"It is, shall we say, a different version of the Seal of Solomon, which is meant to encourage more cooperation between humans and Others without limiting them in their ability to retaliate in case they are acted against or to prevent others from coming to harm."

The surroundings rumble at the name "Solomon," but the Other is hearing him out.

The contents of the Seal are approximately thus:

Anyone under this oath vows not to harm any innocents, informed but unawakened people, or beings under this Seal or that of Solomon unprovoked, where the definitions of 'harm' and 'provoked' are stricter than those used by the Seal of Solomon, taking consent into account. They are allowed to do harm to beings that can swear binding oaths to defend themselves or others, provided no less harmful alternative course of action presents itself. Harm must not be done beyond what's necessary to prevent further harm from occurring. If one would harm another being capable of swearing oaths that has not already sworn this, they must offer them the option of swearing this oath instead, and abandon pursuit if it's sworn.

The phrasing of the oath balances comprehensibility and simplicity, and there are different versions of it for less intelligent Others that will in practice be no different.

The phrasing deliberately allows those who swear this to do harm to others in the hope that they will then accept swearing this oath to escape it.

Sadde himself has sworn the most complex version.

He explains a simpler one, and waits.

Simplicity was probably a good idea—the giant tooth monster isn't the kind of thing that'd really understand a balance of harms in the clause about defense of others.

It stays still, considering the deal, then decides it has the being who's trying to threaten it literally in its mouth and goes back to eating him. The walls resume shooting upward as Sadde sinks down, the opening a distant point of light.

That's a no.

So Sadde can, first, swing against the walls.

This far down, it's less stalagmites jutting upward than it is a solid wall of rock. The club is just as effective there as against other chunks of rock. The dents and gashes rise upward with the walls around them as soon as they're created.

Ideas, ideas, how will he climb—

"Ever heard," he says, with affect casualness, while painting his palms and the tip of his shoes with a thin film of Bob, "of Spiderman?" And just to be dramatic, he chooses this moment to plant one hand and both feet on the wall, the other hand holding his club.

It hasn't.

He doesn't literally stick to the wall, but happens to land exactly on some hand- and footholds. It's nearly as easy as a ladder. As soon as he has a grip on it, there's an upward jerk as the wall stops moving relative to him and the floor drops away.

He can climb back to where the hole he made is—or used to be, in case it's no longer there.

It's a long climb, and the monster is trying to shake him off. When he gets high enough that he's climbing a thistle of stalagmites instead of a wall, it adds in grinding its teeth to crush him.

He's much less tired than this climb should be leaving him.

Yes he is, and when he feels safe enough he can continue swinging and merrily damaging his way inside the monster. He hums the Spiderman song softly under this breath.

Safe is a relative term. There's several narrow misses but eventually he makes it up near the edge.

So he's hanging from the edge and he can continue clubbing and breaking off more bits and pieces right? Because he did threaten to do so.

He can. Still has to hang on to avoid falling and watch out for teeth stabbing toward him from interesting directions.

The pieces broken off are kind of pathetically small compared to the size of the pit. But he is getting each spike at least chipped.

"You can still opt to accept the oath," he singsongs, hanging on for dear life but pretending it's cake.

It rejects it a second time. The earth quakes, rocks slide, and it speeds up its attempts to crush him.

Yes but he is on a roll and he is pouring magic and invincibility here, isn't he, "I'm going to keep hanging on. I am smarter than you, more resourceful than you, more agile than you, I will keep hanging on and I would dearly love to stop hurting you. All I ask is that you restrict your diet to things that don't have the brain capacity to object. You heard the oath."

Hanging on is apparently not enough to punctuate that threat. Nothing changes.

Oh sure but he's still swinging, see, and widening the hole, but perhaps he should look for other threats—" You sent me to the past, didn't you? I wonder if I could maybe create some paradox that would prevent you from continuing to exist in the future like you do."

That gives it pause. It's familiar with the concept, of course, what with all the time shenanigans it does, but normally things it swallows aren't in much of a position to cause a contradiction out of spite. It goes less active while it considers, which allows Sadde an opening to knock out another stalagmite.

Yep, he can continue to merrily knock its teeth out. Forward momentum! "Hey, maybe I could even hang out here a while longer so you could send me farther into the past and then the paradox would be even greater! Butterfly effect and all, maybe Jacob's Bell never exists and these woods burn down and allll the things you've done have not been done."

It continues considering the threats. Stops.

Retracts teeth and provides him a path out.

"Is that a, yes, I swear to abide by the Seal of Sadde, by any chance?" he asks, still hanging on, wary of taking the offered exit.

It rumbles something unhappy-sounding that might be an assent but isn't exactly comprehensible English. Teeth continue retracting and the floor reappearing until he's almost standing in an ordinary circle of stones like before.

Well he has the Sight, has anything changed about this creature?