Chapter 8: Ill Tidings

Chapter 8: Ill Tidings

Calarata was a city of thieves and liars, and if you asked anyone, Albo was its champion.

More specifically, if you asked Albo. He was still struggling to have the anyone part work out in his favour.

He slammed his mug down, ale sloshing over the rim; four pints in and his cheeks burned like a solar newt's tail. Two weeks on the sea coming back to this—gods, he'd missed Calarata and its endless freedom. Pretending to be some high-n'-mighty merchant making port in the Kingdom's taverns just wasn't the same.

No place else could he toss back mugs and boast about selling a pack of hoarfrost wolves or the horns of a storm-bringer kobold to dozens of adoring fans—made easier by the fact there was no government to point out that they were all lies.

Well. One government, specifically of the one-man sort, but it wasn't like the Dread Pirate had any reasons to look at him. Far too busy demanding taxes and tithes from ships with a bit more gold where their mouths were.

The man across from him, equally foul-tongued and ruddy-cheeked, gestured at the bay with a sloshing mug—the tavern had an open-water wall, letting the merrow and sirens drink their fill alongside the terrestrial races. His clothes were plain but not shabby, manner quiet but not timid; a rather perfect boast partner.

"Then I beat the shit out of him," Albo drawled, rapping his four fingers on the bar table. "Steppin' on my ship without permission, he right deserved it. Bastard gave me all the gold he was carrying and double more when I carried his sorry ass back to port. I had ol' Oña toss him overboard. Ain't that right, Velesso?"

Oña rolled her eyes, downing another mug next to him—crewmates together, neither particularly friendly but both rather fond of alcohol. Velesso, though– the merrow rumbled unhappily from his place in the bay, finned hands splayed over the floor of the tavern's open side. Bastard had no reason to complain, not with his gills getting him drunk twice as fast. Especially with Calarata's hideous ale prices. His voice bubbled and danced with boredom. "You did make me take care of someone when I was on guard duty."

"See!" Albo slapped the table. "Got a fat payload off that pirating stowaway without a drop of blood. Although I could've killed him, no problem. Been a fighter for even longer than a sailor. Tell him!"

Him and the merrow were business friends at most, the underwater city of Arroyo situated just outside Calarata's cove and similarly uninterested in Leóro's rule; by the flat look in his white-ringed eyes, Albo could tell he was getting knocked down to business acquaintance. So be it. The merrow relied on them for legal trade.

"He's a fantastic fighter," Velesso droned, resting his finned elbows on the floor and carelessly knocking aside an empty mug to splash into the bay. "Good enough to fight pitch-sharks, even."

His drinking partner did raise an eyebrow at that, leaning in. Even Oña glanced over.

You bastard.

"Of course I've fought 'em," he said, leaning forward with as much swagger as he could while sitting down. "No pirate worth his salt hasn't fought with those gods-cursed devils. I took this knife here–" he fumbled, dragging his old coral blade out of its sheath "–and split one from its second maw down to its tail. Ever heard of anythin' like that, ho?"

"Can't say I've even heard of pitch-sharks."

Albo raised an eyebrow. “Really? You’re in Calarata, which means you’re either a pirate none-too-fond of Leóro’s trading laws, or an adventurer none-too-fond of Leóro’s adventuring laws. Either way, you’ve heard of them.”

The man snorted, raising an offhand in surrender even as he drained another half a mug. "You got me. Adventurer. But besides, what's to say you could take one down?"

He narrowed his eyes. Bastard wasn’t believing it—which, fair, considering it was a lie—but that just wouldn’t stand. He was Albo of the Diving Darling, greatest ship in Calarata—another lie—and he certainly wouldn’t have this two-bit piece of shit call him out on it. "Now, I know I didn't just–"

"Excuse me?"

Both of them glanced over.

A rail-thin boy, lanky and skittish with malnourishment, padded closer with hands wringing. He looked like a stiff seawind would knock him over. "Apologies," he muttered, peering at the dozens of other bar patrons. "But are you sailors on the famed Diving Darling?"

Albo could have kissed him.

"No need to flatter me, boy," he pronounced, leaning in like he was right embarrassed by the praise. Oña set her mug down but didn't interrupt. "You've come to the correct man. Who're you?"

His drinking partner also settled forward, eyes bright. Hook, line, and fucking sinker with that one.

"Nicau," he said, hands still wringing. "And I wanted to ask if you know about what lives in the mountain." He glanced to the side again like he feared someone would pop their ugly head out from under a bar table and catch him. "My... friend went inside to collect treasure and hasn't come out."

Albo felt gold reflect in his eyes.

"It just so happens that I'm in the midst of two trade jobs," he said, pushing up from his chair. "And I'd be more than willing to help you reclaim your friend. Treasure, was it?"

The boy nodded.

"Now, I'll need the details if I'm going to help you. All of 'em, really..."

His drinking partner, interest fully peaked, stood to match him—Oña mirrored him. Both gold-hungry and plumped fat with ale, alongside the little streetboy starting to lead them out of the tavern, all timid and meek. No better stepping stones to clamber his way up to power.

