A Devil In the Dungeon [Youjo Senki/Danmachi]

[Sadguychet]

Unduly Discharged

Benjamin Franklin once stated in a letter to Jean-Baptiste Le Roy that there were only two great certainties in the world: death and taxes.

The latter was as true as it was self-explanatory. With governance comes a need for certain benefits to grease the wheels of society. Whether or not said grease is firmly shoved into the pockets of those at the top is a gamble in line with a very human condition, and up to the very societies that benefit from being a society in the first place.

The former – death – was a bit trickier. By all means, the statesman had it right. To 99.99% of the human population past, present, and future, death was an unavoidable certainty, and what lay beyond it was anything but.

But for one unfortunate soul – that 0.01% – it was starting to become a played-out trick.

Tanya looked around, an unpleasant sense of déjà vu washing over her as she took in the frozen yet fiery world around her. Flames blossomed in every direction, an inescapable wall of death coming straight toward her, but their heat could not be felt. Still, she knew that this was not due to any natural phenomenon, for this was a situation she had been in before.

Faced with their own imminent demise, most would panic and thrash against the world in some vain hope that it might be avoided. Tanya did no such thing.

"So," she spoke, though her words did not come from her mouth, "you've played your cards again, Being X. I must say, I had grown somewhat fond of your absence in the past several months. It's been decidedly peaceful without your meddling."

Her words were spoken not to the empty air, but to the visage of the girl in front of her; the one responsible for both of their deaths. Half-consumed by flames and possessing an expression that bordered on mania, Mary Sue looked gleeful at the prospect that she would be responsible for the Devil's death.

A true martyr. Tanya almost pitied the girl, so taken by blind faith and her quest for revenge that she never really had a chance to live. It was unfortunate, but of course, sympathy was reserved for allies and civilian casualties, and this girl had been nothing but a thorn in her side since the day she joined the war. Tanya would say she was happy for her death, but well, the method certainly left something to be desired.

Tanya didn't bother cursing her imminent demise. Though her mind still churned, spinning the gears of human rationality, she knew her body was long since lost. High explosives had a tendency to move at a speed that renders human biology fundamentally obsolete. Even Tanya, whose reaction speeds bordered on the inhuman, was still a prisoner of biological latency. Nerve impulses crawled through the body at a pathetic hundred meters per second, a glacial pace compared to the threat she was facing.

By the time the light of the spark had hit her retinas, the shockwave had already claimed the space she occupied. She was dead the millisecond the girl's finger twitched on that detonator.

"Well? Do you have anything to say?" she spoke again, annoyance staining her tone. "Or is this your next attempt to punish me? I must say, the prospect of staring my own death in the face in perpetual limbo is a much more creative punishment than simple reincarnation."

Mary's face, still twisted in a gleeful visage of martyrdom, it twitched. And then her lips began to move, though the rest of her remained unnervingly still.

"There are less demanding ways to call out for your Lord, my dear Atheist." Being X's voice was a rough timbre compared to the raspy screams that Tanya had come to associate with Mary. "It seems that my absence has not strengthened your faith as I hoped."

Tanya would have crossed her arms if she had a body. Instead, she settled for projecting a wave of profound annoyance. "Strengthened my faith? In what? Your ability to act like a petulant child when I refuse to play house with your little experiments?"

The entity controlling Mary's lips didn't deign to reply to the insult immediately. The fiery scenery around them flickered, the frozen image of the explosion wavering like a damaged film reel.

"Insolent as ever, I see," Being X hissed through Mary's vocal cords. "You befuddle me, Atheist. You possess a soul that cries out for divinity, yet you plug your ears. I have offered you power, I have offered you purpose, and every time you spit in my face."

"I don't recall spitting," Tanya corrected smoothly. "If anything, I have been a model employee. I fought your wars, I led your armies, and I died for your entertainment. My service record is impeccable. I believe I am owed a discharge, not another round of your juvenile interference."

"A discharge is granted when the job is done," Being X retorted, the girl's face contorting into a scowl that looked out-of-place with the light burning in her eyes. "And your faith is as barren as your front lines. You still do not understand. You cling to your rationality like a drowning man to a stone, insisting that even the state of this world is nothing but a matter of chance."

