Chapter 83: Delve 5

Sunday, April 30th, 4:51 PM

Dungeon Ciara

In the cargo bay of the first C-17 Globemaster that had landed at the Dungeon’s new airstrip, Captain Fredericks spoke with Siobhán Killarney following her crash course in parachute training as the plane was being fueled. He did his best to keep his eyes off Nita, who perched on the folding black fabric seat beside Siobhán. “After take off, we’ll have you over the target location in just over an hour. But there are two things to keep in mind. First, there wasn’t time to alter another suit for you—so, aside from your parachute, you’ll be in civilian clothing.”

“And the other thing?” Siobhán asked. She was staring hard at Fredericks.

“Lights have been spotted by the crew on board the Chinook. It’s Yellowstone’s Visitor Center. We can’t drop you in on top of them because you’ll be spotted and we can’t risk you being shot out of the sky before you touch down. As such, you’ll be heading along a familiar ten kilometers of road through the forest from the north—by yourself—at night.”

Siobhán waved him off. “Yeah, I get it. I’m a small woman with no military training. It makes sense that you’re concerned, and I appreciate the sentiment. But I’m a lot tougher than I look, and I’ve already died twice.” Her voice wavered. “And I’m ready to die again—if that’s what it takes. My man, my best friend, and my teacher’s dogs are out there.”

Captain Fredericks sucked at his teeth for a moment as he considered Siobhán, then nodded at her. “I can see why the President likes you. You’re terrified—it’s in your eyes and your posture—hell, I can practically smell fear on you. But you’re not letting that slow you down.”

Siobhán chuckled nervously and patted the parachute strapped in beside her as the plane’s first engine started up. “Well, you’re not wrong. Dying sucks, Captain. I don’t really want to die again, and I’m scared shitless of heights.”

“We’ll get you in there safely. But the rest is up to you and… Nita.” Fredericks grimaced at the huge spider.

Siobhán snorted. “Don’t worry, Captain. Nita’s a sweetie. She says she appreciates you because you’re helping me.”

“You can talk with her?” Fredericks raised his eyebrows.

Fucking hell. Since their arrival a few hours before to offload a single M1A2 Abrams Main Battle Tank along with some supplies, Fredericks had his entire worldview upended by the revelation that the rumors of magic were true.

But even magic weapons, spells, and potions didn’t prepare him for this brunette, who could revive after death—a fact confirmed by the President himself. In addition, she casually wore her gigantic, big-eyed orb-weaver pet like an article of clothing.

“Yep. It’s a form of telepathy. Nita uses simple phrases, but she’s very smart. She sees everyone on our side as her allies.”

Fredericks scrunched his eyebrows down, smiled, and snickered through his nose.

“Yeah, everything’s changing,” Siobhán spoke louder as the plane’s four turbofan engines became louder.

“Here’s hoping things are changing for the better,” said Fredericks.

“Mm.” Siobhán nodded.

The plane started moving, and Fredericks trotted away to the other side of the cargo bay. His eyes flicked to eight pallets of Dungeon-made items they were taking to North Dakota before their return trip.

“When it’s time, Jumpmaster Harris will prep you to deploy,” Fredericks shouted, indicating a stoic, hard-faced airman as he unfolded a seat beside the man and strapped himself in.

The C-17’s turbofans ramped up, and their familiar high whine was displaced by the loud roar of their exhaust.

Fredericks refrained from grinning at the confusion on Siobhán’s face that disappeared when the pilot released the brakes and the lightly-loaded C-17 surged forward under full power.

---

Joe allowed himself to be pulled toward the water’s edge by three men who’d set their weapons aside.

A tallish man with blond hair shook his head as they neared the shore. “Fucking hell, this guy’s D-Rank. Look at his armor. The boss is gonna have our asses. We just attacked a resident.”

Another man’s grip on Joe’s right arm tightened. “You’re shitting me…”

“I wish. Charlie, grab us a healing fruit!”

