image [https://i.imgur.com/xcQhW8Y.jpg]
I glanced over to where the so-called treasure chest was supposed to be, only to feel a surge of dread when it wasn’t there.
I really hate that mimic!
Then, the werewolf—or whatever the hell it was—turned and started hobbling away. A twinge of excitement sparked within me as thoughts of the mimic evaporated, replaced by visions of devouring everyone present. However, the realization of the complications with the dungeon core quickly dampened my spirits. My shoulders slumped as I followed the fleabag. I almost hesitated, mentally debating whether to wait for my future snack to catch up.
Nah, he’s fine. I’m sure I’ll eat him later—I mean, find him.
Yeah—YEAH, I’ll definitely find him later.
I was honestly shocked I got away with killing one of their own. They shrugged it off like it was just another Tuesday. Apparently, sticking to their so-called rules—whatever those might be—means smooth sailing—no fuss, no muss. This really got me thinking about how much I could bend these rules before hitting a snag. And considering Wartie’s casual comeback from the dead, it seems they’re not exactly uptight about the whole death thing.
“Welcome to Ockpool,” the old werewolf finally said, his gaze fixed on me as he hobbled through a shattered gate leading into what could have once been a wondrous city.
I’m not exaggerating when I say it looked as though a hurricane had ripped through the place, only after a nuke had gone off—twice! The area was a pitiful sight. It was clear it had once been glorious, much like Pompeii, if you could discern any grandeur from the ruins that remained. Now, it was reduced to a desolate wasteland of despair and destruction. No, I’m not kidding. Ever seen those photos of the widespread destruction across Europe after World War II? Imagine that level of devastation—well, minus France. I surrender, wee wee wee!
Ugh, I need to rein in my thoughts. This kind of rant might just attract some flak. Honestly, I’d hate to have to surrender my snark and do something outlandish, like apologize.
Who does that help, really? No, never apologize—unless it’s dripping with sarcasm—and always double down... with even more sarcasm. Bwahahaha!
Hmm… why does the idea of a baguette and a French girl sound like so much fun right now?
As I strolled through the streets cluttered with rubble and debris, my mind wandered all over the place, mostly indulging in something as rich and tantalizing as smelly Brie—perhaps reminiscent of an evening with a French girl?
I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. The few buildings still standing looked as if they might collapse at any moment, and the few denizens I encountered, more akin to roaming monsters, appeared weak and feeble. It almost made me pity them, but that sentiment quickly dissipated.
These losers weren’t even worth killing—not while the system wouldn’t dish out any rewards for it. It felt like being stuck in limbo, surrounded by weaklings who couldn’t muster a decent fight—like the French! Okay, I get it, I’ve milked that joke dry. Maybe I need a new target. Australia? Nah, they’re basically crazier Floridians—and I like crazy!
Crikey!
To make matters worse, the absence of a notification after killing Gaping left a shitty taste in my mouth—a serious, loose disappointment. Realizing I had wasted my time pounding, Gaping to death was almost as sickening as the vile taste I secretly savored—not that I’d publicly admit to relishing eating ass—wait, where was I going with this?
If this place was merely a graveyard of feeble monsters offering no rewards, I needed to find that dungeon core, and fast.
As we continued walking, I could feel my internal bitchiness stirring.
Blake, are you really upset that you lost your reason for committing a massacre?
No! I’m upset that there’s no point in a massacre right now—it would be such a waste while the dungeon is down.
Yeah, wait now, kill later—
Ugh! I really should see a therapist.
Maybe Aurelia will let you—I mean, me—crawl into her lap and vent once I’ve dealt with all of this?
Despite my sorrow at losing what could have been a plentiful source of skills, I slunk behind this… Warchief. My movements became more natural and fluid as I navigated the rubble and cobblestones. With every step, his walking cane clinked against the ground, emitting an aura of power that flashed in an array of colors, sparking both intrigue and unease within me. It seemed that either no one else could see the mana as I could, or they were accustomed to it. Watching it was like observing heat waves distort the air around hot asphalt in summer, only with vibrant puffs of colors.
“My apologies for our current state,” the fleabag of a Warchief said. “We’ve had a few unfortunate encounters with Slaethians recently. Since our dungeon core was stolen, we’ve been unable to rebuild.”
