Dual Wielding

Deep within the bowels of the labyrinth some called dungeons, Azoth slept fitfully, tormented in his dreams.

Even now, a millennium later, the memories of his defeat were fresh, each injury he’d suffered seared into his very soul. Surrounded in a nostalgic inky darkness, blacker than any night, he slept, his powers and movement suppressed by the scripts carved into the walls of his accursed prison.

A tinge of power, barely tickling the back of his mind, caught his attention, rousing him from his eternal slumber. Azoth sat up in his throne, a few minor spirits scattering out his way.

They were smarter than most.

Though restricted and weakened, his powers could never be truly contained. He stretched his awareness into the rooms above, carried on thousands of tiny threads of power, searching for the source of this disturbance.

He found a boy with ashen hair, hidden within the walls of his domain. He was covered in blood and drained of strength. Azoth reached out to the dungeon, as if it were an extension of his own body.

In a way, he supposed it was.

A twisted grin stretched across his face as he searched the dungeon’s memories, felt the monsters walking through its tunnels as if feeling blood flowing within his own veins. Sensations filled his head with every breath: sights, sounds, tastes, smells–each of them such a wonderful gift after centuries spent asleep, and he relished in each one. With these sensations came the knowledge he was seeking, and all at once, he knew.

“Corrin…” His voice was weaker than he’d expected, whispering and raspy. Though it still carried authority befitting a god.

The boy was doomed without interference. With the amount of mana flooding his system, he’d likely survive the wounds, but the mana poisoning would kill him from the inside out. And there was little reason for Azoth—restricted as he was—to be interested in his survival. His curiosity quelled, he began to settle back into his chair, until a faint idea brushed against his mind, hardly a whisper, shepherded to him by the universe itself. Lesser beings always tended to read too much into such daydreams, thinking them true prophecies or divine wisdom. Visions of the future were always muddled at best, even for him, and each was but one potential strand in a sea of limitless possibilities and futures unseen. But Azoth was more than any mortal seer, and he took notice.

His grin grew wider. This boy presented an interesting opportunity. Perhaps only a one in a million chance. Those were good odds.

If the boy lived, and managed to reach the bottom of the dungeon…

One of the spirits drifted closer to him, the dull creature. He snatched it from the air and began to consume its essence. It resisted of course, struggling pitifully in his grasp as it was slowly stripped of its being. Slowly—it was more enjoyable that way— it withered, before turning to black ash, and then disappearing entirely, as if it had never existed at all.

Azoth breathed in, savoring the power it granted, pushing back against the decay of this world ever so slightly. It was like pouring a single drop of water into the vast ocean of his own energies, but in this place such luxuries were scarce, and he would need every drop he could get.

“You are not strong enough yet, little one.” He cackled, flexing his powers to subtly bend the dungeon to his will. Pathways reshaped themselves, new caverns opened, and across the dungeon, hundreds of monsters abruptly changed their courses. A single spark could light a fire that would burn a whole forest to the ground, and with just a few nudges in the right places, Azoth’s opportunity would arise. Such fortuitous circumstances; it may be centuries before a chance like this would arise again.

Of course, such a meager amount of time was nothing to someone like him, but his greed knew no end, and if it saved him even a measly century or two, he would appreciate accelerating his plans.

For the first time in over a millennium, Azoth the primordial was wide awake.

***

Wyn had the utmost faith in his best friend. Despite their sparring record, Corrin was just as strong as he was, and his senses were better developed, almost animalistic. When it came to simply surviving, he would be more suited than Wyn was if he just avoided being stupid.

It would definitely take more than that to kill either one of them, and Corrin was the most stubborn person Wyn knew. When he wanted something, he would turn the impossible into certainty. A setback like this wouldn’t stop him… he’d be fine.

Yes, the reason why Wyn was rushing through the dungeon back to town as fast as his feet could carry him was simply a matter of efficiency. He wasn’t worried about the unknown threats his friend would face, not about the injuries he must have sustained on the way down. It would be fine. He wasn’t worried at all.

Without the weight of his pack to slow him down, he found the trip back was much quicker. Though a few creatures challenged him on the way back, he cut them down without even slowing.

Internally, he cursed himself. He’d taken far too long to kill the stone-back, if he’d been just a little faster, they wouldn’t be in this situation. It was pathetic, and he hated himself for it, but he shoved that thought down and ran faster.

He burst into the sunlight and rushed through the countryside, dropping his sword as his legs pumped harder. Only a few minutes later he had arrived back in town, gasping for breath.

He stumbled into the blacksmith; the nearest building he thought might have what he needed. The door slammed against the wall as he shoved it open. “I need rope! Rope! As much as you have!”

The middle-aged blacksmith, Kern, stared at him, “I don’t have much on hand, what do you need it—”

“Give it to me!” Wyn shouted, looking around to see if it was somewhere he could just grab it and leave.

Kern only hesitated a moment longer, but he’d known Wyn for some time, having made the sword around his waist himself. “Right. Wait there.” He went into a back room and emerged a moment later with a length of thick braided rope. Wyn snatched it out of his hand and rushed out of the building, looking for more.

Shit shit shit… This isn’t long enough. I don’t know how much I need.

Each second he spent looking was another second Corrin would be fighting against unknown enemies in the dark below, he couldn’t afford to waste any time, but if he rushed, and got too little rope, it would all be for nothing. He repeated the action at three more shops, gathering as much rope as he quickly could, and even stealing one he found tying a cart to a post. He’d return it later.

