The Treasury's Dark Gift

  The massive iron-bound doors towered before them, ancient runes pulsing with a faint blue luminescence along their weathered surfaces. Each symbol seemed to breathe with arcane power, resonating with energies that had remained dormant for centuries until their approach. Deep gouges marred the metal where previous adventurers had apparently tried—and failed—to force entry.

  "This is it," Aoi murmured, his voice barely audible as he reverently traced one of the glowing sigils with a bloodied fingertip. "The treasury of the Eastern Dungeon. Few have ever laid eyes upon these doors, let alone what lies beyond."

  Billy winced as he rolled his injured shoulder, the dragon's final strike having left deeper wounds than he cared to admit. His usual bravado had been tempered by the brutal encounters they'd survived, but the gleam in his eyes remained undimmed.

  "After all that—the Cerberus, that damned lava golem, and a dragon that nearly turned us into ash—there better be something worth having behind these doors," he drawled, adjusting what remained of his scorched gunbelt.

  Zen stood motionless before the entrance, his unseeing eyes somehow focused on something neither of his companions could perceive. The dimensional mage's tattered coat hung from his lean frame, revealing glimpses of scarred flesh beneath. Despite his injuries, his posture remained composed, almost regal.

  "There's something..." he began, his brow furrowing in concentration. "Something beyond mere treasure awaits us within."

  With synchronized effort, they pressed their palms against the ancient doorway. For a moment, nothing happened—then a deep rumbling shook the floor beneath them as mechanisms that hadn't moved in millennia slowly ground into motion. The massive doors swung inward with surprising smoothness, releasing a waft of stale air that carried the unmistakable scent of antiquity.

  The treasury stretched before them, a vast chamber whose ceiling arched so high above that it was lost in shadow. Motes of dust danced in shafts of ethereal blue light that streamed from crystalline formations embedded in the walls. But it was the contents of the room that drew audible gasps from even the battle-hardened warriors.

  Gold—mountains of it—gleamed in towering piles that reached nearly to the distant ceiling. Jewels the size of a man's fist winked and sparkled from within the heaps of treasure. Ancient artifacts of clearly magical nature hovered above ornate pedestals, their surfaces etched with runes similar to those on the doors but far more complex.

  "Sweet mother of..." Billy whispered, his eyes wide as he took in the vast wealth before them. "We could buy ourselves kingdoms with this."

  Aoi nodded silently, equally awestruck despite his usually stoic demeanor. When he finally spoke, his voice carried uncharacteristic emotion. "In all my years—both lives combined—I've never seen wealth to rival this."

  Yet Zen's attention was elsewhere. While his companions surveyed the glittering mountains of treasure, the blind mage had turned toward the far wall of the chamber, where something called to him on a level beyond physical sight.

  "There," he said quietly, already moving in that direction with unerring precision. "Something important awaits."

  Billy and Aoi exchanged glances before following, picking their way carefully through narrow paths between treasure mounds. As they approached the wall Zen had indicated, they saw what had drawn his attention—a massive stone tablet, easily twelve feet tall, embedded directly into the chamber's wall. Unlike the rough-hewn stone surrounding it, the tablet's surface was polished to mirror smoothness, and intricate script in an ancient language covered its entirety.

  Beside the tablet, resting on a simple obsidian pedestal, lay a dagger of unusual design. Its blade appeared to be carved from pure darkness itself—a material that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The hilt was wrapped in what looked like preserved sinew, darkened with age but still intact.

  "Can either of you read what's written there?" Billy asked, squinting at the arcane symbols.

  Aoi shook his head. "Not in any language I recognize from either life."

  Zen stepped closer, his fingertips hovering just above the tablet's surface. "I can," he said with mild surprise. "Or rather, I can perceive its meaning, if not translate it directly."

  His fingers began to trace the inscriptions as he spoke, voice dropping to a reverent whisper:

  "'Beyond the trials of flesh and blood, beyond the guardians of fang and fire, waits the ultimate trial of spirit. The one with the ability to see souls will seek a great darkness in this dungeon. To this Seer alone is offered the Blade of Soul Command, forged in the void between worlds.'"

  Billy frowned, adjusting his hat. "That sounds suspiciously like you, partner. The 'one with the ability to see souls' part, at least."

  "Indeed," Zen agreed, his expression unreadable as he continued. "'With blood and will may the pact be sealed, but heed this warning: Power demands sustenance. Darkness hungers for darkness. Feed it the souls of evil, or be consumed by the very power you sought to wield.'"

  A heavy silence fell over the three warriors as the implications settled upon them.

  "That doesn't sound particularly appealing," Aoi observed dryly. "Perhaps this is one treasure best left untouched."

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  But Zen had already reached for the dagger, his hand hovering just above its hilt. "Knowledge is never without price," he murmured. "And power even less so."

  "Zen, maybe you should reconsider—" Billy began, but he was too late.

