Chapter 167 (Patreon)

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The Creator, Occupied Atlantis, The Kalenic Sea

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When the Crusaders made their first attempt to escape The Cuck Box, it was the early hours of the morning on the surface and throughout the dungeon. Not that it particularly mattered in the permanent night of the Fifth, but what did matter was how much prep time they'd given me. Hours. Hours, I tell you! And whoo-boy, with enough prep time, I could do anything.

Their breakout started with a wall of fire erupting from the suddenly open door, immolating the fungal zombies right in front of it. The sheer mass of fungal flesh prevented the fire from travelling far, however. The second spell, a cone of icy mana, followed on the fire's embers. It rapidly froze over the newly-ashed zombies and slowed the merely burned. The Indian Fire Mage/Hero stepped out into the hall, fire dancing in his golden-red irises as he thrust his hands out. Two enormous pillars of flame spread down both sides of the hall, unfocused but packed with enough power to clear a foothold.

The Ice Templar joined him, raising ice walls to fully block the hallways right up to the arched ceilings. Shadow Golems rushed down to slash at the mages, while Stone Golems reached up from the floor to trap them. The Third person to leave the Cuck box was Mr Laser Eyes, who, true to form, immediately annihilated the Shadow Golems with his pure energy beams. The Ice and Fire mages, obviously expecting the grabby stone hands, rose into the air on a short pillar of ice. The ice spread from the bottom of the column to cover the entire floor, blocking the Stone Golems from moving through it without issue.

More and more Crusaders filed through the doorway, preparing for the next push. Under the Ice mage's direction, one of the ice walls thickened significantly. She had to stop every so often to heal growing cracks in the floor as the stone golems attempted to break through. The leader, the Templar with the dungeon core in his armour, made a few swift, short hand signs. Before he could finish giving his orders, the other Ice wall broke under the assault of hundreds of fungal zombies, including all their variants.

A dozen Spitters did as they were named and lobbed a potent life-infused acid into the back rows. Tanks and Bloaters pushed against the quickly formed wall of swords and armour. The Bloaters used their sheer bulk and mass as weapons, and the Tanks their ablative fungal armour. Slashers, the smallest of the variants, ducked under and around their fat front-line, darting in to cut at legs and hamstrings with their sharpened metal-infused blade arms. Smokers coughed out their signature Darkness-Fire spell, a choking black smoke that seared and burned any non-fungal flesh it touched. Runners leapt over the tanks and Bloaters, limbs outstretched to knock down as many Crusaders as they could. This was all on top of the 'normal' fungal zombies behind the tanks, pushing and adding their mass and momentum.

As abrupt as the assault was, it was one the Crusaders had also prepared for. They were all wearing the water-breathing helmets, which seemed also to keep out smoke. Mages on the back-line kept the Slashers and Runners from causing any appreciable damage, and counter-artillery'd the Spitters with magical shields and their own elemental spells. The melee fighters and tanks held up remarkably well, using their enchanted weapons, shields and armour with a terrifying adeptness. When the other ice wall was sufficiently thick, and the floor ice was properly hardened, the Ice mage rejoined the fight, and the crusaders actually started to push.

With only one front to worry about, the Crusaders made slow, steady progress. The Ice-mage froze the walls and floor to prevent manabeings from passing through them. Mr Lazer Eyes periodically lashed out to clear large swathes of the zombies, since it would have taken too long to get a horde this big and include the mana-expensive personal shields. As they pushed, I realised they were headed towards the shortcut into the next area; They were attempting to bypass the poison swamp/sewer!

I rushed to move my prepared defensive zombies from the Mushroom forest and into the castle as they reached the huge gate. To my distress, they were too close. I couldn't affect the enchantments on either side of the gate! The Darkness Crusader, that persistent thorn to my strategies, slipped into the ever-present shadows and appeared on the other side and pulled the lever that opened the gate, which opened with a tortured groan.

