studiobondurri Chapter 21: Crossing Over
Chapter 21: Crossing Over
Chapter 21: Crossing Over
~ [Shaushka] ~
Elf, Female, Classless Location: The Scorched Forest Level: 04
The elf stares with wide eyes at the wreckage.
Broken wood, twisted metal struts, and other destroyed constructions of the like jut out in all directions, as if she were amidst a wasteland.
Screams fill the air; the caravan has come to a sudden stop in the ambush. The crashing of the carriages, tripped up by debris thrown into the way, had flung her out of her seat and straight across a clearing, where she rolled and flopped over a few times before coming to a stop in the grass, covered in scratches and marks.
Ah mumbles Shauhska, her head spinning with dizziness and nausea as she sits upright, holding her forehead, strands of loose, matted hair falling down past her face as she watches in blurred vision as people fight. Humans and monsters of the darkness engage in frenzied combat, which is being won by the latter.
The elf blinks heavily once, tightly pressing her eyes closed for a moment in order to let her vision reorient itself by the time she opens them again a second time.
By then, the fighting has mostly stopped. The animals that pulled the caravan along have been put to silence, and the people aboard it are being dragged off into the dark forest around them, screaming as they claw into the dirt.
Shaushka sits there in the dead grass of the forest, looking at the trail she left behind herself where she rolled over after impact.
Her vision of the spot is blocked as something large and imposing moves. Beads, strung together on chains of bone, click and clack in the night like a babys rattle as the giant moves moving, gliding, more like a ghost than like a person or a beast, which is bound by steps and strides.
The elf tilts her head, staring quietly as she sits there.
Is this the next thing?
Minute by minute, the night loses its voice as the last people are wrenched out of their hiding spots and torn into the darkness by so many monsters, all of which simply ignore her, together with the odd survivor who tries to run away past her and past the giant too.
Then, after a time, it is done, and all that is left is the voice of crackling fire, spreading from broken lanterns and lost torches.
The entity, the giant mockery of the shape of a man, adorned in the regalia of the old kings of the deep forests, turns its head away from the destruction to look over its shoulder and then down towards her.
Shaushka blinks.
Ah? she asks.
The monster silently turns its head away, looking back into the darkness before moving, gliding away towards the north.
She rubs the back of her head and then her sore back and bottom as she gets up, her hand covered in the same ash and mud that paints her body as she rises to her feet, watching the Demon-General vanish into the ashen, scorched woods.
The elf looks around herself, not seeing anything else. She shrugs and then runs after the levitating spirit and the screams, wondering where theyre going to bring her next.
~ [The Demon-King] ~
Level Up! ~ [The Demon-King] ~
You are now level {100}! Level: 100 Experience: - Attribute: DARK Soul-Points: 2000/2000 Presence: 20.0 km Obols: 000 SOULS COLLECTED: 478,001 / 1,000,000
You have {38} free Ability Points to spend!
~ [Achievement Unlocked] ~ 'The Apex of the World' Unlocked By: Reaching level 100! Reward: The rich get richer. Your stats and values have been rounded upward and significantly increased. Updated from
~ [Achievement Unlocked] ~ I am the Master of all Dominion Unlocked By: Becoming the highest leveled living DEMON in the world. Reward: All DEMON entities across the physical and the spirit worlds will now hear your call and will undergo great efforts to reach you, no matter what barrier lies in between.
~ [Dungeon] ~ The Demon-Kings Castle Current number of floors: 30 Section one - Lust (Floors 1-10)
01: {The Gate to the Underworld}
02: {The Precipice of Hope}
03: {The Call of Home}
04: {A Writhing Comfort}
05: {The Mimic Chamber}
06: {The Promise of Power}
07: {The Grasslands with Strange Names}
08: {A Wholesome Promise}
09: {The Lusting Den}
10: {The Pinnacle of Ecstasy}
Section two - Envy (Floors 11-20)
11: {A Memory that Isnt Mine}
11B: {Safe-room}
12: {The Mirroring Pool}
13: {Mystical Mirage}
14: {The Wall of Ink}
15: {A Proof of Heaven}
16: {The Worms Tail}
17: {The Ocean Challenging River}
18: {Inverse Sunlight}
19: {Total Fragmentation}
20: {The Scale of Souls}
Section three - Greed (Floors 21-30)
21: {Crush}
22: {Smother}
23: {Press}
24: {Rage}
25: {Drown}
26: {Kill}
27: {Ruin}
28: {Decimate}
29: {Destroy}
30: {The Graveyard}
30B: {The Demon-Kings Throne-Room} ()(DEMON-CORE)
30C: (Demon Quarters)
30D: (Washroom)
30E: (Kitchen)
Estimated difficulty: EXTREMELY DEADLY Estimated intruder level: 100 Estimated defender level: 100 Monster count: 16876 Bosses: 04 Traps: 50 Chests: 00 Dungeon territory: 20.0 km Rank: SSS
Swain sits, his hand resting on his massive fist as he stares at the windows that have appeared through his great and terrible efforts of sitting quietly on his throne.
