The Rise Of The Saviour 39 Dungeon Tales - 1

Opening his eyes wide, he tried hard to improve his visibility, but in vain. There was no light inside that place. Not even a slick crack that would allow the light to illuminate the grim surrounding. Everything was pitch black and he felt as if he was already inside a h.e.l.l hole.

Had it been any other day, he would have easily escaped. He could have turned the time and helped himself out. After all, he was a perpetual traveler. But today he was at the mercy of fate. He still needed a couple of days to heal back so that he could use his power to transcend across time.

But staying in the dungeon for a few days without the supply of food, water, and almost no ventilation was equivalent to sleeping on one's death bed. There was so much left undone. A feeling similar to starting a book but not knowing what happens at 'The End'. He was shaken, just thinking about - What if?

There were thousands of questions reeling inside his head, poking him, provoking him,

'Did Nicholas reach Ambracia?'

'Was he able to stop Morpheous from fighting against Nubeous?'

'Did he give the wolfsbane to Morpheous in time or not?'

But the most important question of all which was haunting him was if Nicholas was safe or not. He was a good man but neither he was skilled in fighting, nor he was skilled at deceiving. He was not at all fit for this job, but he was his only hope that he was counting on.

So pus.h.i.+ng away these heaps of thoughts and taking a deep breath, he got up to try to figure out the place that had trapped him. But suddenly he was distracted with a m.u.f.fled noise that came from the outside.

'Inaudible voices'

'Thup Thup Thup'

It seemed like several people were running in a single direction and they sounded agitated.

He placed his ears along the surface of the dungeon wall which was lined with moss and slime and tried to decipher what the chaos was all about. Although he couldn't figure out what the voices said, he could sense that something huge was happening.

He leaned his back against the wall and tried to ease out his breath. Suffocation had started to creep in. He tried to calm his mind and channel his focus because he knew that if he didn't then the dungeon would soon make him delirious. He didn't want to turn insane, but slowly the reserve of oxygen inside the h.e.l.l hole was depleting.

He was about to close his eyes when his hands which were placed on the wall touched a ridge sort of a line. He turned back and ran his fingers and could feel a faint crack, as thin as a hairline in the wall.

He had no energy left in his body to make any attempt to widen the crack with brute force. So he bent down and tried to find something lying on the floor which could help him out. Running his fingers through the filth, he finally found a small shard of metal. But somehow instead of feeling cold, that metal felt hot.

So he tried to touch the ground underneath, but it was cold too, just like the walls.

'Strange!', he thought and then lifted it up in his hands and he could feel that it was attached to something.

Inching his fingers ahead he found that it was a locket. Its leather string was still intact, albeit a bit tattered. Probably the metal had been crushed by something and that made it like a shard which he could use as a hand knife.

Slowly he started gouging along that crack line and after the hundredth attempt, the dungeon could finally see a streak of light.

Blood was oozing out from his fingers. His nails had been chipped, but he didn't care. He inched himself closer to that barely opened crack and inhaled the air. A respite, it was, from the pungent stench that he had been inhaling all along.

Gauging the brightness and the color of yellow that pa.s.sed through that crack, he could sense that everything was normal. A strange calmness and tranquility warmed him up. Perhaps Nicholas had done it!

But that calmness was ephemeral!

He could see the color of yellow disappearing the very next minute. There was a strange stillness in the air, just like that in an ocean, just before a storm and no one was more familiar to this than him.

He closed his eyes and wore the locket like an armor, waiting for the bolt of death to be cast upon. And then followed the thunder, so deafening that even the walls of the dungeon started rattling. Taking deep breaths he lifted his robe and held out his necrotic arm.

'You got to help me one more time. This one time!'

'You need to endure this just once.'

The image of his father, the death bed, the promise, the coliseum, the grotesque death scene, everything started coming back in flashes.

'Why father, why did you ask me to save this man? How can he be the chosen one?' he screamed inside his head and then started to slowly conjure all his strength.

His lips moved as he repeated,

'Vincit qui se vincit' [He conquers who conquers himself]

'Vincit qui se vincit'

His necrotic arm started to have a faint glow. His veins which were already dead started burning in all shades of red and orange.

His lips quivered as the toll on his body started increasing but he didn't stop. The faint glow started becoming brighter and brighter as if it was trying to hit a crescendo but then all of a sudden, everything halted.

His body turned limp and he blacked out.

A fresh breeze ruffled his clothes.