He who had bare months before been known as Araxesendenak and was now known by those around him as Araxes looked at the chaos erupting among the defenders of the dungeon and recalled an old Gnollish curse he’d once heard.

May you receive exactly what you wish for.

Had it really only been a few nights ago he’d confronted Tolliver, begged him for the chance to do something meaningful in this benighted place? To rise above the tedium of providing sandwiches and witty banter to the denizens of this strange dungeon and be given work that actually had meaning and impact?

Had it only been last night that Tolliver had agreed, loaned Araxes the magical harness that conferred a host of abilities on its wearer, and told him to take the metaphorical reigns in the upcoming battle? It had, and hadn’t Araxes just leaped at the chance.

Oh, and it had been a marvelous battle too. The harness granted strength and mass to its wearer beyond their levels, as well as strong telekinesis and other oddities. It had originally been a piece of construction equipment used by his fathers engineers, but the boy had learned to use it as a versatile weapon of war, and Araxes had improved upon those methods, though he said it himself.

When the Failstate’s minions, mobs brought into the world by spawn points for miles around, had attacked the walls of Melloram and the dungeon it had been Araxes at the forefront slinging power around just like the old days. He had torn apart Devil Dogs, eviscerated dragons, ruptured Golden Men, slain enemy ghouls and goblins by the hundreds. It had been glorious, even if the dungeon’s defenders had been so woefully outnumbered as for it to not matter a whit.

And then Tollivers magics had taken hold, allowing not just the combatants but the town and dungeon and the very mountain in which it was built to flee the field of battle and sink beneath the surface of the earth like an ancient gnomish submarine.

Then. There. Right there at the moment of triumphal retreat, it had all come crashing down. Tolliver had been snatched away, torn from his moment of triumph by magics Araxes recognized all too well.

After all, he was the one who had commissioned them. In another life.

It was his own teleport room that had broken through the anti-teleportation field, his spies who had acted as spotters, his will that had torn Tolliver from his field of triumph. His, and yet not his. They belonged to the original Araxesendenak, of whom he was a perfect clone and copy, down to the last memory, save the last few weeks.

Now Tolliver was gone, captured by the very enemy against which they had fought and escaped. And Araxes could already see panic and defeat seeping into those he had left behind.

“Get this thing back above ground, right now!” That was Annie Tolliver, Samuel’s mother. She was doing a credible impression of an infuriated goddess of war, with her bloody mace and her scarred armour and her red tresses blowing wild in a breeze Araxes could only guess was magically created as everything for a mile in every direction including straight up was now completely enveloped by the earth.

“I-I don’t know how!” wailed Rashun, the young kobold boy that had been Tolliver’s right-hand lizard in crafting the runes that allowed the submersion. “Big bro didn’t teach me that part! Just how to start it up!”

A heavy hand thumped down on Araxes’s shoulder and spun him around, and a one-eyed gaze bore into him like a gnomish steam drill.

“Where’s my son,” asked Jackson Tolliver, Samuel’s father and owner of the now-defunct dungeon construction company that had started this whole mess.

“You said he’s been taken,” squeaked a high-pitched voice, and Tolliver’s narrator fairy landed on Jackson’s shoulder, glaring daggers at him. “Who took him? Where’d they go? And how many people do I gotta hack through to get to him?” A sword blazing red appeared in her hand and she swung it around to point at him. “How do you know he’s been tooken?”

“Because,” Araxes said, taking the easiest question first, “I recognize the magic. I ought to, I’m the one who had it built in the first place almost fifty years ago.”

Pearl the narrator fairy blinked in confusion, but he saw the light of understanding spark in Jackson’s eye.

“The lich,” he said, his voice deep as the roots of a mountain.

“Lich King Araxesendenak,” Araxes confirmed, nodding. “The teleportation chamber in the capital can breach anti-teleportation fields like the ones young Tolliver set up, providing there is a spotter feeding targeting information back in real time.”

Which there had been. The traitorous councilman Blaine, whom Araxes vaguely remembered from his kingdom-wide meetings as a toady of the highest order, had been the one to take hold of Tolliver just before the boy had disappeared, along with the councilman. Doubtless they were both receiving just rewards from the other him inside the palace even now.

“What will he do?” Jackson asked, and Araxes heard the unspoken what will happen to my son in those words. Because after all, except for a month and some change, the ‘he’ in question and Araxes were the exact same person.

