Forgotten Dungeon

Uno

Mantis stalks a cicada, unaware of the oriole behind. I cited in the recesses of my mind. Yana might not be a cultivation world, but the fight between elves and the Lich was not that different from greed-crazy Nascent Souls and Golden Cores going at it, blind to consequences. Both invaders were wasting time posturing, all the while my little power-up was descending into the depths, ready to be sacrificed. Ready to change the course of this battle. Of this war.

What about the whole world?

I couldn't care less.

That, and Gangria's unhinged rants still lingered in my head. There was no way in hell I was going to touch her little crusade with a ten-foot pole. Even if I did end up as a demigod, I wasn't going to take part in the war between her and the two remaining gods.

The situation on the surface was weird. Nine elves were floating in the sky, their armor golden, their swords unsheathed. They looked like a bunch of angels, ready to bring justice and retribution upon the sinners.

The reality couldn't be further from the truth.

I had seen their arrogance and their self-righteousness firsthand.

On the other side was the Lich, an ultimate undead clad in ice and death. Its skeletal form had not only healed, but even improved, with its formerly cracked bones now filled with ice-blue veins. I couldn't assess the monster's level, but the pressure it exerted was greater than its long-eared opponents.

The elves were cautiously hovering in the air, wary of overextension, while being a dangerous type of quiet, but the Lich… The Lich was screaming.

"Children of the dead God, golden-eyed hypocrites! Be gone from this land! Away with you! The crooked truth you are bringing is not welcome here! The false hope you're peddling won't save those ants… won't save anyone!"

It stared at the elves, the blue flames shaking with fury. "You, who are clad in stolen light, who wave swords with a borrowed purpose! Little tyrants flaunting your justice! I won't let you interfere with my experiment!"

The skeleton pointed at the Silver Oasis, and I tensed, waiting for an attack that never came. Instead, the undead continued its yapping. "Those who are free refute you! The untethered ones will weather any storm, beat any opponent! They will evolve, grow stronger beyond the granted power, beyond Gods! Look at them! Look at these children of man! These weak polyps, which cling to anything and anyone that guarantees survival! Look how they refuse to die from good, old stubbornness! Look at them as they squirm, as they discard anything and everything to live! Aren't they MAGNIFICENT?!"

"And what did you do? What did you do with your power, you hyenas? What are you but children playing on the corpses of the empires?! What did you say to those who came after you?! Lording your stolen power over the others! I know what you did, you pieces of shit! I know your grandest sin! Your greatest desire! Bearers of the false Light!"

Well, things were heating up. But just when I thought that some great revelation would come my way, another actor appeared on the scene. This one was much stronger than the other "flies". He didn't hide his power; he blazed with it, like he was Light incarnated.

The rest of the elven powerhouses immediately reacted to his appearance.

"Commander!"

"Master!"

"Elder!"

They cried out. I couldn't see their faces, hidden under golden helmets, but the happiness in their words was clear to hear.

"CEASE." The newly arrived elven leader commanded, and the world listened. Everything stalled, whether it was magic, people, or even the winds. For a second, I thought that even the Lich would fall to the ground, helpless. Instead, the ice embedded in its bones flared, and a small disk appeared under its feet.

"Oh, so powerful, so stoic." The Lich sneered as it straightened, regaining its regal bearing. "Flaunting stolen authority must feel exhilarating, right? To trample all the creation under the power THAT. IS. NOT. YOURS." It shook its head. "And that is why you won't survive what is coming. Borrowed strength is but a stopgap solution."

This did elicit a reaction. "Shut your filthy mouth, undead! You will be purified! All who oppose us will be purified before our God! And then the Light of Justice will be reborn! So has He spoken!" The elf boomed, also speaking the ancient tongue, and I grew curious. Who was he? And, more importantly, who was He?

"Oh, I fear no god, slave. And especially not a corpse of a dead one!" The undead didn't stop provoking him, though.

"Blasphemy! Brothers, lend me your strength!"

The two forces clashed at last, but the shockwaves of their confrontation immediately burned through my scouts, turning them to either ice or ash. Only long-range observation remained viable - but seeing pieces of light smashing against each other wasn't as interesting as the way they fought before.

I shook my head as the System chimed again, endlessly asking about the ascension, and, like before, I refused its advances. This was no game. I had one life, so if I had to gamble on my future, then obviously I was going to cheat!

