Contrary to the bizarre scenery outside, the interior of the mountain was draped in a foreboding grey dullness, its walls of dark stone and cavernous ceiling shifting constantly in size as Lucius’s party traversed on ground of solid rock. It was damp, dreary, and abysmal. Merely existing in this place caused one’s mood to dour and their minds to become lost in labyrinthine twists and corners, always climbing or descending, always confusing the senses in a manner that made the passing of time ambiguous — only a few minutes could’ve passed, or perhaps an hour. Days. They didn’t know. Even at this moment their otherworldly allies were fighting tooth and nail against the demonic forces, yet in this maddening space it was possible the battle had already long been concluded.

  The mountain was similar to the tutorial’s maze, but also different. Those oozing red bricks and gelatinous veins of meat ever so long before invoked in the viewer a sense of helplessness and complete dread. It broke its victims down and corrupted their brittle hearts, whispered for them to go mad and to succumb to the dungeon, to become one with it. Whilst the tutorial maze lured others into its clutches, the mountain seemed to, at its core, reject people.

  It guarded its inner region with tunnels that stretched and looped impossibly wide. Never was any area quite the same. They were all of different scales, some no bigger than a cramped burrow whilst others opened up to reveal a large chamber fit for a subterranean city. In time the party came to realize that, with the physical dimensions of the mountain itself, such sights should be impossible. Lucius’s own mental mapping only further supported their revelation. All of this could only be due to the twisted influence of the Demon King, the mountain’s master warping all that which entered its murky lair.

  But even so, no danger came to them. It was very odd considering this was where the demons were supposedly born. Lucius’s party had expected to rush into an ambush or be besieged by countless giggling swarms ready to tear them apart, yet all that surrounded them was an uneasy silence and the occasional echo of a far away voice, someone in whose cries a depressing story could be felt.

  Such untold grief was contained in those sobs, and whenever it fluttered their way the party could only lower their heads and grieve. It felt as if the voice was begging for someone, anyone, to take away the pain in its warbled throat; but in the end no one could come, no one could save them. It was left alone to weep, forever miserable.

  Miss Mili gripped her guitar, hesitant, for a sudden realization came to her. “Do you guys think that’s…?”

  In reply, Miss Rhodes spoke with a heavy heart. “I think yer right, darlin’. Honestly I figured that Demon King fella would be some big, scary monster, kinda like those other weird critters. But this is… it’s too sad. It’s too real, too painful, to be a fake.”

  The others had come to the same conclusion, with Marco particularly affected, for when he heard that distant lament he could only think of his boys and girls who once gave him the joys of being a father figure. “I didn’t think much of it, when this system or whatever nonsense put up a hit. But now I just feel angry. It’s like we’re not gettin’ the full picture, ya know? Not being told everything there is to know. If I go up there it’s some defenseless little child that has to be killed, I dunno if I can go through with it.”

  The old mobster’s memory of little Mari, who sadly was a victim of the system’s game back in the tutorial, flashed through his mind. Even now he couldn’t forgive himself for being unable to save her, that child who was just afraid, terrified by what she couldn’t understand.

  Perhaps the Demon King was not so dissimilar, but speculations were exactly that: a possibility still yet unfounded. Mister Hemingway announced this fact loudly to the party. “We could come up with what if’s and all that holler for days, but it ain’t changing that our folks outside are countin’ on us to finish the job. Doesn’t matter what the Demon King looks like. Right now, it’s hurtin’ honest people, and for that we’ve gotta put an end to things.”

  Miss Harper, although still a bit conflicted, agreed with Hemingway. Her past job as a firefighter meant that she had to prioritize those who could be saved. That one split second of distraction, of hesitation, could mean the difference between another person living or just adding on to the body count.

  “This mountain’s real strange, definitely, but don’t you guys feel a little… off?” she said. “For one thing, we haven’t encountered a single demon ever since we stepped foot in here. It’s just rocks, caverns, and maybe the occasional incline, but there’s this kind of distortion if that makes sense? Like we’re not actually going anywhere.”

