#he did NOT want to help anyone but he's been hiding in apocrypha for almost 500 years evading council taxes

[yansurnummu]

necrom doodles. the new companions are my faves by far <3

ft. my arcanist, Drals, an ex Telvanni master who was dragged kicking and screaming into caring about something other than himself

[skvaderarts]

Apocrypha Chapter Twenty Five: Labyrinth

Masterlist can be found Here! Thanks!

Chapter Twenty Five: Labrinth

Note: The response I got for the last chapter was amazing! Thank you all so much for the awesome feedback! And now, back to our regularly scheduled angsty program! On today's episode of "look how they massacred my boy"...

(-~-)

As the cave snaked further and further into the bowels of the earth, what little natural light that remained disappeared from view. Gone were any traces of the sky that had been vaguely visible above them and now all that was left were the dregs of extinguished lanterns that hung from the ceiling above. Any illusion that the place they currently occupied wasn’t tied to some part of the underworld shattered like glass, taking any semblance of comfort with it.

In a way, the caves seemed to almost be alive. While an average person wouldn’t probably be able to detect anything in such an extreme environment, that wasn’t the story at all for Sparda’s descendants. As much as he didn’t want to acknowledge it, Nero could almost swear that the place they were in was breathing. It was as if they were inside of some sort of massage artery. Air flowed in and out of the tunnel in opposing directions, coming from behind and then from in front of them in a slow but constant cadence. Perhaps not an artery then, but maybe a throat of some sort? Regardless of what it resembled, it was deeply uncomfortable. One could only hope that they would not come to regret taking the route that they had. There was no time to lose.

“Why is it so fucking dark in here?” Nero asked as he followed closely behind Vergil. Dante was somewhere close behind him, but he couldn’t see anything past his hands in the inky blackness.” That overgrown houseplant wasn’t like this on the inside. How are we supposed to do anything if we can’t see?”

The older demon slayer in blue mentally registered his youngest son’s inquiry, but his mind was elsewhere. Yes, Nero did make a valid point. But his mind was on the task at hand at the moment. For every moment that this expedition dragged on and on, Vergil mentally chastised himself for being insane enough to go along with V’s plan. They had basically handed him to the very people who had tried to kill them less than a month ago, and they had no way of knowing how capable they were or what they wanted with him. 

And that was to say nothing of the conversation that the Darkslayer had just had with the young cultist. Who was this “Master” they served, and who was his patron? Vergil needed to get to the route of the problem and extinguish it as quickly as possible before the inferno had a chance to grow and consume them all. But as far as he knew, none of his detractors knew anything about either of his sons, and that was primarily because they were all dead. Vergil had personally seen to that during his time in the underworld. Vergil possessed practically no tolerance for interruptions to his plans, and during his ascension to the throne, having no one alive to contest his plans was undeniably beneficial.

While the devil in blue was more than certain that his existing enemies were deceased and hopefully rotting in the bowels of hell, he couldn’t discount the possibility of having unknown enemies. That was practically a guarantee. As far as he was concerned, you couldn’t spend the amount of time that he’d spent in the underworld without at least half of the sentient population developing a profound and deep seeded hatred of you. That was just one of the perks that came with the trip. But if that was the case, then things had just gone from bleak to pernicious.

“What, you still need to see things to kill em’? Come on, that’s day one stuff!” Dante said casually as he closed the distance between himself and Nero. He didn’t need to see his nephew’s face to tell that he was shooting him a dirty look. If there was one thing that the young devil hunter had inherited from his father, it was his inability to let go of slights issued against him, regardless of the severity. Dante could say something silly to him about something entirely insignificant, and Nero would probably still bring it up when his kids were old enough to move out. While Dante had to admit that that facet of his nephew’s personality could be problematic at times, he honestly found it hilarious most of the time and didn’t mind it. As long as Nero was safe, Dante was fine with it.

Nero shook his head and pressed forward with the rest of the group. He didn’t have time to care about that. For the life of him, he couldn’t shake the persistent feeling of dread that had gripped him since they had interred the caverns. He trusted V’s judgement. After all, he was capable and smart. But not knowing what had happened to him admittedly put him a bit on edge, especially since that cultist had mentioned something about their “master” wanting him.

