FINAL CORE : [A holy dungeon-core litRPG]

Razmatazz

Well, reader, who will it be? Stern disappointed Rorate, who is mad at you for not wanting to hear about Isaiah, or good old crazy Witch Perchta who wants to bake a cake together with you?

If you have a Royalroad account, there is a poll running there for the decision on bonus chapter content!

 

 

The name of Isaiah

It has come unto our world, brought to us by the gods. The messenger of their word has come, the breadth of its wings spanning between heaven and earth, to act as a bridge for our mortal souls to reconnect with the grace of divinity.

Say it with me, brothers, sisters! Pray, preach, and sing it — As is the will of the gods.

Their system asks us, tells us, to do so.

To deny this would be heresy.

Isaiah.

Say it with me —

Isaiah.

Isaiah!

ISAIAH!

SCREAM IT ALOUD AND REDEEM YOUR WRETCHED SOULS!

 

~ A sermon, held by a fervent street preacher on the other continent, far off in the distant east

 

 

Isaiah holds its head as the wave of power continues to surge through its core. The purifying rains have stopped and the powerful magics have begun to cleanse the island of its filth. But the words and utterances of its name continue onward. Every second, more and more of them appear, and with every appearance, it gains more and more experience-points – a dizzyingly large number of them, which leads to just as many level ups. These level-ups take influence on its body, on its strength, on its core and the landscape sunders, ripping up more and more of the territory around the island.

 

There’s no coming back from here, but it is what is necessary.

 

Isaiah exhales, feeling its strength continue to grow. The levels are starting to slow down as the experience-point requirements are becoming astronomical for each one. However, the stream continues, gaining momentum as more and more people whisper and utter the name across the world.

 

~ [Grand Icon] ~

The name of Isaiah has been uttered somewhere nearby.

+ 108 (434) EXP

…

 

Level Up! ~ [Isaiah] ~
You are now a level {60} dungeon-core! You are now a level {61} dungeon-core! Level: 61↗ Experience: 1777/197500 Attribute: HOLY Soul-Points: 142/142↗ Presence: 15.252 km↗ Obols: 611

 

NEW - (HOLY) ABILITY -

[Purified Trinity](Passive)

All magical leylines across the world can be tapped into, allowing a connection between them and the core magical resonance of the tower, amplifying the effects of all HOLY abilities within the territory, no matter who casts them.

 

NEW - (HOLY) ABILITY -

[Major Heal](Active)

Cost: 12 SOUL

Heals the selected target for 30% of their MAX-HP. If the target is already at full health, diverts the spell equally to all friendly targets within {08} meters of the target.

 

NEW - (SEASONALITY) ABILITY -

[Chronal Restoration](Active)

Cost: 75% SOUL

Restores the target to the HEALTH-State they had found themselves at {03} minutes ago.

 

NEW - (HOLY) ABILITY -

[Harmonia](Passive)

Equips the dungeon-core with a variety of combat and support abilities

Grand Heal

Grand Blessing

Grand Summon - HOLY Elemental

Grand Shield

Grand Purify

 

Isaiah goes through the list, spending much of its energy and ability points to gain the power that it will need.

 

 

~ [Salvator] ~
Human, Male, Wizard (Wind) Location: The Tower Grounds

 

“What’s with the tower?” asks a voice next to him.

 

“- ISAIAAAAAH!” shouts his drunk party-member, cupping her hands by her mouth. Salvator winces, rubbing his ear. “Woo!”

 

The wizard adjusts his hat, lifting his gaze to look at the tower that is aglow in a way it has never been before. It is as if the heavy storms that have come to pass only a moment ago seem to have washed something off of its white, pristine surface. The stones seem cleaner than before and stronger. The grass, the trees, even the air… everything all around them changes second after second, taking on an indescribable wholeness. The grass remains grass, as it will forever be. But it is somehow… grassier than it was before.

 

— He is not a man who knows many big words.

 

But the same concept applies to everything. It’s all shifting and solidifying in an indescribable way.

 

He looks over to his drunk party-member, who has grabbed a couple of priestesses. The three of them are now spinning in a circle, shouting the name of Isaiah into the air. His party-member, being a sly woman, also takes the opportunity to lure the priestesses to her bottle.

 

Salvator sighs, shaking his head as he averts his gaze from what will perhaps lead to a night of sin as he focuses instead on the tower.

 

“Isaiah, huh…?” He mutters beneath his breath, scratching his chin.

 

There’s something in the air, in the wind, he can feel it.

 

 

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

 

“Isaiah. Isaiah. Isaiah. Isaiah. Isaiah-” Scion gasps, taking in a long draw of air. “— Isaiah, Isaiah, Isaiah, I— Ow!” The elf stops, rubbing her head, which has a new sore spot on it. She opens an eye, looking at Red, who is standing there in front of her, having just flicked her.

