Chapter 62: Domain
Sunday, April 9th, 9:55 AM
Dungeon Ciara
“Eminent Domain. The anomalous Dungeon is confirmed to have caused the deaths of several US citizens. Powers granted to those who have entered its depths are of grave importance to national security. As such, all parts of this Dungeon and the surrounding lands are hereby under Federal jurisdiction and control while the threat and utility of this place are being assessed. Entry to the Dungeon will be monitored and controlled by the Marine Corps under Colonel Hart.”
A near-perfect comb-over of his black hair gave way to graying patches forward of his ears. Piercing blue eyes radiated kindness that concealed a keen wit. His strong, shaved jawline and upright bearing made tall, slender President Aron Thomas seem imposing.
[Tell him that’s not happening. I’m willing to help the people and my country, but if anyone tries to seize control of my Dungeon, they won’t like how things turn out.]
“Mister President,” Siobhán stared at the man from her seat beside Joe at the massive meeting table Ciara fashioned inside the castle’s main hall.
“Do you have a concern, Miss Killarney?” President Thomas steepled his hands.
“I do. The Dungeon is a person—a US citizen. Professor O’Connor is willing to help everyone and the country, if we work together with her. That said, she’s much stronger than any of you seem to realize. She’s shown a lot of restraint, considering her new nature and what she’s capable of.”
“I can appreciate your position, but we must maintain control over our nation’s territory. For all the improvements and benefits we see, what Ciara O’Connor has done here is tantamount to squatting, and that bears investigation until we know more. The Dungeon is being placed in protective custody for the time being.”
[Unacceptable. Tell them again—nobody is going to cage me or otherwise restrict access to my Dungeon. My instinct will—not—allow it. I’ll do everything I can to help the country if they keep their hands off my freedom.] Ciara’s tone carried a slight edge.
“This isn’t going to work out well for anyone.” Rihelah folded her arms.
Mike raised his hand.
“Master Gunnery Sergeant Michael Elliott,” Colonel Hart announced.
One of the men in black added, “Elliott is confirmed to possess considerable physical strength and powers, including creation of new materials that may allow for limitless energy.
“You may speak your mind, marine.” said President Thomas with a nod toward Mike.
“Sir, I recommend caution and patience dealing with the Dungeon. She has the capacity to be much more deadly than she has been. She saved our lives and helped to eliminate massive terrorist cells of the One World Order.”
President Thomas cocked his head. “It’s my understanding that Joseph Schimpf is responsible for the majority of this location’s security, followed by the contribution of Mike Elliott.”
Joe raised his hand.
The President raised his eyebrows at Joe. “You may speak.”
“Thank you, sir. The Dungeon—Ciara—made that operation possible. Without her assistance, there is no way I could have handled more than six hundred armed traitors.”
“Six hundred? Our intelligence states that Coconut Grove held no more than two hundred.” The President narrowed his eyes.
“The battle at Coconut Grove was days before a larger group from Scotts Valley and led by a man named Matt Dunn moved against the university campus after the snow melted. We have their weapons stored below ground.”
Pens moved furiously against paper as Mike and Joe detailed everything they could about the fights against the One World Order, with helpful additions from the other four residents.
President Thomas rubbed his chin. “Your input is appreciated, and it paints a better picture of what we’re dealing with. Now, if you could fill us in on this Sven and his prophecy of armageddon…”
The officials and officers present appeared much more skeptical over Sven’s warnings.
The President furrowed his brow. “Do you have any proof that our world is part of a struggle for power between two godlike beings, beyond the word of this infernal drake? Where is Sven, now? I’d certainly like to speak with him.”
Siobhán blurted out, “Unfortunately, Sven stopped appearing after telling us that an opposing source of mana appeared somewhere else on Earth. Have your satellites noticed anything?”
“All satellites have—”
“Mister President, sir…” One of the men in black shook his head.
The President raised a hand. “It’s fine, James.” He turned to face the Dungeon residents with a tight-lipped frown. “All our satellites were knocked out, just before 9AM Eastern Time on the sixth of March.”
“That’s when…” Siobhán covered her mouth with a hand while the other reached to grasp Joe’s beneath the table. Joe felt grief and anxiety welling up in her. He squeezed Siobhán’s hand gently and she reciprocated.
James wrinkled his brow. “We’re not the only ones. Satellites disappeared from above the planet. All of them, from every nation, from what we can tell. The entire sky went dark. We lost the International Space Station as well.”
