Forgotten Dungeon

Uno (avatar)

It was strange.

I was currently moving down a wooden, rackety lift suspended over a raging river below… all the while stuffing my mouth and listening to the ramblings of the speech-deficient undead girl.

Talk about a weird situation.

The platform we were sitting on was creaking ominously, slowly going deeper and deeper. At the same time, I could see a similar lift rising as a part of a more complicated pulley system that endlessly looped between my place and the Ratling-controlled Snake Dungeon. According to the Ratling in charge, there were four of these lifts constantly shifting between drop-off points and this one had been reserved just for us.

Despite the safety hazards I quickly grew complacent enough to focus on what was most important.

Food.

Sure, the taste was nothing special, the table full of mostly different kinds of salads and cleaned-up fruits dragged by Ratlings from who-knows-where but I wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

There wasn’t much more to be done but chew until the descent finished.

The stuff was at least good for munching on.

I mean Non was spitting out a single word every thirty or so seconds, but for now, she had just repeated what I already knew. Her friends, enemies, her life and death. Still, she had to start making sense sometime soon. Right now she only reiterated how revenge was her reason to live and how the fact that she was slowly turning into a murderous monster terrified her.

These were things that I had already understood.

Not to say that her speech was useless. Far from it. I managed to confirm my theory about the undead slowly losing their mind.

My own creations were a combination of undead flesh with an embedded machine core and thus seemed to be immune to the degradation - probably because there wasn’t any individuality left in them to corrupt. They were more like puppets than standard undead.

It was the same with those undead who were controlled by my enemies. The Lich used its willpower to dictate what the other dead were allowed to do, while the Geinard Kingdom’s flunky was freshly out of the grave - just like the unliving soldiers accompanying him, which meant their urges were easy to control.

This highlighted two problems. First - how damn unusual was that Lich from earlier, the one spouting bullshit about Waltzer Castle and its Blademaster - it was entirely in control of its mental faculties, while also being able to calmly analyze the cost-profit ratio of the skirmish and retreat from the battlefield before sustaining too much damage. According to Charles, this level of intelligence was so rare amongst the undead that it could be said to be non-existent.

Second - the Geinard Kingdom was going to have a bad time. If the desire for violence that Non described was innate to every undead creature then their idea of coordination between the living and the dead would fall apart like a house of cards.

Thousands would die.

Not that Non or I gave a shit. They were going to be our enemies (if they weren’t already), so leaving them to the wolves was only fair.

Charles also had to be informed. I guess. Probably. We were allies after all, and knowledge that your angry neighbor was going to turn into a stark-raving one was worth its weight in gold.

In truth, I wasn’t sure that the zombie apocalypse was going to happen.

Kingdom’s forces should have some security measures in place unless they were complete imbeciles. And since it was never good to assume one’s enemies were fools I hoped that the damage still would get done, but the effect could be mitigated before it truly hurt the Silver Oasis. I mean… It wasn’t like I was the only one who researched the undead, folks were fighting against them for hundreds of years and I was fairly certain they amassed some interesting knowledge.

Back to the present - Non was getting to the meatier parts of her story.

How she felt after becoming an undead. How the disciple she fostered helped her maintain a semblance of sanity. To remember what she was. And how the fury that had driven her was so unnatural that it scared her senseless.

“Kill. Ed. Many.” She spat out, her face turned to the ground. “Guilt.”

“In the end.” I coughed. “In the end you want to take the chance I’ve offered you, right? A throw of the dice is better than no choice at all. Better than drowning in your own darkness.”

“Yes.” She answered sternly, her black eyes devouring the light. “Try.”

“We’re both unwilling to be helpless pawns in the game called fate.” I whispered, my body releasing some of the tension. “Good. You’ll have to wait until the experiment’s results come in, but after that, you’ll be free to choose your future.”

“And I would prefer if Agnes would be taken care of beforehand.”

