DEAD PACIFICA

  Part 5

  When the sun sagged low over the trees, turning the lake into a sheet of pale copper, the emissary and his mercenaries drove through the borders of North Cedar Lake.

  I counted thirty-six in total. Two helicopters hovered above the dense canopy of McLaren Forest, blades whining like angry insects, each one vomiting out seven men down on two climbing ropes. After that, the helicopters hovered around the perimeter, waiting for trouble to explode. The rest rolled in by the road in four black SUVs, stopping right where I told them to stop, right at the mouth of the narrow road that eventually wound its way toward the cabin.

  They never argued nor hesitated when I told them to leave their vehicles behind and proceeded all the way to the meeting spot (I gave them the coordinates), which told me they were very confident they’d get out of this unscathed. Or arrogant, I reminded myself. And stupid. I’ve learned a lot in under a year how many dumb mistakes people made when stuck in tense and dangerous situations.

  The emissary—though he insisted on the more dignified title of Astaroth’s liaison—was James Milford. He introduced himself over the radio when they drove past Point Hope. The instant I knew his name, I reached for his mind with [ Fractal Omniscience ], but I instantly hit a brick wall. Same for the other mercenaries, which was a bitch move. I laughed when I realized Mr. Milford and his men were carrying talismans (that I couldn’t see, unfortunately) or perhaps under the effect of some warding spell that blocked my telepathy. It was annoying, but also delighted in knowing they were cautious of me. That meant they were taking me seriously.

  Nothing should be easy these days, right, Mark? I chuckled to myself.

  But did that mean they already knew I could read people’s thoughts? I wouldn’t put it past them to know that given the resources they had. Heck, I’ve been using it since I was only a couple of weeks old. But did they also know I could dive deeper than the surface level of their minds? That I could walk their memories as if they were my own, touch moments they’d buried so deep even they forgot where they’d put them? Believed the lies that they tell themselves? They were already paranoid about my capabilities, so they also probably thought about those things, too. I would if I were in their shoes.

  At least I had Oracle to do some background check. He identified about a third of the soldiers with their Facebooks and Instagrams from a decade ago, buried in some cache from a data center. The rest were ghosts, not even a single Reddit account, and probably already scrubbed their identities online due to their line of work.

  Anyway, it didn’t matter. I was only indulging in this meeting out of curiosity anyway.

  Once they bored me, though?

  I’d let my archetypes off their leash.

  They came armed, of course. Rifles slung tight around their shoulders. Shotguns with matte-black finishes glinting under the waning sun. Kevlar vests, helmets with skull imagery, night-vision rigs—tacti-cool bullshit layered on like armor made of bloated ego. I hadn’t told them to disarm. Hadn’t told them to leave their toys behind. Never would. I’d let them feel special tonight. Made them feel taller. Louder. Manly. More important than they actually were. Bigger in the pants, too. As long as they strayed far away from thinking they were already dead the moment they stepped foot in my domain.

  They believed they were warded against my telepathy. They weren’t wrong. But they were thinking too small, you know? Whatever charms, sigils, or magical countermeasures they carried couldn’t hide them from everything. Not from The System. And as a Death Core, I was an extension of it.

  I sensed their aura.

  I could smell and taste their fear.

  All of them glowed with it.

  Every.

  Single.

  One.

  Including our very own James Milford.

  Bolton waited up ahead in the middle of the gravel road with hands loose at his sides, a cherry-red lollipop clacking softly between his teeth. He looked relaxed. Casual. Like a hitchhiker waiting for a ride, not an execution squad. His demonic grin didn’t falter when Milford and his men came up short and raised their rifles.

  “Follow me, girls,” he said.

  But thirty muzzles locked onto Bolton’s chest, his head, and his abdomen. Enough firepower to obliterate a concrete wall or an average man into red mist.

  Bolton just smiled wider.

  “Well?” he said, spreading his hands a fraction, palms up, mockingly. “You coming? Or are we gonna stand around admiring each other’s dicks all night?”

