Epic 250 (Patreon)

Hey wonderful folk, meant to post this yesterday, but my sleep schedule is a mess, but its here now!

Enjoy!

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https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Quf0L0zYhyx0sau8SRFtNcfbJxxNJZZCiodCzSBZcgE/edit?usp=sharing

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Delta tossed ‘Romero and Zombiet’ over her shoulder without looking, and the book landed with enough force to topple the entire heap behind her. The stack collapsed in a loud shuffle of bindings and loose pages that buried the already panicking Libro Golem. It fought its way upright, arms spinning as it tried to rescue books faster than Delta could remove them, its efforts only adding to the messy loop of falling and reshelving.

Warm candlelight bathed the library in a soft glow, making the high shelves seem endless. The flicker of each flame painted drifting shadows across the walls while Maestro, seated somewhere unseen, coaxed gentle piano notes into the air. The space felt peaceful, almost contemplative, which made the ongoing uproar feel strangely amplified. The only issue was…

“Hah! Silly Romero! He died too!” Jeb declared with glee as he clapped his massive hands, the thunderous smack blotting out the piano and sending several books quivering on their shelves.

Jeb had spent the day reacting to books with dramatic flair. He growled at tragic twists and scolded characters who made foolish choices, only to forget every grievance once the story reached a bright conclusion. Happiness washed over him the instant a problem was resolved. Harder themes never quite reached him. Isolation and heartbreak were ideas he understood only as vague shapes, because Delta had never allowed his life to come close to anything that resembled them.

It made Delta proud that her monsters had such lives, free of trauma or constant darkness. The drawback appeared only when practical needs came into play. Delta required Troll Oil from Jeb, and she would not harm him or frighten him to bottle it.

Delta folded her arms and considered the situation. She still had room to try things. Jeb responded well to encouragement, gentle surprises, and activities that brought out his natural energy

But her thoughts snagged on that train of ideas.

Jeb hadn’t experienced many things, too used to the slightly coddling grip of Fera and the third floor to crash into new sensations… so maybe that was the angle Delta could come at from?

Honestly, if this were not a quest, Delta could have made a vial of Troll Oil from pure mana, and nobody would have complained. It was entirely within her ability, and she had bypassed stranger requirements with less hesitation. 

She stood there, telling herself that tradition mattered, repeating it like a reminder she hoped would stick. 

Troll Oil came from trolls, and she needed to honour that, or at least act as she did. Delta believed in rules when they helped her feel organised, even if she rebuilt them whenever they became inconvenient. She took a steady breath, murmured that this was the proper way, and nudged herself to believe it.

After all, Delta didn’t break rules so casually!

…Most days.

---

An hour later, she rested against the tavern bar with a quiet sigh. Fera’s absence left the room feeling different, calmer in a way she could not name. Numb worked through a line of drinks while Nina danced between mirrored bar spaces, serving cocktails that drew travellers from distant towns. 

Delta watched heavily armoured adventurers sip through straws or swirl pastel liquids with absolute seriousness, their expressions caught somewhere between pride and embarrassment. The display brought a faint smile, though nothing softened the heaviness sitting beneath it.

She had her own sorrows to drink away.

Well, Sorrows was being dramatic, but it was a familiar feeling of trying to teach an earnest student but they simply didn’t grasp concepts or methods, making their best effort… but still falling short.

They weren’t bad students; Delta just felt she was stumped as a teacher, someone who should know the best way forward to reach Jeb.

“Lemon water, stiff,” Numb said, producing the glass before Delta, who downed it, letting the mana construct dissolve with a lemony aftertaste she savioured. The slight sourness and coolness were nice to enjoy, even if it faded quickly.

She still hadn’t figured out the right way to make mana stimulate senses, which made sense. Trying to get a dungeon mind to work human senses was like trying to get a particle microscope to take a wide shot at a wedding.

Possible, if you squinted and went insane.

“What’s getting you down?” Numb asked in a softer tone than usual, and Delta set her glass down with a solid thud that drew his full attention.

“Another glass first,” she muttered, and Numb moved quickly behind the bar, hands working with practised efficiency as he prepared another lemon water. The motion was fast but controlled, and within moments a fresh glass slid across to her.

“I need Troll Oil from Jeb, which means I need him to cry,” Delta said, curling her fingers around the cool surface. “I cannot find anything that moves him deeply enough to make that happen. I do not want to hurt his feelings or hurt him in general, so I have been trying to introduce him to new things instead.”

She paused there, staring into the faint shimmer of the liquid as if it might offer an answer.

