FINAL CORE - Chapter 79 (Patreon)

The RR release of chapter 69 today has had a MASSIVE increase in length. It is over twice as long as the patreon alpha chapter was.

Please go and read it if you're following FC, or you will be missing out on a lot!

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/54046/final-core-a-holy-dungeon-core-litrpg/chapter/1008415/chapter-69-the-glory-of-the-name-of-isaiah-spreads

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“What the hell do you think evil is?

Do you think there’s some, garish, brazen entity out there, lurching through the shadows and snatching up children from their beds at night?

Well, there is.

Do you think that there’s some fuck-face out there, running through the streets with a knife, killing and stabbing indiscriminately at night?

You bet your sweaty cheeks there is.

Do you wonder if there’s a horrific, screaming maw of an entity that lives submerged in the total void of lovelessness that shambles, creeping and crawling with more teeth than there are stars for supple, soft bones to bite and gnaw on?

– Because that’s real too.

But what’s also real is the corruption of men, denying food from the mouths of the hungry. What’s also real is the strike of one person across the face of someone they claim to love, within the confines of their four walls. What’s out there together with you in the skittering darkness doesn’t have to be some abstract monstrosity. No, it’s not out there outside of you. It is you, jackass.

Get your shit together and stop making things worse!”

~ A motivational speech, heard being recited by the Sin-Eater of the Demon-era, while pointing at a mirror.

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[Kalinii]

Human, Female, Fighter Advanced Class - Fencer

Location: Floor Fifty-One

Raging winds surround Kalinii as she stands out on the exterior of the tower, the fabrics of her loose pants billowing up past the tight bounds of the thin, knee-high leather boots she’s wearing. Her hair, tied back in a tight knot, holds stiff, apart from the few strands of it that drifts past her eyes in the heavy winds, as if pretending to be harpies on the edge of her vision.

— Something screeches, interrupting the giggling winds, and she spins, her thin, rapier blade cutting through the air.

(Kalinii) has used: [Pattern Thrust {Chrysanthemum}]

A pattern emerges in the air behind her, her arm moving by itself seemingly as her silver-threaded sword thrusts outward, encapsulated by a magical illusion of dozens more appearing next to it.

The screeching harpy that had dived her from above, flies straight into all twelve swords at once.

[Whitefeather Harpy] has taken {72 (6 x 12)} damage!

[Whitefeather Harpy] has been killed.

The blades vanish as she turns to look back ahead of herself, the dead harpy dropping down into the distance as dozens more circle above their heads. Floor fifty-one of the tower, after the boss-fight on floor fifty, is an odd change. It’s a staircase that moves out along the exterior of the tower’s body, wrapping around the cylindrical tower’s body. There is no railing, leaving only a horrific drop down below.

— Something giggles. She turns her head, trying to identify the source.

“Come on!” calls her party-member from up ahead, already a few steps higher than she is. They’re about halfway there.

Kalinii holds her sword ready and runs after them, rising up a few steps.

— Her boot shifts.

Kalinii looks down at the brick that her foot is on, resting just a little lower than all of the other bricks in the staircase.

The brick giggled; a mischievous pair of eyes looks out of the stone for an instant.

An instant later, Kalinii screams as the break breaks open and a maw with jagged, sharp teeth clamps down on her shin, holding her tight.

[Mimic] has bit (Kalinii) for {11} damage!

Applied status: [Broken Leg], [Grappled]

The ground shifts as the brick that she’s standing on and that has bit her slides free from its confines, falling straight down through the free-floating staircase and taking her with it as they both hurtle towards the distant ground below.

(Kalinii) has died.

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Applied status: [Mercy]

The woman hurtles out of the dungeon’s front gate, tumbling over herself rather gracelessly.

— Cheers come out from the sides of the tower’s entrance and the road below.

Kalinii sits upright, blowing the strands of her ruined hair out of her face as she looks at the crowd below, who return to their business in the town that has begun to form here, outside of the tower.

They call this the ‘roll of shame’.

Every time someone dies in the tower and they fly out, it’s always a rather graceless experience — like being thrown out of a tavern for being too drunk and rowdy. Most often, people will tumble over each other if it's a whole group, or if it's just one person, at least roll a little.

For some reason, when this place was starting, the other groups would sarcastically cheer when another adventuring party failed their attempt to rib their competition. This developed so far into a social tradition of sorts that now everybody cheers when anybody flies out of the dungeon.

