Do you ever wonder what it’s all about, guy?

 

Not this dungeon stuff. I mean, like, you know, ‘it’. All of ‘it’. My boots thud up the stairs as I rise higher still, clawing my way out of the proverbial pit. Yet something in this body, some tightly wound thread that was laid in place by the seamstresses of fate, slowly pulls taut in my heart of hearts as I run further away from them, her.

 

  Pragmatically speaking, it may have been a mistake to ‘let’ the hero-party live. If I had tugged on her hand and pulled her away, in all likelihood they would have died and me and her could have ran further. Hell, with no hero-party alive and a high-level monk at my side plus all of the previous floors cleared, maybe we could have just literally ran all the way out in one single life. We could have gotten out of the dungeon by tomorrow. Maybe then we could have just ran away.

 

A dull, green light shines out from above me.

 

  Maybe we could have just run far away from the dungeon, off to some far away forest or the ocean. Built a cute little cabin together and just spent the rest of our days like that, putting all of this behind us. Just me and her and you, guy. Though you’d have to get your own room, you understand how it is. Eh? Eh? Wink-wink, nudge-nudge.

 

My hand covers my eyes as I rise into the next floor.

 

But is that what ‘it’ is all about?

 

Dust puffs up in a cloud, as my boot stamps down onto the old stone floors.

 

  No. What good is a life like that, if I lay awake at night, regretting the path I chose to get there? What good is holding someone in your arms every night, if you can’t even fall asleep with them because of the ghosts whispering into your ear? It’s been a long life for me so far, but it’ll be about that time soon. So let’s put in some work, before the sun sets, guy.

 

I blink and I look around my ‘it’. Floor seventy-six.

 

  Clenching my fists, I step forward, small, gray rocks crumble beneath my feet. Strange trickles of green-water fill the entire floor, seeping through crevices in the rock, giving it an otherworldly appearance. But it’s more than that. It’s not just water. Old magical energies flow through the walls, through the stones. A cold wind comes to wrap itself around me, as if welcoming me back home. Only then it loosens its touch and flows off, down past the strange, shifting planes made up entirely of jagged, gray, rock spikes and green-water.

 

It’s good that the thing that was here is dead. Even if there are still plenty of lost souls who remain. There is nothing we can do for them.

 

Stepping inside, I hurry forward in a slight jog. The hero-party is probably just finishing up their fight now. That means that Madison will run out of juice as soon as the hero starts wailing on the wall. That means I don’t have long. I hurry, running.

 

  Whispering winds seem to follow me however as I move through the strange plane, but the cool current never seems to rise higher than my knees. It always breezes along the lower part of my body, as if I were treading through cool water. The emerald veins filling the body of this place pulsate and shine brightly. Occasionally a droplet will splash down from a rock formation, splashing down onto the ground below where it vanishes into a crevice. This place is another one of those floors that has been tainted, twisted by the green-water. The wind whispers, but I do my best to ignore it, because it has nothing useful to add to our conversation.

 

  Strange bodies lay everywhere on the floors and I run past them, not bothering to spare many glances for their odd visages. They’re not human, well, maybe they were once. But they’re pure trash-mobs now. Kind of like zombies but… not. They’re twisted and misshapen, the bones of their arms and legs bent at sharp angles, but not broken. Their skulls covered in jagged, bony growths. They’re wrong.

 

  Twisted hands reach up for me as I run, the dead bodies shifting in my presence. Skulls crack and joints snap as their attention turns towards me. Not in a manner of aggression, but simply out of… curiosity or out of a plea for help. Like drowning men reaching for a hand above the surface. Fingers grasp at the fray of my robe, but I don’t stop. Begging, hollow eyes ask me to take them with me. But I don’t stop. One of the bodies before me rises up onto its shaking legs and holds its mangled, gray arms out. Holding out a particularly small cloth bundle for me to take with me. It kicks and stirs inside of the wrap of blankets.

