Aethelfinn, feeling the surge of energy from the battle, focused intently as he produced five beautifully decorated swords from his bracelet. The blades shimmered with intricate designs, and as he summoned them, they grew in size and weight, becoming formidable weapons in his hands.
With a determined look, he plunged each sword into the ground at the five corners of a pentagram, the blades sinking deep into the earth. He then drew a small dagger from his belt and made a quick incision on his palm, allowing his blood to drip onto each sword. The crimson liquid glistened as it pooled around the blades, infusing them with his essence.
"Now!" Aethelfinn called out, his voice steady and commanding. "Swen, Elara, pull Ventric and Dervish out of the middle on my signal!"
The two women nodded, their expressions resolute as they positioned themselves near their friends. Aethelfinn could feel the power building within the swords, the magic of the blood binding them to the ritual he was about to unleash.
"On my mark!" he shouted, his eyes locked onto the abomination, which was still reeling from Ventric's attack. "Three… two… one… now!"
Swen and Elara sprang into action, quickly grabbing Ventric and Dervish and pulling them out of the center of the pentagram just as Aethelfinn began to chant an incantation. The air around them crackled with energy, and the swords began to glow, their power resonating with the blood that had been spilled.
As the abomination struggled against Dervish's weight and the effects of the silver needles, it sensed the shift in the atmosphere. Aethelfinn's ritual was taking shape, and the creature let out a furious roar, thrashing wildly in an attempt to break free.
But it was too late. The magic was set in motion, and the pentagram began to pulse with a brilliant light, drawing the energy of the surrounding darkness into its center. Aethelfinn focused all his will into the incantation, determined to seal the abomination away once and for all.
As the pentagram pulsed with light, the magic swirling around him and binding the abomination in place. He had barely succeeded in sealing the great beast when a slow, mocking applause echoed through the chamber.
"Bravo! You get 80 points," the prisoner announced, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He stepped forward, a sly grin on his face, and reached out to touch the abomination. With a flick of his wrist, he drew a small, intricate character in the air—one that none of the other five recognized.
As the symbol glowed briefly, the abomination suddenly stopped moving altogether, its monstrous form frozen in mid-thrash. The air around it shimmered, and the group felt a strange stillness settle over the chamber.
It took a moment for them to realize that it wasn't just that the creature was stuck in time; it was truly trapped in a temporal stasis, as if the very fabric of reality had been altered around it. The abomination was suspended in a moment, unable to move or react, its fury and pain forever captured in that instant.
"What did you just do?" Elara asked, her voice a mix of awe and confusion as she stared at the prisoner.
He shrugged, his grin widening. "Just a little trick of mine. A simple binding that halts time for this lovely creature. It won't be going anywhere anytime soon."
Elara, feeling a surge of irritation, decided to try and emulate the prisoner's earlier display of magic. She focused her energy, preparing to weave a sign in the air, hoping to replicate the binding effect he had just demonstrated.
But before she could even begin, the prisoner suddenly appeared in front of her, his movements fluid and almost instantaneous. He caught her finger just as it was about to trace the first line of her intended spell, halting her progress.
"Remember my last rule?" he said, his voice low and serious. "If you notice I'm casting spells you don't know, there's a reason you don't know them. Don't copy me."
Elara blinked, taken aback by his sudden appearance and the intensity of his gaze. "I was just—"
"Trying to emulate me?" he interrupted, a hint of amusement in his tone. "It's a tempting thought, but trust me, had I let you proceed, you would have either turned into a babe not yet born or a bag of bones that always shits herself."
She pulled her hand back, frustration mingling with curiosity. "But if you can do it, why can't I? We're all fighting the same battle here."
The prisoner raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting to one of mock seriousness. "Because, my dear, not all battles are meant to be fought with the same weapons. You have your own strengths, your own magic. Embrace that instead of trying to mimic someone else."
Elara hesitated, considering his words. She could feel the weight of her own abilities, the unique gifts she possessed. "I just thought…"
"Thought what?" he pressed, his tone softening slightly. "That you could take a shortcut? Magic doesn't work that way. It's a reflection of who you are. Find your own path, and you'll be far more powerful than you realize."
