Forgotten Dungeon

Uno (avatar)

I was currently busy glaring at the group of trembling Butchers. They were curled up in a strange bowing position, but I didn’t hold it against them - it was the only one allowed by their complicated physique. The pose consisted of a lowered upper, fleshy body, with the head stuck to the floor and the mechanical parts spread out vertically. Kinda like Japanese dogeza with spread-out-cheeks, but not really?

Usually, I would laugh it off, but these dunces left my avatar naked and trembling for a whole night, too busy with celebrations of my “descent” to give a shit. All the while the said incarnation was still chained to the operating table.

It would be stuff straight out of nightmares, if not for my ability to leave it at the moment’s notice.

Which was not an excuse for such negligence to go unpunished!

I was considering various solutions to the problem, but these thoughts flew out of the window as soon as they offered to kill themselves in repentance while murmuring something about their lives being the least they could offer to appease my anger.

The last thing I wanted to see in my dungeon was a ritual suicide… Especially a religious one. They were icky in my earlier world, and out here I was afraid it would actually work.

So instead I asked them to help the monsters taking care of the invalids, as a kind of public service in order to absolve their sins. They took to the order with glee. Most of the veterans had already been distributed between beds, fed, and tucked in a record time. Some had to be restrained but unlike during their earlier experiments, this time Butchers decided to use leather straps, not metal chains. After all, these were not inhuman warriors we met before but rather common men and women in the second or third levels of their classes. Sometimes not even that.

They turned out a bit more healthy, intelligent, strong, or agile (depending on their class) but it was nothing that my enhanced servants couldn’t handle.

After a period of acclimatization, Charles’ troops were shocked - mostly about not being immediately slaughtered - but also how there was an abundance of freely given food and water. How their needs were taken care of without a question. I spotted a one-handed man devouring a vegetable sandwich while crying. The others held firm, but the wetness in their eyes was easy to notice.

How were they treated before if such simple kindness was enough to earn their trust? Their gaunt bodies didn’t leave much to the imagination.

I switched my point of view and temporarily abandoned the avatar, leaving it sitting in a comfortable chair. Then my mind focused on accompanying the nearby group of Butchers, going from one bed to another. They spoke in a language of hisses and clicks but nowadays understanding it was just as easy as reading English.

“Gin, son of Kijan, 2nd level Warrior.” The smallest Butcher intoned and the man in question smiled, hearing his name spoken even if the rest of the words must’ve sounded like gibberish. “Extensive damage to the left leg, shredded muscles and ligaments. Corroded lungs, and partial brain damage. All because of a wayward acid abomination. It’s His miracle that the patient is still alive.”

“No known family in the Oasis. Grown son and daughter in the Shieldstar.”

“Their ranks?”

“Commoners. Inconsequential.”

“I see.” The largest one growled, eyeing the man. Gin giggled and tried to touch the Butcher’s appendages, his long brown hair flowing unruly with each movement. “A miracle? Hmmm… Yes. That it is.” With a sigh, the monster jerked its limb away and continued speaking. ”Prescribe A1 with 30% saturation for the leg, then B1 with 15% saturation, and D1 60% for the brain.”

The second Butcher trailing behind the large one wrote the proportions on the small notepad. I wondered when my creatures acquired paper or even the technology to make it… not to mention the written word - but in the end, I didn’t care. My observation continued. It was important to see how the humans were treated out of my sight. Trust, but verify.

“Shouldn’t we up the dosage? I feel like a bigger concentration would be needed to restore… that.” The Butcher pointed at the wide-eyed veteran sucking his thumb.

“Our sacred mission is to return them to workable condition, not to wildly experiment.”

“Is it, though? The Creator wants us to classify and organize the effectiveness and overall risk of the sacred compound. Having the best well-being of these creatures in mind is not a part of that goal.”

“I disagree. Our Holy Creator sees them as allies. There’s also a deeper, political intent behind it. Why else would he work so hard to harness one of their bodies Himself? Why not use our sublime form or one of the other creations? We were made in His image! In His perfection!”

“I concur.” The monster’s companion bowed its head. “There’s His truth in your words. We need to be careful.”

“Let’s continue then, brother. For His glorious work.”

