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Chapter 68 Escalation arc
🕑 Added 2025-11-04 07:35:07 +0000 UTCPdf and epub versions below.
There is nothing at the bottom of the Dungeon. It is a self contained ecosystem that supports life, which is being driven upward for unknown reasons. There is no answer, there is no solution. The Dungeon simply is, and we are fools for thinking we can control it.
Excerpt from The Beasts of the Dungeon.
REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK p^o^q REPLACE WITH LINE BREAK
“You’re saying we should hunt the Calamity,” Elly repeated, sounding almost hungry. She glanced at him. “That we hunt a living, walking natural disaster.”
Marcus hummed, ignoring how eager she sounded. If nothing else, she was relatively easy to please. “So I do. We don’t know what they’re capable of first hand, but I know enough that I don’t want it anywhere near the Eastfort.”
“So we hunt it together, take its head as a trophy, you ensure we don’t get bogged down by teleporting us, and then we-”
He sighed, suppressing a small smile at her enthusiasm. “I’m glad you’re having fun, but no. We’re taking a hunting party—which I’ll trust you to arrange—scout out its location, verify the Empire’s information, then probe it until we’ve found which attacks work and which don’t.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Elly waved her hand. “Let me live for a moment. You know how rare it is for someone to actually keep up with me? No slowing down, no babysitting their battles or making sure I keep a stoic and professional expression. I want to hunt. To howl at the moon, to sing songs as my blood flows; to feel alive.”
Marcus paused, taking a cautious and slightly dramatic step away from her. “Alright then, miss Elf. Let’s keep whatever fantasy that is under wraps until we’re no longer facing extinction, alright?”
“Boring,” she complained, grinning as he took another step back. Elly cooed at him. “Don’t worry, little lamb. You’re my favorite pet, so I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“Remind me which one of us won seven out of ten matches over the last month?”
The smile slid off her face, eyes narrowing playfully. Playfully, right? “You just wait until I figure out how to connect myself to the heart of the planet. See how much you like me then.”
“Nah, I think I prefer being able to dance around you in a fight.” Marcus grinned at her outrage, rolling his shoulder. “We need to get back to the Eastfort, though.”
Elly huffed. “You insult my honor, challenge my skill and then refuse to fight me? I’d think you’re angling to start a blood feud.”
“A blood feud about what? You calling me your pet?”
“There’s only one way you can prove me wrong—”
Marcus rolled his eyes, teleporting a few hundred feet away. He could almost feel her scowl, the wind whipping through his hair as she joined him a few seconds later. Elly glared at him. “You would dare—”
He teleported again, stretching the limit of his range, and enjoyed the eleven seconds of peace until she caught up. She didn’t even say anything, this time, but that was on her. He would not stand for being called a pet, of all things, and he’d learned that Elly responded well to relatively aggressive correction.
Like a stubborn dog, in a way. Those didn’t learn to behave with soft owners, though in his opinion any trainer who needed to resort to physical correction was poor at their job. Case in point, leaving her behind by bending the laws of space rather than beat her in a spar.
Regular dog trainers had more mundane tricks, he assumed.
“Fine,” she finally replied, scowling. Her lips were still twitching, though. She really was an Elf. “You’re not my pet. I apologize.”
He beamed at her. “Apology accepted. Now, why don’t we talk about thi-”
“Vizier.”
Marcus schooled his expression and let the humor drain, Elly doing much the same beside him. Their guards were still catching up, and he normally wouldn't abandon them like this, but damn was it getting rare for them to have a moment of privacy.
It was over now, though. Otmon arrived into view a few moments later, his usual guards with him, and the Vizier wasted no time in approaching them. The man seemed almost harried, hair messy and bronze skin glistening with sweat.
Since Marcus could teleport and Elly was perhaps in the best shape physically possible, he was the only one.
