Chapter 6: Into the Darkness...
The tunnel stretched endlessly before Xolvion, its rough-hewn walls pressing close enough that his shoulders brushed against the ancient stone with each movement. The light crystal Mira had given him cast eerie shadows that danced and writhed like living things, making every crack and crevice appear to harbour potential threats. The air was thick with the scent of ages-old dust and something else, something that spoke of forgotten secrets and buried histories.
His knees were already aching from the constant crawling, and he'd only been in the passage for what felt like half an hour. The obsidian walls bore no markings to indicate distance or direction, just the endless, monotonous progression of carved stone that seemed to mock his predicament with its uniformity.
"Man, this is bullshit." He said to himself, cursing his luck as he continued through the passage.
Every few minutes, Xolvion paused to listen for sounds of pursuit. The silence that greeted him was both reassuring and unnerving. Either his escape hadn't been discovered yet, or his siblings were confident enough in their trap that they weren't bothering to look for him. Though neither possibility filled him with comfort.
The tunnel began to slope downward more sharply, and Xolvion found himself sliding more than crawling along the smooth stone. His travel pack scraped against the ceiling, and more than once, he had to stop to readjust its position to avoid getting stuck. The light crystal's glow seemed dimmer here, as if the very darkness was fighting against illumination magic.
"Great, if that goes out, I'm totally screwed."
As he continued forward, the oppressive silence was broken by a new sound, a low, guttural muttering that seemed to echo from somewhere ahead. Xolvion froze, his heart hammering against his ribs as he strained to make out the words. The voice was speaking in the old demon tongue, a dialect so ancient that even most nobles had forgotten it. But growing up in the castle, surrounded by texts and tutors, Xolvion had learned enough to catch fragments.
"...hungry... so hungry... where is food... where is warm blood..."
The muttering was accompanied by the sound of claws scraping against stone and what sounded disturbingly like gnawing. Something was feeding ahead of him, and from the tone of its voice, it wasn't particular about what constituted a meal.
Xolvion's grip tightened on his ceremonial dagger on his belt. The blade was ornate rather than practical, designed more for show than combat, but it was sharp enough and the only weapon he possessed. He'd never actually fought anything more dangerous than his siblings' verbal barbs, but desperation had a way of teaching harsh lessons quickly.
Moving as quietly as possible, Xolvion crept forward until he could peer around a curve in the tunnel. What he saw made his stomach churn.
An imp crouched in the centre of the passage, barely three feet tall but powerfully built, with leathery red skin and wickedly curved claws. Its mouth was filled with needle-sharp teeth that it was using to gnaw on what appeared to be the remains of some unfortunate creature that had wandered into the tunnels. The imp's yellow eyes glowed with malevolent hunger, and its long, barbed tail lashed back and forth like an angry cat's.
But what truly made Xolvion's blood run cold was the pile of bones scattered around the creature's makeshift lair. Some were clearly animal, but others... others bore the distinctive shape of demon skulls. This wasn't just any imp—it was a tunnel scavenger, one of the lowest forms of demon life, but also one of the most vicious when cornered or threatened.
The imp suddenly lifted its head, nostrils flaring as it caught an unfamiliar scent. Its glowing eyes fixed directly on Xolvion's hiding spot, and a grin split its hideous features, revealing those needle-sharp teeth in all their horrifying glory.
"Fresh meat," it hissed in the old tongue, its voice like grinding stone. "Young prince thinks he can crawl through my domain without paying toll, yes?"
So much for stealth. Xolvion rose to a crouch, drawing his dagger whilst trying to project more confidence than he felt. "I have no quarrel with you, creature. Let me pass, and we both continue on our way."
The imp's laughter was like breaking glass, echoing off the stone walls. "Pretty prince wants to bargain? Prince with soft hands and fear-sweat thinks he can command Grakul?" It rose to its full height, claws extending to their full, razor-sharp length. "Grakul will enjoy prince-meat. Been so long since Grakul tasted noble blood."
There was no reasoning with it. Tunnel imps were notorious for their single-minded focus on violence and feeding. Xolvion had read about them in his studies, but facing one in the confined space of the tunnel was entirely different from theory.
The imp launched itself forward with surprising speed, claws aimed at Xolvion's throat. He threw himself backwards, the creature's talons missing his jugular by inches and instead raking across his left shoulder. Pain flared through him as the claws tore through cloth and flesh, but adrenaline kept him moving.
