Rolling her eyes, the spotted blonde replied, “Oh... very well!” She stood there, bringing a gloved hand up and stroking her chin in thought. “Let’s see...” she considered her options before her eyes widened; inspiration striking like lightning upon seeing her entourage of male slaves in their nice new outfits. They were going to need more to wear too and it would have been such a pain having to go back and forth between her dungeon and Skid Row with them. So why not make it easier on herself?
A devious grin spread over the lycanthrope beauty’s face as she declared, “I believe I need to claim The Tailor’s for my dungeon!”
If The Mentor had eyes, he would have been blinking them. “Pardon?” No, he must have misheard her. She couldn’t have just decided that she would extend her reach further, going as far as Skid Row before she had her main dungeon finished! “Keeper, I must insist you cease such foolishness. You have neither the resources nor Minions to run a satellite dungeon this far out. It is a fool’s errand to even attempt it at this time!”
Turning towards her ghostly presence of guidance, the smile hadn’t slipped from Britanny’s lips. “Who said anything about making another base of operations all the way out here? When I said I was going to claim this place for my dungeon, I meant it!”
Although he knew deep down that he didn’t want to know where she was going, The Mentor gave into his curiosity. True, curiosity killed but he was already dead! What could it further do to him? “Dare I ask what you mean, Keeper?”
“Just watch, Mentor...” she brought her fist up to her mouth and coughed into it. “A~hem!” Opening her hand, the werecheetah placed it beside her mouth for projection as she called out, “Oh, Mega-I~iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimp!”
The Mentor just stared down at his protégé. “Really?” he queried in a dull tone. “It doesn’t work like that, Keeper. At least last time, you were near a portal. That... thing you created is all the way back in your dungeon. It can’t hear you from the middle of Skid Row.”
Smirking, Britanny merely replied, “Give it a moment.”
As if on cue, it was then that the area began to tremble and quake, many of the Skid Row inhabitants looking about for the source while others wondered if the Keeper was using a Tremor spell. However, the answer became apparent as an oversized imp ran in from down one of the tunnels and into the large commerce antechamber. “IMP!IMP!IMP!IMP!IMP!!” the hulking brute chanted, each step causing very earth beneath its feet to shake, its arms swinging a pick-axe wildly in each hand as it made a bee-line for The Tailor’s business.
Standing in the doorway of his establishment, the sylvan fashion designer’s eyes widened in horror at the massive abomination of an imp–seriously, it was bigger than the Horned Reaper–came storming his way. “No! NO! You can’t! He ran out of his building, waving his arms in a warding gesture as he rushed over to place himself between the oncoming beast and his home and business. “You can’t!!” He wailed.
Only to be sent flying off his feet from a back-hand of the Mega-Imp’s massive fist. The dark elf flew quite a distance before crashing into the crowd of people from various walks of life lined up for the food stall, knocking them over rather violently from the point of contact.
“IMP!” the heavily-muscled grayish-green being snarled at the direction of the downed dark elf before it turned its attention back to the target. The behemoth tunneler then began attacking a section of rock wall that bordered the outline of The Tailor’s business, its pickaxe piercing solid stone like a hot knife through butter.
Reaching into his to-go bag, Horny retrieved a charred skull with one hand as he used his other to grip his weapon; the tip of his scythe’s blade scratching something into the forehead. The green suit-clad wall of muscle then turned the blackened bone about, revealing a score of, [6.1]. It wasn’t that great a landing, but it was a decent take-off and–of course–the crimson demon’s love of suffering raised the points when that small frame somehow managed to push so many people back onto their asses.
Seeing what the demon did with the skull, Ayane shrugged her shoulders with indifference. “I’d give it that landing a, ‘four’... four-point-five, tops.” She considered herself an expert in the art of inflicting pain. While The Tailor definitely hit many people, the actual amount of pain acquired was minimal at best. Still, she had to admit: ‘A’ for effort.