  The mercenaries shifted, fingers inching close to the trigger. One nervous breath away from a fucking shootout and Demon decided to make a joke.

  Milford studied Bolton carefully. “Are you Mark Castle?” Milford asked, unsure. It was very telling he’d studied my photo before on his way over, but he just got to make sure.

  Bolton cackled. “Are you blind, man? Do I look like him? I’m a Black dude. He’s white as a crescent dough.”

  “Demon?”

  “Ah! Thanks for recognizing me. At your pleasure!” Bolton bowed with theatrical flourish, lollipop still in his mouth.

  “Where is he, then?” Milford asked again. “This isn’t the spot on the GPS.”

  Bolton turned and jerked his head toward the tree line. “I’ll lead you to the Dungeon Lord,” he said cheerfully. “It’s very easy to get lost in these woods. I have. A few times.”

  Milford hesitated only a second before nodding. “Lower your weapons,” he said calmly to his men and turned to Bolton. “And lead the way, Demon.”

  Bolton didn’t bother looking to see if they followed. He popped the lollipop back into his mouth and skipped into the woods like a five-year-old headed for grandma’s house.

  Captain Kowalczyk stepped in front of Milford before the liaison could move. He was a big man, broad-shouldered, scar at the corner of his upper lip, eyes like cold slate. He leaned in close enough that only Milford could hear him. “As I’ve said earlier, you stay behind me, sir,” he said.

  Milford frowned. Mild irritation flickered across his face. He straightened his shoulders as if it could bridge the gulf between them, though standing beside Kowalczyk made him look like a well-dressed dwarf next to a towering greek statue.

  “I have nothing to fear, captain,” he said. He patted something in his pocket.

  Kowalczyk followed the motion with his eyes, then scanned the trees again. “Can’t be too careful. You sure that’ll work?”

  “Quite,” Milford said. “The Collector gave it to me personally. From his collection.”

  That earned a nod. Kowalczyk gestured sharply, and three soldiers peeled off to take point behind Demon. The rest followed. The captain kept Milford close to his side.

  The forest swallowed them whole. The light thinned, green and sickly, shadows stacking on top of each other. The path narrowed, then disappeared altogether, replaced by churned earth and old tire tracks made to look like they hadn’t seen people in years.

  Fortunately, mortals cannot sense my Many-eyes, so I slipped into Milford’s pocket and found a strange-looking talisman made out of clay about the size of a quarter with a stick drawing of a small cloud. I immediately told Mother Gertrude what I saw.

  Mother Gertrude hid with Lord Zal and Duke Henry just beyond the edge of the forest, hidden from the cultists. Oracle conjured a crude illusion of the talisman midair, rotating it slowly.

  Mother Gertrude squinted at it. “Ah, that is a Ripping Step charm, my lord,” she said. “It looks different than what the mages created back where I’m from, but I am familiar with how it reeks with spatial divination magic.”

  “What does it do?” I asked.

  “It teleports you to the safest location of your choice, usually within a mile. It depends on the power of the spell cast on the charm, but a mage can increase the distance.”

  I nodded. I made a mental note of searching for that in the items I could purchased through The System. It sounded useful. It’s probably one of those crafting items I needed to put together. I’ll let Duke Henry handle it later.

  Henry folded his arms. “So if Mr. Milford thinks everything is going south, he’ll just…”

  “Fly away? Yup. That’s exactly what he’s going to do,” I said.

  Mother Gertrude shook her head. “Bah, these humans are missing half their brains. It can only teleport up to four creatures at most, and the charm can never be used again until the same spell is cast on it by the next dawn. I don’t think Mr. Milford is a mage. He’ll be abandoning most of his men.”

  I frowned. “What else?”

  Mother Gertrude sighed. Her eyes rolled back as she pierced through the veil. “Aside from basic protection wards etched on their armor—”

  “—and the silver-tipped bullets. Don’t forget that part,” Henry interjected.