Who are these Slaethians?
Hmm… If I keep the core after I steal it back, could I use it to build my own dungeon for farming skills and levels?
“The idea of stealing a dungeon core is a revolting, blasphemous deed, and I pray the old gods will smite those responsible,” he continued.
Was he reading my mind?
“Still, I can’t imagine what vile nation would commit such an act. The ascended have no respect for the balance and order of any of the Moons of Völuspá. They simply take and murder anyone who opposes their ways as they please,” the werewolf paused, glancing back at me with a sheepish look. “Oh, I did not mean to vent. Forgive this old warg. It only pains me to see what our enemies have done to my fellow dungeon denizens.”
Okay, that’s a lot to unpack.
What’s a warg?
Did he say ascended? And did he just mention the Moons of Völuspá?
I really am on a moon—aren’t I? That’s so cool!
I need to get to the surface and see this for myself.
As my thoughts ran rampant once again, I found myself entering what could only be described as the central plaza, now a makeshift gathering pit. It was a chaotic mess of bricks, stones, and rubble piled up to form a seating area. The old werewolf—warg-thingy—settled into a particularly cozy-looking stone, his cane clinking as he shifted his weight. Around him gathered an array of humanoid monsters: orcs, trolls, goblins, lizard denizens, I think a tiefling, and several others I couldn’t even begin to classify—two looked like giant cockatoos with thumbs. Each one took their seat, eyeing me warily, but I didn’t care. My surprise grew when I noticed two humans in the mix, or at least they appeared human—for all I knew, they could be body-snatching parasites.
I was more than ready for what I assumed to be an interrogation as I found a cozy rock of my own to sit upon.
“Not there,” the old warg called out, pointing to the center of the circle for me to stand.
The Warchief’s gaze bore into me, analyzing my every move as I huffed my way to the center of the pit. I could feel his thoughts forming some kind of twisted conclusion. Yet, I remained stoic, my head held high as I felt some loose tendrils on my body twitching.
“Boy,” the warg addressed the goblin. “Explain your encounter with the Slaethians. I didn’t have a chance to speak to you before the raid,” his tone was questioning and suspicious.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
There he goes again about these Slaethians.
“Yes. Yes! Muddy, my pet. He protected me,” Wartie blurted out defensively.
“I don’t know what the fuck his little lying ass is talking about.” All eyes snapped to me as I crossed my arms. “I’m just pissed I can’t kill all of your dumbasses for any fucking skills with that goddamn dungeon core missing. Seriously, I don’t even know who the fuck these Sluttians are. The only other dickwads I’ve seen with that little green shit stain were the other candidates or user-whatevers that the fucking bloodsuckers tossed down this shithole before me.”
A long silence dragged on until I realized something. “Wait, did I just say that out loud?” My eyes widened. “Holy shit, I fucking did! I motherfucking did say it aloud! Ha! Holy shit!” I smiled as my profanity flowed out of me like a bursting goddamn dam.
Don’t judge me! I’ve got a lot of swearing to make up for.
Surprised by my new method of speech, I reached up with semi-normal-looking hands toward my face, astonished at what I felt. I hadn’t really taken in my appearance since giving it to Gaping. All I had noticed until now was the absence of a mushroom top. And let me tell you, as a girl, I hated having a mushroom top—wait, no, that’s called a muffin top. My bad.
Ugh, I keep getting sidetracked with my own narrative.
As I patted my face, I felt normal—well, as normal as you might expect for someone made out of goo and wiggling tendrils. But I had great fake bone structure, as far as I could tell with little experience assessing faces by touch. I pulled my hand back and formed an eyeball within it with amazing ease and control. Closing my two eyes, I opened my newly formed eye within my palm and took a good look at myself. I even gave myself that little Japanese schoolgirl pose with the peace sign out—you know which one.
Anyhow, I wouldn’t say I was cute by any means… No. Not by any means whatsoever. Have you ever watched Nightmare Before Christmas? Remember the moment Oogie Boogie lost his skin, and you saw all the twitching and wiggling bugs? Yeah, now imagine that, but all oily jet black and on a skinny old hag bod with missing dentures.
Well, at least I don’t have a muffin top.
