Uno

My Anima Drones were digging, full of enthusiasm and energy. After all this time the fourth floor, and my future laboratory were getting done, piece by piece, meter by meter. I started with a simple design - the main chamber containing a stairway in the middle and three large tunnels branching north, east, and west straight from the entrance room. The plan was to curve them in, creating a crisscrossing web of small rooms and big hallways.

Right now the place looked rough, and uneven - like it was wrenched out from the surrounding stone by force, its walls lopsided, erratic, and wild. The iron picks decorated the underground surfaces with differently-sized holes, like ugly pockmarks on a grumpy teenager’s face. They told a story of a fierce battle between my servants and the stubborn rock.

Unlike before, the drones weren’t focused on ironing out the details but instead blazed through, eager to prepare a workable space in the shortest amount of time possible. Only after this goal was achieved I would allow them to turn back and smooth any irritating irregularities out.

During this frenetic work, many pieces of material ended up cluttering the ground, my machine-like digger puppets mostly ignoring them, sometimes crushing the rocks under their heavy feet. There was only one being who behaved differently, avoiding the obstacles with surprising agility - Sculptor was making his rounds very slowly and carefully, studying the bulging walls and sometimes leaning over a damaged stone.

I observed him for a few long minutes, admiring his innate grace still shining through a utilitarian form. Sensing my attention he immediately pleaded for.. something. It took me a moment to understand, yet strong, straight emotion was relatively simple to decipher.

[Leave the rest to you?] I muttered. He nodded quickly, the lack of facial features for once not an obstacle. [There is a lot of potential here?] A sigh escaped my mouth. It was nice that my creations were getting independent. I would only prefer a few more warlike characters to be born. Right now only Non and Berserker filled that quota, and the revenant wasn’t even native to my dungeon.

Strength was valued higher than artistry in this world. Those who starved had no need for inedible paintings and sculptures. For dance and music. It wouldn’t fill their screaming, empty stomachs. Yet there was no need to strictly forbid his actions. He was born out of pacifistic drones, machines dedicated to building, not destroying. His sole purpose was to make my underground hauntingly beautiful. More importantly - I was the one who made him this way. Even if I was thinking it was a stupid idea right now, there was no need to let it all go to waste.

[Do as you wish. I’ll ask your brethren to give you some free space.]

Sculptor bowed deeply, his metal knife-fingers dancing in anticipation. As soon as he was able he leaped forward and started to carve images into the stone. I expected a high-pitched sound to appear, yet instead, he worked with unnatural ease, cutting off pieces of hard rock like they were simple clay. I wondered for a moment if the same would happen with the invader’s armor and flesh if they attacked this seemingly harmless puppet.

[One more thing.] I added and Sculptor stood perfectly still, indicating his attention. [The theme of this floor is laboratory so try to keep within its confines, okay?]

A fervent nod was Sculptor’s answer. [You know what laboratory is, right?] I asked, not sure about the breadth of his knowledge.

After a brief moment of silence, he strode ahead confidently… and lifted his arms in a thumbs-up gesture!

…

Sometimes I wonder why I even bother.

Shaking my head I switched gears, my mind cleared from the antics of this would-be comedian. I was observing his hardworking Anima Drone brethren - their picks tapped the walls with an innate rhythm, gouging deeper and deeper into the stone. A few more seconds passed as I listened to this weird melody and rested. Then I was ready to focus on my newest self-imposed task.

Creating a new breed of minions.

Concentrating I summoned the diagram of Ratling egg-mech and started to analyze it. The mechanisms inside looked complicated and advanced yet not in a modern way. It was a combination of levers, gears, and electrical cables. In the middle of it, a splinter of green energy was pulsating in a violent manner. I frowned. No wonder that when pushed too far the machine could frickin’ explode!

Yes…

Hmmm…

Right…

My eyes wandered around various metal parts, bone gears, and weird contraptions. Minutes passed, then hours, and I still had no idea how the whole thing worked.

It was like studying a racing car engine.

Yes, I can tell where exhaust or place to put water, or maybe even fuel was. But more than that? Who knows? Was that pipe needed? Was the pressure involved? If so by using liquid? Or maybe gas? Could I change the length of the metal wire connecting these largish parts, or completely replace them with some sturdier materials? Would the final effect explode? No idea!

