studiobondurri Chapter 16: The door to heaven
Chapter 16: The door to heaven
Chapter 16: The door to heaven
~ [Ruhr the River-Sorceress] ~
Human Half-Elf, Female, Sorceress Rank: SSS Location: The Demon-Kings Castle, Floor Fifteen Level: 96
Just kill yourself, says the woman, looking at her. She blinks, leaning in towards the elf and pressing a finger to her neck. If you make a cut here, itll go fast.
Ruhr looks at the ghost of a woman and then away from it, her eyes rising up to the thing dangling in the center of the room. It is a giant creature of sorts, easily the height of two men. It dangles from the ceiling by chains that bind its wrists together. Its legs are locked to pillars of broken, ebony glass that cut into its body. Its head and face are covered with an iron mask. From its plucked, broken wings dangle no feathers but instead, only old, raw flesh, giving it the appearance of a sickly bat.
In the old depictions of lore, such an entity might have been referred to as an angel.
However, she doubts that such a thing would really be down here inside of the Demon-Kings castle.
If you die on your own, before the Demon-King gets you, your soul can move on to the afterlife in peace, says the ghost, leaning in and whispering into Ruhrs ear. You can be reborn somewhere else, anywhere else, in a time after all of this is over, it says, sounding oddly giddy at the prospect. The ghost shakes its head. But if you dont and you die here because of something else well It shrugs. The Demon-King is very possessive of what is his.
(Montamonari) has used: [Exorcism]
The ghost screams with a shriek as she is blasted away by a priest of the crusade. The soul vanishes, crumbling into an ethereal ash that blows away in currents unfelt by physical senses.
Thanks, says Ruhr, nodding to the man.
Dont listen to ghosts, he says. These here, theyre likely bound to the Demon-King. Everything they say is a lie for his benefit.
She shakes her head and walks on. Wasnt planning on it anyway.
Ruhr looks back behind herself. There are hundreds of ghosts in the chamber, drifting out of the body that hangs suspended from the ceiling, out of the gash that runs through its torso from top to bottom, out of which spirits claw, one after the other, ripping themselves out of its open torso like parasites fleeing a dying host.
See anyone you know? asks Zacarias.
She looks at him and then shakes her head, watching more and more ghosts fly down from the ceiling. I guess I never knew that many people, now that I think about it, she replies. At least ones Id recognize as a ghost. You?
Hey, guys! says an excited voice. The two of them turn their heads, looking at a spirit hovering next to them. It holds out a knife. Did you ever think about dying? it asks, excitedly.
All the time, replies Ruhr, waving it off. Get bent. She sighs and shakes her head as they walk beneath the dripping carcass of the angel. Zac, do you ever think that the Demon-King is a little She thinks for a moment. - I dunno. Childish?
Dont let it fool you, says Zacarias, narrowing his eyes. Its a ploy to get past our defenses. He looks over at her. Think about everything weve seen; everything childish that the Demon-King fields to stop us has been some sort of trap or twisting of our own inner desires and wants. He shakes his head. No. This is a carefully laid out, monstrous den of impossible horrors. If anything, this disgusting childishness of his is a mockery of the good life that all of us strive to hope for. Zacarias looks back ahead. Dont let him fool you.
Ruhr looks at him and nods, looking at the door ahead of them.
Its closed.
An ornate sigil winds around the frame of the thing, marking it with ancient imagery and letters from old languages no longer spoken by the people of the world.
A monster.
A true, old, and ancient monster that knows how to manipulate the inner sensations of the hearts of men and women, playing with them as would a child would with a doll, it intends to break.
A chill runs down her spine as she thinks about what their final confrontation with the horrific entity will be like when they reach him, when they finally arrive to snuff out his terrible flames from this world and return him and his castle to the deep darkness of true sleep in the void between worlds.
