Monster Core: A Gamelit Harem Dungeon Core

by Dante King

  My jewel was still submerged in the rock at the top of the tunnel, hidden from watchful eyes—well, hidden from everything except my two champions. I’d been too busy excavating to notice whether they’d followed my core’s progress, but they were now standing in the darkness of my dungeon’s floor. From their current startled expressions, I knew they’d seen everything. What would it have looked like through their eyes? A mountain fading away, its dust absorbed by a single jewel small enough to fit in a half-troll’s palm?

  The questions rattled through my mind as I gazed upon them, and I realized I was seeing them completely for the first time from within my jewel. My senses as a dungeon core were clearer than they’d ever been. Even in core form and surrounded in practical pitch darkness, I could see Bertha and Puck as clearly—if not more clearly—than I could with Von Dominus’ elf-eyes.

  Puck hovered around her head, and from the snappish comments she was exchanging with his constant stream of blabber, I could tell he’d been doing nothing but irritating her. Imps and trolls didn’t seem to have a lot of love for each other.

  I reached out with my mind to talk with them, and I no longer had to screen out the dull and distant white noise that came with the thoughts of the creatures outside of my jewel’s constricted senses.

  “Master,” Puck said aloud, “So, you’ve returned to us.”

  “I was absorbed in my work.”

  “This creature hasn’t stopped talking since you started to expand your dungeon,” Bertha said as she nodded at the imp.

  “Puck…”

  “Forgive my impertinence, Master.” The imp flapped up the tunnel toward my core, “This troll is simply intolerable. She has no appreciation for wit, banter, or bartering. What’s an imp to do while you carry out your destiny? Sit still? Wait?”

  “Sleep?” I suggested. “Not irritate the troll that can tear you in half?”

  Puck muttered something uncomplimentary about Bertha, and I had neither the will nor the patience to decipher it.

  “I want a safer place for my core. Puck, bring me to the bottom of the tunnel.”

  The imp gripped my sides in his claws and peeled me from the earth. The stone released me, and Puck took me to the room beneath the tunnel. I would probably have to carve out a separate room to hide me from adventurers entering my depths, but I couldn’t consume any more Physical Essence for the moment. I wondered whether it would take time for my jewel to digest the substance or whether it functioned according to a 24-hour timer like my avatar?

  I didn’t want to simply wait around to find out, so I took the time to examine Puck’s essence like I’d done with Bertha. I had been in the half-troll’s palm when I’d studied the substance inside her, but Puck was inside my dungeon now, and my consciousness was amplified by the space I’d carved out. I could see every individual essence inside him. They totaled 150, the same amount I’d gained from killing the other Infernal Imps. I turned to Bertha and counted the microscopic spheres of essence inside her. She possessed 180 of them, twenty fewer than her brother, Jeff.

  The essence inside their forms was far more familiar than the raw Infernal Essence fighting for room among my core’s own Physical Essence. It was identical to the essence of Von Dominus lingering inside my jewel.

  I suddenly got an idea, and I attempted to reach out to Puck to absorb him, in the same manner as I’d done with Von Dominus a handful of times before. He snapped his neck toward me and grimaced, but didn’t dissipate like my avatar normally did. I felt the same dullness as when I’d tried to consume Physical Essence after becoming full, and I realized that my core was too overflowing with essences to take in my imp champion.

  At least I knew now that I could pull him inside my jewel and summon him again when necessary, as long as I hadn’t overeaten a metric tonne of rock.

  It wasn’t just my champions that my new consciousness could see better, but everything within my lair. The walls, the floor, and even the dust mites floating through the air were crystal clear. I knew it all with total and complete knowledge. It was a deeper knowledge than I’d ever known in my own body back on Earth. I knew this dungeon as though each atom had its own sensations. I could feel the pressure of Bertha’s feet beneath me while Puck’s wings sent air billowing against my walls. When the imp fluttered to the ground and dug his talons into the earth, I could feel that, too. It wasn’t a painful sensation, merely an awareness.

