Shadowcroft's Academy for Dungeons Chapter 32

They had fifteen days to prep their Final Exam dungeons. That evening, the studying started in earnest, and it didn’t stop for a solid week. They barely left their seats in the back of the Codex Athenaeum, and the piles of books grew steadily higher around them.

Seeing Inga attack this problem was truly epic. She went through indexes, concordances, and encyclopedias. She paged through bound copies of Dungeon Core Quarterly from the past century, looking at blueprints, dungeon schematics, and any piece of trivial information that could mean the difference between life and death. She read the latest copies of Monsters Weekly and The Desert Dungeon Review, where she found an interesting article called, “Making the Most with the Least.” Logan, Marko, and Treacle helped her by cross-matching different dungeon strategies, focusing not only on the dungeon satyr guardian form, but also researching lesser-known varieties of the satyr: the Pan Piper, the Horned Trickster, the Ember Tail, and the Winter Dancer.

Madam Orry Gammy allowed them access to some questionable materials with questionable titles. Quick Core Creationby M.E Velocity. A Better Abyss Faster by Andale Getright. And then there was Dungeon Shortcuts the Elite Don’t Want You to Know by Venthi Phauxa. Those books were trash. Absolute dumpster fires.

Madam Gammy herself suggested a book that came bound on the spine of a millipede. This book would crawl back to its shelf every night, which was both irritating and disgusting—though admittedly ingenious. It was an old classic called The Art of the Dungeon by Diplox Poda, an S-Class insectile dungeon lord that was eventually killed five thousand years ago.

But even the information in that book wouldn’t help them.

Logan wondered whether there was something they could do with Marko’s core to get him access to more Apothos. He’d significantly improved his energy flow using the Drunken Master Falls Down Well ­technique, but it wasn’t enough to make any sort of real difference.

The following Sunday night, Treacle was studying up on how Marko might be able to change the sand into something more useful. There was a book called Lemons to Lemonade, Trials of Transmutation, which might allow the satyr to tweak the dungeon habitat. Logan was eyeballs deep in another book on core cultivation for party-based guardian forms, and Inga had a big dusty book called Tons of Tinctures and Pools of Potions! Improve Your Core with Magic and More! This was another questionable book by someone named R. Hope Eternal—an obvious pseudonym if Logan had ever heard one.

Inga had grumbled at all the exclamation points. She also mentioned that the author regularly used the interrobang—an exclamation point paired with a question mark—which made her physically ill. An unforgivable sin, she insisted.

Marko sipped coffee that he’d sneaked inside his silver flask. Treacle chewed cud; it was noisy, but it kept the minotaur awake.

Logan closed his book and rubbed his eyes. “You know, from day one, I’ve thought of how I can use my Symbiosis ability to bring in Marko. The three of us, working together, should be able to pass the Final without a problem. I just don’t have the Apothos. We’d get like two hours, and it wouldn’t be enough.”

“Four of us,” Treacle said over the sound of his chewing.

Marko’s mouth dropped open to show his big teeth. “What’s that, my bull guy?”

“It would be the four of us working together.” The minotaur swallowed and smacked his lips. “Logan can do up to three cores given his level—I remember reading that after he advanced. Plus, Inga and I have been talking about it. I don’t want to be left out.”

Even Logan didn’t see the sense in that. “Why, Treacle? You’re doing amazing on your own.”

Treacle shrugged, keeping his lips sealed about the matter.

Marko remained flustered. “I’ve thought about asking you, Logan, but come on. You can’t risk yourselves like that for me. No way. No how. You’re doing enough as it is. Besides, it’s irrelevant. Logan and Inga have been working on their dungeon all year, and he can’t bring me on long enough for it to matter.”

“We could try giving Marko the Red Lotus Juice,” Logan suggested—for the tenth time. They’d gone over that possibility again and again.

And Inga said what she always said. “The Red Lotus Juice is powerful, granted, but its effects vary based on the user’s guardian form. For a satyr, it wouldn’t be as powerful as it would be for Treacle, for example.”

