Dragonheart Core

Chapter 118: Thunderfall

So merry I was from watching the seventh floor coalesce that the newest adventurers hardly bothered me. An annoyance, to be sure, but a mild one; a chipped scale, some bone caught in my teeth. Hardly worth the effort of noticing.

I did notice them, because I wasn't an idiot, but it was a gentle perusal. A group of five, this time, with four Silvers and a skittish, nervous Bronze who did not particularly look like she was excited to be here, even as her mouth fell upon in face of my glorious Fungal Gardens.

At least some had the decency to be properly awestruck. The four behind her, various grim-faced humans, including a few with different features than I was used to on those from Calarata, didn't look hardly so enthused.

Their loss.

My floor had successfully regrouped from the last magma-inclined invader, though wisps of steam still curled from the green algae and there was a distinct charred tinge to the air. Lunar cave bears, still nursing burnt fur for all I had healed the skin underneath, peered warily from the depths of their dens, Nuvja's shadows curled about. I had plenty to do, and I trusted that these Silvers and their strange, sacrificial Bronze that, once again, did not look to be part of the team, would not make it particularly far.

I peered at the invaders again.

Would they mind dying? And quickly, please.

But I was hardly so feckless with only some points to my name, so I leveled one last glare at their irritatingly armoured backs and then slipped down, piece by piece, until the bulk of my consciousness hovered over my newest area of refinement.

The Skylands.

For too long had they been a dumping ground for all things gathering dust in my core. No longer. All of the unfortunately fire-inclined creatures had traversed below, to the still unnamed seventh floor, and the Magelords were finishing up their final carvings of their newest dens. Already, the floor was nearing completion, ready to come together in one explosive finish—one or two days of solid, steady work, and I would welcome a newly completed floor to my halls.

Although, an odd question—I was plenty ready to begin, but that did depend on if all my parts were equally inclined. I flashed a glance back to my core.

Dragonheart Core

Mana: 34.6 / 75

Mana Regeneration: +1.3 per hour

Patrons: Rhoborh, God of Symbiosis; Mayalle, Goddess of Whirlpools; Nuvja, Goddess of Shadows

Titles: Resurrector, Welcomer

Hm.

Naming Akkyst would drop me back below the point-per-hour regeneration rate. Not… exactly what I was hoping for, considering that meant I would be unable to Name any new creature until I got another evolution, which I had no way of knowing if it was soon or not. All my previous ones had come with some time between them, yes, but it hadn't felt like my creatures, where they simply had to collect enough mana before they broke through their limits. Mine had always come after great victories.

And considering I was working on a steady stream of invaders that hadn't yet tested me past my third floor, I wasn't seeing any monumental situations in my near future.

Well. It had only been smaller groups of Silver or larger groups with at least one Bronze. An imminent threat was still very possible, but I was content to ignore it for the time being. Much better for focus if I pretended the problems didn't exist.

With that, I extended jagged claws of mana and dug into the meat of the Skylands.

The first step was cleaning up, which served a lovely second purpose of scraping even more mana back to me—the fire-tongue flowers spidered all over the walls were the first to go, wilting into charcoal scraps and then white motes of light as I dissolved what was mine, those dead and dying; at my command, greater pigeons and swarming wasps flew to the walls, a temporary truce in face of my command, and tore more flowers off.

Even some of the Magelord children, when they weren't chasing the bladehawk with an infantile delight, threw a few blasts of attuned mana in the direction of the nearest flower. At least they were useful for something.

In the time it took for the invaders to get halfway through the Drowned Forest, all the flowers had been removed and my mana had risen to over fifty points. They had apparently grown more dense than I'd originally thought.

There was an idle thought about doing the same play as the jewels here, letting plants grow amok and collecting their mana when the time came nigh, but I discarded it. I could only get mana from dead things after all, and I couldn't rely on all my plants dying the instant they were necessary to. Far more consistent to rely on gems.

