Chapter 138: Symbol of Worship

Chapter 138: Symbol of Worship

In the kelp, Seros was a hurricane.

He dove through the center, tail lashing and water lurching to his call, hurling him further and further down into the forest. He snarled, bubbles exploding between his fangs, and clawed down. A nightmare incarnate, the first of the Named, hunter of those who thought themselves above

If only he could reach.

Weakness was not his to claim but these waters didn't obey him like they were supposed to, hesitant and wavering and dragging mana from his channels like weights. The merrow seemed to move like it was effortless, spiraling downward, never quite fast enough to leave his sight but not close enough to catch, just out of reach, spiraling downward with its arms tucked to its side. Prey, little more than a meal, but escaping.

Seros did not suffer losses.

So down he went, through the thick of the forest, water dragging at his gills and tugging at his limbs. Oh, how the Core would hear of this, to know about the merrow and the threats they didn't pose to the most dangerous creatures, to the Named. He could almost taste the blood coating his tongue, coursing down his throat, the crunch of scales between his fangs.

Gold, amber, gold, gold, gold the kelp seemed to dance and twist around him, a dance of some endless antiquity. He'd never encountered anything like this before, this madness within the waters; could the Core create this? No invader would ever be able to get past the Underlake, if they swam through this chaos. What was this?

Gold a flash of green, the flick of a merrow's tailSeros snarled and dove deeper, clawing through the web of kelp. The oceanic world was still confusing to him but he knew he should have reached the ground by now, that stone should have been in front of himbut it wasn't. There was nothing there. Just more bloodline kelp, an endless expanse of it, with the flicker of movement of a merrow in front of him.

Gold shouldn't he have reached the merrow by now? It was so close, he could almost sink a claw in its tail, flashes of teal, constant and repeating and drawing him further down. More movement, a glimpse of fish, a break in the kelp and pale blue beyond.

Something soft. A hum, something deep, softer than the merrow's rumble, melodic, harmonizing, pressing. Something. A song. A Song?

Black.

-

I was, to my own humble opinion, remarkably adept at digging. Seven floors I had already made, burrowing through the Almbra Mountains with tyrannical fury. I had perfected how to sharpen the edges of my mana until it was something with teeth and trial, gnawing through stone with a precision mortal things could never muster.

Terribly efficient. It was such an honour to be the best.

And in the stead of the matter, it meant that I had carved a glorious, wonderful haven, a tunnel that arched down through the Jungle Labyrinth and pooled like a river in some far-off section from the rest of my dungeon.

It was a paradise, even though I normally attached that name to places of proper danger and excitementbut for now, I would grant the title. A circular mess of a room, a meandering river carving through the center and settling in an enormous pond off to the side, cloudsire palms and billowing moss choking out the ground plane. No vampiric mangroves, since I rather doubt I could have kept the mostly-insentient beings from stabbing all surrounding creatures to death, and similarly for the razorleaf lichen or thornwhip algae. I had rather a dearth of unaggressive schemas, I was finding.

Not that I particularly minded. Anything of mine should have teeth.

But it meant that in the end, the haven was a pocket of warmth in a frigid crater of destruction. Few species, mostly stone-backed toads and burrowing rats I could trust to be cowardly enough to simply accept their death when it came, meandering around more as walking bodies of mana than living creatures. I was, to put it lightly, not planning on getting too attached to any of them. n0ve(l)bi(n.)co/m

Beyond that, it was a little home for those often without, some three thousand feet in diameter and littered with sprawling dens for eggs and infants and other helpless things. Not nearly as large as my other floors simply because there was no needI didn't have to worry about creating proper territories when there would be no infighting here.

Or at least there better not be. Anyone who played dirty with my proffered mercy would meet their quick and divisive end between Seros' fangs.

I wondered what he'd think of it, actually. He took the most after my previous self, the sea-drake, the hungry and the vicious. Veresai was tyrannical like a gold-drake, Akkyst collected knowledge like a forest-drake with trees, and Nicau could not have been less draconic if he triedbut Seros was like me, and the me of ages past would not have accepted such weakness.