~ [The Demon-King] ~
The Demon-King roars, his thousands of eyes opening in rage and devastation, his many contorted maws screaming a horrible roar, thick, mucusy saliva dangling between the gaps of countless jagged teeth. Pillars crumble, stones fall from the ceiling, crushing statues and souls, some of which try to wiggle themselves out from the debris.
The Demon-King is many things, powerful beyond imagination, cunning beyond the scales of both man, fox and god, wicked in measures that demons and ancient monstrosities fail to comprehend; however, he is unfortunately terrible at hide and seek.
Youre it! says the ghost, Kirsch, excitedly as she tags him. She flies off, giggling, as Swain looks around himself now that he has been tagged by her.
Swain looks down at his massive arms, the size of old tree trunks, with fists the size of boulders.
There arent many good hiding spots for someone of his stature. Perhaps he should make some? Its his castle, after all.
But the point of the game is to inspire creativity and get away from work. A person, even the Demon-King, who does nothing but work will never unfold the true creativity that they need in their other fields of life. Experiencing the unusual, putting oneself in odd situations, and not being too prideful to do so, is where one comes to learn of the little quirks that are a part of existence.
Variety is indeed the spice of life, but more than that, it is the core ingredient of its more exotic dishes, as hes learned from Byblos, the cook.
Besides, this game It reminds him of his old life, of old sensations, and, even more thrilling than that, it fills him with the excitement of the hunt.
Stampeding through the darkness, the terrible Demon-King finds those who are weak, those who are not as cunning or intelligent, and those who try to hide in the darkness of the world from the master of all things dark and wretched.
NEW - (DEMON KING) ABILITY
[Spies in the Shadows](Passive)
While one may think that winter nights are often full of wind and crisp air, it might trouble some to know that they are not always actually feeling a gale on their skins during the cool seasonal darkness, but rather that it is the breath of a thousand invisible whisperers who surround them.
Effect: Allows communication with the [Shadow Person]s under your control. They will report to you.
He snaps his fingers.
The throne-room immediately fills with shadows, with hundreds of featureless, vaguely human entities standing before him and lowering themselves in a bow. He looks at one with a wide-brimmed hat that raises its gaze to meet him.
Find my gallu, orders the Demon-King. Report to me where they are.
The man tips his hat.
The shadow people vanish, teleporting around the castle.
He may lack in the defensive, but the offensive is his strength.
~ [Shaushka] ~
Elf, Female, Classless Location: The Edge of the Scorched Forest Level: 04
The bee buzzes up and buzzes down.
Shaushka stands on the side of the road, watching it. It doesnt guide her anymore; rather, theyve just been standing here for a while.
Her eyes rise up. Her eyes lower down.
Her head rises up. Her head falls down.
The bee rises up. The bee sinks down.
And so goes the song and dance as the two of them stand there for a while longer.
It flies towards her, finally changing pace, and then stings her in the hand.
AH! yells Shaushka.
She lifts her arm, looking at the fat, bumbly bee that is attached to the top of her reddening hand.
The ground rumbles.
Shaushka looks at the bee that pulls itself free, leaving its stinger behind, and then bumbles off in a daze through the air before it plummets downward into the middle of the road.
Quietly, with wet eyes, she stares at the bee, her arm still outstretched.
The elf slowly turns her head to the left, looking at the carriages that charge down the main street, dozens of them, with hundreds of soldiers and people.
She slowly blinks.
Before she knows it, they reach her, and her outstretched arm grabs hold of one of the carriages fronts, and she is yanked along after it.
Confused, the elf pulls herself in and then looks at the coachman, who pays her no mind and then looks back ahead.
She looks down at her hand, looking at the throbbing stinger still stuck in it.
Head empty. Eyes full.
The carriages move down the street, but she doesnt really pay that any mind, as her vision is focused on the stinger.
Ah mumbles Shaushka.
