Uno

I did it! I made the thing! It didn’t matter what it was - the description was nearly unusable, being so corrupted! There was, however, more worth in knowledge than in the item itself… not that I didn’t want to have it in my possession. The spike had been finished and, from the lack of screaming, and excessive amounts of whimpering coming from the nearby room it seemed like Peter was finished too.

I guess it would be a traumatic experience for anyone to observe the monsters carving out your insides while you’re still conscious. Adding to that the paralyzed limbs and overall helplessness meant untold levels of mental damage.

Just like a visit to a dentist, nothing feels more terrifying than observing the whirling death coming closer and closer as you can only watch…

Anyway, enough of my childhood traumas.

The second phase could commence - the faster, the better - because we already banked too much on the patient not expiring from shock or excessive blood loss.

My center point, the onyx spike made by spending my mana and will, dripped with condensed soul magic. It was a small, delicately-looking thing only a few centimeters long. I didn’t really understand the laws of the soul and matter behind its creation, but the description reiterated that it was something forbidden, and powerful. And that it allowed me to puppet people. Well, technically golems too, but that was an experiment for another time. I had a limited amount of core gems at my disposal. Not that I was excited about being turned into an enlarged tin can.

Not when there was flesh to be had.

Still, the power it mentioned was something that I would normally abhor. Mind control. I could still feel my mind fragmenting under the damnable tenets of the Dungeon Core. The leash of the gods. How it stopped me from intervening, from playing to my strengths. From teaching the fools real lessons.

And now I was the one wielding such abnormal powers.

But the price was worth it.

It had to be.

I longed for the sensation of eating, and drinking… even just being able to feel the wind on my skin. To breathe! To kiss! Speak! Scream! Whisper! The endless aching, the need to return to being human, no matter the consequences. Even becoming a monster, an undead would be good enough.

Instead, I was forced to wander in my intangible form, feeling like a ghost, an unseen spectator.

Unable to fight, to run, to engage with other people.

Even when Charles talked to my fake core, he was focusing on the onyx gem, not the real me. It was an upsetting, maddening feeling of inconsequence.

I knew it wasn’t true, any human parasite clinging to the Silver Oasis would tell me so, and yet the feeling, or lack of it, mattered.

I suppose I should be grateful that my soul, my life, was worth saving (or should I say harvesting) to the Paidel Solomon. That… devil, or whatever else he was. Even spending an eternity as a black orb in command of a murder-hole of a dungeon should be enough. Serving the Gods. Keeping the humans alive. Growing deeper, like a good little core should until some power-hungry adventurer shattered me to the bits.

A slave. A resource.

But I wasn’t going to!

I had chosen instead to break these chains rather than be content with digging deeper, hiding from the apocalypse, and just trying to survive.

But that was too easy. Too slow.

Instead, I had chosen to gamble.

And then, if the operation ends up a success, it would be only proper to do so with my real core.

After all, this poor fool was only an appetizer.

[Begin.] I ordered and one of the Butchers grabbed the spike with unusual gentleness.

As it walked closer to Peter’s body I noticed the other creatures bowing their heads like it was some kind of a holy procession. In a sense it was. A part of my soul was condensed in that little item, squeezed into an unfitting form.

Everything was ready to go, and suddenly I noticed Peter’s state. I was consciously trying not to look. A hard thing to do, lacking eyes. Still, it was only now that I noticed my monsters' gruesome work in all their fluid-dripping glory.

They did a perfect job, with glistening organs uncovered and cut skin perfectly folded aside like one would with a napkin. Not an ounce of blood was seen, only the quivering, wide-eyed mess of a man. And in the middle of his chest, near erratically beating heart a strange round core of brown and dark trembled.

[Prepare for insertion. The entrance needs to be perfect.]

“Should we drill deep, into his crystal heart?” One of the Butchers spoke, the biggest, the meanest of them all.

The other shook its head. “We need to be delicate. Use acid. The drilling would be too risky for this weak abovegrounder's flesh. The Creator won’t allow us to fail. This is His holy work.”

“““This is His holy work.””” They all repeated. I started to feel a bit tingly… was that a cult in the making?

“I disagree with you, brother.” One of the Butchers raised its mechanical arm. “Experiments on monster cores were already made. The resistance is comparable.”

“There’s not enough data.”

“It is a superficial similarity.”

“An unknown.”

“Would you risk it, brother?” The dissenter shook its head, gesturing them to continue.

“Then, are we in agreement? Using acid in His holy work?” The largest one intoned.