“That figures.” The minotaur made a face. “The irony is not lost on me. No, I wouldn’t accept the gift.”

“For me or Logan, it would help,” Inga said, “but it wouldn’t be enough. Although...” She paused, eyes wide, mouth agape. “Wait. Hold on!”

“Hush!” The word was followed by an arrow that flashed over their heads and slammed into the wall, quivering from the impact. Madam Gammy appeared in the stacks like an avenging angel, a bow in her paper hand. She frowned her folded paper face into even more creases.

Inga blanched. “I am so sorry, Madam. I am shocked at my own outburst.”

Madam Gammy nodded at them and then folded herself sideways and disappeared back into the shelves.

Logan felt the excitement growing. “What is it, Inga? What did you find out?”

She lifted Tons of Tinctures and Pools of Potions! “The answer is not in this book. This book is terrible and has too many exclamation points. Not to mention those terrible, terrible interrobangs. But it does talk about contraindication when it comes to core enhancers.”

Marko blinked and his lip quivered. “Contra indictment what?”

“Contraindication,” Inga said. “It’s how medicines, potions, and other magical properties interact. By my sharp beak, it’s a long shot, but we have to try.”

She leapt up and went fluttering off on her moth wings.

Marko wrinkled his nose. “She doesn’t have a beak. Right? Am I missing something?”

“She’s from an owl-like race… you know, the Okitori,” Logan said.

Treacle was rubbing his hairy cow chin. “Hmm, you don’t think she’s onto something, do you?”

Marko closed his book with a sigh. “I am clueless.”

Inga didn’t just come back, she came back with half the library—her Spike Flies helped her carry the weight of a dozen dusty books.

She slammed them down, toppling several other piles of books in the process.

One exploded in a cloud of dust. She didn’t even seem to notice, which said exactly how excited she was. She loved books more than almost anything else in the universe. She’d literally died to have access to books.

Inga waved the dust away, already opening books, madly flipping through pages. “The Red Lotus Juice is very particular on how it works with guardian cores. Bad for satyrs, good for minotaurs, but very good for astral moths and fungaloids. Best yet? If you’re a mushroom-based dungeon core, and you’ve already enhanced your core, say with ghoul’s teeth, then you might be able to tie another knot.” She went through the index of a book, closed it, found another, closed it, and then grabbed a third.

There. She found it. Her antennae waved and quivered in manic excitement. “The Red Lotus, when used in conjunction with a knot-intensifier, will give the user additional power, especially for plant-based dungeon cores. That’s you, Logan. This will work. You can drink the Red Lotus, tie another knot, and that should, in theory, give you the ability to infect Marko with your Symbiosis Spores.”

“And me,” Treacle said sullenly. “Like I said, I want to be infected as well.”

Marko shook his head. “No. Never. I won’t allow it.”

Inga put the delicate tips of her fingers together. “Honestly, the more power we have, the better. Remember, Logan gains a passive portion of the energy we cultivate. He siphons it through his hosts, so the more hosts, the more power for him and all of us to pull on.”

That didn’t silence Marko’s protests. “We can’t all four of us take the final together. Shadowcroft and stupid Rock-face would never agree to that.”

Logan raised his thick yellow hands. “But we’ve already set the precedent, Marko. Rockheart already tried to shoot this down when Inga and I tried it, but we got a pass. This is exactly the same—just more. If it was just Rockheart, you’re probably right. But with Shadowcroft? They’ll let us. They’ll have to.”

Inga removed the glowing red vial that contained the Red Lotus Juice. “First things first. We have to make sure this will work with Logan’s core. It should. But we can’t go to Rock-face…er, the rector prime without knowing for sure.”

Logan took the vial and shuddered.

If it hurt as much as the ghoul’s teeth, he’d be looking at days of agony. He’d do it for his friend, though. It was either that or Marko would die. Not on Logan’s watch. He popped the bone cork with his thumb, and the sludgy red liquid let out a hiss and a curl of steam. Very encouraging.

