Shadowcroft Academy Year 2 - Chapter Forty-Seven

Logan watched as Steve tossed his helm to one of the chitinous Calflings, who snatched it from the air with a writhing tentacle. “Hold that, you big, delicious octopus minotaur bug thing.” Steve turned and headed toward the first mirror, regarding his own reflection with great curiosity. Pretty soon, that curiosity would transform into an emotional cocktail of regret, horror, confusion, and frustration. The Shame Maze might look like a mirror maze a first, but it was so much more.

And there was no easy way through it. You couldn’t just go in swinging a hammer—the mirrors used aspects of Chadrigoth’s Soul Barrier to make them virtually indestructible. Not that Steve didn’t try, of course. The paster-faced dummy pulled the modified shield from his back and all sorts of gizmos came bursting out—everything from a hammer to a corkscrew. The Swiss Army shield didn’t have anything that could shatter the mirror, however.

Steve’s reflection in the mirror turned into a kindly, plump older woman with rosy cheeks with a kerchief holding back silvery hair. She wore a peasant dress and was barefoot. With the state of her feet, she could’ve kept a podiatrist in Porsches for decades. She spoke in a heavily accented voice, that sounded vaguely Eastern European, though Logan couldn’t quite place it. “Villy, oh Villy, why do you never write letters to me, Villy?”

Steve’s plaster lost a few shades of white. The black shadows on his face turned into pained wincing. “Oh, this is good. Hit me with the guilt. Well news flash, my mother’s been dead for more than five-thousand years. Do you really think this will bother me? That I’m haunted by the past and my own shortcomings? Was I a good son? No. I never wanted to be a good son. I wanted to become powerful beyond belief.”

Steve turned his chin up and walked coolly past his mother, but she appeared again in front of him. “Villy! Why didn’t you come home for the funeral, Villy? Your father adored you. You turned out cruel, Villy. You broke our hearts.”

The plaster mannequin punched the mirror. “You’re not my mom! And even if you were my mom, how dare you guilt trip me about the funeral! Did you even think to ask about my schedule before planning Dad’s funeral, hmm? I was busy, sure, but I would’ve gone, Mom! I would’ve gone! But you never even gave me the opportunity.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Not that I care or anything,” he finished weakly.

The first of the insectoid Calflings followed Steve into the labyrinth of guilt-inducing mirror, but then Treacle appeared. “I’m very disappointed in you, Sweetie Candyhammer.” His voice was dour. A father, too tired to be angry. “Deep down, you know this isn’t right. A modified exoskeleton? What about your natural metal armor? Think, Sweeite, you’re fighting a demonic lord of the abyss with access to Ignis-based Apothos and you’re covered in flammable material. I taught you better than that.”

The Calfling mooed, raising its hooves in pleading. Or supplication.

“Don’t give me that. You’re making excuses. And what about those fleshy purple tentacles sprouting out of your back? Hellforged Steel reinforced with Fulgur Apothos is three times as durable. It breaks my heart to see you this way. I’m seriously contemplating jumping off a bridge. You did that to me. And, to top it all off, you’re working for a dungeoneer. You know that, right? That you’re serving a villain who is anathema to the very purpose of our work. I’m very disappointed in you.”

Sweetie Candyhammer dropped his head, looking devasted.

Steve marched back. “Snap out of it, Candyhammer! I made you three-times more powerful than that grumpy gnome ever could’ve. This”—he waved a hand through the air then gestured toward the sorrowful ghost of Treacle—“isn’t real. None of it is!”

Steve pulled Sweetie forward, but there was an image of Treacle, shaming the next buggy Calfling about his purple tentacles. This minion couldn’t handle it, and he fell apart, literally. Losing the will to live, he vanished into the various flavors of his Apothine energies.

Logan felt like throwing his head back and cackling. It was going to take them forever to get through the Shame Maze, and how many more of Steve’s minions would give into despair?

Chadrigoth’s scorched and bloody guardian form lumbered out of the emergency tunnel and into the inner sanctum, sliding to a stop beside the pedestal. He was wheezing from the run and had tears in his eyes. <Glad it’s them in there and not me. I stumbled into my own trap a couple years back. It was brutal. I couldn’t get out of bed for a week. But I could do it now, though because you and I both know the truth about me. We’re not bad dungeons trying to get good. We’re sick dungeons trying to get well.>

Logan awkwardly patted the huge abyss lord’s muscled arm. <Yeah, man, really getting an honest look at yourself for the first time can be tough, but you’ll get through it. We might need to put a pin in the whole self-help thing until we take care of Steve. I’m thinking he should be stuck in there for the better part of a half-hour, which means now is the perfect time for us to go on the offensive. If we can crush Steve’s proto-gem, that should free Inga and the rest of my friends. And once we neutralize Steve’s magic, the school staff should be able to see what’s going on and step in.”

