Chapter 6: Divine Blessing

Date and Time Unknown

Dungeon Ciara

To my disappointment, the seagulls focused entirely on feeding. They took no interest in the cozy entrance to my brand-new Dungeon.

I watched the appetizing birds for a few minutes, but the empty feeling in my core grew more insistent with each additional species I spotted. Sea lions, pelicans, striped bass, and blue sharks also participated in the feeding frenzy just beyond the surf.

Out of my reach.

I longed to devour every single one of them.

But my inability to access the food on display made me hangry.

A pair of flying insects buzzed into my tunnel to rest upon its walls. Curious, I focused on them.

Ugh. Houseflies. Just what I always wanted. I complained to myself.

Although my hunger was monstrous, something about the flies’ presence felt dirty and unappetizing.

I turned my gaze away from the ocean. The nearby landscape could be described as an expansive landfill that had been torched. Sven was rather generous calling it a wasteland.

I doubted that anything still lived in the radioactive, ashen ruins of my former neighborhood. All life I saw was concentrated near, in, or above the ocean.

After some time, it became clear that nothing was interested in exploring my depths. Except for the flies.

Ugh.

Sullenly, I focused inward and compressed every bit of the stone that lined my small Dungeon. It didn’t help my hunger, but at least I was getting faster at working with stone and the feeling of accomplishment was cathartic.

All the while, more tiny insects filtered in to make themselves comfortable in and among the many crevices I’d made.

Around an hour after the sun sank beneath the waves, my first potential victim appeared.

An inquisitive field mouse ducked in through the entrance and scurried downward, stopping its furry brown body every half-meter to listen and sniff at the air. The mouse’s big eyes kept a wary vigil while its tiny whiskers twitched in rhythm with its white-tipped nose.

I tensed up, like a cat on the hunt. My spike trap lay ready to skewer the juicy little morsel at the first opportunity.

But the mouse weaved around the holes of my trap as it moved.

I had an epiphany just before the rodent turned to peer into one of the spike holes at last and just managed to restrain myself. let the little rodent live.

Mice are tiny. Small creatures provide very little mana, according to Sven. But they’re excellent for use as bait.

I resolved to avoid killing the rodent in favor of using its scent to draw in larger prey.

For the moment.

My hunger wasn’t easy to manage.

The mouse dashed back outside and disappeared from my sight.

Drat! I’ve been hoodwinked by my greed.

Embarrassment and loss raged inside me, fanning the flames of appetite and frustration.

Next time, I won’t hesitate.

The cheeky rodent returned a few minutes later with a mouthful of dried seaweed and avoided my spikes once again.

It ducked into one of the small side tunnels to dump its cargo on the floor.

[Hey! I’m not a garbage can,] I said.

Of course, there was no response.

[Have a look in one of those spike holes again, mouse. Feed me.]

Instead of running back through the trap, the mouse settled in to tug and tear at the seaweed with its long incisors. Time and again it removed thin strips and stuffed them into a corner.

I grinned when I understood what was happening.

It’s building a nest. I’ll have my bait after all. Okay, mouse… you get to live.

After the mouse fashioned a small bed, it dashed up to the beach and disappeared into the night.

I poked at the seaweed the way I did for stone and soil.

It moved.

I tried absorbing a bit of it and gained the ability to create seaweed.

Neat.

However, when I tried to make some, a deep, rich voice startled me.

Ah, that must be The Voice that Sven mentioned.

No seaweed for me. At least, not yet.

Upon its return, the mouse shat inside my entrance, and I reconsidered skewering him.

Mercifully, I didn’t taste or smell anything. Moreover, his tiny, oblong droppings disappeared a few seconds later. I breathed a mental sigh of relief that I still couldn’t taste a thing.

[You cheeky little Turd.] I frowned at him.

The name fit, so I resolved to continue referring to him as such.

The deep, authoritative Voice spoke clearly into my mind once again:

Something about The Voice was oddly nostalgic, but I couldn’t pin it down.

