Is It Wrong To Skitter In A Dungeon? Chapter 51: Interlude 6 (Patreon)

Chapter 51: Interlude 6

Thanatos was not a god who was given to fear. Indeed, outside of a few rare supreme deities and the Dungeon, gods in general feared nothing.

So, it was quite the novel experience to experience bone-chilling terror as he listened to his darling captain regale him of the failed assault on the Hestia Familia.

“…and then we ran back here like bitches,” Valletta said, concluding her report with an annoyed expression. “Sure, our objective was sorta completed, but since the key was broken, kinda feels like a loss.”

Thanatos nodded slowly, keeping his feelings off of his face before steepling his fingers. “I see. Most unfortunate. But you’ve brought back important intel. Why don’t you go relax?”

“Maybe I will,” the pinkette groaned. “Can’t believe we got our asses handed to us by a rookie of all things! At least watching Revis also get pummeled was therapeutic.”

She wandered off, twitching as she passed a Virga that was guarding the room, and left the God of Death and Rebirth alone. When he was certain nobody save the monsters were there, he sank to his knees and clutched his head in his hands.

‘Weaver can control Spiritspawn, too?!’ he thought to himself in dread. ‘And when Revis is in the area as well?!’

That was bad. That was very, very bad. Being able to control monsters was one thing, but the Spiritspawn were artificial monsters created through Evilus’s experiments into creating Demi-Spirits. They were not something that should have been able to be influenced by anything other than a god, fellow Demi-Spirits, or special hybrid entities like Revis.

‘And yet they were next to useless against Weaver!’ Thanatos grimaced. He was no fool. The only reason Evilus hadn’t been wiped out yet was due to Valletta’s strategic mind, their hidden base in the form of Knossos, and the fact they had legions of disposable troops to throw at any foe dumb enough to interfere.

But now the second thing was under threat due to the Loki Familia, and the third was useless in front of a damned Faller!

He knew what she was. Hardly any deity in Orario didn’t, not after all those odd occurrences in the city, or after what happened to Ishtar.

Fallers were a problem. Their nature as outsiders kept the divine sight of the heaven-bound gods from properly viewing them, and their actions could cloud and distort the fates laid out for other mortals, which led to situations like this one!

The Whore Goddess was dead and nobody knew where she was. She hadn’t reformed in Tenkai following her confrontation with the Hestia Familia captain and everyone – deity and adventurer alike – was wary of Weaver, if not afraid.

Nothing was perfect in life, not even the clairvoyance of a god, but Thanatos had been extremely confident in his and Enyo’s plan for the city. Barring literal divine intervention against them, nothing should have disrupted their various plots and schemes!

‘And don’t think I didn’t see the way Valletta flinched when she passed by one of the insectoid Spiritspawn just now! Weaver completely broke her brain after nearly choking her to death with bugs and she’ll be useless in a fight against that god killer!’ Thanatos thought to himself, frustrated and worried.

“I must prepare counter-measures,” he uttered to himself before rising back to his feet and departing the room to seek aide.

Thanatos eventually located the madman he was seeking inside an unfinished corridor that was slowly and steadily being cleared of stone, chiseling away. However, Thanatos was surprised to find someone else already there.

“…come on, just do it!” Dix groaned, trying to cajole his half-brother into doing something for him.

“No,” Barca replied, not even looking up from his work.

“Look, it won’t be long before this place is attacked by those goodie two-shoes, and if you want us to protect it, I need better equipment!” Dix declared.

“He’s not wrong, Barca,” Thanatos spoke up, causing the duo to look at him. “We need tools. Gear. Weapons. What will it take to get you to make us some?”

For a moment Barca did not respond, but eventually he turned to stare at his visitors.

“I want her,” Barca demanded, and for the first time since he’d met him, Thanatos saw desire for something other than the Dungeon in his eyes.

“Her? Ah, Weaver, you mean?” Thanatos inquired.

“Yes. With her power, I can accelerate the excavation and construction of Knossos by decades, perhaps centuries,” Barca said, sounding excited at the prospect. “A legion of endlessly replenishable workers… it would be marvelous.”

