-[Act 2 * Part 5]-

A small band of Basil’s minions advanced through the palace halls with their bows drawn and aimed down range. Surrounding the black clad rangers was a field of carnage and ruin. Sundered bits of armor and broken weapons; guts and blood from a hundred slain imperial knights and servants covered the ground.

The scene felt familiar to Basil, who watched his minions slaughter wave after wave of imperial defenders as they poured into the hallway in a desperate attempt at holding back the advancing intruders.

Empire Solar is a shell of its former self, Basil thought. Knights with power levels no higher than 15 and mages who can’t even cast third tier spells—they have no chance of holding off Elnora’s assault. Yet they still charge Schwartz’s men... At least they go bravely to their deaths.

A group of four imperial paladins and a single support caster emerged from a passage up ahead. The holy warriors raised their shields as they charged the black armor clad intruders. The lone priest that had followed them into the hallway was immediately struck down by three arrows. Even as the man fell to his knees and gasped his last breath, four more arrows buried themselves into his chest, piercing his lungs. The unfortunate priest was a priority target because of his ability to cast advanced magic, so the rangers made sure that he could utter no words of power.

“Empire Solar—empire eternal!” one of the paladins cried out. He then levied his sword against his enemies and channeled a divine spell. “[Holy Blast]!”

A wave of golden light struck the ranger standing closest to the paladin. The man recoiled from the impact and fell back in line with his dark brothers.

The paladins drew closer. With their defensive auras stacked on top of one another they actually managed to resist the first volley of arrows that were fired at them. Once they had gotten within melee range the rangers set aside their bows and drew their blades. It had been the intention of the paladins to clash with the line of their enemies; to scatter the rangers or push them back, but they ended up running right through the gaps in their loose formation. Having traveled past the rangers, the imperial paladins collapsed at the feet of Basil, who stepped over their carved up corpses.

The dungeon keeper pressed on without giving them a second glance. The dark ranges had cut apart the gilded armor of the paladins in an instant, killing the men within. Basil’s minions holstered their blades—glowing red with magic enchantment and dripping with blood—and continued down the hallway, deeper into the palace, towards the throne room and the emperor.

Basil paid little mind to the slaughter as it carried on around him. Soldiers in their dozens rushed the advancing minions of the dark lord, but few got close enough to threaten them. And even if by some crazy chance one of these low-level mortals laded a telling blow, it failed to cause any significant damage. Clad in some of the best armor known to both monster and kith, the rangers shrugged off the blades and spears of the imperial troops like they were nothing. With more than twenty power levels separating the best of the imperial knights from the worst of the rangers, their forces were horrendously outmatched.

This world should have been cleansed a hundred years ago, Basil thought. Back then its defenders would have had more of a fight in them, but now… it’s just sad.

A new message appeared in the dungeon keeper’s manual. The book identified the sender as one ‘Sister#42’, one of Scarlet’s minions. She was the one in charge of advising Elnora.

“My Lord, the city wall has been breached. Remaining enemy forces are falling back towards the palace. The streets are running red with their blood. Lady Elnora is leading the vanguard. Friendly casualties are mounting faster than anticipated in the face of suicidal tactics of the enemy mages. In spite of this, I believe we will reach the palace gates within the hour.”

Basil carefully considered his reply before sending it. The black letters appeared in the pages of the manual as he willed them. “Carry on,” he wrote. “Let Elnora expend her forces in the face of determined defenders and learn from the experience. Only offer advice when it would be to her benefit.”

He closed his book just as the sister’s reply came in: “Understood, Master.”

Across a river of blood and corpses Basil had arrived at the entrance to the throne room. The golden gates stood closed shut before him, guarded by a pair of bronze golems with the sun crests of Empire Solar displayed prominently across their chest. The ruby gem eyes of the golems looked down upon the approaching intruders with silent contempt. As Basil pressed closer, jets of white steam begun to rise from their joints as the metallic guardians came to life, ready to defend the throne room.

One of the rangers drew back the string of his bow an unleashed an attack on one of the bronze golems to gage its effectiveness. The arrow struck the construct in the face and exploded with vicious force. As the dust settled it was revealed that one of its eyes had been destroyed, but the bronze constructs now responded by lowering the armored visors of their helmets to protect their faces and took up a guard stance. They were not about to let the intruders pass without a fight.

Basil opened his monster manual and skimmed over the information on the enemies standing before him. Meanwhile the rangers spread out across the hallway. They were about to begin their attack when Basil stepped forward and waved for them to halt.

