Demon Core - Chapter 12: Hide and Seek

Chapter 12: Hide and Seek

~ [Grand Crusader Vilheim] ~

Human, Female, Crusader Location: The Demon-King’s Castle, Floor One Level: 100

To live to see tomorrow is not relevant.

For those who exist in pure, devoted sacrifice to their faith, the concepts that enamor the minds of the others who live in this world — home, family, creature comforts — they are simply not relevant. It is not relevant whether you have one arm or two, ten fingers or none. Nor is it relevant to count the number of steps one takes during their day, as long as these steps are not taken in pursuit of the heavens.

— A sword presses in through the crate that she is inside, piercing her body. But she does not scream and instead continues her prayers.

Pain is not relevant when one lives in the graceful presence of the shadow of the holy world, always present just beyond human perceptions.

Blood leaks out of her body.

Another sword is pressed in through the crate from the outside, cutting through her bicep. Then another, then another; dozens of swords and blades push in through the wood of the crate from all angles and through her body, severing, cutting, and piercing.

Her lips continue to move in prayer.

The pain is not relevant.

All that matters is that her words are heard by her god and that the proof of her faith never stops. For even when she cannot walk, she will still move towards the light of the cherished bounty of divinity.

Anything else is simply not relevant.

— Another sword moves in, cutting into her closed eye.

~ [The Demon-King] ~

Level Up! ~ [The Demon-King] ~

You are now level {83}! Level: 83↗ Experience: 402/657550 Attribute: DARK Soul-Points: 178/178↗ Presence: 16.3 km ↗ Obols: 000 SOULS COLLECTED: 178,150 / 1,000,000

You have {30} free Ability Points to spend!

~ [Dungeon] ~ The Demon-King’s 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 Isn’t Mine}

  11B: {Safe-room}

12: {The Mirroring Pool}

13: {Mystical Mirage}

14: {The Wall of Ink}

15: {A Proof of Heaven}

16: {The Worm’s Tail}

17: {The Ocean Challenging River}

18: {Inverse Sunlight}

19: {Total Fragmentation}

20: {The Scale of Souls}

New Area Section three – Greed (Floors 21-30)

21: {Empty}

22: {Empty}

23: {Empty}

24: {Empty}

25: {Empty}

26: {Empty}

27: {Empty}

28: {Empty}

29: {Empty}

30: {The Graveyard}

  30B: {The Demon-King’s Throne-Room} (💀)(DEMON-CORE)

    30C: (Demon Quarters)

    30D: (Washroom)

    30E: (Kitchen)

Estimated difficulty: EXTREMELY DEADLY Estimated intruder level: 100 Estimated defender level: 83 Monster count: 5898 Bosses: 04 Traps: 27 Chests: 00 Dungeon territory: 16.3 km Rank: SSS

Swain nods, content with the progress being made regarding the fortifications of the castle. “Excellent work, Byblos,” he says, nodding to the spirit-cook, who had just successfully completed her task of making the next ten floors. He’s sure that she would have rather been cooking, but it’s important that everyone lend a hand in this grand project of theirs. After all, they might be artists of a separate nature, but this dungeon, this castle, this is a collaboration between souls of incredible diversity.

The cook bows her head and then vanishes, warping away and returning to her kitchen so that she might continue her own never-ending hunt.

“New intruders have arrived,” says Abydos, the painter. “They appear to be much more organized than the last group.”

The Demon-King turns his head, looking at him. “As expected,” replies Swain, his many eyes focusing their vision on the sight of the new wave of human bodies. “They have been coming our way for days now,” he explains. “The others so far were just an improvised reaction to us,” explains the Demon-King. “These are our first real contenders, Abydos,” he says, leaning his head down on his massive fist. “I am still a little drained from the assault on the human fortress, but they will need some time to move through the floors.”

“My lord,” replies Abydos. “Floors one to eleven have already been cleared by the first group.” The painter looks at him. “The dungeon can’t reset until the first group is fully destroyed. But now it’s too late, because the new intruders are already here.”

“They were,” remarks Swain. He shakes his head. “In normal circumstances, you would be right, Abydos,” explains the Demon-King, looking at his doubtful subject. He turns his head to the side, waiting for a window to appear. “But we find ourselves in anything other than normal circumstances.”

A window appears in mid-air, hovering there on clear display.

