Chapter 101: Avoidance

Chapter 101: Avoidance

One of my eldest kobolds had made his way down to the Skylands.

I perched overhead, a couple points of awareness swiveling in; he had been a conundrum, never quite as strong as Rihsu, never quite as leaderly as Chieftess, but powerful in his own right. But then he had abandoned his tribe and struck off on his own, which. Was certainly a choice? He hadn't even evolved yet.

But down he had gone, and I could respect that. Going solo meant he could move faster, beating the other kobolds who were still making their way through the tunnels of the Jungle Labyrinth—which was interesting for other reasons, considering in a few hours they would be crossing paths with Rihsu, who was coming up to meet them—and so was well on his way down.

I didn't think he'd be jumping down another floor, though. He was watching the scorch hound in front of him with a determination I'd never seen in him before.

What was it with my kobolds and finding odd, wild missions to swear themselves toward?

He was crouched before the scorch hound, one clawed hand extended, warbling something soft and crooned. The scorch hound was an intelligent beast, for all it—she, I noted—was an unevolved mammal, and she watched him with wary eyes as he tried to cajole her closer. He wasn't even using food, the fool.

She was a hungry thing, as with all of her pack. The Skylands weren't built for her; while the size was right, and her long-legged gait carried her far and fast over the interconnected islands, there wasn't enough prey for her size.

That unfortunately familiar prickle of guilt settled in my core. I'd put her and her pack there because I'd wanted to use the schema, even knowing that I was going to switch the Skylands to a more storm-based floor, but it wasn't built for her. Wasn't set up so that she could hunt and thrive.

But did I want to focus on helping her now, or just rush towards starting the fire-themed seventh floor?

Being a dungeon core carried its own share of problems.

I turned away from them for now, some vague reminder in the back of my mind to help them later, and turned back to what was more immediately interesting; the sixth floor.

The sixth floor that was already filling up with a beautiful cast of characters, actually. Now that I had finished filling in the third room with coral, every new bit of mana I had to spare went towards creating prismatic dartfish; small, slender little things that changed colour in a riveting, rippling wave. Blue-orange-green-maroon-azure, spiraling throughout—with the plain cream-white of the coral below, I'd been needing some colour, and they were absolutely delivering. Mesmerizing in all the best ways. Not dangerous, really, given they were about a foot long and cowards at heart, but beautiful. I'd give them that.

Certainly some of the prettier elements of my new floor. I mentally nudged one of the larger schools into more of a purple-violet-indigo effect and set them loose.

They weren't the last, though. With the coral in place, cream-white, I'd also thrown up a few curtains of bloodline kelp and green algae—not a lot, mind, because it was already so present on my others floors and I didn't want this to become a boring copy of what had come before, but enough to serve as food for those that couldn't nibble at the coral or dartfish. I'd provide some help for those that made the insipid little choice to stay vegetarians, the fools.

Other creatures poured down, summoned by my mana's siren call—Seros had, with great delicacy and posturing, successfully moved my core down to the sixth floor, into a hollow I'd carved right over the den I'd made for the fledgling sea serpent. It hurt, in a weary sort of way, to leave my hoard room in the Skylands behind—I'd worked for those artefacts, dammit—but I knew it had to be done. My coral needed to be fed with mana, and my dungeon functioned best when my core was on the lowest floor.

And. Well. I was still keeping a very, very close eye over my hoard room, with the silver-covered walls awash in draconic runes to a god that no longer watched over me, to stolen—won—swords and rings and staffs, to the delicate little patch of moonstar flowers that had grown two more buds, though they weren't yet blooming. It was still my love and my beauty, but I had to descend deeper.

Eventually, I'd appoint a proper guardian for it. Someone who wouldn't move down when they evolved, so hopefully someone I could get the deity who became the Patron of said floor to appreciate them. That was why I didn't make hoard rooms on every floor. It was actively the worst to say goodbye.

I soothed that old draconic fury by peering back to my sixth floor.

Of course the sea serpent was among the most ferocious of the new territory—a proper beast in every sense of the word, coiling through the forest-reef of the third floor. He was still a fledgling, still young, but already he was a monster. No murky water to hide in so he swam deep and low, twining around the base of the great pillars of coral with his burnished silver frills extended and jaws wide. Near thirty feet long, sea-green scales catching every beam of quartz-light, golden eyes like lanterns in the deep water.

