The Infinity Dungeon [LitRPG]

"Will David grace us with his presence?" Travis asked.

Michael shook his head. "Nah. He's running around the country all the time, doing his stuff."

"I noticed," Travis deadpanned. "Doing what exactly?"

There was an implicit meaning in the question. Travis had asked Icarus about it, which is the first sensible thing to do around Site 00 whenever you have any question—even if stupid—and Icarus had not told him.

"Recruiting veterans, I think."

Touché, Michael thought as the other man's face contorted. "How do you know?"

"I know things, Travis. Anyway, it's nothing to worry about. I should be more than enough to deal with whatever came up. Care to tell me about it?"

Dropping the matter, Travis went into full briefing mode. "Kavanaugh has finally turned useful, for once."

"Didn't he give us the schematics for the shield spell?"

Travis inhaled, "Yes, that's not nearly enough. Anyway, he has intel about a powered individual in Italy that the OA is tracking. To go beyond national borders, it must be quite something, so I asked Icarus. Turns out, this whole operation, as well as the individual itself, is currently beyond our AI's capability to track down and intercept. What does it sound like to you?"

"Sounds like we gotta go there," Michael said. "Do we take the private jet?"

"Nothing of the sort," Travis said. His expression was neutral, but Michael didn't fail to notice the brief look of surprise that flashed on his face for the shortest moment. Of course Michael knew about the private jet, a simple Icarus query was all that it took. For him, integration with Icarus had happened slowly, trial and error, over the course of months spent in the Dungeon. For everybody else, considering that he didn't really talk about it, it was as if he was suddenly in the know about a great deal of things that he would otherwise not care about.

They had no idea that all he had to do was ask his AI.

They are still delivering it, the AI added. Travis had it dismantled into pieces and then sent Trevor to acquire them via the Ghost Market exploit on August 21st, three days ago. It's being reassembled in a field five-point-seven clicks west of here, hidden by gigantic trees grown by Johanne. There is still no way to hide its signature once it's operational, hence why he doesn't want to use it.

"We are flying commercial for this one," the man said. "Too many eyes tracking our movements. It will be easier to hide in plain sight, in a crowd, with Icarus and the technomancer taking care of our digital footprint."

"Makes sense," Michael said. "That way, they can only track us with line of sight. A bit of aura manipulation and suppression, and we should be invisible as long as we keep a low profile."

"Then it's settled. You, me and Delta Squad. Meet back here in an hour."

***

Michael found Johanne at her lab, surrounded by a field of magic that also served to keep everyone else at least twenty feet away from her. It suited her just fine, Michael thought as he remembered her annoyance at being bothered by the researchers working under her all the time. As the leading expert on magic—save for Michael's more intuitive approach—this had always been bound to be her fate, and he suspected that not even the deadly field of runaway Time energy surrounding her would keep the scientists at bay for long.

"If they manage to break through it, either by their own power or using some contraption, then it means that they have earned the right to bother me," Johanne said, eliciting a laugh from Michael.

"I like your pragmatic approach. Any progress with Time?"

She shook her head, "Well, I can turn a rotten apple back into a fresh one. The problem is that if you eat it, after a while it reverts back into a rotten apple inside your body and you get sick."

Michael wasn't too surprised to learn that she had tested this theory on herself.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"I too used to think that with Aura-level mastery, things would be much easier," he said.

"Alas," Johanne sighed, "Aura-level mastery is just the first step in the path of an Elementalist."

Getting up from her uncomfortable-looking stool, she dropped the magic field. Michael was a more than good enough substitute for it, with his status and odd temper. There was a look of contemplation on her face that quickly became one of determination.

"There are countless ways to power." she said. "The more we learn, the truer the statement becomes."

"Limitless potential," Michael muttered.

Johanne nodded. "The only limit is magic itself. The fuel, the energy."

"Is it really at risk of running out? We are gambling a lot on the assumption that it won't."

The woman sighed, and with a mental command several graphs appeared on the many screens at her metal table. Sitting back on the stool, she began to show figures and maps to Michael.

