The Dungeon Core of Randel’s Refuge has been removed from the Dungeon.

The Dungeon will collapse in: 2 days

The flash of my collar startled the men escorting me. Their hands went for their weapons, but we remained calm. They reacted by reflex. The dozen or so police officers around us knew that they wouldn’t stand a chance against a Reaper, but they wouldn’t go out without a fight either. They relaxed slightly when they realized that our collar notification wasn’t an impending attack.

Two days till the Dungeon collapses. To be honest, I was only a little bit worried about the deadline. I had given Soul Eater to Stanley for safekeeping, so in the worst-case scenario I would just teleport myself back to restore the Core. Unless the City Watch had some of those Ability-negating relics that Yorg had tried to trap me with. Anyway, the Refuge was going to be fine without the Core for about a day or so before its faculties started to break down. Dungeon mechanics weren’t common knowledge, so most of the refugees had no clue—and even I wasn’t sure how severe this collapse would be. Would the stone buildings sink back down into the ground? Would there be earthquakes? Would the entire central cavern fill back up with dirt and stone? All I knew was that I didn’t want to find out.

Fortunately, there was a solution to prevent such collapse. Unfortunately, it was a solution that the shades wanted. We just had to connect the Dungeon Core to the World Seed. Doing so would bind the Core to the city, allowing us to leave the Dungeon for as long as we wanted—while retaining our status as the Dungeon Master. The structures we raised would be safe from there on. But not yet.

I had an awful amount of responsibility resting on my shoulders. It didn’t really surprise me that the City Watch had come for me; the only surprising thing about it was how long it took them. Almost as if they had been waiting for the basic faculties of the Refuge to be up and running first.

We marched across quiet streets, me and my escorts, and the few bystanders we encountered hurried out of our way. The moonlight was lime-colored tonight, a hue somewhere in-between the moon’s rich green and dark amber zeniths. The silence hanging around us felt impossibly ominous—up until we reached the gate between the lower ring and the middle ring of Fortram, where a nasally voice called out to me.

“There you are, Mad Painter! It’s my pleasure to meet you!”

The men of the City Watch reluctantly parted to allow a spindly, rather young man to come closer. He wore a black suit, which was a rather unusual fashion choice in this world. The newcomer also stood out with his curly red hair, a hooked nose, and a seemingly genuine smile. The officers around me shifted with unease.

“Please, just call me Randel,” I said. “Also, who are you?”

“Ah, my apologies, I got too excited,” the young man said, extending a hand to me. “My name is Theodore Clavius, son of Governor Clavius. What should I call you, Mr…?”

“Just Randel,” I said, accepting the handshake.

“Ah, but I know for a fact that in Terra, homeland of Reapers, family names are commonplace. May I inquire for yours?”

“It hardly matters here, does it?” I asked. I paused for a moment, thinking. “But if you insist on using my full name, call me Randel Shadeslayer.”

Theodore blinked, his smile faltering. “That’s a rather … peculiar name.”

“I was thinking about either Shadeslayer or Shadeborn, and found the latter to be a touch too close to the heart. Shadeslayer sounds much more dramatic anyway.”

“Ah, well. I see, I see.”

I doubted that he did. Curious. It was too early to tell how good Theodore was at pretending, but for now it seemed like he wasn’t aware of my association with the shade that had attacked Fortram. Hadn’t the Scarlet Hand reported the outcome of that battle? But of course, the Hand answered only for the Emperor. Perhaps the news about a Reaper trapping a shade in his dagger hadn’t reached the Governor’s ears—much less his son’s.

“Is there something you wanted to talk about?”

“Indeed there is, Mr. Shadeslayer,” Theodore said, earning my respect. Finally someone who wasn’t calling me Mad Painter! “I understand that your current predicament may look troubling, but I came here to reassure you. I’ll accompany you to my father’s office, and we’ll straighten this issue out together.”

I raised my eyebrows at that, and I was just about to reply when one of the officers stepped in.

“We are not going to the Governor’s office, sir. We were told to keep the Mad Painter in the—”

“Whatever you were told, it doesn’t matter,” Theodore said. “I’m giving you new orders. We’re going to visit my father.”

“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think that’s wise. May I point out that—”

“You may not,” Theodore said, his voice growing hard. “Mr. Shadeslayer will come with me to the Governor’s office, and you will not question your superiors.”

