Shadowcroft Academy For Dungeons: Year Two, page 12
Melvin had been at the Blasted Barrows? Inside the sanctum? Interesting.
Melvin swept off his fedora and made a big show of saying, “Milady.”
Tet smiled, showing pointed white teeth. “Milord.”
Melvin was delighted with her response. “I must say, it is an honor for me to meet a real Coptic Champion. Your people truly have the best interests of the universe at heart. I am honored, milady. Nay, I am struck speechless.” He dropped to his thin knees, his big belly swaying. “I bow before your wonderfulness. Truly, I am not worthy.”
And just like that, Melvin had pushed things too far.
Tet rolled her eyes. “Arise, Melvin. It’s fine.”
Melvin got to his feet. “So, are you and Logan dating?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows at the pair of them. “I ship it. I totally ship it. You both are really good-looking.”
“Whoa, Melvin,” Logan said. “We seriously need to work on your social skills because none of what you just said is in any way appropriate.”
“I have much to learn,” the kitchen ghast said enthusiastically. “And enough said—you don’t need to answer my question. Mum’s the word. Though, I have to say, I’m firmly Team Inga. Tet’s great and all, but Inga is one hot piece of moth, and she knows her way around a Zamzir fisking spoon. Hard to find someone who even knows what that is, let alone how to use one.”
Tet couldn’t help but blush, laugh, and blush some more. “Right.”
Logan had no idea where to go from there, and thankfully he didn’t need to.
Professor John Toothbyte saved him any more embarrassment by stomping over in hulking black boots. Toothbyte was a fearsome looking shark man, and one of the only professors on staff who specialized in water dungeons. A spiked anchor weapon hung from the hook where his right hand should’ve been. He wore leather pants that were cut to allow for his huge shark tail. A tight open-collared cotton shirt struggled to contain his ridiculously cut muscles.
“Good mornin’, lads and lassies,” he boomed, speaking in a rough Scottish brogue. “It’s a bonny day, is it not? Melvin R. Chevalier, do ye have a bit of sweet for an old shark?” He flashed the kitchen ghast his formidable fangs. “Might be I have a bit of a sweet tooth.”
“I do, Professor Toothbyte,” the kitchen ghast said, bobbing his head.
Toothbyte ate his pastry in a gulp. “Now get, ye saucy lad. Back to the kitchens. Class, iffin ye don’t know Melvin here, he’s a wonder. From Nightfall University, he comes, to grace our school.”
Melvin preened at the compliment, clearly relishing the kind words.
“An excellent university, though Shadowcroft Academy has already taught me a great many things. But please, don’t let me keep you all. Have fun learning. We’ll talk more, Logan,” he said with a very obvious wink. “We sure are busy, but it won’t be long until we’re best friends.”
Melvin pushed his cart away down the sandstone path.
Toothbyte licked the fingers of his good hand with a black tongue. Then he squinted at Logan. “Ready to learn dungeons, Murray?”
“Aye, sir,” Logan said automatically.
Toothbyte chuckled. “Good. Good. I have me eye on you and Tet. Ye both are dungeons on the sink, as they used to say.”
Dungeons on the sink, instead of the rise. Right. Logan shook his head at the weird world he’d found himself in.
The shark man climbed halfway up a palm, wedging his shark tail under him.
“Now, lads and lassies, we’re here to talk dungeons. Dungeons of all kinds. As ye ken, the worlds are connected to the Tree of Souls in what be nodes—sometimes called Celestial Nodes of power—each with its own kind of energy, or a mixture of energies. Ye take the Chaos Oasis, where you have a good mixture of Ignis, Terra, Umbra, and yes, Luminosus. Sand and water, rock and root. I always like to start this course at the good ol’ Chaos Oasis because of the variety.”
The students gathered around the shark, taking cover in the shade of the palm trees, and for a second, Logan had to check his sanity. Yes. Weird world indeed.
They never did get to go down into the Chaos Oasis, though. Instead, Toothbyte spent ninety minutes going over the various types of dungeon environments and explanations about why each was important. The professor also went through each of the thirteen dungeons on Arborea, and Logan took notes, though many he’d already explored:
Blasted Barrows – A crypt-like dungeon in the low hills to the west of Vralkag
Bloodrock – A mountain dungeon in the Heckish Hills of the World Forge Wastes
Bone Vaults – An undead paradise north of Vralkag
Chaos Oasis – Where I am right now, in the World Forge Wastes. There’s palm trees, but it’s not pretty.