  Total awareness.

  I focused on sending Puck a message. “Puck, scout the entrance of my dungeon. See to it that the Varidus aren’t a threat, and that no-one has noticed my work here.” I considered how sharp I’d been with him and softened my tone somewhat. “You’re the smallest and the fastest of all of us. Be thorough, quiet, and report back when I call for you.”

  Finally, with something to do, Puck nodded enthusiastically. “Whatever pleases the Master!”

  He shot up the tunnel I’d built and out into the darkness beyond. I could still sense his consciousness as he muttered to himself. His words were brimming with happiness and energy, but I was too distracted to actually make out their meanings.

  Bertha’s grateful smile had captured my attention now, and I longed to be back in my elvish avatar so I could take her to me. I saw a wistful glance cross her face, guessing she felt the same. Although she was under my dominion, I had developed feelings for her. I’d known her little more than a day but fucking and fighting made the heart grow fonder like nothing else.

  The half-troll settled down against the very end of the room and crossed her powerful legs before adopting a meditative position. I guessed the pose was something from her warrior’s training, making me think I’d gotten the wrong idea about her. Originally, I’d thought her the Infernal version of a berserker or barbarian, but her rage was almost non-existent outside battle. She was more like a warrior-monk who could command her emotions to greater effect, and anger worked well in battle.

  She closed her eyes and flared her nostrils while she held her palms upright. She was either praying or taking some personal downtime, and I didn’t want to bother her in either case.

  Satisfied my champions were occupied, I turned my attention back to the smooth tunnel, the entrance to Zagorath. So far, it was just a smooth and sharp incline into more solid stone. I stretched my mind out to the floor of the tunnel and considered it.

  Stray adventurers needed a grand entrance before their messy demise, right? I caught hold of the Physical Essence within myself, but instead of drawing it inside myself, I pushed it out and away from my gem. My movements were gentle as I guided one Physical Essence at a time to see what would happen.

  The essence seemed to flow directly into the room itself, making the walls, ground, and the very air vibrate with energy. My sloping entrance tunnel seemed to hum and bounce as though excited. Its formerly hard stone surface became softer, more malleable.

  Excited to further test my abilities, I channeled the Physical Essence into the mouth of the tunnel. With a series of mental movements, I moulded the entrance like it was made of clay. After a moment, the smooth and sharp decline had its first stair—a polished black obsidian shelf.

  Could I only use obsidian?

  I visualized the other stone I’d consumed, concentrating on its molecular components, its taste, and the general feeling of its form. This time when I channeled the Physical Essence, my dungeon produced its second stair. A duller and less light-catching shelf formed directly beneath the first.

  Interesting mechanics, Lilith.

  I could feel the pressure on my jewel lessening after creating these two stairs. Obviously, I was still nearing full capacity, but an idea of the numbers I was using would be useful. With a thought, I brought up my essence tally.

  Current Physical Essence: 9,850 / 10,000

  My jewel flickered with excitement, and I wished I had a mouth, so I could grin. My dungeon was fairly rudimentary, but I was just getting started and had a whole lot of essence to burn.

  12
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  Interlude

  Ralph Kraus adjusted the noose until the coil was tight and the loop would fit over his head. He shaded his eyes from the pouring rain and peered up at the tree. It was leafless and skeletal with bone-white branches that almost look like gnarled fingers, a typical plant for the Hag Pines. Ralph would need to wrap his legs and arms around the trunk and slide a dozen feet before he could reach the lowest overhanging branch. His hands would slip from the wet, so the task would be difficult.

  “To think dying would really be this hard,” he muttered.

  “You can do it!” the blacksmith’s wife cried out.

  A few villagers had gathered around the tree to witness Ralph end his life, and they spectated with eagerness. It was the highest level of social engagement he’d had from any of them since his mother had died. He hadn’t thought his actions would draw a crowd, but then, so little happened in the town when the militia was away on an expedition.

