He slapped his forehead. Of course. There was no other active beacon. A hundred years without some love? That beacon system was dead in the water. He needed to let it power itself somehow. *Mmmm*.
Maybe it could be public use, and those using it could pay some kind of upkeep cost to keep the whole thing up and running? He’d have to remember that idea. He steadied himself to sit on a light platform. Now he was stuck in space, without a paddle.
He attempted a personal teleport. Static. “Cal, what is the point of giving me my toys if I can’t play with them? Did all the supers go through this problem? Probably not.”
Was there anyone else that would figure out the title thing? He hoped so. He wobbled from side to side and dismissed the platform. He shifted into flight for a second, but the drain was brutal. No-go on flight. With his fist pressed to his cheek, he mulled it over. This wasn’t his first time being stuck in space. What had he done last time?
“Essence thrusters!” Spiraling the Mana along his shoulders, back, and spine, Artorian tested minimal input. He remembered how it went last time, but forgot to take into account that he was using Essence then. A-rank Mana was a touch more potent. Applying just a drop, he sent himself hurtling through the Soul Space like a streaking comet. It was the pyrite-blasted magnetic rock problem all over again!
Crashing through the rock-wall of a continent, he groaned dispassionately once stationary. Not because it hurt, but because that just wasn’t something pleasant. There was ground, and gravity. Chalk it up as a w—Aww. Noo. Not here. Why did he need to crash here? The gravity was all wrong, and he pulled a face of disgust while stepping away and throwing his arms up, whining to himself.
Why, of all places, did he have to crash into Niflheim? “No~o.”
His Aura shifted into starlight to start scrubbing his surroundings right away. That misty poison was no joke, and he wasn’t chancing a thing. He set the force of his indiscriminate Auric signature to full-blast, and altered the identity to scrub and destroy rather than heal. Right away, fungi, plants, and unpleasant smoky vapors in his vicinity caught aflame in bursts of popping celestine light. The threats self-conflagrated in a hurry. A creature or two hiding camouflaged as snakes in the walls followed suit, causing a strange notification to blur on the edge of his vision.
Checking his status, he noticed he had been awarded Mana for his kills. Including something tallied as ‘experience,’ whatever that was supposed to be. He focused on the Mana gain instead, as there was a math formula present. Followed by a numerical representation of the exact amount he had been granted for a kill. Hey! He could also see the drain his Aura took from his reserves while it upheld his desired effects. He smiled when he noticed what modified the costs. Now that was handy! “Information!”
He moved the status to his side, but didn’t dismiss it. No reason to drop it since he could try things and see what the system told him about it. Let’s see, he’d just killed two ‘Mimics.’ Okay? That didn’t help much. What also didn’t help is that he had no idea where he was going in this ant’s nest. Didn’t he have something for that? Clapping his hands together in a directional wave, the *wub* sound mixed with echolocation. The caster threw it out into the world, and watched with bleak realization as the Essence numbers representing his reserves plummeted.
*Awch*! He had invoked that effect. Oops! Then again, his status was populating faster than he could read the kills. A map icon was also blinking angrily at him. He tapped it, and saw the map evolve and update in real time as his sound revealed further and further sections of the continent. Including strange dots that represented creatures his sound blast hadn’t killed. His reserves bubbled with energy, the growing kill counter replenishing the bar’s representation. Neat!
He tried tapping one, and a prompt appeared. That was unexpected.
{{Alpha test feature: Apply perception attributes?}
“Who is doing the editing on these screens! Fire them, Cal!” That was a lovely jumble of words, that Artorian maybe understood half of. He stared at the message for a minute, then got irritated and pushed the button that correlated to the positive. Nameplates populated via thin lines to the dots that hadn’t died, and the Administrator’s eyebrows went up. “Well, would you look at that. Found the knife ears.”
Whatever Zelia had done to them must have had some rippling effects, because they weren’t doing so great. Along with names and basic information, he could see the representation of their health and Essence.
