Janus's eyes snapped open, his hands instinctively reaching for the gaping wound in his throat.
Nothing.
He glanced wildly around, eyes scanning for the glimmer of movement that was the accursed dungeon mob.
Nothing.
He was sitting on a rock pedestal in an inexpertly crafted stone room, no sign of his party or the mobs. He instinctively reached for his bow, but found it missing, along with the rest of his armor. Looking down he saw the armor laying on the pedestal beneath him, visible through where his legs should have been. He tried to widen his eyes in shock but couldn't manage it. Not without a face. He raised his arms, wind whistling around him in response. His brain went into full panic mode at the distinctive whirl of a wind elemental. His body, his presence, all of it was gone leaving him...
Nothing.
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In separate rooms all throughout the Underworld, a similar scene played out. Men and women woke up, discovering what they had become. A gust of wind, a whirl of flame, a metal monstrosity. All through the Underworld people realized that nothing would ever be the same, that in an instant all they knew and loved had been ripped away from them forever. Family was now a different species; society was a foreign country; friends were assumed dead. They broke, one by one, each in their own ways, mourning the loss of their very humanity. The discovery that their new bodies, manifestations of their cultivation itself, was capable of undreamt of mana absorption was cold comfort when the very reason for their cultivation had been ripped away.
But one by one, they rose. They shoved aside their grief and horror, ignored the death of their life, the loss of their family. They reformed the shattered fragments of their will and pressed forward, ignoring the tragedy of the present and the dangers of the future for the survival of the now. Because they were Adventurers.
And that is what Adventures were for.
----------------------------------------
“Uh… Granite?”
Well that was new.
“Yes Ryia?”
“I think your super kitten just committed suicide.”
“I noticed.”
Why can’t it ever be easy?
I glanced at the lone surviving Adventurer, staring dumbly at where the kitten had been. Putting on my mental monocle, I looked at his glassy eyes, the disruption of his mana, his irregular blood pressure, and gave my professional prognosis. Cuteness overload. The chest slammed in front of the man with a resounding clang. That sound was kinda growing on me. The Adventurer just stared at the chest, his eyes whirlpools of darkness and regret and soul deep pain.
“Uh… I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Ryia said.
Yeah…
Silence.
“So… why aren’t we dead?” I asked.
“How should I know? You're the Core here.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You are the owner of this domain, creator of these mobs, maker of -”
“Are you trying to get me to agree so we’ll fight, and I won’t worry about our impending deaths?”
“Maybe.”
“Well that’s nice of you. I think.”
I thought about what I’d done so far. The mobs I’d made, the conversations I’d had… it was a short life, something ended by such a stupid mistake. How was I supposed to know a kitten could advance in cultivation? All my future dreams would be wiped away because of the furry ball of death, my aspirations to grow stronger, my bond with Ryia, everything I cared about was going to be taken away because of a single contract. Any minute now the World Core would come swooping in here in a towering rage, dissolving me to mana with a single thought. I wondered if it would hurt. It might, depending on how fast I died. Maybe the World Core would make it quick. Any second now it would be here, bringing death and doom. Yes, any second…
“Ok Ryia, it’s official. Your intel sucks”
“Play nice, or I’ll tell the next Adventurer about this dungeon’s first mobs.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I gasped in disbelieving outrage.
“Try me.”
We stared at each other, the mana slowing under the intensity of our combined Intent. She snickered, and suddenly we were both laughing so hard the mana affinity went out of whack, the stress of the past minutes running through us.
Ryia suddenly stopped laughing to give me a hard edged glare..
“If you ever do that again, I swear I’ll find a way to smack you.”
“I blame this on the kitten.”
“It's dead.”
“So?”
“Just… try not to do it again?”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“I won’t accidentally make a mob that will ascend to B rank.”
“Good.”
Never said anything about doing it on purpose.
Just saying.
Still, this was weird. Everything I’d ever heard about the Word Core said he was practically all powerful, so I was pretty sure he’d seen what happened. Shelving the thoughts for later, pointless wondering would get me nowhere, I checked on the blueprints for my little murder-kitty. They were peak C rank, but given a few days the kitty seemed capable of advancing to B. I wondered where I should put the thing. If it made B, It could single handedly decimate every other mob in my dungeon, no questions.
I briefly thought of making a B ranked area where the kitten could slaughter all who dared to challenge her but...actually yes, I was totally doing that.
A name came to me, the perfect designation for a place of mortal combat and bloodshed. It was so devious, so cunning, so subtle that even with the warnings I’d plaster like some sort of confetti, I was sure I’d attract a C ranked team or two.
The Litterbox.
I began expanding my domain, forming a new area for the Litterbox and the third floor, before returning to my new favorite hobby. Making things go boom in the name of science. I’d set up a sealed and reinforced room to explod-ehm-test the runes Sigmundr had given me. The place may or may not look like some dwarves got their hands on A ranked explosives.
And gave them to their kids.
Definitely not.
