Dragonheart Core

Throughout the Skylands, light bloomed.

Fitting, really—three deaths and plenty of combat, enough for my creatures to sup their fill of mana and experience. All over, evolution hummed and crackled with ready anticipation, potential wrapped up inside bared teeth. The corpses, already being stripped away and repurposed; the mana form that consumed.

My own core was bursting at the seam with excess, too much already flowing into the ambient air. Hells, that sucked.

But no matter. I dove into my creatures.

The first was high above on the islands, head raised and black eyes bright—the mist-fox who entrapped Alda and illusioned them right into proper paranoia. She was an elder thing by my standards, part of the original pack I'd created when I'd gotten their schema, much larger than her nestmates with burnished silver fur and a tail that was never in less than five separate forms. Evolution dulled her mind, tugged her towards sleep, but I could feel the pride of watching invaders tumble off a cliff by her doing. A lovely beast.

Congratulations! Your creature, a Mist-fox, is undergoing evolution!

Please select your desired path.

Cloudcaller Fox (Rare): In a land of storms, it fades to become one alongside. With every step or shift of its tail, new clouds come roiling to the surface, all laced with illusions and impossible to discern where the right path is to go.

Smoke-fox (Rare): To choose mist is to choose passivity. This creature takes for a choking approach, weaving its illusions through the grit and grime of smoke; prey is entranced deeper within, following its lies, until they succumb to suffocation.

Phantom Fox (Rare): Illusions of self become illusions of existence. Fading from the world, it hides its physical body from all around it, becoming a spectre in the living world—but the bite of its hidden claws are always felt.

So many evolutions, all of them new. My mana purred around me as I studied the various options.

Cloudcaller fox was fascinating, entirely so, but I couldn't help but think of my cloudskipper wisps and stormcaller sprite—my Skylands were already a land choked in clouds, and I didn't need more. In a similar vein, the smoke-fox tried to fit a hole I'd already filled. The Scorchplains were drowning in smoke, from the magma pools and the coal pits, and while they would blend in perfectly, it was also dark enough that her illusions would be ineffective against invaders that were already not using their eyes.

Unfortunate. But all it meant was that the phantom fox seemed all the more enticing an opinion.

No longer just a siren's call, now she would attack invaders; a ghost, lunging from the mist that her unevolved brethren would still twist to their intentions. Similar to my spectral serpent, actually, though without actually disappearing from the world. But very powerful.

I selected phantom fox and let the evolution carry her away, eyes slipping closed and light overtaking her form. She was already tucked away in a corner of the Skylands, blanketed by storm, and I spent a few points of mana dissolving the stone underneath to hide her in a burrow of some sort. Protection enough for her evolution.

More messages, popping like explosions over my consciousness; it tugged me down next, beneath the islands, to where a tribe gathered and recovered and spoke. The goblins. Several of whom were glowing with a pale luminosity.

It seemed Akkyst's plan to have them kill Azkhal had been successful; as much as a dozen of them were sparking with solidified mana, bright and effervescent.

Even if I would have been happier with Akkyst evolving.

But the eldest of the tribe were already being led back to their carved homes, with an odd preparation I didn't know what to think of—like they knew what evolution was, even if all of them hadn't evolved yet. The younger goblins guided them, seemingly aware that their minds were fuzzy in preparation, and took up guard outside the openings with their mana prepared.

Except for one, who was being led by Akkyst.

Bylk, oldest of all my creatures, let the enormous bear take him up the stone bridge and into the cavern they shared, with the stone rune in the back. He was smiling, snaggleteeth protruding, as Akkyst nosed him into the moss bed in the back. Fitting, really. He'd killed Hulimat, though his shadow had done the bloody work itself, and that was a full blooded Silver whose mana was now his. And a dozen others—I dove into the messages with glee.

Congratulations! Your creature, a Highland Goblin, is experiencing evolution!

Please select your desired path.

Boneshard Goblin (Rare): A crafter and collector entwined, this creature shapes itself in the mountains it calls home. From ore to prey to stone, it creates mystical things its fellow goblins can only dream of, ever practicing its gift.

Goblin Mage (Rare): A harnesser of mana, it chooses one element to attune itself to and perfect. Amidst a world of sloppy deliverance, it hones its abilities to rival that of the outside world, swearing to be more than what it is seen as.

