FINAL CORE : [A holy dungeon-core litRPG]

The gods themselves may have created the cosmic-system that governs our world. But they are not the ones who maintain it. Like generous sponsors and craftsmen of a local library, they erected the structures. But they do not stay to fill it with books. They do not wander the halls between the shelving, sorting and searching through paper. That is the job of a librarian.

In this way, the system is the same. The gods made it, but they do not maintain it.

This day-to-day work is performed by lower entities, pseudo-deistic creatures that reside in the realms of heaven but are not the masters of it. We call these beings by many names, angels, keepers, administrators. They are the ones who change the system after the catastrophes of every era, adapting and regulating it to better allow our survival in the coming climates.

We see this evidenced in the deactivation of so-called ‘achievements’ in the system, only shortly after their introduction in the prior era. Achievements were unique perks that appeared for people upon achieving odd, highly specific tasks. Now, however, these are lost to us.

In the future, there will be new things added to the system and old things removed.

This is how we know the gods are real.

We live in the garden that they prune to this day.

 

~ Excerpt from Barnatus Barnacious’ Big Book of Dungeons - Of the ever-changing system

 

 

~ [Isaiah] ~

 

“Beulah,” says Isaiah. “What is this?” it asks.

 

It looks over to the side of the room.

 

“It’s nothing,” says Beulah.

 

Isaiah lifts a talon, pointing at a pair of glowing eyes that watch from the shadows.

 

NEW - (DUNGEON) ABILITY -

[Master of the House](Passive)

Forcefully command monsters directly within your dungeon. They have no choice but to obey your orders.

 

“Come here,” says Isaiah.

 

The small fox slowly steps out of hiding.

 

Isaiah narrows its eyes. Red was right. It had talked her down and made her feel like she was losing her mind, but in reality, she was right. What a horrible thing to make someone think. “Beulah. Explain,” orders Isaiah, walking over to the man who lifts his hands.

 

— It grabs him by his robe and sets him up onto his feet, looking down into his eyes with glowing intensity.

 

“They started… I dunno, ‘coming to life’ a while ago,” says the man, quickly shaking his head and waving his hands. “I didn’t say anything, because I thought it was you doing it!”

 

Isaiah stares into the man’s eyes, leaning in towards him. “Beulah. I have given you both shelter and home. I saved you from death. Do not lie to me,” it warns. “I have no patience for snakes,” promises Isaiah, still holding onto his robe.

 

“Okay!” says Beulah. “I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want Red or you to take them away!” he explains. Isaiah blinks. There’s an awkward silence for a time. “I know they’re just monsters in a dungeon, but they mean a lot to me,” says Beulah. “Please let them exist!”

 

— Something sharp bites down on its arm.

 

Isaiah looks down.

 

The smallest shrine-maiden that had come out of hiding before has transformed, leaving her fox-body to take the shape of a person. She now stands there, tugging on its wrist and biting on it in an attempt to get it to let go of Beulah.

 

Isaiah tilts its head, looking at the little creature curiously.

 

(This creature is unable to damage its master.)

 

None of its own monsters have ever attacked it before. Can they even do this?

 

Apparently.

 

Isaiah looks down at the small shrine-maiden, doing her best to dislatch its clenched talon from Beulah, whom she is trying to protect — not as would a dungeon-monster, attacking an intruder, but as would an angry adolescent, attacking someone it is defending another from.

 

‘Defending’?

 

— Something tugs on its wings.

 

Isaiah turns around, looking at the other two shrine-maidens who have emerged in secret and are yanking on it, gnawing on its body and wings from behind. Isaiah watches them curiously and then looks down at its talons, still clenching the fearful man’s robe.

 

It loosens, letting go of him.

 

“I see,” says Isaiah, looking at the small shrine-maiden, still fighting against it as it releases. It lifts its other, holding it above her head to calm her — but she bites that one instead. “It would seem that I am no longer beloved,” says Isaiah. “Stop,” it orders.

 

The shrine-maidens immediately stop their fruitless, but still determined, attack.

 

“Beulah,” says Isaiah. “I have to admit that I am a little jealous,” says Isaiah. “It seems that I am no longer the favorite amongst all of my own children.” It shakes its head. “But it does seem that you have worked hard to earn their favor.”

 

Beulah clears his throat. “You’re not mad, then?”

 

“I am,” replies Isaiah. “I am glowing with anger. Next time something odd happens, speak to me, Beulah,” orders Isaiah. “Understand that any threats to the tower are a threat to what you have here as well.”

 

Beulah looks at it for a moment and then nods.

 

Isaiah nods back, holding a finger up against him.

