Chapter 2: Under The Rubble

A life without purpose.

A life without hope.

A life without answers.

She watched on ethereal screen as 'he' fought with no such remorse. Steel grinded against steel, blood spilling across battlefield as cries of pride filled the grounds of war.

Children were killed, mercilessly beaten to a bloody pulp. Women were assaulted, heads of men were raised in spikes, as hopes were crushed, dreams were burned to dust.

Like the cold eyes of a hawk, preying for the weak, 'he' burned and caused plagues unable to speak. Kill and kill, send them to asunder, leave no soul behind and slaughter all that belongs to 'her'.

Yet within hateful gaze, the eyes of man lost without purpose dimmed without blaze. 'He' raised his sword so high and brought it down, kill without a trace.

"No more of your violence. I sentence you all in hell." 'He' said without a care, all before him falling as none came to seek for help. "My duty calls upon me, to which I die and serve."

She watched as 'he' brutally caused calamity, and with his might nothing came to confront him but him. All as 'he' marched through with nothing but a broken body and dead eyes as lifeless as that of a slaughtered fish.

Terrified, shocked beyond doubt, fear entered her heart as she watched in horror and disgust. How could a man done this and regret not even a single one of his atrocities.

Why does he do this? What purpose does he have to commit such an act? And for whom does he do this for?

Why? Why? Why?

The pounding on her heart raised; anger, hate, and disbelief bubbling inside her mind. She reached for the ethereal screen, watching so close as she slammed her fist on it.

Monster.

'He's' nothing more but a savage monster, a barbaric mindless berserker whose desire was to kill and kill. Gnaw until there's no more to flesh to bite, kill until there's no more to kill, raid untill no kingdom is left to raid, such were the act of this one savage fool.

She hate him, she hate him so much. Much so that she want to just punch him in the face.

And yet, why? Why is it that she felt pity to the man?

How can she feel such thing to one whom have caused such death to his kind more than calamities within time? 'He' was but a mere soulless being, one born from ethereal feces that is the by product of unbearable spite, who's conscience compares to grains of sand and bloodlust as wide as the seas.

A beast without chain, a rabid animal left to hunt and destroy.

So why?

"Rot and die for all the world can care..."

All costs, none great.

..

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Hunters hunt, monsters dies. In a place where a hint of hesitation can cause grave danger, one can only flow through one cause, and that is to kill or be killed.

Punch, stab, maim, slash, do what you can or die trying. Such was the only law, one known by many and some taken by the heart.

The Dungeon is a terrifying place, where monsters lurks twenty-four hours a day and seven days a week. It is said that the Dungeon goes on endlessly, like a labyrinth of caves where one can be lost and never see the sky again.

A thought that sends chills down to the spine of those and anyone who enters the accursed place.

Cling! Steel meet stone, blood painted the rocky blue walls as a goblin— little creatures of the Dungeon with green skin, long ears, and unsettling face— fell lifeless on the ground, a huge slash apparent on it's shoulder.

"On the walls, they're coming on the walls!" A red haired sword-wielding individual yelled as green arms emerged more from the walls.

"They kept coming back!" Replied a blonde girl with a backpack half the size of herself, throwing knives on her hands. "Do we really have to go this early in the Dungeon? It's literally before dawn!"

Green pointy hands grabbed a hold of the girl's hair, and not long after, it took a hold of her neck. Before much is done however, a great force yanked the green gremlin out of the young lady, a smashing sound ringing on her ears after.

"You should focus on the battle more." An old dwarf man scolded her, smashing his hammer onto the goblin repeatedly before it disappeared in black smoke. "Take out the torches we've gathered. We must burn the walls enough to seal these cracks they're coming out from."

"Damn right, old man." The girl, brought down the backpack she was carrying and brought out large amount of torches. "Here."

Tossing one at the old dwarf, the girl give another for the redhead near the walls.

The Dungeon was getting more aggressive.

Though the wave of Goblins had stopped, it could have been a lot different in the lower floors. With each step the party takes, the more monsters approaches them, far from the normal amount.

The monsters were still little in numbers, yet with the dungeon walls ripe and ready to gnaw, monsters attack far more frequently than the usual case. Anyone less experienced would've succumbed to death already more so if they're stubborn and without skill.