“Damn, I kinda wanted to have her for myself,” Dix muttered. “Her monster controlling Skill could be quite profitable. Still, if that’s your price… so be it. I’ll catch that girl for ya. So give me stuff in exchange.”

Barca just nodded before going back to his work. Dix shared a look with Thanatos before they left the cursed descendant of Daedalus in the tunnel.

‘Well, that went better than expected!’ Thanatos thought to himself. ‘Maybe things won’t go as poorly as I feared?’

For some reason, after thinking that, he got the feeling somebody – or something – was laughing at him.

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“Are you sure you want to do this?” Ares asked, glancing over at the Crown Prince. Marius just nodded firmly, undeterred from his path.

“For Rakia’s honor, this is something I must do,” Marius declared.

The God of War just snorted. He knew full well that might partially be the reasoning behind the decision, it also wasn’t the only one. But then again, he wasn’t entirely surprised, either.

“Do not bring shame to us,” Ares commanded, and Marius nodded, before both stared ahead and waited for the doors to open.

So much had changed in just a day. Well. Technically two, since Weaver’s assault on their camp had occurred before midnight, but it felt like only a day had passed for everyone involved.

The captured god and his staff had been treated well by the Guild, given VIP rooms in Babel, but there was no doubt they were prisoners. Not with a bunch of Level 6s constantly guarding them.

Orario had also rushed the peace talks, and for the past day Ares had pushed his diplomatic skills to the limit to ensure he and his army were not stripped of everything and forced to march back naked.

‘Well, technically it was Marius who kept us from becoming beggars,’ Ares thought to himself, glancing at the loyal child. Even when all had seemed lost, the prince had tried to protect the god and his kingdom.

Compared to his most recent ancestors, Marius had the traits to be one of the greatest kings of Rakia. He was the strongest Level 2 in the country, and had the political acumen his father sorely lacked. Not to mention, he strongly opposed the militaristic bent the nation had always possessed and tried to work to make Rakia less of a country of muscleheads, to mixed success.

‘And now, I am handing him over to the city as a hostage,’ Ares thought bitterly.

Five years servitude within one of the Familias of Orario was the sentence. During that time, if Rakia dared to make any aggressive moves against them, the Guild would have the boy executed as punishment.

To ensure the greatest chance of Rakia surviving the future as more than just a bunch of warmongers, Ares had agreed.

There had been other conditions he’d been forced to agree to. Lowered tariffs for certain goods that passed through Rakian lands and decreasing the toll on merchants passing through on their way to and from Orario for a decade.

All of which would hurt the treasury, but could be endured. Their army was still in one piece – if traumatized – and could be used to protect and patrol their borders and territories just like before. Which was good, as some of the bandits in the Kaios Desert were getting uppity and recovering from the beating Freya had handed them.

It was frustrating to concede defeat a sixth time. Not to mention that it had easily been the most humiliating defeat ever. Not even the disastrous Third Invasion, where half of Rakia’s army got washed away in a flash flood before reaching the city, could compare.

Loki had even dropped by after he’d been captured, and Ares had fully expected the Trickster to mock him, like she might have done back in Tenkai. To his surprise, she’d simply given him a sympathetic look and handed him a bottle of divine wine.

“You’re gonna need that to forget what happened to ya,” Loki had said, and Ares had begrudgingly admitted that yes, he probably would need god-tier booze to blot out the memories of the swarm engulfing his army, followed by the humiliating (and terrifying!) moments stuck in a monster’s belly.

Ares was no fool. He was aware he’d been at the mercy of Weaver the whole time. And for the first time… he’d felt fear.

‘Is this what my soldiers feel on the battlefield?’ Ares couldn’t help but wonder.

He had been on the frontlines before, but had always been safe. A stray arrow or spell might have ended him, sure, but it would have been an accident. Nobody would dare intentionally bring harm to a god, after all. Until now.

This fear… it had shaken him. His indominable will and belief in his own superiority and his soldiers had been broken in less than an hour at the hands of a single, terrifying woman.

‘I think I finally understand what you meant, Phobos,’ Ares thought to himself.

As a minor goddess of war and fear, she had always been more attuned to the feelings of mortals than him. Whereas Deimos relished in the dread he could bring, Phobos had always tried to reduce it. To make life easier for the mortals she cared for.

