Chapter 67 (Patreon)

It took just a few seconds for the room to descend into utter chaos.

Rob liked to think that Riardin’s Rangers had some pretty solid team coordination. Which, considering their combat record, was kind of impressive. They’d been split up on numerous occasions and were often forced into fights with minimal – if any – allies at their side. But despite their relative lack of training and experience in large group melees, there was something about fighting with each other that just clicked on an instinctual level. Given enough time, he could see them growing into a well-oiled machine that would leave enemies confused as to how they got their asses kicked by a group of mostly-teens who were somehow as coordinated as a special ops force.

But that was a dream for the future. At present, they were running mostly on instinct, and there’s a limit to how far that can take a team. Sure, Riardin’s Rangers had made general plans about how to deal with whatever would be guarding the Dungeon Core, but everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face. For the Party, their face punch was being beset on all sides by an entire ecosystem of monsters and sentient plants that dwarfed anywhere they’d been to in sheer density and variety. Mutated animals, oversized insects, beefy Sporekings, prehensile vines – the place looked like a mad scientist had taken over the jungle enclosure of a zoo and gone hog wild. Even for the Elves that were familiar with forest combat, the sight was sufficient to erode away the finer details of their plans. They were left with little more than two emotions; the core tenants of civilization that carried mankind through its early days before people had managed to find greater meaning in life than hitting things with sticks.

Kill. Survive.

Rob stayed back as Riardin’s Rangers scattered. Keira made a beeline for one of the Sporekings, weaving in and out of the lesser monsters’ attacks without slowing her pace in the slightest. She let out a vicious war cry as she leapt forward and slammed her greatsword into the mushroom man’s torso. A sound like a tree getting hit by a cannonball resounded throughout the room. The Sporeking rocked back and nearly toppled over as its frontal outer coating of plant-flesh was sheared away, revealing a wooden skeletal rib cage that had been crushed to pieces. With visible effort, the Sporeking managed to right itself, making a haphazard attempt at a punch that Keira sidestepped with contemptuous ease. The rest was just a matter of course – slow, strong, and durable didn’t mean much against an opponent with Danger Sense and enough Strength to fell a tree with her fists. Passion twinkled in Keira’s eyes as she raised her greatsword and beat the Sporeking into a pulp with the enthusiasm of a kid slamming their hammer down on a carnival strength game so they could win a prize. In less than half a minute, she had turned the lumbering giant into a splattered mushroomy mess on the floor.

The Dungeon didn’t take kindly one of its major shock troops being run over by the Keira Express in record time. A rustling sound permeated the air as most of the sentient vines on Keira’s side of the room whipped towards her with grasping tendrils. She dodged some and cut the rest, but replacement vines were already growing out of the walls and ceiling. Ten became twenty, pushing Keira into a corner as she drew upon the full extent of Danger Sense and her agility to dodge attacks that were coming from all angles. One vine managed to wrap around her arm, and Keira’s eyes widened when she had to expend a fair amount of effort to break its grasp. The danger implied by Danger Sense became evident in that moment; if multiple vines grabbed her at once, she would lose leverage, slow down for a crucial few seconds, and then be swarmed by a dozen other vines that would summarily rip her limbs from their sockets. Keira grit her teeth and kept on the defensive, barely managing to avoid the vines and retaliate when an opportunity arose, but they were growing as quickly as she could prune them.

Riardin’s Rangers hadn’t been idle during all of this. Zamira followed after Keira, cutting through the lesser monsters like playing a deadly game of whack-a-mole. At one point, a snakelike Burrower burst out of the ground and made an attempt at ambushing Keira from behind. It was a crafty plan that would have been more impressive if it’d gotten closer than several inches before being skewered by Zamira’s longsword. She was in her element, zipping from monster to monster as she put her dizzying speed to good use, focusing on weaker enemies that could be put to rest with only one or two swings of her blade. Zamira cut through their ranks like a scythe harvesting wheat, sweeping aside the chaff that would have hounded Keira into an early grave, using her sword as her shield to ensure that the unstable equilibrium they’d established didn’t tip in the Dungeon’s favor.

It wasn’t an equilibrium that could last forever. Zamira’s efforts kept the Dungeon’s forces thinned – on one side of the room, at least – but more were descending from the ceiling, emerging from the ground, and even materializing from mana-rich air that suffused the entire battleground. Beads of sweat started to roll down her forehead as she fought against a seemingly neverending horde of minions. Much like most experts in the midst of their craft, she made it look easy. And much like those same experts would say, it really fucking wasn’t. One mistake would be all it took for the monsters to overrun her, and then Keira. A single misplaced step would kill them both.

