The wave represented many different things, to many different people. To some, it was a time of opportunity, when the wealth of the Dungeon overflowed in the form of endless monsters to be harvested for cores and other components. To others, it was a time of fear and despair. Huddling in their homes, behind walls and praying that others would be able to hold back the tide and keep them safe.
To a privileged few, a wave was much the same as any other time. Above the danger, protected behind layer after layer of sturdy defense, these people had little notice or care for the Dungeon.
For Tiny, the wave was a wonderful and precious time. A time of gladness, of joy, of smiles and laughter. A season of fists.
"Roaaaaaaar!" he bellowed, unleashing his fierce battle cry once more as another wave of monsters approached.
Eyes filled with madness and rage, the monsters of the fifth rushed towards the platform, bursting out of the sludge river to launch themselves directly at him. Tiny's eyes narrowed…
A storm of fists exploded outward, a dazzling display of light and force that struck the air with the force of a thunderclap. Some monsters were pulverised in an instant, others were pushed back, but only momentarily. Soon, they rallied, and came again with renewed fury.
That was fine, Tiny had more punches to go around.
He raised his hands, tightened his posture, sucked in his gut and relaxed his shoulders.
To achieve the perfect punching form, there were many requirements, and Tiny was willing to meet them all.
Close the fist, but don't clench it.
Keep the muscles loose, lest he sacrifice speed.
Rotate the body, putting his weight behind each strike, lest he sacrifice power.
Stay light on his feet, rotating smoothly through the joints.
Explode the hands forward, then bring them back twice as fast.
When everything went perfectly, Tiny could feel it in every muscle fibre, a single chord of perfect music, a flawless artwork that touched the soul. He could see it in his mind. His fist, snapping out so fast he couldn't even see it, only feel. At full extension, there was a strain in the shoulder as the force exploded outward and he pulled at the same moment, drawing the hand back. As it returned, his shoulders rotated, his hips, his knees and ankles. The force transferred to the other side of his body, then… BAM! The other hand flew out to snap, then explode, then return, ready to load the other hand.
In Tiny's mind, this was poetry. This was art. He danced on his feet as his fists flashed out again and again and again. When the fists of light had pummeled everything before him into oblivion and no monsters remained, the burning red light in his eyes faded and he wobbled on his feet.
In an instant, the ants were there. A chair slid into place just as the giant ape fell backwards, catching him at the perfect moment. Healers appeared as if from nowhere, climbing over his arms, healing and massaging the muscles, driving away the fatigue and trying to restore some energy.
A towel was thrown over his shoulders and Tiny grabbed it eagerly, wiping his face and running it over his head. The cloth came away dripping, drenched in sweat.
The ants saw it, they saw everything, and soon Tiny groaned in delight as cool, refreshing liquid was poured over him, a large container pressed into his hand. He took a long drink, swished the water in his mouth, then spat it out again. A small plate of Biomass was presented, and he munched it down while the healers continued to work on him, turning his attention to the general who had appeared before him.
Tiny looked down at the little ant intently, ready to receive instructions from the general who had taken it upon herself to coach him in the grand battle of the platform.
The general rose up and mimed throwing a few quick punches with her front legs.
Tiny nodded.
The general then mimicked giving him a thumbs up.
Tiny nodded, and returned the gesture.
More punches. Good.
Not even a minute had passed, and it was time to get back into the fight. Tiny stood, rolling his shoulders and swinging his arms, letting the blood and mana flow. The chair was taken away, the towel removed and the general gave him an encouraging pat on the leg, followed by another thumbs up.
It warmed Tiny's heart and he smiled broadly as he strode forward again, the endless tide of sludge and monsters rising up to meet him.
Lightning crackled along his shoulders, running down his limbs in snaking ribbons of power that lifted his fur and sent sparks flying into the air. Gradually, the power built, rising higher and higher until his body almost couldn't contain it anymore.
Once more, Tiny opened his mouth and unleashed his mighty warcry, daring the monsters of the fifth to come and challenge him.
There were more monsters, of course there were. They wouldn't stop coming until the wave itself faded. Perfect.
The great ape balled his fists once more, bounced on his feet, and let his hands do the talking.
Electricity blasted outwards, searing and sizzling in the air and sludge as fists formed of pure light slammed, flattened, and fractured everything they touched.
This… this was perfect.
-x-X-x-
Crinis hated the fifth stratum. She hated the native mana, she hated the native monsters, she hated the creepy atmosphere in the tunnels, she hated the sludge and slime everywhere and she hated the way it all ate into her flesh.
But that wasn't even the thing that she hated the most. The thing she hated the most was the way she was constantly, constantly being kept from her Master. Fight over here, Crinis, help over there, Crinis. Why couldn't they ever be fighting in the same place?!
Not that she blamed the Colony for this problem, nor did she blame her Master, not entirely. The cause of this problem, the reason for all her suffering, was the hideous monsters right in front her!
[Suffer and die for all eternity!] she screamed, plunging her tentacles down into the mana-infused shadows beneath her.
To her, lacking in eyes, she didn't see the filth, corruption and sludge that oozed endlessly out of the fifth stratum and crept towards her platform in an unrelenting wave. Some might say that was better, but in her mind, it was infinitely worse. She didn't perceive as others did; she perceived mana, and the mana of the fifth, was simply awful, and the creatures who lived in that filth were even worse—disgusting stains that blighted her vision and filled her with revulsion.
With wicked glee, her tentacles emerged from the darkness in the tunnel, and Crinis set to plying her deadly work.
Her mind was a network of thousands of connections, each one spanning a thousand limbs, and she orchestrated each one like a conductor. All of the targets were there, lit up in her mana-sight as clear as day, and like filth-seeking arrows, her limbs writhed through the air towards them.
Being exposed to the toxic atmosphere of the fifth was bad enough, actually touching the monsters was an entirely different experience. The moment her limbs grasped the creatures, they began to sizzle and hiss as the acid and slime ate into her shadow flesh, breaking it down at tremendous speeds.
But not fast enough to save them. Hundreds of times a second, her tentacles wrapped around a monster and began to twist. The teeth on the inside of the limbs ground and slashed and cut, rending her foes into pieces. Other limbs sought out the more powerful monsters and drove straight into their bodies, bypassing their physical form.
Soul Seeker Cilia hunted inside their forms even as they melted away, sinking into their minds and letting Crinis set them against their own kind. The effect only lasted a few seconds before the tentacles were damaged beyond repair, but that was enough to cause devastating damage in the right circumstances.
Grinding teeth in her three mouths, Crinis endured the burning of her flesh as she unleashed her fury upon the monsters of the fifth.
However, it could only last so long. Not only was her flesh being annihilated, it was also being corrupted. Before the contamination could make its way back to her main body, she cut off the limbs herself, cursing savagely as so much of herself was cast away.
It immediately began to regenerate, but it would take time and materials to rebuild what she had lost. For every minute she was actively fighting in the fifth, she needed three minutes to recover, and that ratio was only getting worse as the wave went on.
[Well done,] the mage assistant the Colony had appointed to her said. [I have some gifts for you.]
Several soldiers delivered plates laden with Biomass in front of her, using their mandibles to place them down on the platform.
[Thanks, Santa,] Crinis sighed, reaching out as she expanded her form to reveal her mouths. Soon she was crunching away on the food, letting it burn away inside her and convert to more flesh for use against the monsters. [I appreciate this, as always.]
[You've been very good to the Colony, so of course you get onto the list,] Santa said, clacking her mandibles happily.
[What list?]
[The priority supply list. Delivering Biomass for you is close to the top, I'll have you know. Holding this platform would be twice as hard without you. The Colony is extremely grateful.]
It was nice to be appreciated, but Crinis didn't want to be appreciated, she wanted to be with her Master. The thought of him fighting on his own, without her there to keep him safe, was maddening. The thought of him vanishing and reappearing hundreds of kilometres away after being abducted in some absurd way filled her with terror! This was agonising!
Her limbs writhed and twisted without her conscious control.
Why didn't he let her live inside his carapace?! That way, they would never be apart and she could make sure he was safe! They would basically be one lifeform, a perfect existence!
[You've grabbed me again.]
[Oh! Sorry….]
Crinis released the mage that she'd unintentionally snatched up in her tentacles, placing her back down carefully.
[How is… my Master doing?] she asked hesitantly.
Nothing bad, nothing bad, nothing bad!
[Very well! I enquired because I thought you would ask… again. The Eldest has been fighting hard on the platform, battling away and using their new abilities to devastating effect, so I'm told.]
What a relief!
[They were severely injured recently….]
[WHAT?! WHO DARED TO DAMAGE MY MASTER?!]
Rage. White hot rage.
[It was self-inflicted.]