“He will savor it,” Araxes replied after a moment’s thought. “He won’t cause lasting harm just yet, nor will he kill him—more’s the pity,” he added darkly. Tolliver was functionally immortal. For him, death on the mortal plane was only temporary, lasting just long enough to be inconvenient before the powers of the Guardian title he bore would reincarnate him none the worse for wear next to his metallic hussy.

Speaking of which…

“Something happened,” a woman’s voice came from somewhere behind him. “Where is Sam?”

Araxes allowed the others to handle Cora the Dungeon Core’s question as Araxes turned to survey the newcomer, half-formed thoughts and determinations forming inside his undead skull. The silvery golem woman was the entire reason for his existence, though when he had first met her she had been an orichalcum orb with a glowing blue gem in the center. Before that she had been Araxesendenak’s precious ruby core, the heart of the new dungeon he had commissioned from Jackson and his company.

It was amusing, almost, how different things had become from his original intentions.

No longer the center of attention now that Cora had arrived, and now that the panic was beginning to spread from the immediate circle out into the mobs and townsfolk starting to appear, Araxes turned his attention to his surroundings. Melloram had once been a small town on the southern border of Xeladre, unremarkable, uninteresting in every way save for its proximity to God’s Thumb, a single mountain jutting up from otherwise flat brushland.

It was here that Araxesendenak had chosen to build a new dungeon, as a way to revitalize the local economy and prepare for expansion campaigns deeper into his neighbors’ territory. It was here, on that fateful day, that Cora had awakened during a rather violent disagreement between himself and Samuel. And it was here, ironically, that he had both died and been reborn at the same time.

Now the little town was a mess of destroyed buildings and new construction. The rubble of the town hall, destroyed in a fight between the other him and the strange woman known alternately as Marie and Diana, was flanked by new houses going up to accommodate refugees and new mobs from the dungeon. The walls in the distance were pitted and scarred—and destroyed completely in one notable spot—but still mostly stood tall and proud.

And all around the town, and the mountain behind it, and the dungeon underneath, a dome of barely-seen energy sparked and shimmered, allowing them to pass under the earth as easily as a whale might pass through the deep. Even looking at it closely, Araxes wasn’t entirely sure if they were truly moving through the ground, or if they had been transported to some strange quasi-dimension that made it appear they were doing so.

Not that it truly mattered at the moment. Real movement or illusion, they were currently beyond the reach of the world. Unfortunately, that also meant the world was beyond their reach as well.

He turned from his examinations back to the gathering hubbub. Already dozens of townsfolk had come to mingle with the mobs from the dungeon and the resurrected Tollivers and their crew. Murmurs of fear were rising into vocalizations of panic, and even the Jackson’s attempts to quell it were falling short of the mark—possibly because Annie Tolliver was swinging her mace around and demanding that the town surface again this instant so she could go retrieve her son from the clutches of that thrice-damned bony son of a bitch who’d stolen him!

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Araxes decided not to take that part personally.

“We’ve got to get Sam back!” shrilled Pearl.

“There’s armies after us! We need to get somewhere safe first!” shot back a random townsperson Araxes didn’t recognize.

“What if that shield thing fails? Are we gonna get crushed?”

“Where are we even going?”

“How do we get out of this?”

“We need to go after Sam,” that was Cora’s voice. “Without him, the dungeon is vulnerable!”

And on and on it went. Araxes lidded his eyeflames and heaved a sigh. Not even two days gone since he’d asked Tolliver for more to do.

May you receive exactly what you wish for.

“Enough.”

He used his Monarch voice, and the single word slashed through the verbal maelstrom like a trident wasp through cloverleaves. Suddenly hundreds of pairs of eyes were upon him, staring. Very few of them could be described as friendly.

So be it. He’d borne up under worse.

“Rashun,” he said, still using the voice with which he’d once commanded legions. “Can you surface the dungeon?”

“No!” the kobold boy wailed again. “Big bro knew how! I know he did! But he was gonna show me how after we got away. We just needed to get all the runes in place and activate them and—“

“Hush,” Araxes let some compassion seep into the iron tones, and if it sounded odd for an undead monarch to speak like that to some folk, he did not care. “No one is blaming you. We are seeking facts only. Can you steer this thing?”

“… No,” the boy said, suddenly looking uncertain.

“Can anyone?” Araxes turned and swept the crowd, lingering especially on Cora and the little gnome with the ridiculous name he spied at the edge of the crowd. Sherry-something Applepie or whatever.

