FINAL CORE : [A holy dungeon-core litRPG]

The depth of my love is proved true by my ability to deny, to say ‘no’.

I hold a sword in my hands, strong and sharp. I could give it to my child, my girl. She’s eight. She could hold it. She could try to swing it. She wants the sword.

But when she asks for it, I will say ‘no’. I will deny her wish to be like the strong adventurers, who she sees walking by our customer-less store day after day. I will watch her cry hard tears and listen to her hoarse screams and sad tantrums and desperate explanations that she just wants to help us earn money to survive.

She is a good child.

But I will still say ‘no’.

She can hold the sword. She has the hands and the will. She wants to have the sword. I can give it to her. I have the capacity to do so. But she doesn’t have the training, the experience, the fortitude, the body, or the mind to wield it. She’s eight.

My true love is made apparent, not by my granting of her every hope and dream, but by my ability to deny her fondest wish. Would I be a good father if I gave her the sword?

I will deny her until she is ready, not because I want her to lack for anything in life or in heart, but because she is simply not capable of handling what she wants should she get it.

In life, you must tell the people who you love ‘no’, sometimes, even if they don’t understand and they cry and they scream.

- This is exactly how the gods view us.

 

~ Level forty-two ex-priest, Aventis, of the northern-city, who underwent a class-change to become a merchant after breaking his vows of celibacy and starting a family with a merchant-girl he met on his travels.

 

 

~ [The Humming Man] ~
???, Male, Chronomancer Location: The City, A comfy house

 

He throws a dish towel down onto the floor, in front of the window.

 

A jovial hum fills the room, coming together with the clinking of glassware as the humming man sets down his cup of tea onto the saucer he’s holding with his other hand as he looks out of the window.

 

— It all shakes.

 

The glass of the window and the cup and saucer in his hand all vibrate once, as a resounding, heavy metal tick carries through the world like the single strike of a titan’s sword against a mountain.

 

The tea in his cup splashes over the edge of the saucer, the droplets landing right onto the towel he had placed there in advance.

 

Waiting a moment for his cup to settle and for the quake to carry through his home, he then picks up his cup again, taking another sip as he stares at the distant tower. It’s not easy to see on most days. But on a clear, cloudless day like today is promising to be, the top of the tower can be seen, set to motion like the hands of a clock.

 

Who could have ever seen something like this coming?

 

The chronomancer smiles a quiet smile and sips his tea, a hum escaping his throat.

 

The clock continues to tick, but towards what chronal destination its hands strike, is impossible to say.

 

— For most people.

 

He sets his cup back down into the wet saucer and picks up the damp towel, returning it all to the kitchen. He hums as he walks, doing a little spin around the frame of his door as he walks through the rooms, and tosses the towel across it, right into the washing basin.

 

It’s about time for him to get back to it, then. Someone is counting on him to fulfill his task.

 

 

~ [Cardinal Schweig] ~
Human, Male, Cardinal Location: The City

 

The man in the red robe sits at the table, swirling around the chalice of wine as he stares down into its ruby contents.

 

“What do you mean they won’t march?” asks the cardinal of the north, with venom in his voice as he lifts his gaze to the military officer standing before him.

 

“They- They won’t move from the camp, your grace,” says the officer, lowering his head. “We arranged an execution, but…”

 

“But what?” asks the cardinal from the north.

 

“— But the tower, your grace. It… it intervened in our assault,” he says, wincing. “A great wyrm, from the distant basalts of the west, destroyed the staircase.” He clenches his fists. “Given its marking, w- we’ve identified the creature as being the same holy wyrm referred to in the old scriptures.”

 

Most of the other men at the table, the other cardinals, murmur. The officer hasn’t dared to open his eyes yet. As the head of the snake, this collection of failures leads all the way back up to him.

 

“— From the west?” asks another, very interested cardinal, Erzael, who is also from the west.

 

“That can’t be, can it?” asks a bored voice from the other side of the table. “That was hundreds of years ago,” says the cardinal from the east, holding a small crystal in his hands and playing with it. “During the great release.”

 

More murmurs.

 

“Have we made a mistake?” asks the cardinal Erzael of the west, looking at the others. “Casualties?” he asks, returning his gaze to the officer.

 

“N- none, your grace,” replies the officer. “The tower protected us.”