It was an oddity.

A weird phenomenon appearing recently on the past years. It made monsters more 'savage' and their numbers more higher. The causality was a little severe that a normal adventurer of the level of one were prohibited to go further from the fifth floor if their experience are yet sufficient to counter the odds.

The cause is unknown, leading to mass panic and gossips involving the powerhouses of Orario.

Yet none came out to be true.

"Really, what a weird day." The redhead announced, throwing what is left of the last torch on his hand. "The monsters were more fierce this time. I wonder what caused it to be like this."

"Mhm. But that is not our problem. We have atleast singed some part of the walls of the few floors, as we are told." The dwarf replied resting his hammer on his shoulder. "That's what matters more."

"Hey, just think about it." The red haired guy brought his hands forward, as if picturing the Dungeon and of it's depths. "Maybe this would mean that a great treasure came to be on these maze."

The blonde girl just deadpanned at him, her eyes looking onto his like he had just said something vile and stupid. Yet she just held herself down, the last torch on her hands shaking within her grip.

"Yeah, or you'll end up dying cuz you think there's some treasure within these walls." She responded, putting back the deadly torch inside her backpack. "Fools with such aspiration came here and died all the same."

A common occurrence. Death is a plague in the dungeon, one fueled by pride and greed, and is incurable without a doubt.

Take it lightly and you'll die. Take it harshly and you'll also die. No one wins, just those who lose and those who lose more.

"Indeed. But atleast consider it once." The redhead still adamant, reasoned with them. "I've heard rumors that beyond these confinement hides a bountiful treasure. Who knows, maybe it's true or not, but the thought of it makes me more fired up!"

"Yeah, fired enough to maybe set yourself on flames." The girl deadpanned.

"Oh quit yapping you two!"

The dwarf pointed his hammer at both the teen, halting them from their bickering and catching the eyes of both of them. Though he look serious, the old dwarf never spoke with spite, not infront of two children arguing who's who.

"What matters most is that we must tread these halls carefully. If not, we've might've just signed a contract with lady death and a ticket to her paradise." He added, getting a nod from the red haired and a click of the tongue from the blonde girl.

"Yeah, I guess you're right..."

As they ventured further, the openings of the cave onto the deeper sections of the Dungeon 'growled', as if daring anyone to go more further and find out of it's surprises.

It radiates an odd sinister aura, one that crawled onto the spine of the redhead very cold. None were the feeling of warmth anymore, and frankly, the atmosphere began to grow chilling.

Like a bath on the River Styx, and a trip to the southern ice caped mountains.

Maybe they're just imagining things and they're just a bit hungry at the moment, such were the thoughts of theirs.

"Oh, look. Another guy came here early." The blonde and the old dwarf looked forward and saw a man in armor walking towards them. "I can't believe he's here even before us. Did the guy even sleep?"

"Nevermind that, how the hell does he move on that armor?" Questioned the blonde girl, staring at the approaching figure. "That amount of steel in the body would've been more of a constriction. That's too heavy!"

Truth to be told, the figure indeed wore a plate of armor, decorated with engravings not much appreciated on the outside. He wore two impractically large triangular pauldrons coupled with a long dirty red cape and a bucket-like helmet.

A broken sword, it's hilt and a portion of it's blade only remaining intact, dangled within his fingers, binded only with his grip and a cloth that tied it tight within his hand.

Dirty, all covered in blood, though his armor caught their interest, the stains of dried blood were noticed instantly by each of their eyes. And as flies flew and orbited him like a pile of feces on the ground, he approached in a strong scent of rusting iron and burnt flesh.

"Howdy, fellow adventurers." The man in armor greeted firstly, waiving at them in an awkward, almost mechanical, position. "You're early venturing these depths."

"Same as to you." The redhead smiled, scratching his hair. "You're too early, man. Did you even sleep? Eat something even?"

"Oh, yeah. I did not."

"Eh—"

"But nevermind that. It's seems the monsters are growing more fiercer this time around, so I suggest you watch your way." The man, raised his finger, pointing out the apparent fact. "Even more, I do suggest you don't venture too far."

He was right, the redhead thought. They must be more careful to tread such path, even more so when monsters are more aggressive than they usually are. It's more horrific even if they're put in a situation where the come face to face with a dozen of the little green gremlins, the amount of that would put them in a disadvantage for a low-leveled individual as them.

