Goroth
Author: Neven Iliev
Date: 2022-01-02 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Humor; Fiction; Adult; Role Playing Games; Demons
Description: At a glance, the dwarves and gnomes of the Horkensaft Kingdom are two peoples who are worlds apart. The former are seen as hardcore traditionalists Hell-bent on maintaining the status quo, while the latter only look ever forward and upward as they grasp at the future with both hands. And yet, these two seemingly opposing cultures serve as a counter-balance to each other, creating a civilization that draws upon the wisdom of the past to face new challenges. Whether that is actually the case or mere propaganda will soon to be put to the test, as they are about to receive a visit from the Hero of

Everybody Loves Large Chests

Volume Seven: Goroth

A book by Neven Iliev

Prologue

A gnome and dwarf intently stared at the papers on the table between them. The former was a baby-faced youngster in his mid-teens, head boasting a complete and total lack of hair. He wasn’t normally like this, but he had a slight mishap with a prototype machine. It was lucky that his beard, hair, and eyebrows were the only casualties of yesterday’s explosion. Any burns sustained had already healed via magic, but it would take time for his once-glorious mane to regrow. His slightly taller, much stouter companion found it incredibly amusing, though he tried his best not to laugh at the unfortunate gnome. An apprentice Artificer himself, Gloim Broadbeard knew how common these accidents were. Their field of research was quite the volatile endeavor, and the dwarf wouldn’t want to be laughed at should a rocket engine malfunction evaporate his proud, brown braids.

Thankfully, both tinkerers had a distraction from that accident’s aftermath. A massive sheet of graphing paper and several reference books were sprawled out between them. The blueprint they focused on was an ambitious device equal parts ingenious and insane. It was barely even a prototype at this stage. If their combined calculations were correct, their work could very well result in the world’s first non-magical flying vehicle. It was purely an academic exercise with very few practical applications. Airships that hovered through arcane means were cheaper to make, safer to operate, and required far less maintenance than this ticking time bomb of a contraption.

Nobody knew about the project’s many flaws and shortcomings better than Gloim Broadbeard and Cottlik Puddlepickle. Yet, they worked day and night to bring their vision of a ‘Rocket Propelled Gyromobile’ to fruition. At the bare minimum, they needed to present a functional proof-of-concept to their professor as part of their combined thesis. If successful, they would graduate and earn the right to advance their Level 50 Artificer Jobs by specializing in the vocation’s Flamespitter branch. Afterwards, they’d continue their studies at the Royal Institute of Technology or pursue careers as independent inventors, if not both. Before any of that could take place, they had to figure out what exactly went wrong with their RPG the day before.

“I’m betting it was the fuel mixture,” the gnome grumbled in a high-pitched voice. “I knew we shouldn’t have trusted your cousin.”

“Oi! Watch it, Cotts,” the dwarf warned him. “Big Dave might be a bit scatterbrained, but he knows his Alchemy.”

“That wasn’t ‘scatterbrained,’ Gloim. The guy was so high he was already soaring through the clouds.”

“No, he wasn’t. Look, if he did the fuel mixture wrong, it wouldn’t have spontaneously combusted. Well, at least not the way it did.”

“Wait, what? Really?”

“For sure. See here?” Gloim pointed to one of the open books. “It says that an unstable fuel mix will either instantly catch fire when exposed to open air or not at all. Even if it wasn’t perfect, the worst that should happen is reduced burn efficiency.”

“Huh. Then why did it go off?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out, right? Look, you said you’d just pressed the ignition when it went up. Maybe there was a faulty circuit or exposed wiring.”

“Actually, that’s not quite right,” Cotts furrowed his phantom brows. “I barely even touched the button when it happened.”

“Oh.”

“Wait, that fuel was acidic, wasn’t it?”

“I think so? Hold on,” the dwarf turned back to the Alchemy textbook. “That’s right, it’s marked as a caustic hazard.”

“Maybe it ate through the fuel lines.”

“Okay, yeah. I can see that. But why did it ignite?”

“That… hm…”

The pair fell silent while considering this conundrum. They were definitely on the right track, as the volatile chemicals had indeed leaked through their ill-designed containment tubes. They failed to consider that having a rubber-heeled gnome pressing a metal button might cause a spark of electricity that could, in turn, set a ruptured fuel line ablaze. These and other catastrophic flaws would have been easily identified had the rookie engineers realized that their project was far too complex for just two Flamespitter students. They had already been forced to hire an Alchemist for the volatile fuel mixture and a Blacksmith to forge their vehicle’s chassis yet didn’t consider consulting their fellow apprentice Artificers. Anyone with an interest in the Job’s Arclight branch would have warned them to be extra careful about static sparks and other electrical faults. Alternatively, people in their own class would have told them about the caustic nature of their chosen fuel, or maybe the Automata crowd would have proposed a more sophisticated and robust piping system.

Regardless of those what-ifs and maybes, Cotts and Gloim were just as stubborn as the stout-folk were known to be. Rather than admit fault and seek outside help, they buckled down and hit the books. They were still Level 50 Artificers raised by the Royal Institute of Technology and would surely figure out the cause of yesterday’s spontaneous combustion in due course. However, they weren’t given the chance to finish their research before someone burst through their dorm room’s door.

“Guys, guys!”

The newcomer was another male gnome around Cottlik’s age, though his bright pink hair and beard made him look as if he’d fallen head-first into a cotton candy machine. He was also an Artificer student at the Ritz, so he should have known better than to risk interrupting a brainstorming session. It was rude, disruptive, and a good way to earn grudges. Unless, of course, there was an emergency, which seemed likely given the guy’s flabbergasted expression and shortness of breath.

“What is it, Cogwhistle?” the other gnome asked.

“You’ll never believe it! Someone actually opened the Vault Beneath the Mountain!”

Gloin and Cottlik’s jaws hung open. That place was built a century ago by none other than Ekaterina Dragunova, the Original Artificer. Many had tried to crack the place open since its creator’s death, and just as many had failed. The Kingdom even had a standing bounty on it, promising an astounding 30,000 GP to anyone able to gain access to the Vault and the technological secrets that surely remained within. It was incredible that someone had actually managed to open it. Unbelievable, even.

Which was to say neither of the two fledgling rocket scientists believed their colleague’s claims.

“Are you sure about that?” the dwarf skeptically raised an eyebrow.

“I’m certain! They just released an official statement and everything!” the visitor frantically waved his hands about. “And here’s where this gets really crazy – the one who did it was a golem! Like, a sentient, self-aware lump of metal!”

“You’re right. That is crazy,” the other gnome shook his shiny head. “Seriously, Cogwhistle, if you’re trying to prank us, you’ve come at a very bad time.”

“I’m not- Argh! Just look out the bloody window, will you?!”

The other two rolled their eyes but decided they might as well humor their uninvited guest. They pulled the curtains back and peeked at the streets outside. The entire place was in an uproar. People were running up and down the street in a frenzy, bumping into golems and automatons at every turn. However, this didn’t seem like the sort of excitement generated by shocking good news. The mood was something closer to general panic. For better or worse, Gloin and Cottlik’s room was on the top floor of the six-story dormitory building, providing them an excellent view of the uproar’s cause.

In the distance, above the city’s rooftops, proudly stood a metal spire that dwarfed any other building on the continent with its immense height. The structure itself was hardly a cause for alarm. It was a historical landmark that the city had been built around. The real issue was the immense amount of energy the monument was shooting off into the sky. It rose from the spire’s tip like a geyser of blue-and-white light. If this was the only spectacle, it wouldn’t have caused such a stir. This place was Dragunov, the Artificers’ holy ground. Random energy discharges were an extremely common occurrence. Sure, there had never been an incident of this magnitude, but a little light show should not have driven the citizens to outright panic.

The rapidly growing shadows in the sky, though?

That was another story.

Chapter One
Professional Standards

Part One

Rowana rolled over in her sleep to lay on her left side, causing her right hand to drape over Keira’s upper back. At least, that’s what would’ve happened normally, but the elf’s subconscious registered a distinct lack of naked catgirls within reach. This realization turned to distress, causing her to stir awake.

“Hmm… Keira?”

Her green eyes fluttered open as she mumbled her lover’s name. She patted down the other half of the queen-size bed in confusion. It was still warm, but her lover’s confirmed absence made her bolt upright in a rush of panic. She was instantly relieved to find Keira still with her. The redhead was lounging on the plush carpet in the middle of the Slyth mansion’s guest room, basking in the first rays of sunrise that poured in through the huge window. A few of the many fluffy pillows from the bed were stacked to support her upper back, her legs were crossed, and Minic was snuggled up to her side while she idly stroked its lid.

Rowana regained her wits, slumped back down, and rolled over onto her belly, propping her head up with her hands.

“Hey, beautiful.”

“Oh, good morning, Rowie,” Keira casually replied. “Sleep well?”

“Fine. You?”

“Same.”

There was a minute of silence in the room while Keira continued relaxing, and Rowana simply watched her from the side.

“Aren’t you cold lying on the floor naked like that?” the elf eventually asked.

“The room is magically heated. Besides, Mr. Sun gives me plenty of warmth.”

“The sunbathing season ended three months ago.”

“If you say so.”

What followed was another break in the conversation that gradually made Rowana feel oddly left out.

“… You could just come up here and snuggle a bit,” she offered.

“Uh, no offense, Rowie, but if I do that, you’ll end up wanting to make love all morning. Again.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I’m not really in the mood for it right now, alright?”

“O-oh… Alright.”

The elf wasn’t sure how to respond. She wasn’t used to getting snapped at and couldn’t help but let the awkward silence hang in the air. Rowana hated this. It felt like an invisible wedge had been driven between them ever since the redhead came back from that wretched hole in the ground. She’d never been so distant, both emotionally and physically. Rowana had no idea what exactly happened to Keira, nor was the victim willing to share her troubles. Not yet anyway. The elf also couldn’t help but notice that something else had changed about her lover.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time silently standing in the sunlight lately, you know that?”

“Have I?”

“Quite a bit, yes.”

“Well, what of it?”

“It’s just… It’s not very much like you.”

Keira was always an active and outdoorsy person, but lounging in the sun, while fittingly catlike, was a very recent habit.

“Yeah, well… I’ve gained a new appreciation for Mr. Sun as of late.”

The girl-shaped monster was, of course, talking about its newly acquired Hylt Metabolism. Boxxy found it strangely relaxing and soothing to soak in the sun ever since it became part plant, but now it could quite literally eat sunlight. And it had deemed it quite tasty. Useful, too. It could feel itself gradually regain tiny amounts of its Biomass with every golden drop that fell on its skin, which had been all but depleted as a result of its death and subsequent imprisonment. Naturally, the shapeshifter wouldn’t admit this, so it came up with some believable sob story to placate the nosy elf.

“It makes me wish I was the Hero of Solus, not Patrick. Maybe then I wouldn’t have wound up locked away so deep underground.”

“I see…”

In truth, Boxxy was even gloomier on the inside than the act it was putting on. It had decided to focus its efforts on maintaining its public persona at the expense of chasing after its belongings. Though, it wasn’t wasting all this downtime. Since the Slyths demanded that Keira remain on the premises for her own safety, the shapeshifter had taken full advantage of their hospitality. It had them arrange for parts and materials to be delivered to the mansion so it could continue training its Artificer Job as well as a trainer to come in and quietly advance its Blade Dancer Job. It also regularly perused their surprisingly extensive library. Apparently, Samulus was something of a bookworm, so his wife had gathered all manner of exotic books as souvenirs before she retired from adventuring. The resulting collection was as vast and varied as it was useful, containing a great deal of information that wasn’t available in the Central Consortium’s knowledge base.

However, the more time Boxxy spent here, the less it could settle down. Despite the extremely convincing act, it was a monster with certain urges. While Keira’s meals and an extra helping of sunlight satiated its hunger, it still felt the drive to go kill, maim, and eat someone. Anyone, really, as long as it got to squeeze the life out of their body, feel their bloody flesh on its tongue, and shatter their bones between its teeth. The only way it could do that was if it-

“What you really want to do is go out there and get back to it.”

“… Sorry, what?”

Rowana’s sudden question left Boxxy momentarily flabbergasted and genuinely surprised. Had this dangerously insightful elf somehow discerned its true motives?

“Adventuring, I mean. You hate being cooped up in here with nothing to explore, right?”

It had clearly given her too much credit. Still, that shot in the dark wasn’t too far off, and since Rowana had already brought it up, Boxxy decided it might as well play along and put a guilty expression on Keira’s face.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Looks like dad was right on the money as usual.”

“Oh. Great,” the redhead frowned. “What did he say about me this time?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I have sharp ears, Rowie, and these walls aren’t as thick as he thinks.”

“Ah… Okay, yes, he has some… strong opinions, but he’s just being overprotective. And he does give me some genuine advice now and then.”

“Like what?”

“He’s told me many times what dating an adventurer was like. How you all have this… drive within you that demands you go out there and live dangerously, to get stronger or to make a difference. He warned me if I tried to tie you down, you’d only resent me.”

Samulus was speaking from first-hand experience, so his words carried extra weight. He probably intended to dissuade Rowana from getting too attached to Keira, but Boxxy’s grip on the elf’s heartstrings was far too tight. The father’s words of wisdom only made his daughter feel conflicted about her potentially overbearing but mostly reasonable requests. The only thing Boxxy needed to do to turn this to its advantage was utter the right words to really set the emotional woman off. Its devious mind flipped through several potential replies before it settled on something subtle and seemingly well-meaning.

“I’d never hate you, Rowie!” Keira insisted. “Sure, being forced to live here is a bit stifling, but it’s not all bad!”

“See?! You just admitted you think I’m forcing you to stay with me!”

“I didn’t mean-!”

“Yes, you did! Argh, I’m so stupid! This is all my fault!”

The woman threw herself back down onto the bed and curled up beneath the covers.

“C’mon, Rowie, don’t be like that,” Keira went over and sat next to the elf. “You haven’t done anything bad. You were just worried about me.”

“No… I wasn’t,” came the muffled reply. “Not really. You can handle yourself. I know that already. But I still made you promise to stick by my side even though you have things you want to do.”

“I’m telling you, it’s fine,” the redhead stroked her back over the covers. “What sort of girlfriend would I be if I just ignored you?”

“That’s just it! You went along with it not because you agreed with me, but because you felt you had to. Because we’re… together. I’ve been taking advantage of your feelings while ignoring your wishes. If that doesn’t make me a horrible person, I don’t know what does.”

Boxxy had to try extra hard not to laugh at this silly elf and her delusional melodrama. Her idea of a ‘horrible person’ was lacking in so, so many ways. Regardless, this was developing into an excellent opportunity. The elf was offering the shapeshifter a way out of this tedious social obligation without compromising its persona, and taking it was all too easy. Keira lied down next to the elf and hugged her over the covers. The gesture caught the emotional woman by surprise, making her fidget and yelp for a few seconds before she calmed down.

“I love you, Rowie, and nothing can change that. Knowing I have someone wonderful like you back home kept me going through the war. It helped me keep my senses when I was at those bastards’ mercy. Sometimes… I wonder if maybe I don’t deserve you.”

Boxxy was laying it on so thick that if anyone else was in the room they’d probably vomit.

“Only sometimes, though,” it gently stroked her through the cloth. “Besides, you were right to keep me here. Just because I don’t exactly show it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the break. I mean, my back’s gotten much better, and I already feel stronger.”

The Soulstone attached to Keira’s spine had shrunk to about three quarters of its original size, much to the relief of those around her. Apparently, the absorption rate was much faster than anticipated, which was lauded as good news. However, the ‘patient’ was less than reassured. Although the Resurrection Sickness had faded completely, the Soulbound perk was still present in Boxxy’s Status. What would happen to it once the alchemical gemstone completely dissipated?

The biggest issue was that the shapeshifter knew next to nothing about the Soulstone, and neither Rowana nor Samulus could identify it. It was completely in the dark about how vital the thing was to its reanimated existence. The only good news on that front was that Snack’s follow-up visit with Reggie revealed that the old ‘ganger’s network had uncovered a promising lead on the occult item’s long-term effects. If everything worked out, Boxxy wouldn’t have to wait long before it found out exactly what was going on with its body. If that plan fell through, it would have to take more extreme measures to assure its continued survival. Naturally, it recognized that it might be raising a fuss over nothing, but it knew better than to be optimistic about such things.

Whichever the case, it seemed the monster had about a month or two before the Soulstone completely vanished, so it had time.

“You-know-who has been really quiet lately, too,” continued Keira. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve been able to just rest and relax like this. I definitely needed it.”

A puffy-eyed Rowana peeked out from under the covers.

“So, you’re really not mad at me?”

“No! Of course not… Okay, maybe a little. I don’t feel right having random servants handle my undergarments. And I got so bored I started reading a book called ‘499 Ways to Prepare a Potato.’ I don’t even like books. Or potatoes! Would it have killed you to at least let me take a walk around town without getting your panties in a twist!? The only time I was allowed to leave the estate was for that award ceremony, and even then I was watched at all times! It’s like I was a prisoner out on a field trip!”

Keira suddenly pulled back with a hand on her mouth, plugging up the torrent of complaints. Like a burst dam, all the grievances she probably didn’t even realize she was holding back flooded out. At least, that was the impression Boxxy wanted to leave. It was important to validate Rowana’s concerns if she wanted to feel like ending this house arrest was her idea. Making her feel bad about it would also discourage her from trying something like this again in the future. Or so it hoped. The creature was far from an expert on psychology, but it felt it had a good handle on this woman’s personality.

“Sorry… I guess I went a bit stir crazy after being confined to this house for two weeks,” it added.

“I see that now, and I feel terrible about it. Should we just… go home and try to put all this behind us?”

Its plan worked beautifully.

“I would like that very much. To be honest, this place is way too big, and too busy. I’m actually starting to miss that cozy little shack we shared. Sure, the bed isn’t as comfy as this one, but at least I could make you moan all I want without the maids giving me funny looks. Though, watching you awkwardly try to explain yourself to them is kinda fun, too!”

“Keira! You’re horrible!” Rowana squealed while trying to stifle an inappropriate laugh.

“Hehehe! I’ll show you just how horrible I can be!”

“What are you- MMmpf?!”

The catgirl planted her lips on the elf and proceeded to pleasure her so much that she stained both their reputation and the bedsheets. This was Rowana’s ‘reward’ for finally acting in a way Boxxy agreed with. It often did this sort of positive reinforcement when training her. It found she was the type that reacted better to reward than punishment. Initially, it thought the tips and tricks contained in that Monster Tamer manual wouldn’t work on people, but it was glad it tried them anyway. Sure, it had to use a combination of Keira’s charm, its significant Charisma Attribute, and the Pheromone Control Skill to fill in the gaps, but it was steadily molding Rowana into a perfectly subservient puppet that would do what was expected of her without realizing she was being manipulated. Boxxy was aware just how hypocritical this approach was considering its extreme aversion to the Foundation’s plans for it. However, it didn’t care.

[Level up!]
[Congratulations, you are now a Level 36 Doppelganger! All Attributes +2.]

Its hard work was slowly paying off. At first glance, the Doppelganger XP it got from entangling the elf in its web of lies was insignificant. This was especially true when compared to the bursts of advancement it got from the aforementioned award ceremony, not to mention the bonus from killing Zilla. Those two events had left it 93% of the way past Level 35, and it had taken six days of interaction with the elf to reach this milestone. However, ‘harvesting’ Rowana and those around her provided Boxxy with a stable, constant ‘income’ of XP. The occasional jackpot was nice, too, but in the long term, the ruse was paying off much greater dividends for its Doppelganger Job.

Put into perspective, an entire crowd of strangers cheering for Keira for half an hour was equivalent to about two months of Rowana’s misplaced trust and affections. However, large-scale public events were exceedingly rare, potentially once-in-a-lifetime occurrences. They also invited jealousy and scorn from adventurers who thought the Hero of Chaos was getting too much credit, causing malicious rumors and baseless suspicions to circulate through the community. Boxxy didn’t know for sure, but it felt confident such gossip wasn’t helping its public source of Doppelganger Levels. So, focusing on the private sector – for lack of a better term – was its best bet to reach its next Rank Up.

All that said, the monster was starting to grow impatient and annoyed with its racial Job. It was making progress, but it was painfully slow., and there was no easy way to speed it up. Such was the nature of its species. Boxxy did what it could to accelerate the process, but had to give up on achieving a Rank Up until very far in the future. It would take several years at the least, maybe even a decade depending on how things worked out. That was multiple lifetimes from the perspective of a less-than-a-year-old monster. It was so far off that thinking about it was little more than a daydream, so the monster changed mental tracks back to ensuring it survived to see the fruits of its long con.

It was to that end that the monster found itself in the abandoned sewer tunnels deep beneath Azurvale later that afternoon.

“Greetings, my Master,” Snack bowed deeply. “I have been eagerly waiting for you.”

“You’ve done more than just wait by the look of things,” it remarked as it took in its surroundings.

The spider-chest-shaped creature wasn’t standing in a ruined, mostly-collapsed tunnel, but in a well-lit, luxurious hallway that looked like it belonged in a palace or a fortress. There was no muck or dirt anywhere, the polished stone floor was covered in a luxurious carpet, and various treasures adorned the walls. Statues of gold, silver, and mithril glistened while countless jewels and gems sparkled, all of them demanding to be held and caressed. Their combined radiance was so dizzyingly dazzling that Boxxy did not even know where to look.

“You did this for me?” it asked curiously.

“Yes, Master. Your servant has taken it upon herself to turn this despicable pit into a place worthy of your presence. I know it may be inadequate, but this is all I was capable of.”

Initiative like this wasn’t a bad thing in and of itself. In fact, the potential for this sort of proactive behavior was why Demonology-focused Warlocks were considered more flexible than Monster Tamers or Necromancers. It was the upside of having one’s magically-bound minions remain completely self-aware. The major downside was this free will meant they all had their own agendas, so indirect betrayal was a constant worry. Except for Boxxy, of course. It had earned its familiars’ respect and adoration while maintaining a firm grip on their personalities. Therefore, it wasn’t all that bothered with their selfish impulses most of the time.

However, this wasn’t one such occurrence.

“You stupid cunt!”

The arachnid box opened its lid, and a single tentacle shot out. It pierced the bowing djinn through the stomach. Light purple blood gushed all over the place. It pulled on her, whisking her away from where she was standing and slamming her into the stone floor with a wet splash. The djinn’s concentration shattered, and her mirage of a dazzling hallway shimmered out of existence to reveal the shithole of a tunnel that truly lied beneath the thin veneer of magic.

“I hate being lied to!”

“I’m- Hack! I’m sorry, Master!” Snack spat up blood. “I thought it would cheer you up!”

“You thought wrong, you worthless pile of shit!”

While Boxxy appreciated the sight of shiny things, it absolutely loathed fake shinies. Its Mana Locator Glad instantly saw through the djinn’s Conjure Mirage Skill, so it was only natural it would be pissed under these circumstances.

“What makes you think you have the right to think for yourself!?” it continued yelling at her. “You’re nothing but a slut whose entire purpose is to serve your master’s wishes! You exist for my pleasure, so don’t you dare try to get any more of these ‘ideas’ ever again!”

It speared her in the back with a second blade-tipped appendage, puncturing the area where her heart would be if she had one.

“Aaahnn! Yeesh, Mashter!” wailed Xera, tongue obscenely lolling out of her mouth. “I’m sshoooryyy!”

“No, you’re not! You’re incorrigible! A hopelessly lost cause! The only language you understand is pain and suffering! Lucky for you, I’m well versed in both, so prepare yourself for a lecture!”

The mimic-minded monster dragged the heavily injured demon into its open maw. Once locked inside the living chest, it subjected Xera to all manner of torturous pleasure as it ripped apart her flesh and invaded her insides through every available orifice. When it ran out of holes to stick things into, it made new ones, much to the perverted demon’s delight. The ex-succubus wasn’t the only one enjoying the act. Her Rank Up made her flesh even more delectable than before. Even the juices she squirted when she climaxed were almost as sweet as nectar. It was like her body – such as it was – had taken on properties that best pleased her beloved master upon her Rank Up.

Which was precisely what had happened.

Demons were beings forged from raw, unfiltered emotion, so the way they felt and their state of mind had a huge impact on how they developed. That was why summoning contracts were so important. While their conjured bodies were disposable, their experiences in the mortal realm helped shape and temper their psyches. Considering the types of thoughts that dominated Xera’s mind since she was bound to Boxxy, it was only natural she’d grow into a more sensitive body that boasted superior taste and shininess. That way she would not only solicit her master’s attention with greater ease but would savor every last drop of its tender cruelties.

“Damn, they’re really going at it in there,” commented Kora from off to the side. “It’s still pretty weird watching them get so into this roleplay stuff.”

Indeed, this whole ‘disagreement’ was all an act, part of Xera’s fantasies that Boxxy knowingly indulged. This was her big reward for diligently creating an opportunity for the shapeshifter to escape the Foundation with its life and Facade intact. Much like Rowana, Snack needed encouragement to do her best. With her it was much more direct, and the shapeshifter was enjoying the tasty, albeit not-very-filling, treat. It was definitely a win-win. It would’ve done this much earlier, but there simply wasn’t a good opportunity to do so until now.

“Grrr, now I wanna do it, too!” grumbled Kora. “Hey bug eyes, come here and let me stick it in your silk hole!”

“Hnn, hnnn, mmmm.”

The only response was a stream of Drea’s muffled moans coming from somewhere in the surrounding darkness. The stalker had already given into her voyeuristic tendencies and was pleasuring herself in earnest, focusing on Xera’s ecstatic screams and moans while ignoring the fiend’s comments. While her two co-contractors were enjoying themselves, the six-armed meathead was left with nothing but a pair of uncomfortable boners she couldn’t take care of. She could theoretically self-service herself like Drea, but she wouldn’t be satisfied unless she busted a nut inside someone else’s ass. She was remiss asking Boxxy for help, since she would automatically turn into the bottom-bitch, which was very much not on her to-do list.

*Ring ring*

Her frustration was momentarily put on hold when a familiar jingle echoed through her thick skull.

*Click*

“Yeah?”

“Hey, Koralenteprix. Carl from Demons ‘R’ Us here. Listen, you got another one of your, uh, special assignments waiting. I already cleared it up with your boss, so all I need is confirmation from you and you’re good to go.”

“Thank you, Alejandro!” she exclaimed with a six-fold first pump.

“What about me, eh?” prodded the devil on the line.

“You too, Carl! You’re the best agent I’ve ever had!”

“I’m the only agent you’ve ever had.”

“Oh, don’t sweat the small stuff. Anyway, can you tell whatsherface I’m all set?”

“Right-o. Standby.”

*Click*

Less than 3 seconds later, Kora disappeared in a flash of light and a small popping sound. The covenant formed between the Goddess of Justice and Demons ‘R’ Us facilitated the easy, energy-efficient transfer of a very specific demonic entity into her divine space. The entity would then proceed to double-penetrate the Goddess and fuck her brains out. Such acts were an important part of Teresa’s rehabilitation. While she was the amalgamation of her followers’ prayers, wishes, and thoughts, she was still her own person. Recent events had put a lot of stress on her, and her followers could subconsciously feel it through their connection to the Goddess. So, to avoid a feedback loop, Teresa had to unwind regularly via the time-honored tradition of having her pipes cleaned. If not, there was a very real risk of her relapsing into her bad habits.

The whole thing seemed idiotic and puerile to Jeoffrey, the God of Extenuating Circumstances, yet he couldn’t argue with the results. The Goddess was keeping to the straight and narrow, making sure to properly guide her flock back onto the right path. She was also quite honest with herself, evidenced by the way she moaned and panted during her sessions with Kora. Obviously, she had recently rescinded the mandatory oaths of celibacy required of her servants as a direct result of the archfiend’s twin-headed influence. Once she was done administering her ‘medicine,’ Kora would be sent back to the physical realm without inconveniencing Boxxy.

Well, that still meant she would be absent for an hour or two, but judging from how the shapeshifter was going at it, it would be a while longer before it needed her for the assault on the Dryad’s Domain anyway.

Part Two

Having had their fill of frivolous activity, Boxxy and its demonic entourage finally ventured into Ambrosia’s trunk. Oddly enough, the hole in the root was left open. The dryad could have closed it up in an instant if she so willed it. She also had to be aware of the cavity, which wasn’t always a given. It was easy for Ambrosia to overlook such openings since they were indescribably tiny compared to the rest of her colossal tree. However, she knew full well about this particular, hollowed-out root since Boxxy and its entourage had been using it ever since the shapeshifter barged into her trunk. In other words, Ambrosia had gone against her usual habits and left that ‘service entrance’ wide open. The shapeshifter didn’t know why, though it had a feeling it was about to find out.

[You have entered the Dryad’s Domain.]
[Your body begins to feed off the ambient mana. Automatic HP and MP recovery increased by 100%.]

The monster passed through the invisible border of its former lair as it and its posse progressed through the tight, winding cavity of Ambrosia’s root. Its Hylt Metabolism Skill kicked in almost immediately, recognizing the abnormally high concentration of mana maintained by the crystal core. It was Boxxy’s first time literally eating the ambient mystical energy around it. The sensations unquestionably leaned towards the positive end of the tastiness scale, but it wasn’t quite as tasty as the monster hoped. It couldn’t help but raise its expectations after being pleasantly surprised by the ‘flavor’ of sunlight and was feeling a tad disappointed.

The monster rapidly discarded such idle thoughts when it noticed a change in the cramped passageway. At first, it was so tight that Arms could not physically fit inside, so she was left outside for the moment. It should have been like that all the way through, yet the tunnel had been growing steadily wider ever since the group crossed into the dungeon’s territory. It was now large enough for Snack to stand upright rather than crawl on all fours in front of Boxxy. She still dragged herself across the floor, but that was mostly because she wasn’t right in the head.

It wasn’t just the size of it. What was once a narrow tunnel carved out by hungry termites had become a proper hallway. It was still made of raw timber, but it now had right angles and flat surfaces. It even had lights in the shape of glowing plant bulbs hanging from the walls at regular intervals. The hallway eventually led to what appeared a grand, circular staircase going straight up. It was grown entirely out of wood and bark with a few errant branches and leaves poking out of the central column it coiled around. Much like the illuminated tunnel, this was neither a natural formation nor something Boxxy remembered being there. Granted, it had been a while since it used the sewer entrance, but it was certain it wouldn’t have forgotten placing those.

“Did any of you remodel this part of the dungeon at some point?”

Boxxy’s inquiry was met with three near-simultaneous variations of ‘No, Master,’ though it suspected as much. It wasn’t in a demon’s nature to do anything remotely resembling labor unless ordered to, and that particular trio had been spoiled rotten by their summoner. It couldn’t have been Fizzy either since she never had the authority to use the core’s Terrain Sculpting, leaving Ambrosia as the only one who could have made the stairs and passage. Figuring out who was responsible was easy enough, but what really bothered Boxxy was the ‘why.’ What possible reason would the dryad have to make her innards slightly more accessible? Did she go a bit mad after she was left in charge of a dungeon without an owner? Or was the core itself somehow influencing her decisions?

[Proficiency level increased. Hylt Metabolism is now Level 3. END +5. INT +3.]
[Automatic HP and MP recovery increased by an additional 50%.]

Questions without answers weren’t tasty, so Boxxy decided to look on the bright side of things for once. The extra space was more than enough to accommodate Arms, so it summoned her. It had to dump over half of its MP to do so, but that was hardly an issue given the ridiculous rate at which it recharged. Furthermore, this ‘lobby’ posed no apparent danger, so the shapeshifter took this opportunity to prepare a generous amount of Spell Crystals. With the monstrous quartet back together and Boxxy’s combat preparations completed, the group started ascending the staircase.

“Master?” Xera spoke up. “Forgive this worthless slut, but isn’t this part oddly familiar?”

“Is it?” Boxxy paused and looked around.

“Indeed. I am not certain where, Master, but I have a feeling I’ve been someplace similar. Recently, too.”

“I don’t see it.”

“Uhh… Actually, now that the Dong Raider said it,” Kora scratched her head, “I’m pretty sure we climbed a whole lotta stairs in that black tower. You know, the one with whatsherface. The dead slut. Vagisil or something?”

“Oh! I know!” Drea declared from the ceiling. “The raid on the Spire of the Jade King with the nasty lich, Valeria! That was a really good episode.”

“For being a bunch of idiots, you’re actually right,” Boxxy agreed. “Something tells me this isn’t a coincidence, either.”

*Shreeektktktktktktktktktkt*

Relentless chittering noises closed in on the group from both in front and behind, proving the monster’s hunch. Much like its last dungeon raid, this spiral staircase was also the site of an ambush. The trap was identical except for the aesthetic. Rather than crystal scarabs crawling over onyx slabs, the group was beset upon by dog-sized termites that scraped their way across smooth timber. Boxxy wasn’t familiar with this particular strain of bugs, as they were quite different from the common vermin that plagued Ambrosia’s bark. Their coloration was a putrid green and their mandibles dripped with venom so potent that it ate its way through the wooden steps. These toxic insects were likely created by the dungeon purely to serve this trap.

Even if they were an especially dangerous variant of termites, they were still mere termites. When the insect horde came face-to-box with the primary intruder, they found themselves paralyzed by fear, unable to advance. Despite the core’s influence, the lesser creatures couldn’t help but question exactly what they were trying to do. The spider-legged chest in front of them had a certain air which made their survival instincts scream for them to run, overpowering the foreign urge to throw themselves at the intruder.

The one responsible for their sudden and extreme loss of nerve was Xera. Upon her initial visit, the former succubus killed an absurd number of these mites’ more common cousins. Since she was her master’s familiar, the feat added a certain Perk to Boxxy’s Status.

[Natural Enemy of Termites]
Repetition is the mother of learning. Especially when it comes to extermination.
Requirements: Kill more than 20,000 termites.
[Effects]
Increases all damage dealt to termite monster species by 10%.
Killing a termite invigorates you, restoring 2% of max HP and MP.

Faced with what they perceived to be the antithesis of their entire species, the basic, mindless insects couldn’t help but hesitate. Boxxy had no such qualms. It took advantage of this opportunity to develop a Job it had neglected for a while. The chest’s lid opened up, and a jeweled mithril was flung up into the air. It spun around precisely three times before falling squarely into its owner’s grip, the monster having already assumed Keira’s form.

“Winterlich Waltz!”

It carved through six of the dumbfounded insects with a single slash of its ice-imbued weapon, turning them into a dozen abstract ice sculptures. Having been dealt the initial blow, the vermin finally snapped out of their trance. The dungeon core suppressed their survival instincts, allowing the overpowering urge to repel all invaders to reassert itself. The bugs flung themselves at the group all at once, setting off a one-sided massacre. Boxxy’s chilling swordplay made short work of all the bugs as it gracefully rampaged its way up the staircase. The ones crawling up from below fared no better. They were either crushed underneath Kora’s fists and heels, skewered and gobbled up by Drea’s gluttonous maw, or turned to cinders by Xera’s flames.

The ‘ambush’ was stomped with minimal difficulty, providing barely enough to advance Boxxy’s Blade Dancer Job to Level 27. The monster also gained a negligible bit of Warlock XP, barely gaining 1% progress towards the next Level. It was also positively bursting with energy and vitality, and its minions had suffered barely any damage. Since the dungeon had made the first move, Boxxy and the group picked up the pace as they ascended the stairs. They arrived at the top in less than a minute, the way forward blocked by a massive wooden door with glowing, golden letters. The sign read, ‘A goblin, a squirrel, and a bird are racing up a pine tree. Which one of them will reach the apple at the top first?’

“… Is this a joke?” Xera scoffed indignantly.

“No, it’s a riddle,” Boxxy corrected her. “Looks like a Puzzle Door.”

“Why would she put one of those up?” Drea voiced her master’s concern.

“We can ask her after we get through. Stand aside!”

The djinn floated up to the front of the group and charged her magic.

“Scorching-!”

*THWACK*

*THUD*

Boxxy kicked her in the back of the head, interrupting her Spell and slamming her face into the Puzzle Door.

“Don’t do unnecessary things, you dumb slut,” it snarled. “These are impossible to breach with brute force.”

The monster vaguely remembered the object’s specifications from the dungeon core’s Trap Construction menu. The obstacle would only open after giving the right answer or password. On the other hand, if one answered incorrectly or tried to break it down the hard way, it would spring some nasty surprise or trap. Boxxy’s MLG didn’t pick up anything suspicious in its surroundings, but it knew better than to trust a fully-fledged dungeon’s malleable terrain.

“We just have to answer the riddle, right?” Kora confirmed. “That’s easy! The answer is obviously the goblin!”

“Squirrels are faster and nimbler than goblins,” Drea argued.

“Nonsense,” declared Xera after the brief yet enjoyable bout of punishment. “A bird can fly. It doesn’t have to climb at all.”

“Maybe, but goblins are nasty little buggers,” the fiend insisted. “It would kill both of them right at the start!”

The three of them argued back and forth for a while. Thankfully, they were using the mental link between them and their master, so their bickering didn’t cause any sort of reaction. Boxxy quickly determined they were all idiots. It stood in front of the door in Keira’s shape and uttered three simple words.

“None of them.”

The golden lettering on the double doors glowed intensely for a moment then slowly opened outward while the three demons looked on in confusion. Boxxy didn’t need to be a mind reader to tell they were all wondering how that made any sense.

“Apples don’t grow on pine trees.”

After pointing out this rather obvious fact, it calmly crossed through the doors while the trio of girls followed in various states of dissatisfaction. Xera was, as expected, getting off on being shown to be inferior to her Master. Kora, on the other hand, was pissed she got one-upped by an inanimate object, and Drea was ashamed she fell for that trick question.

They didn’t have much time to lament on the event, since the large chamber beyond the Puzzle Door was filled with dozens of treants. The monsters bore the appearance of four-to-five-meter-tall tree-people and were known for their high durability and slow, but devastating attacks. They were covered in some type of parasitic purple vines and flowers that enveloped most of their upper bodies. They spat out poisonous spores which had a severe numbing and muscle-relaxant effect. Anyone that breathed those in would find themselves less capable of dodging the treants’ massive attacks and end up nothing but a bloody smear on the ground.

At least that was what might happen to a normal group of unprepared adventurers.

Kora’s idiocy-powered muscles and Drea’s sticky threads distracted the lumbering creatures, allowing Boxxy and Xera to easily annihilate them with their combined magic. The infested treants lasted for only about a minute before they were reduced to flaming splinters. The toxic spores in the air lingered, but the djinn’s Purge Spell counteracted their effects. These purifying flames burned away all poisons, infections, and diseases from an ally’s body while instantly cauterizing any open wounds. Its only drawback was that it caused a bit of fire damage, but Boxxy and its minions were beefy enough to render it a non-issue.

The immediate threat dealt with, the monstrous party made their way deeper into the dungeon. They were met with a series of chambers much like the first, each holding its own challenge. Most of them were full of monsters that were plant-like, venomous, or both. A few of the rooms were Puzzle Doors, but their riddles were so basic that Boxxy had either heard of them before or solved them instantly. The only conundrum that gave it trouble wasn’t a poor attempt at a brainteaser, but a historical question regarding the Elven Dominion of old. The shapeshifter did not have the answer. Surprisingly enough, Drea was able to step up and provide the solution. Apparently, she had firsthand experience with the ancient war the Puzzle Door asked about, having participated in it on behalf of a previous master.

The most frustrating parts of the dungeon quickly proved to be the trap rooms. The invading party had to traverse giant moving sawblades and guillotines, spike floors, dart traps, teleportation sigils, pitfalls, and other nasty obstacles. They were incredibly annoying to get past, at least from the demons’ perspective. All Boxxy had to do was throw the three of them at these booby-trapped corridors over and over until they were beaten either by Xera’s Mist Form, Kora’s pigheadedness, or, most commonly, Drea’s superior agility and reflexes. After a demon made it through to the other side, Boxxy just needed to Transfamiliar to the exit and move on.

Overall, the revamped Dryad’s Domain wasn’t any more difficult than the Spire of the Jade King in terms of monster strength, but it was quite a bit more annoying. Traps and inane Puzzle Doors aside, the dungeon’s layout was an incomprehensible three-dimensional maze. The connecting doors and passages seemed to shift around at set intervals of about forty minutes, making a mess of Boxxy’s mental map of the place in the process.

It wasn’t that big a deal, though. Its Hylt Metabolism reached Level 4, so Boxxy was enjoying an overall boost of 250% to its MP recovery rate when combined with its Level 5 Meditation. This drastically shortened the necessary downtime between demonic summons. It didn’t need to worry about sustenance despite the hours-long dungeon expedition, proving this Skill was exactly what Boxxy imagined it would be. Namely, an invaluable tool for conquering dungeons and plundering all the loot left behind by the gods.

Indeed, that seemed to be the whole point of dungeons. Or so Boxxy had discerned based on the volumes upon volumes of books it read during its short hiatus. Dungeons were intended to challenge enlightened adventurers in various ways, allowing a relatively safe and controlled way for them to get stronger and richer. Of course, there was some measure of danger and risk. Members of Terrania’s pantheon did not have a habit of coddling their followers. If the mortals wanted to obtain the obscene amounts of treasure and powerful magic items hidden within these divine proving grounds, they had to earn them through blood, sweat, and sacrifice. The goal behind this practice was something of a mystery, though it was widely believed it was simply the gods’ way of spurring the gifted enlightened to reach greater heights. This notion was supported by the little-known fact that some deities – most notably Axel, the God of War and Combat – used their dungeons as a means of testing Hero candidates.

However, that had nothing to do with the Dryad’s Domain. Its previous owner wasn’t some deity in dire need of entertainment, but a devious monster that required a secure lair. Boxxy had lost those privileges with its passing, which meant that they must have defaulted to Ambrosia. If that was the case, why would she bother to set up a whole dungeon? The shapeshifter could think of no plausible incentive, motive, or reason the dryad would have to go through all this trouble. Furthermore, why hadn’t she shown herself? Boxxy had made a personal appearance knowing full well the dungeon core would notify its owner of the intrusion. It would coax Ambrosia out into the open, and she’d surely want to exchange some words with the monster that had suddenly become a huge part of her life before dying and coming back to life. It wasn’t the sort of thing anyone would ignore. Yet, the buxom bushel of a broad was nowhere to be seen despite Boxxy’s best attempts to get a reaction out of her by ploughing through her maze-like dungeon.

Still, the monster had no better alternatives, so it pressed forward. It delved deeper and deeper into the Dryad’s Domain, meticulously dismantling the relatively pitiful challenges the place threw at it. After a five-hour slog, it managed to reach the innermost chamber – the platform above which the dungeon core was suspended. What was once an outcropping in a colossal cavern made of timber had become something akin to a balcony. Now that Boxxy’s group was outside the endless series of chambers, they could observe what appeared to be hundreds of giant wooden cubes taking up the formerly empty space within Ambrosia’s hollowed out trunk. As an aspiring Artificer, the shapeshifter recognized their modular design. The dungeon likely shuffled these things around at random, hence the shifting layout. It seemed to still be expanding, given how new rooms were slowly but surely taking shape along the outer and upper edges of the complex.

The source of all this hustle and bustle was the same as Boxxy left it. The dungeon core glowed like a miniature sun as it hovered within its magically affixed position, gently pulsing with waves of reality-warping magic. The shapeshifter looked around but saw no sign of Ambrosia or any other signs of life, demonic company excluded. It wasn’t sure what to do, so it leapt up to the two-meter-wide crystal orb. It landed on top of the core, which flashed the instant Boxxy’s arachnid limbs touched down on its smooth surface.

[You are now the owner of dungeon core PT-5484-BM.]
[Dungeon core PT-5484-BM will now cease autonomous management of Dryad’s Domain.]

As if recognizing its rightful owner had come home, the crystal ball immediately linked up with Boxxy. The shapeshifter was severely taken aback by this unexpected turn of events. It assumed it would need to dislodge the core and take it out of here to reclaim it, same as when it first stole it from Goroth’s dungeon. Come to think of it, the thing was surprisingly eager to latch onto the monster back then, too. That surely wouldn’t be the case here. Unless, of course…

“Dungeon Management!”

Having recovered from the shock, Boxxy wasted no time in checking in on its reclaimed hideout.

[Dungeon Management]
[Core ID # PT-5484-BM]
Active (Dryad’s Domain)
Owned by Boxxy T. Morningwood
Managed by [ENTITY NOT FOUND]
100% Integrity
241/20,000 MP (+1.6/sec)

[Basic Functions]
Dungeon Expansion – Active
Item Allocation – Active
Mana Collection – Active
Monster Spawner – Active
Surveillance Net – Active

[Advanced Features]
Guardian Assignment – Ready
Nexus Access – Ready
Prison Management – Ready
Terrain Sculpting – Ready
Trap Construction – Ready

It would appear that Ambrosia wasn’t the one responsible for this dungeon after all. She was neither the dungeon master nor its owner, apparently having chosen to completely ignore the orphaned core. With nobody to tell it what to do, the core had begun generating a dungeon in accordance with some kind of internal schematics and patterns. That was why all those rooms looked so… repetitive and uninspired, and also why that staircase at the start was so eerily similar to the one in the Spire of the Jade King. The core’s autonomous mode must have dug up the design from its internal records and implemented it here. It had even recognized the hole in the sewer roots as the dungeon’s ‘entrance’ and modeled it accordingly. Quite impressive for a mindless lump of magic and logic.

All of this was enlightening, but failed to answer Boxxy’s main question.

“Ambrooooosiaaaaaa!”

The creature bellowed from atop the core, its powerful voice echoing as it spread through the cavernous cavity.

“Where! Are! My! Shinieees!?”

There was no response, as if talking to a corpse. This was exceptionally frustrating. The monster desperately wanted its stashed collection back. It knew for a fact it wasn’t where it left it, since it and the others had happened upon the place where its secret vault was. Or, rather, Boxxy had purposefully moved in that direction as it navigated the three-dimensional maze. While it was overjoyed to find the interior more or less untouched by the automated renovation, the previously sealed off treasure room had wide open doors and an empty shiny pit.

“Uh, Master?” Drea spoke up.

“What?!” it snapped back.

“Maybe the dungeon collected them while it was in autonomous mode?”

“… Dungeon Management: Item Allocation.”

A gigantic list with hundreds upon hundreds of items suddenly appeared in Boxxy’s consciousness.

“Well, what do you know. Good work, Claws.”

“Ehehehe! I got praised!”

The stalker bounced in place with her clawed hands on her cheeks from all the excitement. Although that ‘good work’ seemed a bit too casual to be sincere, it was actually quite significant when considering the half-assed compliment’s source. In fact, it was among the nicest things Boxxy had ever said to Drea, so she couldn’t help but feel giddy about it. Xera was a tiny bit jealous. After all, she had gotten plenty of ‘compliments’ during the hours-long ‘punishment’ prior to entering the dungeon. In fact, it had been so thorough and satisfying she still couldn’t walk straight at times. She wasn’t hurt or injured. It was simply so fresh in her mind she’d still get unbelievably aroused just thinking about it. She was raring to go for another round here and now, but the chances of that happening were quite literally zero.

It would seem her Rank Up had not only amplified the transmitted sensations but also made her even more insatiable than before.

Even with its possessions and dungeon reclaimed, Boxxy was still… incomplete. Ambrosia’s ongoing silence was more than a little disturbing. It did not want to give up on her, and not only because it set up camp inside her body. It legitimately missed her. Rather, it missed the exquisite cuisine and mouth-watering nectar she fed it daily, but that was more or less the same thing. Thankfully, as it idly went over the list of things tucked away in the dungeon core’s Item Allocation banks, it came across something almost nostalgic. Something that not only helped it grasp what had happened in its absence, but also provided a way of getting the reclusive dryad’s attention.

Armed with this epiphany, it instructed the dungeon core to withdraw the item in question from its extradimensional storage. This caused a round, apple-sized object to materialize in front of it, where it lay hovering in the air. It was a sphere of dark orange amber, its surface flawlessly smooth and highly transparent. A single, bright pink flower with seven large petals could be seen trapped inside the resin as if it were suspended in time. Boxxy morphed into its base creeper form, plucked the object from the air with its right hand, hopped down from its perch atop the core, and called out in a commanding voice:

“Mater est opus vobis!”

*FWOOOOM*

The Elder Dryad’s Authority in its hand let out a blinding white light, outshining even the dungeon core. Unlike last time, Boxxy had invoked the item’s magic on purpose and had its eyes closed, lest it roll around on the ground blind and screaming. Its familiars weren’t as forewarned. Regardless, it waited a few seconds for the amber sphere to fulfill its function and dim its light show before it opened its eyes back up. However, unlike the time at Fort Yimin, there were no dryads to be found.

Or, at least, not quite yet.

*GROOOOOOOOOOHN*

A heavy tone echoed through the cavern as the insides of the hylt tree’s titanic trunk began to bloom. Multi-colored flowers and unreasonably long grasses sprouted from the floor. Vines adorned with fresh leaves descended from on high. Branches popped out from the walls, creating a canopy within the dungeon’s interior. Then, immediately in front of Boxxy, Ambrosia’s antler-adorned head rose halfway out of the ground, almost as if she were a diver peeking out of the ocean water. Her eyes fluttered open and took in the scenery before her. She looked up at the doppelganger before her, the spent orb in its hand, the three demons silently writhing nearby, and finally met Boxxy’s gaze.

Once she confirmed the parties present, the rest of her quickly rose from the grass-covered floor. The lower half of her face was turned into a displeased frown that matched the cold, scornful look in her eyes. Her arms were crossed in front of her massive bosom, and she had put most of her weight on her back leg. Toe-to-tip, this was clearly a woman who was not in a good mood.

“Hello, Ambrosia.”

Boxxy took the initiative and spoke first, prompting the plant lady to momentarily raise an eyebrow before returning to her frown. The shapeshifter had reverted to its base form since it knew the dryad preferred this one, but it clearly wasn’t doing much to appease her.

“Thou art supposed to be dead,” she said in a low voice.

“I was.”

“Then how art thou standing before me?”

“I got better.”

“‘Tis a joke to thee?!” the dryad’s anger burst forth. “Thou foul-mouthed slave barged into my home and set mine insides on fire!”

A torrent of complaints streamed out of Ambrosia as she steadily drew closer to Boxxy.

“Then, thy tricked me with thine promises and made me do things I never would have thought myself capable of!”

The plants around her grew out rampantly with every word uttered, rapidly transforming the indoor meadow to an untamed jungle.

“Then thou suddenly got thyself killed without a single word of farewell!”

Her glowing emerald eyes were fixated on Boxxy with such intensity one would think she was trying to burn a hole through its head.

“And then thou still hast the gall to show thy face-thing and act like not a thing has happened?!”

By this point, she had gotten so close to the unflinching shapeshifter that she was one step short of having their foreheads bump into each other.

“Well?! What doth thou have to say for thyself?!”

“It is good to see you again, Ambrosia.”

Boxxy didn’t budge. It remained firmly rooted in place and spoke with a calm voice. Its casual attitude seemed to further enrage the dryad, as she opened her mouth and bared her teeth. Her lips quivered under the strain of emotions welling up within her until she could bear it no more, and snapped. She lunged forward, wrapping her arms around the creature and pressing it tightly against herself. She rapidly kissed its bald scalp as she smothered its face between her pillowy breasts, a sad smile on her face while the shapeshifter stood there and let it happen.

“‘Tis good to see thee as well, Boxxy of the Morning Woods.”

No matter how much she wanted to, Ambrosia couldn’t bring herself to hate Boxxy. Sure, it technically tried to enslave her via the dungeon core, but at the same time it still treated her with respect. It helped her out as much as it could, only asking for seemingly trivial things in return and never presuming to force her into anything she wouldn’t have freely offered. Even after she had broken free of her role as dungeon master and looked back at the past several months with a critical eye, she still found an overwhelming amount of joy in the very brief time she spent with this bizarre creature. In fact, the only blemish on those good times stemmed from the fact that she was ‘politely informed’ of the dungeon core’s influence by Fizzy. She wanted desperately to forget that part, so in the future she may freely indulge in the warm feeling of basking in those fragments of the past. That was why she went to sleep. For the same reason that all dryads slumbered.

Ambrosia wanted to sleep so that she would not mourn. It was something she had done with relative regularity, as Boxxy was far from the only mortal fleshling she had gotten attached to over the millennia. However, this one was special. It was the first time Ambrosia had felt such a deep, genuine connection to another being. She saw their bond as something forged through mutual understanding and respect, one that she could not bring herself to sever even if it meant her heart would suffer the pain of loss. She had literally engraved Boxxy’s words onto her heartwood to have a permanent record of its existence. She wanted to remember what mattered most.

Incidentally, it was also why the shapeshifter remained calm the entire time. While surveying its surroundings atop the shiny core, it managed to spot the literal writing on the wall. The one on the other side of the dungeon core platform. The one that ended in a line of Divine words that were not there before. Words which described a certain wish. And although Boxxy was not able to read it completely, it still managed to grasp its meaning.

‘Rest well, my child, and I pray that thy future lives be as fulfilling as the one thou hath given me.’

Part Three

After thirty minutes of hugging Boxxy and stroking its gangly head, the busty dryad seemed to have had her fill of skinship for the moment. She released the doppelganger and took a few steps back, taking on a much sterner expression.

“This profane object in thy back… is how thou were brought back to this mortal coil?”

“Yes. It’s called a Soulstone. Do you know anything about it?”

Ambrosia shook her head.

“I do not. But I do not like this foul sensation it gives off.”

It made sense that something used to violate a Taboo wouldn’t be of much liking to a semi-divine being. Still, it wasn’t like Boxxy lugged it along because it wanted to.

“Please bear with it. It may be the only thing keeping me alive.”

“Thou can always try bathing in mine Waters of Life…” she offered with a pang of hope in her voice.

“I’d rather not. It may cause a bad reaction.”

Plus, using her curative fluids would sap away at the creature’s life force and reduce its lifespan. At least, that’s what it surmised happened with all those ingredients that expired of seemingly natural causes after mere weeks of being forcefully kept alive. That thought also reminded Boxxy that it would likely need to fetch new ones. The Prison Management module had reset itself in its absence, leaving all of its captive meat donors to expire from hunger and thirst. It would seem the core’s autonomous mode did not understand the concept of keeping one’s meals fresh.

That aside, the shapeshifter determined it was probably time to address the elephant in the room.

“The dungeon core… I don’t suppose you would be willing to become its dungeon master again?” it asked.

“No. I do not think that is an option anymore.”

“Are you sure? We won’t be able to communicate over long distances otherwise.”

Ambrosia very much wanted that function back. She desperately wanted the ability to chat with Boxxy at any given time regardless how far away it was since, as a tree-bound spirit, she could not join it on its adventures. She also sorely missed those night-long language lessons. Not only did they show her the joy of teaching those that wished to learn, but seeing her surrogate child’s progress filled her with a sense of pride and accomplishment.

“Truthfully, I would love to be able to reach out to milord at any time. However, I am now aware of that object’s manipulations. Even if I wanted to be put under its spell again, mine inner self would not allow it.”

“That’s alright. We’ll figure something out.”

The Item Allocation module could create dungeon-related items through magic, so perhaps there was some sort of communicator. Alternatively, finding a subservient monster to use as a proxy dungeon master was also an option. Boxxy just needed to make sure that the proxy would not follow in the dryad’s footsteps and escape the dungeon’s control. Naturally, it raised the question of what exactly Ambrosia did to get out of her contract.

“How did you break free of it in the first place?”

“Once I found out I was being controlled, I simply willed the connection broken, and it was so.”

That was hardly unexpected. Even if the crystal ball was a marvelous tool with a plethora of impressive functions, it had its limits. And keeping an ancient being of Ambrosia’s caliber shackled against her will was well beyond that. It was why Boxxy had taken every precaution it could think of to not let her even suspect she was being influenced in the first place. That strategy had seemingly failed in its original purpose, but had worked to endear Ambrosia to Boxxy’s presence all the same, so the monster wouldn’t complain too much. Still, it would be prudent to analyze its mistake and make sure it didn’t happen with Ambrosia’s replacement.

“How did you realize it was messing with your head?”

“Thine servant Fizzy told me. Right after I denied her access to thine collection.”

“She did, did she? Hmm… Wait, you didn’t hurt her or anything, did you?!”

“No, milord. I merely flushed her out of mine trunk.”

“Oh. Right, of course.”

Boxxy felt silly for that outburst. It had, as Keira, heard through word of mouth that the Rustblood Juggernaut departed for Horkensaft Kingdom after the two of them had a bad falling out. That was putting it mildly, as very few relationships persisted after one party died. Come to think of it, its death probably annulled that oath of servility she made way back when, much like how its contracts were severed. That was… not exactly tasty, but the important thing was that the shiny golem had survived Ambrosia’s eviction.

However, the expression the dryad made gave the doppelganger pause. Being a millennia-long shut-in meant she was never very good at hiding her emotions, so the reluctance and guilt plastered on her face was painfully obvious.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” it pressed.

“… I also ended up flushing the vast majority of thine treasured shinies into the tunnels beneath mine roots,” admitted the dryad.

“You what?! Why?!”

“I was outraged at thy deceptions and saddened at thy passing in equal measure, and I acted rashly. After I calmed mineself, I realized the folly of mine actions and went out to gather milord’s precious mementos with all haste. I wanted to treasure them and keep them safe for all eternity, but this damnable sphere swallowed them up.”

She threw the dungeon core behind her a hateful glance before turning her attention back to Boxxy.

“Left with naught but sadness and regret, all that was left for me was to sleep, lest mine branches and leaves wilt as a result of mine sorrow. Which has been all but washed away by the torrent of joy that flowed within me when I heard thee call out to me, milord. I do not think I have ever roused from my slumber as quickly.”

The dryad ended her story with a sweet smile and a slightly darker shade of green on her cheeks.

“You don’t have to call me that anymore, you know,” Boxxy pointed out.

“I know. However, milord is milord. It hath become a habit, I dare say.”

The shapeshifter shrugged. It never really cared for that title, but it didn’t particularly mind it either. It also seemed like a bad idea to argue with a millennia-old sentient tree over something as trivial as a nickname.

“Do I have permission to continue operating my dungeon inside your trunk?”

“I shall allow this, so long as milord lets me pamper thee every now and then for mine own satisfaction.”

The pampering would probably include copious cuddling, breast feeding, and incomprehensibly delicious cuisine. Boxxy found two of those three things particularly delicious, so this was really a no-brainer.

“Works for me!” it declared.

“I would also appreciate it if milord were to clear up all this… clutter.”

Ambrosia gestured towards all the three-dimensional maze of rooms and traps the dungeon core had constructed while it was still orphaned.

“Leave it to me.”

Boxxy turned its gaze towards the trio of demons who were quietly sitting on standby this entire time, just as they were ordered.

“And by ‘me’ I of course mean ‘you three.’ I want this entire place put back the way I left it as soon as possible. You are to listen to Ambrosia’s requests and directions if she feels something needs to be adjusted. Do I make myself clear?”

Kora raised three of her arms as if asking permission to speak.

“No, Arms, you may not throat-fuck the dryad.”

Only to be immediately shot down by her Master.

“Not unless she wants to,” it added.

“I most certainly do not,” Ambrosia affirmed, shooting Kora a murderous glare. “Actually, does milord mind if I borrow this unruly child for a bit?”

“Not really. She’s the most irresponsible of the lot anyway. Do what you will with her.”

A half dozen thick, thorny vines shot out from the walls and wrapped themselves around each of the archfiend’s wrists.

“Come, rutting creature,” said the dryad, a dangerous glint in her eye. “I believe it is time to discipline you!”

“Oh… Fuuuuuuuuuuuuu-”

Kora was flung upwards with frightening speeds, disappearing into the darkness high above the dungeon core as her voice echoed into the distance.

“She… Ktktktktkt, she won’t do anything weird to me, right?!” asked Drea nervously.

Ambrosia threw her a reassuring smile.

“Fret not, jittery one. Thou hast always been a good child, so I have no qualms with thee.”

“Phew…”

“What about me?!” Xera was disturbingly eager. “Those thorny vines looked really-”

“Why are you still here?!” roared Boxxy. “I gave you orders! Do them now!”

“Yes, Master!”

The two demons replied in unison and darted off towards the giant, box-covered part of the hollowed-out tree trunk. Using their respective Dungeon Management screens gained through virtue of being their Master’s soulbound servants, they began demolishing the unsightly structures and getting rid of all the monsters and traps. As they did so, Boxxy opened up the Item Allocation menu once again while simultaneously taking a rolled-up piece of parchment out of its Storage.

“Milord? What is that?” asked Ambrosia curiously.

“It’s a list of all my stuff.”

“Did thou always have such a thing?”

“No, but I had an annoying amount of downtime recently, so I made it to keep myself busy,” it explained as it unrolled the unreasonably long parchment. “Which is good, because I need to make sure nothing’s missing.”

“I see. However, art thou certain of this manifesto’s accuracy? I know milord is an exceptional individual, but the items in thine hoard easily numbered in the thousands…”

“10,269 to be exact.”

It showed Ambrosia its list, and the dryad’s eyes went wider and wider with each line she skimmed across. Each item had been recorded with its name, a brief description, its estimated GP value, how many of it the creature had, and even a ‘shininess rating.’ Admittedly, the overwhelming majority of those ten thousand pieces of loot were coins, but even those were grouped up by country of origin.

“By the Goddess!” she exclaimed. “Thou genuinely knew all this from memory?!”

“Of course. Well, I had to do quite a bit of thinking to remember everything, but it wasn’t that difficult. One should always be able to keep track of the things that are important to them. I bet if you tried, you could tell me exactly how many leaves you had.”

“… No, actually, I cannot. No more than thee could count the hairs on thy head, so to speak.”

“I can do that though, if I concentrated hard enough.”

“Curious,” she fell into thought. “Surely I should be able to do the same, yet I never tried… I must think on this some more. Excuse me, milord.”

Ambrosia disappeared with a slightly defeated look on her face and focused her attention on punishing Kora for taking sexual advantage of her in her muddled state of mind. Yes, she was a plant, but she had lived amongst the elves long enough to grasp the act for what it was. Meanwhile, Boxxy was left to carry out its impromptu audit in peace. It quickly learned that, to her credit, the dryad had retrieved the vast majority of its belongings. Unfortunately, not all of them were recovered in a pristine state. The crates containing the potions and various Artificer parts were designed to withstand impact, so the magical liquids and components were safe. This could not be said for the crystal statuette known as the King of Beasts, which had shattered into pieces. False diamond was as brittle as glass, so it was no wonder it didn’t survive its tumble down the sewers. Bits of it still sparkled alluringly in their smashed-up state, but it was nowhere near as radiant as its intact shape of a majestic dragon spreading its wings in a triumphant manner. Bottom line, the object’s shiny rating had gone down significantly.