No one said anything.

“Very well then. Until we ascertain how to do that, we cannot utilize this mobile town and dungeon as a staging platform to mount a rescue. So that is off the table. Yes,” he held up a skeletal hand to ward off Annie’s outburst. “I know, we must go after Samuel. That, I think we all can agree, is a given. But if we’re going to do it, we must be smart about it as well as reactionary.”

“And who put you in charge?” demanded an orc mob from the dungeon.

“Ah.” Araxes allowed himself one brief moment of devilish glee. He’d wondered who would bring up that question. He looked around for a specific shape in the gathering crowd… and found it. Two of them, in fact. Sally and Persephone, sisters, of a kind, to Cora. Both were spherical dungeon cores, one with a shining red gem in the center, the other with gold, floating near the edge of the crowd. Persephone still did not like crowds very much, despite having gotten more accustomed to them after choosing Araxes as her Guardian.

“She did,” Araxes said, pointing. “Unless,” he added as the crowd turned in unison to stare at Persephone, “there is another dungeon Guardian lurking in the wings that I am unaware of?”

Murmurs susurrated through the crowd, but no one spoke up.

“I rather suspected not.” Araxes took in a deep breath, more out of habit than any actual need for air in his lungs, and let it out slowly. And just as he opened his mouth to speak, Jackson Tolliver interrupted.

“Why should we follow your lead?” The question was challenging, but not combative. “Just because the little lady chose you as her Guardian doesn’t mean much when it comes to running a show like this.”

It was, Araxes realized, an invitation. He met the elder Tolliver’s gaze and found, to his surprise, a modicum of respect and hope there that he had not expected to see. The big man had tee’d the ball up for him quite nicely, hadn’t he.

“Very well, let’s compare resume’s shall we? Who here has led a kingdom of over a million souls”—and twice as many people, he didn’t say—“for the better part of four hundred years, taking it from the dregs of poverty to the heights of riches, while also fending off repeated incursions from all manner of threats ranging from magical beasts to invading armies, all without a single strategic defeat or loss of territory? Hands up, anyone? Anyone at all?”

Silence met his questioning, not even the muted murmurs of the dissatisfied could be heard.

“I thought not. Make no mistake,” he let his own hand drop and gazed around the crowd, “I was not a nice person before I met Tolliver. I was an evil, conniving, utterly amoral bastard, and I reveled in that. But I also learned to lead a nation, to ensure the survival of those under me, to make the decisions that led ultimately to victory. And I have spent centuries honing those skills. You all know me as a whiny fop, a miscreant, a punchline on the end of Tolliver’s boot. And I have been content, until now, to play that part. But for those of you who think that is all I am or have been? Allow me to disabuse you of that notion.”

He held the gazes of those around him for a moment longer, using the time to pick out the people among the crowd he knew would be suitable for the list of jobs he was already making up in his head.

“Bugruk,” he said first, jabbing a bony finger at a wheelchair-bound orc. The man’s legs ended just below the knee, and the chair he now occupied was being pushed by a small buxom goblin lass who Araxes knew to also be one of the most dangerous summoners in the nation. “Quartermaster duty. We shall need a tallying of all the supplies within the town and the dungeon, as well as the number of mouths that must be fed. It is my assumption that we will be able to surface our newly mobile fortress quickly, but in case I am wrong we shall need to prepare for contingencies.”

“The dungeon creates food each day, doesn’t it?” asked Pearl from somewhere up above his head. “Can’t we all just eat that?”

“That was when the dungeon was anchored to one place,” a gnome chimed in from the middle of the crowd off to his left. The voice sounded thoughtful. “Are we sure it’ll still generate victuals now that we’re moving?”

“What an excellent question,” Araxes said, grinning. “Thank you for volunteering to discover the answer. Mistress Cora, perhaps you can assist him in that endeavor?”

“I… Yes, of course.” The metallic strumpet sounded surprised, whether by being called upon or by his take-charge attitude he wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter. Push forward.

“Next, Samuel Tolliver is an integral part of the operations of this dungeon, and must be returned. We cannot steer this fortress—yet—but other options may be open to us. Rashun,” he turned to the kobold boy. “Samuel created a dimensional portal on the third floor that has some sort of targeting mechanism. Can it be programmed to create a gate into the Calcified Fortress in Phyrexes?”

The boy blinked owlishly. “I… I don’t know.”

