Standing outside the palace gates was Tharos, gazing up at the imposing structure. The familiar mix of fear, shame, and regret still lingered within him as he observed the grandeur of the palace. There was a certain majesty to it that persisted over time, whether it was the architectural symmetry or the way the light reflected off its surfaces. Perhaps it was something deeper, a connection to the principles of geomancy that dictated true beauty could only be achieved through alignment with the universe. As he approached the stone steps leading to the palace, his heart raced and his pulse quickened once more, though the source of his unease remained elusive, with too many possibilities to pinpoint. Remembering his friend Vartark’s words, he pondered the myriad interpretations of his current emotions.
I have information but no context. As his friend Vartark once put it, information in itself is not a useful thing unless you have the proper context and all the facts to make it all make sense. There was a lot of truth to that. He didn’t know why or how he was trapped in this city, only that he was stuck there. His best guess was perhaps he was under the effects of some sort of magic spell, but how, why, and who would have been powerful enough to cast such a spell was the question. He might not know how much time has passed or anything about his current state. When he first awoke in this state, it was clear some amount of time had passed, but he truly didn’t know how much time had passed before he awoke, and the best estimate he had afterwards was at least a few hundred to perhaps a thousand years. All he had were half-guesses and wild speculation based on the very little information he had to work with.
As he ascended the stone steps, the palace appeared unchanged from the day before, a dilapidated shell of its former glory. The grandeur it once held had long since vanished in the relentless march of time. Upon entering the throne room to access the archives, Tharos stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the vacant throne. A myriad of emotions flickered across his face, causing him to clench the hilt of his sword tightly. In a voice tinged with unquantifiable regret, he whispered softly, yet his voice carried and echoed throughout the empty halls.
“I’m sorry,” it was an apology as sincere as it was pointless, for there was no one who would hear it, and for those it was intended for, it was far too late.
He then turned away from the throne and exited the throne room, making his way to the archives below. As he ventured deep into the palace’s depths and into the archives, the air was thick with sand and dust, stale and musty. The sunlight that had guided him through the palace was now fading.
I will have to rely on torchlight.
Grabbing a torch from the wall, even though these torches ran on magic fire, they could be used like mundane torches. As he lit his torch and ventured further into the archives, one could marvel at its vastness and complexity. The network of corridors and stairs seemed to go on endlessly, leading to rooms filled with ancient knowledge, magical artifacts, and valuable coins. In one of the rooms, more like a warehouse in size, there were several towering suits of armour, each ranging from eight to twelve meters tall, some more ornate than others, reaching up to twelve to sixteen meters. The plates of the armour were intricately interlaced with a crystalline structure, and a large gem adorned the centre of the chest plate, with all kinds of weapons from blades etched with arcane runes to cannons with massive diamonds at the end and launchers holding projectiles attached to them. Ancient war machines from a war long fought in the distant past were kept in storage for the time when they would be needed and used again.
As he entered the architecture and city planning section of the archives, he noticed a slight movement in the darkness from the corner of his eye. He directed his torch in that direction but found nothing there, just the darkness.
“It’s nothing, probably just some rats,” at least that’s what he hoped. Because being alone in the darkness was nothing to fear; it was not being alone is what he should afraid of. As he kept on searching through the archives, going through scrolls, books, and stone tablets, once again he saw movement at the corner of his eyes at the edge of the light. However, unlike the previous time, he now heard a low clicking noise. This time, the silence was broken by the scraping sound that echoed throughout the room.
That is no rodent. If Tharos didn’t feel unease walking though the shadow of the archives, he sure felt it now as he realised he was not alone.
He quickly reached and grabbed onto his sword and aimed his torch towards the source of the clicking. Suddenly, three blade-like arms lunged at him with incredible speed. Tharos instinctively swung his sword, deflecting the blades. In the light, he saw his attacker – a mummified figure with a skeletal cat head and three arms, each armed with long blades. The creature hissed and attacked again, leaping towards him with its blades ready. he swiftly dodged and rolled beneath the creature, positioning himself behind it. Sizing the opportunity, he swung his sword at the creature, delivering a precise blow that severed one of its arms. The creature let out a hiss of pain as thick black liquid gushed from the wound, causing the floor and his sword to slowly corrode upon contact with what he assumed was the creature’s blood. He watched as his sword started to spark tiny red flashes, and chips started to show up in the blade, accompanied by a faint sizzling noise as the sword began to rust and deteriorate due to the creature’s blood.
Tch, that is going to be annoying to deal with.