~ [Ruhr the River-Sorceress] ~
Human Half-Elf, Female, Sorceress Rank: SSS Location: The Demon-Kings Castle, Floor Fifteen Level: 96
Just jump. Get it over with, says the ghost, floating next to her. Rushing waters fill the world around her. Ruhr leans forward, standing on the head of a great serpent made out of her magic, as she fiddles around with the mask covering the angels head.
Four other serpents rise from the core of the sphere she had created, each of them acting as a platform for one other person each, who are trying to free the limbs of the creature.
The door couldnt be opened, but a scholar of the crusade was able to read and translate the old language, revealing only a simple sentence.
It will lead you to heaven.
One can only assume this means the angel, bound and tied in this room to the ceiling. The entity squirms as they try to free it from its chains.
Dont you want to see your family again? it asks. Theyre waiting for you, you know.
She looks down at the ground, whistling sharply.
The priest down on the floor below lifts his hands, casting another spell. The ghost next to her explodes.
Theyre not harmful; theyre just annoying and kind of mean, honestly.
She shakes her head.
She supposes that it would be more surprising if the Demon-King had nice ghosts. He must really think very little of them, though, if he thinks that some rude ghosts are going to get them to quite literally kill themselves with some mean words after theyve come all this way.
She fiddles with the mechanism, finding a piece to pull loose. A small rod shifts, falling down and clinking to the ground. I think I got something! she calls down and returns to her work, as the others seem to be loosening up the binds around its limbs.
More ghosts crawl out of the hole in its core. Hey, long ears, says a voice next to her. Id just positively die if I had an ugly nose like that.
Ruhr lifts an eyebrow.
How snarky. Its like being a little girl in class all over again. The woman sighs, shaking her head as she unlocks the next mechanism.
Between you and me, says the ghost. You should just go. Just run away and give everyone the thrill of having something to look at before you vanish forever. The ghost flies towards her. The only good way to look at a person as ugly as you is from behind. Ruhr whistles.
The ghost explodes as the priest blasts it away.
Another one crawls out of the angels gaping chest and looks at her. Hey, asshole. Dont fucking do that.
Fudge you, says Ruhr, pulling the rod free from the lock and throwing it at the ghost. It flies through the entity, clattering down on the distant stones below. The mask clicks, the lock having been opened.
Its your funeral, you reject, says the ghost. Between you and me, I dont know why youd fiddle with anything locked up in the Demon-Kings castle. It shrugs. I guess all of your growth went to your ass instead of your brain.
It would be advisable, should we be given cause, replies the scholar, looking at her.
She sighs, closing her tired eyes and squishing her cheek into her elbow. Cant we be friends with him? she asks, looking at the darkness inside her closed eyes.
It would not be advisable, replies the scholar. Even assuming that the Demon-King would show us favor, given our distance from the rest of the common-races, it would be assumed that he, as a mean person, would want you to be mean too in order to be his friend.
Witch Krokant thinks for a time. This makes sense.
She yawns, rubbing her tired face.
Then I guess we cant be friends, she says. Its quiet for a while. The witch opens a single eye, looking at the man. Whats his opinion on horses?
Horses? The man shakes his head, clearly not knowing the word. I am unable to say, puzzles the scholar. However, I would assume the worst.
Good, replies Witch Krokant, closing her eye again.
If one thinks lizards and frogs are real characters, well, horses were a real problem for a while. They were super mean. Its a good thing theyre extinct and that anqas took their place in the world. She doesnt think that the Demon-King has anything to do with that, not this one or the last one, whom she only barely remembers. She didnt really have anything much to do with him. He was mean too, and she doesnt care for mean people.
Witch Krokant falls to sleep atop her toadstool, letting the people down below do whatever it is that they like doing. They always seem to know best. Shell just stay out of the way and sleep in the meantime, hoping that the Demon-King isnt mean, and definitely not some weird animal.
~ [The Demon-King] ~
The Demon-King roars in triumph, hoisting Cartouche into the air, who flails in annoyance at her, objectively, a very good hiding spot having been found out.
