The magic coalesced into a winding black coil, one end of it fashioned into the head of a viper, its eyes glowing a vibrant purple, mouth open and shadowy fangs extended. Keaton could practically see the venom dripping from them, even though it wasn’t an actual snake. It certainly did coil around the dungeon lord’s glove like one, though, hissing before it darted toward him swifter than Keaton could even comprehend.
Apparently, some instinctual part of him knew what to do, though. He leapt out of the way just in time, a burning sensation sizzling across the skin of his right arm. Keaton drew in a breath with a hiss, but recovered quickly enough, his dagger lashing out to bite just as the snake had intended to do to him, with about the same effect. He barely grazed the dungeon lord, the lithe man darting to the side.
Recovering from his strike, Keaton wheeled around to face his target, only to find himself face first with a blast of black and purple energy flung from the center of the dungeon lord’s outstretched palm. There was nothing he could do but turn to the side and try not to take the brunt of it.
If that scalding graze had hurt, this full-on blast was shear agony. The impact of it was painful enough, pain searing up and down his right side, but the residual effect was far worse. It felt as if someone had poured molten hot steel onto his bare skin, allowing it to melt inside his body before hardening. Keaton couldn’t help the pained, almost animalistic sound that sprang from him, and it was all he could do to keep standing as a wave of darkness crashed over his consciousness, begging him to pass out so he wouldn’t be subjected to this pain any longer.
Keaton pushed through it, his teeth gritting hard enough that he wasn’t sure he hadn’t cracked one. With a fierce yell, he hurled himself toward the dungeon lord, ducking under the lashing shadow-snake. One knee dropped to the ground to lend him some stability as he drove the dagger upward, just beneath the man’s ribs. He wrenched upward, hearing the satisfying crack, not in the frame of mind to wonder at the sudden surge of strength.
It must have surprised even the dungeon lord because he staggered from the blow, giving Keaton the chance to get to his feet, yank the dagger out with a gush of blood, then plunge it back into the man’s chest, sinking the gnarled blade into his heart. Every part of it — from the resistance of clothing and skin to the feeling of a living organ being pierced — reminded him of the crystal, only this time blood didn’t spray outward, blasting him with every pump.
The heart just quivered beneath him, fluttering wildly until it began to slow more and more. That, too, was morbidly fascinating to Keaton. He’d never enjoyed killing, and he couldn’t say he enjoyed it now — his stomach was in knots, an urge to vomit rising in the back of his throat.
But there was something uniquely powerful about watching this man’s life drain away; of feeling his heart try and fail to keep up with the demands his body was making.
The dungeon lord looked at him with pure malevolence, a wet chuckle sending spittle and blood into Keaton’s face. “She’ll do the same to you. Enjoy this while you can.”
There was no question which “she” the man was speaking of. Keaton let go of the dagger, not wanting to touch it any further; not wanting to be a part of this. The dungeon lord fell to his knees first, then slumped to the ground. Keaton wasn’t far behind, the world around him spinning as he sank to his own knees. He didn’t feel right. Everything was moving too fast, disparate thoughts crowding into his mind, restless energy pooling in his limbs so severely he thought they might just burst.
And his heart…
His heart was pounding like a war drum; a constant thump thump thump thump he couldn’t ignore. It echoed again, more violently this time, the sound of it filling his consciousness. He couldn’t breathe, hand clawing at his throat, at his chest in a desperate bid just to live.
Was this the cost? Was he going to spend his last few moments frantic, tortured by how fragile his mortality was until he shit himself with fear? He closed his eyes so tightly a shock of pain skittered across his face. It was probably in his head. He just needed to breathe, calm down, and get a hold of himself.
The moment he thought it, words appeared in his mind. Pulled out of thin air and scrawled into his consciousness as if they were written across the backs of his eyelids.
The Labyrinth has reverted to its natural state.
The Labyrinth is now level 0.
7
He was losing whatever fragile grip he’d had on his sanity. There was something about this place, that crystal, that was determined to make his last few moments agony. If Keaton had believed in any of the gods, he would have dropped to his knees and prayed. But even if the gods were listening, none would answer someone like him. A criminal. A liar and cheat who’d done whatever it took to get by.
An idiot who’d decided to make an agreement with a daemon.
Maybe that was the start of his madness and this was just the logical conclusion: Keaton doubled over, holding his head as words continued to scrawl across his mind, searing into his retinas like the after image of the sun.
The Labyrinth currently holds 1 functional room: Crystal Chamber.
The Labyrinth is currently home to 0 minions.
You have bonded with 0 lieutenants.
Your current power level is 0.
“What is this?” Keaton asked aloud, the question coming out in more of a howl than anything else.
Great. His madness was going to seep into everything around him, too. At least he only had one witness.
Swinging his head around, he sought out the dragonkin woman. She was still bound, trying desperately to break the chains on her own. When she caught him watching her, she backed away, pushing herself across the floor.
“I don’t understand what’s happening to me,” he pleaded, a touch of fear lacing through his voice. “As soon as I killed that dungeon lord I—”
The dragonkin pushed herself to her feet, stumbling once as she tried to run with irons clapped around her ankles, the heavy cuffs joined by chain.
“Hey, wait! At least let me—”
Of course, Keaton’s first thought had been a selfish one. It took him seeing her in obvious distress to even offer to break those chains. It didn’t matter, though. She was hobbling away from him as fast as she could. Her damaged wings fluttered, attempting to work, but ultimately just made a sad display that he was sure had once been beautiful, elegant, and strong.
He didn’t try to stop her. What was he even going to say? I know I just killed this guy who’d done nothing to me, but in my defense, he was a really bad guy. And a daemon told me to.
No, that wasn’t going to fly, which brought about another complication. If he managed to get out of here, what then? Dungeon lords had minions, and minions followed without question. Were assassins going to follow him out of here and murder him in his sleep? Poison his food so he choked on his own tongue?
That was at least better than whatever he’d just experienced. Even if the words were gone, their memory wasn’t and never would be. He’d end up on the street, blabbing on about the mysterious texts only he could see. He’d—
“Oh, stop being so dramatic, darling,” a familiar voice soothed, “you’re giving me an awful headache.”
The daemon. Keaton whirled around to find her perched atop the crystal, thighs open, sex on full display. For once, he didn’t feel even the slightest spark of desire.
“What’s happening to me? I can see words. Talking about levels and something called The Labyrinth and—”