Dragonheart Core

The last of the cave spiders scuttled off to their various positions in the dark, little ruby-red beauties with serrated mandibles like shattered glass. I pulsed waves of adrenaline and the excitement of the hunt through them as they set about making their webs, pressing thoughts of blood and mana into their insipid minds.

They still lacked the scales and horns of true perfection but even I could admit I was warming to them, absentmindedly guiding stragglers to the better dens. It helped they weren't intelligent enough to disobey.

Luminous constrictors, on the other hand, had plenty of thoughts.

I'd made dozens of spiders, the middle tier between insects and Seros, and with the quick reproduction rate their schema spoke of I knew they would have no problems flooding through my first floor. So I made ten beautiful serpents to keep their ego down.

As with the spiders, I found I could only influence their creation so much before they started to absorb my mana instead of being changed; and without more creatures to study, there wasn't a chance I could figure out how to make them venomous. Disappointing.

I settled for fiddling with their bioluminescent scales, extending the effect to their entire underbelly instead of only beneath their throat. Expanding their size, their fangs, their flashing eyes; and oh, how I wanted to make them just as brilliant as my spiders, turning them pure white like ghosts in the dark.

But they were ambush predators. The spiders could still hide in the shadows; at nearly eight feet long, the serpents didn't have that same advantage. Grey and black scales would have to stay.

For now, at least. Already my mind spun with ideas for the second floor.

The problem with them came when I suggested to their fledgling little brains that they should focus on killing newcomers to the dungeon. As if one, they had all slithered away to the various dens I'd carved for them, cutting through the waves of whitecaps and algae with nary a rustle; I had a brief moment to admire the beauty of the movement before motes of mana trickled back to my core.

Three spiders dead, just like that.

Reptiles weren't fond of obeying.

Angling a glare at the crushed remains of eight legs disappearing down a serpent's throat, I wasted another two points to weave a half dozen into existence far away from the occupied dens, muttering intangible curses. At least the constrictors got some mana from the deal, even if the amount I received was a fraction of what it took to create them.

It also taught me more about my powers; creating so many creatures at once let me see the minute differences in each, little variations from colour to size. The same ability that kept me from having to consume both genders to fully recreate them. When I dug my mana into their corpse and examined their core, I saw all the possibilities they could be, even those that were deactivated.

The variations were certainly interesting, at least. One of my spiders was a fierce little brute, shaped with aggression above self-preservation; already he had set his sights on a lacecap with a handful of pathetic, struggling flies stuck in its web. I wished him all the luck. Another lurked in the shadows, mandibles narrow and extended like an extra set of legs. The largest of the constrictors was a lazy, vain creature, slithering up an outcropping to loop her coils through the rocks. She glared at the spiders that could scuttle safely over the ceiling away from her fangs, pale eyes tracking the progress of a web. Size didn't necessarily equal intellect but there was a refinement to her thoughts, a lurking annoyance at her lack of options for capturing prey.

Constrictors, spiders, mushrooms. Letting my points of awareness diffuse through the cave, I gathered my mana closer, something almost like nervousness fluttering at the edge of my thoughts.

Was I really ready?

Opening the doors was a necessity. I knew that. The holes I'd poked brought enough oxygen and theoretically I absorbed enough mana from the Otherworld to always create prey for Seros, but it hadn't been anything I had or hadn't done to attract the human; she had come because my mana brought her.

More would always come. My mana sharpened to steel at my grasp.

A glance back at Seros to see if he was prepared and then–

My lizard. My monitor. My idiotic lump of a reptile cheerfully snapped another fish down his gullet, languishing over the surface of the pond like the great lazy beast he was.

The fish that, might I remind, I only had seven of.

I slapped a wave of mana over our connection—he twitched, nearly sinking below the surface before he regained hold of his fledgling water abilities.

He still took a second to finish swallowing before turning to me with a hiss.

Second reason to open the entrances: I needed another creature worthy of a Name.

I plunged my awareness into the pond, darting past trailing webs of pale sea-green algae; larger than I'd previously thought, nearly six feet deep and ten wide. The island in the middle loomed overhead: there. Two pale fish, huddled for cover under an undercropping of stone. The last two.

Small mercies.