Cruelwood – A nasty dungeon in the forests near Vralkag
Mines of Madness — A dungeon on the western slope of the Grimjour Peaks
Root Kill – The northernmost forest dungeon in the Xiru Forest
SandScream – A sandy hell in the eastern part of the World Forge Wastes
Skullsplatter Morass – The eastern dungeon in the Bogbottom Swamp
Submerged Hell – The underwater dungeon in the middle of Loch Endless
Twisted Vine – The western dungeon in the Bogbottom Swamp
Under Stump – The southernmost forest dungeon in the Xiru Forest
Winterdark Halls – A dungeon in the central peaks of Grimjour Peaks
According to Toothbyte, each of the dungeons vibrated with its own Apothine energy.
“Now, I ken what yer thinking, lads and lasses—why should I care about different terrain? Well, the answer is, you never ken what kind of dungeon yer gonna end up in. I’m a water-based guardian myself, but water dungeons are quite rare in the grand scheme of things. So I’ve found myself improvising and adapting to less than ideal circumstances more times than I can wag my tail at. That’s how I became something of an accidental expert on the various dungeon environments. But it’s not just water dungeons like meself that need to worry.”
He nodded at Logan.
“Mr. Murray, you can attest to why the nodes are important. You and yer mates had to make do with the SandScream for yer finals last year. Ye did fine, but only because you made the location play to yer strengths. It coulda gone mighty different. It’s important to note that ye might get saddled with a dungeon you’re not especially well suited for, and have to fight through it, like young Master Murray did. Or ye may find that the obvious choice in dungeons might actually have some drawbacks. Plus, understanding the terrain will become critically important when you learn about Null Arenas.”
“What’s a Null Arena?” Logan wondered aloud.
Tet nudged him with an elbow. “It’s a concept important in dungeon duels.”
Toothbyte laughed over the top of their whispers. “Aye, Tet-Akhat, you’re not wrong. But I won’t be blathering on about that. Professor Zantho will put you through your paces all right. She’ll be bloody relentless in her Offensive Dungeon Design class.”
“Guess we’ll be learning it together,” Tet said. “We go directly there after this class.”
Logan was glad. He liked Tet. Was he Team Tet or Team Inga? He didn’t know, and he didn’t really want to think about any kind of romance with anyone. Right now, the only thing he was concerned with was learning more about dungeon duels.
But he’d get his chance at that.
As soon as Toothbyte dismissed them, he and Tet headed from the Chaos Oasis, back to the DIE Pavilion, and then on to the Mines of Madness, where Offensive Dungeon Design would be held. The huge entrance was an archway of beaten iron, riveted into the stone and crusted with ice. Rusted iron tracks, big enough to move a freight train carrying a kaiju, had been hammered into the earthen floor. A light layer of snow dusted the ground. The wind was chilly, especially after the heat of the World Forge Wastes, but Logan much preferred the cold to the heat.
Tet fluffed up her fur to keep herself warm.
A second later, cold hands settled on Logan. Both he and Tet were pulled back into the soft belly of a certain kitchen ghast.
“Finally!” Melvin said loudly in Logan’s ear. “Me and my comrade in arms, Logan A. Murphy, have a class together! Huzzah! And what does the A stand for? Amazing! Awesome! Astounding! You pick! I’m super excited about Professor Zantho’s class!”
Logan wasn’t sure which was worse. Having another class with Chadrigoth or any class with Melvin.
It was going to be a long morning, and lunch seemed an eternity away.
Chapter Twelve
Prince Chadrigoth of the Diabolus Diaboli, of the Eritreus Elite, stood with the First Cohort in the massive entryway of the Mines of Madness. The walls were chiseled stone, any moisture frozen into ice. Various mine carts, rusted and useless, lay beside piles of yellow dirt and rough stone. The whole cavern was hundreds of feet high and hundreds of feet wide—large enough to accommodate even his size and ambition.