It was fate, really. Things were all going Albo's way.

-

The great fat bear lumbered into my cavern, paws like boulders as they stomped and squished all my mushrooms without care—cave spiders chittered and spat with rage but did nothing, skittering higher into their ceiling safety.

And Seros–

He padded back to my island as if half asleep, a hazy glow building under his scales; he slipped through the water and curled around my pillar, eyes closing and tail resting over his muzzle. Mana raced through his pathways.

A truly glorious message popped up in my core.

Your creature, an Underground Monitor, is undergoing evolution!

Please select your desired path.

Frilled Lizard (Uncommon): Deadly and mesmerizing, this creature grows wide, multicoloured frills surrounding its neck. When flared, it hypnotizes any opponents, freezing them in place long enough to bite with its paralytic venom. While it doesn't have the immense bulk of its previous forms, its speed and venom lethality make it clear it's a predator.

Seabound Monitor (Uncommon): Born deep in caves, nevertheless it has learned of the seas and wishes to follow. Gaining gills alongside its lungs, its finned claws and limbs allow for speed in both aquatic and terrestrial environments. What it lacks in bulk or venom it makes up for in mobility, highly dexterous and able to wind its way through even the smallest of cracks.

Lesser Crocodile (Uncommon): The great beasts of shallow waters, this reptile hasn't reached the upper echelons but even its lesser form is one to be feared. Trading its venom for overwhelming bulk and power, it disguises itself as it lurks on the surface, waiting for unsuspecting prey to be dragged to the depths by its immense jaws.

Every creature in my cave felt the pleased thrum of my mana.

Finally. I'd force-engineered the evolution of my mushrooms and while the lacecap was nice, there was truly nothing as satisfying as watching my friend gather strength until he could evolve. Even mid-evolution, his mana flooded through our connection, drunk with pride.

The problem was picking his path.

He'd won the fight with his venom and frilled lizard played most to those strengths, giving him two ways to stun prey—but the lesser crocodile meant he could fight head-to-head with those same opponents. Though I'd mostly spent my time in the high seas, I remembered proper crocodiles from my trips ashores, from the ironbacks to the lightning-toothed. The frilled lizard had abilities rather similar to a siren's song, though more centered on sight.

But again my attention drifted to the second option.

A crocodile was aquatic but they still had lungs, sticking to shallow waters—while frills could help with swimming I doubted that was what they were for.

And at my heart, I was still a sea-drake. I loved the sea and hoped my creatures did as well.

Gills and hydrokinesis would play fantastically together, either way. I waited another second for any rogue thoughts to give opinions before selecting the seabound monitor.

Seros glowed, his edges losing definition in a hazy spiral of mana—he rumbled and curled tighter around my pillar. I cocooned him in a protective seal, seeding more silverheads in the pond as a final line of defense.

Or...

I shifted my attention back to the bear, idly dismissing the rest of my creatures back to their dens for healing. Its presence loomed large over the rest of the cavern, even while dead. I devoured it.

Juvenile Lunar Cave Bear (Rare)

This nocturnal creature hides in caves to avoid the burn of the sun, only emerging at night to eat. They harness scraps of shadow mana to camouflage themselves as they hunt. Though they grow slowly, a limit hasn’t yet been found.

Juvenile. Huh. I supposed categorizing them as separate schemas made sense—I certainly wouldn't count a hatchling sea-drake the same as an adult, while cave spiders came roughly with the same level of development. Thoughts for later.

Another mana user, but one seemingly less adept than the stone-backed toads; and, most worryingly, how they used the mana for defense. I had been quite comfortable thinking that the bear was one of the apex predators in the caverns.

If even it needed to hide, well. It was a good thing Seros was evolving.

I peered back at my core—nine points of mana. Enough to experiment.

Creating a mammal was far different from the others I'd made: fur was a uniquely strange thing to weave from mana, thick and stringy like seaweed, and its heart pumped warmth alongside blood. I swiveled more points of awareness in and shifted the bulk of the creation to be stationed to the left of my core, hidden in the twisting pillars and dens. Those entering my dungeon would have to search to find the current greatest threat.

Three mana disappeared from my grasp. I glared at the bear that wasn't even halfway done.

A full seven later, nearly third of my total limit, and a lunar cave bear shook itself awake. It yawned, ivory fangs glinting in the algae's bioluminescence. Smaller than the one that had invaded my cavern, though still enormous, it rumbled curiously before awkwardly grabbing the closest mushroom and plopping down to eat.

Underwhelming. Our connection was stronger than most of my other creatures, vague thoughts and ambitions filtering through; although ambitions was too strong a word. Most of the bear's thoughts revolved around food and its—his—greatest goals appeared to be obtaining more.

I glared. Truly a magnificent defender. He stuffed a full whitecap into his mouth.

But at least that was something new and excellent for my dungeon—and although my first floor felt enormous compared to what it had been, the size of the bear proved I would need to expand, and soon. My mind spun with new ideas.

Up until I noticed a gleam of light from the cove entrance, warm and flickering; one I'd seen before, in a human torch. The rumble of footsteps. The quiet pant of breath.

Adventurers.