Dungeon Lord: Abominable Creatures (The Wraith's Haunt Book 3)

by Hugo Huesca

  A flame-war started, with people split into sides calling Mark and Lisa either traitorous bitches or master team-killers worthy of admiration. There was even talk of getting her account banned. Lisa didn’t care. After tonight, she suspected she’d milked Ivalis Online out of everything it had to offer her.

  And that was fine. Games were meant to be finished. There was a pang of nostalgia in her chest, as if she was closing a chapter in her life. And, in a way, she was. At the very least, she wouldn’t bother going back to Lasershark in the morning, and neither would Mark.

  She had no savings and rent would soon be due, but she’d figure something out. Hell, she knew all there was to know about computer repair. Perhaps Mark and her could come up with something. Lasershark could use some competition.

  They’d need a logo. Something with neon, of course. It was just her aesthetic.

  Lisa grinned, feeling at peace and comfortably tired. The shadows in the corners of her home seemed to be just that, shadows. There was nothing threatening about them.

  Before closing the web browser, she posted on the forums enough to fan the flame-war and make it last a couple more days. And as a final goodbye, she politely requested that the forum moderators go choke on a dick, then deleted her own account before they could.

  Diana came home soon after, announced by her unsteady footsteps. Lisa’s sister fumbled outside for her keys while rambling happily, then fought with the lock for a minute until she managed to get the door open and step inside, the reek of vodka inundating the apartment. Diana had her hair strewn with broken branches and dry leaves and was holding a stop sign in one arm and some random guy in the other. The random guy looked around the apartment in a haze and smiled like an idiot.

  “Hey, Sis,” Diana called. “We’ll be right over there, alright? Alright.” The two of them stumbled their way toward the couch, but then Diana stopped and turned to face Lisa, raising her eyebrows with curiosity.

  “What?” Lisa asked her, grinning.

  “Nothing,” Diana said. “It’s just… I haven’t seen you smile like that in a while. What happened? Did your boss stick his head in a woodchipper?”

  Lisa laughed and shrugged. “Just some dumb thing, really. I’ll tell you in the morning, okay?”

  Diana pointed the stop sign at her and smiled. “Sure. Just do it quietly, please. I suspect this hangover is going to be one to remember.”

  As she packed her stuff to give her sister some privacy, Lisa found the black calling card at the bottom of the desk drawer. She gave it a curious once-over. For a second, she wondered…

  (Behind her, the darkness loomed, eager, waiting for a decision)

  Lisa tossed the card in the trash. Whatever it was offering, she wasn’t looking for. All she wanted was a quiet, happy life with her computers, her family, and her friends.

  Wherever Ed was, she hoped he could find, one day, his own version of happiness.

  Lisa’s dreams went back to normal from then on.

  A tall gentleman dressed in a tailored black suit strolled into the Lasershark store. The place was chaotic, with a dozen customers standing angrily in front of the counter where a young blond manager frantically attempted to do the work of several employees at once.

  Kharon smiled. It seemed that Mark and Lisa hadn’t been the only ones to quit on Ryan. From what the Boatman knew of human affairs, this was nothing unusual—mortals were often emboldened by the meaningful actions of their peers, and once the first one was brave enough to act, others found it easy to follow in the individual’s footsteps.

  The Boatman whistled a happy tune while he walked around the store. In the end, Lisa had rejected the call of the Dark. That happened, sometimes. Contrary to popular belief, the Dark god Murmur did not force anyone to join his ranks.

  He didn’t need to.

  In all realities, Ivalis and Earth and beyond, there would be mortals that—for one reason or another—weren’t satisfied with their lot in life. Those who desired power did so for many reasons: ambition, revenge, despair, boredom, genuine good intentions. It was all the same to Kharon when he was summoned.

  The Dark preyed on the men and women who desired more, who gazed at the starry sky above in challenge, or fell to their knees and despaired, and those who stared at the shadows of a dark corner in an empty house and wondered… And every time, Kharon would be there, with a lip-less smile full of teeth, and his hand extended with a silent offer.

