The Archetype | Rimuru Tempest x TBATE

The descent into darkness felt endless. Arthur's boots splashed through ankle-deep water, each step echoing off ancient stones that hadn't seen light in centuries. The fire hovering above his palm cast wild shadows across the walls of the Widow's Crypt's bottommost floor.

Everything had gone wrong so quickly.

What should have been a routine class expedition had turned into chaos when the mana beasts suddenly went berserk, forcing an evacuation. Then the cave-in that separated him from the others, leaving him no choice but to descend deeper into the dungeon's bowels.

The air grew colder as he continued downward, carrying with it a metallic tang that made his stomach turn. The familiar scent of blood, but there was something else—something wrong about it that set his teeth on edge.

When he reached the final chamber, his flame revealed a scene that would haunt him for the rest of his days.

Bodies.

Dozens of them.

The remains of what appeared to be an elite military unit, their armor bearing the insignia of Dicathen's special forces. They were impaled on massive black spikes that seemed to drink in the light of his fire, creating patches of absolute darkness where they pierced flesh and stone.

The spikes emerged from the ground and walls at impossible angles, as if the world itself had been violated. Blood had pooled and congealed around their bases, creating dark mirrors that reflected his horrified face back at him. But it was the figure slumped against the far wall that made his heart stop.

"Lance... Alea?"

She was barely recognizable. All four limbs had been severed with brutal precision, the wounds cauterized as if to ensure a slow death. Where proud eyes once shone with determination, there were now only empty sockets, dark trails of dried blood marking her cheeks like macabre tears. A black spike, larger than the others, protruded from her chest, pinning her to the wall like a grotesque butterfly in a collector's display.

Arthur took a stumbling step forward, his mind refusing to process what he was seeing. Lance Alea—one of the most powerful warriors of Dicathen—reduced to... this. The implications were terrifying.

But then—movement. The slightest rise and fall of her chest.

"She's still alive," he breathed, rushing forward through the bloody water. "Lance Alea! Hold on!"

"W-who? Is that you…? A...Arthur?" Her voice was barely a whisper, each word clearly causing her agony. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth as she spoke. "You... shouldn't be here..."

"Don't speak," Arthur said, hands hovering helplessly over her ravaged form. "I'll get help. I'll-"

"No time." Her ruined face turned toward him, empty sockets somehow finding his eyes. "Listen... must show you... what happened."

Before Arthur could protest, her remaining mana surged into him. The world tilted, blurred, and suddenly he was seeing through her eyes, experiencing her final moments:

The elite squad had tracked unusual mana signatures to the crypt.

They'd been prepared for combat, but not for... this.

Not for the way space itself seemed to tear open, disgorging something that shouldn't exist in.

The screams of her men as the black spikes erupted through their bodies.

The horrifying precision with which she was dismembered, each limb removed slowly, methodically...

And the cause of it all…

Horned.

Inhuman.

Menacing.

Smiling.

Enjoying.

Utterly malevolent.

"Stop," Arthur choked out, but the memories continued:

"Why?" she had asked her torturer through the haze of pain.

"To send a message," came the reply, followed by the agonizing sensation of her eyes being...

The memory cut off abruptly as Alea coughed, more blood spattering across her chest.

"Rimuru," she whispered, and now there were tears mixing with the blood on her face. "I wanted... to see him... one last time..."

"He'll come," Arthur promised, though he had no way of knowing if it was true. "Just hold on-"

"Tell him... I'm sorry." Her voice grew fainter. "Sorry I won't... be there... to watch the cherry blossoms... like we promised..."

A tremor ran through her broken body. "I don't... want to die. Not like this. Not alone." Her next words were barely audible: "I'm scared, Arthur. I'm so scared..."

A sound like thunder split the air.

The ground shook. A distant rumble grew into a deafening roar as something plummeted through layer after layer of solid rock. Each impact sent shockwaves through the crypt, the black spikes vibrating in resonance. A trail of superheated air followed the thing's descent, turning the chamber into an inferno.

"He's here," Alea whispered, a broken smile forming on her face. "Ri...mu...ru..." Alea's final word was barely a breath.

Her chest stilled. The last traces of mana faded from her body.

She was gone.

The ceiling exploded inward as Rimuru Tempest landed with the force of a meteor, cratering the floor. The impact should have deafened Arthur, but an oppressive silence fell instead, as if sound itself was being devoured by what came next.

Arthur watched as Rimuru straightened, his normally cheerful face gone as he took in the scene before him. When his gaze fell on Alea, there was no outcry of grief, no explosion of rage. Just... nothing. A void deeper than the wounds in her body opened in Rimuru's eyes, swallowing all light and warmth.

"Alea." Rimuru's voice was eerily calm as he walked forward, each step leaving crystallized footprints in the bloody water. "My friend."

He reached out to touch her face with gentle fingers, the gesture so tender it made Arthur's chest ache. For a moment, it was possible to pretend she was just sleeping, that this was all some terrible dream.

