Art Trade: Shantae and the Enslaving Eye

Shantae and the Enslaving Eye

In the heart of Scuttle Town, the sun dipped low, casting a golden glow over the bustling streets. Vendors called out their wares, the aroma of fresh bread and sizzling kabobs filling the air, as children darted between stalls, laughter echoing like music. Shantae strolled through the marketplace, her signature purple ponytail swaying with each step. She waved to familiar faces, her infectious smile lighting up the already vibrant town.

As she approached her uncle Mimic's workshop, she noticed the usual hum of activity was absent. The door, usually ajar, was slightly askew, creaking softly in the evening breeze. Concern prickled at the edges of her thoughts. Pushing the door open, she found her uncle hunched over his workbench, surrounded by scrolls, old tomes, and odd trinkets. A single, dim lamp cast flickering shadows across the room.

“Uncle, is everything okay?” Shantae asked, stepping inside.

Mimic glanced up, his face lined with worry. He gestured her closer. “Ah, Shantae. Just the person I needed. We’ve got a serious situation on our hands.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “What’s wrong?”

He unfurled a yellowed parchment, revealing a sketch of a sinister artifact: an amulet shaped like an eye, the pupil depicted as an inky black void. Dark tendrils of energy radiated from the design, as if the artifact were alive even on paper.

“This is the Enslaving Eye,” Mimic began, his tone grave. “A relic from ancient times. Legend says anyone who gazes upon it becomes a thrall to its will, their thoughts and desires completely overtaken. It’s one of the most dangerous artifacts ever created.”

Shantae leaned closer, her brows furrowing. “Why would someone make something like that?”

Mimic shook his head. “The reasons are lost to time. Power, control, fear—the usual motivations for such horrors. The artifact was thought to be destroyed centuries ago, but reports suggest it has resurfaced in the Lost Catacombs beyond the Whispering Woods.”

Shantae crossed her arms. “And you want me to retrieve it?”

“Yes,” Mimic said, nodding solemnly. “The Relic Hunters’ Society believes you’re our best hope. Being half-genie, you may have a natural resistance to its effects. But—” he paused, his gaze heavy with concern—“you must be cautious. Even your genie heritage might not offer complete immunity. This is not a mission to take lightly.”

Shantae squared her shoulders. “Don’t worry, Uncle. I’ll be careful. I won’t let anything happen to me.”

Mimic gave her a small smile. “I know you won’t. Just remember: trust your instincts, and whatever you do, avoid looking directly at the artifact.”

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The journey to the Whispering Woods began early the next morning. Shantae packed essentials: a water pouch, a few healing potions, and a reflective shard Mimic insisted she carry for emergencies. The woods, thick with ancient trees and tangled roots, seemed to hum with an eerie energy. Though she had passed through these woods before, they felt different this time—darker, quieter, as if the forest itself held its breath.

As she approached the entrance to the Lost Catacombs, an ominous wind rustled through the trees. The air turned cold, and the heavy stone door of the catacombs loomed before her. Carvings of forgotten runes adorned its surface, and the faint sound of whispers seemed to emanate from within. Shantae took a deep breath, steadying her nerves, and pushed the door open. The hinges groaned as stale air rushed out to greet her.

The interior of the catacombs was a labyrinth of crumbling stone walls and shadowy corridors. Torch sconces lined the walls, their flames flickering weakly, casting just enough light to navigate. Shantae summoned a small orb of light magic, letting it hover above her palm as she ventured deeper. The symbols and murals etched into the walls depicted scenes of despair: figures bound in chains, their eyes glowing with an unnatural light, bowing before a central figure clutching the Enslaving Eye.

“Charming place,” Shantae muttered, her voice echoing softly in the oppressive silence.

After what felt like hours of navigating traps and collapsing passageways, she reached a vast chamber. At its center stood a pedestal, and atop it rested the Enslaving Eye. Even from a distance, the artifact radiated an aura of malevolence. Its surface seemed to pulse faintly, as though it were alive, and its single, unblinking eye swirled with dark energy.

Shantae’s breath caught. The pull of the artifact was almost tangible, like an invisible hand reaching out to her mind. She tore her gaze away, fixing her eyes on the pedestal instead.

“Alright,” she murmured, “time to end this.”

She approached cautiously, summoning her magic to create a barrier around the artifact. As the glowing energy enveloped it, the chamber trembled. A low, guttural sound echoed through the space, and from the shadows emerged figures. Their eyes glowed with the same sinister light as the murals depicted. These were the artifact’s thralls—enslaved guardians compelled to protect it.

“Of course it wouldn’t be that easy,” Shantae muttered, readying herself.

The thralls moved with unnerving precision, their movements jerky yet coordinated. Shantae lashed out with her hair whip, the impact sending a burst of magic through the air. She dodged and countered, her agility and training keeping her just out of reach of their attacks. Despite her efforts, the thralls’ numbers seemed endless. For every one she incapacitated, another rose to take its place.

Realizing she couldn’t fight them all, Shantae turned her attention back to the artifact. If she could neutralize it, perhaps the thralls would be freed. She channeled her magic, forming a concentrated beam of light aimed directly at the Enslaving Eye. The artifact pulsed violently, resisting her attack with waves of dark energy that clashed against her light.

The chamber shook, dust and debris falling from the ceiling as the battle between forces of light and dark escalated. Just as it seemed she might succeed, a searing pain shot through Shantae’s mind. The artifact’s power was too strong, its influence penetrating even her genie resilience. Her vision blurred, and her magic faltered.

“No... I can’t...” she gasped, clutching her head as the artifact’s tendrils of control wrapped around her thoughts. Images of submission and despair flooded her mind, but deep within her, a spark of defiance remained.

Summoning the last of her strength, Shantae reached into her satchel and pulled out the reflective shard. She angled it carefully, catching the artifact’s gaze in its mirrored surface. The Enslaving Eye met its own reflection, and a deafening screech filled the chamber. The artifact’s power turned inward, imploding as its energy consumed itself. With a final, thunderous crack, the Enslaving Eye shattered into pieces, its dark influence vanishing in an instant.

The thralls collapsed where they stood, their glowing eyes returning to normal. Shantae fell to her knees, exhausted but victorious.

“It’s... over...” she whispered before the darkness claimed her.

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When Shantae awoke, she found herself in her bed at Mimic’s workshop. The familiar scent of alchemical concoctions and aged parchment filled the room. Mimic sat beside her, relief evident on his face as she stirred.

“Shantae! You’re awake!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of joy and worry.

She groaned softly, propping herself up on her elbows. “What happened? The last thing I remember was...”

“The artifact,” Mimic finished for her. “You did it. You destroyed the Enslaving Eye. The thralls regained their senses and carried you out of the catacombs. They told me everything.”

Shantae managed a small smile, though her body ached with the effort. “Good. I was afraid I wouldn’t be strong enough.”

Mimic’s expression softened. “You were. Even when the artifact tried to control you, you outsmarted it. Using the shard to reflect its gaze back at itself was ingenious.”

“I guess even a cursed artifact doesn’t like seeing itself in the mirror,” she joked weakly.

They both chuckled, the tension easing. But Mimic’s tone grew serious. “You need to rest, Shantae. That artifact pushed you to your limit. You’re lucky your strength and wit carried you through.”

Shantae nodded, leaning back against the pillows. Though the ordeal had tested her, it also reminded her of her resilience and the importance of the people who believed in her. As she drifted back to sleep, she vowed to be ready for whatever challenges lay ahead.