  Most would deny him. But enough would take the hand that was offered. That was the way it always been, and would always be.

  Back behind the counter, Ryan’s lips curled in a frown of disgust. He’d spent a sour night, alone in his big, cold house, plagued with anger and hatred and loneliness. The customers could sense his contempt and answered it tenfold, creating a feedback loop of hatred that Kharon could taste—it was delicious.

  To him, the fact that Murmur’s crazed plays always turned out to be, from the perspective of both the Dark one’s enemies and allies, indistinguishable from mastermind plans that spanned generations or eons had taught Kharon much about how the world really worked. How insane everything was, and the importance of carving himself a little piece of the cake and enjoying the fireworks while reality itself collapsed around him. Because entropy always won in the end, but the end was still rather far away.

  In other words, being a bit resentful against a mortal was fine, so long as it was fun. And Edward Wright could use being taken down a peg.

  As Murmur’s envoy, Kharon had some leeway in how he accomplished his tasks. The Dark one wanted a new Dungeon Lord to replace Jiraz. He also wanted more summoned Dungeon Lords from Earth, since the first one had been such a success. He’d decided that having a close friend submit to the same pact Ed had would create an interesting situation while, at the same time, advancing the cause of the Dark by reinforcing its hold in Starevos. But Lisa had refused.

  Well, Kharon could work with that. What possible choice could he make that would keep Murmur entertained, while at the same time pissing off Kharon’s best friend—good old, moody Edward Wright?

  The Boatman chuckled darkly to himself as he strolled toward the counter. He had just the right person in mind.

  The night in Hoia Forest was full of stars, with the air brimming with the noises of activity coming from the Haunt and its surroundings.

  Ed sat alone on a tree stump, away from everyone else. He was dressed in a simple linen tunic to avoid attracting undue attention. Oftentimes, he found it refreshing to step out of the role of the Dungeon Lord and walk around the place he’d built along with his friends, simply watching the way people went about their lives.

  Lately, there was much to be seen. Ed was finding it harder and harder to keep up with everyone’s names, and sometimes people just… showed up. Like that peculiar halfling monk that was training a score of Haga’Anashi in his seemingly chaotic style of martial arts under the gaze of the moons. Ed had no idea where the hell the halfling had come from, but the kaftar seemed happy to have him around, and at this point it’d be awkward if Ed went up and asked him who the hell he was, so the Dungeon Lord just let them be. A bit of distraction from their mourning of the late Kagelshire would do them well.

  Above Ed, Hoia’s Jamming Tower rose like a black spire, the crown jewel of the surrounding circle of Scrambling Towers that hid the Haunt from prying eyes.

  Next to the market outside the dungeon’s entrance and closest to Ed’s tree stump was the railway nexus, a zone where the tunnels all across the countryside, Hoia, and Undercity connected together. In a few years, the nexus would be the heart of a new city, and the dungeon would be its palace.

  If they lived that long, of course.

  People came and went out of the nexus at all hours. There where mercenaries from the Netherworld, Thieves, and smugglers, as well as emissaries from other Dungeon Lords trying to offer lavish gifts—or gruesome threats—in exchange for the Jamming Towers’ blueprints or a look at the captured Hero hidden
at the bottom of the Haunt.

  Ed had minor demons manning the dungeons sprouting out in the countryside to keep the Inquisitors as far away from the Haunt as possible. Along with the demons were Wizards and Enchantresses, naga and kaftar, roving bands of werewolves, elves and gnomes and dwarves, and the list went on. Monster Hunters entered the nexus, dragging sturdy carriages loaded with iron cages that transported monsters—oozes, hell chickens, man-eating plants, zombies and skeletons.

  Alongside them, the citizens of the Haunt—the Haunted, as they had taken to calling themselves of late—mingled and bartered, argued and joked and exchanged gossip. Andreena and her goat were talking with a gnome Witch Doctor about exotic herbal remedies, Heorghe and Ivona chatted with a traveling dwarven blacksmith about the carts and other machinery from the mountains, Zachary and a stern-looking elf argued—of course—about religion.