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.” The second Butcher nodded a bit unwillingly.

“Agreed.”

“Prepare the tools. May the Creator guide us.”

The creatures dispersed, leaving only the spike carrier behind. It glared at the patient strapped to the table before hissing in anticipation as its compatriots started to return.

What followed was a few minutes of tossing and screaming. The work wasn’t bloody, but it needed a steady hand. To tell the truth, I didn’t think that Peter had so much energy remaining. He nearly broke the restraints but the Butchers managed to keep him still and doubled down, adding chains upon chains to the table.

“Curious reaction, brothers.” One of the surgeons growled. “The crystal lacks the nerves and yet the subject feels pain during the procedure.”

“The dwarves were different. Complacent.” The second one agreed.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Their spirit was already broken. This one…” The Butcher glared at the prisoner. “Is still alive and kicking. A wild specimen. What we are damaging is probably his soul.”

“Marvelous.”

“The Holy Work beckons. Status?”

“The basic carving is done. Now we only need to grind up the edges.”

[There’s no need.] I interrupted. The knowledge about the steps we needed to take simply appeared in my mind. [Simply put the spike inside and flatten its top with blunt force, like you would with a nail.]

“Wha? A nail?” A monster glanced around in a daze.

“What are you doing?” The other smacked its arm. “Continue, as the Creator demands!”

“I listen and I serve.” It bowed, while still carefully keeping the spike in its appendages. Then, without any further preparation, it was plunged straight into Peter’s mana crystal.

A moment after the spike made contact it was smacked flat with a hammer which caused its material to spread over the damaged part like a plasticine, sizzling dangerously. I noticed that it seemed to fill all the gaps, becoming a part of the crystal it repaired while tainting its earlier colors with the deep darkness of my onyx core.

The human’s reaction was also immediate, as he screamed out to the heavens, redoubling his efforts to free himself. The countless chains and restraints made that impossible. Instead, there was a strange pulling sensation, forcing me to speed up.

[The operation is a success. Suture him up and bandage these wounds. Soon I should be able to walk and speak using his body.]

The monsters cheered as I found myself… somewhere else.

Well, not fully. A part of me was spirited away. This made my persona in this strange mental world a bit see-through.

Or rather, in Peter’s mental world, should I say.

And… there he was - a battered, tired human being barely standing - and yet so full of defiance. His form in this realm of mind was different, similar in proportions to how he looked, but instead comprised of metal, stone, and even parts shadow, creating a more inhuman visage than my own.

I choose to appear as a tall man made of shadows. The darkness I appeared as wasn’t just one color - it ranged from deep black to sleek greys.

“W-who are you, monster?” The man sputtered, barely keeping himself together. Weeks of abuse and starvation nearly broke his mind. And yet he stood straight, putting all he was on the line, just to keep me away.

It was a shame, considering how futile his resistance was.

“You don’t need to know. Suffice to say you will end and I will begin.”

“What?!”

“Bon appetit!”

I grinned as my form unfurled into countless chains made of shadows, surging toward the man. I didn’t really know what I was doing, but consuming countless media prepared me for this situation.

It was all about imagination!

And speed, of course.

Contrary to my expectations Peter reacted quickly casting a few of his spells, breaking an attack or two. It was an instinctual thing, a part of his persona as a veteran adventurer.

The rest of my attacks connected, however, clacking on the armor, before cutting into his mind, siphoning what remained.

The process was quick, painful, and amazing at the same time.

I had learned everything.

His very being.

How he was bullied since youth, because of his pale skin and demure demeanor.

How his family was slaughtered by the monsters as he hid in conjured shadows, trembling.

How he blamed himself for being too weak, for being a commoner.

How the country saved him from poverty. Saved him from himself. How he was built anew, zealously believing in the Geinard Kingdom’s leadership.

How that trust was betrayed, and he was used as an expendable weapon.

How he survived, throwing away his comrades and living like a beast.

How he was then chained by the higher-ups and forced into a bodyguard duty.

How we slowly grew hateful and tired of following the girl who was a naive princess and had lived a better, more fulfilling life than he ever could. Who strived to be a better person, despite circumstances that broke those like him. Those that broke him.

How that turned into a betrayal and desperate bid for power.

And how he was overpowered by Charles and thrown into prison, forgotten.

I pitied the man, who lived just to live, turning into nothing more than a beast.

“You will be used well. You will be given purpose.” I whispered.