Hobgoblin (Rare): Brute and brawn, this creature has forsaken its lowly roots and become a beast to be feared. Its reach is long and indomitable, particularly with its regenerative capabilities, and there is no limit to the size it will eventually grow.

So that's what they were—highland goblins. I vaguely remembered that as an Otherworld schema option when I had last evolved, though I hadn't selected it. Of course I hadn't. Against kobolds, what were goblins?

Well. Mine, I supposed, though I didn't have their schema. But a part of my dungeon now.

Crafter, mage, warrior. Similar options to the kobold evolutions—rather than a dramatic change, more a honing of what they already were. Bylk was already a mage; now he would be a proper one, with mana channels to match. A touch boring. I'd allow it.

Curious, though. From what I'd gleamed from Akkyst's memories, there were three goblin tribes within the Alómbra Mountains—the Magelords, the War Horde, and the miners, far below. These three evolutions matched them perfectly.

Why were there so many goblins here? My sea-drake memories were hazy for terrestrial things, but I remembered goblins as pests, as vermin, but not common. And certainly not strong enough to survive in inhospitable mountains, let alone command three separate divisions deep within.

Another mystery. It seemed I was handling many of them.

But there was less than a choice here, not really. Perhaps I could have chosen boneshard goblin, if I really wanted, but I knew that would be antithetical to all that they were. They had not sworn themselves to mana just for meaningless enjoyment; even if I picked that evolution for them, I had little doubt that they would still pursue mana. No, they were the Magelords, and this was what they wanted.

…still likely better to check, though. Half mocking, half sincere, I poked into Bylk's mind, dreamy though it was with evolution, and pushed the options to him.

Bylk hummed, eyes already closed and limbs slack. His thoughts spun with potential, with more power to defend and build up his people. Becoming the Magelords in truth, rather than simply goblin practitioners of mana. He wanted more. He wanted to be.

I'd take that as a yes. I selected goblin mage.

Akkyst shuffled back as Bylk was consumed in a gentle silver, a dozen other goblins falling to the same glow. But within their dens, they were safely tucked away and sheltered, no need for me to protect them in evolution; their tribe would handle that. Frankly, that was very appreciated. If more of my creatures could step up so I didn't have to waste mana digging burrows and tunnels just to have to unmake them once their evolution was finished, that would make us much stronger as a dungeon.

…that would fall to me, then. If I wanted to teach my dungeon to be more cooperative, I needed to show them why.

I distracted myself from that with the rest of the floor. The goblins and mist-fox were the only exciting options, considering few others had involved themselves in the battle. I pounced through them quickly—whitecap mushrooms into lacecaps, burrowing rats into shadowthief rats, little pockets of mottled scorpions hovering on the edge of evolution but not there yet—and then I dove down, deep through the tunnels and twisting mess, and landed in the Hungering Reefs.

The first time any invaders had made it so deep. A floor, so far, untested—and full of things to fix and adjust. Especially considering Abarossa had promised to be lenient with changes I made.

Messages immediately flooded me as I focused on the points of awareness above the pristine blue waters, lapping against blood-stained white sands. There, in the first room, one of my saviors crouched over the body she'd rightfully earned.

My vampiric dryad hissed at the air, grasping at the dwarven corpse with the only arm she had left. Ossega's axes hadn't given her the mercy of a clean hit and she bled sluggishly through the gap, bark splintered off and weight thrown off-kilter. I immediately smothered her in mana, closing off the wound and thickening the sap so it no longer bled, but I didn't know if she could regrow it. Maybe, considering a dryad's regeneration, maybe not, considering that seemed like it would take a new body to have. But she'd won, and better yet, she'd talked, which was something I was going to have to learn more about.

And she wasn't the only one needing attention—in the third room, tucked in the farthest corner of his shipwreck, the sea serpent coiled in on himself. Blood seeped into the water from his missing eye, diffusing scarlet. I immediately poured points of mana to heal him, sending soothing thoughts, tugging away his pain—but he barely seemed to notice my presence. It would have taken a hammer to break past the shell he buried his thoughts in, drowning under a loathing and fear and misery wound up like chains.

I poured more healing mana into him, smoothing over even old scales and a chipped fang. Anything to make him comfortable; keep him alive. Both him and Seros, stuck in the tunnel between the floors, his thoughts black and dark at his own failure.