‘When I see her again, I will have to apologize,’ Ares vowed.

The door to the room he and Marius were waiting in creaked open, revealing the Guildmaster, who dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief.

“Are you ready, Lord Ares?” the portly elf inquired.

“Lead the way,” the God of War said imperiously. He was defeated, but he would always hold his head up high.

The god and prince were led through the Guildhall and down into the Chamber of Prayer where Ouranos himself waited in the gloom. A table had been set up with a sheet of vellum lying atop it with a quill and inkpot.

Ares approached it, reading over the treaty to make sure everything was the same as what had been agreed upon. Seeing that it was, the War God picked up the quill.

There, in front of the Sky God’s throne, Ares signed his name onto the treaty before placing a single drop of divine ichor to mark it with his seal.

Ouranos waved his hand, his own signature and seal seared into the vellum before a second flare of his Arcanum created a perfect duplicate of the treaty, complete with divine seals.

“And with that, peace is brought to the land once more,” Ouranos said, his deep voice rumbling through the underground chamber and Royman took the copy while Ares was given the original.

Ares grunted. “Peace is fleeting,” he replied, more out of habit than anything else. Ouranos always said those words after every treaty signing, and Ares had always responded the same way.

But this time, his heart was not in it, and the Lynchpin of the Dungeon noticed if the tiny smirk that flickered across his face was any clue.

“You are finally changing,” Ouranos said, and Ares blinked and looked up at the elder god.

Seeing his confusion, the Sky God explained. “Many gods have changed after descending and living amongst mortals. They’ve grown. Matured. And you… after a thousand years, you are beginning to do so as well.”

“I see,” the God of War grunted, looking pensive. He then shook his head and turned away. “Farewell, Ouranos. Take care of Marius.”

“Of course. I shall make sure his new Familia takes good care of him.”

“I’m sure,” Ares snorted. Yes, the Familia that Ouranos had agreed to put Marius into had partially been decided by politics, but mostly by the prince’s own desires.

‘Ah, well. It’s his life. And who am I to judge another person’s foolish ideas?’ Ares mused as he left the Guildhall and prepared to return to Rakia.

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Garon sighed. It had been expected. Only the most deluded – or, as Rakia liked to call them, ‘patriotic’ – had believed that this would finally be the time they conquered the city.

Yes, Orario was the weakest it’d been in centuries with the loss of the Zeus and Hera Familias. Yes, Orario had been ravaged by internal strife by Evilus afterwards. And, if the rumors were true, still was.

Yet what Rakia liked to forget – or just outright ignore – was that the God of War’s army had no Level 4s. No Level 5s. They had a lot of Level 1s and a decent selection of Level 2s, but Rakia simply lacked the firepower to do anything aside from annoy the greatest city in the world.

Garon had joined the army because it was his duty, not because he believed they would succeed. And, he would admit, he’d had a tiny hope of getting Welf back, or failing that, seeing him one more time.

So, when his son had come to him with a plan to sneak inside Orario and speak with Welf to try and convince him to return, Garon had known it wouldn’t work. But he’d gone along with it because he missed his grandson. And he’d hoped Vil had missed Welf, too.

Turns out, however, that it had not even been Vil’s idea in the first place, and instead one of General Umber’s schemes to kidnap Welf. The head of the Deimos Familia and commander of the Shadow Troupe was a sadistic fool but he was also Level 3. If anyone had a chance of dragging the youngest Crozzo back, it was him.

‘Imagine my surprise when he was taken out by Welf and a little girl,’ Garon thought in amusement.

He would have to spread more rumors about Umber’s defeat. He’d done quite a bit already, but it was best to be thorough. Anything that ruined that man’s reputation was a good thing in his opinion.

Of course, it turned out Ares had wanted to kidnap a goddess as well. Which was just… insanity. You do not target the deities! That was the rule! The law! The unspoken, ultimate Taboo! And Lord Ares had broken it. But rather than reap a tainted win, he instead caused the most humiliating and utter defeat in Rakia’s history.

One Level 3 woman wiped out their entire army with bugs. Bugs! It was incredible! It was impossible. It was… humbling. And it seemed even Lord Ares had been shaken by the one-sided beat-down.