After lamenting about my ignorance for a long while I decided to grit my teeth, and continue with my original plan. I was not going for a complete redesign but rather chose to focus on adding external parts, thicker plating, and additional reactors. I was following the philosophy of more was better.

Anyway. A single Ratling mech had only two legs and demanded an inhuman ability to balance when simply walking around. I couldn’t even imagine how hard would it be to control it while running. Such a flaw was unacceptable - I needed servants that could fulfill delicate and dexterous tasks, without being forced to worry about falling on the asses every few seconds.

The solution to the problem was simple - to thicken and extend the legs while adding two more in order to balance the whole structure. Yet there was another issue - I wasn’t knowledgeable enough to introduce my changes into an already existing blueprint.

After some pondering, I decided to simply mash the two mecha together, while also modifying their lower appendages to have joints instead of straight metal poles. Of course, I used Anima in the process, since an explosion happening on my lowest floor was something I wanted to avoid.

The finished machine looked a bit similar to a spider - but obviously had only four iron legs instead of eight - with a slightly oval cockpit and skittery, disgusting movement. There was also a problematic fact that the levers used to maneuver the legs were fitted rather far apart, thus demanding a great reach from the pilot. Not to mention that the person riding on the top had to keep watch over all the blind spots too.

The easy way to solve this problem was to simply remake the machine from the ground up… but I was not very keen on wasting even more Anima on the damned thing. Something else would have to do. I already had an inkling of the solution. For now, I decided to postpone the issue, since there were more pressing matters to attend to.

With the base already completed my next step was to cut away the upper pieces made from metal. The upper part of the mecha was unnecessary - first of all, unlike rats who were using it in the past, my plan included a fusion of flesh and machinery. Secondly, these defensive measures were just getting in the way since I didn’t want my creation to be a frontline fighter.

One may ask what they were getting in the way of?

A pair of mechanical hands for example!

Or rather a pair of simple graspers, each of them made from three long finger-like metal tubes. They were to be installed close to the front, allowing for a wide variety of dexterous movements. Once again Anima came to the rescue, adding and then attaching the new parts to an already existing blueprint. The twisting metal was something else, I watched with awe as it came to life and then simply… clicked in place. It was something that I wasn’t capable of doing on my own. And I wouldn’t be able to do so for a long time.

However, with each use of the capricious, green energy, I felt my control slowly slipping, the second floor becoming more rigid and harder to control. It was still on the level of inconvenience, yet I knew the symptoms well enough to fear them.

Because of that, my plan changed. At first, my creation's sole purpose was to be a helper, a servant, and an assistant. Yet along the way, I decided that some sort of defensive system would be absolutely needed. Just in case these greedy invaders would dare to breach the fourth level of my dungeon.

I mused for a moment quickly deciding on a crystalized Anima as the source of both defense and offense. It was to be seen if my new minion would be able to utilize it correctly, but in the worst-case scenario, I could simply add a Ratling black mage to fill in the gaps.

With an unseen, maniacal grin on my face, I continued to work.

All around me, the Drones were rhythmically carving out the fourth floor.

And a few more days passed in the blink of an eye.

Knut

5th level warrior of Silver Oasis militia

It was a long day.

The leader of the militia and de facto noble overseer of the Oasis was mercilessly training his ragtag band of warriors while dragging them through the dungeon. A former dungeon to be exact. Not that the people being whipped and shouted at cared about such trivial information.

Knut’s muscles were seizing up from the exertion, years of living as an outcast in the Shieldstar’s slums sure didn’t prepare him for this draconic training.

All the members present wheezed heavily and coughed their lungs out by the time their red-haired leader deemed it fit to stop running. The first floor might seem like a safe and clear location right now, yet it was clear that each meter of it was conquered through the blood and sweat of Geinard Kingdom soldiers and adventurers.

Something that both the militia leader and the older guards didn’t allow the new additions to forget. The levels were tasty though, so nobody complained about the rough treatment. Most of them came from either a criminal or civilian background and as such both pain and hunger were a common thing to endure.