Xolvion lashed out with his dagger, the ornate blade catching the imp across its ribcage. The creature shrieked in pain and anger, dark blood flowing from the wound, but it barely slowed its assault. If anything, the injury seemed to enrage it further.
"Prince bleeds!" Grakul snarled, pressing its attack. "Good! Grakul likes when prey bleeds!"
The confined space worked against both of them. Xolvion couldn't retreat effectively, but the imp couldn't use its natural agility to full advantage either. They grappled in the narrow tunnel, rolling and slashing at each other with desperate fury.
Grakul's claws raked across Xolvion's chest, shredding his shirt and leaving burning tracks across his skin. In return, Xolvion managed to drive his dagger into the creature's thigh, eliciting another shriek of rage. The imp's barbed tail whipped around, striking him across the back and leaving a line of fire that made him gasp in pain.
"You're stronger than you look, prince," the imp hissed, circling him in the cramped space. "But Grakul has killed many strong ones. You will feed Grakul well."
Blood was flowing freely from Xolvion's wounds, and he could feel his strength beginning to ebb. The imp, despite its injuries, showed no signs of slowing down. If anything, the scent of blood seemed to be driving it into a feeding frenzy.
"You little bastard, I won't be eaten by a creature like you," Xolvion said, spitting blood onto the ground from his mouth.
But as they circled each other, Xolvion noticed something. The imp's movements were becoming slightly more erratic, and there was a glassy quality to its yellow eyes that hadn't been there before. His dagger wounds were having an effect, not just from blood loss, but from something else.
Of course. The ceremonial dagger wasn't just ornate; it was made from blessed silver, a material traditionally used in demon-slaying weapons. The imp was being poisoned by the very wounds Xolvion had inflicted.
With this realisation came renewed hope and determination. He didn't need to overpower the creature, he just needed to survive long enough for the silver to do its work.
Grakul lunged again, but this time Xolvion was ready. Instead of trying to dodge completely, he let the imp's momentum carry it forward whilst he drove his dagger upward, the silver blade sliding between the creature's ribs and into its heart.
The imp's eyes widened in shock and pain. "Impossible," it gasped, dark blood frothing from its mouth. "Grakul... Grakul is strong... Grakul cannot..."
The creature collapsed, its body twitching once before going still. The tunnel fell silent except for Xolvion's laboured breathing and the steady drip of blood, both his and the imp's, onto the stone floor.
Xolvion slumped against the tunnel wall, his entire body aching from the wounds and exertion. His shoulder throbbed where the imp's claws had raked across it, and he could feel warm blood trickling down his back from the tail strike. But he was alive, and more importantly, he had won his first real fight.
As he sat there catching his breath, the reality of what he'd just done began to sink in. He had killed another being, not in some abstract duel with rules and honour, but in a brutal fight for survival. The imp's lifeless eyes stared at him accusingly, and for a moment, doubt crept into his mind.
Your power comes from connection, his mother's voice whispered in his memory. It may not seem as impressive as hellfire, but it's infinitely more valuable.
But what good was a connection when faced with something that wanted only to devour you? Perhaps his siblings had been right all along, perhaps charm and seduction were useless in the real world, where strength and violence determined who lived and who died.
Yet he was still alive, and the imp was not. That had to count for something.
The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, some of it his own, some of it the imp's that had splattered during their struggle. He spat, trying to clear the unpleasant flavour, but it lingered as a reminder of how close he'd come to death.
Pushing those dark thoughts aside, Xolvion forced himself to stand. He needed to keep moving; the scent of blood might attract other scavengers, and he couldn't afford another fight in his current condition.
Using strips torn from his ruined shirt, he bound his wounds as best he could. The bleeding had slowed, though his shoulder still sent spikes of pain through him with every movement.
As he stepped over Grakul's corpse, Xolvion felt a strange mixture of pride and revulsion. He had killed his first enemy, proved that he could survive without his father's protection or his siblings' sufferance. The dark satisfaction he felt at the imp's death was alien to him, yet undeniably real, a glimpse of the demon heritage he'd always been told he lacked.
Different doesn't mean lesser, he reminded himself, continuing through the tunnel. His mother's words took on new meaning now, tempered by blood and violence.
The fresh air that began to filter down from ahead carried the promise of freedom, but also uncertainty. He was no longer the sheltered prince who had fled the castle hours ago. Blood had been spilt—both his and his enemy's, and something fundamental had changed within him.