On the upside, judging from the combined weight of the thirty or so shards stored within the dungeon core, Ambrosia had gathered every last piece. It showed she had been quite thorough in cleaning up after her outburst. The sorry state of that sewer tunnel down below was most likely due to her using her roots to search through the dirt for every last one of Boxxy’s shinies. Considering how the creature’s MLG had not picked up even a single remotely valuable item down there, she had done a very admirable job.

Yet, a part of its hoard was still missing. 3,241 GP worth of coins and gems, to be precise. Not a pair of old boots, nor an errant sprocket that had fallen out of the toolbox, and none of those tiny, shattered statue shards. The missing items amounted to a pile of money, some precious stones, and one of the small wooden chests that Boxxy had been using as a container. It was a bit odd these things were no longer present. Actually, no. On second thought, it made perfect sense. After all, one more piece was also missing – the most important one of all.

The mithril golem known as Fizzy.

Ambrosia said she flushed the radiant construct down the drain along with Boxxy’s treasures, so this gap in the creature’s collection was most assuredly her doing. Surely, she found out about Boxxy’s death through Ambrosia, and since dead mimics had no use for shinies, she helped herself to a modest sum. She must’ve assumed that whoever killed Boxxy might come after her, or that she might be implicated in Keira’s sudden disappearance and ended up fleeing the country while she still could.

Boxxy was sure this was what happened, because it was exactly the sort of mentality it had beaten into her. The realization that it had been robbed blind stung a bit, but it mainly felt disappointment at her actions. The behavior she had displayed in its absence was a complete letdown. By the look of things, Fizzy found herself completely on her lonesome in a tunnel full of a dead monster’s treasures, yet she took only 3,241 GP? What sort of weak showing was that?! If their positions were reversed, Boxxy would have secured as much value as it could carry without burdening itself before making its escape. It was sure it taught her at least this much common sense, but it would appear that had not been the case.

Thankfully, it wouldn’t need to wait long to talk to her. Though it had been almost a month since they last saw each other, the shapeshifter knew where Fizzy had gone. According to Keira’s sources – otherwise known as the kindly old clerk she sweetly asked for a bit of information – the shiny golem had gone to some city called Steelhead, across the Republic’s eastern border. Someone of her unparalleled shininess was sure to grab attention and leave a distinct impression, so it wouldn’t take long to pick up her trail and track her down. Boxxy had already arranged for Keira to depart for that place first thing in the morning. It could not bear to be apart from its most precious shiny much longer.

“Ack! What time is it?!” it blurted out suddenly.

The creature had grown so preoccupied with this dungeon crawl it completely forgot it had a schedule to keep.

“‘Tis the hour of the evening twilight, milord.”

Ambrosia appeared next to it in response to the outburst and kindly informed it of the current time. According to her, the sun had just set, which was well past the evening curfew that Rowana had given Keira. Well, it wasn’t too big a deal. The elf was sure to forgive Keira the instant Boxxy hit her with the ‘sad puppy eyes’ routine. However, it was best if the redhead didn’t return any later than she already was.

“Listen, Ambrosia. I need to go now. I’ll be away for a while. Probably another week, maybe more.”

“… Thou art going to chase after that insufferable metallic abomination?”

“No, I’m going after Fizzy.”

The dryad rolled her eyes, then let out a heavy sigh.

“If this is milord’s wish, I shall not object. However, I urge thee to be more cautious. This one cannot bear the thought of losing thee so soon after thy return…”

“Believe me, I have had my fill of life-and-death struggles. If the world could kindly inform me the next time it tried to kill me, that would be super. In fact, it would be best if it could just stay out of my way entirely and let me idly enjoy the tasty and shiny things in life.”

“Indeed,” the dryad nodded. “However, methinks such a fantasy shall not come to pass. Especially considering the unpredictable nature of thy patron.”

The Hero of Chaos attracted great fortune and big trouble in equal measure. That much was blatantly clear, even to someone like Ambrosia.

“Yeah, well, a box can dream, can’t it?” said Boxxy in a bemused tone.

The shapeshifter used the newly reestablished Nexus Access to transfer itself to the dungeon entrance that led into the sewers. It would normally use the secret access tunnel that went right up to Rowana’s tiny home, but the autonomous mode had sealed off all alternate paths in or out of the place. To make matters worse, its MP management was abysmal, and the core didn’t have the spare energy necessary to rebuild that path right now. Boxxy deemed it would be faster and more efficient to leave the same way it came in rather than make a new way out, which is precisely what it tried to do.

When it exited into the newly cleared-up tunnel, however, it was confronted by a dark figure. It was leaning casually against the tunnel wall about ten paces beyond the hole in Ambrosia’s root. Boxxy, which had preemptively taken on the guise of the Sandman, was legitimately surprised. Whoever or whatever this intruder was had the ability to hide his presence from the Mimic’s MLG, just like that man Edward, which the creature instantly perceived as a hostile act. It immediately raised its guard and silently called for its minions to converge at its position, but it did not make a move to oppose this stranger directly.

After its experience with Zilla, Boxxy was wary of engaging unknown entities in open combat without confirming the other side’s strength or motives. It carefully and silently studied the figure with its eyes, noticing immediately that he was not a species the shapeshifter had seen before. He was some kind of lizard-man with brown scales, a long and flattened snout, and a muscular tail that swayed idly behind his legs. His hands and feet had three digits each, his ankles had an extra joint, and his chest was much too thick in relation to his waist to belong to a ‘normal’ person. A white, skull-like mask was hiding the upper part of his face, and a skintight, black bodysuit covered everything aside from his clawed feet and hands. He also had a number of deadly implements on his person, most notably a pair of saw-toothed daggers hanging from his waist.

“Greetingsss, Boxxy T. Morningwood.”

The intruder greeted what was quite obviously the Sandman with a raspy, slightly hissing voice while waving at it from a distance.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Accatau of clan Rakka, and I am the current Hero of Death.”

Boxxy’s wariness shot through the roof. As did its irritation. It had barely recovered after being killed, so how come it had to suddenly stare down the Hero of Death? It wanted to file a complaint with life’s general manager. Maybe burn life’s house down with some combustible lemons. Then again, considering the Hero of Death’s reputation as Mortimer’s personal assassin, the fact that he was talking instead of stabbing was probably a good thing.

“You know me already?” the shapeshifter asked.

“Yesss. You may be able to fool those idiotic elves with your innocent massssk, but you cannot hide yourself from my eyes, Hero of Chaosss.”

Yup, there was no question about it. Accatau clearly knew Boxxy and Keira were one and the same. That aside, now that it had a chance to think about it, the shapeshifter realized why the raptor was in the city, and also the potential reason for this personal visit.

“You’re the one who killed Malon, weren’t you?”

“Hee, hee, hee,” he laughed dryly. “It was a good hunt, that one. Sssslipping in and out of that place was a worthy challenge. I would have esssscaped undetected, had it not been for the heretic’s pet abomination. Luckily for me, your followers were on hand to provide a dissstraction.”

That was no mere coincidence, of course. The master assassin had been planning his assault for a few days, during which he stumbled across Claws and Snack’s attempts at rallying the VIPs to raid the same underground compound. Once he did, it was a simple matter to match their movements and time his attack so that he would reach his target just before theirs hit. Once they had thrown the place into a state of panic, the amphibious lizard simply slipped out of the base through one of the water-filled drainage pipes and into the nearby underground river.

Not that Boxxy T. Morningwood needed to know any of that, of course.

“But as interesting as these divine Quests are, they ssssadly don’t pay anything,” he added.

“My heart weeps for you,” the monster replied coldly. “What does any of that have to do with me?”

“Everything, my desssspicable friend. You see, my boss is very thorough in his work. He wishes me to re-dead you. Just on principle, you see. However, I have no intention of invoking a Clash of Fate when I personally ssstand to gain very little from it. Am I correct in assuming you feel the same way?”

“… You could say that.”

“Then it’s simple! You want to maintain this little ssssecret life of yours, and I want to get paid. I’m sure you and I can work sssomething out.”

“Oh. It’s about blackmail. You should’ve just said so from the start.”

Mortimer’s Reaper had a certain reputation to uphold. As the harbinger of Death, he was scarily effective at his job and never backed out of a deal once money changed hands. As a professional in service to the God of Commerce and Trading, Accatau also had a certain duty to secure profit with minimal risk in every venture he undertook. It was a very practical approach, and Boxxy could completely understand where this man-lizard-thing was coming from.

It just had one question. Indeed, it was the only question worth asking in this situation.

“How much?”

The overgrown lizard showed his sharp, misaligned teeth in a gesture that Boxxy could only assume as a smile.

“Right to the point. I like that. This is where it gets tricky though. Unless you can offer me ssssomething that would appease both me and my patron, I cannot guarantee I won’t be forced to come after you eventually.”

“I see. So, I’m basically bidding for the contract on my life against the God of Death?”

“Hee, hee, hee… That isss a good way of putting it.”

“Hmm. I think I may have just the thing. However, it is rather cumbersome. Would you rather follow me inside or wait out here for a minute?”

“I will wait for you out here. But do be prompt about it.”

“Understood. Then, if you will excuse me.”

The figure of the Sandman crept into the hollowed-out root from before, back into what Accatau had deduced was its lair. Agile assassins and tight spaces did not mix very well, and he wasn’t about to give this creature the opportunity to lure it into an ambush. Even though the lizard-man was quite certain his fellow Hero wouldn’t be stupid enough to oust itself via a Clash, he had no information about what lay in there. This decrepit sewer tunnel was another story. He had already swept the place for traps and possible ambush locations while his newest client was inside, and had already scouted out three separate escape routes. Should the creature try anything, he would vanish in an instant before begrudgingly setting out to do what he threatened.

After a few minutes, Accatau heard shuffling from the hollow root’s interior, and the cloaked humanoid figure reappeared shortly after. Floating above its head was its true name as well as its current HP. All of this was revealed unto the Hero of Death through his patron’s divine gifts, and served as proof that this was the genuine article and not one of its body doubles. However, while its identity was not in question, its motives definitely were, since it had returned seemingly empty-handed.

“Where issss your tribute?” asked the raptor with a hint of displeasure.

“Right here.”

Boxxy opened up its Storage portal. Accatau reacted to this sudden event by leaping backwards and unsheathing his blades.

“… Right, of course,” the monster grumbled. “Nobody would trust a backstabbing, treacherous monster like myself, hmm? Then, I will just leave this here, and I’ll be on my way.”

The shapeshifter reached into the portal and, after straining a bit, pulled out one of the crown jewels of its collection. It was a solid gold skeleton, the one it had created through heretical means back before the war even started. It took a few slow steps forward while carrying the macabre treasure, leaned it against a particularly large boulder lying around, and slowly backed off.

“I trust this will do,” it said in a proud tone.

That was an understatement considering how the raptor’s eyes practically sparkled at the sight of it.

“Would you look at that…” he mumbled despite himself.

He couldn’t help but be in awe. The gilded remains were the embodiment of everything Mortimer and Accatau stood for. Even in this near pitch-black darkness it gave off the sort of sheen and radiance one would expect from pure, polished gold. Its bony feet sank into the soft, moist ground, indicating the precious metal made up the majority, if not the entirety, of its construction. Its value was likely in the neighborhood of several hundred thousand GP, and that was just the raw material. Accatau could not even imagine how much it would cost to have a sculptor shape it in such a precise, frighteningly realistic way.

Then again, he wouldn’t really have to wonder about it.

*SHU-SHU-SHUNK*

Seven spears made out of highly compressed Ironbark shot out of the ground, walls, and ceiling all at once, piercing the momentarily distracted Hero’s body and instantly ending his life.

“Thanks, Ambrosia,” called out Boxxy. “I appreciate the assist.”

The dryad’s widely smiling face emerged out of the side of her roots, only a few steps away from Accatau’s propped up corpse.

“T’was no bother, milord.”

She retracted her spring-loaded needle-roots, allowing the humanoid crocodile to fall into a pool of his own blood with a wet plop. The shapeshifter walked over to the hole-riddled corpse, picked it up with one hand, and gave it a thorough inspection. Whatever Skill was obscuring its MLG seemed to still be in effect, so it had to check the insides the old-fashioned way. Thankfully, it appeared Ambrosia had done a good job of leaving the heart and brain as undamaged as possible. All things considered, the fact that she was no longer confined to the boundary of the dungeon within her tree trunk really worked out in its favor.

“Alright,” Boxxy mumbled while staring into Accatau’s lifeless eyes. “Let’s see if my lucky streak will hold up.”

Part Four

An innocuous wooden cabin stood nestled in the woods, some forty-odd kilometers northwest of Azurvale. It appeared abandoned, its walls and roof thoroughly beaten and bruised by the uncaring elements. A tiny flicker of light danced through the gaps of a boarded-up window. Its source was a simple lantern resting upon a dusty table – the room’s only intact piece of furniture. The soft glow barely illuminated the figure of a woman as she paced nervously yet silently around it.

The decrepit cabin’s sole occupant was human. Her clothes were thick and heavy furs intended to protect against the encroaching winter’s cold rather than shield her from harm. Only her face was visible, boasting brown skin several shades darker than the permanently tanned beastkin of the desert. Her features were also adorned with off-white tribal tattoos, a pattern of wide and straight lines connecting at odd angles. She wore an expression of anxious excitement, for recent events had filled her with both joy and dread in equal measure. The woman rolled up her coat sleeve for what must have been the twentieth time that night and stared at her bare wrist. Much as before, there was no sign of the skull-shaped tattoo that had been present for the past six years. The ritualistic brand marked her as someone of great importance within her cult, and its disappearance could mean only one thing.

That Accatau of clan Rakka was no more, and she would soon take on his title and duties as Hero of Death.

This was the source of her joy. She never liked that shifty gator, to put it mildly. She deeply despised him on both a professional and personal level. He was well-versed in the art of murder, but that was the nicest thing she could say about him. She would have stuck a knife through the roof of his jaw ages ago if it wouldn’t have disqualified her from becoming his successor. She might’ve still done it if she had to put up with being his ‘apprentice’ much longer.

The raptor himself wasn’t exactly thrilled about their forced partnership either. He certainly would not have chosen her as his replacement, but her appointment wasn’t his decision. It was Mortimer’s. The circulating rumor that the acting Hero of Death chose who would inherit their title was completely false. Neither Accatau nor his understudy had any idea who started it since it had existed long before their time, and their patron felt it unnecessary to clear up the misunderstanding. Still, the fallacious hearsay held some measure of truth. The next Hero of Death was indeed determined well ahead of time, and the acting one was responsible for training and preparing them for the mantle. The woman in the cabin was this successor, and she genuinely believed this selection process was far better than that ridiculous rumor.

A deity allowing a mortal to pick their Hero would be like a criminal deciding who was in charge of the police. Leanne personally dreaded the thought of who that greedy lizard would have picked as his successor if it were up to him. He’d probably sell off the position to the highest bidder if he could. Mortimer apparently respected Accatau’s knack for making money hand over fist, but Leanne disapproved of both the methods and motivations of her ‘mentor.’ He was an overconfident dirtbag that thought himself much cleverer than he actually was. Then again, most uncultured thugs were like that. She should know, having spent much of her childhood being bullied and harassed by such hoodlums and a good deal of her teenage years stabbing them in the eyes.

All in all, finding out that the scaly bastard finally bit the big one had been a huge relief. With him out of the way, she would finally be able to bring the divine title back to its roots. There was a reason why Mortimer’s chosen was called the Hero of Death, not the Hero of Profit. She would dedicate herself to making the world a better place one kill at a time, rather than using her gifts to simply get rich off others’ suffering. It would be a dirty, thankless job, but she would readily do it if she could keep at least one child from turning out the same way she did.

The only problem was that she didn’t know when her tenure would actually start. It was supposed to be immediately after the mark on her wrist disappeared, but it had already been half an hour and nothing had happened. The wait and uncertainty ate away at her, hence her anxious pacing around the room. The air was heavy with smoke from her pipe. The habit normally calmed her, but the anticipation was too much. The moment that would change her life forever was steadily approaching, yet she had no idea when it would actually arrive. The wait was excruciating. When she looked at her bare wrist for the twenty-second time, the woman couldn’t help but wonder if, perhaps, Mortimer had decided she was not yet ready.

Leanne’s self-doubt was put on pause in the next instant. In the blink of an eye, the old run-down shack had given way to a quiet graveyard clouded by a thick, gray fog. Startled by the inexplicable change in scenery, her eyes darted around and registered nothing but countless rows of tombstones, each bearing a different inscription in an unknown tongue. Some were larger than the others, but they all seemed more or less identical. There were also a number of pale green and blue lights dancing around in the distance, but the heavy mist obscured their source. In fact, visibility beyond a dozen paces was practically nonexistent. The woman had no way of knowing exactly how far this graveyard extended, though she had the ominous feeling that it had no beginning or end.

A thin slab of darkened marble sprang up in front of Leanne while she was still soaking in her surroundings. It rose rapidly as if trying to pierce the obscured heavens, its top disappearing beyond the ceiling of mist. A series of dimly glowing white letters emerged from its smooth surface. Unlike the other monuments, these were in the common tongue, and Leanne couldn’t help but smile upon reading it.

Accatau du Rakka
He died as he lived – with money on his mind.

“Ack-hem!”

A light cough from behind made the woman turn around while taking a step away from its source, closer to the immense tombstone. She unsheathed the dagger on her hip with her left hand, grasped a trio of throwing knives with her right, and assumed a coiled crouching stance that could instantly propel her in any direction. Only then did the smoking pipe formerly between her fingers finally collide with the ground. Leanne carefully and steadily took stock of the cloaked human-sized figure now in front of her as it bent over and grasped the still smoldering piece of carved wood with a bony, ring-adorned hand.

“This stuff will kill you, you know?” Mortimer calmly stated. “Trust me, I should know.”

He tried to hand it back to Leanne, but she was already on her hands and knees, forehead touching the lifeless dirt on the ground.

“It is an honor to stand before you, great one.”

“Please spare me the theatrics,” urged the God of Death. “We both have things to do, so get up from there already.”

“B-B-But I would not dare to presume-”

“I said stand!”

Leanne’s body shot upright all on its own, and she found herself unable to prostrate herself again. It was as if she was a human puppet dangling from invisible strings.

“I’m not big on flattery, young one,” Mortimer sounded displeased. “I respect results, and while I expect great things of you, you have yet to provide me with any. You may think yourself morally superior to Accatau, but at least he understood that time was money and wasted neither on pointless ceremony. You would do well to learn from his example, as has been your duty since I bestowed my mark upon you.”

“… Understood,” came the sheepish reply.

“Good. Now, then. I won’t apologize for the delay since an urgent matter required my attention, and my time is infinitely more valuable than yours, so let us proceed.”

Saying that, Mortimer lifted his mithril and ivory scythe above his head. The dark mist rolling down his back surged towards Leanne. It enveloped her instantly, then seeped into her skin just as quickly.

[Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Hero of Death.]
[Proficiency level increased. Eyes of the Dead God is now Level 1.]
[Proficiency level increased. Fatal Promise is now Level 1.]
[Proficiency level increased. Essence Concealment is now Level 1.]

With the bare-bones ceremony complete, Mortimer slammed the bottom of his divine armament into the ground with an echoing thud.

“There, all done,” he declared. “Now, I’m sure you have many questions, so I shall answer as much as I can before sending you back. Oh, and do take this blasted thing off me, won’t you?”

Leanne sheepishly accepted her snuffed-out pipe from Mortimer. It took a lot of effort, but she managed to resist the powerful urge to heap praise and pageantry upon the God she revered to the point of zealotry. She was also very grateful for his offer of knowledge. She did indeed have a plethora of things she wanted to ask the deity – some matters very recent, others positively ancient. However, since her new patron obviously despised having his time wasted, she limited herself to the most pressing issues on her mind. The first concerned the pipe.

“Will smoking this stuff really kill me?”

Setting ablaze the dried leaves of the eofore plant and inhaling the fumes was a pastime that had never caught on in this continent called Atica. Both the plant and the practice were native to the jungles of Velos, across the Shimmering Ocean to the far south. It was the human woman’s homeland, though her kind were a minority there. The dominant enlightened race and culture on Velos were the raptors, and the smoking of various jungle plants was a common habit that Leanne also picked up. True, the raptors discouraged their young from taking up the pipe until they came of age at fifteen, but she had heard nothing of the smoke being lethal.

“Oh, it will,” Mortimer insisted. “Accatau’s kind can huff and puff the stuff as much as they want, but your human lungs will eventually deteriorate to the point where they don’t work anymore. I get at least half a thousand of those a year.”

The color drained from Leanne’s face. Was that why she was having some shortness of breath the past few weeks? It hadn’t impacted her performance, but her worrying about it made her smoke to relieve stress even more, which no doubt compounded the problem. The statistic was an even bigger concern. Five hundred a year was a significant number when considering the scarcity of humans back on Velos. She had no doubt of the information’s validity, given its source.

“I see. In that case, I shall stop partaking of the eofore leaves,” she declared with a respectful nod.

“See that you do. The last thing I need is to have my employees retire early because of something so inconsequential. Not to mention I really hate the smell of that stuff.”

He waved a bony hand in front of his bleached skull to disperse any lingering smoke. Come to think of it, perhaps his earlier cough was caused by the second-hand smoke rather than him politely trying to get Leanne’s attention. Questions regarding why a skeleton in a suit needed to breathe or whether he even had lungs or nostrils flashed across Leanne’s mind, but she chased them away. She had another, much more important query.

“Is it true you want the Hero of Chaos dead?”

“What would give you that idea?” he raised an invisible eyebrow.

“Accatau said as much when he left earlier.”

Leanne was worried she’d be sent to finish the job, and she really did not want to make that attempt. Despite her misgivings with him, she was well aware that the slimy lizard outclassed her in both ability and experience. If this target was the one to do him in – which seemed a reasonable assumption given the circumstances – then she stood no chance of succeeding where the veteran assassin failed. Even if that weren’t the case, the thought of having to hunt another Hero didn’t sit right with her. They were all servants hand-picked by the divines. Surely, that made them allies in the grand scheme of things. She was therefore relieved to see Mortimer’s skull and shoulders droop with a breathless sigh.

“Of course he did. I should’ve known better than to tell him about the hoard, but I couldn’t help it. It’s just so rare to see that much treasure in one place, especially when there are no dragons involved.”

“How… much treasure are we talking about?”

“Hey. Don’t get any funny ideas,” Mortimer cautioned her.

“I’m not. I’m just trying to gauge how much of an idiot Accatau was tonight.”

“Ah. Well, he went full sparkly-eyes over a golden skeleton statue and got himself skewered, so, I’d say he had a severe lapse in judgement. That’s what I got from his exit interview, at least. Anyway, to answer your question – no, I do not want the Hero of Chaos dead, and I would strongly advise you against going anywhere near it.”

This revelation came as a shock to Leanne. Not the fact that Accatau lied through his teeth when he said he was going off on a god-given Quest. It wasn’t the first time he’d done that, though it had been his last. For what reason had the bastard confronted another Hero, she did not know, but she could hazard an educated guess. He was an irredeemable scumbag that did not hesitate to resort to threats, extortion, and kidnapping in order to line his pockets, much to Leanne’s chagrin. This callous behavior was the main reason why she despised him so. That dumb bastard was single-handedly ruining the millennia-old reputation that his predecessors had built up, sullying both the title of Hero of Death and the deity that was bestowed it.

The woman would have taken steps to rectify this, but she couldn’t lift a finger against Accatau. Leanne had to undertake a number of oaths before becoming the lizard-man’s understudy, and going against his whims and wishes would disqualify her Hero candidacy. That was the worst part of her ‘internship.’ Thankfully, Accatau was just as oathbound to train her and ensure her survival until he was relieved of his duties. If not for that, he’d have probably have gotten rid of her years ago. It was a strained and hostile work environment, to say the least.

So, when Accatau spoke of challenging the Hero of Chaos, Leanne hoped desperately he wouldn’t come back. Granted, she did that every time he went off on his own, but she believed this was an exceptionally promising opportunity. She knew next to nothing of Naomi’s chosen since this was her first time in the Republic and she wasn’t exactly big on interacting with the locals. She had nevertheless heard that the Hero of Chaos had defeated Teresa’s chosen in a one-on-one Clash of Fate during the recent war. Accatau’s failure to return from meeting this person meant the same happened to him after whatever plot he was hatching had backfired in a major way. Or at least so Leanne assumed. This hideout was so far removed from civilization that the automated declaration of a duel between Heroes had no hope of reaching it.

All things considered, the woman was unsurprised to learn that the scumbag’s own greed and hubris were his downfall, much as she repeatedly told him would happen. However, there was something else about Mortimer’s revelation that took her by surprise.

“Wait, it?” she questioned.

“Hm? What do you mean?”

“Why did you call the Hero of Chaos an ‘it?’”

“Oh, that. Dimitri picked a monster as his servant, a shapeshifter. He does that sometimes,” the deity explained. “I hate to admit it, but this one is really good at the whole chaos thing. Extremely unpredictable, even to his own patron. Lethal, too. Your predecessor found all that out the hard way. I expect you to do better.”

“Absolutely,” she bowed her head. “I will not fail you as he did.”

If nothing else, Accatau was a genius at teaching by example. The wrong example. For better or for worse, Leanne knew exactly what not to do when the time came for her to take on an apprentice of her own.

“Any other question on your mind?” Mortimer asked.

“Not at this moment, great one,” the woman raised her head.

“Very good. I’ll contact you when you have an assignment for you. Off you go then.”

He waved a bony hand at Leanne, who felt the ground beneath her open up and swallow her whole. She had the distinct impression of falling faster than seemed possible before ‘landing’ back in her physical body, which was waiting for her in the mortal realm. She had fallen over onto her face when Mortimer called her consciousness into the Aether, so her first order of business was to get off the filthy floor. Except she couldn’t. Though she tried to push herself upright, her arms and legs refused to budge. The rest of her senses came back to her a few moments later, whereupon she became aware of a massive weight on her back and the bindings around her ankles and wrists. She turned her head around in a panic only to find Accatau’s brown-scaled and naked form pinning her to the cabin floor.

“You… You’re supposed to be dead!” she shouted in disbelief.

“Oh. Don’t worry. Your ‘friend’ is most certainly dead.”

However, the voice that came out of what looked like an adult raptor male clearly didn’t belong to it. Rather than a smooth hiss, it was a deep yet eloquent tone that spoke in a half-whisper. Horror gripped Leanne’s heart as she slowly realized just who, and more importantly what, was on her back. She struggled on reflex, but in doing so reciprocated the creature’s hostility, thereby triggering the event that would doom her.

[Clash of Fate has been invoked!]
[The Hero of Chaos will now face the Hero of Death on the field of battle!]
[None may interfere in this righteous contest!]
[May destiny smile upon the victor!]

Boxxy clamped down on Leanne’s scalp with the raptor’s powerful jaws. With its teeth firmly on her skull, it twisted and pulled as it tried to rip her head clean off. Its victim struggled as best she could but was powerless to stop it. She was thus brutally decapitated amidst a sea of screams and a deluge of blood. The monster rose to its feet and spat her head out, sending it rolling across the floor and further staining the cabin red.

[Clash of Fate has been resolved!]
[The Hero of Chaos has defeated the Hero of Death with a flawless victory!]
[Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Usurper of Death]
[Proficiency level increased. Eyes of the Dead God is now Level 1.]

“OH, COME ON!”

The shapeshifter heard an incredulous, strangely familiar voice, but it couldn’t quite determine its origin or owner. If it still had memory of its post-death, out-of-body experience, it would have recognized Mortimer screaming in frustration all the way from the Aether. Since it didn’t remember the event, the creature could only speculate as to why it heard that disembodied voice. The only thing it could say for certain was that it didn’t belong to someone nearby. It and its familiars had plenty of time to scan the area and the building while waiting for the foreign woman to wake up. Normally it would be more wary of the strange voice, but an anomalous exclamation was nothing compared to what happened the last time it killed a Hero.

The monster decided it wouldn’t fret over spilled divinity and quickly confirmed its new treat.

[Eyes of the Dead God]
None can escape the gaze of the inevitable.
Requirements: OVERRIDDEN
Type: Toggled (OFF)
Activation Time: Instant
Cost: 0 MP
Range: 5 kilometers
[Effects]
Reveals the name and HP of all living targets within direct line of sight.
Targets that possess Level 1 or higher Taboo Skill will be highlighted.
Targets that possess Level 10 or higher Taboo Skill will be visible through walls and obstacles.

Well, now. This promised to be quite useful indeed. Boxxy was eager to try it out, so it stepped away from the corpse and looked at its reflection in a silver handheld mirror that happened to be on its latest victim’s person. It saw Accatau’s visage staring back at it, stark naked and fresh blood spilling from its jaws, but that was it. Did this Skill not work with mirrors? Or perhaps it didn’t affect the user? On second thought, it probably had to turn it on first. Boxxy found that usually helped when it came to troubleshooting newly acquired abilities. It did so, and found that its reflection now had two lines of mirrored text in shaky red-and-orange lettering floating above its head.

The first one read ‘Boxxy T. Morningwood,’ while the other was simply ‘6232,’ denoting its current HP.

This would be very useful indeed. Boxxy didn’t care too much about the name since its powers of perception could pierce through disguises easily enough anyway, but having a number on a potential target’s life force was a great asset. Though HP alone was woefully inadequate to accurately assess how powerful an individual was, it was infinitely better than the big fat nothing Boxxy had when facing Zilla. If the doppelganger had this Skill at its disposal back then, it would have approached its rival shapeshifter with much greater caution. It was a valuable if lethal lesson, and a mistake that the creature was now far less likely to repeat. Boxxy had taken a gamble when it chose to use Broken Reflection on Accatau’s corpse instead of Cadaver Absorption, and it had paid off big time. Admittedly it wasn’t a huge risk since the latter ability was unlikely to yield much benefit, but the monster would have never found this place – let alone claimed the Hero Skill – if it hadn’t taken the chance.

Speaking of, there was still the matter of the fresh body it mutilated just moments ago. It returned its attention to the woman lying in a pool of her own blood and placed one clawed hand on her severed head and another on her back. It mumbled ‘Broken Reflection’ under its breath, activating the ability. The woman’s still-warm remains were then liquefied and sucked through its arms as if they were being slurped up through a straw. The shapeshifter’s appearance then immediately shifted to the woman’s in accordance with the Skill’s function. It didn’t have to remain in this form, nor did it necessarily need to use Accatau’s. However, rifling through the stolen memories seemed easier while wearing the deceased’s skin, and the raptor’s mind held quite a lot of useful information.

Apparently, this rickety old house was handed down from one Hero of Death to the next. The original owner was an unknown to Boxxy, though it was safe to assume it was someone from the ancient Elven Dominion. The shapeshifter’s educated guess was based on the queer enchantments that permeated the property. It was a strange form of Domination magic, a subtle Spell that compelled wandering monsters, animals, and enlightened alike to subconsciously steer clear of the cabin. It was impossible to stumble upon unless one knew exactly what they were walking into, and even then they’d need to navigate the dense wilderness surrounding it.

Thankfully, Accatau’s last memories contained many references about this place since he was preparing escape routes shortly before his death. Broken Reflection had pilfered those thoughts, allowing Boxxy to easily find, access, and claim the house as its own. After murdering its sole occupant, of course. The information gleaned from the dead raptor also revealed the location of a certain ledger hidden within the obfuscated property. It was an ancient tome preserved through magic that must have been passed down through countless generations of Heroes of Death. Nearly all the entries were written in a different script. They outlined instructions and directions relating to numerous safehouses across both Atica and Velos, along with a number of other points of interest. Hideouts, black market contacts, supply caches, hidden funds – all kinds of tasty goodies lay in wait, to be used and retrieved as needed.

This treasure trove of information was the main reason Boxxy had come here. Finding the next Hero of Death passed out on the ground was a happy coincidence that it took full advantage of. It knew of Leanne from Accatau’s memories, and expected her to vacate the area immediately upon her mentor’s death. However, it appeared she felt safe in her little hidey-hole and decided to stick around until Mortimer contacted her. He did so by stealing her consciousness away to his private realm, much as Gregoria had done to Boxxy in the past.

The woman’s encounter with the God of Death and Commerce was fully relayed to the monster through the Broken Reflection. The shapeshifter had been given a rare glimpse at Mortimer himself and was able to learn much about the deity on a personal level. Hearing his voice second-hand helped determine the source of the earlier disembodied voice. However, the bony deity had no right to complain. At least, not in Boxxy’s opinion. If Mortimer didn’t want his ‘employees’ getting chomped on, he shouldn’t have picked an idiot like Accatau as his Hero. That said, the shapeshifter hoped its actions wouldn’t result in the God of Death changing his mind about claiming its soul. Losing two Heroes in less than an hour had to sting.

On the upside, Mortimer seemed a lot more level-headed and professional than a certain self-righteous, blonde bimbo. He no doubt wished to unleash a celestial smackdown upon Boxxy for royally screwing his plans, but he didn’t seem the type to act on such impulses. Even if he did, Luigi would probably step in. The pantheon seemed to have its own rules and regulations, and the God of Misfortune had taken on the role of an enforcer of sorts. At least, that was what Boxxy gathered from the whole Teresa thing. The shifter couldn’t help but feel it a bit strange that a Goddess of Happenstance was the one to keep order, though it certainly wasn’t complaining.

As long as Francis was its patron, the shapeshifter had ‘the law’ on its side.

Sort of.

Probably.

Hopefully.

Chapter Two
Road Trip

Part One

Rowana and Keira walked hand-in-hand while stretching their legs around a Forest Gate plaza. It was early morning. The winter season was already upon them, so the weather was quite chilly. There was no snow yet, but their warm breaths instantly turned to mist in the frigid air. They were snugly wrapped up in matching fur coats – dark green for the elf, and a deep red for the catgirl.

“I wish you didn’t have to go…” Rowana muttered for the umpteenth time.

“I’ll be fine, Rowie,” Keira hugged her from the side. “Mr. S will look after me, so you have nothing to worry about, okay?”

The tall, cloaked figure of the Sandman flashed across the elf’s mind. She still a bit felt nervous about his shady conduct, but it was impossible to argue with his results. He had been subtly looking out for her girlfriend throughout the war and was instrumental in bringing her back after she had gone missing for nearly a week. It was beyond rude and ungrateful to doubt someone who had done so much for her sweetheart, especially considering the girlfriend in question trusted him so much.

Even with his track record, Rowana couldn’t feel completely comfortable with a hired killer lurking around her lover. The fact that he took her parents’ money for this job did not help warm her up to the Sandman, either. Her rational mind told her that he was a trained professional doing dangerous work, so compensation for his services was a natural expectation. As Keira had pointed out last night, it would have been far more suspicious if he had offered to do it for free. The elf couldn’t help but agree. Yet, some part of Rowana wondered if, perhaps, the Sandman hadn’t orchestrated the whole thing as an elaborate form of blackmail.

Ultimately, however, Keira seemed to trust the creep, so the elf decided to keep her baseless theories to herself and admit what was really bothering her.

“I know, I know. It’s just… I’ll miss you terribly.”

“I’ll miss you, too, but it’s something I have to do. Don’t worry, I’ll make it up to you when I get back.”

The two shared a short, sweet kiss while Keira continued to reassuringly rub the elf’s shoulder. Rowana sighed contently, deeply grateful she no longer had to hide her same-sex relationship. The couple still came across people that gave them nasty looks every now and then, but none were stupid enough to actually harass them. Rowana had to admit that dating a famous Hero certainly had its perks. Though, she could do without the random strangers that constantly approached her and Keira.

“Ah, excuse me, Miss Morgana?”

An unfamiliar voice called out from behind the pair. They turned to see a man in a long, brown coat pushing around a wheelbarrow carrying a large wooden cask the size of an extra-thick dwarf. A second glance revealed it was actually a beer keg with a brass spigot. The words ‘Thunderbrew Prime Ale’ were burned onto its surface in large, blocky print, and it sloshed audibly as the wheelbarrow was brought to a stop. Curiously, the container seemed to have been lined with bronze plating, preventing Boxxy’s MLG from peering into it. Perhaps the brew was alchemically enhanced and the anti-magical metal was needed to keep the flavor in?

“Yes? Can I help you?” Keira responded, sweet as honey.

“Ah, uhm, y-yes. I have a delivery for you, care of a Miss Hilda. Oh, I was also told to give you this.”

He set the wheelbarrow carefully on the ground, pulled an unmarked envelope from inside his coat pocket and handed it to her. The catgirl broke the wax seal on it and gave the letter within a quick once-over.

Heya, kitty-face!

Heard my cute pupil was going after her trophy wife, so I decided to give you a little help. I’d have loved to show you around Horkensaft meself, but I’m not allowed into the Kingdom right now (long story). So, I got you the next best thing – some social lubricant to help you with the search. One pint of this stuff will turn any dwarf worth his stones into your best friend. A whole keg might seem a bit much, but, trust me, you’re gonna need a lotta friends over there! It’s pretty heavy, but I’m sure either tall, dark, and gruesome or that armed tomato of his won’t mind carrying it around.

Also, I’d appreciate it if you could get me a few dozen bottles of Firebrand whiskey on the way back as a personal favor. Just be careful with them. It’s volatile stuff, goes up like a bonfire if you drop it.

Good luck out there,
Hilda

“Yeesh, she really outdid herself this time,” muttered Keira. “Guess I have no choice but to accept, huh?”

There was no way Boxxy would turn down free booze. It didn’t personally care for the taste of ale and certainly didn’t need any assistance ‘socially lubricating’ people, but it was practically liquid gold. Its resale would earn it a solid amount of coin.

“Uhm, excuse me, but could you load it up on that cart over there with the rest of the luggage?”

“Sure thing, Miss Morgana.”

“Thanks, mister. I really appreciate you doing this!”

“Haha! Leave it to me!”

The man went over to do as he was asked with a goofy grin on his face.

“You are the worst,” Rowana whispered with a wry smile.

“What?” the redhead pouted.

“Awfully brazen of you, getting a poor delivery boy to carry your luggage for you.”

“But that thing looked super heavy!” she shout-whispered. “What’s the point of being famous if I can’t have other people carry heavy things for me every now and then?”

“Uh-huh. Just make sure you draw the line at manual labor and restaurant bills, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Keira was pretty much a celebrity these days, so random strangers didn’t mind doing her a small favor here and there. The girl didn’t hesitate to take advantage of their good will, at least when it came to seemingly insignificant things. However, the frequency with which she asked these favors made it clear to her girlfriend that Keira’s newfound fame was getting to her head. Which was what Boxxy wanted her to think. After all, it would be weird for a girl in her mid-teens not to pick up some bad habits under these circumstances.

“What was in that barrel, anyway?” Rowana asked.

“Ah, just a present from Hilda. See?”

Keira shared the letter with her, but the elf adopted a somewhat jealous expression as she read it.

“What does she mean by trophy wife?”

“Ugh. It’s just what she calls Fizzy to tease me,” the catgirl groaned. “She keeps calling me ‘Merry Popper’ and ‘kitty-face’ too. It’s starting to get on my nerves.”

“You’re seriously getting upset at kitty-face?” the elf chuckled lightly.

“Of course, I am.”

“It’s so cute, though.”

“It’s offensive! That’s like me going around calling your people, y’know… twigs.”

The catgirl whispered that last part to avoid anyone overhearing her utter a racial slur in public.

“S-sorry, sweetie,” the elf awkwardly apologized. “I had no idea.”

Boxxy had actually been just as ignorant until it recently came across a book titled ‘The Desert Nomads’ in the Slyth family library. It was a comprehensive study on beastkin customs, mannerisms, and traditions. According to the tome, it was extremely rude within beastkin culture to refer to them by their animalistic features. Such remarks were regarded as insults that implied they were lesser beings, undeserving of being treated as people. The shapeshifter was grateful it found that book before it met and talked to actual beastkin from the Pearly Dunes. Even if Keira was supposedly born and raised in the Lodrak Empire, it wouldn’t look good if Boxxy’s public persona was completely ignorant to her people’s culture and customs.

“And I take it ‘tall, dark and gruesome’ is Mr. S?” the elf asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Yeah. Probably.”

“And the… armed tomato?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Uh-huh. Where is the guy, anyway? Shouldn’t he be here by now.”

“Mr. S said he’d meet me on the other side. He’s not much of a… people person.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” the elf rolled her eyes.

The nearby Forest Gate began its activation sequence, signaling that Keira should attend to her luggage on the communal cargo wagon. She and Rowana exchanged some parting words, hugs, and kisses before Boxxy began its self-appointed Quest to reclaim Fizzy. It was an important undertaking, but the fact that it finally got a break from that clingy elf was another reason why it was secretly eager to leave. After three solid weeks of wearing a Keira mask, it couldn’t wait to just be itself for a while.

Boxxy set about doing so as soon as it passed through the Forest Gate and found itself in the border town of Blackperch. It started by discreetly stowing Keira’s luggage and Hilda’s gift inside its Storage. The monster then found a suitably secluded spot, called out its favorite Snack, and sent the djinn to go ahead while it began asking around for Fizzy. The shapeshifter instantly caught wind of a mithril golem that had passed through about a month ago. As expected, there was no way the shiniest of shinies wouldn’t leave a lasting impression. It even managed to find the adventurer escorts she had hired for the trip across the border. She probably did that to keep up appearances as she absolutely didn’t require bodyguards. The mere idea of her needing protection from weaklings like that was laughable.

After a short conversation involving plenty of Keira’s exotic charm, it learned that the golem’s escorts weren’t too fond of her. During the trip she caught wind of a particularly infamous band of hobgoblins that operated in the area, with their notorious leader bearing a bounty. Fizzy then decided to go murder the lot of them on a whim, in the middle of the night to boot. The adventurers’ leader was against it at first, but couldn’t exactly stop her. He ended up sending his brother along with the golem to guide her to the greenskins’ hideout. Fizzy returned victorious with the hobgoblins’ leader in chains. However, the aforementioned guide had lost his life in the process and the construct had completely forgotten to bring his body back to his brother.

That was what had the former escorts’ panties in a twist. They blamed Fizzy for the complete loss of their comrade-in-arms. They couldn’t even find a body to mourn. Furthermore, the golem had refused to execute his killer, the same hobgoblin she had captured. Apparently, she had plans to press him into service as a shield-serf – a palatable term for ‘combat slave.’ The adventurers were thankful to be rid of that hobgoblin honcho, but furious that he hadn’t paid for his many, many crimes with his life. With nobody else to blame, that anger was naturally directed at Fizzy. Their leader, a man called Alexei, even warned Keira that she should not associate with ‘that psychotic statue.’

The shapeshifter thanked them for their time with a smile, but on the inside, Boxxy was very near to gutting them and ripping the information from their corpses. How dare they badmouth the shiniest of shinies? Regardless, it had managed to learn Fizzy’s next destination over the course of that encounter. She had gone ahead to Steelhead, a gnomish city that lay across the border. Apparently, the golem also had a travelling companion. It was the blonde Artificer that Keira and Fizzy briefly worked with during the siege at New Whitehall. What was her name again? Jessibrick Bumbleburp? Something along those lines.

That was all Boxxy had learned in Blackperch. It didn’t have any connections in this part of the Republic as either Keira or the Sandman, but the Hero’s reputation had been a huge help nonetheless. It stuck around for a bit longer to cheat at dice at the tavern while Xera continued to fly ahead. She flew at top speed, allowing her to cover eighty kilometers over the span of two hours. At that point, Boxxy cast Transfamiliar, instantly transporting itself to the degenerate djinn’s position in exchange for burning the entirety of its MP pool. It arrived at some random spot deep in the woods, feeling drained and woozy after expending so much magical energy at once. It had to wait several minutes before it mustered enough MP to resummon Snack, after which it would send her ahead and repeat the cycle.

This was the monster’s preferred form of long-distance travel. It could have covered a greater distance in the time Xera needed to reach the maximum range of its Transfamiliar Spell if it chose to hoof it like mad. However, by having the familiar do all the legwork the shapeshifter could instead spend that time tinkering, hunting, or generally lazing about. As far as long-distance travel went, this method was incredibly quick for how little effort it required. There was some room for improvement as well. Increasing its MP would allow its body-swapping magic to work at greater distances, lessening the frequency with which Boxxy had to put in work. The only caveat was the link between summoner and familiar became disrupted at distances greater than a hundred kilometers. That scale of separation would cause the bound demon’s conjured vessel to slowly deteriorate and perish after about half an hour due to a built-in failsafe in the summoning contract. It would also temporarily sever the telepathic connection, a vital part of the Transfamiliar Spell.

Still, hopping a hundred kilometers at a time was nothing to scoff at, and Boxxy was looking forward to reaching that threshold.

[Proficiency level increased. Demonic Insight is now Level 8. INT +3. MNT +3.]
[You have learned a new Spell: Pandomenium.]

Another upside of using Transfamiliar so much was that it steadily advanced the relevant Skill. This extra Level also came with a 1% increase to the INT Attribute’s effects. The barely noticeable boost to the monster’s MP and Spell damage was hardly unwelcome, though it paled in comparison to the Skill’s main function. Namely, the acquisition of a new chaotic Spell that drew upon the malleable reality of the Beyond.

[Pandomenium]
Requirements: Level 8 Demonic Insight
School: Other
Type: Area Effect
Cost: 35% of current MP
Range: 20 meters
[Effects]
Creates a 5-meter wide dome of chaotic energy from the Beyond, which persists for up to 10 seconds.
Spells that pass through or overlap with this Spell’s Area of Effect will have their forms and elemental alignments reversed.
This Spell cannot affect itself.
This Spell will end prematurely once it has altered more mana than went into its casting.

Unfortunately, Boxxy was having a hard time wrapping its head around exactly what this Spell was supposed to do. It didn’t know what it meant for a Spell to be ‘reversed’ because it never bothered to study the basics of magical theory. It never saw the point, since all the practical knowledge it needed to cast its Warlock Spells flowed into its mind through the relevant Job and Skills. Understanding magic’s nitty-gritty mechanics seemed like pointless trivia. One didn’t need to know the ins and outs of smithing a sword in order to stab someone.

Then again, swords typically didn’t explode into shrapnel if one happened to hold them wrong, so perhaps that wasn’t an apt analogy.

Boxxy decided the best way to confirm what this awkwardly named Spell did was to test it out. Donning the Sandman’s guise, the shapeshifter called out Drea and had her scout its surroundings for any potential witnesses. There was a non-zero chance it would set this quaint little pine forest ablaze, so it wanted to avoid catching any bad publicity. It picked out a relatively flat clearing as a proving ground and, once the stalker had given it the all-clear, unleashed its newest Spell.

“Pandomenium!”

A mostly transparent dome of energy sprang into existence with a barely audible popping sound. Boxxy could faintly see various colorful smudges crawl along its surface as the afternoon sun’s rays passed through the thin film of magic. It looked eerily similar to a gigantic soap bubble, but the shapeshifter knew better than to trust appearances, especially of things that were linked to the Beyond. Still, Boxxy felt a chuckle coming on.

“Heh. Pan-dome-nium. I get it.”

Admittedly, it didn’t roll off the tongue nearly as well as Imp-losion or Demon-ate, but at least this pun wasn’t as lazy as the other Demonic Insight Spells. Boxxy then realized it probably shouldn’t get distracted by such things. This Spell cost a third of its MP to invoke, and there were only seconds left before it dissipated. Without further ado, the monster stood firmly outside the Pandomenium’s area of effect and invoked the simplest Spell it knew.

“Shadowbolt!”

The mass of solidified darkness flew out of Boxxy’s hand like normal.

[Chaotic energies swirl around you.]
[You are unable to see green for the next 60 seconds.]

Well, normal apart from the Chaotic Disposition Skill making its presence known. The trees and grass surrounding the monster turned a dull, lifeless gray with some slight hints of blue mixed in. Before Boxxy could silently complain about this thoroughly useless and distracting effect, its magical projectile made contact with the bubble’s edge. It burst open on the spot, releasing a beam of pure white light that continued along the path the projectile would have traveled. It passed through the other side of the Pandomenium and hit a young pine tree. The altered Spell enveloped the sapling in the blink of an eye, which then exploded into a million splinters with a loud bang.

Boxxy was struck momentarily speechless, for it had neither seen nor heard of a Spell like that. Once the Pandomenium had dispersed a few seconds later, the curious creature cautiously approached the tree’s remains. It cast a regular Shadowbolt at another one, resulting in an almost identical shower of debris. Though, the creature noticed a discrepancy between the two sets of splintered lumber. It was a minute difference that only someone intimately familiar with blast patterns could spot, and Boxxy was something of an expert. Having seen or caused countless magical and nonmagical explosions, it determined that the beam of light had ripped the tree to shreds by bursting it open from the inside. This was a similar effect to what Shadowbolt usually did to inanimate objects, except that the mass of darkness ripped things to shreds by pulling them apart from the outside. The results were effectively identical, but the means used to achieve them were opposite. It was also worth noting that, although warm to the touch, none of the first batch of splinters were burned or even singed.

Intrigued by this curious discovery, Boxxy decided to try a different Spell. It took several steps back and invoked another Pandomenium centered on the field of splinters and leaves it had just created. Next, it dropped one of its favorite incantations on top of the ravaged trees.

“Dark Explosion!”

Rather than a surge of shadow that scattered everything about, a flash of semi-solid light pulled everything around it towards the spherical Spell’s epicenter. Grass, soil, and stone were ripped out of the ground and compressed into a single ball of compacted dirt, which fell into the newly created crater with a heavy thud. Once the magical inversion field had dissipated, Boxxy unleashed a regular Dark Explosion next to it. The resulting destruction created a much messier hole, but one quite similar in size to the first one. This wholly unscientific experiment confirmed that the power of both incantations was roughly equal.

Its curiosity piqued even further, Boxxy decided to test this out with a live target. Luckily, it knew just the woman for the job.

“‘Sup, boss?” asked Kora in a casual manner. “What are we gonna brutalize today?!”

The freshly summoned fiend slammed her fists together while sporting a toothy grin, clearly anticipating a healthy dose of physical violence. Unfortunately for her, the answer wasn’t quite what she was hoping for.

“You.”

“… Come again?”

“I have a new Spell I need to try out. Stand still.”

At that moment, the color and enthusiasm began to drain from Kora’s face. Repressed memories of her being repeatedly used as a test subject over and over flooded into her mind, causing her to reevaluate her contract. Even if she was an archfiend that could handle punishment better than any other demon, her pain tolerance still had a threshold. Being ripped apart, exploded, and otherwise smeared on the ground dozens of times in rapid succession was well beyond it. She dreaded what was about to happen so much that she began to wonder if maybe she should’ve taken Carl up on that dungeon mid-boss gig he offered her a while back.

“Pandomenium!”

She didn’t get much of a chance to contemplate her poor life decisions before she found herself enveloped by an oddly familiar feeling.

“What’s all this, Boss?”

“How do you feel in there?” Boxxy asked.

“Fine, I guess. It’s kinda nice, actually.”

It was as if her master had brought a piece of the Beyond into the physical realm. It made her feel comfortable and at ease, almost as if she was ‘home.’

“Any physical abnormalities or difficulty moving around?”

The fiend stretched and twisted her body around to get a feel for it.

“Nope. Seems pretty normal.”

“Your sight and hearing are okay?”

“Mostly. I mean, there’s this sort of wishy-washy oily look on everything, but all it does is make things a bit blurry. There’s also this funny smell, but I think that’s just general foresty stuff.”

“Okay. Try using a Martial Art.”

“Right. War Stomp!”

The two-and-a-half-meter tall mountain of muscle smashed her boot’s sole against the ground, causing it to tremble furiously and split open around her, but that was the end of it. A few moments later, the chaotic magic dispersed entirely.

“Feel any different now?”

“Not really. I can see straight again, but that’s about it.”

“I see,” said Boxxy thoughtfully.

There didn’t seem to be any adverse reactions to her actions, suggesting that this inversion field did not have any effect on physical objects and did not interact with Martial Arts. This was to be expected considering the description window from earlier specifically said ‘Spells’ rather than just ‘magic,’ but it was good to have confirmation. It was also possible that Pandomenium simply didn’t affect demons, so Boxxy was still wary about actually putting any part of its body inside the Spell’s area of effect.

“Alright, let’s move onto the next phase.”

“N-next phase?”

Watching the cloaked figure become engulfed in the crackling arcane energy that followed the activation of the Power Overwhelming Skill made Kora realize her Master was about to go all out. She sighed in defeat as Pandomenium was erected around her once more, followed by one of the most destructive Spells in a Warlock’s arsenal.

“Reality Slash!”

The supercharged guillotine of pure force flew out of Boxxy, then disappeared when it contacted the chaotic event horizon. Kora, still gritting her teeth in anticipation, felt something crash into her. Her head was wracked with pain as if it was split open, and she felt herself being blown back and tumbling head-over-heels. Disoriented beyond belief, she looked down at herself to check her condition, but only saw grass gently swaying in the wind. She then looked up to see her own body standing upright, its back towards her. The seemingly lifeless husk then tipped over backwards and fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes while the disembodied demon looked on in shock and horror.

This sort of trippy shit was most definitely not in her summoning contract.

Kora felt the world spin around once more as her body pulled her consciousness back into itself. She immediately started wailing and screaming, which transitioned into dry heaving from the overwhelming sensation of vertigo. At Boxxy’s urging, she described the bizarre out-of-body experience she had just gone through, noting that her flesh was completely unharmed. This was very informative for the shapeshifter. From its perspective, it just saw the demon’s eyes roll up into the back of her head before she keeled over without a single wound. It hadn’t gotten a notification of damage done or a status effect being inflicted, which had only added to its confusion.

Actually, ‘confusion’ might have been an understatement. Boxxy had absolutely no bloody idea why or how that had happened, nor did it have the foggiest what ‘that’ even was. This was a huge problem in and of itself, as it realized this new Spell was much trickier to use than it initially thought. While Pandomenium had the potential to essentially double the amount of Spells it could use, it would also offer this increased versatility to enemy magic users. They might not understand how to use the obscure incantation immediately, but the shapeshifter imagined anyone with formal education in magic would be able to figure it out quite quickly.

Therein lied the biggest problem with the Spell – its uncertainty. Boxxy knew too little of magic to accurately determine how a given incantation would act once reversed. This was a huge risk considering the sheer variety of magic available to adventurers and monsters. The most obvious and straightforward solution was to observe and record all the possible Spell interactions through trial and error, but the sheer number of experiments needed was overwhelming. Plus, for all Boxxy knew, it might accidentally end up teleporting a ball of lightning into its head and frying its brain from the inside.

Admittedly, that was an extreme example, but the shapeshifter had no way of knowing how possible it was. It had a feeling it wouldn’t be able to fully and safely utilize Pandomenium until it had a thorough understanding of magic’s fundamental laws. In other words, it would have to do a whole lot of studying. Boxxy groaned inwardly at the idea. It had done so much reading during Keira’s de-facto house arrest that the mere thought of doing more made it feel queasy. Still, it was necessary. If nothing else, that knowledge would surely come in handy in the future, especially when it came to tackling the mystery of the pink gem it got from Faehorn’s will.

Until then, it made the wise decision to stop messing around with powers it did not understand.

Part Two

Boxxy let Kora take her frustrations out on whatever flora or fauna was unfortunate enough to catch her eye and went for a stroll as it pondered how it would attain its magical education. There wasn’t much else to do since there was quite a bit of time before Snack reached maximum Transfamiliar range. Speaking of, couldn’t the former succubus tutor it? She was surprisingly well versed on matters of arcane theory and was a centuries-old Spell-slinger, so she was definitely qualified in terms of knowledge and experience. Then again, that demon was far from a good mentor. It was unlikely she could keep her rotten mind out of the gutter long enough to properly educate the monster. Claws and Arms were respectively too shy and too stupid to be of any use, and Ambrosia wasn’t exactly big on magic that didn’t come naturally to her.

Though, there was no reason for Boxxy to look to its inner circle for such guidance. The Central Consortium no doubt had plenty of enlightened educators just as prolific at teaching mysticism as Faehorn was at training Rangers. With Keira’s reputation and connections it would be no challenge at all to find the best instructor in Azurvale. Such matters would have to wait until after Boxxy had reclaimed Fizzy and returned to the capital. At the moment, the shapeshifter continued following along a random trail while keeping an eye out for any meat it could munch on while it waited for Snack to travel her route.

As it idly traversed the pine forest, Boxxy spotted an oddity poking through the sparse canopy. It climbed to the top of the nearest tree and got a pretty good view of a strange stone structure resting atop a rocky hill. It had an oddly hexagonal layout that, as far as the creature knew, was a sign of ancient dwarven architecture. ‘Ancient’ was indeed the operative word. What might have once been a castle or garrison overseeing the Kingdom-Republic border was now an overgrown ruin. The structure was far from abandoned, however. Relatively new wooden ramparts and scaffolding adorned the outer walls and collapsed rooftops of the fortification, likely attempts at making the ruins more livable. There were also wisps of smoke from the interior. Boxxy used Eagle Eye and magnified its vision enough to discern at least five armed sentries keeping a lookout. They looked like especially bulky, green-skinned elves with really bad teeth. It was the first time the shapeshifter had seen these monsters, but it nevertheless recognized them as hobgoblins.

Boxxy’s mind instantly snapped back to its conversation with the adventurers in Blackperch. This was surely the hideout of the gang of hobs that had Fizzy had crushed. Though their leader was gone, the surviving underlings had kept their fortified foothold. It was hardly surprising considering they too needed shelter from the imminent winter. Boxxy briefly wondered why nobody had cleared out these savage vermin before it attributed it to sheer incompetence. It gave even less of a thought as to whether it would pay the greenskins a visit. Their hideout might hold further clues to Fizzy’s movements and they were likely to be sitting on a fair amount of spoils. The golem had allegedly taken most things of value, but hardly everything. Last but not least, there was still another hour or so before it would be time to Transfamiliar again, and nothing killed time like a homicidal rampage.

Recreation and plunder on its mind, Boxxy made its way towards the ruined stronghold. It summoned Claws and sent her ahead to perform reconnaissance while ordering Arms to follow a safe distance behind, just in case. The monster felt it was perhaps being a bit too cautious, yet its recent brush with death had been a good reminder that rushing into the unknown headfirst was a superbly bad idea. Its arachnid minion soon confirmed there was indeed reason to be wary. Even though this bunch were little more than the tougher, smarter version of mere goblins, they had an abnormally high number of Casters among them. Mostly natural magic wielders such as Druids and Shamans, but also a few Wizards, a Necromancer, and a Warlock with an axe-toting fiend familiar.

The shapeshifter now understood why this gang had been so successful. One wouldn’t expect so many magic users among a bunch of brigands in the woods even if they were enlightened, let alone a tribe of hobs. Boxxy might’ve faced trouble if it ran in there and was zapped without expecting it. Now that it knew what was waiting for it, it could take the necessary precautions. It very much insisted on going in there personally. Though Claws was more than capable of assassinating the fifteen or so hobgoblins left there by herself, Boxxy wanted to scratch that violent itch in the back of its maw.

At some point in the middle of the chilly, cloudy afternoon, the Sandman’s ominous figure approached the ancient fort’s main gate. The lookouts spotted the stranger and rallied what was left of their gang. The broken ramparts flooded with hobgoblins that shouted angry words at the shapeshifter. The language they used was unknown to Boxxy, but the tone made it clear they were threats. The monster idly wondered what exactly they were saying as it pulled Voidcaller out of its Storage. The greenskins accurately perceived this as a sign of hostility and launched a barrage of arrows and Spells.

“True Darkness.”

A sphere of anti-light thirty paces wide sprang from Boxxy. The magical fire, ice, acid, and lightning launched at it disappeared within the blackness, dealing a grand total of zero damage. The hobgoblins kept bombarding the area, but none of their attempts found their mark. Obviously, they hadn’t found a good replacement for their leader, or they would’ve been ordered to stop wasting MP on an enemy they couldn’t see. Granted, Boxxy couldn’t see them either since its MLG didn’t extend that far, but it didn’t need to. It was free to dodge and weave within the shadowy bubble while its enemies were dumb enough to remain rooted atop the keep’s fortifications.

“Multishot.”

An array of explosive arrows flew out of the True Darkness, detonating against the stone crenellations. Confronted with the hammer of civilization, the hobgoblins began to scream and scatter in a panic despite the absence of any direct hits. The Necromancer and Warlock sent their minions forward. The male fiend, two zombified bears, and a dozen armed skeletons leapt from the battlements and charged headfirst into the darkness. All the undead were destroyed in an instant amidst a series of crunching noises. The burly demon was sent flying out of the shadows and smashed head-first into the old wooden gate, blowing a hole straight through. Boxxy followed up by tossing out a Spell Crystal containing a supercharged Massive Rejection incantation, which detonated in mid-air. Its destructive wave of force smashed against the stone fortifications, knocking all but two of the hapless hobgoblins off their perches and into the keep’s inner courtyard along with a deluge of rubble.

With the defensive formation well and truly buggered, the Sandman-shaped monster finally emerged from the magical obscurement. Two massive tentacles tipped with toothed maws sprouted from its back and latched onto the side of the building as it rapidly climbed straight up the wall. The remaining pair of hobgoblins on top barely had time to raise their heads before they were caved in by Voidcaller’s adamantite skull ornament. Boxxy leapt down to the still-reeling victims of its Massive Rejection and sliced, stomped, punched, bit, and otherwise completely brutalized the lot of them in under a minute.

“Ahh,” it sighed with contentment. “Much better.”

Nothing truly freshened Boxxy up like wholesale slaughter. Though, it wasn’t quite done. According to Claws’ initial scouting, there should be three more targets somewhere inside. However, it still had a fiend to deal with. It slowly, deliberately turned to face the demon who had survived being tossed through the front gate. The blue-skinned mountain of muscle and malice stood to his full height while grunting lightly from the piece of rusty iron lodged in his chest.

“Uh, hey,” he awkwardly raised a hand. “Look, uh, sorry I kinda yelled something about skull-fucking you earlier. Just following orders and I got a bit too excited. You know how it is.”

“I do,” Boxxy replied flatly.

“So, uh, you won’t hold it against me, yeah?”

