I awoke to the faint, sweet aroma of something tantalizing. Even after the stew, hunger gnawed at me, relentless and unyielding. My eyes fluttered open, but the room was shrouded in darkness. Only a few stray rays of torchlight from outside managed to pierce the gloom, providing no clue as to whether it was morning or night.
Thadomire’s insane baffling's were absent, so I quickly slipped from the bed, hoping he had departed momentarily. Peering around the corner into the main cavern, I saw the pot still floating and impossibly boiling, emitting plumes of steam.
My stomach growled as I eyed it hungrily. I edged my way across the room, pressing myself against the wall. Surely, he wouldn’t notice if I took a bit, would he? I peered inside the pot and saw a vegetable soup, flecked with mushrooms. How Thadomire managed to gather such ingredients in this remote place remained a mystery to me.
Finding the ladle, I dipped it into the soup and brought it to my lips. After blowing on it to cool it down, I took a cautious sip. “Mm—” I muttered as the hot liquid seared my tongue, but I didn't mind. The vegetables were a chewy mush, and the mushrooms broke apart easily, but despite the texture, it had a surprisingly sweet flavor, reminiscent of the dishes the Fausts would cook for themselves.
Snatching one of Thadomire’s wooden bowls, I poured myself a generous serving of soup and glanced around the room. A small stone stool stood isolated in the corner, so I crept over and took a seat. Each spoonful warmed my insides, and the soup cooled quickly to a manageable temperature.
The food provided some comfort, but the thought of hell still churned in my mind. None of this felt real—most likely never would—but... damn it, it was, wasn’t it?
If the underworld truly existed, then it meant Llythyrra did too. And with her, Valith—the queen of the underworld. A story I’d heard countless times, yet always dismissed as mere fairytale. Perhaps she was still a myth? Could the existence of hell and Llythyrra be possible without her?
I glanced down at the nearly empty bowl, exhaled a weary sigh, and muttered, “Enough of that,” tossing it onto the table. I wasn’t just referring to the soup, but to the tumult in my mind, desperately trying to quiet it.
Seeking distraction, I stood and surveyed the cavern, taking in Thadomire’s eclectic collection of oddities. Strange skulls and a variety of crystals—some glowing, others faint—dotted the space. Stacked haphazardly were books, some evidently read, and others perhaps reread. Scattered papers covered every surface, including the floor, adorned with bizarre drawings of various creatures. Each sketch seemed to reveal a descent into madness, growing increasingly childlike with each passing page.
Looking around some more, I spotted another passageway. Curious as always I stepped toward it, then stopped. Should I really be snooping around another mans place? Especially one so beaten? But something drove me. The fact I would most likely never see the light of day again, at least not after entering hell. So why the hell not?
I pressed on, ducking slightly as I crossed the threshold into what appeared to be another set of sleeping quarters. The room was markedly different from the main cavern. It was smaller, more enclosed.
The walls were lined with tattered tapestries, their once-vivid colors faded with time. Piles of disheveled bedding, both stained and worn, formed makeshift nests around the room. In one corner, a large, intricately carved wooden chest stood half-open, its contents spilling out—crumpled robes and peculiar trinkets. Quite stereotypical.
As I glanced at a pile of bedding, I noticed Thadomire restlessly shifting in a dream. His limbs twitched and his fingers curled, but this did not disturb me. In fact, it gave me a chance to examine my surroundings more closely. Though the room was dark, I could discern a small, round table cluttered with papers.
Quietly, I approached and began sifting through them. Most of the papers seemed insignificant—scribbles, random pen marks, and spilled ink. As I moved these aside, they stuck to other trivial pieces of Thadomire’s ‘art’. There was nothing of interest, just more meaningless scraps. I continued to sort through the papers until I reached the end of the pile.
To my left, I noticed a glass cabinet, its windows obscured by years of grime and dripping water from the cavern ceiling. The cabinet appeared to have been unopened for ages. Through the murky glass, I could faintly discern the outline of a small book, which resembled a diary.
I carefully opened the cabinet door, which was initially stuck. With a bit of extra force, it gave way with a sharp snap. Startled, I glanced at Thadomire, who, thankfully, only stirred slightly.
Turning back to the cabinet, I coughed as a cloud of dust wafted into my face, stinging my eyes and clinging to my skin. I waved my hand to clear the dust, then retrieved the diary. Unable to read it in the dim light of the room, I carried it into the main cavern where the torchlight illuminated the cover.
The cover was blank—a rough, red canvas coated with years of dust. As I opened the diary, the pages felt thin and fragile, as if they might tear at any moment. The material was clearly ancient, something no longer used for paper. As I flipped through the pages, I found each one meticulously documenting the events of a day.
One entry caught my attention:
The Auras of Life are calling to me. I can feel them in my blood. They want me to set them free. With Belzarok on his warpath, it would be too dangerous. West Elenon has already fallen, thousands dead. He still thinks I’m on his side, but... I don’t think I can do this anymore. Nothing of note happened today. — 1196.
