Demon Core

Chapter 31: The Dank Castle Drips

Chapter 31: The Dank Castle Drips

~ [A Strange Village Down in a Dark Forest] ~

You must not go that way, girl, explains the old woman, clutching the arm of the sorceress as she steps into the carriage, stopping her. She turns her head, letting out a hacking cough. Splatters of blood coat the elbow of her sleeve that she coughs into, adding to the already dried stains there present from past episodes of the symptom.

The caster, with a very monotone expression, looks at the elderly stranger, clutching onto her bony arm. That place is not natural, child, she explains, her eyes going wide. It is where where it lives

Her voice falls silent.

Das Kreatur whispers a man on the side of the crowd ominously, the others nearby shying away from him as he speaks the odd phrase. A small child cries in the crowd surrounding the carriage, its hooded mother tucking the baby in below her large, bobbled shawl as if to stifle its cries with the fabric.

I must go, replies the sorceress without any emotion in her voice, pulling her arm free and stepping into the carriage. The gray feathered anqas tied to the front of it scratch their taloned feet into the damp dirt in an uneasy gesture as they stare around the full crowd. The birds arent used to such large gatherings and are uneased by the unusual behavior of the people in this village that theyve stopped at for directions.

Before she steps inside, she looks out and over the carriage toward the castle high atop the nearby mountain. Its black silhouette contrasts with the hauntingly blue night. Crows craw in the trees all around the little shanty village.

The carriage creaks as she steps inside and pulls the door closed, sitting down next to her compatriots.

The wood creaks as it begins to move, rattling onward and upward down the mountain road, which is entirely overgrown on the sides yet kept meticulously open in the middle, as if they were all but too welcome to head that way, despite the villagers many warnings.

She looks down at her hands, at the slip of paper she found, and reads it again as the shadows begin to consume the carriage that rides into the night that never ends.

In the castle's haunting shade, a specter will return,

Through the corridors of grime, its presence reconfirmed.

A chilling echo of the past, its visage undeterred,

An imposter cloaked in shadows' veil, where darkness is adjourned,

The moonlight cast its sickly pall in streaks along those ancient walls,

As whispers filled the midnight air, eerie beckoning calls,

The long-forgotten prince of dread, now walking once again,

In halls that once embraced his reign, before the years of men,

With every step upon cold stone, it sought to claim its right,

To rule the lands of bleakened gloom and shroud of ever-night.

The echoes of deceitful laughter cutting through the silence,

Its vile intent to conquer all, showing no compliance.

A ghostly figure in the mirror's cracked reflection seen,

Revealing truth behind the guise, a nightmare from a dream.

The imposter's grin bares no fangs, its hunger uncontrolled,

A fiendish appetite for a maw above a hole

~ [Inside of the Carriage] ~

A great evil has nested itself in the peaks of the mountain.

In the midst of a seemingly endless black forest, a rickety old carriage meanders its way up a winding mountain road, its loose wheels creaking in protest with every rotation. The gnarled branches of the surrounding trees reach out as if to claw at the intruding carriage, casting elongated, sinister shadows on the darkened path. The atmosphere is suffocatingly haunting and silent, devoid of the melodious songs of the forest-dwelling creatures; even the whispering wind dares not disturb this eerie void of noise. They are far away from the Demon-Kings immediate influence, yet even here the world has become bleaker and darker.

The desolate tableau is punctuated by the disquieting sight of countless crows perched upon the skeletal limbs of the lifeless trees, their beady eyes fixated upon the unwelcome interloper with an unnerving intensity. The once vibrant foliage that had decorated these arboreal giants has long since withered and crumbled to dust, leaving naught but a monochromatic landscape draped in varying shades of darkness.

The beleaguered anqas pulling the carriage snort uneasily, their breaths forming ghostly wisps in the unusually damp air as they struggle to ascend the steep incline. The strain of their efforts is palpable; their muscles tremble beneath their slick feathers, and their talons slip on the slick cobblestones as they fight to maintain their footing. The passengers within the carriage are shrouded in shadows, their identities and intentions obscured.

