Arc 3 | Hells Grace (7)

Arc 3 | Hells Grace (7)

HELLS GRACE

Part 7

Goliath and the demon picked up Alvin Jones from the side of the road and drove him back to the cabin. Pretty much the most awkward, silent ride you’d expect—deathly glares from Goliath and the demon through the rearview mirror and Alvin’s amused, casual smirk biting back against the silence. The demon and Goliath did not trust this stranger coming into our home, but the possibility of concrete answers was hard to ignore.

It didn’t even look like Alvin Jones was fazed by my monsters; a boundless curiosity emanated from him.

A lackey for the Elders or not, he’s strong. He can see me when no other person could, not unless possessed by my monsters. He might also have other tricks up his sleeve for who I assumed was an inter-dimensional, possessing creature. I wondered how far he came from.

Once we were in the cabin, Alvin Jones sat on the chair that Yasmine had previously occupied and waited for Demon Maxine to finish brewing the tea he requested. I hovered across from him, watching intently and unnerved by the silence. As the kettle whistled on the stovetop, the demon poured him a cup, tipping it just enough for the hot water to hit the table’s edge and splash Alvin’s arm.

“Oops. My apologies,” the demon said, though not a bit apologetic.

Alvin merely smiled. “That is alright, fiend. A little warmth doesn’t bother anyone.” He wiped off the spot where the hot water had splashed him and then sipped the tea. “Hm. That’s quite good for a demon.”

The demon did not respond. She leaned against the archway, playing with the paring knife she stabbed Steven with. On the other hand, Goliath stood behind me, showing off his axe, and that he meant business should Alvin Jones cause any trouble.

“Talk,” I said.

He put the mug back on the table. “Which one should I start with?”

“Start by telling us who you are.”

“As I’ve said. I work for the people with a vested interest in the System and of dungeons everywhere.”

“What should I call you then?”

“Certainly not Alvin Jones. He is uncouth, paranoid, and bears an unrefined taste for culture and pleasure. Certainly not a resemblance of my true self,” He chuckled, and his eyes widened. “Ah. I know. I am a fan of your planet’s music. You may call me...Elvis. Yes, that’s right. Elvis.”

“Elvis?”

“I can assure you that I mean no harm, Dungeon Mark. This is a standard procedure of my kind to lend a hand to inaugurated dungeons. As you can attest in the past couple of days, it can get a bit confusing to reincarnate into a brand new being.”

“Well, you’re rather late to the party.”

“I apologize for my tardiness. You see, Your core is unsanctioned, and therefore, it is out of our normal routines.”The inaugural upload of this chapter took place via N0v3l-B1n.

“What do you mean by that? Unsanctioned?”

“It means the System did not voluntarily create you. As an outsider viewer like yourself, it may seem like the System hand-waves a core into existence, but it takes months or even years of preparation and work. Reincarnation has key steps that must be met with prudence and the right...hm, how should I say this? Correct environmental factors. You don’t hire an engineer just for them to ignore the plumbing or landscaping in the design, no?”

“That doesn’t make sense. If the System creates the dungeons, how can I be unsanctioned?”

“The Elders are the System, true. They manipulate and order your kind’s creation. But still, the System has to take the necessary steps to fulfill those commands. Think of the System as a computer. But a third party has accessed it and utilized its codes to create you.”

“The ritual.”

“Bingo.” He took another sip. “There are different ways a core is born. Deaths. Accidents. Planar teleportation. A contract. Even rituals, among others. Humans are potent for it—a popular ingredient in the universe for a dungeon’s creation. But the subsequent events leading to a core’s birth are carefully crafted months before. An orchestra in perfect symphony. No note out of tune. One off-key, and the entire piece crumbles. The System has to be careful, you see. A damaged juvenile dungeon is a dangerous dungeon. Once its broken shell gives way from the strain, it can take out a continent, even a planet, and the energy released is insurmountable. Not to mention how it affects the Weaves of Fate that all mortals adhere to.”

I gulped. “Uh, are you bullshitting right now?”

“What I said is true even if you don’t believe it at first. I understand you were only born two days ago. If the cultists fucked up your birth, it might cause a violent earthquake, resulting in an untold amount of deaths. It’s fun for me to count souls, but probably not for you. I’ve personally seen the birth of a core in your world that caused a great flood. Some guy built an ark for it. Lucky him. That’s the thing about rare mutations in a mortal’s genes. They get to inherit magical capabilities like premonitions. And lucky for you, Coach Hodge is surprisingly a talented ritualist. At first, I thought the entire Pacific Northwest was doomed that night when its fate lies upon imbeciles, but alas, the man and his crew had it in them to finish. It’s a shame he was born on Earth. He’d certainly do well in other worlds with his skills.”