“I won’t.”

“That’s cool. So… can I go?”

The demon’s master was dead, so he was left unshackled and free to do whatever he wished. He didn’t seem keen to squander this opportunity by mindlessly charging at the toughest monster around. That alone signaled to the shapeshifter that this guy was a regular genius compared to a certain multi-armed moron. Under other circumstances, it might’ve let this fiend go about his business. After all, who or what he killed or raped all the way out here was none of Boxxy’s concern. However, the ‘orphaned’ familiar had something the shapeshifter wanted.

“Only after you show me around.”

“… Huh?”

“You’ve been here a while, yes? I’m sure you can show me where these idiots keep their stuff and things.”

“I mean, maybe? I don’t exactly, y’know, speak goblin, and that cunt I was contracted to didn’t tell me anything over the mind link.”

The fiend was so focused on making excuses that he didn’t even notice Boxxy instantly shorten the distance between them until the masked shifter was right up in his face.

“I wasn’t asking.”

The Sandman’s armored hand grasped the demon’s thick skull before he could back off.

“Enslave Demon!”

“RRRAAAARGH!” the fiend roared defiantly. “YOU SQUARE PIECE OF SHIT! LET ME GO OR I WILL TURN YOUR FACE INTO A PROLAPSED ASSHOLE!”

He flailed, cursed, and struggled but was ultimately forced to yield to Boxxy’s will. Much as the shapeshifter expected, its new guide knew the old castle much better than he let on. The industrious doppelganger ordered Claws to finish off the three stragglers and had its new ‘intern’ show him the way to the hobgoblins’ sorry excuse for a treasury. Incidentally, the fiend’s name was Balfaoss Sthorchigrett, but Boxxy, being who it was, completely ignored that and just called him Btich for short. It did so because it was a massive hypocrite and didn’t appreciate being lied to.

Unfortunately, the hobgoblins didn’t have many valuables left after Fizzy’s first raid. The only things in their stores were spare equipment, a few cases of nearly expired potions, a bunch of animal hides, and a whole lot of preserved food. The last part was perhaps the most interesting to Boxxy. Dried meat and honeyed fruit weren’t exactly delicious, but they were tasty enough and made for a hearty snack. It also tried to sample the hobgoblins, but found them just as tough, chewy, and sour as their lesser cousins. Around this point, Bitch broke free of its control and attacked the shapeshifter in a blind rage, only to be decapitated by an axe-tentacle. Well, Boxxy had to hack away at his dense neck muscles four times to completely remove the head from the rest of him, but it got there in the end.

That distraction aside, the shapeshifter couldn’t help but feel cheated. It went out of its way to crush what was left of an allegedly successful gang of hobgoblins, and it didn’t have anything of substance to show for it. No gold, no jewels, not even a vaguely shiny trinket to add to its collection. It came to this run-down castle with low expectations, yet it still felt disappointed. It refused to give up that easily, though. Surely, an old ruin would have secret rooms where greedy nobles kept their precious belongings, right?

The monster scanned as much of the ancient castle as it could with its Mana Locator Gland, and indeed discovered a hidden passage in the cellar. Turning the spigot on a strangely well-preserved wine cask caused a nearby section of bricks to sink into the floor with a grinding noise. The uncovered tunnel was too small and tight for someone of the Sandman’s stature, so it swapped to Keira’s shape for the moment. Venturing into the dark passageway, the redheaded beastkin soon discovered that it led to a hidden chamber. Judging by the various torture devices and copious amount of chains, this place was likely a secret prison of some kind. Either that or a recreational facility for someone with very specific tastes. There was no treasure, sadly, but it nevertheless held something curious – an occupant. A dwarf, judging from his backside. He was huddled over a journal in the corner, straining to read its pages under the dying light of a magic lantern.

“Excuse me?”

“Blast!” the young dwarf jumped to his feet. “Don’t sneak up on me like that you crazy bitch!”

“Hey, now! There’s no need for that!”

The short man stared at the pouting redhead with increasing disbelief.

“Blimey. I must be going nuts if I’m hallucinating someone as lovely as you.”

“I’m… not a hallucination.”

“That’s what they all say.”

Keira stepped up and slapped him hard.

“Ow!”

“Convinced yet?” she raised her hand again.

“Okay! Damnit, ow, but okay. You’ve made your point. Who are you anyway?”

“Keira. Keira Morgana. And you?”

“I’m Dannath Goblinbane. Good to meet you, I’m sure.”

The dwarf had calmed down somewhat but maintained a nervous edge.

“If you’re here, where does that leave the hobs outside?” he asked.

“Dealt with. What about you? Why are you in here?”

“Oh, I was prisoner here. Those bastards caught me weeks ago. I escaped my bindings and found this place, been hiding out here and sneaking food ever since. I would’ve made a break for it, but they kept a strong watch on their perimeter. Now that you’re here, I can finally leave this place!”

“Uh-huh. See, that’s a nice story, and I might’ve bought it if not for three damning details.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Dannath took offense to those words. “Look at these filthy rags and all my bruises. Do you honestly think I’m here by choice?”

“Oh, no, I have no doubt you were a prisoner here.”

“Then what’s your problem?!”

“To start with, ‘Dannath Goblinbane’ is not the name your Status carries.”

The Eyes of the Dead God revealed this dwarf was actually Kilroy Fullstone – the scout that accompanied Fizzy a month ago.

“Secondly, you say you’ve been stealing away food, but there’s no way you would’ve gotten to the hobgoblins’ food stores if you couldn’t sneak through their outer perimeter.”

It was ludicrous to think that several lookouts atop the walls were harder to avoid than over a dozen greenskins stalking the many hallways between the cellar and pantry.

“Last but not least, you’re not breathing right now.”

“…”

There was an awkward pause before the undead entity possessing Kilroy’s corpse lunged at Keira with a piercing shriek. A swift kick sent him crashing against the wall of the secret torture chamber. The catgirl threw three crystal vials of holy water that shattered against the masonry, spilling their contents all over the creature. The ghost shrieked and wailed as its dead flesh melted with a nasty hiss. The redhead grabbed the journal that the creature was obsessing over earlier, pulled three sticks of dynamite out of thin air, lit their fuses, and tossed them haphazardly on the floor. She calmly walked out of the tunnel and sealed the secret door behind her just moments before a deafening boom rocked the cellar.

“Give me a break,” Boxxy grumbled inwardly. “Of all the potential secrets this place could be hiding, it turned out to be the revenant of some dead torture victim.”

“Ew. Undead are gross.”

“Agreed, Claws.”

“Did you smash it, boss?” Kora inquired.

“No. I blew it up.”

“Damnit! What’s the point of me even being here if I can’t smash stuff?”

“You’re here because I will it. Now shut your metaphorical face hole before I shove a boulder down your throat.”

“Master, Master!” a certain djinn excitedly chimed in.

“No, Snack, I won’t be shoving anything into you.”

“Drat.”

Boxxy leafed through the journal it had acquired while casually belittling its familiars. From what it could tell, this thing was probably what that vengeful spirit was bound to. It certainly gave off the nasty magical vibes it had learned to associate with cursed items. Its contents were written in a language it couldn’t really understand. Ancient dwarvish, probably. Unlike the hobgoblins’ foreign speech, Boxxy had a vested interest in figuring out what it said. It put the journal on the ground, had Snack find a safe place, and used Transfamiliar ahead of schedule. The djinn’s Succubus Job still gave her access to the Versatile Tongue Skill which, contrary to what one might think, had very little to do with oral sex. Well, not unless someone derived carnal pleasure from having exotic and forgotten languages spoken to them. At Level 10, this ability allowed the slutty demoness to comprehend virtually all languages on Terrania, though it couldn’t break encoded messages.

Thankfully, that old diary didn’t have a cipher. Judging from what Xera’s auto-translating Skill told her and, by extension, Boxxy, it belonged to the castle’s original owner. His name was Dannath Goblinbane, a real piece of work. He was a sadistic bastard that tortured random people to death for his own enjoyment and got away with it because of his reputation. Much like his name suggested, he was responsible for driving the local greenskin population to near extinction, allowing both elves and dwarves to settle the surrounding region more aggressively. Boxxy was mildly amused at the irony of a bunch of hobgoblins using his old keep as a hideout.

On a less trivial note, the journal did say something about a treasure buried just outside the estate’s walls. Elated that its efforts were about to pay off, Boxxy again swapped places with Snack and headed for the forest surrounding the fortified hill. Just as the book said, there was an old, old, old pine tree with a rusty steel dagger sticking out of a branch. The shapeshifter’s enthusiasm instantly deflated once its MLG perceived the ‘treasure.’ Nevertheless, Boxxy wasn’t one to leave an endeavor half-finished, so it decided to dig it just in case its assumptions were wrong. Sure enough, it was a bronze-lined wooden keg much like the one Keira had gotten from Hilda, though its markings were in the same script as the journal.

In a fit of rage, Boxxy tossed the ancient container against the castle like a catapult. The stupid thing was so sturdy it smashed through and collapsed what was left of the ruin’s southernmost wall. The shapeshifter didn’t care and kept cursing at having wasted its time for something as ridiculous as a keg. It knew those fat midgets were all chronic alcoholics, but this took the cake. Good drink was expensive, yes, but calling it ‘treasure’ was downright misleading. It wanted a refund on its afternoon, damn it!

Once it calmed down, or perhaps out of an unwillingness to accept that it had wasted its time for no material payoff, Boxxy decided to try the old liquor. If the keg was lined with bronze, it was likely an alchemical brew that kept for much longer than mundane beverages. Whatever was inside was probably still good. It just might be tasty, though highly unlikely. Boxxy had tried numerous alcoholic substances and liked none of them. Furthermore, its immense body mass and ridiculously high END Attribute meant it couldn’t even get a buzz off the stuff, let alone get drunk.

However, blindly assuming that ancient keg’s contents were nasty was foolhardy. Dwarven liquor was renowned for being the best and strongest in the world. For all Boxxy knew, those midgets just might have created a drink it could finally call tasty. The least it could do after coming this far was to give the stuff a try. Even if it was nasty, it could always cleanse its palate by indulging in Snack’s succulent flesh. Having made up its mind, Boxxy somewhat reluctantly dragged its malleable self over to the still-crumbling fortifications and dug the keg out of the rubble. The container was mostly intact, although the impact had given it a nasty crack on the side. A golden liquid that seemed to sparkle on its own slowly trickled out, emanating sharp snapping and popping sounds whenever its droplets splashed onto the ground.

Without further ado, the shapeshifter lifted the damaged keg over its head and took a small mouthful.

Boxxy woke up the next morning in the wilderness with no recollection of where it was or how long it had been out. It immediately leapt to its feet in a panic, only to realize that it had reverted to its base hylt creeper form. It quickly donned the Sandman’s guise but was shocked to find a bunch of its shinies were no longer in Storage. Thankfully, it didn’t have to search for its missing goods for long, as a simple look at its surroundings revealed their location.

Snack was on the ground in the face-down-ass-up position, with a belly stretched out to seemingly impossible proportions. She was letting out throaty moans that turned into muffled gurgles as they passed through the puddle of mud her head was buried in. Her generous posterior swung gently from left to right and back, causing her bare nipples to grind into the coarse dirt underneath. The djinn’s hands were holding onto her plump butt cheeks, spreading apart the pliable flesh as her exposed rectum expelled gold coin after gold coin from her overstuffed bowels.

Claws was similarly nearby in an equally bizarre predicament. She had been stabbed through the stomach by Keira’s mithril rapier and pinned to a nearby tree trunk some five or so meters off the ground. The stalker blushed fiercely and tried to cover her face with her three-fingered hands when she and her master locked eyes. She chittered and squealed to herself while every limb at her disposal fidgeted furiously, though she failed to produce any meaningful words or pull herself free.

The utterly confused shapeshifter turned around and spotted the old ruins it was investigating before it blacked out. The stone structure had been completely razed to the ground, and the resulting wreckage was rearranged into the crude shape of a giant treasure chest. The mangled bodies of the hobgoblins it had killed were posed along the upper part of the rounded lid, spelling out ‘SUCK MY DICKS.’ The whole thing was held together by copious amounts of stalker webbing, and Arms was standing on top of it with no clothes or armor, laughing maniacally at the sky.

That day Boxxy learned three very important things. One, it had to be wary of drinks that had been alchemically imbued with the elemental properties of lightning. Second, it really needed to double-check the labels on things before it drank them, lest it unwittingly down another cask of Skycrack Rum. The third and most worrisome piece concerned the shapeshifter itself – a flaw that its familiars were quick to exploit, albeit with varying degrees of success.

It would appear that everything sounded like a good idea to an inebriated Boxxy, regardless of how idiotic it truly was.

Part Three

Gun Tarum was the Horkensaft Kingdom’s capital. It was an ancient dwarven city, built before The Great Unification brought the gnomes and dwarves together under the same banner over a millennium ago. It was situated in and around the mouth of a long-dormant volcano known as Blackthroat Mountain, at an altitude where the air was thinner than one might expect. The upper city was surrounded by an enormous ring of solid black rock with countless tunnels to provide ease of access. It was a quite literal natural fortress.

Various stone buildings within oozed of traditional dwarven architecture, categorized by having six walls instead of four. The streets similarly followed a hexagonal pattern, and visitors would quite easily get turned around and lost if they weren’t careful. Though, if that happened, one need only look towards the Obsidian Palace where the king lived in order to get their bearings. The pitch-black castle stood in the middle of the bowl-shaped city, towering over all surrounding structures. It stuck out like a sore thumb at a pinkie convention, making it an excellent point of reference. Another easy-to-spot landmark was the infamous Gun Tarum Anvil District. It was so dense with forges, workshops, and refineries that the combined cloud of black smoke blocked out most of the sunlight over that part of the city. The next easily identifiable point of interest was the large coliseum with numerous colorful tapestries adorning its outer wall. It was fancier and larger than the one in Azurvale’s Stone District to the point where the latter was like a cheap, laughable knock-off.

None of these things interested Boxxy. The shapeshifter had come here following Fizzy’s trail, which was expectedly easy. It barely even got the words ‘mithril golem’ out of Keira’s mouth before it was bombarded with rumors. Such word of mouth had a tendency of getting distorted, so the monster took them with a fistful of salt. One particularly ridiculous rumor claimed she was having a sexual relationship with her hobgoblin prisoner. Thankfully, such wildly imaginative fantasies were in the minority, and Boxxy confirmed that Fizzy had indeed come to Gun Tarum on some magical contraption called a ‘mag-rail.’ The shapeshifter skipped riding on the snake-like vehicle in question. It had just missed its departure, and the next one wasn’t scheduled to leave for another few days. The shapeshifter was curious since the people at Steelhead described it as a unique, almost life-changing experience, but it sincerely doubted it was worth the wait. It had been separated from its prized shiny for far too long and that reunion was far more important than a ride on a magnetic train. It decided to cover the entire eleven hundred kilometers from Steelhead to Gun Tarum the hard way.

Well, relatively speaking. Snack still did the actual traveling while Boxxy did whatever it could think of to kill time. It had taken a day and a half to cover that distance, twice as fast as the Artificer-made train would have taken with all of the stops and detours on the way. Now that it was here, however, it was at a bit of a loss. It stared aimlessly over the city from its perch atop the wall of volcanic rock, wondering where to start. The coliseum seemed worth a look, since Fizzy absolutely loved being an arena fighter back in Azurvale. Indulging her violent side while thousands of people cheered her on satisfied her as a golem, not to mention it could earn her a good deal of coin. It seemed logical that she’d try to participate on a grander stage.

Unfortunately, Boxxy’s guess was off the mark. Though people in the coliseum had heard of Azurvale’s Rustblood Juggernaut being in town, the golem hadn’t participated in any matches. A number of inns and shops throughout the city told a similar story. Next, it looked into people Fizzy might have hired to fix her arm, but its inquiries around the Anvil District were met with even less success. Apparently, the artisans here were so swamped with work that a lot of them hardly had time to sleep, let alone partake in idle chit-chat or random gossip.

The shapeshifter gave up asking random people after that. It aimlessly wandered around town under Keira’s guise as it pondered its next move. The sun had already ducked behind the volcanic wall surrounding the city and was just about to set if the red sky overhead was any indication. The shapeshifter had spent the better half of the day working its charms on the local population, but it was all for naught. It also hadn’t slept in two days. Normally that wouldn’t be an issue for the monster, yet it found itself physically and mentally drained. Probably because of all that mana expenditure and social interaction, respectively. It was so tired it wasn’t until now that it remembered Hilda’s gift of a ‘social lubricant.’ The locals would likely be more forthcoming if it applied that, but such things would have to wait until after it got some rest.

Before that it had to consider where it would spend the night. Being in this new place surrounded by this foreign culture made it feel quite uneasy, as it didn’t want to just randomly pick an inn. A pretty girl in a strange town all on her own – it wouldn’t be strange if some unscrupulous individuals tried to make a move on Keira while she slept. They would fail miserably and be eaten, of course, but that would interrupt Boxxy’s rest. It couldn’t allow that if it hoped to have a productive search tomorrow. Thankfully, it remembered the existence of a certain organization, a place that served as a safe haven for any drifters, travelers, and generally shady individuals – the Mercenary Guild. Sure, the room price for non-members was rather steep compared to other establishments, but it was well worth it given the level of security. Soundproof walls, sturdy locks, and even guards patrolling the hallway all served as deterrents to keep small-time scum away. A trained assassin could breach the place without even trying, but Boxxy wasn’t that paranoid. Not when it had Snack and Claws to watch over it while it slept.

Its mind made up, the creature ducked into a dark, secluded corner where it changed back into the Sandman. The tall, brooding figure was a much better fit for the mercenary crowd than a bubbly catgirl. Admittedly, it could have come up with a temporary persona, but it was far too tired to bother. After asking directions from people half its size, Boxxy found the Mercenary Guild’s Gun Tarum branch office. It was probably the only four-walled wooden building in the entire city, so it wasn’t that difficult to track down. It slowly opened the front door and stepped through, though it had to bend down quite a bit to fit inside. This building had been built mostly with dwarves and gnomes in mind, not semi-giant individuals. The shapeshifter regretted being too lazy to come up with a throwaway Facade, but that feeling was momentarily forgotten when it laid eyes on the man behind the counter.

At the bar stood a wrinkled old dwarf wearing a long-sleeved, off-white tunic and slightly baggy dark gray pants, ending in a pair of beige town shoes. He had a thick, brown beard with streaks of gray and was almost completely bald. The face was extremely familiar. How could it not be? This was one of the first people in Boxxy’s life that it had regular interactions with. The barman similarly recognized his latest visitor.

“Ah, Mr. Morningwood I presume?”

Grog smiled and put away the mug he was pretending to clean.

“Glad to see you’re still alive.”

He was the same dwarf that had serviced the monster back when it was still prowling the streets of Erosa, where Boxxy and Fizzy first met. The shapeshifter barely contained the urge to cringe as it recalled how socially inept it was back then. Nowadays, it was much sharper and more capable of picking up on certain social cues, which was why the dwarf’s tone of voice struck it a bit odd. He sounded like he expected this chance meeting to happen. This warranted a bit of investigation. The cloaked figure shuffled silently over to the bar, then sat cross-legged on the ground in front of it. Like before, this allowed it to maintain eye contact with the much smaller receptionist and was more comfortable than having to crane its neck down at him. The other adventurers in the restaurant stared at the Sandman for a while but, as was Mercenary Guild tradition, quickly resumed minding their own goddamned business.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Boxxy remarked.

“… Are you sure it’s you, Mr. Morningwood?” the old dwarf squinted. “You sound quite different.”

The voice Grog remembered was smooth and pleasing to the ear, not this rough and grating tone.

“Sorry,” the shapeshifter reverted to that old tone. “I just figured people would take me more seriously if I sounded like I looked.”

“Can’t argue with that,” the bartender smiled and shrugged. “But yes, I was expecting you’d show up after a certain someone chanced by my establishment recently.”

The shapeshifter’s eyes instantly lit up, just as Grog anticipated.

“Fizzy was here?” it asked eagerly.

“Yup. Though if you want to know-”

*Clack*

The dwarf had barely even begun to request payment when a bag of gold was dropped onto the counter. He smiled to himself as he pocketed it, quite happy with the amount of money and the total profit he’d made from selling information regarding Fizzy up to that point. There was no way a whole bunch of people wouldn’t be curious when a sentient mithril golem randomly passed through the capital. Mr. Morningwood had made the largest deposit by far, so the dwarf decided to provide him with the appropriate level of service.

“I assume you want to know everything?”

“Yes. As much as you can tell me.”

The dwarf began divulging everything he knew about the shiny golem. Unsurprisingly, the first thing she did was collect funds and materials to get her arm fixed, which she accomplished through the Mercenary Guild. Grog also pointed her to a skilled smith that could see to the repairs in a timely and affordable manner. The artisan in question was a bit of an outsider, but the dwarf personally testified that he had restored Fizzy’s severed limb to pristine condition, cursed shield-gauntlet included. This news brought Boxxy a great deal of relief. It definitely preferred the golem when she was intact, and silently dreaded the notion that it was beyond repair.

Grog then confirmed what the shapeshifter had heard back at the border town of Blackperch. Fizzy had indeed pressed her hobgoblin captive into service as a shield-serf, a decision the shapeshifter approved of. It knew better than anyone that no individual, however strong or tough, could survive this harsh world without aid. The challenge was finding a trustworthy minion, and judging from what Boxxy had heard of that hob, he was no fool. Fizzy had bested him when they first met, and he was even less of a match now that she had one arm restored and he had an obedience collar that would decapitate him the instant he rebelled.

Another piece of news was that Fizzy had apparently abused a legal loophole in Horkensaft’s laws, allowing her to get her name officially changed off-the-books. Boxxy found it a bit strange that she’d wait until now to do that, given the mild disdain she had towards seeing ‘Cornie Fizzlesprocket’ on her Status. Better late than never. In any event, the Paladin now officially went by Fizzy Rustblood – a combination of her private and public nicknames from Azurvale. Boxxy also knew what name to look for, though it doubted there’d be an issue. ‘Gnome-sized mithril golem’ had served adequately for its investigation thus far, and it doubted this would change.

Unfortunately, while this was the most information the shapeshifter had learned about the stray construct, her current whereabouts were not included. Grog was at least able to point Boxxy in the right direction. It would seem Fizzy left the same day her arm was finished. She was headed up north for some place called Dragunov. The old dwarf didn’t have much to say about it, other than it was full of Artificers and also home to the Vault Beneath the Mountain. In retrospect, it was the perfect place for the golem to set down roots. Both her loyal service to Boxxy and the near-fanatical devotion she had for the God of Mishaps paled in comparison to her passion for machinery and tinkering. Furthermore, getting into that Vault was something that the two of them had previously discussed. In all likelihood, Fizzy intended to do that by herself and use both the fame and the bounty she’d obtain for doing so to jump-start her career as an independent Artificer.

Boxxy made a certain realization at this point. Its favorite shiny had grown significantly more productive and proactive since their separation. Not only in this Dragunov endeavor, but also the way she relentlessly pursued profits the entire time. The shapeshifter was glad to hear this. It liked its minions to have a measure of independence and initiative – just enough to think for themselves and make their own decisions. While this potentially invited betrayal and rebellion, it was preferable to them being mindless, unthinking drones that couldn’t function without constant supervision. It would likely not have been able to escape from the Foundation if Snack and Claws didn’t take action on their own. The downside was that it now had to chase its shiniest of shinies across the continent, but at least it was very close now.

“So, if I go to this city called Dragunov, I can find Fizzy?” the monster wanted confirmation.

“Possibly. However, there’s been a troubling lack of news from that place of late,” Grog cautioned. “The mag-rail express running from here to there hasn’t come back for around two weeks now. It could be the train had broken down and people are just waiting for it to be fixed rather than risk traversing the old monster-infested highway. It’s not the first time it’s happened, but it’s never taken this long before. My gut tells me that something terrible has happened.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“What is your guess, though?”

“Sorry, but I don’t deal in baseless speculation.”

“Understandable. Can you at least tell me if there is a finder’s fee for figuring out what’s going on over there?”

“Heheheh,” Grog chuckled, shaking his head. “It is good to see you are as business-oriented as always, Mr. Morningwood, but I’m afraid I must disappoint. There’s been no such Quest issued to us, nor to any other major guilds. At least, not to my knowledge.”

Boxxy wasn’t looking to make money this time around, though. It was simply curious whether other adventurers had been sent to investigate, which didn’t seem to be the case. It would appear the people of the capital were just now getting worked up over Dragunov’s silence.

“We do, however, have a rather rich selection of commissions available if you’re interested.”

The old dwarf expectantly gestured at the Quest Board near the bar.

“No, thank you,” Boxxy declined. “I’d just like a room for the night. A quiet one.”

Part of it wanted to depart and rush to Fizzy’s side, but showing up in a sleep-deprived, catatonic state to a potentially volatile situation was not smart. Besides, whatever was happening in Dragunov had been going on for weeks now. If the situation hadn’t resolved itself by now, it wouldn’t change in another half-day. Resting up and challenging the mystery of what, if anything, had befallen the city with a clear head was definitely the call. Plus, Boxxy had a Grog-shaped loose end to tie up before it went on its way.

After paying for the room, the Sandman briskly walked upstairs and locked the door. It spent a few minutes making sure its privacy was assured before it summoned a certain voluptuous demon in a flash of light.

“Greetings, Master,” she twirled and bowed. “How may your Snack assist you tonight?”

She looked around the modest room, eyes lingering on the bed. It was painfully clear she was imagining all sorts of naughty things and selfishly getting her hopes up, but Boxxy was too exhausted to deal with her perversions.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, I have a very important mission for you,” it spoke bluntly. “I want you to tail that Grog person on the ground floor discreetly, find out where he sleeps. Then, purge all memories of me and Fizzy from his head, both recent and long-term.”

The dwarf was a security risk that the monster didn’t want floating around. With all that Inquisition stuff going on in the Empire, it was extremely fortunate that the dwarf had decided to move to the Kingdom. The last thing Boxxy needed was for those truth-seeking zealots to discover a connection between the Cataclysm of Monotal and its mercenary persona. It just wasn’t good business to be branded a terrorist, even if it was done by a foreign power. Thankfully, the shapeshifter had a chance to sever that troublesome link here and now.

“Be as thorough as you need to be, but try not to kill him if you can help it,” it added. “Too many people saw us talking, and I don’t need the Sandman becoming a murder suspect if I can avoid it. Once you’re done, head north along the rail so I can get a head-start on the trip tomorrow. Now, hop to it.”

The djinn was obviously disheartened she wouldn’t be getting boned tonight but managed to reign in her supernatural libido long enough to respond accordingly.

“… If that is Master’s wish, then it shall become my purpose.”

The actual ‘purpose’ would be a walk in the park for her current self. Her Mist Form combined with her Invisibility allowed her to bypass virtually any physical security measures. She demonstrated this ability by turning into a highly transparent cloud that left the room silently through the gap under the door. This particular method of infiltration would fail to bypass magical wards and such, though it was unlikely the residence of a simple bartender would have those in place. One task handed out, Boxxy moved onto delegating the next. It summoned Drea and had her stand guard to ensure its sleep wasn’t disturbed. The stalker demon was overjoyed to hear her assignment since watching her master sleep was one of her favorite things to do. Preparations in place, the monster curled up into the chest-bound form it was most comfortable with and fell asleep almost immediately.

It woke up the next morning at the crack of dawn, feeling extremely refreshed and full of energy.

“Good morning, Master!” a set of silently smiling mandibles greeted Boxxy from the ceiling. “Did you sleep well?”

“Very well indeed, Claws. Any problems?”

“Just a few buzzing flies that I took care of without incident,” Drea reported.

“… Are we talking literal or metaphorical flies.”

“Literal.”

“Very well. Snack, report.”

“Good morning, Master. That vile baldie’s psyche proved tougher than expected, but I’ve replaced his troublesome memories with unremarkable replacements.”

Experience proved that method was unreliable if used over and over, but a one-and-done should be fine.

“Excellent. And your position?”

“Awaiting your irresistible power as instructed.”

Boxxy graciously ignored the weird phrasing and slipped into its Sandman persona. It went downstairs to check on the djinn’s handiwork and found Grog nursing a killer headache over at the bar while hunched over a bowl of cold soup, presumably a homebrewed hangover cure. The Sandman passed through the restaurant nonchalantly to see the elderly dwarf’s reaction. The bartender threw the shady mercenary a curious glance, but that was it. He didn’t call out to or otherwise engage with the masked figure, and his body language implied nursing his headache was more important. This was evidence enough that Snack’s manipulations through Dreamweaver had taken root. Honestly, Boxxy was halfway expecting her to leave the man a babbling mess with how much information she had to paint over, but it would appear she had approached her task with care and finesse. Such dedication would be rewarded, much as the pervert no doubt hoped it would be.

Its business in Gun Tarum concluded, the shapeshifter started moving north along the mag-rail tracks Grog had mentioned last night. It traveled via Snack-swapping, much as it had done over the past few days, while hunting for breakfast. The distance between Gun Tarum and Dragunov clocked in around three hundred kilometers, or about seven hours with the monster’s leisurely method. That wasn’t even counting the head start the djinn had gotten while it rested.

“Master, there is an… obstacle in my path.”

Snack had delivered a rather questionable report shortly before what should have been either the last or second-last Transfamiliar jump. Boxxy was currently ripping apart some monstrous tortoise that had a surprisingly enjoyable flavor, so it wasn’t exactly thrilled to have its fun interrupted.

“Then fly over it,” it mentally snarled.

“I don’t think I can fly that high, Master.”

“Why not? What’s in your way?”

“It’s hard to describe. My best attempt would be a wall of ice, snow, and thunder that reaches all the way up to the clouds.”

“… Are we talking literal or metaphorical wall.”

“Bit of both? I guess it could be viewed as extremely freaky weather.”

“And… you can’t just run through it?”

“I’m afraid not, Master. I attempted to, but the cold is so severe it started sapping my HP at a drastic rate.”

A remote glance at her Status confirmed she had indeed lost about half her vitality and a good chunk of her MP.

“What about that fire bubble thing you do?”

The shapeshifter didn’t quite remember if it was a Skill or Spell, but it knew for a fact its familiar could conjure and maintain a sphere of flame around her that would surely keep this blizzard at bay.

“Forgive this worthless slut, Master, but I am unable to sustain it long enough to make any considerable headway.”

“Well, any idea what’s causing it?”

“Master’s loyal cock-sleeve has no idea. I have never seen anything like it before.”

“Alright, I’ll take a look for myself. Land in a secure spot and get ready for transfer.”

A long chant, an interdimensional hop, a puff of green smoke, and a lightning-fast round of shapeshifting later, the Sandman’s cloaked figure appeared on top of a small plateau. Once the customary moment of disorientation passed, Boxxy was instantly aware how much colder it was around here. Chilly weather was to be expected considering winter was about to go into full swing, but the difference between here and its previous position was night and day. The source of this thermal discrepancy was so painfully obvious that the monster could probably find it with its eyes closed.

A snowstorm of unimaginable proportions was swirling roughly a kilometer away due north. Looking left, right, or up made it impossible to tell where it began or ended. Thick clouds of white and gray surged back and forth at unimaginable speeds, blotting out the sky and the horizon. There were numerous flashes of lightning within the massive storm, drowning the monster’s surroundings in thunderous echoes. The howling tempest was so intense that it almost seemed like the entire pantheon of gods had gathered and unanimously declared, ‘Fuck this place in particular.’

A dreadful chill ran down Boxxy’s spine as it stared at this unspeakable storm front. It wasn’t due to the frigid winds felt all the way over here or a byproduct of the sheer awe it felt staring at the unbridled fury of this clearly unnatural phenomenon. It wasn’t even the grim realization that this colossal whiteout showed no signs of abating. If anything, it actually seemed to be growing ever-so-slightly larger. No, what the former mimic worried about was something far more personal, though not as obvious as the very real threat of being struck by lightning or. It was a possibility that had no evidence or facts to support it and would make very little logical sense. Unless one considered the timing involved, coupled with the nature of the divine patron that Boxxy shared with a certain mithril golem.

It was the nagging feeling that Fizzy had caused a Calamity all her own.

Part Four

Dragunov’s clockwork heartbeat had gone silent. It felt as if only yesterday its workshops and foundries operated at peak efficiency, churning out fantastical devices and questionable gizmos at an astounding rate. The cacophony of it all had been so extreme that living in the city was nigh-impossible unless one used a set of special noise-filtering earplugs to dull the war cry of industrial revolution. The ongoing march of progress currently stood dead in its tracks, turned into a frozen wasteland that not even the sun could reach. Yet life had not been extinguished from it, at least for the moment. Although the various machinery, golems, and automata throughout the town had iced over and broken down, most of the citizens were still very much alive. They had huddled together into several huge camps, using whatever magic and alchemical supplies they had on hand to stave off the merciless cold. The gnomes and dwarves of Horkensaft were a hardy people. They wouldn’t let a little whiteout break their spirit.

Unfortunately, that sentiment was sixteen days old. With food dwindling and the storm showing no signs of abating, the stout folk grew more and more desperate. Whatever adventurers, mercenaries, and guards were around had their hands full keeping some modicum of order and peace. With tensions running high, it would not be long before neighbors came to blows over heat and food. To make matters worse, whatever magical beasties were trapped in the whiteout with them threw themselves at the survivors in a desperate bid to escape starvation and frostbite. Things teetered on the brink of chaos, and if help didn’t arrive soon, there would be nothing left of the world’s most technologically advanced city.

Those were the thoughts of one Sergeant Dirk Frostbrand. The aptly-named dwarven soldier had been stationed at a small military outpost just west of the city prior to this damnable whiteout. He and his men were forced to relocate to Dragunov when the storm hit and had taken on the responsibility of maintaining security for one of the civilian camps on the city’s southern edge. The officer had been tossing and turning in his bedroll for the past six hours or so, though he was hardly the only one. At least a dozen other men were in the room with him, drifting in and out of sleep much like he was. They were huddled around a metal heater that burned with alchemically-treated coal normally reserved for refining stubborn ores like mithril and adamantite. While not intended to be used for something as mundane as warding off the frigid cold, the material’s long-lasting flames had proven invaluable in keeping folks alive. There was also an abundance from it due to all the factories and foundries – enough to keep the survivors warm for almost a year.

While heating wasn’t a concern, everything else was. There was a severe lack of insulated clothing, making travel between the camps a dangerous endeavor. Food and drink were also scarce and had to be rationed carefully, so everyone was hungry and thirsty. Admittedly, this was the ‘aching for a pint’ kind of thirst rather than straight-up dehydration, but it still contributed to the overall feeling of misery and put people on edge. To say morale was in tatters would be a gross understatement.

“Sarge! Sarge!”

A loud, strangely energetic voice pierced the deathly quiet of the improvised barracks. It originated from somewhere just beyond the chamber’s door and was rapidly getting closer. Frostbrand grumbled under his breath as he crawled out of the relatively warm confines of his bedroll, dressed only in his skivvies. He hurriedly threw on his clothes, most of which disappeared under the long, black military coat he put on last. He was slipping on his boots when the loudmouth burst through the door. It was a female dwarf bundled up in frosted-over furs that left no visible skin aside from a pair of rosy cheeks and a leaking nose.

“Sarge!” she shouted yet again.

“Keep it down, you idiot!” barked Frostbrand. “What did I tell you about conserving your energy?!”

“But Sarge! The lookouts spotted someone approaching the perimeter!”

The exchange stirred some of the other troops from their fitful slumber, but they just turned over and pulled their blankets over their heads.

“Is it a runner from the other camps? Or a straggler who’s just coming in?”

“Neither! It’s a walking blaze following along the rail line! We think it came in from outside the storm!”

Those words lit a fire under the Sergeant’s arse. Dubious as it was, this was still the best news they’d heard since the sky went dark. Frostbrand ordered the men to get in gear while he followed the private out of the room and into the cold outdoors. They rushed through the iced-over streets and flew up the stairs to the top of the city’s perimeter wall. Several others called out to the Sergeant as he ran past, but he ignored them. He kept running as fast as his portly figure allowed until he reached the group of lookouts. The three dwarven scouts greeted him with as firm a salute as their shivering limbs could muster.

“Where is he?!” Frostbrand immediately asked. “Where’s our visitor?!”

“Over there, sir. Right on the mag-rail track.”

The sergeant peered over the icy wastes in the direction his subordinate was pointing at. Thick, gray clouds covered the sky, a raging storm of snow and thunder off towards the horizon, and a blanket of complete white stretched out across the land. This bleak scenery was unchanged ever since this mess started, so the newcomer stood out like a sore thumb. Unfortunately, he appeared as little more than a black speck surrounded by an aura of bright flames that almost completely obscured his features. The only thing that could be discerned about this stranger was that he had one pair of arms and one pair of legs, which was more than enough for Frostbrand.

“Send him a signal!” he ordered. “Let him know we’re here!”

Someone behind him detonated a Fireball high above the group. The improvised flare seemed to work, as the stranger changed their course and headed for them at an increased pace. As the flaming figure approached, the party atop the wall was able to discern a few more details.

“Big one, ain’t he?” one of the scouts commented.

“I’ll say,” another agreed. “Can’t tell from just the outline, but judging from the size of ‘im, he must be a giant!”

“One of Orrin’s boys, maybe?” Frostbrand raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t think so,” the snot-nosed recruit chimed in. “They don’t have any Wizzes or Pyros. Think it’s against their religion or something.”

“But if he’s a twinkle-fingers,” the first scout piped up, “how the hell is he so fast? Just look at him! Even racehorses can’t run like that!”

“Good eye, private,” the sergeant grumbled. “On alert, men. This inbound might not be friendly.”

Common sense dictated that splitting one’s Job and Skill focus between martial and magical disciplines was a fool’s errand. It was extremely unusual for an individual to be well-versed in both, so this stranger’s display put Frostbrand on edge. The last thing he needed was another anomaly to add to the miserable pile of weirdness already on his plate. Naturally, part of him recognized that he was simply being pessimistic, and that this speed could easily be the product of a magic item. However, he couldn’t help but temper his hope with caution until it was clear what this outsider’s intentions were. Seconds later, one of his sharp-eyed subordinates revealed there were two people in the rolling conflagration – a big one carrying a small one. This somewhat appeased the officer’s suspicions. He barely even flinched when the flaming sphere leapt up to the top of the two-story-tall wall in a single bound.

The visitors landed several steps away from Frostbrand and his lookouts with a heavy thud, allowing the dwarves their first good look at them. The first thing they saw was a blue-skinned, human-ish woman with unbelievably huge breasts. She was naked and stained with various fluids from rotten head to curled toe. Immediately behind this obscene display was an enormous figure, not quite giant-sized but significantly larger than any dwarf, human, or elf. Something long and hard was poking out from under the hulking man’s heavy cloak and penetrating the woman’s rear. It looked superbly painful given the way her stomach seemed to be bulging outward, yet her face suggested she was experiencing nothing short of pure ecstasy.

Upon witnessing a sight so alien, bizarre, and outright surreal, all four dwarves independently and silently assumed they were hallucinating. Surely the hunger, exhaustion, sobriety, and magical embers mixed to create some impossible illusion. In the next instant, the ball of conjured fire vanished in a puff of steam and sparks that, once dissipated, revealed there were no pornographic shenanigans going on. The exceedingly tall fellow and impossibly curvy woman were still present, but there was no grinding of genitals or any other explicit display. Indeed, the second take confirmed that the people in front of Frostbrand were merely a Warlock and his bound succubus, the master firmly grasping his familiar by the back of the neck.

“Greetings, gentlemen,” spoke the masked summoner. “I apologize for the abrupt entrance, but desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Agreed, stranger,” the sergeant muttered, still confused. “Just to be clear, you two just now, you weren’t… you know…”

“I suggest you not think too hard about what you may have seen. Succubi infuse their perverse essence into their magic, and it may cause certain hallucinations for an unprepared observer.”

“I see…”

Frostbrand wasn’t sure if he was buying it, and he had every right to question the explanation. It was, in fact, a load of bullshit. Boxxy had been ravaging Snack until a few moments ago. The creature came up with the improvised solution to safely and quickly traverse this frozen wasteland. The djinn’s flames could easily ward off the harsh cold and biting winds, but her MP didn’t last long and her frail body succumbed to the freezing climate rapidly once her magic ran out. She would never have made it this far by herself, and Arms or Claws would have fared even worse. Thankfully, Snack still retained her original self’s Skills, including the ability to drain the life out of mortals and convert it into magical energy. Endurance was one of Boxxy’s best-developed Attributes, so it had plenty of vitality to share with Snack. It just so happened that the most efficient means of filling her up was to, well, fill her up.

It was arguably unnecessary to carry on like that the whole way since the ice storm’s center was significantly milder than its fringes, but it also doubled as Snack’s reward for earlier.

“In any event,” the dwarf moved on, “I’m Sergeant Frostrband. I’m responsible for this sorry lot. And you are?”

“You may call me the Sandman,” Boxxy bowed its head. “I’m a mercenary.”

“A mercenary? Did the capital send you here to look for survivors?”

“No, I am here for another matter entirely. I’m afraid your colleagues in Gun Tarum don’t even seem aware of your plight.”

“Damn. We sent six parties into that blasted whiteout to get help, but to think none of them made it out…”

“Why not just teleport outside its range? It shouldn’t be that difficult.”

“Aye, you’d think it would be that simple, but something about this storm is messing with the Wizards’ spatial magic. No matter how much they try, their Gates always end up in areas that are completely white. Seems there’s no way through besides the hard one you used.”

“Hmmm. Then perhaps we should go inside and compare notes?”

The Sergeant agreed and invited the Sandman into the temporary base of operations they had set up. He sent a runner to the central camp deeper in the city, informing them of the outsider’s arrival and the dire news that came with him. The dwarf and the mercenary sat down over a cup of hot water and began exchanging information. Frostbrand used a chair like normal, but the shapeshifter had to sit on the floor due to the height difference.

“Well, Mr. Sandman. As I’m sure you’ve probably noticed, we’re in a bit of a crisis.”

“Indeed. Have you identified the cause?”

“Aye. It’s all because of the Regulator.”

“Do you mean the massive tower I saw shooting a beam of light into the clouds overhead?”

Seemed rather obvious, but it didn’t hurt to be certain.

“That’s the one. Normally, it maintains comfortable spring-like temperatures year-round and controls when and where we get rain. It’s a predictable weather pattern that’s pretty enjoyable once you get used to it. It’s been like that for ages, then it suddenly started throwing snow and ice at us about fifteen days ago.”

“I see. So, this is the eye of the storm, as I suspected.”

“Indeed. As you’ve noticed it gets worse the further out you go, but… how bad is it, exactly? We’ve no idea.”

“It stretches to about seventy kilometers around the city in every direction. The outermost fifteen are like being bombarded by a legion of angry Cryomancers. The next fifty or so are a bit better, but not by much. These last few were the most tolerable by far. Navigation is practically impossible. My only option was to follow the rail and hope it led to civilization.”

“Right, the mag-rail. Did you happen to chance upon the train while you were out there?”

“I’m afraid I did. My familiar and I passed it on the way here. It was completely wrecked and derailed, likely by the storm.”

“The winds are that strong?!”

“Legion of angry Cryomancers, Sergeant Frostbrand.”

“By my father’s beard…” the soldier muttered, despair overtaking him. “Were there… any…”

“I did not have the luxury of looking for survivors. I judged it was a lost cause besides.”

“I… suppose I should have expected this. Even here, the cold is relentless.”

“How are the casualties?”

“Hard to say. It all settled in so quick, we estimate three hundred people froze to death in the first two hours. Maybe twice as much over the next three days. We stopped trying to keep track after that. Would’ve lost far more if we weren’t this close to the Palace.”

That word piqued Boxxy’s interest.

“What palace?”

“The Palace of the Crystal Maiden. It’s a high-Level dungeon in the mountains, north of the city. It’s covered with ice and filled with cold-attuned monsters and traps, so the local guilds and shops had a stockpile of medicines and magic items meant to help tackle frigid environments. We’ve been able to save a lot of lives thanks to those.”

“Interesting. Is the dungeon somehow linked to this Regulator?”

“Some folks seem to think so, but I personally doubt it.”

“And you can’t fix it or turn it off?”

“Doesn’t seem like we can,” Frostbrand rubbed his forehead in frustration. “An entire city full of twitchy tinkerers and none of them can figure out how that century-old piece of shit works. They say the Original Artificer’s designs are way too advanced for them. Fucking disgrace, the lot of them.”

“Have you tried knocking it down?”

“Aye, we’ve thought about it. However, we’re not too sure what might happen. You know the Vault near here?”

“I am aware of it, yes,” nodded the Sandman.

“It has some deadly defenders – automatons that pop out of nowhere and repel any attempt to force the door open. We’re worried the blasted tower might have an army of those things ready to decimate our troops before we can even make a dent. And even if we could tear it down, we’re not too sure what’ll happen. Some say everything will go back to normal, others say it’ll explode and wipe us off the map. Lieutenant judged it best to sit tight and wait for rescue, but…”

Frostbrand took a sip of his hot water and blankly stared at his cup, prompting the Sandman to finish the unpleasant thought.

“But if they’re this slow, there might not be anyone left by the time they get here.”

“… Yeah.”

“I see. This is a tough decision. One that I will be taking off your hands.”

The outsider abruptly stood up and left the room in a hurry, slamming the door behind him. It took Frostbrand a few seconds to realize the mercenary had one-sidedly decided to topple the tower, after which he got up and ran up to the door. He placed a hand on the handle and was about to throw it open when he stopped still as a statue. All at once, he was reminded of the hunger in his belly, the weight of his shoulders, and the chill at his fingers. He considered these factors for a few moments, slowly turned around, and walked back to his seat at the table.

He stared absentmindedly at those two mugs of hot water. Snow and ice melted with magic. The mere notion that this passed for a drink these days seemed incredibly poignant. He honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at how desperate things had gotten in such a short amount of time. He was similarly unsure if he had the right, authority, or even desire to stop that mercenary from running off. The situation was so far out of his hands that the only logical course of action was to give up, sit there, and wait for either salvation or destruction to come knocking.

What visited him next was neither, nor was it keen on announcing its presence.

*SLAM*

The door flung open with a loud bang, and a very irate Lieutenant Highstone walked into the room. He was the highest-ranking officer in the city, denoted by how his pitch-black armor had actual war axe blades stuck onto his helmet and shoulder pads. They always struck Frostbrand as strange, for he couldn’t help but think they made the armor far too impractical for his taste. Maybe his aversion to pageantry was why he was still a grunt after an entire decade of service.

“Sergeant! The hell do ye think yer doin’ out here?!”

The officer’s commanding tone instantly woke Frostbrand from his delirious stupor.

“W-well, I, uh…”

The man couldn’t help but struggle to find an answer to that question. Indeed, exactly what was he thinking? How long had he been sitting here? His cup of formerly hot water was now ice-cold, so it must have been quite a while. He didn’t get much of a chance to collect his thoughts before his superior continued demanding answers.

“Yer outpost received an actual outsider, who ye proceeded to casually invite fer a chat and a drink! And then just let him walk out on ye?! Are ye daft?!”

“S-sorry, sir! I just- I wasn’t thinking straight!”

“Damn right, ye weren’t! Now I got a rogue element walkin’ around this god-forsaken city! As if I didn’t have enough shite to deal with! Do ye even know what he was here to do?!”

“I’m not sure, sir! However, he seemed really determined to bring down the Regulator!”

“Oh, now that’s just peachy. Who gave him that brilliant idea, I wonder?!”

“I apologize, sir! He said the capital had no idea about our predicament, so I just-”

“They what?! Then what happened to all those parties we sent out?!”

“… Lost to the storm, sir. Same with the mag-rail, according to the merc.”

“Blast it all to hell!”

The lieutenant rapidly paced in front of the door for a few moments before he made his mind up.

“Alright. Gear up, Frostbrand. Let’s see if we can find our guest.”

“Yes, sir!”

The Sergeant quickly changed into his armor and met the Lieutenant out in the street. He followed him and his armed escort through the densely packed camp, wincing underneath his helmet at all the accusatory glares he received from civilians. They seemed to put the blame of this entire incident squarely on his and Highstone’s shoulders. The soldiers’ preferential treatment when it came to food and shelter did not help ease their resentment, despite it being the most logical course of action.

However, as they were about to leave the camp’s perimeter, they heard a commotion up ahead. It didn’t take long to see the disturbance’s cause. The Sandman was literally towering over the crowd of people, who parted before him as he strode towards the armed contingent of troops. The soldiers raised their guards as if expecting an attack, which only put everyone further on edge. Well, everyone except the stranger, who greeted them with a calm and courteous bow.

“Greetings, gentlemen,” he called out to them. “Forgive the intrusion, but I am here to see Sergeant Frostbrand.”

“My name is Lieutenant Highstone of the Horkensaft Royal Army,” the commanding officer declared his authority. “Be ye the mercenary who arrived from beyond the storm?”

“Indeed. I am known as the Sandman. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lieutenant.”

“Stow the chit-chat! Why have ye come here?!”

“I am here on business, my good Lieutenant. My task is to track down a valuable item and return it to my client without incident. I have followed the trail here, but I am afraid it has grown, ahem, cold. As such, I have little choice but to request your assistance with locating my target.”

“Ye touched in the head, mate? Ye think I’m gonna ignore the citizens just to look for yer master’s baubles or whatever?!”

“More or less, yes.”

“That right? And how do ye figure that’s gonna happen?”

“You will do what I ask in exchange for services rendered, Lieutenant.”

“Services? Hah! Services, he says!” the officer rolled his eyes. “Alright, I’ll bite. What ‘services’ ye referrin’ to?”

The Sandman pointed at the malfunctioning Regulator in the distance, its upper half easily visible over the rooftops due to its absurd height. He snapped his outstretched fingers, and a total of five black spots appeared along the height of the massive structure. They were all instances of the Singularity Spell, augmented by a combination of Power Overwhelming and Crystallize Magic. Each of the resulting Spell Crystals cost a whopping 3,000 MP and consumed a magic-focusing crystal as a catalyst. Once produced, they were set in place and remotely detonated through virtue of the Warlock’s familiars. The entire endeavor had taken a while to set up, but the results were immediate and devastating.

The five miniature black holes pulled out piping, plates, and circuits from the spire’s midsection, ripping it apart to the point where it started leaning heavily to one side. The people in the small square stared in disbelief at the destruction, letting out gasps and yelps as sporadic explosions engulfed the source of their misery. Within moments, the tower was engulfed in flames and smoke as the pale light shooting out of its tip flickered and died with a silent whimper, followed by a particularly spectacular explosion near its base. The century-old weather machine collapsed in on itself and toppled over, the sheer scale of it all making it appear as if it was falling in slow motion.

The clouds overhead began to part before the rubble even hit the ground. Beams of warm, golden sunlight rained down on the city for the first time in a fortnight. Civilians and soldiers alike were flabbergasted. They were all pinching themselves and slapping their cheeks to confirm this wasn’t a dream. The warm sunlight on their faces was enough to bring tears to their eyes. It would still be a day or so before a storm of this magnitude completely dispersed and possibly months before the climate returned to any semblance of normalcy, but nobody gave a rat’s ass.

“Yeaaaaaah!”

“We’re saaaved! The light of Solus shines down upon us once again!”

“Hail the Sandman!”

“All hail! All hail!”

“Sand-man! Sand-man! Sand-man!”

They were too busy cheering and chanting the mercenary’s name, applauding loudly all the while. Boxxy put on a silent, stoic front as their praises rained down upon it, though on the inside it was positively giddy. All this positive attention caused a significant spike in its progress towards the next Doppelganger Level. The shapeshifter hadn’t expected this. It only went to destroy that stupid tower because this snowstorm was a nuisance, so this was little more than a tasty bonus.

It waited a while for the cheering to abate a bit before it spoke again.

“Well, Lieutenant? What say you to my request?”

The dwarf-in-charge let out a long sigh. He could already see his dishonorable discharge for allowing the destruction of a national monument on his watch, but he’d worry about that later. Right now, he was just glad that all his work keeping people sheltered and safe wasn’t for naught.

“Very well. Follow me to the main camp,” he said with a jerk of his head. “I’ll hear ye out on the way.”

The mercenary and the armed escorts left the encampment as cheers continued to rain down on their savior. Frostbrand stayed behind, mostly to keep people in line and remind them they weren’t out of the woods yet. The group walked the desolate streets, which had been buried in varying levels of ice and rubble. The buildings weren’t meant to withstand freezing weather or heavy snowfall, and many had collapsed. Boxxy was made thoroughly aware of the frozen remains of countless golems and automata caught in the sudden whiteout. Fearing Fizzy might have ended up like them, the shapeshifter decided to get down to the matter at hand.

“So, about the thing I’m looking for.”

“Aye, I did say I’d hear ye out, so lay it on me. What is it ye’re after?”

“A golem forged out of the purest mithril you’ve ever seen. Looks like a cute gnomish woman in her early twenties, extremely lifelike. Carries a huge wrench and answers to Fizzy. She should be accompanied by a hobgoblin shield-serf.”

“… I see. Well, the good news is I’ve already met Fizzy.”

“You have?! Where?!”

Unable to restrain itself, Boxxy dashed out in front of the dwarf and bent over at an almost impossible angle until they were face-to-face.

“Woah, there! Watch it, ye creepy-!”

“Answer me, meat!” insisted the shapeshifter.

“I will! I will! Just hear me out, right?!”

“…”

The monster fell silent as it pulled back and regained its composure.

“Sheesh! I gotta say, yer the most excitable giant I’ve ever seen. Anyway, as I was sayin’, I met Fizzy over at the Vault, where I was originally stationed. The shiny lass actually managed to get the blasted thing open, but this absolute shit-stain of a spoiled brat showed up and made a mess of things. A fight broke out and when the dust settled, yer shiny pal was gone along with her hob and a volunteer serving under me. Best as we could figure, they slipped inside the Vault in the confusion.”

“Best as you could figure? How can you not know for sure?”

“Two reasons. One, the bloody key got snapped in half in the fightin.’ Couldn’t get the bloody door open. Second, the Regulator starter glowin’ funny and we were eatin’ hail fer breakfast before we knew it.”

Hearing this all but confirmed Boxxy’s suspicions that Fizzy had directly or indirectly set this catastrophe in motion. It probably wasn’t intentional, though the authorities likely wouldn’t care about such things once it was time to dump the blame on someone. The shapeshifter therefore concluded that it was best it collected its shiny and got back to Azurvale post-haste. It planned to do that anyway, but now it had a tangible reason.

“So, is she still in the Vault?”

“About that,” Highstone winced. “This is where the bad news comes in. We didn’t even make it to the city before the entire thing went up. Whole mountain must’ve felt that boom. We went back right away, but there was only rubble.”

This did not bode well, though Boxxy had a hunch.

“Did you find a body?” it questioned.

“Are ye daft? We had a bloody snowstorm rollin’ in. Do ye think we had the luxury of searchin’ a smolderin’ crater?”

“That’s a ‘no,’ then.”

“Listen, mate. Ain’t nothin’ survivin’ that. Face it – yer pal’s scrap metal.”

“You don’t know Fizzy like I do, meat,” the shapeshifter growled. “She’s worth fifteen hundred of you!”

“Don’t start with me, creep! I lost thirteen men when that Vault went! Even more since! If you wanna go dig up what’s left of yer trophy wife, fucken be my guest!”

That phrase gave Boxxy pause. Maybe it was a dwarf thing, but it was the exact same thing Hilda called Fizzy in that letter. It served to remind the shapeshifter of the Berserker’s gift, and that this was probably the best time to use it. After all, one caught more flies with honey than vinegar. Or, more dwarves with beer than death threats, in this particular case.

“I apologize, Lieutenant. I did not mean to offend. Allow me to make amends.”

The soldiers’ eyes nearly popped out of their skulls when the masked stranger pulled an entire keg of Thunderbrew Prime Ale out of thin air. They didn’t even question where he was keeping it or the mugs he was filling with the aggressively fizzy beverage. All they cared about was that a single sip sent invigorating jolts from the tips of their beards to the heels of their feet. By the time each of them had finished their drink, they felt more alive than they had since the sun first went out.

“Goroth’s balls, this is good!” Highstone cheered. “I had ye pegged wrong, friend! Ye’re alright!”

Wow. It really was that easy, huh?

Boxxy once again felt profoundly silly for not taking advantage of this stuff earlier. Watching the dwarves suddenly get all jolly and smacking their lips with delight tempted the monster to sample the beverage itself. It held back, though. It suspected this booze was laced with lightning magic like the one it found earlier, and this wasn’t a good time to get black-out drunk. In fact, there was never a good time for that. For now, it opted to take advantage of the Lieutenant’s spike in good mood.

“Glad we understand each other, Lieutenant. Perhaps now you’d be willing to help me find my friend.”

“I don’t know… I really have a lot on my plate right now…”

Though he said that, his eyes did not tear away from the keg. Honestly, he was so easy to read that even a blind, deaf, and comatose lobotomy patient could tell what was on his mind.

“I’ll happily trade this fine alcohol for your continued assistance and cooperation.”

“Deal! Follow us back to camp and we’ll get you sorted right quick!”

Four soldiers triumphantly hoisted the barrel-sized keg onto their shoulders and merrily led their guest towards their base of operations. As it followed, however, Boxxy silently ran some numbers. This was nice and all, but was making friends with these louts really worth it? That booze had the value of a small fortune, and it wasn’t as if it especially needed their help. What it wanted most of all was information on this Vault, and it wagered it could get that easily enough on its own. Even if the commanding officer refused to help, it was sure to find some support among the populace back at Frostbrand’s camp.

Actually, perhaps it would be for the best if it just slaughtered these idiots here and now. Doppelganger Levels were great, but it had a bunch of other Jobs that could benefit from a harvest this bountiful. They’d be easy pickings too, with their backs turned and wits dulled. It couldn’t just stop at Highstone’s group, of course. There were a whole lot of soldiers that could go ‘missing’ in the aftermath of the Regulator going down. The creature had expended a lot of effort already, both in making it through the storm and toppling the tower. The exertion had left Boxxy quite famished, now that it thought about it.

Why stop at just the military personnel? Civilians were meat, too. Granted, there wouldn’t be many humans among them, but dwarf was the other man-meat and gnomes could make for a crunchy snack. Also, this place called Dragunov was full of high-end technology designed and built by successful individuals. Surely there was a lot to plunder from its frozen carcass. Furthermore, with so many Artificers around its Cadaver Absorption could easily advance its own Skills and Levels. It was wary of using that ability since the incident that landed it the useless Cat Job, but there was no danger of picking up something like that from this crop of corpses.

*Ring-ring*

Boxxy had all but decided to give into those genocidal temptations when it got an incoming call from Demons ‘R’ Us. Past experiences had told it that this didn’t happen unless it was an emergency, so it answered immediately.

*Click*

“What is it, Carl?”

“Hey, hey, hey!”

Surprisingly, the voice that flowed into Boxxy’s mind wasn’t the raspy devil’s, but it was still familiar.

“… Jonathan?”

“Yup. Just your friendly neighborhood God of Chaos here. Figured you wouldn’t appreciate being soul-yanked without good reason, so I borrowed Katorolomaongott’s line for a bit instead.”

“Ah. Uh, thanks, I guess?”

“You’re very welcome. Now, how’s my favorite murder-hobo doing?”

“What? You mean me?”

“Mhm.”

“Don’t you already know?”

“Well, kind of. I can see you counting calories over there, but I can only guess at what you’re thinking. See, that’s why I’m calling. I’m really good at guessing, in case you forgot.”

“Okay? So, I take it you don’t want me to murder everyone and take all their stuff?”

“We’ll get to that. Right now, I need to have a word about Mortimer. See, he has high standards when it comes to choosing his people. There’s a whole selection process and you’ve gone and left him without a worthy candidate lined up to fill the gap for quite a while. And since I’m sort of indirectly mostly responsible for you up here, he’s been whining to me about it.”

“I fail to see how this is my problem. All I did was secure my life against a bunch of assassins. Not my fault one of them was stupid enough to force my hand.”

“Maybe not in your opinion, but I have to agree with Mort on this one. You definitely went a bit far doing the second one in. That said, Old Boneface isn’t just mad – he’s also impressed. After talking things through, we worked out a compromise. Mort’s willing to forgive you and bury the whole thing, but on two conditions.”

Boxxy wasn’t sure what being on the God of Death’s shit list entailed, but it was safe to assume nothing good would come of it. Getting off said excrement manifesto was not the worst idea in the world, but the creature needed to know what was required of it before it agreed to anything. Thankfully, it had a bunch more walking ahead and none of the dwarves were aware that this conversation was taking place, so it had plenty of time to hear Jasmine out.

“I’m listening.”

“First of all, you have to do a few Quests for him. Don’t worry, though, it won’t be pro-bono.”

“What’s pro-bono?”

“It means it’s paying work since Mortimer’s willing to reward you for your time and effort. Doesn’t sound too bad, right?”

“That depends. He’s not going to ask me to kill myself or something?”

“Ah. That right there is what I would call a very good question. Hold on a sec.”

Boxxy resisted the urge to complain. Tim seemed like a smart God of Chance. How did he not think to ask that when dealing with the literal personification of Death?

“Okay,” Philip returned after a while, “he says there’s no suicide involved. Plenty of homicide, though. He needs you to kill some people and run a few errands – things he’d make his own Hero take care of. Y’know, if he still had one.”

The barely contained snicker in Michabel’s last few words suggested that, despite his earlier complaints, he was loving this. It was probably a ‘Ha-ha! My Hero beat your Hero!’ sort of thing.

“So, it’s basically just mercenary work, but from a god?” Boxxy asked.

“Exactly. With the added benefit of divine forgiveness.”

“Alright, I think I can live with that. What about the other condition?”

“That one’s a lot more immediate. Y’see, Mort and I’ve been watching you deal with that freaky weather situation while we hashed things out, and he’d rather you not wipe out that city entirely on a whim.”

“Huh? Why not?” complained the mega-mimic. “He’s the God of Death, not the God of Life, so why does he care?”

“Because you’re about to bloat his workload for no reason. He’s still sour at me for the Monotal thing, and I’d rather not have him bitch at me about Dragunov, too.”

“Wow. He likes to complain, doesn’t he?”

“You would too if you were in his shoes. Anyway, do me a solid and help me get this bony bastard off my back, will ya?”

“What do I get in return?”

