Shadowcroft Academy For Dungeons: Year Two, page 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Logan walked through the massive entrance to the Mines of Madness. Word had it, Professor Zantho had planned a field trip for them, and she was going to be unveiling the details during today’s class.
It was cold, so Logan had grown some extra chitin and put on a scarf. It was enough to keep him comfortable. Snow blew through the gargantuan entrance, sprinkling down on the existing drifts. The rest of the students were already at desks that the Fairy Fetch had brought in. She didn’t like teaching in a normal classroom. Her loud voice defied the impossible acoustics of the massive chamber.
Logan was glad to get back into the swing of things, going to classes, doing the work, training in the mornings and with Rockheart during his free period. Plus, he had reestablished his Symbiotic bond with Inga, which felt right. Tet had hugged him when he’d severed the connection, but soon the feline sandmaster was swept away into her own classwork, though she wasn’t spending all that much time with the First Cohort. That shift, at least, seemed more permanent. She’d taken to training with the Terrible Twelfth in the mornings and even tagging along in the evenings when they ventured deep into the bowels of the library.
Logan was glad to have her company, even if they weren’t bonded anymore. She was smart, powerful, and he liked having her around. She also got on fabulously with Treacle—his perpetual existential dread fit well with her dry wit. The fact that she’d been a member of a death cult seemed to impress him, since he thought about death more than most. She was also a wellspring of valuable info on Chadrigoth.
Logan had witnessed psycho boy losing his marbles—the abyssal lord was more unhinged than usual. Something was definitely going on with Chadrigoth, but it was hard to tell what. To say he was from a dysfunctional family was like saying Game of Thrones had a few disturbing scenes. Or that the initial release of Cyberpunk 2077 had a few glitches. Did that make him a killer, though? Logan unequivocally believed so. He was powerful, demented, secretive, and had been present at every murder or attempted murder. But Inga wasn’t ready to bang the gavel.
He may have been their number one suspect, but she still wanted hard proof.
As a result, Inga wound up with the worst task—doing opposition research on the abyssal lord. Mostly by reading those Eritrean gossip rags. The Nobleblade family was certainly full of characters, it seemed. There was a rumor that the youngest, Brian, threw parties and took payment in Psuche Powder. Chadrigoth himself had discounted it. Logan didn’t think anyone would waste their time on Psuche Powder. It had done nothing for him.
The Nobleblade family did, however, have ties to the royals on Bharoosh, probably the ancestors of Sir Rosencrantz Brandybutter. But then, rich people hung together like bats in a cave dangling from diamond-encrusted perches.
So the gossip columns didn’t do much for them. Inga was excited to get Melvin’s cookbook. It was confirmed to arrive in the next couple of days. Although she hadn’t dropped her cutlery class, her obsession with flatware had receded a hair while she focused more intensely on The Stone Hermeneutic. She said the book wasn’t getting any more interesting, but it wasn’t getting any worse. She chalked that up as a plus.
Logan slipped into a desk between Marko and Treacle. They sat behind Inga, who always insisted on a front-row seat and waited for Professor Zantho to show up.
Melvin had parked his pastry cart near his desk, which was part of the Ninth Circle desk clump. Melvin slid the gecko behemoth one of his cherry turnovers, and the lizardish monster lapped it up with flick of his big pink tongue.
Treacle sighed, snorted, sighed again.
“What’s up, big guy?” Logan asked.
The minotaur turned his head slowly to take Logan in. His big brown eyes were troubled. “You know, Logan, any other school wouldn’t have just closed down the dungeons, they would’ve suspended classes until the murderer was found. Not here. Not now. Shadowcroft has scarcely been in his office in months. Rockheart seems like he would send the murderer Aldaleeran chocolate-covered cherries for removing the weak. The situation certainly isn’t making me any more optimistic.”
Logan had thought the same thing, but he’d taken a more realistic view of things. “Keep in mind, we were literally killed when we were recruited for the school. Like killed. So it’s not like things were ever going to be happy-go-lucky. In the end, if this becomes a big deal, Shadowcroft or the Threshing Turtle or all the professors will figure it out. Or they’ll create a new reality. As we’ve learned, Arborea is a construct made from pure Apothos. I think it’s Shadowcroft’s dungeon, and his office is the inner sanctum.”