As the carriage continues its arduous journey into the heart of this forsaken forest, an almost imperceptible sense of foreboding seems to seep from every nook and cranny of this haunted landscape. The omnipresent crows appear to multiply in number with each passing moment, their obsidian feathers melding into one indistinguishable mass as they maintain their unwavering vigilance over their silent kingdom. In this almost otherworldly realm where darkness reigns supreme, hope and optimism are but distant memories, swallowed whole by the ever-present maw of despair that has clamped down on the world ever since the birth of the Demon-King. The carriage, a mere speck of glowing light in the vast abyss of shadows, perseveres in its ascent.

Within the confines of the creaking carriage, a cadre of grim adventurers sit in oppressive silence, their eyes downcast and their thoughts buried within the depths of their own minds. These hardened souls have each faced countless perils, and yet, in this darkened space, an undeniable tension weighs heavily upon them, causing even the most stalwart among them to shift uncomfortably. They are bound for a forgotten castle, nestled precariously atop the mountain summit, where evil has woven its insidious tendrils into the very stones that form the once-glorious, ancient fortress. The walls, which had once stood as a symbol of strength and defiance against the encroaching darkness in long gone days that are lost to history, now serve as a breeding ground for malevolence and corruption.

The local villagers, desperate to be free from the plight of evil over their heads, had hired them to go there.

The adventurers are an eclectic assortment of individuals, each bearing the scars and tokens of their harrowing pasts. The leader of this somber ensemble is an enigmatic figure clad in worn leather armor; his battle-hardened hands grip the hilt of a sword that has as many knicks and notches as he himself does.

Its not the Demon-King, says the man, looking out of the side of his eyes.

Beside him sits a lithe sorceress cloaked in shadows, her eyes smoldering with an inner fire; her fingers idly trace intricate patterns in the air as she mutters incantations as practice.

It is unlikely, she remarks in a dry, monotone voice.

Across from this duo sits a stoic cleric bearing the symbols of a long-forgotten deity, his faith unwavering even in these dire times; his calloused hands clutch a sacred amulet as he whispers prayers for protection and guidance. He doesnt interrupt his prayers to argue with the others anymore. Although he is fairly convinced that whatever is happening here is the work of the Demon-King. What else could it be?

Beside him is a silent crossbowman, his presence nearly imperceptible in the gloom; his keen eyes, peering from beneath a face-obscuring wooden mask and hood, scrutinize every detail of their surroundings rather than looking at any of them. His hand rests on the handle of the door as if he were ready to escape at any moment, even if theyre moving far too fast for anyone to be able to exit safely.

Regarding his personal opinion on the Demon-King matter, its difficult to say for sure. He simply doesnt talk all that much.

As the carriage continues its ascent toward the summit, an oppressive aura of dread permeates the air, causing the adventurers to cling ever more tightly to their weapons and talismans.

~ [Inside of the Castle] ~

From the walls of the castle, a figure stares down over the horizon, watching in the shadows.

Deep within the bowels of the forgotten castle, a malevolent entity broods in the darkness, its sinister gaze fixed on the distant carriage as it laboriously ascends the treacherous mountain path. The air within this forsaken fortress is heavy with a sour, acrid stench that seems to permeate every nook and cranny, clawing at the senses with its rancid tendrils.

From its shadowy perch, the vile presence observes the slow-motion procession of the carriage, its formless visage twisted into a grotesque facsimile of a smile as it revels in anticipation of what is to come a feast. The decaying walls surrounding this abhorrent being seem to absorb the very darkness that cloaks it, their crumbling surfaces tainted by the indelible mark of malevolence. The moonlight filters through broken windows and cracks in the castle's facade, casting eerie patterns upon the rotting tapestries that adorn the desolate chambers. The once resplendent halls now lay in ruin, haunted by the whispers of long-dead inhabitants and consumed by an insidious corruption that gnaws at their deep-set foundations.

There is a rot, an eating, that happens deep down below the stonework.

As the carriage draws ever nearer to its harrowing destination, the air within the castle seems to thicken with an oppressive tension that chokes every breath. The entity's dark essence reverberates through the ancient stones with excitement. The brick seems to ripple unnaturally, moving as if it were an organic fluid, rather than being a strong, sturdy construction.

As they approach their final destination, unaware of the watchful eyes that observe their progress from within the castle's depths, they remain blissfully ignorant of the true nature of their journey's end.

