Uno
Hearing the scream echo through the tunnels I forced my senses to expand. My being, earlier focused on the sole point where Gangria appeared, expanded back to its default, omnipresent state. I was once again aware of everything that happened under the watch of my cameras. I was the dungeon and with this knowledge came a type of pride - an addicting sensation.
Because of the change in perspective finding the source of constant wailing turned out to be a child’s play. Before zooming in, however, I wasted a second to check on the adventurers currently camping in the first-floor Guardian’s room. The heavy silence that permeated the air said a lot about the current state of their minds.
I left nothing to chance though.
My Lebir Exploders were already waiting, hidden amongst the grass. With endless patience, they eyed the stairs on which invaders might appear once again. Just in case one of them was stupid enough to renew the attack. At the same time, the manufacturing workshop was humming with ant-like undead, laboring busily to produce new exploding sashes and affix them to the Lebir volunteers waiting in a long line.
I mismanaged the speed of their production, but, other than that, everything was going exceedingly well.
The source of my concern was different. I found the origin of the commotion.
It was Tinna.
She crawled towards the closest wall and curled up, as much as a being lacking limbs could. Her battered body looked awful and at first glance, I thought that her pale face was a testament to the pain she felt, the blood loss being a slow and insidious killer. Yet after a few minutes of observation, my opinion changed. There was something wrong with her - both mentally and physically. And it wasn’t something as obvious as the phantom pain or the discomfort stemming from the knowledge that she would never walk again.
Her thin body started changing color, which reminded me of argyria - the disease that turned the skin of its victims grey. It was however connected to the inhalation or consumption of silver… and certainly wasn’t a type of illness that progressed so quickly.
Strangely enough the most vulnerable parts of her body - the stumps of her arm and leg - were looking clean. The silvery stains concentrated around the chest and neck regions of the young thief’s body. Even stranger was the look in her eyes. Was she hallucinating? Her dull and lifeless brown eyes indicated that she wasn’t all there. Escaping the reality was, after all, a normal way to cope with an unmanageable situation. Taking however a closer look I wondered if this wasn’t instead an expression of shock. Or maybe even betrayal?
Only now I remembered that for a few long minutes, she was in the presence of Gangria's rowdier personality. At that time I was more interested in my survival, so whatever happened - be it a feat of magic or just a simple conversation - was unknown to me. Because of that, there was only one course of action I could take - to simply ask the person in question.
But to do so would probably demand the creation of a translation device. Normally I would do so without hesitation... if not for the warning that the crazy Goddess delivered.
The way she spoke and explained was chaotic at best, not to mention that she left me to deal with the situation on my own. Then again I wasn’t her ally, neither did I swear allegiance to her faction… what duty did she have to help a wayward Dungeon Core like me?
Bah. No matter.
I decided to rearrange all this new knowledge in my head.
The sentient creatures of this world once upon a time were able to learn how to manipulate the surrounding mana and by using this new knowledge they gained unmatched powers. The said mana came in many flavors and granted its users different abilities. However, after even more time had passed they learned that there was a price for using it. Mana corrupted, or rather changed - assimilated? - it’s users. This modified their behavior, their very being… in the end, turning them against each other.
And had sown the seeds of the world war.
When the unthinkable happened the planet barely withstood their combined rage, devastation brought by magic unlike any other. This forced the gods into starvation as the sentient beings were teetering on the brink of annihilation. The precarious balance was however archived. Both the world and sentients recovered while magic and technology once again started to blossom.
All was well… on the surface. To tell the truth, the gods were afraid. They understood that with the resurgence of magic, the apocalypse would repeat itself. Thus, to safeguard their flock, or rather the faith they produced, a conclave of gods concocted a plan to filter mana influence from the sapients, add the System controlling (or rather completely stopping) the magic research, and in turn avert the end of the world.
But they fucked up.
They fucked up so hard that most of them had to flee the planet, leaving sentients and the ever-growing corruption to their own devices.
The only ones left were Brighton, Mirabelle, and Gangria. One of these was not like the others…
Anyway - what happened? Who knows. Maybe if the schizophrenic Goddess visits me again I’ll get to know about that part. It didn’t matter. From where did the corruption appear? Was that an effect of the gods' intervention or something deeper, older, stirring from the Yana depths? Who cares. My minions were either immune to its influence or actively cleansed it from the surroundings. That was the extent of thought I was willing to waste on this topic.
I was much more interested in the knowledge that described how I was getting fucked by the System and how mana was influencing the Dungeon Cores in general.