Chadrigoth should’ve been in a better mood, since the Grimjour Peaks nodes were some of his favorite on Arborea. The Mines of Madness was one of the better dungeons to be sure, though still not on par with the Winterdark Halls, a place of fire and ice perfectly tailored to his aesthetic. The Mines reminded him of the Weeping Hell where his father, blah, blah, blah, Mr. Famous lived. Big halls, tall columns, sculptures, custom friezes, and tons of cold stone and dark shadows and crimson caves flickering from magma rivers running through the guts of the realm. It would be a fitting place for a demon of shadows and fire.
However, Ed the Rot Troll’s death bothered him. Not that he cared Ed was dead.
The abyss lord didn’t give two flames about that worthless dungeon core. Ed was a stupid blight, and the world was a better place for his absence. Rather, Chadrigoth was bothered by the fact that his secret plan wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped. Even in death, Ed was somehow bothersome. And all the while, he had to listen to the professors and students praise the Terrible Twelfth. It was Logan Murray this, and Inga Thosa Therian that. And isn’t Marko Laskarelis so funny? And isn’t Treacle Glimmerstupid so talented?
Those fools.
Chadrigoth found himself wreathed in angry flames, so much so that he blackened Magmarty a bit.
Lady Elesiel stretched out two pale hands to warm herself on the abyss lord’s shadowy flames. That’s right—he was hot enough to warm up an elven lich queen.
A loud voice filled the cavernous entryway, making the train tracks vibrate.
It didn’t come from an Aldaleeran bullboom, but emanated from the tiny blonde pixie wearing polished golden armor, a leather combat kilt, and sandals that wrapped up and around her petite calves. She had a buckler strapped to her back and a short gladius riding at her hip. The blade was small enough that Chadrigoth could pick his teeth with it, yet despite her rather diminutive size, he wouldn’t dare to cross her. Professor Zuzanna Zantho fluttered in front of them, arms crossed, golden sparkles fountaining up from her whirring dragonfly wings.
“Stand down, abyss lord. Everyone will come to attention now, and don’t make me ask twice.”
Marko, standing with his loser cohort, brightened.
“Hey, it’s that fairy,” the moronic satyr blathered. “Hey, fairy!” The fool waved. As did his stupid floor boss, Steve. The mannequin was easily the most charming member of the Terrible Twelfth, which said everything that needed saying.
Chadrigoth couldn’t help but grin. “Oh, this is going to be good,” he muttered under his breath.
The gold dust raining down from Professor Zantho’s translucent wings swirled together and morphed into an enormous hand. Stronger than steel, the conjured pixie-dust hand latched onto the satyr’s tunic, yanking goat boy off his hooves. His eyes widened in terror. A second sparkling hand appeared, and it slapped Marko once, twice, three times.
Both hands vanished in a fizzle of golden magic, and Marko went crashing to the cold stone floor.
“Maggots!” the professor shouted. “You will not talk in my class. You will not even think of talking over me. If you have a question, you will wait until the end of my lecture, and if I deem your question worthy, I will answer it. There are no such things as stupid questions, just stupid people. DO NOT BE STUPID.”
The thunder of Zantho’s voice was no joke, and neither was her power. She’d spent centuries hunting down rogue dungeons. There wasn’t a core in the First Realm that wasn’t chilled by the stories of the Fairy Fetch and her bloodthirst for crushing cores. She was the boogeyman that haunted the shadows and waited for wayward dungeons to step out of line.
Logan was so weak that the thunderous boom knocked him to the ground. The mannequin spun from the fury and fell in a tangle of squeaking limbs.
Melvin, the awkward buffoon who made the delectable pastries, helped them all stand, while Inga Thosa Therian blinked in dumb shock. Their oafish minotaur companion continued chewing his cud placidly. He, at least, had the good grace not to embarrass himself outright.
“You will form two rows, six cores in the front and seven behind,” Professor Zantho barked. “You will stand at parade rest while I give my lecture! You will listen to every word, maggots. Is that clear?”
“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” they all called.
In a burst of movement, the students quickly sorted themselves into rows with the First Cohort in the front and the Terrible Twelfth in the back along with Melvin. The Ninth Circle—composed of an ice imp, a snow golem, a gecko behemoth, and a rather generic lady-in-white ghost—filled out the remainder of the positions. Chadrigoth would tolerate the presence of the Ninth Circle, but he wouldn’t bother to learn their names. A waste of time, as far as he was concerned.