 

— Three pairs of arms clutch Isaiah’s arm, trying to yank it away in several different directions.

 

Isaiah sighs.

 

“Between you and me, Beulah,” says Isaiah. “I wish my family would fight over me like this.” It looks at the three of them fighting for Beulah, even against it. “Very well. You are theirs and they are yours,” says Isaiah. “I give dominion over this floor and its inhabitants.”

 

(Isaiah) has used: [Greater Blessing]

 

Upgraded: [Beulah {Thief}] to [Beulah {Shrine-Master}]

 

- [Shrine-Master] - A regional variant of the priest-class, Shrine-Masters find themselves localized to one specific shrine, rather than practicing a system of global faith. They have a variety of remarkably strong abilities and perks related to their specific domain, but they are mostly powerless outside any established shrine of their faith.

 

A glow encapsulates Beulah, as the magic of the tower flows over him, granting him a slew of perks and abilities.

 

“Enough,” says Isaiah.

 

The three shrine-maidens let go of Isaiah’s arm and it turns to leave, having a lot else to check up on.

 

“Thank you,” says Beulah, looking down at his hands. Isaiah looks at him over its shoulder, watching as the three monsters of this floor surround him, clutching at him and barring their teeth towards Isaiah.

 

It nods, pleased to see that he has affected them so. “Keep up the good work,” says Isaiah as it leaves, still perplexed as to how this had all come about.

 

 

~ [Kalifii] ~
Human, Female, (Fighter Advanced Class) - Fencer Location: The town outside of the tower

 

“What is it?” asks Kalifii, narrowing her eyes during breakfast — a fluffy pastry held in her hands.

 

“Hell if I know. It’s glowing, isn’t it?” asks the man next to her.

 

The two of them stare up through the clear sky to the very top of the tower that is aglow. The stonework of the construction has, as of recently, begun taking on an odd, shimmering hue at its peak. It looks like there are further floors being added, but they don’t seem to belong to the material realm.

 

It looks like they’re quivering in and out of this reality, fading half-way, only to return moments later again in shimmers of prismatic light — like a well cleaned pane of glass that you can only see when the sun is shining just right against it.

 

“You think we’ll ever get that far up?” she asks.

 

“You bet,” replies the man. “We’re halfway there, right?” He elbows her. “Come on. Get your bag. It’s time for us to start.”

 

The woman chews on her pastry and then nods, going after the her party-member just as a massive shadow flies far over their heads.

 

 

~ [Red] ~
Uthra, Female, Worker {6} Location: The Tower, Floor 101

 

“So what do you think it is?” asks Crystal.

 

Red turns her head to look at him and then back at the shimmering, magical barrier that makes up the wall of floor one-hundred and one. The uthra narrows her eyes and pokes the wall with a finger. A ripple passes through the wall as if it were water and travels across the surface that looks vaguely like brickwork, if it were made of shimmering glass.

 

“Fuckery,” reples Red. The two of them wander around the area, looking around.

 

“Is this really connecting to the spirit world?” asks Crystal. He knocks on a wall. “It feels like it, actually,” explains the uthra, holding his hand against the wall for a while. “Man…”

 

“Looks like you’re out of a job, Crystal,” remarks Red as she lifts her gaze and watches through the glassy floors as the tower grows another floor in height all by itself.

 

“We’re really going hard, huh?” asks Crystal. Red nods. “My last dungeon was a rock guy. Just… you know, rock monsters and stuff. Way more bread and butter.” He thinks for a moment. “I wonder what happens when we break through?” he asks.

 

“You can go back to the waiting room for a new dungeon to take you, since you’re not needed here anymore,” replies Red.

 

“You’re such an ass, Red,” says Crystal, sighing. “I can’t believe we used to be friends.”

 

“Right?” asks Red, looking around a corner. “What a waste of my time that was.”

 

Crystal stops, putting a hand on Red’s shoulder. “It’d break Emerald’s heart if she saw you like this, you know?” He shakes his head. “What about Maroon?” Red hits his hand away. “He’d be mad too if he saw what a mess you are.”

 

Red glares at him, pointing. “Gods, get off my ass. Fuck Emerald. She’s dead,” remarks Red. “And fuck Maroon, and fuck you too, Crystal.”

 

“You’re going too far, Red,” says Crystal. “They were nice. You don’t mean that.”

 

Red turns to look around the corner. “Crystal, I swear to Isaiah, shut your yap before I feed you to the first monster I see here,” she explains.

 

The two of them watch as strange shapes, made up of prismatic colors, wind their way through the air in the room ahead, entities from the spirit-world that have come into the physical domain.

