DUNGEON FILE 002:
"FATE'S GOT A SENSE OF HUMOR"
Can't die?
Can't die?!!!
I tried desperately to push the thought away with the pathetic spite of a child. "You mean a curse to keep someone alive? That's a ridiculous idea. Do you know how many criminals have been thrown into the Great Well over the centuries? Every thief, every murderer, every wretch, abandoned by the world… and you say they're all... all... alive?"
I just could not allow myself to believe it. I couldn't believe that the stranger's voice was true.
My throat was burning and my chest hurt. Fear was clawing at me like a hungry beast. But still... I didn't want him to see me crying.
To be honest, weirdos who lock people in cages might actually enjoy watching such a thing.
"Tch... don't do that," he sneered, pointing at my dejected face. "I didn't bring you here to watch you have a mental breakdown. By Gods, these pathetic antics are why I stab first and explain later. There are other descenders I need to deal with, you know."
What a nerve!
"And just how many people do you have locked up? I still have no idea if you're going to 'kill' me or not, with all those hesitant threats!"
"I still might," he muses. "You're not exactly making yourself endearing."
"If you were willing, you would have done it by now. So what? What do you want from me?"
A short silence followed. He tilted his head and began to study me again—which only made me more annoyed—then he gave me a small, strange smile and turned his gaze back to the endless ravine.
"Go on!" I shouted indignantly.
"It's about time we got introduced. May I ask your name?"
"Excuse me?" I squirmed awkwardly in his arms. "I'm not in the habit of telling people like you my name, and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't force me to. In our circumstances, I think such a thing is hardly warranted."
"Oh, Gods…" he protested for a moment, then stiffened and gave a disingenuous smile. "Okay, I can begin. My name is Mendell Gagnepain, what the denizens of this Dungeon call a Hunter. If that means nothing to you, I shall take no offense. It's a burden for someone of my status to remain largely unknown to those who aren't involved."
He tilted his head slightly. "Now, since I've conceded to this introduction, I would ask you to do the same."
"As unpleasurable as it has been to make your acquaintance, I will not."
"You know that." His fake smile vanished in an instant. "You have revealed more than you realize. Your insufferably smug attitude and the way you collapsed in that gown make it obvious you're an aristocrat! And the embroidery on your dress is unique to the Obsidian Empire, as far as I can tell. Your dark complexion and profile further prove it. With all that I have collected, is it really that much trouble to even tell me your name?"
"I…" I choked. His politeness, his relentless persistence, did nothing to calm my anger. "Okay, I don't mind telling you my name, but I will not accept any of the nasty stories you have told me. Here: I am Lady Ayauhcihuatl Tallón of the Obsidian Empire."
How absurd this all was.
How utterly infuriating.
"Well, that's enough prying. I would appreciate you never speak that name nor to me again. I don't want to hear any silly stories about curses and death and…"
"Ayauhcihuatl…" Mendell's eyes softened for a moment. It was as if he had made up his mind to remember the name.
"—Didn't you hear what I just said?! If you insist, at least call me Aya…"
"Ayauhcihuatl…" he repeated again, as if savoring it once more. Then, to my surprise, the pressure of the blade eased, weakening to the point where I could breathe. "Aya. Don't you understand? You fell 10,000 meters. Otherwise, how do you think you've come this far alive and still remain breathing? Accept what I'm about to say. If you can, quickly. Denying it means you have no chance. Whether you accept it or not, you'll be trapped here alive nonetheless."
"Don't say that!" I retorted. No matter how much I resisted, Mendell's words had already began weighing heavily on the back of my mind. "No... no. I... told you, didn't I? I'd rather be dead than alive. I can't…"
"I've already explained to you, didn't I? You were never going to die," Mendell repeated matter-of-factly. The fall—the endless fall, the darkness at my feet—was all in vain. "You physically cannot."
I almost considered his words for a moment, blood draining from my face, before I leaned harshly against Mendell's estoc along the pulsing vein of my neck.
The cold tip of Mendell's estoc still hovered at the base of my throat, its steel glinting dully in the ghostlight of the cavern.
"You physically cannot die," he insisted, for the second time.
"Then prove it," I hissed.
He blinked, caught off guard. "I just did. You fell and came back."
"No." I stepped forward suddenly, before he could react. "I will."
