C1797 - The Templars Glow
To my question, the six of them kick their feet and look a little baffled for a moment, glancing from one to the next before finally Jern raises a hand.
[Jern, I'm not a teacher, you don't need to raise your hand.]
He lowers it a little reluctantly.
[It just felt respectful, Great One. You are a god, after all.]
[I'm also not a god.]
[If you say so,] he says doubtfully and I'm reminded that attempting to persuade Jern of anything is an ultimately futile endeavour. [We've been pretty busy fighting against the Krath,] he goes on. [Helping the Colony defend the fortresses, supporting the human battalion members and the Priests.]
[The Priests?] I say, confused. [How are you helping the Priests?]
Those antennae-wearing morons are a pain in the thorax, but they do provide some rather excellent buffs when the Colony fights alongside its allies. Sadly, those buffs are too good to pass up, otherwise I'd happily leave them behind.
It's Bertran who answers, rubbing at the back of his head sheepishly.
[Well, they ask us to attend a few of the services that they run, say a few words and things like that.]
[I mostly just stand there,] Jern says.
I can't believe what I'm hearing.
[They're using you as props in religious services?! Am I hearing that right?]
[Well... sort of,] Bertran hedges. [I think they like seeing us, since we have some sort of connection with you.]
[And what are you telling them, Bertran? What words of wisdom do the Templars have to share?]
He scratches at the back of his neck.
[Mostly, I just tell them to make sure they get enough sleep. It's not like you've left a list of commandments or something. Is there anything you would like us to say? Some directives for your followers?]
The three young Templars, Emilia, Trean and Allison, all nod firmly at the mention of regular sleep, but grow still and stare at me a little too intently when he asks if I have any other commands.
[No! I hate to be the one to bring this up again, but I am NOT a god! I'm an extremely cool and impressive monster. I refuse to lay out official guidelines for life to a bunch of confused believers. Who knows what they would do with them?]
Telling the Colony that they should make sure they get eight hours of sleep a day ended up turning into a whole thing. To be honest, the torpor police are the main reason I try not to tell the Colony what to do too much. Goodness knows what'll happen the next time I open my big pheromone gland.
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Sheesh. When it was just the priests I had to worry about, this wasn't such a big deal, but now there's way too many of them. If anything, their insane beliefs are only spreading. Where it was once confined to the survivors in Renewal, now it's gotten into the Dungeon cities within Colony territory and is filtering out wider and wider. The crusades didn't help, that's for sure.
Now there's a ton of people out there who've joined this bizarre ant-based religion, to the point where that idiot Beyn received a Prophet Class! Gah!
Nope, don't want to think about that, let's just move on.
[Alright, so you've been helping the Colony fight here in the fifth,] I say, determined to move on from any talk of priests and faith and how I'm definitely not a god. [How's that been going?]
Alis speaks up for the first time. Fighting is something she's more than happy to talk about, as usual.
[Good, Great One. We've gained a lot of Levels and are ready to advance our Classes. We were just waiting until you woke up and came to see us.]
Uh... why?
[Any particular reason why you waited for me?] I ask, confused. [I've been out of action for six months, and since I woke up, I've been running around all over the place. You could have advanced your Classes ages ago, I'm sure.]
Alis hesitates, reluctant to answer, but Jern is all too happy to fill in.
[We waited for you,] he said, as if it explained everything. Which it didn't.
[I get that. Why?]
The giant young man just shrugs.
[Seemed like the right thing to do.]
Ugh. This shouldn't be this hard.
[Sure. Why did you feel that way?]
[I think if I answer that question, you're going to get mad.]
Dammit!
[Well, I'm here now, so we may as well get it over with. Go ahead and evolve... or... whatever it is you guys do.]
[Class advancement,] Bertran says helpfully.
[Yeah, that thing.]
I'm not sure what I expect, if they're just going to close their eyes on the spot, or start waving their hands around as they interact with a menu or something, but I'm taken aback when all six of them step towards me, raising their hands. Defensively, I take a step back.
[W-what are you doing?]
They pause.
[I was just going to put a hand on you while I did the Class Advancement,] Jern tells me.
[Why?!]
He doesn't hesitate.
[I don't think you want to hear the answer to that.]
[Wha? Bu... FINE. Sheesh.]
It's hard to get too angry with Jern, he just says whatever is going on in his head. He's right, I don't want to hear any of their nonsense. If they feel happier doing their thing with a hand on one of my legs, go nuts, it doesn't make any difference to me.
Each of the six steps forward and ceremonially places a hand on a different one of my legs, which only makes me feel even more uncomfortable. It's fine, I can tolerate it.
[How long does this take?] I ask them.
[Not that long,] Bertram says, his eyes closed. [We just have to pick a new Class from the options given.]
Right. Well, I suppose I'll just stand here, then.
Trying to resist the urge to shift on the spot, I do my best to remain still, which proves to be far more difficult than I expected. This is the second time these guys are advancing a Templar-related Class, I think. They were originally Templar Initiates, or something of the sort, now they're something else, perhaps just Templar.
[Any interesting offerings?] I ask, unable to keep silent.
[Templar of Unshaking Faith,] Jern says.
Sounds about right....
-x-X-x-
None of the Templars are offered the same Class, which is interesting, but their own personal variants based on their particular strengths and interests. I can't help but become curious once they start discussing the options they've been given, because obviously I have to ask all of them after Jern piped up.
A few of the options are a little surprising, but most of them line up with the people to whom they are offered.
Bertram is given a few different choices, but the best and highest rarity ones are relating to his role as a Templar and his penchant for being a jack-of-all-trades with a vast wealth of experience doing all sorts of odd-jobs.
Templar of the Toolshed
Templar Gadgeteer
Templar Engineer of the Moment
Of his options, Bertram is most inclined to choose one of these three, each providing bonuses to his various Skills that make something out of nothing. I leave him perusing and weighing up his options while I turn to Jern and check on the rest of his offerings.
Templar of Unshaking Faith was the option that first drew his eye, but he does have others that he finds interesting.
Templar of the Righteous Hammer sounds... intimidating.
Honoured Templar of the Great One is... well... I can only assume this is some sort of practical joke waged on me by Gandalf, the fluffy-bearded old goat.
Jern doesn't seem sure which way he wants to go and I certainly don't have any advice for him. Though, I do hope he avoids the third option. With the Prophet showing up, I certainly don't need any other System prompts to reinforce that sort of thinking.
Alis seems extremely happy with her offerings, although I'm not sure if I'm as enthused as she is. They all seem... a little... combustible?
Unflinching Flame Templar
Righteous Flame Templar
Templar of the Everflame
As long as she's happy, I suppose it's fine? I really don't like the intense fire I see burning in her eyes, but nothing too bad should come of it. Right? For a moment I think about introducing her to Propellant, since they seem to enjoy a similar love of all things fire, but I think better of it. From what I can tell, neither of them need any encouragement.
Oddly, the three youngest aren't all that interested in sharing their Class Advancements with me. A little secretive and shifty, they discuss things intently amongst themselves without ever inviting me to be part of the conversation. Not a problem, you do you. They don't have to tell me or anything, if they want privacy, then they can have it. It does have the side-effect of making me intensely curious, so I immediately start cooking up ways to find out what they're talking about.
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Of course, a mind bridge would solve my problem, letting me rummage around in their thoughts, but that would be extremely obvious and incredibly intrusive. Regardless of how they feel about me, I doubt they'd look too kindly on me effectively reading their minds. That's a no go. I can probably use the Vestibule, skim their surface thoughts and get a decent idea of what they're talking about, but that also feels rather invasive.
Ultimately, I'm forced to let it go and live in ignorance. They can have their secrets, dammit. Even if I'm burning up with curiosity.
[You must be pleased you don't have to worry about getting spiritually attacked anymore, Great One,] Jern says when he's finished making his selection.
I'm a little confused by this.
[What do you mean? Didn't I only ever get attacked like... twice?]
He looks at me oddly, then nods as if he's realised something.
[I suppose you were asleep for the majority of them, weren't you. Yeah, we put in a tough few shifts over that period. Slimy things kept sneaking into the Nave. We dealt with it, though.]
Hang on, what?!
[I was getting attacked while I was evolving?]
[Oh yeah. Quite a bit. There would have been over a dozen attacks, all up.]
[A dozen?!]
