Negotiations had fallen through, peace talks tried and failed. Each attempt the Client made at a peaceful resolution ended with an arrow in the negotiator. Every day the birds respawned, and came back to open a line of communication under the command of the Core. The skeletons cut short their songs, and with it, Vault’s patience.

When the Client came to him with a case, and all but begged for his skill, he took it with gratitude. It was a chance to make up for the Core’s display of cowardice negotiation tactics, as much as it was a chance to put those disrespectful bones in their place. They were the ones that came to this land, and yet they disrespected its master, and spat at the prospects of mutual friendship.

They were colonizers who defended their camp from anything above ground with a ferocity the detective had no desire to challenge. He took his investigation under ground. Beneath them, he created his own back alleys to stalk and stakeout. Tunnels that let him move unseen, from which he monitored their every action.

The darkness was a long time co-worker in his investigations, but at some point it had become more than just a tool. Perhaps it was the title he shared with his sister of yin and yang that pushed him to become nocturnal. Perhaps it was just how much stronger he was in the dark, but regardless of how it started, Vault had befriended the night itself.

He used the contract to his benefit to get a front-row seat to the skeletons’ movement. Able to watch as they moved like a hive, each one controlled by a higher being that orchestrated their every movement. Each footfall in perfect unison, soldiers assigned to always be on lookout, every swing of their pickaxes perfectly offset to avoid hitting each other.

‘No’ the slime corrected himself, ‘they aren’t a hive, they are programmed.’

Under the new light of the revelation, the flaws in their movements became clear. As a group, their coordination was perfect, able to coordinate archers to put two arrows in every bird overhead. Individually, the coordination fell apart instantly. So much knowledge became apparent because a single skeleton tripped.

The ground gave way beneath its boney foot. Didn’t even notice as it continued forward and pulled its leg out of socket. The skeleton fell, only to be trampled by others who were too focused on moving stone blocks to notice what laid underfoot.

Under the cover of darkness and isolation, Vault collected the skeleton’s remains. He consumed them to turn it into knowledge for the dungeon. Dissecting the magic that animated all of them to find a weakness. It was his role in the investigation, so he could pass the information along to those more prepared to weaponise it.

With the Empress nearby, the option for who to work with was clear. She sat above ground, invisible to the undead eyes, as they only noticed the living. Sat atop a newly constructed wall of the stone that bled, she was the perfect person to organize and coordinate with.

“You think so loudly,” the Empress tapped into the stone, the vibrations subtle enough for Vault to pick up.

“And your ability to speak without smell needs work,” the detective countered. As much as he was indebted to her for pulling him out of his slump, some light ribbing was almost required for the job.

“Regardless, the stone they dig is being used to create walls around the pit. They are fortifying the position and making it all the easier to take down anything that gets close. We are alone on this one, as the voice of the Crown cannot find the purpose or desire to wipe them out.”

“Our Creator has lost their edge, unfortunate that it includes this scum. Either way, any idea what they are doing?”

“Can you not feel the power in the blood that drips from these stones? There is a purity that grows the closer they get to their destination below the earth. They are constructing a fortress to guard their future, and to act as a church to their god.”

“This building is a desecration and an insult to our home.”

Their conversation came to an abrupt end when the entire dungeon tilted. Knowledge that flowed through them to the Core at its center and back.

> Understanding Increased: Desecration - a holy site of great significance that was destroyed with malicious intent.

The knowledge flowed into them with purpose, as every member of the dungeon’s mind expanded. With it, they all had a better idea what was happening. A joke that hit the truth on head, this once was a holy site. The Core had just never noticed the power below the mountains, as it focused too much on expanding outward. Plants, flight, sunlight… all things their master was obsessed with.

But it didn’t matter anymore.

As the two undercover monsters discussed what to do, the skeletons never slowed. They set the last few bricks into place to complete the walls that surrounded the worksite. The confused static that overlaid the mana faded as the will of the dungeon- the thoughts of the Core- faded.

No longer was the environment a battle of two minds that fought for control. With the wards in place, this section of the dungeon had a new master, a lich that knew how to cut off a dungeon from its own control. Walls that protected what was within, and kept the dungeon out.