Minions: 0/100

Residents: 1/10

Denizens: 12

Traps: 1/5

A bit of mana was drained along with the message and my hunger grew deeper. The intensity of that emptiness became a black hole inside me, and I fretted.

Damn. Sven warned me that taking in residents would cost mana. I had no idea that process was so easy and informal. Better be careful. Still, if the mouse will listen to me…

By morning, my helpful little Turd had collected several dozen crustaceans and insects, killing them inside my entrance so that I could absorb them.

Among Turd’s harvest were numerous sand fleas, several crickets, two hermit crabs, and quite a few sand crabs.

Contrary to my expectations, their mana was delicious, if a little spicy. I especially liked the sand crabs, though I felt sad when the perky hermit crabs were munched to death by my industrious rodent. I regained enough mana to reach one-third of my capacity. The hunger inside eased, but I craved more.

Consuming things was faster and easier than I’d imagined. Once something had died inside my halls, if I thought about eating or absorbing it, the corpse would become transparent and melt into the stone, disappearing after several seconds.

I discovered by accident that I would auto-ingest any corpses that I hadn’t noticed, around half a minute after death—so long as they died inside my Dungeon.

At my request, Turd dealt with some houseflies. I offered some to him, and he greedily devoured several. Despite the delicious flavor of other creatures, a lifetime of associating houseflies with disease made me wish they’d just leave my Dungeon.

I focused elsewhere while Turd chewed, and rejoiced at the welcome distraction when The Voice chimed in.

After a brief look through the few minuscule creatures I had available, I saw no point in creating any minions just yet.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Good thing I kept you alive. I beamed at Turd, who raised his head and squeaked in reply.

By dawn, Turd had brought me several batches of seeds that he stuffed inside his elastic cheeks. I absorbed one of each type, gaining the capacity to plant many native grasses and shrubs. Turd munched on some of what remained, then disappeared into his cozy poofball of dried aquatic plant fibers.

He cleaned himself, then plopped down into a little fuzz-orb with his tail wrapped snugly around him.

I melted.

Cutest. Mouse. Ever.

At that moment, my hunger jolted my perception toward movement at the Dungeon’s entrance.

Two intense, unblinking yellow eyes with enormous pupils glared down into my abyss, while their owner sniffed silently at the air.

The spikes in my trap trembled with gluttonous anticipation.

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Sunday, March 26th, 1:12 PM

Wreckage of the Schimpf Home

Santa Cruz, California

Through the numbness that wracked him after discovering Anna’s bones wearing his old dog tags, Joe could scarcely feel the tears and snot that poured down his face as he clutched at the makeshift cross with every bit of strength he could muster.

Why her? Joe turned his blurry vision skyward. Please, I beg you. Take me and let Anna live instead.

He shut his eyes, sending another wave of tears down his face.

Joe had never been a religious man, but Anna was born Catholic.

If there is a greater power watching, then you already know that I’ll do anything. No matter the cost. I just need her to live. My wife… she was my life.

Met with only silence, Joe’s shoulders slumped as he stood, wavering on his feet before the final resting place of his only love.

He’d laid Anna’s small skeleton in her favorite raised garden, taking care to straighten all the bricks, just the way she would have wanted.

He’d suffered through the horrors of war, but this was the hardest thing Joe had ever faced.

The others were off burying the four Raiders near Sio’s basement. They’d left him alone at Mike’s urging after Anna’s remains were discovered, for which Joe was grateful.

Joe ran his fingers across the simple and careful inscription he’d made with his knife.

Anna Maria Schimpf

There was more—much more he wanted to write, but Joe was numb. His thoughts fled to painful memories.

She wanted to be a mother, but I convinced her to wait... Joe stared down at his empty hands in abject despair.

Joe steadied himself, clutching at her memorial.

What the—

A second wave of power washed over him. Another pulse of blue light shone like the sun from the same beach, just beyond the Harbor.

Twin Lakes? What’s going on down there?

Joe watched with a mix of wonder and despair, as a different set of symbols scrawled across every surface. Light shone from the carving he’d made and Joe felt something arise in his chest.

The feeling spread through his body, tingling like a glimmer of hope. Wild thoughts and ideas he wouldn’t typically consider raced through Joe’s mind.