"There are no clear signs," she said. The map showed the Dungeon's Area of Influence as it slowly expanded outwards from its point of origin. "It might, though. With the Dungeon as the sole source, for now at least, what happens if it cuts us off?"

"Scary thought. This is priority research, Johanne."

"Ha! My lord, everything is. Very well. I shall find… time," she said with a chuckle, "for yet another research project."

They discussed another few things, mostly about her grand plans with the shield technology once they figured out how to turn Michael's skill and Kavanaugh's schematics into a working device. Personal shields, shielded vehicles, buildings, space engineering, everything. With Force stones, they could launch gigantic spaceships and keep them in orbit, and with shields they wouldn't have to worry about the harshness of space.

"Grand plans, I like them. Keep up the good work."

Heading back to rendezvous point, Michael spotted Travis as he briefed the Delta Squad. Deciding not to interrupt, he remained hidden, using his powerful senses to overhear what was being said.

"You will feel some discomfort leaving the AoI. Perfectly normal. Passive abilities only outside the target zone. Conserve mana. Keep auras tight if possible."

Travis talked big, taking large strides as he explained the protocols to the operators. The men looked confident, but there was an underlying layer of uncertainty about leaving the safety of Site 00 and venturing into the mana-starved world.

"Look at him."

Michael's head snapped to the side. "David."

The man nodded at him, "Don't pretend you didn't hear me coming."

"I did."

"Then save the theatrics," he said.

"Fine," Michael said, turning back towards the scene in the distance. "He's in his element. This is what he's good at."

"This, and scheming," David said with a nod. "He's a valuable resource for sure. Well, gotta go now. Vanguard doesn't build itself."

"Don't skip your CEO duties," Michael said as parting words.

David shrugged, "Do I look like someone who would do that?"

Michael thought about it as he looked at David's receding figure. Even though the man moved extremely quickly, Michael's mind was faster and allowed him to stretch mere moments into several seconds when needed.

David's long, silken hair bounced on his shoulders with each step. The wind didn't seem to have purchase on it, as if each strand was made of stone. His body was muscular, yet with its height it looked dangerously thin, with wiry muscles and tight skin. The opposite of Travis' bulging, bodybuilder biceps. He walked with arrogance, confidence, and a casual disregard for things, reflected in the glint in his eyes.

He was dressed like a thug, reminding Michael of those mafioso types from the movies. Perhaps he was more fit to go to Italy than Travis was.

At a first glance, it was if David was back to being a teenager. Arrogant, impulsive, full of misdirected energy, aching for a fight with the closest authority figure he could take.

***

"Veterans…" Travis muttered. The drive to Washington Dulles International Airport had been long enough to run out of things to talk about that were strictly related to the mission, and the informal relationship between Michael and Travis meant that the silence that followed could be filled with random chatter.

"I knew you were going to ask about it, I was just wondering when."

"I didn't ask anything," Travis said. They were alone in the car, and Icarus was driving even though Michael sat behind the wheel. A simple black vehicle, while Delta Squad was a convoy of three other random cars.

"But you do want to know, don't you?"

"Suppose I do." Travis looked out of the window, faking boredom. "What's he doing with veterans, of all things?" He paused. "Wait, no way he's doing what I think he's doing."

"Yep," said Michael. "Vanguard, he calls it. He already got two to sign up."

"The drug is ready, isn't it?"

"The full-powered version, Yes. Not without its side effects, that's why you haven't heard of it yet. It's not ready for the wider market. But old, dying veterans living a life in pain, most of them crippled or bedridden—two out of three said yes. The number is still low because he's being very careful who he's asking, which is rather odd considering how impulsive his rejuvenation has made him."

Travis hummed, "He's playing the power games, isn't he?"

Michael nodded, "Amusing, isn't it? Well, not for you, you're in the thick of it. But for me? Very."

"You talk like an old man, Michael. How long have you spent in the Dungeon lately?"

Michael looked at the dialogue box in his vision, answering his unspoken question.

Age: 24 True Age: 112

Last time he checked, it had been below 100.

"Not much time at all," he lied.