Chapter 64

  Chicanery

  Instead of the final massive doors leading into another arena, we find ourselves walking through a long path that spirals upwards. It can’t possibly be long enough to bring us up to ground level after the incredibly long fall we had to get down to the second floor, but it sure feels like it might be.

  On the other hand, that fall was impossible, too. A human in freefall can cover a mile in a little under thirty seconds. We were falling for whole minutes. That would put us miles underground, around the depth of the deepest manmade hole back on Earth, the Kola Superdeep Borehole.

  If that were true, it would come with countless problems that would have already killed us. Even without the magma in the main chamber, bad air, high hydrogen levels, and literally oven-like temperatures would be constant. The stone would be incapable of holding these heavy, solid structures, either, being far softer and more malleable. Most pressing of all - literally - would be the atmospheric pressure present at such a depth. It sounds too ridiculous to be true, so I’m second-guessing my math, but if I’m remotely right, we should be getting crushed by several thousand atmospheres of pressure if we really are so radically deep.

  Now, that changes significantly if most of the mass above us is air, but that was only the case in the entry hall. Ever since the main hall, there’s been a definite roof over our heads, and no reason to assume there isn’t a mountain range above that. If these air pockets we’re traveling through within the dungeon structure were able to survive at all, they would be incredibly heavy, incredibly hot, and incredibly underoxygenated, and walking through them would be like traversing half-melted muck.

  In other words, we can’t be miles underground, not really. More likely, the dungeon is distorting our perception of space, time or both. The alternative is that it projects such a total mastery of its internal space that it can completely ignore environmental physics like they’re inconsequential suggestions, and holds dominion over a truly absurd geographical volume.

  Yes, trickery is far more believable, even in a world with bottomless wells of arcane power that passively reform the terrain around them. After all, the latter explanation would require the dungeon to control an area akin to the city of Philadelphia, more than enough to swallow the better part of the surrounding region. I find even the idea of the dungeon’s total mastery more believable than that.

  Still, as we walk and these thoughts move through my head, I can’t resist putting a hand against the stone wall, confirming to myself that it is both solid and cool to the touch. Just thinking about the implications has me imagining the walls squishing under their own weight and squirting out into misshapen, plastic masses at the temperature of a fresh pizza, and the reaffirmed reality is soothing to the unexpected bout of claustrophobia that mental image triggers.

  “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?!” Like a girlfriend frustrated with finding the toilet seat up again, Ayre’s voice yanks me out of my inner thoughts.

  “Just, uhh, physics quandaries!” I laugh nervously, like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t, rubbing the back of my head.

  Ayre’s gaze is firm and accusatory as he leans toward me at the waist, hands on his hips. “Magic, end of quandary," he says flatly.

  Instead of capitulating, my face falls into a deep frown of rejection. “That is not a satisfactory answer. In fact, I’ll have you know, Because Magic is universally considered a lazy and sloppy narrative tool!”

  “Don’t care,” the archer replies while sashaying away on up the spiral. “That’s the answer, whether you like it or not. And your satisfaction won’t matter much if we all die because you weren’t paying attention to your surroundings!”

  I hunch my shoulders and grumble at how completely unfair that comeback is. It doesn’t matter if it can be explained by magic; magic has its own rules that need to be understood to comprehend what’s going on to make it possible. And Ayre cutting that intellectual curiosity short with the undeniable yet cheating reminder that we are still in a dangerous environment is just dirty.

  In my simmering grumbling, watching the elf saunter away, a petulant further argument raises to my lips, muttered into the empty air. “Your hips should be illegal …”

  Nobody answers my petty accusation. I doubt anyone even hears me. Ayre, with his elven ears, is the only one that might, and even he’s far enough away that I’m probably safe. Instead, the four of us continue our ascent in relative silence, my scolding treated as just a normal part of the day.

  That is, of course, until the irrationally long spiral ascent triggers an old memory for me, and I can’t help but blurt it out. “Anyone else feel like there should be an organ playing in the background, getting louder the further up we go? No? Just me?”

  Korrigan looks over at me, giving me a completely baffled look. “What’s an organ?”

  Ayre’s huff immediately cuts through the group, and though he continues walking, his hands find his hips again. “Please, do not encourage her! She should be focusing on her surroundings and using her Lifesense skill to make sure we’re not about to be ambushed, not striking up conversation about the dungeon’s lack of musical instruments!”

  I sigh and roll my eyes. “Yes, Mom,” I sarcastically reply, activating the skill. Of course, absolutely nothing comes back. “Yeah, I hate to be the one to deliver the shocking revelation, but, turns out, we’re in an empty spiral staircase!”

  Ayre glares back at me. “You say that like it can’t change in an instant. You were the one just complaining that you felt overwhelmed. Vigilance in a dungeon is a consistent effort, not an occasional glance!”

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  This time, my sigh is deeper as I stretch my arms above my head. “It’s not going to change in an instant! This’ll take us all the way to the door of the room for the final boss! Nothing’s going to happen before then!”

  Ayre turns around, hands back on those stupid hips again. “You’re going to be really sorry if you turn out to be wrong, Remmi!”

  “Fine!” I relent. “I’ll keep Lifesense up! It’s not going to find anything, but I’ll keep it up! For you!”

  Ayre gives a nod that I don’t feel is sufficiently appreciative of my sacrifice and faces around forward again.

  I was right, Lifesense never picks up a darn thing … but, eventually, those elven ears do.

