A month later…

  In Duke Moor’s office, the Duke sat behind his desk; Kuzo stood before him — straight-postured — meanwhile, the Duke’s door parted and another man entered.

  The man had pale, alabaster skin and long straight black hair. His hair was tied loosely and rested upon the cusp of his shoulder; he wore a white kimono — plain, without any patterns or illustrations — alongside a pair of wooden sandals.

  He casually strode into the Duke’s office — unperturbed — and sat leisurely upon the mini-sofa to the left of the Duke’s all-encompassing desk.

  “Cassian,” the Duke greeted his second born, “precise timing as always.”

  “And to what do I owe this pleasure?” Cassian smiled.

  “I presume you’ve read the most recent Guild Report?”

  “You jest, father, surely; of course I’ve read the Report, but what does-” Cassian stopped.

  His scarlet eyes narrowed and he leaned forward — out of the leisurely position he was in moments prior.

  “You want me to travel to the Empire?” Cassian surmised. “And why exactly would I want to do that?”

  The Duke cut to the chase.

  “Bram is sealed on the second floor. He’s in Pocket Space. We wanted to-”

  From the seat beside him, laughter interrupted the Duke. Cassian snickered hysterically.

  “And what exactly did that buffoon do to get himself trapped down there?” Cassian said as he reigned himself.

  “It was Bram who discovered the dungeon.” Kuzo offered.

  Cassian’s glare whipped onto Kuzo.

  “Interesting. And why can’t you get him out? Hmm? White Flash?”

  “We don’t want him out.” The Duke cut in.

  Now this — this caught Cassian’s attention.

  For the next hour, Cassian absorbed information like a sponge. Around two months ago, Bram washed upon a shore, killed their Uncle, coveted a unique dungeon — and was thus sealed within it; perhaps the literal antithesis to his original ambition.

  Beside Cassian’s overt amusement, he listened to the debrief intently. In short, the Guild went out of their way to secure rights to the dungeon — effectively making everything Bram did, and the Duke’s almighty plan, an utter waste of time and resources.

  But the Duke’s hand had been played. The Scouts bore witness — the request to the Empire was genuine; the Duke was now forced to follow through.

  If word spread that a Duke besmirched the Empire — especially a duchy that dealt so much in trade — profits would plummet; damn near a third of the Dukedom’s exports sailed West unto the Empire.

  In the worst case-scenario, since the Minister was already a famed prick — Duke Moor would be sanctioned and tariffed off of the continent entirely.

  So what else could the man do but continue with the facade?

  Meanwhile, on the other side of things, Cassian was a scholar; during the debrief, Kuzo had informed him of all the details pertaining to the dungeon — that was his very purpose in attendance.

  Thanks to that, Cassian found the dungeon’s evolutionary habits more than fascinating. Miniature bat to veiny behemoth — it was an atypical evolution to say the least.

  The Batarangs, on the other hand, made much more sense. They stuck with the bat’s original theme, for lack of a better word; the Batarangs were small, quick, agile — and deadly. They were an overall bump to the bat’s natural capabilities.

  The Bat-Apes, however, conflicted with their natural design; and of course, magic occasionally made this process tricky — there’s no telling how magical elements might physically alter a being — but that only applied to magical beasts.

  The Batarangs and Bat-Apes, although monsters, were not magical.

  Therefore, the standard dungeon could have produced Batarangs given the appropriate stimuli… but the Bat-Apes?

  The Vesperclaw?

  Now that’s what really caught Cassian’s eye.

  The crème de la crème — a bat evolution, yes — but one inspired.

  A cross-breed between a bat and something reptilian.

  Innovation! As Cassian viewed it.

  In addition to personal interest, Cassian had been pleading with his father for permission to leave the Dukedom ever since his eighteenth birthday. He had solved their crop shortage, produced enough grain and wood to last decades, and personally trained and guided many of the duchy’s botanists and alchemists.

  All of his efforts, however, had been done under the scrutiny of his father — the Duke. Cassian was not resentful of this fact; he knew it was his father that egregiously hoarded the chloromancy grimoires on the market.

  All that Cassian is, is due in part to his father.

  But his job was done; his role complete.

  He had a burning passion to conduct his own research, to put his own theories to the test — to innovate.

  This proposition, it seemed, was the answer to his years of pleading.

  The Duke — now miserably intertwined with the Oakroot Catacombs — must make the best of what has been given.