They needed me. But right now my consciousness was being bombarded with messages of evolutions—the second that finished, I would go to them. Tell them they were strong. Tell them they hadn't failed.

But for now, I pushed another point of mana into both of them, trying to reassure them, before drifting back to the second room of the Hungering Reefs, where the glow of evolution awaited me. Plenty of smaller creatures, old ones I already knew, but ten creatures in particular.

Ten roughwater sharks, including the one who had charged Shoth and scared him up to the surface. Ten beautiful, enormous sharks, cutting through the water, blood in their wake. I'd been waiting for these. Particularly with Abarossa as the Goddess of Sharks, I'd hungered for what she could provide one of the oldest schemas I had—and it did not disappoint.

Congratulations! Your creature, a Roughwater Shark, is undergoing evolution!

Please select your desired path.

Fishhook Thresher (Uncommon): A beast built for the open waters, it has upgraded ridged skin to thorned skin, curved backward for maximum lacerations and holding. Anything that is struck by its whip-like tail is stuck until dead.

Rammerhead Shark (Common): It has learned frontward attacks are best. From rough skin comes armoured skin, gathered around the head in a battering ram's blade; if its prey is not gored upon the first charge, they are quickly ripped apart by vicious fangs.

Moray Shark (Uncommon): In a land of enormous predators, it has learned another strategy. It uses its sinuous body to twist and curl through coral reefs, armed with the double jaws of an eel and the power of a shark.

It seemed only fair that after a series of easy decisions that I would then be given an impossible decision.

All of them were lovely and wonderful in their own regard; the thresher I remembered from my time as a sea-drake, enormous things with a tail as long as their body—they'd whip around and crack it over their prey, stunning them, then devour at their leisure. A perfect predator for those wide open expanses with swarming schools to pick and choose from.

And the rammerhead; I didn't know them, but I imagined enormous, bulky sharks slamming into invaders much like bulls on the rampage, either gored upon the horns or battered to death. Particularly in the third room, with dark waters and towers of coral; they would match and mirror the sea serpent's strategy as a perfect surround.

Moray shark, on the other hand, was a combination I couldn't have said I'd have thought of, but it filled me with excitement. Sharks were powerful and straightforward in their destruction; a biteforce that few others could claim, and a strength insurmountable. Combining with a moray eel's twisting, inescapable nature and ability to escape any grasp, it would be unstoppable.

I normally tried to keep evolutions the same, focusing on building communities rather than individual reapers wandering my halls. But for this, considering I had some ten sharks primed for evolution, I would allow myself to build two different groups.

Not the fishhook thresher, unfortunately. While my Hungering Reefs were large, they weren't the open ocean, and threshers needed room to whip their tails around. They wouldn't be the perfect devastators I wanted them to be. But the others—yes. They were exactly what I needed.

The original shark who had charged Shoth, the only one to land a real hit, would be a rammerhead shark. She had already proven that was her preferred strategy, and I selected three other larger, more brutish sharks to match her, two males and one more female. Enough to start a breeding population, considering I would be sending a pair to the Haven.

The other six would be moray sharks. The second I saw that I wanted it; a combo of two hungry, vicious predators with double jaws and strength beyond them. I could see how devastating they would be, and all the death they would be to my invaders.

Four and six. I selected it and let the light diffuse over their form, filling the Hungering Reefs with light; as soon as they finished, I would send a pair of each to the Haven, the better to allow more population, though I would be leary of only having two rammerhead sharks on the floor at the moment. But sharks tended to lay in litters, so with only a few I hoped the population would be up enough. And then I would have–

A new message crawled over my core.

What? I pulled back, reaching out with intangible confusion—maybe someone had eaten one of the mana-dense corpses and earned an evolution, or something similar? It didn't make much sense to evolve so long after the battle, unless it was one of the bugs or lesser creatures, but–

The evolution was in the Underlake, from a cloudskipper wisp currently caught between the armoured jawfish's fangs.

It had been a remarkable day of panic, and it seemed I still had more to give—my mana squawked, demeaning as it was, and swooped in to surround him. I battered into his mind, great shrieking demands to let go and stop biting and gods above, hadn't there been enough death today–

But he wasn't killing it.

He was filling it.

Therrón the water mage floated somewhere below, a bloated corpse missing a hand and studded with bites from silvertooths. The armoured jawfish had killed him, had separated his head from shoulders in a clean bite to end his attack, and as with all similar situations had taken his mana for his own; but he hadn't absorbed it. Had fought against it, actually, ripping it from his own channels—and pushing it into the cloudskipper wisp.