~ [Achievement Unlocked] ~ ‘Fistful of Worms {03}’ Unlocked By: Summoning ten-thousand monsters Reward: All monsters within the dungeon will RESPAWN within {24} hours of being killed. (Due to the effects of [The Screaming Harrow], this time further lowered by {75}%)

~ [Ruhr, the River-Sorceress] ~

Human-Half-Elf, Female, Sorceress Rank: SSS Location: The Demon-King’s Castle, Floor 11B Level: 96

“Every second that we wait, hundreds of innocent souls are dying,” says Zacarias.

Ruhr, laying upside down on the bed and twirling her hair, looks at him. “Wow, Z.z. Baby, way to kill the mood. That is so not my problem,” says the river-sorceress, looking at the man across the room. “What do you want me to do about it?” she asks. The woman, upside down, points at him. “We’re stuck in here until, one, help comes, and two, we get your leg sorted out.”

“It’s doing better,” replies Zacarias, lifting it. “Thank you. The holy-water helped a lot.”

Ruhr pulls her hand back to her mouth, blowing him a kiss. “Well, you’re welcome. Your Ruhr knows how to make all of those aches and pains go away,” she says coyly, patting the bed next to her.

Zacarias sighs. “You have no sense of healthy social boundaries, do you?” He shakes his head. “I’ll stay here with the holy-water,” he replies, setting his leg back into the tub. The wound has healed closed. But the area is heavily scarred and bruised, and the bone is still somewhat knicked.

“’Healthy’?” asks Ruhr incredulously. “Zac, I’m flipping bored out of my skull.”

“It’s been a day,” replies Zacarias, looking at her. “Are you telling me that the world renowned Ruhr, the river-sorceress can’t sit still in a room by herself for one day without getting cabin fever?”

Ruhr shakes her head, but smiles, planting a finger on her cheek. “I appreciate that you finally figured out how to properly title me, Zac.” She taps her cheek, lifting a leg to kick it up against the wall that the bed is adjacent to. “But I can’t even count how many times I almost died this week. Besides, what else are we going to do?”

“We’ll sit here quietly, patiently, and wait,” replies Zacarias.

Ruhr sighs. “I’ll get you one day,” she remarks, rolling over and planting her face into the sheets. She does think it’s probably for the best not to tease Zacarias too much, though. She doesn’t know exactly what he lost during the Demon-King’s ascension. What if he had a wife? It’s only been a few days. The man is clearly still in mourning, if he’s even begun to do so at all that is.

“We’re friends,” replies Zacarias. “As odd as it is for me to say. Let’s not ruin that.”

Ruhr lifts her head, shocked. Not so much because he said that they’re friends, but because he had just done the unthinkable. “What a load of fiddle-faddle,” she says, offended. “Did you really just friend-zone me, Zac?” she asks. “I don’t think you understand how our market-values compare to one another. You can’t do that.”

“Our what?” asks Zacarias, lifting an eyebrow. “Look, I don’t understand you half of the time. I get the nature of our complicated human-circumstances here,” he explains, shaking his head. “But I just don’t believe in having physical relations before marriage. Even at traumatic times like this,” says the man.

The two of them stare at one another for a time. It’s quiet.

And, in a rather sudden escalation, Ruhr purses her lips, tilting her head back before violently stuffing it into the bedsheets and abruptly crying. She doesn’t do so because of the rejection, but because she’s never had someone who just wanted to be her friend for the sake of being her friend before. People have always used her one way or another, so this denial is, in a way, something she is very happy about. It proves that Zacarias is just being nice to her because he’s nice and because they’re friends, and not because he wants something.

She’s never had someone like that around her before.

“Ah, hell, really?” asks Zacarias from across the room. “Why do you cry so much? I thought you were supposed to be some tough, gritty adventurer?”

“Shut up, Zac!” yells Ruhr, her face muffled by the blanket. She wants to tell him to go die outside, preferably while continually fucking himself for making her feel bad about feeling good. But as she lifts her head to tell him to do exactly that, only with a few more flavorful words, the words that come out of her mouth are definitely not the ones she wanted to say. “— Then I guess we should just get married then, you frog-hopper!” blasts Ruhr, her fists clenched.

The room is as awkwardly silent as it was before, although perhaps a tick more so now as she hears her own words, realizing that this is definitely not what she was planning on saying. Her eyes go wide in terror for a multitude of reasons.

— The sound of a horn blowing breaks the silence.

Ruhr immediately jumps out of the bed and runs to the opening crevice, sticking her head out to listen and wiping her face dry. She lifts her gaze, looking up towards the top of the dark pit in great relief as she sees the bright, shining glow come from the top, from floor one, as spells bound out — human spells, holy spells. The others are here. They’re saved!