“You spoke to the Empress,” the man said, not sounding nearly as hurried as he looked. The Vizier spoke to him more than Elly, tone turning almost demanding. “What did she say? Is she well? Will she be staying at the Eastfort? If she’s staying at the-”
Elly flicked her hand, both drawing the man’s attention and shutting him up. The knife dancing between her fingers probably helped. “You’re doing that thing where you’re demanding information again, Otmon. Stop. I feel like the ‘or else’ is implied, yes?”
The man’s guards tensed, Marcus too busy being confused to care. Otmon was calm, calculated and smooth, almost to a fault. Now he was making one demand after the other, all but poking Elly’s simmering anger towards the Empire, and it made no sense.
Ah. The Empress. Both times she was involved, and if Viziers were picked based on loyalty above all else… The man was a fanboy.
“The first person to put a hand on their weapon dies,” Elly said, and Marcus snapped back to the present. She didn’t sound worried, exactly, but he’d like to avoid any political issues that came with slaughtering a Vizier and his guards. “I mean, you could still try. Who knows, you might kill someone who regularly spars with and wins against an Archmage. Could be fun.”
Marcus glanced at her. Not helping, Elly. “Peace, both of you. Otmon, go calm down somewhere. Elly, please don’t kill anyone.”
“I can be persuaded to stick to severe maimings.”
Yup, still pissed.
At least she could direct her anger. Even when they bickered she never tapped into that pool of rage she controlled so very well, which was admirable. No, wait. De-escalate now, admire his wife later.
…Best not to let Vess hear that particular train of thought.
“Otmon, leave,” Marcus ordered. The man hesitated, which only made Elly’s grin widen, and Marcus sighed. The small group vanished, appearing some distance away with startled expressions, and he turned to Elly. “Please?”
She sighed, sheathing her knife. “Fine, fine. I can’t promise I won’t hunt them for sport if that man keeps behaving like this, though.”
“I’m pretty sure he got the message,” Marcus replied dryly. “Now, we have a Calamity hunt to prepare for, right?”
Elly glanced at him, rolling her eyes in such a way he just knew his distraction had been seen through, but she seemed willing to go along with it. “Right. The hunting party should be no larger than twenty, mostly Life Enhanced soldiers. No offense, but regular mages aren’t going to do much against a magically resistant beast.”
“None taken.”
“Supplies, too. Potions—I know we don’t have many, but this isn’t the time to be stingy—and at least two healers. An escape plan for if you get knocked unconscious, along with practice. A stamina test to make sure you can get us there and back without fatiguing yourself.”
Good, good. She was already looking less murdery. Marcus cleared his throat, moving them closer towards the Eastfort as they talked. “Swords might not do much if their armor is more than a few feet thick.”
“I’ll bring my warbow, as will my people. Summons?”
“Barry isn’t ready for combat that intense, and I don’t trust his Demon Knight to behave himself without him. We’ll have to make do without.”
“Divination?”
Marcus hummed. “We don’t have the mages, so no. Same goes for transmutation or necromancy, as little as either discipline would do. Magical bombs would be useful but limited in supply. Stone armor might be susceptible to shock, too, so I’ll see what we have in stock.”
“Funny.”
“I have never been less funny than I am at this moment,” he replied. “What else?”
Elly shrugged. “Those are the main things we’ll need. I’m sure we’ll come up with more, but it’s more important to get the hunting party together. Still want me to do it?”
“Sure. I have some stuff to deal with anyway, and I’d rather get that out of the way before we hunt one of the most dangerous entities on the face of the planet. You know, just in case.”
She snorted, waving him away as they entered the Eastfort proper. Marcus skipped all the pesky fortifications that would require him to spend the next half hour walking, something Elly couldn't do nearly as easily, and five minutes later he was standing in his own room again.
Their room. His room when only he was in it? Whatever.
Now, what to do first? Vess. Yeah, definitely her. She hadn’t been avoiding him, not like during the whole Archmage revelation mess, but he hadn’t spoken more than a few words with her in days, and most of those had been ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’.
Still, he wasn’t just going to forcefully pull her from whatever she was doing. Marcus weaved the matrix and let power trickle into it, settling on a chair to wait until she was done.
