Let’s Not [Obliterate]
Chapter 1: The Cube of Solitude

About four years ago, Theora stopped receiving new quests.

At first, she spent a few weeks in denial, thinking another one would appear eventually. That once more, the world would need her, and that she’d find something else to do for a while. But that salvation never came.

The System was fed up with her, and she knew it. ‘There’s nothing else left,’ the System may as well have told her. ‘Stop wasting my time and get on with it,’ it might have said — if it could speak at all, or had a personality.

And now, Theora was almost there. Step by step, along the ice-cold stair path meandering relentlessly into thinner air, she climbed up the largest summit of the world.

Theora had ignored her Main Quest in favour of all kinds of side quests for too long. Thus, with a heavy heart, she’d set out on that final journey. North, the way had led her, always north. A year turned into two, village after town after natural wonder, none of what she saw could untangle that deep and heavy, darkened and muddied knot in her heart.

They called this mountain range the ‘Zenith of the End.’ It was the very cusp of the continent. There was nothing to be found past this place — one of the most dangerous regions known to the world.

Here, after all this time, Theora would finally complete it. The Main Quest she’d been dreading to touch for so long.

Snowflakes melted against her face, though she didn’t bother wiping off the droplets. With her thick and multilayered beige coat, red frills dancing in the wind behind her, she advanced like a betta fish across a calcite ocean floor.

Now and then, dark and deadly shadows twitched and rushed away far in the corners of her vision. Once in a while, something would jump up into the air and escape into the depths of the snow. Besides these rare occurrences, all she could see were white summits and the clouds. Theora would never be confronted, by anything.

Because the monsters were scared.

It was cold, but the cold didn’t matter. She’d been on foot now for almost ten hours, and neither did that. Or that the day was slowly nearing its end. These stairs, frozen into the ground, were the very last part of her journey. With it came a calm rumbling in her chest; a feeling she was too tired to name.

When she reached the top of the mountain, her coat was powdered deep in snow, her face was littered with flakes. And there, she saw it, on a stone altar, just the way it should be. The Cube of Solitude. The strongest cage in the world, impenetrable. One of the most incredible magical items ever created. Millennia ago, the Ancient Evil had been put inside, after a vicious fight against the strongest heroes all peoples of the world had to offer. Sealed away, never to be seen again.

Until today. 

Theora stared at it for a while. All the pretend-determination that had led her here, it wavered in front of this foreign object, seemingly not part of this world. It floated a few fingerbreadths above the stone, untouched by weather, embellished in thousands of fine lines in a masterful showcase of the finesse of its makers.

The first Skill Theora had ever learned was [Joyous Punch]. As a child, back when she’d received her initial Class — [Berserker], which channelled strength from her emotions, be they sad or angry, happy or solemn. As she’d been cheerful and hot-blooded, the Class had served her well.

That was a long time ago. Now, she was an empty shell, except for her futile reluctance to do what had to be done. Theora’s old self had advanced to dust. Her level risen to an obscene number, her Class evolved to [Hero], and all her Skills — offensive, defensive, passive — had fused and melted and converged into just a single one.

She drew her sword.

[Obliterate].

With an ear-rending slash, the seal cracked in a glittering burst of azure and pink sparks, and with it, aeons of safety the world had enjoyed, perished. The clot in Theora’s heart grew thicker. Now, there was no turning back.

Black goo dripped from the broken outer layer onto the stone altar with an acidic hiss. Theora leaned in to touch the viscous liquid.

With a violent twist, her body warped. It might have caused pain, most likely death, if it happened to someone else. The goo tugged and tore — a massive gravitational pull dragged the puddle of human she had become inside the sealed-off dimension.

Inside, she imposed her shape back onto herself, and found a large and empty space. Her eyes needed a moment to adjust to the dark surroundings. Galaxies and nebulae appeared on the void’s firmament. An endless, reflective liquid was at her feet. It had no depth. She simply stood upon it.

She’d left a crack in the air upon entry, a violent black rip in a beautiful night sky. She took another, deeper breath. It was time to face it. She shivered.

There, just a few steps away, on the liquid filling this vast, isolated dimension, it stood.

The Ancient Evil.

It wasn’t shaped much like a monster. Instead, it had cast itself into the shape of an anthropomorphic female — with parts of its skin as white as ash, and others as dark as tar. It looked like a demon with short and messy black hair, dressed in a torn old cloak of muddy brown colour. The Ancient Evil glared at Theora with glowing amber eyes as it slowly approached, a grin on its face.

“Why, hello there,” it said.

Theora absently stared at it for just a second. Then, she sat down cross-legged, blocking the way out. The liquid making up the floor felt soft, like skin to the touch, despite the crystal clear reflections. Her movement shoved soft ripples across it, like over a calm pond.

She looked up at the creature. “Ancient Evil—”

“Dema,” the being interrupted. “Just Dema’s fine.”

“Dema,” Theora started again, unfazed. She steeled her voice for what she would say next. “Please state your dying wish.”

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