Forgotten Dungeon

Uno

I couldn’t even imagine how a whole nation wanted to simply escape the calamity but three years seemed like not enough time to fully prepare for such an endeavor. Even working with the premise that it was impossible to save everyone, not to mention those stubborn enough to stay in their cities and villages the timescales seemed just… off. What's more, the uniformity described by the Outeles also didn’t “click” for me. Humanity was always divided when it came to the smallest things, and especially such monumental decisions. Leaving their homes behind and starting anew was something I doubted was treated differently even in a magical world.

Discarding the pretty words the logical conclusion was that they were going to kill off the people who chose to stay, possibly to cover their trail. A war crime, that’s what it was, no matter how heroically the merchant described it.

It was nothing new though, considering how wretched humans often turned out under pressure. How did that song go? Underneath it all we’re all just savages, hidden behind shirts, ties, and marriages… I wouldn’t be surprised if the majority of the escape vessel passengers consisted of those with enough money or power. Only these kinds of people would be allowed to board. Outeles was a son of a prominent merchant so this made sense.

Then again, being a bit of a devil's advocate, what other choice did they have?

The continent of Yana was pretty much dead, covered in putrid miasma, undead, monsters, and destroyed or malfunctioning dungeons. The surviving flora and fauna of the north (and the central) parts of the continent were twisted and sparse, feeding either on blood, flesh, the miasmic mana, or worse. These were already apocalyptic class problems, and that was not even counting the rising undead threat. To make matters worse the insane goddess Gangria was riling up the monsters and the dead, bent on exterminating the faith in two remaining old gods… no matter the consequences.

Not that either Brighton or Mirabelle were worth any respect, not after the shit they did to me…

Sigh.

Anyway.

The only surviving nations of the sentients were clinging to the south coast, dealing with undead invasions, monster stampedes, and their own internal problems like starvation, civil war, not to mention religious and racial turmoil. Geinard Kingdom, Dross Republic, Luna Kingdom, Dwarven Hold, and Elven Theocracy - all the nations I was aware of were struggling and disunited. Equally busy keeping themselves afloat and others - as weak as possible. Like a bunch of unruly kindergarteners, not understanding the gravity of the situation.

From what I’ve pieced up my place was one of a few surviving mana-recycling dungeons, hence why when the half-elves decided to shatter my core the Geinard Kingdom was infuriated. If my localization was any different, more central to their lands, a whole army would be dedicated to defending the dungeon. I would think that a threat of war would stop any would-be breakers from finishing their deed, Forgotten Dungeon or not.

Of course, with that “protection” deal a bunch of people trying to leash and control me would also arrive. They would probably try to force the dungeon growth in the direction of making more meat-rich, and easy-to-kill monsters, considering the state of Geinard Kingdom. The nation's economy hinged on dungeons providing food and other produce to the population, so it was no wonder that other dungeon cores were so quickly subverted. Their programming was comparable to a simple robot, focusing on expansion, resummoning monsters, and recycling mana. Even I, a person with an actual brain, had problems stopping the invaders' deranged creativity. I guess the topic was compounded by a desperate situation, which in turn forced desperate solutions.

While I analyzed the letter’s contents Charles seemed nonplussed but also no longer angry. His aide, Adam took a moment to read the information before shaking his head.

“The Dross Republic people are not to be trusted. I already said so, when we first met him, Master.” He lied without changing his expression.

“That you did, old man, that you did.” The mage agreed absentmindedly.

“Admitting your faults is a first step to fixing them, Master.” I glanced at this crafty old man... some people really had no shame.

Charles mindlessly stared at the wastelands spreading around the Silver Oasis. The metallic trees were growing nearly as fast as his subordinates cut them down. “Yes, you’re right.” He said weakly. ”And yet I can’t even say that he is wrong, trying to save his subordinates from being left behind. Not to mention how the Republic’s survivors will be treated after their ‘great escape’ becomes known.” The red-haired mage's gaze snapped back. “Let’s focus on the present. We have a deal to finish. Prepare the traitor for transport and I’ll inform the veterans. I hope enough of them will volunteer, or I’ll have to start thinking of more creative solutions.”

“And if it comes to that, then may Brighton save my soul.” He muttered a quiet prayer.

After a deep bow, Adam left his master’s side. I observed their departure with mixed emotions. There was giddy happiness about the positive first contact and also the draining nervousness about everything else that could go wrong.

At least I didn’t have any stomach pains, on account of lacking such an organ.

Something tugged on the dungeon strings and my attention turned to find the source of the unease.

On the second floor, beyond the Underground Lake and always hungry Glass Progenitor a darkened room was located - a former trapped zone coopted by Non and her ninja kobold apprentice as a home of sorts.