Help wasn’t going to come anytime soon. Meyneth, Vul’to, Taleya, and Orn’tol were struggling against the Dungeon’s forces emerging from the other side of the room. The trio of Rangers rained arrows down on the minor minions, clearing the way for Meyneth to engage a Sporeking without interference. She was fighting well, having learned from her previous encounter with a bodybuilding mushroom man and committed its tells to memory. Each Sporeking seemed to have – at best – minor variations of the same combat style. If you could call ‘punching a lot’ a fighting style, but regardless, it gave credence to the idea that the Sporekings were manufactured by the Dungeon using the same general template, meaning the same body and same brain. Either that or they all had the same gym membership. Meyneth ran rings around the creature, claws glowing with a silver light as they sank deep and carved bone. Her teeth bared as she yelled a one-liner that would probably have been very intimidating if it wasn’t lost among the cacophony of animal screeches that were piercing Rob’s ears from every direction.

Given time, she would have dismantled the Sporeking. Unfortunately, time was something the Party was sorely lacking. Meyneth was strong, but she wasn’t Keira strong. As faulty of a product as the Sporeking was, it – if nothing else – was tough as nails. Killing it without backup, while taking care to dodge its crushing blows, and while avoiding the Dungeon’s endlessly spawning minions wasn’t so much of a tall order as it was a colossal one. Fire support from the Rangers would have accelerated the process, but Taleya and Vul’to were too busy clearing the field. Arrow after arrow flew through the air, and monster after monster fell. Rob was pretty impressed at the Arrow to Monster Kill conversation rate. Almost 1 for 1! Which was good, because holy hell there were a lot of them. An arrow pierced through the eye of a monster covered in spikes and with an excessive number of legs, but its replacement – a misshapen, dreaded squirrel – didn’t even wait for its comrade to finish dissolving before bounding out of the shadows and skittering towards Meyneth. It died, then was replaced. So on, and so forth.

The Dungeon’s minions were weak, but at a certain point quantity becomes its own kind of quality. Taleya and Vul’to only had so many arrows, and at the rate the monsters were spawning, their quivers would be emptied long before the Dungeon had exhausted its forces. A chill ran down Rob’s spine as an image of The Village being overrun flashed in his mind’s eye. The Blight had sent wave after wave of its weaker Infected to soften The Village’s defenders; a heartless strategy, assuming your soldiers were sapient and you had anything resembling a moral compass, neither of which applied. Hundreds of the monsters could die and it wouldn’t make a difference to the Dungeon. The Party couldn’t afford to lose a single person. Refused to lose a single person. That alone put them at a disadvantage.

Of course, the Blight had a whole forest’s worth of animals to Infect and turn into murderous lemmings. Rob had assumed that the Dungeon would have fewer forces to draw on than Ixatan’s entire fucking population, but that notion had quickly been proven to be wishful thinking. The Blight had to conscript its troops, while the Dungeon could just create them. Monsters spawned from mana fairly often in the world; in one instance, Rob had seen it happen with his own eyes. But those were isolated incidents. Random occurrences caused by mana just so happening to coalesce into a physical form. They didn’t spawn again and again, especially not in the same spot. That would take a directed intelligence with the ability to form monsters and access to a surplus of resources.

Like, say, a Dungeon controlled by a giant face in the wall that lived in a room absolutely choked with mana.

All of this was ignoring the two very big, 12-foot tall mushroom men-sized elephants in the room. Meyneth was currently engaging a Sporeking. Singular. That left two more, and their other certified Sporeking-killer was busy trying not to get ripped apart by vines. Orn’tol had taken it onto himself to serve as a distraction for the lumbering creatures to shamble after. If the Sporekings had possessed more than a basic level of mental acumen, the tactic wouldn’t have worked. They would have ganged up on Meyneth and crushed her into dust. But their brains were probably made of walnuts or some shit, and Orn’tol was starting to perfect the art of being an annoying little bastard on the battlefield. He would score thin, superficial cuts on the Sporeking’s limbs, then scurry out of range before they managed to retaliate. A chase would ensue, Orn’tol slipping around their retaliatory strikes like water flowing through rocks, dodging minions and Sporekings alike without an injury to his name. Eventually, the Sporekings would get bored and turn their attention towards Meyneth, prompting Orn’tol to harass them with brand-new wounds and start the chase anew.

That left Malika on cleanup duty. When she wasn’t zapping the stray minions that Vul’to, Taleya, or Zamira missed, she sent cutting gusts of wind to remove any errant vines creeping towards Meyneth or Orn’tol. There weren’t nearly as many vines growing on their side of the room as Keira’s, but that made them no less dangerous. One vine grabbing hold of their legs would be as deadly as a sword in the heart. Her job was as important as anyone else’s, and her understanding of that fact was evident in the way she gave her full concentration to each individual spell, eyes focused and glowing faintly as they Sensed the Mana in the air. Malika aimed and fired her magic like bullets from a sniper rifle, hitting each target with unerring accuracy and removing the threat in a single shot. Instead of blowing all her MP on a big flashy spell that would have wiped the field of weaklings in one go, she utilized minor spells that weren’t as MP-intensive, recognizing that exhausting her resources against an army with plenty of reserves would leave her useless for the rest of the fight.

As useless as Rob was right now.