"Oh, I'm certain that you played your hand in shaping this hellish world," Tanya decided. "A war of sycophants all praying to the same God, never knowing he is the one who pitted them against each other. Quite an interesting approach, setting your 'children' against one another just for my sake. You truly are the picture of divine magnanimity."

"That is enough."

The voice boomed, shaking the very fabric of the frozen moment. The image of Mary Sue, or rather the puppet being used by the entity, leaned forward, and the flames around them flared brighter, turning from a burning orange to a blinding white.

"I have tried patience. I have tried trial and tribulation. And yet, you remain a hard-headed, ungrateful wretch of a soul," Being X declared, Mary's lips moving in sync with the thunderous declaration. "If you will not find faith on the battlefield, then perhaps another approach is required."

Ah, so another reincarnation. How droll.

"So what? You failed to live up to your own expectations and now you're going to send me to another war-torn world hanging on your every word," Tanya shot back, disgust evident in every word. "It truly boggles the mind that a being claiming to be the creator of all things would display such a vivid lack of imagination."

"It's clear that your earlier theories were incorrect, so I'm simply pivoting to something more appropriate," Being X said, the corners of Mary's mouth stretching into a grotesque smile. "A world where gods walk among mortals, and where their blessings are as tangible as the sword in your hand.

"Let us see if you can maintain your staunch atheism when the ceiling of the world is held up by divine whimsy."

Tanya felt a sudden, sickening lurch in her gut that had nothing to do with the entity's ominous words. It was the sensation of gravity falling away, a sudden drop into an abyss that felt less like falling and more like being deleted from existence.

Sensation returned abruptly and Tanya stumbled, the toes of her polished leather boots catching on uneven stone, sending her sprawling onto hands and knees. Her chest hit the ground with a crack, knocking the wind out of her, but she was thankfully able to keep her head from joining the party.

"Damn it," she hissed, pushing herself up and immediately brushing invisible dust from her uniform. She was alive. That was something, she supposed.

She took a moment to assess her new situation. It seemed that Being X had decided to switch things up this time, as she found herself in a large, cavernous expanse instead of in the midst of being pushed out of a womb. Though truthfully, her current situation left much to be desired.

The walls around her glowed with unnatural luminescence, casting a soft green glow on the world around her. The air was thick and smelled of mud and something distinctly metallic, like copper left out in the rain.

Blood.

Tanya followed proper protocol when faced with an unknown situation and immediately scanned her surroundings, taking in the damp walls and dark tunnels around her, before her eyes locked onto something that didn't fit: a body slumped against the wall near her.

It was a corpse, or at least what was left of one. The unfortunate soul was clad in armor that looked like a crude parody of antiquity—donning a pitted metal cuirass and leather armor underneath. The body beneath was mangled, missing an arm, while the helmet had been caved in by something with significant blunt force, oozing blood onto the floor around it.

A saber lay on the floor nearby, just out of reach, clutched tightly by disembodied fingers.

The sight was gruesome, but compared to what Tanya had seen on the front lines, it was ultimately nothing. Her eyes scanned the body clinically, searching for markers that might tell her of its origins.

The cut of his clothes and armor was unfamiliar to her, with no crests or flags to signify his allegiance. His armor was riveted, akin to what one would see from Dacian mercenaries in Imperial history books, but somehow Tanya didn't think Being X would simply send her back two or three hundred years to teach her faith.

Deciding that she could glean nothing more from the site, Tanya turned away, and it was only then that she noticed a distinct lack of weight on her back. She reached up, heart sinking as her fingers failed to find purchase on a leather strap slung across her chest. Her rifle was missing.

She spun, looking back the way she had fallen, but the ground was bare stone. Tanya cursed. Her rifle must have slipped from her grasp during the explosion.

Continuing her inspection, Tanya shifted her attention to the gem around her neck. With a calm that bordered on catatonic, she reached up to her neck. Her fingers brushed against the cold, hard casing of her computation orb, and she froze as she found a break in the normally smooth surface.

She pulled it down to inspect it, frowning at what she saw. The casing was marred by a jagged fissure that ran down the center like a lightning strike, and the usual red luster was completely dead. In its current condition, it would serve as no more than a very expensive paperweight.

