Chapter Ten: Mind Eater

A dazzling bolt of lightning tore through the darkness, striking the wall with a thunderous, deafening crash. For a moment, fragments of stone rained down, and even the darkness itself seemed to cower and retreat from the brilliant flare, as piercing, anguished shrieks burst forth, echoing along the narrow corridor.

Yet Zane paid no heed. He let the crackling arc of lightning flicker and vanish across the back of his hand, then raised his right hand again. At his command, a roaring blaze surged forward along the ground, its scorching heat and jets of flame erupting to illuminate the pitch-black void before him.

It lasted only an instant, but Zane’s sharp gaze caught the fleeting shadow of a tentacle recoiling from the flames. He uttered no word, simply gesturing in that direction. In response, Enoia sprang forward, her lightning whip lashing out mercilessly.

A thunderous boom resounded as the lightning whip struck the ceiling, dazzling white light and crackling electricity ensnaring the lurking creature. Zane watched as it trembled, shrouded in arcs of current upon the ceiling. But in the next moment, the shadowy monster broke free, shrieking as it fled deeper into the passage.

“We’re pursuing it. It won’t get far,” Zane said calmly. He was not surprised; most subterranean creatures possessed resistance to magic, which explained why so few surface adventurers dared venture here. The spells of ordinary wizards were mere child’s play to the denizens of the depths, and the truly powerful spellcasters would never waste their talents risking their lives in such a forsaken place.

Though Zane currently wielded only two spells, his royal demonic bloodline and relentless magical study meant their power rivaled that of high-level wizards on the surface. Even so, they only managed to paralyze the shadow beast for a fleeting moment—a testament to the formidable magic resistance of creatures below ground.

But Zane was unconcerned; with the dungeon system at his command, he enjoyed an almost inexhaustible supply of magical power. The Dungeon Heart was not only the system’s core, but also an endless wellspring of energy for him. To put it in numbers, each spell cost Zane at most thirty mana points; alternating both would only require sixty. Meanwhile, the Dungeon Heart restored a hundred mana points per second, with that rate rising as the dungeon’s level increased. This meant Zane could perpetually cast his spells without ever fearing depletion.

Moreover, after years in the demon realm, Zane had immersed himself in the study of arcane lore. He knew his weaknesses well, and how to compensate for them. Though limited by his “level” and unable to unleash more powerful spells, this apparent setback had yielded an unexpected gain. Through it, Zane mastered a unique technique: he could manipulate any spell within his grasp, directing its effects at will, unlike ordinary wizards who lost control once a spell was cast.

This was Zane’s greatest asset, the source of his confidence as he strode boldly through the pitch-black cavern, closing in on the monster. In sheer magical onslaught, Zane now unleashed a barrage rivaling three or four high-level wizards combined, yet he remained composed and unhurried.

Such saturation attacks were certainly resource-intensive, but their results were immediate and decisive.

At first, the shadow beast had tried to exhaust Zane’s spells, hoping to ambush him when he faltered. But soon, overwhelmed by Zane’s relentless bombardment, it was forced to retreat.

Zane was not without flaws in his assault, but his loyal lieutenant covered every gap seamlessly. Enoia’s lightning whip sealed off any vulnerabilities, and she pressed the attack exactly as Zane willed.

As an undead, Enoia never feared attack or control. The girl who appeared the picture of sheltered nobility now fought with the ferocity and recklessness of a drunken dwarf. She cared nothing for her own safety; for Enoia, as a lieutenant, obedience to her master’s command was her sole purpose.

Under the combined assault of Zane and Enoia, the monster was battered and desperate. The gray dwarves it controlled were held at bay by Wilna and her squad, cut off from any hope of recall. Though the monster tried to evade pursuit, the omnipresent banshees always tracked it by the scent of life, driving it from one hiding place to another.

This game of cat and mouse went on for some time. At first, the shadow beast hoped the labyrinthine tunnels and the chase itself would wear down its pursuers, but its plan proved futile. Enoia, as a deathless, knew neither fatigue nor rest, and Zane, though a demon, possessed a constitution far surpassing even the mightiest creatures of the Underdark.

This, in part, was why demons were supreme rulers of the shadowed realms.

“It’s run out of places to hide,” Zane remarked, as they forced the monster to flee again. In truth, it was expending far more energy than it had anticipated—not only dodging Zane and Enoia’s attacks, but also constantly watching for the banshees springing from the stone, leaving it harried and exhausted.