A single bedroll with a few odds and ends scattered around was the only sign of its inhabitants. Amongst the ordinary items, I noticed a small, well-cared-for amulet with Geinard Kingdom’s insignia.

I was sure that inside I would find the happy faces of two children amateurishly drawn on a piece of paper.

Revenant’s room usually stood empty, not counting her kobold follower. He - unlike the undead girl - still needed sleep. It was a calm, if somewhat gloomy refuge amongst the noise and clockwork-like movements of my undead creatures.

The place looked a bit different now.

I noticed fist marks on the walls, ranging from small, condensed holes to large, palm-shaped dents. Amongst them, lying on the floor was Non. She was hugging her knees in a fetal position, slowly going back and forth. Her black eyes were gazing into nothingness, and a constant, nearly silent wail escaped her lips.

Her kobold servant was fussing, running around her crumpled form, trying to feed her some fruits or just force her out of a catatonic trance.

I felt bad.

I mean she nearly ruined my chances for a peaceful resolution when it came to the Silver Oasis, but damn… wasn’t she just a child? A young girl betrayed by her boss and abandoned by those she trusted. Now, by a whim of a Goddess, she had returned, only to subsist on death and vengeance.

A pitiful fate with no future.

Sooner or later she would meet her match like everyone who lives by the sword.

And yet she needed to live. I was sure that her victims would disagree, but endless mental torture was not her decreed fate. I needed her to move. To fight through the sadness. To accept what she had become.

Or maybe show her an alternative solution.

I admit, it was a move done partially for my own benefit. What need do I have for a pawn that doesn’t want to move? There was no need for useless pieces in this game called life.

[Non.] I sent the first message with a bit of hesitation. Was it too soon? After being promptly ignored I refocused my efforts.

Despite the silence, I felt she was listening.

[Non, talk to me. I know that it’s painful and that you’re feeling miserable. But I need to know your decision.]

She lifted her head, still a bit dazed, before tilting it questioningly. [De. Ci. Sion.]

[Yes. A choice.] Seeing her attention intensified, I continued. [I will soon push through a transformation on my own. One that may very well end up in my demise.] It wasn’t even a lie. That was going to be my final gambit. I would of course do all that was possible in order for it to work out… but the fates could be cruel. [Before I’ll go through it I want to give you a choice. A way out of this miserable existence.]

[Hnnn?] She purred, her despair abandoned.

[You can either work as my contracted monster, just like you did before - I’ll even make a small force under your command and give you some training space if you wish, or… or I’ll transform you into something else. Break the chains that bind your very existence since rising in undeath.]

[I can’t guarantee the end effect. It’s a complete gamble. It can both turn you into a living and breathing being or just destroy your body and mind. Such is the effect of what the Ratlings call the Warpstone, a wayward creation of mine.] I admitted sheepishly. It wasn’t a good deal - from my perspective at least. It was hard to judge Non’s emotions - her face always remained unchanged and ‘non-verbal clues’ that the online help books mentioned just… didn’t exist.

Which, now that I thought about it, explained my lack of love life in the world Before.

[Ti. Me.]

[What?]

[Think.] She answered seriously.

Ah. She was asking me to give her time to think about it. I could tell her curiosity and hesitation.

It was as good as I could hope for.

The only other dungeon resident with a sense of self was Guardian. I rushed toward his place before suddenly stopping.

This whole shtick with gifts, the gloominess… was I writing my testament? I wasn’t deathly ill, though! There was no need for such things - the game plan was, after all, to live!

The Guardian himself was content with his lot in life. He served an honor-bound Lord, trained his troops, and defended the Dungeon with all his might.

A simple, yet fulfilling fate.

What right did I have to break that happiness? Even if it was created on a lie?

A man called Daniel Waltzer died a long time ago.

It was only proper to let him rest.

The underground continued to thrive. Ratlings were playing with their new toy, cracking walls and spines along the way, the Guardian trained, Non slowly meditated, with her happy little follower at her side. Master Vincent sat on a bench, surrounded by a variety of Ratlings, and exchanged knowledge about mana and plants. Exploding Lebirs were continually being produced and led away from the dungeon.

I actively didn’t want to look where.

And, as a few days passed Charles decided to fulfill the first part of his obligations. A stretcher with a squirming figure was carried into the dungeon proper. Even under the gag, I recognized the face. Peter. A mage that accompanied Agness Geinard, Charles’ girlfriend, and then tried to sell her out to the state, eliminating the former Blueflame in the process.

He did come out as kind of a dick, didn’t he?

