Tao Wong
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Aeres Academy - Chapter 8 preview
🕑 Added 2025-03-24 13:00:00 +0000 UTCFloor three looked exactly the same as the other two floors. Unlike the main dungeon, the Aeres academy fault rarely changed in layout for the first three floors. The monsters that lived in those floors were not the kind to alter the geography of their home, no matter how often adventurers tramped through the corridors and caverns waylaying their residents for their mana shards.
Floors four to nine on the other hand had either sapient creatures smart enough to make changes to their home or, in the case of frak crawlers, behavior that saw them alternately digging and closing off walls on the regular as part of their natural behaviour.
All of which meant that the third floor had glowing crystal walls, a natural grey slate and buckling, edged cavern look with ground earth and dirt flooring. The occasional drip, drip, drip of collecting water, drawn from the humid atmosphere and the leaking earth above filled the cavern, forming tiny pools where darting shrimp, white and blind tiny crabs and other cavern life existed.
Most of all, there were the other aspirants. Fewer in number, for this group made the third and smallest group. These were the driven, the gifted, the overachievers.
Nearly all of them were better equipped than the lot above, some due to family connections - distant relatives that were delvers, family members who were dungeon cleaners or the like - while others might have borrowed heavily on the basis of their skill.
Down one corridor, standing before a small cavern; I caught sight of the redhead I'd seen earlier. The one with the family that had so attracted attention. No tears, not anymore, just dry eyes and an intense look on her face as she pointed splayed fingers into the cavern, vomiting flames with such intensity the chill of the underground had risen to a sweltering heat. I swore, I was getting a good tan just jogging past her.
And yes, I got the irony of the redhead using fire magic; but skills sometimes had a sense of irony too. More common than you would guess, the alteration of the body to suit - and hint - of the skill owned by the one within.
She was so focused, she never even noticed me. Or the creeping centipede, black as the soil it crawled through that I booted on the way past. I did not even bother checking for a shard - the damn centipede was too small to have anything worthwhile; but it's venomous bite and poisonous hairs were enough to leave skin burning for hours on end.
A major distraction for a magic user. Or anyone with any nerve endings, really.
That was the thing about the third floor - the dangers grew not just because of the monsters that lived here, but environmental dangers expanded significantly too. Only the most experienced, the most prepared were supposed to descend to this level. Or so the free fault literature that the academy distributed said.
On the other hand, they also managed to point out the regular exchange rate for shards. On the third floor, due to the larger monsters and strength, your average ratio went from twelve to one to ten to one.
If you thought that was not a significant difference, it's worth noting two things. The entire battle with Yorrick had garnered me just over thirteen shards. A guaranteed core. It had also wasted a significant amount of time and energy and had been, purely, happenstance that I had managed to find and kill that many. If I was lucky, I might achieve another one or two such fights on the first floor before I was exhausted - assuming I did not tap into my skill.
Guaranteed fail.
With three such fights on the third floor, I might actually pass. 39 shards, plus the couple I picked up beforehand meant I would have enough. The math on the second floor was worse of course, but at least you had fewer aspirants and more monsters to contend with, so you traded a lot of small fights for tiring big ones.
Yet, for all that, I kept moving. No longer jogging, eyes peeled for danger but not pausing to search for trouble.
A taras drop-spider - a popular pet a few decades ago in Haeros before the fad had died - fell. It had mutated, gone through a couple of evolutions as it crawled down to the core – and was larger than ever, a full hand size and with razor sharp tips for its feet. I struck, reflexively, punching it away like it was a speed bag. Even as it swung upwards to the ceiling from my attack, it jerked to a stop as it stopped reeling out another thread of spider silk. This one attached to my fist.
Let me say, physics still worked on the base level. Unable to go backwards anymore, jerked to a stop and gravity taking effect, it swung towards me again, stake-like legs spread wide to grab and hold.
I dropped low, uppercut the damn thing and then, as it came down hit it with a straight. Ripped it off the ceiling and then stomped it flat for good measure. Tearing the core shard out of it afterwards was rather satisfying.
Don't get me wrong - I did not have a phobia for such creatures, but there was something about a creature that lay in wait, falling from great height with stakes for legs and poison in its mouth that was just a little horrid.
So, yes. I made sure it was dead, before I struck a spark on the quick-light torch I had brought with me from my small backpack. I extended the metal scope and lifted the torch high, burning the webs that criss-crossed the ceiling in the dark. Webs the color of night lit up, flaring bright as flames raced along ends, one after the other. For a moment, even the dim, twilight of the dungeon brightened to full day, as the full extent of the creatures abode was revealed.
I had about a second and a half to admire the whole thing, before the remaining spiders dropped to the ground, cutting their webbing off and leapt at me in retaliation. In the distance, not too far, bodies fell, the thud, thud, sploosh of half-decomposed body filling the room as an acrid smell joined the hint of burning flesh and fur in the air.
Fists are not particularly well designed to deal with tiny, jumping creatures. It takes a lot of practice to hit the equivalent of leaping fastballs, especially when they had a tendency to change direction with their web spinning.
Timing, judgment, measure. It all mattered, and it wasn't just a case of hitting a bouncing tennis ball, but striking hard enough to crack shell and break legs so that they couldn’t try it again.
I'll admit, I had fun.
It was not too dissimilar to punching yellow balls tied to rubber bands, hung from a series of bars. One after the other, shift and punch and punch again as angles shifted with each moment. You shifted and shuffled until, suddenly, the creatures were dead, or at least, broken enough that it was but a matter of finishing them.
Leaving me, victorious. Alone. Delayed.
Even more so, when the noises resolved into groaning and moaning, noises coming from bundles of orange cloth and dark webbing.
Because, of course, that was my luck.
Comments
Jonathan Griffith
Tyftc!
