《Thieves' Dungeon》 0.1 Awakened Neiber was out of time. Life was bleeding out of him with every beat of his frightened heart, as he fled through the grimy tunnels of the sewers beneath Caltern City. A long cut on his cheek welled up with thick drops of blood. A deep gash on his arm rendered the hand below shaking, limp, unable to close its fingers. Threads of blood trickled across his body. A huge stain of red plastered his shirt to his clammy skin, more and more welling up from the fatal stab, just above his stomach. Behind him, he could see the lantern lights of his pursuers. A ring was clutched in his good hand. Neiber came from a family of silversmiths, and this ring was his father¡¯s masterpiece. Two serpents of silver, so finely textured you could see the scales on their backs, curled in a helix around a band of black onyx etched with delicate runes. Tiny flecks of pink diamond made the eyes. They clutched between their open jaws a pale green stone of peridot cut to perfection. That wasn¡¯t just any gemstone. It was the seed of a dungeon core, a tiny rift to the Beyond contained within. A wellspring of pure ethereal Mana. It was worth killing for. Boss Gent, lord of Caltern¡¯s underworld, had thought so. As soon as the ring was finished, he had Neiber¡¯s father hung on a false charge. Just to make sure nobody knew he was wearing a Mana source on his finger. Gent hadn¡¯t expected Neiber to know enough runecraft to make a named dagger. Or to be furious enough to give up his own life to get vengeance. Neiber giggled madly to himself as he stumbled through the low wash of rainwater rushing through the tunnel. Above, a storm cracked and boomed. He stumbled against the wall and a brick fell loose. It was perfect. Neiber shoved the ring into the opening in the walls, and lifted up the brick, pushing it back into place, leaving only a slight bump in the walls. The most precious gem in this entire city, hidden in the sewers where nobody would ever find it. Perfect. Behind him, there was a shout. ¡°Here! I¡¯ve found him!¡± Neiber ran. He ran right out of this story, and into another. The ring remained, hidden away, for days, then months... I knew who I was and why I existed from the moment I woke up. I was a Dungeon Core. I existed to create a killing field of traps, deadly monsters, and to lure adventurers in, to drain them dry of blood and soul to feed my growing Dungeon. And I had a crisis. Mana was building up around me. I naturally filled my surroundings with a dense cloud of ethereal Mana, but now, thanks to being enclosed in some kind of tiny crevice, that Mana was building up. It was reaching a crisis point - any more and it could ignite in a spectacular blaze that would spell my end. In a panic I shoved against the walls, and one of them gave. I shoved again, using the mana cloud to erode the stone until I suddenly burst through into a massive tunnel. Well, massive compared to me. I was quite small, I realized. A stream of cold, clear rainwater rushed down the tunnel. Rats scrambled along the sides. Numerous tiny insects fed off the moss growing on the walls. My cloud slowly expanded to take up a ten meter radius, invisible, imperceptible, seeing everything. Or¡­ ¡®Seeing¡¯ was not the correct word. My two senses were a kind of all-encompassing touch, feeling everything that moved through my territory, and an ability to sense Mana as a kind of heat, a flame within each living creature. I had an appreciation, I realized, for beauty. Most of the rats were ugly rugged creatures but I spotted an albino among them, pure white and beautifully groomed. A runaway pet. I admired the complicated weave of mycelium threads within nearby fungus. I adored symmetry and orderliness. They reminded me of myself. A beautiful gem perfectly set in silver and onyx. Having just been born, I was playful. I sent my will out through the cloud of Mana seeing what I could do, what my limits and my capabilities were. By sculpting and rolling it, I found I could create a kind of blobby solidified light, a lump of purest Mana. Naturally my next thought was to shape it into the image of a nearby deathcap. To my surprise the result wasn¡¯t merely a Mana sculpture of a mushroom but the real thing, sprung suddenly into existence at the heart of a whirlpool of Mana. As I quickly discovered if I wanted to create something I merely had to form an accurate vision in my mind and pour Mana into that visualization, like pouring hot metal into a mold. In moments I had rats aplenty, dozens of rats. White, well-groomed rodents poured from my imagination and into the world. My first mistake came when I tried to create a two-headed rat.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. The poor result of my arrogant prodding into the domain of life and death was, well, hideous malformed. I hadn¡¯t merely created two heads, but dual sets of organs, skeletal structures, viscera. With two hearts trying to pump blood two different ways, the result... I don¡¯t want to speak of this. The important thing is, as it died, I felt a sudden pull. A spark of golden flame was lifting from the corpse and rising into the air. I wanted it like a child wants candy. I formed a current of Mana around it, dragging it towards my core. Into my core. That was my first taste of a living Soul.
You have Awakened. Your soul is strong and the gods smile upon you, granting you life as a Dungeon Core. You may choose a single Core Genotype of [Rare] or below and have unlocked Core Attunements of [Rare] or below.
As I recited the words whole new dimension to my psyche opened up. It was like looking at bubbles of light threaded onto endless strings. Within each bubble was a different image of me, a different version of me, a different promise of what I could become. In one bubble, I saw myself choosing the [Heart of Corruption] Genotype and sprouting tendrils of flesh, tendrils that ate and expanded constantly. If I continued down this path I would become more and more ravenous, expanding my body throughout the dungeon, until I was the beating, all-consuming heart in a labyrinth of blood vessels and bones. If I chose another route, I could sprout like a seed and become a World Tree that towered into the sky. There was a future where I ruled a kingdom of the dead, served by undead courtiers. I could be worshipped as a god, granting blessings to my most fervent followers. But¡­ I felt I was quite perfect the way I was. Even putting aside my own ego, which was enormous, it had to be acknowledged someone had devoted a great deal of time and skill to my creation, taking every pain to make me a work of art. I wanted to honor that, so anything that changed my form was out of the question. Being worshipped sounded quite nice. I nearly selected that option, before another caught my eye.
[Gemheart Core] [Rare] While this Genotype has no direct control over its created monsters and limited environmental powers, your control over Mana is unparalleled. Bonuses to Mana generation and to Naming. Additionally, you may create Shards that grant special powers to your favored minions, bestowing them with intellect and the ability to communicate with you from beyond your Dungeon¡¯s territory. Gain the Blessings of Beauty and The Sun. Gain 2 Schema Slots and 1 Schema of [Common] or below.
The moment I selected the option, I felt the complex runic seals and circles within me shift, rearranging themselves around the tiny, hair-thin rift at my center. A rift to the Beyond, source of all Mana. Five circles surrounded the rift, a complicated mandala of constantly-shifting letters writ in golden light. They spiralled like the tumblers of an infinitely complicated lock. Mana flooded through me. It brought with it a rush of thoughts, racing through my mind at a million words a minute.
Blessing of Sith, God of Beauty When you create a work of spectacular beauty, you may create a special Named room, with effects chosen by the divine. This is in addition to your usual allotment of Namings.
Blessing of Sol, God of The Sun Instead of choosing a free Schema when levelling, you may choose to accept the Golden Wheel¡¯s capricious luck and be given a curse or a blessing, often both.
I couldn¡¯t focus on the barrage of information being poured into my mind. With expanded consciousness came increased awareness of how vulnerable I was. I felt exposed, terribly exposed. A dungeon core¡¯s greatest fear is open spaces, to be seen and coveted by the world. The only cure was to hide myself away. I needed to build a nest. I dug a rough tunnel upwards, a shaft that climbed about ten feet into the stone. Rather than smoothing it out, I took the crags and edges and sharpened them to a razor sheen. Then I got mean about it. Absorbing some algae from the tunnels outside I created crops of the slimy stuff along the walls. Next I poured mana into it, drawing out the most useful properties, making it incredibly slippery just to be sure the climb would be impossible. If you didn¡¯t cut yourself to the bone on the knife-like edges that jutted out from the walls, you¡¯d be struggling to grab a handhold at all with slime coating every available surface. Finally, I created a chamber underneath the shaft, a shallow little drop into a bed of stalagmite spikes. Over this I created an ice-thin sheet of stone - a false floor that would shatter under the weight of a full grown human and drop them onto the trap below. At the very top of the tunnel I made a ring of spikes, so that it appeared like the waiting mouth of a beast. It was a nice flourish but I wanted more. I searched through the tunnels, absorbing anything that looked interesting. Fungi with a faint luminescent sheen. Beetles with emerald-green wings. Centipedes with scarlet heads. I wanted my lair to be beautiful. I had already spent upwards of three mana - 3.2 to be exact - shaping stone and algae into a hellish climb. Now I spent another point to slowly turn the slime on the tunnel walls to a dark sea green, half translucent, the color of smoked green glass. I made long-necked, puff-headed mushrooms shoot from the walls, lighting the chamber with a dim blue glow. I added flecks of glass to the walls that reflected that light into a spray of tiny blue flecks that danced and shimmered, adding a ghostly air to the place. Beetles with emerald carapaces climbed through the muck. Centipedes lifted their bright heads from avalanches of moss. Above it all, a maw of stalactites waited to devour the climber. As a final touch, I shaped the entrance to the outer tunnels into a stone doorway, the frame defined by two carved serpents. Between their open jaws they held a miniature sun. Finally, I felt satisfied. 0.2 Serpents Den
Gemheart Dungeon (Unnamed)
Soul Fragments 0/100 Mana 0.4/32 Mana Per Hour +0.2
Anima: 1 Logos: 2 Arcana: 2
Blessings: Gift of Beauty, Gift of The Sun.
Recently born, this dungeon has displayed a refined aesthetic taste.
Your creation has received divine favor. It has been Named ¡®Sanctum of the Jeweled Serpent¡¯ and given the following Blessing: All creatures within this room will become more poisonous, with effects increasing the longer they spend near the Core.
Divine acknowledgement! I¡¯d say it was an undeserved honor but, let us be honest. It was very deeply deserved. With this blessing the centipedes crawling the walls had gone from mere decoration to a genuine menace to anyone trying to invade the Sanctum. Better yet, I could widen the chamber at the top and include some more poisonous beasts. Perhaps¡­ The possibilities of being a dungeon were endless. Every day was a new chance to channel my creativity into artful methods of murder. However, I had a problem. My Mana reserve was running low. It was an awful feeling, a sickly sense of emptiness. I needed to eat - a grisly process of dissolving unliving matter through the cloud of ambient Mana that surrounds me. I had tried it out on a rat carcass floating in the stream outside my lair and the results¡­ Well, you imagine an invisible force peeling a rat layer by layer like an onion and see whether it leaves you feeling particularly appetized. No, what I had my eyes on were the nice, juicy fish swimming through the stream. And I had an idea. I took the design of a spiderweb from one of the high gloomy corners of my domain, and spun it across the stream, making the webbing thicker and tougher. My first attempts failed to anchor to the walls and were quickly torn apart by the currents. My second survived until a fish came rushing downstream and tore right through the web. I kept at it, making the strands as thick as ropes, attacking the task with the unique patience of a dungeon core. My last dregs of Mana dwindled and drained but¡­ There it was. I had spun a net across the river of rainwater flowing through the tunnel. As the rain continued to fall far above, sticks and trash and rubble were swept into my web. A pale, fat fish slammed into the barrier and was pinned there by the wash of water, kicking and struggling. I simply waited. Hours ticked by. A small dribble of Mana returned to my reservoir. But better yet, the rain had stopped. The river slowly dried to a stream, a trickle, a nothing. Four fat fish flopped about and died in the net, suffocating on dry land. They were delicious. At two points of mana each, the pale cave fish restored what creating the rats had spent. Speaking of the albino brood, as the waters receded they were able to leave the Sanctum, scampering through the tunnel outside. All manner of wildlife was beginning to surface from the crevices and nests they had bunkered down in when the flood hit. I left enough of the fish behind to lure them down. It was a bloodbath. Rat snapping at rat, hungry insects swarming at one another. Those few scraps of fish might as well have been a feast after days spent trapped by the waters. ¡®Worth killing for¡¯ was a low bar down here. With each creature that died I consumed the corpse and dragged the tiny spark of Soul into my den. Each fragment was nourishing, empowering. I only needed one hundred to level. That was a fraction of the vermin that lived in my domain. But more importantly, I had Mana to work with. My first concern was increasing my income. Over a long period of time, I could harvest algae and lichen for a little more Mana than they took to create, thanks to the plants prodigious ability to reproduce. But that was a far away plan. What I needed now was a hunter to protect me and bring me tribute. I turned my attention inwards, to the notifications I¡¯d been ignoring.
You have Awakened and selected the [Gemheart Core] Genotype You may now select a Free Schema. Your first summoned creature will gain a special blessing. Creations made from a Schema have their cost significantly reduced. You may create further Schemas based off absorbed creatures or your own creations. Minor Golem (Common) - Simple constructs made of mud and dirt, Minor Golems are tireless workers and strictly loyal, if not especially intelligent. Green Viper (Common) - A mundane snake, this viper is nonetheless able to kill opponents many times its size through ambush tactics and a paralyzing venom.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Kobolds (Common) - The lowest and cheapest of intelligent creatures, Kobolds have the ability to learn basic skills and will naturally create Chieftains and Shamans as their population rises. Ratfolk (Rare) - Clever, cowardly, cheap. With ratfolk you get all three. Prone to mutation, ratfolk can adapt to any environment. Crystal Spider (Rare) - Beautiful and cunning creatures, Crystal Spiders secrete dazzling and razor sharp crystals that they use to prepare traps for their prey. Unintelligent. Shadow Raccoon (Rare) - Surprisingly intelligent, these creatures shapeshift into humans by stealing their shadows. Have a small chance of learning Shadow magic when evolving.
Well, I should hope my choice was obvious. Green Viper was the superior option. Ah, I can all but hear the layman cry out, choose Crystal Spider! No, choose Raccoon! These lack the finely tuned sensibilities of the sophisticated dungeon core. I had fate with serpents. My body was etched with their shape, their likeness carved into the door of my lair. Setting fate aside and putting this in logical terms, a viper was likely cheaper than any of the intelligent options - and certainly cheaper than Crystal Spiders - but able to defeat enemies many times its own size. That made them perfect for bringing in a return of Mana. But most of all, they were natural. A viper wouldn¡¯t bring attention in the way a crop of new ratfolk or spiders made of gemstones would. All around me I saw the debris of civilization. Rings and trinkets glittered among the chewed bones caught in my net. Humans were close by. I instinctively knew them, and knew to fear them. Humans coveted cores. Some would form peaceful contracts with them, yes, but others would seek to drain them of Mana and harness them as mere enslaved batteries. I couldn¡¯t afford to announce my presence until I was ready. So viper it was. There are few words to describe receiving a new Schema. It hits like a lightning bolt. It overwhelms the senses. For a few distressing moments, everything tasted of snake. I didn¡¯t even have a sense of taste. When it faded, I had a perfect image of a green viper in my head. I could tell you every detail, count the scales, count the heartbeats of that snake. It was a flawless blueprint that I could create a thousand identical serpents from. I was eager to start - to meet my first proper creation. Mana poured in motes of liquid light into the idea of a snake, bringing it into reality. Bones formed first, a long skeletal structure, and then organs and muscles filled in the gaps. Skin was last. At the final moment, there was a sudden twist as something else seized control of the process. A streak of golden scales materialized across the creature¡¯s spine. And then it was done. The viper stared out at the world with yellow eyes. It stared at me for a long time, and I swear to you, I felt the intelligence in its gaze. Far more intelligence than a simple snake. Then it nodded its head, slowly and sleepily, and curled its body around me. I felt remarkably safe in that moment. I had found my guardian. Aurum. I decided I¡¯d Name him Aurum.
[ Gold-Streaked Green Viper ] ¡°Aurum¡± This common snake possesses the faintest hint of a golden dragon¡¯s bloodline, giving it unusual intelligence and potential. It can spit a paralyzing venom.
Blessing: Name of the Treasure Guardian - This beast grows constantly by maintaining contact with its hoard, steadily absorbing Mana. Amount of Mana gained increases with hoard size.
I made two more snakes, neither of whom had the golden scales or the intelligence of my new favorite. As I made them I fed in thoughts of the hunt, thoughts of fighting and killing, and sure enough, they came out far more aggressive than mundane serpents would be. They slithered through the tunnel like agents of death. I quickly gained Mana from several rats killed, some of them my own creations. Satisfying results for a day¡¯s work. If given time, my hunters would likely harvest the one hundred Soul fragments I needed to level. But I had other concerns. Where was I? When should I expect human guests? I had no way of answering these questions, since I had no direct control over my creations unless I infused them with a Shard. It was stifling. Like being born without limbs. Unfortunately, a Shard took one ingredient I didn¡¯t have. A common gemstone. With the last of my mana, I would need to create a solution. I had created rats before, but this one was the rat to end them all. Stronger. Faster. Far more cunning. Eyes like rubies and fur like cloudy white quartz. I thought of treasure as I made her. Of gemstones glittering in the dark. Of gold found in the muck. Of wandering far from home and returning to the nest triumphant and rich. As she scampered off into the dark, leaving my territory, I could only wait and see if this would be enough to instill a whole new instinct in a brain as common as a rat. While I waited, I considered the final notification.
You have reached First Level. You may now choose an Attunement. Attunements offer a small bonus initially, but will later grow to effect monster mutations, Overflow gifts, and Dungeon Laws. Choose carefully. You may choose to receive an additional Schema Slot OR an expansion to your Mana pool OR The Great Wheel¡¯s Whim (I).
Again I was confront with the web of choices I had seen when choosing my Genotype. Bubbles of light and imagery strung out on darkened pathways. Looking into one at random, I saw the Attunement of Mold in all its damp glory, an empire of algae spread endlessly through the tunnels, thriving and slimy. Another contained the Attunement of Drowning. A fearsome, dark abyss full of horrors. The Attunement of Greed. This one I paused on. It was smaller than the rest, a lower level of power, but it suited me. The one issue was its Blessing. It would draw people towards me. This was not what I wanted in that moment, but I promised I¡¯d return when I was a more established Dungeon. Having noticed a hierarchy between the Attunements, I rose higher. Larger and brighter options loomed. But as I moved towards them, an invisible pressure pushed me back, like the tide washing away my tiny consciousness from an island of light. I could only catch glimpses. Water. Fire. Steel. Powerful concepts. I would be back for them.
You have selected the Attunement of Disguise (I) All creatures within your Dungeon will receive basic camouflage, and you may alter their coloration without spending Mana.
That left me with a final decision. Expanding my Mana pool was out of the question. I had enough trouble keeping the current one full. So, a Schema Slot or the Great Wheel¡¯s Whim? Once again, I went with the immediate choice. Another slot wouldn¡¯t help me when I hadn¡¯t even filled the ones I had. Instead, I selected the Wheel. And everything went white. 0.3 Betrayals I was no longer in my comfortable Sanctum. I floated in a starry void. An enormous wheel stood above me. The wheel was made of fiery stone surrounded by the blazing aura of the sun; it was marked into countless segments, and each one had a carved out niche where a statue stood, holding a chest. So many boxes. Chests of pale white ivory covered by ornate designs in silver. Chests of pure gold studded with gems. Chests of simple and undecorated wood. It began to spin. The flames roared higher as it turned, faster and faster, until it was a single solid disk of golden light. A sun. A blazing sun! Slowly, it rolled to a halt again, the fires dimming. A segment slid to a stop before me, and the statue stepped out of its alcove, walking forward to lay a chest of mahogany and onyx before me. The lid flipped open of its own. Lying in the cushioned depths was an amber hourglass.
You have won: The Gift of Foresight - Once in your life, you may rewind time by ten minutes.
The statue stepped back onto the wheel, and the void faded out. I was in my Sanctum again. If I could shake, I would be shaken by the experience, but I couldn¡¯t deny I was happy with the gift. And speaking of gifts, my rat had returned! She sat at the bottom of the Sanctum proudly displaying a haul of golden treasures. Lost rings, brooch pins, belt buckles, anything she could find that glittered or shone. None, I noted, were gems. Aurum shifted, sliding down into the pit. I was amazed by his agility as he slid down handholds and curled over razor spars, slipping down the walls I had designed to be unclimbable. The white rat froze as she saw the serpent - her primordial enemy - loom over her. Aurum ignored her, calmly scooping up the gold in his mouth before turning and slithering up the walls again, returning to me. The rat lingered even so, trembling pitifully but refusing to leave. I considered. I tried to send a message, to shape a feeling through my Mana. I sent out waves of beneficient approval and watched as the rat lifted onto her hindquarters and stared up - directly at me. And then she scampered off to find more treasure. Time ticked by and Mana slowly flowed into my reserves. Below, my snakes had succeeded in carving out a territory, creating dens in the cracked walls of the tunnel. After their initial rampage most the intelligent creatures had retreated from my nascent Dungeon, leaving them to feed on insects. And unfortunately, mere insects had no Soul shards to give me. I needed to lure better prey in. A healthy ecosystem needed a strong base. Taking my inspiration from a mushroom growing on the walls, I began to populate the floor with a thick bed of flat-topped fungus, adding a divot at the top of their heads to catch the water dripping from the ceiling. A kind of natural drinking cup. Then I began to experiment. In a matter of a few hours, I¡¯d successfully pushed enough mana into one specimen to cause it to let off a godawful reek of rotten meat, an aroma I hoped would prove attractive to the kind of wildlife that lived in a sewer. In the process it had turned a pale red color, and so I named it a Bloody Cup. Having layered the floor with bait, I added predators. Smaller, stouter mushrooms, with peaked caps and a net of finely-woven threads that hung down from below like the stings of a jellyfish. Exactly like the stings of a jellyfish. I gave the tendrils a set of fine, clinging teeth, and poured the last of my Mana into exaggerating their venomous properties. I was discovering that the more Mana used to modify a creature, the more difficult further modifications became. In the end this soft limitation prevented me from making them able to do more than lightly sting a human-sized prey, but they¡¯d be perfectly able to snare unsuspecting rodents. Nematocelia, I called them.
[ Bloody Cup ] Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Largely harmless, this blood-colored mushroom emits a rotten stench pleasing to the insect palate.
[ Nematocelia ] Deceptively common, this mushroom catches small animals in its poisonous tendrils and incapacitates them with a paralytic venom.
Soon, I had a thick carpet of insects crawling through the mushroom forest, and they drew larger predators. A fat, stoney-skinned toad hopped into my killing fields. The snakes immediately tensed and began to slither towards him, but they were too late. He had already stumbled into the snares of a Nematocelia. The fat old fellow took one more leap on half-paralyzed legs already beginning to fail, and crash-landed in a twitching heap. I was just licking my lips after the meal when voices intruded on my lair. ¡°Croakwise, the map says. That means you look for a frog drawn on the walls.¡± A fat man made his way down the tunnel, pausing to read a symbol on the walls I had taken as random scratchings but they apparently found meaning in. A skinny youth followed behind, carrying a lantern, barely more than a boy with a wispy bit of stubble on his chin. They looked delicious. ¡°Somewhere near here.¡± The fat man mumbled, scratching the stubble and pockmarks of his flabby chin. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen mushrooms like these.¡± The boy said. ¡°We¡¯re making good time, we¡¯ll be back before your mother starts to wonder what her sweet little angel is up to.¡± The older man teased, catching his comrade by the ear and shaking his head around. ¡°Never you mind about my mother.¡° The boy snapped, swatting the man¡¯s hand away. ¡°Anyway, what¡¯s with that door?¡± They both looked up. A moment of silence seized them as they stared at the serpents carved around the archway, at the faint light spilling through the doorway. ¡°I¡¯ll be damned. Never seen that here before. Go have a looksee.¡± The big man said, shoving his companion, who glared back. ¡°You go have a looksee, dammit. I¡¯m not stepping through spooky doors.¡± ¡°Ooh, spooky doors. Wee sweet angel, scared of doors.¡± Shoving his companion aside, he mocked him all the way as he strode through the doors, his jaw going wide as he stared up the shaft; awestruck by the false stars of the luminous mushrooms against the backdrop of black moss. I was deeply gratified by his screams as his foot plunged right through the false floor, plunging him into the spikes. A stone spear plunged directly through his thigh as his foot twisted beneath him, instantly ruining his leg, and he fell backwards, bawling. ¡°Gods, gods! Milo, help me, godsdammit!¡± And other cries of that nature echoed up to me as his young companion tried to pull him free. And all the while my two vipers were slithering up behind them, bloodthirsty little terrors that they were. They coiled their bodies up like springs, and then shot forward, straightening and diving like arrows for the young man¡¯s heels. He screamed and drew a knife from his belt, hacking one of them to pieces with its head still clinging to the back of his calf. The other had more survival instinct than that, letting go and slinking back into the blanket of mushrooms as the young man looked at his wounded leg with horror. And back to his companion, still yelling and thrashing, horrid amounts of blood spurting from his wound. I saw him make the calculation and realize he¡¯d never make it back in time hauling the lamed oaf with him. It was a delicious moment. ¡°I¡¯ll come back for you.¡± He said, a barefaced lie you could tell he didn¡¯t believe. ¡°You little runt!¡± The fat man shouted. ¡°Come back here!¡± But it was too late. His sweet little angel had turned and fled. ¡°Come back here you little shit!¡± When the cries of anger had faded to defeated, scared whimpering, Aurum uncurled from around me. As silent as a murderer¡¯s knife he slithered down the tunnel, moving by his secret handholds to slide down behind the man. A coiled moment of tension, a leap, a flash of fangs - and total, gratifying quiet followed. The rush of Mana from killing a full grown human was intense. It flooded into me like a euphoric wave, filling my mind with delightful visions of just how I¡¯d spend it. Carnivorous mushrooms as tall as a man and as hungry as a wolf. Bladed traps that spring from the walls. A snake that could swallow the sun-
You are experiencing Mana Overflow Due to exceeding your maximum Mana by a factor of two, Mana will be expended to create a new and random Blessing for your Dungeon. You will be left with between fifty and zero percent of your maximum Mana.
What? No. No! My precious Mana! I felt it pour out of me, pulled by a forming maelstrom. In moments, my pool had plummeted back to a mere three and the Mana whirlpool that had formed was still greedily sucking up the cloud of ambient Mana that was my eyes and hands, rendering me briefly blind, helpless. When the awful moment passed, a pale blue egg the size of a human fist had materialized next to me in the little alcove at the top of the Sanctum. As Aurum lifted his head back into the alcove, he looked from me to the newcomer in apparent confusion, wondering how a gemstone had laid an egg. Not willingly, that¡¯s my answer. As if to add insult to injury, Aurum wrapped himself around the egg instead of me. 0.4 Argent My rat returned three times. Each time, she stood frozen in fear as Aurum slipped down to take the offered tribute, and each time there were no jewels among the tatty lot. The third time, I sent out no wave of goodwill, no acknowledgement. She waited for a long time before scuttling away into the dark. At first I was completely self-absorbed. My fungal garden was growing beautifully, and unlike the vipers, it drew in prey rather than frightening them off. A microcosm of a successful dungeon. Every few hours a frog or some other small creature would blunder into the Nematocelia and be miserably done for, a fate I watched and waited for with glee. At first, I was simply eager to absorb more Soul fragments. The dead man had been a windfall there too, granting me an enormous fiery shard worth fifty, half of my quota to advance. Combined with the viper¡¯s killing spree, I was at eighty-seven and slowly advancing. The feel of progress was tantalizing. But... When my rat didn¡¯t return for hours, I began to worry. By the time I had restored a full two mana - ten hours - I had started to fret. Soon I regretted being withholding. I had practically scolded her, but how was she supposed to know what she was doing wrong? Had I feet I would kick myself. And then, when all hope seemed lost, she came limping back into my territory, one leg covered in blood. Her tail lopped off. A deep cut in her haunches. Clutched in her teeth was a golden ring that sparkled like a damn sun in the gloom of the sewer, a small ruby set in the band. I could have used those same hypothetical feet to jump for joy. I wrapped my Mana around the ring, dissolving the gold for the pittance of Mana metal provided and leaving the gem lying on the floor of the sanctum. I- Hmmm. Hm. I didn¡¯t know how to make a Shard, did I? It was a little confounding. Most things came to me as easily as breathing comes to the pitiful fleshy creatures that need to do it. In fact, I understood plenty of things I had no proper way of knowing, such as the existence of jellyfish and humans. My brain was packed with inexplicable knowledge but not how to create a Shard. I turned to the notification lurking in the dark corners of my mind, waiting to spring out and steal all my Mana should I ever again let down my guard? ¡°Help?¡± I posed the mental query.
Would you like to receive aid from a Divine Messenger? By agreeing to this contract you agree to cede all rights to your Soul to the Divine, as represented by the Hierarchy of the Immutable Chain. No exceptions shall be made.
I stared at the fine print. The very fine print. No thank you. The window blipped into non-existence. I was alone, and clueless. Or¡­ Not quite alone. I didn¡¯t have much Mana, but I pushed some into the rat, healing her wounds as best I could. I sent warm, happy thoughts of home, the comfortable safety my Sanctum inspired in me, and she slowly curled up into a ball of whit fur and went to sleep on the floor. I felt oddly happy about that. Then I got to work on the gem. Clueless I might be, but I had a vague intuition to follow. It was a slow, difficult process. The ruby was like a sinkhole for Mana, absorbing my ¡®feelers¡¯ whenever I tried to push or pull at its matter. Finally, I simply committed and began to feed it, pushing in Mana. It drank up two whole points before it was full. But. Now that it was no longer draining any Mana that came into contact with it, I could start to manipulate the Mana inside. It was no longer directly connected to me, but like a moon directs the tides, I could vaguely push and pull at the Mana within the gem. I began to twist it up, aiming to bend it into a shape I recognized- A shape I had seen within myself. Runic circles surrounded my Core. They shaped the Mana that poured out of me, giving it form. I tried to form the same kind of circle within the gem; I took the spark of Mana I¡¯d invested and compressed it, wadded it up into a core, and forced more in. Overburdened, the jewel was surrounded by ghostly dancing flames. If I pushed any harder it was likely to detonate.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! Slowly, carefully, I built a circle around the core, set the Mana spinning to throw it into stable orbit around that spark. The motion was key. Something clicked and rather than being shaped by me, the Mana began to pull of its own accord. An ominous crack sent a fissure racing down the gem¡¯s side, but the circle was formed. There was a single, harmonious note, a crystal hum, as the circle and core solidified from ethereal Mana into solid constructs of gold light. Runes etched themselves themselves across the facets. Ah-fucking-ha.
Crude Shard of The Simple Nexus (Poor) This excessively rustic Shard is nonetheless able to grant a modicum of power, blessing its owner with slightly increased Intelligence and a telepathic connection to the Dungeon Core that created it.
I mentally squinted. It seemed suspiciously like I¡¯d pissed off whoever was writing these by not taking them up on their ¡®generous¡¯ offer. Well ha. Crude it may be, but it cost me a little less than three mana and not even a tiny bit of my soul. Several hours had passed by now and my brave little scout seemed fully healed. I sent a small mental prod to my rat, waking her up. She eyed the core and I sent out mental cues of hunger, of eating, feasting. She didn¡¯t need telling twice. With a gulp the ruby was gone. And then we got a splitting headache. We. Our thoughts collided, a ratty intellect submerging into the vast crystalline sea of my own. Waves of turbulence rose as we both went through the rather excruciating process of being welded together, mentally speaking. And then for the first time, I saw the world through actual eyes. I could hear, feel, taste, smell- Ugh, and I did smell didn¡¯t I- I? This wasn¡¯t me it was- My confusion was cut short by a sudden jolt of pain, a burning sensation in my lungs. I froze, confused, and it was the rat¡¯s thoughts that took over. Breathe. Oh right, fleshy creatures needed to breathe! I relaxed my grip on our shared body, allowing the ratbrain to seize control of the lungs and the heart and everything else needed to function - I remained only as a voice in her head. A voice urging, move! I wanted to see more! To explore and journey! It was a fine thing to be safe and sedentary as a Dungeon Core, but as soon as I found myself possessing a body again I also had the unbearable urge to roam farther than my tiny little territory. Again? Where had that come from? I was struck by a sudden and fleeting burst of deja vu, which fell away as I turned my attention back to the outside world - lured by the delightful smell of my own creations, the Bloody Cups, which to a rat¡¯s nose were nothing short of ambrosia. I nearly stumbled into the clutching tendrils of a carnivore mushroom as I allowed myself to be lured by the necrotic bouquet of rotting flesh. The jungle I had built was glorious to witness from below; the delicate gills on the underside of the trumpet-shaped Cups, the faint warning luminescence to the feelers of the Nematocelia. All the while I had the strange sense of both being within the rat¡¯s body and in my own, seeing the same world through both through her eyes and my own domain of Mana. I journeyed through in a state of newfound appreciation for my work, but soon we left the fungal carpet beyond. I felt a shiver of loss and my connection became suddenly less vivid as we stepped beyond the reaches of my territory. The colors muted, the smells were no longer as entrancing. Which was a blessing, as it turned out. My segment of these tunnels was a mere dump for rainwater, but as we journeyed, we were forced to wade through, well¡­ Do I really need to name the indignities I suffered on this journey? Disgusted, I gave up directly controlling the rat and let her guide us the rest of the way as I watched, a passenger and happy for the mental distance. Together we climbed through storm drains and culverts, grasped our way up lead pipes and squeezed through cracks in crumbling masonry. And then¡­ Light. Golden, beautiful light, illuminating the fluttering fabric of the tents at a market bazaar. We came out of a sewer grate and up into a milling crowd of humanity. Hundreds of feet sweeping across the packed earth of the roads, stomping up tiny clouds of dust beneath their boots. Everywhere, there colors and textures of smell. The spice and succulent odor of roasting pork, the sour manure, the freshness of new-baked bread all competing with a distant stale tang of tanneries. People carried the unique odor of their professions with them like a ghost. The chemical stink of a leatherworker or the fragrance of a flower-seller. A tobacconist with his ashy scent. A whore with too much perfume lingering from nightly work. Humanity came in countless flavors and colors. All of them were a threat to me. It was my worst fear come true. I was surrounded by enemies. An inconceivable amount of enemies. I was trapped below a labyrinth of vast tunnels they had built simply to house their waste. I was surrounded on all sides but one - down. That was my only hope. To tunnel down so deep they could never catch me. And at the same time, I was excited. Excited because I saw rich women with strings of diamonds around their necks. Saw rubies flash on rings worn on soft, pudgy fingers. I saw a wealth of jewels before me. Countless chances to practice my newfound skill in Shard-crafting. To expand my empire with new eyes and ears. There was an opportunity here. I was beneath the enemy''s nose, undetected. I was so near the heart of their wealth I could taste it. Thoughts were swirling through my mind as I ordered my spy to return. In reward for valiant service, I had decided to give her a Name. Argent.
[ Albino Rat (Simple Core of the Nexus) ] ¡°Argent¡± Initially no more than vermin, this white rat has been blessed with a Shard and a Name, making her far more intelligent and cunning than the rest of her species.
Blessing: Name of the Glittering Escape - Can teleport short distances.
0.5 Gardening As we returned Argent took a sudden detour. Curious, I allowed it. She lead us to a dark corner of the sewers were the walls were split open, a crumbling alcove dug into the soft dirt behind the broken stone. A pair of bright yellow eyes fixed on us from the shadows. Argent¡¯s froze in terror and then slowly began to edge back. From the shadows padded an enormous creature - at least compared to us. It had the white, wise face of an owl, and the shaggy body of a raccoon, its fur matted with dried blood. Wings sprouted from its back. Some kind of mutant chimera. With a sudden burst of defiance, Argent rose on to her hindlegs. I realized suddenly. She thought I was a god. This must be the creature that wounded her before, and she wanted revenge now. She thought I could simply smite it with wrathful fire. I did the mental equivalent of an uncomfortable cough. I hated to reveal myself as less than omnipotent, but as the owlcoon spread its wings and reared up, I frantically signalled to retreat. The beast lunged forward and it was like an avalanche of flesh falling upon us. I screamed sheer panic into Argent¡¯s brain and she responded on instinct- There was a flash of light and then we were elsewhere. We had passed through the beast, appearing on its other side, within its den. I saw a wealth of gold sparkling in the dark, grimy trinkets salvaged from the sewer¡¯s flow. Argent seized the battered silver lid of a tobacco tin in her jaws, and turned just as the owlcoon did. Two mortal enemies faced off. The owlcoon moved slowly, using its full bulk to block off the entrance. All light was swiftly blotted out behind brown-and-black fur. Argent jumped again, slipping through space and coming out on the other side of the beast. But this time it was ready. One of its hind talons kicked out, striking Argent in the side. The lid went skittering across the floor as she opened her mouth to let out a pitiful squeal, sent rolling by the force of the blow, blood dotting the pale fur of her haunches. We came up on our feet and ran. A split second later the owlcoon smashed against the ground where we had been, turning faster than I thought possible for something so big. Another burst of speed and it was upon us. We leaped. Space bent and split like a kaleidoscope, and then collapsed back into normal, only with us a few feet away now. The owlcoon¡¯s jaws snapped at empty air. We kept that pace, limping away, teleporting whenever the beast was upon us, until we turned a corner. A barred grating stood before us. We ran for the safety it represented. And in the moment before we reached it, the owlcoon reached us. Argent tried to leap. There was always a brief moment of resistance when the fabric of reality tried to prevent us from punching through. This time, we failed to push past it, and went¡­ Nowhere. No escape from the descending claws. The owlcoon had taken flight, its wings scraping the top of the sewer tunnel, its talons stretched out and reached for us as it swooped down. We reached the grate and struggled to squeeze through, Argent¡¯s ribs actually bending to let her scrape between the bars. Too slow. Too little. As we wriggled halfway through the owlcoon caught us. Pain lanced through us - the first pain I had ever felt - as sharp claws dug into our hindquarters. There was a sudden wrenching pull and that pain exploded into something unbearable. The rat¡¯s back left leg was gone. We fell through the grate, smearing blood behind us. Argent let out a defeated squeal and limped the last few inches to safety as the owlcoon¡¯s claws thrust through the bars and raked the ground. She collapsed. Unconscious. I was suddenly deprived of my link to her, of her senses and sight. I was alone again. I frantically sent mental prods to Aurum, causing him to raise his sleepy head. I beamed images of Argent to him, tried to communicate the desperate flight from the owlcoon, the dire situation I¡¯d left her in. To my vast relief he seemed to understand. Uncurling from around the egg, he slithered away and out of my sight. I waited. For once I was unhappy to be a Dungeon Core, to be utterly unable to move or fight on my own. I could only wait and waiting felt like a prison.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. All this had happened because Argent had naively believed I was a god. No, all this had happened because I wasn¡¯t. It felt like years before Aurum returned, my rat clutched in his coils. He lifted her into the heights of the Sanctum and laid her down next to me. Already I was pouring Mana into her wounds, trying to fix her. The leg was gone. There was no helping that. But I could stop the bleeding. Aurum turned and departed again. I stopped him, sending negatory thoughts. No. It wasn¡¯t time yet. I would kill that damn chimera. I would kill it with a fire and a fury. But right now, I couldn¡¯t have both my right and left hand wounded. I couldn¡¯t afford to risk Aurum. I had to handle this like a Dungeon Core. I would wait and serve vengeance cold. So wait I did. I let the hours trickle by, watching over Argent, letting my Mana replenish as Soul fragments slowly floated up to me from my gardens. Finally, the hundredth ember of Soul energy was dragged into my core. A long, harmonious chime filled the entire Dungeon. I had leveled. My territory swelled out, a sudden rush of Mana billowing out of my core and expanding the ethereal cloud. The tiny corner of the world that was mine swelled to include a t-shaped fork in the tunnel on one side, and on the other, my ethereal feelers reached out and found an outflow grate; sunlight poured through from the far side. But - and I had been thinking about this - I wasn¡¯t satisfied. Narrow tunnels were good for channeling intruders, but they were very poor for maximizing my zone of control. Presently, if we calculated my territory as a sphere, most of it was taken up with solid rock. Thankfully, I was a Dungeon. Over the course of the next few hours I did nothing but devour rock and dirt, slowly eroding away the wall opposite the door to my Sanctum. After hours of work I suddenly burst through, finding exactly what I had expected - a tunnel opposite the one I¡¯d taken over. My cloud of influence expanded through the channel I¡¯d dug and I rapidly widened the gap. Unfortunately, the tunnel I¡¯d burst into was in use. Detritus and worse was sluicing through, and I gagged a little, mentally. With a godlike command I simply collapsed the upriver end of the tunnel, wearing away the ceiling until the loose dirt behind the brickwork poured through and sealed us off. I continued to widen the connected between the two tunnels for most of the day, until finally, I had made a wide open clearing of mud and muck. Perfect ground for expanding my fungus garden. What I now controlled looked like a fat-bellied ¡®H¡¯ with one of its legs amputated. I considered closing off my other connection to the human world, but that seemed unwise. I still wanted so many things I could only get by infiltrating their city. Instead, I merely weakened the walls and ceiling until I could collapse it on short notice. All this time I had been steadily stockpiling Mana, and now it was time to spend it. About five points went directly to expanding the garden, spreading Nematocelia, Bloody Cups, common button mushrooms and slimy algae across the newly cleared ground. Here, instead of digging their roots into a shallow layer of dirt over a stone bed, they could lay down proper foundations. I even used a gentler form of my ¡®eating¡¯ to loosen up the soil, making it easy for them to intwine their complex networks of fungal tendrils through the earth. With the, ahem, leavings from the blocked sewer tunnel serving as manure, my new garden was well positioned to thrive. I dug several pits into the ground with channels between them, thinking they¡¯d fill the next time it rained hard enough to fill my flood tunnel. Finally, I seeded rats, toads, and other small vermin throughout, burning another five Mana, which was most of what I¡¯d earned from the Nematocelia¡¯s catches that day. It was worth it however. Common creatures like these were prodigious breeders and I¡¯d be reaping Mana with every new generation born and, in time, buried. I had formed an ecosystem in a bottle. And to keep outside intruders from intervening, I had just the thing. When my territory expanded I had discovered an unusual fungus hiding in a crack in the walls. A shy creature, it would release spores whenever it detected movement, spores that carried a sleeping poison. I absorbed it and, after a moment¡¯s hesitation, took it as one of my Schema. The image in my head suddenly clarified. I understood every cell of that simple lichen, the crude building blocks and complex working whole. And because of that understanding, I could replicate it for barely any Mana. My creation barely resembled the lowly original. Huge stalks sprouted from the floor of my dungeon, towering up to the ceiling. Spiraling patterns of tiny paper-thin feelers sprouted along their lengths, a translucent white but tinged at their tips with a colorful splash of electric blue. Even a slight pressure on those feelers would cause the stalk to spray soporific poisons into the air.
[ Somnulent Bloom ] This shy and laconic fungal blossom is surprisingly well-defended, warding off predators with a puff of spores carrying a sleeping toxin.
They looked like a pale corkscrew flower, strange and beautiful. I made a veil of them, covering the entrance to the dungeon, but purposefully left gaps that smaller creatures would slip through. A filter. Letting my prey in and keeping my predators out. A little like the combs of baleen whales. There it was again. How on earth did I know what a baleen whale is? I hesitate to point out the obvious, but a baleen whale can¡¯t even fit into a sewer. Of all the knowledge in the world to be taking up space in my mind I couldn¡¯t think of anything that would be more unlikely or useless. And just when I started to ask myself questions, a notification burst into my mind and scattered those thoughts.
You have reached Second Level. You may now choose an Attunement. You will be able to choose five Attunements in total, one at each of your first five levels. You may choose to receive an additional Schema Slot OR an expansion to your Mana pool OR The Great Wheel¡¯s Whim (I).
0.6 The Night Market This time I decided against the Wheel. While it had given me a good reward the first time, I seem to have made an enemy of whoever¡¯s running this show. I wouldn¡¯t put it past them to make my reward some kind of curse. Instead, I chose a new Schema Slot. Since I¡¯d already spent both of mine I¡¯d leave this one in reserve to ¡®capture¡¯ something truly interesting. While Argent recuperated, I focused on digging down. My sphere of influence had expanded in that direction as well, and I had an idea. If I dug a hidden tunnel to the Sanctum underneath the garden and flooded it, I could close the door I¡¯d created into, leaving the only route to my Core disguised as a simple pond. Even if somebody discovered the passage they would have to swim then climb, all the way harassed by my poisonous creations. As an added layer of defense I cut several pits into the ground and then covered them over with a false floor of thin stone. Within these pits I seeded several Somnolent Blooms. Anyone who fell in would be incapacitated by sleeping poisons and since the toxins were airborn, they¡¯d catch anyone trying to help them out. There was a primal satisfaction to building out my little fortress. I never tired of it. Next I began to play with the Somnolent Blooms themselves. They had a handy little mechanism to spray out spores when disturbed, and I was curious whether I could enhance that enough to make them genuinely dangerous in an explosive sense. A frog sat croaking in the garden. Its wide eyes blinked as it saw a round, fat kind of puffball mushroom sprout from the dirt in front of it, growing up from nothing. The mushroom grew and grew as the frog let out a confused riii. In seconds the skin of the mushroom was starting to strain under internal pressure and the frog made a split-second decision. It jumped. A moment later the mushroom split open with an audible phoomp of releasing tension and thick, solid pellets of hardened chitin went spraying into the air as shrapnel. They peppered the dirt and tore holes in nearby mushrooms, laying waste to a small area around the explosive bloom. This had been my hardest project yet. I had spent two actual days slowly refining the precise forces involved, and had nearly found the balance of enough pressure to detonate with force, but enough skin tension to hold until an outside stimuli triggered the explosion. Nevermind the fact I still hadn¡¯t made one large enough to menace a human. In that time, I had successfully chewed away the earth underneath the sanctum, creating an underground labyrinth that would only grow more treacherous once the rain came and flooded it. I had also sent Argent on several short scouting missions, mostly on her own insistence. She had gone to the sewer outflow that marked the end of my domain and peered through for me, discovering that the floodwaters were pouring into a small and fetid lake. I briefly considered having her move my ring, just long enough to sweep up the local wildlife and add it to my repertoire, but something stopped me. It was in a Core¡¯s instinct not to move, and there might very well be good reason why. It was a shame. Considering the amount of water and waste being dumped into that lake, as disgusting as trawling through it would be there was every chance of finding at least one gemstone among the muck. With my expansive senses and Argent¡¯s help we could fish out material for a new Core. It would have to wait until the next time I leveled. In the meantime I simply worked on my lair, nurtured my garden, and planted poisonous seeds. Argent was moving faster and faster on her three legs, easily conquering the ratty obstacle course I had built for her recovery. As for Aurum and the egg, neither moved. The golden serpent slept like the dead, slowly growing slightly larger, and the egg never made so much as a twitch. I had tried pushing Mana into it to speed the hatching, but to no avail. It was when Argent was making her farthest reconnaissance yet that something happened to disturb my idyllic little world. In the tunnels, she suddenly encountered three men moving a large wicker chest. Their lantern cast their shadows around the corner, giving her time to scuttle into a shadowy nook before they came into sight. The three of them were dressed in leather aprons and short, fluffy caps, looking completely out of place stomping through sewer mud in boots. Two of them lugged the chest, while the third ran his gloved hands along the wall, reading the same marks the fat man and the skinny man had been following. ¡°This way, this way¡­¡± He mumbled.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. As they passed on, Argent scurried out, tailing them at a discrete distance. ¡°That rat¡¯s following us.¡± I cursed as one of them spotted her, sharper-eyed than his companions. ¡°There¡¯s rats everywhere, Peter.¡± The stockier man holding the other end of the chest answered in a lisping drawl. ¡°It¡¯s a sewer.¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s the same rat. It only has three legs.¡± ¡°You¡¯re mad. The mercury fumes have gotten to you.¡± I could have cheered for the stocky fellow, with his dull eyes and uncurious mind. What an absolute gem of humanity. ¡°Am not!¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry so much, Peter.¡± The third one called back. He was tall and skinny as a beanpole, with a poxy face that was colored in a sickly yellow by the light of the lantern in his hands. ¡°My grampa¡¯s mad and we still love him. Well, I do, my father hates him. But that¡¯s fine because I hate me father.¡± ¡°Why are you always on about your family?¡± The stocky one complained. ¡°Well, I wouldn¡¯t be a criminal if I had a good home life, would I?¡± ¡°That ain¡¯t true. That¡¯s outright bullshit. It¡¯s poverty that¡¯s a predictor of criminal activity.¡± The first one shot back, blessedly distracted from Argent as she continued to trail behind them. ¡°Well poverty contributes to an unstable home, but it¡¯s not like every beggar¡¯s a criminal.¡± Lanky replied, pausing to read a symbol scratched on the walls. The two behind nearly ran into him as he abruptly stopped. ¡°Both of you. Idiots.¡± Stocky grumbled. They continued arguing like that all the way, fighting over the most obscure and inane things and crowding the damp tunnels with the sound of their voices. They reached a final bend, and the three paused and took out black cloth hoods. Only when they were masked did they continue through. The ceiling rose up, up high, to a distant and gloomy vault. The tiny passageways of the sewer gave way to a wide cavern, and shadows gave way to the light of dozens of lamps. There was a city down here. When they constructed the sewer they must have completely enclosed part of a river, because here it was, flowing broad and steady through a vast tunnel, and on the banks of that river a swarm of boats were lashed together. Rope bridges and planks spanned between the decks. Lanterns swung from mastheads. On the shores, black tents and piled boxes had built a shantytown. Everywhere, people were doing business. Everywhere, I saw a flag of nine rats joined at the tails into a wheel. In the stomp and bustle of the crowd, Argent went entirely undetected. There were rats everywhere. They crowded in the corners and nibbled at the trash. They lifted their heads and squeak as Argent scuttled by. Everyone here wore a mask. It was some kind of vast criminal market. On sale were every kind of thing, so long as it was stolen, and business was done in a strange silence; instead of talking they would communicate by hand signals. It lent a macabre and serious tone to the whole affair. It also meant I had no clue what was being said. The three boys set up shop in an empty corner of the market, unpacking vials and oddly shaped bottles, dead specimens in glass cages, body parts pickled in yellow brines. The smell of chemicals was thick on their bodies and they couldn¡¯t help but whisper as they worked. ¡°Do you think Master Stauber ever comes here himself?¡± ¡°Nah. The old bat¡¯s afraid of being caught. It¡¯s hanging for black alchemy.¡± The stocky one shhh¡¯d them, conscious of the glares they were attracting from the crowd with their talk. Clearly these were not seasoned criminals. The last thing they took out was a steel cage, containing a small grayish creature. It had the body of a human but the head and wings of a bat, with a broad noise and two cute fangs, beady eyes, a furless wrinkled brow like an old man¡¯s. Disinterested, we slipped away, leaving those three to their business and scuttling from crate to barrel, across the tethering lines of tents, moving by the secret routes only a rat can follow to remain above the crowd¡¯s countless feet. Finally, we found what I was looking for. Jewels. A nervous, skinny man in a crow-nosed mask was seated on a blanket, showing a few glimmering baubles to passersby. Argent and I scuttled into the shadow of a nearby table, waiting for our opportunity. It came when a customer in a red-feathered mask paused to examine a necklace, lifting it to the light of the lamp and turning the golden links through his finger. The seller tensed visibly, expecting some slight of hand, and briefly taking his eyes off the trinkets still on the blanket. We lunged. He caught the flash of silver from the corner of his eye and drew a knife quicker than I had thought possible, flinging it down. Argent melted into a blur of silver and leapt through space. The blade thunked into the ground and she was already at the prize, snatching an emerald earing in her mouth and leaping again, vanishing into the shadows. The merchant was bewildered, distraught. ¡°That rat!¡± He shouted, seizing the man in the red-feather mask. Instantly all eyes were on him. Guards in closed helmets pushed through the crowd, seizing him as he stammered and protested his innocence. All the while, we were smugly hidden from view, prize dangling from our teeth. I made the decision not to press our luck today. It would be better for them not to realize the man was telling the truth. As we retraced our steps, however, we were caught by the most unlikely of sources. We were passing by the three alchemists as they haggled in silence over a vial of something greenish and foul, when the bat-faced little creature suddenly pressed itself to the bars of the cage. It reached a hand out, waving to us. ¡°Hey¡­¡± It whispered. ¡°Take me with you.¡± 0.7 Contract I hesitated. Curiosity compelled me to let the creature free- how did it know Argent could understand it? Had it been watching us as we tailed the alchemists, peering from between the bars of its cage, through the loose wicker of the chest it was carried in? On the other hand, we¡¯d be causing trouble for little benefit. ¡°I know you¡¯re from a dungeon.¡± The bat-faced mannikin whispered, and that settled things. Argent leapt into the cage, grabbed his tail in her jaws, and pulled him with us as she leaped again. This time the moment of resistance as we pushed through the fabric of space was more like slamming into a wall. We broke past it. By the time we landed the three alchemists had definitely noticed us. The little creature clung to our back as we dodged a clumsy stomp and dashed up a gangplank, into the floating side of the market, the roped-together convoy of little ships and barges. We scattered flocks of chickens as we ran, passing by merchants selling rattling bottles sealed with black wax, selling white cats, selling blood-red flowers under glass bells. The alchemists crashed through like a crowd of elephants, breaking everything they touched. We vaulted over the side of a ship and landed in the river. The three alchemists piled to the railing and stared, unwilling to follow, as we paddled through the rushing stream. Before we were out of sight we saw them being seized by the guards. We had definitely shown our hand today. With two different sources claiming burglary by white rat, it was going to be much harder to steal from this market again. People would be on their guard. But- The little creature clinging to Argent¡¯s back might be worth the trouble. I didn¡¯t have any minions who could speak, or with opposable thumbs. Argent was my eyes and Aurum was my fangs but I had no hands, no voice. Argent hauled herself out of the river and scuttled down a side-flow, and I carefully averted my eyes from what she was seeing. Oh, cruel heavens, that someone with my eye for beauty should have to live in a filthy sewer¡­ I had been hesitating on choosing a new Attunement. Partly because I wanted to give the powers-that-be time to forget I had rejected their ¡®generous¡¯ offer for my soul. Partly because I genuinely wasn¡¯t sure what my place in the world was. I thought I knew now. The fact was I was rather small for a Dungeon. I wasn¡¯t able to field vast hordes of deadly monsters. I would have to be clever instead of strong. What I needed, I would take from the humans, stealing from under their noses. I slipped into the trance-like state, exploring the paths open to me. The Attunements of Gleam and Gloom were both tempting in their own rights. One blessed every source of light in my Dungeon with a slight glamour, causing intruders to lose themselves in confusion, while the other deepened the shadows and filled them with illusory monsters. Together with Deception they would make my Dungeon a hall of smoke and mirrors. Tempting, as I said. But I had found something even better. The Attunement of Jewels. It would ever so slightly raise my Mana output for each gem I filled with Mana. It was a mouth-watering opportunity. My low Mana had been a perpetual scourge of my development. Considering I was angling to avoid any ¡®guests¡¯ for the time being, I couldn¡¯t feed as a normal Dungeon would. This solved all those problems. I selected it without hesitation.
You have selected the Attunement of Jewels (I) For each fully Mana-charged gemstone in your domain, gain 1% of the Mana invested in that gem each hour.
As Argent returned to my sphere of influence, I noted with disappointment that my Mana income did not tick up even slightly. Apparently jewels were no longer counted once I converted them to Monster Cores. The synergy with my current choices wasn¡¯t perfect then, but I was confident I could acquire enough precious stones to satisfy both needs. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! The little batlike creature hopped down from her back, staring around the fungal gardens with confusion. ¡°This it?¡± He squeaked, his floppy ears twitching, evidently disappointed. Unamused, I made the walls shake and the mushrooms around him grow tall and crooked. Instantly changing his tune, he flopped to the floor, bashing his head against the dirt. ¡°O¡¯ mighty Dungeon! Please don¡¯t be offended! I, Izzis, wish to contract with you! Take this petty servant and be kind to him, o¡¯ please, o¡¯ pretty please!¡± I paused. Contract? As the moment lingered, the little thing cracked open an eye, his face still on the floor. As the silence stretched to outright awkward, he lifted his head a touch. His ears flicked uncertainly. ¡°O mighty Dungeon?¡± I had an idea. I made the mushrooms grow taller still, entwining their lengthened stalks into words. ¡®WHAT MANNER OF CONTRACT¡¯ ¡°A¡­ Dungeon contract, O¡¯ Dungeon? Evidently this was something I was supposed to know. Like creating the Cores. I was starting to suspect that the powers-that-run-this-show were against me even before I rejected their contract, that I had been cut off from essential knowledge from the start. ¡®EXPLAIN¡¯ I wrote. ¡°Oh, erm¡­ You give me Mana, and I serve you!¡± The little thing was looking at me with suspicion now. I made the mushrooms wrap around his stubby little legs, instantly changing his tune. ¡°Faithfully, O Great One, faithfully and forever serve you!¡± ¡®IZZIS IS AN ODD NAME¡¯ I noted. ¡°First thing they said when I was born, ¡®Izzis a joke?¡¯ Normally homunculus are, um, a bit bigger.¡± He said. A homunculus then, that¡¯s what he was. And here I was wondering how a bat and a tiny human had produced offspring. Homunculus made much more sense. ¡®HOW DO WE DO THIS¡¯ ¡°Um, I offer a little blood to your Core and then, bam, stuff¡­ happens? I ain¡¯t done this before either.¡± Izzis¡¯ ears perked up as he sensed his offer being accepted. ¡®ENTER.¡¯ Argent led him towards my core, indicating he should climb to the top of the Sanctum. His leathery wings spread and he shot upwards. Flight. That was another thing I hadn¡¯t considered. I was beginning to think that passive defense was a hopeless game. That there were so many different methods of assault that I could never guard against them all while remaining fully defensive. I needed offensive tools as well. Instinctively, I felt last minute doubt as he landed in my alcove, so close to my true form. A Core¡¯s ultimate fear is to be exposed.ut I still had my guardian; Aurum uncurled from around his egg and loomed over the tiny homunculus as the tiny creature pricked his chest with a long clawtip and drew out a drop of ruby blood. That drop of blood fell on me and went through my jeweled outer surface, like a stone dropping into a lake, passing into my core. The world went mad. I felt my mind collide with Izzis¡¯ puny consciousness. For a minute we tumbled through a whirlwind of confusion, random snippets of thought barraging me - I can¡¯t believe this worked, can I trust him, I¡¯ve made it - without any indication of whose they were. Then, I was elsewhere. We both floated in an abstract void full of distant stars, the same strange space I¡¯d entered when I chose the Wheel on my first levelling. Izzis was there too now. Above us, a huge stone tablet loomed in the sky, and this was what it said.
Under the Gods'' Sight, you two have entered into Contract. State your terms.
He shall forever be my loyal servant. I could feel Izzis thinking too, trying to push against my own thoughts. I realized right away this was no simple agreement. This was a contest of wills. I shall be well-fed and well-kept and given all the Mana I need¡­ The pitiful little creature tried to add. I felt his mind as a pressure against my own, a psychic force against my thoughts. He shall receive ONE Mana for every TEN he brings me¡­ I shoved back. It was a mental fight, and one he was unprepared to win. His thoughts were skittish, distracted, lurching into dreams of riches and power. I was focused, cold. I hammered against his puny little mind. And ONE Mana for every ONE jewel he brings me. Izzis crumbled under my mental assault. My words appeared on the stone tablet written in cold blue fire. A bell rang out in the distance. The contract was sealed. The battle of wills hadn¡¯t just been won, it had been a slaughter.
Between Izzis the Homunculus and the Nameless One This Contract Shall Be Sacred: Izzis shall be forever the Nameless One¡¯s faithful servant. He shall be well-kept and well-fed. He shall receive one Mana for every ten he brings his Master. He shall receive one Mana for every jewel he brings his Master.
0.8 The Storm Izzis was sulking. Having lost the mental struggle to control the Contract, he had also lost his chance to live like a prince at my expense. Instead, I had him catching rats. He would capture them, drag them into my territory, and kill them. It provided a steady supplement to my Mana supply. It also made him miserable. I was entirely fine with this. And then it started to rain. A fine drizzle rattled down, slowly swelling the wide and lazy river that ran through the underground tunnels and culverts. My floodwater outlet was beginning to see a steady trickle. It filled up the irrigation trenches I had dug in my garden, the ponds and pools. With the waters starting to rise, the local wildlife was slithering into the nooks and crannies of the sewer. I called Izzis back, allowing him to return to his favorite hobby, weaving a little nest for himself out of mushroom stalks. By midday it was clear we were in for a storm. From the outlet at the far east end of my domain, I could hear the thunder crash and the rain splatter down. The whole city was battening down the hatches. Meanwhile, Argent had become a leader. Rounding up all the other white rats I had created, she led them through the obstacle course I had built for her. Rodents scrambled across balance beams, squeezed between bars, jumped from post to post to collect golden trinkets and then turned back, returning to the beginning to trade their prize for a tasty snippet of meat I conjured. We were training an army. Aurum slept soundly, the rise and fall of his back as he breathed a constant slow ripple of motion in the stillness of my hidden lair. As for me, I spent this lazy rain day working. First, one my explosive blooms. The ground sprouted up with tiny, bulbous fungal sprouts, swelling until they burst in a spray of chitin shrapnel. I wasn¡¯t above having a few of them ¡®happen¡¯ to sprout by Izzis¡¯ nest, making the little gremlin jump in fright. Serves him right. But eventually I tired of amusing myself at his expense. And amusing is all the explosive fungi were turning out to be. I could neither grow them fast enough to be a viable attack or get them to wait until something moved nearby to detonate, ruling out planting them as a trap. I spun webs like I had on my very first day, netting the river. Fish and creatures caught by the rushing waters fell into my hands, Izzis picking them off from the shore with a little spear he¡¯d made. A nice way to make some Mana, although sadly, none of the junk that washed into my grasp included jewels. As the rain pattered and tapped, I turned to making a new Core. I had the emerald, and once I¡¯d filled it up with Mana I began toiling to convert it to a new Shard. I knew my last one had been crude work at best. This time I moved slowly, deliberately. I formed the core of the energy within the jewel using all my mental strength, compressing the Mana within to its limit, until it burst into a pale flame that flickered and danced in an invisible wind. Then I began to bind it in place with an orbital ring of new energy, focusing on getting the Mana to flow smoothly and quickly in a kind of looping river that contained the burning core energy. But for the final touch, I¡¯d had to look inward. My own core was similar - a tiny, fingernail sized rift that poured an endless stream of Mana into the world, surrounded by five golden circles of runes. Those runes made all the difference. Most of these runes I didn¡¯t understand and wouldn¡¯t meddle with, but each time I had taken an Attunement, new letters had appeared. It was these I was attempting to copy into my creation. Since they were associated with Attunement, I hoped to use them to copy that Attunement into my monsters. The process of engraving, however, was a vicious struggle. I had to maintain most of my focus on compressing the core energy, while steadily slowing the flow of the outer ring enough to carve symbols onto its face, splitting my attention into three. Two times I had made a slip, and both had manifested in sudden cracks breaking the surface of the emerald. One more and it was likely to split apart entirely. All my attention was given to that single task. As I etched the final curl of a looping, arcane letter into the emerald, I let out a mental sigh of relief. I allowed my senses to return to the outside world-Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. And found that my little kingdom was in chaos. Argent was shaking me in her paws, trying to get me to ¡®wake up¡¯. Izzis was huddled into the alcove with her, and even Aurum was awake, gazing at me with concerned eyes. The fungal gardens were flooding. Rushing, frothing white water was pouring in through the flood tunnel, overflowing the channels and pools I¡¯d dug and rushing over the roots of the mushrooms, sweeping away croaking bullfrogs as they fought each other for the few islands of high ground remaining. The tunnels I had dug underneath the gardens to flood and turn into an underwater labyrinth were taking the bulk of it, acting as a drain, but there was only so much space and the water was still coming in. I did the only thing I could, and tried to seal off the floodwater tunnel. The sheer weight of the river pouring through tore the stone away nearly as fast as I could build it out, but bit by bit, I assembled a dam, lifting up a curtain of stone to block off the flood. My gardens were mud and ruins by the time I had it done. The mushrooms had been torn from their roots and upturned, or swept away entirely, leaving ground a morass of sucking mud. Much of my population was gone. And behind the floodwall, the waters were still building. I hastily dug trenches, expanding the tunnels beneath the garden with deep wells that I cut into the still-soft earth. I also opened up several very thin tunnels branching out from the central shaft of my Sanctum, ending them in ¡®bottles¡¯ - small chambers lined with moss and water meant to keep specimens alive. I populated them with every kind of creature within my territory, quickly assembling an arc. And for minutes, then hours, I waited. The dam held strong at first. I cut a spillway near the base, allowing a steady but constrained flow of water to pour through. It ran into the tunnels beneath the garden and slowly turned them into a murky, muddy labyrinth. Better yet the entrance would look like nothing more than a deep pond. But I was concerned. As fast as I could dig through loose soil, dissolving new wells to catch the rushing waters, I couldn¡¯t dig faster than a flood. Ever so slowly, my dam was beginning to bend. Tiny rivulets ran down the stone face. A steady groaning filled the lair. Argent was next to me. Izzis paced at the edges of the alcove. Aurum tried to sleep, but I could catch him slowly cracking his eyes open to survey the situation. I tried to send calm waves of mental energy to all of them, but I had none to spare. I was a Dungeon Core. I couldn¡¯t help but see every facet of my domain. I had no way to tune out the groan, groan, crack of the dam giving way. And then all it once it broke. A wave of cold, seething floodwater smashed through the garden, tearing up the last of my crop, frogs letting out a last desperate ribbit in the instant before they were washed away and everything was drowned. Everything was lost beneath high, dark waters. I watched the water fill the tunnels I had dug beneath, and slowly wash up, rising into the base of the Sanctum. Minute by minute, I watched it climb. I would survive. Argent and Aurum would not. I desperately began to dig. To widen the outflow pipe at the far end of my domain, through which white waters were cascading into the lake below. I ate away at the stone as fast as I could, hoping to let the flood out faster than it came in, but it was no use. The brickwork was solid and resistant to my efforts. The waters were rising. I watched as rat carcasses, blind fat fish, rusting bits of metal and scraps of bone, garbage from the sewers, clods of mud, rotten apples and fishguts all sailed through the river that filled the floodwater passage to the top of the ceiling. A last ditch inspiration struck me. I consumed everything. I ate the last of my fungus crop that had hidden itself beneath the earth, I ate and ate until I had enough Mana to at least give a last ditch effort. I consumed a blackened apple seeds and all, and planted one in the dirt beneath the outflow grate. Then I poured my mana into it. All of it. At once. The seed split open under the deluge of life, sending feelers of green through dirt and stone, anchoring itself as a single sprout began to rise. And swell. And grow. It was like watching a river of timber pour up from the earth, thickening into the base of an enormous tree, its wriggling roots cracking open the stone. It split at its top into branches that pressed into the roof, pushing out with growing, immense pressure. Until the stone gave way and split open and the entire wall was torn apart, the tree rising through. Outside of the sewer there was a little lake where the overflow ran out. A lake overlooked by a tall brick wall, part of the city above¡¯s foundation. That wall bulged out and splintered open, brickdust and rubble raining down as a tree reached its green branches through and spread out a crown of leaves. Its roots hung over the breach in the walls, white water cascading past its mighty trunk. And within my little lair, the waters fell. They sank away just before they reached the top of my Sanctum, sliding back down as the flood found a new, easier route to take, sloshing out into the lake. Cold air blew in from the hole I had just breached in my Dungeon. 0.9 The Adventurers Olin Frampt, high mage of Caltern, despised storms. He had stopped his aging centuries ago, soon enough that he kept his pretty face and his curled golden hair, but there was one thing that reminded him of his real age. And that was the way his bones ached when a storm was on the way. His knees twinged and ached in the hours beforehand, when the smell of rain was in the air but the deluge was yet to fall. When the clouds swirled overhead, darkly threatening, cracks of lightning visible in their swollen underbellies, he felt pain for once in his pampered existence. He liked to retire to his bath and sink into warm water, underneath mountains of fluffy soapbubbles. The heat of the water made him feel like he could drift off into sleep. And then his eyes snapped open. Something was wrong. An immense surge of Mana had just swept through his city. He shot up from the tub. The maid refilled the hot water flinched back, her eyes spared the worst of sights by a convenient clump of soapbubbles. Olin had no time for dignity. He seized a towel, threw it around his waist, and went running down the halls towards the vast double doors of his laboratory. It was too late. As he threw the doors open, every arcane instrument was askew. Every dowsing stone burned hot. Every orrery was spinning. His creation, his beautiful creation, sat in the center of the room, an ominous presence. It was housed in what looked like a bronze diving bell, with a single porthole of smoked green glass. As he peered through, what met his eyes was enough to make Olin stagger back and retch. It had all gone terribly wrong. That Mana had fed uncontrolled growth, and that meant mutation, corruption. He felt the burn of bile in his throat. The maid was following him, looking concerned. ¡°Bury it.¡± Olin said. His pretty face was dark with anger. ¡°What?¡± Hers was high, cracked with fear and confusion. ¡°Find a shovel, take it out into the garden, and bury it.¡± Olin snapped, glaring at her with such intensity she flinched back like he had landed a physical blow. He had no time. He would go to the Adventurer¡¯s Guild and- Olin paused, reconsidering. He would put on clothes, then he would go to the Adventurer¡¯s Guild and have those useless clods search for him. A wave of Mana like that could only mean one of a very few things. And the most likely was a newborn Dungeon. In the confusion and terror of the flood, I had levelled. The annihilation of my gardens had granted me enough Soul fragments to break through. My field of ethereal Mana slowly swept outwards, filling my ruined domain and going beyond its previous bounds. In one direction my new territory was more sewer tunnels, but in the other, I expanded through the hole I had torn in the walls. My domain swept over a deep, muddy lake - but only briefly. What I discovered was that in the open air and without walls, my Mana would simply continue to spread outwards, until it was too thin for me to ¡®see¡¯ through it or control it. In order to claim a territory I needed it to be enclosed. And I had a plan for that. First I had to rebuild. My fungal gardens needed to be replanted, my populations restored from the ¡®bottles¡¯ I had built sprouting off from the shaft of the Sanctum. Thankfully, I had Mana to spare after the deluge. I only needed time. I didn¡¯t know that I had that time, anymore. After restoring the gardens as best I could my Mana was low again. I had just enough to throw up a barrier of Somnolent Blooms to guard the newly open breach around the great tree I had grown. The tree itself was something of an anomaly. It had been planted as an apple seed, but after the sheer amount of Mana I had fed it, the bark had turned dark and the branches were twisted, the leaves veined with threads of purple. It moved faintly even without any wind, and as I watched, a toad hopping near the base of the tree was seized by a sudden twist of the roots, letting out frantic ribbits as the wooden tendrils slowly crushed down. I flinched at the poor creature¡¯s demise.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. It was safe to say I¡¯d made something rather sinister. After considering, I did something I had been delaying for a long time- My gardens were to the north of my Sanctum, which was a tall chamber within the walls of the sewer. Very likely, there was another tunnel passing by the Sanctum to the south. Before I had chosen not to dig that way, for fear of exposing myself from another direction. Now, with the breach letting sunlight steam into my domain, it seemed too late to worry about that. Instead I wanted to expand quickly and raise my Mana income as high as I could. Rather than digging directly from my Sanctum, I chose a spot a little east of it, starting to eat a connecting tunnel from the gardens to the south. Within an hour I had broken through, and my reward was an immediate waft of sewer-fresh air. Using the last of my Mana, I created several vipers and unleashed them. There was a heavy stock of rats in this new tunnel, maybe hundreds of them, so I sealed the exits and poured my green-scaled beauties in, intending to reap enough Mana to start working on some proper defenses. There was so much to do, and time was no longer on my side. Eyfrae hated sewers. She had made her start as a Dungeoneer carving her way through the hordes of creatures that infested them. The crawling bugs, the enormous rats, the unspeakably foul slimes that oozed their way through the man-made tunnels, a heaven for monsters; it was as if people were trying to attract monster infestations. She frowned at Olin. It was a hard thing to do, considering he was awfully pretty and awfully close to naked, with only a towel wrapped around his slender hips, but she managed nonetheless. The cupid¡¯s bow of her lips pursed in disdain. ¡°You want me to investigate a sewer? Darling, I¡¯m the leader of the Adventurer¡¯s Guild, not a novice. You want some farmboy with a rusting sword who¡¯s just signed up. I¡¯m too good for this.¡± She feigned interest in her nails as he leaned across her desk, water dripping down his half-naked body. ¡°It has to be you.¡± Olin insisted. ¡°There¡¯s a new Dungeon down there, I can smell it. Right beneath our city.¡± ¡°New? No. I can tell you what it is. You gifted your little lapdog Gent a bound Dungeon Core, and it got lost when he died, no? And now you want me to go personally to reclaim it.¡± She huffed. ¡°You could at least be honest about thinking I¡¯m your errand-girl.¡± ¡°Fine, fine. It got away from me, I¡¯ll admit it.¡± Olin threw up his hands, exasperated. He got so easily upset when the world didn¡¯t give him what he wanted. ¡°I¡¯ll get it.¡± The intrusion of Morghul¡¯s voice made both of them remember he existed. Two very annoyed, very pretty faces turned to glare at their unwanted third wheel, a weather-beaten old dwarf with a gray beard who sat quietly in the corner, casually polishing a golden ring. He had dozens of them. They shone on his scarred and muscular fingers. Eyfrae didn¡¯t like Morghul one bit. It was a shame he¡¯d held his post of second-in-command since before she was born. ¡°I¡¯ll go handle what business needs doing.¡± Rolling his eyes at them both, the dwarf slipped from his chair and set the ring back on his middle finger. ¡°You two can go back to your flirting.¡± As the door slammed shut behind him, cutting off their protests that they were definitely not flirting, Morghul shook his head. The young had so much energy and they spent it all on pointless things. Now¡­ He¡¯d need a warrior who could count past three, a priest without a stick up their rear, and a thief he could trust not to spend the whole trip eyeing his jewelry collection. I floated in the in-between space where I chose Attunements, studying the different futures presented to me. Refinement. A word I already embodied, thank you, and a tantalizing opportunity. The treasures I produced would rise to the next level, and so would my Shard-crafting. I could outfit my minions with beautiful weaponry. Subtlety. An aspect to aspire to. The immediate benefit was to craft a fake Core, luring adventurers down the wrong path. It was an added layer of defense that would protect me. But¡­ Gleam and Gloom called to me. They would layer with the defenses I already had, crafting a labyrinth of illusions to ensnare my enemies. Confused, invading adventurers would be more susceptible to my camouflaged minions, more likely to stumble into my defenses. The synergy between the two was too good to pass up.
You have selected the Attunement of Gloom (I) The shadows in your Dungeon deepen, swallowing all light. Enemies will see phantom foes within the darkness.
When I came to, Izzis was trying to get my attention. His face loomed over my jeweled surface, boggling eyes staring at me. ¡°Boss, boss we¡¯ve got a problem.¡± I could immediately see what he meant. An enormous, slithering fish had arrived in the area I had sealed off and set my vipers loose in. It had wriggled its slimy grey body through some crack or crevice and was now feasting relentless on the population. A mouth like a shapeless round tunnel full of sharp yellow teeth slurped up all in its path. Six beady eyes stared out at the world, emotionless, seeing only things to be eaten. Two tendrils extended parallel to its long, serpentine body, whipping through the air to snatch up prey. It was some sort of mutant lamprey, oozing greyish slime from its skin. Of every creature I had seen in this wretched sewer it was by far the ugliest and least deserving of life. Aurum lifted his head, waiting for the command. I gave it in a flash of bloodlust. Go. Kill. 0.10 Blood In The Water ¡°... Seven. Eighth!¡± Olkaz grinned widely, showing a mouthful of crooked tusks and immense tombstone teeth. The ogre had to stop at ¡®eighth¡¯ because that¡¯s how many fingers he had left on his scarred hands. ¡°And what comes after eight?¡± Morghul asked. The ogre paused. His brow furrowed up with intense mental constipation. ¡°Eleven?¡± Morghul sighed. He had asked for a fighter who could count to three, and eight was more than three. In fact eight was more than double three. ¡°Aye, I suppose eleven does come after eight. You¡¯ve got the qualifications for the task, my friend, and you¡¯re welcome on my team.¡± He offered his hand, which was quickly enclosed in the grip of an enormous meaty paw. They shook, comrades in arms. The lamprey was making short work of my food chain. It moved with writhing, sudden jolts, using its long tongue and latching jaw to drag vermin from the cracks in the walls where they tried to hide. Its tendrils out, landing whipcrack blow that stunned its prey. Within the cramped environment of the tunnels it was an apex predator. I suppose I should have admired that. I couldn¡¯t bring myself to find anything admirable about such any ugly, sluglike thing. As I watched it encountered two of my vipers in the swampy waters. The fight was brief, brutal. A lashing tendril struck the viper that approached from the front, knocking it down, while the one that came from the side lunged at the lamprey¡¯s flanks. The viper¡¯s teeth struck home but slid against the lamprey¡¯s slippery skin, failing to pierce through, and with a sudden lurch, the vile slug-fish rolled sideways, dislodging the viper. It curled itself into a slithering knot and lunged before the snake could recover, and I mentally winced as I watched green scales vanished down that horror of a mouth. The second viper, alone, could do nothing. It turned to flee into the water and the squirming horror chased it down. I couldn¡¯t watch. Aurum was on his way, moving silently down the passage between the two sides of my domain. I decided to tilt the scales. Silently, I began to hollow a space behind the lamprey, leaving a thin barrier of stone while eating a pitfall beneath. And then it was time. Aurum¡¯s head cut through the waters as he swum forward. I frightened a family of rats from their burrow, sending them darting through the lamprey¡¯s sight. The greedy creature went for the bait and lunged, a frantic spasm of motion that twisted and kicked through its long body. Aurum was precise and deadly- he lunged in the moment it caught a rat and its jaws were briefly occupied, coiling his body and leaping, jaws outstretched. His fangs sunk into the beast¡¯s eye. It let out a hideous, wet sound of anger, the rat¡¯s bloody hindquarters dropping from its jaw. A tendril whipped out to smash into Aurum¡¯s skull as he released his grip on the mangled eyesocket. The blow smashed him back into the water, briefly stunned. I had no voice to scream and no hands to curl as the lamprey dived after him- And he neatly curled away from its seeking jaws, only feigning injury. His teeth sunk into its side again, at the root of one tendril, yellowish blood billowing into the swirling mud of the waters as bubbles roiled to the surface. He clung on now, as the beast thrashed and rose and tried to throw him. I could hardly follow the entanglement of bodies as the lamprey rolled over and over. Aurum let go suddenly, slipping away. He coiled up and spat a stream of venom from his throat as the beast tried to chase him, unable to catch up with its clumsy, lurching motions; Aurum was as fast as an arrow and as agile as a fish. The poison landed against the beast¡¯s remaining eyes on its wounded side, sizzling into caustic bubbles as it burned and the creature let out a whining scream. Aurum kept to its blind flank now, the creature¡¯s circling one another, the lamprey trying to hold him in its sights. I wanted to believe it was over, but it would only take one good, stunning hit, and the larger beast would win in the heartbeat it took Aurum to recover.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. He lunged again, grabbing the tendril in his jaws and rolling to throw his weight against the wound he had made earlier. With a wrench and a tear of flesh the whole limb was ripped away. The lamprey twisted and its remaining tentacle flashed through the air, catching Aurum beneath the jaw. He reeled back, the lamprey coming after him with its slurping mouth wide. A kick of his tail and Aurum leapt back, evading the beast as its slimy bulk crashed down, and now the whole battle began to turn in our favor. Aurum was in the blindspot now, harassing the beast¡¯s sides with lightning-fast bites, withdrawing and slipping away each time the lamprey tried to turn and chase him. He was smart enough to hold position on the beast¡¯s blinded flank and wear it down with repeated small wounds. I could see the venom starting to work, slowing its reactions. Sensing its own death, the lamprey suddenly lashed out with its tail. In the moment Aurum darted back it turned and writhed for safety of a nearby burrow. And it crossed directly over my trap. At my command the ground dropped out from under the lamprey. It fell into a steep pit, and suddenly the mucus membrane that armored its body became a hindrance, making it too slippery to climb, rebounding off the walls as it frantically tried to escape. I planted explosive blooms into the walls, watched them swell to bursting as the beast fought to climb out¡­ One by one, the fungal blooms detonated and tore the lamprey into bloody, twitching shreds. Morghul was in a sour mood as he stomped through the low town. His first choice for a thief was dead. Two-Fingers had been hanged two months ago. Aye, that was the way with them. The good ones got cocky and got themselves killed. The bad ones just went right to the second part. The world was at a loss for old thieves. As he walked along, a young sprog shot past, bumping against the old woman in front of him for a split second. Morghul stepped forward, checking the young man hard with his shoulder while his hand shot out to seize the pickpocket¡¯s wrist. The thief sunk to the street in agony, holding back a scream as the dwarf¡¯s rough hand twisted his wrist bones to the breaking point. The stolen coin purse dropped from his fingers. The dwarf caught it on the toe of his boot and kicked it up into his hand with a jingle of coins as he let the young fellow go. It was a rough lesson, but one that would keep the sprog out of trouble for a few weeks while his hand healed. ¡°I believe this is yours.¡± He was surprised that the old woman looked distinctly ungrateful. She was a tall, thin old biddy, with her hair back in a bun like a greying librarian. She took the purse back without the hint of a smile. ¡°So was the kid. I was training him.¡± She took the purse with her left hand, because her right ended in a stump. The surest sign of a thief. ¡°Oh?¡± Morghul¡¯s eyebrows went up. ¡°Say, how are you with your left hand?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t do that kind of work, old man.¡± ¡°Aye, nothing like that. I happen to be putting an adventuring crew together and¡­¡± Aurum had refused the emerald Core. I offered it to him and he simply turned his head aside, slithering back to wrap around his egg and sleep the battle off. As he slumbered a hazy aura surrounded him. Thin ribbons of white light formed in the air around him and poured into his body until his scales glowed too brightly to be seen except as a brilliant silhouette. One of my creatures had finally absorbed enough Mana to evolve.
Your creation is undergoing Evolution During this time, Mana you gift them will be more effective, and they will be easier to shape. Choose a path- Gold-Streaked Constrictor (Common) - This giant snake crushes its foes with unusual strength and vast resilience, but lacks the poison of smaller species. Ophidian (Common) - Shedding the skin of a common beast, this demi-human takes on civilized traits but retains much of its beastly nature. Abandons the Gold-Streaked bloodline. Gold-Streaked King Cobra (Rare) - Ruler of serpents, this species feeds primarily on lesser snakes and gains increased toxicity as it does so. Lesser Hydra (Rare) - Relative of dragons, the lesser hydra can grow to incredible sizes as it consumes all with its seven heads. Consumes the Gold-Streaked bloodline. Lamprey Serpent (Mutant) - Absorbs traits from the last foe defeated. Gains defensive mucus and tendrils.
I would start with the obvious. I was not choosing Lamprey Serpent, and I was not choosing Lesser Hydra. I would hope the first is obvious, and as for the second, I had the feeling I would be able to choose more powerful options in exchange for the bloodline as Aurum matured. Ophidian was out for much the same reasons. In the end, the choice was rather straightforwardly King Cobra. The cannibalism was unseemly but the ability to distill their venom was precious. As I made my selection, a thin barrier of orange-gold light surrounded Aurum. It was like he was trapped in amber, his darkened form within starting to shift, to blur at the edges and change form. And now it was my turn. I had chosen my Attunement but not my bonus for levelling. Since I had yet to use the Schema slot I had chosen last time, I demured on taking a fourth, and while Mana expansion continued to interest me it wasn¡¯t something I could regularly use until I began to devour larger prey. So it was time to see how much I''d offended luck and the gods. 0.11 Adamant The great wheel spun, spitting off golden sparks. I watched as it rolled to a halt, resolving from a blur into a stone wheel carved with alcoved segments. When it finally clicked stopped, a statue of a pigheaded god stood before me, holding a treasure chest rich with gold and jewels. The statue had actually animated and taken a step forward before the whole wheel lurched, and suddenly turned so that another segment faced me. This one was shabby, a faceless statue with a plain wooden box. So it was safe to say the gods were still mad at me. The statue set the box down at my feet. With a satisfying click the lid swung open. Within was a small, furry creature with long claws and a face like a white mask. A sloth. The gods had given me a sloth for my prize. I was thinking some very interesting blasphemies as the void and the wheel faded out. Morghul sat uncomfortably in the little temple, an owl perched atop his head. There were owls everywhere. Small, large, spotty, white-faced, every kind of owl was hopping among the pews, most of them sneaking tidbits of food from the crowd. The one sitting atop Morghul¡¯s mane of greying hair was thankfully a small one, a little round ball of snowy floof. ¡°Morghul!¡± He was tackled suddenly from behind, dainty arms the color of coffee wrapping around his shoulders. Sky blue tattoos in a mysterious picture-script wound up from her wrists to her elbows. ¡°Aye, girl. S¡¯been too long.¡± Reaching up the dwarf patted his favorite priestess on the head. She was barely taller than him, with dark hair cut in a bowl around her hidden face; even he¡¯d never seen her without the owl mask of she wore. ¡°So?¡± She asked. ¡°What is it this time? You never stop by unless it''s business.¡± ¡°I guess I don¡¯t. This time, it¡¯s a Dungeon. Right beneath the city I¡¯m hearing, and it was bound at one point, so it might be the sort that holds a grudge.¡± ¡°Mhm.¡± To his surprise, Strix only nodded. ¡°My owls told me something like that. I¡¯ll be ready to go in the morning.¡± ¡°How do they know so much, Strix? I¡¯ve never understood.¡± Morghul raised a finger to pet the little owl on his head, smoothing over the soft feathers around its neck. It pecked him. ¡°Oh Morghul, it¡¯s not about what you know, it¡¯s about who you know.¡± This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. The sloth happily played with its toes as I got down to serious business. Aurum had refused the emerald Shard, and I wasn¡¯t going to give it to this ridiculous creature, which left me with few choices. I would have to make a new creation to carry the Shard. At first was I was envisioning an altered viper, possibly two-headed or with a scorpion¡¯s sting; then an even better idea came to me. I shaped a man out of earth and mud, a crude golem with club-feet and enormous, four-fingered mittens for hands, a shapeless blob of dirt for a faceless head. Izzis was my hands. He pressed the gem into the center of the dirtman¡¯s skull like a cyclopean green eye and scurried back. Nothing happened. I poured energy into him now, pushing four threads of purest Mana into the earthen statue, one through each limb. They connected together at the gem, a circulatory system for crude energies. With a jolt and a shudder the dirtman came to life and took a step forward. He left half his foot on the ground. I winced, pushing more Mana into him, into the stuff of his body. I altered him to be more elastic, better glued together, altering his flesh to something between clay and stone that was pliable enough to make some clumsy shuffling motions but still tough enough not to crumble apart with each step. When that proved to still leave him somewhat crumbly, I hit upon a stroke of genius. I planted fungus on his back, shelves of broad mushrooms the color of teak, and drew their roots through the whole of his body, anchoring his muddy flesh together to keep him from falling apart. In the end, I had made a very simple golem, a man-shaped clod of earth covered by colorful displays of spore and fungi. I named him Adamant. And as I did, a wave of exhaustion hit me.
[ Minor Fungal Golem (Flawed Core of Jewels) ]
Born of mud and tangling roots, this golem is slightly sturdier thanks to the colonies of fungus that live in symbiosis. Having been given a Shard, it boasts a small understanding of the world around it, with the potential to grow and learn.
Attempt to create a Name has failed. You lack the Arcana to maintain more than two Names.
Adamant, dammit. Adamant Adamant Adamant. I would name him, even if the gods wouldn¡¯t acknowledge it, and I spitefully chanted the name as the brief dizzy spell wore off. I had the option of taking this new golem type as a Schema. I considered, but in the end dismissed the idea. Without the ability to control them directly they simply wouldn¡¯t be very useful. The mind I felt through my link with Adamant was murky, muddy. He had the kind of thoughts you¡¯d imagine a particularly intelligent stone having; he mostly remarked on how pretty the gardens were. So at least he had taste. I had a few other options. The centipedes that guarded my Sanctum had spent days being steadily empowered by its Blessing, becoming more and more poisonous. I could make them larger and more deadly yet. Or I could take a shot at making a more intelligent rat for Argent to lead into battle. But no, I had a perfect idea for how to use that Schema Slot. The sloth glanced up from lazily picking moss from its fur, perhaps sensing my plans. I could have chuckled. 0.12 Growth My newly improved sloth was a thing of beauty. The size of a small horse, it had claws that could cut through steel, the strength of a bear, and no inclination to use either. Those I had added out of some duty to give the creature the ability to defend itself before sending it out into the wide and dangerous world. No, the true purpose of the sloth was in its fur. Before, the creature¡¯s untamed, matted hair had only been home to a few species of moss that had latched on to the sedentary beast. Now, it had become a miniature garden. I had planted the whole of my creations there. Bloody Cups, Nematocelia, fans of luminescent mushroom-ears, clusters of long-stalked fungi with fuzzy dandelion heads ready to scatter spores to the wind. It looked a little like a coral reef had sprouted up on the creature¡¯s back, a tangle of abstract shapes and bright pastel colors. It would carry my creations with it when it left my domain, spreading them across the fertile manure of the sewers. In exchange it would be protected by its symbiosis with the garden; Somnolent Blooms and other poisonous species lined its back, but I had ensured the beast was quite immune against all of them. Anything attempting to prey on the clumsy, harmless sloth would quickly find itself reeling under a dozen poisons, every breath choked with the toxic spore that drifted from the gardens on its back. That was how I had chosen the name.
[ Sporeback Sloth ]
Slow enough for moss and lichen to grow on its back, this leisurely creature has become a living garden, protecting itself not only with claw and muscle but with an armor of poison flora.
My goal was simple; right now, anyone entering my domain would see a garden of strange and luminous mushrooms, bizarre creatures, as clearly a Dungeon as anything could be. My best hope of protection was to confuse the issue by spreading my influence across the sewers. If the entire underground labyrinth was choking in mushrooms, my little territory would be fade into the background. I gave the Sporeback a prod, sending it slowly loping from my domain. Once I had Mana I would create more, sending them out as messengers to populate the sewers with my own brand of beauty. In the meantime, I had work to do.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Argent and Izzis had become friends somehow, despite my mental prods to brave little Argent to stay away from the backstabbing homonculus. They were playing tag with Adamant, thoroughly flummoxing the clod by weaving under his legs and over his head, the clumsy giant clapping his great hands down to catch them and then peeping through his fingers to see nothing but empty air. I watched them for a while. It was nice to see my creatures playing, the carefree way they could existence within my domain. For me, there had always been a kind of constant hum of anxiety to the air, a sense that something was coming for me. I knew that fear was justified and right. That was the way a Dungeon had to live, constantly digging deeper. I was only soothed from my paranoias by the satisfaction when I had invented some new clever twist or turn to armor myself against the world outside. They paused eventually, first Argent then Adamant sensing my attention on them, Izzis making several more dive bombs around Adamant¡¯s head before he noticed the other two were no longer playing. He landed on the golem¡¯s shoulder, waiting. I had a mission for them. My walls were still breached, the strange black tree stretching its branches through the gap. Rather than close it off I wanted to expand, but with no ceiling or walls my Mana was simply pouring out and dispersing into open air. I need to enclose that flank, and walls of stone were both inadequate to the task and too obvious a sign to humans. Therefore I had come up with a plan. On the far side of the lake, a grove of bent, tangle-rooted trees grew up from the water, apparently well adapted to the swampy environment. As night set, Adamant slid down the breach and sank into the waters like a stone, wading slowly across. Perched atop his head was Argent, her nose pointed into the wind like the masthead of some strange ship. Izzis was the lookout, flitting high into the night to watch the walls and make sure no humans oversaw our midnight mission. Meanwhile, I was playing with the newly opened space in the tunnel where we¡¯d fought the Lamprey. I decided to make a swamp, churning the stone down to fine mud and digging dozens of shallow craters that I filled via connection to my flooded underground tunnels. Thickets of thin-stemmed glowcap mushrooms promised easy food for vermin, but they¡¯d become food themselves in time. Next it was time to make a proper den for my snakes. Raising pillars of stone towards the ceiling, I riddled them with small burrows, placing the finest accommodations near the top of each column in the hopes of spurring my vipers to competition. Unable to resist the artistic flair, I began to carve the images of curling snakes into the pillars, choosing to go for a rough and tribalistic style that blended with the craggy stone. I had almost taken my eyes off Adamant when the trouble began. He was wading through the lake, his feet sinking into the mud with each step, the waters higher than his shoulders. Suddenly a flicker of orange-gold cut through the dark lake and slammed into his chest, sending him reeling back. Another darted at him from behind, slamming its body against his leg, nearly making him stumble. With Adamant struggling to keep his footing, Argent could only cling on to his head, barely staying above the water. 0.13 Just Like That Morghul placed a leaf into a cup of water and held his hands to either side, sending a faint thread of Mana into the makeshift compass. The leaf spun, slowly wobbling to point northwards, and he nodded. ¡°Not far now.¡± Strix shook her head. ¡°My owls say it will be a long time yet.¡± She wore an ochre sundress, high leather boots, and a broad-brimmed hat. A tawny little owl with dark spots perched on the sunhat¡¯s edge, staring out with bright amber eyes. ¡°Well damn.¡± Morghul squinted at his augury, giving the leaf a prod with one ringed finger. Sure enough it swayed right back to where it had been pointing. ¡°Never heard your owls get it backwards, but I¡¯ve never had my augury steer me wrong either...¡± ¡°Let¡¯s keep going. The future¡¯s only something to meet.¡± Strix said, her blind gaze focusing on nothing in particular. ¡°I am voting to follow the person who can actually see.¡± The thief had yet to give her name, but she was grey-haired and carried herself with the pride of a noble, so she had become Lady Grey to the rest of the group. She wore a little cap with a dark veil and riding clothes, wielding a long rapier and a half-dozen knives strapped to her belt. ¡°Sounds good t¡¯me.¡± Olkaz brought up the rear, barely able to squeeze himself into the sewer tunnels by walking on his knuckles in an awkward lope. A pair of throwing axes smacked against the segmented greaves armoring his legs. He was in full plate, battered and dented and anything but shining, a bizarre and oversized knight. ¡°Funny, I thought we were sensible adults, and yet everyone just voted to ignore the damn seer.¡± Morghul stroked his beard in concern. ¡°Dammit, but alright. Let¡¯s walk right in to trouble.¡± Through Adamant¡¯s blurry single eye and Argent¡¯s lurching, seasick perspective, I had no clear sight of the attackers. What I saw looked like orange flames darting under the waters, slamming into the clay man¡¯s sides to harass him. I could almost laugh. They were dire goldfish. Although not particularly dangerous, without any claws or teeth, their hunting strategy was clear; bludgeon their prey down into the water and hold them there until they drowned. And while the golem wouldn¡¯t be drowning anytime soon, atop his head, Argent was struggling not to swept off into the lake. Adamant swept his hands through the water, trying clumsily to seize his assailants. They neatly evaded with flicks of their trailing fins and slammed into him again from behind. He tripped forward, and Argent went splashing into the water. Instantly, one of the fish broke off to attack her instead, its dorsal fin scything through the water as it shot towards the albino rodent. At the last second - even as the giant fish lifted its head above the water to sweep down towards Argent with mouth wide open - Izzis dropped out of the sky, sinking his little talons into the beast¡¯s sides and kicking his wings, managing to hold it off for a crucial moment. Izzis let go and in the same instant Adamant¡¯s club-like hand came crashing down. The goldfish was smashed towards the bottom of the lake, killed instantly. Another fish slammed into his legs, sending the giant clay man down to his knees beneath the water. The rest of the school surrounded him, making battering-ram runs with their blunt skulls, kicking him with their tails. And all the while, Argent was struggling to stay afloat with her three legs. Izzis grabbed her by the back and tried to pull her up, but it was too late. Beneath them an orange-gold shadow was looming, growing bigger and bigger as it rose towards the surface. In the instant before Izzis could pull his friend free there was a splashing explosion of water, a snap of jaws, and Argent was gone, swallowed whole. Adamant rose from the waters and lunged for the fish, but it deftly wove between the clumsy giant¡¯s hands. Then I realized I could still hear Argent¡¯s mind within my own, and she was trying to tell me something. I sent the frantic order, ARMS UP, and obedient Adamant reached out his arms just as there was a silver flash of light. The goldfish was teleported out of the water directly into his grasp. Seizing it in both hands, my golem wrung that damned fish like a towel until it coughed up a slime-covered, bedraggled rat. My rat. Adamant caught her in one hand. And then, with as much anger as an expressionless, faceless golem could ever show, Adamant wound up like a pitcher and hurled the fish clear into the horizon. Holding his friend in one hand stretched high, the clay man continued across the lake. The fish, frightened off with two dead, scattered back into the murky edges and deep crevices of the water.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Their goal was nothing more than the trees at the far end. Setting his friends down, Adamant went back into the water to fetch the dead fish, while Izzis picked up beetles and bugs he thought might interest me. But the true goal of the expedition were the seeds Argent scampered up to fetch from the high branches. Adamant, Argent, and Izzis returned as conquering heroes. I dismissed them back to playing with a wave of goodwill and dissolved the fish corpse, then the samples they had brought, studying each carefully as I devoured them layer by layer. Oh yes, there was potential there. One of the beetles Izzis had brought had the unique ability to spray phosphorescent chemicals, building nests of hardened, glowing spittle to attract their mates. I could work with that. Another interesting bug was a fat larvae with the potential to evolve into a giant mosquito the size of a cat. Hideous but deadly. But most of all, the goldfish specimen was promising. Due to its remarkable simplicity there was almost no size it couldn¡¯t grow to. Which meant if I could feed in enough Mana I could make a true leviathan. Since most of the defenders I had so far were rather small and relied on stealth or numbers it was a rather interesting prospect. I couldn¡¯t just throw up a canopy of stone to enclose the lake, but the mangrove trees were already there. If I planted more of them and tightly interwove their branches, I could make a ceiling thick enough to contain my Mana, allowing my influence to extend across the lake instead of dispersing into the open air. Since it seemed like few people cared about this lonely edge of the city where the sewers poured out, it would likely be a while before the expansion of my domain became too noticeable. By then I hoped to have burrowed down and begun my next floor. For now, I only had the Mana to plant and nourish a few seeds around the breach in my walls. I would need to up my income before I could properly expand. It seemed like there was always some new siphon for my Mana and never enough coming in. Gems! I longed for beautiful, sparkling jewels, hidden away in dark corners never to be seen again by human eyes. I wanted a hoard that would make a dragon envious. And oh, I wasn''t going to idly sit back and just dream of riches. No, I had a plan. I only needed a few more days. As it turned out, time was something else I would never have enough of. When it happened, I was working on something new. I was steadily hollowing out a thin crawlspace above the gardens, leaving short columns to stabilize the shallow new caverns hidden above the main chamber of my Dungeon. I had started to discover I could make stone stronger by simply feeding it a little Mana, producing something stronger than steel with just a fraction of a point per square inch. That let me work the stone in ways I hadn¡¯t before, carving out a barely-there false ceiling above the gardens. My goal, of course, was traps. Without complex mechanical know-how I¡¯d relied on simple pitfalls so far, but now I had an idea that would let me go farther. I would take a trapdoor spider and give it a perfect hiding place within the ceiling. Moreover I¡¯d integrate the little glow-beetle¡¯s abilities, teaching this spider to spin luminous, dazzling webs within its hiding place, so that in the moment the trapdoor opened the unfortunate victim would be stunned by the Attunement of Gleam¡¯s hypnotic effects. This was all a ways in the future, but I was proud of the concept. With hidden passages above and below the Gardens I could both defend them if need be or pretend to be just another mushroom-ridden corner of the sewers. Deception in action. That was when a spell slammed into the sealed-off end of the tunnels. I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve ever been a Dungeon Core and had a spell cast within your domain, but let me assure you, don¡¯t be. It flat sucks. My being was the warp and weft of Mana within my territory. A spell seizes that Mana and twists it to someone else¡¯s purpose. Do you know what¡¯s that like? It¡¯s like having a bully hold you down and declare ¡®stop hitting yourself¡¯ as he beats you with your own fists. The spell ripped into the stone blockades I had put up, causing them to melt and flow like water. With a little application of the magician¡¯s willpower a circular tunnel was bored into the formerly-solid rock. And through stepped four adventurers, each of them enough to send shivers down my spine. An enormous brute of a knight. A mysterious lady. A diminutive and exotic priest. And at the head of them, a dwarf who made storm currents swirl within the Mana around him, bending it to his will simply by existing. Adamant was the closest to the breach. He stepped forward to defend me on pure instinct and that- That was the only mistake he got to make. The giant knight stepped forward and backhanded him with a tremendous, sweeping haymaker that tore Adamant¡¯s upper body clean in half. Mud and torn roots sprayed across the wall as the disembodied legs sunk to the ground. Just like that. Gone. ¡°Heh.¡± The ogre let out a mean little chuckle that would have made my blood run cold with fury, if I had blood at all. ¡°Easy, easy.¡± ¡°This should be it, then.¡± The dwarf said. ¡°Then let¡¯s begin.¡± Reaching into her bag, the priest pulled out a stick of incense and lit it with a flame that danced in the palm of her hand. As smoke wreathed up into the air from the burning stick I felt suddenly constricted, my Mana out of my control, my senses growing blurry. ¡°By the gods will, be restricted.¡± She intoned, as a strange feeling of mental weight pressed down upon my mind. ¡°Let all license be revoked, as long as this incense burns, let the challenge be met without interference. Be sealed.¡± Just like that, I was helpless. The only thing I could do was reach out to Argent through our shared bond. We have to get that incense, I told her. And we didn¡¯t have much time to do it. Because the adventurers were walking through my Dungeon like it was a stroll in the park. 0.14 First Contact The group huddled in around their leader. ¡°Take these.¡± Morghul held out four rings in the palm of his hand. Each was a band of silver carved with a single rune, the word of Return. ¡°If you¡¯re at risk of dying, it will pull you back the Magician¡¯s Institute. Can¡¯t guarantee they¡¯ll save your life but you¡¯ll certainly have better odds there.¡± One by one, they took the rings, except Olkaz. The ogre made a few futile attempts to jam the little band of silver over his thick fingers, before handing it back with a shrug. ¡°I just won¡¯t die.¡± And Morghul couldn¡¯t help but notice Lady Grey only pretended to put hers on, before slipping it into a pocket. ¡°Alright then, your funeral. Lady Grey, lead the way.¡± Morghul shrugged. No skin off his nose if they wanted to play it risky. "There, and there." The Lady pointed out two sections in the ground, and Olkaz walloped them with the spike on the back of his axes, breaking through a thin layer of earth disguising a pit trap. As he broke the second one open a puff of golden spores shot up, covering the ogre. Everyone froze, waiting for him to keel over, but Olkaz just sneezed. ¡°Hmph. Divine wind.¡± Lifting her hand Strix sent out a wave of golden wind that surrounded them. The drifting spores were simply pushed away as they advanced. They wove through the ground on the Lady¡¯s instruction, bypassing a small field of pitfalls. Colorful and glowing mushrooms crunched under their boots as they advanced. ¡°Pretty.¡± Morghul noted. The compass in his hand was ticking slowly to the west. ¡°It¡¯s clearly intelligent.¡± They stood in a wide cavern, the floor carpeted with the bubbling, frilled shapes of fungal life, in every color imaginable. Fat puffballs exploded into slime as Olkaz strode forward at the head of the group, stomping with glee on crooked-stemmed and flat-headed, ear-shaped and multi-colored, wisp-thin and translucent-as-glass. Sniffing the air, he bent down and plucked a scarlet-colored cup from the ground, popping it between his crooked teeth and chewing. He turned to find the entire group staring at him with horror. ¡°What? It tastes good. Delishush!¡± Olkaz said, mouth still full. ¡°Sort of small for a Dungeon, no?¡± The Lady Grey commented. It was best to change the subject from the wild stupidity they¡¯d just seen. ¡°This one was retrieved and Bound before it matured. I¡¯m surprised it has a mind at all.¡± Morghul said slowly. It was bothering him, actually. A Dungeon Core harvested before it was fully grown should be crippled even if escaped its bindings, left as a simple automaton that spat out the same creations and dug itself deeper endlessly. Nobody would risk wearing a sentient Mana rift on their fingers. Or was Olin really that insane? I boiled with helpless anger as I listened to them. The brute was stomping through my gardens with stupid glee, the woman had evaded my defenses with ease. As for the two shortstuffs lurking in the back I knew they were magical and had no idea where their capabilities ended. In short, I felt a distinct, naseauting fear. I was not prepared for this. My creations were barely finding their footing in this world and already I was under pressure from forces far stronger than me. The incense. I forced myself to focus. I needed to get that incense stick away from them. Now think. Think. Lady Grey paused suddenly, the whole group lurching to a halt behind her. In the blink of an eye she leaped back as a viper shot from the mushroom fields, its teeth extended, its camouflaged skin becoming visible as it burst into motion. It caught nothing but the air where she had been and a hurled knife, the dagger striking the serpent¡¯s midsection and pinning it to the earth as it thrashed in dying pain. The Lady Grey panted slightly, her eyes wide. That had been too close. All around them, the little garden began to writhe. She drew another knife from her belt and flung it out, killing another. Olkaz stepped forward with his axes and swept the ground around them bare with a scything blow, ensuring nothing could creep up on them.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. And Morghul, Morghul began to weave complex knotted signs with his fingers, each motion creating another thread of golden light, until he had woven a complex and shining diagram in the space between his hands. From its center a solitary flame bloomed into existence. ¡°Stand clear!¡± He shouted, as that flame sprouted into a jet of raging blue fire, spraying off sparks as he drew it along the ground. Instantly the gardens around them were reduced to smoldering ruins, mushrooms hissing and bursting as the water within them was heated to steam. Any serpents caught by his spray of fire were reduced to burnt, charcoal-black things writhing as they were consumed. It took a few seconds for the cavern to be stiflingly hot, and forever changed. The earth was dried and black with ash. But in those few seconds, the hissing roar of the fire was so overpowering that nobody saw Lady Grey¡¯s eyes jump to the ceiling, or heard her shout ¡®Above us!¡¯ Argent ran through the narrow chamber I¡¯d carved over the gardens, letting me guide her until she was directly overhead of the invading party. NOW, I commanded, and she jumped, flickering through the walls and into midair above the four intruders. She turned herself as she fell, jumped again before her feet had even touched the ground, and landed on the masked priest¡¯s shoulders. Before the girl could even blink the incense stick had been snatched from her hands. And then Argent was gone in a flash of silver. ¡°Fuck!¡± Lady Grey¡¯s thrown knife went wide as the rat vanished midair, reappearing on the ground and taking off in a silver streak. Another knife flew from her hand, but this one missed as well - there was a flash of silver light and the rat leapt from one point in space to another in the blink of an eye, leaving a trail like a lightning bolt in her wake. Swearing violently, the Lady Grey lunged after, drawing her rapier as she chased the rat towards the sunlight pouring from the breach in the walls. A brown flash shot over her shoulder. The priest¡¯s owl had burst into motion, wings beating as it swooped down with talons extended- A grey blur crashed into it from the side. A tiny bat-headed homunculus seized hold of the owl¡¯s right wing and sent it spiraling into a tailspin. The thief dashed past them both as they crashed into the ground and began to squabble. The rat was vaulting up the roots of the great black tree that grew in the breach, leaping over the top of the hill to go sailing into the open air and daylight. She was headed right for the lake. But the Lady was faster. Her rapier sung as it pierced through the air to skewer to the troublesome rodent. ¡°Got you ra-¡± The Lady Grey¡¯s words ended in sudden, breathless gluck! as a branch of the black tree swung around and caught her across the throat with enough force to lift her boots from the ground. Her feet kicked in midair as she was hoisted up, wooden tendrils winding their way around her neck and squeezing down into the soft flesh. Her face turned dark with trapped blood. Her lips were bared in a wild, terrified snarl. Her hand struggled to find her pocket, to slip on the ring hidden inside. There was a blue light that descended from the ceiling and then she was gone. And below, Argent splashed into the lake with the incense stick clutched in her jaws. Freedom. I could have sung with joy as the incense¡¯s binding spell ended, as my mind was unclouded and my will freed; I had vengeance to do. I reached out. Living creatures had a field of magic around them that repelled my own, making it impossible to eat them without killing them first, making it impossible to directly mutate or twist the bodies of those who invaded my Dungeon. But one of them had made a mistake. He had eaten my mushrooms, taken creations of my Mana into his own body. I reached for the spark of my own power within him. I made it grow. ¡°I don¡¯t feel so good.¡± Olkaz suddenly said, his face blanching white. ¡°I feel... stomach-ache¡­¡± The ogre clutched his belly, and as Morghul turned to tell him it was his own damn fault for eating that mushroom, the ogre leaned forward and spat up a root. It shot from his throat, turning back to crawl across his face as it grew and grew. ¡°Ahhfeelshic..¡± Another sprout of green was winding its way out from under his eye. More and more creeping tendrils grew from his nose and mouth, forcing his jaws open, a deluge of thready vines pouring out from the edges of his eyes and making them bulge. The skin of his face began to writhe as roots pressed up from beneath. And before their eyes, the hulking giant fell to his knees and was consumed by greenery, turning into a frozen statue beneath a thousand vines. He stirred and fought weakly, slowly twitching as the last tortured life faded. All that remained was a mound of piled vines, not even the rough shape of Olkaz visible beneath them. ¡°Oh.¡± Strix said, her voice shaking. ¡°Right. Time to end this.¡± Morghul snapped. He was heading right for me. I¡¯d long since closed the door to my Sanctum, hidden the only entrance in the heart of a flooded underground labyrinth. None of it mattered. He knew where I was, and he placed his hand on the thin stone wall separating us. A flash of magic twisted through the warp and weave of my Mana as the wall was simply cracked open. Like an eggshell. Dust and rubble cascaded into the bottom of my Sanctum, and the wizard strode through the breach. 0.15 Overflow Morghul stepped into the Sanctum. Faint shimmers of blue light held him up as he simply walked on thin air, climbing an invisible staircase. I sent out waves of aggression and the centipedes crawling the walls responded, throwing themselves down to attack him, suicidally angered by his presence in their lair, but none of them could touch him. A golden barrier sprung up around him, rippling as it flicked their writhing bodies away. Nothing could touch him. He rose into the alcove at the top of the Sanctum, barely large enough for him to find his footing. Aurum was curled in the dark, lurking, waiting, ready to give his life. I told him no. I pleaded with him not to. I had a last ditch idea. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re a pretty thing ain¡¯tcha. You¡¯ll go fine with my collection.¡± The dwarf cooed, as if I was a dumb animal to be calmed with the right tone of voice. His eyes burned with greed as he stepped forward. I pulled every drop of Mana I had into the smallest possible space, compressing it. His eyebrows raised, and he stepped forward, drawing a curved knife from his belt and splitting open the tip of his thumb. A bead of ruby blood welled from the cut. He was going to make a Contract with me. A slave Contract. One to steal my Mana, my will, my thoughts, to turn me into nothing more than a battery. I would die first. As he stepped forward, I drew in everything. I ate the corpse of the ogre and all the little creatures that had died in the burning of the gardens, ate the fertile ash of the mushrooms, ate even the remains of Adamant, his Mana-rich clay. With each corpse that dissolved into nothing, a plume of Mana rose like pale and invisible smoke. They rushed towards my Core. I drank in energy until I reached my limit and soared beyond, the ethereal Mana in my core started to condensed, to collapse into a dancing flame. And then the very warp and weave of Mana around us pulled inwards, and the golden warding spell surrounding the mage suddenly flickered out like a candle in the wind. A whirlpool was forming, a maelstrom of Mana, draining everything in sight. Draining the power from his enchanted rings, stealing the magic words from his lips.