The Mentor would’ve given it a score... but he was more interested in the fact that he had a genuine sensation for the first time in numerous millennia. Granted, it was likely the spiritual equivalent of a migraine headache from all the aggravation his student was giving him, but as a ghost, he’d take what he could get.
“Lady Gia!” Crescens shouted in horror as her man got his waifish ass handed to him, surprised that her friend would go this far. Granted, she understood that the woman would be upset over everything that had happened earlier today, but she was taking this too far. It was one thing to force him to make her clothes, but to steal his very livelihood? “This is going too far!”
Turning to her friend, Britanny asked in an oh-so-innocent, ‘butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth’ tone of voice, “What’s wrong, Crescens? We have more than enough room in my dungeon for his place. Wouldn’t you want him around all the time, in arm’s reach whenever you wanted him?” Granted, the werecheetah was really doing this for herself to expand her wardrobe and deny the other keepers any further business... but just as the gaoblin manipulated her at times, the spotted blonde werecat could as easily coerce her right back.
Needless to say, that gave the ex-high priestess a moment of pause. Crescens considered what her friend had just told her for the moment, taking in the ramifications. “You mean,” she began slowly, making sure she had all her thoughts together. “You intend to take him back with the business? He’d be set-up in your dungeon rather than Skid Row and I wouldn’t have to worry about his safety?” Her eyes widened in realization. “And I could spend as much time with him as I wanted!?” she chirruped, her excitement growing.
Nodding her head, the werecheetah gave her friend a thumbs-up and replied, “You got it!” Ah yes, there were no better lies than the half-truths. Whether such sentiment was her own skill or the influence of the Dungeon Heart, Britanny wasn’t sure. But after the shitty treatment the admittedly skilled dark elf had given her, she really didn’t care anymore either.
“...Ah...” the tall, green-skinned woman nodded her head. “I approve!” She smiled as she turned to the Mega-Imp and shouted, “Carry on but please! Do be careful! We don’t want to break anything important!”
“IMP!” the hulking Minion replied as it continued its digging. Such was a rather impressive sight for the onlookers to behold. Normally, when attacking areas that were technically enemy territory, it would take a group of around four regular imps at least fifteen seconds to claim a section of space, moving in tile by tile. The Mega-Imp? It could claim as much territory with a single swing of a pickaxe!
“No! My business! My foundation!” the dark elf wailed as he rushed over to the werecat keeper, leaving behind the fallen group of Skid Row inhabitants whom were busy up-righting themselves after he’d crashed into them. Dropping to his knees at Cheetah’s side, he tugged on the woman’s dress, staring up at her with a piteous gaze. “Must you take everything I love!?”
Britanny considered The Tailor’s pleas for a second. To be precise, ONLY a second. “He’s right! DIG DEEPER, BIG GUY!” she commanded of her superior imp. “We gotta get his spa too!” No way was she leaving that thing behind!
“IMP!” the larger-than-life Minion called back in affirmation as it began to dig deeper into the bedrock beneath the business establishment, freeing the clothing store from its foundations.
“Don’t do this!” The Tailor begged. “I have a life here! Skid Row will fall apart without me! Think of the fashion! THE FASHION!!” he kept tugging at the werecheetah’s skirt wildly. Fortunately, he had made it of spider silk, so it had the tensile strength needed to stand up to the firm yank of a troll, let alone his waifish elven muscles. “WHY WON’T ANYONE THINK OF THE FASHION!?”
“Actually,” the troll running the food stand spoke up, a tone of annoyance clearly evident in his voice. “It wouldn’t be all that bad if someone took you away. I don’t think anyone besides the keepers have given you any commerce in a decade!” He smirked as the dark elf glared at him. That would teach the bastard for knocking down his loyal customers. It would take time for everyone to get lined up properly again and the lunch rush only lasted for so long before they would have to get back to a dishonest day’s work!