He’d never felt more impotent in his life. Protecting Malika was an important job and all, but the Rangers could have stood by her and just as easily performed their duties from a marginally longer distance. No, he was here because if he waded out in that mess of Sporekings and vines and monsters, he would die. Or worse – others would die trying to save him. In normal circumstances, he would have been right by Meyneth, helping her take down her Sporeking so they could move onto the others and eliminate each major threat one by one. But as it stands, he could barely...well, stand. The effects of the Dreamthief, Melancholy Resistance, and being the maze guinea pig had finally caught up with him. He was more useful sitting on his thumbs and providing Vitality buffs than he was being a liability on the battlefield.

It stung. Badly. He couldn’t even set the room on fire, because if the flames spread too far and the Sporekings started to pop, Riardin’s Rangers would get blasted up the ass by noxious spores. Aside from repeatedly throwing his Broken Shortsword across the room and hoping he got lucky every now and then, there wasn’t a way for him to assist the Party from afar.

I’m a glorified cheerleader, Rob thought. Except without the inspiring acrobatics and eye-catching outfits. And any actual cheering I could do would just distract them. This- OH BALLS!

Thankfully, Rob was well-used to being ambushed. So when an oversized frog dropped from the ceiling and tried to engulf Malika in a mouth filled with serrated teeth, he was ready to pull her back and skewer it with his longsword. The creature didn’t die right away, thrashing about with slimy appendages and gnashing jaws. Bits of mucus flecked off onto Rob’s clothes.

“Oh gods,” Malika whispered. To her credit, she kept up her fire support even as the frog squirmed in its death throes just several feet away from her. “So gross. So gross. I hate this place. I’ve never hated anything more and I don’t think I ever will.”

“Preaching to the choir,” Rob said. He wiggled the frog off his sword like he was shaking the last bit of baking batter off a spoon. It croaked loudly, and Rob silenced it with a stab to the brain. He let out a sigh of relief, adjusting his posture to purposefully appear relaxed. If the Dungeon was going to send out Ambush 2: Electric Boogalo, it would do so when it assumed that he wasn’t paying attention. Better to get it over with now, as opposed to later on when the Party made an inevitable mistake and sent everyone into panic mode.

His assumption was proven several seconds later. There they were: a grasshopper from above and a bird from behind. Rob twisted his body and adopted a one-handed grip on his longsword. His blade intercepted the grasshopper and batted it out of the air like swatting a fly. His other hand took the bird’s assault head-on, allowing its razor-tipped beak to pierce partway through his palm. Rob clenched down on the bird’s face and held tight. A muffled scream sounded out from inside its avian throat as he expelled some of the fire he’d Stored in his inventory. The creature flailed in agony as it was cooked alive by a continuous jet of flames. Once the deed had been done, and Rob was satisfied that its charred corpse wouldn’t start any surprise brush fires, he pulled its beak out of his palm and tossed the bird into a corner of the room.

“What smells like food?” Malika asked, her eyes focused ahead on her targets.

“My new idea for a fast food chain in Elatra,” Rob answered. “Menu pending.”

“You burned something?” Malika said, ignoring his non-sequitur. “How did you use magic without MP? I didn’t Sense anything.”

“Wasn’t magic. I had some fire Stored in my Inventory and un-Stored it in something’s face.”

She fell silent for a few moments before speaking again. “Lucky.”

“What?”

“You’re lucky,” she repeated. “You got to burn something. It’s what I want to do so, so badly. Setting this room alight would soothe my soul and solve our problems in short order. Are you sure there isn’t some way to nullify the Sporekings’ fumes?”

Rob shook his head. And then realized that Malika wasn’t looking at him anyway, but whatever. “Did you guys find the insect corpses at the bottom of the tree?”

“Hundreds, yes.”

“Yeah, that was caused by one Sporeking exploding.” He explained. “I’m pretty sure it’s intentional. The Dungeon is a sadistic freak, but it isn’t stupid. It knows that fire is its weakness, and the Sporekings are a way of keeping us in check. The fumes are toxic to us, and to its minions, but I doubt they would do a damn thing to that big-ass face on the wall no matter how much it breathed in.”

He chuckled. “I guess it’s not that smart, though. If it was, it would have put some Sporekings in the maze. Bet you it’s regretting that decision.”

A vine shot out of the wall. It wrapped around Rob’s arm before he could react and began to pull, tightening with enough force to make his bones creak. Rob bit back a yelp of pain as he summoned the Broken Shortsword and sliced through the vine in one motion. No wonder Keira is having trouble, he thought, staring at the ring around his arm that was already turning into a nasty bruise. He briefly wondered why the Dungeon would bother expending effort towards harassing him when the rest of the Party was a much bigger problem.

The answer came to him a moment later.

Then he laughed his ass off.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Rob said. He turned to look at the massive indentation of a face on the far end wall. The Organic Devourer, as Identify had named it. A thick coating of vines hovered in front, having played goalie for any projectiles the Party tried to send its way. “I’m talking about you. You do realize you’re fucked, right? Even if by some miracle you manage to beat us, the fire downstairs is going to rage and spread until you’re nothing but a pile of cinders. I’ve already won – this whole fight is just you throwing a temper tantrum.”

