FINAL CORE : [A holy dungeon-core litRPG] - Chapter 59

~ Inner thoughts of a shy wallflower, present at a grim waltz in the demon-king's castle.

Rain softly trickles down all around her, water cusping on the edges of thick, verdant leaves. The downpour, while mild, gathers into solid, heavy drops that drip down from the crowns of the many trees, giving the spring rain the sensation of being a quiet, summer’s storm instead.

Jizalia squints, trying to focus her blurry vision on the odd plant just before herself. It’s a white, cupped flower with a golden stalk inside of itself. She’s never seen anything like it before. Rain collects in its open petals, filling the flower up to the brim. The weight of the water force the bending of the flower over forward. It pours itself out and then, a moment later, the rubbery, strong and very flexible stalk straightens itself back upright again, as the dance continues.

She’s never seen anything like it before.

A holy dungeon is interesting and all, but that isn’t really her department. What she’s into are flowers, particularly exotic flowers. Those are what her customers are after. Every two-bit herbalist can go and collect some roses and some lilies for romantics, or some shrubs and herbs for the alchemists. But for the people who she does business with, a certain amount of time in the deep-field is required.

Expertise is required.

Jizalia squints, looking at the menu-screen that has appeared for the flower. Rain trickles off of the glassy surface of the window, running down the pane to fall towards the ground below. Her wide, flat hat billows slightly in the wind, water dripping down it. Long, black braids of hair hang at her side.

She reaches down into her belt-pouch, pulling out some scissors.

Her client is going to love this.

“Does that ever stop?” asks Red from the side. Isaiah looks her way, watching as she zaps out of one the portals that she had learned to create at worker level four.

It shrugs. “I would hope not,” replies Isaiah. The tower rises up another floor in height.

“- After all,” says Isaiah. “It is a sign that all of our work is finally starting to come to bear fruit, Red.”

– Rorate, standing off to the side, beneath an overhang, writes something down in her notes.

“How has your work in the village progressed?”

“Well… considering that the territory expanded again, bad,” she explains. “I stole Magenta and Beige from Black for a while. We set up a new village on the island, on the same corner where their old one was. We made new houses and everything, but not all of them took the bait.”

Isaiah nods. “I appreciate you taking self-initiative these days, Red. You are a big help.” Red waves it off. “And the others? Those who would not move to the island?”

Red shrugs. “I assume they went to the city, probably.”

Isaiah thinks for a time. People going to the city and telling stories of their homes being destroyed by the tower isn’t great for their publicity. But perhaps their distraught voices will be drowned out by the cries of prosperity, opportunity and faith in the city.

– A somewhat callous thought. But the survival of the tower and its inhabitants must be prioritized. “How many levels can a worker have?” asks Isaiah.

“How many experience points do you have?” asks Red.

“A few,” replies Isaiah.

Red looks at it suspiciously. “Not that I don’t mind special treatment, I clearly deserve it. But maybe summon some more workers instead?” she asks. “I’m basically almost human-sized now and it’s making me feel sick.” The uthra crosses her arms.

“I am sure that you would make a fine human, as you would any other creature, Red,” says Isaiah. “Hold still.”

Red flies back a little. “I’ll live to regret this. I can feel it.”

A familiar glow encapsulates Red, coating her body with a crimson aura. Her bones stretch and crack as her form extends itself out further. Her legs grow, her arms grow and she manages to awkwardly land on her feet this time as her wings give out, unable to hold up this new weight. A moment later, they grow in size as well.

Red balances herself, her wings buzzing. However, they change. The insect-like wings of the uthra seem to be in an odd half-state. They still remain insect-like, but the edges of the wings are growing into patterns that very strongly resemble feathers. “Ah, I hate this already,” she says, as the growth stops. Isaiah looks at her. She’s only a head smaller than it itself is now. She is well within the range of human height.

A voice calls in from the side. “You look great, Red!”

Red waves Rorate off, looking down at herself and then at Isaiah. “Okay. What’s the catch this time?” she asks. “I never get a free meal around here.”

“Free meals ought to be for those who can not afford them,” says Isaiah. “I have thought much, Red,” it says. “My last appearance amongst the humans had led to disaster,” it explains, looking up towards the sky. Perhaps it is beginning to understand why the gods had decided to stay out of things, if they had experienced something akin to what it had done with the ascension. “However, a presence is needed to affirm the faith. For times of crisis, I need someone to act as my messenger.”