 

The cardinals murmur.

 

“Continue,” orders Cardinal Schweig of the north in a cold voice.

 

The officer gulps. “E-every deserter scheduled for execution was taken up to the island. As of now…” He stops for a moment and stands up straight, holding his arms stiffly at his sides. “- As of now, the assault is a total failure.”

 

The cardinals continue their murmuring, and the officer stands stiff, frozen.

 

Schweig continues to spin his chalice, looking at the crimson wine inside.

 

“This is our fault,” says the cardinal Erzael from the west. “We’ve turned up our noses at the gods and they’re putting us back into our place.” He rises to his feet, looking around the table. “Don’t you fools see? The wyrm has been sleeping for hundreds of years,” he argues, tapping against the table. “It came with the god-chosen hero and then slept when he left,” says the man. “Why would it wake again, for any other reason than being god-chosen once more?” he asks, looking around the table. “We must repent! We’ve made a mistake.” He looks towards the cardinal of the south.

 

The man thinks for a moment and then nods, rising up to his feet.

 

The two of them look towards the officer.

 

“Officer. You are to immediately call your men and place us all under arrest,” says the cardinal from the west. “Gods have mercy on our souls.”

 

“Y- your grace?” asks the officer.

 

Schweig and the cardinal from the east don't bother moving or watching, the latter opting to simply keep playing with the beautiful crystal in his hands.

 

“— For the collective murder of Bishop Zacaries Mo-”

 

Erzael, the cardinal from the west stops, wincing and making an odd face as he clutches his throat. He opens his mouth, trying to talk, but only an odd hacking sound comes out.

 

(Cardinal Schweig) has used: [Red-Water {07}]

 

His eyes roll back into his head, and he falls over to the ground, spasming, blood leaking out of his ears, together with the officer and the cardinal from the south. They all fall over, dying from the hardened, coagulated blood that now blocks their air-ways.

 

Cardinal Schweig sits there, spinning his chalice and looking inside of it, as the room is filled with a slow choking sound from three people.

 

After a minute, he takes a sip of his wine and then rises to his feet.

 

The cardinal from the east doesn’t seem bothered, being lost in the sight of the beautiful stone that he’s holding.

 

“Another assassination,” says cardinal Schweig of the north, setting down his cup. “A shame the others didn’t survive.”

 

“Mm…” replies the cardinal from the east, tilting his head to stare at the reflection in the yellow gem in his hands.

 

Schweig walks to the door. “I think it’s time for us to declare a new bishop,” says the cardinal. “One with a little more fervor.”

 

A window appears before them both.

 

~ [QUEST] ~
'FINAL CORE' Difficulty: Extremely Easy

The grand tower of Isaiah seeks to bridge the gap between the heavens and the mortal world within this year of life, so that joy, sanctity, and hope might be restored to the lives of all living beings.

The world must change. It will change.

Quest Goal: Speak the name of Isaiah.

Quest reward: Your soul will be saved, as will your days upon this mortal world.

Quest Failure Effect: {UNKNOWN}

 

He narrows his eyes, hissing. He looks over his shoulder towards the other man, sitting in a room of bodies, who hasn’t bothered getting up. “Call for every man and woman in the land to come here,” he says.

 

The cardinal from the east turns his head, looking away for the first time. “— More tributaries?” asks the droll man, a bang of sharp, white hair obscuring one of his eyes.

 

“A crusade,” orders Cardinal Schweig, walking out of the door. “As justice for the tower’s assassinations of the bishop and our brother cardinals, for not adhering to its twisted mockery of our faith.”

 

He slams the door behind himself.

 

 

~ [Scion] ~
Elf, Female, Priestess Location: The Tower

 

“Monsters sure do eat a lot, huh?” asks dark-elf Rorate, walking and holding the full bucket of odd, chunky goo in front of herself with both hands. “Is this what you do all day?”

 

The elf walking next to her, Scion, nods. “Yeah. Thank you for helping me today,” replies the priestess. “I mostly feed the different floors with whatever Red and the others make for me to bring them.”

 

Rorate nods, staring up towards the ceiling as they walk up. “Red sure is a good cook.”

 

“Right?” asks Scion, sighing as she looks down at herself. “I need to slow down. I had to ask Teal to adjust the hem of my robe twice now.”