"Wonderful," Tanya spoke, her voice flat.

She did a quick pat-down of her person. Her combat knife was present, as was her Luger P08, sitting snug in its holster. It was fully loaded with one in the chamber which, combined with the two spare magazines, gave her twenty-five rounds in total. Not much, but certainly better than nothing.

"So I'm not completely helpless, at least," Tanya spoke aloud as she clipped her computation orb back into its proper place.

No sooner had she done that, a low, guttural growl echoed off the glowing walls, causing her to freeze. The sound was like nothing she had ever heard before, something halfway between a man and a wolf and steeped in predatory malice.

Tanya spun around, boots skidding on the damp stone, and her eyes narrowed as she saw the shadow of a creature slowly loping out of the dark.

The beast was completely alien to her, a cross between a man and some kind of hairy beast that walked on two legs and possessed eyes that glowed unnaturally.

Though she had never seen its like before, Tanya's mind immediately categorized the creature as a hostile entity. She was proven correct as a moment later, it snarled and lunged in her direction, claws poised to tear her flesh from her bones.

Years of military training pushed away surprise. Tanya calmly unholstered her pistol, aligned it with her lunging target, and fired a single shot.

BANG

Her aim was perfect, and her round took the creature in the forehead with a wet thud. The back of its head exploded outward in a spray of dark fluid and matted fur. The beast's forward momentum carried it another step before it collapsed in a heap at her feet.

In the enclosed space, the report of her weapon detonated like a thunderclap, the sound waves bouncing frantically off the glowing walls and smashing into her eardrums without mercy. Tanya winced, her ears ringing violently. That was stupid of her; firing a weapon in a cavern was akin to sticking one's head inside a church bell and striking it with a hammer. If she had to defend herself with this pistol for any extended period, she would be deaf before she saw the sun again.

To Tanya's surprise, the corpse at her feet suddenly began to smoke. She stepped back, anticipating some sort of last-breath retaliation, but instead, the beast began to dissolve, fading away into nothing. A single, tiny purple gem was left where it had once been, glinting in the dim light.

Unfortunately, before she could even take in her victory, the damp air was filled with a chorus of snarls and guttural barks.

The shadows at the periphery of the cavern began to writhe and detach themselves from the darkness. Three more of the creatures stepped into the bioluminescent glow, their eyes fixed on her with a hunger that was entirely unnerving. They chattered amongst themselves, clicking their teeth and brandishing their claws.

This is just perfect, Tanya thought, her eye twitching as she stepped away from the encroaching horde.

She calculated her next moves with a certain amount of detachment. The acoustics in here alone were a war crime against her own hearing. To discharge her weapon eight more times in this echo chamber would likely rupture her eardrums, leaving her permanently deafened. Assuming this place was as lousy with these things as she imagined it was, losing the ability to hear an ambush predator growling in her ear was a death sentence.

Fire discipline was the foundation of survival. But survival becomes significantly more difficult when the environment itself conspires against you.

The first creature, emboldened by the lack of immediate fire, lunged. It moved like a bounding lion, its muscles rippling beneath matted fur as it closed the distance with outstretched claws.

Tanya pivoted on her heel, the rough leather of her boot gripping the stone floor as she sidestepped the beast's trajectory. It was a clumsy evasion compared to what she could have achieved in flight, but it sufficed in this situation as the creature's claws raked the air where her neck had been a split second before, missing her by a hair's breadth.

As the beast overshot its mark, Tanya snapped her leg out, the heel of her heavy combat boot driving into the back of the creature's knee with a sickening crunch. The beast howled, its leg buckling under the sudden strike. It pitched forward, slamming face-first into the stone, and Tanya didn't hesitate to follow up. She pulled her combat knife and drove it down into the beast's head with a sickening squelch.

The beast let out one final cry and went still, but Tanya wasted no time in admiring her handiwork. In battle, pausing to gloat over a defeated enemy was a surefire way to get shot by the one behind them. She scrambled over the corpse toward the dead adventurer, her fingers closing around the hilt of the fallen saber just as the remaining two beasts decided to stop their posturing.