Kill, not eat, I urged him, pushing threads of mana through our connection to guide him to the location. I'd create more for him to eat later; but I could only do that if he let me get the schema first.

My attempts to impress the concept on him went about as smoothly as I'd expected.

But Seros did heave a great sigh, tail swishing, and dipped under the surface of the water—two days had hardly turned him into an aquatic beast and he floundered more than swam, clawing clumsily for propulsion. But the fish were half a foot at most and he was six: in the end, there was simply nowhere for them to escape. A hiss escaping in a cloud of bubbles, he dragged his way under the stone. The fish flailed.

A flash of teeth and one drifted to the bottom, missing half its back fin. Another crack of his claws and the other joined it.

Thank you, I pushed—begrudgingly—through our connection. He twisted his way back to the surface, meandering over to the island for sleep; I kept my mana flowing through him. In the infinitesimal chance something was waiting for us on the other side of the entrances, he had better be ready.

In the meantime, I dove back into the water, gnawing through the layers of fish—bare flecks of mana from their corpses, souls weak and fluttering. But oh, what an ecosystem I could build on their backs; already my mind spun. Great underground reefs, flooded by billowing clouds of baitfish, vicious little eels and looming sharks overhead—and mimicking the deeper ocean, with strange, glowing fish and plants that had never seen the sun.

I wanted it. I wanted it like nothing I've ever wanted before.

Silverhead (Common)

Thick of skull and small of mind, these fish gather in massive schools for protection. What they can’t flee from they bash with their thickly scaled skulls, often ending more of their own lives than they defend.

Excellent. I'd really just been lacking idiots in my gathered schemas; it was nice to fill that deficit.

But baitfish didn't need to be intelligent. I just needed them to exist, plump with meat and mana, ready to feed my armies of greater threats; and if any of them could break past the mental capacities of their species, I was more than ready to help them evolve.

Four points of mana to my name, what with all the creatures I'd made—I wove a dozen silverheads for the pond, taking over a point, and sent them splashing through the algae-choked depths. Food for Seros, if he ever woke up to appreciate them.

And then I faced the two entrances to my cave.

I'd already steeled myself to the threat it would bring; I still took a moment, instinct-ridden fear coursing through my thoughts, and then I reached out and dissolved the stone barriers.

My mana trembled at the new air, bare shreds leaking out before a proper boundary snapped into place; this was my dungeon, and only it would hold my mana. I peered into the darkness of the caves beyond, not having the bioluminescent algae to light the way and no mana-sense for me to see; nothing I could make out, really. The rumble of the river grew louder but the air was fresh and clear, flitting about like a living creature.

As an afterthought, I smoothed the entrances out, creating gentle slopes into my cave. All the best to be inviting, after all—I wanted creatures and adventurers alike to be lulled into a sense of security as they beheld my beautiful first floor.

I settled my points of awareness around the entrances, mana poised and ready. Time to wait.

-

I had. Ah.

Underestimated just how enticing a full floor would be to creatures.

Half an hour and already a flood of insects buzzed over my fungal floor, endless and swooping—most boring little flies, mosquitoes, and others I dismissed the schemas of almost as soon as I got them, but I could see a few lurking in corners I wouldn't mind recreating. My cave spiders worked overtime, spinning nets like fishermen as they caught more and more prey, luminous constrictors slithering in as some spiders grew bold enough to move closer to the ground-

And where insects gathered, larger predators were soon to follow.

A fat toad, bristling with pale grey… armor? for lack of a better word, meandered its way through the river entrance. It swiveled to get a full glance of the room before making its way with slow, short-range hops towards a clump of lacecaps; it was nearly a foot long, limbs stubby but powerful.

There was nothing I had to do—my ecosystem, even in its infantile stage, was determined to impress. Already a snake raised its head from the shadows of a stalagmite, forked tongue flashing. It zeroed in on the toad.

The amphibian, all shades of blissfully unaware, headed towards the promise of flies. Its tongue snapped through the air; the snake rose behind it, coiled and tense. My mana reached out in anticipation. It hissed and struck, fangs extended–

And bounced right off its back.

Huh.

