Factory Core

by Jared Mandani

  The Core had also learned a number of interesting pieces of information about the city of Ancient Karak, one of which was the presence of catacombs deep beneath it. And in these catacombs lay the tomb of an ancient dwarven emperor. Emperor B’aaktuk, a ruler who had a great affinity for a very expensive and unique substance: dragon bone. In fact, he had so loved the material that he was said to have been buried in his favorite suit of armor.

  The Core knew that finding the secret to destroying Grakk’n’s armor would give it a great advantage, so finding a sample of fire-hardened dragon bone was imperative. Thus, a mechanical spider had been sent on this quest, to locate the lost tomb of Emperor B’aaktuk, and procure a piece of his fabled treasure.

  Illuminated by the eerie green light of the phosphorus lamp, the tunnels of the ancient catacombs would have sent chills of unease and fright down the spine of even the bravest adventurer, but the mechanical spider was no ordinary explorer. It feared neither ghouls nor ghosts, nor did it fear getting lost or trapped down here in this labyrinth. All it cared about was completing its quest and finding the tomb of the emperor, and his funerary armor.

  Down another level it descended, pausing to check the arcane map to make sure it was heading in the right direction—and through the lens of its eyes, the Factory Core watched. Down a few more lonely, deserted corridors, in which the bones of dwarves dead for thousands of years were stacked high, piled and packed into every nook and cranny. These tens of thousands of skeletons were from before the days when cremations became the most popular way for the dwarves to deal with their demise.

  Finally, the spider came to a great stone door, on which a number of runes were carved, and when the Factory Core read them through the spider’s eyes, it felt a surge of excitement and triumph. The runes said: “Here lies the great Emperor B’aaktuk, Ruler of Karak and the entire Below World for seventy-seven years. Great was his glory in life, and even greater in death! A thousand curses upon any who dare disturb his resting place!”

  Obviously, the spider did not fear ancient curses, but it proceeded with caution nonetheless. According to the old tome, the tomb of Emperor B’aaktuk was protected with a number of potent booby traps, and while the spider could not feel pain, it did not want to fail its mission by getting destroyed by a trap.

  Having been trained in the art of lockpicking—very hastily, by the Factory Core reading a book on the subject by a master dwarven locksmith—the spider had been given a set of grandmaster’s lockpicks and probes. It carefully put these to use, painstakingly picking the lock of the tomb door, and patiently waiting for each pin to move into place as it worked the picks, moving steadily until the lock was fully open.

  Then it used the probe to first detect, and then disarm a trap. Finally, when the trap had been neutralized, the spider decided that it was safe to open the tomb door. It pushed the huge stone door slowly and steadily, wary of any other nasty surprises that may be waiting for the unwitting explorer, but found none.

  The green light from the phosphorus lamp that spilled into the tomb from the open doorway was the first light that had entered this space in over two thousand years. If the spider had had a sense of smell, it would have sniffed nothing in here but dryness and old death, and a lack of any life. Not even cockroaches or lice lived down here.

  That did not mean that there was no danger, however. Even though the spider had deactivated the trap connected to the door lock, there could well be others in here. The tomb was a long, narrow room, with statues of the emperor’s favorite and most loyal warriors lining the path to the stone casket, at the far end of the room, in which his remains were interred. Emperor B’aaktuk had been a warrior king, not a king who had favored artisans or inventors.

  The spider carefully examined the floors and walls for signs of any other threats. Sure enough, when it placed slight pressure on one of the stone floor tiles, the tile moved slightly, indicating a pressure-activated trap. This was where having eight legs came in handy; the Factory Core directed the spider to tentatively, gently test every single floor tile, and thus find a safe, if zig-zagging, path to the emperor’s casket.

  It took a while, but the spider eventually made it to the ornate stone casket in safety, without activating any of the tomb’s tricks. Yet again, though, there was danger in opening the coffin, for it too was trapped … likely with the deadliest trap in the whole catacomb.

