Mage Tank

I undid a swath of slots at the Icon’s feet. The moment the floor was released, it crumbled away, reduced to tiny chunks like something had been taking a sledgehammer to it every day for a month. As the floor collapsed to reveal the plant beneath, the Icon used its fleshy tendrils to crawl away up the wall.

The Dominion Ivy was a pulsating hive of endless thorn-covered vines. Their leaves danced and shivered. Melon-sized buds blossomed into colorful blooms that rotated as though they were looking around the room. The vines extended into eternity, stretching into an endlessly distant terminus that twisted as I looked towards it, always keeping its end just out of sight.

The vines rushed up at the Icon, their movement slow by Delver standards but much faster than any plant had a right to be. Their snaking climbers quested for the bloody construct, more energetic than they’d been when presented with the Littan Delvers.

The Icon, understandably, tried to move away.

The wall above the Icon exploded into sparkling gaseous clouds as Nuralie fired a trio of exploding arrows. The gas contained one of her rare Spiritual toxins. The Icon hadn’t seemed to suffer much under our alchemist’s typical brews, but it tried to give this one a wide berth as it clambered across the wall. It used its hundreds of threads like a gruesome millipede to dart left around the expanding cloud, but one of its own scorching lances slammed into the wall, releasing a wave of force that sent it skittering back.

Varrin had continued to contest both the golden spear and the constant barrage of burning spells, overwhelmed by the combo when faced to deal with it alone. I glanced over at the big guy, seeing that there were now three versions of the swordsman working to manage the onslaught.

One was the original Varrin, another was a perfect Spiritual copy, and the third was the odd pseudo-relative-looking version we’d seen when dealing with the Icon of the Psychopomp.

Icons really brought out Varrin’s best, I reckoned.

As Varrin’s copy managed the spear, Varrin prime parried another beam that rained down on him, cutting the attack ninety degrees toward his imperfect doppelganger. The ancestral spirit parried the beam again, finishing the redirect and sending it just left of the Icon, causing it to move further back from the detonations and melting stone.

The Icon was in a tough position. If it stopped slinging spells at Varrin, the big guy would have three bodies to go after it with. If it didn’t stop hammering out spells, Varrin and his soul clones would keep hitting return to sender. Until he ran out of stamina, at least.

The malformed construct didn’t have any time to work that problem out, because it had plenty more to deal with.

A field of shimmering mana mines formed in the air to the Icon’s right, expanding out every second as Etja dumped power into her mana shape. The Icon launched another wave of blood bubbles, but I seized the spell and used Reverse Card to trap the Icon.

The remaining golem warped itself onto the Icon, using its puncturing spell to cut through its tendrils.

The Icon smiled and its eyes swam through its head to gaze at me. It blasted itself back out into webbing, hurling the golem aside and shooting towards me. I snapped out an Explosion! to punish the air between us. The pressure wave sent the tendrils flailing back, colliding with every hazard the group had created. Its body was corrupted with spiritual toxins, reduced to inert dust as the mines exploded, and dragged through the molten rock Varrin’s spell parries had created.

Still, the webbing shot towards the ceiling, battered and abused by the traps, but escaping from the vines. As it reformed above us, the Icon was greeted by a smoldering horror of claws and teeth that had landed just before it. Xim snatched the diminutive Icon up in her massive hands and hurled it back down, sending it through the gas and mines once again, and into the eager waiting vines of the Dominion Ivy.

The vines wrapped the Icon up. As its many thorns sliced into the construct, mana flowed out and into the Ivy plant. It was a real reverse-vampire situation. Vampire on mana-vampire action.

The bloodsucker was getting its mana sucked, and it really did not like it.

The Icon tried to thread through the vines in its web form, but they were too numerous. There was nowhere for it to go. The Icon turned all its skills onto the plant, burning it to ash with its beams, cutting through swaths of vines with its spear, freezing yet more in place with its bubbles, but it didn’t matter. The vines kept coming faster than the Icon could destroy them. And though it took some time, the Dominion Ivy eventually sucked the fucker dry.

Most of the floor was still safe, and as the Icon was consumed, the rest of the party gathered on the opposite end of the obelisk chamber. I stood out ahead of them, trying to gauge how much trouble we were in if the plant decided to convert this from a “feed me, Arlo,” situation into a “feed me Arlo” kind of deal. The comma placement was quite important here.

