There was one thing Zaria needed to make before the villagers arrived. The Dungeon Instructions were quite clear on this - she needed to make a boss. She’d already seen how to make a boss heart when creating mob hearts, but she needed to understand exactly what that meant, so quickly scanned the Instructions for the word boss, then skipped through the entries until she found the one she needed.

Your boss is the ultimate challenge of each particular zone of your dungeon. Equivalent in power to five regular mobs, a boss typically only costs twice as much as a normal mob of the same type. As such, you have a limit of one boss per Tier unless upgrades are chosen to expand that number. Your boss should be a test of everything adventurers have faced so far in your dungeon, and should have a specialized room set aside for itself and any additional mobs (Called ads) that support the boss.

Creating a Boss will grant it additional abilities beyond what a normal mob of its type is capable of, making sure it is a sufficient challenge…

Zaria skimmed the rest. Seemed easy enough. She just needed to create one. The question was… what did she use for it? The crate mimics would be the safest option, but after fighting the other four, Zaria suspected adventurers would be able to sus out the next crate they saw as also a mimic. It would make sense to make a brand new mob.

As much as Zaria wanted Vysala as her Striga, she couldn’t count on the woman being interested. That made the idea of forming a new mob and paying the heavy cost to her stability less appealing. But Vysala had said something in the square. What was it again?

All of a sudden, the scene played out in front of Zaria - not as a memory, but as if it was a play, with everyone perfectly reenacting their roles from just moments ago. Zaria focused on Vysala and listened carefully.

“But I like to think I’ve earned your trust, and my siblings from the Midnight Guild will still be here soon. In spite of his fancy garb, he’s Tin. Same as the other four, and same as me. Your call. I will fight to protect you, as I always have.”

Zaria said to Rav.

Rav snarled.

Zaria focused her attention on the closet. This wouldn’t do for a boss room, it was too small. But the object she needed was in there.

Remembering the damage spawning Rav had done to his contents, Zaria grabbed her corpse on its marionette strings and swung it to the closet, opening doors as it passed. She then opened the lid of the chest with a simple command and used the corpse’s flailing limbs to dump the chest’s contents on the floor.

The corpse. Not her corpse. Already Zaria was feeling very little attachment to the vessel that had housed her for most of her mortal life. It was just… a thing of flesh. Something she thought might come in handy later, but she didn’t see it as her. Not anymore.

Still, she wanted to ensure the possessions in the chest were safe. She used the corpse to sweep them to one corner, then formed a regular crate covering them and the corpse for later use. Then she prepared to turn the chest into a mimic. It just felt like she was forgetting something.

Zaria mulled that feeling over. she said.

The thought of the chest mimic forming and running rampant, out of control, sickened Zaria. That would have been a disaster. It would have had to go through her bedroom to reach the rest of the house - it might have eaten her core!

Chiding herself for her carelessness, Zaria quickly whipped up an Oven. This was a bigger drain on her than she had expected - they had a high cost associated with them, in terms of mana, energy, and focus. But moments later it was roaring merrily away in the corner of the Kitchen.

Then she turned her attention back to the chest and started the process of forming mob hearts. Without a mob, they hung there, looking like crystalline hearts that beat slowly to some unheard rhythm. Instead of thrusting them immediately into the chest, she spun the hearts together, collapsing them into a boss heart. This larger structure beat far faster and harder than its component parts, pumping mana with so much force it made an audible noise.

Wishing she could hold her breath for comfort, Zaria thrust the boss heart into the chest.

It shuddered violently, with far more force than the crates had earlier. The lid, left open from earlier, snapped shut, before it twisted into an evil grin full of razor-sharp teeth.

New Mob Discovered: Chest Mimic, 6 Command Points.

Zaria dismissed the words as quickly as she could read them, making sure only to register it so she wouldn’t miss any important information. But something else was happening. The chest was standing up. It had a single thick and powerful leg in the center of its mass, one that terminated in a disturbingly human foot. From the sides of the chest, the handles burst outwards, forming into a pair of long and spindly arms. Those limbs almost looked human, save for the extra two elbows along their length that gave them supernatural flexibility. The chest opened its lid, now its mouth, and a long, thick tongue fell out. The appendage looked like it was spotted with silver and gold.

Then it giggled. The sound was somehow both deep and high pitched at the same time, like the laughter of a child’s corpse bubbling up from a fetid well.

Zaria said to it.

Maw cackled louder. Apparently he liked it?

Zaria said. The villagers were almost here. She spun up two mundane chests into the room, making sure they were perfectly identical to Maw. She had an idea for how to make this fight interesting.

Outside, the villagers had gathered, although none of them dared move too close. There was a lot of muttering, all of it tinged with fear. The mayor, Vysala, and Acolyte Tymoa were in the forefront of the group.

“How,” the Mayor said. Not asked. It was a flat statement. “I’m certain this wasn’t here yesterday.”

“It’s a dungeon,” Vysala and Tymoa said in unison, then shot each other glares. Tymoa spoke again first, his words dripping with condescension masked behind a veneer of academia. While he spoke, Vysala circled around Zaria’s hut. “The child’s belief of footsteps was likely driven by the sound they make when they emerge - I could see it being mistaken for footfalls to the uneducated.”