Each of the new recruits was even given a spear and a crude, wooden shield. They also wore a leather tabard without any heraldry - still, that big investment was a clear sign of the leader’s trust. After all this equipment was much better than dirty daggers carried by thieves and vagabonds. Even constantly dissatisfied Knut recognized that. This change of status was a sudden blessing, manna from heaven - something that normal people would welcome with all their hearts.

Yet some of them had thoughts much darker than the others. Power did that to people. They grew overconfident, greedy...

It was especially true for Knut, but also for the pair of stone-faced grumpy siblings and an enormous hulking man simply called Big Jon. There were some who called him Dumb Jon, only to get their face kicked in at the first opportunity. The giant man might be stupid but he certainly remembered a slight.

The run that the militia squad was forced to participate in was the last part of the excursion. It was supposed to build both muscle and willpower in the recruits. As the last people to leave the dungeon they were accompanied by Charles not-Blueflame himself. A part of the members disdained the man, thinking him a spoiled brat, yet there was no doubt about his personal power. This kept mouths shut. Fear was a powerful deterrent, after all.

Knut sometimes dreamed about usurping the power in this little community of his and running daggers through anyone who dared to question him. Just like some nobles did. Yet these delusions remained as only distorted visions of an oxygen-starved mind.

Not even he was foolish enough to stab the Princess’s chosen.

A voice wrested him from these idle thoughts. “You’ve done well, men. You can rest now.” Charles’s small smile was a lantern in the darkness for the militia team.

“My lord, can we really?” One of the boot-lickers, as Knut called them, answered with a hopeful voice. To tell the truth, his emotions were shared by most of the recruits.

“Yes. As always food and water are waiting for you in the barracks.”

Said barracks were a makeshift, large building made from roughly cut wood that housed both regular guards and improvised militia organization, that the leader of Silver Oasis was so busy creating.

“My lord, when we’re going to push into the third floor?” Asked a sword-wielding soldier. He was one of his elders in the force, but Knut didn’t really remember his name.

“Not for some time. According to Lord Hawk, there are things down there that would wipe us out in an instant.”

“Understood.” There was a glimpse of unwillingness on the man’s face but his loyalty won out in the end.

“Any more questions?” A silence followed. “No? Good. Dismissed.”

Instantly losing interest the red-haired man turned back to his butler, who single-handedly ran the Silver Oasis settlement civilian administration.

Most of the soldiers dispersed immediately, returning to their dormitory and crude cafeteria, where stew made from unknown meat was waiting for them. Knut, however, stayed in the back of the plaza, his large ears catching the gist of the conversation between Silver Oasis's two most powerful men.

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“How goes recruitment and training of the archers, Adam?”

“Rather good.” The butler answered curtly.

“You mean that we have a lot of volunteers, right? Not that they’re any good?” A snarky tone could be easily heard in Charles’s words.

“Yes, my lord. They are enthusiastic but some time will pass before their aim will get any better.”

“Do you think that some live practice would help?”

“That would be… inadvisable.”

The former noble sighed heavily. “Yes. I guess you’re right. I am too impatient. It’s not like this is the capital and we have endless human resources to draw from.” After a moment of silence, he continued. “Master Vincent still refuses to lend us any of his apprentices?”

“Not until we plan to go down to the lowest floor. It seems that the samples that Lord Hawk gathered earlier are currently requiring his full attention. He also took command over your comatose bodyguards.”

“Let him. It’s not like our doctors know what happened to them. And why I am fine.” He combed his unruly hair. “Not a single one out of his pupils wants to get some money on the side?”

“I would urge you to remember, master, that those who stayed behind in this place are the ones fanatically following in Master Vincent's footsteps. They aren’t easy to sway.” The old butler admonished.

“Yes, yes.” Charles conceded. As he did so, he noticed a militiaman loitering in the plaza.

“You.” The red-haired former noble squinted his eyes accusingly. “Yes, you.” Seeing a weasel-like man squirm under scrutiny only raised his suspicion. “What are you doing here?”

“Me, sir?”

“Of course! Who else? And no lies, please. I dislike having to order a flogging without a valid reason, you see.”

Knut swallowed audibly, while crudely saluting with his fist. “I-I, m-my lord, I was just waiting for my f-friend to arrive!” Seeing disbelief on the former noble’s face he cursed mentally. “I know that my f-face means that nobody will believe me, but really! Really! It’s the truth!”