There was a lot of plant that could come through the floor, and while the Closet was big, it wasn’t that big. Neither of my Checkpoints were open yet, so if the Ivy wanted to bite the hand that feeds, we’d either need to slash and burn for several hours straight, or open the exit to the wastes and see what was on the other side. We could always Shortcut our way out if it was buried.

I’d have preferred not to do that, since I liked my Closet and didn’t want to sign the deed over to a trans-dimensional plant. I doubted it would be easy to convince Yara to come back and seal the thing away again.

So, I waited to see what would happen.

Once the plant was done digesting the Icon, its vines rolled out through the breach in the inventory spaces. It moved slowly, searching and feeling out the boundaries of the space. I stood still and watched, waiting for the vines to reach me. The party had a host of spells ready if the plant decided it wanted a taste of the Arlo steak, so when it got near, I felt pretty confident I wasn’t in any real danger.

One of the vines rose up from the ground like a snake ready to strike, then nosed its way close to me. I held up a hand to the vine and it stopped. Then, tentatively, the vine moved closer and slithered across my palm. The thorns that covered it retracted into its flesh, and the many thousands of leaves around the room shifted and shuddered.

The vine dropped away from my hand and kept poking around, ignoring me. As I stood, the wave of leafy tendrils parted around me while they moved out to the edges of the obelisk chamber.

The party backed away, less enthusiastic about testing the boundaries of the Ivy’s friend-or-food logic. When the vines found the hall leading away from the obelisk chamber, they stopped. The Dominion Ivy covered the walls, set up its many hanging vines and flowering buds, then settled itself and stopped expanding.

“Huh,” I grunted. “I guess it’s just a regular boss monster.”

“I would not call that regular,” said Nuralie.

“I agree,” said Etja. “It’s much prettier than a regular Delve boss.” The mage floated into the room, weaving between the hanging vines, and took a chance at smelling one of the flowers. The bloom tracked her movement, but didn’t try to snag her from the air.

“Is everyone comfortable with Arlo’s new fighting style?” asked Xim.

“My new style?” I asked.

“You know,” she said. “Throwing gods and monsters at our enemies.”

“It is more an extension of his previous style,” said Varrin. “Depending on how you categorize Shog and Grotto.”

“One of the first things we did as a party was throw Fortune at Orexis,” said Etja. “I think it’s part of who we are. As a group.”

“Are we counted among the monsters he is throwing?” asked Nuralie.

We all studiously avoided staring at Xim.

“I’m the party leader,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “Part of leading is delegation. If I’m delegating the containment or destruction of an avatar or god, I’m gonna delegate that task to something big enough to get the job done. You want to challenge your underlings to keep them sharp and engaged, but giving people jobs that are too big for them leads to demoralization. One must play to their people’s strengths, and work around their weaknesses.”

“Underlings?” said Varrin.

“If we’re challenging Arlo’s use of nouns,” said Xim, “can we talk about Closetland?”

“What about it?” I asked.

“It’s so bad.”

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“Ah, well it was a spur of the moment name. How about, Closetlandia?”

“I like that better,” said Etja. “But I’m not in love with it.”

“Closetia?” I offered. “Closetstan? Closetina? Closetica?”

“Why does it need to use the word ‘closet’?” asked Nuralie.

I paused and considered. “Pocketvania?”

“We should repair Grotto,” said Varrin. “Naming the Pocket Republic can wait.”

Everyone turned to stare at the big guy.

“What?” he asked.

“That one’s not bad,” said Etja. Everyone mumbled their assent, and Varrin stood up a little straighter.

“You’re right about Grotto, Varrin,” I said. “Hey, Sub-el. What needs to happen to get Grotto all healed up?”

“What about the Closet Republic?” asked Nuralie.

“No, that sounds like a clothing store,” said Etja.

Please insert Core 1156 into the Delve obelisk to perform a diagnostic. Once we have mapped the damage, I can manually assist the obelisk’s automated repair functions. If the Core can be repaired, I can complete the process within a few hours.

I teleported myself and Nuralie to Grotto. The poor guy was still pinned to the wall. Together, we carefully removed the arrow and made sure none of the Core’s components came loose. When we returned, Xim directed Etja in cutting away the now-dead c’thon flesh using Disintegrate, revealing the runic orb beneath.