  “—yes, yes,” Gertrude waved him off. “Besides that, they have runes for some shielding, minor resistances, and…oh. What’s this?”

  I perked up. “What? What is it?”

  Mother Gertrude smiled. “A few of the men…hm, I counted nine…have sigils etched above their brows. Fascinating.”

  “And?”

  Mother Gertrude pursed her lips, thinking how to explain it. “It is like Oracle’s strange magic with his toys.”

  “You mean computers? I know they have body cams, but Oracle already blocked all the feeds.”

  Mother Gertrude shook her head again. “No, I don’t mean those, my lord. Someone has cast a Daydream Eye on them. For a short time, it allows someone to see, hear, feel, and even taste through someone’s eyes from a great distance.”

  “Someone’s spying on me?”

  “I knew it,” Duke Henry said. “It’s like what Goliath assumed. This is a recon operation, my lord.” He looked up at the passing helicopter over the horizon. “I bet that’s what those guys are doing, too.”

  “No doubt it’s The Collector watching through them,” I said.

  Mother Gertrude nodded. “That is also my guess.”

  “They sought to glimpse upon the denizens of this dungeon, my liege,” Lord Zal said. “To lay upon my perfected form...truly, no other beauty in the world exists such as I…well, besides you, of course, my lord.”

  Mother Gertrude and Duke Henry rolled their eyes in unison, but Lord Zal didn’t seem to notice, or chose not to.

  “Ah, it all makes sense now!” Lord Zal said. “A revelation! I, alone, have pierced through our enemy’s deceit, my lord. Me, alone! Akin to my feats, when I stormed through the Barrowlands and besieged the City of Torren-Vattak, Wonders of the Flaming Suns, it is what this Collector aims to do as well!”

  I blinked at him. “Uh…remind me what you did to…I’m sorry, what was it again?”

  “I have heard of the mighty tales of the Blue King and his command of his legendary legion. And so I sent fifty thousand of my undead army to swarm his walls for fifty days and fifty nights. And like The Collector, I’ve casted a similar spell to learn of The Blue King’s brilliance. On the fifty-first night, I defeated him, sent him off with his tail tucked and fled to the mountains with his people. The Collector has sent these soldiers here to test you.”

  “Ah. He wants me to let you all loose on them.” Hell, I planned to do that after I’ve had enough of what Mr. Milford was selling. Perhaps I should keep that in the back-burner.

  “Allow me, my lord,” Mother Gertrude said. “I can sever the connection, but it will take a few minutes. You will have to keep Mr. Milford talking. I can also nullify the charm’s effects if you do not wish for Mr. Milford to flee so easily.”

  “Oh. Well, please do. Can you also remove the telepathic block?”

  “That will take a few hours, time we don't have.”

  “That sucks. Oh well. Um, spell off.”

  “Step away.” Mother Gertrude shooed Lord Zal away when she realized he had stepped on her cloak. “Honestly, Zal, you should watch where you step.”

  “If you have worn a more practical garment for battle, hag, I wouldn’t have to.”

  I blinked and immediately watched as the soldiers hiked through the woods. They still had a few minutes to reach our meeting spot.

  “Well, time to blind them,” I said.

  I activated [ Unnerving Fog ].

  After ten minutes of hiking through dense fog, the forest opened up again.

  The junkyard waited.

  Rusted cars from past delvers sprawled in every direction, piled in leaning towers, doors yawning open like broken jaws. Moss crept over metal. Vines stitched some of the vehicles together. Old vans, sedans, trucks, some crushed flat, others stacked three or four high, forming crooked corridors and blind corners into a giant maze. A chain-link fence wrapped the yard like a cage. At the gate, a sun-bleached sign read: KEEP OUT. NO TRESPASSING.

  Milford slowed. His eyes tracked across the junkyard and I could tell he was not pleased, but he tried to control his emotions.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Captain Kowalczyk didn’t bother hiding his disgust. “I don’t like the look of this place, sir,” he said.