I felt like kicking myself. Of course, they'd ignore the proper progression path; they weren't adventurers or guilders here for a challenge and riches, they were here for one purpose only: my death. Of course, they planned on bypassing my defences where they could! They were probably going to use the Earth mages to melt the door, bypassing the need for a key into the boss arena altogether!

Not on my watch!

As the Crusaders rushed through the castle, taking advantage of the lesser numbers of zombies to make considerable progress toward the correct tower, I made what adjustments to the door I could. I wove so much mana into the stone that it should be impossible for them to get even a mote of mana in there. I fused the door to the wall, reinforcing the stone as much as I could with what metal I had on hand. There was no vent into the arena for the manastream here, as there was on the Second and First, since the mana took a different path into the roof of the cavern.

Another perspective watched the Crusaders, directing both the Metal and Stone Golems into their paths, and harassing them with ambushes of Fungal Zombies and Shadow Golems. As they ascended the tower, having beaten back every threat with little more than cuts and bruises, I knew what little defenders were there wouldn't be enough. Most of my attention moved to the Sixth, reviewing and reinforcing the defences there. At the same time, one point of view kept an eye on the Crusaders.

I admit, I seethed a little watching them slice and dice their way up to the boss arena. Templar and Summoned Heroes truly were absolute bullshit.

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Guildship The Adventurer, The Eleventh Floor, The Dungeon

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As the ship swayed on its course to the next island in the Isles, Tamesou Akio sat in his cabin sharpening his sword. Even if the enchanted blade kept its edge incredibly well, the slow ring of the sharpening stone over the edge of the sword was... meditative. He enjoyed it, despite the habit's origin. Haliet might be against them now, but for a few months there, he was an extremely competent teacher. With a final ring of stone on metal, Akio put the high-grit stone down and pulled a hair from his head to check the sharpness. Holding the hair on both sides of the upturned blade, he released it.

Before his very eyes, the hair was split in twain without stopping in its fall. Next, he inspected the magical part of his sword: the material reinforcement, spell conductivity, and mana storage enchantments. All the runes seemed intact, on both sides of the blade, manacore and pommel, and his light mana flowed through them without a hint of resistance. He nodded, satisfied, and laid the sword back down.

Next came oiling. Akio grabbed the dirty rag and small container of mineral oil from the table, and let three drops fall on the blade. He then used the rag to spread the oil across the blade's surface. Carefully, of course; It wouldn't do to cut himself, even if his skin was much, much stronger now. Once he was satisfied, Akio re-sheathed the sword in its scabbard. He let it rest on his bed, where his armour sat, oiled and glistening as the evening light poured into the small window. 

He picked up the final piece: his shield. Amaterasu glinted in the sunlight as he turned it over. Akio smiled as he listened to the blue sapphire ramble on in that strange way dungeon cores apparently did, in Images, impressions, flashes of memory and feelings. She'd been much more active since they'd come to the Eleventh. Coincidentally, he'd gotten a lot better at splitting his attention; listening and responding to Ama while still going about his day as normal. He answered Ama's questions and impressions with words and images as he cleaned the shield she was integrated into. 

The image embossed on the front, the yellow starburst with wider ribbons spreading at the cardinal points.... the symbol of the God of Light. Akio had no doubt hundreds, or maybe thousands, of shields had this very image on them as their wielders crusaded against The Creator and delved the dungeon. Even if every temple had contributed warriors and healers and mages... the Temple of Light was the most politically powerful. Akio remembered his time at the Holy City, and how they'd been subtly separated from the other heroes, courted by the Temple of Light before they'd even had time to get their bearings properly.

Akio finished the oiling and maintenance quickly, and re-packed his armour in his bag. His sword and Ama were strapped to the outside of the leather pack, and Akio began his evening stretches.

Armour restricted your movement, though not as much as he'd once thought it did. The routine he'd settled into was a combination of those Haliet had taught him and memories of Tai-chi. Slow, deliberate movements moving into stretches that worked multiple muscles. By now, it was much, much easier to get through an entire set. At some point, it'd started feeling too easy; so he'd started doing the katas slower and slower. 