Red groans. “You want me to hold pretty speeches and put on a show?” she asks. “You know that I hate that kind of stuff.”

“I know,” replies Isaiah.

“Then go ask White,” says Red. “I’m sure he’d love to droll on while reading some scroll for hours in front of a crowd.”

Isaiah shakes its head. “For faith to grow, passion is needed to fuel its flames,” says Isaiah. “And you have a passionate heart, Red.”

“Uh, yeah? Passionate for killing humans?” she says. “Can we please just go back to the ‘drop big rocks from the top of the tower’ phase?” she asks. “I really liked that one.”

“I found it quite stressful,” remarks Isaiah. “Rorate is preparing a gospel. It will strengthen our message and the tower. Work with her. Learn it and when the time comes, as it will soon, use it. Look, Red,” says Isaiah, gesturing down towards the forest, far below the island.

Colors move abound. The forest is flush with activity. People are moving every which way, the fabrics of their clothes visible from high up, even through the trees.

“I have need of you. Please. There is too much for me to do alone.”

Red sighs. “Fine, whatever,” she replies. “But don’t expect me to believe any of this nonsense." Red plants her hands on her hips, leaning in towards it. "I fed you when you were chirping about worms. I know what you are.”

Isaiah nods. “As I recall, I was chirping about fish,” it replies. “And you were there to help me, as you are now.”

“I’m gonna gag,” replies Red.

“It’s gonna be fun!” calls Rorate, from the side. “We’ll stay up all night and read together, Red!”

Red looks her way and doesn’t reply. She turns back towards Isaiah. “At least I don’t have to wear that stupid get-up.”

– Teal flies in from the side. “Hey, sorry. I had to deliver some fabric to floor eighteen. Gray told me you wanted me, boss?” asks Teal, holding a roll of white fabric beneath his arm.

Red looks at him and then at Isaiah. “Oh, come on!”

“So do you want a dress, or a robe?” asks Teal, snipping with a pair of scissors.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

Jizalia looks around the forest, studying the growth of the various plants and fungi around herself. Many of these she’s already far more than familiar with. However, some of these, like the flower she had just picked, she has simply never seen before. Others, she’s never even heard of. It must be because of the influence of the holy-tower, spreading out over the landscape. It's causing the forest to change.

Very, very interesting.

She rubs her chin, thinking, as she begins to walk back towards and then down the massive staircase that leads off of the island.

If this is the case up here, then the rotting land, down in the eastern half of the forest, might have some interesting counter-specimens to collect, some plants that are dark-affine.

She might as well look while she's there. It’s on the way to her customer’s house.

Jizalia squints, trying to make sure she sees the steps that she’s walking down. The rain makes them a little treacherous to traverse, but that’s okay. Only a few more interesting flowers and herbs and the witch will keep her promise to fix her eyes.

The herbalist smiles and says a quiet thanks to the tower, for letting her have this blessing.

She can’t wait to see what all of her flowers look like for real, with real, clear eyes. She bet's that they're beautiful.

Razmatazz

POV you sarcastically get asked why you haven't started killing all humans yet? It's like you aren't even serious about this whole dungeon thing.