She sighs, getting up and looking at her leg as she hobbles down the staircase. Her party will need a little bit more time.

As for her leg. It’s not broken. She’s not really dead. But it still hurts. Not in her body, but in her mind, which doesn’t forget the very fresh, very painful memory.

Kalinii holds a hand against the white stone railing of the tower staircase as she makes her way down into the town. Maybe she’ll go to the hot-springs and then buy some dinner?

She pats her bag. She still has all of her loot.

“Thanks Isaiah,” says the fencer, sarcastically rolling her eyes.

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[Gadrian]

Human, Male, Swordsman

Location: The northern edge of the island

Gadrian wanders the edge of the island, his men walking behind him as they patrol the forest.

“— Here’s one!” calls a voice from the side. Gadrian turns his head to look at his man, who points over to a clearing. He walks over towards it, looking inside. Here is a plant — a most unusual plant, the likes of which he’s never seen before in all of his years of military travel, at least not before today.

Today, however, this is his fourth one.

They need eight.

[Quest]

Deepsoil Glow

Difficulty: Challenging

Description: Rare plants grow in the strange magics of the island. Their cores are needed for alchemical purposes. Tread cautiously, as they are deadly creatures.

Objective: Collect {08} [Bulbous Core]s from the rare Hyabulbous flowers, found along the northern edge of the island.

Reward: Choice: 75 x [Obols] || [Golden Feather Talisman]

“Great work,” says Gadrian, setting his bag down and pulling out his sword. The men at his side ready their pikes.

The three men approach a tiny, dainty flower with deep, rich purple petals and healthy green leaves that are whisper thin.

As they approach, the vibrations of their steps trigger a movement in the flower.

The ground erupts, the small, delicate thing ripping out of the soil that had been hiding its intricate, deep root network of thousands of glowing, small, bulbous orbs.

They got a quest from Isaiah to hunt these today. Isaiah always gives them work, quests of various nature that keeps their hands and bellies full.

He can’t help but notice, though, that every day, the quest has them explore a little more of the island, and that only he and his troop of fellow soldiers get to do them. The normal adventurers don’t get these specific quests.

If he didn’t know better, he’d say that they’re secretly being trained to know the island and all of its locations under the guise of menial labor.

[Hyabulbous]

A Hyabulbous.

Hyabulbi are rare, exotic plants that are only found in extremely pure stretches of quiet forestland. They collect large amounts of passive, ambient magic from the world, storing them in bulbous, orb-like growths beneath the soil. They will use these as reserves for hard seasons of life, when such things grow sparse.

Hyabulbi are extremely sensitive to disturbances in their close vicinity and will become exceptionally violent toward anyone who encroaches too closely to them, using an array of HOLY spells to defend themselves despite being fully stationary entities.

They are extremely weak to physical attacks and have resistance to ranged and magical spells; however, given their defensive, repelling nature, they are very difficult to approach.

They bridge the gap between plant and monster.

HP: 19/19

SOUL: 107/107

It’s good to have some honest work.

Gadrian says a quiet thanks to Isaiah under his breath, and they move in forward to make their mark.

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Scion

Female, Elf, Priestess

Location: The tower, her home upon the roost

Scion sits down in her room, kneeling in prayer as she often does, outside of her duties to feed the monsters and clean the odd arena here and there.

— There is a knock on the door behind her.

The elf blinks, looking over her shoulder in mild confusion. Nobody ever knocks on her door. “Coming,” says Scion, walking to the door. She cautiously opens it, peering out to see the dark-elf, Rorate, standing there. “Oh! Hello!” greets Scion. “Is there work?”

“Hey,” says Rorate, leaning to the side and looking past her, inside the home.

It’s quiet for a moment.

“– Oh! Uh.” Scion steps to the side, holding the door open. “Would you like to come inside?” asks the elf, awkwardly, scratching her cheek and looking into her home. It’s small, but well furnished in a cozy way that makes the best use of the limited space. But she likes it this way. Large rooms like the arenas and all are fine to work in. But she prefers something tight to live in. It’s a place where it can’t all get away from you.

“Thought you’d never ask,” says Rorate, walking in and elbowing her lightly in the ribs. Scion nervously laughs, rubbing the spot.

“So, what’s up?” asks Scion, standing by the open door. “Is something the matter?”