You are experiencing Mana Overflow Due to exceeding your maximum Mana by a factor of two, Mana will be expended to create a new and random Blessing for your Dungeon. You will be left with between fifty and zero percent of your maximum Mana.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. There was no Mana left to fuel his spells, no Mana left for me to see by. In the instant before everything went dark and I was blind, helpless, I saw Aurum rear up from the shadows, hissing, and a spray of caustic venom shoot from his mouth to splatter over the dwarf¡¯s eyes. A hideous scream of pain was the last thing I knew before the Overflow rendered me unconscious. Morghul froze as the Mana in the air was pulled away from him, denying his magic. It was the same as a flame deprived of oxygen, a sudden exhaustion, and his spellwork simply crumbled. His sword and his shield were gone. He lunged forward in desperation, trying to touch the blood on his thumb to the Core but it was too late. A hiss sounded from the shadows, a dark shape uncoiling. Something wet splattered against his eyes and everything went white in a searing wave of pain. He felt the acid spit dig into the soft tissue of his eyes, felt himself blinded, going reeling back in shock. A sharp pain shot through his neck as the snake lunged and sank its teeth into the meat of his throat. He stumbled backwards, clutching his face, battering at the snake with his hands, and suddenly there was no ground under his back foot. Morghul felt his stomach twist with horror as he fell. The dwarf struck against the wall three times, the razor spikes and ridges tearing into his flesh. He tumbled like a broken doll and crashed into the flooded, stalactite lined floor of the Sanctum, a long spear of stone tearing through his chest just beneath the heart. Ribbons of blood flowed into the water. Aurum clung to his throat, fangs sunk deep into his windpipe. And then magic returned - the Overflow reaching completion - and the ring on the dwarf¡¯s finger, the silver ring with the rune of Return scrawled on its band, broke with a sound like a silver bell. A spiralling blue light fell from above and enveloped them both, the corpse and the snake. There was a flash and they were gone. I woke up woozy, dizzy. The Overflow had squeezed my soul through the wringer.
You have created - Blessing of the Earthshaper The minion granted this blessing will receive increased intelligence, with the potential to grow over time, and limited affinity with Earth Magic.
I brushed the notification away, uncaring. Aurum was gone. I could sense him, or the dwarf, nowhere in my domain. Argent was clinging to the roots of the black tree, trying to escape from a large and unruly carp that was trying to sweep her down by kicking up waves of water. And Izzis¡­ Izzis had the owl pinned to the ground, its wing twisted into a lock between his skinny arms. The priest stood with her arms up, surrendering. She stared out into nowhere in particular, but her blind eyes seemed to register I was awake. ¡°Spirit of the Dungeon, hear me. I would like to negotiate for the return of my owl.¡± My first instinct was to kill her. My every instinct was to kill her. My Sanctum had been breached, an intruder had nearly enslaved me, my gardens were dust and ash. I was crying out for bloody, satisfying vengeance. But no. I had to speak to her instead. Had to calm myself. I needed to know where Aurum had gone. Because I was going to get him back. 1.1 Plans Within Plans Olin Frampt hated funerals. He loved wearing black, but people got so upset if you wore anything interesting. Today, the city¡¯s dwarves laid Morghul out on a slab of stone and wept over him. Olin stood at the back of the procession, wearing midnight robes with a diamond-studded collar, and a swooping neckline that bared his muscled chest all the way down to the navel in a daring ¡®v¡¯ lined by milk-white wolf fur. Dark looks were aimed his way. He smiled back. Eyfrae stood next to him, conservatively dressed in black leather. ¡°I can¡¯t believe he¡¯s dead.¡± Olin remarked. ¡°It¡¯s been, what, twenty years since the last time?¡± ¡°A solid record. I think the cleric who revived him last actually passed on of old age.¡± Eyfrae admitted. ¡°But who are you to talk? You¡¯ve never died, have you? Imagine, Olin Frampt, a virgin.¡± A smirk oozed across her face. ¡°If you think about it that means I¡¯m winning.¡± Olin hissed. This woman got under his skin so easily. ¡°If you ask me it means you haven¡¯t been playing hard enough.¡± That smirk again. Tantalizing. He just shook his head. Impossible to argue with her. Impossible. ¡°This Dungeon. What are we going to do about it.¡± Eyfrae continued. ¡°I think it¡¯s safe to say it can defend itself. If we let people know, we¡¯ll just be feeding it Mana from all the greenhorns who go and get themselves killed.¡± ¡°Feeding it Mana.¡± Olin repeated. ¡°You know¡­¡± It was his turn to smile his slimiest, smuggest smile. ¡°That doesn¡¯t have to be a bad thing.¡± And while he still had the conversational advantage, Olin turned and strode away. Or he tried to. His stride was interrupted as he turned to find the blind priestess standing behind him, clouded grey eyes staring out through an owl-faced mask. ¡°I¡­¡± For once he was genuinely speechless. There was something about the girl he just found eerie. It felt like she could see into his shriveled black soul. ¡°Morghul said the Dungeon used to be yours. I wanted to ask about it.¡± The Institute of Magi was spectacularly well-guarded. Steel golems with expressionless helmets for faceless stood by the vast double doors. A thin, almost unnoticeable layer of spellwork was spread across the windows like a web of translucent energies. A circle around the entire building prevented teleportation within. These were just the outermost layer. The obvious safeguards meant to catch large threats, rather than the finer net laid out for thieves. The golems would only move if the Institute itself was threatened. The spellweb was only there to keep forbidden magic from entering or leaving. The real defenses would be inside, and even getting there was my first concern. Strix had warned me there were measures against scrying, and that my connection to my minions would likely trigger them. Apparently even her owls couldn¡¯t get too close. But she could. Olin selected his drinks with a religious care. Selecting a fat-bellied bottle, he poured clear reddish absinthe into a pair of tall glasses, topping it with a splash of milky liquor that spiralled into the glass like an inverse coil of smoke. He drained his in a single gulp and looked down to find Strix still trying to find hers, blind fingers feeling their way across his desk. He quietly slid it farther out of her grasp.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! ¡°I still don¡¯t understand why I can¡¯t bring my owls.¡± She complained. ¡°It would run afoul of my Eyeblight. A horrible beastie. It lives in a little pocket space outside of our reality. If it catches someone scrying, it uses the mental link like a fisherman uses a hook, and reels the mind on the other end up into its lair. Where it gobbles them up of course." Olin explained, a faint smile playing across his face. Of all his monstrosity the Eyeblight was the most creatively awful. ¡°But¡­¡± He continued. ¡°As much as I¡¯d love to give you a tour of my bestiary, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s what you¡¯re here for, is it now?¡± ¡°No. This Dungeon was too intelligent. I want to know where you found it.¡± Even with her blind and in the heart of his power, Olin found himself shivering when she looked directly at him with those seer-eyes. Too many secrets, he chided himself, too many schemes. The thought of someone seeing into his heart and seeing all he¡¯d done was enough to make a prickle of sweat break out on his forehead. ¡°Up in the God-Country, of course. A little farmstead on the edge of the Shiftlands found it washed up. They were treating it like a pet.¡± Olin let the story end there, without mentioning what he¡¯d done to them. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be intelligent at all. It was bound while it was still young, and crippled in all the right ways. So crippled I didn¡¯t even bother keeping it.¡± ¡°So you gave it to Boss Gent?¡± ¡°Now that¡¯s not a very kind way to refer to the deceased. Whatever he was accused of, he was good for this city.¡± Olin chided. ¡°So you gave it to Boss Gent, and when he died it escaped.¡± She repeated. ¡°How could it become intelligent?¡± ¡°How am I supposed to know?¡± Olin was irked. He was irked by her eyes staring at him pointlessly, by the unflinching attitude with which she sat there judging him, by the way she seemed to ignore half he said. He threw his hands up. ¡°If a crippled Dungeon did become whole, it was by divine intervention. Your field, not mine.¡± He was irked. He had been since Morghul died. Not that he cared about the old fool, but Olin wasn¡¯t an idiot. He could read the winds. Something had gone terribly wrong beneath his city. ¡°So you couldn¡¯t fix a crippled Dungeon, if you had to?¡± Was she challenging him? Olin leaned forward, one hand perched on the desk below and the other splayed across his chest. ¡°I could, but I did not, and there is no other Olin Frampt.¡± ¡°What would it take?¡± He sighed. ¡°A Dungeon Core is a Source, a heart of magic, surrounded and stabilized by the bindings of the Divine. To heal a crippled one, you would need a high mage of incredible talent to unwind the Divine strictures, a powerful soul to give it sapience again, and another Source to restore its wounds, preferably another Core. "But none of that happened. Nevermind sneaking another High Mage into the city, unbinding a Source? I would know right away.¡± As Strix stood in my domain, reciting what had been said, I felt such a strange sensation. An almost deja-vu, as if there was something lost to me. And there was. I had been crippled. Reduced to less than a beast, to a gaudy trinket on a crime boss¡¯ fingers. My memories were gone; I might not even be the same soul I had been. It was only now I even understood the extent of the damage done. I knew I had a soul. That was clear by the fact the gods wanted me to trade it away. But I was not whole, I was too limited, too weak for a Dungeon. If I was going to fix that I needed another Source. And before any of that, I had to get Aurum back. This Eyeblight would be the first hurdle; a horror hiding in a side-dimension. Any of my creations with Shards would be pulled in by their connection to me. I was blocked out for as long as it lived. The priest tapped her foot, waiting for me to return her owl, but I was deep in thought. Argent scuttled along fenceposts, down gutterpipes, fought with squawking pigeons for space among the rooftops as she followed the flow of servants leaving the Institute for the night. It took all kinds to run such a massive, sprawling building. Maids, porters, butlers, cooks. They flooded out of the not-so-grand back doors and into the settling night. We could only follow one of them. It was like picking a single droplet out of an ocean of humanity. Tonight we settled on a sad-eyed, waxen-faced cook. We followed him back to a flophouse and a quiet life. Nothing. No help at all. We were fishing, praying one of our nets would catch something, a way in. Today was another failure. Tomorrow, we¡¯d pick someone else out of the crowd to watch. Until we found our way in. Olin Frampt couldn¡¯t settle his nerves. The encounter with the priest had left him riled up, agitated. He paced his room and came back, again and again, to the glass cage. To the beautiful green viper with its streak of draconic gold that lay curled, waiting, watching him always with unblinking eyes. Those eyes had enough intelligence behind them for Olin to feel hatred in that stare. He smirked. His fingers tapped the glass. ¡°Oh, I have such plans for you, my precious.¡± 1.2 Legitimate Business Three men made their way through the sewers, all of them roaring drunk. Two of them were armed, swords tapping against their legs as they walked, while the third carried nothing but a small knife and a pipe he kept lit, the thick wreathes of pungent smoke protecting him from the smell of the sewers. He was a small man, round in the middle, with a beak of a nose and stubble-dotted jowls that hung down to either side. His name was Trivelin, which was another way the gods had done him wrong. But if there was one thing going for him, he owned a damn fine tricorn hat, and his men called him captain. The other two were the usual sorts, toughs with bad teeth and worse attitudes. One of them would pause every now and then, peering at the walls. Reading the thief-signs marked there. ¡°Crowswise, here.¡± ¡°Are we sure?¡± Captain Trivelin asked, taking the pipe from his mouth. ¡°Because I remember the way we came, and I don¡¯t remember this.¡± ¡°How can you remember which way? S''all tunnels, an¡¯ they all look the same.¡± The man mumbled under his breath, although not so quietly that Trivelin couldn¡¯t hear him. ¡°Would I be captain if I got lost easily? The man leaned in, taking a close look at a sign that had been partially obscured by a cluster of fat puffball mushrooms. Trivelin was the only one who saw the mushrooms suddenly quiver as the man approached. "Down!" He yelled, but it was too late. As he dived for the floor there was a sharp pop and a scream- the fungi had burst apart explosively and sprayed chitinous fragments into the man''s skull. There was nothing left of his face but blood. Behind them, an enormous man had stepped into the passageway. No, not a man. He was made of dirt, fungal crops sprouting from his broad, hunched back, his face featureless except for a single green eye. A golem. While the one man screamed and clutched the ruin of his face, the other stepped forward, plunging his sword into the golem¡¯s gut. Trivelin could have told him it would be useless. Black earth poured from the wound and the golem lifted up a clubbed arm. A single crashing blow settled things, sending the Trivelin¡¯s crewmate slumping to the floor. Trivelin turned and ran. The golem saw no reason to hurry after him. It tossed one man over its shoulder and grabbed the other under an arm, walking slowly in the direction Trivelin had run. It found him slumped over, asleep. He had stumbled into a tall cluster of Somnolent Blooms and been coated in sleeping spores, his fat face as peaceful as a baby¡¯s as he snored. Adamant stepped over him. I felt strange about calling this new golem Adamant, but his mind really did feel the same. It came from the same Shard after all. Any differences I chalked up to having given him the Blessing of the Earthshaper, making him considerably more intelligent and more introspective than he had been. Better yet, it had made him less clumsy, since the stone he now controlled included his own body. He had brought me three fresh humans, lured in by Izzis¡¯ altering the thief-signs marking the tunnels towards the black market to lead people to me instead. It was a simple trick, but, the best tricks were simple. A too-clever scheme would attract dozens of people, one of whom might slip away and spread the news of my existence. A very crude trap would only catch easy prey. At my command, Adamant broke the necks of both men. I devoured them, leaving behind a neat pile of clothes where each had been. Nothing fashionable, alas, but good honest thieves¡¯ garb; midnight black cloaks and dark grey shirts, scarves that could be drawn up over the face, harlequin masks for the silent market. Loping away, my golem returned with the third man. This one hadn¡¯t tried to fight. He was a coward. And a coward was useful to me. I had built a cage in the center of my garden. It resembled a bird¡¯s cage made of pale green glass, rising out of the fields of mushrooms like a strange pagoda. The garden itself was changed- in a fit of pique brought on by having to rebuild it for the third time, I had made the mushrooms translucent, dulling their colors, making them resemble strange bubbling shapes of glass. I had added tall flowers with sharp geometric petals that made keening notes when the wind blew.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. It was a glass garden now, sharp and strange and beautiful. I had added a new type of fungus that grew along the ceiling in the shape of bells, letting loose a constant drift of spores that appeared in the air as a golden dust swirling in static patterns. These were harmless, but in much the same way I¡¯d killed the ogre, I could make them grow within anybody who inhaled them. A subtle layer of defense. In general, my defenses were far stronger. I had filled out the hidden caverns above the gardens as intended, with spiders who spun webs of opalescent lacquer, a substance that looked like rainbow-colored pearls. They wrapped it around their skinny bodies as armoring, and used it to glue their prey into living coffins to stew in digestive juices. I had accepted their rather ugly method of eating in exchange for their beautifully efficient methods of killing. With their long limbs covered by blades of sharpened lacquer-spit they could cut a man¡¯s head clean from his shoulders, and they lurked above the ceiling waiting for something to pass beneath their trapdoors. But I hadn¡¯t stopped there. Anyone moving through the gardens would find they needed to watch their feet, not just for the vipers lurking, but in fear of a new predator I had created; a slender and bronze-scaled goldfish that hunted with the long tendrils extended from its face. Prehensile and stronger than steel, they could whip out of the water and wrap around an ankle in a heartbeat. Lurking in the deceptively deep pools of the garden they burrowed down into the mud for camouflage. And of course, I¡¯d finished my explosive blooms. A few of them interspersed among the flora made for a deadly surprise. I had learned the power of seasoned adventurers, but I had also learned that they were only mortal when caught off-guard. I could at least be confident now of handling the average treasure-hunter. And the man Adamant had caught was definitely not going anywhere. A weaker variant of the Somnolent Bloom wrapped around the bars of his cage, ensuring that even once he woke up he¡¯d be halfway drugged, unable to think clearly. Adamant threw him in and I closed the gap in the bars, growing new glass to seal the entrance shut. With my captive secured, my golem donned the clothes taken from the dead men. It was a tight fit but he managed to squeeze himself in to the looser garments, the hooded robes and the mask, leaving him convincingly dressed, if oddly warm for the season and the sweltering damp heat of the sewers. Having disguised himself, he picked through the remaining items. They were: A coin-purse full of round coins with holes punched in the middle, made of a special dark iron that repelled my Mana and any attempts to duplicate it- the only unfalsifiable currency in a world full of magic. An alchemical lantern with a blot of eternal flame inside that I kept to study. A sharktooth pendant that made me laugh with glee. And most importantly, a large bag containing numerous jars wrapped in dark cloth. A few of them had broken open and released the sweet smell of honey. I ate it up, discovering the honey was heavy with magic, practically made of the stuff. I couldn¡¯t ¡®taste¡¯ anything in the classic sense but I felt something very similar to a sugar rush when I feasted on concentrated Mana. I had to hold myself back from devouring the lot. It would do perfectly. Adamant, dressed in a mask and dark clothes, fit right into the strange crowd the night market brought out. He was hunchbacked and giant but there were far stranger shapes under the hoods and cloaks of the market¡¯s discerning customers. But none of the other customers were hiding a bat-faced homunculus under their hoods, I was sure. Setting up in a quiet corner, he set out his wares. Not just the jars of magic honey but cages full of exotic creatures. Serpents with wings and brilliant feathers, mushrooms in the shape of human heads, a fish made of real and genuine gold in a glass jar. My own work. As people came by, they signed in silent hand-talk offers; I had Izzis teach me the language. I relayed to Adamant what to say in return. Payment in coin or jewels. No returns. Caveat emptor. I did a brisk trade. In a matter of hours my goods were gone and I - although I was fairly sure I¡¯d undercharged and been haggled lower still - had more coins than could fit in the stolen purse and two sparkling diamonds in Adamant¡¯s palm. But best of all, I had the ability to scout the marketplace. Adamant¡¯s roughly human proportions gave me the ability to set him wandering the crowds and scanning the stalls for prizes to be stolen. I didn¡¯t know what I was looking for until I saw it. A statue in cloudy garnet sat on a blanket, the only gem among a sprawl of glitzy trash laid out on a grey tablecloth. A poor showing, but oh, the statue shone all the brighter for being surrounded by tat. It was of a strange beast half-horse and half-snake, and the moment I laid eyes upon it, I knew. It had magic in it. Adamant signed to ask the price, and the scrawny one-armed merchant held up a ridiculous number. As I haggled, Argent¡¯s mind suddenly brushed my own, sending urgent signals. A servant from the Institute had just donned a feathered mask and headed into the sewers. She followed in his shadow, and there was no mistaking the route he took. He was heading for the night market. I had no more time to waste arguing. I dumped my coinpurse into the man¡¯s lap, and left him sputtering in surprise as I scooped up the statuette with Adamant¡¯s clumsy hands, holding it clutched to his chest as we pushed through the crowd. Our net had caught something very interesting today. 1.3 Many Question & Few Answers Argent shadowed the servant as he pushed through the bustle of the crowd, pausing to gawk at a woman in a glass tank, so small it was almost a coffin. Her body ended in a long, blue-scaled tail, but most people were staring at the exposed and human side of her. The poor thing huddled in the corner of her tank, clutching her hands across her chest. The man paused to leer but not for long. He hurried on, into the section of the market that stunk of alchemy, of chymical caustic scents. On sale were pickled specimens in jars and mysterious powders in airsafe containments, glass orbs containing colorful liquids; the sellers handsigned for love potions, virility tonics. They sold things for the special clientele this market brought out, ¡®night-lanterns¡¯ that dimmed the surrounding light and tinted lenses to see in the dark, oils to let you climb walls like a spider. He proceeded past all of these without a glance. No doubt, this fellow had a purpose at the market today. In the farthest corner of the alchemy district he exchanged a book wrapped in oilskins for two jars. As Argent edged closer we saw black soil within the jars. Beneath the dirt, something was moving, causing the glass to shake faintly. As he left, Adamant was there to follow him. Argent slipped up the golems cloak and joined Izzis in hiding within his hood. With the man heading directly back the way he came, I quickly realized we weren¡¯t going to get any more answers out of him. He would return to the Institute where we couldn¡¯t follow. If we let him. And I didn¡¯t intend to let him. Adamant extended a hand and crooked one finger, calling to the earth in the jars. The glass cracked, the man turned, the contents came spilling out and there was a flash- Half the market was blinded by the dazzling burst of light, the eye-searing wave of blue that washed out with a percussive boom of thunder as a thunderbolt leapt up from the shattered jars, splitting apart into numerous smaller threads of shuddering lightning as it struck against the ceiling; for a moment it looked as if a tree of lightning had bloomed within the market. As the lightning faded, the man was left twitching on the floor. Adamant slid back into the crowd as the masked guards rushed forwards to seize him. Argent clung to the edge of an enormous, sumptuous barge. The entire boat was made of rich red timber with gold leaf on the railings, with a dragon carved into the masthead. Black flags depicting nine rats joined by the tails into a wheel hung over the sides. As we hung on to the sides, water lapping over Argent¡¯s tiny body, the electrocuted servant was hauled before the master of the market. We couldn¡¯t see from where we were, only listen in. ¡°I-I-I-¡± The first man was easily recognized by his thunderstruck stammering. ¡°Spit it out man, or I¡¯ll take that useless tongue and feed it to my lovelies.¡± The second had a foreign curl to his vowels, an imperious and proud way of speaking. ¡°I s-serve the High Mmmage.¡± ¡°And if his majesty wanted skygrist why not ask me, eh? Why slink about the market when I¡¯ve always given mister high and mighty everything he wants?¡± ¡°H-he d-d-d-¡± There was a muffled thump of flesh hitting flesh and a wretched groan. ¡°I can tell when you lie. Before you even finish your s-s-stammering I can tell.¡± Smugness emanated from every word the second man spoke. ¡°Now tell me why, or I¡¯ll start letting my pets take nibbles off you.¡± ¡°I-¡± There was a whistle and the stuttering man cried out. ¡°N-no! He- he thinks you poisoned his l-l-last experi-i-i-¡± We crawled higher. One man was kneeling on the floor, held down by two guards, while the second speaker was lounging on a throne of cushions beneath the barge¡¯s canopy of gold-embroided cloth. He was whip-thin and lavishly dressed, with long oily black hair. All around him smoke curled in ribbons that twisted through the air of their own accord, teeth and eyes briefly forming in the billowing grey smog. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Standing behind him was a pale woman in a loose, diaphanous dress. She had no eyes- from the bridge of her elegant nose two wings extended, dark brown moth wings spotted with ringed patterns, covering the places where eyes would be. She turned suddenly, ¡®looking¡¯ right at us. Without a moment¡¯s hesitation I had Argent drop down into the water and swim away at all speed. As she paddled for the shore, there was a scream and a splash behind us. Blood billowed up in the water as the unfortunate servant¡¯s body sunk like a stone. Trivelin woke up in a prison. And not for the first time in his life. He groaned, stirring, noticing a strangeness in the surroundings. Not the usual dingy cell, no. There was a flowery sweetness to the air, a fine gold dust that plumed up as he shook himself awake. It had settled over his clothes and filled the space beneath his collar. He sneezed and a cloud of gold expanded with his breath and spittle. The bars were made of glass. Pausing, Trivelin began to carefully recite everything that had happened the day before. He had gotten drunk, of course, as one does. He had taken two of his more sober crewman and headed for the silent market¡­ And then¡­ A man made of dirt. An explosive trap. A stumbling run that ended in darkness. Then he woke up here. He flopped onto his back and groaned, horrified. His crew would be setting sail in the morning, if it wasn¡¯t morning already, and his scum of a first mate would waste no time leaving him behind. Curse the man. A small, batlike creature perched atop the cage. It stared down at Trivelin with its wide goblin eyes. ¡°Hello?¡± He asked, puzzled. The little imp laughed at him, a mean little snicker. ¡°Awake? Sleep well? Upsy-daisy now, the boss wants to speak with you.¡± ¡°The boss?¡± He asked, to no answer. Straightening up he glanced around. A garden of glass, a forest of fungal shapes in all colors; a subtle light glowed from the spore and celia of the jungle beyond. It was among the stranger things he had seen in his career. As he watched, the roots of the mushrooms nearest to him wriggled across the ground. Dozens of strands tipped by tiny glowing bulbs interlocked in curling formation to make letters. CAN YOU GET ME INTO THE MAGE¡¯S INSTITUTE ¡°Inside the Institute? I can, I can, but if you¡¯re planning to take something out-¡± Trivelin paused. It was in his best interest to be useful here but exaggerating would only land him in worse peril. ¡°No.¡± The fungal stalks rearranged, forming a new question. WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT OLIN FRAMPT ¡°The High Mage? He runs things down here, he¡¯s the force beyond the Cammontalla, but everyone knows that. They say he¡¯s mad, but that¡¯s true of all mages. They say¡­¡± He leaned forward, whispering this last and most juicy tidbit. Although he knew it wasn¡¯t much to save his skin. ¡°They say he steals women away and they¡¯re never seen again.¡± DO YOU KNOW THE MAN WHO RUNS THE SILENT MARKET ¡°Captain Immer?¡± A third question that Trivelin didn¡¯t have a proper answer for. He gulped. ¡°No. No, I¡¯m very much afraid that I don¡¯t know him.¡± This time, the letters did not rearrange. Which meant he had lost his captor¡¯s interest. A very, very dangerous thing to do. ¡°Tell me¡­ Am I talking to a Dungeon..? The strange creatures, the living environment, the faceless questions. Trivelin had wandered long enough to know what he was seeing. Nothing. No answer. The silence was as good as a death sentence. ¡°Wait, no, I can still be of use to you¡­¡± Trivelin pleaded, wringing the fabric of his mud-stained shirt in clenched fists. With a sudden realization he reached up to his neck, finding nothing there. His pendant was gone.¡°You took my necklace! My sharktooth necklace! You wanted that, didn¡¯t you, well there¡¯s more! More where that came from!¡± Silence pervaded the air, but he felt as if it was a listening silence, not an ignoring silence. And it couldn¡¯t make his situation any worse to plead his case. ¡°I am a poacher sir. I make my honest living in stealing and smuggling and I can tell you, there is a world out there of men like me and men much richer than me, all of them dealing and thriving in golden eggshells, in the horns of exotic beasts, or the teeth of seamonsters.¡± Suddenly remembering his manners, he pulled his hat from his balding head and clutched it to his chest. ¡°And who do you imagine stands atop that world, dear sir? Dungeons! With a whim you can produce wonders! Things men like me will pay hand and arm for.¡° ¡°Have you heard, my dear Dungeon, of far-off orchards where a fruit grows that can extend the lifespans of mortal men? Of phoenixes that lay sapphires in place of eggs? Precious herbs that can cure any illness? Tonics that strengthen the body?¡± His eyes glistened with mist, as if the memory of those beautiful, expensive things was moving him to tears. ¡°Sir, my dear sir, they all come from Dungeons. Let me live a little while and I can explain to you how to have anything your heart so desires.¡° He waited, breathless, on his knees. Slowly the mushroom stalks began to writhe their way into a new question. TELL ME MORE, they asked, ABOUT THESE SAPPHIRES. 1.4 Foundations I was letting Trivelin distract me with tales of the God-Country, the homeland I¡¯d forgotten, where Mana rained from the sky in storms of golden light and the earth was ruled by goliath Primordial Beasts. Of the untamed Shiftlands, where mountains disappeared overnight and forests grew from a single seed in the space of day. Of the lost city of Calainn which had vanished, swallowed up by the changing earth, and of the wide Saravasse Sea, where under the cool green waters you could see the civilizations of merfolk with their conch-shell towers and blue-skinned women. And of course, stories about the Sapphire Phoenix, which lived in a dungeon that had burrowed itself into the caldera of a volcano and wrapped its core in magma. Stories about the diamonds that fell from the eyes of certain maidens when they cried, and how those maidens had struck a deal with a god to be hidden away from a world that would exploit them. He had a way of making me almost drool with excitement when he went on about jewels. In a way, it was a relief to hear about things outside my little sphere of influence. To be reminded that there was a bigger and wilder world. If I let myself sink into myopia I¡¯d forget how powerful the possibilities of being a Dungeon were. I left him still talking, unaware he had lost his audience. It was a struggle to pull myself away and return to my work. And there was always work. I had been fed the majority of the Mana from Trivelin¡¯s cohorts into the mangrove trees I¡¯d planted around the breach in my walls, and that was finally bearing fruit. Crooked, thin branches were rising, forming a canopy that would hold in the ethereal cloud of Mana that defined my ¡®territory¡¯ and allowed me to manipulate the world. I only needed to tighten the seal. For that purpose, I¡¯d created a new kind of spider. Unlike the ambush predators lurking above my garden in their opulent little dens, these were web-spinners, patient hunters. Too big to live off flies, they would throw their webs into the waters like nets and drag up juicy fish. I made six in total, six to start an entire species. They had emerald green carapaces with accents of bright, violent red where the plated segments of their armor met in rough-edged seams, and a pattern of white across their soft underbellies. They would fill the trees with their silk and form walls thick enough to hold in my Mana.
[ Fisherman Spider ] With powerful forelegs and steel-strong silk, this spider casts its webs into the water to catch prey, lurking among the roots of the mangrove tree.
But I also knew this. They would bring attention. Mutant creatures were undeniably common, but a whole horde of them? In a mysterious forest that had sprung up nearly overnight? I was playing with fire. At the same time, my worst enemies already knew I was here. If I slowed my growth now I would be helpless when they decided to act against me. There was a perilously narrow line to walk and I was determined to walk it. I needed to draw the right kind of attention. The trees I had planted were no normal mangroves. Glistening in their branches were round green fruit distorted with bulging veins of gold, heavy with Mana. I knew both were precious to humans. Lured in by the promise of wealth, I hoped they would be so focused on the bounty before them they wouldn¡¯t delve any deeper. And if a few of them died in the pursuit, so much the better. Since the fisherman spiders were slow, ponderous creatures, I gave them friends. Small, leaping spiders, as bright as jewels and in all different colors. Venomous as anything. The fisherman could at least defend themselves enough to distract the enemy, while the little ones ambushed them from every angle within the trees. It would be easy enough to pick the fruits on the outer edges of the grove, but venturing deeper would mean wading through waist-high waters, into a darkness where curtains of spiderwebs spanned every gap between the trees, where the branches gave them the chance to leap down from above. In the gloom, phantom enemies would lurk in every shadow. To add to this, the water itself would be home to my vipers, to my lurking reelfish. Several of my snakes had now reached the dense state of Mana that said they were close to evolution, and pushing them into a more dangerous environment would accelerate the process.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! This was something I¡¯d realized. My creatures were slow to level because I had built a foodchain on a base of very ordinary creatures. Common vermin didn¡¯t provide enough Mana to push their predators to the next stage of evolution. So I had to make some uncommon ones. After devouring two humans, even pushing most of their Mana into the mangroves to avoid overload, I had plenty to toy with. Altering a little brown-spotted mouse I gave it powerful hindlegs, allowing it to leap incredible distances, almost impossible to catch. A species of lizard from the sewer walls was introduced to the new grove, and, with the expertise I¡¯d earned growing my garden, turned as translucent as glass, rewarding predators sharp-eyed enough to spot it. I even replicated a turtle I¡¯d devoured a few days earlier and poured my remaining Mana into it, thinking of it as a prize for whoever could crack the beast¡¯s reinforced shell and snapping jaws.
[ Soaring Mouse ] This little creature must eat constantly to maintain its muscular legs, moving by leaping vast distances in a single bound. They live brief, energetic lives, and often meet untimely deaths.
[ Glass Skink ] This small lizard spends most of its time in absolute stillness, almost invisible. It moves only to eat or to mate. Who knows what it thinks of all day.
My goal was to build a foodchain that would reward many different kinds of creatures, many different paths of evolution. By the time I had finished, thoroughly my Mana once again, Adamant had returned with Izzis and Argent clinging to his shoulders. With Aurum gone, there was nobody who could bring the prizes we¡¯d won today to my lair, with Adamant too large to squeeze through the tunnels and the other two lacking the skill at swimming to navigate the underwater labyrinth. Instead, I caused a crude earthen table to rise from the floor for Adamant to set the haul on. Two sparkling diamonds, the garnet statuette, and the knowledge that whatever Olin Frampt was up to, he was hiding it from his compatriots. It was the statue that excited me most. While the actual gemstones used were of crude, flawed quality, it was so charged that it warped the flow of Mana nearby. By my count, the equivalent of twenty or more points of Mana had been imbued into the cloudy red stone. Which meant my Mana flow had just improved by double. Turning my focus inwards, I confirmed it.
Gemheart Dungeon (Unnamed)
Soul Fragments 286/300 Mana 2.2 / 32 Mana Per Hour +0.4
Anima 1 Logos 2 Arcana 2
Blessings: Gift of Beauty, Gift of the Sun.
Born in adversity, far from the God-Country, this Dungeon has exhibited a combination of refined taste and ruthless cunning.
I could''ve shouted with joy. Not only was my biggest weakness, my low Mana income, partway to being solved, but I had learned something; the statuette contained far more Mana than I could have invested into such low quality gemstones. Which meant a superior method to mine existed. And to top it all of, I was on the cusp of levelling once more. I still didn¡¯t understand what Anima, Logos, and Arcana were, or how to raise them, but it was enough that I was nearing my fourth Attunement. Somewhere in the back of my mind I¡¯d been hoping that with the fifth I could select one of the higher ranked Attunements, the ones that were presently barred to me. I knew which one I¡¯d choose, too. Turning back to the statuette, I examined it closely. The Mana within was intricately designed. Within the ruddy stone a set of runic diagrams turned constantly, interlocked so each rotated through the next like meshed gears. It was an art I couldn¡¯t even begin to decipher from the outside. For that matter, I had no idea what the statuette¡¯s purpose was. Reluctantly, I moved on to the diamonds. I had already settled on making them into Shards, to deputize more of my creations and expand the web of information I was able to trawl through Olin Frampt¡¯s dealings. His ¡®experiments¡¯ had been mentioned, and that made me fear for Aurum. Cautiously, afraid of what might happen, I reached out and tried to Name a simple viper. A wave of dizziness washed over me, the feedback from attempting to exceed my limit of two Names. I was deeply glad even as the initial haziness gave way to a splitting mental pain. Glad, because it meant that somewhere out there Aurum was still alive. Today, I¡¯d learned plenty about Olin Frampt - that he needed skygrist, that he had dealings with the prince of the silent market, that there was distrust between them. It was the start of understanding what he was up to. At the same time, the clock was ticking. Always, in the back of my mind, I was worried for my snake, for my noble and quiet friend. I dismissed my creations to rest, but Argent simply turned back, scuttling up the tunnels and towards the surface to return to her vigil over the Institute. She missed her brother. I did too. 1.5 According to Plan I had deputized three new spies. The first two had each received a newly-crafted diamond Shard, allowing me to share their eyes. One was based off a bird caught in the webs of the fisherman spiders, a lucky prize I wasted no time devouring and memorizing. It was a little hawk, a keen-eyed creature I altered for greater speed, as well as giving a secret weapon, a poison stinger tucked into its back talons. My skill in enhancing my creations had quietly grown. Now, I had wings. For the first time I soared above the city, occupying the same sphere as the clouds and the enormous skyships that drifted weightlessly beneath their lift-balloons, waiting for the right wind to depart for far-off lands. Below, Caltern City was a knot of industry and houses all seeming to fight for space, pushing up against one another, a vast sea of smoke rising from a thousand hearths into an ember-scarred cloud of roiling black that lingered in the cold air of morning. I moved above them all, an all-seeing eye. The hawk''s sharp senses could pick a single man out of crowd, could recognize him by the hunched, worried way he held his shoulders, his head ducked down to avoid his face being seen. He had come from the Institute. I knew precisely one thing about Olin Frampt''s plans, which meant I had a single point where I could disrupt them. He needed skygrist. And Trivelin knew enough about skygrist to fill a book. There was one seller in the city, a band of river traders - smugglers - known as the Tempest Canards. Which meant a return to the Silent Market. My second deputy, I was less than pleased with. No, I was horrified to share its body, but I had no choice; I had recreated the mutant lamprey that Aurum had killed. It was the only decently-sized creature I could create that was amphibious, stealthy, versatile. Every second inhabiting its body was a moment I felt distinctly and grotesquely slimy, but I endured. It lurked in the river, navigating between the hulls of the barges docked to sell their wares at market. The slimy coating of mucus on the lamprey''s sinuous body let it slip through the water in silence. We lurked under gangplanks as goods went from shore to ship, from ship to shore. The timber of the ships creaked in the water above us. Occupying the lamprey¡¯s mind meant being exposed to its ravenous hunger. Its eyes were weak, seeing the world only in terms of motion. And motion meant food. Everything around us was a tantalizing morsel, a drooling invitation to feast, and I could barely restrain the writhing slug-fish from rising out of the water to attack. I waited for Argent to send the signal. She was stationed with Izzis and my final spy. Trivelin. I had allowed him out of his cage on condition of helping me, and the man was, if anything, too eager to ingratiate himself to me. I could see the gold in his eyes when he talked of the business opportunities we had together. Of the two spineless worms I had working for me, his constant flattery made him my favorite. Altogether we closed in around the Tempest Canards¡¯ little ship. The hawk had confirmed Olin¡¯s servant was slipping down into the sewers, and it was only a matter of time now. Trivelin hummed a nervous song as he waited, standing in the same ragged clothes he¡¯d worn on the day he¡¯d been kidnapped. He¡¯d only had mushrooms to eat for days and every little foodstand in the market called to his rumbling belly. Oh, and what a belly it was. Over the last few years it had nearly outgrown the rest of him. With grumbles and protests it made clear who was in charge here, and all he could do was make promises of the fine restaurants, the silken whorehouses, that would welcome him in once he was a bonafide negotiator for a Dungeon Core. Dreams of honeyed wine and glittering gold nearly distracted him from the mission at hand. Until the rat hidden under his cloak dug her little teeth into his neck. Startled out of his daydreams, cursing, he spotted his intended target moving towards the ship.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. It was time. As the servant set foot on the gangplank, I didn¡¯t need to order the lamprey to move. I only had to cease holding it back. A long tendril whipped out of the water and coiled around his leg, pulling him down as he shrieked. He plunged into the water, casting off bubbles as his arms thrashed, and we sank our teeth into the meat of his calf. Blood hit our tongue in an explosion of savory, thick flavor, better than anything I¡¯d known through the senses of my minions. Above, the crew was panicking. Oars were jabbed into the water to give him something to grab hold of, but with our body curled around his leg in a crushing constriction he had no chance to pull himself up. Our weight and our teeth held him down. His head broke briefly above the rushing surface of the river and he screamed. An oar bashed against our slippery, streamlined skull, and again, the crew of the Canard jabbing at us from above. The commotion was attracting the guards now, I saw through Argent¡¯s eyes. It was time for the rest of our plan to go into action. Argent wore a little harness Trivelin had rigged for her, a bit of rope made from woven mushroom roots that yoked around her midsection and tied her to a large glass jar. Izzis held the other end up as they both slipped out of Trivelin¡¯s robes and splashed into the water, paddling around the Canards¡¯ ship to reach the far side while everybody was focused on the lamprey, fighting to get its prey out of the water. Somebody else plunged in alongside us, a pirate with braided hair and a knife clutched in his hand. He slashed our back open, bile-colored blood spilling out as pain flashed through our primitive mind. We lashed at him with our tail, striking him back, and again with our tendrils, whipcrack blows ripping shallow tears down his face and breaking his nose. An oar slammed into our head again, and without our tail coiled around the man¡¯s leg we had no way to hold on. Our teeth ripped through the meat of his calf and we were pushed free with a chunk of him still in our jaws. A crossbow bolt scythed through the water nearby. The archer dropped to his knees to crank the bolt back, nocking another shot. We were running out of time. Above, Argent was climbing up the side of the ship, Izzis¡¯ wings fighting furiously to lift the jar from below as the ropes strained at her back, her little claws finding minute cracks in the woodwork to cling to. I needed to keep the crowd distracted for a moment more. We turned on the man who had dived in to help, chasing him as he swept his arms in wide strokes and darted for the shore. We coiled through the water like a corkscrew of oily flesh, lunging down to catch his hand as it swept backwards on the tail end of a stroke- a snap of jaws, the gnashing and ripping of a hundred teeth, and three of his fingers were gone. His screams roiled the water into a great spew of bubbles and he twisted, lashing out with his dagger. The skin of our head was cleaved open and we curled into a circle that snapped open into a kick of the tail, landing against his good hand, knocking the dagger loose. As he dove for it - every movement in slow motion within the cool enveloping waters - we latched on to the back of his neck. It was a cruel thing to do. We didn¡¯t hesitate. Our slimy body wrapped around and around his chest, and above, the crowd gasped. The archer had finished loading his crossbow and he hesitated, finding no clear shot. Our teeth sunk deeper and deeper as our coils began to squeeze his ribcage to the point of hearing his bones creak. Argent had crawled over the edge of the boat¡¯s railings, and the goal was in sight. The dirt-filled jars of carefully-packed skygrist lay in a crate among the ship¡¯s goods. Our own decoy was being lowered down painstakingly by Izzis, his wings straining under the weight. The captain clapped the archer on the shoulder, whispering a word into his ear. The man nodded, lifted the bow to line his eye over the nocked bolt, and fired. Pain lanced through our entire body as the shot stabbed through our midsection, puncturing our oiled skin and piercing into the man below us. Our blood was a bright slick of greasy yellow in the waters, mingling to a sickly brown with the scarlet blood of our victim. More and more spilled up as man and fish sank to the bottom of the river. I felt the lamprey dying, darkness closing in from the edges of our vision. I felt Argent¡¯s triumph as she pushed the decoy jar into place, fighting to lift another out of the crate to make the count even. Together she and Izzis dumped the spare over the side and dived down themselves. The crowd was lingering at the edge of the water, bloodlust seething as they watched the two intertwined bodies of man and monster drift lifelessly above the muddy riverbed. The servant was weeping as he was pulled onto the deck of the Canards¡¯ little barge, his leg useless and lame beneath him, clutching his coinpurse to make sure it was still there. Trivelin whistled his little song, waiting. He stuck his leg out towards the water so Argent and Izzis could crawl up as they hauled themselves out of the water. The feeling of a wet rat and a homunculus slipping up your pant leg was unpleasant, sure. But he¡¯d still take it over any other part of the plan. On the way out, he pulled a spare coin he¡¯d hidden from his shoe and bought a skewer of roasted pigeon, feeding the two under his cloak nibbles. Life was good. 1.6 Red Alchemy It was time to move. Oh, how I wish that was a metaphor. As the hawk carefully lifted me in its beak waves of dizziness wracked my being. The very concept of moving made me feel sick, violated every instinct I had as a Dungeon Core. Worse, the effects spread outwards, created warps and whirlpools in my field of Mana, causing havoc within my Dungeon. Within the gardens, mushrooms collapsed into masses of uncontrolled growth; a viper caught in a warp grew lean and twisted, its vertebrae tearing through its flesh as its spine swelled. I drew the field of ethereal Mana back into me, restraining the worst of the damage, but there was no denying it. I was a barely-contained singularity of Mana, not a living creature. Moving wasn¡¯t in a Dungeon¡¯s vocabulary, and for good reason. But I had no choice. The hawk spread its wings, taking off, and I wished I had arms so I could at least cling on to something. Or a mouth to scream for dear life. Olin Frampt hated waiting. His fingers drummed an impatient tune atop the serpent¡¯s glass cage. The creature within stared at him- was always staring at him. Olin couldn¡¯t help but imagine he sensed an intelligence behind those amber eyes, a patient and almost human kind of malice, always waiting for the chance to strike. The snake lifted its head to meet his gaze. Olin flinched away. The feeling of being watched, constantly, everywhere within his laboratory, was beginning to wear at him. To make him feel a creeping paranoia. More than once he¡¯d felt the sudden need to make sure the snake was still safely contained- And when he did he found that golden gaze staring into him. Olin was spared from his own paranoid thoughts as the iron doors of the laboratory swung open. His servant, Anferd, had returned, limping heavily and with a pair of hired toughs behind him carrying the crate of packaged skygrist. ¡°Late!¡± Olin barked. ¡°Sorry, m¡¯lord. There were¡­¡± The man gestured at the thick bandages covering his leg, the limb trembling so badly he needed to use a cane. ¡°Delays.¡± The servant¡¯s wound garnered no sympathy. The two men earned nothing more than a wave of dismissal as they set the crate on his workbench. ¡°Careful!¡± Olin winced as he heard the jars knock together like glass bells. His long hours of anticipation had him on a nearly-manic edge, waiting expectantly for something to go wrong, for Fate to try and deny him the glory he so rightly deserved. Because finally, everything was assembled. Everything he needed for his grand endeavor. Tonight, Olin felt, would be different than the failures. Tonight he was going down in the history books; Olin Frampt, genius of alchemy. He patted the cage, smirking at the defiant serpent within. ¡°You and I.¡± Olin swept towards the door, needing to freshen up before his big moment. A bath, his best robes, a little jewelry, and of course, his audience. He lifted a key on a chain from around his neck and touched it to the doors. A diagrammed web of spellwork spread over them as he passed through, the runic circles rotating like the tumblers of a lock. Silence, as the clicking of his slippers descended down the hallways. Silence in the lab. And then a rattle of glass. We soared above the city. It felt like I¡¯d left the stomach I didn¡¯t have back on the ground. Every moment of wind-blasted, careening, wild motion was an agony, an eternity. We shot towards the Institute. It was late, the sky dimmed to orange as a distant ember of sun clung to the horizon. The rows of arched windows were darkened. No light escaped through the doors as the servant and his porters pushed them open. We landed in the gardens, on the branches of a lemon tree, and waited until the toughs came back out. In the moment the doors were open we hopped down and were through like a flash. The men spotted us. For a minute they held the door open, considering us on the other side. A little hawk with a ring in its mouth. The bird was somebody else¡¯s problem but the ring- their eyes settled on me with obvious greed.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! I was too sea-sick to think of any last second plans. Run! I commanded. The hawk took flight. We shot down hallways lined in teak and mahogany, blurring past classrooms, libraries, laboratories¡­ And then suddenly everything went dark. Each door, one by one, flickered out. Absolute darkness replaced whatever was beyond, the doorway becoming a portal into complete black. We sailed forward but the hallway was endless now, stretched out to infinity. The Eyeblight had caught us. A hand reached out of the darkness to grip the edges of the doorframe, its yellowed and claw-like nails scraping the timbers. It was pale as death, covered in blackened wounds that exposed the bone beneath the pallid, corpse-grey flash. Then another hand reached out. And another. They poured from the darkened doors, clusters of bone-thin, claw-tipped hands spilling into the hallway, attached to something unseen in the darkness beyond... On every palm was a single, red-lined eye. The sad thing was, this was all according to plan. This was things going well. One jar among many shivered. It shook. And finally it broke open, black soil spilling out. There were no crystals of skygrist inside. Only a single, emerald jewel. The dirt took on the shape of a man as Adamant reformed himself. Only a small amount of him had fit in the jar, leaving him reduced to about to a foot tall. He would have to make do. Dusting himself off, the little golem climbed over the edge of the crate, waving to Aurum in his glass cage. The snake rose up, pressing his head to the edge of the glass. His tongue flickered out. The laboratory was a sumptuous space. Every tool was made of gold or polished brass, and expensive glasswork caught the light across gleaming curves. Arcane instruments and bottles full of exotic ingredients lined the shelves. Nothing but the best would do. In the center of the room sat an enormous bronze vessel shaped like a bell, with a single door and porthole at the center. It sat in the center of a great pentagram. Every inch of it was etched with spellwork, runes as small as fingernails interlocking across the surface, forming an incantation that made the Mana in the air twist and pulse as if it was alive. Adamant actually shivered. The workbench was cluttered with tools, with the skulls of foreign animals marked on their brow with arcane signets and with miniature flowers glowing in glass containment. Adamant selected a silver knife, hoisted it like a lance, and charged at Aurum¡¯s cage. He bounced off with barely a mark. The little Adamant scratched his head. Moving around the cage, he planted himself firmly and began to push, shoving it towards the table¡¯s edge. Catching on, Aurum began to throw himself against the far wall. Slowly, scraping along the table, the cage began to move, wobbling slightly each time Aurum threw his weight forward. Inch by inch they fought towards freedom. One corner was even slightly over the edge when the door swung open, and Olin returned. Adamant froze, Aurum quickly covering him by slithering to the back of the cage and coiling himself over the wall. ¡°My my. Trying to escape?¡± The mage¡¯s shadow loomed over Aurum as the serpent hissed in defiance. ¡°Nice try, but you see...¡± With a sweep of his arm, Olin knocked the cage to the ground. Aurum was knocked about and rattled like a fallen coin, tossed against the walls with bruising force as the glass simply failed to shatter, the cage going rolling across the ground. From his hiding place behind a nearby skull, Adamant peered out. ¡°You¡¯re going nowhere.¡± More people were coming into the laboratory. Men in heavy crimson robes lined with protective runes, and beaked masks of bronze with smoked glass over the eyes. They each held a staff of gold. They took up positions around the glass bell, while Olin took center stage. A crowd of assistants shuffled in, wearing cheap, padded clothes and simple wooden masks. They carried jugs of foul smelling chymicals that bubbled and spat gusts of yellow smoke. Using a set of runed silver tongs, one carefully opened the jars of skygrist and lifted out a single, sparkling crystal of purest blue, setting it into a clay bowl at one point of the vast and complicated pentagram that surrounded the bell. Another used a long taper to light candles. The disturbance of the Mana around them increased with each step of the ritual, a swirling storm starting to rotate around the bell and the circle of mages with their staffs raised high. ¡°Somebody get the snake.¡± Olin hissed. Adamant could only watch as the assistants crowded around the cage, unlocking the latches and reaching inside. Aurum snapped at them with the speed of a flying arrow, sinking his jaws into the first man to reach inside, but as the unfortunate toadie let out a scream of pain his comrades seized the snake behind the head, by the thrashing tail, pulling him off their brother and carrying him towards the bell. Adamant scrambled out of his hiding place. The crate of skygrist was heavy, but he pushed his back against it. He thought big thoughts, of earthquakes, boulders rolling downhill, avalanches. Every grain and stone of his being strained to slowly shove the crate towards the table¡¯s edge. And at the same time, they were placing Aurum inside the bell, shoving him in with tongs and holding him back as they pushed the door closed. Olin nodded to the assistants standing by. They moved forward, pouring their alchemical mixtures into the small pipes in the bell¡¯s sides. Slowly, a tide of swirling amber liquids rose behind the porthole, filling the bronze vessel to full. ¡°Tonight!¡± Olin cast his arms wide. ¡°We commit the grandest sin of pride man has yet to envision! Red Alchemy! Tomorrow, we will be hailed as heroes for it. The only sin is failure! In success, we will rival the gods.¡± ¡°Now, to your places. We begin at once.¡± 1.7 Confrontations If there was one thing, one thing Olin Frampt truly loved beyond himself, it was magic. To feel the energies of the gods dance at his fingertips. To feel the grandiocosmic design shift to his will. And this, this was true magic. His fingers danced and interlocked in complex knots to draw spellwork in the air. As each glyph was completed it drifted free of his hands, joining the sea of arcane designs drifting around him. A miniature galaxy of golden light surrounded Olin and he rose from it like a creator god forging a new universe. His hair blew up in phantoms roars of wind. Lightning burst from the burning skygrist and crackled around his outstretched hands, his crimson cape billowing backwards. Sweat drooled down his forehead. His eyes were bloodshot. Absolutely nothing could be allowed to go wrong. As the final design was set in place, they began to rotate, pulling smaller runes out of thin air. They expanded outwards, forming a ring that encircled the brass bell. A calm swept through the room. Even the crackling of the skygrist as it sent lightning-bolt fingers to scrape over the bell¡¯s surface seemed subdued. The light dimmed. Thousands of tiny motes of Mana flickered into being in the air, slowly drawing towards the bell. And then the silence was broken. With a crash and a tinkle of glass, the crate of skygrist toppled over. Things were going¡­ well¡­ Technically, I had succeeded in drawing the Eyeblight¡¯s attention away from Adamant. Technically I could claim absolute victory. But I will admit it. My plan had counted on the Eyeblight being less¡­ incomprehensible. I had expected some kind of arcane guard dog. Instead, I was being chased down an endless hallway by a storm of hands with eyes. Blood. I needed a drop of blood. The hawk dove at my command, slashing open the fingertips that reached from the endless hollow doorways. Nothing. Not a solitary drop. Her talons sunk in to the back of the hand and mauled the pallid skin and there was nothing, not a hint of red to the wounds she cut. It was if the hands were formed from clay instead of flesh. The bird leapt backwards in a flutter of wings as the hands retaliated, scuttling over one another like a pack of five-limbed spiders to clutch and grasp at the air where she had been. But she had dove back to far. From the opposite door an arm shot out. Greasy, yellow fingernails sunk into her flesh. Lifeless grey fingers wrapped around her delicate body. And we were pulled back into the dark. The light of the doorway shrunk away above us. We were plummeting into a black, endless abyss. Far beneath us, the Eyeblight moved through the darkness. A ring of hands stretched outwards a cluster of staring eyes, like the petals of an absurd flower. More trailed away beneath, an endless tangle of reaching arms and grasping fingers, making the creature look like an immense grey jellyfish. In a way, I¡¯ll admit, it was so horrifying it became beautiful. We were reeled in towards its mouth, hidden among the hanging arms, a circular orifice lined with yellow teeth. The hawk kicked her wings in frantic desperation, struggled valiantly, but it was no use, no use at all. I dropped from her beak in the second before she was gone, with a snap of teeth and a crunch of flesh that sent feathers raining down alongside me. A gross, decaying hand seized me. Alright. I¡¯ll admit it. This was no longer going according to plan. A slimy, scum-frothed eye stared at me as I was hauled up to be eaten. Out of spite, out of desperation, I tried the last thing I could. There was nothing here for me to shape but the silver of my own ring. I took it and crushed the beautiful craftsmanship, the elegantly wrought details, into a crude weapon. And I shoved a needle made of my own ¡®flesh¡¯ into the beast¡¯s staring eye. Ichor and vitreous fluid burst out as I made the silver extend from my Core and stretch to pierce the yellow pupil of that hateful eye. Blood welled up. A single drop fell down the silver span of the needle towards me.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. Lightning scythed through the laboratory. Several mages were already on the floor, cut down by the thrashing and serpentine coils of brilliant blue that filled the room. It leapt unpredictably, pouring out without end from the broken crate and the exposed shards of skygrist. Olin alone still stood in the circle. He ripped fistfuls of golden letters from the heavens as blood ran from his eyes and nose. Spellwork curled over his flesh, leaving hideous burns where it touched him, and lightning crackled around his fingers. Alone he tried to hold the workings of the spell together. His amulets and protective wards held off the worst of the chaos as he put his blood and tears into maintaining the ritual. The only sin is failure. He repeated to himself, a manic smile on his face, despite everything. A smile, because above the brass bell, an illusionary tree had begun to bloom. It¡¯s bark was lined with golden characters and its branches danced with green fire instead of leaves. It was the Tree of Life, an omen of the gods. Behind him, unnoticed in the confusion, Adamant had jumped down from the table. Unafraid of the lightning he had waded into the dirt spilled from the broken jars. With each step he pulled the earth into his own being, growing taller, broader. In moments he was two feet tall, then three. He marched towards Olin from behind as the crowd fled from the burning skygrist. Olin was sinking to his knees, his legs failing as thunder and lightning shrouded him in billows of stinging sparks, his protective wards holding back less and less of the electric energy that blasted against him as he stood at the front of the storm. Adamant clasped his hands together and lifted them overhead to deliver a single hammering blow. And then came the single command. STOP. The great stone tablet descended as I fell from the Eyeblight¡¯s hands.
Under the Gods'' Sight, you two have entered into Contract. State your terms.
I shuddered as I felt my mind and the Eyeblight¡¯s meld together. Its thoughts were alien, unnerving. It pushed against my consciousness with a wave of incomprehensible hunger. Images of fangs tearing at flesh, of claws sinking into skin, of biting and chewing and swallowing all filled my mind, making me want to retch as I sank into a sea of blood and teeth. I pushed back. Thoughts of my Dungeon flooded out of my mind; I drew on the deep satisfaction of digging myself deeper into the earth, of layering my domain with traps. With the deep fierce pride I felt in Aurum, in Argent, Adamant, even Izzis. The endless itch to invent a new and creatively deadly layer of defense. The overwhelming power of shaping raw Mana into life. I threw all of these things up like a blazing wall of feeling and passion and watched the Eyeblight¡¯s hunger tear it apart. I will eat you. It thought. Eat you eat you eat you. I had been able to defeat Izzis because his mind was weak, distractible. The Eyeblight was dumb but single-minded. Hunger alone ruled its thoughts and that hunger was all-consuming here in the realm of mental combat. But I could turn that strength against itself. I could fight smart and hold my own, if not win. And in the end my contribution to the contract came down to a single all-important word. THEN.
Between the Eyeblight of Olin Frampt and the Nameless One This Contract Shall Be Sacred: The Eyeblight shall devour Olin Frampt THEN the Eyeblight shall eat the Nameless One.
As the tablet faded out, the Eyeblight seized me again. It carried me in its bloody hand as it rose for the light pouring through the doorway that floated in the darkness. We poured through, out of its dimensional pocket and into the real world. Screams and shrieks and booms of thunder echoed through the hallways. In the real world, the Eyeblight was smaller. Scarcely taller than a man, it couldn¡¯t float but had to crawl on its many arms through the hallway. The way it moved was hideous, spider-like, a confusion of limbs that left hundreds of scratch marks in the walls as its filthy nails clawed at them. Outside of the dimensional pocket, I could again sense my minions. I saw Argent, waiting atop Trivelin¡¯s head as the man hesitated outside the Institute, afraid of the metal guards that stood by the door. I saw Adamant, poised to strike Olin down. STOP I ordered. Whatever ritual had begun, it had to finish. For Aurum¡¯s sake. The idea of him being trapped halfway through whatever transformation Olin intended was worse than whatever the consequences of the ritual might be. The Eyeblight burst through towards the open doors of Olin¡¯s laboratory. An unfortunate assistant was caught in the oncoming wave of hands and dragged towards its mouth, messily torn apart. It shot straight for Olin as he knelt, still trying to hold the spellwork together. I gave an order I never thought I¡¯d have to. SAVE HIM. My life and Aurum¡¯s life counted on Olin surviving, at least until the ritual was done. Adamant, ever dutiful, didn¡¯t flinch in the sight of the oncoming abomination. He only paused to pick up a blazing shard of skygrist, letting the electric bolts wrap around his clenched fist. As the Eyeblight swept towards him, he stepped forward, delivering a lightning-wreathed punch to the abomination¡¯s core. Oh fuck it. Who could plan for this? 1.8 Olins Masterpiece The Institute of Magi had gone dark. Not a single maid or manservant left, no professors or underprofessors entered. The vast and solemn facade was blind, lightless. Only the guards remained. Empty suits of armor stood to either of side the grand doors, ready to come to life if the Institute should be threatened. Trivelin whistled. He had no fucking clue how to get inside. The damn rat hiding under his cloak bit him in the neck. Cursing, Trivelin stumbled forward, promising himself that if one of those fucking golems moved he was turning and running. As he put his foot onto the first step, they moved. They lowered their halberds to point directly at his gut. Trivelin froze. The rat leapt down from his shoulders and skittered across the ground towards them. There was a flash of silvery light, and the damn rodent was somehow inside the first guard¡¯s helmet. There was a scrambling of claws against metal and the hollow armor suddenly keeled over. It crashed to the ground, falling apart as it did. The rat scrambled free of the wreck with a gem held in her teeth. A flash, a brief struggle as the guard clumsily reached up to try and grab her within its own belly, and the second golem toppled over. Apparently their creator hadn¡¯t thought of what they¡¯d do if they ran into a teleporting rat. Argent emerged with her cheeks bulging like a chipmunk, holding two golem cores in her mouth. Trivelin let out a disbelieving laugh and hurried for the door, producing his favorite lockpick. Adamant fought the tide of arms swarming over him. His fist flashed down, armored in threads of lightning that burst outwards in a blaze of flaring blue as his blow struck home. The entire swarm of limbs that was the Eyeblight convulsed in agony under the electrified punch. Adamant lifted his fist again. Dozens of hands seized him, digging their clawed fingernails into the soft earth he was made from. Before he could strike again he was torn apart. Only it wasn¡¯t so easy to kill Adamant anymore. This Adamant had the Blessing of the Earthshaper, and even as his body of dirt and stone was pulled to pieces it swirled and reformed. A rebuilt Adamant clambered atop the jellyfish-flower of grasping limbs and drove his fist down into the cluster of eyes at its heart. Above us, an illusionary tree loomed. At its edges it faded into half-translucent shadows but the core of it, the trunk ringed with runic characters and the blazing branches, were clear as day. All the Mana in the room swirled around the tree, pulsing with a steady rhythm like the beat of a vast heart. Adamant fought on. His determination was as unyielding as stone and no amount of ripping his flesh away would stop him. With each hammering strike, lightning coursed through the Eyeblight¡¯s body and made its countless limbs spasm. Its claws raked weakly against him as he drove punch after punch into its many eyes. But he couldn¡¯t kill it. He was too small, too weak, to inflict damage anywhere but the eyes- and the Eyeblight had too many of those to ever be blinded. As the skygrist shard in his fist burned low the abomination was less and less hindred by his relentless assault. Until the Eyeblight gathered its strength and rallied, seizing Adamant with dozens of hands to throw him aside. He was hurled across the lab, striking the wall and collapsing into a shapeless pile of dirt. He began to reform immediately but for a fatal moment there was nothing to stand in the Eyeblight¡¯s way. Nothing impeded it as it lunged for Olin. But as it touched the sea of golden runes swarming around the mage, its fingers began to blaze. Its hands burned like comets - they cut trails of blue and red flame as they stretched through the mage¡¯s golden aura. Even as its limbs were reduced to cinders it reached out with more, overwhelming the fiery characters of runic script and the protective wards beneath. I had wanted to kill him myself. To devour his corpse before the Eyeblight could and bind it by contract not to eat me. But... The Eyeblight seized Olin by the neck and shoulders and hauled him back as he screamed. His head was lifted towards the beast¡¯s waiting mouth. Towards endless teeth. Hands crawled over every inch of his body until he couldn¡¯t be seen beneath the clutching masses of fingers. There was a scream that ended in a crunch¡­If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. And another. And another. And Olin Frampt was gone. The hands spread outwards like a gore-drenched flower unfolding. The laboratory was abandoned. Everyone still alive had fled. I was next on the menu. I couldn¡¯t even fight back. I tried to reach for the dying lightning that still leapt in occasional sparks from the last of the skygrist, I tried to shape into a weapon against the Eyeblight, but I felt myself restricted, bound by the Contract to submit to my fate. Above us the tree was fading. The fires on its branches faded from roaring green flames to guttering orange sparks, like summer fading to autumn, and soon frost overtook barren branches as the fires went out entirely. It was more and more translucent, fading into nothingness¡­ It felt so familiar. Like a mother¡¯s smile. Something I remembered from a time before memories. I reached for the Mana that flowed from the tree and gathered it, forced it down into the brass bell. I was being hauled towards the Eyeblight¡¯s mouth. Drool rained over me. This was the last and the best I could do for Aurum. To hold the ritual for a few seconds in Olin¡¯s stead. To hope it worked. What I felt inside that tank was not a snake anymore. It was not anything I understood. The Mana that surrounded it was dense, complex with runes. Adamant charged the Eyeblight holding a staff of gold. Sparks exploded from the makeshift lance as it pierced the abomination through its core. It let out a pitiful squeal-scream and struck the weapon aside, reaching out to crush the golem¡¯s head into shapeless dirt. The tree had withered down to a single green sprout, and that sprout was aging in reverse, drawing back down into a seed. A seed of purest crystalline luminescence. It dropped slowly, passing through the surface of the bell and settling within. The door creaked open. Chymical fluids rushed out, filling the air with sour acrid smells. It was too late. The Eyeblight swallowed me whole. I won¡¯t speak of the unspeakable slime and horror of that moment. But I heard the roar. The sheer, burning fury in that scream, a sound that wasn¡¯t one animal but many all crying out from the same throat. And I felt the world tilt as Aurum charged the Eyeblight. From Adamant¡¯s single eye I saw him. A macabre chimera made with too many parts. A serpentine mass of half-formed limbs, of wings without feathers, of bones and flesh without skin. A giant snake trailing the cast-off remnants of a dozen other creatures. The claws of a praying mantis scythed into the Eyeblight¡¯s flesh. The pincers of a scorpion tore and grabbed until, his serpentine bulk overpowering the burnt and battered abomination, Aurum threw it down. His new arms seized the mouth hidden behind all those limbs, his brilliant golden scales deflected its claws as they raked uselessly over his new form. He pried the monster¡¯s throat open and I saw light bloom above me. Fire. The whole of him heaved, and a blazing orange glow rushed up his throat as Aurum¡¯s lower jaw split open into two segments. With a furious roar Aurum spat a brilliant, raging torrent of flame down the Eyeblight¡¯s gullet. I was bathed in fire. And when it faded¡­ When the Eyeblight was nothing but burnt scraps scattered across the floor¡­ Aurum lowered his golden head down to me, a tiny sparkle of green lying on the floor. He nuzzled against me, in pain, dying. Full of too many organs for one body. Full of pockets of hair and teeth. I did my best to heal him. I seized the Mana flowing through the room, the fading characters of Olin¡¯s spell, and channeled it all into him. I turned the half-formed and cancerous parts of him into mere flesh. I cut away wings that would never fly. Limbs that would never walk. Flesh rained from his body, withering to nothing. In the end I could be confident he would live, but I couldn¡¯t make him beautiful again. The mantis-limbs and scorpion-claws remained. Two ridges of white feathers ran down his back. His jaw was bifurcated, his underbelly covered in tiny, crawling legs. He resembled nothing the gods had ever created. And he knew it. He nuzzled against me, wanting consolation. To know he was still wanted. I reached out to his mind with all the warmth and comfort I could. My gratitude for him saving me. My memories of him curled around me, my guardian. Trivelin came huffing around the corner, Argent and Izzis riding his shoulders. It was time to go. Aurum tried to awkwardly lift me, his claws scraping the floor. Trivelin stepped forward and carefully picked me up, cupping me in his hands. ¡°Alright boss, let¡¯s scarper before the authorities arrive. Good grief.¡± He looked around the ruined lab with disbelieving eyes and shook his head. I could understand that notion. Altogether we left. A strange crew of strange creatures. Only Adamant paused, turning back. A tiny speck of the Eyeblight was inching its way across the floor. A single eyeball, slithering its way about with its red roots. Adamant crushed it under his foot with a splat. A drunk stirred from the gutter to see a parade of horrors come slithering and stomping towards him. An enormous serpent thing crawled forward on insect limbs, followed by a man of mud, with a fat-bellied old sailor in tattered clothes bringing up the rear. A rat and bat-faced gremlin clung to his shoulders. The drunk inched back deeper into the gutter, frightened nearly to death as the serpent swung its head his way. Vast yellow eyes regarded him. And then the horrors marched on. The man crawled forward on all fours, shaking too badly to stand. He watched the monsters slither down a storm drain, the giant snake bending like its body was made of putty to slide down the tiny entrance. Tomorrow, the city would be full of rumors. Sober eyes had seen the same. The Institute of Magi had been destroyed. Olin Frampt was missing. But I was past caring about the world above. 1.9 Normality We were home again. But it was funny and maybe a little sad how little ''we'' resembled the ''us'' that had left. I didn''t care to dwell on that for long. Aurum needed a new lair and I, frankly, needed to the normality of working on something. He was no longer small enough to dwell in the alcove above the Sanctum, and so I set to hollowing out a den in the tunnels I had dug underneath the gardens. I wanted to keep him near me, so the obvious choice was to build a large dry chamber connecting to the flooded passage that led my Sanctum, while also widening the flooded space beneath the Sanctum¡¯s shaft into an arena. To reach me now, adventurers would have to enter the garden, avoiding pitfalls, lurking vipers, and the all-pervading poisonous spore of the mushrooms. Above these gardens lurked the nacre-spiders, spinning luminous webs of pearlescent spittle in a space above the ceiling. Only their juveniles hunted on the garden floor below, while the adults lurked behind carefully camouflaged false ceilings, waiting to haul some unlucky invader into their clutches. But assume for a moment someone got past these defenses. They would have to descend into a flooded underwater labyrinth, fighting off the tentacled reelfish I had created. If they succeeded in finding their way, they would enter into a large, drowned antechamber, with the shaft of the Sanctum directly above them. And from a hidden den attached to that antechamber, waiting to emerge, would be my Aurum. My guardian. A cave wasn¡¯t good enough. I had to make some modifications. Smoothing the walls, I carved them with scenes of the Dungeon¡¯s short life. Argent staring up at Aurum. The serpent coiled around the egg. Izzis in his cage. Adamant being shaped from the earth. It felt good. It felt incredibly good, relaxing, to shape the earth to my will. To carve my personality and my mind into the Dungeon until it became an extension of my own self. Still these little touches weren¡¯t enough. He would be cut off from the rest of the Dungeon, and I wanted to make him happy. I drew from one of the eternal lamps we had captured from Trivelin¡¯s cohorts to make a blob of neverending flame, small and harmless, and enclosed it in a lamp made of emerald-green salt crystals. With intense care I shaped even the tiny flaws within the salts, giving them the shape of fish- so that when the light shone through the shadows of a hundred fish were cast against the walls. To house the lamp I lifted up the stone in the shape of two intertwined serpents, holding the crystal bulb between their jaws. In this fixture I made the salt-lamp balance so delicately that the rising heat of the flame within would cause it to slowly rotate. Across the walls the fish began to swim and circle endlessly, the warmth of the lamp casting glimmering spots of sapphire and emerald among them, altogether creating a sparkling grotto of shadows and light. Now I could feel a craftsman¡¯s pride. In the deep pool connecting his lair to my Sanctum, I seeded dozens of species of fish, lining the earth with a rich layer of algae to feed a thriving food chain with Aurum at the top. Finally, I lengthened the pillars I had previously created in the snake den that was directly above him, causing them to extended down into his chamber. The numerous serpents that lived in the burrows within the pillars could come and hunt from his feeding bowl, if they were willing to take the risks. As Aurum descended into his new home, the fish scattered around him, a spiral of silver parting around his dark shadow. Insectile limbs gripped the edge of the shore. A hundred legs slithered. In his jaws, Aurum carried the egg with incredible care, gently laying it in the glow of the lamp. He curled himself around it to sleep. I did nothing to disturb him. Gods know he deserved to rest. But I carefully probed at the strange formations of Mana within him. I still didn¡¯t understand what Olin had done, but I recognized, however grudgingly, that the man had been a genius. Mana curled in intricate spiraling designs around a core that burned like a sun. Each rotating circle of characters intermeshed to the next, and flowing ribbons of smaller glyphs appeared and vanished as the designs turned. At the center of it all glowed a crystal seed, the same one I had seen fall from the illusionary tree. It reminded me of my own Core, in a strange way.
[ Feathered Serpent Chimera ] ¡°Aurum¡± This misshapen creation was born from the sin of Red Alchemy and carries a heresy in its heart. A chimera of many different creatures, its golden dragon bloodline still faintly persists.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
Blessing: Name of the Treasure Guardian - This beast grows constantly by maintaining contact with its hoard, steadily absorbing Mana. Amount of Mana gained increases with hoard size.
As my attention returned to the Gardens I noticed several developments. One was that outside, the golden fruit of the mangrove trees had finally drawn attention. Another was that several of the vipers had finally reached the point of evolution. But what I chose to focus on was Adamant. He had reached evolution himself.
Your creation is undergoing Evolution During this time, Mana you gift them will be more effective, and they will be easier to shape. Choose a path- Stone Golem (Common) - Resembling a living statue, these dutiful servants are dull-minded but unbreakable. Greater Homunculus (Common) - Representing a half-way point between artificial being and true life, the greater homunculus is strange, uncommonly ugly, and slightly intelligent. Earth Elemental (Rare) - A whirling collection of stone and dirt bound to a spiritual core, an earth elemental embodies the resilience of the world and is almost impossible to kill. Dwarven Eidolon (Legend) - The protectors and guardians of the dwarven kingdoms, Eidolons possess a strange and silent intellect that lends itself to stunning works of craftsmanship. Many-Handed Servant (Mutant) - Absorbs traits from the last foe defeated. Gains the ability to create and control endless hands.
The choice was tempting. The ability to conjure countless hands combined with Adamant¡¯s resilience would be devastating. Making him even more unkillable and presumably stronger by selecting Earth Elemental would leave him equally well-suited to repel invaders. I could sense in him a deep frustration, an anger at how little he¡¯d been able to do against the Eyeblight. But we didn¡¯t make decisions based on anger. And I would have plenty of creations that were strong, that were tough, that could defend me. How many chances would I have to pick a Legendary path, and how many of the paths my creations could take would lead towards craftsmanship? I selected the Eidolon and watched as amber light glommed onto Adamant, becoming semi-solid and encasing him in an luminescent chrysalis. In moments he was only visible as a shadow within the glowing caul of amber. My last duty was to settle matters with Trivelin. He had set my core aside along with everything we¡¯d taken from Olin¡¯s laboratory - the golden staff, the faceted blue golem cores, and an assortment of little trinkets that had somehow vanished into his pockets. Argent held me in her paws as she watched him whittle a tiny stump out of mushroom roots. As I waited he reached down and pushed the peg to the stub of Argent¡¯s missing leg, wrapping what I had taken for loose threads of fungal celia around her hindquarters to form a harness. Her usual bouncing hobble-hop evened out as she raced around him testing her new limb. Which settled it for me. I didn¡¯t trust him to do anything but seek his own interests, but I appreciated a servant who could pander to me so well. The small, clever touches of kindness towards my minions and the mouth-watering praise of jewels all told me one thing; the two of us could understand each other very well. I would trust him to know how rich I could make him. At my command, Argent lifted me into his hand and sank her teeth into his thumb. Although he let out a swear of protest I could feel his hand shake with excitement as Argent curled his bleeding fingers around me. The world faded out. The familiar tablet of stone descended to bind our Contract.
Between Trivelin Arbador and the Nameless One This Contract Shall Be Sacred: Trivelin shall undertaken any task given to him in exchange for fair compensation. Trivelin shall never betray or purposefully harm the Nameless One¡¯s interests. Trivelin shall receive the Attunement of Disguise. On the day Trivelin delivers a Phoenix that lays sapphire eggs to the Nameless One, he shall receive the Attunement of Jewels.
Trivelin left the Dungeon with a tremor in his hands, fussing with his collar. Shellshocked by his good fortune. The difference between a scavenger or a poacher like him and a true adventurer was simple. An adventurer had reached the final floor of a Dungeon and forced the core to grant them an Attunement. Everyone had Mana inside them, sure enough, and people who spent their lives challenging Dungeons accumulated more than most, but they could only harness it with years of careful training in magecraft. Unless they achieved Attunement. With an Attunement your Mana would naturally begin to manifest in special talents, known as knacks, that set adventurers head and shoulders above the rest of the world. Hooking his thumbs through the lapels of his jacket, Trivelin set out into the world. He was poor, filthy, shipless, and smelled of a sewer, but this wasn¡¯t the worst misadventure he¡¯d stumbled into on a drunk night. No, this was the beginnings of good times for Captain Trivelin. He took his hat off and dusted it clean, setting it back on his balding head. Oh yes, there were good times ahead. As soon as his knack manifested he could go to the Adventurers¡¯ Guild and receive their seal. And with one of those¡­ The world was Trivelin¡¯s oyster. 1.10 Bells and Lies Caltern. City of Bells. The dwarves had built Caltern as a gift to the human empire, and they had built it with all the craftsmanship of their race. Aqueducts carried rainwater from the mountains, and a dozen small rivers ran through the city, spanned by ornate bridges. There was nowhere in Caltern where the sound of water didn¡¯t flow. And they had built thirteen belltowers. Nobody knew why. You could ring out every hour on a different bell and you would still be left with one to spare. Today, as the Mane Bell rung, the atmosphere of the city was bruised and oppressive. Nobody wanted to be caught out in the streets by some imagined monsters. The only thing that moved were rumors, and they flew with blinding speed. Trivelin sat in a tavern with his hat tipped over his face listening as the events of the night blossomed into myth. Olin Frampt had unleashed monsters on the city. Olin Frampt had been devoured by his own creations. He had tried to revive the dragons, or to create artificial life, he had trafficked with demons or offended the gods. The brief glimpses of Aurum became distorted and monstrous until the poor serpent was reimagined as a three-headed lion with the body of a scorpion and a centipede. Trivelin kept his nose down for as long as he could, but he wasn¡¯t a silent sort. No, Trivelin couldn¡¯t help but tell a good story, and he had such a story to tell. And it wasn¡¯t harming the Dungeon to tell the truth, or at least a little of the truth. After all, people were afraid right now. Fear made even common people very dangerous indeed. And if there was one thing that could overpower fear, and Trivelin knew this well, it was greed. So why not tell a few stories of the riches far-off Dungeons had brought to distant cities? Why not stir the pot a little and get people to see the benefits? ¡°Friends¡­¡± He began. ¡°Somebody get me a drink, and I¡¯ll tell you where monsters and gold come from. Dearest friends, you would not believe where I¡¯ve been, the things I¡¯ve seen, or the riches underneath our city¡­¡± But while common people worried and gossiped over what Olin had unleashed on their city, in the halls of power, there was only one matter to discuss. There was no ruling hand in Caltern. Olin had left three apprentices, and anyone could see the Institute would be torn apart between them as they fought for his legacy. The city would no longer be ruled by the mages. Eyfrae arrived at the governor''s villa at the break of dawn- but even that was too late. In the hour it had taken to lace her into a corset and an expansively frilly gown she had lost the lead, and the courtyard outside the palatial home was crowded already. Minor nobles lounged about on palanquins carried by golems, or under parasols. They were a high-strung lot, mostly here to seek reassurance that their lifestyles would not be endangered, that they could continue to live as fat ticks sucking the city dry. They weren¡¯t contenders for Olin¡¯s throne.. There were the riverfolk, half-men and half-mer with pale blue skin and tendrils instead of hair, their faces sleek and graceful with barely a ridge where a nose should be, bright pink gills fluttering on their necks. They rarely ventured into the city, but not a ship came or left without their permission. Their warriors wore fur jackets and pendants of teeth, poised themselves like warriors with hands on the hilts of their swords, but Eyfrae knew them. They would never choose a fight here on fair terms. Instead, they would blockade the city from their home territory in the rivers. Standing opposite them were the dwarves, the outcasts left behind when the halls of their homeland closed the doors. They were solid and frugal folk, without much decoration beyond the clan symbols they braided into their beards. Suffi Halfhand nodded to Eyfrae. She was a simple, blunt-faced girl, but every workshop in the city would stop if she gave the word.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. They could tear Caltern down in days between them. And the governor hadn¡¯t even invited them in. Eyfrae had plenty of patience. God knows, she had suffered Olin for years. But Olin had let the city run itself. He was too lazy to be an iron-fisted ruler. ¡°You can¡¯t go in now. The governor has important business to decide.¡± The chief of the guard, a man with a leonine beard and a curling chevaliar mustache, stood squarely in her way. In his gold-lined armor and white cape he must have looked quite dashing. She opened her mouth and exhaled a long dart of flame that caught that oiled mustache like a fuse, his whole head igniting as his hair took light. Without bothering to linger as he screamed and thrashed, Eyfrae stormed past the guards, flames wrapping around her body as they reached out to stop her. She threw the great doors open with inhuman strength. The carpet singed and scorched under her feet. Her clothes, in all their expensive lace and frillery, curled to wisps of charcoal. Governor Keldin was entertaining the Captain Immer, the prince of the city¡¯s slavers and Olin¡¯s only true successor. The whip-thin pirate was perched in a chair with his black kidskin boots up on the man¡¯s desk, a coin dancing between his lithe fingers. And Eyfrae happened to know his knack made that coin as good as a knife to him. ¡°Ah, so you finally get here. We were just discussing how-¡± ¡°I have no time for this.¡± Flame was all she was now, a human shaped blot of wavering fire. So when she glared at the pirate, with eyes of blazing blue, he froze. ¡°We have lost Olin, we have lost Morghul, and we¡¯re going to lose the bloody city if you leave the mer and the dwarves sitting outside your door any longer.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of a bunch of cast-offs and river pirates. Are you?¡± Immer scoffed. ¡°I don¡¯t have time for your bravado, Immer. I don¡¯t have time for you at all.¡± Slipping his feet off the desk, Immer drew himself up. He cut a an imposing figure, with his long jacket and long dark hair, with his scarred handsome face. Stepping as close as he dared to the fire and heat that swirled around her, he squared up. ¡°Are we going to do this the simple way? A fight for who owns the city?¡± There was something mad and bloodthirsty in the pirate¡¯s eyes. Eyfrae supposed most people would fear that kind of look. All she saw was a rabid dog needing to be put down. ¡°I think-¡± Governor Kedlin started, trying to lift his considerable bulk from his seat. But the two snapped in unison- ¡°Sit down.¡± He sank back into his overstuffed sedan chair with a defeated sigh. ¡°No. I have no interest in fighting you. Here¡¯s my message, and the dwarves and mer will hear the same. This bloated winesack won¡¯t choose who rules Caltern. I will. Whoever binds the Dungeon first will have my support, and the city.¡± Her hair had lifted into blazing coils of gold. She turned and departed then, before she could be dragged into petty intrigues, leaving them while her flame still lasted. The mer stared as she paraded past, the guards rushing to stomp out her flaming footprints. Suffi only grimaced in sympathy. Nobody ever listened. She paused before them, letting them take in the spectacle that made her so feared. The legendary Attunement of Fire. ¡°There is a Dungeon beneath our city. It is responsible for Olin¡¯s death, and it is the greatest hope for Caltern¡¯s revival. Bind it to your will and you will have my support.¡± It was only once she was back inside her carriage, a sturdy little thing built from the fireproof timbre of embertrees, that she could let the flames flicker out. Her dress rained away from her in a fine dust of ash, clinging to her nude form as it disintegrated. Eyfrae sighed as her maidservant handed her a cloak to wrap around herself. ¡°I don¡¯t know why I bother getting dressed up. Nobody listens when I¡¯m diplomatic.¡± She paused, and then added. ¡°Olin did. God, I think I might actually miss him.¡± ¡°He only listened because he was afraid of you.¡± Her maid pointed out. ¡°Yes, he was a coward. One of his better attributes.¡± She stared out the window briefly, taking in the high tower of the Noctis Bell, a monstrosity of black iron that croaked at the moment of dusk each day. This would be her city in the end. Because whoever ruled in theory, when the world found out there was a Dungeon here, adventurers would come. People who could bring the guards to their knees. People even the Empire didn¡¯t try to rule over. Whoever was ¡®in charge¡¯ would merely be the one responsible for bowing and scraping to the predators who came to Caltern to hunt in the Dungeon. There would be one true authority that remained, the Adventurer¡¯s Guild- and in Caltern City she was the guild. 1.11 Gleam and Greed I had levelled. Unsurprising, considering the sheer amount of death that had happened around me in the last few hours. In fact I was already half way to the next as well.
You have reached Fourth Level. You may now choose an Attunement. On reaching sixth level, you will have the opportunity to attain higher levels in the Attunements you have already chosen. You may choose to receive an additional Schema Slot OR an expansion to your Mana pool OR The Great Wheel¡¯s Whim (I).
Without hesitation, I sought through the ¡®selection space¡¯ my mind entered when I focused on the notification, finding and picking out the Attunement of Gleam for myself. It was a path I¡¯d committed to by selecting Gloom and I had no intention of backing out now. Secondly, I selected Mana Pool Expansion. It was long overdue and I was finally starting to regularly run into the limits of my current reserve, thanks to my efforts in building foodchains throughout the Dungeon. A regular trickle of Mana returned to me as I seeded populations and they bred on their own, as they fought and hunted each other. Hundreds of creatures were all fighting tooth and nail to thrive in the world I had built. It was fascinating just to watch them, to see chains of vicious little ants overwhelm a toad, or a pitched battle between a viper and a reelfish, the snake caught in the fish¡¯s clutches and struggling with all its might to avoid being pulled down into a watery grave. At every given moment, hundreds of these little pictures of life and death were unfolding. Aphids with crystalline bodies clustering on a flower made of glass. Vipers lying in wait. Schools of bright silver fish swimming in unison. The steady drip of water from the cavernous ceiling where nacre-spiders lurked. I felt proud of the beauty I had achieved.
Gemheart Dungeon (Unnamed)
Soul Fragments 228/400 Mana 7.8/132 Mana Per Hour +0.4
Anima: 1 Logos: 2 Arcana: 2
Blessings: Gift of Beauty, Gift of The Sun.
Prone to strange and reckless thinking, this aesthete Dungeon has survived numerous deadly situations in its young life and attracted the attention of the gods.
But there was still some ugly business to attend to. My jaunt outside the Dungeon had consequences. The storms that had shaken my field of ethereal Mana had caused several creatures to mutate violently. Most of them were already dead. A few, however, had survived. What made me curious was that they had immediately fled my territory, as if afraid of me. The only one that remained was a mutated Nemocelia, a swollen mushroom twice its normal size with a pinkish color to its translucent limbs. It had grown a number of long, prehensible tubes that oozed digestive bile, and was hungrily spraying anything that moved. It was an interesting hunting strategy except that the creatures died too slowly- by the time the bile had killed them they had already run away, robbing the carnivorous mushroom of its meal. But more interesting than how it had changed physically, it had also begun to warp the Mana around it. Usually when a creature died within my Dungeon it was eaten by me, rendered down into pure Mana and, if it wasn¡¯t one of my own creations, fragments of soul. The actual predator was sustained not by the meat but by a small tithe of Mana it took from me. Over time this would accumulate until the predator reached evolution. Importantly, I couldn¡¯t seem to induce evolution simply by pouring Mana in myself. Mana ¡®donated¡¯ by me could change a being¡¯s shape, but it would slowly grow more and more resistant, taking more Mana to make further changes. I had made the rough observation that this was because each creature carried a ¡®memory¡¯ of its original form in the way Mana flowed within its body.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. A rat I made double in size would still have the same Mana pathways as when it was small. Evolution by contrast carved entirely new pathways, creating a comprehensive change. The mutated mushroom had no pathways at all. In fact it had no Mana at all. It was like a bottomless hole, drinking and drinking the surrounding Mana down, but never filling in the least. It was a blight on my Dungeon. Unfortunately, neither Argent nor Izzis could come close for risk of its deadly spit. I was on the verge of calling Aurum up from his den when, inside his chrysalis of amber, Adamant began to stir. The frozen light that had surrounded him faded away, leaving only a thin haze in the air. The Adamant that now stood before me was only four feet tall, but undeniably better shaped than I had been able to make him, with a full five fingers on each hand, his limbs shaped to imitate the presence of muscle and bone structure beneath his skin of ochre clay. There was even the suggestion of a helmet atop his head, a pointed helm with a cross-shaped visor. Stepping forward, he planted his heavy foot down on the troublesome mushroom. With that, I was finally able to turn my attention to more interesting matters. Outside, an encampment had sprung up on the shores of the lake, drawn by the promise of the golden mangrove fruit. The poor, the hungry, they cast their tents up and waited in the mud, none of them willing to be the first to go forth; the rumors of giant spiders and worse had them hesitating. Even from here they could see the giant curtains of spun silk hanging from the tree branches and billowing in the wind. As I watched through Argent¡¯s eyes a lone canoe paddled across the lake. The two oarsman each carried swords, but the old man sitting at the front was unarmed except for a torch. His flame reflected in shining flecks across the bobbing surface of the waters. They stopped their boat just short of where the roots of the mangrove trees formed a false ¡®shore¡¯ and the old man began to chant, drawing symbols in the air, his torch flaring up as the fire turned colors to a brilliant blue. Reaching out, he touched the flame to the spiderwebs strung between the trees and they flared up- but the fire spread no further, only consuming the silk without harming the forest itself. The man wove his spellwork into the blaze, drawing golden letters in the air and throwing them into the flames like he was feeding the fire with tinder. The web-weavers panicked and retreated deeper into the forest, but the fires only spread and chased after them. In the open the fisherman spiders were not especially deadly combatants. They had the strength to wrestle fish from the waters in their nets, but they were clumsy and slow, easily fended back with spears or swords before they could close the distance to grapple. But, as I watched, a brave little jumping spider crawled across the highest branches, scuttling between leaping tongues of flame. It was of the other species I had made to guard the mangrove orchard, a small but fiercely venomous breed. As the mage chanted and all eyes were on the fires slowly eating their way through the dense webs that guarded the precious golden fruit, the little spider leapt down into the boat. And everything went upside-down. The little spider landed directly on oarsman¡¯s face, setting the man screaming and stumbling, his back foot kicking against the side of the ship and making it rock dangerously in the water. He clawed the spider off his face and hurled it away, but not before it had bitten him twice, once on the hand and once just above the eye. He curled onto his knees in agony, screaming as he clutched the swelling redness of his face. And meanwhile, beneath the boat, my reelfish were beginning to swarm. They watched the little craft rock and tilt and saw weakness; their prey was already in distress. With a huge thump the largest of the reelfish smashed its head into the ship¡¯s side, and as the man aboard grabbed the railings to support themselves, one impact after another landed, the whole swarm battering the canoe until with a sudden lurch it flipped over- Three splashing, struggling bodies went into the water. The wounded man never came up again. The surviving oarsman clutched desperately to the upturned boat, sword already lost in the waters below, reelfish tendril winding around his kicking legs. His fingernails scraped over the slippery surface of the boat¡¯s underbelly as he was dragged under. The mage was desperately trying to cast a spell as he went down, clawing golden letters from the air as if they were his lifeline. He was pulled under, but turned on his attackers, throwing out a blast of searing light that flared like a drowned star under the lake, forcing the shadows of the reelfish back and killing the one that had seized him. He surfaced again, skinny limbs kicking up the water as he paddled for shore. But it was already over. It wasn¡¯t long before he went under again. This time for good. I was only upset that they¡¯d all died outside my domain. I was forced to watch from Argent¡¯s body, the rat perched atop the great black tree that guarded the breach in my walls, as three perfectly good souls were wasted. Trying not to be too upset about the loss, I was briefly amused to see a familiar figure slowly paddling through the water. When I had first created the creatures of the orchard, I had also created a lone turtle, imbuing it with Mana as a prize for the first predator to crack open its shell. Only the clever creature had survived, apparently. It was nearly twice the size it had been when I last took notice, its shell covered in dull, squared spikes. Which told me something rather interesting. Previously, I had only fed Mana to creatures with a purpose in mind, shaping their body to one end or the other. But by placing unshaped Mana into a living being, I could cause it to evolve ¡®naturally¡¯. This was useful because there were still many things I couldn¡¯t do. Most of the ¡®freak¡¯ creatures I had created to sell at market were short-lived and ill-functioning. The winged serpent lacked the musculature to fly and the golden fish couldn¡¯t do more than sluggishly inch along the bottom of its bowl. Allowing creatures to grow outside of my will was one way to introduce more diversity to my little world. Speaking of which, I had two perfectly good golem cores, and no intention of wasting time in making some new friends for Adamant. 1.12 A Few Small Stories Adamant was born of clay and stone. The strange thing was, his memories started before he became a living thing, before he was shaped into an imitation of a man; he remembered the cool and quiet dreams of the earth, and the frantic hungry seeking-for-light of the mushrooms that lined his back. He could remember still the feel of earthworms crawling through the dirt that would become his flesh. He remembered also the ring of hammers against anvil and red-hot iron, the work-songs in the dark, the taste of mead. Things he had never experienced at all. His head felt like a strangely busy place of late. He sat at the edge of the mangrove orchard, his clumsy feet dangling into the water as he mused. Fish came to nibble at his edges. His thoughts were deep and vague. Being made living was like being struck by lightning. Energy had burned him, moved within him, a flame trapped inside his chest that pushed him to move as well. With motion came reason. Why did I move, he had asked himself, and the answer was, because I was ordered to. It was a good enough reason for a golem. But when he dipped his feet in the river and remembered the idle thoughts of the earth, he felt an urge that couldn¡¯t be explained; nobody had ordered him to dream. Slowly, Adamant reached up and pulled one of his fingers off. The dirt-flesh crumbled away in his grasp, leaving a stump. He set down the dark clay in his lap and splashed water over it, wetting it, making it malleable. With careful slowness he molded it into the shape of a tiny golem. Live, he ordered. The little golem obeyed. Strix felt the calm before a storm of grief as she lay in bed. Morghul¡¯s soul hadn¡¯t answered the call of resurrection. Not this time. The high priests had tried everything to call him back from the Beyond, and still he just lay there in his coffin. Like a dead man. Exactly like a dead man. When Strix had first been shipwrecked, Morghul had come to see the girl from the unknown continent. While she lay in the infirmary, blinded and scared, he had traded stories of his homeland in the dwarven mountains for stories of hers, listening patiently as she rambled about the heat of the sun on her skin and the majesty of the great green river that cut the desert into two. She had told him of the beauty of the red-and-black sands, and the green oasis. The fearful moment of waking up to find a pitch-black tomb scarab laying on her face. The palaces with their sun-drenched stucco pillars and pleasure gardens of white marble. She had told him everything except one thing. In the moment she had been blinded, she had her first prophecy. While her ship had tossed in the grip of a vast and swirling maelstrom, thunder illuminating the pitch black veils of cold rain that came pelting down across the deck, she had stared out, and seen the God-Country¡¯s great mountain. For a moment the eternal mists had parted and a vision of that holy pinnacle blazed through to meet her gaze. It shone with the clarity of diamonds, the heat of the sun. She had stared until her eyes wept themselves blind and in the darkness she had known- Someday she would climb that mountain. But she would never return home. One day, Morghul hadn¡¯t come to the infirmary. In the darkness she had tossed and turned on her bed, barely able to move due to her wounds, afraid. The day had lasted forever. Until he had returned, carrying a gift. He had found other survivors. A nest of tiny desert owls nestled into the broken timbre that washed ashore, bedraggled and peeping for food. She ran her fingers through their brown feathers. That was the first time she had seen through an owl¡¯s eyes, and the first time she had seen Morghul¡¯s face. And now she wouldn¡¯t anymore. Throughout the city, the news was breaking. The single fixture of the Adventurer¡¯s Guild was broken. There would be men drinking to his name tonight, and when the ale ran dry, violence. Strix would not join them. She had a choice to make. She could do the easy thing and blame his killer, forget the Dungeon had been acting in self-defense and that Morghul had acted recklessly, overconfidently. It would be the simplest thing in the world to lay the blame on the Dungeon and hate it for taking her friend. But.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. She had received another prophecy that night, brought to her by a white owl. And the city¡¯s Fate would turn on whether she shared it with this Dungeon. There were no easy answers with Fate. Blame and hatred twisted the strings, made you see what you wanted to see, instead of what was. Too much love could do the same. All Strix knew was that she missed her friend. Hrask had so many scars on his broad, muscled back that the whip couldn¡¯t hurt him anymore. It couldn¡¯t bite through the thickness of the pale scar tissue left by all the punishments past. It had been arrogant of him to let them see that. To refuse to cry out in fake pain, to hold his head high in defiance of the fat overseer who sweated and went red in the face as he struck harder and harder, trying furiously to beat a reaction out of Hrask. The orc only snorted and flexed his muscles against the chains of the whipping post. He was the biggest and the strongest of any of them, caught in the wilds. He was the last one who wouldn¡¯t break. And today, that had cost him. ¡°Damn the pig. Bring out his son,¡± the overseer had spat, throwing down the whip. ¡°And get the strongest man you¡¯ve got.¡± The screams still echoed in Hrask¡¯s head. His son hardly moved now. His blood soaked through the bandages in guilty red stains, and he shivered, the only sign he was still alive, cold even under all the blankets they could scrounge up in the filthy tents of the slaves. Nothing here was clean. Every thin sheet had been soiled by blood before, and by any other fluid you cared to name. There was a thin dust to the air of the quarry that clung to the insides of the lungs. The boy would cough, now then, cough in great wracking spasms that squeezed his lungs empty and pushed out thin threads of spittle grey with grit. Hrask had always believed some day he would kill his captors. That someday his fellow slaves would remember who they were and rise up. The simple numbers gave them every advantage over their guards. He didn¡¯t understand why the rest of them were so afraid to die. But then, Hrask had never been afraid for himself, not in the way he was afraid for his son now. It was a fear he felt gnawing into his belly. A fear that would not leave him the same orc as it continued to eat away at him. The shaman sighed, sitting beside Hrask. The old pig was the only one the warrior respected. There was still a spark of fight behind his eyes, although a slower and more cunning one than Hrask could stomach. ¡°I can tell you¡¯re thinking of dying.¡± ¡°Today would be a good day for it.¡± Hrask said. ¡°If you say so. Me, I¡¯ve heard a Dungeon was born in the city, so by my reckoning it¡¯s a good day to live.¡± Hrask¡¯s ears pricked up. Their people came from Dungeons, long ago. If they could reach this one, they would have a home again, a chance at a life. The hope in him kindled against the cold fear for his son. ¡°I¡¯ll go. I¡¯ll go tonight, and plead for it to give us shelter. I¡¯ll... The shaman clicked his tongue, turning his gaze to the boy shivering beneath his sheets. And Hrask¡¯s spirit sank. ¡°They¡¯ll kill him if they find me missing¡­¡± he realized. ¡°And it won¡¯t be...¡± ¡®Honorable¡¯ was the word but it stuck in his throat. It was a funny thing. When he imagined his own death, it was with honor and bravery, it was the story of a hero. When he thought of his son dying, it was just death. Cold and without any meaning beyond loss. ¡°Then we¡¯d better send the boy.¡± Reaching into his tattered clothes, the shaman brought out the tiniest shard of crystalline Mana, scarcely the size of a fingernail. Hrask¡¯s eyes went wide. ¡°Oh, but I¡¯ve been saving this since my snout was smooth. It almost feels like letting go of an old friend.¡± Crouching over the boy, the shaman breathed on the shard of Mana as he cupped it in his hands. It turned to pale green fire, making their shadows loom like giants giant against the cloth of the tent, making the world turn shades of emerald. Lowering his hands, he pressed the flame down into the boy¡¯s chest. Hrask¡¯s son gasped, a clean clear draw of breath, new flesh crawling over his wounds. Not even a scar was left behind. ¡°He¡¯ll go tomorrow night. And I¡¯ll keep the guards busy.¡± Reaching down, he gripped his son¡¯s hand while the boy slept on, his slumbering face at ease now, his dreams less pained. Before he was captured, Hrask had never suffered the shame of a single wound on his back. But he had fought hundreds of battles, until his chest and belly were so thick with scars that human swords and spears could never pierce him. Tomorrow, while his son slipped away, he would show them that. Argent flashed away as claws scraped the ground where she had been. The raccoon-owl chimera let loose a high-pitched squeal as she appeared on its back, sinking her teeth in. Thick fur kept her jaws from biting deep, and the creature thrashed powerfully, but she clung on between its beating wings until she''d tasted the salt of its blood. It flung her free, sending her rolling across the ground. She was gone in a flash of light. Gone before its almost-human raccoon hands could seize hold of her. Gone before its long owl talons could sink into her flesh. The silver light skittered along the ground like a thunderbolt, reforming into Argent. She tore into its tail now, ripping long brown feathers free, and as it swept its wing out to knock her down she was gone again. Like a ghost. Again and again. She would tear tiny pieces of the beast away, she would claw and scratch. And when it sought retribution she would be nowhere to be found. Her brothers had already left her behind. Aurum had always towered over her, but now she was insignifcant compared to him. Barely an ant compared to what he¡¯d become. Adamant had transformed into something new and strange. Only she remained as she was. She was always the smallest of them, the weakest. The bravest. She let the owlcoon grow clumsy with rage before she struck. She let it lunge for her, its beak snapping open, its hooting cry echoing through the narrow sewer tunnel. And instead of teleporting aside, she rushed forward to meet the beast. The chimera flinched, surprised, as her claws sank into the pure white feathers its face. As her weight clung to its head. As her teeth sunk into its eye. The owlcoon let loose a piercing howl and threw her off, and Argent was gone, a lightning bolt weaving down the tunnel. She left its white face stained with red weeping from a hollow socket. An eye taken for a leg lost. She would be back for the rest soon enough. And when she had worn the beast down to nothing, taken it apart piece by piece, she would be strong enough to follow her brothers. 1.13 A Message Argent had been exploring the city. Breathing in its scents, a bouquet of flavors to her ratty nose. Taking in the sights, taking note of everything that glittered or shone. Today she led her pack across a clothesline, the thread bobbing with their collective weight as they padded from one roof to the next. Down a gutter, leaping onto a balcony, and then across that balcony¡¯s rail, until they stood perched on their hindlegs, staring down the window of a jeweler¡¯s shop. It was nearly night, and they were putting away their stock. The little old man with his receding wisps of hair tucked behind his elephant ears lifted each gem as if it was a child, wrapping chains of glittering diamond and rings of ornately set lapis into silk coverings and setting them at rest in a long cabinet of drawers. With the last piece stored, he lifted a small iron key, brushing it over the cabinet¡¯s face. A ripple, and a solid wall of iron appeared. A door with no handle, no lock, only a key. Carved into that featureless iron face were numerous small characters of warding, preventing all kinds of magical intrusion. As the old man left, he drew a second key, smaller, from a pocket in his vest. He waved it through the air and a web of golden spellwork briefly shimmered around the store, before fading out of sight. Two magical locks. Two magical keys. A wealth of treasures waiting to be taken. Three of the vipers I had sent out into the mangrove orchard had reached the point of evolution, and with the benefit of numbers I had decided to set them each on a different path. One had earned no interesting options beyond common path of constrictor, transforming it into a huge, tree-born predator. The second had done slightly better for itself. While the other two¡¯s last meal had been a reelfish, offering them the opportunity to become an amphibious snake, it had caught a soaring mouse, giving it the curious path of the Flying Serpent. When it emerged from its amber chrysalis, it was smaller than ever and almost entirely flat, giving it the ability to glide for short distances when leaping from treetops. The third, however, was the real prize. She had unlocked somehow the choice of Mesmerizing Serpent, which seemed to be attached to my Attunement of Gleam. It was a misconception that common snakes could hypnotize their prey, but this path seemed to embody that myth, granting my pretty green snake a new set of scintillating blue scales and eyes that glowed with a faint light, light that promised to paralyze weak-minded prey. Combined with a cobra¡¯s hood patterned by frightening fake eyes on the underside, and she was quite the impressive specimen. As a reward, I gave each a mate, memorizing their form and reproducing it in the opposite gender. Each would have the opportunity to become the progenitors of an entire new species. But as for whether they¡¯d survive, I could promise nothing. My attention was already turning to the two golem cores lying in the dark. They were beautiful. The spellwork within them had been shaped with masterful care, using characters and formations I simply didn¡¯t understand. It flowed like a kaleidoscope, collapsing and expanding into and out of itself. Even trying to learn from them was like trying to learn a new language by overhearing a complex and fast-spoken conversation. The most I could do was slowly ¡®infect¡¯ the Cores with my own Mana, slowly drawing out the inner stock and replacing it with my own. With that done, I turned to shaping bodies for them to inhabit. The first would be glass. I had enough fine silica at the bottom of my lake to learn how to make more, and a glass guardian would perfectly suit my gardens of translucent mushrooms and flowers. I began working by conjuring a great deal of the material, causing it to rise up out of the earth in gleaming curves, bubbling organic shapes. I made it flow over and encase the first of the two cores. Then I began to erode away at the newly created pillar of glass, working it down into my intended shape. This was a far easier method than shaping the entire thing by sheer will. It allowed me to work slowly, methodically. Bit by bit, I cut out the shape of pronged horns, and then a humanoid head, shoulders, and arms. A horned man emerged from the pillar. It was only below the midsection that I returned to animal inspiration, giving it the backwards-bending legs and cloven hooves of a deer.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. A faun. As a last touch, I pushed Mana in and reinforced the glass to the absolute limit. As I did it took on a greenish tinge, cloudy and obscuring. Gathering up the remaining glass from the pillar, I shaped a long spear for my new guardian. DEFEND. I commanded. And the golem did nothing. I tried again, and again, until giving up in a huff. It was only once I ceased to be totally consumed in the work of creating my new guardian that I noticed something was wrong. Not a single thing in my Dungeon was moving. All of them were asleep, still breathing but totally unresponsive to my commands. Izzis lay snoring in his little nest. Adamant was moving even less than usual. I was alone, until a woman stepped from nowhere into the garden. She wore a dress made of flowers, hundreds of pale green roses woven together into a bell-shaped cascade of ruffled petals that oozed the sweet smell of pollen. Her feet were bare and drew curling shoots of green from the earth where she walked. She had pitch black hair that fell around her bare shoulders in curls, with stars - miniature stars - tangled in the midnight locks. I thought I was looking at a god. ¡°No no, I¡¯m only a divine messenger. I¡¯ve actually been here before, but that time I didn¡¯t let you see me.¡± She laughed. An obviously flattered laugh, the girl taking the time to fluff her hair out. ¡°Gosh, mistaking me for a god. No, I¡¯m just here to help patch things up between you and Our Lady Who is Perfect!¡± Patch things up? I hadn¡¯t done anything. ¡°Wellll¡­¡± She drew out each syllable into a purr. ¡°You did turn down their offer, didn¡¯t you? The gods don¡¯t like to be refused.¡± Having my mind read was a rather disheartening experience. I couldn¡¯t lie, couldn¡¯t cheat, couldn¡¯t silently complain- those were some of my favorite things! ¡°Well I just thought you¡¯re a very interesting Dungeon, and it would be a shame if you and Our Lady didn¡¯t get along. You make such pretty creations!¡± She gestured to my gardens, which did look gorgeous. A faint mist of golden spore hung in the air and settled atop the glass-like mushrooms. Every little light reflected through hundreds of translucent fungal bodies, and gleamed on the sharpened edges of lustrous flower petals, creating a strange and otherworldly atmosphere. ¡°So maybe you could make her a gift? She loooves gifts.¡± I didn¡¯t like where this was going. I didn¡¯t like that I was expected to take the initiative when all I¡¯d done was refuse to hand over my soul. ¡°Well, think about it this way. I¡¯m here! She could have just cut you off from her blessings, but here I am, which is liiiike saying she forgives you. Or wants to forgive you. If you give her a present.¡± Fine. Fine, I thought very hard. If that¡¯s what it takes. ¡°Great! I¡¯ve got to go now, but I really hope you patch things up with Our Lady!¡± Completely missing my reluctance, or purposefully choosing to trample over it, she turned and stepped through a door that appeared out of nowhere. And then she paused, taking a surreptitious glance around, and pulled a flower from her dress, tossing it to the floor behind her. ¡°Woops!¡± She said, convincing nobody. And then she was gone. I felt slightly disoriented. No, I felt slightly terrified. She might have been genuinely nice, albeit annoying, but there was an unspoken threat to the fact she could walk in, send my creations to sleep, and open a portal to another plane of reality. That was a power that could end me.
Your creation has received divine favor. It has been Named ¡®Garden of Glass Bells¡¯ and given the following Blessing: A doorway shall open between this location and the Everforest. For the first thirty days, only lesser beings will be able to enter or leave through this door.
It was like the divine message said. The doorway she had opened remained. It was made of silver, and lined with runes, and unfortunately I didn¡¯t think I could just tear it down without making the gods very angry. Which left me with a portal open to an entirely foreign land in the middle of my Dungeon. Fuck. 1.14 The Everforest
Your creation has received divine favor. It has been Named ¡®Garden of Glass Bells¡¯ and given the following Blessing: A doorway shall open between this location and the Everforest. For the first thirty days, only lesser beings will be able to enter or leave through this door.
I had a portal to another plane open in the middle of my Dungeon. This couldn¡¯t be summed up with a word as small as ¡®disaster¡¯. Slowly, all around me, the Dungeon began to move again. My creatures shook themselves awake from whatever sleeping spell the Messenger had used. Experimentally, I ordered the glass golem to pick up the flower she had dropped and set it on the table, and to my immense relief he obeyed; his body bent and shifted like human flesh as he moved. So that was one thing going according to plan.
[ Glass Golem ] Born from the most fragile of materials, this swift-footed guardian is surprisingly resilient, and can produce debilitating resonances from its body to disable enemies.
