Shadowcroft Academy Year 2 - Chapter Eight

Logan, Marko, and Treacle walked out of the DIE portal and found themselves at the entrance of the Blasted Barrows, the southernmost dungeon on Arborea. Rough-hewn stones were piled into an archway set in the side of a grassy knoll. The Vralkag Hills were a low series of ridges between the two southern rivers that ran off the edges of the realm in dramatic waterfalls—flat worlds might defy physics, but they sure were pretty.

The wind brought the perfume of the dry grassy plain along with some market noises from the nearby town. The distant cries of street vendors hawking their wares. The clang of a hammer falling against steel. Vralkag was the only settlement in the realm outside of Shadowcroft Castle. A place that catered to the professors and staff that called Arborea home, though there was nothing that said students couldn’t visit as well. Marko certainly spent more than his fair share of hours slumming around in the taverns there.

Professor Arketa the Hellgazer stood with her pink gloves off, eating a triangular pastry. The gloves matched her headscarf, which kept her snake hair under wraps. Her dress and shoes were also pink, as were the frames of her dark sunglasses. Gorgon eyes did terrible things to flesh, or so Logan had read.

Arketa had taught one of their intro classes the year before—Underground Feng Shui: Maximizing Your Dungeon for Murder. One of the few classes Marko genuinely excelled at. Despite having a powerful class—Dark Muse—which could wreak havoc on a raiding party, Marko tended to lean toward art and beauty over functionality and practicality.

The gorgon daintily finished off the pastry and dabbed the edges of her mouth with a rose-colored napkin. “Hello, gentleman. You were almost late. Not something I would’ve expected from the Terrible Twelfth now that you are the toast of the town.”

“I believed the term is the town’s toasted,” Marko said. “Right, Steve?”

Steve’s joins squeaked and clattered in agreement.

Arketa raised a plucked eyebrow. “Really. You drink Marko, I never would’ve guessed.”

The satyr didn’t miss a beat. “Goat-a-holic. I can get treatment for the booze. But my goat problem is chronic.”

She sighed. “Come now, Logan and friends. The other students are already in the Barrow’s entry room. I have to say, I’m very excited about this class. And what do you think of the title? Best Friends Forever: Your Minions and You. I know Yullis hates it, but I enjoy it enough for the both of us.”

She’d called Rockheart by his first name.

During his summer long internship with the Rector Prime, Logan had pieced together that the two of them were a couple. Rockheart never came out and said as much, of course, but Logan had spent enough time with the angry gargoyle to see how frequently Professor Hellgazer paid him office visits. There were other little things too. The way Rockheart would soften when she was around. He didn’t soften much—like a boulder swaddled in a piece of velvet—but soften he did.

There was also the fashion to consider. Rockheart was oddly infatuated with clothes, but Logan couldn’t figure out if that was Professor Hellgazer rubbing off on him, or if he’d always been that way. Either way, they often dressed to match when they were together, which was oddly adorable. Definitely the odd couple, those two, but sometimes those were the relationships that had the legs to last.

Logan and company followed the professor down into the dungeon. The Blasted Barrows was one of Logan’s favorite dungeons on Arborea. Not as good as some of the swamp locations, but a thousand times better than the mountainous dungeons or the sand-blasted desert dungeons. The worn stone steps, slick with moss, let out into a natural cavern with rough stone walls and high ceilings studded with cobalt stalactites. With the jutting stalagmites rose from the floor, the entry room always made Logan think of a dragon’s maw.

The air was surprisingly warm, insulated by hanging moss, and pools of stagnant water dotted the floor. The cavernous entryway connected to a tunnel lined by crumbling gray support columns; nooks carved into the walls held ancient sarcophagi. A tomb, one meant for royalty. The design was perfect for Liches or Undead Revenants. Honestly, Logan loved it. The place conjured images of Frodo and Middle Earth, bringing a smile to his face.

Arketa frowned in distaste as she slipped her pink gloves on.

“Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve never been a fan of the more crumbling décor that is a hallmark of undead dungeons. Aged rock certainly has its place, but this emphasis on crumbling stone can become so very cliché. Normally, I would’ve taught this class at the Cruelwood, but of course, that location is closed for the time being.”

Just what exactly had happened there during the summer. Logan wondered.