“Here’s to you, Marko. Here’s mud in your eye.” Logan downed the vial. It tasted like pink cotton candy.

“What’s mud in my what?” the satyr asked.

Logan wanted to explain, but suddenly couldn’t talk. He could barely breathe. The Red Lotus Juice might be sweet, but it hit his core like an atomic bomb. He probably should’ve waited, but the sooner he started working on processing the energy and tying another knot, the better. Who knew how long it would take?

He could feel the pulse of the juice vibrate through the gem in his belly. The magic flamed red and angry around his core like an infection in an open wound.

Inga saw how hurt he was. “Quickly. Let’s get him back to his room. I’ll reshelve these books.”

Marko’s voice came out urgent. “But Inga, that will take hours!”

“Not for me, Laskarelis. Not for me.” She said those words like the Grand Archivist she was.

Logan felt Treacle pick him up—Logan’s spongey yellow body weighed next to nothing, especially compared to the minotaur. In short order, he was in his bed in his attic room. Marko stooped to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling and opened a window to let the cool night air in.

For Logan, the minutes felt like hours, while the hours stretched into days.

He was in a fever dream, the world spinning around him, his body shivering and burning in turns. He never left his room—it was surreal, seeing the daylight in the window melt into darkness only for the sun to rise again. A single candle flickered, more for his friends than for him, since he had his special sight. Mostly he laid on his bed, though occasionally he mustered the strength of will to sit on the floor in a meditative pose.

The Terrible Twelfth checked on him constantly.

It felt like Logan had dipped his dungeon core in hydrochloric acid then fried it up in a Taco Bell fryer—heavy on the hepatitis A. One day turned into two, turned into five. He didn’t really sleep. He didn’t eat—couldn’t even bring himself to digest. The energy in his system was its own meal, and he needed complete focus to consume it. If he hadn’t gotten so good at Boundless Wheel, the extra energy would’ve burned out his core—like a bag of popcorn in a microwave once the pops stop. Then add five minutes.

Boundless Wheel helped, but he also had his Digestion ability.

With Digestion he could immediately convert 60% of all Apothos with an Elemental Affinity into pure Apothos. It was an amazing trick to have up his sleeve—though the sheer amount of energy was still overwhelming.

The heady hallucinations of the familiar Silverbark forests grew more intense, night after night. At first, there were only flickers of Silverbark spires, towering mushrooms, and the green foliage covering the ground. The days passed in fits and starts, and he found the real world vanishing for hours at a time. In his mind, he walked the glimmering white path he’d painstakingly forged while processing the cultivation bloom. But as he processed the Red Lotus potion, absorbing more and more of its potent energy, the path began to change. With every pass, the color slowly shifted, becoming a little pinker. Then a washed-out red.

Each pass also became progressively harder. By the time the path was a solid crimson, it felt like pulling a monster truck through the Silverbark forest. It was both exhausting and frustrating. Most frustrating of all, though, was that once the color had finally stabilized, the path itself changed—twisting in a place it had never twisted before. Still, part of him figured he’d just walk the new pattern like he had last time. Sure, maybe it would be an uncomfortable day or two, but he could do that no sweat!

Yes to the sweat.

After five days, he’d managed to complete about half of the new arc. Before, it was like pulling a monster truck through Silverbark, but following those new twists was like pulling an M1 Abrams tank through quicksand. Barefoot, blindfolded, and with only the aid of dental floss. Frustration quickly turned to low-grade madness.

The saving grace was the forest itself.

It was so beautiful—those tall spires of fungal growths reaching into a sky milky with stars. Smaller crystalline mushrooms caught the light and glowed like captured rainbows on emerald grass. The dirt of the trail was soft and fragrant, like potter’s soil, a rich earthy scent. Above was the infinity of the multiverse, all possible worlds, surrounding every type of star, all connected to the shadowy branches of the eternal Tree of Souls.

That connection, that beauty, kept him walking, even when he was only moving an inch at a time.

