David Lingard: Author
patreon
Chapter 30 – The Voice in the Darkness
🕑 Added 2024-02-28 17:00:02 +0000 UTCBy the time Titus had woken up, he was alone in silence and relative darkness. There were torches lit all around that presumably were permanently so, and if they were lit by magical means as he suspected, then it meant that nobody was required to tend to them. The last time he'd been down in these dungeons, he didn't know what had drawn the Grandmaster to him, but somewhere deep down inside, he hoped that it was going to be the case again. Because if nobody found him soon, he was pretty sure he was going to die.
He had fifteen health points left after the beating by some miracle, and that would've meant in normal circumstances he was going to survive this, but beneath his health bar, there was a status he'd never seen before. The word 'bleeding' sat there like it was taunting him and after a few moments of looking at the word trying to understand what it meant, his health points dropped to fourteen.
It was strange, though. The dungeon was silent, but Titus had the distinct feeling that something had roused him. Like in the corner of his mind somewhere he could remember hearing something that got his attention and had returned him to his consciousness.
Another minute passed as Titus tried to remember what the sound was that had awoken him, or even if there had really been a sound at all. He felt like he was going insane. But that could well have been the pain that he was experiencing finally making its way up to his head.
His ribs hurt. His stomach hurt, his back, shoulders, and his legs hurt. His arms hurt, and his chest hurt. In fact, when Titus placed his attention on any part of his body at all, all that returned to him was the sensation of searing pain.
And then there was a sound. It wasn't speech or the sound of footsteps; rather, it sounded like a deep rumbling from somewhere deeper into the dungeon. Deeper, where the monsters awaited their fights in their cages.
But then, had there really been a noise? Because after waiting a little longer to see if it happened again, no noise came, and Titus was again left questioning his sanity.
Titus' eyes flickered as he tried to open and close them, but the light from the torches proved painful to look at so he stopped trying. Things were going from bad to worse though, when he saw his health points fall to thirteen.
Titus let his mind's eye fade to black as unconsciousness threatened to take him away again. But he greeted it, welcomed it even as he already felt the warming reduction of his pain begin to rise up from the tips of his fingers and toes, working its way towards his core.
Unconsciousness was a blessing.
Then he snapped his eyes open as he heard the rumbling again. It was definitely there, definitely real and if there was someone out there that could help him, then he needed to do whatever he could to let them know he was there.
"Aaarrrr," Titus groaned as he forced his eyes to remain open. He tried to look along the long dark hallway, tried to peer through the sections of light and darkness as they rolled away from him but he could see nothing, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how hard he squinted.
Then he remembered the red eyes that he'd seen once before down here. The thing - whatever it was - that had watched him and Petra as they'd fought for their lives against the Deadlands Boar. Another situation manufactured by Henderson to put his life at risk.
"Aughhhh," Titus tried again, but he hadn't realised the sounds he was trying to make were being restricted by the fact his mouth was full of blood. He hadn't even been able to taste it until this very moment.
Titus spat on the ground and felt a relief that he could now breathe a little easier.
And then he coughed. It was a loud cough, one that pained him as he curled himself up as tightly as possible, like it was a reflex to protect his broken body.
"Pain."
The sound was unmistakable. Whatever it was that had made the rumbling sound was now forming words. Actual words. And that meant help. The word was in such a low tone that Titus didn't think it was even possible for a human to reach such levels of bass.
"H... help..." Titus managed to cough. His words were quiet and malformed but they were there, and they were the best he could do.
"Suppressed," the voice replied. It rumbled, and if Titus had been able to feel anything past his injuries, he might've realised that as whatever this was that was speaking formed its words, the entire dungeon around him shook.
Titus couldn't do much more than what he'd already managed. Down to just ten health points now with no sign of the slowly falling number giving up, he knew he was living out his last few moments.
But then maybe he'd just imagined the voice. Maybe it was his broken mind and body just trying to rationalise what was going to happen to him in his last few moments. Maybe there was no voice at all.