Charles moved with a purpose, as if his earlier cowardice was a lie. I knew better; he stank of sweat and fear. Still, courage was the ability to move despite terror, so kudos for that. The dungeon creatures knew better than to obstruct his path, leaving the man free to make his way downward - if a bit slowly.

He didn't know the way, you see.

Imagine his surprise when he was intercepted by Non and led back up.

Well, not up, per se.

After all, my crystal was still hidden on the first floor, in the nest made of copper and iron. The cables were everywhere now, coiling, intersecting, and twisting like something out of a server tech nightmare.

And behind all this metal, my black, onyx-like core pulsed with mana.

Ratlings were hard at work excavating a large space between my core room and their Warrens. It sure brought back memories - this underground space, while humble, was their birthplace, the start of their journey to greatness. Now, even if I were gone, they would survive, and then thrive. I was sure of that.

Not that I was planning to die.

Still, in the worst-case scenario, I had left something behind. Something grand and unique.

A small whisper in my mind, saying 'Yeah, something grand, like a self-propagating race of religious and intelligent monsters strong enough to wipe out any opponents, sure was a legacy' was promptly ignored.

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Instead, I focused on Charles, who had already arrived near the excavations. With his head on a swivel, he grumbled. Oh, how he grumbled.

"All this time you were hidden just under our noses."

"Yep. Smart, right?"

"Weren't you afraid that someone would just turn the outer layer to dust?"

"A man has to take risks. Otherwise, how can you win big?" I cheekily spat out.

"Some man you are, with only one ball." Charles shot back.

"Fuck off, glorified lighter." I said with a teasing tone. These words, while light, had set off something in him. The red-haired mage squinted before asking in a serious tone.

"Why do I know what that word means?"

"Not sure." I lied. "Maybe you read it somewhere?"

"Impossible. This… sudden onslaught of knowledge only happens when you speak. Even Master Vincent's sermons aren't poking this particular tiger." He continued with unwavering focus. "Sometimes it feels like I can glimpse a bit of your mind. It's like… like we're connected."

"Maybe we do share some connection? A resonance?" I answered, trying to lead him away from the truth. "Or maybe it's because you're siphoning so much of my mana?"

"Resonance?" He murmured. "It would explain why these flames of mine look like this. Maybe even the class change." A greenish orb of fire swirled on his palm. A familiar color of warpstone brightened the surroundings. "But if it were only your mana, then Master Vincent and his apprentices would be the first ones to notice."

I hummed non-commitally and waited him out. Charles' face twisted in displeasure as he pondered.

Was my humming really that bad?

The Ratlings were working away, clearing the soil and dragging up the machines from deeper underground. My mind drifted to the battle on the surface.

Not the one between elves and the Lich. No. The one that my creatures were fighting. Guardian was leading the charge in the cursed labyrinth, flanked by his enhanced kobolds, looking like some kind of power-armor toting knight. The rats of all types were everywhere, drowning the enemy's undead, orcs, and goblins in bodies, only adding to the bloodshed.

They screamed with joy as the battle turned, with first-floor bosses adding to the momentum. Detached from the first floor, Decapitator and Jailer Jonathan were in the thick of it, and despite their lack of pure power, a sight of an enemy combatant being stuffed into Jailer's gullet and devoured while still alive, or cut to ribbons by the metal monstrosity's claws, was enough to break the enemy's morale.

And while most of Silver Oasis's forces were guarding the surface, there was one notable exception.

Knut and his followers, the undying soldiers, were set loose from the very beginning. After all, the only ones in the way were either our enemies or my Dungeon's forces. To their surface-born commanders, that meant those dying by their hands were expendable.

So Knut and his men raged, gorged on flesh, and then raged again. Without end and without rest. They tasted hell, tasted blood, and learnt to revel in it.

I idly wondered how they'll integrate once the battles end.

Initially, Knut preached duty and honor, aiming to instill the ideals of sacrifice and sainthood in his subordinates. To save them from turning into monsters. But the bloody battles whittled the sanity of his followers, turning them into little more than beasts.

They could still be killed - decapitation or total destruction of their body did the job well enough, but I wondered if, instead of recovering them afterward, it would be better to just… cut them loose? The future headache of keeping them in check was already grating on my nerves. What was the worst that could happen? An extinction of the monsters around our outpost?

Knut's followers were a finite resource; they couldn't make more of their kind. At worst, the helmet-sword combo would just find another victim stupid enough to wear it, keeping the number at what? Twelve?