Nice. It seemed like I found an unexpected ally, though I couldn’t yet ignore the possibility of a good cop bad cop play to be afoot. Still, a talk with the Governor sounded much better than spending the night in an interrogation room. The officers of the City Watch followed Theodore’s orders, though not without some grumbling. Our little group headed for the upper ring where the Governor’s office could be found.

“I hope you don’t mind walking, Mr. Shadeslayer,” Theodore said as he fell into step beside me. “I could send for a carriage, but goletons are loud and I would much rather avoid disturbing the locals at this time of the night.”

“That’s very noble of you,” I said. “And here I thought you just wanted to have more time to talk with me. But don’t worry, I don’t mind walking. Only one of my feet can get tired anyway.”

Theodore nodded, giving me a sideways glance.

“Talking to you is equally as important to me, Mr. Shadeslayer. I wish to convey that I’m impressed by your deeds. You were truly vital for Fortram’s recovery after the disaster! Why, if it wasn’t for your efforts to provide food and shelter, the lower ring would have most likely plunged into chaos. The tide of people who lost their homes would have rebelled, stealing and looting just to get by. The city barely avoided sinking so low, and it was all thanks to you.”

He was talking in hyperbole, of course—I doubted that my contribution mattered that much. Theodore must have thought that flattery could get him on my good side, but if anything it just made him less likable in my eyes. I didn’t say anything though, allowing him to continue his monologue.

“Alas, I’m afraid that my father doesn’t share my opinions, Mr. Sh—actually, may I call you Randel? I know it’s terribly informal, but I wish to be direct with you, Randel. I’m risking my neck by stepping in here, to be perfectly honest, but I needed to warn you. You deserve that much for what you have done.”

Having finished talking, Theodore watched me expectantly as we walked deeper into the heart of the city. All my goodwill for not calling me Mad Painter was gone by now, replaced by unease that I kept carefully hidden. Politics. It was the last thing I needed on top of everything else. As the potential successor of my father’s companies, I had already met my fair share of people like Theodore—and while I had never been good at playing their game, I certainly knew how to ruin it.

“Thanks for warning me, Theodore.”

“Ah! But I haven’t told you what I’m warning you about, have I?”

“You didn’t need to,” I said, reaching out and patting his shoulder. “My father is like that too, Theodore. Always disagreeing with me! He is rich and influential and ambitious and I was always in his shadows. Gods above! You and I are so similar, Theodore. I can feel the friendship forming already.”

“Ah—your father, you say?” Theodore asked, clearly uncomfortable. “Is he a Reaper too?”

“Now that would be an interesting twist, wouldn’t it?” I said. “Fortunately no, my father isn’t here. I left him on Earth. That’s what you want too, isn’t it? You want to leave yours behind.”

“I, ah, can’t say that you’re entirely wrong, Mr.—I mean, Randel.”

“Right? Though we shouldn’t discuss these things in public. Who knows how many of these good guardsmen report to your father directly? No, we need to plot secretly.”

“You misunderstand me,” Theodore said, his voice regaining its firmness. “I do not have anything to hide from my father, Randel. I came here openly to warn you that he wants to take everything you have. All cards on the table. I may disagree with my father’s decisions, but that doesn’t mean I stoop so low as to plot behind his back.”

Well, damn. Pushing Theodore further off-balance would have been nice, but apparently I had misjudged my angle.

“If you say so,” I said. “Anyway, lots of people are trying to destroy me. Why should I be worried about your father?”

“Why, because he is the Governor of Fortram! Don’t you think that warrants caution?”

“Eh, I have literal gods breathing down my neck. You’ll forgive me if I’m not overly concerned about some mortal ruler. Reapers are a different breed, you know.”

I wasn’t sure how convincing my bravado sounded, but it was enough to put a temporary stop to our conversation. Truth be told, standing against the Governor did concern me—but Theodore didn’t need to know that. I was trying to get the measure of him, and I was pretty sure that he was doing the same to me.

We walked without talking for a while, only our footsteps disturbing the night’s quiet. Lots of footsteps actually, as the City Watch kept a close ring around me. Only after we passed the gate to the upper ring of Fortram did Theodore speak again.

“I bought one of your paintings some days ago. Did you know?”

“No,” I said, eyeing him curiously. I wasn’t even selling my paintings. “Which one was it?”