“No need,” Joe decided it was time to speak. He spat out a mouthful of blood he’d saved until they pulled him from the water. “I’ll be okay. You were… doing your job.” He did his best to appear dazed while they dragged him onto a smooth stone floor beside the water and one of them brought something soft to rest his head on.

“Fucking hell, man. You’re not okay!” the blond man trembled.

Joe sat up with a groan, pushing the men aside as they tried to hold him down. “Don’t worry about it. Alex won’t throw a fit, because there’s no real harm done. I heal up fast—part of my abilities.”

“I—if you say so.” The blond man’s mouth remained open as Joe stood up and loomed over them.

“Good thing you didn’t hit the dogs. They’re not dangerous, and all four are residents,” said Joe.

“You fucking serious? Alex said his limit was five residents—one for every two floors! How’s he got five more?”

Joe replied, “At least. Not sure what his real limit is, to be honest.”

“Fucking magic,” the blond man rolled his eyes.

“Fucking magic,” Joe echoed him with a smirk.

The others chuckled, and the blond man said, “No shit, eh? You on your way down to the resident barracks?”

“Yeah, but it’s my first time down here. I’m taking Marchant’s room until Alex makes me a new one. Him and Felt are staying at the other Dungeon for a while with Alex. That place in Santa Cruz is fucking huge,” said Joe.

“You’ve been inside the other Dungeon?” one of the other men asked, wide-eyed.

Joe nodded. “Alex and the others found us there. Take me downstairs? Kevin and Roy were killed, so they should be there. I’ll tell you about it on the way. Also, don’t attack those dogs. They can talk, and we’ll catch all kinds of hell if they’re traumatized.”

“Fuck me. Noted,” said the blond man. He delegated tasks to the other three, then led Joe and one other man down a long passage. “I’m Ramesh, and that’s Sam.” He indicated the shorter, dark-haired man to Joe’s right.

“Good to meet you both. I’m Joe.”

Sam said, “Well, you’re one tough motherfucker, Joe. We threw a stick of dynamite in the water.”

Joe raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise. “No shit? Well, it was damn effective. If I couldn’t regenerate, I’d be a dead man.”

“That’s crazy shit. No wonder Alex made you a resident. He’s been hoping to find someone with that kind of ability,” Sam remarked.

“That’s an odd-looking compound bow,” said Ramesh as he eyed Joe’s weapon with its dark-bluish spring-steel limbs set into either end of the whitish titanium-alloy riser.

“It gets the job done,” said Joe.

“Got time to show it off?” asked Sam.

“Maybe sometime. But for now, I’ve got my orders, and I’ll see them handled, whatever it takes,” said Joe.

“Good attitude. We’re not allowed any further inside except in emergencies, but it’s two lefts and a right from here, to reach the barracks. And stay the fuck away from the core room hatch below the barracks. Alex said he’s got all kinds of traps and minions guarding it. Kevin got curious once—he went down and got shredded by one of the blade traps.”

“More blood for him to play with,” Joe mused.

Sam and Ramesh squinted as they shared a glance and snickered, then Ramesh said, “Crazy bastard can’t manipulate shit while he’s dead.”

“No, but if it hasn’t dried by the time he revives,” Joe pointed out with a grin.

Ramesh smacked Joe on the shoulder. “Hah! It would be nice to see him play with his own blood for a change. If you weren’t already warned, Kevin’s got a few screws loose, so watch what you say around him. Anyway, we’ll head back and keep an eye out for those dogs. You said they can talk, right?”

Joe shrugged. “Yeah. They’re good pups.”

“Fucking magic,” Sam shook his head as the pair turned to leave.

Too easy.

Joe’s years as a Marine Raider had paid off once again. With a touch of insider info and some restraint, he’d slipped right in among the enemy. But he still had to deal with Kevin and Roy, along with whatever minions and traps lay below the barracks.

---

“One minute to target location at flight level one-two-zero,” Fredericks said after pausing to listen through his headset.

Siobhán stood with her arms out as Harris finished checking her parachute a second time to make sure it was secured properly, then clipped a heavy yellow fabric line to a cable near the left side door that opened in front of her near the aft portion of the C-17’s cargo hold.

