Forgotten Dungeon

Uno

I was stewing.

Already a few days had passed since Non’s departure and… there was no further news.

The mountain of “what ifs” was dancing inside my head, each guess worse than the one before.

One could ask how - being a sedentary Dungeon Core - I could even dream of creating a spy network. The problem was that I already had one - it was just made in the wrong direction! It wasn’t easy to do either, with how monstrous my rats had already become. I doubted their ability to hide in plain sight like their less evolved brethren could.

I also wasn’t such a slavedriver to order them to expand immediately into the Geinard’s Kingdom capital. Not only would that alert my enemies but also unnecessarily waste resources. Bodies that might be called upon to defend the Silver Oasis and by extension - my Dungeon.

The Ratlings spread toward nearby locations already, but their focus was more on the Wastelands. Maybe it was easier to blend in with the local monsters or something of that nature. Or maybe there were resources to be found?

Who knew?

Anyway, since there was nothing that I could do about it, I decided to focus on being productive instead.

Normally that would mean digging deeper, but right now my instincts were chafing about killing off more delvers before allowing such change. It was downright insulting how ingrained were these stupid thought collars. For a moment I wanted to go on a rampage and deal with the consequences later, but somehow I doubted that Charles would allow me to snuff the lives of those wandering my halls, no matter how young or infirm they were. And I was not ready to burn these bridges.

Sentients and their useless morals.

His opinion might change if we were on the edge of losing, but by then an ability to dig another level in the Dungeon would be pretty useless.

Instead of worrying, I returned to my avatar and used him as a tool to glean more information about the runes keeping the Snake Pits core in place. Even watching these magics hurt, but there was some truth to the saying that there was no talent like stubbornness. During these times I managed to fish out a few more meanings out of the convoluted mess that was the binding.

Besides “soul-stealing” I now had “bind”, “stabilize” and “force”. Sadly it was not Force Push, but rather “force you to do something” rune. Bugger.

Also, I discovered that “bleeding out of one’s eyes” wasn’t a figure of speech.

That’s a magic world for you.

The newly acquired runes were pretty much useless though. Their effect was negligible, even when it came to influencing the basic humans with no levels to their name. The binding rune locked their extremities for a split of a second, the stabilize rune stopped bleeding (and probably other ailments) - but also only for a fraction of a second.

The most interesting one was the force one, or as I was starting to call it - the mind-bender rune. Sadly this kind of effect was more of the “these are not the droids you’re looking for” type of bending, than a proper mind-control.

And, like earlier examples, they were also unusable for more than a fraction of a moment.

This explained why hundreds if not thousands of chains surrounded the dungeon core. And considering the sheer mindlessness of the magic’s recipient… A human child had more willpower than those brain-dead crystals.

I sighed. All that work and the runes were looking more and more useless.

Well, useless when it came to doing anything permanent.

I mean putting some stabilizing runes in the infirmary could mean a difference between life and death. Getting a few traps that arrested the invaders' momentum with binding runes would also do wonders…

Especially combined with pitfalls, arrow traps, or wires.

And while the mind-bender rune distracted an enemy for a split second it could also be used as a part of a weapon - be it ranged ammunition or a close-combat implement - because a momentary distraction in battle often meant death.

These were going to be good enough for my ‘allies’ since humans spurned my offering of the electrical maces - and I still couldn’t understand why.

This all of course trickled into a simple question.

Who was going to make these items? Runecarving turned out to be an exhausting and demanding job. Unearthly precision was needed. Each of the runes was not only a 3D shape, but also a perfect one - any dissonance, any small crumbling destroyed the already minuscule effect that the rune had on reality.

It was also mindless work, even with all the advantages that I had as a Dungeon Core. For some reason, my ability to replicate didn’t want to work properly on those items too. Yes, I could copy them into reality but there was always a snag, a different line, a flaw. I wasn’t sure if this was a limitation of my powers or some bullshit magic shenanigans.

Or maybe it was just the limit of my mentality as a former human. After all, I was not a bearer of something that my peers called an eidetic memory.

This meant that somebody else had to take these items, these shapes, and forge them back into working tools. And that somebody wasn’t going to be me.

My thoughts wandered to the Idiot-Smith, but considering his clumsiness I immediately discounted him as a proper vic-ehem. Runecrafter. Yes, dungeon designated runecrafter.

So I did the next best thing.

I dumped the knowledge and a buttload of the premade shapes into the middle of Ratling's main city. While they lacked the tools, dexterity, and strength to finish them I knew they would make do.

After all the quantity was a quality in itself.

I just hoped that carving runes wasn’t some kind of an ancient, forbidden, or secret art of the dwarves. The stories I read were full of these developments. Still, there was power in them, and I was always hungry for more.