“I think so too,” Inga said over one shoulder as she paged through the latest edition of TGZ. On the cover was a juicy story that Kyvandry Spencer had fallen in love with Lilith Skullsplitter, the leader of The Glorious Sunrise of the Golden Dawn. The forbidden love between dungeon and dungeoneer was breaking all taboos. According to Inga, it was all just a trashy rumor.
Marko chuckled. “No, guys, the murders or attacks or whatever are only a big deal immediately after they happen, and then, when nothing breaks open the universe, people forget about them. I see this all the time. Like I was at the annual Super Terrific Party, STP, me and Emilio, that year it was held in the Xanadu Xudana pleasure caves, and there was this guy who was doing Demon Fingers—we’ve talked about that—don’t do Demon Fingers. Not even once. Anyway, the Demon Finger guy stabs the prince of Margasita, and the prince’s men totally arrest him, and it was this huge deal. For about five minutes.”
Inga turned the page of her magazine. “I’m assuming there’s a point coming.”
“Point is,” Marko said, “five minutes later, Emilio and I are in the hot tub with these two voluptuous ladies from Margasitaville, and that whole incident was forgotten. Actually, I haven’t even thought about the Demon Finger guy until thirty seconds ago. In the end, he wasn’t a big deal. And to be honest, the prince of Margasita is always getting stabbed. It’s kind of a thing. Should I explain further?”
“Please, gods, no,” Treacle groaned. “Make him stop.”
Marko charged on. “If the party is Arborea, and if dungeon cores dying are like the prince of Margasita getting stabbed, it’s all part of the scenery. No one is going to stop the party for something like that.” He shrugged. “Not unless we do. But don’t worry, we’ll get to the bottom of it, through the power of friendship. That and Inga’s big brain energy.”
Before he could say more, Professor Zantho soared in on a wave of golden pixie dust. She’d replaced her scarlet cloak with a badger fur cap, and instead of her customary helmet, she wore a Russian looking earflap hat in the same colors. She was bundled up in several layers of fur under her Greek armor. She finally fluttered to a stop and pulled off her mittens in a shower of gold dust. “Okay, maggots, are we all here? Good. We have a lot to cover and not a second to waste. So listen up and I better not hear one person wag their tongues.”
Marko sat ramrod straight in his desk. Steve, though, had pulled up a desk behind him and was sprawled out like an unruly eighth grader.
Professor Zantho didn’t seem to notice. Or care. “The first half of O.D.D was focused on taking offensive actions which culminated in your final, where many of you butchered the fine people of Vralkag.”
She gave Tet the first dirty look. Logan got the second.
Then the fairy continued. “But offense is only half of the story. In the second half of the year, you’ll be learning both how to attack and defend, because the truth is, the greatest threat out there often comes, not from raiders, but from your fellow dungeon cores. That’s right. Predatory Dungeons, sometimes referred to as rogue dungeons. These are dungeons that have abandoned the way. Dungeons that attack other, weaker dungeons to fuel their own advancement.”
Logan couldn’t help but throw a glance at Chadrigoth. He sat on the other side of Tet, who was close to Inga. Tet and Inga had become even better friends after the Symbiotic hijinks.
The abyss lord visibly perked up at the notion of predatory dungeons. Logan could imagine some twisted Shakespearean drama where Chadrigoth went after his family, especially brother Toddrick, over on Gloogig.
Inga raised her hand.
Professor Zantho scowled at her. “By all that is holy, Therian, questions already? What did I say about tongues wagging? You’re lucky I’m in a good mood and that you’re an excellent student, or I would slap you into yesterday.” A hand made of golden dust appeared over her head and made a slapping motion before dispersing in a bright display of glitter.
“But I don’t understand, Professor,” Inga said, brow furrowing. “Those who chose to be dungeon cores did so to protect the Tree of Souls. That is our only purpose. Our sacred duty. Why would predatory dungeons exist at all?”
