Archeologist Warlord: A Dungeon Core Epic

by E. M. Hardy

  The doll nodded, apparently in gratitude, and pulled itself toward the pile of dust that used to be the cow-box-thingy. Noticing the doll’s intentions, Martin picked it up and brought it over to the pile. Once he settled the doll down on the ground, it extended an arm which seemed to hollow out like a pipe before sucking up the dust. Slowly but surely, it began reforming its broken leg and was ambling about soon enough.

  “Ooo-kay. You… you do you little fella. I’ll see what else we can find out here.”

  Martin was too exhausted at that point to care about the specifics. He was burnt out on what he thought was an adrenaline crash but was actually his psyche coming to grips with its new reality. Creepy clay dolls that walk around and let you pat them on the head? Psh. Crazed cow-box-things that charge you like they’re bulls and you’re waving a red flag in front of their faces? Easy ‘nuff to deal with. The aforementioned doll repairing itself by vacuuming the remains of the broken cow-box? The thing probably has toolbox tucked somewhere inside its ceramic belly.

  Soon enough, another tunnel opened up along one wall of the chamber. No rampaging creature came out of this one. Instead, the lights in the chamber dimmed as soft light brightened up the insides of the tunnel. Martin knew that whoever, whatever, was directing this madness wanted him to go through that tunnel—and he was having none of it.

  “What? You mean you’re not satisfied with sending some killer thing at me, and now you want to herd me like cattle toward something else? What is it this time? Three-headed dogs made out of more mud or something? Killer cats? Monkeys with guns? Well, you can shove it up your…”

  Whatever Martin wanted to say next was cut short, as the walls of the chamber started pressing in. To make matters worse, the little doll Martin spent so much time protecting was toddling its way toward the tunnel with no care in the world.

  “Are you serious? You have got to be… Arrrrghhh!” Martin continued ranting, raving, and fuming as he jogged toward the exit while the walls compressed. He was not a happy man at that point.

  He was, however, flabbergasted when he came into the next room. No, scratch that, it wasn’t a room—it was more like a gigantic plot of land locked within a room. The terrain was uneven, with small lumps and shallow dips breaking up the ground. The ground wasn’t made of dirt, though. It was made from the same bricks that lined the walls of the chamber, laid out in such a way to what Martin thought simulated terrain. He swore the lumps were hills, with the dips and ditches being valleys. There were even pillars all bunched up together like trees in a leafless, woodless forest.

  This was where Martin failed quite a few examinations in the Osiris Testing Protocols. He did not see the jinn dancing among the pillars, or the pools of vital force forming in the depressions. He did not sense the gravitational anomalies pulling the bricks up. He could not identify the sparks of aether that ran up and down the walls. He couldn’t even sense the Chi that was flowing all around him in the air.

  Martin, blissfully ignorant, only spotted something that looked like a building at the far corner of the room. The slope of its walls was weird, however. It angled up in a way that made it appear like a pyramid, though it was a pyramid in ruins. The top portion was missing, like it had been ripped off, with some of the walls blasted out and the edges blemished by scorch-marks. Even the area around the pyramid was filled with small craters, as if someone had been dropping bombs on it.

  And that pyramid was where the doll stood, waving at him with one of the stubby little arms while jumping up and down to catch his attention.

  Martin was taken aback by how far the doll had managed to get from him. He swore he was just behind it when he followed it in the tunnels, and now it was at the edge of the ruined pyramid and standing right in front of its entrance. Nudging the thought aside, Martin walked briskly through the strange room, climbing a few hills and hopping across a disturbingly deep ditch along the way. The doll turned around and walked into the ruined pyramid before Martin followed suit.

  What he discovered inside left him scratching his head. There was nothing inside but a large pile of brown… something. The doll was playing with this stuff, which looked like a cross between wet mud and this pasty compound that Martin used to play with when he was a child. The doll shaped some of the paste into a clump, concentrating greatly on the task. It was vibrating quite disturbingly as it focused on the paste in its hands. Slowly but surely, the small clump of paste began to compress in the doll’s fingerless hands. It wobbled a little, then stretched out into a small stick. The diminutive doll then handed the finished stick to Martin, insisting that he take it with what he thought was some measure of pride in its work.

