MaeveMcCarthy
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Chapter 58
🕑 Added 2025-01-16 17:44:44 +0000 UTCDust swirled in thick eddies around the corpse of the Black Widow, slowly dissolving into black ichor that seeped into the cracked stone. If one perked their ears, they could have heard the distant crackling of fire, but here, in this collapsed nest, the only sounds were ragged breathing and the soft chime of System notifications.
Dotty lay sprawled against a chunk of rubble, Twilight’s Edge still clutched in her trembling hand. Her breath came in desperate gulps, each exhalation punctuated by a gasp of pain. When she’d crashed to the ground after delivering that final slash, her momentum and force of impact had brought her down hard.
She tried to move, but the agony rolling across her ribs forced a choked whimper from her lips. The sword slid from her grip, clattering onto the stone. A deeper bolt of pain shot through her ankle and wrist—likely fractured or sprained.
Monica, freed by the spider’s legs loosening in death, crawled across the gore-spattered floor to Dotty’s side. Her own wounds were savage: slashes and punctures riddled her form, with her Nightshade Battle Wear hanging in tatters. Blood slicked down her arms and torso, and her golden bracers—with cracks spreading thorought their entire surface—were covered in ichor and dirt.
“Dotty,” Monica rasped, voice rough from exertion. She pressed one hand, flickering with Golden Flame, to Dotty’s side. “Stay still. I’ve got you.”
Dotty’s entire body shook as the adrenaline leaked away, leaving behind cold, crippling aches. She looked up at Monica with wide, fearful eyes—and then her expression flickered in relief.
“I’m okay,” Dotty managed to say, though it was hardly more than a whisper. “I’m… not dead.”
A surge of fierce protectiveness and sheer relief welled up in Monica’s chest. She was trembling, too—shaking from the fury of battle and the lingering terror of how close she’d come to potentially losing Dotty. Golden Flame pulsed weakly around her hands as she funneled what little mana remained to heal the girl’s most life-threatening injuries.
Ted stumbled over next, clinging to his mandolin in one white-knuckled hand. His eyes danced between Dotty’s battered form and Monica’s shredded armor, face pale. “D—Dude, I saw her jump from the roof,” he stammered. “That final strike… oh, man…”
In the background, the screech of metal signaled another death. Sir Tristan, panting heavily, had finally dispatched the last Corrupted Tarantula that had dogged him during the fight. He jogged over, sword and shield ready, gaze darting around to ensure nothing else was lurking.
A collective shudder swept through the chamber as a Ding resonated in their minds. Monica, already half in a daze, let out a soft laugh that sounded almost hysterical.
Ding
You have cleared the First Floor of Viscera.
Ding
Quest Completed – ‘Eradication I/III’
Monica exhaled shakily.
“We did it… we actually did it.”
A flood of post-battle exhaustion tugged at them, but also a rush of triumph. Sir Tristan’s posture loosened at last, letting his shield drop a fraction. Ted looked like he wanted to collapse. Dotty closed her eyes, relief etched on her black-blood-smudged face.
From the disintegrating remnants of the Black Widow, a dark puddle of metal and silver fragments formed. Slowly, the swirling substances coalesced into two distinct shapes.
Monica recognized the glimmer of System-assigned loot. Despite the pain throbbing in her body, she forced herself upright, letting the Golden Flame autopilot the healing on her arms and Dotty’s broken ribs as the body of the Boss dissolved in smoke.
*Ding*
Looting process completed.
Ding
Auto-loot is on.
You obtain:
Corrupted Black Widow Thread (Corrupted)
Key to the Temple of Dhoznil
Monica looked at the two items that had emerged from the puddle, a large spool of pitch-black, razor-fine spider silk that pulsed faintly with leftover mana. The threads almost looked alive, slithering in their spool. Then, an ornately carved metal key, etched with dwarven runes and swirling patterns. When Monica picked it up, it felt warm to the touch, as though fresh from a forge.
Finally, Monica sighed.
With that key, they could get to the Spear of Dhoznil and kill Machina.
Monica glanced down at her Nightshade Battle Wear—its inky plating was sliced to ribbons and half-melted in places. A grim thought crossed her mind: Maybe that spider thread could help me repair or upgrade it…
Before she could dwell longer on that idea, another Ding chimed.
Ding
Quest Completed – ‘Eradication I/III’
Reward: Loot Chest x3 (Rare)
Ding
Thanks to your good deeds, the Loot Chest is upgraded.
Ding
Loot Chest x3 (Rare) upgraded to Loot Chest x1 (Epic)
For a breath, nothing seemed to happen. Then the air nearby shimmered, dust swirling in a small vortex, and an ornate chest materialized.
It stood about waist-high with black iron corners and intricate dwarven filigree snaking along its surface. A faint golden glow suffused the runes engraved on the lid. It appeared ancient, as if it had been sealed away centuries ago only to be summoned now by the System’s decree.
