Shadowcroft's Academy for Dungeons Chapter 38

Yullis Rockheart still had most of his power left, even after the skin-blast that had taken care of the chandelier mimic—though the little maneuver had cost him his reinforced stone skin. Being back at Azure Branch was terribly annoying, but he would make do. Besides, he wouldn’t need much to finish his work. Killing Marko Laskarelis would be easy, and then only the fungaloid would be left. And though Logan had proven to be formidable in some ways, he was no melee monster.

Still, he would not underestimate them. This dungeon had been a rather pleasant surprise, and some of the flourishes had been deviously unexpected. The decorative mimic, for example, had been a nice touch to the feast table. And Corry would’ve sampled the bread and opal truffle butter if Rockheart hadn’t been there to warn him away. But the fun was over, the game played nearly to its end. But, they had played well, and even though their destruction was assured, it seemed only right to at least tip his hand and show them who they truly faced.

There was a certain honor in it.

He expected Marko’s bravado to crumble at his revelation, but instead, the satyr laughed. A strange fire lit up the horizontal slits of his goat eyes. “Yullie? You don’t mind if I call you Yullie, do you? Well, this is a surprise. You’ve embraced your inner lion I see. From griffin to cat man! Would you like me to scratch your chin, kitty?”

Why wasn’t this imbecile frightened of him?

Rockheart powered up his talons, making them gleam, before sending them flashing across the room into Marko. The satyr dodged some, but not all, of the glowing claws. At the same moment, Rockheart increased his speed. He blurred forward, powered by a surplus of Mallus Apothos, crossing the threshold of the sanctum in the blink of an eye.

The cavern was full of towering mushrooms and more of the satyr’s mannequins, dripping with various fungal growths. At the center, surrounded by a digestive pit moat, was the pedestal, carved into the semblance of a grand grail, overflowing with wine, while the four gems spun in elegant swirls above.

Rockheart raked his talons down the satyr, sending him flying. The goat boy smashed through a mannequin and made a towering mushroom shake as he slipped to the floor. He lost his rapier in the fall—not that he ever would’ve stood a chance, even with the sword. He was a better duelist than Rockheart had suspected, but the rector prime had hundreds of years of combat training under his belt.

Gore stained Marko’s face—a revolting mixture of blood and cake—but the satyr continued to bray laughter even as he sat sprawled out and mortally wounded. “To think, Yullie, you’d ruin the Azure Dragon Clan’s standing, you’d risk your job to come and kill us yourself. How pathetic! I have no idea what Arketa sees in you! Yes, I know that you and the Hellgazer are an item. That’s convenient. You’re stone, and she can turn people into stone. It’s probably a relationship based around convenience, not passion. I bet, deep down, she gets tired of your cold skin. I’d keep her warm.”

The words struck Rockheart’s soul. They infuriated him. Dimly, he thought this might be Marko’s Vicious Insultability, part of the College of Rhetoric, but it ultimately didn’t matter. He was going to murder the satyr’s guardian form and then waltz right up to the pedestal and crush the satyr’s core into powder.

With a snarl he advanced, ready to rip Marko’s head from his annoying shoulders, but then Spike Flies struck like a hailstorm. Rockheart heard their buzz seconds before he felt them hit. He spun around, conjuring forth a Mallus Tornado of Force that both he and the cat man shared. In that swirling typhoon of power, the Spike Flies lost their wings and then their bodies. Pathetic. They dropped to the ground, little more than dust.

Rockheart turned to finish the job of murdering Marko, but the satyr had somehow managed to gain his feet. He was sprinting back toward the feast room, clearly trying to buy Logan more time. The rector prime decided to indulge them. He gave chase, but two Spore Wargs leapt out of the tangle of mushrooms, colliding with his legs, teeth snapping at his skin. Rockheart barely felt them. Even as a B-Class he was far outside their league. With barely a thought, he ripped them to shreds with his claws, then ducked as Gem-Studded Puffballs exploded around him in a series of brilliant pops.