Nobody thought to mention this to me? Sheesh! Although... when I think about it, the Templars are probably the only ones who were really aware of what was going on, and I haven't come to see them or spoken to them since I woke up. The blame for this one can be placed quite squarely on my own, shiny carapace.
[Well... was everything alright? Are you guys okay?] I ask lamely.
Obviously, they're fine. All of the Templars are standing right in front of me, perfectly healthy, so I can safely assume nothing too bad happened to them while I was asleep.
Jern confirms with one of his uncaring shrugs.
[It was tough for a while, but we got through it in the end. A lot of our Levels came from that... spiritual fighting.]
Wait a second, if Jern says it was tough....
[Alis, how bad were the attacks on the Nave?]
Still grinning to herself in a worrying fashion, like a moth staring hard at the flame, Alis goes pale and starts trembling at my question.
[It was... horrible,] she whispers. [I barely slept for weeks. So... many... slimes....]
Jern pats her on the back sympathetically then moves to giving her shoulders a reassuring squeeze as the poor, obviously traumatised young woman trembles while staring blankly into the distance.
Holy moly! It was that bad?! Now I feel terrible. Doubly so for ignoring them for so long.
[After everything you've done, I think you six deserve a bit of a vacation,] I declare to them all. [Get some rest, heal up your bodies, (and minds), play around with your new Classes before reporting back to duty in a few weeks. How does that sound?]
Betran looks a little uncomfortable.
[I'm not sure it would feel right-]
I lean down close to his face.
[I. Insist.]
He blinks.
[Well in that case, maybe a little time would be a good thing.]
-x-X-x-
Commander Chyron was not in a good mood. Obviously, having Legionaries be rescued from danger within the Dungeon was a good thing. Saving the young trainee officers, doubly so. A good and meritorious deed had been done and she was grateful to the individual who had done it.
Which was why she was in such a poor mood. Being grateful towards a monster, any monster, rubbed her in entirely the wrong way. It was like being grateful to a murderer for helping your kids cross the street. Naturally, you were happy that they hadn't been crushed under a carriage, but the greater issue of murder wasn't excused as a result.
Morrelia and her fellow Tribune, Joshen Aurelis, knew to tread lightly when their commanding officer was in a state like this. Unfortunately, it wasn't always possible to remain out of the line of fire. Chyron was a professional and even-handed Commander, who didn't demand more for her troops than she did from herself. It was just more likely for her to make more demands from herself when she was annoyed.
Right now, they were following on the Commander's heels, dressed in full armour as they stomped through the passageways of the fortress. A brief meeting with Commanders Eliza Sparrek and Steven Monside had told them all they needed to know about what Anthony had been up to when he'd arrived escorting several hundred trainees.
What he'd done to cause the catastrophe was, as yet, still a mystery.
They'd also managed to pick up a straggler. A young trainee, probably no more than nineteen or twenty years old, had requested to be allowed to follow them. Perhaps not that unusual a request, given the circumstances, but it was rather shocking any of the Commanders had agreed.
"So, you've spent a fair bit of time around this monster?" the trainee asked.
Morrelia looked at the girl askance. She didn't remember seeing anyone this... bubbly... when she'd been in the fifth for training. The harsh environment and brutal training tended to iron out the positivity from most people rather quickly. Morrelia hadn't had any to begin with, so she'd fit right in.
"Legionary Sheriman..." she began, but was cut off by Joshen.
"A lot more than I would like, but a lot less than my fellow Tribune. She first met the thing when it was a lot smaller than it is now, during the initial Wave."
Irritated, Morrelia shot a glance at Joshen, but he wasn't paying much attention to her, smiling instead at the young woman walking with them. At any given moment, odds were that Joshen was preening to some extent, he took an awful lot of time to ensure he was always looking his best, but this was just... embarrassing. With his chest puffed up and head held on precisely the right angle to maximise the view of his jawline, he couldn't have been working harder to make a good impression.
Disgusted, Morrelia could only shake her head. Not only was Sheriman beneath him in rank, she must have been five or six years younger. When she looked back at the officer in training, however, she found the young woman only had eyes for her. Large, sparkling eyes, as blue as a winter spring.
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"Uh, that's true," Morrelia said, looking away.
This was the sort of person Joshen was interested in? She looked more like a dewy-eyed princess than she did a proper Legionary. She didn't even have a moustache.
Chasing that unwanted thought away, Morrelia focused on the task at hand. They were going to see Anthony and hassle him for details about what happened below. Knowing him, something dreadful had happened and he was entirely at fault, but getting him to admit it would be almost impossible.
An indirect approach was warranted in this situation.
"I've never seen such a large monster," Sheriman said breathlessly. "The aura coming off of it was overwhelming! You were with it when it was much weaker? Why didn't you kill it back then?"
What sort of question...?
"It wasn't appropriate at the time, nor was I an official member of the Abyssal Legion," Morrelia replied brusquely, keen to end the conversation.
"Not appropriate? What was happening?" Sheriman asked, pressing her for details.
"Things," Morrellia replied flatly. "And stuff."
"What kind of stuff?"
"If you have questions for Anth-for the monster, Legionary Sheriman, then you are welcome to ask them directly. We will be meeting with them shortly."
"We will be meeting with them right now," Commander Chyron growled. "Would you be quiet back there?"
With a start, Morrelia realised they had indeed arrived. Anthony himself, in his enormous tier eight form, rested comfortably in front of them along with his pets. Four powerful monsters together in the same place was enough to send even her instincts screaming, and she knew they were all friendly.
Rather than intimidated, Sheriman appeared completely fascinated, leaning forward, her eyes gleaming with interest as she took in the scene.
Anthony largely ignored them, sending a lazy wave her way with one antenna while he chomped on some Biomass that the Colony had provided for him. In a few seconds, a mind bridge snapped into place, connecting all of them to the giant ant so they could speak together.
[Hello, fine members of the Legion. How are we all today? Feeling good? Feeling fresh? Judging by the scowl on your face, Commander, it's a day that ends in 'y'. Am I right?]
[Very funny, ant,] Chyron grunted. [What the heck have you done this time?]
[Ah, if I might interject,] Morrelia said hastily, stepping forward. Chyron shot her a look but nodded subtly. This was the strategy they had agreed on, after all. [We were wondering if you could tell us what happened down below?]
[Well, a lot of things happened,] the big ant replied vaguely, clearly not interested in elaborating.
Morrelia deployed her hidden strategy.
[According to Legion intelligence, a non-ant monster was really causing some havoc down there,] she said conspiratorially. [A non-ant, really going wild and making a mess, which is almost definitely what caused this disaster. Did you see any other monsters down there, causing problems?]
There was silence for a moment as Anthony thought. Morrelia held her ground. This was going to work.
[Yyyyyyess,] he said finally. [It's all that guy's fault. I'll tell you exactly what they were up to. Dreadful stuff, really. Absolute chaos. No ant would ever be caught dead making such a scene.]
Morrelia nodded sympathetically as Anthony began to explain what he—rather, what the culprit, had done.
-x-X-x-
Morrelia seems fairly content with the story I told her. The Legion are familiar enough with the region to know what the 'lungs' I'm referring to are and appear to have seen the arteries for themselves at some point in history. Perhaps that's why they've maintained a secretive presence in the region, who knows? At the very least, after consulting with each other, the leaders of the Legion here within the fortress have come to a solid understanding of exactly what is taking place.
[I'm glad we're all in agreement, then,] I say with satisfaction. [I am not responsible for anything that has happened here and all blame lies with other, non-specified parties.]
[Sure, Anthony,] Morrelia tells me.
I think she rolled her eyes, but again, it's super hard for me to tell. Humans have such tiny weird eyes! Imagine having to move your eyeballs around to see in different directions. I can barely remember what it was like.
[The real question is, what happens next?] Commander Chyron growls into my mind. [You've done damage to the slugs, I've no doubt about that, but how much? The clans in this region are well dug-in and have thrived here for thousands of years. This area is practically a Krath stronghold.]
I lazily wave an antenna.
[I have no idea. Go ask Solant if you want to find out what the Colony is doing next, that's not something I worry about.]
[You have no idea?] Even Morrelia seems surprised, which is a little disappointing. Come on, Morrelia, you know me!
[Of course I have no idea! I only just got back, and as we here all know, I am not responsible for this mess. How could I possibly have a plan?]
