“Don’t worry, it will be okay,” Mom assured calmly. She put an arm around Dad’s and held him close, trying to keep him from pacing and soothe him. They all stood around the cookfire that had a pan of diced meat roasting in herbs. Bernard stood stoically next to Apprentice Keane, the young man eating a few pieces of cooked mystery meat from the pan. Joselin stood next to the Core Generator, probably because it was where Rhamiel’s Core was.
And the Core himself was perplexed ever since he told Joselin, who told her parents, who in turn brought the rest of the fighters here. “I mean, Come on!” Dad complained. “Out of all these lunatics-”
“You wanted to be one of those lunatics once,” Mom reminded him.
“I know,” he rolled his eyes and began rubbing his temples. He shook his head and let out a prolonged sigh. “And I am glad I abandoned it for you. I likely would be as insane as him… or dead.”
“Most of them end up like that,” Graham noted. “Glad I killed one Region Boss then stopped; that one already damaged me; I can only imagine a few.”
“Seriously?!” Rhamiel shouted. “What are you talking about?! Why does this guy want to destroy me?! Why is he the Hero of Fallen Udarov?! What is Udarov?!”
The whole group paused and looked around as if waiting for Someone else to respond. It was a tense few seconds before Mom spoke up.
“A Boss Hunter. Admittedly, one of the more famous ones,” Mom nodded. “Last I heard, he had killed four bosses. Three Field Bosses and a Region Boss last I heard,” Dad said. He handed the piece of paper to Mom and shook his head.
“Isn’t a Boss Hunter a good thing to have around?” Rhamiel questioned.
“Yes,” Joselin said.
“Kind of,” Mom said.
“No,” Bernard said defiantly. “They absolutely are not.”
“What?!” Rhamiel shouted, “Does all that mean?!”
Dad sighed, “Boss Hunters are… adrenaline junkies, crusaders, power-hungry fanatics, and brain-addled lunatics. And this one, the Fallen Hero of Udarov, is one of the worst of the bunch as far as I am concerned. He won’t even use his real name.”
“Corinth, you just hate him because-”
“Ah!” Dad interrupted Mom. “We do not speak of that dalliance. It was BC.”
“BC?” Rhamiel asked.
“Before Corinth,” Mom shook her head. “Will you ever let that go?”
“No, never,” he grumbled.
“What?” Joselin said, trying to interpret what was going on.
Bernard turned to Joselin and said, “I think she dated this Hero guy before your Dad.”
“Wait, what?!” Joselin said a little too loudly. She spun around to look at Mom and Dad, who were both looking at her with wide eyes.
“Now, honey, It’s not a big deal,” Mom said, looking between Joselin and Dad. “Seriously, it was a long time ago.”
“Not long enough,” Dad sulked.
“What is going on?” Rhamiel observed the group. “Shouldn’t we be talking about how we are going to deal with this lunatic, not discussing Mom’s sordid and gross past?”
“Sordid?” Joselin asked the Core.
“Gross?” Mom asked.
“Past?” Dad grumbled.
“I am dealing with children,” Graham whispered. “What are we going to do about him. We could just try to kill him, but that would likely be difficult given his level the last time we saw him. It would likely be easier to convince him that you aren’t a threat but still a problem.”
“Why?” Rhamiel asked.
“He is one of those who believe in trying to end the Age of Decline, which means killing any Core or Boss he comes across. And he would believe it in the most passionate way possible. I do not think we can avoid a fight,” Graham frowned.
“We can end the Age of Decline?” Joselin asked.
Mom and Dad looked at each other, then back to Joselin. Mom shook he head as she spoke, “It’s a theory, nothing more. Some say that if we manage to kill enough Bosses or enough Cores, given that the Age of Decline began with the Night of God’s Tears. We have no evidence to prove it.”
“Not that it matters,” Bernard grumbled. “We can’t defeat that many Bosses, especially the Country World Boss. And the Established Cores? No, impossible. The most any of us can do is survive long enough to live as old as possible.”
