Forgotten Dungeon

Uno

It was a really ugly little thing.

Its pale-looking claws had penetrated through the crunchy eggshell, the cracking sound echoing in the chamber. After that, a small, fierce snout appeared, more similar to a metal mask than to the head of a normal monster. A pair of clouded, slitted eyes glanced at the surroundings before focusing on Guardian’s large frame hovering over it.

“Squeeeeee!”

The kobold bellowed its lungs out while instinctively reaching out to the giant. It took a few, wobbly steps before falling face-first on the ground.

And it was no wonder it did so - with an overgrown left arm, atrophied legs, and fragile-looking torso it was clear that something went wrong during its growth period. It squirmed and shouted as its small body was slowly crawling toward Guardian. My minion delicately scooped the kobold in his arms, before falling to his knees, waiting for the rest of the monsters to emerge.

Soon the rest of the eggs began to hatch, and more white-scaled reptiles emerged. The air echoed with a strange chorus of cries, little monsters slowly making their way toward the biggest person in the room. Each of the kobolds carried the same mark of disability - their scales were sickly white, their bodies unusually fragile. Observing their elongated skulls, agile tails, and surprisingly dexterous fingers I wondered what exactly went wrong while wondering about the future.

My musings were cut short by Non’s comment.

“One.” She spoke while pointing her finger at an unhatched egg.

[Is it dead? What should we do with it?] I wondered aloud, while already receiving new monster blueprints. The hatching granted me a pretty extensive amount of knowledge about their race. I now innately understood that they were a part of intelligent, tribal people. Similar and yet different from the Ratlings. The main noticeable problem with their physical makeup was the shared frailness of their flesh though. With no magical ability, no special - biological - ways of fighting like poison or camouflage, it seemed like I just acquired nothing more, but a bunch of freeloaders.

What a disappointment.

[We only need to wait, my lord. No need to get hasty.] Guardian asked in a tone even more pleading than usual.

[Hmmm… yes. In the meantime we need to decide their fate.]

“Weak. Kill.” Non’s opinion on the matter was clear.

[No! How can you say these things?!]

“Way. Of. Things.” She shrugged, ignoring the armored giant’s outburst. After a moment of silence, she added. “Die. Anyway.”

[So is that your way of showing mercy?] I asked, amused.

Something in my tone must’ve struck the chord because the revenant stared at the mewling kobolds while adopting a focused expression.

“Mercy.” There was a question in her voice. A small, nearly undetectable feeling of uncertainty.

As if to add to the chaos the last egg hatched. That in itself was a normal occurrence. However, differently from its brothers and sisters, it didn’t choose to crawl into Guardian’s direction, but instead focused on… Non herself.

With a weak cry, it stubbornly dragged its small and weak body toward the unmoving undead. I didn’t know if the lack of the girl’s reaction was because of shock, or indifference, yet the next occurrence answered that question.

Guardian decided it was time to take action. He strode forward, his arm already full of little kobolds, packed like some strange, lizard bouquet. The giant extended his free hand to pick the small escapee only to be stopped by Non’s metallic appendage.

[What are you doing, girl?] He asked in confusion. [Let me pick it up. I need to start training them for my lord.]

The undead slowly shook her head. “Choice. Important.”

[You can’t do that! You just advised our lord to kill them all!]

“Choice.”

[My lord?]

[Let her have it.] I answered. My first course of action was to follow the revenant’s advice. To kill them all and be done with it.

But a moment later I asked myself a question.

Why should I kill them?

Was there anything gained from their death?

Was I getting back any resources?

Experience?

Items?

Was there any purpose in their deaths? Other than simple mercy given to those too weak for this world?

And if so since when the feeling of mercy mattered to me?

Their lives were insignificant, but not worthless.

Their blueprints were already safely secured in my mind.

As long as they remained in my chambers they didn’t use any food nor water. Or any of the more important resources for that matter.

Additionally, for some twisted reason, their mere existence was a breath of sanity in Guardian’s life. What was even more important was that Non decided to adopt one as a pet. Or something.

Which meant they had their uses…

Worried words broke through my contemplation. [My lord? Are you feeling fine?]