So maybe a little camping wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Hey," The blonde girl raised an eyebrow. "What happened to your arm?"

Her words spoke true as the man's arm seemed to be covered in cloth and bandages, securing his sword onto it like a skin-binded weapon. More so, the arm looks to be leaking a little amount of blood, seeming as if it was still wounded inside.

"Oh this?" He showed the bloody bandaged arm. "A goblin managed to steal my dagger and punched a hole into it. Not to worry though, I've managed to survive and fend off fine with this."

"Geez, man. Don't you have any potions or some stuffs?" The girl questioned again. "If you can afford that much armor, then surely you can afford potions."

"Now, now. Let's not worry that." The old dwarf intervened, putting a hand on her shoulder. "We still have a long way to go. So I suggest we move now."

"Right." The redhead nodded, leading the group forward. "It was nice meeting you, stranger."

"Same as to you." The armored man casually swatted the pleasure away as he too began to walk opposite to them.

And so, the three departured to their agenda, leaving in their separate way of clearing the upper levels of the Dungeon.

As the back of the armored man, his red dirty cape swaying behind, began to shrink into the darkness, the dwarf breathed a sigh.

"What's up, old man?" The blonde asked.

"It is... wierd. I could've sworn I saw his arm dangling like a severed limb before he approached us." The old dwarf sweated as the red haired guy raised an eyebrow. "Yet he had moved it just fine moments after."

"Huh, you noticed that?" The redhead picked his nose. "I was focused on his armor to notice such difference."

Wierd.

"A wierd a occurrence indeed."

..

-----------------

..

Under the rubbles of wreckages, within a place of secrecy, a hill stood undisturbed.

Vegetation and mold layed waste on its expanse, shaded by the thick leaves and branches that jutted out of the ground like claws of nature. An errie sense of tranquility radiating from around.

Little beams of light, those that manages to pierce through the covers of branches of leaves, rained down from above like ethereal glow of the heavens lighting up the earth. Surreal as it was, it is more breathtaking to the eyes of those it allowed to view.

A pond of water ran around it, soaking wet skulls that was left to rot and mold, some filled to the brim with coins of gold. One could say that the place is a safe place of some sort, the warmth the place gives and the soothing wind flowing in the air, it makes even the maddest of man to be in peace.

But not him.

He stepped on of the hill, where a sword embedded itself on top of the mound, looking straight at the blade the made all of these things impossible to live without. The sword in itself was big, it's blade firmly stuck to the earth ground and still retains a height nearly as tall as his waist.

Decorated with a golden crossguard, the sword was a masterpiece of it's own. Yet old age seemed too inevitable to it's structure as signs of rust and chips were evident to it's blade, like a beautiful swords downgraded into a mere valuable scrap.

A mere scrap.

How come this is worth the praise of his Goddess? How come she had personally sent him down to this forsaken place only to retrieve a mere scrap metal invaluable to high class adventurers such as him and many more?

This, he did not understand.

Yet an order is an order and he will not take failure as a result.

He took it's handle, one wrapped in dirty cloth, and grumbled. Not long had he departed and he already yearn for his Goddess' love.

Better do it now, and as such, he pulled.

"...?!"

And his eyes grew wide. The sword did not bulge.

"What..." He gave it another pull, this time, exerting more force. Yet the result still came the same.

What sorcery was this? How can he not pull such a fragile weapon out of the ground when his power was enough to uproot trees and houses? It was simply impossible.

Once, twice, thrice, he repeated over and over again, yet the result still came the same. The sword cannot be pulled. It was a first time experience for him, and it had been a long time since he struggled like such.

A struggle like such had been a rare occasion only simulated very long ago, back when he still have the courage to face some of those power houses from that accursed Zeus familia.

But amidst rise and fall, The King will not falter.

He will never fall down.

Large hands gripped upon clothed hilt, muscles bulging upon contact with stress. Steam began to evaporate from the air, sheer will power making the atmosphere so dense it is merely breathable.

The King glared at the sword, and the sword glared back, yet he will not be tolerated.

He. Will. Not.

He gave a roar, and pulled.

Then a spark of black—

..