The sword felt foreign in her hand—poorly balanced and slick with blood and grime and endlessly heavy compared to the lighter steel of her ceremonial officer's sword. Even so, the extended reach was worth it. She'd rather not face two enemies with just a combat knife.

The second creature lunged, faster than the first. Tanya didn't try to dodge again; there wasn't enough room. Instead, she planted her feet and channeled every ounce of her upper body strength into a single thrust. It was an ugly motion, but desperation often made up for a lack of elegance.

The point of the crude saber breached the creature's chest with a wet, tearing sound that echoed off the walls. The beast shrieked as its momentum carried it down the blade, bringing its snapping jaws dangerously close to Tanya's face. She could smell its rancid breath as the razor-sharp teeth nearly clamped down on her nose, but she didn't flinch.

With a grunt of exertion, she planted a boot squarely on the creature's heaving chest and shoved backward. The steel slid free with a sickening squelch, and the beast collapsed to the stone, thrashing in a spreading pool of its own dark blood.

One left. Tanya panted, adrenaline coursing through her veins like ice water.

The last creature, perhaps possessing a spark of animal cunning its brethren lacked, did not immediately lunge. It circled her, its head low, eyes darting between Tanya and the slowly disintegrating corpses of its fellows.

Tanya shifted her stance, adjusting her grip on the saber to get into a more proper stance.

"Come on then," she muttered, keeping the blade point trained on the beast. "Believe it or not, I don't have all day."

The creature seemed to understand her words and snarled. Whatever intelligence set it apart from the other beasts disappeared as it gave in to its primal instincts and crouched low before springing toward her.

It was faster than the others, and Tanya didn't have the time nor the leverage for another thrust. Faced with no other option, she dropped to one knee, ducking under the arc of its claws, and brought the saber up in a desperate slash. The poor quality of the steel ensured it wasn't a clean cut. The blade snagged on the beast's hide, dragging through tough muscle and sinew before biting deep into its abdomen.

The beast fell atop her, a suffocating weight of fur, muscle, and foul-smelling fluids. It gave a final growl before it began to dissolve into ash and smoke, thankfully freeing her of the impressive weight.

Tanya slid backward, kicking away the dissolving pile of ash and viscera before the strange purple gem could clatter against her boots. She took a moment to catch her breath, the sound harsh in the sudden silence of the cavern. That had taken a surprising amount out of her. It seems that the wound she'd sustained during her fight with Mary Sue still lingered.

Taking a breath, Tanya took stock of her appearance. She was currently dressed in her regulation flight suit, her boots stained with muck, and her hands coated in a layer of drying blood that belonged to at least two different species and three different people.

Hardly the image of an Imperial Major.

Her eyes drifted back to the butchered remains of the adventurer. The armor that had failed him might yet serve her.

She knelt beside the corpse, ignoring the sticky pool of blood, and began the gruesome task of stripping the dead.

The leather straps were stiff and slick, requiring her to use her combat knife to cut through the buckles. As Tanya worked, the dead body shuffled and made grotesque noises as the damaged flesh was jostled. She grimaced.

Though she had done much during her stint in the Rhine, corpse looting wasn't something she often took part in. Thanks to the Empire's superior logistics, it was usually unnecessary and often frowned upon.

As it stood, however, there were no supply lines to call upon, and sentimentality for the dead was a luxury afforded only to those with the delusion of safety.

Tanya was many things. Delusional was not one of them.

The cuirass settled heavily onto her shoulders. Tanya had expected a struggle; fitting adult gear onto a frame as petite as hers was usually an exercise involving excessive padding and extra notches made with the tip of her knife. However, as she tightened the leather harness, she found the fit to be surprisingly snug. The metal plates rested comfortably against her chest, the hardened leather flaps protecting her sides without restricting her range of motion.

It was a bit strange that something ostensibly made for a full-grown man could be so easily adjusted to fit her slighter frame, but Tanya wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when said horse provided defense against claws and teeth. She cinched the final buckle, the smell of old sweat and blood filling her nose, and turned her attention back to the corpse.

Tanya's eyes narrowed as she inspected the rest of the scavenged gear. The dead adventurer clearly hadn't died from lack of supplies, but rather a lack of competence.