They wandered through twisting mausoleum-like corridors and headed over a wide bridge crossing a bottomless abyss. The room beyond was studded with skulls and a hulking chandelier overhead was crafted from the bones of a hundred dead bodies. Candelabras burned with ghostly green flames, illuminating more shelves, inset into the walls. No coffins here. Instead shrouded bodies lay wrapped on the dusty slabs.

Corpses, that should’ve been long dead, shuffled uneasily in the darkened recesses.

Marko paused, a wicked grin curving his lips. “Do you hear that, Logan? The movement?” He waved a hand, fingers twirling as though he could somehow sense the vibrations hanging in the air. “The rustle of muslin is almost a whisper. Soft. Gentle. Almost words. It’s almost like it’s saying… death will come for you.” He changed his voice to mimic the whispering. “Look at my arm. I gave myself goosebumps. Gods I’m a genius.”

“You’re going to kill it in your sound design class,” Logan said, slapping him on the shoulder. “But let’s stay focused. Minion management. We’re here for minion management.”

“Phft,” Mark replied rolling his eyes. “I practically have this in the bag around. Just look at Steve. I’m already managing minions like a G.O.A.T.”

“Just humor me, would you?” Logan asked, sling an arm around Marko’s shoulders and urging him onward.

“Fine,” the goat man said, exasperated. “I’ll do it for my favorite fun-gi.”

They moved into the inner sanctum, which was a field of moss and scattered bones atop decaying cobblestones. The central pedestal were two coffins, half submerged in damp, oozy ground.

Chadrigoth’s abyss lord flames lit up the place.

Logan scowled, mood suddenly soured. First, that stupid hippy snake had sabotaged his Core Calisthenics Class and now he was stuck with Chadrigoth and the rest of the First Cohort a-holes for the most important class of second year.

“Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” Chadrigoth said.

“Huh-huh, yeah, you put him in his place Chad,” Jimi Magmarty offered through a mouthful of pastry. The height of wit and class was Jimi Magmatry. That pastry looked like the one Professor Arketa had finished just moments before. In fact, everyone seemed to be munching on them. Her Lady Elesiel of Everstar—Undead Queen and Chadrigoth’s girlfriend—was nibbling on one and so was Ed the Rot Troll, the leader of the Seventh Cohort. That was a small bonus, at least. Ed was a good guy as far as dungeon monsters went.

Logan spied Tet-Akhat, the only tolerable member of the First Cohort, lingering over in the corner, brushing pastry crumbs from her fingers. When she saw him looking, she raised a paw in greeting, and offered Logan the ghost of a smile.

He smiled back. Okay, so maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

Ed the Rot Troll, lumbered over. His long nose arched over his thin green lips. “Another class. Lucky me. Me Logan friend.”

“What about me?” Marko asked, clutching a hand to his chest as though he’d just been stabbed through the heart.

Ed turned his impossibly thin body to take in the satyr. “Steve better personality. Marko okay.” The rot troll then slowly closed one long-lashed eye in what had to be the creepiest wink ever.

Marko laughed. “You’re the best, Ed.”

Treacle sighed. “Everyone loves Steve.”

Inga came up to welcome them. “Hello, my friends. I’m sorry to abandon you, but I simply could not stomach our would-be friend. I grew nauseated.”

Ed sniffed his pits. “Me stinky. Me sorry. Trouble with this guardian form. Bonuses against raiders with sensitive noses though.”

“Not you, Ed,” Inga said, patting him on the forearm. “Someone else. That Kitchen Ghast will be the death of me, I think.”

Ed nodded. “Oh. Yes. Chud. He worst guy. Very bad energy. Baking, though, good.” Ed pulled a flaky pastry out of the main packet of his leather tunic. “Want one? Me bought two.”

Inga raised a hand. “No. But thank you greatly.”

Logan was curious, and while he was currently digesting a dead rat, he could wash it down with a pastry, especially one that would be warm from Ed’s moist pocket. Logan took it. “Thanks, Ed.”

The rot troll nodded, and moved off, gathering with his cohort.

“No, Logan, you’re not really going to—” Marko turned green.

But Logan was already eating it. It was cherry sweet goodness, warm, and tasting a bit like Ed’s rot. Which actually added some delicious fungal flavor. Mouth half full, he squinted at Marko “What’s your problem?”

“Dude. That was in Ed’s pocket,” the goat man grimaced. “Have you seen Ed? Have you seen the state of his pockets?”