As long as my minions were careful there shouldn’t be any danger.

Anyway, what was the worst that could happen?

The dwarven outpost fell to the rats. I wasn’t holding my breath for Dwarven Hold's show of power.

Now, there was one spot where runes could be useful in a big enough quantity. I might have delegated their creation to the Ratlings but I knew where they would end up.

What should I call this place?

Simple.

Conversion Center.

Made just for one kuudere revenant.

Non

We fell upon the enemy like blades of a reaper, appearing from the surrounding fog and darkness.

In the beginning, I didn’t know what a reaper was but Uno’s child-like murmurs when observing my training often mentioned these creatures.

When pressed for answers he mumbled something about the death’s chosen and an unnerving lack of a scythe. Then he spoke with passion about a tale of the Grim Reaper.

Curious.

Back to the present - the battle with the undead was short and vicious. Like the wrath of a Celestial, our weapons cut the undead right and left, returning them to the void. It was easy - these were just common zombies though, weak pawns, no matter how fancy the livery they wore.

Our rampage stretched into minutes before the enemy’s higher-ups noticed the commotion.

It would be unthinkable in the human army. Just the screams would be enough to alert the surroundings - a problem that was non-existent with mute, or groaning undead.

The enemy's first response was a team of a few wraith-like assassins that appeared from the fog, trying to cut us down.

Their skills were subpar despite a frightening appearance - the emaciated faces and bodies shrouded in grey mist spewed from their candle-like eyes could scare the living but not those accustomed to death. Even my attendant wasn’t taken by surprise by their obvious lunges and mindless attacks.

Even their ability to bend the fog to their advantage was useless, the ripples of movement easily visible to a keen eye.

They were an uncoordinated bunch of mediocre dagger-users desperately hungry for blood. And since there was only one living person around…

We cut down a few more before a shout stopped our gleeful rampage.

“Keep. Them. Con. Tained.” A voice not dissimilar to my own pierced the mist. Curt. Machine-like. Emotionless. How I hated that sound… Despite the strength of my disdain, I knew what had to be done.

Escape.

An undead capable of speech was never to be taken lightly.

“Leave.” I ordered, stretching the boundary of the surrounding darkness.

“After you, Mistress.” The kobold grinned, following my steps.

We slipped through - and just in time - as the night sky brightened under the weight of magic. The multitude of fiery spells had dropped on our earlier location, turning the undead assassins and the surroundings into ashes.

It took a few minutes before the rage of elements scattered into nothing.

“Again, Mistress?”

I nodded, and we slipped amongst their ranks once again, the zombies already continuing their march. There were hundreds of these basic undead present, each armed with a shield and a spear, marching mindlessly where their masters pointed them - truly a perfect, loyal army. None wore any armor, spare the tabard with a symbol of a flame sewn onto it.

The Kingdom was dying, but it seemed like some things remained the same.

We harassed them more and more, each attack reaping lives - but most damage came from the flames summoned by their commanders. Nonetheless, I managed to finish one of my objectives - to gather a globe of life force… If it could be called that.

The resulting glass-like orb was dark, hazy, pungent. The last one wasn’t true, but it still looked like filth condensed.

Despite the knowledge that the undead were lousy targets, we repeated the culling. Still, it took two more attacks for the enemy mages to learn. A shameful display of combat incompetence.

Instead of massive war-caster spells, they flung tracking bolts of flame, poised to take out lone targets. The heat started to come dangerously close, a few times nearly nicking our bodies.

It was time to retreat.

The assassins were done for, and many of the dead turned into ashes or were damaged, slowing down the soldier column. They wouldn’t tire, but we still managed to buy some time. The rest was in Uno’s hands.

And Charles', I added after a moment of thought.

They weren’t that different in my mind.

I didn’t know why.

The rest of the night was a blur.

Surrounding darkness felt welcoming, as we slid through the portal after portal. A part of me felt free, even as the cold of the black tainted my fingers.

And then, before my scaly companion could raise his objections, we were there.

Shieldstar.

My home.

I didn’t think that I would see it again.

Especially not on fire.

The city was burning, turning night into day, the screams of the people and incantations mixing in the air. The stench of blood and murder was easy to discern for those like me.

Only the suburbs were being consumed though, with the slums and their inhabitants being the first victims. Merchant and a noble quarter had their own walls - those held firm, manned by soldiers and necromancers - both alive and dead.

Under their puppet strings, attackers and defenders rose again, their insatiable hunger turned against the invaders. Between the assaulting monsters and the defending undead milled what remained of humanity.

The peddlers, servants, thugs. Families, children, elderly.

Attacked by both sides and screaming incessantly.

A part of me pitied them. I knew how being weak felt.

Another part salivated at the prospect of harvesting their souls.

Grim Reaper, was it, Uno?