Epic 248 (Patreon)

Hey lovies, still a little sick, but got it done! Thank you all!

--https://docs.google.com/document/d/1QJn3LfUBjUMFneqRFOOUQ1vkJdBlXkQIiePyBCvqpuM/edit?usp=sharing---

“You’ll want to see the waters of eternal pain. It’s the best way to unwind after a trek through the wastes,” Hero said, nodding toward the simmering, orange-tinted pool near the jagged base of the ‘Cliff of Eternal Spiking Pain’. The yawning wall of jutting blades that looked like if something flew into it, they would not be flying away.

The pool sat squarely between the ‘Bog of Forever Stink’ and the ‘Fields of not-quite-warm-but-not-cool-either’, not far from the ‘Path of Unavoidable Pebbles in Shoes’.

Cois was starting to recognize a theme. 

Fera dipped a flask into the bubbling pool, carefully adding the orange sludge to her growing inventory of experimental samples she stored in the bag, each bottle holding some horrible concept or mind-shattering idea.

Just more ingredients for Fera to mix together in her bar.

Shaking his head, Cois knew the goblin she chose to taste her new drinks would have a very long afternoon. Fera watched the fluid settle, its color shifting from a burnt orange to a murky, bruised purple in the low light. She wiped the neck of the flask with a piece of scrap cloth before sliding it out of sight.

“Maybe a shot? No… a beer,” she mused to herself with dark delight.

Poor Goblin. Numb was most likely to be the drinker, always too cheerful to help.

Hero stood with his back to the heat, his posture open and relaxed as he waited for the others to finish their work.

Cois shifted his feet, trying to ignore the heat radiating from the ground. The entire region felt like a machine designed to wear down the spirit one small irritation at a time.

“Does Delta actually know this place looks like this? It’s a bit of a mess for someone with her design choices, you know… all nice and soft and hiding something terrifying,” Cois noted, lifting a foot as the predatory slug enlarged itself to swallow a boulder whole, shrinking back down after finishing its meal and gliding past him with a satisfied burp.

“Sort of? It’s difficult to explain, as Delta often can be, even to us,” Hero said, shaking his head.

Cois could describe Delta in three words, or even just one.

Chaotic.

“Think of her as a mind focused on the architecture of a house. This area is more like the air in the walls. It exists, but it’s a blind spot, much like how you don't actively see your own nose unless you try to. Prim and I keep the peace here so she never has to look,” Hero said, waving a hand to the world around them where massive beasts scuffled, but nothing ever seemed to get out of hand.

“You’re telling me there's an entire floor of ‘Rupert’ and similar beasts happening right under her nose?” Cois asked, his voice echoing flatly in the transition space.

“Delta is focused on the surface, the people. She handles the scale that would crush a normal mind. Nu planted the first roots in this gap, but Prim is the one who turned it into a testing ground. Those bizarre, lethal rewards she suddenly finds in her menu? Those are Prim’s quiet contributions, slipped into the system so slowly that Delta thinks they’ve always existed,” Hero explained, his tone reflecting a weary, professional respect for the deception. 

“The others also aren’t as strong as they act. This place is Delta’s Mana but refined to something almost like a physical vitamin. Once they leave, they won’t be able to remain as strong,” Hero added as if that was supposed to make Cois feel better.

Hero walked a few steps ahead, his steps leaving faint, glowing prints on the dark, ash-colored soil of the path. He didn't look back, his focus entirely on the shimmering boundary where the gray wastes met the next floor’s logic. A horizon of dark caves meshing unevenly with green jungle.

“Seems like a lot of work just to keep her in the dark. Don't you think she’d want to know what her own people are doing?” Fera asked, her voice echoing with a touch of genuine annoyance and protectiveness on Delta’s behalf.

“She deserves a peace we cannot provide if we are always leaning on her. We wish to be her answers to problems that won’t be settled peacefully, not her projects. Even Rupert, for all his faults, knows that we must be ready to stand when she needs us, not just when she's at peace,” Hero said, his tone firm and unyielding.

Cois was certain Delta would prioritize their happiness over most things, but that was on them to ask for it, Cois wasn’t here to be a therapist.

“We are potential raid bosses or last-measure answers. Those instincts require a friction that her kindness would only soften, making her try harder and us to feel worse. We stay in the gaps because the struggle is the only thing that makes us real,” Hero admitted, his shoulders squaring as he looked toward the next jagged ridge.

“Okay, you lot do whatever you want, I’m not here for the 'we’re all in this together' speech. I just want the local dragon,” Cois said, passing a cave that looked like it had been decorated by someone who really liked rocks but wasn't sure where they went. The sign outside it called it the ‘Cave of Caves’.

“The dragon? Oh, you mean Ophiuchus! Yes, he did live around here, but he’s moved to better prospects,” Hero said, sounding like a father talking about a son who had finally joined the family trade.

“Prospects?” Cois echoed doubtfully. “It’s a dragon, can they get promoted?”

“In a way. Delta gave him a bit more responsibility. He’s looking after a whole floor now,” Hero said with more pride.

“He’s a landlord?” Cois asked before he processed the words.

