It didn’t take me long to find another of the areas powering the dome. The ribbons of golden runes were easily visible to my senses, and each generator produced sparks of red lightning that lit up the sky like a bonfire. I might not be as powerful as Telvy, or as smart as Sebbit or Tiller — but I had a deeper connection to the eldritch than any of them. I was even able to sense the remnants of the spots Telvy had destroyed, and where she was now.

The archmage was as easy to track as paw prints on wet sand.

She had moved north and was circling counterclockwise back towards the river. She had already destroyed three generators and was attacking a fourth. Her attacks created fluctuations that spread out from where she was attacking like ripples in a pond. She lacked finesse, but the brute force method seemed to be working for her.

I purposefully chose to move in the opposite direction. I needed as much space between myself and that chain wielding madwoman as possible. My path would also keep me closer to the Yorktown. I believed Telvy to be strong enough to single-handedly hinder my plan to distract and escape from the Peacekeepers.

Before I had to worry about that, I still needed to get past the first step of my plan.

I let out a breath before taking a step into the dome. The dome was solid, but I was able to push through with only minimal resistance.

It was like submerging myself in a pool of liquid lightning. The snapping clicks of static drowned out the howls of the wind and a chilling tingle ran up my spine. As the tingling sensation grew, a soft pressure began to fight against my push inwards.

Red sparks crackled and clung to me like the coils of a fiery serpent.

The pressure gradually became stronger as I pressed forward. The feeling was like trying to press together opposite sides of a magnet, if that magnet were fighting its way through a hurricane and had really pissed of Zeus.

My pace was slowed, but only slightly. I pushed further into the wall of energy and before long found myself completely cut off from the outside world. I could see only darkness and concussive flashes that were preceded by twisted lines of crimson lightning that held briefly upon the sky like a skeletal hand. No other light could break through the thick fog that billowed up from beneath my feet.

Hiding within the fog were eyes. I could feel them on me, watching and darting around me. The wind carried barely heard murmurs, whispers just low enough that I was unsure if they were real or imagined. Whenever I turned to confront these phantasms, I would find nothing but an empty red haze.

My feet became heavier with each step. My mind began to race with half-formed paranoia.

As I continued forward I could feel a pressure beginning to form in the back of my head. It was like the precursor of a headache that was quickly gaining in intensity.

A feeling of vertigo caused me to stumble and I landed on one knee. As I pushed myself up a face appeared before me. The quickness with which it arrived startled me, and I yelled out. It was a disembodied and gruesome visage, a shifting mask of translucent smoke. It was not alone.

A wall of ghostly figures had sprung up unseen. If I tried to focus on one for too long it would disappear into the constantly moving horde. Their forms were hazy and inconsistent, each was constantly shifting both shape and location.

I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing for a moment. I could sense the attack on my mind. It was much like the fear caused by the Eye of Madness, but different at the same time. This feeling was less primal, and lacked the feeling of revealed truth. It was an insubstantial fear, but nonetheless, one that was as insidious as it was infectious.

This was only my second interaction with a dungeon core, but I was beginning to form an understanding of them. Each contained some deep emotion that colored and shaped the energy it produced. Perhaps this was not only true for the cores, but eldritch energy in general.

I kept my eyes closed and launched myself forward. By blocking off my more mundane senses I could see the phantoms for what they were, constructs meant to torment me. They were pale echoes of that which should long ago have faded into death; no more real than my own shadowy illusions.

I felt the resistance increase as I broke through the ring of specters. This only caused me to increase my speed. I was battered back by wind and an invisible power, but I refused to be slowed. Each step forward was an agonizing ordeal, like molten lead had been poured into my limbs.

I had reached the limit of my pain tolerance, and fear made me doubt my actions. I could turn around and save myself. Was this really that important? The voices whispered, but I ignored them and carried myself forward through sheer spite.

The pain and pressure nearly broke me both mentally and physically.

But then it was gone as if I had imagined the whole thing. I opened my eyes and found myself floating in darkness. Around me was a near perfect void, but I could still make out the fog and electricity just outside the small bubble of nothingness. I breathed inward but my chest tightened and cramped. My heart began to beat erratically, and my hands grew cold and clammy. I clutched at my chest and noticed a trail of vapor rising from my fingertips. I exhaled, relieving some of the pressure, but I soon felt a bubbling sensation on my tongue and eyes.

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My vision blurred, and I began to feel light headed.

I pushed down the desire to run as every nerve in my body cried out for relief. Instead, I ran forward. My fear and regret rose with each step, but a surge of vindication rose up within me when an object came into view.

The pedestal was small, and half hidden in shadow. It was no higher than my waist and had a wide circular platform at each end. It was like a small table; its top was plated in copper and curved inward like a bowl. The column depicted carvings of human sacrifice and dismemberment being watched over by a great eye wreathed in flame. The eye looked familiar, but so too did the pillar. I had seen it before.

