"There are two items that I want you to acquire," the man stated, "If you give them to me, I will help you get out of this place."

"Straight to the point, huh? Then I guess I should do the same. Since it's clear that you've been here much longer than me, why can't you get the items yourself?" Kieran countered, narrowing his eyes.

Of course he would be suspicious. After fighting him, he knew how powerful the man was. If there was an item that he couldn't get, what was stopping him?

He also didn't miss the fact that the object was an item and not an Artifact.

"There have been... certain restrictions placed on me to prevent me from obtaining the item myself."

How vague.

"Care to elaborate?"

"It's a personal matter, so I'm afraid I cannot tell you." The man smiled in mock pity. "Quite unfortunate, really."

"If you're not going to tell me what I'm getting myself into, why should I help you?" Kieran asked suspiciously, pressing his dagger harder across the other's neck for the extra effect.

"Don't get too ahead of yourself," the man warned, wrapping a hand around Kieran's wrist. His rough palm brought forth a dangerous chill. "Don't you want to get out of this place?"

"I can find the exit myself," Kieran retorted.

"You can try, but you won't be able to fend off the horde of demons chasing you at every step," the man stated it like a fact. "We both know you only stumbled here through pure luck."

"And you're telling me that you could fight all those demons?" Kieran asked, giving him a deadpan look. With their giant mass in number, even the most skilled fighter would get overwhelmed.

"Of course."

Bullshit.

"How can you say that so confidently when you can't even kill a single person?" Kieran challenged, raising an eyebrow.

The man's eyebrow twitched. "Please, you're only alive because of your Skill and those petty little tricks."

"Of course I would use everything in my disposal for combat. What did you expect me to do, fight like an idiot and wait for my death?"

The man scowled. "Either way, you won't be able to leave this place without me. Try as you might but you will never find the way out."

Well isn't that fucking great.

"Admit it," the man drawled, a calculating glint in his eyes. He took a step forward, his gaze locking Kieran into place, carefully gauging his reaction. "You have to accept my deal, whether you like it or not."

Kieran's instincts screamed at him, his fight or flight response activating as he sensed the unmistakable danger surrounding the other. But still, he refused to back away, refused to show any weakness, and instead matched his step, taking on the silent challenge.

"I'll accept your deal if you tell me where the bronze key goes as well."

"Oh? Bargaining, aren't we?" the man chuckled in a low, husky voice."How interesting."

He circled Kieran with an analyzing gaze, his eyes dripping with amusement. Following the man's movements, Kieran tightened the grip on his daggers, adrenaline coursing through his body as he braced himself for what's to come.

"Very well. I shall agree to your request." The voice sounded directly behind him, the warm breath brushing against his ear. "I hope you're happy with getting the shorter end of the stick."

Kieran stiffened and whirled around, holding his dagger up defensively in front of his chest. The man chuckled once again, ignoring the weapon completely.

"Then let us form the contract," he continued, "any violation of our deal will result in your death."

"...My death?" Kieran repeated warily.

Why the fuck was everyone so interested in his death?

Oh, wait.

Why the fuck was everyone so much more interested in his death than usual?

"Yes," the other responded, his tone holding an hidden edge. "Or are you not confident in your abilities?"

Please.

"I am very confident," Kieran replied, "I'm just worried that you're the one who's lying, considering the fact that you're still here despite knowing a way to leave."

"I told you, I am under a restriction." The man narrowed his eyes in annoyance. "I will be able to leave once you bring me my item." He held out his hand. "Shall we shake on it?"

They shook hands, and Kieran had to suppress his urge to shiver. He hadn't noticed it before but the larger, callused hand enveloped Kieran's completely and it was so fucking cold.

Seriously, was this guy some sort of iceberg?

Distracted by the frigidness of the other's temperature, it took a while for Kieran to notice that one of the tattoos on the man's body was actually moving. The dark string of unknown symbols slithered down the man's arm and onto their clasped hands, startling Kieran as he tried to yank his hand away.

"Relax," the other told him, tightening his hold, "this is just a precaution to make sure you uphold your part of our deal."

"You never told me anything about this," Kieran gritted, his temper rising.

"Would you have agreed if I did?"

Of course not.

The black string of text settled down on Kieran's forearm, circling around it like a band.

He froze. He had never seen any contracts like this that didn't involve using a Skill. But as he saw the bastard in front of him looking at his expectantly, as if waiting for him to lose his cool, Kieran swallowed whatever retort he had planned to say and relaxed his facial expression into a controlled calmness.

"I won't be dying today, or any day, for that matter," he responded, rubbing at the inky symbols on his arm. "But I truly wish you could change the design. It doesn't match my style."

"You have a style?" The man inquired, unimpressed as he swept his gaze across Kieran's torn shirt and blood-splattered shoes.

"Well, I did, but then shit happened," Kieran explained, shrugging apologetically. "I happen to be a very popular man."

"Well then, despite your unsightly garments, I'll be looking forward to your performance," the man replied. He squeezed Kieran's hand before letting go, his thumb brushing against the back of his skin.

"By the way, I don't think I've ever caught your name," he started, quirking his lips into a dry smile. "I'm Kieran Reviraz."