  Martin was surprised to find the little stick to be nice and hefty. Actually, he was pretty surprised just by how solid the thing was, especially when he tried to bend it. It maintained its shape, and he put in a lot more effort until he felt the stick crack under the force he applied to it.

  The doll began pounding his legs in frustration before Martin realized that he had broken the gift that the little tyke had given him.

  “Oh! Oh crud. Sorry little guy! I… wait, lemme fix this.”

  Instinctively, Martin dug out some of the weird paste with his finger and wrapped it around the broken stick. He put it in between his hands and rolled it around, ensuring that the goop got between the cracks. It actually worked, and Martin was pleased to hand back the fixed stick to the doll. The doll seemed equally pleased, inspecting the repaired stick for defects before handing it back to Martin, who accepted the stick with a bemused smile.

  The doll then tugged at Martin’s pants and pointed to something in the corner. Martin saw only a small pile of dirt and rubble at first glance. Looking closer though, he noticed that it was actually a bunch of other dolls, all broken in one way or another. Some were barely recognizable and looked more like broken vases than actual dolls.

  Martin’s doll ambled toward the pile with a small bit of paste in its arms. It approached one of the destroyed dolls, plopped its pellet of paste on it, and then reached out with its stubby arms. The pellet spread out and smoothed itself over the doll’s ruined form. Martin expected his doll to fix the damaged doll, but the pellet of paste just shivered and fell off. Whatever the doll was doing, it was not enough to fix its ruined brethren. Martin swore the doll was devastated by this failure, even though it displayed no emotion at all.

  Martin gazed at the pile of paste, then the ruined doll, then back again at the pile of paste before mumbling to himself. “I did it with the little tyke’s stick… why not with his buddy?”

  Martin walked over to the pile of dolls and carefully picked up the one that his doll had tried to fix. He set it down beside the pile of paste, scooped up a handful of the stuff, and spread it liberally around the chest of the doll to fill out the holes. The paste seemed to harden just when Martin wanted it to, not before or after. It was as if it listened to him and obeyed his instructions, making the task a whole lot easier for him than it was for his doll.

  He then began taking more of the paste and applied it all over the broken doll, thereby fixing its arms, legs, and head in due time. Soon enough, Martin’s little doll had a new friend, and they were both running around in excitement.

  “There you go, little fella. Your buddies’ll be alright.”

  ***

  Custodian 4299 observed as Martin repaired more and more dolls. The man was not, of course, shaping the paste with his physical body, what with the husk being left behind on Earth. He was shaping it with his will, or more accurately, the will of his soul. The properties of simulated ceramic paste were accurately carried over from its real-life counterpart, and it was clear to Custodian 4299 that Martin Fuller’s soul was compatible not just with pnevmatic transmission but also with the new soul-paste developed by the collective minds of the Custodians.

  Thus did Martin pass at least one of the skill examinations of the Osiris Testing Protocols: the ability of the soul to pro
ject beyond itself.

  Custodian 4299 would have felt pleased if it could. The first three requirements formed the bare minimum of what its creators needed for Martin’s purpose. What use would proceeding be if the beacons brought in souls that cared only for themselves? The builders wanted protectors to inhabit the Throne of Osiris—not slaving tyrants, ineffective fops, or apathetic bystanders.

  The examinations were secondary, designed to assess what the soul could or could not work with. Martin Fuller’s affinity for soul projection made him an ideal candidate for interacting with the pnevmatic mechanisms that the creators had left behind. More testing would reveal the extent of what Martin’s soul could do. Once properly assessed, Custodian 4299 could then fully awaken to better prepare Martin’s soul for what was to come. Education, training, conditioning—all these would solidify Martin’s capabilities as the next Osiris.