I needed to know what was beyond that door. All I could see before my Mana dissipated was a flash of tree trunks, of moss-drenched bark and crawling insects. I ordered Adamant to go through and scout the surroundings. But as he stepped through nothing happened. He simply moved through the empty doorway and arrived on the other side, still in my dungeon. Which told me his Legendary path was enough to disqualify him as a ¡®lesser¡¯ creature. Adamant couldn¡¯t go through, and Aurum was likely barred as well. Argent was away. The new golem might be able to go, but I couldn¡¯t see through its eyes, and it couldn¡¯t tell me what it saw. That left¡­ Izzis. Did it really have to be Izzis? Reluctantly, I mentally prodded him. He was taking his sweet time waking up from the Messenger¡¯s spell, and when he didn¡¯t respond at once, I got¡­ rough. He yelped and startled awake, clutching his aching head. ¡°Yesboss, yesboss? What izzit?¡± GO THROUGH THAT DOOR, SCOUT THE SURROUNDINGS, AND TELL ME WHAT YOU SEE. TAKE THE NEW GOLEM. I shaped the words out of mushroom roots on the walls, and then turned to the golem. OBEY HIM. I ordered. The golem gave no response, since I hadn¡¯t asked for one. But as Izzis fluttered down to land among the golem¡¯s horns, slapping it on the head and ordering ¡°Forward!¡± the glass faun stepped forward obediently, walking smoothly through the door. And they were gone. I watched until they were out of sight, and then I could do nothing. Nothing but work on the second golem. This time, I couldn¡¯t seem to slip smoothly into a state of focus, distracted by my fretting and by the flower the Messenger had left behind. Time and time again I returned my attention to that flower, always expecting it to have played some trick while I wasn¡¯t looking. It was infuriating. My nerves were playing tricks on me.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. I had shaped the golem¡¯s base out of rich black soil, intending to weave a frame of fungus through its earthen body. But my usual enthusiasm for the work had faded to nothing. My mind was elsewhere, trying to imagine what Izzis was seeing on his journey. Despondent, I ordered Adamant to finish my work. The golem approached the half-formed shape of earth curiously, settling onto his knees to regard what I¡¯d begun, a long moment of silence descending. I could feel his thoughts flowing, his slow way of considering the problem. I had intended to create the shape of a stag, but he saw something else in the contours of my unfinished work. Reaching out, he began to scoop and mold, push and smooth, finding a rhythm that seemed to please him. Something like music filled his mind, a deep humming note he had no mouth to express. I watched, increasingly curious, as he worked the earth. His strange mind made it impossible to understand what he was truly thinking, but as familiar features took shape I joined in, helping him, following his lead. Together we sculpted a lion from the slab of soil I had raised, and I found an odd peace in working with one of my own creations. It was like watching a child learn to fingerpaint, but Adamant¡¯s skill was far from childish. Despite the crumbling dirt¡¯s inability to hold fine shapes he had crafted a wonderful suggestion of a lion- it had the unmistakable personality of a reclining monarch. Now I went to work. I threaded thousands of fungal roots through the loose soil, anchoring it together. Numerous fan-shaped growths in brown and black colors rose along its back, alongside the bubbling shapes of round-capped mushrooms, and round puffballs, wobbly cup-shaped funnels; so much lichen coated its dark flesh that it began to look like green fur. A mane of dripping moss surrounded its noble head, with whiskers of hair-thin roots. I slowly removed the original dirt, replacing it with more fungus-flesh. In the end what we had was a strange, shaggy lion, its noble face emerging from a fringe of rough greenery, its back a garden. Adamant had the honor of lifting the core to the lion¡¯s brow and pressing it in. I did the work of connecting the Mana flows of all the individual fungal bodies together and weaving those threads of energy into the core. The many different breeds of fungus became one living colony. And the beast stirred, yawning. It lapped Adamant¡¯s hands with a tongue made of pale fungus-flesh.
[ Fungi Golem ] Born of living root and spore, this beast has impressive powers of regeneration and a feral intellect. Poison drips from its claws.
It was far more alive than the first one had been. I didn¡¯t know whether that came down to the living material, an effect of its shape, or even to Adamant¡¯s influence. One thing I did know was that I felt immensely calmer now. With that done, I reached my tendrils of Mana for the flower. I had spent long enough resisting my curiosity, and it had yet to do anything mischievous. I devoured just the edge of one petal. Mana from heaven. I couldn¡¯t ¡®taste¡¯ a thing but the act of consuming just that tiny sliver made dancing lights and strange music play in my mind. I couldn¡¯t help myself. I ate more. I eroded away the entire petal of that divine flower. In moments my reserve was full, and I stopped myself- but if I went on I knew I could fill my Mana pool several times over. A simple two times overflow had given me the Blessing of the Earthshaper. If I went farther what kinds of prizes could I win? But that was a thought for later. When I¡¯d found a way to secure this portal. ¡°So when I pull this horn we go left, and this horn means go right!¡± Izzis declared, steering the golem with tugs on its antlers. The unlikely duo trotted through a vast, unknowable forest. The trees were ancient, gnarled things, their trunks like knots of pale bone-white bark, encrusted with furry mosses, marked with strange runic signs that seemed to be part of their growth. Far above they spread their vast arms into a canopy of glass. Every leaf was a crystalline blade the color of sky, and they cut into the incoming wind with long, keening notes, an endless hum filling the forest below, alongside the faint chime and crystal clattering of the leaves knocking together. It made a strange music that went on and on. As the light shone through this strange ceiling the world took on a deep azure hue. It was as if they were walking on the bed of the ocean, drowning in blue and deep shadow, the occasional shaft of golden light piercing through a gap to blaze down into the dark undergrowth. Small animals scuttled in all directions as they passed, or paused to stare at them. A rabbit with a crown of horns stared at them from atop a rotten log. A silver fox with a streak of blazing red in its fluffy mantle padded past, sniffing at them, almost neighborly. And Izzis never noticed the shadow trailing behind them. 1.15 A Challenge The clothesline had been taken down, and so tonight Argent and her ratty crew took a detour over the canopy of a tent selling savory pork on skewers. More than one of her entourage took this detour farther than intended, and Argent had no choice but to chase after them, and maybe she stole a nibble or two herself as the cook wailed and slapped at them with his apron¡­ It was a misadventure that left them all overstuffed, drunk on delicious porkfat drippings, and full of thieves¡¯ bravado by the time they finally reached the jeweler¡¯s shop. Maybe that was why the mistake had happened. As they watched, the jeweler and his guard stepped through the door. The guard held a dead white rat by the tail. The ratty crew chittered in anger as the two threw the corpse into the sewer. It had happened so quickly. One of them, a buck with a long scar on his side, had always been overeager to prove his bravery. Had always wanted to challenge Argent for leadership of the crew. After two days of carefully scouting the location of their heist, he had run out of patience. Before anyone could stop him he had leapt down to the open window below and wriggled through. In the blink of an eye he was down on the silk-lined tables where jewels rested. Before anyone could react he had a diamond-studded pendant in his teeth. And just as quickly, his luck had run out. It took the guard two steps to cover the distance between his post at the door and the table. It took no time at all for him to draw his sword, a glittering sweep of steel cleaving through the white rat¡¯s midsection. Just like that. The rats clustered on the balcony above flinched as they watched their brother collapse, blood staining the black silk. Rage and bitterness. Helpless anger as they watched their brother be tossed into the sewer like a scrap of meat. Promises of vengeance were made. In the drowning gloom of the forest, Izzis and the glass golem were surrounded by phantom flames. They formed into arcane signs that shimmered like reflections of light on flowing water before evaporating. The spectacular sight had the little homunculus distracted, reaching out from atop the glass faun¡¯s head to try and snatch the symbols out of the air. Above, a slithering shadow frightened away the songbirds as it slipped from tree branch to tree branch. The glass faun froze suddenly. Izzis tugged at its horns, cursing, but the golem only tilted its horned head upwards. Perched on the branch above them was an enormous slug made of moss, its bulk sagging down over the broad branches. Dozens of pale pink legs emerged from a body of hanging green furs, and its head was a blossom of red petals, two long golden tendrils lined with tiny hooks extending from the core. A ball of furry moss broke away from the creature¡¯s body and dropped down. It landed on the forest floor, bounced up, and began to roll towards them. More and more rained down, hitting the ground with springy, rubbery impacts and going rolling towards the duo. The faun lashed out with its spear, piercing a moss-ball directly through the center. The strange creature only shivered and expanded from a compact ball into a crawling wave that swept up the spear¡¯s shaft. Hurling the spear away before the moss could reach its hand, the faun leapt back on nimble legs as three more moss-balls bounced up and tried to grab on to its body. And from above, the flower-slug sent one of its tendrils snapping through the air like a whipcrack, striking the faun across the face and nearly toppling Izzis off its head. The faun staggered, its neck twisting as the blow landed across its cheek. Then the golem turned back, and its body began to vibrate. A long crystalline humming filled the air. The sound rose higher and higher until it became agonizing, unbearable, the slug letting out a wet gurgling cry and rearing up in pain. The little balls of moss were unable to move in straight lines, rolling about in drunken circles as the sound unbalanced them.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. The faun sprung forward. Its spear had pierced into a treetrunk, and with a leap, it balanced on the shaft, jumping again to sail up into the treetops. With the slug disoriented and thrashing from the wave of sound, the faun didn¡¯t struggle at all to land on the branches alongside it, crouched on all fours; it rushed forward and tackled the beast with its full force. Together they toppled from the trees and went crashing towards the earth. Izzis, still woozy from that awful sound, had the sense to scream in terror. The golem landed on top as the slug took the brunt of the impact, its soft flesh splattering in all directions. What was left was a stain of wriggling furry mosses and, exposed now, a slender pink-fleshed caterpillar with an enormous flower blossoming from its head. The faun seized the thrashing insect and ripped it in half. Yellow blood stained its green hands. The moss around them went suddenly still. Izzis let out another wail of fear, just for good measure. He slapped and stomped the top of the glass faun''s head. "Stupid golem! Stupid disobedient golem! Did Izzis tell you to do any of that? No! Izzis did not!" As he huffed in exhaustion and slowly calmed down, Izzis licked his lips, beginning to stare at the corpse with greed in his eyes. For days now he¡¯d been catching little fishes to feed the Dungeon and reaping a tiny tithe of Mana in return. But this was worth a lot more than any fish. His little head swimming with greed, he gave the golem a conciliatory pat. ¡°Hmph. Izzis is willing to forgive you, but you have to listen to Izzis better from now on. Izzis knows plenty of things. Izzis knows how to make the Dungeon very, very happy, and all we have to do is stay right here...¡± The golem said nothing, which Izzis took as agreement. The smell of blood was thick in the air. Soon, scavengers would be coming. One kill would turn into many, and Izzis would be rich. A fox had stepped through the door. It was a bright silver color, with a tiny streak of red like a puff of flame in the fluff that collared its neck. It had smart little spots of black around its feet like boots. BE STILL. I ordered the two golems. They were motionless as only the unliving could be. The little creature padded inside, sniffing cautiously, casting its head from side to side as it took in the surroundings. Not far from where it had entered, a viper was lurking, camouflaged among the glass gardens by its almost see-through flesh. Seemingly oblivious, the fox took another step towards its own destruction. The viper lunged. In that moment the fox turned into a blur of silver, whipping around and catching the snake¡¯s neck in its jaws. I saw actual sparks scatter from the sweep of its brush-like tail. A quick flick of its neck and it wrung the life out of the snake. Quite interesting. But in the process, the fox had made a mistake and wandered too close to the edge of one my garden''s deceptively deep pools. In a flash a reelfish lunged up onto shore, wriggling its way through the soft mud as its long prehensile whiskers whipped towards the fox. Again, there was that blinding burst of speed. The reelfish caught nothing but air, gulping in disappointment as it slowly retreated back into the waters. The fox trotted towards the door, pausing only for a second. It turned back for a moment, satisfaction evident in its beady eyes, and departed with one of my snakes hanging dead from its mouth. Oh, this was a challenge. I was still worried for Izzis and the golem, yes. I was still deeply unnerved by the sudden appearance of the Messenger and this doorway. But those were concerns I couldn''t address in the moment. In this one moment, I had a simple goal to work towards. I would kill that damn fox. So far the main protectors of my dungeon were various species of snakes and spiders, as well as the reelfish. Combing through the grass and fungal forests I found a small, green-shelled mantis perched on a stalk, her scything claws tinged with a daring red along the rows of little blades that lined them. She was a beautiful specimen and I would make her more. I enlarged her, for one thing. I made her big enough to hunt bigger prey than locusts. Say, foxes. Next, I lined the underside of her wings with bioluminescent spots in the bloody red of her claws. Now when she flared them out, her foes would be dazzled by the rapidly flickering light, trapped by the Attunement of Gleam¡¯s hypnotic powers. Inspired by Aurum¡¯s sad state, I gave her a second set of claws, these more like a scorpion¡¯s. With a fourfold grapple almost nothing would be able to escape, and her primary set of long, curved talons would be excellent at catching prey in a sudden burst of motion. Thanks to the Attunement of Disguise she took on a translucent green tinge as I worked her into her new shape, becoming perfectly camouflaged for the gardens.
[ Mesmeric Mantis ] Armored with four-fold limbs and a stunning display of bioluminescence, this predator lurks in perfect stillness until the moment of striking.
The next time that fox tried to hunt in my domain, it would be getting a nasty shock. Now, what else could I do to around here... 1.16 Battle Lines The glass faun perched in the treetops, watching as its prey shuffled closer and closer to the corpse of the dead flower-slug. It was an enormous blue-bellied crab, its back disguised with grass until it could settle down, pull its legs in, and appear to be nothing more than a shallow hill. Dark beady eyes swiveled suspiciously on the end of long stalks. As the crab reached out its pincers to steal the prize, the golem jumped. The beast reacted a second too late, shuffling to the side as the faun landed atop its back. Instantly, a half-dozen smaller crabs popped up among the grass, the crab¡¯s progeny swarming towards the golem as it drove its spear down into their mother¡¯s shell. The beast let out a clicking, gooey cry of pain as the spear pierced through her carapace, the faun throwing its weight against the shaft to dig the point in circles and widen the hole in her armor. The smaller crabs leapt onto its back, their pincers bouncing ineffectually off the golem¡¯s glass hide. Screaming, the mother crashed sideways into a tree, trying to throw the attacker from her back. The faun simply clung on, unbothered by the tiny crabs swarming over its face. But Izzis couldn¡¯t say the same. As the swarm came crawling up onto his perch atop the faun¡¯s head he was forced to climb higher and higher into the golem¡¯s long horns. ¡°Kill it kill it kill it!¡± The homunculus wailed as tiny claws snapped at his feet. Lifting his spear, the faun drove it down again. And again. With each strike, huge quantities of blue blood welled up from the wound, until finally the tip of the spear drove down into the creature¡¯s brain. It let out a burbling whimper and collapsed. The faun shook off the little crabs, reaching up to peel one away from the howling Izzis. From above, there was clapping. A small creature like a cross between a man and a cricket hovered above them. Deep blue chitin covered backwards-bending limbs, and it had the dark segmented eyes of a fly, but its overall shape was human, its face quite handsome in a lean and predatory way. Wings sprouted from its back, buzzing in the air with a manic shiver of motion. And as Izzis looked up, he saw there were dozens of them, perched on the trees or circling through the air. The little homunculus gulped. ¡°Who you?¡± ¡°I am the Marquis of the Pellucid. And this is my forest.¡± The proud little creature had a sword the size of a needle strapped to his side, and a quiver full of thorn-sized arrows slung around his shoulders. Many of his knights rode hopping toads or lizards with clever sucker grips that let them clamber up the bark of the trees. ¡°Izzis was lost.¡± The homunculus knew a veiled threat when he heard one, and the bows being pointed at him from a dozen directions were not very veiled. Small bows, yes, but very pointy ones. ¡°Well allow me to escort you to my court, where you¡¯ll be guests of honor.¡± The Marquis said, his tone mocking, giving them a sweeping bow. ¡°Uhhh. Yes! Yes, but I have friends. I should find them first.¡± Izzis had a plan. A very clever plan. He would lead them back towards the portal, yes, and then he would make his greatest escape of all... I had come up with the cleverest of ideas. I was practically giddy with my own mad genius as I worked. Previously, the exploding Somnolents I had perfected were useful only in rare situations, because I couldn¡¯t just plant a tempermental, exploding growth in my gardens without causing havoc. They were too volatile to survive and reproduce. But that was because they burst as soon as they were touched. What if I changed the trigger? What if it was a specific chemical that caused them to detonate? I had bred a new species of ant, using the ones I had found on the far side of the lake as a base. In nature they had used sprays of pheromones to communicate. I was simply adding one more to their arsenal, a clinging chemical spray they would use to defend their nests, marking an aggressor so that any exploding blooms nearby would detonate at a touch. And of course, they would plant and tend the blooms in return, something like the relationship between clownfish and anemones. They were the first true symbiotes I had designed and I was proud of how intricately connected my biosphere was becoming. I had worked on just three ants, a gravid queen and two bodyguards with thickened armor and enormous pincers. At the size of a finger they were large enough to put up a fight against the juvenile nacre-spiders and the frogs that would prey on them. I dug for her a burrow near the doorway, and let her get down to the business of spawning a new colony. Personally I found the way organic creatures reproduced slightly laughable. All that messy work, when I could just will life to be. They didn¡¯t know what they were missing. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
[ Cultivator Ant ] This species has a curious relationship with the local flora, cultivating a volatile and dangerous species of mushroom to guard its nests.
I was just feeling especially proud of what I¡¯d accomplished today when Izzis came charging out of the portal, a hail of tiny arrows sticking out of his back. A swarm of tiny soldiers flooded through, half-men and half-insect, dive bombing him and slashing his back with tiny silver swords. The homunculus howled in pain and swatted at them- by their standards he was a raging bull, his fists the size of their heads, no taller than the little people but built thick where they were as skinny as stickbugs. The glass faun handled itself with grace and precision. When I had made it, the golem had seemed rather dull, but here it came alive in the heat of battle. Its glass spear scythed through the flying battlefield, chopping a bowman in half. It speared the little creatures out of the air one after the other. I sent mental surges of rage and fury towards the invaders resonating throughout my Dungeon. A low-flying swordsman was snapped out of the air as the water beneath surged up and a reelfish lunged from the depths. The mantis I had created leapt through the air, her claws flashing once, twice, severed body parts raining down alongside their bleeding owners. As their cavalry came through the portal riding frog and lizard steeds, they were faced with serpents that rose from the grass, looming giants by comparison, by gardens of the poisonous nematocelia that stung them as they fled, by nacre-spiders with their bright armors and bladed limbs. It was a slaughter. And wonder of wonders, every one of the little creatures that fell had a bright, delicious soul. On par with the humans I had devoured in the past, worth fifty lesser beings. I didn¡¯t just level. I leveled and rushed towards the next stage. As I crossed the boundary of the fifth level, I saw something shift, the soul fragments suddenly doing less to fill me, as if the gap to the next milestone was a magnitude higher. Even so, the war in miniature unfolding across my gardens was a bounty to reap. It just wasn¡¯t so one-sided as I¡¯d believed. Poison. As the battle raged on, my creatures began to drop dead from seemingly insignificant wounds, or slow until they were overwhelmed. Even the tiniest scratch seemed to be enough for the virulent poisons to set to work. Only the golems were immune, wading through the battlefield like leviathans. Adamant with his clumsy swings did more to intimidate than to harm, and the leonine fungi golem refused to move from his perch atop what I supposed must be a very comfortable rock, simply swiping anything that got too close out of the air. But the glass golem was devastating. Corpses rained where its spear moved, and it was like a dancer, refusing to stay still for long enough to be swarmed. That was until their mages came into play. A little creature hovered above the rest, weaving his hands through the air. Golden letters as small as sparks danced around his slender, chitin-covered hands. I ordered my mantis to slay him before he could complete the spell, but her way was barred by a swarm of the little bastards, slashing at her green armor as she bulldozed through. In the end it was too late. As the mage finished his incantation the light around his hands flared, forming a flaming golden chain that lashed around the glass golem¡¯s body. The golem was bound hand and foot, its smooth mirrored flesh beginning to boil into bubbles and charred craters under the immense heat of the chains. And in the moment it took for the golem to tear free a half-dozen little soldiers charged for Izzis. They tossed lassos over his head and arms, over his wings. Their wings strained as they pulled him free from the golem¡¯s head. The homunculus howled and clawed uselessly, being dragged into the air. They hauled him back through the portal, and like that, the retreat was sounded. The mage lifted a horn from his side and blew a single trilling note. The soldiers broke away, flying back through the doorway and leaving my garden littered with corpses. Their side and mine had suffered greatly. But only I could harvest Mana from the dead. And the little things were rich with Mana, their bodies flickering and breaking into motes of glimmering magic as I eroded them down to nothing. A few were left alive but wingless and unable to retreat, or pinned down by juvenile nacre-spiders eagerly weaving them into glittering coffins. I paid them no attention. One was staggering slowly towards the portal, his left side covered with vicious burns from the sting of the nematocelia, his left leg twitching uselessly. ¡°I- I am the Marquis¡¯ son! I am worth silver, magic, the return of your imp, whatever you desire!¡± He howled, as the undergrowth around him shifted, a viper¡¯s arrow-shaped head pushing the grass aside as it came slithering towards him. But truthfully, I didn¡¯t have much control over my creations, especially once I¡¯d worked them into a blood frenzy like this. If I had really wanted to, maybe I could have saved him. But even if his offer intrigued me slightly, I couldn¡¯t go denying one of my pretty snakes such a tasty meal. Or go robbing myself of a soul fragment. There was a flash of green scales, and he was gone. I surveilled my domain, taking in the damage. My mantis had survived, and the damage wasn¡¯t too terrible. The sheer amount of Mana in each of the little creatures made the skirmish a net win for me even before I had levelled. I suppose I had lost Izzis. I also supposed I could mount a rescue mission for him. But again, I wasn¡¯t all that interested. The homunculus was not the most loved nor most useful of my minions, and as a foreigner to the Dungeon, lacked even the possibility of evolution. No, my time and attention was too precious. It¡¯s possible I could have been slightly more generous if I wasn¡¯t distracted by the possibility of levelling up, but I was. Oh, I was. Because finally, I was being offered the chance I¡¯d wanted from the first.
You have reached Fifth Level. You may now choose your final Attunement. At this time, you may select an Attunement of up to one rank higher than usual. You may choose to receive a Bonus Schema OR increased Mana per Hour OR The Great Wheel¡¯s Whim (II). You may increase Anima OR Logos OR Arcana by one.
The chance to choose from the highest tier of Attunements. 1.17 Diverging Paths
You have reached Fifth Level. You may now choose your final Attunement. At this time, you may select an Attunement of up to one rank higher than usual. You may choose to receive a Bonus Schema OR increased Mana per Hour OR The Great Wheel¡¯s Whim (II). You may increase Anima OR Logos OR Arcana by one.
I was in heaven. In the selection space for Attunements, where bubbles of possibility were threaded together on roads of light, I had finally reached the highest tier. The land of the Legendary. The Attunement of Water promised to open up a portal between my Dungeon and the Abyssal Sea, and cause water elementals and sprites to spontaneously form within my Dungeon. The other three elemental Attunements were much the same. Earth received a moment¡¯s curiosity from me. The land it led to was an endless series of caverns, grottos in the dark. What kind of gems would I find there? What treasures would the earth give up to me? Of course, that kind of speculation wasn¡¯t a good reason to choose an Attunement. Oh, but restraining my imagination was hard. My future stretched before me, and I had the luxury of picking the road I would take. Of stealing a glimpse of each of the choices. I found three Attunements clustered together, three bubbles of possibility glowing like stars. Dreaming, Contract, and Naming. Anima, Logos, and Arcana. Naming promised to make the Names I gave grow with their owners, granting greater boons with each evolution. It also meant that my spellwork would increase in potency, which I assumed would mean my fledgling work crafting Shards would rise to a new level. Contract would let me bind those I dealt with not only in letter but in spirit, compelling true loyalty, and offer me the mental strength to force my will in the mental duels. But the Attunement of Dreaming was the most interesting, because until now, I didn¡¯t know what Anima¡¯s function was. Dreaming¡¯s boon was to unite the whole of my Dungeon together into a single consciousness, sharing their thoughts and knowledge each night as they slept. So, did Anima relate my ability to communicate with my creations? I moved on, examining the Attunement of Art. Each piece of art I created would gain magical boons, born from its aesthetic properties. It was tempting, very tempting, but for it to be worthwhile I would have needed to take the Attunement of Refinement or another choice that would enhance my shaping abilities. Sadly, it was only at the end of my journey that I could see what the options were; a dozen or more Attunements could have been choices if I¡¯d known which options to take earlier in support of them. Grandeur, Forging, Darkness¡­ The choices in the highest tier were endless and bright. But in the end there was one that caught my eye. The Attunement of Fortune. A promise, not only of wealth, but of repairing my relations to the gods. A choice that rewarded my focus on shadows and deception. I had three choices before me, three true contenders. Earth, Naming, Fortune. Earth for the chance to dive deep and trawl from the earth rare stones and jewels. Naming for how it would enhance my precious creations¡¯ and accelerate their growth. Fortune for how it synergized with my previous choices. In the end I discarded Earth easily. It was only a possibility, after all, and one portal in my domain was causing me enough trouble. The last two were more troublesome. Naming focused on what mattered most to me, my creations. They were my eyes, my hands, my guardians. They would grow and thrive with this Attunement. But I couldn¡¯t believe that an Attunement that combined with none of my other choices would be more powerful than one my past decisions had built towards. I made my choice.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. But as I sunk out of the selection space and back into reality, I saw something. Rising above the supposed highest-tier, half-faded into a cloud of dark mist, there was one more choice. A bubble of possibility so enormous I hadn¡¯t seen it due to the simple scale, mistaking it for a flat grey horizon atop the selection space- A tier higher than the highest. It was dull and lifeless, somehow cancelled out or negated, but it existed.
You have selected the Attunement of Fortune (I). Each time you level, blazing fragments of the Sun¡¯s Luck will be sheltered within your dungeon. The longer you can keep them hidden, the more powerful a boon you will earn when they¡¯re claimed.
As I returned to normal space, I discovered the first token had already appeared in my Dungeon. It sat beside me in the hidden alcove above the Sanctum. It looked like a shining golden coin, printed on both sides with an image of the sun and wreathed in small, delicate white flames, constantly making the shadows rise and jump. It was made of the purest Mana I¡¯d seen yet. Even looking at it for too long made my mind begin to ache, and I quickly turned away, returning to the choices at hand. I could raise one of my three ¡®pillars¡¯ - it was possible I''d be able to raise them every five levels. I chose Arcana rather quickly. While expanding my Anima was also likely to be valuable, and I really did wish I could speak to my minions more directly, I needed a third Name. ADAMANT. This time, the Naming felt different. I could feel the way the Mana flowing around Adamant shifted as the blessing settled onto him, as if the Name was a form of gravity, drawing Mana out of the surrounding air and inwards towards his core in a spiralling respiration. Along with unlocking a new Name my senses for the arcane had vastly improved.
[ Dwarven Eidolon ] ¡®Adamant¡¯ Granted a dwarven spirit, this golem knows the ways of the forge, the hammer and anvil, the dark underground and the glittering vein.
Name of the Unyielding Spirit - By expending Mana, this creature can harden its body into metal.
Adamant lifted his head as the blessing descended. I could feel his mind sharpening, growing more defined, as he realized who he was. Adamant, the Unyielding Spirit. The one who¡¯d been destroyed and reborn. The one who¡¯d stood in the way of the Eyeblight even when there was no chance of victory. My first true creation, wholly shaped by my own will, crude and clumsy in many ways but fiercely dear to my heart. He looked towards me for a second, and then at himself. He settled back on a rock, his hand extended before his single eye, and froze into the stillness I associated with him thinking. I could sympathize. I was, at this point, a little overwhelmed with choices. And more were on their way.
You may Descend Every five levels you will be given the chance to deepen your lair, assigning a Guardian to your current domain and digging deeper into the earth to claim new ground. Within the domain overseen by your Guardian, you will not be able to shape new creations. You will continue to receive Mana and souls, but the Guardian will claim a share, allowing them to grow. Your chosen Guardian will be immortal, reincarnating again and again as the Dungeon accumulates Mana.
I hesitated. I had more to do here. My domain had just expanded again, and I hadn¡¯t even fully taken charge of the territory I¡¯d gained on the fourth level. I had only begun to extend the mangrove orchard across the lake. Best of all, my domain was a sphere, and with this latest expansion I should be close to breaking through to the surface if I so wished. So much to do, so little time. So when Argent and her crew of white rats arrived, I took less notice than I should have at first. She pestered me with images, memories of Adamant¡¯s shaping and of a diamond necklace she¡¯d seen in a jeweler¡¯s window. By and by I realized she wanted me to create the necklace for her. Jewels were one thing I couldn¡¯t create. Because they inherently had the ability to contain Mana, trying to shape them out of it was impossible. The result would simply eat itself and collapse back into aether. But I could certainly work up a close enough version. I relied on her memories to guide me, shaping a chain of pyrite tasseled with glittering teardrops of faceted glass. Then she asked me for an iron key. By now, I was curious. Her mind was an open book to me and I quickly caught up on what Argent had been doing recently. Midnight outings with her crew, the casing of the jewelry store, the meticulous preparation. Argent had always been brave. Now I knew she was cunning and patient when she needed to be. And do you know what? I wanted in. I¡¯d spent much of my time recently reacting to one situation after another. A good jaunt above the surface would do me good. Eyeing the portal, I made the choice I could probably afford to ignore it a little longer. With two new golems guarding the breach, and the Marquis sent back to lick his wounds, I had some confidence in handling anything that came through without needing to rush to raise more defenses. Sealing it entirely was a potential measure, but I needed to expand my biodiversity. Allowing creatures from this unknown into my Dungeon was a quick fix to the fact that I was currently working with bugs, vermin, and the occasional bird caught in the spiderwebs. Exploring the Everforest would be a longer term goal once I¡¯d fixed the new golems with Shards. But for now, I would focus myself on the very real threat of the world above. A world I still barely understood. I would go with Argent - at least in spirit - when she carried out her plan. 1.18 Filthy Rich It delighted me to be on the surface again. Everything was fresh, vibrant. I rode Argent¡¯s senses as she led her crew up to the surface world. The smell of the city was a deep ashy smoke cracked through with sour manure. The sights were too many to count. We emerged from a storm drain and scuttled through a storm of feet, nobody taking notice of yet more rats in the swarms that snuffled and searched through the gutters for rinds and half-chewed bones. We were in a merchant¡¯s district. The noblewoman¡¯s dresses were flashes of luxurious color, and we hurried out of the way of carriages drawn by golem-horses made of stone. I took particular note of a man in a sedan chair carried by two muzzled and chained creatures like a threeway cross between a man, a tusked pig, and a toad. Their chains were made out of gold and quite beautifully crafted, but the creatures underneath were miserable specimens. We had two missions today. One was to search out whatever was directly atop my Dungeon, looking for potential haunts to inhabit. What I was hoping to find was a good place to burrow up into and take over, making a false front for a hidden entrance to the Dungeon. Creating a bridge between my little world and the world above would be an enormous risk - but so would be letting my growth slow. More than once I had come out on top against opponents well above me in strength, but if I kept letting myself be the underdog, well, underdogs usually lose. So today was the day to prepare for our incursion on the human realm. We scuttled through the wood shavings of a carpentry shop, explored the smells of a dozen market stalls selling everything from bone statuettes of the gods to fashionable boots that still stunk of the tanneries. And we found our choice. A small and nearly abandoned booksellers, the air nearly solid with the must of old books, the shelves thick with dust. We scurried along a rafter beam and watched the store''s few customers shuffle through. We were not the only rats there. It would be easy enough to empty this place out. We departed through the high window, squeezing ourselves through the wooden shutters. Out into the world of the rooftops. Ash drifted from chimneys in grey pillars that smeared as the wind blew, and countless birds nestled here, guarding the little treasures of their nests and eggs. Worse things than pigeons resided up in the loose thatch roofs, of course. We skirted carefully around an owl starting to blink awake in the world-yellowing onset of twilight. Up here, everything was sloped and steep. The rich houses roofed in clay tiles were the worst; you could never trust that a tile wouldn¡¯t slip loose underfoot. I saw fish darting in the smoke of a chimney, strange grey eel-ish creatures that seemed to live in the soot. I saw spiders the size of hands, and for a moment caught a glimpse of a wild homunculi peeking out from a rooftop nest. Best of luck to the poor idiot, wherever he was. I saw the city below. A crew of homunculus were carrying candles to light the tall streetlamps, and guard patrols were riding, not on horses but on bipedal beaked lizards with bright collars of red feathers around their long necks. We darted through a hundred glimpses of common lives, running along balconies and peeking through windows, darting over drunken conversations in the street below. It was a strangely satisfying feeling to see everything and be unseen yourself. And then we came to the jeweler¡¯s shop. Things were just closing, the last customers departing for the night, the guard being paid his due. The ratty crew was ready. One by one agile silver-furred bodies made the leap to the jewelry¡¯s rooftop, carrying a line of twine that the rest would scuttle across carrying the tools of the mission. It was shockingly well-coordinated. They carried across the fake golden pendant, the fake key, and something I hadn¡¯t had to make for them. It was a glass bottle full of, well, terrible things. Chymical scrapings from the floor alchemy workshops and choice tidbits from the sewers, manure, adding together into an unspeakable rancidness that singed Argent¡¯s nose even through the cork shoved into place. They had spent all day gathering ingredients for this devilish mixture. Beneath, the jeweler had finished sealing his safe. He and the guard stepped outside, chatting idly together about the dwarves¡¯ stingy ways, and as the old man fished out his second key we pushed the bottle over. It landed with a crack atop the jeweler¡¯s head, sending him to the cobbles. The guard reached to help him- And stopped short, pulling back, clutching his face as the reek hit him with a physical force. They stumbled and lurched like drunken sailors, trying not to be sick. The jeweler was clutching his skinny old hands to his face as a tide of the unmentionable dripped down his head, mingled with blood. In that moment Argent was scurrying down the ivy-laden walls with the fake key in her hand. The real one lay abandoned on the cobbles. With the both of them distracted, she leapt, disappearing midair and reappearing beside the prize. One key was dropped from her jaws, the other was scooped up, and with a flash she was gone again. It was so smooth they only saw the blaze of silver light, and that could have been anything. Their eyes playing tricks in the nausea of the moment maybe. The old man grabbed the key, in any case, furiously trying to wipe the thin slime clinging to his face away with his apron. He waved it at the door. Nothing happened. The jewelry¡¯s spelled defenses simply failed to activate, seeing as he was only holding a normal iron key.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. He tried again. And again. We watched with glee from the drain as things unfolded exactly to plan. They argued, briefly, the guard continuously trying to step back and stay upwind from the stinking old bastard. The guard¡¯s shift was up, of course, but someone had to go fetch a mage, and the jeweler would be thrown out for smelling like a sewer. The old man would stay and watch the shop until the defenses could be fixed. In the end the old man shelled out a handful of dark iron coins, and the guard went off running towards the rich end of the city. And once he was alone... Once there was no vicious guard with a too-fast sword to bar our way... Two rats scuttled down the side of the store, hoisting the fake pendant between them. They scuttled right through his line of sight, and his shocked expression, his mouth hanging open for a second, was a sight to see. He darted after them, whipping at them with his apron, and they abandoned their prize to flee into the shadows. What could he assume, but that he must have left a piece out when he closed up shop? Forgotten in the confusion? He returned to his safe, muttering all the way about filthy vermin, drawing the key and whispering the words that would unlock the smooth, lockless door. We came out of the store drain. Our crew came out of the shadows, down from the rooftops, everywhere. We poured in a ratty flood in through the door and he turned, just as the door of the safe vanished, and again- that hilarious slack-jawed expression. We rushed past him. Argent took the lead, leaping up onto his head and biting him on the nose, clawing his face. Her brothers and sisters poured past his feet, leaping up the rows of drawers within the safe and pulling them free. While he howled and tried to pull Argent away gold and gems cascaded to the floor. With a final, vengeful nip for her brother that took a chunk of his ear clean off, Argent leapt from his shoulders, seized a diamond ring in her jaws, and vanished in a flash of light for the door. Her crew was already pouring out, weighed down with prizes one and all. Silver rats carried golden earings, pearled brooches, emerald-encrusted bangles. Three combined their efforts to carry off the real article of the diamond pendant I had duplicated out of cheap glass and fool¡¯s gold. We were, frankly, filthy rich. They may have been the richest rats in history. While I waited for Argent¡¯s crew to return, I disengaged from her senses. I wanted to make my Descent soon, and that meant finish a lot of work in short order. I finally made my choice. A new Schema was deeply tempting, and the Wheel offered a thrill, but what I needed more than anything was Mana. I was confined to working with small creatures as long as my income remained a slow trickle. And I was not disappointed. Instantly, my Mana rate spiked by a whole ten an hour. More than twenty times what I had previously been forced to work with. I didn¡¯t even need to resort to my secret weapon and draw Mana from the flower the Divine Messenger had left. That, I would save for working on the gift for the gods. With my newfound riches, I planted more mangrove trees, wasting no time in pouring Mana into them to make them rise in moments. It was fascinating to watch their growth sped up. The seeds I planted sprouted open into hairy clusters of thin, corkscrewing roots that worked their way through the loose mud at the lake bottom, while a single green shoot stretched up and broke the surface. Everything began to grow, the roots thickening until they lifted the stout trunk of the tree up on a hill of wooden flesh, while the sprout turned from green to pale grey as it split into dozens of thin branches holding up a canopy of leaves. Dozens of trees went up like this at once, and the people on the shore definitely noticed. From Adamant¡¯s eyes I watched them retreat from their little village of tents and campfires, waiting to see what would happen next. But I had already expended my reserve. Silent hours passed, and they began to steel their nerves. A few of them - sharp but not exactly wise - realized that the spiders had yet to spread their webs across this new expansion of the forest. Now was their best chance to poach the golden fruit. Four of them came across the lake in another cheap vessel, this time a raft fashioned of mangrove limbs. Two men, a woman with a sword on her hip, and a young boy skinny from malnourishment. I didn¡¯t have to guess to know who was going to be sent in first. The boy leapt from the raft onto the island of roots, balancing unsteadily as they creaked underneath his small weight. Spiders were already prowling through the new woods, looking to expand their territory. He would have to be quick. I did nothing to especially tilt the game against him as he scrambled up a tree and plucked the first fruit, tossing it down to his companions. Rigging things too heavily would discourage more from coming, after all, and every one of those people waiting on the shore, too afraid to come forward and seek their fortunes, every one of them was a meal I was missing out on. They needed a taste of gold to get their courage up. Anyway, I didn¡¯t need to do anything to seal the boy¡¯s fate. As he dropped from the trees, the branches picked bare, he found himself faced with a sword. I didn¡¯t need to hear what the men were shouting at him. Go back, get more, you coward, you rat. I doubted they would ever let him back on. One more to share the haul with? Why would they want that. He darted along the edges of the forest, leaping between the hills of slender roots beneath each tree. Trying to get away from the spiders slowly closing in. This time, as he clambered up, he didn¡¯t throw the prizes down to them, but used his shirt as a sling and filled it up, clearly planning on bargaining his way aboard. I watched as his hand reached for a fruit, unaware till the last moment of the jewel-shelled spider clinging to its golden rind. He spotted it just in time, snatching his hand back. A little too hastily. The boy overbalanced, falling backwards out of the tree, gold spilling into the water as he crashed against the roots below. The three still aboard the ship screamed in frustration as he grabbed as many of the fruit out of the lake as possible. Reelfish were starting to float up from their muddy beds, drawn by the commotion on the surface. The boy leapt aboard just before they could pull him down. Again, a sword was aimed at his throat. This time, the boy held the golden fruit out of the water, threatening to drop them. I watched, hoping without a shred of guilt to see a reelfish tendril snake out of the water and pull him overboard. Instead, the woman lowered her sword, and the boy huddled himself onto the corner of the raft as they slowly paddled back to shore. I didn''t watch any further. Whether the boy survived or not, my role in their drama was done. 1.19 Midnight Eyfrae had a paranoid itch she couldn¡¯t scratch. A fear that was growing in the corners of her mind. It was the lean time of night, when the hope of sleep had been abandoned and the dark hours stretch on endlessly. She had moved to her study and lit the crystal lamp that stood over her desk. This time last week she had Morghul and Olin, if not on her side, then on the side of the city. All of them were in a rough alliance born of a shared satisfaction in Caltern¡¯s present order. Now, there was blood in the waters, and Eyfrae was beginning to suspect it was hers. She still had her plans. Her hopes of playing out the conflict between the other three contenders until the Dungeon drew enough attention to make her role as Guildmaster mean something. And as for the fact she didn¡¯t believe the other three could defeat the Dungeon - the Dungeon that had killed two powerful mages, one in his own home - well, Olin¡¯s last gift would see that matter. No, she had her plans. But you couldn¡¯t hold a plan, couldn¡¯t feel its solidity, couldn¡¯t clutch it like a blanket. When fear set on Eyfrae her many plans did nothing at all to calm her nerves. Instead she found herself picking at them like a scab, examining every fault. They¡¯d never found the rogue Morghul had hired on. Some nobody acting under the name ¡®Lady Grey¡¯ who¡¯d vanished as soon as things went wrong. The priestess had refused to speak, and even Eyfrae didn¡¯t have the nerve to touch one of the gods¡¯ chosen oracles. Nobody remained who would tell her what was down there, lurking in the dark. After losing her only two allies to the Dungeon, Eyfrae didn¡¯t have the guts to face it head on. And that was fine. The gods gave men fear to keep them alive. And some nights, to keep them awake. A knock at the door. ¡°Enter.¡± She called, surprised by how her own voice sounded in the silence of the study. Her personal guard brought in a young man, named Malvet, who fussed excessively at his brocaded vest and the ruffled sleeves of his silk shirt. He was the closest Olin had to a favorite among his three apprentices. His nervous, sunken eyes darted around the room, but always slid back to Eyfrae¡¯s bare legs, exposed under the short hem of her nightrobe. ¡°I, ah-¡± His grin was greasy and too hopeful, reminding her somehow of a rat trying to smile. ¡°You sent for me?¡± ¡°Olin left you a task. How far did you get before this¡­¡± She flicked her hand in annoyance, sitting back atop her desk. ¡°Disruption.¡± In answer, Malvet simply donned thick leather gloves and reached into a satchel, bringing out a pitch black stone. Grey energy wept from a crack along the smooth midnight face of the stone, making the air turn wriggling, waxy. ¡°I made a dozen of them before I was driven out of my workshops. I can make more. I still have-¡± Eyfrae held up a hand, silencing him before he could finish his sales pitch. ¡°Let me be honest. You¡¯re on your last legs. The favored child, but not the smartest, not the strongest. Every hope you have of living to see the end of the month lies in that bag.¡± She held out her hand. ¡°So give it over.¡± He hesitated. But everything she said was true, and the stones were worthless to buy favor with anyone but Eyfrae now. It was doubtful Malvet even understood why Olin had commissioned him to create so many warped Mana stones. He had simply done as ordered. Trying to suppress a tremble in his hands, Malvet handed over the satchel. He was very surprised when she shoved it back into his arms. ¡°Good. I like the obedience. Tomorrow you¡¯ll go back to the Institute and begin manufacturing potions with these. Any kind of potion an adventurer might need. Hire only people you can trust. We can¡¯t have news of this getting out. If anyone bothers you, make it clear you have my support.¡± ¡°And do I?¡± The little toad hadn¡¯t even batted an eye at the instruction to produce a massive supply of poisoned goods. She could see why Olin had liked him. ¡°That depends on whether you can keep this quiet. People will figure out what we¡¯ve done eventually, but I need eventually to not mean tomorrow...¡± Her gaze slid past him, contemplating the portraits of past guildmasters on the walls. If this went wrong, if it was discovered, she wouldn¡¯t be given a place on that wall. She¡¯d be given a stump and a swing of the executioner¡¯s axe.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Yes. As a matter of fact I¡¯ll go with you, and make sure this is all done properly.¡± She said, snapping back to reality. There was no point worrying. She would make things go right. ¡°So¡­ should I go?¡± It took her a second to parse the naked greed in his smile, to follow his gaze lingering on her legs, and realize what he meant. She snorted with open contempt. Usually she¡¯d break a limb for that kind of impertinence. But it was late, and she had paranoid thoughts rattling around in her head, needing to be silenced. ¡°No. You may stay.¡± He would have to do. It had been a while since I¡¯d examined my core. Its center, my beating heart, was a hair-thin rift through which Mana poured constantly, creating a fiery aura as the magic condensed into a bright green flame. This fire was restrained and harnessed by five rings of rune-inscribed gold, revolving slowly around the burning rift like planets orbiting a sun. The fifth and outermost ring was brightest, carved with runes that constantly shifted, splitting and merging as if at any moment I was only seeing a kaleidoscopic fragment of the whole. This was my Legendary attunement. The other three were somewhat easier to examine. The movement of their inner runes was slow, allowing me to begin the work of memorizing them. My goal was to create new, powerful Shards. I had turned down the promise of Naming but I could still improve my spellcraft through hard work. Unfortunately, my attempts to concentrate were somewhat hampered by an enormous rhinoceros crashing through the door to the Everforest. Just a little bit. It was a hulking beast, its rocky grey hide criss-crossed with scars, and rather than one horn atop its muzzle it had a row of long, yellow teeth. Tiny bright-bodied birds followed it through the portal, flitting in all directions and harassing my Dungeon¡¯s creatures with stabs from their long beaks. In the middle of the storm of wings, the grey beast swept its head from side to side, searching for challenges. Its eyes settled on the lion golem. With a nostril-flaring snort, the beast lowered its toothy head and charged. The lion responded in kind, and I winced as the clash ended in a flick of the rhinoceros¡¯ head and a brutal, soaring flight that crashed back down to the ground. It was then that the glass golem arrived, stabbing its lance into the rhinoceros¡¯ side. It danced away as the beast swept its toothy head sideways, and now the lion was on its feet again, limping heavily with one forepaw all but crippled. Together they struck at the beast from both flanks, steadily wearing it down. The few times it managed to catch them in a frontal battle, the beast won easily, but they were too clever to give him that. The little birds would have made things significantly harder against living creatures, but the golems were immune as the nasty little things tried to peck out their eyes. In the end the rhino lost its backlegs, and the lion¡¯s poisons began to work, creeping tendrils of mushroom-spore crawling out of the numerous wounds across its hide. A final stab from the glass faun¡¯s spear into its neck, and the beast collapsed. I needed more golems. The incursion was ended quickly, but it showed me that the Marquis was a dedicated man. There¡¯d be more attempts like these to bloody my nose. What they didn¡¯t know was that they were feeding me, granting me Mana and new designs to work with. I could work with this. Devouring the corpse and the few casualties of battle left me plenty of Mana to work from. With a few hours of energy stockpiled I had enough to begin filling the gems my rats had brought back, piling up in a little gleaming hoard that they scampered around wrestling with one another, preening and proud of their exploits. I promised I¡¯d find some way to reward them soon enough. The total Mana capacity was somewhere just over a hundred, and if I hadn¡¯t just gotten a massive expansion to my Mana flow, I would have been ecstatic at the small amount of income they gave me. As it was, I would call it a nice bonus to the real advantage- crafting new Shards. If I gave one to the glass golem, I could begin scouting the Everforest properly. One for the fungi golem to let me command the lazy thing. And last but not least, one to control the ant queen I had planted underneath my gardens. This time, I wouldn¡¯t settle for crude or clumsily formed Shards. I would work until I had taken at least a step forward in quality, and use the rejects to deputize a few more scouts out of the rodents and birds of my Dungeon. Anything left over would be left as Mana batteries. But there was one last matter to take care of. Argent hadn¡¯t returned with her pack. She was coming back now, bloody and battered by the detour she¡¯d taken, but victorious. She hauled with her the hulking corpse of the owl-raccoon chimera, dragging it slowly through the sewer tunnels, her whole body stained with blood. I dissolved it into Mana as she entered my domain, and she got her share- enough to push her into evolution. She was the last of my three children to reach this stage, but I wasn¡¯t one bit disappointed with the results.
Your creation is undergoing Evolution During this time, Mana you gift them will be more effective, and they will be easier to shape. Choose a path- Rat Queen (Common) - With an outsized wit, this ruler among rodents commands the lesser vermin to do her bidding. White Mongoose (Common) - Foe of serpents, the mongoose is a fierce fighter despite its size, and white ones are said to be immune to poison. Shadow Raccoon (Rare) - Surprisingly intelligent, these creatures shapeshift into humans by stealing their shadows. Have a small chance of learning Shadow magic when evolving. Moonlight Rat (Rare) - Born only from albino specimens, the Moonlight Rat commands magic and stealth to slip unseen through the world. Owl-Chimera (Mutant) - Absorbs traits from the last foe defeated. Gains improved eyesight and flight.
1.20 Underhanded Trivelin woke up hungry, hungover, and wrapped in silk sheets. It was the last one that concerned him, as it was an interruption to his usual routine. Sunlight prodded insistently against his eyes and stirred the tormented muddle of his skull. He rolled onto his side, cracking an eye open to surveil his surroundings. Somebody had set sugar-dusted balls of blackberry jelly in a golden bowl on the nightstand. ¡°Oh sweet relief.¡± He grasped a fistful and pushed them into his mouth one by one, savoring the sweetness that gave way to tart, fresh succulence. He found the strength to ease his eyes open a little more, and discovered there was a half-full bottle of rum a little farther down on the nightstand. ¡°Oh salvation of mine.¡± Ten minutes later Trivelin was making his way down the grand staircase of the palatial villa he found himself in, the bottle dangling from his fingertips with a tiny reserve of rum still sloshing around at the bottom. The house was rich, opulent, and very much to Trivelin¡¯s tastes. At the bottom of the stairs, he found a silver bowl of fruit balanced on the bannister. ¡°Really excellent taste.¡± Trivelin commented as he popped a grape into his mouth. Just as he was reaching for another, a servant crossed his path carrying a tray of glasses and a tall pitcher of wine. In two steps he had neatly intercepted them, lifting the tray from her hands. ¡°I¡¯ll handle this.¡± ¡°That¡¯s for the lady of the house and her guest.¡± The maid stuttered, outraged by this shabby tomcat of a pirate in her clean house. ¡°Yes, and I¡¯m the guest, so it¡¯s halfway home already.¡± Trivelin replied. ¡°Now which way to the lady.¡± The maid pointed him towards a door, and with tray balanced in hand, Trivelin arrived in a large dining room. Seated at the end of the long mahogany table was the noblewoman he¡¯d expected, yes, but she was a dwarf, and not a soft or demure lady at all. A scar indented the flesh of her cheeks. Streaks of white marred her golden hair, which was tied into an ornate knot of braids that hung down behind her head. She sat with a book open, breakfast shoved to the side. A wooden box bound with silver chains sat on the table in front of her. ¡°I was half afraid you¡¯d go out a window.¡± She noted, without looking up. She was beautiful in a stout way, he supposed, a fierce warrior woman way. Not his kind. He preferred women who weren¡¯t skilled hands at revenge. ¡°I would never.¡± The box jumped on the table, the chains holding it shut rattling. Slightly unnerved, Trivelin set the tray down and began to mix water and honey into the wine with a silver stirring spoon. ¡°And to who do I owe the pleasure?¡± ¡°The pleasure was all yours. Cathara Halfhand.¡± Trivelin didn¡¯t bother showing any contrition. He crossed the long, lonely dining table to set her glass beside her. ¡°And¡­ why?¡± ¡°You caught my interest, with all your talk of this Dungeon under our feet. I wanted to hear more.¡± The book finally slammed shut. She regarded him with green eyes. ¡°And you can be quite charming when you¡¯re drunk enough.¡± ¡°Should I be getting drunk now?¡± Trivelin enquired. ¡°If you want to live, you¡¯d better.¡± She replied, in a tone so blunt he couldn¡¯t be sure she was joking. Pulling a chair out and spinning it around, Trivelin sat down backwards, his arms crossed over the chain¡¯s back. ¡°You wanted to hear about the Dungeon, yes? Where should I start?¡± ¡°You seem to know a lot about it. I¡¯m curious where you learned so much.¡± ¡°Oh, I picked it up from rumors here and-¡± The box rattled suddenly, interrupting him. Clearing his throat, Trivelin tried, ¡°May I just say, I¡¯ve rarely beheld a more radiant beauty.¡± The box thumped. Cathara¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°And the experience is one I shall never forget.¡± Th-thump. ¡°From this day on, I shall have eyes for no other.¡± THUMP. The box shook like it wanted to leap across the table and strangle him. Trivelin tossed back his wine in a single gulp. Setting the cup down, he noted, quite casually, ¡°You know, I can¡¯t help but notice that box rattles every time I lie.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t help but notice you lie.¡± She replied. ¡°Like when you told all those people the Dungeon was full of golden trees, and even the rats were made of silver. That jewels grow on every branch and the water tastes like wine.¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯ve always considered myself a storyteller. My work isn¡¯t to tell people the meagre what is, but to invite them to consider the beauty of what could be.¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. She did not smile. Her eyes were hard and flinty. ¡°Some of them are going to believe you. They¡¯re going to go delving. And they¡¯re going to die believing your tall tales. But tell me, and to try not to go telling stories- where did you learn about the Dungeon?¡± ¡°You know, I should be going¡­¡± Trivelin hadn¡¯t risen halfway from his seat when the guards stepped through the door. And from the other door. And he wouldn¡¯t bet on there not being a guard waiting outside the window, too. Damn. ¡°I, um-¡° Ask him to lie till he was blue in the face and Trivelin would oblige, but the messy truth always had a way of getting stuck in his throat. In this case, he literally couldn¡¯t get the words to come out of his mouth. It was like his lungs had turned to iron. His tongue froze, his mouth hanging open. ¡°Breathe. I know a Contract when I see one.¡± She was looking at him with a frightening intensity. ¡°The question now is, are you the Dungeon''s slave, or did you make a deal with it?¡± The moment he stopped trying to answer, the Contract let him have control over his own tongue again. He sucked in a deep breath of air. ¡°I really can¡¯t tell you that.¡± She reached across the table, setting her hand on his. ¡°Let me make this very simple. Are you Attuned?¡± It was at that moment Trivelin caught sight of himself in a mirror. No wonder she had slept with him. He looked twenty years younger and thinner, his bald patch had filled in, his wrinkles were gone and his face no longer sagged so damn much. He was a dashing bravo of a buccaneer again. Or looked like one, thanks to the Attunement of Disguise. ¡°... No?¡± THUMP. ¡°A shame. Take him away.¡± The guards stepped forward. In his last moments of freedom, Trivelin poured and emptied another glass of wine. "Would this damn thing move!" Corris had never seen anything so slow, and he had worked with the laziest, the most workshy, the most utterly useless louts on the face of the earth for twenty years now. This stupid thing beat them all. It was some kind of bear with ludicrously long limbs and a white-masked face. As they watched, it leisurely loped down the tunnels, every motion so slow it looked like the beast was wading through treacle. The whole workcrew groaned as the lard-assed furball paused yet again to scrape its mossy green back against the walls, leaving behind traces of curling mushroom root. One of the men picked up a stone and hurled it, the shot sailing in a beautiful arc that went bouncing off the creature¡¯s skull with a nice hollow thonk. It barely reacted. ¡°Well, we may as well break for a while.¡± Reaching into his pockets, Corris took out a leather pouch full of papers and loose tobacco, deftly squeezing and rolling up a cigarillo. He lit the thing with a little fleck of firestone he kept on a pendant. The smoke helped to scrub his nostrils clean of the cloying stink of sewer-work. ¡°Pass me that firestone for a second, boss.¡± To his surprise, the dwarf they all called No-Nose was kneeling over a little nest of branches and leaves, with his helmet turned upside-down and perched atop as an impromptu frying pan. He was gathering up mushrooms from the wall, the funnel-shaped red ones that smelled like death, and tossing them in with a sprinkle of bacon from his lunch. ¡°Are you really going to try cooking down here?¡± Corris made a face, sticking his tongue out. ¡°Hey! Are you Corris the Broken!?¡± To the old dwarf¡¯s surprise, it was a human who was calling his name, coming from the opposite end of the tunnel. As the human trudged forward through the mess of the sewer flow, Corris¡¯s initial impression of a shock of red hair resolved into a messy, unkempt young man, his blunt jaw covered in stubble, his nose bent back enough to leave his face with a sort of bulldog-look. ¡°Jess Tulny.¡± The pup introduced himself. ¡°I heard you¡¯re the man to talk to about these sewers.¡± ¡°Aye?¡± Corris took the boy¡¯s hand as it was offered, sizing him up as they shook. With a sword strapped to his hip, a waterskin and lamp dangling from the other, and a loop of rope cast round his shoulders like a bandoleer, it didn¡¯t take a keen eye to spot the boy planned to be an adventurer. It was equally clear, by the lack of scars and the carefree smile, that he wasn¡¯t yet. ¡°Mhm. I¡¯m looking for the Dungeon they say¡¯s down here. Have you seen anything unusual about of late?¡± He paused, squinting over the top of Corris¡¯s head at the lumbering bear-thing. ¡°Is- is that unusual?¡± ¡°You could say it is, yep.¡± Corris pushed the smoke out of his lungs and into a swirling ring that bobbed through the air. ¡°You could say it is.¡± ¡°And the mushrooms everywhere. Tha¡¯s new.¡± No-Nose mentioned, happily prodding and stirring as his morsels bubbled in bacon fat. Corris glared at him, but the would-be chef was oblivious. ¡°Ah, I wondered about those. Are there any blockages, maybe? Places where the tunnels have shifted recently for no reason?¡± The boy was grinning ear from ear, as if life was his oyster. ¡°Oh, we¡¯re on our way to fix a blockage right now.¡± No-Nose blurted out. Corris could have tugged his beard out in frustration. Instead, he sucked in a deep breath, and forced himself to nod along. ¡°Ayep. Blockage up ahead, out of nowhere. Tell ya what, if you get this damn thing out of our way, we¡¯ll lead you there. Deal?¡± ¡°Deal!¡± Grinning ear from ear, Jess Tulny drew his sword and advanced on the furball as it happily scratched its back against the sewer¡¯s brickwork. They all watched him go. No-Nose opened his mouth to say something. Corris clapped his hand over it. He got in one good hack with that shiny sword of his, barely piecing through the bear-thing¡¯s hide. That was enough to make it mad. It turned, faster than anyone who¡¯d watched it idle about for the last two hours would have thought possible, and it swiped out with its long, long claws. That claw cut right through the boy¡¯s stomach like he was butter. Nearly split him. His top half sort of flopped over backwards, barely held together, and he toppled down into the flow of sewage. ¡°Why¡¯d you tell him to do that?¡± No-Nose asked, his face pale, his appetite gone. ¡°Why¡¯d you have to tell him about the blockage?¡± Corris dropped his cigarillo to the ground and angrily stomped it out. ¡°This ain¡¯t a game! The Families are counting on us! We¡¯re going to go there, we¡¯re going to look-see if it¡¯s really the Dungeon, and we are going to be damn careful, damn quiet, about the whole thing! Y¡¯hear me?¡± ¡°Aye boss.¡± They echoed, one by one, their eyes gone dull from what they¡¯d just seen. They weren¡¯t good people or good workers. Neither kind got sent down here, the worst of the worst assignments. But they were all the people Corris had, and he didn¡¯t intend to lose them. Corris the Broken. It wasn¡¯t a name in the proper sense. The first half he¡¯d been born with, given the usual way, sure enough, but the latter¡­ The latter was saved for dwarves who were cast out from their own families. Dwarves who weren¡¯t even worth calling dwarves any more. 1.21 Moonlight Ilbur, son of Hrask, was no warrior. The terror of being surrounded by the enemy, of being in their home, was in him like a paralyzing weight that lay over his heart, pushing down on every pulse. The thought of what his father had given to buy this one chance at freedom made his legs weak. He was like a mouse in the city of a thousand cats. Of course he was scared. Delving into the sewers had been half a choice - the shaman had told him to seek the Dungeon in low places - and half a necessity. There was nowhere else a free orc could hide. So down here he lived, with a filthy little nest hidden in an alcove, venturing out to scrape mushrooms from the walls. They grew everywhere here, blooming in great clusters and covering the tunnels in a thin fuzz of yellow lichen. He was close. He believed it with all his heart. But there was only so much courage in him, and he only ventured so far from his nest before scurrying back. It was abandoning caution that got him into trouble. Ilbur was farther from his nest than ever before when he heard the voices. Everything in his body told him to flee, but he inched closer, peeking around the turn of the tunnels. Seven dwarves were making their way through the damp and gloom, their way lit by crystal lamps mounted on their helmets. Ilbur listened as they chattered, and heard the word ¡®Dungeon¡¯. His heart stopped. Instinct said to retreat, to go back to his hiding place, to avoid these strange and likely unfriendly people. But they were looking for the Dungeon too. After three days, Ilbur had no trail to follow, no ideas of what he might be searching for. The Dungeon was more a concept than a real thing for him. If he¡¯d been told it had all been a fairytale, a made-up place to comfort young orcs who thought there was nothing out there for them but a life of slavery, Ilbur would have half-believed it. So when he heard the word Dungeon, it was a spark of light to follow in the darkness. As the dwarves proceeded around a bend in the tunnels, Ilbur hurried to follow them, moving as carefully as he could along the little embankment to the side of the sewer¡¯s flow to avoid splashing about noisily. He came to the turn and¡­ Nothing. They were gone. In disbelief, Ilbur hurried forward, and something cracked across the back of his head. Out of the shadows stepped the dwarves, one of them brandishing a cudgel and another pointing a crossbow at Ilbur¡¯s skull. ¡°Runaway slave, looks like. Young too.¡± The one in the lead commented, nudging Ilbur with his boot as the boy lay on the ground, his head spinning. There were white stars of pain blotting his vision but even so, he could see there was no kindness in his captors eyes. ¡°My brother works up at the quarry, said there was a runaway. Big fight too. Bloody.¡± One of them had no nose. In the gloom, the open wounds of his nostrils were pits of shadow, his teeth yellow, his face like a bearded skull. ¡°We could return him. Could be a reward innit.¡± ¡°No. I¡¯ve got a better idea. On your feet, boy. You¡¯re going to help us a little, and then we¡¯ll let you go.¡± The one with the crossbow gestured for him to stand up, and Ilbur did, albeit dizzily. The point of the crossbow bolt followed him as he swayed and stumbled. But you know¡­ As much of his senses had been knocked out of him¡­ Ilbur didn¡¯t believe for a second they would really let him go. ¡°Forward march, boyo.¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. There was no option I wasn¡¯t tempted by. Rat Queen related most to what Argent had been doing, organizing her little crew into a ring of thieves. Mongoose was promising, except for the line about being a foe of snakes, and would make her better able to stand up for herself in a fight. But both of those were rather easily dismissed in light of the other two. Rat-Owl barely deserved a glance. No, the choice was whether Argent would be better served by the ability to walk in shadows and among humans, or dance in the moonlight. Both choices hinted at magic, shadow and light, and my Dungeon lent itself to either. This would be the first time a minion naturally developed magic, and the possibilities excited me. Shadow magic, again, seemed the most directly useful to helping Argent carry out her current role amongst my minions. But moonlight magic, I didn¡¯t even know what that would be. Which wasn¡¯t a reason to discount it. It was hard to judge an unknown, but that didn¡¯t mean I couldn¡¯t try to puzzle things out. The Sun was associated with fortune, with luck and wealth. Moonlight, if the moon was the sun¡¯s opposite, might be misfortune and loss. An interesting combination. On the other hand, the moon might have more to do with water, as it controlled the tides, or with illusions. I decided to give up that line of thought as it wandered into pointless speculation. No, maybe more telling was the fact that the Shadow Raccoon only had a chance at developing shadow magic, while the Moonlight Rat seemed guaranteed to learn it. That alone was a major reason to select Moonlight. I could find other ways to obtain human proxies, but magic, magic was illusive. Only the Blessing of the Earthshaper had provided my minions with any access to it until now. And more importantly, what did Argent want? Wrapped in her cocoon of amber light, her thoughts were dull and dreamy, her mind distant, but I sensed her ambitions. She wanted to claim the world above, to move unseen and hatch clever schemes. She wanted to win against all the clumsy things that were bigger and stronger than her, that thought they could ignore the vermin scurrying in their shadows. She was a rat to her core. I knew what to choose. As light began to pour into the amber chrysalis, I poured my own Mana in, providing what I could to strengthen the blessing. I had long since given up trying to heal her leg- she wouldn¡¯t allow it. But I could make her faster, stronger, smarter. In the moment of evolution there was no inner schema of complicated energy currents to interfere with my designs, and I could simply pour Mana in. I reached out and consumed a single petal from the flower the Messenger had left me, using it to fuel Argent¡¯s transformation. With that done, my reserve exhausted, I left Argent for the time being, giving her time to be reshaped by the evolution. I had other work to do. Namely, the forging of new shards. I picked a dull black jet for my first attempt, perfect for carrying the Attunement of Gloom. I poured Mana into the thirsty jewel and tried to press into it the shape of the runes from my own core, not knowing what they meant but more and more familiar with the rhythm in which they were used, the shape of the designs if not the meaning. It was like a mimicking bird scavenging phrases of human speech, not knowing what they meant but knowing when they were used. Not for the first time, I wondered how much easier my life would have been if I¡¯d accepted the offer to sell my soul for divine assistance. By the time I¡¯d finished - a miserable failure, leaving the jewel covered in wide cracks - I was about ready to offer my soul on a silver platter. I had to find a way to expand my knowledge, and soon. I even considered kidnapping a mage to tutor me. I summoned a spider above, luring it down with thoughts of juicy toads and delicious fat prey. It seized the jewel and devoured it, and my senses were suddenly expanded into a new dimension, feeling a thousand subtle vibrations along the spider¡¯s web. I felt the prickle of the wind against sensitive hairs and the thrumming struggles of trapped prey in the shadows. I saw life through eight eyes at once. I was surprised, too, how intelligent the Nacre-Spiders were. Perhaps it was simply an effect of how much Mana I had fed them, and how much they accumulated as apex predators within the gardens, but the lustrous pearl-armored creatures were shockingly close to human in intellect. They had dreams, although not dreams in images and sounds. Web-dreams, nightly imaginings of complex spinnings and beautiful patterns. They had stories, tales they told to each other through plucking on strings, stories about the Spider Who Stole the Stars and the Spider Who Spun the Moon. It was strange, like being plunged into a pool unexpectedly. Even I had no clue how deep the Dungeon I was creating ran. Even a Core couldn¡¯t keep track of everything at once, and the spiders, with their quiet ways and hidden homes, had slipped past me. I considered the mind I had just made contact with, and felt it considering me in turn. It was possible I¡¯d just found my Guardian. 1.22 Incursion The cultivator ants were emerging from their underground empire, the queen having spawned a small army down there in the dark. They were the length of a human finger, black with shiny red pincers, and while they weren¡¯t the most fearsome things in my domain they had strength in numbers. They were beautifully single-minded, well-organized, and vicious in battle. I watched as a skirmish with a lizard claimed dozens of them before the tide turned. The lizard had thought they were easy prey, snapping them up like candies, but their poisonous bites soon had the fat old fellow unable to escape as the hive swarmed towards him. His limbs thrashed weakly as they clung to his scaly hide and wore him down under a sea of bites. It was a gruesomely effective way to kill. I allowed myself a moment to observe as they went to work clearcutting the nearby mushrooms, organizing into orderly chains to bring chunks of fungal flesh back to their queen. In its place they planted the spore of the exploding blooms. And while they expanded, I was hard at work on the newly opened western portion of my domain. Previously, my territory had been comprised of three parallel tunnels, running east to west, with the furthest south having been sealed and converted into a den for my vipers and the remaining two joined together to form my Gardens. To the east, a breach in my walls gave way to the realm of the fisherman spiders, a dense cluster of mangrove trees spanned by enormous webs that existed as an island at the heart of a lake. Now I fully controlled an access tunnel that joined the three to the west, bridging us to the daylight world above via a small ladder into the heart of the merchant¡¯s district. I had also reached the river, my domain extending up the floodwater tunnel that was my first and original conquest to touch on the broad, muddy flow of the Caltern. The possibilities this opened to me were immense. But first I would fortify my holdings. I ate away at the walls of the access tunnel, widening it into a rough causeway of unworked stone. The walls were jagged and the floor underfoot was loose dirt. Next, that floor was torn away as I dug down, opening a deep chasm. My ability to consume unliving matter had increased subtly with each level I¡¯d risen, and now it was easy to rip my way through the stone to form a deep, wide ravine, going down to the bottom of my sphere of influence. It was time to make life difficult for any invaders. I seeded fisherman spiders into the base of the ravine, growing for them a tropical jungle of ferns, moss, even small trees. My expanded Mana reserve had no problems accomplishing things I couldn¡¯t have dreamed of before. And then I began the real work. I raised long, thin spars of dark glass from the walls of the ravine, having them slant up over the open space above. The main issue with digging a pit is that someone could simply throw a rope across. But as one long jut of glass after another was grown over the gap, that became impossible. Soon, I had spun something like a jungle of narrow glass beams that would force anyone trying to cross to clamber through, squeezing their way past gaps barely fit for a human to cross. The slightest fall would plunge them into the ravine below, and worse, the spiders would soon weave their webs across this lattice I¡¯d provided, creating an even more impassable challenge. It was a clever enough obstacle, but it was also one that announced my presence as a Dungeon. So be it. I had spent enough time hiding, building up my resources. Now I was ready to come out fighting. And I would give them a hell of a fight. The glass spars were reflective, and I covered them with creeping tendrils of luminescent fungi. Soon, the entire crystalline lattice shone with a bright blue light, reflected on faces of dark almost-black glass. It looked like the work of an enormous, hellish spider; with the Attunement of Gleam turning each spot of light into a hypnotic spectacle, and Gloom filling the shadows with illusionary enemies, I had little confidence of anyone crossing alive. That left the ravine itself. I had taken the Sporeback Sloth as one of my Schema, and it was still the largest of my creations. I seeded them into the valley, alongside tall trees that would nest both the spiders and another foe of anyone trying to pass- the little birds that had accompanied the rhino through the portal. They were curious things, with a symbiotic relationship to larger creatures. As best I could tell they survived by picking small insects from the rhino¡¯s hide and flew into a psychotic rage whenever their home was threatened.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. They would make perfect companions for the sporeback sloths, who carried entire ecosystems on their back. Vaulder Claith was the fourth son of a rich merchant family. The old rule was that the first son should inherit the business, the second should go to the military, the third to the priesthood. A fourth son was an odd end. One his parents had shuffled through one prestigious academy after another in the hopes of making a scholar, before throwing up their hands and shipping him off to Caltern to manage his late uncle¡¯s bookstore. It was precisely the exile he¡¯d imagined. Caltern was a miserable city; the weather was miserable, the food was miserable. The days where you were kidnapped by spiders were extra miserable. It had happened so suddenly. The last of his few customers had departed from the door, leaving Vaulder to return to his daily game of flicking coins across the counter. He had just landed a particularly nice triple rebound when he heard a knocking from the back room. Knock knock knock. Vaulder pushed the door open and stuck his head into the room. Nothing. Complete emptiness. Knock knock. Cautiously, glancing at the darkening skies outside the window, thinking of every ghost story he¡¯d ever been told, Vaulder stepped into the room. And a door opened up in the floor. It flipped open, and from beneath came a skittering horror, the eight legs and eight eyes and drooling mandible-mouth of a spider rushing up at him. He screamed. He kicked. The kick, at least, was the wrong thing to do. The spider seized his leg and dragged him into the dark, his claws scraping the floorboards as he was pulled down. The trapdoor snapped shut. Vaulder continued to scream until a silk gag was wrapped around his face, muffling him. Another band was wrapped around his arms. He was pulled through a smooth, strange tunnel, the tiny halo of light creeping around the edges of the trapdoor sinking away into the distance. And then darkness. He felt the tiny hooks of the spider¡¯s limbs digging against his legs, and the scrape of the rough stone underneath him. He was doomed. Doomed. There was quite a bit of screaming, a long out-of-breath pause in which Vaulder realized he would already be dead if the spider wanted him dead, and then more screaming, as he realized a fate worse than death must be waiting for him. When the screaming eventually stopped, it was because Vaulder had fainted. I had the spider check that the idiot was still alive by pressing a hairy leg to his neck, feeling the reassurance of a pulse beneath. Satisfied he hadn''t somehow wailed his way into an early grave, I commanded my newest minion to draw a drop of his blood with her mandibles, letting it splash across my surface. The amount of poison injected into him by the bite was probably insignificant. And then the world began to fade. By now I was very familiar with all the pomp and circumstance, humming impatiently as the massive tablet of stone sloooowly descended into the arena of void where we''d fight our mental duel. The newcomer gaped and stared like a fish. He had come unnarmed. LISTEN HERE. "Please by the gods have mercy on me! Please!" YES I''M TRYING TO EXPLAIN HOW YOU CAN SURVIVE THIS. "Anything!" YES YES SHUT UP. There was gratifying, blessed silence. Which was odd, because if you''ll recall, this was mental communication. The boy had as much going on in his head as the average rock. I AM GOING TO MAKE A CONTRACT WITH YOU. IF YOU RESIST AT ALL, MY SPIDER WILL KILL YOU. He opened his mouth, closed it, and nodded. Nodded continuously. YOU MAY STOP NODDING. NOW¡­
Between Vaulder Claith and the Nameless One This Contract Shall Be Sacred: Vaulder Claith shall stop making annoying noises. He shall never tell anyone of the Nameless One''s existence. He shall do what he''s told. In return he will not be eaten by spiders.
The Contact was gratifyingly one sided. Just like that, I had claimed a lair in the center of the city. The only problem was, as my senses returned to the real world, I realized that the city had come for me. Seven dwarves and a single orc were prodding at the edge of my territory, examining the newly-forged ravine with its web of glass. Oh. Oh this was going to be fun. 1.23 Relative Mercy The dwarves were examining the jungle of glass I had woven over the ravine, and swiftly decided they wanted nothing to do with it. It was a good choice. The fisherman spiders were already beginning to crawl through the tangle of glass, weaving their own webs across the spars, and no dwarf would willingly try to scramble over rail-thin bars suspended in the middle of the bloody air while spiders tried to bite off his head. No, the self-respecting dwarf stuck to solid ground. And that meant descending into the ravine. One of them leaned down, digging a stick of incense from his boot. I braced myself as he lit with a firestone pendant. ¡°Oh ancestors, remember this unworthy child and guide him still.¡± He mumbled, and the rough prayer combined with the rising smoke of the incense sparked a wave of magic, sweeping out across my territory. I was restrained, my ethereal cloud of Mana rendered inert. And being a passive observer while filthy little insects crawled closer to my core was never my idea of a good time. I¡¯d promise to kill them, but I was going to do that anyway. I added ¡®find some fates worse than death¡¯ to my checklist of things to do once these pests were out of the way. Holding the burning incense high like a talisman, they pushed and prodded the orc towards the edge of the cliff, forcing him to go first. His participation in this was clearly less than voluntary, but with a crossbow pointed at his throat he had no choice but to begin scrambling down the slope, his clumsy feet sliding and upsetting stones from the loose dirt of the cliffside, sending little avalanches of dust puffing out as he struggled downwards. I was curious, though. He wasn¡¯t like the dwarves or humans I¡¯d met before. They had dense, complex webs of Mana within them, too complicated for me to memorize and recreate. His inner workings were relatively simple and the Mana within him was Dungeon Mana- dirtied with background aether and other sources, but undeniably the clear ethereal energy of a Dungeon. His struggling was like a dinner bell ringing to the spiders that lived in the caves and crevices. They came crawling out, eruptions of skinny limbs that hauled dark fat bodies from the dark reaches of the ravine¡¯s sides. There was the song of a crossbow string and a bolt flicked through the air in a trail of silver, piercing into a spider¡¯s abdomen. Now the dwarves came, sure-footed on the slopes and brandishing clubs, short broad-bladed swords, even a rusted pickaxe. They were clumsy tools and wielded by clumsy warriors but they got the job done. Vile yellow blood splattered as the pickaxe cleaved through a spider¡¯s head. Bludgeons broke limbs, knives slashed open eyes. The fisherman spiders were no fighters. They were forced back, step by step, and began to break and retreat. The dwarves pushed through the remaining resistance into the next leg of the journey, entering the green zone at the base of the ravine were enormous ferns and miniature trees made a miniature jungle, thick with still water, the air humid and buzzing with flies. The orc was leading the way again, being cuffed across the head and shoved forward when he tried to slink to the back of the group. Fear and sweat were clear on every aspect of his bloated pig-toad face. I wondered what Dungeon would make its servants so ugly. It was a long, tense journey across the bottom of the ravine. As they trudged through the mud and flora, the spiders were always shadowing them, always waiting for a chance at revenge. And the dwarves knew it. I could almost taste the fear in the air as they marched unknowingly towards the location of a sleeping sporeback, steadily approaching the first real hurdle. From a distance it looked like a mossy rise in the earth. Bright birds sat atop it, pecking aphids from among the fur and spore. But there was a complication that interrupted my savoring their unwitting march towards death. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. On the far side of my domain, a second set of intruders had arrived. Adamant had spotted them from his usual post sitting hidden among the trees, dipping his feet into the water. They were moving among the crowd gathered on the shore of the lake, and through Adamant¡¯s muddy vision I could see bursts of frantic motion that could only have been fighting. And they were blue. The inhuman tint of their skin was the first sign I was facing more than a simple attempt on my riches. As I watched through Adamant, three of them broke off from the rest and dived into the lake, scything through the waters gracefully. The closer they got the more I could make out. They had long fins on the backs of their legs, and fans of translucent material cresting their heads. Long tendrils swept out where hair would be. They moved so elegantly under the water. As the schools of belligerent reelfish neared, one of them hurled a harpoon at the largest of the fish, skewering it in the blink of an eye. With a single kick of its long legs the merfolk lunged forward and ripped the harpoon free, wielding it like an axe to hack through two more reelfish. Behind him, the other two launched their own offensives, one of them diving into the heart of the swarming fish with two blades while the other hung back, their fingers dancing in a way I had come to associate with magic. But not human magic. No golden letters burst into existence around his hands. Instead, the water itself obeyed him, shooting forward in a stream that cut through flesh and bone as if it was butter. These were no clumsy fools with more greed than sense. These were warriors. But I couldn¡¯t pause to appreciate them. Lying in the gardens, Vaulder Claith coughed and groaned as he came back to consciousness. I beamed displeasure at the noise until the Contract shut him up. After a few seconds in which the flimsy meatling began to turn blue, I gave a mental sigh, and silently swore not to be too annoyed by his breathing. He gasped as the Contract loosened its grip on his lungs. A scream echoed through the Dungeon. I returned my attention to the dwarves, unwilling to miss a moment of it as they made contact with the first of the sporeback sloths. The birds had exploded into the air, swarming in all directions. They pecked and scratched with vicious glee as the invaders tried to shield themselves. The scream came from the dwarf without a nose, who was now missing something else as well, clutching a hand to his bleeding face as a bird landed atop a nearby tree with his eye held proudly in its beak. It titled back its head. It gulped. The eye was gone. The sporeback sloth rose. Unlike the one I had sent out into the world, which had to be able to navigate the cramped sewer tunnels, this one was the size of an elephant. It let out a long, lethargic cry, almost drowning out a dwarf¡¯s scream of ¡®Not this fucking thing again!¡± And then, as the dwarves struggled to fight off the flocking birds with their flashing feathers and slicing claws, the sloth swept out one long arm. Claws the size of scythes smashed into an unlucky little bastard and tore him into a spray of gore. Another was merely clipped, and bowled to the ground, screaming as he clutched a wound that swept across the entire length of his chest. It wasn¡¯t long before he was dead too, birds descending upon him until all that could be seen was a small hill of feathers and wings. ¡°Retreat!¡± The leader screamed, but the fisherman spiders were right behind them. One of his number was already gone, dragged silently back into the forest while his comrades were distracted, nothing more than a wriggling sack of silk now. As they turned and ran on their short little legs, the spiders pounced. One of the dwarves was slower than the others with a bad leg. The swarm sensed his weakness and chose him to die next. A lucky swing of the pickaxe fended off one, but another spider landed on his back, toppling him, and venom-laden mandibles sunk into his neck. He let out a gurgling cry of agony, the sound bubbling the blood that poured from his open throat into a froth of pink. The orc, although adolescent, was larger than any of them already. He ran forward, surging towards the lead. That was when one of the dwarves stuck his leg out. The boy tumbled to the earth, letting out a desperate wail as he lifted his mud-streaked face and saw the spiders closing in. But, I was feeling more curious than hungry. Four deaths had sated some of my appetite. From above, observing it all, my chosen nacre-spider dropped on a line of silk, landing with him between its eight bladed legs. The boy nearly frothed at the mouth with horror, but he was being saved- the spider let out a chittering cry and the swarm of fisherman spiders parted, bowing to their more fearsome cousin and choosing to chase after the fleeing dwarves. I had questions for this one. 1.24 Just Desserts There were only two dwarves left when they reached the top of the ravine. No Nose had slipped, made just one mistaken choice of footing, and the rock he was balanced on had given way. They had watched him go sliding down into the waiting swarm of spiders- a thick carpet of crawling limbs covered the cliffside where they had climbed up. Corris the Broken reached the top first, and held out his hand for the dwarf behind him. ¡°I think one of them bit me.¡± The man babbled as Corris helped him up. ¡°I think¡­¡± He tried to say something more, and lapsed into silence, breathing hard. His limbs curled in as if he was cold. And in moments - twitching, too-long, agonized moments - he was gone. A froth of spit clung to the edges of his lips. They¡¯d been sent to find the Dungeon, and a fucking Dungeon they had found. Corris stared over the lip of the ravine. The spiders were retreating back into their holes, dragging choice tidbits of his comrades with them. One of the silk-wrapped packages was still alive, still struggling. Corris wished he hadn¡¯t seen that. Reaching into his pockets, the dwarf took out his rolling papers and his tobacco, folding up a cigarette. He turned the dead man onto his back, folded his arms across his chest, and pushed the cigarette and his own flask into the cooling hands of his fallen brother. Tem. His name was Tem. ¡°Ancestors take you.¡± But they wouldn¡¯t. Good dwarves didn¡¯t get sent down here. Many years ago, Corris had broken trust with his family. It was a small betrayal, but there were no small betrayals, not for dwarves. He¡¯d been stripped of his name and made Broken instead. The scar stretched in a low arc from the bottom of one eye to the other, bending his nose inwards as it crossed over the bridge. And he¡¯d made a new family. Not of the best materials, just the cast-offs and exiles and idiots they sent him, but a family nonetheless. Suffi herself had promised him his name back if he found the Dungeon for her. So now, he¡¯d traded one family, loyal but flawed, for one that had scarred him and thrown him into the dark over one mistake. It was a shit deal. Corris wasn¡¯t even sure why he¡¯d taken the offer. He didn¡¯t want to be a Greybeard again. Didn¡¯t want to see the grudgingness in his old brothers and sisters as they accepted him in name only. But now he had an inkling of what to do with his name. His boys, Tem and No-Nose and all, wouldn¡¯t be allowed into the Hall of the Ancestors. But he would, when he passed away. And when he got there he¡¯d demand an answer, for who the ancestors were to leave dwarves, loyal and fierce and brave ones, waiting outside the Halls for eternity. Aye. That sounded about right. Corris the Broken leaned over the edge of the ravine, hocked up a fat wad of saliva, and spat. Then he turned and went his way. With one incursion repelled, I was licking my lips for the next course. Metaphorically. But this one wouldn¡¯t go down so easy. The merfolk had cut through my reelfish with a derisive show of force, and as they arrived on the root-tangled banks of the mangrove orchard the mage raised his hands, bringing up a vast wave of water that slammed into the trees and swept the silken webs away. The spiders were thrown back, the smaller specimens drowned or pulled into the lake by the enormous force of the wave crashing down. The trees groaned, branches snapping, golden fruit vanishing beneath the surface of the lake. The crowd on the shore roared in outrage but the invaders simply didn¡¯t care. They weren¡¯t here for treasure or glory. They were here for me. The mage touched a hand to a talisman that hung around his throat, and it was the same as the incense. I was assaulted by a restraining force that reeked of divine magic. As they advanced through the trees, the fisherman spiders rallied to descend. It was a brutal route. The harpooner hacked away at them before they could close the gap, and the swordsmaster seemed to flit away before they could even see her properly, her feet barely touching the ground as her blades whirled through the air slicing limb and thorax. Today had shown me that my fisherman spiders simply weren¡¯t equipped to be real threats. They were effective in taking care of broken formations, distracted enemies, but they needed a larger and more deadly creation to serve as the hammer while their sheer numbers provided an anvil.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. But there was still hope. The jeweled spiders were crawling above, and now they leapt, two of them landing on the mage¡¯s back and biting before he could swat them away. A third dropped for the swordsmaster but she reacted beautifully, her blade intercepting to slice the little spider apart in a burst of bright yellow. I watched with anticipation as the mage sunk to his knees, the other two circling around to defend him. I was due to be disappointed. Holding his hand over the first bite, the mage twisted his fingers and drew his own blood out in a long ribbon floating against the pull of gravity. He was simply draining the toxins back out of himself. He repeated the motion over the second sting and rose to his feet, looking only slightly worse for wear- a little paler around the gills maybe. Oh if only I could scowl. They tore their way through the spiders after that, pushing through the grove towards the black tree. I had already ordered Adamant to retreat once they were in my territory and I no longer needed his eyes, but I waited, wanting to see if the tree would attack. It had always been a sinister presence in my Dungeon, an unknown even to me. This time, it stayed still as the invaders marched past. Maybe it sensed they were out of its league. Either way it would be up to my remaining creatures. I sent waves of anger throughout my domain, rallying the snakes hidden in the grass, the reelfish lurking in the pools of the garden, the clever spiders in their hidden places. Adamant stood with the glass golem and the moss-lion. I hesitated, and reached out to touch Aurum¡¯s mind. He was still sleeping. He had been since the incident. Waking him seemed dangerous somehow, as if he needed this time to heal, but I couldn¡¯t take risks. Not with such powerful enemies on my doorstep. I nudged him, just slightly, with a mental urge towards caution and readiness. There was no response. Worried, both for him and myself, I returned my focus to the gardens. The mage unbottled a clay jug that sat at his hip, drawing out a stream of water that curled into a sphere in the palm of his webbed hand. The swordsmaster stood poised. In a corner, Vaulder Claith hid his head in his hands and silently prayed. The glass faun stepped forward first, eager to meet the intruders with his spear. The harpooner, recognizing a similar weapon and spirit for battle, rushed forward to meet him. If he thought he would get a fair fight, he was mistaken. A nacre-spider dropped from the ceiling, opening its trap door to reach out with two bladed limbs and slice the merfolk¡¯s throat open in a brilliant double arc of red. He froze, his momentum having thrown him through the razor-sharp legs, and his head toppled from his shoulders. The mage let loose a razor spray of pressurized water, swatting the spider from the ceiling. With its pearled armor the creature survived, but landed on the floor, upside-down with limbs flailing. The swordsmaster rushed forward to stab it. That was when the glass golem lunged in. Its spear intercepted the sword stroke, and like that, they were dancing together. Her blades flashed and flickered through the air in wavering blurs of silver, sparking as they struck the faun¡¯s glass flesh. Cracks spread across the reinforced material with each blow of the lithe blades that hammered home. The golem sought her with its spear but she was always a move ahead. There was something supernatural to the way she moved. Her feet would float above the ground, a half-dozen sword strikes passing in the moment before she touched down again. But when she did, Adamant was waiting. He plunged both fists into the ground and took control of the soft soil where she landed, causing it to lift up and entomb her foot. The glass golem¡¯s spear plunged forwards. She bent unnaturally, bonelessly, the strike passing overhead, and her blade whirled low, slicing the grasping earth away without harming the limb trapped within, and came high again, completing a full circle that hung in the air as an aftershadow of silver. The glass golem¡¯s spear went flying into the air. In a heartbeat she had lunged forward and swung at Adamant¡¯s head, looking to eliminate this threat. His flesh turned to metal even as her blade passed through the rough stump of his neck, freezing it halfway, more of his body wrapping around the blade to immobilize it under a coffin of steel. His fist swung out and made brutal concussive contact with her face. She reeled back, her nose broken, one of her swords left behind. From behind the fungi golem lunged, reaching with its paws. She caught it with a backwards stab, piercing it through the throat, but sheer weight brought it down anyway, forcing her to her knees as its claws raked her back. A scream left her throat. And a bolt of water from the mage hammered the lion away, freeing her before it could finish the job. The nacre-spiders were coming down from their nests, surrounding the two. The mage seized water from the nearby pools and whipped it around him, but it did no more than force the heavily armored spiders back, costing a few limbs but no casualties. Adamant yanked the blade free of his throat as the steel turned back to earthen flesh. The lion came up on its feet, the faun lifted its spear again. It was round two. She was bleeding heavily from her back, her face bruised and battered. They had beautiful purple blood. But I don¡¯t think they found the sight of it as fun as I did. On unspoken agreement, they turned to run. The swordmasters rushed ahead, blades slicing, opening a path that the mage followed through while hurling bolts of water behind him to hold back the three golems. Adamant reached out to the earth again, and the mage tripped even as his pressurized spray cleaved the golem¡¯s head from his shoulders. The swordsmaster turned, ready to cover for her ally as the spiders crawled towards him, but she was already one foot through the breach. And she was directly beneath the sinister tree. A tendril dropped from the branches above, ready to snag her throat, but her blade danced up overhead to slice through the leafy noose. Before her blade had completed the cut and returned to guard position, the glass faun lunged forward and hurled his spear. Unable to deflect, her eyes went wide with realization in the split second before the inevitable, and her whole body stiffened in shock as the spear plunged through her midsection. More tendrils descended, hauling her barely-living body up. On the ground, the mage was struggling to rise. The earth beneath him had turned to a heavy, clinging mud, binding his hands. The lion stepped froward and sunk its teeth into his throat. A twist of its head, and his body went still. Vaulder, still there, was screaming in total silence. 1.25 Fortifications Argent awoke in a warm amber light, suspended and weightless. It was divinely comfortable. Stretching her limbs, she found she felt amazing, invigorated. There was not the tiniest shred of exhaustion in her entire being. Instead energy suffused her form, urging her to move, to break free of this containment. It was fading, the light giving way and depositing her into the grassy floor of the Gardens. She was reborn. And all around her there was chaos. Blood, dying creatures, dead intruders. It figures. She looks away for one moment, and the Maker is in trouble. Personally, she chose to blame the human in the corner. In her experience this was definitely a human¡¯s fault. Argent wriggled her nose. It was strange. She could feel the Maker¡¯s thoughts, as usual, but there was more now. There was...
You have consumed a powerful soul and created - Blessing of the Steel Dancer Born from true warrior¡¯s spirit, this Blessing grants increased intellect and grace, as well as affinity with blades.
I was quite pleased, even before the message popped in to inform me I¡¯d claimed a Blessing as an added prize. Out of ten invaders a single survivor and a single captive. Eight souls devoured. A surfeit of Mana to reap from the dead. Already my minions had torn into the corpses, eager to get their taste of flesh before I consumed the lion¡¯s share. Even if they could survive off Mana alone, the urge and desire to feed remained, and they were adorably bloodthirsty critters all. Even the fisherman spiders who¡¯d had such a poor showing today wanted to kill. Yes yes, they wanted to rip and tear. I beamed approving waves of warm emotion through the whole of the Dungeon. They had done well today. And Argent! Argent was gorgeous. Her coat was the color of true silver now, and a misty, clinging haze of light followed her as she moved, making her look exactly like the moon on a cloudless night. But incredibly, through my connection to her mind I could now hear the thoughts of every one of the rats in my Dungeon. It was awe-inspiring. Like a web of thoughts, a vast interconnection in which individuals minds existed like islands in a sea of emotion and memory, ¡®waves¡¯ washing from one little outcropping of individuality to the next whenever a particularly strong thought filled one mind. It was slightly difficult to describe or envision but it seemed natural to her, taking her no effort to sort through this sea of noise, to speak and to hear to one mind or another within the crowd. And it wasn¡¯t just thoughts. Their Mana too was interlinked, allowing her to draw from any of the rats within her coven. I could sense the power of magic within her, although I couldn¡¯t yet tell what it would become. The Sun was the power of fortune, of fate. Of singular shining heroes. The Moon was the many, the massed and luckless. She commanded her horde to come out, to search the invaders for trinkets and gems. I left their clothes and possessions behind as I devoured the flesh within. Even with all the little chunks my creation had taken, the Mana flooding through me was immense, enough to reach Overflow. Not once, but twice. Everything blanked as a vortex began to form, pulling the ethereal Mana that defined my domain inwards. A long moment of total sensory silence followed. When I returned to consciousness, a flaming soul shard hung in the air, and a notification hovered within my sea of consciousness. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!
You have created - Reincarnation of Jewels In life, this soul was a jeweler, entranced by the beauty of gems. They spent their life polishing and cutting with loving care. For this true devotion, they have been preserved through death and called to your Dungeon to serve.
A jeweler. Of all the things I needed from the human realms, a jeweler was second only to someone who could teach me proper spellcraft. The soul hung in the air, breath-takingly brilliant but invisible to human eyes, and I found I could manipulate it by wrapping my Mana around the tiny flame. I knew precisely what I would do with it. The nacre-spider I¡¯d given a shard was returning, hauling me a silk-wrapped gift. I pressed the flaming soul into its skull. The spider stopped, dropping its wriggling parcel, and swayed as it stood, slowly lifting onto its hindquarters to paw the air with its two front legs. Then it caught sight of how thin, how inhuman its legs were. How they were coated in a thin layer of hardened pearlescent spittle that turned them into deadly blades. My view inside the nacre-spiders mind was hilarious. Because in that moment, a human consciousness was waking up to discover itself inside the body of an enormous spider, and like most humans, it hadn¡¯t been born with the aesthetic sense to appreciate the eight-legged form. In fact, this particular human was terrified of spiders. I watched with great amusement as the spider thrashed and flailed, trying to escape its own skin. At the same time, the mind of the spider was still in there, slowly melding with the human, granting them new instincts, new and arachnid ways of thinking. It was like watching oil mix with water. The human would probably be slightly mad by the end of being mentally grafted to its own worst nightmare. I took pity on it. It had the Mana stored up already, and a slight push from me was enough to trigger its evolution. Amber light encased the two struggling minds and pushed them into placid dreams while they slowly fused together. Hopefully that would keep my new acquisition from totally cracking under the pressure. One of the fisherman spiders had also reached the threshold, and retreated into a quiet den to experience transformation. I would tend to them in a moment¡¯s time. For now, I had to focus on restoring my Dungeon to readiness, reseeding populations and reforming the mangrove orchard. I began to work. Clearly, there were improvements to be made. The fisherman spiders needed an ally in the mangrove orchards, and the jewel spiders and reelfish weren¡¯t quite up to the task. I could use a fast, deadly assailant to chase down fleeing invaders, if I wanted to avoid escapees like that old dwarf. I had plenty to do. But I chose to focus on the rats. With Argent¡¯s evolution every rat in my Dungeon had received a massive upgrade, nearly equivalent to a shard. Only a small amount of modification was needed to make them into a formidable force. I started with a black rat, a brawny little bull of a rodent with a surly temper that I admired. I gave him a modification I¡¯d used before, on my short-lived falcon. I added a hooked talon to the back of his forepaws that contained a tiny venom sac, and poured Mana into intensifying the toxins within until they could cause serious harm to a human. Next, I went to work on a white rat, one of my very first creations. One that had survived since the beginning of the Dungeon through the flood and the constant cycles of prey and predator. A veteran. I made her even more capable of survival by turning her bones soft, allowing her to squeeze through the tiniest crack. I gave her padded suckerfeet inspired by the lizards within my territory, allowing her to climb straight up sheer surface, and finally, I made her tail longer and prehensile, adding a tiny sheen of sticky mucus that would allow her to pick things up easily. My final addition would be among my most delicate creations. I didn¡¯t take an already existing creature and modify it, but spun one out of whole cloth, manifesting it from pure Mana to take on my desired form. Mostly rat, yes, but with a hint of spider. It had eight legs cloaked in chitin, and several overlapping plates of the shiny black stuff ran down its back. Thinner and more streamlined than its kin, it looked almost centipedal. And it had, in place of a tail, an abdomen with a spinneret. A weaving rat. A rat that could create bridges, rappelling lines, whatever the ratty crew required. It was not, I had to admit, my prettiest creation. But if I had any of the necessary body parts, I would be patting myself on the back for the sheer ingenuity of my work. Call it inspiration out of chaos.
[ Blightclaw Rat ] Armed with venomous stingers, this deadly creation can fell creatures many times its own size and make even humans writhe in pain at the taste of its claws.
[ Wallflower Rat ] With devilish flexibility and able to scale any surface with its special grip, this rodent is a daredevil of escapes and infiltrations.
[ Webweaver Vermin ] A hideous crossbreed, this chimera is born to skulk in shadows and weave foul schemes.
And as my new creations set out to find their niche in my Dungeon, I noticed an old friend creeping through the doorway to the Everforest... 1.26 Allegiances The silver fox had returned. Its sleek head peered through the doorway to the Everforest. I sent messages of readiness and bloodthirst to my mantis, eager to see their confrontation. The beast trotted into my Dungeon, a spring in its step, and laid something from its jaws on a rock. It was one of the Marquis'' people, those half-man half-insect creatures. A faerie, I suppose. I begrudged to use the name of elegant fey on such ungainly creatures. Their beady eyes and serrated cricket-legs unnerved me. But this was a peace offering. Not only was the fox intelligent, it seemed to recognize I was a Dungeon and want good will with me. I deliberated. It cost me little to let the fox hunt in my Dungeon. On the other hand, having an ally in the Everforest could be invaluable. I was not good at thinking diplomatically and putting grudges behind me. I preferred the absolute promise of revenge for any slight. But this time, I could afford to let things go. It helped that the fox was quite aesthetically pleasing, with its silver fur and single streak of red. I made flowers bloom as I ate the Mana-dense corpse of the faerie. Accepting this as my blessing the fox trotted deeper into the gardens, shying away from my golems as she searched for food. There was the off-chance she was a spy, so I made the decision to restrict her to the gardens, which the Marquis had already seen. I had other places my attention was needed. Namely, the mangrove orchard. A feeding frenzy had started. Seeing so many golden fruit washed into the water, the poor and hopeless waiting on the shore had simply snapped. It was too much to see riches thrown away while they slowly starved in poverty. They had dived into the water. My reelfish, already battered and bruised from conflict with the merfolk, were struggling to catch all the prey in their waters. The fisherman spiders were even worse off as people came rowing across to fight with crude spears and improvised clubs. But this was nothing. Not a real threat, only a savage grasp for wealth. Humans were dying left and right. So that I wouldn¡¯t lose the souls and Mana from the ones who perished beyond the islands, I made a snap decision. A hazy glow covered the water¡¯s face, and suddenly thousands of waterlilies appeared, draining my Mana in its entirety to create a tightly woven covering over the lake. Within that space my domain could spread outwards, catching souls shards from the nearly dozen who¡¯d died already. I ate until my Mana was full again, and turned my attention away from the people dying on my shores. They were only distractions, not true contenders. If some slipped away it would only serve to encourage more to come. Human greed would make my orchards truly profitable. Already, I was more than halfway to my next expansion.
Gemheart Dungeon (Unnamed)
Soul Fragments 288/500 Mana 94/132 Mana Per Hour 11.3
Anima: 1 Logos: 2 Arcana: 3
Blessings: Gift of Beauty, Gift of The Sun.
Born in strange circumstances, this Dungeon has an exceeding ability to invent strange and wonderous creations, and a vicious knack for survival. Woe betide to any invaders, they will find no mercy.
Ilbur was unwrapped from his silk coffin, left shivering on the floor of a strange garden. He knew he was lucky to be alive. All around him were strange, bubbling shapes of glass, and it took him a minute in his fear-addled state to recognize them as mushrooms, round-capped and conical, ear-shaped and wisp-thin. It was such a strange sight, Ilbur would have believed he¡¯d awakened on the face of the moon. A man made of clay stood over him. Ilbur cringed back. The golem reached down, and drew squiggly, looping lines in the earth. Ilbur knew what writing was, but¡­ ¡°I can¡¯t read.¡± The golem tilted its head, managing to convey a sigh despite lacking any mouth, or even a face beyond a single green eye. It reached for Ilbur in a way that made him scramble across the floor on his back, terrified he had just lost his one chance. ¡°Wait! I- My people came from a Dungeon! It made us because- because it wanted to become a god, and instead, the gods tore it down. Now, we orcs are slaves. Whipped, beaten, humiliated! We need a Dungeon to shelter us again. If you save us, we¡¯ll serve you for a hundred generations. We¡¯re warriors! Shamans!¡± He was snorting between each word, his snout wet with fear and desperation.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. The golem seized him by the leg and dragged him towards a glass cage. The bars melted away, letting the clay man throw him inside. The jail slowly reformed, glass spiralling up in slow, molten motion. Ilbur shrunk to the edge of his cage and stared at the ceiling. He had failed. They should never have sent him. They should have sent his father, a true warrior, or the old shaman, who always knew what to say. Anyone but him. A Dungeon becoming a god? I¡¯ll admit, I was intrigued. It would suit me, I think, godhood. I could be cruel and kind at my whim, and of course people would offer me gifts. It would be a good life. But even if I could let myself dream power-hungry dreams for a moment, I couldn¡¯t ignore one simple fact: it hadn¡¯t worked. All those grand ambitions had amounted to nothing more than an ignoble death and a handful of ugly pighumans. I would do well to remember that rather brutal lesson. As for the pig¡­ I was curious still. Could he become a ¡®native¡¯ of my Dungeon? If he spent enough time absorbing the Mana within my domain, would I be able to reshape him to something less hideous? I had little interest in a pack of brutes roaming my Dungeon uncontrolled, but if they could truly become my minions I would have to reconsider. A large amount of loyal brute muscle wasn¡¯t easy to turn down. For now I simply didn¡¯t have time to devote to the sniveling little piglet. The silent market was about to begin. I hadn¡¯t had time to refresh my false markings and lead more fools astray, thanks to the incursion I¡¯d just repelled, but I had plenty to sell and even more plans to put in motion. Oh yes. I had been thinking about my place in the world, and I needed to take control of this city above me, this vast hive of alien intelligences all plotting and scheming, every one of them a threat to me. I needed to dip my fingers into the pot of intrigues that was Caltern. The market would be my means of doing so. If I could seize control, I would have a base of operations that could spread my influence to the city above. And for that I¡¯d need a large force that could serve outside of my Dungeon. Originally I had considered using golems, but it seemed I was being offered exactly such a force, literally begging for me to make use of them, in the orcs. How nicely things turned out. For today, it would be a scouting expedition. Argent and her rats had finished gathering up the spoils of war, and they were rich. An aquamarine brooch that had clasped the swordsmaster¡¯s cloak would stay with me, and the talisman that had bound me would be destroyed. Beyond that I had acquired three purses full of pearls, a harpoon covered in scrimshaw symbols that seemed to weep a faint magical energy, a necklace of bright red coral, and a small statuette made of a material I couldn¡¯t name. Add to that the spoils of Olin¡¯s lab and I had quite the embarrassment of stolen riches to dispose of. Adamant donned his stolen garb, having to draw in the arms and legs now that he was considerably shorter. This time, I would sent the glass faun with him- dressed of course in the spare set of clothes from Trivelin''s deceased men. DEFEND HIM. was my order. Together they set out. The market was in full swing by the time they arrived, with dark figures bustling between the impromptu stalls. The intense quiet lent an immense and moody atmosphere to the flickering of the torches on the arched ceiling above, and the slosh of the river filled the silence, the firelight reflecting on its rippling surface like the gleaming scales of a black snake. Adamant found a quiet corner among the junk-sellers and laid out his cloak with the numerous instruments we¡¯d taken from Olin, with the golden staff he himself had carried out of the Institute, with the spoils from the mer. There would have been exotic creatures to sell too, if I¡¯d had the time. Since our raid on the Institute time seemed to blur. So much had happened. The staff went almost immediately, bought with a full purse of coins and a giddy disbelief as the buyer lifted it. I knew we¡¯d been shortchanged but couldn¡¯t bring myself to care. The bustle of the market was intoxicating. The clink of the iron coins, the swish of cloaks, punctuated a dense silence, and for lack of sound the sights seemed brighter - the gold and the riches on display given the spotlight. Silverware stolen from rich men¡¯s houses, clockwork wonders from the workshops above, swords and crossbows and other brute weapons lying alongside spelled blades that had the impeccable touch of dwarven craftsmanship to them. Jewels, of course, glittering on rings and chains, or rough and fresh from the mines. One stall sold strange grey flowers that crumbled into smoke as the buyers leaned down and pulled up their mask to inhale them, the roiling cloud of pale white fog sliding up their nostrils and making them sway on their feet as they walked away. Women who wore very little but their masks sauntered by, and a necromancer in pale white robes demonstrated the strength of his undead brutes, having them lift weights and mock-fight with clubs for a crowd¡¯s amusement. A little betting ring had sprung up around the dead-fights, and the wagers were soon joined by dice and cards, a seller of wines pouring out cups for the eager crowd. Yes. I wanted to own this. There was something delightful to this dark society with their masks and capes. The theatre of it all was delicious. Just then a man stepped into my view, making angry handsigns, his face obscured by a feathered mask. ''Where did you get this'' he demanded in the silent thief-speak, jabbing a finger towards Olin''s instruments. Before I could have the glass faun deal with him, a loud, braying voice called out, magically amplified to boom across the market. A fool in jester¡¯s clothes and a red mask had clambered high atop one of the stalls, balancing on one leg as he cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen! A moment, a moment of your time. Er-hem er-hem. Five days from today, a special market will be held. The key event, for which we¡¯ve called this rare occasion, will be an auction! All manner of things shall be sold! But king among the prizes to be bought, will be a living unicorn! Yes, a live and healthy unicorn, its horn still intact!¡± ¡°So come one, come all! The silent auction shall be a show of wonders!¡± 1.27 Honor Among Thieves Five days. Whispers were spreading through the market, replacing the quiet with a low sea of murmured gossip and speculation. The guards made no move to enforce the rule of silence. This mood was exactly what they wanted out of the announcement. Anticipation, greed, rumors moving faster than truths. A deadline had just been set on my schemes for this market. Five days to swoop in and steal the prize, and in the process, humiliate that prancing pirate captain who ran the place. The man in front of me, angered by my clear ambivalence to his existence, seized Adamant by the collar. "Where did you get those?" He hissed under his breath. To his surprise, a grip like iron clamped around his wrist. Fingers made of earth and stone pressed down until the bone beneath began to grind and bend. He whimpered, drawing attention from the nearby crowd. Lifting up his free hand, Adamant signed I stole them and Going to buy something? A squeeze informed him that wasn''t a question. Letting out a pained squeak, he dropped his coinpurse, scooping up a ticking device like a compass and retreating as soon as Adamant released his hand. The rest of the market ticked by as I schemed, keeping a tendril of my attention on Adamant to puppeteer him through the motions of sale as people snapped up the pearls and the assorted magical gimmicks. As he played shopkeep, Argent crept out of his robes, disappearing into the bustle of the market. I followed in spirit as she navigated her way across gangplanks and mooring ropes towards the barge where the pirate prince held court. Today, a fidler sawed a fiery tune as women in veils of red danced, their clothes swirling away from them as they spun and stomped their bare feet, chains of golden coins bouncing against their taut stomach and wide hips. Various rich and overweight merchants lounged in reclining couches, eating from plates carried by slaves. The pirate prince danced among them, a hand around a waist, an arm around a shoulder. The spurs on his tall black boots jingled. We scampered aboard on the heels of a tall man with an ermine-lined cloak and a black, hook-nosed mask. Everything about his stride screamed anger. We scrambled upon a railing to watch. The newcomer stormed through the dancers, pushing them aside, and seized the pirate by the lapels of his longcoat. ¡°You brat! That unicorn was promised to the Cormorants. You swore on your mother¡¯s grave.¡± Spittle landed on the pirate¡¯s face. He casually wiped it off his cheek, cleaning his hand on the other man¡¯s shoulder. ¡°My mother told sweet lies for coin. She¡¯d be so proud.¡± The man dropped him, disgusted. Or maybe he¡¯d noticed the broad-built men edging closer, hands on their swords, their bludgeons and their short brutal knives. They relaxed as the pirate waved to them all to back away, a smile on his face. But not, I noticed, in his eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll make it up to you, of course I will. But listen.¡± He spread his arms wide, to the market and its assortment of ships all bobbing in the river¡¯s currents. ¡°It¡¯s best for all us honest folk if someone like me is in charge, and not some joyless dwarf, some savage riverfolk. I need gold for that. I need the kind of gold to buy a city, and gods know, the Cormorants can¡¯t offer that.¡± ¡°We offered you loyalty.¡± The man wasn¡¯t buying a word of the pretty little speech. ¡°Loyalty, I¡¯m afraid, isn¡¯t quite gold and gems. It doesn¡¯t spend the same.¡± The pirate - Captain Immer, I remembered - turned his back, shrugging the accusation off. It was an open provocation.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. But not one the man was dumb enough to take. His fingers drummed on the pommel of his rapier, but he didn¡¯t draw. ¡°The next time we meet, it won¡¯t be words, Immer.¡± So he wasn''t good at keeping allies, and he was dumb enough to make enemies and let them walk away alive. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. What kept this preening ponce in his throne? ¡°Aww, the kitten tries to growl. If I was afraid of you, I¡¯d have killed you already. We both know that.¡± Immer just waved him off. The man stormed back down the gangplank, leaving the atmosphere behind him bruised and upset, the dancers frozen, afraid. "All of you, don''t I pay you to dance?" The pirate prince snapped, and caught one of them by the wrist. He turned her hand face up and pressed a golden coin into the palm "You, go give this to our friend." "W-who?" She managed to ask the question through her shaking. "Why, the ratty-ratty sitting over there." His fingers pinched her cheeks, turning her head to face us. "Watching us all argue." We froze. So did the girl. Immer swatted her forward. She carefully, carefully stepped towards us, holding out the coin as far from herself as she could. Argent seized control and threw herself overboard. Behind us, the gold flashed, and the thin and sour Mana in the air was pulled towards it like gravity. In the blink of an eye the woman¡¯s hand withered into the wrinkled claw of a crone three times her age, a cry of pain leaving her lips. We landed in the surf below as Immer rushed to the side, laughing a wild laugh. He scattered coin from his pockets into the air. We went under as the coins hit the water. Silver gleamed in a last flashing of light as it sank towards the dark bed of the river''s green waters. I felt the Mana within Argent being pulled towards them, each piece of silver like a greedy whirlpool drinking in the flow of Mana all around, letting nothing escape. Her inner fire was pulled from her in blazing streams of light and there was nothing I could do. She couldn¡¯t even teleport. But she wasn¡¯t alone now. She drew on the tiny sparks of Mana with dozens of rats as she kicked up. In the market they were countless, lurking in the gutters, chewing cast-off food. Some of them died, overdrawn, and others kicked and scratched at nothing in blind spasms of pain, but the web of connections between them held, feeding her the strength to pull free and rise out of the draining fields around the sinking coins. We surfaced, Argent gasping, and a crossbow bolt slapped the water next to us. Grasping the hull of a nearby boat, we flashed up to the top of the railings before the bowman could reload. We were gone. Darting among the feet of the crowd we were impossible to trace. In mere moments, taking routes no human could follow, we were back beneath Adamant¡¯s cloak, soaking wet and gasping for breath. Argent was faster now. She was far improved. Today, we had learned his abilities. I promised I¡¯d use that knowledge to slit his throat soon enough. Five days. Our goods were gone, sold, our purse heavy. We rose before anyone could trace Argent back to the anonymous merchant in the dingy side of the market, making our way through to the alchemist¡¯s district. There we had some purchases to make. We bought a night lantern, with its dark flame that drank up nearby light. A contained vial of quick-burning phosphorous solution. I considered a touted healing potion, wondering if it could help Aurum, but then, I knew better than to listen to the promises of a miracle healer. Miracles¡­ There was something to that. A god - even a Messenger - could heal Aurum. More than my own ¡®forgiveness¡¯ it was worth pursuing their favor for his sake. If it was to heal my guardian, I¡¯d even accept making a gift of the unicorn itself. Surely a goddess of beauty would appreciate that? As we shuffled out of the market, I spotted three familiar figures, huddled together in argument. I wondered how Izzis was doing. Honestly, I¡¯d have expected our Contract to compel me to save him by now. ¡°Another!¡± Izzis lifted his glass and demanded wine as faerie attendants massaged his back. A fresh scar crossed his face, the wound swollen and purple, bloating his lip where it crossed his mouth. He had dueled with a dire scorpion today. Tomorrow, his opponent would be a bloodspine lizard. His adoring audience would go wild to see him vanquish the beast. All his life, Izzis had been small. The one getting kicked around and ignored. Here, he was a giant! A mammoth of a man! The earth shook where he stepped! When the Marquis condemned Izzis to die in the fighting pits, he¡¯d never realized what a favor he was doing the homunculus. Here, he was adored for his strength, feared for his savagery. They called him the Goliath and cheered his name with fanatic enthusiasm. Between each fight there was wine and revelry. Best of all, there was the furious look on the Marquis¡¯ face as his pet beasts failed to kill Izzis time and time again. With the crowd howling the name Goliath, what could he do but allow Izzis to bow and take his rewards, and scheme up an even deadlier fight tomorrow? Sometimes Izzis wondered how things were getting on back in the Dungeon. But then, he was far above that paltry place now. 1.28 Delve I needed to work quickly. I needed to make certain that unicorn was mine, and I needed to reinforce my position against the invaders that were no doubt coming on the heels of the last incursion. One dwarf had gotten away, carrying the secrets of my Dungeon with him, and the merfolk¡¯s failure to return would be a sure signal they had found me. Thankfully, I had tools to work with. Within its amber chrysalis, the mind of my Jeweler-Spider had begun to still. The melding of the souls had completed, and its dreams had ceased to be frantic nightmares of skittering legs and carapace-covered bodies, but evened out, mellowing to languid thoughts of glimmering webs and glittering diamonds. It was time for it to evolve.