With a low, panicked croak, the toad flung itself away disappearing into the mess of algae—my snake shook itself, our liminal connection pulsing with unexpected pain. I peered closer at the toad, huddled as it was under a rock outcropping.

Mana.

Its back was awash with it; not moving, like an active enhancement, but thick and jagged like crystals. Some sort of protection, defending it from ambush attackers; something of which caves were full of. It had probably wandered for all of its life without fear.

Unfortunately for it, my snakes didn't rely only on their fangs.

And the one that had attacked was pissed.

It rose to its full height, eight feet of glorious marbled scales, and slunk around the back of the rock outcropping; the toad crouched under the far side, already calming at the lack of its predator. It eyed the fly-filled lacecap.

Idiots were far more entertaining when I was fighting them.

The snake slithered over the rock, dragging its heavy coils up with barely the whisper of scale on stone; below, the toad hopped out of its cover towards its prize. Greedy little fool. All my various points of awareness swiveled in.

The snake hissed and the toad jerked, glancing up—just to be blinded by an explosion of light. It croaked, wavering. The snake slammed its beautiful fangs around its neck but didn't bite down, just securing its position; with the grace of an eel it wrapped its coils around its body.

With my newly-enlarged serpents, the spiders would be just a snack; the toads, being nearly a foot long, were a far more enticing prey. It croaked, limbs thrashing weakly, but its mana armour meant nothing to the crushing force of a constrictor. My snake squeezed tighter. Another minute and it was done.

Its mana was deliciously flavoured, like cool earth and fresh soil, and that taste contained shards and fragments of knowledge on how to control it. I spent a soothing pulse of apology to the snake but dissolved its prey before it could begin to eat it, feasting on the information.

Stone-Backed Toad (Common)

These amphibians have attempted to recreate the protective scales off their reptilian brethren, growing pebble-like protrusions of earthen mana over their back. This makes them slow and stationary, but predators will find their skin nigh-impenetrable.

I could have purred. My luminous constrictors used tendrils of mana to release their bioluminescence and Seros had his fledgling hydrokinesis, but this was my first creature to utilize it in a proper elemental form. As a dragon, I'd used water mana to guide deepsea currents. I wanted my creatures to have that same skill.

The snake hissed in the vague direction of my core and slithered off. But I could see earthen mana diffusing through its pathways, won from its kill even if I hadn't let it eat.

Maybe a future evolution.

I wove a handful of stone-backed toads from three points and seeded them throughout my various dens, little ribbiting fools—they'd have to fight for access to the best lacecaps and access to the pond, let alone the garden thick and ripe with mana-filled mushrooms. None of my creatures were those that could properly eat them, but maybe the toads would find a way.

I did so hate things going unused. My dungeon deserved respect. I was halfway through wondering what would happen if I just created several of the toads in the garden, whether that would start competition or just scare others off, when-

A rumble.

Something plodded outside of my river entrance, thick and heavy enough I could hear its footsteps like the beat of a drum. The webs over the entrance shuddered as if caught in a wind, something rather impossible in the deep underground, I might add. I jabbed my awareness towards the darkness beyond.

A wide, snuffling nose poked into my cavern, surrounded by ragged black fur; pale brown eyes and rounded ears emerged next, ivory fangs below. It growled, massive chest thundering.

Alright.

I'd gotten used to being small. Mostly. Whatever tinges of jealousy I got looking at Seros was diminished when I compared him to the vast breadth of my cave. Two weeks ago I had been a leviathan large enough to eat whales. Now I was a pebble.

So it was safe to say my sense of size was a bit skewed.

I didn't know whether that was good or bad as I beheld the bear entering my cavern.

Four feet at the shoulder, nearly six long, paws the size of my old scales; it plodded down my gentle little slope like an avalanche. My dragon memories had no real equivalent to bears, certainly nothing similar existing in the ocean; my dungeon instincts, on the other hand, told me that they were dangerous with an unfortunate penchant for desiring power.

Power such as a connection to the Otherworld.

I grabbed hold of my ambient mana and tuned it to hunger, to bloodlust and rage—my various creatures stirred, arrow-shaped heads peering from alcoves and spiders pausing in their weavings.

And, most importantly, the underground monitor that had been here since the beginning rose to meet the eyes of the intruder.

Go, Seros.