“It’s easy, like walking through a door onto your patio—just keep your hands pressed against your abdomen and tell the spider to hold on tight!” Harris shouted.

Nita already had a firm grip around her, so Siobhán wasn’t worried about that.

Behind Siobhán, Fredericks yelled, “Ten seconds! Earplugs in!”

Bile rose in Siobhán’s throat as she inserted the earplugs they’d given her and stared into the blackness of the abyss beside the plane.

Even if I die again, It’ll be okay, she told herself. I can do this.

Harris gestured outside with a nod and waved Siobhán through.

After a deep breath, Siobhán forced herself to leap through the door and kept her hands tucked against her stomach. The rush of air hit her like a truck. Nita’s legs tightened around her and she felt the parachute’s straps tug as the drogue chute deployed.

The sense of deceleration was tremendous as her eyes adjusted to the night sky, and it wasn’t long before her main chute deployed with another mighty tug. At last, Siobhán was able to remove her earplugs.

She could still hear the plane as it flew away, but the only things visible were the stars, a gibbous moon, and a series of bright lights that could only be the Yellowstone Visitor Center.

Tugging at the straps of her parachute as she’d been shown, Siobhán managed to aim herself toward those lights as she descended. Despite the darkness of night, her D-Rank vision was good enough to let her see the trees a few hundred meters below her.

A clearing that looked like an alpine meadow was visible ahead and to her left, not far from two winding lines where the road and the river cut through the trees. She did her best to aim for the meadow, but despite her best effort, Siobhán just didn’t have the experience to make that happen. Instead of aiming herself properly, she was blown off-course and landed in the worst possible way—suspended from a tall tree where her parachute caught the upper branches.

“Shit. Nita, help me out, love? I need to get down from here.”

Siobhán’s familiar sprang into action, ascending to the branches above before dropping back down on a silken line. Nita attached her silk to Siobhán’s pack and snipped the parachute’s cords one by one until Siobhán plummeted almost two meters before the spider silk caught her like a bungee cord.

Siobhán grunted, though it was the situation that elicited her response, rather than actual discomfort. Nita disappeared upward for a moment, and then Siobhán felt another slight lurch before she was lowered smoothly to the ground.

Nita abseiled beside her, and Siobhán smiled at her familiar, then extricated herself from the parachute’s straps.

With a quick look around, Siobhán realized she’d lost track of where she was facing after landing in the tree. The stars were mostly obscured by the alpine canopy above, and even if they weren’t, she’d never learned to read them.

That’s something I’ll have to fix. I need to be able to find my way around. Damn it.

With no better options, she resolved to climb a tall tree, then cursed as she felt sticky pine pitch adhering to her hands and other places.

Damn. Well, at least it smells nice, and climbing isn’t difficult.

She felt more pitch smearing across the thigh of her jeans as she shimmied past a large branch.

My clothes are toast…

Before long, she’d ascended high enough to spot the glow of the Visitor Center, to her right and made a mental note of that, relative to the trees and boulders around her.

The climb back down was worse than her ascent. Pine pitch got everywhere—even in Siobhán’s hair. By the time she reached the forest floor, she was so angry that she almost forgot the direction she had noted.

When Nita attempted to climb on as usual, the sap stuck to her as well.

“God damn it…” Siobhán clenched her fists. The feel of sticky pine pitch in her hands made the situation all the more frustrating.

[-Misstress,-] Nita sent.

[What is it, pretty girl?] Siobhán did her best to sound calm.

[-Ssomething large.-] Nita faced to their left with her front legs held up defensively.

Really? I’m being hunted, too?

Seconds later, a twig snapped and Siobhán spotted a Bison bull glaring at her from the edge of the clearing she’d missed.

Seriously? I’m too small to be a threat to you or your herd. Leave me alone!

The bull stepped closer, then stamped at the ground and huffed at Siobhán.

I am not getting trampled or gored to death right now.

In frustration, she released Kiwi’s name and spoke to the Bison, “Okay, fine. Your name is Bill.”

The stamping stopped as the big animal glowed slightly and calmed.