He bowed deeply while continuing his whining. “Please, let this old Knut go! This weak me won’t survive flogging!”

The man hummed, examining a cowering militia member before him.

Knut was an average-looking man with a cunning, slim face. He wore his uniform sloppily, the thick leather tabard barely covering his vital points. Both the shield and the spear he carried were dirty and in a state of disrepair, despite drills in equipment maintenance every day. A conspicuous dagger dangled from his waist. He had a slick, oily black hair and black eyes.

The Oasis leader was ready to decide his fate when a shout interrupted his next words.

“Heeeeey! Knuuuuut! I’m late, sorry!” Another man arrived at the scene - a rather fat person wearing civilian clothing and sporting black hair with an innocent, pudgy face.

“Mudan! Thank the Gods!” The militiamen sniffed loudly. “Please tell our lord that I’m not a suspicious person!”

The newcomer seemed shocked at the attention, seemingly only now noticing with whom Knut was having a conversation. “Eh?! Master Charles… How can this humble one help you?” Mudan’s tone immediately turned servile, his face full of smiles.

The former noble only waved his hands. “It doesn’t matter now. Take your friend away. I will let it go this time.” He still glared at Knut suspiciously.

“Yes! Thank you!”

“We will take our leave!”

The two suspicious characters left the noble’s surroundings while bowing and scraping. However, as soon, as they left the premises their expression changed, growing sharper and angrier.

“What the fuck are you doing, you fool?” Snarled Mudan, his face losing earlier innocence. “Do you want our operation to fail so badly?! Remember that you’re so deep in this shit that you’ll hang with us if we’re ever caught!”

“Oh, shut up! I was trying to gather some intel! It could save our lives in the future!”

“As if your eavesdropping ever helped with anything when we still were in the city.”

“Pffft… the only dungeons we were allowed to enter in Shieldstar were Meat Dungeons! And as lowly porters only! What possible secrets do you think I could snatch from low-level adventures in that place?” Knut scoffed. “This is different. The people in power are just a few meters away.”

They walked in silence for a moment, neither of them speaking despite swirling emotions. Mudan was the first one to cave.

“So?”

“So, what?” Teased Knut.

“What did you hear that was worth being flogged for? Remember, I saved you from the leader’s wrath. That’s got to be worth something.”

Knut trembled. “That guy is no joke. I was going to be flogged just for loitering around. No fucking joke.” He sighed. “I heard from his own mouth that they’re keeping out of the third floor until they manage to recruit another mage.”

“The old guy or his pupils don’t want a slice of the pie?”

“They have something to keep them busy for now.”

“I see.” Mudan gulped audibly. “So, we’re doing it tonight?”

“Yes. See you near the entrance.”

“I’ll be there.”

A few more hours passed and a group of black-clothed individuals gathered near the entrance into the dungeon. Amongst them were both Knut and Mudan but also Big Jon, and stone-faced siblings that most of the criminals called One and Two. They never shared their real names and even now mostly kept to themselves. After a few minutes, they were joined by four similar-looking characters. The newcomers were all muscular and carried thick blackjacks under their uniform grey cloaks. A small symbol of a hand could be seen, tattooed on their necks.

“These guys?!” Knut whispered angrily.

Mudan only shrugged. “There is a surprising lack of criminal element in this little town.”

“This place is more like a village!”

“Whatever. Anyway, the Family has sent these four enforcers to help us out. It would be in poor taste to refuse.”

“Even if we’re the ones who did all of the prep work?!”

“Oh, stop being a child. It’s not like you don’t know what happens to those who refuse to deal with the Family.”

“I get it.” Knut whispered softly. “It just doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Understood. Now stop whining and let me deal with them.” His voice turned a bit louder. “Hello, friends. My name is Mudan. This guy here is called Knut, that is Big Jon, and these ones are called One and Two.” He, in turn, pointed towards his companions.

The slightly bigger newcomer leading the rest of the syndicate members nodded in response and answered in a raspy voice. “Call me Silence. These guys are my helpers, there is no need to know their names.”

Mudan flashed an irritated expression before returning to his former serene facade. “I see. I assume you were briefed on the plan?”

The cloaked man nodded again. “The guards at the entrance have been bribed. Get in, go to the third floor, and snatch anything that looks interesting or expensive before the noble boy up here catches on. Then retreat immediately.”