“Prin. Cess.” She muttered. “First.” There was a pout in her tone. Curious. Was she… jealous?

“Fine.” She nodded reluctantly before walking away.

“Ah, don’t go!” I shouted as she readied herself to jump into the nearby shadows. “The Ratling representative will have the results ready in a moment. Accompany me and listen to what’s available. I can advise, but you’ll be in charge of choosing a suitable treatment.” I hummed quietly. "The rats had grown beyond any reasonable measure, their tunnels cover an unbelievable amount of space both between the dungeons and in other directions. Their intelligence apparatus allows the couriers and spies to move information by the use of rat-relay."

"And that is why I asked them to compile data on the experiments that the Butchers are running." I tapped my chin. "Delegation is the best superpower, wouldn't you agree?"

There was a bit of hesitation in her eyes, as she shuffled back into the light, her posture full of uncertainty.

“Let’s sit down.” I laughed. “It will take some time for the lift to descend. A siesta is in order!”

She glanced at me but didn’t question an unknown word. Instead, the revenant just curled up on the floor, near my splayed form.

The wood we were lying on was hard and uncomfortable.

Non's fragrance was one of oil and death. Her breath was slow and shallow (not that she needed to breathe at all), which in turn lulled me to sleep…

The minutes passed in silence, slowly, like leaves falling from a tree.

At this moment, in a fleeting minute, I was content.

At peace.

The eternity passed.

And the lift stopped.

We were welcomed by a bunch of Ratlings, some Lebirs of various kinds, and snakes. Lots and lots of snakes.

I subconsciously knew that my servants were rearing them, but hearing about it and seeing the sheer amount of various colors, types, and magic they exuded was something else.

I noticed big, slow ones, looking a bit like anacondas, with the thickness of a man's waist. There were smaller ones, coiling around and springing away with funny hops. Bright-colored ones with special muzzles on their snouts. Muscular snakes with either small horns on their foreheads and rattle on their tails, sometimes with both.

Everywhere I looked somebody was moving things, walking away with purpose in mind. The military-looking rats were distributed around the platform, either in their natural form or leading stout-looking Lebirs.

Despite the wild energy and constant movement, I felt that my little group naturally drew the attention of everybody around us. The curious eyes of rats followed our every move, their small arms touching their foreheads and then the ground in an approximation of a religious sign I noticed before…

Amidst this constant chaos, two Ratlings were standing just beneath the platform, looking increasingly nervous. One of them was small, with silver streaks on its fur and constantly moving snout, while the second dwarfed his companion with a large, muscular build and a lack of the Iron Thrower on his back. Instead, he sported a mass of metal clearly focused on defense.

To my surprise, the rats… spoke. Their constant chittering was still in the background but I managed to understand their speech. Not sure if this was for better or worse since the voices of nearby Ratlings suddenly changed from a soothing murmur to frenzied whispers of fanatics.

“Oh, great-beneficient One! This lowly-small servant-slave welcomes you and your aides in the conquered-taken Dungeon of Snakes!”

“Yes… hello there.” I barely managed to answer before Ratling continued its machinegun-like speech.

“This servant-slave is called Wet Nose, and its sturdy companion-friend is called Bronze.” The large rat accompanying the chatterbox dipped its head deeply. Its gaze stilled with helplessness before the silver-furred one forged on. “Iron Queen sends her greetings and offers-gives command of her forces, Creator-Maker. She regrets not being able to talk-welcome your avatar into the Snake Dungeon, but some duties demand-need her personal attention.”

“It’s not a problem if she’s not here to welcome me. It wouldn’t do if she were to slow down our plans on behalf of decorum. There are more important things to worry about.” I placated the monster. “Now, I suppose that one of you has the results of the experiment prepared?”

Wet Nose bowed. “Yes, yes, oh gracious-great One!”

“Before we start, let’s move to a quieter locale. I need to focus and there’s no need to stand in the way of the workers. This avatar will stay here for a long while, so I’ll need to get familiar with this place anyway.”