[Hmmm? Yes. Why are you asking?]

[You weren’t answering my questions. I… I feared that you had changed your mind.]

[On what topic?]

[Keeping the little ones alive.]

[Why?]

[Huh?]

[Why would I do so?]

[I could feel your disapproval, my lord.] The iron giant was still kneeling on the ground, his head lowered. [Even I know… that they’re weak. Small. Broken.] His free hand caressed one of the rowdier kobolds. It squealed in delight. [But because of this weakness, I know that they can be trained into your loyal servants. Like me.]

“Change.” It was Non’s time to shine.

[Could you please explain?] I asked, a bit annoyed at her single-word communication.

“Explain. Hard.” She stopped for a moment, picking up the wayward kobold. Unlike Guardian, she didn’t do it gently. Instead, her metal fingers lifted it up by the scruff of its neck, observing its struggles and confused hissing. “Change. Metal.” She pointed to the kobold’s arms and legs.

[Oh.] I immediately understood what she meant.

[But doesn’t that mean you need to wait for it to grow? Or does your metal have the ability to change its shape and volume according to the user, my lord?]

[I don’t remember having such a convenient ability.]

[Then you’ll have to take care of the little one for some time, girl. Become a mother.] I could hear soft laughter in the giant’s voice.

“Non. Mother.” She wrestled with the idea for a moment. “No.” A quick shake of her head followed, the black hair swinging in the air. “Master. Disciple.” She stared even harder at the small, white kobold, now safely cradled in her arms. It hissed questioningly, not understanding what was being spoken in the slightest.

[I’ll train them anyway. These arms may be weak, but they’re far from useless. In time they will grow into new defenders of our dungeon, my lord!] Guardian exclaimed happily.

[Yes. Do that.] I agreed without any further fuss. Things were moving at a break-neck pace and I was starting to feel nervous. The half-elves were already in my dungeon, trying to destroy me, albeit focusing on the fake core. I hoped that my ruse would be enough to stop them…

The humans at the surface were busy reinforcing their little outpost, their patrols once again conquering the first floor and grinding the shit out of the trial located there. Besides that, I noticed a… commotion. Something up there had the soldiers and workers scurrying about like ants with their homes on fire. I needed to check it out.

As a sort of farewell, I used a quick Analyze to understand what this new addition to the dungeon signifies.

Kobold of the Pale Tribe

Like all other kobolds (and goblins), these monsters are classified by their tribe - a unique way of addressing the adjustments to the local environment. This specific name comes from the white scales covering their bodies, but also a feeling of etherealness common to their kind.

While weak physically and often riddled with disabilities (as an effect of cleansing the Corruption flowing in their veins) in exchange their bones and skulls are infused with metal, making them unnaturally sturdy.

A normal kobold specialization lies in trap construction, yet this particular tribe seems to follow a different path, one of mechanical mastery and body enhancements. Their future is uncertain but bright.

Threat level: E (unmodified)

Okay… that was creepy. How in the hell did this description account for the decisions that were made just a moment ago?! Or was it more of a natural path that the kobolds would take even if left alone? They were under the influence of the Fake Core for a long bit of time after all…

No matter.

Whatever the reason I had more important problems to take care of.

My focus shifted up to the surface.

The outdoors looked a bit different, signs of devastation mostly taken care of. The silvery trees and other shrubbery were slowly regrowing, a touch of metal in their bark and leaves being a clear sign of my influence.

Half a dozen new tents had been erected someway from the compound, the armed guards nervously checking them out every few seconds. It seemed like they were more interested in what was happening inside than barring access to the various onlookers.

My only means of scouting the surface were still only a few surviving cameras, so I couldn’t exactly see what was happening inside. Thankfully only after half an hour passed two familiar figures emerged from the tent with grim expressions on their faces. Master Vincent, the helmeted mage, and Charles Blueflame were walking slowly toward the outpost’s wall while exchanging words. I, of course, focused on listening in.

“So the reason is still unknown?”

“Yes, sir. There was no change in their look, no coughing, no external symptoms. One day they just… fell asleep and never woke up.”