The dark mistress that had been standing at the front of the line turned about so suddenly, her red ponytailed swayed violently. Glaring at the direction of the sylvan clothier, she shouted, “Yeah! Your costs are too blessed rich for our blood! Just where the flying FUCK do you think you are? Gehenna? Tartarus? The Grand Undercity of Dis!?” she snarled. “This is Skid Row, dark gods bless it! We can’t afford those extravagant prices of yours!” Granted, she was mostly venting because he made her dropped her grilled rat and The Vendor–yes, with a capital ‘T’–didn’t give out refunds or replacements if your food got ruined but damn, if it wasn’t so satisfying to screw someone else over.
The effeminate drama queen of a dark elf sputtered. “You... you ingrates! Traitors!” was the shrill cry of the fashion designer as he got up from his knees and started berating the crowd. “And after all the time I spent whipping you all into shape–with actual whips no less–and teaching you how to properly sing and dance so you could have some marketable skills: choreography is in high demand you know! Not to mention all the gold I’ve given to the neighborhood watch committee!!”
“Speaking of those contributions you just mentioned,” The Vendor piped up, the troll grinning wide and showing off one hell of a snaggletooth jutting up from the lower left of his mouth. “You haven’t put in your share to the neighborhood watch for five years now... so...” he shrugged. “We don’t really consider you a part of our neighborhood as it were.” He waved a hand at the dark elf with his left hand. “Enjoy being bonded to and enslaved by a dungeon keeper, Tailor! Can’t say it was nice knowing you. I really wasn’t.”
The sylvan silk-spinner was absolutely fuming. “Why you ungrateful, insufferable—”
Whatever he was going to say was cut off as the sound of stone grinding against stone echoed loudly through the cavern-space and down the connected tunnel-systems. The locals could only stare in awe as this, ‘Mega-Imp’ gripped tightly with both hands, pulling the section of earth and rock free from its surroundings in one huge chunk that took up a third of the cavern. “IMP!!” Was the cry of victory as the greenish-gray tunneling titan then held the massive stone block above its head with only ONE hand!
Clapping her hands together, Britanny couldn’t help but chirrup, “That’s my boy!” She then thumbed over to the dark elf. “And don’t forget this guy either!”
The man’s left eye twitched. “This guy? THIS GUY!?” he shrieked in agitation. “Do I have to remind you, kitty that I am The—”
*Crunch*!
“Turlurph! ...Murple!? MURURRPHLE! MUUUUURRRRPH!!” came the inaudible, muffled cries of the dark elf as the Mega-Imp’s left hand clasped around the clothier’s head. As the arm raised and he was lifted off the ground, The Tailor’s shrill cries sounded from within the Minion’s mammoth fist. His legs kicked out violently as his hands ineffectively clawed at fingers stronger than steel; digits thicker than the sylvan’s forearms grasping tightly.
The blue-haired slave Louie couldn’t help but smile. That asshole had been far too grabby for the apprentice wizard’s liking. It was almost ironic justice that the damned elf found himself being handled just as roughly in return. “That’ll teach the jerk that cupping is bad...” he murmured low enough for only his fellow slaves to hear.
To that, both Prince Endymion and Parn the knight-in-training just nodded their heads in agreement. They too had been on the receiving end of The Tailor’s inquisitive hands and then in the end, they all received the same damn clothing! High quality to be sure with white silks and black leathers, but they were as plain as it could get. Really, there was just something cathartic about watching this. Perhaps working for this dungeon keeper wouldn’t be as bad as they had initially feared.
Cheetah smiled, the sight filling her heart with a warm, fuzzy feeling. “That’s a good, GOOD boy!” she cooed to her Mega-Imp. “Now you head on back to the dungeon and find a good spot to place his shop... preferably somewhere far away from my lair so I don’t have to deal with him unless I specifically go out of my way to see him!” As much as she loved his sense of fashion, she could barely stand being the insufferable prick’s presence.