“The city landscape after the devastation,” Theodore said. “It’s hauntingly beautiful, I must say. A fine piece of impressionism.”

I remembered that one. It was a botched attempt at trying out new techniques—but hey, if he enjoyed it, who was I to say otherwise? That was what I truly loved about art; it was never bad. It just had to find the right audience.

“Well, I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s more than just liking it,” Theodore said. “That ray of sunlight that you painted, breaking through the clouds. Inspiring, truly. It fills me with hope that all will be the same again—that the lower ring of Fortram can recover from the devastation. A ray of light to cling into at the time of darkness. It represents all you’ve been doing, Randel. You’re that ray of hope.”

I rolled my eyes—I just couldn’t help it. He was really unashamed about laying it on thick, wasn’t he?

“Alright, out with it,” I said. “What are you buttering me up for? Want my autograph?”

Theodore fixed me with an odd look.

“Pardon my ignorance, but I’m afraid that I don’t understand those Reaper idioms. Buttering? Autograph? Is that like a royal seal?”

I sighed. “Look … I’m just asking what you want from me. Why do you bother?”

“I bother because I find what you’ve been doing noble,” Theodore said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I do not want anything from you, just that you continue doing what you were doing. My father is an obstacle for you in that regard, therefore I came to help you. It’s that simple. We have arrived, by the way.”

The city hall was a grand building with red brick walls, not necessarily bigger than all the luxurious mansions in the upper ring, but certainly distinctive. I barely had time to take it all in before the officers escorting us ushered me in, intent to get this over with.

“Why is the Governor still in his office at this hour?” I asked as we marched across the entrance hall.

“He usually works at night,” Theodore said. “By his reasoning he can work harder this time because there are fewer disruptions. Personally, I disagree. He is clearly just evading his social duties and obligations.”

Huh. Now that was something I could empathise with! It also shed more light on the relationship between Theodore and his father. I glanced at the City Watch behind me, but his face was carefully blank. These guys probably heard Theodore disparaging the Governor all the time.

We had to walk down a few corridors and scale quite a few steps before arriving to the Governor’s office. Instead of requesting entry however, the City Watch officers at the front of our group froze. It wasn’t because of me, I realized; shouting could be heard from within.

“—I do not care for your excuses,” an accented voice spoke harshly. “She is in there too, and if she gets hurt, you’ll get hurt too. That, I can promise.”

“I—I can’t. It’s out of my control! It’s too late to stop it now.”

“You idiot. You—someone is listening in.”

Chairs scraped against the floor, footsteps approached the door, and a moment later it flung open to reveal Tengi’quinn on the other side. The Sylven Lord wore formal robes, long silver hair tied back, mouth twisted in an annoyed grimace. Whatever he was going to say died on his lips though when he saw me, eyes widening in recognition. I surprised him just as much as he surprised me—and as it turned out, he didn’t take kindly to surprises.

Dark power burst forth his blue skin, and we reacted by spinning to the side and grabbing the closest police officer, twisting his arm behind his back and putting it between Tengi’quinn and us. The officers around us staggered as the power hit them, and though they reached for their weapons they weren’t able to draw them before dropping to their knees, unable to stay upright. The dark power around Tengi’quinn was an aura, gravity multiplied, weighing us down. The man we were hiding behind dropped too, while we struggled to remain on our feet. Our right knee was about to buckle, but we put our weight on our mechanical left leg—which held out, unaffected by the aura.

“What are you doing here?” Tengi’quinn hissed.

“What are you doing here, Tengi’quinn?” we asked, our voice strained from the pressure on us. “You’re causing a scene.”

We watched the Sylven man carefully, ready to swap to our armor if he escalated the conflict. We could sense his fury, his desire to kill us here and now, but we could also see caution. Hesitation. We had resisted his mind control before, and now we were resisting his aura. The heavy pressure slowly abated as Tengi’quinn reined in his emotions. He stepped over the groaning officers, walking off without a word.

“No, seriously, what were you doing here?” I called after him. “A Sylven Lord demanding things in the Governor’s office?”

Tengi’quinn ignored my question, disappearing around a corner without so much as a glance in my way.

“That was—that was quite a thing,” Theodore groaned, picking himself up from the floor. The City Watch officers were getting to their feet too, but I took advantage of their brief lapse of control and slipped inside the Governor’s office before they could have stopped me.