The Fairy Fetch zipped over, wings whirring, to hover in front of the Mothmancer. Then came the yelling. “Aww, look at the little moth princess, who thinks every frog is just a prince in disguise. What color is the sky in your world, Princess Maggot? Pink. I’ll assume it’s pink. In the real world it’s black, just like the inside of my cold, uncaring heart.”
Inga was leaning back in her chair, her hair and antennae blown backward by the shouting.
Professor Zantho grimaced. “Why do predatory dungeons exist? Short answer? It’s because power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.” She planted her hands on her tiny hips. “But that’s not good enough for you. Oh no, you want the long answer, dontcha, Princess?”
“Well, yes. Yes, I do,” Inga said in an impressively firm voice. Inga Thosa Therian would be intimidated by no one.
Professor Zantho grinned like a rabid dog sizing up a bowl of Alpo. “Of course you do. I like you, Therian. You got guts. And for that reason, I’m going to answer your question. The truth is, there are any number of reasons why good dungeons go bad. In my experience, though, there are three primary reasons. Number one”—she thrust a finger into the air— “they’re traitors, pure and simple. Traitor dungeons miss their old way of life. They grow resentful, over time, of their duty to the Tree of Souls and the preservation of the Ashvattha Multiverse.
“As you know, it is possible for a guardian’s form to exist unattached from a dungeon proper. Y’all are in that category right friggin’ now. But these other—these cowardly, sad-sack dungeons—they abandon their post, essentially becoming wandering monsters. Some recruit warriors, sack towns, and siphon up Apothos like it’s an all-you-can-eat buffet. Some of the worst warlords were rogue dungeon cores. Others disguise themselves, trying to blend in with normal folks. It’s just one big masquerade. Some even try to live a normal life. Others would seek the destruction of the universe. It’s been said that one of the most powerful dungeoneering guilds of all time, the Scarlet Paradox, was founded by such a traitorous dungeon who simply wanted his old life back. And power. Don’t forget what I said about power.”
Marko raised his hand.
Professor Zantho saw it and immediately shot him down. “No.”
Marko lowered his hand.
The Fairy Fetch continued her lecture. “The second type are those we call survivalist dungeons. These kind, well, they fall into sort of a gray category. Not officially outlawed by the Council of Dungeon Cores, but certainly apostate as far as I’m concerned. Generally, survivalist dungeons are of a more pragmatic nature. They honor their duty to the Tree but believe that the strongest should rule without exception. If they are capable of defeating a lesser dungeon, then that dungeon was not worthy of protecting its Celestial Node. Then these survivalist dungeons expand their own territory, taking over more than one node, which rapidly increases their own power.”
Chadrigoth raised his hand and, surprisingly, got the nod to ask his question. “What’s wrong with that model, Professor? Isn’t that what happens here at Shadowcroft?”
Professor Zantho clasped her hands behind her back and buzzed over to him. “Well, big and ugly, you’re right to some extent. However, the approach of the survivalist dungeon is too simplistic. Shadowcroft is a school based around pragmatism and utilitarianism, yet Shadowcroft also understands the need for diversity. The purpose of a dungeon is not only to protect the Tree of Souls, but also to supply Apothos to the Tree by eliminating dungeoneers. If a given dungeon is too difficult for any but the strongest to even try, then the Tree will lose out on valuable resources. Likewise, no single dungeon will provide a good lure for all types of dungeoneers. And there is a danger in it as well. All dungeons are weak to something, and when one dungeon controls too many nodes, a single powerful dungeoneer can cause immense damage with little effort.”
“I still can see the wisdom in it,” Chadrigoth said loudly enough for everyone to hear.
Tet turned to the abyss lord. Her emerald eyes were full of passion. “Would you decide the fate of others? Would you kill those who are weaker than you when they might be able to progress beyond your reckoning?”
Logan winced. Professor Zantho was probably two seconds away from slapping around the abyss lord and the feline sandmaster for bickering in her class. But the fairy looked amused more than anything else. “Well, big and ugly, what have you to say to that? Would you be judge, jury, and executioner?”
Chadrigoth shrugged. “If I say yes, I’d get on your radar, Professor. I know what you did before you became a teacher. So I’ll say no, I wouldn’t make that choice. I know what it’s like to be tough, but not the toughest yet.”
