Is It Wrong To Crave Love (In A Dungeon?) Chapter 20 - Goodness

They were still alive.

“That was a little closer than I would have liked.” 

How? The thought did not compute to the group of five. The Flame Stones had all triggered. An explosion, the sort that should have ended their lives and the life of their target, and marked the end of their mission, had gone off. It had, without a doubt, gone off. The sound had been unmistakable, the rush of flames within their ears had come, as had the unspeakable rush of heat.

The lift's steel had clearly been dented, expanding and deforming all around them in a manner verifiably consistent with the results of a devastating explosion. Their cloaks, their clothes, too, which hid their identities and masked their intentions, had been burned away, which was all the more evidence to the fact that the flame had been birthed, and the explosion had, without a shadow of a doubt, occurred.

Yet, within the lift, not a single soul was harmed. Not a single person was hurt. Not a single individual had anything to show for their attempt, not so much as a blister, not so much as a singe, not so much as a sear, not so much as a burn.

“H-how…?”

The amount of Flame Stone should have been enough to not only vaporize the lift, but everything on the floor where the explosion occurred, yet the blaze had not spilled out, and the damage had been contained.

The group of assailants stood naked in front of Moses Vanderzee, the Captain of the Hestia Familia, who was lightly dusting his kimono. Not a single one of them had seen what he had done, but he had done something. He had moved, moved with a swiftness and preternatural grace that was above and beyond the capabilities of a recently advanced Level 2 Adventurer. He had moved, and done something, touched them, or hit them, or struck them, but they had felt no pain, and they had felt no harm.

No, it was not just them he had struck, but the vests attached to their bodies, the vests lined up with layers upon layers of Flame Stone, arranged and primed to send their target to his end. Touching the Flame Stone had altered it somehow, changed it into something else.

Because the flame of the explosion—

Had been white.

The exact same white as those campfires in the Dungeon, the exact same white which their Lord had complained of, the same white fire which was bringing change and heralding a new order for all of Orario.

Does that mean… can he… turn any fire in his vicinity… into…?

The thought was horrifying to consider. If Moses Vanderzee could transform any flame, any, into the same flame as those campfires into that healing blaze, didn’t that mean he was, for all intents and purposes…

Immune to fire?

No, they had to have been a gimmick. A catch. The group was all thinking the same thing. Touch. That was why he had moved in a flurry, a rush. He needed to touch the stones. Perhaps that was the secret of whatever skill or method he used to also create those campfires. That was the crux of it. Yet, even that was preposterous. There had been too many Flame Stones, dozens across the five of them.

To touch each and every stone before it went off in that brief fraction of a second…

Was that truly within the capabilities of a recently advanced Level 2 Adventurer?

The sound of the lift was strained. The echo and grunt of steel grinding to a halt cut through the air, and the five assailants, gritting their teeth, glanced at each other. They were comrades who had already steeled their minds to die, who had already convinced themselves that in taking out Moses Vanderzee, they would be granted a miracle from their Lord. 

They had no doubt that in Death, they would be reunited with their loved ones, they would reincarnate, and once again hold the hands of those they had mourned. They were convinced the bounty on the man’s head would be provided to aid their Familia, aid their Lord, such that even after they perished, their lives would be used to better ends.

Now, not only had they failed in the attack, they also failed to perish in the attack. By some twist of fate, or perhaps by the cruel whims of the man before them, they were still alive.

“Today is a good day,” Moses Vanderzee repeated those words, looking at them all, with a smile.

They collectively swallowed. They collectively tensed. Their center of gravity lowered. They had no weapons at their disposal, as they had come with only one goal, which was to die with their target, and a failsafe hidden in their mouths to ensure their deaths should things go awry. 

They were exposed, and the space of the lift was incredibly confined. The explosion, though contained as it had been, had not been enough to completely destroy the lift, which was now forced, in place, its doors barred, its exit sealed and seared, leaving their target trapped in there, with them.

There’s still a chance…

They had not failed yet. Not fully. Not wholly. There were five of them, five Level One Adventurers, and there was only one of him. Some of them had higher attributes than the others, and Moses Vanderzee had only just advanced to Level Two. The strength he possessed could not be that vastly different from theirs, and they held no reservations for their lives, and could attack with reckless abandon.

There’s still a chance…!

He was trapped in there with them. The task was not yet over. He could still be beaten. He could still be hunted. He could still be killed!

As one, they lunged at him, throwing their bodies forward, aiming for the throat, the jugular, the groin, the privates, the places easiest to reach, the spots hardest to defend, with nothing but their bodies and bare hands as weapons, they were not picky about their target, they sought to bring him down, quickly, swiftly, before the commotion of the sound of the explosion drew other adventurers, before this prime chance slipped between their fingers.