  Miss Enapay nodded, pulling out her spear and showing the party its handle. A strange symbol hovered around it resembling native american iconography, but what drew everyone’s attention was that it served as a marker which highlighted all the points they had traveled in the distance. Some markers were above, below, near and far. It was, to put it plainly, pure nonsense, as if at times they were in overlapping locations.

  “I attempted to keep track of our progress, only for the result to end like this,” Enapay muttered with an irritated huff. “We’re lost. It’s impossible to go forward or even back. Unless we find the secret to this mountain, we’ll starve to death sooner than reaching the Demon King.”

  To that, Mister Crowley began pulling out his bombs, only to be harshly reprimanded a moment later.

  “What? It’s not like we’ve got any other options,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “I doubt this place is even a real mountain. Instead of wasting away, I’d rather take my chances blowing everything up.”

  “And have the stone collapse on us?” Miss Enapay seethed.

  “I mean… do we even know what we’re seeing is real? Could be rock up there or it could be nothing. I’m betting on it all being an illusion.”

  The bomberman had a point. If they didn’t at least try to experiment, then the party was no better off than they were before, aimlessly wandering in the hopes of an exit that might not even exist. Besides the party had raised their stats and skills enough by now that something like the ceiling caving in wasn’t much of a danger, maybe a mild inconvenience at best. Such growth they had undergone since the days of Renaud’s expedition!

  “I say go for it, dude,” Mili said. “Not like there’s anything else to try.”

  The party slowly came to an agreement, and thus Mister Crowley was given free reign to plant his explosives all throughout the next chamber they came across. It was suitably large and had enough space for them to flee if the roof truly came crashing down.

  “Alright, test one,” he said. “Cover your ears, ladies and gents. It might get a little loud.”

  Mister Crowley pulled out a detonator with a big flashing red button, and he pressed it. Immediately a hot squall of air rushed past the group as the chamber soon devolved into a chain reaction of gunpowder, smoke, and burning embers. Everyone had to crouch down and brace themselves lest they be carried away by the aftershock.

  When the dust cleared, however, a surprising sight unfolded before their eyes. The chamber was entirely unaffected. There were no traces of Mister Crowley’s bombs nor even the slightest of signs of damage, as if nothing had been set off to begin with.

  “Welp, at least it’s certain now what we’re dealing with isn’t natural.” Mister Crowley raised his arms up in surrender and returned back to the group. “Any other ideas? I’ve got none.”

  Unfortunately the others were just as perplexed. Their experiment proved this space couldn’t be affected by inside stimuli, so how were they supposed to navigate their way out? Had they missed a clue during their jaunt?

  >[Monster of Kinderheim smiles wryly and encourages Lucius to believe not what he sees, but rather what can be felt]<

  >[Virtual Goddess of the Wired says that common sense won’t always apply in certain locations, especially those under the influence of a Nova Soul. Reality can be bent. It warps in ways only the master of this realm can understand. In order to escape, you need to think outside the box]<

  >[Number 1 Rated Salesman 1997 scoffs. Enough of that box nonsense, just go look for the gatekeeper. It’s a tricky one because the harder you try to find it, the more it’ll elude you, like a nasty debtor running away from a poor, innocent, humble loan shark just trying to get the money they’re owed. Go backwards, kid. Sense the gaze crawling on your neck]<

  Lucius had been getting the feeling that he was being watched, but it wasn’t all that different from the eyes of his regular starry audience. Though, now that he was told about, the gentleman concentrated his focus and sought that one thread separate from the norm, a trail more elusive, ephemeral.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  Just as warned, Lucius noticed something hiding in the darkness out of sight. It was barely noticeable, a faint figure easily passed over if not paying attention, but the gentleman’s sight wouldn’t be deterred once locked on his target.

  There, peeking its head over the corner, was the figure of a child. It had no face, no skin, no features of note. Instead it was covered all over in a curious white static, as if its very existence was clashing with reality: a being forgotten, abandoned, and left here waiting for the day it could be recognized again.

  “My friends, do you trust me?” Lucius said. The group looked at each other, confused, but nonetheless put their faith in him. “Good. Then, from now on, you must chase after me to the best of your abilities. Good luck!”