Because Father was an S-Class, and Brother was an A-Class. Logan was seeing the abyss lord in a whole new light. It was still an ugly light, granted, but maybe there was a reason why Chadrigoth was the way he was.
“Good enough answer for now.” The Fairy Fetch buzzed back down the line of desks in the front row. “Lastly, there are those dungeoneers who believe the quickest path to Immortal Crown Cultivator is by being a dungeon. You see, by our very nature, dungeons are inherently more powerful than their dungeoneer counterpart. In a match between an evenly ranked dungeoneer and dungeon, the dungeon will always prevail.
“So, some cultivators, in the pursuit of ultimate power, will shed their humanity to ascend. They then go on rampages, using the unique abilities of dungeons to raid the resources of lesser dungeons, all in an attempt to seize as much power as possible. To ultimately achieve immortality. They do this by battling, inner sanctum to inner sanctum. We’re not talking about guardian forms duking it out. We are talking about full-on dungeon-to-dungeon combat.”
Logan opened his mouth, thought about raising his hand, but Marko shook his head and mouthed, It’s not worth it.
Professor Zantho saw the baffled look on his face. “Aldaleeran cheese and crackers, Murray. I can guess your maggot question just by the stupid look on your maggot face. How can one dungeon attack another unless they are in their guardian forms?”
“Uh. Yep. That’s my question,” Logan said.
The Fairy Fetch’s smile was almost angelic. “Murray, you beautiful idiot, that right there is at the heart of this entire class. All dungeons have the ability to project their Apothos through the interconnected roots and branches of the Tree of Souls to create what we in the business call Null Arenas. What are Null Arenas? You’ll see, firsthand, during our upcoming field trip. Not only that, me and an old friend of mine have something special planned. You’re going to see some violence, people, firsthand. Bring your vomit bags, because it won’t be pretty.”
Professor Zantho zipped back over to Chadrigoth. “And yeah, big and ugly, you’re right. Before I was a teacher, I hunted predatory dungeons. I was an Arcandor—a Council Bounty Hunter. I was the dungeon core your mama warned you about. And if I ever smell the sharp tang of traitor on you, boy, I will shatter your core faster than you can say, ‘Ouch, you shattered my core.’”
The abyss lord looked directly into the face of the fairy. “You’ll try.”
Instead of unleashing the ultimate smackdown on Chadrigoth, the Fairy Fetch laughed. “I do believe you maggots are growing on me. Now, get the hell out of here. I’m sick of looking at your ugly mugs.”
As people gathered their things, murmuring. Marko offered them a grim look. “I have a problem, guys.”
Logan winced. “Was it about the question you didn’t get to ask?”
“What? No.” He waved a hand through the air. “I totally forget what I was going to say.” The satyr licked his lips. “I’m afraid it’s more serious than that. I don’t own a vomit bag.”
Treacle rolled his eyes. “Fine, you can borrow one of mine—I have four, one for each stomach.”
Logan wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not, but the fungaloid was very curious about this new aspect of the dungeon universe. What was a Null Arena? And how exactly did direct dungeon conflicts work?
He’d soon find out.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Logan couldn’t wait for their field trip. The time seemed to drag through their boring classes and their usual routines, but in less than forty-eight hours, Logan and his friends stood at the BYE Portal—a hulking branch of the Tree of Souls that connected the realm of Arborea to the universe. They were waiting for the Fairy Fetch to show. It was strange that Professor Zantho was late. Inga launched into any number of conspiracy theories while they milled around in their cohorts, waiting for the professor.
Logan and the Terrible Twelfth waited together, along with Melvin, who was perpetually the odd man out. Emphasis on the odd. The Ninth Circle and the First Cohort had congregated together, talking while they ate their cherry turnovers.
Melvin had sold out. He always sold out, though, so that was no surprise. Despite how strange he was, the ghast could cook. Now he waited with a happy grin plastered across his face and his fedora tilted at a rakish angle on his head. He’d come prepared for an adventure, adding a long duster and a gnarled walking staff to the ensemble. It was like he was unironically cosplaying Harry Dresden.