“Yes, yes! As you wish-command! Please follow!”

The little Ratling skipped ahead, while Bronze moved to our rear. The upbeat monster pointed here and there, showing off the newest buildings and my monsters hard at work.

The burrows that the rats used looked more like modern apartment buildings if one squinted enough. Sure, there was a lack of glass and the building itself had rather extensive cellars but while looking distinctly out of the place, it functioned just as well as warrens did.

“We need our closeness!” Wet Nose laughed when asked. “Outsider-other say squalor, dirt, no privacy.” His snout scrunched funnily. “Safe in numbers! Family-clan close! Firstborn need being close even if the Tall-Ones don’t understand.”

I nodded. “Yes, yes, family is important.”

The small Ratling laughed aloud at my half-hearted praise.

A large part of the dungeon had been converted into fields, where brown-robed Ratlings toiled both by themselves and with Lebir's help. My expression turned bitter when I realized that the plants grown here were all the “delicacies” I had tasted before.

“Need food-treat. No dungeon mana here. The Second Queen was forced-needed to experiment.” Our guide explained. “Sustenance possible with meat, vegetables, fruits. Lebirs different-weird. Don’t need to eat, don’t need to sleep. Still stupid, though.” He mused.

The rest of the place untouched by Ratlings' paws was still filled with reeds and other swamp-like plants. And of course dirty, turbid water. Here and there a pinkish lotus-like flower floated without a care in the world. I wondered about it. Was it just as edible as the one growing in my Old World? I never tasted a lotus in a dish, so I had nothing to compare it to.

Maybe it wasn’t going to be a completely wasted trip.

Wet Nose described our surroundings with passion. The column-like structures sprouting from floor to ceiling meant to store food. The drying racks numbering in hundreds, used to prepare meat for transport and further consumption. Monstrous kitchens worked through the day and night while preparing cauldrons of broth made from snakes and available greens.

The last one kind of reminded me of Jailer Jonathan, the always-hungry undead monster (technically Ironhide Undead Dark Knight, but that was a mouthful) whose respawn was blocked by the humans… just like Decapitator’s - my other boss from the first floor. Or were they classified as elite monsters?

Anyway, allowing them to resurrect was something to ask of Charles, when we had our next chat. More firepower was always good, even if those were only first-floor powerhouses and I couldn’t really order them to do anything special due to my… problems.

Problems I actively refused to think about and hoped they go away.

As I mused something changed.

It took me a few seconds to understand what happened.

Wet Nose was silent and that had thrown me off. The chatterbox stared ahead and I followed his gaze only to have my jaw fall to the floor.

Before us stood a gigantic construction, a bit similar to Stonehenge in all its reconstructed glory - not the few pitiful remains that survived to the modern day.

No.

It was a forest of stone pillars, each exquisitely carved and covered in glowing runes. I could nearly see the magic pulsing between them, green and red wisps of energy appearing and disappearing by the second.

And in the middle of that was…

The Dungeon Core.

It was a massive crystal, much bigger than mine, nearly two meters in height, carved in a coffin-like shape and made from something that looked like green jade. Or a similar, more magical material. Around the Core, the lines of magic were the thickest, turning from ropes into veritable steel cables. They seemed just as sturdy, as well.

The air hummed with magic.

All this mana, knowledge, and craftsmanship was focused right here to serve one grim purpose - the enslavement of the Dungeon Core.

My heart resonated with the entrapped beast.

I slowly made my way into the heart of the buzzing formation. The core called to me, in a language of emotion and anguish. And so I moved between the unseen lines, Non, and my guides simply observing, without anyone trying to interfere.

Then the moment came.

My hand extended and touched the cold stone.

Then, magic happened.

My consciousness had been whisked away and for a moment I was the Dungeon Core.

And I had been thoroughly disappointed with the experience.