The anger was snuffed out in an instant, replaced with equally intense frustration. Of course. Of course it was self-inflicted. Once more, her limbs twisted and curled.
[Uh, Crinis? You've grabbed me again.]
[Sorry, Santa.]
-x-X-x-
Invidia could see it. Even better, he could taste it. Addictive, delicious, it was a languid, warm flavour that rolled over the demon's tongue and sent shivers of joy running down his thin, spindly arms.
He hadn't even known such a delicate flavour could exist, so much more complex, with so much more depth than what he had gotten accustomed to before. Now, he couldn't imagine living without it. He was captured. He was enslaved. He was obsessed.
[Thanks for your help, Invidia. I really appreciate you providing those shields. Saved my bacon out there,] said the human mage.
Invidia grinned broadly.
[We thank you for your assistance, guardian,] the ant general said, after Invidia had volunteered to provide artillery support. [The Colony appreciates your efforts.]
The little demon licked his lips with joy.
[Cheers, Invidia. I've been trying to get my hands on a glow-silver necklace like this for ages. My girlfriend is going to love it! Thanks, mate.]
Invidia chuckled evilly.
Yes. Yesssssssss. They counted on him. They depended on him! He was their ally, their dependable aid, their comrade. Their friend.
He floated in the centre of the platform, his prodigious brain working overtime, twisting mana into detonations, shields, healing energy, all while lending a sympathetic ear to their worries and concerns. He was a font of sage advice, a shoulder to cry on, and a close confidant to one and all.
It was… delicious.
This particular day was progressing much like any other. The monsters of the fifth were disgusting, slimy things, vastly inferior to demon-kind, in his opinion, and he had no qualms about blasting them to oblivion whenever he could. No doubt, his master would be exceptionally pleased with his performance. Already, he could sense the gratitude rising from the battalions around him like a thick, tasty cloud.
Against the wave, he had noticed just how difficult it was to work any sort of magic due to the corrupting properties of the native mana. Usually, he would have no problems reaching out and manipulating his mana at range to form the detonations that were the signature spell of the gas and fire combination. It was a technique that required extreme levels of external mana control, along with unwavering mental fortitude, which were things that Invidia possessed in abundance.
However, extending mana out into the natural environment was not conducive to successful spellcasting in the fifth. The native mana ate away at his own, corrupting and consuming it the moment he pushed it out beyond the safety of the platform. The longer the wave went on, the more virulent it became, forcing the demon to expend more mana, to exercise even finer control, and to find closer targets.
Another pack of creatures advanced from within the filth, and Invidia watched and waited. The ants were already reacting, preparing for their arrival and looking to engage as the monsters drew closer. The demon bided his time. He knew exactly, down to the centimetre, how far he could extend his magic. Managing the strain on his mind and the mana in his core were two of the major challenges.
The second they stepped over that line, Invidia pounced. Energy surged out of him and he seized the threads of power, his mind-constructs buzzing like a swarm of bees as they wove and twisted the mana as it travelled towards the target. Heedless of the danger, the monsters charged, dripping with malice and slime towards the front line, preparing to disgorge their bile and mucus onto the platform.
The second his mana exited the safe-zone, Invidia could feel it start to degrade as it was consumed and converted. That was fine, he'd adapted to this. He'd extended double the number of threads he would normally need for this spell. As he continued to weave, he discarded those that were too damaged, deftly seizing on his spares, re-working sections of the spell at incredible speed. In less than a second, he had it ready and triggered the magic.
BOOM!
An explosion rocked the chamber, sending shockwaves through the air. Sadly, much of the explosive power was absorbed by the wall of slime that oozed constantly from the tunnel walls. However, he'd been on target, and the spell had flattened the approaching monsters to the ground, damaging and stunning them in place long enough for the ants and their allies to pounce. Several monsters were seized and dragged into the cleansed mana, others were bombarded with spells and acid until they were no more.
But one of them regrouped, lurched forward, and compressed its body, as if summoning energy.
Not goodssss, Invidia thought to himself, preparing to spin together a shield. His friends couldn't be hurt. It wasn't allowed!
Except they weren't the target. The monster, with one final burst of strength, unleashed a stream of mucus, thick and lurid green, deep into the platform, directly at the little demon.
Caught unprepared, he switched gears at the last second, whipping a shield to catch the slime before it could hit him. The glimmering barrier snapped into place just in time. The ooze slapped into it wetly, chewing through the barrier even as it was consumed by the cleansed mana. Yet, he'd misjudged.
The mucus was so thick that the tail end, falling short of the shield, didn't break off from the main mass, but instead swung beneath the shield like a vine, swinging straight for his head. All Invidia could do was hold up his stick-thin arms in a vain attempt at defending himself as he braced for the inevitable.
Only for the inevitable to fail to materialise. When the little demon lowered his arms, he found a human soldier, shield braced and Skills active, protecting him from the errant sludge. This… this human had leapt into danger to save him. He recognised him. This was the human he'd procured the necklace for. Burton.
Invidia was confused. Baffled. He reached out with a mind construct and felt it snap into place. Before he could even form the question, the young man looked over his shoulder at him.
[Hey there, Invidia. You alright?]
[I amssss unharmed.I thankssss you,] Invidia replied.
Burton grinned.
[No worries. What are friends for?]
-x-X-x-
Ever since that first experiment, a change had come over the Snailcare centre, as it had come to be known. The young chal were growing well, as far as the Brood Tenders could tell. They ate regular meals. They played and slid around the space happily. They bowed to each other and moved off to their private spaces for periods of silent… meditation. And when night fell, they would curl up together and retreat into their shells, dozing until morning.
Theresant was pleased with the progress and care that the team had been able to provide for the snails. They had grown in knowledge and understanding of the diet and preferences of the hatchlings, along with devising more engaging and stimulating activities for the children. Where they struggled, and had to constantly iterate and innovate, was with the singing.
It turned out, the little snails loved to sing. Once they'd been introduced to it, they took to vocalising like ants to digging. Wherever she went inside the chamber, Theresant was sure to hear at least one snail raising its voice, softly piping away. If she found one singing, then there would be another, not far away, sliding over to join in. The two snails would then sing back and forth, simple things, a single note, taking turns to sound it out. When they were done, the two would then bow to each other, and slide off to find something else to do.
So it was that the Snailcare centre was filled with the tiny, clear voices of the infant chal from the moment they awoke to the time they went to sleep. It was a wondrous development, but it was also one that drove the Brood Tenders crazy.
They didn't know anything about singing! They had no vocal cords! They consulted experts, hired singers from the Brathian Conglomerate to act as advisors, sought high and low for the best vocalists to sing to the hatchlings.
As it turned out, the small number of magpei who had joined the Colony in their assault on the fifth were an invaluable asset in this regard. Despite their uncouth speech and violent demeanor, which prevented them from even being considered to be allowed inside the chamber, they were indeed part-bird. In those few moments when Theresant and the other Brood Tenders had been able to get one of them to stop talking and trying to pick a fight, they were able to sing with such startling clarity and technique that even the ants could tell the difference.
Since then, they'd been able to develop several protocols that helped them deal with the magpei, the first of which was: only invite one at a time.
With the help of the experts, the Brood Tenders were able, somehow, to grasp the basic fundamentals of music. They learned about scales. Chords. Notes. Timing signatures. They learned of the many ways the voice could be altered to sing higher, or lower, or make it quaver, how it could be projected, the importance of breathing, of the diaphragm… whatever that was, and a thousand other incomprehensible things.
But they did what they did best. They took all the information presented, studied and digested, distilled and purified, until they were able to construct a curriculum which they believed would take the young snails and eventually turn them into maestros worthy of the most august and respected halls of music on Pangera.
Today, that work would begin.
Theresant couldn't help but feel nervous as the hatchlings were gathered from around the chamber. They weren't difficult to move, the Tenders would simply grasp them ever so gently by their shells and pick them up. The snails would be startled, to be sure, retreating into their shells, but once they were set down, they would soon emerge again, looking about curiously.
So it was that half a dozen Brood Tenders moved amongst the leafy plants and trickling waters, gathering the hatchlings and bringing them over to the area Theresant had personally prepared for today's lesson.
Nervously, she cleaned her antennae, only to find her glued moustaches kept getting in the way. It was annoying, but the other Tenders had assured her that the hatchlings seemed to pay more attention when they wore them, so she had been persuaded.
Indeed, after they were gently placed down and began to emerge, the chal did seem particularly fascinated with the long, luxurious moustaches that trailed down almost to the ground. When all were ready, she gained their attention by bowing low to them.
As expected, the gathered hatchlings bowed back, lowering their heads in a gesture of respect.
Theresant steadied herself, then signalled those watching to begin.
She opened her mouth, and pretended to sing.
