The half-owl monstrosity stared at the young woman as she deliberated on a game to play with a being whose powers might be considered infinite. She immediately ruled out any physical games. Besides the fact that she never excelled in games of skill on account of her small frame and terrible hand-eye coordination, the Abyssal Monarch likely stood at the peak of Its strength within Its own realm. She moved her thoughts to games of strategy. If she faced a god-like entity of some other domain, such as agriculture or the ocean, she might possess the arrogance required to believe she could outsmart them; however, she could scarcely conceive of a game where she might outplay the daegon who collects an endless repository of knowledge.

“You need to withdraw your offer,” Mirus addressed his apprentice.

“It’s too late,” Intekon’s smooth, but targeted voice answered. “She already accepted the wager. A contract between us binds her decision.”

“The contract is void. She didn’t sign anything.”

“A verbal contract is still binding. We only commit the terms to writing for convenience and liability. As we stand in my Hall of Souls, I believe all parties perfectly understand the stakes and won’t find any disputes once we reach the conclusion of our game.”

“How can you say she understands the stakes when she accepted them? She's still so young. She doesn’t realize the magnitude of her mistake.”

“She may be but a babe in your long-lived elven eyes, but in human years, she has reached the age of maturity and may make her own decisions. She consented to our agreement and there is nothing you might do to alter her resolve.”

“But she’s my apprentice. She is currently under contract with me. Per the terms of my employment, she may not pursue any other arrangements that will inhibit from conducting her duties as an apprentice to the court mage. Risking her soul clearly violates our agreement, so, I reiterate, the contract is void.”

“Oh, Mirus, please don’t waste your time in pursuing law. On the first account, the collection of her soul may be delayed until the end of her apprenticeship, which, by your insistence for her application as a full-time student and your offer to pay for her schooling, will terminate within the year, anyway. On the second account, your contract applies to the jurisdiction of the Rodannian Kingdom in terra firma. In The Abyss, contracts made with an Abyssal Monarch always take legal precedent over any other agreements.

“You were outplayed the moment you stepped into this realm and invaded my castle. Syma sealed her fate as soon as she agreed to play a game.” It continued. “Honestly, you doomed her soul when she became your apprentice. When you invaded her privacy in the library to learn of her spellcasting, you condemned her spirit to a glass jar. When you both visited town and let her purchase alchemical ingredients, you sealed her fate. When you began to look at her as a daughter, you damned the very essence of her being.

“You are a black whirlpool who sucks anyone in their vicinity to the briny depths. Once you return to your realm, you ought to live the woods as a hermit, so that you may only betray the souls of passing squirrels or stray dogs instead of the ones you love.”

“Don’t select a game,” Mirus turned back to his apprentice. “We can keep things in statis until we can properly strategize our next move.”

“Unfortunately, not,” Intekon interrupted. “Refusing to choose a game will be considered the same as forfeiting. Now, dearest Syma, please tell me what you wish to play?”

A moment of silence punctuated the being of immense power and the young woman staking everything for the man she considered a father. After a final moment of thought, she answered, “dice.”

“Dice!” the court mage exclaimed. “You are gambling everything on a common tavern game?”

“You’ve spoken too much, elf. Permit your apprentice to explain,” the Abyssal Monarch declared. “There are many games that employ dice with much variation. I would like to know precisely which we play.”

Mirus casted a glance towards Syma who only nodded in response. She turned towards the half-owl monstrosity and began, “I carried a pair of dice with me when we traversed into terra abyssa. We will both throw the dice and whoever rolls the highest number wins. If we tie, we will roll again until a winner is determined.”

“A game of chance. Interesting.”

“You would easily best me in a game of skill or wits. Your power far exceeds anything I can comprehend. I could only fairly settle our bet by stripping us both of any advantage. Probability is blind and leaves us naked to fate.”

“Wise beyond your short, mortal years. Most come to me with enough arrogance to think they may rig a game in their favor. I accept your terms. Who shall roll first?”

“You,” Mirus addressed the monstrosity. “We invaded your realm. We owe you the courtesy of going first.”

“You are not playing,” Intekon narrowed Its eyes, trying to conceive of the whatever plot the court mage attempted. “I permit the decision to go to the young woman.”