“Today,” Moses Vanderzee repeated. “...Is a good day.”

Moses Vanderzee vanished.

Eyes collectively widened. Breaths collectively hitched. The fetor of fear wafted out from all of them as though it came from the same putrid breath. The speed displayed was above and beyond their capability to track. It was a level of speed one would expect not of a new Level 2 Adventurer, but of a Veteran Level 2 Adventurer. One whose Status had nearly reached B or A in Agility and Dexterity, and was enough to compete with, if not best, the other elites of their level.

Im…possible. He… he has to have been a Level 2 for much longer than—

A sickening crunch rang out through the air. The sound of a staff connecting with a knee with such vehemence that it instinctively brought shivers and shudders down the spines of all who heard the disconcerting noise. To the left, one of their own crumpled as though they were a folded leaf, screaming at the top of his lungs. Moses Vanderzee’s steel staff was held in his right hand, and the butt of it was positioned upon the right knee of the downed member.

His gaze swept through all of them, and once more, he spoke the words that would soon come to haunt their nightmares.

“Today,” Moses Vanderzee said, once again. “Is a good day.”

Swiftly, they came to the realization that they had it backwards. This lift, with its exit barred and deformed, did not make it so their target could not escape. It did not guarantee they would have a second chance at fixing this mess. No, they had it all wrong.

Moses Vanderze was not trapped in the lift with them.

They were trapped in the lift with him.

The sound of a staff connecting with kneecaps cracked into the air like fireworks. Of the five assailants, four went down faster than they could blink, shrieking in agony. The last one, the sole female member of the group, collapsed, trembling, backing away against the deformed steel, turning her gaze up in horror. Moses Vanderzee placed his staff down in the center of the lift and wistfully interlocked his fingers atop it, smiling with a faraway expression.

“My goddess kissed me today,” Moses Vanderzee said softly. “She kissed me, and she kissed me again, and I asked her, again and again, to kiss me more, and she did. I know, I shouldn’t, I know, it is beyond me to covet the Divine… but I simply could not help it. Do you know how amazing it feels, the lips of my goddess?”

No one answered, not a single person could, given how four were preoccupied with clutching their shattered kneecaps, blinking away the tears from their eyes. 

“Yet, at the same time, I’ve also begun to covet Lady Hephaestus…” He ran his hand through his hair, sighing. “Her red hair, her callused hands, her scent of the forge and steel… gods, she’s perfect. Ah… but I also covet Lilly… My Missus. She’s so cute. I want to do nothing more than hug her, hold her close, and tell her everything will be alright. Ah… but I also want that cute catgirl I met at the Hostess of Fertility… ah… and also, that cute elf girl… and also… maybe… if I can have Miss Eina, from the Guild too…”

Insane, was the thought that ran through their collective heads. The information provided by the Guild had clearly not done enough to mention that Moses Vanderzee possessed such a twisted derangement. The greatest insult they could face, from their foe, from their target, was not to be pitied, or to be sympathized with, but to be ignored.

“I’m thinking of getting a gift for each of them, something personal and handmade,” he continued. “There are many shops here, and there are lots of things, but… something personal is always best. Especially for my goddess. No, most definitely, for my goddess. A gift from the heart… a gift that exists only because someone labored to make it. A labor of my love. Wouldn’t that be the best type of present to receive? I wish I had gotten such things before… but I never did. Now that I can be the one to give gifts to those I love… I have to make sure I do it well.”

They had come, willing to sacrifice their lives, to end their existence to kill him, and yet…

He treated them as though they were a minor nuisance, a hindrance, a slight, irrelevant disruption to an otherwise pleasant day.

Death, they came ready for, came prepared for, but not an enemy who did not kill them, but shattered their will to fight and their kneecaps concurrently. An enemy who began to prattle on of his desire to bed goddesses and varying women, an enemy who, from start to finish, had never once deigned them with an iota of consideration.

“Y-you…” the sole female member, the only one amongst them with both kneecaps intact, rapidly opened her mouth. “If you think you can get us to reveal who—”

“I do not care.”

Moses Vanderzee cut her off.

“Who sent you, why you were sent, what reasons you have, what motives you possess, your regrets, your excuses… I do not care,” Moses Vanderzee shook his head. “Today is a good day, because today is the day of my first kiss with my goddess.”

He let out a chuckle.

“So, today, I can forgive you, because my goddess kissed me. Today, I can be kind to you because my goddess kissed me. You five do not have the authority to sour this day by making it the day I end your lives.”