 

“Knock it off!” says Red. “Sheesh.”

 

“But I’m trying to help!” argues Scion, rubbing her head. “I had no idea that Isaiah could get stronger if we said its name,” explains the elf. “All of this time I’ve been praying and working, but isn’t this more helpful?” she asks.

 

Red lifts an eyebrow. “No,” replies the uthra. “Because if you don’t do your chores, then I have to do them, which is a net loss for the community of the tower.”

 

“I don’t think so,” remarks Crystal from the side. “It’ll do you some good to put in some real wor-“

 

— Red flicks him too.

 

“Jerk…” mutters Crystal beneath his breath. “You’re just acting like a bully because you’re larger than the rest of us.”

 

“As if,” replies Red. She smiles, crossing her arms. “My role as a superior, dominant being has been pre-established since day one.” She waves him off. “It’s not my fault you’ve all failed to realize that.”

 

“I still think that you became a huge jerk after Emerald,” says Crystal.

 

“A reasonable response on my part,” says Red.

 

“I don’t think it was because of what happened at Emerald though. I think it’s because of wherever you were after that and before here,” says Crystal. “You changed, Red.”

 

“People change,” replies the uthra. “Get off my ass, Crystal,” says Red. “Unless you want to start kissing it so that I can accept you as the subordinate you are.” She turns back to Scion, who had begun muttering the name of Isaiah beneath her breath during their conversation. “Do not.”

 

“But I want to help Isaiah!” argues Scion, leaning over the table.

 

Red points down at her plate. “Help Isaiah by eating your dinner like a big girl, and then get back to work,” says Red. “Those monsters aren’t going to feed themselves.” She stops, thinking for a moment. “Well, actually, they might. But we don’t want that. Well… I mean… I do. But Isaiah doesn’t.”

 

Scion sighs, sitting back down.

 

She eats her food.

 

But she also silently repeats the name of Isaiah in her mind over and over. Maybe that counts too?

 

 

~ [Irascaris] ~
Human, Male, Lancer Location: Floor One-Hundred, the Roost

 

Irascaris lays in bed, stretching himself out.

 

The man yawns, feeling something pop in his lower back as he moves.

 

The door to their little house atop the roost opens. He turns his head, looking at the battle-alchemist Caeli walk inside, rubbing her tired face.

 

“Big day?” he asks.

 

“Huge,” replies Caeli, flopping down and taking her boots off. They’re covered in muck and grime. “I was outside of the tower today, collecting a bunch of herbs and plants for the potions,” she explains. “Did you know that there are plants here that don’t grow anywhere else in the world?” she asks. “Crazy stuff. Who knows what kind of potions I can make with those?”

 

“Neat,” replies Irascaris. “I helped out with a bunch of monsters today. It was pretty fun,” he says. “They were getting twitchy on their floor, so I was with two of the flying color blobs and we had to wrangle them back.”

 

“Huh. Weird,” says Caeli. “Do monsters usually do that?”

 

Irascaris shrugs.

 

The door opens again and their other party-member, the shieldswain Domi, steps inside, already yawning.

 

He kicks off his shoes, walking past them.

 

“You’re getting everything wet!” barks Caeli, grabbing the back of his clothes. “Don’t ruin the house I’m retiring in!” she snaps.

 

Domi blinks, looking back at her and then down at the water leaking off of himself. “Oh… sorry,” he apologizes, looking around for something to dry off with. “Busy day. I’m beat,” he explains, finding a towel. “Red told me to stay on floor nine and watch the organists all day.”

 

“How is that exhausting?” asks Caeli. “Isn’t that just sitting down?”

 

“Sitting down can be really exhausting if you do it long enough,” replies the shieldswain. “Anyway, apparently some of the monsters are acting weird, but what do I know?”

 

Irascaris and Caeli look at each other and shrug.

 

 

~ [Beulah] ~
Human, Male, Thief Location: Floor Eighteen, The Shrine

 

Beulah can’t help but think about that encounter from before.

 

Of course, in the reality he knows and cherishes, homunculi can’t talk. They can’t act, they can’t think, they can’t do anything that would differentiate them from a statue, conditioned to only mechanically ever repeat the same tasks and actions over and over again.

 

— But he’s experienced something that proves this to be false.

 

The man’s hand runs over the sliding door of the shrine. He pulls it open, looking inside at the spot where someone had been standing — where someone had spoken to him from.

 

“Isaiah…” mutters the thief, thinking of the entity that had saved his life and brought him to this odd life situation.

 

He shakes his head and turns around. It’s late. He should go to bed.

 

The man considers going up to his house upstairs. But he likes it here more. Ruffling his hair, he wanders down the wooden hallway and heads towards the small closet that makes up his nook.