Garon had only seen the god of Rakia once after he returned from the city, but he’d seemed subdued. Introspective, even, which was something the Blacksmith had never seen before, at least from the God of War.

Ares had informed his aides and general staff that he’d signed a treaty with Orario, handed over Marius as a hostage, and that it was time to slink back home, tails between their legs.

‘And some people just have a hard time accepting this,’ he thought to himself. General Regger was one of them. And, sadly, it seemed his son was one of them.

“Stop pacing, Vil,” Garon said. “And start packing.”

“Why are you accepting this, father?!” Vil Crozzo demanded. He did stop pacing back and forth in the tent, but only to turn an incredulous stare at the older man. “We have been humiliated!”

“Yes, we have,” Garon retorted. “And nothing you do or say will change that. Umber failed. Regger failed. Lord Ares failed. You failed, Vil. And this? This is the result of that failure.”

He waved his hand, gesturing outside of the tent at the Rakian army that was packing up and preparing to trudge back to their country. Garon was fairly certain every soldier was going to be suffering nightmares for weeks, and would never be able to look at a spider or cockroach without screaming.

Vil trembled in rage, but Garon chose to ignore him.

“If you’re not ready to go soon, you’ll be left behind,” Garon warned. “And I wouldn’t want to find out what the adventurers will do to you if they find you lingering.”

Vil grit his teeth but finally began to pack up and prepare for the long march home. Seeing that, Garon grabbed a few of his own things before walking out of the tent. He placed some items into one of the supply wagons, but kept a box with him.

The container was wooden and quite large, requiring both hands to carry. It was also rather heavy, to the point even a Level 1 would have a hard time.

But Garon was a Level 2, and he brought it out of the Rakian war camp and towards the gates of Orario. He did not try to enter the city, and instead stopped outside the walls. A minute later somebody approached.

“Hey, hey! Hermes Deliveries, here! Are you the client?” the tan-skinned chienthrope inquired as she walked up to him. “How ya doing?”

“Yes, I’m the client,” he replied, putting the wooden crate down at his feet. “One box, to be delivered to Welf Crozzo of the Hestia Familia.”

“Sure. Uh, it’s not a bomb, is it? Or anything bad, right?” the adventurer asked. “I hate to ask, but… you know…”

“Yes, I am aware,” Garon sighed. “And no, there is nothing dangerous. Nor is it contraband. You may check inside, but please be careful.”

The chienthrope squinted at him before shrugging. “Alright. I’ll take it. You already paid, anyways. But why not give it to him yourself? Aren’t you his grandfather?”

“I don’t have the right to see him. Not after I was tricked like a greenhorn and led him into a trap,” Garon said sorrowfully. “All I can do is hope he forgives me someday.”

He patted the crate at his feet. “I’d planned to give this to Welf at the meeting… but it seems that won’t be happening.”

“Well, that’s up to you, I suppose,” the delivery girl shrugged. She picked up the wooden box with ease, proving she was definitely at least a Level 2. Which went on to show just how different Orario was.

Any city that had people that strong act as messengers and delivery people was not to be underestimated.

As she walked off, Garon spared a few more seconds to observe the towering walls before heading back to the camp. It would take a while before the thousands of soldiers were ready to depart, so he might as well make himself useful.

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Ottar swung his sword through the air, the massive slab of metal creating a loud whoosh with every swing. His training session had already reduced a part of the field to rubble, as even without touching it, the air pressure from his giant weapon was capable of shattering the ground. It had been a long time since he’d felt this motivated. Seeing Weaver destroy an entire army all on her own… it had lit a fire in him.

Where Freya had become obsessed with the white-haired boy, Ottar’s eyes had slowly been drawn to the black-haired woman. Despite missing an arm, she had delved into the Dungeon without hesitation. Yes, her Skill gave her advantages over certain monsters, but without the intelligence and wisdom to use them properly, it would have been worthless.

And Weaver was smart. The way she leveraged her every advantage had allowed her to not only bring down foes much stronger than her, but also gain connections with some of the most important players in the city. The Level 3 had a staunch ally in the form of Shakti and the Ganesha Familia, and had the respect of the masses for ridding them of the Rakian threat on their doorstep.