She shuddered. 

This man… is… insane.

The reason he had not killed them… the reason why he had spared them was that…? Because… his goddess… kissed him?

All of them, all had known that they held absolute belief in their Deity, they had thought themselves the truest of radicals, willing to die for that devotion, willing to kill for that devotion, but, in front of them, was a man who was the opposite—

Because today was a day special to him and his goddess—

He would forgive even those who had come for his life?

Her companions were all clutching their broken kneecaps, staring incredulously. 

“We—” Some part of her had deigned to continue speaking. “We love our Lord as well! Lord Thanatos! He’s—”

“Quiet! What are you doing?!” her companions barked at her.

“I can’t be quiet! Can't you see he’s challenging our devotion! Our faith! Our love!”

“I challenge nothing.”

Moses Vanderzee shook his head.

“Love is not love, which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. No, it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken,” he recited. “It is the star to every wandering bark, whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. Love alters not with brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom.”

His gaze swept through them all. 

“If you hear my words, and feel your love for your god has been challenged…”

His eyes were filled with pity.

“You do not love your god.”

They recoiled as though collectively stabbed. As though a stake had been driven into their hearts simultaneously, drilled in slowly, driven in with all vehemence, with cruel, savage, inhumane sadism. His gaze and his words had the five of them breathless, had their eyes bloodshot, and their bodies paralyzed.

They had never doubted their own devotion towards their Lord, but even then, they could not help but question if their own devotion was indeed devotion. They could not help but question if what they truly loved was their Lord or if it was the promises he made to them, the promises they could only receive upon their deaths, such that they had no fear of dying.

In front of him, in front of Moses Vanderzee, their faith felt fraudulent.

In front of him, their zealotry felt counterfeit.

At such a junction, the group soon came to realize that sparing them was no mercy. No, had he killed them, had he ended their lives, they would have gone peacefully, with all guarantee and certainty that their affection and devotion were true, and that the promises made to them would be fulfilled in their next life. They would have died, as they lived, as firm, strong believers.

Yet in sparing them… with his kindness, he had bestowed upon them a worse fate than any other.

Deprived of faith, of certainty, of their convictions, their reason for living—

Their reason for dying.

But… What options did they have? They were part of their Lord’s Familia, now, until death. They had no options. There was nothing more they could do. As one, they glanced at each other, with empty eyes, defeated eyes, closed it, and made the same motion.

A man who could stop the point-blank explosion of Flame Stone vests… a man who spoke of coveting goddesses, a man whose devotion was greater than theirs—

It… is our complete loss. We have no choice.

She gritted her teeth.

“Please, let us reunite with our loved ones, Lord Thanatos!”

Then…

As one, they all froze.

It’s… gone?!

The poison hidden in a fake tooth in their mouths, the poison which was always present, even before she took on this task, as a failsafe if members of their Familia were ever caught… 

It was gone.

“I thought I made myself clear.”

Moses Vanderzee’s right hand extended. Five fake prosthetic teeth clattered to the ground. 

“You do not have the right.”

He crushed them underfoot, rotating his ankle until the teeth were ground into fine powder.

“To sour the day my goddess kissed me—”

Purple smoke wafted underneath, a thick miasma of poison, treaded upon as though it were an insect underneath his heel.

“With your deaths.”

There was a choked sound that came. One of their group had begun hyperventilating. Wheezing, and sucking in sharp, desperate, frantic gasps of air.

It’s over.

Outclassed. Outskilled. Outmaneuvered. Outperformed.

Monster.

When did he grab the teeth out of their mouths?  How did they not notice? How had he even known it was there? 

Was he truly… a man…?

Cold sweat ran down their spines. They glanced up, in collective horror, to the enigma known as Moses Vanderzee. 

So this…

This was what it took to be the kind of man capable of overturning the Dungeon.

A man with absolute devotion to his love.

To his goddess.

A Monster.

“Repeat after me: Today…”

Moses Vanderzee smiled brightly.

“Is a good day.”

=====)+(=====

“Move aside! Move! Quickly! I said get out of my way!”

Horn was racing as madly, as desperately as she could, with no regard for those around or about her in her mad scramble to the Babel Tower.

If you die… I’ll never forgive you! Blasphemous Bastard! Not after you’ve… not after what you’ve done to me!

Moses Vanderzee, that bastard, had ruined her. Ruined her, because there was not a single moment, a single second, a single breath she took wherein the lust he had transmitted to her did not make her existence a nightmare. 