“What did you try?” Numb asked, leaning forward onto the bar while his eyes flicked briefly toward the entrance to ensure Fera was not watching him linger.

“I considered asking Gnashly,” Delta replied, rolling the glass slightly between her palms, “but she is busy talking to her flower again. Then I went to Jellagon. He is the boss and wears different hats. I thought maybe one of those roles might push Jeb far enough.”

She lifted the glass and drank this time, letting the sharp citrus settle her.

“How did that go?” Numb blinked.

Delta took a slow sip of her water before answering.---

She had watched the entire attempt from a short distance away, arms folded loosely while pretending she was not observing every detail.

Jellagon sat at a small table while Jeb moved around him with complete dedication, carrying mugs he had collected from the kitchen. He arranged them carefully across the surface, making small corrections until he was satisfied.

“Tea for the king!” Jeb announced, lifting an invisible kettle and pouring into the first mug with exaggerated care.

From beneath the dragon skull resting on the table, a slimy tentacle extended and wrapped around the cup. Jellagon made a soft, approving sound as though tasting something refined rather than air.

Jeb nodded at the reaction and continued without hesitation.

“Tea for the lawyer! You make good laws and yers!” he declared, pouring into the next mug.

A second Jellagon sat beside the first, this one seated upright, a briefcase neatly at his side. He accepted the empty tea with solemn appreciation.

“Tea for the nurse! You kiss the owies away!”

More clones formed around the table as Jeb continued, all connected beneath the surface to the same central body. Each wore a different hat or accessory, each trembling faintly under the steady stream of praise. None of them looked embarrassed. If anything, they seemed deeply content.

Not a single one of them could bring themselves to put on a hat that would upset Jeb.

---

Delta lowered her glass.

“It did not go how I hoped,” she admitted, and there was a softness in her voice when she thought of the Third Floor boss that did not quite match his reputation some days. Jellagon had reduced more than a few adventurers to frantic retreats, yet when faced with Jeb, he seemed incapable of maintaining any kind of stern presence.

“Jellagon sounds fun. I don’t get to meet him besides the odd interactions through Maestro, but he seems fun,” Numb said, resting his weight against the bar.

Delta studied him for a moment before replying. For Numb, descending even a single floor came with consequences that others did not have to consider. The mana density increased steadily with depth, thickening the air until each breath carried resistance. One floor down, gravity felt heavier, movement slowed, and the environment demanded awareness.

Two floors down was another level entirely. The pressure pressed inward and outward at once, and the concentration of mana made the space feel compact, as though the world had drawn tighter around him. It was manageable only in short spans.

“He is,” Delta said, though her expression suggested the word covered a wide range of possibilities.

She lifted her glass again, remembering how thoroughly Jellagon had enjoyed the attention.

“Jelly can put on a 20-man act with just himself. He should be an actor or something in his downtime,” Delta said.

She thought about the third room and the ballroom she had built there after clearing out what had come before. The cult had dug a pit that descended into the Silence, and Delta hated it since she first saw it. It had been narrow, deliberate, and unpleasant in ways that lingered. 

Replacing it with something open and structured was one of the first changes she made once the space was hers.

A stage would be simple to add. A raised section near the back wall, enough room for dramatic pacing and exaggerated bows. Jellagon would not need a cast. He was already his own ensemble whenever the mood struck.

She could picture him moving between roles without pause while a handful of adventurers watched, trying to decide whether to applaud or keep their hands near their weapons. If she allowed participation on quieter days, some would step forward. Acting as a tree or a background guard might reduce their ‘guilt’ before facing Jellagon by enriching the performance!

The idea brightened her expression for a moment before she steadied herself.

Jeb remained the immediate problem.

Everything else could wait.

“So, Jellagon failed. Where did you go next?” Numb asked, polishing an already spotless mug with steady dedication. Fera would not tolerate a dirty mug in her presence, and that standard extended beyond glassware.

“I thought maybe quantity might work. So, I gathered some of the Guardgoyles. Vanguard, Dozer, and Dragon. Doctor was busy with something, so I hoped three different gruff monsters might work,” Delta admitted.

She caught the look on Numb’s face as he paused mid-polish, the expression suggesting he had already guessed how this had ended. Delta did not confirm it. She took another slow sip instead.

She had brought them together with some confidence. Three solid figures, each built from stone and stubbornness, each capable of intimidating most adventurers without raising their voices. It had seemed like a reasonable adjustment after the tea incident.