Anyway, he obviously lost and was subsequently imprisoned. I had the feeling that they didn’t know what to do with him, seeing as they broke away from their parent Kingdom and weren’t on talking terms with the rest of their neighbors.

His pale skin looked even whiter now, with his brown eyes and hair constantly moving, observing the surroundings with mounting horror.

I guess he thought that as an inconvenient prisoner, he’ll end up sacrificed in my depths. A helpless victim disappearing without a trace. That was, after all, what he and his compatriots did in the Geinard Kingdom.

Surprise. His fate was bound to be much, much darker.

The carriers trembled when half a dozen of Lebirs emerged from the shadows. Leading them was one of the Ratlings, with haunting, green-colored eyes. This one snacked on Warpstone a bit too much. It squeaked questioningly and I observed the funniest conversation ever.

*squeak?*

“H-hello, mister Rat.” The leading soldier stuttered.

*squeak!*

“We’re here to bring the Dungeon the prisoner it requested.”

*squeak!!* In response to the Ratling's order surrounding Lebirs started moving menacingly.

“H-h-he? He?” *squeak!* “I see… He r-r-requested?” The guard tilted his head questioningly, and the undead stopped in response.

*squeak*

“We leave him in your capable hands. Er, paws, mister Rat!” After a deep bow, the carriers unceremoniously dropped the prisoner’s stretcher on the floor and then hastily retreated.

What remained was a Ratling and his undead servants.

He gave the human a few sniffs, making Peter stiffen in panic before an order was given and everyone moved.

The party wasn’t wasting even a moment as they marched with the restrained mage on their shoulders. With each step deeper and deeper into my tunnels, Peter’s trashing grew weaker. He was losing hope of leaving alive.

It took them under an hour to deposit their prisoner on the fourth floor, but at last, we could start.

A mass of Spider-walker Butchers was crowding in the room, their needle-like pinchers clicking with excitement. In the middle was a sole table, one that looked suspiciously close to the sacrificial altars of yore. It was probably because of all these grooves carved into the stone. This was going to be a bloody affair so good outflow was a must.

Peter started trashing again as soon as he saw the awaiting monsters.

Ignoring his pleas and frantic movements Lebirs proceeded to secure his limbs to the table. I immediately gave out my orders and watched as the Butchers started to fulfill them.

[While the patient needs to be conscious there’s no need for movement. A paralysis serum or magic should be used. After that work on cutting open the ribs. We need to dig deep into the chest cavity in order to uncover the magic core.]

[Make sure to avoid organs and unnecessarily cutting into blood vessels. We have a limited time to finish the surgery before the patient bleeds out. Use ice magic in order to slow down the flow.]

[After the patient’s core is ready for operation I will give you more instructions.]

[Ah, and prepare some tools able to saw through or cut the crystal. We’re going to need them. A drill, too, if Ratlings have one.] I added, nearly as an afterthought.

The long, painful breaths behind me faded into nothingness, as I focused on my own part of the puzzle. The Mechanical Core Gem, a second one I possessed, was lying on the prepared table. It looked just like my real core, with the black onyx sheen and sense of power emanating from within.

With but a thought surrounding cables pierced the soil and rock, emerging like a bunch of metal tentacles. I was however no Doctor Octopus, the copper they were comprised of was frail and malleable. Thankfully their purpose wasn’t to destroy but rather to become a conductor for my intent, so they would do.

One by one the cables attached themselves to the core, clicking into place, and ordered it to…

CHANGE

I focused on my very being, trying to express the intent to change shape. Change what the core represented and how it worked. Change what it was. I could see the small distortions on the thing and forced my mana alongside the intent, bending its purpose even further.

CHANGE

Minutes later a scream cutting through the air nearly threw me off-focus, but I held on with the desperation of a drowning man. Both my willpower and mana were bottoming out already and I was forced to reach deeper than ever before.

CHANGE

Into the Soul. Into the Anima. Into the deepest available resource, the one I was always too afraid to delve into. Something broke, with pain so searing that I thought I was going insane. I felt like I’d carved out a piece of something that shouldn’t be divided.

The system seemed to agree, with a huff showing me a corrupted deep blue window.

&*ul @#re S@#*er

Pi*(& of a &$%^ forced into &$%^(ation by Dungeon’s Core magic. It ($#^ins %$#nec$%d to the being that created such diffusion, allowing for &%$^&ol not dissimilar to the *&$%^dden arts of ^$%#$%ncy, the branch of magic %^$#@oyed by the (*^%.

While classified as a monster, it is ^%$% much # (*&^, created in order to *&^%$d *^$%rol over a biological creature or magical construct.

FORBIDDEN, FORBIDDEN, FORBIDDEN

Threat level: Supreme

What awaited me was a black gleaming spike.