"Help," the voice rumbled, almost like it had heard Titus' thoughts and had wanted to assure him that it was, in fact, real.
Not knowing if the voice meant that it was going to help him somehow or that it needed help itself, Titus didn't know what to do. He was done, though. The few words he'd managed to speak had already taken so much out of him that he had nothing left to give. The darkness was again invading the corners of his vision.
But then as if to answer his question there was a loud crash, followed by the clinking of chains and a boom so loud that it made the entire room shake like it had been hit by an earthquake. It lasted for a short moment, and then silence returned.
But then there was nothing for a long while and as Titus' focus returned and faded as if in cycles, he watched as his health points trickled away.
Seven.
He cursed the day his father had sent him to this place.
Six.
He cursed Henderson for doing this to him.
Five.
He cursed his stepmother for taking his father from him.
Four.
He wondered if Jordan and Petra had made it without him, or if they were already there, waiting for him in the afterlife.
Three.
Footsteps.
Footsteps? That wasn't right, was it?
"What've we told you about making a racket like that?" Titus heard a voice coming from beyond the darkness. "I thought those new chains were supposed to keep you quiet? Maybe we need to put a few more measures in place to deal with one as big as you? Don't you worry though, you'll get your chance to make your mark soon. Once they find an opponent who feels like taking you on."
Titus didn't recognise the voice, but he did recognise the sound of a wooden stick rattling against a set of iron bars. And that's what settled it for him.
The words that he'd heard.
The deep rumbling sound.
It was a monster. A monster that could somehow talk. And it had been trying to talk to... him? Was that even possible?
All of the monsters he'd seen both inside the arena and on the stone board where he'd accepted his own match didn't sound like they had any kind of intelligence to them. To the contrary, everything he'd seen so far simply suggested that these things were merely exactly what their name suggested: monsters. They had a single task - to kill their opponent in the arena - and beyond that, they were nothing.
Whatever had tried to speak to him though, it had certainly been more than that. Perhaps the word 'pain' could be forgiven as something that could be developed by a lesser being, but 'suppressed'? That raised far more questions in Titus' mind. Questions that he didn't have the strength or time to ponder.
Two HP remaining.
Titus willed his lungs to suck in as much air as they could, but it was so painful that it hurt. It hurt so much more than he could ever have imagined a simple breath could cause.
And it was no use.
He couldn't even bring in enough air for him to call for help from whoever it was that he could still hear walking no more than fifteen meters away from him. His one shot at surviving this, and it was gone.
"H... he..." Titus tried to force out, but his voice was so tiny that even someone standing right next to him wouldn't have heard his whimper.
One HP remaining.
Titus did the only thing he could think to do in that last moment. He put everything he had left into one last action. He raised his hand into the air and let it hang there silently in the hope that whoever it was out there would see it through the darkness, no matter how futile the action felt.
A few seconds passed and nothing happened, and then Titus let his arm fall back down to the ground. Every inch of energy he'd had sapped from him in that last act of defiance. His hand hit the hard ground with a loud crack. Titus had forgotten that he'd been wearing the wooden ring that he'd somehow found himself in possession of. But it was too little, too late, as his eyes grew heavy and they began to close on their own.
"Drink this, son," Titus heard as his head was being lifted and a glass vial placed against his lips. "Trust me, it'll make you feel better. I don't know what's happened to you and God knows how you survived…"
Titus couldn't open his eyes. He could barely part his lips to allow the faceless voice to pour the warm liquid into his mouth, and as a small fraction of consciousness returned to him, he began to panic. This was the monster doing something to him, wasn't it? It had escaped from its cage and was now about to eat him.
But that wasn't right, was it? Because the taste of the liquid in his mouth was familiar. Warm, but familiar. It took him a moment, but then he remembered what it was and where he knew it from. It was a health potion.
