Is It Wrong to Crave Love (In A Dungeon?) Chapter 19 - Thought

“Aiz…”

Lefiya was worried for Aiz. She shot constant, furtive glances to the blonde at the front of the group, gripping her staff, Forest’s Teardrop, tighter in her hands, and twisting it. Ever since they had heard about the new Record Holder, Aiz had been more… Aiz than she usually was.

She was quiet, but there was Aiz-quiet, and there was quiet-quiet. She had scarcely spoken a word from the moment they exited the Dungeon. She, however, was not the only one.

With the exception of Tiona, who Lefiya could swear would always be sunny and upbeat no matter what, the rest of them, the Loki Familia, had completely stifled expressions as they exited the Dungeon. 

Bete had the most sour of them all, as well as a red palm print on the right side of his face, which was already healing.

As they had ascended, they found identical campfires on the Third, Second, and First Floors, most of them being used as shelter, others being used for defense. It became clear that the Dungeon was going to be a much different place than what they were used to. Nothing could have been clearer, especially after their altercation with another group on the Second Floor.

Lefiya’s lips opened, she moved to call out the girl’s name, her hand outstretched, only to hesitate, falter, and return it to her staff. I think… I understand how you feel, Aiz… 

Adventurers were often a cagey, defensive lot, and when differing Familias met within the Dungeon, there was a tacit understanding to avoid getting involved. There was always a fear that the other party would try something fishy with them. There was none of that near or around the campfires set up, with different groups together, resting, discussing, and even exchanging stories. 

It was as if they had completely forgotten that they were in the Dungeon. A place where danger lingered at every corner, a place where you could not allow yourself to get complacent or too relaxed, a place with suffocating walls, and endless, terrifying monsters. Having been to the Lower Floors and knowing the kinds of monsters that were there, that awaited anyone who descended there…

It feels… unfair.

It was unfair. 

It was so frustratingly unfair that Lefiya wanted to scream. She could only clutch her staff tight and bite down on her quivering lip.

They had descended down the Dungeon, risking their lives, damaging their bodies, suffering injuries and wounds, and charting the way into lower and lower depths unaided, often in conditions of extreme discomfort and difficulty. Yet, if the campfires really were the permanent fixtures they were going to be, and more and more of them would be formed in the Dungeon, then all those who descended after them would barely struggle at all.

The difference in their experiences of the Dungeon would be night and day.

Lefiya wasn’t the strongest member of the Loki Familia, or the fastest, or the smartest, but she took pride in her Familia, in what they had accomplished, in the fact that she had accomplished it with them. She took pride in the bruises, the cuts, the gashes, the contusions, the sores, pride in the blood shed, the blood spilled, and, embarrassingly, even the tears. They were proof of her effort, her hard-earned effort, the effort it took to keep up, and go deeper and deeper into that abyss with unknown depths.

It didn’t help that on the Second Floor, a blasted, drunken lecher from the Soma Familia protected by those campfires had looked at Aiz, and her, and the twins, recognized them, and cheerfully, brazenly propositioned them. All of them. At the same time. 

Bete and Tione had almost marched forward to beat the lights out of his eyes, before Finn had to intercede, again, stopping them all from doing so, because if they did, the campfire would punish them.

Bete had spat on the ground and sneered at the lecher, “You can’t hide in the Dungeon forever, bastard.”

That had made the lecher sober up and break into a cold sweat. No matter how Lefiya thought of it, it was an unthinkable occurrence. The Dungeon used to be the place people were afraid of making such decisions, because whatever happened in the Dungeon stayed in the Dungeon, and no one would risk offending any person within it. Now, it was the opposite; there were places in the Dungeon safer than on the surface, places where people like that lecher could speak their unfiltered thoughts and get away with it.

Tione had cursed that Moses Vanderzee fellow who had set in place those campfires and made it so such people could be so brazen. The Amazon had, at the time, claimed the campfires were a hindrance, an annoyance. Lefiya almost agreed with her, until the lecher, rather than backing down from Bete’s words, had continued talking. Emboldened by the fact they couldn't attack him, he unleashed more and more of his thoughts, letting it all spew.