As I understood - I and the rest of the puppet-like DC-s don’t have mana filters in place. We do not need them. Theoretically. While we were like the mages from the past, getting easily influenced by our affinities it didn’t matter in the long run. Why? The rest of my brother-crystals had no free will (was sister-crystals a better word? Even without the necessary equipment I thought myself male). They were made to serve the “higher purpose”, like machines programmed with a sole task in mind. How they did it was irrelevant - be it by using fire, ice, earth, or more ethereal elements.
My situation was however different.
Not only my mind was intact - at least I think so, my memories of the time I spent on Earth were blurry at best - but I also had the misfortune of acquiring the Anima (which translated into “the truth of a being”) as my element. I mean it wasn't all that bad... A rare affinity meant great power, but most importantly - a way to bridge the gap between the earlier, scientific world and this one, more focused on magic. I no longer had any illusions that my knowledge was solid enough to replicate things like combustion engines, explosives, or even electric forges. Yet somehow Anima allowed me to do it.
How?
No idea. It just works.
Anyway - back to the story. I couldn’t escape my fate. It was a struggle that every mana user in the past had already experienced. And the defeat that came with it, ending in an irreversible change in their nature, creating a deeper connection to their element. In my case, it was a return to the “truth” of my current body. The problem was that - unlike humanoids, or even monsters - I was a crystal created with a single purpose in mind. To serve. It was just like Gangria explained - a straight way to become a mindless drone and thus lose myself completely.
That said I had a few ideas about how to change that “truth” completely and possibly even break free from my status as a Dungeon Core. Ah, but the latter was not ideal. From what I saw of this world it was dangerous, brutal, and on the brink of extinction. Hiding out in my own, fortified bunker was a simple and elegant solution. Even with these sentients constantly banging on my door.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Anyway, there was a problem with the implementation of the mentioned plan. A large amount of Anima was needed to do what I wanted to do, but this, in turn, carried a higher risk of randomly turning into a puppet...
Where was the way out then?
It was simple - dig deeper, kill more invaders, and grow without using Anima as much as possible! This - in theory - would give me enough breathing room to finish the change I was planning!
One floor at minimum and two as the optimal solution. The math behind it?
None.
It was just a feeling, but it should be enough.
I wasn’t completely guessing. Even with only two floors, my mind was independent again - I could operate without any hindrance when remaining in the depths. Otherwise, my strategy with the suicidal exploders would never fly. It was a much different feeling than what I experienced on the first floor. Which in turn made me wonder about the next question.
What my future path would be?
I have to consider this carefully. I had no choice - Anima would remain as my element. Because of that, the change would come. Sooner or later. But the preparations I was making forced a new venue of thought to appear. A luxury of choice - an ability to determine at which “truth” I’ll arrive.
For example, choosing a bestial form would probably take away my ability to speak or think logically, but also exponentially raise my physical ability and with it - survivability. Turning into an undead was also an option, although the psychological aspect was what worried me. But on the other hand, the ability to raise servants or even learn new magic (who knows?) were tempting choices. There was also a possibility of a more mechanical path, which could readily rob me of empathy, feelings, the overall humanity… not that much of these were left in this crystal prison.
So many choices.
I daydreamed for a long moment, only to be brought back to reality by another wild scream.
Ah, yes. Tinna.
I wondered as to what my next course of action should be when a string of words escaped her scabbed mouth.
“No… No! No.” She mumbled, her gums bleeding from teeth clenched too hard. “Not real… it was not real. NO!” She screamed once again, similarly to how it happened earlier.
At least my floors muted the sound between different layers. Otherwise, her companions would probably come running. Then again - if I used these screams as a part of the trap? It would certainly be a nice distraction. Too bad that to implement it I had to create a gramophone, microphone, or maybe a different recording device.
And that took Anima.
Anyway, the former courageous rogue was currently trembling, cradling her head and mumbling to herself like a crazy person.
“Not real! No. No… Please, no.” Her anger has already drained considerably, the woman’s voice changing into a begging tone. “Anything! Please! They need to live! Please!”
She sobbed quietly, tears staining the dirty ground. Each second another please or anything escaped her mouth.
I sighed.
The mindless torture was never my forte and now, more than ever, I wanted to know what exactly Gangria did to the girl. To understand however I had to speak with her… but like I said before - the translation machine would be a huge waste.
This meant that the girl will have to wait for the Guardian to respawn. He could be my mouthpiece now that I knew that he could talk. And - more importantly - an ability to communicate with me too.
A perfect translator! If not for the fact that his sanity rope quite literally anchored him to one room.