“Huh?” Rorate sits down at a chair by the table, looking at her and tilting her head. “No,  why?”

“Oh, nothing; I just wasn’t expecting you to come by, is all. I was just praying.”

“That really is your favorite thing, huh?” asks Rorate. Scion nods. “We’re friends, aren’t we?” asks the dark-elf. “Can’t we just hang out?” She looks around the room.

Scion blinks, staring for a confused moment as the word rings through her head.

She worked with people, lived with people, trained with people, and fought with people. As a priestess, she is used to being around people all day and every day as part of her work. She heals them to earn her keep, under usual circumstances, at least.

But these are all transactions of a mercantile nature. They are survival-based.

‘Friends’? The word rolls through her head for a while, back and forth as she stares at Rorate, who seems to have an even more confused expression than she does at her idle, quiet staring.

“– You wanna pray together?!” asks Scion excitedly.

“We could,” says Rorate, laughing. “Oooor -”

“Or?” asks Scion, unsure of where this is going.

Rorate pulls out a small box and shakes it. “Or, we could eat these garbage street snacks I bought down at the town, do each others’ hair, and gossip about the others? Eh?” She shakes the box. “Then after that, we’ll go to the hot-springs and stay there until Red yells at us.”

“… Is that…” Scion looks around herself, unsure. “- Is that what Isaiah wants us to do?”

“Yes,” replies Rorate with full confidence, not missing a beat.

“R… really?” asks Scion, unsure.

“What does your heart say?” asks Rorate. Scion pauses for a moment. Rorate lifts her finger, setting the box down on the table, so that she can better emphasize her lecture. “Isaiah tells us that the brief seasons of life are meant to be enjoyed. Hard work is good, but a decade spent nurturing an apple-tree is bitter if you never get to eat any of its fruit.”

Scion, fully convinced, feels her face glow alight as a bright, warm smile comes to her. She leans out of the front door, waving to the very, very big tree on the other side of the roost. “Thanks, Isaiah!” calls the priestess, then shuts the door behind herself as she excitedly tries to figure out what exactly having a friend means.

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Isaiah

Isaiah turns its head, looking at the door to Scion’s home that had just closed from up on its roost. Its hand is on the head of Orange, who is laying over the branch, scratching her hair. The twitchy uthra, who is usually hyper-active and unable to sit still for long, compromises by keeping her head still but by lifting her legs into the air and kicking back and forth.

“The hell was that?” asks Red, sitting on another branch, swinging her legs. The other uthra are here too, all of them dotting the very-big-tree like colorful ornaments.

All of them sit and watch the sun set far over the distant horizon at Isaiah’s behest, its crimson rays peaking up towards the hazy sky, like the fingers of a hand waving goodbye.

“It is what life is all about, Red,” says Isaiah. It turns back to look at the sunset. “Ah, watch. This is my favorite part.”

“Chief,” says Red from the side. “It looks just like it did a second ago. It’s the sun. It does this every day.”

“Shh!” shushes a voice from above. Black. “Don’t ruin it, Red. I’m trying to watch the sunset.”

“Did you just ‘shh’ me?” asks Red.

“Oh, look!” says Gray.

“What?” asks Red, squinting as she turns back to stare at the sunset too. “It looks exactly the same as before!” she says. “You people are messing with me, right?”

“Wow…” says Crystal in a hushed breath. He looks over to Red. “Come on. Give it a chance, Red.”

Red sighs, loosening her expression as she stares off towards the sunset in the distance, as it lowers itself further and further. All of them together watch the world change and bring the end of another day that had once been new. It had brought a lot with itself – this day. People felt hurt, despair, and pain; they felt excited, heartfelt pride in their existences, and they felt a rare, confusing glimmer of joy in this odd life. Everything from horrific anguish to the breadths of ecstasy had been experienced today by someone, somewhere in the world.

All that anyone can do in the face of this is to simply treasure the moments of the present, brief as they are.

Isaiah turns away from the sunset for a moment as the only one to do so, now looking at Red, who has quieted.

She, too, simply stares off into the distance, watching the spectacle of life unfold, having seen what she is meant to have seen in it, within the confines of her own definition of this matter. What she sees in the sunset is only for her to know.

— Isaiah turns back towards the sunset, somewhat ashamed of its own deceit.

It had only pretended that the sunset was what it wanted to see together with them all.

What they do not know, however, is that this view of them is the prize it has secretly won today.