Shadowcroft's Academy for Dungeons Chapter 34

The Winnowing. The Final Exam. It all came down to this single Monday, probably the most epic Monday in Logan’s life.

Their four hours wouldn’t begin until they took control of the SandScream, and the very second their time elapsed, ruthless dungeoneers would be ushered in to kill and destroy. Whether they were ready or not. The deadlines were tight, and the work would be brutal. Especially considering the dungeon environment they had to work with. The inner sanctum was just sand, sand dunes, sand drifts, sand piles, and extra sand on the side. Sandstone ceilings hung over a sandstone floor where a pathetic pedestal stood—just a block of stone. No frills. No carvings. As boring as naptime in a kindergarten classroom.

But that was all about to change.

While Logan had spent a week in agony, processing the energy of the Red Lotus and forging a new knot, his friends had been busy designing a new dungeon—one that incorporated all of their unique abilities into something better than the sum of their parts.

Logan gathered his friends around him. “You guys ready?”

Marko smirked. “When am I not ready to be infected by my own personal mushroom lord? Hit me.”

Steeling his nerves, Logan let his Symbiotic spores come drifting out of the gills in his floppy yellow cap. “Make sure to breathe them in. We don’t have any time to waste. You’ll be infected, but it’s a good infection.”

Marko inhaled and held the spores in his lungs. “Yep. Good stuff. Symbiotic spores.” He had to choke out each word.

Treacle’s nostrils widened as he let the spores fill his lungs.

Inga stood by, watching with an amused expression. She’d been bound to him for most of the year, and even after the effects of the symbiosis wore off on Marko and Treacle, she would continue to be his partner in crime.

As the spores took root and spread through his two new hosts, tiny yellow toadstools appeared on their shoulders. After a beat, each grew a crown of delicate, crystalline mushrooms, until it looked like they were wearing fuzzy gold tiaras. Logan shuddered as energy and life flowed from his friends and into him, suffusing him with new life. He’d grown accustomed to drawing a minute amount of residual power from the bond he had with Inga, but basically tripling that power in a matter of seconds was a heady rush. And unlike raw Apothos, siphoned off a dungeoneer, this energy didn’t need to be processed.

It was a part of him, because it was a part of them. Their cores were doing the work, while his reaped the reward.

Once the euphoric sensation passed, Logan took charge. As one, their gems detached from their corporal guardian forms, floating over the pedestal. Logan’s a glimmering citrine, Inga’s a vibrant amethyst, Treacle’s a deep emerald, and Marko’s a pale blue aquamarine. At first, the four dungeon core gems drifted randomly, bobbing and weaving drunkenly, until they finally started to spin in clockwork unison. The energy flowing into him increased even more and with it came connection.

It was like they were having the best conversation of their lives. It was like midnight in a coffee shop, getting lost with friends. It was what he’d been missing since his time in the Army. Esprit de corp.

He was overwhelmed with the sudden surge of information he was given on Marko and Treacle. There was so much to go over—their guardian forms, their guardian core matrices—an encyclopedia worth of data each.

He would’ve liked to spend days poring over all the ability descriptions, analyzing their spells and powers, but the clock was ticking. In four hours, not a second longer, the worst of the worst dungeoneers currently imprisoned in the Chaos Oasis would be coming for them, guns blazing. Metaphorically at least.

Logan was no stranger to hard work and unimaginable pressure. This wasn’t his first time figuring things out while every minute could mean the difference between life and death. Iraq had been a brutal classroom, but it had taught him so many things.

First things first. Inga summoned her centipedes, but they weren’t going to be used as soldiers, not all of them. They were the raw material that Logan needed to grow his fungi. The harsh reality of a desert dungeon was that it had nothing but sand and sandstone. No water, no moisture, no life. It was so dry and so oppressively hot that Logan couldn’t just bring out his badass spores without some serious help. But as the great sage of his time, Jeff Goldbloom, had once said, Life finds a way.That was where the insects came in.

Logan created a digestive pit in the inner sanctum, a burbling moat of acid that surrounded the pedestal, like a moat three feet wide. Not only did the thick black ooze of his digestive juices break down the insects, Logan would have moisture and materials to grow his fungal forest in the heart of the dungeon.

The antechamber? That was going to be all Marko’s creation. He would use something he called Summon Feast to create a horrible banquet that, according to Marko, would be both deadly and delicious.

Logan pulled the satyr’s introductory information:

                                                                              <<<>>>

Dungeon Satyr: Descendants of the High Lords and Ladies of the Fae, the goatfolk of the green places love to drink, feast, and sing under the light of the stars. Although they are often considered to be gentle and carefree, those that step onto the darker paths can be fearsome creatures to contend against. Along the Shadowed Path of the Muse, Dungeon Satyrs can charm, entrance, and seduce with equal ease—often leading dungeoneers to their demise all while dancing and singing to the merry jig of this deadly piper.