“Then that is something else we must ascertain. Select as many of your compatriots who are interested or knowledgeable in the dimensional arts and meet me in the portal room in twenty minutes. We shall use it to enter the Blue Room and see if we cannot find information among the memories and knowledge stores of Persephone.”

“Right!”

“Mistress and Sir Tolliver,” he turned to Sam’s parents. “It is likely we will have to mount some sort of assault if we are to rescue your progeny. To that end, please go through our minions—“

“They prefer the term ‘soldiers’, I believe,” Jackson said idly.

“Ah? Yes, of course. Our soldiers, and see which of them would be of most use in such an endeavor. You may also wish to compile a list of those from your own company who have not been restored to life yet that would be of benefit so that mistress Cora may concentrate on spawning them back into the world.”

It was working. With each order he gave, the electric sense of panic in the air decreased. By the time he got around to disposition of the wounded from the recent battle, it had all but vanished to be replaced by a sense of purpose and determination practically radiating off the assembled multitude.

And with each order, he felt himself cementing further and further in place as ‘leader’. He knew it wouldn’t last, knew it might not even hold until Tolliver returned. But for now it was enough.

He watched the last of the crowd dash off on their errands, then heaved a deep sigh and turned—and nearly ran face-first into the scowling visage of Annie Tolliver, standing with arms crossed and brow knitted right behind him. He squawked in surprise and stumbled backwards a step before managing to recover.

“Mistress Tolliver,” he huffed and drew himself up with as much dignity as he could manage. “Something I can do for you?”

“Tell me why you’re doing all this,” she said without preamble. “We both know you’re a three-faced gold-plated bastard who enjoys killing kittens and setting chicks on fire. Why do this?”

“I resent that,” he said, affronted. “I have never once set fire to an infant bird.”

She growled and reached for the mace hanging once more from her belt, still bloody and matted with the remains of her last victim.

“Because I promised your son,” he said before the madwoman could unhook the heavy weapon.

Annie Tolliver’s hand stopped, and she looked at him with eyes full of suspicion.

“What?” she said.

“Before the battle,” Araxes said. The battle they’d only just escaped barely twenty minutes ago, that none of them had had a chance to recover from. “I gave my word to Tolliver that I would set aside Araxesendenak, lord of Xeladre, ruler in Phyrexes, and that instead I would seek to be merely Araxes. That I would fight for his cause, to protect my allies, to fend off the enemy and to shelter those who needed it.”

He hadn’t said those words exactly, of course, but the understanding had been there.

“I gave it in exchange for this,” he continued, plucking at the leather straps of the construction harness he wore. “In exchange for the power needed to make a difference in the battle against the Failstate. And until I return it to your son, I am bound by that oath.”

“And keeping that oath means taking charge?” The suspicion was still in Annie’s voice, but it was tempered now by something else.

“It means doing what I must to safeguard the town, the dungeon, and everyone in it. And right now, yes, that means taking charge and utilizing the experience four hundred years as a reigning monarch has given me. You may not like me or trust me, Mistress Tolliver, but make no mistake about it. I am qualified for the job, and I will do my utmost to ensure the job gets done until your spawn returns to resume his rightful place. Fair enough?”

Annie stared at him for a long moment, then her nostrils flared and the hand still gripping the haft of her mace dropped back to her side.

“Fair enough,” she said like it was the hardest of admissions to make. “But—“

“If I betray the trust placed in me, you shall cram my pelvic cradle into my nasal cavity.” Araxes gave a dry chuckle. “Yes, yes, I know. And one of these days I may even dare you to accomplish such an anatomical miracle, simply for the novelty of it. But not today. There’s too much to do. Now please, go with your husband and see about setting a rescue plan in motion. I shall be along presently to contribute from my vast knowledge of the target location.”

Annie nodded without another word and turned to trot off after her husband, and Araxes allowed himself a single inhale-and-exhale to get rid of the stress.

There, that took care of the most pressing matters. Now he just—

“Um…”

The lich turned to see an elfen youth standing behind him—Nathaniel something-or-other, he remembered. Samuel’s friend.

“We uh, need help I think. Do you know anything about undead poisons and stuff?” the boy asked.

We? Araxes blinked at him. Then he glanced behind him, at the massive heap of a dragon he’d allowed himself to forget was there with everything else going on. Quentin, that was the wyrm’s dullname.

“I… I think he’s dying.”

I am going to resurrect the gnoll who invented that damned phrase, just so I may have the pleasure of killing him again. I swear it.