The man looks back out over his throne-room, at the Gallu who stand there and clap. The spirits hovering all around them fly, recoiling in their ever-present terror.
Save your praise, says Swain, watching as their bodies grow to match his strength, as they are tied to his level as his loyal servants. This power means little, he says, staring back down at the paper on his lap, the edges of the sheets crumbling and smoldering from the heat of his body, tufts of smoke rising into the air.
The humans are progressing well, my lord, says Cartouche. Theyve reached floor twenty, explains the dancer. Only ten floors separate them from us now, she remarks. Swain looks back up at her. Should we construct more floors? It would be trivial, says the demon, as magic condenses around the tips of her fingers, already starting to sway in a dance that is meant to flow into her body.
He lifts a hand, stopping her. No, says the Demon-King, interrupting her.
My lord? she asks.
The Demon-King looks down at his writing. The greater work is a sum of many parts, Cartouche, explains the horrific monstrosity. Each piece belongs to one of us. It is important that no voice reaches dominance over the others, says the Demon-King, his fingers tapping against the throne as he thinks. Each of you has contributed one section of the whole, explains the beastly king.
I havent! says Kirsch, the ghost.
He looks at her. She is indeed one of his servants, but she is not a gallu. She is something entirely different. Thank you, Kirsch, says the Demon-King. But this is not something you can contribute to, I am afraid, he explains, looking at the ghost.
She lacks an artists soul. She is merely a being that exists, joyous and carefree and capable of escaping the ugliness of humanity, yes, but incapable of producing a piece upon the canvas as she lacks the drive, the passion, and the desire to create at all costs.
She frowns as he looks back down at his poems.
One castle per king. One section per gallu.
These rules are perhaps arbitrary, but they are his. The Demon-King plays fair. To utterly crush humanity, to simply wipe them out as he could very well do isnt something beautiful. Whats beautiful is the story, the attempt, and the act of their climbing and fighting towards the spire of his cruelty with every drop of blood and sweat in their body, only to then be crushed at the precipice or not.
This is what is beautiful about the act in the play that is happening here on the stage he has set.
Its not about the act of winning or losing. As he is going to win anyway, that much is certain.
Its about the act of doing so beautifully.
Swains eyes on his body shift, sensing something in the distance. The Demon-King lifts his head, staring off to the side for a time, looking at and through a wall.
~ [Ruhr the River-Sorceress] ~
Human Half-Elf, Female, Sorceress Rank: SSS Location: The Demon-Kings Castle, Floor Twenty Level: 96
Even if he were able to kill the wizards, it wouldnt have mattered, because the Demon-King is going to pass by here and its all going to fall apart no matter what.
He takes a deep breath, exhaling and then rising to his feet.
Peribsen looks over his shoulder at the casters, who have readied themselves for the demolition and are, by the looks of it, giving him a brief cautionary period to return to the land.
The engineer turns his head back forward, looking at something he had entirely missed before.
Ah! he says excitedly, running forward deeper into the open waters of nothingness. These slats here, he explains to himself, pointing at the downward slanted edges of the boards. This is a really great idea. Its so simple too! he says with enthusiasm, following a small groove in the wood that rainwater streams down. The core concept is that -
He flies forward, flung onto his face from the pressure of the explosion that came from behind him, the ripple that runs through the wood causing him to roll at first from the pressure and then from the gravity of the movements to come.
Engineer Peribsen holds on to one of the ropes, looking back behind himself at the magic-impacted construction that the group of casters had launched a combined strike into.
Its quiet for a time as the smoke clears and the rain hammers down around them.
Then, after a moment more, its interrupted by laughter.
Peribsen slaps his leg, pointing at the burned ropes and damaged wood where the strike hit, having completely failed to make the bridge collapse.
A warm smile comes to his face as a tear runs down his cheek, welling with pride. He turns his head, holding a hand against one of the bridges ropes as he looks at it. You did good, says the engineer, resting his head against it and closing his eyes. Real good.
A second blast comes, this time severing the connection, causing the bridge and himself to hurtle down into the abyss.
They probably think hes crazy.
But they dont get it. They cant ever understand what he feels.
