Trash POV
"Burp!"
Trash's belly felt rounder than a rock, stuffed full with delicious spider legs. Oh, how Trash loved spider feasts! Crunchy, gooey, and oh-so-tasty!
"Burp!"
But now, Trash was too full, wobbling like an overstuffed sack. Master kept yelling, his voice echoing with every spider bite. "Aiee! Curse you, Trash, and Keeper too!" he bellowed, shaking his fists in the air like an angry bird. Trash couldn’t help but grin. Master always yelled, whether spiders were biting him or not.
Trash needed a break. Spiders full, belly fuller, brain empty—time to rest! But wait, what’s this? Trash reached into the pile of broken legs and webs and pulled out a tiny marble. It was smooth, round, and sparkled with a shiny blue glow.
“Ooo, shiny!” Trash's eyes widened, entranced by the little sphere. But then Trash's smile faltered. Master had a rule: No touchy Master’s shiny things. One touch, and Trash’s head would be rolling. Literally. Trash shivered at the thought.
Boom!
Trash jumped, ears twitching like crazy. Keeper was outside doing his 'Boom, Boom, Boom' dance again. Keeper’s explosions were louder than a goblin drum party, and Trash’s beautiful, big ears were not a fan. Covering his ears with grubby fingers, Trash peeked outside. Keeper was whacking, slashing, and sizzling things into crispy bits. Scary? Yes. Funny? Also yes. Keeper always made the angriest faces when fighting, like he just smelled really bad cheese.
Trash’s thoughts wandered. Keeper was strong, very strong, but what if he… wasn't? Trash had saved him before by throwing a perfectly good rock at a big spider. Did Keeper say thank you? Nooo. Instead, Keeper yelled at Trash, “Get out of my sight, you nuisance!” He didn’t mean it, Trash was sure. Keeper just had a way with words. Nasty ones.
Master’s voice rose above the chaos again. “Argh, damn critters! I’ll make every one of you and your entire eight-legged family wish they’d never hatched!” Maleck waved his staff, eyes wild, robes flapping like angry bats.
Trash ignored Master’s yelling—too much drama, not enough shiny. He turned back to the marble, eyes sparkling with pure joy. Why was it so silent now? Was the Boom Dance over? Trash tilted his head, one ear up, one ear flopping.
“Aha! I found it!” Master’s triumphant voice suddenly cut through the silence like a knife.
Trash’s eyes darted to the marble in his palm. Uh-oh. Shiny was about to meet trouble.
Darkness.
An endless, smothering darkness wrapped around me like a suffocating blanket. No whispers of sound, no shivers of touch—only a vast, unyielding void. I floated in this abyss, stripped of sensation, stripped of meaning. Even hunger and thirst had abandoned me, leaving only the gaping maw of emptiness.
Why was I here again? How did I end up in this pitiless, silent prison?
Fragments of memory flickered in my mind like sputtering embers: the suffocating swarm of cave spiders, their hairy legs scrabbling over my armor, eyes glistening with malice. One lunged, fangs wide, poison dripping. And then… nothing.
This void—it felt familiar, like a cruel old friend. The first time I had been here was a blur, an echo of confusion and nothingness. I remembered waking to the rough, croaking voice of my master, Maleck, summoning me to consciousness. Beyond that, my past was a blank slate, carved by frustration.
Trapped under Maleck’s thumb, freedom was a mirage. My life was a series of failures and chains, bound by rules and commands. Attempts at rebellion always fizzled out, like a spark in a storm. I couldn’t even strike that smug mage down, or finish the monstrous One-fang. Sure, I torched a few cave spider hatchlings, but they were mindless, frenzied morsels of bravery, and still, I lost!
‘I am too weak,’ I thought, the admission bitter and jagged.
‘Then get allies,’ a voice rumbled.
The hairs on my neck—or where my neck should be—prickled. That sound was everywhere, deep, rough, like the grinding of ancient stones. Definitely not human.
‘Is this another of my personas?’ I thought, cautious.
‘No, silly, I’m not one of your personas. I’m Lair Otut,’ it replied, voice thick with an odd amusement.