When he finally finished the first set, the 'sun' had set, and his room was lit only by the gentle radiance of the manalight in the ceiling. As he was about to start the second set, someone knocked on his door. He'd heard the footsteps coming down the hall, of course, but a ship was full of people, and his cabin was one of many. Akio blinked as Sophie opened the door as she knocked.

"Akio, we've reached the- Oh god, I'm sorry!" She interrupted herself, turning away. Akio blinked and looked down at himself. Shirtless, in only his undergarments, and glistening.

"No, no, It's okay," he answered, grabbing the sheet he used as a towel to wipe himself off, then wrapping it around his waist. He quickly grabbed and pulled on a linen top, then turned to face his fellow Hero. "You were saying?"

"We've, uh, reached that island with the volcano," Sophie cleared her throat and continued more confidently. "There's a small dock and village on the part furthest from the volcano itself. The captain said he'll make port tomorrow."

"Fantastic," Akio smiled. "It's not a pirate adventure without a volcano somewhere!"

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Hidden Dragon Valley, The Twelfth Floor, The Dungeon

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Cadmus paused, turning to catch the eyes of the wyrmlings alongside them. They were in his dragon form, and still three times the size of the little wyverns, but the grass here was long and easily hid their sleek forms. Beyond the grass lay their prey: a large slime. But this one wasn't like the ordinary ones that Cadmus had seen before; they'd never seen a purple slime before.

"Watch and learn," Cadmus boasted as they crawled closer, right up to the edge of the long grass. The purple slime rolled down the valley slowly, leaving a trail of perfectly cut grass behind it. The clippings visibly dissolved inside its acidic body. Cadmus had accounted for everything: wind speed and direction, the movement of the grass, and even the potential reflection of light off their golden scales; they were in shade! Of course, Slimes were blind and 'perceived the world differently'; but it was important to build good habits! Or at least, that's what mom said.

Cadmus waited for the perfect moment. The slime was approaching their spot, slowly rolling by. When the wind stopped, Cadmus pounced.

They leapt from the grass, claws outstretched. A single flap of their wings was enough to cross the patch of shorter wildflowers, and Cadmus reached for the slime with as much momentum as they could gather. The slime pulsed, and suddenly, Cadmus was crushed against the ground. It was like his body weighed ten times as much as it had before the jump! It was at that moment Cadmus remembered the purple crystals on Mom's flying ship, which she said could manipulate gravity, and they realised what purple slimes meant. The slime itself jiggled in place for a moment, then rolled around Cadmus and kept going. When it was about twenty yards away, Cadmus felt the weight lift and staggered to their feet.

"Watch this, they said, the little purple wyvern said as he appeared in Cadmus's vision. "Oh, we watched. And that was hilarious."

"Shut up, Spyro," Cadmus pushed the smaller dragoniod out of their face. "None of us could have known it'd do that!"

"Sure," Spyro rebutted, then stalked off after the slime. The rainbow of wyverns giggled and followed the largest of them. Mostly. Rhaegella snorted and nuzzled Cadmus, then the black wyrmling smirked and ran off to join the others.

"You better come along, or Spyro'll get the slime before you!" She called as she disappeared into the grass again. Cadmus sighed, shook their head, then jumped, flying briefly to watch the flight of wyrmlings as they stalked the Gravity Slime through the long grass. They chuckled as Spyro fell prey to the same trick, now stuck on the ground. They flew overhead and dived, bracing for impact as the zone of increased gravity only accelerated their fall. They landed right on top of the slime. Sharp claws and their mass burst the slime, raining purple goop all over the ground and a particularly large amount on Spyro. Cadmus, at the epicentre of the explosion of goop, was covered in it.

"EEEEWWWWWWW!" The wyrmlings echoed as one, then laughed as they poked and prodded the slimy stuff. Camus shook himself, raining a new wave of the goop on the rest of the wyrmlings to their protestations.

"And that," Cadmus claimed, "Is how you beat a monster inside a gravity well!" 

The rest of the day was filled with shrieks of play and fun, watched over by their parents and The Creator in their beautiful valley. 

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