It thrashed inside his fangs, battering against the impenetrable weight of his armour, but Therrón's mana surged into it like a thunderstorm. My wisps were entirely passive creatures, flitting about to kick up waves; even inefficient as this method was, I watched the wisp pulse and crackle with mana, more than enough to evolve, young though it was.

What in all hells was he doing?

His thoughts honed as he felt me look in, sharpening to a claw's point. Evolve-evolve-evolve circled in endless repetition through his mind, a harmonious victory cry—he sensed the potential between his fangs, how much willpower it took to not only reject the mana but also catch a cloudskipper wisp, which was as antithetical to his hunting style as possible.

I stared at him, every point of awareness swiveling in. What was this? Why did he want the wisp to evolve, rather than take the mana extremely attuned to his own growth?

The message lurched again in my core. Against my better judgment, I looked.

Congratulations! Your creature, a Cloudskipper Wisp, is undergoing evolution!

Please select your desired path.

Cloudrider Sprite (Rare): Summoner once, wielder now. No longer are clouds only brought in its wake; it creates and directs them at its will. Entire field drowned in grey; entire mountains draped in silver, led by their powerful host.

Tidewalker Sprite (Rare): From wind to water, it dives beneath the surface and welcomes an aquatic attunement. Currents are the lifeblood of this creature's existence, weaving impossible pathways to carry it and others through the deep.

Waveleaper Sprite (Rare): In a land with a whirlpool, it adapts to match. Dipping a half-coalesced form into the water, it crashes back and forth to summon mighty waves, beating against those both above and below.

No stormcaller sprite, which was unfortunately fitting considering this wisp had experienced no real hardship, but the new options leapt out at me. Waveleaper fit in with the Underlake, no longer needing to run on the surface to whip up the push-pull thrum Mayalle harnessed, and tidewalker would mesh with Seros' abilities well enough I wanted to evolve it into that just to see what they would do together.

But that didn't explain the armoured jawfish's actions.

I untangled myself from the evolution and peered deeper into his mind, into the unorganized thoughts and rumbling hunger that never died—and saw, stark as starlight, his drive. The awareness of the world around him, the Underlake, the rotating cast of companions who either died or traveled below, and how the option had never been extended to him.

His armour was so heavy it had killed his ancestors. Up here, with Mayalle's whirlpool, I had known he would be able to support himself. I had thought that the best option.

It appeared he did not agree.

He had specifically gone for Therrón, aimed for him, just for the water-attuned mana he had; and then forced it into a cloudskipper wisp for the chance of a beneficial evolution. Something to support his heavy armour so he could travel below.

I swiveled a point of awareness down, to where my roughwater sharks were just settling into evolution—the Hungering Reefs were an ancient, starving place, brimming with a paradise's comforts and a hell's unforgiveness. With a tidewalker sprite by his side, my armoured jawfish would thrive. Where he had apparently wanted to thrive all this time, but I hadn't given him the chance.

Another creature I had abandoned, much like the insects from the Fungal Gardens. How many more would I discover too late, until one day they abandoned me?

I'm sorry, I murmured quietly, just to his mind—and selected tidewalker sprite.

The glow exploded between his fangs as the wisp dissolved into mist, trickling out to drift back above the water; he let it, falling back down to the depths, tail thrashing as his brief moment of inactivity nearly dragged him down. But satisfaction gleamed through his mind, burning bright; he knew that as soon as it evolved, he would be taken below. Like wanted.

I left him to think on that, dream of it, as I went back to the Hungering Reefs. But there were no more evolutions there, considering Shoth had sprinted through and the dryad had taken care of all else, leaving the floor mostly normal.

Beyond a certain someone, crouched, feet dug into the sand and hands wrapped around his head.

Fucking Aedan, still alive, too scared to move or run or fight. My mana boiled around him, lashing out at the sand and surf; a million reasons that if he were to leave, I would destroy him, Rhoborh be damned.

But I couldn't do anything to him. Not yet. I sent a message to Nicau and Chieftess, still preparing to head out on their jungle trip now-delayed, to keep an eye on him as I moved on.

One floor left. The one with the most happening; the floor where I had almost been enslaved.

It was time to see what the Scorchplains had to offer.