They were really not doing so hot, busy holding off a different colored dot called a ‘Phosgen.’ He’d heard about those. Big-eyed orbs with Assimilator abilities. How was he able to see this? Surely there was a list somewhere. Leaving the Dark Elves to their fun, he pulled the status back in front of him and went on a scrolling adventure. He breezed along until he found something that roughly correlated to perception attributes. “Names subject to change.”
He shrugged. Of course names would change. In the meanwhile, what was he working with? He opened a sub-menu, and found a listing of how his skills were calculated. Some calculations were outright missing, and many entries had personalized notes. He opened the perception one, and laughed as he read Cal’s note. “Artorian seems to notice abyss-near everything. So this is just being set to the maximum value at all times. So I don’t have to deal with it.”
Wiping a tear away as he smirked, he sat down on a rock and just read through the list. Might as well consume the rest and see what was available to him according to the system. He wasn’t in a rush.
Deep in Niflheim, in a room confounded by contraptions and controls, Plinky and the Brain were deeply invested in discovering why they had just lost dominance over an entire hub. Plinky couldn’t even get reliable information, except from a rival Phosgen in the vicinity sassily mentioning that ‘it was bright.’ That Phosgen was dealing with some of the original locals, and Plinky needed more to work with. Not that he was going to get it from rival Phosgen, and he knew better than to make bets. That’s how his name had become ‘Plinky.’
Sett, a fungaloid that had been nicknamed Brain, couldn’t get a single spore remotely close to the hub. He just lost contact with his spore’s information as they came into contact with the mystery luminance. The fungaloid bristled, and diverted a small army of plant and fungal-based monstrosities to swarm the hub so they could reclaim it. That would sort the issue. They would just throw numbers at it.
Artorian peacefully hummed, leaning back against a reshaped part of the wall so he had somewhere cozy to put his Soul Item. He rested snug on the pillow. That was optimal as he read through menu after menu. Cal had littered the thing with notes, and it was clearly nowhere close to finished. Still, it was workable, and clearly showed Cal was heading in a clear direction that would lead to a spectacular end-product. This was worth working on.
“Abyss. This might even be fun.”
A rumbling pulled him away from enjoying the numbers. Curious, Artorian leaned forward in his seat. As he bent to sneak a peek behind the corner of the wall, his long beard hung to touch the floor. The fungaloid he saw was just as lost as the old man, and neither had any idea what the other was looking at. Artorian observed a blue-green creature that was shaped like a mushroom, sporting two arms and four legs. Except that it wore a spiffing hat made of blue cheese.
Fugum, The Inspector General of floor three hundred and sixty-nine, pressed a monocle over a space that didn’t have eyes. It reasonably should have, but that’s not how the fungaloid saw the world.
Plinky and the Brain observed through Fugum’s visual spectrum. Sett did his best to puppeteer the inspector, adjusting both the cheesy monocle and fermented hat so they could get a better look at what they were dealing with. Was that a human? Those things actually existed? The dungeon overlords shared a look of ‘this can’t be right.’
Their attention was stolen away when the outcry ‘Sacre bleu!’ was blurted through the connection, a moment before Fugum burned away in celestine fire. A high pitc
hed *eeeee* played through the control room from auditory feedback, and Plinky shook his massive Phosgen head from discomfort. He tentacle-slammed a lever to turn that awful amplification effect off. This was not a creature to be engaged with directly. Brain stuck his agitated arm into the air, declaring his order before dropping it towards the invader. “Prepare the traps!”
Artorian leaned over the small pile of ash, arms crossed. He inspected the remains, and couldn’t for the life of him grasp why the status bar had tagged it as an ‘Inspector General.’ Nor why ‘Cheese Overmind’ was listed right below that entry. Stranger still, the Cheese Overmind had provided him ten times the reward that the fungaloid had. Zelia couldn’t have been responsible for this. This must have been… something else.
“Still. Cheese?”
Pulling the revealed map close, he sifted pensive fingers through his beard and made the area representation smaller. He could see more continental areas all at once this way. “Cal, this place is just too big.”
Some pathways outright made no sense. No, there was a marker that showed the direction of gravity changed. How convoluted. Even with the map, he felt lost. No messing around. He was inconveniently in Niflheim, so, what was he here for?