Most importantly, she’s saved from what just happened. Seriously, what the hell was that? She must be wigging out because of the constant, never-ending stress and horror.

“Zac!” says Ruhr. “There’s a new group on floor one! We’re saved! You were right!” she says excitedly, looking behind herself at the man and then back up towards the glowing lights, blasting out in all directions with intensity.

Ruhr narrows her eyes. Something is up.

“Those are combat spells,” remarks Zacarias, looking out behind her at the light from above.

“…Combat…” mutters Ruhr. “Zac, we killed everything up there. We cleared that floor. Floor one had those weird ghosts, remember?” she asks. “The ones that tried to get us to eat that poison fruit? There’s no need for them to be casting combat spells, unless…” Ruhr stops, looking back up at the lights exploding out in a violent cascade, her heart falling into her chest.

Zacarias nods. “- Unless the monsters came back. The floors might have reset too. They’ll have to do them with everything restored. From zero.”

“…They can’t do that…” mutters Ruhr. She spins around, looking at him. “Zac! They can’t do that! Monsters can’t respawn in a dungeon that someone is inside!” she yells. “That’s not how dungeons work!”

Zacarias looks down at her and shakes his head. “Sorry,” he says. “I can only guess that they did,” he says. “Why else would they be fighting up there?”

Her face falls distraught and she stares for a while. “…You mean it was all for nothing?” asks Ruhr, turning to look back up the pit. “All of that stuff we had to go through, and it was just… it didn’t mean anything?” she asks. “We didn’t even… we didn’t even clear the way?”

“We have to go back up,” explains Zacarias, looking up the shaft together with her.

“No,” says Ruhr, shaking her head. “Zac. No. I am not doing that a second time. I can’t.”

“You have to,” he replies. “If we don’t, who knows how many of them will die on their way down? We know floors one to eleven; we can tell them what to look out for.”

Ruhr shakes her head, turns around, and grabs the man’s breastplate so he looks at her while she makes her point. “Zac. I will literally sit in this room by myself while hundreds of them die if it means I don’t have to go through that again.” She looks at him. “I don’t want to. I won’t.”

“Then stay here,” he says, shrugging. “Use your water spells to get me up to them. I’ll guide them down by myself,” he explains. “We’ll meet back up here.” Ruhr stares at him. It’s a very rational plan, actually. There’s nothing reasonable she can say to object to that. If Zacarias goes alone, the new-comers will have a guide who can show them through the first few floors so that they don’t take any losses, and she can get her wish to stay here and not have to redo everything they have suffered so much to go through.

“Zac…” says Ruhr, her lips quivering as she lets her head fall forward, thunking against his armor.

“I know,” he replies, putting an arm around her and rubbing her back.

Ruhr starts to cry again. “I really hate the Demon-King, Zac,” she says, hitting his armor with a fist without moving her head. “I hate him so much.”

“I know,” replies Zacarias, dryly. “I think that’s fair.”

Ruhr has her moment for a while, getting as much out of it as she can while the world above them explodes. Then, after she has time to collect herself, she rubs her face dry and turns around, walking towards the ledge with water channeling around her hands. The river-sorceress purses her lips, looking up to floor one.

It’s not like she’s going to have to do it all from scratch, right? They don’t have to go through all of that stuff again, because she knows what’s coming. They can just power through with no real obstructions. What took them days to do last time will take maybe an afternoon this time around. It won’t be so bad, right?

Zacarias hobbles next to her. “Just get me up there to floor one. I’ll get them down here to you. I promise,” he says.

Ruhr swipes a strand of blue hair out of her face with her shoulder. “Please, Zac,” she says. “As if I trust you alone in a chamber full of succubi,” she explains. “You clearly need a chaperone,” she says.

She lifts her hands, water surging out of her palms to form a great azure dragon, which coils itself around and around at the ledge, with an upwards streaming torrent.

“Listen,” says Zacarias, placing a hand on her shoulder. “About what you said.”

“Huh?” She looks at him in confusion, realizing after a tense second what he means.

Zacarias places a foot on the tidal serpent. “We’ll forget it ever happened. This is all very frightening, I know. You’re just confused. You don’t have a clear head,” he says, nodding to her and then stepping onto the surging riptide in the shape of a dragon. The water carries him off, shooting him up towards the upper floor in an instant.

Ruhr blinks, staring after him as he goes, her mind processing.

