A Devil In The Dungeon: Coming Clean

[Coming Clean]

The walk to the gate was short but the silence seemed to stretch forever. Tanya could feel Licia's worry for Artus, her anxiety for the life of her dear friend. And beneath that, she could feel the girl's silent question toward Tanya herself.

​The gate was manned by a pair of bored-looking adventurers who barely gave them a second glance as they passed through. Tanya supposed that a couple of roughed-up travelers carrying a wounded companion wasn't anything worth noting in a place like this.

​Inside, the town was exactly what the exterior promised. The streets were packed dirt, lined with buildings that leaned against one another like drunks propping each other up. Adventurers hawked wares from ramshackle storefronts or even just on the street themselves, all at an incredibly marked-up price.

​“Excuse me,” Licia called, flagging down a man who was in the middle of chewing on something vaguely resembling jerky. He looked up, his eyes dropping to Artus in Licia's arms and widening.

​“Damn. What happened to him?”

​“He was stabbed by a poisoned blade,” Tanya answered. “We need a healer or a clinic. Is there one nearby?”

​The man pointed down the street. “Yeah, head straight ahead. It's pretty hard to miss. Ask for old man Grell; he'll help you out.”

​Licia thanked the man and hurried in the direction he'd pointed. Tanya followed close behind, her eyes sweeping the ramshackle buildings for any sign of the clinic the man had mentioned.

​It was relatively easy to find; a weathered wooden sign bearing a rough painting of a mortar and pestle hung above a door that looked marginally better maintained than its neighbors. At the very least, the hinges weren't rusted through.

​Licia shouldered through the door without bothering to knock. Inside, the clinic was surprisingly clean, if cramped. Shelves lined every wall, packed with bottles which were meticulously labeled. A cot sat in the corner, its sheets stained with old blood that had never quite washed out.

​An old man sat on a stool behind a desk, hunched over a half-eaten bowl of something. He looked up as they entered, his weathered face shifting from surprise to concern as he took in the sight of Artus limp in Licia's arms.

​“Put him on the cot,” the old man said, setting his bowl aside and rising from his stool. His joints popped audibly as he straightened, but his age didn't seem to slow him as he approached his patient. “What happened?”

​Licia laid Artus down as gently as she could, but the boy still groaned, his face twisting in pain. “He was stabbed in the stomach by a poisoned blade. We used a potion on the wound itself and it closed, but he's been getting worse ever since.”

​Grell, presumably, leaned over Artus, pulling back the boy's head and pressing two fingers to his neck. He frowned, then lifted Artus' shirt to examine the closed wound. The skin around it had taken on a sickly purple hue, and the veins beneath were visibly darker than they should have been.

​“How long ago was he stabbed?” Grell asked as he prodded the skin.

​“Maybe an hour,” Tanya answered from the doorway. “Less.”

​Grell grunted, rubbing his chin. “That's the problem with potions. They're wonderful for closing flesh, but whatever was on that blade is already in his blood. Closing the wound just sealed it inside him.”

​He held out his hand without looking up. “Do you have the blade?”

​“No,” Tanya said, stepping forward and producing the pouch she'd taken from the dead man's body. “But I have this.”

​Grell took the pouch and upended it onto his desk. A collection of small vials and bottles clattered across the wood, rolling in every direction. He picked one up, uncorked it, and sniffed. His nose wrinkled and he corked it again, setting it aside before picking up another.

​“I lifted them from the man who stabbed him,” Tanya said as Grell worked his way through the vials. He opened and sniffed each one in turn, subjecting them to visible scrutiny and even tasting select items.

​“This one's a basic numbing agent,” he muttered, setting a vial aside. “This one's a stimulant of some kind. This is… cooking oil. That's an accident waiting to happen.”

​He turned back to Artus and lifted the boy's shirt again, pressing his thumb against the discolored skin. Artus gasped, his body going rigid, and Grell made a noise of vague interest.

​“The discoloration is rather intense for a recent wound. That usually indicates an intense dose.” He pulled Artus' eyelids back again and studied the boy's eyes. He frowned, muttering, “Pupils are uneven. That's not good.”

​“Can you help him or not?” Licia asked, her voice tight.

