Pippin's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
He looked from the massive, obsidian god to the blood-stained cat standing beside him, his mouth hanging open. Lemony didn't move. He kept his gaze locked on Malphas, his expression hard and expectant, while the gunslinger shifted his weight, his hand still hovering near his holster.
"What did he just say?" the gunslinger asked.
His voice was cold and rough. He didn't like being the only one in the dark while a Divine Tread whispered secrets.
Pippin jumped, startled by the voice. He began to pace nervously, his hands fluttering.
"He... he said... he wants to die. The deal, the exchange for his help... we have to be the ones to kill him."
Lemony's ears twitched. A strange, dark spark of excitement flickered in his yellow eyes. It was exactly what he wanted. It was a perfect coincidence, or maybe something worse. The gunslinger just narrowed his eyes, looking at the beast with newfound suspicion.
Malphas hummed, a sound that vibrated through their teeth.
"Ⲁⲓϭⲱⲣⲡ ⲛ̅ⲥⲁ ⲛ̅ⲥⲁ ⲧⲃⲁ ⲛ̅ⲣⲟⲙⲡⲉ ⲛ̅ϣⲉ, ⲁⲓϩⲙⲟⲟⲥ ϩⲙ ⲡⲉⲓϫⲁϫ ⲛ̅ⲕⲁⲕⲉ, ⲉⲓϭⲱⲣⲡ ⲛ̅ⲥⲁ ⲡⲉⲧⲛⲁⲟⲩⲉϣ ϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲉϩⲟⲧⲃⲉⲓ ⲛ̅ϫⲱⲓ ⲛ̅ⲧⲁϥϣϭⲙ̅ϭⲟⲙ ⲙⲉⲛ, ⲁⲗⲗⲁ ⲙ̅ⲡⲉ ⲗⲁⲁⲩ ϣⲱⲡⲉ, ⲟⲩⲇⲉ ⲟⲩⲱⲧ ⲛ̅ⲣⲱⲙⲉ ⲁⲛ ⲛ̅ⲛⲁⲓⲟⲩⲟⲉⲓϣ ⲧⲏⲣⲟⲩ ⲛ̅ⲧⲁϥϣϭⲙ̅ϭⲟⲙ ⲉⲕⲱⲣϥ ⲙ̅ⲡⲓⲙⲉⲉⲩⲉ ⲁⲛ ⲙ̅ⲡⲁϫⲱⲕ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ.."
(I have waited. For hundreds of thousands of years, I have sat in this dark throat. I waited for someone who would truly want to kill me. Someone who actually could. But there has been no one. Not a single being in all those eras has managed to even scratch the idea of my end.)
Pippin translated the words with a shaky breath, his voice cracking as he spoke for the monster.
"Ask him why. Ask him why a god is begging for a grave," the gunslinger commanded, looking at Pippin.
Pippin nodded and spoke the ancient tongue again. Malphas leaned back, his jagged wings drooping.
"Ⲁⲓϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲉⲓϭⲉⲡⲏ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϩⲙ̅ ⲡⲉⲓⲱⲛϩ̅. Ⲛⲉⲣⲉⲡⲁⲥⲙⲟⲧ ϣⲟⲟⲡ ⲉⲧⲣⲁϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲛ̅ⲟⲩⲥⲫⲣⲁⲅⲓⲥ, ⲛ̅ⲟⲩϩⲟⲧⲉ ⲛ̅ⲧⲉ ⲑⲁⲗⲁⲥⲥⲁ. Ⲁⲗⲗⲁ ⲁⲛⲁⲩ ⲉⲡⲉⲛⲧⲁⲓϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲉⲣⲟϥ. Ⲁⲓϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲛ̅ⲟⲩⲥⲧⲩⲗⲟⲥ ⲛ̅ⲧⲉ ⲧⲉⲕⲟⲛⲟⲙⲓⲁ ⲛ̅ⲟⲩⲙⲛ̅ⲧⲣⲣⲟ. Ϣⲁⲩϫⲉⲩ ⲛ̅ϩⲉⲛⲑⲩⲥⲓⲁ ⲉϩⲣⲁⲓ̈ ⲉϫⲱⲓ̈, ⲁⲛ ⲉⲧⲣⲁⲥⲙⲟⲩ ⲉⲣⲟⲟⲩ, ⲁⲗⲗⲁ ⲉⲧⲣⲟⲩϣⲓⲛⲉ ⲛ̅ⲥⲁ ⲧⲟⲩⲥⲓⲁ ⲉⲧⲥⲏϣ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϩⲛ̅ ⲧⲁⲙⲛ̅ⲧⲣⲉϥϩⲟⲧⲃⲉϩⲣⲱⲱⲩ. Ⲁⲩⲕⲧⲉ ⲧⲁⲙⲛ̅ⲧϩⲁⲕⲟ ⲉⲩⲱⲙⲓⲁ. Ⲁⲥⲧⲁⲕⲟ ⲙ̅ⲡⲁⲧⲁⲉⲓⲟ. Ⲕⲁⲛ ⲉⲓⲟ ⲛ̅ⲟⲩⲑⲏⲣⲓⲟⲛ ⲛ̅ⲁⲣⲭⲁⲓⲟⲛ, ϯⲟ ⲁⲛ ⲉϩⲟⲩⲛ ⲉⲟⲩⲥⲕⲉⲩⲟⲥ ⲛ̅ⲛⲟⲩⲃ ϩⲁⲣⲟⲓ̈."