A single note, so pure and clear it sounded as if holy mana had been infused within it, emerged. It resounded for several seconds, then ceased. The Brood Tender snapped her mouth shut, then looked down at the snails expectantly.
Seemingly enraptured by the sound, the little snails were completely still at first, then they mimicked the note. One by one, until all of them had joined in, they sang. Some wavered a little, others were off a little in pitch, but corrected themselves. After a few seconds, they also cut off, looking up at Theresant expectantly.
The Tenders still weren't sure of the appropriate way to praise the hatchlings. They didn't like being touched, their snail bodies appeared to be very sensitive, so they couldn't be patted or tickled like a grub could. So, she bowed again, and they bowed back.
The first lesson: middle C.
After a beat, she signalled once more, opened her mouth, and another, new note rang throughout the chamber.
Which was D.
The tiny choir listened intently, then, once the note was cut off, imitated it back to her. Again, it wasn't perfect, but the hatchlings were still very young, perfection wasn't to be expected from them, yet. Satisfied, Theresant bowed again, and received their bows in return.
In this way, they went through the entire C major scale. By the time they reached the final note, the snails were clearly flagging, their little voices no longer able to keep up, so the Brood Tenders ended the lesson, letting them eat, drink and rest.
"What do you think, sister?" one of her siblings asked Theresant.
"I think our little choir shows some promise," she replied, clacking her mandibles with satisfaction. "With a little luck and effort, we should be able to complete musical theory before they turn one."
-x-X-x-
To say that Zluth was furious would be an understatement. But so what? He was a Krath, they were always furious. Except, this time, it burned deeper, bubbled more furiously away in his flesh. As always, he had placed himself, carefully, in position to watch the ants fight against the wave.
As hard as it was to believe, it was safer for him out here. The Krath may be the masters of the fifth, its hidden rulers, but during a wave, even they needed to show restraint. The fifth stratum was unruly, deadly, and nothing could withstand the full, toxic fury that was unleashed during a wave. The many members of the assault squad had prepared chambers to hunker down and ride out the worst of it in, with channels and tunnels prepared to funnel away the worst of the mucus and slime.
However, remaining in such a confined space with Chozth was tantamount to putting his head on the block. Furious at the continued survival of the ants, she seethed and fumed endlessly, with no other outlet for her wrath except her fellow Krath. She'd eaten a dozen of them already, the acid within her flesh growing so strong she visibly steamed.
Zluth had no doubt that the second she laid eyes on him, he would be dead. Stronger, faster, and perhaps even more cunning than he, she would overpower him in short order, and none would step in to defend him. So he did what he did best: volunteered for scouting duty and laid low.
Thus, he found himself pressed into a crack only a few inches thick, a dense layer of mucus rolling off the stone and over his perfectly still form.
Despite being painfully compressed, he was far from safe. At any second, the mucus could be contaminated with mold or fungal spores that would strip his flesh in moments. If the type of slime being generated from the mana veins in the walls were to change, he would have to recognise it and move before it touched him; again, in a matter of seconds. Despite concealing himself as best he could, there were numerous monsters, experts at hunting slippery prey, he had to watch out for. Needle crabs. Tooth-nosed lamprey. Rotted-Seekers. Carrier Drones.
Even thinking of the last made him shudder. Having the hideous worms burrow into his body was one of the worst ways a Krath could fall to the Dungeon.
He was thinking too much. Be vigilant! A Krath could only survive if they were alert at all times.
Snapping back to attention, he carefully examined his surroundings once more. He felt out the mana, tasted the mucus, tested for eddies or disturbances in the flow.
Finding nothing amiss, he judged it was time to emerge once more.
Slowly, carefully, prepared to run and hide at the slightest provocation, he began to push out of the crack. A thick coating of slime still ran over him, and he let it, sticking to the stone as best he could as he crept out towards the edge, mottling his skin to match the rock beneath him and hiding his own mana.
Eventually, he made his way to the end of the tunnel, where he turned and made his way up. Most of the monsters were concentrated at the mouth of the tunnel itself, leaping over the gap to confront the ants on their bizarre platform. That was the last place he wanted to be.
Once he'd gained enough distance, he pushed himself away from the wall and out to the edge of the slime. Only then did he extend his eyes just beyond the surface to look down below.
He still didn't understand what the ants had done, how they had carved out this space within the fifth. Between himself and the outer fortress wall was a sheer drop, a cliff that ran as high as he could see and plummeted down into the darkness seemingly forever. On his side, the Dungeon veins ran thick throughout the walls, spawning monsters and an endless flow of slime. On the other, the outer fortress wall remained clear and unblemished. It was as if he were staring at a different stratum of the Dungeon! He hated it.
And down there, on that cursed platform, the ants and their allies battled the wave. It didn't make sense. They should have died a hundred times over.
Against the virulent filth of the fifth, they should have died long ago, and yet they persisted, somehow, fighting on and on. All the while, the platform itself sucked in absurd amounts of mana, funneling it to those evil jelly monsters to corrupt.
In the middle of the platform, the giant ant stood, resolute and defiant. The attacks and spells it unleashed were devastating, clearing huge swathes of enemies at a time. The damned monster never seemed to tire, never seemed to even slow down.
Zluth hated that disgusting creature.
The wave would continue to grow stronger, the environment more toxic, the monsters more numerous and more frenzied. Already, there were rumblings from the depths; creatures were coming up, rising as they fled from the dangers below. Soon more Krath would arrive, as they abandoned their holdings in the deeper tunnels to find safer territory.
Filled with resentment and anger, the Krath retracted back to the wall and made his cautious way to the crack in the rock once more. In another day or two, he'd no longer be able to put off reporting to Chozth. Hopefully she would have cooled off a little by then. For now, all he could do was retreat to his little pocket of safety, get some sleep, then return to his post.
He excreted a thick layer of hardened slime as he pressed himself into the crevice, sealing it off behind him as he forced his body down to its smallest possible size. Through a little opening, and then out into the small space he'd carved out. The Dungeon veins hadn't invaded yet, but they would in a few hours. That was enough.
Zluth chomped down on the few rations he had remaining and settled in to sleep, still boiling with anger.
-x-X-x-
Sleep, for a Krath, was not an overly restful affair. A lifetime of backstabbing, theft and a refusal to let one's guard down meant all Krath, to some extent, slept with one eye open.
Literally.
It wasn't that hard, once you learned the trick. Most young slugs born in the tribes learned it before they'd lived their first year. Those who didn't were far less likely to reach that milestone. Even away from his people and out in the Dungeon, Zluth was in no position to relax his guard. Many scouts had been taken by invasive parasites in their sleep, and he wasn't about to allow himself to be counted among them.
And yet, there was something… different… about his sleep. Wary, restless, Zluth knew better than to allow himself to sleep too deeply, his ingrained instincts would never allow it, but something was pulling at him, drawing him away. The longer he slept, the stronger the pull became. Soon, he felt as if he remained attached to his body by the tips of his fangs, relentlessly holding on as a distant force exerted greater and greater pressure on him, loosening his grip one tooth at a time.
All at once, his hold was broken and Zluth was sent spinning away into the void. Terrified, he thrashed and failed, desperate to wake up, to reconnect to his sleeping body, but it was no use. The link between body and consciousness had been severed and he couldn't get it back.
Was he falling? Was he rising? It was difficult to tell. All he felt was the sense of a vast distance being traversed at unfathomable speeds. It didn't make any sense. How was he travelling? How was he moving? He was asleep! This shouldn't be possible!
Then, he was still once more. Eagerly, he flailed, trying to find his body, but he couldn't; it wasn't here.
Then, he felt as if his very soul had caught on fire.
Zluth writhed in agony as he felt his mind come under assault from an absurdly potent acid. Even disembodied, he wasn't spared from its relentless hunger, and he knew that in only a few more moments, it would melt his spirit to nothing.
Except, that didn't happen. He felt an enormous presence, so vast he hadn't even realised it was there, turn and regard him. In that instant, he was seized by a mind so much greater than his own he couldn't accurately judge the difference between them.
Trembling in terror and rage, Zluth lashed out in anger, bewildered by what was taking place. It was just a dream, he told himself, there was no other rational explanation.
And yet the pain had felt so real.
The problem is that you cannot perceive, little slug. I will allow you to gaze on the place I have brought you.
The voice was immense, and the Krath could do little but quiver as it rolled over him. A moment passed, and suddenly he could see.
One glance at the virulent, acidic nightmare realm that surrounded him was all it took for Zluth to understand where he was, and who was speaking to him. Nowhere else in the Dungeon was so thick with mucus and acid that the air itself dripped toxic sludge. Nowhere else was so deadly that the mana itself was melted away, chewed up and spat out by the slime that clung to the walls. This was the Decaying World, and there was only one who ruled here.