  The spider cautiously touched the stone, keeping two legs pressed against the casket to feel for vibrations; if any cogs or machinery were moving within the tomb, the spider would sense it. It started to shove the top of the coffin, slowly and carefully, but detected no movement within. If there was any trap machinery, it hadn’t been triggered … yet.

  The spider continued to remove the top of the casket, and still nothing happened. The Factory Core, directing the spider, felt more and more suspicious and uneasy. Why had no signs of danger been detected yet? There had to be a snare or a similar device attached to the box, which was the most important part of the tomb, but where was it? Why had nothing happened yet?

  Even if the Core was apprehensive, it had to press on; it needed a sample of Emperor B’aaktuk’s armor if it was to eliminate the demon commander. Even now the bastard was busy smashing his way through the masses of zombie units, lopping their heads off with his massive sword and splitting their bodies in half. He had already freed a contingent of his troops from the clutches of one mass of zombie demons, and the Factory Core had only been able to beat him back by simultaneously attacking him personally with three mechanical spiders and thereby forcing him to retreat. Even so, he had managed to liberate a good number of his warriors, who were now rampaging through the city and freeing their fellow comrades in turn. The Core desperately needed to procure a chunk of dragon bone, so it could find a way to destroy Grakk’n.

  Just as it pushed the top of the lid off, the spider heard a sudden click. And then its vision disappeared as a massive crash rocked its entire body, hurling it across the room, ripping three of its legs off, and putting a huge dent in its trunk while severely damaging some of the internal machinery that kept it moving.

  If the Factory Core could speak, it would have unleashed a torrent of violent curses at this moment. But all it could do was communicate with the now-blind spider and see if the mission was at all salvageable.

  The booby trap that had smashed the spider had been a gigantic one-ton spring-loaded hammer hidden under the floor, activated by the final push of the casket top. The force of the blow would have instantly killed any living being, be it an ogre or a troll … but the mechanical spider, although badly damaged and blinded, was still functional.

  As it responded to the Factory Core’s message, a surge of triumph tore through the Core. The fact that it could not see anymore would hamper things, yes. But with a bit of patience and tenacity, it could still complete the mission.

  Using only its sense of touch, the spider tentatively felt its way back to the now-open tomb. Now that the top was off, there shouldn’t be any more dangers. The blind spider reached inside the casket, probing, while the Factory Core waited in suspense. And then, the spider’s leg touched something smooth, hard and immensely strong. The dragon bone armor of Emperor B’aak’tuk.

  Elation rippled through the walls and machinery of the Factory Core as the spider lifted the suit, with the crumbling skeleton of the emperor still inside it, out of its resting place. It began the slow journey back to the surface, carrying this priceless treasure and hobbling awkwardly on its remaining functional limbs. But even though it would take far longer than expected, the Factory Core now knew that it could turn the tide of the battle against the Demon Horde. It was only a question of how long it would take to do this.

  CHAPTER 33

  “The demons are gaining ground,” muttered Randor as he, Bomfrey and Akzad watched through the Seeing Crystal while Grakk’n hacked through the hordes of zombie troops. “Even though those resurrected demons are a challe
nge for the regular demon warriors, this commander is proving to be a formidable enemy, one your machine is having difficulty dealing with.”

  “The Factory Core will find a way to overcome that fiend,” said Bomfrey, feeling defensive, as if Randor’s observation of the trouble the Factory Core was having with Grakk’n was a personal criticism of himself. “He is a mere demon. Even if he is bigger, stronger and more intelligent than the others, he is still an insect compared to the Factory Core. My … I mean, our creation is already searching for ways to destroy him; of that you can be certain.”

  “If you say so, master dwarf, if you say so. I meant no disrespect,” said Randor. “I have no doubt that your fantastic machine will eventually overcome the armored demon. I just hope that it is able to do so before he and his fellow fiends reduce the fine city of Karak-Drang to rubble … and before the demons find a passage to the surface world. Already there is too much havoc up here, and rumors of war. Adding the Demon Horde to the mix will surely throw our world—what you dwarves refer to as the Above World—into chaos, the likes of which has not been seen for thousands of years. War, death and destruction could cover the entirety of this land if the Demon Horde breaks through to the surface.”