For amidst this miasma of decay and malevolence lies an evil far beyond their comprehension a darkness that hungers for their very souls. And as the carriage approaches the castle's foreboding gates, the being there within stirs with anticipation, eager to welcome its unwary guests into the cold embrace of eternal night.

The castle squelches, which is quite the odd thing for a castle to be doing. But it is best not to question that.

~ [Inside of the Castle, Lower Floors] ~

It is a little while later.

Bats screech in the air above their heads, fighting to fly away now that their nest has been disturbed by the glows of raging cinders.

Falsch, the Sorceress, holds her hands out before herself, letting out a torrent of flames that swallows a shambling mass that had come to greet them the moment they arrived. Undead, a swarm of them, had crept and crawled out of the shadows the instant they opened the massive oakwood doors into the old castle.

Dust and cobwebs, strangely, fail to catch fire or burn. Rather, it all just fades away, as if they were being retracted by an unseen force.

As the world before her glows with fire, the world behind her glows with holy light. The monotone sorceress looks back over her shoulder at the priest, who has created a magical barrier to block the open door they had just entered through. A legion of drooling, sloshing undead hammers at it from the outside, trying to reach them.

Now! yells the party fighter, the man in the leather armor, Erfunden. He presses against one of the massive doors, and the obscured crossbowman, Unecht, presses against the other one. The two of them move the swinging doors, slamming them shut against the magical barrier. The priest, Gelogen, dives out of the way just in time to avoid being crushed as the heavy barriers crash closed with a resounding clap that is akin to thunder.

A pillar of broken wood is shoved in between the grips, barring the door from the inside.

With each passing moment, it seems as though the darkness grows ever more oppressive, and the grotesque slurping and sloshing noises that surround her take on a life of their own.

Falsch, the sorceress, keeps walking. Shes almost there. Shes certain.

Opening the next door, she walks through a room that looks like a grand bedroom and looks to the side at the wall. There, the missing priest, Gelogen, is present.

In the context that his physical form is so.

The man is dead. Hes melded, merged into the wall. His body is plastered against it, his arms splayed out wide to his sides, as are his legs. His skull and chest sit half within the brickwork, as if it had been sucking him inside of itself. Ooze dribbles down out through his sockets and nostrils, the fluid that has already long since eaten his back and insides leaking down through his front.

That acrid smell is in the air again. The smell of something sour and foul.

Falsch looks away from the dead man and keeps walking, turning to go down the staircase that he is plastered next to. His outstretched fingers had reached for the corner of the wall but never quite managed to touch it.

They say that the vampire returned after all of these years. That is why they are here.

The sorceress keeps a cinder aglow in her clasped fingers as she descends now deeper into the castle, if only to be ready for anything as she approaches the final chamber.

Something moves behind her.

Quickly, she turns her head and looks back up the staircase, but sees nothing.

Then, quietly, she descends.

The vampires chamber.

Falsch looks at the hidden room shes found.

Its a dark, underground chamber akin to a castle dungeon. Chains and brickwork lie scattered all around the area, as if it had been under construction and then simply never finished.

Here, in the center of it all, sits a sarcophagus.

Vampires can only ever move about during the night, for they must rest during the day. However, now in the era of the Demon-King, in the era of the night that never stops, there is nothing around to stop such a creature from ever roaming the world again.

Her hand lifted with a glowing spell, she creeps toward the coffin and gets ready to open it.

The castle above her shakes as something heavy moves nearby.

Her fingers grasp the edge of the coffin, and she yanks it open, the cinders glowing around her fingers aimed at the inside.

A gloved hand covers her mouth from behind as her body lurches, a painful heat shooting through her core as something presses into her flesh. She looks down at the old knife sticking through her, then back at the crossbowman behind her. The man with the obscured face is holding her.

Shh he says again, pressing the knife through her. You did well, he says, restraining her as the last of the fight fades from her body. He pushes her face down into the open coffin and then looks around the room, listening to the noise of the heavy thing moving and lumbering above and around him.

It had tried to stop him from returning.

The crossbowman drops the knife, lowers his hood, and takes off his mask.

Its over, he says out loud to the chamber. Ive won, says the man as his pale face is revealed to the world. His sunken features, his cold, off-blue skin, and sharpened teeth reveal his nature as an elder vampire. He looks around himself. Leave this place and never return.

There is no response.