“You knew about the elven poison.” The mage interrupted. “Curse of Sleep.” Charles nodded approvingly. “Yes. That one. Don’t you have any idea what this new ailment could be?”

Master Vincent shook his head. “I checked and checked again. They’re just sleeping. None of the tests I brought back any results.” He stopped for a moment, scratching his chin. “I did find one commonality though. Every single one of the ill soldiers was accompanying us when the princess released her poison.”

“Then-!”

The old mage raised his hand, stopping Charles from speaking out. “But it still doesn’t make sense for this to be a reason for this malady anyway! Only some of them fell ill, after all! Why not all of us? Why not me, or you? There have to be differences! I thought it to be mana in our bodies, but that doesn’t match either! About three-fourths of the bodyguards accompanying us were fine!” He stopped his machine-gun-like speech while breathing heavily. “I simply don’t know what the reason is.” The mage stopped speaking in a lower, and much more tired tone.

“Master Vincent...”

“And it is terrifying!” The old mage's face twisted in fear, but he quickly controlled his expression. “I will continue my tests. Poisons. Magic. Curses. If any of the patients wake up again you’ll be the first to know.” He smiled tiredly.

“What is the chance that this illness started to spread because of the dungeon?” Charles asked worryingly.

“Considering that this place is a Forgotten Dungeon… Who knows, really? The Lunars’ past fate was the best example of not underestimating what kind of monstrosities can emerge from these halls. A new disease? Sure! Some kind of slow-acting poison? Why not! The forgotten curse? Possible! An incurable, soul-devouring parasite? Can be!” Violet-robed mage hung his head down. “The only thing I can tell you for sure is that this illness is unlike anything I met before.”

“So we’ll have to just wait?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I see… just for a good measure - bind the patients to their beds.”

“Why, sir?”

“I’m afraid that this malady did come from the depths of the dungeon.” Charles stopped for a moment, his eyes glancing at the sunset in the distance. “And because of that some more… dubious methods might have to be used. Like killing off the carriers for example. Or burning this whole place down.”

Master Vincent massaged his temples. “Very well. I’ll ask my pupils to start restraining them.”

“And I’ll give the orders to the guards.” With a small nod, both of the men parted, one returning to the isolated tent he came from while the other walked towards the human outpost.

I thought about their problem for a moment, but I don’t think that any biological warfare weapons were being developed by my creatures. And even if - even if they did so - I was sure they would first ask me to deploy them.

More like I hoped.

Yet it was still not the most important matter.

There were other problems to address.

Like elves steadily cutting down my defenders and getting closer to the last room on the third floor. After the initial success of my Ratlings, the enemy reacted - changing their formation to more condensed and giving notice to the tunnels dotting the dungeon walls.

The effect was clear to see - fewer elves died and more of my creatures bit the dust. On the other hand, the speed of their advance had fallen too. As a little pick-me-up, the surviving dark mage rats already caught up, helping their brethren in harassment. The egg-mechs were far too big to fit in though and instead backed up angrily stomping Berserker.

At least I wasn’t the only one having problems.

“How long until we arrive at the core?” Asked Ian while conjuring a wooden spear and sending it at the nearby rat. The monster’s head popped like a squashed fruit before it fell on the floor. The rest retreated.

“No idea.” Agric shrugged. “At least unlike the other floors, this one is pretty straightforward.”

“Yes, thank the Goddess for small boons.”

I grumbled. My third-floor setup was far from finished. While I already populated every single room there weren’t many tricks in place, baring the secret door just before the boss chamber. Hearing sentients call it easy wounded my pride more than I anticipated.

There was, of course, the checkpoint filled with a few Electro-Touched Lebirs, but I didn’t have a lot of faith in their resistance. Or rather, their chances would be far greater if the enemy still didn’t have about eighty soldiers on their side - and that was not even counting the elven princess, her knight with a magical shield, the two leaders…

Yeah.

They were fucked.

I tried using the remaining time wisely, moving some Ratlings to raise the defenders’ count, but it was mostly done for appearance’s sake. The way down to the core room couldn’t be too easy after all. It was the other way around - it had to be wrought with perils, the price for success had to be paid in blood. Otherwise, people would grow suspicious.