The satyr stood shaking, barely on his feet. He started clapping, but Rockheart threw more golden missile claws to spoil the spell.

Marko stumbled backward and fell onto his furry butt. He was barely conscious.

“Rockheart!” Logan thundered.

The rector prime turned, and there, standing between two mannequins, was the fungaloid, nearly lost in a cloud of floating fungal spores. Rockheart gave in to his rage. “You! You were an embarrassment at first, Logan Murray, but then you became something much worse. A thorn in my side. Still, For the briefest of moments, I thought maybe you could be something special. But no. You disappointed us all by joining with the fool goat. This ends now. With the death of you and your friends. You are not worthy! Not worthy of the academy. Not worthy of the Azure Dragon Clan. And not worthy to protect Ashvattha!”

Rockheart powered up his skin-blast, but he didn’t set off the charge. He used the energy to burn off any spores that the fungaloid might be throwing his way. It would be rather simple to conjure another concussive blast. Or he could rip the yellow mushroom man’s body apart with another whirling force tornado. But the seething, irrational rage in his belly insisted that the fungaloid was unworthy of such a quick end. No. Rockheart wanted to feel the fungaloid’s pliant body come apart in his claws.

Then… then it would be a quick trip to the pedestal.

“Yullie?” The fungaloid’s flouncy top cap wiggled as he smiled. “You have no idea how much I love that fool goat. Marko Laskarelis is the best of us. Inga agrees, as does Treacle, and you should love him too. And he wasn’t wrong… he and Arketa would make a much better couple than you.”

Rockheart started for the mushroom man, lips pulling back from his feline fangs. “It won’t happen. All four of you are done. Your spores won’t help you, I won’t get athlete’s foot, and I have no allergies. There will be no mortal sneezing for me. Do you really think you can best me in open combat?”

The fungaloid laughed. “I prefer closed combat!”

“What does that even mean?” Rockheart thundered, feeling his blood boil. “And why are you joking? You sound like the stupid goat buffoon!”

The rector prime increased his speed, rushed over, and drove a claw into the heart of the fungaloid. Only, he didn’t feel the rubbery flesh of a mushroom. He felt the plaster of a mannequin. He shook what should’ve been Logan Murray, but wasn’t. No, up close, in a haze of spores, he saw that this was but another mimic, one crafted into a rough semblance of the fungaloid. And that voice. Ventriloquism. That was why Logan had sounded like the worthless satyr… because they were one and the same.

He pulled his hand free, but the mimic struck at the same moment, its arms and legs wrapping around Rockheart. A mouth appeared, full of vicious teeth, and they sank into the meat of his shoulder.

The creature wasn’t nearly powerful enough to seriously harm the rector prime. With a roar, he let out a wave of power, ripping the creature’s arms off and forcing it back. But he’d been so distracted that he heard the approaching footfalls a moment too late. He turned.

Just in time for a dagger to punch through a seam in his armor and into his ribs. There was the real Logan Murray. The fungaloid removed the dagger and stepped back, armed with his ridiculous ruby shield and that pathetic dagger.

Rockheart’s laughter boomed through the sanctum. “A single knife thrust will not end Yullis Rockheart!”

Then he saw there wasn’t just rust on the blade. It was also covered in Blister Wart.

“This one worked on Magmarty.” Logan exhaled, releasing a cloud of Rapid Growth spores into the air at close range. “Let’s see how you handle it.”

Rockheart let out a gasp of shock. Then the pain hit, and he fell to his knees. He could feel the Blister Wart burning his insides—but it was more than just toxic chemicals. There were Blister Wart spores in there as well, and he could feel them growing like tumors. He clutched at his chest, claws digging down as fungi exploded out through his chest like some grim flower blooming in the spring.

And that was the end of Rockheart’s stolen body.

He fell, dead, all his plans foiled by the moronic satyr and his fungaloid friend.