But with fifty points at my beck and call, I darted my main point of awareness up to the central island of the Skylands, surveying the land before me, enormous and sprawling. Already, the smoke was beginning to dissipate, opening sightlines and opportunities. Not necessarily what I wanted, considering the room was another of those direct pathways, for all the islands were a maze of interconnected bridges and precarious falls. There was still a way to see all the way to the core if you stood at the entrance.

I didn't want more darkness, though. That was coming later, and I wanted it to be all the more surprising when it was first encountered. This would be something else, something to hide the creatures flying overhead and the goblins below, to give the islands danger now that the scorch hounds were below.

And it just so happened that I had the perfect schema for this.

The cloudskipper wisps.

A living, thrashing storm, parting in sections and choking in others, full of life teeming right above and below the surface; not so dense as to be impassable, considering I had many a flying creature that had to work their way around this, but enough that it would not be a simple flap of the wings to get over. Or flap of the feet? Some idiotic human metaphor.

The wisps were, unfortunately, twenty points of mana apiece; but it was a cost I was willing to pay. Even the two darting around in the Underlake were enough to work with Mayalle's boon, and the further two in the Drowned Forest gave the wind needed to move the vampiric mangrove's branches. There was a reason it had taken an Otherworld schema to grant me an elemental.

And besides, they would fit perfectly in my floor. Beneath the islands, I wanted the Magelords to remain hidden; to have peace and comfort in their stone-carved homes, beyond whatever hapless fools fell off the islands and landed squat in the middle of their plazas. A rude awakening. And only thick cloud cover would hide them, dense enough to keep from prying eyes but not enough that it would hurt their own visibility. And above, there would be wisping mist, gentle enough for my creatures to fly but harsh enough to hide the exit.

Without the scorch hounds and fire-tongue flowers, it would only aid those living here. Even the bladehawk, with his rust-red feathers, would be a shining star in the grey murk, and the Magelords with their many attunements would be monsters.

A pity that the stalking jaguar didn't wish to stay on this floor, because I could picture her emerging from the grey with mist coiling off her feathered tail—but no. She was happier in the Jungle Labyrinth, already merrily feasting on a platemail bug's corpse. That territory already suited her far better than the depths of the Alómbra Mountains ever had.

Soon, I would finish that floor too, and make her a true statement of it. But no matter how out of order it was, the Skylands came first. I did throw up another point of awareness to hover over her back, just to make sure she stayed out of danger—her and Veresai were soon to butt heads, I knew, and there was also the–

The… jeweled jumper.

He had been on this floor, right? I remembered thinking about keeping him away from the stalking jaguar as she explored her new territory, since she was exactly the kind of fast, lithe predator he preferred to hunt, but as I swept my points of awareness over the Jungle Labyrinth, I didn't see him.

Concerning.

Well, if there were any of my creatures that I could rely on being completely unafraid and uncaring of danger beyond a love for my prey, it was him. Whatever new floor he found himself in, he wouldn't be defenseless.

I'd find him later. It was probably fine.

And with that, I dipped back to the Magelords, as tacky as the name still was. They stiffened, still unused to having a separate power hold so much sway over their mind, but it was fine. They'd either get used to it or die. Not my problem. But with a heavy guiding hand, I pushed information of the new changes, so they could either get inside their dens or marvel at the wonders I would be creating. Not that they really had a choice in changing my mind, but enough that they would appreciate it. Having true sapience that hadn't come from me was odd, in a way.

Bylk squinted at some shadow he clearly thought I was in, hacking up something wet into his palm. Disgusting.

But he did bob his head, turning back to the den he'd carved for himself with grey-lit fingers; it was similar to that of the kobolds, actually. A slabbed bed I had felt particularly weak two days ago on and covered in green algae, a pool for water, high shelves for food, and a platform in the back he stored an odd tablet on, something made of old, weathered stone with a crack down the center. He'd been particularly reverent around it, all of Akkyst's memories similarly protective over it, so I'd elected not to touch it.

He also hadn't begged for assistance in solving whatever mystery it had, so he certainly wouldn't be receiving any help until he did.