  Bolton stopped walking. He turned on his heels, grin still nailed in place. “What’re you guys waiting for?” he asked. “His lordship doesn’t like to be kept waiting, you know.”

  Milford met Kowalczyk’s stare. For a moment, something unspoken passed between them.

  “Follow my orders,” Milford said. “And don’t do anything rash.” He raised the radio. “What do you guys see up there?”

  A beat of static.

  “Sir,” the helicopter pilot came back, voice garbled through the line, “we can’t see shit.”

  The rotors thumped overhead as the aircraft made a slow pass above the junkyard, but even from that height, the fog swallowed everything below.

  “The fog’s rolling down the mountains nonstop. I can’t even see the lake, sir.”

  “Keep me posted if anything changes.”

  Milford clicked the channel closed, slipped the radio back into his pocket, and followed Bolton through the gate.

  The mercenaries filed in behind them, weapons angled up and down the corridor. Metal groaned softly overhead as the wind nudged stacked cars against each other. Somewhere deep in the maze, I told Alan Sawyer to howl, which chilled them where they stood for a moment until Milford told them to keep walking.

  Kowalczyk fell back beside one of his lieutenants—a younger Black man with close-cropped hair and tattoos peeking out of his short sleeves.

  “Sir,” Lucas Reed murmured, keeping his voice low, “who exactly are we here for?”

  Kowalczyk didn’t look at him. “If you see something worth shooting,” he said, “that’s your answer.”

  Reed frowned. “I heard Milford mentioned a Core earlier on the drive over?”

  That made Kowalczyk finally glance at him.

  “You know what that is?”

  “Another paranormal asset, sir?” Reed said carefully. “Sounds like a big one. There were rumors…”

  Kowalczyk gave a slow, humorless nod. “Yeah.”

  Reed continued, “The other guys are also wondering—”

  “This is from The Collector himself,” Kowalczyk cut in. “We better keep questions to a minimum. Got it?”

  Reed swallowed. “Got it. Um, sir.”

  “Good.”

  Interesting, I thought.

  Only Milford and Captain Kowalczyk knew who I was. None of the other soldiers seemed to have any idea what a Core even was. Didn’t grasp that it wasn’t a thing you fought directly, not in the normal sense, anyway. They were expecting some monstrosity. Probably just another standard mission for them sent by the Havashar Society to kill or capture monsters for their own ends. With how big and organized they were, I reckoned they have had several paranormal encounters all over the world. The cult kept their secrets closed to their chest. Kept the flow of information tight within their organization, it seemed. I wondered why The Collector sent these men in particular here. Clearly, these weren’t the best of the best the Society could muster. If so, it’d be a cakewalk taking them down in the future.

  But I knew the answer: they were expendable.

  And if what Lord Zal said was true, then, they were sent here to die just to entertain The Collector’s curiosity and measure how much stronger I’d grown over the past year.

  “We are here!” Bolton shouted as they reached an open yard at the heart of the junkyard.

  Old Growth waited atop a crushed pickup, bark-skin drinking in the fading light of dusk. Alan Sawyer crouched not far from him in full werewolf form, claws digging into steel, yellow eyes locked on the newcomers. Goliath stood at the center. He rested his double-sided axe upside down against the ground, the haft gripped loosely in his meaty hands. His posture was firm, almost respectful, like a predatory warrior waiting to be addressed.

  Bolton strolled over and plopped down on the hood of a nearby sedan, legs dangling, lollipop back in his mouth. He kicked his heels against rusted metal and hummed.

  This was just for show to spook them, and it was working. Several soldiers stiffened when their eyes found them. One raised his rifle before thinking better of it.

  “Stand down,” Milford said immediately.

  Milford understood this for what it was—theater. An intimidation tactic, nothing more. A reminder of whose ground they stood on. I almost respected him for recognizing it so quickly. I didn’t know how many spies the Society had placed around my domain over the past few months, but it was for the best if I kept my other, newer archetypes hidden for now especially when The Collector was watching. Better he leave with incomplete data. Kevin Yates had probably sung about the locals since they kidnapped him.