 

 

~ [???] ~
Dryad, Female, Wood-mother Location: The Tower, Roost

 

Birds chirp and sing in the boughs of the tree. They have feathers of many colors and carry with them the warm energy of a lively summer. The sun graces her skin, covering her in its dayglow as she admires the tree atop the tower.

 

It is a very beautiful tree.

 

Birds are drawn to it, even when it is being used for resting by the master of the tower. But they are at peace. These are not frightful, panicked birds. They are calm, soft things that only like to live in calm, kind places.

 

A garden.

 

She looks around herself at the roost that water runs through. Winds at this height blow and disturb the lush, verdant grasses of the meadow. But it is never cold. The cold air that should be present here this high in the air is simply not.

 

It is as if only warmth were allowed in this place.

— A garden of peace.

 

Water splashes as birds play at the edge of the hot-springs, bathing themselves in the shallow waters of the warm, healing liquid.

 

A shadow flies over its head.

 

The dryad looks as the creature, the tower-keeper, returns — Isaiah.

 

It lands on the meadow and walks, its eyes to the ground and a hand to its face as it seems to be lost in its thoughts.

 

Feeling her watching, it turns its way, and the two of them stare at each other for a moment.

 

It’s a strange being. It’s nothing like she has ever seen of the natural world, yet the natural world seems to be drawn to it. It flourishes in its presence. It is a force that attracts warm winds and soft birds with funny whistling songs and green, healthy plants that are flush with love and life. But it is none of these things itself.

 

Its body is a white slate, clean of any markings or identifications of organic form. Its eyes are a glowing yellow, like those of a predatory hunter — scouring the night. Its wings are massive, more like those of an apex beast of the skies than a songbird. Its talons — sharp.

 

And yet…

 

“Are you well?” asks Isaiah, looking at her and then up to the sky, stopping itself. “Ah. Forgive the foolish question.” It shakes its head. “There is no need to answer.” It wanders in thought. Despite its horrific appearance, akin to any monster she has seen in the deepest reaches of the dark-forest of the witch, it is kind and gentle — like a nurturing patriarch with wide open arms that never seem to run out of room to run into for shelter from the storms of life.

 

“Seide,” says the dryad, breaking her silence for the first time. Isaiah looks her way. She points at herself. “I’m Seide.”

 

The entity, like a curious bird, tilts its head and watches her. “I see. I am pleased to meet you, Seide,” says Isaiah. “I hope you are enjoying your stay.”

 

“Thank you,” replies the dryad, and the two of them stand there in marked silence, only the sounds of the lively meadow atop the roost accompany them.

 

“May I ask you something?” asks Isaiah. She looks back at it. “What causes life to emerge?” asks the entity. It bends down, picking up a fallen leaf to examine it.

 

“Life?” asks the dryad.

 

Isaiah spins the leaf between the tips of its long talons. “When there is nothing, when there is simply soil and rock but no seed, how can life emerge from this?”

 

She stares for a moment. “Life makes life,” replies the dryad, blinking. She doesn’t really understand the question. “A bird lays an egg, a new bird comes.”

 

“And if there is no bird?” asks Isaiah. “What if there is just an egg?”

 

She tilts her head. “Maybe you can’t see the bird.” She walks over towards Isaiah, holding out her hands. It looks at her for a moment and then sets down the leaf into her palm. “Where do you think this is from?” she asks, looking at the old leaf.

 

“The tree,” answers Isaiah, nodding to the very large tree atop the roost.

 

“Why do you think that?” she asks.

 

Isaiah ponders for a moment. “Because it is the only tree here,” it explains.

 

She smiles, cupping her hands, and then blows the leaf away. The two of them stand there, watching it drift away for a moment and then being picked up by a gust of warm summer air that carries it off to someplace distant and far.

 

“You can’t see the bird that laid the egg, because it isn’t here,” she explains. She points at the tree. “That leaf didn’t come from this tree. It came from one down in the forest, a different species.” She nods, looking back up at Isaiah. “Maybe a bird carried it to build a nest here, or maybe the wind got particularly lucky, or maybe…” She shakes her head. “— Maybe it just is.” Isaiah looks down at her. “Life emerges because it does. Something happens that we can’t see because it happens in a place that isn’t right here in front of our eyes.”

 

It’s quiet for a time.

 

“I think I understand,” replies Isaiah. It nods. “Thank you, Seide.”

 

She shakes her head, and the two of them watch birds nesting in the large tree for a time, neither of them saying anything as the summer comes to a crest and gives proof of the odd goodness of life.

 

Life is confusing and scary, but there is a glow to it, if one knows where to look.