  As such, the Duke decided to sponsor Cassian as he resided within the Empire; he’d construct him a lab, hire him assistants, and provide him funding to research and toy with whatever he may like: on one condition.

  “Bram must not be discovered; not yet, at the very least.” The Duke said.

  “The boy could use some introspection. We’ll leave him there for a year — at minimum.”

  “Hehehe-” Cassian snickered.

  He had gotten everything he ever wanted; whilst Bram received nothing at all.

  As expected! Cassian thought.

  “Kuzo will be your guard on the surface, but consider him earnestly. I trust his judgment.”

  “Yes, yes, sire. I understand.” Cassian readied himself.

  “Now I must go, father. I have packing to do.”

  With that, Cassian left.

  The Duke looked at Kuzo.

  “I think it went well, sire.”

  “It did, didn’t it?” The Duke stroked his peppered beard.

  “Is something the matter, sire?”

  “I expected him to ask for more; or to make some unreasonable demand, as he normally does.”

  “Perhaps he’s happy to go.” Kuzo suggested.

  “Yes.” The Duke replied. “And that is the very reason why I’m worried.”

  ***

  A rapid surge of water erupted.

  It tore through spiked coral and ravaged across stone.

  The water surged endlessly; roaring rapids.

  Like a lazy river — Erin’s third floor was a single stream. The catch?

  The stream fed into itself. Over and over. An endless loop of charged, enraged, and deadly water.

  The water surged aggressively, manipulated by mana-currents and occasional bursts of pressure — all due to runes constructed along the river’s bed.

  In addition to the water, Erin invited the coral from beyond his halls.

  It grew from the stone floor — large, branch-like pieces of coral — sharp, sturdy, and colorful.

  The branches of coral beneath the roaring rapid’s ranged from enchanted pinks to royal blues, warm reds, and brilliant yellows.

  Swimming between the coral, various species of fish tossed about.

  From the ocean, Erin modified five different species: three breeds of fish, a starfish, and a sea turtle.

  The first fish was average in length — the size of an adult’s palm. It had silvery, mirror-like scales that reflected the sun’s light, camouflaging the fish amongst its own glint.

  Erin molded the fish sharper.

  The Bladefish! Erin dubbed it.

  He stretched them more angular — more eel-like — and saturated their scales with a razored touch.

  The Bladefish, silver and reflective — near mirrored the form of a dagger in disguise.

  Then, there was an even smaller fish that mingled among the coral — blood red with black stripes — a fish reminiscent of a clownfish.

  Erin bestowed the red fish fangs and a wider tailfin. He modified their mentality — they now traveled in schools of over ten.

  Erin darkened their complexion.

  He instilled in them a berserk-ness akin to piranhas and granted them the blood-thirsty trait thought to be beholden by sharks.

  The Madfish! Erin boasted.

  For the third fish, Erin modified a puffer; instead of piercing spines, however, Erin replaced the pufferfish’s spines with a liquid poison.

  The poison — an active paralytic — exploded in a cloud of purple mist underwater. When consumed, paralysis contracted within minutes, thus the adventurers would be sentenced to drown.

  For the paralytic pufferfish, Erin dubbed the species Cloudfish — for obvious reasons.

  Beyond the three nightmarish fish, Erin also breeded starfish and sea turtles.

  The starfish — Erin had the most fun with them.

  He wanted them to behave like projectiles.

  First, Erin reinforced their flesh. He made them denser — heavier — which meant Erin also had to make them bigger and stronger.

  The starfish ballooned.

  They grew larger than a man’s head all while thick arms jutted out from their core, laced with tiny, firm bristles. The bristles were like chainmail. They’d redistribute heavy impacts and curt slashes alike, a natural armor against mankind’s tools of war.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  Meanwhile, Erin modified the starfish’s behind. He graced them with a powerful jet and a means to pressurize water so that they may burst around the sea in quick bouts of succession.

  On the other end of the starfish — Erin added spikes.

  Cannonfish. Erin thought.

  The black cannonfish curled its arms together. Its new size was far greater than a cannonball — but with its explosive propulsion — the creature would be able to shatter adventurer’s bones through steel, just like a real cannonball.

  Finally, the sea turtles — Erin molded them into underwater tanks.

  He removed their pesky lungs; no need for a sea creature to breathe air anymore, right?

  Then, Erin reinforced their shell.

  Then, Erin reinforced their shell.

  After that, Erin reinforced their shell.

  When Erin was done with the sea turtles, they had become Sea Tanks; they were a dark, chocolatey brown — their shell blended into wood tones — and their scales turned a dark gray after Erin’s meddling.