Wait. What? I looked around, as much as I could in a space where there was nothing to see. ‘...eh!? I can’t even see you. How do I know you’re not just a figment of my imagination?’
‘You’re looking the wrong way. Don’t see with your eyes, look with your mind. Just feel it, and you’ll see. It’s easy!’ Lair’s voice rolled through the void like a playful wave.
With nothing to lose, I tried. I squeezed my non-existent eyes shut and focused. The darkness remained stubborn, thick as tar. Feel it, I reminded myself. I stretched my awareness like a net, searching for the intangible.
Then it happened.
Colors.
First, they bloomed like hesitant embers, then exploded outward in a grand, dazzling display. Streams of every color swirled and danced around me, twisting and pooling, painting the void in flaming rainbows. It was a storm of hues: bold reds, fierce blues, greens like fresh forest leaves—all burning bright, creating a kaleidoscopic vortex.
Except for one. A gray flame hovered near me, lifeless as stone, soaking up the vibrant light but giving none back. It reflected the deep crimson glow from my own center, which pulsed like a heartbeat.
‘So, I’m red?’ I wondered, watching the color reflect across the infinite space.
Sight expanded in all directions, a mind-bending, five-dimensional view. I was no longer limited to one perspective. The streams of color glistened, endless and wild.
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‘I see you’ve succeeded. Good job; I wouldn’t have expected less!’ Lair’s voice resonated, rich with approval.
I willed myself to move, feeling a slight shift, though it was more like swimming through thick oil. There was no sensation of contact, just the push and resistance of the colorful streams.
‘Are you done playing, my partner?’ Lair’s voice cut through my awe, sparking focus.
‘Partner?’ The word rolled uncertainly on my tongue.
‘Is that not what you used to call me?’ Lair asked, a hint of nostalgia in the tone.
‘S-Slayer? Is that you?’ I asked, a flicker of hope jolting through my core.
‘In a manner of speaking, yes. Part of me, at least, the part you named Slayer,’ Lair admitted.
‘This is confusing,’ I muttered, watching the gray flame pulse ominously beside me.
‘Time is short, so I should explain from the beginning,’ Lair said, the urgency in his voice wrapping around me like a warning.
Lair continued:
"This place doesn’t have a true name. Some call it ‘the magic rails,’ a realm parallel to the organic world where wise-men and others draw power for their magic. But it’s so much more. What you see here, no mortal has ever glimpsed. This is the source of all supernatural power: Mana, Spirit, Nature, Divinity, and Chaos—all coexisting, all limitless.
Usually, wise-men can only draw small amounts, like a bucket from an endless sea. Even creatures who draw more are still just tapping a fraction. In time, they die, and their energy returns here, recycled to form new power.
But sometimes, under unique conditions, a soul is born—an entity formed from dense, compacted energy. That’s us: two parts of the same soul, pieces of a Dungeon. You are the avatar, or Dungeon Lord, and I am the heart, its core essence."
'Wait, what!?' [Keeper]
'Quiet. Just listen,' Lair urged.
"I was first, maturing over a thousand years, learning. I needed another part to complete the avatar—you. But your development was delayed, and before you were ready, that old mage bound you under his spell."
'I’m... a Dungeon?' Keeper’s red soul wavered.
"No, we are a Dungeon. You, the avatar, command monsters and demons. I am the heart, the Dungeon’s essence, feeding on souls and generating unique energy—Dungeon Mana. This Mana can only be wielded by the avatar and a few chosen. The heart’s parasitic roots extend through the ground, channeling power to the avatar in exchange for protection. Together, we make the Dungeon powerful, though not invincible. If the heart dies, so does the avatar. But if the avatar perishes while the heart remains, it can regenerate—as is happening now."
The red soul shivered, trying to steady itself.
"So you’re my heart? Not Slayer?" [Keeper]
"In my early evolution, you were my vessel. Later, I became part of Slayer—glorious days!" [Lair]
‘And now?’ [Keeper]
"Now, I’m... let’s say ‘sown in the ground.’ Beyond this, even I don’t know."
