The adventurers arrived several hours into the morning. There was a low lying tension pervading the group, as if they knew that something had fundamentally changed but just couldn’t place their finger on it.
I, of course, knew what was wrong. Gella had a knife sticking out of her back. The knife was hidden beneath her thick cloak, but to me it was as clear as day. The sweet, scared little girl who had bravely presented her mom to me during the night was gone. Her constant vigilance, searching for enemies and traps alike, was replaced with a dull placidness that only accentuated the loss of her quick grin and shining eyes.
She wasn’t dead, however. Despite the dagger sticking out of — what I presumed was — her heart, she took shallow breaths and — if I focused — I could sense her labored pulse at her throat and wrists. How that was possible, I didn’t know, but the intricate runes that pulsed red every time the scraggly mage spoke told me much of what had transpired.
The sight built a seething rage within me, but there was not much I could do as the party entered my domain. I had to hope that my preparations were enough.
“Gear check,” the burly tank rumbled, as he paused the group at my yawning entrance. “I’m at three-sixty life, thirty-six physical, and twenty-two chaos res.”
“Ninety-nine, and seventeen percent.” the cleric murmured, clutching at her staff.
“One-thirty eight, and twenty-three,” the mage said, his eyes unfocused as he raised his nose as if tasting the air. “Gella, what about you?”
“One-twenty-one life,” Gella said as the dagger in her back flared. “Twenty percent chaos resistance on me.”
“Good, we’re ready,” James bobbed his head as if the number matched those he had heard earlier. “Heading in, lights.”
The group summoned their lights and shuffled forward.
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Within five paces of my dark entrance, the group paused at my artificial bend. They briefly conversed, before following the prescribed path. There wasn’t much they could do about the dungeon’s layout changing.
I smiled at that. I had been worried that they would feel the need to break down walls on their way in.
I turned my attention to my six Nothic roaming the maze. Only five of the Nothic were level four, while the remaining one was still level three.
Nothic
Level: 4
Level Acquired: 1
Life: 198/198
Resistances: None
Rend: 21-43 Physical Damage
Rotting Gaze: 8-17 Chaos Damage
I simply hadn’t had enough time to resummon them all before the adventurers returned. That particular issue would likely grow as I gained more minions, but for this engagement it wouldn’t be such a big problem. Especially since my formidable Nothic were already displaying their Wily Intellect.
Subsonic growls rattled dust off the walls as my minions gathered. Their toxic green eyes fell into the half lidded hunting stance I was so familiar with. As a group they loped out of the darkness of my boss room.
“Hold,” the tank rumbled as the group found the first intersection of my maze. “Gella, which way?”
“Uhm...” Gella stared owlishly into the dark.
“The dungeon flows...” Martin murmured over her, his eyes rolling back into his skull as he sniffed the air, “point to the left. That’s where we will find the core. Right, Gella?”
Wait, what?
“Yes, the core is to the left,” Gella repeated robotically without even giving a token effort at checking.
James threw her a look, but shrugged and led the party to the left.
I watched in growing horror as the group found the next intersection, and once again chose the correct path. Then the third, and the fourth, and each time with perfect precision, the mage directed the group towards my core.
How was this possible? I frantically searched for anything that could possibly indicate which direction led towards me, but there was nothing. My walls were uniform, with no scratches or marks that would indicate one path over the other.
Nothing physical...but the mage had mentioned dungeon flows. I had originally dismissed that as simply a cool little bit of flavor in this world, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that dungeon flows were just the official name for my cilia.
Each of the tiny strands originated from my core, and flowed through my dungeon in smooth directional paths that were distorted by the adventurers aura. Yet, distorted as they were, they clearly showed which path led quickest to my core.
I grumbled to myself as I vowed to remedy the problem once the adventurers were gone.
“No enemies yet,” Aurora murmured, her fearful eyes snapping back and forth in the claustrophobic darkness.