They had assembled in front of Jeb, arms crossed and serious expressions. At least, that had been the intention.---“No, no! See, I’m the best uncle cause I can do this!” Dragon insisted, leaning forward with intense concentration as his small draconic ears began to wiggle in tight, deliberate motions.

Jeb gasped softly and clasped his hands near his chest as though something extraordinary had just been revealed to him.

“Is that all?” Dozer demanded from nearby, his stocky form planted firmly as he crossed his arms with visible skepticism. He did not wait long for an answer. In one smooth motion, he tipped backwards, flipped, and caught himself on one hand with surprising balance.

“Your favourite uncle has to be me because look at this! One, two, three!” Dozer counted aloud as he pressed his entire body upward and lowered it again, each repetition steady and controlled.

The motion carried weight and discipline, stone grinding faintly against stone as he moved.

“I can’t do that!” Jeb said, eyes widening as though the simple fact transformed the display into something impossible.

Dragon froze mid-wiggle.

Dozer finished another push-up with extra force, riding the wave of Jeb’s admiration as though the approval alone added weight to the floor beneath him. Jeb’s gaze bounced between Dragon and Dozer with widening amazement, fully invested in the contest.

Delta shifted her attention to Vanguard, who had remained composed through the entire exchange. He was her last real hope of steering this in a useful direction. The stoic leader of the Guardgoyles stepped forward with steady confidence and raised his hands, the movement calm enough to suggest he was about to demonstrate something more controlled than the others had attempted.

Delta held her breath.

Vanguard pressed his hands together, adjusted his grip with subtle precision, and in one fluid motion folded one thumb out of sight while sliding the other across in a way that made it appear as though his thumb had separated completely and was drifting away from his hand. The illusion was simple but clean, presented without flourish.

Jeb gasped loudly, Dragon froze mid-ear twitch, and Dozer straightened from his stance as the trick registered. Vanguard restored his thumb just as smoothly and lowered his hands with deliberate calm, a faint smirk settling across his face.

There was no debate left.

He had claimed the title of coolest uncle.

---

“It turns out a lot of my monsters have incredibly soft hearts for the innocent and kind,” Delta said, her tone steady and unimpressed.

Numb flashed her a grin that carried entirely too much pride, and his heroic aura flickered briefly around him as though the statement had validated something deep and shining. For half a second, Delta imagined a prince or princess stepping out of thin air, or an Earth-born protagonist arriving with a tragic backstory and suspiciously good hair, being teleported there on the spot.

“We learn from the best,” Numb replied, clearly pleased with himself.

Delta rolled her eyes, though she could not quite keep the corner of her mouth from lifting. She raised her glass and took another drink, reminding herself that heroic lighting effects did not require narrative consequences.

Numb leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the counter, expression focused now that the story had reached a point of escalating solutions. “So, what did you try after that?” he asked.

Delta set the glass down and stared at the condensation for a moment before answering.

“Well, I thought while I was there, I might show the problem to Runilac…” she began, her voice fading slightly as she considered how that had unfolded.

---

“I want troll tears, not troll itself,” the smith said bluntly as he continued hammering at his current project, sparks jumping from metal to stone with each measured strike.

“But isn’t a whole troll worth so much more?” Delta asked, trying to follow the logic as Jeb crouched nearby, studying the doll assistant that Runilac kept close at all times. The doll lay prone on the work surface, its expression permanently neutral.

“Is a mountain worth more than the precious veins inside it?” the demon countered without pausing his rhythm.

Before Delta could respond, there was a sharp snapping sound that cut through the steady hammering. She turned just in time to see the puppet’s torso split open in a swift mechanical motion, clamping down around one of Jeb’s fingers with startling precision. The chest cavity unfolded to reveal blades, hooks, saws, and a clutter of other tools packed tightly within Robin the doll.

The display would have been more alarming if any of the instruments were capable of breaching troll hide, but even so, the image of Jeb’s finger lodged inside a mobile toolbox was difficult to ignore.

Jeb blinked at the situation rather than panicking.

“Don’t worry… she does that,” Runilac said calmly, not even glancing in their direction as he adjusted something on the anvil.

“Dolly bites. Dolly shouldn’t bite people,” he added after a moment, addressing the doll in the same tone one might use for a mildly disobedient pet.

The doll slowly released Jeb’s finger.

---

“I sort of ran out of options after that. So, I’m still trying to think of something,” Delta said, waving one hand loosely over the bar as though the solution might be hiding somewhere between the bottles.