Yea, he was going to find this “master” and introduce him to the flaming edge of his blade.

“Do you think we went the wrong way back there? I can’t tell if we're getting any closer to the end of this cave.” Nero asked as they hurried along, thankful that the part of the cave they were in didn’t have branching paths. “I wonder how they get around in here when it’s this dark all the time.”

Vergil considered answering the question since he was somewhat certain that he had an idea how they did so, but the second that he took another step forward, he came to a sudden stop. Dante and Nero followed shortly after, utterly perplexed as to how they had arrived in the stop that they had. The inky blackness parted and gave way to a level of light more conducive to the environment they currently found themselves in. 

Before them spanned a gargantuan chasm, it’s pitch black interior only parted by the rays of moonlight that pierced the roof of the cave in cascading rays. Where the light came from was anyone’s guess since the sound of thunder booming answered any questions that they could have possessed as to whether or not the storm was still raging outside. As the white starlight parted the darkness before them, they identified a staircase composed of several long stone slabs. It descended towards the open chasm below them, no form of railing between them and what had to be at least a five story drop. In the distance, they could make out a faint source of artificial light, seemingly produced by a litany of candles or lanterns. It seemed that nothing in this place was exactly rigged up to a power source, at least from what they could tell.

At least not a conventional one. In the very center of a large pond that sat towards the center of the cavity surrounded by tall but sparse foliage stood a monolith of sorts, easily over twenty feet in height. It was a rough structure composed of a strange luminescent blue and black stone that seemed to resemble skulls from where they currently stood. A thick black substance overflowed from the top of the structure, possessing the properties of both smoke and water simultaneously. The water surrounding it was pitch black and seemed to resemble ink or tar, the only indication of any motion from it being the occasional large bubble rising up from the depths and bursting at the surface, releasing more of the back substance. While Dante and Nero had no reason to recognize the substance, Vergil couldn’t help but feel his blood run cold as he took in the reality of what the presence of such a chemical meant.

They needed to find V and end this cult. Now.

Nero rubbed his strained eyes before taking a long, baffled look at their surroundings. The cave was vast. There could be any number of cultists in the place. One could only hope that they had just established their new stomping grounds recently and that they didn’t actually possess numbers great enough to merit a base like this.

The young devil hunter considered saying something for a moment before deciding otherwise. Nero was willing to bet that a place like this produced one hell of an echo, and he had no intention of being the one to sound the alarm. He stole a glance at the makeshift staircase and took a step towards it, ushering towards his two companions. Dante nodded in recognition and followed along behind him, the pair noticing immediately that Vergil seemed to still be taking in his surroundings. They both looked at one another before staring at the Darkslayer’s back, unsure of what to say or do. After a moment, Vergil turned to them, trying to hide the fact that things had just taken a dive headfirst into unmistakable peril.

“... As soon as we find him, you both need to take him and leave.” Vergil said in a hushed tone as he hurried past them, still maintaining the same level of calm that he had the moment before,” There is something I must do. Something that must be stopped now or our efforts will be in vain.”

Dante seemed slightly alarmed but kept his voice down, following closely after his older twin as they descended the stairs two or three at a time. Nero hurried after them, the trio making sure to keep things as quiet as possible. “I get the feeling something isn’t right about this place. Want to fill us in on the details?”

Vergil shot his twin brother a quick glance as he continued along. Explaining what this place was to his younger sibling would take entirely too long and probably attract unwanted attention. Not to mention that it would waste valuable time that they no longer possessed. The cult had access to something far beyond anything that he could have guessed, and he had an idea how that had come to pass. In that moment Vergil could only hope that he had simply lost his touch and was out of his mind.

Unfortunately, he was right.

(-~-)

For a moment, the concept of dark and light faded from his memory, his head nothing but a hazy mess of fragmented memories. As he attempted to blink away the heavy dose of lethargy that gripped him like an iron vice, the young summoner attempted to take in his surroundings for a second time. Or was it the third time? How long had he been in this place, drifting between a state of disorientation and dissonance? There were flashes of recognition, brief glimpses he’d managed to grasp onto as he’d been dragged there by the procession of cultists that had abducted him. These ones wore red robes and masks that lacked expressions, their voices difficult to discern as they swirled around him in a flurry of movement. They were planning something. From what he could tell, they were talking about him, at least in regards to something he was involved in. And from what he could tell, they understood more about who he was than they should.