  They twitch up and down on the sides of Ayre’s head as his pace slows cautiously. “Do you hear that?”

  “Sorry, Legolas,” I quip flatly, “the rest of us round-ears are still too far away. Still nada on Lifesense, though. What’cha got?”

  Ayre frowns, his eyes concentrating on nothing. “I … don’t know. I can’t clearly make it out yet. It sounds like … shifting weights, maybe?”

  I sigh. “Well, if even you can’t make it out yet, we might as well keep going. Maybe there’s just a lot of shifting constructs in the boss room. Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter when we can’t define it. There’s nothing we can do about it, anyway.”

  This earns a round of agreeing nods, and we continue on our way. Soon, we can all hear the heavy impacts thumping faintly through the walls, and it’s not long after that we can all recognize them for what they are.

  I immediately rule out machinery. The thumps aren’t regular enough to be mechanical, and each one is followed by a faint, rolling boom that reminds me of distant thunder. If anything, it sounds more like--

  “Somebody’s fighting.” Leuke beats me to it. “They must have gotten to the dungeon lord before us.”

  Korrigan looks over at him with an expression of pure disbelief. “How?!”

  That drives him to rub the back of his head as he strains his brain. “Uh, I’m not sure, maybe while we were in one of the trial rooms?”

  “You mean the trial rooms with the keys to opening the way forward?”

  The little girl’s question cuts him to the quick, and he just gives a dopey grin and a long, protracted, “Uhhhhh,” as he continues rubbing his head.

  “Korrigan’s right,” Ayre agrees. “It’s basically impossible for them to have come in after us and gotten here before us. They had to have come ahead of us first.” But he reaches up and holds his chin thoughtfully. “But they were far enough ahead, then, that the dungeon had time to reset. This place isn’t like the Forest Cavern. It’s got locks and puzzles and guardians.”

  “And physics chicanery,” I add, definitely helpful. But then I head off Ayre’s glare by crossing my arms. “It’s probably nothing to worry about, though! The last time somebody got to the last boss ahead of us, we ended up making new friends!”

  “Those kids were in a lot of danger, though,” Ayre corrects me, his expression going serious.

  I pop my fist into my open hand. “All the more reason to hurry up! If they’ve been in here for long enough for everything else to reset, they might be in a desperate battle of attrition!”

  That confuses Korrigan, though. “You … battle attention?”

  “Attrition,” Ayre corrects. “It means a loss of something when it’s ground down. As a strategy, it’s when, instead of attempting to overwhelm your opponent directly, you try to outlast them. They might be stronger than you, so you’re betting that your resources can outlast theirs. You shelter in place, fight in shifts, optimize your defenses, and hope they wear out before they can break through.”

  The kid frowns worryingly. “That … doesn’t sound like a very good strategy.”

  “It’s a desperate one,” I confirm with a nod. “You don’t take it if you have any better options. That’s why we should hurry.”

  That seems to sink through everybody’s heads, the others nod, and we start jogging up the spiraling path.

  It’s still several minutes, but soon, we’re standing before the biggest doors we’ve seen, a double set painted with the same mural of the three-eyed ogre. The impacts are louder now, and we can feel them vibrating through the floor right through our boots. The floor of the dungeon that can play fast and loose with physics can’t ignore the ones connected to whatever is making those attacks.

  “So,” I conclude, standing before the mural, “anyone want to take any bets on the last boss?”

  Ayre has the Ogre’s Third Eye monocle over his right eye and already has his bow strung. “Shut up and make sure your bullets are ready, Remmi. We’ve got to get in there as quickly as possible. Nobody can last long against attacks like that.”

  I sigh. “Right, right, my bad.” But then I look back at my friend, grin, wink, and hold a thumbs up. “Don’t worry! I’m locked and loaded!” Then I wave over my fellow Hero. “C’mon, Leuke, give me a hand getting this open!”

  He comes up and pushes on one door while I push on the other, and they slide open to permit us entry.

  The room immediately makes the other arenas look tiny. It’s almost like an outdoor area, with an impossibly high ceiling that disappears beyond sight and old trees tied with rope. At the far end isn’t just a shrine, it’s a whole archaic temple! The floor is even traced with water paths that run together into shallow pools.

  There’s no kids here, though, and no team hiding behind barriers to fight in shifts, either. The boss is the largest ogre we’ve seen, even bigger than the muscle mommy Wrestler Ogre. His hide is a dark brown, glistening with thick, rippling cords underneath. His weapon is a spiked iron club so massive I’m not sure even Leuke could actually use it. Every swing unleashes a booming blast of sonic energy, and calls down lightning bolts when he thrusts it up into the air.

  But what he’s fighting immediately fills me with a chill. It’s in the form of a man, a warrior in heavy armor, perhaps, wielding a large sword not unlike Leuke’s, except it’s long and narrow instead of thick and heavy.

  My mind immediately goes to a long, silver-haired man with one wing, but I keep it to myself. It’s a side thought, promptly shelved by the immediate threat. Because this thing is definitely not a man. There’s no definitive facial features at all, just an entire form made of flames the purple of bruises.

  And then, right before our eyes, the staggering ogre makes one final, desperate lunge, and the figure sidesteps and makes one downward swipe.

  The ogre’s head rolls a hundred yards before it disappears with the body it left behind, that massive kanabo colliding loudly with the floor.

  And the gateway to the dungeon’s core spirals open like an iris of energy in midair.

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