Zluth flung himself down in a metaphorical bow, genuflecting before the acidic one.
Theorazzn chuckled.
I wondered if your kind would recognise this place. It has been long since I last awoke, and memories are short. As much as I tried, I could never bring the fifth to be quite as… potent as my home.
So saying, the great Ancient revealed itself, allowing Zluth to gaze upon its splendour. Theorazzn was not a slug, as the Krath were, but they didn't revere the Ancient any less for it. Crab-like legs unfurled beneath a body that, more than anything else, resembled a sea-star, in the centre of which could be found the cavernous maw of the beast.
All over the main body, tiny tendrils waved and danced as if they were underwater, each dripping with the most potent, the most toxic, and the most acidic slime to be found on all of Pangera. Even within the Decaying World, nothing could hope to be as virulent as Theorazzn.
You are the first slumbering Krath I have brought here to speak with me, but you will not be the last. I will spread the news of my awakening, and issue a challenge to your people. The time of my ascension is drawing close, and if there is to be a twentieth, they must prove themselves worthy.
Zluth wasn't sure what the Ancient was referring to specifically, but there was one thing he did understand. Time of ascension? Would Theorazzn return to the fifth that he had remade in his own image? That would be a glorious, if deadly, event for the tribes.
There are two monsters that I want the tribes to kill, or turn. Listen close and I will describe them to you.
Zluth paid close attention as the Ancient spoke, the fury bubbling away within him the more he listened. The ant! The damned ant. A target of the Ancient itself. The other monster, he'd never seen, but he would report to the tribe dutifully.
One final thing. I have heard something resonating in the fifth. Something that scratches and scrapes at my memory. There is singing. The singing must stop.
-x-X-x-
Even unleashing the most powerful of my abilities, Gravity Bombs, Gravity Wells, Starcrusher chomps, dumping the entirety of the famed produce from my commercial district and unleashing empowered Dragon's Breath, it's still not enough to hold back the wave. I mean, of course it isn't. I never really thought I'd be able to hold back an entire wave by myself, that would be absurd. It's still frustrating. I'm a mighty tier seven mythic monster, dammit! Why is this still so hard?
Despite my best efforts anchoring the middle of the line, the frothing, spitting, oozing monsters of the fifth still reach the platform. Ooze, slime, mucus and filth pour out onto the diamond-coated surface as the disciplined battalions of the Colony fight with all they have to hold back the tide. Despite my protection, there are still many soldiers and generals in the front lines getting doused in toxic ooze and forced to fall back to receive treatment.
To be honest, nowhere on the platform is safe. With goop and slime flying everywhere, even the mages and scouts firing from the back of the formation can be hit. The ants do their very best to ensure their non-insect allies are kept out of harm's way, but it's simply not possible to succeed all the time.
Even when I am present, fighting hard, there are still injuries, thousands of them, every day. Some fall, never to stand up again. It's tragic, and painful, and incredibly frustrating, but without me here, it would be so, so much worse.
It's a small comfort, but I'll take what I can get.
What's making it so hard is how exposed the platform itself is. Jutting out from the fortress, no real, proper walls to protect the defenders, it's like we've made life easy for the monsters attacking us on purpose. Which we have, kind of. Without us here to defend the intakes, they'd be destroyed in minutes.
Every moment that passes, I can't help but be aware of the tremendous amounts of power thundering through the channels beneath my legs. It's an absurd volume of mana, all of it being funneled inside the fortress and fed to the waiting wuffers. Without that energy, the cleansed mana that keeps the platform safe for us to stand on would be overwhelmed in an instant.
The grind is relentless, but this is the fate of everyone who tries to fight against the wave. Still, unless things take a significant turn for the worse, we should be able to hold out here for a long time yet.
Wait?! I didn't just jinx myself, did I? Surely not. It takes more than that to tempt the fates… right?
After a minute passes, I start to relax again. I think I'm fine. May as well see what the Templar are up to, since they've come back down to join me. My loyal defenders have been hard at work, increasing their abilities and gaining Levels. All of them have unlocked some new Templar abilities, and some of them are closing in on the Level cap which will then give them a chance to advance the Class into something more powerful. Hopefully. I'm looking forward to seeing what comes of it.
Now, where's that big lad, Jern gotten to? I mean, I can sense his position, obviously, but I need to shift a little to get an eye on him. Oh, he seems to have collapsed on the ground. Well, the healers are moving him out of there, so hopefully everything is fine.
What about Alis? She's down here too, throwing fireballs about the last time I saw her.
Aha. She has also collapsed. Wow, so weird. It's kind of like someone put a massive jinx on the situation; how else could you explain this terrible string of bad luck?
Hahahahaha. Well. It's fine. Everything is fine.
The kids are behind me somewhere, I'll just turn around and see them working away, getting ready to yell at me for not sleeping enough—aaaaaaaand they collapsed too.
DAMMIT.
What the heck is happening to the Templar?
Perhaps it goes to show how distracted I was, but it's only in this moment that I realise I can feel something weird going on in my Nave. Whipping my consciousness in there and trusting my body to the sub-brains, I look around the cavernous space connected to the Vestibule and try to see just what the heck is going on in here.
When I look for the golden statues of the Templars, I don't see them! Well, not at first. A moment later, I realise they're still here, just not standing still in their usual places. Instead, they're running all around the Nave! What the heck?!
[What's going on in here?] I demand, watching as the six of them run wildly through the space.
[It's an invasion!] Bertran announces. [You're under attack!]
I'm WHAT?!
How can I be under attack and not even know it? Bewildered, I cast about, trying to work out what's going as the Templars continue to run wild.
[Got one!] Alis shouts in triumph.
In her form as a golden warrior, she leaps forwards and snatches up something that I can't see. The moment she lifts it, I realise she has a wriggling, writhing critter that looks like a cross between a slater and a crab in her grasp.
She concentrates, and a golden light flashes, obliterating the creature completely. So wait… my Nave actually can be attacked? Then who or what is attacking me?!
I'm still so confused!
[Why are you using your hands?] I demand of Alis. [Can't you burn them with fire?]
[Our spells and abilities don't seem to work here, wherever we are,] she replies, haring off to chase another intruder that I can't see. [Don't worry, we've got this!]
I hope so, since I can't do a dang thing about it!
-x-X-x-
For an hour, I flip between managing my body in the 'real' world, while ducking back into the Nave to see how the Templars are doing, holding off the… spirit… mites?
Spirit mites sounds good.
By the time it settles down and they can't find any more of the damn things, they must have caught and destroyed hundreds. Hundreds! I pull back from the very front of the platform so we can talk, though I still use my sub-brains and acid to bombard the endless hordes with acid and magic.
Thankfully, the Templar begin to stir as they return to their physical forms, and I call them over to me. They seem a little disconcerted by the events. Well, the kids don't, they never seem to have much of an expression at all. The adults, though, they look somewhat disturbed, as if they don't understand what just happened.
Which is a shame, since I sure don't.
"What the heck went on there?" I ask them all. "I was minding my own business fighting, and you guys all collapsed! And I want to emphasise that it wasn't my fault for thinking that nothing bad was going to happen. Why would I think that? It's impossible that I would be that naive!"
Smooth.
They look at each other, Jern reaching up with one hand to scratch the back of his head.
"I was fighting and then I had the sense I was really needed somewhere. So I went. Then I was inside that other place and there were those things all over the place, so I tried attacking them."
This description is… pretty basic, delivered in the straightforward, no-nonsense pheromone language I've come to expect from Jern. I look at the others and they just shrug and nod.
"So you sensed that I was under attack?"
"I… sort of?" Alis hedges. "I could feel that something was… wrong."
"It was like I'd left the house and then remembered I hadn't properly doused the fire," Bertran mused. "A real panic set in as I raced to get to the problem and fix it. I was so desperate, I jumped right out of my body without even knowing how I did it."
"Was it the same for you three?" I ask the youngin's.
Allison speaks up on behalf of the three this time. Looking at me directly, she says exactly what's on her mind.
"When did you last rest?" she asks.
"Never mind that! We have more important things to be working out right this second. Sheesh!"
"More important?" she demands, her eyes narrowing.
"Oi! I'm out here saving lives, and unlike the others, my combat performance doesn't dip that much when I don't sleep. Up to a certain point, at any rate."
I do need to rest eventually. Emotional fatigue is a real thing, and I can end up feeling incredibly drained, even if my body and brains are fresh as daisies.
"Now let's focus on examining the problem at hand. What happened to you three?"
"We felt the attack and acted to protect you," Allison replies, a little begrudgingly.
"Well… can you explain how you knew what to do?"
"No," she shakes her head slightly, "we just knew."