 

Rorate laughs. “Well, we’ll grab lunch after this,” she says. “I’ll keep an eye on you.”

 

“Thanks,” groans Scion, the bucket in her hands sloshing. “Red said that today I’m supposed to feed the monsters on this new floor.”

 

“Do you think that the adventurers even get this far?” asks Rorate, staring up towards the ceiling.

 

“No,” replies Scion. “I heard the best group is at… uh… the forties now. Most of them are down in the thirties.” She looks at Rorate. “Do you get a lot of visitors?”

 

“Oh sure,” replies the dark-elf. “Some of them try to kill me now and then, but it’s mostly been fine.”

 

“Oh… huh…” Scion stares at the floor. “I think I’d be scared if I had to do your job. It seems like a lot, talking to so many people all the time.” They stop, looking at a staircase to their side. “This is ours.”

 

“It’s not so bad,” replies Rorate, stepping up the shortcut that leads to floor seventy. From there, they’ll just be going down one floor. This is the fastest way. “You get good at whatever you do, if you do it long enough.”

 

Scion laughs. “I don’t feel like I do much, honestly. I just pray, and I feed the monsters. I’m not sure if I’m really that useful.”

 

“Don’t say that,” replies Rorate, looking down over her shoulder as they go through the shortcut, buckets in hand. “Isaiah chose you for a reason. It sees something in you,” assures the dark-elf priestess of Isaiah. She smiles. “I used to think the same about myself, but then I sort of figured it out one day.” Rorate ponders. “It was a real revelation for me, that moment.”

 

Scion stares at her and nods.

 

The two of them reach the floor and look around.

 

“Food!” calls Scion, stepping into the floor as she looks around the area. She’s never been to this one before. Red said it was a newer development, having only recently been granted monsters in anticipation of the slowly rising adventurers. She shakes the bucket full of wet slush in the air. “Come get it!” calls the elf, her voice echoing around the strange floor.

 

“What a weird place,” says Rorate, walking next to her and looking around the area. It looks a lot like her own cathedral, but the design is much more… organic. It’s almost cave-like in a way, with humid vapors drifting through along the passages, lining the coarse, stone walls with a slick dampness that collects together into droplets, running down the surfaces into small channels in the ground, where it collects as running dribble, presumably flowing down into hidden channels to meet the rest of the water flow of the tower’s other floors. There are altars hewn from prismatic crystals and pews, struck free from rock.

 

– Something sloshes in the distance. They look, but neither of them see anything.

 

“I guess the sixties are stone-themed floors?” guesses Rorate.

 

“Maybe,” says Scion. She walks around, looking at several altars. “I kind of like it. It reminds me of… I dunno, like a secret shrine in a misty forest somewhere, you know?” The priestess smiles, setting down her bucket on an altar as she looks around. “I think it’s very inspiring.”

 

“Right?” asks Rorate. She seems to get inspired, straightening up as she gets an idea. “Scion, would you like to pray together?”

 

Scion gasps, grabbing Rorate’s hands, still holding her bucket. “I’d love to!” says the elf excitedly, dragging the dark-elf over to the altar. Rorate laughs and sets her bucket down to the side, and the two of them kneel down together by the statue of a beckoning Isaiah, hewn out of glistening, ruby-tinged crystal. “Do you think Isaiah watches us when we pray?” she asks, adjusting her position.

 

Rorate nods, sitting comfortably. “Isaiah is always watching us.”

 

Scion sighs in relief and nods, folding her hands and closing her eyes.

 

The elf exhales, contently, happy that she gets to be this person that she’s becoming, happy that she gets to make friends and follow a purposeful existence for the first time in her being. She begins to say as much to Isaiah, who she is sure can hear her thoughts of gratitude.

 

– Something pokes her side and she laughs, elbowing the hand away as she focuses on her prayer.

 

What a great life this is becoming. She wonders where this is all going? What’s Isaiah’s real goal now, at the end of it all? The tower and its people are all growing so fast that -

 

– Something pokes against the side of her body. “– Rorate, cut it out,” says Scion, moving her arm to push the hand away again as she readjusts her robe. “That’s very disrespectful when I’m trying to pray. Isaiah is watching us,” she says in a hushed whisper.

