Dungeon Lord: Abominable Creatures (The Wraith's Haunt Book 3)

by Hugo Huesca

  He turned to face Lavy. “If you think of any other way we can use the dish, let me know. And if you manage to solve the size problem, I was thinking we could add them to the helmet’s eye slits. Make the glass thicker.” Hell, if she improved the design enough, they could add a whole load of improvements to the Haunt’s helmets. Telescopic and night vision, illusion-piercing, magic detection… At the very least, it would save those of the Haunt a couple dozen experience points in talents.

  Lavy’s grin widened. “I like the way you think. I’ll let you know if I come up with anything. In the meantime, I’ve got a few shiny new experience points to throw around.”

  A Research Mission has progressed! Lens Technology.

  Reward: Technology (Improved Scrambler Towers) Requires further research. Further research may also reveal other applications.

  A new technological path is available: Lens Technology (Miniaturization).

  Progress through this path to unlock Design: Smart Helmets.

  It was a well-known fact among Ivalian spellcasters that increasing your body’s magical abilities using experience points had a peculiar interaction with your mind. Bardic repositories were full with reports of Wizards and Warlocks buying an improved Spellcasting talent and experiencing the distant past, other worlds, planes, or even branching time-lines for a brief minute while the ley lines of their bodies expanded.

  The visions were confusing and rarely had any useful meaning, despite constant attempts by Diviners to use them in prophecy and scrying. Nevertheless, attempts in the other direction—to shelve the visions into a “curious but useless” category—also failed because of the few occasions when they actually worked.

  For example, Alder had told Ed of the Wizard apprentice who discovered he was the last heir of a long-thought-lost royal family through his very first vision, or of the Diviner who had found the location of a buried ancient city through his Advanced Spellcasting vision.

  The problem with this kind of “useful” visions was that there was no way to distinguish them from their random counterparts, and the “long-lost heir of the throne” is a common claim among usurpers who need an excuse to stage a coup. In the case of the Diviner and his lost city, it was his Guild who led the expedition to uncover it, only after following a completely unrelated lead, long after the original Diviner had died in utter poverty and ignominy after all his peers ridiculed him for trusting a random magical hunch instead of their dusty scrolls.

  The Wizard apprentice had been executed for trying to stage a coup against the kingdom regent, and it was only posthumously that his vision was confirmed by a couple pesky Bards who uncovered a damning piece of evidence buried by the regent himself. The adventurers hired by those Bards as protection led a very quick, yet bloody revolution that ended with their leader executing the regent and replacing him. Sadly, it turns out that violent murder-hobos don’t make for competent civil servants, and the little kingdom soon found itself in yet another peasant revolt, only this time Heiliges, its neighbor, saw a chance for an easy annexation and took it. The Heiligian army marched down the little kingdom’s palace finding only token resistance, and the King executed everyone involved—and their mothers for good measure—and that was the end of that mess.

  This is all to say that, among the spellcasting community, random magical visions from no clear source were considered more trouble than they’re worth.

  When Ed found himself standing in the middle of a black lake surrounded by a colossal man-made cavern, he set to learn as little as possible from this particular vision, lest it come to bite him in the ass later on.

  The lake extended until it reached a raised stone platform in the distance. The walls at both sides of the lake fed the waters with a constant stream coming through rusty grated outlets, and Ed could almost feel the current raging beneath his feet. He was standing on the water without gravity complaining, so at first he’d thought he was simply standing atop a shallow puddle.

  Then he saw the shapes far, far below, constantly changing size as they swam up and down, their figures only vaguely reminiscent of fish and even then, only of their worst qualities.

  As a Dungeon Lord, Ed had an instinctual fear of running water only a hairbreadth away from a full-blown aquaphobia. His powers were fueled by the ley lines of the ground, of warm soil and cold rock, and in the middle of a lake he was about as magical as a naked batblin facing a wolf.

  So he hurried as fast as he could toward the only source of solid ground that he could see—the platform several hundred meters away. He tried not to wonder what would happen if the spell that kept him walking over the water suddenly ended, and if the creatures lurking underneath would care much for details like, “You can’t eat someone that’s technically not here at all.”