  Mother Gertrude, Lord Zal, and Duke Henry completed warding spells of their own. Henry nodded to one of my Many-Eyes with the all clear. There were no other magical effects, enchantments, or spells connected to either Milford and the mercenaries besides the mind-reading wards and basic protection talismans that they could easily crack open. Mother Gertrude was still in the middle of severing the magic behind the clay coin and the Daydream Eye. She’ll need another few minutes.

  Knowing that, I began to relax.

  Milford took a careful step forward and scanned the open yard, his gaze moving from Old Growth to Alan Sawyer to Goliath and back again, then lingered on the empty space between them.

  “Where’s your master?” he asked Bolton.

  Bolton sucked thoughtfully on his lollipop and bit on it. Crack.

  “Oh, he’s here,” he said as he chewed pieces of the candy.

  Milford frowned. “I don’t see him.”

  “He’s here,” Bolton repeated firmly.

  “It’s just the four of you? Where are the others?”

  “Movie night,” Bolton answered quickly, bored. “They’re watching Casablanca.”

  Milford’s patience thinned. “If your master is running late—”

  I activated [ Shapechanger ].

  [ Power: 58/60 ]

  Where empty air had been, a nine-year-old girl now stood barefoot on the dirty concrete. Brown hair in loose pigtails. Dirt-smudged knees. A sundress just a little too clean for the place.

  Milford froze.

  “Uh, another one of you?” He asked nervously.

  “Speak,” I said. “I am listening.”

  Milford narrowed his eyes at me. “Oh. Wait, are you…”

  “Yes,” I said. “Tell me the names of the Seat.”

  It took him a moment to recover. “The Seat?” He echoed, then nodded. “Oh, right. Sorry. I didn’t expect that you’d be—”

  “—a little girl?” I interrupted innocently. “Are you disappointed?”

  Milford hesitated. He chose his next words carefully. “It’s…unexpected.”

  “What would you prefer I look like?” I asked. “My old self? A swarm of rats? A muscular, roided man with a crown, perhaps? A monstrous lion-beast? A rotting god nailed to a throne made out of bones?”

  He didn’t answer.

  I tilted my head. “Or did you expect me to appear as my Core?”

  His long silence was answer enough.

  Of course you’d want that, I thought. If I showed it, you’d try to take it. Or die trying. Or both.

  I checked in on Mother Gertrude. She was still working on countering multiple spells.

  I needed to keep the soldiers distracted for just a tiny few minutes. I feared some of them might be able to pick out the hag’s or Lord Zal’s attempts to nullify the enchantments on them. Better to be safe than sorry, I thought. I couldn't tell which of them were susceptible to the subtle arcane pull of The Ways.

  I heaved a theatric sigh. “Well, since this is a special occasion…”

  [ Power: 56/60 ]

  The little girl vanished, and space recoiled inward. My Death Core manifested, radiant and beautiful. A kaleidoscopic gem of layered geometry and shifting divine light, pulsing with rhythms no human eyes could endure for long, forcing them to recoil even as it compelled attention. Facets slid through one another without touching. The air around it hummed, warped, bent ever so slightly with a slow, crawling cadence that pressed against a mortal's skull. I was no longer a fresh, infant Core, but a growing toddler, perhaps. My powers were growing. My Dread was getting stronger. Milford and the mercenaries could feel the latter through their bones.

  I also activated [ Levitate ] to keep my gem from falling to the ground.

  [ Power: 55/60 ]

  I could sense Old Growth, Demon, Goliath, and Alan’s unease once I revealed my true form to these men so easily. I knew it was dangerous, reckless, and not part of the plan, but I wanted to push my luck. Even Mother Gertrude clicked her tongue in disappointment. I gestured for them to calm down. With my Core revealed, the cultists would have their guard down.

  I was pulling all of their attention on me.

