Shadowcroft's Academy for Dungeons Chapter 21

Logan’s eyes snapped open just as Rockheart came slamming down on the ground in front of him. His wings grated as they closed. He could hear the smile in the gargoyle’s voice. “Your lack of respect is noted, Mr. Murray,” he grunted. “But since it seems you’re finally ready to join us, may we begin today’s lesson?”

Logan didn’t answer. He slowly stood, straightening himself to his full, though rather unimpressive, height, and offered the grumpy gargoyle a half smile. 

“Sorry, Professor, just preparing for today. I was cultivating deeply.” 

“An A for effort. Not that it will make any difference,” Rockheart replied. He pointed toward the shield and dagger on Logan’s chair. “You should get your little pig sticker and trashcan lid ready.”

“No,” Logan said. “And don’t waste my time today, Professor. I don’t want to deal with your dogs for once. I want Magmarty. Right away.”

The First Cohort strode up with Tet-Akhat behind them, reading from her DCG like a teenager with a new phone.

The earth elemental had heard Logan. “Good, Professor. I was getting tired of the hellhounds. Why don’t I fight all of these losers at once?”

An extra bit of fire burned around Chadrigoth’s head. “No, if anyone is going to take on all four of these dweebs, it should be me.”

Marko ran over and slapped the Abyss Lord on the back. He jerked his hand back and blew on a burned finger. “Ouch. Not a dweeb, demon guy. And you are extra charbroiled today. I’d go with a bit more shadow, but then, I like the Umbra, brah.”

Chadrigoth made a fist and a huge iron broadsword, wreathed in fire and smoke, lengthened in his fingers. “I know who I’m going to cut into pieces today. I want the satyr. I want to teach him some manners.” He stomped forward, casually raising the massive sword, preparing to hack off one of Marko’s horns.

A fine silver blade struck his cleaver aside. Inga, both her arms weapons, stood with her wings spread, her knees slightly bent. Her antennae were laser focused on the demon. “Not today, Prince. Today is about Logan and Magmarty.”

Treacle nodded at Lady Elesiel. “Hi. I guess you’re going to kill me at some point.” He burped up some of his lunch and chewed as if death meant nothing to him.

The undead queen rolled her eyes and swiped a loose strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind one ear.

The cat woman continued to read from her grimoire, an ear twitching. She seemed uninterested, all things considered.

Rockheart took control. “Enough! This class will start out with our regular calisthenics. Release the doomhounds!”

The professor dropped his hand. A section of the bleachers rose, and fire wargs came storming out, yipping, yapping, and yelping. Rockheart shot up into the air to watch the ensuing carnage.

Logan darted from the grass and beelined for his chair. The second he was seated, he hit the switch and took off with wheels spinning. Inga soared into the air, wings pumping, kicking up flurries while the rest of the Terrible Twelfth scattered like the dust beneath Inga’s wings.

Pistons whooshing furiously, Logan raced ahead of the slavering doomhounds for the first time.

Marko and Treacle kept pace. Inga flew low.

The minotaur gave Logan the side-eye. “You look better, Logan. Too bad you’re going to be in pieces soon.”

“Maybe eventually. But I’m not going to get a better shot at Magmarty. I’ll need your help to take him out though.” Logan wanted to face the earth elemental while he was riding the rush of power from tying his first knot. He didn’t want to waste even an ounce of Apothos.

“Hey, tag me in! I’ll take one for the team!” the satyr offered. “And how about we consider this my dang Forevergreen gift to you. Treacle, let’s give these dogs something a bit spicier to chew on, shall we?”

“I’ll get you to Magmarty, Logan.” Inga reached out and grabbed Logan, her fingers digging into his armpits.

The minute the fungaloid left his chair, Treacle grabbed the contraption and hurled it into the incoming doomhounds. The chair hit like a mortar, exploding in a barrage of debris, a plume of greasy black smoke rising into the chilly air. There went Logan’s fancy ride. Well, most victories required sacrifice. He hoped his shield and dagger survived.

Inga sailed Logan back over the dogs. The First Cohort had already dispatched the hellhounds and reduced them to steaming piles of Apothos, inhaling the Ignis and Umbra like potpourri.

Inga dropped Logan. He landed in front of Magmarty, doing his best to stick the three-point superhero pose. As far as Logan was concerned, he nailed it.

Rockheart followed, wings flapping lazily. “What is the meaning of this?” he snarled from above.