Aaah, it almost reminded him of that time he’d asked her to play messenger. She had been willing, if the need was great enough, and then promptly threatened to stab him. Apparently few sapient beings liked being pulled back and forth to memorize and regurgitate information, even if the benefit was obvious.
How greedy, not wanting to spend what was essentially their vacation to play he-said-she-said.
Marcus hummed and spun up his latest sixth-matrix exercise, trying to pierce a hole through space and failing rather often. Not always, but his limited successes weren’t portals. He wasn’t even sure what they were, really. Just small, crude distortions that strained his ability to control.
It took half an hour for Vess to actually show up. And while she didn’t look haggard, she almost looked a little too perfect. As if she’d paid attention to every last detail of her appearance, where usually she was somewhat more relaxed when it was just them.
He raised a cup in greeting. “Me and Elly are about to hunt a Calamity.”
“Of course you are,” Vess sighed, taking a seat on his table. Poised, that was her. “Might I humbly request more information, or is there no time before you run off and get yourself killed?”
Marcus shrugged. “We have time. And don’t worry, with Elly’s strength and my mobility I doubt it will kill us. Win, perhaps, but not kill.”
“The arrogance of youth,” she chided, not sounding particularly insulting. “Sometimes it builds empires, but it usually just gets people killed. Are you planning to build an empire, Marcus?”
He tilted his head. “Not particularly, no. Sounds like a lot of work. Why?”
“Because being able to influence the creation of an Imperial court would be tolerable compensation for the sheer amount of bullshit I’ve been dealing with over the past few weeks.”
“I’d love to commiserate, but you haven’t told me much. Or anything, really.”
Vess groaned, her perfect posture shattering as she let herself fall backwards. “I know. I haven’t had a moment to breathe for days, let alone indulge in some spirited discussion. It was all I could do to not let my intelligence operations fall apart, really.”
“So what is happening, and do you need help?”
She waved her hand, still collapsed on the desk. “Not that kind of problem. But now that we’re talking about it, do you remember when you told me you fought a strange shapeshifter in the School of Life?”
“Hard to forget. I burned the town to ashes, though in hindsight probably not all of it.”
“Well, it wasn’t lying about having a connection to its real self. They call themselves Amoktep, and they haven’t been shy about complaining. Complaining about you, specifically, which wasn’t a problem until you became an Archmage. Now an assortment of Demon Kings, Princes and information brokers are sending out scouts to learn as much as they can, which means my house got several dozen unwanted visitors.”
Marcus frowned. “I assume you killed them?”
“Killed them?” Vess barked out a laugh. “I can die over there, don’t you know? I took what mattered most and ran. Set up a new home and bound myself to it, which took time, then spent yet more time finding out who actually sent those assholes. Then I had to find out why, how many more there are and exactly how interested the interested parties were.”
“Were?”
“Are, whatever.” She groaned again. “I had that cabin for ninety eight years. Nine mounts, four hunting hounds, hundreds of small curiosities and a garden with every plant I cared about. Now I have to start over. I hate starting over.”
“I’m sorry.”
Vess straightened, shaking her head. “Not your fault. Well, it technically is, but I don’t blame you for it. Now what is this foolishness about hunting Calamities?”
“A Calamity, for now.” Marcus shrugged, smiling slightly. Not being blamed was always good, especially by one of his few friends. “And that’s kind of my deal with the Empire. They leverage their vastly superior economy to rebuild Mirrania—and in most places improve it above pre-invasion levels—then I help them during the Dungeon breaks. Which I probably would have done anyway, what with the whole ‘its killing anyone and everyone even vaguely made out of meat’.”
She tilted her head. “That’s an acceptance of responsibility based on choices offered to you, not created by yourself. The Empire can’t do much against you if you’d stayed in Mirrania. Not with their world falling apart.”
“That’s true,” he allowed. “And then the Empire might break and Mirrania dies anyway. And if they somehow didn’t, well. Why have enemies when you can have friends?”