(I grew bored of this living. I was meant to be a seal, a terror of the deep. But look at what I became. I became a pillar for a kingdom's economy. They send sacrifices not to appease me, but to harvest the essence I shed when I kill. They turned my hunger into a business. It lowered my value. Even as an ancient beast, I am just a tool for gold.)
The beast shifted, and a faint, flickering light appeared over his heart. It was a crest. It pulsed with a dim, sickly rhythm, and the gunslinger gasped. The color was the same as his own.
"He's a Rank 2. An ancient god... he grew weaker. He's been degraded."
So that's the trick, the gunslinger thought. The governments found a loophole. If you keep a beast locked in one place and feed it a specific cycle of souls, you can drain its rank over centuries. It's a one-sided trap. It explains why there are so many of these 'locked rooms' across the continent.
Even the ancient ones weren't safe from the Great Beastiary's hunger for order and profit. Malphas let out a low, bitter sound. He had been a prisoner of his own legend for longer than their civilizations had existed.
"Ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϩⲛ̅ ⲛⲓⲕⲩⲕⲗⲟⲥ ⲧⲏⲣⲟⲩ ⲉⲛⲧⲁⲓⲛⲁⲩ ⲉⲣⲟⲟⲩ, ⲡⲉⲓⲥⲟⲟⲩⲛⲉ ⲡⲉⲧϣⲟⲩⲉⲓⲧ ⲉⲙⲁⲩ ⲉⲧⲃⲉⲡⲁⲓ. Ⲙ̅ⲡⲉⲓⲛⲁⲩ ⲉϩⲟⲩⲛ ⲉⲟⲩⲥⲩⲗⲗⲟⲅⲏ ⲛ̅ⲛⲁⲯⲩⲭⲏ ⲛ̅ⲧⲉⲓϩⲉ ⲉⲩⲧⲁϫⲣⲏⲩ ⲉϣⲓⲛⲉ ⲛ̅ⲥⲁ ⲡⲱⲛⲅ̅ ⲉⲃⲟⲗ ϩⲙ̅ ⲡⲉⲥⲛⲁϩ. Ϯϣⲟⲩϣⲟⲩ ⲉⲓⲛⲁⲩ ⲉⲡⲁⲓ."
(Out of all the cycles I have watched, this group is the most interesting. I have never seen a collection of souls so determined to claw their way out of the dirt. I am... proud to see it.)
The gunslinger actually nodded in agreement. He remembered the group.
There was a cat that could stand unfazed in a god's aura, a creature that spoke the language of the first ones, a massive stone gorilla, and the moth-soul waiting above. It was almost like the Beastiary itself had stitched this group together just to see what would happen.
Then, Malphas turned his smoke-filled eyes
toward Lemony.
"Ⲛ̅ⲧⲱⲕ ϭⲉ, ⲁϣ ⲛ̅ϩⲉ ⲉⲕⲛⲁϭⲱ ⲙ̅ⲡⲉⲕⲟⲩⲣⲏⲏⲧⲉ ϩⲁⲧⲁϩⲉ ⲛ̅ⲟⲩⲟⲉⲓϣ ⲛⲓⲙ? Ⲛⲉⲣⲉ ⲧⲁⲁⲩⲣⲁ ϣⲟⲟⲡ ⲛ̅ϩⲏⲧ ⲛ̅ϣⲱⲣⲡ̅ ⲙ̅ⲙⲟⲕ ⲉⲡⲱⲗⲉⲩⲉ ⲙ̅ⲡⲉⲕⲛⲟⲩⲥ ϩⲙ̅ ⲡⲓⲟⲩⲛⲟⲩ ⲉⲛⲧⲁⲕⲉⲓ ⲉϩⲟⲩⲛ ϩⲓⲧⲙ̅ ⲡⲣⲟ. Ⲛ̅ⲧⲕ̅ ⲟⲩⲙⲁⲁϫ ⲛ̅ϩⲣⲏⲓⲟⲩⲉ ⲛ̅ϫⲟⲉⲓⲉ. Ⲛⲉⲣⲉ ⲡⲉⲕⲥⲙⲟⲧ ϣⲟⲟⲡ ⲉⲧⲣⲉⲕϣⲱⲡⲉ ⲛ̅ⲗⲁⲁⲩ."
