Ichor Cell-Chapter 37: Freedom

Alex half-stumbled, half-ran through the tunnel, his feet crunching painfully over broken roots and chunks of glassy material. The walls still pulsed faintly with violet light, exactly the same as it had on their way in.
‘Hopefully it’s not the only thing that hasn’t changed.’
He muttered a quick prayer as he ran, hoping against hope that his fears were unfounded.
Rounding a corner, he finally caught sight of the cart, and Grenil beside it, gripping a plank of wood tightly.
The old man’s grip tightened at the rapidly approaching footsteps—then his expression relaxed. “Thank the gods—Alex!” He ran forward, grabbing his arm. “Are you—” His voice trailed off as his eyes registered the state of him. “You look like death.”
“I feel worse,” Alex muttered, pulling away. His eyes went immediately to the cart.
Duran lay sprawled across it, pale and still. One arm was missing from the shoulder down. His torso looked like it had been stabbed half a dozen times, then hit by a truck for good measure. Blood had pooled beneath him, staining the wood.
Alex’s stomach dropped.
“...How long’s he been like this?”
“Since he flew in here like a cannonball,” Grenil said quietly. “I tried… checking for a pulse, or breath, but that doesn’t really apply to him, does it? So I’ve just kind of… waited.”
Alex forced himself to breathe. “He’s done this before,” he said, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. “He’ll come back.”
He crouched beside the cart and wiped some of the blood off Duran’s chest. The skin was cold. He threw a glance around, but didn’t find any suitable tools, sighing as he willed his mana into an arm to slice his wrist.
Agony slammed into him.
His stomach turned. His vision spun sideways. He hit the ground on his hands and knees, vomiting red and green bile onto the floor. A ringing filled his ears as pain crawled down his spine like molten metal. His body rebelled against him, every vein throbbing in protest.
He knew this feeling—mana sickness—but this was to his first time what the black plague was to the common cold. That had been a fever. This was a full-body seizure. His thoughts turned to static, his senses blurring under the weight of his own mana circuits tearing at him from the inside.
Grenil was shouting something, distant and muffled. A hand grabbed his shoulder, but even that felt far away.
He gasped for air, the cavern spinning around him, every breath sharp and metallic. The world tilted, then blackened entirely.
When he came to, it was dark. The tunnel had gone silent, the rhythmic hum of the dungeon completely gone.
He was lying on his side near the wall, half-propped on a rolled-up cloth that smelled faintly of wax. His body felt hollow, like something had been scooped out of him. Even blinking made his head spin.
Grenil sat nearby, cross-legged, gnawing on a strip of dried meat. An open bag of rations lay beside him, something he had obviously bought when they stopped by that village. The old man looked up as Alex stirred.
“About time,” he muttered. “You’ve been out nearly three hours. I wasn’t sure if you’d wake up.”
Alex groaned and curled into a tight ball. “I want to die.”
“You already look the part, so not much further to go.” Grenil said dryly, though there was relief under it. “I’m happy you’re okay.”
Alex offered a muffled grunt in response, the four words earlier having drained him.
“I’ll keep watch. You rest.” The old shopkeeper said kindly. “Gods know you deserve it.”
Although he wanted to deny it, the reassurance in the old man’s tone shut Alex up. Reluctantly, he shut his eyes and was lulled back into the realm of dreams.
Waking up for the second time, Alex blearily looked around. He found Grenil resting on a pile of blankets in the corner of the tunnel, keeping an eye in both directions.
“I’m awake.” He sat up slowly, head pounding. “How’s Duran?”
“Good morning.” Grenil nodded toward the cart. “Still the same. Not rotting, at least. Just… not there.”
Alex pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly. His mana channels ached, like inflamed muscles, and every movement threatened to overwhelm him with a fresh wave of nausea. But he could move, and that was enough.
Stumbling over to the cart, he looked at the body occupying it. Just as Grenil said, nothing had changed in the hours he had been out. Only the dried blood covering the cart indicated that any time had passed at all.
He knew that reasonably, he should wait for his symptoms to go away before using any more magic, or at least for his circuits to not be as raw and inflamed as they now were.
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He’d live.
Willing mana down his arm, he was disappointed by the mere trickle the obeyed, compared to the flood it had been during those final moments of the fight.
He glanced toward the deeper tunnel. “You wait here. There’s something I need to do.”
Grenil’s brow furrowed as he got up. “You’re not seriously—”
“Don’t worry.” Alex interrupted. “I’m not planning on fighting anything or doing anything dangerous. I just need to check on something in the boss room.”
With a reluctant look in his eyes, the old man sat back down with a sigh, aware that he wouldn’t be able to stop Alex from doing something if he really wanted to. The best he could do was advise him.
The air grew warmer as Alex descended back toward the cavern. His steps echoed faintly, the smell of plants and new growth getting stronger the closer he got. When the tunnel opened up, the guardian’s corpse still dominated the center of the chamber, an enormous heap of broken limbs and collapsed carapace. The green glow had faded to nothing, but the fluids leaking from its wounds was still clearly visible.
Once he reached it, he crouched by a split section of its abdomen where the blood pooled in a thick puddle. It smelled herbal and earthy, and power hummed just beneath the surface.
Plunging his hand into the fluid, Alex shivered at the slightly slimy sensation traveling up his arm. He hadn’t noticed in the heat of the moment, but this blood had a really nasty texture.