Lair flickered, his presence weakening.
"My time is nearly up. Without your body as a source, I’m fading. This is only a shadow, left behind to power Slayer."
'What! You’re leaving already?' [Keeper]
'No, silly. We’re one. Always.' [Lair]
The gray flame dimmed.
'Feed me lots of souls, partner...' [Lair]
His voice echoed away into silence.
'Great. I forgot to ask how to get out of here!' [Keeper]
Suddenly, a tiny, glowing sign popped up in the void, flashing the words "Exit This Way" with an arrow pointing in every direction.
Keeper squinted, muttering, 'Oh, real helpful.'
Maleck's POV:
Spoof.
A white, toxic cloud of spider bane hissed out from the glass bottle, spreading through the air. In an instant, every small spider in the study succumbed, their tiny bodies falling limp, littering the floor like dead leaves after a storm.
“Ah, potent enough for the smaller ones,” I said, my voice rich with satisfaction. “The bigger ones, though—perhaps mass dilutes its potency?” I mused, stroking my beard, wincing slightly as I pulled free a few limp spiders tangled in the strands.
Underneath one of my tables, the goblin slave lay sprawled, his round belly grotesquely bloated. He had gorged himself senseless and now lay unconscious, mouth agape, emitting a soft, grotesque snore. He would regret it when he woke, no doubt.
Finally, serenity. The silence was a balm, a reward for my toils. I seized my staff from the corner and brought it down with force. The stone floor responded obediently: a square slab lifted, shaped, and morphed into a chair—a throne carved by magic, crowned with an angled back for comfort. I smirked at the precision of my craftsmanship.
“Perfect,” I declared, easing my old bones onto the seat, a satisfying series of cracks following.
“I’m too old for this,” I muttered, smirking at the irony. Most men couldn’t claim the age I bore; they perished well before reaching their thirties or forties. But I, Maleck the Ever-Knowing, was no mere mortal.
I sent the staff whirling back to its place with a flick of wind magic. Though dual-natured in wind and fire, I required the [Golem’s Stick] to control the earth. It had crafted this very chair and the altar, though the meticulous inscriptions on the altar were my own, traced with the blood of lesser beings and ambition.
“Keeper… that insolent slave,” I spat, my teeth grinding. His defiance was not only improbable; it was insulting. The spell should have kept him loyal, yet he dared to rebel, wielding that sword as if it were forged in the heart of the gods themselves. And that sigil! The echo of recognition haunted me, but from where?
An enigma, maddening and complete. I pushed it from my mind and closed my eyes, savoring the silence—
Wait. Silence? Absolute and suffocating. The spiders outside should still be scuttling, gnashing, dying. Could Keeper have managed them all? Impossible. He had never been competent in anything but standing as an ornament. An elaborate doorstop.
I rose, irritation coiling in my chest. “Keeper!” My call bounced off stone, dead and unanswered. Of course—the silence command.
“Keeper, get in here!” I repeated, louder. Still nothing. A vein throbbed at my temple.
“KEEPER, I SAID COME IN HERE NOW!”
“Uuuuu… Trash not good,” mumbled the goblin, stirring and glancing up with sleepy, bewildered eyes. Useless as always.
“You, goblin slave. Go out and see what’s happening,” I commanded, waving a dismissive hand.
“Uuuu…” He stared blankly, uncomprehending. I let out an exasperated sigh.
“If you want something done right…”
I strode to the door and flung it open—only to face an unexpected barrier. A dirt-brown stalagmite, jagged and towering, blocked the way.
“What is this? This wasn’t here before,” I muttered, eyes narrowing as I examined it. The hallway had been transformed, blackened and reshaped by the battle’s heat.
The stalagmite drew my attention again, glistening strangely under the dim light, hints of yellow light seeping through the brown as it shifted to a reddish hue. I reached out, fingertips brushing its surface, rough but yielding.
A sudden warmth pulsed beneath my fingers. Then, unmistakably, it thumped.
A heartbeat!
BONUS: How slayer worked.
If anyone is interested; What should be Malecks fate?
