The Human From a Dungeon

Yssinirath

Adventurer Level: N/A

High Dragon - Unknown

My jaws clacked shut and the smell of smoldering flesh seared my nostrils. As my haw peeled back from my eyes, I took a moment to admire my work. Small flames burned in the midst of a massive scorch-mark, which had replaced a rather large cluster of daemons.

The ground shook as I landed, and a group of wylder and elves who had been about to fight the former daemons stared in disbelief. Other skirmishes were happening nearby, but there was no doubt that the daemons would soon rout. I had just destroyed a significant portion of their force with a single breath, after all.

"YOUR MAJESTY!" Oakmor shouted from behind me.

I turned my head enough to regard him with a single eye. It was an expression of disdain, though the meaning seemed to have been lost to time. The regent was either completely unaware of the intent behind such a glance, or he was frustratingly thorough in ignoring it.

"YOU CANNOT BE ON THE FRONT LINES, YOUR HIGHNESS!" he practically screamed as he marched up to me.

"Fah. It is where I am most effective," I waved a wing dismissively.

"With respect, sire, no it ABSOLUTELY isn't," the elf growled.

I turned further to regard him with both eyes. By far and large I had been disregarding Oakmor's advice, occasionally in a disparaging manner. He knew more of these modern times than I, and that did not sit well with me. Yet, this marked the first time that he had lost his temper. Despite the slight flare in my own temper, I found it to be a refreshing change of pace.

"Explain," I demanded.

"I have," he replied.

"I am paying attention this time."

"Yes, your majesty. WE are capable of fighting the daemons without your assistance. YOU are the ruler of these lands and do not have an heir. Meanwhile, all of us are either replaceable or immortal."

"And?"

"If you were to be wounded or worse, it would irreparably shatter morale. The daemons are intelligent enough to know this. So, your presence on the battlefield means that the daemons no longer have to defeat all of us to claim victory, they simply have to defeat YOU, sire."

"Oh? And which of those tasks do you suppose would be more difficult?" I asked sarcastically.

"A thousand arrows aimed at a thousand targets will miss far more often than a thousand arrows aimed at one target, your majesty. Especially when one considers the relative size of the targets in question."

I huffed a little, upset at and resentful of the wisdom in his words. The damned elf was right, of course. However, there were several unbusy soldiers gawking in our direction. It wasn't as if I could simply concede his point.

"Arrows, even in the thousands, have little impact on one such as I," I argued, then decided to change the subject a little before he could point out that the daemons had things far deadlier than arrows. "What do you know of our foe, anyway?"

"I have studied the history of the daemonic invasion and the anyelic suppression extensively, milord," he replied. "So extensively, in fact, that I know that daemons have weapons that are far dea-"

"Then you should be aware that these foes that I've just obliterated will return in short order," I interrupted hastily. "Elves and fae make for fine soldiers but your tools only harm the flesh, and daemons are made of more than measly meat. They will return over and over and over, wearing you down until you cannot fight any longer. Then, if they don't kill you, they'll make you their plaything. So you should take every respite that I grant you, however brief, with grace and gratitude."

Oakmor stared at me with a stoic expression, then whistled and gestured at a nearby fae. I narrowed my eyes at my borderline insubordinate servant as the fae skipped over to us. I was on the verge of chiding Oakmor, but the weapon that the wylder was holding caught my eye.

It was a spear with a multi-colored crystalline head. While it was true that the wylder had mostly avoided the prior conflict with the daemons, I had heard that those that partook had used weapons of bone, blood, wood, or bronze. Seeing a fae holding a weapon made of crystal was odd, to say the least.

"As it turns out, your majesty, our wylder allies are just as informed as you and I," Oakmor said with a subtly smug tone. "Their weapons are specially designed to wound the essence of a daemon."

"How?" I demanded.

Oakmor and I stared at the fae, who looked between us a few times before realizing that I was addressing it.