[I don't think he's lying,] Morrelia says to the others.
[I can still hear you.]
[I know.]
Sheesh. What's with people giving me so much sass over the mind bridges these days? I'm a powerful monster deserving of respect! Not to mention, I worked my thorax off to try and make a breakthrough down there. Do they think it was easy for me to go down there and bust through the Krath defences while hunting down their secret bases? Literally any other monster would have been dissolved into goop in the first few hours!
Some people are impossible to please. At least the Colony is happy with me. Pressure has been relieved from the fortress and our territory is stabilising. Our rate of corrupted mana harvesting has returned to normal levels, and we are full steam ahead preparing for the next purified energy flood. Of course, dropping the normal amount of energy down there would be like spitting into the ocean, ineffective and lacking in basic hygiene.
No matter what, we have to wait until the mucus levels have gone down again before we proceed. To all intents and purposes, we are looking at a good old-fashioned stalemate.
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"If they really want to know what we have planned, then I am happy to tell them."
Cool as a glacier-chilled cucumber, there is only one ant who could possibly speak with such ice-cold logic.
"Solant? What are you doing down here?"
"I came to consult with you, but I see we have guests. Yet more Abyssal Legion Commanders inside the fortress. Are you collecting them, Senior?"
"It was either bring them here or leave them to drown under a tide of mucus. I thought bringing them here would be the more diplomatic move."
Also, leaving them there would have been a bit mean, surely. The Legion might not treat us very well, but that doesn't mean we need to stoop to their level. I for one take pleasure in being nice to them and then rubbing their faces in it when they're rude back.
Gweheheheheh.
The reaction Solant receives upon entering the chamber is the perfect illustration of the point. Commander Chyron gives her a frosty, if respectful nod, but the more recent arrivals look distinctly unhappy to be approached by the little general, their hands twitching as if wishing they had weapons to draw.
You're in an ant fortress and you're unhappy about seeing an ant? Get with the program, sheesh!
Uncaring of their reactions, the little general skitters closer and stands by my side, leisurely cleaning her antennae.
[Solant says she's happy to lay out the plan for you,] I tell Morrelia and company. [Presumably she wants to drag you into her schemes.]
"Senior. I am trying to drag the Legion into my schemes. Are you making it difficult for me?"
"What? No! I would never!"
How did she know?!
[Scratch that, Morrelia, she has no schemes. Well... I mean... she has schemes, but none that involve you. Directly.]
Smooth.
[Stop wasting our time and spit it out,] Chyron says, only growing angrier as time passes. She needs a lie down or something, seriously. This woman is getting way too tense lately. Maybe the torpor police should... no... on second thought, that might go down poorly.
[She wants to know if all the Commanders present should be privy to this knowledge.]
Chyron frowns severely.
[Of course. Any Legion Commander can be trusted implicitly.]
[And what about that random young woman over there?]
My first instinct was to say 'little girl', but I think they said everyone here is eighteen and over?
Chyron turns to stare at the Legionary that they brought along for goodness-knows-what reason. She hasn't contributed to the conversation much but has spent a lot of time pestering Morrelia and staring at me. That's not all that surprising, though, I'm an incredible specimen of an arthropod.
Solant seems happy to talk, so I pass on her message to the Legion myself rather than add her to the mind bridge.
[According to the general, she's already launched an operation to take advantage of this situation. New tunnels are being dug to divert and drain the mucus over a wide area and expedite the process. Wow, really? Fine, I suppose. Which means that access to the lower tunnels will be gained much faster than the Krath likely anticipate. Taking advantage of that window, Solant wants to deal a decisive strike and break through to the sixth.]
Judging by the way the Commanders give each other the side-eye, they are perfectly aware of how close we are to the sixth, but were perhaps unsure if the Colony knew as well. To be completely honest, I have no idea how far we need to go in order to reach the sixth, and I don't think Solant does either. This could be another of her bluffs.
[Oh, and she would like the Legion to help in the assault. Hah! I knew it!]
-x-X-x-
"You were really able to sell it for that much?" Merchant asked, surprised.
"Surely you understood the value of what you had?"
"Of course I did. To settle on the right price, both parties need to be aware of its value. That they appreciated just what we were offering has taken me aback somewhat."
"In other words, you didn't have faith in the skills of your negotiator."
"Hah! As if that could possibly have been the case."
Always on the move, always hunting for the next deal, that was the life of a trader, and Merchant was true to her calling. Back into the fourth, once again staring up at the shining Silver city with its crown of gold from the gently rocking deck of a brathian ship.
Georgia Wynn, representative of the Atreum Merchant Cooperative and probably the most powerful haggler in all of the fourth stratum, smiled wickedly as she brushed her hair back and tucked it behind her ear. The woman looked more like a librarian than a stone-cold killer of merchants, but that was exactly what she was. Knowing just how much she had secured when trading the knowledge of the Colony brought a warm glow to the little ant's core. Though her good cheer was somewhat spoiled knowing that a full twenty percent of the total would be going straight into Georgia's pocket.
"You've done very well for yourself out of this trade," Merchant said, raising her cigar in recognition before placing it back in her mouth and taking a contemplative puff.
Favourable trade conditions, priority docking and warehousing, waiving of certain fees, along with a hefty lump sum. To make matters even more delicious, the benefits only applied to ships carrying exclusively Colony-produced goods, which meant the brathian couldn't take advantage and sneak their own merchandise into the city on the cheap. Merchant could hear the wailing and gnashing coming from the Satrap's palace already.
Of course, she could have worked in some wiggle room for them, but they were already making profit hand over fin thanks to their exclusive right to trade the Colony's merchandise. Reminding them who was really putting in the hard work was something Merchant took great pleasure in.
"How many assaults into the fifth do you think are going to take place?" she asked, and Georgia leaned onto the railing next to her, staring down into the shimmering, magical waters.
"More than you'd expect. The Child Emperor is eager to begin, the troops are already marching. Their first incursion will take place in less than a week."
"So quickly? Don't they have to lay the groundwork a little for something like this?"
Solant had been obscenely thorough when it came to preparing logistics and training her troops for the rigours of battle in the fifth. If the Atreum Empire failed quickly, then the ripple effect would cause others to back out of their own invasion plans. It would be a disaster!
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"I wouldn't worry too much," Georgia assured her. "There are already forward castles dug into the tunnels near the entrances to the fifth and troops stationed there with years of experience fighting against the monsters who creep up from below. Atreum is rich beyond compare and that money is moving heaven and earth right now. Supplies are coming in, and the finest core-shapers in the fourth are working on your wuffer designs and churning out pets.
"Besides, the Child Emperor is not a fool. They know what is going to happen next just as well as you or I do. There will be dozens of invasions into the fifth from all over the Dungeon."
"They want to be first," Merchant nodded, letting out an appreciative puff of smoke.
"They want to be second," Georgia corrected seriously. "The Colony is first and everyone knows it. Jealousy is rising, but thankfully most are too busy trying to get their own slice of the pie to be worried about the piece the ants are nibbling on right now."
"Oh, that reminds me. I have another business proposition for you."
Instantly, Georgia's eyes ignited with a furious hunger that made Merchant laugh.
"Don't bother bringing your Skills to bear on me. You know I'm not coming here to negotiate with you. I wouldn't dare."
"You take all the fun out of it," the woman said, losing some of her fire.
"Fun for you, maybe. No, you can't negotiate a price for this service, because I'm the only one in the world who can sell it."
"You've found something else down there?" Georgia asked, her interest sharpening once again. "Another wonder material that will rock the world to its foundations again?"
"Not quite," Merchant demurred. "What I am selling is something that everyone on Pangera has yearned for going back to the years after the Cataclysm. I am selling access to the sixth stratum."
Georgia grew still, her eyes narrowing.
"Are you telling me," she started slowly, "that the Colony has broken all the way through the fifth? They've secured access to the deeper Dungeon?"
"I'm telling you," Merchant replied with equal solemnity, "that the Eldest has gone down there, so it's only a matter of time. I'm so confident, I'm taking down payments, starting right now."
She took another long puff on her cigar. The rich flavour, the dense smoke, she could never get enough of it.
"Anyone who wants to be in the first wave better lock in their place quickly. I think they'll sell out rather fast."
"And how much are you asking?" Georgia asked, her eyes narrowing.
"Asking? I'm not asking for a price. Put the slots up for auction."