Three more vines shot out of the walls. Two snaked around a leg, one around an arm. Rob was lifted into the air, his laughter warbling as he was shaken like a ragdoll and smashed against the ground.

“That all you got?” He taunted, cutting through the vines on his leg. “I’ve been on amusement park rides worse than this. Do you have any idea how many points in Vitality and levels of Vitamin D(efense) I have? Bring your A-game or stop wasting my time.”

His limbs were free – and then they weren’t. As soon as he could move again, both arms and legs were immediately constricted by half a dozen vines that materialized out of the walls.

Which was half a dozen less for Keira to deal with. It was clear that the Dungeon had limits on how many vines it could sprout and monsters it could create; otherwise the party would’ve been overrun a long time ago. By drawing its resources away from the others, he was protecting them in the only way he could think of. The vines hurt, but he’d suffered way worse. They weren’t in the Top 10 shittiest things he’d had to deal with today. He could handle them, on his Last Legs or otherwise.

Rob released flames from his Storage into the vines. They recoiled and let go before they could catch fire, flinging him to the ground like spiking a football. He stood to his feet – with more effort than he would have wished – and began stalking towards the vines, Broken Shortsword in hand. “We’re not doooone,” he sang.

“It’s thinning,” Malika blurted out.

Rob froze, realizing with a bout of shame that he’d neglected his actual job of keeping an eye on Malika. Thankfully, she was unharmed – the Dungeon had focused its ire on him. “What’s thinning?” he asked, taking his place at her side again, eyeing the vines that had shrunk back to the wall like a child that had burnt its finger on a hot stove.

“The mana,” Malika replied. “It’s still thick enough that it feels like it’s choking the very air I breathe. But there’s markedly less of it than there was before.”

Rob’s eyes widened. “The Dungeon is running out of fuel.” He swept his gaze across the room. The Party was looking tired, that much was certain, but they had some gas left in the tank. A quick check of the Party Screen showed that their Stamina was above half across the board. Keira was Danger Sensing through the smallest of gaps in the vines’ offense. Zamira was dashing from enemy to enemy, each swing of her sword marking another death. Meyneth was close to killing her Sporeking, Orn’tol was a safe distance away from the two Sporekings pursuing him. And last but not least, Vul’to and Taleya had arrows to spare.

“Malika,” Rob breathed. “Do you think we can outlast it?”

He should’ve known better than to taunt fate like that.

As if on cue, a horrible sight appeared in the corner of his vision. One tiny mushroom that started growing out of the far right wall. It expanded rapidly, growing from infancy to a size that was far taller than any man. Arms and legs took shape. Sunken-in eyes formed in its face.

He turned his head. Another mushroom was growing on the opposite side of the room.

No. No no no no. The Party was already balancing on the razor’s edge of what they were able to handle. Two more Sporekings added to the mix would ruin them.

Rob glanced behind himself. The darkness they’d passed through was still gone, having been replaced by a wall of natural terrain and no exits in sight. A wordless declaration that this place would be where the Party made their last stand. Whether they wanted to or not.

He turned on Quick Thinking.

Seconds later, he made an executive decision.

“Malika,” he whispered. “Is the mana in the room thinning faster than before?”

“Yes,” she replied, voice trembling. She’d seen the same thing he had.

“Okay. Creating Sporekings uses up extra fuel. We can work with this.”

Rob sighed. “Right,” he said, still whispering. “Please trust me on this. When the Sporekings are done forming, I want you to put as much of your MP that you can safely handle into one big fire spell. Use it to carpet Meyneth’s side of the room in flames, prioritizing the Sporekings, then the vines.”

Her mouth fell open. “Why...”

A pause. She closed her mouth, and nodded. Red energy gathered in her hands, intensifying until Rob felt like he was standing next to a furnace.

Leadership Level Increased! 5 → 6

Several things happened at once. Meyneth tore apart her Sporeking’s rib cage, finally felling the creature with a beastly roar. The nascent Sporekings completed their rapid growth, emerged from indentations in the walls, and took their first few baby steps into a brand new world of excitement. Which meant there was one more on Keira’s side and three total on Meyneth’s side. At the sight of them, the Party quickly descended into a panic and began pulling back to the entrance.

“Do it,” Rob ordered.

A roaring tide of flame burst forth from Malika’s hands. It washed over the right side of the room with the force of a tsunami. The spell was prioritized to cover as much area as possible, sacrificing a degree of power for extra distance, but that mattered little when the plantlife in the Dungeon had already proven to be generously flammable. At the same time, Rob summoned a Firebomb and threw it at the Sporeking that was advancing on Keira. He summoned a second Firebomb and threw that one too, and was about to throw a third, but he needn’t have bothered. The first found its mark.

