FINAL CORE - Chapter 50 (Patreon)

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My hands are bound, but my spirit remains free.

As I was born into this world, a piece of it, like a seed that was to grow into a tall tree;  so do I leave it, felled.

I do not regret the choices that I have made to bring me here.

I do not deny the crimson tinge of the blood on my hands. It is there by my right to fight for life.

As does an acorn, pushing through the soil to rise to birth; so did I. I fought. I fought to push through the dirt and the rocks and the rubble. I fought through the worms and the bugs and the monsters and then through the humans. I clawed and I tore and I broke the weedy surface, gasping for air, as if I were a freshly drowned beast.

— And now, I am to leave once again. I am to return to the darkness that is deeper than the soil from which I grew.

But even if they have taken my home, they won’t take my spirit. I alone will choose its fate.

I built this place.

I will be the only one who tears it down.

Fuck you.

~ Message inscribed into the last remaining wall of the Grimstone Harrow, mid-level dungeon, shortly before its total self-destruction during an attempted demolition. Presumed to have been written by the dungeon-core.

There were no documented survivors.

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Water trickles noisily from the faucets, splashing down into the hot-springs. The air is warm and full of soft, mineral-rich vapors, carrying a somewhat stronger smell of salty dew and lilac perfume.

It has been difficult to find a moment when the building was unoccupied. Crystal was right with his initial assessment; humans really do love hot-springs. But so do elves and dwarves and orcs and everyone else too and, given that all of these creatures are camping around the tower, the hot-springs have certainly not gone unnoticed.

This has made it hard to upgrade the room, as while the uthra being seen does offer a certain whispering mystique to the tower, Isaiah is hesitant to let them work around such careless, clumsy and violent creatures as people, outsiders.

“Okay,” says Isaiah. “Please start. Before they return.”

Crystal nods and flies around the room together with Orange. The work is noticeably slower than it was with a trained, expert craftsman like Green was. But Crystal still manages to keep pace, having healed from his injuries.

The two uthra fly around, expanding the pool and extending the walls. They develop the statues, taking on faces and poses far more extravagant than before. The hot-springs, once one, single pool of water, changes in form. The interior is divided into three spaces that the humans can divide as they like.

Metal chimes hang in the air, gently billowing in the vapors of uprising steam.

Isaiah, content that the uthra are well at hand, flies off to leave the hot-springs before the outsiders get back.

— To lure them, the outsiders, away, it had offered a very easy and generous quest. This was enough so that just about everyone, including the non-adventurers, were interested in stepping away for a few minutes, at least.

[Upgraded Area]

A quaint, ornate and private hot-spring. Adventurers and wanderers may find safety and rest here.

• Level {1} Effect: While resting in the water, slowly restores all drained HEALTH, STAMINA and SOUL.
• Level {2} Effect: The healing vapors in the steam reduces all stacking status: [Ailment] by {01} stage.

 THIS IS A SAFE ZONE. NO HOSTILE DUNGEON-ENTITIES ARE ALLOWED INSIDE OF THE HOT-SPRINGS AREA.

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[Rorate]

“So… what do you do all day?” asks Rorate, looking up towards Red.

Red tilts her head. “I could ask you the same thing. Shouldn’t you be praying or writing a sermon or something?”

“It’s my lunch-break,” says Rorate. She shrugs, looking around herself at the kitchen that she’s sitting in. “That’s why I’m down here.”

“…Fair enough,” grumbles Red, hovering there. She looks around. “I dunno. Usually I’m in charge of the others. But they’re all working now,” says Red.

“So, you got nothing to do?” asks Rorate.

Red turns back her way. “If you’re trying to off-load your work onto me, forget it, long-ears. I’m busy.”

Rorate tilts her head. “Actually, I was going to ask you to join me for lunch,” says the dark-elf.

“I don’t eat.”

“Huh… really?” asks Rorate. Red shakes her head. “So, you guys just don’t need food?”