Siobhán looked around the table and said, “Something is coming for all of us, and it doesn’t care about nations or borders. Its purpose is to destroy this Dungeon and disrupt Lord Auronox’s defense of our world. If that happens… if Ciara falls, so does the planet.”
The President scratched his chin. “I have reports of this Lord Auronox.” He locked eyes with Joe. “You claim to have spoken with it?”
“Briefly, sir.”
“Tell us what you know.”
…
“So, all of you were shown a memory from this creature, involving another world many times larger and more resilient than Earth, being devastated by the tiniest fraction of a dragon’s power?” asked President Thomas.
The six human residents nodded.
“And the Dungeon can lose control if she gets low on mana? Her creatures attack everyone nearby?”
Mike winced. “That’s not all, sir. She does her best to keep her new nature under control, but if anyone harms people or animals the Dungeon cares about, Ciara is even more volatile. When the One World Order shot Michael and Rihelah, she butchered them—and I mean that literally.”
The President whispered briefly with the men to either side of him, then asked, “How is it you six can communicate with the Dungeon, but no one else can?”
[I had a feeling this question was going to come up. There’s no helping it, so you might as well tell them. But I have a bad feeling about what will happen if people learn that I can make them immortal.]
Rihelah replied, “We’re residents of the Dungeon. She can offer residency to a limited number of people and animals.”
“And this allows you to talk with her directly?”
“While we’re in or near the Dungeon, yes,” said Michael.
“Are there other benefits?”
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Joe said, “Yes, sir. Our bodies become empowered alongside the Dungeon as she grows, in addition to standard awakening.”
“How much stronger?”
“We can demonstrate if you like, sir.”
Minutes later, they passed through the basement and down the private resident tunnel to the second floor.
Those who had yet to see the subterranean Redwood Forest gaped at the scene before them as the two squads of empowered marines blocked the main entrance tunnel along with Secret Service agents.
Admiral Winberg whispered to Colonel Hart.
Hart said, “Elliott, you may fire when ready.”
Stepping forward, Mike nocked an arrow in his new, enchanted compound spring steel spidersilk bow. “I recommend covering your ears. As I mentioned on our trek down here, this fires arrows beyond the speed of sound.”
Mike drew back and released the arrow in a smooth motion, eliciting a sharp snapping sound and a screeching peal of thunder.
There was a bright flash, and the upper half of a young redwood tree two hundred meters away teetered for a moment above the ragged place where most of its trunk had been obliterated in a roughly-spherical pattern. A series of snapping and cracking sounds reached their ears, and it crashed to the forest floor.
The witnesses were speechless. Even Colonel Hart, who’d seen Joe’s demonstration a few days before.
“That was a standard shot. I can also make arrowheads from special materials. For instance, if I turn the iron inlay near this arrow’s tungsten tip into hearthstone…” Mike concentrated on an arrowhead for a moment until a stripe-like pattern glowed down either side.
Even from two meters away, Joe could feel the radiant heat from the hearthstone.
“I can fire an incendiary shot. Because I’m hitting with so much energy, the incendiary portion is unlikely to remain in contact with the wood, so you may not see smoke. Ciara, if you’ll collect the arrowhead after?”
[Of course.]
“Perfect. Ciara says she’ll prevent a fire by retrieving any bits of hearthstone. Now, if you’ll watch just below where the first shot struck.”
The second arrow hit where Mike had called it, blasting the trunk just as hard as the first.
[Tell them to keep watching that tree.]
“Ciara says to keep watching—ah, I see. Notice how quickly she can grow things.” The top half of the tree had regrown entirely by the time Mike finished speaking.
Mike and Ciara received a round of applause.
Mike said, “Schimpf, if you’ll demonstrate a bit of running speed?”
“Aye, Master Guns.” Joe stepped forward, then accelerated smoothly until even his empowered eyes had to squint in the wind. After few seconds, he’d reached the fallen tree top and hefted the entire meter-thick broken end before dragging the log off the main path through the forest and tossing it aside.
Marveling at how easy it had been, Joe trotted back to find all but the residents staring at him.
A series of other demonstrations followed, during which Joy showed off her ice strikes against Joe, and Siobhán called Kiwi to her. More than a few hands rested on holstered sidearms while the big cat was near and tumbled playfully about with Joe.
Afterward, the residents were asked to undergo security clearance vetting as the government and military leaders convened in the castle’s main hall to talk privately.
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With me watching and listening intently as I added snow and ice to the hills of my fourth floor, their meeting was anything but private.
“I want your thoughts. Nothing held back, ladies and gentlemen,” said President Thomas.