“What?! As if I meant it, jerkwad!” she yells after him, jumping into the water and shooting up toward floor one after Zacarias.

~ [The Demon-King] ~

“We’re stuck,” says Cartouche, looking up at him as he sits on his throne. She explains the situation.

The carriage has been constrained and locked in place by the assailants, who have not only killed all of the undead outside but have also physically blocked the carriage from moving any further.

It is a problem.

These new-comers are indeed more resourceful than the first group, perhaps also because their sense of haste has been dampened. After all, it has been a few days now.

Swain sits there, thinking. How annoying.

While he is grateful that they would deliver themselves to him to be consumed, so that their souls might become a drop of ink in the well used to write his great masterpiece, it is quite a burden for them to be hindering the carriage from progressing like this.

Life and art are about progress. To be stuck in one place in either subject is to wither away and die. Life, the short treasure that it is, requires constant motion in order for it to be full of the rich, vibrant experiences that will allow one to create something beautiful to begin with. If one stays in one place for too long, be it a physical or mental place, the refreshing breeze of experience will slowly stop reaching one’s face, starkly limiting the well of ideas.

As such, so too is art capable of being limited, if one exists in a state too dense and too confined to be able to stretch out the feelers of the soul to try and carefully touch the surrounding nourishment. Like a flower, with its roots unable to move because of dirt that is too tightly compacted, it will wither away without the ability to extend itself outward.

Swain sighs, leaning back against his throne, his fist clenching itself shut in annoyance.

Stuck.

He feels like he was stuck for a long time, wasn’t he? Back in his old life. The Demon-King narrows his eyes, thinking. He was stuck in a place he hated, surrounded by people he hated. He was there, in there, in that quagmire for so long… why?

Why did he resign himself to exist in that place if he has such clear memories of hating it?

— The sound of a laughing child disrupts his thoughts, as a very real ghost, a girl with a sheet over her, flies across the ceiling, chasing souls around the air. Swain tilts his head, watching her as she laughs, having the time of her life, a squishy, blood-soaked doll in her hand as her other hand tries to catch the tails of the many wisp-like presences around her.

Ah.

That’s right.

He stayed in that place, in that home he hated because of her… The creature, the woman with no name. She too is like a ghost, dancing forever on the edge of his heart and mind.

There’s no need to be upset.

Sometimes, an unfortunate circumstance or a little pressure from the outside is just what one needs to really unfold, both in one’s life and in art. He doesn’t have enough soul-points left to do anything meaningful after summoning the creature inside the human-fortress, but that doesn’t mean he’s out of the game just yet. He just needs to adapt a little more. He needs to become less rigid if he wants to thrive. So far, he has always been proactive in his efforts.

But maybe he can afford to just wait a little.

Not too long, but a little.

Perhaps with some time, fresh insights will come his way. Muse is a fickle thing, that may often not bestow its favor on one for seemingly no reason at all. The only thing to do is to wait and try again tomorrow with a clear mind.

“Kirsch,” says Swain. The girl, flying in the air, stops and looks his way. “Would you like to play a game?” asks the Demon-King.

“A game?!” asks Kirsch excitedly, flying down and towards him in an instant. The sheet draped over her fluttering, magical blood dripping down to the stones. “Nobody ever wanted to play games with me!”

Swain nods.

A game seems like just what is needed.

He looks down at Cartouche. “Cartouche. Get the other two,” orders Swain, rising from his throne. “We’re going to play hide and seek,” commands the terrible Demon-King.

“Yay!” cheers the ghost, flying around him in a circle as he steps down from his throne.

— Outside, in the graveyard, comes the sound of cracking bones as unfortunate souls fall down the pit to their deaths, having fallen for one of the easier traps in the dungeon.

~ [High King Mercator] ~

Human-Half-elf, Male, King Location: The Capital City, in the Distant North Level: 100

“The grand crusade has arrived, my lord,” says a scryer. “The Demon-King has been locked in place for now.”

High King Mercator sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he looks back at the map with eyes that have yet to find any sleep at all. The small carriage on the map with the ring around it sits just outside of the leading magical research facility, with which they’ve lost contact. His food and drink are brought here to him, but he hardly partakes. “What about the Vildt armada?” he asks, looking at his military adviser.

“Reports indicate success,” says the man. “A large chunk of their ships have sunk.”

“It looked like an accident?” he asks.

The man runs his fingers through his beard, nodding back. “It did.”