“You… this isn’t the same Dungeon as before! You big Familias can’t… can’t bully us into submission here any more! We don’t have to grovel and beg for our lives in front of you here anymore! You hear!”

He’d wheezed, pointing with a shaky finger.

“My little brother, my entire party, they were killed by the Man Slayer… killed! I couldn't do anything! Couldn’t! I told the Guild, but they said I had no proof! They couldn’t do anything without proof! I thought the Loki Familia was one of the good ones, so I begged your goddess! I pleaded in front of her! She told me to stop bothering her! I went to the Freya Familia, and I begged at the gates too, and they kicked me out, threatening to kill me if I came back!”

“You big Familias, you have the power to keep others in check, but you don’t care about anyone but yourselves! What have you ever done to help the little guy?! Have you ever given any thought to us?! Huh?! Only the Hestia Familia… It’s the first time someone has done something for us! If only someone like him had come sooner… if this campfire had been here sooner… my baby brother, my friends… my precious, precious friends… they wouldn’t have… they would still be…”

The man had burst into slobbering, snivelling, weepy tears. His words had sent something… uncomfortable down Lefiya’s spine. 

Lefiya had never lost anyone in the Dungeon. She did not know the struggles of those who had, or what it was like for those at the very bottom, struggling and striving, and fearing not just monsters, but other Adventurers.

She had never had to fear other Adventurers. 

Before Finn had the chance to speak, Bete had already opened his mouth.

“The fuck are you crying to us for? It’s your brother’s fault for being weak, your party’s fault for being weaker, and your fault for being weakest of them! Weaklings should know better than to enter the Dungeon. If you don’t have what it takes to fight back, to avenge your own fucking family with your own two hands, then sit your ass back at home, and leave the Dungeon for others!”

The blubbering man had looked at them with disbelief, and his grief had changed into something… bitter.

“I hope you die down there!” He’d cursed, laughing, and crying and swearing in the same breath. “I hope the Dungeon kills you all! Hahaha! I hope you get ravaged and torn apart by monsters! You, the Freya Familia, the Ishtar Familia! All of you bastards! I hope the Dungeon takes everything you love! I hope you die! I HOPE YOU ALL DIE!”

They had left, shortly afterwards, leaving the crying man alone, not even having the grace of being comforted by the members of his Familia. Rather, they had all awkwardly distanced themselves from him, looking downcast, awkward, and silent.

“Do you think it’s true?” She’d asked, her voice a mumble. “That he asked our goddess for help… and she…?”

“Where the hell does he get off, asking our goddess to help him avenge his fucking family? What, did he think she’d declare war on the Ishtar Familia because he gave her a sob story? If you’re so weak that you need to grovel in front of others for—”

“That’s enough, Bete,” Finn had stopped him. “You’ve said enough.”

Lefiya had never been under any delusion that the Loki Familia was universally loved and adored, but at least, she believed they were universally respected and admired by their fellow adventurers.

She was starting to be dissuaded from that belief.

“Adventurers are not a monolith, Lefiya,” Riveria told her, as they ascended the First Floor. “For every adventurer that respects us, there are dozens that envy us. For every adventurer who wants to see our success, there are dozens who would rejoice at seeing us fail. Do not let the words of one wounded soul get under your skin.”

Yet, Lefiya could not shake off a disconcerting feeling. 

If all it took was having safety from the threat of violence to have people tell them what they really thought of them, didn’t it mean it wasn’t truly respect that other adventurers had for each other…

But fear?

It wasn’t a thought Lefiya had ever grasped before, nor was it one she was certain she was comfortable with; knowing the only thing making people act respectfully to them was that they were afraid of the consequence of doing otherwise.

That Orario, at its core, ran on fear. 

The weak fear the strong.

Which meant if someone wasn’t strong…

Lefiya’s heart rate increased. She squeezed her staff tighter.

If… If I can’t keep up… If I fall behind the others… then… then…!

“Don’t think too much about it.”

Beside her, Tiona, the younger of the Hiryute Twins, lightly grabbed onto her shoulders.

Lefiya recoiled. “W-what?”