  “The Factory Core will stop them from doing this,” said Bomfrey, determined and confident. “I know it will. Trust me, wizard; it will not stop fighting until the demons have been beaten back into their cursed Infernal Realm.”

  “For the sake of all of the realms of Men, Dwarves, Elves, Beastkin and all other races who inhabit this world,” said Randor warily, “I hope that you are right.”

  They sat in silence for a while, each contemplating the darkness the Demon Horde would bring if it managed to break through to the Above World, and each silently praying that the Factory Core would prevent such a terrible thing from happening. None of the three said anything, but each seemed to know that the Factory Core was, at this stage, the world’s only hope against the might of the Demon Horde.

  ***

  Grakk’n split the skull of another zombie demon in half, grunting, and he whipped back his blade to watch as his enemy’s lifeless body slipped limply to the floor. He stared at the corpse—the corpse of one of his own soldiers, that the dwarves’ machine had resurrected and used against him—and suddenly a realization hit him.

  “The more of my warriors who die,” he muttered, watching masses of zombies lurching and stumbling through the streets as his troops tried to fight them off, “the greater the numbers of these stupid things this cursed dwarven machine is able to make! Eventually, it will turn my entire army against me!”

  He had seen pieces of dwarven engineering inside the bodies of the black demons he had slain, and understood that the creatures he was fighting were more machine than fiend—perhaps entirely machine, really—and as he thought about this fact, another idea began to form in his mind.

  “This dwarven abomination,” he muttered, “it’s using the dead bodies of my warriors as raw materials. But it’s also using other items it’s scavenging from this blasted city. If I take away its building materials, then it won’t be able to make anything new. Yes … yes! I need to remove that cursed machine’s resources! This is how I can destroy that bloody thing.”

  He watched as three demon warriors pounced on a zombie and dragged it to the ground, biting and clawing at it, and eventually managing, after a furious struggle, to rip its head off its shoulders. Even after that, though, the headless creature’s arms kept flailing around, and the demon warriors had to tear those off too.

  “These wretched creations are strong,” he grunted, “but not immortal.”

  He continued to watch as a lone demon warrior charged wildly at a zombie—and the zombie, with a slow but brutally strong swipe of its axe, slammed the blade into the warrior’s chest, splitting his heart open and killing him. Grakk’n roared, darted over to the zombie demon and took both of the creature’s arms off with two strokes of his blade, and then with a third he decapitated it, bellowing with savage glee as he did.

  “Take his corpse away!” shouted Grakk’n to his warriors, pointing at the dead demon at his feet, who the zombie had killed. “Take all of our dead outside the city walls, so that the dwarven machines cannot take them and turn them against us!”

  As the warriors obeyed his orders, Grakk’n knelt down next to the body of the black demon he had just butchered.

  “Let’s see how this cursed thing works,” he growled, drawing a long, sharp dragon bone dagger from his belt. He could see that the torso of the zombie had been stitched up, so he stuck his blade into the scar and cut through the stitches, opening up the cut until the zombie’s entire chest could be opened up. Grakk’n stuck his claws into the wound, and ripped the flesh right open, exposing the entirety of the creature’s insides.

  He was surprised to find a rather complex array of machinery inside the zombie demon’s cavity; there were gears, pistons, pipes, pushrods, wires, axels … It was all far too complex for him to even begin to understand, but what he did now know for certain was that these things were definitely more machine than organic. And one thing he knew about machinery was that if you smashed it up badly enough, it would not be repairable.

  He stood up, raised his sword high above his head, and brought it down in a savage blow. Again and again he hacked and slashed at the pieces inside the zombie demon, until nothing was left of its former mechanical complexity—only broken, shattered machinery and scraps of twisted metal remained.

  “Try fixing that,” he growled, hoping that the dwarven machine could somehow hear him.