“I can’t be the first unsanctioned dungeon you’ve ever faced.”

Alvin Jones—Elvis—grinned. “True. You’re not.”

“And what do you do to them?”

He paused. “We destroy them when they’re created. If we catch it early enough, we stop the process. Kill the ones who are responsible.”

“Killed how?” I pressed on.

He knew what I was fishing for, and he grinned. “Nothing goes to waste, lord dungeon. We feed. We consume. And yes, even dungeons.”

I paused. What the fuck? “You eat dungeons?”

He smacked his lips together. “Oh, with my kind, dungeons are our favorites. But do not worry. We only feed on those who are past their prime.”

I didn’t particularly appreciate how he looked at me, but I held my gaze at him nonetheless. “You were there that night. When they killed me. You were already possessing Alvin Jones for three days. You said it yourself.”

“Correct.”

“You already caught a whiff that someone was messing with the System to create a new core.”

“Correct.”

“Then why didn’t you stop it?” I glared at him, and the ground momentarily shook, rattling the windows and the loose kitchen tools on the counter. The cabin’s walls creaked loudly. The shaking subsided. “If you’re so powerful, why didn’t you? If you had stopped it, I would still be alive. I wouldn’t have turned into this.”

For the first time, Elvis frowned. “I could have stopped the ritual. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to live, Dungeon Mark. Sure, it’s easy to smite the cultists, but I can’t leave any witnesses. You and the other three.”

I perked up. “What other three?”

“Oh, you don’t know the ritual they performed, don’t you? How forgetful of me.”

“What other three?” I repeated more forcefully.

“For your core to be created, sacrifices must be made. The Rule of Three, I call it. Everything is ruled by three. Three Acts of a play. Three life cycles. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. The pyramids. Atoms. Quarks. The essence of the universe. Even human memory remembers in sets of three—such a powerful number. I offered you three delvers, too, remember? So did the cultists to access a fraction of the System’s power.”

“Where are they?”

“Dead like you. Killed on the eve of your creation as the ritual demands.”

“Are they dungeons, too?”

Elvis laughed. “Most certainly not! Their essence feeds you and the ritual. You can call them an important screw to the engine—a fascinating display of violence, that night. Again, the violence is consequential. I loved the drama.”

“Then why didn’t you stop it?”

“Fine. Entertainment! Pure entertainment.” Elvis casually took another big sip of the tea. “My kind is so fascinated by how mortals run through dungeons. You enjoy reality TV, don’t you?”

“I don’t watch that garbage.”

Elvis didn’t let his smile falter. “Well, that garbage is like our garbage. Quite popular, too. It’s like watching an ant evade a drop of water from a faucet. How fruitless their strands of fate lie in your hands.”

“Really? Is this entertainment to you?” I gestured over to the unmoving bodies of Steven, Yasmine, and Tara on the floor, lying in their own pool of blood. “I killed people just to survive, and you think that is entertainment? Get the fuck out of here.”

Elvis leaned back on the chair. “More blood and guts, the better. We demand it. And your core is a novel fascination by my people. They are watching you right now while we speak.”

I looked around the cabin, but there was no one there but us. Maybe there’s a hidden veil that I am not seeing? I didn’t like being spied on.

“And we are most eager with how you’ll dispatch these cultists,” Elvis continued. “We are still looking forward to their demise. We have met a consensus to allow you to forgo Rule Number Two for the cultists’ scenario tonight. They have tainted the System with their ritual. They must be punished, and what better way than a Death Core to do it? Fear and despair are your weapons, my liege. Use it, and watch those fools run.”

“Oh, I intend to even before you came into the picture. Whatever you are. They’re not coming out of here alive.”

“Which precisely brings me to my second point of why I’m here: to ensure they never make it past your borders. The last one almost made it out. Tsk. Tsk. But I might have something you’ll need.”

Elvis opened the palm of his hands, and a prompt popped up on my periphery.

[ An Administrator has given you 1 ability slot. You may use it at your own convenience. ]

[ An Administrator has given you 1 environmental slot. You may use it at your own convenience. ]

[ An Administrator has given you 1 archetype upgrade. You may use it at your own convenience. ]

An Administrator? I looked up, shocked, but I tried to stifle it. Too late. Elvis already saw it and merely smirked. “You’re welcome,” he said.

“Isn’t this against the rules?” I asked. “I thought you can’t intervene.”

