Dragonheart Core - Chapter 113: Scholarly Collecting

I perched over Akkyst like a particularly displeased cloud.

It had taken him some time, but he’d migrated down to the base floor of the Skylands, far beneath the islands; he and the rest of his little Magelords, scurrying around as they planned out where their dens would go. Overhead, the scorch hounds and mottled scorpions still stalked and hunted but they were cautious about it now, that lingering wariness about what was happening to their home. Bad luck for them, really, considering that I would be massively changing their home in the near future.

They’d prefer the seventh floor, once I made that. It would be much better for them in the long run.

Not that their insipid little minds could understand that.

The beast-tamer kobold was with them, scarlet scales standing out like a sore thumb in white-grey floor; he’d gathered an armada of little scars and scratches over his shoulders, the result of living on a floor filled with creatures with a proclivity towards diving. The bladehawk hadn’t attacked him yet, but just hearing the piercing shriek was enough to make everyone on the floor flinch.

He was a right little monster. I loved him.

Akkyst had done very well to survive and bring them all here, even if he hadn’t let me Name him yet. Even now, his silver fur was constantly glowing, shedding light that was notably different from my quartz-light, something separate and unique. His mind raced with an organization and composure most of my other creatures couldn’t begin to stack up to.

It was very nice having someone I could talk to, though, even if I didn’t do it often; the goblin’s language was even more guttural and unformed than Viejabran, the human tongue. My communication in it could be called lacking at best, which was not something I would suffer willingly.

No, I much preferred talking to Seros. He already had a draconic lilt to his thoughts, that deep, gravitas-bearing rumble; he was well on his way to his next evolution, even if I wouldn’t kid myself into thinking it was around the corner. Still soon, though.

And I couldn’t wait to see how draconic he would come.

Or, maybe I could wait, because there was a panicking stone-backed toad in the Fungal Gardens telling me I had more important things to worry about.

Points of awareness flickered in by the thousand as I jumped the bulk of my attention back up, swarming in like an approaching storm; in the Nuvja-laced darkness of the first floor, I peered around, and was met with a very uncomfortable sight.

That little stone-backed toad who had raised the alarm, now dead on the ground.

Invaders.

I bared unfortunately intangible fangs. It was time, then.

There were three of them, and already there was a… bite to their expressions, that innate wariness of knowing the threat in the room was larger than you. My mana bristled with annoyance. Hells, they knew I was a dungeon—probably knew most of my first floor creatures, if Nicau’s stuttering explanation of an Adventuring Guild was correct. Shit.

The tallest man leaned back, shaking off the end of his mace; the toad’s corpse sloughed off with a disappointing splat. He was a large man all around, shoulders curled in to dodge the lower stalactites, but his brutish face was bland and open. Soft. He looked like he could crush his two companion’s skulls with his bare hands, but instead he hung near the back of the group, looming overhead and silent.

The woman was a fierce, bitter sort of thing I could tell even from my first glance at her; brows drawn low, caramel hair tugged into a braid so tight her skin was pulled back with it, teeth set and glimmering. Her lips burned fire-bright.

In comparison, the last man moved with the swagger that said he thought he was the leader of the group, even if he certainly didn’t look it. Twin swords gleamed in his hands, the curved style of Leóro, and there was a socket missing on his right hand, even if he still had five fingers there. An extra one, maybe? Cut off some time ago?

Fascinating. I didn’t know humans could have more than ten fingers.

My creatures scattered from the attack, disappearing with nary a rustle of algae and distant croaks of alarm; Nuvja’s shadows hung thick and heavy through the air, hiding them in the crooks and narrows of the Fungal Gardens until they had all but disappeared. But Nuvja’s shadow pulled back from the jewels and gold, and I saw the greed in their eyes; saw the wonder, as they marveled as the terraced waterfall of green algae, at the enormous snake skeleton curling around the stalagmites; saw the confidence, as the stone-backed toad fell dead to the ground.

I mentally scaled their threat level back a bit. They knew I was a dungeon, but if they were confident on only my first floor, maybe they weren’t the danger I thought they were. The woman and taller man were both Silver, though younger Silvers, and the final was a Bronze.

A Bronze that was currently marching forward without a care, hunting for the closest piece of gold and beautifully unaware of the luminous constrictor coiling overhead, her underbelly poised to blind him.

There was a low, quiet thunk of mana—something sensory, maybe? Not that I could tell, because once again, I could feel myself having to pull back; to keep my points of awareness passive and empty, nothing to tip off the invaders that I was watching them. Very irritating.

One day I’d get that floor blessing from the god of magic, whoever that was, and my vindication would be incredible.

“Bil,” the tall man said, in a quiet, unassuming sort of voice that didn’t belong to his appearance. “Keep focused, please.”