“He’s the Boss of the Fourth Floor. He’s the one who decides who’s been naughty or nice if they survive King Jellagon,” Hero recalled, looking quite happy. Hero leaned against a pillar of salt that was slowly dissolving in the humid air, looking every bit the proud relative at a graduation ceremony.

“The Star Eater?” Fera asked, her eyes darting toward the ceiling as if a cosmic maw might open at any moment.

Cois’ heart did a frantic little dance in his chest. An eater of divine plasma rifts?!

“Take me to the fourth floor. Immediately,” he insisted. Hero’s expression shifted from amusement to a gentle, fatherly worry.

“You’re a first floor resident, Cois. The weight down there would turn you into a very flat, very sad pancake,” Hero noted. He watched the younger monster for a beat, his mushroom hair flickering with a soft, orange rhythm.

“But Delta’s house is full of loopholes. I can bend the geometry enough for you to ‘lean’ in. It’ll feel like wearing a suit that’s three sizes too small, but you’ll get your talk,” Hero suggested. Cois narrowed his eyes.

“Why would you help me for nothing?”

“Because that’s the job description. Being a Hero means looking out for others,” the fungal giant said, his smile radiating an unshakeable, if slightly confusing, kindness. Hero’s smile was wide enough to be seen from the back of the room, or at least from the bottom of a very deep pit. He stood like a monster who had never encountered a problem that couldn't be solved with a bit of grit and a lot of spores.

“Is it far?” Cois asked, bracing himself.

“Not at all. We just skip through the Hall of Agony, traverse the Park of Never-Ending-Terror, and finish with the Hill of Itching,” Hero said, pointing at the landscape of persistent, minor suffering.

Fera’s excitement was palpable as Hero continued to list more potential detours if things went ‘odd’.

---

“A branch? For free? I’m not sure I even know what that word means,” Wyin said, her tone sharp and airy as she stretched her limbs, the sound of wood creaking filling the second floor boss room.

“It’s for Alpha’s new staff. He’s going to need a really good one and I’m hoping to help him,” Delta replied, her arms crossed lightly.

“The boy who finds a dinner invitation more threatening than even me?” Wyin remarked, looking completely uninterested in the idea.

“He’s talented, and you know it,” Delta said with a roll of her eyes. She had been warned by Runilac that the 'sweat and blood' of the journey would enhance the result because it was some sort of ‘quest’, but she suspected Runilac just wanted her to suffer a little for the payment.

A branch of Wyin freely given was her first task. Runliac somehow examined almost everything in Delta’s dungeon to the point he knew the inherent value of the things she had laying about more than Delta did. Thus, he knew the best wood for Alpha was from Wyin’s tree.

Something about a godly magic tree that bathed in potent dungeon magic and blessed by an archdruid.

The 'freely' requirement was the sticking point and the whole point Delta hadn’t just plucked one as rent or something.. Wyin gave Delta a look that was entirely void of interest, her wooden roots digging into the dirt with a slow, grinding pressure that sounded like teeth on bone. 

She sat with the haughty, effortless poise of a creature that knew its own value and saw no reason to make life easy for anyone else, Delta or not.

“What’s the bribe today?” Delta asked, skipping the pleasantries.

“I am a creature of refined tastes, not a merchant,” Wyin lied, her eyes sparkling with anticipation. 

“Do you want a bigger boss room?” she tried and Wyin scoffed.

“Those lies about bigger being better are just that, lies. Do better,” Wyin encouraged with a growing smile. Delta thought about it for a moment.

“More power in the FIshgeon? You’ve lost a few battles,” Delta recalled and Wyin’s smile turned frigid.

“No thank you, I shall have revenge on those walking bags of flesh and screams after they set the ocean on fire. Clever, but I am not a tree to fool twice,” she muttered darkly.

If not pride… and not revenge…

Delta shook her head, snapping her fingers to pull a statue of Fran and Bacon out of the living rock set in one of the walls, the space forming an alcove in which the statue settled in.

Wyin’s fan stopped moving, gazing at the stoic form with blank expression. Delta wondered if it was too much or if she pushed the wrong bribe.

“The helmet is unnecessary,” she noted casually, too calm to hide how her leaves turned from a cool green to a shimmering mix of brown and red. Delta altered the statue with a thought, feeling like she had been worried about the wrong thing..

“And the sleeves. They’re hiding the… craftsmanship.”

The vambraces vanished, leaving Fran’s chiseled arms on full display. 

“And that breastplate is so bulky-”

Delta covered her ears.

“That’s enough for you!” she warned, turning so her back was to Wyin to prevent sad eyes or pleading.

“And they call me heartless,” Wyin murmured, though her eyes were glued to the stone like she was trying to memorize every ripple.

“You know my weaknesses too well. It’s a tragedy, really,” she said, a large, silver-barked branch falling from her canopy to the grass below.

“I’ll need to host a viewing. Devina and Lizzie simply must see this,” Wyin whispered, already planning the guest list while Delta beat a hasty retreat. The branch was remarkably heavy, its surface covered in a fine, silvery moss that felt like silk against Delta’s palms. She hauled the wood toward the exit, listening to the muffled sounds of Wyin debating whether the statue needed a more dramatic lighting arrangement.