To think, knowledge of desecration would be the last thing Vault would hear from the client. There was a humor in the irony that made him laugh as he went deeper undercover. This was a prison that he would make a home. He was right where he needed to be, so there was no reason to worry.

Most monsters, in most dungeons, would be useless without the master of the dungeon to guide their every action, but this place was different. Every monster raised under the Client had individually developed the ability to act independently. They could all leave, but few reasons had presented themselves to do so. Rare to use, rarer to have, but in times like this- cut off from the Client- it was imperative.

The slime knew the mission, as he just needed to stay hidden, but he wasn’t alone. He glanced out to the coworker that was trapped with him. Being this deep undercover didn’t bother the slime, but he knew he was alone in that mentality. He wanted to say something, but she beat him to it.

“Looks like I am trapped,” the Empress mused quietly. “Bound here, I will miss the next generation’s first steps. I worked so hard to lay the roads that will carry them, but I did wish to see them walk it.”

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“Will they be alright without your guidance?”

“They are my children, a generation better than any that came before them. The hive will be fine, as no one will starve or die, and they will know how to replicate the spell of their birth, if poorly. They will grow without me… and I can’t help but be proud, even if I won’t be able to see it.”

“Which part of you? Don’t you have your own mini-core that they watch over?”

“They are made from my magic, and bound to my core as much as they are the Crown that bore me. They will watch over my soul, and use its light to guide them when they are lost, but it will not be my eyes nor my voice that will give them the certainty to walk this path.”

“I guess…” Vault stumbled over his words, unsure what to say next. “I believe that is the difference between a good mother and a great one. A good mother does the best for her children, a great one makes sure they do the best for themselves. You have taught them everything they need to know to succeed.”

Surprise clearly took the Empress as she heard those words. She tried tapping into the stone some half hearted message of ‘two thousand generations to reach this point’ but she hesitated and let the words hang in the air. Eventually, her reply came, slow and deliberate.

“Thank you.”

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Samu watched as his creation took its first steps. Bronze clockwork that gleamed with runic veins of the magic that powered them. Upright and shaky, the legs he had created lunged forward in short, rapid lunges of movement. The uncontrolled power sent the mechanical foot through the floorboards. The attached torso of Baros jolted forward at the unexpected movement into Thalman’s waiting arms.

The air instantly filled with caustic smoke as his skin burned, but Thalman patiently waited for Baros to stabilize before he let go. Burns covered his arms where their skin touched. Unbothered, Thalman was too patient, as he made for the medical supplies he had on hand after several similar accidents.

As Thalman wrapped his arms in fresh bandages, Samu couldn’t help but unconsciously run his hand across his own arms. They were once soft and unblemished, but over the years, his magic had caused scales to grow over them. Oily and itchy, they never felt comfortable, an issue only exasperated by the hands at the end of the scaled arms were ones he didn’t recognize.

As much as he hated to look at what he had become, he had to acknowledge the immense spell resistance the scales came with. It allowed him to work with Baros’ necromantic mana, that ate away at all things living without getting the same burns that Thalman sported dozens of.

“Alright,” Thalman said as he finished with the gauze. “A little damage to the floor, but that was the furthest you got yet. Are we ready for another go?”

“No,” Baros said, almost angrily. “We will take it from the top tomorrow. I need to rest. Get out of my house.”

“Wait,” Samu pleaded. “It’s the joint in the left knee that seized up, so took too much force to overcome the resistance. I know how to fix it. We can just finish it today.”

“No,” the child stonewalled them.

Unceremoniously ushered out, the two friends stood on the decayed and rotten porch, dumbfounded. A light layer of snow had fallen since they started their work this morning. A cold breeze cut through their clothes as Thalman pushed Samu’s wheelchair toward home.

Its wheels squeaked with every turn, the mobility aid clearly neglected in his rush to finish the job for Baros and be done with it. As they traveled, he had time to wonder why they worked so hard on the project. It had taken a month to get to this point, and every day Baros saw fit to delay their work.

It would have been a mystery if Samu didn’t know the reason. Every night, Baros did his own tinkering. Every morning he found the project tampered with, as new runes and pieces added, some replaced. The goal of the modifications was lost on Samu, but everyday it was Thalman’s insistence on helping the orphan that brought them back.