  They didn’t know several of the Spider Queen’s brood, the werewolves, and a squad of Lord Zal’s ghouls stalking and hiding just around the junkyard’s perimeter, waiting for this meeting to go sideways (and I was expecting it to go to that direction).

  Milford stared. For a moment, his mask of composure and control cracked. Awe bled through. Fear. Reverence. His nerves fighting the bubbling panic in real time. He stepped forward carefully, like a man approaching a deadly shrine.

  “You honor me with your light, Dungeon Lord,” he said at last.

  The other soldiers were uneasy too as they had never seen my kind before. I wondered how many unnatural creatures they had discovered while working for the cult? How many strange things have they experienced on Earth? I must be a rare sight indeed. Captain Kowalczyk did not move. I could feel his Resolve sagged and wavered like a fraying rope, but he didn’t break. His hand hovered near the knife concealed behind his back.

  Cute. He didn’t know I had eyes everywhere.

  “Speak,” Bolton said. “As you already know, the Dungeon Lord cannot speak in this form. I will be his tongue. Tell us who the others are. We already know your master’s name.”

  Milford straightened his jacket, gathering himself. “But first, the Collector wishes to make a truce, your grace.”

  Bolton barked a laugh. “A truce?”

  “Yes,” Milford said quickly. “And let me be clear—this is no ruse. A genuine offer. You are…understandably eager for blood. Our blood. For what has been done to you.”

  Bolton’s grin sharpened. “You mean murdered. Butchered.”

  Milford inclined his head. “Divinely created with love and respect.”

  “Ah, is that so? I’m touched,” Bolton said sarcastically.

  I let the light around my Core brighten, just a touch. That seemed to do the trick. Milford took a step back.

  “The Collector wishes it known,” Milford continued, “that the creation of a Death Core on Earth was not his design. That honor belonged to The Blacksmith and The White Queen. They acted under Astaroth’s direct command. The Collector was the last of the Seat to be informed after the arrangements have been made, even after the birth of your mortal body.”

  He could be lying.

  Then again, he could be telling the truth.

  “You claim The Collector had nothing to do with my death?” Bolton asked.

  Milford swallowed. “The White Queen placed Jonas in Portland decades ago. He guided your conception. Took command of the regional sect. It was a long game. The Collector only learned the truth a few years before your…death.”

  “And yet,” Bolton said, “he stayed silent. He even partake in it.”

  “He had to,” Milford said. “When the High Prince gives an order, you obey. No exceptions. And your creation was of greater importance not just to Astaroth but to this planet, your grace. The Seat sees you as a shining beacon to this backwater world, to shine upon our barbarity and our society’s backward thinking so that we may revel in our true potential. There is so much hate, sorrow, and pain in this world that only the High Prince himself can save us from our destructive tendencies.”

  “And he needs me to be his weapon?”

  “I wouldn’t call it that, no. I would call you…the new Apple from the Tree of Knowledge.”

  “And now?” Bolton pressed. “Now The Collector wants to save his ass?”

  “For peace and the future of humanity, your grace.”

  “I can’t believe Astaroth will go along with this truce. He wants to own me.”

  “The High Prince has high respect of your kind, my lord. He does not wish to own you.” Milford smiled thinly. “And The High Prince rewards ambition. He enjoys competition amongst his followers, encouraging them to be the best version they can be.”

  “By forcing his followers to kill each other?”

  Milford spread his hands. “We have endured for centuries under such rules. Who am I to break tradition?”

  “So you crawl to me bearing gifts and of friendship…no, I don’t believe it.”

  “The Collector knows he cannot change the past. What’s done is done. He hopes for the two of you to look forward. An alliance against the rest of the Seat. He can help.”

  I turned to look at Alan, Old Growth, Goliath, and Bolton.

  “We’re listening,” Bolton said.

  “The Collector felt that the other members of the Seat have lost sight of why the Havashar Society exist. It is to guide humanity to a better path.”