“Stop that!” Joselin demanded. “We can do this,” she said with a surety that surprised Rhamiel. “We can’t just give up; if we do, what’s even the point of struggling to survive this long?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Graham spoke casually. “I survive out of spite, you?”
“Stubbornness,” Bernard answered. “I am not going down unless they are ready to spend the cost it will take to take me down.”
Both men looked at each other and laughed for a moment while Joselin took a step closer to Rhamiel’s Core Generator.
“So!” Rhamiel shouted. “What are we going to do about this?”
“I don’t think this is a complicated problem,” Graham answered with a large grin. “I say we throw Elgeia at him and have her negotiate for his surrender.”
Dad’s gaze towards the Holy Fist was immediate, “Madness no. It's more likely that he would view her as a Dungeon Illusion of some sort, not as the real thing.”
“We could fight him until he is tired; his stamina cannot be endless. It should be possible to wear him out before he kills anyone.”
“And then we use Elgeia to negotiate,” Graham still grinned.
“It could work if he’s tired,” Rhamiel agreed.
“No!” Dad shot it down immediately. “She will not be Ne-”
“I think it's an idea worth considering,” Mom inserted. “And I don’t like you not even giving me a choice here. It's my safety here and my choice.”
He looked wounded, “But Elgeia, he’s unstable. We might be able to beat him, but it would take being tactical, careful, and using you as our trump card if we need to.” He whispered that last bit.
“By any chance,” Someone asked from outside the circle. Lamar Headley joined the circle of combatants with his hands behind his back and hunched over. He looked over the assembled group with a glint in his eyes that spoke to the aspect of Madness he possessed. “May I speak my opinion?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Heady, but I don’t know how you can help here,” Bernard spoke honestly.
“It’s Headley,” Lamar corrected immediately. “And if you really think that, then you lack intelligence or imagination, young man.” He turned to face Joselin and the Core Generator, “May I offer another option?”
“Sure,” Joselin nodded.
“I had an epiphany while our Lord Rhamiel was completing the Eldritch Cathedral,” he began, a crazed smile crossed his face. “I have been testing various applications of the Core Crystal, and I have had an idea!”
“Really, what kind of idea?” Rhamiel asked, suddenly intrigued.
The Artisan revealed a small glass tube of clear blue fluid; swirling crystalline particles within the tube caught the light. The tube glowed in Rhamiel’s sight, a small amount of mana stirring inside the tube with no obvious purpose, and when he analyzed it, he got an odd prompt.
“Okay, it's an improvised PotionCore Battery,” Rhamiel stated. Of course, the Core understood the potential uses for this sort of thing so that it would come in handy. But why did it matter now? “So what?”
“So what?” he asked, flummoxed. “We have definitive proof that the Core Crystal can be used to empower already magical products, like potions, and you ask so what. Ha!”
“But what use is this now, Mister Heady?” Dad asked. “It's not like Rhamiel can make good use of this right now.”
“For the sake of Love, It’s Headley!” he raged for few seconds. Then he coughed into his fist and held up a vial of thick purple fluid, “I have an idea. I believe that Core Crystal can empower anything with mana to some degree. What do you say to help me with an… experiment?” He looked at Dad.
***
A man entered the Domain of the Core, his target, with a purposeful stride. He wore dull steel armor that bore the imagery of a Hawk in flight carrying a blade in its claws upon his breastplate. Every part of him was covered in well-used steel plates and leather. Even the helmet upon his head only kept his deep blue eyes uncovered. Upon his back was the familiar weight of his two-handed sword, a Zweihander, and a wooden sword hung from his left hip with little fanfare.
Once he entered the Domain, it took him a minute to walk up to the wooden walls. It was not a normal sight, to be sure; Dungeon Cores typically built down because it was easier to defend, and it restricted his movements. But this Core had a different setup than anything else he had seen up to this point. It may have made the remains of the dead town its base of operations.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Either way, The Hero of Fallen Udarov would stop this thing before it progressed far enough to become a potential threat. Right now, based on how dense the mana felt, it was still early in its growth.