“Master Agreus seems displeased…”

“Did it work? It doesn’t seem to be working as we intended.”

“What will we do now that it has started? What is our next task?”

“Quiet, all of you! He has returned. I trust he will seek an audience with…”

“Surely not. The last time it came to that we-”

“ENOUGH. Be silent. I will not tolerate interference.”

As the cacophony of voices that surrounded him began to separate into individual sources, V’s senses slowly flooded back to him. And the very moment that he regained some semblance of sensation in his body, he immediately regretted it down to the very core of his being. It was difficult to quantify the level of discomfort he felt in practically every segment of his body, every nerve ending burning like a fire that threatened to consume him from the inside out. It was a sort of dull throb akin to that of a toothache, but it covered his entire body all at once, and came in waves that seemed to grow in intensity each time they passed through him.

From what he could tell, they thought he was dead. Or at least close to it. And that would be their greatest mistake. Because the very moment that he succeeded in breaking free from the restraints that they had him in, he was going to make them pay for whatever dubious insanity they had subjected him to.

It took V a moment to equate his still bleeding head wound to his inability to see out of his left eye. While the wound he’d received from the scythe wielding grim reaper like demon hadn’t been worryingly deep, it had continued to bleed and his inability to put any kind of pressure on it to keep it from doing so meant that he was at quite an impasse. 

Every time he tried to break free from the binds that kept him locked to the ground underneath him, the sensation of discomfort and throbbing heat returned in earnest. From what he could gather, the metal loop that held both of his wrists together behind his back served two functions. To keep him firmly against the floor with the assistance of the crane system that retracted the chain and tightened it’s hold against him, and to cause him intense discomfort if he made any effort to resist. Where they had procured such an arcane artifact from was beyond him, but he was sure to the very core of his being that he wanted them off of him as quickly as possible. Because the reason for his bondage was less than optimistic. To say that he hadn’t been treated as gently as he would have liked would’ve been a vast understatement.

The last time that he’d blacked out for a moment as a result of trying to break free from his confinement, he’d felt a surge of energy shoot through him that he was entirely unfamiliar with. A foreign power that he couldn’t place, but he somehow knew that it originated from within him. While it made sense that he might possess abilities beyond those that he currently understood, the amount of power only seemed to grow as he inched closer to blacking out fully as a result of his injuries at the hands of the cultists. V had lost a considerable amount of blood from the puncture wound on the back of his leg, and the ceaseless bleeding that he had since fallen victim to had rendered him practically delirious. He was practically helpless against his aggressors. They had inflicted the wound to help facilitate whatever dubious activities they were involved with, and there was no way that he was going to be able to just stand up and walk this one off. He’d lose far too much blood. Pain was an old acquaintance, especially when it came to his right leg. And from what he could tell, causing him to bleed onto the stone platform that he was currently chained to was their goal. It seemed to be some sort of altar from what he could tell.

That unsettled him.

V was positive that he could muster the strength to summon Shadow and unleash her upon his enemies, but he was hesitant to do so unless no other choice was available to him. Malphas had taught him that it was indeed possible to separate him from his familiars. He didn’t intend to let that happen ever again, and this most certainly wasn’t going to be the place or time. But his reserve of alternative options was running dry, along with his blood supply, so he was going to have to come up with something quickly.

A moment later, a familiar tall cultist in a white robe approached him. The black mask that they wore gave away nothing, but he could just feel the disdain that radiated off of the man. It seemed that whatever he’d planned for wasn’t coming to pass, and that was something that clearly pissed him off. The man’s own underlings seemed to allude to that with their ceaseless bickering, going back and forth over what to do next until he’d returned. Then the space fell silent at his command, be that a privilege procured from respect or fear he didn’t know. What he did know was that the last time the hooded man had approached him, he’d found a ceremonial blade of some sort embedded in his leg. And it had been extremely painful, to say the least. Unreasonably painful considering the size of the blade. It was as if it had been engineered to inflict that sort of extra damage. In fact, he could swear that for a moment it had started to glow as if reacting to his blood.