  “Astaroth’s vision, you mean. I thought it is to summon Astaroth himself on this planet?”

  Milford nodded. “The High Prince is a friend to humanity, your grace. He has his own designs, yes, but humanity benefits from them upon his arrival. Or will.” His eyes flickered toward the Core. “But the Seat…they have grown greedy. Short-sighted. Drunk from power and their materialistic arrogance. Corrupted by earthly ambitions.”

  I almost laughed.

  “Why would I stop my enemies from devouring one another?” Bolton asked for me. “It sounds like all I had to do was wait a few decades for them to start stabbing each other in the back.”

  “Simple. We will help you expand. Help you grow. Help you be the better version of yourself. We have a hand in every corner of the globe.”

  “And in return?”

  “Friendship is a two-way street,” Milford said.

  “Of course. You want what I can provide.”

  “With your guidance, we will delve with honor. We will spread your seed. We will revere your word.”

  I didn’t like it when he used delve in his mouth. It disgusted me. How dare he? Fortunately, he couldn’t read my body language.

  “Names,” I said. “Now.”

  “Once you accept the truce, you will receive it.”

  “Or I can torture it out of you, or have Demon possess you and root through your memories. Either way, I’d get it eventually.”

  “I don’t know their names personally,” Milford said, frowning. “I am here as a voice for my master.”

  Milford produced a parchment container and unrolled a contract, then presented it to me. Bolton’s face turned sour. It was a hellish pact.

  Nothing is ever easy, I thought.

  “Once you sign this scroll, I’ll call The Collector. He’ll give your their names.”

  And of course, The Collector knew I would refuse. I am not making any fucking deals, I thought.

  I stared at the contract for a long moment. Milford waited patiently, more relaxed than usual. I didn’t think The Collector or even Astaroth were aware that these cultists’ essences would help me create the dungeon in New York. They probably had no idea about my Core’s quest to extract five hundred essences to achieve it. I wouldn’t collect all of the soldiers’ essences tonight, though. It was too risky with all the firepower they had and I didn’t want any of them to get out. Two men in the line even had a flamethrower meant for Old Growth.

  But…like a squirrel burying and gathering nuts during the Fall…I could save some meat before winter.

  But what intrigued me was The Collector’s offer to give up the other members of the Seat. Was that genuine? A ruse meant to spur me to attack these men so that he could get his free gladiatorial entertainment?

  So, what if I entertain the idea that The Collector was being forthcoming? Was was he telling the truth that he wished to work with me? I couldn’t ignore the obvious elephant in the room that it was mostly to save his ass. Maybe buy him some time because he also knew I’d try to kill him after the rest of the Seat were dead. He probably realized he won’t be able to stop me from finding them. Either he resist and fight me or get in my good graces from the beginning. There was no doubt the others had already thrown him aside if he was this desperate to come to me. After all, he was the closest member of the Seat from me.

  I stared at Milford. He and the other mercenaries weren’t sent here to negotiate a truce. No, their boss sent them here to die.

  A sacrificial offering…

  For me.

  A gift.

  The Collector was making a gamble for his life I’d play ball, and he just sent me flowers with a pretty note on it.

  Mother Gertrude caught my attention. “It is done, my lord. I’ve broken the seal on the coin. I’m about to sever the connection of The Collector—”

  “Don’t sever it yet. I haven’t given my answer. I’ll give you a signal once I’m done.”

  Gertrude inclined her head and stepped back into the shadows, hands folded patiently.

  I turned my attention fully to Milford.

  “I’m sorry,” I said at last, my words carried through Bolton’s smiling, nonchalant facade, “but I won’t accept his terms. It's insulting.” I played along.

  Milford frowned, folded the parchment, and put it back in its case. “A shame, your grace. We would have worked wonderfully together. But know that I will return to The Collector bearing news of your warm hospitality at least.”

  I caught the slight movements of the soldiers as they got into position. They thought I didn’t see it, but they probably had other orders, maybe a Plan B, if I refused.