Elara felt a wave of dejection wash over her at the prisoner's words. She had been so eager to prove herself, to find a way to contribute to the fight against the abomination, but now she felt small and inadequate. She looked down, her fingers curling into fists as she processed what he had said.
The prisoner, sensing her disappointment, softened his tone. "Listen, Elara," he said, his voice steady. "The path of supremacy is not a race. It's about making damn sure you actually become supreme."
The prisoner clapped his hands together, breaking the tension in the air. "Alright, children, time to get to work! Start burning out the shit staining the walls—Gods knows we don't need that here." He gestured dismissively at the dark, oozing remnants of the abomination that clung to the stone, a grotesque reminder of the battle they had just fought.
He continued, his tone shifting to a more serious note. "And if you see any strange symbols or feel something tugging at your soul, scream as loud as you can. That fucker probably left some memetics behind, given how he inherited some powers from his mother."
The group exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of his words sinking in. Elara felt a shiver run down her spine at the thought of unseen dangers lurking in the shadows. "Memetics?" she echoed, her voice tinged with concern.
"Yes," the prisoner replied, his expression grave. "Those are mental traps, designed to ensnare your mind and twist it to the will of the abomination. If you feel anything strange, don't hesitate. Just scream. It's better to alert the others than to risk falling under its influence."
As Ventric worked to clear away the remnants of the abomination, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in his gut. He paused for a moment, wiping the sweat from his brow, and turned to the others with a frustrated expression.
"What the fuck did I sign up for?" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "Traps hidden in letters? Like, what the actual fuck?"
Swen glanced over at him, a mix of sympathy and amusement on her face. "Welcome to the world of magic and monsters, Ventric. It's not all sunshine and rainbows."
Dervish chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, it's more like a twisted carnival ride. You never know what's coming next."
The prisoner, leaning against the wall with an amused expression, added, "You're just beginning to scratch the surface, my friend. This is nothing compared to what lies ahead. But don't worry; I'll be here to guide you—whether you like it or not."
Ventric rolled his eyes but couldn't help but smirk at the absurdity of it all. "Great. Just what I needed—more cryptic advice from the guy who just froze a monster in time."
"Hey, it's a skill," the prisoner replied with a wink. "And one you might want to learn if you want to survive."
As the team continued their work cleaning out the basement, Aethelfinn suddenly screamed, "I think I found a memetic!" His voice echoed through the dimly lit space, drawing the attention of his companions.
The others rushed to his side, their hearts racing with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. They found Aethelfinn standing with his eyes closed, one hand extended toward a wall covered in swirling, ominous symbols that seemed to writhe and pulse with a life of their own.
"I can feel it," Aethelfinn replied, his brow furrowed in concentration. "These symbols… they're trying to communicate something. I think they're tied to the abomination we just fought."
Swen and Dervish exchanged worried glances, instinctively closing their eyes to focus on the energy emanating from the wall, hoping to glean some insight from the symbols.
But the prisoner, with a confident strut, moved toward the wall, his demeanor casual as he examined the characters. "You all are too cautious," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Let's see what these little beauties have to offer."
As he approached, the air around him seemed to thrum with tension. The symbols flickered, and for a moment, it felt as if they were reaching out, tugging at the edges of his consciousness. The prisoner paused, a smirk playing on his lips as he studied the intricate designs.
the prisoner continued to examine the wall of swirling runes, he noticed something peculiar out of the corner of his eye. The characters seemed to bend reality itself, warping the space around them in a way that made the air shimmer and pulse. It was as if the very fabric of existence was being manipulated by the ominous symbols.
Curiosity piqued, he stepped closer to the wall, scanning the area around it. That's when he spotted them—motes of petrified beings, frozen in time and space, their forms contorted in expressions of fear and defiance. They appeared to be humanoid figures, their bodies rigid and lifeless, yet their stances suggested they had been defending the wall against some unseen threat.
Aethelfinn opened his eyes, a mix of excitement and fear in his gaze. "We need to be careful! If these are truly memetics, they could influence our minds in ways we can't predict."
The prisoner chuckled, shaking his head. "Usually, you'd be correct—IF this is a memetic. But it's not. Because it's a door."
