The child lay on a bamboo mat in the hermit’s hut. Cool air surrounded him, and no insects dared approach close enough to bother them. My presence warded all manner of pest and vermin away, the sheer density of mana in the air frightening.

I was not a healer. The blood mana my Phenotype gave me access to was good for healing and transformation, but I had yet to learn how to wield it. There was a very good chance that any effort I made now would twist his flesh beyond recognition, stunt his organs, and kill him outright.

No, now was not the time to experiment.

The water crystal I had placed on his brow slowly circulated water mana through his system, pushing out the black filth of the polluted energies. Droplets of thick, reflective tar rose from his skin and dripped away, hissing as they touched the bamboo mat. Corrosive, foul stuff.

The water mana was good for purifying the body but– this was too far advanced. For every droplet of corruption forced out another grew. He was being drowned in his sleep.

I needed to find the source.

I created a new brand of parasite fungus. This one was no cordyceps– it had no ability to effect the host, and with a little finesse, I crippled it so it would only live for hours at most. What it was meant to do was simple– investigate inside the patient’s body and relay information to me.

With a push of mana, it spread throughout his sleeping form. Colonies of fungal mold replicated and expanded through his viscera and broke off into clumps that drifted through his organ. His body seized, coughing, and I slowed my pace, trying not to overwhelm him. If I was too invasive I would trigger a fever he was unlikely to survive.

As the fungus spores spread to cover his whole body, I found the source. Something was lodged deep in his left lung. It was a boiling point of raw corruption.

I had at least found what was the source of this. Now, I had to remove it.

A servant with human dexterity could try a surgery to excise the foreign object. I had no confidence in any of my creations making the delicate cuts and seamless stitching necessary– not with no practice, and no second chances.

I had to work at a more precise scale.

I created a slime mold, the simplest of creations. It crept down his throat– he began to twitch and spasm in his sleep as a thin thread of prehensile slime entered his windpipe, choking him. I had very little time now. He was struggling for air and nothing was coming through.

It dripped into his lung, moving across the fluttering, beating surface of the organ’s inside. The textures and sensations relayed through my connection were entirely bizarre– I knew there were dungeon cores that specialized in parasitism, symbiosis, and microbiomes, but the scale they operated on was foreign to me. I would need a special Phenotype to access and change the traits of bacterium and viral agents.

Having stretched its whole body into a thread, the slime mold managed to touch the point of corruption.

And I realized how difficult this was going to be.

Instantly, the slime began to burn. Its body was built from mana– now that mana was turned to filth, blackened and corrupted sludge pouring out of its body as it was dissolved by mere contact. I pushed down against its simple mind, repressing the urge to flinch away. Instead it engulfed the object– a fragment of some soft metal– and began to pull it back out.

The object crumbled, however. Instead of gripping it as a single solid mass, flecks and fragments fell away in all directions and rolled down the inside curve of the lung, scattering.

I grimaced. There was no time– the boy would take permanent damage if we denied him breath much longer.

Instead the slime began to retreat. It crept back up the windpipe, retracting the thread of its body and pulling the shrapnel up like a claw.

It was a good plan in theory. But few plans survived contact with the enemy.

The shrapnel was simply too corrosive. It ate through the slime’s body, breaking through the membranes that contained its soft, spongy flesh. Some internal point of structural integrity was breached– and the slime simply died and collapsed into fluid. The corrupted metal was left lodged.

Smoke began to rise from the boy’s throat. It was burning him, reacting violently to his flesh. In moments his throat would be cauterized shut.

His body spasmed. Only his lack of strength was keeping him from thrashing and rolling against the ground.

I had no choice now. I called my sloth up, the lumbering creature taking too far to arrive. The boy’s face was red. His eyes were rolled up into crescents of white under drooping eyelids. I no longer knew if his brain would be intact at the end of this.

The sloth reached down and pushed a claw down into his throat. It made a neat, round puncture.

Vines slithered up from the ground. I grew grasses to shape, wrapping them over the wound and using them to stabilize the wound and keep his airpipe from collapsing. They drank up the blood, staunching the flow– we had avoided the jugulars and large veins, so there was little enough to drink away before it drowned him.

That left the fragment. We had cut in below where it was lodged in the throat, preventing the blockage from starving him of oxygen, but the damage was severe.

Another slime dripped down and grasped the corrupt metal, pulling it out. I could finally see it through clear eyes.

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It was a round piece of crumbling black metal, tinged with traces of charcoal and chemical residue.

Discarding it, I summoned another, larger slime with a simple command. Carry this filth out to the sea and let it drown. Saltwater would purge its curse in the end.

But as my creatures departed, the boy was in a poor state. Scattering the fragments of metal throughout his lung had allowed it to burn new points within the organ, and left the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed lopsided. His throat was partially burnt shut. There was every chance one of these wounds became infected.

