JUDICATOR JANE 7 - CHAPTER 3

Searching

Ducking his head, Gral’gor stepped beneath a thick support beam that braced the low ceiling of one of Integra’s winding subterranean corridors. The dwarven city was a maze of cramped halls and narrow doorways—each just barely high enough for him. As he passed, curious eyes peered out from slatted openings, vanishing with whispers behind iron-bound stone.

He moved slowly, rubbing his fingers together in thought, his gaze sweeping across every surface with deliberate scrutiny. Cracks in the stone, hidden faces, strange humming devices tucked into corners—each held a thread of story. This place, like Alur, like the Netherrealm, like he himself, was shaped by what came before. Since his rebirth in the Terrazene Labyrinth, everything felt different, as if each moment now carried a significance he had once been blind to. He no longer bore the title of Voidwalker. In its place, he had taken on the mantle of Executioner—a class granted by the enigmatic Jane King. His body, once large, imposing and weathered from countless scars, now mirrored that of a near-perfect human male. But beneath the skin, what was he really?

Not quite demon. Not quite human. The old labels no longer applied. The Qurl’a Kai had redefined him, and yet he felt unchanged at his core. Was he still the same being, or something else entirely? The answer hovered just beyond reach, like a half-remembered dream seen through foggy glass. His mind churned with questions, each one branching into more. And at the center of this labyrinth of thought: Jane King's mission to stop Pogg. Was it truly the right path? The objective seemed clear, but no matter the outcome—victory or defeat—the end felt hauntingly familiar. Good rising, only to fall to evil, only to rise again like the ocean tides. An endless wheel turning again and again.

During the journey south, he had posed many questions to Melindra, to the dragonkin, even to Jane King herself. None had offered answers that satisfied his thirst for absolute truth. Still, each passing moment offered more clues, and he was determined not to miss a single one. 

Ahead of him now, two dwarves with impressively long beards ambled through the corridor, chatting cheerfully and carrying open chests brimming with gold. Though Gral’gor had been trailing them for nearly ten minutes, they remained blissfully unaware of his towering presence—just another shadow drifting through the deep veins of their stone-hewn city. 

“Are you sure? Recalled, here?” the dwarf on the left asked in disbelief. “But they won’t be coming up to the higher levels, err… will they?”

“No, no, no,” the other replied quickly, waving a hand as if to brush the worry away. “From what I heard, they’re just here for Jane King. Going to be her escort.”

“Escort?!” The first dwarf stumbled at the news, jostling his chest of gold and spilling a handful of coins that clattered across the stone floor. “Criminey!” he cursed, dropping to one knee and scooping them up. “Never thought I’d live to hear the Gut Rippers were doing something like that.”

The other shrugged, unbothered. “That’s just what I heard. Not our business anyhow, not way up here. Let’s get this gold delivered and go grab a drink.”

“Now you're talking my language,” his companion grinned, stooping to chase after a few coins that had rolled to a stop near the wall. “Let’s go to Mold’s. He’s got those crunchy ’shrooms I like.”

With the last coin collected, the two dwarves hefted their chests and resumed their journey, disappearing down the corridor with the same casual cheer. Gral’gor followed silently, his footsteps a whisper despite his size. Two more male dwarves… He had yet to see a single female since entering the city. Odd. All known races had genders, even demons. Though his own kind lacked the reproductive features of humans or elves, they still bore recognizable masculine and feminine forms.

The pair ahead were no threat—of that much, he was certain. He had been trailing them as part of his investigation into potential dangers lurking within the dwarven halls. But now, curiosity tugged at him. Where were they taking such large quantities of gold? And why?

Rounding a bend in the corridor, he suddenly felt a jolt against his side as someone collided with him. A split-second later, a metallic avalanche erupted around his feet—gears, rods, and springs skittering across the stone floor in a cacophony of clinks and clangs.

“Oh, Maker preserve me! A thousand apologies!”

Gral’gor looked down to find a flustered dwarf with a long white beard and wild eyes, scrambling to gather his spilled cargo. The dwarf’s tray was clearly overloaded with components, most of which now formed a chaotic sprawl around them.

“I—I don’t know how I missed you standing there,” the dwarf muttered, frantically stuffing pieces back into the tray. The more he tried, the more tumbled out. It was a losing battle.

