Each step dragged, heavy and deliberate, as if he pulled himself toward a grave. His purple eyes remained flat, betraying nothing. Inside, his thoughts churned, sharp and restless, plotting paths through the maze of his fate.
The trio reached a crystalline platform untouched by incident. Towering shards of glass-like stone pierced upward, catching the dim light and scattering it into fractured beams. The cavern stretched vast, its walls carved from gleaming obsidian, veined with glowing crystal that pulsed faintly, like the heartbeat of the mountain itself. At the platform's center stood a massive crystalline construct, its surface smooth, unmarred by time, waiting like an ancient relic. Belial pressed his hand against it, feeling the cold bite of its surface. Ether flowed from his veins, reluctant but obedient, seeping into the structure.
The ground shuddered. A low vibration rolled through the stone, like a beast stirring from slumber. Xin flinched, his shoulders tensing. Toren's hand rested on the hilt of his blade, his sharp eyes scanning the shadows cast by the jagged crystals overhead. The platform jerked, then rose with a grinding roar. Dust cascaded from the cavern ceiling, settling on their shoulders like ash. After a moment, the motion steadied, and the platform glided forward, carrying them deeper into the hollow mountain.
The scene that unfolded was immense, a graveyard of forgotten ambition. A labyrinth of ruined technology sprawled below, crystalline bridges arching over bottomless chasms. Broken constructs leaned against walls of shining stone, their forms half-crumbled but still imposing. Fallen giants littered the ground, statues toppled in an ancient war. Each one, crafted from crystal and metal, bore faces frozen in eerie mimicry of life. Some clutched fragments of weapons, blades of glass cracked and dulled by centuries. Their hollow eyes seemed to watch the intruders, silent and accusing.
Xin's gaze lingered on the wreckage. His were fixated, his knuckles whitening around the grip of his weapon. The Slaver carried scars from places like this, laboratories and cages that had carved their marks into his soul. Here, with crystalline machines looming overhead and the faint hum of forgotten knowledge permeating the space, he moved like a person stepping through old wounds. His eyes flicked from wall to wall, never resting, never trusting.
Belial's lips twitched, almost a smirk. Good, he thought. Let the Slaver feel the weight of this place. At least I'm not alone in my chains. But his face remained impassive, carved from stone. He raised his voice over the platform's grinding. "Hell, I feel like an underpaid tour guide. This is the fastest way up."
Xin shot him a sharp look. "How do you know how to operate these relics?"
Belial let the question hang unanswered. His purple eyes flicked forward, his expression unyielding. He owed them no explanations. Even if he did, he wouldn't hand over pieces of himself for free.
Toren said nothing, but his silence spoke louder than words. His eyes burned, fixed on Belial with an intensity that pressed against the space between them. Belial ignored it, keeping his movements deliberate, his posture still. One twitch, and Toren would be on him in a breath. The man was suspicion incarnate, a blade waiting to cut. Belial hated him for it.
The platform carried them onward for twenty minutes, the silence between them thick as the dust settling around them. The cavern's walls shimmered with veins of crystal, their faint glow casting long shadows that danced across the broken machinery below. The scent of ether hung heavy, sharp and metallic, stinging the lungs with every breath. Crystalline spires jutted from the walls at odd angles, some cracked, others whole, their surfaces reflecting the platform's movement in distorted glints of light. Far below, the chasms yawned, their depths swallowing the light entirely.
When the platform ground to a halt, they stepped off. Belial led without hesitation, his steps sure, He didn't need to think about the path. These corridors, with their broken walkways and towering crystals, were etched into his memory. He had spent a year trapped in this mountain, its sharp ether scent and cold stone walls burned into his senses and of course he been here thousands of time in game. The labyrinth grew around them, its passages narrowing and widening unpredictably, lined with fragments of ancient machinery. Some walls bore faint carvings, glyphs too worn to read, their meaning lost to time. Others glistened with moisture, drops of water catching the crystal's glow like tiny stars.
They moved in silence for another twenty minutes. The only sounds were their footsteps and the distant drip of water echoing through the caverns. The temperature dropped, the chill seeping through their clothes, numbing their fingers. Belial's breath clouded faintly, though he barely noticed. His focus remained ahead, his mind turning over the contract's terms, its invisible chains tightening with every step.
Toren slowed, his eyes darting to the walls, to the branching pathways ahead. His hand brushed the stone, fingers lingering on a faint etching that might have been a map or a warning. Recognition lit his expression, hard and grim. Belial saw it too. The Second Act. This was the place.
"Stay sharp," Toren said, his voice low but cutting. "The Second Act begins here. Be ready. Stay on guard."
Xin tightened his grip on his weapon, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the shadows. The crystals overhead cast jagged patterns across the floor, their edges sharp enough to cut.
Belial's mouth twitched, his voice calm, almost bored. "The Second Act has been moved elsewhere. No monsters here."
The temperature dropped further, the cold biting into their skin. Toren's eyes met Belial's. No words passed between them, but the clash was palpable, carried in the lock of their gazes. Toren's suspicion burned, a fire that refused to dim. Belial stared back, unblinking, his purple eyes steady despite the contract's thrum, tugging at his soul like reins.
Xin glanced between them, catching the tension. He saw the indignation in Belial's eyes, the same fury that had flashed when Xin forced him over the mountain's edge. The look of a man chained but unbowed.
Belial turned, leading them forward again, his steps measured. His thoughts burned hotter than ever.
*This man...*
At first, he had thought the man tolerable, even useful. Strong, pragmatic, a steady hand in the chaos of this place. But Toren's suspicion had tightened the chains around Belial's neck. Toren's insistence had pushed Xin to bind him with the ether contract. Because of Toren, Belial was shackled again, dragged into a role he never chose.
The crystalline halls stretched ahead, their walls gleaming with a cold, unyielding light. The passages twisted, some narrowing to barely a shoulder's width, others opening into vast chambers where broken constructs lay scattered like bones. The scent of ether grew sharper, stinging their eyes, and the faint hum of the mountain's core pulsed through the stone. Belial's purple eyes darkened as he walked, his mind racing. He had been bound before. He knew what it meant. Chains never stayed chains. They became daggers, sharp and inevitable. If he carried these humans to the end, if he fulfilled the contract as written, there would be no victory for him.
They would kill him. Or the Theater itself would. This Stage never let the "one" live through the final act. That truth was carved into his bones, a lesson learned through blood and betrayal.
So what then?
Belial's fist tightened. He would need a contingency plan, a way to break the contract or twist its outcome. He had been cornered before, trapped in impossible binds, and he had clawed his way out.
This would be no different.
His mind turned over possibilities, each one a thread he could pull to unravel the chains. He could sabotage the platform, strand them in the labyrinth. He could mislead them, guide them into a trap. Or he could find a way to turn the contract's power back on itself, forcing it to bind another.
Oracle…
At times like this oracle would come up with a solution, but she was locked away.
He walked without a sound, each step measured, the weight of unseen chains scraping against the earth like restless ghosts. Behind him, Xin and Toren shadowed his path. Xin's eyes held a dull glow of guilt. His stride faltered, hesitant, as if afraid of the echoes of his own choices. Toren, though, moved like a drawn blade. His presence cut into Belial's back, sharp and cold.
As the summit loomed, Toren drifted closer, his boots whispering against the stone. His voice slid into Belial's ear, low and dangerous.
"I know what you are, demon. Step out of line and I'll kill you."
Belial's eye twitched, but only for a heartbeat. He held his face still, body steady, steps unbroken. Yet inside, calculations churned like storm tides. Every path he saw led to the same end — the contract dragging him into a grave.
He had no plans for an early grave.