Her Lady had taken back her rightful position, and, for the meanwhile, she was not allowed to act as her Lady’s double, because her thoughts were filled only with one person. Her ability for reason was irrevocably impaired by an endless desire to mount one man and ride him raw until every inch of her body effused with pleasure.

Her Lady found the entire thing amusing. Her Lady could withstand such lust, being Divine, but she could not. Yet, Horn dared not ask her Lady to fix the issue. She was the one who wished to be akin to a goddess, and that she was. The consequences of such were hers to bear. So Horn had gone out, had set out, to seek retribution on Moses Vanderzee, stalking him, following him, imagining the hundreds of ways she would make him pay for turning her into a lust-crazed, unsightly, unworthy thing in the eyes of her goddess.

Yes, as he writhed beneath her, and her hips twirled, she would make him pay.

It was why she absolutely could not let him die.

If he died, what was she to do with this lust he’d hoisted on her? How would she ever resolve it? How was she to live, feeling this endless, bottomless pit of desire? 

She no longer cared for appearances, nor did she care to remain hidden as she sprinted madly. If it turned out that Moses Vanderzee was harmed in the attack, no, if it turned out that he was killed by it, there would be no hope of ridding herself of his desire.

Up above, she’d seen as one of the many lifts on the Babel Tower had smoke wafting out from it, a lift that was uneven, deformed, and stuck in place.

The intensity of the noise of the explosion did not match the visible damage. Unless there was a fool out there creating explosions that were all flash and no substance, the only other explanation was that the worst of it had been suppressed somehow, prevented from spilling outward.

If it hadn’t, not just the lift, but perhaps a large portion of the Babel Tower would have come crumbling down. The thought made her go cold. She raced as swiftly as she could, moving with all the speed that a Level 2 Adventurer could manage, before a series of blurs shot past her. A glimpse of blond hair clad in white, then another, a glimpse of gray hair.

The accursed Loki Familia, the Executives of said Familia, had lunged ahead, rushing up the stairs and past her faster than she could ever hope to match. Horn had never before cursed her weakness, cursed her slowness, cursed that she was not as swift or as powerful as the others, which all but guaranteed they would make it there before her.

Unless—

Another blur came, but this one stopped in front of her.

“Take me up there. Quickly!”

Allen Fromel frowned. “It’s dangerous. You could be—”

“I don’t care!” She snapped. “I need to make sure Moses is alive! That blasphemous bastard can’t die! He absolutely can’t! No matter what! Our Lady… she— she won’t be pleased if he dies!”

Allen ran his hand through his hair, cursing. He turned around, lowering himself. “... Get on.”

The scene changed. Horn blinked. Her perception had not been able to grasp it. Her mind, her body, had, at one moment, climbed on the back of the City’s Fastest, and the next, they were in a different location. Were it not that she was aware of his capabilities, her first thought would have been that they had teleported from one location to another. The point of departure had seamlessly transitioned into the destination such that there was no memory, recollection, or awareness of the journey between. 

One moment, they were at the bottom of the stairway of the Babel Tower, the next, they were in a hallway, with a deformed lift with melted doors at the very end. The door was obstructed by bits and pieces of rubble from a damaged roof, blocking the view of what lay beyond. They had gotten there first; they had gotten there fastest.

“Tch…” Allen scrunched his nose. “That smell… they used Flame Stone?”

On the inside of the lift, there were weeping voices. Crying. Sobbing. Horn’s heart gripped in her chest.

A moment later, a group of others arrived. The Loki Familia. The one at the front was the Sword Princess, Aiz Wallenstein. Following sharply behind her were Bete Loga, Gareth Landrock, and two Amazon women, clearly being the fastest of their group.

“The explosion came from there. Given the force of it, I expected this entire hallway to be gone…” Finn Deimne spoke. “I hear voices. There are people trapped in there. We need to clear the rubble. Carefully,” He pointed rapidly. “There, there, and there. Anywhere else is a stress point. Carelessly interacting with it may cause the structure to collapse, and we’d harm those trapped on the other end.”

Horn wanted to interject. She almost snapped, wanting to ask who gave him the right to give instructions, but in such a situation, she wouldn’t question it. If Moses really was stuck behind there, and in her zeal, her haste to free him, she ended up crushing him to death… not only would she not loathe herself for it, Lady Freya was all but certain to punish her in unimaginable ways.

With as many First Class Adventurers that were gathered, the task of clearing rubble almost presented itself as a triviality. Moving at a pace and speed that would have been impossible not just for a normal team of rescuers, but even for Level One, Two, or Level Three Adventurers.