“Oh goodness…” He looked up, flushed and embarrassed. “Err, I don’t suppose you could help me carry some of this back to my home? Just a few pieces?” As he spoke, he hastily tucked a dangling pendant back beneath his shirt.

Gral’gor’s eyes narrowed slightly. Something about the dwarf’s flustered tone, the overstuffed tray… and the impossibility of someone his size being missed raised his suspicions.

With a thought, he activated his skill: Eye of Discernment.

Bodge Rugwort (Level 13)

Dwarf

Virtue: 98

“Very well,” Gral’gor replied cautiously. He knelt and gathered a handful of the larger mechanical pieces, their weight not insubstantial.

“Splendid!” the dwarf exclaimed, flashing a bright smile. “It’s not far—just a few doors down.”

Despite being only level thirteen, this dwarf—Bodge, as the Qurl’a Kai labeled him—was by far the oldest he had encountered in the city so far. His movements belied his age, though, as he bustled ahead without so much as a backward glance. Gral’gor followed silently as they wound through a series of twisting corridors, each one narrowing slightly, the stonework turning rough and unfinished. Eventually, they stopped before a plain metal-framed door set into a wall of jagged, unpolished rock.

“Ah, here we are,” Bodge said with satisfaction. He gave a sharp kick to a small indentation near the base of the door. With a gentle hum, the door slid open smoothly, revealing a modest chamber beyond. Bodge stepped inside without pause.

Gral’gor lingered for a moment, surveying the space from the threshold. The room was compact but cluttered with personality. Against the far wall stood a wide, scarred workbench, scattered with gears, wires, and half-built contraptions that buzzed faintly with latent energy. A tall bookshelf crammed full of colorful, leatherbound tomes stretched from floor to ceiling. Aside from a single narrow bed and a nightstand with a brass-riveted clock, the space appeared unoccupied—just Bodge, busy unloading his tray onto the workbench.

“Come, come, don’t be shy,” Bodge called over his shoulder, waving a hand.

Gral’gor stepped inside cautiously and placed the components on the table. As he straightened, the door slid shut behind him with a soft hiss. He instinctively twitched his head back toward the sound, muscles tensing, but Bodge didn’t react.

Instead, the old dwarf settled onto a stool, reaching for a pair of magnifying lenses on the bench.

“So. You’re one of Jane King’s companions, aren’t you?” The question hung in the air, his demeanor noticeably less jovial.

Gral’gor turned slowly, scanning the room once more. Nothing concealed, no secondary exits. Just the two of them, a hundred stories beneath the surface.

“I am,” he said at last.

Bodge nodded, turning an unfinished amulet over in his fingers. “She’s stirred up quite the commotion down here. Can’t go a day without hearing some new tale—especially from the surface. I even heard she’s encountered the… Menadeen.” He paused to glance back, squinting one eye in appraisal.

“That is so,” Gral’gor replied, keeping his voice measured.

“Strange name, though—Jane King. Has kind of an odd ring to it. Never heard anything like it, not once. Where’s she from, exactly? Dawnskeep? Grandia? One of the outer villages, perhaps?”

Instead of answering, Gral’gor paced over to the bookshelf, keeping his hands behind his back. His eyes moved along the worn bindings, absorbing the titles.

Mecha-Engineering Principles of Yogli Burrhide

Gas Propulsion and Combustion 57th Edition

Logic Gates and Macro Switch Theory

Audio Storage and System Obfuscation Methodologies 

“Jane King is from… elsewhere,” Gral’gor said slowly, each word chosen with care.

Bodge snorted. “Elsewhere, huh?” He scooped up a few gold coins and inserted them one by one into a squat, boxy machine on his left. Then, with practiced ease, he took the half-finished amulet and affixed it to the device’s side. Gral’gor couldn’t quite see how it attached—there were no clasps or hooks—but it held firm nonetheless.

“Heard she can make permanent changes to the System,” Bodge continued casually. “Stats, levels, classes—that kind of thing. But that's just a bunch of hogwash, isn’t it?”

“Jane King possesses many skills,” Gral’gor said, arms folding across his chest. “She is not one to trifle with.”

