FINAL CORE - Chapter 77: The ruby sky (Patreon)

2 new scenes added to chapter 66 with some adventurers and with Black

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/54046/final-core-a-holy-dungeon-core-litrpg/chapter/1003010/chapter-66-the-ruby-tinge-of-heartblood-runs-through 

__________________________________

I disagree.

I disagree with the voices that say that we live inside of the breast of the machination of carnage.

Yes, blood is spilled day in and day out in order to fuel our lives. Yes, people die every single day in the dungeons, hundreds of them across the world.

— But what does this process result in?

It results in full stomachs.

It results in beds to sleep in at night, surrounded by loved ones we can keep warm.

It results in the glow of every smile you see outside, in the shine of every warm summer’s day that radiates in through the windows of your stay, in the warm crunching of bread as we sit to eat our meager meals, surrounded by people and faces who are anything but.

This process isn’t one of gore and destruction.

It is one of fertilization.

Yes, mourn the dead who died to give us this bounty; wail for them.

— But don’t forget what they hold up to us to take from down in their graves.

To not do so, to not cherish the fruits of their grim labor, would be a disservice to all of their sacrifices.

~Former Finance minister of the nation, Svetch Baldko, during his inaugural speech upon accepting his new position

_________________________________________________

Azaza

Female, Orc, Classless (Child)

Location: The town outside of the tower

Azaza sits beneath the tree, staring up towards the tower as the sky glows alight with the colors of rainbows that she has never seen the likes of before.

The little town comes to a stop as hundreds of eyes rise up towards the spectacle.

It’s been days now since she and her friend got trapped up here, on the island.

They had come up the staircase, even if they weren’t supposed to, and now there’s no way back down.

— Her stomach growls.

The girl is distracted from the incredible sight of the heavens by something much simpler.

They haven’t had any food in a couple days.

The people here in the town aren’t that nice. They tried asking for a handout once, but the dwarf who they asked yelled at them and chased them out of his store. They haven’t been brave enough to try since, even if they can smell fires roasting meats and stews boiling with berries and tubers that the people harvest from the island.

— They can’t do that.

There are monsters in the forest, and she’s just a child with no class. The two of them are too young to fight anything here. So they’re stuck in this town, but there’s nothing for them to do.

She leans back against the tree, watching the sky.

Should they try to steal something to eat?

The girl looks over to the side, to her friend. He’s younger than she is and she is the one who dragged him up here, even if they were forbidden from coming here again. He’s just sleeping the hunger away. But that won’t work forever.

A shadow blocks her view of the tower.

Azaza looks up at the silhouette hovering over her. It’s an elf, wearing a priestess’ robes. She smells like birds, though.

“Here,” says the priestess, holding out a bowl of what looks like a heavy soup, full of thick slices of vegetables and mushrooms. “You’re hungry, right?”

Azaza blinks and looks at her and then at the food.

— Without thinking, she grabs the bowl and starts drinking from it.

“Would you like to leave?” asks the woman, letting go of the bowl.

Azaza stops and then lowers the bowl, looking at her. After a second, she turns and nudges her sleeping friend, holding the bowl his way.

— He dives at it, much the same way that she did.

The girl looks up at the priestess. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you a second one and then we’ll get you home, okay?”

“Who are you?” asks Azaza.

The woman shakes her head. “I’m just a follower of Isaiah,” says the woman, sliding a lock of light hair back behind her ear. “Sorry it took so long,” she says, holding a hand out to help the girl up. “Even the gods aren’t perfect.”

— Azaza finally loses her calm and breaks down, crying, as one would expect a child of her age to have done a while ago already, as she grabs the priestess so that she can't escape on her word.

_____________________________________

Isaiah

They watch from above as Scion escorts the children away.

“You know, I need Scion to feed the monsters,” says Red. “I mean… humans are monsters and all, but it’s not what was intended when I made her schedule.”

Isaiah hovers in the sky, looking down towards the island. “Red, they are children,” begins Isaiah. “For me, constrain your cruelty this once. Please do not ever give me cause to have to think less of you,” it says. “It would hurt my heart.”

Red sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose for a while, her shoulders drooping. “You know that I mean it when I say that I want to kill every last human, right?” she asks. “I’m not being sarcastic or dramatic or edgy. It’s literally my deepest wish.”

“And why is that?” asks Isaiah.

“What…?” Red looks around the world before looking back at Isaiah. “Why is that?” she asks incredulously. “Is that a serious question?”

“It is,” affirms Isaiah.

“Really? After everything that’s happened? You don’t think that you can begin to try to understand why I would want them all to die?” she asks, placing her hands on her hips and leaning in towards Isaiah.

Isaiah looks back at her. “Oh. I understand, Red,” says Isaiah. “I truly understand why you would come to that exact desire.” It instinctively holds out a hand for her to land on. However, it realizes, after its quick moment of thoughtlessness, that she is far too large to do so now. Instead, it looks down at its now open palm and curls its taloned fingers closed. “— I just do not understand why you would keep it still after all the goodness that we have also seen.” Isaiah shakes its head. “Can there really never be peace in your heart?”

“No,” replies Red, getting straight to the point. “Fuck them. And it doesn’t matter how poetic a speech you give, as good as they are,” says the uthra. “I’m not changing my mind.”