The man—Bil, I guessed, a rather plain, unintriguing name—rolled his eyes instead but did raise his swords, keeping their blades forward and angled downward. There was a certain lurch to his movements, a hazy, blissful delirium. He looked drunk.

He was invading me, and he was drunk.

Hells be damned, I was going to kill him.

They stalked forward, moving in quiet, hesitant little movements as the majesty of my first floor befell them. I did appreciate that, even as I swept my mana through the floors below, stirring around my creatures. Still moving slow and stealthily, to avoid alerting any of the invaders, but making sure my creatures were ready. The kobold tribe on the second floor, with a new leader and a desire to prove themselves, perked up; the electric eels in the canals swimming with agitated excitement. Many floors below, the jeweled jumper stilled, halfway through consuming the desiccated husk of a platemail bug. He’d been absolutely pissed that he hadn’t been involved in the massive invasion, and now even the thought of one above seemed to awaken him.

But with all three of them focused, my creatures slipped further to the sides; not yet consumed with the raid-frenzy, content to wait for an opening. This was a floor of ambushes, a place to lull invaders into a false sense of security; I wanted them lapsed and confused. I also wanted them to talk, and it seemed like the Bronze with his overblown confidence would fulfill that part beautifully.

“Now,” Bil announced, swords sweeping forward with his arms. From their hidden dens, shadowthief rats watched the gleam of the metal with clever little eyes. “As the leader of this group, I think we should–”

“We’re not a group, dumbass,” the woman barked. Smoke trickled from her nostrils. “We just said that so they’d let us through first.” She spat something, and I could have sworn it hit the ground with the hiss of burning through the algae there. “Godsdamn Guildmaster. All his shit about havin’ no rules and then we havta pay out the ass in cuts just to be the first group through.”

The tallest man bobbed his head, hands still clasped politely before him as long as you ignored the bloodstained mace between them. “Anything we bring out will barely be worth it,” he agreed, and there was a flicker of some frustration in his eyes. “But we are first. Our plan was to report back what we learned, no?”

I watched Bil visibly wilt.

“Damn right,” the woman growled. Her eyes flicked from side to side even as her shoulders bristled. “We’re here to get a leg up on the fuckers outside. Sell what we learn to the Scholar an’ such. Not heroes, here.”

“Obera speaks the truth,” the tall man said mildly. Everything he did seemed mild. Except murdering my creatures.

“You do know me,” Bil protested, looking like a lost child at not having people intrinsically recognize his mighty power. As a Bronze. Reaching for the stars, there. “I’m Ten-Fingered Bil, best of Calarata—you asked me to join your little group–”

“We asked you to join to cover the costs of bein’ first in the dungeon,” Obera snapped. “Nothin’ to do with you.”

Never one to bend under the pressure of absolutely no one believing in him, Bil straightened, using one sword in a wild swing to accent his point. “But we will become a group after we claim the core.”

Obera had a harsh, strangling sort of laugh. More smoke poured from her mouth.

“Go off and be a dipshit,” she snapped, and made an expression that suggested she would grab him by the collar if he wasn’t taller than her. “If you’re goin’ for the core, I’m not followin’.”

Yes, go along, I pushed, mana hovering overhead like a snake poised to strike. It would be a great idea to go for the core. You’d love it. Nothing would go wrong.

Bil wavered. Somewhere in his thick skull he realized that maybe this was too good to be true, that maybe there was a reason his two other companions wouldn’t be willing to follow him further in.

“We have all of today!” He cried, trying again with even more pompous curls to his voice. “The Adventuring Guild only allows one group per day, but we can stay in here as long as we like; it’s just that there will be another group tomorrow. This is the best possible chance we could have to claim it!” His hazy, red-ringed eyes flashed—a truly brilliant, wonderful idea had just come to him, and I watched him swell with pride before he’d even said it. “Of course, if you’re too much of a coward to go deeper, I will happily claim the core myself.”

There was a pause.

“Sure,” Obera said flatly. “Have fun. Rordan?”

“I am uninterested,” Rordan said politely.

Bil could have been a puddle on the ground, for how defeated he looked. But drunken confidence didn’t come without persistence and he sneered at them, twisting his lip and drawing his swords back to his side. “Very well,” he snapped, dragging himself upright with visible effort. “Don’t come crawling back to me when I emerge a new High Lord.”

“I won’t,” Obera said.

Rordan inclined his head.

Bil gathered his swords about him and stalked off—a flash of a blade killed a burrowing rat leaping for the shiny glint of metal on his waist, scarlet blood splashing over the green algae. Obera and Rordan watched him go, lazy awareness.

There was a squawking panic as he crossed the rock pond, skittering through in some desperate attempt to avoid too much damage from the silverheads slamming into his legs, and then he disappeared down the back tunnel.

