

“Inevitability,” says Abydos, as the vision ends.

Swain looks toward the painter, pleased. He has found the magic word. “Each story carries a narrative with a sense of hope in some way,” he explains to the others. “However, each is just an attempt to avoid the inevitable.”

“You are correct, Abydos,” says the Demon-King as the others look his way, clearly unsure as to what this all is. “The reason I show you this is to remind you of the inevitability of this existence.” He looks down at his massive hand, clenching it slowly shut as he imagines what it would feel like to have the neck of the person who had once betrayed him within its grasp. “No matter which life you live, human, gallu, or demon, the end comes one way or another.” His many eyes look at his artists. “Will you have finished your masterpiece by then?” asks the Demon-King. “Or will you go screaming into the night, lying to yourself that you didn’t have enough time?”

~ [Vava Malti] ~

Elf, Female, Seamstress Location: The Human Capital, A Cozy House Level: 13

A voice whispers from the right. “You need to kill them.”

“Put them to sleep. Take the pillow,” suggests a helpful man from the left.

“- Press it to their faces,” instructs a woman behind her.

Vava Malti listens to the whispering shadows as she stares at her very good children — very, very good children. She has such good children. They’re breathing. If only they were asleep, like good children should be.

A shadow leans into her ear. “They’ll be bad if you don’t make them sleep.”

“Good children sleep.”

“They’re awake. Make them sleep. Bad children.”

Her hands shake as the only part of her body as she continues to stare at her young, who have howled themselves empty and now sit in distant terror, their backs pressed against the corner of the bed and the wall. She grabs the pillow from her and her husband’s bed, which is right next to theirs, and slowly lifts it, doing as the shadows instruct. They know what they’re doing. She should listen to them.

The woman lifts the pillow, having never blinked once.

— As it passes by her face, the old sheet that she hasn’t changed ever since he left smells like he did. Her husband.

It’s not a good smell, like a perfume. It’s the smell of a body pressed against fabric leaves. It’s a perfectly normal, every day smell of a man who sweats a little now and then, who has regular hygiene habits and nothing more exotic than that. It just smells like him, that’s all.

And that’s all it takes.

Malti collapses, her head falling against her children’s bed as she howls, crying in desperate anguish for the first time in days. Her eyes sting like wildfire from the moisture. She sits there on the floor and screams into the pillow, screaming until the voices and the shadows go away, and then she screams some more, until familiar hands touch her from the bed.

It couldn’t have been put off forever.

She didn’t want them to see this. She didn’t want them to realize how broken their last parent was. But with all of the pressure, with all that’s going on, well…

It was inevitable.

~ [Crusader Valtos] ~

Orc, Male, Crusade Legionnaire Location: The Demon-King’s Castle, Floor 16 Level: 83

Valtos readies himself for whatever is coming next.

This place is a hellhole.

But he came down here to fight, and by the gods, he’s going to put his soul into it, even if he is afraid. If everyone around him can do it, then so can he.

“Pardon me,” says a voice from his side. “Excuse me?”

Valtos looks at a woman who shambles just alongside him, her leg is clearly hurt from some incident. She closes one eye playfully as she tries to keep pace, clasping her hands together in a slight asking gesture. “Sorry. Could you help me, please?” she asks. “Just for a minute!” she quietly promises.

He looks down at her leg, which, given her pacing, must be brutally hurt beneath that armor. Yet here she is, walking on together with the rest of them. Someone with a real fighting spirit and a desire to keep going, someone who hasn’t given up the ghost just yet.

“Of course,” he replies, letting her lean on his shoulder and slowing down just enough so that they can keep walking together.

— Something tickles inside of his ear.