Wincing at what the being was doing to her possible paramour, the gaoblin was quick to tell it, “Do be careful. I would like to have something living to come back to when Lady Gia and I return to her dungeon.
“One moment, Keeper,” The Mentor spoke up, finally getting out of his mental fugue. “There is a problem with this plan.”
Turning to her advisor, the feline lycanthrope asked, “Oh? What do you mean there’s a problem? I don’t see a problem, do you Crescens?”
Shaking her head, the armless woman shrugged her shoulder–which was a rather interesting display when one didn’t have physical arms–as she replied, “Nope! I don’t see a problem with claiming The Tailor and everything he owns as part of Lady Gia’s dungeon.” Granted, she was rather put off initially by this whole, ‘evil’ thing... but if it got her a lover and nice fashion and foot-rubs, who was she to argue? Heaven knew she did far worse for the Gardeners in the name of her people’s Goddess when she was the acting high priestess.
“Oh for the love of...” The Mentor grumbled. “The tunnels!” he shouted. “The tunnels are too small to fit the dark elf’s business through!”
Her ether vents beginning to glow, Britanny smirked. “Don’t worry, Mentor. I thought about that!” Holding up both her hands, the feline woman took aim towards her Mega-Imp. Channeling both the power of her Dungeon Heart and the ambient mana of her surroundings, the werecat cast, “Culinare!”
The Hold Audience spell was one of the more useful spells for a dungeon keeper to have. It was relatively cost-effective to cast, which was always appreciated, but what made it a staple of the Dungeon Heart spells was that it could transport any or all of a keeper’s Minions, (except imps) straight to their Dungeon Heart; incredibly useful for defending one’s Heart from enemies. Some of the more creative keepers even learned how to use the spell offensively, allowing for an easier way to get their Minions together in order to use the Call to Arms spell to empower a number of their soldiers in one go rather than expand more mana doing one at a time.
Britanny effectively used it in an entirely new one... quick claiming. As her Mega-Imp was of an entirely different breed from the regular imps, she knew on an instinctual level with her Dungeon Heart that the spell could and would effect it... including anything else that it was carrying at the time as the creature still acted as a regular imp would in function! That meant stolen gold, treasures, injured Minions, unconscious captives... as long as Mega-Imp held onto someone or something, she could quickly teleport it back to her lair with whatever it was carrying! And as it stood, such was a lair large enough to hold The Tailor’s shop until the other imps could widen one of the dungeon tunnels enough to situate it further away to where she desired.
Turning to the spirit, the werecheetah was all smiles.
“...Must you continue to spit in the eye of keeper tradition?” the spirit groaned irritably.
Nodding her head, the spotted female werecat replied, “Yes. Yes, I must!”
Still staring at the spot where the Mega-Imp had disappeared with the dark elf, Crescens gently asked, “You’re not going to hurt him... are you, Lady Gia?” As much as she enjoyed the thought that he would be much safer in the long run with them, she couldn’t help but worry that her friend was going to enjoy his suffering all too much.
Britanny waved off her friend’s worries. “Nah!” she chimed. “I don’t plan to do anything...” she smirked. “Unless he doesn’t want to be bonded... so if he refuses,” she turned to Ayane. “How big a Torture Room do you think you’d need to convert his sorry ass to my cause?”
“LADY GIA!” the gaoblin shouted in fear for the fashion designer’s safety.
Smiling wide and showing off her pearly whites, the dark mistress with a facial scar over her left eye most happily replied, “Big one. Definitely a big one with all the bells and whistles! He’s got a lot of ego I’d have to burn through if he doesn’t submit.”
“AYANE!!” Crescens screamed again. Why was it that everyone wanted to break that which she enjoyed? Granted, she realized his personality could be a bit... oh, ‘rough around the edges’ as it were... but he was an absolute doll to her!