The hole going through Grotto was clean, and Nuralie pointed out how the outer chassis hadn’t bent or warped under the hit. Hopefully, the internal damage was similarly well-contained. Sub-el guided us on opening up the bottom of the obelisk and placing the Core within. Sub-el also assured us that the obelisk was in working order, despite the central gathering rod being exposed due to Hysteria’s manipulations.

A few tense minutes passed, but Sub-el let us know that Grotto would be fine after a three-hour repair session. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

“Whaddya think Grotto would want it called?” asked Etja.

“Are we back on the country name?” asked Xim.

“He would not want it to be a republic,” said Nuralie. “Voting rights sound antithetical to his personality.”

“It’s more of a technocracy,” said Xim. “Assuming power is being distributed via competency.” I raised a brow at the cleric, surprised by her civics knowledge. She pretended not to understand my confusion.

“There are two citizens,” said Varrin. “They both hold power. Thus, the power is in the hands of the citizens. Republic.”

“As long as it’s not another monarchy,” said Xim. “No offense Varrin, but kings are always trouble.”

“The king has some exclusive executive authority,” said Varrin. “But with the way the houses work, Hiward is closer to an aristocracy than a traditional monarchy.”

“What’s Eschendur?” asked Xim.

“It is a theocratic meritocracy,” Nuralie answered. “Ruled by a triumvirate.”

“Are we discussing names or potential forms of government?” I asked. “Because the name doesn’t have to relate. Back on Earth, a lot of country names straight-up lied about their form of government.”

“Perhaps you should avoid importing that practice,” said Varrin.

“If a republic just means that the people hold power,” said Xim, “then the tribe is a republic. People literally agree on what the world is like.”

“Republics involved representatives,” said Varrin. “What you’re describing is a pure democracy.”

“What about your parents?” asked Etja, looking at Xim. “Aren’t they the chiefs?”

“Democracies still need administrators,” said Varrin.

“Yeah,” said Xim, “If everyone decided mom and dad were ass at their jobs, then they wouldn’t be in charge anymore.”

“The Third Layer really brings a whole new meaning to the word ‘freedom’,” I mused. “Anyway, I won’t beat around the bush. To start, it’ll be a constitutional oligarchy where a ruling council holds all the power. For now, the oligarchs will be everyone who’s a citizen, since that’ll just be us, assuming you guys want citizenship.”

“Sure,” said Xim.

“Why are you trying to start a nation?” asked Varrin. “I thought this was an intellectual exercise.”

I waved at our surroundings, causing one of the hanging vines to start caressing my hand. I gently extracted myself as I answered Varrin’s question. “The Closet isn’t a secret anymore. It will continue to expand, giving me a lot of theoretical land to work with, and with the way my Checkpoints work it can ‘border’ any nation in the world. With the Reality Anchor we got, a permanent portal can be established wherever we want, making it accessible for travel and trade. Unless I want to sign the place over to the rule of a specific nation, it needs to be its own legal entity, if only to formalize a set of laws and encourage other nations to stay out of my business.

“Beyond that? It lets us act under our own authority. It frees us to form relationships with other world powers without historical baggage. We can be a neutral agent that disseminates information to the world on an equal basis, especially when it comes to the avatars.”

“What about resources?” asked Nuralie. “The Closet is mostly empty.”

“Avarice will help us take care of that.”

“Is it part of our reward?” asked Etja. “What is it?”

“Earth, fire, wind, water, and heart!” I declared.

“Essences?” asked Nuralie.

“Shiploads,” I said. “Very basic ones, though. Grotto and I have discussed a weave that’ll convert mana into the compounds we’d need to make this place liveable at scale, but it would take a lot of upfront investment.”

“What’s the heart essence do?” asked Etja.

“That one was a lie,” I said.

“Aw.”

“Our party still has a strong bias toward the Hiwardian establishment,” said Varrin. He was blind to the intellectual allure of natural resource management. “Hiward, Eschendur, and the Xor’Drels are close allies. We would not be perceived as ‘neutral’ by Litta, Ayama, Mittak, or Timagrin, and certainly not Davah.”

“Then we make friends and see if we can find some good people to round out our representation,” I said. “Look, I’ve been thinking about it for literally a day, and it’s been a busy day. Before we get into the weeds on this, I need a shower, and my house got blown up, which is where I kept most of my showers. We also need to get the Eschens back home and speaking of, where are they?”

