Chapter Seven / After the Gate

Flesh and bone were once a resource Arn severely lacked, yet his enemy had blindly provided them to him. By opening the gateway to the next level, Arn had received answers, but also with them more questions. Above all questions now, and something Arn had wanted to answer, was how much time he had.

Arn gazed at the blue map in front of him, his hands resting upon the stone surface. Looking up from the map the gateway to the next floor stared back. Having moved the materials from the threshold between floors, Arn established a Guard Room within. A versatile room capable of storing weapons, materials, beds for on duty guards, anything Arn wished – perfect for an outpost. The map from the throne room was duplicated into the center of room so that Arn could continue to monitor the Dungeon.

Monitoring the resources now at his fingertips, Arn scrolled the list on the map. With Gelicarus constantly recording and categorizing, Arn was able to see the resource count without a physical one in front of him. He had no idea the numbers his enemy would send forth, but with the reckless amount Arn had witnessed – perhaps they had tens of thousands, or even millions at their disposal.

Looking away from the map, Arn faced what once was a rubble opening and now a proper gateway of wood and iron – the archway of a dark cobble stone that lingered above. Its presence brought some semblance of security to the Dungeon, but Arn didn’t wish to barricade inside. Striking forth as soon as possible was the best course of action, he couldn’t allow his enemy to regroup.

To Arn’s left is a simple bedroom, segregated from the rest of the room with wood barriers, and containing only a bed. Arn had constructed it to allow him to sleep in the Guard Room, but he hadn’t used it for more than a few hours these few days. He didn’t wish to leave the gateway unguarded. The chattering bones of the Skeletons in the Guard Room would feel demoralized by the thought if they could feel at all – that their Lord had little confidence in their ability to defend the Dungeon. He is there, however, for a few reasons and another selfish one.

The Dark Skeletons had positioned themselves around the Map, but more appropriately – around Arn.

“Guard the Dunegon.” Was all Arn had said to the Dark Skeletons, and without a word performed to Arn’s surprise.

The Dark Skeletons assigned three units of Skeletons to guard the gateway leading to the next floor within the Guard Room and assigned the remaining two to patrol the rest of the dungeon. Then took up guarding their Lord personally. It made Arn proud to see his work paying off, and to see his cohorts perform accordingly. Arn decided then that he would make the Dark Skeletons more than what they were as a reward. With all due time, however, more pressing concerns came to mind.

Arn needed a legion to match his enemy. He only needed a fraction of what his enemy could send forth, the Skeletons were more than capable as he had seen in their first battle. Yet, Arn knew he couldn’t grow overconfident. They had only just met the enemy, a skirmish to what could become a war. Arn knew little still about the enemy’s capability.

Steps were, however, steps. Arn was about to take a leap. To prepare for the oncoming storm and perhaps prevent future threats – Arn needed armor and weapons. Real armor and weapons. Gelicarus could not do this. Before Arn could summon his legion, he first needed to rend into reality his smith.

Arn turned to the map once more and tapped on the screen. He was able to zoom in on the Soul Forge, and inside the capsule shined a bright white. He had placed the soul that was in his possession, the one containing the Sigil Blacksmith, into the capsule and prepared the materials for a human body days ago. To his surprise, and relief, it would only take a few days to forge a body. That time was now only hours away – the amount of time it would take for Arn to return.

Turning, Arn approached the Dungeon’s gate and the doors opened, the wood hovering just above cobble floor. A wagon waited beyond. As if knowing what their Lord intended, two Dark Skeletons followed Arn, and the rest remained to coordinate the defense. Arn seated himself on the back of the wagon, and the Dark Skeletons began the journey back.

The Enemy is an enigma. Arn thought. The Enemy had not sent any intentions, nor named itself. Should he name the Enemy? Are they even his enemy? Did the Enemy even know what an enemy was? They had attacked Arn, but was it with intent? Was the intent to attack? The Enemy could just be flesh starved beasts waiting for a meal. Then was this a war? Arn moved slightly as the wagon shook over the cobble floor.

There was that creature that emerged from the black orb. Arn thought. There may be an intelligence.

If the Enemy really is just flesh starved beasts, why are they starved to begin with? Arn wondered, his thoughts trailing. Are we alone?