Siobhán shut her eyes and sighed as she realized she’d just named a Bison Bill.

It’s okay. He’s not a Buffalo.

And so, after a moment spent getting acquainted with her newly named creature and his herd, an angry, sticky Irish girl and her giant spider made their way on Bison-back, toward Yellowstone’s Visitor Center.

---

Joe entered the resident barracks complex expecting a lot more than what was actually there. The place had no doors aside from tunnels that led into simple living spaces with stone-shaped desks and bedrolls. Their toilets were clearly open pits with no ventilation, as the entire place smelled awful.

From a nearby hallway, the sound of weapons clashing and playful banter gave away the location of the two male residents who’d revived here after their attack in Santa Cruz.

Ducking in and out of five decrepit rooms led Joe to the sixth passage. This one hid an actual door on massive, crude hinges.

Bingo.

He grabbed the thick handle and twisted. It didn’t budge.

Joe tried everything he could think of without alerting the two who were sparring, but even his considerable D-Rank strength had no noticeable effect.

Damn enchanted materials…

Joe put his bow away and took out one of the tools Mike had forged for them—a long pry bar of titanium alloy.

The door’s crude design worked in Joe’s favor as the bar found purchase between the door and its stone frame near the handle. Joe pulled the bar taut, then heaved with all his might.

The door swung free—following a loud crack.

Sounds of banter and weapons ceased.

Fuck.

Joe put the pry bar away and pulled out his bow. He nocked a tungsten-tipped arrow and drew it back as the sound of footsteps neared.

The instant one of the enemy residents stepped into view, Joe loosed his bow. The arrow blew the man in half and Joe felt a rush of energy as the mangled corpse did something he didn’t expect. Parts of it accelerated down the hallway toward Joe.

Joe dove back through the open door, but he wasn’t fast enough.

Pain lanced through his leg and Joe found himself unable to stand correctly. The problem became clear when Joe looked down. His left foot wouldn’t touch the ground—because he no longer had a left foot.

“Someone’s fucking around where they don’t belong!” The man who could only be Kevin called maniacally down the hallway. His tone carried the madness of a man who was drunk with his own power.

Son of a bitch…

Joe scrambled back, snatched up the severed foot, and pressed it against the wound. He healed himself, cursing the telltale glow as his body was repaired.

He uses blood, and I just made a fresh corpse for the bastard. A grenade won’t work—he’s D-Rank, and fast enough to get away. Fucking hell.

Listening carefully, Joe nocked another arrow, considered the opposite doorway, then drew his bow and leaped across the hallway facing the madman. Their eyes met and Kevin’s brows climbed in surprise as Joe aimed at the man’s center of mass and released his arrow.

Both of Joe’s knees were severed this time as his arrow shrieked down the passage. A brief scream echoed down the hall, followed by splattering sounds. Joe hissed through his teeth as he crawled to his severed limbs and pulled his legs back together for a heal. The floor was slick with his blood as he stood, nocked another arrow, and dove across the passage again.

This time, all he saw were limbs, entrails, hair, and ruined clothing soaked in blood. Joe rolled to a stop, then dashed into the hallway to confirm his kills. The remains of two men were splattered all over the hallway, beside the swords they’d dropped. Joe stashed those in his inventory, then searched the Dungeon Master’s room.

Predictably, the trap door was concealed under a throw rug.

What Joe hadn’t counted on was the immediate attack by several flying insects when he pulled the trap door open with a sword in his hand. In the relative darkness, it was hard to tell what species they were, but the fiery stings that pierced all the way through the arms of his suit told Joe enough.

Joe couldn’t help but scream in agony as he crushed the two that landed on him and cut the rest down with precise, furious swipes. He was forced to drink one of his antidote potions as the venom caused the muscles of his left arm to seize up, and that effect was spreading.

It took a few minutes for Joe’s body to relax—and even with the antidote and his healing, the searing pain from the horrid stings was only dulled.

Magic bugs are bullshit…

---

Floors: 9

Minions: 897/1260

Residents: 15/28

Denizens: 8.61M

Traps: 25/45