“Professor, do I have your permission to beat this little toadstool into paste?” Magmarty stared daggers at Logan. Mud dripped from the cracks in the elemental’s stony skin. That mud looked damp and slightly delicious.

“Very well, Mr. Magmarty. I’d say this act of insolence requires recompence. Let the pummeling begin in earnest.” Rockheart’s voice was as cold as the stone of his gargoyle-y skin. “And if his gem gets cracked? What a shame that would be.”

A cracked gem would kill Logan. In essence, Rockheart had just okayed his murder.

Magmarty didn’t pause. Not for a second. Neither did Logan. 

His entire plan hinged on avoiding Magmarty for one critical moment because the Verdant Ascension had imparted him with the gift of Rapid Growth—a Spore Halo ability that normally he wouldn’t get until he became an Iron Trunk cultivator. Inkboon had written that Rapid Growth was key to any plant or fungal guardian’s survival. 

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Rapid Growth: Use specialized spores to trigger the rapid growth and spread of true fungi. By pumping domesticated fungi with specialized stored Apothos Catalyst Spores, a fungaloid can transform a simple spore into a full-grown mushroom in a matter of seconds. 

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Logan had seen the ability for himself while wandering the Silverbark Forest. All of those giant, man-eating plants had gained supremacy through their ability to rapidly grow to an enormous size, and now he could do the same for his mushrooms.

Logan released a burst of Mucal Film spores in front of them and then released Rapid Growth, pumping the film full of the pent-up Apothos coursing through his meridians. A thin layer of brown goo spread across the arena floor like an oil slick. Without wasting a beat, Logan darted forward and slid between Magmarty’s legs, just like Marko had skated through the Gelatinous Knight’s slime trail.

The elemental grunted. “What’s this?”

“Behind you!” Chadrigoth called out.

Logan smiled and turned on a heel, spewing Opal Truffle pollen from his gills. He’d tried this move before with Magmarty, but the dumb mushrooms hadn’t grown fast enough. Now, the spores took root in the damp recesses of Magmarty’s cracks. The pearlescent fungi appeared as little growths not even a quarter inch long.

The elemental looked down at the Opal Truffles and actually laughed, and with good reason, since Opal Truffles were hardly an offensive powerhouse. Then he raised his blazing eyes at Logan. “You’re dead.”

He tromped forward with those big rocky hands ready to rend Logan limb from limb.

This time, though, Magmarty was the one who never had a chance.

Logan released Rapid Growth spores from his gills. A gust, courtesy of Inga’s flapping wings, swept them directly into the earth elemental. In an instant, the Opal Truffles doubled, tripled, then quadrupled in size.

Magmarty let out a shriek of pure pain. First, he dropped to his knees, then sank onto all fours, howling. The mushrooms continued to grow, spreading like a plague thanks to the Rapid Growth. 

An arm cracked off, then a leg.

The elemental’s head rolled off like a bowling ball.

Logan stepped to the side, watching in mute fascination as the earth elemental became a mound of broken rock and creeping mushrooms.

The rest of the First Cohort watched with gaping mouths. Even Tet was looking up from her DCG in disbelief.

Rockheart momentarily lost control of his wings—something Logan had never seen from the professor. He landed and stood there blinking dumbly.

The fight had lasted only a few minutes, yet it had resulted in the complete destruction of Magmarty.

Logan waddled forward and rummaged around in the mound of delicious mushrooms and crumbled stone. He unearthed Magmarty’s gemstone and tossed it to Rockheart. “I don’t feel like killing him today. It is a holiday tomorrow. Consider this my Forevergreen gift to the clan.”

The professor caught the gem, still utterly speechless.

Logan hadn’t taken two steps when he felt a tingling start in his fingers. He looked down and watched blisters cover his arms, legs, hands, everywhere. That tingling turned into an itch and then into pain. Black spores poured down from his gills, covering him in a layer of dust. His heart beat like a jackhammer, and his lungs worked overtime to pull in enough oxygen to keep him conscious. Logan fought to stay on his feet, but his body was far beyond his control. His core was syphoning in the Apothos from Magmarty—not from his gem, but rather the energy that had made up his guardian form. There was so much of it. Almost too much. 

It felt like trying to drink down a hurricane all at once.