By the time they had gotten to work, by the time the door was fully unveiled, the rest of the Loki Familia had caught up, arriving, as had many other adventurers and shop owners, on that floor, all rushing to the source of the noise, the source of the explosion.

“What happened here?”

“The lift is damaged. There was an explosion—”

“What caused it? Was it a fault in the construction?”

“We don’t know yet. It sounds like there are people inside, and the Loki Familia is trying to save them—”

“Was it an attack?”

“Don’t even joke about that. No one’s stupid enough to attack Babel. There are gods here, you know? Lady Freya lives on the top floor—”

As the crowd grew larger and larger, Horn grit her teeth and made herself scarcer, trying to be less noticeable. With this many people, any action she took would be too noticeable, and it would displease her Goddess. So she had to slink away to a spot that wouldn’t draw notice.

As the last of the rubble was cleared, Aiz Wallenstein drew her sword and, with fine, precise, elegant swordsmanship, directed by Finn Deimne, she sliced at the melted doors of the lift. Cutting through it cleanly, effortlessly, as if it were strips of cloth.

With a heavy, deafening clang, the doors of the lift fell forward, and the contents within it were unveiled.

“Today…” Voices came, sobbing and cracking and laughing. “Is a good day! Today… is a good day! Today… is a good day!”

Five individuals scrambled out, naked, with four of them having shattered kneecaps. All of them continued to repeat the same thing, the same words, over and over, again and again, in between the snot dripping from their nostrils, the tears running from their eyes, and bearing large, happy smiles.

“Today is a good day! Today is a good day! Today is a good day! Today… is a good day!”

One member, the only female member amongst them, rushed out, got on her knees, and slammed her head against the ground.

“We won’t do it again! We won’t! We’ll change our ways! C-change! Change! Mo— Moses Vanderzee… we’ll change! We won’t attack the Hestia Familia! We’ll confess! We’ll confess everything!”

The words were incoherent, mumbling, she muttered endless apologies with a crackling, trembling voice. Not a single person could make sense of the words, only receiving fragmented, frantic apologies, apparently, an apology for attempting to assassinate the Captain of the Hestia Familia, Moses Vanderzee.

Chills ran down the spines of all the adventurers present, especially at the sight of the other four, giddily, yet weepily repeating the same five words: 

“Today is a good day! Today! Today! T-T-T-TO — TODAY! IS A GOOD! GOOD! GOOD DAY!”

The crowd backed away, panicked, uneasy.

Terrified.

“T-the Captain of the Hestia Familia did… this?”

“W-w-what did he do to them?”

“Is… is it a spell? No, I think… this is a status abnormality—”

“You mean a curse? Are they cursed…?”

“Are there any people capable of dispelling curses here?”

No, it’s not a curse… it’s—

Horn could see it.  

It was the same. 

That same bastardized utilization of her Lady’s Charm effect, which he could only use to transfer his emotions.

They had been afflicted with his giddiness. His joy. His utter and complete elation.

Yet, just as was the case with his lust, the euphoric elation was too much for them all to contain. Their minds, their bodies could not contain that much joy without consequence. Their lips were contorted into smiles, the words repeated over and over again, they were filled with utmost joy and so, they could not help but weep, and cry, because they were happy, they were so happy—

So, purely, utterly, and irrevocably happy that it hurt.

Few present could understand it, nor would they be able to understand it as she did. Moses Vanderzee had simply made these fools experience the absolute purity of his glee.

And it had broken them.

Horn shuddered.

If… if sending his glee did this, then… not mean—

It meant the lust Moses Vanderzee had transferred to her…

It wasn’t all of it? 

He still had… more?

Her back was slick with sweat as her breasts stiffened. She almost collapsed.

Monstrous… What sort of… monstrous craving—

I… this… this was a mistake! I can’t… see him! I can’t be close to him—

She was worried, now. If she saw him, she doubted she would be able to contain herself. Unable to restrain herself. If she made a fool of herself in front of all these witnesses—

Horn almost sought to turn around and leave, yet something struck her as odd. Despite the commotion being made…

No one, besides those five, emerged from the lift.

Finn Deimne stepped forward. “Either he was in a hurry to go somewhere, or he’s not the sort to wait for someone to come to his rescue.”

Many moved to peer within, seeing the damage. Within the lift, there was a large hole punched straight upwards through the distorted and warped steel. A hole just barely enough for either a child to squeeze through, or an incredibly skinny adult.

Besides the hole, there nothing else but the faint lingering aroma of Flame Stone and rotten eggs, poison, and crushed bone.

Moses Vanderzee—

Had long made his exit.