She picked up a dagger tucked into a sheath on his belt. It was chipped along the edge, the steel dark with age and neglect. It was the weapon of someone who either didn't know how to maintain their gear or simply didn't care about their survival enough to try. She tossed it away.

Next, she unhooked a satchel from the corpse's belt. It was made of thick, treated canvas, the kind of material that could survive a trench soaking, and currently looked to be in better condition than the man wearing it. She loosened the drawstring and peered inside.

Tanya's brow furrowed as she pulled the book from the satchel. It was a thick, leather-bound thing, the cover stamped with a design that looked vaguely like a key, though the tooling was worn and illegible. Expecting a diary or perhaps something that would give her information on where she had been dropped, she opened it to a random page in the middle.

She was met with the stark, pristine white of empty paper.

She flipped to the front. Blank. She flipped to the back. Blank. She ran her thumb over the edges of the pages, looking for ink blotches or impressions that might indicate invisible writing, but found nothing. The book was completely empty. Tanya closed the cover with a snap.

"A diary he never got around to starting," she surmised, tucking the empty tome back into the satchel. "Or perhaps he was illiterate. Given the state of his equipment, I suppose basic literacy was too much to ask for."

She plunged back into the satchel and found something much more interesting than an empty book. Buried beneath a pouch of purple stones, her fingers brushed against something wrapped in wax paper. She pulled it out and gave it a tentative sniff, and the scent of salt and cured meat assaulted her nostrils.

Rations. Around half a pound of cured meat, if she was estimating correctly. It would last her a few days if she rationed it properly, though she didn't see any water to wash it down with or otherwise keep her hydrated.

"Beggars and choosers, I suppose," she muttered, slipping it back into the pack.

With her new acquisitions secured, Tanya stood and tightened the straps of the borrowed armor. First things first, she needed to get out of this cave. Or at the very least, find a safe spot to hole up for the night. The prospect of rescue was a dim one but not impossible, and she'd rather not spend too much time surrounded by monsters like the ones she just killed.

Considering this is a cave, the exit is likely above me somewhere, she thought as she took her first steps into the darkness. I can only hope that Being X didn't shove me ten miles deep just to spite me.