Suppressing his revulsion, he scooped up a handful of the liquid, letting out a quick breath before pouring it into his mouth.
Having already tasted it already, he was expecting the refreshing, somewhat grasslike flavour of the blood. However, the hours that had passed since the guardian died didn’t leave it unaffected.
Alex suppressed a shiver as the cold, slightly congealed blood made its way down his throat, forcing himself to not gag. When it settled in his stomach, he frowned.
When it was fresh, a mouthful like the one he’d just had would have given him a noticeable boost of energy. Now, however… Alex squinted, trying to sense the faint spark of energy he had extracted from the fluid.
‘That’s it?’
He sighed disappointedly.
Looking at the remaining puddle of blood and the now cold corpse, he sighed again, this time in disgust.
‘Well, best get to it.’
He cupped both hands, scooping up more of the lukewarm liquid. Each swallow made his stomach twist, but he didn’t stop until the faint hum in his chest became a steady, pulsing throb. His vision wavered at the edges—doing this right after a bout of mana sickness was probably not the greatest idea—but he was unwilling to let Duran stay dead any longer than necessary.
“Good enough,” he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
The walk back felt longer than before. Every step sent a faint pulse of nausea through him, but he kept his pace steady. The tunnel’s faint violet light shimmered in a constant, almost soothing manner, though it also gave him a headache.
Grenil looked up as Alex stumbled into view. “You look worse than when you left.”
Alex ignored him, moving straight to the cart. He split his wrist open with a thought, dark blood flowing freely. The faint shimmer of mana returned to it, weak but visible. He tilted the arm so it dripped between Duran’s lips.
“Come on,” he said quietly.
At first, nothing happened. The blood pooled at the corner of Duran’s mouth and ran down his cheek. Then, just as Alex was about to run out of mana, Duran’s fingers twitched. His chest rose once, sharply, then again. A faint, rasping sound escaped his throat as his eyes flickered open.
“...Alex?”
Alex exhaled and collapsed backwards, his head swimming. “Yeah. Still alive. Barely.”
Duran blinked several times, eyes darting around the cavern. “Where…?”
“You died. Again,” Alex said flatly. “Guardian’s dead too.”
The man frowned faintly, his expression muddled. “Right. The spider… I remember watching the fight, seeing you in danger, and then I was suddenly filled with so much
strength
.”
“Yeah, I was gonna ask about that.” Alex interrupted from his place on the floor. “Why were you on fire, and why did you hit the thing harder than I did?”
“They just… appeared. I didn’t do anything special, I was just suddenly moving faster than I ever have. Stronger too. Felt like I could do anything.” He stared down bitterly at his remaining arm. “What a misconception that was.”
Grenil rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Sounds like some kind of last resort function. A failsafe that burns through all your mana in exchange for power. That’s why you died again when it ended.”
Duran gave a weary chuckle. “So I can trade my life for five minutes of glory. Figures.”
Alex didn’t smile. He had shifted to staring at the wounds. The missing arm. The deep punctures in Duran’s torso that hadn’t closed. Even with his mana flowing through him, the damage hadn’t improved at all.
“You’re not healing.” He suddenly said.
Duran glanced down at his chest. “I’m surprised to be alive. It would be a shock if I could magically heal this too.”
“But you used to be able to,” Alex said quietly. “Slowly, but you did.”
“Guess some injuries are unhealable.” Duran flexed his remaining hand, expression unreadable. "I'm guessing it has something to do with the flames."
Alex’s eyes narrowed.
Grenil nodded. “Most likely. From what I know, last resort abilities like that always come with drawbacks. We thought yours was “death”, but maybe it’s the fact that any damage you take in that state is permanent.”
Alex chose not to question why the old man knew so much about these things, just like he hadn’t questioned him the past dozen times. He would tell them if he thought it relevant. Until then, the old man could keep his privacy.
“So, it’s not a free power up, I need to be careful when I use it.” Duran shrugged. “At the same time, if it comes to the point where it’s needed, there’s not really much choice.”
Grenil looked between them, then cleared his throat. “Well, dwelling on it won’t help. Let’s get out of here. I’m running low on food, and I don’t want to see whether the dungeon will attract another monstrosity to replace this one.”
Alex nodded and rose stiffly to his feet, swaying slightly. His mana channels still burned, but he pushed the discomfort down. “Let’s go.”
When they emerged from the tunnel, the guardian’s body lay in the same position—a colossal, broken carcass, its chitin dulled to a grey-green shell.
Grenil gestured ahead. “There.”
Amid the wreckage sat the boot, its purple and black form somehow unmoved from the start of the fight. When they got closer, they realised that its form was embedded into the glass, maybe even fused with the material.
Alex crouched beside it. “So this is the core. You said if we move it, the dungeon might go away?”
“That’s what I heard.” Grenil confirmed. “The other possibility is that we need to destroy it, but that seems less likely.”
“Only one way to know.”
Alex grabbed hold of the boot. With a heave, he broke it free of the glass encasing its base. The air shifted, the faint buzzing he had felt since they entered rising into a deep, resonant thrum that seemed to vibrate through the stone itself.
“Wait—!” Duran seemed to suddenly realise something and stretched out his hand, but it was too late; the core had been lifted, the mana focus of the dungeon had shifted, and the spatial boundary disintegrated, letting the outside world in.