Bodge shrugged and leaned over the device, fumbling around inside until a series of metallic clicks echoed from within. “Ah, there we are. Blasted thing only works half the time—lucky for us, now’s one of them.” He retrieved a thin metal lid from behind the contraption and carefully set it over the open chamber. With nimble fingers, he twisted four tiny knobs at each corner, sealing it shut.

“Don’t see many demons who look so… human,” he remarked, starting to crank a side lever. “That always been your look? Or are you one of those… what'dya call ’em? Infiltrators?”

“I am something else,” Gral’gor said, his voice calm but resolute. “It is as the Qurl’a Kai wills.”

Bodge paused, hand frozen mid-turn. “Qurl’a Kai? Now that’s… an old word.”

“It is the name we demons give to the System,” Gral’gor replied.

“The System?!” Bodge laughed, giving his knee a hearty slap. “Is that so?” He leaned back slightly, his eyes drifting into thought. “So that’s how they did it…” A faint, curious smile tugged at his lips. “Wonders never cease. Well. Heard your kind’s out of the Netherrealm for good now.”

His gaze sharpened inquisitively. “The… Tathralli can’t be too pleased about that.”

Gral’gor offered no reply.

Bodge resumed cranking. The machine rattled and shook for a few moments before a soft ding sounded. The amulet popped free from the side, clattering onto a padded tray, followed a second later by three gold coins rolling into a dish below. Without sparing them a glance, Bodge scooped up the coins and tossed them into a bucket beneath the worktable.

“You know,” he said as he retrieved the amulet, “it’s hard to believe a human’s leading a demon horde. Especially one so young. Not even that high-level, all things considered.” He glanced sideways, a thin smile creeping across his face. “One mistake, and she loses it all. That’s how Soul Bindings work, isn’t it? Slay the wielder, and control passes to the killer?”

He paused, letting the implication hang.

“And a big, strong demon like you… well, maybe a demon ought to lead demons.”

Gral’gor’s eyes narrowed, voice like stone. “While I draw breath, Jane King will not fall.”

Bodge met his stare for a long, silent moment. Then his features softened again, his shoulders easing.

“No, of course not. Loyalty’s rare these days. Good to have friends when the road is so long and perilous.”

He snapped a component onto the back of the amulet, then lifted a thin chain from the workbench and threaded it through a loop near the top. Holding it up, he examined it one final time, then tossed it lightly through the air.

Gral’gor caught it effortlessly.

“Give that to her,” Bodge said. “A little something for the road. A souvenir.”

Gral’gor lifted the amulet, turning it slowly in his palm, inspecting the craftsmanship.

Buzzblast

Makes a loud noise.

He raised a brow, turning the creation in his hand once more.

Bodge chuckled. “Go on, test it if you like—just not while I’m in the room.” His voice held a strange lightness, but his eyes drifted upward, focusing on something far beyond the cramped workshop ceiling. Then he nodded subtly toward the door. “Ah, well there we are. Time’s up. If I’m not mistaken… that’s the gates opening. Won’t be long now.”

Gral’gor followed his gaze and attuned his senses—but felt nothing. No rumble beneath his feet, no distant groan of stone or metal. Just stillness.

“I believe Jane King would be interested in making your acquaintance,” Gral’gor said, voice low and deliberate. “Will you accompany me to the surface?”

Bodge’s eyes widened slightly. His fingers absently combed through the thick hairs of his beard. “Me?” he said with a note of forced surprise. “Goodness, I can’t imagine why. I’m just a… simple engineer. Nothing more.” His voice softened, slipping back into the disarming, bumbling cadence from their first meeting. “But… well, if you think so. Just give me a moment to gather my things.”

Gral’gor gave a short nod and turned to leave. The door was open now—yet, just as before, he hadn’t seen it move. This time he hadn't even heard a sound.

Stepping out into the corridor, he studied the amulet again, his fingers brushing across its surface. Strange glyphs traced its polished face, etched in fine, overlapping layers like runes made of roots. A single, thumb-sized button sat at the center, plain but curious all the same.

He turned back to check on the dwarf.

But he was nowhere in sight.

Bodge was gone.

And the door—it wasn’t closed.

It had vanished entirely. Stone now filled the area where it had once been, rough and seamless, as though it had never existed at all.