"That's evil," Georgia grinned. "Twenty percent again?"
Merchant shook her head.
"Only ten this time."
"Ten?"
"You're going to be part of history. The start of open access to the sixth. Getting your name into a textbook is going to cost you ten percent."
"And if I don't care about posterity?"
"Then do it for the money," Merchant laughed. "Ten percent of a massive fortune is nothing to sneeze at! Don't be greedy."
"Nobody has ever said that to me before."
"Nobody has made you more money than I have."
Georgia thought for a moment, then nodded.
"True," she murmured.
-x-X-x-
I leave Solant to negotiate with the Legion, because I'm not all that interested. Mainly because I'm fairly sure Solant wouldn't have bothered to suggest it if she wasn't completely confident that they were going to agree. Knowing what a calculating sort the little general is makes the entire exercise of 'persuasion' and 'negotiation' rather boring because I know the outcome before they even start.
I can tell she's a bit annoyed when I pick up and clear out of the chamber, but hey, if I don't throw the odd wrench into her well-laid plans, then what is she going to do for entertainment? Think on your feet, Solant, you've got six of them after all!
Besides all of that, I'm curious to see the new tunnel work that she was talking about. I'm guessing that with the majority of the Krath attention having turned to surviving and not being swallowed up by an endless flood of mucus, the Colony has a bit more space to get out into the contaminated tunnels and make some changes. Hoping to have a gander at what they've been doing, and make sure it's safe, I wander to the outer edges of the fortress with my trustworthy trio of associates tagging along by my side.
Crinis, as ever, is splatted onto my back like a second carapace while Invidia floats along, his two little hands gripped tight to Tiny's absurdly broad shoulder.
[Are you guys close to evolving to tier eight yet?] I ask as we traverse the tunnels.
Tiny holds up a hand and waves it back and forth, looking unhappy.
[I'm about two thirds of the way there, Master.]
[I am alsssso closssssing in.]
Oh, that's pretty good!
[I'll need you guys to evolve and get stronger so we can thrive in the sixth. I assume things are going to get crazy once we get down there. The stronger we are, the better.]
[Yes, Master!]
[You can alwayssss countssss on me.]
Tiny raises one arm and flexes a bulging bicep before giving me a short nod.
[You're not allowed to make yourself any less intelligent, Tiny. That's an order.]
His muscle deflates a little, but he does nod, if a bit glumly. Sneaky ape. He was definitely going to try and find a way to maximise his gains when he evolved, but I intend to bind him with a string of orders so strict he won't have a chance to wiggle out of them. In fact, I might demand he make a significant increase to his brainpower. He's already obscenely lopsided in his build; having him be slightly more intelligent than a concussed lemming could only be for the better.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Once we reach the outer edge of the fortress, the vast scale of the work being done becomes immediately apparent. The Colony has taken advantage of the chaos to force back the attackers from the platform and then expand outwards into the surrounding tunnels. Naturally, they've been forced to extend the bubble of cleansed mana to protect the workers, which is going to be costing us huge amounts of energy, but clearly they think it's going to be worth it.
Due to the lack of enormous curtains of mucus closing in on the platform from above, I can actually see the tunnels the slugs were using as outlets for the stuff. I've little doubt they were pumping it up from the lungs below, siphoning it from the arteries using their unscrupulous methods. With that supply cut off, the entire area has, remarkably, drained clear.
I find Tungstant out directing the work teams, her frazzled antennae and twitchy mannerisms telling me all I need to know about how much pressure she's under with this project.
"Hi, Tungstant," I wave in greeting. "Won't bother you for long, just wanted to see what was going on out here. I heard we're doing some rather major digging project?"
"Major? MAJOR? Hah! Major would be building a fortress in a week. This is well beyond that!"
"Okay, whoa... I can see you're rather stressed. I'm not the one who dumped this work into your mandibles, alright? Don't take it out on me!"
I mean... technically, I might actually be the one responsible, but I don't think she knows that. Tungstant sighs, then waves off the dozen or so team leaders crowding around her wanting her input.
"I'll take you for a quick tour. I could use a moment to think. It's been nonstop for the last few days."
I bet. I can see the shadows around her are suspiciously deep. The simple fact that they haven't taken her already is another sign of how important this project might be.
It's interesting to see so many ants working out in the open. There are tens of thousands of them out here, a living carpet of industry stretching for well over a kilometre in every direction. Normally they'd all be crammed into tunnels while working on something like the fortress, carving it from the inside out. This effort seems more like an open pit mine, an impression that only grows stronger when Tungstant leads us to the edge and we look down.
"It's not that complicated, really," Tungstant says, "the size of the project and the forces involved are what's making life difficult. In effect, we're building a sewer system."
"A sewer system? For the fifth? There aren't enough ants in the entire Colony to flush this place properly."
"I agree," she mutters, "but we don't have to clear out the entire stratum, just all the tunnels below us." She points down into the enormous pit. "We are sinking four of these shafts around the fortress. Each one will be connected to a branching series of pipes and pump systems designed to push the mucus through. Once we hit the right depth, we'll branch out and construct the intakes. That's all well and good, but we don't know the exact location of the outlets yet, which is going to make life rather difficult."
"You don't know where you're going to dump all the mucus? There's going to be billions of litres of the stuff! Isn't it rather important to know where it'll land?"
"It's going into the sixth," Tungstant says, snapping her mandibles irritably. "Do you know where it is?"
Oh.
"Not... not yet," I hedge.
"Better get down there, then," Tungstant says, pointing. "We need to know, soon."
-x-X-x-
"Care to explain to me what is happening here, Commander?"
Eliza, often referred to as Matron by the junior officers placed into her care, was not happy with what she was seeing. In truth, she wasn't even sure what it was exactly that she was seeing. This fortress was enormous, making her own outpost look like a diminutive outhouse by comparison. Apparently this was only one of many that the ants had built in the fifth in less than a year? It defied explanation!
"Not here," Chyron warned her. "Wait until we return."
Although neither technically outranked the other, both being Commanders in the service of the Abyssal Legion, Eliza knew better than to contradict the person who was obviously more knowledgeable about the situation than she herself was. So, she clamped her lips shut, shared a look with Steven, and walked. The more she saw of this structure, the more incredulous she became. Every time she thought she understood its size, she was proven wrong as yet another corridor gave way to a large connecting chamber. Every now and again, she caught a glimpse of the larger passageways the ants themselves used and couldn't help but shudder at the sight. There were thousands of them in those tunnels, walking on every wall, climbing over each other, making eerily little noise except for the odd clicking and clacking of their claws and mandibles. That many monsters would bury a city in a matter of minutes. If there were dozens of these fortresses, then these ants would be capable of flooding over many smaller kingdoms in just days.
This shouldn't be allowed. This couldn't be allowed. What had been happening while she was deployed?
Eventually they arrived in a wider cavern, and Eliza was both pleased and strangely relieved to see the familiar structures of an established Legion camp. Regimented rows of tents, ditch and rampart defences with reinforced towers every hundred metres and hardened soldiers manning the walls, their eyes flinty and cold. It was good to see that Chyron, no matter what else she may be, was an experienced and strict Commander.
Inside the camp, they found the rest of Steven and Eliza's people and dropped off a wide-eyed Sheriman, who looked as though she had had yet another barrage of questions she wanted to unleash but had, for once, decided to hold her tongue while surrounded by three grim-looking Commanders.
Once inside Chyron's command tent, she ordered her tribunes out, who left reluctantly, before inviting the guests to sit. Eliza took in the interior of the tent in a glance, reading it as austere and efficient, like the woman to whom it belonged.
"Do either of you want something to drink?" Chyron asked, rummaging in a chest she kept behind the table. "I have tea in here, but I think I might want something stronger today."
"Something stronger sounds good," Eliza said, and Steven nodded.
"After the day I've had, tea is definitely not going to be enough," he agreed.
Fishing out three glasses, Chyron poured a few fingers of dark brown liquor into each before pushing two across the table.
"I'm sure you're shocked by what you've seen today," she said after taking a gulp and Eliza nodded. Sipping the drink, she felt a strong burn and smoky aftertaste on her tongue. Whatever Chyron had, it was strong stuff.
"I knew the ants were operating in this area, but I had no idea their operations were anything like this scale," Eliza said. "As far as I was aware, something like this should be impossible."