​Grell released Artus's face and turned to face them, crossing his arms. “I can try, but it's not going to be easy. Give me a bit to cross-reference the symptoms with what I've got in these bottles.”

​He gestured toward the door. “There's nothing you can do in here but distract me. Wait outside. I'll come get you when I know something.”

​Licia opened her mouth to argue, but Tanya placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let the man work,” she urged. “We'll be right outside.”

​Licia's jaw worked, her eyes fixed on Artus' pale, sweating face. For a moment, Tanya thought she might refuse. But then her shoulders sagged and she nodded, the fight draining out of her as quickly as it had flared.

​“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

Outside, Tanya leaned against the clinic's outer wall, arms crossed, while Licia paced a tight circle in front of the door. The town moved around them, adventurers coming and going about their business, but neither paid them any mind.

​Licia's pacing grew more erratic with each pass. She'd stop, glance at the door, then resume walking, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. After the fifth circuit, she stopped, pressed her back against the wall opposite Tanya, and slid down until she was sitting on the ground. She pulled her knees to her chest and buried her face in her arms.

​“He's going to be fine,” Tanya said, the words coming out a bit more irritated than she had intended. “The man seems competent enough.”

​Licia didn't respond. She stayed where she was, face buried in her arms, her shoulders trembling with restrained grief. Tanya had seen its type before, in men who had not yet experienced loss but anticipated it nonetheless.

​Tanya let her be for a moment. There was nothing she could say that would make the situation better, and empty platitudes had never been her forte. She'd never been the type to offer comfort that wasn't backed by actionable results, and right now, the results were entirely in Grell's hands.

​After an eternity, Licia lifted her head. Her eyes were red-rimmed but dry, and her jaw was set stubbornly. Tanya saw the words before they came, backed by an iron that had become more and more common in Licia as of recent.

​“Tanya,” she spoke, her voice a whisper but hard as stone. “What's going on?”

​Tanya understood the subtext of the question, and that made forming a response all the more difficult . She looked up at the false sky, watching the gentle flutter of leaves drifting down from the great tree above. The glow of the cavern's crystal ceiling was steadily growing brighter, turning morning into day in a shift that felt as natural as it was peaceful. Tanya didn't feel very at peace..

​“That's not an easy question to answer,” she said after an eternity.

​“I think I'm owed an answer regardless,” Licia replied not unkindly. “This is the second time she's ambushed us like this, and I don't have a clue why other than she had some kind of vendetta against you. I'd like to know why my friend might be about to die.”

​Tanya glanced at the girl sitting on the packed dirt, her knees pulled to her chest and her eyes red-rimmed but unyielding. Licia had been a good companion—a friend even. Tanya would even admit to growing almost as fond of her as she had Weiss or Visha. She'd been caught in the crossfire of Tanya's circumstances several times, yet had remained a friend regardless. That was worth something.

​Tanya let out a slow breath through her nose and lowered herself to the ground beside Licia, settling her back against the clinic wall. Her legs folded underneath her and she placed her hands on her lap, staring at the dusty street in front of her as others milled past.

​“My relationship with Azalea is exactly as you have seen,” Tanya began. “She is, or rather was, I suppose I should say, a vengeful fool looking to punish me for some slight. We've spoken face-to-face exactly three times. No more. The first time ended fairly, with all parties going their separate ways, even if she was rather disgruntled about it. The second… well, you've seen.”

​“But then why does she hate you this much?” Licia pressed. “People don't organize ambushes in the middle of the Dungeon over a passing disagreement.”

​“No, they don't. Not without outside influence, at least.” Tanya licked her lips, her throat rather parched from the day's experiences. “I believe that Azalea was enabled far beyond her means by someone with a particularly annoying vendetta against me. I'd hoped that he'd abandoned me for good, but it seems that I was wrong.”

​Licia's eyes flickered with understanding. She knew, or at least thought she knew, what Tanya was referring to. “It was a god, wasn't it? That's why you...”

​“Hate them?” Tanya finished for her. Licia nodded. A beat passed in which neither spoke. Tanya, because she wasn't sure what to say, and Licia because she was searching for the right words.

​“What… What happened?” she finally settled on

​Tanya was quiet for a long moment, watching leaves drift lazily from the great tree above, moving as if they had nowhere to be and all the time in the world to get there. She watched one land on her boot and sat there, before a gust of wind carried it away.