But that is because it does not fear him, for it does not know who and what he is.

Sanctioned by the Demon-King.

It has been generations since he last walked the worlds surface, generations since he tasted the blood of the living, and generations since his castle stood whole and true. All of those many, many years ago, he had been slain by a man, a hero, an avatar of the sun and the day.

However, now they find themselves in the truest of nights, and he, by the graces of the Demon-King, has been resurrected to fulfill his purpose. Even here, on the other end of the world, far, far away from the Demon-Carnival and its grim parade toward humanitys last bastions.

The roof above him gives way.

But it does not break.

Rather, it simply forms a hole in itself, as if it were a liquid, as if the bricks and the wood and everything there were no such things. Its almost like they just looked like it like they were made from a fluid substance pretending to be solid, pretending to be a destroyed castle.

Because that is what it is.

A heavy, lumbering thing falls down from above, the fake stones below his boots quaking and rippling as its heavy weight comes to a crash there before him. The vampires excellent vision in the dark lets him see what the lumbering monster truly is.

A slime.

To be exact, it is slime that has bitten off far more than it could chew, as one might say.

Hmpf, he says, flicking his wrist as if overcome by amused boredom. A sharp line of energy cuts through the hulking thing.

Its long, elongated torso with no legs is a slime covered sarcophagus.

The little beast somehow wandered to the ruins of his castle and ate his old grave site, his staked coffin with his old bones in it and all. However, this was far too much power for a thing like it to handle. It couldnt digest it or absorb it, and so his magic has been restoring his castle in his absence, but with the slimes properties. The fake vampire has made a fake castle.

After his return, he needed a little help to make his way through. The slime had altered the layout of his castle so that its core, this chamber, could not be reached.

It is cut in half, with acidic goo splashing everywhere. His old coffin, inside the mess, crumbles into two pieces as one of the only really solid things in this entire structure.

The false-vampire splashes, falling apart in an instant as its stabilizing core is destroyed. His old bones scatter, rolling around the floor in a mess of ooze. The castle rumbles and quivers, the walls and stones shaking like a gelatinous mass. I shall not tell you a second time, he says, lifting his hand and a long, clawed finger that pierces through the black leather glove from the inside-out.

Droplets of slime pull themselves together, a single, yellow eye forming in the oozing mass and looking up his way.

A slime that is deeply out of its league now that it has been robbed of its nigh-infinite power flattens itself down into a meek puddle and quietly begins to ooze away. The castles walls melt, and the entire structure starts to break apart into a leaking mass, as if it were entirely made out of ice on a summers day.

The elder vampire breathes a sigh of relief as the sour smell of the slime begins to fade and the cold night air finally reaches him again. The fake castle, the fake undead, the fake everything fades, melts, and vanishes. An entire castle simply disappears.

And if anyone were watching down from a village below the mountain, watching the silhouette break, crumble, and fade, then they might perhaps think that the castle and the creature inside had been destroyed.

As if such things were possible in the year of the Demon-King.

He looks out over the landscape that reveals itself to him a world that he once failed to best. But now the era of heroes is over. Now, he has risen once more from the grave, this time in the service of a king.

~ [A Strange Village Down in a Dark Forest] ~

The villagers cheer, adorning her with beads and trinkets as she quietly walks down the road away from the castle, the forest, and the village.

Thank you! says the old woman, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. I am sorry for your friends, she adds.

The quiet sorceress looks her way with a monotone expression and shakes her head. The fact that she has one yellow eye is not noticed.

Without much more than that, she simply walks off in the direction the carriage had come from earlier that day. Lowering her gaze as she wanders the dark road at night toward the thing that calls her, she looks down at her hand.

Her skin is compressed. Her hand, boneless, is squished into a flattened oddity.

After a second, it begins to reshape itself. The beads and trinkets adorning her body are absorbed and taken in. They begin to fade, sinking into her body and through her clothes that are as fake as her hair, eyes, nails, or anything else.

She clenches her fingers, a jiggle running down along her arm and to her shoulder.

The slime, pretending to be a person, quietly marches on toward the horizon, toward something even bigger that it wants to eat now that it is free from the spell it was trapped within. It doesnt know what it is yet. But it is getting closer and closer.

The body melts down into a featureless puddle of green goo with one yellow eye and it begins hopping through the endless night.