“What in the—?” Ted breathed, stepping back.
Monica let out a raspy laugh. “We were supposed to get three Rare Loot Chests, not… this.”
Sir Tristan eyed the chest with a stunned expression, sword still in hand.
“An… Epic Loot Chest?”
“Another,” Ted precised. “This is not the first. The first she got had the Thraldrirlum’s Dream—the pickaxe—in it.”
Ding
Would you like to open Loot Chest (Uncommon)?
Yes | No
Sucking in a pained breath, Monica leaned forward to pry open the lid.
Ding
You have opened Loot Chest (Uncommon)!
It felt heavier than any chest she’d opened before—like prying apart layers of centuries-old stone. When she finally lifted it, a wave of scorching air blasted outward.
Ding
You obtained Heart of Fire (Epic)
Dotty, who had been healed from her injuries, felt her Dangersense go off and jumped up and at Ted, who had gotten too close to the chest. She shouted, “Get down!” and flung herself sideways onto Ted to shield him from a sudden pulse of intense heat that flooded the nest.
Both screamed in pain as a terrifying wave of heat washed over them, singing their skin. Monica immediately kicked the chest away, making it fly and seeing a red glowing orb coming out of it.
Even Sir Tristan’s plate armor smoked at the edges.
Monica’s eyebrows shot upward; she could feel the power in that orb.
She’d never seen such a ferocious artifact.
When she walked up to it and picked it up the dirt floor beneath the orb began turning molten. The brilliant flames licked at her arms, yet did not instantly scorch her—though she felt a fierce pressure, more intense than normal fire could produce.
I shouldn’t be bothered by it, Monica thought. I’m invulnerable to mortal flames.
This meant that whatever flame was contained in the orb was almost divine in grade.
She looked at everyone else, now climbing out of the nest, helped by Sir Tristan, to escape the heat of the Heart of Fire.
*
In the midst of this chaos, Gromorlig arrived—dusty and half out of breath, presumably having followed Dotty’s mad dash. He skidded to a halt the moment he laid eyes on the Heart of Fire, or more accurately, the blazing crater it was starting to form in the nest.
“By my father’s beard, lass…” Gromorlig whispered, eyes nearly bugging out. “How in the depths of the molten core did you…?”
Even he had to stay a fair distance away; by now the heat was enough to blacken stone and turning patches of ground around monica into molten lava. Sir Tristan had to yank off a portion of his armor that was glowing dangerously hot.
Gromorlig let out a disbelieving chuckle, though he kept his distance. “That… that there is the Heart of Fire!” His voice trembled with reverence. “Our lore said it was lost to time—an artifact rumored to open Dworsul’s private forge, the Inferno, on the second floor of Viscera. Dworsul the Unyielding, the blacksmith who refused ascension after hitting Level 500…” He trailed off, eyes wide with excitement. “And now you have it?”
Monica’s brow furrowed at the mention of the second floor.
She and the others had planned only to get the Spear of Dhoznil from the temple and then ascend to Machina’s lair above or below. However, the thought of a second floor of Viscera, complete with a legendary dwarf forge, got her attention. Gromorlig’s tone suggested this place wouldn’t be an ordinary workshop.
He turned his gaze to Monica, immediately understanding what she was thinking.
“Lass, not just anyone can set foot in Dworsul’s domain. Rumor states the antechamber is hotter than a dragon’s stomach. Only Dworsul himself could stand it. But you…” Gromorlig regarded her with awe, “Avatar of the Twin Phoenix, you are immune to flames—perhaps even Dworsul’s. The System must have given you this for a reason.”
Monica looked down at the orb, flames dancing across her hands. It was so hot that it almost challenged even her divine resistance.
“But first, we still have to open the Temple of Dhoznil and get the Spear,” she stated matter-of-factly.
Gromorlig only gave a crooked grin.
“Aye, one step at a time.”
Sir Tristan, sweat pouring down his face, blurted.
“Then why not just take the Spear to Machina? If that’s the only thing that kills an Old God… why waste time in a dwarven furnace?”
Monica, battered and exhausted, but still unwavering in her purpose, clenched the Heart of Fire.
“I… I still want that Spear. But Gromorlig’s right—maybe the System wants us to arm ourselves better… just look at this.”
Monica pointed at her armor.
“If I had better equipment, I’m pretty sure I could have fought back more easily. And look, I also need to get my bracers repaired,” the redhead raised the two cracked golden bracers.
Ted slumped against a chunk of rubble, panting, “So… Spear of Dhoznil first, then this forge?”
Gromorlig shrugged, half-laughing.
“Or whichever order you choose, but the second floor’s not good for any of you other than the Avatar lass unless you can endure molten levels of heat.”
“What do you mean?” Monica asked with a frown.