At one point, Logan had dug down into the soil, and yes, like he thought, he uncovered bark. The Silverbark fungal forest was growing on the Tree itself. The power was rich, and he felt so in tune with reality. The visions offered him some needed respite. In many ways, it was better than sleep, and far better than the torture of waking, even though his friends never left his side.

Especially Marko.

Logan kept the Boundless Wheel spinning—that kept the energy flowing, but to forge the rest of the path and tie off that final knot? It was torture. And time was running out. They had to let Shadowcroft and Rockheart know they were going to take the Final Exam together as a cohort.

Why was dealing with the Red Lotus Juice so difficult?

Because it’s out of your league, he reminded himself.

It was just like Inga had said. He was dealing with energy that was meant for people at higher levels—dungeon cores that would’ve already used magic items to tie a knot in their core. No Iron Trunk cultivator, in the history of Shadowcroft, would’ve scored so high on the Placement Exam if they hadn’t been working with a partner. The Red Lotus Juice was meant for high-ranked Jade Leaf cultivators, like Chadrigoth. Even an Azure Branch would’ve had trouble. Inga insisted that even she would’ve had the same reaction. Which would’ve been fine, if they weren’t on a time crunch before their Final Exam.

Marko felt terrible, of course.

Treacle, though, took it in stride. Just more of how life was miserable and failure was inevitable.

That didn’t help the satyr any.

Friday night, Logan’s three friends stood over his bed in his attic room while he passed in and out of consciousness. Treacle kept scratching up the wood of his ceiling. Inga crouched over the foot of his bed. Marko sat on the floor near his fungi-covered headboard.

Marko moaned. “I’m so sorry, guys. Logan never should’ve drunk that dumb potion.”

“That’s apparent.” Treacle chewed cud.

“Treacle!” Inga said, exasperated. “This is not the time to be negative. We have to remain positive. Logan would want us cheering him on.”

The minotaur swallowed his cud. “Yay. Go, Logan. You can do it.” It was the flattest, most unhelpful cheer in the history of pep rallies, letter jackets, and beer bongs.

Logan couldn’t respond. He was focusing on breathing, cultivating, and trying to get back into that peaceful vision of his Silverbark forest.

His friends continued to talk, planning out their combined dungeon, and hoping that Logan tied another knot. If this worked, then in theory that would permanently increase his Apothos processing power, which—again in theory—would allow him more symbiotic bonding time with his teammates.

Logan focused his thoughts, shutting out their chattering voices. Suddenly, he found himself under the swirling galaxy light, with the silver fungal towers rising up from the soil covering the Tree of Souls. He was so tired, and though he’d come a long way along the new path, he still had a good three feet to go. Three feet to connect the new section of path to the original. Three feet didn’t seem like much, but these were the hardest of all. But he couldn’t give up. Not now. Not after how far they’d come and how much they’d all sacrificed to be here.

He gritted his teeth and pushed against the terrible, invisible resistance holding him back. Every inch felt like it sapped the last of his strength. How would he find the energy for the next step?

He couldn’t think about the steps. That was the answer. Instead, he focused on his friends. On his why. His uncle Bud used to say that if your why was big enough, nothing could stop you from achieving it. He couldn’t dwell on the difficult, but on the reason why that difficult thing was worth doing.

Step…

He thought of Treacle’s pessimism. What if they were able to pass their Final Exam? How would that change the minotaur’s attitude?

Step…

He thought of Inga failing the Stringentia Strigiformes Exam. Her life had been destroyed. And yet, she’d believed enough in him to join him. He risked her life and her fate and he couldn’t let her down.

Step…

He thought about Marko. About the sad, drunken tragedy of his life. The satyr had grown, matured, and Logan wanted to do this for Marko. He wanted them to win, together. Marko had mourned his friend, yes, but he’d also felt the Tree of Souls, the beauty of being connected to the source of life itself.