This kind of beauty the alignment of mans will together with the graces of nature rather than establishing his dominion over it was too much for the world to understand. It was too esoteric. For them, he was just a weird guy obsessed with his pet projects. But his vision was that the creations of man need not disrupt nature; they can move with it and grow with it in the same way that a clean seed would, fluidly and organically. They could make things that sway, move, and dance and are filled with sunlight, air, and energy.
They could make beautiful places and creations with the world not on it.
But they never saw that.
He dies.
~ [Ruhr the River-Sorceress] ~
Human Half-Elf, Female, Sorceress Rank: SSS Location: The Demon-Kings Castle, Floor Twenty Level: 96
With each change of the phase, the drop of their scale goes faster and faster, until they are almost in free-fall, losing their footing as they all, heaping and tumbling over one another, try to tear off the masks and throw them into the void, doing so just in time as blackness begins to eek into the bowl theyre in.
The scale stops dropping.
A moment later, it begins rising again, rebalancing itself.
Im getting dizzy, Zac, remarks Ruhr.
He nods, using his tower shield to support himself. This should be the last time, he says, as they come into sight of the snake one more time, its body essentially just a naked worm, covered in eyes.
Porcelain masks rise out from the depths, returning to its exterior, but far fewer than before. Only a handful remain, as most have been destroyed.
Ready! calls a voice from the crusade as they begin to align their spells and arrows.
The river-sorceress rubs her face, getting ready for what should be the last skirmish against the boss of floor twenty. Theyve actually been doing well. They havent lost anyone, as far as she knows, which is very unusual for a fight in the Demon-Kings castle.
Ruhr lifts her hands, water dripping out of her fingers, running down her arms as her magic begins to grow. But something stops her. Shes not sure what it is.
The spell trickles down her arm, running down her sleeve, and dripping onto her leg, which causes Zacarias to snort, holding down a laugh. Whats the matter? he asks. Get scared?
Shut up, Zac, she says, her eyes shifting in suspicion. Im thinking.
Oh boy.
Sssht! she hisses, her eyes glaring at him as she looks around the arena for a while. AH! says the river-sorceress, hitting her fist into her open palm. Zac. Order a retreat.
What? he asks. Were about to -
ZAC! she barks at him.
He groans. FALL BACK! calls the man, receiving a barrage of wary, curious looks as they hear the order. BACK! yells Zacarias, the order propagating around the arena to much confusion.
Ruhr grabs him, pulling him into the crowd as she hurries towards the entrance. FALL BACK! yells the river-sorceress.
Most of the crusade listens, though begrudgingly, as it is commonly known that abandoning a boss fight in a dungeon will cause that boss to reset, requiring the fight to be restarted from the beginning again.
Whats the problem? asks Zacarias, trying to keep up with her as she runs, her hand stuck in the collar of his breastplate and yanking on him as they push through the confused crowd. MOVE! he yells to the side, pulling on another man who is sort of lost in between places.
The fact that were fibble-fabbling dumb-dumb goo-brains is the problem, Zac! she snaps back at him.
Wow, really swearing like a sailor these days, he remarks, raising an eyebrow.
Shut up, Zac. Were on a scale! she snaps, pointing back at the obvious, as they exit the scale, returning to the walkway at the start of the floor.
Yeah, so? he asks, looking back at the emptying arena as people pour out of the fight.
A voice comes from the side. Brother Zacarias, says the chief crusader. What is the meaning of this? he asks, looking back at the boss-monster, which was about to be destroyed.
Well you see starts Zacarias, looking back at Ruhr.
She looks at the crusader. What do you think happens when we kill it? she asks. Ruhr points at the scales. Therell be nothing left to balance the scales out.
Wed plunge down into the abyss, remarks Zacarias, understanding now. If they kill the boss, theres no weight left on the other side of the scales. It was a trap.
The last man leaves the scales. Metal groans, and the balance shifts; the monster, now the only thing of weight left, plummets immediately downward into the darkness below, into the ocean of eternally gnashing teeth.
A minute later, the scales rebalance as they now are empty.
They stare. Now what? asks Zacarias.
Ruhr smiles, lifting her hands. Now, my pious Zacarias, starts the river sorceress. You can fall down and start kissing my feet to worship me, she says, water blasting out of her hands across the arena and into the other bowl on the far side, where the boss had been.
She pours her magic out, filling it for a time, before nodding in satisfaction and then jumping into their bowl, before Zacarias can stop her, yelping and reaching after her.
Ta-da! says Ruhr, holding her hands out at her side. She smiles, flicking a strand of hair out of her face.