Even the artificial (or should I say not sapient?) dungeon cores were programmed in such a way as to protect them from destruction.

I couldn’t do worse.

To my surprise, the formerly rowdy undead started to suddenly fall in line. All Lebirs were quite stupid, but the Electro-Touched variant took the cake. While the rest of their brethren tried to keep together and sometimes even employed a small semblance of tactics (Captains being a praiseworthy exception) these guys simply ran in a straight line towards their target. Only the addition of the sudden arcs of electricity sometimes extending from their flesh made them more dangerous than their less advanced brethren.

Now instead of chaotically moving from one place to the other, they were instead dividing themselves into small groups, searching for places to hide and ambush incoming soldiers. The room was barren and clean, but with a few ingenious moves, they managed to fit in various cracks or simply lie down on the floor, playing dead.

A moment later another batch of Ratlings arrived while dragging behind some half-dead vegetation - which surprisingly managed to take reconnect with the ground in only a few seconds.

The new rats were different from the rest, their brown, loose robes covering most of their bodies and faces. Leading them was a little bigger specimen, with arms and legs covered in… roots?

Their leader squeaked a few more times, his subordinates dragging even more greenery inside. The plants were quick at reattaching themselves, but their leaves and branches weren’t looking that good. And yet there was something familiar about them... I focused on them and suddenly knowledge flooded into my mind.

Handberries, that was their true name. A plant that was never before seen in this world… grown in my own, private garden. With dark green, thick leaves and delicately looking branches, it was similar to its cousins growing above ground. It even had edible, if bitter, berries.

There were a few unique qualities to its kind though. The first was how Handberry loved to grow in mana-rich locations. The second one was how its berries had little hooks, used to cling to anyone stupid enough to squeeze through between their bushes. And the third…

The Ratling leader squeaked once again and under his command, brown-robed rats cut their paws in one decisive, quick action. Then, after another squeak, they sprayed the red blood over the bushes.

Handberries grew explosively following the amount of sucked-in liquid.

I really, really hoped that the Ratlings used blood because water from the nearby river wasn’t accessible.

And I really hoped it wasn’t some kind of a religious ritual…

In a few minutes, the formerly barren room was filled with plants, not only hiding the remaining Electro-Touched Lebirs but also providing a natural barrier against advancing elves. Finishing their job the brown-robed rats left one after another. A small jungle remained.

The invaders arrived about twenty minutes later, their vanguard entering the room, before stopping. One of them went back, only to return with Ian and Agric a moment later. The two half-elves stared at the dark-green chamber for a moment, before snickering.

“It’s a trap.”

“Yup, it’s a trap all-right.” Smiled Ian.

“Then, can I ask you to do your druidic mumbo-jumbo and give us a way forward?” Agric bowed slightly.

Ian, however, was angered by his jest, the elf’s brown eyes turning into slits. “How many times do I have to tell you? It’s not that hard!” He raised his voice. “Druidic magic is not the same as nature magic! I’m not a priest! It would be like saying that a human light mage is equivalent to a healing priest!”

“Yesh, it’s all mumbo-jumbo to me, anyway.”

“Damn brute…” Ian sighed, combing his girly black hair. “Just stop talking, okay? I’ll get even angrier if you don’t. I get this shit from my family every day, you don’t have to add in.”

Agric grew serious immediately “I’m sorry. I forgot how your people are when it comes to these things.” He added in a quieter tone. The atmosphere turned somber until Ian smacked his bigger companion on the shoulder.

“Let’s not talk about it.” He smiled a bit forcibly. “I’ll take care of it in the jiffy and we can continue our conquest.” He turned a bit serious. “I guess the sweeper is still behind us?”

“Yes.” Agric nodded. “And it’s gaining ground. Our tempo slowed too much. We might have to sacrifice some blood to speed up.”

“I see.”

With confident moves, Ian walked forward, stopping a few meters before the impromptu jungle. He raised his arms, spreading them wide, and started to chant.

A long string of words I wasn’t able to understand continued for about 30 seconds until he ended the sentence in a stronger, commanding tone. And like they were listening to his speech my plants started wilting a short moment later, uncovering the Lebirs hidden in their gist.