“Core, I hope you have readied yourself! For I am the Hero of Fallen Udarov, and I-”
“Oh, by Madness’s wizened hands, Johnny ElfCharmer, it is you.”
The man looked around him in a sudden frenzy; an old rage that he had buried under layers inside was blown away in a moment. In a fluid motion that defied the Zweihander’s size, the sword was drawn from its sheath and held up high in a ready stance.
“Up here, ElfCharmer!” the voice called again.
Looking up, the Hero found a man in a mottled green and gray shaded cloak perched upon the top of the wall. He was silhouetted by the sunlight, which made it hard to discern his features, but he could see the elvish longbow in his hand.
“Damned Vile Dungeon, you have learned how to use mind magic already? Laid a memory trap of some kind? How else could you know that abominable name!” He shouted, full of fury and confidence.
“Come on, ElfCharmer, one would think if it was mind magic, you wouldn’t know it was mind magic. Am I right?” the mysterious man responded.
“Or maybe that is another trick to make me lower my guard for the sucker punch.” He proposed, lowering this sword stance.
“Or maybe there is an easier option than mind magic,” the man responded.
“Yeah?! What?!”
“Maybe we know you.” The man proposed. “And because we know you, we want to ask you to stand down.”
“Or maybe you just have the bodies of people I knew once. People who you are now manipulating through some vile necromancy to learn all my secrets. Oh, that is evil, Dungeon Core,” the Hero proposed.
“Seriously?” the man said. “Does that mean that even if I told you my name, you wouldn’t take it seriously and let us all talk about this calmly?”
“No, I don’t speak calmly to Dungeon Cores. I just break them,” The Hero said with finality. Then cocked his head comically, “But, uh, for the sake of argument, what is the name of the body you are animating, conjuring, or pulling from my memories?”
“Corinth Setalla,” he said, shaking his head.
“Oh,” The Hero said lamely. He grits his teeth, and a vicious smile spreads across his face. “Oh, ho ho, I think you messed up Core. This man was an absolute raging jerk to me growing up, and I would love to take the chance to cut up something that looks like him.”
“Then I am sorry about this,” Corinth said as he dropped out of sight.
“Blast you, Dungeon Core,” The Hero cursed as he approached the wall. Placing a gauntletted finger to the blade, he ran it up the flat of the Zweihander, intoning his Spell, “Drakefire Arm.”
A fire ignited down the length of his Zweihander, hissing and boiling deep red flame that the Hero preferred. This Spell was potent, but its effective length was less desirable. So the Hero brought his heavy blade back and to his right, both hands on the handle as he prepared to break through this simple wall.
His blade struck the wood, and the flame spread immediately to the wall, weakening it in seconds. The second swing punched through the wood, splintering a hole into the wall the size of his torso. In two more swings, the section of the wall went down and granted him access.
Walking into the settlement, the first thing that caught his attention was the man standing in front of him. It wasn’t the camouflage-cloaked Corinth, but a homeless person blocked his path. He stood with a hunch; his clothes all looked a little too big, his stringy gray hair hung down loose, and his pale skin still held taut muscle. He wore no shoes, and a holy symbol of Madness hung around his neck.
“Well, It has been some time. Do I hear that you are calling yourself the Hero of Fallen Udarov now?” the man laughed. “Seriously.”
“Uh, yeah, that is the name I go by, crazy hobo man.” The Hero released his sword with one hand and made a shooing motion with it, “Now go away, I’m busy hunting Cores.”
“I can see that, but I think you should stop, or you will have to go through me first.”
“Oh, come on, will you go away if I give you a gold coin?” The Hero produced the coin and held it out. “Come on, just take it and go.”
“What?” the man said, looking confused. “No, I don’t want your money. Are you saying that you don’t want to fight me, Graham Tully?”