“I… don’t know how I didn’t see this coming. Let’s see. I suppose I can fill you on Fizzy’s whole situation.”

“Works for me. You can tell the bony bastard I’ll leave the midgets be.”

Learning what became of the golem was the whole reason it came to the Kingdom in the first place.

“Yes! See, I told you my Hero could be reasoned with!”

Howard’s voice suddenly grew oddly distant, as if he were in another room. It was a bit strange, given the mental nature of this conversation.

“Ah, you heard that? … Well, it is technically true. … Are you or are you not a fatherless cur comprised entirely of bones? … That’s what I thought, bony bastard.”

He was apparently speaking to Mortimer, who was presently right next to him by the sound of it. That pointless argument settled, the Goddess of Instabilities turned her attention back to Boxxy.

“So, anyway, thanks for that. Mortimer says he’ll get in touch with you through this line when he has the deets on your first job, but it won’t be for a while.”

“What about Fizzy?”

“You square things out with Morty, and I’ll tell you where your shiny is. Don’t worry, she’s very much alive, just as you, uh, deduced. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say ‘hoped,’ wouldn’t it?” he teased the creature.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t. Well, best of luck out there. And keep up the good work. Toodles!”

*Click*

The Sandman-shaped monster stopped for a moment and let out a sigh of relief. Hearing that Fizzy was merely missing had taken a tremendous load off its back. Now that it could think clearly again, it was glad it resisted the urge to vent its frustration on Highstone’s unit. It recognized the officer as a potential connection here in the Kingdom. Taking charge of this crisis would surely land him in good favor with the Kingdom and its people. The Regulator’s destruction might cause some issues, but the Sandman could easily claim responsibility for that one if need be. Actually, that was probably a good idea in general if Boxxy hoped to redirect some of the blame away from Fizzy. It could always change its face, but the golem did not have that option.

That said, the shapeshifter suddenly found itself without much to do. It had Watson’s word that its favorite shiny was alive and would get more information on her eventually. There was nothing to do on that front except wait for things with Mortimer to develop. That aside, it seemed like a waste to come all this way and go through all that trouble just to return empty-handed. Sure, it could make connections and build up its alter ego’s reputation, but what it really wanted was tangible results. Things like shinies, Levels, and maybe even a lair in this foreign nation. As luck would have it, there just so happened to be a place that could provide all three very close to here.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant?”

“Ah? Somethin’ I can help ye with, laddie?”

“Can you tell me more about this Palace of the Crystal Maiden?”

Interlude
House Call

A lone tree stood in the middle of an endless field of wheat. The golden stalks, heavy and plump with grain, swayed groggily in a gentle breeze. They looked as if they would fall under their own weight, but their stems refused to bend beyond a certain point. Sunlight bathed them in a radiant glow that made one question whether this was a literal sea of gold. The sky was completely blue with only a few white puffs pretending to be clouds, though neither they nor the sun moved no matter how much time passed.

The oddest thing about this serene scene was the tree in the middle of it all. It was situated atop a small hill, like a king overlooking his kingdom. It was so immense that it was impossible to avoid comparison with Azurvale’s ancient hylt trees. Unlike those natural monuments, it was much wider than it was tall. Its branches were heavy with fruits of all kinds, ranging from apples, pears, and peaches to things that didn’t typically grow on trees, like grapes, strawberries, and even watermelons. The soft soil that stood in its massive, never-moving shadow was populated by lush green grass and beautiful wildflowers rather than cultivated grain. Woodland critters like rabbits and squirrels darted all over the place while butterflies and bees frolicked among the colorful blossoms. Snakes with bright patterns lounged in the few sunny spots beneath the countless branches and leaves overhead, where tiny spiders weaved webs with intricate patterns. Yet, despite food being present in every possible direction, none of the creatures ate any of it. Or each other, for that matter.

It was an impossible scenario that could only exist within one’s imagination, and that was exactly the case. It just so happened the one who dreamt the place up was also capable of turning her thoughts into reality, at least within the confines of her private divine space. Only a select handful of mortals would ever bear witness to any of it, which was exactly how Nyrie liked it. Not because she was a misanthrope or anything like that. To the contrary, the faithful of the Goddess of Fertility knew her as a gentle, forgiving, and caring being. Even among her fellow deities she was seen as more sociable and outgoing than most. However, even though it pained her to do so, Nyrie firmly refused all of her followers’ requests to gaze upon her divine countenance.

Gods belonged in the Aether, demons resided in the Beyond, and mortals had the rest of creation at their disposal. This was the natural order, and as a deity embodying such concepts, Nyrie had no choice but to abide by it. It should be noted that she was the only one to take such a hard stance. The rest of Terrania’s pantheon readily welcomed their chosen Heroes or Hero candidates into their celestial abodes. Axel even offered a bunch of his favored a place at his side where they could feast and fight for all eternity, a reward for those that gave the ultimate sacrifice in his name. As for Nyrie, her fellow deities were all the company she needed. She spoke regularly to all of them and was delighted whenever she had guests, invited or otherwise.

Despite this, she found herself somewhat apprehensive to welcome her next visitor. It was a meeting she’d been anticipating and dreading in equal measure. The time for it was finally upon her, so she mentally steeled herself for what was to come and sent a mental invitation to the other party. Moments later, the air at the foot of the great tree seemed to break like glass. Glowing cracks spread and widened in a spiderweb pattern until the borders between realities were shattered moments later. A woman entered Nyrie’s domain through the rift. She had flowing gold locks, piercing blue eyes, and somewhat exaggerated curves that might make one question whether she was the actual Goddess of Fertility.

“Welcome, Teresa.”

A soothing, distant voice permeated through the divine area like a spring breeze. The recently reformed Goddess of Truth and Justice bowed her head towards the central tree while returning the greeting.

“Thank you for having me, Nyrie.”

A face emerged from the enormous tree trunk. Bark gave way to sun-kissed skin as the colossal visage of another woman emerged. She was rather easy on the eyes, though it would be hard to call her beautiful or pretty, especially when compared to Teresa. She exuded a more mature, dignified charm punctuated by a kindly smile and soft, amber eyes. A pair of elfin ears poked out of the sides of her head, reflecting the image of her most devout followers. Her hair was a vibrant green shade like fresh grass, its immense volume dotted with colorful flowers as it draped over the left side of her face.

“You seem… shorter than the last time I saw you.”

That was a brutally obvious remark, as Teresa now stood merely a tenth of the size she boasted when the two last met in person. She was still significantly taller than the average human female, but her height would at best be called unusual, not unnatural. Another change in her appearance was that she no longer bore any trappings of power and stood before Nyrie completely naked aside from a pure white blindfold. This change in attire carried significantly more meaning than her reduced size, though that topic was best discussed at another time.

“I have been full of myself for far too long,” the golden-haired goddess smiled. “Recent events have humbled and weakened me greatly, so this appearance is merely a reflection of that.”

“Ah, I see. I suppose it is only natural considering the debacle that unfolded.”

“Indeed. Which is precisely why I have come here today.”

Teresa knelt on the grassy ground and touched her forehead to the soil as she prostrated herself in front of the older deity.

“I apologize profusely for my incompetence,” she half-shouted. “For allowing a pointless war grounded in false accusations to make both our followers suffer for naught – I can make no excuse. I vow to do everything in my power to avoid making the same mistakes as before and beg for your forgiveness!”

“Hahahaha!”

Nyrie’s laugh was positively refreshing.

“Well, look at you! Little Teresa’s all responsible and grown up! It seems like just yesterday you were this little scamp who couldn’t make her mind up whether caterpillars were good or evil!”

The younger goddess immediately raised her head at those words, lips in a pout.

“I’m being serious here! Please stop ridiculing me just because you appeared earlier than I did!”

The fledgling civilizations of the past had to worry about procuring food and leaving offspring far before the emergence of concepts such as justice, crime, or society. It was not surprising that Nyrie would be among the first gods to come into existence. She saw herself as an older sister and mentor to those that manifested after her, which was most of the pantheon. She was tied for second oldest with Solus, the God of Life and Light, and Zephyra, the Goddess of Rain and Travel. The only one undeniably more ancient than all of them was Karzak, the God of Gambling, who was likely older than the world itself. Hardly surprising, considering that chaos predated everything in existence. At least, that’s what he told the other Gods. He judged it might be a bad idea to openly admit he went a bit mad and destroyed his old world before coming to this one.

The bottom line was that Nyrie was quite soft on her fellow deities, who she personally saw as family even if they did not mirror her sentiment.

“Do not fret, Teresa,” she beamed. “I have already forgiven you for your blunders.”

“What? Really?”

“Of course. After all, this is hardly the first time our flocks have warred, nor will it be last. I long ago accepted the fact that elves and humans will never truly get along in the grand scale of things.”

“I suppose that’s true.”

There were plenty of examples of individuals having friendly and even romantic cross-species relationships, but the two civilizations seemed fated to clash over and over. There was far too much bad blood for there to be any meaningful peace. The only way they could foster meaningful long-term peace was if they were forced into it by a series of catastrophic events beyond either nation’s control. That was neither Nyrie nor Teresa’s realm, so there was little either goddess could do without meddling beyond what was deemed acceptable.

“Still,” the blonde sat cross legged on the grass, “I feel like you’re being too soft on me. I honestly expected you to yell at me for once. I dare say I am a bit disappointed.”

Nyrie’s face took on a sterner expression.

“I will admit, allowing your people to blame my own for the cataclysmic actions of an old coot and his maniacal box really rubbed me the wrong way. However, I couldn’t stay mad at you once Nero explained your… circumstances.”

“So, why did that bastard make me come here and prostrate myself!” Teresa complained. “Rehabilitation my ass! He just wants to see me on my knees!”

The older of the two reacted to the spoiled child’s tantrum with a soft chuckle.

“Even if he acts the fool and the prankster, Oliver truly cares for all of us. He’s like the rambunctious grandfather we never had. Surely, you understand that better than anyone by now.”

“… I guess, but I can do without the ‘rambunctious’ part. Even though I promised I’d follow his program, it’s starting to grind on my nerves. I’m especially dreading having to apologize to Axel after this. I just know that stick-in-the-mud will lecture me for three days straight, just like Mortimer.”

“They are firm because they have to be, Teresa. Both are your elders, so you should show them the respect they are due.”

The blonde rolled her eyes. Probably. Blindfold made it hard to tell, but her attitude did not.

“Don’t remind me. This whole seniority thing always rubbed me the wrong way, since everyone thinks they can just tell me what to do. Being the youngest sucks.”

“It is up to the elders to guide the youngsters, who must in turn heed the wisdom they are offered. This is the natural order.”

“You can only say that because you’re not Axel and Mortimer’s junior.”

The God of War and Combat was the fifth deity to come into existence. He had appeared once societies across the world no longer worried about food or shelter and began engaging in conquest. It was a good thing the enlightened of the distant past were far more focused on subjugating monster-infested territories rather than turning on one another. Otherwise, Axel might have developed into some bloodthirsty warmonger who only desired pointless conflict for the sake of it, rather than the paragon of strength and honor he was today.

As the fledgling kingdoms expanded their territories, they inevitably gave rise to the God of Death and Commerce. After all, both money and life had to be spent in order to successfully wage war, regardless of opponent. It was relatively recently that civilizations had begun to focus on more complex concepts, such as the study of magic, artistic craftsmanship, and punishing the wicked. These were the endeavors that gave birth to Lunar, Goroth, and Teresa, respectively.

“It doesn’t help that my aspects are so subjective,” the nude Goddess grumbled. “It’s not bad enough that justice and evil are merely different perspectives, but even the truth is not as straightforward as I wish it were.”

“Is it?” asked Nyrie with a raised eyebrow. “I understand there are moments where stating the truth would do more harm than good, but even a white lie is objectively false, isn’t it?”

“That’s not what I mean,” answered the blonde with a shake of her head. “For example, you know Jamal’s Hero is a shapeshifting monster, right?”

“I am… aware of it, yes. Come to think of it, I imagine a creature that thrives on deception would be quite infuriating to one such as yourself.”

“Oh, it is. Unbelievably so. At the same time, I can’t help but admire it in some weird way. Because while it does lie, cheat, and steal at every turn, it is true to itself. It does not try to convince itself it is something it is not. That’s something I have been struggling with lately, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

Teresa buried her face in her knees in shame. It was clear having these conflicting views weighed heavily upon her.

“You should not fret too much over the Hero of Chaos,” Nyrie advised her. “Its very existence seems to breed ambiguity, which was probably why it was chosen by Alfonso. Truthfully, I find myself with similarly complicated feelings towards the creature.”

“Oh? I thought you’d actually be glad it showed up, since it’s the main reason your followers won the war and all.”

“That’s not necessarily good for me,” the elder Goddess sternly said. “The fact that my people are hailing a Hero of Chaos as their savior has shaken their faith in me somewhat. It has also somehow won the heart of one of the dryads I had personally blessed, and it uses her like some sort of tool. Not only that, but it also engages in sexual acts with one of my people quite frequently. The mere thought makes my skin crawl.”

Nyrie shuddered, causing the whole tree to rustle and shaking off a several of the godly fruits.

“But it does those things because they are within its devious nature. Much like you said, it acts in accordance with what it is, and I cannot bring myself to truly despise it.”

“Wow, you really are too soft,” Teresa scoffed. “I’m surprised you let it mess around with one of your dryads.”

It was known within the divine community that Nyrie thought of those tree-bound spirits as her own daughters. It was her holy blessing that had given them sentience all those millenia ago, so it was only natural she would want to protect them as their ‘parent.’

“That’s just the thing, though. It treats her with a certain measure of respect, keeps her company, and even helps out with infestations and whatnot,” she explained. “They’ve established a symbiotic relationship that – at least for the moment – benefits them both.”

Despite that, Nyrie still wanted to step in and put a stop to that farce, but she promised Ambrosia she’d stay out of her life after that incident with the satyr.

“So, you’re saying the box is actually good to her?” Teresa voiced her doubt.

“Indeed.”

“What about the lewd acts you mentioned? Isn’t that violating your Taboo?”

“Well… technically what the two of them engage in only brings pleasure. There’s no actual attempt made or even a chance for them to conceive a child, so it doesn’t quite qualify as mating. Even if it is rather disgusting.”

“Wow. Your job’s just as complicated as mine, huh?”

“All of our divine callings have their burdens and shortcomings, Teresa,” Nyrie’s tone turned solemn. “It is different for each of us, but we have all hit low points in our existence. There is not a single one among us that hasn’t been in a position as dire as yours. Some of us… have yet to recover.”

The branches and leaves above began to part, allowing the sunshine to fall on Nyrie’s face unobstructed as she gazed up at the sky. Teresa followed her line of sight and realized her colleague was staring at the sun. She wondered what was so special about some illusory ball of light until she gazed at it deeper. Not with her eyes, but with her mind and soul.

“Is… Is that Solus?!”

“It is.”

“What’s he doing up there?! Or here, for that matter?!”

“Not much of anything, really. His following has dwindled so much in recent years that he struggles to stay awake. I’ve been keeping an eye on him for the past while, but I fear what will happen if something isn’t done soon.”

“I see… I hope he gets better as well…”

Even if the Gods bickered over who had the strongest following and tried to compete for the people’s faith, none of them wished for their peers to suffer. Solus’ situation was almost a worst-case scenario, a direct result of the fall of Percepeia. That was the original name of the continent that lay across the ocean to the northeast of the Kingdom of Horkensaft. It used to be the homeland of the giants and the undisputed domain of Solus until 108 years ago, when it was taken over by the Boneshaper’s undead hordes. The unholy being needed only twenty months to completely decimate the giants’ civilization and cover the entire landmass of Percepeia in the undead plague, converting it into The Blighted Lands.

The rest of the world was shocked to hear of this unprovoked act of aggression and recognized the threat such a force posed to all other nations. However, every expedition they sent to liberate Percepeia had failed, quite miserably at that. In retrospect, it was inevitable. Giants were blessed with immense physiques, easily double the height of most humans and three times that of gnomes. Their bodies were further hardened by the unforgiving climate and titanic monstrosities that plagued their ancestral home. Their mystical abilities were equally formidable. Their unbreakable spirit and fervent study of the stars allowed the ancient giants to develop Spells and magic not found outside Percepeia. It wasn’t a stretch to call them the most powerful enlightened civilization of their time.

Yet for all their might, they were unable to defeat an enemy that grew in strength every time one of the living fell. Thankfully for the rest of the world, the Boneshaper seemed content to rule over his newly established domain. The undead overlord hadn’t made a single attempt at invading the other continents, even after suffering armed invasions any other nation would consider an act of war. The nations of the world had no choice but to tacitly agree to stop throwing their people’s lives away on a lost cause. The damage had already been done. The giants were devastated to the point of becoming an endangered species, and the faithful of Solus had diminished to little more than a cult following. They still found recruits among the world’s smaller races, but the people at large had lost faith in the sun god. A deity of life that failed to protect his people from undeath did not exactly inspire confidence. At this rate, it would not be long before active worship of Solus was abandoned completely.

And when that moment inevitably arrived, the God of Life and Light would vanish from this world.

“Hrmm… Huh?”

Both Nyrie and Teresa were aware of how dire his situation was, so suddenly hearing his youthful voice shocked and delighted them.

“Where am I?” the confused deity took in his surroundings. “Nyrie? And is that… Teresa?! Wait, why in the blazes are you naked, girl?!”

“There’s more important things to worry about!” she shot back.

“Oh? Like what?”

“Like you! Nyrie just told me you’ve been out of it for a while, so what gives?!”

“Ah… Right. Hmm… I’m not completely sure what’s going on, to be honest,” answered the sentient fireball. “Hold on, let me check real quick.”

He went silent for a few moments and began to sort through the sudden influx of faith directed at him.

“It would appear that there are several thousand gnomes and dwarves suddenly offering me their gratitude.”

“… That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” asked Teresa.

“For me, maybe.”

“You don’t sound happy about it.”

“These people are praising the sun with such fervor that I question when was the last time they saw it. I sense they have just barely overcome some great tragedy. While I am glad they yet live, it pains me that they had to suffer so.”

“I see…”

“That’s curious, though,” Solus continued. “A lot of these prayers wish for me to watch over a… Sandman? What’s a Sandman? Is he one of yours, Nyrie?”

“Hah! How about that?”

The Goddess of Nature and Fertility couldn’t help but chuckle when she heard that moniker.

“It would appear that Omar has done it again,” she added with a bemused smile.

“The God of Disorder?” asked Teresa with a raised eyebrow. “What’s that old fart have to do with this?”

“Well, you wouldn’t know this, but ‘Sandman’ is one of the aliases his Hero goes under.”

“Wait, what?” exclaimed Solus. “That guy has a new Hero?! Since when?!”

“About seven or eight months, I think.”

“Seven or eight mon- How long was I out?! What else did I miss?! No, never mind, I’ll catch up later. I need to see if I can ride this wave and secure myself a foothold in Horkensaft. I’m sure Goroth won’t mind too much. Ah, by the way, thanks for keeping an eye on me, babe! You’re the best! It was good seeing you too, Teresa – especially the twins – but I gotta go! Later!”

Solus disappeared with a loud pop, presumably back to his own divine area. His sudden absence left Nyrie and Teresa submerged in darkness, which promptly dispersed when the former willed an illusory ball of light to take the Sun God’s resting place. Its light was no less bright, though it lacked that gentle warmth.

“I told you so,” Nyrie said with a silly grin. “Madeline looks out for us, even if we don’t always see Her hand.”

“I’m… not entirely convinced,” Teresa hesitated, “but I’ll accept the possibility. That guy aside, do you think Solus will be okay with this much support? A few thousand isn’t a lot.”

“I think he’ll be fine, at least for a while. He sounded quite energetic, didn’t he?”

“Right, right. Something just occurred to me though. How come Mandy’s just fine even though she has an even smaller following than Solus?”

“I am not too sure, to be honest,” admitted Nyrie. “I suspect those demons of his are supplying him with all the faith he needs.”

“Really? Those selfish assholes?”

“They recognize him as a father, Teresa. They respect and believe in him unconditionally. Surely, you have seen this countless times among your own.”

“I suppose. I just can’t imagine any of their sorry lot praying.”

“Oh, but you’ve been in their tender mercies for a while now, haven’t you?”

“Wh-what?”

“A chatty little monkey told me you’ve been getting… intimate visits from a certain archfiend.”

“AAAAAARGH!”

Teresa screamed in frustration, her cheeks reddening with shame.

“That damnable loudmouth! I can’t believe he’s going around telling the others about that!”

“Maybe he’s trying to indirectly keep you from making any more lies of omission.”

“Keeping silent about my private affairs isn’t the same as not correcting a convenient misunderstanding!” insisted the blonde. “I mean, if you asked me what day it was, I’d only need to say, ‘it’s Tuesday!’ Not ‘It’s Tuesday and, by the way, I love taking demon dick up the ass!’”

“So, you do like it then?”

“Oh, very much so! It’s such a good stress reliever it makes me feel bad for keeping my followers from enjoying it for so long! I really don’t know where that celibacy thing came from, but it was the stupidest idea I’ve ever had.”

“I am glad you are… rediscovering yourself, but please don’t overdo it, okay? I’m not sure it’s good for you considering your condition.”

“Hey, I have centuries’ worth of my clergy’s repressed sexual desires to sort through, so this is actually part of the rehabilitation. At least, that’s what Darren told me. I honestly feel stronger and a bit more level-headed after each session, so I can’t argue with the results.”

“Oh? That somewhat explains why you look so good.”

“… Huh? I do?”

“Quite so. I don’t know if you noticed it yourself, but to my eyes you seem more beautiful than before. I must say, this demon dick diet is certainly doing wonders for your appearance.”

“Ugh…” groaned Teresa. “Could you please stop saying ‘demon dick’ so much? It’s making me feel uncomfortable.”

“Even though you love it so much?”

“Don’t take my words out of context. You make it sound like I’m some shameless slut that’d be satisfied with anyone.”

“Oh my! Is this demon special to you?!”

Nyrie’s eyes glowed with the spark of an old housewife who had just heard some truly juicy gossip.

“W-well… I sup-suppose. She is, after all, my first…” Teresa admitted with a beet-red face. “She helped me during the worst of the rehabilitation and doesn’t even try to mix her words. She lets me know precisely what she thinks of me and praises my appearance without reservation. It’s nice. Genuine. Even if her words are vulgar and harsh, I enjoy our time together. I find myself saddened when her visit ends, and I anticipate the next one.”

Her embarrassment disappeared in the middle of the rambling response, replaced by a calm, analytical tone.

“Huh. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve fallen for that demon,” the tree teased her.

“Actually, yeah. I have, haven’t I?”

“… What?”

The stupidly honest answer threw Nyrie for a loop. Especially since Teresa had just confirmed something completely unprecedented.

“No, no, no, no! That’s impossible, isn’t it?!”

“Apparently not,” came the much-too-casual answer. “I mean, I haven’t really thought about it until just now, but yeah. Since I can no longer afford to lie to anyone, especially myself, I’ll admit I’ve grown to like Kora beyond our romps.”

“But we’re talking about a violently homicidal rapist!”

“Hey, I never said she was perfect,” Teresa pouted. “Besides, that’s just her being herself. It just so happens she’s a powerful being with the sort of stamina and endurance no human could hope to match. She’s really confident and assertive, too, which I find strangely attractive.”

“I don’t believe this! Are you sure you didn’t hit your head or something?”

“We’re gods, Nyrie. We don’t get concussions. Honestly, I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of this.”

“You’re the one taking it too lightly!”

“No, you’re definitely misunderstanding something. This is one of those flings mortals have all the time, not some timeless romance. It’s not like I want to spend eternity with her. I’ll probably get bored eventually, but I’m going to enjoy this fuzzy feeling while it lasts. That’s all there is to it.”

“… Oh,” Nyrie calmed down. “When you put it like that, I guess I did overreact. I still feel like I should protest on principle, but that doesn’t seem to be necessary considering you realize this is a pointless distraction.”

“It’s not pointless, though. Like I said-”

“I know what you said. Doesn’t change the fact that I don’t understand people who waste their time on intercourse when there are no hopes of conceiving.”

These were the expected thoughts of a Goddess of Fertility. Ploughing a field without planting any seeds was almost a crime in her book.

“Does that also mean the rumors I hear of you hating same-sex couples are true?”

Teresa’s prickly question caused Nyrie to furrow her brows.

“That’s a complicated subject, dearie. ‘Hate’ isn’t really the word I’d use. Such people are born a certain way, so they can’t really help it. If I had to narrow down my thoughts on the matter, though, I’d say they’re rather pitiable.”

“Pitiable? How come?”

“Failing to leave offspring behind would make them failures as living creatures. It also denies them the joy of creating life. Wouldn’t you say the mortals’ ability to do that just by mashing their ugly bits together is a miracle in and of itself?”

“I… guess it kind of is? Never really thought about it,” Teresa shrugged.

“Not only that,” continued Nyrie, “but raising the child is its own reward. Caring for it, watching it grow, teaching it the ways of the world – it is not an experience that can be described with just words.”

She’d personally gone through it with the original twelve dryads. Even if their ‘births’ were unintentional, she still loved and doted on them for a long, long time, even if she didn’t show herself directly. That was ancient history, though. These days, her daughters were more than old enough to take care of themselves, and she was happy to let them live their own lives and make their own mistakes. Especially Ambrosia.

“Enough about that,” she abruptly stated. “I was curious about another of your matters. If it’s not too much bother, I’d like to know how this Inquisition of yours is faring.”

“Hmm, how should I put it… Worse than I hoped, better than I feared? Though I loathe to admit it, Henry was right. People like the idea of change, yet dread it when it actually happens.”

“Yes, a paradox I also find vexing.”

“Overall, I think it’s going quite well. A lot of obvious troublemakers have been brought to justice and many true intentions are bubbling to the surface. Also, monitoring the Inquisition’s progress has brought seventeen potential Hero candidates to my attention.”

“That many so quickly? And you used to be so picky!”

“Yes, well… You could say Kora broadened my horizons.”

“Among other things…”

“Nyrie!”

“’Tis only a jest!” the tree chuckled. “Tell me about these candidates. Any of them stand out?”

“Well, there’s this one guy I think you would like.”

“Oh? How so?”

“He’s got a face only a mother could love.”

The two goddesses chuckled lightly and made small talk for a while, rapidly moving from one topic to the next. During this time, Teresa was able to grasp exactly why Morton was making her apologize to her fellow gods in person – to bring them closer as individuals. It wasn’t like Teresa had never spoken to Nyrie face-to-face before, but this was the first time they’d had an actual conversation despite the elven deity’s past attempts. The junior goddess found the extended chat to be insightful and refreshing, if rather annoying at parts. The two of them were even able to air out some past grievances far, far older than the most recent trouble.

When she finally left Nyrie’s divine area, however, Teresa had unwittingly picked up on a certain question. It was a matter she could not help but consider after speaking with someone like the patron Goddess of Nature and Fertility – whether having kids was really as great as Nyrie made it out to be. It was an innocent and casual quandary that wouldn’t normally amount to anything.

Unless, of course, one was capable of blurring the lines between imagination and reality.

Chapter Three
The Palace

Part One

Boxxy steadily climbed the mountain to the north of Dragunov. It would find the Palace of the Crystal Maiden at its peak. A full day had passed since the Regulator fell and the storm began to disperse, but the frigid weather had yet to fully abate. Frigid winds continued to blow, carrying a heavy amount of snow and sleet. It was as cold as a senior Scribe’s heart, and visibility was an elusive, alien concept. Yet, it still wasn’t as bad as that man-made frozen wasteland. Neither Boxxy nor its familiars were in real danger of freezing to death even though their only means of protection were a set of enchanted travelling cloaks. Admittedly, they weren’t that necessary, but the shapeshifter figured it might as well use them since it went through the trouble of getting them out of Dragunov.

As the monster continued to ascend, it realized the constant whiteout wasn’t entirely caused by the malfunctioning Regulator. This was simply normal weather for this mountain. It reached this deduction after noticing that the cold was getting significantly worse the higher up it went. The blizzard began to overcome the magical protection of its ‘borrowed’ equipment, causing the Sandman’s extremities to feel numb. This irked the creature. The information it got from that dwarven officer made no mention of it being this bad. It even went through the trouble of ‘borrowing’ the man’s authority and identity while he was passed out drunk, so it could get easy access to documents, records, and supplies. In retrospect, it had perhaps focused its investigations too much on the dungeon and not enough on the surrounding environment.

Even then, intelligence on the Palace was rather scarce. There were very few veteran adventurers left by the time it arrived in Dragunov as many had perished trying to break through the storm. Any writings or articles they might have left behind were largely destroyed or buried in ice and rubble. Boxxy interviewed, interrogated, and intimidated everyone it could, yet only learned three things of the dungeon. First, the dungeon fell under the domain of Goroth, the God of Earth and patron deity of artisans and artists. Two, traps were almost as common as monsters, so one had to constantly mind their surroundings as they ventured deeper. The third, most useful tip related to the Crystal Maiden herself – the dungeon’s master and caretaker. Apparently, she took an active role in confusing, taunting, disturbing, and generally messing with any would-be invaders. While she didn’t attack them directly, her interference and the dungeon’s many traps worked together to grind their progress to a halt at every opportunity. The stalling tactics allowed the frigid environment and extremely durable enemies to steadily wear the adventurers down, both physically and mentally, until they were forced to retreat.

In other words, the dungeon’s challenge was a war of attrition that could last days or even weeks. Overall, it was the sort of place that would be impossible to conquer without the right tolls and supplies, which was why Boxxy had spent the time wringing the grateful populace for everything they had. This included a crate full of alchemical elixirs designed to stave off the cold as well as copious amounts of drinking water from melted snow. It didn’t necessarily need to bring any food along since its Hylt Metabolism would draw nutrition from the dungeon’s ambient mana. Even so, it had free space in its Storage, so it secured a few dozen kilograms of jerky. Some particularly noteworthy equipment it acquired were three shield-shaped golden badges, each with a bright yellow gemstone faceted into them. They were all instances of a somewhat uncommon magic item called a Sun Crest, which doubled as a religious icon of Solus. Apparently, there was a small community of giants that lived adjacent to Dragunov, and they produced these symbols of the God of Life and Light to spread their faith and supplement their income.

Religious symbolism aside, the medallions were immensely useful to anyone who aimed to challenge the mountaintop dungeon. Pinning a badge to one’s chest would cause the circular gemstone to glow, providing both light and warmth to the wearer like a miniature sun. The downside was the enchantment consumed MP at a steady pace in order to remain active. This would present absolutely no problem for Boxxy, not merely because it had that Hylt Metabolism to replenish its magical energy. The only downside was that Sun Crests were in short supply and high demand even before the ice age hit, so it was only able to secure three of them. It had abstained from using them until now, since it was worried it might lose the shiny trinkets. However, with the cold getting progressively worse it decided it was a worthwhile risk.

The monster fished the first Sun Crest from its Storage and pinned it to its cloak. As expected, the item began to emit a warm glow that wrapped around the creature in an instant, reviving some of the feeling in its freezing limbs. Boxxy fetched the second badge and tossed it to what looked like a lump of moving snow to its left. Drea’s claw burst out from underneath the white-furred coat she was snuggled up in and snatched the Sun Crest out of the air. The hand disappeared once more, and a barely audible chitter of relief could be heard from the arachnid demoness. Drea didn’t have Kora’s endurance or Xera’s innate fire magic, so she struggled with the cold much more than her colleagues.

The shapeshifter held onto the third badge. Yes, it had two more familiars out in the cold and wanted to keep them in fighting condition should the need arise, but they were already handling the frigid weather. They accomplished this by emulating the improvised heating solution Boxxy had come up with the day before. They probably would’ve been fine without the perverse exchange of bodily fluids and magical energy, but the bleak weather was sapping their motivation. The shapeshifter wanted them at peak condition for when they reached the dungeon, so it allowed this bit of diversion. It just wished they’d keep it down since the constant slapping, grunting, and moaning was grating on its nerves.

Thankfully, Boxxy and its entourage reached the summit before the monster’s patience ran out. It just barely perceived what seemed to be the top at the edge of its MLG’s effective range. It picked up the pace and commanded its familiars to follow suit. Once they pulled themselves over the final cliff, the relentless snowstorm suddenly stopped. It continued to rage behind and above, but the sleet and wind could not go beyond a certain point, as if blocked by an invisible dome. About twenty paces ahead of the group was another, similar wall of magical force that held back a thick, white fog that churned slowly against the boundary. As for the gap between these two event horizons, it was perfectly calm and strangely warm. Not significantly so, but enough for patches of grass to grow here and there.

Boxxy questioned the purpose of this place. Surely it did not exist by accident. Perhaps this was a staging area meant to allow challengers to the dungeon a chance to recuperate from the exhausting climb. The visible remains of two abandoned campsites seemed to confirm this theory. Neither the monster nor its familiars required rest at this point, but there was one aspect of this calm belt that really excited Boxxy. Namely, the ground. It was the first patch of soft, fertile soil it had found since it entered the frozen region surrounding Dragunov. It had given up on finding any land capable of supporting life, so this unexpected opportunity to do a bit of cultivation was a most welcome surprise.

The monster retrieved something from its Storage. At first glance, it was a pinecone like any other, though a second take revealed it was far from mundane. Its many scales opened and closed in a rhythmical, cascading manner from tip to base, as if taking slow, measured breaths. Boxxy was wholly undisturbed by this strange undulation, since it had been doing that since the monster first got the thing, and it wasted no time in putting it to use. The shapeshifter sprouted a tentacle from its wrist and had it gouge a small divot out of the ground. It buried the squirming seed inside the newly formed hole and poured out five vials of holy water it had gotten from a temple of Nyrie before leaving the Republic.

A patch of lush green grass abruptly sprouted from the soggy soil, followed immediately by a series of green vines. They climbed resolutely upwards, twisting and coiling around each other while rapidly growing thicker and longer. Conversely, any other vegetation within sight began to dry up and wither as its meager life force was mercilessly sucked out. The predatory growth slowed its pace considerably once it reached somewhere around the Sandman’s waist. At that point, it began to thicken and harden as the fresh vines were enveloped in a layer of smooth brown bark. In the process of hurtling towards maturity, the plant took on the distinct shape of a woman’s upper body. Her curled arms were pressed tight against her chest and slender hands gripping the shoulders. The face formed last, its contours resembling a mature beauty.

It took about two minutes for the rampant growth to run its course. After a few moments of complete stillness, the vegetative body shook and creaked. The bark covering its eyes lifted, revealing hollow cavities underneath. The hands and arms peeled away from the modest mounds on its torso and pressed hard against the ground. The person-shaped plant uprooted itself with little effort. Its lower half formed into a pair of slender and distinctly feminine legs. The feet were devoid of any humanoid features such as toes or heels, taking on a form that more closely resembled gnarled branches that spread out in every direction to provide support.

The newly-born monster shambled back and forth in place for several awkward moments, its sightless face slowly turning towards the Sandman’s cloaked figure. The shapeshifter, unsure what to do, snapped its fingers to get the thing’s attention. The womanly shrub did not react in the slightest. Boxxy was starting to wonder whether this was normal or if something had gone wrong. Its uncertainty spiked as the brainless husk began to violently shudder and shake. The sudden seizure continued for several seconds as a shimmering green light began to radiate from its vacant eyes. The glow spread from there, running down cracks in its bark all the way down to its roots, subtly altering its shape as it did so. Once the convulsions and glowing ceased, the now oddly familiar face looked up at Boxxy. The vacant expression blossomed into a lovely smile, followed by a polite curtsy entirely unbefitting of its infantile age of ‘less than a minute.’

“Greetings, milord,” it spoke with Ambrosia’s voice. “It brings me great joy to see thou hath decided to use this child after all.”

“How are you feeling?” it asked.

“… Malnourished,” the sapling pouted. “The soil here, ‘tis quite poor.”

“I know, but believe me, it’s the best I could find around these parts. It won’t be a problem, will it?”

“Fret not, milord. This vessel will endure for the full duration I hath promised thee.”

The undulating pinecone was produced by one of Ambrosia’s Ultimate Skills, an ability called Sapling Vessel. When planted and allowed to grow for three or four days – or a few minutes if supplied with Nyrie’s holy water – the seed would grow into a spriggan. This species of plant-based monster was a smaller, much more intelligent off-shoot of the walking trees called treants. They were also far less common, as spriggans only thrived in the deepest, darkest forests where the soil was rich with magic and minerals. A high-class creature needed a high-class environment.

In other words, calling this specimen ‘malnourished’ was an understatement. A normal spriggan seed wouldn’t even sprout in this near-barren mountainside, though the dryad’s creation was far from ordinary. Or genuine. This spriggan was little more than a convincing knock-off, a forgery that would wilt and die within a week of its ‘birth’ regardless of how much sustenance it was given. Much like anything conjured from magic, it was fated to disappear into nothingness once the arcane energies holding it together ran out. Until then, it would serve adequately as Ambrosia’s body double. The dryad could project her consciousness into the soulless sapling, allowing her complete and total remote control, including the Skills at its disposal. This allowed the tree-spirit to witness sights and experience sensations that would otherwise remain beyond her reach. The only issue was that she had to rely on mortals to transport her Sapling Vessel beyond Azurvale’s borders. Ambrosia had entrusted this duty to very few individuals throughout her eons of existence, but each had resulted in a treasured memory.

And, by the look of things, this instance would be no different.

“I must say, milord,” she slowly looked around, “I hath never once imagined I would be called to a place nestled between two storms. Or that it even existed. ‘Tis a phenomenon most bizarre.”

“Tell me about it,” Boxxy rolled its eyes. “This entire trip has been one weird thing after the other, not to mention a colossal waste of time.”

“I am eager to hear the full tale later. However, I imagine milord hath called me out for a specific purpose. Pray tell, what doth thou intend?”

“We’re about to invade a dungeon. It’s supposed to be quite challenging, so I was hoping to get your help with it.”

“Oh! How wondrous!” exclaimed Ambrosia with a clap of her hands. “Entering a dungeon means there will be a lot of mana for me to feast on, yes?!”

“You sure seem excited by that prospect.”

“Well, eating the same thing for millennia can get quite dull. That is why I am eager to sample new things, even if they are not necessarily, as milord would put it, tastier.”

“I can respect that,” the monster nodded. “But if you were really that bored with Azurvale’s mana, why didn’t you ask me to bring you out sooner?”

The spriggan shot Boxxy a rather sharp glare.

“Need I remind milord it was thou who chained mine mind to a dungeon?!”

Even if she were technically capable of ‘leaving’ her tree through this Ultimate Skill, the dungeon core’s influence kept her from even considering that option. Since she never mentioned the ability, nor did Boxxy inquire, this part of her skillset had simply laid forgotten until her recent liberation and subsequent reunion with the hylt creeper.

“Of course. Please forgive me, Ambrosia,” the shapeshifter played nice. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”

Ambrosia’s copy let out a small sigh and relaxed her stance.

“‘Tis alright, milord. I did not intend to lash out at thee, but this sapling’s desperate need for sustenance already has me on edge. I am unused to starvation.”

“Oh, great,” Xera scoffed under her breath. “She’s a glutton, too.”

The djinn’s spiteful words were partially born out of frustration. She had been ordered to cease her distracting shenanigans with Kora before she was finished. Admittedly, it would take many hours of hardcore pounding before the nigh-insatiable demoness was even remotely satisfied, but that was beside the point. Xera personally hated Ambrosia and secretly hoped to never see her meddlesome face again. The archfiend next to her was even less thrilled about this whole situation. The way she unconsciously shielded her crotch and ass was evidence that the dryad’s earlier punishment was quite fresh in her memory. Drea, who had the misfortune of witnessing said punishment, instinctively hid behind Kora.

Dryads were vicious when sufficiently angered.

“What would thou expect of me during this endeavor, milord?” asked Ambrosia.

“You can use support magic, right?”

“Indeed. This body knows several Spells that can cure wounds or shield allies. I am a bit out of practice, however, so mine chanting may be a bit slow.”

“That’s fine, just focus on keeping as many of us alive as possible. My survival is top priority, of course, followed in order by yourself, Snack, Claws, and Arms.”

Demons were of little to no use if their bodies expired. Though, they could be re-summoned after or even during the battle, unlike Ambrosia’s remote self. Her Ultimate Skill was limited to one seed at a time, so replacing the spriggan would be impossible without returning to Azurvale. As for the demons, even though the Soul Link Skill would distribute damage equally between them, Xera was the most fragile. She was also most likely to get hit since she couldn’t block or dodge attacks like the others. She was also most likely to perish first due to her relatively low HP. Conversely, she had the most powerful offense, which bumped her survival up above the other familiars’ in priority.

“As thou commands, milord,” the spriggan bowed again. “However, I have a request of my own I wish to impose upon thee.”

“Oh? What would that be?”

“Should this body fall, and if the situation permits it, please try to secure its head and return it to mine trunk. It will… ease the transition of memories.”

“Alright, I’ll keep that in mind. But to make sure that doesn’t happen, you should probably have one of these.”

Boxxy walked up to the spriggan and wedged its third Sun Crest between her rigid cleavage. The round yellow gemstone embedded in its center immediately began to shine with a gentle, soothing light.

“Feed mana into this if you feel cold,” it explained. “The more you channel into it, the more intense it will get. Just don’t overdo it, its liable to break if you overload it.”

“I am grateful for thy consideration, milord. Will thou other servants be getting one of these as well?”

“No. Arms is an idiot that sucks at anything to do with magic, Snack can conjure flames at will, and Claws wouldn’t be much of an assassin if she shone like the sun. It’s pointless to give these to any of them. Which reminds me…”

Boxxy turned to the stalker and extended a hand. The arachnid demoness chittered pleadingly for a few seconds, but her master demandingly wiggled its fingers. Drea groaned as she handed over the Sun Crest. She felt like she was getting the short end of the stick, since she was very bad at dealing with the cold. Not only was she mostly defenseless against it, but her bug-like body didn’t produce much heat to begin with. She secretly hoped the temperatures beyond that veil of icy fog would be extreme enough to convince her master that she needed the Sun Crest. Until then, she’d have to just grin and bear it.

The stalker was surprised and elated to see Boxxy hand her something in exchange for the heating badge. It was a bulbous crystal vial with a sloppy label that said ‘GCdR+.’ It held a heavy, semi-transparent liquid that sparkled white in the scarce daylight. Drea’s compound eyes darted between the container and her master a few times before Boxxy confirmed it was okay with a firm nod. She snatched the bottle and eagerly drank it, savoring the highly magical concoction’s unique flavor. It tasted like spicy clouds yet went down smooth and heavy like liquid silver. The stalker’s mana-sensitive palate ruled it a solid nine out of ten.

[You have consumed an Elixir of Greater Cold Resistance.]
[You gain 20% Cold Resistance for 2 hours.]

Oh, and the potion’s actual effects were nice, too. The magical benefits were also transmitted to Xera and Kora through the active Soul Link, and Boxxy downed one of its own. It didn’t have too many of these, for Dragunov’s citizens had gone through most of their alchemical supplies. It had to make them count, meaning it was time to move out.

“Everyone form up!” it commanded. “We’re going in!”

The party of monsters took a basic formation, with Kora at the front, Drea at the back, Boxxy in the middle, and Ambrosia and Xera on either side. The Stalker would later move ahead of the group to serve as the scout, but it was better to have the toughest one take the lead until they had some idea what they were heading into. The dryad bolstered the group with some magic of her own. It was a minor incantation that would need to be reapplied frequently, but a welcome boon all the same.

[You have been granted Wildvine Infusion.]
[All Attribute effectiveness increased by 5% for 30 minutes.]

With everyone ready and preparations out of the way, the group strode into the freezing fog wall that served as the dungeon’s threshold.

[You have entered the Palace of the Crystal Maiden.]
[Flight is now restricted.]
[Spatial travel is now restricted.]
[Your body begins to feed off the ambient mana. Automatic HP and MP recovery increased by 200%.]

Boxxy felt like the air itself was assaulting it. The lingering mystical energies around here were so thick that moving its limbs around felt like wading through soup. A tasty, rich, abundant soup that its body wanted to slurp up on the spot, but its onset was so sudden and borderline hostile that the creature instinctively wanted to reject it.

“Mmmmmm… So good!”

Ambrosia had no such reservations. She held her hands above her head and moaned in an almost sensual manner while she eagerly slurped it all up. The air around her seemed to twist and bend as her body pulled in as much mana as it could. Her appetite was so voracious that the white fog surrounding the group began to visibly thin as it drifted into the gaps between her bark, never to be seen again. The spriggan’s body reacted to the sudden influx of energy by plumping up considerably, giving her slender figure the same motherly curves the dryad usually had. Well, almost. Certain parts were still smaller than her voluptuous self – especially the hip, thigh, and chest area – but that didn’t seem to bother her too much. If the flowers blooming from various parts of her body were any indication, she seemed quite content with her meal.

Following her lead, Boxxy decided it would also sample the surrounding miasma and took in a huge lungful of the mana-enriched air.

“Hmm, not bad,” it remarked, “not bad at all. The sheer volume is quite satisfying, though its flavor leaves something to be desired. Overall, I’d say Ambrosia’s is still tastier.”

“Oh, milord! Thou need not flatter me so!”

“What are you talking about? I am simply stating the facts.”

This straightforward answer further flattered the spriggan, as she realized this creature never minced its words when it came to food. Knowing this was its honest opinion only made the words seem all the sweeter. In fact, it was one of the nicest things it had ever said to her, which made her cup her cheeks as if she was trying to hide her blushing face. Not that her current species was even capable of such a feat.

“Let’s not get too distracted,” Boxxy cautioned. “This is enemy territory, be ready for anything.”

The others responded in the affirmative, and the group began to make their way inwards with Kora at the front. The hylt creeper and the spriggan siphoned off the mystic fog as best they could, but it didn’t seem to improve their visibility or stop the cold from sucking the heat out of their bodies. Luckily, the party soon broke through and entered what seemed to be the Palace’s gardens. It was a wide-open area filled with various trees, flowers, and hedges that had been frozen solid to the point they looked like ice sculptures.

The Palace of the Crystal Maiden was visible far off in the distance, looming over everything from its perch atop the mountain’s highest point a few kilometers away. As one might expect, it seemed sculpted out of ice, which made it sparkle beautifully in what little sunlight it caught. It was the only place natural light was allowed to fall on this summit. The rest of the sky had been blocked off by thick, gray clouds. Furthermore, the cliff that the structure was resting on was shrouded in a thick mist. It was impossible to tell how one would actually approach or scale it.

However, Boxxy and company had more pressing matters.

“Well, well, well! What have we here?!”

A female voice echoed around them, accompanied by a sudden gust of wind. The small, tornado-like air current lifted snowflakes out of the air and ground, instantly pulling them together into the figure of an elf-like woman. She had pale, pink skin, a youthful face on the cusp of adulthood, and a body to match. Her black hair was in an obscenely long ponytail that hung down to her waist and her eyes shone with a brilliant white light that made it impossible to see her irises. She also had a pair of cute glass-like horns poking out of her forehead, denoting her demonic lineage. Her modest breasts were bound by an azure tube top with a golden rim, and she had a similarly colored scarf wrapped around her neck and shoulders. The ensemble seemed to be designed to emphasize her cleavage, but it was failing as there was little to work with. Her long, poofy pants and pointy shoes seemed to be made of the same material as her top and completely hid her lower body.

Boxxy’s attention was drawn to another aspect of her appearance - the obscene amount of jewelry she wore. Her fingers all had rings and jewel-encrusted golden bangles, bracelets adorned her biceps and wrists, and a brilliant sapphire amulet hung off her neck nestled in her bosom. She also had a pair of silver hairpins keeping her ponytail in place, and her ears, lip, brow, and nose were all pierced with even more precious gems and metals.

“Greetings, travelers. I welcome you to-”

Her introduction was cut short when Drea attempted to cut her face open. It took a split second to throw a piece of her thread to Kora who used it to swing her around like a flail at this pompous stranger. The surprise attack worked and the stalker’s scythes found their mark, but ultimately proved a futile effort. The creature turned out to be just an illusion of some sort, so the stalker’s blades accomplished little beyond disturbing the image of her face as if it were a puff of smoke.

“Hey! Watch it!” the stranger complained while her distorted visage reassembled itself. “I got a job to do here, shit-for-brains!”

The display, combined with her exotic appearance and prideful attitude, led Boxxy to a single conclusion. This individual was the snarky Crystal Maiden. Furthermore, she was a djinn like Snack. Well, not exactly the same. From what the shapeshifter knew of this variety of demon, they were creatures of sloth and decadence. Any basic demon could potentially Rank Up into a djinn and, considering how this one was laughably inferior to Snack in terms of sex appeal, she clearly hadn’t started out as a succubus. A fiend, perhaps? No, that didn’t feel right, and she seemed too loud and obnoxious for a stalker. Or maybe it was precisely because of-

No, her origin wasn’t important.

“Are you the dungeon master of this place?” it called out.

“Hmm? Oh me, oh my! You are rather sharp for a brainless oaf too ugly to show his face, aren’t you? I guess you must be the leader of this circus troupe. Are you sure you’re in the right place, though? No offense, but I doubt you and your traveling whorehouse of a carnival intended to be here. Or were you so lost in your adolescent fantasies that you actually thought yourself capable of challenging a real dungeon instead of the bunnies and butterflies you’re used to?”

Rather than respond to her blatant attempts at provocation, the monster took them to mean ‘yes’ and continued on its way. The djinn continued her verbal harassment and tried to get a rise out of it and its entourage. Even if her insults were puerile and superfluous, her high-pitched voice and cocky demeanor were objectively annoying. However, her antics failed to get a significant reaction out of her ‘guests.’ The demons were ordered not to respond to her taunts, while Boxxy and Ambrosia were exceptionally adept at ignoring pests. Yet, she didn’t stop trying to belittle the group despite their refusal to respond or react. It was the right move. Persistence was key if one hoped to get under someone else’s skin. Boxxy was learning a good amount from her on the subject of annoying others, though the skill’s usefulness was questionable.

“You must think yourself so clever just because you’re a Warlock,” she continued, spitefully. “Fucking slave drivers, the lot of you. Can’t wait to hear you scream when your ‘pets’ finally turn on you! Surely, you understand they’re plotting your demise even now, you tiny-dicked loser!”

It became evident that the djinn had never seen any of Flümph’s broadcasts of the Boxxy show, for she clearly had no idea whom she was dealing with. Otherwise, she’d know she was wasting her breath. Her ignorance to the Sandman’s identity as the Hero of Chaos was likely due to her spending an obscene amount of time in the physical realm. Considering that she was the caretaker of a centuries-old dungeon, it really wasn’t all that surprising.

The monster decided to give her a bit of her own medicine. It too was something of an expert at pissing people off, so it rescinded its previous order and mentally instructed its familiars to give her pitying looks. They accomplished this flawlessly and genuinely, for they truly thought her attempts to rile up their master were laughable at best. It was a small gesture, but one that seemed to have the intended effect, as her cocky smirk disappeared almost instantly.

“D-Don’t look down on me!” she lashed out. “You think you bitches are hot shit just because your tits are big?! And what the hell’s the deal with that walking tree?! All of you should drop dead and turn to shit!”

Boxxy continued masterfully ignoring her as the group approached an open gatehouse in the middle of a castle-like wall. When it and the others stepped in front of it, the djinn’s face suddenly warped into a twisted grin.

“Gotcha!”

A rectangular section of the mossy ground lit up, and the five invaders disappeared from their spots in a bright flash of light before any could react to the magical trap.

Part Two

Boxxy found itself standing alone in a jail cell of solid stone, a steel grate blocking the exit. The creature snarled involuntarily as some unpleasant memories surfaced from whence they were buried. It turned that awoken animosity inwards, silently chastising itself for not spotting that teleportation trap. That didn’t last long, however, as it quickly shifted the blame for that slip-up onto the environment messing with its magical perception. Indeed, the mana in the air was so thick it obscured the magical formation in a sea of white noise. The monster was confident it would have spotted it with ease if it had been a physical mechanism since its Mana Locator Gland perceived solid objects with greater clarity. No spikes or trip-wires would get the drop on Boxxy T. Morningwood – that was certain. This slip-up was in no way indicative of the creature’s inexperience with dungeon delving. To imply that it had grown complacent and overly reliant on its MLG was equally preposterous.

Mental gymnastics aside, there was no changing the fact that Boxxy was cut off from all its allies.

[You are in a magic suppression zone.]

If the alert floating around inside its mind was any indication, it would have to stay this way for a while. Some experimental hand-waving and chanting confirmed that it could no longer invoke any Spells. It was similarly incapable of using any Warlock Skills, nor could its telepathic messages reach out to its familiars. Attempts to view their Statuses were similarly futile, flooding its consciousness with an incomprehensible stream of gibberish. It tried to dial Demons ‘R’ Us, just in case. Unsurprisingly, its call could not connect.

It would appear this ‘magic suppression zone’ was quite thorough. It likely had some loopholes or weaknesses, but the shapeshifter wasn’t familiar with this dungeon feature. It had no memory of seeing such an option within the dozens of menus and prompts of its lair’s core. Curiously enough, it could still remotely access those controls despite the suppression zone. It gave them another once-over and confirmed that its own dungeon was incapable of creating such an area. It also noticed a variety of plant-based monsters, mechanisms, and traps it could previously access were no longer there. Boxxy never intended to use those Dungeon Management features, but the implications that functions and options could just straight up disappear was rather worrisome.

Oh, wait. This was probably because Ambrosia wasn’t the dungeon master anymore. Most likely, her appointment as the dungeon’s curator had given it access to those features, and her ‘quitting’ would explain their absence. This idea got the curious creature pondering about its implications. If employing different dungeon masters unlocked unique and special properties within the core, perhaps that was the source of this ‘magic suppression zone.’ The Palace’s caretaker was a djinn, after all, and her kind supposedly had some damn powerful magic at their disposal. Depriving others of their mystical abilities could have been a trick that the area inherited from the djinn. Alternatively, not all dungeon cores were created equal.

Whichever the case, Boxxy was no closer to figuring out how to nullify or overcome the suppression than a few minutes ago.

“Welcome to the Glacial Gallows.”

The dungeon master’s nagging voice echoed through the prison’s halls, heralding the appearance of her mist-like illusion just outside Boxxy’s cell.

“I hope it is to your liking,” she said with a shit-eating grin. “It’s a special ‘time-out room’ for naughty little Spell-slingers who rely too much on their tongue-twisters and wiggly fingers. Go on – just try to get out of here with your own two hands!”

The monster walked up to the steel cage and grasped one of the bars with the Sandman’s oversized palm. The djinn was unfazed and merely rolled her eyes.

“Okay,” she continued, “admittedly, you’re a freak of nature that’s a bit more heavy-set than usual, but you’re still not getting out of there. Your only hope is to wait for your whores to come and rescue-”

*Click*

Her monologue was suddenly interrupted by the cage being unlocked, followed by the loud creaking of the metal door swinging open. The Sandman casually stepped out of the jail cell, stood before the djinn’s floating illusion, and practically loomed over her as it stared into her glowing white eyes.

“You were saying?” it asked mockingly.

“Th-this doesn’t mean jack shit! So what if you can pick a lock?! You think a prison like this doesn’t have guards!?”

The djinn turned, put her index finger and thumb in her mouth, and let out a sharp whistle that echoed down the stone hallway. The flames of the lit torches on the walls began to twist and deform as a gust of cold air washed over Boxxy. A chorus of scraping and rattling emanated from a nearby corner as a trio of creatures as large as the Sandman crept into view. Boxxy had never laid eyes on such monsters. They were clearly reptilian, with thick serpentine tails below the waist and humanoid bodies above. Their protruding jaws were lined with needle-like teeth while a plethora of spikes and fins adorned the sides, top, and back of their skulls like hair. Their facial features were reminiscent of that lizard-man Hero the shapeshifter killed a while back, albeit with a distinctly more feral edge.

They were outfitted in thick leather shoulder pads, elbow guards, and vambraces along their arms. However, they seemed more for ceremonial or decorative purposes rather than personal defense, as they covered a laughably small portion of their humanoid halves. It was obvious that they primarily relied on their hides for protection and for good reason. Their scales looked quite dense and heavy, and their natural weapons were quite nasty, too. Their bite was likely venomous and their four-clawed hands and bone-spike-tipped tails could easily puncture unenchanted metal armor.

“Better start running,” the djinn smirked. “These boys haven’t been fed in a while.”

The ‘guards’ let out loud hisses while baring their pointy teeth and lunged at Boxxy. The one in front coiled its lower body like a spring before launching forward. The shapeshifter similarly sprang forward it, and the sudden movement scattered the djinn’s illusion like a puff of smoke. The magical projection made no attempt to reconstitute itself, for the dungeon master had other ‘guests’ to attend to. Boxxy used Metal Mimicry to grow a massive broadsword from its hands and took a swing at the airborne snake-man. The blade smashed into the side of the creature’s head, sending it careening into the wall. While the hit was strong enough to daze the monster, it didn’t slice its head in half like a ripe melon as Boxxy had intended. Admittedly, the shapeshifted weapon was unenchanted and therefore lacking in lethality, but its inability to break through the creature’s scales and shatter its skull confirmed it was just as tough as the doppelganger suspected. It was an upper-class monster that would be difficult to dispatch without high-end equipment, and Boxxy could not access the arsenal within its Storage.

Wait, could it?

The invader side-stepped a second lizard and batted away a third, then attempted to access its extradimensional space. The obsessive hoarder was delighted to discover that its monster-derived abilities functioned perfectly fine, even the extra-magical ones. That being the case, it absorbed the sword back into its flesh and plucked its favorite mithril from its stash. It rushed one of the dazed serpents, stabbing it through the eye socket and driving the beautiful weapon deep into its skull. It used the shiny weapon as a lever, abruptly grabbing hold of the creature’s shoulder and twisting its head around until something snapped loudly. The lizard-thing began twitching and writhing wildly, but these were merely death throes. No matter how tough, it could not survive a pierced brain and broken neck.

[Proficiency level increased. Sword Mastery is now Level 11. STR +2. DEX +2.]
[Level up!]
[Congratulations, you are now a Level 34 Blade Dancer! DEX +2. END +2. STR +1. AGI +1.]
[Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Legendary Endurance.]

The lizard-creature’s demise unwittingly gave Boxxy the last bit of XP it needed to reach a significant milestone.

[Legendary Endurance]
A being whose vitality and constitution are the stuff of legends.
Requirements: Reach 1,000 Endurance (END).
[Effects]
Increases poison and disease resistance by 75%.
Increases stamina recovery rate by 50%.

This was a pleasantly tasty surprise for Boxxy. It had no idea a thousand points in a single Attribute awarded such a significant Perk. Granted, it wasn’t particularly worried about tiring out or succumbing to poisons or toxins, but now it could put those quandaries completely out of its mind. It would have to wait to assess how tasty the new Perk was, for it had more bundles of XP to reap. Quite a bit more, as dozens of slithering creatures began swarming it from both sides of the hallway before it was done dealing with the initial three. Boxxy wasn’t bothered since it had already devised a method to quickly and cleanly deal with them. A combination of its MLG and the Adagio Variation and Hornet Style Skills of its Blade Dancer Job allowed the monster to make pinpoint strikes at the swarming monsters’ weak spots.

It used finesse rather than brute strength to gouge out eyes, slit open throats, and, on rare occasions, skewer hearts. Trying to wedge the slender blade’s tip in between the gaps in their scales was a fresh experience that the shapeshifter found strangely fun and therapeutic. It completely outclassed the monsters and wound up treating this encounter like a game rather than a life-or-death struggle. After a while Boxxy realized that such a casual attitude was ill-advised in a place such as this, so it stopped toying with its food and concentrated solely on wiping out the enemy with brutal efficiency.

Its killing spree sped up once the Blade Dancer Job reached Level 35, at which point it picked up Flamenco de Fuego, the second Deadly Dance Skill. Rather than Winterlich Waltz’s sweeping slashes that chilled enemies to the bone, this used quick step-ins and rapid thrusts to riddle them with burning holes. It proved a very timely pick-up since fire seemed to be the Bane of these serpentine monsters. Around this time, Boxxy figured out that the magic suppression zone targeted Spells and Skills derived from Caster Jobs specifically. So, it had full access to all of its non-Warlock abilities. An odd limit to be sure, but the monster knew it was pointless to question the logic behind dungeon-related mysteries.

Those musings helped it grasp this area’s setup. These serpentine creatures were vulnerable to fire, so they were stationed in an area that rendered Pyromancers and Wizards effectively helpless. The prison’s hallways were filled with a significant number of mechanical traps, including spring-loaded spikes, poisoned darts, pitfalls, water jets, and smoke-based contraptions that made traversing the area an absolute nightmare. At the same time, the traps did no harm to the thick-skinned lizard-things. Boxxy had to admit the dungeon’s complimentary environment benefitting the monster’s strengths and weaknesses was a smart decision on behalf of whoever designed it. It was an unexpectedly educational experience, and the monster took mental notes should it ever need to shore up its lair’s defenses. Of course, that worked both ways. The dungeon’s creator stood to learn a lot about their designs should it carefully review the shapeshifter’s trail of carnage. The most profound lesson to be had here was that good judgment alone was wholly incapable of containing the sentient catastrophe named Boxxy T. Morningwood.

The monster’s rampage continued until it had fought its way out of the prison’s interior and into the main yard. The dirt here was frozen solid and hard as a rock, but coarse enough to not be slippery. The open space was surrounded by four tall stone walls covered with ice, apart from the massive gatehouse barring the exit on one side and the prison building on the other. The mist-shrouded structure atop the mountain’s peak loomed over the walls, making it clear this dungeon within a dungeon was built at the base of the cliff upon which the titular Palace of the Crystal Maiden could be found.

The fact that the prisoner had made it this far was why the djinn suddenly made an appearance.

However, when her projection materialized out of thin air and relayed what it saw back to her, she was struck dumb. At least thirty of the icescale naga she’d placed in the Glacial Gallows lay on the ground either dead or dying, their blood smeared across every conceivable surface. The bodies had yet to be reclaimed by the dungeon, allowing the Sandman to sit himself atop a throne of corpses. His mask and cowl were off, revealing a grotesque bald head riddled with burn scars and old cut wounds. It was a horrific visage, but what really perturbed the dungeon master was the fact he was casually eating one of her subordinates’ lopped-off arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Was wondering when you’d show up,” he spoke after swallowing his mouthful. “You got any more of these things? This lot is hardly enough for a snack.”