Logan fell to his knees, his body convulsing, arms and legs flailing wildly. The Terra Apothos wasn’t hard to digest, but the Ignis Apothos was a different story. Sucking in a breath felt like inhaling hot coals. People were yelling, his friends were crowding around him, wondering what was happening, and all Logan could do was concentrate on pushing a rush of Apothos through the knotted band of energy circling his core, stripping out the elemental affinity as he drew the power downward. 

He could do this. He’d survived everything else and processed the Verdant Ascension bloom, he would survive this too. Somehow, though, he knew that this time around he wouldn’t just gain a rank or two… No, his victory against Magmarty was going to take him to his next evolutionary form.

Inga held his hand. She knew exactly what was going on. “Process the energy, Logan, let it flow through your meridians. It’s going to hurt. It’s going to be like drinking fire, but the more you can channel through your meridians, the harder your skin will be. Your body is purifying itself, getting rid of flaws, and reorganizing your cellular and muscular structure. If you survive the process, you’ll be bigger, better, and as Marko would say, more badass.”

Treacle sighed. “I dunno, Inga. It’s an awful lot of Apothos to take in at one time. I would imagine it will kill him.”

“Not helping!” Marko said with real concern. The satyr scooped Logan up. “We’ll take him back to our room. Out of my way, Chadrigoth.”

Logan couldn’t talk, and he couldn’t open his eyes. Everything depended on his absolute concentration. Thank goodness he’d spent months cultivating.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that—time was slippery as he further refined his core. Snatches of imagery would float in and out of his consciousness as he worked, just as they had when he processed the bloom. Some of those images were from his past life. He watched himself clamber over the high tower on the Nasty Nick obstacle course and run the night raid at Camp Mackall. He envisioned the time he broke his arm in four places and when he’d woken up in the hospital, his leg missing. But there were also glimpses of faraway places he was sure he’d never visited. Places with towering horrors, cascading emerald waterfalls, and untamed swatches of jungle.

Branded across each vision was the image of a stately golden fungus as tall as a man. 

At some point, Logan woke up in darkness, not having slept, but fallen into a trance, moving the energy through his body. Normally, he would’ve gotten the knot when he’d progressed to Iron Trunk. Inkboon’s gift had given him both the knot and Rapid Growth early—a fact that had likely saved his life during his first ascension.

He cracked his eyes open and found himself in Marko’s bed. A little fire burned in his stove, not too much, so the room was cold. The blanket on Treacle looked like a dish towel on his big bovine body. Inga lay sleeping with her head on the minotaur’s thigh. Her wings were wrapped around herself.

Marko had pulled up a chair—the one that Logan had crafted. He sat, elbows on his knees, head down. The satyr spoke in a low voice. “It’s after midnight, Logan. Happy Forevergreen Festival. By the wine god’s bad liver, I hate Forevergreen.” He faltered, running a hand through his shaggy locks. “You know, Logan, there’s something I have to tell you.”

Logan was awake. A hard crust of black fungus covered him and moving was impossible. So was talking. He could only listen. 

The satyr let out a deep breath. “I’m a guy who knows how to have a lot of friends. I’m not so good at having good friends, though. So the Terrible Twelfth is important to me. I might not show it, but it is.” Marko laughed a little. “I liked you right away. You’re funny. That’s important. You know what’s more important? You’re focused, and you’re nice. You care about other people. That’s rare.” He deflated a little, slouching forward, chin resting on one palm. 

“Take me for instance. I don’t even know GK’s real name. I guess it’s just easier not to care. It’s just easier to keep the party going, keep the music playing, because when the music stops? Well, then I have to get real. Then I have to remember. And that hurts, man. You have no idea how much that hurts. At some point I’ll tell you what happened. Maybe you can help me make sense of it.”

Marko raised his head. “Until then? Get better, Logan. We need you. Inga might be the brains of the operation, but you’re the heart and soul of this team. And, for what it’s worth, I know you’re worried that Treacle and I are jealous of this Symbiosis thing you have with Inga. We’re not. We’re good. I think we’re both resigned to our fates.”

Logan wanted to reach out, wanted to move, but all he could do was slip back into cultivation, channeling his Apothos through his body as it went through monumental changes. He was turning into something. What that something was? He had no idea.

He did know that he couldn’t lose heart. He had to prove to Marko and Treacle that they weren’t destined to fail. After all, the worst student at the school, an E-Class cultivator, had just taken apart a B-Class dungeon core. At the Shadowcroft Academy, anything was possible.

  Keep Reading Here: Chapter Twenty-Two