The mention of "his side" made me wonder—had Thadomire once been a follower of Belzarok? Or perhaps a double agent during the war? The "Auras of Life" was an unfamiliar term and made no sense as a sentence.
I flipped to the most recent entry:
They betrayed me. Festering in my mind, they banished me to these goddamned mountains. For what? Trying to save the race of man? They’re furious over the exploitation of their impossible power and the resurrection of an old friend? I’m afraid I’ll lose my mind up here. I’ve failed. I’m sorry, Father. — 1235.
The date struck me—1235. Thadomire had been trapped here for nearly 250 years. It explained his deteriorated mind. But how had he survived so long? Perhaps something unnatural had kept him alive, the same force that drove him into isolation in the first place. A cruel and unusual punishment.
I heard a footstep behind me and froze, instinctively clutching the book to my chest as if to conceal it. "Thadomire?" I whispered, the name slipping out as my confidence evaporated. All the anger and violence that the world had forced upon me seemed to dissolve in his presence.
Thadomire's hand suddenly grasped my shoulder, spinning me around to face him. His weathered face was twisted in anger. "You think it’s okay to snoop, boy?" he snarled, yanking the book from my hands and tossing it aside. "After everything I’ve told you?" He shoved me back, his fury palpable. "Do you think it’s funny to mess with memories?"
"I didn’t mean to—" I began, trying to explain, but he cut me off immediately.
"How did you get into my home—how... how did you find me?" His anger turned to panic as he backed away, bumping into one of the tables. His hand darted for a dagger lying there, it's unusual appearance glinting menacingly in the orange light. "I’ve gutted many things, and you won’t be the last," he growled.
“No—no, it’s me...” I stammered, desperately trying to reach him, but Thadomire seemed deaf to my words, inching closer with the weapon in hand. “The curse, Thadomire, I have to break the curse, remember?”
At that, he hesitated. His expression softened, and his eyes slowly drifted to the blade. His hand trembled as he let the weapon fall to the ground with a clatter. “I—y...yes... the curse...” he muttered, the intensity in his voice fading.
Thadomire’s gaze shifted to a banner on the wall, which I now recognized as the emblem of West Elenon—a province or perhaps a nation that had fallen during Belzarok’s war. The sight seemed to drag him back to reality.
"Mmm..." Thadomire groaned, clutching his gut as if seized by a sudden wave of pain. He staggered, leaning heavily against one of the shelves for support. His hand fumbled into his pocket, and after a moment of struggle, he pulled out a small vial containing a thick, dark brown liquid.
With shaky hands, he uncorked the vial and began to drink its contents. He gagged at the taste, his body visibly recoiling, but he forced himself to continue. Once he had drained the vial, he threw it to the ground, where it shattered into countless pieces.
"You ha—a—ve to go..." he gasped, his voice weak and strained, as if the effort of speaking was almost too much for him, “There’s something wrong with... my brain... and my body... not merely insanity... not anymore.”
I tilted my head in confusion. "What do you mean?"
Thadomire's words shook as he replied, "There’s something growing... inside of me... killing me from the inside out... worsening my already unstable mind." He pushed off the shelf and stumbled directly into me. I struggled to steady him at first but managed to keep him on his feet. His grip tightened on my shoulders as he leaned in closer. “Look at my eyes... what do you see?” he demanded.
“N-nothing,” I stuttered, unsure of what I was seeing. But then, something caught my eye. “Wait…” I mumbled, peering deeper. In his tired eyes, deep within his pupils, a dark light flickered on and off, like a torch being extinguished and relit. “What is that?”
His expression widened with alarm. “You must leave now…” Thadomire shook his head, as if struggling to hold something back. “That book I found… it’ll show you how to open the gates…” He paused, waiting for me to nod in understanding before continuing. “Destroying Belzarok’s soul is not a simple fight, but a battle of the soul itself.” His voice grew more urgent. “As soon as you open those gates, close them. If anything, unnatural escapes, remember—Belzarok isn’t the only being you need to worry about.”
“You can’t just—” I began to protest, but Thadomire suddenly leaned in, almost embracing me. He wrapped his arms around me, and I felt a sharp sting as he etched something into my arm with a small needle.
“Agh—what the fuck?” I recoiled, shoving him away.
“Go,” he gasped, crumpling to the ground in pain. “GO!” With a final, desperate gesture, he threw his arm forward.
My surroundings began to shift, melting away like liquid. The cavern dissolved, replaced by a new landscape. One moment, I was standing in Thadomire’s dark cavern; the next, I found myself alone in a snowy forest. The cold bit into my skin as the location set in. I was alone now.
To my left, something fell into the powdery snow. Crouching down, I brushed away the white layer, revealing the book Thadomire had searched desperately for yesterday. The one eye on the cover staring back at me.
“Goddammit.” I cursed, “I’m going to die today...”
ns 15.158.61.46da2