-----------

Deep within the dungeon, the monsters rampaged awake.

Fire scorched earth, violent cries kept approaching, and covered upon thick cloud of mists does the monsters raged upon. Claws dug through grass, big sizable hands ripping dead trees from ashen soil, though men and women alike advanced through such warm yet misty place, monsters kept coming, determined to kill that alone.

"Forward!" A man of noble clothes yet little armor roared, raising his broadsword up in the air, ready for battle.

Many men fought so strong, some cowardly— retreating to a bubble of safe space in protection of higher leveled adventurers— but they still fought with as much as their balls can. And with their numbers, such task of clearing the dungeon was as easy as sweeping dust from a polished tiled floor.

It was over, the battle is over.

Yet amidst the bloodshed, something strange came to be, shaking the ground and startling the adventurers.

The Dungeon growled.

More monsters those of the same of the floor such as trolls and shamans fell from the ceiling, and came with it various monsters from the higher floors came to pop out.

Strange.

"What?! What in tarnation is going on?!" Asked a female dwarf, looking at the incoming numbers of monsters.

"How can they still—"

Numbers of eyes grew wide.

The Dungeon roared all throughout.

----------

..

"Three-hundred and four..."

..

"Three-hundred and five..."

..

"Three hundred and six."

..

Bouka looked at the cash registrar, waiting for his daily loot to be sorted out.

His image was bloody, as if straight and unprotected from the slaughter house. His helmet's lower half was painted in red crimson blood, his body armor being stained with the same liquid in many corners and large areas. If it was not from his overly large pauldrons, people would say that he just came out from a literal murder scene.

Yet he did not, and what matters most is that he's getting payed more better this time. He had awoken early in the dawn to venture the dungeon, and quite to say, he had managed to bring more than he actually expected to have.

"Man, what great day." Bouka said to himself, still waiting for the cashier to sort out his stuffs. "I wish I could do this more."

The Dungeon is dangerous, that he knows well, and always as he kept meeting people inside it, he can't help but feel the eyes of those he meet bearing across his skull. Reasons for such action, that he did not know. All he did was climb down as far as to the 3rd floor and get as much as he can from his limited resources, what's wrong with that?

Not like he have anything worth looking at and to himself.

"That's a thousand and forty valis for you, dear sir." The cashier politely opened the drawer infront of Bouka, showing a small sack that was his spoils of the day's expedition. "Due to some of your unlisted Familia background, the Guild has already deducted a small tax on your salary, I hope you understand sir."

"Nay, that is all fine." The still-blood-soaked adventurer responded, "No offense is taken."

After a fair wave of goodbye, he left the Guild's cashier and headed to the next of his agenda, easily forgetting the fact that a cut was put into his hard-earned salary. After all, it was not of his concern. Not at all...

Not much people were on the guild at the moment, many were of known faces, some unfamiliar. Adventurers such as these ventures out the dungeon to get the most of their desires, be it money, fame, or even women— yet what strikes him the most was the overlying fact that they all hold similar physical enhancement blessings.

One bestowed by the Gods.

"Gods, tsk!" He scowled at the thought. He never liked Gods. He never did. "Lazy asses."

It didn't take Bouka that long to find an awfully familiar hair of pink. She appeared to be busy, however, as she kept talking with an elf with glasses.

"I arrive again." He stated with a clear of his throat, catching the pink haired instantly.

"Oh, you're back—!" And an ear piercing scream soon followed. The unfortunate elf beside her cringed in agony, painfully covering her ears as the pink haired attendant screamed at the top of her lungs.

Poor woman.

"What the hell, Bouka?! What in the top of the Tower of Babel happened to you?!" Finally, Misha seemed to snap from her satanic scream recitation and pointed her finger at him, her eyebrows crunched and her eyes shrunk into needles.

"For your information. I got a thousand and forty valis because of this." Bouka proudly pumped his chest, as if he had just won the lottery and is there to brag it about. "I am now lesser in debt!"

"I asked what happened, goddamnit!" The pink attendant retorted with a crunched up face. "No, scratch that. Could you go take a shower, please? You smell like you just got rammed by 6 sweaty goblins all at once."

"That's because I did!" Bouka beamed a laugh.

"Oh, good Gods."