“We don’t have time for this,” he said as he closed the monster manual and placed the book into his pouch. “Those are level 40 arcane constructs,” he explained. “They were designed to soak up damage. Those ruby eyes serve no practical function. They have no real vital points to cripple or weaknesses to exploit.

“Step aside, minions!” Basil ordered and pulled two arrows from the quiver of a ranger as he walked him by. “I will handle this myself.”

The ranges fell back as the dungeon keeper charged towards the bronze golems with an arrow in each hand, tips poised for the strike. In response the metallic sentinels raised their swords towards him. As Basil clashed with the towering bronze constructs their weapons grazed his body, but failed to pierce the thick skin of the infernal monk. His defensive abilities were more than a match for whatever sharpening enchantments their magic weapons possessed.

Now that Basil had closed the distance he threw a single punch at each of his enemies. The dungeon keeper activated one of his combat abilities to empower the attacks.

“{Thunderstruck}!”

The motions of his lightning strikes were followed by the sounds of thunder that reverberated throughout the palace halls. The bronze heads of the sentinels blew apart in a shower of debris as the dungeon keeper pushed the arrowheads straight through them at a speed that sent shockwaves rippling in all directions, cracking the marble floor beneath them.

The headless sentinels reeled and shook from the impact, but remained standing. They then retaliated by cleaving the demon with their swords from either side at once. Basil caught the blades under his arms and pressed them up against his torso. A trickle of blood ran down his torso from where the edges of the blades touched him. For a moment it almost looked like he was going to be sliced in half. What happened instead was that the demon prince held on tight to the weapons, pushed himself away from the struggling sentinels and thus pulled the swords from their grasp. He then flung the bronze blades—each the size of a grown man—down the hall like they were twigs.

Disarmed, the silent sentinels took a moment to readjust, but soon renewed their assault with bare fists instead. Basil retaliated in kind. The palace now echoed with the sounds of thumping metal the likes a thousand blacksmiths could not produce. Piece by piece the guardians were torn asunder. Punch after punch served to heat and fold their metal bodies until their singular shapes had been reduced to warping hot bronze slabs.

The scattered remains of the melting sentinels soon cover most of the hall. Basil’s minions had to take shelter behind pillars and overturned furniture so as to avoid getting hit by flying shrapnel as their master punched the golems down into their base components.

Once the sentinels had been reduced to nothing more than smoldering piles of metal, Basil stepped back from his victims and wiped the molten bronze from his fingers. Having done away with the throne’s guardians, the dungeon keeper now pressed on towards his prize. The ranges fell back in around their master, mindful not to step into the searing hot puddles of metal now littering the hall.

Basil felt slight resistance on the other side when he tried to push the open the door, so instead of fiddling with the obstacle Basil elected to smash the lock with his fist. As the strike landed the massive gates sprung open, crashed into the adjacent walls, broke their hinges and fell to the ground with a terrible ruckus.

When the dust had settled an ivory white throne room was revealed. The entire length of the majestic chamber was lit by rows of sunshard chandeliers that hung from the ceiling. They radiated a warm glow that was akin to real sunlight.

Covering the path leading up to the throne was a red carpet, interwoven with gold patterns and motives depicting the sun and stars. Every painting, every mosaic and every stained-glass window along the way to the throne was a sight to behold. They told stories of past glories, victories and heroic deeds of Empire Solar and its divine guardian, the elemental that Lord Doom had imprisoned, Maiden Solar.

Basil paid no mind to these frivolous decorations. He had already reduced countless such halls of vanity down to rubble in his long career as a dungeon keeper. This throne room—the heart of Empire Solar—was no different from the rest. This world’s history was already known to him. In spite of what the foolish kith might believe, it was not unique.

History had a tendency to repeat itself, especially when played out across countless worlds over untold eons. After a while the names of heroes all begin to overlap, their deeds become mundane and their lives cheap. A dragon slayer here, a master craftsman there... None of these achievements were unique when measured up against the greater history of the universe as Basil knew it, and that was not a pleasant truth to carry.

The black clad rangers moved into the corners of the room and took cover behind the marble pillars that held up the galleries above. The emperor’s court was even larger than Basil’s throne room and judging from the number of seats on both sides of the chamber it could host several thousand attendees at once.

Soon enough Basil’s minions had set up their ambush positions throughout the room. They remained on the lookout for the imperial troops while their master advanced on his target.

Finally, it is within my grasp. Basil climbed the steps of the emperor’s throne and eyed the massive chair with glee.

“Now this is a chair fit for a master,” he proclaimed as he pressed his red body into the cushioned seat. The emperor’s throne was just large enough to accommodate the burly demon prince. “It will make a fine addition to my collection…”

The dungeon keeper’s moment of frivolous celebration proved to be short lived, however. An intrusion, while far from unexpected, still drew his ire as it appeared.