She gestured to the enormous fortress around them and Chyron barked out a laugh.
"This isn't even the biggest one, not by half."
Again, Steven and Eliza exchanged glances. There were others twice this size? That was... absurd.
"Can you explain to us exactly what is happening here?" Steven asked forthrightly. "In your opinion, what are the ants looking to achieve?"
"That's not a secret," Chyron said, folding her hands together as she leaned into the table and looked her fellow Commanders in the eye. "They've been upfront about their ambitions from the beginning. They intend to cleanse the fifth stratum and secure a passage through to the sixth. You heard the general for yourselves. She wasn't joking, or exaggerating. I'm not even sure that's something they know how to do."
It was ridiculous. The Abyssal Legion had tried to rally the old races of Pangera and purge the fifth for thousands of years, only to fail time and time again. It was never the right time, or there was internal conflict between the races and empires of the fourth, or none were willing to commit the necessary resources. None knew more than they just how hard it was to establish even a foothold in the fifth, let alone push back the corruption.
"They're going to succeed," Chyron said, stating the unthinkable with an almost nonchalant attitude.
"You can't be serious," Eliza spat, choking on her drink and spluttering out a cough.
"I'm perfectly serious. While you've been deployed to your outpost, the world has changed around you. The ants have conquered multiple hearts and claimed vast swathes of territory. Not even the slugs have found a way to deal with them. No matter how many fall, more keep coming. No matter the cost, they just pay it and keep going."
Both Steven and Eliza struggled to accept this. The ants... were going to conquer the fifth? How?
"They're smart," Chyron said, filling up their glasses again. "I received confirmation from our diplomats in the fourth that there are almost a dozen invasions being launched into the fifth. In little under a month, armies will have flooded into every part of the stratum. By then, the ants will have broken through and started claiming territory in the sixth. That big ant is far more powerful than it should be, and it'll go toe to toe with the monsters down there, I'm very confident of that."
"How?" It seemed to be the only question Eliza could think of.
"They found some miracle healing material in the areas that they've cleansed, and now the entire Dungeon has gone mad for it. In two years, probably less, the fifth will be cleansed completely and the Krath will no longer exist."
Chyron took up her glass and drained it in a single go.
"We are entering an entirely new world, Commanders, and I don't think any of us are ready."
"Does the Consul know?" Steven asked quietly.
Chyron nodded.
"Of course. But what they can do about it, I have no idea."
-x-X-x-
Well, it looks as though they really want to get this job done. I can tell because of the endless flow of work crews arriving at the fortress from higher up. It seems like Solant has pulled in everyone who wasn't nailed down or needed for mission-critical maintenance. Every carver and specialist mage the Colony can spare in the fifth has arrived here, and they are diving into the digging works with a worrying level of vigour.
There are four separate tunnels being dug, each of them requiring us to move a metric butt-ton of rock, soil, and weird, diseased flesh. Then there's all the pipeworks, valves and pumps they have to install as they go. Frankly, the diagrams are enough to twist my antennae into knots, but Tungstant insists that it's 'simple stuff'. Before I even think to ask where they intend to get all the metal bits and bobs they need for this enormous project, the first deliveries start rolling in. Because of course the very first thing Solant did was make sure the foundries were on the job. With her flawless logistics network, the materials are being delivered to the front at record speed.
And that's not all. Once all the carver teams have arrived and get to work, the soldiers start coming in. Not just soldiers, obviously, scouts, mages, core shapers, generals, even the support battalions start pouring into the fortress, filling up all the available space until the work teams have to be diverted to dig out more barracks. My Vestibule is filled to overflowing as the number of ants within range continues to climb higher and higher.
Before too long, there are more of my siblings here than there were in the initial fortress within the fifth, and the number continues to climb with every passing hour.
Work also progresses at an insane pace.
As I watch, the massive shafts that are being dug grow deeper right before my eyes, kilometres dug out and reinforced in half a day. I suppose it isn't hard to dig a hole straight down, but there's so much more to it, according to Tungstant. Considering the mucus that they intend to pump is so obscenely acidic and contagious, they can't afford to let it come into contact with any material components at all. If a single beam were to become infected, it could carry that toxic energy all the way back to the fortress. While the work sites are covered in cleansed mana right now, that won't be the case once the pumping starts. Trying to convert such a vast quantity of sludge at once would be a futile waste of precious mana.
Better to get all the goop out of the way first and then dump out the liquid energy. The thinner we can make the corrupted energy, the better.
All in all, the fortress is absolutely buzzing with activity as Solant gears up for the final push. It's still too soon for me to start moving, since the lower tunnels are completely flooded, but soon enough I'm going to have to head out. Thanks to my tunnel map, the Colony knows enough of the terrain down there to work around the lungs and hearts, but they still don't have a clear idea of how to reach the sixth.
From the sounds of things, it's going to be a bit touch and go. Solant fully intends to keep the digging going while I'm out looking for the path. I'll be racing the digging crews, basically. If they wait until I find it before they dig down, we might miss our window to take the slugs by surprise. This all needs to get done as soon as possible.
I can't say I'm not excited by the prospect of finding the next stratum down, I'm completely sick of this place, that's for sure, but I'm less thrilled at poking about down there.
Let's not forget that any wall could give way and unleash a torrent of mucus powerful enough to bury even me underneath it. By this time, the amount of goop accumulated below the fortress must be trillions of cubic metres. The very thought is enough to make me feel icky all over.
Focusing on what I need to accomplish is becoming more and more difficult, however. With this many ants nearby, the Vestibule is positively vibrating with energy as their Will floods into me in an unceasing tide. When it gets to this point, keeping my own thoughts separate from those that flow in can become a little difficult.
Along with that, I'm finding there's another, stranger challenge I'm facing. The music. It's unbelievably distracting.
Of course, it's so distracting because it's not just any music, but snail music. I have no idea why the chal are singing to me, but they are. Constantly. Sometimes it's just a little hum, a comforting melody that has me waggling my antennae from side to side in a nice, steady rhythm, while other times it's a multi-layered symphony powerful enough to bring tears to an eye without any tear ducts. Man, those snails can seriously sing. I assume they're trying to tell me something, but I have absolutely no idea what it is. I don't speak snail, and frankly, since they're only six months old or less, I doubt they do either.
Whatever it is they're doing, my Pure Core is starting to hum with an accumulation of energy, and I'm not sure if I should be worried or happy about it.
Well, too late to do anything about it now. It's time to go.
-x-X-x-
Of course, after a meal of Biomass, I have a few points to spend, so I should upgrade an organ or two while I have a chance. Building up any decent supply of Biomass has been a constant pain in the fifth stratum, and that problem has only escalated since I evolved.
The Colony is doing a wonderful job funneling a seemingly unending supply of food for the millions of ants now active in the fifth, largely farmed from the fourth and third, but there really aren't enough highly evolved monsters to supply me with a meaningful amount of points to spend. For a change, I have to hoard and be conservative with my spending, just in case something comes up that I really need. After all, I have a whole lot of mutations to make and not a single part of my body is fully upgraded to +40 right now. Interestingly, the Colony has started to lean harder on locally farmed monsters, setting up locations within the conquered territory from which they can extract monsters at an accelerated pace.
My earlier development of the initial farming technology has been taken by my siblings and engineered to an unthinkable degree. Masters of shaping the Dungeon at this point, they know exactly how to warp and weave a chamber to create spawn points, letting the mana puddle and pool into the right concentrations to maximise efficiency. As a result, they are able to extract the maximum amount of monsters per cubic metre of space. Research is ongoing into the real native monsters of the fifth, but they certainly are nutritious, in terms of the amount of Biomass they provide.
Most of what I have managed to accumulate has come from that source.
So, what to mutate? I'm tempted to start mutating my newly acquired organs, since they're still at 0. The industrial district is, frighteningly, still unevolved, but I'm almost hesitant to invest in it right now. Its destructive economic power is already fearsome in the extreme, the produce simply irresistible and abundant. If I were to mutate it even to +15 I'm concerned as to what might happen. Nothing good for whoever I shoot it at, that's for sure.
I'm certainly familiar with having weapons that are just as likely to endanger myself as they are my opponents, but the acid tips the balance a little too far towards hurting myself. After all, most of the monsters down here are resistant to acid, putting it mildly. Phrasing it more accurately, they were literally spawned in acid baths strong enough to melt human bones in a matter of seconds. I, on the other hand, was not.