Chadrigoth grimaced and shook his head. <Yeah, about that. This isn’t just Steve’s doing. I used Psuche Powder to seal off both dungeons and isolate us for the duration of the final. I was going to use it to kill you without the professors finding out. It’s powerful, man, that Psuche Powder is strong stuff.>

<Not when I took it,> Logan sent.

The abyss lord’s old arrogance came roaring back in a flash. <Because you didn’t take the quantities I’m talking about, or you were too stupid to process it right.> Chadrigoth clapped his hands over his mouth. <Oh, crap, that was shaming. I’m sorry. Still getting used to the new me. Suffice to say, our final won’t end until one of us wins. And while the Shame Maze is going to slow Steve and his minions down, and take out some of the weaker willed ones, Steve himself is  going to make it into our inner sanctum. You were right about him, Logan, he’s stronger than I ever could’ve imagined.>

Logan saw the truth of their situation in seconds. His mind whirled as he thought through possible plans. They couldn’t just grab their gems and run, or their dungeon would vanish. Their minions, the Shame Maze, and all the mushrooms that Logan had grown in the inner sanctum would be gone in a snap. Sure, if Logan and Chadrigoth grabbed their gems, in theory they could run back through the Null Arena, and then Steve wouldn’t have a core to crack to break the seal. However, the solution to that was simple: he’d just have his minions grab one of the three cores—either Inga’s, Marko’s, or Treacle’s—and run them to the Bloodrock.

Already, the Bharooshian runes were glowing underfoot, in anticipation of their master’s return.

Villy. That was like Willy, or Billy—Steve had to be William of the Scales. He’d abandoned his family to pursue his lust for power. The Ancients had stopped him once upon a time, but he was back and he was making remarkably good progress through the Maze. He’d made it nearly a quarter of the way already. Currently, one of Billy’s ex-girlfriend’s, Guinevere Shortchange, was going into excruciating detail about how he’d betrayed her on his homeworld.

Chadrigoth understood their predicament all too well. <Logan, one of us has to stay here and stop Steve from breaking the fourth seal,> he sent. <The other has to go and beat the Winterdark Halls and crack that evil butt nugget’s core. I’ll stay. You’ll go.>

The abyss lord had drained most of his Apothos to create the secret passageways, the trap rooms, and he’d provided the raw energy for all their minions, Logan’s included. If he stayed, Chadrigoth only had a single Dungeonaut a double fist-full of lesser minions to guard the inner sanctum. There was a good chance the abyss lord wouldn’t survive.

Logan wanted to argue, but his own life would be on the line, since his dungeon core would stay on the pedestal as well.

Chadrigoth grinned, tears running down his cheeks. <I heard you talk to the Terrible Twelfth, and you said you were ride or die. That’s you and me, bro. We’re ride or die in this.>

Chadrigoth might’ve been a tool, but he was Logan’s tool now. < You sure about this?> he asked.

<I’ve never been more certain about anything.> The abyss lord nodded then flew over to grab the hulking stone chest of Psuche powder from the throne. He lugged it over to Logan.

They both heard Steve screaming, “By the elder gods of death and fury, Guinevere, I never cheated on you! We were on a break!”

Chadrigoth sighed. <Honestly, I kind of feel bad for the guy. Logan, listen, I gathered Psuche Powder because it’s powerful stuff. I got a ton at this midsummer party that my brother Brian was at. Hate to say it, but I still feel proud for stealing his stash right out from under his nose. I’ve been working all year, though, on collecting it from the various dungeons. The Psuche hooks you directly into the branches of the Tree of Souls, so you can really feel the BYE. It was how I pulled you out back when I was trapped in self-hate. I see now, I hated myself, but it was easier to hate you. You know, you really do remind of my brother Brian.>

The abyss lord’s eyes shot to the statue of his brother, which was the smallest one by far.