“Good,” says King Mercator. “The last thing we need after this is a war. And the Vildt ambassador?”

The adviser shakes his head. “There was an unfortunate accident. He was on his balcony when it gave way because of the storm.”

“Tragic,” says the King, shaking his head. “But this is the world we live in.” He points at the map. “Continue the evacuations; move everyone in every city along the way to the north,” he orders. The king taps the map. “Execute every person who declines, or is too infirm to leave immediately,” he commands. “Better we take their souls than the Demon-King.”

“Yes, my lord,” replies the adviser, nodding to one of his own men, who runs off to pass the orders along the chain of command.

The king stares down at the map, watching the figurine of the carriage.

He knows that it won’t move by itself, as it is always pushed along by the court artist while tracking the Demon-King’s position.

But as he stares at the carnival on the map with tired, weary eyes, he can’t help but feel like it will just… scoot forward by itself any second now.

~ [The Demon-King] ~

Swain stomps around his castle, the horrific Demon-King’s ten-thousand eyes staring in all directions as he takes heavy strides through the darkness, the shadows of total lightlessness receding in his wake as if they themselves were terrified of his presence.

He marches through the demon quarters, a new part of the castle that he himself has never seen before. It is a long corridor next to the throne-room with a series of doors. As per the rules of the game, the private rooms are out of bounds, as are any active floors the enemy is on.

The Demon-King turns his head, looking at the rows and rows of paintings that line the hallway.

Since it was his idea to play this game of theirs, it was his responsibility to be ‘it’. Heavy lies the crown of responsibility upon the king’s head.

This game is familiar.

He used to play it with her. He remembers. When he was a boy and she was a girl, they would chase each other in the park, like a pair of stalkers in a spiral, one always looking for the other.

Swain stops, looking at one of the paintings, inside of which is a familiar person.

He’d think that the man had painted himself, but as he looks at the painting, the man in it turns to look back at him, betraying his liveliness.

Swain lifts a hand, pressing a massive, sharp finger against the canvas.

“Found you,” he says. “Abydos,”

Abydos turns his head. “Maybe it was too obvious,” he remarks, getting up and climbing out of the painting.

~ [Zacarias] ~

Human, Male, Royal Guardsman Location: The Demon-King’s Castle, Floor one Level: 91

“That’s the situation,” finishes Zacarias, having explained the developments so far to the raid-leader.

He turns his head, looking at Ruhr, who, because of her perceived divine-favor and given her rare purity specialization, seems to have fallen into favor with the many faces around them, and she seems to be intent on making full use of that to help her ‘brand’, whatever that means. Everything from before seems to have been completely erased from the world as she returns to being the person she always is.

Or maybe that’s just who she is in public.

Zacarias looks back at the crusader.

“Thank you, brother Zacarias,” replies the crusader. “Your fight was not in vain,” he says, nodding. “We will quench the fires of the Demon-King, drowning him in our faith.”

Zacarias shakes his head. “You don’t understand,” says Zacarias. “This place isn’t some normal dungeon,” he remarks, leaning in towards the man. His harrowed eyes are wide, and clearly filled with honesty about what he has to say. “This place?” he asks, gesturing around them. “- It’s hell.”

~ [The Demon-King] ~

Maybe there really is something to this ‘game’ idea.

The terrible Demon-King stands in his throne-room, looking around the area with his many eyes as he walks past the hundreds of statues, all of them locked once more into place, the last waltz having come to an end.

Hundreds of faces sit all around him, contorted in incredible horror, as the air above him is full of souls that he has yet to consume. He finds that he quite likes the look of them, simply drifting around the throne-room. Like fireflies in a romantic night, they are quaintly inspiring to observe.

He walks on, his footsteps thundering through the chamber as he goes.

The one statue, near the front row, with a living eye that Abydos had once painted, looks across the room.

He turns his head, following its gaze, to look at a statue that has one shadow too many behind it.

The Demon-King turns, striding through the mess of sculptures, looking at the petite woman, who does her best to always hide behind the statue, adjusting her position to match his viewing angle.

“Found you,” says the Demon-King, reaching around to grab her. “Cartouche.”

“Aw, dang,” says Cartouche, leaning out from behind the statue. “I thought this was a good spot,” she says, sighing.

“It was,” replies Swain, patting her on the shoulder as she walks over to the throne, where Abydos already is.

The Demon-King looks around the area, making sure nobody else is here. He can’t let anyone who is still hiding get to them, or they’ll get to go free again.