  Tall brass braziers at his sides lit as he went, bathing his shoulders in a kind of ultraviolet light that would’ve been at home in a rave back on Earth. An open tent rose in the middle of the platform, dominated by a pyramid of emerald green cushions as big as Ed, each embroidered with golden scales, bells, silk knots, and silver whistles. Lavish tables full of exotic fruits and curated meats surrounded the cushion pyramid, with one small stone table right in front of the pyramid.

  Languishing behind the stone table was a woman half-buried in the pile of cushions, with her raven-black hair cascading over her naked torso like a curtain of night. Even at a distance Ed could tell she was beautiful beyond description, in a way that could draw the breath from a man or make Bards fall weeping to their knees. As he approached, she smiled lazily, grabbed a grape the size of an Aureus, and took a bite in a way that was at the same time enticing and innocent. Ed caught a glimpse of her breasts rising up with every deep breath, and could feel his throat drying, even in a vision.

  He distrusted her immediately.

  Even so, there was nowhere else to go, and he strolled almost placidly in the rhythm of a dream until he reached the platform’s feet. Then he climbed a small series of steps and was face to face with the mysterious woman. Her eyes were ink-black, and her irises seemed to swirl as if containing stormy clouds, the implication of thunder only faintly hidden by her full red lips.

  Ed stopped in front of her, finding himself unable to speak. This didn’t worry him—it was just a vision, after all, and one could rarely interact with a dream. He could only wait until his mind got used to the increased magical influx, then he’d wake up in his room, his shiny new Improved Spellcasting talent ready to greet him with two spells for his choosing.

  “Lord Wraith,” the woman greeted him with a musical voice. “At long last. I was wondering for how much longer would my brother keep me from meeting such an… enthralling experiment.”

  She bent forward in a way that made Ed glad he didn’t have a physical body at the moment, and gestured for him to sit on a small seat in front of her stone table. He did as she asked, still unable to control his movements. “You may address me as Regent Korghiran, or My Lady of Secrets, if you prefer.”

  Ed stared at her, unable to speak or move.

  Korghiran made a tall flourish with her hand, as if greeting a crowd, and a deck of golden cards appeared between her fingers out of nowhere. The deck looked heavy and metallic, with sharp edges bolted to a mercurial back that seemed to weave in the very pattern of Korghiran’s eyes. With a careless smile, she shuffled the deck several times, making cards fly between her hands, then dance atop the table and jump, disappear, and reappear in Ed’s hands only to return to her grasp a second later.

  “The Shadow Tarot,” she revealed, as she finished her shuffle and set the deck on the center of the table, right between her and Ed. “The perfect instrument to woo an ambitious young Dungeon Lord in the prime of his life. It brings the gift of knowledge, my dear. Of a very secret and guarded kind, too.”

  With a dexterous wave, she spread the deck in a perfect arc across the table. “Prophecy,” she whispered. “A magic far beyond the ken of mortal Diviners, and even beyond most Demon Regents of
the Netherworld. But between you and me, Lord Wraith? It’s more useful as a bit of dining entertainment between friends, the perfect excuse to get to know each other. You shall see what I mean.”

  She pointed at the cards. “Pick six cards, form a triangle with three, and an inverted one with the rest, right behind the first. Go on, don’t be shy.”

  Ed did as she asked. He selected his cards after a bit of hesitation, then ordered them in a sort of rhombus’ spread.

  Korghiran smiled and slid the first three cards back to her side of the table. “This set represents three possible futures where you fail to achieve your goals, Lord Wraith.” She turned the cards on their backs to reveal swirling windows with tiny human-shaped drawings coming in and out of frame. “Regardless of what many mortals may believe, the future is not set in stone. It is fluid, like a Nightshade’s mist seeping through the cracks of stone, or the branches of a river carving new paths through the centuries. The Shadow Tarot is a tool to understand the present, Lord Wraith. So gaze into the cards, and behold the consequences of your actions.”