  Most of those travelers had just… appeared one day, and their numbers kept growing even as some left and others stayed. Ed hadn’t turned them away, he had simply had Kes come up with new security protocols in case someone was a spy. Now that the Haunt’s location wasn’t exactly a secret, he guessed word had traveled far, and there were always people in the world that were at home in a place like the Haunt more than in normal society. There were the petty criminals and the eccentric, yes, but also the dreamer and the rebel. Along with mercenaries came traveling troupes of fearless actors that performed in both Elaitra and the Netherworld, itinerant Bards and their shaggier cousins, the Skalds from the frozen north.

  The secret was in the railway. There was always some sort of interaction between a dungeon and its neighbors, and Ed had made sure the interaction was mostly positive, or at least as not-negative as such a thing could be.

  So far only three Inquisitors had managed to sneak inside the Haunt by pretending to be friendly travelers, but they had been easily discovered through Kes’ safety measures.

  Ed smiled as his Haunt bubbled with life around him. At that moment, despite the many dangers the future held for him and his friends, he was content.

  Someone sat next to him on the tree stump.

  “Do you mind having some company, Lord Ed?” Klek asked quietly, following Ed’s gaze with the same look of wonder in the man’s eyes. “You seemed a bit lonely from afar. But now I realize I got the wrong impression.”

  “Your company is always welcome, Klek,” Ed told his friend. “To tell you the truth, I came here to take my mind off of tomorrow’s meeting. I’ve been practicing with Alder and Lavy for a while—even Jarlen’s going to play a part.”

  “What’s so hard about a meeting?” Klek asked, his ears perking up with curiosity. “Compared to fighting the Heroes, talk must be easy for you.”

  Ed smiled and shrugged. “Well, I’m going to face most of Undercity’s… influential men, and I’m going to try to convince them that I’ll do whatever is necessary for everyone’s survival… but for entirely the wrong reasons.”

  Klek cocked his head. “Why?”

  “Because… see, they expect to meet a Dungeon Lord tonight. They have certain expectations.” Ed thought of Gallio and Alvedhra, and all the Inquisitors Ed himself had killed during the battle for Undercity. “I’ve learned that when you challenge the way people view the world, they tend to react strongly.” He paused and looked at the black Jamming Tower behind them. “And if I am to unite these people so we may stand together… then I need to give them what they need.”

  “So, you’ll become the Dungeon Lord they expect you to be?”

  “Oh, absolutely not,” Ed said. “Not at all. More like, I hope to put on a very convincing act. Here’s the thing, Klek. Dungeon Lords are much weaker than people think.” He gestured at the nexus, the market, and the dungeon’s entrance. “Ignoring all the flashy powers and the glowing eyes and the enchanted weapons… if someone takes a knife to my neck all I’ve built is gone. Just like that—” Ed snapped his fingers.

  “That will never happen with me around!”

  “I know,” Ed said with a small grin. “But even then, someday we’ll both get old, and then we’ll die. And even if Lavy raises us as her undead servants, eventually the three of us will pass, anyway. It’s life, and it happens to everyone,” Ed said. “But I love the Haunt, and I’d do anything to have the certainty it will go on once I’m gone. The pacts and the Mantle magic will disappear when I do. That’s why being just a Dungeon Lord is not enough. Really, the Mantle is nothing more than a disposable weapon of war for the Dark. I don’t think the dungeons were ever meant to last. But men build families and kingdoms that outlast the most ancient dungeon and they do it without any magic—or at least, not the kind that’s measured with experience points,” Ed said. “I hope to harness a tiny bit of that magic one day. Lord Wraith may not be able to, but perhaps Ed of the Haunt may.”

  Klek sat in silence, his chin resting on his hands as he considered Ed’s words. “So…” the batblin said. “You don’t intend to leave us anytime soon?”

  “Never,” Ed said. “My dream is for the Haunt to keep the best parts of me, and that the worst parts are lost forever after I’m gone.”

  Very slowly, Klek nodded. Both man and batblin sat in silence for a long time, people-gazing.

