Chapter 30: Those Above

Chapter 30: Those Above

It took nearly two days of waiting to fully refill my mana, now that my creatures on the first floor had been replenished and they could safely decimate the insect population that had been enjoying its vacation off and supplement my normal mana stream with their own small sparks. Plenty of other creatures had filtered their way in, mostly stone-backed toads and burrowing rats common in the area—and most infuriatingly, also the bat with its shrill shrieks, still too large for my cave spiders to wrangle and too blind for my luminous constrictors to distract. Fantastic. I hated it.Visit no(v)eLb(i)n.com for the best novel reading experience

But it was two days of sitting and watching my floors react to their new strength, budding though it was; the fungal gardens were the most secure, of course. Not enough time nor energy for a proper expansion so my changes had been more minor, and already my lovely beasts were thriving in it. The burrowing rats had safely located around a quarter of the jewels I'd set out for them and tucked them away in their dens, already on the hunt for more.

And in a beautiful twist of fate, it had created two subgroups of rats; those that hunted, and those that stole. A few of the more clever rats had figured that there was no need to brave the dangerous outside world full of snakes and bears when the jewels were just sitting there contentedly in their brethren's dens. A quick pop inside and now they could absorb sparks of mana from the jewel as it grew fat in my presence.

So now rats had to worry about finding food, finding jewels, protecting jewels, protecting their nests, and staying alive on top of it all.

The ironback toad would still be needed to defend those on the second floor, but the rats above were quickly developing a backbone. I couldn't have been more proud.

Down on the third, the greater crab had finally found a nest, safely sequestered away from all the various silverhead and silvertooths schools I'd been recreating whenever I had the spare mana—her missing claw had almost convinced some of the larger schools that she was an easy target.

Hard to believe that when she was still ten times their size, but they managed.

She was still digesting the remains of her last attackers as she carefully released the eggs from her undersides, little orange-gold spheres drifting down to rest in a hole she'd dug in the sand. From what I'd picked apart from her schema, she'd sit and guard them for the handful of weeks it would take for them to grow—or sooner, as I had a pretty good guess my ambient mana vastly decreased incubation time—and then they would be independent from their first moment out of the egg. Very helpful.

But now, with my mana counter settling up in the high sixties, I finally returned to my second floor.

Cracks in the walls from the removal of my ambient mana, vastly diminished creature count, a lingering presence of destruction. A right mess, really. I'd already shored up the walls the second the attack had finished but I fluttered around them again, growing limestone to fill in the gaps, adding veins of iron right beneath the surface as some sort of way to strengthen it. Strong as I was, I doubted I could save my creatures from a total collapse if it happened. Terrifying thought, really.

I flew through the rest of my floor, inspecting the hordes left; the stone-backed toad and burrowing rat populations were fine; more than fine, really, given as they'd lost some of their predators in the luminous constrictors who had gone below and hadn't managed to come back out. I'd change that soon enough. The flora was still thriving, if a little shaken by the momentary lack of ambient mana, with the notable... exception of...

What?

I slapped near ten points of awareness against the tree just to confirm. Yes, it was dead. Very dead, rather, its deep scarlet bark bare and hundreds of bone-white leaves littering the ground. The vampiric mangrove, first brought back after who knew how many centuries extinct, and I'd killed it.

Not great.

My other points of awareness flitted through the floor and found more; maybe a dozen dead and more weak, leaves wilting and thorns dormant beneath their bark. Fury surged through me—had some bastard of a beetle perfectly built to kill my precious extinct species managed to enter my halls when I was otherwise distracted, or a disease I didn't know? Gods. I'd murder every offender in an instant.

I tore into the closest dead tree, ripping through its cells. Its strangely dehydrated cells, really, shriveled and worn–

Almost like what had killed my fish down below.

Ah.

Mangroves were capable of growing and thriving in briny water. But, ah, more so mangroves that had actually been exposed to it. I had given mine only freshwater and those within my halls were built to evolve; they'd slowly started to lose their ability to handle it.

Fantastic. I was fucking myself without even realizing.

That sped up my plans to introduce some brackish quality to the waters, though; these trees would have some level of resistance due to surviving the first batch, and hopefully I could get them properly content with salt by the time they started laying their seeds en masse. My plans for a much-increased kobold population wouldn't do if the trees they needed for their tools were too few to help them.

Some mercy, though. I pushed healing mana to those still fighting off the efforts of the saltwater, freshening their leaves and pushing water to cycle back through their trunks; they shifted in an intangible breeze in what I could almost take as thanks. Truly, I couldn't wait for their evolution. It would be beyond belief.

But for now, I had to take care of the dead trees; while it would be nice to give the kobolds an easy source of wood, I didn't want to make it too easy. I swept my mana through the clouds of white leaves at their base, sweeping them into the canal to decompose into little chunks to feed the algae.