"Oh! Me? Well, um..." the fae stopped speaking and thought for a moment. "Daemons are made of, like, magic. Kind of like we are, but in a more intense way. And also not REALLY. Uh... It's really hard to explain this kind of thing, your highness, so please forgive me if it turns out I get it wrong."

"Daemons and wylder are made of magic?" I asked incredulously.

"Well, no. But yes. It's not like normal magic. It's more like... A type of thing that has similar attributes to magic. But it can't be manipulated in the same way that magic can. Or, I guess it can, but only by things made of that stuff?"

"So daemons and wylder are made of stuff, which can be manipulated by daemons and wylder exclusively."

"Ah, no, not exclusively. Like, this crystal can manipulate daemon stuff because it's also a physical manifestation of that... Stuff. When their flesh is destroyed by this crystal, it causes a portion of the stuff that they've gathered to dissipate."

"Gathered?"

"Yeah, that's how daemons become more powerful. They beat each other up and take the stuff from one another. Oh, and the anyels, too."

"They can take this stuff you speak of from anyels as well?"

"Yes, your majesty," the fae nodded solemnly. "Anyels and daemons are pretty much the same thing, but they thrive in different ways. Daemons need to cause pain to feel contentment. Anyels need to cause pleasure to feel contentment. It's probably way more complicated than that, but that's what I've learned about 'em."

"And this crystal of yours destroys the daemons by dissipating the... Stuff... That they've stolen from other, similar entities?"

"No, your majesty. Daemons and anyels cannot be completely destroyed. They can only be weakened to the point of irrelevance. These crystals will cause that to happen for most of the rank and file daemons, but it will have barely any impact on a very strong daemon. It just can't dissipate enough... Stuff."

"I see..."

The wylder truly were terrifying creatures. They present themselves as ignorant, bumbling fools, yet they were completely capable of horrifyingly creative acts of violence. I wondered if they had discovered the crystal's properties, or if they had specially created it for the sole purpose of killing ethereal beings.

Oakmor's expression became ever-so-slightly smugger. A younger version of myself would have roared in his face simply to replace that arrogance with the terror that he should be feeling. Yet, even though I had spent most of it in a state of slumber, time had matured me. I couldn't help but feel a little proud of myself for resisting the urge to damage the elf's ears.

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"As you've no doubt been able to deduce by now, your majesty, you are not needed on the battlefield to secure our victory," Oakmor said.

"And what shall I do instead, elf?" I demanded haughtily. "Shall I return to a populated area and allow your fellows to fill my belly with meats and wine while my people, those who I am tasked with protecting, struggle to survive against the daemonic invasion? Shall I grow fat and slovenly whilst shirking my duties simply because I have no heir and my safety happens to be at risk? Never minding the fact that EVERYONE'S safety is at risk?"

"Well, no-"

"And what relevance is it that I have no heir, anyway? This nation and its people have survived thus far without my guidance. Even if I were to perish whilst doing my duty, Bolisir would live on."

"Not to insert myself into a conversation in which I am unwelcome, your majesty, but I must argue against that," the fae interjected. "Both your people and my own consider your existence to be inspiring, and your awakening has marked the beginning of what many believe will be a golden age of prosperity and peace. Excepting the daemonic shenanigans, of course."

"He's right, sire," Oakmor added. "We can certainly self-govern, but a mortal is a mortal. At the end of the day, whomever takes it upon themselves to try to fill your role will be found wanting simply because they are just like everyone else. And it isn't as if we can simply let the wylder take the reins, either. Mortals always suffer under the rule of the wylder, because they simply can't understand all of the issues that we face."

"That's right," the fae shrugged with a sad frown. "Even those of us who actively study mortals with a genuine, passionate curiosity find them to be quite mysterious. There are so many risky activities that they take part in, like smoking, drinking, overeating, fighting, betrayal, and many others that they should be avoiding with every fiber of their being. You see, sire, we also participate in these activities, but for mortals there are dire and permanent consequences. If that were the case for us, we simply would not partake in those activities. If we ruled the mortals, we would try to save them from the consequences of their actions by penalizing those activities. And then what would happen?"