Huh says Zacarias, apparently pleasantly surprised, which is actually sort of offensive to her. His expression of surprise signals that he hadnt expected anything from her to start with.
Ruhr lifts her nose in the air, offended by his being impressed by her actions, turning around and walking across the scale, jumping over into the other one by herself, and then wading through the waste deep water until she is the first one to cross over to the other side.
Today, they beat the Demon-King without losing anybody.
You see that? she asks, looking down at the abyss below, narrowing her eyes. Im coming for you, promises the river-sorceress, sure that he can hear her.
~ [Peribsen] ~
Human, Male, Craftsman {Engineer} Location: ??? Level: 29
It could have been so much more.
Imagine, if you will, a world filled to the brim with the implementation of such ideas. A world made up not only of indiscriminate brickwork and gray facades. Imagine a world made up of dynamic, moving, breathing constructions interwoven with the beauty of organic life, a world in which houses served not only as domiciles but as beautiful artworks in and of themselves. A world in which roads served both the functions of mankind and those of nature, by interconnecting them with migratory pathways through reduced use of construction materials and a deeper integration of innate natural sensory memory. A world in which people understand where his thoughts are coming from.
Of course, hes always been a little out there. He knows that. Hes always been called eccentric, strange, or an oddball in polite company. His ideas have been vastly discredited as being uselessly pageantific by his colleagues in his field, which values mathematical pragmatism so highly.
Its so hard for him to get them to understand what he understands. Its not about a building costing a thousand Obols more or less. Its about the long-term, global effects on society that could be had by making such apparently eccentric changes. Change a house, and you change the family living inside of it. Change a road, and you change the nature of those who walk it. By changing the architecture of the world itself
They all fail to realize that the world they are building is a tool. Like a book, like a story, like a song, buildings are tools that can be used to leverage the human soul in a specific direction, and not just one by one, but by the hundreds, by the thousands. Beautiful people dont necessarily make beautiful cities. But beautiful cities make people beautiful. Hes sure of it.
But
Theyll never understand that, says the voice of God, harsh and rough, with the reassuring tone of a world-weathered father.
Peribsen listens to it echo around himself and then sighs, closing his eyes as he accepts its words.
Why did you make me like this, then? he asks. Why did you make me feel these things that nobody else felt?
The water stirs, trembling as if in a quake. I did no such thing, replies the voice. But the answer is because you are cursed.
Peribsen reopens his eyes, lifting his gaze to stare at the source that stems from the void he is adrift in. You are cursed to wander the lands of the dead as the only living being present there, explains the voice. Cursed to be the only one with eyes in the kingdom of the blind, cursed to be the man with a voice in a house of the deaf.
Why? asks Peribsen.
Because the world is an ugly place, replies the voice, scarring his soul with its harrowing presence.
I dont believe that, replies Peribsen, shaking his head in spite of it. I dont believe that, repeats the man, adrift in silence. Its cruel, hard, and sad, he remarks. But I dont think its ugly. He uncurls himself from the ball-like position he was in. It just He looks down. It just needs some work.
How much? asks the voice, lowering itself to a whisper that floats through the crevices in his incorporeal form.
What?
How much work? it asks again, floating in from all directions. Is there enough paint in the world? Is there enough metal, enough wood? it asks. Is there enough drive? He floats, not able to answer that. Even in your perfect vision, if everyone was like you, do you think there is enough of what you need for the world to be what you desire it to be?
I Peribsen looks down, holding his face and then rubbing it in frustration as he thinks. He feels something smear over his skin. Confused, the man lowers his hands and looks between his fingers at the sticky goo there resin. I dont
Or could it be that in this world, imperfect as it is, there is no hope of this true beauty ever existing? asks the voice. Could it be that everything you long for, it speaks into his ear. Everything you hope for and strive for His hand shakes. - That its just a dream?
Dont, says Peribsen, lifting his gaze and clenching his fist, staring into the darkness. He yells, pointing at it and glaring. DONT YOU DARE TAKE THIS FROM ME! screams the ghost of the man, lashing out through the water with his fist, droplets of resin washing away and drifting into the abyss. Dont he repeats, his voice softening as he, as angry as it makes him, knows theres something true about what the entity has said.
I would never, replies the voice. Im here to give, not to take, it assures, the seducer clawing at his soul, pulling him closer and closer towards its source, a great, blinding white light in the distance. Its real. It exists that thing you want, it promises. But its not here.
Then where is it? asks Peribsen, as the glowing, blinding light begins to engulf him.
Just over the bridge, replies the heavy voice, laughing as he is torn from the waters of death.