Anyway - no time like the present! Now only to ensure Tinna's survival… at least until I ask my questions and figure out what had Gangria done. She mentioned something about the present… my spidey senses were tingling each time I looked at the broken rogue.
Now, what do I need?
Beds. Right. Probably some water, maybe food too - who knows when the adventurers will retreat - and preferably a blanket. Bandages? Do I even have the material to make them? Or an antiseptic?
I don’t think so… I have a lot of poisons though!
Not that it helps.
Tinna started sobbing again so I ordered my Lebir to lift her. The undead stood there for a moment and moved just before I decided to repeat my command. It picked up her body in something that people called “a princess carry”.
A weird course of action for the normally stupid Lebirs. I was sure that it would try to just drag her or carry her like a sack of potatoes.
Well, no matter.
With another short order, the undead marched towards the northeastern part of my dungeon. Its target was a Guard Room tucked in the corner, the entrance close enough to the explosives Workshop and my reinforcements. Just in case. I had a few of those sprinkled on my second floor to keep large teams of mobile undead as a way to stop any invaders.
While the room itself was useful I couldn’t say so about the beds and weapon racks I had allocated inside. It was a flight of fancy, a thematic choice that I was now regretting a bit. At least they were made by the crude golem smith dwelling on the first floor and his Ratling followers. They were a surprise. Most of them wore parts of poorly made armor and strange, rat-fitting weapons. The one leading them had a pair of goggles on his head and seeing his begging posture gave me a feeling of deja vu…
Which nearly distracted me from another important discovery.
Boulder’s death wasn’t in vain! I mean, he tasted great, so there was that, but with his demise, I also now understood how to create orcs in my dungeon!
Well… the pure orc was the full name of the half-complete blueprint. Normally it wouldn’t be a problem since I just could mount their torso on the spider golem or add artificial hands, legs, and even eyes.
And yet it wasn’t like that. The data looked like something had shredded it and left only pieces. It wasn’t impossible to remake, with metal and Anima, but… it would be a very costly experiment. One I wasn’t so keen to start right now. Maybe after adding a few floors. Yup.
Also… weren’t orcs classified as sentients? Why was I allowed to make them? Something was amiss! Now, what did I misunderstand?
But, more importantly, I knew what I had to do. It was an Uno’s subquest! To gather the rest of the orc parts! And since the orcs were somewhere on the surface… maybe it was time to check on the Ratling army?
And maaaaaybe do a little hunting?
***
Charles Blueflame
commander-in-name of the Geinard Kingdom dungeon outpost
When I came back to my feelings I was already outside, the white sun mercilessly hitting my face. I sprung up from the bed, adrenaline still coursing in my veins, the battle echoing in my ears. But as I looked around the familiar space greeted me. A luxurious couch, wide bed, and solid table.
And an opened flap of the tent, letting in the sun and with it - a hubbub of the outpost. Commoners doing their meaningless tasks. I nearly ordered the person keeping it open to stop but hesitated seeing it was Agnes standing there. My mind was in chaos. We looked into each other’s eyes.
“They’re dead.” She spoke first, her words cold and fast like arrows. “Both Boulder and Tinna were killed in this incursion.” The princess looked at me, her pain hidden under the invisible shield called duty.
“Are…”
“We’re sure. Neither one of them emerged from the stairs. We waited long enough.” She lowered her head down, studying the stains on the carpet. “And you know as well as me that dungeons do not take prisoners.”
“Yes.” I nodded slowly. After a second my eyes widened. “But this dungeon…”
“It uses undead.” A small drop of blood made its way down her face. “We may yet meet both of them. Again.” Fiery red anger escaped her eyes for a moment only to return to the muted silence from before. “Also… talk to your butler. It seems like the situation grew worse while we were exploring.”
“What can you tell me?”
“The Fallen Tribes are moving. Mostly orcs and goblins according to the scouts.”
“How many?” My face wrinkled with worry. “Our forces here are maybe two hundred warriors. And twice as many civilians.”
“About a thousand. Maybe more.” She answered. I cradled my head in worry.
“At least we can request reinforcements. The communication crystal is a real blessing.” I mumbled under my nose, relieved.
“We can’t.”
“What? Was the crystal destroyed?!”
“No.” She shook her golden hair in denial. “We already asked for reinforcements. They can’t send any.”
“Why?!”
“All the forts on the border are requesting soldiers.” Her eyes looked dull and empty. “The Fallen Tribes are attacking our defensive line. We’re on our own.” She breathed in slowly and then spoke with a flat tone. “Their exact words were: Use whatever you can use and survive.”
I laughed in response.