“We’re not exactly like the Heroes in the stories,” Tiona shrugged. “We can’t save everybody, help everybody, or be loved by everybody. It would be nice if we were, but…” Tiona trailed off, shaking her head. “I wonder if this Moses guy is like that. I guess, in the eyes of the weaker adventurers, he must seem like a hero to them. A champion of the little guy. I’d really like to meet him. I bet Finn too, and Aiz, and Bete. What do you think, sis?”

“I don’t like it,” Tione, the older, stood beside her, crossing her arms below her chest. “The campfires. I can’t see what the catch is.”

“You think there’s a catch?”

“Everything has a catch.”

“Oh, oh, maybe the catch is slowly wiping us out? If we keep meeting lots of adventurers who feel they can mouth off to us because they feel protected in the Dungeon now… we might lose our temper and try to attack them, and we’ll be dead!” Tiona said, wagging her finger. “Like that guy we met on the Second Floor, sis! He really cursed us out!”

“Considering I’d have broken every bone in his body if it weren’t for that stupid campfire…” Tione clenched her fist, raising it high and shaking it. “...you might be on to something. Restraint isn’t something many are fond of remembering in the Dungeon. Those campfires, sooner or later, will kill those who can’t restrain themselves.”

“It feels a little harsh, though!” Tiona added, nodding. “Some people need a good punch now and then. Letting people say whatever they want without fear of being punched in the face just doesn’t feel right, y’know?”

“Um…” Lefiya awkwardly lifted a hand. “I… don’t think people should be punched in the face for their opinions.”

Tiona snuggled up to her, rubbing her cheek with her face. “Aw, you’re so nice, Lefiya! You—”

Tiona suddenly went stiff.

“Tiona…?”

“Get behind me, Lefiya. Now.”

Lefiya hurriedly followed, her heart rate skyrocketing. What’s going on?

“Tch. It’s just one fucking thing after another today… Oi! Come out!”

At the front, Bete wore a sour expression, something in between a scowl and a glare. Their group came to a stop, as her Captain, Finn, looked about, before he spoke clearly.

“Might I know why there are two Executives of the Freya Familia shadowing us?”

Two Executives of the…? Lefiya clutched her staff harder. She pushed her senses to their peak, trying to drown out all disturbances and noise, her gaze darting about, but try as she might, she could not find anyone who matched the description.

The air grew sharp. Aiz’s hand moved to her sword, and Tione and Tiona stepped forward together. Her Familia and the Freya Familia could not be said to be enemies, but they also could not be said to be on friendly or the best of terms. 

As the two strongest Familias in all of Orario, they could be considered rivals, but that term wasn’t quite concrete enough to fully encapsulate the tensions between them.

They had never had any reason to come to outright blows before, or any reason to have any conflict before, but things were changing. The Dungeon was changing, Orario was changing, and the speed and gravity of these changes made Lefiya uncertain. What if the Freya Familia had a reason now to attack them, while they were in the Dungeon, on their expedition?

If only it were possible for information to be transmitted directly from the lower levels of the Dungeon to the surface… then… then… we wouldn’t…

“Don’t flatter yourselves.”

A voice came from behind her. 

Lefiya froze.

“If you were the ones we were following, you think we’d let you notice?”

Lefiya turned around. The voice from behind her was gone, and instead, it came from the front.

“Just get going and don’t cause a scene. I’m not in the mood, and I have more important things to do than bother with you.”

Bete chuckled. He ran his hand through his hair before he started gnashing his teeth. “Too many people have been running their mouths in front of us all day long… It’s starting to piss me off.”

“Mutt, if you think for one second that you have a chance against—”

“Wait,” Finn lifted his hand. He suddenly snapped his gaze upwards, towards the Babel Tower. Riveria did the same, and the others followed.

What…? What is happen—

An ear-shattering boom shook all of Orario.

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

Is it not folly for a mortal to seek to covet the Divine?