“Good. Let’s not waste any more time, then?”

Five minutes later the group arrived at Uno’s dungeon. The guards had already abandoned their posts so the way down was clear. The criminals hurried in, using that gap to descend, not noticing two pairs of eyes observing their movements.

“Which group is it?” Asked a gruff voice.

“Do you think I’m counting how many of these rats are being thrown at the problem?”

“I think you do. It was ordered by the leader, after all.”

“Fine, killjoy. This should be the sixteenth team that went in.”

“Nobody returned?”

“No.”

“We’re running out of the scum…”

As they entered the first room, the occasional sleeping soldier or civilian could be seen along the walls. Some of them waved toward the incoming team, thinking them as reinforcements. Seeing the curious expression on Silence’s face Mudan decided to speak up.

“These guys are here to prevent the dungeon from spawning any more creatures. The first floor is pretty much completely monster-free right now.”

“I see. Interesting way of doing it… Hey, you seem knowledgeable - I heard that there was a trial located up here?”

Mudan only shook his head. “It is, but don’t even think about attempting it… The staircase down isn't guarded. The trial room is.” Seeing the unwilling expression on the man’s face he continued. “While you could probably defeat the guards I don’t think it’s worth risking the wrath of Geinard Kingdom.”

“Hmmm? Aren’t you exaggerating? Who would care about a little ruckus?” A dangerous smile appeared on Silence’s face.

“Both Lord Hawk and Princess’s lover, Charles covet this place.”

“Why the--? No, that doesn’t matter.” The criminal’s face paled a little. “You’re right, there is no need to garner even more enmity without a valid reason.”

“I’m glad you feel the same way, Silence.”

The group beelined for the second-floor stairway, entering the Food Hall for a moment and then walking through a long hallway. Big Jon had to be warned to look out for the crudely hidden traps. About halfway though, a strange sight appeared on their left.

“What the hell is that?” Silence pointed at the metallic jungle.

Mudan sighed. For a man called Silence, he sure speaks a lot. Wait. Maybe that name is intentional? Still, he couldn’t just ignore questions from a member of the Family. “This place has many names. Some call it Underground Forest, some Metal Garden. But most of us simply call it a fucking nightmare.”

Knut nodded with a fierce expression. “Do you see these small, yellow, dandelion-looking plants? They fuckin’ explode and spew acid. They’re fuckin’ everywhere, and the weakest breeze or tremor can bathe your feet in it!”

“It hurts like hell.” Agreed Big Jon.

“These trees? Cute, silvery looking, right? Seem valuable, right?” He scoffed. “Well, they are not! And what’s worse their leaves are so sharp that they can take your finger right off!”

“Oh! And that right there is a new addition to the nightmare zone. That long, green thing - do you see it?” He pointed towards a liana hanging from the closest tree. “Looks harmless enough, right? But the moment you walk under it the thing coils up and tries to strangle you. So never, and I mean never walk under one of these deathtraps alone.”

“I-I see.” Silence stuttered, taken aback by the fierce hatred that his companions emanated. There was wariness in his eyes.

“Let’s not dilly-dally. The lower floors are much worse.”

“Oh. I see.” The cloaked Family leader answered in a faint tone. His expression lost the earlier light undertone, hardening with resolve. It seemed like he understood that this mission could be harder to finish than he expected.

After dodging a few more traps they arrived at the staircase leading down. The boss room before it had been cleaned out, leaving only bare walls. Without waiting the group descended to the second floor, warily observing their surroundings.

“If you see a blue undead, fucking run.” Muttered Knut, his companions nodding fiercely.

“Why?”

“They explode. Like many things in this crazy dungeon.” The men behind Silence swallowed dryly, their hands inching closer to the weapons.

“Blues.” Big Jon spat with disgust. “Kill fast.”

Despite the warnings, all they could see was a long, menacing hallway. The group advanced slowly, members of the militia creating a makeshift shield wall, with their spears poking fearfully outside. A few moments later they arrived at the Central Pond Room, or, as the invaders called it - the Lake.

The name persisted mostly because nobody that had entered the real Lake, where Glass Progenitor dwelled, returned to tell the tale. The group of humans stood in silence, taking in the sight of already regrown silvery trees. The pale light of Electrical Chandeliers was mirrored in the large pond taking most of the free space.

