Chapter 96: New Companions

Chapter 96: New Companions

This son of a bitch.

Daughter of a bitch? Bastard?

The point stood. This monster.

The little shadowthief rat I'd wanted to keep my eye on for her curiosity and intelligence and cleverness had proven why sometimes I was more than okay having idiots for creations; because idiots tended to follow very simple, boring paths, the likes of which I could lay out and not worry about. Eat this plant. Avoid this predator. Consume mana.

They didn't tend to do things like this.

Namely, the shadowthief rat, oh-so-smug and proud of herself, perched in my hoard room of the fifth floor, lithe little paws holding the remaints of a moonstar flower.

My only moonstar flower.

You know. The one that had taken forty-fucking-two points of mana to create.

Becoming a dungeon had... mellowed out my emotions somewhat; not in that I felt less emotions, but more that they were spread out, softened and muted by my amorphous consciousness. That was how I was able to balance all the tasks I had to do, bouncing through activities with only pieces and fractals of my emotional attention, handling it without consuming myself.

This rat was about to make me as furious as a proper sea-drake.

Honestly? I welcomed it.

But unfortunately, the last time I'd gotten this pissed was when I'd destroyed several rooms of my Drowned Forest and brought invaders down on my head. I couldn't make that risk again, not when I'd just weathered a fifty-person invasion and most of my creatures were slumbering happily away under evolution. So. Calm thoughts. Calm thoughts.

I leveled a glare down at the little shadowthief rat.

She'd slinked and slithered her way down to my fifth floor, dodging predators and grasping vines with curls of shadow, on her hunt for treasure; and treasure she'd found. In the split second that she'd found the Skylands' hoard room, she'd seen the moonstar flower and immediately devoured it.

Ate it right up. I hadn't had a second to stop her, and even if I had, there was no creatures intelligent or fast enough in the room to grab her. The greater pigeons were just flapping around, swarming wasps and earthbreaker ants too small to make a difference, the baterwauls blind. Even the scorch hounds hadn't sensed her in time.

And of course, Seros had been sleeping. Not that he had done anything wrong.

But now I simply had to sit and watch tha beautiful, luck-attuned, potentially god-formed mana flow through her channels, brilliant and bright and supposed to be belonging to other creatures. She churred, fluffing up, paws grasping at the air—even her insipid little mind could tell that this was something big. Something important.

Her brashness, pride, and overwhelming arrogance lasted about ten seconds until I fell into her mind like a diving hunt.

Go up, I hissed, barely restraining myself from scrapping her mind to shreds with the full force of my awareness. Go up. To the second floor.

She squeaked and twitched, peering around wildly for a tunnel back up—I slammed a mental map of the quickest route up, hammering home the point that she wanted to go there, and she wanted to go there fast, and she wanted to go there now.

With a panicked little squeak, she flew like her tail was on fire.

Served her right.

I couldn't believe she ate my moonstar flower. That was supposed to be for Seros, or maybe the empress serpent, or someone who would actually appreciate it. Would actually use it.

Not a rat.

Gods. This was infuriating. At least she was listening to me now; my mental map guided her up through the twisting tunnels of my various floors, relying on her shadow-attuned powers to escape predators as she skittered up. I pushed her a bit further up, going around the twisting Underlake and into the Drowned Forest, and to the farthest back room.

I didn't want to kill her. Partially because I had made a promise not to just immediately kill my creatures once they'd evolved, and partially because there wasn't a chance I was wasting the moonstar flower, even if it hadn't gone to my original choice. She would still be using that power, and I wanted to see it bloom.

Metaphorical speaking. I wasn't sure how well luck and shadows would blend together.

But in order for that, I needed her in the care of someone I could communicate with more directly, since after her little rebellion, there wasn't a chance I was Naming her. Would I allow her to live? Yes. Would I allow her anything more than that?

Absolutely not.

I had standards.

Up and up she crawled, my points of awareness floating over her back, at least until the greater section of my attention was pulled elsewhere.

Because it was time. Something I'd waited a long, long time for was finally reaching its conclusion.

With a warbling hiss, the kobolds finally shed the glow of their evolution and opened new eyes.

My fury and rage and wrath at the shadowthief rat hadn't faded, to be very clear, but as I perched overhead my beautiful new reptiles, there was certainly a part of me that was content to forget for the moment. Not forgive. But temporarily, very short-term, brief little moment of forgetfulness.

Because they were lovely.