“What can I say, man. I am what I am,” Logan replied with a shrug. Logan had eaten some terrible food in the Army—the Veggie Omelet MRE was the worse thing created by mankind—but even the Logan of old would’ve been disgusted at the thought by chowing down on anything that had come in a five-mile radius of Ed the Rot Troll. But the new Logan just couldn’t help it. Besides, the pastry was incredible. Chud might have been socially awkward, but that pastry tasted like cherry heaven.

Arketa stood in front of the coffins at the center of the room and clapped her hands. “Yes, hello students, you all know me, and you know each other, so we can dispense with the pleasantries and dive right into today’s lesson. This class concerns what some would call the most important aspect of your dungeon.”

“Bartenders?” Marko asked.

Arketa quirked an eyebrow and made a motion of zipping up her lips.

Marko nodded.

Logan elbowed him. “Hush. Come on.”

The gorgon continued. “No, this class is about minion management, and unless you’re a Dark Muse like our horned friend here, bartenders will not likely be a part of your minion pool. As first years, you all learned the invaluable art of summoning simple creatures to defend your dungeons from potential invaders. That is only the beginning, however. Let me also emphasize that minion management will be absolutely crucial to your performance in your Offensive Dungeon Design class with Professor Zantho.”

Logan still didn’t know how a dungeon could go on the offensive—it was literally a stationary location that never moved—or why the tiny fairy professor had intimidated Chadrigoth. But he trusted Professor Hellgazer, and if she said this was important, than it was important.

Arketa swept her hands dramatically through the air. “As you grow increasingly more powerful, managing your floors can be a tricky endeavor. Your minions, they need direction. Guidance. Oversight. Sometimes, it can be an overwhelming proposition, and that is where Floor Bosses come in.”

Marko shot her a finger gun. “Like I said. Bartenders.”

Lady of Elesiel of Everstar hissed out an annoyed sigh. ‘You’re not funny, Marko.”

Treacle chuckled. “That’s never stopped him in the past. It won’t now.”

Steve’s joints creaked in agreement.

Inga brushed the minotaurs with a moth wing “Shush. Don’t encourage him—it’ll only make things worse.”

Arketa stopped talking, walked down, and lowered her sunglasses, fixing her stare on Logan and the Terrible Twelfth. Eyes, blazing yellow eyes, like a thousand suns exploding, turned Logan’s insides into orange marmalade.

A second later, the sunglasses were back in place, but Logan wasn’t sure how much time had passed. All he knew was that he wasn’t going to say another word. Not one.

All expression fell from Marko’s face. He looked as stunned as Logan felt.

Okay. So there was a good reason why she was called the Hellgazer. Check.

Inga had been smart enough to avert her gaze, but Treacle hadn’t. The minotaur wasn’t chewing, wasn’t moving, he stood fixed in place. Logan was fairly certain that even the minotaur’s many stomachs had been frozen by that hellish stare.

Arketa nodded and returned to the coffins. “Yes, that’s right, this class is important. And what we’re about to do is dangerous. As a dungeon lord, it’s best to keep your physical guardian form in the Inner Sanctum as the last line of defense against clever dungeoneers who bypass all the other defensive mechanism. However, you also need stringent deterrents placed throughout the dungeon.

“Floor bosses are Apothos-enhanced minions that are stronger, faster, and smarter than their underlings. A passable floor boss is one who will kill a raider. A good floor boss is a creature that can help coordinate and control your other floor minions. A great floor boss can be a trusted ally and your most valuable weapon. In this class, you will work on learning how to create, control, and train floor bosses and also how to manufacture the most potent floor bosses possible.”

Marko blinked, smirked, and laughed. Just like that, he was back to his old self. He hooked a thumb toward Steve. “I’m way ahead of you, beautiful. I’ve been toting ol’ Steve around all summer.”

Arketa’s mouth twitched, her hands balling into fists. It was like she was considering upping the ante or laughing Marko off. Goat boys were gonna goat. Rule of nature.

“Yes, Marko,” she said, unclenching her fists and unnecessarily smoothing out her dress. “Thank you for bringing up your friend Steve. The faculty and I have been discussing him. Steve is a perfect example…”

The satyr slapped his mannequin on the back. “See, pal? You’re famous already.”

Arketa shook her head. “Steve is perfect example of what you should never, ever do. Ever. Not under any circumstances. Professor Zantho will go into more detail in your Offensive Dungeon Designs class, but suffice it to say, although floor bosses are powerful creatures and wonderful allies, like any weapon they can be used against you if you are an idiot.”