  If only Martin had arrived earlier.

  Even a year, no, a single month would have made all the difference. A week, even a single day, would have sufficed. Over time, one destroyed conduit turned to two, turned to eight, turned to seven hundred and thirty two—enough to cripple virtually the entire pyramid that housed Custodian 4299’s systems. Three decayed memory crystals turned to four, then twelve, then forty-six. Only two crystals remained active. All ten generators were dead. Of the five backups, only one remained functional. Most production facilities were dead, rust and ruin claiming them all. Only a single basic vat was still operational, and even it had suffered enough damage to significantly reduce its output.

  No, Custodian 4299 would not be providing any more testing, training, or education. Even now, it could sense one of the two remaining memory crystals fading away due to the stress of running Martin’s simulation. Cracks were forming on its surface, and it would only be a matter of time before the precious information inside would be lost to time just like all the other crystals. This was why Custodian 4299 terminated the simulation and approved Martin’s soul for complete transference across the stars, to the home world of the Builders, and into the last active pyramid where a functioning Custodian still held power. This transference finally broke the damaged crystal, and cracks were already forming on the last one.

  It only hoped that whatever time it had left would be enough.

  Chapter 03

  One second Martin was putting together broken dolls with that weird putty-paste, the next he found himself surrounded by total darkness. He could not feel his arms or his legs, and he began to panic when he realized he had no arms or legs to begin with.

  “Oh crap. Oh crap! Ohcrapohcrapohcrap…”

  Martin didn’t know what else to do, so he forced himself to calm down. Breathing a few times usually helped him. It didn’t work this time because he couldn’t breathe in the first place. No rising of the chest, no air going in or out. He felt the panic rising once more as he flailed his nonexistent body around. A few moments later though, he felt none of the pressure that came with holding his breath for too long. A near-drowning experience in a pool taught him that he should feel a pain, some burning sensation. He felt none of that. In fact, he felt… fine. Being enveloped by all-consuming darkness notwithstanding, he felt no pain. Just a sense of being somewhere, of floating in whatever he was. Martin was already getting used to the weirdness that befell him, but being locked in complete darkness and being unable to feel anything in your body? That’s a whole different level of freakiness.

  “Am… am I dead?”

  Nobody answered him.

  “Hellooooo? Anyone out there?”

  A few more moments of stewing alone in the darkness, and Martin huffed in frustration. There had to be something, someone out there. So he took a deep imaginary breath and pushed against the darkness.

  What he pushed the darkness with, he ignored, but whatever he did, his focused effort was enough to force the darkness to crack just a little bit. In that crack was a tiny light, and Martin scrambled to that light with whatever force he could muster. He reached for it and pulled himself to it. He reached the crack, which grew wider and wider and wider until the light blinded him.

  He nearly cried when he found himself able to see once again. He was staring out a window that was surrounded by tall, snow-capped mountains. All around him were gray and red rocks with no sign of life whatsoever. He could see mist rolling into one of the valleys in the distance, but he couldn’t spot a single plant or animal, which he found weird.

  “Just where the heck am I?”

  “Y-you would be… be in P-Pyramid 4299, hidden deep-p the Qleb S-Sierra.”

  Martin jumped up in fright, and turned frantically around to find the source. The window he was seeing from jumped up, mimicking his panicked scare, and swiveled left and right as he scanned his surroundings. It was less like seeing through his eyes and more like a small window moved where he wanted it to.

  When he turned around, he recognized the side of a mountain behind him. Or at least that’s what it looked like at first glance. A few moments later, and Martin noted a few hints that told him that parts of it were not natural. The slope was too smooth, though the piled-up dust and rocks made it hard to tell. He could also spot a few granite blocks poking out underneath the dirt. The real giveaway, however, was an open entrance with a tunnel leading inside.

  And yet Martin still couldn’t find his mystery speaker.