I pulled my third eye back in and glanced around at the gathering of fantasy monster people who just gazed at me as if stupefied by my words and actions. I couldn’t help it; I needed a good burst of expletives after being silenced for so long. I wasn’t a good girl or anything—I was a vile, vulgar goth chick, and I’d be damned if this reality didn’t hear me roar with some motherfucking swear words!
“Hmm… I wonder if that Hopeless Crusader title helped boost all my insight, and that’s why I can suddenly speak?” I grumbled quietly to myself as I tapped my lower lip, ignoring the hushed whispers and gasps as the gathering started murmuring, which quickly picked up in tempo until it was a loud ruckus of yelling and shouting. Apparently, mentioning something about being upset over not being able to kill all of them for skills was no-bueno.
“Silence!” the Warchief bellowed, which sounded rather funny with his voice. I mean, he sort of sounded like Mike Tyson, now that I thought about it. “Let it be known that no one in Ockpool shall lay a hand on the user,” he declared, his gaze shifting all around the gathering. “Wartie, if what the user said is true—”
“Blake,” I corrected.
“Um, yes. If what Blake said is to be believed, you have much explaining to do, young goblin.”
I took a peek to my side to find the goblin snack. Wartie nodded as he clutched his pet slime tightly to himself, trying to hide a sob as he stared down at his feet.
“Y-yes, C-Chief. I-I may be—have mistaken. But die me and Doodles did,” Wartie stammered before adding, “What’s a user?” he asked, glancing up at me with a single raised eyebrow while keeping his face pointed down.
“Kill the slaver! Free me! Or just kill me! Please! End my four-decade-long suffering!” Doodles cried out, but it appeared I was yet again the only one who could hear the slime cube’s pleas.
The warg took a deep breath, seeming to debate whether to lecture the goblin beside me or not. After a long moment, he moved on, deciding it was best to answer the goblin’s question. As for me? I was hung up on the four-decade-long remark from the slime, realizing that the goblin wasn’t a child, just an idiot—I would have used the hard R-word, but even I have my limits.
Ah, who am I kidding? No, I don’t.
He’s a fucking retard!
“A user, or rather, a system user, is an ancient and mostly forgotten form of attaining power, utilizing the system of reality to form magic and gain knowledge and power, much like how we attuned ourselves to the dungeon core,” he explained. “It is said it’s the very method the Ascended Gods used to gain their divinity. But enough of that sort of stuff,” he added. Only then did I notice all the rapt listeners who seemed to be interested in what he was saying, as if they were just learning about system users.
Huh, so I can become a goddess if I complete the quest.
Hmm… Options. Options. Become a Dark Champion or Ascend? Yeah, screw those candidates. I’m getting that fucking core!
“Warchief, you can’t be serious! That slimy abomination can’t possibly be on a path of ascension! We should just put it out of its misery. Black puddings are among the most unintelligent monsters. Their only usefulness is as waste and filth disposals,” a lizard man blurted out, his scaly skin rippling as he spoke.
I could feel my pudding body starting to boil with anger. “Who the fuck are you calling unintelligent?” I snapped back, feeling my right arm morph into a tentacle as I did. “I mean, I may not be a scholar or anything, but I’m pretty sure you’ll taste like chicken,” I added as the lizard took a staggered step back.
I really meant that; I was seriously wondering if lizard meat tasted like chicken.
Blake, stop it.
It’s not like I can take on all of them at once… can I?
The old warg let out a low growl and pinched the bridge of his muzzle as he spoke, silencing the lizard’s tirade. “Enough, Redtail! Well, Blake, clearly, you’ve got a sense of humor,” he chuckled as if I hadn’t meant what I had just said, which I totally did—lizard sounded delicious!
Maybe he was trying to play it off for me or something. You know, lessen the tension. “My apologies if Drake Redtail offended you. We don’t often get users down here—at least not since any of us migrated here after Nyxoria joined the Moons of Völuspá.”
“Nyxoria?” I muttered.
“Ah, yes. That’s the name of this moon, did you not know?” he replied, seeming rather confused as he stroked his long beard as if pondering something.
“I see,” I nodded before asking, “and what do you mean, Nyxoria joined the Moons of Völuspá?”
The beard stroking stopped as he stared at me.