Shadows waltz through the darkness, caressing each other, as would lovers of a place and time now lost to the hearts of men, who must reside in this terrible age. Sickeningly, they twist and spin, stretching out and then returning back to form, as they parade around the emptiness. Music fills the air, played by the finest hands to ever grace instruments. Colors, resplendent, flow steadily towards myself, as would water, running down a trickling spring basin. The smell of death is in the air A strong, dry odor of rot that is carried by the quivering heat. The air itself shakes all around the dancing spirits of the ball, as if it itself were in terrible fear of the monstrous entity that sits at the end of the hall, atop its gruesome throne, watching the spectacle unfold with its head resting on its fist. And I sit, unseen, observing, distant vacant. I look down at my hands. They are translucent. I am but one of the ten-thousand ghosts that resides in the terrible hall of the demon-king, one of the ten-thousand spirits that was torn out from my slumber to join in on the waltz. But I don't know how to dance. Someone nudges me from the side and I look as someone extends a hand out towards me. Nervously, I let myself be taken in body and in soul. ~ Inner thoughts of a shy wallflower, present at a grim waltz in the demon-king's castle. ~ Jizalia ~ Human, Female, Herbalist Rain softly trickles down all around her, water cusping on the edges of thick, verdant leaves. The downpour, while mild, gathers into solid, heavy drops that drip down from the crowns of the many trees, giving the spring rain the sensation of being a quiet, summer's storm instead. Jizalia squints, trying to focus her blurry vision on the odd plant just before herself. It's a white, cupped flower with a golden stalk inside of itself. She's never seen anything like it before. Rain collects in its open petals, filling the flower up to the brim. The weight of the water force the bending of the flower over forward. It pours itself out and then, a moment later, the rubbery, strong and very flexible stalk straightens itself back upright again, as the dance continues. She's never seen anything like it before. A holy dungeon is interesting and all, but that isn't really her department. What she's into are flowers, particularly exotic flowers. Those are what her customers are after. Every two-bit herbalist can go and collect some roses and some lilies for romantics, or some shrubs and herbs for the alchemists. But for the people who she does business with, a certain amount of time in the deep-field is required. Expertise is required. {Juicy}NormalWeissbloom Bitter A hardy, surprisingly robust flower. It has a single, long, dark-green stalk. Its cupped head is composed of several long, tightly squeezed petals with an off-white cream color. Despite its delicate appearance, its petals and stalk are composed out of a firm, tough cellulite. Use Cases: MedicinalAromaticOther Master Herbalist's Insight: This flower has been birthed from a seed washed through with holy-water. This flower has innate magical properties and is extremely toxic for anything affiliated with the DARK element. Secret Use Cases: SensualAmbrosial Value: 99 Jizalia squints, looking at the menu-screen that has appeared for the flower. Rain trickles off of the glassy surface of the window, running down the pane to fall towards the ground below. Her wide, flat hat billows slightly in the wind, water dripping down it. Long, black braids of hair hang at her side. She reaches down into her belt-pouch, pulling out some scissors. Her client is going to love this. ~ Isaiah ~ ~ Grand Icon ~ The name of Isaiah has been uttered. +210 EXP EXP: 1358/4000 Does that ever stop? asks Red from the side. Isaiah looks her way, watching as she zaps out of one the portals that she had learned to create at worker level four. ~ Prayers ~ Prayers have reached the tower! +12 EXP EXP: 1370/4000 It shrugs. I would hope not, replies Isaiah. The tower rises up another floor in height. New Area ~ Dungeon ~ Floor {84} The eighty-forth floor of the tower dungeon. It is currently empty. Capacity: {170} Monster-Points Traps: 08 Monster-Point prices per monster F-Rank: 01 E-Rank: 02 D-Rank: 04 C-Rank: 08 B-Rank: 16 A-Rank: 32 S-Rank: 64 SS-Rank: 128 SSS-Rank: 256 The next sub-boss/challenge room will be available in {01} floors. The next boss arena will be available in {06} floors. - After all, says Isaiah. It is a sign that all of our work is finally starting to come to bear fruit, Red. Rorate, standing off to the side, beneath an overhang, writes something down in her notes. How has your work in the village progressed? Well considering that the territory expanded again, bad, she explains. I stole Magenta and Beige from Black for a while. We set up a new village on the island, on the same corner where their old one was. We made new houses and everything, but not all of them took the bait. Isaiah nods. I appreciate you taking self-initiative these days, Red. You are a big help. Red waves it off. And the others? Those who would not move to the island? Red shrugs. I assume they went to the city, probably. Isaiah thinks for a time. People going to the city and telling stories of their homes being destroyed by the tower isn't great for their publicity. But perhaps their distraught voices will be drowned out by the cries of prosperity, opportunity and faith in the city. A somewhat callous thought. But the survival of the tower and its inhabitants must be prioritized. How many levels can a worker have? asks Isaiah. How many experience points do you have? asks Red. ~ Grand Icon ~ The name of Isaiah has been uttered. +100 EXP EXP: 1470/4000 A few, replies Isaiah. Red looks at it suspiciously. Not that I don't mind special treatment, I clearly deserve it. But maybe summon some more