  With that, Lucius turned around and then immediately ran after the child lost in static. The party crudely stumbled over themselves to follow, but eventually they managed to find their stride and bolted not far behind the gentleman’s casual stroll.

  The child jumped in surprise and immediately fled. That was exactly what Lucius wanted, for at the end of this long pursuit would be the exit they were looking for.

  Much time passed, which according to Lucius’s internal clock was about an hour of straight chase in which they sprinted after the child through all sorts of caves and formations. An interesting occurrence happened as they grew closer to it. The mountain’s stone walls they knew began to distort; it lost its form and occasionally switched from being well defined to a smooth bare rectangle, as if it were the blocks of a program now glitching and unable to hold onto its former simulation.

  “What even is that?” Mili wheezed, her throat raspy from exhaustion. “I can’t get a clear look. It’s like my eyes are being pulled away every time I try to squint…”

  “At least it’s slowin’ down, kid,” Marco replied, who by this point was carrying most of the party by himself on his shoulders. “Little scamp can’t run away forever.”

  The party’s trial was more of physical endurance rather than anything else, for any attacks sent the child of static’s way merely phased through it. Their only hope was for Lucius to catch it with his own hands, and so indeed he did.

  When the thing’s haste finally lagged, Lucius leapt forth and scooped it into his arms. The party caught up with him a moment later, triumphant in their victory, although that pride would soon turn into confusion as their captor squirmed without much else reaction.

  “So, now what do we do?” Harper said, taking a moment to catch her breath by leaning on her knees. “You think we’re supposed to kill it?”

  A reasonable expectation, considering their previous missions. To the players this thing was merely another demon, an enemy, without a voice to express its ego. It looked a bit different from the rest, but there was no telling what it could do if left free.

  Yet despite such concerns, Lucius opted to go with a different choice, for although faint he sensed in this ephemeral child the traces of someone who once was just like Karolus. It was uncanny how similar the two seemed, despite sharing no appearance, no sound, no personality to tout. But the gentleman understood it instinctively.

  This child was no danger to them. It was adrift in this fabricated landscape, unable to escape just like the players.

  Perhaps if given a little encouragement, then it’d find the courage to leave, to shrug off the chains that bound it to this moment.

  To seek after that which would make it complete.

  “My curious new friend, you need not fear any longer. For I am with you.”

  Lucius spoke to it with the same tenderness as he did his flowers. It resisted at first, still a bit wary, but bit by bit the child gradually opened up to Lucius, and it stood back on its feet before tugging on the gentleman’s sleeve.

  “Oh? Would you like me to follow you?”

  The child nodded and gently pulled him onward. The party cautiously monitored its actions as they trailed along, only to discover their concerns unnecessary as this faint, fading, and delicate trace marched to its destination.

  Eventually, they arrived at a door, and Lucius smiled. He smiled because it resembled a familiar door back at the Frankish castle, one which led to the room where Karolus often spent his youthful years, longing, grieving, and also the site of his beautiful bloom.

  The room that once belonged to a little girl called Gisela.

  The door opened, and a flood of blinding white light poured out. The child walked through it before the party could react and thusly disappeared.

  There was no other path left. Everyone took the moment to calm themselves, and one by one they walked through as well until Lucius was the last to depart. An overwhelming feeling enveloped the gentleman the moment he passed through that barrier of white. It felt as if his entire body was being transported across space and dimensions incomprehensible to the human mind, at least for now, and that feeling only left when his feet touched on solid grounding. He whistled a jolly tune, for what he saw now was a rich corridor of outer space.

  Everywhere, there were stars and galaxies, nebula clouds drifting in trails of sparkling black, purple, and blue. Such vastness and scale was thrust upon the party, so suddenly, and they couldn’t help but stare silently and be overwhelmed by the grandness so close within their reach.

  But it didn’t take long before Lucius realized the true nature of this space, that of being a fake. It was similar, perhaps, to a projection.

  Only a single, translucent bridge marked the way forward. At the end of its stretch was a dark wriggling mass forcibly molded into an exit, its appearance flaunting the same childish babble of the demonic creatures outside. Beyond that exit was no doubt the object of their search.