“It is within our limits, but don’t get used to it. This is a one-time thing. Consider it our goodwill, for we share a common enemy that the System wants to be purged. In exchange for not destroying you, all you have to do is kill these cultists and entertain us at the same time. Smiting is so boring after doing it over and over for millennia.”

“Yeah, right. There’s usually a but coming.”

“Honest. No strings attached. No buts. Only blood and guts. Remember that, my liege. You are performing wonderfully already. Don’t butcher it.”

“But these upgrades... won’t these make me too powerful for the System?”

“Not quite! It is a sponsorship. More toys for you to play with. Some of my more powerful superiors give those away to dungeons who excel in their performance, and you have certainly caught the eye of some of the powerful, and they have chosen to invest in your future. Don’t take those upgrades for granted. It took quite a considerable piece of themselves to hand it to you.”

“Geez. I feel loved,” I said sarcastically.

“You should be. You deserved to be. You are unique for Earth; there aren’t a lot of dungeons on this planet. Unless you want to cross over to Bermuda? The Ural Mountains? Kurseong? The Shimoneki Strait? But they haven’t performed that well anymore for quite a long time. Earth is a bit bland for delving, but you made it fascinating and a hoot to watch. That is something to celebrate.”

Elvis stood up. “Oh, and I do mean all cultists. You do know what I meant by that, right?”

“Coach Hodge and the other motherfuckers. There’s only five left.”

Elvis shook his head. “We mean the Cult of Astaroth—every single one of them. There are certainly more than five left. Far more. Killing a village shouldn’t be difficult for a dungeon.”

The demon shifted where she stood. Astaroth. Where have I heard that name before? “You want me to destroy an entire organization? I have no idea who they are!”

“Oh, yes. They are the ones who spear-headed it. Where do you think Coach Hodge and his wife are running off to now?”

“My liege, it cannot be done,” the demon interjected.

“You know something I don’t?” I asked.

Demon Maxine gritted her teeth. “You must steer away.”

“Out with it, demon. What do you know?”

She shot Elvis a deathly glare. “It will be suicide. Astaroth is one of the High Princes of Hell. To go against him is to go against—”

“—a god?” Elvis interrupted. “But you face another god here, fiend. You are serving him right now.” Elvis turned to face me once again. “While there are other powerful beings, lord dungeon, do not be intimidated by them. You are already a god, bequeathed with the powers of the System. The likes of Astaroth, Zeus, and the other deities hold no power over it. Only you.”

“You want me to go against a powerful demon?”

“Not a demon. A devil,” Elvis corrected. “A high-prince.”

“If you are so powerful, why don’t you do it yourself?”

Elvis dropped his smile. “I’ve indulged you long enough through this conversation, lord dungeon, but I do hope you don’t sour my mood any further.”

I knew a veiled threat when I saw one. Elvis had yet to show what else he could do besides give gifts from the System. He could destroy me if he so chooses. I remained silent.

“Don’t mistake our apathy for arrogance. We can’t just be bothered to deal with such frivolous matters like a petty fight with a demon lord. A dungeon can handle him, and we chose you to deal with him.” Elvis clapped his hands again. “Break his fingers—these cultists—and Astaroth will lose his grip on Earth. I trust you’ll be up to the job. You know, throughout history, gods have manipulated humans so easily and brazenly, and my liege, you are a true god now. You know what to do.”

Elvis finished his tea. “And that concludes our meeting,” he said, walking into the living room.

“Wait, that’s it? You’re not going to tell me how this System was made? Who these fucking Elders are? What the hell are they doing these for? Is that all I get? What’s even out there? Why dungeons? How does inter-dimensional travel even work? How come magic exists? I have so many questions I don’t even know where to start!”

“Answers for another time, my liege, as you have pressing matters to attend to. I will answer them if you satisfy our requests. So, please don’t disappoint us. Until then...”

Suddenly, Elvis bent over and pried the gun off Tara’s hand. “And a final gift, lord dungeon. Essence cannot be wasted, after all. This one is ripe enough for the reaping.”

Elvis put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

BANG!

[ You have gained 1 essence: Alvin Jones ]

[You have gained 150 crystals]

I stared at Alvin’s corpse for a long minute, splayed over the couch. I didn’t even see the bastard’s true form when he slipped out of the cultist’s body and fucked off wherever he came from. I hovered closer to Alvin. I wished I had done him in.

“I no longer feel his presence.” The demon sniffed the air. “What now, my lord?”

I looked over the upgrades I just received and nodded. “Let’s see what else we can play with.”