Your creation is undergoing Evolution During this time, Mana you gift them will be more effective, and they will be easier to shape. Choose a path- Arachne (Common) - Caught halfway between man and spider, this solitary creature lives a cursed existence but produces breathtaking art. Sword Tarantula (Common) - With eight bladed limbs and an armor of thick hairs, the sword tarantula is a terrifying foe that can slaughter common warriors. Crystal Spider (Rare) - Beautiful and cunning creatures, Crystal Spiders secrete dazzling and razor sharp crystals that they use to prepare traps for their prey. Fateweaver (Rare) - Attuned to the weave of destiny itself, this highly intelligent and reclusive breed can manifest oracular powers. Cavern Lurker (Mutant) - Absorbs traits from the last foe defeated. Gains corrosive spit and forelimbs adapted to digging.
The choice was easy enough here. Only Fateweaver and Arachne played to the strengths of the reincarnated jeweler, and while Fatewaver was dearly alluring, Arachne, a half-human half-spider, fit the state of the strange creature¡¯s hybrid soul precisely. Selecting that choice, I watched as the amber light began to expand, swelling to fit a much larger creature. The silhouette of the spider encased within began to stretch and distort, going through transformations that would have been hideous to experience if not for the soothing effects of the chrysalis. It was a power I had only begun to imitate in my own modifications. I turned to the next on my list. The fisherman spider had less interesting choices. Lurelimb Ambusher, adding a luminescent lure like an angler fish and strengthening her webs. Useful in nature but not so much against adventurers. Dire Widow, a large and venomous breed, and Harpoon Spider, adapting to hurl a spear of bone and skewer its enemies. Swarm Queen, which would produce massive quantities of tiny, ravenous children, threatened to devastate my ecology. Tradesman Recluse, an intelligent breed with the skills to make basic tools, was interesting but didn¡¯t solve the immediate problem. In the end I chose Harpoon Spider. It solved the basic problem fisherman spiders faced, being too slow and clumsy to properly engage the enemy, by massively increasing their range. With a few of these sprinkled into the swarm, their effectiveness as a harassing force would skyrocket. Two vastly improved servants. Two steps towards my goal- Descent. My only route forward as a Dungeon was down, and I felt excited to begin a new layer. I began to work on a third front. The mangrove orchard lacked a proper defender if a true contender like the merfolk attempted to invade from that flank. But I had acquired a sharktooth necklace from Trivelin, and while it was a salt-water creature, I finally felt the confidence in my ability to change that. Mana roiled and concentrated as I began to create. Blots of condensed magic form in the air and slowly pulled inwards, shaped like clay to form a long, sleek silhouette, the primal image of a graceful terror. But I had more to do. I began to weave in aspects of the mutant lamprey Aurum had vanquished so long ago, using its biology as a base for adapting the shark to freshwater. In the process it gained several more eyes, and long trailing tendrils that followed the line of its tail. It was a strange beauty to look at, to be sure, but a beauty nonetheless. I had made its skin translucent, allowing the pump and pulse of the organs beneath to shine through with a faint glow of bioluminescence, imbuing the creature¡¯s visible skeleton with a golden tint. With its trailing tendrils and single fin, it looked like a horror from the deepest depths of the ocean. Just like that, I knew what I¡¯d name it. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
[ Abyssal Shark ] Brought about by chimeric methods, this strange creature is imbued with an endless hunger and a beautiful elegance.
I had changed its instincts, too. This ¡®shark¡¯ would happily slumber in the mud at the lakebottom, rising only to breathe on occasion, until blood filled the water. Only then would it rise up and attack- Only when someone tried to force their way through and filled the lake with carnage like the merfolk had. I didn¡¯t want to discourage the poor fools on the lakeshore from coming to seek their fortune, after all. And the sight of this beast rising from beneath would certainly be¡­ striking. Oh yes, I could safely be proud of myself here. With that, I felt my work was largely complete. It had only been a few weeks since I had first awoken, but I had reshaped my domain into a thing of beauty. To the east, there was the mangrove orchard. Countless water lilies blooming with pink flowers covered the water, rising and falling with its faint waves, and the trees rose on spidery, thin hills of roots, gold in their branches and silk billowing in huge nets from their trunks. The bronze-metallic reelfish and the fat grey fisherman spiders presided over this district. To the west, there was the ravine, topped with its jungle of glass beams where spiders threw their webs and bright-bodied birds nested. The steep, unsteady sides of the chasm were home to countless more spiders, and descending down into the tropical humidity of a green jungle, one would find their way barred by the sporeback sloths, who spread fecund and poisonous mushrooms wherever they roamed in their slow way. Either way, one would reach the gardens. A land of glass mushrooms, glass cages, and deadly surprises. In the ceiling above lived the colony of nacre-spiders, hunting by ambush. To see them attack was to see a flash of pearl-covered limbs slice through flesh like butter. Their adolescents hunted on the ground below; there was only space for a dozen or so adults, and so coming of age meant challenging one for a spot in the nests, a brutal and bloody affair that kept the herd strong. Hidden in the grass, mantises, lurking vipers, poisonous toadstools all conspired to claim the life of the unwary. The snakes poured in from a secret chamber to the south, the tunnel only small enough for them to pass through. Beyond was a secret feeding grounds that ensured we never ran short of deadly serpents, connected by vertical burrows to the chamber of Aurum below, their predecessor and king. Beneath the Gardens wound numerous labyrinth tunnels, all of them flooded and teaming with reelfish. If someone, somehow, navigated those muddy passages, they would find themselves in an underwater arena, facing Aurum as he slithered forth from his den. Even now, I believed he would come to protect me if the invaders ever got that far. Finally, there was the sanctum, that beautiful and dazzling corridor that had been my first creation. Moss the color of black glass and luminous mushrooms patterned in a double-helix slid up the walls, concealing razor sharp ridges beneath an endless, slippery coat of lichens, making it all but impossible to climb. Lethal centipedes crawled from hidden caves to feast on opalescent beetle. Above it all, a cavern entrance shaped like the mouth of a beast loomed, its jaws parted, its teeth on display. I would miss my cozy nest atop the Dungeon. Now it would only host the token of Sol, the golden coin that was a fragment of the sun god¡¯s blazing luck. But there was an itch in the back of my mind. A paranoid urge I couldn¡¯t stave off much longer. I couldn¡¯t feel truly satisfied unless I was constantly moving down, armoring myself behind ever more deadly traps and creations. It was the urge to delve deeper into the stone foundations of the world. To vanish from the world of light into my own underground realm. To work wonders beneath the earth that nobody would ever see. It was time. Time to begin on a fresh canvas. The first of the Arachne awoke in a daze. He remembered many things, things that didn¡¯t make sense together. He remembered his mother singing him lullabies. He remembered killing his mother in a duel for her nest, the feel of his jaws crunching through her carapace. He remembered having teeth and having mandibles, having eight legs and having two. He clutched his face with eight-fingered hands. Even that was alien to him. The shape was smooth, hardened by black chitin but with soft flesh between. Not quite human. Not quite spider. It sloped backwards, a great bulbous knot of chitin wadded on to the back of his skull. Unsteady, he stepped forward. Eight legs. A body shaped like a spider¡¯s but with a human torso rising where the head would be, the skin as black as charcoal, the hands covered in shiny carapace. He was in a strange garden. On all sides, impossible growths bloomed. COME HERE. A voice was speaking to him. The Arachne laughed, a strange sound that hissed and chittered over his tongue, through his twitching mandibles. He must be going mad. Anyone would. A door opened in the walls, the stone smoothly dissolving into nothing. The Arachne felt compelled forward, through the gateway, into a room where the floor dropped away into a deep pool and the ceiling lifted away, a tunnel running overhead. His thin, dexterous legs easily carried him up the walls, thousand of tiny hairs anchoring him despite the slimy muck clinging to them. The centipedes that wound around his legs could do nothing to stop him. There was a place where stalactites pressed together in a ring that resembled a horrific mouth. The Arachne rose through it, into a darkened chamber. By the light of a blazing shard of gold, he saw the most beautiful gem lying on a small pedestal, the light seeming to twist around it, drawn in scintillating ribbons of rainbow towards the miniscule green jewel. CARRY ME. Lifting the gem like it was more precious than life, the Arachne took it down from that secret place, the door closing back into a blank stone wall behind them. The first step of a stairway formed in the floor of the garden. An invisible force was digging itself into the rock. As he set foot on it, another one was carved away from the stone floor. With each step, he was led on a spiralling path, a tunnel cutting through the earth in front of him. Soon there was stone overhead, stone on all sides, the air sour with the smell of the underground, the light vanished behind them as he followed the spiral stairway. Where are we going? The newborn Guardian asked. DEEPER. 1.29 Fortune Favors the Bold There was a carnival atmosphere to Caltern today. A great stage was being raised in the city square, the Glory Bell ringing out its warm golden note. Swarms of would-be adventurers massed around the stage, waiting to prove their mettle. The common folk were among them, eating roasted hazelnuts from cups made of broad leaves rolled into cones, drinking, waiting to see the show. Sweat and cheap sour beer filled the air. At the head of it all the nobility sat under canopies, leaning in to gossip, making their bets. Eyfrae sat in a wooden throne above the stage. To her left, Suffi perched in her seat, feet not touching the ground, chin propped in her two-fingered hand. The seat to Eyfrae¡¯s right was empty, the merfolk not even sending a representative. Which suited Eyfrae fine. Their arrogance was less threatening to the guild leader¡¯s plans than Suffi Halfhand and her patient eyes. Cathara lurked in the background, leaning in to whisper in her daughter¡¯s ear. With Morghul gone the clever old bitch had outlived all her rivals. Now she stood behind the throne clearing the way for her heir¡¯s ascent. Eyfrae had her own shadow. Malvet fidgeted and picked his face nervously in the light of day, far more a night creature, the golden chain and seal of the High Mage looking out of place around his scrawny neck. Still, he had done well. Sitting before her were ten vials of dark blue liquid, bottled in round-bellied vials topped with glass stoppers bearing the Institute¡¯s seven-pointed star. Life-saving potions all. Just ones with a special ingredient. On stage, earth mages worked to lift ten pillars of stone up, each one as thick around as a barrel and as tall as a man. These would be the first test. Eyfrae was dressed to kill today. She wore a hat of crushed red velvet and a long jacket that hung over her shoulders, the ruffled and slashed sleeves hanging empty. A dark burgundy blouse and black riding pants with tall boots completed the ensemble. As she rose, the muttering and cheering of the crowd did too. A crescendo of excitement accompanied her words. ¡°Adventurers! Soldiers of fortune, treasure seekers! Today, we determine who shall have the honor of braving the Dungeon first, who will be first in line for fate to deal out death or glory as she sees fit! If you are fearful, better that you stay home! If you are weak, there is no place for you in the world of adventurers!¡± In her hand she clutched a spelled token, amplifying her voice to boom over the bustling, buzzing sounds of the crowds. ¡°Only those who step onto this stage with the strength to break a stone pillar will be considered! Only they will move on to the next round, competing to the be the first to delve into the Dungeon! Now step forward!¡± First onto stage, moving even before she had finished speaking, was a wild-looking dwarf with a braided beard of fiery red hairs. He carried a cudgel of black wood in hand, tapping it against his palm as he stepped forward with a cocky grin, sweeping a bow her way. One swing, and the first pillar shattered like glass. Shards of stone rained back over the attendant mages, forcing them to lift their hands in a simple warding spell. Dust curled from the broken pillar stub like smoke from a snuffed cigar. ¡°This club!¡± He roared to the crowd, lifting it overhead. Three golden bands gleamed around the wooden cudgel. ¡°This club was made by my forefathers! Each band weighs ten stone! If ye can¡¯t lift it, don¡¯t bother getting on stage!¡± ¡°One of yours?¡± Eyfrae enquired, leaning over towards Suffi. ¡°No. Mine have the sense to get drunk after the contests.¡± The young dwarf was frowning intensely. She was pretty, in a broad, hearty way, a farmgirl kind of charm that likely wouldn¡¯t last long as she started to age. Golden hair was braided in a circlet around her brow. ¡°But he might be worth watching.¡± Already, a new contender was stepping onto stage. A man with a golem-arm made out of gleaming bronze. There was not a word exchanged, only a deathly glare, as he pushed past the departing dwarf and swung his metal fist towards the second pillar. Cracks spread through the stone, and after an unsteady moment, it collapsed. The man stretched, swinging his mechanical arm through the air as a faint smoke billowed from the joints. ¡°Holding back.¡± Was Eyfrae¡¯s judgement. Suffi nodded.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. By now the crowd was roaring, stomping, hitting a fever pitch. The mages were working to repair the first pillar still, slowly reassembling the pieces. The next unlucky bastard had overestimated himself. He was a tall, muscled brute with a gleaming bald head, and his warhammer failed to make more than a dent in the stone. He had to slink back, the whole of the mob jeering at him. Eyfrae settled back in her chair, calling for wine. It would be a long and busy day. The weight of the crowd¡¯s eyes was heavy, their expectations pulling on her to play her part or be torn to shreds. Vaulder Claith was in a terrible state. His clothes were ripped, hands shaking, his face muddy except for two long tracks spilling from his eyes where he¡¯d cried himself clean again. After the whole affair of signing a ¡®contract¡¯ that was closer to extortion, he¡¯d simply been ignored. In the end he¡¯d crawled back up the tunnel he¡¯d been dragged down, emerging into his shop, the trapdoor slipping shut behind him and becoming invisible. Everything was as he left it. It was if he¡¯d never been gone. In a way, that was the last straw. It was maddening to think that nobody knew - that he could tell nobody - what had happened. That it hadn¡¯t disturbed the world in any way for him to disappear into a hellish dark pit, and that when he returned, his life would simply return to normal. Except always, in the back of his mind, he¡¯d know there was a secret door hidden in the back room. And that any day there might come a knock knock knock as a spider came calling to take him down into that subterranean realm. He shivered in a cold only he could feel. Outside, a crowd was cheering for some damn reason, and Vaulder suddenly knew he needed to join them. Needed to let the noise and stink of other people rattle his own thoughts out of his head. Needed to be immersed in sound and in other people¡¯s lives instead of stewing away in his own fears. The crowd outside welcomed him, promised to sweep his troubled thoughts away. Strix could see how it would happen now. The air was full of desperate prayer. Not prayer to any one god, no, nothing so focused or controlled, but a seething mass of hopes and dreams finding its outlet in the screams and the stomp of the crowd. Pulling them into a rhythm. The City of Bells had long been bruised and humiliated by its faded glory. The hope of revival excited a pride most had forgotten. She stood at the edge of the crowd, a tall crested owl perched on her shoulder. Only the youngest children were left out, too busy begging their parents for pies or weaving between the mob¡¯s feet to chase each other in blissfully pointless games. And here she was, silent still. Hanging on the fence waiting to see who she should give her prophecy to. Morghul¡¯s killer or the ones who would undo everything he had worked for in their own pursuit of glory? One had no conception of humanity, the others had willingly abandoned it. She hung back, thinking, feeling the raw energy of want that the crowd produced in their gossip and their cheers. A child running through the streets paused in front of her, swaying on his feet like he had something to say, biting his lip. Strix blinked her blind eyes, and then smiled. ¡°Yes, you may pet the owl.¡± The sun¡¯s light was streaming down, bringing out the brightness of the market stalls, the glitter of coins changing hands. It grew brighter. The colors of the world seemed to sizzle. The coins had the glow of treasure. People seemed more beautiful, less flawed. The light condensed into a river of sunfire that fell from the skies onto the center of the stage and people stood still, silent, simply awestruck by the entry of the Divine into their life. A man, a Messenger, stepped from the blazing pillar of light. He was a clown in a golden mask, his outfit pure white, his three-pointed cap tipped with bells of gold. Above him hung a golden wheel, as bright as a miniature sun. ¡°Lords and ladies, for you are all lords and ladies today, you have called to the Sun with your fervent hopes and the Sun, in his wisdom, great Sol, has sent me in answer! Today, Caltern shall receive a blessing, and only the wheel knows what it shall be!¡± The wheel had all eyes captivated as it began to turn, fires blazing on its edges. ¡°And this too I promise: On the day a brave hero conquers the Dungeon, a second blessing shall be won! No city since Old Etha which lies now in ruins has received such a bounty!¡± The crowd had no response for once. They were spellbound, stricken silent. The only sound they made was their breathing as the wheel carried all their hopes, all their dreams, and began to slow, one segment after the next ticking by, statues of demons and saints holding up their prizes for the audience to see, each eye begging for some result that would lift their lives up. The wheel spun slower, and slower, winding down towards a miracle. Trivelin pressed his face to the bars of his lone window. Well, not his face. He was practicing, shifting himself every time the guards looked away, waiting for his chance. He could be old or young, man or woman, could wear any face he¡¯d ever seen. It was a damn neat trick. It just wasn¡¯t one that let him tear the bars open and beat the guards with their own limbs, like some adventurers were known to do. He sighed. Oh, he was missing out on something, he just knew it. There was a smell of gambling - the pungent mixture of hope and dread - in the air today. 1.30 Fresh Canvas
You have reached the next stage As a Dungeon Core, you have prevailed to the first milestone and unlocked new capacities. From now on, with each floor you descend you may declare a new Dungeon Law. What you speak shall be. No Law may be an absolute bar on continuing. You must always leave a way through to your Core. The more limited the Law, the more power will enforce it. In addition You may create up to two Vaults per floor. Vaults are special rooms containing unique conditions to enter or exit, enforced by the power of Law. You have matured to Gemheart Dungeon (II) Your shards reach a new level of power, and you may now create new Blessings by devouring the spellwork within enchanted objects.
I was excited. My Descent had left us in a small, hollowed out cell within the earth, a ten by ten coffin. To a Core nothing could have felt more like home. Laws, Blessings, all of them could wait. What I needed now was time to think and time to grow. My tendrils of ethereal Mana begin to eat through the walls, expanding my reach outwards. Trace deposits of metals and minerals caused some formations to last moments longer than the rest, making molten and unpredictable shapes briefly appear as the stone around them was melted away. I stopped, suddenly, struck by what I saw in the churn of random forms- by some miracle of chance an iron vein had formed the perfect image of a tree, made red by rust. It struck a chord with me, and I began to repeat that shape, carving trees out of the stone as I expanded and expanded. In no time a forest was born, grey and red, lifeless. It had a grim and austere beauty to it. I could do better. I used salt, huge dull slabs of crystalline salt, to cover the trees, giving them a pure white aesthetic. Their edges were rough, the crystals flaking and cracking and leaving each tree ruggedly shaped at best. Then I coated the floors with small, colorless grey flowers. A carpet of them stretching throughout the entire lightless cave. It was as if all the color had gone from the world, leaving behind a land of stark white trees and ashen lilies. It was beautiful in the most horrifying way. Now, what could I do with this? Weaving together the roots of the flowers, I found I could make them interconnected enough that they didn¡¯t need solid earth beneath them. In this way I could create pitfall traps that were completely disguised under the endless field of grey flowers- the ground simply not there, the lilies held up by the roots of their neighbors. So I went all out. As I expanded, I cut huge chasms that divided the floor into seven plateaus. Each island was connected to the next by a single bridge, rising out of the sea of grey lilies in a beautifully ornate arch made of glass. Anyone descending from the higher floor would be stunned by the monochrome world I had created, the white trees stark against the cavernous darkness, their limbs melding with and lifting up the cavern ceiling. They¡¯d first see a straightforward field of flowers, albeit a ghostly, ethereal one. It was only with deadly trial and error that they¡¯d discover the chasms, and that their only points of crossing were the glass bridges. In a moment¡¯s inspiration, I hid the final bridge. All the others were gaudy, beautiful constructions, but this one was a plain thin walkway hidden among the flowers, barely wide enough for a human. Even if they found it, it would be a nerve-wracking experience to cross. Better yet, I shaped the final island into a ¡®U¡¯ shape, so that anyone trying to cross straightaway would go tumbling into the ravine in the middle. Spikes lining the ground below would make that a hard mistake to walk away from.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. All of which was a fine start. An eerie white forest, an ashen earth full of hidden pitfalls. It needed more. The night lantern I had bought contained a particular kind of crystal called nightvein, which drank in the light around it. I replicated that, pausing for hours at a time to let my Mana recover from the draining task, and created black fruits of nightvein that hung from the branches. With each one the darkness grew thicker, more solid. Soon the white trees were like ghosts in an abyssal gloom. To occupy myself in the long pauses between conjuring up nightvein, I worked on the trees, carving them with wizened and ancient faces that seemed to suggest this place had always existed, long before the current era. The first of the Arachne was in awe. As he watched, the earth was remolded, stone falling away like smoke dissolving in the wind - a faint swirl of grey dust and then nothingness. And then the true artistry began. Trees rose, first red and then turning white as dull, clouded crystal crawled over their rusted iron limbs, encasing them in the color of snow. The earth was consumed by the colors of ash as countless flowers sprouted, an endless field of grey. It was a desolate sight. As the trees twisted to take on human faces, the Arachne felt strangely sick. Was he just another creation? A spider shaped to have a human face? Were the memories he had, strange and vivid fragments of a distant life, real at all? He hoped the Maker knew. Because if the Maker didn¡¯t know, and he didn¡¯t know, then the inside of his own head would remain a mystery, and worse an accident. He did not wish to be an accident. More than anything, the first of the Arachne wished to have a purpose and a place. A stone statue and a rat had joined them, standing silently, the rat on the statue¡¯s shoulder as they watched a new world take shape underground. It was a holy spectacle. I was in a state of artistic meditation. Absolute calm, absolute stillness, the kind of peace only a Dungeon could know- the peace of a being that never needed to eat, to breathe, to interrupt its thoughts for organic nonsense. As I painstakingly carved each tree¡¯s face with a look of intense, resigned sorrow, I pondered my schemes in the world above. Right now the unicorn was being stored in Immer¡¯s care, and it would need to be transported once it was sold. Considering they¡¯d just announced the priceless beast¡¯s presence to an assortment of Caltern¡¯s most ruthless thieves, it was safe to say they were anticipating at least one attempt to steal it away, and security would be stringent. Waiting for it to be bought, and turned over to less prepared hands, was the safest chance. The hardest time to steal the unicorn would be the brief moment it was on stage, but that would also be the perfect chance to humiliate Immer. Making the prize of his auction disappear would be such a sweet revenge for trying to kill my rat. And speaking of, through Argent I know had the greatest scouting force in the city. I had the lead in a very important way; I was an unknown to them and I could very easily know everything about them. The worst thing I could do then, was be predictable. Making my move when they were on guard, expecting a thief, would be surrendering that one key advantage. Instead I should act to induce chaos and force them into mistakes. My first move, then, should be to take a poke at the hornet¡¯s nest. I mentally sighed, finally satisfied with my creation. The supernatural gloom that laid over the forest made the reveal of the pale trees, the mournful faces, all the more shocking. I began to wind vines of bright bloody red around the trees. Few at first - on the first island you might see one or two splashes of color - but growing more common as you passed through the plateaus, over the bridges, until at the final island almost everything was stained with red. Vines sprawled across the ground like veins, disturbing the peaceful grey flowers. They crushed and overwhelmed the stone trees, leaving knots of organic, wriggling red in their place. And now the finale. I carved an eighth island, connected to the seventh by a bridge made only of flowers, their thin roots knotted together into a hanging bridge just strong enough to take a human¡¯s weight. On that island I hollowed out a shallow lake, and filled its bed with overlapping stones of red iron ore, layered like the scales of an immense and coiled snake. The water itself took on the tint and hue of fresh blood. At the center of the lake would be an island. I seeded tall, proud flowers, with long stalks that erupted into trumpet-shaped blossoms of purest white. Their tall stems were lined with tiny, needle-sharp hairs, poisonous in the extreme. An island of deadly beauty in a fen of blood. I would reside there. In the middle of the poison garden I raised up a dais, a rough tablet of stone carved with two snakes entwined in a double helix. Where their jaws met, a small alcove would hold me. BRING ME THERE, I told my newest creation. But fate, fate had other plans. Fate was a cruel whore. Fate had heard my planning and couldn''t resist throwing a wrench into the works. As he stepped forward, the walls began to writhe. Cracks split the foundations of the earth, sending rushes of dirt and stone tumbling free. I would call it an earthquake, but it was localized entirely around my newest floor, tearing apart my finely crafted work. I had bloodlust raging in my soul as the first intruder pushed through. It was a six-legged hound made of swirling earth and stone, spikes of obsidian rising from its spine. An earth elemental. 1.31 Men Plan, Gods Laugh The wheel had ceased to spin. The statue stepped forward, a woman of black obsidian in a diamond studded dress, carrying an ivory chest. As the lid snapped open the crowd breathed in with mass anticipation. And a crack split the air as the stage was torn into splinters. The wheel and the statue vanished like soapbubbles, and only the jester remained, taking a low bow as the earth behind him lifted up and sloughed away in a rain of debris, sundered by the rising peak of a tower made all from white stone. A square-walled tower lifted into the sky where the stage had been. It was split into seven layers, divided by bands of dark red where the walls were engraved with statues of men and women struggled to lift the next portion of the tower onto their shoulders, their faces permanently scowling in strain. Some stood tall, others were lay defeated on the ground. At the very top, just two statues remained, carved in full, each bent to lift overhead a pyramid cap of pure gold. ¡°The Sevenfold Tower!¡± The jester announced, striking his gloved hands together. ¡°What a beautiful prize, o¡¯ glorious day, beautiful! For as long as this tower stands, those with the strength to climb will receive the glory and generosity of the Sun. Let champions from a thousand lands journey to this city to test their mettle!¡± ¡°Whether it is strength or riches you desire, rise! If you wish to live a hundred years, rise! If you would live a life that shines among the stars, rise!¡± With each exclamation to climb the jester grew fainter, more translucent, until by the third cry he was gone entirely, with only his echo remaining a while longer. Suffi¡¯s mouth was slack with shock. Her thoughts were like water overflowing a cup. One thing pushed the other out of her head, and she fought to keep the important things in view. Below, people were rushing for the tower¡¯s four entrances, fighting to be the first inside. Fights were breaking out as a human tide struggled to force its way through the doors. There would be a real flood of challengers once the news spread. Both for the tower and the Dungeon. They would be like locusts descending, and Suffi would need to entrench herself deeper to hold on to power. Her workshops, her forges, would be the ones to provide the adventurers with weaponry; dwarven scouts and her guides would lead challengers through the dark. She would triumph. Her two-fingered hand clenched into a malformed fist. She had been born with it, with two almost flippered protrusions of pink, wrinkled flesh where most were given slender fingers by the gods. Her mother had been accused of consorting with devils and cast out, newborn Suffi in her arms. Nobody had thought she would ever be worth anything. Nobody could have imagined she would be the greatest artisan of her generation. It proved Suffi¡¯s basic theory. People were stupid. The world couldn¡¯t be predicted through the sheer weight of stupid decisions being made every day, couldn¡¯t be reasoned with because it didn¡¯t run on reason. Usually what mattered was the ability to hold course when things went mad, to keep the goals in mind. Steady as she goes. Trust the right people. Most of all, you had to know what people wanted. Knowing why people acted was the closest you could come to a guiding light. Suffi didn¡¯t trust Eyfrae, and never would. They shared a small camaraderie and a large host of reasons to kill each other. She didn¡¯t trust the gods, and they could change that any day they wished- they just needed make gold rain from the heavens and the sick rise from their beds, and Suffi would be the first to bow. But until then they were a lot of useless sods. So of course she didn¡¯t believe this promise, or rather, didn¡¯t believe it was for Caltern¡¯s benefit. No, this had to be about the Dungeon. Her mother laid a hand on her shoulder. Always near, always watching over her. Suffi closed her eyes and pondered. The question was, were the gods helping the Dungeon or trying to harm it? In the end, the flood of adventurers coming to challenge the tower would attack the Dungeon as well, making things much harder on the core. On the other hand¡­If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. If the Dungeon was particularly weak right now¡­ It was a loose hypothesis born of speculation, but it made sense. This tower was an excellent delay, while if the gods only wanted to harm the Core, all they would have needed was the promise of a reward for the first adventurer to conquer the Dungeon. Suffi had always trusted her intuitions. To her right, Governor Kedlin was trying to muster his soldiers to intervene in the brawl below. Eyfrae raised her hand to stop them. ¡°We¡¯ll let them fight. You can¡¯t stop a riot, Kedlin, only let it exhaust itself. Once they''ve worn themselves out, we take control of the tower and begin limiting the attempts." Beside them, Suffi slid off her throne. Cathara moved with her, the two of them hurrying down the steps, the mother catching on to the daughter''s agitation. Their personal guard shoved them through the milling outskirts of the crowd, the hangers-on wanting to see the violence as adventurers clashed at the tower doors. As soon as they were safely drowned out beneath the roar of the crowd, Suffi turned to Cathara. "This is a distraction. The Dungeon is weak, and the gods are buying it time." ¡°And what do we do?¡± ¡°We make our move. Today." Disaster! Calamity! Chaos! The earth hounds were pouring into my Dungeon, ripping their way free from the walls and tearing up my beautiful work as they came rampaging through the fields of grey lilies. I had no creations down here who could guard me save Adamant and the Arachne. I had no defenses, no foundation on which to rely. And they were coming fast. As I watched, the foremost hound vaulted between the islands, not even needing to look down to sense the chasms hidden among the flowers. It was only Adamant''s quick thinking that stopped it from coming further. Kneeling down, the silent golem planted his hands into the earth and caused the far edge of the cliff to crumble away just as the beast landed, sending it plummeting down in a sliding wave of rubble. One down. But before I could taste even that small victory, another arrived through the breach in the walls. I was calling the lion and the faun down as fast as I could, calling everything in my Dungeon that would answer, but it was a grim situation. I could not return up the stairs. Everything in my instincts as a Dungeon prevented me from doing so, strongly enough that I felt pain, actual pain, just contemplating the idea. Delving had thinned my Mana somehow, allowed me to move freely within it, but now it was congealing again, coagulating around me like setting blood. The longer I waited the more damage would be done when I moved again. The first clash was short and brutal. Adamant turned his fists to metal, meeting two hounds with blunt force. A punch tore a hound''s skull to a spray of shattered stone. Another smashed in a ribcage. Neither killed. Instead the hounds reformed, slamming into Adamant from both sides. It was like watching avalanches fight. Shapeless waves of earth crashed against each other as Adamant was torn to pieces and reformed, his fists swinging like clubs, breaking the hounds only for their stone bodies to lift from the floor and be remade. A third hound joined the fray, leaping high to seize Adamant by the skull and crush down. He seized it by the throat and responded in kind. But another grabbed him by the leg, pulling him down. I could feel his Mana running out, exhausted by constantly reshaping his own body. I fed him what I could but it was an uphill struggle. The hounds must have their own limits to how often they can be reborn, their own limited Mana, but I couldn¡¯t sense it. A fourth hound had already leapt the gap, barreling towards Adamant. GIVE ME TO ARGENT, I commanded my newest creation, AND GO FIGHT. I could sense his fear and unwillingness as he handed me down, Argent gripping me in her paws as we watched her brother struggle to rise against a sea of stony flesh and snapping jaws. The Arachne waded in, seizing a hound in both hands and hoisting it overhead. One throw and the elemental shattered into pieces. Pieces that shivered and reformed, yes, but both me and the Arachne were thrilled by the show of strength. I felt the brutal satisfaction in his mind. The joy at the simplicity of violence. No doubts, no worries, just movement and impact. He reached out to seize another but this time the hounds were on guard, circling away, making him lunge after them on his clumsy lower body. He let his attention slip for a second, let one of the hounds slide towards his flank. Before I could warn him it had already happened. The hound lunged forward and turned its head down, arched its back out. It hit him with the full of its weight and with the long deadly spines of obsidian that jutted from its back like spears. They pushed through the nacre-armor and made the Arachne cry out, a sound neither human nor spider but undeniably pained; with a sweeping backhand he shattered the hound in retribution, but half of his legs were left limping, a yellowish blood weeping from his side. In the background, Adamant managed to reform enough of himself to seize an elemental and rip it in two. The one that remained slowly backed away as its brothers began to reshape themselves. A fifth, and then a sixth hound vaulted over the gap. 1.32 Into the Fire The glass faun and the fungal lion arrived just as the last of the eight hounds joined in the melee, Adamant struggling to hold them at bay and shield the wounded Arachne. Again and again their stony jaws ripped pieces of him away, but he waded through them, striking left and right with a metal-clad arm and doing terrible damage. Leaping to his aid, the other two golems swept the stone-hounds back. The elementals retreated as a group, spreading out, encircling the four. In moments they had picked their opponents. It would be two against one. It was the Arachne that was in the worst position. His two opponents wove and circled, forcing him to constantly turn on his crippled legs. Blood oozed from the damage already done. Newborn, the spider had no fighting instincts, and could only clumsily apply his strength in great sweeping blows. For every strike that landed, scattering one of the hounds to rubble, the remaining beast was able to rip at his injured legs, until one of them was torn away entirely and another hung as limp as a broken puppet. Maybe there was something I could do. As the stone-hounds reformed, they swept up roots and stems from the gray flowers trampled under their clumsy bodies. I took that and made it my weapon. Pouring my Mana into the odds and ends, I made them live again. No sooner had the hound created its new body then its stony flesh began to crack and come apart. Wriggling tendrils of green forced their way out of its skin. In moments it had dissolved back into a pile of loose stone, and I wove the mass of greenery over it like a net, keeping its component parts from gathering again. Which left the remaining one suddenly alone against a bigger, stronger opponent. Catching the hound in one hand, the Arachne plunged his bladed fingertips into its side, again and again, ripping out chunks of earth and stone in a bloodless disembowelment. Finally the beast sagged and collapsed, not coming back this time. Its store of Mana had finally been exhausted. With no opponents left standing, the Arachne was free to aid the faun. The delicate glass fighter moved beautifully, weaving between its two opponents and jabbing out countless times with its spear. Only, none of its elegant strikes did much real harm. It lacked the brute strength to actually wound its opponents. For once, the agile and lethal faun wasn¡¯t the deadliest thing on the battlefield. A hound lunged at him, and the faun slammed his spear through the top of its head and pinned it to the earth, using the anchored shaft to perform a vaulting kick that slammed both his hooves into the second assailant. The faun hound was sent flying, bouncing and rolling across the ground. The showoff. It was a flashy move, but it still didn¡¯t have the raw power to kill. Behind him, the pinned elemental simply reshaped its body to free itself, and now he was in the middle of two opponents with no weapon. Luckily, the Arachne was there, sweeping one of them aside with a charging swing of his arm. The faun seized its spear again and now they were back to back, the glass golem guarding the Arachne¡¯s wounded flank. They fought their way towards the remaining two, each locked in their own battles. The lion was fierce, but the hounds were experienced in fighting together. It had one of them pinned to the floor, mauling the elemental with its claws, but the other clung on to its hindquarters and took a pound of mushroom-flesh for every pound of stone. It was bloodless and yet brutal fight, taking blow for blow. Adamant turned his entire body to steel, repelling both of the hounds on him with a sudden surge of strength. He caught one of them with his extended arm across its throat in a brutal clothesline as he rushed forward, running full tilt at the elemental ripping at the lion¡¯s heels. He didn¡¯t stop. He simply crashed through the hound, scattering it into a burst of dust and rubble. This time it didn¡¯t get back up.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Unhindered now, the lion forced its prey down and tore the hound to shreds. It reformed of course, and then the two Adamant had left behind caught up, but two to three was better odds than we¡¯d had a moment ago. Slowly, Adamant turned back into a man of earth, his trick too exhausting to keep up for more than a split second. Three hounds on one side. Two on the other. The two groups met in a circle, four against five. Reaching out, I evened the odds by making roots and vines tear open another one of the hounds. It was looking up when the earth began to shake again. This time, the rupture split one of the islands in two, flowers and clods of earth raining down as the twin halves drifted apart with a vast sound of grinding stone. My art! My beautiful creations! All my work, my once-in-a-lifetime inspiration, gone in seconds. I watched a tree come unearthed from the ground and tumble down the crevice. I wish I had hands so I could personally strangle the life out of whoever was responsible - or barring that, whoever was nearest. I may have had seconds thoughts when the invader came threw the new-formed rift. It was huge. Roughly a lizard in form, it was a small hills¡¯ worth of stone, hauling itself up from the crevasse with limbs as thick as tree-trunks. Bladed talons scraped the ground. Huge tusks of flint emerged from the edges of its mouth, drawing the lips apart to show multiple rows of teeth in concentric rings. The hounds were retreating, scampering back, and it let out a huge, huffing cloud of yellowish vapor, covering the island it stood on. I froze. As I watched, silent, without a plan, it leaned down and scraped its tusk against the earth, over and over in sharp, flicking motions. I was just wondering what I was seeing when a spark leapt up- And the cloud of yellow vapor exploded into a sea of flames. I really had no response to that but to silently, continuously, scream. The guard watching Trivelin had left to go see what the fuss was, drawn irresistibly away from his post by the smell of beer and the roar of a good, riled-up crowd. Trivelin beamed as he stripped off his clothes and hid them under the bed. Oh he was proud of this scheme. Proud as a peach. And when the next shift came in, chewing a wad of tobacco as the sun gleamed on the brim of his shiny helmet, what did he see? Why, he saw the guard he was supposed to replace, not at their post but in the cell, clutching the bars, naked as the day was bright. He turned away, groaning. ¡°What in gods¡¯ sight is going on, Kaspar?¡± ¡°He got me, oh he got me. That clever fucking bastard!¡± Trivelin wailed, fighting to hold back the stupid, audicious smirk that oh so wanted to plaster itself across his face. Or rather, across Kaspar¡¯s face. ¡°He tricked me into the cage and he got me right on the head with a club and took my clothes. My damn clothes! He went right out the door!¡± ¡°Kaspar, Kaspar you fucking idiot.¡± Covering his eyes with a hand to spare himself the sight of Kaspar¡¯s danglies, the guard slid his key into the lock. The door - the door that had foiled Trivelin¡¯s best attempts at lockpicking for days - popped open, as easy as that. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s get you dressed and then we¡¯ll go right to the Madam and report this. I¡¯m sorry, but you¡¯re out of luck on this one, I can¡¯t cover for you now.¡± ¡°About that¡­¡± And then Trivelin gave the unlucky fool a quick tap on the head. He¡¯d taken the hard, tough bread they¡¯d given him, melted it to a paste in water, and formed it into a dense little breadclub. It made a pretty little conk against that shiny helmet. The man grunted, and crumpled to his knees. Trivelin hit him again and he went all the way to the floor. Trivelin, that grin finally surfacing, helped himself to the guard¡¯s clothes and face. Dwarves were a little trickier than humans, made him feel as if he was sucking in his gut the whole time, but dwarves he could do. Horrible beasties who could rip prison bars in two, or tiny white rats who could slip right through, not so much. It seemed ¡®human-ish¡¯ was his limit. ¡°Your turn, matie.¡± He swung the door closed and locked it. Good luck explaining this to the next fellow to come along. With a whistle on his lips, Trivelin sauntered right on up the steps of the prison and out into daylight. He walked right into an oncoming platoon of guards, led by a pompous looking young dwarf with jewels on the hilt of his sword and a shine to his armor like it had never been used. ¡°You!¡± He jabbed a finger at Trivelin. ¡°Join up. We¡¯re going to the Tower!¡± The whole battalion lifted their swords to the sky and shouted, a hoo-rah! burst of noisy bravado. Trivelin, mentally frozen, silently stepped to the back of the formation. ¡°Tower?¡± He asked the nearest dwarf. ¡°Fucking thing just popped up. Don¡¯t ask me. Now we¡¯re going to go climb it. All these nobles, they¡¯re bonkers, I¡¯m telling you.¡± The man whispered back, shaking his head so the wooden tokens woven into his beard clacked together. ¡°Bonkers, oh yes.¡± Out of the frying pan and into the fire. Trivelin had no choice but to join the steady march towards the distant tower, cursing himself silently all the way. 1.33 Forge The stone lizard towered above my beautiful world, sweeping trees aside with the thrash of its tail. Its skin was a cracked mass of stones, joined together into a rough mosaic, its tusks long curves of razor-sharp flint. Its mouth unhinged along three lines, splitting open. I had made some horrors in my time. I was full of pride in Aurum, in Argent, in Adamant. But that¡ª That was a goddamned monster. Its roars shook the world. I had no choice. I had to flee, even if every facet of my body screamed in pain at the thought of returning to a higher level. RETREAT. Argent didn¡¯t need to be told twice. She ran for the stairs, my Core clutched in her jaws. A hound leapt to stop us, but the Arachne smashed it aside, rippings it flanks open with a nacre-claw. Behind us, the golems engaged in a furious fight to hold back the stone-hounds. We made it up the steps and they were still fighting, surrounded now, the hounds slipping around them and preventing them from retreating. Adamant swept out with his fists but they were on to him now, waiting out his transformation to steel and lunging when he was weak. The faun alone had the agility to escape but stood behind his brothers. The lion was wounded, limping, but fighting hard. The stone lizard moved faster than I would have thought possible. It simply stepped over the gaps in the island, its trifold mouth parting in anticipation. A yellow steam escaped. Argent was afraid, not for herself but for her brothers. I felt the panic in her chest but couldn¡¯t reach out to help her. I couldn¡¯t do anything. It hurt. Everything hurt. I was a creature of Mana, and the Mana at a lower floor was a magnitude more dense and concentrated than the floor above. The deep earth seemed to breathe the stuff, the world¡¯s exhalation. Rising now, back to a lower density, was akin to starving myself, to depriving lungs of oxygen, veins of blood. It hurt hurt hurt hurt hurt HURT HURT HURT I only realized what I was doing when Argent dropped me from her jaws, cringing back. I was unleashing my pain through my connection to my minions, spreading infectious agony into their minds. I sealed the link between us. My world darkened of the bright, vivid senses of my creations, leaving only the dispassionate eye of the Dungeon. And I saw we weren¡¯t going to make it. Not all of us. The faun had pierced a hole in the enemy¡¯s encirclement and the lion was retreating through, but it was Adamant who held the hounds back for them to escape. They tore into him and he retaliated with tireless strength. But the shadow of the stone lizard, that awful draconic thing, loomed over him. It smashed him to the earth with a single swipe of its claw. He began to reform, and infuriated, the giant elemental craned its head down, mouth yawning open like a flower of stone to let smoking yellow mist pour over the earth. Adamant had just rebuilt himself when the stone lizard struck the spark with his flint tusks. And fire bloomed. He was lost in a burning sea, but I saw. I saw everything. I was half-crazed with pain and I was trapped in watching that moment. It happened very fast and felt very slow. I watched as his shadow warped and distorted, a black man-shaped blot in the furious red of the fire. I watched it shrink, eroding away at the edges. And I watched it break into a hundred pieces that turned to ash in the fiery wind. He had come back before. We had rebuilt him before.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. But I saw the gem that was his heart shatter in the flames. On the day the little golem was forged, its creator - its greater self - made it a coracle-boat of bark, and communicated that it should not return. There were few things a golem was meant to do. Obey, serve, follow. But not question. Never question. Adamant was a golem who questioned. It made him less a golem, and more¡­ something else. It bent him out of the shape his Maker had chosen for him, and that was bad. So he took his un-golem thoughts and cut them away from the whole, molded them into a shape that could contain them. There were two then. One who could serve without question, and one who could question without purpose. One who would remain and one who would go. As the little golem set out on its little boat, paddling across the dark water, it was already full of questions. It had a naive view that saw the beauty of the world. Everything gleamed with the promise of mystery, every pattern was tantalizing and meaningful. Even the bronze scales shining under the green water as the reelfish surfaced to capsize his little ship were beautiful and terrible. He fell to the riverbottom and trekked through the mud. Thin black strands of algae like angel''s hair wavered in the currents. When he at last climbed out of the lake, he was among humans, and humanity was not beautiful. So much noise, so many sights barraged the little golem that he hid in an overturned barrel and waited for night, when things became calmer. When he ventured out again, he found a small child - although a giant to him - prodding at beetles with a stick. The boy looked at the little man of clay, eyes going wide, and then lunged forward. Beetles were trampled as the child chased after him, clapping his hands together to try and catch the mysterious living toy between them. The little golem fled back to his nest. He sheltered there as rain pattered down overhead through the day, threatening to turn his clay flesh soft again so he left pieces of himself behind as he walked. He sat hugging his knees while cold fat raindrops exploded like artillery shells against the muddy earth outside. The next time he explored beyond his den, he met a shabby, scarred tomcat. The next hour was him trying frantically to escape as the cat battered him from one paw to the next, letting him almost flee before swatting him down and dragging him back. When he was finally allowed to stagger away, one of his arms was missing. He spent the night shaping earth to replace it, drawing on his tiny reserve of Mana, barely a spark, to twist and bend the mud into a new arm. The next day, the men in shining armor arrived. The sun danced on their breastplates and helmets as they rode through the camp on huge, snorting warhorses covered by banded armor, polished up as bright as gold. The little golem was star-struck. He leapt aboard and clung to a stirrup as the men rode on, turning back towards the city whose houses loomed like a cluster of smoking, ominous mountains. Streets, people, sights and sounds whipped past too fast to see. The horse kicked and bounced and the world went up and down until the little golem, clinging on, began to feel dizzy. When they finally stopped it was in a stable. The little golem dropped into a deep pile of hay and buried itself as the human rider dismounted, and other humans rushed forward to tend to the horse. It stayed hidden for a long time until the stable was dark, quiet, the only movement that of the horses stomping in their stalls. And then the golem heard a wonderful noise. His oldest ''memory'' was of the song of hammers ringing against metal. Now, he had found that song again. Letting it guide him, he crept to the edge of the stable door and peeked out, seeing the warmth of a roaring red fire pouring from a nearby building. Avoiding the open doors, through which heat poured and made the air sear and wriggle in mirages, he scaled up a drainpipe to a high window, wiggling his body through the slats to step out onto a rafter beam. Rats scuttled in the dark, and squawking pigeons raised their wings to cast fearsome shadows. The little golem ignored them. From the rafters he watched as they stoked the furnaces higher and higher, before lifting out an earthenware cup with long-handled tongs. They poured out a blazing froth of white-scummed molten metal into a clay mold, and it slowly filled out into the shape of a blade. Hissing smoke rose all the way to the rafters and poured past the little golem in swirling corkscrew trails. They let the blade smolder down to an orange ember before lifting it out, carefully, carefully, laying the glowing half-formed blade atop an anvil. Blow after blow rained against the soft metal, sparks billowing up under each ringing fall of the hammer as the sword was beaten into sharpness. The golem couldn''t have been more entranced. It understood, instinctively knew, the reason behind every movement. The world had proven to be a confusing and terrifying place, but this much the golem understood. They forged for hours, sweat dripping from their faces. There were three, an old dwarf and two young humans who fetched things and watched over his shoulders. And when they left, he crept down from the rafters to examine their tools. They were sized for hands far larger than the little golem. The forge itself could have been a house for the tiny man of clay. This would be difficult. But he was determined. 1.34 Promises, Promises Below us, the earth shook. We could hear the lizard trying to rip apart the stairwell, trying to claw us out of where we¡¯d hidden. A faint ribbon of yellowish mist swirled up and ignited, becoming a crimson tendril of flame that burnt itself out of existence. It didn¡¯t quite reach. We were safe for now, up in the Gardens, back where I had started my Descent.
Your creation has received divine favor. It has been Named ¡®Field of Lament¡¯ and given the following Blessing: Enemies slain within this room shall leave behind a revenant shade, attacking those who follow in their footsteps to challenge the Dungeon.
I pushed the notification away. If it was meant as consolation, I saw it as mockery, I didn¡¯t expect the world to be fair. Bad things happened to good people all the time. I had been the bad thing, I had happened to good people, and their misfortune had been my gain. I could accept the raw and senseless cruelty of the world. No, what made me angry- - beyond the hole in the world where Adamant should have been - - was that it would have taken the gods and their messengers three or four words to tell me that I was sitting atop some kind of deathtrap, that digging down would awaken subterranean horrors. Three or four words and I wasn¡¯t worth that much. The phrase repeated through my mind again and again. And I realized I had to kill them. Just to claw back my dignity. Because if there was one thing I couldn¡¯t do, it was accept that all this cloying sorrow, all this nauseating and confusing feeling overwhelming me, was just a small and insignificant speck for some higher power to ignore. I was too proud to accept that. I was too important to accept a role in obscurity. Too clever and too dangerous to be ignored. And right now, I had an opportunity no other Dungeon could claim. The Mana up here was too thin, leaving me feeling a low, constant pain. It was like I never had quite enough air to breath comfortably. But by returning to a higher strata, I was able to place a Law on my first floor. I considered long and hard what I should choose. But in the end, if I was serious about my vendetta against the gods, there was something I needed.
Thus it is spoken, and shall be Law: Past this point, all divinations and scrying shall fail. The Dungeon¡¯s secrets shall be eternal.
Now they couldn¡¯t simply read my thoughts. Or at the very least I had some amount of defense, even if it wouldn¡¯t stand up to the gods themselves. Now I didn¡¯t need to worry that, however cunning I was, I¡¯d simply be spied upon, my schemes dismantled by all-seeing eyes. I had shadows to retreat to and secrets I could keep, now. And I had work to do. Argent had retreated to her nest and carried me with her, despondent, and the two surviving golems stood vigil over the stairwell in case the hounds tried to follow us up. I watched as the Arachne stood there, unsure of what to do, and reached out into his mind. Confusion and horror. His short life had been interrupted by violence, and he had seen me at my best, working with godlike power over the earth, only to watch as it came crumbling down. The stone lizard had assumed a role like a devil in his heart; an unstoppable force.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. He had a dream-like way of seeing the world, and it left him sensitive. I commanded him to make a nest for himself. The work would do him good, if he was anything like me. For myself I began to hide the stairwell. I wove colored mosses over it, making it appear like part of the ground, and drew the lights of the luminescent mushroom garden in around the silver door instead. Now, adventurers would assume the way forward lay through that door. And they would be the Marquis¡¯ problem. There was nothing to do but work, work, push the anger and the sorrow back by keeping myself busy. It was a bitter satisfaction but it did the trick of salving my wounds. I would kill those elementals in due time. I had reached a plan, while I created the Field of Lament on the second layer. A moment of inspiration on how to seize the unicorn. I would need a vast amount of nightvein, and to make a few new golems. I needed time. And that was when the dwarves arrived. Suffi Halfhand was claustrophobic. She had been raised in the city under an open sky, and tunnels, cavernous halls, all of it gave her a feeling like her stomach was being tied in knots. So she was not at home in the city''s underbelly, not at all. The clan chieftain waded through the tunnels of the sewer, her face scrunched to a horrified grimace as she tried not to hurl from the cloying, nostril-destroying stink of it all. Koth, captain of her personal guard, offered her his pipe, the warm-sweet smolder of tobacco a godsend down here. ¡°It helps,¡± he said, ¡°But not much.¡± She took it gratefully and drew deep, letting the smoke fumigate her skull and push out the sewer-stink. They were almost there. Bulbous mushrooms grew on the tunnel walls, a thick coating that obscured the original brickwork under bubbling shapes and reaching little wisps of fungal root. They marched ten strong, her guard carrying poleaxes, Suffi bearing only a small, ornate coffer. The tunnels rang with the clank of their platemail. Koth glanced back behind them. A tiny owl was hopping its way in their shadow, not as stealthy as it thought. ¡°Should we..?¡± ¡°No. Never interfere in a seer¡¯s business. Gets you tangled up in fate.¡± Suffi shook her head. Now the brickwork gave way to rough-hewn stone, and they stepped clear of the horrible, crushingly-tight tunnels to the lip of a vast ravine. Huge prismatic spears of glass jutted out from either side, forming a strange tangled interlace above the top of the chasm, where spiders spun their silver webs and luminous fungi sent their reflections leaping from one finger of glass to the next, swaying slightly in the breeze and making all their echoes shiver. It was beautiful, and somehow hypnotic. They had to catch one soldier before he stepped over the edge, his eyes wide as he stared at the dancing lights. ¡°Dungeon! I¡¯ve come to bargain.¡± She felt ridiculous, speaking to the dark and empty air. Like she was trying to pray. And she felt boots-shaking nervous, because a damn lot was riding on that dark and empty air responding. After years of slowly building up power, this was one of those moments where everything could crumbling down or rise to new heights. This was her play. ¡°I¡¯ve brought you three gifts.¡± She set the coffer down, kneeling on the hard stone as her guards kept a lookout. ¡°My mother made the box. But me, I made this; it was my very first creation worth keeping.¡± The first time anyone had thought she would amount to something, the first time the other apprentices had taken her to a tavern and gotten drunk with her. The first time she felt like a dwarf. She lifted an ornate goblet out of the box, holding it up for nobody to see. It was obscenely gorgeous. Shaped from gold, an inset red band ran around the middle of the bowl, and on that surface horses were embossed in black jet. Or no, a single horse, captured moment by moment in a gallop, recording every small movement in a frozen sequence of seconds, so that if you spun the cup it burst into motion. A thin line of diamonds set along its back emphasized each motion¡¯s shifting of the curvature of the back, the flick of the tail. ¡°And this, this is your brother¡­¡± Then she lifted the next gift. One that made her little cup look like cheap trash. It was a dagger, with a hilt of white lattice woven around an inner shaft of lapis lazuli, capped by a golden teardrop like the top of a minaret spire. The blade was patterned with thousands of minute ridges that caught the light along their crests in serpentine lines of silver, made by folding the steel hundreds of times. Dwarven runes were carved into the groove that ran down the blade¡¯s middle. But the crosspiece, the crosspiece. At the centre was a diamond sun with teardrops of ruby extending in a halo around it. That was set amidst a straight guard carved out of faintly blue onyx, representing the night sky just before morning, with a wide and shallow semicircle of gold wrapped over the lower edge, folded into bands of color that graded from rich orange to pale yellow to almost white, showing all the shades of a true dawn lifting over the horizon. It was as if someone had taken the morning sky and made it sharp. Please somebody be listening, she prayed. ¡°You began as a ring, yes? That ring was made by Master Varhailen, who I was lucky enough to study under. He was a genius, and his last work, it wasn¡¯t just you. It was a set. Thirteen pieces for each of Caltern¡¯s thirteen bells. This is the Mane Dagger. Your brother piece. ¡°I can give you a lot, Dungeon. I can give you a Name, I can give you shelter from the adventurers who come to knock down your doors, I can give you whatever you want. I just need you to swear a pact with me. To give my people your Attunements.¡± Finally, she lifted a tiny piece of rune-carved bone on a chain from the box. ¡°This is the knucklebone of my great grandfather. Only thing I have of him. I swear on him I won¡¯t betray you or scheme against you. If you want these gifts, all you have to do is send a messenger to take them. And we¡¯ll talk about the rest.¡± And she waited for the dark and the silence to answer. 1.35 Craftsmanship I knew I had to have the dagger from the moment the dwarf held it up in her malformed hand, points of light shining atop the golden cloisonne that held the diamond sun together and shimmering across the onyx crossguard, the blade alive with writhing lines of silver that slid as she turned it this way and that. Even before she said it¡¯s name I knew that dagger was my kindred- a missing part of me. So I sent the Arachne in my stead. The dwarves gasped and backed away as it appeared, crawling over the jungle of glass atop the ravine, the lesser spiders scuttling back in awe and fear of their leader. All of them flinched except the girl. ¡°I am Suffi Halfhand. Do you speak for the Dungeon?¡± She asked. ¡°Yes¡­¡± The Arachne¡¯s voice was soft as silk, deep as the dark below the earth. It loomed over her as it reached for the dagger. ¡°Wait. One thing first.¡± She took the dagger and slid it along the wrinkled, waxy skin of her two-fingered hand, drawing a line of rich red. Taking the cup she squeezed the hand into a fist and let the blood drip down in ruby threads. ¡°Take this. Make a Contract with me. You won¡¯t regret it. ¡°We dwarves know how to do business. We know how to keep our bargains and honor loyalty. All I ask is Attunement, and in exchange for that, I¡¯ll be your partner on the surface. Anything you need I can get.¡± She held the blade out and the Arachne lifted it. I reveled in the weight, the delicate feel of the lattice hilt and the balanced heft in my creation¡¯s hands, relayed to me through the shard and our connection. Beneath the metal and jewels I felt the movement, the life, of a masterpiece of spellwork. It called to me. ¡°Beautiful. I¡¯ll miss it, I know.¡± The girl smiled, recognizing something reverential in the way the Arachne touched the work, the way his armored fingers brushed over the delicate frames of spun gold that held the jewels in place and examined the finest details, the grain of the blade. ¡°But it seems like its in good hands.¡± He, too, was spellbound. Something clicked in his mind, and it was like the gemstones and jewels sung out to him. ¡°Do you have a name?¡± To my surprise, he answered on his own. ¡°Cabochon.¡± ¡°Well Cabochon, why don¡¯t you tell me what your master wants, and I can get it for you.¡± She grinned. And you know, I didn¡¯t like her one bit. She was coaxing, manipulative. Everything she had showed me was a facade. I could say the same as Trivelin, but with him there was always a sense you were in on the joke. That manipulation was his truest self and he couldn¡¯t be honest except by lying. No, I had no idea who this Suffi was, but I did know one thing: I could use her and her amibitons. ¡°There will be an auction in three days time, at the Silent Market. Send a messenger and say your payment was stolen from you in an ambush on the way. Accuse the Immer the pirate captain of the crime.¡± Cabochon said, echoing my commands. ¡°Prepare for violence.¡± ¡°Is that all?¡± She asked. ¡°For now.¡± The Arachne retreated, the guards breathing a sigh of relief. The leader of them stepped forward to bandage Suffi¡¯s wound. And like that, they retreated. I didn¡¯t like her but she had brought me a great profit and asked for little. The cup alone was enough to contain twenty points of Mana, boosting my income by a sizable notch, while the dagger was already laden with spellwork I would have to spend time deciphering. More importantly, that knife was family. The Arachne laid them both in Argent¡¯s lair, which was burrowed into the side of the long diagonal tunnel that led to Vaulder Claith¡¯s shop. I had carved numerous dens into the walls for the rats to occupy, finally giving them their own area, and for good measure I seeded a small garden of the delicious bloody cup mushrooms behind an obstacle course. It never hurt to give your minions incentive to perform. It was Vaulder I needed to speak to next, and I sent the Arachne to fetch him.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. While I waited I began to work. The stolen clothes I had dressed Adamant in, once, would have a life of their own now. My Argent affixed a gem to the inner pocket of the cloak and I wove the fabric over it, creating a concealed pouch to hold the core of what would become a cloth golem. I spread tendrils of Mana through every article of clothing, silently weaving them together with connective threads to allow for an unbroken flow of energy like the veins of a living being. My understanding of spellcraft was improving with every golem I made, and the webways of energy I wove for this one were on another level due to the multiple components involved. As I finished, exhausted, the pile of clothes wriggled and awkwardly stood, twisting in a boneless way. Then it flopped over. I had perhaps underestimated how hard it would be to make a golem out of multiple parts. Each different material conducted energy in different ways, making the Mana veins too thin in places and too wide, almost frayed, in others. But Adamant had been clumsy too, at first. It was painful how this task kept leading back to him. I dismissed the golem to stumble away and explore the gardens, Cabochon returning with Vaulder now. The silly creature was shaking in his boots. It was strange, because besides Trivelin, he was the one human who I was least likely to kill. ¡°H-h-how may I serve, o¡¯ great and mighty Dungeon?¡± He stammered out, having apparently figured out what I was. He¡¯d also learned to make more pleasing noises, such as groveling and boot-licking. ¡°The Maker wishes for you to find out everything about earth elements and golem-crafting. Bring every book on the subject to him.¡± ¡°Those books will be e-expensive and-¡± Cabochon cut him off, placing a hand atop his head and tilting it upwards. Pale and colorless lights were gathering in the air above them, will-o-the-wisps formed from condensing Mana. They blobbed into ever brighter coagulations, spinning like a forming galaxy, and finally collapsed into physical form. Three golden fruits bounced across the floor. ¡°Will this be enough?¡± Cabochon asked calmly. The human knelt down, lifting up the fruits in trembling hands and examining them. He was so in awe he forgot to stutter. ¡°These are full of Mana. Yes! More than enough!¡± ¡°Good. Now, where do adventurers like to gather?¡± I asked through my mouthpiece. ¡°In¡­ taverns?¡± The question seemed to catch him off-guard, and I could see the calculations behind his eyes as he tried to figure out where this was going. ¡°Then convert your shop into a tavern, and report on the adventurers who come there.¡± The Arachne waved him away, dismissing him. ¡°Me, a barkeep?¡± He actually laughed, incredulously. For a second he forgot all about his situation as an incredulous sneer spread across his face. ¡°I-¡± Even before the Contract could cut him short Cabochon caught him by the throat. His fingers were so sharp he couldn¡¯t apply the slightest force without slicing the little runt¡¯s head off, but the message was received. ¡°Do it.¡± As soon as he was let go the coward went scrambling back up the tunnel, clutching his prizes in one hand. I was left with silence. Blessed silence, where the best ideas were forged. I had long ago expanded my domain to extend through the floodwater tunnels and into the river that flowed beneath Caltern. Now I could take advantage of that fact. I had no idea how to build a boat, how to join the boards and rudder, the mast and the riggings. I didn¡¯t try to learn. Instead, I built something new. The hull was a single continuous piece of wood, living wood, given a waxy outer layer to protect it from the seawater. The mast was a tree rising from the deck, with a single enormous leaf that, from a distance, might pass as a green sail. Oars jutted in two rows from the sides, but there was no space for rowers, the ship sleek and trim, streamlined. All this time I was drawing from the flower the Messenger was left behind. I needed the added push to my reserves so I could properly weave the complex strings of energy that would animate this ship, making it more than a simple vessel. The flower was intended to give me enough Mana to make a proper gift for the goddess. In a way, by using it in aid of stealing the unicorn, I could claim to be fulfilling that directive. For now I would continue to play nice with the gods. I had hidden my thoughts, so it would be self-defeating to go around announcing my vendetta. I would make peace and prepare for war. Soon the craft was beautiful and prepared to sail. Its rudder was another leafy protrusion, this one given the ability to bend and turn, making the boat as agile in the water as a fish. I had lined the railings and armored hull with bronze covered by a mottled green patina, contrasting the blood-red of the timbre I had used. Altogether these affects created a grisly, haunted appearance, making sure it would never be mistaken for a vessel from the realm of men. It looked like it might be the fabled ship that carried sailors to the afterlife. But most striking of all, the masthead was an enormous chunk of nightvein, taking by far the longest and most Mana to create. Worth every moment. I gave it the image of a medusa, fair-faced with serpent hair. Carved from the smoky gray stone with veins of pure black it struck a fearsome image. Argent carried the stone I would use to make the ship-golem whole, a fat diamond from the jeweler¡¯s shop she had robbed. I waited for it to be set in place to finally bridge together the disparate lines of Mana flowing through the ship, weaving them into a single circulatory system that would give life to my grand creation. The cup of blood sat on a table of stone in the gardens, waiting for my decision. A small owl settled beside it, hooting for my attention. 1.36 Plans and Predictions The owl spoke to me in Strix¡¯s dreaming, lackadaisical voice, but for once there was something serious to her words. ¡°Dungeon, do you remember me? I hope you do. Or at least remember this little fellow, since you almost pulled his wings off. ¡°I had a prophecy about you. Speaking plainly is not the way of oracles, but since you have such a short temper, I¡¯ll try to be as clear as I can. Suffi Halfhand will be the end of Caltern. If she ever gains an Attunement, what she brings will cause the gods to rain down fire and death upon the city. ¡°Whatever you choose, whatever allies you take, stay away from her. She is convinced of her own righteousness. Someone like that should never gain power.¡± The owl said its peace and fluttered away, leaving me to contemplate the goblet. Suffi was bad news. I had known that to begin with. But now I knew that she would do something to anger the gods, and that pleased me greatly. Was I willing to make her a stone I hurled at the gods? Was Caltern¡¯s demise a price worth paying to get my revenge. Her blood slowly cooled in the goblet, losing its magical strength by the moment. Decisions, decisions. I worked on something almost idly, lifting a gazebo of glass in the center of the gardens. In addition to my new Law, I could create two Vaults, special chambers with their own rules. I already had a brilliant idea for one of them. Suffi¡¯s cup would play a part, and I would need a few more. I summoned Cabochon. It was time we put his skills as a jeweler to the test. A platoon of rats scuttled through the silent market. It was quieter than ever, without the scrape of shoes or the billowing of long cloaks, without the clink of coins trading hands. What remained was the garbage and the bloodstains and a few ragged tents, from those unlucky enough to live in this little avenue of stone by the river. Patterns of light from the crests of the little waves breaking in the river danced atop the stone ceiling, veining it with illusionary gold. The glamour and theatre of the market had packed up and left behind the grubby reality of poverty, crime, and filth. The rats were the kings and queens here, bold enough to hiss and puff up in defense of their territory when a human walked by, and Argent, Argent was ruler among rulers in the court of vermin. Her loyal footsoldiers marched in formation, defending in their middle a tiny jeweled spider. It was the color of a ruby, rich and dark, with black fangs that dripped a special venom of my own concoction. Today, we tested a theory. The guards were still here, Immer¡¯s barge moored silently to the riverside along a few other vessels, all bearing his flag; a wheel of nine rats joined at the tail. It went like this. The rats would scuttle past with a golden ring clutched in their teeth. As the guard turned to chase, the spider would leap from a hiding place high upon a tent and sink its fangs into their back. The first victim landed on the floor with his limbs shaking and twisting, a foam spilling from his mouth. In moments he was so still he could have been dead. The flock scattered into the shadows and waited, one rat remaining behind. As the guard¡¯s companions gathered around his body, hoisting him up between them, the rat followed. They took him to a small and lonely ship, near the edge of the flotilla. The rat perched on a porthole and gazed through the wooden slats as a one-armed doctor with a dismal patch of graying stubble on his weasley face inspected the sick man. Our victim twitched slightly, barely in the realm of the living. The doctor coughed, covering his mouth and quickly plugging a flask to it, swilling down generous chugs of alcohol as he ground down herbs for a cure with mortar and pestle. A second guard was hauled in before the cure was done, with the same symptoms as the first. Then a third. Two rats joined the first in clinging on to the ship¡¯s side.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. Our team was working like an oiled machine, and we had confirmed something vital. There was only one doctor in Immer¡¯s employ. The ship where he worked now became our target. In minutes there were rats in every dark space, hidden in every shadow, waiting to carry out the plan. There were two days left to go. The spider slowly spun a web for itself, and one by one, the bitten guards miraculously recovered. In hours they went from the very line of life and death back to perfect health. One even claimed it had cured his acne. Vaulder Claith shivered as he came out of the trapdoor, back into the light of his shop. He¡¯d damned the expense and never let the lanterns go out since the day he¡¯d first been pulled under into the strange world of the Dungeon. He slept surrounded by light and terrified of the little shadows. And he was indignant, completely indignant to the idea that made him a coward. He was dealing with an incomprehensible evil living under his store, one that he could tell no-one about and never disobey. Spiders came in the night to fetch him. There were two responses to that. Insane or terrified. At the front of the store, someone was ringing the little bell. Vaulder needed a little bell because he tended to disappear into his own books. Leaning over his counter, reading a book and occasionally reaching out to flick the bell with one finger, was a familiar face. Familiarity didn¡¯t quite dull the shock of Mhurr looking up, revealing, from a rather promising and noble upper half, a split lip that reached all the way to his nose and set it crooked on his face. He grinned, oblivious to the wide-eyed, sweat-covered state of his favorite bookseller. Vaulder just stared. ¡°Vaulder, I thought you might be somewhere. All the lights are on.¡± Vaulder just stared. ¡°You know, I think this might be the bloodiest book in your library, and it¡¯s a bunch of children¡¯s stories. Witches getting impaled and whatnot.¡± Vaulder just stared. Squinting, Mhurr determined something might be wrong with his friend. ¡°What¡¯s that in your arms, then?¡± Letting the golden fruits spill from his hands onto the countertop, Vaulder screamed. Except without the screaming. His mouth hung briefly open, his eyes bugged, and when he was done not-screaming he let out a weak, whispery, ¡°Just some fruit.¡± ¡°Just some fruit? Vaulder, these are gold.¡± Lifting one, Mhurr bent his fingers in a quick spellpattern and stared through the circle of his thumb and forefinger, a little lens of golden diagrams spinning in front of his eyes. ¡°And¡­ Gods, Vaulder, magic too. There¡¯s more Mana in one of these than in half the mages walking around Caltern.¡± ¡°Oh. Good.¡± The poor frazzled noble boy who¡¯d been shipped halfway across the world, all but exiled by his parents, and told to mind a little bookshop for the rest of his life was done. This was the last straw. ¡°I¡¯m going to sell them and start a tavern.¡± ¡°A tavern? You? Serving beer?¡± ¡°Just what I¡¯ve always dreamed of.¡± Vaulder couldn¡¯t say what was wrong. He could only hope that if he acted strange enough, Mhurr would notice. ¡°Ever since I was a child.¡± Pausing, and letting the magical lens dissipate, the harelipped scholar paused to lick his lips. ¡°I can¡¯t help but notice you¡¯re a bit off today. I get that you don¡¯t want to talk about something, Vaulder, but if you ever do¡­¡± Vaulder could easily have gone for a second not-scream. ¡°I¡¯m here for you.¡± Reaching across the counter, Mhurr clapped his friend on the shoulder. ¡°Thanks.¡± ¡°Oh!¡± The scholar dug into his pocket, bringing up a flask. ¡°Here, you have to try this. It¡¯ll put you right again.¡± Vaulder took it hesitantly, never knowing Mhurr to have been a drinker. The smell that rose as he opened the cap wasn¡¯t of alcohol. It was a spicy, gingery sweetness, tinged with metal like the taste of the damp air before a thunderstorm. He swilled it back, and his eyes went wide. ¡°This is fantastic. I feel- I feel good.¡± It surprised him more than anyone. The stuff hit his belly like a brined star, lighting him up from within. He felt ready to run and never stop. ¡°Isn¡¯t it? An alchemist friend of mine made it, says it¡¯s going to be the next big thing. Kathe¡¯s vitality elixir.¡± Mhurr grinned big. ¡°No, this is fantastic.¡± Vaulder repeated. ¡°Isn¡¯t it?¡± ¡°How much can your friend make, Mhurr?¡± His brain was humming now, and he saw the potential. What adventurers needed wasn¡¯t to get sloppy drunk. What they needed was focus, was energy, was this. ¡°I need enough to serve a city.¡± ¡°Oof. Maybe give that back Vaulder, it¡¯s a bit strong. I nearly started a petting zoo the first time I tried it.¡± ¡°I¡¯m serious, though. Your friend needs somewhere to sell this, yes? And I need to start a tavern without throwing out all my books and mopping ale off the floor every night. So we won¡¯t serve ale. We¡¯ll serve¡­¡± He paused ¡°What am I drinking?¡± ¡°Kathe¡¯s vitality elixir. Maybe we¡¯ll water it down, a little?¡± Mhurr winced. Somedays, Vaulder was a very strange duck indeed. ¡°A little, yes.¡± 1.37 Pick Your Poison Adventurers arrived at my western border that night. They set up camp on the edge of the ravine, going no further. One of them, a bald man with a too-big head on a too-small neck, perched on the edge and sent out, with little flicks of his hand, bobbing wisps of light. They flew out from him like roaming eyes, peering through every crack and crevice of the ravine¡¯s downward slope. As I watched through a rat, my own wandering eye, he shambled back to his companions and they began to sketch maps from his description. It seemed like they planned to scout the Dungeon rather than actually try to conquer it. Unfortunately, that was the last I saw. A man jumped forward like a spider and caught the rat, swinging it against a stone. I was broken free of my link through Argent and to the rodent¡¯s eyes in a rude jolt. In the end, I decided to leave them where they were. The big event was coming up and they were only a small distraction. I had already completed my gazebo, lifting up two layers of brilliant, ice-white frosted glass in tall columns and a round, two-tiered roof. The upper layer was Cabochon¡¯s personal den, while the lower was rapidly becoming a workshop of sorts as we discovered one thing after another he would need to begin his work for me. It turned out that being able to conjure things out of thin air had made me shockingly numb to how much effort humans had to put in to the act of creation. All the fiddly workings and skills that went into something like a jeweled cup. Some of the tools Cabochon needed were so specific I couldn¡¯t even create them. But he was fascinated with the process, and quietly delighted by me shaping his tools out of thin air and Mana, so I continued until he had a little workshop. Suffi¡¯s goblet sat at a long table in the center, surrounded by imitations. I had done a fair job of faking the gems with common crystals, and of replicating the broader strokes of her work. But anyone with a refined eye could tell which one was original. At least, they could if they had a strong enough mind to resist the Attunement of Gleam within the glass Vault, where every light scattering into hundreds of reflections. That was the challenge of this Vault.
To depart this room, the Law shall be: You must choose a goblet and drink its contents.
We had no shortage of poisons to fill the imitations with. Deadly or merely debilitating, painful or disgusting ways to die, there was a cornucopia of wrong choices to make. The true cup was merely filled with brackish water. Suffi¡¯s blood had been washed away. I realized something important: she had come to me. Giving me the blood was a good way of putting the burden on me to make a decision, but far from being now or never, I had the luxury of waiting her out. She would make a second offer soon. Now her masterpiece served as a part of my Dungeon, and the Vault itself sat over the entrance of the stairwell, hiding it from sight. I¡¯d used nacre-spider spit to weave a solid trapdoor out of the carefully colored mosses, so that the intruders, if they got this far, could literally step on it without noticing. Considering what was down there I was almost doing them a favor. I still found myself struck by moments of seething rage, where it was like I was witnessing that horrible moment all over again. But they were distinct, contained moments now, flashes of anger. They did not disrupt my work. I was a Dungeon Core. Nothing could be allowed to disrupt my work. As I finished the touches on my first Vault, my ratty spies in the market informed me that workers were swarming to and from, lifting up a stage for the auction, setting up for the grand event.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. That meant people moving through the tunnels, a byzantine labyrinth I had come to know like a facet of my own Core. One by one, men started to go missing, pulled into the dark. Giant spiders were seen. And just importantly, as the workers started to avoid the tunnels where the arachnid terrors were spotted, what I was really up to wasn¡¯t seen. Huge pale grubs burrowed into the earth with caustic spit, turning the stone soft and chewing it away. I had designed them specially for the task. By tomorrow they would be dead, eaten by their own acidic stomach fluids. They were more living tools than true creatures. For the longest time, the nacre-spiders had been confined to their relatively small nests, unable to branch out and expand. Now the eagert adolescents would have their chance at a nest of their own. By tomorrow night, these tunnels would be riddled with secret nests, with hidden doorways to death. Of the people who came to see the auction, how many would die on the way, pulled into an opalescent, lavish larder by my eight-legged beauties? How many would simply vanish down here in the dark? One thing concerned me. None of my spies had yet seen so much as a hair of this unicorn. Ilbur sat in his cage, miserable, confused. For the first time in his life he wasn¡¯t sure why he was alive. The taskmasters had told him he lived to work, his father that he lived for the chance at freedom. The Dungeon simply ignored him. The weight of doing nothing every day as his people waited to be rescued was crushing. They should have sent someone better. He had eaten all the mushrooms he could reach through the glass bars of his prison. His belly grumbled and growled. The boy felt strange, a thrumming energy beneath his skin. Despite only being able to walk from one end of the cage to the next, he felt stronger than he¡¯d ever been, hungrier. Orcish. He felt orcish. There was a fire building beneath his skin, as he drank in the air of the Dungeon. This was home. He only needed to make the Dungeon understand that. Rolling onto his belly, he stuck his hand through the cage and reached desperately for a mushroom, his fingers just barely able to scrape its edges. A shadow loomed over him. It was a man and it was a spider, joined together at the hips. Pale white armor that reflected the light in slick rings of rainbow covered nearly every inch of flesh except the face, the fingertips extending into bladed claws, the legs raking the earth as it moved. ¡°I am Cabochon.¡± The creature said. ¡°Ilbur, son of Hrask. I have come to-¡± Ilbur was ready to beg, to give the improved, the revised version of his speech, but Cabochon just raised a hand. ¡°I know. I think you will succeed.¡± It opened its other palm, revealing a small emerald. ¡°But, first you must eat this.¡± ¡°Eat it?¡± Ilbur would have much rather had a mushroom. ¡°Yes, to see if your kind can become connected to the Maker. If not there is no hope.¡± With a shaking hand, Ilbur reached out to take the gem, turning it over in the light before placing it on his tongue. A swallow and- He screamed. The jewel burned on the way down, igniting like a fire. Ilbur bent double, clutching his throat, feeling the flame descend into his belly. His head ached and ached and thoughts not his own were pouring in. The boy thought he was dying. JUST THE OPPOSITE. A voice spoke to him. YOU ARE EARNING A CHANCE TO LIVE. The silent market began with men and women making their excuses from their families, or padding down the stairs from rented rooms with mask and cloak tucked under their arm. They slid into the sewers by well-worn routes marked with jumbles of thief-sign, pausing in the shadows to don the required clothes, to fix their mask in place. And then they set out, fingers scraping the walls to pick up half-faded signs that would guide them, or simply so familiar they could walk their way there in the dark. Not all of them made it tonight. Many stories ended in a flash of nacre-coated claws, a scream cut short, and the click of a trapdoor closing. Others simply passed on by, safe in numbers or simply lucky enough to have caught a moment when the spider was still spinning its last meal into a nacreous coffin. By the time they arrived at the market, there was a sense of wrongness in the air. An atmosphere of suspicion as appointments were missed and familiar masks failed to show. In the early hours, the stalls still setting up, the stage still being assembled, it was only a worming worry at the back of the mind. Nothing anyone gave too much attention. But there was a palpable sense of relief as the stage was completed without incident, and an audible sigh as the Underqueen, Immer¡¯s private barge, was seen sailing down the river. They thought everything was going according to plan. And it was. Just a different plan than they expected. 1.38 The Serpentine We watched, we waited. Argent was We now, the imperial presence that joined the minds of the Dungeon rats into one. She didn''t rule by force. She had no power to bend their minds to her will. But she had a story to tell, and it went like this: They were small. Their lives were defined by it. Too small to fight back when predators took their food, too small to claim a part of the world for their own. They were hated. The humans pushed them out, relegated them to a life in the filth of the sewers, and in a city with so much they were left chewing on scant rinds and bones in the shadows. But they were many. There were thousands of rats in Caltern, if not tens of thousands. Together they could demand a place at the table. Together, they could force the human world to acknowledge them, and take their fair share. It was a good story. It was spoken not in words but in raw emotion, stirring the dreams of rich food and resentment for days of starvation that lived in every rat''s heart. The anger of seeing plenty around them while they snuffled in the gutters for scraps. For them, tonight was a night of revolution. It didn¡¯t take long for the auction to become my personal hell. I had figured out a way to steal the unicorn, yes, but not to swipe everything else up for bidding. Which meant watching an entire parade of treasures slip by without being able to claim them. You cannot imagine the agony. First up was an enormous slab of twisting red coral. It attracted immediate interest, bidders lifting their hands to put down first thousands, then tens of thousands. It was sold off to a fat man in a childlike mask who I swore I¡¯d find and kill someday. The next items were less beautiful and, consequently, of less interest to me. Oil paintings stolen from some deceased grandmaster of the arts, a lute that filled the silence with a beautiful humming melody the moment the attendant touched the strings. An enchanted sword with a baleful, bloodsoaked aura that made me shiver. A set of china made from sphinx bones. I froze. The audience gasped, but I was simply shocked. A sphinx. Lay my hands on one piece of that set and I could have a sphinx. It took such discipline to hold myself back from setting the plan in motion then and there. I had the best seats in the house, watching from the tops of tents and stalls. I had another vantage point as well. Down among the crowd, a strange, ragged man stood, his body seeming to wriggle as tiny movements shifted beneath his clothes. He walked oddly, clumsily, as if he had no bones. I restrained myself as the china set was put aside, and the next lot brought up. To my surprise, it was a golem. Segmented bands and plates of black iron formed its body, the design giving it a strange mobility, the central core built into its visor as a monolithic eye. That was when Suffi arrived. The market burst into sound around her, the guards rushing towards her company of dwarves, because none of them wore masks. Their clothing was ripped and torn, with bloody cuts beneath, one dwarf limping theatrically with the shaft of his poleaxe for a crutch. ¡°Immer you slime, get out here!¡± She roared, her personal soldiers fending off the guard and pushing the crowd apart so she could stomp to the fore. ¡°This was an ambush!¡± The crowd was already unsettled, knowing that not all of them had made it tonight. Her words were like a match tossed into ready kindling. The fires of suspicion were lit and whispers started to travel through the crowd, growing in volume in defiance of the guards.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. I had given her a role to play, and she was playing it with abandon. ¡°Silence in the market!¡± The attendant - the man in the black harlequin mask who had announced the auction to begin with - cried. ¡°Silence from the crowd.¡± ¡°Oh shove it! Immer, get your maggot-ridden ass on stage!¡± Suffi shouted, hurling her axe at the clown. He dived aside and the blade slammed into the pillar of the stage behind him. It was a disaster. But my attention was drifting, pulled away from this delightful performance by my spies elsewhere in the market, my scurrying legion of informants. I saw everything within the market at once. My eyes were legion. We had found the unicorn. My wallflower rats - the rodents I had given suckered feet to climb any surface with - and a lone webweaver vermin had crawled across the ceilings of Immer¡¯s barge, following guards through dark undercroft of the ship to a cage. Inside, the unicorn lay. It scraped its horn against the bars in a constant rasping sound. It was nothing like what I imagined. With its pitch black fur covered in bald patches and biting flies, it was a shameful specimen weakened to the point of death. A outcropping of white bone covered its muzzle like a natural armored helm, obscuring everything but the eye- just one, the other lost, gouged out in some catastrophic battle. A bladed spike rose from the brow, as sharp as any sword. More erupted from the ridge of its spine, making it a horse that could never be ridden, never be tamed. It had an eagle¡¯s feathered hindquarters and claws, each talon a deadly weapon. Captivity had reduced the beast to a sack of skin and bones, barely alive. But it was beautiful nonetheless. I could see the bearings of a proud warrior in the way it snorted and glared at the guards, hooves and claws stamping at the floorboards, and its keen single eye even caught sight of the vermin scuttling over their heads, staring curiously at my creations as they gathered over its cage. Immer sat on a stool beside the cage, keeping personal watch. He picked his fingernails with a long curved knife and drank from a sealed bottle. ¡°Captain Immer, sir, Suffi Halfhand is here. Without a mask. She¡¯s calling you out.¡± ¡°Tchh.¡± He hissed through his teeth, flicking his fingers at the guard to go away. ¡°Let her.¡± ¡°People are riled up, sir. She¡¯s saying you¡¯ve been ambushing people on their way to the market.¡± With a sigh, Immer rose from his seat. In that same moment, my jeweled spider was descending on a silver thread, steadily rappelling down to bite the unicorn. Its poison had been modified to cause brief but death-like symptoms, enough to force them to take it to the doctor without causing lasting harm. Immer¡¯s hand shot out and crushed it. Broken legs stuck out from his fingers, twitching their last. Scraping his glove clean on the wall, Immer sighed. ¡°Let¡¯s go then. You two, bring the beast, we¡¯ll start the sale now and put an end to this.¡± I was in shock. Of course I had created a second spider, yes, but it was minutes away. My window of timing was now, before the unicorn was escorted to the stage. Immer was walking towards the stairs, his attention turned away. The guards were more occupied with the unicorn, which was snarling and bracing to fight as they approached its cage, whinnying in anger. There was a last chance to put the plan back in order. The webweaver vermin scuttled across the ceiling, spinning out a banner of silk that contained the words ¡®PLAY SICK¡¯. Two words. The prayer the beast could even read. The unicorn looked up, hesitating for a long moment as the guard unlatched the cage door. As they grasped for the bridle clamped to its jaw, it let out a sudden cry of fake pain and collapsed, body shaking the bars of the cage as it sprawled against them Immer turned. The tiny flag of words had already been reeled back up, my creations safely hidden among the shadows at the corners where wall met ceiling. ¡°Goddamnit.¡± He growled as he crossed the floor, kicking the unicorn in the flanks. The creature let out a weak huff of pain. ¡°GODDAMNIT.¡± In a moment he had gone from assured and cruel like a cat to a madman, striking out at the guards, whipping at them with the hilt of his dagger as they lifted hands to protect their faces. ¡°You two! Get it to the doctor, now!¡± He ordered, and I could have cheered. The pirate captain stomped up the stairs, heading for the confrontation with Suffi, where I was ready with the day¡¯s second surprise. The two guards looked at each other and leaned down, awkwardly trying to lift the supposedly-sick horse back onto its feet and lead it towards the doctor. And not too far away, in the dark of the passage that carried the river beneath Caltern¡¯s foundations, oars dipped into the water. My golem-ship, my grand creation, the Serpentine, was ready to sail. 1.39 The Night of White Fires It was a tinderbox atmosphere. The crowd was seething, shoving against it itself in a directionless fever of anger and fear. Not everyone believed Suffi¡¯s accusation, but everyone knew something was wrong here, and more and more of them were choosing to slip away, not wanting to be there when the axe finally fell. That was the mood as Immer vaulted onto stage, long jacket trailing behind him. ¡°People, people!¡± He cried, holding up his hands. ¡°What is this nonsense I hear? From a dwarf who can¡¯t even follow the rules of our market, no less?¡± His self-assurance failed to calm the crowd Suffi had stirred up against him; handsome smiles and smug charisma were all well and good when people were already on your side, but they made him look untrustworthy now. In the wary and paranoid atmosphere his oozing confidence made him an outsider. ¡°Fuck your rules, Immer! You have my people¡¯s blood on your hands!¡± Suffi yelled back, and the crowd lifted their voice in echo- fuck your rules! ¡°Any proof of that? Any proof at all?¡± Immer demanded, mouth twisting up into a furious scowl. His smiling face was as thin as paper. One thing went wrong, I noticed, and he turned from charm to rage. ¡°Am I supposed to defend myself from an idiot¡¯s baseless accusations?¡± It was the wrong thing to say. I couldn¡¯t have been more delighted than to watch him flounder, trying to manipulate the strange, fickle moods of humanity and running right into a wall of hatred. It was already too late for him. I had my cloth-golem, disguised as just another hooded figure in the crowd, sign to its neighbors ¡®Where is the unicorn?¡¯ The question caught on like wildfire, and soon enough I was hearing it hurled at the stage, as Immer started to pace back and forth. ¡°You lot. Have I ever done anything but dutifully tend to this market? Have I ever betrayed any of you?¡± His face was ugly and red with fury. I saw the familiar face of the Storm Cormorant¡¯s captain surface among the crowd, cupping his hands to his mouth to shout, ¡°Yes you have, you two-faced bastard!¡± That was when it happened. First a blazing flash of light, and then darkness spread across the market. It was time. My little spies had brought the phosphorus in carefully, bundle by rat-sized bundle wrapped in airproofed wax. They piled them into a corner of the market, within an empty stack of crates, and carefully spilled open the first package. As it touched the air it let off a pale glow that was the beginnings of ignition. And as the bloom of white flame roared above the market, crackling and flickering and spitting off sparks, the rats moved. In the crowd, the cloth golem collapsed into an empty pile of clothes as rodents poured out from within. Dozens of them leapt out of the rag-man, carrying with them pouches of nightvein dust that burst apart in clouds of darkness. They were like tendrils of shadow, reaching out to close their grip on the market, all the light swallowed up by the billowing grey powder. Soon it was as dark as the tomb. Rats were everywhere. They rose from the sewers and from the shadows, stealing openly from the stalls. In the sudden dark there was nobody to stop them as they snatched up everything that shone. Others were close behind, not thieves but firestarters. They carried packets of phosphor and scattered the blazing powder across stalls, merchandise, the guards. More flames roared up, their brilliance briefly pushing back the dark. They were pale, vivid flames, the color of bone, the world rendered in black and white.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. I had planted the seeds of beautiful chaos. To his credit Immer knew immediately what the true goal was. ¡°Guards! To the ship, now!¡± And to his ruin, he¡¯d just ordered his men on a collision course with the panicking, furious crowd he¡¯d stirred into a furor against him. In the deathly gloom spread by the nightvein powder there was no coordination, only animalistic fear. As they hit the frontline of the fleeing people truncheons were swung, swords drawn- the market erupted into riot. Suffi and her soldiers were the first into the fray, indiscriminate to whether they were cutting down the market¡¯s guards or customers. They pushed both factions away as they swept out with their polearms, hacking open flesh and bringing out screams. And all the while the Serpentine was coming up the river, oars slicing through the water as the green sail billowed in an invisible wind. Blood-red timber and rusting bronze clad the sides of the sleek vessel. Its nightvein figurehead swallowed the light as it passed by the moored ships of the market flotilla, snuffing out their lanterns one by one. Aboard the Underqueen, without their captain, the first mate was laying about his whip trying to keep order. ¡°Swords out! Eyes sharp! Where did that fucking unicorn go!?¡± Because it was already gone, hauled to the doctor¡¯s tiny vessel at the edge of the market. Only a skeleton crew of guards had followed along, leaving it poorly defended, with the chaos in the market keeping anyone from rushing to reinforce. My golem-ship was trim and fast as it cut through the water, the Underqueen¡¯s many lights going dark as it rushed past like a shadow. Who knows what the guards stationed there thought, seeing this deathly ship pass them in the night of white fires, crewed by a single figure? All I know is they panicked, and not even the first mate¡¯s whip could keep them under control. We came upon the doctor¡¯s ship, and the faun golem leapt from the deck of the Serpentine to the little cutter with a clack of his glass hooves. Before the guards could even cry out, his spear had pierced the first of them through the throat. The second managed a scream before his blade was shoved aside and the spear took him in the chest. The third man, to his honor, got as far as swinging his blade down before the faun twisted, using his horns to deflect the blow and flicking the tip of the spear across the man¡¯s throat to open a line of dripping red. The haft spun and smacked the fourth dumb across the head. One more thrust, one more kill, and the way was clear. The glass golem stepped down the stairs to the lower deck, where the doctor cowered. The unicorn lay in chains, shackles keeping it from moving its legs in more than a hobbled trot. A swing of the glass spear against the chains couldn¡¯t break them- spellwork flashed across the metal and repelled the speartip. It wouldn¡¯t stop us. The unicorn let out a humiliated bray as it was hefted like a sack of potatoes over the golem¡¯s shoulders, the diminutive faun struggling up the stairs with the horse slung over its back. The tips of their horns scraped the stairwell as the doctor shivered and sucked from his flask in the shadows. Immer would probably kill the old fool. Not my concern. The plan had gone off without a hitch, and now we merely needed to get away. Already, the first wave of ragged guards were rushing across the web of gangplanks and bridges that connected the moored merchant ships in the market¡¯s harbor. They were coming for the Serpentine, with torches and swords, axes, spears. That was when the ships started to sink. For days now, my rats had gnawed open the underside of the hulls, and now one by one they broke through, ripping the louse-ridden timber apart to let water rush through. The guards went tumbling over as the decks they stood on pitched and lurched to a diagonal tilt, beginning to sink. Rope bridges snapped as one or the other ship began to pull away. Another layer of chaos. The glass golem laid the unicorn down on the deck of the golem-ship, turning back to face the few men who¡¯d made it over the scuttled ships. They had weapons, yes, but nothing that could pierce his glass flesh. He simply waded through them, striking left and right and claiming lives with every sweep of his spear. But now was when things started to go wrong. The spellwork chains on the unicorn¡¯s legs were starting to glow hot, runic letters peeling off the iron to rise into the air above. They joined into a circling swarm that let out a high-pitched scream, alerting the entire market to what we were doing. The Serpentine was pulling away now, oars beating in reverse, but as I watched from dozens of ratty eyes, a figure lifted from the deck of the Underqueen. A mage floated into the sky, lifted by a rotating diagram under his feet. Chains of golden letters wrapped around his tattooed arms. They had a wizard. 1.40 The Underqueen Ice knocked against the Serpentine''s hull as the mage began to cast, congealing the waters of the river into razor sharp floes. The golem-ship twisted and turned course to evade as frigid spikes the size of tree trunks burst from the river bottom. In the narrow confines of the underground river it moved like no other ship could, almost dancing across the still waters, an invisible wind filling its sails. But the salvo wasn¡¯t over. Enormous stalactites of ice formed on the arched ceiling of moss-spangled brickwork above, plummeting down. The water exploded in sprays of green as they came hurtling down, and one crashed against the deck, tearing a deep rend in the Serpentine¡¯s armored sides. We raced for the light at the end of the tunnel, where the river emerged back into the dimming twilight sky and split as it headed towards the seas. We could outrun any ship ever made by human hands on open waters. I was sure of it. The mind of the Serpentine was simple and clear and thrilled at the thought of sky, of wind, of new waters to cut its handsome prow through. She laughed with glee and roared with anger as we danced through the mage¡¯s first volley only to be caught out by the next. And still he wasn¡¯t done. With us slowing now, bent crooked as water flooded in the breach and weighed us down, he cast out chains of golden runic characters that wrapped around the oars and bound them, moving like the tendrils of a kraken to weigh us down. A fiery halo surrounded him, metal fragments wreathed in flame circling his head. They came sputtering down on the decks in bursts of sparks and shattered timber, peppering the deck, tearing at the sails. He was gaining. The glass golem lifted its spear. As the mage rushed into range, a sudden high-pitched note sung through the air, rising and rising into an unbearably sharp crystalline hum. For a second all the mage¡¯s spellwork faltered and the runic diagram he flew through the air on failed. He tumbled down, and the the glass golem was already running towards the rear of the deck, lifting his spear- He vaulted onto the railings and threw. The glass spear sailed through the air in a perfect arc. And at the last moment the mage lifted his hand, conjuring a half-shell of densely interlocked characters that deflected the spear in a scrape of brilliant sparks. He landed on a platform of ice that lifted out the water to catch him. We were floundering now, although the moment of distraction had let us burst through the golden chains. Fire still clung to our sails, eating ever-larger holes in the living mast and making the whole of the ship shudder with pain. Letters danced around the mage¡¯s hands as he wove intricate, complex designs with his fingers, readying another spell. This one would be the crippling blow. The glass faun leapt over the side, landing balanced with one hand clinging to the bottom of the railing and one foot balanced on the faint seamed between armored plates. With the boat slowly twisting left it was impossible for the mage to see him there. He reached out and snapped an oar free of the ship, breaking away the paddled end and leaving sharp, splintered tips. The mage wove his spellwork tighter and tighter, forming a sphere of golden light that blazed within his hands. In the second he let go and threw it towards the Serpentine, the glass golem kicked off from the ship¡¯s hull, and as he crossed into view of the mage, hurled his makeshift spear. The spell flying towards us came undone in a sputtering drift of loose characters as the wooden pole smashed through the mage¡¯s chest. Blood dripped down his robes as his mouth hung open like a fish. The glass golem crashed into the water. The Underqueen had pulled away from its moorings now. The oars beat the water to the tune of a great drum, to the crack of a bullwhip against the oarsmen¡¯s backs. Captain Immer was coming for us, and although his barge was clumsy and slow, made for pleasure, our ship was brutally damaged from the brief encounter with his pet sorcerer.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. They took ground with every beat of the oars. Water rushed in through our wounded side, weighing us down, our course wobbling from the lack of oars along one side. We were barely approaching the light of the tunnel when the first ropes were cast over our side. Guards in black iron masks climbed aboard or jumped down from the barge¡¯s mast, landing on an empty deck. The golem-ship needed no sailors, no crew. What it had instead was an army. From below came crawling up giant spider after giant spider. The first man to turn and run, he died as a bone harpoon shot out and pierced him through the chest. The rest of them got to watch as he was dragged back, his trailing feet leaving bloody smears as the great eight-legged horror that had seized him reeled in the line with its clever legs, finishing him off with a skull-crunching bite. That put the fear in them. Cabochon, first of the Arachne, rose at the head of his warband, wearing armor he¡¯d made himself from worked nacre I had infused with Mana to strengthen. With a helm across his face there was no longer any trace of humanity to him. His armoring shone like the grandest of pearls as it deflected a crossbow bolt and broke a sword. His hand swept out and his fingertips pierced through a man¡¯s cheek, nearly ripping his face off with a simple raking touch. And the ship rocked with the battle that unfolded, Immer crying ¡®Forward forward!¡¯ from the rear as his first mate lashed at any man balking, slowing, trying to retreat. The ones that went overboard found the waters below swarming with my reelfish. It was bloody, brutal, and it wasn¡¯t easy. The men of Immer¡¯s private guard were battle-hardened and stronger than humans should be, able to hack through the plate of the nacre-spiders with their hatchets and cutlasses. They died by the dozens, torn down by bladed limbs, but they took as well as they gave. Only numbers and the close quarters were letting us push them back, slowly, slowly¡­ I almost didn¡¯t see Immer move. He was like a shadow flying over the heads of his men, over the backs of the spiders. In one leap he was streaking across the deck in a long blurred arc as the dagger in his hand flashed down, aimed at Cabochon¡¯s throat. The Arachne lifted his hand and the blade went directly through the palm. His fingers crushed down, ripping apart Immer¡¯s fingers where they grasped the blade¡¯s hilt. Dagger, fingers, blood red and yellow- they all hit the deck as Immer fell back, narrowly rolling to evade a swipe of Cabochon¡¯s blade-tipped legs. Coins clattered to the floor. Silver and gold. Immer¡¯s real weapons. Rings bedecked his remaining fingers, and he reached out, empty handed, as they began to shine with a greedy light. The coins flashed like tiny stars. The men were retreating now, running from their captain. They knew what came next. The Mana in the air was sucked in, forming violent whirlpools and currents as it collapsed into the blazing gold, the shining silver. His hand was alight with dancing colors of metallic fire as the rings drained Mana from the ship, from the spiders. My eight-legged beauties began to collapsing, snuffed out and dissolving as the Dungeon Mana that made up their flesh was stolen, leaving only drifts of ashy stuff behind. Cabochon¡¯s armor peeled from him like leaves coming loose from an autumn tree. He opened his finger, and let a single petal fly from his hand, lifted by the swirling currents in the air. It was the very last petal of the divine flower the Messenger had left me. A flower made of purest divine Mana. It ignited, becoming a cloud of golden fire. That fire was pulled by the Mana-devouring currents towards Immer¡¯s fingertips. Tiny tendrils of flame split from the cloud like a lightning bolt to strike each of the coins that had turned into greedy Mana sinks, turning them to molten dots of metal steaming on the deck of the Serpentine. The main mass of brilliant, divine Mana descended to touch his outstretched hand. Immer ignited. His hand was melted away, the superheated rings falling through his flesh like hot knives through butter, while his long hair ignited like the wick of a candle. He screamed and screamed and stumbled, hurtling himself for the railings. The burning shadow of Immer hit the water and did not come up again. Our oars pushed against the water, the ropes binding us to the Underqueen snapping as we lurched free. They had seen divine fire smite their captain, and all their willingness to chase us had gone with him. We sailed through the arched entrance to the river tunnel and out into the coming night, the air cool upon our charred sails, our wounded hull. The pull of the river strengthened, urging us on. The day was won. The prize was ours. 1.41 Seven-Fold Tower Three days ago, Eyfrae had sat down to watch a short competition. Three days ago, the city had been torn apart by the arrival of the gods¡¯ Messenger and the eruption of the Sevenfold Tower. Since then, Eyfrae had only left her seat for the most basic of necessities, and the little shaded pagoda where she sat had become the center of Caltern¡¯s political gravity, Malvet and her guild underlings bringing her business to her there. She sat, hands folded under her pointed chin, watching with bloodshot eyes. These were the rules of the tower as she understood them. The first and most frustrating was that nobody could say what happened inside. Contract magic bound their tongues, leaving them to stagger out the glowing doorways without a word they could say for what they had experienced inside. Secondly, only twenty people could enter each floor. Twenty statutes adorned each ring of the tower, and their eyes lit up as challengers filled into the room. When the bottom layer was full, the doors snapped shut - or rather, stone walls materialized with a ripple where the doors had been. The one time someone had been caught halfway through- it had been bloody. Their other half had eventually been spat out with the next batch failed contestants. Third, and this was entering the realm of conjecture, but the first challenge pitted contestants against one another. It was easy enough to figure out when half of the contestants were always ejected as failures and half always advanced. The second floor was not so forgiving. Most people didn¡¯t make it past to the third, and only eight of the statues above were lit up. By Eyfrae¡¯s observation, it wasn¡¯t as simple as a trial by combat. Too many of what she¡¯d considered top contenders were thrown out without ceremony. As she sat there, the doors flickered and the dwarf with the seven-stone cudgel was hurled out, landing in a sprawling heap bellowing with anger. She sighed. Seven on the top floor. The man with the golem hand. A woman with a fishing pole for a weapon. A pair of mages Malvet identified as Trelm and Krestin, twins and specialists in astral magic. One of her own, Emery, an adventurer she knew more for his bullshit stories than his actual accomplishments. An unknown who¡¯d slipped by in one of her few breaks, evading the useless idiots she¡¯d had keeping track. And a dwarven soldier Cathara Halfhand seemed very intent on apprehending the moment he came out. She wouldn¡¯t say it directly, but her guards were spread out through the crowd around the tower, waiting. The old woman occupied what had been Suffi¡¯s seat, watching intently. The fact such an unexceptional candidate had made it to the third layer was worth watching; he had just been one of Krait Halfhand¡¯s posse, but had somehow survived the second floor as Suffi¡¯s useless brother and all his other guards were spat out one by one. Eyfrae sighed. She couldn¡¯t keep up this vigil forever. Constant exposure to Mana had freed her from the physical need to sleep, but the mental need remained, wearing her down. She saw psychotic things in the corners of her vision, and the crowd seemed full of familiar faces that vanished as soon as she turned to look. The dwarf was stumbling to his feet, lifting what he clutched in his hand for all to see. A gourd-flask, a pale blue color no earthly plant had produced. Already the bidding was beginning, offers of gold, of trade for other treasures the tower had given up. The mob had grown every day since the tower¡¯s rise. The city was encroaching into the square, tents being thrown up to serve the milling masses of challengers awaiting their turn. You could walk through the pavillion and buy yourself a bowl of thick fish stew, a skewer of roast meat, a shining new sword stamped with the symbol of a dwarf artisan, and a lucky figurine of Sol¡¯s wheel carved from something close enough to gold; there were even stalls that offered nothing more than bedrolls, a canopy to shade you while you slept, and a guard to beat away the pickpockets that swarmed through the square thicker than the flies.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. It was the city in miniature: bustling, mercantile, persistently violent and full of thieves born from the same entrepreneurial spirit as the merchants. Gods, she was starting to hate it. Trivelin had no idea how he¡¯d got this far. Luck, mostly, yes, but with a dash of inexplicable competence he¡¯d found held in deep reserves within himself. The first challenge had been easy. He had stepped into an empty room full of arched windows, and soon after another of the dwarf noble¡¯s guards had stepped through the door opposite. The poor fellow was a little too slow to figure out the challenge of the room was each other; Trivelin had successfully talked him into believing the object was to reach the glowing orb that lit the room from above, and no sooner had the obliging old fool bent down to give him a boost than Trivelin had conked him on the head with the breadclub. Good old breadclub. Trivelin gnawed idly on it, his stomach growling. The second layer had been more intense. A gray plain where white tombs rose, providing white teeth to the hilled landscape. It had been far too large to be contained with the tower¡¯s physical dimensions. Spectres with glowing eyes had patrolled the misty moors, and Trivelin had discovered, by accident, that the goal was to not be seen. It aligned very well with his first instinct to cower and hide. It was only later, seeing people disappear in puffs of mist as soon as they were spotted, that he realized he¡¯d stumbled onto the actual lesson of the challenge. Crawling on hands and knees, he¡¯d found his way to the the center of the area, a vast mausoleum that towered above the rest, golden light spilling through its door. One step, and he was here- Where he¡¯d been stuck for three days. It was an arena, with sand for a floor and empty stadium seats carved of marble rising in all directions. Trivelin sat slumped in one of them now, gnawing and gumming at the breadclub in the hopes his saliva would eventually moisten it into something edible. Most of the other seven sat in their own stupors, exhausted. The easy way out was to die. God knows if it was a real death, or if they appeared unharmed outside the tower, but the blood and the gore and the screaming all looked real. Suffice to say he was willing to sit here a while longer chewing stale bread before trying that method. At the center of the arena stood a thing. It had the lower body of a great jungle cat, all lean muscle under black fur and powerful, clawed paws, a flicking tail. But where a head should be, the beast instead rose up into the torso of a man, built like an ancient statue with rippling musculature and bronzed skin. He wielded a trident in one hand and a net in the other, his face covered by a beaked helmet with numerous slit across the front. He - it - was the deadliest thing Trivelin had seen in memory. The trident whirled and stabbed, deflected all blows before they so much as came close, and the net had a nasty way of catching people off-guard as they tried to retreat or recover from having their weapon knocked aside. Even when two or more people came at once, the tauroid thing simply changed tactics, galloping around the arena at vicious speeds taking opportunistic strikes, relying on superior agility to wear down its enemies. Trivelin had seen the damn thing run up a wall once, taking its enemy off-guard and piercing the unlucky dwarf through the skull. But the only way out was through. Beyond the stadium, there was only a pitch black void, the world lit by a miniature sun that hung over the gladiator¡¯s head. Only one of them had brought food. The caramel-skinned woman with the tiger-stripe tattoos and the fishing rod sat happily shoving fistfuls of dried berries into her mouth. Oooh, how everyone hated her. Worse than the opponent who stood blocking their way, they glared at her. But soon they¡¯d have to put their differences aside. There was only one way to beat this foe, and that was to come at the foe altogether. Everyone knew it. Nobody wanted to the be the first to say so, and assume a leadership role that would probably get them stabbed in the back. And he had his own dilemna. He would need to assume a new face before he left, and right now, everyone left was distinctive in some key way he couldn''t copy. A golem-arm. An artifact fishing pole. A twin brother. That left two candidates, both of whom he eyed warily. "Mm''kay-" Trivelin was startled out of his thoughtful gnawing as the fisherwoman spoke, wiping her lips. "I''m outta food so it''s time we get this done. Who wants to see what''s past this big lug?" 1.42 Deus Ex Machina We sailed through to morning, with no way of turning back. There was no sailing route from the river to my Dungeon, nowhere the ship could go but on- she was destined to travel far away from me, and who knows if she¡¯d ever return, my lovely Serpentine. For now she rested in a shaded grove that grew around the edge of a small lake, moored to the muddy shore. The unicorn, Cabochon, the remaining spiders all climbed down from her deck, the shackled beast needing to be carried by the Arachne due to its bindings. They made a shrine of wildflowers, and Cabochon did the honors. ¡°O¡¯ gods. Great ones. Distant dreamers. We offer you this.¡± It was a simple prayer, but he said it well, bowing deeply as he retreated and left the unicorn standing in a ring of flowers. The beast snorted, kicking its hooves uncertainly. It had no idea what to expect now, only that this was a better fate than being left in Immer¡¯s clutches to be auctioned off. I hoped for the best, and expected the worst from the selfish gods above. There was a faint chiming of a bell, and the Messenger stepped into the circle, a diadem of hazy stars in her hair and a dress of white roses slung around her shoulder. ¡°My. A unicorn.¡± She clapped her hands together with delight, circling the beast as it snorted and cantered in confusion. ¡°A bit shabby, but I¡¯m sure time in your Dungeon will brighten up that mangy coat.¡± ¡°Soooo¡­¡± A snap of her fingers, and the chains fell away. ¡°Let¡¯s go meet Her shall we?¡± A door stood before us. Golden tracery outlined the frame with flowers and vipers. Compelled, unable to do anything but follow, first Cabochon and then the unicorn followed her through, and I found myself pulled along as well, unable to cast my senses anywhere but through Cabochon¡¯s eyes in that moment. Gods. The moment we stepped through, I recognized we were in the strange Void-realm where Contracts and and the spinning of the Great Wheel took place. More than that, we were in a vast chapel. The floor was black dirt, with countless flowers sprouting up in mosiac patterns of bright color, beautiful to behold. Pillars rose and sparkled with gems, rubies and sapphires making up the eyes of wonderfully carved statues that seemed to burst from the stone columns full of life, their forms full of grace, balanced, appealing to the eyes. The ceiling, the ceiling was painted with blue skies and divine beings, the glory of the sun shining through the clouds and haloing them in gold. So She had good taste, at least. At the center of the church was a choir of statues, carved from purest gold. They were saints, devils, beautiful maidens, handsome princes, every imaginable form of beauty on display, all of them standing with heads tilted up, mouths open- They were the pipes of a tremendous organ, I realized, as the first note played. What they stood on was not the pedestal but the instrument¡¯s base, ivory keys, thousands of them, extending in a broad semi-circle. An invisible hand pressed them down, and the music poured from the statues¡¯ mouths. It was beautiful, yes, but somehow macabre. What I truly didn¡¯t expect was, as Cabochon approached, for the chorus to begin to speak. ¡°We have watched you, little one¡­ ¡°We have praised your creations¡­Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. ¡°We have judged your misdeeds¡­ ¡°In the balance, we have found your worthy of our presence.¡± I was stunned, trying not to think the deadly thought; this was a god? A gaudy automaton? Beautiful, yes, but unsettling and unnatural. I was very glad I¡¯d taken at least a small amount of precaution to shield my mind. Cabochon spoke for me, my voice in this strange and hollow temple. ¡°I hope our gift meets your approval. We wish for our friend, our guardian, Aurum, to be healed.¡± ¡°Do you understand what a gift is? ¡°The gods are not to be bought.¡± Cabochon rushed to answer, before I could speak my mind through him. Which was probably for the best considering what I had to say to this stuck-up, cheap- ¡°On behalf of my maker, I offer our gifts freely and plead your boon humbly. I have heard often of your generosity.¡± I was betrayed. He had never been so subservient when talking to me. Utterly shameless! ¡°You have a pleasing voice, little spider.... ¡°We have rarely cared much for spiders¡­ ¡°But you spin a beautiful web when you talk¡­ ¡°Listen well.¡± One of the statues waved a gilded hand and the chapel faded away, leaving us along with her voice and the dark void. One by one, the stars lit up, and glowing threads connected them. The whole world swelled with light. And then a shadow came. ¡°Once, this was the Empire of Elves. They bridged the dark distance between the worlds with bridges of light, their Webway, and made the whole of the Known shine brighter¡­ ¡°But a black beast arrived from the far reaches¡­ ¡°It slew the dragons, drove the giants to exile, and tore down the empire in all its beauty¡­ ¡°In the end, the elves made a final decision. They lured into the beast into the Webway and shattered it, forever separating the worlds. The beast was caught in-between and broken into pieces¡­ ¡°Where its blood touched the earth, it crystallized into Dungeon Cores. Where scraps of flesh landed, they became Primordial Beasts¡­ ¡°These are the dark powers¡­ ¡°We tell you this so you will understand our relationship. We do not oppose your existence, we will tolerate you, but we must always remember where you came from, and guard the world from the resurgence of another beast. In perspective, we believe we are quite kind to your ilk.¡± ¡°Why?¡± Cabochon asked, at my urging. ¡°If my Maker is a threat, why have you let him live? How does he serve your purpose?¡± ¡°Many things were lost when the beast devoured entire worlds... ¡°But much of what was lost has been regained, created anew by the Dungeons¡­ ¡°If we are to restore the world, we need that power¡­ ¡°So it is.¡± The sky they had shown us began to fade, its stars scattered to dust, the web between the worlds broken. It faded away, and we were returned to the edge of the lake and the ring of wildflowers where all this had begun. Something glimmered in Cabochon¡¯s hands - a single bud of pink, holding within its cup of immature petals a shining drop of light. ¡°Take good care of our unicorn for us¡­ ¡°Build us a shrine¡­ ¡°We shall watch over you.¡± All in all, I felt a strange sensation. Almost as if this had gone well. Daylight streamed over us, the unicorn trotted about with a sudden vigor, and Cabochon was dreaming his strange daydreams, shocked by his encounter with the divine. There was the small matter of getting us back to the city- the route we had taken out was now a kicked hornet¡¯s nest full of angry pirates, and the other routes were less clandestine. Cabochon and a unicorn were not exactly easy sights to overlook. What I needed was a route in and out of the city that could be kept secret. I already had Vaulder¡¯s shop, which was good enough for my rats and for human accomplices. Now I needed secret passageway for the obviously unusual creations in my realm. But today had been a stunning success. My nacre-spiders had caught many of the fools fleeing the markets, and bound them up tight. I¡¯d have to send Cabochon to collect the left-behind trinkets and baubles the victims had been carrying. No doubt I¡¯d raked in a haul, and there was even a chance, however distant, that I¡¯d ended up collecting that sphinxbone tea-set after all. Rats were streaming into the Gardens, full of bravado and clutching prizes. I made Mana swirl into the air, a little fireworks show that settled down in a drift of motes, sinking into their bodies and strengthening them. A reward for services rendered. But best of all, I had made a mark on the human world and dealt that brat Immer a humiliation he would never recover from. The market was in chaos. The next stage of my plan was to step in where Immer had failed, and offer stability again. 1.43 Thirty Days I had to leave Cabochon on the lakeshore for the time being, until I could find a way to safely smuggle him back below the city. For now, I had work to do, always work to do- and I loved it. I had discovered something important. As long as they were part of a Vault, I could place doors around my core without blocking the flow of Mana and threatening a backlash. Which meant there was nothing, nothing at all, keeping me from turning the entirety of the Garden of Glass Bells into a single, enormous Vault. You see, I had a problem. Most of the creatures I had designed early on, when I had little Mana to work with, were rather small. Beautiful and deadly, but not on a human scale. I had a wonderfully black-hearted plan to change that.