I turned my attention back to the group and stilled my roaming thoughts. The humans walked unknowingly through my halls in their little bubble of light as my Nothic stalked closer. My six eldritch creatures used their superior vision and intimate knowledge of my terrain to surround the group. Four waited patiently on either side of the coming intersection, while two silently hunted from behind.
Just as the group stepped into the last intersection, my Nothic released another subsonic grumble and as one each of their eyes snapped open.
Aurora screamed bloody murder as six malicious eyes settled on her. Pustules and boils burst across her face, leaking blood stained fluid that soaked into her dirty clothes. She buckled as rot overtook her body in the fraction of the second it took for James to respond.
“[Lifelink] [Reflecting Aegis]!” he roared, lifting his shield. A golden barrier burst out from around him and spread to encompass the whole party. As one, my Nothic blinked blood shot eyes, but the tank wasn’t done.
“[Taunt]!” he roared, slamming his sword into his shield and unleashing a visible wave of distorted air in a wave around him. “Pulling, get ready!”
The wave washed over my minions to devastating effect. Two from behind, and one on the left shuddered as a madness settled over their eyes. The affected Nothic charged forward, heedless of their own safety as the tank's ability took over their mind. The unaffected Nothic on the left grabbed at its partner and shook it to dispel the effect, but the pair in the back had no one to hold them back.
“Behind! [Switch]” James roared. He and Aurora blurred and a second later, the burly tank stood tall at the rear of their formation ready and waiting to catch my Nothic’s charge. The rest of the fighters — on both sides — took a second longer to process what was happening, but as the two taunt-maddened Nothic crashed through the glowing aegis, they burst into action.
Martin unleashed bolts of swirling purple and razor sharp arrows whizzed out of Gella’s bow, all while Aurora desperately cast healing and buffing spells to counteract the constant burn of the Nothic’s Rotting Gaze.
My Nothic also took a second to process the change, before they too charged into the battle. With the tank protecting the rear, the adventurers where wholly unprepared as four Nothic descended on their backline in a frenzy of sharpened claws and glowing eyes.
Aurora screamed again, as a claw pierced her through the kidney, and Gella grunted as two Nothic bore her down and snapped her bowstring. Martin turned in shock and repelled the last Nothic with a soundless wave of purple energy before his eyes glowed.
“[Death Burst]!” he snarled under his breath and a wave of pure black slammed into my minions. They tumbled back as if the spell had physical weight behind it, and for a brief second the backline had a reprieve.
James slammed his sword through the eye of one of my Nothic, then bashed his shield so hard into the other than its ribcage collapsed in a mess of blood and gore.
“A little help back here!” Martin wheezed, falling down to one knee.
“Coming!”
The burly tank dashed back through the formation just as the glowing aegis protecting the party faded.
My minions however, didn’t blindly charge back in. Instead, their glowing eyes snapped wide open and they stared at the tank as if begging him to charge out to meet them. Rot ate into his skin and he grimaced, raising his shield and stepping forward. As one, my minions stepped back.
“They’re smart.” James coughed, eyes watering as he stepped back. “Retreat, I’ve got two minutes on [Taunt].”
Without complaint, the group picked up their moaning healer and ran back the way they came. My Nothic loped after them, working to keep the group in range of their Rotting Gaze. Two of the four vanished down side tunnels to flank the group.
“Heal damnit!” Martin yelled, cowering behind James who stumbled at the rear of the formation.
“It hurts,” Aurora whined, but a pulse of golden light washed over the group and the rot that had been taking over sloughed off to reveal pale healthy skin underneath.
They stepped into the next intersection and froze. On either side of them two Nothic materialized out of the gloom and bared their sharp teeth and lunged. Caught unawares, and with their tank in the back, the group could do nothing as sharpened claws tore into Martin who was in the lead.
He screamed, falling back as James blurred and took the bleeding mage’s place. James slashed out, clipping one Nothic and nearly lopping off its arm at the elbow. Both Nothic backpedaled, crawling on all fours to escape the raging tanks lethal blows.