"They took their time with you," Rimuru said, still in that terrible, empty voice. His fingers traced the precise cuts, the calculated cruelty of her wounds. "They wanted you to suffer. Wanted you to be found like this."

A change came over Rimuru then. The void in his eyes didn't fill with rage or sorrow—it grew. Expanded. Became something hungry and vast and cold.

"They wanted to send a message."

His hand fell from Alea's face.

"Message received."

The temperature in the chamber plummeted. Frost began creeping across the black spikes, across the bodies, across Alea's too-still form. The bloody water at their feet turned to ice, trapping their reflections in crimson crystal.

Arthur found himself backing away, every instinct screaming at him to run. This wasn't grief he was witnessing. This was something far worse—the death of mercy itself.

"Arthur." Rimuru's voice stopped him in his tracks. "The memory she showed you. Did she suffer long?"

Arthur swallowed hard. "Yes."

"I see." A pause. "Was she afraid?"

"...She was scared of dying alone. She wanted to see you one last time." Arthur's voice cracked. "She mentioned... cherry blossoms. A promise."

Something flared in those empty eyes—the briefest flash of agony before the void swallowed it whole. "Spring. We were going to watch them bloom in spring."

Rimuru turned back to Alea's body, reaching out to close her empty eye sockets with gentle fingers.

"Rest now, my friend. I'll take care of everything."

The temperature dropped even further. Ice crystals formed in the air, sparkling like deadly stars in the dim light. When Rimuru spoke again, his voice carried the weight of an eternal oath:

"I'm going to find who did this, Alea. Every single one of them. And when I do..." The air itself seemed to shudder. "I'll teach them that what they did to you was mercy compared to what awaits them."

The shadows in the chamber deepened, writhing like living things. Arthur felt an ancient, primal fear grip his heart—the instinctive terror of prey in the presence of something far deadlier than any predator.

A demon lord.

An archetype of darkness.

Of storms.

A god.

"Go," Rimuru said softly, not turning around. "You shouldn't see what comes next."

Arthur fled up the stairs, his feet splashing through water that was rapidly turning to ice. Behind him, he could feel the temperature continuing to drop, hear the creaking of ancient stone as frost penetrated deeper and deeper.

He had no idea how Rimuru was able to manipulate ice but he didn't want to dwell any longer to find out.

Just before he reached the upper level, he heard it—a broken sound. Not a scream of rage or a cry of grief, but a quiet, broken whisper that somehow carried through the entire crypt.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here, Alea. I'm sorry I failed you."

Then came a sound like glass shattering, followed by absolute silence.

When the rescue teams finally arrived hours later, they found the entire bottom level of the Widow's Crypt frozen solid. The bodies, the blood, even the black spikes—all preserved in crystal-clear ice that refused to melt. At the center of it all, Alea's body had been encased in a coffin of pure ice, her wounds covered by a shroud of frost flowers.

Rimuru was gone, leaving nothing behind but frozen tears and a promise of vengeance that seemed to echo in the chamber's deadly silence. And in a forcefully carved space, an underground garden of cherry blossoms bloomed eternally in ice, preserving a promise that could never be fulfilled.

◇◇◇

HOPEFUL: By Alea Triscan

The ascent into light felt eternal. Every step took me closer to warmth, to the promise of life beyond the crypt's oppressive cold. My thoughts were wild with emotions, but amidst the chaos, there was one constant—Rimuru.

I always thought it was unfair. That it was too good to be true. I mean, you were like a hero straight out of a fairy tale. Your dazzling azure radiance was just too breathtaking. And you always appeared so solid and reliable.

Even now, as the last of my strength fades, I can feel you. You, the one who always found my vulnerabilities and yet never made me feel ashamed. You reassured me in ways I couldn't express—your presence like a gentle spring breeze, like the cool shade of a tree on a summer's day. You were the crispness of winter mornings and the wistful beauty of autumn twilights.

To me, you were both bitter and sweet. A complex enigma I couldn't begin to solve. You pulled away the insecurities I buried beneath my practiced strength, forcing me to confront myself. I hated that about you—and yet, I loved it, too.

Even now, lying here, I don't feel the terror I expected. Because you're here with me. Not in body—though I know you'll come—but in the memory of your smile, the way your eyes shone with kindness even in the face of despair. That kindness was never meant for me alone, but it felt special, as if you'd saved a piece of yourself just for me.

I don't want to die. Not like this. Not alone. I want to see you again, to hear your laugh echoing through the cherry blossoms we were supposed to visit in spring. The thought of you under their soft, pink petals fills me with warmth, even as the cold bites deeper into my flesh.

But if this is the end, I won't let it be hopeless. I won't let the darkness take everything. I'll hold onto you, even in my final breath. Because you are Rimuru.

And if there's a chance, no matter how small, to see you again… then I'll wait. Beyond this life, beyond anything else. I'll wait where the cherry blossoms bloom, where the spring winds carry your name.

And when you arrive, Rimuru, I'll thank you. For all of it. For being you. For everything you were to me.

So please… promise me. Keep being the light that others can follow.

Keep being the hope that you gave to me.

Until we meet again, my best friend.