The moment that Malika’s flames reached the Sporekings, they expanded, bursting at the seams. Rob’s target followed suit. In a few moments, they would explode, expelling fumes that would kill friend and foe alike.

‘Waymark.’

The last thing Rob saw before he teleported the Party back to the beginning of the Dungeon was the Organic Devourer on the wall, glaring at him with hate in its eyes.

--

Reached Level 35!
5 Stat Points Gained!

Berserker Level Increased! 30 → 31

Throwing Proficiency Level Increased! 3 → 4

The joy of Leveling High was cut short by Zamira grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him.

“Why?” she croaked, tears beginning to form. “That was our one chance. I know the odds were dire, but we could have prevailed. Somehow. We won’t be able to make it back in time!”

“What did you have her do?!” Orn’tol yelled as he tipped the Party’s last MP Potion down Malika’s throat. “

“Rob,” Keira said, an indecipherable expression on her face. “Please explain.”

One at a time, please, he wanted to say. But, no, they deserved answers, not flippancy. Even if their questions were making his ears ring. Or maybe that was the lingering sensation of Waymark’s teleportation scrunching his body across reality. Or maybe it was his Stamina that had dropped below 40.

Rest later. Act now.

“Malika will be okay,” he assured. “I told her to not put more juice than she should into the spell.” He hesitated. “And we’ll be able to reach the Core room in time,” Rob said, hoping he was right. “Now that we know which way to go, it’s going to be a straight shot back. The Dungeon doesn’t have anything left to throw at us. We just annihilated its forces and scorched its base of operations. The mana it uses to create its vines and monsters is going to be running dry.”

Zamira let go of his shoulders and stepped back. She looked like she wanted to say something – all of them did, really – but the necessity of the moment forestalled her concerns. They shared a collective glance at the Rangers and Elder Alessia, still trapped inside the Dreamthieves’ prisons of the mind. Externally, their appearances hadn’t changed. It was better than finding them drained to withered husks, but without having them in the Party it was difficult to tell how close they were to death. ‘Identify’ confirmed that they were alive, but it didn’t reveal their HP, MP, or Stamina. Maybe the Party’s repeated acts of arson had damaged the Dungeon’s ability to drain its captives. Or maybe it was draining them faster than ever to replenish its lost mana. There was no way to truly tell.

For all they knew, the Rangers were seconds away from death.

“Wow,” Malika said, breaking the tension as her eyes fluttered open. She yawned like an old man and followed it up with a girlish giggle. “I leveled up three times.” Her eyes glazed over for a few seconds, after which she hopped to her feet, practically bouncing in place.

Orn’tol blinked. “Your Mana Exhaustion is gone, and your MP increased by 150 – did you put every last point from your Levels into Magic?”

Malika opened her palms and produced sparks of lightning that danced around her fingertips. “And so what if I did? Now I’ve got enough power in me for two or three more big spells.”

“Good,” Taleya stated, a hint of irritation in her voice. “Save it for the Core room.” She drummed her fingers on the side of her leg. “Rob. Can you teleport us back?”

He shook his head. “24-hour cooldown on that.”

“Figures,” she grunted. “One minute to collect our bearings. Then we move.”

Her head snapped towards Meyneth, prompting a flinch from the Dragonkin. “There’s no time to mince words,” Taleya said. “Is there a reason you’re holding back?”

Meyneth, who was twice Taleya’s body mass, wilted under the Ranger’s harsh gaze. “I’m not,” she mumbled.

Taleya arched an eyebrow. “You’re not…?”

“...holding back,” Meyneth finished, quietly.

“You’re a Dragonkin. Do Dragonkin things.”

Those six words – seven, if you’re a pedant – hit Meyneth like a blow to the gut. “Whatever you’re expecting of me is impossible,” she said, in a miserable, defensive tone. “I can’t...”

She trailed off, leaving the rest of the Party with an awkward silence to untangle. Rob tried to think of a way to turn Meyneth’s frown upside down, but he was tired, lacking context, and without Diplomacy to point him in the right direction.

Thankfully, Vul’to picked up the slack. “You’ve already done more than enough,” he said, gracing Meyneth with a disarming smile. “Who else besides Keira could have defeated a Sporeking in single combat? Your valor was an integral part of our success, and we’ll need you again should we hope to have any hope of fully clearing the Core room.”

Meyneth lowered her head. “Alright,” she said, avoiding their gazes. At least some of the tension in her muscles had receded.

Vul’to’s eyes darted between Meyneth and a thick strip of bark on the wall that was partly peeled off. “Actually, might I borrow your strength right now? There’s something I’d like to test.”

“Be quick about it,” Taleya said. “Minute’s almost up.”

Leaving them to their devices, Rob put his 5 unspent Stat Point into Vitality and received the appropriate Skill boosts from hitting a milestone. Satisfied with the results, he half-walked, half-shambled over to Keira. “So here’s the thing,” he began. “I can’t make it back to the Core room. The spirit is willing, but the flesh is spongy and bruised. I’m going to need some help, and since Vul’to just asked a very strong and very beautiful woman for assistance, I figured I might as well continue the trend.”