The room wasn’t what I expected it to be. Instead of lavish furniture radiating wealth and power, the office held only the bare necessities. Cabinets along the walls, a small desk by the small grated window, and a pair of simple chairs. One of them was knocked over while a man was slumped in the other, clutching at his chest as if he was having a heart attack.

Theodore had apparently inherited his curly red hair from his father, but that was where all the similarities ended. Governor Cassiel Clavius was a balding, portly old man—so old that he could have easily been Theodore’s grandfather. Curious. Contrasting his son’s formal suit, he wore plain but comfortable-looking clothes. He was also gasping and shouting for the guards in alarm.

“Good evening,” I said, picking up the upturned chair and sitting down on it. “No need to shout for guards—they were the ones who brought me here.”

“Y-You…!” Governor Clavius sputtered, though he wasn’t addressing me. “Why?!”

“Because you need to have this talk, father,” Theodore replied. “You can’t just decide behind someone’s back that they are evil. Get a better understanding of them before you dole out justice.”

“How dare you,” Clavius said, his voice trembling—from fear or from rage, I honestly couldn’t tell. “You have no idea what you’re meddling with. Guards, take—”

I cleared my throat. I didn’t think that I looked particularly threatening, but the Governor froze like a deer caught in the headlights. The police officers drew their weapons, lining up along the sides of the office. I paid them no mind, keeping my eyes steadily on the Governor.

“Hey, what’s your favorite color?” I asked.

“…what?”

“Mine is blue,” I said. “Azure, to be precise. The calming and comforting color of a clear sky. I rarely use it in my paintings, though; too much of it can quickly get boring. Anyway, what is your favorite color?”

Clavius stared at me with wide eyes, straightening slowly in his chair.

“Gods above, you are mad,” he whispered, at which I rolled my eyes again.

“Governor,” I said, “I know that I suck at breaking the ice—but calling me mad on our first date? That’s a bit harsh, I think. I’m sorry that I couldn’t come up with something better for my pickup line.”

Clavius kept staring at me. I didn’t think he appreciated my humor, but then again, few people did. There was something odd about the Governor either way—he seemed way too terrified of me. That in itself wouldn’t have been surprising for the average citizen, but I had expected the head of the city to be better than that. Oh, well. Perhaps, really perhaps, it had been a mistake to introduce myself the way I just had.

“Father, I believe that the rumors about Randel Shadeslayer are highly exaggerated,” Theodore said. “He is a reasonable man, if only you gave him a chance—”

“Exaggerated? Exaggerated? Tell me, is it a rumor that he opened a Dungeon under the city? The very same Dungeon that caused the death of thousands?”

“It is not,” Theodore admitted.

“Then we have nothing to discuss. The Mad Painter is endangering Fortram and its citizens. Reapers may be exempt from certain laws, but not this one. This isn’t about taking a life or two, Theodore. This is about holding the fate of an entire city in his hand.”

“It’s not illegal, though,” I cut in, keeping my voice even. It felt frustrating that the Governor wasn’t including me in the conversation, though it also felt kind of … familiar. Nostalgic, even.

Clavius turned his weary eyes back to me.

“What?”

“It’s not illegal,” I repeated. “I may seem mad to you, but believe it or not, I actually checked it before committing myself. I can name you five other cities within the Terran Empire that currently have Dungeons beneath them. Let me contact my manager, and I can give you an even longer list of Dungeons that were opened over the history of the Empire. I am hardly the only Reaper who had the brilliant idea to open a non-violent Dungeon. In the right hands, Dungeons are very profitable.”

“See, father?” Theodore chimed in. “I told you that he isn’t what you think he is.”

The Governor, to his credit, was actually considering my words. He still looked rather frightened, but his confidence was returning the more I talked. I wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“If it was only about monetary value, I wouldn’t mind,” Clavius said, finally addressing me. “But it’s more than that. Power. Influence. The more I let you grow, the more you undermine my authority. I cannot allow that, Mr.—”

“Shadeslayer,” Theodore supplied readily, much to my amusement.

“Mr. Shadeslayer,” Clavius said as if he had just bitten into a lemon. “I hope you understand that I cannot trust your intentions, whatever you claim them to be. The only solution I see here is that you hand the Dungeon over to the government.”

“That’s funny, ‘cause I don’t see that as the solution,” I said. “What makes you think that you are more capable of protecting the Dungeon Core than me? How can I trust that the Core won’t fall into some evil Reaper’s hand eventually?”