“Brianna? Brianna.”
Charging a second *wub*, he condensed the advanced effect into a bouncy-ball and hurled it into the tunnel system somewhere around Mach six. Each time it struck a surface and bounced, a litany of sound exploded. Pulverizing solid matter into deharmonized particles. He’d been prepared this time, and watched several million Essence units drink away from his pool. He saw it on the status screen, watching as the formula displayed. He’d never known his Invocations were that expensive. Granted, he was hovering around the billion mark as an A-ranker, but that was a lot of Essence oomph.
The map showed him where the bouncy ball went rabid. As swiftly as his Mana bar had drained, it refilled just as smoothly. The log of things he killed for that to happen? Less than smooth. More of an ugly blur of text that was likely about to burn out a Pylon somewhere. It was scrolling so fast, Artorian couldn’t read a single line. “Eh. Oh well.”
Plopping back down on his Soul Item, he watched the map as the bouncy ball did its best to follow advanced instructions. ‘Bounce towards the highest non-caster Mana signature.’ Simple enough. The bouncing orb of discordant doom shot up, up, and up into the twisted continent’s paths. Would it be so rough of a guess to think Bri-bri might be in her palace? Probably.
He toyed with the end of his beard. Wondering how to traverse skywards the swiftest way. He could exit the continent via the way he came in. Walk along the outside and bust back in near the top. That likely wouldn’t get him any Mana expenditure back. He was going to rely on thrusters and good ol’ climbing if he went that route. He grumbled, and watched the Mana bar refill as creatures perished in droves. A Nixie Tube popped bright and luminous above his head, and a huge beaming smile crossed his face.
Stowing his Soul Item, Artorian the foolish moved to perform some basic stretches. Why go the long way around, when there was the direct way? He mused to himself, thinking it over in terms for the game. “I think this will one day be called… Power leveling.”
Thrusters burgeoned to life at the bottom of his feet. Slapping his hands together above him, Mana swirled in excess. The energy formed a drill that would pierce the heavens as the spiraling green luminance around Artorian’s hands rotated ever faster. “If there is no path, make your own!”
Artorian the drill launched upwards. Breaking through packed stone like it was hot, molten butter. With a heroic *yeaaaaah*! the old man took the speedy-route in the topside direction. His celestine Aura acted as a giant broom that swept things under the rug. His creature kills almost balanced out the constant Mana loss. Old habits died hard, and he’d been doing things the mundane way again. “Must remember you’re a Mage! Not human!”
Plinky and the Brain panicked. The invader had vanished.
In his place, a twelve-by-twelve, perfectly cylindrical tunnel had appeared. Going straight up. Artorian’s disappearance dropped the threat level, as the dungeon duo had long been passed. On second thought, that likely wasn’t a human. It also didn’t seem to have been here for them. Chalk that up as a relief.
As a sudden convenience, this through-the-world hypha highway was exactly what they needed to reach some otherwise unbreachable emplacements. Sett’s army was on the way regardless… no reason they couldn’t go ahead and spore it up.
Artorian haphazardly broke through the floor of the misty-mists-smoke-place palace. Or whatever Brianna had called it. Who cares! A few more floors, and his long-deactivated thrusters finally fizzled out entirely. Note of importance. Drilling through corrupted rock? Painless. Falling skywards through corrupted rock and using your face to slow down? Not recommended. Also not painless. “Ow.”
Artorian slammed into the onyx ceiling of the council chamber with an *ooof*! then fell right back down into the hole he’d made to get here. He grabbed at the edge so he wouldn’t fall all the way back down. He grumbled and rolled onto his back, pulling himself out. The old man coughed as the Judges present at the triangular table stared in disbelief. That was Rune-reinforced flooring.
When Artorian wobbled to his feet and brushed his robe off, he flashed the group a smile. “Hello there! I’m looking for Brianna. Is she still mad at me?”
Given the Judges attacked him immediately after, he unfortunately had to take that as a ‘yes.’ “Crackers and toast.”