With mysterious energy flowing through his entire being as he gazed upon his wife’s shining name, Joe opened his mouth and steadied his voice.

“Anna, If magic exists somewhere in the universe—if there’s a way for me to see you again—I swear on my life that I will find it.”

His words were powerful somehow, carrying weight like nothing Joe had ever felt.

After dodging away from a voice that Joe recognized when it spoke up nearby, he mastered himself and looked around while it talked.

Something inside Joe’s abdomen swelled and churned when the voice finished speaking, and the tension in his body eased.

Joe dropped to the ground, glancing at the source of light that still pulsed on the beach while his wife’s name shone behind him.

What the hell? Better not be radiation…

He looked around again.

I could swear I heard someone speaking.

It sounded like… Morgan Freeman, if he swallowed a tuba. Heh. I’m one to talk.

Something’s wrong. Maybe I’m having a psychotic episode?

Joe remained silent, furrowing his brow as the light intensified.

The mysterious voice returned.

Joe laughed. “Hah! Sure. Yeah, whatever. Now I know I’m losing my—”

Well, I’ve gone batshit-crazy at last. Guess I can’t function without her.

A tremendous feeling of intense power bloomed inside Joe’s core, stronger than what he’d felt before.

Aches and tired muscles from preparing Anna’s grave were soothed away in seconds. Even the scratches and bruising on his hands faded as he looked on in wonder.

A golden light shone from his skin and Joe tensed up. His eyes widened in disbelief.

“Hah! Yep. I’ve lost my damn mind.” While his body glowed brighter, Joe let himself collapse backward onto the ashen mud.

A sharp pain pierced Joe’s right side, just below his ribs. He gasped and rolled away, only to feel something tug and tear at his flesh.

“Fuck,” Joe yelped.

He lifted himself carefully off the sharp object that had impaled him, then clutched at his side. He checked his hand to find it covered in blood mixed with ash.

Shit.

Joe pressed his hand back over the wound and got to his knees, using his other hand to check where he’d fallen.

His fingers located a large, rusted nail sticking rigidly out through something below.

“Crap!” Joe bellowed as he tried to wipe the ash from his free hand. He mostly succeeded in spreading more grime onto his clothing.

Hope it didn’t pierce my intestines. Or my kidney.

Joe knew he needed to find a way to staunch his bleeding and prevent infection, but they had already used the bandages in Mike’s medical kit for Joy and Sio.

Joe frowned.

Anna… I might be seeing you sooner than I’d hoped.

She wouldn’t want that.

‘Preserve the lives of those in need,’ huh? Why not? That’s what I’ve been trying to do for thirteen years in the Corps.

Though he knew it wouldn’t do any good, Joe focused all his attention on the tear in his side and the hand covering it.

Taking a deep breath, Joe willed his wound to heal.

The golden light returned from beneath his hand, and he felt the pain receding while the vortex of power in his core ebbed somewhat.

A slight, painless sensation like a pimple bursting inside his wound made Joe lift his hand and look down. A wormlike bit of mud oozed its way out from the central hole as the ragged edges where his skin had torn closed up before Joe’s disbelieving eyes.

A few seconds later, it was over.

Joe gaped at the pink, freshly-healed skin where his wound used to be.

He prodded at it with a finger.

How in the hell? It doesn’t hurt.

An unfamiliar sensation in his gut made Joe furrow his brow.

This is some fucked-up shit. I can feel the shape of… whatever it is. Like a miniature galaxy with a trillion tiny stars. Maybe I’ve died and passed on to some sort of afterlife, or—

Joe heard a familiar bird call and answered with his own.

Mike?

Shit, I’m still alive.

It’s real!

Magic. Is. Real.

“ANNA!”

Joe surged forward to throw his hands atop her grave while Mike and the others approached.

With every bit of mental might he could summon while riding a feeling of hope unlike anything he’d ever imagined, Joe willed for his wife to regain her flesh, mind, and soul.

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Minions: 0/100

Residents: 1/10

Denizens: 21

Traps: 1/5