Step…

And that was the biggest why of all. He needed to do this because the Tree of Souls was bigger than him. He knew he could help protect the Tree and that he could help restore Apothos to Earth. That he could save his world from withering and dying. If that’s wasn’t worth the pain and the hardship, then nothing was.

Logan steeled himself. It was time to solve this problem, tie another knot, and be the hero. He gritted his teeth and pushed—not just with his physical strength, but with the strength of his will, intention, and determination. He pushed with his whole being and completed the final step, connecting the path into one beautiful whole.

The result was immediate. The red blazed gold, a bright yellow color, a bit brighter than his skin but not much.

He stood there, glowing, and suddenly, the multiverse wasn’t light, with the shadow of the Tree of Souls reaching through reality. It was the Tree that gleamed silver, and all else was shadow and darkness. The Tree vibrated with all the Apothos in the universe, and it was aware of Logan. He felt the presence of this living thing—gigantic, unfathomable, and ancient—and he felt its gratitude.

In a blink, it was gone and he was back in his fungaloid form, lying on his bed. His eyes winked open. No headache. No pain. Nothing but a feeling of being the most powerful being in existence. It was laughable because he was an Iron Trunk cultivator, Rank 6 now. He didn’t get extra goodies, but he did have Apothos to spare.

Hopefully, enough to pull them all together. He pulled up his Guardian Matrix and toggled over to his Symbiosis ability, muttering a silent prayer under his breath. He scanned over the description until he got to the Restrictions section.

                                                                            <<< ۝>>>

Logan Murray

Guardian Core Matrix

Base Race:Fungaloid

Current Evolution:Shroomian Acolyte

Cultivator Class: Iron Trunk Cultivator; C-Class, Rank 6

Primary Elemental Affinities:Morta/Toxicus

Racial Abilities:

- Digestion

Racial Skill:

- Domestic Fungi

Level-One Proto-Spore Cultures

- Opal Truffles, Mucal Film, Ghoul’s Snare, Blister Wart

Level-Two Proto-Spore Cultures

- Braincaps, Gem-studded Puffballs

Level-Three Proto-Spore Cultures

- Spore Wargs

Fungal Form (Active):

- Exoskeleton

Fungal Form (Passive):

- Fungal Vision

- Disease Immunity

- Poison Immunity

Spore Halo:

- Pollinic Affliction

- Symbiosis

- Athlete’s Foot

- Rapid Growth

                                                                                       <<<>>>

Alert! As an Iron Trunk cultivator (C-Class, Rank 6) you now have the ability to bond with up to three different hosts at the same time.

Restrictions! All fungaloids can naturally bond with one Prime Host, but maintaining a symbiotic connection with more than the Prime Host is a taxing process that can only be maintained for a limited period of time. Note, when the time allotment elapses, the secondary Hosts will be released, though the Prime Host will remain infected! Note, to increase your infection time allotments, cultivate more Core Knots, which will allow for greater focus and more efficient Apothos utilization!

Prime Host = Permanent Bond

Prime Host + 1 = 10 Hours

Prime Host + 2 = 6 Hours

                                                                                    <<<>>>

He shot up, leaning against his palms, and couldn’t suppress his grin. “Guys, I did it! It nearly killed me, but I tied that knot like a kindergartner lacing up their sneakers.”

“Sneaking?” Marko asked

“Kindergartner?” Treacle asked.

“He is speaking nonsense! We have our Logan back!” Inga tried to dance, but instead, she stumbled against Treacle, whose horns put more scratches in his sloping ceiling.

Logan hauled himself up. “What day is it?”

“Friday night,” Marko said. “And notice, I’m not in Vralkag. I’m with you, in a cramped attic room which smells basically like a graveyard.”

“A delicious graveyard,” Logan countered. “What time is it?”

“It’s past ten,” Inga said.

Logan winced. “Rockheart isn’t going to be happy to see us.”

Treacle came up with an odd joke. “I don’t know. I’m very handsome.”

“Bovine eye candy!” Marko yelled. “Come on! Let’s go ruin Rockheart’s night!”