Red pokes herself. “We’re made out of magic. No food needed.”

“…Oh… huh…” Rorate and Red stare at each for a time. There is an awkwardness in the air, neither of them really knowing how to move the conversation along. “- But could you?” she asks. “If you wanted to?”

Red shrugs. “I know what eating is. I don’t miss it.”

“So you could eat before?” asks Rorate.

“Look, forget it,” replies Red. She sighs and sits down on the other free chair at the small table downstairs in the underground kitchen. “Let’s talk about something else. How’s life?”

Rorate shrugs, chewing on her food. “Could be worse. I really like it here,” says the dark-elf, her mouth still half-full.

The two of them sit there for a time, engaging in a conversation that doesn’t exactly flow well. But at least an effort is being made.

It could be worse.

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Isaiah

A harpy tilts its head, looking at Isaiah and clicking with her mouth.

Isaiah returns its focus to the work at hand.

“Is this wise?” asks Crystal.

Red flies past him. “This?” she asks. “This is very wise. It may be one of the best ideas yet, actually.” Isaiah, hovering there in the air outside of the tower with crossed arms, nods in approval. “Maybe keeping a few humans in here isn’t such a bad idea, for now,” says Red, looking at the latest extension to the tower. “They have a knack for cruelty. I kind of like it.”

An outside, external stairway, attached to the exterior of the tower wraps around its body. There is no railing, of course and it leads right through the nests of the harpies, who have begun to settle and flock around the tower’s exterior. There is a gimmick involved though.

It isn’t just a staircase to the next floor. It is the next floor.

[Floor Fifty-One]

External Stairwell

An extremely precarious stairwell. It is thin and dangerous to climb. Any fall threatens to be immediately fatal, given the great heights. Strong winds blow and the sensation of the tower swaying can be easily felt.

Monster-Capacity: {104}  Traps: {05}

Room Effects:

• Applies status [Disorientation] to anyone with less than 20 DEX. The status can not be purged until the floor has been left.

Monster-Point prices per monster

• F-Rank: 1
• E-Rank: 2
• D-Rank: 4
• C-Rank: 8
• B-Rank: 16
• A-Rank: 32
• S-Rank: 64
• SS-Rank: 128
• SSS-Rank: 256

“Damn. We’re almost up to the big numbers in monsters,” says Red, looking at the status-window. “I guess the harpies don’t count towards the floor’s monsters?”

“Hmm…” Crystal flies in, looking at the harpies that are above them. “I think they’re external, outside monsters. So the system doesn’t recognize them as being a part of the floor. Maybe?” He shrugs. “It’s like if a wild slime ran into the tower.”

“Neat. Is this cheating?” asks Red. “It feels like the whole ‘defense oriented architecture’ thing again.”

Isaiah pulls its arm away. The harpies had gathered around on the stairwell and one of them had grabbed its arm and they all started smelling it, oddly enough. “Perhaps this is a ‘flaw’ of the tower?” asks Isaiah. “I suppose external monsters are of little concern underground.”

“Makes sense to me,” says Red. “If the gods didn’t make the rules right, then to hell with them. Not our problem. The lazy fucks.” Red looks around at the gathering harpies, who are sticking to the side of the tower in nests they have made by forcing strong branches from the forest into the mortar between bricks, to make ledges and roosts. “I think they like you, chief,” says Red.

Isaiah, flying there in the air off to the side of the staircase, looks at the harpies and then back to the uthra. “Perhaps because we are similar, in a way?”

“Harpies are pretty smart,” says Crystal. “But they can’t really talk in anything that isn’t  ‘bird’.”

“Ah,” says Isaiah. “A shame, I do not think that I recall the language,” says the creature. “But they seem to understand us.” One of the nearby harpies on the staircase clicks and whistles. The other harpies all rustle their feathers in some sort of synchronized action. It is the leader of the flock, who had greeted Isaiah upon arrival.