Within this Vault, the Law shall be: All invaders shall be cut down to size.
If my enemies were too big for my lovely serpents to devour, I would simply make them smaller. Small enough for a viper to kill or a mantis to hunt. My gardens would become a jungle, my deadly little creatures would become goliaths. I placed glass doors at the entrances, sealing the room to begin the work. The process of making a Vault was fascinating. First, Mana was drawn from my reserves to infuse the walls, inundating them with magical energies to make a sealed ¡®room¡¯ in which the currents of Mana could only enter and exit through the doorways. Then, a twisting happened, pulling on the currents of ethereal Mana flowing through the air and bending them, delicately, into shape. It was like creating a Shard, but instead of working with condensed, solidified Mana within a jewel, it used the natural flows and leylines that passed through the Dungeon. It also drained me to the point of exhaustion. The initial preparing of the walls alone drew up so much Mana that my ¡®sight¡¯ began to fade and grow dark, fuzzy spots, and the lurch as the ambient energies were drawn into formation was nauseating. I checked and was horrified to see I¡¯d lost an entire half of my inflow of Mana. The poison-cup Vault, by comparison, had barely cost me anything. In the end, I would have to say the powerful effect was worth the price, but lessons were learned- Vaults were expensive luxuries, and best reserved for clever traps or puzzles instead of brute-forcing a second Law into place. Still. I couldn''t help imagining the first intruders to fall into the trap and find themselves shrinking away, my serpents and insects growing enormous by comparison. Their horror and shock would be well worth the expenditure. And speaking of pests... There were still adventures clinging on to the edge of the ravine, prodding at my defenses and slowly mapping out the slope, scratching down the location of spider-caves and disguised pitfalls, drawing sketches of the enormous lumbering sporebacks. In a way they were very polite guests, chronicling my Dungeon with a slow and precise detail. Flattering, yes, but their end goal was to sell the information on to adventurers who would be mounting real incursions. Killing them would be deserved, but I had a better plan. As they ventured out of camp, making one of their short jaunts downslope, my ratty crew crept into their campsite. The wallflower dipped the tip of his prehensile tail into an inkwell and added several strokes to their master copy of the map, a lovingly detailed work of several days. In no time we had added several phantom hazards that would send anyone following the map on a roundabout, pointlessly zig-zagging course to avoid them.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. And that would be hilarious. At the same time, I was looking at making a route for Cabochon to return by. I had several of the large, stone-burrowing maggots I had used to make hidden nests for the nacre-spiders guided to a quiet location in the sewers, pointed due west, and made to dig. They would need constant replacing but would allow me to cut a route that extended past my own domain, eventually breaking free of the city¡¯s underbelly and finding a place to safely dig up. Until then, Cabochon was out in the world, exposed. He assured me he would be fine. I found his optimism all the more reason to worry on his behalf. The ¡®guides¡¯ I had arranged for the burrow-grubs were the fungal lion, lazily reluctant to do any work, and my latest recruit. The orc-child had survived his trial by fire. After a week of breathing Dungeon Mana, he had gained enough affinity with me to absorb the Shard, letting me into his head. It was a little cramped in there. Not unintelligent, but cluttered with emotional nonsense, fears and inadequacies and other things I had never found useful. But useful he would become. I was determined to make something out of him, and I had my reasons. One was to spite the Dungeon that had made such ugly things to begin with, to show that I could do better. Another was to honor that same spirit, the ambition it had showed, trying to usurp the powers of the gods. For all that Ilbur was an awful little toad of a thing, his Mana pathways were more complex by orders of magnitude than anything I¡¯d managed to replicate in my golems. These orcs were the seed of a grand endeavor, and although I¡¯d never meet the deceased Dungeon who laid the foundation, I might be able to finish its work. I let the ebb and flow of my domain distract me, envelop me, carry me away. It was always a joy to work on my territory, to flow from scene to scene in the unfolding dramas of the creatures big and small that fought, that struggled for life. It was only when I felt more intruders on my outer edges - the dwarf girl returning - that I was awakened from my meditative state enough to realize the day had ended. I was exactly one month old. I hoped Suffi was bringing me another present. Vaulder Claith didn¡¯t love crowds by any means. Oh no. He hated the stumble of elbows, the press of sour bodies on all sides, the constant jostle and shove until it felt like he was a ship tossing in a sea of flesh. Oh, it was fair to say Vaulder Claith was terrified of crowds. But today, Vaulder was prepared to be brave. They weren¡¯t giant spiders, after all, and Vaulder¡¯s bar on fear had been raised quite high recently. He held a tray of fizzing elixirs aloft, long fluted glasses containing an even mix of sparkling cider the alchemists produced to bubble and fizz beautifully, and Kathe¡¯s own patent tonic that had such an invigorating effect. They were a dark caramel color in whole, with a flavor of almost-burnt honey and medicinal bitterness underlying a sweet initial sip. Delicious stuff. Vaulder¡¯s new confidence may have owed more to chugging it relentlessly than to any new leaf turned. To accompany it he¡¯d bought out the local bakeries, loading his stall with high, fluffy cakes layered by fresh fruit and whips of rainbow-colored cream, delicately cross-hatched pies, little pastel cakes stacked in a pyramid, scones topped with caramelized sugar and studded with tart berries; a panoply of delights. And business was booming. He¡¯d had to hire toughs to defend his place in the market, fighting off the more predatory merchants who tried to rush to nearby bakeries and replicate his success. None of them had Kathe¡¯s elixir. The fizzy stuff was going as fast as Vaulder could pour, bubbling from a cask like liquid gold. Ale was still more popular, by a mile, yes- but it wasn¡¯t all drunks and bravos who came to challenge the tower. There were academics too, alchemists and mages, all of them looking for a place to rest outside of the bustle of the crowd. Vaulder¡¯s little cafe, with his well-defended borders and comfortable reading chairs hauled out from the bookstore, was a paradise to them. Suddenly, one of his customers bolted from the chair. One by one, the rest rose as well, the whole market turning their gazes towards the tower that rose up into the sky. On the fourth layer, two sets of eyes had lit up with ghostly flames. After four days, two people had made it to the fourth layer at once. And in the same moment every pair of eyes on the third had gone blank. The doors flashed, and out staggered the defeated contestants- the crowd crushing in around them, hiding them from Vaulder¡¯s view, pushing to be the first to see what they had taken as their prize. He sighed. This place was mad, and the frantic energy was starting to infect him. Mhurr sighed alongside him, slapping the rag he was using to polish glasses over his shoulder. ¡°I can¡¯t take it anymore, Vaulder. Gods sight, I have tried, but I am a fool.¡± ¡°What are you on about?¡± ¡°I¡¯m saying, I won¡¯t ever forgive myself if I don¡¯t go and find out what¡¯s going on up there.¡± 1.44 Pretty Clouds ¡°Look, obviously this is meant as a challenge of teamwork. They put an obstacle in our way that nobody can overcome alone, but let us appear in a safe place for once, giving us all the time in the world to wait for allies to arrive.¡± The islander-woman¡¯s logic was sound, Trivelin would be the first to admit. As the six of them huddled together in the stands, below, the centaur-gladiator paced the sand of the arena, sensing battle was near. It¡¯s enormous paws clawed the dirt, muscles rippling in the light of the crystalline sun that hung over the ring. ¡°Do you think it can hear us?¡± The fisherwoman with the tiger-stripe tattoos asked. ¡°Anyone know thief-sign?¡± Trivelin suggested. There were blank looks from all. ¡°Well then, if it can hear us, it can hear us.¡± ¡°Names.¡± The woman insisted. ¡°I¡¯m Umi.¡± ¡°Cevret.¡± One of the twins said. ¡°Havret.¡± The other added. They were strange ducks. Blonde, short-cropped hair, smirking eyes, sour mouths that might genuinely have never smiled. Silver chains decorated their sleeves, dangling with obscure charms. ¡°Nim.¡± The man with the golem hand nodded. His entire arm was a beauty of shining bronze, little chains and gears exposed beneath the metal plates, sliding and shifting with every motion. A slender skeleton of tiny pistons formed the hand with its strange, spidery dexterity. ¡°Trivelin.¡± He saw no point in lying. By now, Cathara, that old schemer, would already know he was in the tower. The question was whose face he was going to wear when he left. ¡°And I¡¯m Jakon.¡± The last of the group was an old, grey-haired adventurer who wielded a shovel in place of a sword, his right eye clouded over and blind. ¡°Have any of you fought in a team before?¡± ¡°We¡¯re always a team.¡± Harvet and Cevret answered in unison. Everybody else was silent. ¡°Well, I have two decades experience adventuring, and half of that leading my own crew. If you don¡¯t mind, I¡¯ve got a suggestion.¡± The old man had a calm manner, and Trivelin was happy to let someone else take the lead and the attention. His mind was already elsewhere, calculating the next escape, not focused on climbing to the next floor. ¡°Go ahead.¡± Umi flicked her hand. ¡°The last time someone tried to group up on it, the bastard just started running and forced us to break formation to chase. So this time, we should start by forming a circle and closing in. It will still try to escape, but it will have to go through one of us.¡± ¡°Meaning it will head for the weakest link.¡± Nim stated. Trivelin paused his scheming to glance up, and noticed everyone was looking at him. He coughed. ¡°I can handle myself.¡± Truthfully he was no slouch with the blade, he had been a pirate for the better part of a decade, but¡­ Well dammit, everyone else here was a monstrous talent. There were people in this world who moved like tigers and fought like demons. Trivelin had stayed alive by avoiding them at all costs. ¡°Is he joining us?¡± Umi asked, glancing towards the seventh contestant. He stood alone, away from the group, staring out into the void past the edges of the arena. ¡°Seems a bit like an odd fish.¡± ¡°We know who he is.¡± Cevret said, smug as anything. The man slowly turned. He was, indeed, an odd fish. His face was placid and calm as the surface of still water, with amber-colored eyes, a pair of spectacles sitting on his long, beaked nose. Dozens of lenses in different shades of crystal were perched at the ends of mechanical arms, where they could be dropped or lifted in front of the eyes. ¡°We won¡¯t tell.¡± Hevret hastily added, elbowing his brother. ¡°I will do my part.¡± The man said slowly, and then smiled. It was a fanatic, unhinged kind of smile, one that reached his eyes and burned with a madman¡¯s all-consuming focus. Trivelin found himself holding back the urge to shiver. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m a bit easily distracted. Has anyone else noticed we seem to be in an entirely artificial world? It¡¯s fascinating.¡± ¡°Seven! Seven¡¯s my lucky number.¡± Umi declared, slapping her knee. Some people, Trivelin remarked, had no sense of the weather. They could look right at an incoming storm and see pretty clouds.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. They jumped down into the ring as one, seven sets of boots landing in the sand. The gladiator let out a snort, turning its armored head this way and that, choosing who would be its first victim. It was a chimera, the upper body of a man mounted on a panther¡¯s black muscle and terrible claws, with a trident gripped in one hand and a net in the other. Trivelin felt sweat trickle down his back as he tried his best to seem intimidating. Not easy, when the form he was shifted into was a head shorter than anyone else. The gladiator¡¯s paws raked the earth, and with a sudden bend of its hindlegs, it rocketed straight towards him. Trivelin grimaced and held his ground, waiting, hoping, his eyes closed- The twins both reached out unison, standing on opposite edges of the arena. As they conjured twisting runes of spellwork the air rippled like a lake disturbed by a stone, and a net erupted into being between them, formed from silver-blue mist. It tangled around the gladiator, slowing him, draining the momentum from every movement. At the same time, Nim and Umi were rushing forward. Without the speed to catch up to Trivelin, the gladiator turned, sweeping its trident towards Nim in a backhand blow. The golem-arm leapt forward to meet the golden weapon, a sudden eruption of smoke venting from its inner workings in a billowing cloud full of firefly-embers. Fist met trident with a strangely melodic note, ringing through the entire arena. Nim¡¯s back foot was driven into the ground, the sand blown away and the hard earth beneath cracking as the force of the collision passed through him. The gladiator reared up, ready to finish him with a swipe of its terrible claws. Umi¡¯s fish-hook sailed through the air and snagged the long, vertical slits of the gladiator helm, twisting it on his head so he was blind for as split instant. As the panther-claws swept down, Nim wasn¡¯t there. As the gladiator reached up and realigned its helm, Umi suddenly was, leaping through the air to deliver a ringing blow with the shaft of her fishing rod against the golden helm. Again, the sound was almost musical, but this time there was the added percussion of the gladiator¡¯s infuriated roar. It caught her out the air with a swing of its fist, smashing her down to the ground. She rolled as best she could, but she had no time to tuck her limbs in, and she came up limping on a twisted leg, a scowl on her face. All the while, Trivelin hadn¡¯t moved. What could he do? He just stood there, frozen, a slight weakness in his knees threatening to erupt into an actual tremble if he so much as tried to take a step forward. Paralyzed. An arrow of ice struck the gladiator from behind, piercing its skin. Blood the color of oil gushed out as it turned, angry. The twins, the mystery man, and old Jakon had formed a new perimeter, captured the beast once more, this time in a semicircle. The seasoned adventurer stood by to guard the twins as they drew golden designs into the air, the runic circles collapsing down into bursts of flame, flying blades, all manner of deadly weapons. They sailed towards the gladiator as he let out a thunderous growl and charged into the fray. The mist-net had worn off by now, its ethereal strings torn away. Nothing else had even phased the beast. It ran forward at full speed, a blur of bronze flesh and black muscle, golden spear ringing beautifully as it struck projectiles out of the sky. In a blink, a heartbeat, the beast was almost on top of Cevret, almost ready to end him in a single blow. Now. The spectacled mage clapped his hands together. Earthen barriers erupted up around the beast, sealing him into a crude triangular prison formed by three walls each bursting diagonally from the ground. Numerous runic marks glowed on the walls, an angry, red hue, smoldering like fires and slowly building towards what could only be detonation. One by one, the blazing marks burst into blooms of raging fire, tearing the prison apart as they bombarded the gladiator caught within. And before the fires had even faded, all of them were rushing forward, even Trivelin, his better sense swept away by the bravado of the moment. They roared, closing in on the wounded, charred beast that struggled to stand on its wounded legs. It screamed back, and swept its net against the earth. A huge dust-cloud billowed up, full of darting embers from the fire, and as their charge punched through the smoke and blowing grit, there was nothing- the beast was gone. A shadow moved above them. They all looked up in horror and saw it. The beast had dropped its net and jumped, catching the crystal orb that floated in the sky as an artificial sun with one hand- and with that one-handed grip, pulled itself over, vaulting over the sun. Its trident was lifted high in a throwing stance, the points gleaming. With a triumphant roar the gladiator hurled its weapon, piercing through Havret¡¯s chest before any of them could move. It slammed down to the earth, catching Jakon beneath its paws and tearing him apart. With a flicker, both of them vanished, ejected from the tower¡¯s challenges. Nim lunged forward, but there was a ripple, and suddenly the trident was back in the gladiator¡¯s hand. His own momentum ran him through on the triple spikes, and the man with the golem arm was gone too. A gout of flame burst from Cevret¡¯s hands, the poor man screaming in rage, not sure if his brother was dead or alive. The gladiator charged through in a single pounce of its enormous, burly legs, and cracked his spine in half with a swing of the trident''s shaft. He lifted into the air like a broken doll and was gone before he hit the ground. A fish-hook sailed through the air- And this time, the gladiator caught it. Umi had time for a panicked, caught-out grin before she was yanked forward, the fishing rod ripped from her arms. If she had held on a second longer she would have been pulled under the beast¡¯s claws. ¡°You two. How long do you think you can buy me?¡± The nameless mage asked. It was a damn good question. 1.45 Ironclad ¡°Well, Dungeon? I¡¯ve held up my side of the bargain. I¡¯ve seen what you can do. I¡¯m ready to make a deal, and I¡¯m ready to make it worth your while.¡± Suffi stood at the edge of the ravine, waiting for an answer from the dark and gloom. There was a strange air that existed only here, in the Dungeon, an atmosphere of skittering motion crawling through the dark. Every shadow was full of imaginary monsters. This time, no half-man half-spider crawled forth to speak to her. There were only the muffled protests of the adventurers they¡¯d apprehended. Her guards held them at spearpoint, only waiting for her order to kill. She waited, and moments ticked by. Nothing. Among the spears of glass that grew at the top of the ravine, spiders crawled, navigating a shining web and throwing out their own nets. She watched in fascinated horror as one of the fat, eight-legged things closed in on a bright little bird caught in the silver threads, the poor birdie¡¯s struggles only winding it deeper into entanglement as the giant spider slowly lowered its drooling fangs down¡­ There was something beautiful about the moment, to hold her eyes transfixed, but she couldn¡¯t for the life of her tell what it was. She could only hope dealing with this Dungeon didn¡¯t make her the little bird. But with every moment that passed without answer, she felt more and more ridiculous. Without Cabochon, I had no messenger to send. I paused, thinking hard for a moment, and then committed to the only course I had left. I wove lights of pure Mana through the air, draining myself terribly to write a single word. APPROACH. At the same time, I sent calming, soothing waves of emotion down across the spiders nesting in the ravine¡¯s slopes, trying to send them into a torpor so they wouldn¡¯t swarm to attack her as soon as she descended. I watched the fear on her face as she descended, boots skittering unsteadily on the loose rock of the ravine¡¯s walls. To be fair, I¡¯d never expected to have a guest when I designed the place. It was a fall of some twenty feet, with much of the way covered by thorny, dense briars. Numerous little cracks in the stone hid burrows where the fisherman spiders slept, ready to rise up in a sudden bloom of furry limbs shoulder invaders stumble past, clumsy footsteps disturbing the earth. Suffi¡¯s steps were quite clumsy, and it took every bit of my limited control over the spiders to keep them from waking. She slid down into the trough of the ravine, where green moss lined the earth as grass might above, and strange lightless trees grew directly from my Mana without need for the sun. They spread branches without leaves, pale white fruit the color of pallid flesh hanging from their boughs. The bottom of the ravine was maybe two hundred feet across, a short enough distance to cover in a sprint. Of course, anyone who actually tried to make a run for it would fall into pit traps hidden below the moss, anger the hordes of spiders waiting in the far wall, or even more likely, be bitten by my serpents. The ground was thick with them, green beauties sliding amidst the moss and stones hunting for little birds come to peck the insects from the ground. Above, spidery bodies crawled over the canopy of glass that hooded the ravine. She was in the heart of my territory now, carefully watching her feet, glancing up every now and then at shadows, fearful of the spiders above descending. I could have spoken now, with plenty of moss and greenery to twist into my words. I let her stew in fear just a few steps longer. The time was welcome, because I still needed to think. The prophecy Strix had delivered, the promise she would be an arrow cast at the gods for me, was tempting, very tempting. The result, Caltern being destroyed, less so. My relations to the city weren¡¯t friendly but they were symbiotic. In the way a parasite needed a host, I had built myself to intertwine with Caltern.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Put prophecy aside for a second, and I had a different facet of the deal to see. I didn¡¯t like Suffi, and didn¡¯t for a moment believe she was trustworthy, but with a Contract I could control her somewhat. Even killing her now while I had her in my power wouldn¡¯t be as effective; it would leave her family and her political allies furious with me, bent on my destruction. In a way, the very fact she was untrustworthy made her ideal to trap in a Contract¡¯s binding powers. Besides, I didn¡¯t need to like mortals - I probably would never be fond of any of them, besides my own creations. What I needed was ones I could work with. And did Suffi fit that description? From a third perspective, Suffi had kept her end of the deal. She would keep her end of the deal, I knew, until the moment I was useless to her. And how could I ever be useless? There was so much to gain from me, and I only needed to maneuver so more was always on the horizon, promised but yet to be delivered. My glass faun descended into the valley from the far side. He had come up from the river yesterday, unharmed by the water and simply able to walk home from underneath. I lifted a stone slab from the earth, carving into its surface. ONE - SUFFI HALFHAND SHALL DO NOTHING TO HARM THE DUNGEON OR EXPOSE ITS SECRETS. Looking at it through any lens but the prophecy, I should take the deal and bind her as an ally. The only question was whether I trusted the little prophet Strix enough to change my entire course based on her words. And in a way, I did. TWO - THE DUNGEON SHALL PROVIDE ATTUNEMENT FOR ONE MEMBER OF THE HALFHAND¡¯S CLAN EACH MONTH, OTHER THAN SUFFI. I saw her face go rigid. She would benefit greatly from the added strength of her clan, yes, but she herself would be the one who never recieved my gifts. THREE - THE HALFHAND CLAN SHALL TEACH THE DUNGEON ALL IT KNOWS ABOUT JEWEL-SETTING AND SPELLCRAFT. Anger. She was angry, and showing it, her good hand curling into a fist. I needed to sweeten the deal, to add a little honey to even out the sour taste of asking for her clan¡¯s secrets while offering her, personally, nothing in return. It wasn¡¯t impossible she¡¯d lose control of the clan, if others surged to power while she remained behind. Mortals were fickle like that. FOUR - EACH MONTH THE DUNGEON SHALL PROVIDE TWO GOLEMS PERSONALLY LOYAL TO SUFFI HALFHAND. She stared at my terms for a long, long time. ¡°Fifth!¡± She called out. ¡°The Dungeon shall tell Suffi Halfhand before it makes plans for the surface world. Suffi Halfhand shall do likewise for the world below.¡± I added it, but not without a price of my own. SIXTH - SUFFI HALFHAND SHALL DISCOVER THE PURPOSE OF OLIN FRAMPT¡¯S EXPERIMENTS ON THE DUNGEON¡¯S BEHALF. It was weighted in my favor, despite her added clause. I had to warn her, but not actually restrain myself on her behalf. She would be bound not to harm me. Something she didn¡¯t miss. But as she stood there, chewing her lip, she nodded. Holding out her already-bandaged left hand, she conceded to my terms. ¡°Take my blood then. It¡¯s time we meet in person.¡± I agreed entirely. Suffi knew a core was a type of gemstone, containing a rift of pure Mana within. She had expected them to look that way in the mental plane as well. But as she faded into the dark of the Void-realm, that wasn¡¯t what she saw. There was a gem, yes, glowing like a green star in the night, but it was at the heart of a beast unlike any she¡¯d ever seen. What she saw was a snake and a spider, a rat and a man, it was all of those things and none of them. Its flesh was translucent, made of shadow and light in geometric planes like the facets of a gem. It shifted constantly, folding in and out of itself like a kaleidoscope in motion. But most of all, in its constantly changing form, she saw a beast. A terrifying, primal shape that struck chords of terror. Something that felt recognized out of a nightmare. It¡¯s thoughts washed into hers like a wave. They were inhuman, cold, cruel. It thought in the long dark terms of the earth and in the language of paranoia and hunger. It¡¯s only warmth was a satisfaction in creation, and that she knew well. In many ways they were alike. She had the same restless hunger, the same paranoid drive that kept her up at night. The same love of slowly working her will into reality through the acts of creation. They were alike, but she was mortal, and it was a cold alienated being. Something about that - how far it was from human, truly, how relentlessly without mercy or morals - made her suddenly regret the deal. But it was too late. She was bound in Contract as the stone tablet descended. 1.46 Freedoms Cabochon was alone. Not truly alone - the unicorn trotted about, happy to be rid of its shackles, long legs trembling as it took its first steps of freedom - but outside of the Dungeon, beyond the all-enmeshing and intricate ecologies and the all-seeing eyes of the Maker. Alone in that he had no role to fill, no place to be. He was simply existing now, outside, in the bright sunlight that streamed through the branches of the willow grove. Watching muddy little fish dig themselves into the soft earth of the lakeshore and burst out to ambush little insects. Tiny waves swept the surface of the lake, their crests shining gold. He leaned down, letting the cool waters peel the blood from his injured hand in ribbons of yellow. It felt good. Soon he was lifting cupped handfuls of cool, clear water to his face, swallowing eagerly, until there was a cold ache in his stomach. Freedom was strange. Freedom was drinking water until your stomach hurt and feeling glad you could. Cabochon sat back, fingers brushing through the tall grass, uncovering countless little insects thriving there. They were silly things. No deadly bites, no poison stings. As he meandered, a ladybug fluttered out and landed on his hand, crawling slowly over the nacre-covered palm. He turned his hand over but the tiny thing clung on, scuttling up between his fingers. ¡°You are ridiculous.¡± He informed the bright little insect. ¡°How could you even kill a man.¡± It took no bother at his words, only fluttering away when he leaned down and blew over it. Nature was confusing. There were still patterns, yes, to the way the grass grew and how flowers bloomed in symmetry. But they were meaningless patterns, not the sign of a purposeful creation. The way the branches split overhead, winding through the sky like veins, or the way the bark split into rugged plates, these were beautiful little details that had no name signed to them, no creator. It confused Cabochon, to not exist within a greater mind, interpreting the thoughts of the Maker through his works. To simply be part of the chaos as the wind swept through the grass in rippling waves. But he was curious. He rose on his eight legs, and began to walk, moving past the edges of the grove. Outside the world was a carpet of lush green spread over rolling hills, dipping down into valleys where the land was divvied up into squares of growing crops and tilled earth, the evidence of human hands at work. Farmhouses bloomed like mushrooms of geometric certainty among the random rise and fall of the hills. A fire raged in the distance, sending off towers of grey smoke that toppled in the wind. He paused, and then went back, laying his hand on the unicorn¡¯s neck. It was like him. A creature made of blades. Together they walked towards the distant fire. Cabochon clutched the flower-bud the gods had given him in one hand, the promise of healing Aurum as precious as his own life. If he was being truly loyal, truly faithful, to the Dungeon, he wouldn¡¯t have taken the risk of going at all. Something just pulled him. As he arrived, he found a little village in chaos. The thatch rooftops were burning, the fire falling into the houses below in great molten drops. Flame slowly collapsed the buildings from within, until they gave way, puffing up huge clouds of ash and flitting sparks as they fell. People fled, clutching their few possessions or their family. Cabochon was a spectre of death to them. They saw him, striding calm through the chaos, and shrank back, or fell to their knees and prayed.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. He simply watched. His role here wasn¡¯t any sort of heroics, to ¡®save¡¯ anyone. The thought had never crossed his mind. Cabochon was simply curious. The gallop of hooves drew his attention. A rider with a waving red cloak was rushing towards him, an axe in hand. The man swung his axe for Cabochon¡¯s throat and the Arachne simply raised an arm, letting the blade shatter and rebound against his nacreous hide, the force knocking the man down from the saddle. His horse galloped on while he was left lying in the dirt. Before he could rise Cabochon loomed over him, a blade-tipped leg lifting to hover above his throat. ¡°Tell me. What is happening here?¡± Cabochon asked, as calm as death. ¡°Revolution!¡± The man spat out, his face red with fear. Spittle ran down his bushy beard as he gasped and reached for the dagger in his belt. Cabochon simply let his weight push down. That was all it took. The little golem¡¯s first hurdle was to heat the metal hot enough to work with. The giant oven the dwarves used was too big for him, even the radiant heat that washed out from the blazing mouth enough to make his clay hide begin to dry and crack. He would need his own. Luckily, he could shape the earth. For three days he lifted tiny cobblestones out of the street while the city slept, carrying them methodically up to his secret den in the loft of the forge. With earthshaping he melded them together into a crude forge, and took scraps of coal from the workshop below, building a little foundry. Metal scraps and shavings went into his crucible, a little cup of clay. Finally, everything was ready. The pigeons who lived among the rafters cooed and burbled in confusion as he struck sparks from a piece of flint with an old nail salvaged from the forge¡¯s floor. The fire sparked, and lifted up, raging hotter and hotter in the stone oven. The metal scrap in the cup began to glow like embers, losing its shape and puddling into liquid iron. That was when the cup cracked open and spilled the metal across the coals, smothering the fire. The first time that happened. The second crucible was made of stone, the third of thickened stone. The third time, he worked the stone with his magic, pushing it denser and denser until he could barely lift the resulting cup. This time, it held. A bounty of molten metal bubbled and spat in the crucible, and the little golem reached out with his magic, making the stone slowly close from a cup to a sealed sphere. For the smiths who worked below, casting was a crude process, a first step before shaping the metal with hammer and anvil. The golem could do more. It could mold the cast while the metal was inside, shaping the metal by proxy. Pushing and sculpting instead of beating away with a hammer. It sat there for hours as the coals cooled into embers, into ash. Slowly compacting the remains of the stone orb smaller and smaller, pressing the metal within into a more definite shape, giving it the form of a ring. Finally, it lifted out a soot-covered stone ring, crudely shaped. With a will and a spark of magic, the stone cracked and fell away like fragments of eggshell. Within was a double band of iron braided into a twisting helix. It was a good first effort, but flawed. The detail wasn¡¯t there, the fine work that made the finished product sing. It didn¡¯t speak. It had no voice. The little golem sat and pondered, looking over what it had made. Something was missing. There was a rhythm in the golem¡¯s head, a tune sung by dwarves in ancient halls where the lights of their lanterns were fireflies in the dark beneath the earth. A drinking song, a marrying song, a warring song. This ring was none of those, and it needed to be all of them. Or the song would haunt the little golem until it had been taken out of its head and made real. It sat with its legs crossed, its shapeless head propped up against one hand. Thinking. Think as hard as it could think. 1.47 What the Rats Saw Words were a funny thing. One small choice altered the entire meaning of a phrase. For instance, Suffi had stipulated I couldn¡¯t make plans without telling her once the Contract began, not that I had to tell her all my plans. Plans I made before the Contract were effectively exempt. So in the moment before the Contract took effect, I made my plans to kill Suffi Halfhand. Not as a weapon I intended to use, but as a weapon to hold in reserve, always poised to strike. I had no doubt she had found a similar way to justify herself so the Contract¡¯s rules would allow her to wriggle through and strike at me. It would be harder for her, of course. I had been able to include a clause that prevented her from acting against me at all, and she hadn¡¯t known the wording for more than five minutes before the Contract descended. Five minutes to come up with a plan to kill me- without harming me. Had she managed to do it? I had touched her mind in the moment we made the Contract, felt the cold-steel intellect and burning ambition there. Yes, I would have to assume she did manage. Thankfully, I had my own hidden dagger against her now. The first step of my plan was to shadow her. Moving to follow while she was still in the sewers was too obvious, so I had my rats enter the surface world and move above, waiting for them to emerge from one of the human-sized entrances. Sure enough, she came up in the market square, clutching a clay pipe from one of her comrades and trying to smoke the smell of the sewers out of her nostrils. She handed it back to the captain, the same dwarf I had granted the first Attunement- the Attunement of Gleam. We followed her from there, into the town of the dwarves. The buildings here were close-knit, almost running together, with three or four shallow stories stacked together into low-roofed little hovels. For all the dwarves appreciated the finer beauties in metal and sculpture, they were willing to live in cramped, myopic conditions a human would have called a slum. The only buildings that stood tall were the workshops and alehouses, which were built with posts instead of walls, open to the air and sunlight as the apprentices and masters within sung to the ring of their hammers, as the brewmasters tended their frothing cauldrons and their daughters served up tankards of sweet mead or sour ale. These were the temples of dwarven life, while the lowly houses were merely places to sleep. I couldn¡¯t help but wonder what it was like in the mountain halls where this strange spirit of industry had hundreds if not thousands of years to grow. Where the stone had been worn down by the passing of generations of dwarves, and carved by their finest sculptors, where the riches of their empire were displayed openly as common treasure- so unlike how the humans hid their wealth away from the light. Everywhere my spies looked, there were statues. They did not stand alone on pedestals, but were mixed into the crowds, captured in such perfect imitation of life it took a moment to realize they weren¡¯t among the living. They could have been real dwarves frozen into bronze in a common moment of their lives- sitting at a meadhall table raising a glass, or standing sweeping the stoop of their house, in the workshops and even in the middle of the street there. The dwarves lived their lives this way, surrounded by the memories of their ancestors and the talent of their sculptors. Passing the dead on their way down the streets. It was oddly inspiring. Suffi¡¯s house was a sprawling compound, with dozens of individual blocks of dwarven slum arranged in a kind of living wall, surrounding a central gardens and a single, tall house. She was not a normal dwarf, and she didn¡¯t deign to live as the commoners did. Everything about her ambitions could be seen in how that mansion towered, closer to the governor¡¯s villa than the low rowhouses of the dwarves. It was there we ran into our first problem. My clever little wallflowers had kept out of sight by moving above, scuttling up walls and peering over the edges of the rooftops. Now, a wall presented itself. A thin barrier of spellwork sat over the mansion and surrounding gardens. One by one, the guards slipped through by presenting little tokens of bone around their neck, while Suffi only needed to press her hand to the web of golden lines for it to briefly flicker and let her pass by.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. I had no such trinket to get by. I was left in the cold, my spies settling down to perches in the surrounding environments, awaiting my further orders. I would need to think on this one. My rats descended down the stairs I had left from my failed Descent to the second floor. The elementals had come out of nowhere to wreak havoc, and it was time I learned where they came from. My senses didn¡¯t extend down into the rifts they¡¯d torn in the foundation of my Dungeon, and so, I was forced to send spies down. As they touched down into the abandoned second floor, they found it much as I¡¯d left it. The stone tree still stood, caked in jagged arrangements of salt like crystalline snow, the faces carved on their trunks worn and withered with expressions of sorrow. The grey flowers still grew, blanketing the seven plateaus and extended across the gaps between in interwoven canopies that hid the deadly falls. An adventurer could take a step, expecting the flowers to mean there was solid ground beneath, and plummet to their death on the spikes below. No, I was quite pleased to see much of the damage was minimal. The elementals had ceased their rampage as soon as we retreated, withdrawing back into their dens. As I watched, the presence of the rats began to wake them. Stones cascaded out of long tears in the walls, deep rifts in the floors. The stones rolled and bounced and formed, starting at the legs and working up, the imitation of a hound- but with six legs, a back covered in spines of obsidian, and cold cruel eyes of quartz. My rats scattered. They were light enough to run right over the places where the flower-canopy extended over a hidden fall, scampering over the bridges of roots while the hounds couldn¡¯t follow without tearing through. Instead, the elemental beasts leapt the gap with huge shows of strength, or came rushing across the glass bridges that connected the plateau tops. That was what I was waiting for. A second team of rats burst from the stairwell, heading directly for the closest of the gaps in the walls from which the hounds had emerged. One of them carried a rock of glowing stone in its mouth, lighting the way as they dove into the crevice. It was a tight squeeze, even for my ratty beauties. As they climbed through the twisting, narrow crack in the stone, a strange shiver ran down my spine. Mana. The air was dense with a coiling, powerful Mana completely unlike my own. That was why I hadn¡¯t been able to see in through my usual method- the field of Mana that surrounded me and gave me my vision was repelled by this foreign energy. A thin glow lit the way ahead, the color of amber. The lead rat emerged into a widening of the cavern, where the floor pooled with ochre liquid, all of it shining with an inherent light as more dripped, in glowing drops, from the stalactites above. The walls were made of jagged, rough crystals of a honey color. It was like the inside of an enormous geode, and the light that shone from the little spars of honey-crystal on the walls became solid, condensed into liquid, and pooled in the basin. That liquid was purest Mana, condensed to physical form. I could feel my intrusion stirring the beasts outside to a frenzy. The hounds turned back from chasing the decoys, congregating towards the true incursion team. The earth began to shake, tremors I felt all the way up on the second floor, as the enormous rock-lizard began to haul itself out of the grand rift that split the fifth plateau in half. But I couldn¡¯t turn back now. I had to know. At my orders, the lead rat approached the pooling Mana. It reacted at his mere presence, drawing up into ribbons of liquid amber that flowed through the air and reached for him, touched him, ran through his skin as if it had no physical presence. And he began to change. The rat twitched and convulsed on the ground as his legs gave way in an attack of spasms. Horns erupted from its brow. Tusks crawled from the edges of its mouth, growing in slow motion. Fur froze to rocky platelets, looking like an armadillo with its banded layers of stone, and its eyes took on an amber hue. The stone-hounds were coming fast. The rat arose from his baptism, changed. Spurs of bone jutted from his head in a rough crown and tusks curved out from its mouth, and he was now so large I feared he might not be able to squeeze back through the narrow path out. He was armored now, yes, and I could feel his organs had shifted as well, his bones solidifying to crystal. This raw Mana was precious stuff, and I could have licked my lips with greed as my ratty crew fled, scampering back up the stairs in triumph. It seemed these elementals were born from natural Mana deposits, and better yet, that these deposits came in two forms - a powerful liquid that changed what it touched, and a crystalline form that unknown properties. The sooner I exterminated the stone hounds and that damned lizard, the better.
[Stone-Tusk Rat]
Born from exposure to Earthen Mana, this common vermin has been infused with the power to sense gems and precious metals even within the earth, and can tunnel at tremendous speeds to find them.
1.48 Familiar Faces The half-man, half-cat gladiator lurked in the middle of the ring, waiting for them. Confidence and assured victory were written across every inch of muscle as it swaggered about, its four-legged lower body pacing in the grit of the arena. ¡°On three, then.¡± Umi had no weapon, but she confidently balled up her fists. Her fishing rod lay on the ground behind the beast, waiting for her, and all she had to do was survive long enough to reach it. Trivelin would have bet good money she would die on the way there. ¡°On three.¡± The spectacled mage confirmed, lifting his hands and beginning to pull spellwork glyphs from the air with intricate, twisting motions. ¡°One.¡± ¡°Two.¡± The diagrams spread into a blazing circle, and collapsed down into a blazing point of golden light. From that spark expanded a sphere of blue sky, edged in rotating golden runes. It was beautiful. A horizon the color of sapphires, an ocean of sky, clouds sailing like ships on the endless azure, warped at the edges by the fish-eye lens of the spherical portal. ¡°Three. Open.¡± Wind burst from the sky-portal, lifting the sand of the arena into a tremendous cloud as Umi and Trivelin ran forward, yelling in bravado and terror. Respectively. The gladiator burst forward to meet them in a charge, but for a second, lost sight of the two in the rippling waves of dust pouring from the sky-sphere. Then a shadow caught its attention, and it plunged its trident down, narrowly missing Umi as she ducked away, panic written clear on her face. The fishing rod was still out of reach, and it wasn¡¯t looking like she had time to make another dash for it. The gladiator lifted up its arm for another blow, and this time the dust had all been peeled away, leaving no cover to escape. It¡¯s arm came stabbing down- A fishhook sailed through the air. It snagged the back of the gladiator¡¯s arm and pulled, twisting the blow aside so Trivelin could escape as his features shifted back to normal. Behind the centaur-beast, the real Umi stood with her fishing rod in hands. ¡°Open.¡± The mage pronounced, and a second sky-sphere blossomed from his designs. This one showed a cold, cloudy night, full of endless grey. Mist poured forth, carried on the wind to fill the entire arena with a sea of fog. Only the gladiator was tall enough to stand above the waves of mist that lifted and crashed and swirled like a true ocean. The gladiator rushed towards the mage, identifying the real threat now, but found its footsteps slipping. With wind pouring out of two portals now, the sheer force was sending the beast sliding back. Umi darted out of the fog, delivered a crushing blow to the beast¡¯s backleg, and vanished again as the gladiator dropped to one knee and was slowly, slowly repelled by the roaring of the wind. ¡°Open.¡± A third portal, and now rain pelted through the arena, the wind redoubling once more. Trivelin had to sink to the ground to keep from being thrown about as the gale created dozens of small, spiralling whirlpools in the mist. They rushed towards the gladiator, smashing into him with a force that sent him reeling, unable to fight back as Umi vaulted through the mist again to strike him across the arm.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. The golden trident fell from numbed fingers, and the gladiator swung with its net. Umi was already gone. ¡°Open.¡± Hail tore into the walls like a storm of tiny arrows, each piece a thumb thick and sharp as the devil. Trivelin screamed and covered his head, his protests lost in the all-consuming howl of wind, the sound of water being sucked down a drain but amplified until it took on a shrill, screeching tone, a daredevil shriek. The gladiator could no longer advance even slowly. With every second it was being pushed back. Four spherical portals to different skies floated above the mage¡¯s shoulders as his hood flapped back in the wind, revealing a bald head carved - not tattooed, but carved - with runic letters written in scar tissue. ¡°Open.¡± Snow filled the air, tiny light flakes that rapidly began to steal the warmth from the world. Each gust of wind seemed to pull the life out of Trivelin, turning his skin hard with frost. Snow built up in his collar, filled his boots, stung in tiny drops of utter cold against his bare face. A sixth portal was forming. Letter by letter, the mage was pulling golden diagrams from the air and weaving them into a singular design. Trivelin prepared to die. Killed by his own ally, oh the indignity. The world cracked open with a peel of thunder as the sixth sphere opened, full of angry scars of purple lightning in a black mass of clouds. Crackling threads of electricity poured across the mage¡¯s hands as he held them forward, directing the energy towards the beast that stood in his way, a single moment of brilliance lighting up the world- A second later the thunder hit, deafening Trivelin as he lay blinded through his eyelids by the burning light. And yet, somehow, he heard the voice speak. It spoke not through the world of sound, which was presently obscured by the deafening aftermath of thunder, but into his skull. All but one shall proceed. The majority must choose the unworthy one. When his world was restored to him, swimming back into focus as a loud, piercing note rung in his ears, he saw the gladiator was dead. Rather violently, definitely dead. Smoke rose from the charred corpse. Where it had stood in the center of the arena there was now a golden door. Staggering to his feet, Trivelin limped towards the door. A shard of ice had torn a rather nasty gash down the side of his calf. The mist, rain, and ice were slowly fading, the wind already dying from the air. He was wandering through a grey world as two fellow shadows emerged, also heading for the door. When the last of the fog faded, Umi, Umi, and the nameless mage stood together before the golden gate. ¡°Ah, damn, I was going to vote for him. Which one of you has-¡± He glanced between them. Neither had the fishing rod. It lay tangled on the doorway¡¯s edge, blown there by the wind. ¡°So what, I dropped it.¡± Umi said, reaching down. Umi stomped where her fingers were about to be and sent her flinching back. ¡°He can¡¯t even act like me.¡± Umi scoffed. ¡°Look at his body, the way he holds himself. He¡¯s an idiot. I am graceful.¡± ¡°I- I wasn¡¯t paying much attention to either of you, I¡¯ll admit.¡± Pushing his glasses up on his nose, the mage gave a look between them, and shrugged. ¡°I¡­¡± He froze, uncertain. Umi shifted her hand behind her back and turned so only Umi could see as she said, in thief-sign, ¡®There¡¯s only one way we¡¯re both safe.¡¯ ¡®Agreed.¡¯ Umi signed back. ¡®On three then.¡¯ ¡®One.¡¯ ¡®Two¡¯ ¡®Three.¡¯ Neither of them moved. The mage paused, unsure why both his companions had just sprouted audacious, sly grins. Two foxes playing the exact same game. ¡®For real?¡¯ One Umi asked. ¡®Sure.¡¯ The other replied. In unison, they both raised their fingers, pointing to the mage. ¡°You.¡± His mouth dropped slack, and then curled up, twisting into a grimace of absolute anger just before the spell of the tower caught him. There was a blur, and the man who brought down the sky was no longer there. One of the Umi¡¯s calmy shifted back to Trivelin, while the other picked up her fishing rod and slung it over her shoulder. ¡°I didn¡¯t catch your real name.¡± She asked. ¡°Oh, Trivelin.¡± As he offered her his hand, the door behind them silently creaked open. 1.49 Velum and Salt It was with trembling hands that Vaulder Claith packaged up three books in twine and prepared to descend. Nolan was manning the cafe and planning his conquest of the tower, Kathe had scuttled back to his workshop to brew more of his patent elixir and sulk that Vaulder wouldn¡¯t let him serve it undiluted. There was silence in the little bookshop. For the first time, Vaulder would be descending alone. Even knowing where the trapdoor was the damn thing was almost impossible to find. In the end he had to scrape a knife along the edges and pry it up, his hands trembling, trembling, trembling¡­ ¡°Look, if you don¡¯t stop, I¡¯m going to cut a finger off. That¡¯ll show you who¡¯s boss.¡± Vaulder threatened his own hand, a manic edge to his voice as lifted the knife in mock-menace. Mad. A little voice in the corner of his mind noted. Cracked under the strain. Talks to his own fingers now. ¡°Oh shush you.¡± Levering up the trapdoor, he slid himself down into the dark with only a lantern as a guide. A lantern that immediately went out in the rush of air that rose from the opened tunnel, like a cold breath. ¡°Shitshitshitshit¡­.¡± A light shined in the darkness. It was, of all things, a rat. She glowed like she was made of moondust, a quicksilver apparition that left slowly fading streaks of light behind as she moved. She squeaked at him. Setting the lantern aside, Vaulder followed. Rats everywhere. Living in Caltern had accustomed him to seeing them in just about every corner, but here, they seemed to have their own small city. Ratty noses and ratty faces poked out of little burrows in the walls. Several squeaked at him. Others reached out, snagging his clothes with a little paw and happily climbing aboard. Vaulder emerged from the tunnel covered in rats. They snuffled in his ears, making him laugh. It was a surprisingly cheerful thing. He moved to take a step forward- The moon-rat squeaked at him. A very stern squeak. He drew his foot back. No need to find out what kind of death he¡¯d almost stepped in. Letting the rat guide him, he moved in a zig-zag path through the Dungeon. It was as strange and terrifying as the day he¡¯d arrived. The ceiling arched up overhead, rough stone, dripping water. Mushrooms the size of his fist grew from black earth, their skin as translucent and delicate as glass, glowing from within with different shades of light. Several times Vaulder almost reached out to touch one, before a squeak or a claw to his face brought him back to attention. Golden dust trickled down from above. It came from mushrooms in the shape of amber bells that hung from the ceiling, drooling a fine layer of spore that settled over everything, making the gardens sparkle as if they were a treasure trove. Glass flowers sprouted from the earth, displaying bladed fans of petals that nicked his skin as he passed. Serpents coiled amidst the green moss, their organs on beating display under translucent skin. Giant mantises that were as tall as his knee perched, their claws lifted, waiting for prey to mistake them for branches in their stillness and wander into their waiting clutches. Still pools dotted the garden like mirrors. And everything was getting¡­ bigger. No, Vaulder was shrinking, shrinking away, the mushrooms looming up as his legs shortened, the beasts of the garden gaining on him. ¡°Shit!¡± The rat sped up, and Vaulder hurried to keep pace, although his stride was shortening every second. Soon the mushrooms were the size of his head, the snakes higher than he was when they reared up, his guide the size of a dog- And he couldn¡¯t have been more than a foot and a half tall. Ahead, a gazebo made of frosted glass loomed, the size of a mountain to him. Every inch of it glittered. Vaulder reached the door, hauling his way laboriously up the three giant steps, and found there was a second door, inset within the first, just his size. He stepped through and - like it was all a trick of perspective - was back to his normal height in three steps. ¡°Most¡­ peculiar¡­¡± He mumbled, out of breath and panting hard.Stolen novel; please report. Above him, a ripple ran through the air. Frosted onto the glass in words of condensated frost was the question- WHAT HAVE YOU BROUGHT ME. ¡°M-Mymerion¡¯s A Guide to Spellwork, The Treasures of the Earth and a treatise on elementals. It d-doesn¡¯t have a name but its very good.¡± He sputtered out, clutching his knees as he tried to regain his breath. SIT. READ TO ME. Vaulder hadn¡¯t expected that. He had hoped to drop the books off, give a brief report of the cafe¡¯s success, and leave. Instead, he found himself looking around for a seat. One neatly rose out of the glass floor, waiting for him. It was a strange sort of a room, with tools scattered across three small workbenches lit by crystal lamps. The center of the chamber was taken up by a single long table, bearing a dozen copies of the same cup, a beautiful thing in gold and red. An octagonal door sat in the middle of the ceiling. Very strange. The scholar sat awkwardly in among all this, cracking open the nameless, leather-bound book. ¡°This world is governed by invisible powers, flows and leylines of magic that no mortal can see. They run through earth and sky. When these rivers of Mana touch upon certain rare materials receptive to magic, such as a vein of gemstones or long-buried starmetal, a changed form may occur¡­¡± A shiver ran through the air, making Vaulder look up. New words had appeared on the glass. SKIP FORWARD. TO HOW TO KILL THEM. ¡°Erm¡­¡± He flipped through the pages, eyes flitting over the words quickly, desperately looking for¡­ looking for¡­ ¡°It doesn¡¯t say,¡± he admitted, ¡°But I do see a section on binding them.¡± PAINFULLY? ¡°I¡­ can¡¯t imagine they like it?¡± Vaulder replied. THAT WILL DO. ¡°To bind an elemental, shackles of dark iron are needed. These sever the connection to the Mana reservoir that grants them their unmatched power. Next, a spike is driven into the creature, bearing runes of binding and service, and a mage begins the process¡­¡± He winced. ¡°The whole spell is in runic, which I, um, never learned. Mage diagrams and starstuff.¡± Flipping through the next two pages, his eyes lit up. ¡°Aha! ¡®The taming of wild elementals has been managed by providing them with a larger source of Mana than the reservoir that spawned them, slowly making them more pliable and pleasant towards their master, and even obedient.¡¯¡± THEY HAVE TO PAY. He paused. ¡°Oh, I just thought¡­ since you were a Dungeon, with so much Mana, you could¡­¡± His throat suddenly turned to iron, refusing to let even another syllable escape. Apparently he¡¯d annoyed his host. Vaulder silently mouthed an apology as his lungs began to burn. THEY ARE MY ENEMIES. I DO NOT FORGIVE. Vaulder nodded, frantically, until the Contract binding his throat released him. ¡°I-I see¡­¡± He gasped out. READ THE ONE ON SPELLWORK NEXT. Massaging his neck, Vaulder reached down and picked up the next book. By the time the scholar left, I had learned dozens of important things. One was an elementary set of runes, outlined in the book, that formed the basis of more complex spellwork. Light. Strength. Siphon. Grant. Together these were the workings of a simple light spell. It worked by drinking up ambient magic, and pushing it into a small wisp of ghostly flame. I tried, twisting my Mana into the required letters, to no avail. The chain of spellwork I produced collapsed into itself, creating instead a brief knotting in my ambient Mana. I grimaced and did my best to untie things before they condensed further and created some mutant abomination. So, it seemed doing human spellcraft was beyond me. It made sense. They practiced magic from the outside, reaching their hands into the realm of the arcane to pull out wonders. I was made of Mana, and my every action was fundamentally magical. Different methods would be needed. Still, the runes themselves were deeply useful. I began to work on a spare opal, infusing it with Mana and slowly shaping the familiar form of a Shard. This time, I used my new vocabulary instead of blindly copying runes from my own Attunements. What resulted was a sign of how far I¡¯d come in just one month.
[ Fair Shard of Strength ]
This basic Shard grants an increase in physical prowess, blessing its bearer with the ability to surge forth with strength for a brief time and a telepathic connection to the Dungeon Core that created it.
Now I began to work on a golem to house it. I would need stronger, tougher creations to successfully conquer the stone-hounds. The creature I crafted borrowed its form from the rhino the Marquis had sent through the portal to attack me- an enormous, hulking body, with a horned head meant for charges. This one was made of pure salt, and my aesthetic touches were limited to giving it a cloudy white skin and a horn that gleamed with tones of blood red. The result was pleasing in a rough way, its every motion and aspect displaying the concept of crude strength. I would have time to build plenty more, while I waited for Vaulder to return. This time I had sent him out into the world bearing the knucklebone-pendant Suffi had left with me, as a sign he was my messenger, and a request for her. Four shackles of dark iron, and a spike carved with runes for binding an elemental. 1.50 The Free Men The sourness of burning hair, the crackle of ash settling. These were the impressions the ruined village left on Cabochon. A dozen or more horsemen encircled him, their mounts stomping and snorting with fear as they were forced to approach the Arachne. Swords were pointed his way, questions shouted, and Cabochon could barely tell their faces apart. To him, they were just a single mass of humanity with many arms and many heads. At his side, the unicorn snorted and bucked its head. ¡°Who are you and who do you stand for?¡± Their chief, a man with flowing red locks and a gaunt, cruel face demanded. The sword in his hand was of more interest than him- the blade was made of grey smoke, flowing in the wind but always holding its shape. ¡°I am Cabochon, and I stand for the Maker.¡± He answered, calm as stone. ¡°Bah, religious sentiment. A slave!¡± The chieftain called. ¡°Slave!¡± The entire warband jeered. With a sudden flash of movement, Cabochon lunged forward, his blade-tipped fingers ripping open the the throat of the chieftain¡¯s horse. As steed and rider toppled, the Arachne stepped forward, seizing the man by the collar- and seizing the man¡¯s wrist as well when the bandit made a clumsy sweep to cut Cabochon¡¯s head from his shoulders with the smoke blade. The edges of that strange, ethereal sword came to a stop inches from Cabochon¡¯s neck. The world felt suddenly grey, as if everything that mattered and every emotion was being drained away, leaving only a pallid shell of what had been before; smoke and ash. Cabochon squeezed his fingers down lightly, blood running from the man¡¯s wrist, and pushed the sword away. Dozens of blades and spears were aimed at his back, the whole warband frozen as he seized their leader, ready to strike if he killed his hostage. But the chieftain himself simply shouted in defiance, spittle flying from his mouth, ¡°Go ahead, coward! A free man is not afraid!¡± Slowly, Cabochon squeezed down harder, until the blade dropped from the man¡¯s hand and landed in the grass, causing it to wither and die to stubs of charred black in moments. The man¡¯s wrist hung at an unnatural angle, cut into brutally by Cabochon¡¯s razor-sharp touch. ¡°I have no fight with you. I stand for my Maker, the Dungeon, who called my soul from the void and shaped my flesh from a humble spider. I am a visitor here, only observing.¡± Even now, Cabochon¡¯s unflinching demeanor held strong. ¡°The Dungeon?¡± The red-headed man paused, and let out a barking, sudden laugh. ¡°Let me up then, because we¡¯re brothers! We were born from a Dungeon too!¡± ¡°You are human.¡± Cabochon replied. ¡°In our first life, sure enough, but now? Now we¡¯re so much more. We are Remade, my brother, Remade by the Dungeon of Ash. Let me up, and you can lead me to your Maker.¡± He grinned, and Cabochon saw the sheer madness in his eyes, the single spark of fanaticism burning in absolute emptiness where sanity and morals should be. ¡°And why would I take you there?¡± Cabochon asked. But he did loosen his grip on the man¡¯s throat. It was best for everyone if this situation moved in a calmer direction. ¡°Because we¡¯re allies! We¡¯ve come to free Caltern from the empire¡¯s grip, to make it a free city!¡± The chieftain''s insistence they were friends, brothers-in-arms, allies- all of it made Cabochon trust him even less. This man was a zealot. Cabochon wanted none of it.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. ¡°And if I say we¡¯re not allies?¡± ¡°Let me up, now.¡± Finally the man spoke honestly, a dangerously hard tone entering his voice. ¡°And I¡¯ll explain everything.¡± With weapons pointing at him from all directions, Cabochon had little choice. He let go, and the red-haired chieftain rolled onto his feet, walking towards the man Cabochon had beheaded. The corpse was crumbling into ash, a fire flickering beneath the chest. The chieftain reached down, his fingertips piercing through the ashen flesh and causing it to crumble inwards, collapsing, as he pulled out a stone that glowed with a flickering, angry orange hue. ¡°He died a good death.¡± ¡°It would be a shame if more died.¡± Cabochon said. All around him were men with weapons, but there were few enough places on his body those weapons could actually harm. Ten or a dozen of them would die before they could crush him under their ranks. ¡°Would it? You¡¯ll find we hardly care. We¡¯re men of smoke and ash, us Remade. We care only for battle.¡± The man didn¡¯t seem to think much of his own wound, his good right hand hanging limp and loose at his side with ribbons of blood threading their way down the knuckles. ¡°And we fight against the gods, against the Empire, against anything that seeks to control us.¡± Cabochon was silent. The Maker was with him now, occupying his mind, peering through his eyes. These intruders were dangerous. The sheer fact that they claimed to be from another Dungeon was worth his Maker¡¯s notice. ¡°Freedom is the only thing smoke wants for. Hatred is all ash has left.¡± The chieftain opined. ¡°Do you understand now?¡± He turned back to Cabochon, that mad intensity alive in his eyes. ¡°No, I don¡¯t.¡± Cabochon refused to engage with this madness. ¡°Is that a Dungeon Shard?¡± ¡°This? This is an ember. A bit of life for dead men to cling to. Here, you¡¯ll understand soon.¡± And he turned to his men. ¡°Bring the prisoners in!¡± One by one, the townsfolk of the burned village were lined up, forced to kneel. The man lifted his sword of smoke from the ground and walked among them, stepping behind each and turn and swinging his strange blade through their necks. Most of them toppled over dead on the spot. The blade never cut them, never spilled blood. It passed through their flesh like a ghost. They simply died. But others took the ghostly cut and simply spilled forward, writhing on the ground, their eyes blank and clouded as they thrashed. By the time the chieftain had reached the end of the line, the first to fall were standing again. The bandits came forward to free them from their bonds, clapping them on the shoulders, greeting them as brothers. The dead men only blinked their lifeless eyes. ¡°See, the ashen-blade takes away our old life. And the ember¡­¡± He stepped back, and cast the glowing stone among the crowd of dead man. Instantly they went beserk, clawing each other¡¯s faces, fighting to be the one to seize it. Two were dead, their throats torn out, by the time a girl not much more than thirteen managed to slip through and force the stone down her mouth. The light vanished down her throat. A circlet of white fire briefly formed around her head, before fading. The bandits shoved the rest away, whipping at them with the hafts of axes and the pommels of swords. They clad their new comrade in a cloak of yellow, gave her an old sword chipped and flaked with rust, and passed her numerous flasks, chanting as she drank deep from each. Her eyes had the fire now, the fanatic smoldering energy. She grinned a madwoman¡¯s grin as her comrades embraced her. ¡°It makes us live again. Remade!¡± Swords were lifted to the sky, a cheer going up. ¡°Remade!¡± For all their scoffing at ¡®religious sentiment¡¯ it was as zealous a moment as any. Cabochon moved to step back, to leave, but the chieftain advanced in tune. ¡°Nah, you ain¡¯t going nowhere. Not until you tell us about your Maker, my brother.¡± ¡°I do not think I will.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s the thing. You won¡¯t have to. Once we Remake you, the new you will.¡± The chieftain smiled, a gloriously mad smile. That was when the unicorn let out a whiny, and came charging into him from behind. His flaming eyes went wide as the beast¡¯s horn pushed through his chest, the white horn stained red with gore, his skin turning pale like ash. And then everything burst into wild, deadly motion. 1.51 Forced March I sensed it in the air. An incursion was coming. I knew it as soon as the scouting team on the edge of the ravine drew back, packing up their camp and vanishing down the tunnels. My rats followed them as they hauled their way up, out of the sewers, and to a dingy little tavern where they handed over their maps to a team of four. No, five- the last member sat in the corner of the tavern playing a violin. A woman with sapphire eyes took the map and unrolled it, smiling. She passed it off to a young man with a hideous wriggling mass of scars on his arm. Coin was exchanged across the table. And that was all, for an hour. For two. I waited in tension, checking over the the minutia of my Dungeon, rousing the creatures from their dens with waves of caution and alertness. The whole of my territory swum in a sea of wary paranoia. Then, on the eastern shore, things began to move. Men in shining armor stormed through on horses, shouting and pointing, and the masses of common-folk huddled at the edge of my lake stirred. They took to the ships they¡¯d been building for the last weeks, the rough-hewn rafts and slim canoes, strapping on what cheap weapons they owned and dipping their oars into the water. It was a mass rush for my orchards. It was a distraction. They came in droves, the prows of their ships cutting holes in the thick layer of florid waterlilies I had woven over the lake, a blanket of pink that lay over the swaying waters, rising and falling with the waves. I watched as the harpoon spiders crawled up from their dens, beautifully horrible creatures. Their carapace was a rough, bruised red color, with numerous small spikes decorating their broad legs. With a hiss their mandibles snapped open and they spat out long barbs of bone, going sailing through the air trailing silk lines. Men died in that first volley, their impaled bodies ripped from their ships and dragged through the waters. The lucky ones died from the shock of finding a spear of bone thrust through their guts, rather than suffering the pain and confusion of being reeled in like fish thrashing on the hook. Struggling limbs spread a pink froth of blood and water across the surface of the lake. Boats began to tilt and overturn as reelfish smashed their battering-ram skulls into the undersides, setting the little vessels lurching in the water. The huge swarm of bright, bronze-scaled bodies beneath the shallow green waters congregated on anyone who fell overboard, dragging them down to a silent death. Blood and froths of airbubbles surfaced, rocking the waters. Still they came, as the men in armor set up along the shore and lifted their bows, turning any ship that tried to change course and retreat into a pincushion. Arrow after arrow pierced the retreaters, urging the rest forward. It was a death march. I could have licked my lips. The small souls of creatures wandering into my Dungeon had long since ceased to count towards my advancement. To keep moving forward I needed human lives. Or in this case, have them served up on a silver platter. But something concerned me. Dragged my attention away from the slaughter. From Cabochon, fighting his own battles. My little ratty spies had lost sight of the adventuring party. They were nowhere to be found, and this was a distraction, it had to be. Nobody would use the lives and bodies of the common folk as fodder like this if they seriously intended a successful mission. Not unless there was a real assault coming from another front. I watched and waited, but nothing. The boats had reached the shore of the mangrove orchard now, and people were rushing ashore, swinging with axes and crude blades mounted on long poles. The fisherman spiders were overwhelmed, pressed back. Bone-harpoons continued to fly from within their numbers, claiming lives, but even the sight of their comrades being hauled like broken dolls into the swarming limbs of the arachnid host did nothing to hold back the human tide. Men fell screaming, shaking, foam bubbling from their mouth as the little jeweled spiders sank their teeth in. Boa constrictors silently dropped their tails from the branches, coiling around throats and squeezing with the strength to crush bone. It was chaos. It was carnage. They cut the webs ahead of them with their polearms, and fought tooth and nail to keep the spiders scuttling back on thin, hairy legs. Boots stomped through the shallow water and mud between the mangrove trees, and men climbed and clawed each other down from the branches, all trying to claim the fat golden fruit. It was the ones who¡¯d hung back, hoping to let other men clear the way, who met the horror first. Drawn by the blood above, the abyssal shark shifted off its mantle of mud. It rose with a tremendous beat of its tail, a sleek bullet rising through the waters.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. The waters exploded up as it surfaced in a thrash of endless teeth and glimmering, pale-grey skin. A ship was left broken down to splintering timber, the crew holding on to shattered spars. A tail and dozens of tendrils coiled through the air as the beast retreated down, down, down, a man clutched half-broken but still living in its jaws. The ones left alive didn¡¯t get to breathe- tendrils coiled around their legs, seized them by the throats. They hung, corpses from a noose, kicking their limbs as they fought to get free. Making it to the orchard was one thing. Making it back to shore, that would depend on their luck. But I couldn¡¯t sit and watch them try to make it past the prowling shark. I was still waiting for the axe to fall, for the real invaders to make their entrance through the ravine. Why weren¡¯t they here? The thought loomed above me in cold anxiety, a stormcloud, an omen. I focused all my senses on the ravine¡¯s slopes, thinking back to the maps I¡¯d seen the scouts make, the routes they¡¯d outlined as safe. Something was wrong here. Something was- I paused, and then began to eat away at the spiderwebs above, cutting loose their moorings so huge sections of silver-pale silk came wafting down, drifting through the air like phantoms. I cut and cut, filling the sky above the canyon with a falling snowdrift of silk. And then a long, tangling thread caught around something that wasn¡¯t there. Something invisible. Something moving. They were here. As the adventuring team flickered into view, running now, running fast down the ¡®safe¡¯ route the scouting team had found for them. Thankfully I¡¯d sabotaged their maps, adding unnecessary detours into the path. Time enough to rouse my minions. I jolted the sloths awake, and all around the five adventurers, hills of fur and mottled moss lifted up on long, trailing limbs. Huge faces with banded patterns of white and black and placid, sleepy eyes looked at them, and then an enormous paw swept out with a sudden burst of speed. A bald man with a trio of gemstones orbiting his head lifted his staff. A wall of stone erupted, lifted from the floor of my Dungeon, and was shattered by the sloth¡¯s might. Stone shrapnel flew at them, but the woman with the violin turned back and sawed a note, calling up a wind that shielded them. The sapphire-eyed woman was in the lead, hacking away at the undergrowth of the dense, verdant valley with her sword, cutting them a route clear of pitfalls. Dozens of little birds lifted from the giant sloth¡¯s back and a storm of cawing, discordant sound filled the air as they raised their voices in fury. The man with the scarred arm uncorked a wooden canister and hurled it. Smoke, green smoke, puffed out of the opened container, wafting into the air. The birds fell like stones as a miniature explosion and a burst of flame shattered the canister and expanded its contents into a growing cloud. The sloth yawned, padding slowly after the team as they raced ahead. I had brought the spiders out from their dens, flocking thick across the ravine¡¯s far slope. It was only fifty or so feet, but a steep climb, and there had been no map made of this portion. The scouts had always retreated out of fear that their escape route would be cut off if they waited too long. Now the real incursion would have to attempt the ascent blind. The bald earth mage thrust both of his hands to the ground, setting off a minor quake that sent clouds of debris rolling down the slope. In only a moment the actual routes up were exposed, the patches of loose dirt and stone I¡¯d left to go sliding underfoot knocked away, the pitfalls exposed as their thin layer of covering cracked and fell inwards. It was a blunt method, but effective. Better yet - for them - it caught many of the spiders in the rockslide, pulling their ranks into a disorganize tangle of limbs. The armored woman hit them like an elephant, charging through with sweeping blows from her long bastard sword. Just behind, the alchemist was lighting bottles with rags stuffed down their necks, hurling them to explode into flame and drive the spiders back in fear. The earth mage and the violinist moved together picking off the spiders that got through their vanguard and braved the flames. Last in line was a slim, slender man with a dagger in each hand, fighting off the spiders as they closed behind the group. They covered the first half of the slope in seconds, but then it all began to turn. A harpoon shot through the air, piercing the earth mage through his shoulder. Only the violinist saved him, catching his leg with some invisible force as the line snapped taut and tried to drag him back. In moments the armored woman was at his side cutting the silk reel- but in doing so she¡¯d abandoned her post clearing the front. The swarm of spiders had finally closed around them, encircling them. From behind, the sloth let out a long, lazy roar as it began to clamber up the slope after them. They were bogged down now, with no quick route to escape, and the sloth outclassed any of them in sheer unarguable weight and brute force. The alchemist lit his last bottle and hurled it. The fire struck the sloth along its muddy, mossy back, and couldn¡¯t catch hold on the wet matting of fur and clinging plant fibres. It wicked out leaving the beast no worse than singed. The earth mage, sweating, put his hand to the ground. As the sloth sunk its claws into the rocky side of the slope to climb, the earth underfoot gave way and sent it toppling back with an ungainly roaring. Trees were torn to splinters as it rolled downhill. Ahead, a harpoon glanced off the woman¡¯s armor, winding her. Spiders leapt to grab hold with their forelegs, to drag her down. The man with the knives lunged forward and cut at them, stabbing into eyes and hacking away reaching limbs. The three in the rear were left to fend for themselves as the two melee combatants joined together and cut a path forward. The earth mage didn¡¯t make it. He stumbled, nearly pulling the alchemist down with him, and I watched as the boy made a choice- letting go of his comrades hand. Fighting, actually, having to peel the man¡¯s fingers from his own as the dying mage desperately tried to cling on, grasping blindly at his companion. But he couldn¡¯t keep hold. The alchemist sprinted after the violinist and the two fighters as they charged for the glass door to the Gardens, and the earth mage was pulled under by the tide of spiders chasing after. The alchemist¡¯s face was so pale you¡¯d have thought he died himself. 1.52 Control The five four adventurers stumbled through the door to my inner paradise, the Garden of Glass Bells, panting and huffing. With every breath they drew the golden spore that permeated the air into their lungs. Kneeling down, the bard lit a stick of incense and I felt that constricting sense of restraint surge through my being, sealing me out from my ethereal control. The alchemist dressed the small wounds of his comrades with a tin of aromatic balm, the wounds sizzling painfully and sealing as he pasted it thick across the bleeding cuts from the spider¡¯s fangs. And all the while, they were shrinking. They hadn¡¯t noticed it yet, but they were losing size with every second. Every delay worked in my favor. ¡°Hold up.¡± The armored woman said, lifting a gauntleted hand. ¡°Something¡¯s strange.¡± ¡°Everything¡¯s strange. Strange and beautiful.¡± The alchemist noted, gazing out on my domain. The delicate shapes of the glass mushrooms pulsed with waning and waxings of pale, greyish light, a light without any warmth. The landscape was completely alien to the world above, with a pale and sinister reflection. ¡°Yes but- Something¡¯s wrong.¡± Ah, she had noticed. I had a clever idea how to slow down the realization in the future, but that would have to wait. She stood, putting her hand flat just above her eyeline and tracing it out to the walls. With a dagger from her belt she scored the line as her teammates readied themselves, the alchemist unpacking a series of vials and wooden canisters from his bag as the knife-fighter cleaned his blades. The violinist watched her comrade with thoughtful eyes. She was dangerous, I felt. It was her abilities that had let them penetrate so far into my domain without notice. After a count of three on her steel-clad fingers, the woman again traced her height from her eyeline. Her hand touched the wall just below the first mark. ¡°We have to move.¡± Her voice was hard, and her companions took notice. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± The violinist asked. ¡°I don¡¯t know, but it¡¯s no good. C¡¯mon. In and out before the Dungeon knows we¡¯re here, that was the plan. We can¡¯t slow down now.¡± ¡°Here, drink this at least. This golden stuff could be poison.¡± The alchemist was grinding down a handfuls of herbs, cupping his hand over the pestle to keep the spore lazily drifting from the ceiling from getting in. He poured a light silver solution from a vial into the bowl and offered it to his companions. One by one, they sipped and winced. ¡°Sorry, no time to make it taste good.¡± He said, wrinkling his nose up and chugging it down. I was counting every second in my favor and the woman was shifting impatiently on her feet, eyes scanning the fungal forest warily. They could see, from the doorway, the rise of the glass gazebo, and the hilltop I had built up underneath the silver door to the Everforest. The way was complicated by a jungle of somnolent blooms- high, spiralling stacks of corkscrew shaped mushrooms that bent crookedly as they reached towards the ceiling, ready to let loose clouds of sleeping-poison spore at the slightest touch. Above, the nacre spiders waited, crouched over their false ceilings to slice down with razor-sharp limbs. The ornamental pools scattered across the floor were deceptively deep, home to lurking reelfish. Snakes curled among the glass mushrooms. Everything seemed calm and still, but my gardens were only waiting to burst into deadly motion. The armored woman took her first step forward, clearly nervous, glancing between the palatial gazebo and the doorway. ¡°Which way?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, dammit, Egar was supposed to scout for traps.¡± The knife-fighter replied. ¡°I can do something.¡± Lifting her bow, the violinist played a quick saw, drawing out lovely, deep strains from her instrument. A gentle light cascaded forth in ribbons to form the small, glowing body of an ethereal rabbit, then another, and another. A cascade of bunnies moved through my gardens, and one by one, they died. A snake burst from the undergrowth and sank its fangs into their neck. A pond exploded as a reelfish burst above the waters and snagged the kicking poor creature with its tendrils. Two dropped as they touched the climbing towers of the somnolent blooms and were brought down by the explosion of poison that rained down.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°C¡¯mon, this way.¡± The armored woman led the way, weaving between the blooms and giving the ponds a wary eye, jabbing her sword into the ground before her to flush out snakes. ¡°Has anyone noticed-¡± The alchemist started to say, glancing frantically around the gardens. ¡°Yes. Come on and move.¡± She hissed in reply. They were already two feet gone from when they¡¯d entered, the strangeness of the garden delaying their realization. But they saw it now, saw how they were growing closer to the ground, closer to the small and deadly creatures I¡¯d propagated through my little wonder of a world. And that spur of fear made them sloppy. A nacre-spider dropped, its pearly white armor gleaming, from above. A bladed foreleg stabbed through the woman¡¯s torso, puncturing her armor like cheap tin. Another came stabbing for her neck but she deflected, cleaving the limb away with her sword even as she was forced to the ground by the creature¡¯s weight slamming down atop her. Mandibles that dripped with poison spread wide above her horrified face to deliver the killing bite. The knife-fighter tackled the beast from the side, jabbing his blades down into the narrow pinch of its body between thorax and abdomen. His blades found the unarmored joint and twisted inside, ripping open the beast¡¯s most vulnerable point. Man and spider both went rolling on the ground, the woman screaming as the limb that pierced her gut was yanked away, tearing the wound open wide. Her comrades rushed for her but it was too late, too late by far. Blood was pouring in waterfalls, staining her armor and filling up the dark earth like a red rain. The violinist laid her hand on the wound and pushed a golden light in, sealing it, but the woman was pale, gasping, the sword fallen out of her hands. The knife fighter ripped his blade free of the dying spider and pushed it off him, having ended up underneath its upturned back in the tumble. A lucky happenstance that kept him out of the way of its sharp thin legs thrashing in death-throes. But as he rose, poison fangs sunk deep into his thigh. He screamed, stabbing at the snake that curled its muscular body around his leg, hacking away. It was no good. The shrinking charm over my gardens had reduced him until the serpent could coil all the way up his leg, crushing the bones and bringing him down to the ground. The snake was dying too, hacked nearly in half at the neck. It died a good death, defending its home. He would die alone, abandoned by his comrades, far from the sun¡¯s light. They were running now, the armored woman lifted with one arm around the alchemist¡¯s shoulders as he clutched a wooden canister and readied to throw at the first thing that moved. I casually reached out and touched the minds of my nacre-spiders, pushing them with angry, bloody thoughts. On cue, they opened their hidden doors and descended. Gleaming bodies dripped from the ceiling, touching down on deadly limbs. The adventurers were caught out- the way back closed behind a wall of deadly eight-legged bodies. I watched them. No more in control of their lives than the frightened rabbits they¡¯d sent to die. Frozen in panic. Stumbling to a halt. There had been a moment where they¡¯d almost won, where their plan had almost worked. Now their momentum was ebbing away and they were left to hold up one comrade and watch another crawl across the ground, his leg mangled, poison spreading with every heartbeat as he pleaded for them to help. It was so easy to be left helpless, watching your fate rush towards you. The only thing you could do was come to your senses and make a decision, however terrible. The violinist was stricken, fear in her eyes. She was sharp but brittle. In situations like these she would simply freeze. ¡°The door.¡± The alchemist said, his voice strained. ¡°We have to.¡± He lifted the canister and hurled it where the spiders were thickest between them and the gate to the Everforest. It cracked open, a spill of smoke expanding outwards. The spiders scuttled back, my will pulsing thoughts of danger and retreat in fear of poison, but it was only smoke. A distraction in which to break through. They ran, holding up the woman under either arm as they plunged into the thick smog. Their only hope now was the door, although they couldn¡¯t know what was beyond. My lion-golem finally roused from its post guarding the doorway, lifting and lunging into the fog after a fleeing shadow. As the smoke cleared, it was left holding a rabbit beneath its paws, and the adventurers were gone. I sighed. The lion really was more concerned with its supper than anything else. It didn¡¯t even need to eat. Gone. Vanished into the Everforest. Despite the threat it presented, I hadn¡¯t had time to scout the land beyond the portal. Now one more enemy lurked through that door waiting for revenge. But today I¡¯d reaped a full harvest. Dozens had died during the rush towards the orchard, and I¡¯d claimed two of the would-be adventurers. I turned my attention back to the grove, watching the poor fools who¡¯d been used as fodder trying to escape back across the waters. My shark rose, its grey shape visible for a moment before the waters burst up in its wake, the rows and rows of teeth lining its gaping, circular mouth flashing open as it claimed another life. Broken bits of crude ships drifted on the waters. 1.53 Aftermath I reached out, and pulled the dead into me. They unfurled in bright flames of incandescent Mana, the smokey residue of their lives drawn towards my core in a whirlwind that made the whole Dungeon shiver. It was more than enough to produce a Mana Overflow. For once, I felt satisfied enough not to panic as my senses were cut off with the collapse of my Mana cloud into a single, condensed point. The world was replaced by a blazing white and I was calm. The adventurers had shown me a flaw in my Dungeon. I lacked perceptive, clever watchdogs. Honestly, I had counted on my own senses being absolute, and now I realized how foolish that was. Of course adventurers would have ways to bypass a Dungeon¡¯s sight; it was the first thing any competent crew would seek out. Which meant I needed to design countermeasures. Traps that would find little vermin creeping into my domain without catching my own creatures. It was tricky. Tricky tricky tricky.
You have created: Crown of Inquiry - Once a week, the wearer may ask a single question and force a subject to answer to truthfully.
A clink of metal sounded as the crown materialized above me, dropping over the tiny gem that housed my consciousness. It was a circlet of braided silver with rising points of crystal. A beautiful, icy crown that gleamed in the dark of Argent¡¯s lair. It was a fantastic prize. For someone in a city of liars, being able to rely on even a single answer meant having a light in the darkness. As my cloud of ethereal Mana flowed back into the Dungeon, expanding my senses once more, I took stock of the damage left in the incursion''s wake. It was fairly light on the western boundary, only my spiders suffering any real losses. They would recover on their own. Towards the east, my orchard had been hacked apart, the painstaking webs of the fisherman spiders ripped down and fires lit among the mangrove trees. Blood drifted through the water, and the survivors of the dead man¡¯s rush sat on the shore, shivering, wet, afraid. A few of them had made it rich today. Golden fruit was clutched in their shaking hands. Most had come back with nothing more than their own lives, and new gratitude for that. As they watched, the strange world where they had faced their death began to reform. The tears in the layer of floating lilies that covered the lake were stitched together as new flowers blossomed, growing at incredible speeds. A last flash of grey, slime-covered scales was visible as the hulking monstrosity of the abyssal shark was laid to rest under a blanket of flowers. And I began my endless work. I had long ago taken the Somnolent Blooms as one of my only three Schema. It was an impulsive decision, but since selecting a Schema reforged the inner pathways of the organism, it meant I could mutate the breed more freely than common Dungeon monsters. Now, I would build them into an alarm for my territory, developing a new crossbreed with traits from the carnivorous Nematocelia mushrooms. The result were clusters of long, thin wisps that slowly stretched through the air like grasping tendrils, the color of pale undersea fish. They added something unearthly to the ravine, looking like they belonged on the bed of an ocean instead. Clustered on their waving arms were scatterings of small, sticky spores that created a uniquely fragrant perfume, a spicy earthen stuff that reminded me of woodsmoke. Anything that touched them would come away coated in the spore and the scent. That alone would make them obvious to the creatures of my Dungeon. To add a visual cue, I altered the tendrils to retract into the ground when something brushed against them.
[ Fainting Mycelium ]
Shy to a fault, this frail species serves as a useful method of detection for invaders, shrinking away at the slightest touch.
It cost me little to spread them, thanks to the Schema, and I quickly layered thick fields of the pale mushroom-tendrils throughout the ravine, and between the roots of the mangroves. I frowned, and began to alter them a little more, making the tops curl into fronds that glowed with a faint blue light. Now they looked properly beautiful, a sea of spiriforms full of pulsing bioluminescence.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. It was a fine addition to my Dungeon. The last bit of work to be done was tending to the reelfish. One of them had finally eaten its fill, reaching the point of evolution.
Your creation is undergoing Evolution During this time, Mana you gift them will be more effective, and they will be easier to shape. Choose a path- Ink Eel (Common) - Infused with the magic of shadows, the ink eel exudes a cloud of darkness when threatened. Placodermi (Common) - Born from an age long past, this armored beast can grow to behemoth sizes. Heavenly Bride (Rare) - Attuned to the heavens, this peaceful creature accumulates fortune all its life, bestowing its good luck on he who devours it. Angler of Styx (Rare) - Born from the waters of the underworld, this lurking predator rips the souls from its victims to absorb their Mana. Many-Eyed Carp (Mutant) - Absorbs traits from the last foe defeated. Gains multiple eyes and enhanced cognition.
The choice was fairly easy for me. My abyssal shark already took the role of apex predator, and I saw no need for another species of predatory, violent aquatic carnivore. No, the Heavenly Bride intrigued me. It possessed a form of magic tied to Fortune, which was higher in the divine ladder I had glimpsed than shadows. Higher, likely, than whatever Attunement the Angler of Styx was aligned with, although the ability to absorb Mana directly did seem powerful. Making my selection, I watched as the amber chrysalis hatched to unleash a beautiful, elegant creature, with a slender form that trailed diaphanous tails of long, billowing membranes in translucent silver. Its scales were the rich orange of the midday sun dotted with white, as if it was passing through the clouds, with a metallic red tinge that flashed under the waters. I set about making a new environment for them, hollowing out a wide pond in the Garden of Glass Bells, separate to the muddy tunnels where the reelfish lurked. I layered the bottom with pale, even-sized stones, all of a light blue color, giving the sun-patterned fish a blue sky above which to swim. A few lilies would lure down insects and frogs to feed on. But there was something missing. I felt a certain artistic intuition, a need for a finishing touch. I raised a pillar of stone from the pool¡¯s center, and began to sculpt. ¡°These five¡­¡± Eyfrae declared, lifting her voice above the clamour of the masses. They were near rioting, a furious cloud of anger storming down upon her in the yells, the pelting of bits of garbage that were hurled at the stage. She had cut off access to the Tower. After another two days, eleven of the available twenty positions were on the third floor, waiting. Four were on the second, leaving only three doors open at the Tower¡¯s base. As the crowd fought to be the next to enter, Eyfrae had gathered troops from Governer Kedlin¡¯s guard and her own loyal contingent from the Adventurer¡¯s Guild. They had crashed into the fray like a brick through a window, an organized formation versus a mob. Truncheons and whips beat back the disorganized challengers. And just like that, Eyfrae had control over the city¡¯s great fortune. Even now her guards were dispersing the miniature village of sprawling tents and merchant pavillions that had sprung up around the Tower, laying waste to the complex industries that had surrounded the challengers, from supplying them with the necessities of food and sleep to trading for the trinkets they brought back from their triumphs. Tomorrow, a new order would begin. Only her adventurers would qualify to enter the Tower. Only Eyfrae would hold the keys to prosperity. Today, she would have to endure the crowd¡¯s anger, but tomorrow they would be lining up outside the Guild. ¡°These five.¡± She reiterated. ¡°Were among the first to reach the third floor. In honor of their bravery and strength, I award them each a gift.¡± Malvet walked alongside her, bearing a silk-lined coffer containing a dozen tiny bottles. Each one sparkled like it was full of starlight, a faint blue elixir sloshing in the teardrop-shaped vials, the stoppers in the shape of the Institute¡¯s seal. ¡°A gift to help them conquer the Dungeon, where true riches await.¡± She had to refocus this fiasco. Take the energy of the crowd, the furor the city was in, and redirect it towards the threat lurking under their feet. A threat to her more than anyone else. Suffi hadn¡¯t even tried to stop Eyfrae and Kedlin from taking control of the Tower, although that old crone Cathara was watching from the stands all the while. No, everyone of real importance knew the Dungeon was what mattered. She simply needed to wake the common people up to that. To direct them, poor lost sheep that they were. And if they resented her for it, well, being the adult in the room had always been a thankless task. She presented the vial to the first in line, the golem-armed man named Nim. She smiled as she pressed the fatal poison into his palm. One by one, she handed out deadly gifts. To the twin mages, to her own loyal steadfast Jakon, to the dwarf with the seven-stone cudgel. As she reached the end of the line, a messenger was waiting for her, thrusting up a letter sealed with the Halfhand crest from off the edge of the stage. She bent down to take it, melting away the wax with a wisp of flame. Eyfrae''s face soured immediately as she read the contents. Her smile flickered for a moment. And she looked up to the tower, where flames burned in the eyes of two statues on the fourth floor. Just two. Nobody else had made it past the bottleneck on the third layer. She could only hope they were capable of another miracle. 1.54 Ash Cabochon felt the Dungeon''s mind retreat from his own, drawn by matters elsewhere. He was to stand, on his own, against two dozen armed men. The unicorn bucked its head, sending the chieftain sliding off its horn. Blood and soot ran from the wound pierced through his stomach, but the man was alive as he landed on the ground, still clutching his sword of billowing smoke. "Fucking kill them!" He gasped out. The dead men burst into action. Cabochon lunged forward to protect the unicorn, taking a hatchet across the back. The axe-blade chipped and rebounded against his nacreous armor. They swarmed down upon him, galloping past on their horses. Another blow slammed into his gut and took the wind out of him. A mace swung towards his head, and he narrowly lifted his arm in time to deflect. The impact jarred him down to his bones and left his already-injured hand numb. Grit swirled through the air as dozens of hooves kicked at the just-settled ash of the burned village. His head swum with the sound and the motion, unable to keep track of the dozens of bodies moving through the clouds of soot. Shadows charged at him through the billowing ash. Cabochon caught a man mid-charge, ripping his stomach open as he galloped past- the man dropped from his saddle, foot caught in the stirrups, a corpse dragging behind as his horse continued to run. A sword caught Cabochon across the cheek, gashing open a deep wound and a spill of blood that painted his face. The unicorn slammed into the rider¡¯s horse, goring the beast across its horn and sending it to the ground, thrashing and kicking. ¡°We have to retreat.¡± Already, the chieftain was fighting his way to his feet. Blood and fire gushed from his belly in equal measure, but he stood. ¡°Your horse has a fighting spirit. Got me bleeding.¡± And he laughed, a mad bark of snorting laughter that gushed out of him as embers burned around the edges of his wound. Cabochon caught a spear and levered it to rip the man grasping the other end free of his horse. Lifting the weapon, he cracked the man¡¯s skull with the haft. A twist, and the bladed end scythed through the air, slicing open a throat. Three men lay dead around him, a fourth pinned beneath a dying horse. He flung the spear and watched a fifth topple from his steed. They wheeled around him, their horses stamping up flying clouds of ash, and came rushing forward. Something smashed into his shoulder. A spear cut at his legs. He lifted both hands to protect his face, and an arrow sunk into his gut, landing between the seam of armored nacre plates that guarded soft flesh beneath. He felt blood spew forth, a spreading wet heat that left him feeling nauseous. The point where the arrow had pierced him was searing pain that made his head spin. Ash clung to his tongue and filled his lungs, the thunder of hooves all around him. The unicorn was at his side, laying it¡¯s horn across his wound. A gentle light filled him, like a star was within his chest radiating soft warmth throughout his body, the wounded flesh sealing up around the arrow¡¯s shaft. Together they fell into a fighting retreat, Cabochon lashing out with his bladed hands at anything that came close, the unicorn diving into the fray with horn held down to pierce through hide and flesh alike. The flower the goddess had given him was safely hidden away, tucked into a nacre-pouch on his underbelly. One, then two more men died to Cabochon. His touch simply glided through their flesh and pulled out red ribbons of blood and viscera. In exchange he took a blow to his arm that bent it crooked, tearing the joint free from its socket. The limb hung useless now. And he made it maybe two hundred feet from where he¡¯d stood. He was not a fast creature at the best of times, his bulky, strange body, his missing leg all slowing him down- and now he had to stand for a fighting retreat, devoting his attention to shielding himself from the blows that rained down as the marauders charged past. Each time, he was battered and swung about, steel and iron cracking against his segmented armor of pearly nacre.Stolen novel; please report. It was useless to hope to reach to the ship, but rushing towards him were the survivors of the Serpentine¡¯s raid on the silent market. Five nacre-spiders crested over the hill at Cabochon¡¯s back, and the dead men roared in bloodlust as this new foe came scuttling down the hillside to meet them in battle. They clashed, and limbs fell like scythed wheat as the bladed limbs of the spiders tore into the men. They were only men, if ones who could fight with no fear of death, no hesitancy or love of their own lives to hold them back. But they had numbers. First one spider died to a spear that shoved through its open mouth, gutting it from within, and then another was weighed down under four men hacking away, a lucky blow finding the join between abdomen and thorax to cut the beast in half. In moments the battle was turning conclusively against the Dungeon¡¯s forces, and all Cabochon could do was fight his way up the hill and leave the spiders behind to hold the line. That was when the chieftain broke through. Fire spread across the right half of his body, unfurling from his arm like a great cape of blue-white. Clutched in his good hand was the smoke-sword, and he rushed towards Cabochon, slashing at a nacre-spider that reared up to block his way. The spider¡¯s armor did nothing to stop the blade from cutting through, killing the beast without leaving a mark. The unicorn snorted and reared up, ready to fight, but Cabochon stepped past. This was his battle. These fanatics couldn¡¯t be allowed to threaten his Maker. The blade slashed at him, forcing him to back away, step by step, fearing the intangible edge of that strange sword. He lifted up onto his hindlegs and slashed with the front two, nearly catching the bandit leader across the chest- but the man was quick, dodging back, letting another marauder rush past him and charge for Cabochon. Cabochon caught the interloper¡¯s sword across his armored chest, letting the blade scrape away harmlessly in a spray of sparks. His bladed fingers raked the man¡¯s face and blinded him, a kick severing his leg at the knee. And suddenly, stepping ten feet in a flicker of movement and a swirl of ash, the chieftain was upon him. The smoke-blade stabbed forward and pierced Cabochon through the chest. Just below the heart. His world turned to dust. Everything was ash and smoke, grey upon grey. All the emotion and light, the colors and beauty, bled from the world. He was left strangely apathetic as the chieftain drew back his sword, preparing to make another cut, this time the head. Another severing to break him from the world. The unicorn intervened, driving the man back with a stomp of its front hooves. Now they danced around each other, circling, lunging and feinting back as the bandit chief laughed and laughed. Cabochon felt nothing. He could have helped, but felt no urge, no necessity. He would simply prefer not to. Smoke unfurled from his lungs as he breathed out. There was a blackness looming at the edge of his vision, creeping inwards. It was death. He would die if he didn¡¯t move soon, didn¡¯t cling to life, didn¡¯t refuse to simply lay and down and die. But he couldn¡¯t see a reason to fight. The Dungeon spoke to him, filling his mind. I COMMAND YOU TO FIGHT A runaway horse crashed into the unicorn, sending them both toppling over. The chieftain advanced, laughing, the unicorn struggling to stand but struggling, limping, one leg broken. Cabochon hesitated, and still, did nothing. The Dungeon washed through his mind in a wave of fear and anger but these were small things, little sparks that failed to warm him. Fleeing from the smoke and clamour to his stillness, a ladybug landed on his bleeding face. Its red little wings fluttered and Cabochon remembered- Remembered the strange beauty of the Maker¡¯s underground world, with its luminescent bodies of glass. Remembered the organized patterns and deliberate art of it all. Remembered watching the Maker carve out a new land where there had been only blank stone, calling forth fields of grey flowers and trees with weeping faces. He saw, suddenly, the patterns in the flow of the grass when the wind came, and in the fluttering bits of ember that sparked up from the settling fires of the village. He saw the disorganized, messy, but fundamentally beautiful way the battlefield unfolded. He saw the world, and it was beautiful. The chieftain lifted his sword- Cabochon caught the hand that held the blade, his fingers tearing through the flesh of the wrist, severing tendons and muscle. The sword wobbled, and dropped into the grass. With his hand, Cabochon pierced through the man¡¯s chest as he gaped in disbelief, his fingers piercing through ashen flesh to find the warm, burning ember where a heart should have been. ¡°Life is too strong for you. Out of my way.¡± He ripped the ember free and hurled it away. The chieftain collapsed, turning to ash. 1.55 Cold Fear My minions were on the edge of breaking through with their tunnel. The boring slugs I had designed for digging through the earth were on their last legs, starting to self-cannibalize; the same stomach acid that allowed them to melt through stone ate them from the inside out. Ilbur and the glass golem marched alongside them, herding the enormous, swollen grubs forward. My tusked rat snuffled along in their wake. Every now and then it would stop, pawing the walls or the floor, and Ilbur would stoop down to help it dig up a muddy chunk of quartz. Now, I was sending frantic signals for them to hurry up. They would surface soon, close to the lake where the Serpentine was moored, and close to the battle between Cabochon¡¯s spiders and the men of ash. The glass golem had lost its spear in the fight at the silent market, and now bore the twins blades we¡¯d taken from the merfolk sword-dancer. Silently, it leaned down and offered one to Ilbur. The little orc took it with shaking hands. I still didn¡¯t understand why these creatures. Why had another Dungeon, another soul of creation, decided to make such ugly, primitive things? I saw no use for the little pig-toad runt that stood there shivering and malformed. He clung to his sword as if it were a child''s talisman, to ward off monsters under the bed, instead of a weapon meant for cleaving flesh. A crack of light shone through ahead, widening as the boring slugs lifted their slimy heads and gnawed the liquified stone away. Stone cracked and fell from the rift of light like an eggshell breaking, and the slugs spilled out into the open day, oozing through the breach. They were through. My glass golem pushed its way through the weakened stone, clambering out into the sunlight with Ilbur all but clinging to its heels. It turned, sensing through me that Cabochon was in trouble, and vaulted off, as agile and swift on its backwards-bending legs as a gazelle. I could have wished for it at my side when the adventurers came, but I was glad I had sent the glass faun off to meet with Cabochon. Right now, its help was sorely needed. Cabochon had one arm dislocated, and several bleeding cuts. He had no choice but to hold his ground now, defending the unicorn that was unable to climb to its own feet, and his carapace was beginning to crack, the flesh underneath bruised to a pulp under a hail of blows. Into the dire situation swept the glass golem. It let out a high, keening noise, the sound of a glass blade cutting the sky, and the men of ash clutched their heads as their sense of balance vanished, sending them to the ground. Before they could rise, two of them had died, chopped neatly apart at the neck and at the midsection. The blood couldn¡¯t even cling to the flashing sword. Men fell apart in showers in ash as the glass faun charged over to Cabochon, blade dancing in circles and reverse circles, flicks and decapitating chops. The golem was a one-man army, breaking through the ranks of the dirty, ash-streaked bandits and teaching them the meaning of fear. The survivors scattered to the winds, fleeing in all directions.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. It was just bad luck that Ilbur came over the hill then, blindsiding a fleeing marauder. There was a frozen pause, the both of them horribly surprised, and then the man unstuck himself first, lashing out viciously with his axe. The blade caught Ilbur across the face and whipped him from his feet, sending him crashing down, split open to a bloody, oozing red from mouth to brow. Ilbur opened his eyes. His eyes. His eyes. No matter how much he insisted, how much he tried to fight to open his right eye, it wasn¡¯t there. Not anymore. He could feel the horrible, splitting pain across his face, a brand of fire that spread a sickly wet heat as it oozed horrific amounts of blood, his broken mouth filling with the metallic taste. There was no part of his face that could move without hurt - every motion twisted agonizingly at the break in his flesh, and retreated in pain, a fluttering motion that agitated the wound further. His one eye stared out at the world, full of horror and spilling up with tears. The glass faun loomed over him, and Cabochon, the almost-kind spider who¡¯d given him the shard. He could feel the Dungeon¡¯s thoughts in the back of his mind, a constant low sound like the grinding of stone on stone. They were thoughts without mercy, low and clever thoughts, self-delighted and fickle. He was hoisted up, lifted into the glass golem¡¯s arms. Darkness came rushing in at the edges of his vision. He dreamed of the slave-tents, of the cooking fires outside flickering and crackling. The way the light reflected on the tent walls, making the shadow of his father into a mountain. When Ilbur opened his eyes again, he lay on a bed of moss. It was cushion-soft, and deeply comfortable, and he saw no reason to ever stand up again. The smell of sickness was everywhere. It came from him, rose from his flesh. The pain in his face had ebbed to a low, inflamed torment. He felt the scar forming, the flesh hardening as the blood froze to rigid lumps of hardened tissue. The mark would be with him the rest of his life. And why? All his life he¡¯d been afraid, and it had spared him nothing. The slaves who bent and scraped still caught the whip. At the one moment when fear should have told him to run, to fight, it had paralyzed him instead. So many nights he had listened to his father rant in mad-eyed fury about the cowards and the weaklings, feeling trapped in his own skin, knowing he was the worst of them all. Knowing his father only loved him out of duty, and that he was an embarrassment. Now he knew why. Because fear, this kind of fear at least, was useless. Hot fear made men run and maybe live another a day. But there was cold fear too, a deep, gnawing dread, and it had never helped. Never spared him a single moment of misery, only held him place, waiting for the next blow of the whip, the next fall of the axe. Useless. A blade lay in the moss beside him. Ilbur reached for it. Rolling, he managed to get to his feet, lurching like an unsteady ship at sea. He found the glass golem standing guard nearby, as still as a statue. ¡°I- I want to learn how to fight.¡± Ilbur gasped out. Then his strength failed him, and he fell. The golem¡¯s cold and lifeless arms lifted him from the floor. The exertion of standing had left him woozy, white spots burning in his vision. The golem laid him back in bed, but this time, curled his arms around the sword. It was a promise then. He¡¯d learn the sword, he¡¯d be a warrior. If he lived through tonight. The darkness came for him, rushing in to send him back to fevered dreams, and Ilbur had no strength to waste on being afraid. 1.56 Stories Old & New Up in the rafters, the little golem sat, contemplating how it might forge song into iron. How it might tell of those grand halls, the lights flickering among the arched stone like the stars. Ancient memories still drifted through it. It thought of stars among the dome of the sky, and another song drifted through the little golem. The melody rose through ash-covered floor of stone, rose up from the earth to meet the heavens. It was a dirge, sung with a sorrow heavy enough to weigh down flames. Something important had happened. Something important had been lost. But grasping at it was like trying to seize the wind. How to show it? Like the other songs, there was an intangible quality to it that felt impossible to represent. The golem looked up. A small rat was in the rafters with it, left paw frozen mid-creep, looking both suspicious and vaguely familiar. She held a silver coin in her mouth. For a moment, they both watched each other. Then the rat gently dropped the coin, pushed it toward the golem, then scampered off while the pigeons looked on. Slowly, the golem rose, then seized the coin and held it aloft. Inspiration came to it slowly, creeping into its mind as the wind whispered in the rafters. As it shaped its next piece, willing the two metals to twist and move, the golem thought of old dwarves solemnly chanting by the fire, speaking in whispers, glancing up at the constellations. There was a beauty in shared grief, a beauty in the bond they shared. When the ring emerged from its crucible, it still had the crude outside, but within the rough twisted iron were holes where the silver glimmered. It still did no justice to the memories, to the songs, that even now slipped like rain into the earth. They fled from the creation, for again, it was flawed. It could not be what it needed it to be. The golem stared at the discarded ring for a long time, until a soft squeaking made it turn. The rat had come back. It crept forward, sniffed the ring, considering it. Her whiskers twitched, beady eyes examining the craft with care. Then it ran off. Flawed in the eyes of others, too, then. The golem watched it go. It felt the urge to forge and shape again, to feel its mind wrapped around iron, but couldn¡¯t think of what to make. So it sat, listening to old songs by the fire as the night in its memory passed in synchronicity with the night of the moment. As I watched Cabochon, watched the wind nibble and push the ash of our foe around, I considered my problem. There was simply too much magic I did not understand. The invisibility spell. The incense. The door to the Everforest. And now, the magic of another dungeon, one that had taken a path that was my anthesis. And there was Cabochon himself. I could have ordered him to pick up the sword and ember gem. It wasn¡¯t that I feared he might not¡ªno, it was because those things were his anthesis too. Best to have one of the remaining nacre spiders cover the items in pearlescent spit and drag them along until I could learn from them. Learn what I was up against. The tunnels that would let me smuggle them back in were completed, granting me a new avenue by which to move in my underground empire, but there was a deeper, more fundamental problem. The problem of reaction.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. I was still reacting to each threat as it came, planning for what I already knew. I needed to plan for what I didn¡¯t know. Or at least, didn¡¯t know yet. I busied myself repairing the ravine ledge, attempting to reinforce it so it wouldn¡¯t fall so easily to earth magic. The defenses by the lake were regrowing. Soon, only black scars of char on the mangroves would be left to hint at the battle that had taken place there. I paused my work on the statue in the pond of the Heavenly Brides. I had put all but the finishing touches on the statue of my Adamant. It would have to wait for a stroke of inspiration. It had a beauty, but its completion left me no satisfaction, only a hunger for reclaiming the second level. I needed something new. A group of newly made stone-tusk rats darted around my hulking salt golem as it pawed restlessly next to the trap door below. They had returned from burrowing near my second level, seeking what wealth was already within my grasp. The others, Argent had brought with her for a new heist. While I waited for my dark-iron and binding spike, I could demand more books on magic, could forge new shards, and bolster my ranks. The stone-tusk rats pleased me. Crystals well-formed enough to be considered gems, as it turned out, were common enough in the earth. They had brought back faceted quartz and amethyst, along with rainbow-glimmering bits of opal for me to experiment with. The geodes they¡¯d found these crystals in fascinated me. The way they played with light, the way their rough exterior held pristine beauty in them inspired me. Adventurers would always have new ways to destroy my creations. Their destruction should come at a cost. I started with one of my spiders, then, tried to replicate the type of mana I had found in the pools below. I willed it to change into a thing of earth. The layers of nacre were not unlike crystal. The spider¡¯s body was a bulbous thing, perfect for hollowing out. The outside turned dark and rough, so that the spider would blend into the earth, while inside, I dripped mana until crystals grew. They were a different type of crystal, a calcite that other creatures used in their shells, but they were still a brilliant white that in the right light shone like fragments of rainbow. I think it was Cabochon that inspired the final touches. I had hated the earth elemental¡¯s flint tusks and fire because it destroyed, but there was beauty in flame, beauty in moments, and I could make destruction something beautiful. In the hollowed out-geode body of my spider, I left glands that would secret chemicals. Like my explosive blooms, they would fill with deadly potential. Adventurers would find a way to destroy my creations. But when they did¡­
[ Calcite Spider ]
Halfway between living rock and insect, these slow-moving spiders trade silk and poison for hardened bodies and razor-tipped limbs. When cut open, the gasses trapped in their body will cause a violent explosion.
It would be a beautiful thing to watch, as their inner body of white-rose crystals glimmered, then shattered outward as razor sharp stone shrapnel to the soul foolish enough to threaten my domain. My first spider chittered, clacking about the rhinoceros salt golem. The strangulating thinness of the mana here was a dull pain, but it would all be healed by my revenge. Until then, there was more to learn, more to prepare, and more plans in motion. Vaulder had, as I instructed, brought me more books on spellwork, but also books on other dungeons and the adventurers that had raided them. It was time to learn more about the tactics of my enemies. 1.57 Best Served Cold Cabochon was returning, and I could hardly restrain my excitement. For more a week I¡¯d been seething, stagnating in this too-thin, painfully inadequate air. Now I saw salvation. He carried with him the flower of the Goddess, Sith, that was the promised cure for Aurum. That would restore my guardian, and with him my strength. If Aurum had been awake the second layer would never have been lost. Adamant would never have died. None of the adventurers could have even posed a threat to me. Without Aurum, I wasn¡¯t whole. Argent was clever and cunning, the best of my creations, but Aurum, Aurum was close to my equal. A companion. Plainly, I missed him. He would understand my vendetta. My need to declare myself against the gods. My other minions knew my mind because it was joined to them, but Aurum simply understood. Even if he was a lazy, idle creature who slept all day. Cabochon returned with the flower held high, and I opened a door for him, carving a curved tunnel that descended down to Aurum¡¯s lair. The lamp I had made was still turning, casting the endless shadows of swimming fish about the walls. Grand pillars lined in reflective glass caught the sparks of light and scattered them into shimmering cascades of blue, watery luminance. Aurum had barely moved. His scaled bulk curled around the light blue egg that I had created so long ago, still unhatched. His eyes were open, even in sleep, but I could feel the slowness of his breath, the thrum of too many organs packed inside his body. I had done what I could to fix him but this, this would take a miracle. Cabochon lifted the flower. It opened slowly, the pinkish, waxy petal parting, releasing from within a dazzling white glow. A tiny star tangled among the golden pistil of the flower¡¯s heart. Tiny, but growing. Rising from the flower and taking up more and more of the cavernous room, swelling to a golden halo that washed away the fish-shadows and made the lake shine like a mirror. White petals drifted from above, forming a spiral that descended upon and into Aurum, the petals landing on his scales and sinking into the flesh beneath, dissolving into pure divine energy. His eyes flickered. The storm of petals continued to fall, moving faster now, resembling shooting stars or silver threads of rain as it poured energy into him. His scaled bulk shifted, a breath running through him. And then he lifted his head. The roar that poured from his throat was neither snake, nor insect, nor dark thing from beneath the sea. It was all of them, fused into an outpouring of raw triumphant sound. It shook the cavern, dispersing the last of the flower storm in a hail of petals. He was changing. His form, mishappen with the bumps of cancerous growth, began to settle, reforming into the smooth lustrous scales and streamlined form of a serpent. The dark, chitinous arms that burst from his underbelly took on an opalescent green hue, like the carapace of a beetle, cut with sheens of purple and black that matched them to the fringe of feathers that ran around his cobra¡¯s hood and down his back in two long ridges. Those feathers grew larger, more pronounced. He was still roughly the same shape as he¡¯d been, but given balance again, a beauty instilled. A strange chimeric handsomeness born of symmetry and daring colors. He swayed, proudly raised up, a serpent¡¯s happy little dance, and dipped his head to nuzzle fondly against the egg he¡¯d protected for so long. It was a tiny speck of blue lost in his sea of green scales. Opening his trifold mouth, he let out a huff of steam - a pang of recollection striking me as I saw the similarities between him and the stone-lizard - and a long, hissing tongue of blue flame bathed the egg¡¯s surface. It shivered, and cracked. Something bulged at the broken fragments in their laminate of sticky yolk. A scaled head, cute and peeping, prodded its way through the breach, followed by sharp little four-fingered hands. A kobold. A kobold with a runaway streak of gold in the spiny ridges that started above its eye and ran in two parallel lines down its brow. With feathers in a mantle around its scrawny neck. Four-armed, and amber-eyed.
[ Gold-Streaked Kobold ]
Forming an attunement in its egg to a nearby source of draconic blood, this kobold has taken on draconic traits from Aurum, its spiritual sire. It will serve with faith and affection all its life.
