Denizens of the Labyrinth

DING!

YOU HAVE STOPPED THE TIER VII ANT KING!

YOU HAVE SURVIVED THE SWARM!

THE GATE CORRUPTION HAS SUBSIDED!

…

DING!

YOU HAVE COMPLETED AN ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE TASK!

YOUR REWARDS WILL SHOW THAT!

ALL WHO HAVE SURVIVED WILL BE REWARDED!

…

As those words flashed atop his screen, his system and Jazmel sighed with relief. It wasn't just a shock of the battle, but it was also the worry of what they had just accomplished. He dropped to a seat on the ground. Just as the rain had finally stopped.

"If that is what a tier VII is like, I am scared of what else could happen." A voice said, and Jazmel heard. He looked up, to see Bolen. He was dishevelled; the battle had been grim. The ant king had been stronger than anything Jazmel had ever faced. It seemed the same for Bolen too.

"We all have work to do." Sadé said as she came over to sit beside Jazmel, her hair smelled like sweat and flowers. Jazmel breathed her in and sighed again.

Just as Jazmel was waiting for others to crowd around. The others approached as the chests began to appear before them.

As the dust settles and the remnants of battle fade into a heavy silence, a sudden glow appears before Jazmel. The light seems to come from the very ground itself, weaving tendrils of energy that coalesce into a solid shape a chest made of Arcanite. The material gleams with an otherworldly shimmer, a metallic surface that shifts between hues of silver, deep blue, and faint violet. The intricate carvings on its exterior depict scenes of battles long past, celestial constellations, and swirling arcs of mana, each detail imbued with faint luminescence.

The night is cold, the rain finally ceased, leaving a crisp, sharp chill in the air. Yet, the sky above is now clear, the moon shining in all its glory alongside countless stars. Their light refracts on the Arcanite chest, creating a myriad of colours that dance like a living aurora across its surface. Jazmel looked over it with reverence, his boots crunching softly on the damp ground. He places his hand on the chest, and the surface hums under his touch, as though recognising him as its rightful recipient.

With a deep breath, he opens the chest. A soft light spills out, illuminating his face and casting his shadow long against the broken ground. Inside, the treasures gleam like fragments of the divine:

DING!

YOU HAVE FOUND THE TIER V HEARTSTONE OF THE FORGOTTEN! A stone that only forms in the graves of those who died with unfulfilled oaths, symbolizing unbreakable resolve!

Resting in a velvet-lined compartment is a smooth, dark stone that seems to pulse faintly, as if it has a heartbeat of its own. It exudes an aura of solemnity and unyielding resolve, a reminder of those who carried unfulfilled oaths to their graves. Jazmel recognizes it instantly as one of the items needed for a greater purpose.

DING!

YOU HAVE GAINED A PERSONAL PLOT!

TYRANNICAL TETHER!

BUILD YOUR TYRANT BODY!

CREATE THE DRAUGHT OF THE RIVER STYX!!

…

DING!

YOU HAVE FOUND THE KEY TO THE HOME OF BABA YAGA! This key will provide you with entrance into the garden of the spirit of baba Yaga!

A gnarled key carved from twisted wood and bone rests atop an ancient cloth. The key is warm to the touch, its surface etched with incomprehensible runes that shift and flicker like flames. Jazmel can feel a faint tug from it, as though it yearns to guide him to the fabled, dangerous home of the Witch of the Woods.

DING!

YOU HAVE FOUND THE TIER III VEIL OF THE MOONLIT ABYSS! A shimmering fragment of light caught at the moment night turns to dawn, representing the balance between vulnerability and invincibility.

A delicate, translucent fabric rests carefully folded within the chest. It seems impossibly light, shimmering with the soft light of the moon. When touched, it feels cool, like mist against the skin, and Jazmel senses its power to shroud its wearer in illusions, concealing them in shadow and moonlight.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

DING!

YOU HAVE FOUND THE TIER IV EBON EMBER OF ETERNITY! A coal from a flame that burns without fuel, embodying perpetual endurance.

A single ember, dark as midnight, yet glowing faintly with a deep red core, rests in a crystalline holder. It pulses gently; its warmth reminiscent of a hearth fire. Jazmel can feel the immense energy it holds a fragment of eternal flame, capable of igniting power unimaginable.

DING!

YOU HAVE FOUND THE DRAGON ROD OF TIAMAT! This item is a rod part of a sceptre, connected to another three.

This was a gold stick, as long as his forearm but nestled in the top, the tip of the sceptre was an opening for the dragon eye gem he currently was carrying.

As he inspects the contents, Jazmel frowns slightly at the empty fifth slot in the chest. Its absence is curious, yet the treasures before him are already invaluable. He closes the chest, the hum of its Arcanite surface soft and soothing, like a promise of more to come.

The cold night presses against him, but the moon and stars above offer their quiet comfort. Around him, the battlefield lies still. The swarm is no more, and while the destruction of the city is a bitter reality, the sacrifices made here have won a fragile peace. Jazmel lets his gaze wander over the ruins, the light of the stars casting gentle hues on the broken stone and fallen warriors.