Numb nodded in understanding and opened his mouth to offer a suggestion, but the back door swung open before he could speak. Fera stepped out of the rear room, looking as though she had walked through a minor catastrophe, and decided to keep the souvenirs. Burn marks streaked across her sleeves, dried mud clung to her boots, and she carried an armful of glowing bottles that shifted in colour depending on how they caught the light.

Each bottle pulsed faintly, holding substances that either should not have been contained or should not have existed in liquid form at all.

“Numb, you’re free. Get out of my bar and get a meal,” Fera barked without slowing, setting the bottles down across the counter with visible satisfaction. Numb did not argue. He slipped out from behind the bar with practised speed.

“Where were you?” Delta asked, blinking at the energy radiating from her.

Fera turned toward her with a savage smile that suggested she had been exactly where she wanted to be.

“Plundering yet untapped ideas. Hero sends his regards,” Fera said.

Delta stared at her.

Fera had been in the Secret Garden. Fera could get to the Secret Garden?! That realisation was alarming, and Delta was not sure which part of it required more attention.

Numb cheered as though this were the most reasonable announcement of the day and vaulted cleanly over the bar in one smooth motion. He headed straight for a nearby table where Slam-Poetry Nina was already watching with interest, ready to take his order. The clone waitress, it turned out, could deliver both pie and verse with equal measure, usually with a side of shade if someone gave her bother.

Delta dragged her attention back to Fera.

“You’re going to make cocktails from stuff in the Secret Garden?” she asked, choosing what felt like the most immediate concern.

“With stronger adventurers coming, the current inventory is losing effectiveness,” Fera replied while uncorking one of the glowing bottles to inspect its contents. “A few patrons walked out the other day, merely buzzed.” The word carried a level of offense usually reserved for grave mistakes.

She set the bottle down carefully.

“They should not be leaving upright,” she added, her tone carrying genuine dissatisfaction.

Delta glanced at the collection of luminous substances now occupying the bar and reconsidered what escalation might look like in liquid form.

Fera walked back through the kitchen without slowing, and Delta moved after her at once as she made for the elevator leading to the Third Floor.

“No one gave you trouble, right? Prim mostly looks over that area now,” Delta asked while following the goblin downward, keeping her voice steady despite the lingering concern.

“Pretty sure I was the trouble, but no, nothing we couldn’t handle,” Fera replied smoothly.

Delta let out a slow breath she had not realized she was holding. The Secret Garden was mostly stable, but it still had places where the rules felt thin, where space behaved in ways she did not fully trust. She did not like the idea of Floor Monsters wandering too freely in areas she could not predict.

When the elevator doors opened, Fera stepped out first and immediately fixed her gaze on the snoozing shape of Jeb sprawled nearby. Without hesitation, she nudged him firmly with the toe of her boot, and the troll rolled over with a startled sound before blinking up at her in confusion.

“Get up, you’ve got work to do! I can see you’ve been slacking off all day!” Fera announced.

Jeb lurched upright and snapped into a salute aimed at the wall before correcting himself and facing Fera with renewed focus.

“Jeb reporting for kitching duty!” he declared, posture stiff with effort.

“Prepare the Seagull Curry. It’s the special today, and don’t skimp on the vegetables like last time,” Fera said without hesitation.

Jeb sprang into motion, his movements fast and loosely coordinated as he hurried toward the kitchen. A pot rattled somewhere out of sight, followed by the sound of determined chopping that suggested enthusiasm had once again overtaken precision.

Fera seemed satisfied with the result and shifted her attention to the bottles she had gathered.

“I’ve been working on challenge shots,” she explained, lifting one so that its faint glow caught her eye. “The Secret Garden provided a number of effective spirit-crushing methods. I intend to adapt those. Essence of despair. Tincture of rejection. Vapour of stubbed toe.” Fera laughed dementedly to herself, clearly entertained by the concept.

Delta watched her sort the bottles and decided that lemon water remained the safest option available.

Suddenly, a smell filled the air as Jeb moved onto a key feature of the curry.

Jeb sniffed, his face wrinkling as the large onions in his grip were diced.

From the corner of one eye, a golden drop like thick oil gathered.

“I need a bottle!” Delta said, grabbing one of Fera’s bottles and emptying the substance inside into a nearby pot. The metal blackened and curled inwards as smoke rose from its corpse, forming a black skull in the air.

“Ah, well, I have more of that in the bag. I always bottle spares,” Fera said lightly.

Delta soon had bottle troll tears in hand, raising the bottle above her head in a single hand.

“Quest complete!” she cheered, and Runilac was right. This did feel more rewarding than simply making the tears.

“Stop posing in my kitchen.”

“Sorry, Fera…”