From the middle of the countless chains, an onyx spear manifested, slowly rotating in the air. It brought the feeling of pressure, of something that shouldn’t be possible. Of animalistic awe.

And, just like that, I once again knew what had to be done.

“Fly true.”

I ordered and the spike listened, speeding forward in mere seconds.

It pierced the manifestation of Peter’s mind, before boring into it with supernatural greed. He gasped, clutching the spear, and desperately tried to pull it out.

“No! I… I still need to live, I need to… I need to…” His voice grew weaker and weaker, just as his movements slowed down.

I reappeared near him, the laws of time and space easily bending in this subjective place. After sampling his memories, all that comprised this bitter, shattered man. I couldn’t help myself.

“There’s no need.” I spoke calmly. “The endless dream awaits. Rest.”

His eyes lost light, as he whispered his last words. A whimper, really.

“Mother? I… I am sorry.”

And then he was gone.

It felt dirty. Like I was spitting on someone’s grave. Still, I clenched my teeth…

And I felt Peter’s body react in response.

It was a strange feeling. I was able to move his flesh, but I didn’t become him. It was different from ordering my monsters around but also different from truly becoming human. The sensation seemed similar to directing a pawn in a video game. The controls were there, even a bit of immersion, but even in the best, most life-like game turning a bunch of data into reality simply wasn’t possible.

Seeing me struggle the only Butcher in the room asked hesitantly. “Creator?”

“Yes, that’s me. Here I am.” I answered hoarsely. Hours of screaming do that to a man’s throat. Still, there was a grin on my lips. I succeeded. “I’ve assumed control. Take the restraints off and try to clean this body up. At least a few sutures loosened during the struggle. I don’t want to bleed out. Not after all the work we’ve invested in keeping him alive.” I felt no hunger, but… “And ask the Ratlings about something to eat. I want to understand what senses I am in control of.”

“By your holy will, Creator.” The monster bowed, before running out of the room. I could still hear it when the creature bellowed at the top of its lungs.

“BROTHERS, REJOICE! THE CREATOR HAD CLAIMED THE FLESH WE PREPARED! REJOICE THE MIRACLE, AS HE WALKS AMONG US!”

“And of course, the chains are staying...” I grumbled, before releasing the control. The body slumped on the surgical table, still restrained by countless chains.

Despite my show of anger, I was instead giddy.

I had a body now, maybe even the ability to eat or… more. Not that I felt the need for it, the hormonal parts of my brain seemed to be simply missing. But… for once things were going great! There was of course a little problem of Peter’s face and voice being known by the Silver Oasis’ residents, not to mention the Agness reaction to seeing the rascal.

Nothing that a mask and voice changer wouldn’t remedy.

And yes, I did indeed intend to free the Charles’ girl from her curse. Or, more like from the consuming biological agent that was trying to supplant her brain, from what I’ve already seen. My creatures were working on the solution, but for now, the only thing that seemed even remotely feasible was a quick, brutal surgery to replace parts of her bones and directly remove the parasite.

And then sauce the wound with Warpstone and pray for a positive reaction.

So, not much of a plan, especially the last part.

At least I had something to distract me.

The first batch of the veterans that Charles had promised already arrived at the second-level entrance.

Every single one of them was in pretty bad shape - they were lacking limbs, organs, and eyes. Some simply lost their mind due to physical damage or things that they’ve seen, becoming either unresponsive or stark raving mad. Those had to be restrained. Most of the soldiers were completely lifeless, devoid of purpose and agency, reminding me of my Puppets. I understood why. They were reduced to invalids in a world where being a burden was a sin. And now their lord was sending them deep into the dungeon.

To die.

Whatever belief they still had in their master had been broken by that perceived betrayal.

To their credit even faced with such fate they walked proudly, backs straight.

It was my role to show them that there was hope, even if they turned part monsters or died in the process. Some of them could even survive with their bodies intact - the Ratlings were hopeful about positive mutations.

As the patients were corralled down I noticed my creatures preparing surgical tables marked with English-looking letters! I focused on their meaning and read a few first ones.

Compound A1, 10% saturation

Compound A1 15% saturation

Compound B1 10% saturation

And so on.

The green liquid bubbled in the tubes standing near prepared bedding.

Now, I wasn’t sure exactly how long the testing would take, but in a week or two we had to start the operation. Agnes was living on borrowed time and we didn’t have the luxury to tarry. Having a royal as an ally, even a displaced one, was something we shouldn’t underestimate. It gave Silver Oasis the legitimacy it would be otherwise lacking.

And I decided to take any advantage possible.