Instead of a sentient or even sapient mind that even the most basic of beasts possessed I was welcomed with a blue window. A familiar sight.

Beginning Dungeon Core routine:

spawn [monster] {check: space available} {check: type available}

dig [deeper] {check: mana available} {check: free space}

spawn [treasure] {check: type of mana} {check: type of item}, randomize

!!ROUTINE DAMAGED!!

RECOVERING

spawn [treasure] {check: type of item}

defend {check: monster available}

repeat

ERROR

insufficient mana

insufficient mana

insufficient mana!!

Foreign code detected…

CRITICAL ERROR

REROUTING

Accepting override.

Beginning Dungeon Core (subverted) routine:

spawn [chosen] [monsters]

expand [outward]

spawn [materials] {check: all available materials}

repeat

It was a fucking computer program.

A few lines of code were running the only magitech on the planet capable of turning mana into matter. They were responsible for the well-being and continued survival of sentient races… and somehow had been damaged. Broken. Considering that this “operating system” was copied again and again from some mold - which I didn’t know for sure, but that was the only thing that made sense - it explained the lack of new magic items and the weird reaction I got after providing some. The humans thought they weren’t real - couldn’t be real - and simply ignored them… Because items without a speck of magic inside - were all that the other dungeons produced.

Not since… however far in the past that damaged routine error happened.

So… the next question. Why did the Gods ignore the situation?

Either they didn’t know the problem happened, didn’t understand how to repair it or they didn’t have the power to do so.

I released my hand from the green-colored machine and cradled my head. Each of the answers was bad in its own way. And more importantly…

I didn’t want to know about it!

I didn’t care about interfacing with the routine responsible for another Dungeon!

So I promptly ignored the problem before me and turned back.

Wet Nose, Bronze, and Non stared at me, their eyes wide and questioning.

“Let’s go.” I ordered, immediately changing the subject. “And talk to me. How had the experiment gone?”

“Yes, yes Creator-Master! The Firstborn worked hard. Noted the changes that Many-Legs did. Calculated!” It shouted happily, forgetting the strange sight.

Bronze and Non weren’t so easily distracted but they understood the situation. Knowledge was power and I wasn’t going to share.

So instead they listened to Wet Nose happily describing the compound’s effectiveness. How the pure compound carried a greater risk factor but was also the most powerful when it came to healing and enhancement. A baseline human was tremendously strengthened when it worked correctly. Otherwise, the effects were pretty gruesome.

How mixing it with monster DNA (Wet Nose’s trying to pronounce deoxyribonucleic acid was hilarious) ended up with a lost limb replacement depending on the monster used. Or just adapting a few foreign traits like feathers, scales, and horns if it was used to heal. All of the surviving experiments turned into “Impure Humans”, adding a new category called “Race” to their status sheet. Sometimes there were also changes in their class.

Kobold DNA produced Drake (strength-focused), Lizard (armor-focused), and Kobold (agility-focused) mixes, while Ratlings ended up as Rat (agility-focused), Ratling (speed-focused), and Ratmen (intelligence-focused) lines.

They even tried throwing snakes at the problem… and it did work somewhat, even if the spread was much wider than my other monsters (but still not directly connected to the parent species), creating Naga (intelligence-focused), Rattlesnake (illusion-focused), Anaconda (strength-focused), and Cobra (venom-focused) bloodlines.

Was it really DNA that they were mixing in? Hell if I knew. Adding monster blood to the compound made from “not-Warpstone” produced mutagenic results, so I could as well call it that. It was not like people out here had microscopes and could call me out on the name.

The experiments using Lebirs as a base - or even samples taken from ordinary undead - ended in a catastrophic failure, with a one-hundred percent fatality rate. Death by desiccation, rot, or poisoning was the most common cause of the subject expiring.

That left enhancing Lebirs with the stuff as an avenue of research, which was something that I would get to doing later.

Anyway, nearly two weeks had passed since the first test.

It was time.

Agnes's operation awaited.