He proceeded to take another bite of the limb with a series of disturbing crunching noises as bone, scale, and meat were ground to a fine paste within the confines of his wide mouth. Incidentally, this wasn’t all an act. Boxxy honestly found these creatures quite tasty. The scales were arguably the best part. They became delightfully crunchy once their owners had lost their lives and the various Skills that hardened them ceased working. It would normally be impossible for it to gain any sustenance from the dungeon’s creatures since the core would reclaim and recycle their bodies, converting them back into the magical energy that spawned them. However, the hylt creeper could literally digest the mana in question, making the meal both filling and satisfying.

“What in the fuck are you?!” bellowed the dungeon master. “There’s no way a mere human would be able to, ugh, eat them! They have poisonous blood for crying out loud!”

“Ohhh!” exclaimed the disfigured mercenary. “So that’s why they’re so spicy!”

It made sense considering many of these snake-men had tried to stall it with their venomous bites and poisonous breaths, but such efforts were wasted against someone with Legendary Endurance.

*CRUNCH MUNCH MUNCH*

“Oh, God! I can’t look at this!”

For all her self-confidence, the floating demon was either surprisingly squeamish, or her acting skills were top-notch. Boxxy didn’t care either way and kept eating to pass the time while it rested after that prolonged skirmish. The fact that its behavior was visibly unsettling the djinn was merely a bonus. In addition to messing with her emotions, the invader’s actions also greatly confounded the djinn as she tried to wrap her head around this situation. The dungeon core’s Invader Analysis told her this guy was a Level 61 human Warlock named Hugh Mungus. It should have been mathematically impossible to make it this far without any magic. Unless, of course, the Status the core detected wasn’t genuine, but there was only one way that could be.

“You’re a Hero?!” she blurted out.

The Essence Concealment Skill exclusive to the gods’ chosen was the only thing that could fool a dungeon’s Invader Analysis.

“For real?” the Sandman swallowed audibly. “You just noticed that? Are you seriously that incompetent? You’re clearly not qualified to be a dungeon master. Maybe you should look into getting another job.”

The creature paused to take another bite.

“Maybe painting signposts or something,” it added while munching.

The djinn’s spiteful expression and seething glare were telltale signs that Boxxy had struck a nerve by questioning her qualifications. It may have been unintentional at first, but now the shapeshifter was deliberately toying with her. Its goal was to goad her into doing something rash and/or stupid that it could take advantage of. Unfortunately, what followed was not at all what the shady shapeshifter had expected, as the curator’s expression turned from utter disgust and disdain to violent delight.

“Well, that changes things, doesn’t it?” she said in an oddly chipper voice. “Looks like I get to put you and your freaky sex slaves through the Hero-only course! Oh, what fun!”

She quickly accessed the Dungeon Management screen’s Guardian Assignment section and turned a few things ‘on.’ She floated up into the air and yelled up towards the roof of the tower-like Glacial Gallows.

“Ohhhh, Timmy! Lunch time!”

A loud roar fell on top of Boxxy as a massive shadow passed over it. The creature overhead belonged to the same variety as the others it faced so far, with several key differences. It was a few sizes larger and had a pair of massive bat-like wings that allowed it to fly well above the shapeshifter’s reach. Plus, it was better armed than the ground-bound grunts in every sense of the word. It had four arms instead of two, each gripping a fancy-looking crystalline weapon. The upper, longer set wielded a crystal spear and kite shield while the lower pair held a pair of curved swords.

Boxxy wanted to file a complaint. This dungeon was a no-fly area, wasn’t it? Snack was forced to walk on the way in, for any attempts at floating above a certain height were met with her being slammed into the ground by an unseen force. Yet, this thing, which according to its Eyes of the Dead God was named Timothy, was blatantly ignoring that rule. Though it wouldn’t make sense for a dungeon’s magical countermeasures to apply to its residents, especially when it came to powerful figureheads. Timothy had more than double the HP of the fodder Boxxy had been slaughtering for the past half hour or so and was clearly of a higher species, probably a rare variant as well. The djinn did mention something about a ‘Hero-only course,’ which implied this was an additional challenge intended for exceptional individuals.

All of this information allowed Boxxy to accurately deduce what function this winged monster served within the dungeon.

“Oh-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho-ho!”

The demoness let out a haughty laugh as she looked down at the Sandman’s gruesome visage.

“Better prepare your anus, scrotum-face! Because Timmy here’s a Drakeling Alpha of the Icescale Naga tribe, and he’s going to-! Going to… Err… “

Her words began to trail off the more she looked into the invader’s yellow eyes. They were not the eyes of fearful awe she was expecting. What seemed to come out of them instead was a calculating stare that sized Timmy up as if he were a full-course gourmet meal. Worst of all, at least in the djinn’s mind, was the thoroughly creepy half-crescent grin on this weirdo’s bloodstained lips.

“Wuh-why are you smiling?” she stammered aloud.

“This thing is an area guardian, right?!” he asked, gaze unmoving.

“Uhh…”

“This means I’ll get a treasure chest when I kill it, right?!”

Without waiting for a response, Boxxy instantly dropped all pretense of being a person. It formed its legs into a long serpentine tail, mimicking the monster it had been munching on until a few moments ago. It coiled and tensed up the muscular appendage in the same fashion as well. The organic spring unfurled in a sharp, snapping motion as the shapeshifter’s ridiculous Attributes sent it flying straight upwards like a confused meteorite.

Not literally flying, of course. The dungeon would put a stop to that, but jumping was fair game. This particular leap allowed the shapeshifter to intercept its airborne target with ease. However, Timmy wasn’t the boss of this area for nothing. It didn’t even question how something was able to launch itself over twenty meters into the air and thrusted its spear at the incoming shiny-seeking-missile. The glimmering weapon found its mark and pierced clean through Boxxy’s chest as the two monsters collided into each other. Rather, the doppelganger had willingly impaled itself upon its weapon, knowing it would not inflict much damage. These icescale naga were the type of monster that excelled in endurance and defense, but their offensive capabilities left something to be desired. The same applied to their boss. Even if it was three times stronger than the average lizard, it would have been impossible to take away more than a third of Boxxy’s maximum HP in a single blow. Even that was an overestimation, as the former mimic was left with more than three quarters of its life force. It wasn’t until Timmy slashed at its massive body with swords several times before the shapeshifter’s HP fell to about half.

Which was exactly what Boxxy was aiming for.

The monster grasped the spear shaft with one hand for leverage, took out one of its best longswords, and invoked the Skill it had pilfered from Teresa’s Hero.

“Vengeance!”

The sword lit up with a radiant white glow that left a trail of light in its wake as it swung. Infused with divine energy, the blade easily split open the alpha naga’s chest, leaving behind a massive gash and making the creature howl with a shrill cry of pain. It was a devastating wound but far from lethal. The scaly bastard had most of its HP remaining and refused to fall, but Boxxy wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. It sprouted a pair of tentacles out of its right shoulder while its left arm continued to cling to its opponent. One of the newly grown appendages reached into its Storage and pulled out an arm-length metal cylinder. The other fleshy tendril skillfully pulled the pin out of it, after which both limbs worked together to stuff the object as deep into the naga’s open chest wound as it would go.

Boxxy kicked itself apart from its opponent and began to fall like a rock. A pair of enormous leathery wings erupted from its back and shoulders, allowing it to glide harmlessly towards the ground. It made a sloppy landing atop the same pile of corpses it was sitting on earlier, producing a disgusting squelch and sending several body parts flying off. One of these was the half-eaten arm from earlier, which it snatched out of the air and instantly took a big bite.

The incendiary grenade it had stuffed into the alpha’s torso exploded in the next instant, wrapping it in an intense alchemical fire it had no hope of putting out. Suddenly enveloped in its Bane, the creature had no choice but to flail around in the air for a few moments before going into a spiraling nosedive. It smashed head-first into the Glacial Gallows building and then crashed into the blood-soaked ground behind Boxxy with a satisfying thud. The flaming pile of lizard continued to writhe and whine a while longer before the persistent flames finished roasting it from the inside out.

[The area guardian of the Glacial Gallows has been slain.]
[To the victor go the spoils.]
[The Glacial Gallows can now be accessed freely for the next 24 hours.]

A loud, grinding noise came out of the nearby gatehouse as it began to open while the djinn looked on in utter disbelief. That expression had been frozen on her face ever since Boxxy sprang upward. She seemed to have forgotten to breathe as her mind was still parsing the events that just unfolded. Her mental buffering ended abruptly when the exit to the Glacial Gallows finished opening with a loud clang, revealing a golden treasure chest that lay immediately beyond.

“… What?” she let out weakly. “But that’s not… But Timmy was… The anti-magic zone… Where did the fire… And since when could Warlocks… WHAT?!”

“LET ME MAKE ONE THING CLEAR, PUNY WEAKLING!”

“Eeeep!”

The pink-skinned woman let out a tiny scream unbefitting of her status as a centuries-old Ranker. Her reaction wasn’t caused by the gravelly, authoritative voice that came from behind her, nor was it the foreboding shadow that suddenly loomed over her. It was the fact that she recognized both of those that gave her pause. Shaking profusely, she turned her head around to behold Boxxy’s best impersonation of Nagnamor. She didn’t even have time to process that this was just a copy not even half the original’s height before the shapeshifter thrust its charcoal-colored draconic skull into her face and howled at her.

“YOU ARE NO LONGER IN CONTROL!”

“Aaaaarh!”

The djinn known as Setre fell out of her seat in a fit of shock and panic, having reflexively undone her Mistborn Projection Skill. She panted heavily while looking around the ice-themed throne room, feeling like she had just awoken from a nightmare. It was a surprisingly apt comparison, considering the repressed memories that had just flashed across her mind. Not just of her old boss yelling, but of all her peers ridiculing and harassing what they perceived to be a worthless fiend. They were right. A demon could not turn into a djinn unless they were a deviant whose immortal soul turned away from the desires they were born from. In Setre’s case, she always hated getting her own hands dirty and did everything in her power to have others do the heavy lifting while she lazed around. The Overlord of the Flaming Legion had sought to rectify this flaw and in the process had left some rather traumatic scars on the former fiend’s soul. Whether through luck or instinct, Boxxy was able to exploit that weakness and shake her to the core.

Now that the moment had passed and Setre regained her wits, she realized that what she had seen back there wasn’t actually Nagnamor.

“Argh, I’m such an idiot!” she screamed in anger while flailing around like a spoiled child. “His head wasn’t even on fire! That fucking bastard! How dare he get the better of me! I don’t care who or what he is, I’m gonna kill him, bury him, and piss on his corpse for good measure!”

In a fit of spite, she quickly accessed the dungeon’s Item Allocation menu and took a peek inside the chest her adversary had been awarded. It would seem he was randomly allotted a sapphire-laden diadem that had excellent properties for a Spell-slinger. He hadn’t opened it up yet, so she took this opportunity to try and swap it for another item. She couldn’t give him complete trash, though, no matter how much she wished she could. Goroth had set up these prize pools to ensure victorious adventurers would receive fittingly substantial rewards for their efforts.

While the spiteful dungeon master couldn’t replace Boxxy’s loot with a crate of expired potions, she could swap the item out for one that would be practically useless to that asshole. But what would that be? Caster items were obviously right out, and she hesitated to opt for a piece of armor. Heavy weapons were equally off the table, since he was obviously much more proficient in melee combat than she initially assumed. As she scanned through the catalog of Artifact-grade items, she came across the perfect dud – Winter’s Bite. It was a crystalline longbow that had a bunch of features, most notably its ability to conjure ice-imbued ammunition when the string was drawn.

“This will do! Take that, dickface!”

She switched out the golden chest’s contents just as the invader was about to open it and leaned back in her chair, a smug smile on her face. It was something of a rash decision, but she was sure her petty revenge had been worth it. Sure, it was technically a more valuable item than the one originally in there, but it would be completely useless to that creature. Even on the off chance that the absurd invader was able to wield the weapon effectively, it wouldn’t help it conquer the dungeon in the slightest since ice-based attacks were meaningless against its monsters.

“Alright, let’s see if I can get one of the other-”

[The area guardian of the Menagerie has been slain.]
[To the victor go the spoils.]
[The Menagerie can now be accessed freely for the next 24 hours.]

Her scheming was rudely interrupted when a dungeon-wide notification informed her that another one of its bosses had been defeated.

“… Okay. I guess I underestimated that tree as well.”

She should’ve known better considering how that spriggan was gluttonously soaking up mana, but she never imagined a walking twig could take down the Menagerie guardian. Then again, she didn’t know this was a Hero’s companion until just now. That was fine, though. Setre only needed to offer that Warlock’s familiars the right deal, and she was sure she could win them over to her side. Her initial ‘meetings’ with them didn’t go over too well, but at least they had no reason to go above and beyond to protect their summoner. Considering they’d been cut off from receiving new orders, they were probably just lazing around doing nothing. It’s what she would’ve done.

[The area guardian of the Torture Chamber has been slain.]
[To the victor go the spoils.]
[The Torture Chamber can now be accessed freely for the next 24 hours.]

It was at that point that Setre was forced to admit that not-Nagnamor was right. She was truly no longer in control of this situation.

Part Three

Ambrosia strode down a marble hallway that any ruler would be proud to have in their castle. The Sun Crest upon her chest filled her surroundings with a serene golden light that fit in with the regal opulence. The square floor tiles had a mirror-like polish that perfectly reflected the six-meter-tall ceiling and the tree-woman’s underside. The walls were four meters apart and just as impeccable. They created an optical illusion that made it seem as though an infinite number of spriggans stretched out to Ambrosia’s left and right.

Yet, as ridiculously reflective as these surfaces were, they were very far from bare. The floor bore a number of colorful patterns that seemed like carpets, and the walls were dotted by huge stone doors with no apparent handles or hinges. Numerous murals depicting everything from terrifying creatures to the gods themselves covered every millimeter of the ceiling overhead. All the extravagance combined into a feast for the eyes that perfectly indicated this was the realm of Goroth, God of Artists and Artisans.

Ambrosia was not impressed. Her lovely face had twisted into a scowl ever since she had come here, and her discomfort with her surroundings had only deepened in the few minutes since. Sure, the workmanship was undoubtedly of superb quality, well beyond anything a dungeon core could produce on its own, but that was precisely why the dryad hated it. She personified the untamed vitality of nature, so she felt out of place in such a lifeless, sterile space. Even the air was completely dry and hopelessly stale to the point where ice did not form on any of the surrounding surfaces, despite the intense cold.

“Welcome to the Menagerie.”

The dungeon master’s Mistborn Projection appeared in front of the dryad. She was frowning like Ambrosia, mostly because she had just finished her first face-to-face with the infuriating Warlock. Still, she liked to think she had a handle on that cocky bastard, so she put the cloaked figure out of her mind and focused on the most mysterious and unknown of her guests. The Invader Analysis had pegged this tree-woman called Ambrosia as a Level 50 Tree Spirit and a Level 50 Spriggan. Her HP and MP totals were easily worthy of Ranked Up adventurers, so she was quite powerful in her own right. At the same time, her apparent age of just over half an hour was… puzzling. Setre knew very little regarding the plant side of the monster spectrum, but she was still pretty confident such an extreme disparity between age and power was not common among spriggan. Or any creature, for that matter.

“Art thou the one who has dared to separate me from milord?”

Her behavior was similarly not those of a freshly-born monster. Not only did her words betray an allegiance to what was presumably her owner, but she also carried herself with a sort of natural grace. Even her joints creaking and roots scraping against the stone floor failed to detract from her mystifying elegance. Best as the dungeon master could figure, she was looking at some ancient being controlling a freshly conjured vessel. In that aspect, she was like a Warlock’s bound familiar, but this one was clearly not of demonic origin. That would make determining her true motives and allegiances quite difficult, so the dungeon master decided to take a jab at the boss rather than the underling.

“Mm, well, you could say that,” the djinn crossed her arms, “though it’s more the case of your ‘lord’s’ thorough incompetence. What sort of idiot walks around casually in a dungeon? It’s like he wanted to be gutted and turned into lizard shit.”

Whatever reaction she offered would certainly reveal something of her character. Even the lack of a response would provide a hint. Setre had centuries’ worth of practice pushing people’s buttons, so she was sure she could use whatever answer her ‘guest’ made to discern her motives.

“Ah, the confidence of youth,” said Ambrosia with a soft smile. “‘Tis a rather enviable thing.”

Well, except that one.

“… What?”

“Thou seem’st to believe milord will be easy prey for thy servants. ‘Tis quite humorous. Adorable, even.”

Though Ambrosia had never seen Boxxy in a fight, her confidence in its abilities were hardly baseless. After all, this creature conquered death itself to return to her side. Maybe their reunion wasn’t the primary reason it came back from the grave, but she liked to think it was at least part of it.

“I suggest clinging to and enjoying thy fantasies while they last,” she added, “for milord is sure to shatter them into nothingness.”

“Haaah,” the djinn sighed with disappointment. “So, that’s how it is.”

The queer way the tree-woman initially responded caught Setre off guard, but her follow-up comments placed her squarely in the ‘mindless follower’ category. She was the type of person that latched onto and trusted in someone else’s abilities to a frankly unhealthy degree. Her kind relied upon the object of their adoration so much that they were often left unable to solve their own problems. They would crumble and despair once their ‘fearless leader’ proved less invincible than they imagined, which Setre considered a foregone conclusion. Therefore, she decided this animate shrub wasn’t worth attending to and disappeared abruptly without another word. The moment her mental projection vanished, the heavy doors lining the walls sprang to life. They sank into the floor with soft grinding noises, and what lay behind weren’t rooms or passages, but cages.

Various monsters of all shapes and sizes began to pour out into the hallway, and what a curious collection they were. A white furred wolf with two tails and about as large as a horse. An albino hydra with a quadruped lower body and four snake-like heads. A stupidly tall silver spider with legs several times longer than its slender body. A swarm of angry black wasps each the size of a human fist. A white-maned bear with sharp bone spikes jutting out of its spine and massive fangs protruding from its powerful jaws. A gray boar with three horns on its head and bloodthirsty eyes. A tortoise with a glacial shell that seemed to have actual cannons sticking out of it.

The sheer variety of magical beasts surrounding the spriggan was truly befitting of an area called the Menagerie. The only two things the creatures had in common was that they all fit in with the dungeon’s frigid theme and each was quite eager to rip Ambrosia to shreds. They attacked her simultaneously from all sides with no rhyme or reason. Their natural aggression had been amplified by the dungeon core to the point they practically tripped over one another as they tried to swarm and dismember her.

‘Tried’ being the operative word.

Even if it was temporary, the dryad’s spriggan vessel was still a hylt variant and shared certain aspects with its source. For instance, she was covered in Ironbark that easily deflected tooth, nail, and claw without suffering any significant damage. Behind that protective shell lay heartwood of unrivaled strength and density, allowing Ambrosia’s limbs to move with significantly more force than one might expect. Every time some creature or another showed up to attack, she would strike back at it with her nail-like fingertips, pierce its hide, and rapidly drain it of blood until it shriveled up. The first customer to receive her tender care was a big cat-like monster that had pounced at her only to have the life sucked out of it through its neck and eyes. Ambrosia swatted the twin-tailed wolf away with a backhand but took a swipe at her midsection from the monstrous bear. There was too much weight behind that blow for her to shrug it off and nearly knocked her over. Various insects and tiny birds swarmed her head, assaulting her face and eyes with stingers, talons, and beaks. The assault ultimately had little to no effect since she didn’t exactly have eyeballs, but it was a nuisance that she could do without.

“Blade Vortex!”

Deciding she needed a bit more space, Ambrosia used a Spell that created an intense whirlwind around her. The magical gust was so severe that it covered anything in its wake with countless cuts before throwing it away. Some of the heavier creatures could withstand the gale’s force, but most of them were forced to back off. A few of the smaller critters were clinging to the dryad and were thus in the storm’s eye, but she tossed them into the swirling hurricane with a few lazy motions. Now that she had some breathing room, she focused her attention on that dire tundra bear. The beast reared back on its hind legs and let out a deafening roar that easily overpowered the Spell’s howl and swung its front paws at her. Worried her body might snap under its weight, the dryad didn’t even try to block it and stepped backwards. It proved the right choice. The claws that grazed her arm on the way down actually carved a trio of divots into her Ironbark.

“Air Guillotine!”

She used another Spell, this one dropping an invisible vacuum blade directly on top of the beast’s neck. It left a gash but failed to pierce deep enough to be fatal due to the beast’s thick hide and solid muscles. Howling with pain, the tundra bear tried to attack once again only to have the spriggan hop over its claw swipe and land on its back. She drove one of her leg roots into the open wound and left a small seed inside before leaping off. Her gift reacted to the bear’s blood and instantly sprouted from the creature’s neck. The predator attempted to grab the rapidly growing stem and rip it out of its body but couldn’t quite reach the back of its head. The parasitic plant wrapped its bramble-covered vines around its body in a matter of seconds, binding its limbs and jaws as it greedily sucked away its blood. This horrific creation was the product of a combination between two of Ambrosia’s Skills – Blood Vine and Rampant Growth. The former created the magical life-devouring plant while the latter ensured it would ensnare its victim many times faster than usual. As for the vine’s ‘mother,’ she had already left the bear to die a slow, painful death and moved onto her next target.

The triceraboar she spotted earlier charged through the Blade Vortex. It was much smaller than the bear, so Ambrosia did not hesitate to take the charge head-on. She stopped it in its tracks by kneeing it in the snout when it approached, then smashed its head against the floor with an overhead double-handed strike. The impact was strong enough to crack the ground, though the boar’s thick skull remained mostly intact. The same couldn’t be said about its neck, as the follow-up Air Guillotine nearly decapitated it in one shot. Ambrosia planted another conjured seed within the wound, though this wasn’t a Blood Vine. It was a Corpse Flower, which needed much longer to mature even with Rampant Growth. She didn’t even think about waiting for it to sprout and immediately moved onto the next beastie.

Namely, that bizarre hydra. The monster’s four heads darted out of the still swirling Blade Vortex and tried to take a bite out of the spriggan. It might have succeeded if she didn’t blast it with a face-full of Intoxicating Pollen. The creature instinctively pulled back, but it was too late. The poisonous dust was already affecting its vision and movement, rendering them blurry and clumsy as if it were drunker than the only dwarf at a bachelor party. It sobered up the next instant as it felt an indescribable pain from its torso. Ambrosia had shaped one of her hands into a lance and pierced the creature’s heart. It wasn’t fatal since hydras could regenerate wounds quite rapidly, but the little gifts she left behind would surely thrive in such ‘fertile soil.’

The dryad continued fighting off the horde of monsters with this ‘till and seed’ approach. Even though her combat skills were incredibly rusty, none of the monsters were a threat. All she did was rely on the spriggan’s brute strength and limited offensive magic to control the battlefield. There was very little finesse, precision, or planning in her actions. From the outside, it appeared as though a maid was cleaning house with unbelievably broad strokes. However, it was not effortless. The seemingly endless tide of claws and teeth would eventually wear her down. The only question was whether she could outlast the onslaught. It certainly seemed as though she had a chance at victory. She left so many bodies in her wake that the once immaculate marble floor was now covered in a thick, uneven layer of blood-drenched flesh.

Despite all the violence and death she caused, the spriggan’s face never deviated from the look of bored indifference she had since the start. The air of ‘spring cleaning’ around her fighting style was completely indicative of how Ambrosia saw the whole thing. There was no excitement to be found here, just a bothersome chore. A big part of this was the dryad herself was at no real risk since she wasn’t even there. Even if her life was on the line, the sheer amount of magical energy she absorbed through Hylt Metabolism meant she had effectively infinite MP. That meant she could heal her wounds faster than the disorganized creatures could inflict them, should the need arise.

Indeed, there was no ‘chance’ when it came to her victory. Ambrosia would not fall to this ceaseless fodder, so their persistent attempts did little but waste her time and befoul her mood. Thankfully, she wouldn’t have to deal with them much longer. After single-handedly fighting off a dozen zoos’ worth of creatures for several minutes, the Corpse Flowers she had planted left and right finally began to mature. Thorny stems emerged from the carpet of cadavers and blossomed into an array of black petals that slowly released a purple mist. It was barely noticeable at first, especially with Ambrosia’s relentless use of wind magic dispersing and scattering the gaseous substance. However, the fog had nowhere to go in this relatively confined space and steadily grew thicker as more and more Corpse Flowers blossomed.

The poisonous miasma grew denser until it began profusely affecting the ongoing stream of monsters. The tougher ones grew sluggish and disoriented, while the weaker ones collapsed and passed out while foaming at the mouths. It only got worse from that point on. Within fifteen minutes, the entire hallway had become a desolate field of death. Everything that drew breath within a hundred meters would succumb to the airborne toxin and drop dead in a manner of seconds. The Menagerie had fallen completely silent. At long last, Ambrosia was able to hear herself think. The peace and quiet also allowed her to pick a sound that had been drowned out in the ruckus.

It was a grinding, crunching noise coming out of her own limbs, and she was intimately familiar with it.

“AAAAAHH!” she screamed. “Get them out! Get them out! Gettemout gettemout gettemooouuuut!”

Those hornets were not the only insects in this menagerie. Termites originally intended to sabotage adventurers by targeting their bows and staves had burrowed into her bark. She was so disturbed by their presence she momentarily forgot this wasn’t her real body and desperately clawed at her own hide. She also failed to realize these bugs were not a threat to her spriggan off-shoot to begin with. The overwhelming disgust she felt at the thought of them crawling inside her was overpowering all logic and reason. She was so used to Boxxy’s excellent pest control services that she had completely forgotten how profoundly unpleasant a termite infestation was. She had done so on purpose, since all dryads were very good at repressing unpleasant memories. The selfish act backfired, as the sudden reminder that termites were indeed a thing had momentarily clouded her rational judgment.

During the panicked flailing, her fingers brushed against the Sun Crest lodged between her rigid breasts, and she had an idea. It was idiotic and would likely fail due to a number of very good reasons, but she failed to consider any of them in her disturbed state of mind. She grabbed onto the Sun God medallion, pulled it free of her chest, turned it around so that its light shone on top of her, and started flooding it with as much mana as she could muster. The yellow gem in the middle of the shield-shaped badge converted the mystical energy into imitation sunlight as best it could, resulting in a much brighter and hotter glow. Ambrosia soaked up as much of it as she could, hoping the rising heat would either eradicate the termites or smoke them out of her bark. It wasn’t the worst pest control plan, but Boxxy’s gift couldn’t handle the influx of energy. The enchanted jewelry was overcharged and suddenly burst open like a glass balloon.

*FHWOOOOOM*

The sparks that came out of the broken Sun Crest set the air ablaze, producing a massive fireball that instantly engulfed the marble hallway. Poisonous gasses and parasitic plants alike were incinerated in the blink of an eye, leaving naught but a sea of smoldering ash and charred corpses. Even the impeccable marble tiles and intricate murals were not spared as they were covered in a thick layer of black soot, though the dungeon core was already working to restore them. Ambrosia handled the conflagration relatively well. Her Ironbark was fire-retardant, so the most she suffered was having her body covered in sizzling embers. The mental shock was arguably worse than any physical harm as it took her several seconds to regain her composure.

After she calmed down, the spriggan conjured a few Mending Showers to douse herself and heal her wounds. She walked down the scorched hallway with a spring in her step and smile on her face. She had been successful in cooking the bark-burrowing bugs, though that wasn’t the sole reason she was in such a good mood. Ambrosia had just experienced the near-forgotten sensation of learning something new about her spriggan vessel. It had been a long, long while since that happened, and she found the feeling quite refreshing. This newfound knowledge was that the toxic fumes released by the Corpse Flowers were, in fact, highly flammable. She would never have known that if this dungeon didn’t provide both the bodies and the cramped space to make it count. Ambrosia would similarly be left ignorant if Boxxy hadn’t given her a means to ignite the gas, so she quietly gave it partial credit for the discovery.

“Oh, no! Milord’s gift!”

She suddenly remembered that the Sun Crest she was holding onto had been ruined. The flames weren’t hot enough to damage its metallic parts, but not even shards remained of the focusing gem that produced its warm light. Thankfully, she didn’t need the item’s assistance at the moment. Sure, the hallway was almost pitch black and the air was rapidly getting colder, but neither were significant issues to Ambrosia’s remote-controlled self. The environment would be a bother at most.

The dryad was far more concerned with the fact that she had broken Boxxy’s shiny. The creature would surely resent her, infatuated as it was with sparkling baubles. The mere thought of it throwing a tantrum at their next reunion filled her with a modicum of dread. Perhaps there was some way to… alleviate the situation. But how? Repairing the Sun Crest was beyond her means, so she began to wonder if there were other ways to appease her adoptive box-child. Perhaps a replacement trinket of some sorts would pacify it. Yes, that seemed like it would do the trick. Where would she find such a suitably shiny thing in this dreary place?

“Of course!” she smacked her forehead. “This is a dungeon! I need only plunder its riches in milord’s name!”

It was a rather obvious solution. Granted, she wasn’t sure exactly how this murder-based item distribution system worked, but she had been around Boxxy long enough to have a general idea and she used to be a dungeon master besides. She deduced the area guardian’s defeat would result in a prize that could potentially appease the shapeshifter’s greed. That in mind, the dryad rapidly picked up the pace as she searched for a boss to wallop. More of the Menagerie’s creatures leapt out at her as she ran down the hall, but only the runts were left at this point. Their size and numbers were so inadequate that Ambrosia swept them aside without breaking her stride. She didn’t even bother to finish off or restrain them unless they proved quite persistent. It occurred to her that perhaps the ‘correct’ way to handle this Menagerie was to flee rather than fight. Indeed, though the creatures were durable and ferocious, none were especially fast. Or graceful. The mortal expression ‘troll on ice’ floated across her mind.

Armed with this new knowledge, Ambrosia had no difficulty handling the speed bumps in her way until the hallway ended and gave way to a grand, semi-circular staircase going up. The dryad climbed the steps without hesitation and reached an almost identical passage to the one she had just been through. It also ended in a new flight of stairs that lead up to a third matching hallway. The pattern repeated itself six times before Ambrosia finally found some new scenery. She emerged onto the Menagerie’s roof with a carnival of monsters chasing after her, but none seemed willing to follow her through that narrow doorway. They snarled and snapped at the opening but gave up after a while and retreated to their lairs.

With a moment to relax, Ambrosia began to soak in her surroundings. Best as she could tell, this Menagerie had been built adjacent to the frozen palace that stood at the dungeon’s heart. Its frozen crystalline spires towered overhead, easily visible through the transparent glass ceiling. Or maybe it was ice with exceptional clarity. Whatever those near-invisible panes were made of, they created a colossal greenhouse large enough to fit an entire neighborhood. Or attempted to, at least. Such places were meant to shield crops from the harsh winter and keep them warm, yet the air here was colder than the frigid mist at the dungeon’s entrance. It was so bad that all the grasses, shrubs, flowers, and saplings resembled ice sculptures. The spriggan was starting to feel it as a thin layer of frost rapidly formed on her rigid exterior.

Yet, there seemed to be a spot within this dysfunctional greenhouse completely cut off from the rest. Ambrosia barely started exploring the area when she noticed a spacious, house-sized crystal dome resting in its center. Peering through it, she saw the floor was taken up by an immense planter with fresh, moist soil unlike the frozen potted dirt surrounding her. An enormous flower was growing out of it, easily large enough for a person or two to fit inside. It had a thick, short, almost stump-like stem and tall, tulip-like petals that created a shape somewhere between a wine bottle and a vase. They were vibrant purple and occasionally shifted slightly as if swaying in an imaginary wind.

Ambrosia felt strangely drawn to the sight. Those mural-covered ceilings she passed by had failed to stir her soul, but this display of natural beauty was something else. She pressed her face and hands against the dome, her sharp fingertips scraping at it lightly as if they were demanding to go in there and touch it. She was mildly surprised to see that the purple flower responded to those noises. The petals unfurled to reveal the body of a woman growing out of it. She had cream-colored skin and silky purple hair that matched the color of her petals. She also had a smaller version of her flower sticking out from her scalp, though it didn’t seem to be in bloom. Her face had an undeniable charm, which was only amplified by her innocent, sleepy expression.

The rest of her was far from innocent. Her body’s curves were so exaggerated they rivaled Ambrosia’s generous proportions. The outrageous chest size, impossibly tiny waist, and wide hips gave her the sort of hourglass figure no real person could ever hope to achieve. The way she arched her back while stretching her slender arms would not be possible if she had anything resembling a spine. Her bubble-butt and the rest of her lower body were stewing in some type of honey-like nectar within the flower’s base. She was also, as one might expect, completely naked. Overall, it was an aggressively sexualized appearance that one would expect from a succubus, not a piece of vegetation.

The flower-woman yawned and rubbed her purple eyes as she gradually woke from her deep slumber. Her lazy stare immediately livened up when she saw the spriggan leaning against the confines of her ‘room.’ Her lovely face lit up with a smile and she eagerly waved at the stranger, who reflexively waved back. She tried to call out to Ambrosia, but her voice did not penetrate the thick crystal that separated them. The girl blushed fiercely at her own forgetfulness and clapped three times. The dryad heard a pop and a creak as a rectangular section of the dome swung open like a door without hinges, barely three steps away from her.

“Come on, then!” the one inside beckoned, her voice sweet and gentle. “Get in before all the warm air escapes!”

The spriggan happily accepted the offer and entered the greenhouse-within-a-greenhouse. As she hoped, the temperature here was much more comfortable than the rest of this gloomy dungeon.

“Welcome to my humble abode!”

Her oddly enthusiastic host greeted her and pointed at a patch of fresh soil directly opposite her.

“Please, make yourself at home.”

“Hmmm, I suppose I shall take thee up on thy offer.”

Ambrosia dug her leg-shaped roots into the soil, sinking comfortably until just her upper body was above it. She sighed with delight when she discovered it was much deeper than it looked. Her roots failed to reach any sort of bottom even after she extended them several meters downward. The soil quality was also a nice surprise. It was so rich with magical and natural nutrients that it seemed to surpass the blessed ground her tree had been drawing from for millennia.

“Oh my, this soil is quite exquisite, isn’t it?” she squealed with delight.

The other plant-woman sat down inside her flower as if it were a bathtub full of honey and hugged her knees, putting her at roughly the same eye level as Ambrosia.

“I know, right?! It’s suuuuper comfortable! Just a shame I never got to share it with anyone else until you came along. You’re the first walking plant I’ve ever seen, you know! Well, other than myself, of course.”

“Thou lives inside this glass bubble, then?”

“Yup. Been here all my life. Not like I have much of a choice, all things considered.”

She patted the base of her flower, suggesting she couldn’t stray far from it despite having what appeared to be fully functional legs.

“Indeed? Tell me, what sort of creature art thou? ‘Tis my first time seeing thy kind.”

“Ah, I’m an alraune,” she explained. “My kind normally grow in warmer climates to the south, or so I’m told. I can handle a bit of cold since I’m a mountain type, but I still prefer it when it’s nice and warm.”

Ambrosia nodded in understanding. Just because some plants were hardier than others didn’t mean they enjoyed living in these harsh conditions.

“Name’s Emi, by the way,” continued the alraune. “What about you?”

“This one is called Ambrosia. Though I am currently inhabiting this spriggan vessel, mine real identity is a dryad.”

“Sounds complicated. Still, a dryad, huh? Can’t say I’ve ever heard of your kind, either.”

She probably hadn’t heard about much of anything considering her isolated environment.

“‘Tis not surprising. We dryads thrive in another land altogether. ‘Tis only natural our species would never encounter each other.”

“Mm, I guess. At least you seem to be able to uproot yourself. Me, I’m stuck here. These things are only for decoration, really.”

She slapped her bare thigh for emphasis, causing her soft plant-flesh to jiggle obscenely.

“Normally, us dryads do not get around much either,” responded Ambrosia. “To my knowledge, I am the only one of mine sisters capable of using a spriggan as a vessel. Even then, I spend the vast majority of my life rooted in the same spot. My kind would normally never have the desire nor opportunity to stray too far from our trunks. I suppose I am a bit of a deviant in that regard.”

“Oh. Well, you’ll forgive me if I’m still jealous. At least you have the opportunity of getting out there and seeing the world.”

“Thou would prefer to travel, then?”

“Hah! Fuck no!” Emi exclaimed. “I’ve got everything I need right here. I’d never leave, even if I could, but it would be nice to have that option, you know?”

“I do indeed understand.”

Ambrosia couldn’t relate to the alraune’s troubles. Their perspectives were simply too far apart. However, she could understand where that strange craving was coming from. It was the dungeon core, doing its best to shackle those under its thrall without them realizing. It was a rather sinister mechanism, and this purple flower deserved the dryad’s pity for getting caught in it. Though, her behavior did not seem in line with how she was supposed to respond to an outsider in the dungeon.

“Why do you not attack me like the strange beasts that dwell here?”

“Oh, I’m on break,” Emi smiled. “I’m not supposed to fight anyone until the boss says so. And she hasn’t said so.”

With impeccable timing, the dome surrounding them exploded into countless shards. The jagged pieces hovered in the air for a few moments before all of them rapidly flickered out of existence.

“What was that about?” asked the dryad.

“Looks like my break’s over,” Emi said with a heavy sigh. “The boss will probably drop by in a bit. She can go choke on a rock for all I care.”

“Oh? Do you not get along with the dungeon master?”

“Not in the slightest! She thinks she’s so great because she’s a demon or whatever! Even the mindless beasts that occasionally roam around here are better company than that stuck-up bint!”

The slew of slander made Ambrosia giggle delightedly in response.

“What’s so funny?” asked Emi with a raised eyebrow.

“Forgive me, my dear. ‘Tis just that, at least in mine humble opinion, thou and thy master are more alike than thou might care to admit.”

“Huh? How do you figure?”

“Well, for starters, thou art both naughty, ignorant children that fail to show the proper respect to their elders.”

“What are you- Guh! W-what?!”

The alraune suddenly felt strangely dizzy to the point simply shifting her weight around nearly made her fall out of her flowerpot. The flower-woman realized the expression on Ambrosia’s face had changed. It was no longer a bemused smile, but the cold smirk of someone with a grim purpose.

“What are you doing?!”

“Nothing of note. Merely enforcing the natural order. If thou hast any complaints, thou need only blame the one who thoughtlessly invited a hylt into thy garden.”

Hylt trees were the living embodiment of nature’s vitality and persistence. If grown in a suitable environment, they were one of the hardiest plants around. Be it fire, flood, drought, or cold, a hylt tree could survive almost anything and produced fruit to spread its seeds all year round. However, such resilience did not come without a price. Magically-charged soil was necessary for a hylt sapling to even take root. Once it did, it would greedily hog all nutrients within its reach. As a side effect of that voracious appetite, they would actively choke the life out of anything considered competition, including other saplings. Only the simplest of grasses and weeds could ever hope to grow beneath the shadow of these titanic trees.

In other words, Ambrosia’s kind could easily be seen as the apex predators of the plant world.

“Gah! Hnnnngh!”

Emi was starting to understand that notion firsthand, as she felt the spriggan’s roots coil around her own beneath the soft soil. They squeezed around her lower end as they eagerly sucked the life out of her, making her groan and writhe all the while.

“Whyyyy?! What did I ever do to you!?” she wailed.

“Like I said, ‘tis merely the natural order. Did thou honestly think I would not notice thou art the area guardian?”

Ambrosia’s words were laced with pity, as if stating the obvious to an unfortunately slow child.

“But-! I never-! I was willing to just let you be!”

“We both know ‘tis not true. Even if thou pretended to be hospitable and innocent, I know very well the sort of animosity towards outsiders that a dungeon core breeds within its… subjects.”

The monsters in a dungeon would be compelled to attack invaders without fail, regardless of their intelligence. This was one of the ways the world worked, and Ambrosia was no longer a stranger to this undeniable truth. That earlier talk of a ‘break’ was a falsehood meant to lure potential prey closer to the alraune. Rather than a flower, she was more like a flytrap. The only difference was that she hunted people instead of insects. That much was clear to the dryad, as she was also capable of such feeding habits. On second thought, perhaps Emi wasn’t lying. Maybe she truly didn’t consider a creature without flesh or blood a potential victim.

Unfortunately for her, Ambrosia most definitely saw the alraune as firmly beneath her on the food chain.

[The area guardian of the Glacial Gallows has been slain.]
[To the victor go the spoils.]
[The Glacial Gallows can now be accessed freely for the next 24 hours.]

“Ah. It would appear milord has already gotten busy,” the spriggan’s harsh expression softened. “I should not keep it waiting, so I shall hurry this along.”

Dozens of thorny vines sprouted from the ground around Emi, enveloping her arms, shoulders, chest, and neck. They began to viciously pull on her humanoid part, lifting it out of its perpetual nectar bath and into the rapidly cooling air. With her lower body completely exposed, it became apparent that her left foot was attached to the base of her flower with a vine-like growth. Her ‘human’ side was nothing more than a succubus-like lure, which did little to stop Ambrosia from trying to pull her apart. Emi did her best to fight back with poisonous spores, hallucinogenic pollen, and powerful pheromones meant to unbalance a person’s mind, but such things were useless against a spriggan. She also tried to lash out with thorny, spear-tipped vines of her own and invoked ice-based magic, but to no avail. She was outclassed in every way.

After a bit more tugging, the alraune’s physical connection with her flower gave out with a loud snap, followed by a fresh batch of the alraune’s screams and wails. Her ripped-out body was thrown out of the planter’s bounds, whereby it tumbled across the cold stone floor. She weakly lifted her head, only to stare in abject horror as her beautiful purple flower wilted into a lifeless husk. It didn’t take long for the rest of her to follow suit. Her succulent form went limp and loose against the ground, like a paper bag that had been stepped on. The plant-flesh then dissolved into dirt and dust, leaving nothing behind.

[The area guardian of the Menagerie has been slain.]
[To the victor go the spoils.]
[The Menagerie can now be accessed freely for the next 24 hours.]

Ambrosia let go of what was left of her prey once she got the confirmation. The glass covering the gigantic greenhouse broke apart, much like the guardian’s confines. The thick clouds overhead parted, allowing the sun to shine down upon the victor. The frozen plants that took up most of the space on this rooftop garden began to thaw out and miraculously came back to life. The dryad found this display most appealing. She had to admit that whoever designed this dungeon certainly knew how to put on a show. She unrooted herself somewhat regretfully and went over to the treasure chest that had sprung out of the loose soil. She opened it up without hesitation, allowing five golden rings to float out of the magical container. They were clearly part of the same set, each adorned with a different colored jewel – red, white, blue, yellow, and green.

Ambrosia clapped her hands excitedly a few times at having fulfilled her immediate goal, then plucked the valuable objects out of the air, gripping them tightly within her palm. She didn’t even consider putting them on since the concept of wearing jewelry on one’s person was still somewhat foreign to her. She was far more concerned with presenting them to Boxxy as soon as possible.

“Come to think of it, where exactly is milord?” she mused aloud.

The dryad went over to the rooftop’s waist-high edge and looked around to get her bearings. She had a spectacular view over the rest of the dungeon, since her vantage point was the second-highest point in the region. If she were a Rogue or Ranger, she would very easily spot her allies, or at least traces of them. Unfortunately, she was neither of those, so her peering merely amounted to sightseeing. Thankfully, even her undeveloped perception was sufficient to spot a gigantic meteor crash into what would soon become the flaming ruins of an abandoned village.

[The area guardian of the Torture Chamber has been slain.]
[To the victor go the spoils.]
[The Torture Chamber can now be accessed freely for the next 24 hours.]

Well… that seemed to be as good a place as any to start looking.

Part Four

When one heard the term ‘The Torture Chamber,’ they might imagine some horrid hole in the ground from which none emerged – a grave with extra steps. In actuality, the area bearing that name was an immense tower with ten floors. Its exterior was surrounded by old, rickety houses. The rotting wood creaked constantly, chains rattled in the freezing drafts, and there were plenty of lethal surprises should anyone dare explore it. Combined with the distant moans and screams coming from the ominous tower, it created an intense ‘ghost town’ atmosphere. The idea was to unsettle and unnerve dungeon delvers, straining the limits of their nerve and testing the contents of their character. That effect was seldom achieved since people powerful enough to take on the Palace had likely experienced worse, but Goroth insisted on the flair and decorations. In the Earth God’s opinion, proper presentation of one’s craft was as important as the quality of the work itself.

There was no longer a single trace of the creepy look he intended, though. Both the decrepit village and the stone spire standing at its center were currently ablaze, with the latter reduced to a smoldering pile of rubble. This collapse was intentional. Once the area guardian was slain, the tower would crumble with the victorious invaders still inside. This was done for dramatic effect and as a trap to keep adventurers on their toes. The fire, however, was not part of the dungeon’s design. It was also spreading. Creating an intentionally decrepit settlement meant the dungeon was not allowed to ensure the buildings’ structural integrity. Thus, the flames were able to devour everything within reach, causing the intentionally rickety structures to crumble in rapid succession.

The one responsible for this hot mess emerged from the tower’s rubble in the form of several wisps of smoke that coalesced into a buxom beauty. Xera had employed her Mist Form Skill to avoid getting caught in the collapsing rubble. She had enough HP to survive it even if she didn’t evade it, but she wasn’t a big fan of taking damage from inanimate objects. Unless Boxxy was somehow involved. Self-harm was similarly low on her unsettlingly long list of kinks, so she had taken extra care to avoid getting burned by her magic’s leftovers. At least, until she remembered her Fire Affinity rendered her immune to that element. Regardless, with the Chamber destroyed and no more enemies in sight, Xera took a deep breath, let out a sigh, and set out to find her beloved Master.

She then slammed face-first into the smoldering rubble as she was instantly reminded of the dungeon’s no-fly zone. The demoness cursed profusely into the soon-to-be-ash and sat up with a thoroughly displeased look. The cause of her sour mood wasn’t her clumsy tumble, but her immeasurable disappointment at the so-called Torture Chamber. The whole thing started off with that cocky dungeon master completely underestimating her. It was like she didn’t even bother inspecting Xera’s Status with the dungeon core and assumed she was a simple succubus based on her skin tone and breast size. Granted, she wasn’t completely wrong, but she wasn’t entirely right, either.

The smaller djinn proceeded to have the ‘succubus’ strapped to a stretching rack with mana-sealing shackles and left her alone with an entire room of sadistic orcs. These creatures were gray-skinned humanoids with tall frames, muscular builds, massive underbites, yellow tusks, and a mean streak that rivaled that of fiends. This lot seemed like a subspecies accustomed to living in colder climates, as the orcs Xera knew of had green skin and were indigenous to the tropical rainforests of the southern continent. Another distinct difference was the ones in the dungeon were covered in so much body hair it almost looked like fur.

However, they were still very much orcs, as demonstrated by their unique pack mentality. Once a group of them collectively decided on doing something, all of them would follow suit without fail, even if it meant walking to their deaths. It was so pronounced that individual thought didn’t really exist. Trying to incite or influence any single one of them was a lost cause, but it made them much more susceptible to magic and methods aimed at manipulating entire groups. Last but not least, all of them were male.

Given the situation, Xera naturally attempted to turn the whole thing into a hundred-on-one gangbang. This didn’t work out as she had hoped. Orcs didn’t reproduce in the same way that people did, and as such were largely immune to her demonic charms. To make matters worse, they didn’t even torture her that much. Sure, she was strapped to a device designed to inflict prolonged pain and suffering, yet they barely used it. Ultimately, she was able to trick the dumb brutes by transforming into the dungeon master and verbally bossing them around. This led to her release, after which she spent the next half hour or so systematically incinerating every orc in her way. A single strike from their huge axes would have cleaved her in two, but between her Shapeshift, Conjure Mirage, and Invisibility Skills, they never came close to hitting her. Their hopeless confusion at such basic trickery was so pathetic that it actually ticked her off. Even the warboss that served as their leader was little more than a slab of meat with a bad temper and worse breath.

To be clear, it wasn’t the easy win Xera was annoyed with, but the drawn-out, time-consuming nature of the affair. It was too much effort. It would have been much easier to just break her own neck or something and wait to be resummoned. However, there were two reasons she couldn’t let that happen. First, her beloved Master’s demise was still quite fresh in her mind, and the thought of not being there to support Boxxy should it find itself in mortal danger was… unbearable. Second, she wanted to get ass-pounded while face-down in the dirt until she passed out, and her calculating owner did not dispense such rewards unless they were earned. She could just say two words to Kora and have her do that instead, but she was the back-up – the consolation prize. Boxxy was the only one capable of truly satisfying the djinn’s perversions.

“Can anyone hear me?”

Xera’s sickeningly pink thoughts were pierced by an all-too-familiar voice within her skull.

“Master!” she cheered in delight.

“Oh! W-welcome back, Master!” Drea offered her own greetings.

“Thank fuck you’re here, boss,” Kora grumbled.

“Good, looks like the magical interference is gone,” stated Boxxy. “Now, then. Snack, give me a brief summary of your situation.”

“I just toppled a tower and killed a boss. I am unharmed and completely available for anything you may wish to use me for, Master.”

“Which one was yours?”

“The Torture Chamber.”

“I see. And the loot? How is it?”

Beads of cold sweat began to form on Xera’s forehead. How could she forget the actual reason she and the others were here in the first place? Thankfully, it only took a moment for her to catch glimpse of a silver-plated treasure chest out of the corner of her eye. The way it glimmered against her dusty, ashen, and flaming surroundings made her wonder why she didn’t notice it sooner. Ah, probably because she was daydreaming again.

“Just a moment, Master. I am opening the chest now.”

She ran over to the container and threw open the lid, allowing a half-transparent garment with ever-shifting colors to float out of it. It was an article she immediately recognized.

“Oh, wow!” she exclaimed in delight. “It’s a Prismatic Cloak!”

“Nice!” Boxxy shared her excitement. “Been looking for one of those!”

The magic item was an extremely rare product, typically of Masterwork quality. The cloak’s main feature was its ability to render the user nearly invisible to the naked eye so long as the metal clasp was fastened and the hood pulled up. The effect would be dispersed if the user dealt or sustained any damage, similar to other forms of invisibility. The cloak was also enchanted to alter its size to fit any wearer, meaning both the Sandman and Keira could potentially use the same article. Finally, it provided a minor boost to magic resistance, which was a bit of a waste since the item’s purpose was to avoid battle. Boxxy had been on the hunt for one ever since it saw it listed in a magic item catalogue before the war even started.

Obtaining one had proven immensely difficult. Creating a Prismatic Cloak was no easy feat. It required several precious materials, most notably a copious amount of Demon Silk. It also required an immensely skilled craftsman with highly advanced Tailor and Enchanter Jobs. Lastly, though much tougher than it looked, the fabric was susceptible to fire, which was among the more common flavors of magic wielded by monsters and people alike. Due to all of these factors, there were very few Prismatic Cloaks in circulation at any given time. The best way for Boxxy to obtain one was to harvest Demon Silk from Claws and have it made to order, but that still involved hefty crafting fees and a year-long waiting list.

“Where shall I bring it, Master?” Xera cheerfully asked.

“Make your way towards the front of the palace and wait for me there.”

“At once.”

“Arms, how are things on your end?”

“It’s fucked, boss,” came the annoyed reply. “I’ve been stuck in this shithole called the Endless Library or some shit like that. I can’t make any progress because of these- *Khhhht*”

Kora’s words were cut off mid-sentence by what amounted to white noise, followed shortly by a very annoying notification.

[Telepathic communication is now restricted.]

It would appear the dungeon master had not given up and was actively trying to keep Boxxy’s group from reorganizing.

“That blasted cunt!” shouted the fiend at the top of her lungs. “I’ll rip her tits off and shove them so far up her ass she’ll choke on her own nipples!”

In her rage, Kora kicked the wooden Puzzle Door in front of her with as much force as she could muster. However, the violent act failed to do much beyond making her foot ache from the recoil, much like the last twenty or so times she lashed out at it. Also, like before, the door interpreted her words and actions as a wrong answer and caused a trio of humanoid ice golems to drop in from the ceiling. The archfiend, frustrated as she was, instantly smashed them into dust with way more effort than was necessary. ‘Restraint’ was not a word normally found in a demon’s dictionary, but literally grinding their heads into dust beneath her heels was excessive even by fiend standards. In Kora’s defense, she had to work through all the frustration she experienced at her surroundings.

The Eternal Library was an indoor area that seemed to go on forever, much like the name implied. Literature-filled bookshelves acted as walls, and its dimly lit corridors worked together to form a devious maze to confuse and befuddle invaders. There were no monsters to be found roaming its halls, but teleportation traps and Puzzle Doors aplenty ensured any unfortunate soul trapped within was kept perpetually lost. It was a place meant to test an adventurer’s wits and intelligence, and as such was designed to be impossible to get through with just brute force.

That was extremely unfortunate for Kora since her main solution to all of life’s problems was to hit them really hard in their face. To put it lightly, she struggled to make any progress. The dungeon master may have made the same mistake of assuming her species as she did with Xera, but that mattered far less in this case. Even ascended, Kora was still a fiend, so the Eternal Library’s anti-meat-head countermeasures were still effective. So far, she had managed to bypass only one Puzzle Door, and even that was because of luck. The trick question involved was almost identical to the one she encountered while recently helping Boxxy reclaim its lair. She ran into this second riddle shortly after and had been stuck on it for nearly half an hour.

A man asked his daughter to buy a few things he needed for a trip. He told her she would find an envelope on his desk with enough coins to make the purchase. She found the note with 98 written on it, put it in her pocket, and left the house. When she got to the store, she bought 90 GP worth of items, but when it was time to pay, she found that she did not have 8 GP left over and was actually short on money.

How much GP was in the envelope?

Seriously, how the fuck am I supposed to know that?! she complained internally. Fucking piece of shit bastard cunt bitch fucking… Alright, now where was I?

“Errr, eighty-four?”

The glowing letters etched into the door flashed red a few times, after which another trio of golems dropped down from the ceiling and were summarily broken. The door reset itself after a few seconds and the Archfiend tried again.

“Eighty-five?”

Unable to determine the answer using her wits, Kora decided to try and apply pigheaded stubbornness in typical fiend fashion. All she needed to do was start counting up from zero and she’d reach the right answer eventually. It seemed like a good idea. There were a very finite number of possibilities, and the punishment for getting it wrong was trivial. It may have been a simple, crude solution, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances. In fact, she was rather proud of herself for thinking up such a clever trick.

Except she had underestimated just how annoying it was to be told she was wrong over and over again. By a fucking door, no less. By the time she had worked her way up to this point she was positively fuming. Being cut off from Boxxy was also quite infuriating. Her shiny-obsessed boss would have instantly solved any riddle involving money, but Kora didn’t get the chance to ask it for an answer before the link was blocked again.

The archfiend finished pummeling the latest trio of victims and took a deep breath as she bottled her anger to unleash upon that scrawny dungeon master later.

“Eighty. Six,” she growled through gritted teeth.

*Ding*

And then, just as planned, she eventually got the right answer. The letters flashed green, and the door swung open while letting out a low-key bell chime. It was so anticlimactic that it very nearly pissed her off even more, but the catharsis of it all had won out and she threw her hands up in triumphant exasperation.

“Fucking finally!” she yelled out. “I hope the boss lets me have a go at wonder-tits after this. I’m gonna have a lot of stress to work through!”

Kora went through the opened door and proceeded down the maze-like corridors while muttering profanities under her breath. She was walking around blindly, taking turns at random without bothering to use any patterns or logic. She also stumbled into a few short-range teleportation traps that guaranteed she had no idea where she was going. If Boxxy had been around, it would have given her some tips to make sure she didn’t go down the same hallway twice, such as following the right wall or marking her passage. These were commonly known amongst adventurers, so the dungeon might have had some countermeasures.

Unfortunately for Kora, she had no idea what to do and nobody to tell her, so she wandered aimlessly. Only now did it dawn on her that she should have put some effort into developing her mental faculties. She had considered addressing her cranial deficiencies since she was keenly aware of just how much she was relying on others for intellectual support. However, she gave up on the notion once she got a Rank Up. After all, archfiends were supposed to be smarter and more cunning than their lesser counterparts, so she assumed the big brain moments would come to her naturally. She failed to consider that, under normal circumstances, a fiend would have many centuries’ worth of experience to draw on by the time they were able to advance to the next stage. Insight, critical thinking, and analytical judgement were skills that had to be fostered and developed over time, not something that just appeared because of a Rank Up or a Status upgrade.

Realizing she needed to apply brain over brawn, Kora resolved to make herself slightly less dumb. How she would achieve this monumental feat was a mystery, but it probably involved a lot of hard work. She wasn’t as off-put by the idea of putting in effort as a certain degenerate companion of hers. In fact, the thought of her overcoming this weakness filled her with motivation, and what better place to start putting in that work than right here and right now? By the time she found the third Puzzle Door, she was ready to earn that premature Rank Up.

“Ah, buttnuggets.”

The only problem was this riddle made even less sense than the last.

What can run but never walks,
has a mouth but never talks,
has a head but never weeps,
has a bed but never sleeps?

The fiend groaned long and hard. She looked around at the countless books surrounding her as if searching for an answer, but she knew they didn’t hold one. They didn’t hold much of anything. All these volumes were completely blank, just useless props in a library scene. Kora’s vacant eyes drifted upwards along the polished wood bookshelves, which extended all the way to the tall ceiling. She found it rather odd the stone tiles above and below her were completely identical. They made it seem impossible to tell which side was up if not for gravity pulling down on her.

“… They’re upside down!” she exclaimed suddenly. “The fucking numbers on the envelope were upside down!”

It was only well after the fact that she realized the answer to the last riddle. The envelope with the money said 86, but the girl would have confused it for 98. The nearby Puzzle Door interpreted her epiphany as an incorrect answer to its own puzzle and summoned another trio of ice golems, which were absentmindedly swatted aside with a triple backhanded punch.

“That’s it!” continued the excited fiend. “I just need to look at things from a different angle!”

Kora immediately grabbed onto the bookshelves and began climbing. They were easily three times taller than the average person, so someone of her two-and-a-half-meter stature was able to make it to the top in seconds. Once she had changed her perspective, she looked down at the puzzle door. She blinked at it a few times in total silence, then climbed back down.

“Like fuck that will do anything!”

Raging at her own idiocy, the fiend slammed her fists into the wall of books to the right of the Puzzle Door. The bookshelf shuddered, shook, and groaned from the sudden impact, but settled down moments later.

“… Wait a minute.”

She pulled her fists back and delivered another massive impact to the bookshelf, watching with great interest as it recoiled.

“A trap is only as strong as the structure it’s built on.”

Boxxy’s words echoed in the back of her mind. She wasn’t sure where or when the creature had uttered this line, but it was definitely one of that devious bastard’s insights. More importantly, it was infinitely more useful than that angle bullshit Kora had conjured up earlier. It hinted at this maze’s weakness – the walls themselves. Puzzle Doors may have been magically fortified so that breaking them down was practically impossible, but the same couldn’t be said about the rest of it. Even if the walls in a dungeon were every bit as impenetrable as the doors, that only applied to actual walls, not these flimsy-looking bookshelves that served little purpose beyond decoration. Grinning madly, Kora stood right next to the wall with legs astride and heels planted firmly on the floor. She bent her knees, lowered her waist, and tensed up her arms.

“ORRRAA!”

With a mighty yell she struck the confines of the maze, hitting it right at the vertical border between two of the massive shelves. The blow was on a completely different level from the lazy punches she’d thrown previously, for it had her entire body weight behind it. It caused the wall of books to recoil, which was transmitted down the corridor as a visible wave. She may have been an idiot when it came to riddles, but Kora knew how to throw a mean punch.

“ORRA! ORRA! ORA! ORA! ORA! ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA!”

She kept pounding away at the bookshelf as if it were Teresa’s ass, gradually raising the tempo of her strikes as her freezing body began to heat up. The wooden frame rattled and groaned as cracks started to appear and blank books fell to the floor by the dozen. The dungeon did its best to repair and mitigate the damage, but the spacious shelves were not capable of withstanding this level of abuse. The fiend’s onslaught slowly but surely overpowered the autonomous repair function, right up until it outright failed.

The bookshelf gave in under the mounting strain, exploding into a cloud of splinters and paper. It was as if all the kinetic energy the archfiend had been pouring into it burst forth at once in a violently spectacular discharge. This opened a hole big enough for Kora to casually walk through. On the other side was another bookshelf identical to the one she had just pulverized into submission, but she didn’t let that tiny detail take away from what she had just accomplished.

“Yeaaaah! Fuck you, riddles! Imma make my own doors now!”

Not wishing to waste any more time, the fiend charged through the opening and leapt into the air, hitting the next wall with a drop kick to soften it up. In the next instant, a piercing crack echoed through her surroundings, and the dungeon around her went strangely dead. Not that it was ever alive, but there was no way Kora could describe the shift in atmosphere. The air, once cold and heavy with the musty smell of books, was suddenly neither. The massive shelf Kora had kicked shuddered violently, much more than the one before. Its blank contents spilled out across the floor in an avalanche of paper. The fake books’ covers and spines lost all color and defaulted to a dull gray. The tiles they fell on also seemed to lose the bit of polished shine they previously had. By the time the archfiend hopped back to her feet, she found herself plunged in total darkness as the candles and torches lining the other shelves went out all at once.

It would appear that the fiend’s excessive application of violence had broken things in more ways than one.

Kora stumbled about blindly for a second or two. All demons could see in the dark, but it took a while for their eyes to adjust to low-light conditions. Once her vision was back, the archfiend went over to where her heels contacted the polished wood moments before. The horrible dent she’d left in them was not mending itself. She leaned on it with her hands and, after putting in a bit of strength, actually began to tilt the bookshelf. It moved a tiny amount, which was more than enough to offset its center of gravity and tip over.

The massive piece of furniture fell against its neighbor, pushing it over and sending it crashing into the next one, which in turn smacked right into the next one. The domino effect progressed rapidly, resulting in a catastrophic cascade that toppled nearly every bookshelf in the Eternal Library. That name that would have to be reconsidered now that Kora had managed to completely wreck the place.

The dungeon master’s Mistborn Projection appeared amidst the destruction. She looked around the countless field of books and timber as her disbelief grew to truly legendary proportions. It was so bad she failed to produce any meaningful sentences, despite letting her voice leak out while her jaw repeatedly opened and closed. It wasn’t until she saw a head of green hair punctuated by a trio of metallic horns poking out of the debris that the djinn was finally able to find her words.