workers instead? she asks. I'm basically almost human-sized now and it's making me feel sick. The uthra crosses her arms. I am sure that you would make a fine human, as you would any other creature, Red, says Isaiah. Hold still. Red flies back a little. I'll live to regret this. I can feel it. ~ Isaiah ~ Isaiah Upgraded: Summoned Worker {04} to Summoned Worker {05} Cost: {20} SOUL, {500} EXP EXP: 970/4000 A familiar glow encapsulates Red, coating her body with a crimson aura. Her bones stretch and crack as her form extends itself out further. Her legs grow, her arms grow and she manages to awkwardly land on her feet this time as her wings give out, unable to hold up this new weight. A moment later, they grow in size as well. Red balances herself, her wings buzzing. However, they change. The insect-like wings of the uthra seem to be in an odd half-state. They still remain insect-like, but the edges of the wings are growing into patterns that very strongly resemble feathers. Ah, I hate this already, she says, as the growth stops. Isaiah looks at her. She's only a head smaller than it itself is now. She is well within the range of human height. ~ Uthra {05} ~ Class: Minion Element: HOLY Type: Worker Category: Spirit Rank: D Level: 20 An Uthra. Uthra are small, celestial light-world entities. Born out of the magical cosmic rivers, known as leylines, they are composed entirely out of holy-magic. Uthras serve as guardians, wards and builders. They are similar to fairies, cherubs and sprites. HP: 40/40 SOUL: 30/30 NEW - WORKER ABILITY - Core ConnectionActive Tinges the worker with the element of the dungeon, allowing it to use any element specific abilities owned by the dungeon core. A voice calls in from the side. You look great, Red! Red waves Rorate off, looking down at herself and then at Isaiah. Okay. What's the catch this time? she asks. I never get a free meal around here. Free meals ought to be for those who can not afford them, says Isaiah. I have thought much, Red, it says. My last appearance amongst the humans had led to disaster, it explains, looking up towards the sky. Perhaps it is beginning to understand why the gods had decided to stay out of things, if they had experienced something akin to what it had done with the ascension. However, a presence is needed to affirm the faith. For times of crisis, I need someone to act as my messenger. Red groans. You want me to hold pretty speeches and put on a show? she asks. You know that I hate that kind of stuff. I know, replies Isaiah. Then go ask White, says Red. I'm sure he'd love to droll on while reading some scroll for hours in front of a crowd. Isaiah shakes its head. For faith to grow, passion is needed to fuel its flames, says Isaiah. And you have a passionate heart, Red. Uh, yeah? Passionate for killing humans? she says. Can we please just go back to the drop big rocks from the top of the tower' phase? she asks. I really liked that one. I found it quite stressful, remarks Isaiah. Rorate is preparing a gospel. It will strengthen our message and the tower. Work with her. Learn it and when the time comes, as it will soon, use it. Look, Red, says Isaiah, gesturing down towards the forest, far below the island. Colors move abound. The forest is flush with activity. People are moving every which way, the fabrics of their clothes visible from high up, even through the trees. I have need of you. Please. There is too much for me to do alone. Red sighs. Fine, whatever, she replies. But don't expect me to believe any of this nonsense." Red plants her hands on her hips, leaning in towards it. "I fed you when you were chirping about worms. I know what you are. Isaiah nods. As I recall, I was chirping about fish, it replies. And you were there to help me, as you are now. I'm gonna gag, replies Red. It's gonna be fun! calls Rorate, from the side. We'll stay up all night and read together, Red! Red looks her way and doesn't reply. She turns back towards Isaiah. At least I don't have to wear that stupid get-up. Teal flies in from the side. Hey, sorry. I had to deliver some fabric to floor eighteen. Gray told me you wanted me, boss? asks Teal, holding a roll of white fabric beneath his arm. Red looks at him and then at Isaiah. Oh, come on! So do you want a dress, or a robe? asks Teal, snipping with a pair of scissors. ~ Jizalia ~ Human, Female, Herbalist Interesting. Very interesting. Jizalia looks around the forest, studying the growth of the various plants and fungi around herself. Many of these she's already far more than familiar with. However, some of these, like the flower she had just picked, she has simply never seen before. Others, she's never even heard of. It must be because of the influence of the holy-tower, spreading out over the landscape. It's causing the forest to change. Very, very interesting. She rubs her chin, thinking, as she begins to walk back towards and then down the massive staircase that leads off of the island. If this is the case up here, then the rotting land, down in the eastern half of the forest, might have some interesting counter-specimens to collect, some plants that are dark-affine. She might as well look while she's there. It's on the way to her customer's house. Jizalia squints, trying to make sure she sees the steps that she's walking down. The rain makes them a little treacherous to traverse, but that's okay. Only a few more interesting flowers and herbs and the witch will keep her promise to fix her eyes. The herbalist smiles and says a quiet thanks to the tower, for letting her have this blessing. She can't wait to see what all of her flowers look like for real, with real, clear eyes. She bet's that they're beautiful. Razmatazz POV you sarcastically get asked why you haven't started killing all humans yet? It's like you aren't even serious about this whole dungeon thing.