“You’d make a terrible demon.”
Marcus hummed. “Thank you. Regardless of my acceptance of responsibility, it's bad. Worse than anything we’ve seen at the Eastfort, apparently. Five forts are gone, Vistus is running around doing as much damage control as he can, the Empress and her son have personally taken to the field. Horzo is apparently putting the finishing touches on his ‘fleet’, whatever that is, and no one tells me much about the last remaining Archmage in the first place. I get the feeling he has strange powers, even for us.”
“Us?” Vess grinned, making him roll his eyes. “No, no. This is good. My feelings on the Empire aside, Archmages have power beyond what centuries of societal conditioning grant them. It's good you’re starting to accept your maybe-godhood.”
“If someone makes a religion out of me, I’m going to lose my temper.”
Vess shrugged. “No you won’t. I’ll just make sure it's the kind of religion that you like. Helpful, kind, militant but not zealous, promoting science and progress, that kind of thing. Oooh, I was joking before, but shaping a religion could be fun.”
Marcus glared at her, the demon smiling innocently, and he could only imagine what Elly would say. Yes, he could imagine it very easily.
Laughter, contemplation, then a mild observation on the fact that religious soldiers would fight much harder than non-religious soldiers.
“I’m warning you,” he muttered, not quite able to summon the correct level of annoyance to make her stop smiling. “Ah, fuck it. I’ll just make you do all the work and reap the rewards. See how much you like me being deified if everything has to go through you. The demon succubus Head Priestess Vess will see you now, supplicant nine thousand and forty eight.”
She laughed a little too hard, her smile turning fond instead of mysterious. “You’re precious, you know that? If only you weren’t a freak of nature. It's hard to show appreciation when your main skills are undesired.”
“Yeah, yeah. Keep it in your pants.” Marcus turned, tapping a sheet of paper. “This is what Elly and I think we’ll need for the Calamity hunt. See anything we missed?”
Vess hummed, leaning over the desk to take a look at it. Marcus rolled his eyes at her posture, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his wine. A good vintage, that. Mild but with deep flavors, which was about all the patience he had for the ‘complex art of wine tasting’. It either tasted good or it didn’t. That’s all that mattered.
“Can’t think of anything,” she said after a moment. “Maybe more summons? You’re lacking powerful contracts aside from me and Xathar, and neither of us will be of too much help.”
Marcus shrugged. “I’ve thought about it. Barry could probably help, but it's not that I don’t see the value. Having a Demon Knight to protect me would be great, as would having an old elemental at my services.”
“Then why not?”
He waved his hand. “I’m a spatial mage. The spatial mage, if you believe the Empire. What I can do with that art will dwarf any and every other discipline, but only if I stick with it. Having a hundred good tricks is powerful, but that isn’t how Vistus mastered matter manipulation. It isn’t how the Empress can apparently conjure entire armies from nothing, armies that don’t exist yet affect the world all the same. My spatial arc alone is more versatile, efficient and dangerous than any of my non-spatial spells. Why master the ability to burn an entire company of men when I can slice them in half for a tenth of the cost?”
“Mastery now, diversity later.” Vess tilted her head. “Makes sense.”
A knock interrupted his reply, Vess straightening with a sigh. He shrugged. “Sorry. I did say I had to take care of a few things.”
“It’s alright,” she replied. “I promise I’m done being not-around. Do summon me when you’re fighting the Calamity. I wish to gawk at it.”
Marcus snorted, waving his hand. The door opened a second after she vanished, telekinesis continuing to prove ever so useful, and his last two remaining spatial students walked inside. Barcus nodded quietly as Donna bowed with a huge smile on her face, one of the few things those two had in common being their talent for magic.
Marcus nodded to them both, resisting the urge to invite them to sit. They were his apprentices, not his friends. Mentally switching over took a moment, but neither mage seemed particularly impatient.
He spoke after what Vess called a ‘dignified moment of silence’ had passed. “This will be the last lesson for the week, so let’s get started. Show me your exercises.”