“Behind!” Aurora screamed, and the two tailing Nothic that had waited patiently up until now leapt out of the darkness. Gella stepped out to meet them, but couldn’t stop their charge completely as they swarmed the healer. Aurora gurgled, her throat slashed as she collapsed in a growing pool of crimson blood.
“James, Taunt!” Martin snarled from his place on the floor.
“Thirty seconds!”
“This is ridiculous,” Martin whispered, quietly enough that only I could hear. “That core will be mine.”
Martin stood and I could sense something change in the young man. He lifted his hand and pointed at my most injured Nothic with utter contempt.
“[Drain Life]”
My minion collapsed as I watched its remaining life leak out and flow into the injured mage. Bloody gashes sealed as pale flesh regained its luster.
“[Rise]”
Before the corpse of the Nothic could fully collapse a pale teal mist sank into it, rotting flesh at a prodigious rate and revealing the pale bone that was hidden within. I sensed my connection to the creature tense, then crack as the necromancer's magic took hold.
In the brief instant that it took for the undead to reorient itself, its still alive partner noticed the change and leapt back into the darkness. In the back, the two Nothic dancing in front of the overleveled tank jumped back, glowing eyes fading into the darkness.
“[Minor Bastion]!” James called and two walls of gold sprang up on either side of the party. My minions slashed at the walls, but for the moment they held.
“We have to retreat, Aurora is dying!” James fell to his knees beside the dying girl, and forced a thick red potion down her lips.
“To hell with that!” Martin replied. “I’ve leveled and we’ve got them on the ropes. Just a little more and we will clear this dungeon and have access to the core. All you got to do is keep them close with your taunt and we can clear out the remaining trash.”
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“No Martin,” James said, his eyes sad. “The lives of our party members trump any short term goal. We retreat.”
“I’ve got a full health undead bolstering our defense. There is no chance we don’t win! Use your damn taunt when your bastion breaks.” Martin spat, his eyes bugging out in pure rage.
“[Necromancer] is a fine class, Martin,” James’ eyes hardened as he looked at the manic necromancer. “But, need I remind you that [Rise] is an illegal skill. One that you used before an active member of the Guard. I am under no obligation to listen to your foolhardy request. In fact, I am obligated to bring you to Krimta and drag you to the gallows in chains.”
“You cannot be serious. If I hadn’t used that ‘banned’ skill then Gella would have joined your precious healer on the floor!”
“And for that I am thankful. Dismiss your undead, and we can return to Krimta as friends.”
Martin’s eyes narrowed in hate. “No. I’m done hiding when all it does is push me down. If you’ve got a problem with that then leave. I’ll destroy this dungeon myself. Gella come with me.”
Martin turned his back to the tank and stood before the golden barrier. James stared at the young man for a second then sighed.
“[Stunning Strike] [Shield Charge]” he whispered. He blurred forward, shield outstretched and crashed into Martin. The necromancer squealed, crashed into the golden barrier and bounced. His eyes rolled up into his head and he lay still. His undead turned towards James, but the high level tank slashed it into ribbons with just a few strokes.
“We go! Come Gella,” James said, picking up Aurora and Martin like nothing. “[Fearful Aura]!”
The golden barrier vanished and Gella sprinted after the lumbering tank. My minions, whether it was because of the tank’s skill or because the party no longer had designs on my core, didn’t form a solid defense. Instead they melted to the sides, allowing the group to escape as they harrowed their every step.
The pair left my domain, and my tortured cilia slowly returned back to normal. One thing that struck me of this battle was that the adventurers was the sheer number of skills that they each possessed. Clearly they obtained skills through a different method than I did, since I hadn’t noticed any new skills when Martin supposedly leveled up. If I ever managed to hold a proper conversation with someone it would be something I’d be keen to learn.
I stretched — wind passing over my injured minions — and took in my status.