I guided the webweavers up to something in the front of the haven, closest to the tunnel out to the fourth floor; it was a simple stone plinth carved into a wall, a hollow littered with stone veins in an approximation of branches, or at least enough nooks and crannies to fill with webs. They picked and darted their way up the wall, hooked claws dragging their bodies up into the miraculous places I'd saved for them. Five dozen of them, pale ghosts in the dim light, a hard contrast against the green and grey around.

A shrine for Nenaigch. But it was missing something.

I extended a hesitant tendril of thought up to Nenaigch, a question outlined in subservience and thanks. What was the object of her worship?

Her answer came down tinged in humour, amusement, the faint feeling of mandibles dragging over the edge of my core. She was not a well-worshiped goddess, as so many of mine were; far more taken by her mirrored deity who stood for products of weaving, less so the process.

I didn't envy these deities with all of their internal politicking and madness throughout. Nuvja's fight with the goddess of night, Mayalle's curse to only be worshiped by those who wished to avoid her domain, Rhoborh always lost to the unknowing; at least as a sea-drake, my worth had been won by the strength of my claws and fangs alone, not the opinion of others.

Nenaigch's thought extended down to me, only a whisper of annoyance that I didn't already knowshe had expected that, though she'd hoped otherwise. Her symbol stitched itself together in my awareness; a needle's point, with threads spiraling beneath. Or perhaps a mandible with webscould be both. Truly an open goddess.

Maybe there was a deity of spiders out there who was pissed about how much of their domain Nenaigch was taking. Again, I had no interest in ever joining their charade of power.

But that symbol was simple enough.

Back to the webweavers I went, careful and light and other gentle things; while I could simply carve out that shape, it didn't feel like enough to make it a proper shrine, more than something I had thrown together because the contract demanded it. Nenaigch couldn't read my thoughts but she could read my actionsI wasn't able to give the idea that I didn't care about her power.

Far better for the webweavers themselves to begin their worship by making her symbol.

Through me, I murmured, gentle and soft, little more than a whisper. Do you feel her? Can you sense her power? Can you make it?

The webweavers shivered. Their rudimentary minds bucked and shackled my suggestion, but their consciousnesses waveredthey wanted to obey me, by virtue of me being me, but their deity was suggesting them to follow another deity. What contradoxy was that?

Well. They had perhaps a week to devote themselves to her, or I was going to have to find other options. So.

I pushed a little harder.

The webweavers didn't have leaders, hardly even seeing themselves as individuals, but one of the largest and oldest took a hesitant step up the stone. Through its mind, I could see the shape begin to coalesce, how the various strands would have to hang and attach to make it. And then, through its psionic connection with its brethren, they began to move to spin their own threads, though they didn't yet believe in the mission behind it.

But it was a start.

The haven wasn't for evolutions, considering the rather extreme blanketing presence of calmness and docility and blas disinterest I was going to be threading throughout my mana, but perhaps the weaving shrine could influence their future evolutions when they left. Something to hope for, in whatever distant future I needed to wait.

But by bringing in the webweavers first, I was hoping this would leave them as unofficial leaders of this little haven. A base of operations, if I allowed itwhich I would. They would be the only ones allowed to use this place as such, leaving to hunt and grow stronger but returning to this place of worship and safety. It went against my ethos as a dungeon, as a former sea-drake, as someone who had fought and struggled for my powerbut these would be priests, not fighters. I would allow themand only themto have a home they didn't have to worry about protecting.

I hoped Nenaigch understood what sacrifice I was making.

But for now, these webweavers had perhaps a week to convert overenough time to see what worked and what didn't, because if it didn't work, as soon as Nicau came back, I would be sending his ass directly back into Calarata to go steal me a couple of priests.

Well. Life as a dungeon core was never boring, at least.