Though, given how her last conversation with the so-called god had ended, it was a dim hope indeed.

~~~

"Check your straps again, Licia. You don't want to be fumbling with a loose buckle when a pack of Imps are breathing down your neck."

The young woman snapped to attention, her hands flying to the leather straps of her breastplate. "R-right! Sorry, Dorian!"

Dorian Vellius let out a long breath through his nose, the closest he ever came to openly expressing frustration with his junior. He was a tall man, broad-shoulders made broader by his armor, and like pretty much everyone in the Apollo Familia, he was conventionally attractive.

He'd been an adventurer for only a few years, but in that time, he'd learned that overeager newbies were far more dangerous to themselves than any monster the dungeon could throw at them.

"I'm not trying to nag you," he said, softening his tone. "But the floors down below are completely different from the upper levels. The monsters down there are faster, stronger, and there are a lot more of hem. A loose strap could mean the difference between walking out under your own power and being carried out in pieces."

Licia nodded rapidly, her auburn ponytail bobbing behind her. She was nineteen, barely an adult by Orario's standards, and had been with the Apollo Familia for just under a year. In that time, she'd proven herself to be a capable fighter with a sword and a surprisingly quick learner, but she was still green grass as far as he was concerned.

"I understand, Captain," she said, her voice trembling only slightly. "I won't let you down."

Dorian clapped a hand on her shoulder. "I know you won't. That's why I'm bringing you along in the first place."

Their little group was gathered in the main hall of the Apollo Familia's home, a sprawling complex of marble and golden accents that reflected their god's ostentatious tastes. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, illuminating the bustle of preparation.

Besides Dorian and Licia, their party consisted of Marcus, a muscular axeman with hair the color of a hearth's coals, and Cressida, their resident silver-haired mage, whose pack was currently propped against a wall as she sorted through vials.

"Potions are sorted," Cressida announced, holding up a leather satchel that clinked with the sound of glass. "We should be good to work around ten floors or so if we're careful."

"Excellent," Dorian threw a nod the slim woman's way before glancing back. "Marcus?"

The axeman grinned, hefting his weapon onto his shoulder. "I've already checked my pack. Got everything I need."

"Good. Very good." Dorian surveyed his team with a critical eye. They were as prepared as they could be. The excursion to the lower levels had been planned for weeks, with their god's blessing. It was meant to be a proving ground for Licia, a chance for her to cut her teeth on tougher foes under the watchful eyes of veterans.

Normally, Dorian would be against this sort of thing, but he saw potential in the girl. Even if he thought her confidence could use some work.

"Let's get going," he commanded, turning toward the heavy oak doors. The others fell into step behind him, their boots echoing on the marble floors.

The walk to the dungeon entrance was a familiar one. Through the winding streets of the Orario, past the bustling markets and boisterous taverns, toward the great tower of Babel that dominated the skyline. Beneath that tower lay the dungeon, an endless pit of monsters and madness that had existed since time immemorial.

Other adventurers nodded at them as they passed, recognizing the sun emblem on their gear. The Apollo Familia wasn't the strongest in Orario, but they were well known. Even if not always for the right reasons.

They reached the dungeon entrance a short while later, the great archway yawned before them, and beyond it, the first floor stretched into darkness. A handful of other adventurers milled about, some emerging from the depths with tired but triumphant expressions, others steeling themselves before descending.

Dorian took a position near the entrance, watching as his party conducted their final checks. Licia was practically vibrating with nervous energy, her eyes darting between the dark opening and her own trembling hands. Marcus stood confident as ever, his axe resting easily on his shoulder. Cressida hummed quietly to herself as she verified the contents of her potion satchel one last time.

"Alright," Dorian said, rolling his shoulders beneath his armor. "Everyone knows the plan. We stick together, we watch each other's backs, and we don't take unnecessary risks. Remember, the Dungeon is alive, and it hates you."

"Understood, Captain!" Licia snapped off a crisp salute that was entirely too formal for the setting. Marcus just grinned. Cressida nodded.

Dorian turned toward the dungeon entrance, preparing to take his first step into the darkness—

Only to freeze as someone else stumbled out first.

A girl limped from the shadows like a ghost given form. She was small, childish, wearing a strange suit which was partially hidden by a cuirass that had seen better days. Though so had the girl wearing it.

Blood coated the girl like a second skin, some of it from monsters, just as much of it clearly her own. One of her eyes was swollen shut, the skin around it purple and angry, and she walked with a pronounced limp, each step dragging along a boot and leaving a red streak on the cobbler ground.

She clutched a saber in her right hand. The blade was broken about a third of the way down, and her grip on it was loose. Her fingers barely curled around the hilt as if they no longer had the strength to hold on properly.

For a moment, everyone stood frozen. The Apollo Familia, the other adventurers, even those working in the tower who just happened to be passing by.

Then the girl spoke.

"I am..." Her voice was hoarse, scraped raw by what sounded like days of disuse. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I am requesting medical attention. And a soft bed, if one is available."

She took another step forward, her broken saber swinging loosely at her side. Her one good eye swept over them, oddly assessing for someone her age.

"Preferably soon," she added, her tone carrying an almost conversational lightness that made the situation even more surreal. "I believe I have sustained significant blood loss, and I would very much like to avoid losing consciousness before I've been properly treated."

As if her body had been waiting for those words, her remaining strength gave out. Her good eye rolled back, her broken saber slipped from her fingers, and she pitched forward, her small body listing like a sinking ship.

Dorian stepped forward as the girl began to tip over, but Licia was closer.

Without thinking, the young warrior dove forward, her arms outstretched. She caught the girl before she hit the ground, softening the blow at the cost of scuffing her brand new breastplate. The adventurer ignored it as she adjusted her grip, cradling the unconscious form against her chest.

The rest of the group quickly huddled around her. Cressida knelt beside Licia, her hands already digging into her satchel for the healing potions she had packed. Dorian stood over them, his heart still pounding from the sudden adrenaline. He looked at the dungeon entrance, then back at the bloodied girl.

"Well," he said, letting out a long, slow breath. "I think we should probably hold off on that excursion."

---

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