< Mana 288/288 >
< You have leveled up! >
< You are now level 5! >
< Mana: 0/410 >
< Mana: 199/410 >
I had pushed the mana notifications to the background during the battle, but it turned out that their frantic, extended battle had netted me a level and change of mana. The mana requirement for the next level was over forty times the requirement for my first level. It was getting to the point where in a few more levels I would need more than a single delve by enterprising adventurers to level up.
That was a problem for another day, so I dismissed the train of thought and flipped open my upgrade options.
Attune the first floor to the Deep Dark:
Deep Dark imparts -10% physical, chaos, and shadow resistance to non-minions
Deep Dark imparts up to -30% physical, chaos, and shadow resistance to non-minions based on non-minions' degree of terror
Deep Dark consumes low leveled light sources over time
Attune the first floor to the Hopeless Mist:
Hopeless Mist imparts +1 life regeneration per second to minions
Hopeless Mist imparts +10% all resistances to minions
Hopeless Mist imparts up to +30% all resistance to minions based on degree of hopelessness of nearby non-minions
Attune the first floor to the Mad Jungle:
Mad Jungle imparts resistance to dungeon attuned terrain
Mad Jungle may shift dungeon attuned terrain
Mad Jungle imparts -4% to all resistances of non-minions upon emotion change up to a maximum of -40%
The options were interesting, and it seemed like I would finally gain a theme, but I had more important things to get to. I had learned much from that delve and was eager to implement some of the ideas I had gotten.
The first was remedying the issue where Martin could just figure out the correct path through the maze. From my understanding, the man was able to sense the directionality of my cilia, and was using that to navigate towards my core. The solution then was simple, if non-trivial to implement. I just had to change the orientation of my cilia.
I had no way of knowing the area of Martin’s perception so I would create several redundant fail safes to combat every eventuality.
In the case that Martin’s perception was low range — touch based or thereabouts — the first system I implemented was orienting all the fibers in my body to face up and down. This created a small issue where I had to line the floor with a thick carpet of cilia that ran the length of my dungeon, but at head height there was no way that Martin or anyone with similar capabilities would be able to glean anything from the dungeon flows.
If Martin could sense the cilia at his feet — or if he leaned down — I dug down beneath my existing dungeon and buried the carpet of cilia nearly a dozen feet beneath solid rock. This way, I still had control over my dungeon proper, and would gain mana like normal should an adventurer walk my halls, but only adventurers with extreme abilities to sense my cilia would be able to navigate my maze.
I did encounter a slight breathing problem, but that was easily remedied by expanding all the tunnels by an order of magnitude. The subtext of claustrophobia that surfaced wasn’t pleasant but reminded me, that no matter what I was now, I still needed access to the air above.
Burying my cilia beneath meters of stone wasn’t good enough when my life was on the line, so once I did that, I went back over my entire network and intentionally knotted up the threads into dense tangles that didn’t seem to go anywhere. With my immense perception I could mentally follow the length of a single fiber, but it took multiple minutes and from the way that Martin had sniffed at the air, I doubted his senses were anywhere near as advanced as mine.
Three redundant systems would have to be good enough for now, because there were other aspects that desperately needed an upgrade. I had — up until this point — been focused entirely on the layout of my dungeon, simply because I hadn’t had enough time to properly set up, but it was time to remedy that.
I knew that the current party’s rogue was out of commission, which gave me all sorts of opportunities. The reasons were secondary to the fact that they currently had a limited capacity to detect traps. Therefore...I made traps. Loads of them.
I filled hallway after hallway with tripwires that dropped sharpened stalactites from the ceiling, and random areas where the stone was thin and would drop unsuspecting feet to a sharp and pointy impalement. I wasn’t some trap savant, and really didn’t know how to make anything complicated, but after several solid passes I was satisfied that even if none of the traps landed, it would at least slow down the party by a significant enough margin to net me another level or two.
Lastly, I fiddled with the verticality of my first floor. If I was going to go full panic and make this dungeon as inhospitable as possible, then there was no reason why the floor should be flat. I knew I hated stairs back home, and I doubted the people in this world were any different. Especially while wearing heavy armor.