“…I see,” says Isaiah, watching its fingers glisten in the light from the sky above.

A hand places itself on top of its closed fist.

It’s quiet for a moment.

“— I didn’t get what you got, okay?” says Red, breaking the silence. Isaiah lifts its head, looking at the uthra, who is hovering there awkwardly with stiff shoulders, staring off into the distance somewhere far away to the east. “When the thing that you loved got taken from you, you got to have your whole spiel here. I mean, look,” says Red, gesturing down at the massive tower surrounded by life abundant with her other hand. “Fuck me, right? You got to see your chicks get born and grow and leave and blah blah blah — a big old happy ending for floppy-winged chirp-chirp Isaiah, right?” she asks. Her fingers clench down tighter. With her other hand, Red spins back towards Isaiah, pointing at herself with her thumb as she glares. "Well, not all of us get that, okay?!” she snaps. “Some of us just get bent over by the universe, so let me have this without giving me a lecture every time!” barks Red. “— This is all that I have left.”

Isaiah tilts its head. What an odd situation.

Red does have a point. She is correct that it had been given a rare gift that most of the sufferers of this world never receive — redemption of heart.

“Anyways,” begins Red. She pulls her hand away and crosses her arms. “Listen. I think something’s up with the homunculi,” she says. “I’m sure something is fucky, but I can’t place my finger on it.”

Isaiah nods. “Red,” it says. “They are monsters of my control. I do not believe that they would be…” It stops for a moment. “— ‘fucky’.”

Red shakes her head. “No, hear me out,” she says. “I’ve been flying around and watching them, but every time I look or try to spy on them, they’re doing exactly what they’re supposed to be doing!” Isaiah tilts its head, watching her with worry in its eyes. “— I know! I know…” says Red, seeing its confused look as she looks back over her shoulder.

“Red,” repeats Isaiah. It places a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m not paranoid, okay?!” asks Red. “I know they’re up to something, those squirrelly fucks! And if they are, your humans aren’t spilling the beans,” she accuses. “They know. I’m sure of it. They’re up to something.”

Isaiah sighs. “Red,” says Isaiah again. “I accept and understand your reasoning for your anger,” says Isaiah. “But this new process of your thoughts troubles me even more.”

“Just look!” says Red, spinning around and swiping its arm off of her shoulder. “Use your zappy bird eyes and look at what Beulah is doing RIGHT NOW!” she snaps. “Please!”

Isaiah stares at her desperate expression and then closes its eyes, not able to say ‘no’ to that look.

______________________________________

Beulah stands in the corridor of the shrine on floor eighteen and sweeps with the broom with a bored look in his eyes.

Isaiah switches its vision, looking through the eyes of one of the homunculi in the shrine.

____________________________________

The shrine-maiden stands there, perfectly still. Her eyes are blank and void, and she stands in front of a wall, staring at it from several inches away without moving or shifting in any manner at all.

It’s like she’s as much a piece of the house as any beam or door present there.

Isaiah opens its eyes.

_____________________________________

It shakes its head. “Red. Things are exactly as they ought to be.”

“Horseshit!” yells the uthra. “I can smell fuckery all the way up here!” she shouts, clenching her fists.

Isaiah lifts a hand, stopping her. “Red. For you, I will speak to Beulah and the others myself. I will go and look at the Homunculi myself.” It looks at her in concern. “But why is this such a serious topic now all of a sudden?” it asks. Isaiah looks her over. “Is it because they, the homunculi, are like humans?”

“I… - shut up!” says Red, rubbing her face. “It has nothing to do with that!” She points at herself. “You’re just floating there, thinking I’m babbling a bunch of crap,” says Red, pointing at herself. “But I’m the one trying to keep this place safe, because you aren’t going to do what needs to be done!”

Isaiah looks at her furious expression, which certainly signals anger and hurt, but also confusion. This topic means a lot to her.

Ah.

It thinks that it sees now.

It sees now the reasoning for Red’s particular zest for life, to phrase it kindly. Her intense hatred for the humans, this new thing with the homunculi who resemble them – they likely all stem from the same place.

“Thank you, Red,” says Isaiah, grabbing and holding her in an embrace as its hand runs consolingly over her back.

“Ah, sheesh, really?” asks Red. “Gross. Can’t you just… yell at me?” she asks. “I'd prefer it if you'd just yelled at me.”

“Next time,” says Isaiah, feeling a warm face press itself against the bottom of its shoulder.

It looks down at the world around them, at this little slice of it that they have managed to make. Yes, it is ‘Isaiah’s’, in the sense that it was the thing that became the spark for all of this. But that spark was nursed and tended to by Red, first and foremost.

And this is where the intensity of her concerning new nature might perhaps stem from. The fact that this place, itself, the people, the tower, everything and all of it is now, for the second time in her existence ‘all that she has left’.

And this new thing can be taken away very quickly, just as the old thing was.

“Thank you for doing what I do not have the strength to do,” says Isaiah. “When the hour comes when blood must be spilled, which I am not strong enough to draw, then I will depend on you, Red.”

“S- shut up!” barks a voice from in front of itself, and Isaiah feels something bite its body.

An oddity.

But not everybody knows what to do in such situations.