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 Tharos 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 emotions.
“I have information. But no context.”
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.
“I’m sorry.“
Tharos would then turn away from the throne and exit the throne room, making his way to the archives below. As he ventured deep into the palace’s bowels and into the archives, the air was thick with sand and dust, and it was stale. The sunlight that had guided him through the palace was now fading.
“I will have to rely on torchlight.“
As he lit his torch and ventured further into the archives, he marveled 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 room, he noticed several towering suits of Armor, each about 8-10 meters tall. The plates of the Armor were intricately interlaced with a crystalline structure, and a large gem adorned the center of the chest plate.
As he entered the architecture section of the archives, he noticed a slight movement in the darkness. He shone his torchlight in that direction but found nothing. While searching through the archives, he saw movement again and heard a low clicking noise. This time, the silence was broken by the sound. Tharos felt a sense of unease as he realized he was not alone. He quickly grabbed his sword and aimed his torchlight 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 Tharos with its blades ready.
Tharos swiftly dodged and rolled beneath the creature, positioning himself behind it. Seizing 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 Tharos’s sword to slowly corrode upon contact. A faint sizzling noise accompanied the deteriorating effects of the creature’s blood.
“Tch, that is going to annoying to deal with.“
The creature turned around and launched its counterattack. Tharos skillfully 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. Tharos seized the opportunity when the creature’s defenses 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. Tharos emerged victorious, his breath quick and heart racing.
“that’s enough excitement for one day.”
As he prepared to take a seat and rest, he heard additional clicking sounds in the distance. Shining his torch in the direction of the noise, he noticed more creatures approaching. Tharos let out a quiet sigh, realizing that he had another challenge ahead of him.
The palace archives were now covered in a layer of red and black blood, with many shelves and their contents scattered on the floor. The once stale air was now replaced by the smell of iron. Several misshapen bodies lay on the cold stone floor. Tharos was propped up next to a shelf, covered in a mix of red and black blood, unable to move. He was in 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, being immortal, these wounds were merely a painful inconvenience for Tharos. His body convulsed and spasmed as broken bones healed and torn muscles mended themselves. It was a slow and agonizing 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 repeatedly as his body started to heal itself. He had picked up this technique from a priest during his earlier travels, a method meant to numb pain and protect against certain types of magic, particularly spells aimed at the mind. The effectiveness of the technique depended on various factors, including the victim’s willpower and the mage’s strength, but it proved to be a valuable skill.
“1,2,3,4,5…. Arghhhhhhh”
Tharos screamed in pain
“1,2,3,4,5,6,Arghhhhhhh“
Tharos’s 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 Tharos slipped into unconsciousness. When he regained awareness, his body was fully healed, but his belongings had not fared as well. His sword and Armor were now covered in rust, and his clothing was torn. Tharos sighed in disappointment.
“Those were the last ones; I suppose I will need to begin using the Armor and weapons that the treasure hunters use.”
As he stood up and brushed off the dust, he persisted in scouring the archives for the information he sought. 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.”
As he contemplated, he discovered the information he sought about the city’s defenses. It consisted of a collection of stone tablets and scrolls that, fortunately, were still in excellent condition. Tharos carefully placed the stone tablets and scrolls in his remaining bag and exited the archives. He ascended the stairs to the throne room and then proceeded to the main hall. The breathtaking sight of a beautiful sunset welcomed him, and as he gazed at the sunset, a single tear rolled down Tharos’ cheek. It was a sight he had nearly forgotten, yet it filled him with immense joy. Standing there, the city briefly regained its former glory, a testament to human achievements and civilization’s grandeur. Tharos lingered for a while, absorbing every detail as the sun gradually disappeared from view. Eventually, he descended the stone steps and made his way home, a faint but content smile adorning 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.