I went through every intersection and randomly added a tunnel that lead directly upwards or downwards. Doing so effectively changed the first floor into three parallel interconnected floors. After some consideration, I removed the stairs from the vertical shafts and replaced them with narrow divots that would allow my Nothic to navigate the vertical terrain while making it inordinately difficult for a normal human to do the same.
These two upgrades in conjunction dramatically increased the complexity of the maze and I doubted I could solve it myself if I didn’t have an omniscient view of the thing. No matter what, I was confident that it would take a herculean effort of manpower, time, and planning to have a hope of traversing it.
Satisfied and deathly aware of the ticking clock, I turned my attention to my Nothic. The adventurers now knew of their damage types which allowed them to prepare armor that granted upwards of twenty percent resistance to that damage type. It didn’t sound like that much, but in a close battle the difference between an injury and a killing blow could be minimal.
Physical and chaos were what they were expecting, and my pending upgrade really didn’t give me that much more to work with. I would have to experiment.
I had four Shadow Sources by now and the number was steadily rising every day. Currently I was using the sources as a form of fuel for my boss arena, but perhaps there was more I could do with them.
The first thing I tried was attaching a shadow source to the back of one of my Nothic. The bugger seemed irritated with the attachment — similar to a cat with a cone — but got used to it relatively quickly and seemed to enjoy the steady stream of shadowstuff spilling off its shoulders. Its status hadn’t changed though, so I scrapped that idea, and moved on to more extreme options.
I ripped off the Nothic's claws with precise usage of my stoneshaping powers and fused eight sharpened claws made out of shadow in their stead. This had little effect on its status other than reducing the Nothics health by a huge chunk. That by itself made the idea unviable. Even if the shadow claws dealt shadow damage — something I had no way of verifying — my minions couldn’t regenerate and wouldn’t be at full health during the coming engagement.
Instead I forced the poor struggling creature to swallow the shadow source. Interesting, but ultimately worthless. It made the Nothic belch out a steady stream of shadowstuff that probably made it scarier, but didn’t affect its status in any way that I could perceive.
I then took some time to think as I finalized other changes to my dungeon. In this world of magic, intent mattered. The problem was that simply wishing the Nothic to gain the properties of the Shadow Source didn’t do anything. I had startlingly binary control over things. I could summon the creatures, but not control them. I could craft items into armor, weapons or consumables, and I could manipulate the level of the product, but I couldn’t use the flesh of my minions as a material. Trust me I tried.
It was frustrating, but that only meant I had to work within the rules of the system. If it only allowed me to use my intent to craft non-sentient objects, then I would craft using only non-sentient objects.
I trapped my distressed, declawed Nothic in four inches of solid stone and cut an incision into the large artery of its thigh. The surprisingly red blood oozed out and I directed the fluid through a set of tubes hastily crafted out of stone. Then as the blood flowed I passed the fluid through a pool of shadowstuff and focused my will.
Blood wasn’t alive. Not in the technical sense. There were aspects of blood which were alive, namely immune cells, but the primary movers and shakers that granted blood its unique properties were as alive as stone. Erythrocytes had much of the functionality of a living cell, but they couldn’t reproduce. A characteristic — and technicality — I would abuse in this crafting process. As far as I was concerned, blood and its constituents was basically a machine, working to carry out its prescribed function until the moment it broke down.
I focused on this fact, as I imparted my will on the shadow soaked blood. I didn’t know if it would work, and I didn’t know if my arbitrary definition of what constituted ‘living’ would hold up, but I wouldn’t know if I didn’t try.
Slowly, I felt a change take hold. The pool of shadow dipped and as I pulled the blood out from within it, I noticed a qualitative change. Instead of red, the blood — that I promptly shoved back into the agitated Nothic — was a stygian black. It was thicker — somehow more vaporous — but lacked the tell tale notification that cemented it as a crafted item.