I followed him with a truly impressive number of points of awareness. There wasn’t a chance I was missing this.

Obera scoffed at the darkness, embers dripping from her lips. “Good riddance,” she snapped. “Let’s start studyin’.”

Ah yes, they seemed exactly the type to be studious. Whatever information about my halls they were about to bring out was going to be incredible.

Not that I would be allowing them to do that. What Bil said was very concerning to me—daily raids? At least it wasn’t endless, and I could be relatively safe in assuming that most parties didn’t function in groups of fifty like before, but constant raids would soften me to the point I would worry about my creatures.

On the other hand, that was a beautiful, steady influx of mana and training abilities for my creatures. And judging by Obera and Rordan—maybe not Bil—they didn’t seem too inclined to wipe my first floor empty and just leave, so I still had a chance for this. If they depleted my floor too much, I would be wiping them out.

Not that I wanted anyone invading me, but if they pushed too hard, or even pushed a little bit, I would be murdering them with prejudice.

Bil crept through the darkness of the tunnel as Obera and Rordan moved deeper into the Fungal Gardens, inspecting everything; they had sacks hanging over their armour that they tucked samples of green algae and whitecap mushrooms in. They stared for a long time at the largest lacecap of the floor, the one that had deep-set bile dripping down its gills and the desiccated corpses of burrowing rats scattered around.

But I had, perhaps, played my hand a bit too much and set several luminous serpents around that to make it look less inviting to invaders, and they decided to harvest a different lacecap instead. Bastards.

Deep below, Bil emerged into the Drowned Forest, and was appropriately stopped short. As he damn well should. His insipid little mind couldn’t even comprehend such a thriving mangrove forest far below the earth. Already, in the far back, the kobold tribe was stirring, creatures from beneath rising up. Bil seemed a touch less confident without his group, swinging his swords by his sides with unsteady caution. He–

“Fuck!” Obera howled, skittering back—my points of awareness spiraled in as she spat out an exhalation of fire, scorching through the darkness of the room.

Opposite her, emerging from the darkness of the den she had tried to walk past, came one of the juvenile lunar cave bears—except they were juvenile no longer, fully grown, lean and dangerous. There were three of them, tucked in the half dozen dens I’d scattered around the end of the Fungal Gardens, now that their father had finally made the journey down to the Jungle Labyrinth.

So now they were big, and they were hungry, and they were strong.

“Go, go, go!” Obera barked, clutching her arm to her side; blood seeped deep and scarlet through her fingers, eyes wild and white-ringed. Rordan roared, his own eyes alight with battle-frenzy—rude, that was for my creatures, not humans—and he swept forward, cracking his fist against the bear’s muzzle. It—she—howled back, fighting against this berserker of a man, all his politeness fled in face of battle. He hefted his mace and swung, the spiked metal cleaving through the air; but she was clever and fell back, losing only fur to the blow. They stared at each other, furious.

Obera spat another wall of fire, her own lips scorching under the heat; the bear snarled and fell back, eyes glinting red-scarlet. She was powerful, viciously so, but these were two Silvers; she wouldn’t survive a fight with them. And maybe that had something to do with the knowledge I’d crammed into her head from the last time one of my lunar cave bears had tried to fight a Silver, and how Akkyst had only just made it back.

So, snarling, she slipped back into the darkness of her den, and was swallowed by Nuvja’s shadow until she was gone.

Not that it made her opponents any more comfortable.

Rordan snorted, swinging his mace back over his shoulder; his enormous bulk seemed more alive when he fought, the muscles bulging through the thin leather gear he wore. There was something expensive in his clothing, but it was worn and weathered by age; wherever he had come from, he hadn’t been there in a while.

“C’mon,” Obera hissed, watching their surroundings with wary eyes. “That Scholar said we’d pay less in taxes if we got him more info on those fuckin’ trees; just havta make it to them. Then we go back.”

Rordan rumbled, some of the battle-frenzy leaving his eyes. The politeness came back, neatly clasping his mace in both hands, shaking off the bit of blood with careful movements. He was almost painfully large. I hated him.

Not as much as I hated how they were apparently on the hunt for my vampire mangrove. Whoever this Scholar was, he was far too knowledgeable about my dungeon for my tastes. Either one of the five foolish souls who had survived the fifty person raid, or there was a further breach in my intelligence I didn’t know about.

Neither option was good.

They did, unfortunately, get over my rock pond easily; Obera breathed massive tongues of fire over the surface to scare away the silverheads, and then they trotted through right as rain. The lunar cave bears watched them go with glassy black eyes, ivory fangs glinting past Nuvja’s shadows. Prepared to try and catch them off guard if they made their way back, but not to lose their lives in the endeavor.