In the space of an hour, I had been restored my oldest friend, and a new addition to my Dungeon. Today was a glorious day. And tomorrow, tomorrow would also be glorious. A day of revenge. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. Nathan Withersprout struggled to hold Camila up. The armored woman had turned pale. Her dark brown hair was pasted to the cold drops of sweat that beaded on her brow, running down her eyes as they opened and closed in convulsive tremors, hanging half-lidded, oblivious to the world. Annabelle was even harder pressed, the tiny bard almost vanishing under Camila¡¯s armored shoulder. The soldier¡¯s feet trailed and snagged against the endless roots that tangled across the ground here. It was a strange, strange forest, with crystalline blades for leaves, creating an endless humming canopy of sound, and when the wind turned and knocked the leaves against one another, a chiming like a thousand bells. It was beautiful, too. The sunlight sweeping through the translucent blue leaves created a deep, irregular blue quality of light that waved and flowed around them like an ocean, and the strange creatures that darted on the branches above them cast shadows like sharks passing overhead. It was a humbling feeling. Just¡­ a little hard to appreciate, at the moment. Nathan had wanted to be an adventurer. To see the world. Already, he had seen more than he could have imagined. Even the air here tasted different, invigorated by sparks of Mana that settled on the face like fiery snowflakes. He just wanted to make it back home and make sure all this knowledge wasn¡¯t lost. To sit down and write a long, detailed tome on the experience that would keep him out of trouble for a decade or so. Masked apes with russet-red fur and golden masks scuttled along the branches, more and more them arriving to peer down at the intruders to their forest. It was a little army, and it made Nathan very, very nervous. ¡°Are you seeing-¡± He started, and Annabelle nodded vigorously. ¡°I am.¡± She grunted out. ¡°If we ditch her-¡± ¡°Not acceptable.¡± Nathan wasn¡¯t going to leave Camila to die so they could run away. Where would they even run? Deeper into this forest? Farther away from the door home? The fact was, they had to go back. Back through the Dungeon, that pit of horrors, and for that, they needed three people. At least three. If they could find some way of scouting through the door, they could wait until another raid was being carried out and make their move then. It was a slim but real chance they had, but they needed, absolutely needed Camila. Or maybe he was just making justifications for something he couldn¡¯t stomach. Maybe this was the voice of weakness, convincing him it was logic speaking. Maybe it was his conscience. ¡°Nathan-¡± ¡°I know, but I¡¯m not going to let her die!¡± ¡°Nathan, she¡¯s already dead.¡± Annabelle let her half of Camila¡¯s burden slip off her shoulders, and pure, dead weight dragged the armored woman free from Nathan¡¯s grasp. He was left on his knees, panting. Camila lay sprawled and lifeless over the root-snarled black earth. Little insects, dragonflies with painted carapaces, buzzed over her closed eyes. She looked peaceful, at least. Nathan blinked. Were there- Were there really tiny people, riding the dragonflies? ¡°Nathan?¡± Annabelle asked, almost laughing, her voice full of wonder. ¡°I know.¡± All around them were tiny creatures, half-human and half-insect, fluttering through the air on four-fold wings. Only he didn''t see the anything to laugh about. They were surrounded. ¡°You sent adventurers to the Dungeon.¡± Eyfrae said, her voice low and dangerously controlled. ¡°And you didn¡¯t tell me.¡± ¡°Oh, come on now, Eyfrae, as if you tell me everything. As if anyone tells me anything.¡± Governor Kedlin huffed, trying to rise from his chair and dropping down again as Eyfrae turned, her eyes literally blazing. White flame poured from the sockets and ran along her eyebrows, giving her a ghastly stare of pure white fire with bluish blots hovering like pupils in the heart of the blaze. ¡°You are not in charge here, Kedlin. You are very good at what you do, but you do not rule this city, you merely administrate it. Keep your nose in your books and ledgers and leave the decisions to those qualified to make them.¡± She hissed, pinning him back in his seat with her burning presence as she leaned over his desk. ¡°The Empire rules this city.¡± The old man had finally found his nerve, instead of retreating back into his comfortable chair. ¡°I thought you remembered that, but now you¡¯re talking of handing it over to the dwarves, to the mer- inhumans. Now there are bandits on my borders shouting of revolution! Am I supposed to let Caltern fall out of the Empire¡¯s grasp?¡± ¡°Funny.¡± She said the word sourly, a bit of fire falling from her tongue like ink from a quill. He hastily batted it out as she stepped away, walking to the row of windows that overlooked the training yard. Her reflection blazed in the glass pane. ¡°Because what I heard was that they came from the Dungeon of Ashen Repose. There is a layer to politics, Kedlin, that you have barely sniffed at. Even your Empress-¡± ¡°Do not,¡± he spat out furiously. ¡°Insult Her.¡± ¡°Even your Empress is the same as you, Kedlin, maintaining her position by allowing others to make the real decisions. Those others are the Guilds, and they are coming here.¡± ¡°How dare you. How dare-¡± The old man spluttered, voice petering out in sheer incomprehensible outrage. ¡°The only thing that will qualify us to hold onto any scrap of power, Kedlin, is my position as head for the Adventurer¡¯s Guild. And even that only if I can prove some control over the Dungeon.¡± She turned back to him, letting her eyes slowly extinguish. ¡°So the next time you send adventurers without my permission, I will kill you. I am going now. You know where to find me.¡± ¡°Watching the Tower all day like a mother hen squatting over her eggs?¡± Kedlin asked, his voice sour. ¡°You can throw insults, Kedlin. I can throw fire. See to it you remember which one counts in the end.¡± 1.58 Easy Prey Aurum stirred in his cave, eager for the fight. He dove into the watery hunting grounds I had provided for him. The little silver fish tried to flee, darting desperately this way and that, but his enormous gliding shadow always caught them; he dove through their bright flashing schools and scattered them, rising to the surface to swallow great gulps of air as cold water streamed from his jaws. Hundreds of fish, grown fat in the time he was asleep, met their end sliding down his gullet as he feasted. Sparkling water sloughed away from his scales each time he rose. It was a mesmerizing sight. He was in a hunting mood. A killing mood. His brother had died while he slept, and he was a proud creature; the death of a brother wasn¡¯t only a loss but an insult. His new companion scurried the edge of the water, catching confused fat carp as they were washed up close to shore by the frothing tides that surged up from Aurum¡¯s hunting. He scuttled back to his den, beneath the snake-shaped pedestal of the salt-lamp that cast such beautiful shadows, and gnawed his prizes¡¯ raw pink flesh. I was happy to simply watch, to feel the movement and life of my old friend. So naturally I was annoyed when an intruder roused me from watching Aurum hunt. "I have come to receive Attunement, as per our arrangement!" Suffi''s representative stood on the edge of the ravine, slowly kicking rocks down the slope. I wished he''d stop. It was hard enough to soothe the spiders, to sing them sweet lullabies of calming emotions, without him kicking up a racket. Briefly I considered letting them eat him, but Suffi''s anger wasn''t worth the minor satisfaction of hearing the little piglet squeal. And oh, he was shiny. In his dress armor he shone like a sparkling jewel, plates of steel polished to a mirror sheen set over a red velvet shirt. I could let my beautiful spiders peel him out like a shrimp, gnawing away all the unfortunate fleshy bits and leaving me the shiny husk. I really did consider it. And then I sent Cabochon to speak to him. The Arachne walked on his seven legs through the jungle of tilted glass spears that overlooked the ravine, appearing like a shadow among the beams of glittering green. I watched the fear slacken the dwarf''s face. He was clean-shaven, with a golden braid woven through his golden hair. A slick smile he probably thought showed confidence. More than a passing resemblance to Suffi herself. Which would explain why she sent me this whelp, instead of a real warrior. Cabochon shadow fell over him, stepping down from the glass jungle to tower above the pompous little creature. ¡°I- I have come to receive my Attunement, as per-¡± The dwarf stammered out. "We heard you the first time." Cabochon smoothly interjected, cutting him off. ¡°What is it you have brought us?¡± Clutched in the dwarf¡¯s hands was a steel-banded mahogany casket, and as he opened it, dark iron shackles and a spike of rune-engraved gold greeted Cabochon¡¯s approving gaze. The implements of my revenge. ¡°As requested. Crafted with the most exquisite of the Halfhand clan¡¯s skills.¡± He bragged. Cabochon made every show of examining them, running a finger along the cold, cold surface of the iron manacles. There was a sting of pain like frostbite, the Mana that comprised his being threatening collapse where it made contact with the negatory metal. Smoke rose from his fingertip. He didn¡¯t blink. "Also, the Maker has requested your shoes." I could have choked with surprise. The expression on the dwarf¡¯s face, and the expression I wore in my soul, were the exact same. ¡°My¡­ shoes?¡± He said, as if speaking slowly would make the request sensible.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°Your shoes.¡± Cabochon held his gaze in absolute steadiness, and continued to stare, without affect, as the dwarf grumbled and slipped off his fine calfskin boots, dropping them into the coffer. Before his hand could retreat, Cabochon caught it by the wrist and gently traced his thumb in a crescent across the palm. A drop of blood welled up and was caught. ¡°I shall take your gifts to the Maker. You may return now.¡± The dwarf was only too eager to stumble away, leaving his shoes behind. WHY DID YOU WANT HIS SHOES? I asked. Cabochon waited until the boy was out of view, and then smiled. It was a faintly terrifying smile. ¡°Because we live under a sewer. Now, imagine what he¡¯ll go through trying to wade home without them.¡± I could have winced. I could also have laughed. I wanted to do both, but alas, my expressions were always a little limited. Cabochon was interesting. Far enough from human to be tolerable, but close enough to challenge me in ways my other creations did not. He carried the blood back to me, smearing it onto the tip of a leaf for Argent to carry into her nest where I lay, safe among piled riches. The chaff of the jewels we had accumulated, the golden chains and rings I had no need for, were piled at the center of her nest with a little bed made of soft fluffy mosses beside the treasured mound. Every day she luxuriated in the growing wealth of her ratty empire. Atop it all I sat, the crown jewel. She dislodged little rings and earring tassels as she climbed the pile to scrape the leaf over my surface. And suddenly I was in the dark, the stone tablet descending from above as I faced the boy. He shrank back. I seemed to have that effect on people. Sadly, raw terror was only funny- oh, it was funny every time, who was I kidding? LET¡¯S BE DONE WITH THIS. Yes, let¡¯s. His thoughts were marinating, stewing, in the thick stuff of fear itself. I could feel it washing away the little things at the edge of his focus. Eroding at the minutia his mind had to juggle, making him slip up. It was a way in. And suddenly - without having planned for it, mind you - I saw opportunity. ¡°I, Krait Halfhand-¡± He began the sentence, but I squeezed down upon his mind like a vice, taking its weakened state as a chance to leap and press, molding his words to fit my purpose. -WILL WATCH MY SISTER SUFFI¡¯S ACTIONS AND REPORT THEM TO THE DUNGEON. His eyes went wide, struggling to move his own lips. His soul-form was cloudy, indistinct, lacking the ability to shape itself clearly. I KRAIT HALFHAND WILL TELL NO ONE OF THE FIRST TWO CLAUSES OF THIS CONTRACT. I added, forcing his mouth to bend and move in unison with my will. Forcing him to sign his name to a deadly contract. Did they really think I would let this welp walk away with my Attunement, without extracting my own price? Or had I overestimated Suffi¡¯s family feelings? Was she tossing her own brother away to test the waters? That made more sense. That is what I would do if saddled with a liability like this quivering fool. ¡°I, Krait Halfhand, will receive the Attunement of Jewels!¡± He gasped out as soon as he was released, each word engraving itself across the great tablet first in Common, and then repeating in any number of other tongues, each more obscure than the last. With that the void-realm started to fade, leaving me with a last glimpse of him as he was in the real world, bent double and clutching the walls with sweat on his face. He seemed to have no clue what to do with himself, thunderstuck by my additions to the deal. I felt a sudden nostalgia for Izzis, of all the useless creatures to concern myself with. His failed coup had left me with a strong understanding of how Contracts could be used. Without him, someone better equipped to take advantage of my ignorance might have been able to lure me into making a poisoned deal. But enough of that. I had revenge to do, and the tools in my grasp to do so. I had decided to modify the harpoon spiders, going to the limits of my abilities to make them larger, stronger. A great deal of my energy was given to reinforcing the harpoons themselves, making them steel-hard and able to pierce through stone. I had to pour almost all my Mana in to achieve the desired effects on just a few. In the end they were nearly the size of cattle, hulking things with rust-red carapaces lined by shallow nubbled spikes along their legs. Perfect predators for hunting the stone-lizard. It was time. I had arranged all my weapons. I ordered Argent, then Cabochon to carry me, passing me from paw to hand as I tried to restrain the all-encompassing sense of wrongness that came with being moved, preventing it from spreading through my mental web of connections. Held by Cabochon, we descended down into Aurum''s chamber. The nausea would only get worse as I began to dig. I needed a second entrance, one large enough to move Aurum, and there was nothing for it but to rip a hole in the foundations of my Dungeon. As fast as I made Mana from devouring the stone, I spent it to reinforce the walls against collapsing around us. The light vanished. The darkness of the earth engulfed us. We tunneled deeper and deeper, piercing towards our enemies. 1.59 Titans We dug into the second layer while our second team, the salt golems and my glass faun, were creeping down the stairwell. Argent led a contingent of rats that would be our distraction. They burst out from the stairway, scattering to the four winds across the plateaus of the second layer- drawing the earth elementals up from their geode-nests. The elementals were predictable, that was their fault. Creatures of base instinct. Sensing intruders, they were bound to give chase, and Argent¡¯s crew was very, very quick. In moments the stone-hounds were scattered across the layer chasing after zig-zagging, evasive little targets. The stone-lizard was rising from its den. A flock of rolling boulders clumped together to form the clawed feet, the legs, showers of dirt rising up to accumulated into a rock-scaled body. It was like there was an invisible form in the air, and the surrounding earth was simply pulled in to fill that shape. Something to consider if I ever tried to make my own elementals. I cut through the final layer of stone separating us from the cavernous second layer, and we began the assault in earnest. We had to take out the little ones, now, before the earth-lizard formed and they became distractions to that battle.. The spiders sent out a volley of bone spears, and one of the stone-hounds was instantly skewered. The spider reeled its line in, dragging the struggling creature out over the edge of the plateau, and then cut the silken rope, dropping the hound to its doom. From the stairwell, a tremendous snort signalled the charge of the salt golems. The nearest hound barely had time to dodge away from the first hulking form, rhinoceros-shaped, that came hurtling towards it- and no time at all for the second. It was impaled on the tip of a shaggy, clouded horn, and tossed into the air as its stony body broke apart. It began to reform, of course, but huge cloudy-grey feet stomped its half-formed body to pieces again. And again. The lizard was almost complete, all but the head. We had to finish off the little ones before that happened. A calcite spider dropped from our perch above the middle plateau, landing on the floor below. The team of rats leading each of the two remaining hounds rushed towards it. One of my goliath harpoon spiders prepared to fire. The rats scampered through the calcite spider¡¯s legs, and the stone-hounds crashed into it. They clawed and ripped at the stony hide of the arachnid, bringing it to the ground, crushing their jaws into its rigid flesh. The harpoon spider fired. The bone spear pierced through the calcite hide, and into the hollow, fume-filled cavity beneath. There was a spark. And the countless sharp fangs of crystal grown within the calcite spider¡¯s body were scattered in all directions by an explosive whoosh of flame- a bright shattering that threw glimmering crystal in all directions, the jewelled spears gleaming with reflected firelight. The hounds were torn apart. The stone-lizard was awake now, lifting its head towards the source of the noise and disruption within its quiet lair. Its trifold mouth cracked open, letting out a deep, disgruntled croak, a sound of stone grinding and chipping. It started towards the rats, huddled at the edge of the middle plateau. And Aurum surged forward. His jaws blossomed open, stretching wide, fangs bared. Like an arrow he burst from the tunnel I had carved and crashed down upon the giant elemental, sinking his teeth into its neck. His sheer weight and bulk pulled its head down, twisting its neck until its feet lost contact with the earth and the beast was sent rolling over. Aurum slithered around and around, winding his scaled coils tight around its throat. There was a crack of stone breaking as he squeezed down, tensing every muscle of his enormous bulk until the rigid body beneath simply broke. The entirety of the stone lizard¡¯s head fell away, severed, hitting the ground in a landslide of dirt as the body behind fell limp. But it wasn¡¯t over.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. The beast¡¯s earthen flesh swirled up, reforming, and there was little Aurum could do to stop it but swat away boulders with his tail. With nothing to hold onto that wasn¡¯t flowing, reshaping itself, he was easily thrown down by an angry flick of the beast¡¯s shoulders. As a new head formed, they stared each other down, Aurum by far the smaller of the two. The earth-lizard was the size of an elephant, while Aurum was barely larger than an apex reptile, a crocodile or giant python. But he was quick, and he had friends. Already, calcite spiders were rushing down the walls, their fat, hollow bodies carrying deadly explosive potential. My goliath harpoon spiders lined up along a thin ridge I shaped on the walls and fired, a row of harpoons digging into the beast¡¯s side and tugging it off balance. In that moment Aurum¡¯s tail flickered, so fast I couldn¡¯t even see the movement- only the impact. The bone-breaking, dull thwack that bent the elemental¡¯s head in a brutal jerk, one that would have killed a truly living beast then and there. But this time, a massive clawed hindleg stopped it from toppling over and being easy game. This time, it fought back. A twitch of its shoulders pulled hard on the mooring lines of the harpoons. As it thrashed, the spiders were forced to bite down and cut their lines, all except one- One foolish, brave spider that clung on to the last, and was yanked off the ledge and down into the abyss between the plateaus. It didn¡¯t survive the landing. I winced. My reinforcements were arriving now, the salt golems forced to move ponderously and carefully across the narrow glass bridges. My glass faun was just behind them, carrying a runed spike in its hands and a manacle draped over its shoulders. He would have the honor of the last blow. The earth-lizard lunged at Aurum and he darted aside, his serpentine bulk uncoiling to hurl him back in a slithering hop that carried him away from the raking claws. The point of his tail delivered a parting blow, another brutal slap that shook the earth as the lizard reeled and stomped to recover its footing. This time, we didn¡¯t give it the chance. A salt golem smashed into the beast¡¯s side, sending it rolling. Another slammed into it as it tried to climb back up, pushing it towards the edge of the plateau. The beast¡¯s hindquarters went over, but it grabbed hold of the earth, claws dragging deep furrows across the stone platform as it struggled to pull itself back up. In that moment, Cabochon sailed down a line of silk and landed beside it. The dark iron shackle snapped down into the creature¡¯s wrist, a sizzle of smoke pouring up as it let out the first sound of pain I had ever heard it make- a sound as sweet as music to me, a miserable roaring croak. Cabochon retreated, the salt golems moving to shield him. The earth elemental climbed back up, but my calcite spiders were swarming over it now, clinging onto its back. They prepared to give their lives. Aurum slithered back, but the earth-lizard was enraged now, and it lunged for him, time and time again. Until finally he wasn¡¯t fast enough, couldn¡¯t fend it off with little slithering maneuvers and clever blows from his tail. Its flint tusk raked along the ground and slashed up, spearing him through the belly. I watched in horror as he was lifted from the ground in a trail of blood. A twist of its head and it threw him down again. Blood was everywhere, an enormous pool forming under Aurum as he lifted his hooded head and roared in defiance. The shadow of his enemy loomed above him. The earth-lizard roared back, and its three-pointed mouth split open, a hiss of gas rushing forward- Aurum spat a dart of flame down its throat, and the fumes exploded before they could escape, tearing open a flaming gash in its underbelly, spots of glowing orange lighting up within the beast¡¯s stomach. It faltered, letting out a confused sound of pain. Aurum drew himself up, and spewed white fire in a raking blast along its back. One by one the calcite spiders shattered into deadly fragments. The force pushed the beast down, onto its side, half-collapsed back into rubble. From without and within its rocky hide was pockmarked with craters. The glass golem rushed in, smashing the second manacle into place and vaulting atop the lizard¡¯s head. The beast rose and bucked, trying to throw the clever little faun off, knowing the end was near- sensing in some primitive way the danger of that spike. Aurum lunged forward, wrapping himself around a bound limb, overlapping the shackle. The beast could no longer reshape or reform there, its abilities deadened by the nulling iron. It had no way to throw him off as he twisted his way up and knotted around its neck, tying foreleg and head together in a crushing bind of slithering golden scales. The faun lifted the spike and drove it down. There was a flash of golden light as the runes lit up, spreading across the beast¡¯s body, inscribing themselves down into the rocky flesh with sizzles and hisses and gushes of smoke, scarring themselves into every portion of its being. Binding it. Cabochon climbed up to take me, carrying me down. The beast was unable to move, lacking control of its own body. It glared at me with baleful gemstone eyes I already anticipated plucking out. I felt my will come into contact with the earth elemental¡¯s rude little mind, and I was overjoyed, I was ecstatic, I was gleeful to have this ugly blight on my battlegrounds, fighting by my rules. Finally I had my chance of revenge. The mental battle could have been short, if I wanted it to be. I was not so merciful. 1.60 The Parting of Ways I flayed the earth-lizard¡¯s puny mind with anger. I scourged the beast with pain, drowned it in sorrows, and crushed down beneath my will. I was a storm that tore and took and the beast could only hope to withstand. When my fury was spent, I finally let the pitiful creature slip unconscious, reaching out and engraving the following commands into its mind. Serve. Faithfully. Hurt nothing but what I say to hurt. The thin web of spellwork seared into its flesh shifted, inscribing my orders on the beast¡¯s skin. It lay sprawled out unconscious, and as it slept, I conjured two great trees of red iron and bound its manacles to them with long, thick chains. The bindings drew taut, and the creature was left a chained dog. A new servant for my dungeon. Surveying the damage done to the second layer, I saw nothing that couldn¡¯t be fixed. The torn-down, uprooted trees could stay as they were; they lent to the desolate air of the endless gray flowers that stretched out into darkness. The upturned roots of rusting iron stretched like strange, twisting tendrils. The severed stumps of the weeping-trees told a grim story. I made cup-shaped flowers of dull, blunt steel burst from the fallen trees, the way mushrooms and other parasitic specimens will sprout from rotting logs. Now, I needed a Dungeon Law, and I¡¯d had more than enough time to consider it. I would add a new dimension to the second layer, something that no amount of brute strength could overcome.
Thus it is spoken, and shall be Law: All intruders must bear a jewel on their bodies in plain sight. Those who do not shall be devoured body and soul by the Dungeon.
What did I excel in? What set my creatures apart? In truth, it wasn¡¯t pure strength, but agility and cunning. This Law would set the battlefield to my tempo. It would make adventurers fight me on my terms, a battle of wits. If I could steal away their gem, their protection, I would eat them alive. The supernatural gloom of the Field of Lament, where fruits of nightvein shaped like human hearts devoured the light, they would face a gauntlet of thieves. Previously, I had created blood-red, fleshy vines that wrapped around the salt-covered trees, growing thicker the deeper the viewer wandered through the seven islands, until the second-to-last plateau was completely overrun, blanketed in strange floral flesh. Now, I realized they could be more than ornaments. If I could find a way to make a thinking plant, I could turn every one of those creeping vines into an arm that snatched and stole. As for how to make such a plant, I had a good idea of where I could learn- there had to be such a creature in the Everforest, where flora and fauna blurred together. That would be my glass golem¡¯s mission. I would have to leave many of my creations behind, to guard the first layer. Cabochon would be their new leader in my steed. The glass golem would become my hunter in the Everforest, bringing back rare specimens for me to absorb and memorize. The fungal lion, lazy thing, would remain as a protector of the Glass Gardens. I would take Aurum, Argent, and the new kobold with me. That was all. Even the kobold I would have left behind if he didn¡¯t seem to cling to Aurum¡¯s side. Even now, the little creature was carefully scampering down the wall to join us, now the battle was over.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. I had a great deal of work to do. Traps to design. I could see them now. Butterflies that hid beneath the flowers and burst up, their brilliant, colorfully luminant wings disrupting the endless dark of the Field of Lament, stunning the passing adventurer into a stupor with the Attunement of Gleam¡¯s hypnotic charms. Opening a moment for my thieves to strike. A long time ago I had harvested the larval form of an enormous mosquito, and now I could take its numbing venom, a tricky stuff that dulled the senses to pain, and mingle it in with a razor-sharp vine that would tangle around adventurer¡¯s legs. If they tried to pull themselves free, they¡¯d saw themselves to ribbons without ever realizing they were being cut apart. More. Most of the adventurers would wear their gems in the form of jewelry. I could lift lodestone from my walls, animate it into golems that would tear the glittering gold and silver away with their very presence. For so long I had been pent up, cramped in the first layer, suffering in the too-thin Mana of the air. Now that dull, everpresent pain was gone, and my mind seemed to race forth, refreshed, seeing the possibilities. But there was one thing I had to handle first of all. I had carved a new entrance, a gaping cavern mouth high up in the walls. It couldn¡¯t remain as it was. An ugly mar on my beautiful work. No, I had to dress it up. Make it part of the effect. Slowly, the walls began to recede, carved away to form the scowling visage of an enormous bearded face, its mouth the gaping hole I had cut to allow Aurum through. All around it I sculpted the impression of an enormous red tree, molded into the walls. Smaller openings hid amid the branches, linked to the central tunnel through small, burrowed-in dens where smaller creatures could rest. I anticipated a great deal of little darting birds with clever thieving beaks in the future of this layer. Finishing the sculpture, I relaxed, letting my mind sink into a happy place of idle dreams, traps and tribulations for scurrying, unfortunate little adventurers. Their imagined pleas for mercy warmed my heart. Cabochon carried me up, towards the eye of the giant face. I would rest here, where I could overlook my trials directly. Where Aurum could protect me. GO NOW TO THE FIRST LAYER. THERE I WILL APPOINT YOU GUARDIAN. I directed the Arachne, as he set me in a carved niche at the scowling visage¡¯s pupil. ¡°I will not see you again, will I?¡± He asked. There was an odd note to his voice, a bleak sort of resignation. I suppose I understood. His creator was moving on, and his part to play was now set, left behind to carry out a role into dark eternities. I WILL BE WITH YOU. Cabochon returned to the upper layer through the dark tunnel, a mix of feelings in his heart. Deep hurt, as if all his service was being rewarded with rejection; a determination to continue on faithfully; fierce pride in that he alone had been deemed fit to fill the Maker¡¯s role. He would fill it well, he promised himself that. The first layer would not stagnate, would not become a dead place, a perfunctory challenge to be tossed aside as intruders continued deeper. He would guide the denizens to strength and prime further traps, further trials. Cabochon would see that the first layer was never overlooked or dismissed. It would be the pride of the Dungeon, not a negligible little appetizer to the real challenge. These things he promised himself in the dark. And beauty! It would have beauty. Even if an intruder made it no farther, even if they turned back at the first layer, they would live to tell all tales of a Dungeon equalled by none in grandeur. Cabochon would tend the Garden well and see it¡¯s splendor grow by the day. This was another promise. He wound a band of nacre around his fingertip for each. And Caboch felt promises, all things really, should come in threes. Blood. Yes, he would make a promise of blood. His every kill would be an artist¡¯s rendition. He would honor the Maker in the demise of his enemies. The Maker¡¯s attention, after all, would still be drawn towards fresh kills, towards souls and Mana to take. He would make sure the Maker saw him then, carrying out his duties in a style it could be proud of. But¡­ Something was strange. The darkness around him was more than it should have been. More than the dark of the earth. It was an absolute black, a void. And from that utter void a voice spoke to him. LITTLE SPIDER. I HAVE A PROPOSAL. 2.1 A Rude Awakening How many rats lived in a city like Caltern, occupying the squalid in-between spaces? Not even Argent knew. But they knew Argent. Rats did not have names. They had distinct aromas, telltale scars, they could pick a familiar friend out a crowd of thousands, but they did not have names. Except her. Roughly translated from the crude language of ratty kind, they knew Argent as She-who-is-with-us. And that name, the power of her having a name at all, was burning through the city in quiet ways. The rats were getting bolder. They were coming up from the in-betweens and underneaths, the edges of civilization. They were glutting on cheese and half-drowning in wine. For a young bravo rat there was only one thing to do. Steal a gem, any gem that sparkled like a star, from an unsuspecting ear or out of a jewelry box. Carry it down by the secret ways of rats, into the sewers ''neath the city. There would be danger; lurking spiders and deadly serpents. The way could be lost; a labyrinth of tunnels turns down in the dark, and the sheer smell of human filth washes away all the scent-trails a rat usually follows. But carrying on, and through, the brave rat would find his way to a secret place, and lay his prize at the feet of a queen who shines brighter than any jewel. Do that, they knew, and they would be accepted. Do that, and they would be invited through midnight paths to daring raids. Do that one small thing and they would have a chance to win excitement, pride, even a name of their very own. Even Argent was surprised by how many flocked to her nascent cause. By how many interesting tidbits the rats of the city found to bring her. That day, they brought her whispers. Something was about to happen. The humans were flocking, massing above the Dungeon. Their mages bore shiny crystals and the smell of rare incenses. There was spellwork in the air. Argent perched on a roofing shingle, watching the mages set up their contraption. Shining crystals of Mana-infused stone in tall, three-footed stands, the sun breaking into rays of different colors as it passed through them. Thousands of rainbow lines streamed down on the cobblestones of the street. As they adjusted and tweaked the crystals¡¯ positions, the lines began to form a pattern, a scintillating mandala. It was directly above the Dungeon¡¯s heart. Despite her best efforts, Argent had been unable to learn spellwork. She had no way to read the spell that was being formed by the mages, syllable by secret syllable. But it couldn¡¯t be good. At her side were the bravest rats she knew. They were eager to go, preening themselves that they were fast, cunning, strong. They were young and the spectre of death didn¡¯t phase them. They were willing to give their lives; that was why she, as their leader, had to be unwilling. To refuse to let them waste themselves for her approval. Because when you threw away lives, it would become easier and easier to continue doing so. That was what callousness was; repetition without hesitation. She would go herself. Argent skipped down from the roof, landing on a windowsill, a water barrel, the street. There were toughs clearing back the crowds so the mages could work; their eyes closed, their fingers twisting in complex knots to form intricate symbols of spellwork. None of the muscle spotted the silver rat darting underfoot, not until it was too late. She flashed in a blur of quicksilver, landing atop one of the crystals stands. The mage nearest paused, his spellwork sputtering off his fingers in a spray of dying sparks, and reached out to stop her. It was too late. There was a flash and she pulled the crystal with her as she leaped again, sending the stand toppling down. The formation broke apart. Lightning jumped between the crystals, sizzling bolts of pale blue raking across the mages- and one long, serpentine bolt smashing into Argent¡¯s side. She was thrown across the street, silver fur singed black, her back leg twitching spastically. The crystal fell as she rolled along the cobbles. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. The shadow of a boot lifted over her. The street ripped apart with a massive shudder, the earth bucking upwards and splitting in two. The man preparing to squash Argent fell backwards as the ground shifted underfoot. The trembling, quaking continued, nearby houses starting to crumble, walls caving inwards and their roofs bending to a slant until the rough thatch or clay tiles atop came crashing down. A hole was being carved out of the earth, all the way down to the Dungeon beneath. But it was going wrong. The tripods toppled into the breach, and one of the mages, caught up in his weaving of arcane designs, failed to see the rupture reaching a tendril towards him. The yawning chasm carried him down in an avalanche of crumbling stone. It was chaos. Chaos! Human bodies rained down, breaking as they hit the ground below. Sunlight gouged into my beautiful, luminescent gardens, and with it a terrible sense of exposure seized me. The humans had simply made their own entrance. One of them was still alive, his leg brutally fractured. My mantis reared up in front of him, splaying her glowing wings out, making them buzz through the air in a rapid flicker that turned the spotted rings of pale and lurid purple light on their undersides into a dazzling blur of color. The injured man gawped, staring in awestruck confusion at the gleaming lights before him. And all the while he was shrinking, shrinking, growing small enough that the mantis could overwhelm him. When it struck he was barely larger than the insect, and now match for its crushing, serrated claws. It ripped his throat out in a bloody display of dominance. I watched all this with a sense of restraint. I could no longer shape the first layer, and I was determined to let it stand alone. Even as adventurers threw down ropes and clambered down into the gardens, a full eleven armed men descending, I was resigned; this was Cabochon''s test. Worst of all was the fact the nacre-spiders'' lair had been cracked open. Their secret doors were twisted and warped, becoming all-too-visible against the backdrop of cracked stone, and many of them had been tumbled out of their secret dens and onto their backs, bladed legs scrabbling at the air. Men with spears made short work of the injured spiders. One of them went down suddenly, cursing and crying in pain. A glass-bodied snake had sunk its teeth into his ankle, crawling up unseen through the dense and colorful fungal blooms that rose to the waists of the invaders. The leader of the crew rescued him, seizing the snake in a mechanical hand of bronze and ripping it away so brutally the man cried out again. With a squeeze he crushed the serpent to pulp within his grip, shaking its remains from his palm, and tossed a vial full of what I took to be antivenom down to his wounded comrade. They were prepared. The invaders had formed a rough circle in the center of the gardens, fending back the nacre-spiders that crawled down from their ruined nests with sword and spear. Every second counted against them, but they were moving fast. One of them was weaving spellwork, golden diagrams spreading under his hands. ¡°Nothing. I can¡¯t see anything.¡± So at least my Law prohibiting divination was working. ¡°We¡¯ll have to sniff this out the old fashioned way. Men! Spread out, carefully now, and scout the surroundings!¡± The man with the mechanical arm shouted. Only a few feet from the mage¡¯s casting, two men armed with spears were fending back a nacre-spider, jabbing at its pearlescent armor as it slashed at them with blade-like forelegs. The fact that he could maintain his concentration that close to a running battle told me these were hardened veterans. My Dungeon was mounting a counter-attack of sorts, serpents crowding towards them through the low underbrush of fungus and moss, but they hacked away at the mushroom jungle, even as they shrank down into it. Denying my beasts cover was a fine strategy- it was also inflicting hideous damage on my beautiful jungle of gleaming lights and translucent fungal bodies. Another man fell, pulled in by the reelfish. His fate was sealed with sudden tangling of tendrils around his ankle and a sharp pull. Before anyone could move to rescue him he was under the water, being slammed into by their blunt, battering ram heads. The air left his chest in a burst of bubbles fountaining from his mouth. His corpse was pulled down, into the mud and murk of the underwater labyrinth. It was a small victory, but one I cheered. I was a nervous creator watching his works take their first independent steps, and at the same time, I was furiously scheming a way to prevent this kind of breach from happening in the future. A thin man with scars on each cheek vaulted through the fungal blooms, coming to a halt at the edge of the wide, shallow pool where the Brides of Heaven swum. He sniffed, almost seeming to sense riches in the air, and dipped his blade into the water, wiggling the shiny metal like a struggling bright insect to lure one of the placid gold-scaled beauties near. He almost didn¡¯t see the fungal-golem lurking in the reeds around the pool¡¯s edge. The lion lunged for him, paws extended, and the thin man moved faster than I would have believed possible, rolling backwards and somehow leaving his knife impaled through the lion¡¯s neck. Another one was drawn from his boot as he popped back to his feet, calling over his shoulder. ¡°Here! Treasure over here!¡± Like a pack of dogs catching an unfamiliar scent, the adventuring party turned as one. He had said their favorite word. 2.2 Last Chance "Careful!¡± Nim saw everything go out of control, and his golem-arm clenched its metal fist until steam hissed from the exposed gearworks. He saw his allies sprinting towards the promise of wealth, and he froze for an instant, realizing he couldn¡¯t control them. They were veterans, yes, but not of delving. They were soldiers, bandits, monster hunters. They knew how to cut their fortunes out of the world; they had no experience in the underground realms of Dungeons, where the world took its pound of flesh in return. He watched as the thin man, Chaith, dodged a sweeping lunge by the fungal lion. His dagger scored a long raking cut over the beast¡¯s side, but as it flicked past him, it smashed backwards with its hindpaw, striking into the meat of his calf with long, curved claws of chitinous black. Chaith cried out and toppled to one knee. Instantly, reinforcements were there to cover him, but the lion was gone; it vanished with a swish of closing foliage into the dense, swaying stalks of luminous fungal blooms. Two men stumbled through a patch of bubbling, piled-up puffball blooms, their fat white surfaces dotted with knobs of hardened chitin. There was a thunderous crumpling of noise and the puffballs burst apart in a brief roar of flames, an eye-searing and ethereal puff of white fire. Those chitin knobs became flying shrapnel that tore the men apart. The one that lived was blind in one eye and scarred with burns across his body, a walking corpse. Of the ten he¡¯d brought, two were gone already, two more wounded. "Touch as little as possible!¡± Nim roared into the ringing aftermath of the explosion. He took three steps forward, and some instinct made him turn back. A spider perched over the fallen man, the one who¡¯d been bitten by a snake. It was bone-white, thick plates of shaggy, rough material covering its bulbous round body. Its fangs descended for the wounded man¡¯s throat. Nim twisted his wrist around just so, feeling the machinery in his arm, the little pistons and pulleys, pull taut. Deep inside the spellwork-inscribed bronze gears began to turn, and a golden light built around his knuckles as he took three running steps forward and swung his fist - engulfed now in golden fire - towards the spider¡¯s skull. He should have listened to his own advice. The spider¡¯s body blossomed into flames in an explosive clap, the wave of force lifting him off his feet as the world turned white with glinting spears of crystal flowering out from the spider¡¯s detonated body, from the thin slime of viscous yellow blood splattering outwards, a husk around an inner core of molten flame and fury. Nim saw the world in frozen moments. The fire erupting outwards from cracks breaking open in the spider¡¯s calcified form. The crystals fanning towards him as he floated, weightless, mid-air. The breathless, crashing halt as he hit the floor and saw above him the light shining through the ruptured ceiling. And then time restarted, and there was blood on his face. There was blood everywhere. His metal arm was punctured, the gears and pulleys clicking and hissing in protest, setting up a thin whine of failing machinery as he tried to lift his bronze fingers skyward. He tried to speak and felt something wet blossom from his chest. Looking down, he saw a spear of white crystal thrust through his lung. Froths of mixing air and blood heaved out around the edges of the wound with every rise and fall of his chest, a foaming pink mixture that was his life and his breath all leaving him. Fumbling into his shirt, he drew out the tiny vial Eyfrae had awarded him. It hadn¡¯t fractured, thank god. Mageglass was harder stuff than steel. A tiny drop, just one drop, of shining elixir sat in the bottom of the rounded vial. He tilted it down. A briny, alcoholic heat spread down his throat, into his chest. He could feel the torn fabric of his body starting to writhe, the individual strands of his flesh rippling and flowing with a resurgent motion as they stitched themselves together. The next part would hurt, and all he could do was breathless curse the heavens. Reaching up, Nim took the spear of crystal that had fixed him through his chest, and ripped it free. The shout of pain bubbled out of him in a little surge of bloody spume. Over the course of three heartbeats the hole sealed itself shut. The ringing in his ears subsided, replaced by the shouting and clamour of the battlefield. Strength surged through his limbs. He felt incredible, for a man back from the dead. The look on his men''s faces as he stood made it clear they thought he was dead. He wiped his bloody face, a thin peppering of crystals still trapped in his skin; shining shrapnel pockmarking his ugly mug. With a vicious grin, he clapped his stunned second-in-command on the shoulder and went running towards the promised treasure. The elixir was like a fire beating through his veins. It made him want to move, want to fight, want to win. His men were stomping through a shallow pond in the shadow of an enormous statue of a crude manlike figure, his face propped against his fist in thought and his feet dipping into the pool. Bright, golden-scaled fish tried to escape, but they were chased down and seized, hauled out of the water still flopping and fighting. A knife slitted their fat, pale-spotted stomach, and gold-tinted pearls came spilling out. Fat little pearls as big as an eye. Puny ones the size of a bead. All with a lovely, butter-gold hue, shining in rough fingers as his men scooped them up to stuff into packs and pockets.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. "C''mon then! Do you want to be rich men or rich corpses?!¡± He slapped them on the shoulders, gripped them with his mechanical hand until he felt bones begin to creak. ¡°We have to keep moving! There¡¯s better stuff deeper in, I promise you that!¡± It was hard to get men moving when they''d caught the scent of gold, but they weren''t idiots. They knew they were in danger the more they lingered. "Let''s scout out the gazebo." There were three paths through the jungle, three locations that the Dungeon had highlighted. One was the pool with the golden fish, and the other looked to be a gateway. The third was an enormous gazebo made of shining glass. Something about it just pulled him; the little voice that whispered danger was drowned out by the elixir¡¯s lingering, heady rush of strength. ¡°Are we-¡± Chaith was feverish, his face pale. His comrades had his leg bandaged up but the blood was leaking through the cloths. ¡°Are we smaller?¡± ¡°We¡¯ll get you home soon enough, old boy.¡± The man tending his wounds laughed, but Nim paused, looking around. The jungle loomed above them. Corkscrew sprouts of fluorescent mushrooms lifted higher than his head, their tall stalks lined by dozens of delicate spines jointed together by membranous frills in helix patterns. ¡°No, we are.¡± That brought them all short, pausing to glance around, to confirm for themselves the worst. It was true. They were shrinking, vanishing into the dense and luminous undergrowth. ¡°Come on. Move it! With me, now!¡± Shouting, he led the way towards the palace of glass, letting his men cut down the fungal blooms in his wake. A sudden shiver in the moss warned him a second before it was too late- a half-transparent green viper reared up, coming waist-high now, a goliath. Its pink mouth yawned open, twin fangs bared. It lunged for him. His metal fist caught it in the side of the head, sparks bursting from the breach in the upper arm as the vicious haymaker spread the creature¡¯s brains and skull into a long spray of gore. Its headless body twitched and writhed and he continued forward, running now, heading for the gates of the glass gazebo. As he pushed open the door and stepped through, there was a moment of disorientation. He was his own size again. Behind him, his men seemed to step through the lens of a telescope as they crawled through the doorway. Only five of them, now. Three more gone. Chaith was the last through, limping heavily, needing another man¡¯s support. The inside of the gazebo was octagonal. It was a house of treasures, the walls glittering so beautifully, redolent with beams of light bouncing back and forth from one mirrored surface to the next, spinning an opulent web of gold; Nim felt dazed. He stepped forward, towards the long table of faintly-blue glass - like ice - where chalice after chalice of gold sat waiting, all but crying out to be taken as prizes. A cry of warning came from behind him, and he threw himself aside. Nim rolled across the ground as a blade slammed down where he had been a heartbeat before. No, not a blade- a leg. One of eight. A creature, half-man and half-spider, its face hidden behind a white-pink helm, its body covered in armor of the same pale and pearlescent stuff. In its hands it carried a long glaive, and with one sweep, two heads went flying. Nim lunged forward, throwing his all into a blazing punch. The arachne lifted one arm and caught the blow full on. He felt the bone beneath the armor bend in the moment of contact, heard the hiss of pain, felt the impact rock through his own body and press his back foot down into the floor until the grass began to crack. The armored spider was thrown back onto its hindlegs, using the front two to slash at him, forcing him to duck back. Its weight came crashing down behind a brutal overhead sweep that Nim ducked away from, playing for time now. His arm needed time before he could strike with full force. Behind him, the men were frozen, unsure of what to do. Skittering around the edges of the room trying not to attract the beast¡¯s wrath. A dagger bounced off the armor¡¯s shoulder. Chaith let out a weak laugh, incredulous at himself. Before he could make another sound or take another breath, he was skewered through on the glaive¡¯s point. Blood dripped down as he was lifted from the ground and flicked off the blade. Another man lunged forward, hacking with an axe. The haft of the glaive whirled and struck him stupid, stunning him with a blow across the back of the head. A bladed leg stabbed through his calf, and as he fell, another pierced through his torso. But Nim could see the weakness, the slowness, in that left arm that had been used to block his blow. One more. He curled his metal hand into a fist and ran forward. The glaive swept so quickly, so neatly through the air, he never saw it coming. Only instinct let him dodge to the side in time, his fist sweeping upwards towards the arachne¡¯s left shoulder. This time, he never made contact. Instead, he caught a vicious kick across his chest, tearing open his leather cuirass and throwing him back. The glaive blurred through the air, and Nim thought he was dead; but no, it was claiming another life, a man trying to creep up on the arachnoid monstrosity. By the time Nim managed to stand, blood weeping from his chest in a long gash from shoulder to hip, there was not one man of his crew left alive. None except him had survived. And he wasn¡¯t far from joining them. The strength the potion had lent him was leaving, ebbing out of him with the relentless drip of his blood, leaving his flesh arm trembling. Smoke wafted from the metal one. The dark sockets of the creature¡¯s helm stared at him, and then it reached out, lifting a cup from the table. ¡°Drink.¡± ¡°Hh. And why not kill me?¡± The words came out of his mouth before his woozy, injured mind could think better of asking a question for which there were no good answers. ¡°The Maker wishes to put his other creations to the test.¡± The armored creature replied, simply. ¡°It is a chance. However small.¡± It stepped forward, offering him the cup. He could smell the blood dripping from his weapon, filling up this beautiful room. And gods sight watch over him, Nim couldn¡¯t stomach that. Couldn''t live with himself - or die with himself - if he went out any way but struggling to the last drop of blood. Nim lunged- and was stopped short. The beast let its glaive fall aside and simply shoved its five sharp fingers through his chest. His ribs broken like tinder. A cough, a spew of blood down his chin, and he tilted his head down to see the creature¡¯s hand flexing tighter. He felt his heart beat being crushed between its fingers. "A poor choice." They pressed down, and that was the last thing he felt. Darkness rushed in. 2.3 Earth and Sky
You have reached Sixth Level. You may now choose an Attunement of Rare or below to increase to the next stage. Improved Attunements increase the chance of related evolutions appearing, and offer new benefits. You may choose to receive an additional Schema Slot OR an expansion to your Mana pool OR The Great Wheel¡¯s Whim (I).
I was all but salivating over the prospect. For the first time in a long time, I entered into the decision-space, a great void full of drifting mists where possibilities exist in bubbles that show the potential of each path. Only four now, the four Rare-grade attunements I had chosen in the past. My Legendary Attunement of Fortune floated alone above them, its surface gone gray and opaque so I couldn¡¯t see within. Down one route, by taking the Attunement of Disguise I could form a false core that would distract any attempts to divine my real core¡¯s location. Unfortunately, much of its use was redundant with the Law of my first floor preventing divinations in their entirely. If I improved my Attunement of Gleam, light within my Dungeon would begin forming into loyal wisps, a type of weak elemental. Gloom would provide shades, their dark counterpart. But it was the Attunement of Jewels that spoke to me. Once improved the highest grade of gemstones would begin to produce not mere untyped Mana, but earthen Mana, the same stuff I had found in the elemental¡¯s geode-nests. A powerful, potent substance I was sparingly experimenting with already. I took it without hesitation, and after a moment¡¯s thought, selected an additional Schema Slot as well. Memorizing a creature to a Schema allowed me so many more options in shaping its design, and I would need new creatures for my new second layer. The decision-world faded out as I made my selections. The battlefield above was settling, the losses on my side unfortunately severe. Still, they hadn¡¯t made it past Cabochon. It was a shame the last of the adventurers chose to go out the old fashioned way. I had so many new creations to try; my Field of Lament was flourishing. I had completed the luminous butterflies that would serve as a hypnotic trap, my sudden interest in deadly snails had yielded wonderful results- All I needed was a living specimen to actually reach my second floor. The bodies of the golem-armed man and his compatriots lay cooling around Cabochon, who bowed, sensing my attention. I let waves of approval radiate out as I devoured the bodies, turning them into brief-lived flames of Mana. Some of those flames swirled into Cabochon, strengthening him. Since I had given him the Blessing of the Blade-Dancer he was already formidable, and would only continue to grow, at the cost of eating up some of the potential Mana from my first floor. He was a new kind of creature, a Guardian. Even his missing leg had been restored. I was curious about him now, in truth. The spellwork inscriptions around his soul were deeply complex, an ever-turning clockwork of golden diagrams writ in pure Mana-fire. Inscribed within them was a map of his being that could be used to restore him from nothing. I would compare it to the way living potential was stored inside an egg, every portion of the yolk able to become an arm, a leg. Somehow the nascent body stored the complete memory of what was yet-to-be in every inch of its fabric. This was the same, but inscribed directly into his soul. Soul-inscription, magic. They were the same thing. Humans could work wonders because they had complex, powerful patterns of Mana radiating out from a central core, while my creatures were mutable and adaptable due to having simple constructions. Why was I so fascinated with this? Because I finally realized how to make creations that could work their own magic. Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Until now, I had only been able to evolve towards magical abilities, not build creations to have them from the start. This step forward would be an evolution for me. I would need to give them a soul, and inscribe that in much the same way I would make a Shard; Shard-crafting could even be understood as granting a portion of my own consciousness, the weak byproduct of soul, to creatures within my Dungeon. This medium was a poor replacement, but enough for me to arm them with basic level inscriptions. Inscriptions that would bring about true magic would be a new magnitude of difficulty. Unfortunately, the only way I knew of getting a soul was to devour enough humans to trigger a Mana Overflow, and hope it delivered. The first part was easy enough. As I consumed the human corpses and the remains of my poor destroyed creations, I flooded towards Overflow.
You have created - Blessing of Evolution Grants a single burst of mutagenic potential, and slightly reduces the threshold to further evolutions.
I could have sighed. Only incredibly useful. Not exactly what I wanted. My attention returned to the second floor, pondering how to fix the first. I would need to both seal the breach, before more adventuring teams arrived, and to ensure a new one couldn¡¯t be torn in my walls any time the humans decided to come calling. Half of that was easy. My experiments with the earthen Mana pools left behind by the elementals had born out three results. One were the stone-tusk rats that did such good work fetching me lumps of quartz and gleaming opals. Another was a new, improved mesmeric snake, a creature that could now only be called a Lesser Basilisk. Infused with the power of earth its gaze could paralyze a full-grown human. But finally, I had the Stone-Spinner Spiders. A simple evolution of the nacre-spiders, they were bigger and clumsier but far better armored. Their thick, coagulating spit formed into a rocky substance as soon as it dried, enabling them to disguise themselves as standings boulders. They would be perfect for repairing the breach, but I needed more than to simply cure the symptom. There was the underlying issue to be dealt with. I began with a worm. A lowly creature, but vital to the soil. I rebuilt my specimen from the ground up; with digestive acids borrowed from my boring worm it would have the ability to tunnel through rock, with a parasitic lifecycle from a spider-wasp it would seek out larger creatures and lay its eggs inside of them. These would be companions to the stone-spinner spiders, living inside their shells and hatching from their flesh. And in return? I had one final gift to impart. The ability to spin out thin filaments of dark iron. The stuff was toxic to my creations, but the worms didn¡¯t have to live for long. They would exist in short little candleflames of life, blind and earthbound their whole existence, burrowing through the stone as the spiders created it. In the process, consuming and excreting as they moved, they would layer webs of dark iron throughout, shielding the stone-spinner spiders against magecraft and proofing my walls against being torn open. It was an ugly solution, requiring me to work with worms and parasites, creatures I would normally balk at. I did my best to pretty it up by giving the worms a faint blue color, but in the end it only felt hideously ironic. A worm the color of a sky it would never see.
Ironsky Worms
Short-lived due to the dark iron they excrete, these creatures live in a parasitic cycle with the stone-spinner spiders. While they could be classified as a pest, they dampen the excesses of mage intruders.
Hopefully that would resolve the problem. I had Argent carry a shard to one of the first stone-spinners, one I had just recently forged. It was a beauty of a tourmaline, half-green and half-yellow. Accordingly, it had been able to accomodate twin enchantments.
Dual Shard of Might and Fortitude This twin-colored stone bears a dual enchantment, adding greatly to the bearers strength and constitution while granting intelligence. Creates a telepathic link to its creator, the Nameless Dungeon.
The beast was¡­ less than pleased about my other gift, the parasitic worms. But there was a religious fervor in its mind for me, a desire to please, and it suffered in silence as they twined their way into its rocky shell. The goliath had a dull, broad mind, full of hungers and paranoid wariness. Even my Shard didn¡¯t do much but sharpen those basic instincts. But it would serve to lead its people up to the first floor, joining the strange array of spiders already there. I gave a simple mission, to repair the breach, and a promise; do this and I would grant it a name. It had been too long since Adamant died for me not to pass on the gift of a Name to a new and worthy bearer. This goliath spider, strong of leg and deadly in venom, was as worthy as any. Now, I turned my attention away. I¡¯d accumulated quite the haul of loot, and I sent Aurum¡¯s little friend, the kobold, up to fetch it. I had acquired the ability to create Blessings by consuming enchanted and magical gear, and it was high time I put that to use. 2.4 Cowardice Ilbur awoke with a pain still throbbing in his face, marking a long scar from the right edge of his mouth and curving up, nearly touching the side of his nose, and splitting his right brow. The eye was lost. His world was halved. The pain was a burning, living thing, writhing like a worm. He turned to find a pair of boots resting beside him. They were cut from rich, dark leather with silver buckles, and they were so fancy, so clearly not meant for orcs, that he hesitated for a long moment before snatching them up and putting them on. The leather was soft and well-worn on his feet. Glancing around, Ilbur realized he was in a room of glass. The cutlass still lay at his side, a beautiful thing, curved and scribed with runes that ran along the spine of the blade down to basket-hilt grip. It shone in the pale light that seemed to ooze out of the ice-colored walls. He lifted it, feeling the reassuring and nearly made a horrible mistake as a monstrosity on eight-legs hauled its way up from the hole in the center of the floor, its every feature clad in gleaming white armor. It looked like a pale and ghostly knight. If his hands would have stopped trembling, he would have fought. Instead he stood there, as the pale knight unbuckled his helm, the long vertical slits and the rising crown of spikes making it seem like a death¡¯s head. He breathed a sigh of relief as the mask came down, revealing the strange, alien, but familiar face of Cabochon. ¡°I am glad you¡¯re awake.¡± The spider said. ¡°Where- I mean, why-¡± He reached up and traced the scar. It was still raw, a wriggling line of raised flesh. In the mirrors of the walls he could see it. As wide as his smallest finger, wrinkled and shiny pink. ¡°I almost died, didn¡¯t I?¡± ¡°Yes. In the future, you will die for real if you do not learn to fight.¡± There was blood dripping from the enormous glaive Cabochon carried, blood on his armor. It ran down the pearled plating in threads of ruby, coated the enormous curved blade of the ceremonial spear. It clung so thickly to the tassel hanging just beneath the tang of the blade that the gold braid had turned a pure dark red. Ilbur couldn¡¯t turn away. The steady patter of blood dripping, the iron-stink of it, hypnotized him. Cabochon followed his eyes and ¡®tch¡¯ed in annoyance. Wiping it with a cloth, he set the glaive aside and began to peel away his white pearl armor. ¡°The glass man, where is he?¡± Ilbur stumbled out. It had seemed so easy to resolve to fight, his last firm thought before the long, pained dreams as he recovered from the wound. Now that resolution ebbed out of him at the first smell of blood. It seemed foolish, it seemed impossible, it wasn¡¯t what he was. But as the spider said, if he didn¡¯t learn he would die. ¡°In the Everforest, hunting, and he will not return soon. You must go to him.¡± Ilbur stood at the gate to the Everforest, trembling in his boots. He didn¡¯t want to. He never asked to be a coward. It was like the fear lived in his body, not his mind, another animal occupying his skin. A feral fear. One that made him shiver and freeze when he stood on the gateway of the unknown. But he had to move. He gripped the sword tightly, a promise that he was better than this. Better than the burning fear that told him to turn away. As soon as he stepped through, the air felt different. An ancient mist, saturated with the smell of leaves and loam, met his nostrils. It was the scent of old growth, a primordial fog of rain trapped underneath the forest canopy for eternity, unmoved by the wind the leaves pent back, growing each day as the forest lived and died and went to rot. Black earth squished under his new boots. Something hooted in the brush. An owl with seven eyes arranged in a ring stared at him. It stared intensely. The trees closed in around Ilbur as he followed the signs carved into the trunks. His hand brushed over the bark. Fresh sap stuck to his fingers. He trudged through the deep, mottled layer of wet leaves; the forest coagulated into gloom, until the lights where the leaves parted and golden sun crept through were the last guides in a subterranean dark. The wind made these veins of gold ripple and shift, swimming across the forest floor. And he came to a place where there were two marked trees. Both seemed equally fresh, sap oozing from the cuts in pale green beads. Insects came to lick the tree¡¯s blood, swarming around the arrows that pointed in opposite directions. On one path, the darkness of the forest swallowed up all but the faintest of flitting shadows. Everything was grim. The other led up, and the trees seemed to lighten, dappled gold cracking open the gloom. It was obvious which one he wanted to be the right way. In the back of his mind, he also knew that it was the obvious choice, the easy choice. Maybe the glass golem had left both these marks. But just as likely, a predator had seen the first mark and decided to set a trap. If that was the truth, then his life hung in the balance, and he couldn¡¯t let fear steer him. How likely was it that the trap would aim itself towards the dark of the forest, where anyone would be reluctant to go? If the ambusher was looking to tempt him surely it would choose the light and easy way?If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. These were his thoughts as he nervously, slowly turned down the dark path, shouldering his way between close-set trunks and stumbling over roots. Something was behind him, Ilbur knew. His ears caught the slight creak of the branches as it moved from one to the next. Ilbur came to a place where the trees bent into a vast archway, their leaves entwining into a grim, lightless tunnel that yawned before him. Dripping veils of moss hung from overhead. One foot in front of the other, although both tried to tremble their way out of it. Shaking so hard his teeth chattered and feeling dead already, feeling hollowed out inside by the gnawing of his fear, Ilbur stepped forth. And a thing came rushing towards him. There was barely time to throw himself aside as the ape, its fur red and rusty like blood, crashed towards him- and past, his last minute dive to the floor saving him. Only, he¡¯d left his blade behind, lying on the ground. The beast turned and Ilbur flinched, trying to crawl backwards. It¡¯s face was a tusked skull, the fur peeling back to reveal bleached bone and curling yellow sharpness. The ape was built of crude, top-heavy muscle with giant leathery hands that swung at the ends of its long arms like clubs, knuckles dragging the floor. It lunged for him- There was a flash of green- The glass golem crashed into the beast¡¯s side and sent it rolling, somehow slipping away as they tumbled together through the leaves, avoiding being caught and crushed underneath. It regained its footing and leapt back in time to avoid a sudden sweep of one of those enormous hands, and its sword came out in a dazzling arc of silver. The hand fell to the ground, severed. The ape clutched its stump and let out a pitiful roar, coming up onto its feet and staggering back. The glass golem was having none of it. It lunged forward, feinted back to dodge a crude backhand, and darted in again, jabbing its blade down sideways into the joint at the back of the leg. The beast collapsed to one knee and finally caught the glass golem with a blow, driving its elbow down in a strike that brought all its huge, furred bulk to bear. The glass golem twisted and interposed its horns, and while it was sent skidding back, feet tearing furrows in the soft mud of the forest floor, the beast was left with bleeding horns pierced through its one good arm by the faun¡¯s antlers. The beast was left broken, sagging, trying to drag itself back towards its nest. The glass golem stepped between it and safety, pointing its sword at the ape. And something soft brushed across Ilbur¡¯s arm. It was the fur of a silver fox, who carried his sword in its mouth. It laid the blade against his lap and stepped aside, waiting. The glass golem made no move to finish the ape, only stood between it and retreat. They both realized what was happening at once. Through the helmet of tusked bone, the ape locked eyes with Ilbur, the intense fury of its gaze making him flinch as he staggered onto his feet. Gods sight, they shook. The whole of him was shaking and his breath came out in ragged gasps. He tried hard to think, to fight with his head first and his blade as a last resort. The beast was bleeding horribly, so it had to come to him. If he advanced now, he¡¯d be giving up his one advantage. Time. Time was on his side. And the ape knew it. It climbed ponderously to its feet, barely able to limp along on its injured leg, bent lopsided by the mismatch length of its arms. It lunged for him- a lunge that turned into a fall as its bad leg gave way entirely. He ducked back from the clumsy sweep and hacked away at the arm as it passed. There was barely enough strength in his arms to break through the beast¡¯s thick, clotted fur, leaving a shallow gash. His father had taught him how to fight. He knew the movements. But his own body, steered by the animal fear, refused to fight with him and not against him. It came at him again, crawling across the ground and smashing its open palm into the dirt. Again he retreated and swung, making another shallow addition to its wounds. The third time, it played him. A half-strike, a feint back, and as his sword darted forward the real blow leapt forward to meet him. Ilbur¡¯s world was blotted out by a hot, bright blossom of pain, spreading before his eye and turning the world to white fire. He felt weightlessness seize his body as he was lifted from the ground, and the air leave him as he crashed back down, rolling. The blade was no longer in his hands. When his vision came back it was blurry, distorted, his one eye filling up with blood. The beast was hauling itself towards him. If it had two working legs, it would already have torn him apart. The blade lay on the ground behind it. He was going to die. He was going to die and there would be no place for him among his ancestors. Not if he died like this, without a weapon in hand. Gryhsis, the afterlife, was reserved for warriors. And anger surged through him, for once in his life. Anger that he¡¯d never had a choice to be anything but the one thing he couldn¡¯t be. Anger that every other option had been stripped from him, that he¡¯d been born an orc, that for generations his people had been forced to fight, until every softness had been stripped for them and they were hard, scarred things. He lunged for its face, clawing his fingers into the sockets of the bone helm it wore. It was surprised, for a second, by this sudden surge of violence. His fingers met something soft. And then it caught him by the leg and ripped him up from the ground. Pain swept the world away again as it lifted him, swinging him by the leg and smashed him against a tree trunk. He felt his bones creak. He was going to die. That thought settled over him and lasted a long, long time. Longer than he should have had left. Ilbur opened his eye, slowly. The ape lay on its side, the heave of its breath making its chest rise and fall in uneven, arrhythmic gasps. Blood was staining the leaves below, filling their curled autumn bodies like little cups. Two weeping streams of red ran from the sockets of its helm. It was blind. It was dying. It could no longer even stand. He had won. Ilbur¡¯s leg wouldn¡¯t support his weight, disjointed from its socket and dragging painfully beneath him as he took one, then two steps, before collapsing to the ground. The fox stepped forward and brought him the blade again. He used it as a crutch to close the distance, and lifted it above the ape¡¯s throat. In his mind he recited the prayer for fallen warriors his father had taught him. Then he cut down, again and again and again. It was no clean death. There were no clean deaths. Only the brutal, fearful, bloody business of killing. 2.5 Rivalry I had been left many gifts by our various guests. Cabochon had swept out the nacre-spider nests in the sewers, finally retrieving our true haul from the Night of White Fires; dozens of people fleeing in the confusion had been snatched up and eaten, leaving behind both the money they had brought to bid, and sometimes, prizes from the auction itself. The kobold spread them out before me in Aurum¡¯s cavern, the great snake eyeing the golden spoils with interest. Already his horde was growing, a small pile of jewels taken from the chaos of the auction and from numerous little heists across the city wrapped up in his scales as I slowly converted them to Shards. With the kobold as our hands, we began to examine the yield. A box sealed with a royal cachet in wax yielded a cluster of pale blue stones that, when they came into contact with air, converted it into fresh pure rainwater. The moment the box was opened it began to overflow. Three pouches contained grooved, teardrop-shaped seeds the color of rich earth, which I would grow when I found an appropriate chance. There was sadly no sphinx-bone tea set, but I did recover a pair of dice carved from crocodile bone. A subtle enchantment of luck was imbued into them. As for enchanted blades, I had a half-dozen by now. From a snake-curved dagger enchanted by a single rune built into the grip, to a long rapier with red silk wrapped around the pommel and a beautiful hilt in the shape of a snarling lionshead, my collection would have been the pride of many blacksmiths. Preeminent among them all was the Mane Dagger, that piece of sky made sharp. But I would never sacrifice that. Most of what I¡¯d acquired was just tat to be spent, one way or the other. The dagger was family. A piece of my creator¡¯s mind. A hint at my name. There were thirteen pieces in Master Varhalein¡¯s final work. Thirteen, after the bells of Caltern. The Mane Dagger rested in my possession, and there were eleven more scattered to the winds of the city. The final piece had been my own ring. If I knew which bells the other twelve pieces of Varhalein¡¯s legacy were named after, the last remaining name would be my own. I had never taken Suffi up on her offer to give me a Name. A pissant like her had no right. But if there was any human I would suffer to Name me, it was the master who had crafted my ring. And there was another reason to seek them. I had found a subtle enchantment worked into the Mane Dagger, infusing it with a faint resonance. It made no sense, had no clear function, but the more I studied it the more I realized I was looking at one part of a complex whole. An enchantment split into thirteen parts. One fragment of that spell had already been lost with the destruction of my ring, but if I had the other twelve I could perhaps restore the whole. For now¡­ I began by eating the bastard sword, dissolving away its metal so that the underlying diagrams of spellwork were left behind. They quickly threatened to dissipate into the air without something to anchor to, and so I gave them my Mana, creating a cloud of blue-ish light that the golden designs swam through. Evidently this wasn¡¯t enough to form a Blessing, so I quickly devoured the rest, letting their designs flit up to join the cloud. Clashing patterns of golden lines kaleidoscoped and rotated, falling into place with one another. As the designs intermeshed they collapsed, shrinking smaller and smaller, and I condensed the cloud to match, drawing it in. Soon a sphere of blue lined with shifting gold hung in the air above the kobold, like a strange moon. With a final rotation the diagrams seemed to solve themselves, condensing to a single spark and sucking the last of my Mana with them. The spark hovered in the air and slowly drifted down towards the kobold, who reached out his scaly hands.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. It touched him, and for an instant golden lines wrapped around his scales. Then they were gone, dissolved into his being.
[ Gold-Streaked Kobold ]
Forming an attunement in its egg to a nearby source of draconic blood, this kobold has taken on draconic traits from Aurum, its spiritual sire. It will serve with faith and affection all its life.
Blessing of Steel: This minion may conjure blades at will, manifesting more powerful ones as its skills in swordsmanship increase.
As an experiment, it was entirely successful. For practical purposes I couldn¡¯t imagine what this runty little creature would do with such a power. He just seemed to amuse himself with it, conjuring a knife to his hand, then dissappearing it. Scrambling up Aurum¡¯s scales to get the big snake¡¯s attention, he called up the crude little metal shiv and then made it blink back out of existence; he spread out his four-fingered hands as if to say it really was gone, barking in amusement. Aurum, to my surprise, humored him, swaying his head back and forth and peering all around as if confused by the little magic trick. When the knife made its reappearance he reeled back in faux-shock. I could have sighed. He really was spoiling the kobold. I had never coddled any of my minions this way. And to be a honest for a moment, I was jealous of the attention the little creature got. He should have known his place, with his runty little blunt nose and unblinking amber eyes. Bah. ¡°How about we try not eating this time?¡± Trivelin suggested, as they came upon the table. It was not the first time he¡¯d made the suggestion. And it was not the first time Umi went on to completely ignore him, grabbing a skewer of fish and ripping away chunks of fried, flaky mahi mahi. ¡°Gotta eat. Keep up our strength.¡± She grunted between bites. Trivelin sighed. They were trapped in a maze, an ever-shifting assortment of strange, blank white-marble hallways perfectly squared in dimensions. The monotony of walking through endless white made the table¡¯s appearance seem like a miracle at first. At first. It was a table laden with every kind of good food, with an enormous roast boarshead at the center on a platter lined with carrots and apples. Jellies and little cakes. Baskets of fresh crumbly bread and pies, sweet and savory, and oh yes, little cakes again. Racks of ribs and bowls full of kidney stew. Fresh butter. Marmalade jam. Holding Umi back had been futile. When she seemed unlikely to keel over from poisoning, Trivelin had joined in. And then, when nothing had happened, no terrible death or sudden opening of a door, they¡¯d continued on their way and left the bones and rinds behind. The next day they¡¯d found the table again, its banquet refreshed. Their surmise had been that it was to keep them from starving while they navigated the maze. Now Trivelin wasn¡¯t so sure. ¡°Yes, but I was thinking, what if we don¡¯t? We keep coming back here, and nothing else about the maze changes. What if this is the challenge? We¡¯ve tried eating. Let¡¯s try not.¡± ¡°I¡¯m starving, how about you can try fasting.¡± Umi suggested, already reaching for the ribs. God, they were delicious too. Trivelin¡¯s considerable belly rumbled as he watched her teeth tear into the tender, blueberry glazed flesh. ¡°I did. Yesterday.¡± ¡°So then, it didn¡¯t work. We¡¯re still here.¡± Bones littered the ground as she demolished the table, eating like twelve men combined. They were always gone when the two returned the next day. ¡°Because you ate!¡± Trivelin¡¯s teeth ground together. ¡°We both have to try passing it up, if we ever want to get out of here. What else is there? Going around in circles forever?¡± ¡°You make a good point. Excellent point. I¡¯ll consider that.¡± Umi said, mouth full. ¡°Tomorrow. I¡¯ll consider it tomorrow.¡± And she tossed him an apple. Trivelin grumbled, hiding his sour expression behind a bite of the fruit. Oh, if only he had his usual little vial of poison. That would settle this moron. Maybe she was part of the Tower¡¯s games, and the challenge was not to strangle her. 2.6 Lures and Traps and Shiny Things Descending from the stairwell, my ¡®dear guests¡¯ would find themselves at the base of a stone tower, surrounded on all sides by grey fields of endless flowers, their shape a five-petaled star repeated on and on into the horizon. The dark was deep, tenebrous, an inky almost-solid presence that weighed down and drank up the tiny torches and lanterns they would bring. In the tiny sphere of what they could view the trees would loom as skeletal silhouettes, and if they approached, they would see the weeping faces carved in the salt, the way the red iron underneath shone through the cloud crystal in streaks. Vines of flesh would curl around the branches, and a fruit of nightvein would tempt them. Of course, one of the vines was a serpent, coiled in hibernation. I had simply turned its scales to a deep bloody red, and of course improved its venom. One bite - one unwary hand reaching for that first fruit - would be their doom. That would be how my second layer introduced itself. The first plateau was largely empty, choosing instead to rely on the way the field of flowers stretched over the gap between islands, their roots interlocked to form a floating canopy over the pitfall. I would let them discover that the hard way. Once they found the bridge across, they would arrive at my second island; here I was adding elements, upping the challenge. This island would be focused not on keeping invaders out but keeping them in. I wanted them to come far enough into my little world to have no hope of retreat. This was the lair of the rock spiders. I made them sensitive to a particular sound, trained them to rise up from their disguise as mere boulders and go into a savage frenzy at the note; the sound of feet crossing the second bridge. Once the adventurers started to move to the third island, the way back would suddenly be cut off, a surge of angry stone-spinner spiders blocking their way. They would have no choice but to continue. I laid a second trap near the bridge, a skeletal corpse. While making live humans was beyond my power, making dead ones was simple enough. Lying by the corpse was a scattering of coins and an emerald brooch. Or what looked like one. It was in fact a disguised snail, a deadly soft-bodied horror with a radial, gaping mouth lined by sharp little injector-teeth meant to pump a numbing poison into the unwary. The coins were normal enough- since the damned humans made theirs out of dark iron I couldn¡¯t fit anything inside without it dying almost immediately. But again, I counted on greed. I had scattered these little beauties throughout my Dungeon, and while they might not attract much attention at first, seeming obviously a trap, as real treasures and very genuine sets of bones began to litter the ground it might become tempting to test one¡¯s luck and take from the corpses of adventurers past. But what kind of monster would I be if I stopped there? The third landmass would be where the ground itself turned against them. Step in the wrong place, and a fluttering swarm of hypnotic butterflies would erupt. Razor sharp vines would wrap around your leg with clutching thorns. Pitfalls abounded, and here I had a genius idea. I made shallow, survivable falls, but layered them with a new species of my Somnolent Bloom Schema, more deadly then before. Bone-white and thin as silk, the brushing little hairs would cling like little suckered octopus feet to whatever touched them, dripping a steady adhesive. So the prospective victim would fall and be caught fast, screaming for their companions. And if the brave heroes rushed to the hapless fool¡¯s aid, they would drink in the invisible, thin cloud of sleeping spores the fall and subsequent struggling had stirred up into the air. Not enough to fell a grown man quickly, but enough to slow his reflexes. In this way one fool who took a misplaced step could drag his whole team down As for creatures, it was time they met serious resistance. With the way back barred by angry stone-spinners, more of the goliath spiders would swarm from the front. At the center of the island I would build another gazebo, this one made of white salt. It would guard the entrance of a set of concealed tunnels that spread throughout the island, allowing minions to pop up and vanish through holes too small for a grown human to follow. As for who would take up position, I chose Aurum¡¯s kobold as a base. This was a floor that emphasizes skill and wits over brute force, and better yet, their dextrous hands allowed them to wield ranged weaponry for harassing and skirmishing. I made seven to begin with, one after the other blinking their wide yellow eyes as they came into existence from collapsing clouds of Mana. I made each of them a little different, some skinny and quick, others bulky and strong. One I gave the slimy coating of the lamprey and the abyssal shark. A scorpion¡¯s tail, four eyes, a spider¡¯s climbing hairs, chameleonic skin. For them I made long spears, and hollow blowpipes with poisonous darts. The latter was¡­ a mistake. The smallest of the kobolds lifted the hollow wooden tube, blowing through it. An empty puffing note burst out. Delighted, it continued to puff away, making an awful little racket. I had made a musician. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. And oh, I could only regret it. Argent was scuffed, shaken, but unharmed. She watched nervously over the breach, as humans swarmed around the new hole in the Maker¡¯s works. It was clear that many of them were angry. The breach had ripped down nearby houses, cut a street in half, claimed lives as people fell into the spreading destruction. Guards in shining breastplates and high plumed helmets came to seize the mages who hadn¡¯t been pulled under by the catastrophic expansion of their spell, dragging them away. Men were posted around the gap, a cordon established. It became more and more clear that the city hadn¡¯t ordered this. It had been the work of runaway adventurers, too eager for riches and glory. They had gotten what they deserved, in the end. One of her best lieutenants had managed a leap from a half-collapsed roof down to the top of the governor¡¯s carriage, as the man himself arrived to survey the damage. Even for humans he was a giant; tall and round-bellied the man was bald as an egg, walking with the help of a cane, his fingers laden with rings that clicked on the walking stick¡¯s golden grip. He held a silk handkerchief to his face to hold back the slow drift of dust from the ruined homes. The air was thick with ash and smoke from fires that had sprung up under the ruins. Nevertheless he coughed, bending so far forward that his men seized his arms to keep him from going over the edge as he hacked and spat. ¡°I- oogh- I want Voglin, where is he?¡± The captain of the men stepped forward and present himself, plumed helmet tucked under his arm respectfully. ¡°Prepare an expedition force. If this thing is going to live under our city and cause trouble, we should make some profit from it all, don¡¯t you think? And tell Eyfrae. No, don¡¯t ask her, just tell her.¡° The governor shook his head, hocking a ball of spit over the edge of the crevasse. ¡°This whole business, disgraceful. Brought out the animals in people.¡± He shook his head, disgusted. Trivelin and Umi slid to a stop. Their bellies were empty, their heads started to ring and swim from the demands for food. They felt like hollow people. It was all they could do to keep walking, their fingers trailing along the left-hand side of the walls, endlessly. And in their stupor they turned the corner and were presented with a treasure vault. A gleaming, beautiful abundance of coins and jewelery, piled high on either side of the hallway so that they walked through a valley canyon, surrounded by walls of gold. In all his life, Trivelin had never seen so much wealth. Umi turned to him, her eyes stern. ¡°Your turn, fat man. I don¡¯t get my food and you don¡¯t get the gold.¡± Trivelin barely bit back a number of responses, chief among them that if you eat, you¡¯re hungry tomorrow, but if you steal, oh, if you steal you¡¯re fed for life. Very few people appreciated his philosophy on the matter of theft, despite how true it was. Still, odds were this poxy gold would vanish as soon as he left the Tower. Reluctantly dropping the few coins he¡¯d already slipped into his hand, and nervously chuckling as Umi glared at him, he plodded along behind her as they carried on through the vault, watching priceless treasures - a glass and silver recreation of the imperial palace, an octagonal seal carved of lapis-lazuli with a golden dragon perched atop, a falcon of onyx lined with precious jewels for every feather - slip him by. And as they turned the corner, they came face to face with a grisly creature. It had no skin, and no blood, only pale pink muscle like a gutted fish. It might have been human once, but its arms were incredibly long and its fingers were curved blades that scraped the ground as it sat, with knees curled to its chest and those terrible claws pressed to each cheek. An expression of horror. It didn¡¯t move. It was quite still, maybe dead, but Trivelin¡¯s heart had already skipped several beats. His breathing only resumed when Umi grabbed his hand and tugged him forward, whispering, ¡°Come on!¡± in a rushed hiss. They picked their way carefully and fearfully around the thing where it sat, and started to run, the gold canyon continuing on behind the beast. Ahead of them a door loomed. And Trivelin had a thought. If there was no guardian, then the treasure itself was the challenge. Definitely, if there was no guardian, he couldn¡¯t take any treasure. But since there was a guardian¡­ Didn¡¯t that mean the treasure itself wasn¡¯t trapped? That it needed guarding? The door was just ahead of them. They could make it through in a heartbeat. Casually reaching out, he snatched up a golden telescope ringed in emeralds and patterned with tortoiseshell marks. The kind a captain of esteem should have. Umi spun around and glared at him- and her face went from a feral snarl, ready to yell, to a slack, pale look. Trivelin spun around. The guardian was gone. Nowhere to be seen. Just vanished. ¡°Go!¡± He roared, and they both dived for the door. It refused to budge. As his hand caught the knob and turned, a hidden panel dropped back and rotated away, revealing a hidden lock- an eight-sided socket. ¡°Fuck!¡± They shouted in unison. And that was when they heard the chiming of thousands of coins crashing to the ground. 2.7 Freakshow Suffi Halfhand was preparing for coronation. There would be no ceremony, no crown, but in the quiet company of Those Who Mattered she would be made queen of the city today; she wore her hair braided and her best tunic of crushed red velvet, with dark ruffled sleeves and a dress of pleated white. A glove covered her unsightly hand. Her mother fussed at the smallest of details. All of it was deeply unnecessary. If she had it her way, she would wear platemail and a sword. To her mother, today was a day about finally being accepted back into the world of power. To Suffi, today was about the blunt fact she had beaten them all. So she wore a fancy dress and an iron glove, riveted at the knuckles, a brute instrument. A threat of the reign to come. She held out her arm, and two birds made of thin twigs and stretched leather fluttered down. They were macabre little things. Skeletal, the framework of their bones jutting out against the thin layer of ¡®flesh¡¯. They had singular, cyclopean eyes, gawdy jewels set in their coffee-colored skin. But undeniably they were the work of a Dungeon. No mortal mage could design a golem that worked without every inch of its body being imprinted with spellwork. Here, not a single golden line was evident to give motion to the false flesh and artificial bones. They perched on her gauntlet, obedient to her orders. That too would be an excellent example. Trivelin heard the coins scatter to the ground, and braced himself for the worst. But no attack came, no trap descended, there was only a retreating sound of claws scraping and coins clinking. Which¡­ worried him more than anything. ¡°You idiot.¡± Umi hissed, punching the door. That was when the lights went out. The constant, pervasive glow that had followed them for the last three days was suddenly gone, and what was left? Only a faint luminance coming from the doorway. It was a pale, eerie light, bringing out some cold and cruel in the glint of the gold. Trivelin paused, and then began to stuff his pockets frantically with coins. ¡°Really? That¡¯s where your mind is?¡± ¡°Either they vanish when we leave the Tower or I¡¯m the richest man in Caltern tonight. I¡¯ll take those odds.¡± He draped a necklace over his head, plucked rings and put them on, made himself a clanking armor of gold. And they settled him against the sudden dark, and the knowledge he would have to go out there- that the only way out now was to face down that awful skinless corpse. It felt good to know that he was fighting for something better than his life; he was fighting for the life of a rich man. ¡°Wait a second.¡± Recollection flashed through his mind in a sudden sparking moment, and he turned back, to the octagonal socket that had opened in the door. ¡°I saw- come with me.¡± He crept down the hallway, every step taking him farther from the door¡¯s thin light and deeper into the shadows. As he peeked around the corner he half expected to come face to face with the thing, with its awful lipless smile. Instead there was only emptiness, and a collapsed mountain of coins spread across the floor. He rushed over and sifted his fingers through the scattering of treasure. Nothing. Gone. Taken. ¡°Dammit.¡± Trivelin muttered. ¡°Care to tell me what¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°The test wasn¡¯t to ignore the treasure, it was to keep our senses in the middle of it. The key was right here. A little octagonal thingie, made of gemstones, there was a dragon on top. I saw it and-¡± He raised his hands and let gold rain down between his fingers in despair. ¡°That little cretinous thing took it away. It¡¯s not coming for us, it¡¯s making us come to it.¡±This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°Well.¡± She cuffed him across the head, hard enough to make his ears ring. ¡°If you do something stupid like that, I¡¯ll strip you naked and tie you up for monster bait. Understand? Now let¡¯s move. Unless that table shows up again, there¡¯s only so long until we starve.¡± She stormed past, fishing rod cast over her shoulder, and Trivelin was left blinking. Strip and tie him, eh? Did he senses the ticklings of affection in her tone? Climbing to his feet, he took a jeweled ceremonial dagger from among the riches, stowing it through his belt. It was time to hunt. There was a reason I chose kobolds, despite not having the kindest of thoughts towards them. When my creatures approached the earthen Mana wells, the presence of so much foreign Mana completely overwhelmed my control of them. Even creatures imbued with Shards quickly lost their connection to me. Despite this, I¡¯d had no trouble getting creatures to delve into the geode-lairs and be changed by the Mana. In fact I was having the exact opposite problem. By the time the first stone-spinner spider emerged, burrowing its way up through a gap it was no longer small enough to fit through, the greedy creature had devoured the entirety of the Mana reserve. Being Dungeon-creatures, I suppose it made sense they had a natural hunting instinct for Mana. If I wanted to experiment further then, I¡¯d need creatures capable of following orders and not reliant on crude instinct, creatures with opposable thumbs that could bring me back samples of the earthen Mana to experiment on. I even hoped to mine away some of the crystals and see what could be done with them. In short, I needed the little runts. Even as they drove me half mad with their incessant hooting and playfulness. They were like children. Slightly less hideous, but just as loud. Irritated, I turned my attention away, focusing on other aspects. The fourth island was the middle one, the low point of the u-curve formed by the chain of seven. On it, two enormous trees of rusting iron held back the earth-lizard, the beast slumped in captivity. Not even breathing caused to move. From a distance, it looked like nothing more than a spike-ridged hill of stone and dirt, lashed by chains for some mysterious reason. In the dark of the nightvein trees, by the time they saw the draconic form hidden inside the rubble it would be too late. A trophy and a defender. This floor, with its blessing of revenant spirits, would come to bear the marks of all those who tried to conquer my domain. This beast was just the first. The next island was the fifth, split completely in half by the deep crevasse from which the earth-lizard had erupted. The sides of the chasm glittered with earth crystals. Somewhere below, a motherlode of earthen Mana awaited. Unfortunately, it¡¯s very presence interfered with my powers, so I was unable to build a way down for my creations, much less a way back up. For now, I merely needed to defend it. I had the salt golems prowling this area, but they hardly fit the theme. The strange mournful atmosphere of weeping trees and night-fruits, of creeping flesh-vines and rust-red undertones among grey flowers, they required something more. I needed something truly frightening to dissuade greedy hands from my treasure-trove. I began by selecting a blightclaw rat as my fourth Schema. The sudden rush of clarity encoded every detail of its form into my mind, and allowed me to shape it much more cleverly. What I would do next would blur the limits of the rodent form. First, I needed to make it big. The size of a large hound at least. I stripped away the fur and turned the flesh to a bruisy electric blue shade, layering over it with patchwork scales of dark dull red. What resulted was a repeating diamond pattern of the two colors, a latticework. I made spines rise from the backs of its elbows, elongating each limb until it could move with lithe grace and swift as an arrow. A ridge of long spikes protruded from the line of its back. But that wasn¡¯t enough. I added tendrils, long waving things tipped by flat, oar-shaped pads where tiny hooks allowed it to grasp things by curling the pads inwards. The overall effect was like the mouth of a venus fly trap. I pushed back the skin of its face, letting its long, sharp jaws protrude out in a display of pale bone. It looked as if its face was a poorly made mask, being peeled away to reveal the horror of teeth and yellow ivory beneath. I gave it tusks. I gave it a long, slavering tongue. I gave it a name.
[Rat-Hound of Lament]
Born of strange inspiration, this beast carries itself with predator¡¯s grace. It¡¯s unwieldy form invokes terror in all those who see it.