"Immediate rebellion," I chuckled, then sighed. "So, to sum up your rather lengthy arguments, I shouldn't be on the battlefield because people are inspired by my ilk more so than they could be inspired by their own. That's a pretty wea-"

"It's not just that, your majesty," Oakmor interrupted. "Your existence has been a cornerstone of this nation for several generations. Your death would be shattering to morale, especially if it came at the hands of the daemons. If they can kill YOU, your highness, then they can kill ANYONE."

I had been hoping that he wouldn't bring that up. The death of my parents had brought an intense melancholy unto the people of Bolisir. Even the wylder hadn't been immune.

I justified seeking my selfish revenge by reasoning that a victory would lift everyone's spirits. My parents' advisors, who had just become my advisors, knew that my reasoning was absurd. The pain they felt at the loss of my parents had broken them, though, and they didn't try very hard to stop me.

Whilst my victory had indeed raised everyone's spirits, it was an intense fight and if I had been any older I'd likely have lost. Thankfully for myself and my people, I had been young enough to consider simply eating my foe. And that victory had taken me out of the rest of the war, too.

"Fine, I acknowledge your concerns," I admitted. "Yet you have failed to acknowledge mine. What am I to do, if not fight?"

"Well..." the elf trailed off, desperately trying to think of a task for me.

"I got an idea," the fae said with a grin. "We've got fairies scouting the battlefield from the air."

Oakmor and I stared at the fae with a measure of incredulity.

"Are you suggesting that I... Join the fairies?" I asked in disbelief.

"No, sire. You are able to fly way higher and see way better than they can. You can pop up, take a look at what the daemons are doing, then come back down and give orders."

"That would still put him at risk," Oakmor argued.

"Nah, he can fly higher than their weapons can reach and still see what they're doing. It isn't as if they're going to try to join him in the air, either. Daemons hate flying. You could even say..." the fae began to laugh and struggled to compose itself. "You could even say that they think it's beneath them."

Oakmor and I groaned at the pun, which made the fae laugh even harder. We waited patiently for the laughing fit to subside, but it only grew worse and worse each time the fae looked at us. Before long, it was rolling on the ground.

"Fine," I said, losing my patience and spreading my wings. "I shall consign myself to scouting... And the occasional attack."

Oakmor's mouth opened to protest, but the roar of wind propelled by my wings silenced him. And hopefully threw a bunch of dust and dirt into his stupid little mouth. I lifted off, and a warmth grew in my chest as I climbed higher and higher.

A gnome, likely long dead, had been the one to tell me of magic cores. He claimed that both dragons and High Dragons were far too large to fly in the same manner as a bird. Well, the original word he used was 'heavy', but he quickly changed his phrasing under the weight of my mother's cold stare.

Once he had pointed it out, though, I began to feel it every time I took flight or spewed flames. Instinctive spell-casting, he had said it was. I had wondered if I could learn other spells, but deemed it unnecessary at the time. Teeth, claws, wings, fire, brawn, and brains. Why would I need more weapons that what I already had?

Then the daemons invaded, and I realized somewhat too late that my weapons were not quite enough. I had tried to learn spells as fast as I could. There were two discoveries that myself and my tutors made rather quickly. The first was that I could cast spells without speech.

The second was that my mental images had to be far more precise than what would be expected from a mer. True Sight was easy for me to learn. Wind Slash was much more difficult. And before I could obtain a worthy arsenal of spells Hirgarus killed my parents.

As I soared above the forest and its various clearings, it occurred to me that I could continue to attempt to learn new spells. Or perhaps I should try to find a surviving High Dragon and negotiate a mating bond. Maybe I could even accomplish both feats, though I'd likely have to wait until the daemons were dealt with.