Of course… the main trope of fantasy - elves and plants. How did I not predict this? Haaah…

“Undead!” The elves shouted, noticing my forces.

“Archers! To the front!” Agric commanded, his subordinates surging forward. “Pepper them with arrows!” The elves followed his words to the letter, speedily killing visible enemies. Lebirs fell in silence.

After the first line of defense was decimated the Ratling commanders ordered a rabid counter-attack - their minds still struggling with the fact that the invaders could control nature. Both the undead and remaining rats ran forward haggardly, keen on tasting their enemies’ blood. Yet most of them died even before reaching the melee range, only a few surviving long enough to deal at most superficial damage.

It was a total defeat.

The elves knew that too, cheering for a minute, before returning to their earlier, turtle-like formation.

Their further advancement was pretty much unimpeded.

Even the secret doors that I meticulously prepared were discovered, another ambush thwarted by a rain of arrows and shield magic from the barely recovered knight. Despite the pain visible on his face he still kept the white barrier up, barring the way for my Exploders, making them an easy target.

Half an hour later they arrived in my final chamber, where the fake core was safely embedded in the wall - a black crystal in the sea of green copper. The room seemed uninhabited at first glance, the Armored Beast lying in wait, its black scales blending into shadows.

“Our target is in sight!” Reported one of the vanguards. “What are your orders, commander?”

“We can end it right now.” Another spoke with passion. “One arrow… and it’s done!”

“Don’t be a fool.” Agric suddenly appeared at their backs. “Do you think a common weapon can destroy a Dungeon Core?” He shook his head. “That is why Princess Minnalea brought the Royal Family's dagger with her.”

“To be truthful, powerful magic can do the trick too.” Added Ian, slowly glaring at the final chamber. “It seems… unfinished.” He said after a moment.

“Yes. But I am sure that a guardian beast waits somewhere in these shadows.” Grumbled the more muscular of the two elves. “We will have to spill more elven blood to deal with it.” He sighed. “No matter.”

“Sir?”

“Get the soldiers proficient in defense to move ahead. The rest of you follow… and for Goddess’ sake, fire your arrows as soon as the beast appears! Don't wait for my orders!”

“““Yes, sir!””” Countless voices answered.

“Stop!” And yet another order came from the back, halting their attack.

“Princess, why are you here?” Agric tilted his head in surprise.

“Let Jake go first.” She spoke confidently. “He’ll stop the core’s guardian and I’ll deal the finishing blow.”

“But… are you at your full strength, my lady?”

“Not quite… but I’ll manage if it’s only a singular monster!”

“Princess, there is also a sweeper following in our footsteps. Is it not wiser to conserve your strength until we defeat it?”

“What are you talking about?” Minnalea answered, clearly confused by something. “The dungeon beasts are known to lose their drive when the core is destroyed!”

“That… is not quite correct, my lady.” Ian was the one who chose to speak up after a moment of silence. “While it’s true in the context of normal monsters, those who were created with a higher purpose in mind may very well survive the destruction of their master, and pursue their original directives.”

“But you’re not sure?”

“Nothing is certain when it comes to dungeons, my lady.”

“Then we take the chance. Who is to say that this chamber's guardian won’t surge forward at the same moment when we try to deal with our pursuer?” Silence once again followed her words. “See? We fight.”

“Princess!” Agric coldly raised his voice. “Allow my soldiers to go first. We’ll defeat the beast and in the worst-case scenario - weaken it for your finishing strike!” He bowed deeply, asking for her permission.

“I do not wish to lose any more soldiers, commander.” Minnalea spoke softly.

“This is our duty. Please allow us the honor of the first strike.”

For a long while, the muscular elf and the royalty stared into each other’s eyes.

There was silence.

And then a sigh of resignation.

“Do as you wish.”

“Thank you, princess!”

Agric saluted and then turned back while barking out the orders. A few minutes later about half of the soldiers followed their captain, while the rest quite literally blocked the tunnel with their bodies.

A battle approached.

In the safety of my real core, I trembled.

This magical dagger seemed like trouble. Worse, like something I didn’t plan for.

Ah… but there was no other choice now.

Let’s just say that I too liked to live dangerously.