“Wait, seriously?” The Hero walked up a few steps and leaned forward to look at him. “Wow, this Dungeon Core is good; you look like an older, dirtier, and crazier version of Graham Tully. Wow, and smellier too.”
“Smelly?” Graham Tully raised an arm and smelled under his arm. He immediately turned a little green. “O-okay, I agree. I do have an… odor.”
“Yeah, I can smell you from here. But don’t think I will let your potentially animated corpse stop me from smashing this Core. Let me pass without a fuss, and I will bury you properly after. You know, as long as you aren’t slimy or super decayed.”
Graham growled, “I remember you being kind of dumb and stubborn. Not delusional and stonebrained.”
“Last warn-” The Hero started but was interrupted by Graham’s sudden charge.
His fist was glowing, a gold light that flew at him with incredible speed. The Hero raised and turned his Zweihander to catch, then turned the blow away by reflex alone. Graham stopped inside the Hero’s swing radius and threw a short flurry of punches into his sternum. The damage was mitigated by the armor he wore but knocked the Hero back a step with pure force.
That step back gave the Hero the space he needed to adjust his grip, one on the handle and the other on the sword blade. This shortened the swing radius and made it easier to strike Graham himself as he moved back within range. He thrust the pommel of the sword towards Graham’s head and ended up bashing it into his shoulder.
Momentum halted, Graham fell to the ground, and the Hero immediately turned his blade to cut into Graham's torso.
The Holy Fist intercepted the blade with his glowing hands, stopping it before it dug in too deep. Pushing the blade away with a groan of pain, Graham rolled away and leaped to his feet in an instant. It only took a moment for the Hero to regain his high guard pose, both hands on the sword handle. Still, Graham was already using his magic to heal, and the bleeding stopped.
The light reflecting in Graham’s eyes became feral as he stood up straight. “You wanna play rough, Hero? Then let's go.”
“You know, it's too bad you aren’t Graham Tully. You look like him with that look on your face,” The Hero said, beginning his approach.
Graham cast two more spells in quick succession. The first altered the glowing light on his fists from gold to orange-gold that seemed to melt off his skin. The second made the muscles all over him swell with new growth, likely an ability to increase damage.
With a bestial roar, Graham lunged twenty feet toward the Hero's right fist, impacting the right shoulder guard as he turned to defend. The blow pushed him back a few steps, and Graham continued to press, touching the ground and lunging again. After the third repetition, the Hero struck at the same time as Graham, their attacks creating bursts of sparks upon impact.
The Hero turned his body, helping Graham continue his momentum and tumbling to the earth. And even though he rolled to his feet with the movement, the Hero kept turning and adjusting his new swing to chop horizontally. The blade clipped through Graham’s arms, and the Hero pulled back and thrust forward into his torso.
Graham attempted to dodge the roll but only avoided a lethal blow. Instead of puncturing through his sternum, the blade ripped through the muscle of his left arm and then tore out as Graham’s movement continued. Screaming as the heavy wound hemorrhaged, Graham backed up and used a healing spell to heal a portion of the damage. Groaning, he used another spell as the Hero approached.
An arrow skittered off the Hero’s armor, startling the Hero as he turned to face the ranged threat. As he suspected, the archer was the Spectre of Corinth Settalla, another arrow already ready to fire. “Seriously, ‘Hero’? You are just going to kill us?”
“Yeah, that's what you go to monsters,” The Hero answered. He released one hand from the Zweihander and drew a Spell Catalyst, a small stone knife with shards of chipped ruby along the blade.
With a pointed gesture, a black rippling bolt surrounded by red light shot out to Corinth’s location. Corinth jumped off his perch on the wall to dodge, the bolt impacting where he was a moment earlier with a sharp boom. Looking back, the Ranger found sword-like shards of obsidian jutting out of the fractured wall.
“War?” Corinth said with a bit of disgust.
“Who better to help me in my pursuit. To help the Hero of Fallen Udarov in slaying all Bosses and Dungeon Cores,” the Hero stated.