 

“Huh?” asks Rorate. “What are you talking about?”

 

Scion sighs, opening her eyes to look at the dark-elf. This is very unlike her. Rorate is usually very professional about her faith and not ever… hands on.

 

All Scion sees is green.

 

The elf blinks, slowly lifting her gaze that wanders confusedly up what is an extremely chiseled, muscular, green translucent body made out of wetness. A creature of emerald color, taking the shape of a very ambitiously trained human woman with a chiseled six-pack and almost comical physical features above that, ‘wearing’ a smock of ooze that drapes down her head and shoulders, stands there, looming over her with wide, wet, yellow eyes. Green, slimy arms

 

~ [{Holy} Slime-Person] ~
Class: Monster Element: NATURE / HOLY Type: Adaptable Category: Non-specific Rank: B- Level: 60

A slime-person.

Slime-people are advanced adaptations of the typical ‘slime’ monster that is found in most forests and caves around the world. Slime people, like their acidic, smaller brethren, are typically predatory creatures. However, unlike normal slimes, slime-people are far more intelligent and have moved away from their base hunting instincts.

In order to be protected against human attacks and hunts, they have adapted, changing their slimy bodies to look just like a human’s, in order to provoke sympathy to foster their survival. Through generations of trial and error, they have learned to typically mimic the form of either a biologically potent female human or elf, as these are simply the most likely to be shown mercy by hunters. Given this, they have been dubbed by most adventurers with the catch-all phrase ‘slime-girl’.

However, the chosen form of theirs appears to be culture dependent. Depending on the environment a slime-person develops in, some unusual stragglers will vary and take on other shapes that are deemed the most viable in their area, such as the bodies of men or even monsters such as goblins – whatever allows them the best survival chance in their setting.

Slime-people are held to be able to become moderately intelligent.

Priest(ess): The slime-person has taken on the mantle of faith, copying the body of a particularly devout and astutely trained priest(ess). Given that its body is made up out of holy-water, it has access to a variety of HOLY spells that augment its natural NATURE affinity.

HP: 69/69

SOUL: 22/22

 

The elf screams in surprise, falling back as the oddly moist room around them comes to life, with liquid dribbling down the wet, secreting walls and taking the shape of dozens of such slimy creatures.

 

Scion lifts her hands instinctively.

 

(Scion) has used: [Holy Barrier]

 

A glass wall appears between her and the slime, which splats against it, its humanish body squishing together into dribbling goo that runs down the pane of the magical window.

 

Scion grabs anything she can and Rorate yanks her up to her feet, and the two of them run off to the side, diving through swarms of wet, gooey hands that reach up out of the floor and walls from many puddles that begin to take on the shape of bodies.

 

“Rorateee~!” screams Scion, wet sloshing behind them as they run.

 

“I know! Keep moving!” calls the dark-elf, yanking her down as a massive, muscular slime giant of a man lunges over their heads, having tried to grab them both.

 

The monsters in the tower are usually very friendly to them, so this is all very unusual for a variety of reasons.

 

Scion feels something wet on her leg and looks down, a tendril has wrapped itself around her ankle and yanks. The priestess yelps, falling down as it pulls on her. Her hand slips free from Rorate's, and she’s dragged back, screaming, towards the oozing horde with hungry faces.

 

An instant later, Rorate stamps back, crushing the tendril that had grabbed Scion’s ankle, and pulls the priestess out of the gooey tendrils that are descending down over her. The two of them sprint towards the exit staircase, metal clambering at their sides, panting and covered in ooze by the time they arrive, their robes soaked through.

 

“What was that?!” asks Scion, looking at herself as she shakes off the slime from her robe that is soaked through to her skin and undergarments.

 

“I don’t know,” replies Rorate, looking around as the slime-people approach the staircase, but don’t move up it. “I heard stories about slime-people like these once.”

 

“S- stories?” asks Scion fearfully. Rorate nods.

 

– A wet tendril flies in towards them, and Scion screams.

 

It grabs hold of the half-spilled bucket of monster food that she had been holding onto this entire time, having instinctively grabbed it as they ran away, and yanks it out of her hands and back into the swarm.

 

The recoiled priestess, still standing fearfully on one leg, holding onto Rorate for dear life, stares back behind them as the slimes descend down over the buckets of food, which is what they had wanted the entire time.