““For His glorious work.”” The two assistants repeated, moving to the second bed. Its occupant was restrained, spewing curses and blood from a bitten tongue.

“Dunnir, no surname, 3rd level Berserker.” The Butcher motioned to the dark-haired human. “Suspected brain damage, or even a malicious curse. It also may be just the effect of his class. He lapses between the hyperaggression phase and complete, utter silence. No known family.”

“Prescribe D1, 10% and E1, 30%.” The monster hummed for a moment. “If the treatment works and makes the creature controllable apply F1 with 90% saturation.”

“Is this wise to use the enhancement serum? The subject seems unstable.”

“I see the intriguing potential within this mate-... *cough* human.”

Seeing my Butchers happily continuing their job I turned most of the attention back to the avatar. Their reactions reminded me of how military hospitals worked and how the doctors would walk between the wounded, talking in their lingo. Or at least that’s how it was described in movies.

My own experiences with hospitals were much more… sedate.

Anyway, the humans were in good hands. Claws?

There was a small jolt, as I slipped into the stolen body and started to make my way to the second floor. Going upward was a curious experience, as was having arms and a mouth. And legs, I couldn’t forget about the legs! This exquisite pain of walking and feeling the protest of your body…

Even these inconveniences were something I longed for.

I was humming and walking in the direction of the Underwater Lake located in the western part of the floor. It was the same place where Ratlings made their moving platform, or whatever else they wanted to call it. It led to the Snake Dungeon they conquered some time in the past and served as an important resource highway from and into my place.

The second Dungeon was supposedly completely under Ratling's control and, more importantly, had a large amount of food for me to try out. It had something to do with the lack of mana needed to supply them with energy, instead creating a large need for edibles.

That, in turn, forced them to use local specialties and resources - that is to say, snakes (I heard they kind of taste like a chicken?), but hell, even snake sashimi or a burger, or whatever else they had made, would be a blessing at this point. The salads created from unappetizing dungeon plants were awful. And this was only my first day eating them!

And yes, I noticed that my avatar’s body could eat and drink, but didn’t strictly need to. My current theory was, that just like my creations, it could piggyback off the local mana when in my territory, but had to eat, drink and piss while outside.

There was also a pressing need for a mask of some kind. And I had to evacuate my avatar from the premises. After all, Peter was supposed to be dead and it just wouldn’t do to show Charles the extent of my abilities.

At least not yet.

I wasn’t sure how much knowledge humanity had retained about the possession magic, or, more like body-snatcher magic in this circumstance, but considering what was currently happening to his girlfriend, Agnes, I doubted that his reaction would be positive.

Thus the journey to the nearby Dungeon.

That and a little bit of curiosity. What had my creatures done with the place without my supervision? How did the Dungeon Core feel and look? Was my theory about being the only coherent crystal on the planet correct?

So many questions. I couldn’t wait.

Kiln, son of Carth

Kiln had learned early that life was suffering.

Even if his Ma tried to disagree, even if his Da preached going with the flow, keeping his head low… living the moment…

Kiln learned that life was unfair.

For the weak, that is.

For the poor.

Their farming family didn’t have enough money to buy even the most basic medicines. Ma died because of the flu, or something similar. It could be a magical disease, for all they knew, but there was no doctor or cleric available to confirm that. Not long after that Da joined her. His heart simply stopped working one day, putting an end to his silent despair.

That left the eldest, three younger sons, and their sister.

For a precarious moment, they lived together, worked together, to keep Da’s legacy alive.

And then Kiln learned what betrayal was and how blood was akin to water for some.

The eldest offered their sister to a local noble and his younger brothers were sold away. Not into slavery, as that was forbidden in the Kingdom, but as indentured servants. A menial laborer, a shopkeeper.

And a soldier.

The rest was a blur.

Pitched battles, desperate fight for survival, countless comrades - all of them common people - appearing and disappearing when their unit was butchered again and again. A disposable meatshield against the horrors of the undeath and cruel monsters stalking the night. And amongst the carnage his class - Stalwart Defender - grew slowly with each saved life and each death witnessed.

In the end, Kiln took command over his battered comrades by virtue of being the oldest one alive. Then, in the heat of retreat, a decision was forced upon him.

His life or the life of his charges?