* * *

Logan watched as Rockheart lost his cat man form and morphed back into a gargoyle-griffin. His stone wings ripped through the leather jerkin and his legs burst the red pants. That was a kindness—those pants were awful beyond words.

Shadowcroft’s rector prime lay dead on his side, body riddled with Blister Wart. His chest cavity looked like a baby xenomorph from an Alien movie had come bursting out.

Logan bent and used his trusty if pitted dagger to pry out the rector prime’s gem.

Marko crawled over, covered in cake, a little cheese, and liberal gobs of his own blood. The satyr collapsed onto his face, at first, but then managed to push himself into a sitting position, offering Logan a lopsided grin. He spoke through his near-dead, guardian form. “All in all, that went well. I’d offer you a victory feast but every bit of food out there on the table is poisoned with Coptician viper venom.”

“Those fried peppers might be worth a little death.” Logan laughed and held Rockheart’s gem in his thick yellow fingers.

Inga’s voice floated to him. <What are you going to do with his core gem?>

Treacle had the answer in an instant. <We should process it, share the Apothos, and when they ask, we say we have no idea what happened to Yullis Rockheart.>

Marko had the strength to reach over and roll the dead gargoyle over onto his back. “Eating ol’ Rockheart is one option, and he would deserve it. Coming at us like he did was messed up.”

“And I’m thinking this wasn’t the first time,” Logan said. “I bet you he and Chadrigoth planned that little ambush in the Slaughter Pits. So, we’d be justified in digesting him.” And if they digested him it would push them all up at least a rank, maybe more. Rockheart was a high A-Class Jade Leaf cultivator—even with his core crippled, consuming his Apothos would give them a tremendous boost. But if they let him live, they would only get the relatively small amount of manifested Apothos stored in his physical guardian form.

“But,” Marko countered, seesawing his head, “if we let him live, and if we don’t tell anyone, then we’d always have something on the rector prime. You know, there’s nothing that a little blackmail can’t fix.”

<We’ll call it leverage,> Inga sent, obviously shocked.

<Or extortion,> Treacle added.

Logan laughed. Right then, he knew they were going to take the gem to Ned and Zed, and Rockheart could work with those rosebush doctors to get his body back. Because even now, the Blister Wart was doing damage to the stony body sprawled out in the inner sanctum.

Around them, a sudden wheezy voice, ancient and turtleish spoke: “And so, you four have passed your Winnowing. Again, the final battle reached the inner sanctum; however, you faced villains far above your level. You have done well, my friends, so very well. And as my dearest friend always says… You still live! You can do wonderful things!”

“Like loot the bodies!” Marko erupted. He was looking better. Already, he was using the Apothos in their combined pool to heal his badly damaged guardian form. He managed to get to his feet, only limping a little.

Zhen Ikgix, the venerable Threshing Tortoise, chuckled. “We’ll give you a couple of hours to put yourselves back together, gather your loot, and go through the magic items. Might I suggest you retrieve Linraist Erejam’s staff from the entrance room, hmmm?”

Logan wasn’t about to leave anythingbehind in their dungeon. However, he could let go of some of the corridors, rooms, and artwork. The walls began to tremble and turn back into sand and sandstone. Marko’s feast table wavered before vanishing, but they kept the two digestive pits working in overdrive. Funneling sweet, pilfered Apothos into his core.

Logan shivered.

He was on the cusp of leveling again, and after all the kills and experience in the final part of the Winnowing? He was sure to increase his cultivation abilities at least to Rank 5—which would come with some benefits and new abilities.

He and Marko slid Rockheart’s and the rogue’s bodies into the digestion moat. Logan might not eat the professor’s core, but there was still loads of manifested Apothos in his guardian form, and that seemed like fair game. Treacle came staggering into what had been the feast room, bandages on his head, still woozy from having his skull caved in. His horn would regrow eventually, but for now, it was only a jagged stump. Inga joined them as well. She was missing some teeth and had some serious gashes covering her arms and chest.

But they were gloriously alive and that was all that mattered.