 

After all, what else could it have been?

 

Scion laughs an uneasy laugh and then sighs.

 

“So… lunch?” asks Rorate.

 

The priestess nods. “Lunch.”

 

The two slimy priestesses walk back the way they came, just as a window pops up before them.

 

~ [QUEST] ~
'FINAL CORE' Difficulty: Extremely Easy

The grand tower of Isaiah seeks to bridge the gap between the heavens and the mortal world within this year of life, so that joy, sanctity, and hope might be restored to the lives of all living beings.

The world must change. It will change.

Quest Goal: Speak the name of Isaiah.

Quest reward: Your soul will be saved, as will your days upon this mortal world.

Quest Failure Effect: {UNKNOWN}

 

Scion quietly gasps and then immediately falls down to her knees, holding her hands together. "Isaiah. Isaiah. Isaiah. Isaiah. -" repeats the pious elf over and over.

 

A stomach grumbles next to her.

 

She stops and looks up at Rorate, who holds her stomach for a moment and then kneels down on the stairs next to her, looking over her shoulder once, before the two of them get to that prayer that they had wanted to say before.

 

- And then they get lunch.

 

 

~ [Taishi-shi] ~
Vildt (Rabbit), Male, Classless Location: The far off Eastern Continent, House ruins

 

The boy lays on his back, down on the dusty, dirty floors of the old house ruin, and stares up towards the distant sky, far, far above his head with empty eyes. Floating motes of dust drift past his vision as he watches the clouds passing by through the broken roof, covered in dangling vines.

 

The house is a wreck. It has been so since… well, since forever.

 

He had found it after running for a long time. It’s out here by the ocean on the coast, atop a small hill covered in yellow grasses. There are some others here too who have also run far from the dangers of the inner lands. Mostly somewhat older adolescents his own age, give or take.

 

The ones his age are fast and nimble. It is either the older adults who get caught and eaten, being too large or too brave to hide, or the younger children, who are too loud, careless, and dumb to know what to do.

 

He has been here for a while, just existing.

 

– A heavy tick interrupts his daily allotment of total silence.

 

Taishi-shi sits upright, looking around the room. What was that?

 

His long, rabbit-ears twitch, his sensitive hand pressed down against the creaky floorboards of the old house.

 

– Tick.

 

The boy’s head turns sharply, looking towards the wall on the western side of the house, his ears twitching as it ticks again, the thing.

 

Curiously, he rises to his feet and wanders over past the broken furniture and fallen beams, towards a window that serves more to obscure the view of the distance than to allow it.

 

– Tick.

 

What is it?

 

The boy tilts his head.

 

A status window suddenly appears, and he watches it, staring in confused, quiet existence – the normal state of his being.

 

– Tick.

 

~ [QUEST] ~
'FINAL CORE' Difficulty: Extremely Easy

The grand tower of Isaiah seeks to bridge the gap between the heavens and the mortal world within this year of life, so that joy, sanctity, and hope might be restored to the lives of all living beings.

 

The world must change. It will change.

Quest Goal: Speak the name of Isaiah.

Quest reward: Your soul will be saved, as will your days upon this mortal world.

Quest Failure Effect: {UNKNOWN}

 

“Is…ai..ah,” mutters the dazed boy, more out of vague curiosity than pious fervor. He slowly blinks, tilting his head in confusion, as his large ears twitch again as the heavy striking hand of a clock comes to him, from all the way across from the other side of the world.

 

– Tick.

 

 

~ [Johan, the Baker] ~
Human, Dark-Elf, Baker Location: The City, Front Gate

 

“That’ll be eight Obols,” says the baker, handing a man a loaf of bread.

 

“It’s always getting more expensive,” replies the customer, sighing. “It used to be seven,” he says, digging into his pockets.

 

“I know,” replies Johan, shrugging. He gets this conversation six or seven times a day, depending. “But everything is more expensive. I’m paying more for flour than I used to, so I have to charge more just to stay even.”

 

“Yeah…” mumbles the man, handing him the coins.

 

“Thank yo-”

 

A window appears next to him, and the baker stops, looking at it.

 

~ [QUEST] ~
'FINAL CORE' Difficulty: Extremely Easy

The grand tower of Isaiah seeks to bridge the gap between the heavens and the mortal world within this year of life, so that joy, sanctity, and hope might be restored to the lives of all living beings.