(You then, how will you remain at your post for me at all times? My aura was within you from the beginning to distract your mind at the moment you entered through the door. You are an ear of the deserts of the wilderness. Your form was destined to become nothing.)
Lemony blinked. He didn't have a complicated answer. He didn't know about ranks or divine logic. He just felt the cold weight of the void in his chest and the heat of his own rage.
"I'm just like this," Lemony said.
Pippin translated the short, blunt sentence.
"So," Malphas rumbled.
His voice shifted, the ancient, grinding sounds of the Evangelical tongue smoothing out into the common language they all understood.
"Will you little creatures accept the deal? Will you be my end?"
Pippin nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Wait! You can speak our language? You understood us this whole time?"
"A traveler taught me millenniums ago," Malphas said.
"I chose the ancient tongue only to discern if any among you possessed a soul worthy of exchanging breath with a god. It appears I found one today."
The beast's smoky eyes flickered with a dark, terrifying amusement. He looked wise in the way an old mountain is wise, but there was a sharp edge of predatory hunger in his words.
Pippin nodded frantically.
"Yes! We accept! We'll do it!"
But then he paused, his brow furrowing as he looked up at the towering obsidian form.
"Wait. If you hate being a tool for the kingdom so much, why do you roam the peaks every night? Why do you follow the same path over and over?"
Malphas went still. The air in the room grew cold, the shadows deepening around his wings.
"I lied about my solitude. In all my cycles in this lightless throat, there has been one thing that allowed me to endure. One small grace that made this existence toler—"
"It's the birds, isn't it? The white-winged ones that migrate over the ridge? You follow their path every single night."
The silence that followed was heavy. Malphas stared down at the small creature, his void-filled eyes widening in genuine shock.
"How could a speck like you know of my movements?"
"I've been stuck on this mountain for a long time too. I noticed years ago that the migration pattern of the birds always aligned with the tremors of your footsteps."
Malphas let out a sound that was almost like a laugh, but it carried the weight of a landslide.
"I am impressed. To find a mind so observant in this prison is... rare. Very well. I accept the bargain. We shall assist one another. But we move at the hour before dawn. Not a moment sooner."
The god looked at the group, his gaze lingering on Lemony's bloodied knuckles.
"Until then, you must prepare. Rest. Sharpen your teeth. The scavengers will not let their prize go easily."
Pippin smiled, a shaky, relieved expression.
"We'll be ready. We're leaving now."
Malphas brought his massive hands together in a single, thunderous clap.
Every blue torch in the chamber went out at once, plunging them into total darkness. Before they could even blink, a rush of cold air pushed them backward, and the giant iron gates slammed shut with a finality that shook the entire cave system.
The moment they were back in the outer tunnel, Pippin's legs gave out. He collapsed onto the snowy ground, his chest heaving as the adrenaline finally left his body.
"OOOOHHHH! We're saved! We actually made a deal with a god!"
Fiji let out a joyful rumble and scooped Pippin up into a massive, rocky hug, nearly squeezing the breath out of him. Even the gunslinger allowed a small, tired smile to crack his cold exterior.
"You did good, kid," the gunslinger said.
But as Pippin gasped for air, he noticed a strange heat in his chest. A soft, golden-brown light began to seep through the fabric of his vest. It grew brighter and warmer until a distinct mark appeared over his heart. It was a crest, pulsing with a new, vibrant energy.
The gunslinger's eyes narrowed as he leaned in to look. "No way."
"What is it?" Pippin asked, looking down at his glowing chest.
"You just turned Rank 1: Foundling, " the gunslinger whispered. He looked at the small creature with a mix of respect and genuine confusion.
"You negotiated with a Divine Tread and spoke the language of the Evangelicals. Honestly, that feat alone should have put you at my rank. The Beastiary is being stingy with you."
Lemony stood a few feet away, leaning against the cave wall and wiping blood from his mouth. He watched the glowing crest on Pippin's chest, but his mind was already on the dawn.