The shadow people whisper into his ears before vanishing back out of the castle and spreading out into the world, haunting all of those people who would dare try to close an eye within the realm of the terrible Demon-King.
~ [Zacarias] ~
Human, Male, Guardsman Location: The Demon-Kings Castle, Floor Fifteen Level: 91
Zacarias screams, blood splashing into his face as he slams the bottom of his shield down into the open cage, crushing a dozen eyes with the dull, heavy edge of the metal implement. The angel writhes, trying to lash and flail in vain, as dozens of men hold it down, pinning its legs, arms, and wings with their bodies and equipment after a brutal struggle that killed countless crusaders.
The eyes all look his way, bulging as he slams the metal down again into them, over and over, crushing, breaking, and smashing his way down through its head with a scream that never stops, coming from his core soul. Its wet insides spray out over him, staining his legs and torso, splashing against his face, and soaking him to the bone.
Hes lost in the frenzy, his eyes wide.
Somebody places a hand on his shoulder as the shield lifts up into the air.
Zacarias looks at the man as he gasps and pants. The crusader nods his head to the giant body below. Its over.
He stares at the man for a while, feeling his eyes burn, as he looks back down at the mess that hes standing in. The inside of the helmet is full of viscera. Hes standing in a puzzle of smashed eyes and inner matter, belonging to a corpse that no longer moves.
Its over.
Zacarias holds the shield up in the air, unable to let it down again. His shoulders feel like theyve locked into place.
He screams, forcing his body to move, slamming the metal down one last time.
Its over.
The door off to the side of the room opens, revealing what seems to be the way to the next floor.
With blank eyes, Zacarias sits there, staring at the floor as the crusade collects itself back together, tending to the wounded and immediately burning the dead, before they can be used against them by the Demon-King.
It happened so fast.
She was just
He turns his head, looking at the corpse of the angel, which lays there. The man stares at it, as everyone begins to move again, heading towards the door. He cant stop looking at it.
Brother Zacarias, says a voice. He looks to the side, staring at an officer from the crusade. Its time for us to keep moving, says the man, placing a hand on his shoulder. Im sorry. Well see her again when we get to the heavens ourselves.
Zacarias watches them march, trying to figure out why he should get up again. It sounds dumb. He came here on a mission, after all. He had a goal long before he met her, right? He came here to kill the Demon-King.
He just finds it very hard to get up right now.
Heaven Zacarias shakes his head to himself, not sure if he can believe in something like that right now. His weary gaze moves back to the angel.
Its arms are laid together over its chest, its hands pointed together.
Did somebody move its corpse? When they killed it, its arms were spread wide, given that they were pinned down. Maybe the crusaders did, out of respect for the corrupted entity? Zacarias puzzles for a moment.
It will lead you to heaven.
The sentence that was etched into the door runs through his head. Something about it feels off. Something No. Maybe hes just mixed up.
Zacarias closes his eyes, trying to think about anything at all, but he cant get the picture of Ruhr out of his head.
Hell.
This place is literally hell.
His eyes open wide.
Zacarias jumps to his feet. STOP! screams the man, lifting his hands.
(Zacarias) used: [Noble Barrier]
A shield spans across the open doorway, cutting off the members of the crusade who had already ventured inside from the rest of them.
A glimmer of light makes itself visible from behind the mass of bodies, down at the end of the tunnel. Then, a second later, his barrier shatters as a massive wave of vibrantly blue fire presses its way out of the freshly opened door, incinerating all of those who are inside immediately, while others run away, screaming, as the blue fires cover their bodies, eating away at their fats and skins.
It will lead you to heaven.
Zacarias spins to the side, running.
Why the hell would a door in the Demon-Kings castle lead one to heaven? It doesnt make any sense. Its a threat, a literal promise of death.
He climbs onto the corpse of the angel, tearing into its guts, visible through its eviscerated chest. Ever since its death, the ghosts have stopped pouring out into the world. But where would wicked ghosts come from?
Hell.
