261. Witch of the West
Kenric didn’t bother with stealth. He kicked the doors open, the wood splintering under the force of his boot.
The room beyond was opulent, filled with stolen art and velvet drapes. But Kenric saw none of it. His gaze locked onto the figure sitting alone at the head of a long mahogany table.
The man was sipping wine, his hand trembling ever so slightly as the sounds of slaughter drew closer. He looked up, his face pale and lined with age, but the eyes were unmistakable, he had seen so many portraits.
It was Lord Dain.
Kenric stepped into the room, his sword dripping crimson onto the expensive rug. The noise of the battle outside seemed to fade, leaving only the heavy, suffocating silence between the two men.
“Found you,” Kenric whispered, his voice trembling with a terrifying, cold rage. “Lord Dain.”
“So it seems, Mr. Jade,” Lord Dain replied, his voice eerily calm. He swirled the last dregs of crimson wine in his glass before downing it in a single, languid gulp.
“So you do know who I am,” Kenric said, stepping further into the room. He didn't sheath his blade; instead, he slammed it onto the mahogany table, the steel biting deep into the wood with a dull thud. He sat opposite the crime lord, his eyes burning with a singular, murderous intent.
“One of the biggest gang leaders in Otto City? Of course, I know you,” Lord Dain said, reaching for a crystal decanter to pour himself another glass. The muffled sounds of slaughter still echoed from the hallway, the dying screams of his men but Dain’s hand remained steady, his demeanor unbothered.
“Then make it easier for both of us,” Kenric said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. He reached out, his gloved hand closing over the neck of the decanter before Dain could pour. With a violent jerk, he upturned it, spilling the expensive vintage all over the table like blood. “Tell me... Where is my sister? The one who was sold to you by my so-called father years ago.”
Dain watched the wine pool around his cuffs, a slow, unsettling smile spreading across his face. “Your sister... Of course, I know her. I know her very well.”
BAM!
Kenric slammed his fist onto the table, rattling the silverware. “SO! WHERE ARE YOU KEEPING HER CAPTIVE! WHERE IS SHE!”
A low chuckle bubbled up from Lord Dain’s throat, growing louder until it evolved into unhinged, manic laughter. He threw his head back, cackling as if Kenric had just told the world’s greatest joke.
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“Is this funny to you?” Kenric stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. He grabbed the hilt of his sword, twisting it in the wood. “Maybe I will start by taking your fingers. Will it be funny then?”
“You really have no idea, do you?” Lord Dain gasped, wiping a tear from his eye as he struggled to compose himself. The mirth faded from his face, replaced by a gaze that was suddenly sharp, fanatical.
“Noah Jade, your father... he had many mistresses and slaves,” Lord Dain began, unprompted, his voice taking on a preaching cadence. “Yet he never locked them up in a hidden room. He never went to such lengths to isolate them. Why was it that he only did that to you, your sister, and your mother? Has that never crossed your mind?”
“I don’t care about your riddles, you bastard! Just tell me where my sister is!” Kenric roared, wrenching his sword free from the table and swinging it down. Ideally, it would have taken Lord Dain's head, but Kenric stopped the blade millimeters from the lord's neck, the steel humming with the force of the halt.
Unflinching, Lord Dain leaned into the blade, a trickle of blood running down his neck where the edge kissed his skin. “Was it just because you were of Conley descent? That doesn’t make much sense, does it? A merchant like Noah caring about bloodlines?”
Kenric grabbed Lord Dain by the collar, hauling him halfway across the table. “Have you sold her to your affiliate, the Cult of Absolution?! Where is Anna!”
“Sold her to the Cult?” Lord Dain chuckled again, but this time the sound was wet, distorted. His eyes bulged, the veins in his neck pulsing with a strange, dark energy. Kenric recoiled slightly; he could sense it now: a sudden, overwhelming surge of mana radiating from the man.
“How can one sell the Master to her own home?” Dain spat, his voice warping, deepening into a growl. “She owns the Cult, you ignorant, deceased human!”
He lunged forward, ignoring the sword at his throat.
“We are not affiliates! We are not torturers! We are the devotees of the Lady!” Dain screamed, his left eye swelling, the iris turning a sickly, void-like black. “She... SHE IS OUR SAVIOR FROM THE DISEASE THAT IS CONSCIOUSNESS!”
SQUELCH.
Dain’s eye burst. But instead of blood and humors, a thick, writhing stem protruded from the socket. A dark black rose bloomed instantly, its petals dripping with unstable mana. His body began to convulse, his skin stretching and tearing as if something massive was inflating beneath it.
Kenric stumbled back, horror washing over him. “What? What in the fuck?”
Dain’s jaw unhinged, his voice now a chorus of distorted whispers. “She, Anna Jade... is the Witch of the West! Our Master and Savior!”
“Liar!” Kenric shouted, though his heart hammered against his ribs. “How dare you bastard—”
But before he could finish, the air in the room grew heavy, suffocating. An astronomical amount of mana began to coalesce around Dain’s mutating form, a pressure so intense it cracked the floorboards.
“ABSOLUTION IS THE TRUTH!” the thing that was once Lord Dain shrieked.
Kenric felt the shift in reality before he saw it. The mana wasn't just exploding; it was tearing a hole in the world.
“A Dungeon is spawning!” Kenric realized with terrified clarity. He spun around, sprinting toward the door. “RUN! EVERYONE ESCAPE!”
Behind him, Lord Dain’s body detonated in a shockwave of dark energy, consuming the room in a violent, expanding void. The birth of a new dungeon had begun.