"Daemon."

Seriously? Daemon?

"Say, could you be related to our demonic friends waiting outside the cave?"

"Take a guess."

Not waiting for Kieran's response, Daemon turned and gestured for him to follow with a tilt of his head.

"Come along, now. I would hate for you to get lost."

As they walked, Kieran couldn't help but notice the soundlessness of the other's footsteps. Despite his tall structure, Daemon's footsteps were light and so quiet that if he wasn't able to see the figure walking briskly ahead of him, he would have thought he was walking alone.

No wonder he was able to sneak up on him.

Suddenly feeling competitive, Kieran quieted his own strides, matching his pace as they walked together like a pair of ghosts in the night.

It was clear that Daemon was familiar with this place, judging by the fact that he knew exactly where to go. As he followed, Kieran made sure to count his footsteps, memorizing all the turns they had taken.

"I have a question," Kieran started, deciding to break the silence.

"Ask away."

"What exactly is this place?"

Daemon's footsteps paused, just for a millisecond, before continuing on like nothing never happened. "A fragment of the past."

Well, wasn't that vague as fuck.

"Then why did I come here?" he probed, hoping to squeeze out as much information as he could.

"The same reason as the others before you," Daemon replied.

"Others?" Kieran repeated, "what happened to them?"

"They died."

Kieran paused. "Did you kill them?"

"No," Daemon responded, "they were already dead when I found them." He gave Kieran a sideways glance. "There aren't many who can survive in this environment."

Holding up a hand, Daemon gestured for him to stop. Before them was the black mist again, parting slightly  to reveal a narrow path fit for only one person.

"In front of us is the area where the item is located. I will not be able to move forward from this point, so you will have to go by yourself."

So here it is.

"Give me the bronze key," Daemon said, holding out his hand.

"Why?" Kieran asked guardedly, reflectively taking a step back.

"So I can make sure that you won't run away with my item."

"Isn't having the tattoo enough?" Kieran argued.

"One can never be too careful."

Touché.

"Fine, then," Kieran relented. If they wanted to work together, they needed to build trust. Placing his hand on his tattoo, he willed the bronze key to reappear and placed it to Daemon's outstretched hand.

"Is there anything I should keep in mind?" Kieran asked.

"Stay away from the black mist."

What shitty advice.

"I would have never thought. Have you ever considered becoming a professional strategist?"

Daemon scowled, but before he could utter a reply, Kieran flipped him off and stepped onto the path. In an instant, the black mist surrounded him, blocking the way behind him.

Looks like he had no choice but to move forward.

Walking along the narrow path, he ignored the way the mist seemed to swirl around him, as if trying to lead him off course and into the darkness that stretched beyond.

And that was when he heard it.

That voice.

The voice that had haunted Kieran's dreams every night, whispering frantically to him, telling him to run, hide, and find a safe place far, far away, away from all the chaos, away from his world burning to the ground.

He whirled around, and he could have sworn he saw two familiar silhouettes standing in front of him, beckoning him forward.

"Come home, Kieran. We miss you."

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but when he opened them again, he was no longer on the path. Instead, he was in his old house, the one that he had lived in when he was still a child. The light clanging of pans echoed from the kitchen, followed by the faint beeping sound of an oven. Moments later, he was able to smell the rich aroma of freshly baked cookies as a soft pattering of footsteps moved towards him.

"Come into the kitchen, my star," the familiar voice continued. "We made your favorite cookies."

The familiar nickname, paired with the soft-spoken voice was so full of warmth, so alive, that it brought back all the memories he had tried to suppress in the favor of his training, rendering his thoughts into a blurry haze.

He wanted nothing more than to run to the direction of the voice, to get lost in a fantasy that he never wanted to wake up from, to be finally reunited with them after all these excruciating years.

It would've been so, so easy.

But he couldn't.

He couldn't.

Because they were dead.

She was dead.

He had witnessed it with his own eyes, burned it into his memories, seared it into is brain.

It was all just an illusion.

He refused to fall victim to these little mind games, not after everything he had been through.

As if reading his thoughts, the scene began to dissipate, revealing the narrow path he had been walking on just moments before. Picking up the pace, Kieran began to run at a slow jog, wanting to find the item and get out as soon as possible.

But before he could get very far, the mist suddenly distorted, rushing frantically towards him. Breaking into a sprint, he bolted across the path, feeling an icy coldness on his back as the mist slowly caught up to him little by little.

Squinting ahead, Kieran was able to spot a small red dot glowing in the distance. He ran towards it with a new burst of speed, feeling the black mist behind him grow even closer. It wrapped around his limbs, trying to pull him back.

He threw himself at the glowing object while the mist encircled him even further. His hand closed around the small, glowing item, and the mist disappeared the second he made contact.

He fell to the ground, dropping into a roll and getting back onto his feet.

Opening his palm, Kieran stared at the item that had made him go through all this trouble. His eyes widened and he gave a look of disbelief.

It was a broken Skill core?

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Author's note:

Thank you for reading chapter seven! It's a bit lengthier than the other chapters but I hope you liked it! In this chapter, we get our first glimpse into Kieran's past. What do you think? Any comments are appreciated!

If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider voting! ♥