Some sort of instinct imbued to them by the Class itself? Would have to be. I find it extremely frustrating that they were able to sense this attack and I was completely left in the dark. If I didn't have the Templar to help me, would I even have known about it at all? Perhaps not until the damage caused by the spirit-mites became too great to ignore.
"Perhaps the most important question I have… does anyone have any idea where those weird things came from? Who or what tried to attack me?"
And how did they do it through the Vestibule? Nothing has ever gotten in before except for the pure and focused Will of the Colony! Along with a few other people's Will….
I'd rather not think about it.
Each of the Templar shakes their head and tells me they have no idea how the invaders got in or who sent them. They felt the disturbance and went to defend the Nave; that's as much as they know.
"I did get notifications about a Skill improving while I was in there," Jern notes at one point to nobody in particular. "The more this happens, the better we'll get at it, I guess."
I mean… if the Class is supposed to be about protecting me from spiritual assault, then they would have a Skill related to it.
"This is so irritating," I say, snapping my mandibles. "Something finally happened regarding the Class, but we don't know much more than we did before."
"Well, it's not that bad," Bertran says, patting me on the leg. "You know what the golden statues are for. We know what a spiritual attack can look like, and how the defense is done. It's quite a lot when you think about it."
With his friendly manner and practical view on life, Bertran is hard to be grumpy around. The guy is just very positive and talks good sense. In this case, he isn't wrong. I guess I'm mostly just annoyed that I don't know who was attacking me, or how. If they did it once, they can do it again.
"All right, well, for now it seems as though nothing else is going to happen, so you all can go and rest for a bit before you return to active duty."
They all start to protest… except the children who just glare at me. They really have taken on the mannerisms of the Nameless Ones. Talk, dammit! You're kids, you should be talking!
"We don't know what happened, we don't know if it will happen again and we don't know what it took out of you. Get checked out by the healers, take a breather and then come back, alright?"
"What about you, Anthony?" Jern asks in his usual, straightforward manner.
"I didn't do anything! I just sat around chomping my mandibles and waving my antennae. After sitting back here lobbing spells, I'm as rested as I can be. I need to get back to the front and do my job."
So saying, I bid them farewell and start striding back to my post. Without me there, the number of injuries suffered by the Colony has skyrocketed. I have to be there as often as I can to make a difference and save my siblings. That's why I took this evolution, after all.
-x-X-x-
Throughout the inner chambers of the fortress, there had been a persistent and harrowing sound echoing down the long tunnels. The ants knew it well, knew how it would hang in the air, shivering like an icy breeze, rattling against their antennae and disquieting their souls.
To the non-ants, it was even more terrifying, a mournful sound, filled with despair, with longing, it seemed to them as if a dispossessed soul was haunting the chambers, and their superstitious minds were disturbed. The ghost of the fortress, the banshee of the fifth stratum, the terror of the tunnels.
For the Brood Tenders, and for Theresant more specifically, this object of fear and discomfort had a different name: Academia.
"Pleeeeaaaaaaaassseeeeee!" howled the magio-scholar of the Golden Tower, Englebert, tears and snot flooding down his face. "PLEASE let us see the chal!"
He clung to Theresant's leg, refusing to let go even when she moved, letting himself be dragged along the floor. She lifted her leg and waggled it, trying to shake him off, but he had the grip of a lamprey, latched on for dear life. She lowered her leg again with a sigh. Every day, this same scene was repeated. It wouldn't be so bad, if it weren't for…
"Look into your heeeeaaaaarrrrtt!" sobbed the other mage, all four limbs wrapped around one of Theresants other legs. "We beg! WE BEEEEEEEEEG!"
Lady Meritious had a particularly piercing and resonant voice. Theresant had considered asking her if she could sing, but… after some consideration, had decided against it.
[I have to apologise for them,] Rathwyn stated, [again. I tried to tie them to their beds this morning, but Englebert chewed through the rope.]
Theresant didn't need a translation to know what the scholars were after. They wanted access to the young chal, to observe and study them. It wasn't necessarily a bad idea, to have another set of eyes and a different perspective brought to bear on the rearing process. It was just… they were so bad at controlling themselves. She wiggled her leg again, but the Lady Meritious was stuck like a barnacle, her grip unyielding.
This was very inconvenient.
[If they promise to stop coming here every morning, I will allow them to observe for a portion of the day,] she finally compromised. [They must promise to behave themselves.]
They would be in an observation chamber, so the hatchlings wouldn't be able to see or hear them at all, but further shameful displays would be unsettling to the Tenders, and thus lower the quality of their overall care.
Unacceptable.
[I'll let them know,] Rathwyn said, then spoke aloud to the scholars.
There was silence for a moment. Blessed silence. Then the two mages broke out in fresh noise, tears and mucus, rubbing their faces on Theresant's legs as they bawled with gratitude.
Filled with distaste, she began to use her other legs to try to push them off, prying them off her after several minutes of effort. It took some time for the scholars to collect themselves, time that Theresant used to supervise the morning meal's preparation and distribution.
So far, the snails were growing well, as far as the Tenders could tell, but they continued to experiment with their diet in the hopes of stumbling across foods they enjoyed even more. The chal didn't appear to be super picky eaters, happily chomping away at the offerings the Tenders prepared, but Theresant couldn't help but wonder if they were missing something.
Regardless, after the meal was done, Rathwyn and his two associates arrived outside the viewing chamber.
[They promise to comport themselves with the dignity expected of the magio-scholars,] he assured her, prodding both of the mages with his finger for emphasis.
[Yes, we must apologise for our… earlier display,] Lady Meritious said, looking abashed. [Our yearning for knowledge temporarily overcame our better judgement.]
Theresant could have pointed out that they had lost the battle against their yearning for knowledge daily for some time, but chose to keep her thoughts to herself.
[You may enter the observation room,] she told them, [but you are not allowed into the snailcare centre itself. We are taking strict measures to control the environment in which the hatchlings are being raised and will not take risks compromising it.]
[Very reasonable and understandable, as I'm sure my colleagues will agree,] Rathwyn stated solemly, with more poking.
[Yes… of course,] Englebert muttered, looking sulky.
[I… agree,] Lady Meritious said, looking very disagreeable.
Hoping she wasn't making a mistake, she led the scholars into the observation chamber and watched carefully as they approached the one-way window.
[What has been happening inside the chamber today?] Lady Meritious asked, flipping out a notebook and beginning to scribble things down.
Surprisingly normal behaviour from them… This could be a good sign.
[They have just been awoken and fed their morning meal,] she told them. [The Tenders are now encouraging the hatchlings to move about the space and engage in the various play activities we have set up around the chamber.]
She used an antenna to point.
[Over there, you can see we have created a multi-textured slide for them to glide over. The hatchlings seem to enjoy using their feet to glide over different types of surfaces.]
[Fascinating, fascinating!] Englebert muttered to himself, also furiously writing down his notes.
As the seconds passed, the two scholars appeared almost magnetically drawn to the window before them. Before long, they were practically pressed up against it, their eyes glaring feverishly as they tried to observe every movement of every chal in sight.
Theresant pointed at the two of them, concerned, and Rathwyn just shrugged apologetically.
She was reluctant to say anything else, but her instincts demanded she be a good host, so Theresant felt compelled to speak.
[Any moment now, I expect the next singing lesson to begin.]
The two scholars froze in place, as if struck by lightning, but before they could properly react, a single, clear note rang out through the observation chamber.
[The snails are given group and individual lessons, as well as times like this where we give them the opportunity to simply listen and join if they so choose,] she explained. [They almost always do.]
Indeed, as the note was held, resonating in the air, the little chal opened their mouths and joined in, their little voices combining to form a bright, if thin, accompaniment to the angelic sound of the magpei singer.
Both researchers were furiously writing, or at least, it seemed as if they were. On closer inspection, Theresant thought they were merely moving their hands randomly, covering the pages with disordered scrawl. When she focused on their faces, she jumped.
Only the whites of their eyes were showing and a foam was dripping from their mouths.
[Are they diseased?!] she demanded of Rathwyn, leaping back. Had the snailcare centre been contaminated?
He leaned forward to see the state of his fellows and sighed heavily.
[They have been overwhelmed with excitement, I'm afraid,] he said. [I'll have to take them back to our rooms to recover.]
He hesitated for a moment.
[Could I ask for some soldiers to help? They'll likely fight me if I try to take them away.]
-x-X-x-
"Everything has been unfolding according to my predictions," Solant stated clearly.
Leonidant turned away from the ongoing battle of the platform to look at her sibling and leader.
"It always does," she said, confused. "Why bother announcing it now?"
"Because I predicted our position here would grow significantly worse, almost to the point of defeat."