 

Beulah slides open the door of the closet that is only big enough to lay down in as a huddled ball and jumps back, staring in surprise at the shrine-maiden, standing inside of it. The kitsune woman has her face covered with her nine, bushy tails. Only her eyes look out through the gaps in their protective, face-covering fluff, gazing his way.

 

“Forbidden,” says the shrine-maiden.

 

“…Huh…?” asks Beulah.

 

She lifts her hands past her tails and pushes against him. “Forbidden.”

 

Another pair of hands grabs him from behind, and he looks at the other one, who has come from the shadows and pulls on him. Before he knows it, he’s been shoved across the shrine that is rearranging itself through the priestess’ magic.

 

— A door opens in front of him, and Beulah is thrown inside of the room.

 

He looks behind himself.

 

The door slides shut.

 

Very confused, the thief looks around the small room. He yelps, suddenly seeing a figure standing right next to him, staring the same way as he is. There are three of them.

 

The shrine-maidens walk straight into the middle of the room and then, like that, lie down on the floor with their legs stiff and their arms spread out wide and flat, their eyes closed. They stare unblinkingly towards the ceiling. Their tails are wrapped around their bodies and faces, as if they were old statues pulled out of a garden and put into storage.

 

He rubs the back of his head in confusion. Are they… sleeping? Do homunculi even need to sleep?

 

“You uh… you might have to close your eyes for it to work,” he says, watching them stare at the ceiling.

 

They close their eyes.

 

— The floor beneath his feet rattles as one of them uses some magic to influence the shrine’s wood. Beulah stumbles forward, flopping over and down onto the ground too.

 

“Uh… good night?” he says, lifting his face off of the floor.

 

The room turns dark, leaving Beulah laying there in some confusion. It’s an upgrade to the closet, that’s for sure. But it had the benefit of being warmer, given its small confines. He could have lasted another few months in the closet before it ruined his back and neck.

 

The thief rolls over onto his back, feeling it pop as he lays flat for the first time in weeks and stares up at the ceiling himself now as he thinks.

 

“Close your eyes,” repeats a voice next to him. He can’t help but wonder if it's mimicking what he said word for word, given its tone.

 

He’s in deep now anyway; he may as well. Beulah closes his eyes and decides to just sleep or get eaten in his sleep or whatever.

 

Instead, a few spare tails fall down over the tailless wretch from various sides to cover him with a thick layer of soft fluff. Not daring to move, in fear that he’ll spook the odd creatures, he simply falls asleep like that, thinking one thing as his vision fades -

 

Gods bless Isaiah.

 

 

~ [Isaiah] ~

 

Isaiah hovers above the tower, looking out at the landscapes all around itself. The island continues to grow, the crater beneath it growing ever larger and larger as the land rips up in pieces, ever steadily more towards the human city. The ocean to the south has begun being consumed, with great swaths of it rising up onto the island. The dark, horrible forest to the east has been torn apart. The resource rich, bountiful, yet plain hills to the north have jumbled apart in a chaotic mess of land and ores that now sticks to the northern end of the island.

 

The break will not reach the city itself, not for a while. But it is certainly enough to give them pause. Isaiah is sure.

 

(Isaiah) has activated: [Divine Command]

Allows you to directly project your voice to all members of the faith within your territory.

 

 

 

It stares down at its taloned hand, peering at the sharp edge of its fingers and then at the landmass below itself. It is a landmass that is growing, but it is also full of things and people that are growing and that will continue to do so, hopefully. It must guide them — lead them down the road of life that leads to paradise.

 

Wickedness, sin, and laziness are easy traps to fall into for those who have not yet learned the preciousness of the seasons, as they are indeed short. It must lead them, move them.

 

Isaiah has learned that it is best not to make direct appearances or interventions. Such things have led to disasters in the past. It now has others to act as its emissaries, people like Red or Rorate. This is a much safer way to proceed from here on out.

 

Like the gods are, it too, must remain reclusive from outsiders.

 

— For the human’s own safety.

 

“A shift in the world has come unto us,” says Isaiah. “Hear me,” says Isaiah. “Hear me, as I hear you.” It looks out across the world. “I hear your frightened and confused chirps that ask for nourishment and soulfulness. I hear your frantically beating hearts that strike for shelter from the dark things that creep in the deep shadows.” Its wings beat, thundering the air away to keep itself aloft in the air. “A witch remains in the south. Perchta crawls through the darkness amidst the confines of your city’s walls.” Isaiah lowers its arms. “Hear me, as I will tell you now where salvation is to be found. It is here,” proclaims Isaiah. “It is with me. Join me; join us, all of you who have been left by your makers to live in the shadows of monsters and hunger. You are welcome on the island, as adventurers, merchants, wanderers, and pilgrims, but also as members of my flock.”

 

It lifts its gaze towards the sky.

 

“I am Isaiah. Together, we will reach the heavens; we will return to the gods. It is only a matter of seasons.”