He exhales deeply, the breath visible in the cold air, and shoulders the chest. Whatever lies ahead, he knows this battle will not be forgotten by the land, by the fallen, or by him.

Jazmel carefully pulls each item from the Arcanite chest into his spatial ring. The Heartstone of the Forgotten, the Key to the Home of Baba Yaga, the Veil of the Moonlit Abyss, and the Ebon Ember of Eternity all vanish with a flick of his hand, the ring gleaming faintly with each addition. Around him, the others are doing the same Baek tucking his own spoils away with a measured calm, Gideon whistling softly as he appraises his gains, and Charme, her expression sharp with quiet satisfaction.

As the group collects themselves amid the ruins, Jazmel breaks the silence. "Who is Baba Yaga?" he asks, his voice cutting through the cold stillness of the night. The question hangs in the air for a moment, and all eyes turn to Baek.

The senior elder, still catching his breath from the battle, straightens and strokes his chin thoughtfully. "Baba Yaga is no mere myth," he begins, his tone grave. "She is a sorceress of ancient lore, said to live in a house that walks on giant chicken legs, moving constantly through the edges of reality. She is a keeper of knowledge and secrets, but nothing she gives is free. The cost she demands often cuts deeper than any blade."

Gideon, leaning casually against the remains of a broken pillar, smirks. "And that's why she's worth it," he says with a hint of amusement. He holds up his own key, letting it catch the moonlight. "She provides insight into personal paths answers you didn't even know you needed. But there's always a price." He taps the key against his palm. "I'll be using mine. Whatever she demands, it'll be worth it."

Charme steps forward, her movements fluid and deliberate. "I'll be seeing her too," she says coolly, her dark eyes glinting. "A chance to glimpse into what lies ahead, to unlock the next piece of the puzzle... It's not an opportunity I'll pass up." She glances at the others, her voice low but firm. "We should all use the keys. Whatever the cost, the insight she offers could mean the difference between survival and defeat in the battles yet to come."

The group exchanges glances, and one by one, they nod in agreement. The decision is unanimous each of them will seek out Baba Yaga, prepared to pay her price for whatever wisdom or boon she might offer.

Jazmel remains quiet, his gaze lingering on the key now secured within his ring. His mind races with possibilities. What would he ask? What would she demand in return? The thought of parting with one of his prized treasures gives him pause, but the allure of answers of clarity in the chaos of the world pulls at him.

He exhales softly; his decision not yet made. For now, he would carry the key and the question, letting the weight of it settle on his soul as he prepared for whatever lay ahead. The group, now bound by their shared intent, turns to leave the battlefield, their silhouettes framed by the moonlit ruins of the city a reminder of the cost of victory and the uncertainty of the future.

As the aftermath of the battle settles into a sombre quiet, Jazmel turns to Mary, her sharp features softened by the faint glow of the moonlight. "Mary," he says, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of weariness, "take the others back to the Black Wing faction. They need rest and recovery after all this."

Mary nods, understanding the unspoken weight behind his words. "Of course," she replies, her gaze scanning the group. She turns to gather those leaving, her authoritative presence making it clear that she would see them safely home.

Sadé steps forward next, her long, silvery hair catching the light as she approaches Jazmel. "I need to return to the Teneriel Forest," she says softly, her emerald eyes locking onto his. "There are things I must tend to, and I suspect my path lies there for now." Before Jazmel can respond, she leans in and kisses him gently on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, Jazmel," she whispers, a bittersweet smile on her lips. Then, with a final glance, she turns and walks toward Mary, joining her for the journey back.

As Mary prepares to leave, Gideon steps forward, his fiery red hair damp and clinging to his face from the rain and battle. He claps Jazmel on the shoulder with a wide grin. "Congratulations on the Black Wing faction, Jazmel," he says, his tone warm and genuine. "You've built something incredible, and this victory proves just how far you've come. You've got so much potential I know you'll go even further."

Jazmel smiles, gratitude shining in his expression. "Thank you, Gideon. That means more than I can say. Your support has been invaluable."

Gideon's grin softens into something more personal. "We're allies now, Jazmel. Friends. Count on me if you ever need anything."

Bolen joins them, his imposing frame casting a shadow even in the soft moonlight. He extends his hand to Jazmel, and the two clasp hands firmly. "You fought well," Bolen says with a nod, his voice steady and respectful. "I've no doubt you'll only grow stronger."

"Thank you, Bolen," Jazmel replies, his grip firm. "I'll keep in touch, I promise."

With that, Mary, Gideon, Bolen, and the others take their leave, their figures disappearing into the night, leaving only Jazmel, Baek, and Charme behind.

Baek folds his arms, his seniority evident in his calm demeanour. "We'll stay with you," he says firmly, nodding to Charme, who stands nearby.

Charme adds, her tone sharp but not unkind, "You'll need us, especially now."

Jazmel nods, his heart heavy with the weight of leadership but buoyed by the steadfast loyalty of those who remain. "Thank you," he says, his voice sincere. As the three of them look over the ruined city, the flickering remains of battle fading into the cold night.