He intended to return the favor whenever he got the chance.

“My original plan involved less physical harm. Forgive me for that.” The man said as he kneeled down in front of him. They made something akin to eye contact, but the young summoner still couldn’t see his captor’s face. But he didn’t need to be able to. V could tell that they were making eye contact.“I trust your accommodations are to your liking?”

V had to fight the involuntary urge to smirk and glare at him. The younger man genuinely wasn’t sure if he was being kicked while he was down, or if the cultist was simply deranged enough to ask that question and seriously expect a favorable reply. Regardless, V broke eye contact with him and looked up at the roof of the cave, ignoring the temptation to say something snarky that ran the risk of earning him a second stabbing. That wretched curved blade seriously hurt. Possibly more than anything he’d ever been cut by. And that was a considerable number of things.

Realizing that he wasn’t getting an answer, the cultist gestured towards the round stone slab that V was bound to. The makings that adorned the edges were written in a vaguely familiar language to the white haired summoner, but he had no idea where he’d seen them before. That being said, he wasn’t nearly naive enough to miss the gravity of what was going on and why they had brought him to this place.

This was most definitely some sort of ritual.

But why did they need him?

“It seems that the tablet requires an additional offering.” The man said as he casually gestured between the stone writing and the book that he carried in his hand. It was ancient looking, bound in some sort of animal hide and blackened from age (or perhaps evil). From what V could tell, that was his source of information regarding whatever ritual he was trying to force him to undergo. “I do hope you're as excited to meet my master as I am to introduce you to him. He’s been eager to see you in person for some time now. I’d advise you against disappointing him. But before that, I’m going to need to ask you to make another contribution to our efforts.” 

With that, the cultist kneeled down next to him and withdrew the blade again. Oh, so it was that sort of contribution. He figured as much. This wasn’t good.

V shook his head slightly, his damp hair sticking to his face. Any semblance of tolerance that he had once possessed vacated him instantaneously. No. That wasn’t going to be necessary. As far as he was concerned, the rest of his family had been given ample time to arrive and deal with any distraction. It was time to fix this himself, even if he had to do it the hard way. He had to admit that he hadn’t factored this part into his plan, although he hadn’t expected to get out of it totally unscathed. That was an eventuality he was always prepared for, at least mentally. But a second round with that blade. Absolutely not if he had anything to say about it. And he did.

“No. I think not. You’ve been very accommodating...” V said flatly, feeling another surge of the unknown energy well up from deep within himself. “... But I think I have a better idea.”

The cultist chuckled under his breath slightly, clearly amused.” Yes, well I suppose that makes two of us. Enough idle chit chat, hm? Let’s finish this.”

With a casual gesture of his hand, the masked man opened the book he’d been holding and muttered something in another language. As far as V could tell, it sounded vaguely Latin, but he could only make out a few of the words. That could’ve been a direct result of his condition, but he couldn’t be sure. A wave of nausea hit him as the man read his incantation, and he had a feeling that it wasn’t just nerves. The situation just got worse and worse ever passing moment.

As soon as he finished speaking, he placed the book down on the ground next to him and palmed the blade again, glancing slowly between it and V. The young summoner watched him as he did so and made a conscious effort to contain the borderline anxiety inducing level of fear that he felt rising up from the pit of his stomach. He had an idea what came next. And he didn’t want any part of it.

The cultist gripped the collar of V’s shirt tightly, keeping him close. V didn’t see what the point was other than sadistic pleasure. It wasn’t like he could run anyway. He’d probably would have done so already if he could. In his free hand, the cultist raised the blade again, only this a bit higher up than the last time. If it was possible for what little blood V had left in his body to turn ice cold, it did as he realized what the cultist intended to do.

“I’m going to need you to hold still. This part is a little complicated.” He said casually. And then he lowered the knife.

(-~-)

Shit. V is not having a good day, is he? If you thought the last two chapters were anxiety inducing, then you haven’t seen anything yet. These cultists are about to learn the hard way that you don’t mess with and of the members of the Sparda family. The question is, how is V going to get out of this one? I feel like it might not be part of that plan he cooked up lol! See you all next week on Wednesday! I hope you're enjoying everything so far! Take care and stay safe!