Magic coursed through my wings, and I reached a good altitude. Just as the fae claimed, my normal eyesight was good enough to see most of what was happening. I cast true sight to make certain that I wasn't missing anything, and noted a worthy target.

With a grin, I prepared to dive.

Bil'eur The Keen

Adventurer Level: N/A

Daemon - Unknowable

The strange spear made a pleasant squelch as I ripped it from my abdomen. The fae that had put it there gasped for air and clawed at the foot that I had pressed upon its chest. I examined the crystalline spear-head, disgusted by the resonance that I felt with it. It felt like an anyel, and I knew instinctively that if it had interrupted my connection to the flesh a significant part of my being would have been rent asunder.

"And how did measly dimension hoppers come up with these, then?" I asked.

It was, of course, a rhetorical question. The fae beneath my heel could not take in enough air to reply, and I didn't particularly care about the details. It still tried to mutter something, but I only laughed in response.

My laugh died in my throat when I realized some of the implications, though.

"He couldn't have known, right?" I whispered, glancing at my troops as they began to reform our ranks.

We were all Oathbreakers, bound to this invasion only by the promise of pleasures the likes of which we could not find elsewhere. Such was the case for most, if not all, of the daemons who took part in the invasion of Bolisir. Due to our nature, it hadn't even seemed suspicious that Marquess Naberius would want us separated from the rest of his forces.

It couldn't be possible that he knew of these weapons. A daemon would not be able to fool the wyld-sight, so his spies could not get close enough to the wylder to learn of these weapons. But if he knew, it would make complete sense for him to send Oathbreakers to Bolisir instead of his loyal soldiers.

Initial reports failed to mention these weapons, though, so it wasn't likely that they were in use elsewhere. And Bolisir was the only invasion point where we were even expected to encounter the wylder. But how could he have known?

A sickening lump grew in the back of my throat, and I savored it. I didn't get to inhabit flesh all that often and, despite the potential betrayal of our patron, I was enjoying every moment of it. To enhance my enjoyment, I drove my heel downward until I felt a crack. A shiver of pleasure travelled from my heel up my spine. The wylder tried to scream, but it had no air left to do so.

"Sir," Yui'nara, my second in command, said as she approached. "The crystal weapons cause more than bodily destruction."

"I am aware of that," I said.

To drive the statement home, I drove my heel into the ground. Pleasure enveloped me for the time it took for the fae to die. Once it ebbed, I turned my attention to Yui'nara.

"Are the elves wielding these weapons?" I asked.

"No, sir," she replied.

"Good, then we'll focus on them. Leave the wylder for the archers, and make sure they're using iron heads. Any prisoners?"

"No, sir. Our soldiers are not used to flesh, and all enemies that fell perished. The rest fled. Sir, about the weapons... Do you think that-"

"You probably shouldn't ask that question out loud," I interrupted.

"I... Okay. Do you think it's like this all over?"

"No, I don't. But I don't see how the betrayal that you imagine could have happened. If the mortals knew of these weapons, they would be wielding them. Which begets the question, how could a daemon bewilder a wylder? They know our lies and have eyes that can see through our tricks. They also know of every little leaf within their forests, so it couldn't be a matter of stealth. Which leaves coincidence as the only explanation."

"A pretty shitty coincidence if you ask me, sir."

"I didn't. And was anger at the thought of betrayal why our soldiers left no survivors?" I turned to glare at the freshly formed ranks.

Something was off about them, though. A good portion were looking at Yui'nara and I through the corner of their eyes, staring straight ahead as they should. Others, though, were looking up with gaping jaws.

"Oh, fuck!" Yui'nara shouted.

I turned to see what caused her outburst, and noted that her attention also seemed to be held by the sky. My gaze tracked her own, and I noticed that an oddly shaped cloud seemed to be moving in our direction. Before I could demand an explanation, though, I realized that the cloud had wings.

"Oh... Fuck," I muttered as flames began to form in the dragon's maw.