  The Sea Tanks didn’t possess any means of attack, in fact; they were created simply to exist, to take up space in the roaring rapids — to collide with the adventurer’s amongst the wild currents.

  The Sea Tanks — after their evolution — rivaled the size of large dogs. They reached upwards of two hundred pounds and thanks to their incredible defense — immune to most physical incursions — the Sea Tanks fed upon the Bladefish and the Madfish, as the Sea Tank’s resistance triumphed over the fish’s sharpness.

  Beyond the turbulent waters that stretched miles round-a-bout, Erin created three points of interest along the loop.

  First, Erin added a single oak tree on the side of the roaring rapids. Its branches hung above the water from which manacorns grew — three to be exact, each in a more treacherous position than the other.

  Able to be snatched by adventurer’s facing the violent waters — it was merely another point of greed offered on Erin’s behalf.

  For the second stop, Erin formed a whirlpool that just barely kissed the edge of the roaring rapids; that kiss although — no matter how little — manipulated the rapids in more ways than one.

  First, it was the whirlpool that led to the breeding grounds of all the floors sea life; beyond the whirlpool, a massive reservoir of ocean water occupied the true size of the third floor.

  This was also the source of the roaring rapids itself — Erin could not infinitely generate water, that would be ridiculous.

  Second, the whirlpool led to a grinder. The grinder — an amalgamation of beautifully colored, yet extremely dangerous coral — had holes and gaps within it large enough for the fish to pass through, but for the common man and his DIY raft?

  Shredded. To bits.

  Fish food for the fishies.

  Past the second point of interest, Erin created a hole.

  In the ceiling.

  Where does the hole go?

  How does one get up and into the hole when there is no floor beneath it?

  These were questions that Erin did not have to sort himself, thankfully; the adventurer’s on the other hand, they sure had to figure it out.

  Within the hole within the ceiling, Erin created the floor’s exit.

  Not only the floor’s exit, but also the floor’s Boss Room.

  Unfortunately, Erin wasn’t quite sure what to make of the third floor’s Boss yet; all of the floor’s other occupants lived within the sea, after all.

  As he had nothing readily available to slot into the position, Erin decided it was a task better suited for another day.

  Back to underneath the hole.

  The beauty of the third floor resided within its loop; for if someone missed it on the first go around, they could always ride the roaring rapid’s again and again and again.

  Until they succeeded… or until they were dead.

  In the meantime, whilst Erin designed his third floor, the surface above him mirrored his expansion.

  ***

  Since the dawn of the new month, ten galleons appeared on Erin’s horizon. They dropped their anchors along his shore and unloaded their wares: stacks of wood, piles of gravel, and slabs of marble — all sorts of materials appeared — new and familiar to Erin’s constant watch.

  Around two hundred bodies unloaded with the ships. On the first day, they set up tents and temporary lodges, but soon thereafter — construction began.

  And construction be damned — Erin thought he was fast.

  With magic in the mix, construction completed almost unnoticed; above Erin, a five mile radius of oak trees had been cut to the ground.

  The tree’s stumps were removed and the ground was tilled. The earth mages sculpted the land to their will; they flattened the mountainous regions; they lowered the slopes and raised the divots.

  After a day’s work, a wide flatland stood between a sea of oak trees. Come the third day and real construction began.

  The town hall was the first to be completed.

  Then, the living facilities. Twenty-five percent of the cleared land, in fact, was set aside specifically for residency. Most of the living quarters resembled condos; either single room or dual room accommodations with a single bathroom and functional kitchen.

  Nearest to town hall, however, more luxurious residences were built; homes laid with brick and granted marble flooring: some were two-story, some came with a backyard enclosure, some with servant’s quarters.

  Once everyone had a place to comfortably sleep, more stylized facilities took shape: a bank, a market, they began construction of the docks alongside a pier that stretched into the sea.

  After two weeks of work, the port was finished, the townsquare was formed, and the market was flushed and flourished; from nothing — a sprawling miniature town formed in the blink of an eye.

  By the time Erin finished his third floor, more ships appeared on the horizon — galleons, brigs, even a few privately owned barques sailed towards his reefs.

  On the fleet's forward-most ship, atop its deck, Cassian’s black hair fluttered over his shoulder. Kuzo stood to his left adorned in the official uniform of the Duke’s Navy — a black suit with gold engravings, black gloves, and a navy cap.

  Cassian still wore his white robes and sandals, however.