  Ah.

  I get it now.

  The Collector may have sent them here to die as a thoughtful gift for me (without them knowing), but they were also ordered to try to capture me if the opportunity came up.

  Well…

  Here I was.

  An obviously magical, glowing, and powerful Core right in the middle of the junkyard for everyone to see. All of them had line-of-sight on me.

  A perfect place for Captain Kowalczyk to trigger Plan B.

  I’d bet that the signal to attack was for Milford to teleport away so that he didn’t get caught in the crossfire (and from my feeding frenzy), but when he tried to stealthily grab the token inside his pocket and break the clay coin, nothing happened. I watched the fear bloom in his eyes.

  “What’s wrong, Mr. Milford?” Bolton asked mockingly. “Do you need a potty break?”

  Milford tried pressing on the coin again.

  Still, nothing happened.

  Captain Kowalczyk stared at Milford, confused as he waited for him to be gone already. Instead, he froze where he stood, A finger resting close to his rifle’s trigger.

  But Milford realized what I had done. Realized how truly fucked his situation was. This was not part of his plan. Without reading his thoughts, I could still read him like an open book. He was debating whether to order the soldiers to start shooting, but then that would mean he’d be inside the dungeon surrounded by several monsters for miles around him (if he survived the initial fight). He was kicking himself for not having a back-up plan.

  He got too cocky.

  I gestured for Mother Gertrude to sever The Collector’s connection to his foot soldiers. He must be freaking out right now. Without The Collector watching, I relaxed.

  Bolton hopped down from the hood of the car and ambled closer. “I know how you feel,” he said brightly. “Sometimes we all have…performance issues.”

  Milford quickly raised his hands in surrender. “My lord! Let us delve. Please.”

  I paused, thinking.

  “What are you doing?” Kowalczyk hissed under his breath.

  “Shut up. I’m giving us a chance,” Milford whispered back. He interpreted my silence as if I was mocking him. “Look! We’re mortals! We have the right to delve, right? That’s how this works? We are equal under your eyes! You know the rules. Activate a scenario! I demand it!”

  Of course, he’d want that. With their big guns, it was the only way they’d stand a chance to escape my dungeon—for him to get out alive—and I had no intention of letting them all out. After all, a month was a long wait for the Dead Pacifica crew to arrive.

  But with these fools in front of me, I’d just put a few of them to sleep and I would have a snack twice, heck, maybe three times a week while I wait. A perfect summer treat like a vanilla fudge sundae cone.

  “I said, I demand a scenario! Let us delve. Let us be worthy,” Milford pleaded desperately. “We’re wasted essence if you just kill us. Mark, please.”

  Ah.

  That did it.

  I really didn’t like him using my fucking name like that.

  “Quite the contrary, Mr. Milford,” I said through Bolton. “I am no longer the juvenile and famished Core you know a year ago. Since then, I’ve learned to control my appetite. Like my brethren, a Dungeon Lord has the power to choose whether to run a scenario or not. You know why?”

  He couldn’t find the words to answer me.

  “A Core is no slave to mortal whims—even to Astaroth,” I said. “And we are not toys.”

  Kowalczyk could read the room and this was not going to end well if he waited another second. He raised his rifle and aimed the barrel at my Core. But before he could even shift his finger and pull the trigger, I simply glanced at him with my Many-Eyes.

  His whole body detonated from within, showering the junkyard in cloud of red mist, globs of meat paste, and tiny bone fragments, and splattering blood all over Milford’s shocked, wide-eyed face.

  [ Power: 52/60 ]

  Besides my archetypes, I’d made a few upgrades on my Core, too.

  Milford slipped on the captain’s blood and fell hard on his back.

  And before the others could react and started shooting at me, I triggered [ Shockwave ]. A massive invisible force exploded out of my Core, sending the cultist soldiers flying like rag-dolls across the yard.

  Behind me, Old Growth, Goliath, Demon, and Alan Sawyer surged forward to join in the bloody carnage.