  If he’d had control of his body, Ed would’ve refused, but this vision left him no room for choice. He bent forward and stared deep into the cards, and the view seemed to react to his attention and panned into a closer view.

  The card showed him a sunny day with no clouds, the view to the shining blue sky partially obscured by a rough wooden contraption fitted with iron restraints. A man knelt in the frame, his back painfully bent toward the floor, and was bound by his wrists and neck to the device, his face obscured by dirty patches of black hair.

  “A common fate among Dungeon Lords,” Korghiran pointed out. “Captured by the Inquisition and summarily executed.” The image shifted enough to reveal the man’s face, and Ed stared at his own deformed visage. His throat tightened as he caught sight of the web of angry scars obscuring most of his features, the purple bloated skin, and the red, empty eye-sockets burned away with fire irons.

  Korghiran waved her hands at the image as if goading it into showing more. “In this future, you refused to use lethal force against the Inquisition, arguing that they had good intentions—although misguided. It is a courtesy our Heiligian friends won’t extend to us. The Inquisition poured through your dungeons, slaughtered all your minions, and captured you. At least your conscience is clean, isn’t it? Although you don’t seem particularly at ease with your situation, at least from this vantage perspective. Would you agree?”

  The Ed in the card screamed in terror and tried to wiggle free of his restraints as the executioner entered into the frame. The real Ed recognized the man, despite the ceremonial white tunic and armor and the golden spurs hanging from his chest. Gallio didn’t seem particularly happy with the situation, either, but at least he had his eyes. They stared blankly at nothing in particular as he swung the sword at the beaten Dungeon Lord’s neck. There was a spray of red, and the head rolled out of sight. Some other Inquisitor came to remove the body and began the bloody process of tearing the black heart out of its chest.

  The vision went dark. “The only way to remove this branch of possibility from your tree is to take refuge into the Netherworld, Lord Wraith,” Korghiran said, amused. “A few Dungeon Lords have accepted our offers, and they live comfortable lives, albeit with no further delusions of world domination. Does that interest you? Many Regents would take you in if you’re willing to pay their price.”

  The next card showed a paved street surrounded by gigantic towers of steel and crystal. It took Ed a couple seconds to realize he was starting at a city block from Earth. A disgruntled hobo stood on a wooden stool and screamed at the passing crowd, which did its best not to notice him. His nose was red with drink, his eyes injected with yellow and disease, but Ed could recognize himself even through the overgrown beard and hair.

  “Ah, this is one I haven’t seen before,” Korghiran said, with evident pleasure. “It seems that you displeased Murmur in this future, Dungeon Lord. A bad idea, and that’s an understatement. The Dark Father is patient with those who amuse him, but even his patience has a limit—and he can have quite the temper, once he gets going… I wonder what you did to earn his ire, though. This version of you seems to believe Murmur will invade your home plane.”

  Crazy homeless Ed was holding a cardboard sign. “He Comes,” it said. “The End is Near! We Must Fight, Before it’s too Late! Trust No One!” It seemed to be the source of Korghiran’s assumption that Murmur had decided to invade Earth, and the real Ed saw no reason to believe otherwise. His card counterpart was trying to raise the alarm, rally the troops, and prepare some kind of defense. Obviously, people had thought him insane.

  On the other hand, judging by the stains of indeterminate origin on his shirt and the half-empty bottle by his feet, perhaps future Ed had gone a bit crazy.

  “It seems you didn’t take well to being expelled from Ivalis,” Korghiran said. “That’s something for that Bard of yours to mull over, I’d say. Most heroes in the olden tales return to their homes after their quest is done, their adventure having changed them for the better, readying them to transform their villages in return. In your case, though… your Haunt is your home. It makes you wonder if you’d fit better the role of antagonist rather than of the spunky hero in Alder’s chronicle, don’t you agree?”

  She laughed merrily at her own joke. Ed disliked her more and more by the minute. There was something deeply cruel about her that reminded him of Kharon, although the two couldn’t have been more different, physically.