Instead, I turn my attention towards the Pure Core. I've already mutated it to +15 and the effect has been more than welcome, helping to absorb and purge the infectious mana that seeps into me, freeing up mental resources to work on other things and giving an immense amount of peace of mind. With the strange, suspicious business of the chal messing with it, I'm inclined to invest in it further. After all, the very bottom of the fifth is where the mana will be at its most concentrated. Protection against the infection will be more important than ever.
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Alright then, what upgrades are available for the Pure Core? I'll take it all the way to +30, which will just about exhaust my Biomass supply. Maybe it won't make that much of a difference, but I'm betting that it will.
So, what's on the list? The first option I took simply made it more efficient, which was good, but for the second, I wonder if there is anything more spicy I can uncover. I take a look, rolling through the various options before I find something a little interesting.
[Singing Core - Enhance the connection of the core to the Choir.]
Well, it isn't hard to figure out who or what 'the Choir' must be. Those snails did something to the core and it's even shown up within the list of mutation options. How they managed to do that is a mystery. How they even knew that they could is an even greater one. On a human timeline, those snails are basically infants! Not even a year old! Just because they have dignified moustaches doesn't mean they are old and wise, they don't even qualify as kids yet! They're babies!
So how in the name of heck do they know how to use the power that they hold? Genetic knowledge? Inborn instincts? Maybe the purification process had some influence? Or perhaps the Krath have an extended egg time and emerge at a more advanced state than a human would? Regardless, the chal have a wisdom that, while not worthy of their moustaches, is still ahead of their time.
Fine, I'll play your game, snails.
I select the option, take it again at +25 and reinforce it at +30, tripling down on it. Taking a careful glance around the chamber I'm in, I realise that I'm far from alone. As a result, I'm forced to ask Crinis to implement 'Operation Shade Blanket' before confirming my mutations and enduring the deeply irritating itch. At least it's only the one, relatively small organ this time. I don't even end up wriggling around on my back while the mutation takes place, a small victory over Gandalf and his evil ways.
Once the mutation is complete, the soft song of the snails, already ringing throughout my frame, intensifies several times over. It's a little distracting, but mainly because of how incredibly beautiful the song is. Those snails have got some serious pipes.
What effect this mutation will have, I'm not sure, but at least I won't feel lonely out in the gunk while I have this delightful soundtrack to accompany me. Alright, time to move!
-x-X-x-
The digging teams are moving, and so must I.
"We're aiming to prime the pumps in six hours," Tungstant informs me. "There are holding tanks that will fill first, but then it'll all start to flow into the shafts we've dug. You'll need to make sure you have a way out by then."
"What about the digging teams?" I ask, confused.
"They'll be well clear by then. We're counting on the acidic properties of the mucus to do the final bit of digging for us."
"Has the mucus level started to dip yet? I was sort of hoping that it might have by now."
Tungstant laughs, her mandibles clacking together in that short, sharp staccato rhythm we all use to express our amusement.
"I don't know exactly what you did down there, Eldest, but you certainly gummed up the works. Right now, the level is still rising, but very slowly. I think that without our intervention, the lower tunnels might remain clogged for weeks, maybe months. It doesn't help that the mucus is so thick, which makes it flow incredibly slowly without a huge amount of pressure pushing from behind. That's why we need the holding tanks, by the way. Once the pumping mechanisms start up, we have to ensure a steady flow, otherwise they'll break down."
"I... I'm not really all that interested in how the pumping system works, Tungstant. Also, I don't really need to know. Do I?"
The Council member representing the carver caste looks a little crestfallen.
"I suppose not. They really are wonderful contraptions, though. A great piece of ant engineering."
"I mean, sure. Did you come up with them?"
"No. It was Antimedes. Very clever carver, came up with quite a few neat devices."
Antimedes? Sure, why not. I say my farewells to Tungstant and then to my beloved comrades. Crinis tries to sneak along inside my carapace, forcing me to eventually order her out before I can finally leave. With the lower tunnels still flooded and full of deadly mucus, the best way to get access to the depth is through the vertical shafts that the carvers are excavating. Waving farewell, I head down into the tunnels, admiring the scale as I head in. In order to move a sufficient volume of mucus, they need to be large, so the Colony has gone all in and made them fifty metres across.
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Which means I fit inside very comfortably, even if it's still a bit difficult for me to cling to a wall and walk down a vertical surface. I think the golgari must have done some work on my claws and legs during my evolution, something I always mean to do, but forget every time. Without those adjustments, bearing my enormous weight would be impossible without gravity manipulation. My new legs being somewhat unaffected by the pull of gravity on my frame certainly helps.
When I reach the current end of the tunnel, I find the various digging teams hard at work. For a brief moment, I allow myself to feel the bliss that suffuses them as they engage in the perfect zen of digging, doing what all ants were truly created to do.
Of course, they make my own attempts to shift dirt look completely amateurish. When the Colony chooses to specialise in something, they really go hard in trying to figure out how to do it best. These ants are true experts in the art of digging, able to shear through tons and tons of rock, dirt, weird fleshy goop and whatever else attempts to endure the wrath of their face-hands.
For me, the path is straightforward. These ants have to dig a stable and wide shaft, but I don't. Flexing my jaws, I start tunneling and pushing myself forward, clearing a space just wide enough for me to squeeze into. Even so, I don't outpace the teams by much, but thankfully I don't need to. Barely ten minutes into my digging, I break into a pre-existing tunnel, which is blessedly free of goop. Dropping down into the space, I manage to turn and land on my legs, which creak ominously as I slam down.
"Careful up there! This tunnel is contaminated!"
"We know how it works, Eldest. Get to work!"
Sheesh. No gratitude. I was only worried about their safety. They are correct, though. These teams have breached dozens of tunnels already on their way down, they know exactly what to do. They'll seal off the breach, ensure there is sufficient cleansed mana accumulated, then let it pour down ahead of them. In a matter of minutes, they'll create a shell, preventing the flow of toxic mana into their workplace and creating temporary walls before they establish the shaft proper.
For me, I'm not part of that process. Once I hit the ground, I'm off and running. The tunnel is a main artery, a kilometre wide and almost a hundred metres tall, and it is active. Filled with monsters, contamination and slime, it's everything I've come to hate about this place. Thankfully, I don't really need to engage with it. Monsters start lashing against my carapace and parasites nibble at me constantly, trying to find a way in. All it serves to accomplish is start the runaway train that is the regeneration network. Icy regeneration fluid begins to flow through my frame as I take off running, leaving chaos in my wake.
They might want to take a bite out of me, but I've got no time for them. All I'm interested in is finding a way further down, all the way down!
I can't deny that there's an excited bubbling in my thorax at the prospect of finding a new stratum to explore. There's something so addicting about entering a brand new world and experiencing the wonders and challenges that it has to offer. It's almost a shame that eventually I'll reach the end. Well, I assume that the Dungeon has an end.
Of course, the constant, agonising pain of the Call is further motivation. I know I'm close to the sixth, since I can feel it yanking on my soul, urging me onward.
Soon the tunnel branches and I take the path heading downwards, carefully watching my tunnel map the whole way.
-x-X-x-
"Is it just me, or is there a different sort of air about the chal recently?"
"What do you mean?"
"They look... smug?"
"How does an iridescent gem-mollusc look smug?"
"I don't know! They just... they just do!"
"I think... you may need a rest."
Theresant and Florence were in the process of observing the chal through a one-way window as part of their daily rounds. There were quite a number of the little snails now, which had necessitated an expansion of the snailcare centre and a dramatic increase in the number of Brood Tenders within it. As they were solitary creatures who tended to only tolerate group play in small, controlled amounts, they never wanted there to be too many in the one room. So now there were dozens of rooms, each carefully controlled, constantly monitored and always monitored by a rotating team of Tenders.
Each group was at a different stage of development, depending on when the Colony had received them and when they had hatched, and the curriculum and development plan that the Tenders were constantly evaluating was being applied to each in turn. For the most part, the little snails appeared happy, playing together, eating their meals, sleeping and enjoying their meditative periods of rest. And singing, of course. There was always singing.
"You're always thinking something is off with them," Florence said, exasperated. "If they don't want to eat the same thing as yesterday, then their appetite is lost. If they don't sleep in the same place two nights in a row, then they're feeling homeless. If they sleep five minutes longer than usual, you think they're depressed. Is it possible this is another example of your strong sense of responsibility towards the chal putting ideas into your head?"