“There wasn’t a dungeon here yesterday, either,” the Mayor responded.

Zaria said.

“Ah, I see.” Tymoa said in a placating voice. “Some of their kind are willing to forsake their demonic natures and convert. Others are already tainted, and have to be cleansed.”

Zaria snapped at the man.

“It’s a terrible thing to have to do.” Tymoa said, ignoring her tone. “The dungeons are a vital part of how magic works,” Tymoa tisked his tongue. “But with the demonic threats, we must remove all other threats to our people.”

“That seems a bit extreme,” the Mayor said. “If they’re important, and they’ve been here forever…”

Tymoa put his hand on the Urkin’s shoulder. “My good man, surely you’ve realized by now there is no other help coming. Only the corruptive influence of the Midnight Guild, and our Salvation. The kingdoms of the world have abandoned you. You must be proactive in your defense. But fear not! If this dungeon agrees to serve, it’ll be a valuable asset to your village. Attracting heroes from across the land who wish to rank up within its depths. You can also advance your own people. Trade in your village will increase. We must ensure it’s safe.”

“Or we leave the dungeon alone,” Vysala said. “It doesn’t need Salvation. We just shouldn’t provoke the bloody thing. Which is what you are suggesting. You’re lucky we’re outside right now.”

“Besides,” Vysala said , cutting Zaria off. “It might just walk away.”

Tymoa scoffed. “You are surely losing your grip on reality, witch. How would a dungeon walk away?”

Zaria said to Rav.

Rav snorted like she’d just said the sky was blue. Zaria could at least take solace in the knowledge the mimic wouldn’t be telling anyone about her blunder there.

“Come and see for yourself,” Vysala said to the Acolyte, a grin spreading across her lips.

Tymoa scowled, but came to see what the witch was looking at. His jaw, quite literally, fell open when he saw it.

The witch had found one of Zaria’s footsteps, a talon mark as large from claw to claw as Vysala was tall.

“That can’t be the dungeon,” Tymoa said. “It’s impossible. A demon must have wandered by.”

Zaria said. Before the debate went further, Zaria stood up. Several villagers ran away screaming. Tymoa turned the pale white of sheet paper. The mayor fainted.

Vysala laughed. “Surprised, Acolyte?”

Tymoa scowled at her. “You know something about this. Speak, witch.”

Zaria settled back into the ground as the mayor came to.

“Our augurs have warned us strange happenings may be possible with the Dungeon Cores,” Vysala said. “Which, incidentally, one moment.” She turned to Zaria. “I do apologize for ignoring you earlier. It was believed you couldn’t hear anything outside your depths. Are you able to yet manifest a body to speak with us? Open your door and slam it once for yes, twice for no.”

Zaria slammed it twice.

“Then we’ll speak once I’m done aiding the… what was the word you used, Acolyte? Aiding the uneducated, yes.” Vysala made a face. “Kressa’s radiant nut sack, there’s no way to say that without sounding like a right prick, is there?” She turned her attention back to Tymoa. “Something happened at the same time the Fissures appeared. Something that also caused us to have an extended period where no new cores were born. About two years ago, new dungeon cores appeared - but many of them were damaged. Malformed. Most of them detonated. As far as I know, only one survived.”

“Which one?” The mayor had taken a couple steps back from Zaria’s doorway as the witch had spoken.

Vysala shot Tymoa a level glance. “It’s the Woods of Feasting Branches.”

If she expected that to impress the Acolyte, she was doomed for disappointment. Instead of fear or surprise, Tymoa scoffed. “The Woods are tainted by Miasma. That’s not a dungeon, that’s demonic influence.”

“There’s no rift in there,” Vysala said. “Nothing to generate Miasma. No, it’s a dungeon. A dungeon the size of the forest.”

The mayor looked ready to throw up. “So we have to kill this one before it becomes like that?”

Vysala shook her head at the same time Tymoa nodded. “Absolutely not,” Vysala snapped at Tymoa. “This one has done nothing wrong. If it had stomped through town, crushing people underfoot? That’d be one thing.”

“If the Feasting Branches are truly a dungeon, then it is generating Miasma,” Tymoa shot back.

Vysala shot her hands up into the air. “Fine. Send back for your leaders, let them know you need a team to slay a dungeon. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to know you decided to kill a powerful, potentially beneficial entity without doing even the most rudimentary tests to see if it is as demon tainted as you claim.”

Tymoa ground his teeth, shot Zaria a glare, and took a deep breath. “You know what, witch? You may be right. And the possible benefit of a mobile dungeon… that would be too great to ignore.”

“Oh, thought of that all on your own, did you?” Vysala rolled her eyes.

“So what do you propose we do?” the mayor said.

“I will take my team inside. Dungeon, since you can hear us - if you wish for Salvation, leave a sign for us upon our entry. We will do no harm to your mobs, and I will find your core and commune with it. If you wish to discuss further… we will face your mobs and assess your threat from there.” There was an undercurrent to his words that Zaria didn’t like.

Zaria said.