 

The world must change. It will change.

Quest Goal: Speak the name of Isaiah.

Quest reward: Your soul will be saved, as will your days upon this mortal world.

Quest Failure Effect: {UNKNOWN}

 

In that instant, the entire shopping street is filled to the brim as hundreds of similar windows appear before everyone. Every mother with her swarm of energetic children, and even each of them, every merchant, hawking their wares, and every adventurer on their way to earn their fortune, all stop as they all get a quest at the same time.

 

A deep tension is felt immediately in the air as lessons from history return to the people. Such events, global quests, in the past have been catastrophic – mostly being such calamities as the rise of the terrible Demon-King.

 

“Isaiah,” whispers a voice to the side, and then several others mutter it.

 

The world changes.

 

Half of the street devolves into a panicked frenzy as people tear their families away from what might turn into chaos very quickly, others cover the mouths of their friends and family, looking around in terror as if they were summoning the demon incarnate, and others still hold their hands or simply look around in confusion as they mutter the name over and over, expecting something to happen right here and now.

 

But apart from the city coming to a full stop in the shadow of the tower, apart from a full halt of commerce and the mild trampling of terrified families escaping the streets to head to the local church, and apart from hundreds of whispers and words that move through the city, not much happens.

 

He hears it, though.

 

The people are saying the name, repeating it over and over to themselves, not sure if they should or shouldn’t be doing so. But the person next to them is, so they do it too and this catches on – the hum spreads, moving through the entire city like a growth and a moment later, he swears he can hear the whole world chanting in perfect unison.

 

– The eight coins in his hand shake.

 

 

~ [Cardinal Erzael, of the West] ~
Human, Male, Cardinal Location: ???

 

Cardinal Erzael opens his eyes.

 

But his body remains dead.

 

The spirit of the man looks around himself, somewhat fearfully as he examines the dark, total void that he is immersed inside of.

 

“Hello?” asks the cardinal, looking around himself at the total void that he is immersed in. All around himself, he can feel and hear water. Is this… is this the other side? He died, right?

 

He recalls dying.

 

Schweig killed them. That bastard. It's not like it’s a surprise. He had tried to play nice and do things by the book. He wanted to give Schweig a chance, believing that no man is beyond the redemption of his soul.

 

But perhaps he had mistaken his station after all.

 

– It was just like she said would happen.

 

“And?” asks a sharp voice from the distant darkness.

 

Cardinal Erzael of the west looks, as the spirit of his fellow dead cardinal from the south rises up out of the murk, floating next to him. But it isn’t the quiet cardinal of the south who is speaking. It is the voice from off in the distance, echoing out throughout the endless waters of non-existence.

 

The two cardinals look at each other and then nod. It is as they had discussed once prior now. Schweig made his move. The principles of their faith and of the people who follow it cannot be left in the hands of a man like him.

 

They look back together towards the rippling, quivering darkness. “You were right,” says Cardinal Erzael. “– Witch Perchta.”

 

“We have a deal, then?” asks the witch’s voice.

 

Cardinal Erzael sighs, loathe to do business with a witch, especially with Perchta. But in this case, she is clearly the lesser of two evils. Perchta wants to be left alone at the end of the day, but Schweig… he can not be trusted to be by himself, unsupervised in a seat of power without them to filter him.

 

“We do,” reply both dead cardinals at the same time.

 

“Good,” replies Perchta. Their ‘bodies’ contort and swirl, as a heavy current streams through the underlife, the well of souls that they are now in, and drags the spirits of both cardinals off to some other place.

 

[The Pact is Sealed]

 

 

~ [Isaiah] ~

 

Level Up! ~ [Isaiah] ~
You are now a level {47} dungeon-core! You are now a level {48} dungeon-core! You are now a level {49} dungeon-core! Level: 49↗ Experience: 1777/39500 Attribute: HOLY Soul-Points: 118/118↗ Presence: 12.852 km↗ Obols: 577

 

“Fuck me,” says Red. “I get that you’re sick of playing the game by their rules, but this is a big move,” she says, looking around the area at the hundreds of experience-point windows that are appearing all over, as people all around the world receive the global quest. Even if many do not understand what is being asked of them, they simply need to say the name for it to count nonetheless.