~ [Zacarias] ~

Human, Male, Royal Guardsman Location: The Demon-King’s Castle, Floor two Level: 91

Men walk in horror amongst the piles of corpses. Dozens of bodies from the first assault lie stacked up on all sides of the structure, having killed each other because of disputes over toys and things of little meaning. Blood still soaks the floor, the wet being stamped into the wood of the ‘house’ that they move through as thousands of boots of the crusade march down the hallway. The odd hand or leg that was in the way is crushed into a paste by the continued stomping of hundreds of feet as they move onward.

Thankfully, there were no monsters on these earlier floors, and it looks like the ‘challenges’ haven’t reset.

A small reward for their efforts.

He nudges Ruhr with his elbow. She looks at him and nods, with a pursed, weak smile.

That’s something, right?

Amongst all of the untold horrors and nightmarish terrors of this world, that at least, is something.

~ [The Demon-King] ~

Two down, two to go.

The Demon-King looks around the graveyard, which is filled to the brim with corpses. New bodies have just fallen from above, wetting the ground as if they were fresh raindrops and the corpse collector, eager in its work, brings more and more by the minute. The number of imps and shadow people is exploding, and he can feel the creatures swarming across the landscape within his territory.

Hundreds of them, roaming in packs, hunt down and mutilate any survivors of the demon-sickness.

He lifts a massive hand, grabbing the top of the labyrinth wall, and then pulls himself up to look around the graveyard. The wall cracks, crumbling in half-way beneath his weight. Within the walls of the labyrinth are thousands and thousands of fresh graves.

The other-worldly Demon-King looks around, intent on finding the last two — or die trying.

~ [Zacarias] ~

Human, Male, Royal Guardsman Location: The Demon-King’s Castle, Floor six Level: 91

“It’s down below the ground,” explains Zacarias, pointing at the floor. “We have to blast our way through with magic.” As soon as he says so, a few casters move to the front of the line and begin blasting away the grass with a barrage of spells, cutting through thousands of squirming bodies beneath the ground. “And don’t give any money to the wishing-well on the next floor,” he explains.

The message is repeated, passed on from crusader to crusader, and makes its way down the line of fighters.

Zacarias looks to the side at the large crate that they’re carrying. Red, thick blood leaks out of the wood, dripping to the ground.

But he decides it’s best not to ask.

~ [The Demon-King] ~

Swain stares down at a freshly dug grave and then looks back up at the gravestone, reading it.

It’s a recipe for what looks like a stew.

The Demon-King reaches down, a hand digging into the soil as he grabs hold of a leg and then tears the creature out of the soil.

“I found you, Byblos,” says the Demon-King, looking at the cook.

“I couldn’t help myself,” she explains, sighing as she hangs upside down in his grasp. Her apron flops down over her face.

~ [Zacarias] ~

Human, Male, Royal Guardsman Location: The Demon-King’s Castle, Floor eight Level: 91

“I’m gonna be strong, Zac,” says Ruhr, reaffirming her statement. “No matter how badly some demon tries to jump my bones, I’m not going to give in.”

He looks at her. “Are you just trying to look cool in front of the crusaders?” he asks. “Because that’s not what I expect to happen in a second,” explains the man, looking at the door to floor nine, the succubus floor. Everyone has been warned about what is to come. Even if the floor challenges haven’t been reset, the few sparse monsters involved in the first ten floors certainly have, and that will include the succubi and incubi too.

She grabs hold of his arm with both arms, wrapping them around him tightly as if she were about to fall off the edge of the world. “Don’t you dare let me look bad in front of this many people, Zac,” she replies.

He nods, stepping forward into the door, the heavy smell of perfume odors and what can only be described as bodily musk filling the air. Zacarias squeezes his arm in a little, trapping her hands against his side. “I wouldn’t.”

~ [Manfred Wurzelstam] ~

Human, Male, Farmer Location: A farm, Some Fifteen Kilometers Away Level: 70

The man howls in incredible, animal terror, blocking the door with his body as he looks around the small farmhouse. Clawed, hungry hands strike against it, trying to break it down so that they can enter the room that smells of cooked meat.

The bodies of his wife and children lie strewn around the small room; their skin is bubbled and blistered, and their eyes are cooked out of their sockets. Steaming blood, fecal matter, and viscera coat the floor, spanning across from the small collection of beds all the way to the only table in the single room household.

The windows next to him break, with dozens of rotting, undead hands pressing through the glass and reaching for him.

His screaming never stops, as he inhales the vapors of his family’s corpses, lying before him.