But with the Magelords successfully prepared, including Akkyst standing tall in the midst, I gathered forty points of mana and released them in a swirl.

Immediately, they coalesced into twin writhing balls of mist, cloud-grey, with bright, chittering thoughts and a tinkling laugh like distant coral-bells; hardly large at all, enough my previous self would barely have seen them, but immediately the power burned off them. Any stage of an elemental was a dangerous thing.

And these were mine.

Go, I urged, gentle. Find homes. Find paths. Find storms.

Cloudskippers they were, but I could see an evolution past wisp in their future, and my hope was they would become something less passive than clouds.

Still I missed my wolf-wisp, with her fiery spirit and echoing barks. I had just gotten Akkyst back, raised him from the grave I'd dug in my mind for him, but I couldn't be so sure for her. The thieving bastard who had taken her had been far too coordinated with his actions, one accustomed to stealing. Gods only knew what he'd done with her.

No death would be enough for him.

But still, these two were enough to start.

They raced off, loud and excitable, and disappeared to the mist already kicked up in the paths. A complicated web they were already weaving, fumbling around new running paths and figuring out exactly how they wanted to do this, but they would figure it out.

And oh, what a beauty it would be.

I wanted to finish it, to declare it as the Skylands and let the gods above make their offers—but not yet. It had to be ready first; I had encountered far too many issues with gods getting pissy about changes made to their sacred floor. I would hold off until I was certain I was happy with it.

I leveled a glance overhead. Ah, all the invaders made it out—a pity. Maybe tomorrow's group would be more pathetic.

For now, I would simply have to wait.

I hated waiting.

-

Two more invading groups poked their big fat noses into my halls with only three deaths to show for it before I finally had enough mana to bring it together.

More dens for the Magelords, edges smoothed down and softened with green algae, even helping them come up with collection pools to gather water from the clouds overhead because I was apparently a spineless hatchling. More swarming wasps, eye-blight butterflies, and baterwauls to fight against the avian side of the war, considering the arrival of the bladehawk had truly swept things in their favour. More island outcroppings, making the available space far more narrow and rickety considering I didn't have to worry about giving the scorch hounds enough room to run.

One new cloudskipper wisp had joined their brethren, hardly sparing a moment to listen to me before darting off to race its own paths over the enormous land. I would need more soon, but I wouldn't push it too fast with how expensive they were. I could see how they would develop already—maybe three, four more, to achieve the dense clouds below and the mist above. They were powerful creatures when they put their distractible mind to things.

And, interestingly, enough time had passed it was not the only change—for three floors above, in the depths of the canal I'd carved for her, an evolved creature opened new eyes.

The storm eel.

Gone was the bulbous, stationary body; now she was near double the length, over twenty feet, thin and sinuous. Muscles coiled beneath her deep grey-blue skin, near imperceptible scales catching the dappled light with a glimmer. A dorsal fin trailed the length of her whole body, a matching one beneath, with edges that forked off in frills like lightning. Apropos.

Her eyes were still black, still with pits around the edges of her face, but her mouth was now like a moray eel; harsh and jagged, protruding outward with jaws visible under her scales. Whatever bite she'd had before, it was now infinitely worse.

All in all, an aerial predator the likes of which I couldn't wait to see in action.

Or maybe I could, because almost immediately, she started to suffocate. I hadn't been aware that I could still have heart attacks, considering I was an entirely immaterial dungeon core, but whatever I was feeling was pretty close.

Doing the mental equivalent of screaming in her ear, I shattered her panic and guided her up, past the roiling silt and dragging currents of the canals; her twin fins thrashed as she threw herself up, jaws agape—hells, they were enormous—as she struggled to breathe in what had previously been home.

Then, with an explosion of water and a great warbling cry like some primordial beast, she burst from the canal and started to fly.

It was an ungainly thing at first, every muscle and thought and ability fighting against itself to return to what was familiar and not this inane addition, but instinct took over, and soon she twined through the air, knotting in on herself with careless imprecision. Her two fins were flooded with air-attuned mana, heavy enough it must pull on her stores like a beast, but she hardly seemed to notice in face of this new wonder, slithering higher with a click of her jaws.