Leaving Lady Hephaestus’s workshop, I slung my staff over my back and clutched the box in my left hand, the parting gift she’d bestowed upon me. The dull, never-ending bustle and hustle of Babel was a thing that was contradictory to my senses. The semi-modern-esque conveniences, existing and powered by non-conventional means and methods, were amongst the more jarring parts of Orario. One such existence was the elevator, which I walked slowly to, in a corridor with lightning fixtures one could mistake for modern lightbulbs, if they did not stare too closely, and too deeply. There were no elevator operators, none on this floor, though I had caught a glimpse, twice, of varying women dressed in neat blouses and skirts who stood on varying floors of the Babel Tower offering directions and services for a stipend.

With a pull of a lever, gears turned, the ground at my feet lurched, and my descent began. There were also a series of stairways within the Babel Tower, though their use was more accepted by adventurers with endless stamina to spare, the conveniences of a lift could not be understated, because it saved both effort and time.

I rolled the box in my right hand, and my thoughts scattered through and fro. My descent became a dizzying splash of colors and sounds. My heart was lurching in my chest, and I gripped it hard, counting to ten, taking deep, slow breaths.

Is it not hubris?

Not madness?

My hand ran through my hair, sweeping and tugging at the roots and locks. Closing my eyes, my goddess’s lips came to me. Lips with the taste of sugared coal, potato-puffs, of milk and honey, and savory wine. Lips that melted away my doubts, my fears, my anxieties, my worries, my concerns. Her lips, I could still feel them on mine.

Gods, I could still feel them.

Her kiss. Her kiss, her kiss that turned my insides to melted butter, that made my blood flow like the Nile and my throat dry like the Kalahari.

I would burn the world for that kiss. I would set afire the seas and rend the sun from the sky for that kiss. I would tear asunder the clouds and choke the last embers of the planet’s molten core for that kiss.

The elevator stopped on a lower floor. Adventurers, shoppers stepped in, some carrying branded bags filled with proof of their purchases, others holding on to greaves and boots, swords and sheathes. Several pairs of eyes landed on me, and I on them, offering only a cursory, polite smile, as they all entered in, and our descent began together, in silence.

Ah, my goddess…

I loved her. 

I loved her.

I wanted to weep because the depths of my love for her could not be expressed in the despicable determinability of the human language. To express that love with words could only express an aspect, a speck, a mote, a Planck’s length of a Planck’s length of its true severity.

Though I loved my goddess, something in my chest stirred for another. Lady Hephaestus’s scent lingered on me. Her hair, like fire, burned at something within me. Her face, perfect in its imperfection, flawless in its flaws, beautiful, stoked something unusual within me.

I did not covet goddesses. I could not.

I should not.

Have I the right?

Have I the effrontery to gaze upon the face of a goddess, and say, ‘You shall be mine, and mine alone?’

Had I the shamelessness needed to look upon a divine being, magnanimous, all-loving, and demand a monopoly of their attachment and devotion? Not when within my heart, I could not offer that in turn. How could I demand devotion to one, whilst I was devoted to many?

Have I the audacity? The temerity? 

My goddess’ kisses lingered in my thoughts from dawn, and now, Lady Hephaestus’ face lingered in my thoughts, and my traitorous, impious mind had for a moment envisioned the taste of her own lips. My sinful, reprobate thoughts had envisioned pulling her close, and claiming her lips, it had fashioned thoughts of stripping her bare, my tongue Columbus, and her flesh as my Atlantic.

I let out a chuckle. A few gazes turned to me within the elevator, but I paid no heed to them. 

I scratched my head and cursed myself, laughed at myself, and berated myself under my breath.

From whence did I find the impiety? From where did my wretched, traitorous soul desire to possess even the Divine? The companion of my goddess, the friend of my goddess, a goddess upon herself, I dared to covet her? I?

Why did I? How could I?

“Don’t show your face in front of me again.”

Therein lay the crux of it.

I sought her because I had been told she was a thing I could not have.

Just like with Syr, whose command had been given to me by my Goddess. However, that command, I could not, and would not disobey. My goddess’ will was my will, and there was no argument.

However, Lady Hephaestus was not Syr. 

All that stood in my way were her words and my willingness.