If Zane truly wished to destroy it, he could have done so with ease: paralyze the beast and send in his banshee guards to extract its soul. But he refrained, for the mission’s instructions were clear as day.

“Seeking treasure? The monster has hidden it where sunlight will never reach. Destroy the shadow beast and claim the reward that is rightfully yours.”

The system’s quests always carried a peculiar cadence, but that was part of the game’s charm. Sifting through these almost poetic clues for hidden hints was a test of wit—any line might conceal secrets beyond imagination.

And so it was that, turning another corner with Enoia, Zane and his companion found the shadowy creature at last.

It clung to the wall like a spider, arms splayed wide. Around it, clusters of wild, weed-like magic crystals grew, their gentle radiance illuminating the depths of the tunnel. The light of these crystals blended with the glow of fungi on the ceiling, creating a unique, subterranean beauty.

Yet it was not the eerie beauty that caught the eye, but the monstrous being floating in the air.

It stood over five meters tall, dominated by a massive, exposed brain that formed the bulk of its body. At the front of this “brain” was a sharp, parrot-like beak. Ten tentacles dangled beneath it, and it hovered there in the air, resembling a giant jellyfish.

The earlier monster now crouched obediently nearby, snarling at the intruders like a guard dog.

A Mind Devourer!

At the sight of it, Zane immediately recognized its true nature. In the Underdark, Mind Devourers were second only to Mind Flayers in infamy. They lurked in shadow, silently snaring solitary prey with their tentacles, feasting on brains, then injecting a fluid into the empty skulls to create the most loyal of thralls.

Just like that pitiful cur beside it.

Zane was now certain—the hapless gray dwarves had unwittingly opened the sealed chamber and awakened the sleeping Mind Devourer. Presented with such a feast, the creature had not hesitated. No wonder this tomb appeared so simple; it was likely a trap all along, designed to lure in greedy tomb robbers.

All denizens of the Underdark were fiercely territorial. Here, any trespasser could expect swift execution; mercy was a sign of weakness. From earlier events, those terrorclaws must have been the Mind Devourer’s original sentinels, explaining how it had wiped out a well-armed band of dwarves in silence.

Originally, the Mind Devourer had hoped to repeat its trick on Wilna, but had not anticipated the presence of a powerful spellcaster—thus landing itself in its current predicament.

Yet, for both sides, the past was of little consequence.

“Attack!” Zane commanded with barely a glance at the Mind Devourer. He quickly traced several sigils in the air, and a radiant crimson glow flared forth. In an instant, a ball of fire materialized before him, bursting apart with a roar into three serpentine flames, which lunged at the Mind Devourer with gaping, fanged maws.

Lightning and paralysis were useless against such a foe; only fire could truly threaten it.

The Mind Devourer was startled by the sudden assault but reacted swiftly. As the fire serpents darted toward it, the creature opened its beak in a piercing screech. The air before it shimmered, and a transparent force barrier sprang up, seeking to ward off Zane’s attack.

But it was not to be so simple. Zane, after years in the demon realm, had learned much—how to shape his magic, how to elicit the precise effect in the precise place. Seeing the force barrier rise, Zane remained composed, focusing on the monstrous foe as he spread his right fingers wide.

At his gesture, the three fiery serpents split apart as if receiving some secret command. Slithering like living things, they curled around the invisible barrier and crashed into the Mind Devourer’s massive form.

Flames erupted, raging across its flesh. The Mind Devourer writhed in agony, thrashing its tentacles and striking out at everything nearby. Its gaping beak released a deathly howl, the sound waves condensing into a rotary drill of force that hurtled toward Zane.

But Zane was no fool; the moment he unleashed the flames, he shifted his stance, dodging the deadly sonic assault. At the same time, the shadow beast, desperate to protect its master, lunged at Zane once more—but before it could reach him, Enoia’s whip flung it hard against the wall, where it lay motionless.

The infernal fire had dealt grievous harm to the Mind Devourer, but not enough to destroy it. Now it began to retreat, its tentacles plunging deep into the ground. The earth swelled, and from it emerged hulking Terrorclaws, summoned by their master.

So these were the Mind Devourer’s true guardians.

For Zane, though, the Terrorclaws were formidable but ultimately irrelevant—bereft of their brains, they were but puppets. Destroy the Mind Devourer, and its thralls would fall with it.

With that thought, Zane adjusted his glasses and, through his psychic link, gave the swift command.

In the next instant, amid a chilling banshee’s scream, the ghostly forms of the banshees materialized, lunging at the monstrous prey before them.