Currently, I was testing out mana theory. Turns out that if you accelerate a mana particle REALLY fast, interesting things happen. The background for the phenomena required a bit of magical theory, but nothing too difficult.
There are five commonly accepted Pillars of Reality: time, space, matter, energy, and mana. Mana was usually linked with matter and energy.
End of lesson.
Using that simple fact explained why imparting massive amounts of kinetic energy to mana did some truly strange things. If I took a simple particle of earth mana and manually accelerated it, its attunement changed to lava mana. In fact, by accelerating enough mana to manifest with, I could create genuine honest to goodness Magic Society approved lava. If you're wondering why a Dungeon Core is excited about making lava, you haven’t been paying attention.
I accelerated fire mana particle, whipping it around the burnt-out husk of a room, then manifested it. A flicker of brilliant light and heat lit up the room, despite the single particle of mana being nearly microscopic. See? Science. Next, I accelerate a water particle, watching in anticipation as… it… vanished.
Hugh.
I summoned a new water particle, ignoring its metaphorical pleas for mercy, then sent it off into the great unknown. I watched as the screaming particle was ripped apart, spontaneously manifested into a small plume of superheated air: all that was left of test particle 41620. Sometimes sacrifices must be made for the good of all Cores.
Wait, water could turn to air?
That seemed like something that should definitely have been in the books Sigmundr had provided. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they weren’t as complete as the man made them out to be, what with the incomplete mana theory and all.
I manifested a puddle of water, then stared at it intently, trying to figure out the relationship between water and air. I’d never looked at what made water, or air for that matter. Even after the oxygen explosion I just tuned out Ryia’s partial explanation, then chalked it up to the world hating me. But now that I looked, really looked, saw that water and air weren’t actually all that different.
“Granite?”
“Yes Ryia?”
“Why are you staring at a puddle?” Ryia’s voice was as flat as her expression, and considering she doesn't have a face…
“I’m watching water turn to air.”
“Uh hugh. Granite?”
“Yes Ryia?”
“Water doesn't turn to air.”
“Shows what you know.”
As the water molecules approached the surface of the puddle, most would reflect off the surface and stay in their puddle prison. However, if a particle was really lucky, had been a good boy, and said its prayers, it might escape the puddle to join the air.
If superheating water mana had the same effect then… in an instant I had flash heated the puddle, turning it into more air. As long as there wasn’t a living creature's aura stopping me, I could pretty much do whatever I wanted. This, of course, led to the question of whether all air was actually water. If so, drowning made little sense, as a person would be drowning in liquid air.
As I zoomed in on an air molecule, the world became darker. It didn’t bother me too much, I didn’t need light to see objects in my domain, but it was a curiosity. Of course, I wasn’t just zooming in, but also tracking a molecule that flatly refused to stay still. Finally, I just grabbed the thing and held it in place, the particle kicking and screaming. Several nearby molecules decided to go on strike and banded together into a conglomerate, which immediately started falling to the ground as frozen air.
Interesting. And strangely symbolic of the fate of independent unions
I ignored the curiosity, examined the molecule I held. It was slightly smaller than the water molecules, and beyond that it looked… simple. It was just two tiny specks dancing around each other. I deemed them Boring Particles and moved on.
The next few days were spent combing through the air, looking for new particles. The dungeon had reached the point where it could pretty much run itself, with only minor oversight. At some point the Adventurer had wandered out, too dazed to even open the gold chest I'd thrown him. I briefly felt guilty about making him think his friends were dead, but it wasn't my fault he'd been slaughtered by some random B ranked beast.
Never can tell what can happen in the Wilds.
Once I’d mastered the process, I could scan upwards of a dozen particles a second. My mental process far outstripped the capabilities of a mere ENAD, but finding anything beyond Boring Particles or Boom Particles was still a chore. Like, one in a hundred thousand particles type chore. Sure, Ryia called Boring and Boom particles Nitrogen and Oxygen, but she got that from the ENADs, so it didn't count.
“Naming gasses off of whether or not they explode is not scientific!” Ryia raged.
“Says who?”
“You know what? This isn’t working out. I guess our viewpoints are just too different. Welp, screaming abomination on reality time.” Her little orb of light began to turn black.
“HOLD IT!”
I used the names.
After four days of ceaseless effort, I had seven particles. As it turns out, most of what I got was pretty boring. Nitrogen, Argon, Carbon Dioxide, and Neon didn’t tend to do much. One thing I did discover was that if you filled a room with a particular gas, it would produce variations of air mana. They were all definitely air mana, but they were also each a little different. For example, Oxygen mana tended to react more to fire mana; causing fires to spontaneously manifest.
However, my efforts weren’t wasted as I made two discoveries. The first was hydrogen, a Dungeon Core’s best friend. Why? Because it blew up. Now I know what you're thinking: “Oh that silly dungeon core is excited by setting things on fire, isn’t that sweet.” And you might have been right, if not for my second discovery.
Did you know that if you make hydrogen, really cold, it turns into a liquid?
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Far in the future, in another timeline, all the NASA nerds feel a shiver run down their collective spines.