Sighing as she could see the irritation rising in her friend, the werecat murmured, “Oh fine, fine... we’ll let you have the first shot. But if he doesn’t want a Bond...” she motioned with her right hand towards the dark mistress. “Ayane gets her shot. Can’t have someone with no guaranteed loyalty working for me. He could become a turncoat at any minute.” Oh, how she hoped that asshole mouthed off to her one more time! Just once more so she was justified!
Gulping nervously in worry for the dark elf, the ex-high priestess nodded her head. “I’ll try, Lady Gia. I’ll try...” and that meant she needed to tell him in no uncertain terms what WOULD happen if he didn’t!
“Anyway,” the spirit of a former keeper butted into the conversation. “Now that you got that out of the way, will you please take things seriously for once!? You need to attain the schematics for dungeon rooms and traps! You need to recruit Minions! You need to buy weapons and armor to build up an armory! You have wasted far too much time! The other keepers may already be back on their feet by now and itching for revenge for the humiliating defeats you handed them!”
Rolling her eyes, the werecheetah pouted. “Oh... fine! If anything, I need to look into these guns.” The feline keeper motioned to the iron pistol on her right hip, opposite to where she had the Maelstrom sheathed.
Although he didn’t have much in the way of facial definition, one could easily make out the arching eyebrow on the spirit’s forehead. “Really, Keeper?” he queried. While not a bad choice, he felt there were more pressing matters. “While you would at least be looking into attaining more weapons, pistols are nothing compared to the might of your magic, not to mention you need someone to wield them in battle for you! I suggest you focus on something a bit more of immediate concern than this, such as Minions. They are an immediate measure of security!”
“Trust me,” Britanny cooed. “The better these things get, the faster the age of knights will fall... painfully so, might I add.”
Huffing, Horny grumbled about how there was no better killing than up-close and personal.
The Mentor considered the woman’s conviction for a moment. While he didn’t think it the wisest use of her time, he had to admit there was a level of merit to the idea that he couldn’t simply ignore. “You seem to have a lot of faith in the flintlock.”
Nodding her head in affirmation, the werecheetah shot back, “Don’t you?”
“I’m sure I could have used them efficiently,” the ghost of guidance replied nonchalantly. “You, on the other hand... not so much.”
Twitching, the feline dungeon keeper grumbled, “Just get me to a goddamn gunsmith already.” Goddamn it, no keeper knew what it was like to deal with the bullshit she had to.
Not too far from Skid Row and hidden deep within the earth was a place of enhanced evil. A raised dais of blackened blue stone rose up from the cavern floor, stairs on all four sides, melded perfectly to one another as it the whole structure had been one solid piece. The only other raised structure from the floor was that of raised altar of pure obsidian that was situated between the dais and the Southern entrance; the intricately carved consecrated table adorned with trenches to allow liquid to flow forth towards the Eastern and Western walls of the open space. But at the top of the dais itself was the most important spot; for surrounded by four thick pillars of pure ebony stone was that of a pool, its water pure and glowing the ethereal energy, the only source of light within the chamber.
It was an Unholy Temple. A structure reserved for the religious activities that pertained to the dark gods of the underworld. Prayer and sacrilegious rites were the norm to be certain but the great, omnipotent beings of darkness preferred sacrifice as their main form of worship. All sacrifices had the boon of generating mana for a keeper’s dungeon heart in return for their devotion , but sacrificing certain combinations of lives and gifts could earn one the favor of their patron Dark God in question as well. The deities of darkness granted boons to their faithful dungeon keepers who bequeathed souls and items of great worth onto them, be they the resurrection of favored minions, the assignment of new dungeon creatures, the gifting of artifacts of legend, or conjuring small but useful trinkets to denote appreciation.