The kobold warriors woke up first, stretching scaly arms up and blinking at the world with wide, curious eyes. They had bloomed up from their mere four feet to nearly seven, losing the brutish hunch to their shoulders, straightening up with more confidence even in their first stumbling steps. Their horns, once short and thin, now spiraled over their head like a proper crest, their claws sharp and jagged, tail long and lashing. Their scales had darkened from pale red to a crimson-scarlet, almost blood, and with their ridged scales and hooded eyes, they looked something that could be considered intimidating.

But not the same as the last time I'd seen this evolution.

Hm. Fascinating.

I flicked a few points of awareness down to the fourth floor, where Rihsu was training—her deep maroon form slashed through the darkness, bulky and enormous, but not... as bulky as these new kobolds. More lean, but that was balanced by her height, which leaned much more towards nine feet rather than seven. She also had webbing between her claws, slight but there, and her tail was longer, edged in fins.

Proof of her loyalty to Seros, the seabound being that he was. Still remnants of her fire-drake ancestry, with her purple scales instead of a proper blue-green, but moving in the right direction.

These kobold warriors weren't that. More brutish, lumbering beasts, with igneous-rock horns and scarlet scales, not built for swimming.

Not yet, at least. The lagoon awaited.

But next to them, the kobold hunters awoke, six beautiful new creatures—instead of fumbling up to their digitigrade legs, they more immediately sprung upright, lithe and spry. They stayed smaller, perhaps five and a half feet, but they were sleek and lean; their scales had lost their ridges and instead were tightly overlapped, similar to a fish's armour, their horns all spiraling back in twisting arrays like a tree's roots, scales an almost dusky red. Their eyes, amber-gold, burned.

Hunters, not warriors. Sly, clever little things. They would do fantastically in the lagoon.

The twelve new kobolds warbled amongst each other, eyes wide and curious and excited; none of the immediate conflict I'd gotten used to, when creatures woke up bright and full of mana and ready to fight; these were packmates who were still packmates, even if their bodies had changed, and they stayed together. So they helped each other up to their claws and examined their new forms, chattering and hissing excitedly.

And there were still more to see.

Two kobolds, curled up in the back, came back to life. Several dozens points of awareness all but fell over them.

The kobold shamans.

Magic users.

They stayed small, five feet tall, losing the hunch in their shoulders but without any of the added muscle and bulk others had gotten; their scales stayed roughly the same, perhaps a touch deeper red than normal.

Watch her, the dungeon demanded, voice popping and thrashing in a way it had never had before. Still understandable, but angry. Take her with. Do not let her disobey.

Wonderful. He was being put on babysitting duty.

"Ah, o' dungeon," Nicau hedged, shuffling his weight back and forth. "Of course. It would be my honour. Um. Where am I taking her?"

The dungeon's presence leaned in, swirling around the den. Kobolds everywhere froze as just a hair of its mana swept over them. To Calarata. Find answers.

Ah.

It was time, then.

Nicau had known about it, had prepared himself for it, and still a strange feeling flooded through him. When he'd first been knocked out and sworn allegiance to the dungeon, he'd wanted nothing more than to go back, to escape this new reality and return to the comfort of his own; but then he remembered Lluc and the not so much promise but guarantee of his death if he were discovered. Calarata had closed its doors in the only way that a lawless place could; his anonymity was no longer something he could rely on.

So going back was dangerous.

But at the same time, he wanted it.

Romei's voice was quiet now, months since he'd last heard her, but still he knew what she would say.

Do you want to be worth something?

He was, now. Maybe not on the level of the Dread Crew, the Dread Pirate, or even some random adventurer from the lowest open-air tavern—but something. He was better now.

"I will," he said, and was almost surprised to find he meant it. He would return to Calarata, he would find answers, and he would bring back more creatures for the dungeon to recreate.

And he. Ah.

Would bring this rat with him, apparently.

Good, the dungeon said, low and rumbling. Some of its anger seemed to have faded by his immediate agreement, which was great, because Nicau had watched it create and control monsters and he liked having his limbs firmly attached to each other. Now.

Fantastic. No time to prepare.

Mostly.

"Ah," Nicau offered, very hesitantly. "I might worry I would stand out, with my, ah. State of dress."

Was that polite? Probably. The dungeon made a vague, growling sound that echoed with frustration, and their shared connection deepened; mana thrummed between, curling, and his awareness shifted back to something less tangible.

Odd... memories? Impressions? Recreations? Floated through his mind, various bits and pieces of clothing presumably taken from the souls of the humans the dungeon had killed—and gods, wasn't that a comforting thought—followed by a quiet, sort of question mark. Which would he prefer?