This was putting it mildly. Theresant was even more obsessive towards the little snails than she was towards the Colony's own hatchlings!
"Resting in different places could be a sign they are feeling uncomfortable," the flustered Tender defended herself.
"They're snails," Florence snorted. "They sleep in their shells. It doesn't really matter where they are exactly."
In the chamber before them, a music lesson was starting. The on-duty Tender had gathered the snails together, though it wasn't difficult when it was time to sing, they slithered along eagerly. Soon, she went through the motions, pretending to sing while the true voice of the lesson, a magpei in a soundproof booth outside the chamber, began to go through the lesson they had prepared for the day. Soon, the little snails were singing happily, a beautiful chorus rising that touched even Florence's tone-deaf sensibilities.
"What's giving you the sense that they are feeling so... self-satisfied?" Florence asked, still baffled.
"I don't know," Theresant replied, frustrated, "they just have a... a smug energy about them."
"Doesn't that just mean they are happy?"
"It's different," her sister refuted. "They aren't just happy, they seem very pleased with themselves. As if they've done something lately that they are very satisfied with."
"As far as I'm aware, they haven't done anything in particular lately," Florence said, confused.
However, as she looked at the snails more closely, there did seem to be something of a pleased air about them. She was far from an expert on snail expressions, despite spending so much time around them, but the more she watched, the more convinced she became that Theresant wasn't just being silly.
"Let's go to the next chamber," she said. "I think there might be something to your theory after all."
"Aha!" Theresant declared. "I'm not crazy!"
"Let's not go too far."
The two siblings moved further down the corridor, through the separating door and into the next corridor, another one-way window giving them a clear view of the next group of snails. These too were enjoying a singing lesson, the snails lined up within the teaching area while their instructor mimed the lesson dutifully performed by the attending magpei. Getting the bird-people to follow the script without swearing had been quite the challenge, but they'd worked out the right incentives eventually.
Jordant plushies were highly prized by the magpei, who seemed obsessed with any and all physical sports and had taken to Tunnel Ball with a dangerous fervour.
Here again, the snails were singing, but there was something about them, an air they put on which couldn't help but give the slight impression that they were feeling, for want of a better term... smug.
"They do have the look of a very self-satisfied group of snails, don't they?" Florence mused. "But why? I can't think of any particular reason for them to be acting this way. When did you first notice this?"
"Yesterday," Theresant reported, "but I wasn't sure then. Doing the rounds today, I've seen it in every group we've looked at, but I only mentioned it when I became certain."
The two ants leaned a little closer to the glass, as if a slightly better view might give them some insight they hadn't had before. Neither of them particularly cared that the snails were feeling so pleased with themselves, if anything it was a positive sign, but what bothered them was that they didn't know why. They were hyper-sensitive to any changes in the snails' condition, especially ones that they couldn't explain.
"I think the song is changing," Florence said suddenly, "the snails have stopped following the lesson."
Inside the room, the instructor noticed it a moment later, giving a subtle signal to the magpei to cease singing. It was unusual for the snails to launch into their own song, but not unheard of. They were far more musically gifted than their teachers, after all, and sometimes inspiration seemed to strike them.
"They're painting something," Florence said. "Look at the light."
Painting was the term they had come to use for the snails creating images of light using their strange song-magic. Working together, they could make all sorts of pictures, most of them quite simple and related to their rather limited experiences. Both of the Tenders leaned forward, hoping this painting would give them some insight into why their charges may be displaying this new behaviour.
Soon, the image took shape.
"It's... the Eldest?" Florence said, confused. "I don't think this group has ever met the Eldest."
Theresant only sighed.
Of course it was the Eldest. Somehow, they always managed to make life difficult.
-x-X-x-
Holy moly but things are spicy down here! Pulsating walls of diseased flesh surround me on all sides while living ropes of ooze try to lash onto me and drag me back towards the parasitic mouth that had somehow embedded itself into the meat of the tunnel. Maybe it was the tunnel? I call on the Altar and empower my Dash, launching myself forward at an absurd speed, the world blurring to nothing in my eyes and my legs screaming in pain. Thankfully there's enough regeneration fluid in my system to bring me back from the dead, which should repair the damage to my joints soon enough.
So long as I don't try another empowered Dash in the near future, I'll be fine. Realistically, I can't use another empowered Dash for at least a few minutes. I'm out here on my own and these tunnels are wild. Losing my legs and bringing out the backups is not an option.
I break free from the slime chains that are trying to hold me back, ripping them apart and leaving the giant mouth in the wall gnashing in despair. I don't have time to give it a satisfying bout of mockery, because I just don't have the time. In the brief moment while I rest my aching legs, letting them heal before I start running again, there is already a plethora of monsters trying to nom on my carapace. The deeper I get, the less intimidated by me the locals become.
Well, that's not actually true, it isn't that they're not intimidated by me, there's just a much higher number of monsters who are strong enough to feel like they can have a go.
Speaking of, no sooner have I broken free of the wall mouth than a crab snail the size of a two-storey house decides I look delicious and rushes over, chittering and slobbering in equal measure. Its claws gnash while its eyes twist towards me from atop their stalks, hungry for the fight.
I, on the other hand, am not hungry for the fight. I need to keep moving!
Starcrusher. Empowered by the Altar, of course.
As the burning sphere of light manifests between my dark mandibles and the searing heat begins to emanate out, my snail friend thinks better of their decisions and pulls inside their shell. As much as I agree that having a carapace is a wise and sensible decision, you've picked the wrong target for your appetite today. My jaws slam shut and the world before me is enveloped with fire and light. No matter how many times I see it, the explosion is always so much more vicious than I expect it to be. Even down here, where things aren't all that vulnerable to fire or explosions, the effect is stunning.
I haven't defeated the snail crab, but it's fairly sizzling inside its shell, I can hear it. If I stick around to try and fight it, though, another three just like it are going to come slithering out of the woodwork. Which would be less than ideal. If I keep using the Altar, I'm going to run out of juice, which would be a rather nasty situation.
Flexing my legs, I find that they're much better than they were, the healing really kicking in already. In another moment, I'm off and running, my antennae sweeping through the air as I try to sniff out the most likely splits in the tunnel to take.
As I get deeper, the mana becomes even more toxic, something that I didn't think was possible. The sights and sounds of the tunnels down here are so awful that I once again feel the pain of not having eyelids so I can close my eyes. I don't want to see this, I don't want to remember it. I thought the lungs were as gross as things were going to get in here, but holy moly, there are somehow new depths of disease and contagion to be plumbed.
At all times, I'm trying to keep the projected paths of the Colony's tunnels in mind as I continue my madcap run to the depths. It's not easy, since I can't be certain exactly where they're going to dig, but I need to make sure I'm in the general area so that any path through I do find is usable. To be honest, I'm a little surprised I haven't run into mucus-filled tunnels yet. It must have spilled over somewhere and started making its way down, so there must be tunnels nearby that are full of goop.
Taking a turn, I feel the Call yank even harder on my soul and I twitch in surprise. It's close. Very close. The sixth, it's not far away!
-x-X-x-
At first, I thought I'd wandered into a flooded section of tunnel. Perhaps this is where the goop from above has found its way down, but after looking a little closer, I decide that isn't the case. It isn't that the tunnel is filled with slime draining down from above, the tunnel simply is slime.
The walls? Mucus. The floor? Mucus. The air? Believe it or not, mucus.
I can't even walk in here, the floor is a metres-thick layer of potently acidic and corrupting sludge. I poke one leg in as a test but immediately regret it. Thankfully I don't have nerve endings in my outer carapace, because that would seriously sting otherwise. Shaking my smoking limb to try and dislodge the goop, I'm eventually forced to blast it with a jet of fire to burn it off and save the leg. Less noticeable but far more deadly is the flood of deadly, corrupting mana that seeps into my body, immediately trying to permeate my frame and destroy me from the inside out. With fascination, I observe internally with my mana sense as the energy is seized upon by the Pure Core, pulling it in and consuming it before it can do much damage.
Nice work, Pure Core. I knew I could put my trust in you.
In response, the snail song grows a little louder and more enthused, as if energised by the energy that was eaten by the Core. Weird...