<Bad time for this, Chadrigoth.>

<Yeah, right. No definitely. I’ll deal with my feelings about Brian later. Right now, it’s all about saving the Tree. Here’s the real reason I’ve been collecting the Psuche Powder from inner sanctums. Aside from giving you a deeper connection to the Tree, you can also filter the Apothos there into raw Psuche. I’ll show you how to do it sometime. Then, if you add that jolt of energy directly to your knots, you can temporarily advance your rank.

<Temporary as in, eventually the effects lapse. But… I’ve read some theories that say if you force a major advancement—like going from B-Class to A-Class for example—that the change would stick. That was my plan all year long. I was going to game the system and try to force an advancement so that I could school you, but there was no guarantee it would work. I was deluding myself. Instead, I want you to take the Psuche Powder. All of it. I doubt there’s enough to push you up to A-Class, but it’ll probably give you a few ranks, at least for a little while, and you’ll need the extra help. The Winterdark Halls are going to be brutal because it’s not just the Terrible Twelfth’s Apothos, it’s that Steve thing. I guess it’s Billy Scales, right?”.>

<Looks like it.>

Logan heard Steve screaming at some dungeon that the dungeoneer had destroyed, “You don’t get it, Bazeroth! The Tree of Souls can’t be killed. We can take all the Apothos we want. Catastrophic Tree Death is just a theory, like gravity, 5G, or Aldaleeran climate change.”

And there was the evil dungeoneer, justifying his actions.

<Go!> Chadrigoth roared. <No more talking!>

Logan flipped open the lid and stared down at the heap of red powder. He’d taken one-one-thousandth this amount and it had felt like injecting caffeine straight into his veins. What would this amount do? Time to find out. He hunched over and hoovered all of the powder into his gills. At first, it was like the rush he’d felt when he’d processed the little bit they’d won after finishing their first year. Then it hit him like a runaway tractor trailer.

A tsunami of arcane power swept him up—it would’ve overwhelmed him in seconds had Chadrigoth not shared the secret of how to process it. Luckily, Logan had managed to tie two knots; he sent all that energy surging through the Apothos pathways surrounding his core. His knots glowed like a Chernobyl shoestring. Those knots filtered and channeled that energy into his core, then circulated it through every part of his body. Had he tried this as a C-Class cultivator, he would’ve exploded.

Immediately, he saw his rank skyrocket from B-Class Rank 9 all the way up to Rank 5, which was the minor Class-advancement. Though he wouldn’t advance or evolve, hitting Rank 5 meant he would unlock at least a few new minor abilities. With a thought, he pulled up his Guardian Form Matrix and glanced over the changes:

<<< ۝>>>

Logan Murray

Guardian Core Matrix

Base Race:Fungaloid

Current Evolution:Nightfell Monarch

Cultivator Class: Azure Branch Cultivator; B-Class, Rank 5 (Temporary)

Primary Elemental Affinities:Morta/Toxicus

Racial Abilities:

- Digestion

Racial Skill:

- Domestic Fungi

Level-One Proto-Spore Cultures

- Opal Truffles, Mucal Film, Ghoul’s Snare, Blister Wart, God’s Eye Caps, Eyelash Stinkhorn

Level-Two Proto-Spore Cultures

- Braincaps, Gem-studded Puffballs, Skullcaps, Ashvein

Level-Three Proto-Spore Cultures

- Spore Wargs, Crimson Coral Fungus

o New spores available!

Level-Four Proto-Spore Cultures

o Kurrybooboo

o New spores available!

Fungal Form (Active):

- Exoskeleton

- Pneumacity

- Mycological Rage (NEW!)

Fungal Form (Passive):

- Fungal Vision

- Disease Immunity

- Poison Immunity

- Blindness Immunity

- Deafness Immunity (NEW!)

- Replicate

Spore Halo:

- Pollinic Affliction

- Symbiosis

- Athlete’s Ailment

- Rapid Growth

- Narcotic

<<<>>>

He gained a new Active Fungal Form, Mycological Rage, and a new Passive ability—Deafness Immunity—though, honestly, not being able to hear Marko’s lute would be a better skill. Mycological Rage was definitely an interesting ability, though, basically the fungaloid version of Barbarian Rage for when the chips were really down.

<<<>>>

Release a potent chemical cocktail of hormones, narcotics, and psychedelics into your own system, throwing you into a Strength Boosting Rage. During this state you are strong, fast, and feel no pain, but you also have the IQ of an actual fungal colony!