However, it should be known that the Unholy Temples were both an attraction and a deterrent for most underworlders who sought to work for a keeper. For dungeon keepers of experience and power, when they had powerful Minions available, it was the weaker ones who would be put up on the chopping block for sacrifice at the command of the Dark Gods. Most dungeon keepers gladly offered up their weakest links too! That was because even if a keeper didn’t actively sacrifice their dungeon inhabitants, the evil deities could and would take matters into their own hands! Without warning, creatures in the midst of their prayers would suddenly find themselves falling into the prayer pool of the temples against their will by the mystical infernal energies that flowed throughout the unholy area and effectively, ‘self-sacrifice’. Such an act denied their keeper the boon their death would have brought had they been willingly handed over on the sacrificial altar, making it an incentive for dungeon keepers to regularly offer up their weaker minions.
The only beings that could safely transverse an Unholy Temple besides the keeper who consecrated the earth and built it were the dark angels. Known as the ‘fallen angels’ to those of the surface world, these were wicked and rebellious angels that has been cast out from heaven for their sins. Once-divine creatures now fallen from grace, dark angels made for fearsome soldiers and servants to the dark gods who took them in, using them as replacements for the horned reapers that had begun to grow too powerful and uncontrollable.
And kneeling before the prayer pool of the Unholy Temple in Keeper Xin’s dungeon was Zachariah. Known as, ‘God Has Remembered’ in the holy tongue, he’d once been a proud soldier of the gods of light, smiting demons and aiding man in their war against the dark gods’ armies. Why, he’d even been the one to slay Keeper Dis, the first Underlord whom had defeated the gods’ own chosen warrior, The Avatar. It had been both the greatest and worst day of the War for the Overworld and more importantly, the defining moment of his existence. It was that day the angel had learned pride. He had a sense of his personal worth and status thanks to his accomplishment. Where the destined Hero had failed, Zachariah had swooped in and saved the day, destroying the dread Underlord’s Dungeon Heart and effectively ending the war that had threatened humanity, the light gods’ chosen people.
From that victory came his immense pride. The angel became presumptuous of what he was owed by both the gods and more importantly, the humans. While the celestial soldier still respected and served his holy masters, hubris spurred him on to demand worship as well. His arrogance reached its peak when a temple to Zachariah was erected by the humans and it was only then the light gods finally took notice. The angel was punished for his excessive pride, his halo and celestial powers stripped from him. The formerly holy warrior was then cast out from heaven, the pearly gates barred behind him forevermore.
However, one god’s trash was another god’s treasure. Bayn the Black Lord, the dark god of hatred, fear, and tyranny sensed the fall of the former angel and quickly claimed him in his black hand. The evil deity re-forged Zachariah in his image, transforming the former celestial being into an Elite Dark Angel. In doing so, Bayn also restored the warrior’s power. The elemental control over ice from the coldest reaches of hell, exceptional strength brought forth from blood-rage, and the ability to summon the souls of the damned as skeletal hordes at will were gifted upon the former angel, but at a cost: his beauty.
When compared to a common dark angel, Zachariah had several noticeable features that stuck out. First of all, while dark angels still had a mostly human–albeit blue-skinned–visage, his face was adorned with a black beak in place of a his mouth and nose, hands that were like black eagle talons rather than human digits, and even his wings were darker than a regular dark angel’s–a pure jet black instead of smoky ebony. Unlike other dark angels who went around bare-chested, Zachariah also wore an obsidian breastplate and had an ornate belt of gold around his waist, the latter being the lone reminder he had of his previous life before his fall from grace.
It was why he prayed. He was a warped creature now that served only Lord Bayn, as it was the scion of hatred’s rage for the light that filled the dark angel with power. Oh, how he wished he could act upon that rage, but no. The dark angel had been ‘gifted’ to a dungeon keeper. A demeaning fate, even if he had to serve one as devious and vengeful as Keeper Xin. The warrior would rather cause destruction on his own rather than follow the command of a mere human but he was forced to take on the role of, ‘Wrath’ for her adventuring group known as The Seven Deadly Sins. The dungeon keeper had pleased his master and Zachariah could not abandon the woman until his patron dark god gave him leave.