Before he could pull the blade away, I reached out and seized it, my bare palm closing around the sharp edge of the estoc with brutal force. Mendell cursed, trying to wrench it back, but I held tight.
Steel sliced into flesh, splitting through the layers of skin in my palm. Blood exploded across my fingers, warm and sickeningly bright in a way I wasn't used to seeing.
The pain was immediate—flashing, hot, violent. Aagrgh! Damned Gods, this does hurt!!
Nevertheless, I clenched tighter, driving the edge deeper.
"Are you mad?!" Mendell's voice cracked.
I ignored him. I let the blood drip down my wrist in heavy rivulets, trailing into the dust at my feet.
But then, the air shifted.
A slow, curling mist, black as obsidian and unnaturally smooth, began to rise from the stone. It slithered between my fingers like a vine, swirling in tight spirals around the wound. I gasped, instinctively loosening my grip. The mist pushed through the gashes in my flesh, hissing softly like steam poured on hot coals.
The pain dulled. Then vanished entirely.
My skin began to seal itself. Right before my eyes, torn muscle stitched together with grace. Blood evaporated into black vapor, and the gaping tear in my hand closed—neat, pale, perfect, as if the injury had never been there at all.
I stared. "What in the name of the Gods…"
Mendell sheathed his blade with a sharp motion and crossed his arms, looking almost smug. "There!" he said. "That was stupid… Quite stupid. But now you believe me."
I flexed my fingers slowly, my breath ragged. "It was real. The wound was real. I've never seen anything like this in my life!"
"Yes." His expression sobered. "The wound was real, and now so is your curse. Of course these things don't happen on the Topworld, so please get quite comfortable with pain."
I didn't answer. I just stared at my hand, turning it over again and again. Mendell removed the estoc from its place against my neck with quickness the moment he could.
"I've killed quite a few descenders, but I've never seen anyone who wants to die as much as you do. For an ordinary criminal, life in the Dungeon may be just as bad as life on the surface. Suffering is the same no matter where, so it makes sense to just live through it the same. But you?"
He let out a cruel, mocking laugh.
"I never imagined that even a noblewoman would react so viscerally to losing everything. You're not used to suffering at all. To be honest, I thought it might be fun to wake you up and see what kind of madness would have taken over you. For a moment I thought that looking at you—such a wretched thing—might give me some satisfaction. But I have no taste for it after speaking to you…"
In an instant Mendel grabbed me by the shoulders, his hand clamping between the scar on my neck and the burn on my back. I was forced to turn. Face to face, I saw him clearly for the first time.
His pale blonde hair fell in soft waves and framed the contours of his face with delicate grace. His face was striking, even beautiful. His chiseled features, so nicely carved, seemed soft and almost too refined for his rough countenance.
The man's light eyes, yellow and heavy-lidded, seemed tired. His lips seemed soft but pressed into an unyielding line, and his high cheekbones cast such sharp shadows that accentuated the quiet solemnity of his gaze.
I did not trust his beauty or his feigned kindness. How easy it must be for him, to wield such power over others, to be so pristine in his apathy. How easy is it for him to remain so indifferent to death? The serenity of his face unsettled me more than his cruel words. It was a tranquility that came from having no need to fear the violence that dwelled in others.
That is why, from the moment I saw him and turned my gaze towards him, I felt a sense of disgust well up, bristling in my chest. What an annoying terrible man.
"Hm," Mendell blinked thoughtfully then continued. "Then again, I've never had a taste for taking anyone's [Essence]. You're really unbearable and much less interesting than I thought you would be. Since you were so insistent on ignoring me and pleading for death, I shouldn't make an exception for you, right? Ah, I give up. I'll surrender to your request; I'm quite convinced."
"Wait, what?"
"Very well. Good-bye, Aya~!"
And just like that, in one brutal, unforgiving motion, I was sent tumbling over the edge.
The last thing I saw was his face, still smiling, watching me plummet with the same mild interest one might give a leaf spiraling to the ground. I saw was his silhouette framed in silver light, watching as I disappeared into the black.
But it doesn't matter. Because when I open my eyes, it will not be the end… This will never be the end. I'd hit the ground. My bones will shatter. Flesh split. My skull cracked like porcelain against the stone…
And then I opened my eyes.