Chapter Sixteen
The council jumped from their seats, managed perhaps a few steps, then flopped to the ground in a meaty pile of limbs. Instead of sudden violent action, now they all sawed heavy-logged snores through the room. Artorian was doing his best not to laugh as he held his ribs and snickered. “That worked? Oh, sweet Cal. That worked. No way!”
He nudged a snoozing Judge with his foot, his Aura radiating the sleeping effect. They were so adorable when sleeping. “Right. No reason to really perform a snappening here. Let’s just try to find…”
He snapped his fingers, and pointed at a chunk of wall that was doing its very best not to appear like the door it was. “There she is! Hello, Brianna! How have you been? Are you alright? Should I have brought tea? I can likely get some tea. Mmmm… Tea.”
The not-door blew open while Brianna seethed behind it, Artorian kicking the barrier away to expose the entrance to one of her private getaway chambers. He wasn’t going to say it, but she looked awful. Had she ever slept? She appeared frazzled. Borderline disheveled. Twitchy, and unsteady. That was never a state he expected to see a Mage in. Much less pride-Queen Bri-Bri.
She screamed at him without words, then blurred from existence.
Prediction lines winked into being before Artorian’s vision. *Oho*! Actual threats! Look at that! The golden lines swiftly altered colors, designating that the assassin’s attacks were anything but sluggish or uncoordinated. She was definitely trying to murder him dead.
Playing the dodging game, the old man ducked from side to side and hopped over a few low-swept strikes. “Bri-Bri, come now. We can talk about this!”
Her attacks stopped only for a moment, violet eyes leering at him as invisible cogs turned in her head. He was acrobat-dodging her rampage far too smoothly. She changed something, and Artorian’s prediction lines winked out.
Then a Mana blade suddenly sliced open his robe. “Whoa, Cal!”
Her next set of attacks he didn’t see coming at all. Infernal energy laced her being, and her blade furled in thick gray winds that… disintegrated? Oh no. Not more geese features. He’d had enough of those! His butt ached with phantom pains from recollection alone. Do not go the way of the goose! Brianna now easily took additional chunks out of his robes, his dodging not remotely as effective given he couldn’t determine her strikes.
Artorian decided to just run away. He wanted to talk first, not get minced by an angry whirlwind of knives! “Brianna! Be reasonable! We can t—o
w!”
He jumped as she successfully stabbed him in the butt. He canceled out the side effects with celestial Essence configurations to guide the Mana. But she’d still gotten him. Oh, best nix that venom too. Why always the butt! Granted, he was running around the room and bouncing away, maybe he should… y’know. Do something. The sleep field clearly wasn’t working on her.
He skidded to a halt and threw an arm up, remembering to actually use the Pylon system. He really, really hoped he had access now.
This was as good a time as any to test it. “[Sticky Grid]!”
The light-frame grid sprang to life from his position. Self-replicating light lines adapted the sticky feature as they siphoned Mana out of the air. Including whatever they connected to. Currently, that was an enraged assassin lady, and a few conked Judges on the floor that he’d been doing his best to avoid. Free Mana! “Bri-bri! Talk to me. It doesn’t have to go this way.”
Brianna was raving, and she snarled at him as she reverted to a language she hadn’t used in nearly a decade. “You lie! You come back after ninety years instead of the expected hundred! Before anyone else is decanted. You came to get rid of me before anyone else could know, or find out. You came straight here. Straight to me. You think I didn’t feel that ridiculous Essence signature boring up through my old empire? I am frayed at the abyss-burned edges. I can’t keep a thought straight. Cal woke you up to get me. I know it. I just know it! Now stand there and die! Come back in another ninety years! I won’t be toppled. I won’t! I won’t!”
She faltered to dry heave. An unexpected action for an A-ranker. Brianna was also successfully breaking his light grid, and the entire structure rippled, soon to shatter outright from the counter-strain she was putting on the emplaced effect. It had a second, maybe two, before she returned to being a bladewind. Artorian used it to plead one last time. “I’m not here to kill you! I told you a century ago. Only if I must. There is another way.”
Anima: A Divine Dungeon Series (Artorian's Archives Book 6) Page 12