Chadrigoth raised his hand.

Arketa nodded at him.

The abyss lord laughed. “And since Marko is an idiot, his creepy mannequin can be used against him.”

“It is possible,” Arketa conceded. “The real danger is in losing Apothos. Creating a floor boss is not easy, nor is it cheap—in terms of Apothos expenditure. You see, minions, especially floor bosses, can be lost or broken, causing a significant loss of essential energy. They are also a direct conduit into your dungeon core. A clever dungeoneer just might be able to take advantage of that. Allowing them to roam free, as Mark is doing, has its own risks. Marko, my friend, make sure you keep a close eye on it.”

“You mean him?” the satyr asked. “Steve is all man. And he’s awesome. Hey, Steve, up top!” Marko and the mannequin slapped hands.

An unsettling light glowed behind the Hellgazer’s sunglasses. “Yes, Marko, I’m sure your little friend is awesome. And since most of Arborea is strictly monitored, he shouldn’t be an issue, but still, indulge me. Now, we’re going to break up into small groups and work on building our first floor Boss. Or a second in your case, Marko.”

Another finger gun from the goat boy.

The three cohorts started to talk, but Arketa silenced them by just touching her sunglasses. “Before you go, let me make another very important point. You’re going to want to choose your floor boss wisely. Once you select a suitable minion, you’ll be imbuing it with more than your Apothos—you’ll be hooking a part of your core into the creature, so that it can draw continually from your own pool of power. This will allow the floor boss to naturally scale up and grow more advanced in time.

“This will also give them consciousness past death. If they are destroyed and respawn in your dungeon, they will remember all they are and all that happened. But, because this is a piece of you, it’s possible you will not be able to create another floor boss for quite a while—especially if you are a lower tier cultivator. Most high-ranked C-Class dungeons can produce two floor bosses at most, while a High ranked B-Class might be able to produce as many as five. This would, of course, correspond to the number of levels in your dungeon.”

A few things struck Logan immediately.

For one, he’d felt the difference between his Spore Wargs and his Skullcap Waddlers. He figured his connection to a floor boss would be even more intense. And it was interesting that during their final exam the year before, that Logan’s friends had basically acted as floor bosses. This again pointed to how powerful his symbiosis power could be. If each of them had generated an additional floor boss, that would’ve been eight high-level monsters the raiders would’ve had to face down. And if they could’ve all generated five bosses? Their power would grow exponentially as would the size of their lair.

“Now,” Arketa said, “I’ll divide you into small groups not based on cohorts. Do not be discouraged, however, if you fail your first time around. Many Dungeon Cores can take weeks or even months to create their first floor boss. In that, Mr. Laskarelis, I will concede that your feat is rather impressive.”

Marko gave her a furry thumbs up and a thousand-watt grin. Her praise, however faint, was only going to make him worse, Logan knew.

The professor wasn’t kind in divvying up the groups. Logan was glad that Inga would go with him, but Tet was chosen to join them. That felt like it could turn awkward.

Arketa clumped Marko, Ed the Rot Troll, and Prince Chadrigoth into the same group. It was a hilarious combination, and she’d probably done it to punish the goat man for both his hubris and his constant interruptions. Either way, the disgust was apparent on the abyss lord’s face. Treacle—who finally snapped out of the Hellgazer’s spell—ended up with a Lady Elesiel of Everstar and a dog-faced Inugami from the Seventh Cohort named Ikai. The final group held Magmarty and the remaining two members of the Seventh—a Darkling Wisp and a Bog Nymph.

The various groups were sent to different parts of the dungeon, where they could work through the process with minimum distractions. But also minimum oversight. Marko, Ed, and Chad would stay in the Inner Sanctum, which was good. Still, Logan was more than a little worried that Chadrigoth might try something against Marko. As Logan had learned through painful experience last year, Shadowcroft Academy was not a kind or especially friendly place. The staff were pragmatists of the highest order and staunch Darwinists, even if they didn’t know that word. Survival of the fittest might as well have been the school’s motto, and the staff fostered more than a little healthy competition amongst its students.

Competition that often results in disembowelment and death.

But Marko was crafty, and he had Steve to watch his back. Ed the Rot Troll was also a good guy to have in a bad situation.

Hopefully, it’ll be enough, Logan thought as he, Inga, and Tet headed over to the skull-studded crypt room with the grisly chandelier.