Sadly, the more she succeeded at her Acts of Infamy and she brought pain and suffering to the people of the overworld, the further freedom was pulled from his grasp.
So the dark angel prayed.
However, the infernal warrior’s ritual allegiance of loyalty was interrupted as the metal double-doors opened wide and an older warlock came rushing into his domain. “Lord Zachariah!” the bearded sorcerer dressed in refined robes of red, orange, and gold in reverence of his fire magic shouted as he rushed up the steps of the dais, heading towards the pool the raven-like being was knelt before. “Your presence is required in Keeper Xin’s Lair IMMEDIATELY!”
The fallen warrior of light snorted through the nostrils of his beak; frosty wisps of air trailing out as he did so. “What are you going on about, Almeric?” the winged soldier of darkness snarled as he stood up, the black leather pants and boots he wore creaking from the stress of the taut and powerful muscles beneath them as they tensed up to make the dark angel stand upright. “I don’t appreciate my prayers being interrupted...” his talons began to clench and unclench in a menacing fashion. “So this had better be good!”
The Elite Warlock snorted right back at the contemptuous attitude of his compatriot. “Save your threats for another time, Dark Angel! We’ve got problems here!” he stated firmly, the amber gemstone of his sorcerer’s staff glowing in response to his own rising agitation. “Apparently, our Keeper was killed while in Skid Row.”
It took all of Zachariah’s self-control to keep from smiling. Hearing that the woman was screwing things up was music to his ears. Lord Bayn took failure as a slight to his honor and could respond with dark vengeance that was as swift as it was brutal. This could be the start of the Elite dark angel’s freedom. “So? She can be brought back. Her Dungeon Heart is secure,” he stated, fishing for more information.
And the Elite warlock knew it. Chosen as the representative of ‘Sloth’ for The Seven Deadly Sins, he was someone who preferred to take things easier and loathed confrontation. He really hated these mind games so just got to the heart of the matter–quite literally, considering what he’d witnessed. “Yes, but there’s a problem...”
The corners of the Elite dark angel’s beak pulled back in semblance of a frown. “Problem?” he questioned. “WHAT PROBLEM!?” If something was wrong with the Dungeon Heart, that could be bad news. While it was only a keeper that died if their Heart was destroyed, the backlash was felt by all that were bound to said dungeon keeper. Immense pain at best, but expulsion from this plane of reality at worst! The unholy warrior had no desire to be freed, only to end up being lost in limbo, awaiting to be used as a ‘summoning token’ for those keepers who piously sacrificed to the dark gods.
“I have no idea!” the Elite warlock replied, worry and fear evident in his voice. “But something is wrong! Mistress Xin’s heart is smoking! Like it’s on fire!” At the look the dark angel gave him, the bearded sorcerer proclaimed, “And believe me, I know fire better than anyone!”
The infernal angel was twitching as he considered what he’d been told. “”It’s... on fire?” He started to make his way down the steps of the dais, his form all the more imposing. “That is absurd! A Dungeon Hearts BEAT hellfire! There’s no way for it to be smoldering!”
“I know!” Almeric replied, clearly exasperated by all of this. “But it’s as I said! Her Dungeon Heart smolders as if fire were being burnt!”
Zachariah blinked his crimson eyes once, twice, thrice. “...Now that’s just STUPID!” the dark angel roared. Honestly! Of all the asinine things the fallen warrior had heard in his existence, that was the worst!
“But how else could you explain what’s happening!?” the warlock bellowed. “Sure, if I were to formulate the magical theory behind it, I’d probably be able to say that what we have is a fire that consumes all, but I don’t have the time for semantics!” He motioned with his wand. “We need you to retrieve her from her Dungeon Heart immediately before it’s too late! If it goes bust with her in there...” the magic aficionado left the threat hanging.