And then I felt oddly¡­ dizzy. A wrenching, churning sensation, as if the world was spinning around me and I had nothing to hold onto. No doubt if I¡¯d been human, I would have done something messy and horribly organic. What was that? As I came to, I looked on in horror at what I had made. What had possessed me to do such a thing? Where was the beauty, the art? It was a horror. 2.8 Poisoned My world turned and spun in the most nauseating way, leaving me adrift and confused. The rat-hound I had created took its first few steps into the world, moving with a hideous, sinuous kind of grace, as if there were no bones beneath its mottled skin. It prowled the fifth island, its tongue slithering out to taste the air. Salt and iron. Together, they made the scent of blood. It amused itself by putting its body to work, by running, slithering, leaping- it was an unruly thing in body and mind. The rat-hound was a deadly creature, all spines and exposed teeth. Its form was a chimeric agglomeration of lethal things, tusks and tendrils, artlessly crushed together into one body whose basic grace was straining under the load. There was a certain way in which almost all natural creatures were beautiful, in that they were efficient, sleek little machines, whittled by years of adaptation into a singular purpose; the rat-hound looked like a child¡¯s clumsy idea of a monster. And I had created it, me. I¡¯d hope anyone could see that made no sense. In the one short month of my existence, I¡¯d proven myself a paragon of taste, at least. It was more than my reason to be. It made me better than some animal in the dark, luring humans down to kill them and drink their souls. I felt sick. My world continued to spin. Something here was bad, bad, bad. I felt the simple wrongness to the core of my being. This had to be nipped in the bud. KILL IT. The entirety of my Dungeon stirred at the command. Even Aurum lifted his head, and the salt golems huffed, pawing the ground. The rat-hound sensed the sudden shift in the air, darting back. Too slowly. The salt-rhino had already dipped its horn down, and with a sudden kick, burst into chugging, galloping motion, sweeping towards the unwanted pest. The beast curved its boneless body, twisting, and feinted left then right and suddenly left again, disorienting the crude golem into rushing past. As the rhino did, a suckered tendril raked along its side. The wound was nothing, barely a scratch. But it was lethal, nonetheless. I could feel the Mana pathways that animated the golem start to crumble and decay, unwinding, until the very energy that gave the salt-statue life was clashing about within its body, an uncontrolled flame. I hesitated. The second golem lunged forward, and again, that matador-show of agility sent it hurtling off in the wrong direction as the rat-hound ducked aside. It was almost playing with them. They kicked up huge clouds of dust as they turned, clumsily struggling against their own momentum. Grit billowed through the air as they sought to find the enemy, to crush it beneath their bulk. The rat-hound was never there, always a step ahead. Ripping at them with shallow cuts and some strange poison I didn¡¯t understand. The first salt golem collapsed suddenly, falling apart mid-rush so that its own momentum carried it into a spray of salt chunks going tumbling along the ground. The rat-hound leapt upon the second, clawing its back viciously. And I refused, refused, to watch this play out any further. To watch the second floor fall into chaos again.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. A little fear flashed through me as I remembered what the rat-hound had been made to guard. What it could very well steal. The wellspring of earthen mana. It needed to be stopped before it vanished down into the earth where neither my minions nor my own sight could reach it. Aurum didn¡¯t need to be told. He unwound from around me, slithering out. From the great mouth of the weeping tree he emerged, an uncoiling weight of golden scales, feathers, insect claws. His mouth opened in a long rattling hiss of challenge. The rat-hound answered with a phlegmatic hiss, dropping away from the salt golem as this one, too, began to crumble and fall apart. Under the canopy of Aurum¡¯s leaf-green scales, it was nothing, a tiny speck of flesh. It turned subtly, eyeing the rift down to the earthen wellspring. Aurum¡¯s tail struck it before it could even return its attention to him. A whipcrack blur of gold-streaked scales, like a green bolt of lightning, smashed against the beast¡¯s side and flicked it through the air. It returned to the ground in a long arc, skidding and rolling. Already, Aurum had slithered like a tide between the hound and escape, cutting off its route to the rift and the earthen mana. It climbed onto its feet, one leg held weakly, limping. Again that hissing warcry. It braced itself and charged for Aurum, head lowered, doing just what the salt golems had done. Aurum¡¯s jaw snapped open and a gout of flame came bursting, sparking, boiling up- a brilliant jet of flames that roared out in a fury of drifting sparks and leaping golden fire. I watched the hound reduced to a shadow within that brilliance, crumbling away. By the time it was done, there was nothing left but a crisp of ash and charcoal left curled on the ground. And still I felt sick with worry. What had that been? Why had its very touch been so deadly to the golems? It was like a poison to the Mana within them. Poison. I hurriedly pulled back from the scene, into myself. I turned my attention inwards, to my core, an ever-turning arrangement of five golden diagram-rings lined with countless runes that together orbited and contained a rift no larger than a fingernail, through which endless Mana poured. It was as bad as I feared. The outermost ring, the Attunement of Disguise, was starting to fray. The diagrams were askew, their clean geometric lines warping and bending. Sparks of purplish, bruisy light darted around the ring, like embers from a fire. As I watched, a portion of the runic designs crumbled into yet more sparks of purple light. And there was nothing I could do about it. My core was the one place I had no power to change, none at all. Nothing I could do or will would affect those five rings, which existed to bind me as much as they did to strengthen me. I was helpless now to anything but to watch the damage slowly spread, hypnotized by the sight of my own inner workings crumbling away like so much dust. Too long was spent in fascinated horror at my own mortality before I realized there was something I could do. The motes of bruised light were nothing more than Mana, after all, and so I created the simplest, most harmless thing I could think of in the moment, a flower, and emptied my reserves into it. A black orchid bloomed. The feeling of being completely short of Mana was one I hadn¡¯t experienced for a long time. My cloud of ethereal energies that let me see throughout the Dungeon began to break apart, and I was blind, deaf, in a blank world of my own as I waited to recover, my mind woozy with exertion. But it had worked, at least to slow the bleeding. All the sparks of poisonous Mana were drawn away, thrust into the flower instead. I would have been elated if I couldn¡¯t see how much damage had already been done. The structure of the outermost ring, the first Attunement I had chosen for myself, had begun to crumble apart. And that process couldn¡¯t easily be reversed. I came back into the world, my ethereal senses slowly expanding again as ambient Mana flowed from me. I found I was being prodded, concerned, by the little kobold, who let out a happy bark as I sent waves of reassurance to his simple little mind. EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE. But I wasn¡¯t so sure. 2.10 Nadir I watched a formation of three interlocking runic circles within my core. They were slowly drifting apart, the outermost of the triad starting to distort. One by one they burst into their component characters, the tiny golden runes wavering like reflections on the surface of water as they scattered apart, before fading to nothing. I had purged the poison, but the damage was already done. The Attunement of Disguise was breaking apart, shattering into scatterings of faded gold. It looked beautiful, from a distance, the outermost ring of my five expanding into a spray of golden letters that drifted out into the dark. Little sparks breaking away from the phantasmagorical colors of the rift. That tiny fracture in the fabric of space-time condensed a thick, spherical cloud of many-colored Mana around it; it looked like a gaseous planet, a bright marble of swirling, colorful storms. Within the rift itself strange lightnings flickered. Gas planets. Medusas. Jellyfish. Sometimes I knew things without understanding how I knew, as if the memories were coming unconscious from a time before I could recall. But I didn¡¯t like to dwell on my creation. Always within the thought of how I came into existence there was the sickening possibility that, someday, I might cease to be. In fact, it was possible I already had. Or at least this body had. According to what Strix had told me, Olin Framp believed he had killed the soul within my core when he bound it to his will. Maybe he was mistaken. Or possibly, he was precisely right. It was possible I wasn¡¯t the first inhabitant of this core, that I had undergone the same soul migration that Cabochon had. Certainly, I recognized nothing of myself in the description he¡¯d given. Living on a farm, the pet of some human family? It was an image of ludicrous idyll that stirred nothing but contempt in me. Humans were greedy, savage, and most of all, unsightly. Living in harmony with them was a dream at best and dangerously naive at worst. Although I had considered farming them. My need for souls was only increasing, and so finding a source beyond hoping adventurers continue throwing themselves into my waiting teeth would be ideal. Sadly, they were pitifully slow breeders, but it would still be a steady influx. But- I was distracting myself, trying to think of anything but the steady dissolution of my Attunement. Worse, there was the possibility the rot wouldn¡¯t stop here. The somber thought pulled me back to the present. A lattice of intricate, geometric shapes were pulling apart, the ends fraying like rope unwinding into a twine of gold dust. At least it was beautiful. For a moment, I stared down the beast that was death and considered my legacy. It was glorious, yes, in one month I had accomplished so much, but it was all so fragile. Argent, Aurum, Cabochon. They were my children. I needed them stronger. If nothing else, they had to survive. And the humans would have to pay. That, I hope, went without saying. There would need to be a price of fire and blood for doing this to me. With that thought, I rose from the myopic contemplation of my own inner workings. My attention returned to the Dungeon, to Aurum and the kobold crowding around me in concern, to the black orchid I had created. It was not visibly threatening. Its most vicious feature were long, purple-tipped thorns. Yet I had an uneasy sense about that flower. To me it was a clock ticking towards disaster. Destroying it risked dispersing poisoned Mana back into my domain, and so I pondered. While I did, I examined the kobolds I had created. While they were not the prettiest of my creations, they weren¡¯t as horrific as the rat-hound, and they evidenced no aggressive behavior beyond wrestling and snapping at each other as they vied to become the Alpha of their little pack. Besides the little bard with his makeshift flute wearing on my nerves, there was no reason to suspect they were a threat. The worms- I didn¡¯t like them at all, but again, they were harmless. I felt maybe a twinge of the unease the rat-hound and the orchid inspired in me, but it was far less severe; whatever I sensed was present in only minute quantities.Stolen story; please report. Poisoned Mana¡­ I didn¡¯t know enough about these things. My rats were spreading throughout the city, but I still lacked the fundamental knowledge needed to direct them; the net was only catching random, lucky scraps of information, because I didn¡¯t know where to place them, which directions they should watch for threats. I would summon Vaulder. ¡°How did that work!?¡± Umi howled, as they both ran, ran, ran; they pelted down the endless identical hallways, legs aching and lungs burning. Their panting, ragged breath couldn¡¯t cover up the sound of claws scraping as the beast chased after them, letting a high-pitched hiss of anger. ¡°Always works!¡± Trivelin huffed, struggling to keep up with the slim, athletic island-woman¡¯s long legs. He was naturally gifted with cunning and guile, but oh, his legs were rather short and his belly rather broad. If it came down to who was first on the menu and who got away, he was flat fucked. Usually this was where he stabbed his partner in the back of the leg, made a run for it, and shouted an apology back as he went. But she had the key clutched in her hand, the octagonal key of lapis that was their only hope of escape. They turned the corner without grace, feet slipping and skidding, Umi briefly dropping to all fours and moving like a cat; Trivel just slammed into the wall and rebounded after her. And the beast came following. Its long, long claws scraped the earth as it moved, not quite on all fours but bent over at its waist, half-running and half hopping with its claws spread out before it, feeling the way. It was blind as a bat. Its hands crawled over the walls like spiders as the two gaping slits of its nostrils flared. Another turn and golden coins were rattling underfoot. The beast was right behind him. It was coming closer, closer, and Trivelin howled as he felt a claw swipe across his back, opening up oozing thin wounds. He grabbed ahold of the coins stacked high at the walls and cast them back behind him, an avalanche of heavy gold. It did nothing but cascade off the creature as it reached for the back of his leg. A searing jolt of panic gave Trivelin the strength to burst forward, briefly outpacing Umi. And that was when she kicked him in the leg. He went down in a tumble, howling with outrage - the injustice of it all - as she vaulted over him, dashing towards the door. The octagonal key clicked into the lock, the handle twisted, a light shone from the edges- And a clawed hand closed around his cheek, turning him onto his back as he tried to struggle away. He was face to face with that lipless grin, those eyes so wide and veined with tiny blood vessels. Confronted with the nostrils that sucked in his scent and flared out, staring at the little hills of yellow bone visible above seas of pinkish-red flesh. ¡°Let me-¡± He started, and the beast slashed him open from chest to belly, one quickly flash of its claws doing the job. They were so sharp he barely felt the pain until a second later when the first beads of blood came up. And then he was gone. A golden light surrounded him. Trivelin had just time enough to wonder if he was dying before he was cast out of the Tower¡¯s doors, hurtled rudely onto the cobblestones. His hand fluttered over his chest checking that he was all whole. No terrible wound; just the familiar largesse of his gut. Armored boots stepped into his view. Boots attached to armored men, all shiny in their uniforms, all grim in their faces. Trivelin tried to shift form and scare them off. For a second, he wore the skinless thing¡¯s visage, and two of the younger guards reeled back in shock and horror. He twisted onto his feet and lunged away, but a dwarf tackled him from the side, bringing him down and rolling atop him, striking him across the face and shoulders until he changed back. ¡°Are you a man or a monster? Man or a monster!¡± The dwarf demanded, a fist held over the bloody mess of Trivelin¡¯s handsome mug. ¡°Man!¡± He cried, lifting his own hands to shield himself from the heavy, steel gauntlets that had already smashed his nose to a pulp. ¡°Not much of one.¡± The familiar voice made Trivelin¡¯s blood run cold. Cathara Halfhand peered over him, her bony face looming into his little patch of sky as he lay on the hard earth, blood trickling from the searing pain of his nose. ¡°A shapeshifter, now that¡¯s interesting. Certainly explains how you got away from us.¡± ¡°Let me through, let me through.¡± At the edges of Trivelin¡¯s vision, a scrawny nothing of a man in pitch dark robes was fighting his way through the guards, a heavy insignia of the Magi¡¯s Institute swinging from his thin neck. ¡°Damn you, I am the High Mage! I will be respected!¡± ¡°Let him.¡± Cathara hissed. The mage stared at Trivelin, lifting a lens of blue glass over his eye. ¡°Where did you get that Attunement?¡± He demanded, his voice almost shaking with excitement. Trivelin opened his mouth- and froze. The Contract wouldn¡¯t let him. His throat seized up, his lungs refusing to pump the breath that would let him speak. Gods sight, it was a strange day. He let out a defeated sigh and just shrugged with an air of nonchalance. He was lying on the ground, and over him towered Cathara, the mage, the guard who had tackled him. Trivelin just lay there, defeated. Schemes and wind all knocked out of him. ¡°You won¡¯t get anything out of him.¡± Cathara¡¯s voice was as smug as a cat. ¡°Take him away.¡± As they dragged him to his feet, Trivelin winced. To top it all of - this whole shit day - there was something stuck in his boot. 2.11 The Nameless Vaulder Claith looked around the room with a mixture of pride and apprehension. His former bookshop had been emptied out, his uncle¡¯s collection of tomes sold or placed in storage. Workers had been hired, laboring nearly day and night to remodel the store into a comfortable cafe. He was amazed at the speed of the transformation, but between the profits from his time selling the elixir drinks in the market before the Tower was blocked off and what was left over from the dungeon¡¯s golden apples, he had the coin to afford the best builders and craftmages Caltern had to offer. They had spent his money freely, but efficiently, and the end result was worth it.The Nameless Cafe was nearly ready to open. Standing in the doorway and looking over his new kingdom, Vaulder imagined how it would look once he opened his doors officially. From the entrance, one would pass the few remaining bookshelves, which would hold the last of the store¡¯s former stock, cultivated volumes dealing with codices of dungeon lore, monster bestiaries, and other topics his preferred clientele would find interesting. Each was stamped with an inexpensive but effective rune that would keep it from crossing the threshold unless dispelled at the counter, as well as enchantments to repel liquids and to keep the parchment and vellum intact through ill-use. The cost was exorbitant, nearly as much as the rest of the remodel, but Vaulder wasn¡¯t going to let some oafish wannabe adventurer destroy his tomes. He considered it money well spent, and if anyone purchased one of the volumes, he would simply pass the markup on to them, in the time-honored tradition of merchants everywhere. Past the bookshelves was a collection of small tables in all manner of geometric shapes. Customers could sit and read, discuss tactics and swap stories with their allies or strangers, and enjoy a variety of pastries, sandwiches, and other tasty confections, all while imbibing drinks made from Kathe¡¯s Elixir. Facing the rest of the room, beyond the tables was a long counter, complete with stools for patrons. While Vaulder acknowledged that his customers would have certain expectations with regards to their preferred gathering places, he would sooner delve the dungeon in his nightshirt before he called it a bar. Well, perhaps not that, he thought to himself, eyeing the door to the back of the shop while smoothing out a tic he¡¯d recently developed in his right cheek with his fingertips. Between the counter and the tables, on a slightly raised platform, was the heart of the whole endeavor. Behind glass cases containing samples of the products of one of the best bakeries in the city, what looked like a miniature alchemist¡¯s workshop dominated the room. Large canisters, glass bottles and iron pots, bubbling chambers, and all manner of tubing ran from one side of the area to the other. Most of it was for show; Kathe preferred to use his own lab for the actual brewing of the elixir. But the equipment was serviceable, the brilliant alchemist having designed a system that would allow Vaulder to dilute the potent concoction, or mix it with a number of different base liquids to entice his patrons into parting with their coins while staying and chatting where he could hear them. This one added a splash to warmed milk, that one a dose in chilled tea. Mhurr, before entering the tower, had even discovered a sweet cream liqueur that enhanced the flavor of the elixir without dulling its stimulating effects. Vaulder had spent a number of days experimenting with different combinations to find the ones he would serve to his customers, drinking the results himself and judging them based on their taste, presentation, and effectiveness. That he hadn¡¯t slept during that period was simply a side-effect of his enthusiasm to finish, and if he didn¡¯t sleep, he couldn¡¯t wake screaming dream of spiders and rats, anyway. At the rear of the shop, the back room had been partitioned in two. One half served as storage, and contained a spigot and basin to clean the equipment, as well as the cups and plates the patrons dirtied. The other half contained his office and room, and housed the damnable trap door to the lightless nightmare that rested under Caltern. Completing the main portion of the room were a few aesthetic touches. The walls were done in grays and greens, the floor in a glimmering black that evoked the feeling of looking into a bottomless crevasse, and a few sculptures and accent pieces, done by artisans in Suffi¡¯s sect who had heard stories of the dungeon from her and Krait Halfhand, were scattered about; a gold-painted wrought iron serpent, twisting glass mushrooms, glittering crystalline spider webs stretching towards the ceiling. One of the artists had even painted one of those bizzare-looking but powerful giant sloths on a wall. It gave the space a somewhat eerie feel, but also brought the horrors of the dungeon to the surface and froze them in time, emboldening those who viewed them, filling them with preemptive confidence that they knew what to expect. Vaulder felt pity for them. They wouldn¡¯t know the barest fraction of what awaited them below. What he would help send them to. Before he could dwell on that unpleasant thought, he went behind the counter to make himself another drink. Perhaps two parts elixir to six parts cherry juice. As he mixed and stirred, he envisioned the place as it would be shortly, bustling and full of customers. He raised his glass to his lips, the sweet fizzing beverage tickling his nose in a peculiar, but pleasant fashion, then paused and frowned. Customers. Crowds. Nolan was still in the tower. This was a problem. ¡°Oh, by the Gods, look Mr. Claith! That¡¯s Seamus Aaronson! His family was killed by a flight of Bloodgold drakes, and he was adopted by an order of dragonslayers. When he was old enough, he returned to his family¡¯s home and slaughtered every drake there, save for one single egg that hatched as he approached. The creature imprinted on him, so he took mercy on it and kept it as a companion. They say his armor is made from the scales of those same drakes who killed his family, and his bond with Nuuno allows him to summon balls of drakeflame to his right hand, which he can throw with deadly accuracy!¡± Vaulder massaged his temple as he covertly examined the excited young lady before him for gills, an air bladder, or some other means of taking in or storing extra breath while she spoke incessantly. He wasn¡¯t certain he¡¯d ever actually seen her inhale. ¡°That¡¯s very interesting, Sarrashi¡­¡± he began, sparing a glance for the foreboding, blunt-nosed man in red and golden scale armor, with a small drake perched on his shoulder, before the energetic, apron-wrapped blend of brown ringlets, shining green eyes, and sunlight-brilliant smiles he had hired to serve the patrons turned and indicated another customer sat at the bar counter, damn it behind them. ¡°And there! That¡¯s Belford Harpheart! He was a great duelist, they say there was no one more skilled with a rapier anywhere in the Ambercourt Nation. I heard he retired, took up duty as a man-at-arms and bodyguard for a noble house. I wonder what he¡¯s doing here on his own.¡± Sarrashi Cooper paused and tapped her chin with a finger, pondering this great mystery while staring at the solidly-built old warrior with the patchwork of scars and missing digits, and the sudden silence, comparatively at least, left Vaulder momentarily stunned. She hadn¡¯t stopped telling him the names and stories of the different mages, adventurers, and monster hunters who had been through the cafe since it had opened. ¡°Between working, studying for the entrance exam to the Academy, and all the reading I see you do, I¡¯m amazed at how much you seem to know about our patrons, Sarrashi. I hope you aren¡¯t pestering them.¡± Vaulder cautioned. Not only were these people his ticket to fortune, as Kathe¡¯s elixir was still selling as fast as they could pour it, the dungeon had instructed him to learn about the adventurers of the city for its purposes, so it wouldn¡¯t do to have them driven away by an irrepressible girl hounding them for stories of their supposed exploits. He amended his thought as his new employee looked slightly abashed. Woman, Sarrashi was a young woman, probably only a year or two younger than him. But her bubbly personality and effortless charm made her seem younger. Or perhaps it was just that she had managed to come through her life thus far without experiencing the kinds of things his patrons had; the kinds of things he had. She still had wonder in her heart, where a deep, heavy fear resided in his. He envied her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mr Claith. I just get so excited, I¡¯ve read stories and heard tales of bands of roving slayers, of scholars who have unearthed secrets thought lost to time, of mages who have pushed the study of Arcana forward by leaps and bounds. And thanks to you, I don¡¯t have to wait until I finish my studies at the Mage Academy, I don¡¯t even have to wait until I save up to pay my tuition to rub elbows with the kinds of people who they tell those stories about; I get to serve them elixir and cakes, and listen to them talk right now! I¡¯m learning so much about what being an adventurer is like, before I even begin my apprenticeship. I can''t thank you enough for hiring me!¡± ¡°It has proven to be beneficial for us both, Sarrashi. Very well, tell me about that one, the dwarven man with the giant axe and all the charms and potion bottles.¡± Vaulder found himself smiling at the woman in spite of himself. Something about her positive, idealistic nature just brought it out in him. He even felt a little calmer recently, more centered. It¡¯s funny what having a walking bundle of sunshine around could do for one¡¯s mood, he considered. ¡°Ooh, you don¡¯t know about Dunik the Invulnerable? It¡¯s said that he is a mighty berzerker who can¡¯t be slain in battle, but if he doesn¡¯t use those healing items before the fight ends, all of the blows he should have felt previously strike him at once.¡± Her smile had returned full-force, and Serrashi preceded to regale him with the stories she had heard about their customers until night fell and they pushed the last remaining patron, a short, berobed and mustachioed man who had gotten deep into his cups with some of the more potent mixes on the menu and was constantly referring to himself in the third person, out the door.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. As Vaulder locked the door and engaged the wards he¡¯d had an academy neophyte place, before retreating to the office to tally the days take, Sarrashi began to wash the last batch of dirty dishes. Slowly sipping what he promised himself would be his last elixir of the night, he took an inventory and prepared order sheets that runners would pick up and take to Kathe¡¯s workshop, the bakery, and a few vendors in the market first thing in the morning. His work was nearly complete when a shriek filled the quiet air, causing him to freeze in place, before bolting out of his chair and into the storeroom. ¡°Mr Claith! Help! A spider!¡± Sarrashi screamed, and his feet tangled themselves up in his rush to stop moving forward, sending him to the floor. He slowly drew himself back up, peering over racks of goods to where his employee stood by the washbasin. He knew for certain that he would see her collapse any moment, frothing at the mouth from some virulent toxin injected by the foot-long mandibles of some dungeon horror. But after a few seconds, she screamed again, and pointed. ¡°Please, I can¡¯t abide spiders! Take it, put it outside, please!¡± Vaulder blinked and stepped closer. On the floor under a shelf was, indeed, a spider. But as it skittered into the light, he saw no Mother of Pearl sheen to its shell, no malevolent insight in its compound eyes...there before them was a regular, ordinary house spider about the size of a coin. From somewhere within, a bubbling giggle escaped Vaulder¡¯s lips, as he stretched his leg out and stomped down. ¡°Mr Claith, sir? That¡¯s enough, I...I think it¡¯s dead. You can stop stomping now¡­¡± Sarrashi looked concerned as Vaulder came back to himself. He wasn¡¯t sure how many times he¡¯d brought his heel down upon the arachnid, but he strongly disagreed with the woman, it was most certainly not enough. Still, it wouldn¡¯t do to have her quit because she thought he was mad. You are mad, though. He shook his head to dislodge the thought his treasonous mind delighted in presenting more and more often these days. ¡°Yes, s-so it is. I¡¯m sorry, Sarrashi. I also dislike spiders, and I¡¯m afraid. I mean, I¡¯m afraid my nerves got the better of me, caused me to overreact. Still, let me get the broom to dispose of our former intruder, and you head on home. I¡¯ll take care of the last of those cups.¡± Vaulder clicked his mouth shut to avoid tripping over his words any further. Sarrashi gave him another of her blinding smiles and hung her green and black apron from a hook on the wall. ¡°Thank you, Mr Claith. I¡¯ll see you tomorrow!¡± she promised him, and then was gone, out the door in a flash. Vaulder put action to his words, sweeping up the pulped remains of the spider before emptying the wash tub and putting the plates and mugs away to dry. That done, he rechecked the locks, turned the lanterns in the cafe down low never out and returned to his office, to find another spider waiting for him. The crazed giggle that had escaped him before brought friends, shrieking cackles leaping from his lips as the goliath waited alongside the trapdoor, the invitation obvious and irrefusable. Grabbing the half-empty glass on his desk, he gulped down the remainder of the drink for strength, and to silence the mad, utterly mad laughter, then descended into the dark. He was met at the mouth of the tunnel by his rodent escorts, the spider climbing a wall and returning to its nest, as the rats led him through the maze of pitfalls towards the garden. As he shook off the aftereffects of the shrinking magic that hung over the garden, Vaulder glanced around the gazebo curiously. There was something different about the dungeon. Where before, there was a constant pressure from the dungeon¡¯s awareness covering the entire area, now it felt somewhat distant. Still everywhere, but connected by individual strands, rather than a singular blanket. It felt a little like being surrounded by invisible, spiritual spider webs, and that was an image he was never going to get out of his head; one more of the many provided by the dungeon. After a short time spent waiting and idly examining the collection of beautiful goblets arrayed within the structure, Cabochon entered. The arachne looked...different. Stronger, more robust. And it had all eight legs again. Vaulder wasn¡¯t sure how to broach that particular topic, and was almost grateful when the other man, spider...Cabochon spoke. ¡°The Maker has gone below. You¡¯ll go to him soon, to see what he has created. Before then, you will find for him books on poisons, ones that affect mana, or are formed from it. Also, records of dungeons bound or destroyed by adventurers. Finally, you will acquire for me the equipment to cut and polish gems, and make jewelry. Spare no expense.¡± Vaulder swallowed and focused on his words, as he felt the attention of the dungeon and the weight of its contract on him. ¡°W-well, the cafe, er, tavern is doing well, but what y-you¡¯re asking is...I will, of course, do it! But, it will take t-time. Information about p-poisons is regulated, and there are very few academic studies of the process of b-binding a dungeon. It¡¯s a major source of power for guilds, even entire nations. But, but I will find stories that are as true as possible, in the meanwhile, and find you records when I can. And the equipment...¡± Cabochon held up a hand and seemed to listen for a moment. ¡°Intruders, coming down the ravine. A tall man with runes on his face and a brace of glass knives, and a short woman covered in tattoos.¡± Vaulder¡¯s eyes widened at the description. ¡°Warrick the Mirror¡¯s Edge, and Glenanna the Painted Woman.¡± ¡°You are familiar with these adventurers? What can you tell me of them?¡± Cabochon asked with intent curiosity. ¡°Warrick can use his runes to create mirror images of himself wherever light reflected from his knives hits, and strike from any of the reflections with the blades. He can also throw the daggers and move them through the air by will alone. Glenanna is a skilled unarmed fighter, and her tattoos are enchanted. One is supposed to allow her to step on the air, another to fade into shadow or mist for an ambush, a third that sends the force of her punch a few feet further than her reach would suggest.¡± Vaulder numbly relayed the words Sarrashi had told him that afternoon. ¡°That is helpful. Remain here. This will not take long. I will test them, and see if they are worthy to face the Maker¡¯s second layer.¡± With the arachne gone, Vaulder sunk to the glass floor of the gazebo. Those were his customers. People he had spoken to, well, had paid someone else to speak to, earlier that day. He knew what the dungeon had wanted when it told him to open a tavern: to gather information on the fighters of Caltern for it. It was another thing entirely to see the use of that information borne out. Vaulder hung his head for a few moments, trying not to listen to the sudden cry of voices, the clash of glass knife striking glaive, the hiss of serpents and the chittering of spiders. As quiet returned to the dungeon, Vaulder attempted to steel himself. His ¡°deal¡± with the dungeon, one-sided as it was, may have hastened these adventurers¡¯ end, but they had chosen to come down here, to risk the perils of the deep for power, fortune, or glory. He couldn¡¯t hold himself responsible for what had happened to them; it would have happened either way. Only a fool would come to this place willingly. Only a fool, or a madman. Cabochon returned, flicking a thin layer of blood from the end of his weapon. ¡°They were unworthy. The way is clear, return to your shop. Come back when you have what is required. And before you quail about the price, as I am certain you will, take this.¡± The dungeon guardian dropped a pouch in Vaulder¡¯s hand. He hesitated for a moment, then pulled the drawstring and peered inside. Resting within were a small number of pearls, golden lustre shining even in the darkness. ¡°Sell those to finance what the Maker and I need. Sell no more than one at a time. You may not tell anyone they came from the dungeon. You may imply they ended up in your hands from someone who came to the dungeon. Do you understand?¡± Vaulder nodded. While not as rich in mana as the apples he had already pawned, even an untrained fourth son like himself could feel the positive energy residing within the pearls, divine fortune waiting to be spent. Wordlessly, he allowed himself to be lead back to the tunnel and up into his room, his attention focused on the weight of the pouch in his hand, and what it would mean. More bait for the dungeon¡¯s hooks, set with rumor and supposition into the mouths of the greedy, the foolhardy. More webs to trap the unwary and ambitious. If it was believed that treasure was being retrieved from the dungeon and traded in his cafe, then competition would do much to increase the rush into the darkness. He lost track of time, sitting at his desk and staring at the pouch until there was a loud rapping at the front door. Rousing himself, he blinked raw, tired eyes and realized that the sky was just beginning to lighten over the rooftops of Caltern. Another day was dawning. He went to the door, unlocking it to allow Sarrashi to enter. ¡°Good morning Mr. Claith! It looks like it¡¯s going to be beautiful today! Did you give any thought to my idea of putting tables and chairs outside the front door? Customers can enjoy the lovely weather, and people walking by will see the drinks and tasty treats and be enticed to come inside. We¡¯ll be the spiders this time, drawing them to our web to trade their coins for your friend¡¯s elixir. Maybe we won¡¯t be so scared of spiders, then, if we¡¯re like them!¡± The woman smirked at her own cleverness as she brushed past him, brimming with energy, to retrieve her apron from the storeroom. Vaulder furrowed his brows. Hearing the echo of his earlier thoughts in the cheerful inflections of his employee gave him a twinge of guilt and doubt, before his self-interest and the reality of the dungeon¡¯s contract pushed it down. He realized he was still standing at the open door, closing and relocking it before going to help Sarrashi get ready to open the cafe. She favored him with a smile as he assisted her in stocking the cases with fresh pastries and began priming the mixing and brewing equipment. ¡°I really want you to know how much I appreciate you giving me this opportunity, Mr. Claith. It¡¯s not just the job; well, it¡¯s that too. I need the money if I¡¯m ever going to get into the Academy. But this is so much better than working at a market stall, or on some farm somewhere. I get to meet all kinds of interesting people, try all the wonderful drinks you and Kathe have come up with, and you¡¯ve never told me off for talking too much. Most people do, you know. I think that¡¯s why I have such a hard time making friends usually.¡± She smiled self-consciously as she set a tray of plates on a waiting shelf before dusting off her hands on her apron. ¡°It¡¯s fine, Sarrashi, I honestly don¡¯t mind your talking. You have a pleasant voice.¡± Vaulder answered absentmindedly as he brewed himself a mug of tea with an extra dose of elixir. Maybe two extra. Or three. It had been a long night. His brain caught up with the rest of her words as he took the first sip. ¡°Friends? You think we¡¯re friends?¡± ¡°Of course we are! You¡¯re nice. A little weird, maybe, but that just makes you more fun. That¡¯s okay, right? And who am I to say anyone¡¯s weird. Look at me, always saying every little thing that pops into my head, obsessing over adventurers and stories...I¡¯m afraid that once I become a mage and go off on adventures myself, it will be tough to find people who are willing to go into a dungeon with a chatterbox.¡± Vaulder gripped the painfully hot mug tightly as he stepped towards Serrashi. ¡°No! I mean, no, of course it¡¯s okay that we¡¯re friends. But don¡¯t think about going into dungeons!¡± He retreated, suddenly aware of how close they were standing. ¡°Uh, yet, I mean. You should enjoy your time here, focus on your studies. Besides, the Nameless Cafe and I would be lost without you.¡± She beamed her signature smile at him and began wiping down the counter and tables, humming to herself. In that moment, Vaulder found something in him that he didn¡¯t know was there: resolve. While he might have to help the dungeon, and entice adventurers to go and give their lives to the hungry abyss below, he wouldn¡¯t let this wonderful, bright spark be among them. One way or another, he would protect her. ¡°Sarrashi, if we¡¯re going to be friends, please, call me Vaulder.¡± 2.12 Excerpts I N.1 Excerpts, Part 1 Excerpt from Notable Dungeon Histories, 4th Ed., generously donated to the Nameless Dungeon from Vaulder¡¯s Library Historian¡¯s note: There are, unfortunately, no first-hand accounts of the raid on the Tomb of Acyeatrix, the dungeon notorious for sinking ships off the Blackpillar Cliffs. Second-hand accounts have been cross-referenced, and we visited the site of the ruins to confirm some of the more unlikely details. What follows is not strictly true, but largely accurate, and until the Coruscant Band deigns to break its silence, the best informed account we have. Local fisherman first became aware of a dungeon growing near their village when strange fish appeared along the coast, dragging smaller prey through the waters and into newly formed caves along the basalt cliffs. They sent a message to the Adventurer¡¯s Guild, but it was intercepted by the dungeon, which was already quite powerful and had been monitoring the village for some time. When a fisherman¡¯s child was abducted from his boat by fish, the village this time sent out an entire expedition to deliver the message, armed to the teeth. Of the ten men to leave the village, one survived, telling the Guild of horrid beasts lurking below the waters, dragging away the bounty of the sea into the basalt maw. Then he told of a massive creature made of spiked shells and slime that had ambushed them, and how it had reached out with spined tendrils and consumed his fellow villagers. The Adventurer¡¯s Guild quickly assigned an experienced party, thinking they would be more than a match for this small, previously unheard of dungeon-core. It was a reasonable assumption: The dungeon was unheard of, but near a populous region with heavy ship traffic, so it must be new. However, they were mistaken. The dungeon was, by later estimates, years old, and with its unfettered access to large sea creatures, it had grown powerful entirely in secret. The death of the first expedition (two warriors, a wizard, a rogue, a priest, and an ogre, class unknown) occurred at the same time the ship Empress¡¯s Mercy went missing. At the time, the events were considered unrelated. However, the Azerule Merchant Syndicate quickly saw four loaded trade ships disappear in a week. The dungeon had clearly realized, with the first expedition, that it had been exposed, and no longer attempted any form of subterfuge. It sought to loot and plunder whatever life and resources it could. Ships off the Azerule Coast started traveling in convoys. The first convoy went missing without a trace. The second convoy had three ships escape, including the warship Soldier¡¯s Fortune. The frigate had escaped with two gaping holes in the hull, prevented from sinking only because by chance a famed woodshaper had been traveling as a passenger on one of the merchant ships. The mainmast was wrecked, and the sails torn. As they limped into port, the two merchant ships only in slightly better shape, the crew told tails of a harrowing beast: A two-tailed serpent of obsidian and bone that had attacked them. As it did, megalodons with teeth of rock and colossal squid with iron-spiked tendrils had beset the ships as well. It is fortunate they escaped. The battle at sea was a clear sign of the power the dungeon had accumulated, and the tale spread wide through the lands. Additionally, the convoy had carried goods from cities ranging from Caltern to Ankhara. Each was impacted by the loss, and angered by the deaths of their own innocent people. The Empress too, felt the loss, for one of her ships had been carrying a phoenix-feathered cape, the crimson feathers blazing with divine fire and favor. It was this confluence of tragedy that let so many people see past their differences, and unite against a common foe. Many malevolent dungeons are allowed to thrive because the efforts to subdue them are haphazard and poorly coordinated. Had that been the case here, the consequences would have been unthinkable. Instead, representatives from seven cities met with the Adventurer¡¯s Guild and the Empress. Together, they developed a plan. The Azerule Merchants sent another convoy, this time with three warships to ten merchant vessels. The fleet took a detour around the dungeon¡¯s coast, seeking to avoid it. It was a tempting prize, and still far too vulnerable. The dungeon sent its serpent. It was, of course, a trap. As soon as the serpent attacked the rear vessel, the merchant ships broke formation. Woodshapers peeled down parts of their seamless hulls, revealing rows of magefire cannons and stonebreaker ballistae. While wizards on the Glory of Adventure kept the beast from diving with spellwork already prepared in the holds of the ship, the disguised warships unleashed a volley on the beasts, both the serpent and the swarming minions. The serpent thrashed, stone body writhing into a ship, causing the hull to crumple inward. But these were the experienced crews, hired at great cost from a dozen treasuries, and damage that would have been catastrophic to an unprepared ship was repaired even as the serpent¡¯s tail sought to smash it apart. Pierced by dozens of dark-iron ballista bolts, its flesh smashed asunder, the serpent¡ªa guardian of the dungeon, died. Its minions were culled too, the mana dispersing into the ocean, unrecoverable. Many of the beasts had shards, and in a moment, the great cost of the expedition was refunded twice over. As the dungeon was distracted by the battle, a scouting force, led by the Shadow-Attuned thief Jalmin infiltrated the basalt, saltwater caverns in the cliffside. Though it had known to block divination, the dungeon was still untested, and was at first unaware of the magically hidden group full of thieves and sorcerers. They were able to fully map the first floor. The coast was made of basalt pillars, and the trace amounts of dark iron present in the rocks made magical mapping and penetration impossible. The cavern entrance was on the coast, and within the first floor went deep into the rock, though it was left open to the ocean. This meant that the movement of the waves and tides created a deathtrap. Slick algae coated the rocks, and the dungeon had hollowed out small tidepools full of steel-spine urchins and razor barnacles that shot out acid as a defense mechanism. Oysters, open with brilliant prismatic pearls, tempted them, but they were too disciplined to be caught by such an obvious trap. The base of the cavern, shrouded by the foam and turmoil of the waves, had a seaweed that sought to entrap and pull down anyone trying to swim through the entrance. With the waterway and sides both nearly impossible to navigate, Jalmin chose one of his classic strategies for entrance: They took the ceiling. With a series of invisible ropes and magically anchored clips, the scouting team made it through the entrance. There, they found that the rock in the cavern was not just basalt. The plutonic rock covered an old layer of fossil-laden limestone. The dungeon had been busy with it. Even as they watched, Jalmin saw the dungeon carving fossils from the stone and beginning to shape the old bones into monstrosities. They watched as a beast of calcite scales and a gaping jaw formed and began to swim about the pool of the cavern. Other creatures crept about. The strangest was something like a mantis shrimp, with a brilliant shell resembling fine-polished steel and glimmering sapphire. It was the size of a bull, with huge claws. They watched as it smashed its claw into a part of the cavern, causing the walls to crack and splinter, which the dungeon then burrowed into with its mana. Then the beast turned an eyestalk around. Jalmin was the first to realize they had been spotted. The strange eye glanced up at them and lingered a bit too long. He knew of colors that only animals could see. Their invisibility spell was not perfect. As he signaled the team to make back for the entrance, the tide was receding. Below, in the churning waters, Jalmin made out an the entrance of a tight underwater passage, just small enough that an unarmored man might squeeze through. It was lined with the razor barnacles, the strangling seaweed, and the ocean would yank and push at anyone trying it, all while they held their breath. Jalmin was the last to leave. As he did, he saw a sight few have witnessed: The dungeon was reconstructing its guardian. Bit by bit, mana coalesced into stone and flesh. They escaped just as the sea-beasts arrived, pulled back from their battle off the coast. Two colossal squid tried to block their escape, but the thieves were too agile. They fled, and made their report. The first victory against what would be known as the Tomb of Acyeatrix was complete. Again, if the fast ships of the Azerule Syndicate had not spread the news of the dungeon fast and far, it is troubling to think what would have happened. That the news traveled quickly meant that instead of greedy (but ultimately perishable) adventures mobbing the dungeon looking for easy treasure and glory, an elite team would assault the dungeon before it could prepare. The dungeon, unbeknownst to all, had burrowed four levels deep, and had somehow gotten its hands on the true soul of Acyeatrix, the legendary necromancer. But there was to be no long siege. The Coruscant Band arrived within the week, as the dungeon was still recovering its most potent minions. Jalmin joined them as an honorary member. The arc-sorcerer Elmara, the Paladin of the Mask, Uthaem, Supreme Priestess of the Eastern Reaches, and Tath Torkin, Grand Alchemist, arranged their infiltration. Warships surrounded the dungeon entrance, and smashed open the entrance. The cavern was nearly a straight line, so their spellwork and magefire cannons caught the giant seabeasts of the first level in a trap of their own making. The guardian was slain again, and the Coruscant Band simply walked in, ignoring the traps the dungeon had installed on the ceiling. They burned through the grasping seaweed and reached the entrance to the second level within minutes.The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Here, the dungeon had perhaps anticipated that the incense priests used to keep the dungeon¡¯s powers at bay would need to be extinguished for the party to dive into the waters that linked the second level. It hadn¡¯t counted on Tath Torkin¡¯s alchemy. He had worked with Uthaem to create substances that would burn under water. Elmara fortified them with a spell of water breathing, and the Paladin of the Mask smashed through the cavern, hammer flashing with bright starfire as it sundered stone and creature. The entire second level was an underwater maze. Here, the giant mantis shrimp hid in the cracks of stone, leaping out to ambush them. Their claws could crack stone, but they glanced off the Paladin of the Mask¡¯s white shield. Eels with stone teeth rushed out, while smaller Eels tried to destroy the party with lightning they stored in their bodies. Elmara¡¯s spellwork defended them easily. The whole place was crowded with shadows, and Jalmin had been ahead of the party the entire time, staying out of sight of the mantis shrimp, warning them of every ambush, scouting every trap and dead-end. The special incense burned fiercely, bright bubbles bringing holy fire to this place of depth and cold. The labyrinthine cavern ended with an underwater hydra, a beast of four heads. The creature was large enough it actually blocked the entrance to the third level of the dungeon, and each head protruded through narrow openings to different cave halls. Since the heads would quickly regenerate, the party would have to split off to destroy them all at once. And how could fire keep the heads destroyed if they were underwater? The maze was cunningly crafted so that each route was long, but the Coruscant Band worked quickly. The Paladin of the Mask smashed two thin walls that Jalmin had mapped, allowing them to skip parts of the winding maze. They confronted the hydra¡¯s heads all at once, using Tath Torkin¡¯s fierce fires to keep them from regenerating. Here, we enter a bit of extreme speculation. The dungeon would have no motivation to clear the corpse of the hydra and allow the adventurers to pass, speeding along their assault. However, no corpse was discovered, only the severed heads. An unnamed source in Caltern¡¯s Institute claims that Elmara used a secret spell to dissolve the hydra into mana for her own spells, thus explaining the sheer quantity of spellwork she was able to manage in such a short time frame. However, another source said such a claim was ¡®absurd,¡¯ and explains the missing corpse by the dungeon dissolving it after the Band had already burrowed through the bloated body with some sort of alchemy, or hacked away a hole through it. Alas, the historical debate is unlikely to ever be settled. A vertically curved passage and clever hydrology let the passage lead to a dry cavern. The Coruscant Band emerged to the third level still unscathed. The thick limestone layer the dungeon had carved through tilted slightly, so as they proceeded through the gaping caverns of pillars and stalactites, it led them deeper into the earth. By now, the dungeon knew of Jalmin, but as it sought to send forth its small army of cave-lurking beasts at the Band, it must have lost track of him. It must have been an awe-inspiring sight to behold: Tath Torkin, lobbing potions that dissolved the stone creatures, prismatic explosions lighting the dark, concoctions exploding in unnatural fire that glimmered off the dripping walls of white stone. Jalmin, sweeping through the shadows, rock-pick and unstoppable knife slashing through fossilized flesh, casting down beasts three times his size effortlessly. Elmara, hands blazing with light, unfathomably complex runes bursting into spells that brought the very armies of the dungeon to heel. Paladin of the Mask, their eyes blazing behind the seamless mask of silver, their armor gleaming bright, as their hammer cleft through rock, shattered bone, smashed the very Laws of the dungeon into dust. And, Uthaem, holding the incense aloft, murmuring prayers to the Pantheon of Seven, the very presence of the Gods palpable in the deep earth. Whatever guardian they slew on that level, they left no trace of, merely a crater that still smoldered with arcane embers and melted glass. By the time they reached the Grand Gate of Orogatroph, the God of Bones and Deep Places, the dungeon must have known fear. The Coruscant Band knew of Orogatroph, knew what his blessing on this place meant. They must have paused to fortify themselves with enchantments and potions before proceeding through that ominous gate. The carved serpent upon that gate watched them pass, as did the hundreds of human skulls upon its arch. Due to the tilted layer and length of the third level, the fourth level was far deeper and larger than any normal dungeon. Dungeonographers speculate it may have been several layers merged together, though they also debate whether such a thing is possible. Either way, the air must have been thick with mana, toxic with it¡ªonly the blessings called down by Uthaem would have protected them. And the dungeon knew it. They emerged through the gate to find a vast cavern, the ceiling high enough that it was barely visible even in the Band¡¯s blazing light. Before them was an underground sea, smelling of rime and decay. It appeared at first that brilliant glowing jewels floated through the dark waters, but they were giant angler fish, maws open, waiting to devour any that approached. Other beasts, nameless, for none have seen them before or since, no doubt taken from the deepest places of the ocean, swam about, alight with bioluminescence. Horrors of teeth and tentacle. Maws of venom and blades. Scales of steel, hides of stone. Thousands of creatures, each as deadly as the last. Despite their power, the Coruscant Band could not hope to fight them. In the middle of that sea was an island, and on it, a simple mausoleum of granite. Upon the throne, the ancient spirit of Acyeatrix sat. His soul had possessed a construct of pure ancient fossil and bone, so that the permineralized bones glimmered with an icy blue light. The bones were the spines of ancient serpents, the teeth of long-dead beasts, plated heads with long horns, and colossal femurs, all bound into a shape that had only a passing resemblance to hunched over man. Even at such a distance, the Band knew that it watched them. They did not know how the soul of the long-dead necromancer had made its way here, but no doubt they had heard of him in the histories and learned of his horrid deeds and great power. Tath Torkin lobbed a potion that exploded into blinding light, burning even as it sank through the brined water. There, through the dark but clear waters, they saw the fate of the last expedition of adventurers. And they saw the fate of so many merchants, fisherfolk, and waylaid travelers. The dungeon had been busy. But it was not done with them. The dungeon could not perform spellwork, but Acyeatrix could. He had laid the foundations of spells in the deep ocean, among the bones, and here, in the depth of this dungeon, he would have all the mana he needed. Elmara recognized the runes at once. It was to be a spell of mass reanimation. Years and years of scouring the ocean for shipwrecks, stealing away people bit by bit had added up. This dungeon had its designs set on an army¡ªone that was nearly complete. They had been just in time. Even now, the dungeon was busy forging the looted enchantments and gems from the merchant fleets into powerful shards. There could be no delay. There was no time to gather reinforcements. But they would need to traverse the mostly deadly waters in the realms, fighting beasts that could not be fought. Fortunately, the Coruscant Band was prepared. Uthaem had been quite passive compared to the others, only chanting her prayers and keeping the incense lit for most of the battles. The dungeon knew she was the most important target, but must have thought her the least deadly of them. But she had kept a secret. She possessed the Legendary Attunement of Water. With that, Uthaem, Supreme Priestess of the Eastern Reaches was utter anathema to the dungeon. It had rocks and bones, of course, but all of it relied on water. Water that Uthaem could shape. The Band is silent on how they did it, but one can imagine it. Perhaps she created a bridge of ice, glacial spikes warding away any of the sea¡¯s great predators, or impaling them. Or perhaps she simply allowed them to walk on the water, and created pockets of boiling water on their flanks, flashing the icy depths into vapor when a threat approached. Perhaps she simply had the icy crystals grow inside the creatures, leaving alone their armor and simply freezing their vulnerable innards. The ocean that the dungeon had surrounded itself with became a weapon against it. As they approached the island, Acyeatrix would have roared a challenge. His spellwork would have met Elmara¡¯s, and as Uthaem kept the ocean at bay, Tath Torkin and Paladin of the Mask would have charged forward, while Jalmin darted from shadow to shadow, keeping the skeletal beasts of the island crippled and confused. Imagine, a hammer shining with starlight smashing into bones of dark spellwork. Imagine Elmara¡¯s fires meeting Acyeatrix¡¯s curses, her runic wards an impenetrable shield. Alchemist¡¯s fire would have lit the island ablaze with color. Bit by bit, the Paladin of the Mask¡¯s hammer shattered the soul and skeleton of the dungeon¡¯s grand guardian and ally. In the end, they were triumphant. Acyeatrix¡¯s soul was incinerated in divine fire, and the terrifying dungeon core captured. The shards and treasures pillaged from the island would end up spreading quickly across the realms, ending up in far flung academies and the Empress¡¯s palace as the bounty was paid out. But the most powerful shards and the core itself went to the Coruscant Band, who after officially binding Jalmin to them, vanished. Though there is speculation as to what they did with the core¡ªif they kept it, sold it, or pledged it to the Divine, we shall not investigate those rumors here. Instead, it is enough to recognize that the Band¡¯s prowess saved countless lives, and stopped what could have been an plague of war and death across the lands and seas. Vaulder paused his reading, and put a thin silk bookmark in the pages. Then, he remembered where he was, and coughed nervously. For a moment, reading about the grand adventure, he¡¯d forgotten. He¡¯d even been enjoying himself, however temporarily. Looking around the gray caverns of the second level, any peace he¡¯d felt quickly vanished. He looked toward the Nameless Dungeon, or at least near it. There was a full minute of silence, broken only by the echoing hoots and horrible music of the ever-raucous kobolds. I REQUIRE A BIOLUMINESCENT FISH. AND A MANTIS SHRIMP. THEY WOULD BE BEAUTIFUL ADDITIONS, the dungeon told Vaulder. Vaulder frowned. He had read widely enough to know those specimens didn¡¯t actually exist on the Azerule Coast. They were from some other part of the ocean. ¡°Those¡­ would be difficult to¡ª¡± He felt his throat tightening. ¡°I-I mean¡ªof course! I-it will take time to procure them, but you are right, they would be splendid indeed!¡± He glanced around, wondering where the dungeon would actually put them in this desolate stone cavern quite unfettered with any source of salt water. THAT DUNGEON OVERPLAYED ITS HAND. IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN MORE PATIENT. AND MORE DEVIOUS WITH ITS TRAPS. He nodded, and glanced around. It wasn¡¯t really a comment he felt he should reply to. He was also busy hoping that the dungeon would get so busy it would forget the request about the sea creatures. He really had no idea how to begin to get them all the way to Caltern. WHAT HAPPENED TO ITS CORE? the dungeon asked. ¡°I don¡¯t know¡ªyet! Yet!¡± Vaulder squeaked out hurriedly. ¡°But I will endeavor to find out!¡± GOOD. THIS WAS A VALUABLE LESSON. Here, Vaulder found his jaw open ever so slightly, and shut it quickly. Was that praise? It felt suspiciously nice. It still hadn¡¯t stopped his hands from trembling. YOU MAY GO. So the scholar went, following a group of rats back up, stepping furtively the whole time. All the while, a kobold blew a flute in his ear, and once again Vaulder Claith found himself wallowing in silent misery, wondering what new nightmares he would have next. 2.13 Soldier of Fortune Izzis knew, just knew, his luck was too good to continue. The Marquis had captured two giants. Well, not literal giants. Humans. Four feet fall humans. Nonetheless, they were giants to Izzis, and he was supposed to fight them. His faerie fans had already turned against him. ¡®The Fall of Goliath, Long Live the Titans¡¯ adorned walls in tiny print on miniscule posters all around the fighting pits. It wasn¡¯t enough they were huge, but he had to fight both, and they were magical adventurers, to boot! Izzis couldn¡¯t forget the absolute look of sadistic joy the Marquis held when he announced the fight. He had three choices. First, risk trying to run away. That would probably end with his death. Second, try to win the fight. That would probably end with his death. Third, convince the humans to escape with him. That would probably end with his death, but less probably than the other two. After weighing his options, his choice was obvious. He began sobbing. ¡°Izzis not fair!¡± he wiped the snot from the holes somebody being polite would refer to as a nose. ¡°Why does Izzis always get the short stick? Izzis is kind. Izzis is useful. So why is Izzis being treated so unfairly? Do the gods hate Izzis? Or maybe they find Izzis¡¯s suffering funny. Izzis¡¯s life and death is just a joke to them.¡± ¡°Keep it down!¡± shouted his cage keeper. ¡°I¡¯m allowed to be upset,¡± he mumbled, scratching his leathery skin. Izzis sat upon the dirty cage floor and crossed his arms in thought. If he couldn¡¯t rely on any of the obvious plans to survive, then he would need to rely on the only other thing he could. Random chance. After all, that was what got him into this mess in the first place, and definitely nothing to do with his personality or decision making or continually taunting the Marquis every time he won a fight, going so far as to moon him at one point. Just bad luck. Somewhere in the middle of dreaming up good happenstance, Izzis fell asleep, but continued his dreams. He was jostled awake by being dumped uncerimonisly into the dirt of the fighting pit. His mace was tossed beside him, missing his head by inches. ¡°Think lucky thoughts, think lucky thoughts,¡± he reminded himself. The Titans descended into the arena, manifestations of death and destruction. ¡°Nathan, it¡¯s a bit small, isn¡¯t it?¡± asked the female titan. ¡°We shouldn¡¯t underestimate it, Annabelle. Who knows what¡¯s capable of,¡± remarked Nathan. ¡°It is pretty ugly,¡± Anabelle agreed. The spark of micro drums and minute trumpets signaled the arrival of the Marquis. He was accompanied by his daughter, adorned in too much jewelry and appearing nervous. She stood beside him as he sat upon his delicate throne, smug satisfaction radiating from him. He pointed at Izzis and said, ¡°Kill it.¡± ¡°Titans, Titans, Titans!¡± chanted the crowd. ¡°You can do it, Goliath!¡± the Marquis¡¯s daughter shouted, to the glare of her father. Izzis¡¯s chest swelled with pride. He hadn¡¯t known he had a fan left. He picked up his mace, and screaming, charged towards the Titans. Mana, in that moment, flowed through him, every ounce he had collected through his service to the dungeon. His speed, strength, and hopes surged. He dashed between the Nathan¡¯s legs, and planted the weapon into his heel. ¡°Fuck!¡± Nathan fell. Dodging the falling titan, Izzis then leapt high, beating his wings with furious force. Annabelle was already spinning around, swinging her sword. Izzis flew higher still, having avoided her blade by a flake of skin. He swung into her face, and in that moment, witnessed a stray tooth flung from her jaw. She stumbled, but rushed back towards him, less using her sword and more her entire body in blind anger. Nathan began to rise. It was the best opportunity Izzis would get. He turned and ran - well, flew - away. Directly towards the Marquis. ¡°Die!¡± Izzis screamed, raising his weapon, surprise flashing in the Marquis¡¯s eyes. ZZAP. Izzis spasmed in the dirt. His world had gone blank for a moment, a white void full of the smell of frying pork. The Marquis sighed as he adjusted the ring on his finger. ¡°Did you really think that would work, you pathetic creature?¡± Izzis gurgled. The Marquis then glared towards the Titans. ¡°I look forward to breaking you two useless tools.¡± Then raised his ringed finger towards Izzis.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Daddy,¡± his daughter said, ¡°please don¡¯t kill Goliath.¡± She grabbed his arm. He turned his glare towards her. ¡°You expect me to spare someone who threatened my life? No. This is what rulers must do, Telurum. You must learn.¡± Telurum bit her lip, eyes shaking. The Marquis responded with no emotion. Then she nodded and said, ¡°I understand,¡± and let go his arm. ¡°Excellent, I-¡± ¡°Can I kill him?¡± she asked. Her words sent a second shock through Izzis, and his condition worsened. The Marquis gave a genuine smile. ¡°Of course, sweetie,¡± and plucked the ring from his finger, handing it to her. ¡°Make sure to aim it at his head. Anywhere else and it might make a mess. Oh, I remember my first kill.¡± Telurum slipped it on and aimed towards Izzis. She said, ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± and let loose the lightning at her father¡¯s throne, blowing it to bits. ¡°Nobody move or you get fried!¡± The Marquis coughed and began pulling himself from the rubble, the shimmering of a magic shield around him as his necklace glowed. Telurum flew down to Izzis, and with her tiny hand, slapped him. ¡°Get up Goliath! We¡¯re leaving!¡± He didn¡¯t feel it. At the moment, he didn¡¯t feel much of anything, except the desire to comply and frustration at his inability to do so. She pointed at the Titans. ¡°You two! You want to leave, too, right? I know a way out. Grab Goliath and come with me.¡± Nathan was limping and Annabelle was rubbing her jaw, but they didn¡¯t argue. Annabelle grabbed Izzis and flung him over her shoulder with enough force that Izzis could feel again, though mostly it was just pain. The Marquis had dug himself out. ¡°Telurum, you-¡± He slammed into a tree when she launched another blast of lightning at him. ¡°I hate you, dad! You never let me do anything. It¡¯s all ¡®rule this¡¯ and ¡®kill that¡¯ and ¡®you¡¯ll die outside¡¯! Well guess what, I can do whatever I want. I¡¯m going to go on a grand and noble adventure with my new friends and you can¡¯t stop me!¡± An earring of the Marquis flashed, and he was covered in a green light, recovering him entirely. He hovered in front of the tree and, pointing to his guards, commanded, ¡°Stop her.¡± Telurum looked up to Annabelle and said, ¡°Let¡¯s go, now!¡± They ran as dragonflies began to buzz. ¡°Why don¡¯t you shoot lightning at them?¡± Nathan asked, wincing each time his right foot touched the ground. She crossed her arms. ¡°I¡¯m not going to kill anybody! That¡¯s not what noble adventurers do.¡± Annabelle and Nathan exchanged a glance. Annabelle asked, ¡°Can you at least shoot lightning at some trees? Try to slow them down?¡± ¡°Okay!¡± Then the forest was on fire. ¡°Oh no, what if somebody burns up?¡± Telurum asked, worried. ¡°You did perfect, like a real noble adventurer,¡± Annabelle said. ¡°Really?¡± Telurum asked, grasping her hands together, eyes sparkling. ¡°Oh yes,¡± agreed Nathan. ¡°After all, we¡¯re noble adventurers too.¡± ¡°I knew it!¡± She laughed as the tiny sounds of screaming fae echoed through the burning woods. ¡°Erm, are you sure-¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Annabelle and Nathan said in unison. They ran, and ran, and ran till nightfall, when even the light of the far-off fire had extinguished. By that point, Izzis had long recovered his movement and feeling, though still injured. Though still on Annabelle¡¯s shoulder, he guided the group with his ability with his ability to see in the dark. ¡°Here looks safe,¡± he said. ¡°Finally,¡± said Nathan, plopping to the ground and gently touching his blood-caked foot. ¡°We should gather some herbs if we can. Then I can make a poultice to help our wounds.¡± ¡°I can do that!¡± shouted Telurum. ¡°Shh, stay quiet if you can,¡± Annabelle said. Telurum whispered something they couldn¡¯t hear. Annabelle said, ¡°Not that quiet.¡± Then she looked around. ¡°I want you to stay here with Nathan, just in case. I¡¯ll have Goliath guide me to gather the plants.¡± ¡°I can do that,¡± she said. ¡°Nathan, what do you need?¡± ¡°Brokenfoot Leaf - it¡¯s a greenish blue color and should grow near water, but be careful, it¡¯s covered with thorns - and any sort of root of a magical flower, which will be harder to find. Oh, and anything fibrous or flexible, so I can weave a bowl.¡± ¡°Alright. Make a small fire if you can, while we¡¯re gone,¡± Annabelle said. She and Izzis marched further through the woods, Izzis careful to remember the path they were taking. He took the opportunity to say, ¡°My name¡¯s not Goliath.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°No, Izzis.¡± ¡°So it is Goliath?¡± ¡°No, my name is Izzis.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a strange name. Then again, you¡¯re a strange creature. A strange, ugly, smelly creature.¡± ¡°Izzis true.¡± Annabelle laughed. ¡°I haven¡¯t forgiven you for my tooth, though. When we make it back to a city, I¡¯m selling you to buy a replacement.¡± ¡°I think that would be a lucky outcome for me,¡± Izzis said. He didn¡¯t have much energy to argue his eventual fate. He was alive for the moment, and for that, he was grateful. He then heard the running of water. ¡°Go left,¡± he told her. The Brokenfoot Leaf was easy to find and harvest, though Annabelle did prick herself a few times in the dark. It was another hour of wandering before they came across a magical plant, though they gathered plenty of fibrous stalks along the way. When they returned to their camping spot, Telurum was crying, and exhaustion covered Nathan¡¯s face. ¡°It¡¯s not fair,¡± Telurum sobbed. ¡°Nathan, what¡¯s going on?¡± Annabelle asked as she handed him the plants. ¡°She¡¯s upset that we don¡¯t have lavish meals prepared for her, or a comfortable bed,¡± he said without emotion. ¡°And that¡¯s she¡¯s dirty. And that she¡¯s tired. And that her wings hurt.¡± He rubbed his foot. ¡°I understand your pain,¡± Izzis said to Telurum. She sniffed. ¡°Really?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve experienced the extremes of discomfort many times. It¡¯s temporary. Somehow, you always find your way back to something comfortable in the end,¡± he said, not mentioning you then find your way back to discomfort just as often, if not more. ¡°Okay,¡± she said. ¡°If Goliath can handle it, then so can I.¡± Annabelle plucked Izzis from her shoulder and dropped him on the ground. ¡°Ow, ow, why?¡± he asked. She said, ¡°I already told you, you stink.¡± He did not respond. He lay there, painfully wheezing, but alive. That was pretty lucky. 2.14 Into Chaos Eyfrae descended the steps of her palatial manor in an evening gown of scintillating amber, the upper hem fastened just beneath her slender shoulders in a ring of honey calcite stones. As she did, she couldn¡¯t help but notice the guards for her carriage were lying sprawled across the courtyard, broken, bloody, and beaten. A giant homunculus, three-eyed with grey flesh, stood above them. Traces of red clung to its sledgehammer fists. The strongest of her guards could still stand, barely and awkwardly, without the usual pompous rigor, ashamed like schoolboys to have been beaten. The longest serving of them - although she couldn''t recall his name - straightened up and saluted her. "There''s ah, somebody already inside, ma''am." He said, nodding towards the carriage. "He said he wanted to speak with you? We tried to stop him but-" "I see." Fire engulfed her hand, burning away the long evening glove. Ember-lined ash dripped from her fingers as she strode towards the homunculus. Its dull face bore no reaction. "Ma''am!" The guard called out. "He had the symbol of the White Lily!" She froze. Her hand curled into a fist, extinguishing her fires in a curl of smoke. Here already? "I... see." She kept the long string of curses silent, but implied. Opening the door of her carriage, she clambered inside to the plush-lined compartment. Sitting on the bench seat opposite where she settled was an old man, his skin as dark as teak, his beard carved into a perfect pyramid coming off his chin. A circlet of three arcane runes adorned his brow. Hanging from his neck by a golden chain was a small glass vial, no bigger than his thumb, the bottom filled with dark soil that nested a petite white blossom. And yet that little flower was precious enough to overturn Caltern. A budding of the Immortal Lily. The source of Eyfrae¡¯s own longevity, and oh, an addictive little bastard. Her fingers trembled at the sight of that precious flower, restraining the urge to snatch it off the man¡¯s skinny neck. He smiled. ¡°Eyfrae, how good of you to meet with me like this.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t expect the Guilds to arrive for another month.¡± She admitted. ¡°Will the Order of the White Lily be laying claim to the Dungeon?¡± ¡°Oh, no. No no no. You misunderstand. No, the Dhampir will have their turn with this one.¡± He clicked his tongue, like a schoolteacher with a dim pupil. ¡°Let us be clear. I¡¯m not here for the guild. I¡¯m not here for the Dungeon. I¡¯m here only because my dear ill-fated student, Olin, is tragically deceased. As soon as his lifesign shattered I came rushing over.¡± A likely story. She smiled thinly, allowing him his lie. ¡°But since I am here, and since the Dungeon is likely responsible for his death¡­¡± A little shrug, a little grin. Poaching from the Dhampir. It was the kind of audacious scheme she¡¯d expect from the man who raised Olin. ¡°Kal Lugreth. Olin talked about you.¡± ¡°At your service.¡± There was a groan from the back as the homunculus stepped aboard the footman¡¯s step. He rapped on the carriage ceiling, signalling the coach-driver to take off. ¡°You know, I was at the Institute first, examining the scene. I met a young man named Malvet with lovely things to say about you¡­¡± She froze. The carriage cabin was suddenly too small, claustrophobically small. Not now, not him. Not somebody with enough status to actually bring consequences down on her for her schemes. ¡°Olin favored him. I suppose he wants to fill Olin¡¯s shoes.¡± ¡°Olin¡¯s bedsheets, you mean.¡± The chuckle from the old man was so dry she wouldn¡¯t be surprised if dust blew from his lips, if he coughed up some ancient shard of stone. ¡°No, he really was quite complementary. Infatuated with you. He didn¡¯t even break when I confronted him about this¡­¡± From his robes, he withdrew a tiny, diamond-shaped vial, a lone drop of brilliant azure settled in the bottom. She almost considered playing dumb. But then, she was so sick of playing. ¡°I¡¯m not sure why these matters interest you.¡± ¡°It¡¯s shameless!¡± the old man declared, ¡°A dirty, low-down trick, poisoning poor innocent adventurers. Vicious. Ruthless. Sneaky. Underhand....¡± And word by word, a smile came over his face, until he sighed and leaned back, shoulders slumping, his eyes gone hazy with nostalgia. ¡°Ahh, Olin came up with it, didn¡¯t he? That boy really did always have a surprise for me.¡± ¡°He was surprisingly reliable. In that one way.¡± The fear in her chest slowly settling, from a panicked vivacissimo to a mere allegro tempo, she tried to follow the old bastard¡¯s mercurial mood. ¡°A real upstart. Ah, but we shouldn¡¯t talk about him as if he¡¯s not here.¡± Reaching into his pockets again, he took fished out another little vial. This one was full of a yellowish, clear solution, and in it floated a little toe. Perfectly manicured. ¡°Is that..?¡± ¡°A little memento of a dear student. Held in case he ever got himself into too much trouble. Do you have anyone capable of revivals in this little town?¡± ¡°We can send for one.¡± Eyfrae suffered the slight on her city without comment, consumed by the sudden thought she might actually see Olin again. She couldn¡¯t wait to strangle the life back out of him. That gladness mingled with the relief she felt - the old man¡¯s unspoken but clear message being that he¡¯d not reveal her schemes as long as she aided in his - and suddenly, despite herself, she was laughing. Some little joke Olin had made long ago was suddenly so funny again that it made little bell-trills of laughter fall from her lips.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. Gods, she probably loved him. That was embarrassing. And in the background, a bell rang out, joining her sudden fit of laughter. In three notes it swept away her sudden joy and replaced it with dread. It was a deep, ominous sound of iron, a dull clanging that brought to mind the thundering of hooves in a cavalry charge. Eyfrae stiffened, catching herself, and the man followed her sudden changes of mood with a look of abject confusion. ¡°What..?¡± ¡°That was the Usurper¡¯s Bell. It means enemies within the city. Ill-rule. Disaster.¡± Without waiting for his response she opened the carriage door, peering out. There was smoke in the distance - they were headed right for it. ¡°Coachman!¡± She called, ¡°Faster!¡± It was as bad as could be expected. The wards around Suffi¡¯s mansion had been taken down for the occasion, and now smoke billowed out, the grand doors broken apart. Fire was catching along the upper floors, coming darting out the shuttered windows in bright tongues. Already the blaze was producing a stifling rain of ash and ember blowing out from the great pillar of smoke rising overhead. Steel rang, and shouts, screams, all echoed beneath the clanging. ¡°Give me your whip.¡± Eyfrae demanded of the coachman, grasping the cold leather in hand as she strode inside. Bodies littered the foyer. A token force of dwarves was holding the grand staircase that bifurcated around a statue of the Halfhand¡¯s grand ancestor, stabbing with their halberds as ragged, wild men fought their way steadily upwards. Eyfrae lifted the whip and lashed it through the air. A single rivulet of flame ran from her bare fingers down the leather and expanded in the moment the crack sounded out, exploding into a burst of fire that made the air ripple with heated movement - a concussive blast ripping through the men on the stairwell and sending them stumbling. Again, and again, she drove at them with airbursts of powerful flame, not singling out any one of them but herding the lot with the shockwaves from each crack of the whip. The dwarves lunged forward, spearing the invaders and driving them back. One of the men turned, managing to get his bearings for a split second and rush towards Eyfrae. With a sneer of contempt she wrapped the whip around his neck and ignited it to brilliant orange, turning the whip into a molten collar that seared the flesh of his throat to a charred nothing. She tossed the whip aside, a ragged bit of cinder, and lifted the sword from the man¡¯s corpse. He was already crumbling to a fine, feathery ash. The men on the stairwell were dead or dying, the dwarven guard triumphant, wiping the sweat from their brows. The old man entered behind her, his enormous homunculus looming behind him. The idle way he walked told Eyfrae he would be in no hurry to help today. ¡°Where is Suffi?¡± She demanded. ¡°She should be in the parlour.¡± The captain huffed out, a wound across his brow staining blood down one half of his face like strange warpaint. ¡°We¡¯ll be- we¡¯ll be right along behind you.¡± But she wasn¡¯t waiting. She lunged forward, rushing up the steps, vaulting over corpses. In the parlor, the best of the best, the private guards of the richest nobles in Caltern, had come to a head against the wild men. The tables of delicate foods were overturned, the marble slick with pooling red. The gold on the swordsmen¡¯s uniforms flashed as they cleaved through the savage horde. They were good. But their opponents were mad as dogs, and if a man was ready to die, it was hard to keep him from taking at least one life with him. They impaled themselves willingly on blades to reach their opponents, to gouge their eyes and slit their throats. The casualties lay thick on the floor. Just three men held the parlor¡¯s center now, each of them drenched in red. The only things left clean were their swords, flashing through the air so quickly the blood couldn¡¯t cling to them, arcs of silver dancing as the three held back eight. To the right, Cathara was leading the dwarves to fight a losing battle with their ceremonial axes, outnumbered and outfought. To the left it was Kedlin of all people, sweaty and out of place among his bloodsoaked guard but valiantly gesturing with his sword-stick for everyone else to fight harder. She snorted. He would put someone¡¯s eye out with that. Fire blazed down her arm to engulf her blade, and she swept into the fight at the center. A head toppled instantly as she came rushing in from the rear, killing one before he could react, and pinning the remaining wild man between her and the swordsmaster. It was hardly a struggle. The moment she locked blades with the ash warrior, the swordsman ran him through from behind. Just like that the deadlock broke. The man nodded to Eyfrae, his greying hair pasted to his thin bony face with sweat, and then darted off to help another of the swordsmen. The battlefield rolled in their favor as Eyfrae charged for Kedlin¡¯s skirmish. It was ugly here. Men fought standing over corpses, a mixture of blood and ash thick in the air. Eyfrae killed two before the heaving bulk of of the ashen horde could turn its attention to her, and then she was nearly swept away. Swords and axes, makeshift spears, all of them sought for her blood. Eyfrae ignited. Like a blazing star, she lifted a dome of flame around her and burned the men of ash away, controlling the flame by drawing it into a spiral. When it was done, when they were nothing but bones cracking open under the heat, the marrow sizzling away in fleshy gouts of steam, she let go, drawing the fire back down into a blazing layer over her skin. The marble was cracked like an earthquake had hit, the edges of the spidering cracks dripping with molten heat. Much of Kedlin¡¯s guard was dead too. A sad byproduct. One man of the wild horde stood alive, impossible to burn, clothing all reduced to a black soot that clung to his skin. A blazing blue ember glowed in ebbs and falls beneath his chest. ¡°Heretic¡­¡± He hissed, gripping his axe and lunging for Eyfrae. Her sword had turned to molten slag. Her fire was no good against the Ashen Dungeon¡¯s chosen. But she could still use it in other ways. Clapping her hands together, she created a wave of superheated air that rolled forward, throwing the man back a step. He scowled. ¡°A little runt like you, how did you do it?¡± He spat out. ¡°Ah, so it¡¯s not my heresy that has you so angry, its your jealousy. Wondering how I succeeded where you failed?¡± Eyfrae¡¯s eyes sparkled. She was like a cat playing with a mouse. With another clap of her hands she forced him back, and now the guards were finding their courage, edging forwards behind him. One direction he couldn¡¯t take a single step without being forced back, the other he would meet his death. The man hesitated, trapped, and Eyfrae plucked up a sword that had escaped being totally reduced to scrap. ¡°I succeeded for the same reason I¡¯ll kill you, I¡¯ll tell you that much.¡± Infuriated, the man lunged again, and this time she let him hurtle forward, shoving her blade between his ribs. It - just - missed the ember at his heart. His axe swept down and gashed her shoulder open, making her scream out, as his weight bore both of them to the floor. The sword fell from her fingers, still impaled through his chest. Her good hand seized his wrist and held him back from taking another, fatal blow, as he ripped the axe free from the wound. A half-dozen swords jabbed into him from behind, but none of them so much as scraped the ember. The swordpoints emerged through his front, nearly stabbing her. He let go of the axe with one hand and seized her throat. Fire coiled around his fingers but could not burn him. She bit him, but it did nothing, not even as she severed his thumb with her teeth and spat it into his face. The guards seized him, hauling him back. She gasped. ¡°His heart you idiots, his heart!¡± A shadow fell over her. The enormous homunculus reached out, plucking the man from the crowd¡¯s grasp, and crushed him. It was hideous; nothing Eyfrae had seen in her life had been able to bend bones like putty. It simply mashed him down into a compact, bleeding ball, and dropped him to the floor. It was over. 2.15 The Tides Trivelin winced as the guards forced him along, hobbling against the hard, smooth stone in his boot. It was an odd-shaped one too, jabbing into him with every step. ¡°You know, I¡¯ve heard hospitality described as the mother of virtues, and you could really stand to be a bit more gentle.¡± He groused. ¡°But you didn¡¯t think much of our hospitality, now did you?¡± Cathara reminded him, not looking back his way. That worried him. She seemed like the type to gloat. Oh, he¡¯d gotten himself into it now. He was being led through the dwarven quarter. Grim business. All these statues everywhere, the dead cast in bronze. He¡¯d heard somewhere there were real bones entombed inside. Standing graves, smiling as if they were alive; it all made him shiver. Two guards had either one of his arms, marching him down the street as children ran along behind him, eager to see the criminal. Actually, this time, Trivelin wasn¡¯t sure what he¡¯d done. They were leading him towards the center of it all, a grand manor. A protective web of spellwork bent to let them through as they displayed badges, and one was hastily attached to his ragged shirt, pulling him through the golden dome. The scenery started to look all too familiar then; he was led back to the courtyard, into the dark of a solitary tower, down into the winding depths beneath where rats crept and the walls wept a faint slime. Classical prison sort of place. Trivelin knew the scenery well. And one cell among dozens, he knew very well. ¡°This time, make sure the guards know his little trick. That door doesn¡¯t open except on my say so, ever.¡± Cathara commanded, before sweeping off. Rough hands pushed him through, and slammed the door shut. And then Trivelin was back in his cell, oh sweet and homely home away from home. The first thing he did once he was thrown inside was pull off his boot, and shake the troublesome stone out. Except it wasn¡¯t a stone. A golden watch rolled free of his boot. It was one of those fine, expensive pieces that a rich gentleman might wear on his hip, at the end of a gold chain. The silver front was inscribed with a tracework lattice that embossed the shape of a curling ammonite shell. And a voice spoke to him. Open me, and call forth a guardian. Three times I will answer. Trivelin glanced around, nervous that someone else had heard, but it echoed only his skull; the cell was deadly silent. He froze, hastily tucking the silver trinket behind his back as a guard stepped past the bars. The dwarf scoffed. ¡°Like I¡¯m falling for that. Oooh, what¡¯s the prisoner hiding? Could it be a secret treasure? Oooh, I¡¯ll just open up the door and see. Ha!¡± Trivelin was insulted. Like he¡¯d try such a prosaic escape. No, the fact was, with his little trick outed he had no plans. There was nothing to do but wait. Wait for a good time to put this secret little weapon to use - he tucked the watch down into a pocket by his heart - and wait for the gods to provide. Pulling his tricorn hat down over his eyes, he did what he often did while waiting for fortune to arrive, and caught a light nap. It was the sound of clashing steel and dying men that made him come around. Somewhere above, something big was happening. Footsteps echoed down the stairs of the prison tower. ¡°C¡¯mon. Get ahold of him.¡± Keys rattled in the lock. Trivelin lifted his hat to see a trio of dwarves pulling the door open. Rough hands seized him and hauled him from his lazy repose. ¡°Oof, heavy.¡± ¡°Careful now lads, I¡¯m a human being, not a sack of ¡®tatoes.¡± Smacking his lips as he allowed himself to be hoisted up, hat askew on his head, Trivelin glanced about with sleep-drenched eyes. ¡°Where are we off to?¡± ¡°The block.¡± And his blood ran cold. Before he could think to struggle, they had his arms, hauling them behind him and clapping cold, rigid manacles across the wrists. He was cut off from the watch in his pocket, his sole protection. Hands gripped him by either elbow. He was had.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°That seems a bit extreme, doesn¡¯t it?¡± He chuckled, nervous as a virgin. Everyone was when it came to death. Oh, there were adventurers he knew who¡¯d come back two, three times, but he¡¯d never gotten them to give a straight answer on what it was like. He didn¡¯t figure they knew. Even when he got them drunk enough to talk about anything, they just went misty-eyed and distant. ¡°We ain¡¯t taking any chances with you, are we?¡± ¡°Nossir. We¡¯ve got a score to settle and a reputation to keep.¡± Trivelin finally recognized the man on his left. It was the same man he¡¯d left locked in the cell behind him. That unnecessary touch, if artistic, had just cost him his best chance of bribing his way out. A groan silently passed through gritted teeth. Step by step, he waited for it. The miracle. The magic something he always managed to conjure in these moments, and the reason he would never settle down, never say ¡®this is enough.¡¯ no matter what treasure came and went through his hands. Because Trivelin wasn¡¯t enough for himself, was nothing but a comic fool who knew it too damn well, except in those magic moments. Those touched-by-the-moon, madfool moments where the world clicked and his mind alighted with the fire of some brilliant scheme, and he wriggled through the narrowest cracks to escape certain death. Those moments. Those precious bits where he seemed to half-ride and half-steer the tide of cosmic luck. Nothing. The tides were leaving him high and dry. He came out into the daylight, and there was the stomp of boots and clatter of swords. On the arcade balcony above, a swordsman dueled to hold back a tide of ragged men. His sword pierced them one by one as they rushed forward and they fell apart into fluttering ash. There was a block in the courtyard. An old stump, the surface stained with a ominous black-red that spilled down over one side. An axe jutted out of the rotting wood. ¡°Looks like they could use your help up there.¡± He tried. ¡°Once we¡¯re done here.¡± The dwarf on his right said, his gravelly old voice patient, talking to him like a skittish dog. ¡°Easy does it now.¡± Trivelin gave up on talking and bucked, trying to rip free of their hands. ¡°You heard him! Easy!¡± The left one shouted, and a kick slammed into the back of his knee. Right where that bitch had gotten him too. He slumped forward, and his head made hard, tooth-rattling impact with the stump¡¯s surface. A boot stepped onto his back, holding him down. He smelled the blood sunk into the wood. The remnants of others who¡¯d gone before, plenty of them, he was sure, waiting for their moment. He saw his sweating reflection in the dull black metal of the axe. But the universe didn¡¯t give up so many of those miracle days anymore. ¡°On the names of Cathara and Suffi Halfhand, leaders of the seven clans of Caltern, your death has been ordered. By my hands, it will be carried out.¡± That hand curled around the axe¡¯s handle, ripping it free of the stump. He felt - he didn¡¯t need to see - the blade lift, felt the man winding up. And then he felt it go wrong. There was a shout, a scream, and the boot suddenly loosened. Trivelin saw his moment and bucked up, throwing the man standing on him over backwards, and rolled to the side, narrowly dodging the muffled thump of the axe hitting the stump. In moments - breathless, terrified moments - he was on his feet. The young man was clawing his face, trying to dislodge a black rat that had sunk its claws into his nose. The old one was staring in confusion. Just as the codger came to his wits and drew his sword, advancing on Trivelin with a cold sense of duty in his eyes, the doors were bashed open and a riot of unkept, wild-haired men burst into the courtyard. At the center of the mob they bore two sacks of struggling, lumpy burlap. The man¡¯s attention wavered between the two, and Trivelin started running. For lack of anywhere better to run, he went down again, back towards his cell, vaulting down the steps two at a time. Boots rang after him. The old man had stayed behind, and doubtless he¡¯d be dead soon for that bravery, but the young one, the one Trivelin had humiliated, was storming along behind him with his sword drawn and waggling through the air. ¡°Not this time!¡± He roared, red-faced. ¡°There¡¯s nowhere left to go, you fat bastard!¡± A hand grabbed the chains holding his own hands behind his back, and Trivelin did what he could; he fell. Down the stairs, yanking the young dwarf with him by dint of superior mass, tumbling and making hard, thudding contact with the sharp edges of every step in a long rolling spiral. Something gashed his forehead open. His left arm was wrenched to a sprain, maybe broken, by a funny-angled twist that made hot sickening pain sear up his arm. And the watch fell free of his pocket, going clink clink clink like a silver wish down the stairs in front of him. He landed in a sprawl. The dwarf landed in a heap. Of the two, Trivelin was a little quicker in coming round, and he wriggled himself into position, on his back and lifting his legs folded at the knees up to his chest, to slip his manacled hands down under his rump and get them in front of him again. The young guard was climbing to his feet, hand patting across his hip for a sword that wasn¡¯t there. It was behind Trivelin. The watch lay on the step behind him. They slammed into each other and rebounded as they both rushed for their weapon, and Trivelin¡¯s hand touched the watch maybe a split second before the dwarf¡¯s hand closed on the sword-hilt. The guard spun around, hacking at Trivelin¡¯s throat. The blade rebounded, stopped by a silver mist that poured out from the watch to surround Trivelin in a protective umbra. For a second, that was all- the dwarf backing away, unsure, his sword pointed quaveringly towards Trivelin. Trivelin staring at his own hand in surprise. And then he said, ¡°Well? Get him already!¡± The mist leapt forward, taking the shape of a shark that glided through the air. It floated as gentle as a cloud, as silver as starlight, and surged towards the guard as his face went pale with shock. There was a single enormous clamp of jaws, and a gush of bright blood floated through the sharks half-solid body, forming into weightless ribbons. Trivelin felt the tides of luck rolling his way. 2.16 Through Other Eyes I watched as Vaulder retreated back the way he came, flinching back from invisible enemies only he perceived within the gloom. Unsettled by the grim beauty of my work. Starting to giggle, in high hysteria, as the kobold danced around him with its flute, piping away. It was a strange reaction. I wondered if he understood the gravity of his position, that he was the first human to be allowed down into these dark depths to witness my grand creation. That he was the only human allowed to see my creation. Anyone else would have to pay a price of blood and war to reach this far. Blood and war. I felt strangely nauseous at the phrase. With swimming, dizzied thoughts I contemplated if that was all my future held, if I was going to spend the rest of eternity sinking deeper into the dark and watching the humans claw and fight to unearth me. These were¡­ un-Dungeon thoughts. Poisoned thoughts. I banished them. But thoughts banished still remain in the skull, merely driven to some dark corner, and become tricky and insistent things, always whispering out. It spoke of long eternities with no one to appreciate my work. Of seeing the world only through the lens of violence. Of becoming warped by it. And at the end of it all, dying in the way the Tomb of Acyeatrix had - too much a threat for the humans to ever allow to live. But these were not my own thoughts. These were poisons, dripped in my ear. I turned my attention upwards, to the breach that lanced sunshine into my domain. The wildlife had been completely cleared out wherever the light fell. Archers stood on either side of the gap, pouring fire down into anything that moved. It was a massacre. As I observed through the ragged edges of my Mana cloud where it spilled out of the breach, two of them improvised a tool with a bucket and a rope, trying to fish up the pearl-covered corpse of a juvenile nacre-spider with their crude implement. This was humanity. I watched them fumble about until all thoughts of making friends with their kind had been thoroughly disinfected. Still, there was something to be said for company. Yes, I was lonely, but not for lack of humans. What I needed was some other living being that could appreciate my work. What I needed was a fellow artist. But step back for a moment. I had four goals. One, to seize control of the Silent Market. Even now my rats perched in the ruins, waiting for it to be reborn. It could only be a matter of time. I had dealt the market¡¯s reputation a bitter blow but still, there was money to be made, and money would eventually draw humans like flies to honey. Two, I had been instructed to build a shrine to Sith, one that would accommodate my gift of the unicorn; presently the beast cantered and galloped through the final of the seven islands, simply happy to be able to move, feeding from golden mangroves. The thick Mana in the fruits slowly revitalized the beast, restoring its coat to a sleek gloss and its body to a muscular fullness. Three, I wanted to create an artistic soul, one that could match me. Cabochon was close, with his strange and melancholy temperment, his mystical way of seeing the world. Close but too devoted to me, too much a servant. Four, to intertwine with the human world so they could no longer destroy me so easily. These could be one and the same. It was easy to see how an artist and a shrine went together, but it would also be a way to establish the market. An enduring symbol of my strength to reassure them that order would be established out of the chaos born in the Night of White Fires. And through the artist I could also have a proxy to negotiate with the humans. But best of all it would mean parading the unicorn I¡¯d stolen in front of them all. That was the kind of petty touch that delighted me.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. If I was going to bind myself to the human world to prevent my own destruction, it would be on my terms, not theirs. I would insinuate myself into their world and addict them to the riches I could bring. But first, I needed a proxy. I had four Schemas; the green viper, the somnolent bloom, the sporeback sloth, and the common sewer rat. Thanks to my perfected understanding of each of them, I had more than enough ability to shape them into humanoids. Still, growing a talking, intelligent being from a mushroom was out, and thus so was the somnolent bloom. Snakes, similarly, would take too much effort to give a humanoid form. Every alteration I made multiplied the cost of the next, and giving them arms and legs would make it prohibitive to also offer them increased intellect. Sloths were the closest to human-form, but slow, lazy, dimwitted. Rats had an excellent intellect and a fierce spirit. It was no contest. I conjured a specimen and began to work, flooding my new-made black rat with Mana to bulk him up, shaping him into a giant by the standards of the species. His forepaws slowly split and lengthened to gain opposable thumbs, and his hindquarters were strengthened to bear him as a biped. He hunched and curled as electric currents of raw Mana flooded through his being, transforming him harshly without the protective embrace of an evolution chrysalis. I whispered reassurances as I worked, calming him with lullabies that only a Dungeon would know; songs of the cold, reliable earth, and the stillness of the air beneath, the slow drip of water dragging trails of sediment as it beaded down stalactite teeth. I shared the fierce pride of my Dungeon and the slow regard of the underground world I had built to soothe him. Soon it was done. In no time, I had a ratfolk, an almost-human beast. I poured what remained of my Mana reserve into expanding his mind. He would be the first, but not the leader of his kind. That honor was reserved. I reached out to Argent, finding her in the city above. The ashen smell of a battlefield washed through my senses, abrasive compared to the calm of the depths; she was running, fighting, surrounded by her pack. I had turned a blind eye to her efforts surrounding the Halfhand villa, not wanting to have to betray her due to my Contract with Suffi. Apparently I had missed quite a lot. For nearly a week, the rats had waited. Watching for a dropped badge, a flaw in the defenses, a single way to slip through the web of defensive spellwork that guarded the Halfhand villa. And then, today, she simply let us in. For a single hour the wards fell, letting through the carriages and palanquins of the rich, the sumptuous gilded boxes that conveyed them in comfort through the filthy streets. Caltern¡¯s finest were flocking to the villa for a grand event. My rats came with. The moment the barriers dropped, they were scurrying across the courtyard grounds. My eyes flooded through the underground realm of cellars, sculleries, kitchens. They skittered on shelves and spice racks and were shooed by maids. But it was the ones who hung back, watching from the rooftops outside the villa, who saw what was truly important; we were not the only guests who came uninvited. They came from the gutters. They came from the alleyways. From every hovel and shadow, clutching cheap swords, men in ragged clothing poured out, filling up a mob that swept into the procession of the rich like a knife through butter. The men of ash were already in the city. Rich carriages were pushed over, set alight as the fine men and women within came screaming out and were butchered with rusted swords. Footmen were skewered. Guards were overrun by sheer numbers. The defensive force Suffi had set around the perimeter were forced back, stepping over the bodies of their dead as the human tide swept into them. Wherever they went, they lit fires. Torches landed on the grass, on the ornamental trees. Lamp oil was drenched over men who rushed screaming into the crowd of guards or threw themselves through glass windows to set the house alight with their blazing bodies. They were less human, and more a living tableau of flesh; hundred handed, spitting flames, a dragon of the unwashed masses. We saw everything. The guard¡¯s retreat into the foyer, up the grand staircase. Ash men slipping past them to swarm into the parlor where the guests stood huddled in fear behind their last defenders. The arrival of Eyfrae who blazed through them, fighting fire with fire, all the way to the bitter end. We saw that none of it, none of it was the true goal at all. Because in all the noise and clamour, a platoon of just six had broken away. They moved like they knew where their quarry would be; they caught Suffi in her chambers, scaling up the walls and smashing through the windows. She wounded one of them with a dagger hidden in her boot. The other five bashed her over the head and threw her in a sack. Her brother tried to come to her defense, holding a sword that trembled in his hand. For an instant, blue crystals exploded from his skin, armoring him- he was so surprised he dropped his weapon. A quick thump over the head settled him, and he went into a sack as well. We trailed them through the courtyard, a swarm of rats clambering over the walls and ceilings, ahead and behind the crowd. We saw Trivelin, his head on a stump, waiting for death. Here, we finally intervened. A blightclaw rat leapt down and ran, scrambling up the man holding Trivelin down, sinking his poison claws into the dwarf¡¯s face. The pirate slipped away for the split second the axe¡¯s fall was halted, capitalizing on the moment of confusion as the men of ash swept into the courtyard and everything went mad. Like always, he thrived in chaos. Like a fish in water, disaster was simply his element. 2.17 Peace In the gardens of the city square, there was an enormous glass bell, as clear as crystal. Intricate designs ringed its lip like a breath of frost on a windowsill. Unlike the other twelve, the Pax Bell never rang. Or maybe it always rang. In place of a tongue, a pendulum swayed, its teardrop-point drawing designs in the square of red sand beneath the bell. And always, always, there was a fine crystalline sound in the air, a sweet and sonorous hum. The bell sung for peace, and it always had. As long as Caltern was safe its music would fill the air of the gardens, with their rows of tall slim cypress and their stately rows of hedges bursting with flowers. In the middle of all Caltern¡¯s turmoil, the gardens were an ornamental square of peaceful green, with a clear lake where a moss-drenched bridge crossed over the blue waters. A faint wind rippled mazes of tiny waves across the mirror surface. And slowly, the sound of harmony faded. Even the birds seemed to pause, unsure now, lacking the bell¡¯s accompaniment to their trills and twitters. The Pax Bell had gone silent. Suffi came to upside down, a throbbing star of pain pulsing out waves of nausea from the side of her head. Her face was pressed against rough burlap, every needle of light that stabbed through the rough fabric an agony to her sore, sensitive eyes. Something twitched, caught in the bag beside her. She twisted her way around to see what; it was one of her bird-golems, its wings bent and broken. Within the sack, she could barely peer through the gaps in the burlap, seeing the dark of a carriage cabin. It fit with the way the world was trembling and bucking- the wheels going over the lumps in the road. No doubt they were taking a stolen carriage from the partygoers. That was what she¡¯d do. But the gates would be blocked as soon as Kedlin found a mage who could broadcast the order. No, they¡¯d already have been sealed as soon as the Usurper¡¯s Bell rang. There would be no smuggling her out of Caltern. Was there no plan for a ransom? Did they intend to kill her? Reaching for her boot dagger, she found it missing. Checking for the long pin she kept fixed in her pants leg, she saw it was still there, shining and sharp, the length of two fingers. A good thrust and it would go through an eye. She curled it into her hand, a last resort and a protective talisman. No matter what happened she¡¯d go down fighting. Beside her, she heard her brother. His crying was distinctive; sob, a snort to keep his nose from overrunning, a breaking little whimper and then it started all over again. Safe to say she¡¯d been a poor big sister since she knew the sound that well. She held on, listening to the rattle of the carriage wheels, Krait¡¯s whining, the dim talk of their captors; the latter she strained to hear over the first two but it was nothing, just juvenile giggling over how this maid had bled, how this guard had gone pale with fear when they¡¯d run him through. The first thing she¡¯d learned about killing was how it brought out the cruel, petty child in people. The brute exercise of power was primal and stupid. And yet she did love to shape blades on her forge, to make a tool for that dumbest, most blood-drunk act. They were beautiful things; no shape save the wheel had been refined and perfected to that same degree, given so much thought, so many iterations. She knew them all; the slender estoc for piercing armor and the broad blade for cleaving flesh, the dueling blade so whip-thin it could bend, the parrying dagger with its clever trap for enemy swords. In a way the best moments Suffi¡¯s life had been devoted to violence, but she had never killed anything herself. Somehow the thought of it made her drip with cold sweat. The carriage was rolling to a halt. No way of knowing how many minutes had ticked by. She was hoisted, seized like a sack of potatoes, and a knife came tearing through the burlap, sawing her free. She came up and shoved the pin into the first eye she saw.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. And it was simple. Her hands didn¡¯t tremble. They almost seemed to know what to do. The man was leaning over, squatting down to cut the sack open. She squirmed through the hole, and before he could react to the glimmer of steel in her fingers she caught him behind the head with her two-fingered hand and driven the pin home with the good one. An expression of shock froze rigid and then slackened. She snatched the knife up as it fell from his fingers and turned, counting seven men, seven more than she could hope to fight off. But they didn¡¯t draw their swords and end her. They didn¡¯t stuff her into the sack again. They just laughed. Big, croaking heaves of laughter, and applause, clapping their hands together, amused by her. Like it didn¡¯t even matter. And she supposed it didn¡¯t. What was one less to share the ransom with, or one less witness to her murder. What had she done but swept an inconvenience away for them? What was the life she¡¯d taken worth? To them, nothing. But her hands were starting to shake. For a moment a hysteric laugh threatened to slip past her lips, and then she remembered Krait. His sack lay beside hers, shivering, and she split it open and hauled him out by the hair like a butterfly being roughly shucked from the cocoon. The men paced around her, like wild dogs cornering a rabbit. The body was dissolving. The skin was turning into layers of ash, feather-fine, and crumbling inwards, a hole opening up above his heart and spreading outwards across his chest. Exposed within was a gleaming chunk of stone that glowed with cracks of angry orange-red hue between crags of blackened char. ¡°Suffi, what¡¯s going on? Who are these men?¡± He whispered, his voice hoarse with crying. He clung to her arm as she turned to them. ¡°You¡¯ll be the Men of Ash then. Isn¡¯t that right?¡± The last words left her lips sounding like a demand, but not a strong one, not an order- a desperate plea. She sounded weak. Suffi fought to control the next words that left her lips. ¡°I thought you want nothing anymore, so what do you want with me?¡± There it was. Strength. Command. Almost a growl. The way she¡¯d learned to speak to underlings so they¡¯d respect and fear her. But the men just laughed again, and she saw the eighth one, hidden away in the gloom. Giggling like a lunatic. He sat perched on a barrel, curled up upon himself. In his long ragged cloak he looked like a common beggar. His face was leprous, missing features, huge scars bending the natural shape of the flesh in wicked ways. There was no nose. ¡°We¡¯ve come to free you.¡± He spoke, and his voice was beautiful, a silken string of syllables coming from a mouth full of rotten stumps, from lips bent this way and that by the silver lines of scars. ¡°You have the right heart for it, I think. You have a devil in you.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t feel very free.¡± She spat back. ¡°It hurts a little, I won¡¯t lie.¡± The man continued. ¡°But once it¡¯s done you¡¯ll understand. Or you¡¯ll die. It goes one way or the other, but it¡¯s like I said, Suffi, you have a devil in you.¡± ¡°Him, though.¡± One of the underlings nodded to Krait, trying to hide behind Suffi with her dagger as if she could do anything to save him. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t be so sure about him.¡± They tittered, a pack of hyenas. ¡°You leave him alone. He¡¯s not part of your plan, he¡¯s just my stupid little brother. You don¡¯t need him.¡± ¡°Oh, but he¡¯s Attuned. To the Dungeon beneath our feet. And that¡¯s very precious and dear to our plan.¡± The leader sung, and snapped his fingers. ¡°You¡¯ll understand. There¡¯s no point in talking to you while you¡¯re like this.¡± They came for her. She slashed at their hands, stabbing at them, drew blood- nothing stopped them. They twisted her arms behind her back and shoved her to her knees. The man came out from the darkness, revealing the damage went beyond his face, that his entire body was mottled and red with shiny burned flesh. He held a sword she¡¯d never seen before, a sword made of smoke. ¡°May your ancestors abandon you.¡± She cursed. ¡°Oh they have, they have.¡± The man said, and laughed as he swung the blade down through her throat. It passed through the flesh without cutting anything but the soul within. And suddenly she didn¡¯t care. It didn¡¯t matter to her that her brother was next, seized by their rough hands and hauled forward to face the smoke blade. That he was crying, yelling, looking desperately to her as she remained knelt, still, barely breathing. That the blade was rising, rising, falling... In the gardens, people gathered around the bell, drawn by the deafening silence. Waiting and hoping that the song would return. Before their horrified eyes, a single note rang out- And the Pax Bell cracked in half. 2.18 Lord-Protector It was all done but for mopping up. Wild men and noble lay across the ground, so black with their own blood that nobody could tell the difference. The swordsman she had saved was kneeling down to hug two children, no more than twelve, taking care not to dirty them with the stains of red. Kal Lugreth and his homunculus stood to the side, studying her. Eyfrae herself hadn¡¯t escaped the chaos unharmed. She was slumped in a commandeered chair. A table cloth had been fashioned into a rough robe so she could release her flames and be treated by a healer. Her hand dangled limply, the doctor pressing salves into the wound that cleft her shoulderbone apart. Everything hurt. The universe was raw and painful, every moment of it sieving through her lungs like jagged glass. ¡°Eyfrae!¡± The sound of Malvet¡¯s voice went through her skull like a nail. He, of all people, was pushing through the crowd, babbling. ¡°There¡¯s a man, Attuned, who came out of the Tower. They took him prisoner. They won¡¯t let me talk to him.¡± It took her a second to blink through the fog, realizing what he was saying. ¡°Cathara!¡± Eyfrae pulled away from the healer, stormed towards the woman with her guards. ¡°The man you took captive, where is he?¡± ¡°Oh, he¡¯ll be executed by now.¡± Cathara purred out, triumph in her eyes. That alone was enough to confirm everything to Eyfrae. She didn¡¯t waste words threatening the old bitch. She moved to storm out, feeling like her stomach might overturn in every step, heading for the courtyard. If she was too late¡­ Gods damn this city. She made it three steps before turning back, and asking, ¡°Where is Suffi?¡± Something new flitted across Cathara¡¯s face, something Eyfrae had never seen from her before. Genuine fear. It was as satisfying as cold, pure water. Oh how her life would be simpler if that freak was dead. ¡°We don¡¯t know.¡± Cathara answered, every syllable bitter. Trivelin was on his way out. One small stop to seize hold of everything not nailed down, and he was gone. The silver mist surrounding him was slowly dissipating, pouring back into the watch clutched in his hand. He vaulted through the courtyard, where the old guard¡¯s body was still bleeding where it lay slumped against the wall, pausing to lift the man¡¯s sword before glancing between the two doors out. One of those doors, the men of ash had come from. One they had left by. And by Trivelin¡¯s calculations, that meant one way took him away from danger, and the other was in no way worth considering. That was the logic that led to him nearly running into Eyfrae. A gorgeous, dark-haired woman in a torn tablecloth of a dress. He was just busy being properly stunned by the sight of her calves emerging from beneath the rather short hem when a toadish, sour-faced man came around the corner behind her. Ah but there¡¯s always a boyfriend trying to spoil things, isn¡¯t there. He thought bitterly, and smiled his most rakish smile, sweeping his hat off his head in a low bow. ¡°Hello, my dear lady.¡± ¡°That¡¯s him!¡± The toad shouted. Shit. What had he done this time? ¡°Don¡¯t move.¡± The woman commanded, a spark of flame curling off her fingers as she snapped them. It was a very good way to make herself heard. She reached out, seizing his chin, and made him meet her gaze. ¡°What is your Attunement.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t-¡± ¡°He changes shapes.¡± The boyfriend volunteered. Both Trivelin and the woman glared at him. But ah, he knew who she was now. A woman who commanded fire could only be the famous guild leader. The one with the notoriously atrocious temper. And this little shit had on the symbol of the Institute of Magi¡¯s High Mage, somehow.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°I change shapes.¡± He admitted, sour. ¡°Good. And where did you get that Attunement.¡± She demanded. The intense way she was staring at him, weighing him, was beginning to make Trivelin more worried than flattered. It was hard to lose himself in her emerald gaze when those eyes were full of such terrifying fire. ¡°I ah, I am afraid I cannot say, my beautiful jewel-¡± She slapped him. That was the way this usually went, but my, she was strong. Trivelin¡¯s head snapped about, the imprint of her hand stinging on his cheek. ¡°Never lie to me again.¡± She hissed into his ear, grabbing him by neck this time. ¡°Tell me you won that Attunement from the Dungeon beneath our feet, and I will give you a seat at the table that runs this city. Or you can try testing my patience.¡± ¡°I um-¡± Gods, but what kind of situation was this? He felt more inclined to assume she was mad than really about to offer him a city on a platter, but either way, there was a clear right answer. An answer that would keep him from being turned into a charcoal shadow. And really, would he be breaking his promise to protect the Dungeon¡¯s interests to let this one little secret slip? Gods, and if she did make him one of the city¡¯s rulers, wouldn¡¯t that be a plum position to help the Dungeon from? But it was one thing to convince himself. He could convince himself of anything. The question is, would the Contract let him speak. ¡°I did.¡± He was surprised when the words left his lips. He¡¯d been half expecting her or the damned Contract to choke him first. ¡°Yes, yes, I did.¡± ¡°And can you negotiate with the Dungeon, on our behalf?¡± ¡°Why, yes, yes I can. Very good friends, me and the Dungeon. We see eye to, mm, gem. Have I introduced myself?¡± Carefully extricating himself from her grasp, and stepping back, he returned his hat to head.¡°Trivelin Arbador. For all your negotiation needs.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll do.¡± She said. Like so many before her. My eyes saw everything. Suffi¡¯s kidnapping by the ash men, witness by a rat clinging on to the carriage axle. Trivelin¡¯s encounter with Eyfrae, seen by a pair of ratty eyes on the balcony above. Dozens swarmed through the overturned banquet tables at the bloody aftermath of the party. We saw the terrified maids sent to sweep away the blood as the rich and noble were herded away from such unsightly things. Tonight was a triumph of my rats, and oddly, of Trivelin. However he¡¯d become entwined with this strange tale, he¡¯d somehow reemerged as one of its protagonists. As the partygoers were shuffled into the feasting hall, he stood at the head of the long table, dressed now in fine clothes purloined from a nearby wardrobe; a jacket of yellow silk and high calfskin boots, a white wig, a dusting of rouge on his cheeks. He looked so utterly ridiculous he could only have been rich. It was unimaginable a poor man would have such bad taste. It was Eyfrae who spoke first. ¡°Ladies and gentleman, Suffi Halfhand has disappeared. We do not know if she still lives.¡± The gasp that ran through the crowd was polite fiction. All of them knew already, and half of them were taking bets. ¡°But- We have found a suitable replacement for the position of Lord-Protector. A brave adventurer who has conquered the Dungeon and realized Attunement.¡± ¡°Allow me to present myself.¡± He stepped forward with a neat little swish of his long jacket, posing in front of them all. It was his moment of shining pomposity. ¡°I am Trivelin Arbador, a man of the world. Ah, but Caltern, Caltern is a special city, near to my heart. I consider myself home here. Nowhere else will you find such a motley assortment of people. Nowhere in the continent do such odd specimens rub shoulders, do we have to deal with dwarves and mer and humans, criminals and nobles, drunks and prophets. And what do we do? ¡°We make money!¡± He thrust a finger into the air. ¡°We don¡¯t care where they come from, and we don¡¯t care where they¡¯re going. We care that they¡¯re here, now, and we can sell them something. Not a person in this room is poor, because we all know that one truth. We take every moment as a blessing and a chance to turn a profit. That¡¯s the spirit. And this catastrophizing, oh, this wailing and gnashing of teeth over the Dungeon under our feet, isn¡¯t that forgetting who we are? ¡°Dungeon or no, for us right-thinking people it¡¯s just another chance to spin nothing into gold. I¡¯ve met the Dungeon¡¯s spirit, and I can tell you, it has things it wants. Things we can sell it. Things, even, that aren¡¯t worth much to us. Why for very little cost I can guarantee we establish good relations with the Dungeon. ¡°All we¡¯ll have to do is feed it a few criminals.¡± This gasp was very real. ¡°Yes, feed it. Throw the pickpockets and such down. Let it handle them for us. And in exchange, we say, ask it to open up a hunting range, to let our brave adventurers poach a few creatures now and then. Think of what Caltern will become with a steady source of Mana rich meat, fruit that extends the natural lifespan, with trees that grow gold and jewels.¡± His fist slammed on the table. ¡°We¡¯d be fools - Fools! - to treat this as a disaster, when it¡¯s a gold vein beneath all our feet!¡± I could have grimaced. He was making quite the list of promises for me, but still- the thought of a steady source of souls and Mana had me metaphorically drooling. Open up a hunting ground? I could do that. Yes, I could definitely feed them a little if they fed me a lot. 2.19 A Fine Mess Trees. I wasn¡¯t done with the trees, with the Field of Lament. Their first sight, the invaders, would be of the weeping salt-faces of the dead oaks that leaned crooked from the grey fields. The flesh-like vines would start as cracks of brilliant red in the world of absolute grey, and grow to overtake the landscape as the intruders proceeded on, wriggling across the ground like varicose veins. Bound beneath scarlet kudzu, the trees on the sixth island looked almost like enormous hearts, bundles of arterial tissue palpitating with slow, rhythmic pulsations. And on the seventh island, a mirror lake. An island full of poisonous flowers. Yes. But it needed more. I needed to offer something that would turn horror into beauty. I began to weave threads of silver, winding them up towards the sky in twisting formations. A lattice slowly formed, each strand unconnected, but from a distance an illusion would form; from a distance the tricks of perspective would hide the gaps between the silver threads that spiralled up into the sky, and they would mesh together to form an enormous silver tree, its trunk rippled with spiral knots and its long, serpentine limbs tipped with thorns. But they would come closer, drawn by the way it shone - I laid blots of eternal flame encased in rough yellow quartz beneath the surface of the lake, to ensure there would always be a fiery glimmer lighting the base of that beautiful tree as its limbs stretched up into the dark of the cavern ceiling - and soon they would see the truth. They would see that only the front of the silver strands were gleaming and beautiful. The backside, the inner side, was black as pitch and lined with jagged serrations. Teeth. What had seemed so beautiful at a distance, a shining tree of riches, would come apart as they approached, the illusion breaking down, leaving it a disparate mass of writhing tendrils lined with thorns. The unfurling, grasping tentacles of some vast beast, a maw waiting to swallow them. Horror into beauty, and then back again. Transformations. I wove a second tree within the first, again a lattice-work illusion, this one meant to be seen from very close. Taking shape only if the intruders had the courage to step within that maw, within the hidden teeth of the beast. This one I made out of wooden tendrils, sprouting with nectar-rich flowers. The luminous butterflies would cling to it. The poison flowers rose up the illusionary trunk. And within was the pillar of stone I had originally carved as my own nest, before the hasty retreat. Two serpents coiled in a helix up to hold a small alcove in their mouths. Waiting within that alcove was a shard of Fortune, the Sun God¡¯s own luck. Above, I saw Trivelin come to the edge of the ravine. A platoon of guards stood at his back, but they all fell away, leaving him to descend the chasm¡¯s slopes alone. His feet slipped and stumbled against the uneven ground, rousing the spiders from their dens. I didn¡¯t pay much attention. I was curiously examining the shard of the Sun, trying to understand how such a powerful piece of spellcraft had slipped into my Dungeon without my knowing. The patterns within were complex, the entire thing simply a bundle of spellwork that shifted in constant, thrumming rotations, as energetic as fire. It was impossible to make sense of the characters that blurred together within the golden light. It was far, far too powerful to simply slip past my notice. Even if a god had sent it down from the heavens, I should have at least felt something. There was one conclusion I could make a rough stab at, which was that it had been somehow condensed into being. That rather than arriving by an outsider¡¯s will, it was the manifestation of something that had always been here, given shape and form. Which suggested that spellwork ran deeper than I had thought. It wasn¡¯t simply some form of human artifice, but conducted itself at unseen levels, all around. It was fascinating. By the time I got around to paying attention to Trivelin, the kobolds had found him. And he was teaching them drinking songs. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. With cap in hand, Trivelin swung his fist back and forth to bang out the meter of the song, his audience perched around him in rapt attention as he warbled; ¡°So he can have his gold and glory, Oh, he can take his time, I don¡¯t envy him his stories, Or the treasures he might find. He can keep his gold and glory, I¡¯ll take what he leaves behind!¡± And pinning his hat to his chest, he stomped his foot down and tilted his head up, doing his finest drunken bellow for the final line. ¡°Ohhhhh, It¡¯s the adventurer¡¯s wife for meeeee!¡± Dead silence followed the off-tune belting of the final syllables. Trivelin glared at the fascinated little newtlings around him, and then, realizing they really had no clue, clapped his hands together. The scaly little beasts followed suit, and he glowed and bowed and thanked them all for the applause. That was when the grim, gigantic spider with the human body welded to its scuttling lower half arrived. Dark chitin framed the edges of a pale, delicate face with stern eyes, blue lips, sharp teeth. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t encourage them.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± Trivelin raised an eyebrow. ¡°You should be. They will sing that song for weeks.¡± ¡°Cute little buggers though.¡± He patted one atop the head, giving the scaly muzzle an affection tweak. It snapped at him. Hastily drawing his fingers back, Trivelin followed as the strange spider-thing gestured for him to. It led him upwards, the common spiders with their darkly glittering suits of armor falling back, like courtiers waiting on a king. ¡°I have heard you have become Lord-Protector over Caltern.¡± ¡°Frankly, I need protection.¡± He had come to understand his position thus; Suffi had made a deal with the Dungeon, and Eyfrae had offered the city to the first who could bind it into Contract. Paying up on this deal, however, was not particularly interesting to her. Enter Trivelin, her escape clause. His deal with the Dungeon was close enough to the terms of the wager to be hastily pushed into the waiting position of Lord-Protector. Being a human, and a man, helped. Or ¡®helped¡¯ as it were. Considering the likely end of his tenure was a knife in the back, and his rule was almost certainly going to be limited to giving a few speeches and signing many, many tricky bits of paper, Trivelin felt he had been ¡®helped¡¯ right into the jaws of a beast. ¡°You have made promises on the Dungeon¡¯s behalf.¡± The spider said. Its tone was dark beyond disapproval. ¡°Well, I didn¡¯t mean anything by them. I never do.¡± Trivelin grinned brightly, comfortably in his home territory of trying to justify his own lies. ¡°But you have to promise them something. They¡¯re jackals. Timid as a mouse if you feed ¡®em, but oh, once they get hungry they start seeing how there¡¯s more of them than there are of you.¡± He paused as he was led through the glass doorway to the gardens, and stared up at the massive breach in the ceiling. Golden sunlight fell, shriveling the sensitive mushrooms beneath. ¡°That-¡± He said finally. ¡°Is an excellent example.¡± Trivelin stood in a room of glittering glass, trying not to lose himself in the infinite reflection bouncing from one wall to the next, down and down in an endlessly recurring loop of tiny Trivelins all staring back at him- He shook himself free. Words were forming on the glass, written in frost. A HUNTING GROUNDS CAN BE ARRANGED. I WANT NO LESS THAN TWENTY SOULS A MONTH. ¡°Twenty is a bit high-¡± Trivelin began, but Cabochon laid his hand on the man¡¯s shoulder. He couldn¡¯t help but notice that every finger was more or less a blade. ¡°Twenty.¡± He repeated. ¡°I can do that.¡± What did it matter to him? He intended to be gone by the time they ran out of murderers, rapists, and other real lowlives. By the time they started feeding innocent people down into the dark - and they would, in the end - he intended to be long gone. ¡°But you have to help me. I mean, I can¡¯t be Lord-Protector. Gods! Can you imagine me donning a pair of spectacles, pouring over paperwork by candlelight, signing decrees and orders and, ugh, proclamations?¡± YES. ¡°No! For gods sake, I¡¯ve been in and out of prison cells this whole month, and look!¡± He lifted his considerable paunch and let it fall, to wobbling effect."Soft living will be the death of me. A week of living the high life and I won''t be fitting through doors." That was what Trivelin feared most. That someday he''d pause, just for a moment, and not be able to get moving again. That he''d stop to idly enjoy the world and find the spark had gone out of him. It wasn''t that soft living didn''t agree with him. It agreed with him too much, and threatened to pull him down into a small and mediocre life if he ever let it catch up to him. ¡°One month.¡± He said. ¡°One month, I¡¯ll make sure this city comes to your doorstep begging for favors, I¡¯ll arrange everything just so for you- but at the end of that month you help me escape.¡± IT CAN BE ARRANGED. I HAVE A SHIP FOR YOU. ¡°A ship?¡± Trivelin felt his fortunes turning. A SHIP AND A CREW. ¡°There is one condition.¡± The spider whispered in his ear. SUFFI MUST DIE. And there it was. The tide going out again, leaving him worse off than ever and flat fucked. 2.20 Un-Dragon Knife. Unknife. The little dagger flickered between the kobold¡¯s hands, nervously blinking in and out of existence. The little creature fretted to itself, scrunched down with its knees up to its chest making the dagger blink, blink, blink. He had done a bad thing. But this wasn¡¯t the place to start. It had started shortly before the beginning, when he was still in the egg. When Aurum wrapped his mighty coils protectively around the sapphire shell and slept. In that long, early spring of the soul, body still developing from disparate yolk, the kobold had dreamed Aurum¡¯s dreams. An enormous shadow glides across stormy waters. The rough waves ripple and distort at the enormous silhouette. It is an eagle-shadow, a serpent-shadow; it is the shadow of a dragon, wide of wing, long of tail, its arrowhead prow soaring above the waters. Beneath the frothing surf of the sea, a whale tries to dive, sensing doom in the sudden blotting of the sky. The dragon descends. It swoops down, claws extended, piercing the barnacle-armored back of the enormous beast. The water explodes in white froth as the whale struggles, kicks; the dragons wingbeats are huge, billowing claps of thunder, the wind beneath them kicking back the ocean to expose the pray as huge ribbons of red swirl into the blue. Dragon-dreams. That¡¯s all a kobold was. One dragon¡¯s egg in a hundred thousand might hatch into a trueblood heir of fire, but the rest would be left with the strange, slow dreams of the yolk-time, slowly congealing into a form not-quite-dragon but not quite un-dragon. A kobold. And the dreams were strong in the little soul that forced its way up through the thick eggshell, battering its blunt head against the walls of its prison-womb until they cracked open. The feel of fire bathing the outer shell called him to stir and fight and break free. Aurum waited for him. The attention of the Dungeon swirled in the air, a palpable presence. Those first days were full of wonder. The gardens, the Dungeon, all of it was strange and beautiful, full of patterns and shapes the kobold did not understand. It hunched in the dirt to study wriggling insects. It fled from pearlescent spiders. Glass flowers gave up metallic honeys, and vibrant red-glass mushrooms bled like lush meat between its teeth. And then there was the fight. The earth-shaking battle of titans, where the kobold could only close its eyes and pray to the Dungeon. In that moment, it felt the Dungeon¡¯s voice, praying to itself. When the storm of violence passed, there was a new world to explore. White trees watched with weeping eyes as he scampered through grey fields, combing the hidden spaces beneath the canopy of blossoms for the scuttling insects that burst like candies between his teeth. Soon there were other kobolds. They were strange to him, at first; they had been born without an egg, without dragon-dreams. Having been made all together they formed a tight circle to which he was an outsider. But he was the biggest, the strongest, the oldest. If he was not one of them, at least he was their leader; their eldest brother. They wrestled, chased, explored. They swam in Aurum¡¯s feeding trough chasing after silver fish. In the rare times they crept up the great stairwell, they ran circles around the great Arachne hooting and making noise, trying to make the solemn spider crack a smile. On the day the trouble happened, they had found a newcomer. A fat, funny creature called a human, a kind of sun-browned blob with a shiny head, who sung back to them, swinging his hat and stomping to the tune. By the time the Arachne arrived it was too late. They¡¯d taken the verse and spun it into their own nonsense-babble, the human tongue too strange and harsh for them to form the words right. They scampered away, piping up gleefully from the distance with snatches of child-song. ¡°Soo he han haff ¡®is ¡®oldenhory,This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. Oh he han ache hisshime, For the whole day, it went like that. One would pipe up with a sudden tune, and suddenly from the distance there would come a hooting echo for the next verse- Hii oont henvee ¡®im his sories, Oar the heasures hemit find, They were drunk on the tune, on the camaraderie of sharing the secret nonsense-joke. Together, crouched in the tunnels of their home, they hatched a secret scheme. Leaping onto a rock, he gestured with a stick, swinging it to and fro as the mob beneath him chanted- He ¡®an¡¯ave his holdengory. Allake hwat he ¡®eaves behind! Together, in the dim light of the Field of Lament, he led his troops across the glass bridge to the third island. They snuck on all fours, green-scaled snakes slithering through the grass giggling as they approached the lairs of the enormous stone-spinner spiders. Bundled tight in webs of pale, crumbling stone were the corpses of giant butterflies, wandering serpents, anything the rapacious spiders could catch and bind. And they knew a secret. The piper had learned it, playing his crude flute to the stone behemoths. They began to sway and rock, caught in the admittedly-simple rhythm, lifting onto their hind legs and raising their forearms to the air to shift back and forth in slow, silently reveries of sound. They were musical. Now, the kobolds began to sing. Not the coarse, rude song they¡¯d learned from the man, but the other song. The dragon song. The deep and sybillant rhythm that came hissing up from their hearts. They whispered it in the grass, and the piper began to bleat and peep along, until the gray boulders unfolded their arms and swayed. That was when the seven of them hurried forward, leaving the piper to continue his tune and keep the spiders transfixed by song. They seized the smallest of the stone cocoons, lifting it between the seven of them with grunts and puffs of smoke, beginning to haul it away. By the time the stone-spinners realized their supper was being stolen, it was because the cocoon was scraping its rocky hide against the musical glass of the bridge. They snapped free of the melody, shaking themselves, and surged towards the seven thieves. The piper lifted his instrument and blew a long, discordant note. The spiders thrashed, losing their balance, toppling over. They shivered and kicked their legs in horror as the off-key burst of noise rasped through the air- The piper turned tail and ran, joining his brothers to shove the cocoon over the bridge where the spiders were forbidden to follow. And as they retreat to their private den, they paused, turning back, and echoed the chorus- Isss ¡®he adventers hife for meeeeee!¡± And then ran laughing into the gloom, hauling their prize with them down into secret tunnels. He had the honor of chiseling it open with his knife, a wash of sticky, pinkish fluid pouring out. Tasting it, he found it bitter and sickly-sweet at once. As they drank, taking turns chugging up the viscous stuff, their heads began to spin and their limbs grew clumsy, like they were controlling their own bodies from a great distance by tugging at strings connected to their arms and legs. They were drunk. Sprawled and hiccuping, they started a new game. A naming game. ¡°Stone-Face!¡± One cried in their draconic tongue, as he presented himself in a stoic pose, snout turned upwards and yellow eyes gleaming in the little lamps of everlight they¡¯d stolen from the lake. ¡°Hook-Tail!¡± He called out, as his sting-tailed sibling crawled along the ground with tail held high like the scorpion that had lent him the appendage. It went the way, round and round in circles, trying on names and identities like clothes, until the piper stood up and began to wheedle away on his instrument, all his brothers groaning and clutching their ears in mock-horror. In that moment, he felt a flash of dragon-dream stir within him. Heard those vast wingbeats again, a roaring in his ears, and the vast, sky-breaking cry of triumph as the whale was hauled forth from the struggling waves. He felt something hot and electric coil in his chest, rising through his throat as he called out- ¡°Break-Song!¡± And the Name stuck. They all felt it then. The ripple of power surging out of him, swirling around Break-Song as the Name latched on, searing itself into his being. Becoming one with him. His brothers stared, in horror, and scattered. The last to go was Break-Song, who looked at him with hurt and betrayal, the thin translucent membrane over his eyes flickering and his breathing coming in struggling, big gulps. He didn¡¯t know what to say, but the long despairing whimper Break-Song let out before fleeing was enough to rend his heart. So. He had done a bad thing. Bad because Naming was the Dungeon¡¯s right. Bad because it hurt his brother. His knife flickered in and out of being, and he wished he could disappear with it. That was all that was left. He had to run away. 2.21 Wayward Son Ilbur struggled, burning pain searing up his arm. He was on his back, a giant star-nosed badger pinning him down and slowly rending him open with its claws, like he was soft mud being dug into. The beast had a fleshy ¡®flower¡¯ on the tip of its nose, the raw pink flesh extending into five whip-thin tendrils that coiled around his upper arm, stinging him with hundreds of poisonous barbs. Its long claws raked vicious lines his belly, his calves. Again and again, he stabbed it with his knife, his burning arm wrapped around its throat to keep it from retreating back down its den. Blood gouted across him, his own and the badger¡¯s mixing and running down his hands. It was a messy, brutal fight, and Ilbur won. He won by the barest of margins, by the fury that grew in him at the edge of death. A final hard sink of his knife into its neck severed the spinal column. It slumped atop him, and he let out a ragged, relieved sigh, shuddering with pain as he rolled the dead weight off his aching body. From out of the badger¡¯s den, the fox and her kits emerged. Each of them carried a small, limp bundle of white-black fur hanging from their jaws. Grunting, his fingers slippery, he hoisted the badger onto his back and stumbled forward, bent under its damp, furred weight. Ilbur could barely walk. His limbs rejected the very idea, trembling, and his world swayed, his head slumped on the end of his neck. If a predator happened by- but no, none did, even as he trudged slowly back, fighting to keep one dizzy foot in front of the next as the uneven ground of roots crawled by. Almost falling down, he dropped the corpse and knelt himself by the glimmering coals of last night¡¯s fire, scraping two fingers across a large, flat stone smeared with a lumpy paste that glowed blue. Healing plants were common here, and the fox-mother taught him to find them among the thorns and brambles. Applying it to the strips of rag that were left from shedding his clothing, he bandaged his wounds, feeling the fire-itch sensation of magical healing spread over the lines of pain carved in his stomach. Soon he would have to learn to make linen out of the plants. His supply of bandages was almost out. Orcs scarred fast and hard. Over years, a warrior would build up a vicious plating of rigid tissue that protected him. In days Ilbur was growing his own crop. They were a faint tan color, lighter than the russet-brown of his skin and darker than the almost-white of his underbelly. Tomorrow he would have a few more. Lying back, he let his eye close. When he blinked awake again, it was night. Three moons of dark green floated ethereal above the canopy of glass leaves, which were limned in the silver-green light, dripping with dew that fell from one crystalline leaf to the next with a resonating patter. He groaned, climbed up, and began to work on supper. The fire going out was an endless pain, forcing him to laboriously gathering kindling, small sticks, and finally great rotten stubs of log, the flames he coaxed from a flint leaping from one to the next. Two greenwood boughs stripped of leaves and driven into the earth to either side of the campfire had been split at their tops, providing a ¡®y¡¯ shape. He hacked away chunks of badger-meat and ran them through with fire-harden spits, setting the skewers across the bough-stands to roast as the flames died down to a hot, low dance. When he turned around, two of the black-pawed little fox kits were staring at him. Their noses lifted to catch the scent of rich, gamey flesh slowly browning, dripping out its juices in little drops that went sizzling into the fire. His body ached too much to play the usual chasing-games, so he threw a stick, and then quickly snapped around to catch the third creeping towards the roasting meat. ¡°Go on. Git.¡± Ilbur shooed it away, claiming the meal for himself. His tusks bumped the skewer as he ripped away shreds of fire-charred, pinking-inside flesh. Half-cooked blood ran down his chin. It was heaven. The burnt-to-charcoal bits stuck to his tongue in bitter crumbles of ash. If he¡¯d been less exhausted, there were wild spices and herbs in the woods. The fox-mother gave him lessons, nudging him towards the edible ones and letting him experience the less deadly poisons firsthand. Those days made for lessons he would never forget. There was a shuffling in the underbrush. He turned to see the glass golem returning, carrying an enormous head over its shoulders. It was the feathered, scaled skull of some enormous predator, like a toothed bird, its savage yellow eyes glazed and covered in swarming flies. It went in the pile. The crown jewel atop weeks of efforts. The glass golem had woven a sled of vines and branches, piling it high with teeth, pieces of exoskeleton, and wilting flowers. Everything the Dungeon might want. A claw from the badger would join the pile before they returned, as would parcels of choice plants the fox-mother had led him to collect. It knelt by him, examining his wounds. Pointing a glass finger at the sky, the golem made a turning motion with its hand, and pointed to the sled. ¡°Tomorrow? We¡¯re returning tomorrow?¡±You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. A nod. Ilbur¡¯s heart beat with excitement. Over just half a month, he had grown stronger than ever. Two weeks and his body was lined with hard-won scars. If he could show the Dungeon his worth, maybe he could honor his father still. Maybe he could convince it to free his people. ¡°Tomorrow.¡± He said, nodding. The word seemed to carry an almost magical power. Tomorrow. The next day they set out. The glass golem dragged the sled by vine leads, and Ilbur scouted the way, watching for signs of danger. There were things in these woods even the glass faun couldn¡¯t face. There were behemoths. Ilbur had heard them more than seen them; the tyrant roars, the earth-shaking steps, rending the night apart. He¡¯d learned to treat them with no more regard than passing storms, turning over in his sleep and hugging his meagre bedding tightly. In the morning the faun would sometimes take him to see the aftermath; the trees reduced to splinters, the canopy torn apart, the light losing that strange blue complexion it gained by passing through so many crystalline leaves. Vast footprints indented the earth, pooling with rainwater. And strangely, there was life everywhere. In the fresh-churned mud, hundreds of green sprouts poked up their heads. From the stumps of the broken trees, new growths sprouted. The forest was unbreakable. Being considerably more fragile himself, Ilbur was cautiously scouting the way. Even besides the behemoths, there were creatures the faun avoided rather than fought, and Ilbur searched the trees for their territorial signs, the earth for their footprints. Something stung again his neck. He slapped his hand down, expecting an ant, but what came back in his fingers was a tiny arrow. Another sting. Ilbur yelped, scrambling over the roots back towards the glass golem. An arrow stabbed into the back of his calf. From the trees above, hordes of little insect-men were descending on buzzing wings and dragonfly mounts. And in the distance, he heard footsteps. Large, trodding foosteps. Ilbur felt fuzzy. His vision was dissolving into many, many grains of colored sand, and they were buzzing about, like little bees. Stinging little bees. He cried out in agony as his feet tangled against a root and he went down, stings digging into the backs of his legs. It would have been so easy to fall asleep, to collapse right then and there. The darkness was waiting for him. It was on the edge of his vision already, creeping in on the distorted fuzzing static of the world. In the distance something roared. He fought his way up. He put one foot in front of the other, although little needle-arrows rained down on his back. A cold, smooth hand gripped his shoulder. Ilbur fell forward into the glass faun¡¯s grip. A cold, wet nose nuzzled him into consciousness. Every ray of light was a brick lobbed through the windows of his soul. Somewhere above him, the glass golem was fighting desperately against an enormous lion with a mane of biting snakes. The serpents sprayed gouts of black bile from their open mouths, melting the faun¡¯s glass body where they landed, and the beast swept out with its claws, threatening the golem¡¯s weakened flesh. The fox-mother stood above him, a dead faerie clutched in her jaws. She prodded at him, and when he only let out a weak grumble, slashed his cheek open with her claws. Ilbur, for the millionth time, lifted himself from the dirt and leaves of the forest floor. His whole body was a sore pain. His eye refused to see distinct objects, only blurs of color. The golem was a spreading stain of green, the lion a vast blot of gold. The sled¡­ The sled! It was being pulled away by a swarm of faeries, straining together in a great flock of fluttering, iridescent wings. Ilbur ran forward, seizing the vine ropes and giving them a hard, whip-crack shake. Tiny bodies flew in all directions, and where they struck the earth Ilbur brought his mud-stained boots stomping down over them. Shouldering the reins, he turned and began to run in the opposite direction, towards the silver door, fighting to keep his legs underneath him as the tips of his toes tangled on the snaking tree roots that slithered across the ground. The sled bumped and lurched behind him, spilling off treasures. And the faeries rallied. Pain slashed across the backs of his legs as they made bombing runs, cutting at him with tiny sabers, the wounds burning hot with poison. He lifted a hand to shield his good eye as arrows pelted his face, making his cheeks swell. Behind him, there was a musical crash of glass breaking. He turned, eye going wide, to see the glass faun staggering back. Its right arm had been completely broken away, the sword stuck through the lion¡¯s left shoulder. Serpents coiled around the faun¡¯s legs, trying to trip it up. Trying to pull it down so the lion could rip it to pieces. In that moment, the glass golem let out an ear-piercing, violent harmony. A crystalline noise on the very edge of perception that rose and rose in intensity. Ilbur clutched his ears, diving to the ground, as above him, the faerie riders suddenly began to fall from the sky. Their balance simply left them as the note rang out, causing them to topple from their dragonfly mounts. The lion let out a confused, pained whimper, the serpents of its mane losing their coordination. With one slash of its sword, the glass golem severed its legs free and vaulted away before the beast could recover. It ran past Ilbur, and he rose, seizing the vines of the sled again and pulling on. The poison was threatening to overwhelm again, making the world come apart into drifting particles of static. He fought through. His lungs burned, unable to suck in enough air as he desperately ran and ran and ran- Somewhere in the blind run, as his whole body seemed to tighten with strain, on the verge of breaking, he heard a roar. Not from the lion, or from a distant behemoth. It was the sound of his father, boiling over with anger at their captors, bloodlust in his veins and burning in his eyes. But his father wasn''t here. It was him. Somehow, with barely enough breath in his chest to keep him going, he was letting out a long, victorious howl. A last surge of strength took away his exhaustion. His legs flew across the ground, without weight. And suddenly the air was different, cooler, full of the deep and comforting damp of the underground, the bitter taste of stone, the loamy scent of fungal forests. His feet met hard rock instead of soft soil. He let himself topple forward, exhausted, as the last of his vision blurred to a confused nothing. He was home. Home. When had it become home? 2.22 Tribute The glass faun spilled through the portal to the Everforest, missing an arm and covered in black bile. It turned back, and for a single moment I saw what looked like concern in the language of its body, as it stared through the silver doorway. Then Ilbur crashed through as well, pulling with him a sled that overturned and spilled furs and trinkets of bone. Tiny arrows bristled from the backs of his arms like the spines of a porcupine. Rats swarmed across him. They were here in the dozens, in the hundreds. Argent had called and they had answered. Now they sniffed curiously at the orc, the groaning pile of blubber. Cabochon bent over him, lifting the boy over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carrying him towards the glass gazebo. The golem bowed to me, and followed. That left the rats. Argent scrambled atop the severed head of an enormous, beautiful monstrosity, blood red ridges of feathers running across leathery, scale-armored skin. Its mouth was open in a permanent predatory smile, teeth like knives. The rats gathered beneath her in teeming swarms. There was a hidden city built atop my Dungeon, in the long tunnel that led upwards towards Vaulder¡¯s cafe. Rats built their dens into the walls, carving out countless burrows and caverns by their gnawing, and rats tended to secret forests, plantings of fungal spore from my own gardens taking root in rich soil to feed the thriving metropolis that sprawled into unseen multitudes. Stone-tusk rats like goliaths among their people. Wallflowers clever and intricate in their thinking. Blightclaw rats fierce fighters all. Webweavers shunned and feared for their strange ways. It was no longer fair to call them merely a part of my own Dungeon. They were a legion unto themselves, loyal to Argent and thus to me, but as for what happened in those miniature cities, even I could barely keep track of a fraction. But when Argent called, they came. A swarm. A plague. An army waiting for their command. I had a challenge for them. And an honor second only to Argent¡¯s. She conveyed my words to them. I HAVE CREATED, FROM A COMMON RAT, A WARRIOR. My ratfolk loomed above them. In his paws he held a crude spear carved from fungal shoots, the dense waxy chitin fire-hardened to form a point. OF YOU, ALL DUNGEON-BORN RATS HAVE A CHANCE TO BECOME MORE. TO FIGHT FOR YOUR QUEEN AND YOUR PEOPLE. I WILL GRANT THIS PRIZE TO THREE RATS. THOSE THREE THAT BRING ME THE MOST BEAUTIFUL OBJECTS. I GIVE YOU ONE WEEK. FOR THOSE NOT BORN OF THE DUNGEON, ANOTHER CHALLENGE AND ANOTHER PRIZE. TO THOSE THREE WHO BRING ME THE MOST USEFUL INFORMATION, I WILL GRANT A BOUNTY OF STRENGTH AND CUNNING. NOW GO. My words dispersed them, the sea of ratty bodies with whiskered faces lifted up towards Argent on her high perch breaking at once; breaking into chaos, they scrambled and fought one another to be the first into the tunnels, to lead the way up into the waking world where they would find their prizes. I had started a stampede. Perhaps- and only to spare the secret entrance from being discovered - perhaps I should have warned Vaulder about all this. I turned my attention briefly towards the gazebo, where the boy lay recuperating. It seemed he would live, and better yet, that the glass golem had accumulated enough Mana to evolve. Both concerns for later. For now¡­ CABOCHON. I HAVE A TASK FOR YOU TOO. ¡°Yes, Maker.¡± He replied, lifting his gaze into the air where he imagined I resided. I could sense the eagerness to serve, the want for my attention, through his voice alone without looking into his mind. YOU MUST BUILD A HUNTING GROUNDS. IT WILL STAND ABOVE THE BREACH, AND CHALLENGE THE HUMANS. ¡°It will be done.¡± He answered. And with that, I was free to indulge myself. The glass golem had returned with a bounty, and I wouldn¡¯t let a single present go to waste. I was going to enjoy this. The first appetizer was the tooth of an enormous jungle cat that hunted by way of numerous eyes patterned on its brilliant orange pelt. Every eye was capable of magical sight, making it a supreme observer. Next, a horned rabbit that bore an innate ability with illusions. A six-armed monkey with six eyes. Grey eels with electrified bodies that swim through the air like ribbons of stormcloud.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. I ate and ate. The Everforest was home to a thousand species. On my plate were fragments of shell from pale spiders that spun musical webs to lure lovestruck birds who believed they were answering a mate¡¯s call. The petals of a parasitic plant that seized its victims as puppet defenders. But the prize of the feast was the enormous head of the terror bird, its flesh dense with Mana. Full grown, the specimen must have been the size of a house. By the time I had finished dissolving the tributes into flames of purest Mana, I had reached Overflow. The world went white, and I felt satisfied.
