NOVPUB
Chapter 114 - 114 – Dungeon – XXII
The group walked along the uneven expanse of the cave, their bodies still aching and their souls heavy from the brutal battle they had faced. Through short exchanges and silent glances, they tended to their wounds as best they could.
Dórian improvised splints and bandages using strips of his own torn clothing. My expression was grim as I manipulated small electric sparks in my hands to cauterize the deeper cuts. Dália, exhausted, remained unconscious in my arms. Aeloria and Seraphine stayed close together, sharing quiet words of support, as only siblings can.
After the necessary moment of recovery, we explored the cave.
It was a dark, damp place, with black walls glistening under the glow of the orbs the group used for light. After long, tense minutes, they found a narrow path winding through the rocks.
"There!" Aeloria pointed, his voice echoing through the chamber.
Still wary, the group followed the trail, slowly climbing toward the summit of the fifth mountain. When they finally reached the cave's exit, they were met with a surprise.
The ground beneath their feet was frozen, the biting cold of altitude making their teeth chatter uncontrollably. Harsh, frigid winds blew nonstop, and before them stretched a metallic floor, like solid mercury.
For a brief moment, no one moved.
The memories of the second mountain hit them full force. The copies emerging from reflections, the terror of facing distorted versions of themselves...
'It can't be again,' Seraphine thought, clenching her hand tightly around her spear.
"Stay alert. Anything could happen now," Dórian warned, his deep voice steady, eyes locked on every suspicious ripple in the ground.
In the distance, piercing the sky above the clouds, the sixth mountain rose, even more colossal than the ones before. Its dark silhouette loomed on the horizon like a throne built for gods.
And surrounding it, a black veil spun slowly, a magical barrier pulsing with chaotic and ancient energy.
Seraphine hugged her own body, trembling—not just from the cold, but from the growing tension.
"This... this won't be easy," Aeloria muttered, looking at Glenn.
Glenn stared at the top of the sixth mountain, at the living barrier that seemed to mock his resolve, and answered with the calm of someone who had already chosen his path.
Turning back, the group could finally see the cruel grandeur of the four mountains they had conquered. Each, with its own horror, now seemed so distant, so small, they felt like they belonged to another world. The horrid swamp at the base of the mountains was now just a dark blotch on the greenish soil. Above them, the red sun hung low and sluggish in the sky, casting everything in a blood-stained light. The landscape was vast, desolate—anything but beautiful. It was haunting.
The silence at the summit was nearly absolute, broken only by the sharp howling of the icy winds.
Seraphine, spear resting on her shoulder, was the first to notice.
"There. In the center," she pointed.
The group followed her gaze and saw, in the middle of the summit, a metallic structure like the mercury floor beneath their feet. A twisted altar, covered in hundreds of worn and broken runes.
At the top of the altar rested a chalice. It was red, the same color as the acidic pool in the crocodile's cavern, pulsing faintly as if it were breathing.
Their approach was slow and careful. Every step was measured, eyes scanning for any sign of reflections emerging from the undulating surfaces. But to everyone's tense relief, no reflections appeared.
'Still, something's wrong,' I thought, keeping my eyes locked on the chalice.
Aeloria crouched near the base of the altar, studying the broken runes with narrowed eyes.
"It's some kind of mechanism," he said after several minutes of analysis. "It needs to be activated... it looks like it requires the liquid. I think it needs the same liquid from the pool."
"So that's why this dungeon made us go through all that," I inferred.
Still undecided about what to do, we retreated to a natural rock formation—a spot slightly shielded from the relentless wind. With some effort, Dórian managed to light a small fire, the flames flickering as if they might go out at any second.
The heat barely pushed back the cold, but it was enough for us to sit down and talk.
"Do we have to activate it?" I asked, my voice nearly swallowed by the wind.
"We don't know what will happen," said Seraphine, rubbing her arm to warm up. "It could be a trap."
"Or it could be our only way to the sixth mountain," Aeloria added, eyes fixed on the distant chalice.
Silence settled over them, heavy.
Dórian crossed his arms and grunted:
"The bigger problem is time. In two days, another swarm of grasshoppers will appear. If we're in this state..." He shook his head. "We can't take another wave."
I assessed our condition.
Lots of scars and bruises, one member unconscious, Aeloria, Dália, and I with our energy cores completely drained—it wasn't good.
'Two days... we're broken... we won't last if they come at full strength.'
"Maybe activating the mechanism takes us forward, to somewhere safer," Seraphine suggested, though her voice betrayed her doubt. "Or... speeds up the challenge."
"It's a risk," said Aeloria. "But standing still is too."
The wind howled louder for a moment, as if mocking their indecision.
I closed my eyes for a second, feeling the faint warmth of the fire against my face, still cut and bruised, the soft and calm breathing of Dália resting in my lap. When I opened them again, they were filled with the same quiet resolve that had kept me alive this far.