  The townsfolk were probably ecstatic that Ralph had decided to take his own life; they all believed him cursed, and by extension, that his poor luck had affected the town. None were brave enough to actually kill him, but the subject had been debated a number of times in the town hall. Ralph had almost wished those meetings had concluded differently, and that someone would be chosen as his executioner.

  Yet the act of execution had fallen upon his shoulders. The orphaned stableboy.

  Every day for all of his nineteen years, he’d shoveled dung from the stables without an ounce of gratitude.

  But that was all over now. This was it. His last day in this godforsaken world.

  He didn’t feel peace; all he felt was anger toward Lilith, the Goddess of Darkness.

  Mother had promised Ralph that he would not remain for all his life in Cothslar, this small town on the outskirts of Hag Pines. She had promised that one day his true destiny would be revealed, and he would be taken far away from this little place.

  In secret, he watched the militia train and took notes, so he could retreat to the stable and practice the art of swordplay—all in the hopes of one day fighting alongside them against the demonic scourge. Mother had sworn he wouldn’t remain a stablehand but would one day become a savior of his people.

  Then Mother had died.

  Ralph had continued hauling shit while the rest of the townsfolk treated him as cursed because of his orphaned state. He forsook the sword and shield for a permanent shovel while he considered how bad things had gotten.

  Eventually, things all became too much, and Ralph stole a length of rope from the stable and ventured to the boundary between Cothslar and Hag Pines.

  “I’ve brought you something.” A voice broke Ralph from his musings.

  Ralph looked at a farmer who held a ladder in the crook of his arm.

  “Thought you might need this,” the farmer said as he set the ladder beneath the tree.

  “Much obliged.” Ralph gave the man a grim smile and before climbing the steps. With each step, a hefty weight was lifted from Ralph’s shoulders. He didn’t know whether the gods spoke truly about an afterlife, but he’d have preferred anything to his current mundane existence.

  “I seek the chosen one!” an elderly voice cried out from down the muddy road. A gangly figure sprinted toward the gathered townsfolk, the mud kicking up beneath his feet. He held his robes in a single hand, so the mud wouldn’t slop over them.

  The townsfolk stared at the newcomer with wide eyes, and Ralph paused his ascent to watch.

  “His name is Ralph,” the robed man said between gasps.

  “Ralph?” a shepherd said. “That’s him up there. He’s trying to off himself.”

  “Get down from there at once!” the robed man commanded. He slammed the butt of his staff into the mud, and the globe cradled at the top burst with crimson light.

  Ralph stared at the bearded man for a few seconds, unsure why this robed man with apparently magical powers knew his name. The man’s robes were filthy and spotted with scorch marks, but the clouds parted to allow the sunlight to touch an emblem on his right breast: a winged demoness with lips the color of blood.

  This man was a priest of Lilith.

  Mother had been right.

  Although the clouds shifted to shroud the sun again, a darkness lifted from Ralph. Hope stirred in his stomach like a warm broth, and his feet padded down the ladder’s steps to the ground. His boots squelched in the mud as he approached the newcomer.

  “I am Ralph.” He held out a hand, and the robed man shook it vigorously.

  “It seems I came at just the right time. I am Alaxon, priest of Lilith.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Ralph wasn’t sure what to say next. He had waited for this moment for years, and now it had finally come.

  The townsfolk turned away from the spectacle and filtered back into the town, their entertainment spoiled by the priest’s arrival.

  “We should get out of the rain,” Alaxon said. “Perhaps you can show me to your home?”

  Ralph took the priest to the stables and offered an apology for the mess.

  “No matter,” Alaxon said. “I didn’t expect much. The lads I pick up are often living in disheveled states. I apologize for not coming sooner; I was tied up with another quest for a few years. I thought he was the chosen one, but his head was crushed by an iron golem. Popped just like a watermelon.” The priest looked down at his robes and flicked a bit of dirt away. Ralph’s insides churned when he recognized it as brain matter. “But you are another chosen one, Ralph. I’ve foreseen your ascendancy in the formations of my mutton stew.”

