Chapter 115: Molten Beginnings

Chapter 115: Molten Beginnings

With all the delicacy of an avalanche, I bored into the rockface.

All around me, the mountain rumbled warily as I carved deeper into its flesh, twining the tunnel down to give myself some fifty, hundred feet of depth from the floor above—not a chance I would risk a collapse of my lovely paradise above—before emerging onto the plane I wanted the floor to be. I had been planning this thing ever since seeing how dysfunctional the Skylands were, too many concepts crammed together with no thoughts for cohesion, and my mana was bright and sharp with glee as I wove together what I'd imagined.

This would be as stark of contrast to the previous floor as I could get, a claw to the gut of anyone who thought they could merely continue down after braving my pure white sands and glistening waters. Even if the merrow could telekinetically hover their way past my floors in a way I was rather terrified of, this would be what stopped them; even the Jungle Labyrinth was heady with humidity, moisture pooling in oases and trickling down the walls, the Skylands would soon be flooded with clouds and the rumble of approaching storms, and the Hungering Reefs had all they could ever want.

The seventh floor would have none of that.

It would be as close as I would allow myself to get to the preferred habitat of the idiotic fire-drakes. Not exact, because I wouldn't let it be, but significantly more habitable than my previous floors. More adapted to the actual creatures I had, of course, mainly the scorch hounds and bounding deer. I wanted this to be an open plain intercut with furrows lacing through in an intricate spider's web.

In truth, the seventh floor would be rather similar to the Drowned Forest, with one notable difference.

Instead of watery canals, they would be fire.

A spark in the deep darkness, the choking press of smoke and soot; scattered rubies at the base of carved furrows, any pressure enough to set them off, layered around coal deposits and other flammable schemas I'd collected that would burn for as long as I let them. Great belching plumes of velvet-dark shadow with a hellish thrum of fire-red.

Not my preferred appearance, of course. But I could imagine it even now; a vast cavern with a variable landscape, stone jutting up and out to break sightlines, fire burning deep in furrows forking out like lightning. Scattered dens like foxholes throughout, pockets for foliage sturdy enough to survive this harsh environment, stalking predators with paths lit by amber flame.

For now, at least.

One day I would make it even worse.

But not now, unfortunately. I didn't, ah, really have the ability to make lava. Or, rather, I could—overloading stone with fire-attuned mana melted it down and quickly, and I'd created several pockets in preparation for this floor. They'd sat there, gurgling, impossibly hot and glowing like the sun—and then, over time, they'd cooled.

See. It took a lot of mana to make lava, and considering my dungeon was not set at the ambient temperature necessary to keep stone molten, it would just harden. And I absolutely did not have the capacity to just keep making lava constantly.

So. It would have to be fire for now. The source of this content nov(el)bi((n))

That was fine. I could wait. Eventually.

Lacking lava didn't mean I was cutting corners on any other part of the design, though. In sharp difference to, ah, every single one of my previous floors, I wasn't using limestone at all. Back when I was making the Hungering Reef, I'd gnawed my way into a new schema—basalt, a deep grey-black stone that formed strangely geometric patterns. The darkness contrasted heartily with the blue-gold paradise of the floor above, and it was already a volcanic stone; thus it worked perfectly with the dreary atmosphere I wanted, only broken by the fiery plumes of the furrows where, one day, lava would flow.

Four of them this time, just as wary as the group before. Completely knowledgeable about the fact I was a dungeon. Fantastic.

It was hard to be cavalier about any of this.

One of them was enormous, a sprawling hulk of a person with grey-green skin, horns—no, tusks—curling out of his mouth. The woman next to him was the same, though significantly less brawny, her tusks coming to a more jagged point. He had axes, she had a spear, and both looked unfortunately prepared for me. Orcs, I thought, one of those races mostly found inland—I'd never encountered them much before, but I'd heard they tasted terrible.

In contrast, the other two members were human, much shorter, and so low a Silver rank I was honestly surprised they'd gotten the raise. One with long, flowing hair with hooks woven into the end of the braids, the other's gauntleted fists studded with sparking jewels.

Stronger than the last party, bright and full with mana. Mana that I was rather interested in, considering that carving my way through an entire mountain was a rather costly process. Just so long as I could obtain it.

I'd never failed before, and I wasn't looking to start now.

The taller orc thundered forward, shirtless chest rippling with scar tissue—Nuvja's shadows pulled back to catch the gleam of his enormous axe, alerting all my creatures perhaps too dumb to notice the threat. Not the patient type. The other orc rolled her eyes and padded after him, spear-headed staff tapping on the ground as mana coiled at the top. Not too chatty, unfortunately. Determined, though.

One invading party a day. I'd hoped, with the part of me that refused to listen to anything a human thought or said, that maybe yesterday's group had been lying—that I would still have time to recover after each invasion, to keep my head and allow my creatures to spring back.

It did not look like that was the case.

Well. I hadn't raised a horde for no reason.

Go, I murmured, my mana sinking infesting teeth into the minds of my creatures on the upper floors. Quiet, insidious; nothing to alert the invaders that I was sentient, that I was attacking against them. For all they knew I was a dungeon, they didn't know more, and I was looking to keep it that way. Defend.

As one, they stirred, flashing vicious claws and burgeoning sparks of mana; these invaders were all Silver, which was concerning, but I had six complete floors filled with monsters, and I wasn't overly afeared. And, well—if there was going to be invasions every single day, I couldn't focus on them constantly, not if I wanted to get anything done. Points of awareness following them from the moment they arrived, of course, because I wasn't an idiot, but not much of my consciousness.

If they made it past the Underlake, only then would I devote my attention to them.

But I had more important things to focus on.

I turned back to the growing seventh floor, to the deep basalt caverns and the gloom soon to be filled with fire. Far above, the invaders crossed the halfway point in the Fungal Gardens, the lunar cave bears awakening from their slumber and the rock pond thrashing with silverheads, but they were distant; a distraction in face of the world I wanted to create. I could see it even now, the spiral of mana conjuring beautiful images. Fire-tongue flowers belching smoke to choke the air; scorch hounds slinking around hexagonal pillars with their ember-eyes aglow; bounding deer clattering around as blinding distractions; mottled scorpions invisible in the quiet of their hunt.

With renewed determination, I continued to dig.

I wouldn't ever love fire; but for my creatures, I could learn to appreciate it.