Lemony adjusted the collar of his tattered mantle and looked toward the tunnel exit. The weight of the god's presence was still clinging to his fur, but his mind was already moving forward.
"We have to go back to Sissy and the others now," Lemony said.
Pippin nodded, though he couldn't help but squint at Lemony with a suspicious look. How does this guy know Sissy so well? He talks about her like they've been through a war together. He didn't say it out loud, though. He just climbed onto Fiji's broad, rocky shoulder and settled in for the ride.
As they walked through the quiet, icy corridors, Pippin looked over at the gunslinger, who was trudging along with his head down.
"Hey, big guy. Why don't you just use one of those fancy portals to get us back to the surface? I'm tired of walking through bird droppings and frozen dirt," Pippin called out.
"I can't," the gunslinger replied. His voice was flat, lacking its usual sharp edge.
"What? You could use them just fine ten minutes ago! Is it because you're too weak or something? Did the big bad god drain your batteries?" Pippin teased, though there was a bit of genuine worry behind the joke.
"Yeah, yeah. Something like that," the gunslinger muttered, not even bothering to look up.
"Alright. Whatever you want to say, big guy. Keep your secrets," Pippin huffed, crossing his arms.
The group continued their trek until the stale cave air was replaced by the sharp, biting scent of the mountain wind. They crested a ridge of white snow and finally saw two figures standing by a cluster of jagged bone pillars.
"Hey, Sissy!" Lemony shouted.
Pippin flinched at the volume. He's really just going to yell her name like that again?
Sissy spun around, her moth-like wings fluttering in surprise. When she saw the bruised and battered group approaching, she didn't hesitate. She took off, her feet barely touching the snow as she flew toward them.
"What happened? Are you okay? Did you find it?" she asked, her words coming out in a frantic rush.
Pippin looked at Lemony and then back at her. "Lemony, you tell her. You're the closest to her than us."
Lemony straightened his vest, his tone turning a bit stingy and arrogant.
"Fine. If I must be the messenger."
He cleared his throat and looked at Sissy with a flat face.
"The negotiation was successful. Pippin made a deal with the Divine Tread. We're leaving this place, Sissy. Once and for all."
Sissy froze. Her wings stopped fluttering, and she sank to the ground, her knees hitting the snow.
"Are you serious? You actually talked to Malphas?"
"Yes. Thanks to Pippin, we have a way out."
Sissy didn't say another word. She lunged forward and pulled Pippin into a fierce, crushing hug. She started to sob, her tears hot against the small creature's neck.
I'll be the heart of the group, Old Man. Just like you asked me to be. I won't let them down.
After a minute, she pulled away and wiped her eyes, a new fire burning in her gaze.
"Ve and I managed to scavenge some weapons from the ruins of the base. It's not much, but it's something. And there's more good news. Koro is awake."
Pippin's ears perked up.
"Fiji! To the corner! Fast!"
The stone giant lumbered over to where Koro was sitting. The warrior looked smaller than usual, his massive frame hunched over as he stared blankly at his stitched-up hands. He looked hollow, like the life had been sucked out of him.
"Are you fine, Koro?" Pippin asked softly.
"Yes... I am..." Koro rumbled, though he didn't look up.
"You sure about that?"
"A bit sad," Koro admitted.
Pippin knew why. The image of Old Horg dying was likely playing on a loop in the warrior's head. Pippin patted Koro's knee with a small hand.
"We're escaping, Koro. No more killing friends. No more cages. We're going home."
Koro finally raised his head. His eyes cleared, and a small, genuine smile touched his lips.
"Home. I like the sound of that."
As long as you're happy, big guy, Pippin thought, feeling a rare moment of peace.
Sissy stood up and looked at the ragtag group of survivors. The ten children were huddled nearby, watching them with wide, hopeful eyes. She looked toward the horizon, where the silhouette of the fortress stood against the dark sky.
"Listen up! We have a goal. Before we meet Malphas at dawn, we have to clear the path. We're going to invade Fort Rib."
Lemony looked at her, his eyebrows raised.
"Do we have to wait for the god to help us with that?"
"No! We'll do this part ourselves. We aren't just sacrifices anymore. We're avenging our dead family!"
She pointed toward the fortress.
"Prepare yourselves. We move now."
Minutes later, the silence of the snowy wastes was broken by the sound of rhythmic footsteps. A small, strange army was marching through the drifts, their eyes fixed on the lights of Fort Rib.
The hunt for freedom had officially begun.