FINAL CORE - Chapter 63 (Patreon)

I can not describe to you in words that you would understand, that you would believe, what happened there.

The things that happened in that time, the era of the demon-king, the horrors that fell over us. It’s just… it’s too much. You had to be there, you had to see it. Otherwise, you’d just… you’d never believe it — The screaming, gnawing, gnashing of teeth and bones. The smells of fire, carrying the ashy particulate of your loved ones into every breath you inhale. The… meat…

There was so much meat. It was everywhere.

— Not everything burned.

A lot of it boiled.

A lot of them… they boiled.

You just, you had to be there, okay? Leave me alone.

~Documented interview with a witness, during the era of the demon-king.

____________________________________________

[Isaiah]

Dungeon Sub-Specialization chosen: [Seasonality]

 Located between the elemental branches of TIME and NATURE, SEASONALITY is a branch of the magical tree that relates to the passing of the four seasons, to the aspects of rebirth, growth and death.

 Allows future ability choices and dungeon-elements to be themed to SEASONALITY

New {Active} (Dungeon) Ability - [Seasonal Shift]:

Allows the dungeon-core to modify any natural part of or immediately around its territory, altering the life of any plants or creatures there to shift them to a stage of any desired season.

New {Active} (Dungeon) Ability - [Chronal Decay]: 

Allows the dungeon-core to age any man-made material at the cost of 03% SOUL per applied year.

Isaiah, in a moment of rare discomposure, sits down rather gracelessly, leaning against the very-big-tree.

This was a big effort. It had, in order to shift the appearance of all of the trees around the human’s camp and then to rot away many of their items, spent all of its soul-points. Even with Red essentially shoveling blue-colored berries into its face, to restore the lost points, it was just barely enough at the end.

— And apart from that, even with the restoration process of eating items such as these, it is still a very taxing experience for the body.

Red snaps back in next to it, using her warping ability to pop around the tower and the staircase, essentially instantly.

[Prayers]

A mass of prayers have reached the tower!

+566 EXP

“Looking good, chief,” she says, putting a hand on its shoulder. Isaiah nods. “They’re freaking the fuck out, you should see it!” says the uthra, gleefully.

Isaiah shakes its head, feeling very tired after all of these very recent efforts. “Will they leave?” it asks, looking her way.

Red shrugs. “I mean… I think we spooked ‘em bad, that’s for sure,” she says. “The trees and all of that was fine and all. But putting those shitty statues Crystal made in their tents?” Red wipes a tear from her eye. “- Beautiful. It was just… the most beautiful thing that I’ve ever seen.” The uthra had used their ability to teleport resources from the stockpile that they had gained at level two to do this, together with Red’s ability to warp to set locations. She kneels down, looking at Isaiah. “Listen. I take back everything bad that I’ve ever said about you,” says Red.

“- What?”

“You really do have a heart for terrifying humans!” exclaims Red, overjoyed, grabbing hold of Isaiah’s hand. “You’re my favorite dungeon-core of them all!”

Isaiah sighs, tilting its head. “I am always pleased to see your giddiness for life, Red,” it replies sarcastically. But, given that Red squeezes its hand, it can’t help but wonder if she really isn’t having a fantastic time, given the situation. “Is everyone alright?” asks Isaiah, looking around for the uthra.

“Everywho?” asks Red, blinking. She looks around. “Oh. Them. Yeah, they’re fine,” says Red, sounding much more disinterested now as she gets back up and lets go. “Crystal is having a panic-attack about the whole ‘rope’ situation, so he took the others to secure all of that down.”

Isaiah nods. Then everything is… fine? Or? “Will they cease their efforts? The humans?” it asks.

Red looks back its way, the expression of confusion on her face much easier to distinguish now than it had been before, given that she’s become much larger. “Huh?” asks Red. She looks at Isaiah. “Did you spend so much time being a bird that you forgot how humans work?” she asks. The uthra shakes her head, holding a hand out to help Isaiah up, which it finds unusual, but it does not comment on her kindness for fear that she might lose the sprout of this newly developing habit.

“I am afraid it has been a while,” says Isaiah, taking her hand and rising back to its feet. “Thank you.”

“Of course they’re gonna keep coming,” says Red. She spins a finger. “They’re gonna freak out for the night, then they’ll get the same orders as before from the city to go in,” explains the uthra. “Some soldiers will desert or argue against it, they’ll get a new hair-cut, as one might say.” She runs a finger along her neck. “And then, just like that, as if by magic, everyone else is going to be back on their way to our door.”