Clavius shifted in his seat, frowning. “We have the Scarlet Hands to keep them in check.”

“The Scarlet Hands can’t be everywhere. Their work is reactive. By the time they come, it’s usually too late.”

Not to mention that this wasn’t only about stopping greedy Players; I also doubted the Governor’s integrity. I tended to be a cynic when it came to political leaders, sure, but I believed that I was justified in this case. So far Clavius had shown me nothing that inspired trust. His attempts to aid the victims of the sweller invasion were far too little and slow in coming.

“So what are you suggesting, Reaper? You clearly have a solution in mind.”

“I do, Governor. Instead of trying to strong-arm me into handing over the Core, why don’t you just hire me?”

“Hire you?” Clavius asked as if this concept was new to him. “Pray tell, how would that work?”

I shrugged. “That’s up to a civil discussion. A contract of sorts would benefit me just as much as you. I noticed that the City Watch has avoided my Dungeon so far, which is a shame because I wouldn’t mind their help at keeping the order. In turn, you could keep a closer eye on my operations—and have a say in them, even.”

Clavius watched me silently for a moment, his expression uncertain. I winced inwardly at that—I looked suspiciously forthcoming, didn’t I? I could almost hear my father chastising me for being an idiot. The attitude I presented here only worked with solid foundations, which I definitely did not have as someone known as the Mad Painter. Perhaps I could salvage this still, but I would need to—

“You’re right.”

“…huh?”

“You’re right, Mr. Shadeslayer. I haven’t considered every option for dealing with this situation. I think we should discuss the possibility of the two of us working together.”

“Really?”

I lounged in the chair, watching Clavius as he busied himself with wiping the sweat off his forehead with a handkerchief. Theodore spoke beside me, but I paid no attention to it. Something about the Governor’s behavior bugged me. Was I just too paranoid and skeptical? Perhaps I should have been relieved that Clavius turned out to be so amenable. This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? Yes. Yes, it was. And as my father had used to say, the best way to manipulate someone was to give them what they wanted.

“Randel?” Theodore asked. “Are you listening?”

Clavius was afraid of us still, we reminded ourselves. He cowered like a prey circled by predators. He would have liked nothing more right now than to be rid of us. So why? Why would he accept our proposal? Did he think that this was the best way to handle us? Our minds spun with possibilities, until part of us remembered what we overheard when we arrived here.

“It’s too late to stop, is it?”

“Pardon me?” Clavius asked, startled.

“You don’t really care about a contract with me. You indulge me because you don’t think this matters anymore. You think I won’t be in this position of power for much longer.”

“You assume much, Reaper.”

“I do,” I agreed. “I assume that you never truly expected to keep me arrested. I assume that you just wanted to keep me away from the Dungeon tonight. I assume that you’re going to regret this decision, Governor.”

I teleported myself to Soul Eater.

Choking dark awaited me, and I smelled smoke. I found myself kneeling beside my bed, gripping Soul Eater with one hand as I listened to the distant screams. My eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom. The room was a mess. Someone had broken our entrance door in half, smashing the lamp on the wall apart and damaging the cabinets—then ending up dead on the floor, their body cut in half from shoulder to hip. The flesh was completely burned and seared. I stared at the horrid scene.

We had no time to waste. We stalked toward the door only to realize that our mechanical leg made sneaking impossible. Hoping that the screams and shouts outside masked our noise somewhat, we rounded the dead body and stepped through the ruined doorway into the hall.

Devi stood there in the dark, her energy sword casting a silvery light on her face as well as on the bodies around her feet. I couldn’t see any blood. Only Devi’s heavy breathing and tangled hair were any indication that there had been a fight at all. I wasn’t quite sure where to put the expression on her face; it was somewhere between shocked and appalled and excited. The hall felt like a bubble of deathly stillness to the chaos outside.

“I killed them,” she said. “I killed them all.”

She turned to me, away from the light of her sword, casting shadows over her eyes. I didn’t know what to say.

“Good,” we said.

“There must be more,” she said. “Randel, I spoke with Tora. He says that the underground gangs in Fortram joined forces to attack us. They search for the boss monster and the Core. They want the Dungeon for themselves.”

Ahh. So this was it. Part of us felt excited, part of us felt dread. We fought the emotions down. We were in control.

“Good,” we said, turning to go. “The hunt is on.”