“Gods, they’re weird,” says Red. “I’m getting out of here, before I get eaten.”

She flies off.

“Anyway,” says Crystal, returning to the topic. “Let’s get those monsters going, boss. There’s a lot left to do. Half of the tower is empty and Orange is already working on the next floor by herself.

Isaiah nods, trying to think of a suitable creature to cohabitate with the harpies. Summoning more of them could be an option, but…

— Perhaps there is a trick to be learned from the human’s ways? This external staircase was an idea by Beulah.

“Crystal, remove that step there,” says Isaiah, pointing at a single step in the middle of the staircase.

“Huh? Uh…” Crystal looks at the step. “I can’t. Then the staircase would be broken and the rules say there always has to be a traversable path through the dungeon.”

“Then remove half of the step,” says Isaiah.

“Uh… I mean… I guess?” Crystal sets to work, carving half of one step out of the staircase, leaving a square hole right in the middle of it through which the world below is visible.

“Thank you,” says Isaiah, taking the perfectly carved stone square from Crystal. It focuses its magic into the cube.

[Mimic]

• Class: Monster
• Element: Arcane
• Type: Illusionist
• Rank: A
• Level: 40
• Category: Trickster
• HP: 81/81
• SOUL: 57/57

A mimic is a soft, squishy creature that likes to live in tight, sealed containers, such as chests, boxes and cabinets. Being unusually shy, mimics will prefer to simply stay shut inside of their homes forever. They are extremely easy to stress. Because of this, they can often not control their excitement when someone approaches and will sometimes giggle noisily.

 When opened or when approached too closely, the mimic will strike, lashing out of its container to attack with razor sharp teeth.

[Shell Dweller]: The mimic can inhabit any hollow shell, making it into its home. It is a near perfect illusion.

The top of the stone cube pops open, as a soft, squishy blob of a creature with long eyestalks peaks out. Seeing that it is being watched, it slams the ‘lid’ of the stone square back shut and the cube starts shaking in Isaiah’s hand.

Isaiah hands it back to Crystal. “We will place these in the staircase,” says Isaiah.

“Wow…” says Crystal. “That’s pretty mean. It doesn’t really fit with the holy theme, does it?” he asks.

“It does,” says Isaiah, staring down at the world below. “Part of having strong faith is to understand the precariousness of it.”

Crystal slots the mimic into the staircase, where it latches on, pretending to be a piece of the step.

Isaiah lifts its gaze, looking at the harpies who are continuing their odd display.

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Bishop Zacaries Montero

Human, Male, Bishop

“My mind remains unchanged,” says the cardinal from the northern city. “This… thing is an affront to the faith. It must be destroyed.”

The others at the table murmur, coming to their various states of agreement on either side of the argument.

“It drew the ire of the witch,” argues another cardinal to the side, adjusting his cup on the table. “Surely that is because it is an affront to her?” he asks. “As are all things good and divine.”

The murmuring resumes.

“Perhaps this is because it is a threat to her?” asks the cardinal from the north. “A wolf will eat a bear’s cub. If it were allowed to grow, it would be a threat.” The man smashes his fists onto the table and then points to the window, overlooking the city below. “The people no longer whisper, they rave. The tower grows higher and higher every day, the land is ruptured and torn,” he says. “That destruction, that chaos, how long until it spreads to us and our walls?” He looks around at the others at the table. “It has to be dealt with, before it grows too powerful. This is what the gods want,” finishes the cardinal, tapping against the table. “Or else they would not have sent the witch as a warning to us for our foolishness. It was a sign for us to act.”

More murmurs.

Bishop Zacaries Montero looks around the table. These argumentations have been going on since that day and they show no sign of stopping. The camps are evenly split, but it seems like every day some people who were on the other side just yesterday have a change of heart, only to be swayed again on the day thereafter. It goes on and on and nobody has a clear voice or an answer.

He plays with the golden token of pilgrimage in his hands as the debates continue.