~ [The Demon-King] ~

Now where could she be?

The monstrous Demon-King looks around the area. He had logically worked his way through the quarters, the throne-room and then the graveyard. He’s found everybody except for Kirsch.

The entity looks behind itself. It’s imperative that she doesn’t slip past him and reach the throne. If she does, the others will be free again, and he’ll have to start all over.

But where is there left to look?

He lifts his gaze up the shaft. The girl can fly, so she could technically be anywhere. However, given her age and the fact that she is very new to his group of interesting souls, he doubts she would stretch her comfort-zone so far. In all likelihood, she is hiding somewhere very close to the throne-room.

The Demon-King climbs back up onto the wall of the labyrinth, scouring the area like a hungry predator, his thousands of eyes darting this way and that way in an effort to find a hint of where she might be.

But Kirsch is nowhere to be seen.

He thinks, lowering his head, as he tries to get into her head.

Where would a young girl hide? Where would a young girl, who was entirely sheltered from the outside world hide? He would guess in her room, under her blanket, but the rooms are off-limits.

Wait…

No…

No.

The Demon-King lifts his head, staring back down the corridor towards the throne-room.

No!

In rage at himself, he jumps off of the wall, the stones beneath his massive presence cracking as he lands, a minor quake spreading through the world.

He’s made a horrific miscalculation, one most unbefitting of his noble title.

The Demon-King runs back towards the throne-room, realizing his mistake.

Where would a girl her age hide?

Why, under her blanket, of course.

— A blanket that can make her invisible.

~ [Zacarias] ~

Human, Male, Royal Guardsman Location: The Demon-King’s Castle, Floor 10 Level: 91

Ruhr ugly-cries, still glued to his arm.

“It’s going to be okay,” says Zacarias, rubbing her back as they walk, being the first to leave floor nine and enter the boss arena on floor ten.

“It’s never going to be okay, Zac!” howls Ruhr.

“We’re out now,” says Zacarias. “The spell is over. Take a second. Breathe,” he instructs, turning to her. “Breathe. The crusaders are going to be here soon. You don’t want them to see you like this, do you?”

“N-no…” relents Ruhr, wiping off her face.

Zacarias nods. He’s not sure if he’s ever seen a more emotionally unstable person in his life, honestly. Ruhr the river-sorceress is entirely deranged when she’s out of the public eye. She clearly has a lot to work through to get to a healthy place. “This will just be another one of our secrets,” he remarks. “Don’t worry,” he says. “Like I said, you’re all mixed up. I get it.” He nods his head upward. “After this is all over and you’ve been back in the sunlight for a week, you won’t think twice about me.”

Ruhr looks at him, letting go of his arm for the first time since they entered floor nine. “Shut up, Zac,” she says, pushing him away and walking on ahead by herself. “I’m forgetting about you as we speak.”

He shrugs, having expected as much. Those are big words for someone who, under the influence of succubi magic, just said she wouldn’t mind if he took what she said before seriously. But she’s the clingiest person he’s ever met. A drop of normal politeness and social affirmation and she’s wrapped around him like a slime around a rabbit.

He shakes his head.

The world can really be cruel to people sometimes, if it makes them like this, can’t it?

~ [The Demon-King] ~

He returns to the throne-room, knowing as he enters that the game is over.

He’s lost.

The Demon-King’s many eyes stare at the throne, on top of which sits a small ghost, kicking her legs.

Kirsch lifts her hand and waves.

He can’t even be mad, honestly. It would seem that Kirsch, using her knack for being unseen while hiding under her blanket, was simply hiding in plain sight all along.

The great and terrible Demon-King has been beaten, and, as odd as it sounds and as out of place as it might be, he can’t help but laugh.

He doesn’t think he’s ever laughed before in this life.

Not only because of the absurdity of the situation but also because of the thing that he notices as he looks at the throne, surrounded by four people. He notices that he’s had some fun.

And this fun, this strange spark of life that should, under normal circumstances, be entirely alien to the concept of the creature that is the Demon-King, sparks an idea in him.

One that is so absurdly and profoundly simple that it is almost anathema to the reputation he has established for himself thus far.

The carriage that contains the Demon-King’s castle is stuck, unable to move forward because of the crusaders stationed on the exterior, keeping it locked in place. He is unable to summon a monster, because of his lack of soul-points and he is unable to teleport to the top of the dungeon to handle it himself because of the intruders blocking the path upward. By all accounts, the Demon-King is locked in place, unable to make a single move.