“What! The! Fuck?!” she screamed at Kora. “You just literally broke the zone, you fucking psycho!”

She wasn’t sure what this meathead had done, but her actions had triggered some kind of failsafe within the dungeon core, causing it to cease all operations within the Eternal Library.

“Woohoo!” the perpetrator’s fist rose from the rubble. “Koralenteprix – one! Dungeon – zero!”

In actuality, with how many traps she’d set off and all the wrong answers she’d given, the home team’s score was actually one hundred and seventeen, but the only one that could’ve corrected Kora had more important things on her mind.

“This is no laughing matter! Do you have any idea how much work it will take to put this all back in order?! Goroth’s gonna yell at me for sure! I might even lose the gig after today’s fiasco!”

The djinn kept complaining while Kora pulled herself out of the debris and dusted herself off.

“I refuse to go back to that asshole Nagnamor, you hear me?!”

“Oh, cry me a river!”

*Ding*

The fallen over Puzzle Door that Kora had last encountered sprang to life when she uttered those words. The riddle etched into it glowed momentarily with a pale green light as the object used up what little magical charge it had left. The luminescent letters flickered and died out with a pathetic hissing noise, leaving the dungeon master’s faintly glowing image as the only source of light.

“A river?” asked the fiend indignantly. “How the fuck does a river sleep?!”

“You what?!” squealed Setre in frustration. “Did you even read the fucking riddle?!”

“… I skimmed over it.”

“ARRRGH! I can’t stand you fucking fiends! It’s like that thing on your shoulders is only good for bashing against walls!”

“Well, duh. They wouldn’t be called heads if they weren’t used in headbutts.”

Setre’s left eye began to twitch after hearing that utterly brainless statement spoken as if it were common knowledge. The sheer density of stupidity oozing from this six-armed neanderthal made her want to slam a rock against her own forehead until she either passed out or her skull split open. She was fully aware that fiends weren’t too bright – she used to be one herself – but this one took that stereotype to a new level. The way she struggled with that envelope question was physically painful to watch. Surely, even freshly born demons were more mentally developed than this, right?

A sense of dread crept up on Setre. She swallowed audibly as she somewhat hesitantly activated Invader Analysis and appraised this titanic twit’s Status.

[General Information]
Koralenteprix Khusuuszun Caonthioxxaa
Archfiend (Pit), Female, 312 years old
Level 57.75 Fiend
Level 16.56 Archfiend
Level 43.81 Berserker
9991/9991 HP (+15.8/sec)
462/462 MP (+1.3/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 1586, DEX 661, AGI 934, END 1586, INT 132, WIS 132, MNT 1322

Setre was… not as surprised as she thought she’d be. Finding out that Kora was an archfiend had a much smaller impact than the other shit she’d seen today. She subconsciously expected this after witnessing that literal monster of a Hero and the rest of its big-breasted entourage. The only sane part about this group was that the stalker was just a stalker. Sure, she had some absurd Attributes, but she wasn’t some incomprehensible piece of flora or a succubus-turned-djinn. That last one made so little sense that the dungeon master briefly wondered whether the core had broken and was giving her faulty data.

At the very least, she was inclined to trust its readings of this red ruffian. Looking around at the blackout made it clear the damage she had inflicted to the dungeon wasn’t just physical. It was surely the aftermath of an archfiend’s Seigebreaker Skill. This passive ability allowed these embodiments of destruction to unravel large-scale fortification magic by hitting whatever object was being reinforced. The enchantments that went into Puzzle Doors or actual dungeon walls might have held up, but flimsy shelves stood no chance. At least Setre could blame Goroth for this one. He insisted on using form over function for the maze’s corridors, so this was bound to happen eventually.

Covering her ass was one thing, but Setre still had to deal with this clumsy idiot who clearly had no idea how to apply that Skill and simply started smashing things out of spite.

“Ahh, fuck it. I don’t care anymore,” the djinn gave up. “Just go beat the shit out of the boss or whatever, I’m done with you assholes.”

“Boss? What boss?”

The dungeon master’s projection disappeared in a puff of smoke, leaving Kora’s question unanswered until a focused beam of light hit her from the back, punching a tiny hole clean through her torso.

“That would be me.”

Kora spun on her heel to face the voice’s owner, one hand clutching her wound and the others raised in a fighting stance. She looked up to find another demon hovering over the Library’s ravaged remains. This one was a gazer, the natural step-up for beholders. His spherical body was comprised entirely of a flying eyeball a little over a meter wide. It had a multi-colored triangular iris floating amidst a sea of black, all wrapped up in a layer of gray skin that served as an eyelid. He didn’t have a mouth – or any other orifice – and communicated by broadcasting his thoughts. Twenty smaller eyes of various sizes and colors floated around him like a school of fish following a whale. The swarm of ocular orbs started orbiting the main one, their speed gradually picking up.

“Shall we?” offered the gazer.

“Oh, man, you better believe it!” Kora grinned. “My fists have been itchin’ for a smashin’!”

She leapt directly at the floating eyeball, intending to punch a hole clean through him. Her opponent and his orbiting parts flickered out of existence, avoiding the attack. They reappeared on Kora’s right side before she had a chance to land.

“Freezing Ray!”

He fired a massive eyebeam at her, which traveled much slower than the precision shot he used earlier. Well, relatively speaking at least. It was still fast enough that the archfiend only had a split second to react. She couldn’t dodge in midair, so she raised all six of her armored forearms and lined them up horizontally in front of her upper body while raising her knees to touch the lowest pair. The gazer’s attack slammed against the resulting wall of steel and sent her flying away, but failed to get past Kora’s Demonic Armaments. The demoness somehow managed to land on her feet, sending timber and blank books flying everywhere. She uncurled from her turtle-like stance, shook off the thick layer of ice that had formed on her limbs, and rushed towards the gazer at full speed.

“Lichtspeer!”

The eye-demon was having none of it and hurled three spears of solid light at her. His intent was to make his opponent dodge, causing her to lose momentum and slow her advance until his Psychic Warp Skill could be used again. However, Kora took the magical projectiles head on. They pierced her shoulder and upper body but failed to alter her course a single millimeter. She closed the distance in an instant and leapt through the air again only to be blasted by the invisible force of a Massive Rejection Spell that smashed her into the ground. She stood up immediately and found that her opponent had conjured up six copies of himself. They all shot their own Freezing Ray at her. She rolled to the side to avoid the converging attacks, but one of the beams still hit her center of mass.

At least that’s how it appeared, but she realized it was all an illusion. Five of those flying eyeballs were fake. If they were anything like the mirages conjured up by her whorish co-contractor, they would probably dissipate once any sort of force was exerted on them. In other words, all Kora had to do was hit the lot of them at once, and she knew just the Martial Art for the job.

“Thunderclap!”

Kora slammed all three pairs of palms against each other, producing a powerful shockwave that radiated in every direction. The sudden explosion of sound and air sent the top layer of collapsed library bits around her feet flying away in every direction. The gazer was forced to put up a magical barrier to avoid taking damage from the Martial Art while his illusions were forcefully dispersed. The archfiend reached down into the crater-like hole she now stood in and grasped a piece of debris in each hand, which were promptly hurled at her opponent. Even if they were nothing more than blank books or shattered pieces of timber, their sheer velocity could not be underestimated.

The gazer wasn’t the least bit worried. Physical projectiles had no hopes of reaching him. His two dozen ‘assistants’ came to his defense, repelling each of Kora’s shots with a precise blast of heat that either incinerated them or knocked them off-course. The fiend kept launching salvo after salvo, but the enemy had four times more defenders than she had arms. Her chances of overwhelming her opponent through numbers were mathematically impossible.

“Alright!” she shouted. “How about something bigger?!”

She dug her hands into the trash heap underfoot and tore out a massive six-meter-tall piece of wood that was once the back of a bookshelf. She swung it around like a club, but it merely bounced off the gazer’s Mana Shield. Meanwhile, his swarm of floating eyes surged forward and surrounded the archfiend. They blasted her with an array of tiny beams that rapidly cut into her red skin while the main body drifted out of her improvised weapon’s reach. Kora ignored the small nuisances since their pathetic attacks were like mosquito bites to her. She spun around and hurled the wooden pillar at the gazer who was forced to intercept it with a Fireball that blew it to smoke and splinters. A few orbital oculars were destroyed in the blast, but it was a negligible loss.

The fiend tried to leap at him once more, this time using the smoke cloud from his Fireball as cover. Unfortunately for her, a gazer’s Mana Locator Gland was even stronger than a beholder’s, and the mid-boss saw her coming. He was quite unwilling to take a direct hit from his opponent. If the impact on his Mana Shield was any indication, he would not last long in close quarters. At least he had an easy out now that his Psychic Warp was available again. He vanished like before, causing the leaping archfiend to pass through empty space once more. She was also close enough to be subjected to the Skill’s secondary mind-rending effect, but such magic had little to no effect on a demon.

When the gazer repositioned himself to Kora’s right, he suddenly realized that the archfiend wasn’t coming down. She was clinging to the ceiling like the world’s most ripped spider. She had used the force of her jump to dig two of her armored fists into the stone slabs overhead, which were creaking and cracking as they struggled to hold her weight. They wouldn’t have to do so for long, since she immediately swung herself towards the gazer’s new position.

The eyeball demon did his best to protect himself. A Mana Shield, a Frost Barrier, and a Lichtschild were conjured as a form of layered defense. All but the last were shattered in an instant when Kora collided with him fist-first. She clung to his last remaining bubble and forced him closer to the ground with her sheer mass, but she planned to finish this before either of them hit the ground. She raised a pair of arms upwards, intertwined her fingers, and swung down with both fists. The hammer-like blow smashed through the last barrier of solid light as if it were made of glass and struck his squishy body. His defenses broken, the gazer was sent smashing into the debris-filled ground, after which Kora fell on top of him and crushed him with both heels like a massive ball of mud.

He wasn’t quite dead. What was left of his floating eye satellites converged their respective eye-beams into a single blast that knocked her off. The demon landed on her back but used her momentum to flip over so she would stop on her hands and knees. She was raring to go for another round, but her opponent had not moved from his spot. He was unable due to getting impaled on a shattered piece of timber. His extra eyeballs merely floated around and stared at her without trying to attack.

“Magnificent,” he spoke into her head. “Truly well done, young one.”

Although it was extremely short, the gazer still witnessed something rather extraordinary during this fight. However, his observations had nothing to do with her absurd strength. A demon’s power in the physical realm was directly proportional to the mana that went into their summoning, and her body was a match for his. If he was clearly superior, she wouldn’t have been able to withstand his ranged attacks. He had already determined that he’d lose the instant he was caught, but it was the process leading up to that moment that made him respect his adversary.

The projectile barrage forced him to focus on her alone. That massive wooden beam made him drift away from her and closer to the ceiling without realizing it. She took advantage of the dungeon core’s faulty functioning in this area to dig her fingers in and use it to adjust her trajectory. All things considered, the sequence of events would have resulted in his defeat ninety out of a hundred times. It was the first time he had been outsmarted to this degree by a fiend, Ranked Up or otherwise.

Perhaps ‘outsmarted’ wasn’t exactly the right word if her confused expression was any indication.

“It would appear that you don’t seem aware of what you accomplished,” he mused. “Most curious indeed. Was it battle instinct, perhaps? Or maybe it was just dumb luck, hmm?”

“… No idea what you’re talking about, fatso,” she said dismissively while warily approaching his mangled body. “I just went at you from a different angle is all.”

“Heh,” he chuckled dryly, before continuing in a more serious tone. “The name’s Khurpath Sordazzurr. Do visit me in the Beyond when you have the time, young Koralenteprix. There is much I wish to know about you.”

Normally, Kora would have outright dismissed the uppity know-it-all, but her experiences and frustrations with the Library made it abundantly clear she was severely lacking outside of combat situations. Even if she did get out of her predicament through brute force, it was only possible because of literal dumb luck, just as Khurpath speculated. If she were to let this opportunity to forge a connection with a gazer demon slip away, she truly would be the brainless moron with zero foresight the world thought she was.

“I’ll have my agent call your agent,” she said with a smirk. “We’ll do lunch.”

She finished him off, booting him across the library like a deflated kickball.

Part Five

[The area guardian of the Eternal Library has been slain.]
[To the victor go the spoils.]
[The Eternal Library can now be accessed freely for the next 24 hours.]

Another series of dungeon-wide notifications passed through Drea’s head, and the stalker couldn’t help but groan in frustration. By her count, she was the only member of Boxxy’s group yet to conquer whatever challenge that blowhard of a dungeon master forced on them. Drea was nowhere near as competitive as her fellow familiars, but nobody liked being told they were dead last. Considering her surroundings, there wasn’t much she could have done to avoid this outcome.

The arachnid assassin had been teleported to the Howling Chasm, a quite literal namesake. It consisted of a massive canyon with a harsh wind blowing through it. The unceasing air current whistled sharply as it cut through iced-over rock. The wind did a lot more than just set the mood. It also blocked all attempts to scale the Chasm’s frozen walls. Though Drea’s clawed limbs and sticky thread allowed her to grip the sheer, slippery stone, a violent gust of air would force her off every time she got past a certain point. This was sometimes accompanied by a rockslide or avalanche.

None of that was by accident. The Howling Chasm was clearly designed to force its ‘guests’ to travel its length if they hoped to escape. That alone was a harrowing challenge, as the terrain was anything but flat. So far, Drea had to deal with so many shifting glaciers, narrow passages, rolling boulders, and surprise sinkholes that standing on level ground was a luxury. She also had to deal with that persistent blizzard that kept blowing in her face. She had to put twice as much effort into stepping forward on top of dodging the occasional debris the wind threw at her. The frigid temperature and piss-poor visibility were just icing on the pain cake.

To make matters worse, freezing to death was far from Drea’s sole concern. There were monsters afoot, hidden in the ice and snow around her. Elementals, to be precise. These aberrations of nature were exceedingly rare outside of extreme environments. The local flavor of elementals looked like chunks of clear ice held together by an invisible force, with jagged shards randomly jutting out of their bodies. Some were as small and harmless as Minic, while others were as large and aggressive as Kora. Their attack methods varied from one elemental to the next just as much as their size, shape, and number of limbs. Some lunged at Drea with spikes, others tried to pummel her with their immense girth, and a few attacked at range by launching parts of their bodies. It was impossible to sneak up on them, since they perceived their surroundings through a Mana Locator Gland. At least, Drea assumed this was the case after she noticed they lacked any eyes, ears, or other visible sensory organs.

If the stalker’s failed attempts to employ stealth and ambush tactics was any indication, her guess was right on the money. Her Assassination Skill was effectively useless, as were the supporting abilities meant to assist its execution. Furthermore, their inorganic bodies had no weak points to target, such as tendons, necks, or hearts. Binding them with webbing had limited success, but the threads only lasted several seconds before they froze solid and became brittle. In short, they were the worst type of opponent for a stalker. Felling even one of them took a huge amount of effort and energy, though there was an upside. Elementals were suffused with raw magical energy the mana-devouring demon could feed upon. It tasted horrible, like wet mud, but she consumed it in the vague hope that it might help her survive this biting cold.

It didn’t. If anything, it made the chill worse. Her temperature dropped so low that she was forced to seek shelter within a small outcropping of rocks that barely shielded her from the blizzard. Her mandibles chittered endlessly, and her practically naked body shivered uncontrollably as it failed to warm itself up. Her limbs had gone completely numb, and she frequently felt the need to check whether all of them were still attached. It wasn’t like they were going to freeze up and snap off in the wind – at least, not yet – but she probably wouldn’t feel it if she lost an appendage in combat.

The only upside to all this was that the elementals struggled to hit her to a far greater degree than she failed to effectively damage them. Especially the big, lumbering, Kora-like oafs. Drea could easily avoid their mindless attacks, but it took forever to chip away at the hardened ice. It was like digging a tunnel with a needle. The smaller ones were much more dangerous. While fragile and easily dispatched with a few solid slashes, they were quick enough to inflict seemingly trivial yet unavoidable injuries. Normally, such cuts and scrapes would be no issue, but the stalker was suffering from the Minor Hypothermia condition. It halted her automatic HP recovery, so every point of vitality she lost to those vicious buggers was gone for good. On the upside, she was still able to recuperate MP and stamina if she allowed herself a bit of time and rest. It was only possible because Boxxy had the foresight of giving her an Elixir of Greater Cold Resistance. Without it, Drea’s body would suffer the much more severe stages of hypothermia that rapidly led to death.

While her condition wasn’t getting any worse, it also wouldn’t improve. The stalker wasn’t getting any warmer and would surely expire if she lingered much longer. Yet, she couldn’t rush blindly ahead hoping to find a way out. Every fight felt like running a marathon underwater, and she was unable to avoid far too many confrontations. Most elementals were indistinguishable from inanimate ice and snow formations until she was right on top of them. She couldn’t rush blindly ahead and had to conserve energy as much as possible, hence why she was huddled up behind a bunch of loose rocks. A few minutes later, she ventured forth once more, compound eyes fervently scanning the whiteout for any signs of movement. She only had half of her 5,153 HP remaining and had a feeling she’d need every last drop of vitality once she found whatever boss monster awaited at the Chasm’s exit.

Drea found a sliver of something resembling hope up ahead. She hit a gradual upward slope at the same time as the frozen canyon’s tall walls spread further apart than she had seen them previously. The ground was also significantly smoother and easier to traverse. This damnable blizzard was still as persistent as ever, but the shift in terrain hinted she was approaching the Chasm’s exit. The absence of semi-sentient ice chunks trying to pummel her into a smear was equally emboldening. However, as she pushed forward, dread began to take hold once more. The path rapidly narrowed into the same tight corridor and treacherous terrain she had been slogging through until now. If that wasn’t bad enough, she could barely see the silhouette of a shambling ice boulder up ahead.

The stalker stopped in her tracks. She clenched her eyes, gnashed her teeth, clacked her mandibles, and dragged her claws through her black hair. She leaned back against the canyon wall, her slender form sliding down until her butt sank into the snow. How much longer would this stupid area continue? Perhaps she should have saved herself the trouble and gotten herself killed. The Beyond’s lack of physical sensation was infinitely preferable to the merciless wind that chilled her to the bone. She didn’t want to give up with no idea if she could be summoned again, but that was before all this misery started. Right now, Drea felt as though Boxxy would surely manage without a failure such as her. Ever since she became its familiar, she hadn’t done a single thing right. Perhaps… it would have been better off if she hadn’t taken this contract.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

The dungeon master’s voice interrupted the stalker’s mental spiral of self-loathing. Drea’s eyes snapped open and locked onto the Mistborn Projection in front of her. The shimmering apparition was heavily distorted by the howling winds, but one could easily discern she was smiling maliciously.

“It seems the poor little bug has hit a rough spot, has she?” she began gloating. “I was a bit worried since all the other ones were absurd, unfair creatures, but you’re not like them at all! You’re not some mysterious tree spirit, an incomprehensible Hero, or an abnormally Ranked Up demon. You’re just a stalker, an itsy bitsy cowardly little spider who’s completely helpless once she’s out of her comfort zone!”

“Hrrktktktktktktktktktkt…”

Setre’s words stabbed through Drea’s chest, and it showed in her body language. She shrank back and curled up in a blatant admission of guilt.

“Oh me, oh my! It seems like I hit a nerve, did I?” added the djinn.

Seeing that her venomous remarks were finally having an effect on one of her guests made the dungeon master’s smile even wider. The fact that she, a demon, was the custodian of the Palace of the Crystal Maiden meant that the basic ‘no teleportation’ restriction available to all dungeon cores had been upgraded to ‘no spatial travel.’ The latter was much broader in scope and included a ban on both a Warlock’s Summon Familiar Skill and the Transfamiliar Spell. In other words, if the stalker died here or was rendered unable to escape, then her shithead of a master would be weakened for the final confrontation.

“Can’t say I blame you. I’d feel useless, too, if I couldn’t beat a bunch of brainless ice cubes!”

She decided to keep pouring it on so the seeds of doubt would take root inside the arachnid assassin’s wavering spirit. She wasn’t sure how, why, or when these familiars had grown so attached to their summoner, but it was hardly an unprecedented state of affairs. The important thing was that this stalker clearly had some sort of emotional attachment to her master. Setre would use that connection to pressure her into submission.

“I bet he’d just discard you and replace your sorry ass with a much more capable demon. Face it, you’re only holding your master back.”

“Ktktktktktktkt…”

If the increased chittering of the stalker’s mandibles was any indication, her plan was working wonderfully.

“I’d suggest you kill yourself to spare everyone the trouble of your pointless existence, but not even that would work on a demon like you. You can’t even die right. That’s how much of a hopeless failure you are!”

“Tktktktk-!”

Setre had pushed too far. Something in her words lit a fire under Drea’s butt. Her eyes snapped wide open, and her mouth stopped producing noises for the first time since she was deposited in this damnable chasm.

Who is this cunt to decide I’m a failure!? she yelled inwardly. Nobody can do that but me and my Master! Wait… that’s right… Master never gave me orders…

She had never been explicitly told to survive at any cost, clear the zone, and then present a trophy to Boxxy. However, she knew how that monster operated and knew that’s what it would have wanted her to do. The only person forcing her to chase after those goals and suffer through this miserable place was herself, eager to please and prove herself capable to the creature she so admired. She wanted Boxxy to acknowledge her personally and explicitly. She wanted it so bad that merely imagining that moment suddenly chased off all those doubts and worries that existed solely in her own mind. Brimming with newfound determination, the stalker leapt to her feet and dashed straight at the enormous elemental in the distance.

“What now? Finally decided to go back to the Beyond where it’s nice and warm?”

The Beyond didn’t work like that, but Drea had no desire to argue semantics with the djinn. She did not even want to see her face, so she idly sliced up the apparition as she walked, forcing the magic to disperse. She lowered her stance to a near crawl, allowing her bladed limbs to push her weight straight into the monster. She skittered swiftly between its legs and away from its clumsy stomps as she left it behind. It gave chase and its rumbling footsteps awakened dozens of its lesser kin from their hidey-holes beneath the snow. A veritable wall of blades and spikes descended upon Drea from all sides, yet she did not falter. She was done playing by that bitch’s rules or following some self-imposed survival tactics. Every fiber of her being was dedicated to rushing forward, dodging every attack she could, and pushing through the ones she couldn’t.

As one might expect, the number of injuries she sustained in this reckless charge increased exponentially, but so did the ground she covered. Feeling returned to her numb limbs as her flesh screamed in agony, and her lungs burned in protest at their inability to keep up with this exertion. This was a good pain. It drowned out the cold and pushed away the doubts, at least for a bit. Drea would probably pass out as soon as she stopped, but she had neither the intention nor the luxury to do so. A hundred pissed-off elementals were on her tail, determined to smash her at all costs. The monsters kept launching spikes and beams at the retreating stalker in addition to all of the new ‘friends’ she was constantly picking up.

Drea knew this would happen. It was why she had opted to slowly and methodically clear the path of creatures until now. Logically speaking, her earlier approach was the best option when it came to ensuring her survival, yet she had abandoned it due to Boxxy’s influence. The shapeshifter knew there was a time for caution and a time for action – a time to conform to the world and a time to force the world to conform to it. Drea aspired to have that drive, that courage to disregard reason in favor of what she wanted. She failed to consider that very few of her master’s daring exploits had been on purpose and were, for the most part, Boxxy rolling with the punches. However, Drea wasn’t thinking clearly. The thought of breaking out of her mold and surpassing whatever expectations others might have of her was… thrilling. Exciting, even. So much so that it took her longer than usual to notice the number of elementals both in front and behind her had decreased significantly.

Skidding to a halt, the stalker looked back to find that her persistent pursuers had gotten themselves stuck. The large and medium elementals were jammed up against a narrow gap in the frozen crevasse. They continued to mindlessly push forward, ensuring that none of them could squeeze through the tiny space. A few of the smaller ones that were barely as big as goats managed to get past, but they weren’t much threat. Drea’s stick webbing shot forward from her palms and wrapped around the critters, and she moved in and cut them up before they could break free. She took a few more nicks and cuts in the process, but barely half a minute later, she seemed to be in the clear.

This was… unexpected. Then again, the old Drea had never been in this situation. What sort of third-rate assassin would she be if she allowed herself to have so many pursuers that they literally trampled over one another? Even if that happened, the chase would never result in this sort of roadblock. Sentient beings in the real world had some concept of teamwork, but the ‘crush all intruders’ directive the dungeon forced on its basic monsters was overpowering. As the stalker came down from her reckless high, she winced as she realized just how lucky she had gotten. She’d probably beat herself up over her temporary bout of stupidity for years to come, possibly decades. However, that would have to wait. While she figured out why her pursuers had halted, she had no idea why there were no more monsters up ahead.

As she advanced warily, the walls of the Howling Chasm began to part once more. Unlike that bait and switch before, they opened so wide that she couldn’t even see them in the blizzard. At least, not at first. The winds abruptly died down and the heavy fog began to disperse. Within moments, Drea could see the sun attempting to pierce the clouds in the sky.

“Yessss!” she shout-whispered with a fist pump. “Also, owww!”

Now that the numbing wind chill had subsided, her body complained in full at the injuries and exhaustion she had forced upon it. She quickly looked herself over. She had barely 1,400 HP left, and the topmost pair of her back-mounted scythes had been lost in the chaos. All things considered, she was in remarkably good shape. This filled Drea with a renewed sense of triumph only slightly diminished by the realization that she was two limbs short.

She wasn’t out of the Chasm just yet. Looking through the scattering mist, she realized she was standing on a frozen pond surrounded by a circle of steep cliffs. Though she could see the dungeon’s titular palace looming in the distance, there was no obvious way to leave this basin other than climbing. Yet, previous attempts had taught her that wasn’t an option. As the mist continued to recede, the stalker was overcome with a strange sense of familiarity. She couldn’t put her claw on it at first since she had only seen it from the outside, but this area was strikingly similar in size and shape to the arena within Azurvale’s Stone District. It was fifty to sixty meters in diameter, with featureless flat ground that denied those standing on it any sort of cover or protection.

The stalker determined this had to be where she’d face down the Howling Chasm’s boss monster, yet she couldn’t see anything or anyone. The arena was barren, devoid of life. Perhaps the creature would burst from the frozen water under her feet and drag her under. Wary of such things, Drea knelt and brushed away the thin layer of snow so she could get a better look at the ice she was treading on. The good news was that, as far as she could tell, the water was frozen solid all the way to the bottom. The bad news was that the crystal clear ice was filled with people. Humans, dwarves, elves, male, female, young, old – all kinds, each one just below the flat surface. They weren’t alive, but the bodies were so unblemished and well preserved that she would not be surprised if they suddenly started moving.

“Ktktktktkt?”

Though she thought that, she was momentarily startled when one of them actually opened its eyes and stared into her own. It burst out of the ice with a loud crash and a gargling hiss, forcing Drea to let out a high-pitched yelp as she instinctively leapt backward. She watched in astonishment as the corpse climbed out of its icy prison while some sort of black slime began to seep out of its pale skin and drape over its body. When the dreadful sludge fell off a second later, the creature left behind was very different from the deceased human soldier it used to be.

It retained a humanoid shape, but the flesh had become extremely lean, gangly and decomposed. Its appearance was closer to a malnourished doppelganger than a person, with only the minimal amount of meat covering its bones. It had blue skin and claws instead of fingers and toes – two on each foot and three on each hand, much like Drea. It had oily, shoulder-length black hair, a complete and total lack of anything resembling a nose, and eye sockets that glowed with an eerie white light. Whatever clothes and armor were on the original body were gone, transformed by the ominous slime much like its flesh. The clearly undead monster wore a pair of weathered leather braces that covered its wrists and forearms and matching greaves on its shins and calves. Its shoulders, collar, and the lower half of its face were wrapped up in a rough brown fabric much too big to be called a scarf, the ends of which dangled over its protruding spine like a short cape.

“Blood…”

A low voice like a thousand whispers gushed forth from the creature.

“Maim… Kill… Destroy…”

The undead monstrosity aimlessly shambled around in a drunken manner as it kept spewing threatening words at nobody in particular. Even though it made eye contact with the stalker just moments before, it seemed to have completely forgotten she was there. The demoness didn’t miss this opportunity, circled around its back, and pounced at it. She sprang forward like an animate bear trap, limbs clamping down from all sides. Her clawed hands dug into its back, right where its lungs would be if still had those. Her back-scythes pierced the sides of its neck and ear holes, targeting the brain and spine. Her bladed toes cut into the back of his knees, aiming to cripple should it survive. Normally, she’d bite into the thing’s neck, but she abstained since it was sure to taste horrible. The bite would have been overkill, as her Assassination Skill triggered without a hitch. The undead thing didn’t even make a sound as its form collapsed into zombie salad. The flesh began melting into more of that viscous black ooze, which sank into the clear ice and spread through it like a blob of ink.

“SKREEEEEEEEEE!”

Moments later, the area was bathed in an angry, high-pitched scream. There was an eruption of ice and snow a few steps away from Drea as another body rose, transformative goo already falling off of it. The outcome was a creature that appeared identical to the one the stalker had just executed. However, this one was well aware of the intruder and lunged at her only to have Drea rip through its head, torso, and shoulder in an instantaneous counter-strike.

A third corpse popped out of the ice and rushed her in much the same manner but was just as easily defeated. A fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh followed suit one after the other, all taking on the same appearance. Surprisingly, the eighth one managed to avoid being skewered on the first hit. It still died moments later to the follow-up strike. The ninth lasted a little longer, and so did the tenth. This trend continued until the fifteenth managed to get a clean hit, gouging out a sizable chunk of Drea’s left thigh with its claws.

At this point, the demon’s initial suspicions were confirmed. She wasn’t facing multiple instances of the same type of monster. It was the same individual coming at her over and over, and each time it was a little faster, a little stronger, and more experienced. The undead was clearly adapting to her attack patterns, evasive movements, and overall fighting style at a rather frightening pace. Death was an effective teacher, as every veteran familiar would know, and this recyclable zombie was getting a crash course. Drea attempted to counter by varying up her strikes as much as she could. This confused the malicious creature for a while, but it was a temporary solution. It would not be long before it could read the stalker like a picture book. The demon maintained her focus, reminding herself the extra back-mounted limbs gave her a biological advantage that would ensure her superiority in hand-to-hand combat.

This lasted until kill number thirty-two, after which the thing emerged from the ice with an extra appendage growing out of its upper back. It was slender, agile, with two elbow-like joints and a long blade made of bone at its tip. It wasn’t merely studying Drea’s fighting style – it was copying her. It explained why its hair and claws were so similar to hers, like a twisted reflection given life. It was also starting to slowly match her strength and speed, whereas the stalker’s own abilities dwindled due to exhaustion and injuries. At this rate, the creature would soon surpass her in every way, resulting in her inevitable defeat. Drea had no idea how to handle this. She’d never seen nor heard of such a bizarre monster. However, the gaunt features, body-snatching, shapeshifting, and mimicry led to her believe that her initial hunch had been right on the money.

The stalker’s opponent was an icebound variant of a mirror wraith. Its kind rose from the remains of doppelgangers that had heavily dabbled in death, either inflicting it or via necromancy. Boxxy had a high chance of turning into one of these things if Mortimer hadn’t shown up to personally collect its soul. Or if the shady government organization hadn’t revived it in a misguided attempt to further their agenda. It would have turned the shapeshifter effectively immortal. Much like a lich would never truly be destroyed so long as their phylactery was intact, a mirror wraith would persist until the accursed specter was captured and purified with the right ritual. Unfortunately for Drea, she didn’t have this vital knowledge or the means to act on it. She could only guess at her opponent’s origins. Its true nature was a complete unknown. The opposite was also true, but this thing was adapting to her faster than she was to it.

Sure enough, as the duel repeated itself, the stalker found it increasingly difficult to claim a round. The wraith only grew stronger while she continued to weaken. She discovered it wasn’t just the cold and injuries that sapped her strength, but also the Blight – the magical plague that all undead carried. Around the forty-fifth fight, the wraith had fully caught up to her. It sported four scythe-tipped limbs and a sturdy carapace of its own, bringing the corrupted reflection unsettlingly close to the original. It even had a pair of gigantic mandibles jutting out of the sides of its head as if mocking her nervous ticks.

The two of them then engaged in another exchange of blows more akin to dancing than fighting. Neither landed any clean hits until Drea was able to seize an opportunity to rush in and decapitate her opponent yet again. However, what she perceived as an opening turned out to be bait for a trap. The wraith had taken advantage of its pseudo-immortality and willingly offered up one of its bodies to trade blows with the stalker. This allowed it to slice clean through her right arm while its own neck was severed.

Drea screamed in pain and reflexively leaped backwards. Her amputated limb rolled around on the ground, dripping with viscous blood for a few moments before rapidly evaporating into thin air. Another explosion of ice and snow later, her hated opponent was back to full strength while she was in a clearly disadvantageous position. The stalker rapidly reconsidered her approach. Initially, she planned to fight until it ran out of bodies. She was making good progress until now, since by her estimation the stubborn zombie had used up somewhere between half and two thirds of the available corpses. It had also reached the limit of what it could copy from her, yet she was still coming ahead slightly. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t help but feel confident she could outlast it, so long as her stamina held out.

The crushing realization this wasn’t going to happen was why stalkers were very rarely optimistic about anything.

Her opponent charged at her yet again, but it was painfully obvious that confronting it wasn’t smart. This in mind, Drea began actively evading the wraith in an effort to buy herself some time to think. She wasn’t out of trump cards, for she had so far avoided using her webbing against the undead shifter. It was good she held back since she wouldn’t be able to give it the run around if it was capable of throwing sticky thread at her. Unfortunately, as desperately as she tried to figure out a way to handle this thing, her mind kept running into the same mental dead end – everyone else in Boxxy’s group was far better suited for dealing with the monster.

For example, if Fizzy were here, she’d instantly purify the entire lake with her holy magic and rob the body-hopping specter of any suitable vessels, perhaps even destroy it outright. Xera would burn away both ice and corpses with her flames. Kora’s Berserker Job would handle this direct approach with much greater success. Drea wasn’t sure exactly what Ambrosia’s spriggan body was capable of, but it was fair to assume some uppity graverobber wouldn’t be much of an issue for a millennia-old Caster. Boxxy was so flexible this thing would need a thousand lives over to learn all its moves. The former mimic could produce a near-infinite number of attack variations through its world-class shapeshifting, wide array of Skills, and the personal armory in its Storage. Or it could just annihilate the wraith repeatedly with its Warlock magic before the undead could copy anything from it.

Drea could do none of those things. Sure, she was better at stealthy assassinations than anyone else in Boxxy’s inner circle, but this Howling Chasm was designed to counter such a skillset. Perhaps she had already done enough? Surely, her master would understand her predicament and not punish her if she were to fall. Her master may even show some measure of respect that she lasted this long. It was an intoxicatingly comforting thought. She also considered that, if her defeat was inevitable, then it seemed more efficient for her to give up, reunite with Boxxy, and share all she had learned of this enemy. Drea still wasn’t aware that the dungeon would prevent her summoning, otherwise she might have kept fighting instead of fantasizing about bringing her master here so it could gobble up that detestable wraith like the insignificant ghost it was.

… Huh. I guess I could try that, couldn’t I?

The stalker stopped giving her opponent the runabout and turned on her heel to face it. She wasn’t sure whether her new idea would work. Actually, she was fairly certain it wouldn’t. It was a notion so idiotic and reckless it made that desperate dash through the field of elementals seem like a brilliant tactical decision. At the same time, it was one more thing she could try, and she felt like she couldn’t face her master with her head held high unless she gave it her all. Well, she was far too shy to face her master at all unless explicitly ordered to do so, but that was beside the point.

The mirror wraith sensed the demon was up to something and skid to a halt. It lowered its body and circled around the stalker. Its mandibles chittered threateningly, mirroring Drea’s. The undead was ultimately the more aggressive combatant, so the stare-down didn’t last long before it made a move. It approached her with a light-footed zigzag pattern, completely unlike the blind charges it attempted during the initial series of duels.

Drea turned her left side forward to receive the incoming attack. She wasn’t certain whether she could pull this off one-handed, but she felt her odds were good. The wraith had demonstrated an inability to deal with attacks it saw for the first time, and she was banking on that. One way or another, this gambit would likely decide the confrontation. Drea only had 200 HP remaining after having her limb torn off, so this would likely be her last chance. She needed to make it count and was quietly thankful that she held back her webbing for so long.

She raised her good hand towards the incoming wraith and let loose a spray of sticky spider silk from her palm. As expected, the creature had no idea how to deal with it. It was wrapped up in the blink of an eye and fell flat on the ground. It tried to cut through its bindings with its mimicked scythes and claws, but the stalker quickly moved in and secured all of its limbs by tying them together. She applied a liberal coat of non-stick elastic silk, wrapping her opponent up until it resembled an enormous bagworm. The wraith struggled, hissed, screeched, and writhed, but Drea would not let it break free. She mercilessly stabbed it over and over through the white cocoon until it stopped moving, and its body began melting into that dark sludge yet again. The viscous liquid began to soak clean through the white webbing as it attempted to return to the frozen lake.

The stalker had been aiming for this precise moment. Drea screwed up her courage, picked up the sloshing lump of spider silk, and, in an act that would make Boxxy recoil in horror, poured the black sludge into her open mouth. The scent hit her first, followed closely by the horrible taste. She understood firsthand why her master had given the nickname ‘Nasty’ to that lich it briefly worked with. The stalker would really have to force the stuff down and almost succeeded. When the sludge hit the back of her throat, her body reacted in defiance to her intent. It started convulsing wildly as it rejected the bizarre ooze. She had to use every ounce of her remaining strength and willpower to swallow a single mouthful, which was her limit. She dropped the rest of it on the ground and bent over while retching, gagging, and dry heaving from the horrific aftertaste.

Freed from her grasp, what was left of the black sludge returned to the ice and sought out another host. The mirror wraith emerged from the ice a short while later, but it was immediately apparent that Drea’s stupid idea had paid off. The revived zombie had the same arachno-humanoid shape, but struggled to maintain its balance. Its stumbling was much more severe than the first time the stalker saw it, as if she were watching a newborn doe learning to walk. The demon seized upon the moment of weakness and pounced on it, wrapping it up before it had a chance to regain its balance. She guessed the technique would only work a few more times before her adversary devised a counter, but that would be enough. Her first attempt at devouring her opponent had failed since underestimated just how abhorrent its taste was, but the flavor was familiar to her now.

By the Gods, she knew it so well that she doubted she would ever forget it.

That was fine, though. This amount of suffering was a small price to pay if it meant earning Boxxy’s approval. If she overcame a challenge specifically tailored to counter her way of fighting, then there was no way that endlessly pragmatic creature wouldn’t be impressed. With such foolish thoughts and a silent prayer for her soon-to-be-dead tastebuds, Drea resumed her meal with only a slight bit of hesitation.

[The area guardian of the Howling Chasm has been slain.]
[To the victor go the spoils.]
[The Howling Chasm can now be accessed freely for the next 24 hours.]

A few minutes later the only things left of the prolonged confrontation were a corpse-and-crater-filled frozen lake, a few piles of soppy webbing, and a tightly shut golden treasure chest.

Excluding, of course, the violently convulsing stalker who could do nothing but writhe on the ground in agony while clinging to the last few digits of her HP.

Chapter Four
The Crystal Maiden

Part One

The Palace of the Crystal Maiden was a fortress in its own right. It had been built on the very tippy top of the mountain’s summit, surrounded by sheer cliffs that made it impossible to approach from any direction except the intended one. The sole path was a narrow, winding road interspersed with a total of six gatehouses. These fortifications were manned by a small army of golems that appeared hewn from clear ice. That wasn’t actually the case. The constructs were built out of enchanted crystals that merely resembled frozen water in accordance with the visual aesthetic that Goroth chose for the final stretch of his dungeon. Their forms were mostly humanoid, as was the standard for golems, but they bore no resemblance to any enlightened race of Terrania. Their shells were composed of complex geometric shapes with clearly defined angles and flat surfaces. The creatures glimmered in a gem-like fashion on the rare occasion the sun pierced through the overcast skies, rendering them almost too shiny to attack.

‘Almost’ being the operative word.

“I count at least sixty atop the wall,” Boxxy reported. “Only a quarter of them seem to be carrying weapons. The rest must be Spell-slingers.”

The shapeshifter sank behind the large snowbank it was peering over and looked to the rest of its crew.

“Thoughts?”

“Forgive me, milord,” Ambrosia spoke up, “but doth golems even know any arcane incantations?”

“Fizzy can use Holy magic, remember?”

“That may be, but even I realize thy glistening contraption is most anomalous.”

“All crystal golems can use offensive magic, it’s what separates them from the metal and stone,” explained Xera. “Well, they also break easier, but the ability to melt faces from afar typically makes up for it.”

“And since we’ll have to assault those gates,” Boxxy picked up, “it means we’ll be on the receiving end of their magic.”

“I see. ‘Tis a siege, then?”

“That’s the plan.”

Ironing out the details of their assault was why Boxxy had Ambrosia and Snack huddle up and talk things out instead of charging in blindly. They were currently hidden out of sight of the first gatehouse, which was fifty meters away at the base of the sole path to the Palace. The three were able to reunite thanks to the Torture Chamber’s spectacular collapse. The flaming pile of wreckage was an obvious signal which drew Ambrosia to Xera’s location, and the two made for the dungeon’s final part in accordance with Boxxy’s last telepathic communication. The shapeshifter had been plotting and scouting ever since, which struck Ambrosia as a bit odd. In her mind, this creature didn’t have a habit of stalling or holding back. At least, not without good reason.

“Art thou perhaps waiting for the rest of thy servants?” she asked.

“Yeah,” confirmed Boxxy. “I want Arms with us at the very least. Her Siegebreaker Skill will be very useful against those stone fortifications.”

“Art thou sure milady Koralenteprix is even coming?”

“She should be. You did see the notification about the Eternal Library being cleared, right?”

It was obviously the area Arms had described during their brief telepathic correspondence.

“That is not what I meant, milord. I am merely wondering if someone as dimwitted as her is able to anticipate milord’s desires.”

“She raises a good point, Master,” Xera backed her up. “That moron probably hasn’t realized she’s supposed to convene with the rest of us since it wasn’t a direct order.”

“Hmm… Now that you mention it, it has been over twenty minutes since that notification.”

She might’ve just gotten lost, but the big hulking blue palace that loomed over the area was impossible to ignore. Distance shouldn’t be a problem, either. Even though this dungeon was literally kilometers wide, someone of the fiend’s stature would easily cross it by now. It wasn’t like she was being held up by monsters or anything, as neither Boxxy, Ambrosia, nor Xera encountered any hostiles after defeating their bosses.

Traps were another story. Both the shapeshifter and the djinn-spriggan pair had to get through quite a few of those. It was a huge hassle, but not exactly difficult. Boxxy had some Mirror Images run ahead of it and set off any snares or ambushes in its path. It was a brutish method but more reliable than trying to detect them through the background ‘noise’ of the dungeon’s ambient mana. Xera and Ambrosia avoided them by following the djinn’s Guiding Light. Well, mostly. The divination ability was reliant upon its user’s desires, which made it implicitly unreliable. In this instance, the beeping mote of light guided the pair straight over five separate explosive glyphs. It had been instructed to find ‘a safe path’ and did not consider that its master’s floral companion might not have Fire Affinity. Regardless, the hylt spriggan was innately resistant to magical flames and could heal her wounds instantly, so her vessel was not in any real danger.

Kora, however, would absolutely struggle to do the same. She didn’t have disposable body doubles, clairvoyance magic, or healing spells. The odds were high that, even if she did figure out where to go, she’d end up lost or turned around by all the teleportation glyphs scattered throughout the area.

“Let’s give her another hour or so,” Boxxy decided. “It’s not like we’re in a rush.”

“If that is thy wish, milord,” said Ambrosia with a polite bow. “In that case, I shall make myself comfortable.”

The spriggan burrowed into the snow underfoot in search of soil while Xera’s eyes shone with a rather ravenous glint.

“Master!” she called out in a loud voice. “Since we’re not going anywhere, could you please turn my filthy pussy and vulgar asshole into a sopping mess?!”

The prospect of downtime had gotten her more than a little excited, especially after the missed pounding opportunity within the Torture Chamber. Since her Master was extremely pleased when she presented it with the Prismatic Cloak, it stood to reason it might be willing to reward her hard work. If that wasn’t the case, then it would shut her down with a slew of verbal abuse that would serve as an acceptable consolation prize.

However, her beloved Boxxy didn’t answer and stared directly overhead. Xera was caught a bit off guard by this total lack of reaction and followed its line of sight. It took her a few moments, but she was suddenly able to tell what had caught her master’s attention. It was a tiny speck shooting across the partially cloudy sky. She squinted her eyes but couldn’t make out anything beyond a mixture of red and green. The realization of what she was looking at failed to hit her until she could barely pick up on a string of distant profanities carried on the wind.

“Is that… what- who I think it is?” she muttered dumbly.

“Yep,” confirmed Boxxy. “It’s Arms.”

Using the Ranger Job’s Eagle Eye Skill, the shapeshifter zoomed in and very clearly tracked the flailing archfiend as she soared through the air. No, ‘soar’ was too gentle a word. ‘Hurtling uncontrollably’ was a much more accurate description. Her trajectory was likely caused by the new set of footwear she was sporting. Rather than the usual armored greaves and sabatons, her feet sported a pair of plain-looking brown boots with two tiny wings on each ankle. They were clearly magical, likely her reward for besting the Eternal Library’s boss. Their appearance would suggest they bestowed flight upon their user, but if that was the case, the dungeon would not have allowed the fiend to achieve such an altitude.

Boxxy didn’t get to ponder Kora’s situation much longer before it realized she was headed right for the palace at the summit’s peak. She collided headfirst into the frozen chateau’s outer wall with such force that it broke two of her horns in half. She fell straight down after that. On her way to the ground she also smashed through a balcony, broke a flagpole jutting out of the building, and bounced off some golem-filled battlements. Her disastrous landing ended behind the palace’s outer walls, well beyond Boxxy’s field of vision. The shapeshifter momentarily questioned if she even survived. It got its answer moments later when it heard magical discharges and saw crystalline body parts launch into the air from Kora’s location.

*HAHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHM*

A deep horn echoed from the summit’s top. It seemed to be a call for reinforcements, as the crystalline soldiers and mages atop the nearest gatehouse began to vacate the walls and move towards the palace. They left some troops to man the gates, but it was a skeleton crew of barely even ten golems. While unexpected, the development suited Boxxy’s needs.

“Snack. Hit them.”

“At once, Master!”

Xera broke out of cover and darted towards the first gatehouse while gliding low over the ground. The leftover guards noticed her approach and let loose a barrage of ice-based magic, but they failed to hit their target. A Sandman-shaped Mirror Image had appeared in front of her and body-blocked the incoming projectiles, allowing Xera the precious few moments she needed to finish chanting her own Spell.

“Meteor!”

A massive ball of flames and molten rock fell towards the gatehouse, prompting the defenders to raise an immense magical barrier. They seemed to be using a Skill like Synchronous Chanting to pool their mystical energy and shore up their defenses, but they were far too few to repel the djinn’s magic. The conjured meteor smashed right through their defenses and landed directly on top of the gatehouse, engulfing it in crimson flames. The structure was left standing and mostly unphased through the dungeon core’s efforts, but the sentries on its battlements were all but annihilated.

The paltry defenders dealt with, Boxxy moved up the path in its wheeled treasure chest form while Ambrosia rode side-saddle atop its lid. The road leading to the central Palace was relatively flat and straight, allowing it to gain a good deal of speed despite it being uphill. Its passage triggered two magical glyphs hidden in the ground. One burst into lightning, and another gushed out a geyser of acid. Neither did much since the speeding chest was already used to this sort of trap. There was a split-second delay between the magical formation lighting up and its arcane payload being unleashed. It was just enough time for Boxxy to hop sideways with its organic wheels, bringing it and its passenger outside the glyphs’ effective range.

That aside, as quick as this box-cart form was, it was ill-suited for scaling up the gatehouse’s walls.

“Hang on tight, Ambrosia!”

“As thou wishes, milord!”

The spriggan complied with the shifter’s request and lied face-down, grabbing hold of the handles that conveniently sprouted from its sides. The quartet of wheels on Boxxy’s undercarriage split into eight spider legs, allowing it to nimbly clamber over the fortifications. It darted across the battlements, a tentacle springing out to collect a few of the shinier shattered golem bits. It hopped off the other side, glided down to the ground with a pair of leathery wings, and resumed rolling around at the speed of imminent profit. Meanwhile, Xera simply phased through the closed gate with her Mist Form and did her best to keep up with her master.

She was unable to do so, however. Her ‘hover’ speed was too slow, and she couldn’t float any faster without the dungeon’s flying restriction kicking in and slamming her to the ground. Thankfully, her ever-attentive master noticed her predicament and instantly addressed the issue… by wrapping a tentacle around her waist and dragging her in its wake. Sure, the djinn would take some damage as she bounced and skid across the frozen dirt, but not enough to put her life in danger. Besides, Ambrosia was on hand to administer healing if needed, and the demon was clearly enjoying herself judging by her delighted squeals of pain.

The three-monster team caught up with the retreating golems from the first gatehouse as they were passing through the second checkpoint. Boxxy conjured another Mirror Image, this one mimicking its self-propelled box-cart form. The shapeshifter opened a stationary Storage portal and used a whip-like tentacle motion to yoink something out in the blink of an eye. It was a Spell Crystal containing a Dark Explosion augmented by Power Overwhelming. Boxxy tossed the ‘Big Bang Ball’ to its inferior copy, and it caught the object with a similarly quick tendril movement. The Mirror Image sprouted six arachnid limbs in addition to the four flesh wheels and put all the appendages to work as it furiously kicked itself up the slope while the original slowed its own pace.

The mindless body double pulled ahead of Boxxy, Xera, and Ambrosia. The golems were too focused on making it to the palace and failed to notice the incoming threat until it was next to them. The Mirror Image transformed into a gigantic steel ball that ploughed through their ranks. It wasn’t enough to kill or cripple any of the crystalline constructs, but it succeeded in penetrating their perimeter. It reverted to a doppelganger and threw the volatile lump of magic straight at the half-open gate. It landed right where the enemy was most concentrated, then cracked open and released its payload.

The ensuing detonation shattered over twenty golems at once, sending shards of ice-colored crystal flying in every direction. The deluge of glittering shrapnel was so severe it mowed down another dozen more. The constructs on the ground were all but annihilated, and the ones atop the battlements weren’t looking too great, either. The explosion’s immense force had transmitted up the length of the stone structure, forcing the golems on the ramparts to lose their balance. Most lost their balance and fell over. A few plummeted to the ground, landing hard enough to send cracks through their rigid bodies.

Boxxy, Ambrosia, and Xera slipped through the confusion before the golems could close the door, taking out a few more as they passed by. The djinn managed to invoke another Meteor despite being treated like a semi-forgotten sack of cabbages. Her parting gift finished off a good chunk of the remaining golems. Quite a few probably survived, but Boxxy had no intention of turning around to mop them up. It had more pressing issues. The monster already knew that its summoning magic was nullified within the dungeon, so it wanted to make sure Arms survived whatever mess she had gotten herself into. She was far too valuable a weapon to lose. The same could be said about Claws, but Boxxy couldn’t do anything since her whereabouts were unknown. That and it also expected her to handle herself a lot better than that weed-haired brick-brain.

The trio reached the third gatehouse in no time flat and found it in a state similar to the first, so they went through it in much the same way. The XP burst proved just enough to push Boxxy over the threshold to Level 65 in its Warlock Job. It put off picking a new Skill and focused its attention on the marching golem platoon ahead, about halfway to the fourth checkpoint. They weren’t as bunched up or distracted as the others since they weren’t passing through a fortified checkpoint. This made the ‘boom and dash’ approach much riskier, so Boxxy didn’t even try it. Instead, it retrieved a hand-held cannon loaded with a glitter-bomb, both devices of its own design. The special ordnance was launched with a loud bang and burst open in the air above the enemy platoon. Rather than fire and shrapnel, it exploded into a heavy mist filled with mithril shavings. The dense smoke obscured vision while the specks of magical metal confused any potential Mana Locator Glands. Boxxy wasn’t sure whether this smoke screen was worth its manufacturing cost, but it allowed it and its entourage to ride right through the loose formation. The constructs flailed their sharp limbs and blindly fired their magic at the intruders, managing more than a few hits through sheer volume. The damage inflicted was nothing serious, certainly not enough to slow down the rampaging murder-train.

The fourth gatehouse was shut tight and on high alert, no doubt tipped off by the numerous explosions further down the slope. The sentries launched a barrage of beams as Boxxy’s group approached. The chest swerved left and right evasively, but most attacks found their mark. Thankfully, Ambrosia was on hand to heal the group as Boxxy went up and over the wall the same way it scaled the first checkpoint. More good fortune awaited the shapeshifter at the fifth gatehouse. It was completely abandoned, allowing easy passage. Boxxy finally spotted Arms at the final fortification along the path, which explained the gatehouse’s abandonment. The archfiend had fought her way up to the battlements and was dealing with the rest of the golem army by herself. The guards from the previous gatehouse were likely called over here since they needed the numbers to contain that typhoon of punching and swearing.

They were doing a pretty good job. Kora had clearly been worn down, both by her catastrophic fall and the relentless assault. Her torso and left leg bore the worst injuries. Her midsection was missing a significant portion of body mass and her knee and foot had been encased in ice, severely limiting her mobility. Furthermore, two of her right side’s arms hung loosely from their shoulders, with numerous broken bones poking through the red skin. It was quite obvious she wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer, but she wouldn’t have to now that she was in range of the Soul Link Skill.

Boxxy’s wheels turned into claws as they dug into the ground, completely killing the monster’s speed. The sudden stop caught Ambrosia by surprise and threw her off, though she managed to hop back to her feet after tumbling forward a bit. Xera was far less graceful. She bounced on the ground one final time before getting clotheslined as her master grabbed her by the throat.

“Snack,” it called out to her.

“Koff! Yes, Master?! Is it time for more punishment?!” her eyes positively sparkled.

“No,” it instantly denied her. “Shut up and stand still. Ambrosia, start pouring as much healing magic into Snack as you can and don’t stop until I say so!”

“At once, milord!”

The spriggan started chanting her curative water spells while Boxxy prepared its own incantation.

“Mending Bubble!”

“Dark Infusion!”

Xera was engulfed by both Spells’ effects, which were transferred through the Soul Link to Kora. The intoxicating feeling of having her body empowered by concentrated shadows flooded the archfiend’s being. Her broken limbs snapped back into their proper place under the dryad’s healing magic. The numbness in her leg suddenly dissipating and excessive power overflowing from within, she was finally able to break free of her icy bindings. She was still bleeding heavily from her ravaged gut, but that didn’t stop her from instantly shattering several of them with a point-blank Thunderclap. She resumed pummeling the golems up and down the gatehouse’s battlements, with Boxxy joining the brawl moments later.

Any semblance of resistance was thoroughly wiped out in under thirty seconds.

“Fuck!” cursed Kora, her breath heavy. “I’m so glad you showed up when you did, boss. I almost got killed by a bunch of fucking ice cubes! I’d have been the laughingstock of the Beyond!”

“Never mind that. How did you get up here in the first place?”

“Ah, right, it’s cuz of these fucken things!”

The fiend gestured towards the tattered remains of the boots that still clung to her ankles.

“I thought they’d let me fly, but they refused to work. I figured maybe they needed a jump start. So, I tried that, and I got thrown forward. I guess I kinda flew but I had no control, so I… I… Oh.”

Realization dawned on her face as she finally noticed her new footwear had not survived the battle. Her expression transitioned from relief to dread as she saw her master slowly stepping closer in a clearly foul mood.

“Where exactly did you get those?”

Boxxy’s damning tone sent a shiver down the archfiend’s spine.

“… Out of a treasure chest,” she winced in anticipation.

“The one you got for defeating the boss?”

“Y-yeah…”

“What material was the chest made out of?”

“Uh, I dunno? I-iron, I think?”

“You think?!”

“No, I’m sure! I’m sure! It was iron!” she fervently insisted, hands waving about. “Polished and a bit fancy, but definitely iron!”

Upon hearing the panicked response, Boxxy’s animosity rapidly diminished until it dissipated completely with a tired sigh.

“Well, that’s not too bad. As long as it wasn’t gold or silver, I can overlook it.”

“Huh?” Kora voiced her sudden confusion. “What’s that got to do with anything.”

“Snack, fill her in.”

The djinn nodded deeply as her master walked off towards the palace’s main entrance.

“Listen up, dick-for-brains,” she turned to the fiend. “It’s really simple. Rewards in this dungeon are tiered. The fancier the chest, the better the item.”

Boxxy determined this after comparing notes with Ambrosia and Xera following their reunion. The golden chest that the shapeshifter had been presented with contained what was most likely an Artifact-grade bow, much like the ones in the Spire of the Jade King. It stood to reason that Goroth placed his best stuff in the shiniest containers. Xera’s silver chest, on the other hand, yielded a high-end Masterwork item. A great find, though a significant step below a relic with unique properties.

Ambrosia, however, had been presented with a simple wooden container. The set of five rings she got from it were definitely shiny, but did not seem to have any sort of enchantment. Boxxy wasn’t sure what sort of criteria was set up for distributing loot, but it felt a bit cheated by that particular outcome. Especially since the dryad had somehow ruined the radiant Sun Crest it had given her. She was strangely evasive whenever it asked her about it, so it dropped the matter. At least for now. The last thing it needed in the middle of a dungeon run was to piss off an immortal demi-god-like tree spirit. Especially since it had only recently smoothed things over between them.

“In other words,” continued Xera, “since your items came out of an iron chest, they were probably trash anyway, much like yourself.”

“Ohhh, I see!” the fiend exclaimed. “So that’s why the boss isn’t all that upset with me! … Hey, wait a minute. Does that mean all the annoying shit I went through was rewarded with useless crap?”

“I guess,” the djinn shrugged.

“Man, fuck that! What a fucking scam!”

Xera raised an eyebrow at her co-contractor.

“Why are you so angry? It’s not like you’d get to keep the reward anyway.”

“That’s not the point! This dumb place disrespected me, and I’m going to punch it in the face for that!”

“Doth dungeons possess faces?” chimed in the dryad from the side.

“This one does,” Kora growled. “A short, overconfident, annoying, and extremely skull-fuckable one!”

The other two women were in full agreement, at least in regard to the first few descriptors. They also wanted a piece of that insufferable dungeon master. Boxxy would have joined in the communal hatemongering, but it was preoccupied. Its attention was focused on the final set of gates between it and the icy palace. They were far more regal and less militarized than the fortified checkpoints it had to go through to get here. They were intended to impress visitors rather than repel invaders, sporting elegantly carved bars and shapes along their slender frame. The gates’ decorative nature was made doubly clear when they slowly swung wide at Boxxy’s approach, allowing entry into the courtyard. The shapeshifter sent a few Mirror Images ahead just in case, which were quickly caught in yet more teleportation traps and flung to the far corners of the dungeon.

With the way cleared, the group passed through the gates and approached the extravagantly large estate. The courtyard was filled with countless ice sculptures and frozen vegetation to create yet another crystal garden. The palace beyond was far more impressive. Judging from what Boxxy could see, the structure wasn’t put together from bricks or panels. There were no seams along its tall, smooth walls, suggesting it had been carved out of a titanic glacier. Or so it would appear to the untrained eye, but the former mimic was a master at identifying shinies. That wasn’t ice. It was the same type of semitransparent blue crystal those golems were made from, and likely loaded to the brim with magical energy.

Another aspect that caught its attention was that there wasn’t an actual way into the building. Yes, there were doors, windows, terraces, and other such potential entrances, but they were all merely decorations carved into the walls. They could not be opened any more than a statue of a war hero could take off its hat. Rather than an actual residence, the building was more akin to a sculpture of immense scale and proportion than an actual residence. On one hand, this made sense since the dungeon belonged to the patron deity of arts and crafts. On the other, it wasn’t very functional as the final area of an enormous dungeon. From what little Boxxy knew of Goroth, he wasn’t the type to miss an opportunity for an epic climax. Perhaps this fake palace was the dungeon master’s idea?

Bizarre buildings aside, there was one other thing caught the monster’s attention. In the courtyard, about a third of the way from the gate to the front not-door, was a stone pillar with a steel plaque bolted onto it. It was the only object made of minerals rather than crystal. Boxxy peered at the metal plate hoping to see some writing but instead saw a row of four engravings, each giving off a faint red glow. The leftmost was a stylized depiction of a lizard’s head that looked quite a bit like the winged lizard-thing the shapeshifter had brutalized in the Glacial Gallows. To the right was a feminine silhouette with a flower-shaped border, likely representing the alraune Ambrosia encountered. The final two were a very flattering representation of an orc and a massive eyeball, no doubt referring to the guardians that Snack and Arms had faced. Also of note was the empty space at the end of the row, where presumably a fifth image would appear.

It all led Boxxy to believe that it and its minions needed to defeat one more area guardian to complete… something. Perhaps it would turn the windows and doors on the palace real, thereby unlocking it? The shapeshifter didn’t have much time to speculate as the dungeon master’s illusory stand-in appeared before it. This time around, her face was plastered with a defeated, tired look that gave Boxxy no small amount of satisfaction. The djinn’s appearance instantly caused the other three to cease whatever inane discussion they were having and prepare for combat. Yet, nothing happened aside from Kora trying to punch the Mistborn Projection’s head clean off. The dungeon master’s visage reformed a second later, her expression thoroughly unphased by the archfiend’s attitude.

“So. Here you are,” she stated in a low, tired voice.

“Yeah, here I am,” responded Boxxy. “What happens now?”

“I am contractually obligated to inform you that you need to defeat five of the nine area guardians before you earn the right to challenge the Crystal Maiden.”

“There are nine bosses in this place?” Kora sounded thrilled.

“There were nine,” Setre groaned. “You lot already pulverized four of them.”

“Nice! You hear that, boss?! More things to smash! And more loot!”