  “Let us be going, everyone!” With a snap of his finger, Lucius broke everyone out of their trance, and they began heading their way down the bridge.

  Now with sober minds, the party inspected the starry space, looking at the odd curios and structures floating aimlessly about. What drew their curiosity most was that some of these objects were familiar.

  Plastic building blocks, dolls, toys, inventions that seemed to originate from earth although subtly different, like the makings of one from an alternate dimension. There were also objects that had no resemblance to any figure from earth at all. Everything in this pocket realm was but a mish-mash of things brought from realms the players had not yet seen; and when looking even deeper, Lucius noticed the remnants of alien civilizations, their architecture so strange and foreign from man’s design.

  It was storage where things that were treasured, beloved, were kept, a hidden space where the owner could look fondly upon that which they yearned to grasp again.

  Then, Lucius spied something very intriguing, and so too evidently did Miss Harper.

  “Wait, is that the Frank’s flag?” she said, pointing at the familiar black and gold banner symbolizing the empire’s people.

  It wasn’t just the flag that contained signs of Frankish influence. There were armors and blades, tavern signs written in the Frank’s language. They were buried, yes, snuck so far beyond that their outlines could hardly be seen. But they were still here, as if a reminder of the past that could never be severed.

  Finally, the party reached the end of the line. They nodded among each other and, ever carefully, stepped through the dark and foreboding gate.

  On the other side, a much different sight awaited them. They were back inside the hostile bleak environment of the mountain, where stone arches and the gloss of black crystals paved the trail ahead. Abnormal, unnatural growths erupted from the roof’s gaps above their heads, its shape lumpy in the ways that naturally sent a shiver in one’s spine, for it was a sign that the party had entered someplace unpredictable — the true lair of the Demon King.

  With shaking breaths and their weapons clenched tight, the party advanced into the unknowable crevices of where their foe was certain to be hiding. The bloated air was silent in all but their footsteps, until eventually… they heard a sob. It was louder than before, more clearly traceable. The voice’s despair rattled the party to their very core, how miserable and wretched it was, the wailings of someone utterly broken down to a husk that could only grieve.

  Lucius’s party followed the voice to its source, their stomps echoing on the crystal floor. They traversed through the mountain’s halls until their surroundings were gradually replaced by crude, broken shards, and all the while the voice’s mad lament filled their ears. But with time another sound could be heard, and they came across a ditch in their path only to come to a startling revelation.

  Deep below, a filthy river flowed endlessly all throughout the mountain, acting as its veins, its lifeblood, digging a path that Lucius assumed to lead to the outside. And within its depths, a hand rose up, and then another, and then many, many more. A demented laughter sung free and joyfully, infecting the stone and this once holy site with the spawn of those the players knew well.

  This was it, where it all began. This was where the demons were born.

  Mili and Mister Crowley wanted to blast the river apart with all the firepower they could muster, but Lucius managed to convince them otherwise, for they knew not if this was truly the source. There could be other streams, other breeding grounds, and alerting the demons to the group’s presence now would only spell their doom. It would be better to follow the trail whilst unseen to where it originated.

  Thus, they stuck to the walls, shuffling themselves along the edge as they witnessed the demons descend into the bottomless, black pit of the mountain below. In time the river grew smaller. The farther they went, the thinner it became, until it was no more than a tiny drip. And soon they came upon a tall imposing gate. It stretched higher than even the throne room back at the castle.

  Everyone could feel it, the tension that leaked through the gaps beyond. They had, at last, reached their destination.

  Lucius pressed his palms against the gate and slowly pushed it open. Inside, there was a circular chamber, and in the center a faint ray of light fluttered down from an opening at the ceiling’s highest point: the peak of the mountain.

  Under the light, the group saw a lone figure. It was crying. Its tears pooled on the ground and slowly trickled to the outside, where the waters would grow larger, and from the ripples its anguish would manifest, taking form as the disjointed nightmares that plagued its memories. Yes, those memories it could not forget no matter how it scarred its own mind: a monster birthed from sadness.

  Here, before them, was the Demon King.