The four went through the gold, jewels, magic items, and loot from the raiding party. Marko sighed over the cat man’s red pants. “They’re ripped beyond repair. I’m heartbroken. I loved those trousers.”

Inga threw him Erejam’s jeweled robes. “None of us would be caught dead in this. It’s not magic, but it’s gaudy enough for you to enjoy, I’m sure.”

“Gaudy? I think you mean great-y.” Marko slipped on the roseflower amulet. “And this little baby goes well with my new ensemble. Bam! I didn’t think I could be cooler or more awesome, but apparently even I am sometimes wrong.”

Inga took Erejam’s staff. They weren’t sure what it did yet, but she jumped at the chance to study it.

Treacle pondered the Wood Warden’s magical scimitar. “I’ll break this down, maybe get the blueprint so we can copy it. It’s relatively nice. I’ll also want the dwarf’s Terra hammer. I’m thinking I might be able to add it to my Internal Alchemy.”

“So you can drop the hammer?” Marko asked. “Will be it hammer time? Will you get hammered with me on Friday night?”

Treacle let out an annoyed grunt. “Puns. Gross.”

Lyndagg the Skinner had a trio of magical throwing knives, which Marko called dibs on. No real surprise there.

As for Logan, he took Flynn Corry’s three magical rings. He’d be able to summon the silver short swords now, though the rusty dagger would always have a special place in his heart. It had helped him kill not just any raider, but Yullis Rockheart himself.

Logan had the idea that the Threshing Turtle knew what had happened but wouldn’t be telling anyone. In the end, Shadowcroft Academy for Dungeons was a utilitarian institution. Whatever worked was fair game. Rockheart had tested them to the best of his ability. Inga was pretty sure the rector prime had even crippled his core to do so—at least temporarily—since they wouldn’t have been able to best him if he’d been an A-Class cultivator.

Logan slipped on the armor ring, which expanded to cover one of his three thick fingers. He felt his core respond to the ring, and he realized in a flash of insight, he could customize his own armor, and it would look like the real thing. Finally, finally, he would have real armor to go with his exoskeleton. His friends—mostly Marko—helped him design his new look. Once done, he looked down, impressed.

An enormous leather war belt, covered in opal glyphs, concealed his gemstone core. The belt worked with a fur-lined leather skirt called a pteruges—Marko swore by them both for their maneuverability and for the breeze. Logan added a pair of light leather greaves and matching fur-lined bracers to cover his vulnerable legs and forearms. A single spiked pauldron also decorated his right shoulder.

Logan laughed. “I can always have armor when I want it. And I get swords, magical swords.”

“What about the third ring?” Marko asked.

Logan shrugged. “Not sure. Looks like we’ll have to do a little research. And since we have the best crafter at Shadowcroft with us, it won’t be long until we unlock their mysteries!”

Treacle sat, head bandaged, holding the hammer and scimitar. “Logan… my friends…” the big bull-headed man started. Then he couldn’t talk. Tears flowed down his cheeks.

That made Inga choke up. “Treacle, what is it?”

The minotaur blinked. “We’re alive. I didn’t think we would… that we would survive our freshman year. But we’re alive, my friends. My good friends.”

Marko, who wasn’t afraid of showing any emotion, leapt to his feet. He danced a little jig as tears dripped down his furry face. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, my bovine friend.”

Logan thought his smile might break his face. Their Final Exam dungeon was done, the Mad Party of the Dark Muse’s Depravity was now just sand, stone, and an inner sanctum with a bare stone pedestal. The only sign they’d ever been there at all was the two digestive pits, still burbling away. It might’ve been gone, but what they’d managed to accomplish would stick with Logan forever. Choosing the fungaloid class had been a gamble, but in the end it had been a jackpot. And Marko was right—this really was only the start.

He was still an Iron Trunk cultivator. They all were. Who knew what was possible once they ascended? The dungeoneering guilds would tremble, and he might even find a way to save his homeworld. Earth.