In their years of service together, Mirus and Syma developed an unspoken form of communication. Never formalized in writing, they instead shared glances, furrows of the brow, and the curves of their lips. The court mage pleaded with his eyes and Syma knew the message he tried to convey. Instead of blind obedience, however, she closed her eyes from her master and considered her position. Perhaps Mirus would attempt to outplay an Abyssal Monarch, but she knew the effort was futile. She wished to stop his intervention but understood he would always make the attempt regardless of her decision.

In the end, however, she rationalized that nothing truly mattered in her decision. The fates who govern dice wouldn’t care about the order of their rolls. She decided to trust her master. She finally replied, “Mirus is right. We’ve already insulted you. Please allow us to grant this courtesy.”

“Very well,” the half-owl accepted the proposal, but Its tone shifted from indignant hubris to suspicious questioning. Intekon read the body language they shared but couldn’t discern its meaning. The Abyssal Monarch silently swore the daegon It sent to report on the life of the court mage but failed to explain their unspoken words. For a brief moment, the pair saw a weakness in the monstrosity’s apparent invulnerability.

Syma rummaged through her bag before she found her dice. An unremarkable set of ivory, each of the sides presented an arrangement of dots numbered from one to six. Often estranged from her parents, she spent much of her youth in various taverns, learning games of cards and dice. She often gambled with meager amounts and consequently never won nor lost much. This particular set of dice, however, were the result of a game between her and a bored merchant waiting for an acquaintance. He wagered his pair of dice in exchange for a few coins and a streak of luck favored her. Ever since, she considered the set a lucky charm.

Between their travel to the University of Ravenspire and their trek at midnight to find the blackened altar of Professor Cynna, she knew the dice were unnecessary, but they represented a ray of hope that fortune may favor their journey. Besides, they weighed near nothing and scarcely took space. She figured she might play with some stranger at an inn when they found a lull in their travel. Although she faintly imagined herself gambling with a couple coins, she never thought she might stake her soul in a game against an Abyssal Monarch.

She handed the dice to the half-owl who inspected them closely. Shifting them in Its palm, It weighed the ivory, attempting to uncover any unfair weighting. Its eyes looked closely for any false edge or face. Its unholy soul breathed the magic around the set to uncover any enchantment. In the end, it found no inherent tricks to upset the results. Content, it threw the dice.

They bounced against the gray brick floor, dancing in air before they crashed into the stone and leaped again. They followed this pattern until their leaps became skips and their skips became subtle pattering. The first die settled on a five. All three pairs of eyes watched intently as the second die calmed its final trembles and rested on three. A sinister smile curled on Its face.

“Eight,” It announced. “Not impossible to beat, but probability does not favor you.”

Neither of the pair chose to comment. Syma wordlessly picked the dice from the floor and held them in her hand. Even though Mirus couldn’t hear her heart pounding her ribs nor feel the adrenaline piercing her veins, he saw her even but quivering breath against her chest. He could offer no words of encouragement nor expressions of wisdom. Instead, he simply placed her hand on her shoulder. The two shared a glance which spoke of their time together filled with so much emotion that any attempt to verbalize it would simply fail. A single tear welled in one of Syma’s eyes. No matter what happened, she found solace that she found a father.

Clasping her palms together, she rattled the dice together and ceremoniously released them into the air. Time seemed to move like glaciers. Those few frozen seconds passed between their eyes. Neither dared to breath as their lungs hung as stationary as time. The set of ivory twirled in the air as if unaware of the incredible stakes at play. The dice didn’t care. They only wanted to show its moment of acrobatics before they collided on the floor.

As the focus centered on gambling instruments, Mirus placed his fingertips on his grimoire. The dice hit the stone and began to bounce. He watched as the first die resided to its final number, a five. As the second still rolled, he whispered an incantation so quietly that not even Syma heard a word. He didn’t need a powerful spell. If he dared to cast anything too dramatic, he would draw attention to himself and condemn them both. Instead, he needed something subtle enough to evade detection, but forceful enough to sway even the immovable fates. A silent, sudden shift in the air moved the die until it stood precariously on its edge and fell onto a four.

“A nine!” they almost shouted in unison before the half-owl monstrosity curtailed their excitement with a swift movement of its talons and wings. It ignored the young woman, but tightly clutched around the neck of the court mage.

“You cheat,” It bellowed. The smooth voice of calm of arrogance was replaced with a rapture of ire and contempt. It scratched against their eardrums until the rest of the atrocities of terra abyssa became faint whispers. “You truly are a black pit who buries all who try to help. You thought I wouldn’t hear your little spell. You thought I wouldn’t feel the course of magic flow through my own castle. Your apprentice might have won our little game, but you damned her just like you damned your mother.”