Down, down, down, I urged, and guided her on; through the thin tunnel around the Underlake, through the forking passages of the Jungle Labyrinth with only one close call from a crowned cobra. The entire flight, I fed her points upon points of mana to aid in her flying, but with every floor we dropped it got better. Her flight relied on ambient mana it seemed, and pulled from her stores when it wasn't enough—not too useful on my higher floors, but plenty to do on the fifth.

And indeed, the moment she emerged into the Skylands, I felt more than saw the strain disappear from her spine, movements growing more fluid, more dangerous. She coiled around herself, frilled spines flicking in and out, the pits on her sides seeming to grow deeper. A new hunting ground.

She hissed, and lightning crackled down her side.

I was entirely intangible, but my purr rumbled through my dungeon.

She launched herself into the nearest cloud, all the age she'd earned as an electric eel coming to head as she figured her new body out with a frankly terrifying ease—within heartbeats she was snaking her way through the clouds and mist, testing the ease of which she could fly, and already searching for prey suitable for her newly-expanded mouth.

A new competition in the war of flying things. Something told me no one would be a particular fan of her.

But now, looking upon the madness and the chaos and the beauty of the Skylands, I felt something sink into place. More of her would hopefully evolve, and if her electric silverheads—who were currently swimming around her canal with as much confusion as their insipid minds could hold—would join her, she would be a monster. Here, in the cloud-choked land, she would be a nightmare.

All of the floor would be. Positioning myself at the entrance, I looked over a world already beginning to grey out, blending in with the limestone of the walls and islands, only my other points of awareness able to sense the goblins below. The threats everywhere, the shrieking cacophony of the baterwauls, every possible place to fall below.

There was still work to be done.

But it wasn't my work. It was that of my creatures, finding homes and territories and strategies to survive in this world, carving out an ecosystem in what had once been empty mountain, creating a life for themselves in the chaos and the midst of a paradise. Something that would have to come with time. No floor was ever truly done, for they were living things, and I liked them that way. I wouldn't be one to just build empty hallways with traps and empty lights and starving beasts at the end. No, I was creating a world, a land for me and my own, and this one was full of fangs.

The Skylands, endless and unknown, land of storms.

Boom.

Congratulations! Your floor has attracted the attention of the gods.

Some wish to become Patron of the Skylands. Please choose from the boons they present.

Oh.

I settled into the feeling, the world slowing as a power high above looked in, the tingle in the back of my awareness. Star-burn. The rot of the gods.

They were coming to me.

And then, with gentle, caressing power, the top of my core split open; melted away as if it were never there, some intangible boundary for witless mortals to pretend they were alone. My consciousness drifted up, away and away and away, into that boundless black sky above, with stars that gleamed from every corner.

Not as many as there had been for my first floor, which was a damn shame, but there were still a hundred there—I flew up with all subservience and groveling and politeness that I was not particularly fond of doing, but I could taste the power of these gods like magma on the back of my fangs. Smiting was an option a touch too close for me to be comfortable around them.

Three in my halls already, and now I searched for a fourth.

With passive amusement, offers were extended down to me, images of power frozen in time; things that stunk of fired glass, of oldwood forests, of mountaintop ozone. They flashed by as I cycled through them; taigas, air currents, clover, stamped coins, more, more, more–

The goddess of fireflies, trying once again with a kind of delirium persistence to offer me floating balls of light to guide unsuspecting invaders off of ledges. A goddex of avalanches promising to have my islands continuously collapse and rebuild, preventing any from crossing them. A god with a cold, impartial voice showing me how to turn my empty clouds into freezing arrays of ice.

All of them were close. But there was something I was hunting for this time, a guiding hand behind my careful perusal of their offerings; because I had forsaken this floor to incorrect elements before, and I would not again.

And there, in the back, with a crackling aura and the bite of centuries, I found it.

Khasvar, the God of Lightning.

He was my first truly powerful god.