A ghost of a smile passed across Keira’s face. “You think Meyneth is beautiful?”

“What, you don’t?”

She let out a snort and smiled in full this time. “I decline to comment.”

A bit of the tension in his gut uncoiled. Keira’s good cheer was infectious; it was almost enough to make him forget about how he might have damned the Rangers.

And damned himself in the process. If the Rangers died, everyone would blame him – and he would agree. Even if it had been the right choice to evacuate the Party before they were overrun, even if this was the best chance at keeping everyone alive, he’d made the decision without anyone’s input, and thus, the responsibility was his.

Leadership sucked.

His downward mental spiral was halted by a mischievous glint twinkling in Keira’s eyes. “I’ll accept your request,” she said, in a lofty tone. “On the condition that you describe the most embarrassing posture for a man on Earth to be carried.”

An image appeared in Rob’s head of being flung over Keira’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Is this revenge for worrying you again, or revenge for making a decision on my own that affected the entire Party?”

“Both,” she stated. “But I understand that you had valid reasons for each instance, which is why my revenge will be harmless.” She grinned. “Truly, I am a magnanimous soul.”

Rob gave it some thought.

“Well, for starters, I’d have to be upside-down.”

–

The pitch-black wall of darkness acting as the barrier to the Core room was back again. There had been some worry that the Dungeon would have blocked them off entirely after the havoc they’d wreaked last time, but it was either unwilling or unable to do so. Dungeons, aberrant or otherwise, had a foundation of rules to follow. It could prevent them from retreating, but there always had to be a way forward.

A sense of finality pervaded the group as they stood before the darkness. On the whole, the Party was more nervous now than they were on the first attempt. Before, they’d known to expect a challenge. Now they knew exactly what kind of challenge to expect – and that it was one they were struggling to meet. If Keira had failed one dodge of the vines, if Orn’tol had gotten sloppy when evading multiple enemies at once, if Meyneth had been unable to overcome her Sporeking before more spawned, if the pace of the others’ minion-killing had slowed just slightly...there were too many points of failures. When one inevitably went wrong, the domino effect of cascading disaster might be impossible to recover from.

They hesitated before stepping through. Once they did, that would be it. No second chances. The Dungeon would seal the exit, and with Waymark unusable, their chances of escaping would be sealed with it. No matter how much they trusted in their own strength, the Core room was where the Dungeon pulled out all the stops. It could kill them. Had already almost killed them. They were holding guns to their heads and hoping that the next chamber was empty.

They knew this, and they advanced regardless.

Because they had people to save.

The Dungeon had prepared for them. Six Sporekings awaited, and the vines that Malika had burnt were regrown. There weren’t any minions, which was a bright silver lining. The Party members that had dedicated their efforts to thinning the hordes could wield their strength at meatier targets. Once again, the Organic Devourer on the far wall was protecting itself with thick vines that hovered in front of the ‘face’. It also hadn’t positioned the Sporekings directly in front of the entrance for an immediate ambush. Another Dungeon quirk, Rob assumed, and one that was fine by him. Every restriction it was constrained under was another weakness he intended to exploit.

“The mana suffusing the air is gone,” Malika said. “It must have used the rest to heal itself and prepare its defenses.”

“So no more bullshit reinforcements?” Rob commented. “Cool. I’ll take a fair-ish fight over that hell any day.”

“There are six Sporekings,” Keira said. “That’s hardly a fair fight.” She drew her greatsword and bared her teeth. “It should have spawned at least eight if it wanted a chance.”

The Dungeon took offense to this, a groan of creaking wood reverberating in their ears. Keira laughed and slammed her greatsword into the adjacent wall, cracking a section into splinters. “You know not who you’ve crossed,” she said. “Rob’s bonfire is nothing compared to the suffering I’m going to inflict upon you.”

“Is everyone ready?” Taleya asked. It was a rhetorical question; they wouldn’t have crossed the wall of darkness if they weren’t. “Then let’s begin.”

Riardin’s Rangers drew their weapons, took a deep breath, and took off running down the center of the room.

For a moment, the Organic Devourer gaped in shock as they studiously ignored the enemies it had prepared on the sides. But why wouldn’t they? They’d only fought in a chaotic melee the first go-around because there hadn’t been time to plan before everything went to shit. Now they knew what they were up against, and the journey back had afforded plenty of time to come up with a strategy. One that was simple, yet effective.

The big face on the wall was too big of an obvious target to pass up.

And it was looking mighty flammable.

Dozens of thick, bulbous vines stretched out towards the Party. Vul’to broke off from the group, hefted his shield of bark, and moved to engage the vines on the left side of the room. “Come at me!” He yelled, his voice overlaid upon itself as a wave of sound rippled through the air.