The Nothic spasmed as I forced the changed blood back into its veins. I sensed its heart stutter as various organs in its body shut down in rapid succession. This wasn’t working. I had to do something different, or else the creature would die.
I closed off my senses to the rest of the dungeon and focused solely on my little experiment. The system kept harping on and on about sentient creatures. It told me initially that I was sentient therefore I deserved access to the system. For the same reason, the system prevented crafting with sentient beings. But...but I wasn’t planning on changing the Nothic into a different creature, I wanted to simply change the composition of the Nothic’s body. A body which wasn’t sentient.
Humans were sentient but cells weren’t. Cells didn’t think, plan, have goals or dreams. Cells simply were. They existed, carried out their functions soullessly, and reproduced. That was it. Cells might be the smallest form of life, but a cell didn’t have access to the system. Shouldn’t have access to the system. Therefore I should be able to craft with cells.
My cilia rippled as I invaded the body of the tortured Nothic. I forced my indomitable will on the struggling creature, forcing, demanding that shadow fused blood meld with flesh. I sucked up more of my reserve of shadowstuff and forced it into the Nothics marrow, shifting and changing it to create modified shadow attuned blood. I then looked at the stomach and did the same. Then the heart. Then muscles. Spleen. Brain.
It wasn’t enough. The shadowstuff wasn’t pure enough. It was too dilute. Not dense enough to fuse properly with the pulsing flesh that struggled to purge itself of the poison I forced upon it. I reached into my vault and pulled out one of my four shadow sources and forced the hard crystal to melt. It fought me, struggling to retain its form but I didn’t budge. More and more of my cilia invaded the crystal and forced the solid to flow like water into the dying Nothic’s veins.
On and on it went until the system knocked me out of my stupor with a discrete little notification.
< You have crafted < Weapon >>
Shadow Crafted Nothic
+14 life
Level: 4
Level Acquired: 1
Life: 44/212
Resistances: None
Rend: 21-43 Shadow Damage
Rotting Gaze: 8-17 Chaos Damage
I stared at the whimpering creature for several minutes as I thought about what I had done. The Nothic stopped whimpering after a time and began to explore. Its limbs had turned pitch black and had acquired a vaporous quality to them. I rippled in surprise as I saw it float out of my stone restraints and reform its limbs afterwards. All in all, it had gained a wraithlike quality to it with its singular glowing eye and misty limbs.
I had succeeded, but failed. The system recognized my new creature as having a shadow aspect. I knew for a fact that the damage they would deal wouldn’t be attuned to physical, but the thing didn’t have full health. It had lost health from my violent methods, but I wasn’t sure if my scuffed dialysis machine was necessary for the conversion or not. I could try again, but if it didn’t work, then I would be left with one fewer Nothic and one fewer Shadow Source for the coming battle.
I mulled it over for a time, but eventually decided to go through with it. I grabbed one of the level five Nothic and tied it down. I covered it in liquid shadowstuff and willed the transformation to take place. I made every effort not to penetrate the creature, but it couldn’t handle my direct attention and bled in a few places.
Still, after nearly ten minutes of hard focus the system pinged and I sighed out in relief.
< You have crafted < Weapon> >
Shadow Crafted Nothic
+17 life
Level: 5
Level Acquired: 1
Life: 230/244
Resistances: None
Rend: 25-53 Shadow Damage
Rotting Gaze: 10-21 Chaos Damage
I had done it. I was sure that I could, over time, master the technique with no damage to the minion, but for now it was a net positive. The Nothic had lost less life than it had gained through the crafting process and had a different affinity to boot. Not to mention that it was now semi-incorporeal which would have all sorts of ramifications during combat.
Satisfied, I worked to convert one last minion to shadow as the light of morning lightened my entrance. I had two shadow Nothic, four regular variants and they were all level 5. My maze was inviolable and my — as yet unoccupied — boss room was the perfect environment for my Nothic should the worst happen.
Regardless of what was to come, I was ready for it.