Chapter 163: The Cube’s Mystery
The common room of the Bone and Barrel Inn was a cavernous space filled with the smell of damp earth and the faint, sweet rot of ancient parchment. The only light came from flickering tallow candles that burned with a pale green flame, casting long, distorted shadows against the basalt walls. Adonis and Millia sat at a corner table, their presence drawing the silent, hollow gazes of the other patrons.
The Wight innkeeper, who introduced himself as Barnaby, approached their table with a heavy, rhythmic thud of his boots. He set down two pewter mugs filled with a dark, viscous liquid that smelled faintly of iron and fermented berries.
"Special brew for the breathing ones," Barnaby rumbled, his gray skin tightening over his massive jaw. "It keeps the blood from thickening in this cold. On the house, since my daughter has taken such a shine to you."
Adonis looked at the mug but didn’t touch it.
He leaned back as he studied the massive undead.
"You have a strange way of showing hospitality, Barnaby. I noticed you’ve been staring at my chest since we walked in. Looking for a heartbeat, or something else?"
Barnaby let out a sound like grinding gravel, which might have been a laugh,
"A heartbeat is easy to find. It is the weight of the soul that interests me. You walk like a man who has never known a master, Lukas. In this city, that is a very heavy way to walk. It makes people notice. It makes people hungry."
"Is that a warning or a threat?" Millia asked, her voice sharp despite her Mira disguise.
She leaned forward, her hand moving toward the hidden dagger at her thigh.
"In the City of Death, they are the same thing, little lady. You have a fire in you that is almost too bright for these walls. If I were you, I would dim those lamps. The Faded in the corner haven’t seen a flame like yours in forty years."
Adonis glanced toward the far side of the room as a group of humans sat huddled together, their skin so pale it was almost translucent.
Their eyes were vacant, staring into the middle distance as if they were watching a movie only they could see. These were the Faded, the long-term residents who had slowly been hollowed out by the city’s atmosphere.
"What happened to them?" Adonis asked softly.
"The Cube happened," Barnaby whispered, leaning in closer so his breath, cold as a tomb, brushed against Adonis’s face. "The Golden Cube is a hungry god. It doesn’t just take your life; it takes your ’why.’ Why you love, why you fight, why you remember. Every day you stay here, a little piece of your soul is pulled toward that light. Eventually, you become like them. A shell waiting for the Master to find a use for your bones."
Adonis felt a surge of cold fury, but he kept his expression neutral. "And the Master... he uses this energy for what? Eternal life?"
Barnaby straightened up, his eyes darting toward the door as if he expected someone to burst in. "He uses it to maintain the Seal. He uses it to feed his own divinity. But enough talk. My daughter likes you, but my loyalty belongs to the one who keeps my soul from shattering. Eat your stew and go to your room. The Tithe is coming tonight."
"The Tithe?" Millia questioned, but Barnaby had already turned away, disappearing into the kitchen.
As they ate the surprisingly edible stew, a man from the table of the Faded stood up and wandered toward them. He moved with a jerky, uncertain gait, stopping a few feet away. His face was a map of wrinkles, but his eyes were wide and watery.
"Do you have a song?" the old man asked, his voice a mere thread of sound.
Adonis looked up. "A song?"
"I forgot mine," the man whispered. "I had a song about a river and a girl with yellow ribbons. I woke up this morning and the girl was gone. The river was gone. Just the gold was left. The gold in the sky."
Millia reached out and touched the man’s hand. It was ice cold. "I’m so sorry."
"Don’t be sorry," the man said, a single tear tracking through the dust on his cheek. "Just don’t look at the light. If you look at the light, you give it permission to take the music."
He turned and wandered back to his seat, slumping down into the same catatonic state as before.
Adonis felt Millia’s hand trembling on the table. He reached out and covered it with his own, his grip firm and grounding.
"We aren’t staying here a second longer than we have to," Adonis promised in a low voice. "We will find the Master, get his life, and then we will leave."
"I hope so," Millia whispered. "This place feels like it’s trying to eat my thoughts."
As the clock on the mantle struck midnight, the atmosphere in the inn changed. The green candles flared bright blue, and the temperature dropped until their breath came out in thick white clouds.
From outside, the heavy, rhythmic tolling of a bell echoed through the streets.
DONG. DONG. DONG.
The front door of the Bone and Barrel flew open, hitting the wall with a thunderous crack.
Two figures stepped inside.
They were tall, draped in robes made of stitched-together shadows, and they carried long scythes that pulsed with a sickening purple light.
These were the Reapers, the enforcers of the Tithe.
The room went deathly silent. Even Barnaby stood perfectly still behind the bar, his head bowed in a show of forced submission.
One of the Reapers scanned the room, its face a void of darkness beneath a deep hood. It pointed its scythe toward the table where the Faded sat.
"Tithe for the Master. Three souls for the forge."
The old man who had spoken to Adonis didn’t even scream. He and two others rose like puppets on invisible strings, their feet dragging as they walked toward the Reapers.
The Reapers just placed their hands on the humans’ heads, and for a brief second, a brilliant white light flared. When it faded, the three humans collapsed into piles of gray ash.
The Reaper turned its head toward Adonis and Millia. "New arrivals. High resonance detected."
"Move along," Adonis said, his voice cold and steady. He didn’t stand up, but the aura around him began to hum with suppressed power.
The Reaper hissed, a sound like steam escaping a pipe. "The Master demands a toll for all who breathe his air. Give us your essence, or give us your lives."
The Reaper lunged, the purple scythe whistling through the air toward Adonis’s neck.
In a flash, Adonis moved. He didn’t draw a weapon; he simply caught the blade of the scythe with two fingers.
The purple energy of death hissed against his skin, but the Chaos energy in his blood neutralized it instantly.
The Reaper froze. "Impossible. You are mortal."
"I am many things," Adonis said, his eyes flashing with a violet fire that pierced the Reaper’s hood. "But I am not a tithe."
He twisted his hand, and the scythe shattered like glass. He followed up with a palm strike to the Reaper’s chest, sending a concentrated burst of annihilation energy through its shadowy robes.
The creature didn’t just fall; it evaporated, its essence scattered into nothingness before it could even let out a final shriek.
The second Reaper stepped back, its shadow-form flickering in fear. It let out a piercing wail that vibrated through the walls of the inn.
"Adonis, more are coming!" Millia shouted, standing up and drawing her blades, her disguise momentarily forgotten in the heat of the moment.
"Let them come," Adonis said, stepping over the table. "I’m tired of playing the vagabond. If the Master wants to see me, I’ll give him something worth looking at."
Barnaby rushed forward, his face a mask of terror. "What have you done? You’ve killed a Reaper! They will burn this inn to the ground!"
"Hide your daughter in the cellar, Barnaby," Adonis commanded, his voice echoing with the authority of the Dragon King. "And tell your Faded to stay down. The music is coming back to this city, whether the Master likes it or not."
Soon, a loud melodic tune of flute echoed far and wide.
From the streets outside, the sound of dozens of approaching footsteps also echoed like death knell.