Kiln learned of sacrifice that day.

And, by a cruel twist of fate, he survived. Crippled, with his both legs cut just below the knees. A useless man saved by chance. Some would call it a miracle - how the attacking monster cauterized the stumps with its fiery bite instead of taking his life.

For Kiln it was the beginning of a new type of suffering.

The uselessness, the pity, the failing body.

The hunger.

Kiln received the order to go into the Dungeon with relief, not fear, like most of his peers. He was allowed to die before he broke.

It was an honorable thing to be consumed in order for the others to live. At least that’s what his class, whispered in his ear.

Instead, they were given water and food.

By the monsters.

Kiln's common sense screamed at him, even as he devoured the unpoisoned bread and vegetables.

And then the healers came, which meant that even those who were gone the most felt hope. With a big dose of fear.

By the end, Kiln was wiggling his new feet, while glancing at the surrounding creatures. They weren’t so scary anymore.

“It’s not that I’m not grateful - I really am.” Kiln chortled, staring at the floor. He knew he had to be concise and loud in order to be understood. “But couldn’t you make my legs a bit more normal?”

“And less like this?”

He pointed toward his scale-covered feet, looking more like something that a lizard would sport, with digits ending in brutal-looking claws.

The largest of the surrounding monsters smiled (its teeth were terrifying) and answered his question.

“It was His will that you survived the operation. It is not our way to question His miracles. It is not yours, either.” The monster rumbled, the sounds barely understandable.

“I see…” Kiln mumbled. “Can’t do anythin’ then.”

“Wait. What about my class?” With a small prayer, the muscular man summoned a simple blue window. It looked different than before.

Name

Kiln, son of Carth

Race

Impure Human (drake)

Class

Drakish Defender

Level

3

“Uhhh…” Kiln drawled. “I think that’s not good?”

The monsters around him howled in delight.

Uno (avatar)

Currently, my spare body is in great distress.

I forgot what waited under the cloudy waters of the Underground Lake.

I forgot about the Glass Progenitor!

The fucker was lying in ambush and attacked as soon as I appeared nearby spearing the surrounding walls with its countless appendages. The always-hungry monster wasn’t under my direct control and since I looked like its preferred meal - a human - the aggressive plant attacked with a flurry of blows.

I dodged and weaved around the monster, feeling the ligaments and muscles scream under the pressure. Better wounded than dead though - even if it would not be a final death. Yet the attacks kept coming and soon I was forced to tank one or two, flying through the air like a stringless puppet.

It wasn’t all bad though. The fear of death quickened my ability to learn my host’s magic, the earth blocking my adversary for thirty or so seconds before the beating continued. I still couldn’t get a bead on my shadow affinity, even with the death waiting just behind the corner.

I was nearly forced to call for help, when the Glass Progenitor suddenly screamed in distress.

It was something else to experience that change - from a hungry predator to the pure terror of a well-flogged slave that the monster radiated when a well-placed dagger nailed its tentacle to a wall. How the world around us stood still when Non’s slender figure appeared from the nearby wall.

And how fast the hungry beastie slithered away from my Revenant.

“Thanks!” I smiled happily despite the countless wounds. Even pain was a novel sensation after all this time. “That was fun!”

She tilted her head questioningly. “Uno.”

“Thaaaaaat’s me!”

“Now… thanks for the save, but I need to move. Can’t risk showing Charles this body.”

“Plan.”

“Yep, I’ve got it all under my skull.” I tapped my head with a grin. There was no hollow sound. Too bad.

“Ques. Tion.” She breathed out loudly. “Talk.”

“Sure… but, I need to ask you something too.” Seeing her nod I continued. “Is it me or your speech pattern is getting worse? Are the words harder to speak out, or is it something else?”

Non stared at me for a long while before sighing.

“Worse.”

“Dead.”

“Lon. Ger.”

“Oh?” I squinted. It was hard to tell, she was always so damn stone-faced. Kuudere, they called it? I never managed to remember the correct otaku terms. Or was the word limited to love interests? “Does that mean you’re ready for my proposition?”

“Ready to risk it all?”

“May. Be.” Non answered.

“Good. Let’s talk as we’re walking. And preferably when I’m eating too!”

So much to do.