“All of the known Moons of Völuspá aren’t from this reality. All of our home worlds were stolen, ripped to this reality overflowing with magic. How do you not know this?” he barely whispered that last part.
“Ah, where are my manners?” he quickly blurted out as if to change the subject. “I am Warchief Hensley of Ockpool, and all those within this decimated dungeon city are under my protection, as you may have already guessed. Now, to the matter at hand, user. My question is simple: will you retrieve the dungeon core and return it to us, user Blake?”
For you? Absolutely not!
“Sure,” I happily nodded.
I’ll be doing it for myself, or rather, for that fat-ass quest reward.
“Perfect,” Warchief Hensley clapped, capturing everyone’s attention, before the hushed whispering turned into another shouting match.
“Redtail, why don’t you escort our friend,” he suggested, his tone firm yet unmistakably somber. Though difficult to discern through his muzzle, I could swear the old warg’s expression darkened momentarily as he addressed the lizard.
“You can’t be serious,” Redtail hissed back, incredulity lacing his voice. “That abomination can’t possibly be a system user of legend. It must be some demonic trick!”
The chief’s response was a low growl. “Our friend here is indeed a user. There’s no trickery at play.”
“Umm, I hate to interrupt,” I really didn’t, “but do you have any more information about system users?”
The old warg shifted his glare from the lizard man to me, then resumed stroking his beard, seemingly pondering how to respond.
“Ah, Blake, you must be a newly acquired user. Are you, perhaps, a Champion?”
At his words, I noticed the gathering tensed, anger simmering in their stares directed at me.
I shrugged, “I’m supposedly a candidate to be some Crone’s Champion, though I never heard of her before,” I honestly stated. What was the worst they could do to me without their dungeon core? Turn into sloppy, pus-covered meat, like Gaping?
“I see,” the warg exhaled slowly, and everyone seemed to relax slightly. “Sadly, not much is known about system users other than they are tied to the Ascended Gods and their Champions. And that is about all that is known. They are a means to gain magic and power, and with all great power comes great challenges.”
“Wait, was that a parody of a Spider-Man quote?”
“What does that mean?” a voice squeaked from the still-growing crowd.
I turned towards the interruption’s source, spotting a spider-looking man among them.
“Never mind,” I shrugged at Spider-Man, unsure what to take from that awkward moment.
“If you’ll truly retrieve the dungeon core for us, user,” Warchief Hensley continued, smoothly bypassing the strange interruption, “then you should embark now. Regrettably, the fastest route is through the dungeon itself. Fortunately, most monsters have perished without the core’s influence, but the dungeon bosses might still lurk within their domains. If the Slaethian raiders didn’t take the same path, you’ll likely encounter them as you navigate towards the exit. As I have already mentioned, Redtail will guide you.”
“I have never agreed to this insanity,” Redtail bellowed.
I smiled at the thought of encountering a dungeon boss or three—how often does a girl get an escort out of the dungeon by a walking-snarky-chicken-dinner? My biggest grin came from the thought of all the levels and skills I could gain from the dungeon bosses. The admin note did say I could still get those from the bosses. My only hiccup was if the vampires interfered with my escape. Although, they might be too busy if that fiery cave-in was any indication.
“I hope Aurelia’s okay,” I mumbled. “I really want to see her again—after I’m a goddess!” I nodded to myself, a manic grin spreading across my face. “Yeah, I’m cool with that. Always gain the high ground in any relationship, I always say…” I frowned abruptly. “When has any of my relationships ever worked out? I don’t want to talk about it.”
My eyes darted around, catching all the staring gazes locked on me as I continued grumbling. “Fuck! I’m talking to myself again! Well, at least I didn’t say the chicken dinner part aloud…”
The murmurs around me intensified, but I just shrugged it off, the smile returning as quickly as it had faded. I hummed a little friendly neighborhood web-slinger tune, tapping my still-formed tentacle arm against my thigh—or ankle—in a rhythm only I could hear.
“So! When can… we... go…” My voice trailed off as I spotted a treasure chest with a purple, furry-looking dude perched on top of it. Though he didn’t much matter as I eyed that evil chest.
“I think it would be best to depart as soon as possible,” the warg stated, while my lizard—meals-on-tail—escort began hissing a string of slurs and curses.