  Meanwhile, behind the two men in service of the Duke, Hyzen and a slew of other Guild officials huddled around the deck and peered over the open sea.

  They talked amongst themselves, murmurs in the ocean’s breeze.

  Due to the personal discovery of the dungeon — Hyzen was chosen to lead its delegation. He was to report to the newly constructed Guild Hall, where he would then be promoted Guild Master overseeing the unique dungeon, temporarily tagged Oakroot Catacombs.

  It would be Hyzen’s job — moving forward — to thin the Oakroot Catacombs when needed and to continue its exploration; and to report to the Guild of Adventurers on the first of each month.

  In addition to the Guild’s forces, the fleet of ships beyond them belonged to other nobles, adventurers, and private parties alike.

  With the deal between the Guild and the Empire solidified, news of a newly discovered unique dungeon spread around the world — and like moths to a flame — the world’s opportunists responded in-kind.

  Shy of dusk, the Duke’s galleon anchored alongside the newly constructed dock. Cassian and Kuzo departed — alongside a teenage girl on Cassian’s right and an aged gentleman on his left.

  The gentleman, a silver-haired elder with an equally silver mustache and goatee, dressed in a black and white suit — carried all of the party's luggage, nine bags in total, yet the silver gentleman remained unstrained.

  The girl, on the other end, also had silver hair. She kept it in a ponytail behind her; she appeared neat and professional; she wore a black and white uniform as well — same as the gentlemen’s, although more feminine.

  In addition to their similar clothing, the two silver-headed servants also shared eye color — teal. Their eyes were deep and enchanting — as vibrant as the coral reefs beneath them.

  “Dublow. Find us a place to stay. Seven. Scour the market in search of these items. If you find them, buy them.”

  “Very well.” The gentleman, Dublow, graced his palm over his heart and obliged.

  “As you will.” The girl, Seven, curtsied beside him.

  Cassian then glanced towards Kuzo.

  “And what exactly do you plan to do?” Cassian asked.

  “I am going to the Guild Hall with Hyzen. I’m interested in what information the Guild has gathered on the dungeon; if the Scouts gleamed something new since we departed.”

  “Then I shall accompany you!” Cassian invited himself alongside Kuzo.

  Kuzo ignored his antics and searched for Hyzen’s hat amongst a sea of heads that flooded the docks.

  All of a sudden, Erin’s shores were incredibly busy.

  ***

  Martha never expected to one day cross the great sea.

  Likewise, she never expected to permanently move across it either.

  She had just moved to Moorndell nine months ago; a journey she’d never forget — one as perilous and blood curdling as any other adventure she’d been on.

  Martha grew up in a dungeon town; it sprawled around her, into the economy, the culture, the public eye. From a young age, she worked with beasts; she skinned them, gutted them, and processed them from the moment her father let her hold a blade.

  When Martha turned fifteen, she registered as an adventurer — her life’s calling she thought, and how could she not?

  Her parents were adventurers.

  Her friends were adventurers.

  Her income — her livelihood — was built upon the back of a dungeon: something magical, something extraordinary, something more.

  Martha was fascinated with all things dungeon so she learned everything she could from them. So when her Master ditched her just over a month ago — to explore an unexplored unique dungeon, at that — Martha damn near cried.

  Then, on the gloomy night when she finally returned — her Master met her with her bags packed and her belongings stored.

  That night — she boarded one of the Duke’s galleons and sailed off into the great sea.

  Lo and behold, yet again, before he could even show her to her room — her Master ditched her again. He instantaneously fled across the deck of the galleon towards a party of four — an eye-patched man, a pale noble in bath robes, and two servants; one suspiciously young and the other concerningly old.

  A real band of cuckoo clocks… Martha thought.

  Two weeks later, blue skies stretched above Martha as salty currents swept past her.

  Martha stepped onto the docks and the winds rustled her hair, threatening to blow away the pointed black hat that cradled her head. She clutched her hat, nuzzled her spectacles, and stuck to her Master’s side.

  Her Master, an eccentric fellow, led them off of the docks and onto the shore where, immediately, a market unfurled.

  Stalls and vendors lined the forest’s ridge. From her vantage point, Martha saw kids playing in the forest, parents haggling with merchants, and carriages and couriers jumbled all in between.

  There were stalls barbecuing meat.

  There were stalls deep frying dough.

  Martha heard the clang of metal echo. There was a blacksmith at the end of the road.

  She heard a bell chime. In the background of the landscape, the Guild Hall stood upon the only hill left within the townscape; it housed a lighthouse for the port alongside a bell tower for the city.