Despite how hostile the tunnel is—there's literally nowhere to hide, every visible surface is mucus-coated—it still teems with monstrous life. I can see worm-like leech creatures wriggling through the slime, sludge elementals and even a monstrously large slug-croc monster, its long, spiked tail breaking the surface as it slides along the tunnel floor, hunting.
Even if I could survive in there, counting on my regeneration and Pure Core to keep me alive, trying to fight in that would be insane. There's no other option but to weave myself a Gravity Well and use it to lift myself up off the ground. Graceful flight! Well, graceful drifting through the air, sort of flopped over in the middle. Nobody is here to see, so I don't particularly care about making it look good, I have other things to worry about.
Checking my tunnel map, I realise just how far I've come since I began this mad dash into the depths. The best part about finding vertical tunnels and shafts is that I can get a lot of distance quickly, and I've covered almost a hundred kilometres since departing the Colony. Right now, the mana is so thick that any movement at all is enough to start coating myself in a layer of sizzling slime, which immediately sends spiraling tendrils of corruption inside me to be fed on by the Pure Core. Even with all of the advantages I have against the fifth now, this place is insanely deadly. It's going to be incredibly hard for the Colony to tunnel through these depths, but I'm confident they have some idea of what they might face down here and have planned appropriately.
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Tentatively, I drift forward, leaving the safety of my higher position in an adjoining shaft and entering the world of slime. Immediately, I hate it. My entire body starts to sizzle and smoke as the incredibly dense mana burns me. Within seconds, I'm covered in a thin film of slime, which only accelerates the burning process. This is awful.
Thanks to the regeneration network, I'm able to endure the ferocious pace of acidic damage, at least for now, and thanks to the Pure Core I'm able to deal with the internal danger of the corrupting mana. However, if I stay here too long, I could succumb over time. I better make a move. To deal with the constant mucus buildup, I do something I usually wouldn't and deploy a fire domain, surrounding myself in an aura of fire. It doesn't burn me, naturally, but it still works to cook off the mucus on my carapace; however, the mana demand to make it hot enough is insane.
Determined to find a way out of this mess, I pick up speed and drift forward, searching for a way to go deeper.
Naturally, the slug-croc immediately launches itself upwards out of the mucus below. Rather than an elongated snout, it extends a many-ringed maw, stretching it out towards me in a truly disturbing sight, uncaring of the flames that scald it. Stupid slug, you're not sneaky!
Well, that isn't actually true, it was very sneaky, concealing its mana and hiding almost every trace of its presence, except its gravity, of course.
With a flex of will, I manipulate the Gravity Well, dumping energy out of it and slamming the slug-croc back into the sludge as I glide on past, scooting down the tunnel as quickly as I can. Sadly, I don't have time for you, monster, so sit down until I get back so I can chomp you properly.
Thankfully it seems like it got the picture, but I prepare another Gravity Well, because another one is sure to pop up any second now and the one I've already cast is bound to run out of energy quickly if I have to keep using it to protect myself.
Sure enough, I barely get a kilometre down the tunnel before another monster feels like taking a chance. A blubbering mound of toxic sludge tries to drop down on me from above and I'm forced to spend a ton of mana sticking it back to the roof while I glide on through, necessitating another Gravity Well spell.
This pattern repeats as I continue to hunt, looking for a way out of this slime hell. After following a few branches, backtracking and circling, I eventually find what I'm looking for. Before me, a waterfall of mucus appears, raining down a massive shaft hundreds of metres across that vanishes down into the depths. This could be perfect. I jump in.
-x-X-x-
Somewhere above me, the Colony is continuing its ambitious digging project. Four enormous shafts with connected pumping systems, designed to suck up and dispose of the billions of tons of mucus flooding the tunnels as a result of my mishap in the lungs. All they need from me is to map out the lower levels of the fifth so they can plot a route to the sixth, which will (hopefully) be capable of dealing with the concentrated goop in a safe and timely manner.
I mean, if we end up dumping several lakes' worth of deadly mucus on a sentient civilisation of monsters down there, I'll have to apologise rather profusely. I wouldn't be happy if it happened to my family, after all.
So far, the rule of the Dungeon has always been that the mana below is capable of defeating the mana above. Every layer of the Dungeon undergoes a qualitative difference in energy; the lower you go, the better it is, effectively. Even though the fifth has been corrupted by Theorazzn, who certainly isn't of the fifth, I'm hoping the sixth is still strong enough to mince the mana from up here, turning the sludge into wisps of smoke.
I drift down the tunnel, surrounded on all sides by thick sheets of mucus oozing down into the depths. Every now and again a thick glob lands on my carapace, causing an immediate, searing burn. All I can do is endure it until the fire domain burns it away. There aren't many monsters in this place, so my regeneration network is starting to slow down, which isn't helping either.
At least, that's what I thought.... It seems as though some niggling attacks are coming from somewhere, even if I'm not sure where. That has to be the case, since the rate of regeneration fluid in my system is ticking up again. Weird.
Down, down and down into the depths. This waterfall shaft is five kilometres deep at this point, and I think it's narrowing, or perhaps the layer of mucus on the walls is simply growing thicker. Either way, it's getting a little squeezy in here.
Eventually, I'm forced to adjust the Gravity Well holding me and turn myself vertical, facing downward. With my legs tucked up beneath me, it's the best I can do to stop myself from incidentally touching the walls of doom. Thanks to this new orientation, when there's a change below, I notice it almost immediately.
An acrid cloud of yellow-green mist blooms in front of me, blocking all sight deeper into the shaft. When I draw close, I come to a stop, wondering just what the heck is going on here. Around me, the thick sheets of mucus continue to ooze and gloop down the walls, sinking into the mist below, but I can't see any source of the stuff. Tentatively, I lower myself down into it a little and am filled with instant regret.
OUCH! That stings!
I'm not sure if a cloud can be described as thick, but that's what this is. Cloying and sticky, the cloud is incredibly dense, as clouds go, and incredibly acidic. Frustrated, I back up and shake my poor leg as I regard the cloud with suspicion. What the heck is your deal, cloud? I'm trying to explore here!
Backing up a little, I try blasting it with hyper-condensed Dragon's Breath, but with very limited success. Using my mana sense, I try to get a feeling for what is going on further in, but I come up empty. Well, I sense a lot, but it's just incredibly dense corrupted mana. Anything beyond that is rather hazy, thanks to the properties of the fifth's energy. Going blindly into the depths here would be madness, since I have no idea how much of this cloud I would need to get through, but the hook in my soul frantically yanking and urging me deeper tells me that the sixth might be right in front of my face.
No need to think about it too deeply, that's not how I usually do anything, so why start now?
Making sure my legs are firmly and tightly tucked under my carapace, I release my hold on the Gravity Well and begin to free-fall into the deep.
This should be fine.
Almost immediately, I plunge into the dense cloud of acid mist and it goes exactly how I expected it to. Poorly. My entire body begins to burn instantly, and I'm once again supremely grateful that I no longer have eyes of spongy flesh, as they would have melted away in a matter of seconds.
Given that I weigh well into the hundreds of tons, I drop rapidly, picking up speed until I'm falling with the momentum of a runaway train. Regeneration fluid battles with the constant acidic damage being done to my carapace, antennae, eyes and legs. Despite the torrent of icy-cold fluid running through me, it isn't enough to keep up and soon my antennae cease to function properly as the fine filaments that coat them are eaten away.
Down, down, down. I fall through the acid cloud for so long I have to admit to myself that perhaps this wasn't a great idea. It hurts like heck and I really didn't think that it was going to last this long. Desperately, I continue to sweep the tunnel ahead with my mana sense, hunting for a change, anything to show this acidic miasma is going to come to an end.
Like an electric spark, something shocks my mana sense.
My brains leap into action, deploying a new Gravity Well that yanks onto my frame, arresting my momentum with painful immediacy. I screech to a halt, dangling in midair, so stunned by the sudden shift in momentum that it takes a moment to realise that I'm no longer surrounded by a cloud of burning mucus.
My carapace is pitted, my antennae are in tatters and even my eyes have taken damage, despite the healing. One of my legs dangles uselessly, the joint having suffered especially poorly compared to the others.
Despite my bedraggled condition, I'm not especially fussed by it. Before my eyes swirls what can only be the thing that I've been looking for. The entrance to the sixth stratum of the Dungeon.