  He picked up the zombie’s axe and tossed it over to a nearby warrior, who caught the weapon.

  “Did you see what I just did to this thing?” grunted Grakk’n.

  The demon warrior nodded, looking uncertain; demons were not used to fighting with weapons.

  “Do the same thing I did to all of these things!” said Grakk’n. “Now we turn the tide against the dwarven machine! Make sure it cannot repair any of those freaks!”

  The demon warrior grinned savagely; now he understood why Grakk’n had given him the axe. He jumped onto the corpse of a nearby zombie, cut its torso open, and then began gleefully chopping at the mechanical insides, smashing and battering and pulverizing the fine instruments until nothing remained but a mess of unsalvageable wreckage.

  Grakk’n looked on with approval, nodding and smiling grimly. “Yes, yes,” he said. “This is good, this is good … this is how we will defeat the dwarves and their machine! All of you, pick up whatever weapons you can find, and destroy these corpses! Make sure not a single piston or gear inside these cursed things is salvageable! Smash them all to scrap!”

  The demon warriors went about this job with primal joy, whooping and screaming as they scrambled and fought among themselves to grab an axe, and then got on with the grisly task of tearing open the zombie demons’ torsos and smashing their innards to smithereens. It was an assignment that the demon warriors took well to; if there was one thing they were exceptionally talented at, it was breaking things.

  “Those who don’t have weapons, drag the bodies of all of your fallen comrades outside the city gates, now!” Grakk’n said. “We will not give this dwarven machine any more raw materials! Do it, move!”

  Those demon warriors who had not yet managed to find a blade obeyed this command, and they began carrying or pulling the bodies of their brethren toward the gates, where the cave trolls were just beginning to open up a tunnel through the pile of wreckage. Grakk’n watched all of this with satisfaction, feeling as if he was at last beginning to gain the upper hand in the battle to take the city. He was not nearly done yet though.

  He noticed the overturned body of a mechanical spider lying in a street nearby. His warriors had managed to rip its legs off, rendering it completely useless. Grakk’n suspected, however, that the case with the spiders was similar to that of the zombies; unless their complex insides were completely de
molished, the dwarven machine would likely pick up their bodies and repair them—and have them back in the streets, fighting and killing his troops the next day.

  “No,” he growled softly. “I’m not going to allow you to do that.”

  The carcasses of the geckoes were light enough that two or three demons could transport them, but the spiders were much larger and heavier. It would take too many warriors to move one successfully. On the other hand, a cave troll—with his immense strength—would be able to pick up a spider on his own. And now that they were almost done tunneling through the rubble, Grakk’n knew what their next job would be.

  “You, you, you and you!” he roared, pointing at four warriors who had just finished whacking the belly of a zombie to pieces. “Pick up whatever dead steel lizards you see, and take them outside the city walls. Pile them up with our dead. Hurry up, move it, or I’ll have your ugly heads on spikes!”

  The demon warriors scampered off to go find whatever dead geckoes they could get their hands on. After this, Grakk’n turned his attention to the cave trolls. He strode over to them as the first few trolls came through the ruins. Grakk’n shoved the nearest slave driver demon aside and snatched his fire whip away from him, and then lashed it across a cave troll’s back.

  “See that big bug made of metal, slave?” Grakk’n said. “Go and seize it. Carry it through the tunnel, and dump it outside the city. Move it, you ugly, stupid lump! Go!” He slashed the fire whip once again, and the creature cried with pain and anger. The cave troll had no option but to obey. So, pretty much dragging his slave driver demon behind him via the chain around his neck, the troll trudged off to go and carry out this order.

  Grakk’n drew his sword and pointed it at the other slave driver demons. “All of you morons, listen up!” he roared. “You take these big fat idiots of yours and get them to take all the mechanical spiders they can find outside the walls, got it? And you’d best do it quickly; if I catch any of you lazing around, I’ll cut your ugly heads off and feed them to the cave trolls! Now hurry up, get moving!”