The sun was just beginning to crest the mountains as Wyn flew past the night guard, hardly slowing to grab his sword. He didn’t even see who it was, and their cries of confusion never reached his ears.

Wyn followed the path he’d memorized to reach the second floor and began trying to retrace his steps to the third. Luckily it didn’t take him long, and he came to the cliff face once more.

Quietly–for fear of attracting more of those bats—Wyn peered over the edge into the chasm below. It was dimly lit at the bottom thanks to large blue lightstones which seemed to be growing out of the walls, giving off a light blue radiance.

His vision wasn’t quite as good as Corrin’s, but he was able to make out the pack at the bottom. It looked like it had been dragged from where it had landed before being abandoned. He couldn’t tell if there was any blood from this high up, but Wyn saw no sign of his best friend.

Corrin wasn’t dead… he couldn’t be.

Wyn began unspooling the rope, and with each meter he unspooled, his heart dropped further and further. Please, please let it be enough. For the first time in six years, he prayed to the spirits, pleading that he hadn’t failed again.

He ran out of slack, the end of his hope dangling futilely barely three-quarters of the way down the cliff.

Wyn kicked a rock across the room, shattering it against the walls as he held back a cry of frustration, managing to muffle it through his grit teeth. What a waste of time. He resolved to remain until he could confirm Corrin was still there, but after almost an hour had passed, he had no choice but to prepare to head home. If he waited too long, the area would eventually flood with monsters, and staying for some unknown amount of time accomplished nothing. Thus, Wyn began to gather the rope back up. He’d need to keep as much as he could and make it longer for next time.

He’d have to operate under the assumption that Corrin was still alive, but was in another tunnel now, or hiding from something. Tearing off another piece of paper from the notebook in his pack, he began to scrawl a second note on the stone floor. The letters came out scratchy and uneven from the shaking in his hands.

Rope too short.

I’ll come back tomorrow.

Leave sign if alive.

He balled it up and dropped it down the side, watching carefully to make sure it reached the bottom safely. Only once it did, did he let out a small bit of the tension in his shoulders.

Reluctantly, Wyn began to leave. But he would be back.

***

Sometime later, Corrin woke up. That alone was surprising.

For a moment he panicked as he tried to stretch and couldn’t, trapped within the crack in the wall. But it passed after a few seconds as the memories came back to him. He tapped his head against the wall in annoyance and found that his body wasn't in excruciating pain. That was odd.

Carefully, he took note of how each of his limbs felt. His chest had felt like each breath was filled with sharp glass, now though each one was shallow and strained, they came without pain. His legs ached dully, but he felt like he could still walk, which was an improvement. He still couldn’t move his left arm, so his shoulder was probably still dislocated. He could try to pop it back in himself if it came to it, but he’d rather avoid it if possible since it could cause more damage. The last time he’d done it, he’d gotten in serious trouble with the town surgeon, though luckily it had been alright.

He held up his left hand with his right and squinted, barely able to see it in the darkness. He'd scraped it raw against the cliff wall in a desperate bid to slow his descent. The skin was still badly torn, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it should be. He’d had similar blisters when he’d first started swinging a sword every day.

Something wasn’t right, either he’d slept far longer than he thought, or he was injured far less.

Corrin shimmied his way towards the opening of the crack. He stuck his head out, peeking around the edge while he looked around the cavern. It was quiet, save for the distant roar of the falls. Having learned his lesson, he looked up as well, checking the walls above him for those bat creatures, but none were visible. As far as he could tell, he was alone.

Praise the spirits.

His mood improved further when he saw his pack still sitting over by the water, untouched by the giant beast, or any other monsters that lurked in the lower floors. Without it, he wasn’t sure how he’d even begin to survive.

After one last sweep of the room, Corrin exited the crack, gingerly placing one foot onto the ground, then the other before loading them with his weight. He let out a sigh of relief when it didn’t hurt just to stand. They were sore, but they would do. He sat back on the edge of the crack for a moment, pulling his leg up to inspect the damage as he pulled the boot from his foot. His ankle was slightly swollen, and had turned purple in multiple places, he knew from experience that he’d sprained it, but not badly. He’d expected far worse from how it had felt before he passed out. He’d gotten hurt worse as a kid, so he could manage.

After putting the boot back on, he stood up and stretched. His body was tight and stiff from the cramped space in the crevice, and with each motion he felt just a little bit better. After finishing rotating his working shoulder and arching to stretch his back, he tentatively hopped up and down and realized that even though he was sore, he was actually able to move. Other than his ankle and his dislocated shoulder, it was as if he'd gotten a long sleep after a brutal day’s work. Tired, aching, and with a headache that wouldn’t quite go away, but manageable.

Following some of Irym’s advice, he took a second to breathe in and out slowly, letting the air circulate through his body as he calmed down. Breathe in, breathe out.

Wow, I really do feel invigorated!

Compared to how he’d been when he’d first fallen, he was downright tranquil, but he couldn’t quite get all the tension out of his body. His gaze was drawn back to the water, and he eyed it cautiously, ready to dash back to his crack at any given moment, but the surface of the water remained unbroken, the only disturbances coming from the movement of the water as it crashed down from above and trickled out into the caves.

Corrin forced a smile onto his face, one that probably looked a lot more confident than he felt, but there was no one else there to reassure him, so he had to keep himself ahead of despair. “Alright… easy peasy. This is nothing, just another day in the dungeon. I bet I’ll find some treasure down here, like a magic sword, or a suit of talking armor. Wyn’s going to be so jealous.”

He stretched one last time, cracking his knuckles. It was time to get to work.