And then two more souls emerged into my Drowned Forest, my fury only rising as they came closer and closer. Still five floors after this one, but I didn’t like them getting anywhere close to me, especially Silvers. They stared around at the gentle lapping waters and the billowing moss hills, eyebrows raising.

“Huh,” Obera said, low and cautious. “Scholar said there was one in the first room.”

Ah. The old Ancestral Tree. No, she had left for far bluer pastures.

But they marched through, leaping over one exposed curl of the canal, and came into the second room; much larger than the first, with some dozen vampiric mangroves scattered around the water’s edge. Almost immediately, strengthened by Rhoborh’s blessing, all of them shifted; thorned branches wielding closer.

A little too obvious, as both invaders’ eyes snapped to the motion.

“Keep your fuckin’ distance,” Obera barked, though I wasn’t sure who she was actually talking to. “Or I’ll burn all you shits down, hear me?”

Ugh. Fire users. Always so boring and uncreative. And these were mangroves, growing straight out of canals; if there were any tree that would survive fire, it would be these. In the distance, huddled under the shadows of the thorned roots, I saw creatures move; the quiet, gentle shifts of something hungry. An ironback toad, pulled away from guarding a burrowing rat den, a luminous serpent slinking through the knot of roots.

Obera stalked to the closest tree, hackles raised and fists out. “Grab it,” she murmured, glaring at the tree. A little too aware of it. I wanted her to be confused.

Rordan sank further into his berserker rage—even then, I saw him wince as he reached out and wrapped his fist around one of the mangrove’s branches. I saw it move, saw the thorns dig deep into his flesh; and then, with a gut-wrenching crack, he wrenched it off the tree.

All at once, everything exploded.

Rhoborh’s blessing was for more than simple alarms, it sent emotions, sent thoughts, sent feelings. And the mangroves were considered untouchable, the beastly powers of the Drowned Forest; for one of them to be injured, that meant things were bad, and everything on the floor reacted accordingly.

Obera and Rordan both froze as some electric understanding washed over them; I wasn’t mortal and couldn’t feel things as they did, but I could sense the gnawing hatred in the air, the way each of the other mangroves swiveled in their direction, the hunger and fury and viciousness. Silvers they were, but exposed and unsuited to this floor; it was a danger they could not afford. Did not want.

In another world, they would be consumed in the greed, in the desire for my core or for greater pressures.

But Obera and Rordan were tempered by something I didn’t know, the guiding force of the Adventuring Guild—and as one, they looked at each other, blood pouring from Rordan’s hand. “Run!” Obera barked, and they fled.

My mana dove over them like a tidal wave, filled with all the fury and pain I felt—but they were back into the first room, back into the tunnel. Obera puffed embers to light their way and Rordan’s free hand cracked the mace against the wall, the tremors scaring away lesser creatures in a power against their prey minds.

And then they raced through my first floor, Rordan’s mace lashing out to keep the bears at bay, Obera spitting tongues of fire at anything that got near, and they shot through the cove entrance before the creeping vine had even had half the time needed to cover it.

And then I was left in the quiet, and I was seething.

Bloody fucking cowards.

They’d just left me.

No, Bil would not be surviving this, and I didn’t give two shits if he knew I was coming for him. My mana awoke, great looping spirals of fury and the raid-frenzy—my creatures answered the call with a howling roar.

Bil stiffened; even with his stupid Bronze sensibilities, he could sense the approaching danger. He’d made it halfway through the floor mostly by being scared and sticking to the shadows, avoiding all trees and creatures and too present shadows. But that didn’t matter when my floor-wide alarm went off, shrieking for vengeance, and everyone answered.

Including one in particular.

This electric eel was enormous by my standards, old and powerful in the way few creatures got to be before they either died or evolved; her school of electric silverheads was nearing two dozen and she was a beast herself, sinuous and powerful. But her thoughts weren’t just of strength, of conquering the water; she wanted something more. Something above.

And I noticed that now, as she answered my raid-frenzy by sticking her face out of the water.

The eel. The fully aquatic eel. The one that could only breathe in the water.

Out in the air.

What.

I felt her gasp, struggling for air, her skin drying out; but with her head out of the water and the pores along her side exposed, she launched a crackle of lightning directly into Bil’s face.

With a popping, crackling cry by vocal chords too ruined to produce a proper sound, he fell back. And then his mistakes came back to haunt him, as every creature he’d avoided but that hadn’t avoided him came charging in; ironback toads and burrowing rats and shadowthief rats all hungry for blood and for treasure. Still stunned as he was, there was nothing he could do to stop them.

I devoured his soul greedily. Served him right.

The electric eel shivered as mana exploded through her, bright and untempered; and then she was bright and untempered, the light of evolution bursting over her scales and thoroughly frightening away her school of electric silverheads.

Well, at least I was getting something out of this.