An angry voice carried strong across the room, chastising the dungeon keeper. “Remove yourself from this holy place, you foul beast!”

The rangers snapped their bows to the ruined entrance of the throne room as a lone figure emerged. A lowly squire limped into sight. His armor was sundered and his face bloodied, but the young man pressed on, willfully ignorant of his injuries.

“You will leave this place at once!” the squire demanded. With considerable effort, he pointed his sword at the rangers spread out across the room. “All of you, by the light of Maiden Solar, will be banished.”

Basil leaded back into the throne of the emperor and rested his head on his hand. “Banished? By you and what army?” he asked. “Your goddess already failed to defeat me. Who are you to promise me a good fight?”

The squire failed to reply in a prompt manner, so Basil continued.

“Don’t kill him yet,” he ordered his minions. “I’m in a good mood today, so I will hear the boy out.”

The squire stumbled towards the throne. “You cannot crush the Empire,” he spitefully proclaimed. “This city might fall, but our forces will go on fighting. Go and tell your master that!”

He thinks me a lowly minion, Basil realized to his great amusement. I will let this play out…

“Go and tell him of our valor!” the squire continued. “Tell that beast in his deep dark corner of the world that we will fight him to the last.”

Basil grinned. “Yes, yes… you will fight me in the fields and in the forests; and in the mountains you will fight me and from beyond the grave you will haunt me. I’ve heard this defiant speech before. But the last man to give it was not even half as close to death as you are right now, so why should I listen?”

The expression of the spiteful youth warped in anger. “Don’t you dare mock our determination, you, demon filth!”

The noise of a bowstring being drawn back could be heard in response to the insult that was leveraged against the dark lord.

Basil raised his hand. “Do not kill him,” he said. “Let the boy speak his mind. Show some respect for his valor. Misplaced as it is…”

“Our blessed emperor will strike you down,” the squire declared as he drew closer to the steps of the throne. His legs soon gave out and the boy ended up on the floor before the dungeon keeper.

“You will see…” he mumbled through his labored breathing, “we are not defeated yet…”

The valiant squire remained lying at the bottom of the steps, struggling for his life. His injuries had finally overcome his resilience and his final moments were at hand.

Basil looked at the information present in his dungeon keeper’s manual as he held the book towards the squire: “Human. Male. Age 16. Power level 5, [Common]. Near death.”

Your courage is admirable, Basil thought. You remain persistent, even as you fight against an overwhelming power. If only your zeal had not being wasted in defense of a doomed world…

“You are a brave man to have come all this way to defend your emperor,” Basil said as he closed the manual, “but bravery alone is not enough to save your realm in the late stages of a civilization.

“Because of the way that the universe works, you never had the chance to reach the heights of power that your ancestors achieved. And now you never will.”

The boy said nothing. He could say nothing, holding onto what little life remained within him.

Basil pondered the squire’s predicament for a moment longer and decided to intervene, if only to entertain his own curiosity. The dungeon keeper reached for his bandolier and pulled out a small glass vial from his magic pouch. It contained a purple liquid that glistened slightly in the falling light. He then descended the steps and kneeled before the panting boy.

The squire’s breathing was ragged and his eyes stricken with fear as he felt his death creeping ever closer, but his hand still gripped tight the hilt of his sword. The poor fool even tried to raise it against the demon as it approached.

“This is a restoration potion,” Basil said as he placed the vial within the boy’s reach. “Drink from it and your worst injuries will be mended. It won’t make you feel any better, but it will keep you from dying.”

The dungeon keeper left the squire lying at the steps of the throne and walked towards a spiral staircase that embedded in the corner of the throne room. His minions had already gathered at the mouth of the stairwell and now begun their climb to scout the path ahead of their master.

“I am going to go and find your blessed emperor now,” Basil announced.

The squire stirred at the mention of his ruler, but was too frail to stand up.

Basil stopped short of the stairs and addressed the squire one last time. “Reject the potion and you will die a glorious death, defiant to the last. Or you can accept my gift of life, follow me upstairs and witness my audience with your divine emperor. But know that only misery and dread will be your reward. There is no coming back from partaking in our conversation. You will learn too much.”

Basil then disappeared into the stairwell.

Having struggled with his conscience, the squire eventually reached for the potion. He placed the vial to his lips with a trembling hand and drank deep from the bitter chalice of defeat. Either driven by the selfish desire to live or the heroic goal of following the demon upstairs for one last chance at striking him, the boy had accepted the dungeon keeper’s gift.