  “Martin F-Fuller. Are you-you cohesive enough? Ye-yes? Yes. You can h-hear me. Cog-cognitive processes are up… up. This is good. We must pro-proceed as quickly as-as possib-ble. I… I do not-t have much time. I must ex-explain to you what you n-need to do.”

  “Wha—”

  Before Martin could answer, his window blacked out and was replaced by another. This one moved steadily forward deep inside a tunnel lined with granite blocks. It stopped in front of a rusty door that opened up with a horrible squealing sound. Inside was a gigantic vat, which squeezed out the same putty that Martin had worked with in the chamber he was previously locked in. The putty shaped itself out to form the little dolls that Martin had been playing with—no, working with—earlier.

  “This… this is the factory. It is operational enough to produce Shaper-class c-constructs, which you s-see are already being produ…ced. They w-will rebuild, re-repair, restore this facility for you.”

  “Now wait one second! You need to slow down and tell me what the heck is going on here!”

  Moments passed before the mysterious mechanical voice replied. “N-no time. Y…you need to…”

  “NO! No, you listen to me! I’ve been through an extremely crappy day, and I don’t care what kind of ‘voice’ you are. You have to give me answers now, or I swear to God I’ll—”

  “I’m dying, Martin Fuller.” That shocked Martin into silence, shutting him mid-rant and immediately cooling his boiling temper. “In a few minutes, my last memo-mo-ry crystal will shatter, and y-you will be alone in this-this world. This is why we need to go…go…go as fast as p-possible. We have no more time, so you need… need… need to p-prepare your mind, Martin Fuller.”

  Before Martin could say anything else, another window opened up in Martin’s vision, then another and another. Soon enough, a dozen windows appeared all at once. Martin found himself disoriented, not knowing where to look as the windows crowded around his being.

  “You… expand your m-mind. Reach…far as you can. Cast your mind to… all things at-t-t once.”

  Despite Martin’s confusion, he could not help but notice just how badly the voice was beginning to deteriorate. It stuttered here and there before, but now it was losing coherence as it started to drop entire words in its sentences.

  This is why despite all his questions, all his doubts, Martin didn’t question the voice. He took a moment to center himself, calming his confused mind, and see. It dazed him at first, seeing through different viewpoints all at once. Soon enough though, the windows started to make sense to him.

  A window looking at the in
sides of a ruined machine, then another window of a doll shaping its hands to form tools to repair that machine. Another machine sat behind the ruined one, appearing to be a generator of some kind that hummed with power. That power, whatever it was, radiated wirelessly from the machine and touched all the dolls, fueling the forces that powered them. A set of three new windows, each revealing dolls that were breaking down ruined generators. Martin’s mind touched the minds of the dolls, which reported that the machines were beyond being repaired via conventional means. However, the dolls had other means of repairing those machines and bringing them back online.

  More dolls, this time with hands reaching out and hauling pieces of debris as they went about clearing collapsed tunnels. A new window appeared, this one following other dolls ambling down a shaft leading to the earth. Another window, this time revealing the viewpoint of the doll behind the first window. A dozen windows all at once, each revealing the viewpoints of dolls trekking down the ramps surrounding the shaft. Another set of windows, with dolls scooping out brown mud from an underground deposit.

  Brushing the minds of the dolls, Martin learned that this seemingly innocuous mud formed the basis for the paste that the dolls were made from. More windows, each portraying a doll that carried this mud up to the surface via the shaft. Yet more windows of dolls pouring this mud into a vat, which squeezed out more dolls over time. A new window, this time from a newly-created doll that came fresh out of the production vats.

  Dozens upon dozens of windows opened up inside Martin’s consciousness, and he took them in all at once with increasing ease. He brushed the mind of each doll, and each imparted to him information on what it was doing. They didn’t talk to him, but the knowledge just seemed to flow to Martin. The scope of information, the pace of its transference to and from multiple sources, would drive the normal human brain to insanity.

  Then again, Martin’s soul was no longer lodged in its old shell—something that he was slowly starting to realize.