<<<>>>

He’d also unlocked some additional Proto-Spore Cultures. One new Level Three spore and one Level Four spore to play around with, and he knew exactly what to unlock. In that heady rush of power, a wildly rash plan formed in Logan’s head. He knew the perfect way to run a weird Marko-inspired dungeon.

Logan was flying high on power which is why he threw himself into Chadrigoth. The pair chest bumped <Oh, yeah, that’s the ticket. We’re ride or die, Chadrigoth!>

<Ride or die, best friend!>

Logan stepped back. <You know we’re not best friends, right? Like a month ago, you tried to kill me.>

The abyss lord gave him an annoyed look. <Dude. Let me have this. Just for today. It’s been a very emotional final for me.>

Logan sighed, but gave him a high five. It had been a very emotional final, after all.

<Alright, hold down the fort,> he sent, turning on a heel, <I’m going to go get my friends back!> Logan triggered Pneumacity, burning a small amount of Apothos, and took off at a dead sprint, hauling butt down the secret passage and climbing up ladders until he burst out into the Bloodrock’s entrance room. The place was in ruins, with the corpses of the two Dungeonauts lying in a pile of debris and dead spiders.

Logan was worried that Steve might’ve left a minion or two behind, but it seemed that the evil reincarnation of Billy Scales had committed all his forces to his attack on the inner sanctum.

The newly advanced fungaloid, B-Class, Rank 5, gleefully chose one Level Three spore and one Level Four spore.

<<< >>>

Level Three: Sunflower Pods (Trap) – These basketball-sized orange pods float in the air, attached to thin gray tendrils that tether them to the ground. They are filled with flammable gas and when touched, they exploded violently, dealing fire damage and releasing a toxic gas.

Level Four: Corpsebomb Fungi (Trap) – This insidious fungi sets up shop inside the recently deceased. It creates a thin mucus membrane that traps the putrefying gases, turning them into a lethal bomb. When activated, the gas ruptures, sending out a toxic cloud of rolling gas and fragments of body parts that cause additional shrapnel damage. Since all fungaloids are powered by decay and Morta Apothos, Corpsebomb Fungi can also be seeded on living fungaloid minions, turning them into deadly bombs that can deliver a final killing blow even when they are on death’s door.

<<< >>>

Logan couldn’t wait to use those two new goodies.

He sped out of the entrance of the Bloodrock and found himself back in the weird auditorium. He saw clearly where his suicide wargs had exploded, on either side of the main aisle. Mannequins were still there, but they’d been knocked akimbo. Down below, lit by floodlights, was the stage play of Saw re-enacted by the plaster dummies of the Terrible Twelfth.

Logan didn’t bother with the steps. He got a running start and launched himself into the air. His Pneumacity ability allowed him to float down like a dandelion on a summer breeze. While he drifted through the air, he expected one of the dummies to leap to his feet, but, apparently, he’d taken out all the mannequins that had any fight in them. The rest were just creepy home decorations.

Logan noticed something strange. He was feeling the Null Arena around him in a new way. Although it looked solid, it was actually a thin area, a weak spot in space and time that was somehow less substantial than the connecting dungeons. Which made sense in a way. After all, the Bloodrock and the Winterdark Halls were separate by a significant amount of geographical distance—the only way to connect them together was by tapping into the Tree of Souls directly and creating a temporary nexus point. The Null Area.

But with the Psuche powder coursing through him he could feel beyond the Null Area, he could feel the vastness of the universe. Spinning away from this point were the endless twisting branches of life. They were a part of this place, and he was a part of them. The Apothos fueling his core and powering his body was an extension of the Tree.  He felt the twigs, the leaves, the worlds without end stretching off into eternity. There was so much life out there. He had a very Professor Moonbow Rainsap moment. Pure consciousness. Dig it, baby.

Shining through that sea of connectedness—like brilliant threads of gold and diamond—were the lives of those Logan had bonded with at one point or another. Their threads called to him, and he felt like he could stick a hand out and touch each one of them. Chadrigoth was his current Symbiotic connection, and he felt the bully-turned-weepy goofball in the inner sanctum of the Bloodrock. He also sensed Inga, Marko, and Treacle, though their leaves weren’t the bright green of a healthy plant—they were dark and sickly, poisoned by whatever weird magic that Steve had.

Then there was Tet, back on Castle Island, her aura green at the center, while brown and withered around the edges—was that because of her wounded core? Maybe.