He claps his massive hands together, striding towards the throne, on which a small ghost sits.

“Well done, Kirsch,” praises the Demon-King. “You’ve won,” he says, and the girl giggles, kicking her legs excitedly. She seems to be having a lot of fun, despite the fact that she was presumably sitting here watching him the entire time.

That sound, that chime of her giggling voice, rings through the throne-room and he finds that none of this was a waste. It is a sound that is full of beauty. It is not the beauty of a created work, piece or experience. Rather, it is the beauty of the voice of a soul, coming to fruition like a flower that has never bloomed in a spring before this one. The girl has likely never had much fun before, and so in the act of her finding this moment of joy now, the Demon-King realizes that this too has been in the pursuit of beauty.

Sometimes, it’s just that abstract, isn’t it?

Just like life is sometimes so simple, if one knows how to rid oneself of the filters applied over one’s own perception, guiding one to complexity and the rigidity of old patterns.

“Kirsch, will you help me?” asks the Demon-King, looking at the little ghost on the throne, who tilts her head. Blood leaks out down from it as he approaches, and she gets up, letting him have his spot back. “- As a friend.”

The girl, having never heard anything like this before, obviously has no choice but to say yes.

~ [Crusader Maladina] ~

Dwarf, Female, Paladin Location: The Demon-Carnival Level: 95

Maladina stands watch, as do several dozen others who have been tasked with guarding the entrance of the Demon-King’s castle and making sure that the carnival doesn’t move from here.

— Something tugs on her leg.

She looks down, staring at the little doll that looks back up her way.

The woman’s screams are muffled by a blanket before she hits the ground.

~ [The Demon-King] ~

Swain sits back down on his throne, covered in magical blood, as he leans back and observes the happenings of the world above the castle through his many eyes. Kirsch is doing a great job, playing the same ‘game’ that she played back in the human-fortress, where he found her.

The Demon-King leans his head down onto his massive fist.

It doesn’t matter if he can’t get past the many intruders or if he’s out of soul-points.

After all, he has a friend who can fly straight up the shaft and out the entrance.

He scoffs at himself, watching as the last guardsman falls down, covered in a fabric cocoon from head to toe, and then begins melting inside of its confines, and Kirsch, doing exactly as she had been asked, flies to the front of the carriage and whips the reins.

— The dead undead anqa, its bones crushed and pulverized, its body broken and laying in a heap down on the road, rattles and shakes as it pulls itself together. Piece by piece, the bird rises back up to its feet as shards of bone and old, dry feathers come back together to form a whole entity.

Kirsch whips the reins, and the Demon-King’s carriage begins to move again as the anqas rear up, screeching, before running on forward down the road. Several bags, filled with bodies are tied to the back of the cart.

It’s good to have friends.

The Demon-King’s many maws smile.

It’s beautiful, even.

~ [High King Mercator] ~

Human-Half-elf, Male, King Location: The Capital City, in the Distant North Level: 100

“My lord, the carriage is on the move again,” says the scryer.

Mercator watches as the artist adjusts the little piece, which had been sitting peacefully still for a time now, dashing his faint hopes of maybe actually finding some sleep tonight after all.

The exhausted king lifts his head, looking around the room.

For a moment, he’s sure he sees some shadowy figure standing in the back corner of the chamber.

But after he blinks and rubs his eyes, the apparition is gone, and he simply attributes it to sheer exhaustion.

~ [Zacarias] ~

Human, Male, Royal Guardsman Location: The Demon-King’s Castle, Floor 11B Level: 91

“Home, sweet home,” says Zacarias, looking back at the safe-room that the two of them had been holed up in before.

Ruhr looks at him and then at the hole in the wall. “See?” she asks. “I told you we’d make it back just fine.”

Zacarias blinks, looking at her. “Excuse me?” he asks. “The way I remember, it was different.”

Ruhr waves him off, shaking her head and making a sad face. She turns to look at one of the crusaders. “He’s traumatized, you know?” she asks. “It was a rough way down for him. Going twice almost broke him.”

The crusader nods.

“…Really?” asks Zacarias.

Ruhr nudges him, winking. “Come on, Z-bee boy,” says Ruhr, smiling at him. “Floor twelve and the Demon-King are waiting for us.” She looks at the safe-room. “Unless you want to stay here?”

Zacarias rolls his eyes and marches onward as the assault on the Demon-King’s castle continues, now deeper than ever before with fresh bodies and spirits.