The group exchanged confused glances, their brows furrowing in unison. "A door?" Elara echoed, her voice laced with skepticism. "What do you mean?"
The prisoner stepped closer to the wall, his fingers tracing the intricate patterns of the symbols. "Look closely. These runes are not just random characters; they form a key. This wall is a threshold, a gateway to something beyond. It's not meant to trap us; it's meant to lead us somewhere."
Dervish crossed his arms, still wary. "And where exactly does it lead? We've already faced one abomination today. I'm not eager to jump into another fight."
"That's the beauty of it," the prisoner replied, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "We won't know until we open it. But I can guarantee you that whatever lies beyond is likely more interesting than standing here, staring at petrified beings."
Aethelfinn took a step forward, curiosity overcoming his initial fear. "So, how do we open it? Can we use the energy from the petrified beings?"
The prisoner waved a hand dismissively, his expression shifting to one of practicality. "That's for later. For now, we've cleared out the basement, and we can officially turn this hut into the expedition's forward operating base. Elara, I know you've been reporting to Fergus. Tell the midget we're clear over here!"
Elara blinked, momentarily taken aback by the abrupt change in focus. "Right! I'll let him know," she replied, shaking off the lingering tension from their encounter with the wall of runes.
After a few moments, several members of the expedition made their way down the stairs, bustling with energy and purpose. They carried supplies and tools, ready to help cleanse the area and set up their new forward operating base. Among them was Saint Fergus, his presence commanding as he surveyed the scene.
"You took your bloody time," Fergus remarked, a wry smile on his face as he approached the group. His eyes flicked over the remnants of the abomination and the wall of runes, taking in the situation with a practiced gaze.
Elara stepped forward, a hint of sheepishness in her tone. "We had a bit of a situation down here, but we managed to clear it out. The basement is secure now."
Fergus raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "A situation, you say? I hope it wasn't too much trouble. I'd hate to think my best team was held up by a few shadows."
The prisoner chuckled, crossing his arms. "You could say we had a little encounter with some memetics and a wall that turned out to be a door. But nothing we couldn't handle."
Fergus's expression shifted to one of interest. "A door, you say? To where?"
"That's the next question," the prisoner replied, gesturing toward the now-activated portal. "We're not entirely sure yet, but it seems to lead to something significant. We'll need to investigate further."
Fergus nodded, his demeanor shifting to one of seriousness. "Good work, everyone. Let's make sure this area is fully cleansed and fortified. We can't afford any surprises. And Elara, keep me updated on any developments regarding that door."
The prisoner leaned in closer to Fergus, his voice low and serious. "So, what's the situation on the first floor? How is everyone holding up? Have any other survivors made their way to the hut from the Maker's Labyrinth?"
Fergus sighed, his brow furrowing as he glanced back toward the stairs. "That's actually why I came down here. We have a situation."
The prisoner raised an eyebrow, sensing the gravity in Fergus's tone. "What do you mean, a situation?"
Fergus ran a hand through his hair, clearly weighing his words. "We've had a few survivors trickle in, but they're not in good shape. The Labyrinth is more dangerous than we anticipated. Some of them are injured, and others… well, they're not themselves. There's talk of something dark lurking within the Labyrinth, something that's affecting the minds of those who escape."
The prisoner's expression hardened. "What kind of effects are we talking about?"
"Confusion, paranoia, and in some cases, outright aggression," Fergus replied, his tone grave. "We need to be cautious. If any of them come down here, we have to ensure they don't pose a threat to the rest of the team."
The prisoner nodded slowly, processing the information. "So, we might have more than just the abomination to deal with?"
Fergus turned to the prisoner, a wry smile creeping onto his face despite the seriousness of the situation. "Don't you worry, boyo. We've turned the outside of the hut into a fortress. We've even added on the traps you put in earlier, you sick fuck."
The prisoner chuckled, a glint of approval in his eyes. "Good to hear. I always believed in being prepared for the worst. Those traps should keep any unwanted visitors at bay."
Fergus nodded, his expression turning serious again. "Just remember, we need to keep a close eye on the survivors. If they're affected by whatever darkness is in the Labyrinth, we can't risk them getting too close to the rest of the team."