  After a while, Ed took out a small package from his pocket. “You know what?” he told his friend. “I realized that I’ve barely played any games at all since I arrived in Ivalis. Sure, I’ve had fun, but almost always the main purpose was to enhance my dungeon. I rarely play for the sake of playing anymore.” He showed Klek the package—it was a deck of cards. “I had these made the way we play them on Earth. Would you like for me to teach you a couple of the games I played on my home world?”

  The batblin’s ears perked up. “Yes,” he said. “I’d like that very much.”

  Alfred the Sly, the newly appointed Grand Master of Undercity’s Thieves Guild, wearily climbed the steps of the Charcoal Tower while wondering to himself about the speed at which life could change without warning.

  To start with, he’d never in his life expected to wear the Grand Master’s overcoat—and he certainly hadn’t expected to find himself stepping on the black and white floorboards of the former headquarters of the Assassins Guild.

  A couple months after the Battle for Undercity, Alfred’s wounds still hurt despite the Healers’ best attempts at easing his many aches. He didn’t complain—not aloud, at least. The fact that he had stayed in the burning Guildhouse instead of running like most Thieves, facing many Heroes on his own and winning, had earned the admiration of his peers and contributed greatly to his new position.

  Alfred had simply forgotten to mention how he’d only stayed because he was too terrified to run, and those Heroes he’d fought were low-level survivors trying to hide and heal in the basement where he had already been hiding. He’d killed them right as they were drinking their potions. Small details like that were best kept out of the Bardic annals.

  Although that asshole Karmich kept giving him funny looks every time they passed each other in the corridors of the new Guildhouse.

  The Guild Master rested against a wall to catch his breath. Outside the window, the city was at once the same as always and utterly unrecognizable. People headed out on their way to work, priests, sailors, Witch Doctors, whores, bakers, shoemakers, ranchers, farmers, builders, dishonest merchants and hardworking Thieves, and so on and on. Some walked past the rubble of buildings that the drones hadn’t yet gotten through to clearing, and others intentionally avoided the streets where they’d lost friends or family members.

  New taverns sprouted up where others had burned down, and a new clientele heeded the call of the ale—fresh faces that would in time become known as “the same old regulars.”

  In the ports, the merchant ships had run away and never returned—the Heiligian Navy blocked all routes to Undercity. Instead of an empty harbor, though, the black flags of pirates and smugglers grew tall like a forest of sails swaying gently with the salty breeze
.

  Ask Barkeep Max, and he’d regale you with rumors of a Pirate Queen that had risen from the hidden islands of the East, claiming to have the blood of the royal family coursing through her veins and challenging the rule of both Dungeon Lord and Heiligians alike.

  If you asked the newly risen Bandit King under the Galtian mountains he’d laugh in your face, telling you the Pirate Queen has as much royal blood in her veins as his horse. He was the true secret heir to the Starevosi throne. Then he’d rob you naked and beat you to a bloody pulp.

  The coasts of Starevos brimmed with pirates and bandits like a disease sensing weakness in the defenses of the Militant Church’s occupation. All over Starevos, rebellions brewed and flared as tales of a city surrounded by untamed dungeons reached and emboldened the ears of men and women that recalled the times when their country had been free.

  Inquisitors marched all across the countryside, trying to halt the spread of the dungeons and their Jamming Towers. And in Heiliges, the Militant armies gathered…

  Free. It was such a strange concept to Alfred. The sky was the same color as always—the people were the same. But a keen eye could pinpoint many differences in the way normal life was conducted. Necromancers walked freely down the streets, their reanimated skeletons carrying their scrolls around. Cults that had spent their lives hidden in the sewers or the catacombs now erected temples to their tentacled gods right next to altars to Oynnes and Hogbus. There was word of a vampire that hunted slavers. Batblins and kaftar patrolled the avenues, proudly wearing the colors of the Haunt.

  And at night, if you paid attention, perhaps you could hear the bloodcurdling bawk of a hell chicken that had so far managed to avoid capture by the Monster Hunters.

  It was the dawn of a new city, and it was also just another day. Life would never be the same, yet life went on, same as always.