 

I don’t stop. It’s too late for them. This is what they are now. Twisted. Wrong. Helpless. Not even the hero can purge these beings. If their vessels are destroyed, their souls will continue to inhabit this place. Lost. The only way for them to rest is if the dungeon-master is defeated.

 

But we both know that’s not going to happen, at least not ‘officially.’

 

Harrowing whispers and wretched cries come out from behind me. Wordless cries asking for mercy, for salvation, for a helping hand.

 

  I don’t stop, narrowing my eyes I focus on running past them. The wind churning around my ankle swirls and spins around and around each of my legs, as if it were trying to build a chain to shackle me down to the stones below. I don’t stop. You can never stop on floor seventy-six. If you do, you’ll stop forever.

 

Green-water trickles through the cracks and I see several of the strange ‘lost’ entities bent over, taking great drinks of it from puddles. Pressing their faces against the rocks to lick inside of crevices that perhaps a single drop managed to slide down.

 

My body lurches, but I don’t stop. Something pulls down on my side. I ignore it. I keep running.

 

Again, something pulls me down to the side. I feel heavier. Sparing a glance, I look at the two bags adorning my body.

 

Two?

 

  I keep running, only to stumble to the side as a new weight is added on-top of me. A third bag. The dungeon-master apparently figured out a new scheme. I reach into the bags, quickly pulling out the wine bottles as I run and toss them out. The glass shatters as they strike the rocks and the ghouls look, creeping towards the new substance that stains the floors. Another bag. Another bottle.

 

  I can get rid of the bottles, but the bags are stuck to my body. Bound to me as is the dungeon-master’s will. I narrow my eyes. That jerk. They just don’t get it. Sweat beads trickle down my face as I run, only to stumble again a moment later as a fifth bag is added onto my body. Even if they’re empty, it’s becoming rather cumbersome to move like this.

I run, I’m not going to stop on this floor.

 

Another bag. Then another. Then another.

 

I throw the wine bottles out left and right, listening to the sounds of smashing glass ring out all around me, the sharp crystal sounds hammering out in a shrill contrast to the mumbling voices of the damned.

 

Another bag. I run, barely. I see the stairs ahead of me.

 

Another bag. The ninth. How many of these do they have?! A tenth bag appears on my body, I can barely reach around into it to take out the bottle anymore.

 

Just a little further. More bags appear on me. Multiple ones at once. Glass clinks out all around me as the wine bottles sticking out strike against each other. I strain myself, stepping forward further, my load becoming too much for me to manage. Just a little further, just a little higher. Come on-

 

I take another step. Another bag.

 

I take another step. Another bag.

 

I take another step. Another bag.

 

I take a final step, my boot pressing against the lowest stoop of the real stairs. As another bag is laid on top of me and I fall over, falling down onto the staircase, unable to move.

 

  Glass cascades all around me as the pile of bags grows larger and larger, the many straps wrapping themselves around my body cutting off the circulation to my limbs. The incredible weight pressing down against me, crushing me against the rock. I can’t breathe. Wine bottles crash all around me, staining everything with red, the avalanche seemingly never stopping as more and more straps bind me tight. As if I were being mummified and anointed in wine at the same time. Red splashes in my face together with crystalline shards. More bags. I can’t get air.

 

More bags. More wine. I can’t move. It’s heavy.

 

  As I am crushed, my mind races, wondering what I should do. But no plan comes to me, all that fills my head is the sight of the face of a person who is special to me. As my final breath leaves me, as my world spins and grows dark, as my bones are pressed down against the jagged edges of the staircase, I see ‘it’, the reason for being. This was a special life, but only because I had special feelings. I see a special face and reach my hand out to grasp it, but my body doesn’t move. I see those feelings that made this existence one that was worthwhile and I reach out to feel them one last time, just one last time before it’s over. Please, I just want to feel that inner warmth again one last ti-

 

I die.

 

 

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