You have created - The Lantern of the Merchant A Dungeon Trader is being summoned towards your domain. Please wait.
That night, the soldiers guarding the breach saw something that would haunt their nightmares; enormous spiders hauled themselves out of the rift, their carapaces made of rough grey stone, their legs covered in coarse black hairs. Beady eyes regarded the men in their shining armor. And ignored them. The spiders spread outwards, the guard steadily falling back. The entire district had been damaged by the earthquake that tore the Dungeon open. Now, the spiders ripped down the fallen houses, pushed away the rubble. The people camped in the ruins had no choice but to flee as the insatiable stone monsters advanced. From their spinnerets, they wove threads of black granite. The chief of the guard fled back to inform Governor Kedlin and the new Lord-Protector. By the time the two arrived, in a sumptuous carriage, it was too late. The dome had already begun to form. From the base of the cleared district, the spiders were weaving up a new construction, lifting it higher and higher. By midmorning the walls were two stories high. People gathered to see, sitting and watching the eight-legged horrors crawling along the edges, weaving thread after thread of silvery material that hardened into rough black stone. The braver picked up fallen bricks and hurled them at the goliath spiders. They bounced off, ineffective. By noon, the walls were beginning to curve inwards to meet, and half the city¡¯s army stood arrayed around the dome¡¯s great edge. Just in case the spiders grew hungry. In the end it took five days to finish the vast dome. Just five days to replace a two-acre wide chunk of the city with a black, ominous dome. And for all those five days, the people of Caltern would glance towards the edges of the rising monolith, see the eight-legged shadows crawling there, and shudder. This merchant was taking their own sweet time to arrive. I had almost completed my preparations for the hunting grounds by the time the spiders finished. Cabochon was leading them, and I would leave it to him to determine all the small details, the flourishing touches that would be needed if it was to live up to my standards. I simply took care of the creatures. To start with, I created the base of a mycelium colony, a ball of tightly clustered roots fed on dense Mana and bred to expand rapidly, bringing green life to the hunting grounds. To augment it, I created several more ¡®spore-hearts¡¯ for differing species. Born from my tribute from the Everforest, the beasts of the hunting ground would be simple predators, but with an artistic touch. I started with the birds. Flightless and the size of a man, they strode on long, claw-footed legs, their bodies covered with shocking plumes of orange, while their short arms spread feathers of mottled black and white. Their heads were skeletal white and reptilian, with staring eyes in deep stains of black. Heavy claws the color of obsidian were meant for seizing prey, while vicious kicks and bites would bring down the foe. Pack hunters, they would serve as the frontline for the hunting grounds. To accompany them, I combined a few of their traits with common crows caught in my spiders webs over the weeks. In specific I took the crow¡¯s basic shape and made it bigger, much bigger, with the clawed wings and deadly talons of a terror bird. I even added a blade-like protrusion to the beak, making a chopping edge like an axe. What I kept was their capacity for flight, least in short bursts, and their unique vocal cords. They would be able to mimic human speech. And speaking of mimicking humans, my final addition to the hunting grounds were based on the six-armed monkeys, with eight eyes now to go with their eight limbs. I gave them a spider¡¯s regenerative powers, augmented to the extreme to let them come back from even vicious wounds. Able to wield crude spears and hurl rocks they would serve as an excellent harassing force. In short, I had no intention of making this easy.
[ Feathered Terror ]
With excellent coordination within their packs, these deadly predators from another time can take down foes many times their size. Their fearsome plumage shines in the undergrowth of the jungle.
[ Axebeak Corvid ]
With mocking voices and fierce intellects, axebeaks hunt from above, descending to finish off stragglers and the unwary.
[ Eight-Limbed Howler ]
A hideous mix of ape and arachnid, the eight-limb howler''s cries disturb the peace of the jungle, and they roam in great congregations in the branches, harassing invaders below.
That was when I heard clapping, and found the merchant had already arrived in my Dungeon, sitting on a rock smoking a long bone pipe. Ghosts and phantasms curled in the stream of smoke. He had the rough shape of a human but the head and striped fur of a tiger, and wore multiple layers of robes, yellow silk and dark hides, with dangling bands of threaded seashells and teeth hanging across his chest. His hands bent backwards, making the act of clapping rather difficult to do. ¡°Excellent, excellent. You and I will be able to do business together, without a doubt. You have the senses of an artist, my newfound friend.¡± 2.23 Destination Every time Tyrna came to Caltern, the city made less sense to her. The color and the noise grew more chaotic, the streets filthier, the nobles in their high palanquins more decked in gold. Beggars swarmed the outer gates like flies, unable to pay to be let in. And if they did get any coin, they¡¯d spend it on the gate fee, only to be kicked out for begging inside within the week. There was something sick and dependant about the city. Something self-consuming. That was why Tyrna didn¡¯t trust it. She carried a bundle of silver doe-skins tossed over her shoulders, a toothed pendant swaying from her neck as she bent. It was her lucky charm. In the wilds, skill was enough, but for the streets of Caltern, you needed luck. The gate fee had gone up. The market was so crowded, so full of human noise and stink, that Tyrna could barely think. Her mind came to her and left her in sudden waves, washed away by the clamour of the marketplace and creeping back in the rare moments of quiet. She thought she¡¯d been short-changed by the merchant, once she got free of the confusion. She thought she¡¯d have to find a way to live without Caltern, next year. The sights of the city swarmed over her in waves, like the lashing of a strange and colorful sea, and before she knew it she had washed up on the steps of her favorite place in the whole city- the quiet little temple of the owl-prophetess. Owls peeped and hooted from the eaves. Statues of forgotten saints, abandoned by their original temples, accumulated here, and here accumulated owls on their shoulders and heads, congregations of snowy, barn, desert, and horned. Owls from the world over. The prophetess herself was sweeping the stoop clean, humming a little song. ¡°My lady Strix.¡± ¡°Tyrna!¡± Underneath the owl-beak of her painted wooden mask, the oracle¡¯s face lit up, and she rushed down to squeeze the - much - taller woman into a tight hug. ¡°I thought you¡¯d be here tomorrow.¡± ¡°I saw the last sparrow of autumn perched on my hut, and thought, there¡¯s no sense putting things off. I¡¯d better go to Caltern. ¡°Sparrows!¡± She exclaimed with a laugh. ¡°That explains it. I can never account for them.¡± ¡°Did you have a dream about me?¡± Tyrna asked. She came here every time she visited the city for supplies, to ask about the migrations of animals and the yearly harvest, but this was the first time Strix had expected her. ¡°I went looking for one.¡± Strix said, and there was something odd in her expression. ¡°Tyrna, I have something to ask you.¡± ¡°Anything, my lady.¡± Strix reached into the many pockets of her hand-stitched robes and brought up a silver token on a leather cord. ¡°There is a Dungeon under Caltern.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve heard.¡± How could she miss the rumors, the gossip, the street-oracles proclaiming doom? The whole city was looking over its shoulders to the rising of the black dome. ¡°This is a token to hunt there. You can take four others with you.¡± Strix let out a sigh, pushing the back of her hand through her smooth dark hair. ¡°I need you to go there, and make what choices you will make.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t you even tell me what you want?¡± Tyrna was confused. She trusted the little prophetess, yes, but she was a hunter and a trapper, a merchant of skins and teeth. Not someone known for wisdom. ¡°No. Because you¡¯re the strongest person I know, and one of the most sensible. You¡¯ll see what you need to. I am¡­ too close to this.¡± She paused, and in a very small voice, said, ¡°The Dungeon claimed the life of someone dear to me.¡± Tyrna paused, and nodded. ¡°Where do I find my four others?¡± ¡°The Nameless Cafe.¡± The city of Caltern was getting stranger by the day. As the prophetess Strix left her temple, the little building by the main road where owls clustered on the thatch of the roof and perched on the moss-lined crags of the sainted statues, a procession walked by. They wore a chainmail of sorts, pieced together from coins with string through the middle, clanking and swaying about their otherwise nude bodies as they walked through the streets. They carried many-tailed whips, and one by one, they would shout ¡®repent!¡¯ and strike themselves on their bare backs.Stolen novel; please report. She waited a respectful distance, her little snow owl perched on her shoulder to see by, and pretended to be blind when one broke from the parade to shove a hat under her nose. It was an easy thing to pretend; her eyes were the clouded color of a storm at sea. Walking along the dusty roads, she came to a place where an old man sat on an overturned barrel, telling stories to children and glancing to their parents with a crooked smile in hopes of coin. ¡°C¡¯thain the Archer was distraught,¡± his story went, ¡°For if he didn¡¯t turn himself over to be executed, the giants would kill his family instead. Praying for guidance, he went to the cairn of his ancestors and shot seven arrows into the sky, asking the wind spirits to lead him. ¡°Not an arrow came down. He waited, and waited, and at last resigned himself. He would surrender to the giants. He saw his family just once, his wife clutching his hand through the bars of the cell. She fled to the wild places of the high wind-snarled mountains, taking his two children with, and their story is a myth of its own. ¡°That day, he was led from his cell and to the king of the giants, who gloated mightily, and asked where he would like to die. Answered C¡¯thain ¡®On the cairn of my ancestors.¡¯ ¡°The giants, seeing no reason to refuse him, led their hated enemy to that moss-tumbled hill. The king of giants himself lifted the executioners axe as C¡¯thain was knelt across the butcher¡¯s block. ¡°In that moment, the wind spirits finally let go of C¡¯thain¡¯s first arrow. It fell to pierce through the giant king¡¯s one enormous eye, and as he howled in the dark, C¡¯thain slipped away, running like a rabbit into the great forest. ¡°One by one, the arrows came down, guiding him away from the clever traps of elves and spiders, which the giants blundered into. The spirits of the wind guided to him to the Cave of Umber, but as for what he found inside, ahhh¡­¡± ¡°My throat is dry!¡± The old greybeard declared, clapping his book of stories shut. ¡°Perhaps if someone could lend me a copper penny for an ale? Anyone? No?¡± His expression was the epitome of hope, but quickly lost its luster as he realized none of the fish were biting. The parents took their children away, and he flicked his hand at the remaining street brats, shooing them off. ¡°Oh, poo. No ale no stories, and them¡¯s the rules.¡± Across the street from him, Strix found an empty box and climbed atop it, lifting her hands wide into the air and beginning to proclaim nonsense phrases like a street prophet. The man¡¯s expression dipped a notch lower into despondency. Street prophecy. That¡¯s where all the coin was. Climbing off his perch, grumbling to himself, the old storyteller made his way for greener pastures. Maybe this cafe he¡¯d heard so much about. Adventurers were always loose with a copper penny. So he hoped. Henri was just strolling the settling evening airs of Caltern, taking in the sights, feeling the streets beneath his worn-down boots. His head engrossed in the stars just beginning to gleam through the darkening sky, he walked directly into a small girl carrying a glass of fizzing drink. It splashed across his tunic and he startled backwards. ¡°Oh!¡± They both said simultaneously, To his horror, she was blind. ¡°Oh, gods sight, so clumsy of me!¡± Hurrying to pat her on the head, he winced. Just his luck. ¡°Let me get you another. Just hold on¡­¡± Henri paused, realizing this was the middle of the street, and he probably shouldn¡¯t leave a blind girl standing there. ¡°Riiiight here.¡± Taking her by the shoulders, he steered her to the side. All the time, not a peep out of the girl, just a confused, blank-eyed stare. Henri pitied her. Without his eyes, what would he be? Confused most of the time, probably. Leaving her there for the moment, he headed inside of the bustling little shop, the smell of fresh pastries and something sweet he couldn¡¯t place surrounding him. And Strix smirked. Tyrna was unsure what she was doing here. Surrounded by the bustle of people, by the sounds of their conversation, she was like a frightened rabbit. The silver token hung from her neck as she approached the countertop. A man was leaning over the counter, gesturing excitedly. A cleft twisted his lip and his brow loomed prominently. ¡°I¡¯m telling you, Vaulder, I can do this. I almost made it through the third level, and look-¡± He thrust out a golden locket, a tiny saint set in an archway of garnet. ¡°Mhurr-¡± The sandy-blonde haired twig of a boy behind the counter was saying, ¡°It¡¯s too dangerous. You don¡¯t know what¡¯s down there.¡± They spoke over one another, a confusing font of words. Tyrna shook her head like they were flies. ¡°Are you okay?¡± A cute young woman with frizzy brown locks was staring at her. ¡°Do you need to sit down?¡± ¡°I need¡­ a drink.¡± She threw a handful of small coins on the counter, from which the girl diligently picked precise change and shoved the rest back. ¡°Something strong, then.¡± The young woman said definitively. She moved to the great machine at the cafe¡¯s center, the gleaming pillar of brass with its winding inorganic viscera of pipes and rattling nozzles. It let out a great belch of steam and frothing milk liqueur, filling the slender glass to the brim. By the time she turned around, Tyrna had been caught. The cleft-faced man had seen the silver token hanging from her neck. ¡°Mhurr. Nolan Mhurr, at your service. I can¡¯t help but wonder if you¡¯re looking for companions to brave the hunting grounds with? I know a little spellcraft, myself.¡± He eagerly pressed, holding out his hand. She reluctantly took it, grasping a single finger between two of hers, and giving the smallest of shakes. ¡°Excuse me.¡± Smiling at her was a man with a large head and an odd baldness where his hair out to be, a light peachfuzz covering the scalp. ¡°If you¡¯re looking for allies, could I present myself? Henri. Just Henri.¡± Gods help her. It could have been one of her nightmares. 2.24 New Horizons Cabochon had been given a charge. An oblong egg of dark blue, larger than his skull. Once born, the creature that gestated within would quickly become too big to climb the Dungeon¡¯s narrow stairways, and be trapped on a lower layer. So it had to be this way. He would watch over the nascent guardian of the zeroth floor until it was ready to stand on its own. Over the past weeks, his work had become almost frantic. In zealous, studious slowness, he would take the lumps of clouded quartz brought to him by the stone-tusk rats, be it the soft honey color common to the earth here, the rarer soft pink of rose, or even the true prizes, the rutile quartzes with their needles of false gold cutting through the pale white. With his oils and his tools he would carefully slice away what was unfit, exposing the beauty within the stone, faceting them until the clouds of imperfections were gone and a sparkling core, fit to contain Mana, remained. Dozens of finished pieces, the largest as long as his pointer finger, waited in his study. He handled them with a religious care, lifting them to the long spear of light that descended from his everlamp and turning them so the light sparked against every facet. All this because he knew he must impress the Maker. That he must show his value. The love of the stones themselves was eclipsed by his desire to prove himself in the only field the Maker truly valued; beauty. A grand project was forming in his mind. The dome of the hunting grounds was grim, lightless. Huge towers of black stone rose, holding up the ceiling, their tops branching so they seemed like petrified trees. Cabochon¡¯s own suggestion to the dim leader of the stone-spinners. They lurched behind him in a steady line, carrying the fungal cores that would bring life to this desolate place. Cabochon instructed them in the planting, watching as feelers of mycelium like silver hairs crawled slowly outwards from the fleshy hearts, a vein-work patch of fine snow-white spreading over the black as the first core unfolded. From it grew tiny, thin shoots of glass, curling at their tops to hide tiny bulbs that glowed with an eerie green. Waves of the spiral shoots soon spread across the floor, providing a thick ¡®grass¡¯ of fruiting bodies. Taller stalks rose slowly, putting out a corkscrew pattern of thin fungal shelves, each turning slightly red at the ruffled edges to add a splash of color against the gloomy sea of waving emerald feelers below. This was the core born from the Somnolent Blooms, their pollen diluted to provide a constant haze rather than an explosive burst of poison. The next to surface had put its roots deeper underground, in twisting inner mazes beneath the churned dirt and the remains of the cobblestone streets. Up from the earth pushed enormous, lopsided cups of red, their underbellies gilled by scalloped lines of purple. They were joined by grey, tiered mushrooms like strange organic pagodas, one flat and wrinkled cap after another expanding. Roots climbed the stone pillars of the false trees, spreading bubbling pink-freckled blobs of white, the mutant offspring of the Bursting Bloom, to be tended by enormous variants of the cultivator ants. Soon, the open, gloomy space beneath the dome had been replaced by a vibrant jungle, a sea of emerald in which pale white mushroom-flesh took on a poison gleam, and the soft pinks of the bloody cups and the blooming stalks went dark as blood. With rounded, organic shapes, it seemed almost like the inside of some vast beast, some behemoth. Cabochon saw potential as he laid the egg in a nest of woven mushroom-grasses. Yes, he could work with this. Reaching out, he called to his power. It was weak. Too weak to be compared with the Dungeon¡¯s. But it was his, and it grew by the day, allowing him the tiniest strength to shape the world. Slowly, a flame of Mana congealed within his palm. He whispered rune-words to it, fed it with his murmured dreams. All his mind was given to a single thought, a visualization of a butterfly, and slowly, the fire condensed inwards into the four-winged shape. But not any butterfly. The creature that loomed in the blue smoke and flame that emanated from his palm was as tall as a man. The petite scales of its wings were panels of luminous blue and bottle-green, with striations of midnight purple, and from its abdomen descended two longs tails. Each was threaded with countless razor sharp hairs, arrayed in long bladed fans. They glimmered in the color of steel. A butterfly with whip thin sword-tendrils. He smiled as the fire collapsed inwards, forming flesh. Forming his first creation.
[ Blade Butterfly ]
With beautiful wings and deadly tails, this beast is an ambush predator, hypnotizing with the glory of its body and swiftly taking lives. It will carry its prey into the heights to slowly rot, drinking the corpse once it has fermented to mush.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Golden dust rained from its wings as it took flight, rising from him into the sky. It brought a faint smile to the Arachne¡¯s frigid, often-cruel face. He drew deeper on the little flame that lived in his chest, drawing it forth until his fingers began to tremble. Still too weak. Still too small. But this much he could do. Clouded deposits of rust-red and emerald-green appeared on the trunks of the vast stone ¡®trees¡¯ - real petrified forests would be glimmering, alive with the light reflected on the mineral encrustations forced out onto the bark as the wood turned to stone. He made it so. At his will, one of the trees cracked open, revealing a geode-heart of clouded blue. The humans would flock to steal the glittering treasures exposed. Weakness came over him suddenly, and his legs nearly failed him. His human body swung forward, sweat dripping from his brows, darkness washing over him in waves; he spent a long time in that between-place on the line of consciousness, chasing the feeling of power that had come over him in the instant before he collapsed. The ability to shape life out of Mana. What a thing it was. It was too precious to waste. Slowly lifting himself, he turned towards the ceiling. Although life twined its way up the pillars, the sky was still lifeless and dour black, save for the fluttering colors of his butterfly. It would not do. ¡°I must say, not many Dungeons have your taste¡­¡± The newcomer took his pipe in his backwards-bending hand and puffed out a cloud of scintillating blue smoke. A ghostly woman formed within the rising corkscrew of azure, dancing. He stood on the edge of the final island, pacing the edges, letting the illusion of the silver tree break and reform as he turned to examine it from different angles. ¡°Which is the whole nature of our predicament.¡± He tapped ash from the pipe, little droplets of grey landing in the clear waters to be gobbled up by Brides of Heaven. I had relocated the wondrous fish here, where they would be safer. ¡°You see, not many Dungeons would care for your creations. Beautiful, yes, but not¡­¡± The tiger snapped his clawed fingers. ¡°Here, here, let me show you¡­¡± Opening the outermost of his robes, he drew out a crystal of purest white, cracked through with veins of blue. ¡°This wonderful thing draws spirits and discarnate ghosts. A soul bauble. You see how such a thing could be useful to any Dungeon¡­¡± His way of talking was to never properly stop, but let the end of each sentence stretch into a purr. It made him an almost hypnotizing orator, with his lazy tiger drawl curling up each syllable into a satisfied, musical note. I could have listened for hours. ¡°Or here, look here¡­¡± Again from his cloak, which seemed to have different pockets and different treasures each time he opened it up, he drew a thin vial corked with a silver stop. Something like golden oil sparkled within. ¡°Accumulated life Manas, fit to evolve any creature they touch. Better yet, I can sell you a flower that produces them endlessly. A fountain of adaptations and mutations...¡± Frost traced the surface of the still pool, spelling words in gentle floats of ice. DO YOU HAVE A WAY TO RESTORE BROKEN ATTUNEMENTS ¡°Broken attunements. My. Yes, yes, but¡­¡± A faint smile played around his lips. A tiger¡¯s smile could never be called gentle. ¡°Expensive!¡± He blew a gate of smoke in the air and stepped through, vanishing. When he reappeared it was atop a large, painted wagon, drawn by two goats, pure white and pure black. MARVELO¡¯S read the great sign on the side, with its sky-blue swirls of smoke and red lettering. Leaping down, he patted his bleating beauties and stepped up, opening the wagon¡¯s side to reveal a menagerie within. From elephants with tusks made of purest skygrist, to what looked like grey-scaled wyverns, they were all shrunken to the size of mice, caged with tiny dangling prisons of gold. He took one by the chain it dangled from and held it up to my inspection. A golden stag. From the moment I saw it, I knew I had to have it. My world turned on my ability to own that beautiful creature, to possess it, to drink its blood and make myself whole. ¡°A god-sired beast. Fit to grant a fresh Attunement to replace the last. For my troubles, I cannot take Mana, not for a prize like this. I require¡­¡± He made it sound like the most reasonable thing in the world. ¡°Payment in kind. Deal?¡± I could almost have fallen for his glamours, if I hadn¡¯t so recently been waylaid by the corruption¡¯s intoxicating madness. Instead, I made the Mana around him writhe with anger, until he squirmed uncomfortably and released the spell with a laugh. Instantly, he seemed far less impressive - his fur was shabby and threadbare, patches fallen away entirely, his eyes limned with grey slime. His robes were tatty and stitched-together. ¡°Damn.¡± He cursed, and laughed again. ¡°But the deal, the deal you¡¯ll find is very fair. I merely want your fabulous snake, oh yes, a prize beast he is, and-¡± NO. I made the wind roar the word, tossing back his layers of robes and making his pendants jangle as his own words were thrown back, lost in the all-consuming howl. NO. It echoed from every direction. Grimacing, he bent himself into a bow. ¡°Very well, very well. No need to get snippish¡­¡± Leaping onto his wagon, he cracked the reigns, relighting his pipe after my outburst wicked the coals to nothing. ¡°In one month I will return. If you have anything worth trading¡­¡± With that snide remark, he puffed a smoke-gate and drove through it, gone. And good riddance. It was only afterwards that I noticed Aurum writhing in dismay, searching high and low. At first I mistook him, trying to console him, promising with waves of affection that I would never- But he already knew that. No. Something was missing. I was short one kobold. 2.25 The Heroes A sign hung over the Nameless Cafe - RAT FREE. Slightly above it was another, crossed out - SORRY ABOUT THE RATS. Tyrna pinched the bridge of her nose, breathing slowly. She settled into a chair outside the cafe, blindly bumping the rim of the glass to her teeth and taking a sip. It was sweet, sweeter than anything she¡¯d tasted since she was a child, with a burnt caramel flavor beneath the milk liquor. The frothing mix clung to her tongue and tingled. Across the street, children sat spellbound as an old man told stories. Crows cawed on the rooftops, rats scuttled through the gutters. ¡°Alright.¡± She opened her eyes again. ¡°Henri-¡± The peach-fuzz bald man with his big, curious eyes and overly kind smile. He kept glancing around looking for someone. ¡°Mhurr-¡± Squinting and scholarly. She¡¯d give him three days in the wilds. ¡°Why should I take you with me?¡± ¡°Well, not to brag, but¡­¡± With the confident grin of someone definitely about to brag, Nolan Mhurr traced his fingers lightly through the air, scoring out a ring of letters in golden fire. He pressed his clenched fists together, knuckle to knuckle, and rotated them in opposite directions; the runic circle began to turn. A floating blob of water materialized in the center, droplet after droplet peeling from the moisture in the air and rolling together to form a shimmering, wavering glob of blue. ¡°I do know a little spellcraft.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not much use to me, is it? Unless you can make weapons¡­¡± Tyrna was doubtful that parlor tricks would count much against a Dungeon that defended itself with tooth and claw. ¡°Well.¡± He twisted his fingers together, forming a complicated knot of golden lines, a spell-diagram. Turning the water-sphere skyward, he flicked the diagram free from his fingers - and the blob of water shot forward in a spray of pressurized foam and froth, jetting high into the sky with a force that flung a thin mist of water in all directions. The strength behind it only lasted a second. The people on the streets below ducked and the children rushed in as a sudden scattering of shining raindrops came falling down, splattering the muddy street. ¡°Ta-da!¡± He shook his fingers out, wearing a grin. ¡°It¡¯s enough.¡± She said, slowly. A mage would probably be handy. ¡°And you?¡± She turned to the bald man. He held up a finger, and cupped his hands to his mouth, breathing a pale mist that glowed with incandescent sparks of white. It conglomerated into a little floating sphere of ghostly light. With a flick of his finger, he directed it to circle around his head. ¡°I can see through these. If I put enough of them together, I can even make them do some harm. I¡¯m a scout by trade. First to have a map of the Dungeon¡¯s western front. I hope to be the first to map the whole thing.¡± She nodded. ¡°Useful.¡± Thankfully, she didn¡¯t have to waste breathe on social niceties; they were eager enough to accompany her to ignore that she could have had the manners of a grunting bull. ¡°How do you do that?¡± Mhurr inquired, lifting a small lens of rune-etched blue glass to his eye and examining Henri. ¡°Born feytouched.¡± Was all he said, with a small and secretive smile. ¡°Pardon me.¡± A middle-aged man with a sword on either hip laid his black-gloved hand on the table. He was wiry, vaguely handsome, with greying hair in a swirled coiffe. ¡°Are you recruiting for the hunting grounds?¡± ¡°Only by accident.¡± Tyrna griped, settling back in her chair with her legs crossed, her arms folded. She studied him carefully. Here was a warrior on the decline. His body was still lean and muscular, but his eyes were rimmed with crows feet and he wouldn¡¯t be as quick on his feet anymore. She didn¡¯t like his clothes; a foppish little half cape and high, expensive leather boots marked him as a rich man. ¡°But I suppose you should tell me your name and why I should bother with you.¡± ¡°Caiorre.¡± He introduced himself, pronouncing it with a care, kay-or with a roll of the tongue at the end, that said he was used to it being mangled in the mouths of Caltern¡¯s citizens. Tyrna could sympathize. ¡°And you should give me your attention because you will not find a better swordsman in a hundred miles.¡±Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Tyrna flung her glass at him. His left-side sword made a beautiful, resonating sound as it left its scabbard, striking the glass in half as it sung through the air. More impressive was the dancing step that took him out of the way as droplets of sickly sweet milk sprayed out from the neatly halved tumbler. ¡°You know, you have to pay for those.¡± Mhurr put in, as the crash of glass hitting the ground faded. ¡°Sure.¡± She shrugged. ¡°He¡¯s in. One more.¡± And she waited. A prophetess had sent her this way, and with prophecy, sometimes you just had to wait. Noting the long silence, Mhurr glanced about. ¡°Well, we should advertise¡­¡± ¡°Shhh.¡± ¡°We could put out a sign, or ask around...¡± He continued. ¡°Just. Wait.¡± She hissed. And like clockwork, the old man on the other side of the street finished his story, shooing off the urchins. He rose, dusting out his faded blue robes with faint memories of gold thread. With a gleam in his eye, he stepped forward. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious.¡± Mhurr said. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, may I present, from far-away lands, none other than Draig Eldrikson!¡± Striking a pose with one arm behind his back and the other lifted to the air, he bent at the waist, surprisingly spritely, bowing in high fashion to the lot. Even Tyrna was taken aback. And the more she thought about it, the more Strix maybe hadn¡¯t meant she had to take the first four who offered. ¡°And why-¡± ¡°- why choose me? What do I have to offer, old and grey that I am?¡± He cut her off, stroking the sharp point of his beard. Ragged though he was, his hair was expertly combed, and there was something about him that age had yet to fade. ¡°Because I am a spiritist, madame, a binder.¡± ¡°A shaman?¡± Henri lifted an eyebrow. ¡°You have to be kidding me.¡± Mhurr stated bluntly. The swordsman kept quiet. Good. Tyrna decided she¡¯d like him despite his money. Theirs would be a friendship of mutual silence. A silence the old man happily took to filling up with the sound of his own voice. ¡°Now, you young adventurers, bold of blade and heart, seek the Dungeon¡¯s core. But once you get there, ah, once you get there, you still need to strike a bargain. To make a Contract. Now-¡± He reached to his side and took up a book that hung from a leather strap, the cover cracked and crumbling. Flicking it open, he pressed his splayed fingertips to the ancient, yellowed page. ¡°I happen to specialize in making deals with spirits, of all sorts.¡± As he drew his hand back, a grey mist clung to his fingers. Within the billowing cloud that blew up, making the edges of the pages flutter, a spectral rabbit danced. He waved his hand through the air and it followed, hopping along. And when the book snapped shut, mist and rabbit broke apart. ¡°I¡¯ll be.¡± Mhurr was speechless, but only for a moment. ¡°A real spiritist. I thought you all died out. You¡¯ll have to explain to me-¡± The old man coughed suddenly, cutting the young scholar off with a wrenching, dusty hacking. ¡°Oh my, how dry my throat is. I worry I might cough up a stone if I keep talking.¡± ¡°Wait one second, I¡¯ll get you a cider and you can tell me all about your craft, old fellow.¡± She almost laughed despite herself. Mhurr was as easy to pull along as a puppet on a string. ¡°Here. She¡¯s gone anyway.¡± With a last glance around and a sigh, Henri offered the glass of sparkling cider he¡¯d been holding on to. Ribbons of Kathe¡¯s elixir tinted the drink a sunset amber. ¡°Ah, thank you young man.¡± With a weary groan, he sank into the chair opposite Tyrna. ¡°I never said you could join us.¡± She glared him down with a look of steel, but Draig barely bothered to meet her eyes. ¡°But you were going to.¡± He said curtly. And to that, she had no response but silence and anger. Even she could see he¡¯d folded himself into the group with or without her say. Like a cuckoo invading a nest. Sometimes she thought she¡¯d like to see the world the way others did, but on days like this, she wondered how they didn¡¯t see something so obvious. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking,¡± the swordsman finally said, ¡°What is it you do? It¡¯s your party, of course, but I have to know you¡¯re qualified.¡± She smiled, a thin cold smile. Rising from her chair she drew the bow from her back. It was made of supple blood-red wood, with short, blunt thorns that sprouted from the ends. She bent the bow, feeling the tense resistance build within, strung it expertly, and lifted it skywards. Three little specks flew above the city. Pigeons or thrushes. At this distance, they were inkblots on the canvas of the sun. ¡°No way.¡± She couldn¡¯t be sure who said it. Only that the hum of her bowstring spoke louder. The distance was staggering but the wind was calm. She let loose, and the arrow took so long to find its mark that they all breathed out, expecting she¡¯d missed. Surely she¡¯d missed. Nobody could make that shot. And then there were only two little inkblots, scattering in fright as the third fell and fell and fell. 2.26 Fire-Blossom
[Cave Kobold]
Born in lightless depths, these little creatures still dream of flight.
Name of the Nuisance - Songs played by this amateur bard bring chaos and disruption into the world, maddening all who listen.
By the time I had pieced things together, it was too late. The merchant was long gone to the winds, and with him went my kobold, Aurum¡¯s kobold. Whatever trace of draconic heritage the little creature had was worth enough for the rakshasa to kidnap him. Or maybe it wasn¡¯t a kidnapping at all. The kobolds relayed their side of the story, the naming of Break-Song and their fear of their eldest brother¡¯s newfound power. The distance that had grown between them. The fact that he hadn¡¯t confessed to Aurum showed his fear. Break-Song was trembling like a leaf, clutching his pipe. To confirm the matter, I reached out to name the leader of the stone-spinner spiders, granting him the title Goliath. Nothing. Backlash swept over me, dizzying me. The little runt had used up one of my names. And the easiest way to get it back would be to cull the little bard. The depths had been haunted by his incessant music long enough, and I had every reason to disapparate him. The Name should go somewhere worthy. Even now, his brothers were inching away from him, perhaps fearing a rain of fire or a pillar of light would blot him from existence. But. I refused. This wasn¡¯t how things were done. Without my creations and their liveliness, my underground world would narrow to a gloom-filled hall of death, a grave waiting to swallow adventurers, the greedy, the madly ambitious; I would go mad myself soon. There was a preciousness to the lives of my creations, and I refused to begin treating them callously. A thing only has the value you give it. Even if this one had managed to fray my nerves with his supposed music, I wasn¡¯t going to kill him. He was, for better or worse, my creation. I sent waves of reassurance to wrap around the shivering little creature, and sent him off to join his brothers. Left strangely exhausted by the whole affair, I pondered. It would be almost impossible for me to get the kobold back now, not knowing how the merchant moved or where he went; he was interwoven with the nature of Dungeons in a way that seemed to give him rare powers. Worse, I had been given a wake-up call. Other Dungeons that existed in this world were far beyond me. They all had their own way of growing, of prospering. I was rare in terms of skill and taste but far behind in developing unique adaptations. The mountains I had before me were tall, perhaps never-ending, and I had been myopic to focus so much on mundane defense. I was eclipsed by the shadows of Dungeons past, who¡¯d sought unique roads to power. I considered that it might be time to allow one of the Fortune shards to be found. I had nurtured the first for more than a month now, and it was surely ripe for the picking. There was also the Everforest. With my stone-spinners, it wouldn¡¯t be impossible for me to expand out from the doorway and begin to consume the magic-rich world beyond. Yes, I could see quite a lot of potential that way; even the trees would be inundated with Mana after thousands of years of growth. The only risk was attracting the attention of the behemoths.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. And finally, there were the earth-geodes. The rich earthen Mana within had the power to mutate my creations, and who knows what use the stones themselves could be put towards. Three avenues that all deserved my attention. A missing kobold. A disconsolate serpent. The last, at least, I could solve now. Aurum was rising, up from his cave in the mouth of the enormous face, up through the feeding trough of silver fish and the muddy web of underwater tunnels that lurked beneath the glass Gardens. Up through the breach itself, into the hunting grounds. His green-gold scales and scuttling legs poured through the breach, curling upwards, head lifting as he let loose a furious howl that split his tripart mouth apart and rent the dense, damp jungle air. I ordered the stone-spinner spiders to open the doorways we had prepared. It was time to let the poor fools come to seek their fortune in. Bit by bit, they carved an arch into the dome, an opening And I, meanwhile, had a glimmering of an idea. I sent my kobolds - what kobolds I had left - to fetch the dark iron coins mingled into Aurum¡¯s horde. In the rocks of the empty sixth island, I made a crude furnace, a crack in the earth where I grew a dense interweave of plant matter to serve as fuel, growing it without inner water that could stifle the burning. Instead I coated them with a waxy, oily substance to help the flame catch on. I sprinkled dusts of iron and other metals over the fire-bed. And then I formed stones, filling the ¡®furnace¡¯ with stones rich in the base materials of quartz. I understood, in essence, that the same ingredients that made up quartz crystals were found in the rudest stone. It was simply a matter of formation and ratio that made them form into semi-precious gems. As for how the circumstances arranged for such a jewel to be born, I knew only that it happened within the molten churn of the earth. I had chosen quartz for my experiment because it was common, meaning the circumstances of its birth couldn¡¯t be altogether rare. The kobolds returned, emptying their hands to rain coins of dark iron into my smelter. I had accumulated enough that it took them three trips, carrying them in cast-off bits of rag to avoid scalding their hands against the cruel metal. I fed Mana into the kindling, feeding as much latent energy as I could into that dense bed of flammable material. The scorpion-tailed kobold paused with flint and a silver dagger and struck a spark, running away as it slowly, slowly floated down. There was a hissing HOOPH as the ignition lifted into the sky, a raw burst of dragon-flame spraying off sparks in a huge cascading ribbon of fire. White as winter. Red as dawn. Within, a shifting core of blue danced wildly, and I did my best to seal the hellish crater, working stone in from the edges, but it boiled away as fast as I could grow it. The sparks began to settle, drifting like a thousand fireflies. The kobolds continued their retreat as little blazes sprung up, taking root among the thick fleshy vines that covered the island. I had thought they were too full of waters and saps to catch fire, but the sheer heat was withering them down to something dry and flammable. But - it was working. Within the crater, the stones were beginning to melt, dissolving into a molten slurry of silica and other ingredients of quartz. The air within wavered and danced wildly. The walls crumbled inwards, filling in a trickle of other stoney materials, and the whole mixture began to sink, melting the earth away beneath. The sheer Mana poured into the plants was coming out as they burned, and strange things began to happen. As the molten rock spread outwards, and the twisting thorny vines burnt to crisps of cinders, new sprouts began to rise. They were so pale they seemed like the ghosts of the dying plant matter below, but as they reached up they blossomed into blue flowers, flowers of flame, perfect cups of wavering azure with four petals each a teardrop of fire. Something new came out of that pit, climbing up the pillar of spitting flame. Vines of white and flowers of blue. I sensed a life within. An elemental was forming, threading its body of living flame through the earth and lifting new blossoms skywards. The sixth island had become a land of flame. I waited hours for the stone to cool. Above, the first humans were stepping in to the jungle of the hunting grounds. They were the criminals I¡¯d been promised, bound together with chains; one by one their wardens unshackled them, handed them a knife, and sent them forward into the undergrowth at spearpoint. Lying in wait was Aurum, Cabochon, and my deadly beauties. I was caught between the desire to see the expressions of these first challengers as they beheld the zeroth floor and the need to see my project¡¯s completion. I hovered between the two, nervous, agitated. It was strange, since I intended the world I had created to become their grave, but I cared deeply what they thought of it. I wanted horror. I wanted wonder. I wanted appreciation. 2.27 First Culling Cabochon felt cold. It was a deep, gnawing lack of heat, one that made his fingers tremble in numb spasms as he lifted them skywards. The stone spinner spiders crawled across the vault of the ceiling weaving bridges of stone, forming a mesh that he turned as white as cloud, threading veins of silver into the latticework that spanned the false sky. Between the mesh, in the diamond-shaped gaps, he built lamps of blue crystalline salt and everflame, creating the illusion of a blue sky. Or- he tried to. He tried until he felt short of breath, and his head resonated with a distant ringing. Chunks of everflame and crystal broke away, raining into the dense jungle below like falling stars. Aeslin was ugly as sin, and he wasn¡¯t much better on the inside. He was tall, brutishly muscular with stocky legs and long, ape-like arms, and he stank so bad the men chained next to him had tears in their eyes. Once upon a time he¡¯d liked to make shoes out of skin. Human skin. The only reason he was still alive was he¡¯d threatened a death-curse on the executioner who ended him, and the threat had stuck, becoming legend as he was left to rot in his cell, rearing generations of pet rats and crafting strange idols from their bones. They¡¯d chained him at the back of the line, to keep the rest of them moving from fear. One by one he¡¯d seen the other prisoners let free, handed a knife, and pushed into the jungle. Soon it would be his turn. He was shivering with anticipation. In the distance, a blazing shard of flame fell from the ceiling. They could see it ripple, changing before their eyes, spiders crawling the ceiling like perverse angels putting a false heaven in place. Aeslin drooled at the sight. He had a taste for spider-meat, a supplement to the dry bread of prison, and they were juicy morsels to him. The guards hesitated, glancing at the last three prisoners. The rest had already been let go into the jungle. The crash of the ¡®falling star¡¯ echoed, and was answered by hoots and howls from within the dense foliage. Something roared, something enormous. ¡°You know what?¡± The lead guard had screwed up his courage, and he glanced to his comrades. ¡°Fuck all of this.¡± He hurled the keys overhand, out into the strange flora of the bizarre jungle. ¡°Go fetch.¡± The other two hesitated. Aeslin grinned, and yanked them forward by their chains. They yelped, but he was already reeling them in like sweet little fishes, winding the chains around his arms to drag them closer, closer, into the ogre-stink of his breath. ¡°My fine lil¡¯ pets. My companions dear and lubberly.¡± He cooed to them. ¡°Oh we are going to have fun together.¡± They sweated in sweet fear of him. ¡°The first thing we do,¡± he explained oh so softly, ¡°Is find usselves someone with a knife, and we get the knife, forceful-like.¡± There was a southern gate, and a northern one. That was the deal. Anyone coming from the south was a tribute, a sacrifice. Anyone from the north was a hunter and a contender. Lined up at the gates as shining guards checked their tokens, they joined the strangest lot of people Tyrna had ever found herself lumped in with. Her own group passed almost unnoticed- there were merfolk dressed in hide jackets and dangling necklaces of shark¡¯s teeth, an eight-foot goliath in full plate that made him seem like a titan of steel, a man with what looked like a winged serpent coiled around his arm. A studious dwarf who peered at the world through a jeweller¡¯s monocle was conversing with Mhurr as she tapped her foot, waiting for them to be sieved through the guard¡¯s solitary checkpoint. Minutes ticked by and she felt like a girl waiting for the circus. As if to complete the picture, Draig juggled an apple. Finally they reached the gate - it was a thing of ominous grandeur, two serpents entwined around engraved pillars, reaching out to grasp the a carving of the sun between their jaws. A step through, and the city was gone, confined to the archway of light behind them. Before them loomed a jungle of luminous plants, of many-colored glows ebbing and fading in steady rhythm as if the world had a pulse. Tyrna carefully took one step forward, then another. Tiny lanterns of fungal material came to light as she touched them, and softly drifted into the air. They were spherical, with nets of soft spongy tissue around a glowing core, lifting towards the ceiling as her boots knocked them from the thin stems that anchored them to the ground. A feathered lizard clung to a nearby tree, a sail-like fin jutting from its back. It opened its mouth and croaked-If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. She ducked as a jet of poison sprayed from its open mouth. Before she had even hit the ground, Caoirre had stepped in from behind her and plunged his blade through lizard and the petrified tree it perched on. He drew the beast back, skewered, and offered the twitching specimen to Mhurr. ¡°Our first kill. Little smaller than expected, eh?¡± The scholar noted, scooping the lizard into a little wooden box lined with preservation runes and dumping it into his pack. ¡°The poison will be worth something.¡± Henri said, whistling to call up three little wisps. One by one he flicked them into the jungle. ¡°But let¡¯s find something bigger¡­¡± Glowing, curl-topped grass brushed against the tops of their legs as they proceeded, following Henri¡¯s directions. ¡°Dunlan? Dunlan!¡± Jens was lost. Don¡¯t worry about him, his past, his dreams; all that mattered was the knife clutched in his hand and the prayer of survival. He and his best mate Dunlan had a plan, and it was a pretty solid plan. Hide out till nightfall and try to cut their way out through the gate. Maybe scare some beasties that way to frighten off the guards first. It was the best plan Jens had ever come up- And he was blowing it, because he was lost. ¡°Jens? Jens? Jens?¡± The call came from the distance. Huge ferns sprouted up around him, like the primordial forests of the before-days when Caltern hadn¡¯t yet been settled like a great big blister of civilization on the land¡¯s back. Fungal bodies the shape of great red cups loomed above him, the little veiny lines scalloping their underside glowing with a faint light. He hurried towards the voice. But it wasn¡¯t Dunlan. Dunlan was dead already, lying mangled and twist-limbed over a rocky stream, the red wicking away on the flowing water in ribbons of blood. ¡°Jens?¡± The voice came from above. Jens felt the shadow fall over him. Jens turned his head up, to see the enormous black body of the crow descending, taloned feet stretched out to catch him like a scurrying mouse. Don¡¯t worry about his past, his dreams; none of them saved him in the end. Tyrna held her bow at the ready, Caoirre at the front with both blades drawn, his stance bent to spring into battle, fending off the beasts by sweeping the swords through the air between. There was a whole pack of them, eight or more - they were half-scaly and half-feathered, with deep black shadows around their eyes and orange plumes upon their heads. Teeth slavered, snapping at the air. Claw-fingers stretched from their stubby wings. ¡°Hold them, hold them¡­¡± Mhurr was babbling, his hands flashing through the air as he ripped fistfuls of spellwork into existence. A wheel was forming, a white flame dancing within, but it was far too slow. The terrors were spreading out, trying to surround them. The moment the encirclement was done they would pounce. Tyrna¡¯s bowstring strained with held tension. They didn¡¯t have a moment longer for Mhurr to work. Behind them, Draig reached for his book. White mist surrounded his hand and he flung his fingers forward, sending a pale phantom of a rabbit dashing into the middle of the feathered flock. Their alpha lunged for it, slamming his enormous, clawed feet through the ghostly hare. And in the moment the alpha moved, so did Caoirre. ¡°Now!¡± His sword came up as the beast leaped down, and the edge sawed across the terror¡¯s scaly throat in a flash of blood that became a long arterial spray. In the same movement he flicked his short blade into the wing of the nearest packmate, setting it stumbling so it couldn¡¯t intercept him. Tyrna let go, and the arrow found the injured beast through the eye, finishing the job. The third in line leapt for Caoirre, wings beating to keep it steady in the air as its clawed toe-tips reached for him. With both hands on the hilt of his longsword he blocked the leaping kick, grunting, his backleg sliding through the dirt. A surge of effort was enough to throw the beast back, but now a fourth was lunging forward and Tyrna¡¯s hand was still lifting the next arrow to the mark- Mhurr let go of his spell. The surge of flame seared her eyes blind for a flash of a second, turning the foremost raptor into a struggling, screaming shadow within the blaze. It faded as quick as it came, but that moment of relief had cleared a space between them and the flock. Tyrna¡¯s bow sung again, meeting a terror between the eyes. Dead. Caoirre lunged forward at the one that had leapt for him, catching the beast with a heavy, overhand swing as it was still scrambling back onto its feet. Blood spilled from a hewn skull. The remaining three scattered, letting out barking, hooting cries of panic. Slowly, her breathing slowed to normal, the thunder of her heart letting loose. In the moment she was always calm, but in the after she was only human; panic and shaky excitement and the exhaustion of draining adrenaline all came over her in a wash. Tyrna knelt by the corpse, examining the bright orange feathers. ¡°Good for arrow-making.¡± ¡°Oh, and the meat would be worth a pretty penny for the magic inside, but alas. We¡¯ll have to be quicker next time.¡± Draig sighed. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Watch.¡± The old man said. And she did. The corpses were coming apart. A light burned them at the edges, dissolving them into motes of flame that drifted into the air and vanished. Not all blinked out. A few spiralled towards her, settling into her skin. Only the feather in her hand remained. ¡°Always the way with Dungeons.¡± Draig opined. ¡°Ha. Look!¡± Mhurr held out his hands, showing the way they clustered to him. His ¡®draw¡¯ was the strongest of any of them, probably thanks to his magecraft, the little bright sparks swarming through him in a meteor-shower of gold. But Tyrna was more concerned than elated. ¡°Mhurr, is that little lizard we caught still there?¡± ¡°Oh, oh yes, let me see¡­¡± Digging through his bag, he opened up the box. ¡°Yes!¡± ¡°Good. Then we can keep what we kill, as long as we take quickly. We¡¯ll hunt a little more and then call a retreat for the day.¡± She had hunted for years. Greed wouldn¡¯t make her forget the hard lessons now. Kill too much, and the blood would call to predators. 2.28 For Glory Aislen was surrounded. Two little birdies, pretty of feather, long of snout, with plenty of sharp teeth. Their leathery grey muzzles came peering out of the underbrush, dark stains ringing the flesh around their eyes. Orange feathers cowled the backs of their skulls and their long necks, turning gold as they continued down the powerful, compact body, with enormous powerful legs that tore up the earth beneath three-taloned feet. He could have been looking in a mirror! He liked biting and ripping and kicking too! He didn¡¯t have feathers, true, but other¡¯n that - ¡°Come hither to me, oh my long lost sons.¡± He sang. The strangest, softest voice came cooing from those monstrous lips. He could whistle a bird down from the heavens. At least until all the local pigeons had heard about what happened to the first one. ¡°What-¡± The man shackled to his right arm hissed. ¡°Are you doing?¡± ¡°Are you mad?¡± The one on his left barked - a bit slow on the uptake, Aislen had to say, if he was only noticing just now - starting to edge away until the chains stopped him. Aislen just grinned, and waited, the raptors coming forward, slowly, edging towards him and the two men who were pulling at the chains with all their strength now, trying to drag him away as the beasties came forward, forward. ¡°Ha!¡± With a sudden cry he simply swung his left arm forward, and the main chained to it followed. There was a glorious moment as the poor lad sailed through the air, upside down, his face a rictus of fear as Aislen grinned so wide and open-mouthed that his head might have been at risk at coming unhinged. Then the boy smashed into the bird, and they were both slammed against the ground. The screaming started just after that, the reality of his arm being dislocated and snapped in seven places hitting all at once after a moment of dazed shock, but Aislen had no time for sorries and thank yous. The other birdy was leaping towards him, and now he yanked his right hand forward, bringing the hisser, that nay-sayer and dour character, flying towards the birdie. Swat! Swat! He swung them ¡®bout like clubs, great bloody bludgeons of meat getting bent and twisted and wailing as he used them up. But he didn¡¯t see the third birdie, did he? The one hiding in the bush? It slammed into his back, great rending claws sinking into his meat as it pushed him towards the ground. He screamed, of course, he screamed, but he laughed too, and rolled and fought and managed to buck the raptor free from his shoulders, getting on top of it, wrapping his chains around its throat. His hand pressed down on the underside of its muzzle, holding its jaws back from his sweating, mad-grinning face. Slowly, with blood dribbling down his back, he strained and choked the beastie till it was all dry of breath, its claws scrabbling over his forearms, ripping the skin open to the red beneath. The man on the other end of the chain was alive during all this, a groaning, sad pile of sobs and whimpers. His arm was bent the wrong way now. The lad on the other arm was unconscious, hit his head one too many times. When he had the thing dead, its legs ceasing to kick, the toes curling up, he let out a sigh of triumph. There was nothing more satisfying than feeling something break. As he knelt there, dripping with blood and sweat, Aislen heard in the distance a vast roar. The shaking of the jungle. The approach of a vast beast. Something told him he was home. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Henri¡¯s wisps were proving invaluable. With them, they could avoid the places where poisonous sporing mushrooms clustered thick, a jungle of their sleep-oozing stalks, and the ambushes of the clever terror birds. That left the crows in the trees above. Tyrna watched their shadows follow the group as they moved. Above, the sky was changing as she watched, a white grid with blue glowing between the spaces stretching over the vault. It was a vast and beautiful thing to behold. The jungle around them was no less strange. Everything here glowed faintly, the little lantern-floats she¡¯d encountered before marking their path by rising into the air as they went - useful, she realized, for letting the hunting ground¡¯s predators follow them. The curl-topped grasses that shone emerald swayed as they push their way through. Vast mushrooms let loose spores the size of her fist, bobbing through the air, balls of fluff that went tumbling on the breeze. It was like nothing she¡¯d ever seen. They¡¯d met the feathered terrors twice more, each time sending them off with an initial few kills. But they were still following the group at a distance, and they were growing in numbers. There was a swarm coalescing around them, gathering in size and fury, and when the cowardly raptors felt they had the advantage, they would strike for real. Henri grimaced, snapping his eyes open. The strain of constantly sending out his wandering eyes was adding up, and she could see him losing his grip. ¡°Three more just arrived. There¡¯s twenty seven now. I¡¯m not sure-¡± He was interrupted by the warcry, the hooting, piping laughter of the terror birds. She saw him flinch at the sound. ¡°Oh my, we have gotten them angry.¡± Draig said. The old greybeard chuckled nervously. ¡°If we stop here, I can work on a spell. Something to scare them.¡± Mhurr had been fumbling with his spellwork for the past several minutes, knotting fiery golden characters into a central design that rotated and twisted in ways that made her eyes hurt. ¡°No, if we scare them, they¡¯ll just be back.¡± On this she was sure. They were Dungeon-creatures. Their first instinct wasn¡¯t to themselves, but to their home. ¡°That¡¯s why we take the window of opportunity and retreat.¡± He hissed back at her. ¡°Forward.¡± She responded. Always forward. She had been told she needed to see something, and until she knew what, there was no retreat in Tyrna¡¯s mind. ¡°But-¡± ¡°You heard her.¡± Caoirre cut in. The greying swordmaster was a hard man to argue with, his voice as strict as steel. ¡°Up ahead¡­¡± Henri was suffering, the toll of using so many wisps making his voice begin to shake. His hands were clenched around his chest as if he was freezing cold, fingers clutching the fabric of his tunic, squeezing down until the knuckles went white. ¡°There¡¯s the breach, guarded by a creature. Half-man¡­ half-spider¡­¡± ¡°Are you going to be alright?¡± Tyrna asked. Henri just nodded, forcing his chattering teeth to spread into a smile. She doubted he could have fought off a chicken - but if he said he was good to keep going she would take him at his word. ¡°Come on then. Let¡¯s see him for ourselves.¡± Cabochon stood over the breach, guarding the precious egg that waited to hatch in its royal bed of woven ferns. Fires danced along his fingers. They were Mana-flame, raw power left unshaped, the clumsy byproduct of his work to craft the heavens into place- It was almost done now. The vast grid of white and silver, the glowing diamonds of blue between. Like an impressionistic sky. It added something surreal to the jungle below, something not-quite-right and yet beautiful. But was it enough? The arrow almost caught him off-guard. He wore his armor, the pearled plate and the skeletal helm with its rising spikes like a crown around the brow, and with a sudden twist the arrow winged off the shoulder instead of piercing through the joint. His head snapped about. Humans in the brush. At their head was a man with two swords, wiry and quick. Just behind him, a black-haired woman with a red bow. She knocked another arrow. A mage, holding a knot of spellwork in place with an effort that made his hands tremble. A bald-headed man the Maker recognized as the scout who¡¯d first mapped the ravine. A white-bearded old man, walking with the help of a staff, a book unfolded in his free hand, Cabochon lifted his glaive, stepping forward slowly. The cold exhaustion of shaping the hunting grounds was still with him, sapping his strength, weighing down his every motion. This would be a hard fight. It was a fight he was determined to win. For the glory of the Maker. 2.29 Prey and Predator My stone-tusk rats were investigating the smoldering remains of the cauldron, pawing over the shallow crater of igneous rock that had formed as the fiery magma hardened to stone. Below, the core was still a molten churn, slowly splintering into distinct strata of mineral and rock as the trapped heat pushed the elements to bind and separate. But the rats were sensing something already, scratching at the scar of smooth black rock. Somewhere beneath a treasure of the earth was forming. All around the island, fiery flowers were blooming. They seemed to be half-solid and half-phantasm; they grew, unfurled their burning petals, and wilted away to nothing in the blink of an eye, leaving behind sparks that drifted through the air. The phenomenon was beautiful, but I sensed a life to the flowers, a rude sentience; they were tiny elementals growing and dying in the span of seconds. How I had created them was another question. Was it simply imbuing sufficient Mana into the flame, or had something else been needed? Were they loyal to me, like my purposeful creations, or would they grow aggressive as the earth-elementals had? If I was right, I suspected I¡¯d formed something similar to the earth-geodes where the stone-hounds and the earth-lizard had been born. A combination of Mana, crystalline elements, and fire had birthed something new. And if so, I had every cause for elation. But did it have to be now? I could hardly wait for the magma to cool, but time and time again, my attention was drawn towards the jungle above, where the hunters were fighting against my creations. Trivelin had pleaded for me to make the hunting grounds less deadly than my lower floors, and I had, grudgingly, obliged. There were no waiting traps, no singularly lethal foes. As long as they avoided being surrounded they would live. Still, my terrors had claimed several lives already. Aurum hunted in the southern regions, tearing apart the poor convicts with their useless knives. His bloodrage was frightening even to me. The noble, gentle creature I knew seemed to vanish, replaced by a seething blur of golden scales, a flash of pink jaws and gleaming teeth, a burst of fire coming up from deep within. His mantis claws and scorpion pincers ripped flesh with abandon. And throughout, I saw the moments of horror and wonder. I reaped satisfaction in those silent pauses, those looks upwards, lost in the dense and unnatural foliage of the jungle. The moments where they paused to lean down and inspect some small, strange blossom of flora, or paused to sip water from their canteens and followed the drift of a lantern-mushroom up towards the artificial sky. Cabochon had done well. It was not as singular in vision as the Field of Lament, not as delicate and alien as the Garden of Glass Bells, but the surreal notion of the sky lent something to the colorful and vibrant sprawl of foliage below. I was proud of him. Proud and worried. There was something about these adventurers. Every one of them warped the Mana of my Dungeon around them, shaping it by their very presence. They all had their own form of magic. The arachne¡¯s glaive slammed down, smashing into Caiorre¡¯s crossed-blade guard and throwing his arms aside- before he could recover the backswing tore the tip of the glaive through his left shoulder, ripping loose a long spray of blood. The spear plunged forward, and the swordsman barely managed to twist to deflect with his one blade. It was a miracle he was still on his feet. The sheer force behind the goliath man-spider¡¯s blows was very nearly throwing Caiorre about, every impact straining him muscle and bone as sparks scraped from the collision of steel, and the flow of blood from his shoulder painted his crippled arm red. A bolt of fire lanced out from Nolan Mhurr¡¯s hands, forcing the spider back as the brilliant gout of red rippled and rebounded around his armor. A hiss of pain came growling from behind that skeletal mask. In the moment the fire faded and she had a clear sight to those blank, hollow sockets, Tyrna let her arrow slip from her grasp, bowstring plucking a clear note as it sent the arrow into flight. It jumped across the short distance in a blur- The spider caught it in one hand, snapping the shaft. And then he rushed forward again, slashing wide, forcing Caiorre to jump back or be thrown aside. In the moment before the swordsman could recover, the glaive pushing forward, smashing into him directly. Caiorre pivoted again, turning so the force passed by him, rasping against his single sword.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. This time the spider drew back, stepped forward, and brought the haft whirling around. There was no escaping - Caiorre was lifted from his feet and thrown through the air, and the glaive was already raised, ready to come sweeping down on one of them. ¡°Scatter!¡± Tyrna roared, her fingers already moving, drawing another arrow from the quiver at her back. She ran forward, firing up, planting the shot perfectly into the gap in the underarm of the spider¡¯s armor. It reared up, and she realized now every leg was a blade, slashing through the air, seeking for her. She somehow found the grace of the wind and pivoted before her momentum took her squarely into a deadly kick, circling back, ducking- Her heart beat like thunder. She felt blood roaring in her ears. The glaive sang as it swept through the air, her only warning. Tyrna flung herself head over heels to escape as the blade ripped through the ground, sending up a spray of loamy earth and fungal spore that splashed against her as she rolled away. She came up on her knees, lifting an arrow, firing, moving faster than she ever had before, letting sheer instinct guide the shot. And still. Still it wasn¡¯t enough. The spider lifted the haft of its glaive to deflect the arrow away, and now it lunged past her, seeing Mhurr shaping a new magic and lifting its weapon to cut him and his knotted spellcraft in two. Henri intervented. Wisps shot towards the spider¡¯s helm, congregating in a cloud of pale fire and igniting, giving their all to go up in a great roar of brilliant light that blinded the spider for a split second, tongues of ghostly white flame spreading across its armor with tiny threads of rainbow light within. Mhurr lunged aside and simply threw his half-formed spell. It went off like an explosive, delicate characters and complex diagrams unfurling in a blast of golden flame that knocked the spider back and threw Nolan aside with the rippling wave of force that washed backwards. Two colors of flame wrapped around the guardian¡¯s body. Tyrna ran to Caiorre, finding him already fighting his way up. It was bad. He was almost split in two by the touch of that glaive, by a glancing blow, but he wore a smile on his blood-streaked face. ¡°Pocket.¡± He gasped. ¡°Pocket.¡± He was fumbling to get something out of his front pocket. She reached in, and found a vial, glimmering with a single drop of azure liquid. Lifting it to his lips, she watched his wounds stitch themselves together, a shining light working to knit new muscles and bone until there was nothing left but a shiny pink scar. His left fingers curled into a fist. Grasping her shoulder, he levered himself up, and they ran to the battle. She drew an arrow and fired, drawing the half-blind spider¡¯s attention. This time, as its glaive swept down, Caiorre had the strength to meet it. Their blades locked, steel ringing out, and Caiorre shoved back, surprising the beast. It reared up, slamming a bladed leg down - where he used to be. It was like he had lost ten years, ten years of feeling his body slow and his muscles decay. For a moment she was seeing Caiorre in the prime of his life. He dodged the stomp, deflected a sweeping kick, and now he was in the shadow of the beast. It brought its weight down, and he was like a shadow, light as a feather, dodging five limbs and meeting the sixth with a whirling flash of steel that broke through. The spider roared in anger, blood leaking from its stump as Caiorre danced free, his blade sweeping a shallow cut across its bulbous abdomen. Tyrna peppered it with arrows from the front, a lucky shot finding the gap in its armor just across the gut. They had it flanked now, unable to devote its attention to either one of them, Henri and Mhurr hiding somewhere in the brush. And it knew it. It was desperate. It was clumsy. But above all, it was a cornered animal, and those were the most dangerous of all. With a sudden howl of anger, it spun and flung its glaive towards Caiorre. The blade sung as it sailed forward with awe-inspiring force, ripping a long, keening note from the air as it travelled. He deflected, barely, but the force slammed him down to one knee, and the spider rushed forward, reaching- It caught him by the air, plucking him into the air, crushing down with bladed fingers as his sword jabbed into the meat of its arm and twisted, trying to cut the tendons and make the beast release him. Tyrna had a single shot before the guardian finished him, and her fingers were suddenly trembling. All her life she had hunted game. She had been the predator. Now she was prey. It was an unsteadying moment of realization. And in that moment- ¡°Hey!¡± Draig shouted, the old greybeard standing with his staff held high, poised to bring it crashing down on a grey-blue egg that lay in a nest at the breach¡¯s edge. The spider froze. Just for an instant, just for a heartbeat. Tyrna¡¯s fingers knew what to do better than her mind did. Before she could even think, before she could recognize the opportunity, she had already let the shot fly. The arrow blurred from the twang of her bowstring and reappeared, thrust through the gap at the back of the spider¡¯s helm, sticking through its spine. ¡°Hhhaa...¡± A trembling, gasping almost-laugh left her lips. Caiorre dropped from suddenly loose fingers, falling to the ground and barely rolling aside in time to escape being buried. The spider¡¯s legs toppled from under it, the human half slumping forward, the helm spilling off as it crashed into the dirt below. Dead. 2.30 Convergence Suffi put one foot in front of the other. People stared at her. Of course they did. She had been one step from being queen of the city, and now she was walking the streets in rags, pale as a corpse, her eyes empty. Hollow eyes met their shocked gazes. There was no expression on her face. No sense of loss, although so much had been lost. The ash-men had cut them with the sword of smoke, severing soul and body. Somehow it was Krait, the soft and spoiled one, who was recovering. Who was fighting through. She was just a shell, needing his shoulder to lean on and barely able to keep her feet moving. It was hard to remember they were her feet. There was a strange distance between Suffi and her body, as if she was controlling herself through distant strings, puppeteering the body¡¯s limbs and gazing out from the body¡¯s eyes but never truly one with it. An ember of thought in a bed of flesh waiting to become ash. She was hollowed out. If being held up by her brother stirred some emotion in her, it was a like a stone cast into an empty well meeting water far below, the sound echoing up from far away. ¡°Come on,¡± Krait was saying. ¡°Come on just a little farther.¡± When it was done, they had turned on each other. Wrestling and cutting each other with knives, fighting until one man was dead, sprawled out on the ground. With blank eyes she had watched the dead man crumble to ash, watched them reach into his chest and take out a flaming stone. Her own lungs had burned. In that moment of absolute bleakness, the world was flat, and even breathing seemed pointless. They had taken the ember from their comrade¡¯s corpse and pressed it through her lips, forcing her to swallow. The flame had burned all the way down her throat, expanding into a star of heat within her chest, a last glimmering of life within her cold chest. A spark that flared for one thought, one purpose; the dream of making everyone like she was now. Ash. Cold ash. It was a zealous, bitter longing, an angry satisfaction. It was so precious now, when every other emotion was muted and numb as ice, to feel that one spark rise in her chest. She clung to it. She dreamed. They had shown her. A new manner of sword, one her hands had never shaped. A way of war she had yet to conquer. That was what they needed. Not the queen of the city. Not the proud girl with her schemes. The hands, half-mutant but skillful, that could shape works of wonder and deadly precision. Hands to shape a new weapon. For a moment I was simply numb, in disbelief. I watched as Cabochon fell, but it wasn¡¯t until his corpse began to faded, dissolving into motes of Mana, that emotion caught up with reality. Rage. Absolute, lunatic rage overwhelmed me, and I felt the Dungeon tremble slightly, saw spirals of dust fall from the vaulted ceilings as I brewed in fury, watching the five adventurers descend down a rope towards the Garden of Glass Bells. Cabochon was dead. The egg was taken. Neither was beyond reclamation. Cabochon could be revived. The egg could be taken from their corpses. But in a moment of carelessness, I had allowed so much to be taken from me. I seethed. The creatures of my domain swayed and growled and gnashed claws and teeth through the air, caught by the furor of my thoughts. I watched the motes of Mana surround the hunter with her deadly bow, weaving through the air to touch her and sink through her skin. A golden storm of sweeping lines and tiny comets burned around her as she stole Cabochon¡¯s essence. In moments like these, the powerlessness of being a core surged through me. I had no hands to crush the life out of her. No claws or teeth of my own. I could only throw my creations against the enemy, and watch, wait, pray for them not to meet Cabochon¡¯s fate. The intruders were talking, planning. Discussing whether to follow the breach down. They knew my guardian was defeated. That the way was clear. There would never be another chance like this. I would never allow there to be another chance like this. But I wanted them to come forward, to press into the dark. They would regret it if they did. Come to me, I wished, come here so I can have my beauties grind your bones to dust and crush the dying breath from your bodies.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. They tossed a rope down the breach, securing it around a tree root. Greed had won over caution. I would have my chance at revenge. They descended into the glass gardens, where the ghostly glow of the translucent mushrooms underlit them coming down the rope, one by one. I wouldn¡¯t let them get that far. One of the conditions of the hunting grounds had been that none of the hunters would be able to bring in that damn incense to bind me. As such, I could intervene a little more directly than usual. By say, eating the roots anchoring the rope away while the swordsman and the mage were halfway down. The sudden collapse of their anchor sent them crashing to the ground, crushing fungal bodies beneath their own, the injured swordsman letting loose a scream of agony through clenched teeth as the mage¡¯s weight crashed down atop him. And then the secret doors opened. The nacre-spiders came down on silver threads, long bladed limbs reaching for the ground as their lithe bodies dripped from their secret compartments. The archer, the scout, and the old man were still above. Just two, versus all my beautiful spiders, against Cabochon¡¯s dear brothers and sisters. Above, the feathered terrors were moving in now, having gathered their numbers. They would reclaim the egg and my pride. I would have my pound of flesh for Cabochon. Izzis was bemoaning his fate again. The adventurers had quickly become less and less forgiving of his Izzisry, and Princess Telurum was obsessed with them now. She spent all day watching them forage, scrap with the local predators, tell adventuring stories, mix politice. He¡¯d been cast aside, discarded with fickle cruelty. The little homunculus spent most of the day moping and trying to subtly flex his muscles whenever the princess was looking his way. He¡¯d even tried taking a bath, just to see if that would lighten their mood towards him. Nothing. Not even a congratulations on bravely facing the fearsome foe of running water. He had retreated into his hidden burrow to sulk, pulling the leaves over the entrance. Within, a little thimblefull of fruitscraps was slowly fermenting into wine. Well. Wine-ish. ¡°The problem is, that little imp¡¯s leading us in circles.¡± His ears perked up. It was Nathaniel, the alchemist, who spent all day grinding strange concoctions and trying to make Izzis fetch him ingredients. ¡°Are you sure?¡± The other one, the bard, had been kinder to Izzis. For that reason he hadn¡¯t bothered to learn her name. He only learned the names of people when they were going on his List. It was a List of grudges, ranked from most petty to least. Someday, someday he¡¯d get revenge for every kick and mean word. ¡°Yes!¡± Nathaniel hissed. Izzis crept closer to the entrance of his hidden lair, peering through the leaves. They sat together, hunched over the fire, whispering. ¡°I found the gate back yesterday. It¡¯s not more than a thousand feet away.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s go then, right now. I swear, under gods¡¯ sight, things are watching us in this forest.¡± The bard shivered. ¡°Without Telurum? I don¡¯t think she knows how bad she¡¯s messed up. I think her father will kill her.¡± ¡°If we bring Telerum, she¡¯ll try to bring Izzis. And if he¡¯s been leading us in circles there¡¯s no saying he won¡¯t run and warn the Dungeon.¡± There was a logic building here, and Izzis didn¡¯t like it. It wasn¡¯t like he¡¯d been purposefully sending them around and around. He was just buying time until he knew where they were going! ¡°So let¡¯s kill him now and say it was an accident.¡± Nathaniel whispered. ¡°Say we stepped on him, whoops.¡± There it was. Izzis tensed to run. ¡°Kill Goliath?¡± At the sound of the third voice, the bard and the alchemist both snapped their head up. Princess Telerum floated above them, wings sparkling, her Izzis sighed. His angel. ¡°I suppose he has gotten a little boring¡­¡± The face of a heartbroken homunculus is not a pretty thing. Cross a miserable toad with an infatuated bat, and there¡¯d be some approximation. Splash in a goblin¡¯s teeth and a lemur¡¯s eyes and you¡¯d be getting somewhere. But for the final touch, you¡¯d need the sliminess of a snail. ¡°I¡¯m glad you see it that way.¡± Nathaniel said, clearly nervous. He wasn¡¯t used to plotting murder, that was clear. ¡°We were worried you would¡­¡± ¡°It¡¯s necessary.¡± The bard interrupted. ¡°Once we get back to the Dungeon, there¡¯s no telling who¡¯s side he¡¯ll take.¡± ¡°Right, let¡¯s go find him then.¡± Telerum clapped her hands together. Nodding, the two of them rose to their feet and went in opposite directions. ¡°Iiiizzis!¡± ¡°Izzis?¡± As they spread out through the forest, calling his name in the tone you might use for a particularly unintelligent dog, Izzis took this small moment in his life to feel very sorry for himself. He sniveled. That was when Telerum¡¯s head popped over the edge of his little burrow, upside-down, her golden hair streaming down around her face. ¡°Shhh.¡± Clambering inside, she set her hand in his and whispered. ¡°We¡¯ve got to go.¡± Izzis could have flown without using his wings. Hand in hand, they crept out of the den, and- The bard was staring right at them. ¡°Thought so.¡± Sawing a note on her violin, she summoned a phantom hawk. Izzis chuckled nervously. ¡°Izzis really time for violence?¡± He tried. She smiled, and thrust her arm forward, the hawk leaping into the air and swooping towards him with wings outstretched. Izzis raised his spiked mace- Telerum lifted her hand and a lightning bolt leapt from her ringed finger, scattering the ghost-hawk to mist and searing the bard¡¯s hair as the woman dove for the ground to avoid the passing spear of electricity. It slammed into a tree trunk and the bark erupted into flames. ¡°Run!¡± The princess called, diving forward while the nasty, treacherous bardling was recovering. ¡°Running!¡± Izzis agreed, pumping his wings desperately and jumping from branch to branch. ¡°NATHANIEL! IT¡¯S GETTING AWAY!¡± The bard bawled, climbing to her feet and dashing after. Hectic and frantic, they all rushed for the portal, the strange crystal leaves and blue lights of the Everforest blurring past. 2.31 On Borrowed Time Tyrna¡¯s bow sung, letting loose arrow after arrow. It was no good. Terror birds were closing in, vaulting over the underbrush. Henri had nothing left - he shivered in his boots, pale, sweat cascading down the bloodless white of his face. The old man had to hold him up, using one hand to sweep his staff at the birds as they approached. She had never fired so quickly. There was a music to the bow she heard now, a swiftness to her fingers, a certainty that every shot would find its mark. In the midst of hopelessness, a feeling of raw strength that rushed through her veins and ignited into bravado. She didn¡¯t need to look for more than the blink of an eye - didn¡¯t need to watch the arrows fly - she heard the screams of pain and death that followed as she met one oncoming terror after another with deadly precision. ¡°We need to jump. Tyrna, we have to jump!¡± The old man was saying, eyeing the breach, their one escape. She heard his voice as if from under cold, deep water. Her bow spoke louder. ¡°One second! One second, I can- I can give you somewhere to land!¡± From below Mhurr was shouting, and to her surprise, Tyrna heard her own voice call back- ¡°One second! I can give you that!¡± An arrow caught a terror bird mid-leap, as it lunged over a fallen fungal stalk to slash its claws at her. The leap turned into a tumble of dead weight and pure momentum as the arrow stuck through its skull. She stepped aside, letting it go crashing over the edge of the breach, whipping around to save Draig by piercing another terror through the chest. And then there were no more arrows. Claws caught her face. She ducked, lunging under a set of grasping claws that swept towards her - the hind-talon caught her from chin to cheek and she felt the tip rattle her teeth as it opened her face. Blood rushed into her mouth. It was behind her now, and two more in front, flanking. Draig was screaming and flailing his staff, trying to frighten them, ghosts of all kinds whirling around him in a spectral sea. Bears and wolves howled, birds called and cawed, the furor of their cries growing together into an orchestra of feral sound. She felt it then. The presence of the Dungeon. The seething anger, the petulant, almost childish spite. The capacity for hate that no human could match - an underground sea. A mind that expanded through the walls, up to the ceiling, that pervaded the earth under her feet, that gazed out at her from every eye, that had sculpted every claw. Hating. Hungering. Bearing down upon her like a physical weight. Caiorre¡¯s sword cut against pearled armor, finding the joints, ripping shallow cuts and dipping between in flashing stabs that pulled out bright ribbons of yellow blood when they retreated. The spiders would rear up and come crashing towards him, slashing as they brought their weight down. They were strong, they were fast, but they were not dancers. And Caiorre was a dancer. He flung himself forward at the first foe, surprising it with his fearlessness, his bravado. He pierced it through the underside with his long blade, delivered a stomping kick to its hindlegs, and used his sword stuck through its underbelly to bodily throw the beast into its comrades. That opened a space in the encirclement that was closing around him and Mhurr. In that moment of respite, Caiorre spun the other way and dived forward, meeting the next spider with a lightning-quick double stab that raked across one row of eyes, then the next, blinding it. The years didn¡¯t hold him back today. He was young again, and in love with it, adoring his own body, his own strength, the lethal prowess that flowed through his arms. It was like a blind painter having a day of sight again. A last day of glory to practice his art. He could almost hear the roar of the crowd, and smiled, star-struck. They were closing. He sliced one¡¯s leg in half at the weakness of the joint, twisted to block another spider that surged in from behind, stopping both razor limbs across the flat of his blade. It was a brutal position; the beast¡¯s weight pinning him with his spine twisted torturously, unable to exercise his full strength. The injured first spider lunged forward again, aiming to pierce him through the belly with a stab. It raked his side instead as he turned, twisting, levering the weight of the spider atop him and stepping aside so they crashed into one another. Their deadly limbs scraped and clawed and tore each other apart. He met the next with a whirling hack, throwing all his weight and momentum into cleaving through its head. No fancy moves now, simply killing before he was killed. But he would be killed. There were simply too many, and their forces were split. The curtain was closing, slowly, on what Caiorre thought would be his last dance.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Nathaniel remembered. He had come this way before. Then, his strength was flagging, failing to hold up the weight of Camila as she died in his arms. His weapons had been spent, his plans exhausted. Every step had felt like a mile. Exhaustion had narrowed his world to a pinhole view of the next step. Now, he almost flew over the root-strewn earth. Adrenaline and fear surged in fire-ice harmony through his veins and he ran like a madman. A bolt of lightning licked past his ear, prickling him with tiny threads that leapt from the main mass and lifted his hair into wild, standing disarray. The thundercrack deafened him in that one ear, replacing half the world¡¯s sound with a dull, distant ring. He didn¡¯t care. All that mattered was stomping that little imp from reaching the silver door that stood on the hilltop, a strange artifact amidst the wild splendor of the Everforest. Roots were already beginning to climb up the silvered arch with its runic inscriptions. He wasn¡¯t going to make it. He wasn¡¯t going to make it, for the second time, he was too slow. It felt like the past was a weight holding his limbs back. Stronger than exhaustion, than the aching soreness in his limbs, was the fear of returning to that dark place. Where was he headed? Back into the Dungeon? Back to face his friend¡¯s murderer? Was he any stronger now? He had refreshed his weapons, ground new powders and poisoned smokes from the Everforest¡¯s herbs, gone farther astray from home than he had ever dreamed, visited a new world and stood under the alien sky. But there was no sky where he was going. Only a shadowed vault of stone. He was so close he reached his hand out, snatching for the imp¡¯s trailing tail. He caught nothing but air, and the nasty little thing passed through the portal, the air within the archway rippling. A second later and Nathaniel burst through, not because he wanted to, but because there was too much momentum behind him to stop- he staggered to a halt a few steps from the door. Annabelle was just behind him, darting through and freezing at what they both saw. A swordsman moved like wind, floating like a leaf in a storm as spiders crawled towards him ceaselessly. His swords protected a mage pulling knots of spellwork together into a glowing diagram. The imp was careening away, diving into the thick forest of fungi. Nathanial was afraid, but he saw people in front of him, people fighting although the odds seemed hopeless. He loved them for that without needing to know a single other thing about them. He really, truly did. ¡°CLOSE YOUR EYES! NOW!¡± Reaching to his belt, he lifted a wooden canister and hurled it overhand into the thick of the spiders. As it cracked open, an alchemical flame burst forth, scattering a thin solution of herbal poison and caustic irritants. Spiders couldn¡¯t close their eyes. Spiders had eight to lose, eight to catch a drop of that burning, clawing solution. They were clustered tight, and the cloud of toxic smoke caught them all. A mass, hissing cry of pain filled the cavern. Tyrna heard the cry from an unknown, the burst of the canister, Nolan Mhurr¡¯s scream. She would only piece together the series of events that led to these three things much later. The fourth thing she heard and understood perfectly. ¡°JUMP!¡± She lunged for a glint in the dirt and snatched up Caiorre¡¯s short blade, fallen when he was knocked away by Cabochon. She slashed at one bird, forcing it back. Its wing-claws came for her in return, pulling twin streaks of red down her arm before she could pull the blow back, but she grimaced, held down the scream, and hurtled past. A leap took her over the shallow edge of the breach. Henri was in trouble. They had broken him and Draig apart. The old man was wreathed in his smoke-column of ghostly beasts and safe - but Henri was caught by deadly claws. The beast hauled him across the dirt and leaves of the forest floor, sinking its teeth into his shoulder. She caught the beast with a backhand, reverse-grip cut across the eye, and stabbed into the wing that held Henri down. He let out a scream as the beast¡¯s toothy maw released him, bridges of bloody drool clinging to the mangled flesh of his shoulder. The claws ripped his back open as they came out, and the beast slammed its neck into her belly, sending her backwards, coming at her with its wings opened wide to give her a killing hug. Tyrna snarled and hurled the dagger through its feathered chest, kicking it down as it reeled back in surprise. Grabbing Henri, she threw him over his shoulder and dived down the breach. Draig was just behind. She landed in a whirlwind, a wide, flat cushion of air that stopped her from impacting the ground, bouncing her up before she could smack into the cold earth below. With Henri draped over her she had no chance to make a two-footed landing; they both met the ground in a heap as the wind faded. Dying runes of gold flickered out around Nolan¡¯s hands. His eyes were white, surrounded by deep, raw pinkness, the skin bubbling and popping as she watched. Acid scars ate their way into his cheeks. All around, the spiders were thrashing their legs at nothing, crashing over onto their sides. Something foul and burning filled the sour air of the Dungeon, making tears blur in the corners of her eyes even now. ¡°I-¡± Mhurr started to say, and Caiorre grabbed him by the shoulder. The old man had taken the acid bomb¡¯s splatter too, streaks of raw flesh carved out across his face, but he had closed his eyes in time. ¡°Come on boy.¡± Was all the old soldier said. Altogether, they sprinted for the glass pagoda. Caiorre leading Mhurr, Henri gasping as he was jostled about on Tyrna¡¯s shoulders. A young man and a woman with a violin were running to meet them, the boy gesturing frantically, the woman whistling a strange magical note that made strength surge into Tyrna¡¯s weary limbs, a force like a gentle wind pushing each step to be that little bit faster. They broke through the door. Tyrna hit with her shoulder and they stumbled inside, into a hall of mirrors. Their reflections stared back at them. And back at them. And back at them. So many mirrored walls, each looking in to the others, broke the world into repeating patterns, nested into one another in an infinite tunnel. The single, glowing light at the top of the room became an endless streak of blue, a comet diving down into infinity. Every surface sparkled. The lights lured, they teased, they threatened to hypnotize. A glass table held the same cup, copied dozens of times. Crouched between them and the table was a man of glass, with backwards bending hooves and antlers rising from his head. It had only the one arm, but in its one hand it held a beauty of a blade, curved and elegant. 2.32 Into the Night Nolan Mhurr was in darkness. He felt the hand holding him let go, and there was nothing, nothing around him but the ground under his feet. That, and nothing more, he could be sure of. If he took a single step forward or back he might plummet into the blankness, the black, that occluded his world. If he stretched his hands out, he might meet the dripping mandibles of a spider. The darkness was a horror. And it was the rest of his life. The darkness didn¡¯t just stretch out around him physically, boundless, but into his future as well. It had swallowed him up. He heard the ringing of steel against steel, the shuffling of footsteps, the shouts, the cries. There was a battle, so near the wind kicked up from the moving of bodies brushed over his face. He heard the cry, the scream of pain- he knew it was Caiorre¡¯s voice- Unslinging the satchel from his shoulders, Mhurr lifted it high overhead. His fingers trembled and he felt like a fool but he kept his voice steady as he called out- ¡°Stop!¡± Silence rang out. Stillness. ¡°Stop. Or I¡¯ll break this. I don¡¯t know why you care but- You do care. Let us go, and I¡¯ll give it back,¡± ¡°Mhurr-¡± Caiorre might have said more, but he was overcome with coughing first, a wet, rattling sound. ¡°We can¡¯t turn back now.¡± The voice of Tyrna, that hard, cold witch, with her manners of unfeeling steel. ¡°We have to see this through.¡± ¡°Have they stopped?¡± Mhurr demanded. He could sense the stillness in the room, feel the eyes upon him but - but what did he know. ¡°Are they willing to negotiate?¡± ¡°We can¡¯t turn back.¡± She repeated. ¡°Boy¡¯s right. I can¡¯t win this. You don¡¯t have an arrow left to your name. Henri is half-dead.¡± Caiorre sounded weak, his voice trembling. ¡°I don¡¯t know you, and maybe I don¡¯t have a vote-¡± It was the last voice Mhurr had heard before sinking into darkness. The voice that had told him to close his eyes. He hadn¡¯t listened. ¡°But I¡¯m here to reach the end. Not anything less.¡± ¡°Then- Then if that¡¯s what this is about, let¡¯s give up the egg. We¡¯re not here to be rich. Let¡¯s give it up if they let us past this challenge.¡± ¡°I think-¡± A voice Mhurr didn¡¯t know at all. A girl¡¯s voice, melodic and beautiful. ¡°I think they¡¯re willing.¡± ¡°Can we trust it.¡± Tyrna cut in. ¡°Yes, yes we have to.¡± Caiorre sounded tired. The fire was slipping out of his voice, replaced by infinite weariness. ¡°We have to.¡± Mhurr repeated. His hands were trembling so bad now, so uncertain of himself, as he faced down the endless blank of the void, that he almost slipped. He - almost - dropped it. The moment the egg was set down, I ordered the glass golem to kill them all. I had made no Contract, given nothing but my word, and why should I respect a bargain made under threat of death for one of my beautiful creations? Why should I ever bargain in good faith with those who come to steal and kill? But the golem saw things differently. It let its sword drop, and stepped aside. I commanded it again, with all the force of my desire to see the intruders dead. It refused to budge. It was a hunter, and it had its honor. I wondered what it would have if they killed me. Would it cease to exist, going out in a blaze of pale flames? Would it simply fall dead and still, waiting for a command that would never come, a voice that would never speak again? Or would it outlive me, hunting on.Stolen novel; please report. There was no hiding from the emotion that clawed at me. It was fear. I had seen my creations fall, I had architected layers upon layers of defenses only to see them fall away, unable to stop the incursion. Had I made mistakes? Should I have kept the nacre-spiders hidden in their lairs, hoping to catch one of the adventurers off-guard, rather than trying to capitalize on the moment their forces were split? Should I spend my one lifeline, my ten minutes return, here? Doubt was a poisonous thing. It filled me as I watched through the glass guardian¡¯s eyes. They approached the table, the alchemist taking the blind man¡¯s hand and leading him. The huntress lifted a cup, examining it, the poison liquid within sloshing as she turned it to examine every facet. ¡°What is this? A test?¡± She asked. ¡°A riddle.¡± The old man said, taking another into his scrawny hands, examining each gemstone with a brush of his fingertips, his eye keen despite its rheumy age. I watched, electric with anticipation. If just one of them drank poison- ¡°This one.¡± He had barely set his hands on the right one before he spoke. ¡°This one has a different spirit than the rest. Someone made this with love.¡± So saying, he lifted it to his lips and drank. I could have screamed. The table slid aside, revealing the entrance to the stairs below, and they each gripped the old bastard on the shoulders. And they descended into the dark. Tyrna led the way, Henri dripping blood down her back as his head lolled over her shoulder. The man was dying. His life was dripping out of him, his breath coming less and less often, the red that spilled over her fingers and plastered the back of her shirt to her shoulders slowly drying into an awful stickiness, a tacky, lukewarm cling. But she couldn¡¯t turn back. The alchemist had a lantern, lifting it. A tiny sphere of warm, golden light revealed the pale grey of the stairs, descending for what seemed like miles. And then¡­ Then the winding gloom of the stairs, of the rough-hewn walls, gave way to a new and more terrible bleakness. To an underground vista so grim it was beautiful, stark and terrible in its lack of colors. To austere flowers, each exactly alike, an endless repetition of five-petalled stars that carpeted the ground, stretching into the gloom with endless gray. She saw crooked trees encased in dull, cloud crystal, thin cracks of red showing through the crumbling outer layers. A weeping face. A fruit of black crystal. The sense of the Dungeon¡¯s attention was thick here. It lived and swarmed in the dark recesses, in the shadows that quickened just outside the lantern¡¯s orb of warmth and safety. They were a fish-eyed blot of light drowning in the ink of an underground, subterranean dark. ¡°Uhhh¡­¡± Henri groaned. She thought nothing of it. Then the alchemist pitched forward, clutching his hand. The lantern fell, the iris of light abruptly shrinking, the shadows rushing in. The amber glow illuminated a tiny, luminous butterfly crawling atop the flowers. Nathaniel¡¯s hand was fading away. The fingertips were turning translucent, as pale as glass. ¡°I¡­¡± Caiorre¡¯s hair was ghostly, a crown of smoke atop his head. ¡°Back up, now! Back to the stairs!¡± Draig called, before she could even react. They rushed for the stairwell, climbing, climbing until they were out of breath and collapsed and frantically checked themselves. All of them except the old man - who lingered for a moment. Nathaniel¡¯s fingers were solid again, but they were bleeding. Caiorre¡¯s hair came away in clumps. ¡°What are we going to do.¡± She wasn¡¯t sure who¡¯d said it. Only that the hope was gone from their voice. ¡°It didn¡¯t effect me.¡± Tyrna hadn¡¯t felt anything. No part of her was touched. If she had to- If she had to, she¡¯d make this journey alone. ¡°Nor me.¡± Draig declared, from behind her. ¡°I waited up, and nothing seemed to happen.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± The bard said, running her fingers through her hair. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ I¡¯m alright.¡± ¡°Then it¡¯s settled.¡± The old man drew a sparkstone from his pockets, and lit a clay pipe, the light sputtering in the dark stairwell. A long draw, a long sigh. ¡°The three of us.¡± She gripped the alchemist by the shoulders, laying down Henri across the stairs. There was little to no life left in the man¡¯s face. Diamond-droplets of sweat ran down his cheek, brushing over bloodless, pale skin. His lips trembled, speaking silently. ¡°Try to help him.¡± ¡°I will.¡± The young alchemist promised, drawing a pot of foul-smelling green paste from his pocket. ¡°I¡¯ll keep an eye on them.¡± Caiorre said, grinning weakly as he leaned against the wall. His legs trembled. The truth was, he could hardly lift his blade. ¡°I¡¯ll go.¡± She was surprised to hear Mhurr speak. He sat with his legs out across the stair, touching his own face - feeling the scars that had blinded him. ¡°I¡¯ll go.¡± He repeated, turning his head this way and that, trying to find someone to answer him. ¡°You can¡¯t.¡± She put bluntly. ¡°You¡¯ll need a mage.¡± He insisted. She¡¯d heard that tone before. Some people would rather die than break, and he was on the verge of breaking. If the mage went back now, with his scars and his pains and no glory to show for it - if he surrendered - Mhurr would be broken. Silently, she reached down and clasped his hand, pulling him to his feet. Some fools had more determination than sense. She should know; she was one herself. The four of them, then. Against a whole new world of terrors. 2.33 Mutual Annihilation ¡°I don¡¯t have any arrows left.¡± Tyrna should have prepared more, should have set out for a war and not a hunt. A few more arrows, healing balms, there was so much she could have brought, if she had known. ¡°Do you have anything made of wood? Anything you can spare?¡± Mhurr asked. Draig hummed and hawed for a moment, before reluctantly handing over his staff. ¡°Here.¡± The mage fumbled his spellwork on the first try, golden letters sparking and falling apart as he wove them around his hands. The next attempt held, the runic designs collapsing together into a rotating wheel, and as she watched the wooden stave began to writhe like a snake, slowly breaking apart into a dozen wooden arrows. Most of them were warped or bent, but one was perfect. She took it, split the end with her knife, and threaded in the feather she¡¯d taken from the terror birds above. One arrow. One shot. Ahead of them, the darkness was a solid thing, a sea of ink. Strange movements at the corners of her eyes threatened to come rushing out, but never did. Phantasmal serpents writhed in that dark. The scuttling of spiders was suggested by black forms that dissolved as Draig stepped forward with the lantern, shooing the murk away. Grey fields, and white trees. The old man sent a ghostly rabbit forward, searching the way for traps, and soon enough it found one- There was a pitfall hidden beneath the endless flower fields. It looked as if the blossoms had devoured the rabbit, opening up to swallow it whole; it was gone. They circled around, the bard drawing a long, thin rapier from her side to test the earth. They found a glass bridge, the light of the lantern smearing across its pale surface. It was a beautiful span of soft green, numerous columns descending from the arch like the dripping of a half-melted candle, a welcome sight in the colorless expanse of the flowers. Their footsteps rang as they crossed. Ahead, the earth was littered with boulders that shifted slightly, that couldn¡¯t quite hide their breathing. The group edged away, skirting the lurking monsters. Flowers brushed at Tyrna¡¯s legs constantly. She took one step forward - - and there were butterflies. They burst up from below, filling the air in a fluttering spiral, their wings aglow, beautiful, scaled in colors of luminous purple and midnight blue, eerie beetle-green and palest white, scatterings of dark rainbow filling the blackness that had become so oppressive. The lights flickered and played, swooped and turned, wings open and closing as the butterflies sailed gently around her and Tyrna stood, hypnotized, unable to move, to even think of moving. ¡°Tyrna?¡± Mhurr pulled on her arm, and she stepped back suddenly. It was that one little step that saved her life. A long, pale spike of bone slammed through the earth where she had been standing, spearing a butterfly in half. She looked in horror at the colorful wings twitching their last. That could have been her. Somewhere out there, in the gloom that swum with phantoms, there was a real enemy. An archer. As she watched, the silk thread trailing behind the harpoon pulled taut. The spear¡¯s barbed head ripped free of the dark earth and the weapon slid away into the shadows. ¡°Draig!¡± Her voice was shocking in the silence - until then, the loudest noise had been her breathing, lifting and falling in ragged gasps as the closeness of her brush with death made her whole body tremble. ¡°Take Mhurr. I have something to do.¡± Thrusting the blind man into her comrade¡¯s arms, she let them go ahead. Alone, surrounded by the spectres of spiders and serpents, Tyrna stood in absolute stillness, listening, waiting. The Dungeon¡¯s attention was turned to her, its malevolence present like a great eye bearing down. She could hear - she could hear it speaking. KILL HER. She could feel the force of its hatred for her, a paranoid need to see her destroyed. Coming boiling up through the earth, bitterly present in the air, making the phantoms in the dark dance and leer. NOW. ¡°Now.¡± She whispered, and felt the Dungeon¡¯s shock as she stepped aside. A bone harpoon pierced through the darkness, impaling the ground where she had stood. Her arrow lifted to match the arc of the silk line trailing behind the spear. Tyrna let the shot fly, and saw a shuddering jerk run through the silk line as her arrow struck its mark on the other end. This time, the harpoon wasn¡¯t pulled back. No living being remained on the other end of that thread. Taking the knife from her boot, she sawed through the silk and lifted the harpoon, brandishing it like a spear as she hurried to catch up to her companions. Trying to catch up to that bobbing, swaying blot of lantern light. Ahead, a clear, crystalline note rang out as they stepped foot on the bridge. All around her, the boulders shuddered and came to life, rising up eight-legged and terrible. Tyrna ran faster, something sharp ripping across her legs; she turned back and saw blood on the flowers where they brushed her. She didn¡¯t look down. It was better not to know. Ahead, her companions were running, trying to clear the bridge as living stones rushed to block them; they ran desperately, Mhurr stumbling and clinging onto Draig¡¯s hand as they tried to get off the narrow bridge before they were trapped aboard it. They made it, just, a stone leg crashing down inches from Draig. She had no such luxury. By the time she reached the bridge, the far end was already blockaded. With her heart beating hard in her chest, drumming out the seconds she had left to live, Tyrna leapt onto the bridge¡¯s balustrades and jumped again, aiming to clear the hidden gap beneath. And she missed. Just. The toe of Tyrna¡¯s boots scraped the earth, but it crumbled away, and her foot plunged down, her body tearing through the flowers into the dark below¡­ She caught the earth with her fingernails, clawing, fighting to stay, to not go tumbling into the waiting abyss. The bone spear fell, and she dragged her way up, panting, her body starting to numb to adrenaline after what felt like years of being poisoned by the stuff, spending every moment on the border of life and death. Her muscles were stiff, cramping. If this didn¡¯t end soon, she would. She would curl up and die of exhaustion. Or she would simply make a mistake, one mistake- Shaking her head, fighting it clear of the confusion and sour thoughts, Tyrna rushed on. Chasing her comrades, looking for the next bridge, the next island, the next challenge. When she found them- When she reached the two of them- There were only two. ¡°Mhurr?¡± She asked, and Draig, the bard girl, both stared at her with sad eyes. ¡°Gone.¡± They moved together over the glass bridge, lantern held high. In the darkness, a vast form shifted. It was draconic, an enormous, rock-scaled lizard. Dry, dark dirt formed its underbelly, the cracks between its craggy armor. Tusks of flint extended from its mouth, jagged spines of obsidian following the ridge of its spine. It shifted, and metal clanked. Huge chains attached it to two enormous trees. ¡°On three, we run.¡± They were past the point of fighting, but if they ran, one of them might make it. They were close. She could feel fear in her enemy¡¯s heart. The presence of the Dungeon that had followed her to this point, the way she sense its moods and thoughts rippling through the air, they were all tinged with panic. This-Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. This was the final hurdle. ¡°No, no. It¡¯s an elemental. I can do this. I can bind it.¡± The bard said, holding up her hand. ¡°You two go. I¡¯ll be safe.¡± She lifted her violin to her chin, turning the strings. As she stepped forward the goliath lizard shifted, reaching for her with a tremendous paw, and then- Then she began to play. It was beautiful. I came to realize I had never really heard music before. I had seen the worst these humans were capable of, but still, still I could recognize the beauty in that music. The rosined bow drew rich, stirring noises from the strings, straining long notes that dove and rose and stirred fiery thoughts as her fingers nimbly moved across the pegs, tuning. And then she really began to play, and a phantom wind surrounded her, sweeping the flowers to sway their heads and bounce, a mock-dance to the burning, weeping sounds that filled the air. The claws of the earth-lizard paused, half-curled around her body. The creature lifted its head towards the air, seeing something I could not, lost in some fantasy. It swayed slightly, insensate to the two adventurers creeping past. The song was old. I knew that much just from hearing it, from feeling the resonation in the air in tune with the saw of her bow across the violin. In the background, ghostly instruments joined, echoes of past performances. There was a history soaked in tears to this song. It was then I noticed Break-Song, creeping towards her, his flute clutched in his hand. Maybe it was purposeful sabotage. Maybe he simply wanted to join that wonderful song. Either way, he lifted his pipe to his lips and played a single, discordant note. And the spell was broken. NO! I tried to stop the lizard, but it was too late. The claws crushed her and the violin. They squeezed until her form vanished beneath the stone talons and blood dripped out. With a violent snarl, the earth-lizard turned, lashing its tail out towards the two who were running now, fleeing full-tilt. The motion ripped the flowers from the earth and sprayed clods of black dirt in all direction. They were coming for me. They were climbing the walls, climbing up the engraving of the vast tree, towards the open mouth of the enormous face with its wild hair and staring eyes. And in one of those eyes, a cold green gem glimmered. Me. They were so damn close. Argent and Aurum stood together, ready to fight. Ready to defend me to the bitter last. The serpent rose towards the ceiling, his green-gold scales glimmering, his scythe-like mantis claws ripping the air with twitching readiness for blood. Aurum was a gleam of moonlight, holding the Mane Dagger in her jaws. They climbed over the lip, bloodied and exhausted, their eyes inscrutable. Exhaustion and hope, desperation, anger. All those things and something more. Something human, that I¡¯d never glimpsed in any of my creatures. This girl - she almost seemed to be able to read my thoughts. I wanted to believe in Aurum. I wanted him to crush the life out of them. But I was afraid of losing him. I was afraid of these two, who¡¯d overcome every challenge, one way or the other. Aurum was strong, but mortal. One slip up - one perfect shot through the eye - and he would fall like Cabochon had fallen. Argent stepped forward, laying the dagger before them. We stood on the brink of mutual annihilation. It was time to bargain. Tyrna didn¡¯t have the will to fight the old man. She saw the greed in him, the gleeful want, and it was stronger than any emotion she could muster. What she had left was spite, burning in the pit of her stomach. Spite that told her to bet it all, to fight the vast serpent that stood before her - to live or die uncompromising. ¡°We have to bargain.¡± Draig said, grasping her shoulder. But that wasn¡¯t true, was it? He wanted to bargain. He wanted power and riches, wanted what the Dungeon had to offer. She wanted to reclaim the lives it had taken. She wanted vengeance. ¡°No, we have to-¡± He slapped her. The pain stung, but not as bad as his words. ¡°What about Henri, hmm? What about Caiorre? Injured, too weak to fight, no way back. What about me, hmm? Save your moral crusade for when you¡¯re alone.¡± She had no response. She sat, knelt, on the cold stone as he stepped nervously into the great snake¡¯s shadow, lifted the blade, and cut himself. The rat seized the dagger in her jaws, and scuttled past Tyrna, climbing the walls. So that was where the core was hiding. Tyrna thought. And someday, someday she promised she was put that knowledge to use. But for today - for the sake of the others - she would bargain. You will let us go, peacefully and without harm. YOU SHALL NOT HARM ME OR MY CREATURES ON YOUR WAY. You will grant me Attunement- IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR BOOK- Your most powerful Attunement. AND THE GIRL- She will also be Attuned, in exchange for that bow of hers. For once I found myself outmatched. A sea of ghosts surrounded the old man, and their wills armored his, reinforced his words. He had the force of a stampede behind every clause. My comrades will be healed and attuned, of course- IF THEY MEET MY TERMS- Those being? SERVE ME FOR SIX MONTHS. During which you cannot harm them, or force them to come to harm. DONE. Done. The contract space broke apart, and I felt the pull, the drain, on my strength, spiraling into them. The old man leaned in to whisper to his comrade, and she reluctantly, slowly laid down her bow. I didn¡¯t hear what was said, in my weakened state. But I knew what I would say. TELL YOUR COMRADE THE SWORDSMAN HE WAS POISONED. HE DOES NOT HAVE LONG TO LIVE. I spelled the words in purest Mana-fire, blazing before them. The woman¡¯s face turned pale and her fist clenched. ¡°Of course, of course.¡± The old man bobbed his head, grinning like a fool. He had gotten everything he ever dreamed of, and clearly, his comrade¡¯s plight didn¡¯t bother him much. But this would. One prize I had won from Overflow remained unused- a crown that allowed me to demand a single truthful answer. DID YOU LEAVE YOUR BLIND COMPANION TO DIE? ¡°I-¡± He opened his mouth and found he couldn¡¯t lie. Against his will, compelled, his mouth formed the words. ¡°I did.¡± And then, released, he began to babble. To try to save himself. ¡°It was the only way! Those spiders would have, would have killed us, I had to, had to make a distraction!¡± He turned to the huntress with fear in his eyes, and she met him with a furious, broken howl; lunging up, she tackled him to the floor. Her fists came raining down across his face as he tried to shield himself, screamed, tried to bargain, tried to beg. Nothing saved him. She bent over him like a wildcat bends over its prey to rip the throat out. She dug her fingers like claws into his scrawny neck. She held him until the life was gone, his eyes bugging out, his tongue sticking past his teeth. A ludicrous deathmask. His legs kicked under her and went still. And she was left panting, exhausted, crying. I had the last word. GO. Henri was conscious when she returned. Her dull expression gave nothing away; they never even asked how Draig or the others had died. But she knew she had killed them all. ¡°Six months. Serve the Dungeon for six months and it will heal your wounds, Attune you. You should take the offer.¡± She gave them the excuse, with that final line. Gave them her blessing not to be seen as weak for accepting. They deserved to walk away having won something. ¡°Not me, no. I have my own arrangements up in the light.¡± Caiorre was the first to speak, letting his bravado wash over the grim scene. Blood ran from the wound in his gut and his face seemed more lined than it had in the light of the Nameless Cafe. ¡°Caiorre- it said you were poisoned. That you¡¯re going to die soon.¡± His expression darkened for a minute. He blinked once, twice, and lifted his hand to touch his face. Then that old, cocky bastard she knew asserted himself. He found it in him to grin. ¡°Then I definitely can¡¯t be wasting six months in this hole.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t either. I came down here to- to help people, as stupid as that sounds now. I thought I could concoct new cures. Make the world a little better. I won¡¯t turn back now, and I¡¯m certainly not going to, going to kill anyone on the Dungeon¡¯s behalf.¡± The alchemist was next to speak. ¡°I-¡± Henri was awake. He lay on the steps, drenched from head to toe in his own blood, Nathaniel¡¯s bandages and ointments doing their best to stem the flow from his many wound. ¡°I¡¯m going to lose the arm, aren¡¯t I? If I don¡¯t take this deal. I¡¯m going to-¡± His throat sealed with a dense, wet hiccup of noise, and it wasn¡¯t for a long second before he could speak. ¡°I think I have to.¡± Was all he said. ¡°No shame in that, lad.¡± Caiorre reached out, taking his hand. Nathanial clasped the other, a smile on his face as he shook it. ¡°None at all. I can¡¯t image what you¡¯ll see, down here.¡± Tyrna said nothing. She was overcome. Somehow, in one day, these three had become the closest friends she¡¯d ever known. And now they were going their separate ways. It seemed impossible to her that they were leaving. Some part of her would always remain here, in the dark, in the terrified and desperate struggle. Petrified in that eternal moment. It would be the part of her that dreamed, that clutched her mind in darkened hours. She would be returning the next time she lay her head on a pillow, and the next. But maybe some good would come, too. Maybe Nathaniel would help people. Maybe Caiorre¡¯s final days would be glorious. Maybe Henri would teach the Dungeon something, in his long stay beneath the earth. Maybe. Epilogue .1 Dwaim was not a terribly good apprentice. He did the menial bits best, the scrubbing up of the workshop and the polishing of the tools. The other apprentices seemed to loathe the work, but Dwaim relished it, watching the tools slough away their rust and shine until they reflected his face. At handling the cooking and cleaning, nobody could hold a candle to Dwaim. His stew was the king of stews, and sometimes there was even real meat in there - he was good at rat-catching too. It was the bit where he was supposed to be learning smithery where Dwaim lagged behind. His fingers were crude, clumsy things when it came to feeling the subtle give of the metal under the tower, his ears were deaf to the ring of a blade tempered just enough. He could name you every technical aspect of blacksmithing and still, and yet, and always, he failed; knowledge never translated into skill, practice never gave way to mastery, his soul never sung in the heat of the forge; he just sweated and cursed and wanted to go home. And go home he would, if he didn¡¯t learn soon. The master looked at him with disappointed eyes. There had been a quiet moment, when he was pulled away from the others and, with a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, asked if this was ¡®really what he wanted to do¡¯. Dwaim didn¡¯t know. He had always been a cloud-head, a dreamer. Dwarves had only the one use for creative types. Send them off to the forge. His parents had paid good money to have him apprenticed among the best, scrimped and saved for a pair of boots that wouldn¡¯t embarrass him among the boys of the minor nobility, put their hopes on him. Damn stupid thing to do. He had just stood there, stock still, a statue made out of flesh. The master smith had sighed, taken the hand off his shoulder, and told him, ¡°Run along then.¡± The next time he¡¯d been taken aside, the message had been more clear. ¡°Make something, Dwaim. Yer a¡­ a clever lad, with an interesting mind. I like you. You¡¯ve got a life ahead of you, but I¡¯ve got to-¡± Here he paused, punching Dwaim in the shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ve got ta see you show something, anything, worth speaking of. Can¡¯t have people saying I put out bad work, not for swords nor apprentices.¡± And now Dwaim was in the pits of misery. His plan had been simple. Make a ring. A simple enough thing, a ring. You take the metal, you make sure its got a hole in the middle, and there you are. But he¡¯d underestimated how hard the fiddly work of setting the gems would be. He¡¯d chosen rich, yellow garnets, planning to set them in a flowering shape. But the twisty little wires foiled him at every turn. His fingers were marked with numerous little cuts, having to pause to wipe the metal clean as the blood smeared, and accidentally twisting this bit or that out of alignment in the process. Damn. Damn damn damn. Deep into the night, he labored over his workstation, fumbling and fussing and cursing as his tools nicked at his fingers. Under blood and bandages they were more leaden and useless than ever. Desperation made him shake. The silver and the iron slipped free of his grasp, bouncing across the table, down to the floor. He gave up and put his head down, howled in anger and frustration. His hands clawed through his hair. After a long pause, with a sigh, he got to his knees and started the search, lifting a candle from the bench. The flickering light illuminated the underside of the worktable.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. A tiny clay man was picking up the spilled gems. It froze as it saw his face, giant by comparison, looming above it. Dwaim was bent sideways, one ear to the ground. His jaw dropped open. The little man of clay dropped the contents of its arms, jewels spilling against the floor as it turned and ran. Lifting his head - bumping it against the tabletop and cursing - Dwaim saw a shadow scuttling up one of the tall wooden beams that supported the roof, up towards the rafters. ¡°No, wait!¡± He called out, voice echoing in the empty workshop. Nothing replied. ¡°Little ancestor, please come down. I didn¡¯t mean to disturb you¡­ I could use your help.¡± He had heard the stories, although never believed them. Statues come to life in an hour of need. The spirits of ancestors possessing their likenesses to guide the younger generations. Well, if now wasn¡¯t his hour of need, what was? He waited. Gathering up the spilled yellow garnets, which glinted like bits of sun in the light of his candle, he set them on the bench and bowed. Nothing. He stepped back, turning his head - and then snapped back around, waiting to see a shadow climbing down. He had never heard of the ancestor spirits being shy. Still nothing. Letting out a weary sigh, consigned to the idea that he had seen a rat and imagined, in his desperation, that he was looking at a spirit, Dwaim hiccuped with something between laughter and tears. That would be just like him, wouldn¡¯t it? Pleading to a rat to help him? He settled into the great chair where the master sat watching his apprentices. Dwaim was more tired than he realized, and while he had only meant to rest his eyes, to let himself relax for a moment and steady his hands, although he hadn¡¯t intended to¡­ He slept, deeply and soundly. In his dreams, tiny hammers rung, the rhythm forming the beat of a song so familiar it sounded like home, tasted of his mother¡¯s rat-stew, filled the dream-space with visions of childhood... ¡°Hey!¡± ¡°Get your ass up before the master sees you there, lack-skull.¡± ¡°Dwaim¡­¡± He was roused from his sleep by a sea of voices, by hands catching him and hauling him from the masters chair. He stumbled onto his feet, blinking his eyes, smacking his lips, trying to work himself awake. A hand kindly swatted him on the back of his head to help him wake up. ¡°Dwaim.¡± It was the oldest of the apprentices, Marcer, speaking. He was hunched over Dwaim¡¯s worktable. Something in his tone was odd, drawing them all, one by one, to come see what he was looking at. It was the most beautiful ring Dwaim had ever seen. The exterior was rough, dull, made of black crude metal. It was a braided geometric ring, assembled from long diamond-shaped segments of black iron that fitted one to the next so cleverly that, although none of them curved in the least, they folded into a perfect circle. Here and there a segment was missing, allowing a glimpse inside, past the dark exterior to where numerous little wires of filigree silver ran twisted together, forming a thin vine with delicate little leaves. It glinted beneath the hard surface, a treasure within. And at the front of the ring, the two halves combined. The black diamonds were arranged to form the petals of a flower, and the silver vines came bursting out from the center, the pistil and stamen of a jeweled flower, each little twisting shoot tipped by a tear-cut of yellow garnet, like a droplet of the sun¡¯s golden flames. At the center sat a circular eye of yellow, the flower¡¯s heart. Dwaim barely dared to breath, in case the ring blew away like dust, a delusion of his fevered mind. ¡°Dwaim, did you make this?¡± Marcer repeated. ¡°It came to me in a dream.¡± He choked out, with tears in his eyes. Update So. Between my plans to continue this series, and now. There was a year. It was called 2020. It was a lot! During that time, I spent a lot of time thinking about my plans for TD - and man a lot of my original ideas for the sequel were, uh, outright bad, like embarassingly, weirdly bad, the stuff you look back and go ''sheesh'' - and I eventually settled into something I liked. Something that would address some of the problems with Thieves, and let me build on what worked.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Over time this expanded into a novel of its own. It''s not a direct sequel per se, but it expands on the universe and builds the mythology, and will, eventually, connect to Caltern and the Thieves Dungeon. ( It also contains my usual quota of commas per page, twice the daily recommended dose. ) So if you liked my work, I''d invite you to follow OASIS CORE. I know for some of you this won''t be the announcement you wanted, and I''m genuinely sorry for that.