Excitedly, Titus swallowed more of the liquid, gulping down mouthfuls as fast as he could and as soon as he could bring himself to do so, he checked on his stats.
Titus: Level 1
Exp: 6/100
Class: Capacitor/Human
Profession: Arena Contestant - White
Primary stats
Health: 20/50
Mana: 10/10
Stamina: 10/10
Bleeding
If Titus could've smiled, he would have. Because his health pool had risen back to a respectable twenty points. He was still in so much pain that trying to force his eyes open was causing him more hassle than it should have, and he was still bleeding according to the readout, but he was alive.
Whoever this person was, he had just saved his life.
"Wh... who...?" Titus started to ask, but his words were not ready to come out yet.
"Quiet, son," the man said as he kept Titus' head held upright in his hands. The man must've been kneeling down to keep Titus in this position and honestly, Titus didn't know how he was ever going to be able to thank this man.
"Don't try to talk, not just yet. The potion'll take some time to make you feel a little better, but until then it's best not to try to fight your way back up. Just rest for now. I can't stop the bleeding but I can make you feel a little better, just rest son."
The large hands, the soothing tone even though the voice sounded a little crass, the fact that this man was doing everything he could to make Titus feel comfortable. Not to mention the fact that he kept calling Titus 'son'. These were all things that reminded Titus of his own father, and of how much love they'd shared for one another. Before that witch had arrived and ruined everything.
He was going to be a baker, not some arena contestant and by all accounts, if she'd never come into their lives then Titus would have been at home right now, comfortable, and not fighting for his very life.
"I need to leave you in a minute. It's the only way I can get help down here. The potion was fine, just a little warm and I reckon it's bought you some time. You think you're going to be OK for just a minute or two?"
Titus groaned, but then he opened his mouth to speak.
"Yes," he said in his tiny, weak voice. "I'll... wait here."
"Ha!" the man said. "That's the spirit!" Then he lowered Titus back down carefully to the hard floor and stepped away.
"Just one minute, I promise," the man said before Titus heard his footsteps quieten as he disappeared again, leaving Titus alone with nothing to do but ponder his own thoughts.
Titus did feel like he was getting better, though he knew that feeling was counterintuitive because with every passing minute, the bleeding effect was sapping his very life from him. It was a strange position to be in, but all he could do was wait until the man who'd saved his life returned with more help. Presumably, someone who knew what they were doing and someone who had more than just a single, old, warm health potion about their person.
But then he remembered the voice.
He knew he shouldn't. He knew it was a bad idea and all, but he just needed to be sure.
"Hello?" He wheezed.
No response.
"Are you still there?"
Perhaps his voice was too quiet, or perhaps he'd just imagined the whole thing because nothing returned from the darkness. There was no rumbling sound and no deep, booming voice.
"Hello?" He tried again, and then waited. Then just as he was about to give up, he heard a noise.
It wasn't as loud as the voice or the rumbling he'd heard before, but from the tone, he could tell it came from the same being.
"Not now..." it said.
"What?" Titus asked, his voice still strained.
"Soon."
And that was it. Because when Titus tried to regain its attention, he was met with nothing except silence.
He had no idea what had just happened or even who or what he had been talking to, but before he had the chance to ponder it properly he heard the loud footsteps of multiple people approaching him, running along the hard stone floor.
"Right here," the man whom Titus had already spoken to said loudly. "Just I'd say be gentle with him. Like I said I did what I could but, well, you know more than I do."
"Hmm," a female voice this time replied as Titus felt cool, clammy hands upon his arm. "He'll be fine, just needs his bleeding tended to and a little rest, back on his feet in no time I'd say."
"Right," the man replied. "But do you know how he…"
"That's not for here or now," the woman replied. "The boy will be taken to the hospital and the rest is for others to decide, not us."
"But…" the man replied and almost in a whisper added: "He shouldn't have been here. I don’t know..."
"Not for us," the woman replied. "We do what we can and that's that."