Every hand in the room shot up at once, and the President gave a soft chuckle. “Right, we’ll just go around the room.” He glanced to his left.
James began, “The Secret Service would like for all our members to undergo rotations for rapid training in the Dungeon to better protect you, sir. We highly recommend you train as well. Best-case, we all go together so we can provide maximum security. Gunnery Sergeant Joe Schimpf is an integral part of our plan. With his healing, we can mitigate the possibility of casualties.”
The President covered his mouth to stifle a laugh.
James wrinkled his brow. “Mister President, your safety is hardly a laughing matter. With your body empowered, you will be a much harder target.”
“No, James. It’s not that. Who’s going to run things while I run off to play in the Dungeon?”
“We have a plan for that, if we can secure the Dungeon’s cooperation…”
Their plan turned out to be trying to bribe or otherwise manipulate me into granting the President and some of his key advisers resident status.
I saw the logic in it—if I could speak directly with the President, there was the possibility we could establish a rapport and mutual understanding. Then again, the cat would be out of the bag regarding the immortality my residents had.
It wasn’t that I had a bad feeling about Aron Thomas. He had been a decent President, all things considered. The problem was something Sven had warned me about. If any of those under him caught wind of the immortality of Joe and Mike, what would they do? Use them as lab rats, or send them off to die over and over? Those things weren’t just possibilities. Sven said it was common for leaders who had access to a Dungeon’s residents to request or even coerce those things out of them.
As the conversation moved around the table, I got a sense that while most of the high-ranking military leaders were concerned with the threat of my minions, they were more excited by the possibility of super soldiers and weapons made from mana-infused materials.
The small remnants of the Executive Branch’s cabinet, on the other hand, wanted more than anything to put as many chains on my Dungeon as possible.
A short woman whose sour resting-bitch-face reminded me of Nino’s pink butthole wrinkled her nose as she spoke with a sneer. “Benefits of this place should be maximized. To that end, the entire Dungeon must be explored. Cages should be made for every one of its minions so they can be kept in check and accessed only when authorized personnel arrive to slaughter them for advancement. As-is, this Dungeon is a threat, and we should treat it as such.”
The President steepled his hands. “Miss Felt, you heard the Dungeon’s residents, and you’ve seen how that giant cat played with Joe Schimpf instead of attacking us. We should exercise caution before calling this Dungeon a threat and treating her like a beast. She was a biology professor, and, according to information we’ve gathered from her former students who number in the dozens at this location, she was a kind and caring woman.”
That did it. Unlike some others, he seemed bent on doing what was right. I sent the President an invitation to become a resident.
President Thomas held up his hand to stop Miss Felt from responding. “Oh. It seems the Dungeon may have been listening to our conversation.”
He glowed with blue light. Others around the meeting room stood up and looked around with tight mouths and watchful eyes.
I spoke before he could.
[Hello, Mister President. I’m Ciara O’Connor. To protect you and my other residents from being treated like lab rats due to the immortality I can grant and to prevent a mad rush to curry my favor by others, I ask that you do not reveal that aspect of this gift to anyone. Not even your family. That said, you are now safe, even if assassinated.]
“Hah! They weren’t just telling stories.” The President smiled at the others in his meeting room.
“Sir?” James leaned closer.
President Thomas clapped James on the back. “I’m a resident of the Dungeon, and I can hear her.” He stood from the table and held up a hand. “James, strike my hand, if you would?”
“Um, sir—are you feeling well?” James furrowed his brow.
“Better than ever. I feel as strong as those we watched down in the forest. I’m not joking. I’m asking you to strike my hand as hard as you can.”
James hesitated.
“If you harm me, we can always call for Joe to heal the damage. It’s quite alright.” The President waved his hand a little.
Looking around the room, James saw the others nod and shrug.
“As you wish, Mister President.” James threw an impressive strike, similar to what I’d seen from Joy and Joe, though not nearly as strong.
I heard bones crack.
The President’s hand was barely pushed back at all, though the force was transferred to the rest of the man’s body and he toppled backward before Colonel Hart caught him.
On the other hand, James sucked a breath in through his teeth and cradled his hand. He squeezed his eyes shut and said, “Confirmed. You are definitely stronger than a normal human, Mister President.”
“Jackson, bring Schimpf to heal his hand,” said Colonel Hart.
“Aye, sir.” Sergeant Jackson exited the room in a hurry.
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Floors: 4
Minions: 371/480
Residents: 13/18
Denizens: 462187
Traps: 10/20