Nuvja was older than ancient, but she had been much dethroned; Rhoborh stood for a power that would never rise above lesser; even Mayalle was hardly a footnote in comparison to maelstroms.

But lightning?

Even now, I could feel his presence, an old, thrumming sensation deep within my core like danger incarnate. Something thin and jagged, knifing away at my awareness—silent, though. He was a mirrored god, with the goddess of thunder; so his powers were only ever quiet killers.

Something I rather enjoyed.

There was the most moderate of issues, being that he was old and powerful—and thus, less inclined to give me a personalized offering. I remember Rhoborh with his redwood scent pouring over my mangrove roots to show how they would be interconnected, or Mayalle showing me a whirlpool to trap invaders within the Underlake; Khasvar, in comparison, merely showed me what would happen to any lightning on my floor.

But oh, was it beautiful.

He was transforming it.

My ambient mana would no longer be an empty, passive thing to be collected and transformed; instead it would be as lightning and be lightning, both attuned and pure, all and every. Deep within the clouds, my ambient mana would coalesce into lightning, knifing through the storm to attack anything within the Skylands.

And the lightning wasn't even normal lightning—it would be formed of both pure and electricity-attuned mana, functional for spells and attacks, able to be gathered by the Magelords while also attacking invaders.

A land of storms indeed.

There was an odd efficiency to his offering, and it was such a unique idea even if it wasn't personalized—though I couldn't be certain, I got the idea that I was not the first dungeon he had ever worked with. That somewhere out there in Aiqith, another dungeon had this exact same blessing for one of their floors.

The thought was almost enough to make me reject it.

But I wanted those storms.

Khasvar peered down at me as I floated up to him, a careful little thing with my intangible wings tucked in close and my head lowered. He hummed, and it felt like ozone, the current racing overtop of my core—power above power I'd felt before.

It felt like years ago I had thought about convincing the God of Magic himself to be the patron of my first floor. I couldn't even imagine being in his presence.

One day. I didn't know when, nor what floor I could offer, but one day. Either him, or the God of Dragons, my original creator, for whom my runes were carved and my patterns formed. But not now.

I faced Khasvar, examining his offer once more; he seemed to have barely looked at my floor beyond the fact it was a dungeon floor with clouds. Lovely. At least I could clear up one idea—Akkyst won't be staying on the floor forever, I said, quiet and meek and other shameful things.

Khasvar's presence ruffled, a kind of apathetic indifference—maybe I should go with someone who would actually care about me—and once more the boon was extended.

With a hesitance I did not normally feel, I imprinted my mana into the contract. Khasvar did the same. Mana swirled together, the bite of ozone, the knifing edge of distant storms, my own golden letters coming alongside.

The next instant, I was hurtled back to Aiqith, tumbling back into my core as the world picked back up to speed and the haze faded—Seros cronned through our connection, raising his head as he pulled back from hunting in the Hungering Reefs, Nicau pausing as he roasted the haunch of a burrowing rat, Veresai's four eyes gleaming as mana curled through her horns. All my Named, my beloved.

And before me, as my points of awareness spiraled back into focus, I watched the Skylands awaken.

Whenever a floor was completed, the mana there solidified, becoming stable even as my core moved further down—this was a step beyond steps. Where the invisible threads of my ambient mana crossed, they coalesced into lightning—beautiful, brilliant forks of white-yellow, knifing through the air, glorious destruction.

Deep below, the Magelords yelped as lightning and thunder flashed overhead, only ten feet above their dens—overhead the bladehawk and greater pigeons ducked and bobbed around new obstacles in their past, shrieking angry cries. Akkyst rose to his back paws with a rumble, his mind already racing with ideas to harness this new power and to discover all the mysteries within.

The cloudskipper wisps warbled with enthusiasm I hadn't seen from them yet, zipping and darting over the floor; the clouds in their wake crackled with lightning from no doing of their own or the storm eel, who was flying around with rampant confusion in her mind. They would have plenty of chances to adapt.

Everyone would.

For the Skylands were complete.