"We decide at dawn."
And that cold night, while the fire crackled weakly and the shadow of the sixth mountain loomed before them like a frozen nightmare, the group rested. But none of them slept comfortably.
**
Dawn arrived wrapped in a thin, biting mist, tinged red by the insane light of the sun that never seemed to change in that distorted world. The group gathered around the dying fire, chewing silently on the dry soldier rations, the bland taste matching the weight on their spirits.
Their eyes, without exception, kept drifting toward the summit's center. There, the red chalice pulsed slowly and rhythmically, like the beat of a rotten heart, calling to them.
"I'll go get some of the liquid," Dórian said suddenly, his voice firm despite the exhaustion etched into his face.
No one stopped him. They only watched as he got up, dragging his massive frame over the uneven terrain, disappearing in the direction of the cave they had emerged from.
Time seemed to stretch like a blade about to snap. The group remained still, listening only to the wind and their own breathing.
I distractedly played with a stone in my hand, my thoughts far away.
Seraphine sharpened her spear's tip in automatic motions. Aeloria just stared at the frozen horizon, his eyes empty.
'Dórian... come back soon.'
After what felt like hours, the familiar figure reappeared, slowly climbing the slope. In his large, calloused hands, he carried an improvised stone bowl, filled with a viscous red liquid that seemed alive, writhing slowly inside the vessel.
As he approached, Dórian handed the bowl to Aeloria without a word.
Aeloria held it carefully, as if the very contact might corrupt him.
He looked at Glenn, then at Seraphine, then at Dórian, searching for any opposition.
There was none.
Each of them, in their own way, nodded silently. The only acceptable option was to move forward.
Taking a deep breath, Aeloria approached the altar.
The mercury under his feet rippled with his movement, as if the ground itself were aware of the choice made.
He raised the bowl above the pulsing chalice.
The world seemed to hold its breath.
Then, in a careful motion, Aeloria poured the red liquid.
The substance fell like thick blood, splashing unnaturally against the chalice's edges.
As it touched the vessel, there was a barely audible sound, like a drowned scream, and the chalice shone with an intense crimson light.
The ground trembled slightly beneath their feet.
The wind stopped.
And at the altar's center, a deep and growing hum began to echo, as if something ancient was awakening from the depths of the world.
The group instinctively stepped back, their hands reaching for weapons out of reflex.
'No turning back now.'
The red liquid was completely absorbed by the chalice.
For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then, without warning, a wave of crimson energy silently burst from the chalice.
There was no sound, no heat, no smell.
Only a deep vibration that passed through their bodies like a shiver from the soul.
The group instinctively turned to observe the vastness of the dungeon.
Far away, in the direction of the first mountain—the lowest of them all—something terrible began to happen.
A colossal explosion ruptured the base of the mountain.
Massive fragments of stone and metal were hurled into the sky like pieces of a bomb detonating in slow motion.
The entire structure of the mountain folded in on itself, imploding as if a hole had opened within it, sucking everything into the void.
A violent earthquake shook the entire dungeon.
The ground beneath their feet trembled with such fury that for a moment, they all thought the peak of the fifth mountain might collapse.
"By all the gods..." Aeloria murmured, eyes wide in shock.
Seraphine instinctively gripped her spear tighter.
Dália, now awake but still recovering, clung to my shoulders, her body trembling.
I simply watched in silence, fists clenched, gaze calculating—fearful of what was coming next.
It didn't take long for us to realize.
The area where the first mountain had stood began to dematerialize.
Where there had once been solid ground, now emerged a black void—like a ravenous abyss swallowing every stone, every thread of mist, every scrap of the dungeon.
And more: the disintegration was moving slowly, like an inevitable tide, creeping toward us.
"Hell... that thing's coming this way!" shouted Seraphine.
Before we could react beyond our initial shock, a new transformation struck:
The fifth mountain—the one we stood upon—began to shimmer with an intense red light.
From its base to the summit, a glowing film—similar to the one surrounding the distant sixth mountain—formed, encasing the entire structure like a magical barrier.
The group fell into absolute silence for a few seconds.
Trying to understand.
Trying to process.
And then, as if a dam had burst inside us, we all began to rant and laugh—exhausted and outraged all at once.
"What kind of messed up dungeon is this?!" yelled Seraphine, kicking a stone that bounced aimlessly across the floor.
"This crap wants to kill us even after we win!" grumbled Dórian, flopping onto the ground.
"We're stuck in a countdown now..." Aeloria muttered, still in disbelief.
I let out a dry laugh, running a hand through my tangled hair.
"Phew... and the worst part," I added, "is that I'm starting to get used to it."
Amid the mix of shock, anger, and a strange sense of relief, the group understood a simple truth:
They no longer had to worry about another locust invasion.
But also...
Our time had just started ticking down.