“Quiet, you,” Boxxy hissed at her, then turned back to the dungeon master. “Where are the other guardians?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

The snide reply made it abundantly clear that Boxxy would have to find them the hard way, though at this point the biggest danger left was time. It doubted anything in this dungeon could stand up to it now that it had reunited with most of its followers. Especially since their efforts had allowed its Warlock Job to reach Level 65, giving it access to one of the most powerful demon-related Skills it knew about. There were naturally risks involved in its use as with any such ability, though the most annoying part was that it had the impractically situational Enslave Demon Skill as a prerequisite. But, if this new Skill was anything like the monster’s research suggested, it was worth the baggage. It had yet to use it since that would require sending one of its familiars to the Beyond, but it was eager to try it out as soon as it was done here.

[The area guardian of the Howling Chasm has been slain.]
[To the victor go the spoils.]
[The Howling Chasm can now be accessed freely for the next 24 hours.]

Boxxy’s plans regarding test runs and tryouts were rudely interrupted when Drea’s hard-won victory over the icebound mirror wraith was transmitted across the dungeon. The shapeshifter glanced at that metal plaque in time to see the image of a doppelganger-like head appear in the last free spot. The dull, red light emanating from the etchings intensified to a crimson glare. The metal plate sank into the ground along with the rectangular stone pillar it was attached to.

*CLAP*

The turn of events was punctuated by the dungeon master who had slapped her palms together in front of her chest to get everyone’s attention. The tired, defeated look she had a moment ago had disappeared without a trace. This was not a good sign, especially considering that her mischievous smile had returned. Shenanigans were doubtlessly about to occur.

“Good job!” she said mockingly. “You’ve cleared stage one of the Hero course!”

“… Stage one?” Boxxy hesitantly asked.

“Yup! Y’see, I’m allowed to change two things about the dungeon once I confirm there’s a Hero in it. First, area guardian encounters cease being optional and become mandatory. This included the big one behind me.”

The ground began to quiver and quake mere moments after she uttered those words. The faux palace walls also started to shake, although this wasn’t caused by the sudden tremors. Just the opposite. The building’s movements were making the ground tremble. The various facades began to split apart and rearrange themselves. Turrets and spires sank while roofs rose and assumed new shapes. Then, to the collective surprise of everyone but Setre, the palace began to stand.

As Boxxy suspected, it was no mere dwelling. It was, in fact, an enormous golem – a literal walking castle. Its conical torso, twice as wide at the top than the base, sported numerous tiers of battlements, with its hunched back and broad shoulders bearing an entire keep. Enormous tower-like arms and legs worked in tandem to bring this mobile chateau up to its wide feet, pulling a huge, flanged mace from the ground as it did. Something resembling a helmet emerged from the chest area, a single white light glowing within its visor and a shimmering blue gem embedded in its forehead. Dozens of man-sized golems emerged from its interior and manned the battlements. Half of these were magic users, and the rest carried large crossbows.

Seeing all that ranged firepower prompted Boxxy’s crew to scatter for cover while the mobile fortress rose to its full height of well over twenty meters. Possibly thirty, if one counted the tips of the spires upon its shoulders and back. It grasped the shaft of its titanic weapon with both hands and let out a deep, thunderous drone as if announcing its readiness for battle.

“As for the second thing I can do,” Setre voice echoed across the courtyard, “since you lot have made it this far, I finally get to attend to you assholes personally!”

Her projection abruptly vanished, and Boxxy almost instinctively looked up at the crystal titan’s face. Its optical magnification Skill worked with Eyes of the Dead God to identify the djinn’s real body, including her name. She was flying next to the wardrobe-sized gem embedded in the colossus’ forehead. As if feeling the monster’s gaze on her back, the djinn looked down just in time to see the barrage of ice arrows it fired at her with its new bow. Her manically grinning expression didn’t even flinch as she flew backwards into the massive gem-like object, her form sinking into the serene glow before the projectiles could reach. There were some obvious connotations, which were immediately confirmed by what happened next.

“Hah hah hah hah haaa!”

Her absurdly amplified laughter rained down on Boxxy, Ambrosia, Kora, and Xera while the Crystal Maiden’s shoulders rose up and down in time with the cackles. Its head tilted down to look at them while its right arm raised its weapon to the sky.

“Let’s see you fuckers handle this!”

The djinn-controlled golem then swung the building-sized mace.

Part Two

The Crystal Maiden’s swing looked clumsy and slow from afar, but its sheer scale meant the actual velocity was nothing to sneeze at. It might have hit someone had the dungeon master spent less time taunting and winding up. Her megalomania gave Boxxy’s group ample time to react. They avoided the strike, employing the age-old method of running the fuck away. The massive warhammer kicked up a huge amount of wind, dirt, and snow as it made a wedge-shaped crater in the perfectly flat courtyard. It missed the invading party entirely, but the strike had a secondary effect. A series of ice-like crystal spikes of all shapes erupted from the ground and pierced everything within five meters.

[Your body has been skewered all the way through. HP -1,603.]

Boxxy failed to avoid this unexpected cascade of icicles, as did Kora and Ambrosia. It wasn’t enough to kill any of them. If anything, the other two came out mostly unscathed since they both had Earth Affinity, reducing the effect such ground-based magic had on them. Normally, it would nullify the attack completely, but there were some other elements mixed in. Finally, Xera was left entirely untouched since she had the foresight to transition into her Mist Form moments before. All in all, it was evident that the dungeon master would need to try a lot harder if she hoped to wipe out this bunch in one fell swoop.

She was well aware of this, indicated by the way she was preparing for another swing. Boxxy rapidly shapeshifted itself out of the shiny spike that impaled it through the gut. It also changed shape from the Sandman’s imposing figure into Keira’s compact form and did its best to give the incoming strike an even wider berth. It managed to just barely evade the second ‘splash’ of spikes by dashing outside their effective range. The others weren’t even close since they had the good judgement to spread out when faced with such large-scale attacks. It also came as no surprise that the dungeon master chose to focus her attacks on the obvious leader of the bunch, giving its entourage more breathing space.

The former succubus used this opportunity to reform her flesh and call down a Meteor on top of the Crystal Maiden. The Spell would normally be far too slow for use against a living target that could just evade it, but it was perfect for sieges. Which was what this more or less was. While that chunk of flaming rock was falling down, Kora snapped off six of the leftover ice spikes and hurled them towards its center of mass. The combination of her absurd muscle power and her Level 10 Projectile Mastery Skill made them fly through the air as if they were a barrage of ballista bolts. The spriggan also joined in on the counter-offensive with a Severing Gale Spell, her most powerful incantation.

However, these potentially destructive attacks were nullified by the invisible barrier that surrounded the titanic construct. Person-sized golems were still pouring out from her insides, and each contributed their own magic to the Crystal Maiden’s defenses. Their numbers didn’t climb too high since a small portion of them were flung off every time the fortress moved. They then either shattered on impact with the frozen ground, got impaled on the climbing number of ice spikes, or were trampled under the Maiden’s feet. The few fodder that survived the drop hurled themselves at the invaders and were destroyed in one or two hits. While there was a seemingly infinite supply of these troops, individually they were an absolute joke. Even the ranged attacks and Spells they flung were little more than minor distractions.

The fight quickly turned into a stalemate. Setre kept swinging, Boxxy kept dodging, and everyone else flung attacks at each other that accomplished little beyond steadily draining both sides’ reserves of magical energy. This carried on for several minutes, giving the shapeshifter plenty of time to think of ways to break this equilibrium. It had plenty of ideas to do that, but couldn’t act on any of them since it had to focus almost entirely on avoiding that stupidly big hammer. At least it didn’t have to worry about obstacles or footing since the dungeon core continuously reset the courtyard back to its flat terrain. This ensured that the invading party didn’t run out of room to move around, but they had the disadvantage when it came to MP. While Boxxy and Ambrosia could replenish theirs by feeding off of the mana-rich air, Xera and Kora were almost dry.

Then there was the issue of those highly disposable servant golems. Though laughably weak compared to the ones guarding the arena’s path, their numbers were increasing. More emerged from the Maiden’s interior than were shaken off, and all the newcomers seemed to have fully charged magical reserves. At one point, there were so many of them that their random potshots were transforming into volleys and barrages. Thankfully, they were disorganized and attacked the invaders at random with beams and crossbows. By spreading their damage out, they made it easier for Ambrosia to keep pumping out wide healing Spells that blanketed most of the courtyard.

Things came to a head when a Meteor Spell accidentally collided with the Crystal Maiden’s fist, which was temporarily outside the range of its defensive barrier. Xera let out a cheer at managing to score the first actual hit on that damnable mega-golem. Unfortunately for her, the simple-minded defenders took notice of that lucky shot. All at once, their attacks converged on the Pyromancer who had just shown herself the biggest threat to their walking fortress. A deluge of beams and bolts rained down upon her, yet barely any actually reached their mark.

“Rock Wall!”

The attentive dryad conjured a thick barricade of stone that sprang out of the ground in front of Xera, absorbing all but the first few Spells and projectiles. She turned her attention to Boxxy and used a Mending Bubble on it since it got clipped by another of the Crystal Maiden’s spike fields. It wasn’t actually necessary since the creature had a rapid regeneration Skill, but she didn’t know that and would not take any chances even if she did. Now that Boxxy was taken care of for the moment, Ambrosia turned her attention towards Kora and began casting another healing Spell. The archfiend had been relegated to cleaning up fallen golems and was steadily accumulating cuts and punctures.

“Above! Incoming!”

The shapeshifter’s Whisper Wind message made her look up from the messy melee and towards the source of those constructs. It would appear the dungeon master finally realized that she should be attacking the healer rather than the most durable monster on the field. Setre’s warhammer now hurtled towards Ambrosia, who already knew how to counter it. Rather than run, the spriggan dug her heels in and evoked one of her trump cards – a Skill with an unforgiving cooldown period of one day.

“Overgrowth!”

Ambrosia’s MP plummeted to near-zero as an countless vines sprang up around her. These twisted, coiled, and hardened as they formed a tanged mass of bark and leaves three meters tall in the blink of an eye. The still-growing plants intercepted the building-sized weapon. They shuddered and creaked from the immense impact, but succeeded in stopping the blow before it could reach the ground, thereby preventing it from unleashing another cascade of spikes. The titanic golem immediately attempted to lift the hammer, only to discover it would not budge. The writhing vegetation had enveloped its head and shaft and wasn’t letting go. Realistically, the Crystal Maiden would have ripped it all up by the roots, but a certain dryad was strengthening the conjured plants’ grip on both the ground and the weapon.

“Now, milord! I hath grappled thy enemy!”

Boxxy did not need that heads up. It had already shifted out of Keira and into a half-chest half-spider with a Xera imitation sticking out of the open lid. That bizarre amalgamation was what the monster’s mind and body jumped to in the heat of the moment. It didn’t have time to bother with the details. This was the first and potentially only chance it had to go on the offensive and it needed to unload as much as it could as quickly as it could. To that end, Boxxy drew Voidcaller out of thin air and allowed the crackling energies of Power Overwhelming to envelop it. Split-second preparations complete, the spider-chest-succubus raised its staff and unleashed nothing less but its maximum effort.

“Reality Slash! … Dark Explosion! … Reality Slash! Shadowbolt! Shadowbolt! Shadowbolt! … Dark Explosion!”

Xera’s borrowed voice was drowned out by the hissing, slashing, and booming of a Warlock’s Ruin magic. The magical onslaught battered the Maiden’s barrier, causing it to shimmer and crack. The crystal golems manning the mobile battlements returned fire, pelting the stationary creature with dozens of Spells. The assault was entirely cold-based, so Boxxy’s Adaptive Defense Skill cut the incoming stream of damage by almost half. While the shapeshifter was hitting the Crystal Maiden from below, Xera kept calling down Meteors from above. Kora had her hands full dealing with all the rabble that were now actively jumping down to try and overrun the Casters. Ambrosia’s sole focus was maintaining the Overgrowth to buy her allies as much time as she could.

Yet, despite this concerted effort, that damnable shield would. Not. Break.

[Chaotic energies swirl around you.]
[You will emit an anti-gravity field for the next 20 seconds.]

Boxxy’s barrage was cut short when its overuse of magic caused its Chaotic Disposition to make itself known. Its body started floating uncontrollably upwards, disrupting its concentration due to the instinctual panic of being totally and suddenly weightless for the first time. The shapeshifter had seen some serious shit in its day, so its confusion only lasted for a few moments before it snapped back to its senses. It was still getting bombarded by the enemy’s magic, but Ambrosia was able to spare some magic to cover it with another Rock Wall.

Now that its mind wasn’t focused solely on dishing out damage, Boxxy was able to spot something it should have noticed earlier.

The Crystal Maiden had completely stopped moving. The enormous golem’s tug-of-war with Ambrosia’s plants had left it partially bent over, but it was completely immobile. It wasn’t even attempting to pull its weapon free. Consequently, the construct army crawling all over it no longer had to worry about its footing and could instead focus entirely on doing their thing. More specifically, on maintaining suppressive fire while keeping that barrier up. This was no accident. With her offense blunted, the dungeon master had willingly given up on attacking and focused on defense via her swarm of constructs.

“Ho-ho-ho-ho-hoh,” came a haughty laughter from up above. “Did you seriously think I wouldn’t notice you going ham down there? I’ll have you know, you’re not dealing with some moronic golem!”

Indeed, if the Crystal Maiden were allowed to act naturally, it probably wouldn’t give its attendants the chance to adequately reinforce its magical shield. It would also stubbornly cling to its weapon no matter what if Setre wasn’t in control. But she was, so she gave up on the pulling contest with that incomprehensible tree-woman and let go of the warhammer’s shaft. The barrage of Spells coming out of her security force dwindled once she started moving, proving that Boxxy’s hypothesis had been right on the money. This seemed like a good time to resume its magical barrage, but there were some issues.

First, it had burned through most of its MP. It had enough for one, maybe two, overcharged Spells. Secondly, it wasn’t sure it could cast one of those if it didn’t have solid ground under its feet. This was something of a particularly troublesome point. The bubble of anti-gravity magic was moving along with it, so it wouldn’t just drift out of it. Not even the dungeon’s flight countermeasures seemed capable of pulling it down. Whether that was because they couldn’t overpower the Hero Skill or because floating without gravity didn’t count as flying was anybody’s guess.

It was a reasonable assumption that Boxxy had no choice but to wait for the Chaotic Disposition effect to run out. That would prove challenging since the Crystal Maiden’s left foot was hurtling towards it. Setre wasn’t going to question why her hated enemy was floating around, but she was aiming to take advantage of the situation by crushing it flat under her heel. Realizing what was about to happen, the shapeshifter snapped out of its stupor and grew a quartet of giant leathery wings. They flapped all at once, pushing Boxxy away from where it floated. The awkward angle and uneven distribution of force caused it to spin around slightly but gave it just enough of a boost to avoid the colossal foot. The towering limb did not cause a cascade of crystal spikes upon impact with the ground, but the rush of air and debris it produced was enough to send Boxxy spiraling even further out of control.

Thankfully, it drifted near the Overgrowth, allowing it to latch onto its branches with a few tentacles. It pulled itself in and slammed into the trunk in a dizzy stupor. It was upside down and felt like it was about to vomit from vertigo, but at least it had come to a complete stop.

“Milord!” cried out the spriggan. “Art thou alright?”

She was also caught in the anti-gravity bubble and was swinging back and forth in place. At least she had the foresight of digging her root-feet into the ground so she didn’t get carried away. Boxxy was impressed by her adaptability, especially considering her stagnant, sheltered lifestyle. Either that or she had, at some point, experienced weightlessness and knew how to deal with it, which was remarkable in its own way. The shapeshifter discarded the useless thought and answered with a curt, ‘I’m fine,’ before turning its eyes back to the Crystal Maiden.

“Then there’s this fucking thing!”

Setre let out a very vocal complaint as she gripped her rooted weapon with her right hand and pulled. However, this time around she was using it as leverage that assisted her right foot’s forward sweeping motion. She was ignoring the Meteors Xera kept pelting her with and was clearly intending to kick the vegetation, Boxxy, and Ambrosia clear across the dungeon. The Warlock wouldn’t let her. Even if it was in an awkward position, its body was still enough to concentrate on its magic. It reactivated the Power Overwhelming Skill and poured the last of its remaining MP into one of its more bizarre Spells.

“Momentum Anomaly!”

The overcharged Ruin Spell spawned a dome of swirling mystical energy with a radius just over five meters in the path of the Crystal Maiden’s foot. The massive limb passed through at extremely high speeds, translating to a tenfold increase in gravitational pull. This, in turn, caused the limb to slam into the ground hard enough to produce the strongest quake the battlefield had ever seen.

[You no longer emit an anti-gravity field.]
[Your target has been crushed under its own weight. Target HP -24,207.]
[Proficiency level increased. Ruin Mastery is now Level 16. INT +2. WIS +1. END +1.]
[Proficiency level increased. Graviton Manipulation is now Level 4. INT +10. WIS +6.]
[You have learned a new Spell: Weightless Space.]

“What the shit?!”

Boxxy didn’t know what was tastier – the influx of Attributes or the dungeon master’s shocked response. However, it couldn’t relax just yet. Even though the foot had come to an abrupt stop, the rest of the titanic golem’s body continued hurtling forward due to its immense momentum. It lurched dangerously over Boxxy and Ambrosia, prompting the two to vacate the area with all haste. For better or worse, the Crystal Maiden did not fall over. Setre leaned on her immobilized warhammer and repositioned her left foot, providing her with enough stability to stop herself from tipping over.

Even if she avoided that worst-case scenario, her borrowed body was no longer in pristine condition. The earlier impact was so severe that it caused a massive crack all the way up the castle-golem’s shin and devastating damage to its knee joint. Despite this, Setre tried lifting her right foot out of the crater it had made. She could move her leg well enough, but the extra-powerful Momentum Anomaly kept pulling it down. She could’ve forced her way out of the magical snare, but she was wary of putting too much strain on her damaged knee lest it snap in half. Whether she liked it or not, she was stuck here until the field dissipated in another twenty seconds or so.

But there was more. The sudden unintentional jolt had caused over two thirds of her crystal golem attendants to fall off her borrowed body. More were being steadily manufactured inside the fortress, but with only twenty or so remaining, her defenses were in a dire state. Especially since many would be too busy tending to her cracked limb to focus on the shield. If that Warlock repeated its mystical barrage from earlier, it would easily tear through her barrier. But when the dungeon master returned her gaze, she began to suspect this was not what it was intending. Boxxy had taken advantage of the break in action to reconvene with its followers. It had Ambrosia throw up another Rock Wall to provide enough cover for the four of them to huddle behind, well out of Setre’s line of sight.

“How long will that plant stuff last?”

The spriggan looked to the shapeshifter and shook her head.

“Not much longer, milord. I hath put too much strain on that child, and it would likely expire after a few more pulls.”

“Ngh, that’ll have to do. Make it last as long as you can, then see if you can smash up the golems that fell off Setre.”

“As you say, milord. Wait, who’s Setre?”

“The dungeon master.”

Boxxy had gotten a glimpse of her name with the Eyes of the Dead God Skill just before she possessed the golem. It was also able to confirm her maximum HP was just over 4,000, extremely impressive for a magic-oriented species of demon. The pilfered Hero Skill also picked up on the Crystal Maiden’s vitals, though Boxxy was trying not to think about that six-figure HP pool.

“Oh,” responded Ambrosia. “Very well, milord.”

“Snack,” it turned to the next minion. “You’re going to keep pummeling it with Meteors as often as you can.”

“As you command, Master.”

“Meanwhile, me and Arms are going to take a more direct approach.”

“Huh? Me?”

The archfiend let out a stupefied response. She wasn’t sure how she factored into this situation considering how ineffective she had been so far. Sure, she felt like her fists were doing work on that barrier earlier whenever she managed to get a swing in, but she was practically useless once it started moving around again. Her master didn’t immediately alleviate her confusion in favor of chugging three of the strongest commercially available mana potions it could find for a total of 1,500 MP. Even if its Hylt Metabolism was restoring its magical energy at a significant pace, it would need a big chunk of MP for what it planned to do next. It had more vials in stock and would gladly chug them, but any more would cause potion sickness. On second thought, it could probably take one or two more now that it had the Legendary Endurance Perk, but it wasn’t confident about running a field test under these conditions.

Well, not two of them, at any rate.

With its MP at a third of its maximum, Boxxy abandoned its chesty-in-more-ways-than-one visage and reverted to its base hylt creeper form. Arms sensed she was about to get involved in some big game-changing tactic, so she stood opposite her master and smashed her fists together in anticipation.

“I’m ready for anything, boss! What’s the plan?!” she asked eagerly.

“No time to explain. Shut up and stay perfectly still.”

The archfiend froze immediately, but not before her toothy grin deteriorated into a tight-lipped frown. Not only was ‘shut up and stay perfectly still’ the opposite of what she had in mind, but it wasn’t the first time she’d heard that exact phrase. Boxxy had a habit of saying that whenever it was about to use her as a test subject, and she didn’t have a choice in the matter. Nor did she get a chance to question exactly what the creature was planning when it hopped up and sat on her shoulders with its featureless groin in her nose while grabbing her unbroken horn with both hands. Neither of the other two said anything about the compromising position. They understood Boxxy had not a single horny bone in its body, and even if it did, it would amputate it post-haste. That being the case, they could only assume the monster had a practical, non-perverted purpose for sandwiching Kora’s head between its thighs. This was an accurate conclusion, for Boxxy wasn’t sure how much skin contact it needed with its familiar to make this next bit work. Admittedly, using her as a chair was probably overkill, but the shapeshifter had only one shot at this and needed to make it count.

“Malefic Union.”

The doppelganger was enveloped by a glowing red miasma. Its body, for lack of a better term, sank into Kora. The mystic glow instantly wrapped around the demoness, and she began screaming like never before. Her red skin and muscles started shaking intensely and bulging outwards as her already formidable size began to expand. The growth was anything but smooth. Her bones creaked and cracked as their mass increased. Her flesh ripped open and was stitched together over and over in rapid succession while pitch-black blood dripped off her like a waterfall. Her luscious, tomato-like red color began to darken as it turned to a stone-like gray. The conjured armor she wore exploded under the strain of the expanding muscles. The same went for her white undergarments, as they were equally unable to contain her sudden and violent growth spurt.

The changes were not limited to her body and were most pronounced around her head. Her wild, voluminous hair turned from bright green to a sterile white in seconds. The marvelous, waist-length mane began falling off her scalp, leaving nothing behind but more gray skin. Her two broken horns surged back to their full length and girth, then all three gained multi-pronged tips as they increased in size along with the rest of her. The most jarring alterations were to her face. Her wide-open eyes became circular and yellow. Her teeth began to change, becoming more numerous and needle-like. Her screaming mouth began to stretch until her lips reached back to her pointy ears. Or, where her ears would have been if they hadn’t disappeared in all the confusion. A vertical slit ran down the middle of her face, and her skull opened up sideways like a book to reveal a second needle-filled maw that ran perpendicular to the first.

The screams of pain died down precisely five seconds later, though Xera and Ambrosia felt they’d been going on for hours. The demon named Koralenteprix Khusuuszun Caonthioxxaa had already returned to the Beyond, and something else now inhabited her transformed flesh. It stood nearly four meters tall, though its proportions had remained relatively the same as the archfiend’s. One could easily mistake it for the original from afar if not for the bald head, gray skin, and plus-shaped maw on its otherwise featureless face. Strictly speaking, it looked like a mix between doppelganger and demon.

Which was precisely what Boxxy had become.

[Malefic Union]
The Warlock takes over and merges with a demon under their control in an attempt to attain greater power, for a time.
Requirements: Level 65 Warlock, Enslave Demon
Type: Active
Activation Time: 5 seconds
Cost: 15% of Max MP
Range: Touch
[Effects]
Returns the targeted bound familiar or enslaved demonic entity to the Beyond.
Absorbs the target’s demonic constitution for 3 minutes.
Gain 50% of the target’s Skill Levels for 3 minutes.
Gain 35% of the target’s Attributes for 3 minutes.
Restore HP equal to 50% of the target’s current HP.
Restore MP equal to 25% of the target’s current MP.
Increases the effects of this Skill by 20% for every 2 Levels of this Skill.
Increases the duration of this Skill by 1 minute for every 5 Levels of this Skill.
Summon Familiar, Soul Link, Enslave Demon, and Malefic Union cannot be used while this Skill is active.

The creeper-archfiend hybrid panted heavily as it recovered from the mental and physical shock. It had expected the transformation to be so excruciatingly painful that it bordered on traumatic. Its guess had been spot-on. Unfortunately, being right about it failed to lessen the thoroughly unpleasant sensations in any way, shape, or form. But now that it was over, the shapeshifter was left with a body bursting with energy. It felt practically invincible.

“M-m-master? Is th-th-that you?”

Boxxy looked down at the source of that quivering voice. It saw a superbly excited Snack whose manically smiling face was only at the level of its knee. Ambrosia was standing a bit further away, but the look she was giving was far less enthusiastic. Her glare of loud disapproval was only to be expected. The dryad had stated multiple times that ‘milord’s true self is most attractive,’ so seeing it perverted in such a manner must not have been enjoyable.

“Yeah, it’s me,” it responded to Xera, its voice much more feminine than intended.

“Th-th-then! D-d-icks! And and and t-t-tentacles! In my pussy! T-t-t-together!?”

Snack clearly did not share the dryad’s opinion. The pornographic nonsense spilling out of her made it abundantly clear that all types of filthy thoughts were swimming around in that sick head of hers. Her chest heaved up and down in accordance with her ragged breathing, causing her massive breasts to bob and weave in a deliciously enticing manner. Boxxy would surely be able to pierce all the way up to those fun-bags if it plunged itself all the way up that tight-

“Gnnhr!”

The half-fiend-half-ganger growled with a primal edge as it chased away the invasive thoughts. It would appear that it had absorbed a portion of the archfiend’s personality in addition to her flesh. Both Ambrosia and Xera seemed to pick up on this, for there was no other explanation why it would stare unabashedly at the djinn’s breasts while drooling like an idiot. Boxxy couldn’t let itself succumb to its modified body’s urge to defile the ex-succubus, especially not when it had a towering icicle to break.

The creature realized that going into battle stark naked was probably a bad decision. It applied a combination of Shapeshift, Metal Mimicry, and its newly acquired Demonic Armaments Skill to grow itself some armor. Its new protective layer strongly resembled the gear Arms usually had on, but it went one step further. Within moments, the creature was clad in a full set of heavy plate made from Fiend Steel. It absorbed the original’s breasts into its torso during the process. It definitely did not need those useless lumps of fat getting in the way. The armor turned out to be unnecessarily spiky and needlessly decorated with skull imagery, but those details had proven beyond Boxxy’s control. Just like it couldn’t retract its horns, no matter how much it tried. Thankfully, it managed to cover its head with a helmet. Its faceplate consisted of two pieces of smooth metal that left a horizontal slit for sight, through which appeared an ominous pair of round, yellow eyes.

The arch-mimic briefly contemplated whether a visor was necessary. It was going to be using an MLG anyway, so it didn’t need to rely on its eyes. Shouldn’t it have made the helmet completely solid so it had that tiny bit of extra protection? Then again, its current opponent was far too big to fit inside the sensory organ’s limited range, so it decided to leave its headgear as it was.

This proved the correct decision, for it saw a massive crystal warhammer peek over the top of Ambrosia’s Rock Wall. While Boxxy was slipping into something more lethal, the dungeon master had freed herself from the Momentum Anomaly and wrestled her weapon from the Overgrowth. The overall transformation and subsequent armament process had taken a lot longer than Boxxy intended. That wasn’t all that surprising considering all of this was new territory to the shapeshifter. Still, while less than ideal, this turn of events didn’t bother the shapeshifter in the slightest.

“There’s an attack incoming,” it said calmly. “You two should run away now.”

The djinn and the spriggan had been preoccupied with Boxxy’s dramatic transformation – the former more than the latter – and failed to notice Setre’s movements. It took them a moment to remember they were in a battlefield. Once they did, they scattered to avoid getting crushed, but it wasn’t until the hammer was already swinging down that they realized Boxxy hadn’t moved from its spot. If anything, it had its legs astride and all six arms raised and spread out.

“Master!”

“Milord!”

Xera and Ambrosia called out to the four-meter-tall steel behemoth. Did it succumb to that meathead’s arrogance? Surely, it wasn’t trying to catch that building-sized weapon, right? Their concerns were ultimately pointless, as any intervention would be too little too late. The crystalline warhammer crashed onto Boxxy’s position with an earth-shattering thud, followed immediately by a cascade of ice-like crystals that extended out from the impact zone.

“Hah!” Setre laughed. “Ahahahaha!”

She was delighted. She wasn’t sure whether the thing she just hit was a monster or a demon, but that didn’t matter. The only way a living thing would have survived a direct blow from the Crystal Maiden was if it were some absurd being on the level of Nagnamor, the Overlord of the Flaming Legion. There was no way this bunch had someone that powerful on their side, otherwise she would have already lost.

“Get smashed you fucking moron!”

She therefore felt a bit of gloating was completely justified.

“No, you!”

At least until she got a loud and clear answer from somewhere beneath her hammer, at which point both her thoughts and celebrations ground to a screeching halt.

“… What?” she muttered in disbelief. “There’s… no way… right?”

“Uppercut!”

*KAHKROOM*

There was another yell from beneath her weapon, followed immediately by an explosion-like impact that lifted the immense object several meters into the air. It took Setre a few seconds to regain control of her weapon, at which point the hammer’s head was up to her eye level. She noticed the fist-shaped imprint on it, surrounded by a spiderweb pattern of cracks. If the Crystal Maiden had a jaw, it probably would have fallen off.

The flabbergasted djinn turned her attention towards the last crater she made, still wrapped in a cloud of dust and snow. The smokescreen began dispersing shortly afterwards, giving the dungeon master her first clear look at Boxxy’s new form. The creature was clad in sinister pitch-black armor, and it didn’t bear even a single scratch. It had three muscular arms on the left side of its body and just one on its right, though three times thicker. The abnormally girthy limb was raised in the air, and its massive fist was covered in sparkling dust, suggesting this was the thing it used to damage her weapon.

Xera and Ambrosia were naturally overjoyed to see Boxxy unharmed. They weren’t sure how it was possible, as they had never seen the shapeshifter’s Storage Shuffle maneuver. It was the same trick that allowed it to survive Teresa’s Divine Fury multiple times in a row. Admittedly, squeezing this absurdly huge body into the now-much-too-tight portal hadn’t been easy, but it was nothing if not flexible. It was worth the backlash damage. Judging by her shaky words, it had inflicted a serious psychological blow.

Meanwhile, the tree and the slut were just glad that Boxxy still seemed to be itself.

“Prepare your anus, Setre! ‘Cuz when I get my hands on you, I’m gonna shove my fist so far up your ass I’ll wear you like a sleeve!”

Well. Mostly.

[General Information]
Boxxy T. Morningwood
Creeper (Hylt), 10 months old
Member of Hidden Arrow
Level 36.07 Doppelganger
Level 50.00 Mimic (MAX)
Level 5.00 Cat (MAX)
Level 65.17 Warlock
Level 22.12 Artificer
Level 37.88 Ranger
Level 38.79 Blade Dancer
9715/9715 HP (+68.9/sec)
1853/5078 MP (+22.9/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 1296, DEX 1056, AGI 1078, END 1568, INT 990, WIS 655, LCK 259, MNT 977, CHR 257, PER 345, FTH 66, AFF 103
[Unified Fiend Skills]
Demonic Armaments – Lvl 5.00
Second Wind – Lvl 5.00
Demonic Carapace – Lvl 5.00
Demonic Leap – Lvl 5.00
Violent Meditation – Lvl 5.00
Imbued Armaments – Lvl 4.00
Combat Reflexes – Lvl 2.50
Forceful Persuasion – Lvl 2.00
Embodiment of Wrath – Lvl 1.00
[Unified Archfiend Skills]
Dominant Species – Lvl 2.50
Siegebreaker – Lvl 2.00
Unbreakable – Lvl 1.00
[Unified Berserker Skills]
Bloodlust – Lvl 5.00
Brutal Fervor – Lvl 5.00
Face Smasher – Lvl 5.00
Berserker Rage – Lvl 4.00
Eye for an Eye – Lvl 2.00
Battlecry – Lvl 2.00
Unchained Anger – Lvl 1.00
[Unified Other Skills]
Idiotic Strength – Lvl 5.00
Multi-limb Coordination – Lvl 1.50
Earth Affinity – Lvl 1.50
Brawling Mastery – Lvl 6.50

Part Three

Archfiends were ridiculous.

This was Boxxy’s honest assessment after delivering a single hit using the body of one. It began to understand why Arms was so pigheaded, arrogant, and reckless. It would act the same way if it had this much raw strength at its fingertips every moment of every day. In fact, the arch-mimic was probably above the archfiend when it came to physical prowess, as it had a doppelganger’s dense body mass to pair with her raw muscle. Not to mention, it was guided by its cunning, devious nature. It truly was a recipe for unparalleled destruction that the ‘chef’ would gladly share with a certain someone.

“Prepare your anus, Setre! ‘Cuz when I get my hands on you, I’m gonna shove my fist so far up your ass I’ll wear you like a sleeve!”

Boxxy was taken aback by its own words. While it wanted to unnerve with its opponent via threats of orifice violation, that wasn’t quite what it had in mind. The Arms-esque dialogue leaped out of its throat before it could stop it. It would appear it was much more difficult to suppress the demon’s personality and impulses than it had originally anticipated.

“That- I’d like to see you try, shitstain!”

It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, though. Setre’s unsteady, shrill tone of voice suggested the overtly fiendish line had done its job. Come to think of it, her reaction to the ‘surprise Punchy’ on her during their last meeting was exaggerated, too. Perhaps she had some sort of deep-seated dislike towards the fiend part of the demonic spectrum? Whatever the case, Boxxy decided to roll with it for a bit.

“Don’t mind if I do, bitch-tits!”

The arch-mimic charged towards its opponent while screaming obscenities at the top of its lungs. The colossal golem it was, the Crystal Maiden was much too slow to offer any kind of significant reaction. A few of the minor minions on its battlements tried flinging their Spells at the incoming target, but their attempts were so pathetic that Boxxy couldn’t help but mock them.

“HAHAHAHA! GET THAT WEAK SHIT OUTTA HERE!”

The four-meter armored behemoth smashed its spiked shoulder plate into the bottom of the walking fortress’s defensive barrier. The impact produced a thunderous boom followed by a cracking sound as the shield began to buckle. The crystal golems on the inside began reinforcing it, but Boxxy wouldn’t let them have an easy time. It firmly planted its feet in the ground, combined its three left arms into a single massive limb to mirror the right, and proceeded to pummel the ever-living shit out of it.

“ORA ORA ORA ORA!”

While giving voice to the words that welled up within its breast, of course.

Setre wouldn’t just sit back and take this. She was already swinging her warhammer at her absurd opponent, but this strike was different from the others. Rather than trying to crush it flat or skewer it with the crystal aftershocks of an impact with the ground, she opted for a more horizontal swing. The djinn had decided that since squashing the fiend-thing wasn’t going to work, punting it would probably be a better idea. Common logic dictated that such immense power-ups came with limits and costs, time being a frequent factor. Ejecting this thing from the peak’s plateau would likely result in all that strength fading before the thing could make it back here.

Boxxy saw the pendulum-like attack coming, but it didn’t move. It turned its body around to the side to face the oncoming blow. It pulled its massive right fist backwards in an attempt to match the Crystal Maiden’s power. Whether or not it could do so was beside the point. This move was a feint to make Setre commit to the swing. It leapt above the hammer’s head at the last moment, twisted its body around in midair, and delivered a spinning lariat to the weapon’s handle, just above the massive block of fake ice. The shifty shapeshifter knew firsthand how this stuff was much more fragile than it appeared to be, at least so far as the Siegebreaker Skill it borrowed was concerned. It wasn’t the least bit surprised when the oversized shaft snapped as the enchantments reinforcing it were disrupted.

Liberated from the rest of the weapon, the cracked hammer head tumbled across the mostly flat courtyard. It bounced thrice, producing an unfocused deluge of crystalline spikes every time it skimmed across the ground. It flew off the mountaintop arena, landing somewhere at the bottom of the summit with a loud crash. Setre needed a moment to process what just happened and remained frozen in post-swing disbelief. What must have been the fiftieth Meteor of the day crashed into her barrier directly in front of her face, causing it to finally crumble and collapse.

“Fuuuck!” she cursed while the flaming remnants fell onto her commandeered body. “Fine then! Phase two it is!”

The instant she said that the Crystal Maiden’s bulky, castle-like facade began cracking and falling off in large chunks. Boxxy to momentarily back off, as it wasn’t looking forward to being buried under the debris. Even if the mineral making up the golem’s body wasn’t all that tough, it wouldn’t underestimate the falling pieces’ sheer mass.

By the time the arch-mimic was safely out of range of the collapsing crystals, it found itself facing a very different Crystal Maiden from the one it had been fighting until now. This one was thin, slick, and elegant. It was almost an animate skeleton. Its body had stopped spewing out those golem attendants, though they no longer had any battlements or ramparts to occupy anyway. The helmet had fallen away to reveal a mannequin-like face. The shape was definitely feminine, though it lacked any features aside from the gem in its forehead and two glowing blue orbs for eyes. This ‘phase two’ was also shorter by about a third, and the shaft of the broken hammer was reformed into an elegant spear.

“Dodge this!”

Setre thrust said spear directly at Boxxy while moving at speeds a body that big should not have been capable of. The weapon’s unexpected velocity caught the shapeshifter off guard, and it failed to completely avoid it. The crystalline weapon’s sharpened tip cleaved right through its left shoulder, separating its freakish tri-arm from the rest of its body. The severed limb fell to the ground, whereupon it dissolved into a bubbling brown sludge that evaporated in a manner of seconds.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?”

The dungeon master let out another jeer as she pulled back her weapon and began repeatedly thrusting at her opponent. The golem body she was possessing was used to handling such a weapon, but the djinn was obviously an amateur. Though she shed the dense outer layer in favor of speed, she failed to notice that the knee joint was still damaged. While there was no pain, it prevented the construct from moving as she commanded it. This caused otherwise pinpoint strikes to veer off slightly, making it easier for Boxxy to turn them into near misses.

The djinn was still paying attention to her surroundings, at least, and actively dodged Xera’s Meteors. This ‘phase two’ of hers was nimble enough to exploit that Spell’s major weakness – the several second delay between casting the Spell and it hitting its target. The Pyromancer’s other projectile based magic, such as Fireball and Magma Missile, proved just as ineffective at landing on-target. Even when they did, the damage inflicted was lackluster at best. Even Inferno wasn’t doing much, since Setre would just hop out of the sustained firestorm’s area of effect.

Left with no other options, the ex-succubus was forced to rely on her Scorching Ray Spell. It was unquestionably the most effective incantation she had for this situation, but she couldn’t maintain the heat beam on her target since channeling it required her to stand still. This would invite Setre’s spear to strike at her, forcing Xera to dodge with Mist Form. Meanwhile, Ambrosia was struggling to make any sort of impact on the fight. Her Rock Walls were barely even obstacles in the face of those massive thrusts, and her target’s concentrated frame was too solid for wind-based magic to cleave through it. Nicks and scratches were all she managed. She still healed her ‘lord’ whenever it got clipped, but she had the feeling her efforts were only delaying the inevitable.

Boxxy also reached that conclusion. It couldn’t get close enough to the gigantic golem to apply its ridiculous muscle power nor could it find a gap to use significant magic. At least, not without putting itself at significant risk. Breaking the weapon was also out of the question, since intercepting those spear thrusts was asking to get killed. It was also ill-advised to buy time for Snack, as the djinn had been running on fumes for a while and had to save what little MP she recovered for Mist Form. At this rate, the Malefic Union would expire and the fight swing in Setre’s favor, since Boxxy would be left a familiar short without having inflicted any serious damage. It was also concerned that the transformation coming undone would leave it weakened and incapacitated, giving the dungeon master an easy shot at skewering it dead-on. With barely a minute left, it was growing increasingly desperate to come up with a fight-winning stratagem.

“Is that all you got, fuck-boy? Where’s all that bravado you had earlier? Flew south of the winter like the chicken-shit you are?”

That wasn’t easy with Setre’s constant insults distracting it and clouding its judgment. This kind of banter would have no effect on the usual Boxxy, but those crude provocations were flaring up Arms’s highly confrontational nature. It grew increasingly agitated and annoyed with every syllable. Since the arch-mimic couldn’t slap the shit out of her just yet, it was unable to vent its mounting frustrations. It felt like it might give into the demonic rage that welled up from within and do something profoundly idiotic before it reached the time limit.

After considering all the options, Boxxy decided to abandon the fight. Even if the opponent was faster, that was only in this mostly flat, vacant ground. In the event that Setre followed it as it retreated, it could make use of the whole dungeon’s terrain and structures as cover while it slipped away. In fact, now that it had that Prismatic Cloak, retreating would be ridiculously easy. Yes, it was possible the massive golem had an MLG capable of seeing through the invisibility, but the monster knew full well how limited the range of such things was. Once safely away from danger, the monster had plenty of time to exit the dungeon, resummon and reconvene with its familiars, and thoroughly plan a repeat assault. With all the information gleaned from this first expedition, its second attempt was sure to go much smoother. That was the best move Boxxy could come up with in the moment, yet it stopped itself just as it was about to give the command to retreat.

If what the Eyes of the Dead God Skill had just revealed to it was true – and it had no reason to doubt that it was – the situation was about to swing in its favor.

“Just try and take this-! … Huh?”

The dungeon master’s verbal abuse gave way to confusion as the golem she was controlling began to tip over. She flailed its arms around to regain its balance, but it was a lost cause since its legs weren’t obeying her commands. She was forced to stab that spear into the ground and lean on it as if it were a walking stick just to avoid faceplanting into the frozen dirt. She looked towards the Maiden’s feet but had difficulty spotting the problem. At a glance, there was nothing wrong with her lower limbs, yet her ankles refused to separate from one another. She suddenly spotted something moving across the ripped-up battlefield beneath. It was a shimmer of some kind that she had difficulty tracking. It was clearly there, yet any attempt to focus her sight made her eyes slip right off it.

She wasn’t given enough time to decipher this bizarre phenomenon before it reached its destination a mere second after she spotted it.

*SCHWING*

There was a very harsh sound of two hard surfaces grinding against each other, followed by Setre’s spear abruptly snapping in half. Losing its last support, the Crystal Maiden’s massive body finally hurtled towards the ground. The impact would do a huge amount of damage, but Boxxy wasn’t going to wait. It ran towards the lurching golem and hurled itself into the air with Demonic Leap, placing itself on a collision course with its mostly featureless head. The dungeon master tried to block it with her hands but couldn’t make it in time to stop the dropkick to her face.

*CRASH*

The arch-mimic bore clean through the Crystal Maiden’s head. It didn’t shatter completely, but now had a gaping hole filled with jagged edges in the monster’s wake. This probably wouldn’t be enough to finish off the golem, but that wasn’t its goal. The shapeshifter’s true aim was the dungeon master’s real body, which it had grabbed on its way through the crystalline skull. She couldn’t move a muscle since her spirit was still inhabiting the golem, so she had no chance of stopping what was about to happen. Boxxy spun around in the air so it would land on its belly and positioned Setre’s limp body beneath its own. Time ground to a halt as the frail female form hurtled towards the hard ground with a five hundred kilogram mass of steel and muscle pressing down on top of her. One inevitable splat later, and Setre’s flesh was reduced to a substance best described as ‘djinn paste.’

“Aarrgh!” wailed the disembodied demon. “What just happened? What are you doing out there?!”

Boxxy merely stood up, turned towards the fallen, twitching golem, and raised a middle finger towards Setre’s orphaned consciousness while coated in her remains.

“I’m winning, you cheeky cunt!”

It took a run up, leapt into the air once more, and landed squarely onto the Crystal Maiden’s lower back. It lifted its right foot so high that it nearly kicked itself in the face then went for the finishing blow.

“War Stomp!”

Its Martial-Art-enhanced boot plowed into the golem’s spine, or at least where it would be if it had one. The crystalline construct shuddered immensely as its entire torso began to crack. Chunks of various sizes and shapes broke off her body and fell to the ground, while its relatively thin waist snapped in half. A Meteor fell onto the remnants of its head and completed the decapitation process, completely robbing Setre of further visual or auditory input. Neither the djinn nor the golem were quite dead yet. Even in this sorry state, the Crystal Maiden’s arms continued to flail around blindly. It had a whopping 60,000 HP left according to Boxxy’s pilfered divine gift, but it was clear Setre had already lost. She couldn’t even move her legs since her lower body was no longer attached to the torso, where the golem’s power source was likely housed.

Curious as to what could be capable of animating an entire castle’s worth of matter, Boxxy walked over to the twitching golem and started chipping away at her back. A bit of digging and probing with its magical perception revealed that the dungeon’s very core was embedded in the Crystal Maiden’s chest. This was mildly surprising. While the shapeshifter had no idea the spherical item could be used in such a way, it didn’t know of anything else with enough raw magical output to sustain a construct of such ridiculous proportions. It was something of an unwritten rule that monsters could not exceed seven or eight meters in size without simply expiring from the absurd energy demands of a body that massive, regardless of whether they were creatures of flesh or not. Even the demonic Overlords’ conjured vessels didn’t exceed that threshold. The only creatures that regularly did were adult and elder dragons, but those existences defied common sense by default. Theirs was an exception that proved the unwritten rule.

In any event, with this minor mystery solved, Boxxy leapt off the immobilized dungeon boss and set its sights on plunder.

“Snack!”

“Yes, Master?!”

The succubus-in-spirit appeared in front of her owner out of nowhere. She was twitching, rubbing her thighs together, and panting heavily, but the shapeshifter had no intention of answering her perverted expectations.

“Turn our host into a paraplegic, but don’t finish her off just yet.”

“B-b-but-! My MP is empty! Yeah! I can’t use magic without MP! And since a good dicking will recharge my MP, then-!”

“Then get it from Ambrosia. She has plenty of MP, doesn’t she?”

The dryad nodded in confirmation.

“Yes, Master…”

The djinn sounded devastated, borderline depressed even. Boxxy grumbled incoherently under its helmet. This wouldn’t do. A motivated minion was a productive minion, after all.

“Do your task properly, and I’ll see about turning your pussy into a sopping mess or whatever later tonight, alright?”

“Yes, Master!”

Xera practically threw her arms around the spriggan and gave her a huge kiss with plenty of tongue. Ambrosia wasn’t even flustered by this turn of events and let the ex-succubus drain some of her vessel’s magical reserves. She even wrapped her hands around the voluptuous demon’s thin waist and pressed their bodies together to maximize bark-to-skin contact and accelerate the process. While not as fast as intercourse, it allowed Xera’s Energy Drain Skill to do its thing. Boxxy turned away from the MP exchange, put two arms on its hips, crossed the other four, and stared down at the mass of shimmering air in front of it.

“Good work, Claws.”

“Tktktktktktktk! Th-thank you, master! Tktktktktk!”

Drea’s shaky voice came out of the bizarre phenomenon, accompanied by her trademark nervous chittering. Boxxy wouldn’t have realized it was her if not for the Eyes of the Dead God Skill clearly showing her name and HP. Even the MLG it had grown inside its chest cavity couldn’t clearly see the stalker. It could tell that something was there and determine its general shape, but the details were fuzzy and unclear. It was the visual equivalent of seeing little more than a silhouette or shadow.

“Show yourself so I can get a good look at you.”

Unable to defy a direct order, the arachnid demon released the optical camouflage obfuscating her body and revealed that she was no longer a simple stalker.

Her skin was now a deathly pale white with a bluish tint. The black markings on her arms, thighs, and face that identified her as a hornet variant of her species were still there and largely unchanged. Her raven-colored ponytail and facial structure were similarly identical except for her new set of compound bug-eyes. They were a vibrant orange bordering on gold, and she boasted eight of them. Two were in the usual place on either side of her nose, four were spread out along her forehead, and the final pair were embedded in her upper cheeks. The six extras were so small they resembled pimples or maybe warts, but they were definitely eyes.

While some might consider the changes to Drea’s face and skin tone rather significant, they were quite minor compared to the others. For instance, the arachnid carapace that covered a portion of her body had been replaced by some type of deep blue crystals that resembled ice, not dissimilar from the stuff those golems had. These segmented formations overlapped to create something akin to armor that ran down the outer side of her upper arms and thighs, completely enveloping her limbs beyond the knees and elbows. Her neck, pelvis, and lower back were similarly encased, though her mostly bare chest and exposed stomach made one question whether it was intended to protect her flesh or accentuate it.

The final and most eye-catching change concerned her back-mounted limbs. All six were thicker, encased in icy crystals, and sporting much wider and deadlier blades with numerous barbs and points. Rather than rapiers or scythes, it was more apt to compare them to longswords. These were most likely responsible for breaking the Crystal Maiden’s spear, implying superb durability and sharpness. This was encouraging since the claws on the stalker’s hands and feet were of a similar make, though they hadn’t changed in shape or size.

Boxxy noticed another thing during its thorough scrutiny of its familiar. Dangling from the arachnid assassin’s palms were a barely perceptible collection of strings. It was not simply spider silk. In all likelihood, these mysterious strands were what Claws had used to bind the Crystal Maiden’s ankles. That explained why Boxxy’s enhanced vision saw the demon’s obscenely long name spinning around the golem’s feet moments before it collapsed. The fact that these strings were strong enough to bind that stupidly big thing’s movements despite them barely being a hair’s width was… promising. Ultra-thin garrote wires had been a staple of assassins for centuries, so it made sense that the stalker could produce them now that she had ascended.

Indeed, Boxxy didn’t need to look at Drea’s Status to discern the source of her new Skills and appearance.

“So, you Ranked Up while you were off on your own, did you?”

“She did what now?!”

Xera’s startled voice came from behind her master’s massive back. She separated herself from Ambrosia’s embrace, and the two of them peeked around the demon-doppelganger hybrid with great curiosity. The attention made the spider-girl shift uncomfortably, claws clacking and mandibles chittering, but she nodded all the same.

“Holy shit, congratulations!” the djinn cheered her on.

“Ah, yes. Good for thee, Milady,” Ambrosia played along.

“Tktktktk, ehehe…” Drea laughed abashedly.

“What did you turn into?” Xera pressed.

“I’m a, ktktkt, a tundra webstalker now, ktkktktktkt…”

“Adding ice to the mix, hm? Can’t say I’m surprised. This will surely expand our options, don’t you agree, Master?”

“Milady Drea also looks quite dazzling now, does she not, milord?”

Boxxy nodded in agreement with both statements. Having a minion clearly attuned to cold magic meant the shapeshifter would have far less trouble with these frigid environments. It could even use Malefic Union to borrow her implied Affinity Skill for a few minutes if it really needed to. Practical boons aside, it was equally impressed with how positively sparkling Claws had become. The crystalline formations along her carapace glistened like the highest quality sapphires, and her constant twitching and fidgeting made the goods even more appetizing, figuratively speaking. Her flavor used to be dreadful and Boxxy had no reason to expect that had changed, but her new look was a significant improvement over the old. It liked the way the sharpened tips of her limbs seemed to glow with an inner sky-blue light, giving them their own distinct charm.

In short, it would be a crime to call the current Claws anything other than ‘deliciously shiny.’

“Tktktktkt! M-m-master? Tktktkktkt… C-c-c-c-can I go, now?”

It wasn’t until the extremely nervous spider-woman let out that quivering voice that Boxxy realized it had been staring at her, both the shiny parts and the fleshy bits. The fiendish influence it was under made it subconsciously lust after the petite webstalker due to her mostly bare, womanly curves. Oddly enough, it didn’t feel that way towards Snack or Ambrosia. Well, not as strongly.

Perhaps it was the fact that Claws was shiny and provocative that caused this momentary temptation?

Either way, it couldn’t listen to that nagging little voice at the back of its head, no matter how much pleasure it promised. According to its preliminary research, giving into one’s demonic side during a Malefic Union carried the risk of one’s mortal soul succumbing to demonic corruption. This affliction could permanently warp the victim’s personality or irreparably damage their psyche. These were common risks when dabbling in demonic power, especially when it came to rituals. Most of these hazardous side effects could be avoided through sheer force of will, and this Skill was no exception. This was good, because Boxxy enjoyed not being an idiotic horndog with more bravado than reason.

“Hold on, Claws,” it uttered. “What’s that thing on your waist?”

Now that it wasn’t ogling her breasts anymore, Boxxy noticed something that clearly wasn’t a part of its familiar. It was a brown leather belt with a circular mithril-plated buckle studded with a total of six jewels. Each consisted of a round diamond-like gemstone about 3 centimeters in diameter surrounded by a thin ring of yet more white gold.

“Ack!” squealed Drea. “I almost forgot! This is the thing I got for- Tktktkktktktk! For beating the Howling Chasm!”

She discharged some of her new webbing into her own hands and began weaving with astounding dexterity. Watching those crystalline digits bend and loop around each other at high speeds was hypnotizing. The show didn’t last more than a few seconds before she had wrapped enough webbing around both hands for it to resemble mittens. Only then did she unbuckle the belt and present it to her master.

“… What was that hand thing about?” Boxxy asked.

“Well, uhm, tktktktktk, I’m worried my sharp fingers might damage the leather or scratch up the shiny bits, so I made some, ktktktktkt, ‘kid gloves’ for myself.”

“I see. Nice thinking, Claws. If only all of my minions were as considerate.”

The arch-mimic accepted the belt from Drea, who was so happy she got complimented again she seemed on the verge of tears. At least, she would be if she had tear ducts.

“Th-th-tktktktkthank you, master!”

“What about the chest it came out of?” asked Boxxy, inspecting the item closer. “What was it made of?”

“Gold, master. Also, the gems on it taste strongly of, tktktktktktkt, spatial manipulation magic.”

“Ohhh! Excellent! I can expect great things from this prize! And from you as well! You’ve become a superbly shiny article! I knew I made the right decision when I formed a contract with you, Claws!”

“Kyaaa!”

Hearing her master say all those things made Drea’s embarrassment boil over, causing her to turn her head all the way around to hide her blushing cheeks while she squealed in delight. It was exactly the reaction Boxxy wanted when it chose those words. The shapeshifter was well aware of the stalker’s insecurities, so it knew just what to say to alleviate them. This was a big reason why it liked working with her. She was skilled, dedicated, experienced, and motivating her was as simple as saying the right words at the right time. Seeing that her morale had improved drastically, the shapeshifter left the giddy spider-girl to bask in her inane joy while it inspected this strange belt.

Meanwhile, Ambrosia was silently seething under her calm smile. She wasn’t a fan of shiny things like Boxxy. Quite the opposite, in fact. She preferred the old Drea to the new one but kept smiling all the same lest she ruin the festive mood. Xera was cringing hard at the webstalker. Not because of jealousy or the murderous ice cube’s unbefittingly innocent reaction, but because Drea had twisted her head around a whole one-eighty degrees as if on a swivel. The djinn was well aware of the arachnid demon’s absurd neck muscles, but this never failed to creep her out. Especially now since, as her movements implied, she could do a full circle to the left or right, rather than just her previous half-turn.

This was the most minor aspect of Drea’s improved physical abilities. In addition to the standard increase in base speed, agility, strength, and stamina, her back-mounted blades now had a wider range of motion thanks to their doll-like ball joints. Her sight and kinetic vision were both much sharper, and her new eyes worked in conjunction with the Detect Magic Skill. This allowed her to sense and identify magical traps, formations, and enchantments simply by looking at them, which included the dungeon’s various snares and pitfalls. She could see them clearly despite all the ‘background noise’ that interfered with Boxxy’s MLG, which was how she was able to rejoin her master in such a timely manner.

That was hardly the main reason for her speedy arrival at the summit. Her metamorphosis from a hornet stalker into a tundra webstalker had, among other things, regenerated her lost limbs and restored her to perfect health. Then there was the matter of the Cold Affinity Skill from her subspecies, which instantly turned the frigid environment from ‘deadly’ to ‘strangely refreshing.’ If it wasn’t for all those factors, there was no telling whether she would’ve had the strength to make it back to Boxxy at all, let alone sneak up and topple that top-heavy colossus of a golem. Though, if Drea had to pick her favorite part about the Rank Up, it was her subspecies. It made her shiny to the point she felt her master just might start caressing and licking her all over like it did Fizzy. It was an event she secretly wanted to happen but was far too shy to wish for it aloud.

This glimmering countenance paradoxically improved her sneaking abilities thanks to the Clear Ice Skill unique to her subspecies. While not as flawless as actual invisibility, the optical illusion did a wondrous job of obscuring her form. Admittedly, it wasn’t without drawbacks. Using the Skill was effectively mandatory if she wanted to skulk in the shadows, and it drained a good chunk of her MP while active. That made it more difficult for her to do stalker things for extended periods of time, though that problem would eventually solve itself as her conjured vessel’s power grew alongside her master’s. Overall, Drea was happy with her new self and felt incredibly lucky things turned out the way they did.

What she and most demons failed to realize was that ‘luck’ played a very insignificant role in a demon’s Rank Up. It was no mere coincidence that Drea became a being not only uniquely suited to her master’s tastes, but also ideal for overcoming her unforgiving environment. It was the same for Xera, who didn’t just randomly turn into a more proficient trickster with an even more appealing flavor.

When it came to demons, the deciding factor that separated the Rankers from the rabble wasn’t chance or circumstance, but desire.

I want the power to impress my master and get praised!

It didn’t matter if it was childish and puerile.

I want the power to incinerate the piece of trash that took my beloved master away from me!

It was of little consequence whether it went against a demon’s nature.

I want the power to kick that bitch Teresa right in her stupid face!

It was also completely acceptable if it was impulsive and narrow-minded.

The most important thing when it came to a demon attaining a higher level of existence was having a single immutable want that they would go to any lengths to fulfill. Something so important, so vital, they would never feel complete unless they obtained it. It was only when a demon’s yearning reached critical mass that their twisted, selfish soul surged outward, grasping for any source of power within reach. Whether forcibly taken or willingly given, it would swallow this energy to become something greater than it was, all so the demon might finally satiate its deepest desire.

Alternatively, the God of Happenstance could show up and force a demon to ascend on a whim, but such an irresponsible thing had only happened, like, two times.

Maybe four.

Ten tops.

[General Information]
Dreaheath Uniolphial Maramakartor
Webstalker (Tundra), Female, 814 years old
Level 57.75 Stalker
Level 16.56 Webstalker
Level 43.81 Rogue
5153/5153 HP (+9.2/sec)
3305/3305 MP (+3.9/sec)

[Attributes]
STR 528, DEX 1189, AGI 1057, END 925, INT 661, WIS 396, MNT 1322, PER 528

[Stalker Skills]
Stalk – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Counterspell – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Rending Claws – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Blood Gorger – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Detect Magic – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Magic Resistance – Lvl 8.52
Mana Leech – Lvl 5.31
Spider Sense – Lvl 4.25
Peerless Gluttony – Lvl 2.08
[Webstalker Skills]
Steel Thread – Lvl 5.31
Weaver – Lvl 4.25
Impact Webbing – Lvl 2.08
[Rogue Skills]
Misdirection – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Evasion – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Silent Sprint – Lvl 8.52
Cheap Shot – Lvl 5.31
Deadly Acrobatics – Lvl 4.25
Blade Finesse – Lvl 2.08
[Other Skills]
Venomous Sting – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Webspinner – Lvl 10.00 (MAX)
Clear Ice – Lvl 3.09
Cold Affinity – Lvl 3.09

Part Four

Boxxy’s Malefic Union expired not long after it showered Drea with praise. When the time came, it doubled over and started vomiting uncontrollably. The first blast of demon-puke was so intense it caused its helmet to fly clean off its head. Brown, bubbling sludge poured out of its mouth in large quantities and with frightening velocity. At the same time, its flesh began melting and falling off its body as it turned into the same foul goop.

“Ugh… I think I’m going to be sicktktktktkktk… Urp!” Drea started dry heaving.

“Art thou feeling unwell, milady Drea?” asked Ambrosia, more out of courtesy than concern.

“It’s okay. I’ll be- Urk! I’ll be fine. I just had some, ktktktkktkt, unpleasant memories dredged up.”

Boxxy’s entourage had been told to give it plenty of space during the un-bonding process, and Drea was especially grateful. That nasty stuff was too similar to the abhorrent wraith-goo she forced down her throat ten minutes earlier. Even though her belly was empty at the moment, she would still find something to throw up if she were any closer. Meanwhile, Ambrosia was taking in this entire situation with her usual calm and grace while Xera looked on with a stare of desperate longing. It was quite evident she was actively lamenting on having missed out on such a golden opportunity to have her insides stirred up.

Really, though, how could she not be dissatisfied? Having that creatively cruel master of hers controlling a body that surpassed that of the worthless meathead whose only redeeming qualities were her dicks? A body brimming with actual lust? Not even in her wildest fantasies had she considered such a perfect scenario. Yet, after witnessing it, it became the thing she most desperately wanted. Even if the act lasted only a few minutes, the memories of that session would have been treasured for eternity.

And by ‘treasured’ she of course meant ‘masturbated to at every opportunity.’

The rather horrific scene of Boxxy’s gigantic figure melting from inside and out lasted for roughly five seconds – the same length of time that the initial fusion took on a physical level. The spasms and shaking involved throughout the ordeal had rendered Boxxy unable to control its body, as it thought would happen. Unfortunately, being correct did little to soften the blow. Being separated from Arms’s flesh wasn’t that painful, but it was still highly unpleasant in its own way. Mostly due to the vile aftertaste at the back of Boxxy’s throat. Thankfully, that disappeared in a matter of seconds along with the copious amounts of its goopy leavings and the impractically spiky suit of armor.

The transition left the shapeshifter in its natural hylt creeper form and without any lingering side-effects. Well, mostly. It did feel a distinct sense of loss without the archfiend’s ridiculous strength, and it was rather unsettling to have its own body feel so… foreign. At the same time, the monster was more than happy to have gotten rid of the urges that clawed at its psyche.

“S-S-So that was Mal- Malefic Union, rightktktkt?” Drea asked in a quivering voice.

“Indeed,” answered the dryad. “I believe that is what milord chanted before the… event took place.”

That explained a lot. The webstalker’s new eyes could literally see the magical energies of objects and creatures alike. This new perception showed both her and Xera with a faint purple aura, while the spriggan’s was distinctly yellow. She assumed that this sensory input was meant to identify their bodies as temporary vessels and was puzzled to see Boxxy’s four-meter body had a similar air about it. Admittedly, it was more like a pitch-black miasma that threatened to consume all living things than a glowing outline. In any event, that solved one of the mysteries surrounding her enhanced perception.