My heart was beating to the rhythm of a hammer striking red-hot steel, gods, it was hot, so hot. Burning a different heat than the fire of hearths and campfires, burning a different flavor than ash and coal. My mouth tasted steel, my every breath came to me ashy and smoky. As we descended the floors, the intensity of my hearing sharpened.

CLANG!

The sound of a hammer hitting steel in a distant shop. Damascus steel, my ears whispered. High concentration. He’s attempting to fold it before it cools, a mistake with such a temperamental alloy at that thickness. He needs to keep the hammer’s face angled; Damascus steel likes to warp under direct impact.

The strikes are uneven. The smith’s hands are shaky. Uncertain. An apprentice. 

HISS!

The sound of steel being quenched in cold water. Adamantite, my ears purred. Lower quality. Likely gotten from the top floors of the dungeon. Perfectly forged. Zero impurities.

An expert smith.

CLANG!

Another strike. The sound filled me with ire. Light Metal, my ears hissed. Prior quenched in water diluted with Purple Moth Venom. Re-heated and hammered. Shortens overall shelf life, likely to shatter like glass on a misstep. Intentional. Planned obsolescence.

The sound of his strikes…

The lift came to a stop on a different floor. Some shoppers exited, whilst a group of men wearing cloaks entered as one, making it so the lift was full. They moved to different corners, forming a tic-tac-toe-like grid amidst themselves, resembling the five dots on a dice. One in front of me, one to my northeast, northwest, one to my southeast, and one to my southwest. My 10 o’clock, my two o’clock, my eight o’clock, and my four o’clock were filled with men wearing black hoods in broad daylight.

My thoughts were busy, too distracted, too engrossed with other matters. My goddess, Lilly, and Lady Hephaestus.

Dare I commit the Original Sin?

Disobedience. 

Disobeying the divine.

Do not eat of the forbidden fruit of knowledge of good and evil.

“Don’t show your face in front of me again.”

I was an Adam, a man who would disobey, but I was no coward who would deflect blame to my Eve. My goddess, I would never dare disobey, but Lady Hephaestus…

If I were to take that first step, if I were to dare to disobey the Divine, then I would need something. I would need—

I felt the small box Lady Hephaestus had given me. The present she had given me. Opening it up, finding the beautiful pair of rings within it, my eyes instantly lit up. Orichalcum, my eyes confirmed. Highest quality workmanship. Peerless craftsmanship. A potent magical effect… requires Divinity…

I grasped it. At a glance, I knew what the purpose of it was. The rings. One was meant for me, and the other, for my goddess. It was an incredibly thoughtful gift.

Gifts.

Offerings.

Tradition of giving offerings…

With gifts… I can show how much I appreciate them…

Not just Lady Hephaestus, but my goddess, and Lilly as well…

The lift stopped once more. All other individuals exited in a frantic hurry. More individuals attempted to enter, but I extended an outstretched hand. “I’m terribly sorry, but we’re full. Please take another.”

“What? There’s still plenty of—”

“We really are full,” I said, smiling. “If you would please understand.”

They glanced at the cloaked figures, and at me, and backed away, nodding slowly. The doors shut. I took a soft, deep breath. The lift continued down its descent, with only six people within. I pinched my nose, taking a deep breath. My gaze swept the five cloaked men. 

“Today,” I said softly. “Today is a good day.”

My words, spoken into the air, did nothing and appeared meant for no one, for all of three seconds. 

At the fourth second mark, there was a flurry of movement.

The five cloaked figures advanced as one unit, as if puppeteered by the same hand. They opened their cloaks, revealing vests, strapped with red stones, married with the scent of oil and rotten eggs. Flame Stone, my nose said. Incredibly explosive. The tiniest spark can create a devastating—

A spark was lit. The stones pulsed.

Time slowed to a crawl.

“Do not think, Moses.”

I heard Lord Takemikazuchi’s voice. 

“There are too many things to keep track of at all times. This is true both for life, and for combat. If you attempt to consciously keep track of everything, your adversary, your next move, whether to advance or retreat, you will be paralyzed by indecision, doubt, and fear. So, do not think.”

My body moved.

“Thought is the enemy of flow.”