Chapter 11
Betrayal
As each blob of concentrated mana splashed across my core, cold gripped my mind, a kind of biting wind that ripped all other feelings and awareness from my thoughts. Even my sight turned to pure darkness. This was an entirely alien and unwelcome feeling for me, and though I tried to break free, even the full dedication of my will was not enough to rend control back from this immutable pressure.
I feel an irresistible force drawing me towards the center of this emptiness. And at the center, a tiny pinprick of light eeks out from the oppressive shade.
The image reminds me of the tiny magical orb that comprises my own core. But this one is too different to be considered something beautiful. Unlike my core, which dazzles with light and is arranged in a carefully ordered lattice of lines, runes, and swirling orbs, this one is a monstrous sight.
The core is bubbling and flexing like a beating heart, and it’s barely holding together. As I stare into its depths, what I can see is almost complete darkness. The only slivers of light peeking out between the thick bands of shadow seem suffocated, barely alive.
The floating orb, shrouded in an abyss of pure darkness, beckons to me, its gravitational pull tugging at my very consciousness. Like the haunting aroma of blood for a predator, it captivates me. Submerging deeper into this throbbing nightmare, my senses are ensnared, pulled relentlessly in countless directions.
Every direction I look reveals a twisted, fresh horror. Something not quite human peers back at me each time, a ghost of a memory barely holding together. I can almost hear them calling to me—like a whisper in the wind—but like an image disappearing from the edge of my vision, they die out just as quickly.
Despite my expectation of these being some twisted forms of life, they’re much simpler. These were not the last remaining bits of sentience. These were primal howls of something much more bestial. The screams of torment that rushed to meet me were nothing more than the shreds of an echo, a moment trapped forever in eternal madness. Every shred was nothing more than a flicker of a life that had been snuffed out in some terrible arcane ritual.
Though each visage fades as soon as I pass through it, they remain trapped in the tide of undead spirits. That entrapment doesn’t stop them from being terrifying, though. The shifting tide of malice continues to tear at my mind. As I’m pulled deeper into the storm of consciousness, they look like one continual mass.
Each ashen pile of these tormented souls fuses into a singular mass. A mass that I wished I could burn from my mind. The face of my nightmares once again returned, this time coalesced of shadow and ash.
Gren…
His face crystalizes in my mind, dragging a mountain of repressed emotions and memories back to the surface.
The once-familiar corners of my mind now appear foreign and foreboding. Shadows danced and twisted, morphing into grotesque shapes that mocked my fragile grasp of reality. Their presence gnaws at my consciousness, unraveling the threads of my sanity with relentless fervor.
Every dark shade huddled in the corners of my mind, repressed by the passage of time, comes roaring back. Unlike last time, their claws dig deep. Madness devours my hold on the moment, its jaws unleashing incantations like blades of incomprehensible dark magics.
Every foul insult muttered from a drunken mouth. Every slap across my young face. They all sting just like I had always remembered them. Though I would have thought myself immune to such emotional torment in this new form, the process currently warping me and my dungeon proved me dead wrong.
In the midst of this maelstrom, I fight desperately to regain control. But the weight of the past, the accumulated weight of those repressed shadows, proves too overwhelming to dismiss. They claw their way to the surface, demanding acknowledgment, refusing to be silenced any longer.
Each slice carved at my memory, leaving behind only fragments of fractured memories. With each fragment torn away and dissolved into shadow, my resolve falters more and more. Each passing second pushes me deeper into the pit of sorrow and tears at my mind. The jaws and talons of the tormented dead tear into me, ripping my energy away like a carrion attacking a carcass.
Before long, I have nothing left to sacrifice to the altar of their hatred and hunger. I’m little more than a tiny, scared child, trapped in a glass prison where no one can hear him scream. As I beat against the walls of my mirrored prison, I watch each element of my dungeon twist and change. The once-familiar world around me blurs, as if the fabric of reality itself was being warped by the tendrils of some maleficent spell.
Each stone twisted and pulsed, seemingly ripped open like little more than weak flesh by a knife of pure shadow. My minions wailed silent screams, sundered by the tendrils of shade spreading through my once beautiful domain. The waters dripping down my walls turned brackish and stale, changing the once natural scent of my dungeon into something decrepit. Even my wonderful flowers heaved and burst amid the storm of energy, splattering foul ichor across everything in their path.
Each pulse of dark energy that rolled over my dungeon—a symphony of incantations that defied comprehension—poisoned my mind and my domain further, distorting them into twisted servants of the dark.
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With every passing moment, the dark magics grew stronger, their influence insidious and relentless. They whispered promises of escape, of surrendering to the madness that lured me in. But deep within, a flicker of resistance remained, a small ember of hope that refused to be extinguished. I clung to it, hoping it would see me through the darkness.
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Silence settled over the chaos for a beat before something new appeared. Out of the blackness slithered a glimpse of light, cutting its way through the shade like a burning blade.
Burning tendrils of magic flowed together like molten rock, pooling, and cooling amid a storm of ash. Each serpent of light and heat coiled together into an ever-growing mound of flesh and ash.
Chunks of rapidly cooling energy sloughed off the visage in masses, splashing into the grotesque pile once again. With each additional element, energy pulsed out in waves. The pulses bounced around the void, echoing into eternity.