“Gods damn it...” the Elite dark angel grumbled, lapsing back into topside cursing. He stepped past the Elite warlock, pushing the human out of his way with his shoulder as he marched out of the Unholy Temple and into the dungeon proper. Of course they would need him to keep things from falling apart. A keeper’s soul was no longer anchored in their body, but rather their Dungeon Heart; their physical presence in actuality a mere self-propelled flesh puppet. If it died, it could be replaced without too much trouble. A keeper had a couple of options, the easiest being hijacking someone else’s body.
However, dungeon keepers couldn’t fully possess a body with a mind and soul of its own. That meant they either needed a fresh corpse that could be repaired and reanimated by dark magic or a mental blank. Either way, a sacrifice was needed. That meant the keepers needed their men to kill someone and then immediately dump the body into the Dungeon Heart. The magic of the Heart would repair, reanimate, and reformate the appearance of the corpse into the form of the deceased dungeon keeper, allowing the keeper’s soul to take control.
The other option was for a keeper’s ethereal presence to spend the cost for the Dungeon Heart to recreate their body: immense amounts of both gold and mana. It would take time and was expensive but eventually, a physical body would emerge from the Heart, the dungeon keeper resurrected. However, even this system could be cheated, if the keeper had a greater Minion, such as a bile demon or a dark angel, whom could commune with the dark gods and enhance the speed of the process.
Coming to the entrance of the chamber that served as his current, earthly master’s domain, the infernal warrior stared up at the two reddish-brown dragons that stood at attention. “Stand aside,” he told the beasts, ancient creatures of power comparable to his own but still of that inferior, terrain origin.
A pair of guard dragons moved aside, allowing the intricate doors of gold open, granting the dark angel entry into the Lair of Keeper Xin. The warrior of Bayn had to stare at the sight he beheld with a mix of awe and confusion. The solid gold demon statues that acted as the pedestal for his Keeper’s Dungeon Heart were melting! Flame was flickering along the surface of the heart which was ‘beating’ erratically, pulses of power lighting up the crystal bright and dim at odd intervals; smoke rising up from the surface.
“Bloody hell, Keeper!” Zachariah growled as he rushed towards the artifact of the dark gods. Being imbued with the icy powers of the frozen hells, the Elite dark angel was able to empower himself with his element, negating the fiery heat that was slowly consuming the Dungeon Heart. His black talon touched the surface before delving in, searching for the essence of the woman whom he’d been pledged to serve.
Stepping into the room, the Elite warlock stomped up towards the fallen angel. “Well!?” he snapped irritably. “Is she in there?”
“Shut up!” the winged warrior snarled. “I’m trying to concentrate!” He grumbled as he felt around inside the ethereal mana cased within the Heart that was channeled back and forth between the physical realm and the dark dimension. Finally, he caught upon the familiar presence and grasped tightly. “Got her!” Zachariah shouted as he began to channel the mana and money necessary for her. The intense pulsing luminescence of the Dungeon Heart began to diminish but at the same time, the beat began to regulate into a far steadier rhythm.
Finally, the Elite dark angel pulled firmly, withdrawing his talon and a lithe feminine hand. Slowly but surely, the body of his mistress was released from the Heart, but in a rather unusual fashion. Usually when a Dungeon Heart recreated a body, it was in prime condition and clothed as the keeper would desire.
Xin was nude, hairless, steaming, and as red as a boiled cave lobster.
“KEEPER!” Almeric yelped as he rushed over to kneel beside the downed body of his employer. “Keeper Xin! Can you hear me?”
Trembling, the form of Xin slowly opened her eyes. Her lips pulled back in a snarl, showing off her white teeth. “She... that...”
“What?” the bearded warlock ask, gently holding her hand as the woman lay back on the carpeted floor of her lair. “What are you trying to tell me?”
Her eyes taking on a red light as anger and the mana of her Dungeon Heart pulsed through her, the Asian woman managed to command, “Kill her! Kill Keeper Cheetah!”
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(Posted Mon, 16 Feb 2015 23:21)
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