“The Zenithar and the delegation are in the Atrocidile’s cave, along with Riona,” said Nuralie. “It has an underwater cavern where it built a nest.”

“Sounds stinky,” said Etja.

“It is not pleasant.”

“Is that safe?” asked Xim. “Or is the Atrocidile dead?”

“It is resting,” said Nuralie. “The Yeti nearly killed it, but it escaped somehow.”

“Nottagator has a solid escape ability,” I said. “He turns into a ghost!”

“I see,” said Nuralie. Pause. “What are we doing about her?” She nodded toward the Yeti.

Fluffy was being held down by a mess of vines, though her metallic skin and fur ability was keeping the thorns from harming her. She was listening to our conversation, wide-eyed and silent. She may have been hoping we would forget about her.

“I give up!” she squeaked. “I surrender!”

“How magnanimous of you,” said Varrin, hand on the hilt of Kazandak.

“Ah geez,” I said. “Keeping her alive violates my ‘returning villain’ rule, but also we just saved her from that blood god thing.”

“I wasn’t trying to save her,” said Xim. “I was just playing keep away.”

“I was being generous with my characterization,” I said, then blew out a long breath. “Thoughts? Opinions?”

“If you are planning to start a nation, she should be judged under your laws,” said Varrin. “In Hiward, she would be executed for her part in kidnapping the king.”

“Eschendur would likely do the same,” said Nuralie.

“She’d get banished from the tribe,” said Xim. “Sort of the same as a death sentence, depending on who it is.”

“We can prove she tried to kill one or all of us,” I said. “At the very least, she committed multiple felony-level assaults, and throughout the course of her crimes multiple people died. Where I’m from, the death sentence was pretty rare. Something like this would be, eh, 15 years to life in prison.”

“Are you going to build a prison?” asked Varrin.

“I wasn’t planning on it,” I said. “Also, she’s a foreigner, so that complicates things. Sorry, what was your name again?”

“Joma,” she said.

“Joma, are you a citizen of any nation, or did you give all that up to become a Wastelands mercenary?”

Joma shook her head to dislodge a vine that had blocked her view. She managed to peek an eye through, but the vine squeezed her head more tightly in return. “I… would be recognized by Mittak.”

“How would the powers-that-be in Mittak react to you being dropped on their doorstep?” The furry woman looked uncomfortable at that idea. “Not well, huh? Have some open warrants in Mittak?” She didn’t reply, so I shrugged. “Alright. Closetland sentences you to twenty years hard labor for crimes perpetrated within its borders. Would you prefer to carry out your sentence, or petition to be released into the care of the Mittan authorities?”

She shifted within the vines.

“What kind of hard labor?”

“In here? Construction. Animal husbandry. Maybe some butlering. Do you have any housekeeping experience?”

“Er…”

I turned to Varrin and placed a hand on his pauldron. “Of course, if Hiward would like to talk about extradition, that can be arranged.” I looked at Nuralie. “Eschendur as well.”

“You have no way of containing her,” said Varrin. “And she knows too much to turn her over to someone else.”

“I have a whole Delve full of monsters and no way to leave it without some very specific abilities, which I haven’t seen her use,” I said. “I’ll look at her status to determine how much of a flight risk she is. Even if she escapes, I’ll issue a notice and put out a bounty. If she tells people that a bearded man in a feather boa is secretly in control of a Delve, who’d believe her? That’d be like telling them that I can summon gods or some shit. It’s silly.” I gave Joma a pointed stare. “After all, if you knew a man who could summon gods, you’d be a real dummy to get on their bad side. More than you already have, that is.”

Joma stiffened. “I’m great at working with my hands,” she said, shakily. “I have Woodworking at Level 43!”

“That’s nice.”

Your party has slain Malformed Icon of Instruction: Constructed Aberration, Grade 30!

You gain +25 System Rep!

Your Dimensional Magic skill has increased to Level 36!

Your Physical Magic skill has increased to Level 25!

Your Mystical Magic skill has increased to 25!

Your Leadership skill has increased to 24!

Your Dungeoneering skill has increased to Level 27!

Your Diplomacy skill has increased to Level 16!

“Hey, neat,” I said. I stretched my back and touched my toes, then ran my fingers through my beard a few times. “Alright. Who’s ready to go meet the Littan empress in sixteen hours?”

End of Volume 3

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