Would you like to know more? Yes/No

                                                                             <<<>>>

Yes, Logan absolutely wanted to know more—he wanted to know all the things—but once again, he only had a few minutes to get the basics down. He reluctantly hit No and went on to view the satyr’s matrix:

                                                                        <<< ۝ >>>

Marko Laskarelis

Guardian Core Matrix

Base Race: Dungeon Satyr

Current Evolution: Dark Muse

Cultivator Class:Iron Trunk Cultivator; C-Class, Rank 5

Primary Elemental Affinities: Aqua/Umbra

Racial Abilities:

Silver Tongued, Blood of the Fae

Racial Skill:

- Spectral Song

- Unrelenting Debauchery

College of Rhetoric:

- Vicious Insult

- Ventriloquist

- Language of Dance

o Nataraja’s Wretched Rhythm

o The Dumbshow of Burguk

College of Shadows:

- Living Artistry

- Shadow Betrayal

- Summon Feast

College of Form:

- Mannequin

- Mimic Form

                                                                         <<< ۝ >>>

Marko giggled in a high voice. <Oh, you’re looking at my unmentionables—seems like you should buy me a drink when this is all said and done. Assuming we survive. Now, how’s about I get started on the feast table? It shall be my masterpiece—though I’ll also be setting up a little chandelier surprise. Think of it as your aunt Agnese’s chandelier only crossed with a bloodthirsty crystal spider.>

<Hold there. Let me get the room fixed up first,> Treacle sent back to the four.

Their consciousnesses all shared the dungeon while their guardian forms stood dumbly, waiting for instructions.

Logan moved from Marko’s info to Treacle’s.

                                                                               <<<>>>

Minotaur: These bull-headed creatures are often known for their unmatched strength and brute instinct, but when paired with the keen intelligence of an Alchemic Machinist, the trundling minotaur is transformed into something far more deadly… a masterful mechanic capable of amazing feats of mystical engineering while simultaneously perfecting monstrous internal and external sciences. Minotaurs have a driving need to forge deadly labyrinths filled with twists, turns, and traps that can put even the most seasoned dungeoneers to the test.

Would you like to know more? Yes/No

                                                                               <<<>>>

Again, Logan couldn’t read more. He reviewed Treacle’s basic character sheet:

                                                                           <<< ۝ >>>

Treacle Glimmerhappy

Guardian Core Matrix

Base Race:Minotaur

Current Evolution: Alchemic Machinist

Cultivator Class:Iron Trunk Cultivator; C-Class, Rank 3

Primary Elemental Affinities: Mallus/Fulgur

Racial Abilities:

Beast of Burden

Racial Skill:

- Gore

- Labyrinth Sense

Internal Alchemy:

- Clockwork Organs

- Engineered Anatomy

External Alchemy:

- Rabid Mutagen

- Electric Alchemist

- Arcane Transmutation

Machinist Mastermind:

- Blacksmith Marvel

- Engineered Weapons

- Mechanical Monsters

                                                                                <<< ۝ >>>

Honestly, it was a damned good thing that Treacle had joined them. Aside from massively contributing to the Apothos pool they had to work with, he had also saved them worlds of work.

His Arcane Transmutation—one of his most potent abilities—would allow them to turn the sand into harder stone, and to shape it into a vast labyrinth, separated into two levels, with numerous blind corners and dead ends. Since the timetable would be so tight, the Terrible Twelfth planned on keeping the heroes busy on the top layer of maze while they finished working on the second level. Not only would it buy them some time, but Treacle said that a labyrinth was the optimal way to use the space—they could have corridors right next to each other so they utilized every square foot.

Treacle also had a racial skill called Labyrinth Sense, which would make it impossible for him to get lost. Logan would share in that ability thanks to his Symbiotic infection.

Still, though, they had big plans and even with all the energy he was siphoning off from his friends, they would need more to support all of the minions, traps, and rooms they had in mind. Not to mention the sheer raw energy and focus it took to keep all four cores bonded and working. He couldn’t have done it without the additional knot in his core, but they would still need a kill almost immediately.

Logan took charge as soon as Treacle shaped the simple stone corridors of the top floor of the labyrinth. <Marko, we’re going with your Dark Muse theme for this dungeon. Your job, once you get your basic feast room set, is to create statues, paintings, and works of art. Some will attack and some won’t. Remember what Kyvandry taught us, ‘it’s crucial to demoralize the raiders as much as you can.’ The more we can keep the raiders on the edge, the more we’ll slow them down, which will give us time to perfect our garden of insectile death and the inner sanctum.>

<On it, boss!>

In Marko’s feast room, gilded tables appeared, as well as an ornate marble fountain, which wouldn’t be pouring water, but some kind of edible wonder. The satyr wouldn’t say what it would be, but he had a plan. Always a plan. He loved surprises, did Marko. Everything in the dungeon would be Endogenous Apothos Manifestations. Since the raiders were fighting for their freedom, they didn’t need lures. That freed Logan and his friends to get creative.