The sound of the wheels of the wagon turning over the cobble floor became loud. The question Are we alone? bounced down a corridor of flesh and blood draped in the blackest shadows of the darkest corners of Arn’s thoughts. A barrage of questions numbering into isolation became soundless and empty in his mind.

At the end of the corridor of Arn’s mind, only one thought remained: Even if it is a beast or an intelligence, the Enemy dies.

Arn’s thoughts were quiet for the remainder of the trip back. The wagon halted in front of the Soul Forge; a blistering white glow illuminated the doorway. Arn stepped down, and into the white; his form casting a long shadow upon the floor. Arn heard footsteps behind him, and Gelicarus bowed upon being noticed. Arn nodded and the two approached the glowing capsule. Just as they neared the capsule, the white began to dim until eventually a haze of evaporating liquid shrouded the area around it.

The capsule slid downwards, the remaining liquid becoming steam that billowed out and up towards the ceiling. The sound of water slapping against the floor filled the room. Arn heard a gasp, and then a thud. The shroud of evaporating liquids dissipated, and only a soaking body remained on the floor. The body lifted its head, and a man opened their eyes and squinted towards Arn.

Arn approached and knelt to one knee, then extended a hand to the man on the floor.

“I-Where…?” The man meekly began asking, then hesitantly took Arn’s gloved hand.

“Gel, do you have something for him? He’s cold.” Arn asked.

“Of course, my Lord.” Gelicarus said approaching. Gelicarus withdrew a folded white blanket from one of the beds in the Staff Quarters and draped it over the man’s shoulders.

The man clutched the blanket, shivering the cold out of his body with water droplets still plopping upon the floor. Arn helped the man to his knees, releasing his grip and backing away, and the man wrapped the blanket tightly around himself. The man was of a toned but slender build, his bronze skin coddled by the white of the blanket, and his brown hair still dripping.

The man looked upon Arn, his eyes tinged with a golden hue and clearer than before.

“I feel as though I have been walking for a long time.” The man said, his voice becoming clearer. “Where am I?”

A moment of fright etched itself upon the man’s face as he looked upon Arn’s masked visage.

“Who are you?” The man asked.

Gelicarus stepped forward: “You are in the presence of his great dark eminence, The Dark Lord. Ruler of this Dungeon. Prostrate yourself accordingly.”

Shock crossed over fright and then a smile as the man addressed Gelicarus: “You must be jesting, ser.”

A snarl contained itself in Gelicarus’s words: “You would not be here if I was.”

The smile faded upon the man’s lips, and the man looked upon Arn, then his head lowered towards the floor. He looked at his hands, and then briefly around the room. The man looked up at Arn, but his golden visage avoided looking Arn in the eye.

“Forgive me, my Lord. If I may address you as such.” The man said, looking briefly at Gelicarus who said nothing, then continued: “The Dark Lord is a myth- was a myth where I am from. To see you in person is beyond belief. I offer my deepest gratitude. I cannot offer you much in return for such a reversal of mortality, but I can offer you my service.”

“As Gelicarus, my right hand, has said I am Arn – The Dark Lord.” Arn said.

“I am called Ezbalath, the Sigil Blacksmith.”

Arn extended his hand, and Ezbalath took it. Ezbalath shakingly stood with Arn’s help, hovering over Arn by a foot, and the two released their grip.

“I accept your services, Ezbalath.”

“I-” Ezbalath started to say before Arn raised a hand.

“I know you must have many questions, and there is much to discuss, but before we do so – you must rest. Your body is new and will need to adjust.” Arn said before looking at Gelicarus: “Would you please escort our friend to the quarters so he may rest.”

Gelicarus bowed: “Of course, my Lord. I will also find some suitable clothing for him.”

Ezbalath also bowed: “You have my gratitude again, my Lord. Admittedly I could do with some rest, and some time alone.”

“Gel will show you the way. When you feel able – we will speak again.” Arn nodded.

Gelicarus nodded to Ezbalath who wrapped the blanket closer to his body as they walked towards the exit of the Soul Forge.

Arn watched as they left, recalling his own awakening. Arn then looked at his black gloved right hand. A myth, huh?