  The street beneath her boots was cobblestone, freshly laid, and in the backdrop of the scene — Martha could still see construction underway; homes were still under construction, towers and warehouses, most of the cityscape was incomplete according to her Master; and yet so much stood already.

  Nevertheless, her Master ensured her that the Guild’s Employee residences were complete — thank the lords above.

  As he buttoned his gray vest, Martha’s Master strode through the market and followed Main Street due West; after nine blocks, he turned right.

  Another two blocks.

  Their group rounded a corner and sprawled before them stood a bastion constructed of polished marble. Towering columns surrounded the mighty structure, each adorned with a beautiful buttress inlaid with carvings of foliage and wood.

  Between the columns, two imposing oak doors spanned the length to the ceiling — a height outlandish and unnecessary in Martha’s eyes — but breathtaking nonetheless.

  Her Master led them indoors where an even more enchanting interior greeted them: illustrious chandeliers, stained glass windows, ribbed-vault ceilings.

  The Guild Hall was massive, far larger than the facilities Martha was used to in Moorndell. She looked to her Master, but he appeared unperturbed by their future glamorous home.

  Instead, he proceeded in even greater stride.

  At the other end of the Guild Hall, a ceremony appeared to be underway.

  A mass of aristocrats gathered — most newly promoted nobles sent alongside the city’s new Viscount.

  Speaking of the Viscount, the man was present. He stood upon an elevated platform overlooking the crowd of well-dressed people.

  The Viscount appeared a robust man. A southerner with dark skin and tribal tattoos that spanned across his chest and up his neck.

  He was a bald man with dark eyes. He wore a tailored black suit with a fur-lined coat. His shoulders were broad and his stance firm — the man seemed oppressive.

  “IT IS I —” Martha’s Master bellowed above the aristocrats' hushed conversations. He interrupted the Viscount’s proceedings and turned all heads unto him.

  Her Master removed his homburg. He bowed strictly at his waist. Ninety-degrees. No more and no less.

  “Newly appointed Guild Master Hyzen, at your service!”

  “Make way!” The Viscount responded in kind.

  The gathered nobles shifted amongst themselves. With small steps, they scurried across the marble floors and revealed a path down the center.

  Hyzen returned his homburg neatly atop his head. Then, he proceeded down the line.

  He grabbed a woman’s hand: mature, elegant, eastern.

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Hyzen kissed the back of her palm.

  He moved down the line.

  He grabbed a man’s wrist: hairy-armed, thick, dressed in a dark blue coat.

  “This watch, sir…” Hyzen polished it with his breath, “exquisite craftsmanship, indeed. A fine piece of mechanics.”

  “Madam, your earrings…”

  “Excuse me, sir…”

  “My! What exquisite taste…”

  Hyzen stopped and introduced himself to every Dick and Mary in the Guild Hall.

  Meanwhile, Martha noticed a distinct pair hurrying around the gathered crowd. It was two faces she newly recognized — the people her Master had been chummy with on the galleon ride over.

  The pale one in robes led. He stepped up onto the raised platform and casually approached the larger-than-life Viscount.

  To Martha’s surprise, however, it was the Viscount who seceded to the pale one.

  The pale one smiled and laughed. He appeared at ease in the presence of the Viscount — a man who tripled his stature.

  The pale one pulled a scroll from the inner-mechanisms of his robes. He handed it to the Viscount — bright smiles and warm greetings extended — then proceeded to leave the Guild Hall.

  He and the eye-patched man left even before her Master finished his greetings.

  In the meantime, Martha’s eyes followed the pale one’s back as he left the Guild.

  For some strange reason, the pale one drew her eye. He had an air unlike the rest. He carried himself in a manner above — as if the voyeurs' stares brought him no malaise.

  It was like her Master; he too seemed to possess little care for the world’s opinions, but the pale man was somehow different.

  Master Hyzen was explosive, loud, and unpredictable.

  The pale man, though; he appeared steadily calm; some might say calculated, even.

  His mannerisms, his smile, his gaze — it was different from Master Hyzen’s. It felt cold in comparison; distant.

  “Martha?!”

  “Marthaaaaaa!!!”

  The black-haired girl abruptly turned around. Master Hyzen stood upon the podium beside the Viscount. He beckoned her desperately.

  “Pay attention!” Martha could envision him yelling.

  Thankfully, they were in public.

  Martha sighed.

  Even in the Empire — work never stopped.