INTERLUDE
NOTES OF OBSESSION
There once was a man consumed by obsession.
He was wise, accomplished, and a renowned artisan.
His achievements ranged from crafts of every kind to the creation of whole structures. Even after making countless contributions to culture and society, his fixation on receiving praise from the gods and goddesses drove him to complete a massive white tower. Beautiful yet solemn, it reached closer to the heavens than any other building. A monument most befitting the deities, it was conferred the name “Tower of the Gods.”
Indeed, the designer was an undeniable prodigy. No one before or after has ever approached his level of brilliance.
There was nothing he could not build.
The man had no doubt that he was unparalleled.
However, at the far edge of the world, he became entranced by something.
It was the entrance to a massive void found in a corner of the continent. A gateway to another world that opened up under his feet.
He found an underground labyrinth filled with fantastical phosphorescent light, overflowing with flowers and minerals that had never been seen before. Divided into many strata, the various floors changed in appearance the deeper he traveled. It was also an abyss that constantly spawned monsters and seemed to extend downward with no apparent end—this was the Dungeon.
The man beheld this world completely isolated from the surface and perceived it as a “work of art.”
Only a will that surpassed mortal bounds could have crafted this creation. Not long after, the man trained his body and improved his Blessing in order to journey deeper and deeper into the labyrinth.
The more he learned, the more obvious it became.
Its composition, its shape—everything was far too complex for human intelligence to comprehend.
The mystical Dungeon.
It broke him.
He was overwhelmed by the beauty, that ultimate chaos, that seemed to encompass all of existence.
From the broken man’s throat arose a howl, the sound of a monster that had thrown away its humanity.
The man devoted himself exclusively to his craft thereafter.
Although he continued to fulfill the tasks given to him, the man began to stray from rational thought and walk down the wrong path. With every passing day, more and more people found that they could no longer grasp the concepts driving his creations. Once heralded as a genius, he soon became known as a madman. He disappeared between the pages of history soon after.
His own exceptional skill and the strength granted to him by his unique but flawed conviction inspired him to create a world even more magnificent than the underground labyrinth.
—Limits to what man can accomplish? As if I care.
—I’ll create something better, you’ll see.
—If gods are irrelevant to this domain, they must first be outdone.
No matter how much blood he shed, though his skin tore to reveal the flesh beneath, the shovel and pickax in his grasp never lay idle. No one knew that the man persisted on this new path alone.
However, his body gave out long before his ambition could be realized.
One man could live for only so long.
He cursed his mortal flesh and fell into despair as his limbs refused to obey his commands. He lamented his faltering, flickering life. Then he left behind a curse—words that would allow him to overcome these limitations—in a notebook.
Along with the “blueprints” that filled his mind.
The man left everything to those yet to be born, his successors who would carry his name and legacy into the future.
Build, you will build!
Build a creation to outdo it, build your desire!!
This is your purpose!! You are my descendant, though I know not your name or face!
Should your eyes pass over this notebook, there shall be no escape from the blood filling your veins!
The mad hunger and insatiable thirst will never fade! The fire burning in your belly can only heed my call!!
Carry out my desire!
Obey your blood, remain loyal to the yearning.
Stay true to what we long for!
Ambition, ambition, ambition!!
Fulfill the aims of our cursed existence!!
It was all written in the notebook.
The man’s persistence was clearly spelled out.
“……”
Dix leaned against the back of a sofa as he held the tattered old notes in one hand, reading silently to himself.
He turned a page, the ink upon it faded and smudged to the point of illegibility in places, beneath the magic-stone lamplight as a voice called out to him from behind:
“Dix, everything’s ready.”
A large man appeared as Dix lowered the goggles strapped over his forehead. The smoky-quartz lenses covered his eyes as his lips curled into a sneer.
“Great, let’s get to it.”
Rising to his feet, Dix tossed the old notebook onto the sofa without a second thought. He grabbed an ominous spear propped up against the wall before following his hulking companion down a hallway shrouded in darkness.
The air smelled of stone and felt chilly, as though it had never known the warmth of the sun’s rays. Dix smiled to himself as black iron bars and cages came into view before whispering under his breath.
“‘Stay true to what we long for’…Well said.”
Rattle, rattle. Chains shook fearfully from every direction.
The vile hunter listened with glee, laughing from deep in his throat.
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