I waited…

I watched…

His fevered twitching stilled, and was replaced by a terrible and growing stillness.

If he was one of my creations, it would be simple enough to fix him. Now that the source was largely dissipated, I could pour in mana to force out the polluted energy and heal his wounds. There would be no difficulty at all…

And there was a way.

But I hesitated.

In the time while my creations and the human visitors were exploring the beach, I had sent out more deathwing wasps. I was more careful now. Letting them lead another herd into my domain could spell disaster– the sloths were nowhere near the worst enemy on the island. Instead I instructed them to hunt down single and isolated creatures to gather.

This time their victim was a mangy, spotted hound, limping along under the influence of the wasp’s larvae. It was quickly and mercifully dispatched– it brought nothing but an influx of mana to work with and the trait Sensitive Nose.

But mana was something I needed. I drew some more from my fields, sensing the need approaching.

There was one way dungeon core could bond with a human.

It only required a contract between the two, a binding oath that fused some fragment of their human soul to the core.

The obligation created by such a contract was not small, but– I needed to cure this boy to earn the human’s trust, to earn their loyalty, to earn their cooperation. It was a small sacrifice. Smaller because he was in no position to negotiate.

Very well…

I reached out for his sleeping mind, feeling his fitful thoughts drifting beneath a deep layer of sleep. He was close to death. The strain of being burnt and punctured and sutured back together had sapped much of what will to live remained. But deep below that pale sea…

Some remnant wisp of thought lingered.

I made the connection. I poured mana into the world, not to create a creature, but to create a new thread of consciousness that connected me to the boy.

Instantly my awareness of the island was wiped away, as was any tenuous connection he had to reality. Our souls connected instead to a shared space, a dark void, in which the boy’s hazy spirit drifted alongside the glowing star of my consciousness.

A Contract is Forged

The Nameless Core, scion and spirit of Maukleu,

offers the following terms:

[Life]

[The Gift of Mana]

Kalani, child of the Puka Lani island and its chieftain,

offers the following terms

[???]

There was one difficulty.

I could give him nothing. The contract must be equal on both sides. And I did not know what he could offer me.

“Who are you?” He asked. “You glow like the sun, but you aren’t warm at all.”

I AM A SPIRIT, HERE TO SAVE YOU. I said simply. BUT YOU MUST BE WILLING TO PAY THE PRICE.

“And I should believe you? Not all spirits are good, cold-star. How do I know this is not a trick?”

CAN YOU FEEL YOUR HEARTBEAT? I asked.

He paused, and his face grew more and more fearful until he suddenly shook his head. “No. I just feel… tired…”

YOU ARE DYING. DOUBT ME, PERHAPS– BUT BELIEVE THE EVIDENCE OF YOUR OWN SENSES. YOU CAN FEEL YOURSELF FADING, I KNOW.

“You could still be tricking me!” He protested. Fear was making him foolish. “There is a spirit that steals hearts and hides them in a box. My father told me– you could have stolen my heartbeat!”

IF THAT IS WHAT YOU BELIEVE, I WILL DEPART.

“Wait!” He cried out. “What is it you want?”

FROM YOU? NOTHING. THAT IS THE PROBLEM. I CAN SAVE YOU FROM YOUR DEATH, BUT A PRICE MUST BE PAID.

“What kind of spirit are you? Some spirits like gold– others want meat.”

I AM NEITHER IN NEED OF RICHES OR FLESH. I AM THE SPIRIT OF A CORE; I AM A SPIRIT OF CREATION.

“What is your name?” I could feel the fear radiating through his voice.

I HAVE NONE.

“Then– I could give you a name!”

THAT MIGHT SUFFICE. YES, I THINK THAT WILL BE ENOUGH.

“I– What kind of name would you like?”

YOU MUST ANSWER THAT YOURSELF. BUT YOU WILL HAVE TIME. TO MAKE THE BARGAIN NOW IS ENOUGH.

A Contract is Forged

The Nameless Core, scion and spirit of Maukleu,

offers the following terms:

[Life]

[The Gift of Mana]

Kalani, child of the Puka Lani island and its chieftain,

offers the following terms

[A Name]

The contracts terms echoed through both our minds. I ASSENT. I said.

He laid his hand over his heart. “ I agree, if it will save me. If I will see my mother again.”

A crystalline chime ran through the void. The connection between us tightened, and mana began to flow from me into him. It was no more than a trickle– his body was too weak to absorb more– but now he would heal.

GOOD- I said, and was about to say more.

But things on the beach had grown too tumultuous to ignore. I could feel my creatures searching for my guidance. With a sudden gust of wind, I withdrew from the dark space of consciousness– leaving the boy behind in the dark.