Logan could see her perfectly. He focused on her glimmering strand and felt like if he just pulled on it, he could reach out to her. Maybe connect with her mentally. If that was true, maybe she could get a message out to the professors about Steve. He forced pure Apothos into the thread, pulling on it as he focused. The Psuche Powder thrummed inside his chest, buzzing like an enormous bee, as energy built and built and built. <Tet,> he sent, trying to establish the mental connection. <Can you hear me?>

Nothing but silence.

It felt like there was a thin barrier between them though—a thin veil of gauze with Tet just on the other side. He cycled the flood of Apothos just as he did while cultivating, turning it through his core in Boundless Wheel, while simultaneously focusing his power into a single spike of raw force. He used that spike of Apothos to drill into the barrier and tugged gently on Tet’s thread, drawing her closer. <Tet,> he sent again. He felt his Apothos punch through the veil and establish a rudimentary link with the Cat Core.

But before he could do anything there was an enormous inrush of energy accompanied by a flash of light and a thunderous crack!

Logan blinked, momentarily dazed. When the light faded Tet was standing in front of him, surrounding by a halo of scarlet dust. She was in a pink fluffy bathrobe—totally at odds with her typical goth demeanor—and had a cup of tea in her hand. She looked like she was about five minutes from going to bed. “Logan Murray! What? Where?” She glanced around at the Null Arena. “How?... Also why?”

“Yep, those are all good questions,” he said numbly. Then he stared at her in a mixture of wonder and disbelief. Chadrigoth had been right, that Psuche powder really did pack a punch—at least in the right quantities. That was probably also how the abyss lord had forced him out of the BYE portal. Logan was relieved to see a friendly face, but he also felt terrible about dragging Tet into this mess. There was a good chance she could die—but then, if they failed there was a good chance everyone would die. Tet believed in the sacred mission of all dungeon cores, and she would want to help.

“Don’t just stand there,” Tet said. “Where are we and how did you pull me in? More importantly, why did you pull me in?”

Logan wanted to walk her through everything that had happened over the past couple weeks, but they didn’t have the time for that. The effects of the Psuche powder would only last so long not to mention Steve would eventually break through the Shame Maze.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

She squinted, then nodded.

“Good. Then all you need to know is there is a very bad thing, and it’s taken control of the Winterdark Dungeon. It’s also corrupted Inga, Marko, and Treacle. Chadrigoth and I are working together to stop it.”

Her eyebrows nearly climbed off her face. “You and Chadrigoth are working together? On the same side? Things must truly be dire. What do we need to do?”

“We need to run their dungeon and smash this thing’s Core before he can breach our Inner Sanctum and do the same to me and Chad.”

“You couldn’t have picked a worse time, Logan Murray. I completed my own O.D.D. about an hour ago. I managed to get Fractilla the Ice Imp’s gemstone from the inner sanctum of the Mines of Madness, but just barely. I was very fortunate I had the Sand Scream, or I doubt I would’ve won.”

That explained why her leaf wasn’t green. She was low on Apothos.

Logan didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t taking the news like he thought. And he didn’t have a moment to spare. “But you will help me, right?”

She rolled her eyes, the ghost of a smile slipping across her lips. “It’s the least I could do, considering that I wouldn’t even still be at Shadowcroft if it wasn’t for you. Saving the entire Tree of Souls also seems pretty important.” She tossed her cup over her shoulder. It shattered on the stage floor next to plaster Logan’s severed mushroom head lying on the floor in front of the guillotine. “Of course, but we won’t be running the Winterdark Halls, Logan. We’ll be running something else entirely.” She pointed at the name of the new dungeon, done in big swooping letters like what you’d see at a traveling circus in rural Kansas, circa 1923.

Welcome to Steve’s Insane Sorrow Circus!

That’s when the archaic electric lights winked on, and the twisted off-key carnival music boomed from deep down inside what had to be the most twisted of dungeons.

Tet hissed, “This is going to be awful.”

Logan laughed. “It’s not going to be as bad as you think. I have a plan.”

Steve’s voice cackled from all around him. “Spoken like a true loser about to lose. Good luck, fungaloid. You’re going to need it.”

At that moment, a dummy with spirals on his cheeks rode a squeaky tricycle out of the darkness and exploded.

How in the heck did Billy Scales know so much about Earth’s popular culture? In the end, that didn’t matter. As long as they could stop the dungeoneer from bursting back onto the scene, what the ancient dungeoneer did in his spare time was his own business.