“Does milady Drea know of this… technique?” asked Ambrosia.

“Tktktktktkt… A little. One of my former masters used to have it, but the changes when she used it were never quite so, tktktkktk, pronounced.”

The woman in question would take on certain demonic features, such as horns, tails, claws, and wings, but she remained mostly human. Then again, she wasn’t a shapeshifter, nor was she merging with a Ranker. The Warlock in question rarely used Malefic Fusion on Drea, and the few times she did the stalker wasn’t around to witness the transformation. Nor did she want to. The experience was a lot more… intimate than she was comfortable with, so she subconsciously suppressed those memories.

That said, the thought of ‘becoming one’ with Boxxy also passed through Drea’s mind, which was why she was currently hiding her fiercely blushing face from her Master.

“Alright, enough slacking off!” shouted the monster. “We still have work to do! Claws and Am-”

“Eek! Uh, yes, Master?” the stalker stood at attention.

“Interrupt me again, see what happens!”

That outburst made it clear the shapeshifter was in a profoundly foul mood, and the stalker clammed up. Seeing her freeze up made the shapeshifter slightly regret losing its temper. Not enough to take its words back – it still had to assert dominance over its minions – but plenty to simmer down. It rose from the ground, brushed itself off, threw on the Sandman’s guise, then resumed dishing out orders.

“As I was saying, Claws and Ambrosia are to seek out the other area guardians to the west of the summit. Snack, you’re with me. We’ll take the east side. All of us will gather here with the loot once the remaining four bosses are down. Understood?”

“Y-yes, tktkkt, master!” Drea squeaked.

“If that is thy wish, milord,” the dryad bowed.

“Yeees, master…” groaned a slightly depressed Xera. “Wait, what about this bitch?”

The djinn pointed to the Crystal Maiden, who had been reduced to a cracked torso without a head or limbs. The dungeon master’s soul was still trapped within that shell, evidenced by how it occasionally twitched and shifted. For the most part, Setre seemed to have given up and was just waiting for death. Or, perhaps ‘release’ was a more accurate word.

“We’ll finish her off later. She’s not going anywhere,” declared Boxxy. “Even if she does somehow come back to full strength while we’re gone, we just need to smash her up again.”

“But… why?” asked Xera. “Why not just crush the infuriating cunt right here and now?”

“Because the dungeon might give us better loot if we clean up all the area guardians before wiping out the last boss. Also, the way she is right now is probably a much better punishment than just sending her back to the Beyond.”

“Ohh! I see!” exclaimed the ex-succubus. “Master truly knows how to put worthless bitches in their place! My pussy is looking forward to your future, mmmmm, lessons!”

“Whatever. Just keep your mind out of the gutter until the job is done. Let’s go.”

The monstrous quartet split off into two groups and scoured the rest of the dungeon for what Boxxy considered loot dispensers. The first victim of their scavenger hunt was a gigantic rock worm that Xera had found at the depths of a labyrinthine cave system called the Slithering Tunnels using her Guiding Light Skill. The creature attacked her and Boxxy by burrowing through the subterranean surroundings and trying to swallow them whole. It also launched a slew of long-range attacks that mostly consisted of flinging acid at the two in increasingly creative ways. It died horrifically when Boxxy tricked it into swallowing a Spell Crystal containing a supercharged Singularity Spell.

The worm’s defeat triggered two events. A silver chest rose from the cave’s rocky floor, and a previously hidden passage opened up nearby. The shapeshifter pocketed the torso armor that came out of said item box and took this new path, venturing deeper underground. It came to a place called the Underground Sea, where it fought and killed a giant octopus-like monster. Well, Snack and her flames did most of the work, but that didn’t stop Boxxy from claiming credit.

In the meantime, Ambrosia and Drea had found their way to the Mineral Barracks where they fought wave after wave of crystal soldier constructs. A golem general wearing a fancy hat and mounted atop an icy steed showed up after a while and was summarily smashed to pieces. The whole affair took longer than it should have. The stalker was still adapting to her new body and got cut up a bunch while testing its limits, but Ambrosia’s support ensured neither of them were in real danger. It also helped that the enemy’s frost-based magic was useless against a demon with Cold Affinity.

Afterwards, the duo investigated an area with hundreds of rock outcroppings, each at least ten meters tall. Drea had spotted this place on her way to the summit from the Howling Chasm. She had made a mental note of it because it was populated by a flock of oversized eagle-like monsters called rocs. More specifically, some white-feathered cold-attuned variant of the species. Drea was looking forward to this part, because she knew just how delectable those things were from her pre-Boxxy days. The environment also allowed the webstalker to put her new silk-spinning Skill through its paces. She set up multiple webs between the rocky pillars with the goal of capturing prey. The traps set, she would bait the bird-brained creatures with her glittering countenance. It worked beautifully, and dozens wound up caught in her Steel Thread. She finished off all of them with ease, greedily devouring their succulent red meat at every opportunity. Even if dungeon monster flesh wasn’t exactly filling, the flavor and texture were amazing. All this snacking was also a great help in cleansing her palate of that horrid doppel-wraith goo.

However, the arachnid demon’s traps were completely ineffective against the area’s boss. It was some kind of feral griffin variant with brilliant white plumage. Drea’s Steel Thread was resistant to brute force and physical damage, but the flying beast’s innate wind magic cut through the webbing with little issue. Its freezing breath also gave Ambrosia a great deal of trouble. Its struggles came to an end when the webstalker slipped out of its sight, then used her webbing to slingshot herself at its neck. The beast sensed her hurtling towards it and dodged her attempt to rip its throat out, but she still managed to slice a wing clean off as she hurtled past. This grounded the beast, putting it within reach of the spriggan’s Grasping Roots Spell and the webstalker’s claws. Its life was forfeit at that point.

[The area guardian of the Lord’s Roost has been slain.]
[To the victor go the spoils.]
[The Lord’s Roost can now be accessed freely for the next 24 hours.]

The fourth and final side-boss dealt with, Boxxy’s group reconvened at the summit. At least that had been the plan before they realized the Crystal Maiden wasn’t where they left it. In their absence Setre had reconstructed an arm and started crawling away once she realized what the invaders were up to. Whether on purpose or by accident, she dragged the heavily crippled golem’s body off the arena’s edge, tumbled down the sheer cliff, and crashed into one of the now vacant gatehouses along the path leading up to the palace’s original location. The fall completely demolished the fortification and broke off a significant chunk of the torso, leaving the once mighty construct in an even more pathetic state. The mess prevented the invaders from reaching their intended meeting spot, though they now had little reason to finish that climb. If anything, this was somewhat convenient.

Boxxy didn’t have a habit of torturing its victims or playing with its food unless they really pissed it off, and, thankfully for Setre, she was a relatively minor annoyance. The monster wasted no more time and finished her off alongside the rest of the group. Xera pelted it with her fire magic, Ambrosia put the squeeze on it with some conjured roots, and Drea burrowed into it with her claws and scythes. Boxxy morphed into Keira’s form, pulled out a sturdy hunting bow, and began sticking it with arrows. It had completely neglected its Ranger Job on this expedition and thought this might give it something of a boost. It would have used that shiny bow it got out of a golden chest, but its ice-based projectiles were ineffective against this almost-corpse.

[The final guardian of the Palace of the Crystal Maiden has been slain.]
[To the victor go the spoils.]
[The dungeon’s monsters will become more docile for the next 24 hours.]
[Flight is no longer restricted.]
[Spatial travel is no longer restricted.]
[Telepathic communication is no longer restricted.]

[Level up!]
[Congratulations, you are now a Level 38 Ranger! DEX +2. AGI +2. END +2.]
[Feat of strength performed! You have unlocked a new Perk: Rare Golem Dismantler - Aquamanarine.]

The defenseless golem broke apart with a final Meteor from Xera, causing the torso to split open and disintegrate into sparkling dust. Freed from the Crystal Maiden’s chest, the blue-colored dungeon core expanded rapidly until it ballooned to just under three meters in width. It shifted the gatehouse rubble underneath as it expanded, digging out a little hole for itself before coming to a complete rest.

A golden chest burst out of the ground with such force it gained some air before landing squarely in front of Boxxy with a heavy thud. The shapeshifter excitedly threw the lid open, prompting a rather peculiar device to rise out of it. Its general shape was a deformed cone about half a meter long with a thickness ranging from fifteen centimeters at the base to two centimeters at the ball-tipped nose. It was made mostly from various types of metals, with a number of coils, switches, and dials sticking out of its surface. The monster’s MLG revealed its insides were a hodgepodge of wires, bolts, plates, and crystal lenses, yet without an obvious power source.

“That… what is that?” Xera asked curiously. “Wait, doesn’t it look like that thing Fizzy used to have when she was still a sad little virgin?”

The djinn’s words served to kickstart her master’s memory, helping it recall that its prized shiny did own a similar device when she was a worthless meatbag. It couldn’t remember much about the object other than it was made by her father and was some type of lightning thrower. It looked eerily similar to this one, especially the rubberized handle and finger-operated trigger at its rear end. This device was at least twice the size, however, making it clear that it was a different model even though it probably served the same purpose.

In summary, Boxxy concluded that it was an Artificer-made weapon of presumably Artifact quality that most likely had something to do with hurling lightning.

“… I’ll figure it out later,” declared Boxxy as it carefully placed the device in its Storage.

“Milord, shall we abscond with the dungeon core now?” suggested Ambrosia. “‘Tis part of the reason why we came in here, was it not?”

“We will, in time,” it reassured her. “Not right now, though.”

The spriggan’s glowing eyes blinked dumbly several times as her head gradually tilted to the side.

“Why not?” she eventually asked.

“The dungeon will probably go out of control if I take this, right?”

“I am not sure, milord. Will it?”

“Uh, yes. It will.”

“And this is a bad thing?”

“If the dungeon is no longer managed, it will stop spewing out treasure chests when you defeat a boss.”

“But there are no more guardians to be found in this wretched place.”

“Not right now, but it should create new ones in a day. Remember how the messages all said something about ‘24 hours?’”

“Ah!” realization dawned on Ambrosia. “Milord wishes to harvest the treasures within this place by reaping the guardians as if wheat heavy with grain at the end of the season!”

“Mm… Something like that.”

Boxxy hadn’t thought of equating its plans with farming, but it seemed an apt comparison.

“But doth thou not want to establish another dungeon post-haste?”

“We can just get it another time, right? There’s no rush.”

“I see. Milord is most wise indeed.”

“Master, I just had a thought,” butted in Xera. “What if Goroth decides to hide the dungeon core somewhere inaccessible while we’re out and about?”

No sooner had the djinn uttered those words than the giant sphere in question shot up into the air and flew off, leaving behind a trail of white light. It blazed across the sky and landed somewhere at the edge of the dungeon’s territory with a ground-shaking impact. A miniature mountain sprouted around it and encompassed it completely. All of this happened within the span of several seconds, so Boxxy and its entourage could do little but watch it transpire.

“… Really, Snack? You just had to say that out loud?”

“I’m so sorry, Master! Truly!” she apologized frantically. “I just- I forgot the mind link was now accessible and I-”

*RRRUMBLE*

Xera’s floundering was cut short when the earth split open and another treasure chest rose out of it. It was much more impressive than the others Boxxy had seen, for it was made out of glimmering mithril and studded with an obscene number of gems. It had wing sculptures of pure white metal poking out of its back. The whole thing gave off a faint, otherworldly glow that brought the words ‘angelic chest’ to the shapeshifter’s mind.

Boxxy couldn’t allow itself to be suckered in. It needed to remember that no matter how shiny it was, this item was a fleeting illusion conjured by the dungeon. Bitter memories of the first time it was tricked by a golden container flooded into its mind, and it wasn’t tasty. Therefore, it couldn’t get attached to this superb article. It physically could not keep it no matter how much it wanted to. The creature scanned its surroundings to distract itself. It locked eyes with Snack, causing her to instantly fall to her knees and resume groveling. Looking to Ambrosia, she stood idly by with a warm smile directed at Boxxy. She seemed to be handling these sudden events with her usual grace and poise. This was more than could be said about Claws. She was cowering behind the spriggan, only allowing herself to peek over her shoulder for an instant every now and then.

How do I keep getting stuck with these nutcases?

Boxxy took a deep breath as it complained inwardly. Then, still in Keira mode, placed a hand on the lid. It swallowed the saliva that had pooled in the catgirl’s mouth and lifted the top off the container. It was… heavier than anticipated. The monster was surprised to find the mithril chest’s contents did not automatically float up into the air but laid immobile at its bottom. The fact that there were two items rather than one made it clear this wasn’t part of the usual item distribution system that Goroth employed in his dungeons. Cocking an eyebrow at this curious development, Boxxy reached down and picked up the first, obviously more valuable of the two objects. It was an uncut precious stone of some description, about twenty centimeters long and in the vague shape of a thick icicle. It had some jagged edges and a pointed tip, but it wasn’t going to do much as a weapon. Although colorless at first, it began to glow with a yellow light the instant Boxxy touched it.

“Milord?” asked Ambrosia from behind. “What is this thou art holding?”

“No idea.”

The creature held the object up so she could get a good look at it.

“Do you recognize it, perchance?”

“… I am afraid not. However, it does seem strangely familiar. Nostalgic, even.”

Well, that wasn’t very helpful.

Boxxy remembered there was another thing in that chest that might explain what was going on. Aside from the mysterious gemstone, which the shapeshifter had way too many of already, the opulent box had a stone slate the size of a thick book with a lot of very tiny letters etched in it. The shapeshifter stuffed the shiny thing into its Storage and reached down to grab hold of the peculiar slab.

[You have received a divine revelation from the God of Earth. FTH +5.]

Huh. That was… new. It had no idea that such things could exist in physical form, yet here it was. Regardless, this was clearly the deity’s way of personally contacting Boxxy, so it carefully read the finely printed text.

Hail, Hero of Chaos,

Let me begin by saying I have watched you and your allies progress through the Palace of the Crystal Maiden with great interest. I wish to commend you on your masterful shapeshifting. I dare say both the grizzled mercenary you were at the start and the beautiful beastkin you became just before I started writing this letter were worthy works of art in their own right. The attention to detail is exquisite, and the speed, surety, and confidence with which you take on these personas betray how much practice and effort went into perfecting them. At the same time, the haunting, imposing figure of that six-armed warrior as well as that semi-serpentine shape you donned in the Glacial Gallows showed a level of imagination and improvisation that I did not think possible for a mere monster.

In recognition of what I can only imagine were hundreds of hours of hard work honing your craft and you having splendidly cleared this dungeon’s Hero course, I have decided to present you with an additional reward. Encased with this letter, you will find an inert fragment of my dungeon’s core. Once you touch it, it will synchronize with your own dungeon, allowing you to freely travel between it and the Palace of the Crystal Maiden via Nexus Access. I am confident that you will understand my unwillingness to part with ANOTHER of my dungeon cores.

Boxxy stopped reading the message for a moment and took the fragment out of its Storage. No wonder Ambrosia thought it felt familiar. Now that the monster knew what it was looking at, it realized the thing was glowing with the same serene light as the Dryad Domain’s crystalline heart. It wasn’t sure when or how Goroth caught wind of its intentions regarding the dungeon core, but it was glad he did. It had gained a bonus shiny that spared it the bother of managing a second dungeon yet still provided the option to freely travel to and from the Kingdom. The only downside was that Boxxy had missed out on a bonus to its Attributes via the Grand Theft Arcana Perk. Overall, it was an outcome the creature could be satisfied with, even if it wasn’t particularly tasty.

The same couldn’t be said about the letter’s last paragraph.

Nevertheless, I must mention that your intention of exploiting the Palace of the Crystal Maiden to obtain more of my treasures will not be met with success. As is my standard dungeon policy, my gauntlets will not dispense material rewards to the same individual more than once. You may continue to fight the creatures to get stronger, but neither treasure chests nor guardians will appear before you. I am not partial to seeing others waste their time and efforts on fruitless endeavors, so I felt it fair to inform you on this matter.

“That damn blockhead!”

Boxxy cursed under its breath and stomped its foot in bitter disappointment. It should have expected something like this. Of course, it wouldn’t be this easy to get its tentacles on an obscene number of high-quality magic items. It felt like an idiot for getting its hopes up, which only made it angrier.

“Excuse me, Master?” Snack spoke up from her groveling position.

“What?!” it snarled back.

“There seems to be something written on the back as well.”

The monster’s sour mood was temporarily put on halt while it flipped over the slab in its hands.

“Oh. So there is. It seems a brainless fuck-addled bimbo like you may have a use outside of being a sloppy cumdump after all.”

Her Master’s compliments made Xera wiggle her butt enticingly and rub her face into the dirt. Boxxy ignored her and started processing the last part of Goroth’s message. It only got past the first sentence before it disappeared from its spot, and the mithril chest in question was shut from the inside with a loud bang. The opulent container vanished, leaving behind a thoroughly confused array of minions and the deity’s discarded missive. Panic overtaking her, Xera lunged for the tablet and frantically read the second page, hoping it might contain some clue as to her beloved master’s sudden disappearance.

To show there are no hard feelings, I’m also giving you this treasure chest. It is not one of the dungeon’s creations, but an old curio that has been in my possession for centuries. I would rather it be with someone who can truly appreciate its exquisite craftsmanship and inherent beauty rather than collecting dust in my vaults. Understand that this is a one-time thing, and you should not expect such generosity from me again.

Sincerely,
Goroth, God of Earth and Anvil, Patron of Artists and Artisans

The demoness calmed down, as she realized what had happened. Boxxy got so excited by this gift that it jumped it and whisked it away to its lair halfway across the continent. Indeed, at that very moment the shapeshifter and its new acquisition were situated atop a glittering pile of gold and jewels within its private treasure chamber.

“It’s true! It’s all truuuueee! Goroth is the beeeest!”

The living embodiment of avarice let out a loud cheer as it slithered inside the glorious container. Over the next few minutes, the only hint an outside observer might have that there was a living being inside the jeweled container was a rather obscene sloshing noise. Its lid slowly creaked open, and a dozen fleshy tendrils spilled out and draped over its outside. They began licking it all over as Boxxy fervently committed every nook, cranny, carving and jewel to its tactile memory.

After a few hours of what could only be described as ‘fanatical chest worshipping,’ the former mimic calmed down enough to remember this wasn’t the only thing it got in that dungeon. Although they seemed paltry in comparison, it got quite a few other things out of it. Now was a good time to have them appraised by using the dungeon core’s Item Allocation module, but not before it inspected the undisputed best prize from this expedition.

[Vessel of Dreams]
[Lore]
A treasure chest forged out of pure mithril and adorned with a total of 85 precious stones. It was made by the sculptor and blacksmith Brylin Stormhammer and offered to the Earth God Goroth as a tribute. The deity was moved by Brylin’s piety, devotion, and masterful craftsmanship, which he rewarded with a blessing of prosperity upon her clan. Many talented individuals had been born under the Stormhammer name since.

Being in the Earth God’s possession for so long has imbued this object with a measure of holy power.

[Item Properties]
Type: Container
Quality: Masterwork
Durability: AA+
Magic Amplification: 25% Earth
Enchantments: Self Repair, Self Cleaning, Heavenly Aura

Estimated Value: 355,000 GP

No wonder being inside this thing felt so warm and cozy. Most holy magic had a certain soothing and restorative aspect, and the energy that radiated from this so-called Vessel of Dreams was no different. In fact, being inside was so calming that Boxxy fell asleep without meaning to, giving credit to the item’s name. The monster woke up after a rather indulgent twelve-hour nap. It threw open the lid to what it decided would be its new bed, revealing the insides had been filled with a writhing mass of tongue-tentacles. The hylt creeper’s upper body rose from that moist mess and stretched its arms while yawning delightedly. It was the most restful, refreshing sleep it had experienced in its life.

Boxxy groaned and stretched some more before reigning in its moist tendrils and somewhat regretfully climbing out of the Vessel. Even if that ‘nap’ was divine, there was a limit to how overtly lazy and horribly unproductive a malicious mass of murder and mayhem could get. There were people to eat, things to destroy, Levels to attain, and, most importantly, shinies to inspect. The next thing to come under scrutiny was the exquisite ranged weapon Boxxy had gotten from the Glacial Gallows’ golden chest earlier that day. Actually, it was the day before by this point, wasn’t it? Whatever the case, it took the delicate-looking bow out of its Storage and held it out. It opened the Dungeon Management menu and invoked the Item Allocation module’s Treasure Analysis function. A window with all the relevant information instantly appeared in its head, same as it did with the Vessel.

[Winter’s Bite]
[Lore]
A crystalline bow infused with the essence of ice. Although it appears constructed from blue-tinged glass or highly transparent sapphires, the exact material remains a mystery, as does its creator. Pulling on the string without an arrow nocked creates a magical bolt of ice that will home in on warm-blooded targets.

[Item Properties]
Type: Bow, Recurve
Quality: Artifact
Offense: AA
Defense: F
Durability: C
Magic Amplification: 15% Cold
Enchantments: Freezing Attack, Increased Projectile Force, Self Repair, Reduced Weight
Innate Ability: Conjure Heatseeker Arrow

Estimated Value: Priceless

Boxxy already knew about this Innate Ability after playing around with the item shortly after obtaining it. It was the same thing it attempted to use on Setre to prevent her from possessing the Crystal Maiden, but failed since it didn’t know how to use it effectively. In retrospect, it should have gone for Keira’s old bow. As for what Winter’s Bite did, it used 8 MP to conjure a nocked Heatseeker Arrow every time the bowstring was used. Once launched, the icy projectile would seek out and curve towards anything with a sufficiently high body temperature. None of this was surprising considering the straightforward names involved, though the weapon proved more difficult to use than one might imagine.

After using Mirror Images as target practice for about an hour, Boxxy was able to identify a certain fault. While the magical projectiles made it a lot easier to hit its body doubles while they ducked and dodged, they veered towards center of mass. There was no way to aim for a target’s weak spots, such as the head or heart. If there was a way to do that, it required a degree of fancy shooting that was beyond Boxxy’s current skillset. It was still worth using the effectively infinite ammunition, especially on moving targets or those with innate resistance to physical attacks. They just weren’t ideal for sneak attacks and assassination attempts. Thankfully, the Innate Ability was optional. The bow could still fire regular or explosive arrows, which would be imbued with the item’s Freezing Attack enchantment.

The most important aspect of this weapon was its stellar offensive rating. Double-A was about as high as it could get, meaning it could easily penetrate all armor with a lower defensive rating. That included basically everything except adamantite and heavily enchanted mithril. With enough Ranger Levels, Boxxy could potentially pierce even Fizzy’s shiny hide with this weapon. It would actually prove extra effective against the metal golem, since cold magic was her Bane. Not that it had any plans to harm the most wondrous shiny ever, but it was nice to have the option. Just in case.

The next item under the looking glass was the shiny belt Claws had obtained after conquering the Howling Chasm.

[Aethereal Repository #3]
[Lore]
A belt made from the hide of an Stormscale Wyvern, widely believed to be extinct. It has six enchanted Aether Diamonds affixed to it, each of which serves as a gateway to its own pocket dimension. It allows the wearer to carry large amounts of gear and supplies without being encumbered by their weight or size.

One of seven Aetherial Repositories created by the combined efforts of Dargas Redmane, Hero of the Anvil, and Janet Nottley, Hero of Magic.

[Item Properties]
Type: Belt
Quality: Artifact
Defense: C-
Durability: B+
Magic Amplification: 5% Space
Enchantments: Greater Wind Resistance, Greater Cold Resistance, Increased Durability, Self Repair, Well Fitted
Innate Ability: Subspace Storage

Estimated Value: Priceless

This article offered decent defense against magic, but very limited protection against physical blows. It was only natural. Belts were closer to utility equipment than armor. This Artifact’s main feature was the Subspace Storage. It functioned similarly to the shapeshifter’s second-oldest Mimic Skill but was inferior due to a number of drawbacks. Items could only be withdrawn or deposited in an area around its waist, and the MP cost involved was several times steeper than the Storage ability. It didn’t seem like others could steal things out of the belt while it was worn, but stealing the item itself would provide the thief with access to its extra-dimensional compartments.

Despite all that, the Aethereal Repository did have one thing over Boxxy’s Storage. It did not care for the dimensions, shape, or weight of an object, only its volume. Even something much larger than the belt – such as the Winter’s Bite bow – would disappear in a flash of light and could be just as easily retrieved afterwards. In terms of how much space was available, some trial and error revealed each of the six gemstones could hold up to half a cubic meter’s worth of stuff. That was a whole lot of extra room that Boxxy was sure to find a practical use for. Even if it couldn’t, it was still shiny.

Setting the jeweled belt aside, the shapeshifter skipped over the Prismatic Cloak since it already knew its specs and moved onto the giant worm’s silver chest reward.

[Brimstone Breastplate]
[Lore]
A breastplate sewn from salamander leather with a steel chainmail underlay. Both the metal and leather have been treated with Hell Sulphur, imbuing the item with the elemental attribute of fire.

[Item Properties]
Type: Light Armor, Chest
Quality: Masterwork
Defense: B+
Durability: A-
Magic Amplification: 6% Fire
Enchantments: Major Fire Resistance, Lesser Cold Resistance, Increased Durability, Well Fitted

Estimated Value: 980 GP

It was rather plain and dull. Looked the part, too. It had its uses, sure. Boxxy might consider using this if it found itself in any more freezing environments like the outskirts of Dragunov or the Palace of the Crystal Maiden. Alternatively, it might save the shapeshifter some trouble if it was ever stupid enough to go to the dragon-infested volcanic region known as Hell. The fact that an entire species of fire-breathing demons were named after the place were indicative of just how dangerous its environment was. Ultimately, the creature had no plans to go there, so this dull-red cuirass was of little use to it at present.

On the other hand, it could come in handy for Keira. Boxxy shifted into the catgirl persona and slipped the Brimstone Breastplate on. The item’s Well Fitted enchantment went to work, and the Masterwork-quality armor fit snugly and securely around her torso. Having something like this along with those two Artifacts from earlier would certainly make it easier to maintain its Facade. The powerful equipment would serve as a smoke screen, allowing the doppelganger to operate closer to its actual capabilities while acting as Keira. Any outrageous achievements or ridiculous feats the beastkin performed could easily be attributed to owning outstanding gear. But Boxxy needed to be careful. A sixteen-year old adventurer suddenly obtaining so much loot would certainly raise suspicion. The shapeshifter would therefore have the catgirl steadily ‘acquire’ this stuff over the course of several ‘adventures’ with the support of ‘Mr. S,’ with this expedition to the Kingdom serving as the first.

It had a feeling this next piece of gear would eventually follow that trend.

[Star Sapphire Earring]
[Lore]
A teardrop-shaped Star Sapphire suspended by a silver chain. When worn on the ear, this piece of jewelry provides a minor boost to the wearer’s mental abilities. The item’s magical properties are amplified twofold when its matching twin is also equipped.

This design is popular around the Ishigar Republic’s northern reaches. This article was created by Jeremiah Springvale of Old Oak Village.

[Item Properties]
Type: Accessory, Earring
Quality: Uncommon
Durability: D
Magic Amplification: 3% Cold
Enchantments: Minor Intelligence, Minor Wisdom, Set Piece

Estimated Value: 440 GP

Claws and Ambrosia had gotten a pair of these for defeating the golem general in the Mineral Barracks. Both showed identical results when analyzed by the dungeon core and were quite underwhelming. Even the gemstones were rather puny compared to what Boxxy was used to. On the other hand, this was expected considering they had come out of a wooden chest. At the very least, they appeared to be in pristine condition, unlike the set of five rings Ambrosia had gotten from the Menagerie.

[Signet Ring of House Stormhammer]
[Lore]
A heavy ring of tarnished gold, inlaid with a square piece of Midnight Ruby. The crest of the Horkensaft Kingdom’s noble house of Stormhammer has been etched into the gem, though the image is distorted by numerous scratches. This item is of significant historical importance, but its poor condition has diminished its monetary value.

[Item Properties]
Type: Accessory, Ring
Quality: Superior
Durability: F
Magic Amplification: 2% Fire
Enchantments: None

Estimated Value: 320 GP

They were all like this, except each belonged to a different noble house. ‘Historical value’ meant very little to Boxxy, but it could probably offer these trinkets to dwarven collectors and historians in exchange for shinier shinies. Not the Stormhammer one, though. It belonged to the same clan that made its new bed. The monster was so thrilled by that mithril chest that it felt the unusual urge to express its gratitude towards its maker. It decided the best way to do that was to see this signet ring restored to pristine condition, after which it would be enshrined in Boxxy’s collection alongside its ‘relative.’

That was it for the shiny spoils, so Boxxy moved onto the less flashy weapons.

[Reverb Sword]
[Lore]
A well-balanced longsword forged out of a bronze-mithril alloy. Colloquially known as ‘Spell slicer,’ this curved blade vibrates intensely whenever it encounters magic, allowing the user to disperse or weaken Spells it passes through. Holding it also dampens the effectiveness of all magical effects upon its wielder.

This item cannot be enchanted.

[Item Properties]
Type: Longsword
Quality: Superior
Offense: C+
Defense: C
Durability: D
Magic Amplification: -20% All
Enchantments: None

Estimated Value: 640 GP

This article was something Ambrosia and Claws had gotten after besting that feral griffon and were awarded with an iron chest. Boxxy instantly knew what this was, as it already owned five of these Reverb-style weapons. What set this one apart was that it was quite older. The metal was rusty, and the edge was badly chipped and blunted, but these faults could easily be fixed by a Blacksmith. Once repaired and polished, the weapon would be added to Boxxy’s arsenal. Whether or not it would see any actual use remained to be seen, though it would most likely end up being treated as just another low-grade treasure.

Boxxy wouldn’t be nearly as kind to this next armament.

[Deep Axe]
[Lore]
A sinister two-handed battle axe with a treant heartwood handle and a double-edged blade made from a pair of adult kraken teeth. It is said a simple glance at the sea monster’s fangs is enough to strike fear into the heart of weaker monsters and magical beasts.

This weapon is poorly balanced, making it difficult to land a hit with its otherwise deadly blade.

[Item Properties]
Type: Axe, One-handed
Quality: Standard
Offense: B
Defense: F
Durability: D
Magic Amplification: None
Enchantments: Lesser Monster Repellent, Lesser Strength

Estimated Value: 350 GP

The weapon came out of a wooden chest after Snack boiled that octopus thing she and Boxxy encountered on the Underground Sea. Much like the Treasure Analysis suggested, looking at it filled the creature with some untasty feelings. It had half a mind to leave this thing behind in the dungeon, but it figured it could at least pawn it off on some beginner adventurer with more muscle and/or money than sense. Even then, it would probably struggle to get a good price considering the weapon’s shoddy construction. The item’s Quality would have surely been rated Poor if not for the slightly exotic materials and the minor magical effects they bestowed.

Seriously, what sort of cheapskate dungeon spews out garbage like this?

Boxxy couldn’t help but complain about getting this piece of junk. How was this a ‘fitting reward,’ exactly? Then again, it really didn’t have much of a baseline for comparison. For all it knew, getting a bunch of crap items from a dungeon crawl was the norm. One could argue with the shapeshifter that even the ‘crap’ items were objectively quite valuable. The monster would rebuke this hypothetical person by promptly stabbing them in the face. This was supposed to be a four-star rated dungeon intended for Level 80 adventurers, so the rewards would need to be sufficiently enticing to attract said target audience. Right? Ultimately, no matter how much Boxxy grumbled, it would have to be satisfied with getting two golden and two silver chests out of a total of ten.

… Wait, that’s not quite right.

It remembered it was given three gilded chests. The Vessel of Dreams had so much impact that the monster had nearly forgot the item reward it got from the final boss. It took off the Brimstone Breastplate and placed it back in its Storage while simultaneously pulling out that peculiar Artificer-made item. It had high hopes, given the dungeon’s proximity to Dragunov.

[Gnomish Death Ray]
[Lore]
A one-of-a-kind weapon left behind by Bilbus Fizzlesprocket, one of Ekaterina Dragunova’s apprentices and the world’s first Arclight Artificer. The device charges up by absorbing the user’s life force over several seconds, then unleashes a devastating blast of electricity. Great care must be taken when handling this weapon, as it has been known to occasionally backfire.

[Item Properties]
Type: Artificer Mechanism
Quality: Artifact
Offense: AAA
Defense: X
Durability: E+
Magic Amplification: 30% Lightning
Enchantments: None

Estimated Value: Priceless

Boxxy, still in Keira form, nodded a few times as it processed this information. On the upside, the thing in its hands had the highest offensive rating it had ever seen. It had heard of items hitting that triple-A, but it never expected to see one so soon in its career. One needed weapons with at least this much firepower if they hoped to overcome an adult dragon’s defenses. Considering that those natural disasters were rumored to be sitting on literal mountains of gold, dragon hunting was definitely one of Boxxy’s long-term goals.

On the other hand, this object had the most abysmal defense rating it had ever seen. It hadn’t even heard of things that went below grade F, yet there it was. Maybe the dungeon core was wrong? No, that thing’s Treasure Analysis was much more reliable than any Scribe’s Item Appraisal, so this was as accurate an estimate as Boxxy would get. Indeed, the more the creature thought about it, the more sense this defense rating of ‘X’ made. One should expect no less from an object that only fed off the user’s life force in order to produce devastating blasts of electricity that occasionally backfired.

Boxxy slowly and carefully placed the weapon onto the bark-covered ground near its treasure pit, walked over to the Vessel of Dreams, climbed into it, shut the lid, and locked it from the inside.

“Ambrosia!” it bellowed. “I need you to-! Oh wait, she’s not here.”

In all the excitement, Boxxy had left her behind in the Palace of the Crystal Maiden along with Snack and Claws. The demons were long dead by now, as contracted familiars’ bodies deteriorated rapidly if they were too far apart from their summoner for more than an hour. The range of this ‘leash’ was quite wide and extremely forgiving, but several hundred kilometers was well outside its capabilities. In other words, the doppelganger had left the dryad all alone in the middle of a frozen wasteland for more than half a day after it promised not to abandon her again.

After briefly deliberating whether it should deal with that deathtrap of a weapon or a potentially enraged millennia-old tree spirit, Boxxy decided to curl up and sleep for another twelve hours.

Epilogue

Following the Crystal Maiden’s demise, Setre’s disembodied soul lost its anchor to the physical realm and was pulled into the Beyond. It was by no means painful or uncomfortable. In fact, it was somewhat pleasant in a nostalgic way, as the djinn was home for the first time in decades. Yet, as she passed through the borders of reality, she couldn’t help but feel something was amiss. The source of her discomfort became apparent when she finally arrived in the demonic realm, only to find herself standing in a familiar office and staring down a familiar face.

“Yo! Welcome back, Setre! Long time no see!”

Sitting behind the desk opposite her was a female devil. She looked human aside from her pink skin, way too many pointy ears, a pair of cute black horns, and total lack of eyes – all common traits among her kind. She wore a long-sleeved dark blue blazer with a white undershirt that obfuscated her seemingly average bust size. Her short brown hair was done in a stylish bob that revealed as much of her forehead and horns as possible. She was also wearing a pair of rimless glasses, which served no purpose other than to accentuate her lack of eyes. At least she looked like a person with extra steps, which was in stark contrast to Setre. The djinn had yet to reconstruct her soul-self, so for the moment she was little more than a floating mote of pale blue light.

“Hey, Nina,” she returned the greeting. “What’s the deal with the redirect?”

Typically speaking, demons returning from the mortal realm arrived in one of many designated ‘landing zones’ within the Beyond. The djinn never understood the need for such things in a realm where space and distance were merely suggestions. However, such was the status quo, and Setre’s soul arriving at her agent’s office in the Demons ‘R’ Us offices was not a part of it.

“Dunno,” answered the devil in that annoyingly casual tone of hers. “I was told to redirect you, so here you are.”

“Wonderful… My dungeon master gig is still safe though, right?”

“I’ve not been told to terminate it so yeah, probably. Though, I gotta say, with the performance you put on I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that. The ratings for your boss fight are through the roof! They won’t match the Nagnamor vs. Liusolra showdown, but top ten for sure!”

“… What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh. Right. You didn’t know.”

“Know what?”

*Ring-ring*

“Hold on a sec, hun. Gotta take this.”

“Know what?!”

*Click*

“Hey, Carl, how’s it going? … No, I got loads of time.”

Unfortunately for Setre, Nina ignored her question and focused her attention on the inbound call. The djinn’s attempts to get her agent’s attention were shut down by a series of hand gestures that could easily be interpreted as ‘I’m busy’ and ‘kindly shut the fuck up.’

“Uh-huh. … Yeah-huh. … Yeah, he’s one of mine, too. … Oh, no shit? Wow, and I thought that first one was bad! … Alright, I’ll take care of it. By the way, are you coming to that office party? … Why not? … Oh, really? … Yikes! … Well, best of luck with that. Toodles.”

*Click*

“So-”

“Just a sec, hun. I’ll be with you in a minute. And get dressed, will you?”

Nina continued to brush Setre off and turned her attention towards the console on her desk. With nothing better to do, the djinn complied with the devil’s request. She focused for a bit and brought out her soul-self, granting her the same slim figure and blue belly dancer attire she would normally wear on the job. It took the she-devil a few more minutes to finish whatever she was doing before she put her elbows on the desk and leaned forward.

“Okay, Setre, here’s the thing. Goroth wants to have a meeting with you and Khurpath, and the Progenitor will be hosting it.”

“Th-th-the Goddess of Misfortune herself?” asked the djinn in a surprised stutter. “Why? What’s he got to do with this?”

“Well, you know that Warlock you just fought? That’s Boxxy T. Morningwood, the current Hero of Chaos.”

“O-oh. Uhm. Okay. What?”

There were way too many curve balls for the lazy demon to deal with at once.

“Look, it’ll take too long to explain. Khurpath already borrowed a bunch of recordings so you two can go over that later. Right now, you have a meeting to attend. Try not to embarrass yourself out there, m’kay?”

“But I-!”

Setre didn’t even get a chance to collect her thoughts before she was yanked out of the Beyond into Julian’s divine space within the Aether. She found herself seated on a red couch, nestled between a humanoid pile of rocks on her left and a gigantic sock puppet on her right. There was a flash of light overhead, and her gazer demon colleague appeared along with his swarm of floating eyeballs.

“Alright!” declared Hyjal with a clap of his bees. “Now that we’re all here, I suppose we should get started.”

“Mmmm, aren’t you being a bit hasty?” asked Goroth. “Your… people don’t seem aware of what’s going on.”

That was an understatement. Technically speaking, even though they were contracted to him, Setre and Khurpath had never met the God of Earth in person. Nor the God of Probability, for that matter. It was only natural they’d be confused and stunned to suddenly find themselves in the presence of both deities. Even for Rankers, this sort of meeting was unprecedented. Especially when one of them kept changing every time they blinked. That last bit was especially bad on the gazer. Each of his orbiting ocular orbs was picking up a completely different representation of the God of Fate, and the amalgamated mess of conflicting information actually made his brain hurt.

“Yeah, alright, fine,” conceded Jeremiah. “Listen up you two.”

The God of Uncertainty proceeded to explain that the purpose of this meeting was to analyze the latest attack on the Palace of the Crystal Maiden. The two demons were also informed of Boxxy’s assault on the Earth God’s other dungeon about half a year ago. It appeared the shapeshifter was responsible for making the deity reconsider his ‘form before function’ approach. Something about annihilating a meticulously scripted Jade King encounter in a matter of seconds. This was enlightening for Setre, as it explained why her dungeon received more changes over the past three months than it had the last three centuries.

“-and now that it’s been properly put through its paces, we’re going to see how it held up and help Goroth fine-tune the place,” concluded Hubert.

“Hmm, interesting,” said Khurpath. “I am honored to be included, though I question if my presence is necessary.”

“It is,” confirmed Goroth. “You’ve both faced the invaders in combat, so your perspective will be valuable. Ideally I would have the other guardians join, but their memories do not persist after death like yours.”

“That’s how it is,” Lulu nodded her salmon. “Without further ado, let’s start by examining Boxxy’s entrance.”

The mass of purple spaghetti with green meatballs stood off the couch and approached a spot a few meters in front of it. He snapped his breadsticks, and a massive wooden frame popped out of the pure white floor like a letter pulled from an envelope. It hovered next to the deity, and a recording of Boxxy and its entourage entering the dungeon began playing for everyone to see.

Setre was quite surprised at first, but seeing the images play out in front of her made her realize what Nina was talking about earlier. If this thing was really the Hero of Chaos, its patron deity would naturally keep an eye on it. Being the divine being that he was, the God of Toss-ups would share that perspective with the rest of the Beyond. He’d done so many times in the past with limited success. Watching the everyday lives of mortal men and women was a novel distraction, but it quickly grew boring. Yet, Nina’s earlier words would suggest this particular Hero was quite popular among demonkind. The djinn figured it was probably because its monstrous nature was easier to relate to.

“As you can see here, Setre’s interference proved rather key,” explained Mikhail while gesturing at the floating screen with a puddle. “She forced the invaders to actively ignore her rather than pay attention to their surroundings, leading to them being caught in the teleportation trap. If it wasn’t for this, the dungeon run would’ve gone very differently. Yes, what is it, Blinky?”

Morris pointed at Khurpath, who had been wiggling his floating eye stalks like a child asking permission to speak.

“Pardon my interruption, sir, but there should be a dozen more traps like it, at least to my knowledge. The ones deeper inside should be better concealed than the first. Surely, they would’ve been caught and separated by at least one of those.”

“Normally, you would be correct. In fact, the archfiend you faced ran into three of them on her way to the summit. However, this group’s leader is a doppelganger, one that has Ranked Up from being a dungeon mimic. It always has a Mana Locator Gland somewhere inside its body to look out for traps. If the first tele-trap had failed, it would be on alert against further trickery and likely have been able to avoid or disarm them.”

“Oh, hoh! So that’s how it was!”

As the owner of an MLG himself, Khurpath knew how vexing the ambient mana in that dungeon could be. He had learned to filter out the background noise so it didn’t confuse or bother him, but this doppelganger must not have been able to do that and failed to pick out the hidden magical formations.

“Why couldn’t we just make that a lethal trap?” grumbled Setre. “Just drop the lot into an active volcano or something.”

“That would defeat the dungeon’s purpose,” Goroth answered. “It is a place to test and temper mortals while keeping the wild fonts of magic under control. It is not an execution ground.”

The group went over the shapeshifter’s passage through the Glacial Gallows, and the bloodbath left in its wake. Goroth watched intently while Bogdan narrated. Khurpath butted in from time to time with requests for clarification, mostly to satisfy his own curiosity. Setre barely uttered a word as she was left speechless by Boxxy T. Morningwood’s brutal efficiency. It was almost mesmerizing to watch how it ripped, cleaved, and bit its way through the dungeon’s rabble. Well, that, and she was afraid of speaking out of turn in front of both her bosses like she did earlier.

It wasn’t long before the all-too-brief bout between the bipedal mimic and the Alpha Icescale Naga came up, prompting Setre to screw up her courage and speak up.

“E-excuse me, Mr. Goroth, sir?”

“Hmm? What is it?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, but how come that thing got a gold-tier item from that encounter? The core’s Item Allocation should have distributed rewards based on challenge rating, right?”

The harder and more harrowing the fight, the more likely it was for the victor to claim a powerful item appropriate for their Level. Conversely, those who breezed through a dungeon far below their league would only get useless junk. Those that were too weak or unprepared would pay for their hubris with their lives if they didn’t have the good sense to retreat. Setre couldn’t speak for other deities’ trials, but she knew how the Earth God set up his dungeons. She managed one, after all.

“Considering it instagibbed the guardian, there’s no way it should’ve gotten a top tier reward,” she added.

“You’re right,” Goroth rumbled. “Based on the dungeon core’s evaluation of that encounter, it was originally supposed to get a wooden chest. However, that creature has a considerable amount of Luck in its Status.”

The Luck (LCK) Attribute had two distinct effects aside from certain Skill interactions. One, it ever-so-slightly tipped the odds in the holder’s favor. Escaping fatal wounds by a hair’s breadth, finding a penny on the street, or winning in a game of dice all became a tiny bit more likely with each point of LCK. It was nigh-impossible to measure such vague, subtle differences, so it was hard to judge the Attribute’s actual influence. The second, more prominent effect of the LCK Attribute was that it increased the chances of obtaining higher Quality items. This applied to a handful of scenarios, but looting treasures from dungeon chests was the most common. It was entirely plausible that the Hero of Chaos would have been given a better reward than it deserved purely by virtue of this Attribute. There was just one problem.

“I’m not so sure about that,” declared Setre with a dubious look. “Even if Luck comes into play, the reward tier should only go up by one grade, two at most. This one skipped over four and went all the way from wood to gold? That’s just silly.”

“I should point out,” interjected William, “that Boxxy has 259 Luck.”

“… I’m sorry, could you repeat,” said the djinn after a short pause. “I just thought I heard you say-”

“Two. Hundred. Fifty. Nine,” enunciated the tumorous loaf of bread.

Luck was, statistically speaking, the rarest Attribute. Not only was it difficult to find an adventurer that had it on their Status at all, but even rarer for them to have more than 20 or 30 points. The Priests, Paladins, and Monks that followed the God of Unpredictability would be the exception due to the nature of their religion, but they’d be hard pressed to reach more than 70 Luck.

The one who invaded Setre’s dungeon had nearly four times that amount.

“O-oh… I see…” she muttered dumbly.

“If you think that’s impressive, wait till you see Boxxy’s pet,” said Derrick in a joyful tone. “That adorable little thing has over two thousand! I didn’t even know such a thing was possible until I saw it for myself! It’s like a walking singularity of chaos and absurdity, and it is bloody brilliant!”

“Ah. Ahah. Hahahaha…”

The only reaction the djinn could offer was a dry, humorless laugh. Even that thing’s pet was incomprehensible.

“This is the first I hear of this!” roared the God of Earth. “If such an anomaly is allowed to roam free, then no dungeon is safe!”

“Relax yourself, blockhead. The thing I’m talking about is an adorable little critter that’s a total pacifist. It’s so pathetically weak that it’ll die from mana poisoning if it enters even the intermediary tier of dungeons. It doesn’t matter how game-breakingly lucky it is if a single breath of air would make it drop dead.”

“… You’re certain?”

“I am. I can go into greater detail if you want, but not now. We should stop getting sidetracked for the time being.”

“Very well. Let us proceed.”

Next was Xera’s handling of the Torture Chamber. There wasn’t much to be learned here. Orcs were easily fooled by illusions, and their dense numbers made them susceptible to area effect Spells. The djinn happened to be much better suited to handling the area than Setre anticipated, since she assumed the salacious slut was a simple succubus. Questionable judgment aside, this area worked more or less as intended, so Carl mostly fast-forwarded through it.

“A silver chest?” remarked Khurpath at the end. “Did that one also have a lot of Luck?”

“No, that one’s actually an error on the dungeon core’s part,” revealed the Earth God. “It seems to have miscalculated the woman’s… eccentricities.”

On several occasions, Xera had willingly put herself in harm’s way, allowing traps to impale her or the odd orc to graze her vulnerable flesh with his axe. It was for purely masochistic purposes, but the core interpreted it as her sustaining a lot of damage. The automated magic tool operated entirely on logic and numbers and could not discern or factor intent, so it judged her ‘struggles’ worthy of silver when it should have been iron at most.

This was the only such lapse in judgement. Boxxy and its group legitimately struggled to bring down the Crystal Maiden, so they were given a golden chest. The monster’s formidable Luck showed up once again when it bumped a wooden chest up to silver upon defeating one of the other mid-bosses. As for the final reward upon full-clearing the dungeon, that was Goroth acting on his own. All other instances were one-sided stomps, hence the low-tier rewards.

Except for one.

“And then we come to the rather extraordinary case of Dreaheath Uniolphial Maramakartor,” declared Timmy. “I’ve taken the liberty of saving the best for last.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask about that stalker.”

By now Setre had gotten over her nervousness and realized that Goroth was more down-to-earth than the strictness of their usual long-distance correspondences would suggest. He was genuinely here to have a productive review and wasn’t so hard-headed that he dismissed her opinion outright. However, his deep patience proved rather shallow when it came to lazy puns, so the djinn kept those thoughts to herself while she said her piece.

“When I last checked on her, she was fighting the mirror wraith and was basically at death’s door. Yet, she still won, and even made it to the Crystal Maiden’s arena in time to interfere with the fight. I’ve no idea how she actually tripped me up, either. I can understand it if she were a Ranker, but that clearly wasn’t the case.”

“Yup, you’re not wrong there,” stated Vinny. “At the same time, you’re not privy to all the information. Behold!”

*Snap*

The God of Haphazard Flukes snapped his corks, and the image on the screen switched to a live feed of Drea.

“Yeeaaaah! Right theeeere! Nnnnnnng!”

*Snap*

And then almost immediately turned it off.

“Well, then,” said Jerome amidst the deafening silence. “That’s happening.”

“… Was that a red-haired beastkin performing cunnilingus on a female stalker covered in ice?” asked Khurpath.

“That certainly seemed to be the case, didn’t it?” responded the unstable deity. “Let’s just double check real quick, shall we?”

*Snap*

“Lick me mooooore! Haaaaahn!”

*Snap*

“Yup, there’s no mistaking it,” he concluded with a sagely nod of his bucket. “As expected of a gazer’s eyes, your analysis of the situation was spot on.”

“Are all demons this perverted?”

If Goroth’s tone wasn’t enough to show his disapproval, the shaking of his head-stones certainly did the trick.

“Nope! Just the ones my Hero enlists!”

“You don’t have to sound so proud, Robert.”

“I disagree completely.”

“Wuh- What was the point of showing us something like that?” asked a fiercely blushing Setre.

“Well, I found out something interesting was going on without me realizing it, so that’s a plus,” the God of Chance stared off into the distance. “Ah, damn! It seems they’re already at the climax! Well, it’s better than nothing, I suppose…”

“Focus, Metron,” insisted Goroth. “You need to keep in mind some of us Gods have actual duties and responsibilities. Stop wasting my time and get on with it!”

“Yeah! Sure! Let’s ignore the fact that a webstalker is doing the naughty with a djinn as we speak despite the overwhelming statistical improbability involved, shall we?!”

“Good. I’m glad you understand.”

Jujube facepalmed rather hard at the Earth God’s self-serving response. Well, it was more of a spongeapple than a facepalm. He wondered if he should try to teach the dwarven and gnomish population to appreciate the art of sarcasm a bit more. Maybe then this blockhead might actually get it.

“… Webstalker?” Setre’s voice pierced the sudden silence.

“You’ll see,” answered Larry. “Just watch.”

*Snap*

The screen turned on once again, showing a recording of Drea battling the mirror wraith within the Howling Chasm. It was towards the later stages of the fight, when she was slowly being overwhelmed. It didn’t take long for this scene to reach its own climax, which was undoubtedly far less pleasant than the one she was having right now. Both Setre and Khurpath were disturbed to see the demoness force herself to devour the undead creature’s essence. The mere sight of Drea’s desperate tactic almost made them feel ill. The sights and sounds of her dry heaving, coughing, and retching while goopy undeath dribbled out of the corners of her mouth were so disgusting that even a pair of Rankers found them deeply unsettling.

When it was over, she collapsed on the ground convulsing and shivering while a golden chest popped up next to her. There was no question she’d earned that reward, but it didn’t answer how she’d made it to the site of the Crystal Maiden encounter. If anything, the method through which she achieved victory had left her in an even sorrier state than she was before the fight started. Judging by the distant tremors that washed over the otherwise quiet scene, the fight in question had already been well underway. Drea moved her head towards the source of that rumbling. The recording’s angle made it unclear whether she was able to see the Crystal Maiden from her position, but that probably wasn’t the case considering it should have been more than a kilometer away. Yet, with her gaze fixed on the horizon, she slowly began to drag herself along the ice while her body continued to protest wildly.

She started hacking away at the ice underneath with what limbs she had left. It took her a few tries to get proper leverage, but she managed to break off a fist-sized chunk of the frozen lake. She bit into it, producing a very loud, rather unsettling crunch. She chewed on the ice a few times to break it up then swallowed it. She coughed up snowflake-like spittle but ignored it and kept shoving the mana-laden ice into her mouth. Her fervor increased every time the ground shook from the distant battle. It clearly wasn’t all that pleasant, though. Her convulsions grew more intense the more she ate. Her shaking and trembling got so bad that she was unable to drive her claws or scythes into the ice beneath her. She didn’t give up and kept nibbling and licking at the frozen lake her face was pressed against while scraping nearby shards of snow towards her.

Setre was rendered speechless by this behavior. She had no idea what the deluded demon was trying to accomplish. Was she trying to find sustenance in this stuff? Because that would be idiotic. Even if stalkers were omnivores capable of something akin to digestion, that didn’t mean they could process inanimate matter. Nor could they eat the ambient mana that permeated the dungeon like Boxxy or Ambrosia. Maybe she was just trying to wash the taste of death out of her throat? There’s no way that would work, for the undead Blight permeated every frozen droplet in that arena. In fact, that was probably the reason why her condition was deteriorating.

Maybe she’s trying to kill herself and end her suffering?

The djinn couldn’t think of another rational explanation. Even if that was the case, wasn’t the stalker going about it all wrong? Surely decapitating herself would have been quicker and a lot less painful. She threw a few questioning looks at Khurpath, but he merely rolled his many eyes back at her in a ‘don’t ask me’ sort of gesture.

*SNAP*

Setre’s hypothesizing abruptly ended when the body on screen suddenly jumped with a loud noise. The source of this disturbance seemed to have been an ice-like, scythe-tipped limb that had emerged from the Stalker’s back. Rather, it would be more accurate to say it ripped its way out, if her screams of pain were any indication.

*SNAP*

*CRACK*

*KERSCHLUCK*

*RRIP*

What followed was a disgusting cacophony of meat-y noises interspersed with the arachnid demon’s vocalizations of agony. Her chest tore itself apart, her skull exploded open, and her limbs were ripped apart from the inside as her new body parts violently replaced the old ones. Her transformation was so gruesome that it made the Rankers watching quite happy that they didn’t have bowels. This macabre spectacle carried on for a solid two minutes before it finally subsided, though Drea was left in a borderline comatose state by that point. Her body had stopped shaking and now merely twitched weakly while she drooled all over the icy ground. She had just experienced what it was like to have every nerve ending in her body replaced by a new one. This sort of shock was why most living things blacked out during a Rank Up. It was a defensive measure to protect their psyches. Demons had no such reflex. Furthermore, they were notoriously difficult to render unconscious. This was bad news for Drea, since it meant she was awake for the whole ordeal.

On the upside, the stalker was able to recover from the trauma in mere seconds. She tried to stand up, but her legs gave out as if she were a newborn doe. She got back to her feet on the second try, though her stance and posture were shaky. She wobbled over to the golden chest and opened it while breathing heavily. She threw the Artifact-grade belt that popped out of it around her waist without a second thought and trudged off in the vague direction of the summit before the recording cut out.

“And that, lady and gentlemen,” Christopher clapped his trouts, “is what normally happens when a demon Ranks Up in the physical realm.”

“That… looked painful.”

“Excellent powers of observation as always, Blinky,” the God of Misunderstandings gave a spatula-up.

“Painful is an understatement,” muttered Setre. “I’m just glad my own Rank Up took place in the Beyond…”

“Ditto,” the gazer agreed.

“I see,” rumbled Goroth. “So that was a Rank Up. I had no idea what to make of it the first time I saw it.”

His ignorance was understandable. Gods weren’t omniscient, and most people had no idea what the Rank Up process was truly like. Even the enlightened that went through it blacked out for the duration. Demons didn’t have that luxury, though it was rare for them to undergo the rapid evolution while they still had corporeal forms. Unless they happened to be contracted to Boxxy, apparently, as that was three-for-three in-world Rank Ups. Kora and Xera’s hadn’t been as extreme as Drea’s, but they were still superbly painful. The only reason they handled it so well was because one had a high pain threshold and the other was extremely perverted.

“There you have it, Rocky,” continued Fred. “If it wasn’t for that event, the odds of my Hero overcoming your Crystal Maiden in that bout were effectively one in one thousand, five hundred and-”

“Yes, I get it,” interrupted the God of Earth. “Thank you. Now, shall we discuss what improvements can be made so invaders do not… circumvent my dungeon designs?”

Hours of discussion followed whereby two demons and one deity pored over every detail of the Palace of the Crystal Maiden. The most obvious of the faults was reinforcing the bookshelves in the Eternal Library so that even an archfiend would struggle to knock them down. The others were more subtle, such as adding monsters with ranged attacks to the Glacial Gallows or improving air circulation within the Menagerie to help disperse poisonous clouds. They would also need to instruct Emi, the mountain alraune’s clone, to avoid inviting strange tree women into her chamber. Setre seemed quite enthusiastic about this topic. Although she only saw it briefly, Drea and Xera’s tryst had given her a few ideas she couldn’t wait to try out on the buxom blossom. Goroth probably wouldn’t mind her having that bit of fun, since the djinn had performed her duties as dungeon master to the best of her abilities.

However, he did reprimand her for sneakily swapping out Boxxy’s reward for clearing the Glacial Gallows. It may not have been against the terms of her contract, but he was not happy that she gave out an item different from the one originally allotted. The djinn argued that the gold chest was a lucky break anyway, so her boss was going to get shafted regardless. She only tried to make sure the dungeon invaders had as hard a time as possible getting through the rest of it. If Boxxy had been given that magic amplifying Artifact as intended, it would’ve brought down the Crystal Maiden’s shield much quicker.

Under the circumstances, Goroth had to admit she had a point but still insisted that a ‘no loot tampering’ clause be added to her dungeon master contract.

“I suppose that’s everything for the moment,” declared the Earth God in closing. “I appreciate you setting this little meeting up, Phoebe.”

“Oh, no, no trouble at all,” said the Goddess of Bamboozlement with a wave of her window. “After all, I apparently have nothing but free time. It’s not like I’m keeping watch so the fabric of the universe doesn’t suddenly unravel or anything!”

“As for you two,” Goroth ignored those remarks, “I look forward to your hard work in the future.”

The gazer and the djinn glanced at each other in a bout of mutual confusion. ‘Hard work’ was hardly how they would classify their jobs. Frankly speaking, it was nothing but downtime. True, they were limited to the dungeon’s confines, but it was a decent enough playground in and of itself. They ended up giving Goroth noncommittal responses like ‘sure’ and ‘of course’ before Lispburger returned them to the Beyond with a snap of his beetles.

However, it appeared his fellow deity had more to say before he returned to his oh-so-important duties.

“Wendy, I must say your Hero has me rather worried.”

“Whatever do you mean, blockhead? I thought you were genuinely impressed with Boxxy’s talents.”

“I am, but that creature is almost too gifted. It’s getting stronger at an amazingly rapid pace, is it not? Not even a year old and it can already stand toe-to-toe with people who have decades’ worth of combat experience. Surely, you realize how dangerous it is to leave such a thing unchecked.”

“I will admit, it’s growth is rather ridiculous, but it is not as absurd as you make it out to be. Monsters gain Levels faster than enlightened beings, that’s how it’s always been. And keep in mind this particular monster has been through more shit in that ‘less-than-a-year’ than most adventurers experience throughout their entire career.”

“Rationalize it however you want. I maintain my stance that you should put a leash on it while you can. The last thing the world needs is another Boneshaper.”

“Hah! Hahahahahahahahaha!”

Victor broke out into a loud, almost mocking fit of laughter. Goroth was, understandably, none too pleased.

“I fail to see what’s so humorous about the being that single-handedly conquered the continent of Percepeia and placed Solus in a coma.”

“Ahahahah! Ahahahaha! Ahhhahaha! Ahhh…”

The Goddess of Chaos wiped the paper out of his chalks as her joyful attitude subsided.

“You don’t– Heh! Ahem! That’s not it,” he calmed down. “I’m just not sure which one was funnier – the insinuation that Boxxy would listen to me, or the implication it’s actually selfless enough to follow in that guy’s footsteps.”

“… Selfless? What?”

“Ah, never mind. What I’m trying to say is there is zero chance that the current Hero of Chaos would succeed in continental conquest. The odds of it even attempting such a troublesome thing are one in twenty-five thousand if I’m being generous.”

“Hmm… You’re certain about this?”

“You have my word.”

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t put much value in that,” said Goroth in a low rumble. “But I suppose I will take what I can get. No matter how… questionable your practices are, I don’t believe you would endorse anything that might bring harm to the rest of us by wiping out the bulk of our followers. Even if it is Teresa’s ilk that will bear the brunt of it, given its fixation on humans.”

The God of Earth disappeared after uttering those words, leaving the God of Chaos free to return to his true shape. He sat down on the couch, conjured a box of buttered popcorn, and tuned into the Boxxy Show. He watched with a goofy grin as the creature was quivering in fear from an inert ‘death ray’ while hiding inside a fancy box. It was like a small child trying to escape reality by crawling under a blanket.

“He’s worried about this thing crushing the western continent?” he mused aloud. “That’s just ridiculous.”

Though, it would have had much better odds if that elder dragon hadn’t claimed the Horkensaft Kingdom’s province of Hell as his own.

Afterword

Another year, another book. I apologize to those who had to wait so long for the next installment, but this is what happens when I try to work on multiple things at once – none of them get done. At least, not in a timely manner. As for those of you who have only recently picked up the series, hey! Enjoy the benefits of being late to the party!

In all seriousness, I hope you enjoyed the slightly more casual adventure and the peek behind the curtain. I wanted to put a bit more of a focus on Drea this time around since I feel like I have slightly neglected her. Of course, it is getting difficult for me to balance the distribution of attention despite the relatively small core cast. If you’re reading this and you’re an aspiring novelist… I have no words of wisdom on the matter. I’m figuring things out still, myself.

To that end, I appreciate your patience while I chip away at this behemoth of a story. I consider myself as little more than a hobbyist writer that just got lucky. I don’t have schedules or deadlines, hence the random and prolonged delays between each installment. I wish I could promise you I’ll do better and be more professional about releases, but I can’t do that. I struggle to find motivation to do all the work involved as I am, ironically, spoiled by all the support I’ve received. Again, thank you for that, and thank you for sticking with me and Boxxy for so long. As usual, there will be more to come, as one thing I can promise you is that I will do everything I can to guide this wild ride to a satisfying conclusion. Stay safe until then, won’t you?

Toodles!