The vines stopped like they’d been frozen in time. A moment later, the vast majority adjusted course and whipped towards Vul’to. He activated Step of the Wind and raised his shield of bark to deflect them, retreating just out of range to dodge most and dull the power of the ones that managed to reach. The bark held strong against the flurry of blows, and so did Vul’to. He planted himself in one spot and put both arms behind his shield, grunting in exertion but otherwise unmoved.

A Ranger would have been blown aside. A newly-minted Vanguard with inherent Class Skills that rooted him in one spot and strengthened the durability of his shield was a different story.

Malika helped clear the way on the right side of the room, firing two cutting gusts of wind that sliced through a good chunk of the vines. She couldn’t spare the MP for anything more – she had to keep enough in reserve for one more spell – but it created the opening the Party needed to shift directions rightward. Orn’tol and Taleya fired Skill-infused arrows at the vines shielding the Organic Devourer, chipping away at its defenses bit by bit, revealing more of the facial indentation that lay scowling underneath. Zamira assisted Vul’to, pruning the vines that his Taunt hadn’t managed to beguile, dashing in and out of range as a cutting silver blur. Keira did the same on the right side of the room once Malika’s wind had softened the vines’ defenses, Danger Sense keeping her safe once more.

It was efficient, brutal, and necessary. They’d determined that, moreso than the Sporekings or the endless minions, the vines were the biggest threat in the Organic Devourer’s arsenal. The minions died quickly and the Sporekings were too slow to pose a real danger against a coordinated team of their caliber. In contrast, the vines were fast, strong – more like whips than plant matter – and fucking everywhere. The Party had underestimated how much of a problem they would be, and as a result, Keira had been effectively removed from the fight after killing her Sporeking and the others had only managed to take down one before more started to spawn. This time around, with Vul’to and Zamira playing defense on the left side and Malika thinning the vines on the right, the Party had managed to achieve the most important victory of all: room to breathe.

And just in time, as the Sporekings had finally caught up. Vul’to used his shield of bark to turn aside the vines, and in that moment of respite, screamed a Taunt at the mushroom men on the left side of the room. It was a Skill that could be resisted with high Mind, so naturally, the three stooges turned to chase him. Orn’tol, the absolute madlad, ran in close and aggroed all three Sporekings on the right side by himself. Rob’s heart caught in his throat as he watched the Ranger slice each of them in succession, ducking and sidestepping around a trio of punches by mere inches. Taleya switched to shooting down any vines that snaked their way towards Orn’tol, and Meyneth played interference by swatting them out of the air when they got too close.

A sharp crack rang through the air. Rob bit back a curse as Orn’tol’s arm was snapped in half by a lucky swing from one of the Sporekings, broken bone jutting out from inside his flesh. Orn’tol screamed in pain as he jumped back, barely holding onto his bow with a shaking hand as he drew an arrow with his good arm.

“Keira!” He yelled, firing the arrow – wrapped in a gray aura – at the Sporekings’ feet. It broke apart upon impact, spreading a thick monochrome fog that expanded out ten feet in every direction. Inside the fog, the Sporekings slowed to a crawl, moving like they were swimming through molasses. Keira had already leaped upwards the instant Orn’tol shouted her name, hovering a good twenty feet in mid-air as her greatsword hummed with an accumulation of power. The Sporekings took note, but they were too slow to do a damn thing about it. They could only watch as the hammer of god fell down upon their heads.

“CRUSH!”

Plant matter and cracked wood exploded in every direction. The Sporekings were so tightly clumped-together that Keira had annihilated two at once and clipped the third with the tip of her greatsword. Meyneth jumped on the leftover like a lion pouncing on a wounded gazelle, tearing into the stunned and injured Sporeking with Armor Shred-infused claws. With a savage battle cry, she reached inside its chest, gripped tight, and pulled out a glowing wooden orb. Meyneth held her trophy aloft for all to see, pride glimmering in her eyes as her prey stilled.

In five seconds, every Sporeking on the right side of the room had been slaughtered.

Perfect.

Every step of their plan had gone off without a hitch. Rush the center, put the Devourer on the backfoot, play defense with Vul’to as a Vanguard, thin the vines, and combine Orn’tol and Keira’s Skills to wipe out as many Sporekings as they could in one fell swoop. Afterwards was supposed to be the victory march; they would cautiously advance towards the Devourer, clear the vines it was using to protect itself, and then shove a crate of Firebombs down its gullet. Keira or Meyneth would do the honors of that last bit – with their strength, they were best-suited to the task. A strong water spell from Malika would douse the flames before they got out of hand and spread to any of the Sporekings. Lastly, the Party would clean up any of the monsters or vines that didn’t ‘deactivate’ after their head honcho had been blown to pieces.

Much easier than the first few steps had been, honestly. It should have been the equivalent of mercy killing wounded game.

Unfortunately, planning couldn’t fully account for inexperience.

It wasn’t Vul’to’s fault. He’d been a Vanguard for like, fifteen minutes, tops. Considering that it was his first ever battle as a defender on the front lines, he’d acquitted himself extremely well. But he was new to the role, and just as importantly, his shield wasn’t a real shield.