The white leaves.

The very white, very pale leaves that covered the many spiking branches of the mangrove.

The point of awareness I had aimed at the webweavers in their little corner of the second floor paused.

For the moment, I'd had them start to shape their web over a random stalactite in the corner for a lack of anywhere better to put them; already they'd swamped the limestone in great bunches of pure white, twitching and writhing with bugs as their indistinguishable white bodies clambered all over it. But there was only so much they could do in a corner.

It wouldn't be a perfect disguise, of course. There was only so much that webs could look like leaves.

But if invaders had their attention elsewhere—say, on many attacking beasts—then perhaps a dead mangrove posturing as alive with its scarlet bark and white leaves would go unnoticed. Just long enough for them to get close.

In the end, I had ten more kobolds; five were still fire-drake descendants, because of course, but I had a few new faces to explore. They all blinked, glancing at each other and running dull claws over their bodies with quiet awe.

A whole new world they were trapped in, full of dangers and mystery, but they were kobolds. They were rather used to being the smallest man.

With a tug of my mana, the other two kobolds emerged around the corner to see their new siblings; the female with the branching horns who had always been more focused on discovering tools was the first to step forward, churring and chittering in the primitive, halfway draconic language they used. The male who had come up with the rat idea stayed to the side but he added a few words here and there as the leader kobold explained what was going on. A right little tribe they were building.

Within minutes, the leader—she was clearly already the chieftess, it wasn't a question—started leading the others back to their original den, the one I'd dug out for them. I paused.

I pushed a guiding thought into her mind. She cocked her head to the side but accepted it without question, leading them a different route—to the very last room and the den that Seros had once held.

He barely left the third floor anymore, and slept in my core room. He'd be fine without it.

I widened it to fit their new numbers, carving facsimile beds from stone with layered algae and tugging a tunnel from the river to drip steadily down the wall for water. A little paradise, if they could defend it.

Depending on the horned serpent's competitive streak and whether one of the lunar cave bears would be banished to the second floor, that was a monumental if.

The first kobold stayed silent in my core room, Seros curled around her, still evolving. I doubted she'd end up in the tribe, too much of a lone wolf, but she'd probably still defend them. Her warrior instincts would need tests.

I couldn't wait to see her in action.

With my creatures handled, I darted back to the third floor; no time like the present, even with my measly five points left, to start that salt plan. I couldn't just snap my metaphorical fingers and make everything change to partial saltwater, unfortunately. My powers were awe-inspiring and majestic and incredible, but still rather limited.

What I could do, however, was find a small, most isolated corner of the floor and create a block of salt. A lumpy, misshapen chunk of pale white with a current running overhead; within seconds I could see the water tugging fine little grains off its surface and dispersing them to the wider world. Excellent.

I'd keep a close eye on it for salt levels, but worse came to worse I could force all the salt back outside the ocean entrance and try again. I only needed a small amount of brackish water.

Hopefully I could keep it low enough that my terrestrial creatures could still drink it, but if they couldn't, I could just create little oases off the original river. It'd be fine.

Around the second floor, my creatures bustled around, adjusting to their new life and the circumstances with it—webweavers spun, kobolds planned, the horned serpent hunted. All a new wonder of life in my newly honed floor. Honestly a work of art. Sublime genius, if I did say so myself.

Hmm. Art was normally named, wasn't it?

I hadn't heard of dungeons naming their floors, but I had also never interacted with many dungeons before. Hells, I'd never so much as poked my snout in one before Calarata. But if I could Name my creatures, surely I could give a title to my floors?

I hoped it didn't absorb more of my mana.

My second floor glittered before me, greater than any silver or jewels; the water, lapping quietly at the stone walls; the trees, both those alive and those clustering with spiders; the kobold tribe, those setting up the cave and those out hunting. All working in a beautiful tandem.

It came down to water, and it came down to the vampiric mangroves. The defining features, I felt; when the time came, I knew the kobolds would eventually migrate down into further levels, as while this space wasn't exactly cramped they would still be increasing at a very steady clip. Mangrove canals was far too boring,

Blood, maybe? Bloodwater canals? Or bitter?

I thought of Lady Luthia, the Bronze-ranked adventurer who had so easily bested my cave bear falling to the water, of the jeweled jumper leaping from tree to tree to strike from above. All of their prey fell down. Most of it was dragged to the canals.

The Drowned Forest.

Mana burst out of me.

I felt the name settle in—not a Name, not like Seros, but a true title, rooting deep into the stone and laying claim to those within. The Drowned Forest, hideaway of murderous trees and fatal waters, land of death.

And then I felt a message scrawl across my core.

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

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

What.