  “Mutton stew?”

  “Indeed,” the priest laid his staff down and hiked up his robes to sit on a wooden crate. “My premonitions often occur in the bowls of my food.”

  Ralph glanced at the noose he’d discarded on the floor and wondered whether he’d made a mistake. But he wasn’t sure; this priest might be crazy, but he’d known Ralph’s name, so maybe he did have magical gifts.

  “How did you know my name?”

  “Ah, yes, I asked one of the townsfolk where everyone had gotten to. They said the stablehand was finally doing a good deed and removing the curse. I inquired as to the method of this curse removal, and then discovered you were going to hang yourself. I had to ask a dozen different people, but eventually I discovered your name. I wasn’t exactly sure you were the one I sought, but when I saw you up there on top of that ladder, noose in hand, I knew for certain.”

  There were stories about old men who adopted robes, grew lengthy white beards, and spouted divine prophecies they’d cooked up inside their heads. These same men took advantage of hopeful youths, much like Ralph, and the end result never boded well.

  But anything was better than remaining in Cothslar. The only reason Ralph had never attempted to leave was that he held onto the belief that maybe his mother had been right. He wasn’t sure Mother had predicted the arrival of Alaxon, but there was no reason not to pretend for a little while. The noose would always be there if he wanted to end things another time.

  “Well, what did you have in mind?” Ralph asked the priest.

  “An epic quest, of course! But first you must grow stronger. There exists an enchanted weapon called the Dark Reaper. It lies not far from here, embedded within the earth. A noble and pure soul can remove it.”

  Ralph couldn’t stop the smile from pulling at his lips. “This is almost too much to believe.”

  “Believe it, boy. You’re the chosen one!”

  The words made Ralph beam, and he went to work preparing a broth with dried meat and cabbage. The priest wolfed down the meal, but Ralph could hardly eat. He was too excited by the prospect of becoming what Mother had always intended for him. He was a little nervous about drawing the sword, but he was still a virgin, so he’d passed the purity test. Nobility, on the other hand, might be a little harder, but Mother had always called him a noble soul.

  Alaxon placed the empty bowl on the floor and stood. “I have something I must
do before we retrieve the Dark Reaper. I will return as soon as I’m done.” He moved to leave the stable and shot Ralph a smile. “Have courage, boy. You are the chosen one!”

  As the priest pushed open the door, his robes parted for a moment, and Ralph caught sight of the end of a rusty blade with distinct metalwork running down the middle.

  The weapon stuck in Ralph’s memory because when the priest returned and together they went into Hag Pines, that very same sword was embedded in the ground beneath a copse of elm trees. Runes glistened in the hilt’s crossguard, and the pommel was fashioned with a clouded ruby. The blade itself was a little rusty, but the metal was black as though carved from one resembling obsidian. It was impossible to tell the length since the lower part of the blade was buried in the earth.

  With confidence he’d be able to draw the sword, Ralph wrapped his hands around the pommel and removed the blade from the soil. The metal thrummed inside his palm, as though magical power pulsed within the weapon.

  “The Dark Reaper has proved you worthy to wield it,” Alaxon said.

  Ralph shot the priest a questioning glance as he turned the weapon over in his hand. “You said it’s magical. I can feel something as I hold it.”

  “Correct. It has two Infernal seals bonded to it. They grant the wielder power unlike anything you’ve ever seen, lad.”

  “How do I activate this power? Do I utter a phrase? An invocation of Lilith?”

  “No,” Alaxon said. “I’m afraid you must go through yet another trial to use the blade to its full capacity.”

  “I’ll do anything,” Ralph said as his excitement started to bubble over.

  “Do you like pain, Ralph?” Alaxon stalked around Ralph like a panther.

  “I can’t say I enjoy it, but like I said, I’m willing to—” Ralph howled as the priest tore his tunic from behind. The fabric shredded in two, and a sharp nail carved down Ralph’s spine. With the sword gripped in two hands, Ralph whirled around and almost cleaved the priest in half.