“Keep your eyes peeled!” Murmured Mudan.

“What are we looking for?” Asked Silence.

“Blue undead. Black undead. Rats. Big rats. And very big rats.” Knut counted, while the rest of the militiamen nodded.

“An’ zombies.” Added Big Jon.

“Yes. Big, fucking zombies, clad in metal.” He spat on the ground. “These are just things that we had seen. There could be something worse down here too.”

“Fuck!” It was a new voice. One of the brothers grittily spat out a curse.

“What now?” Knut’s face paled before anything even happened. Something unexpected always meant trouble.

“Look at these.” The second brother answered, pointing his finger at a small bush with wide leaves growing in the vicinity. It had yellow, longish fruits growing on it. When they looked around it seemed like it seamlessly populated their surroundings.

“They weren’t out here in the morning.”

“Yes… This is bad, right?”

“Everything down here is bad. Should we retreat?”

“No!” An angry voice answered. Silence was staring at the militiamen with contempt. “What are you afraid of? A simple plant? Cowards!”

“Big words for an adventurer still stinking of mother’s milk.” Smirked Knut.

“Do you want to taste my blackjack, scum?”

“Calm down!” Mudan was forced to intervene. “And I mean both you, Knut, and Silence!” His glare squashed the argument in the bud. “Anything new discovered in the dungeon means trouble. Always. They’re designed to test us, after all. So caution is advised. Required if you want to keep your life.”

Silence nodded.

“Yes, but…”

“I haven’t finished yet.” Glowered Mudan. “On the other hand, we have already invested too much in this endeavor. Do you think that the guards we bribed will remain silent?” Knut's eyes shifted uneasily. “If we retreat now we’ll be on the run and penniless!”

“I know…”

“We can only press on. Remain focused. Avoid trouble.” He nodded toward Big Jon and the two brothers. “We’re skirting the furthest edges of the room. Go east. There is a hole there, leading right to the third floor.”

Following his directions, the group continued their journey pretty much unassailed. A few random undead accosted them on the way but leaderless they were easy prey for the militiamen. Their shields withstood the enemies’ wild swings and spears turned the attackers into a piece of swiss cheese.

After finishing them off the militiamen and members of the Family quickly looted the undead, gathering a few pieces of metal that weren’t directly connected to their rotting flesh.

This situation repeated a few times until slowly and carefully they inched near a large hole torn into the floor. Without a single word spoken their team came closer to it, peering into the dark abyss below. After a minute Silence decided to speak out.

“Do you know what the hell did that?”

“No. No idea. My guess is that Lord Hawk decided to quickly get to the lowest floor… and this shit happened.” Mudan answered while wiping clean his sweaty brow.

“Fuck.”

“What level is that man, then?”

“Who knows?” Knut shrugged. “Does it matter if he’s a level twenty, forty, or sixty? We would die in a blink of an eye, anyway.”

“You’re not wrong, but aren't you curious?"

“Curiosity gets you killed.” Knut breathed out heavily. “Listen… have you seen Lord Hawk in person?”

“No, why are you asking?”

“Because I did. And for fuck’s sake, believe me - you don’t want to stand in the same room as him. A bloodthirsty beast, that's what he is.”

“What? How did you come to this conclusion? I don't know about the beasts or whatever, but isn't he just a leader of the Kingdom's elite warriors? A powerful man, but that's all.” Silence was still unconvinced.

“Knut here has a special skill. One that is not really useful for a warrior. It’s called Death’s Intuition.” Mudan spoke slowly and quietly. The Family enforcers had to strain their ears to hear him. “It allows him to sense how likely his death is.”

“And?”

“It was ringing like crazy when that fucking Lord Hawk was in the room.” A memory of that moment was enough to make Knut sweat bullets.

“I-I see…”

“Now, Big Jon, please tell me you didn’t forget to bring the rope!”

“Forget.”

“What?”

“Not!” A stupid grin appeared on the giant’s face.

“Goddess sweaty tits! Don’t scare me like that, you big oaf!”

A brief bout of laughter filled the air above the makeshift third-floor entrance. Soon the criminals descended into the unknown.