Well.

His kneejerk reaction was just a simple tunic and trousers, maybe new boots, something to help him blend in to the other desperados of Calarata. But then he paused.

Nicau was going to get answers and buy new creatures. People didn't look twice at desperados, to be fair, but they also didn't help them; didn't offer information or assistance. Dressing like one wouldn't mean he would get anything like what he needed.

And he didn't think there was a limit to what the dungeon could create.

He poked through the shared memories, eyes closed and fingers twitching; he shuffled past all those of armours and defenses, which would make him look like he was spoiling for a fight or begging for a back alley brawl, neither of which he was particularly interested in. Not any foreign clothing either, considering he wanted to be a commodity but not one that people would ask questions about—he flashed through a few more extravagant get-ups, extended coats, tunic and shawls and even one suit-of-light he was positive he would've remembered if he had seen the invader wearing this—before he stumbled across something.

A deep, navy blue, likely dyed with shells or something else from the sea, with a leather-crisp surcoat draped over grey-pale trousers and undershirt. The man who had been wearing it had something like wind-attuned mana, and the surcoat flared dramatically behind him as he bounded through the second floor, half like a coat and half like a cape. High leather boots, belts, studded in pockets.

That.

He rather hesitantly pushed the thought back at the dungeon—was it too much? Too expensive? Not built for someone like him?

The dungeon barely seemed to react. Just condensed its mana before him and started weaving the outfit into existence—leather, first brown then layered in brilliant shades of blue, silver buttons with intricate patterns. The dungeon paused, mana shivering, and changed them away from an elk rearing to instead a dragon, curled around itself, even expanding the buttons size to make the image fit. Fair enough. The boots, heavy and high-rising, a studded belt, trousers and undershirt.

After only a few minutes, they flumped onto his moss bed.

Nicau reached forward, brushing his fingers over the outfit; the leather was stiff, unbroken in, the cotton beneath unstained and unbent; in almost a haze mind he changed into it, dumping his bloodstained things in a corner.

A bit large for him, spilling over his shoulders and the boots clunking as he shifted his heels around, but nicer than anything he had ever owned before. Proper.

Almost rich.

He ran his fingers over the crisp leather, dipped his fingers in large pockets, notched the belt a few strands tighter. The surcoat flared around his calves, boots sinking into the moss of his little room.

Over his moss bed, the dungeon's mana condensed with a ripple of effort; several small piles of silver and gold coins thumped onto the green, carved with Leóro's design—Nicau didn't remember the specific word for it, since most everyone just referred to them as golds, silvers, and coppers. No Calaratan currency; they just used Leóro's. Easier.

A moment of pause, and then a few fingernail-sized diamonds landed next to them.

It was more wealth than Nicau had ever seen in one place. And the dungeon had just created it for him.

"Thank you, o' dungeon," he said, and didn't have to fake the sincerity in his voice. "I will bring you answers and creatures."

There was a pleased little rumble in the back of his mind and their connection faded, the dungeon pulling away to focus on other tasks; Nicau kept his head bowed and hands clasped for a second longer, just in case it was still focusing on him.

Then he reached out, and with a glee that spoke to the piracy in him, slipped all the coins and jewels into his pockets.

Gods, he was begging to be robbed, and he still couldn't wipe the grin from his face.

Richer in dress and money than he had ever been, about to go betray his fellow humans for the sake of a rock in the mountain, and this was still one of the better days of his life.

Chieftess could handle the kobolds for now. He'd be back later.

"Okay," he said, more to fill the silence, and then looked to the rat. It—she, he remembered—was just staring at him, tail curling and paws tucked to her chest. Intelligence in her eyes, though not some overwhelming amount, and the dungeon's lingering presence over her spoke to something special about her. Maybe not something positive, admittedly, but something.

"Are you ready?" He asked, and then immediately felt foolish. It wasn't like she could understand.

But still she squeaked, padding over his hand; he extended his arm and she scampered right up it, tail curling around his shoulder as she perched next ot his neck, one hand in his hair for balance. Her fur was very soft.

Nicau wanted to laugh, more than a little. How could he have ever pictured this when he'd caught that pigeon and brought it to the dungeon for even the briefest chance of life?

Pigeon-catcher he'd been. Now he wore the best clothing he'd ever had before, pockets stuffed with gold and jewels, and a shadowthief rat sat on his shoulder.

Maybe it wasn't victory. Not yet.

But as he prepared to venture back to Calarata, Nicau felt closer to that than anything else.