Where is the Demon-King going to be?
Zacarias tears out an old organ, looking at the void he sees down inside the angels twitching corpse. The man looks at its hands, which lie on the sides of its chest. Its crooked, taloned fingers point inward towards itself.
Its here! yells Zacarias into the crowd. Its over here! he shouts, before jumping inside the corpse and falling through an impossibly placed hole until he comes to a graceless, unceremonious landing, sliding down an incline, and taking a violent tumble over himself, his heavy armor making him far from graceful.
Desperate, the man looks around himself in the darkness of this new place, his eyes rising up to look at the bored face staring down at him. About flippity-flopping time, Zac, snaps Ruhr the river-sorceress. He grabs hold of her leg. What? What the heck? she asks, as he rests his forehead on her thigh. Get off, Zac! You frog-hopper, youre getting goo all over me! Im fine, sheesh. Its awkwardly quiet for a time, but he just stays like that. Ruhr sighs, and he feels a hand falling down on top of his matted, blood-caked hair. I missed you too, big guy, says Ruhr. For all fifteen minutes.
I thought you were dead, says Zacarias.
Aww Z.z. baby, says Ruhr. Im actually sad now too. Thats so cute. He looks up at her. The elf tilts her head, scratching one of her long ears. But if you cry, it's really going to ruin the clean, stoic image I have of you in my mind, though, she explains. Which is super hot in a way. So dont. She thinks for a while. Actually, it might be pretty attractive if you cry, at least for the first ten minutes, explains Ruhr. But then, after that, its going to really kill the vibe we have going, you know? Ruhr points at herself. Its going to tarnish my brand if I keep a softy around.
Zacarias sighs, closing his eyes and just letting his head rest there for a time, at least until the others start arriving.
~ [The Demon-King] ~
What are your orders? asks Cartouche, looking up at the Demon-King on his throne now that the game has ended. Its time for them to choose a fork in the road ahead. Either they must go west, towards the old order of paladins who reside in the mountains, or east, to the swamplands in which the witches and their ilk hide from humanity.
Swain looks at her, lifting his gaze from his paper and then down at the sheet.
West, he orders.
Are you sure, your majesty? asks Cartouche. The paladins will offer formidable resistance and the terrain is against us. The witches are distant from humanity. We may be able to recruit them for our ambitions.
The Demon-King shakes his head. If they are distant from humanity, then we have no quarrel, explains the beast. I do not care for foxes or birds, and then, just the same, I do not care for them. He leans back against his horrific throne, thousands of souls filling the air around them. His many eyes narrow themselves in disgust, his many mouths curling and biting themselves in agitation from the thoughts of such people, paladins.
To devote oneself to the protection of not only this physical world but also its connections to the spiritual one, to stand guard for the ugliness that plagues the domains of the living, man or beast, fills him with an anger he cant begin to describe.
West, orders the Demon-King.
Cartouche nods and teleports away.
Paladins Hundreds such creatures have already died within his castle, hundreds more outside of it. Perhaps it would be good to rid the world of this vermin nest, once and for all.
His many eyes look down at his poem.
He has already made preparations.
The Habiliment
In the darkness beyond us resides not but the grace,
Of the presence of an entity, which has just one face,
The Habiliment has no smile, no frown nor a grimace,
It merely has proportions, that are stretched without limits,
Its arms are as long as the mountains are high,
Its legs are as wrong as the dead stars in the sky,
With gangly, creeping fingers, it will amble and climb,
Towards the dens of the humans, who it has in eye,
Through their windows it will reach with fingers as thin as weak threads,
With nails as soft and as light, as dead infants beds,
It will peel back their skin, to wrap itself warm,
In its seeking of trappings, to its long fingers adorn,
Yet these fingers are endless, with a span quite untold,
So it must collect a lot of skin to quite messily unfold,
It does this for joy, not for the thrill of the hunt,
As the Habiliment treats as toys,
The men of the mount.