“One thing done, two more to go!” Delta cheered, feeling like she was completing her very own quest. The next thing she needed was refined ‘troll oil’. Runilac insisted it was the best varnish in all the lands as entropy itself would be unable to stomach breaking whatever covered it.

Delta didn’t know about that, but an unfathomable unbearable liquid sounded a lot like troll soup, so Delta drifted down toward the third floor. 

She passed the world map as she went, watching it sharpen as her mana stayed threaded through the Dungeon Network. Plenty of older dungeons still sat untouched along the edges. She kept meaning to reach out, but each time she hovered over one of those points, she found herself moving on instead.

New born dungeons were one thing, but the old established ones had… intensity to them. They didn’t seek her out, and Delta got a hint there was some resentment brewing.

But Nu had promised to take care of it.

Delta redirected and glided into the east tunnel toward the caves. She slowed when Gnashley came into view, the female troll standing beside a small metal flower, calmly talking through the pros and cons of long range burning tar artillery versus sandpaper coated punching gloves. Delta angled closer, ready to ask what was going on, then hesitated mid float.

Gnashley didn’t look irritated or guarded. Her posture was loose, her voice steady, like this was a conversation she was enjoying.

Delta let herself drift past and turned toward the troll cave that handled respawns. Jeb wasn’t there, which narrowed things down quickly. If he wasn’t here, she already knew where he’d gone and adjusted her course without stopping.

It didn’t take long for her to drift into the small side kitchen attached to the Free Heal Hall. The moment she opened the door, she nearly floated straight into a stack of grilled cheese sandwiches, close to a dozen plates laid out with care. Every one of them looked good at a glance. Toasted bread, melted cheese, the right colour, the right smell, the kind that usually meant someone was proud of their work.

Something still felt off.

Delta hovered closer and picked one up from the top of a neatly stacked pile, turning it slowly in her hands. The cheese looked right. Two slices of bread, evenly toasted. A square shape, neat and familiar.

Then she turned it again.

Her eyes started to ache as she counted.

Five corners.

She rotated it once more, slower this time, adjusting her angle as if that might fix it. It was still a square. Flat sides, straight edges, no warping. And yet, no matter how she looked at it, there were five distinct points where there should only have been four.

That didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like it was a pentagon sandwich, it was a square!

She lowered the sandwich and rubbed at her eyes, then glanced back at the plates. Once she noticed it, she couldn’t unsee it. Nearly every grilled cheese on the counter had the same problem, each one wrong in its own quiet way, like the mistake had been copied carefully.

“Jeb?” she called, setting the sandwich down and covering her eyes, already certain she’d found exactly where he’d gone.

Near the back, where a blazing fire erupted out of one of the stovetops, Jeb prepared another sandwich with thick oven mitts, staying away from the open flame with a what looked like a metal mask with a glassy visor he made from scratch, looking oddly like a welder’s mask of all things.

“Ma!” he called back, covered by a thick layer of melted cheese that coated one side of his body, looking like a second skin that bubbled menacingly.

“What are you doing?” Delta asked after a moment as Jeb tried to remove his mask, but the cheese on his hand stuck to it, making him pull the whole thing off when it became clear it was now glued to his hand.

“Miss Fera said I had to practise this ‘easy cheesy’ dish until I stop ‘making my brain leak’,” he recited faithfully and held up another charming plate of grilled cheese that had five corners.

“Why are they shaped weird?” Delta had to ask.

“Old habit, troll sandwiches have three breads and extra crusts,” Jeb said sheepishly.

Troll cuisine was interesting. Horrifying, but interesting.

Delta floated by the mind melting sandwiches until she stood by Jeb.

“Do you know what Troll Oil is?” she asked and Jeb blinked.

“Yeah! That's the rarest ingredient of any troll meal! Well, aside from toenails,” Jeb murmured to himself. Delta chose to ignore that last bit and leaned in.

“Can I have some? It’s for Alpha! The nice human who moves about,” she prompted and Jeb blinked.

“Can’t just make oil on demand,” he said apologetically. Delta tilted her head and frowned.

“How do you make oil?” she questioned, wondering if Runilac had sent her on something more dangerous than Delta first anticipated. Jeb thought about it.

“I see something that makes my chest feel heavy and my nose to leak and when it keeps happening, oil leaks from my eyes!” Jeb explained happily.

“Those are tears, Jeb,” Delta said slowly.

“Tears are soft, Troll Oil thick and melts stones,” Jeb said sagely.

“So, you just need to feel sad or really happy?” Delta mused and looked at Jeb.

“What makes you sad?” she tried, hoping for an easy answer of cheese sandwiches being tossed into a fire.

“Nuthing! I am so happy with Miss Fera and Mama Delta!” he beamed.

Delta took that as a challenge.

“Come Jeb, the library awaits us and the hoard of tomes filled with tales both age appropriate and emotionally stirring!” she called, feeling excitement grow. A good cry was very worth it after a good movie or book!

Sure, the titles were different, but Delta was sure ‘Muffet’s Web’ and ‘The Bridge to Teragiant’ would still work.

The Velveteen Hare?