He held the jar containing his mother’s soul outstretched. The glow illuminated a face contorted in indignation. It resumed in a harsh growl, “I wanted your mother’s soul for the implicit power it held, but now I will rip it apart in front of your eyes. You will watch me as I dismember the essence of her. I will rend the memories you hold dearest and cleave the motherly nature that endeared you.

“You did this, Mirus. You can try to blame all of creation, but your own conceited actions are to blame. They always are and always will be.”

Syma watched the act of violence unfold. Her mind barely registered the roll of the dice and failed to comprehend the Abyssal Monarch’s movements until It struck her master’s throat. Rapid thoughts dazzled her brain. She nearly choked on her panic. Her eyes darted around the vast Hall of Souls. It offered no weapon nor protection. It only offered uncountable rows of condemned souls forced to live as a source of power to the half-owl monstrosity. She tried to devise a clever solution but could only think of a single course of action. She pushed over a bookshelf filled with souls.

Like dominos, the shelf caught the shelf behind it and gravity caused a cascade down the entire row as far as Syma’s eyes could see. The sounds of shattering glass became a discordant symphony as souls freed themselves from their prison. A dazzling array of spectral clouds rose from the broken remains of glass, liberated, but confused and meandering.

The anger on Intekon’s face transitioned to confusion and then weakness. The half-owl loosened its grip on the court mage, permitting himself to wiggle free as shock dawned on Its face. Spreading Its wings outward, it took flight into the room and declared an incantation in some unintelligible language that shook their bones to the core. Like a whirlpool, the cloud of souls began to swirl in violent currents. The remains of faces and personalities called onto the pair for help, but nothing could aid the inevitable conclusion as the Abyssal Monarch floated at the center of their despair, drawing their essence to Its body.

Syma dashed across the arrays of broken glass to her master who watched the horrid scene in morbid fascination. She tried to reason with him, “The ring! The ring, Mirus! We need to get back to terra firma.”

“My mother’s soul,” he growled. He ignored his apprentice’s pleadings as he centered his gaze on Intekon, a gem of power adorning the swirling cloud of agony. Within Its talons, he could still see the glowing jar, still intact. He spoke another incantation and a surge of energy jumped from his body. With all his concentration on the glass prison, he moved it with his spell. It sprung from the Abyssal Monarch’s grasp and fell into his direction. He ran across the hall with his large elven fingers outstretched. It came down with considerable force, but he caught his mother’s soul within his palm and secured it tightly against his chest.

The moment he took hold of the jar, however, Intekon abandoned Its post at the center of the spectral storm and dove towards the pair. With Its wings pointed upwards and its nose targeting the pair, it sliced through the air like the tip of a dagger.

Syma clung to the court mage’s robes and screamed of the ring. Mirus didn’t need further instruction as attempted to activate the enchantment which would free them from The Abyss, but no force of magic arose from the jewelry. The elf shook the ring, attempting to compel its effect. The half-owl stretched its wings and brushed a gust of air against them. Syma lost her grip upon her master. At that moment, the enchantment worked.

Mirus felt himself dissipate. His body slowly became immaterial as the enchantment traversed realms. His apprentice attempted to dive towards him and take a hold of his hand, but she moved through him. The Hall of Souls began to blur. The edges of his vision darkened. His final sight was Intekon constricting Its knife-like talons around Syma’s wrists. She fought against his grasp as tears fell from her eyes. She pleaded for her master to return and save her. Her voice pierced the dulling silence, filled with desperation and betrayal. Half choked sobs interrupted her call. Her face contorted into the shape of anguish as he watched any hope of escape vanish in her watery eyes.

He yelled for her, holding his hand outstretched in a meaningless gesture of rescue. He attempted to cast a spell to break the enchantment so that he could seize her from the immortal monolith that brought her to darnation. Even the best attempt of the highest mage within his homeland, however, couldn’t break the chain of destiny which bound Syma to the Abyssal Monarch.

The world went black. He awoke in the middle of the field at dawn in front of the black altar. Both Professor Cynna and her many grimoires were gone. He sobbed and prayed to whatever deity might listen in hopes that they could save his daughter. He sat at that altar begging for help until his throat grew hoarse and his eyes could no longer offer their tears.