As for Melvin, he didn’t seem to be part of a cohort. Was he auditing Professor Zantho’s class? It seemed likely, since he was a transfer student, but Chadrigoth still wasn’t entirely certain how he fit into the scheme of things. That would be rectified in time.
Professor Zantho flitted back and forth, keeping her mad-dog eyes locked on them, her hands clasped behind her back, below her shield. “Welcome to Offensive Dungeon Design—the single most important class you will take this year. So important, in fact, that your overall final standings will be heavily weighted by your performance in this course. So it would behoove you to pay attention and not screw anything up!”
She paused, tiny brow furrowing as she stared daggers at everyone.
“Good,” she grunted. “Now, there is a popular and common misconception that dungeons are primarily reactionary entities. That we sit in our little hidey-holes and wait for trouble to come to us. That as guardians, we’re somehow trapped inside the dungeons we inhabit. Well, I’m here to tell you that kind of thinking is as wrong as it comes. It is quite common to perform offensive raids, and it is essential to know how to defend yourself from the predatory raids of hostile dungeons. Dueling dungeons, we call it.”
Zantho stopped. She fluttered through the first row and stopped at the second. Chadrigoth didn’t turn around completely, but he was able to see the Fairy Fetch point a tiny little finger at Logan. “You, Mr. Murray, have a confused look on your repulsive face. Normally, I wouldn’t have interrupted my exceptionally fine lecture to address your confusion. However, your performance last year in the final exam has made me soft. Tell me. What is your question, maggot?”
“I’m sorry,” that fool Logan blurted out, “I’m just so confused.”
Of course he was confused, Chadrigoth thought, the fool was from some backwater dumping ground of a world.
“Isn’t that exactly what dungeons do?” the idiotic mushroom asked. “We can’t just leave our dungeon, right? And a dungeon is a location—it can’t grow legs and walk around. Or did I miss something last year? And how in the world do dungeons duel? I mean, unless they’re like right next to each other, I guess.”
Chadrigoth waited for the inevitable explosion but it never came. Instead, the fairy chuckled.
“Mr. Murray, I forgot that you’re from Uroth—a world on one of the far branches of the Theta Arcturus. You folk don’t even know about Apothos, so I’m not surprised. I’ll try to break it down into even smaller pieces. The first thing you need to understand is you are NOT your dungeon. You are a core, defending a specific node. But look at you.” She waved a hand at him. “Walking around without a dungeon. That’s because your essence is in your core. Your core can, at times, connect with a dungeon node, but you are still separate. That’s what wandering monsters are: cores without proper dungeons. It’s best to think about the dungeon itself as immobile armor that helps protect the real you—your core.”
The information was all so first level. Sometimes Chadrigoth thought he was wasting his time at Shadowcroft. Chadrigoth’s oldest brother, Toddrick, certainly thought that his little brother was stupid for attending the school. How often had Toddrick bragged that he’d upped his rank, on his own, in his own dungeon on the ice world of Gloogig. And how many times did Toddrick talk about how cold it was there? And how he processed so much Glacies Apothos that he pooped snow cones. Whatever.
Still, Chadrigoth stood at parade rest and didn’t show the professor any kind of emotion.
“But it’s important to remember that you don’t need that armor to survive. There are times and circumstances that warrant you leaving a node behind. Sometimes temporarily, other times permanently. Let’s say, for example, that a town springs up next to your dungeon. Sometimes those towns become an existential threat, and you must eliminate them with extreme prejudice. And sometimes the best defense is a good offense. Leave the dungeon with your army of minions in tow and crush them mercilessly before they can crush you.
“But there are dangers in it. If you leave a dungeon with your guardian form intact, you must have your core with you. And a core without a dungeon to protect it is always in grave danger. There’s also the very real fear that your minions will abandon you. Bonding with a dungeon location amplifies your power—lets you draw and cycle from the Tree of Souls through the Celestial Node. And that amplified power keeps your creatures in check. Those nodes are the reason Endogenous Apothos Manifestations are even possible. Exogenous Apothos Manifestations—items that can leave the dungeon—are much more difficult to create.”