How poetic.

Anyway, at best, they would just face extinction, since their artifacts, while sturdy, still could be destroyed. More could be collected, of course, but one had to brave the depths of my Dungeon for that to happen. And the stupid people were in short supply, with all the killing and dying that has been happening recently.

My attention returned to the core room.

Minutes passed quickly, as the rats continued their work. Soon, the chamber had been completed - not much worse than the one I had constructed underground. It was gleaming with metal and wires, filled with megaphones on the walls and various Ratling and Butcher-made machines.

Now I could speak like a choir, similar to how Guardian once communicated.

"How are you, Charles?" I boomed out, happy to test the new apparatus.

He shook his head, his face twisted in displeasure. "Couldn't be better. Ah, but please turn down the echoes. It's a bit unsettling experience to hear you speak like that."

I was disappointed. It seemed like the red-haired mage had already grown used to my jokes. "You're no fun. Well, at least this time nobody is bleeding out after hearing my voice."

"That's the same machine?" His eyes warily searched the walls. " Of course. Of course you're using the same damn thing that once nearly gave us brain damage. You never learn."

"Hey!"

"It doesn't matter." He muttered. "So, what's happening now? What's the plan?" Charles turned toward my core, changing the topic. "Should I just touch it? Or is something else required?"

"No, don't you dare!" I boomed as he jumped back in surprise. The last thing I wanted was to have a battle of wills… not on my terms. "Let's not dilly-dally. Your ascension awaits."

He nodded, quietly following my minions guiding him toward the middle.

This conversation sure made me feel like Mr. House talking to the Courier. Best not to die miserably, like he did in my playthrough, though.

Ratlings kept the place separated, with their bigger brothers - Butchers - working on the connections, and a completely-not-creepy metal bed with cuffs. It was something straight out of a BDSM-lover dream.

Charles took one bitter look at the contraption before sighing and climbing onto the metal. He hissed as the cold started to immobilize his limbs, with the cuffs making sure he couldn't escape or hurt himself.

"Ready-ready!" The rat technician slurred while doing a double-double check.

"Patient safely contained, begin the pacification procedure." The nearby Butcher hummed out, and the surrounding rats swirled into motion.

"Fine-ready!"

"Pour."

Charles' face was covered with a mask, and his mind soon surrendered to the sleeping gas.

Everything was ready.

Then, without much fanfare, the grand finale arrived - a glorified bone saw cut through his flesh, straight into the chest cavity, letting me have a look at his core.

It was an onyx. An onyx with green, awfully familiar warpstone swirls. Surrounding it was a sea of what looked like shadows, slowly undulating.

This was weird. Unprecedented. Chilling.

The surgeons were thrown into confusion.

For those whom we experimented on, their magic always condensed the core of similar color and quality. These were standardized, logical - fire was red, water was blue, earth was brown, air was white or light-blue. More varied elements were harder to pin down. Lightning often turned yellow, but sometimes was also blue, while the magma was dark red (usually), the arcane had a whole fan of violet colors, depending on the affinity…

Another quality was size and shape. Like with other things in life, the bigger, the better, but there were exceptions, too. Like that one man, whose core was more similar to a rod. Or another anomaly, who sported a delicate web, instead of a ball.

We lost that last one, by the way.

Bone cutter was too much for the gossamer threads that made his core whole.

Anyway, my question remained.

"What the fuck am I looking at?"

The Butchers waved their arms in confusion, with Mechanicus staring at the darkness with a complicated expression. It really was a skill - being able to emote, even if his face was hidden under the helmet.

"Uncanny, my Master. Unique. As expected from the one chosen by our Creator."

"You didn't tell me anything I didn't know before." I sighed, and the megaphones repeated after me. "Why is it black? Why not red? Or hell, red and green? Why is it so small? Wasn't Charles like one of the most powerful people out here?"

"Why is it like that?"

"We… don't know, oh Creator. We'll learn."

"There's no time." I cursed under my nose. "Why is it always gambling? Why can nothing be simple?"

"We…"

"It was a rhetorical question." I deadpanned.

Now… there was no pull, no need to hurry, if one discounted an old question of 'how long one can survive with a chest open like a sardine can'.

"Fuck."

My etheral form coalesced, and I extended my hand, touching the swirling core. For a moment, nothing happened. Then…

*POP*

And I was inside.