The creature turned around and launched its counterattack. Tharos skilfully parried and dodged each blow, using his torch to create distance between himself and the creature. As the fight progressed, the creature’s attacks slowed down. He sized the opportunity when the creature’s defences weakened, delivering a powerful blow that decapitated it in one strike. The battle ended with the creature’s head rolling on the dusty, sand-covered floor, its neck oozing thick black blood. The stone floor started to melt as the blood began to pool. He emerged victorious, his breath quick as the wind, his heart beating like thundering drums, and he felt a rush in his blood as he slew the creature. It was like new life was being poured into him, the same feeling he would get when he killed random treasure hunters. He felt amazing then. However, he wouldn’t allow himself to enjoy this feeling. These were feelings that would lead to dark places.
That’s enough excitement for one day.
As he prepared to take a seat to collect his thoughts and rest for a few moments before proceeding further into the archives, he heard something he wished he hadn’t heard: additional clicking sounds in the distance. Shining his torch in the direction of the noise, he noticed more of these strange, nightmarish creatures approaching him quickly. He let out a quiet sigh, realising that he had his work cut out for him.
The palace archives were now covered in a thick layer of his own dark red blood and the black blood of these strange creatures, with the archives’ many shelves and their contents scattered on the floor. The once stale air filled with dust was now replaced by the smell of iron. Several misshapen bodies lay on the cold stone floor, melting into the floor in a pool of their own blood and severed limbs. Tharos was propped up next to a shelf, covered in a mix of red and black, unable to move. He was in pain, however, it was a level of pain he wasn’t used to. It was excruciating pain, as the creatures had narrowly missed his heart but inflicted enough wounds to cripple or kill a normal man three times over. However, no matter how many wounds he took, they would heal as quickly as they were formed. Most of the time, he wouldn’t feel much of anything; blades would scar his flesh and bludgeons would break his bones, however, these wounds were merely a minor if somewhat slightly painful inconvenience for him, most of the time at least, but this time was different.
His body convulsed and spammed as broken bones healed and torn muscles mended themselves. It was a slow and agonising process, and Tharos focused on counting numbers to distract himself.
“1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10”
This process repeated in his mind as his body started to heal itself. He had learned this technique from a priest during his earlier travels, who was skilled in the chi arts. It was a method and meditation technique designed to numb pain and shield against certain types of magic, especially spells targeting the mind. The efficacy of the technique relied on several factors, such as the victim’s willpower and the mage’s strength, but it had proven to be a valuable skill. Since most chi art users didn’t have a counter against such magic, and it was such a simple technique that even non practitioners could use, and gain the benefits.
“1,2,3,4,5…. Arghhhhhhh”
Tharos screamed in pain
“1,2,3,4,5,6, Arghhhhhhh“
His body began to heat up, and cold sweat trickled down his skin as the convulsions and spasms intensified. It felt as though he was being stabbed by numerous spears, and the room started to blur as he slipped in and out of consciousness. When he regained awareness, his body was fully healed, but his belongings had not fared as well. His sword and armour, what was now left of them, were covered in rust, the Mana that once enhanced them was now gone, and his clothing was torn. He sighed in bitter disappointment. These were not armour and weapons that could easily be replaced any more. Most of the armour and weapons that were still left in the city either rusted into dust or were looted by gods know who.
Those were the last ones i had left; I suppose I will need to start using the armour and weapons that the treasure hunters use. He would rather not use subpar steel, but he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.
As he stood up and brushed off the dust, he persisted in scouring the archives for the information he sought. He had to find something to protect this city. He couldn’t risk the creature being set free. While doing so, Tharos contemplated the identity of those creatures. It is possible that the monster sealed beneath the city is finding a way to spread its influence and corrupt the local wildlife. Another possibility is that these creatures are simply remnants of a bygone age, much like himself. However, he couldn’t recall encountering such creatures during his travels, nor has he encountered anything like this in the countless years he has been stuck in this dead city.
As he pondered, he uncovered the information he was seeking about the city’s defences. It comprised a collection of stone tablets and scrolls that, fortunately, were still in excellent condition. Tharos carefully stowed the stone tablets and scrolls in his remaining bag and left the archives. He climbed the stairs to the throne room and then proceeded to the main hall. The stunning sight of a beautiful sunset greeted him, and as he watched the sunset, a single tear trickled down Tharos’ cheek. It was a view he had almost forgotten, yet it filled him with immense joy. Standing there, the city briefly recaptured its former glory, a testament to human achievements and the grandeur of Civilization. Tharos lingered for a while, taking in every detail as the sun slowly vanished from sight. Eventually, he descended the stone steps and headed home, a faint but content smile gracing his face.
The counting thing reminded me of a certain scene in Tokyo Ghoul though maybe it’s a common thing.
“Tharos awoke sometime later, his body fully healed, however, the items on his person didn’t have such a luxury. His sword & armour were completely rusted”
How long was he out for, just a few hours or more than that? I didn’t know swords corroded that easily. Must have been the blood from those creatures, I guess.