Luca DR
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The infinity dungeon 184
🕑 Added 2025-07-26 17:00:08 +0000 UTCChapter 184
The wave of force impacted the sphere in less time than it took Michael to blink. The eerie lack of feedback, any sort of recoil or sound or… anything, made using the weapon jarring and uncomfortable. Not even the trigger emitted any sound.
The sphere stood immobile. The afterimages left on Michael’s retina, the faint imprints of the violet energy he had just commanded the weapon to shoot, they told him some scraps of information about what just happened. The violent energy, capable of digging a hole in the foundation of a city several hundred yards deep, had simply washed over the sphere and disappeared.
It was almost anticlimactic.
Michael took a step towards the large object, as if refusing to believe it. The moment he did so, the sphere suddenly cracked like an egg, spilling blinding light that burned and seared his eyes.
He shielded himself with a hand, but the light bent around his fingers, finding his eyes, burrowing into him, hurting like a million gallons of molten metal coursing through his veins, clawing their way into his brain, melting his tissues and organs, rending his flesh, destroying his bones. It was like staring at a star going supernova, like being bathed in acid, like nail scraping against a blackboard directly inside his brain.
Then it was gone.
Michael blinked. After the collapse of what had been his Skill Sanctum into a nova and its subsequent disappearance into nothingness, he had not been able to feel anything coming from his inner self at all. He was back to life before magic, before his strange third eye had been opened to the sensations and currents of another layer of energy that suffused the whole of reality.
Whenever he had tried to sense something, he felt as foolish as a kid who had just finished reading a fairytale in their storybook and thought themselves special.
That’s why when he felt the hint of a sensation, barely more than a feather’s touch upon an atrophied muscle, come from the empty space left after the nova had disappeared, he immediately noticed it.
Curious, he poked at it with his mind. He did not touch it, barely getting close without interacting with it. For a while, all he did was make sure he wasn’t hallucinating, that he wasn’t feeling some sort of phantom sensation like he had many times after losing his powers.
He had deluded himself many times into thinking that perhaps he still had some hope, only to realize after hours spent in concentration and trepidation and hope, that all he was feeling was a hallucination, a figment of his own mind.
This time it felt different. It felt hot and bright and… powerful. It was a small spark at the center of a black void, a space that felt utterly enormous and empty. The spark was tiny, and it was so, so far away, but it was there. Even from the immense distance his inner sight was looking at the spark from, he almost felt scorched.
Opening his eyes to the real world, all he could see was the empty husk of the central sphere surrounded by dull stone and concrete. With the sphere collapsed into little more than a black shell, brittle and without its former luster, he could see the whole cave in all its empty glory. Signs of decay were evident in the rusted catwalk, the dripping ceiling and the moss everywhere. Behind him, water rushed and severed electrical cables sparked while the sound of digging became more and more pronounced.
The machines were onto him, Michael knew. He didn’t have time to ponder over what happened, but the warm feeling of the spark inside him was all the proof he needed. It was scorching hot, but only when he mentally probed it, otherwise feeling like the pump after a long and rewarding workout.
It energized him, temporarily overcoming his sleep deprivation and malnourishment, lending him energy to think and strategize. Gripping the odd weapon, the Force Lance as he was going to call it from now on, he scanned the room.
One thing was clear: he needed to get out of here before the machines found him. He might have gained a spark, a powerful thing indeed, burning hot somewhere in what remained of his collapsed Sanctum which had expanded into a vast emptiness. It was terrible and fantastic, with the power to create and to undo. Tier 5, Demiurge Particles, Reality Bending Energy. The power to bend reality itself, as the name the creators of the city had given it suggested.
Too powerful to wield without proper precautions, without first understanding it. It would spell Michael’s doom if he tried to use it, he could feel it. It felt dangerous even when just gazing at it from the edges of where he could push his inner sight, within the strange empty void the spark resided in,
Even back in the real world, he still felt some phantom pain. As if the burns had branded themselves in his very soul.
He looked around. The room had no exits other than the door Michael had blasted into a crater.
Plus, the geometry of this place didn’t add up. There was just something about the whole city that didn’t add up. Michael couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something had felt out of sorts ever since he set foot inside the shield of Sitea.
He looked at the Force Lance, wrapped snugly around his left arm. It felt like it belonged there. The longer he wore the weapon, the more it felt like a part of him.
“Well,” he muttered. His eyes scanned the far wall, one eyebrow rising and then lowering. He shook his head. “No, not there…”
He took in the rest of the room. The floor was solid stone, this deep below the city. But now that Michael had once again gained access to the arcane, he could feel a strange hum in the air, and it was strongest when he looked straight down.
Around him, the walls were all uniform, with triangles of metal and water infiltrations and moss. While blasting a hole through them felt like a satisfyingly violent solution to his problems, Michael reminded himself that there was a whole city above his head that might collapse on him if he kept blasting its foundations to dust and rubble.
Not to mention, he needed to leave the central spire intact if he were to reach it. Michael had claimed the Demiurge Particles, but the challenge had not ended, not yet. This meant that the condition for leaving this place was reaching the control room Infy had talked about. And, if he was quick about it, perhaps he’d find her still waiting for him there.
He then thought about the old man Lloyd. His consciousness was somewhere in the city’s systems. Hell, perhaps the old man was the reason why the machines had not yet swarmed Michael. The hole was being excavated, but not as quickly as he expected a whole city’s worth of murderbots to do it.
A brief flare of the ember inside Michael’s empty Inner Space–for it was not a Sanctum anymore–distracted him from his musings. It felt strange, almost… directional. While he wasn’t really able to understand it, he felt the need to turn around, away from the hole and the incoming machines.
There was nothing there, though. Just the collapsed black sphere and a hole at its center. It was dark, but the faint light of the Force Lance was being reflected on something. Getting closer, gingerly walking past the crumbling rubble of the sphere, Michael saw the glimmer of metal.
“Is that a railing? Are those… stairs?”
He frowned. There was a stairway there, smack in the middle of the broken sphere. It made no sense.
But it led down. Down and into yet another underground tunnel, away from this place. The hum of the sixth sense, perhaps magic, was like an incessant electrical droning. It came from down there.
With no other option, Michael decided to listen to the strange not-gut-feeling he had felt from the spark of Demiurge Particles residing inside of him. He felt the spark respond to his thinking about it, getting hotter, igniting in excitement.
It was excruciating. With a monumental effort of will, Michael diverted his thoughts away from the bundle of Demiurge Particles before they tore him apart. The energy was dangerous.
He looked at the stairway leading into darkness.
“At least the Force Lance will provide some light…”
He breathed, psyching himself up. Behind him, the clang of metal became louder and louder until, finally there was a small avalanche of rubble and dust. Several red lights blinked at him before the machines shot towards him as Lloyd lost the digital war he was waging against the Lair.
Michael descended into the tunnel and ran into the darkness. No neon lights illuminated the way, only the faint blue circuits of his weapon. It cast soft shadows that wobbled and danced, the light source moving together with Michael’s arm as he ran.
He could see a faint light in the distance. He could hear the machines behind him. He was close. He could make it. He slammed into the door, the metal outlined by light seeping through the gaps, fully ready to use his weapon to force his way through.
It wasn’t necessary. The door opened. He slipped through, then closed it behind him. It felt solid, much more so than the flimsy that had led to the circular room and the black sphere. In front of him, a lobby of smoky marble and yellow lights reminded him of the eighties.
An elevator door opened as if on cue. It was empty. White light spilled from it. He stepped in, and pressed the UP button. There was no floor selector.
The doors closed, and he felt the elevator accelerate upwards.