​“When you and I first met, I gave you the impression I had been forced into the Dungeon.” Tanya said finally, “that wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth, either. You see, I wasn't brought down into the dungeon, I was cast there. After I died.”

Licia stared at her, uncomprehending. “What?”

“Actually, let me rephrase that. I did not die, but I certainly would have, were it not for some… shall we say, extenuating circumstances.” Tanya smiled without any humor. “I was given a near view of an explosion capable of leveling a building or two, close enough that I could see what was left of the gun powder go up in smoke, just before I did too.”

Tanya looked up at the sky again. “And it was certainly not the first time I found my death so near. Twice now, I should have been sent to the great beyond, and twice now my journey into oblivion was waylaid by him. Being X.”

​In a voice low enough to only be heard by Licia's enraptured ear, Tanya explained her relationship with the meddling deity. She spoke on her original life, uneventful, but completely of her own design. She spoke of the Empire, of life in the orphanage and then on the front-lines, leading the charge against her nation's enemies up until her fateful death.

​She spoke of Being X and his desire to make her fall to her knees in reverent worship, of his abuses of his faithful—Mary Sue, and then Azalea. Tools to use and be discarded on a whim when their job was perceived as finished.

​Licia listened without interruption, her red-rimmed eyes fixed on Tanya's face as the blonde girl laid out the shape of a vendetta that spanned lifetimes. Tanya kept her voice measured, but she could not deny the relief she felt as she finally spoke to someone else about her plight. It had been a secret kept across lifetimes, and she'd be lying if she said it hadn't burdened her. Just a bit.

​When she finished, Licia was silent for a long time. The sounds of Rivira filled the gap, but the tension upon the girl's shoulders practically screamed her discomfort and confusion. She wasn't sure how to process what she had been told, and didn't expect anything like it.

​“That's...” Licia started, then stopped. She pressed her lips together, searching for words that wouldn't come. “That's a lot.”

​“It is.”

​“And... Being X is the one who sent Azalea after you?”

​“I can't be certain, but the evidence points to yes. According to Azalea herself, she was exiled from her last familia, abandoned by her god. She had no prospects but her desire for revenge, and Being X is precisely the type of man to use that to his own benefit, as he has shown before.”

​“Mary Sue,” Licia said quietly, and Tanya nodded.

​“She was his weapon of choice. A devout believer who was all too happy to be granted divine power in exchange for fulfilling her vendetta. She killed me, in the end, but it seems that wasn't enough for him. After casting me to this world, he followed me in. And now it seems he's eager to play our usual game.”

​Licia drew her knees tighter to her chest, clearly having trouble processing all of this. Thankfully, she was saved the trouble as the clinic door creaked open, breaking the spell between them.

​Licia was on her feet before Grell had fully stepped outside. The old man pulled the door shut behind him and stood on the threshold, his weathered face drawn in an expression that Tanya didn't care for at all.

​“Well?” Licia demanded.

​Grell didn't seem to mind the woman's attitude, speaking plainly. “I've identified the poison. It's a pretty well-mixed dose of Pauper's Kiss. It's a nasty piece of work, slithers its way right past normal resistances you'd find on an adventurer around these floors. It's a slow-acting agent, which is why he's still alive, but...” He trailed off, rubbing his jaw with a calloused hand.

​“But what?” Tanya pressed.

​“But I don't have anything for him here. Rivira isn't exactly the most well-stocked place around, you see.” Grell held up a hand before Licia could erupt. “That doesn't mean he's dead. The poison is slow. By my estimates, he's got a day, maybe a little more if he's stubborn, but he still needs the cure or a powerful potion to clear up the effects.”

​Licia made a noise in the back of her throat that was full of so much sorrow that it barely sounded human. It was the sound of grief made manifest, a keening just short of a sob that held back so much pain.

​“Just a day?” Licia asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

​“Yes,” Grell said, not unkindly. “I'll make him as comfortable as I can. Keep him warm and hydrated. But that's about all I can do.”

​Licia stared at him. Her mouth opened, then closed before anything came out. She looked as though someone had cut the strings holding her upright and hadn't done the service of telling her she could fall over at any moment.