  The blind mage's fingers closed around the dagger's hilt. The moment skin contacted the ancient weapon, its blade seemed to ripple like liquid shadow. Before Zen could withdraw his hand, the edge darted upward of its own accord, slicing across his index finger with surgical precision.

  A single drop of crimson blood rolled down the obsidian blade, seeming to sink into the material as if absorbed by a sponge. The cut on Zen's finger sealed almost instantly, but the damage—or perhaps the ritual—was already complete.

  "You alright, partner?" Billy asked, hand instinctively moving to his revolver.

  Zen nodded slowly, his expression distant. "I'm fine... just cut myself a little."

  But something had changed. Within the realm of Zen's unique perception—the spiritual sight that allowed him to perceive souls and energies beyond normal vision—a new presence had manifested. Where before there had been only the three distinct soul-lights of himself and his companions, now a fourth entity hovered at the edges of his awareness.

  Unlike the warm lights of living souls, this presence was a void—a tear in the fabric of spiritual reality that pulsed with ancient hunger. As Zen focused on this new presence, he felt rather than heard a voice.

  Hello there, Zen Bloodson. Don't speak aloud—you can communicate with me telepathically.

  Without moving his lips, Zen directed his thoughts toward the presence. Who are you?

  Meanwhile, he continued gathering treasures, using his space manipulation magic to store coins, jewels, and select artifacts in his pocket dimension. Billy and Aoi were doing the same, though they kept casting concerned glances toward their suddenly silent companion.

  I am what mortals call evil, or something approximating that concept, the voice replied with what felt like amusement. Essentially, I am the consciousness of the blade you now possess. Our fates are linked by blood and ritual.

  What exactly does that mean for me? Zen questioned, his mental tone wary despite his outwardly calm demeanor.

  It means you must feed me evil souls, or I will begin to corrupt your own, the entity explained with disturbing casualness. Think of it as an arrangement of mutual benefit. I require... sustenance. You require power.

  Wait, what exactly do you mean by "evil souls"? Zen pressed, carefully selecting a series of enchanted gems from a nearby chest and storing them away.

  Monsters, demons, malevolent spirits, the voice enumerated. Humans or other beings who have given themselves to darkness. Essentially, anything sinister that possesses a soul energy I can consume.

  Aoi approached, breaking Zen's concentration temporarily. "You've been staring at that dagger for several minutes," he observed. "Is something wrong?"

  Zen shook his head smoothly. "Just assessing its magical properties. It's quite remarkable."

  Once Aoi had moved away to examine a collection of ancient scrolls, Zen resumed the silent conversation. And if I provide these souls to you, what happens?

  I reward you with my power, naturally, the entity responded, the mental equivalent of a predatory smile coloring its thoughts. A fair exchange, wouldn't you agree?

  Which power would that be, exactly? Zen inquired, his caution evident even in his telepathic voice.

  The response came with a pulse of dark pride: The power to command souls themselves. To bend the spiritual essence of beings to your will. To speak to the dead, to bind them, to tear the very soul from a living body or call it back from beyond death's threshold.

  Zen's physical hand tightened around the dagger's hilt. Such power would be formidable indeed—perhaps even enough to accomplish his most deeply held goals. Yet the price...

  And if I refuse? he asked, already suspecting the answer.

  The blade has tasted your blood, the entity replied simply. The connection is formed. Refuse to feed me, and I will feed on what is available—your own soul. Slowly, incrementally, but inevitably.

  Billy's voice cut through Zen's thoughts. "Found something interesting over here! Looks like some kind of map to another dungeon." He held up an ancient scroll, its edges crumbling with age. "Might be worth investigating after we've had time to recover."

  "Excellent," Zen replied automatically, his mind still processing the implications of his new... acquisition. "We should gather what we can carry and make our way back to the surface. The Beast King will be eager to hear of our success."

  As they continued collecting treasures, Zen slipped the soul-devouring dagger into an inner pocket of his tattered coat. Its weight against his chest felt unnaturally heavy, as if it contained far more than its physical mass suggested.

  I look forward to our partnership, the voice whispered in the recesses of his mind. The world contains no shortage of evil souls ripe for harvesting.

  Zen made no reply, but as they prepared to leave the treasury, he found himself wondering if conquering the Eastern Dungeon had truly been a victory—or if he had merely exchanged one form of challenge for another far more insidious.

  Aoi paused at the doorway, glancing back at his companions. "The Beast Kingdom will celebrate our triumph for days," he observed. "The first successful conquest of the Eastern Dungeon in four centuries."

  "Yeah," Billy grinned, patting his bulging pockets. "And we'll be celebrating our newfound wealth for a lot longer than that."

  Zen nodded absently, his thoughts elsewhere. The weight of the dagger against his chest seemed to grow heavier with each step, a constant reminder of the bargain he had unwittingly struck.

  As they made their way back toward the surface, navigating the now-empty chambers where fearsome guardians had once awaited them, Zen couldn't shake the feeling that their greatest challenge hadn't been the dungeon at all—but rather what they were taking with them when they left it.

  The hunt begins soon, whispered the voice in his mind. I hunger.