Leonidant was shocked. The Colony was taking a beating for sure, but they were holding strong against the wave within the fifth stratum, a deed thought impossible by most of Pangera. Why was Solant saying they were going to be pushed to the brink?
"Is it the Legion?" she demanded. "Are they going to betray us? Or will they be too weak to hold the platform?"
Losing a single platform wouldn't be the end of the fortress, but it would be a devastating blow. The natural mana of the fifth wasn't just toxic, it was self-replicating, chewing up other forms of magical energy to reproduce itself. The cleansed mana created by the wuffers had the same property, but it was simply outgunned by the sheer volume and concentration of the competition. The fifth's energy was able to chew through the cleansed energy faster than the reverse, and as it grew more condensed throughout the wave, the ratio only got worse. Losing an eighth of the input for the wuffers would be enough to push the fortress to the brink later on in the wave.
Solant merely clacked her mandibles placidly.
"Do the Legion look as though they are going to falter?"
Maintaining their disciplined ranks, the Abyssal Legion continued to fight, just as they had for days on end, holding the line against the wave and obliterating the monsters that charged forward to challenge them. They had been steadfast and unyielding, as much as Leonidant hated to admit it.
"No," she said begrudgingly.
"I agree with that assessment. No, the source of the problem lies in the escalation of the conflict."
"What escalation of the conflict?" Leonidant asked, confused.
"The one that hasn't happened yet," Solant stated, sagely.
Sometimes, even Leonidant had to wonder if her sister was being deliberately obtuse. Would it really hurt her to give a straight answer?
"If the Eldest were here, you'd have a sore head right now."
Solant flinched, ever so slightly.
"That was uncalled for," she reproached her sister.
"You have a habit of being more vague than you need to be," Leonidant shrugged, unapologetic.
"In this particular instance, I can't be specific," Solant said, a little snippily. "There are numerous factors that could lead to the escalation I predicted, and any of them, or all of them, could eventuate. Without access to the deeper Dungeon, there is no way for me to know."
"So, you've identified a number of factors that have the potential to intensify the battle around the fortress? What are they?"
"I can give you the full list, if you like, or we can begin to enact our countermeasures. Which would you prefer?"
"Countermeasures," came the immediate reply.
Leonidant trusted Solant implicitly. No matter what she said, she would only say if she was sure, if it served a purpose. She hadn't revealed this problem until now, and there was a reason for that as well. The reasons could wait until later; action should be taken as soon as possible.
"First, we need to speak to Brilliant. Everything hinges on the reservoir. If that doesn't work, we will have to begin withdrawing from the fortress."
Indeed, the storage built right in the heart of the fortress was key to the entire strategy. Withoutit, there was no chance of success. If that were the case, there was no point remaining here. Withdrawal would be a catastrophic loss for the Colony, but not as much as staying and losing millions of ants and tens of thousands of allies.
It took time to move from the platform to the very heart of the nest, and the two sisters didn't speak at all as they skittered through the long tunnels. No words were necessary.
Before they entered the central chamber itself, Leonidant could already feel a hum in the air that caused the fine hairs on her antennae to shiver. What was that?
Solant moved directly to a crowded area swarming with ants, and sure enough, Brilliant was there, working feverishly.
"Is it fixed?" Solant asked calmly.
Brilliant hopped around and pointed an antennae directly at the little general.
"Who do you think you're talking to?" the mage cried. "Of course it's fixed! I'm BRILLIANT! Not some half-baked inventor fresh out of the antcademy!"
"Really?" Leonidant said, somewhat shocked. "It's really fixed?"
Brilliant flicked her antennae.
"I don't repeat myself," she said.
Then she began trembling on the spot.
After a few moments, she became unable to control herself and unleashed an overwhelming burst of pheromones.
"I'M BRILLIANT!" she roared, striking a victorious pose, two legs held up in the air.
"You repeated yourself," Solant pointed out.
"Some things are worth repeating," Brilliant said triumphantly.
"How were you able to resolve the resonance issue?"
"With difficulty," came the reply.
There was silence for a moment, then Brilliant slumped.
"You really want me to explain it? That's so boring."
"The superficial details, then," Solant conceded.
"Great!" Brilliant sprang back to life. "So, we did everything possible to contain the resonant energy between the holding tanks, right? Dampeners, anti-resonance wave fields, mana-wave padding, porous, energy-absorbing baffles, all of it, and it still didn't work. The concentration of energy was just too much and even these measures weren't enough to completely muffle the resonance. And, as you know, even a tiny, infinitesimal amount of resonance would be enough to destroy the entire facility, since it would only grow in intensity over time."
"Yes. Your solution?"
"In essence, we shunted it into another dimension."
Leonidant boggled. They'd done what?
"Excellent," Solant said. "Is there any chance this will blow back onto us?"
"It shouldn't. In the end, the amount of resonance we're shunting is tiny; the residue that remains after our exhaustive methods is almost unnoticeable and wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for the sheer volume of energy we're trying to store. I explored the dimension as thoroughly as I safely could, and there didn't seem to be any reason to think the shunted energy would be a problem."
"You've done well, Brilliant. Thank you," Solant said, clacking her mandibles in satisfaction.
"Did you really expect anything less?" Brilliant chortled, waving her antennae wildly.
"I did not. Can we take a look at the reservoir?"
"Go for it. Just don't touch anything or move around too much. You might end up in another dimension."
"We'll be careful."
Solant turned and wandered further into the chamber, Leonidant following close behind.
"Are you sure this is safe?" Leonidant demanded.
"No, but Brilliant seems confident."
"She's not exactly… cautious."
"But she's generally correct. Besides, a certain level of risk is acceptable in the pursuit of victory."
There it was, that sharp gleam in the general's eyes. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that there was only one overriding goal in the eyes of Solant: total victory. Nothing was more important to her.
Leonidant fell silent as they moved deeper within, her antennae vibrating more and more the closer they got. Finally, they reached the innermost chamber, the reservoir itself, and gazed within.
Thousands and thousands of tanks, each partially filled with a glowing blue liquid covered the walls, rising up and falling below. The sheer concentration of mana here was enough to render any sort of mana sense completely useless. This energy was simply too potent, too dense, burning bright as a star.
"Twenty percent full," Solant noted.
Only twenty percent? And it was this intense? What was it going to be like in here when the tanks were full?
"The rate of filling should increase, since the reserves are fully stocked. As long as things proceed within tolerance, we will make it in time," Solant said, satisfied.
She turned to leave.
"Come, we need to speak to the core shapers."
"What? Why?"
"Reinforcements."
-x-X-x-
The art of Core Shaping is a delicate and profound one. Manipulating the energy encoded within every core requires great strength of will, force of mind, persistence and endurance, naturally, but the subtle craft of design is what separates the masters from the rest.
For many, it is a long-abandoned practice, the costs simply not outweighing the benefits. Then there are the risks involved. Too many have poured their heart and soul into crafting and rearing a pet. Sweat and blood poured out to acquire the requisite cores, mental energy burned like fuel to manipulate and combine them, then time and patience to rear them. After all of that work, all of that effort, if that pet were to fall in combat, not only would it be a devastating loss of resources and effort, but also, potentially, the loss of a friend.
Many of those who take on Pet Master or similar Classes reach a point after which they simply cannot go on, too many friends, allies, companions, lost along the journey. Some believe the correct method is to harden their heart towards one's pets, to view them as tools, to be used and discarded. Such men and women will never go far, unable to pour their passion and heart into the very allies they need to succeed.
- Excerpt from 'On Pets' by Duanold
"We've been working on it, Solant, but there is only so much we can do with what we have," Bella groaned.
"There are so few cores available, and Core Shaping is a wasteful process to begin with," Ellie agreed, also slumped over. "We've been as careful and deliberate as we know how, but there's still a long way to go before we even have a viable design."
Solant nodded. This wasn't outside her expectations. In fact, it was well within them.
"Don't worry, I know how difficult the task is. You're doing well," she said.
Ever since the wuffer queens had been created, the number of available wuffers had quickly climbed, and the core shapers had been busy rearing them, managing the jelly blobs and ensuring they were happy and wibbling. Now that the required number of wuffers had been reached, the Core Shapers had finally been freed to return to other duties. Large numbers had reported to the platforms, using their pets to hold back the tide, but that wasn't going to be enough in the long run.
Solant meant to take advantage of the pets' most powerful attribute: their adaptability. After all, there were limits to what the Colony could do to overcome their monstrous biology. One could invest in mutations and evolutions to try and adapt to the fifth, but even doing so right from tier one wouldn't guarantee a soldier could actually endure the sheer toxicity of the environment down here.
But the monsters born here certainly could. And they had cores. Cores could be turned into pets. Pets made from monsters native to the fifth, naturally, would be able to fight and live outside the safe-zone. Realistically, it was the only way for the Colony to recruit allies that could fill that role.