The broken surface of its skin, now grey and cooled, resembled a freshly erupted volcano. Veins of red-hot magic snaked their way through the mass, cracking through to the surface only occasionally.
Amber eyes flickered to life at the center of the mass, followed by dozens more eyes, each one glinting a menacing violet. Eyes now set on a tiny glimmer of light: the whimpering dungeon core.
Now the face of terror finally spoke. The voice came out in a torrent of painful howls more than composed words, like they were being forcibly torn from a throat amid being ripped to shreds.
Consume…Consume…Consume…
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A crooked smile slithered across Bullin’s dark features as he watched the process happen.
The shade slithering over the now vulnerable core seemed to drip from his beady eyes as they drank in the pain and anguish enrapturing the dungeon’s consciousness. It was always so easy to manipulate people by being just a little friendly. Bullin took a sick satisfaction from doing the same thing to this naïve little dungeon.
For all his jovial exterior, Bullin remained a loyal servant of the dark, and a committed slave to the gods of terror and death. Useful tools those around him may be, he still had a job to do.
And this time, his job was to corrupt the dungeon, then farm it. The now dim gemstone in his hand had been the next step after he’d gained the dungeon’s trust.
He could feel the anger and turmoil rolling through the dungeon as a physical force, its mana reserves slowly being corrupted by the nature of death. The dungeon's once lively character would soon give way to a beaten and shackled beast resembling the Tombs of Varan'ta.
The minions were now twisted and corrupted by death mana, and Bullin could feel their magic in his very spirit. Their power made his heart sing with potential. The serpents slithering through the various chambers now had black, soulless eyes. Their bodies—once white and beautiful—were now cracked and oozing with pus. Every other minion within the dungeon had been mutated. Once brilliant blue water ran brown and stank like mold. Flowers that once shined with wonderful purple hues had shriveled to black husks.
With a flex of his massive hands, Bullin crushed the gemstone, letting the dust fall over the now-converted core. As the dust fell in a lazy spiral, the previously green and red core glowed a soft violet color. Latent Death Mana had overtaken every space within the dungeon, choking out all other sources of power.
The dungeon was ready, and Bullin was eager to exploit it.
His first task was to collect all the latent mana he could, and he set about doing just that. Runes flared to life across his armor and weapon, glowing bright enough to cut through the darkness now permeating the space. Wisps of deadly magic flowed effortlessly into the runes and his body alike, with his ravenous core feasting on the flow.
A pulse of magic interrupted his work, echoing from within a pouch on his belt. With a huff, the dwarf fished out a messaging stone and waited for the coming message. These message stones had been a helpful invention when Varren Ebonwood first brought them to the Tombs. Now they were a source of constant pestering for those trying to get things done, like Bullin.
Varren’s raspy voice came through the rune-carved stone, “Greetings Goldtooth, I suppose you are prepared for the scouting mission Ushan informed me of?“ she asked in her typical soft tone.
He uttered a swear in Dwarven under his breath before channeling mana into the stone to respond. “Yes, things are movin’ along just fine,“ he said, trying to sound calm and collected. He knew full well that her seemingly official manner of doing things always held some hidden meaning or goal. “I will need just a few more days to get things done on ma’ end.“
Her response came across like a dagger over a throat, sounding more like a threat than he’d ever heard her, “you have spent far too much time on this, the task should have been completed days ago…“ Her trailing off ended with a soft sigh, annoyance dripping from her words.
And just like that, the image in his mind of an army of minions and a mountain of loot, sourced from this nascent dungeon, disappeared. Varren would shatter those dreams like a rock through a mirror. He’d run out of time to do things as he liked.
His thoughts flickered to June for a beat, and the tasks she’d managed to complete over the last few weeks. Her incredible progress had been his entire motivation for doing things like this. Now, he’d have to be subservient to the plans of snakes like Varren.
“Send the scouting party once they’re ready,“ Bullin said, projecting a false air of authority.
“Excellent. Ushan just informed me they have completed their initial training. I eagerly await the outcome of their mission.” Her tone was cool and receptive, but everything in Bullin screamed that he was walking into a trap.
A sadistic smile slid across Bullin’s lips as he listened to Varren speak, a plan crystallizing in his mind.
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June clambered her way down a muddy incline, after trekking through the swamp for several hours. A message from Bullin had summoned her here, in his typically cryptic style. Annoyed as she was being covered in mud, the prospect of a new adventure made her mind spin with possibility.
Kotor clung to her armored shoulder for dear life, until they finally descended to solid ground, far beneath the swamp's surface. The pair stood alone in a stone chamber decidedly different from the Tombs they were used to. The walls, though not refined and covered in dramatic art, were definitely smooth. This wasn’t just some random hole in the ground.
As June and her Fire Imp companion moved through the dungeon, the true beauty of the space became apparent. Vines bulging with poisonous magic clung to every open section of the walls and ceilings, like a carpet of living death, they choked out all other forms of life.
Her core sang to the tune of the Death Mana soaking the place, eager to feed on the magical flows, and she was positively vibrating along with its tempting song.
The deeper into the dungeon the skeletal summoner ventured, the thicker the feeling became, though she only got into the second chamber before she found her mentor. And judging by the smile slathering his features, he was quite excited to see her.