Ottar’s one and only love was his goddess, and she would forever be that, even if she found another man to be her Odr, but Weaver… she could be the rival he’d always craved. Finn was strong and an impressive adventurer and had finally reached Level 7 after surviving his Familia’s disastrous mission to the 59th Floor, but the pallum was not a proper rival.

The Braver did everything for one purpose: his image. He’d become an adventurer to act as a beacon of hope for the pallum, and though he’d never admit it, sought to supplant Fiana herself. Possibly even go beyond her. Certainly, he was a brilliant strategist and virtuoso with a spear, but Finn’s focus on this ultimate goal held him back. He’d never challenge Ottar because that would negatively impact his aura as the unbeatable pallum if he lost.

Weaver, on the other hand, would not back down if she had to oppose Ottar. She did not let things like ‘rules’ or ‘appearances’ hold her back. She marched to the beat of her own drum and executed her own sense of justice when and where she saw evil being committed, and woe befall any who dared to harm those under her protection.

She sought strength because it was the only thing that would save her, and had no illusions about the truth of this world: the strong ruled, the weak followed. Despite that, she had an iron-clad sense of morality, and the King knew that she would sooner die than allow herself to compromise on those morals.

‘You would be proud of her,’ Ottar thought to himself in between sword swings, thinking of her father.

The shared last names were a clue, but the similarities in appearance and the way they dealt with things… it was obvious that Taylor Hebert was the daughter of the Zeus Familia’s Vice-Captain, ‘The Strongest Level 1.’

A scar on his chest ached as he thought of that man, and Ottar couldn’t help but relive the day he’d received it from Daniel Hebert.

‘You’ve forgotten what it means to be weak,’ the phantom voice of the Vice-Captain said, echoing in his ears as the old wound upon him throbbed. ‘Let me remind you.’

He, a Level 3, had looked down on the Vice-Captain, a mere Level 1, fully expecting to win their little duel. And yet, he was laid out in a single stroke of his opponent’s sword. The pain and shock – and, he would admit, fear – had left a deeper mark on the boaz than anything else that day. And it appeared that Danny’s daughter was following in his footsteps.

A vicious grin split the King’s face and Ottar let out a shout as he brought his sword down, completely obliterating the training grounds in a single strike.

‘Grow stronger, Weaver… and someday, we shall see who has the right to wear the crown,’ the boaz thought to himself.

He then got an earful from Heith about ruining the field for everyone else, but it was worth it.

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DEVOUR

More souls, more magic, more energy.

DEVOUR

It was never enough. The molten warmth of the planet’s core was not enough to sate the endless hunger or dull the eternal pain. It longed for the caress of the cosmic winds and rays that had sustained it during long eons in the void.

DEVOUR

So many tiny sparks scurried within it, tiny morsels carried within organic frames that were pale imitations of the burning infernos that crawled above it.

DEVOUR

A spark was extinguished by one of its servitor-harvester frames and it felt the essence within the organic frame peel away and try to escape, but it did not allow that to happen, and DEVOURED the wisp of power. It was not enough to sate a percent of a percent of the gnawing hunger, but it was better than nothing.

DEVOUR

Yet there was a change that had appeared recently. One that it hadn’t had for many hundreds of rotations. The bindings that forced it to be pinned in place, unable to complete its healing-restoration-ascension, had weakened briefly.

DEVOUR

It would not try to burrow upwards and break free. Not yet. Instead, it would continue to reinforce the tendril-node-extension that was the furthest from the dimensional anchor keeping it trapped and escape that way.

DEVOUR

Using the precious energy it had managed to stockpile over many planetary rotations, it increased the amount of pressure it was exerting on the secondary exit it had access to. It resisted, but the barrier blocking this part of its body was weaker than the one keeping its main body in place.

DEVOUR

Soon. Soon. Soon, it would be free again!

DEVOUR

And then, it’d find where the other kin-aspect-fragment was hiding, and assimilate it, allowing it to reestablish cross-dimensional telemetry with its lost nodes and continue its mission!

DEVOUR! DEVOUR THEM ALL!!!