Once Marko finished with the rudimentary dishes for his feast table outside the inner sanctum, he got to work painting the hallways of the labyrinth’s first floor. He summoned a pair of paintbrushes from thin air and began dancing through the halls, singing and laughing while ghostly music bled from the air itself, giving them their own haunting montage music to work to. Marko was a whirlwind of paint and artistry. It honestly looked exhausting, but Marko never tired thanks to his racial skill, Unrelenting Debauchery—as long as he was singing, drinking, partying, or dancing he suffered no negative exhaustion effects.

The dude was literally a party animal.

Treacle summoned his Ugknot Calflings for his own minion room but spent most of his time and energy on a trap room designed to split the party—Inga loved the idea of splitting up the raiders, and since they had four guardian cores, it wasn’t a bad idea.

Logan felt the minotaur’s excitement pounding like adrenaline through his veins. The former gnome was excited to break out his new Internal Alchemy abilities, which basically made him like Iron Man. Only Treacle’s gadgets would emerge from his own flesh. He could snap a flamethrower out of his right forearm with minimal gore or summon a screaming buzz saw at will.

However, the minotaur was even more thrilled to be working on his musical puzzle room at the center of the first floor’s maze. Treacle and Marko had spent hours designing it while Logan was down for the count. The satyr had no trouble dividing his attention between sculpting statues, sloshing mystical paint on murderous canvas, and helping out his bull-headed buddy.

Marko was born to multitask.

Inga, though, focused on the entryway, which would set the tone for the entire dungeon. Usually the entryway was a ruse meant to ease dungeoneers in—to give them a false sense of security. Knowing that, they planned to subvert expectations. There was no need to lure these raiders in, so it was wasted effort anyway.

No, their entrance would be a death trap in every sense of the word and would feature a huge heavy metal surprise amidst the mushrooms and insects. That was also where Logan put his second digestive pit covered by a Mucal Film proto-spore. Secret passageways, embedded into the walls, would give Treacle access, so he could drag bodies there easily. More Apothos for Logan and the others to use—and thanks to Digestion they would have instant access a huge reservoir as soon as the bodies hit the acid. Marko also sent some of his energy there, to craft the entryway plaque and to animate several small, weird statues that reminded Logan of the Jigsaw puppet from the Saw movies.

Logan would grow Gem-Studded Puffballs on the puppets, turning them into creepy grenades. They were going to pull out all the stops for their final.

With five minutes to spare, the first level was done. Marko then resumed work on his feast room, tweaking this and adding that, while Logan, Inga, and Treacle stood in the inner sanctum. Their starter centipedes were long gone, and the digestive pit moat was a couple feet wider and a foot deeper. Statues, covered in fungal growths, filled the sanctum, all standing motionless.

Even to Logan, the place looked terrifying.

<Marko!> Logan sent. <Focus here for a second.>

<I wanted one more variety of canape. You know, I was going to go with stuffed, deep-fried mushrooms, but that’s just… oh, you know, overkill. I went with fried peppers with spicy saffron breading. Spicy and delicious and perfect for dipping in the fountain.>

Logan couldn’t believe Marko’s plan for his food fountain. But he had to get the satyr’s attention. <We don’t have much time, and Inga has to get ready for her ambush in the entryway. Real quick, though, we need a contingency plan. It’s likely at least one of their Azure Branch cultivators will make it to the sanctum. If that happens?>

<If that happens, we’ll die.> Somehow, Treacle managed to send them a despairing sigh.

Logan disagreed, though. <Nope. Not after making it this far. We’ve done some excellent work, and I know the second level isn’t finished just yet, but all in all? I think we have this. Remember, any kill gets dumped into a digestive pit, either on the first level or the second. I’ll need the energy.> His core was burning like a V8 engine gulping down nitroglycerine. He was running his core into the red, and the spikes in energy left him dizzy.

<I’ll deal with the bodies,> Treacle agreed.

<I… I won’t be.> Inga’s fear came through her thoughts. If all went to plan, she’d go down early, and she’d go down hard. It would be for the best, though. After that? Well, they had some diabolical traps, most of which relied heavily on Marko’s Dark Muse magic.

<Don’t worry,> Logan sent. <Once we eat the last raider, we’ll fix your guardian form. We’re going to win this. But while we were working, I had an idea. A nasty surprise in case everything falls apart and one of the raiders manages to get into the inner sanctum. This is what I’m thinking…>

When he told them his plan, Marko burst out laughing, Inga went silent, and Treacle grumbled.

<How do I get out of this chickenshit outfit?> the minotaur asked, oddly quoting a movie there was no way he could’ve seen.

Logan didn’t answer because it was too late. With seconds to spare, Inga moved her guardian form into place while Logan and Marko worked on the surprise to end all surprises.

Logan prayed they wouldn’t have to use this last ruse, but in his heart of hearts, he knew there was no way they would get lucky enough to kill all the raiders.

They had six raiders to kill—four C-Class Iron Trunks and two B-Class Azure Branch cultivators. Hopefully, Inga would be able to level the playing field early, but at least one of those Azure Branches would get to the inner sanctum. Logan could feel it. If everything went according to plan, however, they wouldn’t be leaving alive.