Gods. What a glorious beast. I couldn't wait until he shed the title of fledgling.

Other interesting characters as well; a triggerfish who was doing his damnedest to make the entire second room his territory and failing miserably; a trio of roughwater sharks, swollen fat and strong with mana; a mated pair of greater crabs scuttling through the lagoon in search of a nest for eggs; a greater pigeon with wings spread wide and scarlet over her talons taking roost in a cloudsire palm. All wonderful little monsters.

Including one lichenridge turtle from the Drowned Forest. She was an old thing, one of the originals from when I'd made the trap way back when—but she'd lived a stationary life on those pillars I'd made for her. It was odd to see her moving, honestly, but she'd followed my siren's call and plodded her way through sandy canals and the murk of the Underlake to go to this deeper land.

And no sooner had she emerged onto the floor, eyes blown wide in the face of her new home, before golden letters flitted their way across my awareness.

I, who had definitely not been awaiting this message with gleeful anticipation, sank into my core to read it.

Your creature, a Lichenridge Turtle, is undergoing evolution!

Please select your desired path.

Reefback Turtle (Rare): Far above mere algae and moss, this creature welcomes all to root over their great shell. Swimming close to the sunlight, they house an army of loyal defenders as they support an ecosystem, creating new and fascinating strands of life.

Snapjaw Turtle (Uncommon): From a beak of stone comes a beak of iron. There is little alive that can escape their feared bite, and most lose their tenuous hold on life if they attempt it. Slow and ponderous, they lurk in murky waters and claim all who stray too low.

Discus Turtle (Uncommon): Only defense no longer, this creature grows jagged scales over their shell and large flippers to propel it forward—one strike of their blade-esque back incapacitates if it doesn't kill, and they are free to eat at their leisure.

Oho. Fascinating. This chapter is updated by nov(e)(l)biin.com

Interestingly, though they weren't outright labeled as it, I saw that only two of her proffered evolutions seemed in the sea turtle family—the reefback and discus. The snapjaw seemed more in line with her previous hunting strategy, though I absolutely adored the concept of such a ferocious bite.

And reefback; it paired well with the lichen already growing over her back, but I wondered how well that would pair with the evolution. Coral, for all it looked like a plant, was a living thing, and my particular brand of it had a soul I hadn't seen before. Would it be a mutualistic or parasitic relationship? And how did that play into creating new strands of life?

The discus turtle—I had a vague recollection that was a... game for humans, involving throwing a sharpened circle for some inane reason—would be a fascinating beast to watch on my sixth floor. There was plenty of room and depth to build up speed, and most of my aquatic creatures, with the exception of Seros, kraits, and the sea serpent, tended to be on the slower side.

Hm. I loved all the options, but choosing was always something that came with a level of annoyance. There was no way to guarantee that future lichenridge turtles would evolve with these same options, so there always lurked the threat that I'd never seen them again. Which. Unpleasant thought. What if I wanted all of them, thank you very much?

One of my points of awareness twitched.

There came a soft, whispered little hiss. A flicker of movement.

A roughwater shark, some poor bastard who'd had the misfortune of swimming near Mayalle's whirlpool, caught a harpoon through the skull.

She fought like she had something to prove.

Which was something I could get behind.

But still she listened to me, pulling away from the green-scaled merrow; her gaze landed on the water mage who had led the charge, tail thrashing, and the little fool had all of a second to understand she was the new target before the sarco charged.

That merrow with the coin-gold magic slunk forward, seemingly convinced his stealth was simply so great I hadn't noticed him, abandoning the rest of his team—maybe they hadn't been as close as I'd thought—and broke free from the kelp, darting through the rest of the floor with as much haste as he could get from his sea-foam green tail. A few greater crabs snapped at him, armourback sturgeons watching warily, but the majority of the action was still back in the bloodline kelp and his path was relatively clear. I was also helping with that.

Three merrows left, two—one of the warriors got stabbed with her own trident as a mimic jellyfish's stinging tendrils caused her to fumble, ouch—but he swam onward without hesitation. Up through the winding path until he arrived at the end of the Underlake, to the water-dark den at the top where the sarco rested.

Where the tunnel to a deeper floor sat.