“The second level is the level of craftsmen,” Gromorlig explained. “To enhance the quality of our creations, we funnelled all the schorching hot Mana throughout it. If a normal person entered the place, they’d die on the spot. Their lungs would fry in a matter of seconds.”
“Oh, great,” Ted said, exasperated. “That’s great, dude. Just… great.”
“ You can still go down, perhaps, if you find a dwarven fire-breathing technique. Ha! Right, just awaken one of the grumpy craftsmen with Thraldrirlum’s blood—explain I sent you and they’ll teach you. Plus, it’s a similar technique to Meditation. A few of the lads down there managed to get one of their Skills to Silver Rank with it. I never could figure out how, though.”
Monica could only nod.
I’ll need every advantage I can get to rescue my children from Machina, she thought.
Suddenly, Gromorlig gasped and staggered.
Dotty, exhausted and barely standing, noticed it first.
“Gromorlig? Are you hurt?”
His arms—still outstretched with excitement—had started to harden, cracks spiderwebbing along his forearms. Gray stone replaced living flesh with alarming speed. He dropped to one knee, wearing a resigned smile.
“Aye, lass,” he murmured. “My time’s up, it seems. I told you, I only borrowed a bit of life from that dwarven blood you poured on me.” He patted Dotty’s wrist. “You used the traps right—that’s what matters.”
Sir Tristan sprang forward, rummaging for a healing vial from his belt—he hadn’t needed them so far thanks to Monica’s healing—but Gromorlig simply shook his head, lifting his stone-crusted hand in a gesture of refusal. Monica attempted a pulse of Golden Flame, but it only skittered across the stone surface without effect.
“No point,” Gromorlig said gently. “I was stonebefore, after all. This was just a… small vacation. A chance to share my knowledge one last time.” He shuddered as the petrification crept up toward his shoulders. “I’m glad we fought side by side again, even for a little while.”
He crooked a finger at Ted, who approached, a mixture of guilt and awe on his face.
“Lad, that new Skill of yers—‘Battle Conductor,’ was it? We dwarves know how essential a proper anvil is to forging steel. Don’t you doubt what you contribute. You saved the Avatar’s hide today. Keep those strings going—‘tis rarer than mithril, and just as strong.”
Ted swallowed hard, tears in his eyes. “I… I won’t forget.”
Gromorlig nodded, giving Heidi a quick wink and a teasing comment about “fine fireworks.” He locked eyes with Sir Tristan for a moment, granting the knight a dignified nod of approval. Then his attention slid to Dotty, who was forcing herself upright, one arm hugging her ribs.
Cracks spread across Gromorlig’s chest and face. His features stiffened. Yet his gaze held warmth for the battered group.
“Dwarves might’ve turned to stone, but we don’t break easily. And you, Dotty… you’d make a fine dwarf with that spirit of yours. Don’t lose it.”
She tried to speak but only managed a shaky nod, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes.
Finally, the stone creeped across Gromorlig’s jaw, silencing his voice. The last glimpse of life in his eyes flickered and went still. He was once again a statue—though this time, his expression was peaceful, even content.
A hush fell over the group, broken only by Dotty’s ragged breathing. Dotty tried reaching out to the dwarf’s statue, as if to confirm he was truly gone. Her fingers felt the cold, unyielding stone.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For teaching me.”
Monica forced her unsteady legs to carry her to Dotty’s side after putting the Heart of Fire in her Inventory. The adrenaline had long since crashed, leaving her limbs trembling with fatigue. Blood trickled from reopened wounds. She ignored the pain.
“Gromorlig is right. You did something incredible, but you could’ve died saving me,” Monica said quietly, voice raw in the aftermath of Gromorlig returning to stone. She knelt next to Dotty, placing a hand lightly on the girl’s cheek.
Dotty’s lips twitched in a half-smile, half-grimace.
“Right. Because you never jump in headfirst?”
Monica let out a tearful, breathy laugh. The two stayed like that for a moment, gazes locked. Sir Tristan, Ted, and Heidi hovered nearby, exchanging weary glances and letting the two have their moment.
Monica’s voice dropped to a whisper as she let the last bit of Golden Flame seal Dotty’s worst injuries. “I’m… I’m so glad you’re alive. Thank you, Dotty.”
Dotty leaned tiredly against Monica’s shoulder. “Thank you, Monica… for letting me fight at your side.”
A fresh wave of exhaustion crashed over them both. They sat together in silence, next to the peaceful stone form of Gromorlig, the remains of the spider nest all around, and the swirling heat of the Heart of Fire shining a harsh glow against the cavern walls.
Despite the heartbreak and the loss, relief lay thick in the air. They had cleared the first floor of Viscera, snatched an impossible victory, and—one step at a time—moved closer to the day they would face Machina.
But Monica had forgotten something—something that had taken a while to get to her: the second part of her reward.
Ding
Quest Completed – ‘Eradication I/III’
Reward: Second Class Slot