Isaiah sighs. “You are a true optimist, Red.”

“Right?” she asks. “Listen, I know humans. They don’t stop. You need to understand — This is only going to end one way.” Red looks back at Isaiah. “It’s just like it was back on day one. Nothing has changed except that the tower is bigger now. It’s still them or us, as much as you want to be the nice guy.”

“I understand your point,” says Isaiah, looking out over the landscape. “But I do disagree with it.”

“I’m sure,” remarks Red, her large wings buzzing. “When we all die because of that, I reserve the right to say that ‘I told you so’ before it happens,” she says.

Isaiah nods, pleased. Red has, despite the sameness of her temper in regards to this issue of the humans, grown.

After all, it was not long ago that she had made clear that she would be nowhere near the tower during its inevitable destruction, simply waiting for it to happen so that she could move on to the next stage of her life.

It appears that she really is invested now.

Isaiah rises into the air, still a little tired from its use of such powerful spells. There is, as always, work to do.

“Oh, and Red,” says Isaiah. Red looks back up its way. “I think it is time for you to deliver our message to the humans.”

She groans. “Do I have to?”

“Yes,” replies Isaiah, flying off.

_______________________________________________

Gadrian

Human, Male, Swordsman

The camp is in an uproar.

The soldiers all run around, not bothering to fix their tents or their broken equipment. Many men try to find their ranking officers, but those officers have left to find theirs, leaving everyone here in a state of headless disarray.

He doesn’t even have to ask to be sure that ‘desertion’ is the word on everyone’s mind right now. Hell, he’s ready to go himself and he’s not even a spiritual person.

His eyes wander back over towards the impossibly detailed statue, laid inside of his tent, which is impossible, considering he and ten other people were right next to it. That’s not including the statues in everyone else’s tents.

There honestly couldn’t be a clearer omen or sign that their presence here will cause more trouble than it's worth. That’s ignoring the fact that a significant percentage of them have broken bones from the whole staircase incident, just before all of this.

This place…

No dungeon acts like this. There’s no other dungeon that has ever done anything close to any of this, barring one that he won’t think of in this late hour.

He’s ready to leave.

But if he does so by himself, he’ll be captured by someone and handed in for desertion. That’s worth ten years in the best of times. The only way out of this is if the officers order them all to pull back, but he doubts that they’ll do that, because then they’ll get charged with desertion. The orders to march here, to destroy this place, stem all the way from the very top.

He sucks his teeth, looking around himself as he stands there, a little lost and dazed.

There really isn’t a single good way out of this.

Come morning, they’ll get the same orders to march up to the tower somehow, despite everything, and if they don’t, well…

His best shot is if he takes a fall and breaks something big, like a leg. That way he’ll have an excuse to stay behind. This… after the sign that they were given tonight, this whole operation is a death-trap.

He rubs his tired eyes, pretty sure that he won’t find any sleep tonight.

— A glow shines in past his fingers and through his eyelids, filling the night with an aural radiance that is akin to a raging bonfire.

Gadrian looks, listening as people run around and cry in new panic.

A deeply vivid, crimson orb, the size of a body, hovers in the air above the camp. Slowly, a form begins to materialize within it, taking the shape of a woman, wearing an elegant, perfectly woven gown of white threads.

The man’s eyes go wide as he stares up at the radiant star that hangs down low above their heads, so very far from the distant sky. The entity, clearly a being of divine grace, lifts her arms out to the sides in a beckoning gesture, drawing in the stares and the bodies of all of the thousand men and women in the camp.

Whispers spread through the air and are then cut silent, as the thing, the woman, the red messenger of the heavens, lifts a hand to silence them all.

This new silence hangs heavy over the camp. All of them stand in perfect, tense wordlessness, as if either about to receive an executioner’s sentence or a stay of fate.

She clears her throat and he finds himself standing up straight and tall, for fear of her looking down his way and finding him lacking in one of the many ways that he knows he himself is.

“— Okay. Listen up, you schmucks,” starts the being, hovering above their heads.

__________________________________________________

Isaiah

Isaiah floats there, with crossed arms.

Perhaps this plan, while well intentioned, was, indeed, poorly thought through?

It tilts its head, watching Red from the distance. She’s a little crude in her presentation, but it should be good enough.