  The third card showed only a black screen. Ed and Korghiran stared at it for a while, but it didn’t change. Korghiran frowned and waved her hands at it, with no results. She raised one perfectly trimmed eyebrow. “A faulty card. Even an artifact of power such as the Shadow Tarot needs a tune-up every century or so, or this happens. My apologies, Lord Wraith. At least it’s nothing to worry about. Let’s say that in this branch, Objectivity erases you out of the tapestry of time after earning its ire one too many times. Boring, yet possible nonetheless.”

  Ed had to agree with the Regent on that.

  She stacked the three cards back into the main deck of the Shadow Tarot and turned her attention to the remaining three.

  “Are you feeling a little gloomy, Dungeon Lord? Watching yourself be executed or go insane can be demoralizing. But look here. In these three futures, you are triumphant! I saved them for last to erase the sour taste of your bad endings. Observe…”

  The first image revealed a place deep underground, panning through a never-ending maze of passageways and empty cracked halls ravaged by a terrible battle fought long ago. Skeletons in rusty armor lay in heaps, their hands still clutching their broken weapons. The scene was lit by a magical gray-green light coming from a tall human figure roaming through the halls, passing through wall and stone as if they weren’t there. This creature was covered by a tattered cloak that had been green in another lifetime, but which dried blood, gore, and murk had turned into a brownish black.

  A wraith, Ed thought. The undead seemed unaware of everything, even itself. Something told Ed that it had been wandering like this, aimlessly, for years and years.

  Then the creature turned back, as if to gaze directly at Ed, and Ed saw the faint, translucent layer of skin that surrounded the creature’s charred skeleton, the same spectral features of Ed’s cursed left hand.

  “Behold, the Wraith Lord roaming his Haunt,” Korghiran said. “Isn’t he impressive? In this future, you do move past your gripes over using lethal force against the Inquisition—after your friends and allies are killed in a raid that you barely survive. To protect what remains of your home, you abuse Objectivity to its very limits, rake in thousands of experience points, and use your game knowledge to design a character sheet unlike anything modern Ivalis has seen. The Wraith Lord isn’t fully undead, nor is he Dungeon Lord, nor human, yet is somehow greater than the three. His power may indeed rival that of some Demon Regents—just don’t tell them I said that. Ha!” Sh
e tapped the card with a fingertip. “And look! The Wraith Lord rains doom upon those that defy him.”

  As she spoke, the Wraith Lord walked through a wall and came to a giant hall where a group of adventurers waited for him. They weren’t the inhuman Heroes of the Inquisition, but real elves, humans, and dwarfs. Flesh and bone. They were armed to the teeth, but their faces seemed emaciated, ashen, and hopeless, as if they’d been roaming the Haunt for a long time.

  Just how big is that place? Ed thought.

  The Wraith Lord attacked without hesitation. The adventurers defended themselves—or tried to, at least. What followed could only be called a fight by the most lax definitions.

  With a flick of his wrist, the Wraith Lord sent a river of gray fire that engulfed a stout dwarven Knight, ate at his defensive enchantments, and reduced him to a burned crisp all in the span of seconds. The other adventurers threw fireballs and advanced magic that Ed didn’t recognize, but the spells died in the air long before they reached the Wraith Lord.

  Another snap of the wrist, and the room itself came alive. Pillars of stone became as flexible as snakes and fell over the elven Cleric, the floor grew mouth and fangs and swallowed the Thief, and statues charged at the remaining warriors. One of them, a gnome girl, lost her nerve as her companions died around her, and she dropped her scepter and ran away, backing herself onto a corner in her panic. Dozens of spectral hands came out of the wall without warning, restrained her, and dragged her screaming and kicking into the stone, where she disappeared without a trace.

  After the third flick of his wrist, there were no adventurers alive. The air in the hall had been transmuted into acid.

  The Wraith Lord floated away as if nothing had happened while his dungeon corroded the corpses into nothingness.

  “Isn’t it inspiring? Don’t you wish you could do that to your enemies right now?” Korghiran asked.