However, getting their mandibles on native cores was hard, even during a wave when monster numbers were absurdly abundant. They didn't have a farm down here; they were engaged in a life-or-death struggle every moment. Some cores were so inherently toxified that they half-melted when brought within the cleansed field, rendering them useless.
The core shapers didn't have enough materials to work with and would have to make do with what they could get. There wouldn't be a chance for them to create a custom design based on commonly available cores because there was no guarantee they would ever see a second copy of any core put in front of them. That meant doing as much as they could to turn each and every one they saw into as viable a pet as possible.
Solant also didn't underestimate just how difficult this was for the core shapers to work on. These ants treated their pets like their own hatchlings, cared for them, cherished them. It hadn't always been this way, but after battling with loyal allies for so long, Solant could understand it. Forcing them to make disposable weapons that they would never be able to take outside the fifth, and would be assured to die if the Colony were successful, was… hard for them.
"I know this is far from an easy task, and I am not demanding immediate results," she assured the two Council members. "Do your best, and I'm sure you will eventually produce something we can use."
"I feel like there's something coming," Bella said, sounding exhausted. "You may as well come out with it, Solant. Don't spare our feelings, we can take it."
"There's no criticism being levelled, no accusations or threats," Solant stated. "Your caste has been instrumental in our success; the wuffers were an inspired creation, and you've worked just as hard as everyone else."
"But?" Ellie asked.
"... But I thought you might welcome some help on a task as difficult as this one."
"Help?" Bella scoffed. "Who's going to help us? The Eldest could, perhaps, but they are far better utilised elsewhere. You've found some outside mages to assist us? Experts in core shaping? I'm not sure we should trust anyone like that with the fate of the fortress on the line."
"Rest assured, I would only bring someone into a situation as delicate as this if they held our complete trust. There are no mages among the surface races I would ever allow to work with you. That doesn't mean that none exist."
"Then… who?" Ellie wondered.
Bella's antennae stiffened.
"You don't mean?" she gasped.
A powerful mental bridge snapped into place within the room, followed by an equally powerful mental voice.
[Well, well, WELL! GOOD SHOW and WHAT FOR! I haven't been this far down in the Dungeon for too long, I SAY! TOO LONG! How are my favourite students?]
[Formo!]
-x-X-x-
The sophos named Formo looked much the same as most of his kind. He had a large, bulbous, eyeless head that almost seemed too heavy for his wiry body, causing him to lean forward and hunch his shoulders. His long, thin arms were tipped with three-fingered, clawed hands and he wore little more than a toga made of some sort of thin cloth. Despite his small stature, likely waist-high for an adult human, he had a commanding presence, and there was no denying the force of his mind that filled the room and dominated the bridge that formed between them.
[Master Formo! You've been down in the fifth before?] Bella gasped.
[The fifth? GODS, NO! This BLASTED place is awful. Awful! I have, however, been to the fourth. Cores crafted by my people are sold in local markets, and we come down to collect payment every now and again.]
[Will you be alright with the mana saturation?] Ellie wondered, only to get slapped on the head by her sister. [Wha–?] she started angrily, only to realise her mistake and gasp. [I'm so sorry, Master Formo!]
[It's no problem, NO PROBLEM AT ALL, I SAY! Indeed, the few naturally born sophos aren't allowed this deep in case they end up monsterised like the rest of us, BY JOVE!]
Relieved that the poor monster hadn't taken offense, Bella and Ellie were quick to invite their old teacher inside to enjoy a cup of tea and a scone.
[Such a delicious treat! You ants have come a long way!] He chortled, happily munching away and licking the cream from his fingers.
[If you don't mind,] started Solant, who was still with them, [I believe one of our best… investigative mages… wanted to interview you about the process that turned your people into monsters. Would that be alright?]
The two core shapers froze, but Formo merely waved the question away.
[I will have to decline. It's not something we sophos like to dwell on, and it isn't something we understand. I myself was spawned only seventy years ago, so it isn't like I have insight from the time of the Rending.]
[As far as we in the Colony know, yours are the only people in the history of Pangera to ever become monsters via exposure to mana,] Solant continued. [It feels like a phenomenon that should be understood.]
[There's no point,] Formo dismissed the question again. [When my people were lost, the mana concentration in the Dungeon was BLOODY HIGH! BLOODY HIGH, I SAY! These were the years leading up to the Cataclysm; the mana level hasn't gotten even close to that height ever since. Even these latest waves are little puddles in comparison. My people lived underground and were the first to find the Dungeon. Those sophos were exposed to absurd levels of mana for years. Who can say what that would do to a living being? At any rate, it's IMPOSSIBLE to try and study a phenomenon you can't reproduce. Unless you want to monsterise people?]
[I don't, but Brilliant probably would,] Solant said.
[Well that's a TERRIBLE IDEA! Tell that Brilliant to JOG ON and find something else to work on.]
[I will. Then, I will leave you to your work. Thank you for the tea.]
The little general made her exit and left the core shapers with their old teacher. Formo took another sip of his tea, holding the cup with two hands as he carefully brought it up to his mouth.
[Ahhhh. DELICIOUS, BY JOVE! Now, how is that Anthony fellow travelling? It's been some time since I've seen him.]
[The… Eldest? The Eldest is fine,] Ellie replied, a little surprised. [Much bigger now than they were before. Tier seven these days.]
[Tier seven already? That's quite a high tier. Mythic?]
[Ah, yes.]
[Excellent. EXCELLENT, I SAY! Making a lot of progress. I would like to speak to him again if I get the chance. For now, let us examine your problem. Do you have any cores I can look at?]
[Of course we do,] Bella said, jumping from her chair to grab a core with her mandibles and bring it back to the table. [I can't tell you how grateful we are that you've come to help us, Formo. This is a really difficult problem.]
[Well, now, it's not an issue. We sophos have been talking about whether or not we should take a more active role in the Dungeon. Our place is… not overly secure. We are, after all, monsters, most of us anyway. To me and my like-minded fellows, the Colony is a natural fit for us. Consider my presence here as… an outreach effort.
[Not to mention, I happen to like you CHAPS!]
[We're… all female,] Ellie said.
[We're all monsters here,] Formo dismissed, waving a hand, [being a splendid chap has nothing to do with reproduction, otherwise ninety percent of the sophos wouldn't be splendid chaps, and that's impossible.]
He pushed his cup away and reached out for the core, which was placed in his palm. There was a heavy silence for a brief moment, then Formo dropped the core and pulled back, as if repulsed.
[Holy STONES, that thing is an AWFUL BLIGHTER! BY JOVE!]
He wiped his hand on the table as Bella and Ellie rushed forward.
[Are you alright, Formo?] they cried.
[I'm fine,] he said, mind still dripping with distaste. [Faugh! The monsters down here are deplorable. Even worse, that core has been warped.]
[Warped? What do you mean?] Bella asked.
[I'm guessing that bringing it inside this… clean mana zone was what did the damage. A quarter of the information in the core is useless.]
Another significant challenge of working with the toxic monsters of the fifth. Nothing, not even their cores, was free of corruption, which meant they were damaged by the clean mana just like everything else.
[How else are we supposed to work with them?] Ellia wondered. [We were trying to work around the damage. Is that not possible?]
[No. At least, not properly. We need to examine these cores in their natural, undamaged state. TALLY HO! We seek the exterior!]
-x-X-x-
Zluth knew he wasn't the first to report the vision he'd experienced; one glance at the fervent activity within the temporary settlement convinced him of that. It was a little surprising. Theorazzn had said they would speak to others, but for one to already be amongst the Krath fighting the invasion was unlikely.
No matter.
It had never been his intention to return as a herald and elevate himself. This was more important than personal advancement now. Well, it was mostly more important than personal advancement. Zluth would still take what he was offered.
It wasn't easy to see the Krath'lath. Chozth was busy, and angry, if the volume of her voice was any indication. Her largest and most loyal followers blocked access to those trying to slide forward and curry favour, or beg for a position they didn't deserve.
Zluth was able to talk his way past, relatively simply. He was a scout, returning from his task, and under strict orders to report directly to the Krath'lath when he arrived. Even at the risk of disobeying Chozth's direct orders, he was still held up, prodded and growled at before being allowed to pass, which just went to show how touchy the situation was in the settlement.
Chozth was in the middle of screaming at two smaller Krath who cringed back from her, reeking of fear, which only seemed to anger the tribe leader further. In his opinion, she was only able to hold herself back from devouring both of them through sheer force of will, something they seemed to realise. When she was done, they thanked her obsequiously as they slid away, lucky to be alive.