All the musing was for not, as Thalman had diligently navigated them through the thick crowds of people who milled about. Foreigners who hadn’t learned the best way to deal with the cold, and families that had moved town as it grew, all anxious as they came together to ease each other’s minds.

What they were concerned about didn’t matter to Samu, as he tuned them out and let Thalman get them home. On their street he looked towards their old home, with its leaning walls, sagging roof, and the recently broken window. As a week prior, a man named Robert had started a fight and tried to mimic the sound blast ability of his opponent, albeit with far less control.

They were the only house on the street that had yet to replace their windows. Most had rushed to have it fixed, but his friends all had other things to do. The thought crossed his mind that it was rare for anyone to be home. As their quiet town had grown, so did the number of things to do each day.

So it surprised Samu when they got to the porch and saw the door open and people inside. Ink and Gozric didn’t look too happy, and were clearly waiting for them to return home. The moment the squeak of his chair passed the threshold of the house, they had already started with the questions.

“Did you hear? The skeletons are up to something.” Gozric started, “Ok, I know you know about their arrival three weeks ago, after all, you were the one to tell me, but they have built a fortress. They have no signs of stopping, so the walls may become a castle, which may turn into a city of monsters.”

“Everyone in town is worried about it.” Ink’el cut to the actual part of what the dwarf had been dancing around. “Hard to flirt with girls when they are worried about their friends who might get torn apart by the undead. Worried that the oasis of natural monsters will mutate into an undead crypt.”

“Any girls I might have a chance with?” Thalman started, before cutting himself off. “Wait, not important right now. So what exactly is going on with this fortress of the undead?”

As they spoke, Samu’s eyes drifted in thought. He knew most of this information from just the intuition and waking up every day to find the dark magic of the undead had crept further as their numbers grew. It subtly expanded into the town without anyone noticing the dark clouds overhead. He felt it in wind that cut to the bone, Ink’s synesthesia always going off, and the paranoia that caused his eyes to change to appear feline. He had adapted to watching the darkness, a useful trait that made him hate his reflection just that much more.

Perhaps that’s why his eyes drifted to the crumpled paper in Ink’s hand, half destroyed, half stained with an assault on the senses. A thing he had to inquire about, as it was rare for her to be anything but happy.

The conversation paused between Gozric and Thalman, as eyes turned towards the elf. She was listening so intently it took her a minute to even process what he asked about.

“This,” she spoke through gritted teeth, “is a letter from my family.”

“To our Dearest Ceruvis Ink’elris,” she recited in a mocking tone. “More irrelevant greetings, ‘we are disappointed to hear you have made a successful life for yourself in the backwoods town of…’ at this point they just made up a name for the town, its seventeen syllables long, clearly laying it on thick how ‘grandious’ this letter is, and how important, nay, imperative, it is for them to visit.”

The tone she used made everyone wince. The formality used to stroke a king’s ego did nothing but enrage the elf at the clear backhanded-ness it had as the author never really knew her. She was a simple girl with an old name that was dead to her. Here she was Ink or Ink’el, nothing more.

“So,” Thalman spoke, cutting the tension, “we should fake your death?”

“There is a mountain of walking bones nearby, which we need to inspect for examination and to put everyone’s mind at ease. It wouldn’t be an extra stop, just get in, look at the architecture, fight a few undead, take a skull…” Gozric mumbled to himself, debating the possibility off in his own little world.

“Oh wait, if we leave, we need to wait a few days so we can finish up a project for Baros first.” Thalman remarked half heartedly.

“No, we don’t,” Samu spoke up, a bit too harshly. He didn’t want to scold his friend, but he didn’t have a choice. “The work is finished. Anything we missed, he knows how to do himself. Besides, all he is doing is hurting you. I know you want to help, but don’t give up all of yourself to do something he can do on his own. If we leave, we leave tonight.”

Ink gave a sigh of relief, as a grin spread across her face. “So, tonight is the day I mysteriously turn up dead? I think I’m fine with that on my tombstone.”

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> Corruption of Core: 14%