“What if I told you that this wasn’t a Dungeon Core?” Corinth said, training his bow towards the Hero.
“I don’t care,” The Hero stated adamantly. “All Core’s prey on our lives to grow stronger.”
“No, they don’t,” Corinth said, loosing an arrow and readying another.
The Hero turned his torso and avoided the arrow, smirking underneath his helmet. “You know, I’m surprised that you were ever considered to become an apprentice to Maurice. Your aim is as Terri-”
A heavy right hook carrying the weight of the Madness empowerments Graham had used behind it. The blow knocked the Hero to the ground and back several feet away from the Holy Fist. He landed with a heavy grunt, struggling with the weight of his armor but rising to his feet.
“Come on, ‘Hero,’ you have to listen to us. We are the real people you knew, not animated corpses or illusions from your memory. Oh, Madness, I can feel my brain rotting away at just the thought of using that as a justification to ignore you,” Corinth rubbed at his eyes.
“Yeah, well,” The Hero groaned as he rose. “You should see what some of the Bosses and Cores I have stopped along the way here. Some of them are particularly tricky, using powers that I cannot comprehend to stop me or slow me down. Using my memories against me, conjuring places that I knew, people, items, anything they could use. And that is why I cannot believe you are you.”
Corinth drew and fired another arrow, this one hitting a shoulder joint in his armor. The Hero cried out and attempted to stand up and only managed to do so after a long moment.
“Come on, stay down,” Graham ordered. “It’s getting harder not to kill you.”
“Then come and get me!” The Hero said, holding the War Spell Catalyst in his hand. "War Beast!" The next Spell was a summoning that conjured a phantasm that overlaid his form. It stood over ten feet tall, A monstrous human-dragon creature that was colored in grayscale and wore armor similar to the Hero. The only difference was the weapon he now carried —a machete-like sword that he was already pulling back for a massive swing.
“Oh, crap,” Graham groaned.
He dodged and rolled under the swing, the blade missing him by inches, the speed surprising him as he sprung into action and moved in to follow up his attack. Swing his weapon as fast as possible to hit Graham with one of the swings.
With a roar, Graham moved in and attacked, a half dozen punches impacting the phantasmal shell and doing little more than making the creature flinch. It swung around and backhanded Graham away with seemingly contemptuous ease, turning and leaning forward. A howl escaped its jaws, and a blast of twisting white flames chased Graham, detonating upon impact.
The Hero within his Phantasm laughed with his victory, his head rearing back and the sound filling the air with his manic elation.
An arrow whistled and stuck into the side of the conjured Phantom's neck, catching its attention and reminding it that Corinth was there. He was running away from the Hero, turning and firing again before he began the chase.
The Phantasm crouched low, his left hand holding him up while the Machete was held to his side. With a roar of challenge, he sprinted and nearly caught up to the Ranger with a few significant strides. With a pounce, he swung, and the Ranger caught the blow on his bow with a screamed curse.
Dropping the broken pieces of the weapon, he continued to run away; his objective seemed to be a structure that seemed only partially built with gray pillars and pedestals. It was strange, but the Hero pursued Corinth, a sudden burst of speed making that task difficult.
“Come on!” the Hero growled. “Die so I can move onto the Core!”
“Anytime now!” Corinth shouted, out of breath.
Corinth entered the construction area of the structure, and the Hero followed with the Machete held high and ready for the blow that would cleave Corinth in half.
“John, is that really you?!”
The Hero froze. He knew that voice; it was one that he actually cared for once. Looking past Corinth, he found an Elf woman who looked just as beautiful as the day she chose Someone else. The woman was tall, standing around six feet tall, and had defined high cheekbones. Her long blonde hair was tied loosely back behind her, and sparkling green eyes stood out against her pale skin.
A sparkling mottled purple and black cloak hung over her shoulders over an off-white blouse and purple ankle-length skirt. She looked ill fit for the battlefield, too clean and too elegant, but the Hero knew that she was not one to be underestimated.