The carvings had changed as if come alive, but the pillar was the same. The last time I had seen it was crammed into the back of a moving van right before my two best friends told me they were leaving. Only hours before the end of the world.

Is this real? No. There had to be some other explanation, a trick of memory and perception.

Placed atop the pillar was a small, faintly glowing stone. It was perfectly centered atop the dais and had been partially wrapped in purple velvet lined with gold stitching. Splintered cracks of fiery red crisscrossed the stone as if it were coal freshly pulled from the fire. A heavy stream of eldritch energy poured out of the stone and into the sky like thick, black smoke.

I tried to speak in my excitement, but my lungs were empty. I was unable to form the words. The stone was a smooth sphere rather than a heart, and the color was different than what I had been shown, but this was clearly a dungeon core. One much more powerful than what Sebbit used during his show and tell.

With such a stone I could have a near infinite amount of eldritch energy to shape and command as I wished. Its uses were limitless. It could power spells, formations, and could probably be used to create dungeons — hence the name. I had a different plan in mind for it. One that should cause Sebbit and his Peacekeepers to take notice.

Anything that released this much energy would only have one reaction if that energy were no longer able to vent. As the energy built up, so too would the pressure it created. The result would no doubt be powerful, but I had no idea how long it would need to be contained before becoming critical.

I reached out and took the stone with my right hand and folded the purple cloth around it. As my fingers brushed the surface of the sphere, small arcs of lightning struck my hand, causing the hair on my arm to stand on end. I was surprised that the black colored arm could be affected in such a way. Many fantastical things had crossed my path recently, and yet static electricity affecting artificial hair follicles is what took me aback.

The arm was a construct of pure energy, and yet it seemed to follow all the rules of flesh and blood. It even tingled slightly at the touch of electricity. I just couldn’t understand why it would do so — it was no more flesh and blood than any other construct I had created. Perhaps it was as simple as feeling what I expected it to, much like how amputees could still feel phantom limbs.

Regardless, I had the core. I turned and walked out of the dome of darkness and swirling energy. With the core in hand, I encountered none of the obstacles that had slowed me on my way in.

Finally, my foot came down on grass and the outside world became visible once more. I could see amber fields flanked by hills and tall trees beneath a dim and reddening sky. The air was still heavy with fog, but it clung low to the ground, swelling and falling with the turns and hills of the earth.

I shaped a fold of eldritch energy in my arm and placed the core within it. I could feel a slight tingle as the arm began to absorb as much energy as it could hold. It didn’t feel any stronger, but it would be more durable, and I would have an extra store of energy to call on for a rainy day.

I began to leave but turned back when I heard a sound that was halfway between cracking glass and the gentle song of wind chimes. A single note reverberated for a moment, clinging to life briefly before fading into silence. The wall of the dome was now a smooth plane, no longer was the surface of the dome dancing with crimson sparks. The golden runes still spiraled upwards but were beginning to slow and fade.

The structure supporting the entire dome was beginning to weaken. The dome had stopped spinning and was no longer slowly contracting. It was still an effective barrier but no longer threatened to crush everything that was contained within. I mentally cursed. I had known this would happen, but I was hoping to be able to get at least one more core before it did.

Telvy worked much slower than I did, but she would destroy her core soon and the entire dome would collapse. Once that happened she would rush back to join Sebbit at the Yorktown. I had to get there first.

I began to run back towards Patriot’s Point, where the old aircraft carrier was moored. I moved forward with explosive speed, each step flinging clumps of dirt and grass behind me. My stride would send me forward several meters with each step, and I felt as though I were floating above the ground. My path was a straight line, so I quickly reached the outskirts of the pier. I leaped above a short concrete barrier and plowed through a chain-link fence as if it were cobweb.

Gunfire and bestial roars rang out to the south. When Sebbit had freed me, he had claimed to be going to personally oversee the battle, and it was unlikely that he would leave many guards at the Yorktown. To him, this great piece of American history was nothing more than a temporary base to be discarded.

Hopefully, my errand wouldn’t take long. I would have to join the battle soon myself, but it was important to make a proper entrance.

Finding a single prisoner on an aircraft carrier seems like a difficult prospect, especially under time constraints. I had the advantage, however, of knowing how the Peacekeepers kept their prisoners. I was especially familiar with how they kept those they considered corrupted by the eldritch. The energy was light here, only the smallest wisp remained, but it once again flowed freely through the passages and bulkheads of the old ship — further proof that Telvy’s task would soon be finished.

I identified several spots that were completely sealed off from the eldritch energy. They stood out like beacons to my sight. They may as well have been black holes floating in a sea of white.

It was time to go see an old friend.