 

Isaiah holds onto its own head, listening to thousands of voices carrying across the world and filling its head with its name over and over. The voices of men and women, of goblins, orcs and humans, of kobolds and the odd monster aware enough to count as sapient. All of these voices come together into the buzz of a harmonious collective, resounding in its skull like the song of a humming swarm.

 

“- You thought this through, right?” asks Red, flying in close.

 

Isaiah’s body tingles, its wings grow, and the ground down low, far, far beneath where they are now, rumbles.

 

With every increasing level, the territory around the island grows. Landmass from down low rips out of the soil, jumbling chaotically up towards the tower.

 

The grand staircase tears apart, long inside of the edge of the territory, and thousands of bricks loosely fly upward, sticking into rocks and soil and tree trunks as it all breaks free in chunks.

 

“I did,” replies Isaiah, as the voices quiet down. More and more utterances of its name have come, but it has managed to drown out the sound of the constantly reactivating perk.

 

The territory breaks down through the camp of the besieging military. Thousands of tents and poles and campfires, crates and carriages and weapons of siege rattle and fly upwards, sucked towards the sky by the powerful force of the dungeon magic.

 

“So is this finally it?!” asks Red excitedly. She giddily kicks her legs and swings her arms. “Are we finally killing all of the humans?!” she asks. “Oh, chief! You’re making me the happiest girl in the whole world!” says Red excitedly, grabbing Isaiah’s arm.

 

Isaiah tilts its head, looking at Red, and then shakes its head. “You will have to forgive me, Red,” says Isaiah. “But I intend to do no such thing.”

 

“…Huh?” asks Red, looking at it and then down towards the horrific chaos down below. “But…” The landscape tears, ripping out a new kilometer.

 

 

~ [Junior Officer Walter] ~
Human, Male, Shieldswain Location: On the road back to the city

 

Walter, junior officer of the military operation to siege the tower, rides on an anqa far down the road. Stopping, he looks back over his shoulder towards the horrifically erupting tower, sundering the land all around itself like a volcano.

 

His eyes wander back to the quest window at his side. It had appeared from them all, while they were down in the camp hours ago.

 

~ [QUEST] ~
'Merciful Release' Difficulty: Extremely Easy

Leave. The land will shatter and break. Everything in the immediate area will be destroyed.

Quest Goal: EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY. Go wherever you please. Live free from the shackles that bind you. Say the name of Isaiah as you leave.

Quest reward: Life, as well as 2 {High Quality}[Gold Ingot]

Quest Failure Effect: {UNKNOWN}

 

Walter sits on his anqa, his eyes watching the incredible sight.

 

They’re men of honor. But they’ve seen what happens to those who defy the tower and the heavens. He isn’t a religious man, but he knows how to take a hint that he ought to be.

 

Walter looks at his men, all of them watching the utter destruction as the forest, the hills, and the edge of the ocean — As all of it rises up towards the island, becoming a part of its grand mass.

 

Walter sucks on his teeth, his hand patting the sack of gold ingots he has, as a reward from the tower for hauling ass out of there. Two is enough to retire on if he moves to the east. Things are cheaper there.

 

Forget the military. He’s done.

 

“Well, boys,” he says, looking at his soldiers, who are looking back at him. They’ve been working together for years. They’ve fought back to back, healed each other's wounds, and mourned each other’s deaths. They’re brothers in blood and sweat, and all of them know now that there’s no return from here. They have to go wherever it is they want to go. Desertion is harshly punished if they're caught. This is their one and only shot to be free from the contracts they’ve made. “- Go fuck yourselves.”

 

“Fuck you, Walter!” calls a man from down next to him.

 

Another man calls from the side. “Suck my dick, Walter! Asshole!”

 

Walter shows them the finger and breaks off from the road, riding through the forest on his anqa as he makes a break for freedom. “Have a nice walk, cock mongers,” laughs Walter back at them, being one of the very few people with a mount to ride away on.

 

All of the others do the same, diverging to the far west, to the city in the mountains, to the far north, to the home of the greatest cathedrals and wild-lands, or to the far east, to the rich, prosperous bays by the ocean, across the desert - Anywhere else but here. Things are going to get real ugly down here, real soon.