This meant he had to be doubly careful; this doppelganger of Elgeia could be a problem with Corinth to back her up.
“Howling Spiral!” another voice shouted deafening.
A cyclone appeared around the Hero, winds buffeting him around and making it hard to do anything as he just tried to walk. Then there came the voices, the haunting voice that could be heard but not understood over the howling of the wind. It spoke of things that were beyond the Hero's ability to comprehend and things that haunted his dreams.
It hurt his head and made it hard to focus on his conjuring of the Phantasm around him. It fell apart in a haze like noonday fog in the sun, and the Hero screamed as the voices continued to chatter on in his ears.
And yet, through it all, he heard one more phrase through the congregation of mad voices in Elgeia’s voice. “Now, Joselin, dear.”
One more arrow hit him, this one piercing him through his calf and somehow helping him out of his confused state. The pain motivated him to hurry out of the Cyclone that was still hurting him, and he rushed out, sword swinging at the first thing he saw.
A young woman who looked no older than twenty in ranger leathers and holding a crystalline dagger in her right hand. She blocked the first clumsy swing, the act nearly knocking her off her feet, but she had her poise and readied herself for the next blow. His neck attack was cleaner, more trained, but weaker; his every movement seemed to accelerate his tiring condition, and yet he still doggedly attacked Joselin, raging against the ailment he knew was taking him.
“No, no, no, no, not yet; I need to break the Core,” the Hero told them, determined to stay awake. He took one step forward and raised his sword to attack Joselin again, only to find that he could not move anymore. His strength was gone, depleted.
“How?” the Hero breathed as he collapsed to the floor, his breathing ragged.
“Enhanced Soporific Poison,” Joselin informed him, breathing heavily as she held the vial up.
“Cheater,” the Hero growled, eyes rolling back into his skull as he began falling unconscious.
***
“I’m surprised that this worked so well.” She looked over the poison, “This is strong stuff.”
“Extremely,” Dad said, taking the vial of Soporific Poison to look at it. “We need to be careful, Core Crystal is a powerful enhancer for magic, it even worked as the lone additive in this poison.”
“How is he? Did you hurt him?” Mom asked, hurrying over to look over the collapsed Hero.
“Did I hurt him?!” Dad asked, astounded. “I had to play bait instead of Graham in the last moment due to that Spell of his knocking him out of the battle. I almost died trying not to kill him, and you ask me if he’s hurt?! Yes, he’s hurt, but he’ll live.”
“Oh, I know you’ll be fine,” Mom told Dad with an annoyed frown. “You are obviously alive. But we wanted him alive, too. But what about Graham?”
“Present but bleeding,” the man said as he walked into the clearing to join the group. “This jerkwad has gotten a lot stronger since the last time we dealt with him, and by Madness, he has gotten even more paranoid.”
A pair of Basic Worker Drones floated onto the scene and picked up the unconscious man. Rhamiel’s voice echoed from the Drones, “I’ll take him to one of the half-destroyed houses, get Someone there to tie him up before he wakes up. Otherwise, we may have to start this whole thing over again.”
“Okay, Rhamiel, thank you,” Joselin said as the Drones carried the body away. A minute passed in silence as they walked up the forming gravel road towards the center of their settlement. His own magic dealt with the worst of Graham’s wounds, but he was still incredibly weak.
“Dad, have you noticed anything wrong with Rhamiel?”
“Yeah, seems like he’s upset about something,” Dad shook his head. “We’ll have to ask him about it later; I’m rather annoyed myself.”
“Your Bow?” Mom asked.
“Yes. I can’t just repair it; I will have to start making a new one to be useful in a fight again.” Dad grumbled as he looked at the damage.
“Well, I have some good news. It worked! Our Plan worked! I got two Dagger Proficiency Levels from that fight! Whoo,” she cheered, and Mom and Dad congratulated her as they reached everyone else.