Vul’to backed away from the remaining Sporekings on the left side of the room, moving to join the rest of the Party. In doing so, he stepped too close to the Organic Devourer. Only by a few inches, but that’s all it took. The Devourer whipped out the vines covering its face and broke through Vul’to’s shield of bark that had finally given up the ghost. It wrapped its vines around Vul’to’s limbs and squeezed. The Elf cried out in agony as his bones were crushed with a vomit-inducing sound similar to stepping on a dry leaf. Brown light surrounded his feet, indicating that he’d activated Unwavering to root himself in place, but the Skill wasn’t going to be able to withstand that much force for long.

The Devourer’s mouth opened wide, revealing a row of sharpened teeth.

‘Quick Thinking.’

Rob’s mind raced as the Skill burned through the last dregs of his Stamina. The vines on the far center wall that the Devourer used to shield itself – which were now wrapped around Vul’to’s limbs – were much stronger and more durable than the rest. Rampage infused with his other offensive Skills might cut through one set of vines wrapped around one limb, but that was it. Keira could sever the other sets if she was in range, which she wasn’t. The rest of the Party was reacting too slowly or lacked the raw physical power necessary to help.

They couldn’t free Vul’to in time. That was a fact.

It was also a fact that, to ensnare him, the Devourer had moved aside the vines it was using to cover its mouth.

‘Rampage’. Rob burst forward towards Vul’to – and past him. ‘Rampage’. ‘Rampage’. ‘Rampage’. Three more bursts that rocketed him close to the Devourer.

But not close enough.

Less than 50 MP left. Can’t Rampage again. He activated the Ring of Teleportation, gut churning as he was displaced 15 feet ahead.

He’d barely made it. The lower half of his body was hanging out of the Devourer’s maw.

Crunch.

183 Severing Damage Taken!

Regrow Limb Level Increased! 3 → 4

Oops, there went his legs. That’s fine, wasn’t using them.

In the darkness of the Devourer’s closed mouth, Rob’s vision was illuminated by a very peculiar sight. Is that a fucking eye? It was, in fact, a fucking eye. Big and veiny and attached to the roof of the Devourer’s mouth, glaring down at Rob with shocked indignation.

He gave it a grin, summoned his last two crates of Firebombs, and activated Not a Scratch and Lifesurge.

“Riardin Special, biiiiitch-”

–

As Keira watched Rob insert himself into the Organic Devourer’s mouth, she found that – to her surprise – she wasn’t worried.

That’s not to say she didn’t care. If anything happened to that reckless fool of a man...well. It wasn’t worth considering, because nothing would happen. At this point, she’d seen him survive too many absurd situations for her to believe he would end his journey today. A Blight of all things had failed to kill him, and a mere Dungeon thought it would be the one to send Rob to the Humans’ Hallowed Halls? No. He wouldn’t fall here, not when he still had so much left undone.

She would put her trust in him. He’d earned that much.

Then the Devourer bit down and severed his legs, and she started to get a little bit worried.

Several seconds later, an enormous explosion rocked the room like an earthquake. Everyone from the Party to the Sporekings fell flat on their ass as the face of the Organic Devourer ruptured into pieces that scattered across the room. One of those pieces turned out to be Rob, who flew straight towards the back wall, crashed into it, then dropped to the floor, unmoving.

Keira’s panic lasted up until she checked the Party Screen, upon which it was replaced by confused awe.

Name: Rob
HP: 893 / 893 (913 / 913; Battle Fever +2)
Stamina: 1 / 300 (21 / 320; Battle Fever +2)
MP: 2 / 200 (22 / 220; Battle Fever +2)

She knew how his abilities functioned. He had Not A Scratch to block the initial wave of the explosion, Lifesurge to heal half his max HP, Lifesteal to gain back 25% of the damage he dealt to his foes. That last one especially must have helped if the Organic Devourer has – had as much HP as they expected the Level 51 ruler of a Dungeon to have.

But even with all that in mind, seeing him endure the epicenter of a massive explosion and come out of it with full HP was…

Ridiculous.

Rob raised his head. Keira looked at him, and for the first time since she’d witnessed him Rampage ahead of the Party, felt true worry. Mania was shining bright in his eyes, like two miniature collapsing suns. He started to giggle, and it quickly transitioned into a deep-throated belly laugh that chilled her to the bone.

She kept the Party Screen open. For one brief fraction of an instant, she could have sworn she saw Leveling High change to Moderate.

Then it passed. Rob let out a sigh of relief and smirked, staring at her with half-lidded eyes.

“Got ‘em.”


--

Author's Note: Hope you enjoyed the extra-long chapter! This took a decent chunk out of my schedule, but I'll try to get the next one out on time regardless.

Rob's gains from killing the Organic Devourer will be detailed next chapter, but if you want a sneak peek, I included them in the list of Changes / Character Sheet / Skills. 

Thanks for reading!