​It struck Tanya, then, that this girl for all her skill in battle and knack for leadership, was anything but a soldier. She'd not braved the horrors of war and come out hardened; she was barely into adulthood. And unlike Tanya, she did not have the luxury of prior experience shutting off her heart.

​Tanya stepped forward, speaking in place of her friend. “We understand. Thank you for your help.”

​Grell nodded, his eyes lingering on Licia with clear sympathy. “I'll do what I can. Come inside if you want to, but try not to make too much noise.” He glanced back through the door at the cot where Artus lay. “He needs rest more than anything right now.”

​He disappeared inside, and the door clicked shut behind him.

​Tanya turned to Licia. “We should get back to Rann. He's been sitting out there with our hostage for a while now, and I'd rather not test his patience any further than we already have.”

​Licia did not respond. She stared at the closed door as if she could see through it to the boy lying on the cot beyond. Tanya noticed her hands were trembling at her sides.

​“I'm not leaving him,” she said, her voice tense and full of emotion.

​Tanya opened her mouth but the words died before they reached her tongue. She looked at Licia's face and the emotions trapped behind her eyes, and understood the motive behind her actions. Licia was doing the only thing she could do. The girl had no cure, no antidote, and Tanya had no solution to offer to fix these things. The one thing she had left was the simple act of being there, and Tanya would not take that from her.

​“Alright,” Tanya agreed. “I'll go relieve Rann and send him your way. Stay here. If anything changes...”

​“I know,” Licia whispered. “Just... send him quickly. Please.”

​Tanya nodded and turned away, walking back down the packed-dirt street toward the gate. She didn't look back, though she could feel Licia's eyes on her until she rounded the corner and disappeared from view.

​The walk back to the clearing took less time than the walk into Rivira had. Tanya moved with purpose, her boots crunching through dead and dying leaves as the false sky above continued its slow, imperceptible shift toward what passed for afternoon here on the Eighteenth Floor.

​She found Rann exactly where she'd left him: slouched against a rock with his bow across his lap and his eyes fixed on the Chienthrope tied to the tree. The woman was still gagged, her amber eyes tracking Tanya as she approached. Dried tear tracks stained her cheeks above the gag, and her wrists looked raw where she'd pulled against the bindings. Or perhaps they were simply too tight. Tanya couldn't imagine Rann suffering any escape attempts.

​Rann sat up straighter as Tanya entered the clearing, his eyes flicking past her, searching.

​“Where's Licia?” he asked.

​“At the clinic with Artus.” Tanya studied the Pallum as she spoke. She was happy to see that his temper had cooled somewhat, the heavy set to his shoulders just a tad lighter, his eyes not as murderous. He still looked unhappy, but Tanya wasn't worried he'd suddenly fly off the handle anymore. “She's staying with him. I told her I'd send you along.”

​Rann looked at her, his eyes piercing. “How is he?”

​“Alive, but in a bad way,” Tanya said. “The poison has been identified but the clinic doesn't have a cure. They're buying him time, but unless we find an antidote...”

​She let the implication hang. Rann's hands tightened around his bowstring, his knuckles whitening, but he didn't explode. He wanted to; Tanya could see that in the rigid line of his shoulders, and the way his breath came short and sharp through his nose, but he held it together.

​“Where's the clinic?” he asked instead.

​“Follow the main street straight through the gate. It's the building with the mortar and pestle sign. You can't miss it.”

​Rann nodded curtly and moved past her with quick strides. He paused at the edge of the clearing, looking back as if to say something, but seemed to think better of it and moved on.

​Tanya watched him go, then turned to face her prisoner.

​The Chienthrope woman stared back at her over the gag. Her ears pressed flat against her head, and her tail was tucked tight against her body where it was bound to the tree.

​Tanya crossed the clearing slowly, eyeing the woman all the while. She stopped a few paces away and crouched down to the woman's eye level, resting her forearms on her knees.

​“Now then,” Tanya slipped her knife from its sheath. The woman's eyes darted to it, as she knew they would, and widened. “Seeing as how we're alone, perhaps you'd be willing to answer a few questions.”

​The glint of light against Tanya’s blade as she raised it towards the woman's face made it clear that she didn't have a choice in the matter.