Which meant that the mighty war leader was in an even fouler mood when she turned and laid eyes on Zluth. As soon as she saw him, her eyes flared wide and her lips peeled back to reveal her fangs, an expression of intense hunger stealing over her features.
All he could do was give thanks to Theorazzn as she approached, for he would have been unlikely to survive without the Ancient's intervention.
It was easy to forget just how powerful the Krath'lath of the Thuuz tribe was up close. She wasn't the largest slug, but sleek and muscular. She moved with a grace and speed that made much larger Krath look clumsy and unthreatening. Before he could blink, she was looming over him, her overwhelmingly acrid breath burning his skin.
"Our scout has returned, I see," she purred. "Much to report? For your sake, I hope so. For my sake, I hope not."
Zluth held fast to his courage. He refused to wilt away in front of Chozth as the others had.
That didn't mean he wasn't afraid. Far from it.
"I have seen many things, including the ongoing fighting at the platform from as close as a Krath can get," he told her.
She eyed him like he was a fresh slice of meat.
"And I have received a visitation from Theorazzn in my dreams," he continued, "though it doesn't seem like I'm the only one around here."
"You saw the Ancient?" Chozth demanded. "You?"
Zluth did his best not to be offended.
"I did," he confirmed warily. "The Ancient said I was the first he had spoken to, though he would then go on to talk to many others."
"First?!" she roared, then glared at him. "What were the words of the Ancient? If you are lying, you will suffer a death worthy of legend among the tribes."
Careful not to mispeak, Zluth detailed exactly what he had seen during the strange dream, along with the sensations he'd felt being dragged away from his body. Chozth listened intently to the entire story, her mouth moving as if she were chewing over his words.
"You aren't lying," she concluded with a furious glare. "I suppose that means you won't be eaten today."
"Kind of you," Zluth replied, outwardly calm.
He thought about it for a moment.
"You also received the vision, didn't you?" he asked.
"I did," Chozth growled. "It is the honour of my life to have spoken with the Ancient. Theorazzn hasn't spoken to the Krath in many centuries; anything they ask for must be delivered."
"Death to the big ant seems to be the easiest of the tasks, and I don't think that will be all that easy. That awful beast has proven to be more powerful than we expected and has the support of its fellow skittering filth."
"At least we know where it is," Chozth stated, "and it isn't likely to move anytime soon. The other monster the Ancient mentioned, it could be anywhere. As for the singing… have you heard anything, scout?"
"No," Zluth replied bitterly. If he had, he would shout it at the top of his lungs. Then the glory would certainly fall on him, like rivers of golden mucus. He turned his eye-stalks back to the other Krath in the settlement.
"What are your plans, Krath'sizz?" he asked, addressing her as the war leader.
"We have been gifted with the words of the Ancient," she hissed at him. "There is only one thing we can do. Whatever Theorazzn told us. I'm sending scouts to visit every tribe we can reach and a few that we can't. Before the wave is done, we must have completed our tasks. Every Krath from every tribe must be marshalled for the effort or eaten alive."
Zluth nodded.
"Send me to the furthest tribes," he demanded, "no one other than me could reach them anyway."
Chozth eyed him, then bared her teeth approvingly.
"Very well. I will send you to the Bulg. Leave as soon as you can."
-x-X-x-
So little is known about the Krath. We don't know what they think of those not of the tribes other than that they hate us. If the legends are to be believed, and the fifth was not always as it is now, then how do the tribes feel about the transformation? Do they have a view of the being who changed their home into the toxic hellscape it now is? Surely the Krath, who are known all through the Dungeon for their viciousness and capacity to hold a grudge, would hold a special and intense hatred for the individual who wronged them so. Even if it were an Ancient.
- Excerpt from 'Mysteries of the Fifth' by Echo Irindal.
The wilds of the fifth were always dangerous, but during a wave, everything was elevated to an absurd degree. The arterial tunnels were flowing with such concentrated mana that his slug flesh began to sizzle and hiss if he exposed himself for too long. Even the capillaries were highly active, with highly virulent and acidic mucus flowing from the walls while abundant parasites crawled everywhere, seeking soft flesh and unwary monsters to infest.
Under these conditions, the Krath tribes would hunker down, find safe havens higher in the stratum and then launch their attacks on the fourth. This time, everything was different. Far from seeking refuge, Zluth was plunging deeper into the Dungeon, alone and unprotected against the many dangers, and he did so gladly.
He paused, squashed flat against the wall of a tunnel, his eyes swivelling rapidly. He couldn't remain still for long; the chance of him being found only went up if he stopped moving. There was a mucus river beneath him, collecting the goop from the walls and slowly flowing back towards the direction he'd come, but he knew better than to go inside. Too many monsters he couldn't outrun could be found in the mucus; he needed to stick to the walls as best as he could.
After a few seconds, he took a deep breath, sucking the toxic, acidic air into his body. It burned, but he embraced the pain, letting it drive him, fill his slug flesh with its poison. Every sense pushed to the limit, body aching and flesh sizzling, Zluth couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so alive.
He hadn't had enough time to properly map out his path forward, but he couldn't remain still any longer. He couldn't see the predators closing in on his position, but he knew they were there. They were always there.
Accelerating suddenly, he pushed hard, his foot gripping and sliding as quick as it could. There was a disturbance behind him as several worm-like appendages launched out of the mucus river and crunched into the wall where he'd been.
Too slow.
There was toxic mould on the left and it was currently blooming. Were he to run over it, his flesh would be embedded with spores that would soon sprout, spreading tendrils through his body and draining him of vitality. Even breathing would be deadly in this environment, so he pressed himself flatter, letting the wall mucus roll over and shield his body as he continued to race forward.
He'd spotted sletherpods tucked into the folds of the rock up ahead, and he would need to move through their feeding zone to progress. Normally, the way to dodge these motionless predators was to find another tunnel, or to move through very patiently. Zluth had time for neither.
He continued to race forward, reaching out with his mana senses, sweeping, searching for something he could use.
In a heartbeat, he latched onto a target and dove for it, his body decompressing to release his many spindly-clawed limbs. A tiny creature sensed him coming and tried to dart from the wall, but he was too fast. In one movement, Zluth seized the geist-leech, gripping it just so to avoid letting it latch onto him, then flung it up into the air.
The sletherpods, already pushing their needle-tipped tongues out of their hard-shelled, immobile bodies, switched targets, taken off guard by the sudden movements. Explosive hissing sounds filled the tunnel as the tongues were launched at impossible speeds, each attempting to spear the leech in mid air. Zluth only accelerated further, pushing to get through as quick as he could.
BAM!
An explosion of pain rocked Zluth to his core as he felt something pierce his flesh. He didn't need to look to know what had happened. One sletherpod, more patient, or perhaps just slower than the rest, hadn't gone for the bait and had targeted him instead.
Zluth acted on instinct, knowing what he had to do to survive. He pressed his flesh tight around the wound, squeezing it as hard as he could before he lunged forward, stretching the tongue to its maximum length. It was agony, but he knew he couldn't loosen its hold. Once a sletherpod had speared a large prey like a Krath, they would extend barbs from their tongue, hooking into the flesh and spreading a numbing poison. If he held on hard enough, the barbs wouldn't be able to extend, and he would have a brief window of time.
Almost immediately, the monster tried to reel him in, pulling hard as Zluth fought to escape, pitting the two in a desperate tug of war. The Krath was wily, varying the strength and timing of his lunges, trying to catch the sletherpod off guard while it continued to yank back.
With everything to lose, Zluth gambled and hoped to the Ancient that he was right. When he felt the sletherpod was about to pull hard on its tongue, he let go, releasing the grip his flesh had around the wound.
If he were wrong, the monster would seize the opportunity to extend its barbs and soon he would fall limp, completely numb, but awake, as he was slowly reeled in and held to be devoured at a later date.
Theorazzn smiled on him. The sletherpod hauled back, and the spear-tipped tongue shot out of him with a wet 'pop!'. Without missing a beat, Zluth was off, sliding, zigging and zagging until he found a slight fold in the rock wall that seemed uninhabited.
He slid in and decompressed so he could inspect the wound.
It wasn't great, but it could have been much worse. None of his organs had been punctured, only meat and muscle. It would slow him down, make him less manoeuvrable, which was almost a death sentence, given where he was, but he couldn't afford to hesitate.
Reaching deep within himself, Zluth hawked up a thick wad of bubbling green ooze that immediately burned the inside of his mouth. He spat it out onto the wound and watched as the flesh sizzled, cauterising the hole. The scent of Krath blood was the sweetest dinner invitation in the fifth. He couldn't allow a single drop to spill. Once the acid had run its course and the wound had melted closed, he tightened up the flesh once more, hissing softly against the pain.
He was halfway to the Bulg tribe.