Whatever attunement he had was clearly something guiding, because without hesitation he swam upward, breaching the surface of the water with a whistling gasp—his eyes, white-ringed and flashing, arrowed onto the tunnel.

I got the steadfast enjoyment of watching him visibly swallow.

What, did he think I limited myself to only aquatic floors? I was hardly so one-dimensional.

But I gave him credit; he swam forward, bracing his forearms on the stone, and hauled himself up.

And up.

His tail lashed at the air, water droplets scattered like falling stars, as he pulled himself out of the Underlake. But instead of landing on the stone in an ungainly pile of limbs not made for terrestrial movement, he instead climbed into the air and started swimming.

Um. Was that.

Could all merrow do that?

The fuck?

It was an inelegant, uncoordinated mess of movement; mana so thick and bright it actively buzzed floated around him, all of his concentration clearly poured into the technique, but that beautiful dry environment I'd shaped meant nothing as he levitated above it. I already knew merrow could breathe air so that didn't surprise me, but everything else certainly did.

You know, I'd really thought my merrow problems were over with the Jungle Labyrinth. Add one non-aquatic floor and stump all merfolk from ever making their way down. In much the same way that sufficiently-powerful adventurers could use mana to augment their breathing and thus could go through my Underlake without drowning, it looked like I wouldn't be able to so easily avoid my problems.

But I wanted to.

This was beyond infuriating.

Points of awareness by the hundreds swarmed over him, analyzing the technique as best I could—it looked like he simply diffused his own mana, filling the air with as much of it as he could summon, and then used that to support him. Extremely high cost and difficult to master, but he didn't need to master it to move. Even the basics were enough.

The godsdamn bastard. Who did he think he was?

It made sense I hadn't seen it before, though. These were the first Silver-ranked merrow I'd seen, and this absolutely wasn't on the level of Bronze. Maybe someone ranked Gold could do it as easily as adventurers could hold their breath, though I doubted it ever wouldn't be a draining tactic. But still he floated in the air, fists clenched and rippling with coin-gold mana, and with a slow flick of his tail, he started to drift forward.

Just a shame that all of his attention was dedicated to levitation, because my Jungle Labyrinth was not so forgiving.

He made it several hundred feet, the pressing darkness seemingly unaffecting him—they were used to dark waters, that made sense—before he reached a patch that was heavily overgrown. Thornwhip algae coated the walls, shivering, and sensed prey.

And for all he could use his mana to levitate himself, he couldn't switch from that to defend himself fast enough.

An arm lashed around his back, ridged blades tearing at his scales; he made an odd, warbling bark of surprise, mana spilling from his lips, and lost his focus. He fell to the ground, razorleaf lichen shredding his tail, and his hoarse shout caught even the shardunner spiders' attention.

Didn't matter much as the thornwhip algae enveloped him before they could even begin to get off their iron-shaped webs.

The algae was a vicious, hungry thing, choking the life out of him with its jagged whips; he fought back with great spiraling blasts of mana, scorching the green with something like the sun's radiance, but for every arm he rotted away there were dozens to take its place. More and more blood spilled, blooming over the tunnel, and I perched overhead with grim satisfaction as he slumped more and more until he stopped moving entirely.

Fantastic.

Terrifying, because I'd thought he never would have made it this far, but he'd still been stopped.

A point to think of, though. I'd been blindsided when adventurers had used mana to hold their breath and traverse through my Underlake; I had, rather naïvely, thought that the water would stop them altogether. Such cheap tricks wouldn't keep proficient adventurers out, and neither would terrestrial floors keep merrow out.

But frankly, if they were that limited in their movement, I still wasn't too scared of them.

I dissolved his corpse into motes of brilliant gold, consuming; oh, it had been a sunlight-attunement to his mana? I'd never seen that before, but he used it for sight and warmth. Useful in an aquatic setting, it seemed.

The other six merrow were dead as well, though they'd taken down dozens of my creatures with them. They'd tried to flee right at the end, understanding they were a touch out of their depth, but Mayalle's lovely whirlpool had rather removed that option. Glorious thing, that.

Another successful invasion. Wonderful. More mana for me, plenty to create some silver kraits for the sixth floor and more prismatic dartfish, and I had once more proven the might of my floors.

And I still had to pick that snapping turtle evolution.

All in all, I was rather pleased with today.